7 m 
 
 — i —   
 
 BBS c° I 
 
 
 1 m 
 
 in— JU   
 
 -■- -<   
 
 
 9 = 
 
 
 s'issii— ^£- r - : 
 
 6 ™ 
 
 .. i — I 
 = —i I 
     <   
 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 I
 
 L '
 
 POEMS.
 
 SHELLEY: 
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAEP, 
 
 AND 
 
 (Sther goems. 
 
 BY JOHN ALFRED LANGFORD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "THE LAMP OF LIFE," "POEMS OF THE FIELDS AND TOWN," 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 M.DCCC.LX 
 
 x - /U*
 
 ¥S7S 
 
 TO 
 
 SIR PERCY FLORENCE 
 
 AND THE 
 
 HON. LADY JANE SHELLEY, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING TRIBUTE TO TEE MEMORY OF 
 
 THE IMMORTAL POET, 
 
 WHOSE NAME THET INHERIT, 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOE. 
 
 853112
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Shelley ...... 3 
 
 The Death op St. Polycari- ... 59 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems : — 
 Wedded and Buried . . . . .99 
 
 The Village Fountain . . . . 115 
 
 Invocation . . . . . .118 
 
 Helen . . . . . .121 
 
 The Poet's Heritage . . . . .124 
 
 On the Inauguration of the Attwood Statue 
 
 at Birmingham, June 7th, 1859 . . 127 
 
 The Queen of Beauty .... 132 
 
 Summer Time . . . . . 13-i 
 
 Solferino ...... 137
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems — continued. 
 In Mejioriam. — I. . . . . .140 
 
 ,, n. . . . .143 
 
 The Moss-Rose . . . . .144 
 
 The Roe ...... 146 
 
 The Serenade . . . . .147 
 
 To You . . . . . .148 
 
 Poesy ...... 149
 
 SHELLEY.
 
 " He had a gentle yet aspiring mind ; 
 
 Just, innocent, with varied learning fed, 
 And such as glorious consolation find 
 
 In others' joy, when all their own is dead : 
 He lived, and laboured for his kind in grief, 
 
 And yet, unlike all others, it is said, 
 That from such toil he never found relief. 
 
 Although a child of fortune and of power, 
 Of an ancestral name the orphan chief, 
 
 His soul had wedded wisdom, and her dower 
 Is love and justice." Prince Athanase. 
 
 " Our toil from thought all glorious forms shall cull, 
 To make this Earth, our home, more beautiful, 
 And Science, and her sister Poesy, 
 Shall clothe in light the fields and cities of the free ! " 
 
 The Revolt op Islam. 
 
 " In love, and beauty, and delight, 
 There is no death nor change ; their might 
 Exceeds our organs, which endure 
 No light, being themselves obscure." 
 
 The Sensitive Plant.
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 Man's noblest labour is to war with wrong ; 
 Against oppression to uplift bis voice ; 
 To shield the weak from the assailing strong ; 
 To make the sorrow- stricken heart rejoice ; 
 To bless the virtuous seeking virtue's choice 
 In evil times ; the patriot aid to lend, 
 Despite of tyrant might, or rabble noise; 
 To raise the low, the wretched to defend; 
 The world, and the world's ways, in hopefulness to mend. 
 
 1—2
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 The task is hard. For life is full of care : 
 Success is sovereign over all ; and men 
 In triumph will the gilded evil bear, 
 And strew the crowded way with flowers ; and when 
 Poor, patient merit seeks to rise again, 
 Scorn meets his ears, and thorns his path bestrew, 
 And darkness hems him round ; full in his ken 
 The thistle beds are placed, and he may view 
 The Despond Slough men make for him to travel through. 
 
 Yet earth was viler when my hero bore 
 The day-by-day-increasing burden — life. 
 But over all the ills his mind did soar, 
 And bravely met, and grappled with the strife 
 Which bowed his heart with sorrow ; for the knife 
 Smote keenly, and he suffered while he fought ; 
 And wept in secret, seeing pain so rife. 
 For woe succeeded woe, as each one caught 
 At some delusive hope, or dark despairing thought.
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 4. 
 
 His young mind, nurtured mid all lovely things, 
 Had caught their beauty and their loveliness : 
 And sanguine as the joy which first love flings 
 Around her, through life's wrongs he strove to press ; 
 And blest himself the suffering he would bless ; 
 Would ease the aching heart and stay the tear ; 
 The anguish and its cause alike suppress ; 
 Make smiling lips, and joyous fronts appear, 
 Where forehead-lining grief its sad abode would rear. 
 
 5. 
 
 He loved the whole creation. Unto him 
 The grass, the flower, the tree, had each a tongue, 
 And ever in his presence used to hymn 
 Sweet themes of joy. And musically strong, 
 All chorusing of love, arose the song 
 Of birds ; to him the ever-murmuring streams ; 
 The gilded insects in their buzzing throng ; 
 The winds that soothe you into pleasant dreams, 
 And every voice of nature sung the same sweet themes.
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 6. 
 
 The ocean was his teacher ; and the sky. 
 With its continuous changefulness of glory, 
 Filled Ins young soul with aspirations high. 
 The mountains, heather-clad, or wild and hoary. 
 Found food for him in their bewitching story 
 Of ages past : he from their summits saw 
 The golden-glebed plain, or promontory 
 That wantoned with the sea : and thence would draw 
 Deep strength, and pure resolve to war 'gainst tyrant law. 
 
 7. 
 
 In nature's glorious workings he beheld 
 The wondrous harmony of laws divine ; 
 Their beauty and their peace his spirit held 
 As with enchantment : at her flower-strewn shrine, 
 He, day and night, a worshipper, would twine 
 His highest hopes into a wreath of song, 
 And woo her with sweet music to combine 
 Her love with his : his love was pure and strong, 
 And nature smiled her " Yes," and did to him belong.
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 8, 
 
 He loved her with the passionate devotion 
 Of one who her divineness feels and sees. 
 Her presence thrilled him with intense emotion. 
 The soaring slave, whom Death from fetters frees, 
 His spirit wand'ring over freedom's seas, 
 Has for his pale deliverer scarce the love, 
 Which filled his heart at sight of fields and trees. 
 The visible universe, around, above, 
 To unimaginable bliss could all his senses move. 
 
 9. 
 
 And of her beauty and her freedom, he 
 The spirit caught. They lit in him the fire 
 Which will not die ; will never quenched be ; 
 But once illumed keeps soaring high and higher, 
 A thing of love, immortal as its sire. 
 A child of heaven, — whatever tempests blow 
 It burns, and burns, and burning will aspire, 
 Until its brightness beams on all below, 
 And earth is glorified for aye with her intensest glow.
 
 8 SHELLEY. 
 
 10. 
 
 And loved and loving thus he grew in years, 
 The child of Hope and Hope-fed Liberty ; 
 His heart untouched by any earthly fears, 
 With lion courage, lamb-like mildness he 
 Was richly dowered ; and bravely dared to be 
 All that his nature was. As thought to thought, 
 He answered to each generous impulse, free, 
 And bared his heart with holiest yearnings fraught ; 
 To bless his fellow men the sole reward he sought. 
 
 11. 
 
 And from the varied annals of the past, 
 The records of the wise, the free, and good ; 
 Of men whose high, heroic acts had cast 
 A splendour round the age in which they stood, 
 In stedfast, self-denying fortitude, 
 The scorn, the anguish, and the pain to bear, 
 And seal a noble cause with noble blood — 
 Bis mind he stored with such examples fair, 
 And fortified his soul to suffer and to dare.
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 12. 
 
 And instruments of torture thus became 
 The holy relics of a former time ; 
 The signs of tyrants' impotence and shame, 
 The symbols of the vanity of crime, 
 And the eternity of love sublime ; 
 To which the after generations turn 
 To gather strength and wisdom, as from slime 
 The serpent wins its beauty ; whence men learn 
 How for a great and self-absorbing cause to burn. 
 
 13. 
 
 Th' heroic deeds of Greek and Roman story ; 
 Of willing 'death to guard their country's name ; 
 Of sacrifice for freedom's sunny glory ; 
 Of love, of nobleness, resolve, and fame ; 
 Of hearts that scorned all meanness, and became 
 A fire of indignation to behold, 
 The weak oppressed ; and flashed in outward flame 
 At tyranny and wrong : all this was gold 
 Of virgin worth to him, whose price could not be told.
 
 10 SHELLEY. 
 
 14. 
 
 And in the golden realms of poesy 
 A free-born citizen, he journeyed on ; 
 His path lit by the light which none may see 
 But souls of purest love ; and there he won 
 A glorious rale, and bright dominion. 
 A crown of fragrant amaranthine flowers, 
 That o'er his flowing hair as sunbeams shone ; 
 And in his open heart rained music's showers, 
 And all his being filled with song's imperial powers. 
 
 15. 
 
 Each nation strung for him her own sweet lyre, 
 And every poet smiled upon his love. 
 In every vein he felt the glowing fire 
 Of exquisite delight which made him prove 
 The littleness of things, which most men move 
 To action ; and his spirit fondly dwelt 
 On thoughts which raise the seeking mind above 
 All low desires ; he lived in song, and felt 
 The ecstacy of those who at such shrines have knelt.
 
 SHELLEY. 1 1 
 
 16. 
 
 And wooing thus the beautiful and fair, 
 As pure as love, as strong as hope he grew. 
 And noble thoughts came to him unaware 
 As part of his own nature ; did imbue 
 Him with the martyr spirit through and through, 
 And faith in virtue's triumph ; in the great 
 And deathless victory of the good and true, 
 Bright visions of a future did create 
 Of Love, and Truth, and Mercy ruling every state. 
 
 17. 
 
 But oh, the shock, the pang, the agony, 
 Which tore his very being when he turned 
 From Nature's ever-glorious empiry, 
 And from the world of song, where is inumed 
 The might and splendour of the past ; he burned 
 With fiery wrath at all he there beheld. 
 How dark compared with that for which he yearned ! 
 There tyranny a black dominion held, 
 And wrong was lord below, and might all strivings quelled.
 
 1£ SHELLEY. 
 
 18. 
 
 The seat, miscalled of Justice, was unjust ; 
 The blood-stained instrument of shameless might ; 
 The poor man's scourge : eat up with lies and rust 
 From darker times, obscuring truth and right. 
 Blind but to poverty, and worth, and light ; 
 And eager with the sword to quench in blood 
 The fire of godlike hopes ; the fatal blight 
 Of freedom ; terror of the wise and good ; 
 And stern oppressor of the toiling multitude. 
 
 19. 
 
 And in the Church was bigotry and hate ; 
 The priest, enslaved by superstition's power, 
 Profaned the office of God's delegate, 
 And sold himself for gold ; forgot his dower 
 Of blessedness and love ; shook from the flower 
 Of Christian Mercy all its rich perfume, 
 And made man's lovers curse the fatal hour 
 That bright religion clothed herself in gloom, 
 And turned a gracious God into the Lord of doom.
 
 SHELLEY. 13 
 
 20. 
 
 For round His very altars gathered then 
 The enemies of knowledge, love, and grace. 
 And crime and wrong were sanctified by men 
 Sworn to uphold the right ; to keep a place 
 For suffering weakness ; to afford solace 
 To wretchedness howe'er produced : but they 
 With power had made a union, and disgrace, 
 Hypocrisy, and fraud, and lies held sway, 
 Where bright-eyed truth with mild-eyed innocence should 
 play. 
 
 21. 
 
 The throne had its high functions laid aside, 
 And was no more the seat of righteousness ; 
 £ut arrogance, and isolating pride, 
 And beggar-making grandeur, with the press 
 Of palace-haunting slaves of greediness, 
 And freedom-hating sycophants held rule, 
 And laughed and fattened on the land's distress. 
 The wise man's place was guarded by the fool ; 
 And honest toil bowed down into the lordling's tool.
 
 14 SHELLEY. 
 
 22. 
 
 The Church, the Palace, and the Halls of law, 
 Perverted from their nohle ends, had grown 
 Like vultures fattening an unholy maw 
 Upon corruption ; far and wide was thrown 
 Their baleful influence ; the sigh, the groan, 
 The silent tear that furrowed misery's face, 
 The famine -stricken cheek, the dying moan 
 Of free men fettered by then* bondage base, — 
 By these, and kindred signs their being men might trace. 
 
 23. 
 
 And if such wrongs e'er found a pleading voice — 
 As spite of danger brave men will arise — 
 That made of the ignoble cause its choice, 
 To rend the veil of pomp, and show the lies 
 Which filled the state ; how by the agonies 
 Of thousands was the ermined splendour bought ; 
 The air rung with the loud assailing cries 
 Of traitor, atheist, madman, zealot fraught 
 With every devilish sin by which perdition's caught.
 
 SHELLEY. 15 
 
 24. 
 
 'Twas so with liim. His sanguine heart, inspired 
 With all that makes men generous and free, — 
 By hope, hy love, and hright impulses fired, 
 To hless the world with heavenly liberty, 
 With holy joy, and social harmony, 
 When free from hate, from care, from woe, and strife, 
 Bound in fraternal honds mankind should he ; 
 And every heart, and every homestead rife 
 With tenderness, and grace, and all that Messes life. 
 
 25. 
 
 For this* he gave up wealth, and ease, and fame, 
 And threw himself into the battle's van, 
 Regardless of the scoffs, the jeers, the shame, 
 The Church's execration, and the ban 
 Of all who in the common courses ran ; 
 Such tilings he heeded not, but for the right 
 He laboured on ; and followed still the plan 
 His heart approved ; and there with all his might 
 He boiv himself as fits a hero in the fight.
 
 16 SHELLEY. 
 
 26. 
 
 He saw the worst of wrongs and ills were done, 
 Or being done ; were by the Church approved ; 
 That she held with the strong ; her foot was on 
 The bended neck of poverty, nor moved 
 But at the bidding of the Power she loved. 
 For then Religion's high and holy name 
 Was draggled in the mire, and proved 
 "What unimaginable depths of shame 
 The noblest things can bear when lies have sapped their 
 fame. 
 
 27. 
 
 Beside oppression's throne he saw the priest : 
 He heard him bless the sword's unholy might ; 
 And sanctify the law which pierced the breast 
 Of Justice and of Mercy : vaunt the right 
 Of kings to be their people's scourge and blight : 
 Defend the crimes of hoar antiquity ; 
 And curse the men who sought to see the light, 
 To raise the toilers from their miseiy, 
 And bid the Church-and-king-oppressed slaves be free.
 
 SHELLEY. 17 
 
 28. 
 
 God's sacred name, and Christ's divinest life, 
 He saw in all the temples were profaned — 
 The place of love changed to the seat of strife ; 
 Injustice at the altar steps maintained 
 As God's appointed law; corruption- stained 
 And ciime-ensanguined deeds receive the praise 
 Of men miscalled His servants ; who sustained 
 The reign of darkness, hiding still the rays 
 Of truth, and love, and light, in superstition's maze. 
 
 29. 
 
 And all with hearts to feel, and eyes to see 
 The wrong, the shame, the anguish and the woe, 
 Which men endured from such iniquity, 
 And dared the sin-concealing veil to throw 
 Aside, that all the dreadful truth might know, 
 Were hy these surpliced lords in wrath denounced 
 . Blasphemers of the Holy One helow ; 
 And prisons here, hereafter hell, pronounced 
 The fit ahodes of those who nobler times announced. 
 
 2
 
 18 SHELLEY. 
 
 30. 
 
 Thus in Religion's name were evils done, 
 And round such crimes Religion's veil was thrown : 
 "Whatever lawless Might resolved upon 
 The Church with willing speed declared her own : 
 And vain the people's prayer, the people's groan, 
 Or deep unuttered curse ; for thus combined, 
 The powers of darkness ruled supreme, alone — 
 An angel looking down had not divined 
 That England then called Christ the Prince of all mankind. 
 
 81. 
 
 And he, unselfish, loving, young, and bold, 
 Before the down had graced his youthful chin, 
 Before a line upon his face had told 
 Of cares without, or sufferings within ; 
 His soul entranced, his heart untouched by sin, 
 With divine pity only moved and swayed, 
 Resolved the praises of the good to win, 
 And dare the worst to crush the idol made 
 By selfishness and sin, and custom's iron trade.
 
 SHELLEY. 19 
 
 32. 
 
 And like young David, from a rippling brook, 
 Whose waters were to him a sweet delight, 
 A little, smooth, and blue-veined pebble took, 
 And slung it 'gainst Goliath in his might ; 
 And, though the stone rebounded, hit him right 
 Upon the forehead ; making such a wound, 
 That never since the giant's tongue could bite 
 With half its venom ; never since has found 
 Such willing slaves to grovel when in rage he frowned. 
 
 33. 
 
 But woe to him who struck the fatal blow ! 
 The many whom with blessing he would bless, 
 Shrank back affrighted ; for they did not know 
 Bright freedom's voice ; so long had wretchedness, 
 And wrong, and bondage, and the soul's distress, 
 Their nobler feelings slain. Not so the few 
 Who revelled in the dearth of nobleness, 
 And clad in Pharisaic robes, withdrew 
 Beyond the sound of plaints their own misdoings drew. 
 
 2—2
 
 20 SHELLEY. 
 
 34. 
 
 Like bloodhounds swift they rushed upon their prey, 
 And hurled their thunderbolts upon his head : 
 " Anathema," was all their lips could say ; 
 And this in many forms they freely spread. 
 They banned him from the seat where knowledge fed 
 The aspirations of his yearning soul ; 
 Where oft the muses had their darling led 
 Was he to walk no more ; nor for him roll 
 The spirit-haunted Isis, rich in glory's scroll. 
 
 35. 
 
 Oh, mourn for one so young, so great, and good ! 
 Oh, rnoum the want of human charity ! 
 Oh, ruoum the weakness of the multitude ! 
 And mourn that power should harsh and cruel be ! 
 Was there no heart with purity to see 
 The deep and holy love that fired his tongue ? 
 No hand to guide ? no magnanimity 
 Which from the depths of its own fountain strong, 
 Could shield and honour him so valiant and so young ?
 
 SHELLEY. 21 
 
 36. 
 
 Not one. Away, away to banishment, 
 Cast branded on the world ; marked worse than Cain, 
 Among his cruel fellows he was sent 
 To dare the battle, and to bear the pain — 
 A brand for burning, a victim to be slain. 
 What matter he was mild, and good, and kind : 
 Had love and charity that would sustain 
 A world of woe to save the merest hind 
 From misery and wrong : to virtue they were blind. 
 
 37. 
 
 And he who should have shielded, counselled, led 
 The young heart to its fitting resting-place, 
 With fiery wrath his malediction shed, 
 And banished him from hearth, and home, and grace, 
 As alien to, a blot upon, his race. 
 Thus sorrow came on sorrow, woe on woe ; 
 And he was wounded in the tenderest place, 
 His home affections, by that cruel blow, 
 And from his bleeding heart a flood of grief did flow.
 
 22 SHELLEY. 
 
 38. 
 
 Alone, alone, with none to cheer or bless, 
 An exile in his native land he lived. 
 And with his fragile frame, his tenderness, 
 And heart that yearned for love, how he survived 
 The storm that hate, and zeal, and power unhived, 
 Had poured on him, none, save himself, may tell. 
 He bore the burden bravely ; and revived 
 By kindly deeds the hopes which fondly dwell 
 On holier, happier times when hearts with love shall swell. 
 
 39. 
 
 A few still watched him with a tender care, 
 His mother's changeless love was his to prize, 
 And gentle maidens wove a garland fair 
 Of sisterly affection, to surprise 
 And soothe him in his lonely life. As lies 
 Upon the bosom of an ebon night, 
 One bright and only star, and each one cries, 
 How beautiful ! so shone amidst the blight 
 Of his dark, restless lot, these blessed rays of light.
 
 SHELLEY. 23 
 
 40. 
 
 And thus he went, a sad and stricken deer, 
 To mingle with the cold, unheeding herd : 
 But none his hright eye saw dimmed by a tear, 
 Or from his lips complaining murmurs heard. 
 He breathed no curse ; forgiveness was the word, 
 And sorrow for the wrongs he could not cure. 
 He mourned in secret ; and his soul was stirred 
 E'en to its depths to see mankind endure 
 Continually to drink from fountains so impure. 
 
 41. 
 
 Unto his Mother Nature he returned, 
 And threw himself upon her loving breast : 
 And she, with heart that for her darling yearned, 
 In her wide arms enfolded him, imprest 
 Her warmest kisses on his lips ; carest 
 Him in a thousand mild, endearing ways ; 
 With richest balsam, and pure ointments prest 
 From out her sweetest flowers, his hurt she stays ; 
 And for her favourite one her brightest smiles displays.
 
 24 SHELLEY. 
 
 42. 
 
 Her hills, her woods, her rivers were the scenes 
 In which he worshipped her ; in solitudes, 
 In forest dells, wild heaths, and dark ravines, 
 By waterfalls, and raging torrent floods, 
 Secluded spots where rarely man intrudes, 
 He found the peace and joy which solace pain, 
 And hring the thoughts on which the fancy broods, 
 Till ecstacy possesses heart and brain, 
 And overflows the soul like gentle Summer rain. 
 
 43. 
 
 With beauty and with grandeur day and night, 
 He held deep intercourse ; and from them drew 
 Their many meanings, teachings infinite. 
 So strong his love, so well he learned to woo, 
 At length then* deeper mysteries he knew ; 
 Their language understood ; and won the power 
 To pierce their mystic-woven curtain through ; 
 Their glorious splendours on the world to shower ; — 
 And thus he lived with song and suffering for his dower.
 
 SHELLEY. 25 
 
 44. 
 
 With all the varying forms of loveliness ; 
 With all the aspects of sublimity ; 
 With all the sounds of sweet deliciousness ; 
 With Nature bound in Summer trance, or free 
 In Winter's elemental strife, was he 
 Familiar ; and he loved her smiles and tears ; 
 In all her changeful shapes and graces she 
 Was dear to him. His deep love banished fears, 
 And stronger grew his trust as passed the mournful years. 
 
 45. 
 
 And pillowed on one arm he oft would lie 
 For hours upon the grassed and flowery ground, 
 And gaze entranced into the silent sky, 
 'Whose poet-coloured splendours flitting round 
 With wondrous visions, held his fancy bound. 
 And fairy forms ethereal and bright, 
 In realms of golden glory there he found, 
 Who told to him their lives of love and light, 
 Which he resting to men in strains of sweet delight.
 
 26 SHELLEY. 
 
 46. 
 
 Adown a river's rich and varied course, 
 Would he, a solitary, idly float ; 
 Pure inspirations gathering from the source 
 Whence inspirations come, while o'er his boat 
 The water-kissing foliage hung ; and note 
 On note from every music-dowered bird, 
 Would thrill him with its lay, and from his throat 
 Invisible, the lark his rapture stirred, 
 Till he the song received ; — resang it word for word. 
 
 47. 
 
 The spirits which the woods and streams enshrine ; 
 The dwellers in the grass, the trees, the flowers ; 
 The presences which make all things divine ; 
 The midday, and the midnight haunting powers ; 
 The graces which attend the fleeting hours ; 
 The beings that unseen, still people space, 
 And bring their blessings with the sun and showers, 
 With him held converse, and for him would trace 
 The ever-present glories of their dwelling-place.
 
 SHELLEY. 27 
 
 48. 
 
 And in this poet-world he lived alone ; 
 And with its bright inhabitants he dwelt, 
 Till life became a portion of their own, 
 And all their feelings into his did melt. 
 Their spiritual existences were felt 
 As pure realities ; and thus became 
 The subjects of his song, which boldly reft 
 The grace, the power, the sweetness, and the flame 
 Of the bright interlunar world from which they came. 
 
 49. 
 
 In strains harmonious as ever fell 
 From lips of poet in divinest hours, 
 Did he the wondrous revelations tell 
 Of mystic kingdoms and of mystic powers ; 
 Mind's noblest workings, and the thought which dowers 
 Man's life with glory, beauty, and with awe ; 
 The love which cheers ; the joys which are its flowers ; 
 The sorrows that oppress ; the truths that draw 
 His judgment first to know, then gladly bow to law.
 
 28 SHELLEY. 
 
 50. 
 
 The pain, the triumph, and the ecstacy ; 
 The grandeur and the mystery of life ; 
 The loveliness and the suhlimity 
 Of all the visible universe, whose strife 
 Is desolation, and whose peace is rife 
 With all that can entrance with visions bright ; 
 Of Liberty, with Love, his wedded wife, 
 Together leading man through darkest night 
 To uplands of sweet peace, and homes of calm delight. 
 
 51. 
 
 Such were his themes ; as glorious as e'er 
 The heart of man with prophecy inspired. 
 The poets are our prophets. He, the seer, 
 By love's absorbing soul possessed, and fired 
 By all the truth and beauty he admired, 
 The world with purer, truer life to bless : 
 For this he toiled, and from man's paths retired, 
 And shunned the noise, the tumult, and the press, 
 That he might purify his heart in loneliness.
 
 SHELLEY. 29 
 
 52. 
 
 And sorrow was his lot. The martyr fate 
 He with the martyr- spirit had received ; 
 He blessed, was cursed ; his love was met with hate ; 
 And few there were that for his sufferings grieved ; 
 And fewer still those sufferings e'er relieved. 
 Love that brings joy to all, to him brought woe ; 
 Its smiles for him in tears had been conceived ; 
 Death held the wedding veil ; and soon the blow, 
 O'erwhehning sense and thought, came from the biding foe. 
 
 53. 
 
 The heavenly ties of parent and of child ; 
 All that is meant when " Father" lisping falls 
 From infant lips, so pure and undefiled ; 
 The hopes which gather round that name ; the calls 
 For tenderness ; the sport which never palls 
 When children are our playfellows ; the sound 
 Of sunny laughter ringing through the halls 
 Of happy homes ; all these he might have found : 
 But man profaned his hearth, law blasted while it bound.
 
 30 SHELLEY. 
 
 54. 
 
 While still a father, he was childless made 
 By power that heeded not the sense of right ; 
 That dared domestic sacredness invade ; 
 Scorned Nature's pleading voice, with shameful might 
 Sought wedded love's serenest flowers to blight ; 
 And in Religion's holy name profaned 
 The cause Religion should with chief delight 
 Surround with all its awe, and keep unstained 
 From sacrilegious touch of wrong by might maintained. 
 
 55. 
 
 Life's purest pleasures were to him denied, 
 Or, mixed with gall and wormwood, brought him pain. 
 Chivalrous kindness bound him to a bride 
 Love crowned not with his blessing ; weak and vain 
 It is to struggle 'gainst love's binding rein ; 
 And so he found it. There was grief, and woe, 
 And desolation in his heart's domain ; 
 And death in hideous form did round him throw 
 Its dread and direful shadow, weird and wild, I trow.
 
 SHELLEY. 31 
 
 56. 
 
 That shadow hung around him for a time, 
 And tracked his footsteps with its fearful gloom, 
 And haunted like the ghost of some great crime 
 That makes itself its punishment and doom : 
 Impalpable, but potent to consume 
 Whate'er of peace, whate'er of joy remains, 
 Till life all darkness is ; no rays illume 
 Its dark ravines, its wild and arid plains ; 
 But anguish uncontrolled o'er all its kingdoms reigns. 
 
 57. 
 
 Then through that gloom there beamed a fair young face, 
 The index of a noble heart ; as pure as fair, 
 And brave as pure ; and she, with seraph grace, 
 The darkness scattered ; made the desert bear 
 Sweet flowers that with their fragrance filled the air 
 Of his sad life. Bright hope, deep joy, and peace 
 Her presence brought ; with love's divinest care 
 She made his sharpest pangs and sorrows cease : 
 And forthe world's contempt, ithurts not hearts like these.
 
 32 SHELLEY. 
 
 58. 
 
 She was the angel of his changeful life ; 
 The blessed messenger of hope and rest ; 
 Her smile the antidote for fiercest strife ; 
 Her voice a charm to make the listener blest ; 
 The radiance of her mild eyes exprest 
 The heavenly purity and peace within. 
 " A child of Love and Light," among earth's best, 
 She from the most degraded hearts could win 
 Some sparks of the divine, howe'er obscured by sin. 
 
 59. 
 
 And with our lonely, world-forsaken bard 
 She, with the courage of true love, her fate 
 For time and for eternity has shared. 
 What heeded she the bigot's scorn or hate ? 
 What cared she for the world ? all desolate 
 The noblest heart 'mong living men she found : 
 And, like to like, she chose him for her mate ; 
 And bold and spotless, slander's poison-wound, 
 She dared for him she loved, and proudly smiled around.
 
 SHELLEY. 33 
 
 60. 
 
 But still the sleugh-houncls of the law their prey 
 With wanton cruelty pursued, and made 
 His England dark to him. Away ! away ! 
 For bigotry and malice ne'er delayed ; 
 And life is precious now. Come, undismayed, 
 In other lands, and other climates seek 
 The peace and rest which cannot be betrayed 
 To hireling scribes who purchased venom reek 
 On names and fames 'gainst which all true assaults are weak. 
 
 61. 
 
 So with his one and only treasure, he 
 Bade to his native soil a last farewell ; 
 And freedom sought, and found, in lands less free, 
 Than that which him denied. Oh, who shall tell 
 What hope of future joys their bosoms swell, 
 As o'er the laughing sea their vessel sweeps ; 
 On what bright visions now their fancies dwell ;— 
 A home where Love alone a kingdom keeps, 
 Where peace serenely reigns, and sorrow rarely weeps. 
 
 3
 
 34 SHELLEY. 
 
 62. 
 
 On, on they flee ; each all in all to each, 
 And lacking nothing in each other's eyes ; 
 Rich in love's smiles, and love's entrancing speech, 
 The hours, the days pass on in sweet surprise 
 That earth should still have aught of Paradise, 
 And they receive a portion of its light. 
 But o'er them now hangs fairer, bluer skies, 
 And suns to them beam more than ever bright ; 
 And their young lives and loves are crowned with new 
 delight. 
 
 63. 
 
 Italia, Italia ! thou hast been, 
 And art, the land to every pilgrim dear ; 
 To thee he turns as to his own heart's Queen, 
 When sorrow needs some lovely thing to cheer. 
 Thy very name's a charm which exiles hear 
 With rapture, conjuring up the hour 
 When greatness was thy playmate ; grace severe 
 Sat on thy brow ; and earth confessed thy power ; 
 And beauty then as now was aye thy fatal dower.
 
 SHELLEY. 35 
 
 64. 
 
 land of Art and Song ! Poor chastened one ! 
 The soil where tyrants play their bloody game, 
 Yet cannot rob thee of thy glories, won 
 By painter and by poet ; for thy fame 
 Is as a quenchless, still-ascending flame, 
 And soars beyond the malice, hatred, rage 
 Of puny despots, whose careers of shame 
 Shall be the bywords of a coming age, 
 While thy beloved name will aye men's love engage. 
 
 65. 
 
 And beautiful as beauty's self thou art ; 
 Adorned with every charm and every grace 
 That sunny skies, bright hills and lakes impart. 
 The richest works of Nature find a place 
 Upon thy fruitful bosom ; rivers trace 
 Their murmurous courses through the vine-clad plain, 
 Where winding tendrils fondly interlace 
 To bear their glowing burdens, whence men strain 
 The ruby-tinted wine to gladden heart and brain. 
 
 3—2
 
 36 SHELLEY. 
 
 66. 
 
 The land of beauty and of bondage too ; 
 The land of untold glory and of shame ; 
 The land whence poets inspiration drew, 
 And dowered with all their never-dying fame. 
 The land of deathless memories which inflame 
 The living with the hope of nobler days, 
 When Liberty again his home shall claim, 
 And win once more earth's benison and praise, 
 Once more be crowned with green as well as faded bays. 
 
 67. 
 
 Unto this land of varied fortunes they 
 Now turned with hope, and chose it as their own. 
 Repose and peace are won ; and joys display 
 Their golden pinions ; flowers are thickly strown 
 In paths which only wounding thoms had grown ; 
 And mutual love makes mutual sorrows rare ; 
 And pleasure smiles as grief had ne'er been known ; 
 For they are hopeful, joyous, bold to bear; 
 Whatever life may bring they can together share.
 
 SHELLEY. 37 
 
 68. 
 
 And she was all his dreams had pictured her ; 
 His dear companion, counsellor and friend ; 
 Of pleasant fancies the sweet minister : 
 Her gentle words and gentler actions blend 
 In loving harmony, and ever tend 
 His days and hours with high resolves to bless ; 
 Aye prompting to those noble deeds which lend 
 A precious meaning unto life ; make less 
 The things which sadden earth — its pride and littleness. 
 
 69. 
 
 And so they lived with loving for their meed, 
 The richest earth can give or heaven contain ; 
 And sympathizing with their spirit freed 
 From fetters man-imposed, which bind, and strain, 
 And fret the heart to madness, once again 
 Did Nature smile on them ; all things grew bright, 
 And liver, ocean, mountain, wood, and plain, 
 In love-created glories richly dight, 
 Spoke once again to him the language of delight.
 
 38 SHELLEY. 
 
 70. 
 
 And children with exhaustless founts of joy, 
 For ever varying in their power to Mess, 
 With Eden still around them, ere the cloy 
 Of earthly taint has touched their sacredness, 
 Were added to their treasures ; cheerfulness 
 Brought to their hearth, where laughter, sport, and song, 
 And noisy gamhols, games of mirthfulness 
 Which tell the presence of the sinless young, 
 Gave radiant joy to them who dwelt such scenes among. 
 
 71. 
 
 The pure confiding love of guileless hearts ; 
 The pleasure beaming from bright laughing eyes ; 
 The sweet emotion innocence imparts 
 To all within its influence ; the ties 
 Of daily budding graces which surprise, 
 And fill with wond'ring ecstacy ; all these, 
 And all the thousand, thousand charms which rise 
 Unconsciously where children round the knees 
 Embracingly will throng, were theirs to cheer and please.
 
 SHELLEY. 39 
 
 72. 
 
 And grief, which rends the heart's most hidden chord, 
 But leaves a pure and chastening peace behind — 
 The grief by which our tenderest thoughts are stirred, 
 And all the finest feelings of the mind 
 Their source, their purpose, and fulfilment find — 
 The grief which comes when Death with holy hand 
 Our best-beloved has by his touch divined, 
 • And, smiling, borne him to the Spirit-land ; — 
 This grief its wisdom brought for them to understand. 
 
 73. 
 
 " The load-star of their lives," their " blue-eyed child," 
 While seraph beauty, seraph innocence, 
 Sat on his sunny brow ; ere earth defiled 
 With its contagious wrongs his heart's defence . 
 Of childish purity, was summoned hence 
 To that bright kingdom which awaits the young, 
 Where all is love, and peace, and joy, and whence, 
 As in a golden dream of Summer song, 
 Their voices music blend our darkest thoughts among.
 
 40 SHELLEY. 
 
 74. 
 
 They laid their darling in an alien grave, 
 And planted sweetest flowers above their dead ; 
 And all that loving hearts could give, they gave 
 The sacred tears which only parents shed — 
 With these the unconscious grave they watered ; 
 And hence for them earth had a treasure more. 
 And though their hearts with bitter anguish bled, 
 The memory of him was sweet ; the living soar 
 To where their loveful dead are dwelling evermore. 
 
 75. 
 
 To them he was not dead. And day and night 
 They heard his sweet voice speaking as of old ; 
 Beheld his gentle face, and blue eye, bright 
 With love, and graces full and manifold, 
 Which had on earth but short time to unfold, 
 Beam on them gloriously. To hearts that love 
 There is no death — but change ; and they behold 
 Their darlings as immortal spirits rove 
 In realms of beauty, graced with all that bliss can move.
 
 SHELLEY. 41 
 
 76. 
 
 And such rich solace came to them in woe, 
 That sorrow soon in golden robes appears ; 
 And life, recovered from that piteous blow, 
 A purer, sweeter, holier aspect wears ; 
 And eyes dried of their dim suffusing tears 
 More brightly beam. All pain is worth its cost ; 
 All grief is gain ; and in the after years 
 Its teachings, though severe, are never lost, 
 But prove a priceless pearl : who has will value most. 
 
 77. 
 
 'Twas so with him. And year by year his heart 
 Its suffering told in such exquisite song, 
 That unto callous souls it could impart 
 A portion of its beauty ; and the throng 
 Of pitiless abusers owned its strong, 
 Delicious harmony, its wondrous charm ; 
 And mourned that unto him could yet belong 
 A power so thrilling, vengeful hearts to warm 
 With some sweet touch of love,thatrnade them cease to harm.
 
 42 SHELLEY. 
 
 78. 
 
 His themes were glorious as his song was sweet ; 
 Of Truth, and Liberty, and Love his strain ; 
 Of men and women robed and crowned complete 
 In freedom and in virtue ; scorning pain, 
 And toil, and woe, and torture, to attain 
 The true heroic height, that earth might he 
 The blest abode of godlike men, whose reign 
 Would shatter wrong's all-cursing empiry, 
 And bring the afflicted joy, and make the captive free. 
 
 79. 
 
 And gathered round him now sweet joy and peace, 
 Wealth, friendship, hope, content, and glowing fame ; 
 The elevating thought, that ere life cease, 
 He too might twine the laurel round his name ; 
 A laurel spotless, free from venal shame, 
 And bright with noble aims, that men might see, 
 Led by its inextinguishable flame, 
 That grandeur lies alone in being free, 
 And love, not power, the all-uniting tie sbould be.
 
 SHELLEY. 43 
 
 80. 
 
 'Twas thus he sung ; such themes inspired his Muse : 
 Man and man's triumphs in the coming years, 
 When equal laws, and equal rights infuse 
 Benignest influences ; and alien fears, 
 Dread of each other, hate-enforced tears, 
 Wrong-prompted vengeance, all the evil hrood 
 By passion bred, no more their hydra-horror rears, 
 To fetter truth, or drown the voice of good, 
 Or change the flower- sprent earth into a scene of blood. 
 
 81. 
 
 God ! how parti-coloured is the woof 
 That's woven in the loom of changing Time ; 
 Now brilliant as the gems of heaven's roof, 
 Now dark as midnight in a northern clime. 
 In Summer songs are heard the chilling chime 
 Of Winter's gloom; joy's richest laugh contains 
 A melancholy ring ; good deeds and crime 
 Tread on each other's heels ; and holy strains 
 Are preludes oft to lays where sin triumphant reigns.
 
 44 SHELLEY. 
 
 82. 
 
 The only thing immutable is death ; 
 The grave, the sure inheritance of all ; 
 Nor state, nor rank, nor wealth, nor hope, nor faith, 
 Can here avail. This house waits king and thrall. 
 Stern equalizer, heeding not the call 
 Of love or hate, of strength or weakness : none 
 Shall 'scape his hand ; his kindly blow will fall 
 On every living thing. The chosen one ; 
 The gracious power that comes alike to hut and throne. 
 
 83. 
 
 On this alone can man with safety build ; 
 His every other hope may suffer blight : 
 Each fondly-cherished trust pass unfulfilled : 
 Each promised joy prove but a dream of night, 
 To vanish with the first grey dawn of light : 
 His aspirations no responses find : 
 His love repulse : his pleasures no delight : — 
 But smiling Death will come, the true, the kind, 
 And with perennial peace bless each afflicted mind.
 
 SHELLEY. 45 
 
 84. 
 
 Yet when the gentle messenger shall come, 
 Blind as we are, we seek his love to shun. 
 Though all our joys are poor and transient — some 
 But like a shooting star whose race is run 
 Ere we can say it is — each foolish one 
 Will cling with wild tenacity to life ; 
 Will freely bear its burdens ; with a groan 
 Repeat its bitter tale of daily strife, 
 Yet still desire to live with woe and pain so rife. 
 
 85. 
 
 And marvel not. For who would freely leave 
 The fields, and streams, and flowers, and light of day, — 
 All fair and lovely things to which men cleave 
 With such instinctive joy, and pass away 
 Into the dark unknown, to be the prey 
 Of worms, the tenant of the narrow home, 
 The enamel's inmate, shut from all the play 
 Of sweet affections, and the joys that come 
 To earth's most gloomy lot, to life's most fearful doom ?
 
 46 SHELLEY. 
 
 86. 
 
 But man, with his immortal yearnings, makes 
 A spirit-world, more fair and bright than this, 
 Wherein the soul by flesh untrammelled takes 
 A nobler flight, and knows a purer bliss ; 
 Where softer breezes flowers more fragrant kiss ; 
 Where sin and sorrow come not, and where time, 
 With all its sad restraints, no longer is ; — 
 A deathless life, an ever-smiling clime ; 
 And for a dwelling-place, eternity sublime. 
 
 87. ,. 
 
 With glorious poetry he graces death ; 
 Of every terror thus he robs the tomb ; 
 And finds a fragrance in the enamel's breath, 
 Surpassing all that earth knows of perfume ; 
 And throws around life's dark and final gloom 
 Each halos of such brightness, wealth and power, 
 The long and unknown valley they illume, 
 And make more blissful the departing hour, 
 Than any life could show, when love was in its flower.
 
 SHELLEY. 47 
 
 88. 
 
 And thus our poet dreamed ; and with his dreams 
 Made glorious life, and all that life can show. 
 He with imagination's piercing heams 
 Lit up the future, till its wondrous glow 
 Made beautiful even death, and pain, and woe, 
 For noble ends sustained ; and o'er the path 
 Which every foot must tread, his song did throw 
 A radiance whose heavenly brightness hath 
 A power to banish fear, or dread of priestly wrath. 
 
 89. 
 
 But oft, in brightest hour of brightest day, 
 Will suddenly, without forewarning, rise 
 A fearful tempest that will prostrate lay 
 The hopes of men ; and, swift as lightning flies, 
 Will desolation spread, with burning eyes 
 Consuming harvest's promise — wheat and wine, 
 And all that yesterday glowed 'neath the skies, 
 In joy and beauty ; so when bliss divine 
 Is fullest in the heart, Woe cries, " The hour is mine ! "
 
 48 SHELLEY. 
 
 90. 
 
 And unsuspicious of his coming fate, 
 With heart as buoyant as his hopes were high ; 
 Blithe as a bird with love and song elate, 
 He hears with rapture that his friend is nigh, — 
 Friend of his youth whose friendship dared defy 
 The scorn, the sneers, the hate of narrow zeal; 
 And loved when love was rare ; whose open eye 
 Could worth and genius see behind the veil ; 
 Whose faith was strong that worth and genius must prevail. 
 
 91. 
 
 And swift o'er Spezzia's bay the vessel flies ;• 
 Her white sails emblems of the hopes she held ; 
 A picture, 'neath the bright Italian skies, 
 As beautiful as e'er the eye beheld ; 
 And joyfully the rich blue waters swelled, 
 And bore the glad and precious freight along, 
 While shouts of joy, and peals of laughter welled 
 From one to joy and laughter strange, whose tongue 
 Was more familiar far with sorrow's saddest song.
 
 SHELLEY. 49 
 
 92. 
 
 But now Lis hopes are high, his joy intense ; 
 His spirits mount unto a height of bliss 
 Which rivals ecstacy. He knows not whence 
 Such visitations come ; he knows but this — 
 That ne'er before such boundless joy was his. 
 He revels in delight, forgetful so 
 How fate to him darkly untoward is, 
 And never yet did bliss on him bestow, 
 But it foreboding told some great approaching woe. 
 
 93. 
 
 But heedless now of omens, on they sweep, 
 The dimpling waves against their vessel break 
 In gentle gurglings as they fain would keep 
 In unison with laughter. In their wake 
 Is left bright silvery lines, which gladly take 
 The kisses of the sun, and glow with joy : 
 'Tis gladness, brightness all. poet, slake 
 Your thirst with such delight ; too soon 'twill cloy, 
 And an o'erwhelrning storm these glorious hours destroy. 
 
 4
 
 50 SHELLEY. 
 
 94. 
 
 But now in Leghorn's port he safely rides, 
 And springs with joy upon the welcome shore. 
 Then, without pause, for Pisa he decides ; 
 For there are love and friendship, with their store 
 Of golden hopes, and feelings to tell o'er, 
 Of all that since their parting has heen done ; 
 Rich thoughts to share ; to heal some eating sore ; 
 Some wrong to right ; then end as all begun — 
 Recounting o"er each loss, and o'er each triumph won. 
 
 95. 
 
 Oh, swiftly, far too swiftly flew those days 
 Of rare enjoyment, and of pleasures rare ! 
 Bright plans were formed of noble themes for lays, 
 That should for nobler times the world prepare ; 
 And visions of a future far more fair, 
 More pure, and more divine, in fancy rose 
 Among them ; till they saw the world created there 
 The blest abode of beings who arose 
 In manhood's godlike grandeur, crushing wrong and woes.
 
 SHELLEY. 5 1 
 
 96. 
 
 Yet this must end. For Mary waits her love ; 
 And dearer than e'en friendship to his heart, 
 And reigning far all other power above, 
 Is her sweet influence ; and he would part 
 With life and fame to shield from slightest smart 
 Her gentle, loving soul, that now is stirred 
 With fancies dim and dire ; thoughts that impart 
 A sense of coming woe — that breathe no word ; 
 But shadowy horrors hang about her absent lord. 
 
 97. 
 
 And thus the ever-fatal day is come — 
 day of darkness, and day of woe ! — 
 Unconscious of the swift impending doom ; 
 Regardless of the signs the heavens show, 
 And of the " smoke " which hides the wave below ; 
 And of the warning of the sailor's tongue. 
 " The Devil mischief brewing ? " 't may be so ; 
 But home is sweet, and sweet is Mary's song ; 
 And omens scare the weak, are conquered by the strong. 
 
 4—2
 
 52 SHELLEY. 
 
 98. 
 
 And seated in his favourite boat once more, 
 The prow turned homeward, and the heart at rest, 
 The willing wind swift bears them from the shore, 
 Where friends are watching with a fear supprest, 
 And breathing wishes for his safety, lest 
 That sight should be the last of one so dear. 
 For, save the most concerned, all feel deprest, 
 And of some coming danger have a fear, 
 They vainly strive to quell : here danger is too near : 
 
 99. 
 
 For soon a thick fog covers all the sea ; 
 And soon that well-watched boat is hid from sight ; 
 The day is hot ; the breathing is not free ; 
 No wind is there, the air is still, and night 
 With preternatural speed wings on his flight ; 
 The waves seem solid — a lead-coloured mass, 
 And changed to oily scum their foam of white ; 
 And now short, panting gusts begin to pass ; 
 Big rain-drops strike the waves, rebounding as on glass.
 
 SHELLEY. 53 
 
 100. 
 
 And swift as frenzy comes the furious storm : 
 With lightnings flashing, thunder's deadly knell, 
 Fierce winds, and flooding rains, he rears his form — 
 The demon of the hour. 'Neath his control 
 All human strength is weak ; the vessels roll, 
 Each at his mercy ; his the hand that spares 
 Or strikes at will ; he takes the part or whole. 
 None may gainsay him. Vain are all man's cares : 
 He comes and blasts his toil, and slays him unawares.* 
 
 * " On Monday, July the 8th, Shelley and Williams set sail 
 in the Don Juan for Lerici. Trelawny was to have gone with 
 them in Byron's vessel, the Bolivar, but was detained for want 
 of some necessary legal permit. They left about three p.m., 
 when the Genoese mate of the Bolivar observed to Mr. Trelawny 
 that they would soon have too much breeze. Black, ragged 
 clouds were by this time coming up from the south-west ; and 
 the mate, pointing to what he called ' the smoke on the water,' 
 observed that ' the devil was brewing mischief.' The waves 
 were speedily covered with a sea-fog, in which Shelley's boat 
 was hidden from the view of Mr. Trelawny. It was intensely 
 hot ; the atmosphere was heavy and moveless to an oppressive 
 degree, and a profound stillness spread far over the ocean. By 
 half-past six o'clock it was almost dark; the sea looked solid and 
 lead-coloured ; an oily scum was on the surface ; the wind was 
 beginning to wake, in short, panting gusts ; and big drops of
 
 54 SHELLEY. 
 
 101. 
 
 Swift as he came, he leaves that awful scene ; 
 And all is fair, and calm, and bright again. 
 The vessels look as if no strife had been, 
 Spread their white sails, and skip along the plain, 
 Whose waves in playful gambols make a main 
 Of sparkling dimples. Oh, let flow the tear, 
 And wake the song to sorrow's saddest strain ! 
 Of all the jovons barks once sailing there, 
 One boat alone is lost — the one we prized so dear ! 
 
 rain struck the waters, rebounding as they fell. ' There was a 
 commotion in the air,' says Mr. Trelawny, who records these 
 particulars, ' made up of many threatening sounds, coming upon 
 us from the sea.' The vessels in the harbour were all in hurried 
 movement, and the tempest soon came crashing and glaring in 
 the fury of thunder, wind, rain, and lightning, over the port and 
 open waters. The storm only lasted about twenty minutes ; and 
 during its progress, Captain Boberts watched Shelley's vessel 
 with his glass from the top of Leghorn lighthouse. The yacht 
 had made Via Reggio when the storm began. ' When the cloud 
 passed onward,' writes Mrs. Shelley, ' Roberts looked again, and 
 saw eveiy other vessel sailing on the ocean, except the little 
 schooner, which had vanished.' Mi - . Trelawny thought for some 
 time that his friends would return to port ; but he waited for 
 them in vain." — Shelley Memorials, by Lady Shelley, pp. 
 196-197.
 
 SHELLEY. 55 
 
 102. 
 
 And where is now the precious freight it bore ? 
 woe of woes, admitting no relief! 
 And see who roams about that fatal shore 
 With hair dishevelled, face of marble grief, 
 And eyes of stony gaze ; to doubt, belief, 
 Alternately the victim and the prey. 
 In piteous words, as wild as they are brief, 
 Invoking earth, and heaven, and sea to say 
 Where is the pearl she seeks, where does her treasure lay. 
 
 103. 
 
 Oh, sorrowing soul that mourns the purest heart 
 That ever loving woman called her own ! 
 No more his gentle words will joy impart, 
 No more his glowing tongue in sweetest tone 
 Will thrill thee with its richness ; but alone 
 Thy life henceforth in changing grief will pass. 
 No more his face, except in dreams, be shown ; 
 No more, no more shall now be heard, alas ! 
 His voice within the house, his footsteps on the grass.
 
 56 SHELLEY. 
 
 104. 
 
 The sea that gorged its prey now casts it forth : 
 Two mutilated forms lie on the strand ; 
 And one is his — the son of song, whose worth 
 Men knew too late ; — till death's untimely hand 
 Had borne him to the dark and unknown land, 
 His greatness was unseen. But there he lies, 
 In death companioned by the few, who stand 
 In solemn silence, broken but by sighs, 
 Which tell how deep their woe, how strong their agonies. 
 
 105. 
 
 These friendly hands erect the fatal pyre ; 
 Bring frankincense, and myrrh, and oil, and wine, 
 Then to the glorious relics place the fire, 
 And watch them as they watched a sacred shrine. 
 For he whose bones consume was half divine ; 
 And as the flames, so did his spirit soar, 
 And ever toward the godlike did incline ; 
 And, spite of wrongs, himself unsoiled he bore, 
 And kept aloof from aught that e'er pollution wore.
 
 SHELLEY. 57 
 
 106. 
 
 The end is here. His unconsumed heart 
 And sacred dust hy loving hands were home 
 To that sweet spot where lay of him a part, 
 And by his darling child, his dear first-born ; 
 And by his favourite bard, a child of scorn 
 To th' ingrate world, he now in peace is laid ; 
 And o'er that " heart of hearts," so sadly torn, 
 The cypress spreads its grand and solemn shade, 
 And pilgrimages now are to that temple made. 
 
 107. 
 
 Dear child of sorrow, and of song, and light ; 
 The prophet of a fairer, nobler time ; 
 The hero of a brave and bloodless fight ; 
 Dear master of the wonder-waking rhyme, 
 Who sung the beautiful and the sublime, 
 Accept this tribute of a later day ; — 
 The homage of a heart that fain would climb 
 To higher things, but who, alas! shall say ? — 
 Upon thy tomb, great bard, this lowly flower I lay.
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCABP.
 
 O God, I come to thee, thou art my Life ; 
 God, thou art my home, I come to thee. 
 
 Within a>t> Without.
 
 THE 
 
 DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 Wide, smooth, and deep is Smyrna's bay, 
 
 And stretches far into the sunny land. 
 
 Accepting, as in love, her sweet embrace, 
 
 The fair, enamoured earth, with witching smiles, 
 
 Her soft arms round the sparkling waters spreads, 
 
 And wreathes the rippling waves with richest flowers. 
 
 Men coming in from sea are scarce aware 
 What safe and happy haven waits their sails, 
 Until within its calm unruffled peace 
 They quietly repose, and scent the fragrant breeze
 
 62 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 Which tells of home, of wife, of child, and friend. 
 And then before their dim, hut gladdened eyes, 
 Along those pleasant, ever-murmuring waves, 
 And on those ever- smiling hills — sweet spots 
 Of beauty and of grace — fair Smyrna stands : 
 A city to make glad the gazer's heart ; 
 A city dear unto the memory of man ; 
 A city sanctified by high heroic deeds, 
 For ever blazoned by a martyr's blood. 
 
 How changed her present from her ancient fame ! 
 Still in the busy streets the merchants throng, 
 All eager-eyed for gain. From every land 
 The venturous and daring gather there, 
 And haggle with their fellows seeking wealth. 
 The tongues of many nations still are heard 
 In loud contention in her public marts, 
 All trying to outwit, and overreach, 
 And win the petty triumph of deceit : 
 A motley, quaint commingling of all garbs, 
 A picturesqueness lends to what were else 
 Contemptible and base. Close, dirty streets, 
 And houses dull and dismal meet the eye ; 
 With here and there some remnant of a time
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAIiP. 63 
 
 When nobler men were hers, and nobler aims 
 
 Inspired her action and her life : when God 
 
 Upon the city smiled, and smiling blest : 
 
 Another added to that mighty list 
 
 Of precious spots whose glory's of the past ; 
 
 Whose fame is memory of noble deeds ; 
 
 Whose boast is of the what has been, — not is ; 
 
 Whose claim upon our reverence and love 
 
 Is in the crumbling records which reveal 
 
 How once she was a chosen one, and bore brave hearts. 
 
 Who dared and suffered for the good of man. 
 
 God's gift of beauty is perennial. The land 
 He's touched approvingly for ever beams 
 In all the loveliness of Heaven. His hand 
 Of grace and power is seen alike, or in 
 The dimpling smiles of undulating plains, 
 By village maidens trod on Summer eves, 
 Or in the glorious hills that rising, soar 
 Sublimely in their heaven-seeking heights. 
 The rippling brook is musical of Him ; 
 And ever-kymning Ocean sings His praise. 
 The roadside flower that careless wanderers pass, 
 Or reckless trample on, reveals His love ;
 
 64 THE DEATH OE ST. POLYCAEP. 
 
 And Lebanon's far- spreading cedars, swept 
 By loving winds, are murmurous day and night 
 Of Him who planted them. These ever smile, — 
 Their beauty knows no change : the same to-day 
 As on Creation's morn, when angels sung 
 Their joyous, jubilant song ; when heaven was glad 
 Earth's beauty to behold. 
 
 Not so with man. 
 He sinks and rises, winning shame and fame — 
 A glorious, god-like creature, towering, grand, 
 Majestic ; now he takes by light his place 
 Among th' heroic host ; and now a thing 
 So mean, so abject, and so vile, the worm 
 Might scorn companionship with aught so base. 
 The free-born of to-day, he walks the earth 
 With step elastic, buoyant as the breeze 
 Which scarcely bends the flower it stops to kiss ; 
 Is now a slave so grovelling and so gross, 
 That vain his God-imparted faculties 
 To raise him 'bove the beasts with which he wallows, 
 And takes the curse or stripe as caprice wills, 
 Or passion prompts, and licks the hand that whips : 
 So fixed is nature, but so changing man.
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 65 
 
 And Smyrna still is beautiful, and once 
 Was grand. For in her walls she then contained, 
 And in her streets was daily seen and heard, 
 The nearest thing to God — a God-like man, 
 Who rose in all the majesty of love, 
 Amidst the scom of all the sinners there, 
 Protesting 'gainst man's wickedness and sin ; 
 And preaching unto all the glorious news 
 Of sweet redemption, and eternal truth, 
 Of heavenly transports, and immortal bliss : 
 He spoke of God and His unchanging grace ; 
 Of Christ and His atoning death ; of love, 
 Surpassing e'en the mother's for her child ; 
 Of th' Holy Spirit which awaited all, 
 And sought but open hearts to enter in. 
 Of all the glories of the Christian faith 
 He spoke ; and won, what they have ever won, 
 Who seek to bless the world and change its 
 
 ways — 
 The deathless love of some few glowing hearts 
 With grace to see and strength to love the truth ; 
 The deathless hate of all the powers that be, 
 And all they represent, and claim, and guide ; 
 
 5
 
 66 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 He won the curse, the shame, the scourge, the death, 
 The ever-blessed crown of martyrdom. 
 
 Men called him Polycarp. He had grown grey 
 In toiling in the vineyard of the Lord. 
 His years were many, but his heart was young ; 
 Had firmer hopes of man, and of the world, 
 Of the high destinies yet waiting them, 
 Than ever fired the heathen poet youth 
 Ere he had lost his hot and sanguine years ; 
 Or the first flow of imaginative blood 
 Had been by dark experience checked, and turned 
 To gall, fit but to water wormwood with. 
 What tinsel was the Golden Age of old 
 Compared with that which Polycarp revealed ! 
 He, trembling on the verge of years, 
 With clearer eyes saw sights diviner far, 
 And visions glorious with God's authentic touch, 
 Which made him like a child in faith and love, 
 And heaven a bright reality to win, 
 Not a fair fable, or divine perhaps, 
 But an eternal dwelling-place of light, 
 Made wordlessly magnificent by Him 
 Who was, and is, and will for ever be
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 67 
 
 The Source of light, of holiness, and bliss. 
 
 The Holy One had met him face to face ; 
 
 Had spoke to him, and called him to his work. 
 
 He heard and he obeyed. He chose his task — 
 
 Took up his cross, and shrank not from the thorns, 
 
 But still with joyous heart, but bleeding brows, 
 
 Accepted with a sweet humility 
 
 And holy pride the God -appointed lot — 
 
 A life of teaching, suffering, and strife ; 
 
 A life of peace, and purity, and love ; 
 
 A death more glorious than ever crowns 
 
 The favoured of the world ; a death reserved 
 
 But for the chosen ones who witness bear 
 
 To truth before the time is ripe, and men 
 
 Have eyes to see. Such was the lot of Polycarp. 
 
 The world was full of change. The old and new 
 In dreadful conflict strove. All hearts were fired 
 With frenzied zeal, or high, ascending hopes ; 
 And raven heads grew hoary in an hour. 
 The kingdoms of the earth were growing weak, 
 And in despair a-foolish contest waged. 
 The pagan world was from its centre torn ; 
 Was sick at heart, and knew not its disease ; 
 
 5—2
 
 68 THE DEATH OE ST. POLYCAKP. 
 
 Went raging downward with a show of strength, 
 
 Which only told its weakness and its woe ; 
 
 Made gibbering faces ; and was loud in cries, 
 
 And shrieked in all the impotence of wrath. 
 
 For selfishness, and ignorance, and craft, 
 
 And evil hopes to keep the growing world 
 
 For ever in its chains, had found the way 
 
 To win the lovers of the ancient faith : 
 
 The earnest and the zealous in the cause 
 
 Of gods defunct, and altars without fires. 
 
 And these, with all the giddy multitude, 
 
 The masses ready still to crown or slay, 
 
 As passions skilfully are played upon ; 
 
 With rack, and cross, and fire, and boiling oil, 
 
 And pincers lacerating to the flesh ; 
 
 And savage beasts, by famine fiercer made — 
 
 By these, and all the instruments which man, 
 
 Ho quick to answer to the call of hate, 
 
 So skilful in providing all the means 
 
 To carry out the work which hate suggests, 
 
 The pagan world from time to time assailed 
 
 The friends of Christ, His teachers, and His faith. 
 
 And oft the little seed was steeped in blood ;
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 69 
 
 And oft the infant Church seemed nigh to death. 
 But (rod was faithful to His own. His hand 
 Through all the hloody baptisms led them safe ; 
 And in the darkest hour He lent a light, 
 Which showed what glorious prospect lay beyond. 
 For in the midst of pain, and gloom, and death, 
 His great, grand, loving eye was always there, 
 And, like a lighthouse to the storm-tossed crew, 
 Showed where the harbour and where safety lay. 
 In slavery's sharpest hour, at sorrow's worst, 
 He gave them courage, strength, and joy ; and still, 
 Through all His dealings with His chosen ones, 
 When Pharaoh raged and persecuted most, 
 He ever sent a Moses to redeem, 
 And set His people free. 
 
 Once more, once more 
 The kings of earth were battling 'gainst the Lord ; 
 Once more His people were oppressed to death ; 
 Once more He sent His leader forth ; and oh ! 
 Once more the people stoned the prophet ; and 
 Once more the prophet's triumph was his death. 
 
 To such a work the Lord called Polycarp, 
 And with alacrity and joy ho came.
 
 70 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAEP. 
 
 The work performed, received his mead ; was hlest. 
 For blest is he who dies in serving God. 
 
 Aurelius ruled in Rome. The noblest head 
 That ever wore th' Imperial diadem. 
 Brave, pious, temperate, just, and learned, was he. 
 The virtues of the pagan world were his. 
 He loved his people, and revered his gods. 
 And with a heart of sadness he beheld 
 The ancient worship and the power of Rome 
 With equal steps decline. Beheld with awe — 
 With awe, which no conviction wrought — how grew 
 In stature and in strength the faith of Him — 
 The crucified. All this with bleeding heart, 
 With ever-growing care, and sense of shame, 
 That men should be so fickle and so vile ; 
 So mindless of their temples and their shrines, 
 And so blasphemous of the ancient gods, 
 Whose favouring hands and tutelary care 
 Had raised eternal Rome, and made her lord 
 Of all the visible world ; oh, he was shamed 
 That men so honoured had so gone astray ! 
 And with a logic that was partly true and false, 
 He held the Christians guilty of the change
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 71 
 
 Which day by day the older faith endured. 
 
 To him they were the enemies of the gods ; 
 
 The seorners of the old time-honoured rites ; 
 
 The mockers of the great Olympian powers ; 
 
 The holders of a novel and unholy creed, 
 
 Which drew upon the world the withering curse 
 
 Of all the high offended deities : 
 
 Who for such sins were scourging now the land 
 
 With blight, and famine, and disease, and death. 
 
 So gathering all his power, he rose, resolved 
 
 To vindicate his gods ; to slay their foes ; 
 
 And bring once more the reign of piety and peace. 
 
 And from his lips the fatal mandate went, 
 
 That in all lands acknowledging his rule, 
 
 The new faith should be crushed ; the Christians have 
 
 But this alternative : to sacrifice 
 
 Upon the altar of Almighty Jove, 
 
 Or suffer death — death in the sharpest form, 
 
 And most enduring agonies, that men, 
 
 By hate inspired, and skilful in such work, 
 
 Could for the sacrilegious pests invent. 
 
 Then swift as summer- storms, that sweep along 
 In thunder and in lightning, bearing woe
 
 72 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAEP. 
 
 And desolation on their rapid wings, 
 
 And shaking to its centre the sad earth, 
 
 O'er which they hang, and hurst ; till her sweet face, 
 
 So hright with sunny fields, and trees, and flowers, 
 
 Is shrivelled into desert harrenness, 
 
 And looks in colour as a ten-year corpse : 
 
 So swift the mandate of Aurelius flew ; 
 
 So dire its work — so fatal its results. 
 
 Now, through the streets of Smyrna ran the cry — 
 " Down with the Atheists ! Away with Polycarp ! " 
 Th' infuriate mob, by passion roused and fired, 
 And all unknowing of the things they did, 
 Went raging up and down, and shrieking still — 
 " Down with the Atheists ! Away with Polycarp ! " 
 In every street the welt'ring, seething crowd, 
 With maddened gestures, and with fiery glare 
 That shot front cruel eyes, rushed on. No pause ; 
 No intercession in their wicked cry : 
 No sign of pity, and no word of love : 
 Vindictive all. The thousands pressing there, 
 Like hungry beasts in sight of flying prey, 
 Rush howling on, with deadly hatred filled ; 
 By unseen terrors goaded, and by vague,
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 73 
 
 Unutterable fears impelled, they rage 
 
 And shriek, all thirsting for an old man's blood. 
 
 And still the cry went forth. Along the shore 
 Of Smyrna's far-indented bay, and winding coast ; 
 Through all the neighbouring woods, and o'er the waste 
 Which spreads beyond the city, it was heard, 
 E'en to the distant hills whose echoes rung 
 The dreadful terror back : and still the cry 
 Which rung upon the shore, and in the woods, 
 To silence frightened bird and beast ; which broke 
 Upon the solitary stillness of the waste, 
 And gave a thousand voices to the hills, 
 Each voice a shout for vengeance and for blood, 
 Was still that fearful and unholy cry — 
 " Down with the Atheists ! Away with Polycarp ! " 
 
 But Polycarp had fled ; fled not from fear, 
 For fear of death he knew not ; fear of pain 
 Had never yet disturbed the old man's ways, 
 Nor made him falter in his upward course ; 
 And fear of man was banned by fear of God. 
 He lived with the Unseen ; and was sustained 
 By powers invisible to common eyes. 
 God held him in the hollow of His hand.
 
 74 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 He knew that, dead or living, he was safe : 
 
 So that the rage of wicked men ; the hate 
 
 Of men deluded, sin-enslaved ; the scorn 
 
 Which they whose eyes were blinded to the truth, 
 
 Had poured upon him ; all the hitter wrongs 
 
 Which ignorance and malice did to him ; 
 
 The fury still by fury goaded on, 
 
 And still intensified by all the strength 
 
 Which comes from sympathy in hate, 
 
 And spreads contagiously from man to man, 
 
 Until the crowd is but one voice, one head, one hand, 
 
 Disturbed not his serenity and peace ; 
 
 Or moved him but to pity and to prayer. 
 
 But fear touched not his God-sustained heart ; 
 
 Nor shook the steady purpose of his life. 
 
 Yet Polycarp had fled. For he had heard 
 
 His Master's voice ; and knew his Master's words ; 
 
 And knew that He had work for him to do, 
 
 Which it were sinful pride to shun. And so 
 
 When rose that vengeful cry from those he loved, 
 
 For whom he toiled and prayed, and who to him 
 
 Were more than life or death, the old man fled — 
 
 Fled, though he thirsted for the martyr's crown,
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAKP. 75 
 
 And for that blessed gift had day and night 
 With far more passionate fervour prayed, 
 Than ever lover yet to clasp his bride. 
 But still he waited the appointed time ; 
 Still bore his cross ; and left it to God's will, 
 Life's burden when to take away, and when 
 To robe him in the spotless robes of death. 
 His flight stayed not the fury of the mob. 
 A moment baffled, they were not appeased. 
 The pause was like a little water thrown on fire ; 
 The flames which are not quenched more freely spread, 
 And so the people's passions rose to learn 
 Their victim had escaped. The news flew fast ; 
 The ciy rang louder ; fiercer the pursuit. 
 Blood was their want ; for all too long their eyes 
 On cruel scenes had gazed : and all too oft 
 Their ears been charmed with piercing shrieks, and 
 
 groans 
 Of agony from suffering weakness forced, 
 To let their prey escape. He was pursued. 
 And wild as hounds that once the scent have had, 
 And lost, with varied cries the furious men, 
 In furious packs, went bellowing to and fro ;
 
 76 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 With many windings in and out ; with doublings 
 
 And returnings hack and hack again, they searched 
 
 All likely and unlikely spots, and made 
 
 A pastime of their cruel hunt ; and each 
 
 His neighbour's zeal, which needed not such help, 
 
 Was fuming with his loud halloo, and voice 
 
 Of wild encouragement, and bitter words, 
 
 Provocative of still-increasing rage. 
 
 Thus on they went, nor slackened in their quest, 
 
 Until they lighted on the hiding-place 
 
 The holy man had found. 
 
 His time was come. 
 He knew his time was come, and he rejoiced. 
 The hour for which his heart so oft had yearned ; 
 His hour of triumph and of death was come, 
 And soon the Crown were his. So he rejoiced. 
 He waited not that men should drag him forth, 
 But walking in his Master's foretrod path, 
 His life would of his own free will lay down. 
 With quiet mien, with loving, gentle look, 
 Did Polycarp to meet his foes come forth. 
 At sight of him, so calm and so benign, 
 The furious crowd were into silence hushed.
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAKP. 77 
 
 None knew the cause ; but as he gazed on them — 
 
 His grey beard lovingly kissed by the wind, 
 
 Which seemed to linger there in sweet delight ; 
 
 His furrowed forehead, high and reft of hair, 
 
 Before them bared ; his kind and hopeful eye 
 
 With overflowing kindness on them bent — 
 
 It was as if a hand unseen were laid 
 
 Upon then* mouths, and all then* voices hushed. 
 
 The glaring eyes were settled in their gaze ; 
 
 And all the passion-flurried faces fixed 
 
 In wond'ring admiration. On them fell 
 
 An influence as sweet, as rage-subduing, 
 
 As that, which in a summer twilight steals 
 
 Into the mind, lays its balmy hand on care, 
 
 And gives the heart a transient feeling of 
 
 The pure serenity of Heaven. They stood, 
 
 Despite themselves, subdued to quietness. 
 
 And when his cheerful voice proclaimed himself, 
 
 And craved the boon, a little time for prayer, 
 
 A little time to supplicate his God, 
 
 And gatber strength to fit him for his end, 
 
 No voice was lifted up against his wish ; 
 
 And so the Christian won.
 
 78 THE DEATH OF ST. POLY CARP. 
 
 Long time he prayed. 
 For two rich hours his spirit left the earth, 
 And held conmiunion with God. His voice, 
 So often exercised in prayer and praise, 
 Serener rose in this his peril time, 
 Than when in safety and in peace. His foes, 
 Made callous by repeated wrongs, grew mild, 
 And listened wond'ringly, that one so old, 
 Surrounded by the messengers of death, 
 And threatened with a fierce and cruel end, 
 Could thus forget himself. He prayed for all : 
 The weak, the groaning, persecuted Church — 
 The poor, afflicted brethren in the Faith — 
 His foes, who raged, not knowing what they did. 
 He prayed for all ; and, lastly, for himself : 
 For strength to bear whatever pain and shame, 
 The rage of frenzied fancy could suggest, 
 The cruelty of savage hearts inflict ; 
 For thus sustained all suffering would be bliss, 
 And he should die rejoicingly ; should pass 
 With prayer upon his tongue, smiles on his lips ; 
 Nor bring disgrace upon the infant faith, 
 Nor prove unworthy of his Lord and Christ.
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCABP. 79 
 
 Then calmly came the old man forth. His face 
 Shone gloriously bright ; and from his eyes 
 A heavenly splendour beamed. E'en so of old 
 The favoured Moses looked, when from the fire 
 Upon Mount Sinai's height he turned 
 And gazed upon the people. So looked he : 
 But all the terror softened and subdued 
 Into a sweet, celestial grace, which told 
 That Sinai's thunders, Sinai's law, no more 
 Came threatening unto man : but in their stead 
 The blessed Gospel sealed upon the cross ; 
 The burden light of mercy, faith, and grace. 
 So calmly came the old man forth — no shout, 
 No cry of loud, exulting foes — no sign 
 Of gratified revenge — now greeted him. 
 In silence the proconsul's soldiers came 
 And met him ; placed him on an ass ; and thus, 
 As rode the Holy One, but without pomp 
 Of gladdened maidens strewing flowers along, 
 Or loud hosannahs singing as they went, 
 Tho fond disciple journeyed to his doom. 
 
 They journeyed slowly ou. Serene and glad 
 The willing martyr rode. Before him rose,
 
 80 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 As in a happy vision, all the past; 
 And unto him, as to a dying man, 
 The years came back. As in an open book, 
 With pictures filled, illuminations fair, 
 And records of the days bygone, he read ; 
 And thus re-lived it all. The blessed hours 
 Of childhood nestled in his sunny home, 
 Cheered by a mother's love, a father's care, 
 And all the sweet solicitude which clings 
 About a favourite child, returned to him. 
 And once again he sported with his toys, 
 And prattled pretty nothings all the day. 
 And now he listened to those heavenly words, 
 The prayer his mother taught his infant lips ; 
 And on his knees, his little upraised hands 
 Still resting on her lap ; his wond'ring eyes 
 Fixed largely on her love-revealing face. 
 His lisping tongue is striving to repeat 
 Her words ; his little mind to understand 
 Their blessed meaning, and to catch their charm. 
 Which made his mother's face so full of joy ; 
 So beautiful to look upon ; so rich 
 In graces indescribable ; lit up
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 81 
 
 With a celestial brightness, which he saw 
 And loved, but scarcely knew the source. And then 
 Remembrances of all that precious time, 
 Came crowding, likest angels, on his mind, 
 And all that since had been. But chiefest rose 
 Those priceless interviews which erst he had 
 With that disciple whom the Saviour loved, 
 Who laid his head upon the Saviour's breast, 
 And afterwards those wondrous things beheld 
 Which God revealed to him alone at Patmos. 
 The present in the past he lost. His mind 
 With high and holy thoughts was lifted up, 
 The doom prepared for him he heeded not, 
 The death of shame was glorified to him. 
 For all the ignominy heaped on him 
 Would make the mercy sweeter in the end ; 
 And for the crown of martyrdom on earth, 
 The crown of glory waited him in heaven. 
 The hungry beasts might rend his weak old limbs ; 
 The hungrier flames might scorch his wrinkled flesh ; 
 The boiling oil might shrivel up his frame ; 
 The cruel pincers rend him bit by bit ; 
 But this would end. The bitter pain would pass ; 
 

 
 82 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAEP. 
 
 The agony so fearful for the flesh, 
 
 God helping, could be borne. The anguish o'er, 
 
 The bitterness of suffering once endured, 
 
 The end were reached ; the long- sought goal attained ; 
 
 The victory won ; eternal peace secured, 
 
 And bliss that never ends ; the song of praise 
 
 Which white-robed angels and redeemed saints 
 
 Sing round God's throne for ever, then begin, 
 
 And he a singer there ! 
 
 With such high thoughts, 
 With boundless hopes, and joy unutterable, 
 Saint Polycarp rode on. His gentleness 
 Subdued his captors' passions. Low they spoke ; 
 Forgot their wonted callousness of words, 
 And laid aside the rudeness of their trade. 
 They saw the calmness in their prisoner's face, 
 And whispered admiration. Astonished heard 
 With what serenity he spoke ; how free from fear, 
 How with untrembling lirubs he rode to death : 
 They saw the unwonted brightness of his eyes, 
 The glory hanging round him and his beast ; 
 And so in wond'ring silence all rode on. 
 In the arena Rome's proconsul sat ;
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAEP. 83 
 
 His guards and lictors, symbols of Rome's power, 
 
 Surrounded liim. And there assembled, too, 
 
 All Smyrna's priest- encouraged multitudes, 
 
 Impatient of delay. But loudest rose the cries 
 
 For blood from the descendants of the race 
 
 That crucified the Lord, and Stephen stoned. 
 
 Of all that frenzied crowd the Jews were heard 
 
 Most fiercely shrieking for the martyr's death. 
 
 And when the melancholy cavalcade 
 
 First met the sight of that assembled host, 
 
 As from one mouth in unison arose 
 
 One deep, intense, and murder-freighted shout, 
 
 Announcing that the sport would soon begin. 
 
 But Polycarp, unmoved and undisturbed, 
 
 And praying for his foes, rode to his doom. 
 
 The smile of deep beatitude still played 
 
 About his lips ; and all his bearing showed 
 
 The peaceful soul within. Absorbed in prayer, 
 
 He moved along : to him nor cries, nor rage, 
 
 Nor fear of torture came. His hope was sure, 
 
 Fixed on th' Eternal's word, that could not fail. 
 
 And now, when most such help was needed him ; 
 
 When through the flesh's weakness shame might come, 
 
 0—2
 
 84 THE DEATH OE ST. POLYCAEP. 
 
 Divine assurance, such as God imparts 
 To His selected saints, was favoured him. 
 For from the cloudless heavens came a voice — 
 " Be strong, and be a man, Polycarp ! " 
 The many heard the sounds : but words alone, 
 In their distinct articulation, reached 
 The chosen one. He heard and was renewed — 
 Before his eyes, invisible to those 
 By passion blinded, hung God's mighty shield ; 
 A guardian angel hovered over him. 
 The heavens were opened to his ravished sight, 
 And he beheld the bright, white throne of God, 
 And all the elders round it. On the right 
 Sat He, his Lord, his Saviour, and his Christ. 
 Before the judgment-seat the martyr stood : 
 The courteous Boman, moved by his grey hairs, 
 Forgot the sternness of the judge. In words 
 Of gentleness, and mild entreaty, he, 
 With th' old man, pleaded for the old man's life. 
 "Have pity on thy age," he said, " and swear 
 By Caesar's fortune. Leave thy foolishness ; 
 Forget thy God — or what thou tak'st for such — 
 And cry with me — ' Away with the Atheists ! '
 
 THE DEATH OE ST. POLYCARP. 85 
 
 Then Polycarp to his Ml height arose, 
 His radiant face upon the people turned, 
 And looking up to heaven, cried aloud — 
 " Away with the Atheists ! " 
 
 Then said the judge — 
 And smiled at victory so easily won — 
 " Now take the oath ; deny this Christ, and free 
 Art thou for ever." 
 
 But with unfaltering voice, 
 And words of calm severity, the saint : 
 " For six and eighty years Him have I served ; 
 For six and eighty years has He been pleased 
 To bless that service, doing me no wrong. 
 Shall I speak evil of my Lord and King? " 
 
 But still with gentleness, and kindly voice, 
 As all reluctant to condemn, the judge : 
 " Then swear by Caesar's fortune." 
 
 He replied : 
 " If but for idleness thou urgest this ; 
 Or out of kindness, from a noble heart, 
 And having pity on my years, still seek'st 
 To satisfy thy nature and the law, 
 Nor yield unto this savage cry for blood,
 
 86 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 Accept my thanks. But if, not knowing me, 
 Nor what the faith I hold, in ignorance 
 Thou speak'st ; persuading me for ease, 
 Or profit, or the base desire of life, 
 To do unholy and accursed things, 
 Pernicious to the soul, and worse than death ; 
 'Tis time to undeceive thee. Hear me then : 
 I am a Christian. More, if thou would'st learn 
 Of me, and of my faith, grant me hut time ; 
 And all its blessings, all its boundless wealth — 
 Of mercy and of love, its inward peace 
 Which passeth understanding, and its bliss, 
 Which, when this weary life is laid aside, 
 This wicked world, its pomps, and vanities, 
 And its illusions, all are past away, 
 Endures for ever and for ever — hear, 
 And I will teach." 
 
 But he, evading, said : 
 " Persuade the people." 
 
 Then with calm dignity, 
 And voice of one who knew how vain the task, 
 To any but the Lord Omnipotent 
 To bid the tempest-raging sea be still,
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCAEP. 87 
 
 With reverence said : " My mouth is closed for them. 
 
 But unto thee, clothed with authority, 
 
 And bearing on thy brow the seal of Rome, 
 
 And her imperial greatness, and to whom, 
 
 As one ordained and ratified of God, 
 
 Respect, allegiance, honour, all are due, 
 
 I would explain the faith ; and win, perchance, 
 
 A noble soul from death. But unto these, 
 
 With hate and long-delayed revenge enraged, 
 
 I nothing owe. Them I may not persuade." 
 
 Perplexed, and waxing wroth, the Roman then : 
 " Wild beasts, the savagest, and newly caught, 
 Their native desert fury in them still, 
 And fiercer made by two days' hunger-pangs, 
 Await my nod to rend thee limb from limb. 
 Reflect, old man. Be placable to me ; 
 But more, be placable unto thyself, 
 And do this harmless thing." 
 
 "It is not good," 
 With sudden animation, said the saint, 
 "Thy Roman poets say it is not good, 
 To leave the better for the worse, and I 
 The better path have chosen all too long,
 
 88 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 Have too few years between me and the grave, 
 To learn to walk in any other. No more : 
 I will not change." 
 
 In sterner mood the judge : 
 " Thy blood on thy own head. But witness bear, 
 How, moved to pity by thy noble mien, 
 That venerable aspect, those grey hairs, 
 So like the few which crown my father's years, 
 I've sought thy peril to avert. But now 
 The slow-consuming fire must be the charm 
 To burn this stubborn spirit out. And thou, 
 Not I, the guilt — if guilt there be — must bear, 
 Of its necessity. I can no more." 
 
 Then he, 
 With smile of sweet compassion, and with voice 
 Of sunny tenderness : " My thanks are thine 
 For this thy mercy, and mistaken care. 
 But know the fire thy order kindles here 
 Is quenched before the night ; the pain thy hands, 
 Or their most subtle instruments, can give, 
 Ends in a little time, and is no more, 
 But, oh, there is a fire that burns for ever. 
 Not all the waters of the many seas
 
 THE DEATH OE ST. POLYCARP. 89 
 
 Can quench that sin-fed flame. There is a pain 
 
 Which never ends ; a worm that never dies. 
 
 Poor were my gain to win eternal loss, 
 
 By 'scaping such a doom as thou and these 
 
 Can, at its worst, inflict. But this, alas ! 
 
 Thou know'st not of, and wilt not know. Blind, deaf, 
 
 With all thy senses closed to truth, thy lot, 
 
 Thus great with greatness, and the pomp of poAver, 
 
 Is wretchedness itself compared with mine. 
 
 Alas, I pity thee ; and weep for thee ; 
 
 And mourn thy loss. But now, why parley I ? 
 
 Why tamest thou ? Do with me as thou wilt ; 
 
 I am a Christian." 
 
 The sign and word were given ; 
 The herald's voice proclaimed unto the crowd 
 The martyr's guilt ; his punishment proclaimed. 
 " He is a Christian ; he has confessed ; and now 
 The stake and fire are his." Then rose the cry, 
 " Away with Polycarp ! The stake ! the stake ! 
 Let him be burnt alive ! " 
 
 Unmoved, the saint 
 Heard all their cries ; and saw their eager zeal, 
 Unmoved. As ocean's billows rolling, rise
 
 90 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 With the increasing storm, and rise and roll 
 With white-lipped fury foaming ; so the crowd, 
 Each one desiring to behold the game, 
 And see the crowning glory of the sport, 
 Rose surging up, and rolled in billowy waves, 
 With thunderous execrations, white and wild ; 
 And as the rock, against whose hoary sides 
 They, threatening desolation, madly dash, 
 Smiles calmly grand to see them at his feet 
 Break into harmless spray : so looked, so smiled 
 The dying man upon that multitude 
 Of up-turned faces, cursing, mocking him, 
 And pressing to behold his awful doom. 
 But he was strong in God. 
 
 And save his God, 
 No help was there to cheer him or console. 
 A few of his own faith, but lacking strength 
 To bear the martyr's death and win the crown, 
 Which swift as flies the arrow to his mark 
 Had been the meed of recognition there, 
 Held back, and mourned in secret for their priest, 
 And offered up their silent prayers for him, 
 And asked for him the courage they had not.
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 91 
 
 But yesterday, the weakest there had said 
 
 What joy it were to hear and die as he. 
 
 But terror held them now, and checked the voice, 
 
 And froze their courage in its fount. Alone, 
 
 Alone for mortal counsel, mortal help, 
 
 The old man stood ; alone and near his death. 
 
 The stake was raised. And with the speed of hate, 
 The unanimity of men in wrong, 
 All rushed to aid the work. Some faggots brought, 
 And piled them round the stake ; some broken casks, 
 And forms, and chairs, and implements of wood; 
 Some poured on tar ; some quenchless turpentine : 
 Some made them torches of the free-brought hemp ; 
 Some brought the ropes to bind him to the stake ; 
 Men, women, little children even joined the work, 
 And each 'gainst each with bitter envy strove, 
 Who most his hatred and his zeal should show. 
 So all that ruthless crowd, swayed by one thought. 
 Inspired by one absorbing aim, and led 
 By fierce unbridled passion, thus became 
 An old man's executioner. 
 
 The work went on. 
 But he, the victim of this fatal haste,
 
 92 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 Stood rapt in all the ecstacy of prayer. 
 He heeded not these fearful preparations. 
 His eyes were fixed on heaven, and his heart 
 Received the strength of those who trust in God. 
 He held his hands in supplicating form, 
 But not to man. He asked no mercy there. 
 And when he looked to earth, undaunted he 
 Beheld the stake, the gathering heaps of wood, 
 The furious diligence of all the crowd 
 In hastening on the moment of his death, 
 And smiled to think how glorious to him 
 Would prove what they for punishment and shame 
 Devised. All is prepared ; and now approach 
 The executioners to bind him to the stake. 
 And then the spirit of the saint arose, 
 Repelled this last indignity, and said — 
 " No fetters. Leave me thus. The God above 
 Who gives me strength to bear the fatal fire 
 Will give me strength unfettered and unbound 
 To stand and bum. Let me in freedom die." 
 
 With joy, and something of alacrity, 
 He walked to death. And as they lit the pile 
 Again he lifted up his voice in prayer,
 
 THE DEATH OE ST. POLYCAEP. 93 
 
 And thus his supplications rose to heaven : 
 " Lord God Omnipotent ! My gracious God, 
 The Father of our blessed Saviour Christ, 
 Through whom our knowledge of Thy mercy comes ; 
 
 ! Lord of Lords, and King of Kings ; the One 
 And only God, Creator of the world 
 
 And Lord of all the visible universe, 
 
 Of all the generations of the dead, 
 
 Of all the righteous who before Thee bow ; 
 
 Lord God of Might, of Mercy, and of Love, 
 
 1 thank Thee for the honour of this day ; 
 
 That Thou hast thought me worthy of this death ; 
 
 Worthy to be a witness of the Faith ; 
 
 Worthy to drink my portion of that cup 
 
 Once drained by Him who died upon the cross — 
 
 Who died for me, for these, for all mankind, 
 
 An d gave Himself a sacrifice for sin, 
 
 That we might praise Thee with eternal life. 
 
 Oh, take me, Lord, unto Thyself. Accept 
 
 This poor return for all Thy love, and take 
 
 My sinful, sorrowing soul into Thy care. 
 
 Let it be found acceptable to Thee. 
 
 God, the only faithful, only true,
 
 94 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 Reject not these my supplications, made 
 
 In hope, in firm reliance on Thy word, 
 
 Which never yet deceived ; but is the same 
 
 From everlasting unto everlasting. 
 
 With this my latest breath I praise and bless, 
 
 And thank Thee ; glorify Thy name ; and trust 
 
 That ere this ever-blissful day shall end 
 
 My soul shall with the saints and elders join 
 
 In praising Thee for evermore. And Lord 
 
 For these misguided men, whose cruel hands 
 
 Administer my death, whose cruel hearts 
 
 Are hungering for my end ; forgive them all. 
 
 They know not what they do. Impute it not 
 
 Against them on Thy Judgment Day. Their hate 
 
 Is prompted by the Evil One, Thy foe. 
 
 Let him not triumph with their erring souls. 
 
 Forgive them, Lord, and me. Let it be so." 
 
 His prayerful voice had scarcely ceased to plead, 
 When the impatient crowd with torches rushed 
 To fire the patient pile. Then swiftly spread 
 The forky tongues as greedy to devour him. 
 With every crackling of the hungry fire, 
 And every soaring of the eager flame,
 
 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 95 
 
 Fierce shouts, and cries, and loud hurrahs arose. 
 
 But with upraised hands the martyr stood, 
 
 Serene and joyous, smiling through the flames, 
 
 Which, as a garment, clothed him round ahout, 
 
 And still more fiercely raged and raged, and rose 
 
 More loftily above the stake. But, lo ! 
 
 As they his body would consume, some power 
 
 Repelled them back ; and round that holy form, 
 
 And o'er his head, they spread like golden wings 
 
 Protecting, glorifying thus the chosen one. 
 
 The wondrous spectacle made silent e'en 
 
 That reckless crowd : for all with awe beheld 
 
 The miracle — the victim unconsumed. 
 
 The burning element reft of its power, 
 
 Innocuous was, and harmless to the man 
 
 On whom the Lord had placed His panoply 
 
 Of grace. And thus his spirit passed to Heaven. 
 
 No pain was his. No torture he endured. 
 
 Man's rage was conquered by the love of God. 
 
 The Saviour he confided in was there 
 
 His dear disciple to protect and bless : 
 
 And thus his faith was crowned. Oh, not in vain 
 
 Had he resigned himself : and not in vain
 
 96 THE DEATH OF ST. POLYCARP. 
 
 His hand placed in his heavenly Father's hand, 
 Confiding in His guidance through the world ! 
 
 One wonder more ! The saint was doubly owned 
 A chosen child of God. And, oh, once more, 
 That wicked generation saw the love 
 The Father for His children hears ; again 
 A sign was given ; and again men saw 
 The veil removed from the invisible, 
 And heavenly glories manifest to all. 
 For ere the spirit of the niartyr left 
 His tabernacle of the flesh, the clouds 
 Were held apart ; and for a little time 
 The splendours of the house of God revealed ; 
 And from the inmost altar, lo, a dove, 
 A snow-white dove, descended, clad in light: 
 And round and round the flame-enshrined head 
 In radiant circles flew. And as the saint 
 Thus promise-rich, with joy gave up the ghost, 
 Went swiftly back to God. 
 
 And thus in faith, 
 In patience, in humility, and hope, 
 By miracle approved, died Polycarp.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
 
 Oh, green is the colour of faith and truth, 
 And rose the colour of love and youth, 
 
 And brown of the fruitful clay. 
 Sweet Earth is faithful, and fruitful, and young, 
 And her bridal day shall come ere long, 
 And you shall know what the rocks and streams 
 And the whispering woodlands say. 
 
 Kev. C. Kingslet.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 WMd and juried. 
 
 The sun came gladly back that sweet Spring morn 
 And, as he rose above the hill which stands 
 The glorious guardian of our village homes, 
 And flooded all the valley with his light, 
 There from our venerable steeple came 
 The merry peal of bridal-bells, which sent 
 A thrill of joy through every cottage hearth, 
 And made the little children shout with joy — 
 A shout as pleasant as the marriage bells — 
 Their mothers watching with such happy looks, 
 You knew they thought of that all-hopeful day, 
 
 7—2
 
 100 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 So many, many years ago, when the dear name 
 
 Of Love into the dearer one of Wife 
 
 Was changed. The village seemed lit up with joy ; 
 
 The hills became reverberant with joy ; 
 
 The lovely valley smiled more beautiful 
 
 Than e'en her wont ; and yet she always was 
 
 The fairest valley that fair England boasts. 
 
 But now a grace was added to her charms : 
 
 She seemed endowed with sense to know and feel 
 
 And sympathize with human bliss ; and had 
 
 In this our merry-making a large share, 
 
 And clad herself in garments royal rich ; 
 
 Adorned her smiling brow with precious gems ; 
 
 And held her bright face up unto the sky 
 
 So full of gentle loveliness, that I, 
 
 Who had from boyhood loved and dwelt with her, 
 
 With every phase of her excelling beauty 
 
 Had, day and night, held converse, now beheld 
 
 Th' unusual glory there with joy as fresh 
 
 As when at first my eyes were blest enough 
 
 To see how beautiful she was. She lay, 
 
 Her bright face smiling on the brighter sky, 
 
 And unto my enraptured eyes she grew
 
 WEDDED AND BURIED. 101 
 
 More bright, more beautiful, as through the air — 
 Which murmured sweetly as it kissed her face — 
 There came the merry sound of bridal-bells. 
 
 The birds saug merrily as rose the sun, 
 And careless to a careless world revealed 
 The depth of bliss with which love fills the heart ; 
 From every tree they carolled forth their joy ; 
 Unto the topmost note of exultation 
 Each warbler told his love. The gentle winds, 
 As sound-enamoured, gladly bore away 
 The thrilling strains, and all the air with song 
 Was musical. It was the time of love, 
 And earth was in her bridal-robes. The flowers, 
 Released from Winter's cold embrace, came forth 
 To greet with grace and beauty joyous Spring, 
 "Who looked on them and smiled. Oh, such a smile ! 
 So full of genial warmth, so sunny bright, 
 So motherly and cheering none could help, 
 But blossom forth in gladness when she came. 
 The clustering primrose jewelled every bank, 
 Aye wooing venturous children up its side 
 To pluck the envied treasure. The violets 
 Their fragrance breathed unseen, and let their sweets
 
 102 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Come giving joy to all ; themselves content 
 
 To be the unobtrusive ministers 
 
 Of pleasure unto others — like good deeds done 
 
 By pious Christian souls. The hedgerows smiled 
 
 Their brightest green, and budded into leaves 
 
 Exquisitely adorned. The orchard-trees, 
 
 Clad then in all the hues of promise, gave 
 
 Their beauties to the passing winds, which bore 
 
 The sweet and delicate apple-blossoms far 
 
 And near, and filled the air and strewed the ground 
 
 With petals soft and rich as fairy-wings. 
 
 And round the cottage walls the plum-trees hung 
 
 Their thick and clustering bloom. The earth was gay 
 
 In rich and varied tints ; and brightly looked, 
 
 With half-coquettish, half- enamoured eyes, 
 
 Upon the bright face of th' o'erarching heavens, 
 
 Which smiled on her again. 
 
 And over all, 
 And adding to the glory of the scene, 
 Still from our venerable steeple came 
 The merry peal of bridal-bells. 
 
 The sun, 
 The song of birds, the spring flowers, and the bells,
 
 WEDDED AND BURIED. 103 
 
 The mild and genial breezes, fragrance-laden, 
 
 Had wooed me from my solitary room. 
 
 I, careless, half-unconscious, without aim, 
 
 Then rambled on through our kine -pasturing fields, 
 
 Adown our sweet and pleasant lanes, by trees 
 
 O'erarching, quietly secluded, made 
 
 The very spots where lovers love to walk, 
 
 To share alone the glad confessions which, 
 
 As far too blest for words, are whispered low, 
 
 Though none be there to hear. Along the side 
 
 Of our beloved streamlet, rippling on 
 
 Its music-making way 'tween banks, by flowers, 
 
 And water-kissing shrubs, and drooping trees 
 
 Rejoicing in their mirrored beauty, lined. 
 
 Then on the narrow footbridge resting, I — 
 
 As oft through all the changes of the year — 
 
 Stood idly watching the bright waters flow ; 
 
 The rapid minnows sparkling in the sun ; 
 
 Or, in vain terror, rushing past in shoals 
 
 Which make the waters dark. The sweet white flowers 
 
 Which peer above the rippling waves and smile 
 
 From out their dark green shields, like fairy heads 
 
 Seen in poetic dreams among the grass.
 
 104 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The yellow king-cups brighter than the gold 
 
 Upon an Emperor's crown. The reeds, which bring 
 
 To mind the blest Arcadian days of Pan, 
 
 When he upon them played, and charmed the world ; 
 
 And which, now by the playful breezes stirred, 
 
 Give forth a music full as sweet and rich 
 
 As any which the Greek god from them drew. 
 
 The water-flies with bright and gauzy wings 
 
 That restless dart from side to side, and glow 
 
 Like winged emeralds in the early sun. 
 
 The bits of grass, the petals freshly shed, 
 
 The fallen leaf, and other strays and waifs, 
 
 Which on the streamlet's buoyant bosom borne, 
 
 Sail lightly by. In reverie I stood, 
 
 And watched the calm unconscious life, 
 
 Whose fair existence, without pain or fear, 
 
 But full of beauty, and a changeful joy, 
 
 Lay breathing there before me. I stood and watched, 
 
 And from our venerable church again, 
 
 But in a louder and more jubilant swell, 
 
 There came the merry peal of bridal-bells. 
 
 I left the bridge, and crossed the narrow field 
 Which lies between it and our ancient church.
 
 WEDDED AND BURIED. 105 
 
 A hundred villages. in England are adorned 
 
 By such a holy house. Upon a hill 
 
 It stands ; with trees surrounded ; from afar 
 
 You only see a- graceful spire uprise 
 
 Behind their green ; — a blessed sight, and one 
 
 Which with the eloquence of silence points 
 
 For ever and for ever up to God. 
 
 A dark and densely-branched yew its gloom 
 
 Upon the old and crumbling tombstones throws. 
 
 Its walls are full of time-flaws, tinted o'er 
 
 With that exquisite colour painters love. 
 
 Its weather-eaten dial on sunny days 
 
 Still marks the course of time, and kindly points, 
 
 With noiseless hand, to that eternity 
 
 Which every moment nears. Around the porch — 
 
 The quaintly ancient porch — and up the walls 
 
 The ruin-loving ivy thickly grows, 
 
 And clothes them in a robe of deathless green : 
 
 W T hile from the porch unto the outer gate 
 
 Two rows of linden lovingly embrace 
 
 And make a covered path, so beautiful 
 
 That worshippers oft linger at the door, 
 
 And from its blessed calm receive a grace,
 
 106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And preparation fit for corning prayer. 
 
 Around it now our villagers were met, 
 
 Clad in their best, and all with smiling looks 
 
 And merry voices spoke. The children held 
 
 Sweet nosegays in their hands ; and on the floor 
 
 Fresh-gathered flowers and sparkling evergreens 
 
 Had thickly strewn. For Clara was our pride — 
 
 The village favourite, beloved of all ; 
 
 And soon as rose the sun they were abroad, 
 
 To show by little kindly acts, how dear 
 
 She was ; how much her happiness was hoped ; 
 
 And how delighted were her friends that morn 
 
 To hear the merry sound of bridal-bells. 
 
 The bridal party came. And never yet 
 Has eye of man beheld a fairer form 
 Than that young bride's. Her dark and shining hair 
 In long and flowing tresses almost hid 
 The perfect outline of her glorious neck. 
 Her fair cheek, tinted with a maiden blush, 
 Was more than fair. The brightness of her eyes 
 Their long and tremulous lashes hid, as low 
 She bent them timorous on the ground. She walked 
 So like a thing of light, of love, and joy,
 
 WEDDED AND BURIED. 107 
 
 That one the idle fancy might forgive 
 
 Which deemed her not of earth. As thus she passed 
 
 All voices asked a blessing on her head, 
 
 And for her happiness to Heaven prayed. 
 
 She raised her eyes a moment on them all 
 
 And thanked them so. It was enough ; for thanks 
 
 So full of gentle trust words could not speak ; 
 
 And crowned with blessings, Clara, hopeful, went 
 
 Into the holy place. 
 
 Until that day 
 I had not seen the bridegroom. He had come, 
 A stranger to us all — was rarely seen — 
 Yet had our richest treasure won — was now 
 The sole possessor of the purest gift 
 God gives us in this world. I liked him not ; 
 There was a hardness in his face ; his eye 
 Was wandering, seeking to avoid your look ; 
 And round his mouth a soft and silky smile, 
 In which his heart shared not, for ever played. 
 Deep lines — but not the lines which sorrow makes, 
 Nor those more venerable, the work of age — 
 His cold and selfish-looking visage marred. 
 He looked upon our presence with a lour,
 
 108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And seemed to envy her, his chosen one, 
 His soon to be all-loving, trusting wife, 
 The favours and the friendship of her peers. 
 I turned and left the place. My heart was sad ; 
 My fears rose spectre-like before my eyes : 
 A married widowhood of painful years 
 I augured for our darling and our pride. 
 I grieved for her. And never more that day 
 For me came music with the marriage bells. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 The Spring had passed. And Summer — who, most like 
 
 A queenly mother on our valley smiled, 
 
 And crowned with royal gifts the favoured spot — 
 
 Had heard the steps of Autumn on the air, 
 
 And o'er her shoulder turned her glowing face, 
 
 Reluctantly departed. The birds were gone — 
 
 All, save the winter-loving robin, and 
 
 A few lone sparrows chirping from the eaves, 
 
 Had sought a land not reft of Summer's sun. 
 
 The early- shedding elm had cast its leaf, 
 
 And every glorious tint which Nature's hand, 
 
 With her infinity of skill, delights to paint, 
 
 Our little coppice showed. The chesnuts hung
 
 WEDDED AND BUKIED. 109 
 
 Right in the face o' the sun their bursting nuts, 
 
 Whose glossy brown as brightly sparkled there 
 
 As dark-eyed maidens of the sunny South, 
 
 When meeting those they love. Where'er you trod 
 
 The prickly- sheathed treasures thickly lay ; 
 
 And as you meditative walked along 
 
 A breeze would shake them, bursting from the 
 
 tree; 
 Or strew your path with crisp and airy leaves 
 Which rustled a sweet music 'neath the foot. 
 The firs their penetrating branches spread, 
 Cone-laden, dark, erect, and wind-defiant, 
 Upon the Autumn scene, and gave the charm 
 Of rich variety so dear to man. 
 Above, the fleecy and fantastic clouds, 
 Assuming shapes of all created things, 
 Or those imagination bodies forth — 
 The lovely, the grotesque, the wild, the fair, 
 The fairy light, and gorgeously sublime, 
 All tinted by an ever- varying sun 
 Sailed swiftly by. It was a picture far 
 Surpassing all that visioned fancy paints, 
 For it was real. I saw it there that mom
 
 110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Created, glorified, just as it came 
 Directly from the mighty hand of God. 
 
 That Autumn morn so golden and so bright 
 Found all our valley shadowed o'er with gloom, 
 And every inmate sad. The very young 
 Had from their elders caught the trick of grief, 
 And spoke in solemn whispers, looking grave. 
 The mothers pressed their infants to the breast 
 To still their cries while they had time to weep. 
 E'en hardy men, not moved by common griefs, 
 And unaccustomed sorrow's power to feel, 
 Looked softened and subdued almost to tears. 
 Our village bells, unconscious instruments 
 Of grief or joy, and which, with brazen tongue, 
 A few, few months ago, had filled the air 
 With merry peals, which found responsive joy 
 In every heart, now slowly, solemnly, 
 "With dirge-like sound, the very note of woe, 
 The awful death-knell tolled. The selfsame bells 
 Which then our Clara's marriage morning hailed, 
 Now rang the requiem of her early death. 
 
 I could not join the sad and mourning throng, 
 But turned my back upon the blessed spot
 
 WEDDED AND BURIED. Ill 
 
 So soon the precious treasure to possess 
 Of her, whom as a brother I had loved — 
 Loved as a brother whom no sister knew ; 
 And had from childhood called the dead one so. 
 I left the village, thinking of the past 
 And all its broken hopes. Still on my ear 
 The dreary tolling fell, each sound a heart-ache. 
 I neared our wood, and sought my favourite spot — 
 Oh, such a spot ! Man's eye but rarely sees, 
 Man's heart is rarely cheered by such a scene. 
 Here Oberon might have held his fairy court ; 
 And here Titania tripped with him in dance 
 
 To elfin music heard by few. To me 
 
 It long had been familiar ; solitude 
 
 Spent here was full of pleasant thoughts and joys. 
 
 Three noble chesnuts' interlacing arms 
 
 A semicircle made of shaded grass. 
 
 Along the base there slept a silent pool, 
 
 Whose waters held a copy of the towering trees, 
 
 So clear that every flutter of a leaf 
 
 Wind -kissed was tremulous seen within. 
 
 For hours and hours and hours I've stood and watched 
 
 That scene until it all miraculous seemed,
 
 112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And not of earth. Now, on this Autumn morn, 
 
 Its beauty and its glory were increased. 
 
 It was as if her spirit smiled on all, 
 
 And breathed through every object there. The leaves 
 
 Were of all hues — from heaven's serenest gray 
 
 To deepest green, and richest sun-set gold ; 
 
 And as the winds among them gently played, 
 
 And shook them lovingly, they, tremulous, 
 
 In showers of softly-intermingling tints, 
 
 Like gems in Eastern tales, about me fell. 
 
 All things were with the feelings of the hour 
 
 In deep and seeming-conscious harmony. 
 
 The trees, the leaves — the falling and the fallen — 
 
 The cast-off nuts which crunched beneath my tread, 
 
 The calm and silent pool, the quiet sky, — • 
 
 Seemed parts of that sad ceremony which 
 
 That moment witnessed in our church, from whence 
 
 The wind the deep and solemn music brought, 
 
 Which now came to me like a voice of joy. 
 
 'Twas as I feared. Poor Clara, in the wealth 
 Of conscious innocence and maiden love, 
 Had clothed her bridegroom with the robes 
 "Which her own fancy wove ; had given him
 
 WEDDED AND BURIED. 113 
 
 The virtues which her gentle nature loved, 
 
 But his did not possess. In boundless hope 
 
 She wedded an ideal which all too soon 
 
 Betrayed its common earth. The spell was snapt ; 
 
 The idol broken ; and she knew the pang — 
 
 The life-destroying pang of those who love, 
 
 Yet scorn the thing they love. 
 
 Oh, those few months ! 
 
 What agony, what shame, what pains intense, 
 
 Were crowded in that little, little space. 
 
 A life of woe drawn to the utmost term 
 
 Allowed to our mortality could scarce 
 Have held such woe. 
 
 I wept to think of it. 
 He was not of the mould to mourn, and kept 
 Through all a calm, unruffled look which mocked 
 The wrong he'd done. His lips ne'er lost the smile 
 Which on his bridal morn around them played. 
 He ne'er was moved to passion ; never said 
 Or did a thing which seemed to strangers harsh. 
 But he was selfish — selfish through and through. 
 Each thought was self; each word and deed were self. 
 She was a toy, a servant, or a slave, 
 
 8
 
 114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 As each capacity best ministered 
 
 To his still changing whim. And calm and cold, 
 
 His manner, far more cruel than his words, 
 
 Chilled her young love e'en in its very founts. 
 
 She murmured not ; nor breathed aught of complaint ; 
 
 But passed away, as passes some sweet flower 
 
 Of sunnier lands brought to our northern clime. 
 
 One poor request she made — that she might sleep 
 
 Where slept the father who had cared for her, 
 
 The mother whom she loved. And this was done. 
 
 Thus died our village favourite and pride. 
 Before the world had sullied her sweet life, 
 The hand of time, relentless in its touch, 
 Had marred the beauty of her early years. 
 They summoned her where beauty never fades, 
 Where selfishness and sorrow never come. 
 
 A married widowhood of painful years 
 My unforeseeing fears had prophesied ; 
 But God was merciful, and in His love 
 Had called her home. 
 
 And thus that tolling bell 
 A far more joyous music brought to me 
 Than did the ringing of her marriage peal.
 
 115 
 
 3fte 0tllaigc «J[mmtam. 
 
 Our fountain lords it in the market-place, 
 
 And from a lion's mouth its waters flow 
 On writhing fish, wrought with such wondrous art, 
 
 You almost doubt are they alive or no. 
 And round its conch-like basin, day by day, 
 
 The village gossips gather, young and old ; 
 And all our village life is canvassed there, 
 
 And all its doings and misdoings told. 
 
 There grave and gay, and blithe and sad, are met ; 
 
 The comedy and tragedy of life ; 
 The little cares and sorrows that oppress ; 
 
 The hopes that lend a glory to its strife. 
 
 8— a
 
 116 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Of births, and deaths, and weddings is the talk ; 
 
 Of Isabella's fortune, Mary's shame, 
 Of Ellen's flight, of Jane's unequal match, 
 
 And Harry's death, who shot the parson's game. 
 
 The sudden rise, the Lord knows how, of some ; 
 
 The long-expected fall of neighbour Pride ; 
 The fearful quarrel at the Squire's last night, 
 
 When scapegrace Edward was his home denied. 
 The shameful boldness of the envied belle, 
 
 On whom the maidens look with eyes askance ; 
 Old Jerry's accident, and "Willy's crime, 
 
 And all the village history and romance. 
 
 Of village rights and wrongs they loudly talk. 
 
 And venture judgments upon all affairs ; 
 How basely Growl, the lawyer, left his wealth, 
 
 So basely got, to other than his heirs : 
 How Grim, the justice, harshly treats the poor, 
 
 But lets the rich with scarce a touch escape ; 
 How early Widow Madge put by her weeds, 
 
 And flaunted in her silk instead of crape.
 
 THE VILLAGE FOUNTAIN. 117 
 
 With broken hints, and solemn shakes of head, 
 
 And whispered cautions not to breathe again, 
 Are secrets told, which none would rest abed 
 
 If secrets such good news could long remain. 
 And aimless slander, gossip vain and void, 
 
 And idle talk of little things and great, 
 Make up the daily business of our life — 
 
 Epitome of many a larger state. 
 
 And, hearing all, the solemn fountain stands ; 
 
 No sign or smile disturbs the lion's face ; 
 The fishes in their sculptured beauty rest, 
 
 And watch, unmoved, the changes of the place. 
 And round the basin still the gossips throng, 
 
 And tell their hopes and fears, their joys and woes ; 
 And still unheeding all the fountain stands, 
 
 Still from the lion's mouth the water flows.
 
 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 3i n u o ration. 
 
 Come forth, my love, come with the rising mora, 
 
 Come drain the flower-cups of their virgin clew ; 
 Sweet sleep and pleasant dreams this morning scorn, 
 
 And greet the day that beams so bright for you. 
 The lark with richest music floods the sky — 
 
 " Come forth, come forth," the burden of his strain 
 Resist not, love, th' invoking melody — 
 
 Resist not, love ; let us not call in vain. 
 
 It is the flowery Spring-time : full of life, 
 
 Of gladness, and of joy, all nature is ; 
 The fields with beauteous offerings are rife, 
 
 For beauteous foreheads meet. Oh, love, for this
 
 INVOCATION. 119 
 
 Come forth ! the riches waiting thee receive. 
 
 What joy with wreath of love-flowers thee to crown, 
 Thou darling of my heart ! Come, I will weave 
 
 Sweet lays of love to please thee. Oh, come down ! 
 
 The blind is drawn, and her fair face I see ; 
 
 Consent smiles on her lips, beams in her eye ; 
 Her step is on the stair, and joyously 
 
 Her sweet " good niorrow" rings. Oh, blest am I ! 
 And fields, and trees, and flowers, how blest are ye, 
 
 With her dear presence honoured ! All things seem 
 More rich, more beautiful, more joyous, free, 
 
 Because she smiles on them her smile supreme. 
 
 Now she is in the fields ; and rapturously 
 
 All things salute their Queen, and homage pay ; 
 And from his cloud-concealed throne on high, 
 
 The lark descends and sings for her his lay ; 
 The flowers look in her face and brighter grow, 
 
 As seeking to attract her glorious eye ; 
 The grass is greener where her footsteps go ; 
 
 The trees bow gladly as she passes by.
 
 120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Now it is Spring-time in the year and heart ; 
 
 And flowers lie thick on earth and on the soul ; 
 A sense of bliss breathes forth from every part, 
 
 Thrills in each blade, and animates the whole! 
 But oh, what bliss like ours ! Love shares in all, 
 
 And has its own which nothing else may share ; 
 Exclusive, all-embracing, free, yet thrall, 
 
 We walk on earth as though we trod on air. 
 
 My beauteous soul, a blessed morning this, 
 
 As rapt in love we walk among the flowers ! 
 Earth cannot give nor heaven offer bliss 
 
 To loving hearts, more exquisite than ours. 
 So for its wealth, the Spring-time we will bless, 
 
 Bless bird, and flower, and field, and bless the hour 
 That gives to us this flood of happiness — 
 
 That gives to us such bliss-receiving power.
 
 121 
 
 A ROMANCE, IN FOUR VERSES. 
 
 " Yet was she, certes, but a country lasse ; 
 Yet she all other country lasses far did passe." 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 It is a lowly cottage, of a quaint and antique mien, 
 With gable end, and straw-thatched roof hid o'er with 
 
 mosses green ; 
 And, standing at its door, is seen a maiden young and fair: 
 The summer breeze is sporting with the ringlets of her 
 
 hair ; 
 Light auburn is its colour, and its texture like the thread 
 Which gossamers on sunny days for fairy creatures spread ; 
 Her eyes are blue and sparkling, and her cheeks are 
 
 sligbtly brown, 
 Her snowy bosom sweetly peeps above her cotton gown : 
 For gracefulness of bearing, for a mild yet queenly air, 
 Few maidens of our lovoly land with Helen may compare.
 
 122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The lane is cool and shaded, overhead the branches meet ; 
 The birds are singing in the air, the flowers are at the 
 
 feet; 
 The leaves are gently rustling, and the insects spread 
 
 their wings ; 
 The sun is brightly shining, and the lark divinely sings ; 
 Two happy hearts are throbbing ; one of a maiden fair, 
 One of a noble stripling, wreathing flow'rets in her hair ; 
 A blush is on her tear-dewed cheek, her eyes are turned 
 
 away, 
 As if she feared an upward glance her feelings would 
 
 betray ; 
 Her lips are partly opened, for a word is trembling there — 
 And now a murmur musical is floating in the air ! 
 
 It is an ancient village church, the ivy thickly crawls 
 Around the mould'ring steeple andthetime-decayingwalls; 
 And now its bells are ringing with a loud and merry peal ; 
 And loud the village labourers their joyous hearts reveal ; 
 Aud youthful village maidens, clad in garments spotless 
 
 white, 
 Are strewing fragrant flowers, the fair, the beautiful 
 
 and bright ;
 
 HELEN. 123 
 
 And coming from the church's porch four buoyant 
 
 forms are seen ; 
 The two are peerless creatures in their dress of snowy 
 
 sheen, 
 And two are fair and noble youths : the one, with 
 
 conscious pride, 
 Supports a blushing maiden, and young Helen is a bride. 
 
 It is a noble mansion where re-echo joyous sounds, 
 For through the high and stately pile festivity abounds ; 
 From every window splendour gleams, the trees with 
 
 lamps are hung, 
 And men's and women's voices sweetly blend in choral 
 
 song; 
 The lordly and the lowly are in happy concord seen, 
 Now laughing at some rustic joke, now dancing on the 
 
 green ; 
 The spacious rooms are crowded with the manly and 
 
 the fair, 
 And hopeful hearts, and sparkling eyes, and merry lips 
 
 are there : 
 But far above them all appears, in beauty and in grace, 
 The lowly village maiden, now the mistress of the place.
 
 124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ®hc |0*t^ lmte#e. 
 
 From my little dingy office — 
 
 A little dingy room — 
 Oh, my spirit freely wanders 
 
 'Mid flowers and perfume : 
 With a merry heart and buoyant, 
 
 I scent the coming breeze, 
 As it ruffles o'er the streamlet 
 
 And murmurs through the trees. 
 
 Through the thickly coated window 
 The sun can scarcely peep ; 
 
 Yet I feel his glowing splendour, 
 And gambol with the sheep ;
 
 THE POET'S HERITAGE. 125 
 
 With an ecstasy of rapture, 
 
 My soul expands her wings, 
 For the bee is gaily booming — 
 
 The lark in glory sings. 
 
 There the fairy forms romantic 
 
 Of poet's gladsome lay, 
 In their dances wild and antic, 
 
 Upon the greensward play : 
 There in every tree's a Dryad ; 
 
 And, skipping o'er the lawn, 
 In its light and bounding movement, 
 
 Is seen the graceful fawn. 
 
 While in fancy far I ramble 
 
 Through field, and lane, and dell — 
 While the choristers of nature 
 
 Their joyance loudly tell — 
 What to me is Fortune's frowning ? 
 
 "What rank or state to me ? 
 I can own the whole creation, 
 
 And live content and free !
 
 126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 See the heavens rich in glory — 
 
 The mountain's snow-capped shrine- 
 See the boundlessness of ocean : 
 
 Sky, mountain, sea, are mine ! 
 Whence, despite life's care and canker, 
 
 Do I rich tribute claim ; 
 All this wealth's for my possessing, 
 
 On all I stamp my name !
 
 127 
 
 (On the Jnaupratton 
 
 OF 
 
 <$fo %ttwQO& ftatuc at Strmittjgham, 
 
 June 7th, 1859. 
 
 This day a noble work is done, 
 
 A people's gratitude by merit won 
 
 Comes sweetly on the wings of time, 
 
 With fragrancy, and pleasant odours rife. 
 
 And 'neath the over- arching, blue, sublime, 
 
 Unclouded heavens, in their thousands meet, 
 
 The sons of those who fought for freedom and for 
 
 life, 
 And won, though serried ranks of might had sworn to 
 
 their defeat.
 
 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 This day a noble work was done. 
 Beneath the brightest summer's sun 
 The monument of gratitude was raised : 
 He whom a people loved, a people praised ; 
 And as upon that noble face they gazed, 
 Arose the shout, and rung the goodly cheer, 
 Which told that still the patriot work is prized, the patriot 
 dear. 
 
 Oh, fitting day for such a worthy deed ! 
 
 The day on which he saw his work succeed : 
 
 The day when years long past, confiding and serene, 
 
 The Monarch set his seal to Freedom's act : 
 
 The day which men praise God for having seen : 
 
 The day when, for a time, the long- stretched bow was 
 
 slacked, 
 That for a freer shot, a nobler aim, 
 It might again be bent, and win an equal fame. 
 
 That day is ours. The children we 
 For whom this noble one, and his compeers, 
 With self-forgetfulness, and bravely free 
 From evil passions filling slaves with fears,
 
 INAUGURATION OF THE ATTWOOD STATUE. 1 29 
 
 Pursued their onward march from field to field 
 
 Of moral conquest, and unsullied victory. 
 
 They made the stubborn and opposing phalanx yield ; 
 
 And bow'd a lordly few into a people's will. 
 
 No blood is on the laurels which they won. 
 
 Their deeds the angels e'en might smile upon. 
 
 Oh, may their godlike spirit be among us still ! 
 
 The memory of noble men's the sweetest thing 
 That blesses earth. From it will ever spring 
 The best incentives prompting glorious deeds. 
 Life's roses they unchoked with noisome weeds. 
 Their fragrance is eternal ; and we feel, 
 Inhaling joyously their rich perfume, 
 How holy is the Power which thus can seal 
 A mortal action with perennial bloom. 
 Such, Attwood, was thy life ; and such to-day 
 The thoughts which fire us while our gratitude wc 
 pay. 
 
 Oh, noble was the work he wrought ! 
 He filled a land with Freedom's fire ; 
 And made the lowliest aspire.
 
 130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 His words, with wisest counsel fraught, 
 
 Were heard till all their spirit caught ! 
 
 And myriads, though moved and swayed 
 
 By fiery zeal, his voice obeyed, 
 
 And Order, Peace, and Law in every art displayed. 
 
 A people giant-like in banded might ; 
 
 A people godlike in their use of power ; 
 
 Unswerving lovers of the true and right ; 
 
 With love of Liberty their richest dower. 
 
 How well they answered to their leader's voice, 
 
 And made the wise, and brave, and good rejoice, 
 
 That worthy of their ancient fame were they ; 
 
 That not in vain had Cromwell drawn his sword ; 
 
 And not in vain had Milton penned his mightier 
 
 word, 
 That none henceforth should chains upon his England 
 
 lay. 
 
 men for whom he toiled, and fought, and won, 
 Remember him through ages still to run. 
 Unto your children as a legacy bequeathe 
 The record of the work he did, ere smiling death,
 
 INAUGURATION OF THE ATTWOOD STATUE. 131 
 
 When crowned with honours and with blessings, called 
 
 The patriot to his reward ; and unappalled 
 
 He heard the summons ; for he knew 
 
 Pure motives had inspired the work he lived to do. 
 
 men, the children of a dauntless race, 
 
 Look on him moulded here ; look on him face to face. 
 
 The very lineaments of him are here. 
 
 His living fire still animates the stone. 
 
 Thanks to the artist's skill, you now may know 
 
 The man whose work was for his country's good alone, 
 
 And look on him your fathers honoured so. 
 
 Oh prove your worth ! Still honour him, and crown the 
 
 name 
 Of Attwood with a grateful people's never-ending fame.
 
 132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 §\u ^mtn of S^autg. 
 
 -*>*- 
 
 The summer eve was bright and cool ; 
 
 The fields were strewn with hay ; 
 The rushes whistled on the pool ; 
 
 The moths began to play ; 
 And thou and I the garden throng h 
 
 Went rambling hand in hand ; 
 And sweeter breezes never blew 
 
 Than those our foreheads fanned. 
 
 The roses clustered round the wall ; 
 
 The white rose and the red ; 
 O'er thee, the loveliest rose of all, 
 
 A bower of roses spread.
 
 THE QUEEN OF BEAUTY. 133 
 
 Beneath their rich and fragrant shade 
 
 We lingered fancy-free ; 
 And every rose for beauty paid 
 
 Its tribute unto thee. 
 
 f 
 Then slowly round the pool we strayed, 
 
 And wooed the sunny breeze ; 
 The ripples watched the waters made, 
 
 Kissed by o'er-arching trees. 
 Though all was summer beauty there, 
 
 In richness and in grace, 
 The waves reflected nought so fair, 
 
 So lovely, as thy face. 
 
 The setting sun ; the illumined sky ; 
 
 The clouds of brightest hue ; 
 The gorgeous jewelled dragon-fly ; 
 
 The birds that round us flew ; 
 The damask-tinted leaves above, 
 
 All did their tribute bear ; 
 But thou, Lizzie, reigned my love, 
 
 The Queen of Beauty there.
 
 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 $viwmtt Simc. 
 
 * 
 
 Oh, pleasant 'tis in Summer time 
 
 Beneath the trees to lie ; 
 Far- spreading beech, or odorous lime, 
 
 Or broad oak tow'ring high. 
 To dream, and dream the hours away, 
 
 In indolent delight ; 
 To dream such dreams as never play 
 
 About the brain at night. 
 
 For fancy then is uncontrolled, 
 Not bound in chains of sleep ; 
 
 Can freer, broader wings unfold, 
 And take a wider sweep.
 
 SUMMER TIME. 135 
 
 Wherever beauty is can build 
 
 A nest to harbour in ; 
 And common things with glory gild, 
 
 And joy from all things win. 
 
 On earth, in air, through sea and sky, 
 
 Will glorious visions raise ; 
 The light, white clouds that dove-like fly, 
 
 And pass you as you gaze. 
 A thousand lovely things are made 
 
 By Fancy's dreamy power, 
 But true and real as yonder blade, 
 
 Or bee upon the flower. 
 
 And scarce asleep, nor scarce awake, 
 
 The world with music full, 
 Sweet murmurs on the senses break, 
 
 Which still the senses lull. 
 No pain of thought, for thought is not — 
 
 Serene, and calm, and still, 
 Light summer clouds of fancies float 
 
 Around you as they will.
 
 ^ 
 
 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The past comes gently to the mind, 
 
 Its sunny hours alone ; 
 The present bright, solacing, kind, 
 
 With joyous pictures strown. 
 The future, gracious as a bride, 
 
 Upon your vision beams, 
 No cloud or darkness there to hide 
 
 The splendour of your dreams. 
 
 Summer time ! sweet Summer time ! 
 
 Beneath the trees to He, 
 Far-spreading beach, or odorous lime, 
 
 Or broad oak tow'ring high. 
 To dream, and dream the hours away, 
 
 In indolent delight ; 
 To dream such dreams as never play 
 
 About the brain at night.
 
 137 
 
 tolfcriuo. 
 
 Full brightly in the Italian sky 
 The sun hangs over field and plain, 
 And vine and olive, maize and grain, 
 
 Of plenty tell the harvest nigh. 
 
 The birds fly on in love's delight, 
 
 And sing their songs with boundless glee ; 
 
 And men and maidens merrily 
 Their voices with the strains unite. 
 
 For visions of a happier time, 
 
 Of Freedom's bright and glorious reign, 
 Sustained the land to bear the pain 
 
 Of war's sublime, or bloody crime.
 
 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And swiftly o'er the landscape came 
 The thunder-roll of cannon's voice ; 
 And loud the tumult and the noise 
 
 Which told the approach of fire and flame. 
 
 The dun clouds rise, and shame the sky ; 
 The sun is hid in rolling smoke, 
 And sulphurous mists the senses choke, 
 
 And Death is smiling hideously. 
 
 With shock on shock of murderous force, 
 Contending armies clash and meet ; 
 And streams of blood o'erflow the feet ; 
 
 And man is trampled on by horse. 
 
 In wild confusion, cries, and groans, 
 The work of death goes fiercely on ; 
 And triumph and defeat are won 
 
 On either side : pale Fury owns 
 
 She ne'er beheld a scene so sad — 
 
 What bitter wrongs to prompt such deeds ; 
 What awful hate to win such meeds ; 
 
 The sight might make the calmest mad.
 
 SOLFEEINO. 139 
 
 From dawn till night o'erhung the sky, 
 The death-increasing carnage reigns ; 
 And red on Solferino's plains, 
 
 The dead and dying mingled lie. 
 
 And all for nought — oh, veil the eyes, 
 
 And let the tears in silence flow ! 
 
 Oh, weep for such a scene of woe ; 
 And pray a brighter future rise !
 
 140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 fit Utemoriam. 
 i. 
 
 Joseph Sturge. 
 
 Mouen all who noble deeds admire ; 
 
 Mourn all who noble lives revere ; 
 
 His worth will consecrate the tear : 
 His life a spark of Love's true fire. 
 
 His love was wide as grief and woe ; 
 
 His heart as large as sorrow's reign ; 
 
 His hand brought solace where was pain ; 
 His charity to all did flow. 
 
 Unchecked by race, or clime, or creed : 
 O'er every land his mercy ran : 
 His sympathies were for the man : 
 
 His grace where'er was wrong, or need.
 
 IN MEMOEIAM. 141 
 
 For slaves redeemed his love reveal : 
 And orphans, fathered, bless his name ; 
 And outcasts' tears enrich his fame ; 
 
 And widows' prayers his glory seal. 
 
 Like fragrant roses through his life, 
 His deeds are scattered fair and sweet : 
 His garland is for heaven meet : 
 
 With Christian works his years were rife. 
 
 Rejoice, that such have lived on earth : 
 Rejoice, that such are with us still : 
 But purer heart, serener will, 
 
 Ne'er graced a man with Christian worth, 
 
 Than his whose loss we mourn to-day : 
 But mourn with mingled joy and woe — 
 Joy that his life such deeds did show ; 
 
 Woe that such worth is ta'en away. 
 
 His glory is the poor man's praise ; 
 
 His fame, the blessings of tho poor ; 
 
 His memory will e'er endure, 
 While truth and goodness love can raise.
 
 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 His life devout, calm, joyous, brave : 
 His name enshrined in purest love : 
 His soul is with the blest above : 
 
 And holy tears make green his grave. 
 
 True friend of man, 'tis vain to urge 
 Thy greatness, known to all so well ; 
 But ever will the memory dwell 
 
 With fondness on the name of Sturge. 
 
 May 20th, 1859.
 
 143 
 
 Jtt Iftnitorutm. 
 ii. 
 
 David Cox. 
 
 Dear child of nature, lover of the hills, 
 
 Of sunny downs, of wild, uncultured plains, 
 
 Where fragrant gorse, or sparkling heather fills 
 
 The eye with wonder and delight ; and pleasure reigns 
 
 Unfettered ; free as is the lark, whose strains 
 
 Are fitting music for such glorious haunts. — 
 
 No more thy genius-guided hand will trace 
 
 The spots we love ; no more from place to place 
 
 By thy rich, wonder-working fancy led, 
 
 Shall we each well-remembered scene retread. 
 
 Reft of its skill thy hand all powerless lies ; 
 
 Reft of their fire are thy far-seeing eyes ; 
 
 But thy creations live : Death vainly vaunts : 
 
 Tliey immortality upon thee shed.
 
 144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Ilt^ Dte-$tosi{. 
 
 SENT IN A LETTER FROM DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 Of all the flowers the Summer brings, 
 
 The Moss-Rose is the sweetest ; 
 For fragrance o'er its beauty flings 
 
 Of graces the completest. 
 Of Flora's realm it is the queen, 
 
 Arrayed in Eastern splendour; 
 And, oh, despite its regal mien, 
 
 The flower of lovers tender.
 
 THE MOSS-ROSE. 145 
 
 But sweeter than the sweetest rose 
 
 In England's gardens growing, 
 The one that now before me glows, 
 
 Its beauty joy-bestowing ; 
 For brightest eyes have o'er it hung ; 
 
 'Twas plucked by loving fingers : 
 And all the grace love round it flung, 
 
 Still on its petals lingers. 
 
 A charm is ever on the flower 
 
 Love's dimpling finger presses ; 
 And fresh as in its native bower, 
 
 It bears the dear caresses. 
 And unto me this Rose will bloom, 
 
 The purest bliss conveying, 
 Escaping still the common doom, 
 
 'Twill never know decaying. 
 
 10
 
 146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SEhe Boc. 
 
 90 
 
 c- v 
 
 FROM THE GEKMAN OF UHLAJJD. 
 
 Through fields and woods at early dawn, 
 
 A hunter chased a roe, 
 When through a garden -hedge he saw 
 
 A rosy maiden glow. 
 
 What to the good steed has hefall'n ? 
 
 Or has he lost his way ? 
 What to the worthy hunter's chanced, 
 
 No more to hunt his prey ? 
 
 Yet swiftly over hill and dale, 
 
 Still flees the anxious roe ; 
 Rest, silly thing ! the hunter has 
 
 Forgot thee long ago !
 
 147 
 
 §he %mm&t* 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAXD. 
 
 " What wakens me from slumber now, 
 With music's sweetest power ? 
 
 O mother, see who it may be, 
 At such an early hour." 
 
 " I nothing see ; I nothing hear. 
 
 0, slumber on so mild: 
 No serenade is brought thee now, 
 
 My poor — my sickly child ! " 
 
 4 ' It is not music of the earth, 
 That thrills me with its might, 
 
 But angels call my soul with song : 
 So, mother, now, good night." 
 
 * This version of Uhland's delightful " Serenade " has b& o sel 
 to exquisite music by my friend Mr. Thomas Anderton, ;i com- 
 poser to whose genius the lovers of music will ere long b< 
 grateful. 
 
 10—2
 
 148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 $o ion. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 
 
 Thine eyes are not the heaven's blue, 
 Thy cheeks have not the rose's hue, 
 
 Nor lilies are thy arms and breast : 
 0, what a glorious Spring it were, 
 If flowery hill and valley fair, 
 
 Were with such roses, lilies, blest ! 
 And to the all-embracing heaven, 
 The clear blue of thine eyes were given.
 
 149 
 
 OeSlT. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
 
 His rude rough children here God sent, 
 Sent Science, Order, Law, and Art, 
 Did heaven's grace to them impart, 
 
 The earth's sad loss to supplement. 
 
 Naked from heaven here they came, 
 And nought of meet behaviour knew ; 
 But Poesy her garments threw 
 
 Around them, and they had not shame. 
 
 a: Printed by Smith, Elded and Co., Little Green Arbour Court I C
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 THE LAMP OF LIFE. 
 
 Foolscap 8vo. 5s. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Had this poem borne on its title-page some well-known name, 
 it might have been received with popular favour 
 
 " These descriptive passages are written with spirit ; but the 
 chief merit of the poem lies in the sustained narrative of inward 
 thoughts and feelings, partly in the same track as Newman's 
 Phases of Faith, but leading at last to a Rock of Faith instead of 
 the Slough of Despond, where that book leaves its readers." 
 
 Tait's Magazine. 
 
 " In clumps of pretty verses, not long, but often sweet and 
 full of quaint thoughtfulness, this writer records nearly all that he 
 perhaps remembers of his own heart struggles. . . We should 
 not have run out so long our notice of this little volume if we had 
 not experienced much pleasure in its perusal. It is in construc- 
 tion, plot and style, out of the common walk ; and our readers 
 see that what the writer had to say he has told well." 
 
 Weekly Dispatch. 
 
 " This is a semi-religious poem of great beauty of utterance, 
 exquisite rhythm, lofty, though not vivid imagery, and of a 
 didactic order of construction. Its aspirations, which lift great 
 earthly deeds, and still greater human thoughts, heavenwards, 
 are conceived in a true poet-spirit, and, as an example of con- 
 tinued soliloquy, mingling exultation and wailing together, it is a 
 work of no common order." 
 
 Birmingham Journal. 
 
 " We recommend this well-written history — a life of trouble and 
 doubt, ending in firm faith in Christianity and deep religious 
 feeling — to those, and those only, who can sympathise with the 
 straggles and fears of a contemplative and earnest soul, or those 
 who can appreciate a poem of calm and flowing melody and much 
 descriptive power."
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 The Leader. 
 
 " He has tenderness and "race, and seems to speak out of his 
 own veritable stragglings for what he conceives to be genuine 
 holiness." 
 
 Eclectic Review. 
 
 " The book delineates, in a series of short poems, the history of 
 a mind of the reflective and speculative order, which, however, 
 has never entirely lost its faith in the existence and love of God, 
 and is, therefore, open to the means of relief which prayer presents. 
 The aid and illumination eventually realized give a happy tone to 
 many of the poems, and leave a pleasant effect on the reader's 
 mind. Much of the versification is good, and the author displays 
 considerable power of depicting those moods of mind which are 
 incident to temperaments of his class." 
 
 The Bristol Advertiser. 
 
 " This anonymous poem has pleased us very much. It is not 
 grand, brilliant, or great, and that is why we like it. There is 
 nothing mad, melodramatic, or spasmodic about it. It is sober, 
 simple, sweet, generally musical, true to the heart, and true to 
 God. It is religions without being wild, and human without 
 being silly. There is scarcely a Latin word from beginning to 
 end. Our good old mother Saxon reigns through all these 220 
 pages of genuine and easy versification. The subject is the old, 
 the everlasting one. The struggles of a honest mind with doubt : 
 the thirst for God ; the redeeming ecstacies of love ; the immortal 
 mystery of death ; the agonies of prayer ; the dawn of faith ; the 
 fervid sympathies and loyalties of patriotism, arising out of and 
 flowing into the religious life ; and, at last, the serene and sacred 
 enjoyment of Christ's beautiful faith — such are the experiences of 
 the author and the themes of his book." 
 
 Liverpool Dailt Post. 
 
 " There is simple truth and nature, a loving charm about them, 
 which, as far as we know, are unexampled and unsurpassed. They 
 might be called 'Lyrics of Home.' " 
 
 North Devon Journal. 
 
 "This strangely interesting work presents all the charms of 
 
 vivid impressions accurately noted down as they occurred, and 
 which, with pleasing ingenuity, the author has Conned into a 'Poem 
 of Life,' and song of the soul perfectly unique in its kind." 
 
 LONDON: S1MPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO.
 
 ALSO, BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 POEMS OF THE FIELDS AND THE TOWN. 
 
 Small Svo. 5s. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PEESS. 
 
 Globe. 
 
 "This little volume is dedicated with a brotherly feeling 'to 
 Edward Capern, rural postman and poet,' and appears to be the 
 produce of a congenial mind. Mr. Langford's feeling for the 
 beauties of nature is sincere, his sense of the domestic affections 
 pure and fervent, and he expresses both in language sufficiently 
 flowing. His meaning is always transparent, his words seem to 
 rise naturally to the subject, not to be dragged from the ends of 
 the earth to ' darken counsel.' In the ' Death-bed of Alfred ' we 
 have an insight into the winter's higher moods ; and in ' My 
 Riches ' he not only reveals his own simple sources of enjoyment, 
 but suggests that they lie open about our own path. The Chevalier 
 de Chatelain has selected several of these poems for translation, and 
 one, peculiarly pleasing, by the wife of the author, appears both 
 in its English and French dress." 
 
 Weekly Dispatch. 
 
 " Some of the love lyrics are exquisite, and in their expression 
 are commendably within the limits of true taste and right feeling. 
 We wish the volume a wide circulation and every success." 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 " A pious tone breathes through the entire collection, and home 
 feelings and domestic joys are described with considerable though 
 quiet power. ' To my Wife,' and ' When will the Letter come' 
 we like much. * * * We are continually seeing far more 
 pretentious volumes of verse, the quality of which is greatly 
 inferior to that of Mr. Langford." 
 
 Covextry Herald. 
 
 " It is just the thing to read this brilliant July weather ; for 
 any one of poetic temperament who has plenty of time to spare to 
 loll about in the shades of green trees, it would be an invaluable 
 pocket companion. * * * All his utterances are pure in ex- 
 pression and utterly unexceptionable in point of sentiment." 
 
 LONDON : SIMPKLN, MARSHALL AND CO.
 
 IN LOVING MEMORY OF 
 
 JOHN ALFRED LANGFORD, 
 
 WHO DIED JANUARY 24th, 1903. 
 
 AGED 79. 
 
 INTERRED AT GENERAL CEMETERY. JANUARY 28TH, 1903 
 
 85. FERNLEY ROAD, 
 
 SPARKHILL 
 
 I
 
 CROSSING THE BAR. 
 
 Sunset and evening star, 
 
 And one clear call for me ! 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
 
 When I put out to sea, 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
 
 Too full for sound or foam, 
 When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell, 
 
 And after that the dark ! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
 
 When I embark. 
 
 For tho' from out our bourne of time and place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to meet my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crossed the bar. 
 
 Tennyson.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 
 
 REMINGTON RAND INC. 20 
 
 213 
 
 (533)
 
 -IB- 
 
 Langford_^ 
 
 U878 Shelley; The 
 L263s de ath of St. 
 poly carp 
 
 JC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 367 196 3 
 
 PR 
 
 1*878 
 
 L263s