:« 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 r r 
 
 i r 
 
 n7 Qi£^\A. ({ . 
 
 ! i (
 
 N.
 
 THE 
 
 QUADRILATERAL.
 
 LONDON 
 PRINTED BY SPOTTISVVOODE AND CO. 
 NEW-STREET SQUARE
 
 THE 
 
 QUADRILATERAL. 
 
 Some said, 'John, print it!' 
 Others said, ' Not so ! ' 
 Some said, ' It may do good.' 
 Others said, 'No!' 
 
 Bunyan's Apology for the 
 
 Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SAUNDERS, OTLEY, AND CO. 
 
 66 BROOK STREET, W. 
 
 1865. 
 
 [All Rights reserved.]
 
 
 TO 
 
 CARLETON MORGAN CRAWFORD, ESQ. 
 
 THIS ROOK IS 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY AND RESPECTFULLY 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 BY HIS FRIENDS 
 
 THE AUTHORS. 
 
 ti2'lG73
 
 Dear Crawford, 
 
 You have often good-humouredly re- 
 proached us with having never thought it worth 
 while to address to you any of those verses which, 
 as you complain, we make the vehicles of all 
 our emotions and all our experience, except our 
 friendship for you. To this charge we have 
 always replied, that our love for you and yours 
 for us did not need such expression as rhyme 
 could give, and that in any case we had too 
 little power over our own pens to be able to sit 
 down and write an ode or a sonnet as one might 
 sit down and draw a cheque. In this you must 
 accuse our weakness, not our affection, ' our 
 poverty and not our will consents.' But what 
 we could do we have done ; we could not write 
 
 a
 
 Vlll 
 
 you a poem, but we could dedicate, as at this 
 time, these our versicles to you, and pray you 
 to accept of them as the gift of us three to you, 
 the fourth angle of our Quadrilateral. Each of 
 us may say of you — 
 
 Hie mihi preeter omnes 
 Angulus ridet ; — 
 
 and each of us will feel an additional pleasure 
 in success, and an additional pang in failure, 
 from the fact that the first page of our work is 
 inscribed with your name. Whether we succeed 
 or fail, you will treasure this book for the sake 
 of its authors. 
 
 Your very affectionate friends, 
 
 C. M. 
 J. H. G. 
 
 M. R.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Denmark's Welcome 
 A Fair Lady 
 
 To 
 
 The Last Meeting . 
 To Mary . 
 To 
 
 Paraphrase from Horace 
 A Valentine 
 Sonnets .... 
 My Love .... 
 A Lie 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 IS 
 
 i8 
 
 21 
 
 22 
 
 23 
 26 
 
 29 
 
 32 
 
 II 
 
 De Profundis 35 
 
 Ariadne ^-j
 
 X Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Beginning and the End . . -44 
 Faust's New Year's Eve . . . .46 
 
 A Resolution 4S 
 
 ^Tempora mutantur' ..... 50 
 
 Sonnet . . 53 
 
 ' Beati Misericordes' 54 
 
 A Fragment 59 
 
 The Song of Time ...... 60 
 
 As the Stream takes the Reflection . 62 
 
 The Old Song 63 
 
 Ad Misericordiam 65 
 
 Life and Death 66 
 
 III 
 
 Saint Dorothea 75 
 
 Forsaken 82 
 
 Sonnet 83 
 
 Tender and True 84 
 
 To the Fair Inconstant . . . .93 
 The Swallow's Farewell . . . .94 
 
 Post Tenebras Lux 102 
 
 The Seasons of Life 105 
 
 Lilian in the Forest 107
 
 An ill-favoured thing, but mine own. 
 
 As you like it.
 
 ^ 
 
 DENMARK'S WELCOME. 
 
 [September 1864.) 
 
 F late, I sleeping lightly, dreamed a dream. 
 
 Methought I was upon a barren coast ; 
 
 Low sandhills hemmed me in, on every side 
 Save westward, where the much resounding sea 
 Came roaring, driven by the autumn gale. 
 And broke in white foam on the dreary land. 
 Upon the shore a queenly presence stood, 
 She seemed the guardian genius of the soil ; 
 Alone she stood, and wept beside the sea. 
 And looking o'er the billows, I beheld 
 Where a fair ship that ploughed the stormy waves 
 Bore England's royal banner on her mast ; 
 And on the deck she carried England's hope, 
 And a fair lady was beside him there. 
 Her the lone weeper on the shore beheld, 
 
 b2
 
 Dcnmar'k's Welcome. 
 
 And cried to her in sorrow's native tone, 
 And half in anger spake such words as these 
 
 ' Hear me, daughter of a king, 
 Hear me o'er the roaring sea ; 
 
 Though no triumph song I sing. 
 Listen, lady, unto me. 
 
 Hear me through the wild commotion 
 Of the winds so fierce and high, 
 
 Through the thunder voice of Ocean 
 And the tumult of the sky. 
 
 By the Danish blood that glows 
 In thy fair and ' damask cheek \ ' 
 
 By the love a daughter owes, 
 Hear me, daughter, as I speak. 
 
 When thou wentest but a maiden 
 From my yet uninjured shore, 
 
 Then my fields were all unladen 
 With the brave — who are no more.
 
 Denmark's Welcome. 
 
 Then did cheers and blessings greet thee, 
 
 Roses carpeted thy ways ; 
 Not with roses now we meet thee, 
 
 Fallen upon evil days. 
 
 Every blossom has been shed 
 
 On a Danish soldier's grave. 
 Well they struggled — they are dead — 
 
 Dead, for there was none to save ! 
 
 None was found to aid the right. 
 None was found to quell the ^vrong, 
 
 None to curb the tyrant's might — 
 We were weak and he was strong. 
 
 Russia left us to our fate ; 
 
 France deserted us ; but we 
 Hoped for succour, though 'twas late. 
 
 From the Island of the Free ! 
 
 From the land that struck the fetters 
 From the ankles of the slave ; 
 
 And there came — a dotard's letters, 
 And the words were very brave !
 
 Denmark's Welcome. 
 
 Yet I welcome thee, my daughter ; 
 
 Fear not — Denmark loves thee still j 
 Thou, too, weepest for the slaughter 
 
 Of my sons on Diippel Hill. 
 
 Daughter, thee I do not blame ; 
 
 Blessings still I call on thee ; 
 Yet I cannot but cry shame 
 
 On the Island of the Free ! 
 
 By the promises — their own. 
 All unasked, unsought by me — 
 
 That " I should not stand alone," 
 Shame upon the craven Free ! 
 
 By the freedom, dear to all, 
 Common both to her and me. 
 
 Doubly, trebly, shame I call 
 On the Island of the Free ! 
 
 By the blood to God that calls. 
 Blood of heroes, shed for me ! 
 
 By each Danish tear that falls, 
 Shame upon the craven Free !
 
 Denmark' s Welcome. y 
 
 Lastly, by the ring of gold 
 
 That thy husband gave to thee, 
 
 Shame upon the wordy bold ! 
 Shame upon the craven Free ! ' 
 
 She ceased her plaint, and then there came a mist, 
 Cold as the breath of winter, from the west, 
 And spreading first across the moaning waves 
 It hid the fair ship in a depth of gloom. 
 And landward next it fell, a murky screen. 
 And floating darkly o'er the lonely beach. 
 It robed her weeping, in its darksome folds. 
 With her sad eyes and her upbraiding words. 
 Me last it circled in an orb of night. 
 And waking so, I found it was a dream.
 
 8 
 
 A FAIR LAD\. 
 
 ER eyes were blue as Southern sky. 
 As purely, calmry bright were they 
 As is the first young mom of May 
 Before the sxin is high. 
 Her locks in many a ringlet fell ; 
 Vainly might poet hope to tell 
 Each glossy curl, each cluster winding. 
 As if by Nature meant for binding 
 The hearts her lustrous eyes might lure, 
 And keeping them as captives sure. 
 Her face resembled such a saint 
 As men of eld were wont to paint, 
 The mirror of a gentle soul ; 
 When circled round by m^any a shoal 
 In hfe's inhospitable sea, 
 May such a heaven-ht beacon light 
 Dispel temptation's darksome night, 
 And kindly guidance bring to me !
 
 70 
 
 I Y friend ! a tenderer or dearer name 
 In love's vocabulary none can find — 
 I speak to you in verse for very shame, 
 Because in prose I cannot speak my mind. 
 I pray you to my versicles be kind ! 
 I own I have no subtlety of speech, 
 And had I, poesy is like the wind 
 That plays in aspens, whispers in the beech, 
 But how it comes, or whence, no mortal wight may 
 teach. 
 
 So should your skilful eye detect a flaw 
 
 In these poor rhymes of mine, why, count it nought. 
 
 I write not to fulfil poetic law. 
 
 But for that rhyme can best express my thought, 
 
 In a heart-melody by rules untaught ; 
 
 Heart-melody, which unto you may be
 
 10 To , 
 
 Far sweeter than a strain right deftly wrouglit 
 By some old master of high minstrelsy 
 Who hath embalmed a verse in notes that cannot die. 
 
 And hearing lately of your new-born woe, 
 I wished to comfort you as best I might, 
 
 ' As, were I near when illness brought you low 
 And Death hung over you with brow of night, 
 I should sit by to see you nursed aright, 
 And watch you, praying God to give you life, 
 And gladden as your eye resumed its light, 
 And hail you when a victor from the strife 
 
 You rose, and vanquished Death resheathed his baffled 
 knife. 
 
 Yet now perchance your need of me is more, 
 For you could face Death with an equal soul, 
 Expecting welcome on the blessed shore 
 And knowing that your spirit neared its goal 
 Now is your bark aground upon a shoal. 
 Now from your heaven vanishes the sun, 
 And now around you spirit-thunders roll ; 
 Now is life's winter far too soon begun. 
 And all her harvest hope is ruined and undone !
 
 To . II 
 
 Ah ! let me raise a hand (alas, too weak I) 
 To aid your bark back to the open sea ; 
 Let me some words of truthful solace speak, 
 And tell the promise of the months to be ! 
 I think you will not turn in wrath from me. 
 This is but summer lightning in the sky. 
 Your yellow sheaves shall yet be housed with glee, 
 Your sun shall burst in splendour from on high ; 
 And though your June be wet, your August shall be dry. 
 
 ' You rave to me of tempest and of rain ! ' 
 Methinks I hear you, half in anger, say, 
 ' Your metaphor and simile are vain, 
 You sit and string your rhymes, and, well-a-day, 
 You think yourself a poet ! 'tis your way ! 
 You soothe an aching heart with silly rhyme. 
 And with your idle talking you would stay 
 An anguish that will last me out my time 
 Until this mortal clay is couched in kindred slime.' 
 
 Alas ! my brother, you are stricken sore ! 
 Forgive me, if I seemed to play with grief ; 
 But yet I would not have you shut the door 
 Against my prattle, which may bring relief.
 
 12 To . 
 
 I'd have you lend an ear to me, in brief; 
 I too have suffered, not indeed as you ; 
 I trust my heartstrings to no pretty thief ; 
 Yet am I not amidst the happy few 
 Who never felt the chill of sorrow's deadly dew. 
 
 Time was I knew a man, alas ! how fair, 
 How excellent he seemed ! in his eyes 
 His spirit shone, and o'er his golden hair 
 A glow from heaven seemed to sink and rise. 
 He was too pure for earth, and so the skies 
 In envy caught him from our loving sight ; 
 And when I think of him, the laughter dies 
 From out my life, and I am left in night : 
 God grant we two may meet before the throne of white ! 
 
 Never to part again, but evermore 
 To fling our crowns before the great Man-God ! 
 Hope whispers this, but crowds around me roar, 
 And he lies sleeping 'neath the churchyard sod, 
 And all my paths in mourning still are trod : 
 God rest him safely till the trumpet sound ! 
 And so you see I try to kiss the rod, 
 And I can laugh still when the jest goes round, 
 Yet in a silent stream bleeds that unstaunched wound.
 
 To . 13 
 
 And thus I am not ignorant of woe, 
 I think my bruise was scarcely less than yours ; 
 Grief dies not, but her pangs less frequent grow. 
 And Time brings respite though he has no cures 
 For a cleft heart ; the ancient love endures, 
 And sobs above the tumult now and then, 
 And though the force of will its life immures 
 And keeps it prisoned, it escapes again 
 In audible lament to some — my brother men. 
 
 I hope your wound is not as deep as mine ; 
 You blame her not, and that indeed is well. 
 You are a poet ; harmony divine 
 Floats like the music of a distant bell 
 Through all your utterance ; then ring the knell 
 Of murdered Love in muffled tones but sweet, 
 And let its chiming to your spirit tell 
 A wordless tale where wrong and pardon meet, 
 And bury murdered Love in Pity's winding sheet ! 
 
 Then rise and go, as childless David went 
 When that he heard Bathsheba's son was dead : 
 Quoth he, ' The time for weeping now is spent ; 
 Bring n;e my robes ! I will anoint my head ! '
 
 14 To . 
 
 And so resignedly he broke the bread 
 He had not tasted for so many days. 
 
 friend ! by us the lesson may be read ; 
 It lights us still in hfe's entangled ways, 
 
 For through the night of years it poureth blessed rays. 
 
 Rise up, my brother, gaze upon the sun ! 
 
 1 swear to you, by this our friendship true, 
 That your life's glory is not half begun 
 And there are many happy days for you ! 
 The bee that in the morning sips the dew 
 From the young petals of a budding rose, 
 As day in blushing splendour blooms anew, 
 Sees brighter hours or e'er the evening close, 
 
 Yet nothing of the light of noonday's blue foreknows. 
 
 So shall it be with you ; you yet shall rise 
 On wings of poet vigour far on high. 
 And men shall watch you with astonied eyes 
 While through the earthborn mists of doubt you fly 
 And raise a bhssful song of victory! 
 God comfort you ! that day will come, my friend ! 
 God send that I may see it ere I die ! 
 God aid you with His light as home you wend ! 
 And with a smile of love, God crown you at the end !
 
 15 
 
 THE LAST MEETING. 
 
 MOONBEAM lit the velvet pall 
 
 That o'er his body lay, 
 And sister moonbeams silvered all 
 
 The darkness into day. 
 
 A moonbeam kissed his lips so white, 
 And kissed his marble brow ; 
 
 Ah ! never wore yon sleeping knight 
 A smile so grand as now ! 
 
 The moon, night's empress, all alone 
 
 Beheld him from above, 
 Remembered lost Endymion 
 
 And melted into love. 
 
 She poured a glory o'er his face, 
 And o'er his sleeping eyes ; 
 
 The slumbrous splendours of the place 
 She waked, and bade to rise.
 
 1 6 The Last Meethig. 
 
 They waking, seemed to move in light ; 
 
 The carvings quaint and fair, 
 They seemed to quiver in affright 
 
 As knowing Death was there. 
 
 A footstep through the silence steals 
 
 And falters up the nave. 
 That faithful wife no terror feels, 
 
 Her love has made her brave. 
 
 The glory of her golden hair 
 
 Is beaming to her waist. 
 The frenzied boldness of despair 
 
 Impels her in her haste. 
 
 No fear, no sorrow, no surprise 
 
 Is written in her mien ; 
 The tearless azure of her eyes 
 
 Is fearsome to be seen. 
 
 She comes, she stands beside his head. 
 She scarcely heaves a sigh : 
 
 ' He is not dead ! he is not dead ! ' 
 How bitter is her cry !
 
 The Last Mcctins^. 
 
 The snowy whiteness of her arms 
 Around his neck she wTeathes, 
 
 Grief lends fresh beauty to her charms, 
 She half believes he breathes ! 
 
 She doubts, she fears, she knows it all. 
 
 She sinks upon his breast. 
 Nor love, nor hatred e'er shall call 
 
 That lady from her rest ! 
 
 17
 
 i8 
 
 TO MAR Y. 
 
 ND dost thou ask me, lady bright ! 
 
 What most attracts a stranger's gaze, 
 What most awakens his dehght, 
 What most desen^es and wins his praise. 
 
 Of all tlie pleasant sights that grace 
 This spot, where one might truly deem 
 
 Nature had formed a dwelling place 
 To realize a poet's dream ? 
 
 Dost ask me whether Hartfell hill 
 That towers nakedly on high, 
 
 Or Garple's tree-embowered rill 
 With mirrored glimpses of the sky, 
 
 Merits the tenderer regret. 
 
 The warmer corner of the heart ; 
 
 Or if the whole refuse to let 
 
 Remembrance linger o'er a part ?
 
 To Mary. 19 
 
 Fair is the view from Hartfell height, 
 
 And Garple's glen is fair to see ; 
 Soft was the heather's purple light 
 
 When last I wandered there with thee. 
 
 Sweet was the music of the burn, 
 
 As seaward laughingly it sped ; 
 New beauties glowed at every turn, 
 
 And Time on eagle pinion fled. 
 
 Yet hill and stream and verdant dale 
 Shall pass beyond fond memory's ken ; 
 
 O'er these Oblivion spreads her veil, 
 And will but raise it now and then. 
 
 The very laughter of the brook 
 Shall lose in time its silver sound ; 
 
 And vainly, vainly shall we look 
 
 For forms that fade, and are not found. 
 
 But one fair form shall never fade, 
 
 Ah ! never from these eyes of mine ; 
 
 No time shall robe it in the shade, 
 
 Nor taer it roughly from its shrine, 
 c 2
 
 20 To Mary. 
 
 One voice most musical and sweet 
 Shall fall upon my listening ear, 
 
 And, though it be but fancy's cheat, 
 That one delusion shall be dear. 
 
 Mary ! that voice belongs to thee, 
 Mary ! that radiant form is thine. 
 
 Nor art thou, love, less dear to me 
 Because thou never canst be mine.
 
 2l 
 
 TO 
 
 \\\ ! brother poet, happy brother poet ! 
 Arise and wake a gladness in the land 
 Bom of the gladness vocal in your song. 
 
 Sing morning blushing over eastern waves, 
 
 God's beauty in the golden afternoon, 
 
 The dewy silence of the purple eve 
 
 And the strange voiceless music of the stars, 
 
 Bear living witness to the living truth 
 
 And tell your brothers how divine they are. 
 
 So shall you wear on earth the thorn of hate 
 
 And othenvhere the perfect rose of love ; 
 
 So shall you live a human poet here 
 
 And wear the crown God wreathes for poets there !
 
 22 
 
 PARAPHRASE FROM HORACE. 
 Book III. Ode 3. 
 
 HE man Avho firm to his resolve doth stay, 
 Nor brawling mob, nor tyrants' frown shall 
 sway 
 
 In his intent ; nor Auster when he raves, 
 The stormy chief of Hadria's restless waves ; 
 Nor the strong arm of Jove that rules on high, 
 Hurling his thunders through the flaming sky. 
 Were heaven on earth in ruin fell to rush, 
 A life — but not a soul, the fall would crush.
 
 23 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 AID EN ! whose eyes of blue, 
 Of heaven's own native hue, 
 Beam with as soft a hght 
 As the chaste queen of night, 
 
 Propitious hear ! 
 While distant from thee far, 
 My spirit's polar star, 
 To thine own Highland shore, 
 A suppliant, I pour 
 
 A lover's prayer. 
 
 All lonely here I pine, 
 Nor poesy divine. 
 Nor the inspired page 
 Of many an ancient sage 
 
 My heart can wean 
 From musing on thy charms, 
 Thy face, thy snowy arms,
 
 24 A Valentine. 
 
 Thy form as light and airy 
 As if thou wert a fairy, 
 
 Or Mab the queen. 
 
 They say in days of yore 
 Sweet Venus, now no more 
 Worshipped on earth, possessed 
 A zone which round her waist 
 
 The goddess wore ; 
 And when its clasp she bound 
 Her radiant self around, 
 Whoever saw her then, 
 Or gods or mortal men, 
 
 Did straight adore. 
 
 Methinks upon the morn 
 When thou, sweet girl, wert born, 
 Dear torture of thy race. 
 With smiling winsome face, 
 
 That Venus flew 
 Down to the realms of earth. 
 And, guardian of thy birth, 
 She gave that wondrous zone 
 Henceforth to thee alone. 
 
 Thine own just due !
 
 A Valentine. 25 
 
 As thou art fair be kind ; 
 The galhng chains unbind 
 Thou didst so deftly weave, 
 And mercifully leave 
 
 My poor heart free ; 
 Or prithee grant me this 
 Longed for and precious bhss, 
 Breathe softly ' I am thine ! ' 
 So sweet Saint Valentine 
 
 Thy guardian be !
 
 •26 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 [|WEETHEART, you ask me 'Can you educate 
 Me to yourself; I cannot understand 
 Your grandeur, though I know you good and 
 great, 
 For me — I am the lowest in the land ! ' 
 This is my answer, Love shall teach you, dear, 
 
 My spirit's stature, be it great or small ; 
 Learn then of love, love on and have no fear, 
 
 For love shall overbridge the interval. 
 But if between us interval there be, 
 
 'Tis I that am the lower, I must rise ; 
 Oh ! my heart's mistress, you must teach to me 
 
 The inarticulate wisdom of your eyes ! 
 Whatever gulf your timid doubt may paint, 
 I am your worshipper and you my saint !
 
 Sonnets. 27 
 
 II 
 
 Teach me, oh ! teach me, darUng, evermore, 
 
 For I have learnt and I must learn of you ; 
 Teach me, dear love, love's uninstructed lore, 
 
 And with your own truth make your lover true. 
 Those who have joined sweet music to deep thought 
 
 In art's most pure and holy matrimony 
 Are Samsons who at life's dear risk have bought 
 
 From lion's jaws the sweet wild heather honey ; 
 More blest than they, I saw your perfect face 
 
 True music's and true beauty's joint express ; 
 God gave to me to see your nameless grace 
 
 Which makes all other types of beauty less ; 
 So then from Him let weal or evil come, 
 You are embodied music, beauty's sum. 
 
 When that I gaze upon the evening sun 
 Sinking a purple splendour in the west ; 
 
 When that I listen to the waves that run 
 
 Through the green meadows that I love the best ; 
 
 When in the still solemnity of night 
 
 I seem to hear reposing Nature's breath ;
 
 28 S 07111 cis. 
 
 When in a rosy flush of morning light 
 
 Nature awakens from her seeming death ; 
 
 When through deep lanes I take my gladsome way, 
 Or when I dimb the mountain's azure crest ; 
 
 When in a town's soul-wearing street I stray, 
 Or 'midst God's hills and trees I take my rest — 
 
 Across all life I feel a longing come. 
 
 These are fair details, she — is beauty's sum.
 
 29 
 
 MV LOVE. 
 
 i^pX my verse shall Annie dwell, 
 Though I know I love full well, 
 Lives there any that can tell % 
 
 Love me, sweet ! for you I love 
 Though my faith I cannot prove ; 
 One knows that — whose name is Love. 
 
 All my rhyming is of love, 
 
 And the poor word rhymes to ' dove,' 
 
 Yet a man's heart it may move. 
 
 Oh ! my tongue and pen are weak ; 
 Passion lives but cannot speak ; 
 Love, I hope, has made me naeek.
 
 30 My Love. 
 
 If I cannot paint you, dear, 
 So that all shall see you here, 
 Poet I am none, I fear ! 
 
 Yet, alas ! I cannot make 
 Language sentient for your sake ; 
 At their worth my verses take. 
 
 And you love me by your sighs, 
 And across your violet eyes 
 I can see the dim tears rise. 
 
 Death explains the doubt of life, 
 ' Death cuts love with cruel knife ! 
 Sweetheart, love is endless life ! 
 
 ' Life is mortal,' so you say, 
 Whereunto I answer, nay, 
 True life shall endure for aye. 
 
 Bread upon the waves we cast ; 
 Life is here, 'twill soon be past ; 
 Death shall join us at the last.
 
 My Love. 3 1 
 
 I can see the flowers to-day, 
 Looking in your eyes I say, 
 Love ! it is the month of May. 
 
 Winter comes with snow and sorrow ; 
 And a comfort still I borrow, 
 Love ! it will be spring to-morrow !
 
 32 
 
 A LIE. 
 
 ISSUE from lips that are valiant for truth, 
 
 I come from a soul that is earnest and true; 
 I do my wild work without mercy or ruth, 
 My speaker may garland his temples with rue ! 
 
 The love that is fearless, the fear that is love, 
 Are blighted or frozen on feeling my breath. 
 
 In spirit a serpent, in presence a dove. 
 
 They ' life-giver ' call me the while I am death. 
 
 My father who sees me, applaudingly smiles, 
 He calls me his darling so comely and mild. 
 
 The youngest and best of his manifold wiles, 
 A devil of hell with the eyes of a child ! 
 
 The solace of Hope and the comfort of Faith 
 Behind me in death-stricken panting are spread ; 
 
 One smiles on my malice and suffers no scathe, 
 I trust ere I die to see Charity dead !
 
 Pictoribus atque poetis 
 Quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potcstas. 
 Scimus et banc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim. 
 
 Ars Poetica. 
 
 D
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 yNDER a starless sky, 
 
 Without one ray to cheer the moonless night, 
 
 To Thee I cry, 
 Father, look down on me ; it will be light 
 
 If Thou art nigh. 
 
 Out on a barren waste ! 
 The way is stony and the wind is bleak ; 
 
 Oh ! Lord, make haste ; 
 My feet are bleeding and my faith is weak, 
 
 Father ! make haste ! 
 
 I cannot see Thy light, 
 The frowning tempest veils Thee from mine eye ; 
 
 My failing sight 
 Cannot discern the Star of Hope on high, 
 
 So dark the night. 
 
 u 2
 
 36 De Profundis. 
 
 All I have loved are gone, 
 Are gone before me to the blessed rest, 
 
 I, I alone. 
 While they lie cradled on Thy sheltering breast, 
 
 Still wander on. 
 
 May I not now come Home ! 
 I fear the darkness and the stinging hail, 
 
 I cannot roam 
 Further without Thee or my strength will fail ; 
 
 Oh ! take me Home ! ,
 
 37 
 
 ARIADNE. 
 
 HE dark-sailed ship crept silent from the bay, 
 While Ariadne, tender Ariadne, 
 ^ Lay softly sleeping on the rugged shore 
 Where Theseus left her, dreaming happily 
 Of sunny Crete, and sunny maidenhood, 
 And him who once before her, like a god, 
 Stood in the palace of her mighty sire, 
 And thrilled her heart with the first look of love. 
 Waking, she sighed and opened her blue eyes, 
 Whispering, ' My Theseus, have I slumbered long % ' 
 And raised her head to see him ; he was there 
 When first the soft sleep stole upon her eyes, 
 Her head then rested on his iron arm, 
 He bade her slumber, he would watch the while. 
 And then he kissed her weary eyes to sleep ; 
 ' Can aught have harmed him ? Theseus, art thou 
 near?
 
 38 A riadnc. 
 
 And cast around her startled deer-like eyes 
 Down the steep shore, out on the barren sea, 
 Where now with conscious haste the dark-sailed 
 
 ship 
 Slunk round the narrow headland of the bay. 
 At first she gazed but did not understand, 
 Again she looked, bewildered, and the ship, 
 Rounding the clifif, was hidden from her sight. 
 Then with a choking sob, but tearless eye. 
 She turned and raved her sorrow to the rocks. 
 Making them echo to her lover's name, 
 And then sank down and swooned upon the strand. 
 Close where the tiny wavelets curled and fell. 
 And kissed her snowy feet, as pitying her. 
 And jewelled them with phosphorescent gleam. 
 And one by one the dark-robed sister Hours 
 Crept noiseless on beneath the crescent moon, 
 Till Hesperus grew pale and died outright. 
 Beneath the influence of the coming dawn, 
 And the chill morning air that woke the flowers 
 Touched Ariadne's cheek, who, shuddering, woke, 
 And sighed, ' 'T is but a dream ! Ah ! what a dream I ' 
 Then started up and cried most piteously, 
 ' Where is the ship •? why am I here alone ?
 
 A riadiie. 39 
 
 Was I not dreaming when I saw them sail % 
 Ch ! Theseus ! Theseus ! why am I betrayed ? 
 What have I done that I should lose thy love % 
 What have I not done that could show thee 
 
 mine % 
 Oh ! sea, oh ! rocks, hearken, and pity me ! 
 Oh ! dimpled sea, smile not so mockingly, 
 But bear me back my Theseus, bear him back, 
 Or else for ever clasp him in thy arms. 
 Lest he should love some other and be hers ! 
 Oh ! frowning cliffs, frown not, but pity me ; 
 As the young sunlight slants upon me now 
 So the first ray of love shot through my heart 
 When I beheld him towering in the hall. 
 And as that sunbeam gathers strength with day 
 So grew my love into a mid-day fire, 
 And then— fell night, cold, sudden, endless night ! ' 
 While thus she mourned, from out the wood-girt 
 
 shore 
 There came a strain of music, wild and low. 
 And a strange group, fantastic, ivy-crowned. 
 With graceful gesture poured their morning hymn :
 
 40 -^ riadne. 
 
 Ode to Dionysus, 
 
 ' Dionysus ! deign to hear us, 
 Greatest of the gods divine, 
 Fairy wreaths of mystic music 
 While for thee we twine. 
 
 AH the woes of suffering mortals 
 Thou canst banish, god of wine ! 
 Hear us then while we adore thee, 
 Giver of the vine ! 
 
 See ! the rising sun is driving 
 All the mists and shadows dim ; 
 Dionysus ! God of gladness ! 
 
 Hear our morning hymn I 
 
 Lo ! the burnished sea beneath us 
 Rippling in the early breeze ; 
 Hear the hum of waking nature 
 Through the dewy trees ! 
 
 Lo ! I see the Paphian goddess 
 Floating through thy sacred groves, 
 Throned in car of pearly whiteness 
 Drawn by snowy doves.
 
 Ariadne. 41 
 
 Eros poiijts an arrow at thee, 
 Points a barbed arrow. Twine, 
 Worshippers of Dionysus, 
 
 The myrtle with the vine ! 
 
 Twine the vine-leaves for his temples 
 Myrtles for his golden hair ! 
 Dionysus, ever youthful ! 
 
 Hear our morning prayer ! ' 
 
 They ceased, and saw upon the foam-washed shore 
 
 The damsel weeping, making still her moan ; 
 
 All gloriously the sun shone on her head, 
 
 And shed a rosy lustre on her neck. 
 
 And on her arms upraised as if in prayer. 
 
 Then sang again the ivy-crowned choir, 
 
 To soft low notes, a sleep-inspiring strain : 
 
 ' Daughter of the morning sunlight 
 And the smiling restless sea, 
 To our consecrated island 
 
 What hath lur^d thee 1
 
 42 A riadne. 
 
 Did the enamoured zephyr waft thee 
 From his caverns in the west, 
 Or did thy mother ocean bear thee 
 On her azure breast ? 
 
 Hush ! I see her eyehds closing 
 'Neath our sleep-compehing strain 
 Come then, Morpheus ! chanxi her sorrow, 
 Steal away her pain ! 
 
 Hush ! the trembhng tear is glistening, 
 Glistening 'neath the drooping lid, 
 See ! the parting hps discover 
 Pearly teeth half hid. 
 
 Softly tread the magic circle, 
 Softly till she cease to weep. 
 Gently and more gently whisper. 
 Whisper till she sleep ! ' 
 
 They paused, but all the echoes on the shore 
 Took up the dying note and sighed it back,
 
 A riadne. 43 
 
 Till cliffs and woods seemed all to whisper ' Sleep ! ' 
 
 And when it died away the damsel slept. 
 
 And then they bore her, like a tired child, 
 
 In slow procession up the rugged shore, 
 
 And vanished slowly in the piny groves 
 
 That crowned with murky green the frowning chffs.
 
 44 
 
 THE BEGINNING AND THE END. 
 
 CHILD lay weeping, weeping, 
 
 But it could not tell its sorrow, 
 And after a night of sleeping 
 It woke in smiles on the moiTow. 
 
 A boy stood laughing and talking, 
 With his cheek in an honest glow, 
 
 Of the path of life he would walk in, 
 Of a world he did not know. 
 
 A youth stood laughing, beguile'd 
 By the smiles of his maiden dear. 
 
 And he wrote some lines to her eyelid, 
 And a sonnet to her ear. 
 
 A man sat graver and older. 
 
 One of a happy three, 
 With the second's head on his shoulder. 
 
 And the third upon his knee.
 
 ' TJie Beginning and the End. 45 
 
 A man much older and grayer 
 
 Knelt by two graves with one stone, 
 
 And I thought as he breathed his prayer 
 I could catch the word, * Alone ! ' 
 
 An old man lay waiting and weeping, 
 And he knew not that ere the morrow 
 
 He should go to his rest, and, sleeping, 
 Should wake no more to his sorrow.
 
 46 
 
 FAUST'S NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 ARK ! the bitter wind is keening 
 
 Round the frozen mere, 
 Requiems of ghastly meaning 
 For the dying Year. 
 Now hke fiends in chorus yeUing, 
 Now Uke distant death-bell knelling. 
 
 In an agony of strife 
 Striving for the old year's life ! 
 
 In an agony of fear 
 Dying with the dying Year ! 
 
 In an agony of woe 
 Wrestling with the silent snow, 
 Dying hard and dying slow. 
 
 In an agony of prayer 
 Praying wildly, ' Spare, oh spare ! ' 
 Rising now from plaintive sadness 
 To a Banshee's scream of madness ;
 
 Fausfs New Years Eve. 4.J 
 
 Sinking now to low entreaty. 
 Whispering, whining, ' Pity, pity ! 
 
 In an agony of crying, 
 For the Year who hes a-dying, 
 Dying, with his sins about him, 
 Th] onging ghosts that haunt and flout him ; 
 All the sorrow he has brought, 
 All the ruin he has wrought. 
 Crowded on his dying thought ! 
 Cries of drowning mariners 
 Ringing in his dying ears ! 
 All the misery and sin 
 That have been since he came in. 
 Battles, murders, cursing, lying, 
 Throng him as he lies a-dying ! 
 Dying, panting, sinking fast 
 Into the abysmal Past ! 
 
 The clock strikes twelve, 
 
 The hour has sped. 
 The wind has dropped, 
 
 'l"he Year is dead.
 
 48 
 
 A RESOLUTION. 
 
 I WOULD not bid thee share my poverty, 
 Nor drag thee with me up the hill of toil, 
 I am resolved to climb it all alone. 
 Nor yet to ask thy love nor tell thee mine. 
 Although I know not whether, at the end, 
 The love I labour for shall crown my toil, 
 Or if, like desert traveller faint with thirst, 
 Who sees far off a glimmering line of green 
 And feathery shade that may o'erhang a well. 
 And, staggering on with fatal haste, falls down 
 Just where the desert and oasis meet. 
 Close by the very margin of the brook. 
 And hears with dying ears the whispering shade 
 That screens the dripping fountain from the sun, 
 But wastes the scanty remnant of his life 
 In feeble crawling and intense desire. 
 Or like that wretched monk of old, who swore
 
 A Resolution. 49 
 
 Nor food nor drink should pass his starving hps 
 Till he should have transcribed the Holy Book, 
 Reached the last page and perished in his cell, 
 Half saint, half suicide ; I know not now 
 Whether, like these, there sit awaiting me 
 Failure and disappointment at the end, 
 I only know my purpose is unchanged.
 
 50 
 
 TEMPORA MUTANTUR, NOS ET 
 MUTAMUR IN ILLIS. 
 
 ONCE believed those simple folk 
 
 Who hold love a reahty, 
 And marriage not a social yoke 
 Of mere conventionality. 
 
 I thought the light of maidens' eyes, 
 Their smiles and all the rest, 
 
 Were /^^/ mere baits to catch rich flies 
 And landed interest. 
 
 I once believed, (which only shows 
 My most refreshing greenness,) 
 
 That breaking faith and breaking vows 
 Came little short of meanness. 
 
 I once believed that matrimony 
 Was linking hearts and fates, 
 
 And not transferring sums of money 
 And joining large estates.
 
 Tempora miitantur. 5 i 
 
 I once imagined (in my youth) 
 
 That not to keep a carriage 
 Was no impediment, forsooth ! 
 
 To any happy marriage. 
 
 I also fancied, (but I own 
 
 My verdure was deUcious,) 
 That trampHng young affections down 
 
 Was positively vicious ] 
 
 I did not think the Greeks were right, 
 (Before I worshipped Mammon,) 
 
 Who in declining ' marriage ' write 
 The accusative case, ya\iov. 
 
 These past ideas agree but ill 
 
 With our enlightened present ; 
 The lesson must be learnt, but still 
 
 The learning was not pleasant. 
 
 Good qualities girls don't expect. 
 
 Or bodily or mental, 
 (You seldom find much intellect 
 
 Go with a princely rental !) 
 
 % 2
 
 52 Tempora vmtantur. 
 
 True love is an exploded thing 
 Fit only for romances ; 
 
 Who ever heard of marrying 
 A man without finances ! 
 
 In short, I disbelieve them all, 
 Those doctrines fundamental 
 
 I learnt when I was very small ! 
 And very sentimental !
 
 53 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 S on the bosom of a westward cloud 
 A lingering flush of violet light reposes, 
 Long after the dead sun his head has bowed, 
 And eve has strewed his cloudy pall with roses ; 
 So thy last tender glance when we did part 
 Still plays in lingering twilight round my heart. 
 
 As in a little dell, shut in by hills, 
 
 A strain of music lingers loth to die, 
 
 And every slumbering echo wakes, and fills 
 
 Each nook, each stream, each flower, with melody; 
 
 So doth thy soft ' Farewell, for we must part,' 
 
 Thrill every nerve, and tremble in my heart. 
 
 But as the waning eve, with all its sadness 
 Betrays a crimson promise of the morrow, 
 So do the memories of departed gladness 
 Speak of a joy that shall succeed to sorrow ; 
 And in some hidden corner of my breast' 
 There is a hope of meeting, and of rest !
 
 54 
 
 BE ATI MISERICORDES. 
 
 ER head upon her hand reclined, 
 Her sobs are tearless as the wind 
 That sobs around the casement, 
 The frosty winter moon has shed 
 Soft light upon the golden head 
 Bowed down in self-abasement. 
 
 A light that like a silver crown 
 Seems but to mock the weary frown 
 
 That on the pale brow lingers ; 
 With icicles instead of leaves 
 The trees are bending, from the eaves 
 
 Are pointing icy fingers. 
 
 Oh ! head too fair to be bowed down ! 
 Oh ! brow too white to wear that frown ! 
 Oh ! heart too young for breaking !
 
 Beati Misericordes. 5 5 
 
 Alas ! to see such ghastly light 
 In eyes that should be purely bright 
 With peace of their own making ! 
 
 ' This frozen heart will never weep, 
 These burning eyes will never sleep ! 
 
 Forsaken, not forsaking ! 
 The only sleep for eyes that shine 
 With the unearthly light of mine 
 
 Is sleep that has no waking ! ' 
 
 There is a footstep at the door, 
 A shadow falls across the floor, 
 
 A figure stands beside her ; 
 There comes at last, unseen, unheeded, 
 The blessed comfort sorely needed, 
 
 But oh, so long denied her ! 
 
 Unseen, for in her fevered eyes 
 That look of piteous surprise 
 
 Still lingers, ever lingers ; 
 Unheeded, for the silver crown 
 Still plays around the head bowed down 
 
 Upon the tight-clenched fingers.
 
 56 Beati Misericordes. 
 
 ' He should have killed me ere he fled, 
 And not have left me worse than dead, 
 
 I could have blessed him dying ! 
 But to hve on with tainted name. 
 And bear the sneer, and hear the shame 
 
 That busy tongues are crying ! 
 
 ' The very moon, as wearying 
 Of shining on so vile a thing, 
 
 Veils her cold purity ! 
 There is no light for such as I ! 
 No God ! no mercy ! and I die 
 
 For lack of sympathy ! ' 
 
 A voice beside her whispers, ' Nay ! 
 It is for those who go astray 
 
 That mercy doth abound.' 
 ' Who answers thus my inmost thought % 
 Who brings advice unasked, unsought % ' 
 
 She falters, starting round. 
 
 A lady, clad in holy weeds. 
 Whose gentle look speaks gentle deeds. 
 Is sadly o'er her leaning ;
 
 Beati Misericordes. 57 
 
 Two soft brown eyes are on her bent, 
 Eyes beautiful and innocent, 
 But full of deepest meaning ; 
 
 Eyes which betrayed, amid the light 
 Of faith celestially bright, 
 
 The woman's heart within her ; 
 Eyes which no words of mine can paint. 
 They seemed too human for a saint, 
 
 Too heavenly for a sinner. 
 
 ' I come, as loving not despising. 
 Not chiding you but sympathising. 
 
 For who am I to chide you % 
 Oh ! sister, let me call you sister ! ' 
 (And tenderly she stooped and kissed her) 
 
 ' Oh ! let me stay beside you ! ' 
 
 ' You say you do not come to chide me. 
 You ask but to remain beside me, 
 
 I thank you, but I dare not ! 
 Or if I did, you only seek ^ 
 
 To vaunt your strength beside the weak. 
 
 You care not, oh, you care not !
 
 58 Beati Misericordes. 
 
 ' Your very presence mocks my sin, 
 And shows me what I might have been ! 
 
 Your whiteness blackens me, 
 My eyes are dazzled by your light, 
 Leave me ! I cannot bear the sight 
 
 Of so much purity ! ' 
 
 And then all suddenly she cried, 
 
 ' Oh ! leave me not ! I should have died 
 
 But you have made me weep ! 
 Oh ! heed not the wild words I said, 
 But leave your soft hand on my head 
 
 And bless me ere I sleep.' 
 
 There is a softer happier gleam 
 Within the blue eyes, and they beam 
 
 In spite of all their sadness. 
 Two lovely heads in prayer are bent, 
 One innocent, one penitent. 
 
 And angels weep for gladness.
 
 59 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 FTER the storm the sunshine, so they sing ; 
 But ah ! some storms there are, so long, so 
 fierce, 
 
 That ere their rage has spent itself in tears 
 The sun of happiness goes down, and night, 
 Dark endless night succeeds them, or at best, 
 Fitfully lighted by the feeble moon 
 Of resignation, with her borrowed ray, 
 Reflected from a gladness not her own.
 
 6o 
 
 THE SONG OF TIME. 
 
 ISER than the wisest sages ! 
 \ Father of the countless ages, 
 Yet still in thy prime ; 
 Oldest of the things created, 
 Yet still with vigour unabated, 
 Time ! old Time ! 
 
 Striding on from day to morrow. 
 Full knee-deep in human sorrow, 
 
 Stained with human crime ! 
 Dragging all the world behind thee, 
 Bursting chains that fain would bind thee, 
 
 Time ! stern Time ! 
 
 Trampling on the earth's delusions, 
 Scattering the bright illusions 
 
 Of life's young prime ; 
 Parting hands that should not sever. 
 Hearts that would beat true for ever, 
 
 Time ! hard Time !
 
 The Song of Time. 6i 
 
 Healer of the woes thou bringest, 
 Soother of the hearts thou wringest, 
 LuUing sorrow's fretfulness 
 To a sweet forgetfulness, 
 
 Time ! strong Time ! 
 
 'Neath the fanning of thy wings, 
 Wrapt in dreamless slumberings, 
 Care and anguish sleep at last 
 On the bosom of the past, 
 Time ! kind Time ! 
 
 Yet Death shall slay thee ere he die ! 
 Thy dying ears shall hear the cry 
 That ushers in eternity ! 
 And Heaven's long triumphant hymn 
 Shall be the funeral requiem 
 
 Of Time ! dead Time !
 
 62 
 
 SONG. 
 
 S the stream takes the reflection 
 
 Of the bright blue skies above her, 
 So my darhng sheds affection 
 Back on all the hearts that love her. 
 
 As through the transparent water 
 I can count the shells that lie, 
 
 So I know her inmost nature 
 Through her clear sincerity. 
 
 As I read the coming weather. 
 Gazing on the evening skies, 
 
 So I read her wishes ever 
 Gazing in her truthful eyes. 
 
 For she is my light, and fairer. 
 Fairer than the light to see ; 
 
 She is as my life, and nearer, 
 Nearer than my life to me !
 
 63 
 
 THE OLD SONG. 
 
 HE same old song, the same old vow, 
 
 Often repeated, often broken ; 
 The same old promise, old enow. 
 
 But still believed in when 't is spoken. 
 
 The same old hopes, the same old fears, 
 The breaking (never broken) heart ; 
 
 The same forgetfulness, when years 
 
 Have healed the wound, allayed the smart. 
 
 Oh ! little maiden, list no longer 
 
 To words you love to hear him speak. 
 
 He is your first, your love is stronger. 
 You are his third, his love's more weak ! 
 
 He will not willingly deceive you, 
 
 He is deceiving himself more. 
 But when his time has come to leave you. 
 
 He '11 do — as he has done before !
 
 64 TJie Old Song. 
 
 Strange ! that how oft soe'er we sing it, 
 
 That same old song, and warn, and preach, 
 
 Experience alone can bring it. 
 It must be learned anew by each !
 
 65 
 
 AD MISERICORDIAM. 
 
 H ! cruel, come not to me in my dreams ! 
 Or coming, let me see thee as thou art; 
 For ever, as I sleep, thy beauty seems 
 The faithful mirror of a faithful heart. 
 
 And every mom I have to learn again 
 
 The bitter memory of thine untruth. 
 And steel my heart anew to bear the pain 
 
 That crushes all the purpose of my youth. 
 
 In sleep I hear the laughter that I loved 
 Before I knew it false, I see the light 
 
 Of eyes that used to follow where I moved ; 
 Ah ! haunt me not ! or show thyself less bright. 
 
 Ah ! come not thus ! though golden sunlights move 
 Around thee, dark as midnight is thy heart ! 
 
 Awake, I pity thee, asleep, I love. 
 And it is sin to love thee as thou art. 
 
 F
 
 66 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 SLEPT, and some one took me by the hand, 
 And led me to a garden ; far away 
 We heard a distant moaning of the sea. 
 Where first we entered everything was spring, 
 From every bush a thousand tiny buds 
 Were peeping, and a golden-headed band 
 Of children, with the sunlight on their hair. 
 Were singing ; and I listened as they sang. 
 And chased each other or the butterflies 
 That hovered o'er the flowers ; the morning air 
 Wafted the happy burthen of their song : 
 
 ' Golden days that die not, 
 Golden hopes that fly not, 
 
 Ye are ours ! 
 Who can be repining 
 While the sun is shining 
 On the flowers %
 
 Life and Death. 6"] 
 
 We are glad, and why not ? 
 For the winds they sigh not, 
 
 But are glad ; 
 Life is such a pleasure, 
 That we have no leisure 
 
 To be sad ! ' 
 
 Then some one took me by the hand again, 
 And led me on reluctant. As I went 
 The sun struck hotter, and the fainting flowers 
 Began to spread their petals to the air. 
 1 saw a busy crowd of men. I heard 
 Their anxious whispers. Here and there they went. 
 Each, all, intent on something, what I knew not. 
 For one was bending o'er the ground with eyes 
 That wore an eager disappointed gleam. 
 Another, with a laugh upon his lips, 
 Was plucking flowers that withered in his hand. 
 A third was speaking of I knew not what. 
 And held a gaping crowd of listeners round. 
 And some were fighting for I knew not what. 
 And these were many, and I hid my sight. 
 For one by one I seemed to recognise 
 Among the eager and the careless crowd, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 L ifc and Death. 
 
 The faces of the children I had left 
 
 Behind me in the garden of the morn ; 
 
 The golden sheen had vanished from their hair, 
 
 And all the happy laughter from their eyes, 
 
 Their song had grown a strange discordant hum, 
 
 That as I listened shaped itself to words : 
 
 ' Life is short and all the dearer, 
 And the sea is sounding nearer 
 
 Than of old. 
 We have little time for saving. 
 Only one thing is wortli having, 
 
 Only gold.' 
 
 So sang the anxious gazers on the ground, 
 
 Jostling each other in their greedy haste. 
 
 Then he that plucked the withering flowers sang 
 
 ' Life is short % so much the dearer ! 
 Hark ! the sea is sounding nearer 
 
 Than of yore. 
 They are fools who hoard up treasure ; 
 We are wise who live for pleasure, 
 
 Nothing more.'
 
 Life and Death. 6g 
 
 And then I turned me to the voice of him 
 Who held the gaping crowd ; he spoke of fame : 
 
 ' Life is short, the world is raving, 
 Only honour is worth having ; 
 
 It were shame 
 Thus to perish without glory, 
 Thus to die without a story 
 
 Or a name.' 
 
 He ceased, and some one cried, ' Aye, were it shame.' 
 
 And at the word the crowd dissolved, and part 
 
 Flew off to join the fighters, others went 
 
 To jostle with the money-hunting crew, 
 
 A few, still gaping at the orator, 
 
 Remained and listened ; here I turned away 
 
 And would have passed on, but my hand was held. 
 
 I paused, and mingled with the hum of men 
 
 I seemed to hear the whisper of a song 
 
 Fitful and undefined, but strangely sweet ; 
 
 And as I listened, painfully at first. 
 
 The slender long-drawn thread of sound became 
 
 A perfect, seamless web of harmony.
 
 /O Life and DeatJi. 
 
 The trembling spark of song rose to a flame 
 That kindled into anthems, and they sang : 
 
 ' Life is short and time is fleeting ; 
 Hark ! how near the sea is beating 
 
 On the shore. 
 Here is heat and toil and sadness, 
 There, oh ! there is rest and gladness 
 
 Evermore. 
 
 Father ! through the din of life, 
 ^^ Through the tumult and the strife, 
 
 Hear, oh hear ! 
 Through life's turmoil, earth's commotion, 
 Even to the shore of ocean, 
 
 Be Thou near ! ' 
 
 I heard, but could not see, none seemed to see 
 
 And few to hear, the singers ; in the throng 
 
 They moved unheeded, and I turned away 
 
 And followed him who led me by the hand. 
 * * * * 
 
 An angry sun dipped in a yellow sea. 
 
 And ragged heaps of cloud, like shot-torn walls,
 
 L ife and Death. 7 r 
 
 Clustered around and grew into the sky 
 A painted ruin, and a few dead leaves 
 Fell from the shivering trees and left them bare. 
 And on a sudden all the shore grew dark, 
 Save where a snowy line of hissing foam 
 Showed how the cruel sea came on amain. 
 Once, when the lightning tore the frowning sky, 
 And woke the darkness into flickering blue, 
 I saw, or thought I saw, a huddled crowd • 
 Who knelt and raised their supplicating hands 
 In agony of terror or of prayer. 
 And then the thunder followed, and I woke.
 
 Where my worthiness is poor, 
 My will stands richly at the door 
 To pay shortcomings evermore. 
 
 A Vn'ion of Poets.
 
 ST. n OR THE A. 
 
 |HE sun blazed fiercely out of cloudless blue, 
 And the deep sea flung back the glare again 
 As though there were indeed another sun 
 Within the mimic sky reflected there ; 
 Not steadily and straight as from above, 
 But all athwart the little rippling waves 
 The broken daybeams sparkling leapt aloft 
 In glittering ruin ; scarce a breath of air 
 To stir the waters or to wave the trees ; 
 The flowers hung drooping and the leaves lay close 
 Against their branches as if sick and faint 
 With the dull heat, and needing strong support. 
 The city walls, the stones of every street, 
 The houses glowed, you would have thought that none 
 Would venture forth, till that the gracious night 
 Should come with sable robe and wrap the earth 
 In softest folds, and shade men from the day.
 
 'jG St. Dorothea. 
 
 But see, from every street the seething crowd 
 
 Pour out, and all along the way they stand, 
 
 And ribald song and jest resounds aloud, 
 
 And light accost and careless revelry ; 
 
 What means this? wherefore flock the people forth ? 
 
 Ceases the hum, a sudden silence falls 
 
 On all around ; the tramp of armed men 
 
 Rings through the air ; and hark ! what further sound ! 
 
 A girl's fresh voice, a sad sweet song is heard 
 
 Above the clank of arms, men hold their breath. 
 
 Yet not all sadness is that wondrous chant. 
 
 That hushes the wild crowd with sudden awe ; 
 
 As when the nightingale's mellifluous tones 
 
 Rise in the woodland, ere the other birds 
 
 Have ceased their vesper hymn, that moment drops 
 
 Each fluttering songster's wild thanksgiving lay. 
 
 So for awhile did silence fall on all 
 
 Within the seething crowd at that sweet voice. 
 
 She comes ; they bring her forth to die, for she 
 
 This day must win the martyr's palm, this day 
 
 Must witness for her faith, this day must reap 
 
 The fruit of all her pains, long rest in heaven. 
 
 Long had they spared her, for the governor 
 
 Was loth that she should suffer, and her race
 
 SL Dorothea. 77 
 
 Was noble, so they hoped to make her yield, 
 And waited still and waited; but at length 
 They grew enraged at her calm steadfastness, 
 They knew not whence a resolution such 
 As made a young maid baffle aged men; 
 So she must die. 
 
 Now as she went along 
 Midst all her guards, again burst forth the mob 
 Into such bitter taunts, such foul wild words 
 As sent the hot blood mantling to her cheek 
 For shame that she, a maid, must hear such things ; 
 And yet was no remorse within their hearts. 
 No light of pity in their savage eyes, 
 Like hungry wolves that scent the blood from far 
 They howled with joy, expectant of their prey. 
 There was one there, he in old days had loved 
 Her fair young face, but he too now, with scorn 
 Written in his dark eyes and on his brow 
 And in the curl of his short lip, stood by ; 
 It seemed not such a face, that bitter smile, 
 For he was passing fair, in youth's heyday. 
 ?,\x\. if contemptuous was his mien, his words 
 Were worse for her to bear, for he cried out. 
 He, whom her heart yet owned its only love ;
 
 78 St. Dorothea. 
 
 He, whom she held first of all living men ; 
 He, whom she honoured yet, though left by him 
 In her distress and danger — this man cried, 
 ' Ho, Dorothea ! doth the bridegroom wait ? 
 And goest thou to his arms 1 joy go with thee ! 
 But yet when in his palace courts above 
 Whereof thou tellest, fair one, think on us 
 Who toil in this sad world below, on me 
 Think thou before all others, thine old love, 
 And send me somewhat for a token ; send 
 Of that same heavenly fruit and of those flowers 
 That fade not ! ' 
 
 Then she turned and answered him, 
 ' As thou hast said, so be it ; thy request 
 Is granted ! ' and she passed on to her death. 
 She died ; her soul was rapt into the skies ; 
 The vulgar horde who watched her torture knew 
 Nought of the great unfathomable bliss 
 Which waited her, and when her spirit fled. 
 None saw the angel bands receive her, none 
 Heard the long jubilant sweet sound that burst 
 Through heaven's high gates, swept from ten thousand 
 
 harps 
 By seraph choirs, for she had died on earth
 
 St. Dorothea. 79 
 
 Only to enter on her life above. 
 
 Night fell upon the earth ; the city lay 
 
 Slumbering in cool repose, the restless sea, 
 
 Weary with dancing all day 'neath the sun, 
 
 Was hushed to sleep by the faint whispering breeze 
 
 That, wanting force to sport, but rose and fell 
 
 With soothing murmur like to pine boughs stiiTed 
 
 By the north wind ; sleep held men's eyelids close. 
 
 And he, that youth, slept, aye I slept peacefully, 
 
 Nor recked of the vile insult he had poured 
 
 Upon the head of one whom once he swore 
 
 To love beyond all others. As he lay 
 
 Wrapped in the dreamless slumber of young health, 
 
 Sudden a light unearthly clear hath filled 
 
 His chamber, and he starts up from his couch 
 
 Gazing in troubled wonder, by his side 
 
 What sees he ? a young boy he deems him first. 
 
 But when had mortal such a calm pure smile 
 
 Since our first father lost his purity ? 
 
 A radiant angel rather should he be 
 
 Who stands all glorious, bearing in his hands 
 
 Such fruit and flowers as surely never grew 
 
 On this dull earth ; their fragrance filled the air, 
 
 And smote the senses of Theophilus,
 
 8o St. Dorothea. 
 
 That a sad yearning rose within his heart, 
 
 Such as at times a strain of song will raise, 
 
 Or some chance word will bring (we know not why), 
 
 Flooding the inmost soul with that strange sense, 
 
 Half pain, half pleasure, of some bygone time. 
 
 Some far off and forgotten happiness. 
 
 We know not where nor what. 
 
 The stranger spoke. 
 And thus he said, ' Rise up, Theophilus ! 
 And take these gifts which I from heaven bring. 
 Fair Dorothea, mindful of her words. 
 Hath sent thee these, and bids thee that henceforth 
 Thou scoff not but believe ! ' 
 
 With those same words 
 Vanished the cherub, and the room was dark. 
 Save where the moonbeams made uncertain light 
 And where remained those blossoms and that fruit, 
 For from each leaf and stem there streamed a ray 
 As of the morning. 
 
 Down upon his couch 
 Theophilus sank prone, with awe oppressed. 
 But for a moment ; starting wildly up, 
 He cried, ' My love ! my Dorothea, list ! 
 If thou canst hear me in those starry halls
 
 St. DorotJiea. 8i 
 
 Where now thou dwellest, I accept thy gift, 
 Do thou take mine, for I do give myself 
 Up to the service of thy Lord ; thy faith 
 Shall from this hour be mine, for I believe ! '
 
 82 
 
 FORSAKEN. 
 
 HE moments are fleeting, fleeting, 
 Like leaves in the autumn wind, 
 Swift as my heart's wild beating, 
 Yet thou art still unkind ! 
 I watch, but tliOu drawest not nigh me, 
 
 Ah ! cruel as thou art fair ! 
 Laughing the stream runs by me, 
 And mocks at my soul's despair ! 
 
 My heart is breaking, breaking, 
 
 Alas, love, why must I die? 
 A bitter revenge thou art taking 
 
 That I wearied thine ear with my sigh 
 Yet kill me not, sweet, with sorrow, 
 
 Waft me but one soft kiss 
 And the sun that shall rise to-morrow 
 
 Shall see me lie slain with bliss !
 
 83 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 X heaven's steps of beryl, poised for flight, 
 An angel stood ; but ere his wings he spread 
 Close to his side did his twin angel light 
 Who from the darkening earth had newly sped ; 
 Thy guardian spirit, seeing that thy head 
 Was bent in prayer, so knew thee safe from harm 
 Homesick to heaven awhile he quickly fled, 
 Longing for native peace and love and calm. 
 So spake each angel of his human charge, 
 TeUing of hopes and fears, of joy and woe. 
 Then parting, he who left the shining marge 
 To watch o'er me, his care, swift sped below, 
 And as I slept, he in my sleeping ear 
 Whispered of thee, and straight I dreamt thee near. 
 
 o 2
 
 84 
 
 TENDER AND TRUE. 
 
 jjEBECK'S gay tinkle, sweet complaint of 
 flutes, 
 And silver shower of water-sounding tones 
 Pressed from the outstretched cords by harper hands. 
 All night made music in the grim old hall. 
 Nor these alone, for ladies' voices sweet. 
 So sweet the mellow flutes seemed harsh as daws, 
 And laughter clear and low, more musical, 
 More liquid than the sound of harp or lute, 
 Rippled against the roof and round the wafls. 
 Gloomy and stern the monastery stood 
 In fair St. Johnstoun, and the friars black 
 Were known as kindly open-handed men 
 Who freely gave to whosoever lacked. 
 Having large revenues and larger hearts. 
 Now sounds of wassail and of merriment 
 Scared the staid echoes of the ancient pile,
 
 Tender and True. 85 
 
 King James of Stewart's line held court therein. 
 
 Loud was the revel through the evening hours, 
 
 At length the feast was done ; the monarch stood 
 
 The only man within the convent hall, 
 
 Beside him fair Joanna, while around 
 
 Her maidens bloomed, high-bom and comely all ; 
 
 All fair, but one as far excelled the rest 
 
 As the queen rose outshines the simple buds. 
 
 Her beauty made their loveliness seem naught. 
 
 Go ! bind with other flowers the heliotrope 
 
 And straight they wither ; simple shows the bloom, 
 
 Innocent, starlike, yet 'tis murderous. 
 
 Nor brooks a rival's presence, so they die. 
 
 Thus Catherine's beauty claimed preeminence, 
 
 O'emiled and slew the charms of all her mates 
 
 As sunlight quenches tapers' feeble gleam. 
 
 Long were the task, and all too weak are words 
 
 And powerless to paint the smiling face 
 
 That looked from out a frame of curls that shone 
 
 Like chesnuts tangled in a mesh of gold ; 
 
 The lustre of the ever-laughing eyes 
 
 Which from the wild forget-me-not had stolen 
 
 Hue, dewy brilliancy and attributes : 
 
 A lovely gleeful face, yet in the brow
 
 86 Tender and True. 
 
 And in the lines about the deHcate mouth 
 
 Might you descry a strength, a hidden power 
 
 Unknown to all, it might be to herself, 
 
 That spoke a woman who, if cause there were, 
 
 Could rise to deeds of might, could do and die 
 
 As fitted one who came of Douglas' line. 
 
 The king, the fated king, he stands and jests, 
 
 While, snowy hands upon his shoulder clasped, 
 
 Joanna gazes upwards in his face 
 
 And laughs, because he laughs, her lord and love. 
 
 Secure they deemed themselves, when from below 
 
 There rose a murmuring sound, a vengeful shout, 
 
 A clash of weapons, and the oriel 
 
 Flashed from its darkness into ruddy light 
 
 As tossed the torches in the abbey court. 
 
 As startled deer when first the thunder rolls 
 
 Crowd all together, so they huddled there 
 
 In breathless listening terror round the king. 
 
 The maidens all waiting they knew not what. 
 
 Far off they heard the city tocsin clash, 
 
 But nearer, ever nearer, came the cry, 
 
 Then first the queen found words, and sobbing spoke, 
 
 ' They seek thy life, mine own, they seek thy life ! 
 
 I hear the shout of " Athole " at the gates.
 
 Tender and True. 87 
 
 And " Grahame " too ! and here are none to aid • 
 We are but women, what can women do % 
 Shelter thee in our arms a little while, 
 Then die beside thee ! ' 
 
 Out spoke Catherine; 
 The fire was in her eyes, the Douglas blood 
 Was flushing in her cheek, and thus she said : 
 ' Though we be women, yet these knaves shall learn, 
 So great a power hath truth o'er falsity 
 That even a woman, let her but be true, 
 Can foil the greatest lord who e'er wore graith 
 If a false heart be hidden in his breast. 
 Rouse thee, my liege ! arise for Scotland's sake ! 
 For the queen's sake ! and hear : beneath this hall 
 Yawns a dark vault; full well I know the place, 
 For sporting yesterday we raised the trap 
 And saw the hollow blackness spread beneath ; 
 Through one low arch alone came any light. 
 And with the light came laughter, merry cries 
 And sound of bounding balls — the tennis court ! 
 The tennis court ! it opens to the town, 
 St. Johnstoun's burghers all are loyal folk. 
 Go down, I prithee, sire, and thus escape ! ' 
 Uprose the plank drawn up by lily hands.
 
 88 Tender and True. 
 
 With dumb blank horror stricken stood the king ; 
 
 Then as they drew him forward to the hole, 
 
 Cold struck the damp air upwards in his face 
 
 As though he stooped above an open grave. 
 
 Still, as he wavered, Catherine urgently 
 
 Cried, ' Go, my liege ! oh ! madam, bid him go ! ' 
 
 Yet did he linger. Then Joanna came ; 
 
 Pressing his hand against her hueless lips, 
 
 She prayed him for the love of her, his wife. 
 
 For love of all his children, he would go. 
 
 So that he yielded. Loth was he to part ; 
 
 The coward dread for self that shamed him first 
 
 Had left his heart, and now for her he feared. 
 
 Her and her maidens ; still she pressed him sore, 
 
 Until he thought, ' They seek my life, not hers ; ' 
 
 Then with one agonising last embrace 
 
 Stepped to the vault, and dropped, and Catherine 
 
 cried, 
 ' They come ! quick, quick ! the plank ! I bar the 
 
 door.' 
 A moment listening by the door she stood. 
 Then stooped and groped around, and rose again 
 With a sick misery in her blue eyes, 
 And haggard lines upon her working face,
 
 Tender and True. 89 
 
 Muttering, * The bar is gone, and all is lost ! ' 
 
 BcAvildered, terrified, she only thought 
 
 Of safety for the king, and not to shock 
 
 The other weaker women with the news, 
 
 So stood irresolute ; and up the stair 
 
 Tramped loud the sound of arms and weapon clash, 
 
 ^Vhile ever whooped the Grahame 'midst the din, 
 
 Hounding his bandogs on the royal hart. 
 
 On Catherine's face there came a sterner look, 
 
 A wild smile faintly flickered o'er her lips. 
 
 High thoughts and worthy of a noble soul 
 
 Were rising in her heart ; she bared her arm. 
 
 Her round right arm, her soft blue-veinbd arm. 
 
 And thrust it through the staples of the door. 
 
 Joanna and her maidens saw her there. 
 
 But they with terror dazed, or marked her not. 
 
 Or looking through the dim hall only saw 
 
 Catherine listening still beside the door. 
 
 A momentary hush without, a pause 
 
 As if the traitors having reached the goal 
 
 Drew back from finishing their coward work, 
 
 Fearing the ghastly end now fully seen. 
 
 Oh ! the cold shiver that then shook their hearts 
 
 Who crouched against the fireplace of the hall,
 
 90 Tender and True. 
 
 So being farthest from the leaguered door ; 
 
 Oh ! the dumb agony, the high intent, 
 
 The courage, and the natural woman's dread 
 
 That strove for mastery of her heaving breast, 
 
 Who stood unflinching with her slender arm 
 
 Thrust through the iron staples of the door. 
 
 There came a yell, a rush of many feet, 
 
 A sound of bursting wood, one stifled wail ; 
 
 In swarmed the foe ; some saw an awful face. 
 
 Rigid and beautiful, and crossed themselves. 
 
 For fateful seemed the wide and glittering eyes, 
 
 The stricken horror of the stony gaze ; 
 
 Those who looked twice saw it was but a girl 
 
 Wrapped closely in her cloak who fronted them. 
 
 No spirit, only an affrighted girl. 
 
 She sate her down upon the chamber floor. 
 
 And crouched there, closely wrapped within her cloak, 
 
 Hiding the ghastly thing was late her arm ; 
 
 She watched in pride exulting as they searched, 
 
 And as the baffled faces met her view. 
 
 Scornfully laughed a laugh was half a shriek ; 
 
 Yet still to watch the upshot she endured. 
 
 The many feet tramped down the creaking stair 
 
 Unwillingly, the maidens raised their heads,
 
 Tcjider and True. 91 
 
 Looking around and whispering, ' We are safe ! ' 
 Catherine heard and moaned, ' I will not die 
 Till they are gone, until the king is safe, 
 Until they tell me he is safe indeed ! ' 
 Enduring thus she listened, till a shout 
 Rang through the outer hall, the foe returned. 
 The wretched queen sat cowering on the plank, 
 They dragged her from the spot, they burst the trap 
 And leapt into the vault ; a clash of swords 
 Was heard below, the stag had turned to bay, 
 The hounds fell fast before him for a while. 
 Think how she listened who had given her Hfe 
 To save her king, fearing it given in vain ; 
 She had drawn near, and hung above the pit 
 Hearing the clamour, till a silence fell, 
 And issuing forth the Grahame came at last. 
 She looked into his face, no need had she 
 To ask the end, at last her strength was gone 
 And she fell down with one long gasping cry ; 
 When as her mantle dropped they saw the truth, 
 The truth that blanched his cheek who never flinched 
 Nor knew remorse or pity when his king 
 Clung to his knees, half-dead, imploring life ; 
 For even he could not but pity her
 
 92 Tender aiid True. 
 
 Who gave her youth and beauty to the grave, 
 Who held as nothing all her agony 
 Beside the end she hoped for, and in vain. 
 Now slumbers Catherine, her trouble past ; 
 Death like a tender nurse hath stilled her cries 
 And hushed her to her rest ; but though she sleep, 
 Her memory wakes, and sometimes speaks awhile 
 From the far ages, telling of the days 
 Wlien women were as brave as beautiful. 
 And truth and loyalty had still the might 
 That fired a woman's heart to such a deed.
 
 91 
 
 TO THE FAIR INCOASTANT. 
 
 REAMEST thou that I mourn the days gone 
 
 by? 
 When I beUeved thee, happy ignorant days ! 
 Nay, than mine eyes thy heart is scarce more dry ! 
 Although within my breast a fire doth blaze, 
 A funeral flame, and I half wondering gaze 
 As hope and joy therein die silently. 
 Why should I blame thee, whom the world will praise ? 
 Smiles (all thou hadst to give) I had of thee, 
 Having nor love nor truth, thou couldst not give them 
 me !
 
 94 
 
 THE S WALL O IV'S FARE WELL. 
 
 I HERE lies a gold crown 
 
 On the blue mountain's crest, 
 Which the sun hath cast down 
 Ere he sinks to his rest, 
 With wail broken-hearted 
 The sad wind is sighing 
 For summer departed 
 
 And flowers that lie dying. 
 
 Bathed in a golden gleam, 
 Eit by the sun's last beam, 
 To glitter the roof-tops seem 
 
 In the dying glow ; 
 And blazes the tall church spire 
 Like a tongue of living fire. 
 Where the grey tower raises its head 
 And watches above the dead 
 Who sleep below.
 
 The Siv allow s Farewell. 95 
 
 Round and round the hamlet, 
 
 Round the old church tower, 
 There flits a single swallow 
 
 In the quiet twilight hour ; 
 And where the baron's castle stands 
 Lording it over the outspread lands, 
 
 An image of feudal power, 
 You may see that single swallow go 
 Fluttering high and fluttering low 
 In the quiet twilight hour. 
 For the summer has gone to a distant land 
 And the little blue swallows, a goodly band, 
 With morning light will leave the strand 
 And follow the sun and the flower. 
 
 But this one swallow only 
 
 Has stolen himself away, 
 And flies all sad and lonely 
 In the close of the autumn day. 
 He twitters and talks as he hovers and flies 
 Under the glorious evening skies, 
 As hither and thitlier he quickly hies.
 
 96 The Sivalloivs Farewell. 
 
 {The Swallow) 
 
 On flickering wing I hurry and fly, 
 For soon will the sun sink down and die, 
 And I ere the night must revisit each spot 
 I loved in the days that are long gone by. 
 So down to the bright green meadows that lie 
 Stretched out by the river, I quickly hie, 
 And I tarry not. 
 For I grow old and weary. 
 
 And when I shall leave this clime 
 To the winter cold and dreary, 
 And follow the summer time, 
 I shall never come back again, never again ! 
 My bright blue feathers are flecked with grey 
 Like the sky at the close of an April day, 
 When the sun and the wind have beaten the rain 
 
 And the clouds are floating away. 
 I am growing very weary and old. 
 
 And when the sun comes back with the May 
 To wake the floAvers and kill the cold, 
 
 I shall lie dead, far far away ! 
 So I must see them all once more, 
 The places I loved in the days of yore.
 
 The SwalloiiSs Fai'cwell. 97 
 
 I swoop o'er the fields by the river 
 
 Where oft I hunted the fly, 
 \\Tien the sun made the hot air quiver, 
 
 And the trout were fain to lie 
 Under the weeds in each deep pool 
 Where the dark water was still and cool. 
 But I cared not 
 Though the sun were hot, 
 I came with the rush of an archer's shot ! 
 And the gnats screamed shrill. 
 
 And the mayflies fled ! 
 But the skies are chill 
 And they all are dead ! 
 Oh ! sweet green fields, as ye lie by the river 
 Where ever the tremulous aspens quiver 
 
 As spirits were passing near. 
 No more shall I see you ! the summer will bring 
 The flies to sport o'er the streamlet's spring. 
 But I shall never with fluttering wing 
 Sweep o'er you in sunlight clear ! 
 
 I am passing on to the hamlet now. 
 Laughter and song I hear below 
 And sounds of revelry catch, 
 
 H
 
 98 TJlc SwallovJs Farewell. 
 
 Beneath the old grey cottages all, 
 
 The blue smoke wreaths that rise and fall 
 
 Over the mossgrown thatch. 
 Children beneath me are sporting there, 
 Their voices rise clear in the evening air, 
 
 Pipe and tabor merrily sound, 
 
 Merrily swings the dance around ; 
 
 And I must leave them, I may not stay ! 
 
 Will they miss the swallow so old and grey ? 
 Farewell, farewell to ye, children dear ! 
 I bless you from sorrow, from pain, from fear ! 
 For none of your band 
 Would raise a hand 
 To aim at me as I floated near ; 
 But, ' Martins and swallows 
 Are God's best scholars,' 
 Ye sang with your voices sweet and clear ! 
 
 The churchyard lies beneath, 
 
 The trees rock to and fro. 
 As though they mourned for those whom death 
 
 Hath laid in the cold earth low. 
 
 A mournful place, yet I love it too, 
 I know that so many I loved and knew 
 Are lying beneath the flowers and the dew.
 
 TJie Swallow's Farewell. 99 
 
 Oh, church ! I pray thee, watch them well, 
 
 My friends thou guardest there ; 
 Let no bad spirit, no elfin fell 
 
 To trouble their slumbers dare ! 
 Toll with thy holy, thy solemn bell 
 
 And keep whom I leave in thy care ! 
 
 Now up to the castle old 
 
 I wing my flight. 
 The air grows damp and cold. 
 
 Fast falls the night ; 
 Fain I my wings would fold 
 
 In slumber light. 
 
 Once more, once more, by my own dear nest ! 
 Though smallest of any I love it the best, 
 As it hangs in the nook of the castle wall 
 Just where the earliest sunbeams fall. 
 Sweetly we dwelt there, my mate and I, 
 But long, long ago I saw her die. 
 And all my children away have flown, 
 They loved me when little, but now they are grown, 
 And the old grey swallow is all alone ! 
 
 H 2
 
 ICX) The Swallozd's Farewell. 
 
 Not quite alone ; my nest 
 Hangs over a lattice high ; 
 There lives a maiden the fairest and best 
 Of any beneath the sky. 
 Her hair like the raven's wing is black, 
 And her eyes are the hue of the kingfisher's back ! 
 Oft would she sit with her dark blue eye 
 Swimming in tears, though none knew why ; 
 But the poor little swallow knew the thought 
 That sorrowful clouds to her bright face brought, 
 For I could flit 
 Where I saw her sit 
 After the little white dove had lit : 
 She kissed the letter, she kissed the dove ! 
 And at night I looked out from my nest above, 
 I saw her stand at her window and weep 
 When other mortals were wrapped in sleep. 
 And she and I were alone with the stars 
 As she spread her white amis through the window 
 
 bars 
 And murmured, ' Alas ! my love, my love ! ' 
 
 I charge thee, old grey tower ! 
 That thou guard the maiden well,
 
 The Swallow's Farewell. lOi 
 
 I bless her from evil power, 
 I bless her from baneful spell ! 
 The sun has gone do^vn, dark grows the sky, 
 Mournfully comes the low wind's sigh. 
 I am going, going, the night draws nigh. 
 
 Sweet maiden, farewell, farewell ! 
 
 The sun has risen dull and red 
 Over the misty land, 
 And away to a distant strand 
 The swallows all have fled, have fled ! 
 All ? not all ; at the break of day, 
 Dead and cold in his nest there lay 
 One old swallow, old and grey !
 
 102 
 
 POST TENEBRAS LUX. 
 
 ' For these my poor rhymes, if they be nought, burn 
 them; if any worth, accept them; if impertinent, forgive 
 them, and lay the fault to too much and misguided 
 love. They must needs seem poor after those you 
 first received in your trouble, but if scanty in word 
 they are rich in meaning and intention. And it" 
 seems to me you want the sympathy of the brethren 
 more now than then.' 
 
 WAKE from out thy dreams, and quit the cave 
 Wherein dull melancholy holds thee bound ; 
 Come forth, and raise thine eyes from off the 
 ground, 
 And gaze upon the heavens, and be brave !
 
 Post Tenebras Lux. 103 
 
 ' Am I not brave ? ' thou say'st ; ' I make no moan ! 
 The world knows not my sorrow, for I smile 
 Although my heart is breaking all the while ! 
 Then chide me not, friend, if I mourn alone ! ' 
 
 Aye ! well dost thou conceal thy cruel wrong ! 
 And well I know how bitter is the task 
 (Since I may see thy face without the mask), 
 But I against thyself would have thee strong. 
 
 I say not, ' Cease to mourn ; ' thou needs must weep ; 
 But let not sorrow rule thy life too long. 
 And let not earthbom sobs impede thy song. 
 Let peace return, and bid thy trouble sleep ! 
 
 ' When first the tempest roared, there was some light, 
 Though but the lightning gave its lurid gleam ; 
 But not one ray now cheers me with its beam. 
 And ever dark and darker grows the night ! ' 
 
 Knowest thou not that ever ere the dawn 
 The blackness thickens, nature seems to die. 
 Yet men fear not ; they know the darkening sky 
 Foretells the speedy coming of the mom.
 
 104 Post Tcncbras Lux. 
 
 And silence rules o'er all with awful sway, 
 For earth intently Hstening doth lie 
 To catch far off beyond the eastern sky 
 The first faint footfall of the coming day. 
 
 Look up, oh friend ! the night is well nigh past ! 
 The sun shall rise, the darkness pass away. 
 Go boldly forth to face the coming day, 
 And peace and joy shall light thy soul at last !
 
 105 
 
 THE SEASONS OF LIFE. 
 
 HEN violets scent the woodland ways 
 And kingcups gild the meadow grass, 
 When thorns with blossom are all a-blaze 
 And sweeten the winds that through them pass, 
 Merrily singing we pass the days. 
 Fill the woods with our joyous lays : 
 ' Wreathe the flowers, 
 Build us bowers. 
 Long and sweet is this life of ours ! ' 
 
 When gorse has fired the barren hill, 
 
 And roses blush at the kiss o' the sun, 
 And minnows sport in the shallowing rill. 
 
 And vines are ripening, every one, 
 Not so sweet, so clear is our song, 
 Yet we chorus it loud and long : 
 * Garlands twine. 
 Drain the wine, 
 Joy is for ever and life divine ! '
 
 io6 TJic Seasons of Life. 
 
 When rustling leaves that once were green 
 
 Sad burdens whisper 'neath our feet ; 
 When never a bird or flower is seen, 
 
 And wild winds at the casement beat, 
 
 Our voices have gotten a mournful tone, 
 
 Our singing is turned to sob and moan : 
 
 '■ Joy is dead, 
 
 Hope has fled, 
 
 Graves have rest for the weary head ! ' 
 
 When naked trees, through mist that shrouds 
 
 Their shivering outstretched arms, do grope. 
 When light scarce pierces murky clouds, 
 And life seems vanished past all hope, 
 Peacefully waiting then we lie. 
 For endless pleasure and youth draw nigh. 
 Church bells toll, 
 ' Rest to the soul 
 That reaches at length the wished-for goal!'
 
 10/ 
 
 LILIAN IN THE FOREST. 
 
 Part I. 
 MORNING. 
 
 UST where the daylight pierces through the 
 trees, 
 Where to a twihght shade 
 The leafy darkness softens by degrees, 
 There lies a sunlit glade 
 In the forest green. 
 
 A tiny lawn shut in by circling boughs 
 Save only from above, 
 
 A fitting spot for lovers' secret vows ; 
 
 The place seems made for love. 
 So fair the scene.
 
 io8 Lilian in the Forest. 
 
 'Mid grass and flowers a sparkling pool there lies 
 Wherein the cowslips peep 
 
 To view their beauty, o'er it summer flies 
 In mazy circle sweep 
 The livelong day. 
 
 A hawthorn thicket blooming sweet and white, 
 
 Beeches, a willow hoar, 
 Shut in the glade from vulgar curious sight 
 
 And guard the grassy floor 
 With blossom gay. 
 
 Sweet Uttle Lilian sits beside the pool. 
 
 The keeper's darhng child, 
 Laving her small feet in the water cool, 
 
 Weaving the flow'rets wild 
 In a rustic crown. 
 
 Bluebell and daffodil she deftly weaves. 
 
 Tying the stems beneath 
 Upon a supple bough with sharp green leaves ; 
 
 Now, finished, rests her wreath 
 On her ringlets brown.
 
 Lilian in the Forest. 109 
 
 What leaves are these to mingle with spring flowers 
 
 Upon a youthful brow ? 
 Ah ! sad presage of weary future hours ! 
 
 She wears a willow bough 
 Even in childhood ! 
 
 But what recks she of woe ; the sun has shed 
 
 Light on her curling hair, 
 That mingles with the buds upon her head ; 
 
 She knoweth nought of care 
 There in the wildwood. 
 
 She hath no playmates, yet she wants for none ; 
 
 She knows the shy wild deer, 
 The brown hares stop and gaze, the birds each one 
 
 Hop round and have no fear. 
 As she sits alone. 
 
 Crooning a little song, with folded hands 
 
 As she leans against the tree. 
 The willow tree beside the pool that stands. 
 
 Full softly singeth she 
 
 In a half-hushed tone.
 
 I lo Lilian in the Forest. 
 
 Innocent Lilian sits and nothing fears 
 With -willow in her wreath ; 
 
 She scarcely knows the name of grief or tears, 
 Of parting, sin or death. 
 What should she fear 1 
 
 Watching the blue sky, where the branches break, 
 
 Wherein one downy cloud 
 Floats like a wild white swan upon a lake, 
 
 Majestic, silent, proud. 
 In the morning clear. 
 
 She thinks, ' This world is very gay and bright. 
 The sunlight and the flowers ; 
 
 If there were but no winter and no night 
 In this sweet world of ours, 
 'Twould be blither so ! 
 
 Though there are sorrows very hard to bear — 
 
 Did not my kitten die ? 
 And mother says there won't be cats up there 
 
 In heaven beyond the sky. 
 Kittens don't go ! '
 
 Lilian in the Forest. 1 1 1 
 
 A flushing cheek, a lip half pouting out, 
 
 Eyes that are filling fast ; 
 The shower is coming, when she turns about, 
 
 For something soft brushed past. 
 Her o^vn brown fawn. 
 
 Its cold nose thrust into her tiny hand. 
 
 Forgotten is her woe ; 
 She kisses it, it seems to understand. 
 
 And side by side they go 
 Across the lawn. 
 
 Between the beeches, by the thorns they run, 
 
 Now seen, now lost to sight ; 
 The cloud has floated over, and the sun 
 
 Mounts to his noontide height. 
 Lilian is gone.
 
 112 Lilian in the Forest, 
 
 Part II. 
 AFTEENOON. 
 
 In the stilly forest glade 
 
 The drowsy light is blinking, 
 And welcome seems the shade 
 
 From glaring sunlight shrinking ; 
 The afternoontide glare 
 
 When the sun puts forth his might 
 As revellers' torches flare 
 
 Before they sink in night. 
 
 Glassed in the peaceful water 
 
 Are bush and tree and sky, 
 And she, the keeper's daughter. 
 
 Who blushing stands thereby ; 
 Blushing by turns and paleing 
 
 At the passionate words she hears, 
 Till, love o'er fear prevailing, 
 
 She sinks in his arms in tears.
 
 Lilian in the Forest, 113 
 
 Pressed to his heart he holds her, 
 
 And she sobs upon his breast 
 As he tells her his arms enfold her, 
 
 That there she shall find her rest ; 
 Whispering in her ear 
 
 Of future love and leisure, 
 She stays her sobs to hear 
 
 In a dreamy troubled pleasure. 
 
 The blush begins to fade, 
 
 A smile steals o'er her face ; 
 Ah ! rosy brown-haired maid, 
 
 Trust not those arms' embrace ! 
 ' Oh, be of better cheer ! 
 
 And banish vain alarms. 
 What should my Lilian fear 
 
 In her own true love's arms 1 ' 
 
 With a shiver she starts away, 
 ' Your love I may dearly rue, 
 You may weary of me some day, 
 
 I fear for your truth, Sir Hugh ! 
 And I fear for my ownself too. 
 Women are weak as water, 
 I
 
 114 Lilian in the Forest. 
 
 And I know that you ai^e Sir Hugh, 
 And I — am the keeper's daughter ! ' 
 
 He clasps her closer yet 
 
 With a sad reproachful gaze, 
 ' Think you I can forget 
 
 The bliss of these summer days ? 
 Am I a thing so slight 
 
 As to leave whom once I woo % 
 The years may take their flight, 
 
 But never will I from you ! ' 
 
 Softly he pleads and low, 
 
 Pleasantly chimes his voice, 
 It rings the knell of woe, 
 
 And bids her heart rejoice. 
 Oh ! readily she believes. 
 
 Determined on believing ; 
 His tale her ear deceives. 
 
 His own wild heart deceiving. 
 
 For he holds himself as true 
 As ever was ancient knight,
 
 Lilian in the Forest. 1 15 
 
 Never was lover knew 
 
 Less of the ruthless might 
 Of the quiet seeming stream 
 
 That swiftly bears them on 
 Who never of danger dream 
 
 Till hope of safety's gone. 
 
 There is none to bid them stay, 
 
 To speak of the sad to-morrow ; 
 They live but for to-day, 
 
 When past seems all their sorrow. 
 For a veil is o'er their sight, 
 
 By love and fancy woven. 
 Shall make the dark seem bright 
 
 Till it be rudely cloven. 
 
 His strong arm holds her fast, 
 
 They saunter through the trees ; 
 The sky grows overcast, 
 
 And moans the rising breeze. 
 The beeches bend and sway 
 
 As the lovers pass from sight. 
 Slowly draws on the day 
 
 To a wild and stormy night.
 
 1 16 Lilian in the Forest. 
 
 Part III. 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Wild is the night. 
 The owl flies whooping between the trees, 
 As they shudder and bend to the fitful breeze 
 
 In the dim half-light. 
 
 The rain is past ; 
 The withered leaves that lie on the ground 
 Rustle and move with a whispering sound, 
 
 Stirred by the blast. 
 
 Half dark, half light, 
 For the angry clouds the moon that cover 
 Are torn by the storm and are hurrying over. 
 
 They hide her from sight. 
 
 Now floats the rack, 
 And seared and wan is her face as she peeps 
 Where paler seems her image that sleeps 
 
 In the waters black.
 
 Lilian in the Forest. 1 17 
 
 Where the willow stands, 
 With mossy trunk and boughs all stark, 
 As praying in agony, there in the dark 
 
 With outstretched hands. 
 
 There crouches low 
 Upon the bank a woman alone, 
 And now with a song and now with a moan 
 
 Rocks to and fro. 
 
 Alone i' the night : 
 Damp and torn is the long brown hair. 
 Withered the cheek was once so fair, 
 
 But her eyes are bright, 
 
 Bright and dry. 
 She sobs and moans, but never a tear 
 May ease her heart ; now wild and clear 
 
 Her song swells high. 
 
 ' The night is as wild as a drunkard's dream. 
 Loud roars the torrent, the wind raves high ; 
 The torrent, in summer a tinkling stream,
 
 1 18 Lilian in tJie Forest. 
 
 The wind, in summer a half-hushed sigh, 
 Now each to outroar the other they try ! 
 
 False lover, false lover ! 
 Thine eyes were bright ! 
 
 But the sods they now cover 
 Thy beauty from sight ! . 
 
 How couldst thou deceive me % 
 
 Why did I believe thee % 
 Loud roars the wind in the winter's night. 
 Noble knight and haughty maiden ! 
 
 Little did ye think the air 
 Breathed across the pool was laden 
 
 With the curses of despair ! 
 Crouching lowly in the bracken, 
 
 There I heard him pour his vows 
 In her ear, where I, forsaken, 
 
 Once had listened 'neath the boughs ! 
 And they stood beneath the beech 
 
 Where he wooed me for his bride. 
 Where he witched me with his speech, 
 
 Where I slew my maiden pride ! ' 
 
 See where the cloud floats over the moon. 
 The song sinks down to a mournful croon.
 
 Lilia7i in the Forest. 1 19 
 
 * What hast thou done with thy flowers, Httle pond % 
 What hast thou done with thy flowers % 
 
 Thou art Hke me, for I was too fond 
 
 And wasted my blossom in summer hours ! 
 
 Now my soul is dark and wild, 
 
 Dark as thy still water ! 
 Dost thou remember me % I was a child, 
 I was the keeper's daughter. 
 I played by thy brink, where now I must sink ! 
 I was fair and — nay ! but I must not think ! ' 
 
 The moon steals forth from the muffling cloud 
 The maniac's chant is wild and loud. 
 
 * My knife was sharp, my arm was strong. 
 My love had sworn that he would be true ! 
 My arm was nerved by my cruel wrong ! 
 Why didst thou meet me alone, Sir Hugh % 
 
 Who shed bitterer tears than I ? 
 
 Wept for my lover I thought so true ; 
 Little they thought how I saw him die ! 
 
 Why didst thou meet me alone, Sir Hugh ?
 
 I20 Lilian in tJie Forest. 
 
 Lady Grace with her raven hair 
 
 Wept awhile; but her tears she dried 
 
 When the baron made her his lady fair. 
 I have wept ever since he died ! 
 
 I have wept ever, and I shall weep ; 
 
 Ah ! I never shall see him, never ! 
 Though mine eyes be closed in sleep. 
 
 Still I must weep, and weep for ever ! 
 
 Yesterday when she passed me by ; 
 
 Oh ! but I cursed her, and she turned white 
 " Only mad Lilian ! " the neighbours cry ; 
 She pitying stared, and passed me by. 
 
 Yet mad Lilian's curse shall light ! 
 
 *&' 
 
 Hide thy face, O wandering moon ! 
 
 Thou mindest me of the eyes of my lover ! 
 I shall go from the forest soon. 
 But first thy sorrowful face, O moon ! 
 
 The veil of clouds must cover. 
 
 Aha ! pale moon, thou ridest, ridest 
 Over the blue and under the rack,
 
 Lilian in the Forest. 121 
 
 Thou wilt flout me no more as bright thou gUdest, 
 
 For I shall be gone when thou comest back ! 
 How thou wilt peer through the clouds in fear ! 
 Quick ! let me go, she will soon be here ! ' 
 
 A wild loud laugh through the darkness rings ; 
 A plunge — she is silent, no more she sings. 
 
 The moon peers out again ; her light she flings 
 On pool and sward and trees. 
 
 She sees where on the water spread the rings, 
 No living soul she sees. 
 Lilian is gone. 
 
 LOSDON 
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 In I vol. post 8vo, 8s. 6d. 
 
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 ther that peace for which Captain 
 Semmes sighed during the lonely hours 
 of his cruise comes soon or late, this at 
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 interesting narrative of a successful en- 
 terprise, which must always hold a pro- 
 minent place in the annals of naval war- 
 fare.' — Press. 
 
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 the " .\labama" in onrnational records, 
 but to enable Englishmen to appreciate 
 
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 as a true gentleman~and patriot, as well 
 as a skilful and dashing sailor. The tale 
 of the gallant "Alabama" will not 
 easily be forgotten in the memory of 
 Englishmen.'— JbAra Bull. 
 
 ' We regard the volumes before us, 
 authentic as they may be deemed in the 
 source, as a very useful record of a very 
 memorable episode in naval warfare ' 
 
 Globe. 
 
 ' An authentic account of the career 
 of Captain Semmes — at least so far as it 
 has been connected with the "Alabama" 
 and " Sumter " — compiled from his 
 private journals and other papers, can- 
 not fail to be read with interest both by 
 friend and foe.' — Dispatch, 
 
 ' The name of Captain Semmes has 
 gone forth into all lands wherever 
 printed news can penetrate or the trum- 
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 the name of Semmes is historic, and 
 " 290 " is a charmed number.' 
 
 Illustrated London News. 
 
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 In 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 
 Marion : 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 By the late ' MANHATTAN.' 
 
 {Ready, 
 
 • Manhattan's novel will be read be- 
 cause of the author's name. It is a pity 
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 ing of it.' — Times. 
 
 ' The personages in " Marion " are 
 supposed to circulate among, and to 
 form part of the best New York so- 
 ciety of the day. They are units in 
 what we have been accustomed to^hear 
 
 described as the Upper Ten Thousand.' 
 Saturday Review. 
 
 ' There is not the smallest sign of 
 book-making apparent in all the pages, 
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 a-dozen ordinary works of fiction, in 
 which the usual elaboration would be 
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 it down \xa&nished,'— Herald. .
 
 In I vol. 8vo. 1 8s. 
 
 The History of the Cotton Famine. 
 
 FROM THE FALL OF SUMTER TO THE PASSING 
 OF THE PUBLIC WORKS ACT. 
 
 By R. ARTHUR ARNOLD. {Reacfy 
 
 ' Mr. Amo'd's COO pages are filled with 
 facts and figures arranged in a lucid 
 popular style, and from the great and 
 permanent Importance of the subject 
 will be read with interest.* — Times. 
 
 ' The story of the cotton famine, as 
 told by Mr. Arnold has all the interest 
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 returns of the Board of Guardians, are 
 all so many threads of interest in the 
 story. The book is well put together, 
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 dour which entitle the author to high 
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 ' It traces in a clear and succinct man- 
 ner the steps which were taken to meet 
 a national calamity, as soon as the pros- 
 pects of the cotton supply became 
 darkened.' — Observer. 
 
 ' Mr. Arnold has put together all the 
 facts witli lucid minuteness, and enabled 
 
 his readers to recall all the details of a 
 struggle which reflected honour on 
 British administration.'— 5pfc/a/or. 
 
 'We acknowledge the substantial me- 
 rits of Mr. Arnold's work. He dis- 
 cusses with fairness, with temper, and 
 we think with substantial justice, the 
 various questions which arose and be- 
 came matter of controversy during ths 
 famine,' — Lorulon lieview. 
 
 ' We congratulate Mr. Arnold on his 
 having added a very valuable contribu- 
 tion to contemporary historj'. He has 
 evidently bestowed very considerable 
 pains in the collection of his facls, and 
 arranged them in lucid order. His nar- 
 rative has the merit of fidelity and of 
 being free from partiality. It is com- 
 plete in statement, and will always re- 
 main a standard book of reference with 
 regard to the highly interesting events 
 which it records,' — Herald. 
 
 In I vol. post 8vo. Second Edition, 6s. 
 
 The Danes in Camp : 
 
 LETTERS FROM SONDERBORG. 
 By the Honourable AUBERON HERBERT. [Ready. 
 
 ' TTiis is a pleasantly written book, be- 
 cause it is exactly what it professes to be, 
 Mr. Herbert's book is satisfactory to 
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 contrast to the average of the literary 
 class to which he belongs Its merit is 
 that it is written because its author 
 wishes to tell what he has seen and felt, 
 and not because he wishes to produce 
 an article that will sell. 'I here are 
 many lively and striking passages.' 
 
 Saturday lieview. 
 
 ' The letters are well and gracefully 
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 and all this is mingled with a good 
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 Daily News. 
 
 'These Interesting letters are dedi- 
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 tess Dowager of Carnarvon. They 
 place the events of the siege graphically 
 before the reader, in simple but forcible 
 
 language. All that Mr. Herbert says 
 claims our most'carelul attention.' 
 
 Reader. 
 
 ' Mr. Herbert is an agreeable, manly 
 writer, .ind English readers will respond 
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 admiration which he expresses for the 
 inhabitants of the little kingdom.' 
 
 A/henteutn. 
 
 ' The story in his pages is an interest- 
 ing one.'— Spectator, Jirst notice, 
 
 ' The writer has many good qualities 
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 pictures are vivid, and the sentiments 
 come fresh from their being unmixed 
 with further matter.' 
 
 Spectator, second notice. 
 
 ' The book Is in all respects charming. 
 It is, moreover, a remarkably suc< ess- 
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 best book of the kind we ever met with. 
 In every page we feel the presence of a 
 gallant, meditative, and highly attractire 
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 In post 8vo. 
 
 My Sister's Son : 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 By W. J. SORRELL, 
 
 Author of 'Christmas Day,' 'The Caricature,' &c. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo. 
 
 Velvet Lawn : 
 
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 [Ready. 
 
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 Mr. Christopher Katydid 
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 partly American, partly English.' 
 
 Observer. 
 
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 [Ready. 
 
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 In I vol. post 8vo. 8s. 6d. 
 
 Dissent and Democracy, 
 
 THEIR MUTUAL RELATIONS AND COMMON 
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 Fellow of Magdalene College, Cambridge ; and of the Inner Temple. 
 
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 ' Mr, Masheder is a scholar ; his quo- 
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 B 
 
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 for which we uufeigncdiy thank him.' 
 Church Times. 
 
 ' Mr. Masheder's book is full of valu- 
 able information, and bristles with 
 cogent inference ; .ind we strongly re- 
 commend it to all those who are con- 
 cerned about the political fortunes of 
 the Church.' — Church Review. 
 
 ' It is impossible to ov.'rrate the Im- 
 portance of the topics which form the 
 subject matter of the present volume 
 Extremely well worth reading, and 
 replete with good S'-nsc.'— i'ffjj.
 
 xo 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 In I large vol. 8vo. 2 is. 
 
 Australian Explorations, 
 
 JOHN McDOUALL STUART'S JOURNALS OF EX- 
 PLORATIONS IN AUSTRALIA from 1858 to 1862. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM HARDMAN, M.A., F.R.G.S., &c. 
 
 Illustrated with a Portrait of the Author, and 12 page Engravings on 
 
 Wood, drawn by George French Angas, from Sketches taken during 
 
 the Expedition, and accompanied by a carefully-prepared Map of 
 
 the Explorer's Route across the entire Continent. [Ready. 
 
 ' A very large and valuable addition to 
 our geographical knowledge of Aus- 
 tralia.' — Observer. 
 
 ' Worthy of being ranked amongst the 
 most important in the History of Aus- 
 tralian discovery.' — Morning Advertiser. 
 
 ' To dilate on the value ot the work to 
 the very large number who are directly 
 or indirectly interested in Australian 
 progress is superfluous.' — Dispatch. 
 
 ' The conductor of the expedition has 
 earned lasting fame for the sterling qua- 
 lities which he proved himself to possess, 
 Tliroughout the toilsome journeys, of 
 which he has given a minute and graphic 
 account, he evinced every qualification 
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 such expeditions.' — Morning Post. 
 
 ' It is impossible to refrain from the 
 strongest admiration of the narrative 
 given in his own Journal, in which so 
 much unpretending unconscious heroism 
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 end of his enterprise ; thankfulness, not 
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 holding his life so lightly so that his 
 dull/ might be done.' — Globe. 
 
 ' These journals abound in interesting 
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 ' We cat! commend the book to the 
 careful perusal of those who wish to 
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 Australia.' — Morning Star. 
 
 Vol. II., in 8vo. 15s. 
 
 The Marquis of Dalhousie's Ad- 
 ministration of British India. 
 
 By EDWIN ARNOLD, M.A. of University College, Oxford. 
 
 [Ready. 
 
 The Kennel Stud Book. 
 
 Edited by ' CECIL.' [In preparation.
 
 II 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 I vol. fcp. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 A Piece of Bread. 
 
 From the French of M. Jean Mace. 
 By Mrs. ALFRED GATTY, 
 
 Author of • Parables from Nature,' ' Legendary Tales,' &c. [RcijJy. 
 
 PART I.— MAN. 
 
 ■ Mrs. Gatty has here favoured the 
 public with a volume weighty in its 
 matter, fascinating in its form, and in 
 its moral and religious tone above all 
 praise.' — London lieview. 
 
 ' This work, especialiy intended for 
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 supported in the human race." ' 
 
 Dispatch. 
 
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 .... The translation seems excellent. 
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 lic '—Prtsi. 
 
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 edition on the other side of the Channel, 
 having been adopted by the University 
 Commission of Paris among their prize 
 books.' — AlhencEum. 
 
 ' Written for childri'n. grown up peo- 
 ple will read it with profit and pleasure. 
 Kight editions have made the French 
 public familiar with the original, and 
 Mrs. Gatty has conterred no slight boon 
 on the ICnglish by a translation which 
 faithfully preserves its best features.' 
 Spcctalor. 
 
 Also, in I vol. fcp. 8vo. 
 
 PART II.— ANIMALS. 
 
 Completing the Work. [Just rem/j. 
 
 In 8*0. cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Shakspere Weighed in an Even 
 
 Balance. 
 
 By the Rev. ALFRED POWNALL, M.A. 
 
 Vicar of Trowse Newton and Fakcnhann, late Crosse's Theological 
 
 Scholar, Cambridge, &c. [Rea^y.
 
 12 
 
 In I vol. 8vo. I2S. 
 
 A Theodicy; 
 
 Or, VINDICATION OF THE DIVINE GLORY AS 
 MANIFESTED IN THE CONSTITUTION AND 
 GOVERNMENT OF THE MORAL WORLD. 
 
 By ALBERT TAYLOR BLEDSOE, LL.D. 
 
 Professor of Mathematics in the University of Virginia. 
 
 Dedicated to the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. [Ready. 
 
 ' Considering the importance of the 
 subject, the book is reasonably concise, 
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 generally are creditable to the learned 
 author. It is more readable and more 
 easily understood than such treatises 
 usually are.'— Spectator. 
 
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 eminent merit of being mainly true.' 
 Literary Churchman. 
 
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 a work like this will brace up the mental 
 powers, and be suggestive of many noble 
 thoughts, and we recommend it with 
 
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 Clerical Journal. 
 
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 volume.' — Edinburgh Courant. 
 
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