w^ ^y*^' THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES i March 2, 1835. WORKS Under the SiiperliUendeiice of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. PUBLISHED BY BALDWIN AND CRADOCK; HISTORY AND MANAGEMENT op SHEEP, By the Author of the ' Horse ' and ' British Cattle.' No. I. and II. price 6d. each, Forming a portion of the Farmer's Series of THE LIBRARY OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE. Having treated of the Horse, his various breeds, and his manage- ment and diseases ; having also sketched and compared the different species of British Cattle, and attempted to explore that almost untrodden ground — the maladies of cattle, their causes, and their cure — Sheep next present themselves to the attention of the author of this portion of the Farmer's Series. The History of the Sheep will be attempted as the animal existed in the time of the Patriarchs^, and was treated by the first shepherds, more than a thousand years before the time of the earliest profane historian. The original breed will perhaps be thus developed, and it will be traced in its progress from Western Asia through various climates and countries. The British Sheep will then be considered : — its varieties — their adaptation to different soils, pasturage, and localilies — their gra- dual improvement as affording food to man ; arid, particularly, as providing him with clothing, and contributing to the establishment of manufactures most intimately connected with the commerce and wealth of the country. With this will be connected a history of Wool; its structure, hitherto not sufficieiiii^ examined or accurately de^^^nbed, and on "Nvhich depend its difTerent felting and clothing, and manufacturing properties ; a comparison of the wool of different breeds ; the pur- poses to which the fleece of each is applicable ; the improvement or altered character of the wool of each ; and the new purposes to which this altered character, and the improvement of ma- chinery, will adapt it. To this will succeed a more extended comparison of the different breeds ; the new views of the truest interests of agriculturists, which recent improvements or changes have unfolded. With this will be interwoven a history of the origin, progress, change, [Wm. Clowks, Printer, Lambeth. 2 Works Published by Baldwin and Cradock. improvement, and management of the principal breeds. The author will then enter on perhaps the most im[)ortant, and cer- tainly the distinguishing portion of his work — the Diseases of Sheep, which hitherto have been misunderstood, neglected, or ill-treated : — the hydatid, the blood, hoove, dysentery, the rot, red-water, the scab, and the foot-rot will be prominent objects in this division. A brief account of the Goat and of the Dkkr will complete the volume. It will be illustrated and embellished by numerous cuts, consisting chiefly of accurate delineations of various breeds of shee[), drawn from the life by Harvey, and engraved by Jackson, in the same style as the delineations of cattle in the volume devoted to that subject. OF THIS SERIES OF THE LIBRARY OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE THERE HAVE BKEN ALRHIADV PUBLISHED: I. THE HORSE, with a Treatise on Diaiiglit; comprised in 15 Numbers at 6d. ; or, in cloth boards, 8s. 6rf- If. BRITISH CATTLE, with superior wood engravings, in 19 Numbers, at 6d.; or, cloth boards, lO*. 6d. Just complete. III. BRITISH HUSBANDRY, Vol. I., with numerous cuts, in 17 Numbers, at dd.; or, in cloth boards, 9i. 6e/., (to be completed in two Volumes). IV. ON PLANTING TIMBER AND ORNAMENTAL TREES, in 4 Numbers; or, in cloih boards, 3i'. V. REPORTS ON THE CULTIVATION OF SELECT FARMS, at 6'/. each. Of' these, 7 have been iniblished ; and about 3 more will constitute a Volume, exhibiting the course of Husbandry adopted in various parts of the King- dom, and with various Soils. VL THE MOUNTAIN SHEPHERD'S MANUAL, 6d. VII. ADMINISTRATION OF THE POOR LAWS,-6rf. THE LIBRARY OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE, which commenced in 1827, has now advanced to 184 Numbers wliicli comprise the following Treatises, now completed, and made into Volumes, viz.: — HISTORV OF GREECE, in cloth boards, 5s. HISTORY OF THE CHURCH, ditto, 12s. 6cf. HISTORY OF SPAIN, ditto, 7s. LIVES OF EMINENT PERSONS, ditto. 10.s, each, handsomely bound ill clotli, COWPER'S WORKS and CORRESPONDENCE, carefully re- vised, collated, and edited, by Rohert Soiitiiey, Esq., LL.D. With an interesting Life of the Poet, and Memoirs of Newton, of Olney, and Madame Guion, by the Editor; together with Biographical Notices of many of the Author's personal friends and correspondents. *^* The Work will be printed in the best manner by Whittingham, on the finest paper, and ornamented by exquisite Plates from drawings of scenery taken on the spot, expressly for this edition, and engraved by the first Artists : it will contain Portraits also, from the best Originals, of many of Cowper's friends and connexions, in addition to the usual embellishments. The publishers hope that this First Complete Edition or the Works OF CowPER, undertaken by such an Editor, and possessing all the attractions that tlie high state of the arts can give its exterior, will be received with interest by all classes of readers. The LIFE and MINISTRY, and SELECTIONS from the Remains, of the REV. SAMUEL WALKER, B.A., late of Truro, in Cornwall. By the Rev, Edwix Sidney, M.A. of St. John's College, Cambridge, Author of the 'Life of tb.c Rev. Rowland Hill.' In one volume 8vo. To be ready m March. The FIRST FRENCH SCHOOL-ROOM BOOK; the Life of Alfred the Great, by Rapin de Thoyias ; with a Grammatical Dictionary giving the Translations of all the words as they occur in the work ; to which is added, a Key to the French Genders, easy, complete, and quite on a new plan. By N. Lambert. 12nio. Lately Puhlished, The Sixth Edition, in a large volume 8vo., with all the Improvements in the Tilling of Land, the Breeding and Fattening of Stock, the Irrigation of Meadows the Preparation and Application of Manures, &c. ; witli fine Cuts, many of them rc-eiigraved lor this Edition. Price l^s, cloth boards, TITE COMPLETE GR:VZIER; or Farmer's, and Cattle Breeder's, and Dealer's Assistant. Comprising — Instruclions for the Buyinji', Breeding, liearing, and Fattening of Cattle. The Stable iSIanagement of Horses. Directions for the Choice of the Best Breeds of Live Stock, and the I'reat- ment of their Diseases. The Management of Cows and Ewes during the critical times of Calving and Yeaning. The general Economy of a Grass Farm. The Irrigation of JMeadows. Tlie Preparation and Application of Ma- nures. The Culture, and Comparisons of the relative Value, of the best Natural and Artificial Grasses and Plants for Fodder. Also, an Apjiendix on Prize Cattle, Farm .\ccounts, and other subjects connected with Agriculture. By a Lincolxsiiire Grazikh, assisted by several eminent Agriculturists. The auimiili are engraved from Harvey's drawings of living spe- cimens. Loudon: Baldwin and Cradock, Paternoster Row. Various iMethods of Cutting, Mixing, and Preparing Food in Severe Win- ters and Seasons of Scarcity. The Economy and General Management of the Dairy ; including the Making, Curing, and Preservation of Butter and Cheese. The most approved Methods of Fatten- ing Calves for Veal, and of Feeding Pigs. Together v,-ith an Introductory View of the different Breeds of Neat Cattle, Sheep, Horses, and Swine. The present State of the Wool Trade, and the Improvement of British Wool. THE EMIGRANTS' TALE, A POEM, IN TWO PARTS: MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SECOND EDITION. BY JAMES BIRD. REVIEWERS' OPINIONS. " The chief Poem in this volume is well imagined and well written. Some of the smaller Poems are of considerable beauty : truth of delineation abounds, and the writer copies from nature." — The Athenccum, JVo. 281. "There is certainly something in the Emigrant's Tale which reminds us pleasantly of Crabbe, one of the English Poets whom we most reverence. " Among his Miscellanies Mr. Bird has some delightful verses. Those addressed " To the Altar of St. George's, Hanover Square," that celebrated marriage mart, are admirable. " Castle Building" is good, and so are the "Farmer's Family," and the "Bank of England," with a variety of others. If there be any love for Poetry yet extant, Mr.Binn will meet encouragement. We assure our readers that his present volume well merits their patronage."-Co«r/ Magazine. " The Emigrant's Tale is of an English Village and Parish in the happier olden times. It gives the customary group of "Village Characters. The Schoolmaster, who demonstrates his ignorance by a rigorous application of birch— the bland Rector-a Curate, who might make a third to Goldsmith's Preacher and Chaucer's Priest-aud a noble old Knight, Lord of the Manor. These sketches, interwoven with a domestic tale, give Mr. Bird scope tor his powers of description, which are natural, agreeable, and cultivated. "Among the Miscellaneous Poems are some upon the most remarkable objects and monuments of London ; these themes are well chosen, and place Mr. Bird's poetical talents in a very favourable lisi\t."-Triit's Edinburgh Magazine. ♦ EMBELLISHED WITH A PLATE, Price Is. M. in Cloth, FRAMLINGHAM : A NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE. A POEM, IX FOUR CANTOS. " The story of this old Castle is rich in traditional and historical interest, in picturesque events, and romantic incidents; and Mb. Bird, whose mind seems deeply tinged with a love of such lore, has treated it with .ibilily, and heightened its eflect by arraying it in the graces of poetry."— iVeto Monthly Magazine. " An interesting story, very poetically io\A."— Literary Gazette. " A work characterized by a lofty strain of moral excellence and purity of sentiment.— Lady's Magazine. " It is a tale written in the old manly heroic verse, and founded upon some traditions connected with Framlingham and its Castle. The fortunes of the hero and heroine arc calculated to call forth all the better feelings of the human bosom, and the incidents with ■which the tale abounds are introduced with admir.ible tact and skill."— i>M»7iaw Advertiser. " It is an interesting metrical love-tale of the time of Queen Mary. It is well told, and pictures of great interest are constantly brought before us ; while the harmony, dignity, and strength of the verse, carries the reader rapidly through the hooXi."— Sunday Times. " The tale is as romantic as could be desired, and is well arranged, keeping the interest of the reader awake to tire \i\i,\."-Alhenwum LATELY PUBLISHED BY THE SAME AUTHOR. I. THE VALE OF SLAUGHDEN, A POEM, IN FIVE CANTOS. SECOND EDITION. " So Striking have been the passages which I have adduced ; so much of taste and feeling, of life and character, pervade their whole texture and composition, and so sustained is the impres- sion of the incidents throughout, by the beauty and spirited harmony of the versitication, that no person I am persuaded can withdraw from the perusal of the 'Vale op Slaughden,' without a wish to sec such encouragement bestowed, as may lead to further productions from the same source."— /JeaA-e's Winter Nights, No. xviii. II MACHIN; on, THE DISCOVERY OF MADEIRA. A POEM, IN FOUR CANTOS. SECOND EDITION. " The poetical powers of Mr. Bird, the author of the ' Vale of Slauohden,' appear to great advantage in his production of ' Maoiiin, or the Discovery of Madeira.' Mr. Bird's desciiptive powers are great, and his talent, in telling a simple and pathetic tale, is fully evinced in the work before \xs.'"— Monthly Magazine. III. COSMO, DUKE OF TUSCANY. A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. " In the composition of his Tragedj', the author has shewn himself in full possession of poetical power, combined with dramatic tact."— Za Belle Assemblee. IV. POETICAL MEMOIR S. THE EXILE. A TALE SECOND EDITION. " There is scarcely a page opened at random that is not thickly set with poetical beauties." —Gentlemen's Magazine. " Mr. Bird is familiar with his harp, and, with the hand of a master, he can freelj', boldly, and effectively command the utmost extent of its power."— Za Belle Assemblie. V. DUNWICH; A TALE OF THE SPLENDID CITY: IN FOUR CANTOS. " The incidents are new and striking ; the language glowing, eloquent, and sometimes even splendid."— >/on//(/y Magazine. '' A tale of love and arms, aided by much beautiful and even powerful description. The notes abound with curious historical and antiquarian information."— Za Belle Assemblee. LONDON : BALDWIN AND CRADOCK, PATEBKOSTER-ROVV. THE EMIGRANT'S TALE MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE EMIGRANT'S TALE; A POEM, IN TWO PARTS: MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. BY JAMES BIRD. SECOND EDITION. LONDON : BALDWIN AND CRADOCK. MDCCCXXXV. PRINTED BY C. SLOMAN, KING-STREET, GREAT YARMOUTH. PR T^ a ADVERTISEMENT. From the Title of the following Poem, the Reader may, perhaps, before he commences his task, be led to expect a new description of " Life in the Wilds," or an illustration of the doubtful struggles of a Settler in " The far West," of his adventm'es among the red Indians of the Lakes, and of his occasional alarm at the unex- pected attack from The Stoic of the Woods, the Man without a tear. But notwithstanding the new and striking situations in which the first Settlers in the Forest must be placed, and although great interest is attached to the localities, and to the probable futm'e gTeatness of the British pos- sessions in North America, yet, to the man w^ho has an English heart in his bosom, the necessity for the self- expatriation, which, to so great an extent, has become apparent, must not only be a subject of painful regret, but ,4. r\ /« OO ^J\ vr must force his altention to the causes oiils existence. To investigate these causes belongs to the PoUtical Economist and Historian. The Author has only attempted, in the construction of a Domestic Story, to give an illustrative sketch of the effects of the late War upon British Agri- cultm'e and Industry, and to draw a few pictures of national and individual character, the latter of which, though they may be painted with an unskilful hand, are nevertheless, tolerable likenesses of the originals, which had once a more distmct and substantial existence, than that in which the writer's imagination has clothed them. CONTENTS. PAOE, The Emigrant's Tale — Introduction 1 Part 1 9 Part II 35 — Notes 77 Metropolitan Sketches — The New Post-Office 83 The Tower 89 The Thames 95 Westminster Abbey 98 The Monument 101 The Bank of England 107 Whitehall 113 On the Wreck of a Brig off Dunwich 11 G To the Altar of St. George's Church, Hanover-Square 120 My Father's Grave 123 My Birth Day 126 The Village 129 Lines written upon the Lid of a Coffin 132 Mary 1;34 VIII PAGR, The Drowned Man 136 Reflections on the New Year 138 To my Cliild at Play 141 Stanzas written in Winter 143 To a Friend, on his Emigrating to Canada 145 Castle-Building 148 Address to Time 151 Constancy 154 On the Birth of my Child, Aleyn 161 The Farmer's Family 163 The Path of Life 166 To Catherine-Mary Moodie 168 The Ordeal of the Heart 169 To Emma 175 Tlie Two Children 177 The Mountain and the Valley 180 Lucy Jones 183 The Village Pine-Tree 186 The Departing Year 190 The End 191 NoTF.. — ^Tlie Song at page 183, " I swv Him on tiif. Mountain," is set to Music, and just published, by Mr. Z. T. PuRnAV,4r), High Holborr*. PART FIRST. VIII TACK. The Drowned Man 13G Reflections on tlie Now Year 138 To my Child at Play 141 Ox -..x — ;„ i!i7,„t„„ 143 The Path of Life 166 To Catherine-Mary Moodie 168 The Ordeal of the Heart 169 To Emma 175 The Two Children 177 The Mountain and the Valley 180 Lucy Jones 183 The Village Pine-Tree 186 The Departing Year 190 The End 191 THE EMIGRANT'S TALE. PART FIRST. INTRODUCTION. O'er the wide empire of Canadian plains, O'er their vast solitudes deep silence reigns, Tired echo sleeps by silent dale and hill, The boundless woods, the mighty lakes are still, Soft gleams the sky as the declining day Melts into twilight's sober shade away. By the lone brink of Niagara's' stream. Watching the sun's last, lingering, dying gleam, Two friends were seated : — on the brow of one Care's hand had written what her spite had done ; His cheek was flushed, as though from restless thought More pain than joy his 'wakening memory caught. 4 INTRODUCTION. AMiile o'er his mind sad visions of the past Long vanished-hours, their mournful shadows cast. Yes ! keen remembrance to his soul would bring The transient glory of life's happier spring ; Kenew with stem yet not less vivid powers The storm and peril of those wintry hours, Which, cold and dreary, on his native shore Laid bare hope's stem that might not blossom more ! Britain his birth-place — well he loved that name. And wished it taintless as his own by shame : Though now an alien to her soil, though gone The sand he built his house of hope upon. And though no more in happy mood he treads Her fertile uplands, and her verdant meads. No more he hears her euckoo in the vale, Her soaring lark, her sleepless nightingale, No more beholds her peasants trip along (How happy, then ! ) to labour with a song. Though all are banished from his eye and ear. Yet memory's magic brings them pictured near. INTRODUCTION. And more than these are deeply wi-itten now Within his brain, and saddened is his brow, While thought dwells mournful on departed time, That wrought him woe, but linked him not with crime. His friend beheld the inward strife, and spoke—- " Thornton ! the galling, the oppressive yoke Weighs still thy spirit dowTi ! — thou know'st full well The pledge thou gav'st thy promised Tale to tell, And, when I urged thee to the lask again, Thou still hast waived it, as a task of pain, Yet haply now, my friend, thou wilt relate The chance and change that marked thy former fate : I would not urge thee, Thornton, but the care Of day is past, the evening softly fair Invites to linger where its sweets are shed ; Our sheep are folded, and our kine are fed, And, while thy Wife prepares our frugal meal, Redeem thy pledge, and to thy friend reveal The story of thy life !" — From Thornton's eye Shot a bright glance as came his quick reply, " Maurice ! thou plead'st not vainly — I can bear All that the past has wrought me— its despair ■6 INTllODUCTION. Is fled, and time has here my heart subdued, Nature's profound and awful solitude. Free from Man's heartless treachery and guile, Has been as balm unto my soul — the smile Of priceless Woman has at last shed o'er My heart a light which cannot vanish more ; Yet, as remembrance to my aching brain Recalls the past, and all its strife again, Oh I marvel not, if, borne on passion's gale, My soul be ruffled by my chequered tale. ^j •!•> Awhile he paused — deep silence reigned — no sound Was heard above, beneath them, nor around, Save a low booming, like the distant wave. That came far off from Niagara's cave, Where falls the Cataract, where shakes the sod. As though it trembled at the voice of God I Wild Niagara ! — marvel of a land Where nature scatters with her mightiest hand Her gifts — plain, river, lake, and forest-tree, All most sublime, yet all surpassed by thee ! Stupendous miracle ! the light that flies More swift than thought along the flashing skies INTRODUCTION. ' Darts with thy speed ; but thunder, pealing o'er The echoing heaven, is feeble to thy roar ! Thy mass of living waters, and thy spray, 'Mid which the bright and liquid meteors play, Thy awful plunge into the dark abyss, No pen can paint, no pencil picture this ! We gaze upon thee in delight and fear, And feel that nature's rnighty God is near ! Now Thornton raised his large and speaking eye, Gazed to the east intent, and mournfiilly. His mind beyond the vast Atlantic roved, 'Mid scenes long lost, long cherished, and long loved ; It sought among the busy haunts of youth To gain the deep impression of their truth, And thus restore the past remembered years. Their pains, their perils, vivid hopes and fears, Sorrows and joys. — So pondering, he sought Pensive to trim the shaded lamp of thought. And then, directed by its magic beam. Pursued his Tale, and thus began the theme. THE EMIGRANT'S TALE. PART FIRST. Light of my soul ! fair memory ! renew The mirror of the past, when fancy drew In dazzling coloxu's, doomed, alas ! to fade. Pictures of loveliness, whose light and shade So sweetly blended, that I could not deem Their beauty soon might vanish as a dream ! Home of my childhood ! thy remembered charm Steals o'er my heart! — my Father's upland farm, c 10 THE emigrant's TALE. Each sliady nooli, and blossomed tlioni, and tree. All most familiar and most dear to mc ; My Mother's kind affection, and her care, Sweet e'en to think of. — Oh ! how sweet to share ! A Sister's love, and oft approving smile, Our daily blessings, and our daily toil, The social eve around our happy hearth, My Father's wisdom, and our youthful mirth, The peasant's cottage, and the stately hall. The grove, the rectory, the stream, and all The smiling Village, and the neighbouring grange. Still haunt my memory, as though no change Had dimmed the sun of those departed years. That rose in joyousness, but set in tears ! E'en now my rapt, my ardent fancy sees Our neat white homestead glittering through the trees ; The blooming garden, with the green-leaved vine. The honey suckle, and the jessamine. That crept with piu'e and fragrant blossoms o'er The whitened wall, and round our gothic door, The distant River's clear, expanding tide, The wooded hills that rose on either side. THE emigrant's TALE. 11 As though to guard the Orwell on its way, Lest the sweet stream should from their shelter stray ! The ruined church o'er which the ivy creeps, The dotted knolls where many a good man sleeps. The sunny pasture where our cattle fed, The winding path that to the Village led, Where oft at mom with lingering steps I trod To school, in spite of Stedman, and the rod ! Our village Pedagogue was one, whose race Is now extinct : — the grandeur of his face Was like the ancient Roman's, wisely stern, He did not teach, but ordered us to learn ! In all the solemn labour of his school, He thought, and looked, and moved, and spoke by rule, And, as he shook bis learned head, and cast His eye around, that threatened as it past, Each glance was measured, every shake so true, That e'en the motion of his ponderous queue Seemed like a formal pendulum of lead. To time the mental clock-work of his head ! -Six feet his stature, as an an'ow strait. Firm and unbending his majestic gait, ^7 12 THE emigrant's TALE. Yet, though he would not stoop to Lords or Dons, He often stooped to flog his tiTiant ones I Whether to shew his learning, or his wit, I know not, but he sometimes let me sit Three tedious weeks, lorn, prosing o'er my slate, Without one hmt my dulness to abate ; He taught me not to add, subtract, divide, At length, perchance, the idler to deride. While he my gloomy incubation watched, Woidd ask, contemptuous, " Has the goose not hatched V^ Thou hast been sitting three full weeks in vain. And still no offspring from thy dreamy brain ! — Hast thou not found the sum's right quotient yet !" " No Sir !" I drawled, " the Rule, Sir, I forget."— " What ! after all I've told you ! —after all ! Rule — Tfrite the numbers — let points decimal Stand in a line directly imder each : How plain to learn, when I so clearly teach ! Know, Boy, that decimals are different quite. Some are interminate, and some finite, Some single repetends — some circulate. 'Tis twelve o'clock, Boy — put away your slate 1'^ THE emigrant's TALE. 13 Such was the man to teach my youthful mind The weaUh of knowledge, and the truth to find ; Such was the man true wisdom to impart, To lead the intellect, to form the heart ! Such was the man, who, at my Father's board Dined twice a year, and, from his brain, ill-stored, Quoted with pride — methinks I hear him sjjcak — Three scraps of barbarous Latin, four of Greek, Which made my Father stare, my Mother sigh. And wish her Son just such a prodigy ! Beyond the school, upon a verdant slope, The rectory stood — there dwelt the mourner's hope. Our modest Pastor — not the man who took The golden fleece, and then the flock forsook — Our Rector dwelt far off, and only came Once in the year, to flatter, or to blame, Shook hands with farmers — smiled upon their wives, His annual Easter-Offering through their lives, Bowed to their daughters — kissed their children blithe. Wished them " good bye" — and vanished with his tithe I 14 THE emigrant's TALE. The nobler Curate was a man, whose mind Was rich in truth, and love of human kind ; Oft have I seen him at the Peasant's door. Who smiled, and scarcely felt that he was poor. So kind the Pastor's sympathy was shown. All loved the man to whom his worth was known, And when he graced the pulpit, 1 have heard With joy profound the doctrine of God's word, Till every hope and fear, nay, every sense Was rapt, enchanted by his eloquence. — And when his meek, yet fervent soul hath striven To draw the wanderer to the path of heaven, There rolled no thunders from his voice, no ire Flashed from his eye, eternal wrath and fire, He loved not then with fiend-like mind to dwell On shrieks of woe, sulphureous fires of hell, And cries of agony, that rise above A welcome offering to the God of love ! No ! he would strive the erring soul to win By gentler teachings from the bonds of sin, Paint the disgusting hon'or of all crime. The lofty aspect virtue wears sublime, THE emigrant's TALE. 15 Teach how the mourner's true repentant tears, Might purify his heart, allay his fears. And lead his contrite soul to Him alone Whose handmaid, 3Ierci/, smiles around his throne ! Each charm that nature in her beauty yields The Pastor loved, and, in my Father's fields Would stroll beside me as I turned the hay, And scatter germs of wisdom by the Avay ; He told me truths of which I had not dreamed. Sublime and new, till o'er my spirit beamed Light from the sun of knowledge, that soon warmed My youthful breast, my ardent fancy charmed. To him I owe all that my wayward mind Has gleaned, from dull and worldly dross refined; From him my soul high aspirations caught, Oh ! had I practised what the good man taught ! Grenville ! revered ! had I, like thee, subdued Each wilder passion with false pride imbued ; Had I, like thee, attached my hope where strife Mars not the loveliness, the grace of life ; Had 1 thy gentleness of soul, thy zeal To give no wound, but only balm to heal, 1(» THE emigrant's TALE. liifc then had been a Paradise, where all Its fruit might tempt, yet could not bring my fall ! Deep in the vale, beside the clustering wood. The lofty mansion of our Landlord stood, Where slowly winding by the verdant ridge The streamlet stole beneath the rustic bridge ; The huge square towers, and high projections, bold, Declared some strong baronial pile of old, A proud memorial of the ages gone, Appropriate model of the old Sir John ! He was a man of vanished days — a bough Of the old English Oak, half-withered now : Welcome and plenty smiled within his hall. His farms were neat, and better still, were small ; His tenants honest, worthy, and content, Could pay, without a banker's cheque, their rent! His mind benevolent, his ready hand Diffused the golden produce of his land, Not amid vicious courts on foreign shores, Lavished the knight his most abundant stores, He sought no gambling haunts, no rattling dice, To lose his fame and fortune in a trice — THE emigrant's TALE.- 17 He loved the pastime which the country yiekls, The nobler sport of garnished woods and fields, Where gladness spread her voice o'er hill and vale, And health rode smihng on the balmy gale. Oft in the dewy morn mine eye hath seen His jocund Huntsman in his cap of green. With finger lifted to his tingling ear Direct the chase — while sped the bounding deer — Raised on his stirrup check the faulty pack, " Hark ! Rattler I—Boc/cwood, boy !— try back '.—try back !" Then came Sir John, and then a motley train. With meny faces, spuning o'er the plain. If, when the pleasures of the chase were o'er. He haply reached an honest Tenant's door, He entered smiling, quaffed the home-brewed ale, And comleous listened to the Housew'fe's ta^e, Yea, with the placid patience of a saint, Heard each request, and every grave complaint. " Sir John, the gate is broken, and the cows Freak from their pasture on our coi'n to browse ! The tiles are shattered on the roof, the water Drips on the crib, where sleeps my youngest daughter ; D 18 THE emigrant's TALE. The attic window, Sir, has lost its lead, The night-'irt'irids whistle round my maiden's bed ! The late strong gales. Sir John," — " Good Dame ! forbear. All these dire ills my Steward shall repair." Now would he smile, and then with accents bland, Address her boy, take little Reuben's hand. And leave the urchin spell bound by the charm, The half-crown glittering in his tiny palm ! Wlien, unreproached, a Tenant breathed his last. Whose lease of land with that of life was past. Sir John appeared not with impatient arm To thrust the Widow from her well-tilled farm, Raised not her rent because another came To fan the fire of avarice into flame, And proffered freely from his richer store A paltry half-a-crown an acre more ! Oppression's foe, his happy heart beat high W^ith generous pride, with lofty charity, And had he lived — Oh ! memory brings again The good man's dying-day — that hour of pain From which I date the winter that came o'er My Father's destiny I — The storms that roar THE emigrant's TALT). 19 Around the Oak year after year, will blast Its verdant life, and shatter it at last ! My Father's sorrows to my heart have taught A valued lesson, with deep wisdom fraught : Yes ! though the lightnings flashed around his way, And tempests threatened, and obscured his day, Though dire misfortune came at length to be His stern companion, and his enemy, Though all but honour in the strife was lost, And that held spotless at a mournful cost ; Yet, not the lightning's flash, the tempest's roar. The billows howling on grief's desert shore. Nor the rough blast by which life's barque was driven Could change his course right onward unto heaven ! Our Landlord's heir was yet a youth, and placed Where Isis glides, by halls of learning graced. — His Guardians soon without one cause assigned Dismissed the good old Steward, though his mind Had long watched o'er his Master's wide estate. And — strange to tell — had won more love than hate ! 20 THE emigrant's TALE. He was not one whom all the poor abhorred, Who deemed himself far better than his Lord, Unlike the Man whose stewardship is sought To play the tyrant, and to hold at nonght A Tenant's just complaint — whose constant aim Is to amass more wealth than honest fame, Whose mean suspicion, and whose love of pelf Let no one rob his Master — but himself ! No ! Weston gained the true esteem of all, Displayed alike in cottage and in hall ; No neighbouring hearth, no frugal rustic board, No Farmer's table with its dainties stored Smiled where he was not welcome ; — though his power W^as nidely checked, his life's declining hour Was blessed with sunshine, beaming gladly forth From hearts that owned the greatness of his worth 1 Such was old Weston, but the modern Man That seized his office, was a feeble sjoan Against a giant, or a vapour dim Against the morning's light, compared with him ! THE emigrant's TALE. 21 When Barnard came, there came a change to all, His soul was haughty, and his knowledge small, While by his gravity of face and mien He aped what Socrates of old had been — The man of wisdom ! — but the searching eye Soon marked the reach of his profundity, The oozy shallows of the mind within, The false pretender in the Lion's skin ! Yet lurked there something in his subtle mind Unknown to hearts more open and refined, That selfish cunning which the good despise, Which oft deceives the wary and the wise : Barnard would cringe, and flatter, fawn and smile, Steal to your bosom, yet betray the while ! Robust his fonn, and, when he strode the earth, He seemed to scorn that parent of his birth ; He proudly boasted that his veins held blood Derived from chiefs and nobles since the flood. That strange calamity reduced his race ; While self-importance swelled his pompous face, As though his Ancestors, whose fame was dim, Lived, moved, and had their being all in him ! 2'2 THE emigrant's tale. To him my Father, Mother, Sister owe The drops most hitter in their cup of woe, And I too felt his malice, and his hate ; Was joy for me when they were desolate ? Oil ! when thought dwells on him, a dark eclipse Comes o'er my soul ! upon my quivering lips A withering curse hangs ready to depart On Barnard's name, in horror from my heart, But that a soft, yet mighty voice, from heaven Has said — forgive, if y^ would be forgiven ! Dear native Village ! thou had'st one bright spot. Though I forsook it, it forsakes me not ! It haunts my waking thoughts, my sleeping dreams, Oh ! it was once to me as are the beams Of the fair, constant, cheering sun to all On which the glories of their brightness fall ! Beside the margin of our village-green A Cottage stood — no human eye hath seen A sj)ot more lovely : gently rose the ground. Where nature scattered many a grace around, The whitethorn blossomed at the garden gate. While near it towering in majestic state THE emigrant's TALE. 23 Waved a huge Elm, whose every trembling leaf When last I saw it touched my soul with grief. Yes ! the new life that spring around them shed, Seemed but to mock me — in my heart were dead The leaves of hope ! — yet that green spreading tree Had formed a bower of sweet delight to me ! The ivy creeping round its stem, the chair Of knotted oak, that stood fantastic there, The grassy plat beside the cottage door. The mossy rose and flowering shrubs before. The lily's blossom on the lucid brook. The sunny knolls, and every sheltered nook Of that dear spot, still present to my mind. Awaken thoughts no earthly power can bind ; There first the hope that rapt my soul was cast, There first was kindled, and there lingered last. There sprang the som'ce of all 1 feel and felt, There nature's gem, the lovely Alice, dwelt ! Fair were the charms of that enchanted place, How fairer still the beauty of her face ! Her fonn was like that statue's, which of old Inflamed the living heart P the sterling gold 24 THE EMIGRANT S TALE. Of nature's mine was wrouglit within her breast, Her every thought with virtue's power impressed, Gave to her smile an influence to impart A thrilling joy resistless to the heart. A light beamed softly in her eye, whose ray Showed the young spirit's brightly-rising day. Her modest brow, her snowy bosom fair, The glossy tresses of her chesnut hair. Her voice of melody, her step that fell Light as a fawn's u]ion the grassy dell, 'Neath which the flowers but gently bent, to shed Their incense sweet in homage of her tread ! The winning gi'ace and beauty round her thrown, The charm that won and kept the heart her own. Oh ! these with gentleness and truth combined. And all that gives a lustre to the mind, Formed the bright chain, whose every link contained Electric fire that raptvu-ed, or that pained, Bound my soul closer to her earthly sphere, Yet seemed to bring a purer heaven near 1 Alice had once a Brother — ere the spring Of life had shown its fullest blossoming, THE emigrant's TALE. 25 He sought the main, unfriended and alone He left his home — his meteoi'-youth had shone Erratic in its course — the wayward boy Restless in heart, felt no domestic joy, The sounding Ocean and the battle's roar To him were music — on a foreign shore He fell : the tidings to his Mother's ear. Though brief, bore witness to his brave career. A Mother's grief I need not tell — her tears Gush from a fount, exhaustless e'en by year^, A fount the heart-springs of her love supply, That love which fails not and which cannot die ! Oft of her Son she spoke, and loved to dwell With fondness on his memory ; and would tell Of all his bold, yet sometimes froward sports. His lonely wanderings, and his wild resorts j And then the warmer and more genial light That made the outline of his picture bright, Displayed the beauties of a fertile mind, A heart though daring, yet by nature kind, She proudly showed : and oft my Alice spoke Of him, her Brother, though her speech awoke E 26 THE emigrant's tale. But faint remembrance of his form or face ; So early pailed, Alice could not trace Within her soul the image of the boy Who shared her childhood's pastime, grief, and joy. A radiant gem that decked her bosom fair Graced with a dark lock of his raven hair, He gave, v^^hen glistening from her bright eye fell Tears, gently mouldered by his last farewell ; Since that lorn time more tears for him were shed, Then wept as living, and now mourned as dead I My Father's home was happy — plenty smiled, And love and peace our fleeting hours beguiled, Blessed with a Sister, whose congenial heart Made every day yet deeper joy impart. My Parent's fond affection, ever new, My Alice fair, and not more fair than true ; And friendship's cordial drop, so sweetly mixed In fate's bright chalice : had I not then fixed My heart, my soul, my energies, my life On joys untouched by envy or by strife, I had been nought for earth's exciting span. But something more, or something less than man ! THE EMIGRAXT''S TALE. 27 War's tempest raged, and o'er tlic struggling world Rude havoc's standard had been long unfurled, Napoleon's s]>irit roamed the earth — its path Was marked with desolation, and the wrath That scatters death ! — then Britain rashly drew The vengeful sword, and in her fury threw Away the scabbard ! sheathed the blade no more Till all her sons were stricken or were poor ! Dark with the war came that portentous time, When furious men ran mad from clime to clime ; Then burst the dread Volcano of mankind, Then rushed the scorching lava of the mind, And far and wide o'er hill and dale it came Like a wild torrent, a destroying flame. Till 'mid the tumult and the wild uproar Reason, the soul's Pompeii, was no more ! Still raged the war: — but what is war, that men Should turn to savage wild-beasts in their den ? What are its scenes that christian folk delight To dwell upon ? — what forms a glorious fight ? The roar of cannon, clash of steel, deep groans, Fire, smoke, sulphureous smells, and shattered bones, 28 THE emigrant's tale. Horses and riders madly mixed, and fell Threatenings, and shrieks, and curses, such as hell Has never heard, while mangled limbs around. And bleeding corses on the crimsoned ground Lie in the ghastliness of death — and, hark ! A dire explosion from the fort ! — now dark Glooms the corrupted air, torn bodies fly Up to the clouds, and piece by piece from high They blackened fall !— then comes a sudden shout That shakes the earth, the signal of the rout ; Then swells the cry of" Victory!'' "The day Is nobly won!" — tiien dies the sound away, And nought is heard but wailing for the slain, And nought is seen but death upon the plain : This is the aim the martial mind employs ; How sweet is War — Oh ! how divine its joys ! With arms and tumult rose a sudden change O'er Britain's realm, most ominous and strange ; The world now shook as by an earthquake riven, From scythe and plough the happy Peasant driven. Forced to the train-bands, he was taught to hold His head erect, look formidably bold, THE emigrant's TALE. 29 Square his huge toes, and with a musket stand Stiff as a Mummy in Egyptian land, To march, retreat, advance, to halt, to wheel, Turn, like a pivot, on his clumsy heel, To hate all foes, and boldly swear to slay The French, poor souls, at thirteen-peuce a-day ! Had this been all it had been well — but here The Peasant's heart, once guileless and sincere Became corrupted, and a moral blight Fell on the soul — the Red-Coat's new delight Was now to strut and swagger through the street. Leer at each smiling Nymph he chanced to meet, Ape his superiors, though he strove in vain To reach, like them, the fashionable stain ; He could not bluster with so bold a face. Nor swear w ith half their gentlemanly grace, Yet humbly followed in their odious wake. If not a graceful, yet a perfect rake ! With war oppressive taxes, loans, and debt Arose — wc feel their happy influence yet ! — 30 THE emigrant's TALE. Though Commerce languished, Ceres in her mirth Laughed at the treasures of the goklen earth ! The rich grew richer, while the poor were fed With precious morsels — dear was barley bread ! The Farmer's Wife threw by her woollen gown. Rustled in silk, and slept on eider dowai, Held it un-orthodox to knit or spin, To dine at twelve was deemed a vulgar sin; At home, she changed her manners and her ways, Abroad, the taxed cart for the one-horse chaise ; Jaunted to fairs, at every race was seen. Danced at the ball, of showy dames the queen, And, lest her husband might retire too soon. Exclaimed, " My dear, I love the midnight moon !" Although her sires by early care had thriven. And rose at five, yet she must doze till seven, And then, all languid, half alive, half dead, Sip a strong cup of Mocha in her bed ! Her sons and daughters sent to board at school Were taught that every rustic was a fool ; That life's most sweet, and most attractive flowers Could only bloom in academic bowers. THE emigrant's TALE. 31 Their school-days o'er, the girls would sit and paint, And, if their Mother scolded, scream and faint; Or, at the Grand Piano softly sigh, Run mad in Prestos, in Adagios die ! While thus they sentimentalized, like doves. The boys were ploughing in their white kid gloves \* And seemed to move, as they the furrows \;\Tought, To some new step the dancing-master taught : With labour thus a borrowed grace to blend. Nature must lose her aim, and Art her end ! Think not I censure aught that forms the mind. Improves its power, and gives it taste refined ; Think not I strike at science, or at art. That wins, expands, and elevates the heart : I only blame false affectation's sway. That throws a mask o'er all we do, and say ; I would not see the ruddv Milk-maid skim Her milk in gown of fashionable trim — I would not view the Cow-boy in silk hose, The Ploughman slouch in India-Rubber shoes — Nor hear the Priest harangue at mart or fair, Nor see a Peer a Merry-Andrew there — 3-2 THE emigrant's tale. Nor have the Poet, whose unfettered soul Sliould rise above a heartless world's controul, I would not have him pander to the base And grovelling passions of the sordid race, Nor tune his lyre to flatter, or to please The slaves, wdiose spirits are enthralled by these ! Whate'er in life the varied mind employs. Its active duties, or its calmer joys, Amusement, business, study, and the hours That claim our toil, or urge our higher powers, Time, place, and circumstance in all should find A true direction for the ready mind ; Our aim should be most nobly to excel, To do wdiate'er is best, and do it well ! END OF part first. THE EMIGRANT'S TALE. PART SECOND. THE EMIGRANT'S TALE. PART SECOND. The demon-hand which had so madly hurled Discord, and ire, and frenzy o'er the world, Was stayed — a change o'er Britain's realm had come, The clanging trumpet and the warlike drum Were heard no more — one universal voice Swelled o'er the echoing land, " Rejoice ! rejoice ! Rejoice ! deep fallen are the mighty — gone Thy power, thy conquering sword, Napqleon !"■ 36 THE emigrant's tale. The land rang merrily with joy, no spo It showed where that and revelry were not ; No crowded street, nor road, nor village- green, But there some high triumphal arch was seen Festooned with flowers — then earth, and air, and sky Were full of music, and the melody Seemed one loud Paean, that would never cease To echo glory, and proclaim the Peace ! Then mirth was rife in cottage and in hall, One thought prevailed — A Nation's Festival : The old, the young, the wealthy, and the poor Together feasted from the common store ; The Peasant's heart poured forth its song, or tale, His sj)irit floated in a sea of ale. Till its sweet tide had borne him from the strand Where care's dark rocks in wild disorder stand ! Thus closed in jollity the festive day. And, ere the sun withdrew his smiling ray, Man, woman, child, were hurrying to the place Where strove the rustic jockeys in the chase, Or men, in merry bondage, jumped in sacks, Their shoes had paid, and now their feet, a tax ! THE emigrant's TALE. 37 While some, blind -folded, slow and cautious, wheeled Their barrows stately o'er the measured field, And some poor wight, as on he bending stole, Fell, blundering headlong in the sedgy pool, Then, as he rose, and shook his dripping ears. And grinned and tittered with his blind compeers, Burst the loud laugh, and louder shout fi-om all : Strange ! how man laughs to see his neighbour fall ! Now blazed enormous piles, and fireworks rare Hissed, snapped, and cracked, and sputtered through the air. While famed Napoleon was exalted high, Hung like a common thief! his effigy Flamed o'er the kingdom, while his ashes flew O'er the parched sward, its verdure to renew ! And all men vouched that plenty would prevail. And wealth for ever ! that the plough, the sail. The arts, the sciences would flourish still. That each unfertile tract, and barren hill Would laugh w4th gladness, since our foe had fled, And left the battle, and his thousands dead — Since the red field of Waterloo was won By Britain's arm, by mighty Wellington ! 38 THE emighant's tale. Short was the rapture ! — though the Tyrant fell, The springs that fed the state's exhausting well Shrunk, and our Country of her gold bereft Had still her debt, and NewlamVs paper left ! And France, the beaten France, despised, and poor. Which, we were told, could never flourish more, That land in which, 'twas said, gaunt famine's tooth Had slain its millions — that same land, forsooth, Poured from her garners such a store of grain. That her tall ships upon the crowded main Stood like a forest ! — need I tell the rest. How soon our land, our Peasants were oppressed ? How soon the Farmer felt the sudden dearth Of means for toil, that pauperized the earth ? How debts and duns with other ills were borne. High rent, high rates, high taxes, and low corn ! But to my Tale. — Our home was near the sea, Source both of wonder, and of joy to me, I loved to gaze upon its peaceful breast, When its strong spirit slumbered in its rest ; And when the storm swept o'er the uplifted plain, And all the waves of Ocean's vast domain THE emigrant's TALE. 39 Were lashed to furv, lonely would I stroll Along the shore, to mark the billows roll, To list the gushing of the mighty wind, Awed by the power of the eternal Mind ; I felt my nothingness, yet owned a joy That raised my spirit from the earth's alloy, And charmed, and purified, and lifted high My soul to Him whose glories never die ! Nature ! my heart feels all entranced before thee. For God has thrown a robe' of beauty o'er thee ! Thy varied scenes, the pleasing and the grand, The swelling Ocean, and the lovely land, The woods and hills, the vales and winding streams, All glad, and glowing in the summer-beams. How have they soothed my soul ! My ardent prayer Hath been, and will be, that thy scenes so fair May never cease to charm me, 'mid the strife, The fears, and cares, the busy toils of life : Ne'er may the world, nor love of worldly gain, Pleasure's pursuit, that often ends in pain, Misfortune's sting, the leaden hand of age, The weary way of life's dim pilgrimage. 40 THE emigrant's TALE. Oil I may these never wean my heart from thee, Enchanting Nature I may mine eye still see Thy beauties with delight ! may thy controul Enkindle good, and rapture in my soul ; A rapture — all ignoble things above! A good — from God's eternal fount of love I One morn a tempest raged upon the deep, I sought the beach, and, 'neath a craggy steep, Which the wild waves had lashed amid the storm, Beheld a bleeding and exhausted form Lie pale and breathless, while around were spread Fragments of wreck : — I raised the sufferer's head, Saw with delight that life remained, and now The blood once more rose mantling o'er his brow. His eyes unclosed, and gazed upon my face, Then closed again, as though stern death would chase The soul from earth's fi-ail temple.— Soon with care I raised his form, his long disordered hair, Himg clustering o'er his shoulders, and his eye Was darkly bright, his ample brow was high, And, as he thanked me, the now grateful youth Spoke with a voice an earnest of its truth, THE emigrant's TALE. 11 " Stranger I I owe thee life I the hapless bark Long tried, and trusted as a chosen ark To bear me safely to my native shore, My Ararat of life ! that bark no more Will stem the troubled sea ! — Full many a year In distant lands a varied, strange career Has been my own — and now I seek again My home, my kindred, if they yet remain." Rejoiced to hear him cheerly speak, and tell His heart's full gratitude, his accents fell On my charmed ear, like music that can give Joy a new impulse, bid it thrill, and live A guest long cherished in the soul. — Oh ! joy, Which nought in life can banish or destroy, Joy beyond all extatic and sublime ! Now, in this distant hour, the flight of time Dulls not the dear delight I felt, to save A kindred being from a timeless grave. I led him to our home — my Father's heart Welcomed him there, most anxious to impart Balm to his soul ; and, when the fever came. That soon assailed him, like a v/asting flame, G 42 THE emiguant's tale. My Sister watched beside him, while I shared Her gentle task, and hoped, and oft despaired, Till time restored his languid form, and health, That gem, more precious than whole mines of wealthy Blessed him once more : and Cecil dwelt awhile An inmate of our home : how free from guile Was his ingenuous soul ! how warm and bright Shone all his energies of thought ! delight Thrilled in my breast, as oft 1 heard him tell Of all his eye had seen ; a gladsome spell Dwelt in his sweet discourse — his virtues soon Disclosed his noble heart, and charmed mine own. My Father's, Mothei-'s tenderness so won His soul, lie loved them even as a son: Our weal, our woe, our hope, our every care Jn toil or pleasure Cecil's mind would share : With me he sought the fields, with me would till The genial soil, and oft o'er dale and hill And 'mid the clustering woods would cheerful stray, And hold sweet converse by the devious way. His mind so gentle, yet so strong — his soul All fire, yet checked by reason's best controul;, THE emigrant's TALE. 43 His form was manly, his expressive look A faultless title to the heart's fair book ; Yes ! he was one whom but to see and know, Diffused a freshness o'er life's vale below, Giving its green and sunny spots a hue More bright, more lovely, and more lasting too ! And Mary, gentle Mary ! in her heart Grief's canker grew. — I need not here impart Her blighted hope : her unsought love repressed, The smothered flame within her struggling breast, Fed on the flower of life — her bloom was lost, Changed like a rose-bud early touched by frost ; A listless languor o'er her features stole. Though brighter beamed the radiance of her soul ! Fair Woman's love, too sacred to be told, Her heart alone its shepherd and its fold, How does she guard its power ! how wakeful keep Cold reason's energies, lest pride should sleep ! How does she slight its object, and obey Each dictate meant to drive its spell away — And, if her eye meet his for whom its light Sheds its most tender beam, if not most bright. 44 THE emigrant's tale. Then, if in secret glows her burning cheek, And though for joy she dares not, cannot speak, Though her heart throbs, though trembles every limb, He ne'er could dream that this was all for him ! I marked the change, and I alone, her tongue Breathed not to mortal ear the pangs that wrung Her heart — they rankled in its core unknovrn, A secret, silent sorrow, all its own ! And I had fondly hoped, yet hoped in vain, That Cecil's breast had worn no tender chain Of early love ; for, with a brother's pride, I deemed that all the boundless world beside Held not a form more beautiful, a mind More nobly generous, nor a heart more kind Than my poor Mary's ! — and, e'en then, though pale As is the drooping lily of the vale, There dwelt a charm, a light within her smile, That seemed undying, and her eye the while So brightly beamed, as though its ray, more clear, Could view the beauty of a purer sphere, While softly radiant on her marble brow Shone grace angelic : — Oil ! where shines it now ! THE emigrant's TALE. 45 How liajipy oft beneath my favourite elm, When the sun vanished to his western realm, When blushed the sky as his departing beam Lingered awhile o'er smiling vale and stream, Life seemed all joy, with Alice by my side, Who made the spot with Eden's own allied, And gladdening Cecil, ever welcome there, While oft the converse of the hour to share The widowed Mother of my Alice sought, Our hearts commingling in one tide of thought ; And, when she gazed upon the stranger, tears Would sometimes start, remembrance of past years And of her perished Son arose, to dim Life's day, less radiant since not shared by him. I watched her eye oft fixed on Cecil's face. As though it strove instinctive there to trace Some slight resemblance to her vanished boy. Till fled the fond delusion, and its joy. Cecil so kindly won upon her mind, That, as the warmth and light of heaven combined Cheers the sad flower that drooped its fragrant leaf, His presence soothed, nay, almost chased her grief, 46 THE emigrant's TALE. Plis glad discourse, that like soft music flowed, His cheerful heart, his manly worth, bestowed A genial freshness to her soul, beguiled Thus from the grief for her departed child. Time hastened on — and yet, though gentle Peace Awhile had reigned, our troubles did not cease ; Though o'er the land her olive branch had spread, Though from her smile TFar's fearful demon fled, Yet her fair Sister, Plenty^ strange to say, Had thrown her emblematic horn away ! And honest Labour, w^hose strong sons had been The happiest of the happy, now was seen A fettered out-cast, while the Peasants stood With folded arais, demanding w^ork and food. In vain they asked, in vain might idly stand, The Fanner drove them from his untilled land. The Parish turned them on the public way In herds that cursed their Masters and their pay, Or made them dig, on some severe pretext, A pit one day, to fill it up the next ! — Then fell the shame upon their aching hearts. Then reigned the vice that idleness imparts, THE emigrant's TALE. 47 Then fled the independence which of old Their Fathers cherished more than fame or gokl, When their worst evil, and their deepest grief Was deemed — to ask the Parish for relief! Oil ! my heart sickens, when I muse on all The depth, the degradation of their fall ! I knew a Cottage whose neat walls w^ere seen A changeless white, its garden ever clean — I knew the happy Peasant whose sweet lot Was cast serenely in that humble spot — There bloomed the flower, there grew the herb, and there The wholesome root that formed his daily fare : — I marked its aspect when some years had fled, The walls were green with slime, the flowers were dead, The Peasant lived, or rather breathed, in pain, With a sad heart that scarce could hope again, And, as he told me of the ills that bore His spirit down, and made him worse than poor, Of " Want of labour"—" Unrequited time," The " Parish-dole" — " Starved children, whose fair prime Was blighted, blasted ?" As he told me this, Tears filled his eyes at oft-remcinbercd bliss, 48 THE emigrant's tale. His hands were stretched to heaven in lorn despair, " The poor Man's Friend," he cried, "dwells only there 1" Land of my Fathers ! may a brighter day Dawn on thy fate ! from thy fair shores away, Far in the west, yet are thy scenes most dear, They haunt my slumbers, and my day-dreams here, And still my heart, while life and thought are mine. Will fondly beat, sweet land, for thee and thine 1 Blest were the Man who in his wisdom soon Could give thee, Britain ! one momentous boon. Whose mind, benevolent as strong, could plan A mighty scheme to aid his fellows-man. Whose power could conquer what the good deplore. The shuddering misery of thy famished poor ! 'Twere hapless now to sorrow o'er the past. The gloomy shadows which its flight has cast Shall fade before the slow approaching light. As breaks the future on our gladdened sight, When from the destiny of dark mankind Shall drop the pall that shrouds the moral mind, When men may see the rising of that beam Whose lustre, gathering o'er Time's onward stream, THE emigrant's TALE. 49 Will show a smoother current, and the sails Of Commerce filled with rich and prosperous gales, While hills and valleys all around will smile, And Peer and Peasant, in the sea-bound Isle, Will hear the songs of gladness as they rise In grateful concert to the cloudless skies ! Alas ! my Father, who had ne'er before Scarce thought of poverty, so blest his store. Beheld ere long his patrimony waste. His losses gather with a fearful haste. And, though with care and unremitting toil He tilled the bosom of the willing soil. Though the ripe harvest bounteous grain might yield, There rose no blessing from the cultured field. While heavy tax, and tithe, and rate, and rent. Left little profit, and still less content ! And worse than all, a Man on whom his heart Was fixed in friendship as its counterpart. One whom he trusted as a brother, one Who to his welfare seemed as doth the sun To the cheered earth, that moves around the orb To gather strength and freshness, to absorb H 50 THE EMIGRAT^t's TALE. Life, warmth, and gladness from his beams, that give The power which bids its treasures spring and live. This false injurious friend, this light and base Coin of humanity, its deep disgrace, Betrayed his trust, and with the timely store My Father lent him, when the man was poor, He fled, and bore our little wealth away, Yet cursed his treachery on his dying-day ! Friendship ! how oft thy pure, thy hallowed name, Is breathed by lips that only cause thee shame ! Oft at thy shrine the hypocrite will kneel, And pledge the offering, though he cannot feel The joy it heralds to a heart above Deceit and envy, malice and self-love ! The Man who thus can prostitute his mind, The weakest, meanest, basest of his kind. Oh ! let him pass, as on Time's chariot roll. Chained to its wheels, the bruised, the crushed in soul ! Misfortune lowered around my home — a host Of ills assailed us — like a vessel lost THE emigrant's TALE. 51 Amid the pathless sea, while round her roar The waves that drive her to the fatal shore, My Father struggled, but the tempest raged Strong, and more strong, nor was its strife assuaged, Nor lulled life's Ocean, nor delayed the shock. Till the lorn bark was dashed upon the rock 1 Poor Mary ! only Sister of my heart \ Wounded by grief, she shrunk not from its dart; She bore her lingering sorrows as the brave Sustain the doom that sweeps them to the grave. And still had charmed our home, though scathed by care, Unblest herself, yet blessing others there. As Sappho, blighted, withered by love's fire. Yet warmed the world to rapture with her lyre. But now a shock more rude her heart assailed, 'Neath which the hope that long sustained it failed ; Yes ! Barnard saw her with admiring eyes. Longed to possess so sweet, so fair a prize. Offered his hand — a heart perchance ne'er beat Within his bosom, tainted by deceit — Need I declare that Mary's guileless breast, Could hold no worthless being for its guest ? 62 THE emigkant's tale. The suit rejected, proffered hand declined, Awoke deep hate in Barnard's groveling mind : He knew my Father's trials, and his j^ride Wounded, yet roused, with meaner vice allied On this presumed — and. Oh ! too well he knew The dagger's point was deadly which he drew ! And not my Father felt alone his hate, He strove to throw dark shadows o'er my fate ; He soon, implacable in spite, became Our open foe, his hatred's spreading flame So fiercely raged, that now his deeds, his words Were leagued against us like destroying swords : And then he stooped to worthless, baser arts, To drive us in disgrace from good men's hearts. A bearer of dark tales, a whisperer mean Of lies, that scathed us, though from lips unseen, And, as the Steward of ray Lord's domain, He held the power, the will to work us pain. To me his hate was deadliest — from his tongue Came a vile slander that my bosom wrung, He spoke of Alice — at the heartless tale My changing cheek with stifled rage grew pale. THE emigrant's TALE. 53 Oh ! I could bear all other ills but this, Meant both to mock and mar my promised bliss I Dwell not, my soul ! upon the painful strife, The hour in which the fountain of my life Was troubled — poisoned ! Time, relentless, brought More days of sorrow, more afflictive thought ; But not to Barnard, nor to time I owe The deepest grief, the most destructive blow ; No ! a blind fury, and a blinder pride, That chose not reason for its better guide, Impetuous passions, feelings deep and strong, Bore me tumultuous with their storm along — That hour is passed — Oh I let me not repine. Though to drink grief's most bitter cup was mine \ Cecil was still my friend — at least I deemed Him all a heart could wish, as most esteemed- He now, methought, appeared most happy where Sweet Alice dwelt — oft would the youth repair To her neat cottage — with her JNIother talk. Or join my Alice in her rustic walk — One eve, from Alice when awhile detained, I sought her home, and, ere my steps had gained 54 THE emigrant's TALE. Our favourite tree, I marked the youthful pair Seated beneath, in earnest converse there I gently reached the spot, with silent tread Unseen to startle them, by frolic led — I thought to laugh at Alice, when her breast Would heave disordered at my simple jest — But as 1 nearer to the speakers drew, Their brief discourse so warm, so earnest grew, Their rix;>ig accents fell upon mine ear — I paused — ashamed to listen, or to hear — " Alice !" cried CEciL — " hide the truth awhile From Thornton's mind — he will suspect no guile From this delay — so, promise hy the love I knoiv thou bear'st me T — As the timid dove Shrinks from the serpent's quick and startling hiss I shrunk a^ipalled to hear a sound like this ! It struck me to the soul — a poisoned dart Seemed in a moment to consume my heart. Till rage came kindling in my breast, like flame, When Alice turned — as music's power could tame The wild beast of the field from Orpheus'' lyre, So the soft voice of Alice stayed the fire THE emigrant's TALE. 55 That burned within me, while with accents sweet, She led me trembling to the rustic seat. I felt cold fear creep through my blood — and still A desolation in my soul — my will Was captive to my passions, though I knew My Alice must be ever good and true. She marked the change, and with a winning smile Sweetly angelic, that might e'en beguile The sense of torture, now exclaimed, "Thy cheek Is pale, dear Thornton ! look not thus — Oh ! speak ! Say, what afflicts thee .' is there, Thornton, aught That Alice can, in deed, or word, or thought Do, say, or wish, that haply may impart Joy, pleasure, comfort to thy drooping heart ?" I sat reproved — looked down in silence — now The blood rushed quickly to my reddening brow, Abashed, I cursed the meanness that could bring The scorpion, base suspicion, with its sting. What ! doubt thee, Alice ! doubt thy perfect truth. Pledged in the guileless innocence of youth .? 56 THE emigkant's tale. Doubt one whose soul was spotless as the rose, That yields more fragrance as its blossom grows Mature and beautiful ! enough to tell I breathed a wretch beneath so dark a spell ! Awhile I sat, as mute as frigid death, Then spoke, and sighed, and jested in a breath, Till, roused by Cecil's wit, I felt the thrill Of pride — and blushed in worse confusion still ! Not long this cloud o'er shadowed me — the eye Of Alice, beaming with soft love, the sigh That oft escaped her bosom, as she caught A kindred sadness from my mournful thought. And when we parted, her last " farewell" hung So sweetly tender on her trembling tongue, And the soft pressure of her hand on mine (How thrills the heart at this expressive sign !) Charmed me at once, and made me blush the more That I could doubt the seraph, and adore ! I sought my home, but scarce had passed the wood, Beside whose skirt the rustic cottage stood THE emigrant's TALE. 57 Ere thoiiglits were rankling in my troubled breast, That wrought me agony, denied me rest. I strove against their influence — strove in vain My wonted energy of soul to gain : I paused — I gazed on heaven's ethereal blue, To calm my spirit — as the light clouds flew Past the oft-changing moon, that never shows One aspect for a week, but wandering goes From star to star, from orb to orb above, Fair, and yet false ! — I thought of Woman's love ! Still was I soothed — the sky serene and bright, The rolling orbs, so vast, so infinite, IMillions of worlds removed from earth's dull leaven, Allured my soul awhile from that to heaven, To Him, with whom, though hidden from our view. Dwells all that was, or is, or can be true ! I sought my home, and, as the porch I gained, I heard within reproachful words that pained My swelling bosom. Yes ! from Barnard's voice No welcome tones e'er made my heart rejoice — In haste I entered, as the Steward cried, " We wait no longer, Thornton !" and in pride I 58 THE emigrant's tale. He frowned upon my Father while he spoke. As Tyrants will, who can impose the yoke, " I warn thee now — I will no more demand, The Landlord's claim from thy dishonest hand; To-morrow's sun, if still thy promise fail, Shall gild a loftier home of thine — a jail 1" Oh ! how the blood burned in my veins, to hear The vulgar boaster ! like a tiger near His prey, I sprang, and sudden siezed, and threw Him headlong from otn' door — too well I knew His dastard spirit would accomplish all His threats, his schemes to work my Father's fall ' And then I wept, while gentle Mary knelt In wretchedness before me — ah ! there dwelt Despair's dark image in her once bright eye^ Now glazed witK fear, and swoln with agony. Pale was her cheek and broken was her speech, " What hast thou done, my Brother ! I beseech Thee now, by all so fondly prized and dear. That blessed thy home, and still may bless thee here. Quick ! follow Barnaed ! and eonfess the wrong Thy hand hath wrought him — to his. soul belong; THE emigrant's TALE. 59 Passions when roused, that like the whirlwincVs rage, 'Twere hard to shun, and harder to assuage. Go ! say my heart relents — that now I yield To wed him on the morrow — if I shield My Parents from the storm, and thee, dear Brother, That will be joy ! and can I need another ?" I spoke not — looked not on her face— withdrew My hand from hers, but only to renew Her prayers, persuasions, tears — I turned away And sought my chamber, striving to allay The rankling care that preyed upon my breast, I gained my pillow, but I gained not rest ! Oh ! the dark visions of that fearful night Were full of pain, and horror, and affright ; Then, above all, the form of Alice smiled Angelic o'er me — and my dreams, more wild. Racked my tormented soul, and in mine ear Methought I heard, and almost now can hear. The voice of Cecil — " Promise by the love I know thou hearst me .'" This was pain above The spell of slumber — I awoke, to find More morbid poison for my restless mind I 60 THE emigrant's TALE. The morn awoke with ruddy cheek and smile Tliat shed its radiant glory o'er the Isle, The sun uprose, and over land and sea Shed joy on all things, even joy on me, For now the terrors of the night were o'er, And dreams disturbed my troubled soul no more. Though howling waves beat wild upon my home, And rocks around me frowned amid their foam. Though the wide gulph of poverty seemed near, And all beyond it cheerless, hopeless, drear. Though my life's sun seemed blotted out by time, My soul had light — it had not stooped to crime ! And hearts yet beat that loved me fondly still. Parents, that change not, nor in good, nor ill ; Mary, my Sister, gentle as the sigh Of summer's zephyr, as it floateth by The fragrant flowers, so softly gliding on Saluting all, and yet despoiling none ! And Cecil, he, my chosen friend, remained. Though rankling passions had my bosom pained, And oh ! one star still blest me with its beams, Alice was mine — despite of doubts and dreams 1 THE emigrant's TALE. 61 I sought my Frieud — he once, when drooping care Sat on my brow, a herald of despaii", Cecil remarked my pensive mood, and strove With all the kindness of a Brother's love To seek its cause, and from my bosom drew With friendship's magnet, delicate, as true, The secret of the ills that timeless came To blight my Father's credit and his name : He listened, sympathised, and anxious, tried With words too kind to wound or 'wake my pride, To press upon me with a zeal that told His generous heart, an offer of his gold. I knew him wealthy, but with thanks declined The proffered aid — hope had not left my mind — But noiv that all around me was so dark, The world one boundless flood without an ark, Now that my Father might imtimely sink, Whelmed by the deluge, should I proudly shrink From that which here might well a duty seem, His fear to banish— honour to redeem ? Convinced that Cecil would my cause sustain, And, that to ask his favour was to gain j (>"2 THE emigrant's TALE. Then, when our Landlord's urgent claim was o'er, And Barnard's hate could mar our peace no more, I deemed a smaller farm, with cheerful toil, A guileless conscience, and a grateful soil. Would yield the welcome treasure to repay My generous friend — though distant were the day. I rose to seek him — paused a moment — thought. Quick as the sharjj and noiseless lightning, brought To my excited mind the words he breathed To Alice — words that like a snake seemed wreathed Around my brain ! and could I doubt e'en now ? Deep shame rose flushing o'er my face and brow. Fool ! thus to doubt when her sweet lips had told That Woman's love despised the lure of gold. Its essence pure, its purity divine, That hers in sorrow and in joy was mine ! Prepared to seek my Friend, I reached the spot Where, near our garden, stood a rustic grot. By Mary's hands adorned in happier hours. Within with pearly shells, without with flowers j THE emigrant's TALE. C3 I gazed along the upland — maiked in wrath Three men with Baknard winding up the path, I quick retraced my steps, by fears impelled, And snatched my pistol from its case — beheld The legal harpies, who rapacious came. Nor needed ought to urge them on their game, Yet Barnard frowned not proudly on me there ; Oh ! had he added insult, in despair And rage, my hand impetuous might have wrought A deed at which 1 shudder e'en in thought ! I saw my Father torn from home, I heard My Mother weep, my Sister's pleading word. As trembling, pale, she spoke her dire alarms, And fainting ?ank into her Mother's arms, While our grieved household crowded round in tears ! That moment fades not with my fading years ! I bore the sight no longer, but repaired In haste to Cecil — still my bosom shared A part of hope's delightful, treacherous sj^ell, " Bear up !" I cried, " and all will yet be well !" Cecil had left his home — I quick pursued My way to that dear spot, by mind imbued (>4 THE emigrant's TALE. With more than lovehness, since Alice threw A charm aroimd it ever fair and new ! Rapid I moved, and on my favourite seat Beneath the elm where bloomed the wild-flowers sweet. Beheld again my Alice by the side Of Cecil, smiling like a happy bride, And listening, as he read with mellow voice, Like music sweet, some volume of her choice, And, as he traced from fervent thought to thought The tale that genius wove, he gently caught Her snow-like hand in his, now careless thrown Around his neck — the hand I deemed mine owti ! I stood like one by lightning blasted there : Deep was my rage, my agony, despair, When Cecil rose, and slow yet gaily cried, " Farewell, dear Alice !" then he quick applied His lips uncensured to her changeless cheek ! I dared not move, I had not power to speak, Till Cecil met me as he turned, and smiled ! My heart swelled high, my burning brain was wild. Enraged I siezed him with intent to hurl Him prostrate in the dust — the shock, the whirl, THE emigrant's TALE. 65 The sudden struggle, and the furious dash Jarred on my arm, a sharp and deadly flash Burst in a moment, and the whizzing ball. Pierced Cecil's bosom — I beheld him fall ! Hot blood came bubbling from the wound — I stood In gloomy terror, by the sight subdued. Gazed overpowered, in speechless horror gasped, My trembling hand the fatal pistol grasped. Which, in my haste forgotten, I still held. My soul so much by passion's storm impelled ! Now Alice sprang — in wild distraction threw Her white arms round his bleeding form — the hue Of death was on her cheek, and Oh ! her grief To me was madness ! sealing my belief ! She kissed his pallid cheek, aye, o'er and o'er ! And every kiss but frenzied me the more ! Oh ! my blood curdled in my veins to see Love's tears thus shed, that were not shed for me ! At length a shriek burst from her lips, and then Words that consigned me wretched among men, " Oh ! my dear Brother ! Cecil ! Cecil ! speak ! O, God ! he breathes not !" now a louder shriek 60 THE emigrant's TALE. Thrilled throvigh my soul, as wild her Mother rushed Past me in agony — her tears out- gushed, While with clasped hands she fearful cried like one Whose hope was blasted — " Oh ! my Son ! my Son V The mournful truth upon my spirit flashed— A giddy frenzy siezed my brain — I dashed The fatal weapon to the earth, and fled ; Ah ! where conld Thornton hide his guilty headi I rushed impetuous — whither could I flee, Pursued by horror, stung by agony ? The hill, the vale, the glade, the gliding stream, The faded world seemed like a fleeting dream Dimly remembered — 'mid the lonely wood I madly plunged — the dreary solitude Was more than death, and now the face of man I feared and hated, for the withering ban Of slaughter pressed upon my soul, and worse Than this, I lived, and must endure the curse I In one dire moment of rash passion's strife, I ruined all that formed the charm of life ! My Father — Mother — Sister — and above E'en these dear ties, my own, my only love. THE EMIGKANT's TALE. 67 All, all were whelmed in desolation's flood ! And I was doomed to bear the stain of blood ! HereTnoRNTON paused, and drooped his head, while tears Sprang from his eyes. The fountain of past years Afresh is opened, and its waters start Like those of Marah^ bitter to the heart ! Maurice, his friend, who listened to the tale, Beheld the strife, and marked his cheek turn pale. And sat in pensive silence, sharing all The sudden grief that held his soul in thrall, Till Thornton's mind with energy subdued The passion's power, and thus his tale renewed. 'Tis past ! 'tis past ! the rest I need not tell My Friend ! thou know'st what more to me befel : Thou know'st that gentle Mary died ! her grave Is green, since Thornton crossed the western wave- 68 THE emigrant's tale, ;My Parents too ! I would not shed one tear For them, so happy now, on earth so dear ! Thou know'st my struggles and my cares — the years I passed, self- exiled, and the bitter tears I vainly shed o'er buried joys, till Time Renewed the hope first blighted in my prime. When, by my toil, I saw around me spread The yellow harvest, and the verdant mead. When 'neath my axe the groaning forest fell, And culture decked the ujaland and the dell, Thou know'st my Alice from her native Isle Came even here to bless me with her smile : And Cecil lived ! and lives ! the ball had sped With power not fatal, though I mourned him dead ! Strange it may seem he did not tell before The kindred ties his heart to Alice bore : He only sought to give me by delay New joy, new wonder, on my nuptial day, And more than this — by generous worth supplied— A wealthy dow'ry for so fair a bride ! And now, my long-tried Friend, and happy Wife, A sun to cheer, a star to pilot life, THE emigrant's TALE. 69 Shed light and lustre o'er my way, and throw Joy's brightening tints o'er Time's dim path below ! And thou, dear matchless Land ! though far from thee For ever parted by the wide, wide sea, Yet I forget not, peerless Isle, thy shore Which still I love, though I may view no more ! Britain ! thy children are the fi-ee and strong In soul and form ; to thy bright name belong Undying glories ! in thy people dwell The might of mind, the virtues that excel. Thy arts, thy commerce flourish and extend, They know no limit, may they know no end ! Yet other springs of boundless good are thine, Let but thy sons in wisdom work the mine : Whence drew om" Fathers wealth ? whence did their toil Diffuse the gems of plenty ? From the Soil ! On what &m basis can thy credit stand Amid the shock of nations ? On the Land ! What spreads in peace unnumbered blessings round. Supporting life to all that breathe .'' The Ground ! What gives in war thy greatness, glory, birth .'' Sustains thy brave and countless hosts ? The Earth ! 70 THE emigrant's TALE. Yes ! my loved Country I may thy Peasants still Toil with delight in valley and on hill, May yet the tillers of thy land be blest With wealth for labour, with content in rest ; May those who govern, and the governed, learn That Nature's laws are ever kind, not stem. That, from the Earth, our common Mother, springs The life-blood of thy People, and thy Kings ! That all which food, and health, and raiment yields Flows from the riches of the garnished fields, And, as the dews of heaven impartial fall. They smile, and bloom, and bear their fruits for all !^ Farewell, my native Land ! a last farewell To thy dear haunts ! Yes ! I am doomed to dwell Far from the social joys of thee and thine ! Yet Thornton's spirit would not here repine — I see around me nature's beauties rise. The echoing woodlands and the genial skies, I hear the birds' soft music in the brake. The sounding waterfall, the murmuring Lake, Whose ample bosom swelling to the breeze Mocks the small space of European Seas ! THE emigrant's TALE, 71 Before ine spreads the forest-shade, whose bound No eye hath seen, no human footstep found ; And, when the warm effulgence of the year Glows o'er the woods, the autumn's tints appear In hues unnumbered, decking leaf and stem, Each tree a picture, every leaf a gem. Ruby, and amethyst, and gold", that shine Bright in the sun -beams, while the sombre pine Stands sternly great amid the leafy host. Unchanged by summer's heat, by winter's frost. O'er all he towers magnificent, and reigns Undying Monarch of the wooded plains ! And here, sweet Summer, by her long delay, Drives Night's dull shadow by her smiles away. For, when the sun has vanished from our sphere, No darkness comes to make his absence drear. The stars crowd o'er the face of Heaven, all bright. The cloudless moon decks Earth with radiant light, The fire-fly sparkles in the woods — e'en there Darkness is shamed, and struggles in despair ! 72 THE emigrant's tale. I mark the thousands that with hearts and hands, Seek here the good denied in other lands — I mark the progress of a manly race. That scorned the dangers of a change of place, Who sought these solitudes, nor sought m vain For peace and plenty in a rich domain, Where no poor Starveling asks the parish-bread, No meaner Pauper of the state is fed, Whose soil, uncumbered with high rate or tax. Needs little else beside the conquering axe To fell the forest, and let Heaven's warm beams Kiss Earth's fair bosom, and she thenceforth teems With wealth exuberant ! My ardent mind Oft on the future dwells, and there can find Dreams of a greatness yet to come, when here A mighty Empire, glorious in its sphere. And lofty -minded Men, and deeds that give To life a charm for which 'twere well to live — These, more than these, enrolled by endless fame Shall raise to glory the Canadian name ; And Time, as onward rolls his tide, shall bring The priceless waters from Truth's living spring, THE emigrant's TALE, 73 These in a wide continuous stream shall roll, Refresh and fertilize the human soul, Which here in brighter ages yet to rise. Shall yield the fruit that ripens for the skies, And gladdening knowledge from a boundless store Shall flow, and spread, till Time shall be no more ! NOTES. NOTES EMIGRANT'S TALE. Note ] , page 1 . By the lone brink of Niagara's stream. Considerable difference of opinion has prevailed respecting the pronunciation of the word Niagara, Mr. M'Gregor, in his " British America^' says, " The Indian word Niagara, is pronounced Ni-ha-ga'-ra."^ This equal division of the letters completely refutes the modern pronunciation, Niag''ara. Note 2, page 12. Would ash, contemptuous — " Has the goose not hatched ?"' An expression of the worthy Tutor's somewhat unpoetical, but illustrative of ^fact, to which the Author was an eye, and an ear witness. He well know the good Dominie's "local habi- tation," and pays a willing tril)ute to his " name," having, like otliers of his idle pupils, left school with many marks of his kindness. 78 NOTES. Note 3, page 23. Her form was like that Statue s, which oj old In/lamed the living heart. It is, doubtless, unnecessary to remind the reader of the sentimental youth, who is said to have become enamoured of the Medicean Venus, or of Thompson's well-known line, " So stands the Statue that enchants the world." Note 4, page 3 1 . The boys were ploughing in their white kid gloves ! An instance of a young Rustic having constantly thus pro- tected his soft and snowy cuticle, while holding the plough, is well known to, often laughed at, and talked of, by those " Who work upon the arables, And seldom speak in parables." Note 5, page 67 . Like those of Marah, hitter to the heart ! " They could not drink of the waters for they were bitter -, therefore the name of it was called Marah.'' — Exodus xv. 23. Note 6, page 70. That all which food, and health, and raiment yields Flows from the riches of the garnished fields. And, as the dews of heaven impartial fall. They smile, and hlooin, and hear their fruits for all ! NOTES. 97 It is interesting to trace from the writings of the Ancients, the peculiar honours which were formerly paid to Agriculture. Zoroaster, the sage and lawgiver, records his opinion as to the importance of productive industry, from which we learn the extent to which the real principles of civil polity were carried in the earliest ages. As the support of a country depends upon the culture of its soil, Zoroaster appears to have regarded it as an object of pecu- liar solicitude, for he never speaks of the cultivator without the designation of " the principle of abundance," or ''the source of wealth," or some similar expression, descriptive of the great estimation in which the " tiller of the earth" was held. To refuse therefore to the labouring Mllager, or even to the domestic animal, the just recompence of their labour, was deemed a heavy offence; and the guilty refuser was punished with eight hundred, or a tliousand lashes in this life, and as many years of torment in the next. Agriculture is compared to a man embracing his friend, and a father his children ; it was the purest act of the law, and Zoroaster declared, that he who sowed the earth with good grain, and did it with purity, fulfilled the whole extent of the law, and was as great in the sight of Ormuzd, as if he had given being to one hundred creatures, one thousand productions, or repeated ten thousand prayers. See an interesting tpiotation from Zoroaster in Taylors Instructive Magazine, Part v. page 317. so NOTES. Note 7 , page 71. J^ach tree a picture, every leaf a gem, Rubij, and amethyst, and gold. The magnificent splendour of the forests of North America, is peculiar to that division of the Western World. It is impossible to exaggerate the autumnal beauty of these forests : nothing under heaven can be compared to its efifulgent grandeur. Two or three frosty nights in the decline of autumn, transform the boundless verdure of a whole empire into every possible tint of brilliant scarlet, rich violet, every shade of blue and brown, vivid crimson, and glittering yellow. The stern inex- orable fir tribes alone maintain their eternal sombre green j all others burst into the most glorious vegetable beauty, and exhibit the most splendid and most enchanting'panorama on earth. — M' Gregor s British America, vol. i., page 79-80. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. THE NEW POST-OFFICE. I. Good Morrow, dear Miss "General," how do you do ? How does your Mother do, in Lombard street ? I doubt my dear, that since the birth of you, The poor old Lady's ruin is complete ; She's not the only Mother that must rue To see a daughter's charms with hers compete. To see the public homage from her taken. By all neglected, and by most forsaken ! 84 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. II. But this, thou juvenile, is nought to thee ; Thou hast but just begun thy fame's career. Bright on the rolls of fair posterity I ween thy deathless glory will appear, Collected wisdom in thy stores will be, And scattered thence o'er regions far and near : Thou know'st no want of that which genius fetters. Thou stand'st preeminent, the " World of Letters !" III. And now I gaze upon thee at a time When every loyal Cit has ta'en his dinner, Save a sad few who weave the " lofty rhyme," Who rarely dine at all, as I'm a sinner ! They feed on cobwebs in their flights sublime. While grow their persons and their pockets thinner. Alack ! how seldom the poor Poet's fate is To cry, at dinner time, "0/^e ! jam satis V THE NEW POST-OFFICE. 85 IV. And now thy visitors begin to throng The busy streets — I see a timid Girl Glancing around, as quick she glides along, Her bright eye peering through an auburn curl, While feels her hand the gauzy folds among. And draws forth slyly from the hills of pearl A pure white folded sheet without a blot. Addressed " To Strephon''' — sealed " Forget Me Not.'''' Y. I mark, as quickly from the box she steals Courteous and free, to give place to another, She throws the speed of Mercury in her heels, As though she dreads a scolding from her Mother ! And now a more important bustler wheels Just round the comer — he seems bent to smother The bunch of letters which he grasps so tight. Till out he grumbles — " Let them go to night." 86 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. VI. And they will go — and, on the coming day Full many a country " Dealer," in sad tones Will read — " We take the liberty to say, In a few days our Mr. Jasper Jones Will wait upon you in the business way ; Stuffs, Bombazines, fine Norwich Crapes, Galloons Are riz — we hope more favours you will show us" — Which means " Fork out the money that you owe us !" VII. But who comes here ? a scented City Beau ; There's something self-complacent in his eyes. His thumb and finger hold a billet-doux, Signed, sealed, and laden with a freight of sighs, And vows, and hopes, by the next mail to go To his sweet Hourie in'love's paradise : Perchance she'll open it — perchance retimi it — Or, having read it with a deep sigh — burn it I THE NEW POST-OFFICE. 87 VIII. Storehouse of countless minds ! Repository Of cogitations, numerous as the beams Of the bright sun in his meridian glory ; Huge Reservoir ! to which unnumbered streams Of art and science, sentiment and story, Commerce, religion, politics, with themes Of war, and love, are daily, hourly stealing. To thee — thou pet-lamb of Sir Francis Freeling ! IX. Prolific source of pleasure and of pain ! How fast and far thy rapid " mails" impart O'er the extended earth, and ample main, Both joy and sorrow to the human heart ! And sear like drought, or gladden it like rain That cheers the scathed and drooping plant — thou art Insatiate too ! thy huge mouths eat and drink Whole reams of Paper and whole tuns of Ink ! 88 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. X. Go on, and flourish ! well my heart can prize The valued blessings which it owes to thee. The welcome tidings which thy source supplies From friends beloved, though distant far they be, Tlie hope that wakes and warms my sympathies For those I loved, and love, and long to see, And seal them to my heart, to cheer and bless — Farewell ! I owe thee much of happiness ! 80 THE TOWER. Fabric of war and peace, of joy and tears I Thou fortress, dungeon, sepulchre, and palace I Proudly amid the storms of rolling years Thou hast defied Time's never-ceasing malice I On thy dark history's blotted page appears The mournful record of affliction's chalice, Drained by the trembling lips of fear and pain, While horror 'woke that might not sleep again. II. Thy walls have echoed to the strife of men ; Rung with loud cries of anguish from the dying ; Heard the deep groans of conscience from the den. Where the convicted, hopeless Traitor, lying, Dreamed of the grim and crimsoned block, and then Awoke to dull despair, and shrinking, sighing, Raised his cold temples from the colder stone, Hope's light for ever from his bosom gone ! N 1)1) METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. III. Far other sounds have echoed in thy halls, When pomp, and pageantry, and dance, and song, When Knights and Dames shone at thy festivals, While jocund Minstrels joined the merry throng That laughed at care, which the dull mind enthralls ! Days of Romance ! ye all have vanished long, With tilt and tournament, crusade and palmer. Long-bow and buckler, and all kinds of armour ! IV. Yet thou, old Tower ! hold'st relics of the past. When men could fight beneath a ton of mail ! Wield giant lances, battle-axes vast. While glared their long crests like a comet's tail Across the dun, and wondering heavens cast — While spears and arrows rattled round like hail ! This is all true — no wild and strange romaunt — Instance the mail in that of John of Gaunt ! THE TOWEH. &1 Thou hold'st one glittering bauble in thy keeping Which Kings have worn, and felt their regal heads Fevered beneath its weight, and been, while sleeping, Racked by dire dreams upon their splendid beds ; Oh ! happier far the simple poor, when creeping To their cold straw within their humble sheds : They with the merry lark will up and sing — Who ever heard such carols from a King ? VI. Crown of old Albion ! the regalia's pride ! Immortal Golgotha ! thou cause of strife In Britain's Isle, and many realms beside — For thee men wasted treasure, blood, and life ! For thee, vain bauble, brave ones fought, and died ! And others quarreled, just like man and wife ; Or cat and dog — synonymous with them — Ill-sorted pair ! ill-fated Diadem ! 9*2 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. VII. Come to the Armoury ! behold the bright Steel bristling round us — Oh ! it looks quite killing: How deep must be the raw recruit's delight While he is drilled, that he may soon be drilling Holes in his foeman's body in the fight ! When that same foe seems not the least unwilling, For fame's reward, and glory's great requitals. To let cold steel slip neatly through his vitals ! VIII. How strange that man's immortal mind should strive, In its most keen inventive powers delighting. Engines of death and mischief to contrive Solely to spare the trouble of much fighting ! The Warrior weeps if one be left alive. And thca'efore was it that, his ire requiting, Cannon, and ball, and sword, and bomb, and shell, Were all invented by the fiends of hell 1 THE TOWER. 93 IX. As it has been, and since it must be so, I feel, as gazing slowly round me here, That Britain need not dread her strongest foe, While arms so many, so renowned appear, E-eady for hands that well can deal the blow. Should aught invade the homes we hold most dear : Come ! Frenchman, Dutchman, Spaniard, German, Prussian, Yankee, and Swiss, and bearded Turk, and Russian, X. Come to our Armoury ! and, having seen it. Sail home dejected on your foreign keels : G o ! and defy us not, for, if you mean it. You'll find the British Bull-dog at your heels. And feel his teeth ere ye can cry out " Venit .'" Oh ! stay at home, and eat in peace your meals I Invade our shores, and there can be no question, That we shall spoil your dinner and digestion ! 1)4 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. I XI. I leave the Tower — the sun is gone to rest, The moon is rising o'er the misty deep ; Good night, " Tower-Hill !" The world may deem it best For brain-sick Poets to be fast asleep ! May that world read my " Sketches" with a zest, From which one might a joyful harvest reap : Oh ! could they catch the Public — catch their gold — Catch fame — I'll go, or I shall catch a cold. 95 THE THAMES. Old Thames ! thou babbler ! noisy tyrant ! proud Thou art, and mighty in thy devious course ! Methinks thou need'st not be so rudely loud — Look to the tiny dribbling of thy source ! But thou art like the wild and noisy crowd, Vain and tumultuous — rushing on with force, Regardless of the mud from which, forlorn, A puny thing thy Rivership was born ! II. Not that we deem a humble birth a crime — Blest are the poor, the humble, and the meek- But thou go'st wallowing on, o'er weed and slime, Swelling, all pompous, arrogant, and weak, Thou only roar'st a short and fitful time : What doth thy long, yet futile history speak ? Thv waters still to flow — those flowed before, Have been, or will be, swallowed at the Nore ! 96 METROrOLITAN SKETCHES. III. And after all thy tumult and thy strife, What are thy waters to the boundless sea ? A viewless drop ! Can Neptune and his Wife Extend their empire by the help of thee, Thou slight humidity ? Upon my life, Thou scarce would'st fill the kettle for their tea. When to a pic-nic party they invite Their green-eyed sea-nymphs on a gala night. IV. Yet let the Muse no more contemn thy waters, On whose rich banks in days of old were seen Struggles for empire, and the strife of slaughters, That dyed with tyrant's blood thy valleys green ! And there have dwelt, and dwell, thy peerless daughters Of grace and beauty — while thou flow'st the Queen Of Albion's Rivers — by the glorious City, Which holds the fair, the rich, the gay, the witty. THE THAMES. 97 V. Yes I thou art London's boast ! sufficient praise To give a wild and rambling stream like thee — That huge metropolis ! her vitals raise A race of heroes, bold of heart and free ; What wondrous men are in her crowded ways, Rare imps of science and philosophy I There are heads too, which never dare aspire. With all their brains, to set the Thames on fire. VI. Flow on, fair stream ! and, as thy waters speed To Ocean's bosom, nor return again, In this we may a timely lesson read, And think how swiftly to that troublous main, Where our frail bark will a true pilot need, Time bears us on, through pleasure and through pain ; And as the waves pass rapidly away, We pass as certain and as swift as they ! o 98 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. I. Home of the mighty dead ! — illustrious shrine ! On thee the light of lasting gloiy falls ; A spell is thrown around thee all divine, A hallowed spirit haunts thy ancient walls ; The dust thou hold'st is richer than the mine Of gold, or diamond, or the splendid halls Of wealth and gi-andeur, decked with gems, that fade Like transient gleams of twilight into shade ! II. What though the dust of god-like men alone Sleeps in thy marble tombs r the deathless mind Shines round us brighter than it ever shone, When to its temple of the earth confined. Thy heroes, sages, have bequeathed a boon That sheds a fadeless lustre on mankind : What though their ashes in thy dim aisles lie ? Their virtue, glory, genius, cannot die ! WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 99 III. Aud tliou hast witnessed many a gorgeous scene, Regal investments of our warlike Kings ; Of whom, some have to Britain's welfare been Like deadly serpents with their poisoned stings ; Their Edicts cruel, heartless, bold, yet mean, Flew, like the pestilence on fatal wings, And rendered life yet darker than the grave : Oh ! Morse than death it is to live — a slave ! IV. Time has but clad thee, venerated pile, With a more touching loveliness — alas ! It deals not thus with changing man, the while He hastens on to age — swift years that pass Shatter weak tower and column, arch and aisle Of life's frail temple ! and, like withered grass. That shrinks before the mower's scythe, man falls, While time imparts new grandeur to thy walls. 100 METROrOLITAN SKETCHES. Thou wast of old a haunt of Monks and Friars ! Who dwelt secluded in thy gloomy cells, Shunned the wide world, if not the world's desires ! Told beads at matin and at vesper bells, Spurned nature's rule, and quenched her kindling fires, Curbed the hot spirit that too oft rebels, Pondered remote from envy, malice, strife, A lonely laziness — a lifeless life ! VI. Adieu ! old Abbey ! I must leave thy scene And all thy present, and thy future fees To thy grave Chapter, and thy reverend Dean, Who makes the seer pay for all he sees ! Yes ! it is thus — and has been thus, I ween. Since thy first Abbot fleeced the devotees Who paid for absolution at thy shrine : Grant that, kind reader, for this " Lay" of mine. 101 THE MONUMENT. I. Ho ! tliou long gawky one of Fish-Street Hill ! Thou stand's! as proud as Lucifer ! thy head Stark as a raw recruit's at early drill. Makes the soft fleecy clouds its lofty bed, And these around thee dewy drops distil, Which, mixed with smoke, oft o'er thy visage spread, Till thou art sable as the race of Negroes, Black as the jet that in the rolling sea grows ! II. A word with thee, old column ! I would ask Alt thou a heretic ? and dost thou " lie Like a tall bully?" 'tis no pleasing task To catechise thy swarthy majesty ; But if thou wear'st and long have worn a mask, Egad 'tis time to throw the juggle by. And tell the world who kindled " the great lire," Who burned the City ? Abbot, Monk, and Friar ? 102 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. III. Well, " let that pass," as sings the immortal Byron ; The fire is vanquished, and thou standest yet Spite of all dangers which thy form en^aron. High o'er the Town's great wealth — and greater debt! A lofty theme for one to strike the lyre on : With me, huge giant, thou hast been a pety Since first thy image in my horn-book stood, A blurred chaotic barbarism, in wood ! IV. I well remember when with young and strong legs I first ascended thy high-winding stairs, Puffing and striding ou, like Father Long-legs, (The very same that would not say his prayers ;) Ah ! now I fear my own would be the wrong legs To climb so high, o'er earth and earthly cares : For Time hath worn my tihia, thinned my calf^ Winnowed my corn of life — and left the chaff ! THE MONUMENT. 103 Oil ! when T gained thy summit ! then I gazed O'er the far-spreading Town and gUding river, On spires, and domes, and lofty roofs, amazed, As though I there could stand, and gaze for ever On splendid works the mind of man had raised, And deemed so strong, that they wonld perish never ; Or only fall when Time's expiring groan Rend, like an earthquake, shattering brick and stone ! VI. I turned, and gazed upon the Tower, and thought Of sword, and spear, and halbert brightly gleaming, Of fearful ills that strife and war had brought, The blood of Heroes in the battle streaming. Of mingling horrors, till I seemed distraught. And scarce could tell if I were daft, or dreaming : While o'er my memory, like the siroc's breath. Rushed thoughts of treason, suffering, and death ! 104 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. VII. And then I thought of John of Gaunt, the giant — Of ancient dames he must have been the channer, With stm'dy strong-hmbs, ponderous, yet pliant. Strutting immensely in his seven-feet armour ! The direful plagues commented on by Bryant* Might have been borne with more composiure, calmer, Than could a modern Miss, or maiden Aunt, Bear thy sublime advances — John of Gaunt! VIII. And now I turned towards the west — the din Of the dense City rang upon mine ear, Millions of sounds her crowded streets within Arose, commingling in the airy sphere With echoing voices from my kind, and kin, " From grave to gay, from lively to severe," Untuned, uncouth, uneven, and unstable, Delightful dissonance ! bewitching Babel ! * See Bryant on " The Plagues of Egijpt." THE MONUMENT. 105 IX. I gazed again, and, through the drifting smoke Beheld a dark and dismal bailding rise, Newgate I — Alas ! within my brain awoke Thoughts of the burning tears, the heavy sighs Of wi-etches galled by sin's afflicting yoke. Appalled, and shuddering at their miseries That grew in horror, till e'en hope at last Shrunk from the future, blighted by the past ! X. This was too sombre — so I gazed again, And marked the pride of London's wealthy street, The gorgeous Bank — away fled all my pain, Dreams lulled my soul in an elysium sweet, Large bank-post bills came floating o'er my brain, Huge piles of gold insured my bliss complete, Till, by the noise below, confused and stunned, I Awoke, and sighed — " Sic transit gloria mundiP'^ p 106 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. XI. My hand, as 'twere by instinct, in my pocket Was quickly thrust — Oh! nothing jingled there Fear in an instant slyly struck the docket Against my Hope ! — arrested by Despair, My snuff of credit burned within its socket ; I turned, and hurried down the echoing stair. And slunk dejected from delightful London, Where, without cash, a man may soon be undone 1 XII. In haste I left the City — far away Long have I tarried, in my woodland glen ; Oft spun, as now, xii. stanzas in a day, Grumbling and growling in my hungry den. Pale, poor, proud, pondering on a poet's pay. Toasted my herring on a pipe — and then Dreamed a long dream of honour, riches, fame. Surely to come — which surely never came ! 107 THE BANK OF ENGLAND. Bank of the World ! — there's music in thy name As soft it warbles from our quivering throats ! Oh I I have felt its melody, when came Before my sight thy neatly-printed notes, That charm the strong, the weak, the blind, the lame, More than the magic of the sound that floats From sackbut, harp, or dulcimer, or all Bows, keys, and strings, invented since the fall ! II. Talk not to me of PaganinVs scraping. And tell me not of Father Lhidley\s Bass, That sets his rajDt and wondering hearers gaping, As though his Fiddle's mood had changed their case. Away with these ! and, from their sjDells escaping, Give me thy notes, immortal Henry Hase ! They yield the music that my soul entrances ! They form the jig to which the whole world dances ! 108 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. III. Home of huge piles of paper and of gold ! Whence came thy " rise and progress" upon earth ? Art thou the child of wealth ? if truth were told, . Wert thou noL horn of poverty and dearth ? When cash had vanished, credit had been sold For wasteful war, liiljie glory, nothing worth ? When first" I Promise''' on thy notes was set — Promise of stocks, and loans, and bonds, and debt ! IV. Thou poor "Old Lady of Tlireadncadle- Street," As CoBBETT calls thce — but I'd not profane My pen, and ink, and tliis uns]jotted sheet With aught from him, to tell thee of thy bane; 'Tis labour lost that Giant to defeat, Howe'er you " cut" lii.n, still he'll " come again," Just like a worm that you may hack to shreds, That twist, and turn to new-formed tails and heads. THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 109 V. Queen of Threadneedle-Slreet I — a gentler name — Oh ! tliou hast wrought sad mischief in the land ! Thy " legal tenders" have allured to shame And sin and death, the forger's trembling hand ; While soon thy rich and tempting stores became Baits to a large and predatory band — Jobbers, and Broker,^, Gtimblers, Flats and Cheaters, And names defying all om- English metres ! VI. In sooth, there's cause for most romantic wonder, To him, who like myself, has often seen The anxious buzzing crowd in thy Rotunda, Capacious Brokers, squalid Misers, lean. Whose mingling din is like the distant thunder. Whose eager eyes are as tlic lightnings keen, Wliilc each, intent upon his occu]3ation. Reveals some trait that marks his race and nation. 110 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. VII. The plodding Dutchman, lazy Spaniard, rough Imperial Russian, and deep-scheming Jew, And Scot, that knows not when he's gained enough, And Frenchman, fickle as the summer-dew, And starched American, " I guess," and bluff Domestic Englishman, wild Irish too ! Money their God, they transfer, sell or buy, Worship the golden-calf awhile and — die ! VIII. Oh, tempting wealth ! thou art the serpent's slime, Defding Paradise ! for thou hast wrought In this fair world much sorrow, and sad crime ; Through pain and peril thou art hourly sought ; And art thou worth the care, the toil, the time, The weary day, the sleepless night, when caught? Ha ! there is so much good and ill about thee, 'Tis dangerous living with thee, or without thee ! THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 11 I IX. Pour forth thy treasures, Bank ! but let them flow- In smaller streams, enriching vales and hills, And not in channels, deepening till they grow To stagnant pools of wealth : but let thy rills Diffuse abroad, and gladden as they go Palace, and hall, and cot, till all the ills Of poverty shall flee, and Want no more Stand a gaunt spectre at the Peasant's door ! X. Then might fair Commerce, and the smiling train Which heavenly Ceres to the fields would bring, Pom" Plenty's blessings o'er the earth and main ; The hills would shout for joy, the valleys sing, And sweet Content dwell in our homes again, And Time glide onward with a smoother whig: Pom* forth thy treasures, Bank ! a lack of money, Leaves Britain like a bee-hive without honey ! 112 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. XI. Bank of Old England ! may thy valued store Remain exhanstless as tlie starrv dome ! May ]\Ien ne'er dare to think that thou hast more Paper abroad tiian thou hast gold at home ! This might shipwreck thee on a barren shore Where thou would'st find an ignominious tomb, O'er which Fundholders would lament with sobs — Brokers be broken — Jobbers lose their jobs ! XII. But thou stand'st firm, and, in the Book of Fate, No doubt 'tis written — though I never read it — That thou ivili stand, a pillar of the state, If not a golden prop, yet one of credit ! Defying him, who bankrupt, in his hate Would bite, as will a Cat the hand that fed it ! Stand firm ! unshaken as the lasting hills. And — Oh ! refuse not to discount my bills ! 113 WHITEHALL. Peoud regal Pile ! magnificent Whitehall ! Palace of Kings long mingled with the earth ! (For Kings, like Peasants, breathe awhile and fall) Home of the Banquet ! silenced is the mirth That rung, when Wolsey, by his wealth could call Mummers, and maskers, things of little worth, To please his royal master, Harry Tudor, On whose escutcheon please to read — " Proh pudor /" 11. Unhappy Boleyn ! in this splendid spot Thou knelt'st in beauty on thy bridal-mom. And dreams of coming sorrow hamited not Thy spirit then, that seemed for gladness bom. And power, and empire, and a cloudless lot. That ne'er might droop, o'er shadowed and forlom, Nor sink beneath the unresisted flood Of hopeless grief, whose fatal tide was blood ! Q 114 METROPOLITAN SKETCHES. ni. Palace ! thy name jars painful on the ear ! A dim sepulchral veil around thee spread, Tells of the fallen King's untimely bier — Tells of the lorn and royal victim dead — Yes ! Chaeles was borne to hapless slaughter here ; And he who has the solemn lesson read, Will mark the moral which his end hath taught, That wealth and greatness, power and fame are nought ! IV. Yet, as I gaze upon the high roof, where The magic hand of genius has defined Pictures of loveliness, surpassing fair. That show the fadeless sunlight of the mind. Spirit of Reubens ! thou seem'st hovering there To tell that fame is not to time confined ; That genius never dies, but still is seen Crowned with the laurel, and for ever green ! WHITEHALL. Ho How many deeds, commissions, proclamations, " Given at our Palace," have been duly signed : Some breathing threats against the distant nations, Others of more domestic traits combined, To awe the rabble in their starving stations, Who raised a storm but could not " raise the wind !" Some ordered demagogues to keep their houses, Where they might play the tyrant with their spouses ! VI. Strange ! that the first who cry out " We are Slaves !" Should be the first to play the tyrant ! — well, Rulers and people struggle to their graves, And not a stone will here remain to tell Of thee, Whitehall ! — Time's overwhelming waves Will sweep thy splendour from the earth ! farewell ! " We fade as doth a leaf," a goodly text That weans our thoughts from this world to the next ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ON THE WRECK OF A BRIG . OFF DUNWICH. The hurricane roared through the starless night ; Waves leap'd as the mountains high ; And the sea-bird scream'd in his wild affright : Loud rose the sailor's cry ! And when the dim morn from the lowering east Broke o'er the storm -clad sea, It was only to show Death's havoc feast, On the day of his jubilee ! I heard in that morn the dire shout of distress Ring shai*p from the parting deck ; And from Walberswick Harbour to Orford Ness The beach was strewn with wreck ! ON THE WRECK OF A BRIG. 117 I wancler'd alone on the echoing shore, While the waves of the troubled bay Sent up to the heaven their angry roar, Like madden'd beasts of prey ! And I saw, as I turn'd, the dishevell'd hair Stream wildly on the gale ; And I heard the horrible cry of despair. And the Mother's fearful wail, As she rush'd, in the strength of her agony, past, Like a wretch whose hope was gone ; And I heard her groans in the mocking blast, And her shriek—" My Son ! My Son !" She knelt on the beach, and her hands on high Were thrown ; and her lips apart. Her pallid brow, and her frantic eye, Told the doom of a broken heart ! 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. She gazed on the wreck that was floating near^ Where she saw, on the heaving billow, With the scatter'd shrouds for its rocking bier^ And the foam of the sea for its pillow : She saw the corse of her Son I the sight Gave a pang to her bursting heart, That sank 'neath the withering deadly blight, Which may come, but ne'er depart ! The next huge wave, in its giant strength, Threw the corse at the Mother's feet. With the sea-weed wrapp'd o'er its ghastly length, A cold, cold winding-sheet ! I saw the sad Mother trembling stand, Methinks I see her now, As she, shuddering, slowly passed her hand O'er the dead man's icy brow. ON THE WRKCK OF A BRIG. 119 She shed no tear, and she heaved no sigh, But she stood as though the dire And horrible glare of his unclosed eye Had sear'd her heart, like fire ! When the stay of our earthly joy is past, All wreck'd on the shoal of time ; Oh ! where shall the soul her anchor cast In this world of woe and crime ? There is a haven, to which her bark May steer, where the tempests cease, Till the dove to the worn and shattered ark. Brings the olive leaf of peace. Yes ! the wounded heart must seek for health. At a spring which faileth never ; That glideth and giveth its priceless wealth, By the throne of God, for ever ! 1'20 TO THE ALTAR OF ST. GEORGE'S CHURCH, HANOVER-SQUARE. Hail to thee, Altar ! thou hast long Been greeted by the voice of fame : Oh ! worthy of the Poet's song ! Witness of honour and of shame ! Thou spot, where beauty's flower is phmder'd. Where hands are join'd, though hearts be sunder'd ! Oh ! could'st thou speak, thy tale would bear A record and a mournful token Of vows extorted by despair, Of blighted hopes and young hearts broken ! A blotted page that one must be Whereon is traced thy history ! TO THE ALTAR OF ST. GEORGE's CHURCH. 121 From thoe hath many a trembling bride Turn'd with cold heart and burning brain. The victim to a parent's pride — A barter'd thing, a wretch, for gain ; A fetter'd slave, all meanly sold For that prime curse of curses — gold I The proud, the rich, the mean, the high Have knelt before thee ! Oft the rake Hath there pronounced the ready lie, Deceitful as the Eden snake ; While his soft traitor-lips replied To queries which his heart denied I Yet there are hearts that well may date The era of their joy from thee, The birth-place of the brightest fate That wedded life and love may be ! Hearts that have bless'd, that bless thee now. In memory of their pliglited vow. R 122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. How long, how fondly, memory dwells On moments past that led to bliss I Not time, which breaks all other spells, E'er broke the heavenly charm of this, Which falls upon the heart like dew That decks the faded flower anew. 123 MY FATHER^S GRAVE. The mound is green, the grass is growing O'er the newly platted grave ; Fast the tide of time is flowing, Whelming all beneath its wave. I joy to think that wave may bear Me onward to a world of bliss; That I may see and love him there, Whom I so fondly prized in this I My Father ! — Oh ! thy name is yet A treasured thought, and long will be, E'en till with parting life shall set The pole-star of my memory ! 124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. For thou to me hast been below A guide to warn, a light to guide ; To thy unceasing love I owe More than to all the world beside ! Thy kindness now seems doubly dear, Since thou art gone, and gone for ever ! How bright Affection's hues appear, Which nought can dim, though death may sever 1 So, when the summer sun departs, And wintry darkness reigns alone, Then o'er the memory of our hearts Beams brighter still his brightness gone ! Parent sjiirit ! gone before me ! Look'st thou from thy starry throne ? Haply now thou watchest o'er me, Sorrowing at thy grave alone. MY father's grave. 125 Here the world, its truth, its error, Wealth, and glory, all are vain ; Joy and sorrow, hope and terror, Cease, where death alone can reign! The grave ! that frail and silent dwelling, What is all its gloom to nie ? Is not e'en its silence telling What my own sure fate must be ! Yes ! but here awhile I gather Flowers of memory, springing fast : Cherish'd thus for thee, my Father ! Long their grateful bloom will last ! And oh ! when time and death shall sever Me from every earthly tie. Then, to dwell with thee for ever ! That hope will make it bliss to die ! J2(i MY BIRTH-DAY. Old Time ! thou fliest on thy track, And wilt not deign to give me back One little vanished year ! In spite of threat, or laugh, or gibe. Above the reach of prayer or bribe. Thou keep'st thy swift career ! Stay but one day — one hour — one minute ! Heed not the race, for thou must win it; Pause but a moment — No ! Thou wilt not, must not, cannot stay, For ever on the wing — away, Go, subtle Varlet ! Go ! Yet, as thou glidest softly by. Shall vain regret, or fruitless sigh Distract my bosom now ? Thy flight is like the viewless breeze, 'Tis all too late for me to seize The grey lock on thy brow ! MY BIRTH-DAY. 127 Too late ! renounce the chilling thought, Can I not catch, as I have caught. Thy forelock now and then ? And shall the rust of forty years, Their clouds, and storm, and toil, and tears, Repress the souls of men ? What, though I've reached the " half-way" hill, And gained its quiet summit ? still The bounded vale below May yield some pleasant sunny hoiu"s, And bright green spots, and blooming flowers, And streams that calmly flow. What, though the glow of manhood's prime, The fair and cloudless summer-time Of life may soon depart ? Its autumn blasts may round me sweep, I reck not these if T can keep Its winter from my heart ! 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Oh ! I have joyfui blessings given, Countless, and undeserved, from heaven ; And shall my thankless mind Not feel and own a gxateful sense Of God's o'er ruling providence, All merciful and kind ? Come, sweet content, and hope, and peace ! As life's star wanes may ye increase, And brighter, purer grow, So that I well may feel at last A holy joy at having passed My pilgrimage below ! 129 THE VILLAGE. WRITTEN UPON THE ROOKERY- 11 ILL, AT Y OXFORD. Tis Night — the weary world is still j Forgotten and alone I muse, upon the wooded hill, Beneath the summer-moon, That seems as though she smiled more bright, While listening to the bird of night ! Beside me sweeps the spreading glade ; Around me spring the flowers ; And far below, amid the shade Of happy green-wood bowers. All bright beneath the spangled skies, My loved and lovely Village lies. s 130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. There many a high aspiring dome, And lowly cot is seen ; There many a glad and peaceful home, Where pride nor care has been — Where hearts are undisturbed by strife. Unruffled on the sea of life. And yet, perchance, of all who now Rest there, enchained by sleep, Some wretch may wake with throbbing brow. And eyes unclosed, to weep : Whose heart, within its blighted core, May feel the glow of hope no more ! Oh I in a spot so fair as this, Which nature's heavenly hand Has painted for her bower of bliss. Her Eden of the land — In this fair spot life's stream should glide. One sweet, unchanged, unbroken tide. THE VILLAGE. 131 Dear peaceful Village ! though from thee My thoughts are wont to roam, To distant scenes o'er earth and sea, Thou only art my home ; In thee alone my treasure lies — My all of joy beneath the skies ! Here, here alone, I feel the spell. All earthly spells above ; Oh ! here my friends, my children dwell, Here smiles my own true love ! Vain world ! I would not change this spot For all thou hast, and I have not ! Now slow the beauteous landscape fades Beneath the waning moon ; And I forsake these lovely glades. To seek my home alone : Still, still the scene shows fair and bright ; Thou Village of my heart ! Good Night ! 132 LINES, WRITTEN UPON THE LID OF A COFFIN. Sleep on ! — sleep on ! — The world, and all Its hopes and fears, its grief and glee, Man's weal and woe, his rise and fall. Are sealed, for ever sealed to thee ! I deemed — too early knew — that thou Would'st fade in youth ; I marked the cold. Pale hand of death pass o'er thy brow ; I knew thy transient days were told I Oh ! when thy smile hath beamed most bright,. And when thy lips have breathed of pleasure, I marked the deadly withering blight Steal from thy cheek its rosy treasure ! Yet thou hast fondly wished, nay, planned. In future scenes to bear thy part ; So bright the seraph Hope had spanned Her bow of promise o'er thy heart [ LINES. 133 Oh ! loved, lost Mary !-^Thou no more Beliold'st the burning tears I shed : How vain the grief that lingers o'er The cpffin of the dreamless dead ! Yet I must weep — no fate can stay The waves of woe that o'er me roll ; No hand can pluck the veil away, Which hides the light that blessed my soul ! Still, Mary I since I know thee blest, For thee I must not, dare not weep ; I only long to share thy rest. Thy peaceful couch, thy envied sleep. Though my soul's hope hung on thy breath, Thou to so bright a world art gone, I would not 'wake thee, sweet, from death, Though loved in life : — sleep on ! — sleep on ! 134 MARY. If Heaven would make me such another World Of one entire and perfect Chrysolite, I'd not have sold her for it. SlIAKSPEAUB, I SAW her sleeping in her shroud, When cold and pale in death she lay; And while her Father wept aloud, I turn'd in mute despair away — That which his eye could bear to see, Brought torments worse than death to me ! One moment more, I gazed again : That hasty glance of anguish brought A world of hopeless woe and pain, A changeless, cheerless age of thought. Which to my lonely heart could bring In life no balm, in death no sting ! MARY. 135 Yes, Mary ! then my cup of grief O'er-flowed — and I have drain'd it now, P^'en to the dregs ! Thy span was brief — But I am like a Avithering bough That lives, though storms have torn away The glories of its summer-day ! Oh I could I sleep as thou art sleeping, With pangless breast and tearless eye ! Yet, mine no more for thee is weeping, The fountain of my tears is dry j I live to dull despair alone, As though my heart were chill'd to stone ! Farewell awhile ! life's stormy sea Will soon be pass'd — and I may dwell In some far brighter world with thee. In which that joyless sound, /are?<;eZ/, Breaks that most hallow'd transport never, Which there is felt, and felt for ever ! 13(> THE DROWNED MAN. 1 WAS walking alone on Dunwich shore ; There cold a dead man lay ! His face with blood was clotted o'er And it dripped with the salt sea-spray: And there lurked a horror in either eye, That arrested the glance of the passer by. I gazed again — I gazed once more — And I saw the livid spot, And the flesh that the wild sea-harpies tore 'Mid the waves in their pebbly grot : And the blood which they had not sucked from his veins, Had oozed o'er his body and left its stains. Its stains of a horrible hue were spread On his cheek, and his ghastly brow ; And still as I muse on that seaman dead, Methinks I can view him now, With his stiff stark hands, that had grasped in vain, The hem of his garment, in death's sharp pain ! THE DROWNED MAN. 137 I turned from that sight — and, sick at heart, I thought of the dead man's home, Of his wife, and the burning tears that must start, When she mourn o'er her children's doom ; I left the shore, and I sought my bed. But only to dream of the hideous dead ! I dreamed that he came to my own bed-side. And he said, with a ghastly smile, " Come away ! come away ! to the surging tide, To death's cold, dreary Isle !" And I 'woke with the strife of that mental pain, But — only to dream of the dead man again ! 138 REFLECTIONS ON THE NEW YEAR. Year rolls on year ! Time flies so fast, We scarce perceive his flight, nor deem The present moment, nor the past, Has realized oin* golden dream. Well, \&t us dream ! to 'wake and mourn For blessings lost, or sorrows borne. Would only place us on the ract, And could not bring one moment back ! No ! Time hath only one lock-7-grey — And that, alas ! not seen behind; Unless we seize the thief to day, He flies us like the idle wind : Aye, thief I deem him — for, he steals Our youth away, which oft reveals. Visions so bright with endless joy, Which nought but Time could e'er destroy ! REFLECTIONS. 139 So let hini fly ! could we pursue, And bring him back, we might not love him; Time present wears a sombre hue, Except to minds that soar above him ! To minds Avhich bow not to that fate Which leaves the coward desolate ! To minds that soar above the sorrow Which threats to day, or waits to-morrow ! Yet would I not forget that all The worldly things which charm us here, "With them that rise — and them that fall — Are passing with the passing year: We all are changing ! heedless Time, E'en now, regardless of my rhyme, Dull hovering o'er oblivion's brink. Blots out the moments as I think 1 140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Well ! other moments follow — Yes ! And why may they not brightly smile ? The storm that wrecks our happiness, Is often mercy veiled awhile : I love io feel the hour was given, A joyous beam that lights to heaven ! I love to pluck the flowers that bloom, Between the cradle and the tomb ! Oh ! what a paradise is spread Around us here ! our life discloses Amid the trivial ills we dread, For every thorn a thousand roses I Away with Care ! — fair Hope ! inspire The drooping world ! and lend thy fire To warm our hearts, and light us o'er Life's path — till life shall be no more ! 141 TO MY CHILD AT PLAY. Play on, my little one ! fair is thine hour ; How jocund thy spirit, how cloudless and bright ! While care haunts the court, and the camp, and the bower, Thv heart only feels the warm thrill of delight ! Flay on ! for thy gambols, so blithesome and free, It were pleasure to share, as 'tis joy to behold ; Thou art. merry and wild as the revelling bee. Thou art blithe as a lamb just escaped from the fold. Oh, could'st thou through life be as happy as now. With thy heart as unclouded, thy bosom as pure ; Could the joy of that smile which enlightens thy brow, And the rapturous glow of thy spirits, endure ! But I would not with dread of the future oppress thee ; Play on ! and remember, that nothing can tear From thy innocent bosom the hoDCs that now bless thee, *' J. 7 But the vice of the world : — all thy danger lies there ! 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And wlicn its temptations beset thee, my Child, Oh, think of the truth which my verse would impart; And be neVr by its folly, its madness, beguil'd. But in purity keep all the thoughts of thy heart ! jMore joy will it give me in life, if thy name Be a word to awaken the feeling of worth ; More joy than to see thee exalted by fame, And rich in the wealth and the grandeur of earth ! Yes ! goodness will yield to thy soul a delight Which the splendour oi greatness can never bestow ; And while virtue directs thee, her heavenly light Will reveal the sweet flowers in thy path-way below ! Thus favour'd and happy, thus blessing and blest, Thou wilt pass through the world, unallur'd by its crime ; Thus living, be honoured ; thus dying, thy rest Will be endless in glory— thy triumph o'er time ! 143 STANZAS, WRITTEN IN WINTER, « TO THE SOLE REMAINING LEAP OP AN OAK-TREE, IN THE PARM-YARD, AT DEERBOLt's hall, EARL STONIIAM, SUFFOLK. Wpiy lingerest thou — alone — alone — While all thy mates are fled ? Thy race, and kindred, one by one, Have withered, and are dead. I marked thee, on that spreading bough, When thou wast fair to see ; But thou art seared and lonely now — Oh ! leave that blighted tree ! For thou bring'st back the thought of her, Of her I oft have met, Whom, though my wayward heart may err. That heart can ne'er forget. 144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Beneath thy bough, when bright the sun Sank joyous in the west, Oft have I met that lovely one, And, meeting her, was blest. The last sad time we met, this oak Was clad in garb of green ; Our hearts beat high — our young eyes spoke How glad those hearts had been. She smiled — and o'er her cheek so fair. Blushed deep the mantling blood ; Though warm that cheek, yet death lurked there, Like canker in the bud ! She died ! — Farewell thou leaf! bereft Of all that decked thy tree. Oh ! thou art seared — and lonely left — And desolate, like me ! 145 TO A FRIEND, ON HIS EMIGRATING TO CANADA. Farewell ! the broad and restless sea Will soon between ns roll; Though wind and wave so changeful be, They cannot change the soul : That heeds not distance, place, nor time. But darts unchecked from clime to clime ! And when thou dwellest far away Amid the clustering woods. Among the valleys bright and gay, In nature's solitudes, There still with thee my mind will range, Partake thy chance, and share thy change. Q 14t5 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Oil I wlien thou hear'st the wandering gale Come whispering from the lake, The varied sounds of hill and dale, The wild bird in the brake ; Think of the sounds on Albion s shore, That charmed thee once, but charm no more ! And when the eve's last lingering ray Along the sky has darted. Think of that sad declining day, Think of the day we parted ; How many suns must rise and set, Ere we can say " once more we're met !" When thou hast passed the stormy main, I may not see thee morej Mine ear may never hear again Thy footstep at ray door, Nor listen to thy voice, that brought The friendly interchange of thought. TO A FRIEND, 147 Farewell I and may the distant clime, To which thou goest now, Be to thy soul like summer-time, Like green leaves to the bough, That show the wintry storms of care Are past, and all is bright aiKl fair ! 14S CASTLE-BUILDING. The days are fled — the meny prime When first that will-o'the-vvhisp, sweet rhyme, Misled my giddy brain ; Ye cloudless hours of life and light, Ye moments, joyful, rapturous, bright, Yee'll ne'er come back again ! And, if ye could, with all your folly, Your lengthened mirth, short melancholy, Your sunny beams all fair ; Could these again life's pathway gild. Again I should but live to build More castles in the air ! Oh ! I built one so splendid, high. Across the bright and dazzling sky, With turret, tower, and wall, And fancy's mortar, hope's cement. Were spread on arch and battlement, I knew they could not fall ! CASTLE BUILDING. 149 I prized their strength and art so well, And placed Joy as a Sentinel, To guard the towers above ; Hope was my Warder, and his horn Was mellow as the breath of morn, His only watch- word " Love !" Alas ! there lowered a dark eclipse, One scornful puff from Lydia's lips Dissolved the structure vain ; Quick from the melting rampart's fell, My Warder and my Sentinel, Ah ! me ! a slighted swain ! Still I went building on so long. Huge walls in prose, and towers in song Sublimely great, and steep ; Till Love once more stole o'er the fosse, And after mickle pain and loss, Confined me in his keep ! 150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And nov\- youth's wild romance is o'er, I touch not fancy's trowel more, To build for thankless dames ; A winning, worrying wife of mine, Eleven bairns*, and " the tuneful nine," Are quite enough for — James. * Verissime ! 151 ADDRESS TO TIME. Old hoary Time ! how many streams of thought Have gushed in Odes and Sonnets unto thee ! More than the hues of hght by nature caught, More than the sands beside the rolling sea — If poet's songs were each but worth a groat, How rich thv masrazine of wealth would be ! Thy ponderous millions would be countless : bless us ! Thou would'st be wealthier than the ancient Croesus ! Many have jested with thee, Time ! My measure Shall move more gravely — for it seems no joke, When thou, who bow'st the subject world at pleasure. Beneath the mighty slavery of thy yoke, When thou art sported with ! a fleeting treasure ! We must not jest too long, nor thee provoke To sweep thy scythe with thy avenging hand, Shake thy frail glass, and dribble out life's sand ! lO-i MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Thou art a great, yet slighted monarch, crushing Earth's puny atoms 'neath thy withering wing, While o'er creation and her kingdoms rushing, An all important, yet neglected thing ! Fast are the w^aters of thy fountain gushing, Still flowing on from thy exhausting spring, Down the abyss where dull oblivion lies, AVith death's cold hand upon her darkened eyes ! And art thou not a fickle despot. Time ? Blighting the flowers which thine own hand hath planted \ Blasting the hope we cherished in our prime, Leaving our riper years all disenchanted ! Then, swayed by reason, rather than by rhyme, The; things for which our ai'dent bosoms panted Are cast as weeds upon dim memory's shore. While the soul seeks, in restless hope, for more [ ADDRESS TO TIME. 153 Unchecked she rauges o'er the varied reahn Of boundless thought I and if on life's rough sea She keeps her pilot, Reason, at the helm. Smooth may the progress of her voyage be, Shoals will not wreck, nor billows overwhelm, Still gliding on, from storm and tempest free, Calm may she gain the haven of her rest. Secure for ever, and for ever blest ! And thou, e'en thou, proud Time I must pass away ; Thy sceptre will be torn from thee, and broken ! And thou, the slayer, slialt no longer slay. When the dread mandate of thy doom be spoken ; Thy throne shall totter, crumble, and decay. And thou wilt die ! cind leave no trace, no token Of all thy mighty works to tell of thee. Lost in the vastness of Eternity ! 154 CONSTANCY. She dwelt in her dear native vale, where the light Of her loveliness shone like the planet of night, That makes all clad in beauty more beautiful still, Adds new charms to the valley, new grace to the hill ! O'er that spot, nature's bounty profusely had thrown, From her garner of treasures, rare gems of her own ; And its beautiful glades were as happy as fair, For the pride of the valley, young Ada, was there ! Oh ! the charm of her smile was so sunny and bright, Her form, like a seraph's, all graceful and light. And her eloquent eye softly told that its ray From the sun of her soul had just darted away ! Yes ! she breathed the fair sylph of that sweet shaded spot, Bloom'd the chaste, lovely flower of her vine-cover'd cot, Where the beauty of nature enchantingly smiled — Where the mother was blest in the love of her child. CONSTANCY. 155 And of Ada's fond heart, there was one, who possess'd All its hope — the devotion, the truth of her breast; And whose love was to her as the flower to the bee, Or the leaf that ne'er fades on the evergreen tree ! But the pride of her soul, the brave Seymour, was far From the bowers of her home 'mid the tumult of war ; With the fervour of youth, o'er the wide-rolling wave, He had rush'd to the fight, with the noble and brave. He dejDarted ! The ocean divided them now, And the care for his absence was marked on her brow, Where anxiety's fear, the soft shading of sorrow, Veil'd the bliss of to-day 'neath the hope of to-morrow I Time fled — and he came not — again, and again. Had the summer-sun smiled o'er the deep, heaving main ; Oh ! how drear was the night, and how cheerless the day, While he dwelt from her own lovely valley away ! 15(5 MISCELLANEOUS TOKMS. Now the sweet, blooming spring brouglit delight to the earth, And the bud and the floweret rejoiced in their birth ; And though bright glowed the scene which around her was spread. Yet the spell of her heart, its enchantment, had fled. He sent not — return'd not — she heard of his fame. And her heart burn'd with joy at the tidings which came ; For the star of her being was cloudless or dim, As Fate dealt her storm or her sunshine to him I How slow wane the hours Mdien the form we most prize Far away I far away ! is estranged from our eyes ! And the moments to Ada thus painfully wrought The sad dread of suspense, the dejection of thought. " He is gone I — and for ever ! — if living, no more Dwells his thought on the scenes he so valued before; Seymour, shares not the laurels he wins for his brow With the heart that hath loved, and that worships him now ! CONSTANCY. 157 "Yes! they tell inc, my dear humble home from his thought Is all vanish'd a^.vay lilie a dream that is nought: No ! No ! he may fall in the morning of youth, But his heart is the temple of virtue and truth !" Thus she pensively mourn'd — and, though many a sv.ain Had bow'd down at the shrine of her beauty in vain ; Where her worshippers knelt, and exultingly told Of their spacious domains, and their treasures of gold, Yet she heeded them not ! — As the llower that will turn To the light of its life, wheresoe'er it may burn ; So to Seymour her heart turn'd its hope, though the ray That could cherish that hope from her sight was away. The sun was slow wending to seek for his rest, In the cool ruby bower of his realm in the west, While his beams softly play'd on the light waving trees. That now whisper'd their joy at the kiss of the breeze! 158 MISCELLA.NBOUS i'OEMS. Ill that hour lovely Ada dejectedly sate By the door of her cottage, she mused on her fate ; And though sweetly her bird trill'd his song to her car, Its soft music had lost the rich notes that could cheer. And the book she most loved, which had often repress'd The dominion of sorrow that vanquished her breast; Its page, once so prized, failed to comfort her now, Or to chase the despair that n'crshadow'd her brow ! Hope died in her soul : hark ! a footstep is nigh. And a shadow has caught the bright glance of her eye — She turns — her breath quickens — before her he stands. Her own Seymour ! — the book from her tremulous hands Now fell, as she sprang, like an arrow that flies, Or a dove that darts swift to her mate in the skies. While her heart all its truth, all its ardour confess'd. As her fast-changing cheek softly sank on his breast. CONSTANCY. 15U At that moment the rose, which she wore in her bosom, Fell down at her feet with its redolent blossom ; As though 7101V all its charms had no fragrance nor worth, Since that bosom possessed all its treasure on earth ! Oh, Ada ! dear Ada ! the noon of thy youth, Shall be blessed for thy constancy, virtue, and truth ; And Seymour ! brave Seymour ! thy honour shall be. Thy sure pass-port to joy — beauty's garland to thee ! Oh, Woman ! what bliss, what enchantment, we owe To the spell of thy heart, to thy solace below. To thy truth so enduring, thy kindness and care In the morning of joy, in the night of despair I To thy soul's chosen Love thou unchanged wilt remain. In health and in sickness, in pleasure and pain ; And, when closed are his eyes in Death's mortal eclipse. Even then, still is his the last kiss of thy lips ! 160 MISCELLANEOrs POEMS. And over Lis grave tliou wilt niounifully keep Thy lone vigil of sorrow, to pray and to weep : Yes ! to pray — tliat his errors of heart be forgiven, And that thou niay'st yet meet him unsullied in heaven I 101 ON THE BIRTH OF MY CHILD, ALEYN. Hail ! tliou little sinless boy ! May'st tliou be thy Mother's joy; And from thee, love, may thy Father, Hope, and peace, and solace gather. When I look upon thy bosom, Heaving like the white-rose blossom, When zephyrs, at the break of day. Come to kiss its tears away: And when I gaze upon thy brow. Oh I I think, though placid now. When the world, and worldly cares, Throw o'er thy path unnumbered snares, That brow may be by sorrow shaded. That smile upon thy young lips faded. And time, which now brings joy to me, May yield its future griefs to thee. I would not o'er thy cradle tlu-ow, The dread of fancied ills below, Y 162 MIgCELLANLOUS i'OEMS. When my only liope should rest On Him, the greatest, wisest, best ! Whose light is shed from heaven above, A rainbow, o'er his ark of love, Wliich tells that life's dark voyage o'er, Its storms and clouds may vex no more 1 [()3 THE FARMER'S FAMILY. I SAW them at Christmas-Eve sit in their places, While the Farmer's board smiled with a cup of spiced ale; And I marked humour's sun-light illumine their faces, As archly he told them some marvellous Tale. Hurrah ! for the Yeoman, That careth for no man. Excepting so far as to make him more blest; Rich be his garnered store, Flourish for evermore Peace in his home. — Give ambition the rest ! I saw the good Housewife benignantly smiling. While mirth and good nature presided around. And the generous warmth of her heart was beguiling The winter of care, till no care could be found ! Hurrah ! for the Woman, The wife of the Yeoman, With joy for her motto, and hope fur her crest; Her household in order. Her care will reward her With social delights. — Give ambition the rest I 164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I heard the young Children, their wild burst of laughter, As the old blind-man's buff filled their bosoms with glee; And I felt my heart sinking for half an hour after, To think that the sport had departed from me ! Hurrah ! for the playing Ones, They are time-slaying Ones, liife's roses spring up where their footsteps are prest; They cherish no sorrow, Nor care for the morrow, They are happy and free. — Give ambition the rest ! And I heard, at the feast, the o'eijoyed Sons of labour Commingling their voices in music and song, Wliile the youths and the maidens, to glad pipe and tabor, In the maze of the dance were light tripping along. Hurrah ! for the Peasantry, Good-will and pleasantry ! May their hearts, ^\■hile they labour, have peace for their guest j For the scythe and the sickle, Though fortune be fickle, Shall viold them content. — Give ambition the rest ! THE farmer's family. 165 The Farmer's eye glistened — a tear from joy's fountain Was bright in its orb, from his heart's gi'ateful spring, While the sweet seraph, Hope, from her loftiest mountain Was pointing to scenes which the future might bring ! Hun-ah ! for the Yeoman, That careth for no man, Excepting so far as to make him more blest ; Rich be his garnered store. Flourish for evermore Peace in his home. — Give ambition the rest ! lU(i THE PATH OF LIFE. They say there's a thorny path of life — In truth I have seldom found it ! I have shunned the scene of worldly strife, And the dangerous rocks around it : I deem it a folly to seek for pain, On the mountain of pride, when there's peace in the plain I 'Tis said that life is beset with briars — Indeed I have rarely seen them ! I limit my hopes, and my own desires, Ai:d gather content between them. Full half the ills of life are nought. Unknown to Man's bosom, except in thought ! 'I hey tell me that life is a vale of sorrow — I deem it a vale of bliss ! I have peace for to-day, I have hope for to-morrow And what is there cheerless in this ? Yes — Providence gladness to all imparts, May it give us the blessing of grateful hearts ! THE PATH OF LIFE. 167 So tell mc no move of the gloomy time That man dwells in a vale of tears, When so buoyant with hope is his early prime, And so glad his riper years. If the path-way of life will be chequered by sadness, Though owe hour may bring sorrow — the wiany bring gladness! 168 TO CATHERINE MARY MOODIE, AN INFANT, ON HER EMBARKING FOR NORTH AMERICA. When I held thee, sweet Babe, in my arms on the ocean, When I gazed on thy face as we bore from the strand ; Then I thought of the future with kindhng emotion, I thought of thy home in a far distant land ! Though rudely the mighty Atlantic will rock thee. Though the star of thy life rises far in the west ! May no halo of hope show its brightness to mock thee, May the true sun of joy ever shine in thy breast ! When the flower of thy life is unfolded, Oh ! cherish The fragrance that vh-tue around it will shed. That will give it a sweetness which never can perish, Adorn it when living, embalm it when dead ! 169 THE ORDEAL OF THE HEART. Fair beam'd the morn — the glowing wave Blush'd, as the orient god of light Forsook its breast, and ardent gave His smiles to earthly things more bright ! Sweet was the breath of opening May ; So blithe were birds on tree and thorn, As though they tuned their richest lay To grace the birth of the bridal morn. And in her bower, expectant there, Stood LiLiAS, loved and lovely maid, Sweet as the rose, though far more fliir. And half in joy, and half afraid She waited for her lover, while Her heart with passion's hope beat high ; Her blushing cheek, her timid smile. Told that the bridal hour was nigh ! z 70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But Stanley carne not, though the tongue Of Time's old herald, from the tower Of distant abbey, loudly rung The signal of the promised hour. " Soon, oh, how soon !" thus Lillys thought, " The truant to my arms will fly !" She turn'd, and in her mirror caught A glance — and blush 'd, she knew not why ! He came not yet — the maiden's eye Through flow^ering shrub and blossora'd spray Look'd anxious, while a gentle sigh Arose, to chide his long delay. He linger'd still — he linger'd longer — How drear the moments pass, how slow, With her whose doubt of man grows stronger, Who feels no faith in aught below ! THE ORDEAL OF THE HEART. 171 Hark ! 'tis the wind that shakes the bongh, Again — fair Lilias' listening ear Smarts with delight — it catches now The music of his footstep near ! And now in trembling hope she stood, Turn'd from the youth her lovely face, Witli frolic smile and playful mood, To teach the loiterer better grace ! He spoke — 'twas not the voice she knew. Rich as the mellow'd bugle's lay ; She turned — and lo ! before her view A Palmer, in his robe of grav I " Palmer ! what brings thee here ?" she cried ; "Lady ! I seek thee in thy bower — Thou canst not be proud Stanley's bride ; Man changes with the changing hour ! „.-^^ 17-2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " Lady ! thy love is false !" " Nay ! nay I Good Palmer ! tell not this to me ! Go, tell it to the heedless spray, And the wind that rocks the restless sea ! " / lieed thee not ! he mitst be true ! So let thy cheerless stay be brief! His love is to my heart like dew That falls to glad the drooping leaf! " Palmer ! farew^ell !"— " Stay, lady— see ! He sends the pledge thy love once gave ; He spurns the gift — renounces thee — Shall I tell it now to the restless wave ?" She took the pledge, that jewel rare. Gazed on it long with tearful eye. Then threw it, with a scornful air, Down in the stream that miumur'd by. THE ORDEAL OF THE HEART. 173 " Go, Palmer, go ! — but tell it not, That LiLiAS shed one tear for him : Though thus estranged our earthly lot. May his be bright, though mine be dim ! " And tell him not that my heart is broken. And fled my fondest, brightest dream ; Gone, like that first affection's token, Swept away by the passing stream I" The Palmer heard — he mutely stood. While rush'd the blood o'er his cheek and brow Away ! away with the cloak and hood, And pilgrim staff! — no Palmer now ! No Palmer now, but Stanley there ! With heart that throbb'd in joy, he sjDrung ! And to her lips so sweetly fair His own in living rapture clung! 174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " Forgive me, dearest I Oh I forgive, That thus thy changeless heart I tried : I loved, must love thee, while I live, My light, my hope, my joy, my bride !" J75 TO EMMA. The first enchanting joy that springs From life's unclouded morn, so bright ; The bliss that youth's fond dreaming brings, Hath charmed me with its dear delight : But not the joys of life's fair morn, Nor dreams of raptured fancy born, Sweet as the flowers that tempt the bee, Were half so sweet — as loving thee ! Oft have I met the jocund throng. While hearts beat high with boundless mirth ; Have listened to the syren's song. That gave to passion's ardour birth ; But not the sweets of pleasure's bowl, Nor beauty's voice, that charmed the soul, Though priz'd, too dearly prized, by me. Were half so sweet as loving thee ! no MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. My eye hath gazed o'er liill and plain, My steps have ranged in blooming bowers, My|ear hath heard soft music's strain, My hand hath plucked ambrosial flowers : I3ul not the scenes that charmed my eye, Nor music's softest melody. Nor summer's sweetest flowers, to me Were half so sweet as loving thee ! And now, that time's destructive fingers Have changed me, love, since first Ave met ; Though care has worn, and faintly lingers Around my heart and memory yet ; Still, not old time, who scathed my brow. Nor care that wrung, and wrings me now. Can change the bliss that waits on me. My chosen one ! in loving thee ! 177 THE TWO CHILDREN. I MET them when the spring's first bloom Was bright on flower and tree, Together playing by their home, In innocence and glee. I saw them on the summer-day, Sport near the ripening corn, Their laughing voices seemed to say, " For gladness we were born !" The Autumn showed its yellow leaf, The Children still were fair, Their eyes unsullied yet by grief. Their hearts untouched by care. I wandered in the winter's frost, One merry face was gone ! The eldest to their home was lost, Tke youngest was alone. •2 a 178 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " Come, tell me, little Mary, Where plays thy Brother now ?" I saw her young cheek vary, I marked her drooping brow. " They tell me that my Brother Can ne'er return to me. That I must love another, And play on hill and lea. "But why did Julius leave me ? Ah ! vv'hy, and when, and how .? He promised not to gi'ieve me, He never did till now ! " My Father said — and pressed my hand- * Thy Brother is but gone Unto a sweet and pleasant land. Where sorrow is uiiknoNvn !' THE TWO CHILDIIEN. 179 " I wish that pleasant land to find. To play amid the flowers, I know that I should see him kind, As in the vanished hom-s !" I heard the artless child — the touch Of sorrow pained my breast. To think that Julius, loved so much, Had found his final rest ! 180 THE MOUNTAIN AND THE VALLEY. I LOOKED on life's Mountain, wliere proudly it rose, But dark clouds wrapped its brow, and o'ershadowecl its breast. In vain mine eye searched for the charm of repose. Where all seemed in tumult, and nothing at rest. There were kings in their robes, on the summit they sate, As they gazed on the fair spreading Valley below, I could see that they envied the lowlier state. That they sighed for the peace which they never might know ! There coronets glittered, and crests were uplifted, But some Avho display'd them seemed writhing with pain, As though their own hearts in the world had been sifted. Till little but chaff in those hearts might remain ! THE MOUNTAIN AND THE VALLEY. . 181 The Statesman was there, and Ambition had brought To his cheek a deep glow, to his eye a bright beam ; Yet I knew by his brow that the struggle of thought Had awakened his soul from a flattering dream ! And the Warrior sternly stood there in his might ; As he leaned on his sword, I could see that his brain, Though the laurel of fame on his temples was bright, Felt the scath of a fire that left little but pain ! The bold Sons of genius toiled up the steep, I marked how they strove for distinction and fame. But I stayed not to witness the gifted-ones weep. Should they find that their glory is only a name. I gazed on the Valley ! how sunny and bright Were its green summer spots, and how fragrant its shade, E'en the waters were murmuring there with delight. And the flowers seemed to smile at the music they made ! 182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, On the streams the rich barques of fair commerce were gliding, The fields in luxuriant beauty were drest. And in hall, farm, and cottage glad hearts were abiding. That laughed at ambition, content to be blest ! There plenty, with peace for her handmaid, was dwelling. And rosy -lipped health danced the valley along, While the voices of youths, and of maidens, were telling Of unalloyed gladness, in music and song. I gazed on the Valley — I gazed on the Mountain — Once more, ere I left them in shadow or light. And I felt that the soul which can drink at the fountain Of virtue, is noble, whatever its height ! 183 LUCY JONES. Oft have I seen the damsel in the fields Leading her white-haired Father, old and blind, And oft felt charmed at filial love, that yields Its sweetest incense from a heart so kind : And, when the wami and balmy eve v/as still, I heard her voice, while at her needle plying, Soft as a lute, steal o'er the grassy hill, Then 'mid the copse in one low echo dying ; So sweetly plaintive were her mellowed tones, I i^ansed to hear the song of Lucy Jones. SONG. I SAW him on the mountain. Then smiled the spot more fair, I heard him by the fountain. Sweet melody was there. For, oh ! his voice seemed tuned to be Love's softest music, dear to me ! 184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I met him by tlie wild-wood, Where, near the clustering shade, Together, in our childhood, In innocence we played. And dearer still the scene will be, Since there he breathed his love to me ! He talks to me of beauty, He claims me for his bride 1 I must not fail in duty, Nor leave my Father's side. Yet, Edmund, may I live to see Thine own sweet home, a home for me ! She ceased her song, but yet the silent eve Seemed lonely listening to her tender strain. And still I lingered, charmed, and loth to leave The magic spot, and longed to hear again LUCY JONES. 185 That lay of love, which spoke the guileless breast, Pure, and devoted to a trusted one : I left the scene, and, when I sought my rest. The mystic spell of airy dreams begun ; In sleep I heard once more the dulcet tones, And saw the witching face of Lucy Jones. ]8u THE VILLAGE PINE-TREE*. Tree of the times gone by ! old Pine ! Days, years, and centuries have been thine I' What friendly hand first planted thee ? Or was thy seed, from Parent-tree, Wild wafted to the pleasant scene, Where still with proud and lofty mien Thou standest, ever towering high ? Around thee fading branches die. And leaves are withered by the breath Of Autumn, chilling them to death. While thou but shak'st thy tufted head, As though to mock the humbler dead, As though thy strength defied all time, And thou might'st be, as thou hast been. For ages in thy sturdy prime. For ever changeless, ever green ! * It stands in the centre of the Village of Y'oxford, and, for a Tree of English growth , is, of its kind, one of remarkable size and beauty. I THE VILLAGE PINE-TliEE. 187 How many heads have deatli laid low, That saw thy early branches grow ! How many more may soon depart, And thou still be as now thou art ! Methinks, old Friend ! 'tis scarcely fair That thou should'st show so proud an air, While 'neath thy shadow, passing by, From year to year, with them that die The drooping mourners go, to weep Above the grave, where long must sleep The kindred branch, which, dead to them, Their tree of life's a leatless stem ! While thou stand'st there, as though the spite Of time, and heat, and cold, and storm. And lightning's anger, could not blight The strength and beauty of thy form ! Tree ! thou art old, yet in thy prime I A strange enigma, made by Time ! Much hast thou witnessed in thy life Of village peace, and village strife, J 88 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ilast seen the children 'ncath ihee play, With frolic laugh, and spirits gay, And oft beneath thy spreading boughs Have youthful lovers breathed their vows, While from the copse, her tender tale The plaintive summer-nightingale Has told, amid the leaves above, And mingled melody with love ; For music is an offering mete For gentle hearts in concert sighing, Where every word is made more sweet, Between the songster's pauses dying ! Pine of the Valley ! oft my tread Has been near thee, by fancy led, When the cold moon was riding high, And clouds nished o'er the wintry sky, Through which her rays would fitful throw Their light upon thy head below. Where the night-gust, in sullen tones, Swept scornful o'er thy trembling cones, THE VILLAGE PINE-TREE. 189 And, as the wind gave pause, the roar Of ocean, from the eastern shore. Came swelling o'er the hills. — Old Tree ! Enduring memory clings to thee. As to some friend, whom no controul Of time, or good, or ill estranges; But green in feeling, firm in soul, Grows old in years, yet never changes ! 190 THE DEPARTING YEAR. DECEMBER 31st, 1832. MIDNIGHT. The Year is dying ! — and, when fairly dead, Strew some unfading flowers upon its bier ; Though in its fliglit came transient liours of dread, And days that beamed not always bright and clear j Yet hatli the light it leaves us, haply shed A brightening hope upon the coming year, To which we look, as when not distant far We watch the rising of some glorious star ! The year is dying ! — but another's dawn Will break, ere long, upon the realm of time ; Bright be its advent I fair and calm its morn ! Its noon and eve be cloudless as its prime ! May peace, and joy, and plenty's garnished horn Pour forth their blessings in our genial clime. And trust in heaven, and love to man, appear More bright, more glorious, in each passing year ! 191 THE END. The End ! — grave words, of high import ! Too great with which to make a sport, In such a Book as mine is ! For, ah ! I fear that, much like me, The Reader may be glad to see The short, but welcome Finis ! How oft, as good and evil blend In life, we long to see — The End ! When toiling in our school-boy days, O'er learning's rough and crooked ways. We mope, completely jaded ; When fear and hope so wildly mix. We scarce know four and two make six, And wish those days were faded : The happy days ! no charm they lend. Of these we most admire — The End ! 19-2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And when, lialf-crazed by wildering love, We mutter to the moon above, And pledge our hearts for ever, And vow to dearest Anne, or Jane, That by their eyes we're wounded, slain, . That nought our fate shall sever ; While hearts, new-plighted, sweetly blend, Of these brief days we love — The End ! And, as we read life's varied Book, Day after day, at every look Some truth our eye engages ; And may we there instruction find. To raise and charm the deathless mind. Among its chequered pages : Oh ! as we read, may Virtue lend Us light, to see with joy — The End. LATELY PUBLISHED BY THE SAME AUTHOR. f. THE VALE OF SLAUGHDEN, A POEM, IN FIVE CANTOS. SECOND EDITION. " So striking have been the passages which I liave adduced ; so much of taste and feeling, of life and character, pervade their whole texture and composition, and co sustained is the impression of the incidents thioiighout, by the beauty amlspinted harmony of the versification, that no person, I am persuaded, can withdraw from the perusal of the ' Vale op Slaughden,' without a wish to see such encouragement bestowed, as may lead to further productions from the same source." — Drake's Winter Niohts, No. xviii. n. MACHIN; OR, THE DISCOVERY OF MADEIRA, A POEM, IN FOUR CANTOS. SECOND EDITION. "The poetical powers of Mr. Bird, the authorof the 'Vale of Sladghden,' appear to great advantage in his production of ' Machin ; or the Discoveuy of Maueika.' Mr. Bird's descriptive powers are great; and Lis talent, in telling a simple and pathetic tale, is fully evinced in the work before us." — Monthly Magazine. III. COSMO, DUKE OF TUSCANY. A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. " In the composition of his Tragedy, the author has shewn himself in full possession of poetical power, combined with dramatic tact." — La Belle Assemblce. IV. POETICAL MEMOIRS, THE EXILE. A TALE.— SECOND EDITION. " There Is scarcely a page opened at random that is not thickly set with poetical beauties." Gentleman's Magazine. " Mr. Bird is familiar with his harp, and, with the hand of a master, he can freely, boldly, and effectively command the utmost extent of its power."— -La Belle AssembUe. V. D U N W I C H : A TALE OF THE SPLENDID CITY. IN FOUR CANTOS. '« The incidents are new and striking ; the language glowing, eloquent, and sometimes even syAciHiid,"— Monthly Wlagaaine. " A tiile of love and arms, aided by much beautiful and even powerful description. The notes abound with cirious historical and antiquarian information."— in Belle Asscmulie. VI. EJMBELUSHED WITH A PLATE, Price 7s. 6d. in Cloth, FRAMLINGHAM; A NARRATIVE OF THE CASTLE. A POEM, IN FOUR CANTOS. "The story of this olfi Castle is rich in tia