THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 

 
 fy Wk m > 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS, 
 
 *J g 
 
 MRS. H. W. RICHTER. 
 
 •' I seek ray rhyme, 
 
 Among the far-off wrecks of time." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 2?uU 
 
 PRINTED BY W. R. GODDARD, SILVER-STREET, 
 
 MDCCCXLI.
 
 r 
 
 TO HER GRACE, 
 
 €f)t mrnim of gu Lilians, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING POEMS 
 
 ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY HER GRACE'S 
 
 VERY OBLIGED AND GRATEFUL SERVANT, 
 
 ANNE RICHTER. 
 
 841633
 
 In submitting the following collection of 
 Poems to the ordeal of public taste, the Author 
 trusts that the severity of criticism may be dis- 
 armed by the humility of their pretentions, — 
 aspiring only to supply a few " way-side flowers," 
 to those lovers of poetry, who, on turning aside in 
 some musing hour from the busy paths of life, may 
 perchance find sentiments amongst them in accord- 
 ance with their own. 
 
 They are intended, as far as their influence 
 can extend, to incite to all that is "pure, lovely, 
 and of good report ; " and to further the cause of 
 Religion and Morality. 
 
 They are left to the candid judgment of 
 those who have so kindly enabled the Author to 
 present them before the public, and to whom, she 
 tenders her sincere thanks. 
 
 KlRTON-LlNDSEY, MARCH, 1841.
 
 &ijz Mm* 
 
 Some explanation is requisite, for the at- 
 tempt made in the following short poem, to bring 
 back the scenes of olden time, in " fancy's colour- 
 ing drest." Presumptuous perhaps it is, to allude 
 to the great examples which I have assayed to 
 follow in this walk. To those, who lifting the 
 veil from buried years, have drawn from the solemn 
 pageant of histoiy, scenes and characters, which 
 ever live before the " mind's eye," in all the vivid- 
 ness of reality. The Percys, the Cliffords, and the 
 Nevilles, with all the defunct nobles of those 
 stormy times, live again, in the immortal dramas 
 of Shakspeare. And how have the historical 
 romances of the Poet of Abbotsford, thrown light 
 and lasting interest, over manners and events past 
 away into the dim distance of time. To descend 
 to my own humble effort, after recurring to these 
 adornments of our literature, is like bringing the 
 feeble light of a taper, before the noon of day. 
 I have no facts, wherewith to engage interest for
 
 Vlll. 
 
 the " Nun," she is altogether ideal, if a character 
 may be called so, which has doubtless had many 
 a prototype in Monastic times. The scene is laid 
 at about the close of the fourteenth century. 
 There is, I trust, nothing incongruous with the 
 history of that period, in the symptoms of Pro- 
 testantism evinced by the Nun, who is supposed 
 to have imbibed her enlightened sentiments from 
 a mother, educated in the pure faith of the valleys 
 of Piedmont. It is true, that in the " populous 
 solitudes of the religious houses, there were doubt- 
 less many sincere and righteous servants of God ; 
 many, who fled thither, from the sorrows of life, 
 with no other desire than to pass the rest of their 
 sojourning in privacy and peace," * but the griev- 
 ous oppression and religious thraldom of the system, 
 stand still prominent, and unsoftened in their re- 
 pulsiveness by these isolated instances. The 
 mouldering relics of these fallen temples of pride 
 and power, tell in their hoary grandeur of former 
 supremacy, but how complete is their desolation ! 
 where the vesper bell is heard no more, and the 
 incense ceases to rise ! The penances, vows and 
 pilgrimages, of a dark and long past era, rise on 
 
 ' See Blunt on the Reformation.
 
 IX. 
 
 the mind amidst such scenes, while all the un- 
 speakable blessings of the Reformation seem to 
 start from the gloom, dispersing the mists and 
 shadows of that spiritual night. 
 
 To the lovers of fact, it may be some satis- 
 faction to be informed, that a Cistertian Nunnery 
 was founded at Gokeshill, by William de Alta 
 Rissa, before 1185. Barham Chapel, belonging to 
 the Nunnery, is now a farm-house, and the last 
 remains of the ancient mansion of the De Veres, 
 called " Vere Court," is now a barn ! The ruins 
 of Thornton Abbey, so noble and picturesque in 
 their majestic decay, have in their vicinity the 
 remains of a Church excavated from the oblivion 
 of the green turf within a few years past. The 
 license allowed to poetic fiction has been claimed, 
 in placing the Nun's final rest within the walls 
 of that Church. 
 
 The wandering pilgrims of those days, were 
 accustomed to be received at different religious 
 houses, where they were supplied with food and 
 temporary shelter. Harry Percy, surnamed Hot-
 
 X. 
 
 spur, having had his fiery and impetuous spirit 
 provoked by the imperious Bolingbroke, whose 
 friend he had been, distinguished himself in de- 
 fence of the White Rose of York, and was slain on 
 Bramham Moor, in 1407- He married the sister 
 of his friend Mortimer. 
 
 Lady Percy's tomb, under a richly sculp- 
 tured arch, and Earl Percy's cap, the rusty rem- 
 nant of his panoply of proof, are shown at this 
 day in the Minster of Beverley. It would not 
 outrage probability to suppose that the first was 
 worn by the redoubtable Hotspur, and that the 
 latter contains the dust of his " gentle Kate." 
 
 I have now, only to entreat the candour of 
 those, who, while perusing this poem, will wander 
 through the ivy-mantled relics of the'days of old.
 
 Contents* 
 
 THE NUN. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Part first 3 
 
 Part second 10 
 
 Part third 15 
 
 Part fourth 22 
 
 Part fifth 28 
 
 Part sixth 36 
 
 Part seventh 41 
 
 Part eighth 47 
 
 Part ninth 52 
 
 Part tenth 56 
 
 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Invocation to Poetry 65 
 
 Course of Prophecy 67 
 
 The Palm Tree 71 
 
 Hagar and Ishmael 73 
 
 Noah's Dove 75 
 
 Euphrates 77 
 
 Jacob's Dream 80 
 
 Petra 82 
 
 All are Thine ! 85 
 
 Faith 88 
 
 Christmas Eve 91 
 
 The Woman of Samaria 94 
 
 The Poor Widow : 97 
 
 Lazarus come forth , 99 
 
 The Resurrection 101 
 
 Guardian Angels 104 
 
 The Pilgrim at Jerusalem 106
 
 Xll. CONTENTS. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Moss Rose Ill 
 
 Oh ! happy bird 114 
 
 The Moated House 117 
 
 Llangollen Vale 121 
 
 The Lost One 123 
 
 Boscobel 130 
 
 The Bridal and the Funeral 1 33 
 
 Home of my Youth 136 
 
 Kenilworth 139 
 
 Herculaneum 1 42 
 
 Inscription for a Hermitage at South Ferriby 144 
 
 Mab's Cross — a Lancashire Legend 146 
 
 Westminster Abbey 152 
 
 Spring Flowers 155 
 
 Tributary Stanzas 158 
 
 Human Friendship 160 
 
 The Mourner 163 
 
 Spirit's Song 166 
 
 The Pictured Hall 170 
 
 Summer Flowers 174 
 
 Affection 176 
 
 The Poets 178 
 
 Notes 183
 
 Cfie iBUm* 
 
 "3J 3edt mn rhyme 
 ffmimg;jft tfte fat* rrtf im<>cfts rrf time," 
 
 Srfftt,
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 " The golden censers toss'd with graceful hand, 
 Whose fragrant breath Arabian odour shed ; 
 Of meek- eyed novices, the youthful band, 
 With blooming chaplets circling each fair head." 
 
 Jagg. 
 
 Around yon pile of ruins grey, 
 
 Rise memories of a former day; 
 
 For garlands of wild flowers have bound it, 
 
 And whispering ivy clings around it, 
 
 And hoary moss is gathering o'er 
 
 The damp green wall, and mouldering floor 
 
 And sculptured stones are lying there, 
 
 In curious patterns rich and rare: — 
 
 The musing wanderer who sees, 
 
 The long grass waving to the breeze, 
 
 May ponder there, when silence dwells, 
 
 In the lone aisles and dungeon cells, 

 
 4 THE NUN. 
 
 When sounds of earth can ne'er intrude, 
 
 To hreak upon the solitude ! 
 
 Save the wild winds, that make their moan, 
 
 Through vacant courts with weeds o'ergrown. 
 
 While wint'ry storms are heard to roar, 
 
 Through passage dark and corridor. 
 
 And sometimes, when the moonbeams fall, 
 
 On battlement and rugged wall, 
 
 And the sweet night-bird wakes her song, 
 
 The bowery wood's dark walks along, 
 
 A shadowy form of other days, 
 
 All round about that ruin strays, 
 
 In Monkish cowl and gown ; 
 And seems with restless step to glide, 
 Along the halls and chambers wide, 
 
 Some deed of woe to own. 
 And starts — and listens to a note, 
 Heard from a valley far remote, 
 
 Like voice of Cherubim ! 
 That floating comes on zephyr borne, 
 But dies at early breath of morn : 
 
 Some spirit seems to hymn, 
 O'er sorrows past, a mournful strain, 
 Then wing to heaven its flight again !
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 But Time rolls back his dusty page, 
 And deeds of many a former age 
 Are there inscribed, and records old, 
 In dim seen characters unfold. 
 There is a tale, of times gone by, 
 A dark and mournful history, 
 Of early death — of bigot power, 
 The fading of sad beauty's flower, 
 Fancy is bringing back once more, 
 That legend of the days of yore. 
 
 The matin bell its echo flung, 
 
 Over the valley wide, 
 While yet the pearly dew-drops hung, 
 
 Upon the green hills' side. 
 Wild orisons the lark had sent, 
 
 Up through the clear blue sky, 
 Oh happy bird! to thee is lent, 
 
 Freedom's own melody. 
 The breeze of morn is whispering low 
 
 Through the green forest shade, 
 And the pale sun-beams faintly glow, 
 
 Along the silent glade.
 
 6 THE NUN. 
 
 But redder grows that cheering heam, 
 
 The day is up, and brightly glowing, 
 And on the Gothic windows stream 
 
 The slanting rays, more clearly showing. 
 The arched doors, the columns tall, 
 
 The lessening aisle, the marble floor, 
 The saints in niches on the wall, 
 
 And the high roof all fretted o'er. 
 
 The bell has ceased, and you may hear, 
 Of " earliest birds," the waking song, 
 
 Kaising a concert loud and clear, 
 Far down the leafy vales among. 
 
 But softly rising on the gale, 
 
 Within that nunnery grey, 
 Comes music like a spirit's wail, 
 
 That slowly dies away ! 
 And two and two, the sisters fair, 
 
 Along the cold dim aisles are gliding; 
 Oh ! who may tell the sighs of care, 
 The broken hearts, the sorrows there, 
 
 Within each breast abiding!
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 The heavy doors are opened wide, 
 
 The anthem rises loud and clear, 
 And entering slowly side by side, 
 
 Do Thornton's Monks appear; 
 With the black robe, and rochet white, 
 Bare-headed — slowly on the sight, 
 
 With solemn gait they come ! 
 The long procession moves in state, 
 And round the choir in silence wait 
 
 The veiling of a Nun : — 
 Waiting upon that solemn day, 
 The calling of her thoughts away, 
 From all that earth contains of fair; 
 From the bright things, that scatter'd there, 
 
 Around our steps arise, 
 Dispensed by that benignant Power, 
 Who spreads o'er earth each lovely flower, 
 Why should His bounty have the power 
 
 To lure us from the skies? 
 
 But she must deem them toys of time, 
 That would beguile her from that clime, 
 Where all her thoughts should be; —
 
 8 THE NON. 
 
 God's bounteous gifts, so largely given, 
 That raise the grateful soul to heaven, 
 
 In holiest harmony; 
 She must abjure, for vigil lone, 
 Penance and fast, and cell of stone, 
 The latin prayer to murmur low, 
 Before the patron saint to bow, 
 To mutter " Ave Marias," when 
 The stated hour returns again; 
 Agnes de Vere, must be thy meed, 
 And heaven protect thee in thy need ! 
 
 She kneels before the altar high, 
 The choir awake their melody, 
 The incense spreads its perfume sweet, 
 The Nun is veil'd, the sisters greet, 
 That drooping flower their ranks among, 
 In GokeshilPs convent old ! 
 
 Agnes ! thy tears are streaming fast, 
 The floating veil around thee cast, 
 Upon thy bosom fold,
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 It will not still the aching there, 
 
 Nor dry the ever-starting tear, 
 
 That falls upon the funeral bier 
 
 Of all thine earthly joys, 
 
 That on that day, one solemn rite destroys ! 
 
 Where are the glossy tresses now, 
 
 That waved upon her youthful brow, 
 
 The dreams of hope, that round her shone ? 
 
 All faded, wither'd, crush'd, and gone ! 
 
 The Monks prepare to leave the pile, 
 The Abbess with a mournful smile, 
 
 Bestows her mute farewell ; 
 They chaunt a melancholy strain : — 
 And who the heart's o'erwhelming pain, 
 
 Of Agnes Vere may tell ! 
 The doors are closed, the Friars gone, 
 And she is kneeling all alone, 
 
 "Within her cloister dim, 
 Fainter and fainter, down the dell, 
 Comes on the ear the wild farewell, 
 
 Of the Monks' parting hymn. 
 And fast the clouds of evening lower, 
 On waving wood, and convent tower.
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 " Soft, as the memory of buried love, 
 Pure, as the prayer that childhood wafts above, 
 Was she — the daughter of that rude old Chief." 
 
 Bykon's Bride of Abydos. 
 
 Morning, through a misty veil, 
 
 Beam'd on the landscape cold and pale ; 
 
 Light clouds are heralding her way, 
 
 And she attired in mantle grey; 
 
 With pearly dew begemm'd each flower : — 
 
 Until the day's awakening power 
 
 Shone full on sleeping lids. Oh stay ! 
 
 And pale thy bright reviving ray, 
 
 Thou cheering source of life and light, 
 
 Chasing away the weary night. 
 
 The wretched shrink before thy beam, 
 
 And turn them rather to the dream 
 
 That flits in twilight hues, before 
 
 The vision' d sense, bringing once more, 
 
 Scenes, tones, and voices long pass'd by, 
 
 Of former joy the mockery !
 
 PART SECOND. 11 
 
 And Agnes wakes ; before her shone, 
 The statue tall, the cross of stone, 
 The pendant rosary there she sees ; 
 But not to these, — Oh ! not to these ! 
 Her supplicating eyes are beaming, 
 But, where the light is faintly streaming, 
 Through the Gothic window high, 
 She is kneeling tearfully; 
 With a high and pure emotion, 
 Raising her young heart's devotion, 
 To the over-ruling Power, 
 Watching o'er her in that hour; 
 To the High and Holy One, 
 Low she bends before His throne. 
 All her fears, and all her woes, 
 All the cares her bosom knows, 
 On the aid Divine, she throws. 
 "Mary Mother," not thy name 
 Ever, from her pale lips came; — 
 One sole Comforter she knows, 
 And to one Mediator bows. 
 And the humbly whisper' d prayer, 
 From that form so meek and fair, 
 Is heard, where blessed Angels are.
 
 12 THE NUN. 
 
 But who was she, the kneeling Nun, 
 The gentle, fair, and weeping one; 
 With deep blue eye and polish'd brow, 
 Why did she take the life-long vow ? 
 That faultless form, and youthful gladness, 
 To bury in a convent's sadness ? 
 Her mind's rich promise may not bloom, 
 But deep within that living tomb 
 
 Must pine and die ; 
 And wherefore such a lot was hers, 
 I trace, in the faint characters, 
 
 Of that sad history. 
 
 Sir Ralph de Vere, in Vere's old court, 
 
 Had rear'd one simple flower, 
 Through "merrie England," had you sought 
 A fairer never had been brought, 
 
 From castle, hall, or bower. 
 With feelings keen, and taste refined, 
 Tender of heart, of lofty mind, 
 
 Was Agnes Vere, 
 With eyes, that with their sparkling ray, 
 Would chase the frowns of care away ; 
 
 The ready tear
 
 PART SECOND. 13 
 
 Of sympathy for other's woe, 
 
 Adown her youthful cheek would flow 
 
 "While meek devotion's glow of feeling, 
 
 Rose with the sacred anthem pealing, 
 
 Beyond the empty mummeries round her, 
 
 Where bigotry's dark chain had hound her. 
 
 Bereft a mother's tender care 
 
 In early youth, whose precepts were 
 
 Deep in her memory stored : — 
 For she, among the scatter'd few, 
 From Truth Divine, her maxims drew. 
 
 The one unerring word 
 Of Christian faith, pure as at first, 
 In Switzerland's lone vallies nurs't ; 
 
 Where true Religion's shrine, 
 Was undebased by worldly strife ; 
 Where flourished fair the Word of Life, 
 
 In Truth's own light sublime ! 
 Secluded there, for ages dwelt, 
 And round their simple altars knelt, 
 Alone, apart, a faithful band, 
 Who persecution's rage withstand. 
 Like to the star, that high and clear, 
 Gives notice that the day is near,
 
 14 THE NUN. 
 
 And gleams with undiminish'd ray, 
 
 Though threatening storms around it lay. 
 
 Oh ! happy land ! where light Divine, 
 
 Did on thy stainless altars shine, 
 
 A blessed home for Christian faith, 
 
 Firm and unshrinking unto death. 
 
 No jarring creed brought doubt, and change, 
 
 And discord, o'er their hills to range ; 
 
 But truth, when banish'd from each throne, 
 
 In Alpine vallies lived alone ! 
 
 And Agnes heard her mother's voice, 
 
 Tell of that land, in accents low, 
 Where hopes immortal, may rejoice, 
 
 And to no earthly idol bow. 
 Then rose her young affections high, 
 Above the world's cold treachery, 
 
 To regions where, 
 Eternal joys will never fade, 
 Nor clouds of error spread, to shade 
 
 The brightness there !
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 " Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, 
 Or fill up chronicles in time to come, 
 That men of your nobility and power 
 Did gage them both in an unjust behalf, 
 To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
 And plant this thorn, this canker Bolingbroke." 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 •' Believe it all — whate'er you hear, 
 Of plighted vow, and treasured token ; 
 And hues, which only once appear, 
 And vows, which only once are spoken." 
 
 The Troubadour. 
 
 The White Rose, and a rival Red, 
 With civil discord fill'd the land, 
 
 And England's noblest blood was shed, 
 
 And lords, devoted vassals led, 
 To wield the sword and brand. 
 
 When Harry Percy's name afar, 
 
 Was foremost in the ranks of war. 
 
 For the fair Rose of York, he drew 
 
 His sword, and all the dangers knew 
 That wait rebellion's name.
 
 16 THE NUN. 
 
 For Bolingbroke usurp'd the throne, 
 
 Richard an outcast, and alone, 
 
 When noble Percy came, 
 
 To land on ancient Humbria's shore ; 
 
 One pallid flower the badge he wore. 
 
 He cross'd that region wild and drear, 
 
 But welcome to his eyes appear, 
 
 The lofty woods, that form a bound, 
 
 Closing De Vere's old court around. 
 
 No vassal followers had he, 
 
 To claim their hospitality, 
 
 The noble stranger, all alone, 
 
 Stood at the pond'rous porch of stone. 
 
 The porter at his summons came, 
 
 And firmly asked the wanderer's name. 
 
 "Friend, you may tell Sir Ralph de Vere, 
 
 That Harry Percy waits him here." 
 
 " Oh ! welcome is that name to me," 
 
 (The porter humbly bent the knee,) 
 
 "Here loyal hearts will shelter thee." 
 
 And greeting kind, and welcome warm, 
 Within that sanctuary calm, 
 The ardent warrior met.
 
 PART THIRD. 17 
 
 And secret converse, long and grave, 
 How Richard's falling cause to save. 
 Though redder glow'd the sanguine Rose, 
 Triumphant over secret foes ; 
 Lancastrian Henry, tremble thou, 
 For York's pale ensign yet may throw 
 
 A shadow o'er thy state ; — 
 Northumberland's proud banners frown, 
 Defiance to thy tottering throne ; 
 
 And loyal hearts but wait, 
 The sign from Harry Percy's hand, 
 To raise a war-note through the land ! 
 
 And Agnes gave a listening ear, 
 Fast gathering in her eyes the tear, 
 
 Over her country's woe ; 
 And Percy saw the glistening gem, 
 And worthy of a diadem, 
 
 He thought her graceful brow. — 
 In Vere's deep shades he linger'd long, 
 Those peaceful bowers and glades among. 
 There was a charm still bound him there, 
 And soothed awhile his spirit's care; 
 
 C
 
 18 THE NUN. 
 
 When echo from the valley lone, 
 Brought hut the ring-dove's plaintive tone, 
 Mix'd with some gliding streamlet's sound, 
 With reeds and water lilies bound ; 
 The tiny bridge, that spann'd it o'er, 
 The wild flowers, that the meadows bore, 
 The narrow walk the greenwood through, 
 The leafy arch that o'er it grew, 
 The twilight hour of mellow'd hues, 
 And " grey-eyed morning," weeping dews ; 
 With moonlit scenes, where paley light 
 Showed Thornton's distant towers all bright, 
 And proudly rising to the sky, 
 In all their dark supremacy. 
 
 When o'er the dimly shadow'd grove, 
 Nought, save the waving branches move, 
 Two forms within the casement stood, 
 Watching how far the silver flood 
 Of moonlight, rested on the scene, 
 Where their calm evening walk had been. 
 What bound him as by magic spell ? 
 Sweet Agnes, thou alone couldst tell !
 
 PART THIRD. 19 
 
 Earth had no charm in after life, 
 
 With pining care and sorrow rife — 
 
 No scene of joy, however fair, 
 
 That could with those swift hours compare; 
 
 "When early love, with trusting faith, 
 
 Had felt not how the withering breath 
 
 Of time and absence, dimm'd their day, 
 
 And stole from life its charm away, 
 
 As one by one their hopes decay ! 
 
 And how like "morning's winged dream," 
 
 Did those past hours in memory seem, 
 
 Unreal, bright, not made to bear 
 
 The bleak world's cold ungenial air, 
 
 A ray that gilded life's fair dawn, 
 
 Down time's long lingering vale withdrawn. 
 
 Conspiracy was gathering head, 
 And boldly did their banners spread, 
 And Ralph de Vere's dark counsels were, 
 For York's true cause each life to dare ; 
 
 And Percy vow'd that day, — 
 To shed his life-blood, to pluck down, 
 The ingrate from King Richard's throne; 
 
 Low in the dust to lay, —
 
 20 THE NUN. 
 
 E'en Bolingbroke's dominion wide, 
 And Harry Monmouth's brow of pride. 
 Did Agnes hail that stormy hour, 
 
 And bid them to the conflict hie? 
 Oh no ! Oh no ! words have not power 
 
 To tell her bosom's agony : — 
 But Percy's fond and sad farewell 
 The sorrows of that day may tell. 
 
 " Nay, chase not yet thy tears away, 
 
 That mournful smile I love to see, 
 I would not have thee to be gay, 
 Nor Agnes on our parting day, 
 
 To think on aught but me. 
 I would not have thee e'er forget 
 
 What ne'er again may be, — 
 The swift-wing'd hours when we have met, 
 Whene'er the golden sun shall set, 
 
 'Twill 'mind me still of thee. 
 
 For opening flowers and morning beams, 
 And things that fairest be,
 
 PART THIRD. 21 
 
 The wan bright stars, and moonlight gleams, 
 That raise the thought to heavenly themes, 
 
 Will 'mind me still of thee. 
 Then hush to rest thy anxious sighs, 
 
 Where'er my course may be, 
 No earthly charm can greet my eyes, 
 No form before my memory rise, 
 
 One half so dear as thee ! "
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 " Bring me a father that so loved his child, 
 Whose joy of her is ovenvhelm'd like mine , 
 And bid him speak of patience." 
 
 Much Ado aboit Nothing. 
 
 The towers of Thornton's monastry, 
 From Vere's far precincts you might see, 
 Rising proudly o'er the scene, 
 The woody vale that lay between, 
 Was intersected here and there 
 "With winding paths, where pilgrims stray, 
 And ask for shelter on their way. 
 And up the long green avenue, 
 
 Sir Ralph de Vere was slowly wending; — 
 When near the pond'rous gate he drew, 
 
 He cross'd himself, and humbly bending, 
 Made obeisance low; — 
 Where high above the Abbey gate, 
 Were figures ranged in sculptured state — 
 An awe-inspiring show.
 
 PART FOURTH. 23 
 
 He rang the bell — the hollow sound 
 Woke echo from the silence round ! 
 
 " Abbot of Thornton, fare ye well, 
 I may not now the reason tell, 
 
 Why I your blessing crave ; — 
 But stormy times are gathering near! 
 Start not — you have no cause of fear ; — 
 
 The sword of war may wave, 
 But near your sanctuary calm, 
 Shall come no scathe, nor cause of harm — 
 Though faction's wildest rage, 
 Should at your very gates appear 
 'Twould pass you by, — religion's name, 
 Would shield your roof, from sword and name: 
 Then, father, let your prayers be given, 
 To win for me the care of heaven !" 
 
 The Abbot raised his cautious eye, 
 
 And cross' d himself with holiest seeming, 
 
 And heaved a deep and heavy sigh; 
 As if some woeful meaning, 
 
 Were in the wild and hurried tone, 
 
 And careless guise, the Knight had shown.
 
 24 THE NUN. 
 
 "Yes, murmur'd sounds have reach'd us here, 
 
 Of proud rebellion's gathering sound, 
 You say we have no cause of fear, 
 
 In Thornton's home of peace profound ; 
 But soon may discord's clarion rude, 
 Bring dire confusion, death, or feud, 
 On this, our sacred solitude. 
 And thou, Sir Knight, hast set thine all, 
 
 Upon this fearfull strife, 
 And if thou shouldst in battle fall, 
 
 Then may eternal life 
 Be thine; our masses daily said, 
 Will safety on thy journey shed, 
 And when thy term on earth expires, 
 
 Thy trembling soul shall speed 
 From purgatory's awful fires, 
 
 By our petitions freed. 
 But to this convent, Ralph de Vere, 
 
 Must lands of thine be given, 
 Before our prayers and masses here 
 
 Can win thy soul its heaven; 
 And if thou shouldst in safety come 
 
 From the red battle field, 
 And victory grace thy welcome home, 
 
 And the Red Rose should yield,
 
 PART FOURTH. 25 
 
 What gift hast thou for heaven prepared ? 
 There is one flower thy home has shared — 
 
 The gentle maid sweet Agnes Vere; — 
 Before the world a blight has shed, 
 Upon her unpolluted head, 
 
 (Nay, brush away that tear,) 
 A sacrifice full meet were she, 
 A heaven-devoted one to be. 
 So, shouldst thou fall, thy lasting rest, 
 
 In heaven will surely be ; — 
 And shouldst thou come with victory blest, 
 
 What could we fairer see, 
 Than thy sweet flower transplanted where, 
 She will be heaven's peculiar care, 
 Breathing on earth celestial air ! " 
 
 Fearful the strife of feelings keen, 
 
 Within the warrior's bosom, seen 
 
 By One, whose eye could also see, 
 
 The sanctimonious mockery, 
 
 That claim' d a bribe for every prayer, 
 
 In which no parted soul may share. 
 
 Why does he draw his beaver low, 
 
 And o'er his steed's proud trappings bow?
 
 26 THE NUN. 
 
 And stem the tide of holiest feeling, 
 
 To all a parent's love appealing. 
 
 But, nature claim'd her hour, and tears 
 
 Were gushing from the soldier's eye, 
 As the deep love of by-gone years 
 
 In sad review went by. 
 
 "Abbot, thou hast required a gift, 
 
 Far, dearer far, than ought beside; 
 My gentle flower ! of thee bereft, 
 
 Where can my widow'd heart confide 
 The weary care — the passions' strife, 
 The thousand ills that wait on life ? 
 But be it so," He raised his eyes, 
 With tears still humid, to the skies : — 
 " If heaven demands my only treasure, 
 
 My last and best, Oh! what can e'er 
 Awake again the throb of pleasure, 
 
 Or my bereaved spirit cheer? 
 The fairy step, the beaming eye, 
 
 Her sainted mother's chastened smile, 
 That 'minds me of the days gone by ; — 
 
 Who will my lonely hours beguile ?
 
 PART FOURTH. 27 
 
 Nay, father, frown not on my grief, 
 And my vain tears, they shall be brief, — 
 The last these eyes may ever shed, 
 For ere down in his ocean bed, 
 
 To-morrow's sun may fall ; 
 Old Ralph de Vere may lowly lie, 
 Clad in his armour's panoply, 
 And requiem notes be swelling high, 
 
 Above my funeral pall ! 
 Or should proud victory grace my brow, 
 Like Israel's chief, my heart will glow 
 
 With mingled joy and woe: 
 Like his, my sacrifice must rise 
 Of costly incense, to the skies — 
 
 But, heaven demands, and be it so ! "
 
 PART FIFTH. 
 
 " And if the world hath loved thee not, 
 Its absence may be borne." 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 "In vain 
 He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop shell." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Twelve weary moons had roll'd away 
 O'er Agnes, since the fatal day, 
 When her reluctant vows were paid, 
 A Nun in Gokeshill's convent made. 
 But her lone heart was still repining, 
 O'er all she fain would he resigning,— 
 Fain would all earth's affections leave, 
 And cease o'er blighted hope to grieve; 
 And turn away from pictures fair, 
 That memory brought of things that were : 
 But failing hreath, and pallid cheek, 
 And languid frame, all plainly speak, 
 Release was near from earthly woe, 
 From convent, penance, and from vow.
 
 PART FIFTH. 29 
 
 Oh! welcome to the weary breast, 
 Within the peaceful grave to rest ! 
 To 'scape from life, and wander free, 
 Throughout heaven's fair infinity ; 
 The wretched sigh for that far shore, 
 Where worldly strife shall vex no more ; 
 To leave behind all tears and woe, 
 Far, far beyond the stars to go ! 
 
 Unmindful of a mortal's tear, 
 
 In its calm course revolved the year; 
 
 And Spring return'd, with snow-drops pale, 
 
 And violets clust'ring round her brow, 
 With primroses, that never fail 
 
 Upon the sloping bank to grow; 
 And the bright Summer's fervid hours, 
 Were hast'ning on to deck the bowers 
 With flowery beauty, of all hues, 
 The children of the sun diffuse 
 Their many odours. Who may tell 
 What memories in her bosom swell ? 
 As Agnes through the garden stray' d, 
 (Herself a lily soon to fade,)
 
 30 THE NUN. 
 
 And saw thick clustering roses blow, 
 Of every shade, in fragrant row. 
 Why, queen of flowers, did she pass by 
 Thy tender bloom, and turn her eye 
 On thy pale rival, growing near, 
 And drop upon its leaves a tear? 
 And ever find that modest flower 
 Bring to her lonely heart, the hour, 
 When life-long vows ne'er clouded o'er, 
 The light her early visions wore. 
 Oh ! mystic power of memory ! 
 Still must thy garb of mourning be — 
 And thou, a pensive watcher, dwelling 
 
 By glimmering shades, or moonlight sheen, 
 Thy spirit voice for ever telling, 
 
 Of all the pleasures that have been ! 
 
 Within that convent's lonely shade, 
 
 Was many a Nun whose vows were paid 
 
 Meekly, and willingly; — 
 World-wearied ones, who sought no more, 
 Earth's vain delusions to explore, 
 
 And only wish'd to die.
 
 PART FIFTH. 31 
 
 From worldly care for ever given, 
 
 At peace with all, and seeking heaven. 
 
 And there, the broken-hearted found, 
 
 Or, thought they found, a place of rest ; — 
 And sought to ease the lasting wound 
 
 "Within each aching breast, 
 By vows, and solitude, and prayer, 
 Forgetting blighted prospects there ! 
 And they, once gayest of the gay, 
 
 At masque or tournament, 
 Had quitted pleasure's restless way, 
 In solitary paths to stray, 
 
 On heavenly thoughts intent. 
 And others to that shelter fled, 
 
 From want, and woe, and crime ; — 
 To cover a defenceless head, 
 
 From the bleak storms of time. 
 There, would the weary wordling fly, 
 Finding that all was vanity ! 
 
 Fair morning spread her softest ray, 
 The dewy woods with breezes shook ; 
 
 No sound did through those woodlands stray, 
 Except the brawling brook
 
 32 THE NUN. 
 
 Speeding its restless course along, 
 Gay wild flowers, and the sedge among. 
 And Agnes, from her window high, 
 Was gazing on the lovely scene; 
 No living form could she descry, 
 
 Save that hut faintly seen — 
 A traveller is hastening near, 
 Who seems a pilgrim's garb to wear: 
 With head erect, and step of pride, 
 He comes the nunnery gate beside, 
 With staff, and scrip, and scallop shell :- 
 But as the early matin bell, 
 Rung out its music sweet, 
 The stranger raised his eyes in air 
 His orisons to utter there, — 
 
 And he is resting by the gate, 
 His hand upon his weary brow, 
 The Abbess would his errand know. 
 
 " Tell wherefore bound, lone pilgrim say, 
 And rest thy toil-worn feet awhile, 
 
 For sultry is the coming day — 
 Thy converse will the hours beguile:
 
 PART FIFTH. 33 
 
 And art thou bound for Palestine? 
 
 That holiest spot beneath the sun! 
 A blessed pilgrimage is thine, 
 
 A heavenly course hast thou begun ; — 
 But, pilgrim, when thy journey lies, 
 
 Over the Syrian plains, 
 Where Judah's lofty palm trees rise, 
 Beneath the sultry eastern skies, 
 
 Let memory bring again, — 
 The shelter calm, the prayers to heaven 
 For thee, in GokeshilTs convent given." 
 
 " Lady, my grateful thanks be thine — 
 
 A weary wanderer I, 
 A wasting sorrow ever mine, 
 And bound to a far distant shrine, 
 
 My lonely destiny. 
 Why should I pain your gentle ear, 
 Or draw from holy eyes a tear, 
 
 By telling all my woe ? 
 Suffice that I your shelter need, 
 Your prayers my onward course to speed, 
 And ever, of your fost'ring care, 
 
 Remembrance will the pilgrim bear." 
 
 D
 
 34 THE NUN. 
 
 One searching glance around he cast — 
 
 That strange and weary one, — 
 And as each Nun before him past, 
 His gaze was fix'd upon the last — 
 Who as she slowly glided by, 
 And turn'd her sympathising eye 
 
 Upon the lonely man, — 
 Why did she start, with changing hue ? 
 One pallid rose the stranger threw 
 Before her feet, then raised his eyes— 
 'Twas Percy— under pilgrim's guise!
 
 PART SIXTH. 
 
 " Now the night grows deep, 
 And silent as its clouds, and full of sleep." 
 
 " Hark ! a bell's slow chime : 
 My heart strikes with it. Yet again, — 'tis time ! 
 A step — a voice." 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 The convent bells are chiming slow, 
 The Nuns to morning service go, 
 And their low anthem soft and clear 
 Comes sweetly on the listening ear. 
 The faultering voice and changing cheek, 
 And fluttering heart alone bespeak 
 Thy waking hope, sweet Agnes Vere ! 
 Thy doubt, thy joy : was Percy near ? 
 Long loved — long lost — and found again, 
 
 When a deep gulf must part them ever; 
 And yet it was a pleasing pain, 
 
 Once more that face to see, though never, 
 Could former things again intrude, 
 On her chill'd bosom's solitude!
 
 36 THE NUN. 
 
 The day wore on, and twilight dews, 
 
 Did their still influence diffuse ; 
 
 The flowers their silky leaves were closing 
 
 The birds in dusky bowers reposing, 
 
 Afar, afar, sweet Philomel, 
 
 Did her melodious measure swell : 
 
 And branches threw a deeper shade, 
 
 Where the low night-breeze on them play'd. 
 
 Agnes was listening to each sound, 
 
 That broke the deepening silence round, 
 
 For Hope — the syren, whispered yet, — 
 
 Can Percy, I am near, forget ; 
 
 Will he depart without a word? — 
 
 Was it the wind the branches stirr'd? — 
 
 And whose the step, that softly falls 
 
 Stealthily near the convent walls ? 
 
 Who was the stranger standing there, 
 
 Array' d in pilgrim's guise ? 
 'Twas Percy's self, the martial air, 
 
 The earnest voice, the beaming eyes — 
 All, all returned — again to bring, 
 
 Long banish'd hope, her soul to cheer; 
 She knew it was a fearful thing 
 
 Those words again to hear.
 
 PART SIXTH. 37 
 
 " Agnes, the palmer's weeds I wear, 
 
 To thee are no disguise, 
 I read it in thy gathering tear — 
 
 Thy recognizing eyes ; 
 And in thy faded looks I see, 
 What makes thee dearer still to me : 
 A love unchanged, a heart as true, 
 As when our young affection grew, 
 
 In thy ancestral howers ; 
 Oh, brief the time is now to tell, 
 How fondly I have loved — how well — 
 
 How dwelt upon those hours! 
 How I have mourn'd thy selfish guile, 
 Abbot of Thornton, and the wile 
 That snared my bird — a captive now, 
 And fetter' d with a life-long vow. 
 I know thy very soul rebels, 
 At all the mummery that dwells 
 Within these walls. Thou shalt be free 
 From this religious mockery ! 
 Then fly with me, where bigot power 
 Can never reach us more; — 
 Oh fly with me! — within an hour, 
 The chance of freedom o'er,
 
 38 THE NUN. 
 
 Morning will bring the weary day, 
 Thy pilgrim will be far away. 
 Onward our course, for we will dwell 
 
 In Piedmont's vallies lone, 
 And leave thy beads and narrow cell, 
 
 O'er the blue waters borne. — 
 How sweetly calm our lives will glide, 
 Beneath some mountain's flowery side : 
 Like a clear stream, our lives will flow, 
 Without a cloud." "No, Percy, no, 
 I may not — dare not — break the chain 
 That binds me with hard links of pain ; 
 Enough for me to know thy love 
 
 True and unchanged as ever; 
 But there are bands around me wove, 
 
 I may not — dare not sever ! 
 My cheek may fade, my heart may break, 
 
 My weary spirit long to fly 
 From mortal woe, its rest to seek, 
 
 Beyond yon starry canopy ! 
 But the dread vow these lips have spoken, 
 May never save by death be broken : 
 For my fond father's safety given, 
 An offering is my soul to heaven ; —
 
 PART FIFTH. 
 
 How would his very spirit die, 
 
 In self-accusing agony, 
 
 Should Agnes Vere seek to be free 
 
 From her dread vow, and fly with thee !" 
 
 But eloquent was Percy's tongue, 
 
 Urging that vows without the will, 
 Must in the eye of heaven be wrong : — 
 
 Seeking to justify them still ; 
 Wavering — unfis'd — and chill'd with fear, 
 The Nun still gave a trembling ear, 
 As Percy sought her soul to cheer. 
 " I tell thee when the roses die, 
 And Autumn clouds are in the sky, 
 Thy Percy will again be nigh. — 
 Then promise me, I may not stay, 
 For the night wanes." — " Away, away : 
 Oh! dark would be my early doom, 
 A fearful death or dungeon's gloom, 
 If thou wert known. Yet, Percy tell, 
 If this will be our last farewell? 
 Before the time when earthly pain, 
 And earthly sorrow will be o'er, 
 
 39
 
 40 THE NUN. 
 
 When parted ones will meet again, 
 
 Beyond time's rough and billowy shore." 
 "Agnes believe, Oh! still believe, 
 All that my heart's deep love would breathe- 
 In life, in death, I will be true ; 
 But morning breaks, adieu ! adieu ! "
 
 PART SEVENTH. 
 
 "That tear, Ophelia, has not long to flow, 
 That voice to murmur, or that sigh to heave." 
 
 J AGO. 
 
 Some hearts can brave the storms of fate, 
 Live on, though chill'd and desolate; 
 And though life's early dream be faded, 
 The colours in their landscapes shaded, 
 And the grey years move slowly on — 
 Youth's glowing hopes, and visions gone; — 
 They gladly hail the sober ray, 
 That coldly lights their after day; 
 Live to forget how brightly fair, 
 The hours of happy morning were, 
 That fade, and fade in memory's eye, 
 Till like some pageant long pass'd by, 
 
 Oblivion's cloud, — 
 Steals darkly o'er the fairy scene, 
 Where youth's unworldly joys have been ! 
 
 Some heads have bow'd, 
 Beneath the overwhelming stroke ; 
 And the full heart at once hath broke : —
 
 42 THE NUN. 
 
 And some of softer, gentler clay, 
 From one dark hour, droop, fade away ; 
 Desire not life, — nor hope, nor fear, 
 Their desolated bosoms cheer. 
 Of such was Agnes, all too keen, 
 The contest in her soul had been — 
 The war of feelings in that breast, 
 Soon in the grave's deep calm to rest ; 
 And thus she mused, as day by day, 
 Each earthly charm dissolved away. 
 
 "Let me believe, beyond the dreary tomb, 
 That death-dissever' d ones, uniled dwell ; 
 
 That to a blest communion they come, 
 Bidding to every care a long farewell. 
 
 I will believe — or wherefore lives the thought, 
 Still hallowing remembrance of the dead — 
 
 A gleam of future joy seems ever brought, 
 Light o'er this gloomy wilderness to shed. 
 
 I will believe, beyond this vale of tears, 
 The heart's lost treasures meet to part no more, 
 
 Beyond the narrow bound of circling years, — 
 Changeless affections live upon that shore!
 
 PART SEVENTH. 43 
 
 And one departed shade seems beckoning me, 
 With an unearthly radiance round her thrown, 
 
 Where bowers of Amaranth, for aye will be — 
 A world whose lasting bliss, is all her own. 
 
 Support me through this dreary conflict, Thou, — 
 Who bore for us the weight of mortal pain, 
 
 To Thy behest for ever let me bow, 
 And life eternal in Thy presence gain ! " 
 
 " Daughter, I grieve," the Abbess said, 
 (And her cold glance on Agnes shed 
 
 Unsympathising light,) 
 "To see thee turn a careless eye, 
 And with indifference pass by, 
 
 Yon dazzling height, 
 Where stands our patron meek. Oh ! pray 
 To all the saints, that but one ray, 
 Of the true faith thy soul may win, 
 From dark rebellion's grievous sin! 
 Thy thoughts are to some memory given :— 
 Daughter, if unconfess'd, unshriven, 
 
 Thy term of life expires,
 
 44 THE NUN. 
 
 Not even masses daily said, 
 Nor all our prayers for heavenly aid, 
 Will save thee from eternal fires : — 
 Then haste thee to confession, fall 
 Low on thy knees, — unhurthen all, 
 Thy secret woe, thy hope, thy fear, 
 In father Anselm's patient ear — 
 Then should thy soul be call'd away, 
 From its frail tenement of clay, 
 We shall have hope — yes, e'en for thee : — 
 Abjure that sinful heresy, 
 That would the sacred book explore, 
 Read, judge, and search its mysteries o'er, 
 Which Holy Church forbids." The Nun, 
 Was standing where the sun-beams shone, 
 On a stone cross, that rearM on high, 
 Prefigured that dread agony 
 The world's Divine Redeemer knew; 
 Around that cross her arm she threw, 
 With bended knee, in humble prayer, 
 All her dependence offered there! 
 
 " Oh, urge me not," the mourner said, 
 And to the Abbess turn'd her head,
 
 PART SEVENTH. 45 
 
 And stemm'd the bitter tear that rose; 
 " One only hope this bosom knows ! 
 One faith, one trust, one Advocate ; — 
 All earthly solace comes too late, 
 Soon will this fluttering pulse be still, 
 
 And this pale cheek be paler grown ; 
 And holy ire may work its will 
 
 Upon the senseless stone — 
 That soon will hide the every tear — 
 The earthly woe of Agnes Vere ! 
 Yes ! I have mark'd the page of truth, 
 And read it in my joyous youth; 
 From it derived my hopes above, 
 Reliance on that Saviour's love, 
 Who bade us search therein, and know, 
 Eternal life its precepts show. 
 Who bade the weary rest in Him, 
 
 And the o'er-burden'd soul its care : — 
 And like the voice of Cherubim, 
 
 To me those holy precepts were ! 
 They guard my heart from shrinking fear, 
 Though early death is hastening near: 
 And, Lady, bid me not confess 
 All my poor heart's sad guiltiness,
 
 46 THE NUN. 
 
 To one of mortal mould; — alone, 
 I humbly bring it to that throne, 
 Where love Divine, that once for me 
 Did put on frail mortality, 
 Will ever pitying mercy show, 
 To His frail erring creatures' woe; 
 In Him alone my hope, — while deep, 
 Within my grave, let memories sleep, 
 That tell how soon my sunny day, 
 Faded among dark clouds away ! "
 
 PART EIGHTH. 
 
 " Peace to the lovely spirit flown ; 
 Itwas not form'd for earth ! " 
 
 Mks. Hemans. 
 
 Bright Summer's flowers are faded all, 
 And the dark leaves of Autumn fall, 
 And driven by the chilly breeze, 
 They rustle from the old oak trees, 
 That round proud Thornton's green domain 
 
 Their many-colour'd hues display ; 
 And threatening Winter once again, 
 
 Stole beauty from the shortening day. 
 
 Adjacent to that monastry ; 
 
 The white walls of a church arose, 
 And down the long aisles you might see, 
 
 Where forms of other days repose, 
 O'er arched columns rising high, 
 The Gothic windows tracery, — 
 The crosses carved on every tomb — 
 The sun-light shaded into gloom,
 
 48 THE NUN. 
 
 And the high altar's place of state. 
 
 The dusky eve was waxing late, 
 
 And dimly lighted was the choir, 
 
 As the cold beams of day retire. 
 
 A newly open'd grave was there ; 
 
 And by their lamps' uncertain glare, 
 
 Two Monks, in converse deep and low, 
 
 Were murmuring of unwilling vow, 
 
 Of disobedient heresy, 
 
 And all the sins that darkest be, 
 
 Of one whose mortal part might lay, 
 
 Deep, deep in consecrated clay, 
 
 But for whose soul must many a prayer, 
 
 And intercession rise in air, 
 
 Before its flight could heaven-ward be, 
 
 From all earth's low defilements free. 
 
 "They say that sister Agnes pined, 
 And her sad thoughts to death resign'd, 
 E'er since the day a stranger came, 
 
 Clad as a palmer grey. — 
 Suspicion whispers that his name, 
 
 "Was one she loved for many a day!" 
 "Cease, brother, cease this slander pray,
 
 PART EIGHTH, 49 
 
 Prom the foul tongue of calumny, 
 Still let the grave a shelter be ! " 
 Said father Jerome, with a sigh, 
 And pass'd the tomb in sorrow by. 
 
 But faintly borne upon the gale, 
 
 A melancholy note is swelling, 
 As nearer comes the funeral wail, 
 
 Of Agnes Vere's departure telling; — 
 And through the fading woods are wending, 
 
 The train of sisters fair, 
 Their voices in soft cadence blending, 
 
 With the low requiem chaunted there. 
 Back roll the gates, — the untimely bier 
 Aloft is borne, while not one tear, 
 Abbot of Thornton was revealing 
 Thy bitter and remorseful feeling : — 
 That the sweet flower all faded now, 
 With pallid lips, and marble brow, 
 Once bloom' d in her paternal bower : — 
 And long had bloom' d, had not thy power, 
 Shut out life's sunshine, — to entomb, 
 In a lone convent's lasting gloom, 
 
 E
 
 50 THE NUN. 
 
 That plant of innocence and truth. — 
 Darkly above her smiling youth, 
 The shadows of the grave to cast. — 
 The solemn train the portal past, 
 And enter where their torches gleam, 
 With bright and ever-waving beam, 
 Over the knight in armour drest ; 
 
 With hands uprais'd in prayer, 
 The cross reclin'd on every breast 
 
 Of the still dwellers there ; — 
 Symbol of hope ! through ages dim, 
 
 Through all earth's want and woe, 
 Still may our only trust be Him 
 
 Who drank for men below, 
 The bitter cup. Oh! Light Divine, 
 We ask no other aid than Thine, — 
 To keep us from each error free, 
 In the bright path that leads to Tbee! 
 
 But mournful was the harmony, 
 Of the Nun's funeral melody, 
 Wildly chaunted there : — 
 " Virgin Mother hear our prayer,
 
 t'ART EIGHTH. 51 
 
 And for Jesus' sake befriend us, 
 All thy holy saints attend us. 
 Take our sister to thy rest, 
 Leave her not alone — unblest : 
 We will masses daily say, 
 Sprinkling o'er her lifeless clay, 
 Holy water day by day, 
 That in heaven thou may'st receive her, 
 And from mortal woe relieve her, 
 And from sin her soul deliver ; 
 Holy Mary, hear us ever! " 
 Dust on dust has sounded there, 
 Over her, the young and fair; 
 And the sisters take their way, 
 By the torches' quivering ray — 
 Where the moon was riding high, 
 Where fleecy clouds were sailing by — 
 And that flood of silvery light, 
 Drest in colours cold and bright, 
 Gliding Nun, and portal wide; — 
 While her peerless form beside, 
 Twinkled many a glittering star, 
 In the deep blue heaven afar.
 
 PART NINTH. 
 
 " They set a small stone on her grave, 
 Orate, — that was all it said. — 
 Orate, — hie pro me!" 
 
 The Troubadour. 
 
 "Though all the world forget beside, 
 "Tis meet that I remember still." 
 
 Bykon. 
 
 There came that eve to Gokeshill's tower, 
 A pilgrim in the twilight hour ; 
 But deeper silence reign' d around, 
 And dreary vacancy he found — 
 While garden, hower, and cloister lone, 
 Seem'd only desolation's throne. 
 
 Why should he linger there? 
 But wandering on, he pass'd the train 
 Returning, while their mournful strain, 
 
 Died softly on the air. 
 Some presage dark his fancy knew, 
 As near the lofty walls he drew— 
 (The place of burial, that rose 
 In beauty rare, — now ruin shows,
 
 PART NINTH. 53 
 
 Only what once has been, 
 
 In mossy stones among the hillocks green ! ) 
 
 Through the dark choir, one gliding form, 
 
 Could Percy's eye alone discern, 
 
 And father Jerome's stately height, 
 
 Solemnly, slowly, came in sight. 
 
 " Oh ! tell me quickly, father pray, 
 
 For whom that recent tomb ; and say, 
 
 Why in the evening dim, — 
 I met, forth issuing from the gate, 
 The Nuns array' d in funeral state, 
 
 Chaunting their solemn hymn?" 
 "It is because some withering blight, 
 
 Has laid in earth a faded flower, — 
 It is because, on this sad night, 
 
 Within this very hour, 
 To the darksome grave we bore her, 
 Holy dust we scatter'd o'er her, 
 Ave-Marias we have said, 
 Over her untimely bed. 
 Cankering grief, as it should seem, 
 Or some secret care I ween, 
 Robb'd us of a youthful Nun, 
 Ere her heavenly course begun.
 
 54 THE NITN. 
 
 Some will whisper that her soul, 
 
 Ne'er can reach the blessed goal, — 
 
 For her vow was all unwilling, 
 
 A father's promise but fulfilling. 
 
 And I have mark'd — " " Cease, father cease. 
 
 And let her spirit rest in peace: — 
 
 But what her name ? quick — let me hear." 
 
 " Stranger, the Nun was Agnes Vere !" 
 
 Some moments are so full of woe, 
 
 So fraught with feeling's bitter pain, 
 The very tears refuse to flow : — 
 
 But pressing on the throbbing brain 
 Come whelming sorrows dark and dire, 
 With deep regrets that ne'er expire ! — 
 Surprise, and grief, and wild despair, 
 Were written in the pilgrim's air, — 
 His palmer's cap, with scallop shell, 
 
 Quickly upon the ground he threw, — 
 " Oh, lady mine, farewell, — farewell ! 
 
 My fairest — best — a long adieu ! 
 A spirit bright beyond the sky, 
 I know will be thy destiny.
 
 PART MiNTH. 55 
 
 But thou hast left, for ever left, 
 
 Thy Percy of all joy bereft ! 
 
 Henceforth to me a lovely dream, 
 
 Fair spirit, will thy memory seem — 
 
 A star that cheer'd my darkening day, 
 
 A vision bright, that pass'd away, 
 
 A transient, unforgotten ray ! 
 
 And now a weary lot is mine, 
 
 Thy grave shall be my only shrine: 
 
 For thee a palmer's weeds I wore, 
 
 My love's sad pilgrimage is o'er ! 
 
 Wonder not, Friar, at my woe, 
 
 My heart's best treasure lies below : — 
 
 A fonder heart did never break. 
 
 But, Friar, language is too weak, 
 
 To tell how good, and true, and fair, 
 
 "Was the cold sleeper buried there! 
 
 But rest in peace, thou broken flower, 
 
 Victim to superstition's power ! 
 
 Henceforth my stormy path will be, 
 
 Far, far, my buried one, from thee ! 
 
 But deeply in my soul shall dwell, 
 
 Thy memory, love : — Farewell ! farewell !"
 
 PART TENTH. 
 
 ■" Ha ! 
 Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?" 
 
 " Yet, for all this say not that Percy's dead." 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 Time steals away the tender hue, 
 
 That rested on life's opening dawn, 
 "When the clear sky seem'd ever blue : 
 
 Alas ! how soon upon that morn, 
 Comes the high noon of toil and strife, — 
 The bustle and the care of life; 
 And on that hard and beaten way, 
 The rosy hues of life decay ! 
 Years roll'd along, Lord Percy's name, 
 "Was foremost in the ranks of fame — 
 
 A warrior bold and stern ; — 
 "Who still where danger threaten'd, stood. 
 Of generous, but of changeful mood, — 
 
 Observers might discern, — 
 A reckless daring, as if life 
 Return'd no charm, — the battle's strife
 
 PART TENTH. 57 
 
 Relieved the secret woe — 
 
 The lurking memory, or whate'er 
 It was, that mark'd his noble brow 
 
 With the sad look that mourners wear! 
 
 The sanguine Rose was proudly waving 
 
 In many a crest on Humbria's shore, 
 The Yorkists all their strength were saving 
 
 To meet on Bramham Moor. 
 Northumberland his legion draws, 
 Once more to aid a falling cause ; 
 And Baron bold, and armed Knight, 
 Were mustering ready for the fight. 
 From many a moated castle tower, 
 
 Forth issuing with his vassal train, 
 Came the brave Chief, in pomp and power. 
 
 Ne'er to return again ! 
 The draw-bridge echo'd to their feet, 
 And gaily pranced their coursers fleet, 
 
 And loud the trumpet rang ! 
 Alas ! Alas ! time slowly sheds, 
 Oblivion on their dusty beds ; 
 
 In place of armour's clang,
 
 58 THE NUN. 
 
 The lonely birds of night complain, 
 Where ruin holds a silent reign ! 
 
 And Percy had his plighted vow 
 
 To Mortimer's young sister given — 
 A gentler lady, not below 
 
 The ambient arch of heaven. 
 She saw him march from Alnwick's towers, 
 And muster all his warlike powers, 
 
 And wav'd her last adieu ! 
 As winding far away she saw, 
 The warrior train from sight withdraw. 
 
 But when shut out from view, 
 Long, long she wept, and felt that ne'er, 
 Had Harry Percy been so dear. 
 
 And cheerly, cheerly, their bugles rang 
 Through the old woods that morn, 
 
 Rousing the lark, who upward sprang 
 On floating zephyr borne. 
 
 But victory crown' d their haughty foes, 
 And scatter' d wide dismay,
 
 PART TENTH. 59 
 
 For York's pale badge, the milk-white Rose 
 
 Was trampled on that day. 
 And dewy eve, in tears did grieve, 
 
 For the loyal and the true, 
 A leaden sleep, did seem to keep, 
 
 When night-winds round them blew. 
 Watch, Lady Percy, watch no more ! 
 The fight is o'er on Bramham Moor; 
 For winding up the narrow dell, 
 Comes one, the heavy tale to tell ; 
 Fighting against a host of foes, 
 His spirit reach' d its earthly close. 
 With martial pomp they deck'd his grave, 
 And o'er him haughty banners wave. 
 
 And now beneath a Gothic dome, 
 They show the noble Percy's tomb : — 
 With hands together join'd in prayer, 
 A marble form is lying there : — 
 And there, a dim "religious light," 
 From the rich painted windows' height, 
 Duskily on the warrior sleeps, 
 Where no returning mourner weep*.
 
 60 THE NUN. 
 
 Ah no! for Time's resistless sway, 
 Sweeps even Percy's fame away! 
 And, wanderer, wouldst thou wish to trace, 
 Where Thornton stands in hoary grace, 
 
 Bedeck'd with ivy wreath ; — 
 All silent will thy welcome he, — 
 The wild wind through the old oak tree, 
 
 To fancy's ear will breathe ; — 
 Of long past things, that claim a tear, 
 For Percy, and sweet Agnes Vere ! 
 
 Mourn not to see grey ruin lie, 
 On the proud convent's majesty — 
 To mark decay usurp the scene, 
 Where once monastic pomp has been; — 
 Oh, mourn not this ! for centuries past, 
 With time's soft beauty o'er them cast, 
 Give not to view the chain that bound, 
 Pale superstition's votaries round, — 
 The errors dark, the thraldom dread, 
 That gather'd on each victim's head ; 
 But pray that o'er the land may come, 
 No more the tyrant rule of Rome. —
 
 PART TENTH. 61 
 
 Search history's page,— the record well, 
 Of martyr'd saints will proudly tell, 
 Names hallow' d there, that never die, 
 Destined to shine immortally ! 
 Stars in our sky, that shed their light, 
 Far o'er the flitting clouds of night, 
 That seek to veil the lustre fair, 
 Of undiminish'd splendour there! 
 And He who gave them innate power, 
 To triumph in their tortur'd hour, 
 Will not forsake the faithful band, 
 Who round our sacred altars stand. 
 Still to defend that worship pure, 
 Built on the " Rock of Ages " sure 
 Oh, may it through all time endure !
 
 £atre& Jloems,

 
 '« Oh deem not 'mid this wordly strife, 
 An idle art the Poet brings!" 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 Sweet Poesy ! thou ever art to me, 
 As a green island in life's stormy sea, 
 Or a bright flower, far in some desert seen, 
 Dark frowning rocks and dreary wastes between ) 
 Thy voice is mingling with the breath of Spring, 
 By opening flowers, and brooklets murmuring. ' 
 Far from the haunts of care, and worldly thought, 
 In nature's realm is thy sweet influence caught ; 
 The leafy woodland, the embowering shade, 
 The rippling waters, and the silent glade, 
 Green shadowy haunts, where through the live- 
 long day, 
 The fluttering leaves and sighing breezes play ! 
 The starry heavens, the moonlight shadows deep, 
 That on the records of past glory sleep, 
 Wild meteor lights, that glance the heavens along, 
 The rainbow's hues, the parted clouds among, 
 ^is thine to listen, while old Ocean's roar 
 Breaks into murmurs on the pebbled shore $ 
 
 F
 
 66 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Where, among beetling rocks, the sea-gulls sweep, 
 
 Their snowy plumage o'er the billowy deep : 
 
 In sights and sounds, all nature owns thy power, 
 
 In the dark tempest, or the Summer hour — 
 
 In the hoarse gale, that curls the Winter flood, 
 
 Or still repose of hermit solitude; — 
 
 All earth's deep woes, its passions, and its fears, 
 
 Bereav'd affection with its bitter tears, 
 
 All hope, and love, and memory are thine, 
 
 All that can raise, ennoble, or refine. 
 
 Spirit! — still heavenward let thy notes aspire — 
 
 To the great source of beauty tune thy lyre ; 
 
 Life-soothing power, that with our being blends, 
 
 Hymn thou His praise, from whom all good descends.
 
 THE COURSE OF PROPHECY. 
 
 "But thou Bethlehem, Ephratah, though thou be little 
 among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall come he 
 forth unto me that is to Ire ruler in Israel ; whose goings forth 
 have been from of old, from everlasting." — Micah, v. 2. 
 
 Still the starry vault is bending, 
 
 O'er thee Bethlehem, as of yore, 
 And soft twilight dews descending, 
 
 Lull thee into rest once more. 
 
 Feelings, language ne'er may tell, 
 Fill the soul at sight of thee ; 
 
 Pilgrim, let thy musings dwell, 
 On thy Lord's nativity. 
 
 When, high in the midnight heaven, 
 Shone the long-expected star, 
 
 Hovering where that babe was given, 
 Hoped for, look'd for, from afar. 
 
 Yes! when first to Eden's bowers, 
 Sin brought sorrow, death, and woe, 
 
 And the darkly shaded hours, 
 Ceased in holy calm to flow,
 
 68 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Conscience-stain' d, and broken hearted, 
 
 When the first of human race, 
 From their glorious home departed, 
 
 To a sadder resting place- 
 Even then, remotely shining, 
 
 Came that beam through future years, 
 Hush'd to rest their vain repining, 
 
 Comforted their bitter tears. 
 
 To the Patriarch, humbly dwelling, 
 On far Canaan's tented plain, 
 
 Came the promise,— dimly telling 
 Of a future Saviour's reign. 
 
 In the desert's shadowy gloom, 
 To the meek and lonely man, 
 
 See ! the glorious vision come, 
 And unfold the wonderous plan. 
 
 This, with courage high inspired him, 
 In proud Egypt's court to stand— 
 
 This, with courage high, inspired him, 
 Leading on the chosen band.
 
 THE COURSE OF PROPHECY. 69 
 
 Turn to distant Araby, 
 
 Hear the shepherd chieftain's moan, 
 See him raise a suppliant eye, 
 
 And the world's Redeemer own. 
 
 Still, "beneath the vault of time," 
 
 Rolls that music louder still, 
 Far and wide, through every clime, 
 
 Some faint note, the breezes fill. 
 
 Clearer, louder, rose the song, 
 
 From the royal minstrel's lyre, 
 Thrill' d his harp's deep chords along, 
 
 Fraught with all a Prophet's fire! 
 
 Rapt Isaiah swell'd the strain, 
 
 Telling of the man of woe, 
 All the mockery, all the pain, 
 
 That the Mighty One would know. 
 
 Prophets told of One betray'd, 
 
 Yet, "from everlasting" born; 
 How in Bethlehem's humble shade, 
 
 Would Messiah's crown be worn.
 
 JO SACRED POEMS.. 
 
 How to sightless orbs that hand 
 Would the light of day restore — 
 
 How the lame again would stand, 
 And the deaf would hear once more. 
 
 Centuries pass' d— Ah! what that strain, 
 
 Rising upon the desert's gale, 
 That bids the faithful heart rejoice, 
 
 And turns the listener's cheek so pale? 
 
 Far in the wilderness, untir'd, 
 Arose the herald Prophet's cry, 
 
 " He comes !— He comes !— the long desired, 
 Repent, the Day Star is on high!" 
 
 Hope of all time, the " Prince of Peace," 
 Whose brow required no regal gem, 
 
 Who died to bring our woes release, 
 Was once the babe of Bethlehem i
 
 THE PALM TREE. 
 
 " And they came to Elim, where were twelve wells of 
 water, and threescore and ten palm trees, and they encamped 
 there by the waters."— Exodus, xv. 27. 
 
 Majestic Palm! — towering on Lebanon, 
 
 On Sinai's hallowed Mount abiding still, 
 And beautiful, as when upon thee shone, 
 
 The lightning gleam that mark'd the sacred hill. 
 Thy graceful branches fall o'er lonely streams, 
 
 Far in the sunny vales of Palestine, — 
 Where one of Judah's race, in musing dream, 
 
 Perchance recalls the glories of his line, — 
 
 Once more the Temple's splendours round him 
 shine, 
 And Kings, and gifted seers, and Priests again, 
 On his remembrance rise — a shadowy train! 
 All holy thoughts, and memories dwell with thee, 
 
 When Angels veil'd awhile their lustre fair, 
 And sat beneath thy shade, fair eastern tree, 
 
 In mercy visiting a world of care ! 
 
 Oh! who may tell the awe and reverence there 
 Felt by the sacred few, before whose sight, 
 Celestial guests appear'd in radiance bright.
 
 12 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Beside the water's brim, so lone and deep> 
 Far in the desert wild high palm-trees rose,. 
 
 On the parch'd ground their graceful shadows, 
 sleep, 
 And there the heaven-directed host repose j 
 
 Beside the fountains cool, their camels stray, 
 
 And silence reigns ; throughout the sultry day.. 
 
 Enchanted land ! — in far-off elder days, 
 A light divine did on thy deserts gleam, — 
 
 Now by thy fallen pride the pilgrim strays, 
 To gaze and weep by Jordan's hallowed stream — ■ 
 
 Beneath some lonely palm-tree spreading fair, 
 
 "Jo muse on what has been — what now is ^there!
 
 HAGAR AND ISHMAEL. 
 
 "And she departed, and wandered in the wilderness of 
 Beersheba. — Genesis, xxi. 14. 
 
 She wandered on, beneath a fervid sky — 
 Where will the lonely one for shelter fly ? 
 How will she bear the desert's parching sun? 
 Who will protect thee ? thou deserted one ! 
 Over the "weary land" that she must tread, 
 The rock's tall shadow lifts its naked head ; 
 But no soft showers, on that wild waste descend, 
 No murmuring fountains with its echoes blend! 
 Fainter, and fainter still, the wanderer grew, 
 No Zephyr o'er that arid region blew, 
 And feebler grows her infant's wailing cry, 
 She sits apart — " Let me not see him die ! " 
 Despair's wild tears are gathering in her eyes,. 
 And in her heart hope's last faint sun-beam dies. 
 But hark ! — what voice celestial stirs the air, 
 Who breaks with accents sweet, the silence there ? 
 Heaven's messenger, in light seraphic shone, 
 And the worn pilgrim is no more alone. 
 " Hagar, why weepest thou ?— that timid cry 
 Is heard, and pitied, in the courts on high ! —
 
 74 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Yes ! God Himself surveys the infant's tear, 
 And to that feeble suppliant lends His ear. 
 Rise, and support him, great his destiny, 
 A mighty nation, shall his children be ! " 
 
 The voice was hush'd, and softly died away, 
 As that bright seraph sought the realms of day,. 
 And slowly faded from the wanderer's eyes ; 
 That light divine then melted in the skies ! 
 What grateful sound upon the desert broke ? 
 The gurgling fountain, sleeping echo woke : — 
 Forth gushing from the rock in liquid light, 
 Over reviving verdure glancing bright. 
 Trembling and grateful, from the sparkling wave, 
 Reviving life, that weary mother gave 
 To the pale thirsty lips, that vigour caught, 
 And health and gladness from the fountain 
 
 brought. 
 Long in the wilderness, the desert's child, 
 Far from his kindred, dwelt the archer wild ; 
 His race a great and warlike nation grew, 
 Fulfilling all the voice prophetic drew; 
 For the fierce dweller on Arabia's plains 
 From Ishmael his rightful lineage claims I 

 
 NOAH'S DOVE. 
 
 " And he stayed yet other seven days ; and sent forth the- 
 dove ; which returned not again unto him any more." — Genesis,, 
 viii. 12. 
 
 She came no more, for fresh and green, 
 Spread the fair world in beauty drest, 
 
 O'er the retiring waters seen, 
 By God's own promise blest, — 
 
 Calm, as if sin had never been 
 The curse upon her breast ! 
 
 Forth sprang the Dove, on airy flight, 
 And lightly swept the glassy deep, 
 
 Wide spread the earth in colours bright, 
 And the green shadows sleep, 
 
 Where arching woods shut out the light. 
 And heavy dew-drops weep ! 
 
 And high she soar'd, on snowy wing, 
 
 Her ark of rest left far away, 
 No more the olive leaf to brine: — 
 
 For far and wide, beneath her lay 
 A woody world, where birds might sing 
 
 Their welcome to the day.
 
 76 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 But silence reign' d o'er mount and plain, 
 
 Deep, solemn, and profound, — 
 The busy dwellers ne'er again, 
 
 Would on that earth be found, 
 To mar the scene with sin and pain, 
 
 And spread contagion round. 
 
 Lo! from the horizon's verge up-sprung, 
 
 The bow of every hue, 
 And o'er reviving earth was flung 
 
 The arch of promise true ; — 
 A covenant of mercy, hung 
 
 For ever to our view. 
 
 E'er since that hour, the heavenly bow, 
 When summer showers are still, 
 
 High o'er rejoicing earth below, 
 Proclaims the Almighty's will: — 
 
 That day and night, and cold and heat, 
 Shall stated rounds fulfil.
 
 EUPHRATES. 
 
 River ! whose ancient waves through many a clime 
 Have wandered, since the earliest dawn of time, 
 And ever in their murmurs deep complain, 
 Of empires past, that ne'er may be again : — 
 Tell how thy breast reflected once to view, 
 The glorious light that blissful Eden knew. 
 Oh! vain would fancy's widest reach explore 
 The lovely bowers once cluster' d by thy shore; 
 Ne'er may'st thou tell how radiant once, and 
 
 fair, 
 The sinless form of Seraphs' beauty there ! 
 When voices not of earth did through each glade, 
 Tell of the Angel guests that there have stray' d; 
 But sin brought sorrow, and that peerless dawn, 
 Of pristine beauty, was from earth withdrawn. 
 
 Then did the "mighty hunter" by thy stream, 
 Bid proud Assyria's lofty temples gleam. 
 Long ages pass'd, and still thy way, beside 
 Old Babylon, did in calm current glide,
 
 78 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Till Cyrus came, and bade thy waves invade^ 
 
 The Kingly sanctuary's deepest shade: — 
 
 Unfurl'd his conquering banners by thy shore* 
 
 And the vast city fell for ever more. 
 
 Tell ancient river of the plaintive song, 
 
 That echoed once thy willowy banks along: — ■ 
 
 When captive Judah but essay' d in vain, 
 
 To wake of Sion's hymns one mournful strain ; — 
 
 But in the stranger's land, could only dream, 
 
 Of all their own Jerusalem had been : — 
 
 And their wild harps, swept by the passing gale 
 
 Awoke alone the exile's plaintive tale ! 
 
 Now venerable tide, thy lonely way, 
 
 Is ever where long buried empires lay, 
 
 Where " reeds are whispering " to the deserts lone, 
 
 How lofty once arose their idol's throne. 
 
 Another voice, in tone prophetic tells, 
 
 And on the stream of time its echo swells, 
 
 That hastening onwards, comes the promis'd time, 
 
 When Judah's race, from every distant clime, 
 
 Will to their own beloved East return, 
 
 No more to be oppress' d, no more to mourn !
 
 EUPHRATES. ?9 
 
 But how return ? before that day appears, 
 Seen through the vista'd light of coming years, 
 Before Messiah's throne the Jew will fall — 
 On Him alone, their suppliant lips shall call — 
 One long-rejected name, their joy prolong, 
 And widely gathered tribes repeat the song. 
 When their long night of error shall be past, 
 And to their Saviour God, they bend at last ! 
 And old Euphrates witness once again, 
 The blooming wilderness, and peopled plain ; 
 One name alone, will then through earth be known, 
 And long deserted lands, with blessing crown.
 
 JACOB'S DREAM. 
 
 " And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, 
 and the top of it reached to heaven ; and behold the angels of 
 God ascending and descending on it."— Genesis xxviii. 12. 
 
 All softly fades the long, long summer's day, 
 And twilight gathers round the wanderer's way. 
 Weary and sad, the lonely man complains 
 To the pale stars that gleam o'er Eastern plains : — 
 From native scenes afar, by Jordan's shore, 
 His staff and scrip alone, the exile bore. 
 Sleep on the pilgrim's weary eye-lids fell, 
 As the day closed around a grassy dell ; 
 Where the sv/eet woods met in a solemn shade, 
 And glitt'ring star-light through the branches play'd. 
 But while in "honey dews" of slumber bound — 
 A stone his pillow, on the verdant ground, — 
 Came heavenly visions to his dreaming sight, 
 Cheering the silent watches of the night. 
 Behold ! from earth to heaven, a ladder rose, 
 And high above, the purple skies unclose, 
 While streaming downwards from that distant height, 
 The opening gleam'd "intolerable light!" 
 And from their glorious home descending there, 
 Came troops of radiant Angels "bright and fair.''
 
 Jacob's dream. 81 
 
 What beams of heaven upon the sleeper fell, 
 What pitying love, no mortal tongue may tell: 
 Or how their seraph eyes of mercy spoke, 
 Or what high hopes upon his visions broke. 
 To future ages, did those hopes extend, 
 With Israel's God, his promis'd Guide and Friends 
 
 Oh Thou! who to the patriarch's dreaming eye, 
 Open'd the crystal portals of the sky, 
 Still hovering near, let guardian spirits stray, 
 From evil still to keep life's devious way, 
 Reaching from heaven to earth Thy mercy send; 
 Sleeping and waking, round our being tend!
 
 PETRA. 
 
 " Also Edom shall be a desolation : every one that goeth by 
 it hall be astonished, and shall hiss at all the plagues thereof." 
 
 — JEREMIAH, XlviX. 17. 
 
 ' • There shall not be any remaining of the house of Esau ; for 
 the Lord hath spoken it."— Obadiah, 18. 
 
 " Silence reigns all around, save that a solitary owl now and 
 then utters a plaintive cry." 
 
 ■• The bramble o'ertops the summit of the edifices, and 
 covers the base of the columns. "-Jourggy through the excavated 
 city of Pelra, the Edom of the Prophccks, by M. Leon Laborde. 
 
 Far in the wilds of Araby, 
 
 A silent desert lies; 
 And while the traveller journeys by, 
 
 Are only heard the cries 
 Of the wild birds, whose weary note 
 
 In lonely distance dies.
 
 PETRA. 83 
 
 And widely spread the dreary plains. 
 
 The pilgrim journeys on, 
 There, a soul-chilling silence reigns, 
 
 Where ruin rears her throne : 
 And the wild Arab pauses not, 
 
 O'er wrecks of ages gone ! 
 
 And where is Petra, Edom's crown? 
 
 Where are her wise, her great, her fair ? 
 Long, long ago, to dust gone down, 
 
 Are the old dwellers there. 
 And ivy clothes, and bramble shades, 
 
 The dust of things that were ! 
 
 A time will come when Judah's race, 
 
 Again shall gathered be, 
 And build their ancient dwelling place, 
 
 From mount, and isle, and sea: 
 But Edom, quench' d thy glory lies, 
 
 No promise lives for thee !
 
 84 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 The eagle's cry, the owl's deep note, 
 Is heard in thee for ever, — 
 
 The raven's plaint, from scenes remote, 
 Where joy revisits never; 
 
 The seal is set for aye on thee, 
 No time, no change may sever ! 
 
 Oh, lonely Seir ! the breezes sigh, 
 Thy rocky solitudes among, 
 
 And mingled with the eagle's cry, 
 Repeat thy funeral song ; 
 
 And echoes wild, for ever there, 
 Thy prophecy prolong!
 
 ALL ARE THINE f 
 
 "The heavens are Thine, the earth also is Thine: as for 
 the world and the fulness thereof, thou hast founded them. 
 —Psalm, lxxxix. II. 
 
 "The heavens are Thine," with every star, 
 That in the deep blue concave shineth, — 
 
 With countless orbs, that seen afar, — 
 The raptur'd eye of musing findeth; 
 
 And the sweet moon, so soft, — so fair, — 
 
 With skies that her pale influence share. 
 
 "The heavens are Thine" ! — the lord of day- 
 The ever changing clouds are Thine, 
 
 The amber hues of parting day, 
 And the sad light of evening time, 
 
 The summer shower, the tempest drear, 
 
 With all that marks the rolling year.
 
 86 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 "The heavens are Thine"— the myriad host, 
 Around Thy throne for ever bending, 
 
 Who speed as lightning from that coast, 
 Upon Thine earthly saints attending, 
 
 "Who tread the " star-paved land," and dwell 
 
 In light and joy unspeakable ! 
 
 And they are Thine! — the blessed throng, 
 The calm, the happy multitude, 
 
 Who raise to Thee the ceaseless song, 
 Where never cares nor woes intrude, 
 
 The sainted, — earth-dissever'd band, 
 
 Who live in that far " better land." 
 
 This world is Thine — with leaf and flower, 
 In Summer pride so brightly gleaming, 
 
 Earth — with its richly varied dower, 
 Life, with its joy, and lovely seeming, 
 
 And death's dark portal, — that last home, 
 
 Where pale departed millions come!
 
 ALL ARE THINE ! 8jf 
 
 Deep — deep — in ocean's coral caves 
 
 Are Thy foundations firmly laid; 
 Thine are the ever wandering waves, 
 
 The mountain hoar, the forest shade ; 
 Vaulting ambition's wide domain, 
 The lowly home, the flowery plain; 
 
 And dappled morn, and evening dim, — 
 Winter and Summer Thee proclaim; 
 
 All wake one universal hymn, 
 To the high glory of Thy name. 
 
 Oh, heaven and earth's Creator ! — shine 
 
 Upon us still, and own us Thine !
 
 FAITH. 
 
 "Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." 
 -St. John, xx. 29. 
 
 We have not seen Thy footsteps tread, 
 This wild and sinful earth of ours, 
 
 Nor heard Thy voice restore the dead, 
 Again to life's reviving powers : — 
 
 But we believe, — for all things are, 
 
 The gifts of Thine Almighty care ! 
 
 We have not seen the billowy sea, 
 Grow calm and still at Thy command, 
 
 Nor the dim orbs again to see, 
 
 Beneath the healing of Thine hand : — 
 
 But we believe the Fount of light, 
 
 Again could give those eye-balls sight!
 
 FAITH. 
 
 We did not see Thee tread the wave — 
 We did not hear that voice from heaven, 
 
 Which once an awful warning gave, 
 
 That God's own Son for man was given : 
 
 But we believe. — Oh ! strengthen Thou 
 
 The faith, which to Thy name we owe ! 
 
 We did not see the armed throng, 
 Steal to the garden's midnight shade, 
 
 And watch the palm-tree's boughs among, 
 Then quail, beneath Thy glance afraid: — 
 
 But we believe, — Almighty love 
 
 Alone, could such dread moments prove ! 
 
 We did not see the darkness veil 
 
 In shuddering gloom the noon-day skies, 
 
 Nor the fierce soldier's cheek grow pale, 
 And priestly mockers veil their eyes, — 
 
 When the proud Roman own'd the power 
 
 Of heaven, was in that awful hour!
 
 90 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 We did not hear the footsteps fall, 
 Within that lonely garden ground, 
 
 Of the all-wakeful sentinel, 
 
 Slow tracing there his midnight round: 
 
 But we believe, — the Holy One — 
 
 Bursting that tomb in glory shone ! 
 
 We were not with the chosen few, 
 Who saw Thee through the clouds ascend, 
 
 Who "gazed and wished to follow too," 
 Then on the earth all prostrate bend: — 
 
 But we believe, — that mortal eyes 
 
 Beheld that journey to the skies ! 
 
 Chase every shade of doubt away — 
 " Light of the world," in mercy shine, 
 
 Illume with faith our erring way — 
 We would no worship own, but Thine: — 
 
 Bring us unto heaven's peaceful shore, 
 
 And make us Thine for evermore !
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 The heavens were bright with many a star, 
 
 The snowy flock were sleeping, — 
 The moon upon a silver car, 
 
 Was her nightly vigil keeping; — 
 And sleepless were the shepherd's eyes, 
 Upturn' d unto the spangled skies, 
 Where heaven-aspiring thought, from this world's 
 darkness flies. 
 
 The hour was come, — that shepherd band, 
 
 Were destin'd from all time, 
 To witness the Almighty hand, 
 
 Dispense the gift divine ! — 
 The hour was come, — the silence broke, 
 The voice of many a seraph spoke, 
 And from our fallen race, fell off the oppressor's 
 yoke !
 
 92 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 The purple canopy above, 
 
 One brilliant arch became ; 
 The beams of heaven's o'erpowering love, 
 Shot through earth's wondering frame ; 
 Eclips'd by that " excess of light," 
 The stars did pale their lustre bright, 
 And the wan shepherds there, did veil their dazzl'd 
 sight ! 
 
 For forms etherial float around, — 
 
 From heaven, their strain began, 
 And melody was in the sound, 
 
 That told the wond'rous plan. 
 Angelic forms were swift careering, 
 Where parted clouds, an arch for them was rearing, 
 For heaven's all radiant host, on this cold earth 
 appearing ! 
 
 Bursting from lips, that from the throne 
 
 Of unapproacbed light were sent; — 
 With grace seraphic round them thrown, 
 
 And eyes, on mercy's errand bent, 
 " Glory to God," — began that legion fair, 
 " Goodwill to man," the message they would bear 
 Unto the prostrate ones, so humbly bending there !
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 93 
 
 " Fear not," — the voice of music said, 
 
 " For unto you is born, 
 Even in a manger's narrow bed, 
 
 Upon this breaking morn, — 
 A Saviour — Christ, — then speed your way, arise ! 
 For that bright star shall guide you where He lies, 
 That with unwavering gleam, illumes the eastern 
 skies." 
 
 Moment, — from ages long foretold, 
 
 Abyss of mercy vast ! 
 Angels the wonder have unroll'd, 
 
 And the star shone at last ! 
 Star, that upon the Prophet's vision shone, 
 Star of the morning! thou and thou alone, 
 Proclaim' d that on this earth, abode the Almighty 
 One!
 
 THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 
 
 " Now Jacob's well was there. Jesus therefore, being wearied 
 with his journey, sat thus on the well : and it was about the sixth 
 hour. There cometh a woman of Samaria to draw water : Jesus 
 saith unto her. ' Give me to drink,' " — St. John, iv. G & 7. 
 
 Sultry and still, the noon-tide hour, 
 Samaria's walls are gleaming nigh,— 
 
 The palm-tree forms a welcome shade, 
 Where gentle breezes sigh : — 
 
 And not a cloud was seen to lour, 
 In fair Judea's sky. 
 
 An ancient well was standing there, 
 Its bright cool fountain clear and deep ; 
 
 No sound disturbs the fervid air, 
 All nature seems to sleep — 
 
 A holy pause, — a list'ning fear, — 
 A sabbath rest to keep.
 
 THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA. 95 
 
 There rested by that ancient well, 
 
 A traveller, all alone, — 
 On him the trees' broad shadows fell, 
 
 And flitting gleams were thrown, 
 Over a face serenely pale, 
 
 In which the Godhead shone ! 
 
 And who is she — approaching near, 
 To that still fountain's side? 
 
 Gently upon her listening ear, 
 The words of truth abide, — 
 
 The voice divine, — pointing the way, 
 Where living waters glide ! 
 
 Her life of sin, — her darkened soul, — 
 
 Are open to His eye, 
 Before her mental vision roll 
 
 Dark shadows, long pass'd by, 
 Of former crime, — her waken'd soul, 
 
 Is aching silently.
 
 96 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 She flies—" Oh ! see a wond'rous One, 
 
 Who tells of all my woe ! 
 A more than Prophet, — all alone, 
 
 Beside yon water's flow, 
 He speaks of things divine, — of all 
 
 My weary soul would know." 
 
 Unfathom'd depth of Love Divine, 
 That from thy glory stoop' d so low, 
 
 For ever Lord, may we be Thine, 
 And o'er us still Thy mercy show, — 
 
 Fountain of all our hope, — from Thee, 
 Does life eternal flow!
 
 THE POOR WIDOW. 
 
 " And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two 
 mites, which make a farthing." — St. Mark, xii. 42. 
 
 I see through ambient air, 
 
 That temple rising fair, 
 "Where the soft morning light was slowly stealing, 
 
 O'er the rich pavement's dye, 
 
 On many a column high, 
 Long vista'd aisles in mellow shade revealing. 
 
 And to the "Treasury" came, 
 The sons of wealth and fame ; 
 
 And largely they, of their abundance gave, 
 And proudly dealt they there — 
 The wealth they well could spare, 
 
 The burden' d conscience, from its weight to save. 
 
 H
 
 98 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 But who was she?— the meek,— 
 
 With sorrow's faded cheek, 
 The widow lone, who humbly gave her all, 
 
 Unnoticed and unknown, 
 
 Save to the worldling's frown; 
 Yet lives her name, when states and empires fall 
 
 And still shall live :— unseen 
 
 The form divine had been, 
 Who o'er against the Treasury reclining, 
 
 The inward motive scann'd, 
 
 And mark'd the widow's hand 
 Bestow her all— on heaven her sole relying! 
 
 Oh! not the outward deed, 
 
 Will gain approval's meed, 
 From One whose eyes the secret thoughts discern 
 
 For the lone widow's mite, 
 
 Was glorious in His sight, 
 Who bids us all her self-denial learn !
 
 "LAZARUS COME FORTH!" 
 
 "Lazarus come forth!" — The dead arose, 
 The sunken orbs their thraldom broke : — 
 
 Through the chill'd limbs warm life-blood flows, 
 And the pale slumberer awoke ! 
 
 " Lazarus come forth ! " — Oh, words of power ! 
 
 Dread grave where is thy victory now? 
 Who triumph' d o'er thee in that hour, — 
 
 Who made thee at his mandate bow? 
 
 "Lazarus come forth!" — The fluttering spirit, 
 From Hades heard the call divine, 
 
 Once more earth's trials to inherit, 
 Once more a denizen of time.
 
 100 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Question not wherefore this could be ; 
 
 Cease, doubter cease, thy cavils vain- 
 For He who gave that breath to thee, 
 
 Could call it back to life again. 
 
 From Thee are all things, — Heavenly King! 
 
 Before Thy footstool we would bow j 
 Shield us with Thy Almighty wing, 
 
 The Life and Resurrection Thou !
 
 THE RESURRECTION. 
 
 " So they went, and made the sepulchre sure, sealing the 
 stone, and setting a watch." — St. Matthew, xxvii. 66. 
 
 The watch is set, the stone is seaPd, 
 And through the dewy night, 
 
 Wan stars their lustre have reveal' d, 
 In the blue concave's height, — 
 
 Shining above earth's misery, 
 With their unearthly light. 
 
 No sound breaks on the tranquil hour, 
 
 But in that garden lone, 
 All dimly on each tree and flower, 
 
 The hue of night is thrown ; 
 And silence reigns, the watch is set — 
 
 And the wild crowd are gone .'
 
 102 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 And they, with measured step, before, 
 The rocky tomb pass by, — 
 
 They tread the dusky path-way o'er, 
 Gloomily, — silently, — 
 
 For still they see the sealed stone, 
 Unmoved, unbroken lie ! 
 
 Why do the strong ones turn so pale, 
 And to the earth fall down? 
 
 With awe and fear their spirits quail. 
 The tomb is open thrown, 
 
 And, all too bright, to gaze upon, 
 Is one beside the stone. 
 
 His face, as heaven's own lightning gleams, 
 
 And whiter far than snow, 
 The floating robe around him seems ; 
 
 No form of earth they know, 
 Is the all-radiant being there, 
 
 And to the earth they bow.
 
 THE RESURRECTION. 103 
 
 Away ! — and tell your fearful tale, 
 
 To the proud ruler's ear, 
 Ere the first streak of morning pale, 
 
 Is breaking on the air; 
 Away! — and tell an angel stands, 
 
 And watches for you there! 
 
 " Oh grave, where is thy victory ! " 
 No more thy terrors bring, — 
 
 Her buried Saviour, faith can see 
 Rise on immortal wing. 
 
 The first fruits of a countless throng ; 
 And death has now no sting !
 
 GUARDIAN ANGELS. 
 
 •' Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister 
 for them who shall be heirs of salvation ?"— Hebrews, i. 14. 
 
 And do ye stoop to visit earth, 
 
 Ye messengers of light ? 
 Have the frail things of mortal birth, 
 
 A charm to stay your flight? 
 And your etherial being stay, 
 One moment from the realms of day I 
 
 And do ye watch the falling tear, 
 And mark the contrite sigh; 
 
 To the lone penitent give ear, 
 And bear his griefs on high ; 
 
 Then earthward wing your flight again,. 
 
 To traverse these wild paths of pain ?
 
 GUARDIAN ANGELS. 105 
 
 Blest — ever blessed — heavenly band ! 
 
 Angelic natures pure, 
 Ye natives of that "better land," 
 
 Above all sin secure ; — 
 Bright viewless forms, that round us float, 
 And all our weary conflicts note ! 
 
 And ye are near, when dews of death, 
 Are gathering on the marble brow, 
 
 When slowly heaves the failing breath, 
 And sounds are waxing faint and low ;- 
 
 Unseen, — but felt, — your aid is given, 
 
 To guide that parting soul to heaven I 
 
 Spirits of mercy, leave me never ! 
 
 For dark and thorny is the way; 
 Support me through the desert ever, 
 
 And chase my unseen foes away. 
 Your guardian pinions o'er me wave, 
 And light my journey to the grave 1
 
 THE PILGRIM AT JERUSALEM. 
 
 " Reft of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn, 
 Mourn widow'd Queen, forgotten Sion mourn.' 
 Hebee's Palestine. 
 
 Weep, pilgrim, weep ! for prostrate now, 
 
 Judah's forsaken altars lie — 
 And faded is her glorious brow, 
 
 Which erst would dim the gazer's eye, 
 Her glittering temple, and her reign 
 
 Of proud supremacy. 
 
 Weep, pilgrim, weep! 'tis holy ground; 
 
 Thy feet are on that chosen land 
 Where thousand memories rise around- 
 
 A stately, and a hallowed band : 
 Visions of olden days, ere fell 
 
 The sceptre from her hand.
 
 THE PILGRIM AT JERUSALEM. 107 
 
 They rise around, — prophets and kings, 
 Warriors and priests, whose dust has lain 
 
 In David's tomb, — with glorious things 
 That ne'er may be again ! 
 
 "And therefore do I weep, as ends 
 My pilgrimage of pain." 
 
 But old things pass away, — and lo! 
 
 The day-star's radiance beams, 
 He comes — he comes ! — a man of woe, 
 
 Yet all divine he seems : 
 His eye is not of earth, but there 
 
 A ray of mercy beams. 
 
 I see, — I see that hour of gloom, 
 When darkness veil'd the sun, 
 
 When rising from the yawning tomb, 
 The pale, sad strangers come, 
 
 And walk the guilty city round, 
 Before the day is done!
 
 108 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Where is that garden's silent shade, 
 And where the rocky cell? 
 
 Where they the form divine have laid, 
 And wept their wild farewell. — 
 
 Oh, faithless few ! to deem that light 
 In darkness e'er could dwell ! 
 
 Turn, pilgrim, turn thy steps of care, 
 Seek not on earth to stay; 
 
 There is a city far more fair, 
 Beyond the starry way, 
 
 Than e'er Jerusalem has been 
 In her most palmy day. 
 
 From every eye is chased the tear, 
 There is no sigh nor pain ; 
 
 But through that calm eternal year, 
 The saints of earth shall reign. 
 
 And there, if thy life's journey end, 
 Thou wilt not, pilgrim, weep again !
 
 JftteceUaneoug il« ceg*
 
 THE MOSS ROSE. 
 
 The garden flowers with dews are wet, — 
 From dappled skies the day is breaking, 
 
 And their bright hues together met, 
 The incense airs of morn are seeking ; 
 
 The butterfly is on the wing, 
 
 That lovely, transient, fluttering thing. 
 
 And, save the murmur of the bee, 
 All silent are those garden bowers; 
 
 Beneath a jasmine canopy, 
 A shade is ling'ring on the flowers — 
 
 And clust'ring on the hedge-rows there, 
 
 Red honeysuckles scent the air.
 
 112 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 The bright convolvulus uncloses, 
 With blue eyes to the sunny morn, 
 
 And there are met a thousand roses, 
 That perfect Eden to adorn. 
 
 A place for heavenly musings, — free,— 
 
 From this world's care and vanity ! 
 
 The rhododendron's flowers are spreading, 
 The star-like cistus lends its charm, 
 
 And the fair lily, downward bending, 
 All rival envy to disarm ; 
 
 Geraniums flaunt their crimson hue, 
 
 Beside the lupin's tender blue. 
 
 All through the balmy summer night, 
 A guardian spirit kept the ground, 
 
 Before the first faint rays of light, 
 To shed refreshing dews around ; 
 
 And in the soft leaves of the rose, 
 
 That garden spirit sought repose.
 
 THE MOSS ROSE. J 13 
 
 " Oh say, fair queen ! " the spirit said, 
 " What boon wilt thou require of me, 
 
 For resting where thy leaves have shed 
 Round me a perfumed canopy ? 
 
 Haste! — for the day is breaking now, 
 
 And I to other regions go." 
 
 "Then deck me not with colours bright, 
 Some added charm of thee I crave." — 
 
 Swift as the darting rays of light, 
 The spirit's wings around her wave; — 
 
 And the soft moss, in tender green, 
 
 Around her peerless form is seen. 
 
 And thus I heard that spirit sing, 
 As mounting on the zephyr's wing. 
 She fled the beams of gairish day, 
 And floated soft in light away, 
 
 'Till twilight's close:— 
 "Would that all beauty deck'd would be 
 In virtue's garb, humility ; — 
 
 Like thee, sweet rose!" 
 
 I
 
 OH, HAPPY BIRD! 
 
 " Light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
 In some melodious plot 
 Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
 Singest of summer, in full throated ease." 
 
 Keats. 
 
 Oh, happy bird, I envy thee ! 
 
 Up through the clear blue ether springing, 
 Or resting on the greenwood tree, 
 
 To the sweet murmuring waters singing. — 
 All through the live-long summer's day, 
 How gaily pass thine hours away. 
 
 At evening's close, 
 "When the grey lengthening shadows lie, 
 And pale stars twinkle in the sky, 
 Thou canst to bowery coverts hie, 
 
 And there repose. 
 
 Where'er thy roving fancy leads, 
 To flowery haunts, or dewy meads, 
 
 Thou canst repair. — 
 There are no withering eyes of scorn — 
 No brooding thoughts of sorrow born, 
 
 To meet thee there !
 
 OH, HAPPY BIRD! 115 
 
 Oh, happy bird, I envy thee ! 
 
 From care, from woe, from sadness free, — 
 
 Thy bright career 
 Is one long day with pleasure rife, 
 And thou canst glide away through life, 
 
 Without a tear. 
 
 Would that I could like thee, sweet bird, 
 Fly where no unkind voices stirr'd, 
 
 The embow'ring shade : — 
 Then would I leave each weary scene, 
 And hie to coverts fresh and green, 
 
 By elm trees made. 
 
 To muse away the tranquil hours, 
 Where solitude in leafy bowers, 
 
 Her dwelling hides, — 
 And meditation in soft dream, 
 Lull'd by the music of a stream, 
 
 With peace abides!
 
 116 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And ever from " low-thoughted care," 
 Let me, sweet peace, thy blessings share: 
 
 Where willows wave, 
 May I, when life's wild dream is o'er, 
 Find, where the storm can vex no more, 
 
 A quiet grave!
 
 THE MOATED HOUSE. 
 
 " I had a dream,— Yet 'twas not all a dream." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Time whispers low of other days, 
 
 Around this moated pile; 
 Each tree and shrub, to fancy wears, 
 
 A look of age the while, — 
 A look, — that says, " we ling'ring stay, 
 As records of a former day." 
 
 And hoary willows grow along 
 The shrunk moat's grassy side,— 
 
 It murmurs the rude stones among ; 
 Once it was deep and wide,— 
 
 A draw-bridge o'er its waters cast, 
 
 Led to some dwelling, lone and vast !
 
 118 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And here the stately garden grew, 
 And the green terrace rose, — 
 
 The close-shorn box-tree and the yew, 
 No more a shadow throws ; 
 
 No seneschal is here to show, 
 
 That garden's antique beauty now .' 
 
 Rank grows the grass upon the wall, 
 Waved by the summer air, — 
 
 Deep shadows from the branches fall, 
 Of the old yew trees there ; 
 
 A voice is on the passing breeze, 
 
 For visions haunt such scenes as these ! 
 
 Sleep o'er my musing fancy crept, 
 Beneath an elm's "protecting shade," 
 
 LulPd by the fluttering leaves I slept, 
 And "softly on mine eyelids laid," 
 
 Came slumber, throng'd with visions old; 
 
 And the worn page of time unroll'd !
 
 THE MOATED HOUSE. 119 
 
 Along that garden's terrace green, 
 Came nobles of a former reign, 
 
 In antique fashion drest ; 
 Collars vandyke, and ruffs were there, 
 And many a lady, "passing fair," 
 
 The shadowy pageant blest. 
 
 It was, methought, the stormy time 
 Of Cromwell's iron sway ; 
 
 An exile in a foreign clime, 
 Was the royal Charles that day, — 
 
 And loyal hearts in secret mourn'd, 
 
 And the usurper's fetters spurn'd. 
 
 They whisper' d of a murder' d King, 
 And look'd with sorrow pale: — 
 
 They were afraid to speak that thing, 
 Lest the soft passing gale 
 
 Should bear the murmur none may breathe, 
 
 Lest treachery should lurk beneath.
 
 120 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 But fleeting fast, the pageant faded, 
 
 Dissolv'd in air away ! 
 And from the moated house paraded, 
 
 A troop in long array; — 
 Bards,— statesmen,— of Eliza's reign, 
 Revisiting this earth again. 
 
 They glided by, a courtly band :— 
 
 The noble Raleigh there, 
 All pale, one moment seem'd to stand, 
 
 Then melted into air! 
 Leicester, with haughty mien and eye, 
 And Essex, slowly passed by. 
 
 The faithful Cecil^wise and true ; 
 
 Southampton stalk' d alone,— 
 And then among that motley show, 
 
 With a lustre o'er him thrown, 
 Came the sweet bard of Avon's stream. 
 I woke,— and found "'twas but a dream!"
 
 LLANGOLLEN VALE. 
 
 " Did you know, 
 Where joy, heart's-ease, and comforts grow, 
 You'd scorn proud towers, 
 And seek them in those bowers 
 
 Where winds sometimes our woods perchance may shake, 
 But blustering care could never tempest make ; 
 Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 
 Saving of fountains that glide by us !" 
 
 Sib Walter Raleigh, 
 
 Heart-sick and weary, I have sigh'd, 
 
 Sweet mountain vale, to rest in thee ; 
 To dwell some clust'ring wood beside, 
 
 Far from the world's cold treachery ! — 
 To hear the lark's wild melody, 
 
 Among the gleamy clouds of morn, 
 And nature's own sweet harmony, 
 
 On every wand'ring zephyr borne ! 
 
 A rippling stream should murmur near, 
 
 With verdant meadows bound ! 
 Wild roses scent the "desert air," 
 
 And violets there be found : — 
 And never should a jarring sound, 
 
 Wake lonely echo from her cell, 
 As softly came the seasons round, 
 
 Within that peaceful dell.
 
 122 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 The earliest footsteps of the Spring, 
 
 In that sequester'd vale should be, — 
 There Summer all her sunshine bring, 
 
 And Autumn all her witchery : — 
 When Winter through the wither'd tree, 
 
 Blew coldly round my cottage wall, 
 How calm the evening hour should be — 
 
 How bright the blazing light should fall ! 
 
 No hollow smile should there intrude — 
 
 No worldling's scorn my heart to grieve; 
 But in that blessed solitude, 
 
 Friendship her charmed net should weave, 
 And sympathetic hearts should leave 
 
 The world, to those who love it best, 
 Nor let its frown their souls bereave 
 
 Of calm reflection's hallow'd rest. 
 
 Thus would I leave the busy road, 
 
 My noiseless path to journey o'er; 
 With patience bear the pilgrim's load, 
 
 Along time's still receding shore. — 
 And calmly hear the billows roar, 
 
 And see the bounding waves arise, 
 Pass the dread gulf, — and evermore 
 
 Join the bright dwellers of the skies.
 
 THE LOST ONE. 
 
 1 Long since, the lovely brow of which I sing, 
 Is lost amid the dark and mould'ring earth." 
 
 Miss M. A. Browne. 
 
 All duskily the evening ray, 
 
 Gleams on yon Gothic window pane, 
 Where, clad in mail, a warrior grey, 
 
 Long — long, in effigy hath lain : 
 And a couchant lion, carv'd in stone, 
 The slumberer's feet are resting on. 
 
 With sword begirt, with helm and shield, 
 As if prepared for battle strife, — 
 
 As if again the " tented field" 
 Could stir Earl Mowbray's life : — 
 
 As if the soldier imaged there, 
 
 Again could to such scenes repair.
 
 124 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 None mark that face, for centuries past, 
 Have gather' d round oblivion's shade, 
 
 Amongst forgotten things at last, 
 Brave Mowbray's pomp is laid ! 
 
 And " wanting speculation" lie, 
 
 The moveless brow and closed eye. 
 
 Yet vain conjecture loves to trace, 
 What scenes that noble heart have stirr'd 
 
 And in that quiet resting place, 
 Where only whisp'ring winds are heard, 
 
 A vision of the past appears — 
 
 A legend of long vanish'd years. 
 
 When the fourth Edward ruled the land, 
 
 And many a warlike tower, 
 Defended by its vassal band, 
 
 Arose in pride and power, — 
 Stood Mowbray Castle, and 'twas bound 
 With a deep moat encircling round.
 
 THE LOST ONE. 125 
 
 And galleries receding far, 
 
 And lofty halls were there: — 
 But amongst all, the brightest star, 
 
 Was Mowbray's daughter fair, — 
 Sweet Gertrude ! Clear and polished brow, 
 Bright tresses, and bright eyes hadst thou ! 
 
 And to her widow'd father's home 
 Was she, a priceless treasure given ,- 
 
 With gentle step round him to come, 
 The dearest gift of heaven. 
 
 And wild and free her fairy feet 
 
 Would rove, that father's eye to greet. 
 
 And Nigel was the chosen one, 
 
 Who Gertrude's guileless heart had gain'd ; 
 And he, to the rude wars had gone, 
 
 For civil discord reign'd, 
 And Edward's name, Earl Warwick swore, 
 Should hold supremacy no more.
 
 126 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And Gertrude lov'd, in the high tower, 
 The dark grey tower, with ivy clad, 
 
 To watch through many a lingering hour, 
 All wearily and sad, — 
 
 In the far distance to descry 
 
 Her own hrave Nigel drawing nigh. 
 
 And she would wander far away 
 Beyond the moat's dark hanks of green, 
 
 To a wide moor, for near it lay 
 
 The road where Nigel's steps had been. 
 
 A mossy moor, — that widely spread, 
 
 And few its lonely mazes tread. 
 
 Within that hall the feast is spread, 
 And minstrels wake historic lays, 
 
 And tell of victories where bled, 
 The Mowbrays of yet sterner days ; 
 
 And through the antique chambers high, 
 
 Did music sound in revelry.
 
 THE LOST ONE. 127 
 
 For Nigel had retum'd alone, 
 
 A glad surprise to waken, 
 And when the light of day was gone, 
 
 His stealthy way had taken, — 
 And gain'd the frowning castle wall, 
 As evening shadows round him fall. 
 
 But where is Gertrude? — Watches she 
 
 From tower or turret high ? 
 The faithful maid! — Unknowing she, 
 
 Her truant knight is nigh : — 
 He seeks the tower, — he mounts the stair, — 
 Not there, — sweet Gertrude is not there ! 
 
 They sought her 'till the moonlight pale 
 Gave place to midnight's silent reign : — ■ 
 
 They call'd her, — dreary is my tale, — 
 Fair Gertrude ne'er retum'd again ! 
 
 From that long night of wild dismay, 
 
 She came not with the coming day !
 
 128 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Some said, by fell enchanter's power, 
 She had been spirited away, — 
 
 Some thought, in that mysterious hour, 
 Some fairy, or some fay, 
 
 Had wrought a spell unknown before; — 
 
 But Gertrude comes not, — came no more ! 
 
 And weeds and desolation lie, 
 In her neglected garden now ; — 
 
 And through her turret chamber high, 
 The winds of Autumn blow, 
 
 Few ever loved to enter there — 
 
 The speaking silence none could bear ! 
 
 And Nigel sought the battle field, 
 A soldier's death to gain : — 
 
 But Mowbray's trust would never yield 
 But " she would come again ! " 
 
 And so he pined, and pined away,' — 
 
 And died in that fond hope, they say.
 
 THE LOST OXE. 129 
 
 And years pass'd by, — while her sweet face, 
 
 Was smiling in her picture still, — 
 When gone were all the noble race 
 
 Who once those halls did fill 
 A gossip's evening tale it grew,— 
 Of the lost Gertrude, — fair and true! 
 
 They whisp'ring told, how some beside, 
 
 The ruins lone and old, 
 Saw the lost lady slowly glide, 
 
 A vision bright and cold! 
 And listening heard, or seem'd to hear, 
 Her gentle footstep rustling near! 
 
 Long centuries pass'd,— and Gertrude's grave, 
 Deep in the treacherous moor was found. 
 
 None had been near, that form to save, 
 A skeleton alone was found : — 
 
 But o'er that dust no mourners bow, 
 
 Unknown her love,— unknown her woe !
 
 BOSCOBEL." 
 
 The morn is fair, for the summer air,. 
 
 Wanders the greenwood through, 
 And every leafy alley there^ 
 
 Glitters with early dew : 
 Where branches close o'er many a dell, 
 In the old wood of Boscohel. 
 
 - 
 
 And there " sweet echo," dwells alone, 
 
 In fairy coverts green, — 
 Where noonday sun has seldom shone, 
 
 Or step of mortal been : 
 And yet, she all the sounds can tell, 
 That haunt the wood of BoscobeT. 
 
 • A wood in Staffordshire, famous for being the scene of King 
 Charles the Second's concealment after the battle of Worcester.
 
 BOSCOBEL. 131 
 
 .: 
 
 Oh ! wilt thou sylvan nymph, but say, 
 
 What in old time has been, 
 In dark rebellion's stormy day, 
 
 Among these arches green? 
 Tell us, of scenes that once befell, 
 In this old wood of Boscobel. 
 
 Nought but the woodman's axe is heard, 
 As the grey morn is breaking, 
 
 And, save the music of a bird, 
 No other sound is waking : — 
 
 A form is there, that graces well, 
 
 Thy stately groves, — old Boscobel ! 
 
 But he has donn'd the peasant's guise; 
 
 No other roof has he, 
 When darkness veils the frowning skies, 
 
 But a spreading oaken tree : — 
 The princely head! thai slumber'd well, 
 In thy thick shade, old Boscobel.
 
 132 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And there, a true and faithful few, 
 His weary way attend : — 
 
 To Pendrill be each honour due, 
 The royal wanderer's friend: 
 
 No courtly gift had he to swell 
 
 His honest love, in Boscobel. 
 
 But he, — a crown' d and lawful King, 
 An exile there was 'biding, — 
 
 Where two alone, around him cling, 
 From traitor's malice hiding ; — 
 
 Sure truth and honour then did dwell, 
 
 In thy dim bowers, old Boscobel. 
 
 And aye the oak shall honour' d be, 
 
 For in its shelter green, 
 Beneath a leafy canopy, 
 
 The exile slept serene : — 
 A King dethron'd, — who once could tell, 
 Of safety found in Boscobel !
 
 THE BRIDAL AND THE FUNERAL. 
 
 AN INCIDENT FROM LIFE. 
 
 Fair broke the morning, shining dew, glitter'd on 
 flower and tree, 
 
 And as the day advanced, was heard, the murmur 
 of the bee, 
 
 Humming around the opening rose, the honey- 
 suckle's flower; 
 
 There was no shadow in the sky, in that auspicious 
 hour. 
 
 And from the old Cathedral's towers, peal'd out 
 
 a joyous note, 
 Waking lone echo, that had slept in vallies far 
 
 remote, 
 And gladness was in ev'ry sound, — the Gothic doors 
 
 flew wide, 
 And down the steps light gliding came two sisters 
 
 side by side.
 
 134 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And they were clad in bridal white, and snowy 
 
 veils fell down, 
 Shading their faces, and around in careless grace 
 
 were thrown; 
 But tears with smiles were blending in the youthful 
 
 faces there, 
 For a life-long vow their lips had pass'd, and heaven 
 
 had heard the prayer ! 
 
 What stays the bridal train at once, and saddens 
 
 ev'ry face ? 
 Hush'd is the merry pealing bell, and slowly in 
 
 its place, 
 Heavily tolls the funeral knell, with a chilling 
 
 hollow roll, 
 Awakening dark remembrances within the startled 
 
 soul! 
 
 Beneath their funeral palls were borne, two sisters 
 
 fair and young, 
 Together with the brides had they life's early 
 
 matins sung, 
 And now they come for burial there, in snow-white 
 
 robes they lie ; 
 Pale, pale, are the once rosy lips, and clbs'd'the 
 
 laughing eye !
 
 THE BRIDAL AND THE FUNERAL. 135 
 
 And they have left this sunny world, the " narrow 
 
 house" enfolds them, 
 Have left the bustling scenes of earth, and dull 
 
 oblivion shrouds them. 
 But they have 'scaped the piercing woes, the cares 
 
 that years would bring ; 
 There are no sorrows in that tomb where they 
 
 are slumbering! 
 
 Oh ! bless'd are they, who speed away in youth's 
 
 first morning prime, 
 Before the brow is darken' d o'er by the gathering 
 
 shades of time, 
 
 And free from all the heavy thrall, that in life's 
 ■ 
 journey lies, 
 
 To leave each pain, and early gain a mansion in 
 
 the skies!
 
 HOME OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 ' ' Old sounds are in my ear. — Old thoughts 
 Are wandering through my heart." 
 
 " The precious, unreturning years ! " 
 
 T. K. Heevey. 
 
 Home of my youth ! how brightly live remem- 
 brances of thee, 
 
 Each flow'ry nook, and gliding brook, and drooping 
 willow tree ; 
 
 For memory's light returns again each old familiar 
 scene, 
 
 Each violet bank and primrose vale, where I so 
 oft have been. 
 
 Spring's vernal days remind me of the lilacs sweet 
 that grew, 
 
 Where the laburnum's graceful bough, was rich in 
 golden hue ; 
 
 The bursting buds, the blossoms pale, the haw- 
 thorn scented breeze, 
 
 The cawing rooks, careering high above the old 
 elm trees.
 
 HOME OF MY YOUTH. 137 
 
 And summer brings again to me, the fervid sunny 
 
 hours, 
 When deep the welcome shadow lay, in those old 
 
 garden bowers; 
 Where sometimes through the silent noon, in youth's 
 
 glad day of prime, 
 Wrapp'd in some brightly-storied page I pass'd 
 
 away the time. 
 
 But ever in those vanish'd scenes I hear faint 
 
 voices still, 
 The dead, — the distant, — and the chang'd, — come 
 
 back at fancy's will. 
 My early friends, where are ye now ? Still " echo 
 
 answers, where ? " 
 Ye are but faded memories now, for ever ling'ring 
 
 there ! 
 
 When drifting snows, and moaning winds, and darkly 
 
 clouded skies, 
 Make dear the cheerful Winter hearth, sometimes 
 
 my fancy flies, 
 To scenes where converse, wit, and song, I heard, — 
 
 but silent now, 
 Those beaming eyes are clos'd for aye, those forms 
 
 belov'd laid low
 
 J38 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Thus ev'ry season brings again, that scene of other 
 
 years, 
 But change and death have shadow'd it, with 
 
 silence and with tears, 
 Yet still I love to wander in that youthful home 
 
 of mine, 
 And dwell in sadly pleasing mood on days of 
 
 " auld lang syne."
 
 KENILWORTH. 
 
 "To the numerous throng which once crowded these portals 
 of ancient grandeur, the solitude of death has succeeded : the 
 silence of the tomb is substituted for the noise of revelry and 
 mirth; and the chambers of royalty are now the receptacles of 
 the croaking raven aud the solitary owl. — Smith's Histoky of 
 Wabwickshibb. 
 
 Grey memory of centuries past, 
 
 Proud Kenil worth f — how dear, 
 The charm which mellowing time hath cast, 
 
 Over thy portals drear ! 
 Thy battlements are crumbling now, 
 And ivy decks thy faded brow. 
 
 The harp is silent in thy halls, 
 
 Hush'd is the lute within thy bowers, 
 
 And never from thy rugged walls, 
 Will note of joy beguile the hours, 
 
 Only the winds, wild minstrels there, 
 
 Are murmuring of the days that' Were !
 
 140 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Yet once was tilt and tournament, 
 Around these princely halls array'd; 
 
 The towers to many a siege have bent ; 
 Here warriors stern their sojourn made, 
 
 With knights of chivalry, a band 
 
 Bound for the war in Holy Land. 
 
 One hundred knights in armour dight, 
 With many a dame of beauty rare, 
 
 Whose lust'rous eyes gave cheering light, 
 To deeds of valour acted there : — 
 
 While glancing helm, and waving plume, 
 
 And blazing lights, the walls illume ! 
 
 With rare device, and antique song, 
 The glassy lake with islands crown'd, 
 
 Floating its sparkling breast along, — 
 From whence soft strains of music sound 
 
 A welcome, to the gracious fair, 
 
 Who gave her royal presence there.
 
 KENILWORTH. 141 
 
 Of the swift hours, they took no thought, 
 They led the dance in graceful measure, 
 
 Sweet poesy her offering brought, 
 
 And tuned her lyre to mirth and pleasure; 
 
 At Dudley's court all things combine 
 
 To " strew with flowers the steps of time." * 
 
 The lights are quench' d, the music gone, 
 All pomp and state are vanish'd; 
 
 The raven's note is heard alone, 
 All other sounds are banish'd : — 
 
 No courtiers wait for royal smile, 
 
 With bended knee, and artful wile. 
 
 Green grows the moss, where banners told 
 Ambitious Leicester's hour of pride, 
 
 Years their all-changing course have roll'd, 
 All tenantless the chambers wide ! 
 
 Rank weeds upon the portals grow ; 
 
 Noble and knight, — where are ye now ! 
 
 • Her Majesty arrived on the 9th Julv, 1575.— Laneham, an 
 attendant on tiie court writes, " The Clok Dell Ban not a note all 
 the while her highness was their. The clok Btood still withall, 
 the handz of both the labia stood lirm and fast, allweys pointing 
 at two o'clok,— the hour of banquet ! "
 
 HERCULANEUM. 
 
 City of buried wonders ! — on thy walls , 
 The torchlight's glare in ghastly shadow falls. 
 Sounds once again intrude where silence reign'd, 
 And undisputed empire long maintain'd.— 
 From her long slumber echo starts, and round 
 A mournful murmur answers to each sound: 
 "While marble baths, and long-drawn colonades, 
 And fallen temples fill the long arcades ! 
 Where are the buried thousands, — once so rife 
 In all the bustling energies of life? 
 Hush'd is the voice of eloquence, — for none 
 Are left to hang upon each thrilling tone. 
 All silent ! For the 'whelming torrent came, 
 And quench'd the hero's and the poet's flame. 
 City, — long wrapp'd in dun oblivion's gloom, 
 Where thousands found at once a death and tomb. 
 On crowded theatres, and lighted halls, 
 The death-shower in one burning rum
 
 HERCULANEUM. 143 
 
 How sunk that hour the light in heauty's eye, 
 The music's cadence, and the lover's sigh; 
 Hope's flowery joys, that youth was wreathing there, 
 And weary age, that death together share — 
 And commerce, with a busy mart of schemes, 
 The painter's visions, and the poet's dreams ; — 
 AH,— all, — were 'whelm' d in that dark hour of woe, 
 And undistinguish'd to one funeral go ! 
 Ages roll'd on— the world forgot thy state, 
 Thy long-past glory, dark and desolate, — 
 Oblivion held o'er thee her ebon sway, 
 And all thy splendour in one slumber lay ! 
 To fancy's eye what flitting visions glide, 
 Thy silent streets and crumbling halls beside — 
 Pale ghosts of other ages, — memories old, 
 The chill deserted palaces enhold. 
 Asking why children of another day, 
 Roll from the grave its sheltering gloom away? 
 Oh, since thy ruin, what events have roll'd 
 Their lights and shadows o'er this changing world ! 
 Through thy dark streets the torchlight's lurid glare, 
 Gives backs to sight again, the things that were, 
 And all unchang'd, the selfsame aspect wears, 
 Through the deep shadow of two thouband year* !
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE, AT 
 SOUTH FERRIBY. 
 
 " And may at last my weary age 
 Find out some peaceful hermitage, 
 The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
 Where I may sit, and rightly spell 
 Of ev'ry star that heaven doth shew, 
 And every herb that sips the dew." 
 
 Il Pexseroso. 
 
 Rest wanderer,— within this "mossy cell," 
 Though from the roof hangs not the hermit's bell 
 To call the weary pilgrim, — he is fled : — 
 No rushes green, are scatter'd for thy bed, 
 No vesper hymn lulls thee to sweet repose, 
 No beads are telling at the daylight's close ; 
 No lonely anchorite is lingering here, 
 Wasting life's precious hours in penance drear, — 
 But peace, and holy contemplation dwell 
 With innocence, in this her russet cell. 
 Far from the "madding crowd's" ignoble strife, 
 Far from the thousand ills that wait on life.
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE. 145 
 
 Listen ! — Old Humbria's waters roll away, 
 
 While through dark groves the whispering breezes 
 
 play! 
 Then hither turn from summer's noon-tide heat, 
 This mossy floor invites the wanderer's feet; 
 And hither speed, when that sweet hour is nigh 
 Of eve, with Hesper's dewy light on high ; 
 An hour for lonely contemplation made, 
 When moonlight shadows linger in the glade ; 
 The boatman's song, then softly dies away, 
 With every sound that tells of parting day ; 
 Till all is still. — Then raise thy musings high, 
 To better worlds, beyond the starry sky, 
 Far o'er dim earth let thy aspirings be, 
 And lose thyself in that eternity !
 
 MAB'S CROSS. 
 
 A LANCASHIRE LEGEND. 
 
 Come forth,— come forth, ye vassals all, 
 Sir William's banner streams afar ; 
 
 And rouse you up at honour's call, 
 To seek the Holy war. 
 
 And on they troop, both squire and knight, 
 
 And serf, and vassal low, 
 To dare the Saracen to fight, 
 
 The infidel to bow. 
 
 Fair Lady Mabel, weep no more! 
 
 In safety soon returning, 
 From distant Syria's palmy shore, 
 
 The crescent proudly spurning.
 
 Mab's cross. 14? 
 
 Again shall Bradshaw's banner float, 
 Wide waving from the turret high> 
 
 And sounds of joy, shall own the note, 
 And to his bulge make reply. 
 
 Far o'er the bounding waters borne, 
 They go from Haigh's sequester'd bowers* 
 
 Where Lady Mabel long did mourn, 
 While slowly crept the joyless hours. 
 
 For there no more at dawn of day* 
 
 Did the hoarse stag-hound's bark foretel s 
 
 That hast'ning to the woods away, 
 Sir William sought the forest dell. 
 
 Nor when still evening's gathering veil 
 Was on the dusky boughs reposing, 
 
 Where the sweet night-bird told her tale> 
 As the long summer day was closing.,
 
 148 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 His well-known step no longer falls, 
 His stately form no more is seen ; 
 
 But round his own " time honour'd " walls, 
 The very pathway now is green. 
 
 And years roll'd by. — From Holy Land 
 
 He comes not, — came not ; — Wherefore, tell ? 
 
 The bravest of that gallant band, 
 They told her that Sir William fell. 
 
 Oh, bitterly did Mabel sigh! 
 
 And long the silent tear did flow, 
 From her lov'd home condemn'd to fly, 
 
 Or smile upon Sir William's foe, 
 
 Sir Ormond wed, — and 'scape the storm, 
 That threaten'd on her house to fall ; 
 
 Ah, how unlike the noble form, 
 That once was ruler in that Hall !
 
 mab's cross. 149 
 
 And she is now Sir Ormond's bride, 
 A tearful, melancholy thing, — 
 
 Seeking her bi-oken peace to hide, 
 Her wounded heart's corroding sting. 
 
 Her suffering meekly borne, — subdued, — 
 Her alms, her piety, her woe, — 
 
 From vassal and from soldier rude, 
 The tear of pity forc'd to flow. 
 
 It was a summer holiday, 
 
 Bright on old Haigh the sunbeams shine, 
 But Mabel's thoughts are far away, 
 
 With her dead Lord in Palestine. 
 
 To 'scape awhile from goading thought, 
 She calls the weary wanderer near; 
 
 Her alms the poor and wretched sought, 
 And bless'd her bounty with a tear.
 
 i50 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES- 
 
 Among them stands a palmer grey, 
 Lonely and travel-toil' d was he, 
 
 Long had he been from home away, 
 In regions o'er the billowy sea. 
 
 He ask'd not alms, — he only pray'd 
 A message to her ear to bring; 
 
 And Mabel, trembling and afraid, 
 Saw in his hand a silver ring. 
 
 The ring, — it was Sir William's token, 
 The voice, — thrill'd to her heart with pain, 
 
 v Mabel ! " — the magic word was spoken, 
 " Bradshaw returns to thee again ! " 
 
 Now from the tower his banner flies, 
 And merrily, — merrily peal the bells, 
 
 Away the base one distant flies> 
 And gladness in each bosom swells.
 
 mab's cross. 151 
 
 And Mabel hail'd her banish' d one, 
 And smiles are chasing tears away; 
 
 Still expiation must be done, 
 
 For former things, these legends say. 
 
 Her peace of mind again to bring, 
 To lull remorse — the worst of foes — 
 
 From conscience take its venom'd sting, 
 A daily pilgrimage she goes. 
 
 For where yon mould'ring cross is seen, 
 Still bearing Mab's forgotten name, 
 
 There have her weary footsteps been. 
 For daily there, the pilgrim came. 
 
 Go seek their tomb : — in effigy, 
 
 Of cold grey stone two forms recline. 
 
 Their names alone you there may see — 
 Such dark oblivion waits on time !
 
 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 ' ' The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 Await alike th' inevitable hour, 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 
 
 Grey. 
 
 Illustrious dead! one tributary sigh, 
 In that great temple where the mighty lie, 
 I breath'd for you, — a magic charm was there, 
 Where rest the great and good, — the wise and fair, 
 Their glitt'ring day of fame has had its close, 
 And beauty, genius, grandeur, there repose. 
 Immortal names ! Kings, queens, and statesmen rise, 
 In marble forms before the gazer's eyes. 
 Cold, pale, and silent, down each lessening aisle, 
 They clust'ring stand, and mimic life awhile. 
 The warrior chief, in sculptured beauty dies, 
 And in Fame's clasping arms for ever lies, 
 "Each in his place of state," the rivals stand, 
 The senators who saved a sinking land: 
 Majestic, — graceful, — each with "lips apart," 
 Whose eloquence subdued and won the heart. —
 
 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 153 
 
 Pitt! — round thy name how bright a halo burns, 
 "When memory to thy day of glory turns! 
 Round Fox's tomb, what forms angelic weep, 
 And ever watch that chill and marble sleep ! 
 Silence how eloquent! — how deep, profound, 
 Do thoughts that have not language, steal around. 
 Here sceptred monarchs, in death's slumbers lie, 
 Tudors, — Plantagenets, — they too could die ! 
 Beneath a scutchion'd arch, with banners spread, 
 Unhappy, murderd Richard, rests his head : 
 While Pomfret's walls, in ruin grimly tell, 
 How fought the brave, and how the noble fell ! 
 But who lies here? — in marble lovely still, 
 Here let me pause, and fancy take her fill; — 
 Poor ill-starr'd Mary! darkly pass'd away, 
 Thy life's sad closing hour, in Fotheringay ! 
 How near thee lies, that bright " star of the west," 
 Elizabeth, — of queens the wisest, — best, — 
 Her "lion port," and her imperial brow, 
 The dark grey stone essays in vain to show. 
 Ye royal rivals of a former day, 
 How has your love and haired pass'd away! 
 To future times how faint the voice of fame, 
 For greatness here but "stalks an empty name!"
 
 154 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Around, above, how sorrow builds her throne, 
 To snatch from death's embrace each treasure gone ! 
 See, how the horrid phantom bends his bow, 
 And points his dart, to lay that victim low, 
 She sinks, she falls, — and her fond husband's breast, 
 Is the cold pillow to that marble rest ! * 
 But softly tread, upon the sacred ground, 
 Where Britain's bards lie sepulchred around, 
 Sons of the Muse, who woke the magic spell, 
 From the sweet windings of " Apollo's shell ! " 
 Silent each lyre, — the golden strings no more 
 Give back the melody they knew of yore. 
 Oh ! vain the laurel wreath, these tombs among, 
 " Deaf the charm'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue ; w 
 More fitting were the drooping willow bough, 
 And cypress dark, to grace each tablet now ; — 
 Yet happy they ! to leave the narrow bound, 
 Where earth-born cares beset each pathway round, 
 If reach'd that higher world, where mind alone, 
 Dwells aye immortally around the Throne. 
 Hail, mighty shades! bright spirits of the past, 
 Here may your ashes rest, while time shall last. 
 And far o'er this "dim earth," in regions fair, 
 May you for ever, life eternal share! 
 
 • The tomb of Mrs. Nightingale.
 
 SPRING FLOWERS. 
 
 " There is a sweetness by antique song, 
 Breath'd o'er the names of the flowery throng, 
 Each sunny bank where their odours lie, 
 A place for the gushings of Poesy ! " 
 
 Mks. Hemans. 
 
 Spring twin'd a wreath of many flowers, 
 When balmy days were drawing nigh, 
 
 When lightly fell the vernal showers, 
 And soft each zephyr floated by. 
 
 And first that flower of pallid hue, 
 Whose tender elegance appears, 
 
 The mists of winter struggling through. 
 All drench'd in dropping crystal tears. 
 
 And next, the modest primrose gleam'd 
 
 The meadow bank along, 
 When morning rays all brightly beam'd, 
 
 When woke the blackbird's song.
 
 156 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And cowslips shook their yellow bells, 
 Thick o'er the grassy vale, 
 
 Where the lone ringdove faintly swells 
 Her notes upon the gale. 
 
 Sweet violet ! why does thy perfume 
 Wake airy visions of the past ? 
 
 Youth's buoyant hours before me come, 
 They were too fair, — too bright, to last ! 
 
 In the damp shade, still clust'ring ever, 
 On mossy banks may'st thou be found, 
 
 Where noontide rays can reach thee never, 
 Some spreading tree's old trunk around. 
 
 The golden crocus clust'ring grew, 
 
 Where bees were humming through the day; 
 And daffodils all wet with dew, 
 
 And hawthorn bursting from the spray.
 
 SPRING FLOWERS. 157 
 
 And fair anemone, — thy star, 
 
 Among the tufted grass was shining, 
 
 Where hosts of humble daisies are, 
 Crush'd by each foot, without repining. 
 
 And buttercups, their yellow glories, 
 
 Were mustering by the streamlet's side; 
 
 The bubbling stream, — telling old stories, 
 Of days in memory's cells that hide. 
 
 And, "deeply blue," the harebell twin'd 
 Its graceful form along the wreath ; 
 
 And many a flower you there might find, 
 On which Favonius loves to breathe. 
 
 But warmer glows the noonday sun, 
 The airs of summer faintly swell ; 
 
 Spring plac'd her dewy garland on, 
 And softly bade the year farewell !
 
 TRIBUTARY STANZAS. 
 
 " Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay ! " 
 
 YouNa. 
 
 Death rested on thee like the early dew. 
 
 That on some garden lily softly lies ; 
 But vain will come the morning, to renew 
 
 The laughing radiance of thy beaming eyes t 
 
 So cold, so fair, so still the ruin lay, 
 Like a pale rose-bud on the earth laid low, 
 
 As if some seraph from the realms of day 
 On this dark earth reposed his sinless brow ! 
 
 Yet, fond regrets and bitter tears were flowing, 
 When from thy lowly bed they turn'd away ; 
 
 A moment o'er that grave in anguish bowing, 
 A moment ling'ring where thy relics lay!
 
 TRIBUTARY STANZAS. 159 
 
 But he has join'd the myriad hosts who dwell, 
 Far o'er the stany way in bowers of light ; 
 To earth's dark valley bade a long farewell, 
 And to that better region wing'd his flight! 
 
 Weep not for him; from cares and coming woes, 
 From sorrow and from sin, for ever free ; 
 
 From all the ills that round our foosteps close, 
 Early removed, — his happier destiny. 
 
 When moonlight shadows rest upon the grave, 
 And summer dews their silent tears are weeping, 
 
 When sighing gales the willow branches wave, 
 And guardian spirits unseen watch are keeping, 
 
 Then be thou near, sweet shade — and whispering say, 
 " Thy buried one, sad mourner, watches thee ; 
 
 For He who gave, in mercy took away, 
 
 Dry, dry, thy tears— and seek to follow me."
 
 HUMAN FRIENDSHIPS. 
 
 *' Hope not to find 
 A friend, but what has found a friend in thee ; 
 All like the purchase, few the price will pay, 
 And this makes friends such miracles below. " 
 
 Younq. 
 
 False, — as the meteor glare, that shining far 
 Deludes the wand'rer with its treacherous seeming ; 
 
 Oh, even as false ! all human friendships are, 
 Changing and vain, and evermore deceiving. 
 
 Build not on kindness, that will change to scorn, 
 Build not on promises remembered never, 
 
 Or length of years, — for e'en from memory torn, 
 All the "fond record" soon will pass for ever, 
 
 Rest not on benefits confer r'd, for well 
 Ingratitude thy faithful zeal will pay, 
 
 And the averted eye too surely tell 
 
 All former kindness long hath pass'd away.
 
 HUMAN FRIENDSHIPS. 
 
 161 
 
 Think not, though fond caresses have been thine, 
 And words of love thy heart hath ne'er forgot, 
 
 That friendship's sun long over thee will shine 
 With bright unvarying gleam, — believe it not ! 
 
 Oh no! believe it not, — as soon suppose, 
 
 Yon sun-lit clouds their shadowy form retain; 
 
 Or, that thou wilt not fade, sweet fragile rose ! 
 Trust not sad heart, — nor be deceived again. 
 
 If human friendships still disperse and die, 
 
 Leaving no trace where all their light has been, 
 
 Where may the weary one for refuge fly, 
 
 And rest, where no unkindness comes between ? 
 
 There is an Ark, amid the storms of time ; 
 
 One Rock remains in life's tempestuous sea ; 
 One changeless Friend, for ever may be thine, 
 
 No " variableness or turning," (here can be. 
 
 M
 
 162 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Seek thou that Friend, and tho' thy tears are falling, 
 Over cold memories of love gone by, 
 
 Turn to that Friend, for ever on thee calling 
 To trust in Him, when earthly comforts fly. 
 
 Unlike the world, He never will deceive thee, 
 His promise stands when all beside are gone : — 
 
 Saviour of all,— unto Thy rest receive me, 
 I ask no other friend, but Thee alone !
 
 THE MOURNER. 
 
 "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord." 
 
 Weep not ! — the spirit pass'd from earth, 
 Hath entrance in a happier sphere, 
 
 Though o'er her love, and o'er her worth, 
 Still falls the unavailing tear. 
 
 Say gentle shade, does memory never 
 Return to this familiar scene, — 
 
 Or does the spirit lose for ever, 
 
 All trace of what on earth has been? 
 
 Secure in heaven's unvarying light, 
 Infinite, — boundless, — is its view; 
 
 No cloud to dim the raptur'd sight, 
 In regions ever fair and new!
 
 164 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 "Without a wing,"— away, away, 
 Where fancy vainly tries to soar 
 
 For ne'er may finite thought essay, 
 That clime celestial to explore. 
 
 From regions there of bliss supernal, 
 She bids to earth a long farewell; 
 
 In "mansions" there, that are eternal, 
 Do pure and happy spirits dwell. 
 
 Beyond all things of time and change, 
 The soul expatiates glad and free, 
 
 Through worlds on worlds at will to range, 
 O'er heaven's unknown immensity ! 
 
 No sin to cloud, no pain to mar, — 
 The weary night and darken'd morn. 
 
 Outwatching e'en that dewy star, 
 That ushers in the silent dawn.
 
 THE MOURNER. 165 
 
 Perhaps her spirit hovers near, 
 
 Sent forth to minister below ; 
 And marks the fond regretful tear, 
 
 "While lingering round thy footsteps now. 
 
 And whispers, "though beside my grave, 
 Affection's tears may fall for me, 
 
 My ransom'd life a Saviour gave," 
 Then, " Grave where is thy victory ? "
 
 SPIRIT'S SONG. 
 
 "She died in early youth, 
 Ere life had lost its rich romantic hues." 
 
 J. Moii., Esq. 
 
 Through boundless space I soar away, 
 And leave behind the starry world ; 
 
 And on me pours a flood of day, 
 
 From the great Fount of brightness huiTd. 
 
 What glorious scenes, for ever new, 
 Are spreading far and wide around me ; 
 
 And, bursting on my dazzled view, 
 
 Heaven's blest inhabitants surround me. 
 
 From countless harps what music swells, 
 The soul of harmony is there ! 
 
 Awhile around its sweetness dwells, 
 Then rises on the ambrosial air.
 
 spirit's song. 167 
 
 Still rising let me join the song 
 That from the myriad hosts ascended, 
 
 My humble offering pour along, 
 To be with strains angelic blended. 
 
 That distant world I scarce can see, 
 Where late I lived and breathed a day,- 
 
 A little day, — for soon from me 
 Life's sunny morning pass'd away ; 
 
 And I have left, for ever left, 
 
 Its fleeting sorrows, tears, and smiles ; 
 Its dreaming hopes, how soon bereft, 
 
 Its dear deceivings, and its wiles ! 
 
 Yet lovely were its skies of blue, 
 
 Green sunny hills, and vales beneath ; 
 
 But ever-changing were its hues, 
 
 And fading flowers were in the wreath.
 
 168 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 I loved, and was beloved again, 
 
 And friends I had, and friendship gave ; 
 Not mine affection's sever'd chain, 
 
 Its garlands flourish o'er my grave. 
 
 Oh yes ! — for o'er that grassy mound, 
 Fond tears were shed from friendship's eye, 
 
 And love with footsteps thither bound, 
 Wept till woe's rery fount was dry ! 
 
 At dewy morn, at dusky eve, 
 
 I've hovered near and mark'd their sorrow, 
 And wondered why they e'er .should grieve 
 
 My entrance on this glorious morrow. 
 
 Dry, dry your eyes — ye weeping few 
 Who hover near my grassy bed ; 
 
 Or falling soft as evening dew, 
 
 May Time his healing on you shed.
 
 spirit's song. 169 
 
 And raise from that dark earth your -vision, 
 To this hright-peopled home of mine ; — 
 
 Where Faith has found her full fruition, 
 Beyond the fading scenes of time !
 
 THE PICTURED HALL. 
 
 'Enter Ihe house,— forget it not I pray you, 
 To look awhile upon a picture there." 
 
 ROOER9. 
 
 Thou ancient home of other days, that 'mid the 
 
 forest green, 
 Dost hide the old magnificence of pomp that once 
 
 has been, 
 None of the busy sounds of earth intrude thy 
 
 bowers among, 
 Where solitude a vigil keeps, the wood-crown'd 
 
 dales along. 
 
 Within thee, do the echoing halls proclaim that 
 few abide, 
 
 Thy pictured galleries and saloons, and tapestried 
 walls beside, 
 
 The very fountain's ceaseless flow, is heard in mur- 
 murings ever, 
 
 And round do shadowy forms remain, to earth re- 
 turning never !
 
 THE PICTURED HALL. 171 
 
 But old historic legends dwell, among the portraits 
 
 there, 
 Where lovely dames look coldly down, in garments 
 
 rich and rare ; 
 Among them Scotland's hapless Queen, a pale and 
 
 faded flower, 
 Though graceful still her peerless mien, and her 
 
 sad beauty's power. 
 
 But in her soft and mournful eyes, deep sorrow's 
 
 light appears, 
 Methinks how vain to give her rest, the regal name 
 
 she bears ! 
 " An envied lot," she seems to say, " were mine, 
 
 if I could dwell, 
 Far from this gilded prison, in some lonely russet 
 
 cell ! " 
 
 And sternly there the maiden Queen, upon her rival 
 
 frown'd, 
 In stiff brocaded robe attired, and head with jewels 
 
 bound ; 
 And smiling courtiers round her 6teps in loyal duty 
 
 wait, 
 And ever round her seems to dwell an atmosphere 
 
 of state.
 
 172 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 And there did murder'd Strafford look with earnest 
 
 pleading gaze, 
 As if his very semblance took, the thoughts of other 
 
 days ; 
 Its mute expression seem'd to ask where truth and 
 
 justice staid? 
 What conscience-clouded long regrets, within thy 
 
 grave were laid ! 
 
 And Villiers, from his place of state, exultingly 
 
 look'd down, 
 With fickle fortune's smile elate, and favour from 
 
 the crown. 
 And round about, with fixed gaze, was many a noble 
 
 dame, 
 With curling tresses, silken robe, and high and 
 
 titled name ! 
 
 And all unconscious look'd they there, — how soon 
 
 oblivion's pall 
 Would on their very memories and vaunted beauty 
 
 fall! 
 Fast fleeting earth, — thy transient things too soon 
 
 are gliding by, 
 Methinks I hear some whisper low, among these 
 
 records 6igh.
 
 THE PICTURED HALL. 173 
 
 Continuance is wanting still, to every pageant 
 fair, 
 
 And fame and beauty, wealth and state, dissolve in 
 empty air. 
 
 Only abides the prayer and thought, to hopes im- 
 mortal given. 
 
 Oh ! who would for the things of time, forget their 
 home in heaven !
 
 SUMMER FLOWERS. 
 
 " ^'e made a poesy while Time ran by, 
 But Time did beckon to the flowers,— and they, 
 By noon most cunningly did steal away, 
 And wither in the hand!" 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 Fade not so fast — ye lovely things! 
 
 Sweet rose, — why change thy hues so soon? 
 For Summer yet on zephyr's wings, 
 
 Revisits you at noon : 
 The scarlet fuscia lingers still, 
 
 And asters of unnumber'd dyes, 
 Their bright, brief destiny, fulfil, 
 
 Beneath the changing skies. 
 Fade not away, 
 But longer stay, — 
 Though Autumn comes with mantle grey, 
 And tunes her requiem note, over the closing day.
 
 SUMMER FLOWERS. 175 
 
 " Ye 'mind me o' departed hours, " 
 
 When youth and health were wreathing bowers, 
 
 All garlanded with laughing flowers, 
 
 And fancy's pictures rare; — 
 Alas ! there came a wintry blast, 
 And youth and health fled quickly past — 
 And Hope, her garland downward cast. 
 
 To droop and wither there ! 
 
 Ye flowers farewell ! — for ere the spring, 
 Her vernal airs and dews shall bring 
 
 To earth once more, — 
 My weary course may finish'd be, 
 Where the last wave breaks silently, 
 
 On death's cold shore. 
 
 Once more farewell ! — for when again, 
 Ye shall resume your joyous reign 
 
 In beauty and in bloom, — 
 Some gentle heart, remembering me, 
 May bring your blossoms tearfully, 
 
 To deck my tomb !
 
 AFFECTION. 
 
 Thro' Time's bleak wilderness, while journeying on, 
 "When far behind we leave life's sunny vale, 
 
 And tread the thorny paths by pilgrims worn, 
 "When health, and hope, and spirit 'gins to fail, 
 And loud the winds of the chill autumn wail — 
 
 How seeks the soul, as wanes life's frowning day, 
 
 To find some answering mind, soothing its cares 
 away ! 
 
 But change, and death, and separations wait 
 Upon that hope, — and to the musing eye, 
 
 That backward turns to trace the storms of fate, 
 "What shatter'd wrecks around in ruin lie ! 
 Affections fond, — and early friendship's tie, — 
 
 All scatter'd to the winds, that answering moan, 
 
 O'er shadows of the past — on memory's record 
 borne !
 
 AFFECTION. 1/7 
 
 When murky clouds night's canopy invest, 
 
 While darkly spread the shades of evening grey, 
 
 How loves the eye on one bright star to rest, 
 Upon pale Hesper's soft and tranquil my ! 
 A lamp in the blue concave far away, — 
 
 Of all heaven's myriad stars the only one, 
 
 Shedding its dewy light upon the wanderer 
 lone. 
 
 And thus like thee, thou glittering gem of eve, 
 When storms are gathering in Time's wintry sky, 
 
 Affection softens half the ills we grieve, 
 
 Scattering the woes that crowd our destiny ; 
 Soothing with tenderness the tear and sigh :— 
 
 A light from other worlds, — a charm divine. 
 
 Oh, — ever may this balm for sorrow's hour be 
 mine ! 
 
 Shall we not meet, when the bright shore is won, 
 The tempest over, and the waves at rest ; 
 
 When life's vain care and anxious day is done, 
 And the green turf lies lightly on each breast ! 
 Shall we not know again our dearest, — best? 
 
 Oh, yes! I still will dream, when time is over, 
 
 Together wc may roam, and brighter worlds dis- 
 cover ! n
 
 THE POETS. 
 
 " Blessings be with them, — and eternal praise, — 
 The poets, who on earth have made us heirs 
 Of truth and pure delight, by heavenly lays." 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 " Beyond (his visible diurnal sphere," 
 For ever soaring did thy muse ascend ; 
 
 By Siloa's brook, didst thou faint warblings hear r 
 And light celestial with thy visions blend. 
 
 Dark, dark, the sightless orbs, no outward ray 
 Intruded where thy spirit loved to scan 
 
 Angels and powers, — and boldly did essay, 
 "To vindicate the wavs of God to man." 
 
 But mental day's full radiance shining there 
 Reflected things beyond the reach of thought ; 
 
 Scenes bright and glorious, and divinely fair, 
 The "blind old man" in lays immortal taught.
 
 THE POETS. 17i» 
 
 SHAKSPEARK. 
 
 Methinks I see thee by sweet Avon's side. 
 
 Thy "wood-notes" in youth's early morn essaying, 
 "With two fair shades, that near thee seem to glide, 
 
 Through fiction's varied bowers for ever straying. 
 
 The tragic muse led thee to battle fields, 
 
 And midnight whispers heard in " Dunsinane ;" 
 
 Fair Desdemona's depth of woe reveal'd, 
 And heard Ophelia of her wrongs complain. 
 
 'Neath the green boughs of royal Windsor's shades, 
 Did fairies trip their rounds by moonlight gleam, 
 
 And Oberon and Titania seek the glades, 
 By the first blush of morn no longer seen. 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 Funereal yew, — the fittest wreath for thee! 
 
 Poet, whose holy thoughts by night did tell 
 That earthly hopes and joys are vanity ; 
 
 Mourning " Narcissa's" early fate so well.
 
 180 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 Revolving seasons wake no more thy lay, 
 
 Nature's own bard, who mark'd the varying year, 
 
 Who by lone stream and meadow lav'd to stray, 
 By sylvan haunts, to truth and fancy dear. 
 
 COLLINS. 
 
 The "passions" woke wild music at thy will, 
 As each in turn the trembling chords along, 
 
 Did the rapt ear with love or pity fill, 
 Or melancholy's note, far glades among. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 Long will the pilgrim seek thy humble bower, 
 By Olney, or green Weston's quiet shade, 
 
 Where pious hope sooth' d every darker hour, 
 And round thy path a charmed influence made. 
 
 GREY. 
 
 Harmonious are thy numbers, classic Grey, — 
 Whether by village tombs, 'twas thine to dwell 
 
 On lowly names, who " kept their noiseless way," 
 Or "Odin's" or "Llewellyn's" doom to tell.
 
 THE POETS. 181 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 By rimpling brook, or Yarrow's waters clear, 
 And by the "cottar's hearth," still fondly swell 
 
 Remembrances of one to Scotland dear, 
 
 Still cherished in the land he loved so well. 
 
 BEATTIE. 
 
 Thy "minstrel" boy's fair dreams we love to trace, 
 To poesy's lone musing still beguil'd; — 
 
 Seeking, from " towns remote," each haunted place, 
 The "leafy woodland," and the mountain wild. 
 
 H. K. WHITE. 
 
 Sweet bard ! — too soon thy music died away, 
 And failing health o'ercast thy promised spring, 
 
 By " Cam's smooth margin," will thy pensive lay, 
 Long to thy memory grateful records bring ! 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 Tweed's murmuring waters seem a dirge for thee : 
 By Abbotsford's romantic towers for ever, 
 
 Will live the glory of thy minstrelsy, 
 
 Thy magic spells, — to be forgotten never!
 
 182 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 " We mourn thy wreck, — a costly argosy 
 
 Enrich'd in vain ! " — by Newstead's twilight dells 
 
 And terraced walks, abides thy memory, — 
 A lingering shade, that there for ever dwells ! 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Soft as the hour when daylight dies away, 
 And tender as the hues to evening given, 
 
 Was thy sweet song, — too early pass'd away, 
 To join the eternal melodies of heaven !
 
 NOTES. 
 THE MOSS ROSE. — Page 111. 
 
 PABLE FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 " One delightful day, the angel who tends the flowers, 
 and in the silent night besprinkles them with dew, 
 slumbered in the shade of a rose-bush. When he awoke 
 he said, ' Loveliest of my children, I thank thee for thy 
 refreshing perfume and for thy cooling shade ; ask what 
 thou wilt of me and I will grant it.' — 'Oh then' sighed tha 
 spirit of the rose, ' confer on me a new charm, without 
 increasing my splendour.' Then the angel adorned this 
 fairest of flowers with the simple moss — and the loveliest 
 of her race, the moss rose, appeared in her beautiful but 
 modest attire. Hence, learn ye fair to despise gaudy finery 
 and the glittering gem, and learn humility from the works 
 of nature." 
 
 THE LOST ONE.— Page 123. 
 
 " In the year 1747 the body of a female was discovered in 
 the peat moor, in the township of Amcoats, a village in the 
 Isle of Axholme. Out of these moors the poor people get 
 most of their fuel, called peats; in doingthis they some- 
 times dig two yards deep. One of these peat diggers, in a 
 moor belonging to Amcoats, in the parish of Althorp, met 
 with a human skeleton in an upright posture. The place 
 was carefully searched, if haply some piece of coin n 
 in some measure ascertain the tunc when this unfortunate 
 
 accident, bappe 1, hut nothing else was found. The 
 
 nt' the i ies, or sandals, one 
 ni these sandals was jenl to the Royal Society of Anti- 
 lane, hut they could find i> ans'w it So a
 
 184 NOTES. 
 
 were of opinion that the shoes being peaked, must at least 
 be earlier than the time of Edward the Fourth, in whose 
 time shoes or sandals of this kind were much worn. There 
 can be no doubt, from the skeleton being found in an 
 upright posture, that this unfortunate female perished 
 accidentally. She had probably lost her way, and sinking 
 into the soft ground of these desolate moors, was unable 
 to extricate herself. The remains of this lady were 
 buried in Amcoats Chapel yard." 
 
 From the History and Topography of the Isle of Ax- 
 hohne, being that part of Lincolnshire west of the Trent, 
 by the Rev. W. B. Stonehouse. 
 
 Sandals such as are here described were worn by 
 persons of rank. The Mowbrays were lords over this part 
 of Lincolnshire from a very remote period. 
 
 MAB'S CROSS.— Page 146. 
 
 Armed, and with but few attendants, (says the legend,) 
 Sir William Bradshaw pursued his foe, and as old chroni- 
 cles tell, at a place called Newton, overtook and slew him 
 in single combat : returning in safety, he lived happily 
 with his lady to a good old age. They lay in the Chancel 
 of All-Saints, Wigan, where, carved on the tomb, their 
 effigies still exist, the rarest of the monumental anti- 
 quities in that ancient edifice. 
 
 The lady Mabel's hurt spirit was too sorely wounded to 
 be at rest. For the purpose of what in those dark times, 
 was deemed an expiation of her unintentional offence, 
 she performed a weekly penance, going barefooted from 
 Haigh to a place outside the walls of Wigan, where a 
 stone cross was erected, which bears to this day, the 
 name of " Mab's Cross."
 
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