' ml THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES "V 4f( SSBI gtS "THE CATHEDRAL" AXD OTHER POEMS : BY HENEY DOMAN, LYMIN'GTOX. -@5^ PUBLISHED BY SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & Co. I864-. Mi 4-Wb CONTENTS. PAGE. The Cathedral 3 Summer Musings 8 The Burial of the Darling .. 12 The Clematis . 15 The Old Piano . 17 Walhampton Avenue 20 The Preacher 23 The Poet 25 The Street Funeral . 29 Sabbath Thoughts 33 By the Shore (Hurst Castle) . 37 The Boldre Bells 39 The Brave North Wind 42 The Christ upon the Waters . 45 The Summer's Noon . 47 In Memoriam . 50 The Wintry Day 52 V .ices of the Sea . 56 Shakespeare Tercentenary 60 The Mother's Grief 64 The Garden 68 The Monument . 71 The Tambourine . 74 The Old Chestnut Tree . 76 Masonic . . . . . . . 80 Christmas Day 83 The Dear Old Home . 85 The llussian Gun . . . 91 C%4 >*jf>,'1 "^ CONTEXTSs The Unbidden Guest . . My Pleasant Room Flaxpool Stream . . . . The Lost Miners . . , . The Miser . . Holy Ghost Chapel Basing Castle . . Lady Mary " Ecce Homo " • . "What Katie wants . • The Companion . . Mary's Grave My Mother . . A Sketch a , The Rifle Call . . The Witnesses . , The Gift of Song . . . . "Where is thine Hidden Chamber ? Almost Home • a Fading Flowers . . "It is I" God's Acre My Love Wishes m Puzzles . . A Night- Song • . "The Land of the Leal" The Faith . • " Watch ye therefore, and Pray " The Voice of May • • " When wilt Thou come, oh King ? Preferences . a Flowers . . Nous Verrons • • THE CATHEDEAL. The soul of man is a cathedral dim, Vaster than Grecian or Egyptian pil e ; And ever floating down each solemn aisle, On waves of melody divinely swim The many voiced chant, or melting hymn. From crimsoned window, tremulous and faint, On columned niche and stone chimera grim, Martyr, and mitred abbot, king, and saint ; Through chancel, uave, and oratory quaint; On ancient font engraved about with rhyme, And tablets covered with memorial lore ; On monuments and effigies of yore, And tombs of heroes of the olden time ; — The day-beam flickers, mystic and sublime. 4 THE CATHEDRAL. Through it, with tragic pomp and awful show, And weeping multitudes on bended knees ; "With dirges sweet and mournful litanies, And organs pealing stately anthems slow, Great funeral processions come and go. Then torches flare, and sable banners wave, And crosses gleam, and priestly vestments flow, And wands are broken over honour's grave, Where sleeps the loved, or mighty one, or brave, — Youth, glory, beauty, gladness, ever fled. And wliite-robed choristers, with chant and prayer, Move round the altar, in due order led ; Where smoking incense dims the scented air, And hallowed fingers holv waters shed. Without, beneath its everlasting walls, Serenely sleeping in their slumbrous shade, The friends that we have loved and lost are laid. In vain the tender voice of memory calls ; For, save in rare and spiritual intervals, THE CATIIEDRAL. ."> They come to us no more, who with us played In rural vales, or where the waterfalls Flash through the broken hills. Of those who made Our lives too full of music, most are here ; And like the turf above them, undecayed, Pensive, and pleasing, their memorials dear, Flourish unchanged through every changing year. Masses we sing for them, and prayers are prayed Continually : thus love's sad rites are paid. Its roof with many pinnacles and spires, And crosses shining in the glittering air, And winged angels meditating prayer, Gleams golden in the morning's golden fires. On weary foot the pilgrim faint aspires To mount the painful stairs that winding lead Up to the silent summits : he desires A glimpse of Eden's flower-empurpled mead, And life's fair flowing river bright and clear. Fair sight ! that sometimes comes in sorest need, 6 THE CATHEDRAL. "When cm some lonely point we take our stand, And through the slowly opening atmosphere, Discern the features of that better land, That is afar off, and is yet so near. It hath its seasons of high festival : The joy-bells pealing from its many towers ; Its altars twined and garlanded with flowers, "Whose crimson glories flash from columns tall, Where solemn arches spring from buttress' d wall. Serenely, sweetly floating on the swell Of mighty music, thundering stately praise, Voices of hidden angels sing their lays Of joy eternal, inexhaustible. A spiritual influence and spell — A sound of many wings, as of the sea — A glory spreading mystic and divine — And cloven, golden flames on every shrine — Reveal the presenco of the Deity. THE CATHEDRAL. Then to tli' internal unclosed eye is shown The King, in all His beauty, and the great Glory of His fair kingdom, and the state And majesty that dwell about His throne. Then dies the outer world : its scenes are flown, Its sorrows lost, its chequer' d memories gone. The films that dim our inner sight unfold ; We look, and die not, tremulously bold. As Sheba's queen on princely Solomon We gaze, and say the half hath not been told. Then flames the sacred heart : celestial fire Flows from the altar as in days of old, Touching the lips no longer dumb and cold : And all the soul is one eternal quire. SUMMER MUSINGS. All in the sultry noon, How sweet it is to lie, Gazing through waving boughs, Into the deep blue sky ; Listening unto the tune Of the wild bee droning by ; And the river that sings in Juno A dream-like melody. On a mighty sea of leaves The southern breeze is blowing ; The forest ocean heaves Green waves in beauty flowing. SUMMER MUSINGS. Light sits 011 every spray, The shadows dance in the river, The sedges whisper and play, Play and whisper for ever. Far o'er the sunny lea The heather waves its bells, And the butterfly and the bee Sip from its honeyed cells. Tbe yellow gorse and broom Gleam on the distant fells, And wild thyme's scented bloom Wafts up from turfy dells. See where with crimson plume, The fiery foxglove stands, Half-hid in verdant gloom By emerald bars and bands. 10 STJHMEK MUSINGS. Here through the silent hours The stately king-fern bends ; And creeping through the flowers, His way the beetle wends. Wide o'er the fields of corn, That in golden beauty he, "With a rippling shimmering sound, The rapid shadows fly ; Flying over the wheat, And the barley's bearded grain, With a noise as of angels' feet, And a tinkling sound, like rain. Pleasant it is to He In shadow calm and still, To hear the lark in the skv, And the blackbird down by the mill ; STtfiTER MUSINGS. 11 The dreamy murmuring sound Of the quivering leaves of June, And the river that all year round Singeth its quiet tune. "would that my heart could feel As in the days gone by, "When friends were never to change, And dear ones never to die. Dreaming about them for ever, In the shade that lies under the hill, And along by the murmuring river, I fondly think of them still. 12 THE BUEIAL OF THE DARLING. We buried our darling at break of morn, When tlie winter's cold wind was blowing ; We laid kirn down in his grave forlorn, And our tears were silently flowing. We laid him down in his lonely grave, And heard not the minister praying ; But thought how above him the grasses would wave, And the birds all singing and playing. THE BTJRIAL OF THE DARLING. 13 /e thought of the little voice that was still, o disturb us no more with its chatter ; f the little white feet now so clammy and chill, iat around us would never more patter. *e thought, as they laid liim deep in the mould, Tiere the tomb for our darling was craving, f the simlighted countenance, dearer than gold, ad the bright locks so gracefully waving. T e thought, as the robin sang merry and clear, f that home where the happy shall gather ; nd we check' d the last sob, and wiped the last tear, ir the darling gone homo to the Father. r e turned, as the winter-flakes fell from the cloud, nd the keen wind blew colder and colder ; ad there, in his little grey coffin and shroud, sft our darling to silently rnoulder. 14 THE BURIAL OF TILE DARLING. "We thought as we turned, of the years that shox come, When the gash in our souls will be mended ; "When the darling we mourned for will welcome home, And the days of our grief shall be ended. 15 THE CLEMATIS. It was not long ago, "When in the frost and snow, die beauteous creeper hung its dying head ; Its branches dropping down, All withered, sere, and brown, taid black, unsightly leaves beneath it spread. The chill November shower Dripp'd through its leafy bower, Loosening its hold upon the slinry wall ; And from its slippery leaves, Up to the housetop eaves, The snail and spider did reluctant crawl. 16 THE CLEMATIS. The storm its requiem sung With, sad and solemn tongue, As flew its wither' d leaves upon the blast ; And winter, calm and slow, A spotless shroud of snow All tenderly did o'er its branches cast. Now, roused from winter's sleep, Its verdant beauties creep, A robe of glory, round the gabled hall ; And where the ivy clings, And the saucy blackbird sings, The clematis goes climbing over all. 17 THE OLD riANO. I am not lonely here ; around me gather Many a dear friend I shall see no more. Chiefest and dearest comes my gray old father, With his calm kindness as in days of yore. And though no more I gaze upon his features, Nor listen to the voice I loved to hear, — Though he no longer walks amid earth's creatures, Yet in the spirit is my father near. An awful thrill creeps o'er me in the presence Intangible, hut real, of this dear friend ; A mixture of love and fear, the immortal essence Of an affection that shall know no end. I wake once more the chords he loved to hear, The old familiar tunes to memory ever dear. 18 THE OLD PIANO. And not alone he conies ; a sainted mother Out from the heavens descends her son to bless : A friend such as she was I have no other, "With such a boundless love and tenderness. The moonlight flows into the room, and she Stands where its glory falls along the floor, — Seraph and saint, — yet ever unto me A mother, a dear mother — nothing more Nor less. Not heaven itself can break that bond. She speaks not, yet I feel her pure thoughts flow Into my heart, and raise it far beyond The dull cares of this fleeting world of woe ; This sorrowful world, yet so well sanctified With thoughts of those dear to us who have died. And other dear friends I have lost, full many At times come down into my quiet room ; Loving and beautiful are they ; not any Are unwelcome ; peopling the evening gloom With their pure presence and untroubled joy. THE OLD PIAX0. 19 Tkere are among them some whose hairs were gray Ere they departed ; there's a glorious boy "With waving locks, who fled in earliest day, By angels borne to heaven ; and maidens holy, A Yho with clasped hands in prayer, all meekly died. These come to soothe my heart's deep melancholy, And wean it from this world's deceit and pride ; And with their pure communion hush to sleep The thoughts that would my soid in thraldom keep. The dead are not the lost ; but ever near us In spiritual presence they are found ; they dwell About us still ; they love us, see us, hear us ; — And when upon our hearts their memories swell, Their tender influence soothes us while we weep, And spreads a halcyon calm o'er passion's troubled deep. 20 WALHAMPTON AVENUE. How tall and straight this giant tree hath grown ! His spreading arms an open court have kept Around him, and the space is all his own, Save where th' intruding briony hath crept, Clustering about his roots. The storms have swept Eull many a winter through his massive boughs ; Saxon and Dane beneath his shade have slept : Here too of old the red deer loved to browse, Lifting his lordly front in God's great forest house. And round about, the kingly forest trees Upraise their plumy heads in stateliest row ; Nature's cathedral ! column, and arch, and frieze, WAXHAAIPTON AVENUE. 21 Groined roof, and oratory dim, — and low Long sweeping choral aisles of leaves, where flow Grand airs, and symphonies, and holy psalms, — Wind-chants, — and that soft music breezes blow. These are God's priesthood, lifting holy palms Of worship to His name, in storm or summer calms, The moon hath risen, and o'er th' encircling hills Spreads a vast sheet of glory. Beautiful queen Of heaven ! the earth looks up to thee, and stills Her numerous voices, as thou sail'st serene In the blue sky, and through the forest green, Plingest a million spears of light, that play In shadowy glades, on mossy trunks, beta een The silent leaves, that half believe it day, But for the purer stillness of the holy ray. Her light is on the waters ; and the sea Whispers her beauty to his thousand waves, 22 WALIIAMPTON AVEITOE. "Where each long silvery ripple lazily Foldeth white arms around the echoing caves, Enters the rocky palaces, and laves Each shell-empurpled floor, — singing a time Of glory, ever chanting round the graves Of manhood and of beauty, lost in their noon : The brave, the good, the lov'd, — that perished all too soon. "Woods, hills, shies, waters, lovely night, the day's Effulgence, song of birds, the blush of springs, The summer shades, the autumn glories, praise His name, whose praise in heaven each angel sings. The flowers, the leaves ; the wind's great choral strings, Storm-stricken, tempest-rolling, sobbing, dying, — All earth, all heaven, and all created tilings, Lilting up holy voices ; ever crying- — "Glory to thee, Lord !" — voice unto voice replying. 23 THE PREACHEE. A preacher dwells within my heart : He came to me when life was young ; And oft my inmost soul would start In terror at his iron tongue. At early morn — in noonday's hour — In evening shades — at midnight lone- The voice spake on with growing power- A ceaseless, everlasting tone. By day, by night, in calm, or breeze. By meadows green, or shaded rill, In crowds, or where the lonely sea's Voice speaks, his voice is never still. 24 THE PHEACHEE. Sometimes through all the wandering soul, When paths of God and truth forsaking, His warning cry will dreadful roll, Like thunder-peals on mountains breaking. Sometimes the voice is low and sad, — A faint and mournful undertone ; Sometimes its words are strangely glad, When faults are crushed, and sins o'erthrown. And so, throughout life's chequered way, By every tumult strangely stirred ; Through every year, through every day, The tireless preacher still is heard. A friend, though somewhat stern of tongue ; A mentor, ever at my side ; Too oft misunderstood among The falsehoods that about me glide. 25 THE POET. I saw, in dreams, the poet wander forth By lonely ways, through deserts wild and wide, Into the desolate regions of the north, Cheering with lofty songs the mountain side. He trod with fearless foot the dreadful steeps, "Where from its wintry bed th' avalanche leaps, Where mighty rivers, with a thundering fall, Roar in their joy, and deeps to deeps do call : "Where, dizzy, poising o'er the crumbling ledge, Wheels the swift eagle round the dangerous edge And rushing from their cavernous hiding place, The wind's fleet coursers strive in furious race. Of wind, of stream, of caverns deep he sang, 26 THE I>OET. And with his melody the mountains rang ; And rolling clouds, and storms, and deserts wild, Claimed the hold singer as their best-loved child. From mountain breasts, and peaks of glittering snow, He turned his footsteps to a gentler scene, Where silver streams did through sweet valleys flow, And the fair earth lay clad in gold and green : By mossy fountains sparkling in the dell ; Through forest shades, by hermit's lonely cell, Where beauteous flowers, white, golden, crimson, blue, Their living glories with such lustre threw, That primrose pure, and heaven-eyed violet, Cowslip and bluebell, in a gorgeous net Of beauty, held the old world prisoner, Who cared not from such dear embrace to stir. The green woods lifted leafy branches high, That kissed their fingers to the laughing sky ; • emerald sea, whose crystal billows lay tog their white locks in a golden bay, THE POET. 27 Sang on his silvery surges a low song Of tenderness and sorrow, — did repent Of the great evil he had worked among The thousands that from kin and brotherhood went, To perish in his depths ; and would make moan O'er those for evermore whom he had overthrown. And from the forest's leafy depths rang out A voice of song and gladness : the sweet lays Of winged, piping choristers. None may flout The music of such strains on summer days, When heaven, and earth, and sea, are all ablaze With love and light : and beauty and glory dwell With man for a short season : and the time Is full of sweetness : and, like a fair well, Of living water, the rapt heart sublime, O'erfLows with joy, as erst in Eden's prime. And so, where'er the poet went, he sang : By lonely rivers : through the solitudes : The flowing music of his numbers rang 28 THE POET. Like sweet bells sounding amid summer woods. Such magic was there in his mighty lyre, That while he sang, the silver-voiced quire Paused listening, and heard his cadence straight Strike on the gold bars of the heavenly gate, Where stood the calm-eyed, reverent seraphim. The rolling echoes of his noble hymn "Went sounding on through crystal arches clear, That o'er Life's river angel builders rear. Oh, river fair ! I saw thy blessed stream Winding amid the bowers — saw the gleam, Where bend and reach in glittering sunshine lay- Where flashed the rapids on their silvery way, — Saw the bright mansions, where the just abide, Temple and palace, in thy shining tide Glancing, as in a mirror : heard the strains Of gladness wafted o'er the heavenly plains : While the sweet waters on their murmurs bore The music of his singing evermore. 29 THE STEEET FUNEEAL. Silently, solemnly, Steadily go ! The dead above, The living belo^*. Leisurely, measurely, Footsteps are falling Under the coffin ; The sound is appalling ! Weepingly, creepingly, Sorrowful, dumb, The chief of the mourners, All desolate, come. 30 THE STREET FUWEKAL. The friends and relations By two and two follow ; And their tramp on the pavement Sounds dreary and hollow. The folk from their windows Look out at the show, At the pall of black velvet, With fringes of snow, — At the style of the mourning, Its fashion and shape, — The bugles and flounces, — The broadcloth and crape. Soothingly, sighingly, Murmurs the breeze, With the music of rivers, And whisper of trees. THE STREET FDWERAIi. 31 The pall on the coffin Waves out in the wind, And the noise of its flapping Is heard from "behind. Droningly, groaningly, Swingeth the bell, As floats o'er the meadows The voice of its knell. Mournfully floating O'er meadow and lea — O'er forest and streamlet — O'er river and sea. Eosy-faced children Hushing their breath, As silently marches The pageant of death. 32 THE STREET FUNERAL. Stupidly staring, A country-bred loon, Goes by with bis bat on, And -whistles a tune. Thus rolls on the world Through its thousands of years, With laughter and music, With sorrow and tears ; With tinsel and glitter, With canker and rust ; Its youth and its beauty, Its ashes and dust ! Silently, solemnly, Steadily go ! The dead above, The bving below, Leisurely, measurely, Footsteps are falling Under the coffin : The sound is appalling ! 33 SABBATH THOUGHTS. Lord, when I read -within thy word of old, How at thy feet the wandering woman wept, Thou wilt not in thy pity deem me bold In thinking that with her I too have crept Into thy presence : that my tears have swept "With hers, their way into thy holy heart ; And that of them thou hast a memory kept ; And dost unto my soid her peace impart, Though, all unlike her love, my love hath fallen short. Like the poor thief, that, dying on the tree, "Whispered into thine ear his humble prayer, So have I, Lord and Master, cried to thee, And thou didst in thy pity check despair : And if not yet I tread those regions fair, 3-1 SABBATH THOUGHTS. Where glory dwells — where Grod's fair city lies, — Where thou dost walk with me Lord, heaven is there ; Though all the path be paved with enemies. He that on earth walks with thee, walks in Paradise. For Eden yet surviveth in the sold ; Its bowers immortal, casting fragrant shade, Still line Life's river, whose fair waters roll, Murmuring eternal music : many a glade Bright with unspoken loveliness is seen, And holy spirits wandering among trees And flowers : these are the trees of God, whose green And healing foliage in the blessed breeze Hangs quivering, whispering heavenly harmonies. The music of the golden bells of heaven Floats softly, sweetly, through the radiant air ; And sounds of harpers and their harps come driven In waves and bursts of glory : psalm and prayer, Voices, and falling water,-, and the swell SABBATH THOUGHTS. 35 Of organs, break and die upon the ear, In strains that, dreamlike, on the memory dwell : And hymns of holy children marbled clear, Echo through that celestial atmosphere. The voice of Grod is heard among the trees : He walks within their leafy shade to bl The soul that loves him : heaven's own sanctities Change in a moment life's rude wilderness : The desert gleams with roses : waters fair Spring in the thirsty land, and sweetly flow ; The verdure spreads o'er mountains bleak and bare J And sorrow melts away in joy, for lo ! "Where God and man hold converse, heaven is there. So, Lord, amid the ceaseless storms of life, My hand in thine, I tread the path with thee ; Nor faint with fear : nor heed the noisy strife : Nor dread the waves of time's imperi 36 SABBATH THOUGHTS. I dwell in thy pavilion, where unfurled, Thy golden banner floats along the sky ; And in sweet converse with a holier world, Thankful and steadfast, hear the storm roll by,- My anchor Thou, in time, and through eternity. 37 BY THE SHOKE. HURST CASTLE. I hear the sounding of the seas ; The noise by many waters made ; The sea-gull's scream, as on the breeze, He floats through shine and shade : The rush, the roar, the thundering shock Of waves assaulting mountain Trails ; The hiss of billows round the rock, That nods, but never falls. From shingled beach and sandy shore, The strains of fife and drum. All mingled with the watery roar, Along the breezes come, 38 BY THS SHOKE. Merrily sings the mariner, Under Lis flapping sail ; Merrily sing the waves, astir, And dancing to the gale : Merrily, merrily glides the boat, Awash with breaking seas ; The sailor shouts from husky throat — - " Hurrah for a spanking breeze ! " The sun shines bright in summer skies,- On sea, and field, and tree, As when he gladdened other eyes, That no more gladden me. As white-winged swans that proudly glide,. The stately vessels pass ; And sun, and sea, and ships, and tide, I see as in a glass. Ships glide, winds blow, and sea-birds scream } The surge breaks on the shore ; I see, and hear, as in a dream ; I care for them no more.- 39 THE BOLDEE BELLS. 5 Twas in the Christmas time : The snow was on the ground : The Boldre bells in a merry chime, Sang with a joyful sound — Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong ! The ringers and the clerk Stood each with rope in hand : Loud they sang at the work ; And the sound went over the land — Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong ! 40 THE BOLDRE BELLS. The good old parson's "board "Was crown' d with Christmas store ; And, as he thank' d the Lord, The lb ells chimed evermore — Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong ! Down "below in the hall, The mistletoe was huno; : The maids — John kiss'd them all : And still the church bells sung — Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong ! Tho folk came to the gate ; The priest threw wide his door : The bells sang to his heart, — " Never forget the poor ! " Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong ! THE BOLDRE BELLS. Tliey drank the Christmas ale, And caroll'd many a song ; And on the wintry gale The bells rang clear and strong — Ding dong, ding dcng, ding clong ! The priest sleeps in his grave : The folk have pass'd away : But the old Boldre hells Still ring on a Christmas Day — Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong ! Oh, "beautiful Boldre bells, So full, so clear, so strong : My heart within me swells, At your grand old Christmas song — Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong ! 42 THE BEAVE NOETH WIND. The brave north wind was singing cheerly— Cheerly singing : The wedding bells were ringing clearly — Clearly ringing. From her mother's home, a bride Went out on life's changeful tide, As ships on unknown seas may glide. She went forth with tears and prayer ; True and good she was, and fair : Low she bent, and kissed the cheek Of the mother old and weak. THE BE AYE NORTH WENT). 43 The brave north wind was strongly blowing — Blowing strongly : The bride look'd up with tears o'erflowing—- Oh, not wrongly ! Thoughts of one who once was dear, Memories of a byegone year, Dim those eyes so bright and clear. Lips are silent ; thoughts are dumb, As in a wild throng they come. Childhood's visions, hopes of youth, Early vows, and broken truth. Still the brave north wind is singing, Sweetly, clearly; Pleasant thoughts to sad hearts bringing, Boldly, cheerly. It saith life hath many pleasures, Many great and lasting treasures, Many grand and holy measures, 44 THE BRAVE NORTH WECD. Fear not, oh thou gentle bride, Though by early sorrows tried ; Be thou loving, patient, true : Life brings noble work to do. The brave north wind brings o'er the mountains And the valleys, Vigour and health from living fountains In its chalice. Thus, from suffering and sorrow, Strength and fortitude we borrow ; And night is followed by the morrow. Let the blast blow cold and chill ; March we up Life's rugged lull : On its simimit wo shall see What the Lord will have us be. 45 THE CHEIST UPON THE WATERS. He walks upon the waters in his might ; The mark of sorrow on his brow he bears ; The sea is stilled : around him falls the nijrht : The wind sinks sighing into rest ; nor dares To stir his mantle as he treads the deep ; "While underneath his feet the waters sleep. The night has spread her canopy of cloud Along the silent heavens ; the stars are dim : Fades the long line of shore where late the crowd, Stood, trancelike, listening to the words of Him "Who spake as never mortal spake before ; "Who spake as mortal man shall speak no more. 46 THE CHRIST UPON THE WATERS. So full of love, so mighty, yet so meek, And sorrowful withal, lie treads the sea : His the deep grief that words may never speak ; A measureless pain, a voiceless agony : For man thus bent beneath affliction's rod ; Creator, Saviour, Sanctifier, God. Oh loved of earth and heaven, what words can tell What thou hast done for man, or man for thee ? For thou dost walk on waves of love, that swell Beneath thy feet in an unfathom'd sea. All hearts to thee flow upward, only blest, When thou dost come to them, and give them rest. 47 THE SUMMEE'S NOON. Oh, it is sweet in noon's still hour to lie Low at the foot of some old branching tree ; And gaze through green leaves up into the skyv That spreadeth out its blue bounds like a sea, With flying clouds like white ships sailing by. How cool the shades upon my temples playing ; How soft the breeze that fans my weary brow ; How pure and sweet the flowery odours straying Erom yonder fields; how fair this jasmin bough, That in the wanton wind hangs idly swaying. 48 the summer's noon. On this old gnarled and knotted trunk reclines Tlie pendent ivy, ever bright and green ; That with its wifely, loving clasp entwines The rough bark, hiding where time's hand hath been : Like sweet love rubbing out misfortune's lines. How green the turf on which I lay my head, In quiet from the harsh world far away ; Where the pure blue-bell droops its gentle head, Bending in lowly guise, as if to pray ; Borne down by the great glory round it spread. And gushing at my feet, a crystal spring Warbles in niurnmrs low a gentle hymn : Each wavelet as it passes seems to sing In accents sweet, and beautiful, and dim, Unto the fern-tops nodding o'er its brim. the stumer's noo:n t . 19 The fox-glove, the plumed warrior of June, Waves crimson banners o'er the glassy wave ; Sword-grass and sedges, in the stilly noon, Their drooping falchions in bright waters lave ; And nought is vocal, save the river's tune. Here let me lie, leaf-hidden from the day, Alone, in all the bliss of solitude ; — Far from the strife of tongues ; — while round me play Leaves, waters, the wing'd spirits of tbe wood ; And fancy's revels hold their witching way. 50 IN MEMORIAM. The pleasant glades of Brockenhurst Axe lying in the sun, As beautiful as when at first They were beheld by one, "Who now in yonder chancel lies, Tor ever hid from loving eyes. The little church, whose modest spire Looks out on far off seas, « Glows bright in morning's ruddy fire, Half seen, half hid, in trees. The wild bee murmurs round the wall, Where light and shade alternate fall. IN" MEMORIAM. How calm, how silently here lie The dead of long- ago ! Leaves wave around them, breezes sigh ; Grass ripples, daisies blow. Their rest untroubled, still, and deep : In such fair spot 'twere good to sleep. She sleeps in solemn, holy calm, Within those hallowed walls : The music of each Sabbath psalm About the sleeper falls : And children's voices, sweet and clear, Float round her : such she lov'd to hear. With tears we bore her to her rest ; With tears we laid her low : The tenderest, purest, kindest, best, That we on earth shall know : And left her calmly sleeping there, Within that sacred house of prayer. 52 THE WINTEY DAY. "Wet and weary, Gloomy and dreary, Cometh the winter's day : The rain is falling, The robin is calling Prom meadows misty and grey. Down by the river, The dead leaves quiver, To the wind that is mournfully sighing ; Where sedge and rushes, And alder-bushes, Weep for the year that is dying. THE WINTRY DAT. 53 IVoni barren hedges, And housetop ledges, The lonely sparrow flits : In thorny tangles, In corners and angles, The shivering blackbird sits. The mice are peeping, The spiders are creeping Down by the garden wall ; Where rotting, dripping, The leaves are slipping Down with a desolate fall. The winds are blowing, The rains are flowing Out of the watery sky ; The trees are waving Black bare arms, braving The tempest that sings on high. 54 THE WI^THY DAY. The dog is sleeping, The crickets are cheeping Close by the kitchen fire ; The flames come creeping, Merrily leaping, Leaping higher and higher. The cat lies licking Her paws : loud ticking Comes from the clock on the wall ; The pendulum swinging To and fro, singing With measur'd, monotonous call. Solemnly swinging ; Mournful thoughts bringing Of times that come back to us never For the dead and gone knelling — Constantly knelling — Knelling for ever and ever ! THE WIXTRY DAY. 55 Down by the river, The yellow leaves quiver To the wind that is wearily sighing ; "Where the stream gushes By willows and rushes, And mourns for the year that is dying. 56 VOICES OF THE SEA. Oh voices of the solemn sea, That from your echoing cliffs and caves Are ever sounding : oh ye waves, Whose million tongues eternally Converse, as "round the world ye go : Ye billows, that with ceaseless shocks, Batter the slowly crumbling rocks : Oh yellow beaches, fring'd with snow, i Where ocean's furious cavalry — The hoary and impetuous stirges — Sing their everlasting dirges : VOICES OF THE SEA. 57 Oh winds, whose stormy litany Doth amid crashing thunders fly — First mutter' d low in caverns deep ; Then with a Avild and madden'd sweep, Shaking the pillars of the sky : Oh many voices of the sea — Of wind, cliff, cavern, wave, and beach : What is the burden of your speech — The message that ye bring to me ? Oft, by the gray and lonely sea, I wander, listening to the roar Of waters breaking on the shore ; And sometimes think that back to me, Some voices I have heard before, Come softly on the startled ear, Like distant bells, serene and clear, — Voices that I shall hear no more. 58 VOICES OF THE SEA. From tlie wild wilderness of waves, A Babel of mysterious cries 'Mid clashing waters seems to rise : As if from their unquiet graves, A thousand weltering fathoms deep, Shrouded in weeds, and sand, and shells, In coral grots or granite cells, The dead were crying in their sleep. Again the sea-fight's thunders fly Round cavern' d cliffs, and cloudy peaks : Blows fall, and sahres clink, and shrieks, And oaths, and curses, fill the sky. Or requiem voices, sweet and low, Stir the sad music of the sea ; And all the waves that mournful he, In funeral procession go. All tenderly they flow and sing O'er ebon locks and golden hair; O'er youth and manhood — maiden fair ; VOICES OF THE SEA. 59 Above whose graves may never ring God's hallow'd, melancholy bells ; O'er whom no soothing prayers were read : Nor masses sung, nor sendee said ; For whom with grief old ocean swells, "When, in his caverns deep and lone, Or moving round his cragged hills, Remorse his mighty bosom fills, — And makes an everlasting moan. These are the messages to me, From wind, cliff, cavern, wave, and beach : And such the burden of their speech — These voices of the gray old sea. 60 SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENARY. This day we men of England celebrate, Sacred to Shakespeare's memory and fame : His fame above all others high and great ; His name a vast imperishable name ; "Worthy of the world's honour and acclaim. He that so sweetly by the silver stream Of Avon sung, that his fair numbers ran Down through the ages, and still roll supreme : His name we sing, who sang the heart of man ; "Who doth of God's great minstrels lead th' immortal van. SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENARY. 61 His voice along the hoar expanse of time, Tuneful and solemn, fills our listening ears ; Before us sweeps his pageantry ; sublime, Undimmed, unfaded, by the lapse of years ; Moving all hearts alike to mirth or tears : Here passion raves, guilt cowers, glory shines, And virtue drest in fairest garb appears ; Here treason stalks ; here love with murder twines ; And life's fantastic hues light up his mighty lines. He sang the mysteries of heaven and earth, — Stars, mountains, flowers, — of field, and stream, and tree, — Portents, and signs, and shapes of wondrous birth, — And secrets of the wide and pitiless sea. The universe within him seemed to be Mirrored, as in a glass, wherein the sky, The clouds, cliffs, oceans, wild waves rolling free, Towers, temples, cities, — meet th' enquiring eye — And ever beauteous scenes before us open lie. 62 SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENARY. The mightiest master of those mighty chords That vibrate through the heart of man ; the king Of glorious song, — the hard of hards, — whose words Flow through the wide world, a perpetual spring Of wisdom and of beauty, — who can sing As he, who sang Ophelia, pale and pure ; Of Juliet sweet ; of tender Portia's ring ; Of royal Duncan ; Macduff's vengeance sure ; Of love than death more strong, and false ambition's lure ? He sleeps in Stratford : ever to his shrine The wise, the loving, and the reverent come ; "With solemn steps they tread the place divine, Hallowed by Shakespeare's resting place and tomb. In murmurs low they breathe his name, of whom The ever-living glory spread afar, Glimmering above the nations, doth illume The night of the dead centuries, like a star, With an increasing brightness tixae may never mar. SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENARY. 63 The Pliaroalis of the old world grandly he In seidptured chamber, or in pyramid, Whose hoary summit cleaves th' eternal sky, Awful and lone. Not so is Shakespeare hid ; The sunshine falls around him : what he did, Brass needeth not, nor marble, to proclaim ; His works are their own monument, amid The storms and wrecks of ages : his fair name Brightens and flashes with eternal fame. 64 THE MOTHEE'S GKIEF. I'm toss'd about with sorrow ; I've had a terrible grief ; I know not where to wander For comfort and relief. All in the early morning, They carried my boy away, To sleep in a little graveyard, Whore once I saw him play. THE MOTHER'S GRIEF. 65 I've nothing left of my own boy, But the clothes he used to wear, The toys he lov'd to play with, And this little lock of hair. I mind me how my own boy Would come to my chamber door, And peep through the bedroom curtains, With face so bright and pure. I think of the voice of my own boy, How he made the house to ring : How he'd thump the old piano, And fancy he coidd sing. I shall never forget my own boy, How he would caper and talk, When the maid came down with her bonnet, To take him out for a walk. 66 the mother's grief. Last night, as the clock toll'd midnight, And we were silent all : I thought he was in the passage : I thought I heard him call. It might have been my fancy, For grief ran wild and high ; But I think it was his angel : I'm sure the boy was nigh. I knew that he was sleeping In a little coffin of grey ; And that holy ones were keeping Watch there by night and day. I heard it so distinctly, I woke up with a start : It still sounds in my spirit, And down in the depths of my heart. the mother's grief. 67 They've buried my boy this morning, Sadly against my Trill : Oli, I cannot bear this silence ! I can hear it, it is so still ! And I've nothing left of my otto boy, But the clothes he used to wear, The toys he lov'd to play with, And this little lock of hair. 68 THE GAEDEN. Take tliy £01 of beauty, soul of mine ! Summer birds are sinsiaa: : Feathery star-blooms of the jasmin shine,. Round the porch-way clinging : Passion-flowers and clematis entwine ; Ivy wantons with the columbine ; Odorous roses crimson rays divine From green shades are flinging. Here in calmest beauty let me he ; Sweetest fancies playing : THE GARDEN. C9 Pensive, watching, where along the sky, Sunset clouds are straying. With a tinkling sound the wind goes by : How it rustles in the branches high : Leaves are softly whispering in reply : What can they be saying ? Through the lattice, open to the air, Crimson buds are peeping : How they flaunt (the little beauties) where Zephyr comes a' creeping : "With their leafy, graceful fingers fair, Teaching in dumb language lessons rare, Fraught with love, and tenderness, and prayer ; Angels, near us keeping. Flowers in all the glory of their bloom, In fair borders springing, Breathe on every wave of air perfume, Eichest odours flinging. ) TIIE GAEDEN. Sportive insects sound their mellow drums : Loud the wild hoe in the thicket hums : Tipsy, from his golden cups he comes, Drunk with sweets, and singing. Through the garden, flashing to the sky, A bright stream is going : With a mystic, niurnnmng melody, Musically flowing. On its banks the roses fall and die : Gold-crown' d lilies in its bosom lie, Broad leaves rocking as the zephyrs fly, Pearl-drops o'er them throwing. Like that calm and primal Eden fair, Fill'd with heavenly meetness, Is this quiet place of beauty, where Time hath lost his fleetness. Winds and waters breathing music rare : Green leaves softly min'miu-ing psalm and prayer : Perfumes scenting all the silent air, With their dying sweetness. 71 THE MONUMENT. 'Tis a fair tiling, and brave, To live Tvithin tlie memory of good men, "When thou art gathered to the silent grave ; And nought is left of thee for human ken, But good deeds done by thee "when thou wert here. Like rosy clouds that float in sunset clear, So shall they float about thy name, and give A glory to thee that shall ever live. There are brave sepulchres, Laden vdth many a ton of blatant lies, That cover up in death the slips and slurs Of poor humanity. If thou art wise, 72 THE ITOXUMENT. Leave the dead braggarts to themselves, and make Thy tombstone in thy lifetime : thou must take From every hour its slab of marble pure, And thus a lasting monument ensure. Be not in undue haste For place or power, o'er others to bear rule ; Pride is the devil's drunkenness : one taste Ere now hath chang'd a wise man to a fool. He that to Babylonish realms gave laws, Through pride became a beast, all hair and claws ; And there are now, e'en as in holy writ, Men who are Nebuchadnezzars every whit. Each day's appointed task Meet as it comes, and do it : God gives time For all these things. Should thy worst enemy ask Thy kindness, give it : 'tis a tiling sublime : It takes his weapon out of thine own heart, Stabs him a thousand times in every part ; THE MONUMENT. 7:5 And, should it fail past friendship to restore, Makes him more like the devil than before. Fear nought on earth but sin : Men are but mortal, place them ne'er so high. Earth's Babel keeps up a continual din, And fools of fools unfortunate bargains buy. Keep thou the Master's footpath, straight and true ; His precepts honour ; his commandments do : Temper thy love to him with reverent awe, And keep within the circle of his law. And should' st thou die, As men have died before thee, all unknown ; And each record of thine existence fly From memory's ken ; the good deeds thou hast done, These shalt thou leave upon the fields of time ; Fruitful in virtuous life and pure intent ; Thine everlasting, spiritual monument. 74 THE TAMBOURINE. My little child of three years old, Is dancing with a tambourine : She shakes and flaunts her locks of gold ; She trips, she glides, along the green. Her little feet how light they spring ; Then.' tiny prints can scarce he seen : How sweet the words I hear her sing, — " My tambourine ! my tambourine ! " Oh, happy child, so full of grace ; So gay and gladsome, blithe and free : With life's young sunshine in thy face ; Thou art a sunshine unto me. Away she glides, away she trips, So gaily, lightly, o'er tho green ; THE TAMBOURINE. 75 With happy words from happy lips, — "My tambourine ! my tambourine ! " Her elder sister standing by, A gentle child with pensive look, Regards her with a loving eye, And slowly shuts her picture book. A smile breaks o'er her features sweet ; Away she bounds across the green, Pursuing swift on flying feet, " The tambourine ! the tambourine ! " Oh, happy children, full of grace, How sweet to me your pleasant strain ! My heart runs with you in your race : You make me well-nigh young again. Above your heads the cloudlets fly ; Around you wave the branches green ; And still I hear your voices cry, — " The tambourine ! the tambourine ! " 76 THE OLD CHESTNUT TEEE. Under this spreading chestnut shade, I well remember when, With happy school-boj lads I played, — Now wrinkled, bearded men. "With merry shout, and whoop, and call, We sported o'er the green ; And here with wicket, bat, and ball, The cricketers were seen. THE OLD CHESTNUT TREE. 77 The quiet houses round the square Rang with oiu' loud halloo, As, in the parson's garden fair, We heard his ring-doves coo. Here too in morning's hour we came, "With pebbles hard and brown ; And often, with successful aim, We brought the chestnuts down. And sometimes woidd the squire run out, — A fat old man was he, Much curs' d and troubled with the gout, — And swearing terribly. In vain ! in vain ! away we went, Like ships before the wind ; The sqtiire and his old footman, spent Tor breath, lagg'd on behind. 78 THE OLD CHESTNUT TEEE. The squire is dead : the footman's gone, "Where he mil serve no more ; But the old chestnut tree waves on, As grandly as of yore. The stern schoolmaster, lean and tail, "Who bent us to his will, Is dead, but underneath the wall The river wanders still. Oh, wandering ever in the shade, The pearly Loddon flows, "Where the green alder droops its head, And the marsh-lily blows. The master, with his cane and booh, The squire, and footman old, Have gone, as rain-drops in the brook, And mingle with the moidd. THE OLD CHESTNUT TREE. 79 The wild grass high above thera springs, And withers on their graves ; And still the pearly Loddon sings, And the old chestnut waves. The merry shout is heard no more ; Hnsh'd is the schoolboy's cry ; But still, amid the branches hoar, The wandering breezes sigh. so MASONIC. He lives in no vain show whose life is spent In loving deeds through each revolving day, Like soniefair streanifrom white-rohedniountains sent, That scatters gladness on its pleasant way. Each passing moment builds his monument In masonry that shall endure for aye. The Architect of this great universe, Shall to the Hst'ning heav'ns his fame rehearse. He seeks not greatness here, nor vain applause ; But spurns the flatterer, meekly hears reproof. Enough for him t' obey the master's laws, His work its own reward. He stands aloof MASONIC. 81 From evil deeds, upholds no shameful cause; His heart a temple, underneath whose roof, Wisdom and love, — two massive pillars grand, — In everlasting strength and beauty stand. He sees, assisted by that holier ray, That Hows from heaven, his pathway to illume ; The Master's footsteps hallowing all the way, That leads him to th' inevitable tomb. Light beams upon the grave : eternal day Shines through its portals, dissipates the gloom ; Revealing from the glorious realms afar, The rising of the bright and morning star. In level steps, square conduct, deeds upright, True words, and holy thoughts, each day to spend ; To struggle ever upwards to the light ; Kind to the thankless, faithful to the friend, — 82 MASONIC. Obedient, humble, valiant for the right ; By worthiest ways to win each worthy end ; To raise the fallen, succour the distrest, — He blesses all, and is in blessing, blest. Oh, morning star ! deliverer, master, lord ! Before whom thrones, dominions, glories, fall : Throughout the boundless universe adored : To Thee, the faithful and obedient call. Guide us in walk and action, thought and word ; Till, summoned upward from, this earthly ball, We to those blest abodes triumphant rise, Where Thy fair temple glitters in the skies. CHEISTMAS DAY. As in bed the children lay, Suddenly they brake out singing, For they said 'twas Christmas Day, And they heard the bells a'ringing. With great love my heart was stirred Unto God, such blessings granting : So, methought, the shepherds heard Once, the blessed angels chanting. 84 CHRISTMAS DAY. Thus I lay awake, and found Grateful tears my vision dimming ; "Wliile I listened to the sound, Of the little children hymning. Then to God I breathed a prayer, While the merry bells were ringing, That He would unite us, where All the saints His love are singing. 85 THE DEAR OLD HOME. And so tlie old home is broken up, the dearly lov'd old home ! The gathering place for the wanderers, who now abroad may roam : The home of our pleasant childhood, where life's best days were pass'd ; The kind old home, the dear old home, is broken up at last. 86 THE DEAIt OLD HOME. Th ore is silence in the passage, there is mildew on the wall, In the once well-dusted corners, the hoary spiders crawl ; The shutters are in the window, and, creeping along the floor, A sunbeam stirs the darkness, brooding there for evermore. Come softly up the staircase; softly! as upon the day When, in his oaken coffin, our loving father lay : Come softly up, and tenderly, and with a solemn ah- : Come softly up, and tenderly, as if the dead were there. Come softly up the staircase ; as, when our mother lay, Drest out for death's long bridal ; hands cross' d, as if to pray : — THE DEAR OLD HOME. 87 When the open hand, the loving heart, all quiet lay and chill ; Oh Grod ! I cannot bear it ! how her memory haunts me still. This is the bedroom where they slept, the place wherein they died ; Enough ! thank God that even now they're sleeping side by side : Up in the lonely Litten field, all lovingly they rest : They could not dwell for ever here ; and God knows what is best. Come, let us leave the room, and seek the attic chamber high ; Where the linden waves its leaves between the window and the sky : 'Twas here we kept our books and toys; 'twas here the children slept ; 'Twas here we quarrell'd, here we kiss'd, played, shouted, laugh'd, and wept, 88 THE DEAR OLD HOME, Here, in the early morn of life, my student hours were pass'd ; And hopes, all beautiful, were formed, too beautiful to last : Here, by the taper's glimmering light, and in the morning's grey, I wove the tale, and thought the thought, and sung my youthful lay. The dear old room is empty now, but on its silent walls, The sunset glory comes and goes, and the evening shadow falls : The rain-drops rattle on the roof; the lattic'd window high, Gleams in the golden sunshine, as in the days gone by. And see, where sad and desolate, the lonely garden lies ; Methinks, if he were living, how 'twould sadden father's eyes ; THE DEAR OLD HOME. 89 The -weeds are over the border, the trees drop from the wall, The flowers are dead and drooping, and the wither' d branches fall. How well can I remember when the autumn fruit was ripe, How under the trees our father came, to smoke his quiet pipe, How we woidd cluster round him for his wise and pleasant talk, "With a kindly nod to mother, as she saunter' d in the walk. And the pleasant Christinas gatherings we'll never now forget, Though we shall neyer meet again, at least as onco we met : 90 THE DEAR OLD HOME. The wine may sparkle in the light, wit flash, and laughter roar : There's an empty place within our hearts, empty for evermore. For the dear old home is broken up, the dearly lov'd old home, The gathering place for the wanderers, who now abroad may roam : The home of our pleasant childhood, where life's best days were pass'd, The kind old home, the dear old home, is broken up at last. 91 THE EUSSIAN GUN. Iron monster, grim and gory, Frowning, scowling, where the trees, Clad in summer's greenest glory, "Wanton with the passing breeze. Little children, round about thee Sport and gambol through the day, Careless or to please or flout thee, In their merry, merry play. 92 THE RUSSIAN GUN. Graily shouting, dancing, singing Pleasant songs of cheerful note, And their yellow pebbles flinging Deep into thine iron throat. When the summer sunset ruddy, Fires and gilds the western sky, Comes a sunbeam, red and bloody Red and bloody — passing by. Comes a blood-red sunbeam, flitting Swiftly from the crimson clouds, — War's fierce-flaming emblem, fitting Thee, thou thing of graves and shrouds. Comes a blood-red sun-beam, flitting From the dead day's funeral pyre ; On thy stern old muzzle sitting, Like a spark of golden fire. TIIE RUSSIAN GIX. 93 Grim old foe, dost thou reraeinber Balaklava's deadly plain ? That Sebastopol September, With its ghastly heaps of slain ? Tell ns, Russian, didst thou bellow O'er the field of Inkerman ? Hast thou slain some gallant fellow In the trenches — the Redan ? Say, if on that day of glory, Boomed thy thunder's fatal knell, Where the dead lay gash'd and gory, Where the brave Mackinnon fell ? Didst thou speak on Alma's river, Or on Eupatoria's height, Or where sunbeams glance and quiver 7 In Tchernava's waters bright? 94 THE RUSSIAN GUN. Thing of blood, and death, and sorrow ; Despot's minion, mankind's foe ; Say, oh when shall come that morrow, War shall cause no tears to flow ? In thy blacken' d throat, the swallow And the robin soon shall build ; And that murderous gloomy hollow, Be with leaves and rubbish fill'd ; Ivy creepers round thee clinging, Shall with wanton windlets play ; Children's happy voices, singing Through the pleasant summer day. This, the last of all thy stations : Here, on this sequester' d green, Stay, and to the generations, Toll what fools their sires have been. 95 THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. In such an hour As when on the old world God's vengeance fell ; When the primeval ocean rose in power, Submerging tower and temple ; when the yell Of the affrighted nations tore the skies ; And angels listened to creation's knell. Fair broke the radiant morn on radiant eyes ; Flowers brightened in the sunlight ; in each wood The leaves were dancing to the zeimyr's call ; 96 TIIE UNBIDDEN" GUEST. The wild birds sang in each sweet solitude : Nought was there that earth's children might appal They ate, they drank, they builded : but the flood Came in a moment, and destroyed them all : — In such an hour, As when th' avenging angel Egypt smote, And shattered in a moment Pharaoh's power ; Fear knocked at every heart : the mourner's note "Went up from, every house, for death was there. Down the broad Nile swept many a funeral boat, Bearing its sheeted dead— the young, the fair — So lately mingling in the world's gay stir ; Now tenants of the lonely sepulchre : — In such an hour, As when on Sodom and Gomorrah came The blazing anger, in sulphureous shower, Wrapping each dwelling in a shroud of flame ; THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 97 The impious scoffers at tk' Eternal Name Lay lock'd in careless slumbers, still and deep, And knew not, dreamt not, that their guilt and shame Had waken'd heaven; till, rous'd from folly's sleep, They saw around them ruin's red and fiery heap : — In such a night, As on that Babylonish festival, "When proud Belshazzar saw God's fingers write His mystic doom along the gdded wall : That night the cry for mercy peals in vain : The Persian thunders at the gates ; they fall ; The streets are sprinkled with a bloody rain ; Blows, shrieks, and curses, echo through the hall ; And Chaldea's king lies bleeding, gash'd, and slain :— So will He come, "Whose right it is to reign, supremely blest ; Not with the warrior's pomp, and sounding drum, But king of kings, and lord of lords, confest ; 98 THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. Sudden as lightning leaping from the "West. A moment : and the dreadful trump of doom Shall shake th' astonish' d earth, and wake from rest The holy dead, long slumbering in her breast : A moment : and the marriage song is mute : Love's burning lay is hush'd : the broken lute Falls from the minstrel's hand ; his voice is dumb : The red wine flashes amid flowers and fruit In vain ; for the Unbidden Guest has come ! 99 MY PLEASANT ROOM. Corae into my pleasant room, All is calm and silent there ; Flow'rs of delicate perfume, Breathe out sweetness on the air. Pictures hang along the wall, Beauteous to the thoughtful eye ; Pleasant memories to recall, Of the scenes no longer nigh. 100 MY PLEASANT ROOM. On the mantle-piece behold Wondrous fossils, rarest shells, Gathered from the realms of old, And the heaving ocean-swells. Glittering 'neath a crystal dome, India's snow-white coral stands, Like a frozen wreath of foam, Hither brought by fairy hands. Daylight through the window streams, Bathing in its golden dyes Minerals, flinging varied gleams, From a thousand diamond eyes. Art thou weary ? Here is rest : Silently these curtains close ; See, this sofa's downy nest, Woos thee softly to repose. MT PLEASAXT IIOOM. 101 Lov'st tliou music's soothing- balm ? The piano open stands : Thou shalt have, in song or psalm, — Strains that flow from spirit lands. Books are nigh thee, would' st thou hold Converse with earth's mightiest kings ; Milton pours his thoughts of gold, Thomson warbles, Cowper sings. Science, on its wings sublime, Bears thee o'er the waste of years, Sweeps the farthest bounds of time, Reads the language of the spheres. Gliding by on noiseless wings, In majestical array, Heroes, poets, martyrs, kings, Ever keep their solemn way. 102 MY PLEASANT ROOM. More than all, the word of truth, On the table open lies ; Guide alike to age or youth, Pledge of glory in the skies. Brother, with life's burdens tried, Cast aside thy thoughts of gloom ; Come, and leave the world outside ; Come into my pleasant room. 103 FLAXPOOL STKEAM. Through the meadow softly flowing, Flowing softly as of yore ; Ever onward, onward going By its grassy verdant shore. Every little wavelet glancing, Pure and bright in morning's ray ; In the sun's broad noon-tide dancing ; By the moonlight still at play. ] 04 PLAXrOOL STREAM. Reed and rush, about it growing, Grasses bending from the shore, Strive in vain to stay its flowing ; — Flowing, flowing, evermore. Streamlet, with the mellow music, Eippling o'er thy pebbly bed, Let me rest awhile beside thee, Musing on the moments fled. Here, in life's young day I wandered ; Life's young season, sweet and fair ; Golden moments, lightly squandered, All untouch' d with earthly care. Here, with many a school companion, I have often loved to stray ; Here, we pluck' d the pleasant wild-flow'rs, Flow'rs as lightly toss'd away. FLAXPOOL STREAM. 105 Here we heard tlie school-bell ringing ; Call for studies dull and dry ; Then with laughing, shouting, sin