.'.■•. .■ ••i»>' >;•;-' >r" 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
A3, 
 
 /. 
 
 i 
 
^i^ >^4^^.,l^^-i^^ 
 
NIGHT AND DAY 
 
 THOUGHTS, 
 
 IN PROSE, 
 
 ARRANGED TO hOOK LIKE 
 
 VERSE. 
 
 \ 
 
 " Who least affecting * « * * 
 Write as they feel, and feel hut as they write, 
 Bear witness." — Byron. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY EDWARD RAINFORD, 
 
 S6, HIGH HOLBORN. 
 
 1843. 
 
PKINTED BY RICHARD AND JOHN E. TAYLOR, 
 RED LIOM COURT, KLEET STREET. 
 

 R>4 
 
 NOTE, 
 
 The Author, warned by a very just critique in the Spec- 
 tator of December 24, of the ahnost entire absence of 
 metre in his so-called Sonnets, wishes at once to say, 
 the object of his writing them was not to make the least 
 pretension to poetry, but to reveal himself as the thought 
 rose to his mind, aiming at clearness of expression, with 
 no other imitation of the Sonnet than mere rhyme im- 
 plied. In one or two instances the eflFort was made to 
 attempt to rise to the dignity of that most difficult of all 
 compositions, but feeling the effort hopeless he abandoned 
 it, as the loose style he supposed would at once have 
 proved. This is not stated to disarm a just criticism, but 
 to vindicate himself from the imputation of folly to those 
 who know him. The title should have been, " Thoughts 
 in Prose, arranged to look like Poetry ;" and one to this 
 effect was printed, but was thrown aside, from the idea 
 that the work would explain itself. 
 
 Qi ROi R 
 
Ye critics f toiling for your daily bread — 
 O'er weekly emanations from the Muse, 
 Doing your allotted task — to accuse 
 
 Or acquit Authors ; loho are seldom read ; 
 
 Consigning them to such fame as yoxi may 
 Give, or to oblivion, I commit 
 These Thoughts to your caprice, prone to submit 
 
 To whatever fate, whether grave or gay. 
 
 Your whim or judgement may decree to me, 
 The shadmo of a shade ! or praise, or blame, 
 Or een neglect to shadows are the same. 
 
 I have beguiled some idle Jiours by the free 
 
 Indulgence of my pen, and ivith all due 
 
 Submission, I resign it noxo to you. — 
 
EilUATA. 
 
 Page 62, line \l,/>jr iiioou read mi)ni 
 Page G7, line 7 from l)ottom, delr; since 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Absence, 92. 
 Age, respect for, 57. 
 Agency, divine, S4. 
 Americans, slave-holding, to, 
 
 38. 
 Analogies, 44. 
 Annoyances, 51. 
 Antipathies, 99. 
 Anxiety, 92. 
 Appearances, 45, 50. 
 Artists, 25. 
 Art of living, 38. 
 Autumn, 55, 102. 
 
 Balloon, the mind's, 77. 
 Banner, star-spangled, to the, 
 
 40. 
 Bells, peals of, 123, 124. 
 Biographies, 7. 
 Blind waj-farer, the, 85. 
 Boasting, 104. 
 Boons of Providence, 128. 
 Bessy, to, 70. 
 F. B., to, 69. 
 
 J. B., to, C8, 71. 
 M. L. B., to, 08. 
 
 Care, 18, 43. 
 Chance, 6, 81. 
 Character, an honest, 
 118. 
 
 , religious, 35. 
 
 Chemistry, mental, 49. 
 Circumstances, easy, 3. 
 Complacency, 128. 
 Confidence, 45. 
 Consequences, 1. 
 Cosmopolite, a, 33. 
 Cricket, on the, 80. 
 Croakers, 31. 
 W. E. C, to, 32, 34. 
 T. C, to, 35. 
 
 Dainties, 122. 
 Death, 90, 94. 
 Deeds, good, 127. 
 Dews, 129. 
 Disguise, 107. 
 
 117, 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Dogs, 15. 
 Dreams, bad, 97- 
 Dress, 27, 55. 
 Drunkards, 24. 
 
 Economy, political, 104. 
 Education, 41. 
 Elphinstone, M., 109. 
 Esquimaux, 24. 
 Examples, 54. 
 E. U. E., to, 52. 
 
 Faith, 5, 76. ] 
 
 Familiarity, 121. : 
 
 Faults, 3. 
 
 Feeders, 28. I 
 
 Folly, 6. 
 
 Fortune, favourites of, 65. 
 
 , hard, 119. 
 
 Flowers, wild, 25. 
 Freedom, abused, 120. 
 Friend, old, 90. 
 
 , death of, 90. 
 
 Friendship, 48. 
 Furnishing, 105. 
 E. F., to, 74. 
 
 Generosity, 20. 
 
 Gibbon, 89. 
 
 Good, lost sight of, 121. 
 
 Gospels, 76. 
 
 Grave, the, 110, 111, 123, 
 
 124. 
 Greatness, true, 110. 
 S. G., to, 58, 95. 
 
 Habits, 42, 121. 
 Happiness, transient, 66. 
 Hardness of heart, 10. 
 Hate, 53. 
 Hecuba, 106. 
 Heart-ache, 53. 
 History, 88. 
 Hobbies, 19. 
 Hope, 4, 51. 
 Humanity, 84. 
 Human nature, 7. 
 J. H., to, 71. 
 
 lago, modern, 97. 
 Ignorance, 128. 
 Imputations, 47. 
 Indecision, 10. 
 Indiscretion, 57. 
 Infancy, 22. 
 Instability, 59. 
 Integrity of soul, 96. 
 Interests, 37. 
 Interpretation of Scripture, 86. 
 
 Isabelle, to, 70. 
 
 James, St., 85. 
 Jesters, 75, 100. 
 John, St., 79. 
 Johnson, 73. 
 Joy, 42, 108. 
 
 Labyrinth of life, 44. 
 
 Liberty, 32, 36. 
 
 , American champions of, 
 
 to, 37. 
 Life, views of, 101. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 vu 
 
 Literature, 33. 
 Live and let live, 72. 
 Low spirit, 95. 
 Luther, 88. 
 Lucy, to, 69, 91. 
 
 Maduess, 119. 
 
 Maladies, 5. 
 
 Men of intellect, 100. 
 
 , reserved, 103. 
 
 , modest, 103. 
 
 , honest, 117. 
 
 Melancholy, 107. 
 Midnight, 72. 
 Mind, 91. 
 
 , purity of, 99. 
 
 , thieving from the, 105. 
 
 Miracles, 78. 
 Misery, 14, 60. 
 Misfortunes, 21, 119. 
 Money, 9. 
 Morning, 50. 
 Mockery, 73. 
 Mother, to my, 58, 67. 
 Moths, human, 122. 
 Music, 27. 
 
 Nature, 131. 
 News-teUing, 82. 
 Novelties, 39. 
 Nuisances, 60. 
 
 Obligations, unrequited, 109. 
 Opinion, 75. 
 
 Pain, endurance of, 4, 
 
 Passion, 56. 
 Past and future, 66. 
 Pause, the, picture of, 46. 
 Peace v^ith China, 130. 
 Persian maxim, 11, 12. 
 Pen, to my, 30. 
 Physic, 17. 
 
 Piety, 80. 
 
 Pleasure, 19. 
 
 Poor, the, 26. 
 
 Poverty, 17. 
 
 Power, internal, 108. 
 
 Presence, sympathy of, 94. 
 
 Pretences, 127. 
 
 Pride, 15, 56, 113. 
 
 , motive for, 117. 
 
 , hue of my, 126. 
 
 Priestley, Dr., 52. 
 
 Prodigal son, the, 86. 
 
 Prosperity, 16. 
 
 Prude, 48. 
 
 Prudence, 101. 
 
 J. P., to, 31. 
 
 Rarities, 67. 
 Reading, my, 79. 
 Religion, teaching of, 40. 
 
 , want of, 78. 
 
 , spirit of, 87. 
 
 Reputation, 112. 
 Reproach, 121. 
 Robin, the, 36. 
 Ruth, 49. 
 
 Saints, modern, 87. 
 Salvation, 83. 
 
Vlll 
 
 COfJTENTS. 
 
 Samaritan, the good, 102. 
 
 Sarcasm, 28. 
 
 Scriptures, 83. 
 
 Security of my property, 9. 
 
 Seeking, vain-, 8. 
 
 Selfishness, 18, 22. 
 
 Seeming, 98. 
 
 Servility, 43. 
 
 Sickness, my, 125. 
 
 Sinners, pity for, 126. 
 
 Sizer, at college, 130. 
 
 Slavery, 34. 
 
 Society, 89, 106. 
 
 Soldier, a common, 123. 
 
 Soul, 116. 
 
 Stimulus, 23. 
 
 Storm, 93. 
 
 Success, 8, 130. 
 
 Summer, 21. 
 
 Surge, 93. 
 
 Suspicion, 96. 
 
 Sympathy, 29,59,94, 119. 
 
 Talents, 52. 
 
 Tears, 2, 30. 
 
 Temper, 12, 
 
 Text in Matthew, 82. 
 
 Thought, restless, 16. 
 
 Things, heavenly, 77. 
 
 Transmutation of soul, 129. 
 
 Treasures, my, 39. 
 Trees, 112. 
 Truth, 54, 120. 
 
 Uncandid, the, 74. 
 University, 41. 
 Use, 66. 
 
 Vanity, 47, 98, 114. 
 Vice, 46. 
 Virtue, 131. 
 
 Weariness, 20. 
 Wicklitfe, 88. 
 Wife, to my, 61-65. 
 Wisdom, 13. 
 Wit, 2. 
 Woes, 23. 
 Wolves, 126. 
 Words, 11. 
 World, 26, 29. 
 
 , shrinking from, 118. 
 
 , abuse of, 125. 
 
 Worship, 109, 115. 
 , idol, 115. 
 
 Youth, 13, 57. 
 
 Home and its duties, 137. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 If I have advantage o'er my fellows 
 In anything, and Heaven knows I covet 
 None, for, tho' fond of home, I would gladly rove it 
 O'er the world to share it, as it mellows 
 E'en unripe fruit to my taste, to hear those 
 Fond of sweetness, boast of their vine and fig- 
 Ti'ees bearing, it is that I seldom dig 
 Deeply into consequences, but lose 
 My interest in action, which, being 
 
 My own, I take care of, and let the fates 
 Make of it what they choose, since from old dates 
 I'm satisfied there is no foreseeing 
 What they intend to do. — I have tried such 
 Now and then, but it ne'er profited much. 
 
 B 
 
2 SONNETS. 
 
 There is no relief to o'erstrained feeling 
 To be compared to tears, and I often 
 Weep, quite unconsciously, and thus soften 
 Not my temper only, but the dealing, 
 Hard at times, of fate. When one casts a look 
 Back on life at fifty, and remembers 
 Friendships, lost or estranged, tlie cold embers 
 Of which strew our memory, and which took 
 Away some cherished portion of our joy. 
 Leaving recollections that come o'er us, 
 Sad to meet, when the prospect before us 
 Perhaps is darkened by some new alloy, 
 'Tis sweet to feel the pressure eased away 
 By tears, too oft the wretched's only stay. 
 
 I may be what is called fastidious 
 In ray taste, finding it impossible 
 To look on modern wit as passable ; 
 Tho' oft considered such, insidious 
 Or not disguised its tendency to wrong. 
 Pretensions I deny to levities. 
 To the high claim, as if the sanctities 
 Of thought or feeling, outraged by the tongue 
 Of jesters, admitted profanation. 
 
 Without the penalty of scorn. I know 
 Nothing, kindling the heart into a glow, 
 So readily as wit, when its station, 
 From the throne of genius, like ShakspearCy 
 Demands the reverence of all who hear. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 That I have faults, and should of course suffer 
 For them, I admit ; paying to the full 
 The penalty ; but I wish that some dull 
 
 Fools I meet with, who have a much rougher 
 
 Skin than has fallen to my share, could but know 
 How I wince under the lash of conscience, 
 They would spare the stripes of their insolence ; 
 
 As if consequences were ever slow 
 
 To follow folly in her transgressions. 
 
 I have done the world no harm, nor any 
 In it ; or if I have, let the many 
 
 My superiors make their confessions ; 
 
 And I have no great skill in prophecy. 
 
 If their merit o'er mine would soar so high. 
 
 To enjoy the blessings we have in store. 
 Comforting ourselves with their abundance. 
 The fond hope too of their continuance, 
 
 Is at least praiseworthy — to say no more. 
 
 There seems such positive good in this kind 
 Of easy existence, with its license 
 To do what we choose, giving one a sense 
 
 Of independence, and a cheerful mind. 
 
 Yet all this is the root of much evil ; 
 As Eden, with its good things in plenty. 
 Was to poor Eve, who had no rent to pay. 
 
 So went from home, listening to the devil. 
 
 I believe that tale, so like our own ; and her 
 
 Sad fate should be a motive to deter. 
 
 b2 
 
* SOKNETS. 
 
 It is an enviable quality, 
 
 That of silently bearing pain. We save 
 Our friends much inconvenience, and have, 
 Not the less assured, the reality 
 Of their sympathy, for they see our state, 
 But deeming it irremediable 
 For the moment, think it endurable 
 Perhaps more, by leaving it to its fate. 
 I wish all were of this mode of thinking ; 
 
 It would spare some words, and leave the tenor 
 Of our thoughts unbroken, nor make one sour 
 At times, to have them called upon, sinking 
 Their tone to the level of some fretful 
 Plaint. I often feel at this quite spiteful. 
 
 In this cold world, to have the vermilion 
 Hue of hope alone for fuel, is less, 
 Taking the frosts of life at a rough guess. 
 
 Than would serve aught but a chameleon ; 
 
 And he, happy fellow ! has the fresh air 
 To live on, and may have some hope beside. 
 One is apt, as fate often does betide, 
 
 To envy that all-aerial fare. 
 
 So difficult is it to get a food 
 
 More substantial. I would gladly feed on 
 
 Hips and haws, but the birds, poor things, breed on 
 
 Them ; and wheresoe'er one turns for a good 
 
 Meal, to be fairly earned, we have 
 
 No place often to move in, but the grave. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 There are some men, who, like the labourers 
 In the vineyard, are not called till a late 
 Hour to work for themselves within the gate 
 Of the garden of our faith. Favourers 
 Of good, and useful pioneers in truth 
 
 Of various kind, they practise what some 
 Only preach ; but, whether working the sum 
 Of other knowledge, partial from their youth 
 Upwards to it, they get results all clear 
 And beautiful, and think i-eligious themes 
 Obscure and mystical, it often seems 
 To me they make mistakes, from the great fear 
 Of being thought like those, whose profession 
 Of faith argues alone its possession. 
 
 In the list of maladies there are two 
 Omissions, not creditable to schools 
 And colleges, tho' I fear by their rules 
 
 Incurable ; and perhaps this the true 
 
 Reason why all nosologists have failed 
 
 To mention them — tho' they send to the grave 
 Thousands, who vainly make efforts to save 
 
 Themselves, the world not knowing they have ailed. 
 
 There is a heavy sinking of the heart. 
 And an aching worry of the brain — oft 
 Working together to wear out the soft 
 
 Texture of our being. Death has no dart 
 
 Than these more fatal, tho' their poison fails 
 
 At once to kill, and therefore tells no tales. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 TJiere is no caprice in the circumstance 
 Around us ; and would it were otherwise I 
 For then, in spite of my deserts, the rise 
 And fall of Fortune's wheel, might by some chance 
 Do me good. 'T is true that blanks and prizes 
 Are what she deals in, but mankind have strange 
 Propensity to hope, and so arrange 
 Their expectations, that before their eyes 
 Good luck is ever dancing : I have had 
 My visions, but the fairest ones have fled ; 
 And looking on the world as established 
 By law and order, feeling myself bad. 
 Proud, selfish, in fact uniformly low, 
 Cliance might aflbrd me a stray hope or so. 
 
 If to expect it were reasonable. 
 
 Or wise to wish for impossible things, 
 Pleasure from pain, much of it from the stings 
 Of wasps for instance, the treasonable 
 Folly of mankind would find some excuse. 
 One would suppose men play about the nests 
 Of hornets, on purpose to tempt the pests. 
 But the fact is, that their love, too profuse. 
 Of rambling, sports, and flowers, is so blind, 
 They do not see the dangers flying round, 
 Till the poison, lurking in them, is found 
 Even at last to vitiate the mind. 
 The old adage of the snake in the grass 
 Would warn them, if they did not let it pass. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 I cannot explain the diversity 
 
 Of sentiment between many dead men 
 And their biographers. Reading often 
 Lives, full of letters, the perversity 
 Of view puzzles me. In this world the one 
 Were sad sinners, by their own confession ; 
 Tho' they did not seem so : their profession 
 Clerical perhaps, rather strict in tone. 
 They lived lamenting, oft died despairing. 
 But no sooner has the grave closed o'er them 
 Than some confessed sinner too a poem 
 Writes in prose on their virtues, comparing 
 Them to saints ; leaving me to hope in fear 
 That the poor fellows made some mistake here. 
 
 I know it 's wrong, and argues ignorance 
 
 Of what is called Theology, but I 
 
 Reverence human nature in the high 
 And low, and to me there 's no difference ; 
 Except that I reverse the ranks, placing 
 
 The many in the front, the few in rear. 
 
 The one gain the victory over fear 
 And doubt : all lines of beauty their tracing ; 
 Their 's the true charity, the widow's mite ; 
 
 All usefulness in art, the achievements 
 
 That amaze the world ; tho' they 've no hatchments, 
 Poor fellows ! after death ; which is all right. 
 Of the few, I scarcely know what to say, 
 The Prodigal, or Boaz their chief stay. 
 
8 SONNETS. 
 
 How seldom do we find the thing we want ! 
 Lost, or mislaid, or not yet acquired, 
 Seeking for it, till we are quite tired, 
 Vexed, or dispirited, in every haunt. 
 I am quite unlucky at these losses. 
 And the fatigue I suffer wears me out 
 Very often more than walking about. 
 Which is my profession ; for the crosses 
 Of my fate make my other practice small. 
 It is happy for me, that my poor thought, 
 Which often loses itself, when it ought 
 Not to stray, picking up dreams and hopes, all 
 Moonshine, comes back to its old resting-place, 
 To supply the things I so vainly chase. 
 
 There is something in success, distasteful 
 To my mind, or heart, or both ; I never 
 Feel elated by it, but I sever 
 From me some high thoughts, and thus prove hateful 
 To myself. Few need it more or have known 
 It less. But in all conditions there is. 
 Or seems to be, at times some boon, or miss 
 Of ill, that in the humblest state, men own 
 For recompence of merit, or for wealth. 
 
 The spirit of their dreams by day and night, 
 Of the poor at least ; and they thus lose sight 
 Of dependence upon Heaven ; — then by stealth 
 The last refinement of their nature goes, 
 Driven without rudder o'er this sea of woes. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 I like to see the ordinary claims 
 
 Of life laid quite aside at times, the brain 
 Freed from tbose jealous interests which wind 
 
 About it, stifling all its nobler aims. 
 
 As if marts of any kind were the sphere 
 Of action for the soul, and ambition 
 Had no other pride or occupation 
 
 Than cupidity, — all mere rivals here 
 
 In lucre ! I hate that gilded evil 
 
 Money in any shape ; its touch pollutes 
 Me ; and there are times I could envy brutes 
 
 For their clean paws. I suspect the devil 
 
 Has thrown off the shape of mists, and bank notes 
 
 Or o-old are now the fashions of his coats. 
 
 Tho' I have had of life experience 
 Now for fifty years, and begin to look 
 Grey, to feel quite conscious I must brook 
 
 Many things, at least unpleasant ; a glance 
 
 At others reconciles me to my fate : 
 Not that I do not see in and about 
 Them much I had aimed at, and in some rout 
 
 Lost, to the great damage of my estate ; 
 
 But I have found at last security ; 
 
 Which, of life the secret, they have to find. 
 They have more than can centre in the mind, 
 
 Exposed to thieves ; while my prosperity 
 
 Is so internal in its resources, 
 
 I have nothing out of it for losses. 
 
10 SONNETS. 
 
 There are some, and I am quite unable 
 To help myself, I despise heartily, 
 Miscreants who treat still more martyrly 
 The unfortunate. To sit at table 
 With these miserables, who, Dante says. 
 Never truly live, takes off appetite. 
 Tho' it is not in our nature to bite, 
 I feel the tiger in me. What delays 
 Their doom below I know not, if it be 
 Not, that to feel to charity unknown, 
 To have no visitations, all one's own. 
 Of soft compassion, — 'mid their needs to see 
 The good honoured, the pure at peace, the kind 
 Loved, gives of hell some foretaste to their mind. 
 
 Most people find it difficult to know 
 
 Tlieir minds ; not at all so that of others : 
 The great complexity of things bothers 
 Them so. To mend the matter, they bestow 
 Upon themselves a little more ; at least 
 I often do so, and how to choose between 
 Two evils, for good is but seldom seen 
 By me, as an offering of fate, east. 
 Or west, or either point of the compass, 
 
 I know not where to turn, for there are clouds 
 O'er each horizon, and I hear aloud, 
 Or fancy, distant thunder : till it pass, 
 I wait in some perplexity ; and thus 
 Life passes, fruitless, in a constant fuss. 
 
SONNETS. 11 
 
 Of all power I know none so resistless 
 
 As words, which, once combined fitly, work more 
 Miracles, than Nature has in her store- 
 House to display. But still I must confess 
 They mortify me at times, in their tone 
 
 So jarring to the ear, when some loved voice 
 I hear, "out of tune and harsh"; with no choice 
 Left me to escape to peace. When alone 
 I seize some book ; or a pithy sentence, 
 Engraved on memory, occurs to me, 
 And, like oil on the waters of the sea 
 Heaving, I subside to rest : and it 's hence 
 I'm fond of sayings, new or old, and trite, 
 For they do me good, and oft lead me right. 
 
 I think it is Malcolm, in his Persian 
 History, who says, that upon a scroll, 
 On the tomb of one of the kings, there stole 
 On him this maxim ; which with aversion 
 At first I read, but the philosophy 
 
 Of which has still grown upon me the more 
 T muse over it ; and those who their store 
 Of happiness would prize, will lose no fee, 
 Beyond a moment's patience, in listening 
 To it. It was this, — " Make it a habit 
 To be happy." True ! and I would have it 
 Remembered that all virtue is glistening 
 There ; for happiness has no foundations, 
 Save those of virtue, for men or nations. 
 
12 SONNETS. 
 
 That deep Persian maxim comes before me 
 With the more effect, from the place on which 
 It was enrolled. It was as if the rich 
 Flood of light, that poured, after the stormy 
 Scene of life, upon the Emperor's view, 
 
 In that world where he found alone the true 
 Dwelling together, he could not endure. 
 Without doing what Dives wished to do : — 
 Returning to his brothers, that he might 
 
 Warn them, nor leave them to the law alone ; 
 And for his misdeeds that he might atone. 
 His spirit on its mission fled by night 
 To earth, and on his tomb inscribed the thought. 
 That would secure their welfare, which he sought. 
 
 I am vexed with myself for being cross 
 At times, when there is no other reason 
 For it, than smiles being out of season 
 With me I have none to offer — a loss 
 I cannot help — and painful — but tho' I 
 Feel it as such I have no right to make 
 Others do so. This is a great mistake. 
 Which to correct entirely I try 
 In vain. I get punished for it sorely, 
 
 For I think sharp words and peevish tones are 
 Catching, like catarrhs ; and I have to bear 
 The hoarseness of others, I have made poorly. 
 This aggravates my symptoms ; and to blame 
 But myself, adds vexation to my shame. 
 
SONNETS. 13 
 
 Alas ! the playful confidence of youth, 
 Its scorn of counsel, hatred of control, 
 Its rash impatience, and its pride of soul. 
 
 Relying on its strength, and love of truth ! 
 
 There is a glory round its sunny brow, 
 
 Dashing the clouds and mists of doubt away, 
 While meanness shrinks before its pure arraj^ 
 
 Of motives. Alas ! would that it could grow 
 
 To full maturity, like the sweet flower, 
 Type of its purity, nor canker blast 
 Its bloom, nor frosts the hope of seed at last I 
 
 It should be so, nor obstacles have power 
 
 To loose its hold on virtue, or deform. 
 
 The sapling hardens to resist the storm. 
 
 I wish that philosophers, who talk so much 
 
 Of wisdom, would but show the way to win, 
 
 Or rather keep it, for it is no sin 
 To say that now and then I have a touch 
 Of it, as it comes hovering o'er me. 
 
 To light perhaps a moment on my brain. 
 
 But I feel that it soon takes flight again 
 And that all my knowledge is but folly. 
 Consistency in anything is above 
 
 My reach ; and though I hear of others set 
 
 As examples of it o'er me, I yet 
 Have to find fidelity to the love 
 Of truth, a quality so very rare. 
 That I doubt if it exists any where. 
 
14f SONNETS. 
 
 There is a mirth, which makes or leaves me sad, 
 Exhibited, when circumstance has left 
 No thought of such relief, and tho' bereft 
 Of calmness, such it seems awhile. The mad 
 Betray themselves in tone or manner soon, 
 And here a recklessness of feeling tells 
 A tale at least of woe, and quite dispels 
 Illusion. I know not whether the moon. 
 Which is proverbial for crazing men, 
 Makes them miserable, or what it is ; 
 But that there 's an influence in cities, 
 And perhaps elsewhere, fatal too often 
 To their peace, I know ; and you may see it 
 In laughter, — for thus they try to flee it. 
 
 Nothing is more common than to hear men 
 Ascribe their miseiy to this or that 
 Cause, seizing hold of some circumstance, pat 
 To their use ; which, not of their seeking, then 
 Must be intrusive, and in consequence 
 Disagreeable at least, if not more. 
 Some suppose that poverty is the bore, 
 Not knowing the poor, or by inference 
 Only. I am satisfied that their state 
 Is natural to them ; for who, seeing 
 An inch beyond his nose, not blind being, 
 Will hunt about for causes, when their fate, 
 Cast in a perishable world, is clear, 
 Cultivating no faith, or that in fear ? 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Though I had my pride, like a cloak to warm 
 Me, when I felt the chills of circumstance, 
 Especially of neglect, for instance, 
 It has, like my poor garment, by the harm 
 Of time, got threadbare ; and in my old age 
 I feel cold, as I was not wont to do. 
 Of its defences J made, now I know. 
 Too frequent uses in my youth, not sage 
 Enough to see it must wear out ; and I 
 Feel mortified to think that, when I put 
 It on, doing me little service, but 
 To expose to myself my poverty, 
 The world perceives it too, and passes by, 
 Casting on me but cold looks of pity. 
 
 There are few better monitors than dogs. 
 More christian than the half of human kind : 
 At least there are not many you will find 
 So humble, and more faithful none. Mere clogs 
 Of clay, senseless most men appear to all 
 
 Appeals of kindness from their Master's love : 
 While the poor brute, ever watchful to prove 
 His gratitude, bounds joyous at the call. 
 Death, truly an oblivion, is so 
 
 Too oft to more than those who die, the ties 
 Of kindred severing to the thought. Let eyes 
 Look on the contrast, as the pictures show 
 By Landseer, of the Lurcher, o'er the bier 
 And grave of him he pines again to hear. 
 
16 SONNETS. 
 
 I am not, nor would affect, the martyr. 
 Hunger, and cold, and nakedness have no 
 Attractions, e'en poetically so ; 
 To say nothing of contempt ; the barter 
 'Twixt the world and poor, who make the exchange 
 Unwillingly, but must submit to it. 
 Be they sinner, saint, doctor, or poet. 
 But why do the prosperous, in their wide range 
 O'er the pleasant places of this mixed life, 
 Pick up but nettles, thistles, briars ? weeds 
 111 sorting with their state ; serving no needs 
 But to sting or scratch ; causing pain and strife. 
 One often marks sweet-scented flowers on those, 
 Who, having nothing else, thus soothe their woes. 
 
 My restless thought ! Why wander so from home, 
 Seeking throughout the world content to find, 
 As if it dwelt elsewhere than in the mind ? 
 
 There is no abode, be it vaulted dome. 
 
 Palace, castle, tower, grotto, wood, or cot, 
 
 No lawn, field, mountain, valley, slope, or plain, 
 No shore, or billow on the heaving main, 
 
 That in itself contains what thou hast not. 
 
 Go freely forth, bearing the pearl you prize, 
 And range observant o'er the earth and sky ; 
 Mark all conditions, fortunes, destiny. 
 
 Without envy, lavish of smiles and sighs. 
 
 Thou wilt return more placid than before, 
 
 And bear your trials as you never bore. 
 
SONNETS. 17 
 
 I suspect that physic is not the cure 
 For many maladies in which it 's given, 
 And that, if omitted, to be driven 
 
 So soon in hearses, men would not be sure. 
 
 Could we find out the secrets of the dead. 
 Or of many living, we might correct, 
 What neither friends nor doctors could detect, 
 
 Some mistakes into which they had been led. 
 
 We should learn, perhaps, that there are cases 
 Of snrgery, in which the mind or heart 
 Gets out of joint, and death ensues in part 
 
 From mortification ; that the basis 
 
 Of other losses, was a slow decay 
 
 Of hope, wasting vitality away. 
 
 There are some things about a prosperous man 
 One might envy, if the feeling, under 
 Any shape, did not at once sunder 
 The mind from its better thoughts. I would fan 
 The embers of my self-esteem, lest they 
 Expire in the ashes in which they lie. 
 One cannot look up proudly to the sky. 
 Robbing, in thought, another of a ray 
 Of light, hanging like a cloud about him. 
 But I confess it makes me sad to think 
 How poverty has an eff"ect to sink 
 One's consequence, making e'en love look dim. 
 1 covet neither lands nor gold, but I 
 Wish I had some old glances of the eye. 
 
 c 
 
18 SONNETS. 
 
 I pity all on whom the weight of care 
 
 Oppressive falls ; the serpent folds of fate, 
 Resistless, winding round their hapless state, 
 Nor spirit meet captivity to bear. 
 There is no dungeon like the open sky, 
 With liberty to roam abroad at will. 
 Inextricably still involved in ill ; 
 No other prospect opening to the eye 
 Than weary days and restless nights, with dreams 
 Of joy, which pass like shadows o'er the mind, 
 Leaving no lingering cheerful trace behind, 
 No sweet society in sunny beams — 
 All lonely, dark ; save that prophetic light 
 From heaven, struggling through the shades of night. 
 
 I have read somewhere of a character, 
 
 Common in the world, in which selfishness 
 Showed itself in its appropriate dress, 
 While all the time assuming the actor 
 Of a different part. These fools are like 
 The ostrich, who, when pursued, if it can 
 Hide its head is satisfied ; as if man 
 Its huge proportions could e'er fail to strike. 
 In derision of its silly cover. 
 
 Like all folly, the instance is for good ; 
 For it shows the vice so well understood 
 By its victim, that its meanness over 
 A veil is thrown, so open in texture. 
 That one can detect the real feature. 
 
SONNETS. 19 
 
 There is nothing so profitless — of aught 
 But weariness and disgust, as pleasure 
 Out of season ; yet some, beyond measure, 
 Believing in its promise, have no thought 
 Beyond its barren haunts ; and tho' they reap 
 Tares as the harvest of their industry, 
 Still sow their seeds again, as they must try 
 Some antidote to ennui, to keep 
 Its slow poison from working in their veins. 
 They die of it at last, or something worse. 
 Thus get rid of what to them was the curse 
 Of life ; and not a memory remains 
 Of their usefulness ; a sad memento 
 I fear in that country to which they go. 
 
 Some people are fond of riding hobbies. 
 Like old Monkbarns with his antiquities, 
 Not seeing they are the antipathies 
 
 Of all to whom they address themselves. These 
 
 Enthusiasts appear so exclusive. 
 
 That one is apt to o'erlook their better 
 Qualities, judging them by the letter 
 
 Of their discourse, which is oft delusive. 
 
 Let any one, patiently enduring 
 The absurdities of Scott's old hero. 
 Look beneath them, he '11 soon find the zero 
 
 Of his estimate rise, so alluring 
 
 Are the warmth of heart, and the enlarged span 
 
 Of the affections of the good old man. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 SONNETS. 
 
 I often get weary of my pursuit, 
 
 Nor know where to turn for sure enjoyment. 
 
 Books are distasteful ; and no employment, 
 I can think of, promises what will suit. 
 I feel discouraged with myself at last : 
 
 For I have wit enough to see the fault 
 
 Is mine ; and that beneath the azure vault 
 Of heaven, there is a bountiful repast, 
 And that he who cannot partake of some 
 
 Portion of it, to starve alone is fit. 
 
 These fantastic moods, to which I submit 
 At times, in my intervals of ease come 
 O'er me • for care, to which I oft am prone, 
 Is energy sufficient to atone. 
 
 *T is said, 't is better to give than receive : 
 No doubt ; but the generosity lies 
 With him, who, feeling life's necessities, 
 
 Takes with a pure spirit, prompt to perceive. 
 
 In alms, the benefactions of a heart, 
 
 Shower'd more lavish on itself than him. 
 Why should the too-sensitive sufferer dim 
 
 The lustre of a joy, placed all apart? 
 
 Or to visit hours, silent and alone. 
 
 Made sleepless by misfortune, when the chord 
 Of sympathy is mute, or the discord 
 
 Of the world, or some grief has jarred its tone. 
 
 For then the sweet thoughts of our usefulness 
 
 Come o'er us ; and refusals make them less. 
 
SONNETS. 21 
 
 it" it be true that there is a something 
 In the misfortunes of our friends not so 
 Displeasing to us, I must say I know, 
 
 To our nature so humiliating*, 
 
 Nothing. But 'twas the remark of an old 
 Courtier, in a scene, sensual and low, 
 Where favours of a despot, by a bow 
 
 Of base servility, were bought and sold. 
 
 The sarcasm might be applicable there ; 
 
 As in the world, where friendship, but a name 
 Merely, is unknown, to see some, whose aim 
 
 Is selfish, miss the mark, may task no eai'e. 
 
 But where the claims of love are understood, 
 
 Such fiendish thoughts will never dare intrude. 
 
 I am fond of summer with its early 
 
 Light and warmth, and lavish bloom : for I feel 
 Free in function, and its genial heats steal 
 
 O'er me with an influence so clearly 
 
 Beneficial, that while others the shade 
 Prefer in city-side walks, I delight 
 In the sun ; and with broad elbow-room right 
 
 Onward go, rejoicing. When flowers fade, 
 
 And yellow autumn brings her store to stock 
 
 With ricks, new thatched, the farm-yard, I decline 
 In temperature ; and as from the line 
 
 The sun recedes, setting at six o'clock, 
 
 Sadly I hear the bell of muffin-boy, 
 
 That autumn curfew to my parting joy. 
 
22 SONNETS. 
 
 Those who are fond of themselves overmuch, 
 Watching of indulgence the means and ways 
 By instinct, are sensible it betrays 
 
 Their meanness, and have about them a touch 
 
 Of virtue ; so much of it, at the least, 
 As hypocrisy implies. Who has read 
 Mansfield Park will remember that ill-bred 
 
 Mrs. Norris, in woman's clothes, a beast 
 
 Of the tame hyena breed ; a savage 
 
 Greedy and gross, preying on all around. 
 Cowardly, the timid chiefly, as found 
 
 Least like to oppose her usual ravage. 
 
 The portrait was taken from the life, so 
 
 Clearly, that the original I know. 
 
 If any one, not knowing -where to find 
 Luxury, be at a loss ; his pockets 
 Being low, his candles in their sockets, 
 I would advise him to recall to mind 
 Some nursery he may know, and there go. 
 Let him gaze on infancy and its smiles ! 
 And he will not traverse tedious miles 
 'Bout town, to tempt his palate with a show 
 Of dainties, that will pall upon his taste. 
 
 For Heaven will meet his view, as nothing there 
 More pure or lovely can be seen. That fair 
 Child has had its benediction. The waste 
 Of life has no such flower ; tho' many bloom 
 O'er all, none so exquisite in perfume. — 
 
SONNETS. 23 
 
 What a ceaseless warfare, never lulling, 
 Like the fitful gusts which howl in winter 
 Storms around our chimney-tops, and splinter 
 
 Oaks, the pride of some village-green, dulling 
 
 The ear with tumult, and stout hearts paling 
 With alarm — is this life, so full of woe. 
 From pain, disease and death ! mining below 
 
 The fairest surface of our hope ; failing 
 
 Us at last, to sink in utter ruin. 
 
 No exception nor escape, no charmed spot. 
 Where sighs, tears and groans of anguish are not, 
 
 And fond hands some bier with flowers strewing ! 
 
 Can there be doubts about religion's truth ; 
 
 Its hope, promise, solace, in age or youth ? 
 
 Men are always seeking stimulus, while 
 It lies before them, if they would but see 
 It. The poor sailor, in a gale at sea. 
 Finds it in his duty ; for the green isle 
 Of his far hopes would fade upon his view, 
 If he neglected that which was to save 
 Him from the gulph beneath. The storms which rave 
 Around us all, of passion, from which few 
 Are free, of interest, none, to the same wreck 
 Expose us ; and he who feels life's demand, 
 Itself a voyage to a far-distant land. 
 Will not desert his post upon the deck, 
 But, looking danger in the face, will dare 
 To do all, in truth, that may claim his care. 
 
24 SONNETS. 
 
 There is no race, excejDt the Esquimaux, 
 
 That I know of, who have not found some means 
 Of getting drunk, and they, for want of beans. 
 
 Or grape, or corn, are obliged to forego 
 
 This relief of care. I never have been 
 Told that oil or blubber serves any turn 
 Except that of appetite, though they burn 
 
 The one for light and warmth, and have been seen 
 
 To drink the lamps dry, for food merely. 
 
 Whether their cares be less than ours, I know 
 Not ; but it would seem, if they are not, that to 
 
 Drown ours, is not necessary clearly. 
 
 Nor perhaps are the seal-furred northern boors 
 
 In philosophy our inferiors. 
 
 I do not approve the use of brandy, 
 
 Whiskey, gin, rum, punch, or m ine in the young, 
 For I have known many a noble stung 
 To death by their poison ; ever handy 
 On tables, served on trays, chiefly at night, 
 Or after dinner. The habit may grow 
 By use : and I would have our youth to know, 
 That the noble I allude to, by riglit 
 Had no hereditary honours given 
 
 To them by ancestors, but that they earned 
 Fame, rank and affections : for they were learned 
 And honoured in their prime, thro' powers from Hea- 
 Evil came o'er them at last, and they died [ven : 
 Drunkards, — their early promise thus belied. 
 
SONNETS. 25 
 
 I wish artists had more taste : they might have 
 
 More influence over that of others ; 
 
 My comprehension it often bothers 
 To find out why genius should be a slave 
 To any thing under Heaven. It was lent 
 
 For high purposes, nor prostituted 
 
 Should be ; and I could wash substituted 
 For Venuses and the like, only meant 
 For mythologists, moral subjects traced 
 
 In forms and hues of beauty, to refine 
 
 And elevate the mind. I oft repine 
 O'er talents wasted, — canvass too defaced. 
 Leslie's Martha and Mary I admire. 
 And o'er his good Sir Roger never tire. 
 
 There are way-side flowers whereso'er we pass, 
 Which, like the lilies of the field, suggest 
 Deep thoughts, and reaching far, within the breast; 
 
 Mysteries in the very blade of grass, 
 
 That may well make us pause; with connection 
 'Twixt the air — the food — health and life of man. 
 We cannot move nor gaze, but the great plan 
 
 Of Nature gives the mind prompt direction 
 
 Upwards to its source ; and 1 need no rare 
 Exotic, tho' beautiful, too often 
 Ministering to mere display, to soften 
 
 Asperities, or blunt the edge of care. 
 
 The humble sedge contents me. I see 
 
 In it all that eye can reveal to me. 
 
26 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I seldom smile and very rarely weep, 
 Unless some incident or other touch 
 My feelings. To observe how very much 
 The poor are tasked, causes at times some deep 
 Emotions. One is apt to be almost 
 Sentimental or bilious, when a brute 
 You hear, drunk with prosperity, salute 
 An honest fellow, labouring at his post, 
 With harsh abuse, lest a moment's gossip 
 Or rest should rob him of his money's worth 
 Of toil. I have known such, not of high birth, 
 And e'en a woman ! It is a toss up 
 
 Between such a , but I will not say more, 
 
 Only I wish they would respect the poor. 
 
 How different the world within to that 
 
 Without I The one all concord, or if peace 
 Be broken, one can get a calm release 
 
 From tumult, on one's own terms ; while the flat 
 
 Contradictions in the other provoke 
 The temper; which gets ruffled too 
 By vain pretensions, — assertions not true 
 
 Nor probable, — schemes ending all in smoke. 
 
 This explains why the reserved do not shine 
 In mixed society, and are thought fools 
 By those who conform to its polite rules. 
 
 Nothing perplexes me more than the fine 
 
 Things I hear about music, concerts, balls ; 
 
 As if life centred in their stifled halls. 
 
SONNETS. 27 
 
 Music to touch me must be in its tone 
 
 Plaintive, breathing compassion, tenderness 
 And love. I have no ear for tumult, less 
 
 Than that of ocean or the storm. The lone 
 
 Booming of the Bittern, or the twitter 
 Of the Swallow ; or, on a lonely heath, 
 Mid fern and gorse, or trees, forming a wreath 
 
 Round some high hill-top, where, o'er dew glitter 
 
 The eyes of childhood, wooing the fresh air 
 Of morn, the Ass's bray is sweeter far 
 Than strains from Italy, amid the jar 
 
 Of instruments in hot crowded halls, where 
 
 Fashionables resort ; the heart with me 
 
 Must be in unison with harmony. 
 
 It 's an odd idea, that outward dress 
 Gives sanctity or wisdom higher place 
 In the world's esteem ; as if big wigs, lace, 
 I.awn-sleeves, and shovel hats, were more or less 
 Than stuff, from horses' tails, flax, and beavers. 
 All good in their way as fabrics, nor rough, 
 But very fine and costly, — still all stuff. 
 I suppose the object is, the wearers 
 Should have some claim to our admiration. 
 For we are so fond of rich things, that we 
 Think much of them, and seeing such beauty 
 On sinners — for, since the Reformation, 
 Or old Calvin, Bishops and all are so — 
 We lose sight of their sins in their fine show. 
 
28 SONNETS. 
 
 There are some tongues addicted to sarcasm, 
 Not from any inherent bitterness 
 So much, as to make their sufferings less. 
 
 By easing the o'erburdened heart of spasm. 
 
 The accidents of life are apt to bruise 
 
 The spirits, which get inflamed, and sometimes 
 Mortification ensues : and as rhymes 
 
 Are the natural products of the Muse 
 
 In labour, oft satirical, so words. 
 
 Keen and pungent, give remarkable ease 
 In these, oft female, cases of disease. 
 
 No one, addicted to the use of swords, 
 
 Would combat seriously with a maimed 
 
 Opponent, fencing merely as he 's lamed. 
 
 I am oft amused with entertainers, 
 Making their feasts profitable to their 
 Own conceit ; getting persons, new and rare, 
 
 Or rich and great, to be their retainers. 
 
 But Lions are not always to be had. 
 
 Nor Apes, Bears, nor male nor female Pumas, 
 And sometimes there are obnoxious rumours 
 
 About breed — the quality being bad, 
 
 Which sends the poor beast to his forest back. 
 These feeders are sticklers for condition : 
 Their own doubtful, it would be perdition 
 
 To have it made more so, by any lack 
 
 Of gentility in their eaters — hence 
 
 They are exclusive in their own defence. 
 
SONNETS. 29 
 
 Our affections are often in the way, 
 Especially when one has been dining 
 Out, coming home in high spirits, shining 
 
 With the good things acquired at the rout. 
 As I drink no wine, and all food pleases 
 My palate, for the simplest is enough. 
 Thro' use, to satisfy me, soft or tough, 
 
 It matters not, for either soon eases 
 
 Appetite ; I cannot say that dishes 
 
 Minister much to my enjoyments, though 
 I like sufficiency ; but I am so 
 
 Much more fond of sympathy, that wishes 
 
 Kindly expressed, and some questions asked, 
 
 Are pleasant, before one's friends go to bed. 
 
 I know not why, without one selfish aim, 
 I often quail before the gaze of men ; 
 Unless it be I feel more strongly then 
 Their hopes and mine are not the same. 
 The tranquil current of my thought, like streams 
 Which murmur still, impeded on their way, 
 Is chafed by precepts it cannot obey. 
 And life's high objects seem but idle dreams. 
 Or is it that high energy of will. 
 Directed to some noble, useful aim. 
 Awakes within a conscious sense of shame 
 From claims of duty I may not fulfill ? 
 And yet I kindle with a quickening glow 
 At virtue, and in its just homage bow. 
 
30 SONNETS. 
 
 I hold tears, in the way of argument, 
 To be intrusive, like an episode 
 Not clearly relevant. They lay a load 
 Too on one's feelings, oft not kindly meant. 
 For they ai'e shed sometimes in spite or pet, 
 But whether so, or in remorse or pain, 
 There is an end of hope that you will gain 
 Your point, or be at present fairly met. 
 My way is to lapse into silence, quite 
 Reconciled to bear the evil I may 
 Not cure. To recur to it is the way, 
 Merely to a fresh display ; I thus right 
 Myself by a due submission, the best 
 Frame of mind in this world for chance of rest. 
 
 Kind aid and solace to my thought, ray pen ! 
 
 Thou mute companion of the silent hour. 
 In which I 've culled the borrowed sweets again 
 
 From mead or book, of many a flower. 
 Couldst thou reveal the secrets of my soul, 
 
 Its fervid sympathies with all that 's true ; 
 The glow of feeling that has ranged the whole, 
 
 Thy symbol tracing may expose to view. 
 It might be worth the casual glance of those 
 
 To whom thy notes and mine may soon belong ! 
 And thou wouldst then, bright talisman ! disclose 
 
 To those I love, what has been mine so long, 
 The deepening sense of study's soothing power. 
 To cheer the spirit in its darkening hour. 
 
SONNETS. 31 
 
 Of all the pests this world produces, 
 
 Gnats, or hornets, thistles, nettles, briars, 
 There is nothing I loathe more, save liars, 
 
 More abominate, as it conduces 
 
 To nought but weariness and woe, setting 
 
 One's teeth on edge, and jarring on the brain, 
 Than the discord of the whole croaking train, 
 
 Male or female, who have the besetting 
 
 Sins of vanity and weakness, too soft 
 
 To bear the rubs of life, and prone to show 
 Their chance abrasions from some scratch or blow. 
 
 If their confounded heads were broken, oft 
 
 Glad should I be, for to have one's peace marred 
 
 By such fools, is particularly hard. 
 
 Thou wert doomed to suffer, body and mind ! 
 Thy spirit, so ethereal ! was traced. 
 Like the i^iolian harp, its strings braced 
 
 To vibrate to the passing breeze, the wind, 
 
 As it sweeps o'er it, awakening each tone. 
 Plaintive and wild, and all in harmony. 
 I list, and think I hear the psalmody 
 
 From some far aisle, where holy men attune 
 
 Their worship to the Source of love ; and high 
 Thoughts kindle in my breast, soothing to peace 
 And contemplation, while all tumults cease ; 
 
 "Wrapt in a calm communion with the sky. 
 
 Such thy influence o'er me ; and I feel, 
 
 Knowing thee, a joy I cannot reveal. 
 
32 SONNETS. 
 
 Let me, above all other boons, be free ! 
 
 With libertj^ — large as the range of thought, 
 Respectful of the rights of all — not bought 
 
 By rude licentiousness of will : but be 
 
 Free, feeling restraint in whate'er I do ; 
 From a consciousness, native to my mind. 
 Or fear, of selfishness ; lest I prove blind 
 
 To my own interests ; making mine the true. 
 
 I would be free ; the privilege to use 
 
 Of humbling my pride of spirit before [soar 
 
 Heaven — chaining down my thought, that it but 
 
 In prayers of penitence ; I would infuse 
 
 Humility, reverence, duty, love 
 
 In me, and thus be free at will to rove. 
 
 Channing ! thou hast, amid greater boon. 
 Thy meed of praise, audible to thine ear; 
 Far more unexpressed, thou canst never hear ! 
 
 Emotions, imderstood by thee, that soon 
 
 Subside in gentle bosoms, yet traces 
 
 Leave behind, which became incorporate 
 With their being ; of gratitude, sedate 
 
 Tho' fervent, which neither time effaces, 
 
 For thy instructions, nor can death remove. 
 Thou hast unto their spirits given power. 
 And they discern afar, when tempests lour 
 
 O'er them, the refuge, which thy view of love 
 
 Divine and Providence revealed to them. 
 
 This must to thee outweigh a diadem. 
 
SONNETS. 33 
 
 When one computes how long literature 
 Has been and is, in the estimation 
 Of the wise, sanctified by probation 
 
 Of years, which make us but the more secure 
 
 In the unchangeableness of its truth ; 
 
 'T is strange our fine old records should be left 
 Neglected for the new, tho' these bereft 
 
 Of sanction, from their quality of youth. 
 
 No doubt new facts are precious, but first thoughts 
 Are best, and, like the Greek architecture, 
 Rarely equalled : hence I love the texture 
 
 Of these noble minds, who in times of droughts 
 
 Lived, with less to slake that quenchless thirst 
 
 For novelty, with which this age is curst. 
 
 I am of no country, save that of earth, 
 
 Whose unnumbered millions claim kindred 
 With me : nor, like some, can I be hindered 
 By complexion to own my kin, or dearth 
 Of pedigree ; features alone suffice. 
 
 And the poor Afric, the graceful Hindoo, 
 Brothers of a more sunny clime, are too 
 Much the victims to oppression's malice 
 To lose my meed of sympathy. I feel 
 Their miseries to be in part my own ; 
 For tho' their chains and sorrows are unknown 
 In this, my pride of, place, their sufferings steal 
 Upon me ; and my thought, ranging along 
 The world, droops where'er it encounters wrong. 
 
 s 
 
34 SONNETS. 
 
 Channing! 'twas inevitable thy scorn 
 
 Of Slavery should break forth unrestrained, 
 And bring reproach upon thee ; well sustained 
 The obloquy — and yet but fitly borne. 
 Thy fate has had examples in all time. 
 
 They who brave oppression dare all but fear. 
 The yoke was on thee, for thou couldst not bear 
 To see thy country shamed ; in every clime 
 Her name a bye-word — her boasted freedom 
 Rotten at the core. Faithful to virtue. 
 To religion's cause, thou wert heard to sue 
 For justice — all in vain ! 't is but seldom 
 Granted us, where interests oppose. He 
 Who loves mercy will bless thy cause and thee. 
 
 What 1 after nearly nineteen hundred years. 
 
 Since Love was sent from Heaven to dwell below, 
 And its annual bounties round us flow ; 
 
 And hourly mercies fill the eye with tears ; 
 
 And Liberty has made her onward stride 
 O'er prostrate ruins of the feudal age ; 
 And Knowledge spread abroad her ample page ; 
 
 And Science oped her massive portals wide ; 
 
 And pilgrinx ships float o'er the farthest wave ; 
 And Charity flows free o'er all the earth ; 
 And temples rise within the forest's girth ; 
 
 Rests there a land in which there dwells a slave ? 
 
 Shame on that land ! and branded let it be ! 
 
 The scorn of freemen ! for its infamy. 
 
SONNETS. 35 
 
 'Clarkson I thy life has been an act of love ; 
 
 One high thought moulding to itself thy mind. 
 
 Thy heroic energy leaves behind 
 Similitude. No effort to remove 
 Oppression e'er so glorious as thine ! 
 
 So disinterested ! to serve the slave ! 
 
 Thou wilt have thy reward. And when the grave 
 Pillows thy venerable head, a shrine 
 It will be ; and millions will heir thy zeal. 
 
 Be inheritors of thy legacy, 
 
 The love of libei'ty ! supremacy 
 Of human rights ! and mercy's fond appeal ! 
 Thy voice, trumpet-tongued, has waked in man's 
 An echo, ne'er thro' time again to rest. [breast 
 
 Those who look on religion as a thing 
 Apart from ordinary life, mistake 
 Its meaning; and there are some who so take 
 On about it, they very coolly fling 
 Aside most other duties, quite absorbed 
 
 In doctrines and their mysteries. St. James 
 Would make them more practical, if their aims 
 Were such. I prefer those characters orbed 
 So around with holy influences, 
 
 That you can see nothing of them but through 
 A medium chaste and pure, vvith such true 
 Devotion, when you seek evidences 
 Of their faith, too deep for mere profession, 
 Their whole life exhibits its possession. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 SONNETS. 
 
 'T is sweet in Autumn, 'mid the city's noise, 
 To hear the Robin's liquid note, speaking 
 Of peace in rural scenes. How oft, seeking 
 
 Man's abode, that familiar bird, when joys 
 
 Are waning, and the memory of all 
 
 The summer's gladness, fading with the leaf, 
 Comes, amid cares and tumult, with relief, 
 
 The country's placid moments to recall ! 
 
 'T is ever thus with Natui-e ! In her stores 
 There are resources, suited to each want. 
 Would men but seek them, nor so restless pant 
 
 For joys, void as the foam on ocean's shores. 
 
 That song has harmonized my mind, when I 
 
 Have thought, looking round me, no hope was nigh. 
 
 Oh Liberty ! how few e'en dream of thee ! 
 
 Freedom of rapine bears thy sacred name. 
 
 Thy true worshippers know no other claim, 
 Wearing thy badge of servitude, — the free 
 Within the confines of thy moral law, — 
 
 Than license for good to all, mercy, peace. 
 
 When will the outcries of oppression cease, 
 Power be taught pity, and the ravenous jaw 
 Of human wolves appeased with human blood ? 
 
 Just Heaven ! thy promises are over all : 
 
 Yet men their brother man in chains enthral, 
 And madly dare to look to Thee for good ! 
 While thousands groan beneath their iron sway, 
 From youth to age, to hopelessness a prey ! 
 
SONNETS. 37 
 
 Champions of Liberty ! when ye broke loose 
 From fetters tyranny had forged around 
 Your limbs, and rose, unshaciiled, from the ground, 
 Armed, to defend your rights ; what could induce 
 Ye, in the sight of conscious Heaven, to leave 
 
 Chains, festering deep wounds on your brother man ? 
 Still (for seventy years I) beneath the ban 
 Of cursed oppression, nor hope of a reprieve ! 
 Think ye, in the rude license of your power, 
 The laws of retribution blotted out ? 
 Hark ! to that stern, deep, universal shout 
 Of scorn at your misdeed ! and dread the hour 
 When outraged justice will assert her claim — 
 Your land a prey to massacre and flame. 
 
 Nothing so immediately excites 
 
 The passions of men as near interests ; 
 And I suppose that in this truth consists 
 The explanation why religious rites. 
 Less than politics, inflame their tempers. 
 It is certain that two men of two creeds 
 Are much less irascible which succeeds 
 Than of the Tory and Whig distempers. 
 This argues more blindness than ill humour, 
 Tho' enough of both, as if our parties 
 Could much profit, save those whose art it is 
 To gain a place. If men would less immure 
 Themselves in the dungeons of avarice, 
 They would see what they need with clearer eyes. 
 
38 SONNETS. 
 
 I know not why there is an omission 
 In teaching youth, of the art of living ; 
 For it seems to me that the mere giving 
 Book lore is apt to create confusion 
 When one enters the world, where the moral. 
 Learned from old philosophy is seldom 
 Practised : and science leaves us to a doom 
 Moi*e hopeless ; for its laws in the rural 
 Scene perhaps traced, 'mid purity and peace, 
 Are most unlike the code of men in haunts 
 Of cities, toiling to su})ply the wants 
 Which pride engenders. We start on the lease 
 Of life fairly, but the gross ignorance 
 Of its terms, till too late, ruins our chance.. 
 
 Boast of your bastard liberty ! ye slaves 
 To mercenary thought : more abject far 
 Than the poor captives of the savage war 
 Ye wage against the worlds convictions. Waves 
 From ten thousand oceans cannot wash 
 Out the stain on your dishonoured name I 
 Once the fond hope of nations — now their shame ! 
 Ye noble few ! the free*! let not the lash, 
 The chain, the stifled groan, the shrieks and tears 
 Of parted kindred, sold in marts ! drag down 
 Your honours, fortunes to the dust. Disown 
 Connection with oppression. Let your years 
 Flow on in peace, alone. There is a Power 
 Above, and tempests o'er your Union lower. 
 
 * The free states. 
 
SONNETS. 39 
 
 When I hear of novelties, and the fuss 
 
 They make, I keep myself, on the whole, cool, 
 Or temperate ; for I am not the fool 
 
 Of earlier years, breathless to discuss 
 
 All subjects, as if my health depended 
 On it. I prize highly all accessions 
 To our knowledge, tho' I make confessions 
 
 Daily, that the old stock, not expended, 
 
 More than suffices for my digestion. 
 I take the new gratefully: to the old 
 Ally it. But no one yet has e'er told 
 
 Me of discovery, whose suggestion 
 
 Supplants the thousands I have had before. 
 
 Convincing me how feebly I adore. 
 
 When I settle with myself what before 
 Seemed the beggarly sum of my accounts, 
 I am oft surprised how the product mounts 
 
 Up, with so large a balance left in store. 
 
 I have much of the miser's keen delight 
 Too over my treasures ; truly my own : 
 For no one suspecting me to be prone 
 
 To wealth, they leave me to enjoy the sight. 
 
 My small expenditure tallies with their 
 
 Thought ; and thus I roam at will, with the sky 
 Above me, the fresh air around, — the high 
 
 And broad expanse of nature everywhere ; 
 
 Smiling over my possessions, leaving 
 
 The deluded to their self-deceiving. 
 
40 SONNETS. 
 
 Thou mockery* ! now I There was an hour — nay, 
 A few brief years, when heroic hearts rallied 
 Beneath thee ; and, strong in virtue, sallied 
 Forth, of liberty the fond hope and stay. 
 To fight for freedom. Heaven smiled upon them 
 And their cause. They conquered ; and one long 
 Of joy from hill to hill re-echoed throughout [shout 
 Earth. Where that more than regal diadem [chains 
 That crowned their country ? Gone ! the clank of 
 Resounds along her vales, — the lash, the cry 
 Of agony, appealing to the sky ! 
 Thy stars, proud banner ! symbol but the stains 
 Upon her name ; and all who see thee wave. 
 Shrink at the thought of freedom, and the slave ! 
 
 I care not much for pulpits, less for schools ; 
 Why that science of human happiness, 
 Religion, should be vaguely taught, with less 
 Time far devoted to it than your fools. 
 Composed of Greek and Latin, give to rules 
 Of syntax, I know not : I hold Horace, 
 Homer, in all honour ; but since their race 
 Of glory, a higher far has given tools 
 Of a workmanship surpassing all time. 
 
 Before or since, has wrought; and that this art 
 Should be learn'd but weekly, nor set apart 
 In youth, when the mind is supple, the clime 
 Genial, the heart fresh, and the soul soft 
 To receive impressions, puzzles me oft. 
 * " The star-spangled banner." 
 
SONNETS. 41 
 
 When rich, I '11 found an university, 
 
 In which shall be taught all kinds of knowledge ; 
 
 The pupils to enter young, with their edge 
 Unworn and keen, and no perversity 
 Of temper. My professorships shall be 
 
 Natural History, teaching Nature, 
 
 The laws, actions, qualities and feature 
 Of things, near and remote ; the mind to see 
 Their Author chief in all. Divinity 
 
 To follow, proving the revelation ; 
 
 Christianity the elevation 
 Supreme of hope, and love its litany. 
 This foundation laid, the superstructure 
 I will raise higher than Babel's tower. . 
 
 Education should the whole soul allure ; 
 Unfolding to us our mysterious 
 Being, — its object, aim ; the imperious 
 Obligation of vii-tue ; the nature 
 Of the Supreme ; our relation to him. 
 
 And dependence on his love ; that we have 
 Nothing here but an immortal hope, save 
 His presence, reflected shadowy, dim. 
 From the magnificence we see around ; 
 Till we rise to clearer contemplation 
 In his Word, the sole interpretation 
 Of that subtle problem, life. With this ground 
 Ploughed deeply, you may sow all kinds of seed, 
 And will reap flowers, nor detect a weed. 
 
42 SONNETS. 
 
 No one with common sense, that very rare 
 Endowment, will have any objection 
 To mirth or frolic, under subjection 
 
 To propriety always. If I share 
 
 Myself in the amusements of our race 
 
 Seldom, I am old, and my vein of thought 
 Lies in deep strata, and has to be brought 
 
 With some difficulty to the surface. 
 
 Being of a serious cast of mind, 
 
 Grave and rather pensive, my tendency 
 Is devotional, with little fancy 
 
 For novelties, fashions of any kind ; 
 
 But my ear, attuned to harmony, knows 
 
 No sound so pleasing as joy's sweet echoes. 
 
 We are so imitative in our ways. 
 That it is of great importance to us 
 To select proper topics to discuss 
 Before the young, and shun whate'er delays 
 Or may mislead them in their search for good. 
 The same principle is applicable 
 To ourselves, and habits may enable 
 Us to disarm temptations, or withstood, 
 Or made the sources of heroic zeal. 
 When, in the Australian desert. Gray 
 Was perishing of want, his men a prey 
 To hopelessness, diseased and worn ; he, leal 
 In faith, communed with the Scriptures, and there 
 Found a Spirit that triumphed o'er despair. 
 
SONNETS. 43 
 
 To like the titled and their fine estates 
 
 Is but natural — in the meanly poor, 
 
 Who ne'er can tell but that some lucky door 
 May open to admit them to their fetes. 
 To see a real Lady, or my Lord, 
 
 Is not an every-day occurrence ; 
 
 And tho' to know would be a preference, 
 Yet seeing is partly so, and accords 
 With their love of consequence in the eyes 
 
 Of others, less distinguished by their fate. 
 
 Nothing is so absurd as to abate 
 The zeal of these fools in servilities 
 To the high in station ; and their excess 
 Of stooping cannot make their stature less. 
 
 That there is much uneasiness in the world 
 
 Might be inferred, if no complaints were made. 
 For men show it in their faces, inlaid 
 
 W^ith lines of care ; and no wonder, so whirled 
 
 About in search of what they seldom find. 
 The fault is not so much in what they seek. 
 As their own blindness ; for the pure and meek. 
 
 Wandering less from home, see it in the mind. 
 
 But this so unsubstantial, that most eyes 
 Discern it not, and therefore pass its haunts 
 Unconscious, and to satisfy their wants 
 
 Find nothing useful ; which excites surprise. 
 
 W"e are slow to learn, and examples will 
 
 Mislead, if many, even tho' they kill. 
 
4f4f SONNETS. 
 
 There are remote analogies in things 
 
 Not seemingly allied in any way ; 
 
 Suggestive to the thoughtful mind by day 
 And night, of truth and all the good it brings. 
 Life viewed in one respect is barren oft 
 
 Of incidents to rouse the soul, some one 
 
 Or two only in a generation 
 Tasking any qualities but the soft. 
 Philosophers assure us 't is the same 
 
 With the air and earth ; at least that the sum 
 
 Of either is a caput mortuura ; 
 A principle here and there active, tame 
 All the rest : from the which I would infer 
 That the less stimulus is the better. 
 
 My life, like a most unprofitable 
 
 Labyrinth, at each turn but leads astray. 
 I wander lost ; beguiled by every way 
 I most confide in, inhospitable, 
 Failing me in trust ; and where'er I go 
 The same fate befalls, as in derision 
 Of my weariness ; and if my vision 
 O'er a wider range extends, and I glow 
 With hope, sudden I feel my mind despond ; 
 Shut out from light, no path before my choice, 
 I grope in darkness, startling at my voice. 
 As echoes of its plaint alone respond ; 
 I emerge to trace the same round again. 
 Involved and endless ; efforts are in vain. 
 
SONNETS. 45 
 
 Nothing worries me so incessantly 
 
 As to see those round my hearth foes to ease. 
 It is vain to find, or hope aught to please 
 
 Or satisfy the mind. If pleasantly 
 
 The cause or burden of the grief is made 
 Mine, by confiding in my love, I feel 
 The pressure lightened, and as if the weal 
 
 I seek was half secured ; amply repaid. 
 
 By the exchange of what I did not know 
 For certainty of ill ; or impending, 
 Or working within the breast, suspending 
 
 Hope's realities or illusions so. 
 
 Even in mine, that life seems too real, 
 
 Which is no unprofitable trial. 
 
 It was said of old that appearances 
 
 Are deceitful ; and not a day but gives 
 
 Us proof. The bright dazzling of the sun leaves 
 
 His spots invisible ; and clearances 
 
 Of the weather banish all thought of storms, 
 
 Which catch us unprepared, and drench us quite. 
 Cloaks too often hide many things from sight. 
 
 In modern times assuming many forms. 
 
 If we could get within them, we might see 
 Life, with all its elements busily 
 At work ; many manoeuvring slily 
 
 To gain ends, not such as they seem to be. 
 
 Why but for evil should men wear a mask ? 
 
 Or use, in the sight of Heaven, I would ask ? 
 
46 SONNETS. 
 
 Tho' one hears of much that is very wrong 
 In the world, men are so averse to it, 
 That it is difficult for the Poet 
 
 Moralist to see, what oft in his song 
 
 Is depicted for our shunning. In these 
 
 Days of much refinement one seldom meets 
 Vice in all its nakedness in the streets ; 
 
 Its professors studious e'en to please. 
 
 This should make us but the more cautious ; 
 For many fellows in fine clothes may be 
 In grain scoundrels, stealing the widow's fee 
 
 Simple, tho', like a lawyer, courteous. 
 
 I have known such intruders in the best 
 
 Society, and more I fear infest. 
 
 ON EDDIS' PICTURE "THE PAUSE."* 
 What can have subdued to so deep a pause 
 Those gentle bosoms ? hushed as by a spell 1 
 The world is all without ; and yet the swell 
 Of some discordant note would seem the cause 
 Of that most sad abstraction. Twin in youth, 
 Thedarker browmore years has known. Perchance 
 Some hapless tale of childhood, thro' mischance. 
 Lost to a widowed mother, tells the truth 
 Of danger, first conceived ! impending o'er 
 Her hopes, consummated by the Mother's 
 Joy ; and the contagion o'er the other's 
 Soul has shot its influence, where before 
 Bright cloudless visions of a boundless love 
 Had realized alone our state above. 
 
 * In the collection of Lord Francis Egerton. 
 
SONNETS. ^T 
 
 One gets so discouraged, in the concerns 
 
 Of life, by the ditliculties we meet 
 
 With in the many, from their indiscreet 
 Zeal in believing what so often turns 
 Out false, that I abstain from argument, 
 
 Leaving to time to operate the cure. 
 
 What makes the error harder to endure 
 Is, that the disposition has a vent 
 Large in proportion to the damage done 
 
 To character by those most rash conceits. 
 
 I have at times suffered from these defeats 
 E'en from fair hands ; but I look on the sun 
 Not the less joyfully, smiling to see 
 Him so benignautly shining on me. 
 
 Of all the qualities none is quite so blind 
 As vanity, and hence it is discerned 
 By others quickly, who have never learned 
 
 The art of solving problems of the mind. 
 
 Those who have no eyes can even see it, 
 For it operates on all the senses. 
 It is often blended with pretences, 
 
 To hypocrisy allied ; and be it 
 
 Thus observable, mixed with the impure, 
 It is a compound so detestable. 
 That one, from hopelessness, is not able 
 
 To indulge easily a thought of cure. 
 
 The light self-complacency of the fair 
 
 Or young wears a very different air. 
 
48 SONNETS. 
 
 The affectation of immaculate 
 Purity has beneath it sensual 
 Perceptions, or something more immoral, 
 it is a cloak in which the prude hides hate 
 And all uncharitableness. I have 
 
 Known some learned females whose maiden love 
 Of meddling argued such a zest to prove 
 Others wicked, that the veriest slave 
 To passion would blush to hint to modest 
 Ears what these purists bring out openly. 
 Their method is to suggest, brokenly 
 At first, their doubts of something wrong, nor rest 
 Until the scandal blazes forth, then sigh 
 To think their friends, perhaps, sin so sadly. 
 
 I would not have any one confident 
 Of anything, especially friendship, 
 In this world ; for the tie is apt to slip. 
 
 From causes not easily cognisant. 
 
 Being a compact between two persons. 
 Originally of one mind, it holds 
 Good until that single number unfolds 
 
 Itself into twain ; and this, in her sons 
 
 And daughters, so close allied, the Mother 
 
 Sometimes sees ; and no wonder that the shocks 
 Of life, which dislocate limbs, and e'en rocks 
 
 Splinter, should tear friends from one another. 
 
 I am in constancy inviolate, 
 
 Fond of old loves ; some turned, alas ! to hate. 
 
SONNETS. 4-9 
 
 There is a kind of mental chemistry 
 I excel in, that of precipitates 
 From mixtures, such as the presiding fates 
 
 Offer us from their laboratory 
 
 Of compounds, which we have to decompose 
 For our use; the supernatant liquor, 
 Sour or sweet, or of whatever colour, 
 
 The potion we all must swallow. One knows 
 
 Little of the ingredients, so mixed 
 
 Together ; but I get some portion thrown 
 Off, and others down, by tact all my own, 
 
 The residuum then I take off ; fixed 
 
 In the conclusion, that 'tis the l)est way ; 
 
 Nor hope to filter all the dregs away. 
 
 The story of Ruth has simplicity, 
 
 Fidelity, generosity, love. 
 
 To recommend it. If men would but prove, 
 Like Boaz, kind, they would implicitly 
 Be revered, from every claim of justice: 
 
 For when power with goodness is allied. 
 
 Evil in any shape may be defied. 
 Invading the rights of one whose trust is 
 In his benevolence, largely diffused, 
 
 Under circumstances too Avliich imply 
 
 A forgetfulness of self; for the high 
 Might there concentrate it all, tho' abused : 
 Since their position is above control. 
 Save that, like Boaz, of a noble soul. 
 
 E 
 
50 SONNETS. 
 
 'J'here is somethins; so exhilarating 
 
 In a bright morn, with dew upon the grass, 
 The freshness of the air, the sights which pass 
 
 Before the eye, each sense captivating ; 
 
 The song of birds, the waving of the trees, 
 The blue of heaven, so ineffably 
 Pure ! witli light clouds, gracefully 
 
 Grouped together, and sailing with the breeze ; 
 
 That in spite of care I feel the beauty 
 Steal upon me ; and feelings I cannot 
 Communicate rise so to bless my lot, 
 
 That worship blended with every duty 
 
 Seems inevitable, — so deep, profound. 
 
 The sense of Deitv in all around ! 
 
 In the material world we faintly 
 
 Trace effects to causes, or what seem such ; 
 
 And speak of them as sensible to touch 
 Almost ; while in the moral, as saintly 
 Men have said, there are many things too oft 
 
 Eluding. That there are shadows flitting 
 
 O'er the mind, in its search of truth, suiting 
 No form of the realities, some soft 
 Impression made, as shades are apt to do, 
 
 Is clear ; but he has made no use at all 
 
 Of his faculties intellectual. 
 Who has not discovered, that the way to woo 
 Knowledge, is to trust to mere appearance. 
 Since we get the true but by inference. 
 
SONNETS. 51 
 
 Let no one in his dream of life cherish 
 Hope too far, so vain the bright illusion ! 
 Better to place thy trust where delusion 
 
 Cannot be ; for of the things which perish, 
 
 None so frail as the fond expectancy 
 Of good, e'en for services of purest 
 Motive. But let not thy devotion rest ! 
 
 Itself to thee the sole sufficiency I 
 
 It is the only boon that passeth not 
 Away, since all beside the accidents 
 Of time ; and there are incidents, 
 
 Linked with virtue, influencing our lot, 
 
 That seem casual, but ne'er can be so. 
 
 For chance has none so pleasing to bestow. 
 
 There are things so familiar that we see 
 Them not, or only as annoyances 
 Which mar occasionally joyances, 
 
 Like flies, when on our plate they chance to be; 
 
 Or sparrows, fond of the young green of spring. 
 Defeating hope from seed, sown in gardens. 
 Whence sundry contrivances, as wardens. 
 
 Are resorted to, to make them take wing. 
 
 But these modes of separate existence 
 Are meant for our instruction, to suggest 
 Thoughts, as all nature does, which cannot rest 
 
 Pent up in self; and he finds subsistence 
 
 In more enjoyment than falls to my share, 
 
 If the sparrow's chirp does not please his ear. 
 
 e2 
 
52 SONNETS. 
 
 If men were wise to understand talents 
 Were alone entrusted for the chief good 
 Of others, to supply them stores of food, 
 
 Not their own aggrandizement, as gallants 
 
 Of fame, the world would reap a harvest more 
 Profuse of knowledge. Of all, the humblest 
 In self-appreciation, by far first 
 
 In responsibility, to adore, 
 
 Thro' usefulness, the Supreme, was Priestley ! 
 Noblest of mankind ! He threw pearls away, 
 Indifferent himself to all array 
 
 Beyond that of doing duty meetly. 
 
 Hence his reputation has a lustre 
 
 More glorious than science can confer. 
 
 My Friend ! in the general lot Thou hast 
 Had no common doom ! entrusted to Thee 
 Talents of an order we seldom see, 
 And tastes, that should produce results to last 
 Through time, adding their influence to aid 
 The purpose of humanity. Thine art 
 Is moral, destined to refine the heart, 
 To seize its loveliness of power, ere fade 
 The perishable traits we see around. 
 
 Thy life but gives a promise to the hope ; 
 Faithful to obligations ! not a scope 
 Offered to thy youth, but thou hast been found 
 True I obedient to the claims of Son, 
 Brother, Friend, — not a duty left undone. 
 
SONNETS. 53 
 
 It is a stern feeling to cherish hate; 
 
 But I have so learned to love the softer 
 Sympathies in my age, that I foster 
 
 Now no other in my breast ; all too late 
 
 For the unforgiving sentiments of youth 
 
 To hold their sway ; tho' I have still so much 
 Of early nature left me, that a touch, 
 
 Impressed too roughly, rouses all the truth 
 
 Of old emotions, fading soon away 
 
 Before a calmer judgement ; and the charm 
 Disarms e'en malice of its power to harm ; 
 
 A moment keenly felt, but not to stay. 
 
 I have had my enmities, as my lot 
 
 Is now to feel them, but they harm me not. 
 
 With all my philosophy I rarely 
 
 Am exempt from heart-ache, though temperance 
 
 Comes in aid to promise me a fair chance 
 Of health, since I dine most days but sparely. 
 There must be something seated in the brain, 
 
 Of a susceptibility so strong, 
 
 That whenever the echo of a wrong 
 Note jars on it the discord causes pain. 
 Physicians talk of sympathies; and mine 
 
 Probably are of the order restive. 
 
 Howe'er it may be, I would wish to live 
 In harmony with all that can refine 
 The nature ; and if I should have o'erstrained 
 The mark, I am perhaps but justly pained. 
 
54 SONNETS. 
 
 If men would but learn from high examples. 
 Of which there are many of the olden 
 Time and recent, abounding in golden 
 
 Consequences, they would furnish samples 
 
 Of a workmanship more creditable 
 
 To their skill as artists of a moral [all 
 
 World, where the threads of circumstances should 
 
 Be woven into tissues suitable 
 
 To the exigence of an immortal 
 
 Soul ; serving its necessities, not by 
 Things of sense, adapted to the body. 
 
 But of qualities immaterial. 
 
 Spun out of thought, of which the richest store 
 
 Is oft found in those who lived long before. 
 
 There is too much that is satisfying 
 In the senses, and many men after 
 A good dinner, for an instance, rather 
 Than do anything else, gratifying 
 A love of ease, compose themselves to sleep. 
 I am very apt to this indulgence, 
 As I sit up late, in the effulgence 
 Of my midnight taper, to write or weep 
 Alone, easing my heart by either vent 
 
 Or both, as it may be. By that small light 
 I have learned to distinguish, clear to sight, 
 Some useful truths ; and I fancy the bent 
 Of my mind has received its curve upwards 
 By this mere habit of stooping downwards. 
 
SONNETS. 55 
 
 I sc4dom feel my humanity more 
 
 Than in Autumn, with its dead leaves falling 
 Round me, all its cold flowers recalling 
 
 Brighter days and genial, with their store 
 
 Of bloom, and hours passed in sauntering ease, 
 By some brook-side, or on the verdant bank. 
 Gazing on the blue heavens, — the world a blank, 
 
 As it had never been, with the sweet breeze 
 
 Wafting no sound but the songs of birds, or 
 The hum of insects on the wing, the scene 
 Beaming with gladness, and wherever seen, 
 
 Seeming Paradise and the soul to soar. 
 
 But Autumn days remind me all is past, 
 
 And of sterner trials to come at last. 
 
 It argues a bad temper, when I see 
 Any one the victim to strong passions, 
 Roused by trifles ; but there are some fashions 
 I detest ; so immodest ! that beauty 
 Should shun them, trifling with its native grace. 
 And exposing deformity of mind, 
 Implanted by education, behind 
 A fair proportion and a lovely face. 
 In the young, these arts my compassion move ; 
 In the old, disgust : the one will disown 
 A fault, originally not her own ; 
 But the dowager dresses low, to prove 
 Rank corruption, ere the grave claims its right 
 To do, what we know it does, out of sight. 
 
56 SONNETS. 
 
 The passions I allude to are the stoi-ms 
 Raised by accidents, such as to childhood 
 Happen in its usual merry mood ; 
 
 Or, when aiming at usefulness, it forms 
 
 Some little plan, which in execution 
 
 Fails ; and the cherubs, in their eager haste 
 To show a wish to serve us, make some waste. 
 
 Fatal to all hope, by no exertion 
 
 Of their own to rise again ; so alarmed ! 
 
 And tearful, that they know not where to hide. 
 I long to soothe them, and cannot betide 
 
 The thoughtless wretch, who, because he is harmed 
 
 In some trifle, is blind to their desire 
 
 Of approbation, in his savage ire. 
 
 Those who carry their aversion so far 
 As to sacrifice friendship to their hate. 
 Often make mistakes, when it is too late 
 To repair consequences. In the war 
 Of civil life, I suspect, that pride slays 
 More victims than in the military 
 The sword, making many tributary 
 To some regrets which linger thro' their days. 
 These losses, unlike those which the grave hides. 
 Have a vitality of remembrance 
 About them, calculated to enhance 
 One's misery ; for to see by our sides 
 Those we have once loved, but must now avoid. 
 Is but apt to make all else round us void. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 When I see youth observant of the claims 
 Of age, I know of nothing that so niucli 
 Commends it to me. It exhibits such 
 Loveliness that not e'en the highest names 
 On the roll of fame shine with a clearer 
 Lustre ; nor so prophetic any deed 
 Of future blessings on the youthful head. 
 None perchance remains to be the bearer 
 Of its honours : the friends of youthful days 
 Gone ; and with them all evidences 
 Of a love once active, the tendencies 
 Of which were ever to elicit praise 
 Of an eloquence deeper than our own, 
 Now sinking with the weight of years, alone. 
 
 There are some so impatient of restraint, 
 Who hear dictation with so ill a grace. 
 That there are occasions when they disgrace 
 Themselves in the eyes of others, so faint 
 The semblance of their discretion. I feel 
 Often the same kind of provocation 
 With these sinners ; when the avocation 
 Of some zealot, in his pride to reveal 
 Some admitted truth, is that of a pert 
 
 Preacher, who deals out judgement profusely, 
 While his own life perhaps pleads uselessly 
 For the law ; and to spite the coxcomb, dirt, 
 In the shape of wrong confessions, is thrown 
 At him on purpose, to enjoy his frown. 
 
58 SONNETS. 
 
 My Mother ! when I think on all tliat Thou 
 Hast been to me, to others worthier 
 Of thy love, as near in claim, readier 
 Far thro' merit, but I cannot allow 
 From will more earnest, to deserve esteem ; 
 I grieve that fate unpropitious, else just 
 To my desert, humblest in its hope, must 
 Rob me of a joy I had thought might beam 
 On me, reflecting honour on thine age ; 
 
 Such as the parent from her offspring knows. 
 But let sweet peace go with thee to thy close 
 Of life ; and if not faithless the image 
 Of a dream that flits at times before me, 
 I may be found hereafter worthy Thee. 
 
 My Friend ! the sunny clime that gave Thee birth 
 Imparted to Thee the gift of genius ! 
 Powers for good or ill ! Thro' no tedious 
 Years of drudgery hast Thou ploughed the earth 
 For thine increase ; thy ample harvest ripe 
 
 In youth ; fame e'en accomplished in thy prime. 
 And what awaits Thee in the after time ? 
 Not the dull, tame sufficiencies of life ! 
 The pride and insolence of mere success ! 
 Like others of thy country it must add 
 Fresh laurels to thy brow, thro' eff'orts made 
 In the cause of virtue! Thou not the less 
 Distinguished for thy pencil, than the tone 
 O^ moral beauty o'er thy pictures thrown. 
 
SONNETS. 59 
 
 When we are following some favourite 
 Pursuit, in itself innocent, or more. 
 From its nature good, as when we explore 
 
 Truth in her well, loving the exquisite 
 
 Things we draw up, and sometimes from our minds — • 
 Deeper wells than these truth never hides in — 
 It is sweet to meet some one who sides in 
 
 Our propensity, and kindly time finds 
 
 To look at with us what our bucket draws 
 Up, and will help us by explanations 
 Of their own, to solve mystifications 
 
 Of which alone we could not find the cause. 
 
 The fact is, sympathy, if not the whole 
 
 Of happiness, still is to nie the soul. 
 
 It grieves me when I see a noble mind. 
 Full of good propensities, generous. 
 More than just, because never tenacious 
 Of its rights, when, waving them, it can find 
 An opportunity to show kindness, 
 
 Proving that the courtesies of life have 
 No obstacles in pride, if it can save 
 By its own sacrifice, from the blindness 
 Of another, harmony being lost 
 
 By rude collision ; it grieves me to see 
 Such a nature, like a vessel at sea 
 Without a compass, the seamen's trust, tost 
 By every wave, no polar star to guide 
 It in the tempest, drifting with the tide. 
 
60 SONNETS. 
 
 There are two kinds of persons I would shun, 
 
 And do so. When the coast is clear, and place 
 
 Is otherwise indifferent, no trace 
 Of me can be found beside them. The one 
 Is the fault-finder, not to correct it, 
 
 But to prove by their own sagacity 
 
 Being free, they have a capacity 
 Of discernment, tho' they oft detect it 
 In their own meddling only. The other, 
 
 The spoilt child of fortune, miserable 
 
 From selfishness, ennui, unable 
 To endure herself, attempts to smother. 
 Where'er she goes, the hopes the humble feed 
 Their need with ; well pleased if she can succeed, 
 
 There are moments in which the circumstance 
 Of life presses so heavily on me. 
 That I cannot suppress the wish to flee 
 
 Away, and be at rest, beyond all chance 
 
 Of ill. There is a weight upon the breast, 
 A trouble o'er the brain, I often think 
 Like frenzy, and I feel my strength to sink, 
 
 Nor does my weary thought know where to rest. 
 
 I 'm sure all woes on purpose revisit 
 
 Me at these times, when I can least resist 
 Them, and my offences seem to insist 
 
 On penalties, stern beyond all limit. 
 
 The remembrance, too, of some friend's harsli tone 
 
 At parting, robs me e'en of pity's boon. 
 
SONNETS. 61 
 
 Mary ! what time has failed to do, of ill, 
 To this fond heart, that, fifty years, within 
 My breast has struggled on, amid the din 
 
 That jars upon the chord, which vibrates still 
 
 In unison with thine own, care has done. 
 And, tho' young, I feel withered as by age, 
 Like one, whose objectless course on the stage 
 
 Of closing human life has almost run. 
 
 When my sands have ceased to fall, and I prove 
 A memory, — that soon to pass away, — 
 Let some kind thoughts, lingering with thee, stay, 
 
 Gilding the past with my remembered love. 
 
 Thou ! part of my being ! must ever be, 
 
 In death as life, incorporate with me. 
 
 My jealous soul brooks no reserve in thee. 
 Nor feeling, but in which it all may share. 
 Two wedded hearts abstraction may not bear, 
 
 With minds to roam, as if at liberty. 
 
 The glance of thought that flashes o'er my mind — 
 I know of none but all infused with love, 
 The chain in which my fettered fancies move — 
 
 Is vain, unless thy sympathy it find. 
 
 My life is mutual, twin with thine own ; 
 Through thee do all my aspirations rise. 
 I dare not meet aversion in thine eyes. 
 
 Nor censure at my seeming wayward tone. 
 
 There 's a fearful loneliness about me, 
 
 Lost as I am to e'en hope, without thee. 
 
62 SONNETS. 
 
 Thy deep maternal tenderness and love 
 Have equally enriched thyself and thine ! 
 Its own bright recompense ! like rays which shine 
 
 On flowers, and reflected thence above. 
 
 When thou and I have long since passed away. 
 As night which spreads on all around a shade 
 Without afl^ecting beauty day has made, 
 
 Thy moral influence will still have sway ; 
 
 Reviving in thy grateful children's thought, 
 Wearing the self-same aspect thou hast worn ; 
 
 '7*' 
 
 W'hile I, like some dark cloud upon the mo*n, 
 Shall veil the brightness thy eff'ulgence brought. 
 Yet thou canst say, — companion of my youth 
 And age, care dimmed but left untouched my truth. 
 
 Expression seldom can reveal my thought, 
 
 Which finds no semblance in the forms of speech; 
 Emotions, which utterance fails to reach, 
 
 By thee unheeded, as they came unsought. 
 
 Would there were faculties within the soul 
 To telegraph what passes within mine, 
 That mental sight and heai'ing could combine, 
 
 Directing, like the needle to the pole. 
 
 Thy wayward sympathies to mine alone. 
 There should be a magnetic force of love. 
 Were it on earth what it must prove above, 
 
 A chord responsive, — echo to each tone. 
 
 There is no solitude like that of mind. 
 
 Seeking in vain its fellow-heart to find. 
 
SONNETS. 63 
 
 I grant that love, or time, or care have cast 
 A spell upon nie, and that now I fail 
 In power, weary, worn, and poor, and frail ; 
 But turn to the remembrance of the past, 
 Nor let the present all usurp thy thought. 
 Years have admitted power to dim the eye, 
 And Love's best interpreter is a sigh, 
 At least in one who finds not what he sought, 
 Means to protect the objects of his love. 
 There is a pride that well sustains our life, 
 To see fond children and a faithful wife. 
 Secure 'gainst want, save only that above. 
 This has been denied to me ; and if low, 
 No selfish sorrow darkens o'er my brow. 
 
 Though false the world, let thy fixed mind be true, 
 Intent upon the aim we all should seek. 
 Life's paths, though rugged, toilsome, thorny, bleak, 
 
 Have Heaven's rest for ever within view. 
 
 No clouds should e'er conceal its tranquil blue 
 To thine inward eye, piercing their thin veil ; 
 Nor must the world's example e'er prevail 
 
 To make thy conscious thought its wrong pursue. 
 
 With flowers along our path, and stars above. 
 The attributes of Deity around, 
 No selfish thought within, nor jarring sound 
 
 Of discord from the well-tuned harp of love, 
 
 Life is a constant triumph ; and the grave 
 
 At last our refuge, kindly meant to save. 
 
64 SONNETS. 
 
 Mary ! our lot — though checkei'ed oft by fate, 
 As Heaven at times with clouds is darkened o'er, 
 Deepening its blue intensity, and store 
 
 Of light, by contrast ; and to moderate 
 
 Its power, too subtle for the claims of earth. 
 Which may not here aspire beyond the doom 
 Ordained, of beauty destined to the tomb, — 
 
 Has had its moral sun ; and love, the birth 
 
 Of all our true and most substantial joys. 
 It has held on for tvvo-and-twenty years. 
 Through obstacles, smiles mingling with our tears : 
 
 Like gold, unchanged in worth by all alloys ; 
 
 Nor time, nor age, nor care must dim its ray. 
 
 Nor can eternity our debt repay. 
 
 There are lone thoughts I may not share with thee, 
 Bound as I am to thee, as by a spell ; 
 Mute, shadowy ones, I should fail to tell 
 
 Did I attempt to woo thy sympathy. 
 
 It must be so with every conscious mind. 
 From that doom, inevitable ! to die. 
 Within my bosom's dark recesses lie 
 
 Fragments of power, which were once designed 
 
 For aery structures of a self-esteem, 
 
 Slowly to rise, through energies of youth, 
 Conceived in all the loveliness of truth. 
 
 But which have waned and vanished as a dream. 
 
 I muse in silence o'er my ruined fame, 
 
 With only Heaven conscious of my shame. 
 
SONNETS. 65 
 
 My feelings mere delusions oft you deem, 
 Dark, morbid fancies flitting o'er ray mind. 
 And all incredulous of their power to bind ; 
 
 But do not oft indulge so vain a dream. 
 
 There is a solitude I often woo. 
 
 Whence careless mortals seldomdraw theirthought; 
 A lonely country by the glad unsought, 
 
 Who love companionship in all they do. 
 
 This may explain my seeming cold reserve. 
 My visions come from deserts wild and rude, 
 Where seldom those who smile and talk intrude, 
 
 Having no circumstance their need to serve. 
 
 The grave may give you some conception true 
 
 Of that lone land for ever in my view. 
 
 It is a melancholv fact, that those 
 Who are favourites of Fortune abuse 
 Her gifts, (I know few exceptions,) and use 
 Them, as if to do with them what they chose 
 They had a right quite unquestionable. 
 It tells ill of our nature, that the heart 
 Is harden'd by what should soften it. Part 
 Clearly rises from unconscionable 
 Habits of self-indulgence. It is rare 
 To feel a want and not supply it : so 
 These selfish habits insensibly grow, 
 Till self becomes supreme. They hate the air 
 For being cold or hot, or wet or dry, 
 As if their humours were to rule the sky. 
 
 F 
 
66 SONNETS. 
 
 That use makes familiar is an adage 
 
 Old, It may be so, and in some things no 
 Doubt is ; but there are exceptions ; and two 
 
 I know which do not prove the rule. The edge 
 
 Of a razor is its only worth : so 
 
 Of clergymen, who talk religion much, 
 Their qualities, meekness, grace, are the touch- 
 Stones of their truth, and may be, belief too. 
 
 I know none, perhaps a few, who are not 
 Intolerant, like Pharisees of old. 
 Fond of loaves and fishes, — the fragments sold, 
 
 And who resemble Christians not a jot. 
 
 Then I ne'er heard of pain grown familiar. 
 
 For ev'ry fresh throb was dissimilar. 
 
 Byron says, " in life there is no present." 
 
 We live therefore in the past and future. 
 
 Like a shadow in the glass, the feature 
 Of our happiness, impressed a moment. 
 Then vanishing away. The past cannot 
 
 Be recalled, — the more to be lamented ! 
 
 For in it thoughtlessly was cemented 
 The fabric of our joy, and not a jot 
 Of which, mine at least, but was laid in sand, 
 
 The reason why it totters to a fall. 
 
 The future is not — what it may be, all 
 Despair to know ; but they may understand 
 That the more illimitable it be. 
 The more scope, e'en now, for felicity. 
 
SONNETS. 67 
 
 Some men are very fond of rarities, 
 
 And make them more so, keeping them idle 
 In chests and drawers, doing nothing ; idols 
 
 Of a silly worship. The vanities 
 
 They breed flow naturally from a creed 
 Based on mere clay or brass, like, in olden 
 Tiine, the calf so impiously molten. 
 
 They but unconsciously betray their need, 
 
 Making their respect so material. 
 
 As if they had nothing but stocks and stones 
 To place it on ; and it will break no bones 
 
 To surmise, if aught more ethereal 
 
 Was in their mind, they would not make so much 
 
 Of trifles, but, like others, think them such. 
 
 My Mother ! more than Mother ! fifty years 
 Have passed since I, an infant, by thy side, 
 First felt thy tenderness ; and on the tide 
 
 Of time my feeble bark still onward steers 
 
 By thy direction, watchful still to save 
 
 It and its freight from wreck, children and wife, 
 My fame and fortunes on the voyage of life ; 
 
 But for thy aid, long il^BllliP-sunk beneath the wave. 
 
 Heaven only can compensate the deed ; 
 
 And when thy course shall be review'd above. 
 It will be found writ in the lines of love. 
 
 And Thou wilt have of praise that glorious meed, 
 
 " She has loved much" — which Jesus spake, to be 
 
 The crown of all the kind and bountiful, like Thee. 
 
 F 2 
 
68 SONNETS. 
 
 Thy cross, my Brother ! thou hast meekly borne ; 
 
 A high example to the strong and free ! 
 
 Who seldom bear their burdens well, like Thee. 
 In comparison how light ! — night nor morn 
 Affords thee frequent rest — from urgent pain ! 
 
 Dependent too — deprived of motive power — 
 
 On others' aid — helpless from hour to hour ! 
 Yet cheerful I nor heard ever to complain ! 
 Thy sports were once equestrian — or to roam 
 
 Wide o'er heath and moor and wood — thy delight ! 
 
 Thy dog and gun companions ; and no slight 
 Fatigue, laden with spoils, went with Thee home. 
 Thy sports are ended ! but thy heart, still sound, 
 Plays with its youthful kindliness around. 
 
 My earliest born ! thrice seven years have fled 
 Since first, thro' Thee, I bore a Father's name ! 
 No time can e'er obliterate the claim ! 
 Years ! of mix'd joy and sorrow — o'er the dead, 
 Thy Brothers ! victims of an early fate ! 
 Impending still o'er us ; and when to fall. 
 We know not — inevitable to all ! 
 May thy life be happy ! and thine estate 
 Thro' future years be prosperous, in good ! 
 Blest be thy friendships ! mutual thy love I 
 Serene thy hope I and firm thy faith above ! 
 And when thy mind the world may have withstood, 
 My claims upon it need not task thy care, 
 If I have help'd to plant the virtue there. 
 
SONNETS. 69 
 
 My Son I my only one ! since three lie low, 
 Once, like Thee now, companions of my love I 
 And oh ! may Heaven, in its mercy, prove 
 
 Propitious to thy life ! nor lower bow 
 
 My head, already thrice discrown'd 1 When years. 
 Long years, have left their influence on Thee, 
 And the past has waned upon thy memory, 
 
 Yield me the passing tribute of some tears, 
 
 One grateful momentary glance of thought ! 
 I would revive before thy mental view 
 The remember'd source of some emotions, true. 
 
 Holy and chaste, within thy bosom wrought. 
 
 Oh that my will had might ! thy fate should be 
 
 The highest in the scale of destiny ! 
 
 My Lucy ! in thy wand'rings by the Rhine, 
 
 Its vineyards, meads, its woods and castled shore. 
 There still may linger, for thine ear in store, 
 
 The echo of a tone that once was mine. 
 
 For I have gazed upon its classic tide, 
 
 Pour'd my lone plaint along its heights and plains. 
 When none I loved could listen to my strains ; 
 
 Nor wife, nor playful children by my side. 
 
 Should it retain the semblance of my voice. 
 Deep love for thee and them it will disclose. 
 And soothe away thy momentary woes 
 
 Of absence ; making thy lone heart rejoice. 
 
 With bright suggestions of thy distant home. 
 
 Where eyes will brighten when you cease to roam. 
 
To SONNETS. 
 
 There are angel influences o'er thee, 
 IsabeUe ! spirits of the just look down 
 From Heav'n upon thy pilgrimage, to crown 
 
 Thy darkly pencill'd brow with sanctity. 
 
 Thy names, my child ! are each enroll'd on high, 
 For they who bore them in their day were known 
 For loveliness of nature, all their own. 
 
 Meekness, endurance, love, faith, piety ! 
 
 Thv calm intelligence but seems to me 
 
 Their benediction ; and thy large blue eye, 
 With its placid gaze and brilliancy, 
 
 To beam from thoughts like theirs, all purity. 
 
 May thy life be thy childhood to its close. 
 
 Resembling theirs in all except its woes ! 
 
 Sweet child ! when I recall thine infant state. 
 Ere many houi's had witness'd to our joy — 
 Ineffably pure, and without alloy 
 
 From earth, thy beauty shone inviolate. 
 
 Of the mix'd elements of good and ill 
 
 Below, thine were all pure — like Heaven's light, 
 More beautiful to our enraptured sight. 
 
 With all the impress of the angel still, 
 
 Thy spii'it's, feature's origin and source ! 
 
 The early years of childhood have pass'd by, 
 And thou art still more lovely to our eye ; 
 
 Thy nature rising as it gains in force. 
 
 Thou art the living emblem of that child. 
 
 On whom, as the type of Heav'n, Jesus smiled. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 71 
 
 There is a compensation, in the scheme 
 Of Providence, adapted to each woe 
 That falls, appointed, upon man below- 
 Some boon the stern affliction to redeem. 
 
 In thee, my Brother ! helpless as thou art— [grey— 
 Thy manhood's prime scarce past— thy ringlets 
 Feeble thy limbs— and thy wheel-chair thy stay, 
 
 It has been a light buoyancy of heart. 
 
 The seer fields of autumn were once thy haunt, 
 The wave thy pastime, and the gallant steed 
 And early exercise of morn, thy need ; 
 
 Yet now deprived of all, how small thy want ! 
 
 How uncomplaining ! cheerful ! patient ! kind ! 
 
 As if privation could not reach thy mind. 
 
 My venerable Friend ! how far beyond 
 
 The Psalmist's age hast thou held on thy course, 
 Invincible to years, which leave thy force 
 
 Of body vigorous still, and the fond 
 
 Remembrances of many who have left 
 
 Thee, clinging to thy heart, unchanged by time ! 
 Fourscore years and five ! thou wert in the prime 
 
 Of this eventful being ! Now bereft 
 
 Of her who made existence joy to thee. 
 Of him, the brother of her love and thine, 
 Thou art lonely, and no appeals of mine 
 
 Can draw thee from thy solitude, to be 
 
 My inmate, that I might watch o'er the stage 
 
 Declining of thy patriarchal age. 
 
72 SONNETS. 
 
 Calm hours of midnight ! silent, lone, profound, 
 Friendly to meditation and the heart ; 
 The day's delusive vanities apart; 
 And a stern consciousness of truth around, 
 How have I quail'd beneath thy searching power ! 
 Yet loved thy influence ; seeking again 
 Thy solitude, to nourish all my pain ! 
 Is it that self-conviction, with its shower 
 Of tears, falling upon the heart, refines 
 
 The source whence motives, actions, wishes flow ? 
 That pride, unirritated, in the glow 
 Of mute, silent penitence, undermines 
 Its base, and falls a ruin before Heaven, 
 Rearing the hope assured of sins forgiven ? 
 
 Why should I marvel even those I love 
 
 Find food for solace that I cannot find ? 
 
 Who may control the impulse of the mind ? 
 Changeable, as the fleeting clouds above ! 
 The moods of youth are not the same in age. 
 
 Care does not weigh oppressive upon all ; 
 
 If some can sport in lightness with the ball 
 Of circumstance, why — obey the adage, 
 " Live and let live" — and thus fulfil thy doom ! 
 
 I cannot envy levity of thought ; 
 
 Nor find what I have long intently sought; 
 And hence perhaps my oft imputed gloom. 
 They know me not ; tho' life's impressive claims 
 Might argue that my mind had nobler aims. 
 
SONNETS. 73 
 
 Our great Lexicographer's uncouth form 
 
 Was somewhat in accordance with his mind : 
 Ponderous and huge, vast. He had refined 
 Qualities not many ; and some deform 
 His memory. In politics, he was, 
 As conversation, a tyrant — bigot 
 In religion ; and of nature, a spigot 
 In a cask had discernment of its laws 
 Or beauties, as much as he. There were hours 
 In his moody life worthy of his fame : 
 His scorn of Chesterfield redeems his name 
 From all servility ; and when his powers 
 Recur to thought, they failing too through age, 
 The doubt about his pension stirs our rage. 
 
 I doubt whether folly has any coat, 
 
 More devious from the just proportions 
 
 Of good taste ; or which shows the distortions 
 
 Of its figure more, though many fools dote 
 
 On it, than the habit of mockery : 
 
 I know not if I could most rave or weep 
 At this contemptible costume. I keep 
 
 My temper by some effort from very 
 
 Scorn when I see it. I loathe fantastic 
 Tricks of all kinds, and this too offensive. 
 Keeping oneself so on the defensive 
 
 Against a tendency of being sick. 
 
 For anything which stirs choler in us 
 
 Inevitably makes us bilious. 
 
74 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 How much is there in the world we never 
 Hear or see, or by inference only, 
 Yet affecting others indirectly 
 In action towards us, through thoughts which sever 
 Ties once deem'd indissoluble ! I fear 
 This habit of indulging sentiments 
 Secretly, like some mixtures, oft ferments 
 Into acid qualities, as I hear 
 Such is the case in domestic life, when 
 Vinegar is so produced from sweets pent 
 Up in casks which have not a large vent- 
 Hole. I have seen such effects in some men 
 From this inward working, that I take care 
 To give my own thoughts plenty of fresh air. 
 
 To hold communion with the forest scene, 
 Amid its maze to seek each flow'ret wild ; 
 Roaming in age, as fond as when a child 
 
 Its sylvan wonders were delighted seen ; 
 
 To follow on where daily duty leads 
 Untired, turning devious oft to show 
 Compassion, where rewards alone that flow 
 
 From silent goodness can attend thy deeds ; 
 
 An approving conscience, the eye above. 
 And her fond smile, so faithful to her vow, 
 Watching thy homeward steps witli anxious brow. 
 
 The yearnings of a heart grown old in love — 
 
 My friend! these thy tastes I thy boons! they will be 
 
 Too thy recompense thro' eternity. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 75 
 
 Why should opinion rule with tyrant sway 
 The free-born mind ? accountable alone 
 To Heaven ; with a charter all its own, 
 
 And laws immutable it must obey ; 
 
 With steady aim towards the purpose high 
 Of life — a few short years and insecure 
 In our existence, destined to endure 
 
 Unchanged by death, throughout eternity : 
 
 We need not fear the censure of the crowd, 
 Blind to the real interests of the soul; 
 Nor, strong in faith, submit to the control 
 
 Of worldliness, with voice however loud. 
 
 Success can have no reference to state, 
 
 Our progress sure thro' every turn of fate. 
 
 There is a mood too frequent with some men. 
 Ruffling my mind in its more sensitive 
 Condition, — those moments in which I live 
 
 Tremulous easily, as the aspen. 
 
 Impressible to e'en the slightest breath 
 Of air, so gently blowing, you can see 
 It stir, but by the tremor of that tree. 
 
 Not a single leaf beside that moveth. 
 
 It is -when, being serious, I meet 
 
 Jests responsive to the appeals I make. 
 Nor other disposition shown to take 
 
 Note of what touches me. Now though 't is sweet 
 
 To see a calm cheerfulness of spirit, 
 
 Levity can make no pretence to it. 
 
76 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Some maj^ think my hues of thought are as light 
 And as variable as the shadows 
 O'er a landscape ; and that one scarcely knows 
 What to expect, so changeable the sight 
 Presented to the sense. Yet such is life ! 
 A mixed web to all. To me it has proved 
 Such ; nor am I sure whether to be moved 
 By joy or sorrow, with either so rife 
 The circumstances around us. I know 
 But one relief in its vicissitudes, 
 Faith in Providence ; and this in all moods 
 I bring before me. It advances slow 
 At times, and I droop in the interval, 
 Only to rise triumphant from the fall. 
 
 I need no clergy, with their solemn face. 
 
 Their grave sententiousness of wordy thought, 
 To commend religion to me. I caught 
 
 Amid clouds its rainbow hues, as the trace 
 
 Of storms was fading fast away, and hope 
 Succeeded, led on by the heavenly view. 
 He must be poor in need indeed, who through 
 
 Life wanders far, and fancies he has scope 
 
 For expatiating in any trust 
 
 But that the Gospels teach. I value them 
 So highly, that, like her who touch'd the hem 
 
 Of the garment, I feel a virtue thrust. 
 
 By no earthly power, into my faint soul, [whole. 
 
 Through their touching precepts, which make me 
 
SONNETS. 77 
 
 There is this difference between the things 
 
 Of heaven and earth ; and I wish those, so fond 
 Foolishly of this world, would but despond 
 The more, that they might, goaded by the stings 
 Of conscience without remission, cure them- 
 Selves effectually of their idle 
 Love of vanity and show ; and bridle 
 Their envy so far, as to endure gem 
 And pearl on others without coveting 
 
 The baubles. There are things, unseen by eye, 
 Worth more their admiration — heavenly. 
 While earthly ones, though seen, are curveting 
 So about, they are soon lost view of quite. 
 At least by death, which brings the first to sight. 
 
 We live in a cloudy clime ; and thick fogs. 
 
 And rain, and, in London, coal-smoke and soot, 
 Encompass us about, with cold to boot, 
 
 And darkness oft at noon ; and nothing jogs 
 
 Us on pleasantly in these cheerless days. 
 Yet not far above our heads is sunshine ; 
 Wasting its beauty on the desert line 
 
 Of clouds between us and its cheerful rays. 
 
 As we cannot bodily mount upwards. 
 
 We must accustom ourselves to the mind's 
 Balloon, and get into the light and winds 
 
 Of purer odour. Tho' the eye towards 
 
 Beauty oft is vainly strain'd, that slight car 
 
 Will float us to it, be it e'er so far. 
 
78 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I do not affect to be conversant 
 
 With all doctrine, but miracles I quite 
 Comprehend ; as tangible to my sight 
 And touch, as was Luther, the protestant, 
 Or to Melancthon, or the Pope's legate. 
 Who gladly intangible would have made 
 To any sense the old reformer. Laid 
 Up safely where, without the least debate 
 About my rights to them, 1 oft visit. 
 Are those evidences of a great truth ; 
 And though I stumbled often in my youth 
 O'er an obstacle, and could not miss it, 
 I grew in stature, and obtain'd the prize, 
 Than fine gold far more preciotis to my eyes. 
 
 There is no defect in institutions, 
 
 In the prevailing tone of thought, feeling. 
 Observances, rites, which should be healing 
 In their effects, not mere substitutions 
 Of quack remedies for known specifics, 
 I so much deplore, as the want of hold 
 Religion, thro' our churches, clergy, cold, 
 Formal, oft spiteful, and least pacific. 
 Has upon the soul, mind, heart, aftections 
 
 Of the young and even old. When one thinks 
 How aged the world is, it really sinks 
 The spirits to see the sad defections 
 From its faith : and the fault it seems to me 
 Consists, in making it a mystery. 
 
SONNETS. 79 
 
 The chapter fourth of John, in which our Lord 
 Reveal'd himself to her, who could not see 
 To the dejith of his meaning, seems to me 
 Of all most precious in the sacred word. 
 For there, in terms so legible, we read 
 
 What worship should be, confined to no place, 
 Preferr'd in spirit and in truth. The race 
 Of Samaritans and Jews still have seed 
 Within our churches, and Gerizim may 
 
 Be found, and more than one temple, as sites 
 For prayer, in these days of obsolete rites. 
 I construe the injunction, as to say 
 That all place and time should be set apart. 
 And pur best worship — purity of heart. , 
 
 I am fond of reading, and my taste lies 
 In several wide directions ; at will 
 Rambling alone o'er valley, mountain, hill, 
 
 Ocean or shore of the humanities. 
 
 When I have pick'd up all the flowers or weeds 
 That were strewn along my path, I gather 
 Others from a new one, and would rather 
 
 Have the wild ones than any rear'd from seeds. 
 
 There are productions, human but in part. 
 Like White on Selbourne, so full of nature ! 
 Or Darwin's Journal, of the same feature, 
 
 That claim my admiration quite. My heart 
 
 Is made better by these Avorks. Travels, Lives, 
 
 Science, the Scriptures — show, too, where it thrives. 
 
80 SONNETS. 
 
 There is no gracefulness of demeanour 
 Like that which piety, habitual, 
 Unobtrusive gives : all its ritual 
 Imprinted on the mind, and the tenour 
 Of observance instinct to the heart : no 
 Pause in worship, ev'ry act a tribute 
 Of obedience — thought an attribute 
 Of love. Other consistency I know 
 Not, of character or duty ; and this 
 
 So beautiful, that it shames all outward 
 Loveliness. I have mark'd, in the regard 
 Of others, so patient in their service, 
 Some, unnoted by the world, who to me 
 Proved, servitude alone was liberty. 
 
 I love the cricket's chirp ! Amid the noise 
 And tumult of a city life, it brings 
 Recollections back upon me of things 
 
 Long past, ere care, and age with its alloys, 
 
 Had blended with the golden hues of youth. 
 How well do I recall its cheerful cry, 
 On winter nights, when storms deform'd the sky. 
 
 And on the hearth the faggot blazed, and truth 
 
 From aged lips, all silent now ! was heard. 
 And stories of the olden time ; while those 
 I loved, and long have mourn'd, thro' wind and snows 
 
 Advent' rous came to join the festive board ! 
 
 How changed since then the world and life to me ! 
 
 Those joys survive alone in memory. 
 
SONNETS. 8 I 
 
 I can see no chance in the circumstance 
 Of life : and when at times it palls upon 
 Me, from hope deferr'd, some fair promise gone 
 
 Which in its rise seem'd to give assurance 
 
 Of felicity, this renews my strength, 
 To meet adversity with composure, 
 Equal to win or lose ; as I feel sure 
 
 That each, appointed, prospers me at length. 
 
 The good I seek might often prove my ill, 
 And mercifully is then denied. Who, 
 Conscious of his nothingness, can review 
 
 The power, order o'er him, and put his will 
 
 In opposition to its law ? I place 
 
 Mine to Him submissive who fills all space. 
 
 The time has quite gone by with me for tricks 
 About religion. There are shades and shapes 
 That elude my mind's eye, which never apes 
 Another's — Protestants or Catholics, 
 Affecting to see in things what is not 
 There : and yet it sees the invisible, 
 A certainty never divisible 
 By it into doubt : and I pay no scot 
 Now-a-days but where it is clearly due. 
 
 I wish I could, in more sense than one, pay 
 All I owe, but 'mid my defaults, I may 
 Do my best : and if others should pursue 
 Me to cast me in the prison of their 
 Hate, I will find contentment even there 
 
 G 
 
82 SONNETS. 
 
 There is a strange conceit from which I am 
 Not free ; tliat of telling news, whether good 
 Or bad : that it may be well understood 
 I am mix'd up with their importance, sham 
 Or real. I see others as great fools 
 As myself; for it is worse than folly 
 To suppose an event I heard wholly 
 By accident, and over which the tools 
 Of my handicraft had not been at work 
 To carve it out of the misshapen block 
 Of circumstance, could add aught to the stock 
 Of my merit ; and then the more than Turk- 
 Like cruelty, to rush on composure. 
 To prove its hold of joy was not so sure I 
 
 Some see a difference in the reading 
 Of a text in Matthew, and I incline 
 To the express'd opinion of Wetstein, 
 " Blessed in spirit are the poor." Feeding 
 My thirst from that fountain of sweet waters, 
 The Scriptures, I muse often on the ways 
 Of men, so eager to obtain the stays 
 Of fortune, to prop their weakness. Haters 
 Of poverty, they rush on temptation. 
 
 To fall victims to its snare ; while the poor, 
 " Rich in faith and heirs of the Kingdom," soar 
 Above their low estate ; tribulation 
 Clothing them with meekness, loving kindness, 
 Mercy, beyond which all pride is blindness. 
 
SONNETS. 83 
 
 To me the Scriptures are above all price, 
 
 Serving my necessities, so urgent ! 
 
 No parts soothe me more than those detergent 
 Of care, a malady that took its rise 
 In my system intellectual, ere 
 
 I was aware of all consequences. 
 
 If men could only know the sequences 
 Of things, they would be more cautious, and fear 
 Ine influences of habit. 'Tis too 
 
 Late for me to avert my own evil, 
 
 Or exorcise that remorseless devil 
 Within at work over my sins. I woo 
 Hope from its highest source, and would advise 
 All, who are blind, to make use of my eyes. 
 
 I do not like those who make so much fuss 
 Abovit their own salvation, as if, it 
 Secured beyond all doubt, they had just hit 
 The mark, and had much leisure to discuss 
 Despairingly the success of others. 
 
 I would humbly hope, having so much fear 
 As to keep watchful, lest temptations here 
 Should lurk to betray. But for my brothers, 
 Fellow-pilgrims on the rough road of life ! 
 As I would gladly share my crust with them 
 Having an empty wallet, so the gem 
 To be worn hereafter, if it cause strife 
 Between us, which shall win it ? I release 
 My hopes to them, so that we keep at peace. 
 
 g2 
 
84; SOKNETS. 
 
 There are some truths which startle us at lii"st 
 But to make us pause. That matter, prolate, 
 Palpable to sense, has no separate 
 
 Existence, independent, gives us thirst, 
 
 Not easily allay'd by beverage 
 
 Of any kind ; until the mind sets free 
 
 Her streams of thought to slake it. Then we see, 
 
 Like the well of water, in the adage 
 
 Of the olden time, springing up to life 
 Eternal, an ocean, to satisfy 
 Our wants for ever ; and we may defy 
 
 All future need. We cannot, in scenes, rife 
 
 Under all forms, with agency divine 
 
 Constantly sustaining them, oft repine- 
 
 To use power wantonly becomes not man, 
 
 In whom it is a delegated trust. 
 
 The abuse of it but excites disgust. 
 Humanity, like Uncle Toby's, can 
 Redeem many faults ; and when the good old 
 
 Soldier set free the gnat to roam at will, 
 
 In that simple act he did more than skill 
 Can do. If I remember, Back has told 
 An incident more affecting, because 
 
 Mercy in it had reach'd the savage heart. 
 
 When the heroic Franklin's name made part 
 Of the Indian conference, in a pause 
 The warrior recall'd him, as the chief 
 Who would not kill, but gave the fly relief. 
 
SONNETS. 85 
 
 If any one gets mystified at church 
 Or chapel by a sermon, redolent 
 Of things past his comprehension, and sent 
 
 At him wrathfully, being in the lurch, 
 
 And not knowing how to get out of it, 
 I would advise him to consult St. James, 
 Whose general epistle, while it shames 
 
 Many who deal so freely with Tophet, 
 
 As if they were of it, will clear his mind. 
 
 If there be common sense there ; or his heart 
 Be penetrable to religion's dart, 
 
 Wing'd from an apostle's bow. I can find 
 
 Among the commentators no such aid 
 
 To my soul — put forth, too, without parade. 
 
 I know no incident equal in power 
 Over my feelings to that of the blind 
 Wayfarer, who had his sight, thro' the kind 
 
 Compassion of our Lord, restored. Slower 
 
 Beats my pulse, so often elevated 
 Above the due medium by the fair 
 But fleeting hopes excited by the air 
 
 Of worldly prospects. I feel elated 
 
 To a firmer trust, when I contemplate 
 The benignity of this gracious act 
 Of mercy ; and if I shrink at the fact 
 
 Of the poor sufferer's meekness, sedate 
 
 In faith, I find strength in the blest promise 
 
 So exquisitely open'd to our eyes. 
 
86 SONNETS. 
 
 Let any one compare the parable 
 
 Of the prodigal son with the preaching 
 Of most modern teachers, and the reaching 
 
 After new light from them seems a fable. 
 
 Language has done its utmost to reveal 
 Beauty of thought, sentiment and feeling 
 In that blest narrative ; and, appealing 
 
 To us from the source of love, we may feel 
 
 Assured that our duty is pictured there. 
 
 There are the clear but high requisites, shown 
 By the poor outcast, — penitence alone. 
 
 And going to our Father with his prayer. 
 
 What modern Pharisee can e'er prevail 
 
 Against the beauty of this simple tale ? 
 
 In religion, as in law, the letter 
 
 Feebly expresses what the spirit means. 
 Hence, in reading Scripture, one seldom gleans 
 
 A full harvest from it, unless better 
 
 Interpretations than the mere verbal 
 Be resorted to, to aid its seeming. 
 When I muse o'er the Parables, gleaming 
 
 Upon me come such bursts of light, and all 
 
 Sweet influences, that I see far more 
 Than any human eye has e'er beheld : 
 Felt, and conceivable alone, and held 
 
 Secure, by those, who thus learn to explore 
 
 Those mines of truth, by that clear inward light. 
 
 Which brings their gorgeous beauty full to sight. 
 
SONNETS. 87 
 
 Some may say or think that I am o'er fond 
 Of religion : but what beside exists 
 In this fleeting world ? Is there, who subsists 
 
 On food and knowledge, a man so in bond 
 
 To ignorance, as not to know it holds 
 
 Within its grasp all that is ? Though some see 
 It not, there is a spirit o'er the sea 
 
 And earth, diffusing beauty, which unfolds 
 
 Itself to the inward eye, not in hues 
 
 Of light, reflected from the flower, tho' these 
 Suggestive, but brighter rays : and the bee's 
 
 Downy wing wafts him, laden, o'er the dews 
 
 Of morn, less swiftly to his honey'd cell. 
 
 Than these the thought to Heaven, there to dwell. 
 
 I hate all modern saints — not those sinners 
 In the calendar, so oddly placed there. 
 For long since their follies have been laid bare 
 
 To themselves : and, unlike the beginners 
 
 In the cant of sanctity — they have seen 
 And repented of their ways. True is it 
 However, swoU'n, as by an ague-fit. 
 
 Is my spleen, at the most fantastic mien 
 
 Of the purists, old and young, of these days, 
 
 Who cannot stomach aught but prayers and psalms, 
 And prying into all corners, the qualms 
 
 They suflTer from what they seek, miss, and say 
 
 They suspect, justify the solution. 
 
 That their minds are not free from pollution. 
 
88 SONNETS. 
 
 In reading I like to follow the bent 
 Of inclination, and could never be 
 Amenable to rules, but must feel free 
 To deepen anj' impress of thought, sent 
 Previously by what it may be which 
 
 Regulates the mind. The hardest tasii is 
 To digest history, with its taxes, 
 Wars and treaties. I suffer from a stitch 
 In the most sensitive part of my brain. 
 Whenever I take up Charles the Fifth by 
 Iiobertson ; and what he means by glory 
 Ascribed to Charles I never could explain. 
 I can see — feel it in the simplest flower. 
 Not in the insolence of abused power. 
 
 I render all due homage to Luther, 
 
 Especially for his heroic zeal. 
 
 He benefited mankind a good deal 
 By his rights of private judgement. Lutter- 
 worth, however, some ages long before. 
 
 And darker, brought forth a noble spirit 
 
 In old WicklifFe, to whom I think merit 
 Adequate has not been render'd. The more 
 I think of him and his clear perception 
 
 Of duty, "but the more his greatness grows. 
 
 The fine old post-obit martyr well shows 
 By his Bible what a just conception 
 He had of it. — The stake, Rome's parliament 
 Had not, in his day, used as argument. 
 
SONNETS. 89 
 
 There are some o'er sensitive believers 
 
 Who read Gibbon with profound aversion. 
 And hate his ridicule, as the version 
 Destined, like the code of the Repealers 
 The Union, to supersede at last 
 
 The authentic. We maj^ almost expect 
 The one as other. Wrath cannot effect 
 The I'uin of our Isle, anchored so fast 
 And for ever in our love : nor grave wit, 
 Nor caustic irony, hope to prevail 
 Against the truth. It is of no avail 
 To argue that the barbed arrows hit 
 Church- and priest-craft merely, but it is so 
 To my mind, and fail'd to lay e'en them low. 
 
 There is companionship in the deep wood, 
 By the lone shore, where foaming surges roll. 
 On Alpine heights, or on the verdant knoll, 
 
 Or flowery mead, musing in pensive mood ; 
 
 For Nature there responds to every want. 
 But in society I feel alone 
 Often, or quite strange, nor know I the tone 
 
 Of my own voice ; and this familiar haunt 
 
 Of others seems a wilderness to me 
 
 Without bloom — whether its fault, or only 
 My misfortune, puzzles me in lonely 
 
 Hours, when one reviews the things that we see 
 
 Pass before us ; and though prone to censure 
 
 Myself, on this point I am not so sure. 
 
90 SONNETS. 
 
 To meet an old friend after long absence, 
 One who was the companion of early 
 Years, our school-fellow, and to trace, dearly 
 Loved, the same features, though changed by the dense 
 Atmosphere of this world, which wears iron 
 Into rust, is one of those incidents 
 Which compensates for half the accidents 
 Of life. It rolls back the tide of time on 
 Which we had been floating ; and the eddy 
 Backward takes our bark to those still waters, 
 Where it was first launch'd, in our own father- 
 Land ; and we see faces ever ready 
 W^ith their smiles to bless us, and hear accents 
 So familiar, as to deceive the sense. 
 
 The death of friends comes o'er us with a soft 
 Emotion, when we feel it is but meet 
 That they should part ; all in our power, tho' sweet 
 
 To them in their last hour, alas ! too oft 
 
 Incapable to save ; worn out with woe, 
 
 Disease and feebleness. But when we hear 
 Of one we had loved and served, in the fear 
 
 E'en of our unworthiness to do so, 
 
 Yet doing our best to bless, — snatch'd from us 
 Suddenly, after long separation. 
 Perhaps all estranged by defamation 
 
 Of our name ; we can but trust the promise 
 
 Of the secrets of all hearts being known 
 
 Hereafter, before an impartial throne. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 91 
 
 I very often smile at ray conceits, 
 
 Well pleased that others do not perceive them. 
 Much has been written on the mind, that gem 
 
 Worth worlds : and for which in fact all the feats 
 
 We see around us were alone design'd. 
 But metaphysicians want the substance 
 Of analysis, through the reluctance 
 
 We all feel to tell— the truth. Hence they find 
 
 Their science, like physic, empirical 
 In details : but why they do not tell it 
 To serve their own needs, I guess not. Helot 
 
 As I am to pride, the satirical 
 
 Observations I should hear, if I told 
 
 My secrets, deter me from being bold. 
 
 Lucy 1 thy loveliness, like that of truth. 
 Can never fade. It has not of decay 
 The elements. There will soon pass away 
 In thee, as all, the comeliness of youth. 
 The lustre of the eye, and beauty's bloom, 
 
 The smoothness of thy cheek, and that bright glance 
 Of gladness, when visions of sweet hope dance 
 Before thy view. These, my child ! must make room 
 For the gracefulness of age. But thy soft 
 Compassion, guileless innocence of heart, 
 Thy love, so soothing to me ! placed apart 
 'Mid other blessings, I have known, — too oft 
 For my unworthiness ! these can know no 
 Change, save, like the amaranth bud, to blow. 
 
92 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Our affections never seem so precious 
 
 To us, as when absent from those we love. 
 We are then thrown upon ourselves, to prove 
 Philosophy how vain ! and how specious 
 The poor pretension to independence, 
 Assumed in the interval from all care, 
 When we speculate at home with an air 
 Of gaiety, throwing a wanton glance 
 O'er the sweet sufficiency of our hope. 
 So blest in its fulfilment ! on freedom 
 From control, as if any other doom 
 Would equally content us. I but grope 
 In darkness when the eyes which smile on me 
 Habitually there, I fail to see. 
 
 There is too much anxiety in some 
 Characters, striving to do difficult 
 Things, nor e'er satisfied with the result. 
 We cannot by its excess aid the sum 
 Of our boons, but rather decrease them all. 
 I fret, as others do, at what I like 
 Not ; but my follies, as time flows on, strike 
 Me more and more ; for in the interval 
 Between our blessings evil will appear 
 In some shape. If it leave the essential 
 Of our hope harmless, trifles are sent all 
 To teach us fortitude, that we may bear 
 Sterner trials ; for it is our duty 
 To see e'en in them a moral beauty. 
 
SONNETS. 9y 
 
 The murmur of the surge on a still night, 
 As it breaks on some unfrequented shore, 
 Or where no discord mixes with its roar. 
 Is sweet to one, a stranger to its might ; 
 Whose ear has listen'd to no other sound 
 Than the city's turmoil, perhaps for j-ears. 
 I have known, quite unsolicited, tears 
 To dim the eyes of one who has thus found 
 Himself so hymn'd by nature's harmony. 
 I am no expounder of mysteries, 
 Nor e'er puzzle myself o'er the ties 
 Which bind to our souls that which cannot die, 
 Deal with it as w^e will, the instinct clear 
 To respond to her voice, where'er we hear. 
 
 I know nothing pleasanter, in a storm 
 On shore, within sight of the raging sea, 
 The foaming surge blending its melody 
 With the pelting rain — thro' the haze the form 
 Of some fearful bark seen, with the reefed sail, 
 Contending with the wind, than, thus debarr'd 
 From the accustom'd stroll, oi'r pleasures marr'd 
 By the dread of wrestling with the rude gale. 
 To have our circle, round the v.inter fire, 
 Cheer'd by a guest of liberal feeling, 
 One in love with science, and revealing 
 That repose of character, which higher 
 Minds display so gracefully, and to see 
 How such men triumph o'er prosperity. 
 
94' SONNETS. 
 
 I am fond of the silent sympathy 
 
 Of mere presence ; pursuing the tenour 
 Of my thought alone ; with the mute favour 
 Conferr'd on me of the society 
 Of one I love, on vi'hom my eye may rest, 
 Whene'er I feel the want of something more 
 Than occupation conjures from its store 
 For my necessities. To see, well-dress'd, 
 My wife, for instance, calm from composure, 
 
 Her glance wandering at times in search of mine. 
 As if she brought up ore from the same mine. 
 Planning her work beside me, not demure. 
 But smiling o'er her fancies, induces 
 A feeling which nothing else produces. 
 
 What a shock does the quick intelligence 
 Of death pi'oduce in us, in our freedom 
 From impending ill, spared awhile the doom 
 Some friend has found ! With what a startled sense 
 Of insecurity to those we love 
 
 It comes ! We gaze upon our little group. 
 Asking the heart, so easily the dupe 
 Of hope, as if its treasures were to prove 
 From their very purity safe fx-om harm. 
 Which of the objects of its affection 
 Can be spared, old or young, and the question 
 Meets no reply. W' e feel our bosom warm 
 With quickening love, so prepared to live, 
 That, parted, we have nothing to forgive. 
 
SONNETS. 95 
 
 My Friend ! blest is the instinct 1 discern 
 In thee, impelling to the search of truth 
 Thy mind, still fresh with all the force of youth. 
 Heaven has given thee genius ! and to learn 
 Her mysteries, that thou mayst acquit thee 
 Of the debt of gratitude for the gift, 
 By adding to her beneficence swift 
 Thoughts of praise for the wonders thou wilt see 
 In all her works abroad, is thy duty. 
 
 As of all. Go, humbly, on thy toilsome 
 Way ; and if, in thy labours, I may some 
 Moments share thy zeal, tracing the beauty 
 With thee of the glories that await thy 
 Finding, I ask no greater boon from high. 
 
 I feel low at times, and it is beyond 
 
 My reach to explain the reason ; for when 
 Out of sorts, causes are, as we know, then 
 Much sought after, and most of us are fond 
 Of the belief they come a great way off, 
 
 From some chance circumstance to which we have 
 Been exposed, as is the case in all grave 
 Disorders, such as catarrhs, where the cough 
 Is attributed to an atmosphere 
 Insalubrious. But in the moral 
 Maladies which so oft affect us all. 
 The infection, I am inclined to fear, 
 Rises from wastes v, ithin, which breed an air 
 More fatal than marshes are known to bear. 
 
 r 
 
96 SONNETS. 
 
 It makes one smile to see the easrerness 
 
 With which some persons follow up the scent 
 Of e'en a slight suspicion, as if meant 
 As an instinct merely, like the hounds, less 
 For the savage thirst of blood than the love 
 Of game, hunting out the truth, well always 
 To know, as with the brute, 't is in his ways 
 To catch the hare, or what else it may prove 
 That he pursues. You will ever find these 
 Sportsmen or women most attracted by 
 Bad odours, I suppose because they lie 
 Better, directing the pursuit with ease; 
 So fond of carrion, as ravens are 
 Or crows, they nose at once corrupted air. 
 
 Of all qualities, unfortunately 
 
 The rarest in this s])ecious world, so full 
 Of falsehood and deception, which the dull 
 
 In discernment so inordinately 
 
 Mistake for truth, there is none to compare 
 With integrity of soul : that native 
 Disposition teaching one so to live 
 
 As to adapt himself everywhere 
 
 And at all times to the exigencies 
 
 Of an enlighten'd self-resDect. You are 
 
 At once at ease with these men, there's an air 
 
 About them so guileless ! Their tendencies 
 
 You can calculate on, tho' far apart. 
 
 They stand so in awe of their head and heart. 
 
SONNETS. 97 
 
 The " bad dreams" of Hamlet come o'er us all, 
 As his did, e'en from the visions flitting 
 Past the waking thought. Tho' little fitting 
 
 A Prince's state, or any one as tall 
 
 In stature, to be " bounded in a nut- 
 Shell," there was deep truth when he of Denmark, 
 " Th' observed of all observers," made remark 
 
 He could be King of infinite space, shut 
 
 Up so close, but for mere dreams. We may not 
 Charm them all away, tainting the very 
 Source whence sweet repose unto the weary 
 
 Spirit comes ; nor, tho' arm'd, escape the shot 
 
 Of circumstance, tho' wounds e'er heal the best 
 
 In all those habitually at rest. 
 
 The character of lago revives 
 
 At times, playing his subtle part again 
 With dupes like Rodorigo, and to gain 
 Ends as selfish, using, not to kill, knives 
 Sharper than swords, which cut the victim's soul 
 In twain, as that arch demon did the Moor's. 
 'T is quite sorrowful to observe the lures 
 These crafty knaves employ, sinking the whole 
 Nature to the level of our pity, 
 
 Whate'er its former cast might be of good. 
 To see how cunning wins its way is food 
 For some idle thought. The simplicity 
 Misled by it would excite compassion. 
 If it were free from all taint of fashion. 
 
 H 
 
98 SONNETS. 
 
 People may say what they choose about some 
 Things ; but there are others of which the less 
 Said the better : for the temper, unless 
 Unusual, is apt to be quarrelsome. 
 It is curious how sensitive calm 
 Dispositions are when their vanity 
 Is touch'd ; for though it be insanity 
 To say so, I know none without this harm 
 Of character. I have seen those who dream'd 
 Not at all of this weakness inherent 
 In them, explode, bringing down consequent 
 Ruin on all around ; and it has seem'd 
 To me that the feeling, kept too close, will. 
 When it gives way, emulate the devil. 
 
 I know no essay writ for our behoof 
 On seeming, so deceptive to the sense, 
 That not a path lies open but a fence 
 Is needed, to keep those who pass aloof 
 From danger, lurking close beneath their feet. 
 I am so fond of rural scenes I stray 
 "With my thought free, indifferent which way 
 I turn ; and tho' perhaps a slough may greet 
 Me, where I doubted not the ground was good, 
 I pluck the flower blooming there, content 
 To win the prize I sought, in its sweet scent 
 Or hue rewarded for my pains. No food. 
 Healing like this, I find where men betray, 
 Mere dirt which soils me thence I bear away. 
 
SONNETS. 99 
 
 I am very sensible there are some, — 
 The devil, who delights in mischief, 
 Alone knows why — to whom it gives relief 
 To feel antipathies, making their sum 
 Of hatred square, or round, or some other 
 Figure equal in outline, having no 
 Break in it. There 's a consistency so 
 Evident in this, that e'en a mother 
 In her love cannot exceed it, complete 
 As her blest feeling is. I get along 
 With these honest natures, who are all wrong, 
 Far better than with those who try to cheat 
 Themselves or me with mere cold pretences. 
 For one's time 's not wasted o'er defences. 
 
 They make sad mistakes who keep not their mind>i 
 Of a fine polish, to reflect the light. 
 As some large telescopes, to aid our sight 
 
 Of heaven, do. It is too true, one finds 
 
 Events, which, like the air on them, are sure 
 To leave a blemish o'er the ore refined 
 Of the mirror of our thought, all design'd 
 
 To show by contrast that which should allure 
 
 Us to preserve its purity, making 
 
 Its clearness quite essential, as our health 
 Is, when disease has robb'd us of that wealth 
 
 Of body, and we have been ill, shaking 
 
 With an ague fit. There is a physic 
 
 For the soul in pure thought, quite specific. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 SONNETS. 
 
 Of all the chance incidents which befall 
 Us in our pilgrimage through this weary- 
 Life, there is none on my mind so cheery 
 
 In its influence, tho' I think that all 
 
 Are capable of being turn'd to good, 
 As meeting, when I least expected it, 
 A man of intellect, one who is fit 
 
 To be enshrined and will be so. My blood 
 
 Has a quicker flow as I gaze on him. 
 
 And his voice sounds sweeter far than music 
 To my ear. The moments pass'd with him, sick 
 
 As I am of the world and all its dim 
 
 Shadowy promises, quite realize 
 
 To my soul all its rich capacities. 
 
 There 's much misery in some mischances : 
 As when it happens that, feeling I know 
 Not how, or grave or dull, so that I 'm slow 
 
 To comprehend, — for this much enhances 
 
 Any difficulty I am labouring 
 
 Under, the cause no doubt of my being 
 So inapt, — a fellow joins me, seeing 
 
 A joke in every thing, endeavouring 
 
 To make me share his ribald mirth, when smiles 
 Are about as easy to me as sight 
 Is to the blind. I try with all my might 
 
 To look sensible, wishing him some miles 
 
 Off ; and what with his folly and my spleen, 
 
 I feel torture, piteous to be seen. 
 
SONNETS. 101 
 
 Nothing so profitable as prudence, 
 
 That calm perception of the safe and sure, 
 Incurring no risks, the least exposure 
 
 To which argues such a sad want of sense 
 
 In most opinions. It is a pity 
 This quality is apt to be debased 
 By some others, not, as jewels are, placed 
 
 In fine gold, but set in a filagree 
 
 Work of base metal, an abuse of taste ; 
 For there is no reason why a virtue 
 So rare should not have ornaments as true 
 
 In kind to show it off', nor left to waste 
 
 Its lustre all alone ; but the fact is, 
 
 A counterfeit is put off in practice. 
 
 The views of life in different persons 
 Vary about as much as their features 
 Do in expression ; and men seem creatures 
 Of natures so opposite, that the sons 
 And daughters of poor Adam must have known 
 In their increment downwards strange mixtures 
 Of races, some intolerant. Strictures 
 On opinions are but fair in those prone 
 To maintain their own as best, as most do. 
 Happily the stake is used for fences 
 Now-a-days, but the church for defences 
 Makes use of words which inflame the untrue 
 Believers' minds ; and because they are quite 
 Wrong, education shall not set them right. 
 
102 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 The story of the good Samaritan 
 
 Was design'd to teach mankind a lesson 
 Of true charity, in more ways than one. 
 
 If our modern Levites fancy they can 
 
 Vindicate themselves by the example 
 
 Of their Jewish brother, who, in some haste 
 No doubt, turn'd aside that he might not waste 
 
 His time over a sinner, — a sample 
 
 Of a faith still prevalent in the church. 
 As the poor Catholic finds to his cost. 
 They should remember what religion most 
 
 Insists on. I fear some are in a lurch 
 
 They little dream of; and that parable 
 
 Might save them, if anything is able. 
 
 When I hear the winds of autumn sighing 
 
 Round me, and see the earth strew'd o'er Avith leaves, 
 The cold damp ground shorn of bloom, it grieves 
 Me, tho' I well know these forms are dying 
 That new ones may, as fair, revive again, 
 And that there is no other hope for all 
 Save in death ; still there is much to appal 
 One in the sad change, and I feel pain. 
 Which nor the remembrance of what has been 
 Nor is to be can soothe away. There is 
 Around a void so palpable, which this 
 Solemn season brings, that altho' I lean 
 On faith, owning its power to save, I seem 
 Oft to muse, as if it were all a dream. 
 
SONNETS. 103 
 
 I stand in awe of those whose expression 
 Varies not, when the passing incident 
 Sways lighter minds ; as if their reserve meant, 
 Not indifference, but the confession 
 Of some cherish'd feeling, perchance of grief, 
 From the remembrance of a love buried, 
 Tho' undying — too rapt to be hurried 
 O'er the surface, by which some find relief; 
 With one lix'd thought before their mental view, 
 O'er which in silence and alone they pour. 
 From an unfathomable depth, the ore 
 Refined of a heart sensitive and true, 
 Whose smiles are all internal, meeting there 
 Responses which no living forms may share. 
 
 There are men, do what they will, — for they do 
 All things so gracefully from a modest 
 Sense of merit, which others cannot rest 
 Without feeling strongly, suggested so 
 Continually by their air and tone, 
 
 Throwing such refinement o'er their talent. 
 Grave or gay, — who give by far more content, 
 Confer more honour, thro' attentions shown. 
 Than princes can bestow. Those observant. 
 Knowing how time subdues all to a just 
 Level, as water in its descent must 
 Rest at last, wonder not when age has lent 
 To some its calmness ; but when youth displays 
 It, I know nothing sooner wins our praise. 
 
104* SONNETS. 
 
 A wise economy is a most rare 
 
 Virtue, as others are, showing a just 
 Sense of obligation to the higli trust 
 
 Committed to us in our daily fare 
 
 And all other blessings. It is the source, 
 
 Not of more for ourselves, but the fresh spring 
 Whence charity flows freely forth to bring 
 
 Relief to those who need, softening the force 
 
 Of circumstance, whose chain is apt to gall. 
 But that call'd political is unwise 
 In this, that it seems but to blind the eyes 
 
 Of its professors and their hearts to all 
 
 But saving, a most cold philosophy, 
 
 From which as yet, thank God ! the world is free. 
 
 Whenever I am prone to make a boast 
 Of any thing, not openly ever, 
 But getting at conclusions which sever 
 Me, as I suppose silently, from most 
 Men, I am soon cured, mixing with the world ; 
 Where, if one meets with fools who by contrast 
 Are apt at times to fill us with a vast 
 Conceit, by some flaw of wind we get hurl'd, 
 Like a ship, ashore ; at least I do so. 
 
 By those characters, who thro' a reserve 
 Richer than most confessions, tho' they serve 
 Us now and then with a remark or two, 
 Make me doubt my depth, whate'er my sounding- 
 Line may show, to feel secure of foundering. 
 
SONNETS. 105 
 
 I scarcely know the thing I do not need, 
 That is, suitable ones, for of useless 
 My brain is giddy at the sight, and unless 
 
 I can dispose of part, my fate indeed 
 
 Will be to quit these premises or life, 
 
 As I have scarce room to move for lumber. 
 And my sores from bruises without number 
 
 May one day or other breed such a strife 
 
 Within that I fear mortification 
 
 Must ensue, and death, a pretty quittance 
 For my pains in furnishing ! By what chance 
 
 I made such a medley in a station 
 
 That required no great show to set it 
 
 Off, modestly at least, puzzles my wit. 
 
 I oft wish 't were possible to seal up 
 
 The mind at will, so that to enter there, [fare 
 The world's strange discords should, like the poor, 
 But ill, attempting, as they do, to sup 
 On what does not belong to them, under 
 
 Lock and key and bolts and bars quite secure 
 From pillage. I feel it hard to endure 
 Robberies, which when I most need, sunder 
 Me from the food on which my health depends. 
 To give I 'm prone from my poor stock of fare, 
 Leaving a pittance for my use, nor care 
 I what demands are made, since nothing sends 
 A quicker glow o'er me than to find those 
 Who suffer willing I should share their woes. 
 
106 SONNETS. 
 
 I never get into society 
 
 But I gain something useful for the mind 
 
 Or heart, altho' as usual I find 
 The good niix'd up with a variety 
 Of ill, like shadows which set oft" the light. 
 
 I perceive there the insignificance 
 
 Of man, as he shows in those scenes of chance- 
 Medley, a truth which never comes to sight 
 So clearly as when made applicable 
 
 To others as myself; not that I feel 
 
 The balance fairly poised, as if the steel 
 Had its just weights, for some more suitable 
 To sink the beam are to be sought elsewhere 
 Than in ci^owds, when I meet genius there. 
 
 Hamlet marvell'd what Hecuba could be 
 
 To the poor player, that she should call tears 
 From the source whence they flow : and how much 
 
 The brain is there in the world ! quite as free [sears 
 
 From being kin to us, no such relief 
 As weeping, to cool the fever on us. 
 Issuing. I think clearly the onus 
 
 Proving it, before we give way to grief, 
 
 Should be thrown on those who so oft molest 
 
 Us ; that some claims should at first be made out 
 Ere we are drain'd of blood so in the rout 
 
 Of circumstance ; and yet there 's no rest 
 
 Out of the battle-field, when the loud din 
 
 Is heard by us of those at strife within. 
 
SONNETS. 107 
 
 It is quite useless to disguise some tilings, 
 For they will peep out in spite of effort 
 To conceal them. It never was my forte 
 To be good at hiding, which I think brings 
 More exposure than my threadbare coat 
 Implies. I wear it always when 't is cold 
 To keep me warm, and meeting others bold 
 Enough to scan it closely as they float 
 By in shining broad-cloth, I feel I have 
 Old associations on my back, 
 Better than any new ones, which they lack. 
 Then ray worn garment shows I'm not the slave 
 Of fashion ; my taste therefore, tho' it seem 
 Poor in some respects, richer than they deem. 
 
 It often puzzles me to discover 
 
 Whence the melancholy which comes o'er me 
 Has its source ; not like clouds in a stormj-^ 
 
 Sky rising, but when streams of light over 
 
 All the moral landscape round seem diffused : 
 And, if I do not feel their warmth stealing 
 Thro' me, the radiance has a healing 
 
 Charm to keep out the cold to which I'm used. 
 
 But like all charms it vanishes away, 
 
 Leaving me dark at noon, and the midnight 
 Comes so unconsciously upon my sight 
 
 That I note it not, nor the waning day : 
 
 Tho' my vision has a cleai'ness in it 
 
 Which makes palpable e'en things of spirit. 
 
108 SONNETS. 
 
 It is SO with joy, mysterious gleams 
 
 Of wiiich burst on me, when the accidents 
 Of life have crippled me, and no events 
 Wear a prosperous air, and suffering seems 
 A doom inevitable, submissive 
 
 Too my spirit to its fate. As we see 
 Clouds, long impending, on a sudden flee, 
 Leaving the sky serene, from some missive 
 So ordaining, there comes as prompt a change 
 Over my soul, as if it could not bear 
 Longer the mists of circumstance, nor wear 
 The dull pall of care, but be free to range 
 In its own pure light, and pursue its way 
 Alone, where darkness ne'er obscures the day. 
 
 These strange vicissitudes occur so oft. 
 
 That I have learn 'd to mistrust appearance, 
 Shielding myself against the chance 
 
 Influences of events, harsh or soft. 
 
 As I feel a power within which sways me 
 To its will : if often pensive, clothing 
 My spirit with mourning weeds, and moving 
 
 Me to saddest thought, again, like the glee 
 
 Of birds, and with wing as buoyant, bearing 
 My soul above the world, where I hear strains 
 More sweet than music on the summer plains 
 
 Of earth, where all is gladness, and wearing 
 
 Beauty as a bridal garb. My lamp I 
 
 Keep trimm'd, not knowing when the voice is nigh. 
 
SONNETS. 109 
 
 There are some obligations due to me 
 
 Which are never paid, and I 'm too modest 
 To demand requital. As I molest 
 Society, where some delight to be, 
 But seldom, I know few who resort there. 
 Nor do I wish to know ; for I prefer 
 My own thoughts, not that I deem them better, 
 But they are all my own ; and then I care 
 Not for the small talk which I used to hear 
 In younger days when I was ambitious 
 To be seen, for it made me seditious 
 At times ; so I note the world without fear, 
 Reading of it, and when the great I meet, 
 I worship as they pass me in the street. 
 
 This sort of worship is a favourite 
 
 Of mine, making no demand of church fees 
 On my purse. As I saunter at my ease. 
 Of a sudden there comes before my sight 
 A man who knows me not, like Elphinstone 
 For instance, and tho' he, all unconscious 
 Of his greatness, nor the least ambitious 
 Of its note by any one so unknown. 
 Passes, in the attitude of thought. 
 
 As I have seen him oft, one arm resting on 
 His back, his figure slightly bent, upon 
 His brow peace, as if his whole life had brought 
 That wealth unto his soul, I think of him 
 In the East, and sometimes my eyes grow dim. 
 
110 SONNETS. 
 
 Such is the influence of true greatness ! 
 It is what some call a red letter day 
 With me whene'er I meet it, and I pay 
 The tribute of my love, for my weakness 
 Gets a touch of strength by the mere aspect 
 Of the moral and intellectual 
 Union, of which rare existence all 
 I have is the tendency to respect 
 Its being. " I become of that around 
 
 A portion," and as I tread " the flat, stale, 
 Unprofitable" places of the vale 
 Of earth, the mountain has a sight and sound 
 Of vastness in which I share ; so virtue. 
 Even seeing it, thus affects me too. 
 
 I love e'en the haunts where virtue has been. 
 Or where it lies in the weedy church-yard, 
 In " the long-drawn aisle," where perhaps the hard 
 Cold stone tells no tale of who rests within, 
 Tho' reverence had brought me far to pay 
 There the homage of my uncover'd head. 
 To feel in future time in the dull tread 
 Of earth I had stood where genius lay, 
 Seeking out its resting-place that I might 
 Meditate as I do when I approach 
 Living worth, anxious to wipe all reproach 
 From off my soul, existing in the sight 
 But of its excellence, the thought of which. 
 The' it may have pass'd away, makes me rich. 
 
 I 
 
SONNETS. Ill 
 
 I know nothing much more affecting me 
 Than a visit paid to graves, and I have 
 Thro' life oft turn'd aside to them to pave 
 With their recollections my memory ; [by, 
 
 Soothed with the thought, that while the crowd pass'd 
 My visitation, humble as it might 
 Be, would prove death had not destroy'd their rigiit 
 To the respect of those whose wandering eye 
 Glanced o'er the past, recognising the true 
 In it, the wise, the chaste, the good, 
 "Whose works while on earth are our daily food. 
 And who survive spiritually too 
 To bless us. — Yet I know 'twas all in vain 
 To think so, as if the dead could complain. 
 
 " But why should sober reason cast away [so. 
 
 A thought which soothes the soul?" White inquires 
 
 " Movemur enira, iiescio quo pacto, 
 Locis ipsis quibus vestigia 
 Eorum quos diligimus adsunt, 
 
 Studioseque etiam sepulchra 
 
 Contemplor," Cicero was heard to say ; 
 And I envy no one, whose heart, so blunt, 
 Gazing upon a spot consecrated 
 
 By the ashes of the illustrious 
 
 Dead, engenders not feelings made lustrous 
 By the holy place so dedicated 
 To repose, where I read a homily 
 Most useful to me Avith a tearful eye. 
 
112 SONNETS. 
 
 In the walks of life, as thro' the mazes 
 
 Of a wood where stately trees are growing 
 As it chances differently, owing 
 To the space around, some it amazes 
 Not to see luxuriant in their form, 
 
 Having freedom to expand in the light 
 Of heaven on the outskirts of the bright 
 Forest radiant with beams, where the storm 
 Howls amid the branches nurtured to bear 
 The shock, while others all about hemm'd in 
 Are shorn of their proportions, tall and thin 
 Or puny in their size, — so men there are 
 With virtues as unequal, the purest 
 In development seen where crowds are least. 
 
 That bubble reputation ! how it floats 
 
 Before us I deck'd with hues as bright as those 
 I have seen children sporting with at close 
 Of a summer's day, and its rainbow coats 
 Wear out as soon, bursting with the least breath 
 Of air, and vanishing away with all 
 That so attracted us in the vain ball. 
 Made up of emptiness, void as the wreath 
 Of mist o'er a landscape, tho' that softens 
 
 Outline, like a veil spread o'er it, thro' which 
 You see beauty amplified, made more rich 
 By what in part conceals it, and often 
 Clothing with it common forms ; but for fame, 
 How few it graces leaving them the same ! 
 
SONNETS. 113 
 
 I am not satisfied tliat what some call 
 
 Pride be what they have any right to blame. 
 But be it as they choose, to me the same : 
 
 For I feel at my time of life of all 
 
 Follies none so profitless as to aim 
 At mere opinion. I am far too poor 
 To stoop so low. While I see men immure 
 
 Themselves in dungeons, in which they lay claim 
 
 Preposterously to light, pride will keep 
 
 Me from them ; and, like Othello, " man but 
 A rush " against me, and I at once shut 
 
 Out approach, retiring where I may steep 
 
 Myself in oblivion, for I hold life 
 
 So cheaply that it is not worth the strife. 
 
 I am fond of pride ; in our poverty 
 Of many things it is comfortable 
 To have a power, unlike one's friends, able 
 Tt) serve us at all times, with liberty 
 To feel independent without the least 
 
 Alloy. God help us if we were not proud ! 
 I should be clamorous, pleading aloud 
 For justice, be like of prey a wild beast 
 Roaring for food, while now I keep my den, 
 And let the jackals roam in search of it, 
 Making the wastes of life hideous, fit 
 For them, prowling round, as I see some men 
 Do, reminding me of the fable in 
 Books of the poor ass in the lion's skin. 
 
 I 
 
ll^ SONNETS. 
 
 If by pride some would impute vanity 
 
 To me, they're fools, knowing not the meaning 
 Of words or qualities. I've been weaning 
 Myself from that childish insanity 
 Too long, and have more faith in physic 
 Than to believe now-a-days any taint 
 Infectious yet remains to be complaint 
 Against me. I acknowledge I am sick 
 Of many maladies ; but I have health 
 Enough to know, of all that I behold 
 Around me, of that which books have told 
 Me of the thoughts and deeds of man, my wealth 
 Is borrow'd ; all which exists within me 
 I have reap'd but from others' husbandry. 
 
 Of what has any one reason to be 
 
 Vain ? born in these later generations. 
 Where he learns what has been in the nations 
 Pass'd away, — the wise, good, great, true and free ! 
 Of whom our knowledge is but the harvest 
 
 Gather'd from their toil. True, we have our share 
 
 Of labour to accomplish, and be there dJlssV,' 
 
 Honour where 'tis due; but can any rest,.nim39c 
 
 With view so limited, when the prospect nol rioufe 
 
 Lies o'er all space, seeing himself alone ' anO 
 
 In the illimitable scene thus shown .> /(nO 
 
 For our instruction, when our high respect '|;Jiiu3edO 
 
 Is due to Him, whose object to impart yd habnisoH 
 
 Himself freely is to refine the heart? 1 odw IIA 
 
SONNETS. 115 
 
 Yet I am fond of idol worship, 
 
 Tho' no Catholic. There are saints to rae 
 Shrined in my heart's core, and I bend the knee 
 
 In silent homage, nor care for bishop 
 
 Frowning on my zeal. And there have been hearts 
 Too, now at rest ! I 've honour'd, loved, revered 
 So fondly, that whenever I have near'd 
 
 Tlie altar of our faith, as it imparts 
 
 Its holy influence, I have sometimes 
 
 Thought their benediction rested on me, 
 So suggestive of Heaven the harmony 
 
 They once difi^used around ; and to the climes 
 
 Above, where they have found repose, ray soul 
 
 Oft aspires, as if it would spurn control. 
 
 What is worship but to the beautiful 
 
 And true homage render'd ? and how much there 
 
 Has been and is of both in the world ! where 
 We need incitements ever to the full 
 Discharge of duty, wand'ring from the way 
 
 In search of phantoms, which we worship too. 
 
 Wealth ! fame ! ambition ! power ! all untrue 
 In seeming, while the pure in heart display 
 Such loveliness, that, tho' our orison 
 
 Can have in truth but one direction, one 
 
 Only object, I at least, from my own 
 Obscurity within a horizon 
 Bounded by mists, instinctively revere 
 All who have made my pathway lighter hereHsakiiH 
 
 I 'I 
 
116 SONNETS. 
 
 What a majesty of beauty, firmness, 
 
 Devotion, love, trust, charity, and peace, 
 
 Lies centred in the soul ! My pulse must cease 
 
 To beat, worn out with pain, which, resistless, 
 
 Makes life to me a martyrdom, a scene 
 Of thraldom, my better faculties chain'd 
 Down by habits evil, my hope restrain'd 
 
 By doubts self-implanted, but what has been 
 
 To be, and nothing Morth, ere I lose sight 
 
 Of those, whose glory, clothed in meekness, truth, 
 Endurance, piety and iaith, my youth 
 
 And age have known, living and dead, gives might 
 
 To me to encounter danger, by their 
 
 Triumphs encouraging me still to bear. 
 
 I hate cant, and could we strip religion, 
 As profess'd by many, of its slimy 
 Coat, we should see scales beneath, as by uie 
 And others those of snakes in the grass, on 
 Their bellies winding slily, are sometimes 
 Seen. I feel for those poor reptiles, as I 
 Do for all creatures God has made, pity 
 When they are kill'd wantonly, and it chimes 
 Not with my creed to cherish grudge because 
 The Devil once usurp'd the form, he had 
 No right to take, of Serpent in that sad 
 Hour when he tempted Eve. It makes me pause 
 "When I hear sins denounced in canting strain, 
 Eest he, should be at his old tricks again. 
 
SONNETS. 117 
 
 'Tis refreshing in the concerns of life 
 
 To have to do with honest men, who look 
 Directly at an object, and ne'er brook 
 
 Cunning or trick, which kindle in them strife 
 
 Not easily allay'd. When business 
 Is in hand, since duties are incessant, 
 Each moment with its special mission meant 
 
 For despatch, and delay makes our sum less 
 
 Gainful of profit in a moral sense or 
 Physical, 'tis wearing to the rightful 
 Mind to meet a fellow whose head is full 
 
 Of cobwebs, dusty traps, like those on door 
 
 Or shutters rarely open'd, stale jobs, which 
 
 Spiders, like these men, weave to make them rich. 
 
 I have not much ground to boast of any- 
 Thing, yet, humble as I am in the eyes 
 Of others — that is, not as I surmise 
 I am in ray own for reasons many 
 Really so — but insignificant, 
 
 A nobody, and with no soul either. 
 For such the poor estimate they prefer 
 Of their fellow -beings whose means are scant — 
 Some few circumstances occur to me 
 
 As them I 'm proud of. I know a man, who 
 Occasionally woi"ks with me too. 
 So transparent in his texture ! I see 
 Thro' him, a vision as pure as the rose- 
 Bud affords, or violet when it blows. 
 
118 SONNETS. 
 
 He has power and yet is merciful ; 
 Talent but modest ; a name, yet as if 
 He were unknown, not consequential, stiff, 
 As we see some men are ; his bosom full 
 Of tenderness — his integrity quite 
 
 Proverbial : speak of him, and the first 
 Thoughts suggested are his honesty, thirst 
 For truth, simplicity, and for the right 
 In all things ; as liberal as the air 
 
 In principle, a Whig of the true school ; 
 Like Hampden tyranny could never rule 
 O'er him, yet loyal as all true hearts are- 
 Care I 'm sure knows him not, save that which love 
 Implies, or obligations due above. 
 
 Such men profit me much more than money 
 Does, and I see a few of the same kin 
 With whom I 'm on speaking terms, or nod in 
 Passing. If I were social as honey- 
 Bees are, loving to congregate in swarms, 
 I should try to tempt them to my hive, or 
 At least hunt with them, choosing the same flower. 
 But nature some animals with alarms 
 Has fiU'd, the harmless ones, and so they keep 
 Aloof, as if they had no right to be 
 Where others are, and 'tis the same with me. 
 1 love from ray nook retired to peep 
 At what is passing, but I feel unfit 
 To wrestle with the world, so shrink from it. 
 
SONNETS. 119 
 
 A sight which never wearies me except 
 When I hear discord raging among men, 
 Or mark oppression forging chains, and then 
 
 I shut out sound and light, of both bereft. 
 
 My necessities, 't is true, compel me 
 To encounter both as I roam for food, 
 And if sympathies will do any good, 
 
 Or such poor services as it may be 
 
 In my power to render, I am content 
 
 Enough ; for tho' I shun men I love them, 
 Since of all ornaments I know of no gem 
 
 So precious as the feeling, that one bent 
 
 Low by misfortune has been by me raised 
 
 Up, or saved perhaps from being crazed. 
 
 For such is the effect of hard fortune 
 
 Now and then, clouding the mind as the sky 
 Is with vapours, and you observe the eye 
 
 Downcast while there 's calm around, till too soon 
 
 The scene is changed, when the tempest having 
 Gather'd force breaks loose, and desolation 
 Comes awakening fear, such as a nation 
 
 In a revolt knows, reason quite lost and raving 
 
 Madness in its room, a state piteous 
 To see. I wish men in prosperity 
 Would nerve themselves to meet adversity, 
 
 That it might not appear so hideous 
 
 When it overtakes them, for captivity 
 
 After all is but loss of liberty. 
 
120 SONNETS. 
 
 How few know of freedom, when they have it, 
 The uses ! abusing it as they do 
 Most other gifts ; and tho' liard to say so, 
 
 I think its loss awhile would benefit 
 
 Some I know, teaching them what blessings are 
 By their absence, as we learn some things here, 
 The worth of friends, for instance, ne'er so dear 
 
 As when dead, and we feel in our despair 
 
 Disconsolate, to think tliat we never 
 
 Shall see them more, our love inadequate, 
 Too poor for their desert, — a feeling late 
 
 Unfortunately, which ere ties sever 
 
 Should be thought of; for I believe love 
 
 Generally is not what it might prove. 
 
 That word never has a startling meaning 
 
 When applied to meeting friends who have gone 
 Where all must go, and tho' it has a tone 
 
 Of truth in one sense is false in seeming. 
 
 For all truth is merciful, since we know 
 God is so, the source of all, and His will, 
 Inscrutable as it appears, is still 
 
 Righteous, and 'mid its just decrees below, 
 
 Tho' we see death ordain'd, to all a doom 
 Inevitable, nor to lift its veil 
 Permitted to us, yet our hopes prevail 
 
 Beyond it, and in our faith there is room 
 
 For trust that we shall see again those who [too. 
 
 Die ; and, thank Heaven I the mind's eye sees them 
 
SONNETS. 121 
 
 As the blind see beauty, or they would not 
 Be cheerful as they are, shut out from light, 
 Darker than the pole on a winter night, 
 
 But for the ray within which soothes their lot, 
 
 I know no reproach occurring to us 
 So intelligible as that implied 
 By this cheerfulness of theirs, when 't is tried 
 
 By our discontent who see, in a fuss 
 
 About trifles, when all nature, shut out 
 
 To them, we explore, wand'ring far and wide, 
 Gazing o'er hill and plain, and by our side 
 
 Those we love, in whom, as they roam about 
 
 With us, we see reflected from glances 
 
 Of the eye that which our joy enhances. 
 
 The fact is, habit leads us oft astray, 
 
 A master ruling sternly as despots 
 
 Do o'er slaves, and I know nothing which blots 
 Beauty more than its being in the way 
 Always, which one would think should but enhance 
 
 Its charms, from our leisure to peruse them. 
 
 But you will find, like those who wear a gem. 
 Familiarity by some misciiance 
 Takes off its lustre, so things more precious 
 
 Fade away by use, just as the air does 
 
 Or the leaf; even bread, Avhich soothes the woes 
 Of hunger in the poor when the luscious 
 Morsel they can earn, which is not certain. 
 Palls on the taste of those who know not pain. 
 
122 SONNETS. 
 
 The affluent prefer dainties, liking 
 
 Things more sapid, cook'd up with nicety. 
 Living to eat, fond of varietj"- 
 In dishes, which produce a striking 
 Change in them b}-^ time caused by repletion. 
 They get unwieldy in their proportions. 
 Sluggish, and you may observe distortions 
 In their limbs from gout ; or else depletion, 
 To bring them low when apoplexy seems 
 Impending, weakens their tone, and you see 
 Them dropsical, when tapping sets them free 
 Awhile, and their breath more easy redeems 
 Their hope of life, soon to sink for ever 
 Into the grave, loathsome as a leper. 
 
 This is no scandal, tho' it should be so, 
 At least of mine, and the worst of all turns 
 Out that this grease thus got by feeding burns 
 As candles do, tempting moths to Iheir woe ; 
 For we hear of these human tuns of oil 
 Consuming daily till their wick goes out 
 In smoke, and there are fools so put about 
 For occupation, that they, tho' it spoil 
 Them, play round the flame, to fall in at last. 
 It 's a pity men so mistake the use 
 Of the senses, not given for abuse. 
 Heaven is bountiful, and the earth past 
 Compute productive, and the law is clear 
 Of moderation, if mankind would hear. 
 
SONNETS. 123 
 
 But I am becoming sentimental 
 
 As I 'm apt to do wiien I look upon 
 
 The follies round, and I must change my tone 
 Or bid it cease. In the regimental 
 Corps of human life in the ranks 1 stand 
 
 A common soldier, with his fare and pay. 
 
 Thus much, and all that I in truth can say, 
 I hint for those, idlers perhaps, whose hand 
 Unused to better occupation may 
 
 Pick up these triflings with a vacant hour. 
 
 I have found men curious, fond of power. 
 Prone to spell out riddles, as children play 
 At them. If they that of my name would have. 
 It may be found ere long upon my grave. 
 
 How complacently we talk quite at ease 
 Of death, casting a philosophical 
 Sort of glance on our own grave, to be, all 
 
 Know, somewhere, but where or when our release 
 
 From life may happen fortunately 
 
 We see not ! I have wish'd mine many times 
 Dug anywhere in earth, so that the chimes 
 
 Of the bells of this world all so stately 
 
 From high towers ringing, sounding sweetly 
 To ears, would not jar on mine as they do 
 On those who mourn when their sad note is slow. 
 
 That dull repetition ! telling meetly 
 
 That dust to dust returns, a memento 
 
 Unregarded as thro' the streets men go. 
 
I'iJ^ 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 For these peals in some inoods but seem to mock 
 Me, saying the world is glad, when I am 
 Otherwise, as I feel too well, nor sham 
 
 My trouble, for it is a kind of shock 
 
 To me when I hear of others joying, 
 And not an element of peace within 
 I know, coming upon me as a sin, 
 
 Tho' I feel guiltless of all annoying. 
 
 I mention this merely as an instance 
 
 Of my odd sort of state at times from some 
 Cause hard to find out ; and in fact the sura 
 
 Of my disturbances either from chance 
 
 Or my folly is so great, that I have 
 
 Said truly I 've oft coveted the grave. 
 
 Not that it has any great attractions 
 In itself, tho' one looks upon it as 
 A release from woe ; but to me it has 
 
 Other claims than hiding from distractions; 
 
 For I 'm not so sure in my calmer hours 
 It implies rest but to the pure in heart 
 Alone, who seek it not nor wish to part. 
 
 But I feel as if there would be powers 
 
 For us to leave buried in it evil 
 
 Habits, and tho' beyond to suffer what 
 
 Is just be our doom, we should there find that 
 
 Clear light to guide us safe from future ill, 
 
 Pursuing the true without obstacle. 
 
 Which to do here we have ne'er been able : 
 
SONNETS. 125 
 
 At least I have not, and all my own fault, 
 Because I went wrong, the' I was early 
 Taught the right in all things, and not merely 
 By precept but example. As a vault 
 Where darkness is and dampness, so I made 
 The world to me, leaving the sunny rays 
 Of Heaven, and those shining in the ways 
 My Father trod. I know not why I staid 
 There or went into it, but this I know, 
 When I emerged to light I could not see 
 Clearly, being dazzled, and about me 
 Were the cold damps of earth which made me low. 
 And I've never quite recover'd from them 
 Yet, my life wanting health, that precious gem I 
 
 I have been siukly all my days, and wear 
 The consequences in ray head and heart, 
 In my whole soul in fact, for the great art 
 Of living prosperously is to bear 
 A sound mind, which, if I ever had one, 
 I lost thro' disease brought on myself 
 When I was young ; so as upon a shelf 
 We put by things useless, they being done 
 For, crack'd and good-for-nothing but to lie 
 There, I have been thro' life idle, poorly. 
 Familiar with pain, which makes me purely 
 Miserable at times, except that I 
 Feel sympathy with those who suffer it, 
 Which has been to me a great benefit ; — 
 
126 SONNETS. 
 
 Almost the only one I have ever 
 
 Known, because they could not rob me of it; 
 While other boons, as if I were unfit 
 For them, are stolen from me or sever 
 Of themselves : and the world does as creatures 
 Who are wild beasts do, whenever they see 
 Another lamed, so that he cannot flee. 
 They set upon him, one of the features 
 By which wolves are distinguish'd ; and lameness 
 In men is not always of the body. 
 For many have it in the heart, and die 
 Of it or eft'ects, which is a sameness 
 In result, as you may see in sinners 
 Whom men help to kill over their dinners; 
 
 Holding them up as a sad example 
 
 While they eat, putting them without the pale 
 Of society, so that all men rail 
 
 At them as bad goods, a sort of sample 
 
 Not current in the market, and no one 
 Bids for them, and the poor fellows, sorry 
 For their fault as all are, feel the worry 
 
 Of shame which eats into them till they 're gone ; 
 
 None to pity them except the very 
 
 Few who like me know how easy it is '•' ^" " 
 To err, from mine and perhaps their remiSS*^''^ 
 
 Behaviour. My pride 's not of that cherry "'' '■ " 
 
 Hue which some would have theirs to be, but wan, ' 
 
 With frequent blushes when myself I scan, ^^a oi sM 
 
SONNETS. 127 
 
 I care not who knows it since I have known 
 It long myself, the worst kind of knowledge, 
 The only true in fact, having an edge 
 
 Sharper than steel which cuts us to the bone — 
 
 I am too fond of life, — much as I wish 
 To lay it down at times and be at rest, 
 A state I never meet with in my quest 
 
 Of happiness, — to take off the relish 
 
 It has by the fear that others will find 
 Me out. I detest all trick, and I do 
 Not want the love of men if I must woo 
 
 It by deceit. There is nothing my mind 
 
 Holds in scorn more sternly than some men's ways, 
 
 Putting forth pretences to attract praise. 
 
 What I aim at and seldom win 
 
 Is my own respect, coming before me 
 As the lightning does, flashing, which I see 
 A moment, vanishing as soon, and in 
 Darkness leaving me ; so my better deeds 
 
 Gleam now and then when I 'm lone from the screen 
 Of clouds they lay behind, and they are seen 
 So faintly, that their pale light nor misleads 
 Me nor serves any better purpose than 
 
 To show the dark outline in which they lie, 
 Encompassing them about, so that I 
 Have no cause for pride ; and if any man 
 Has, let it comfort him, quite enough for 
 Me to see how miserable my store. iooopsit AfiW 
 
128 SONNETS. 
 
 I had my head full once, and the heart too, 
 But both are empty now, and long have been, 
 Of such folly, a sort of mushroom-screen 
 To ignorance. When I began to woo 
 Knowledge it waned away, leaving all bared 
 That untamed waste of barrenness and weeds 
 Which I have long been clearing, sowing seeds, 
 As men do wild lands, settling on them, scared 
 At first by the wilderness all around, 
 Until by toil it smiles upon their view, 
 As kind Heaven sends them increase thro' its dew, 
 And rain and air and light, making the ground 
 A storehouse of its bounty, which they reap 
 In joy and thankfulness, and so oft weep. 
 
 I have, as the poor settler, the same cause 
 
 For pride, no more, that 'neath the vault of Heaven 
 There is room for me to work my leaven 
 As for him, to eat and be fill'd. I pause 
 Beyond, as I feel that way lies the thought 
 Adequate of the boons bestow'd on all 
 By Providence ; and until the moral 
 Obligation sits lightly, as it ought, 
 On the mind, as debts do, paid, swaying thence 
 The soul, making the life obedient 
 To the will, itself pure, what can be meant 
 By complacency in the sight of Him whence 
 All good comes ? entrusted to us powers 
 To be put to use for His ends, not ours. 
 
SONNETS. 129 
 
 I am weary of myself, and oft wish 
 
 Of souls the transmutation were a hope ; 
 For I would change my being for a scope 
 
 Wider than ray own, to have a relish 
 
 Like that of birds with wings, that I might fly 
 Away, and find as they do other climes, 
 Making life a summer joy : and at times, 
 
 As the sweet lark does, I should climb the sky, 
 
 Innocent as he is with his blest note ; 
 
 For he could not sing so blithely, nor rise 
 So high above the earth that our eyes 
 
 Discern him not, tho' his songs of praise float 
 
 Audible to us on the air, unless 
 
 He were pure, which is the sole happiness. 
 
 I do fly at times on the wings of faith 
 
 And hope, but they tire soon, for the damp dews 
 Of earth settle on them, and then to use 
 Them is impossible. Tho' Cowper saith 
 It is the same with birds, it is not true, 
 Tho' M'eariness may be ; but they never 
 Have their light feathers, as mine are ever, 
 Damp'd by the dews of eve or morn, as you 
 May learn in that treatise, so beautiful ! 
 
 By Wells, who first made known to our surprise 
 Their philosophy. 'T is clear to my eyes 
 That my coldness is the reason why full 
 On lue they fall, so that when most I need 
 To mount I find that I cannot succeed. 
 
 K 
 
130 SONNETS. 
 
 Indeed I do not know what is success, 
 And 1 doubt if others are much wiser. 
 Tho' old I feel always, as a Sizer 
 Does at college, in a station low, less 
 Than I need, tho' if his poverty be 
 
 The reason, as mine is, why he looks up 
 To those above him, who in places sup 
 Where he may not hope to be, let him see 
 No reproach in it, but make rich his mind, 
 Which in the end will place him far higher 
 Than seats at table ; for he may thus aspire 
 To honours accessible to refined 
 Duty ; while my poor circumstances teach 
 Me what I aim at is above my reach. 
 
 I do not believe here that any one 
 
 Has attain'd it, tho' placed before the eyes 
 Of men of all generations the prize 
 Of peacefulness ; not that concord which shone 
 Upon us like a sun at noon from Chinese 
 Climes of late, making the universal 
 Heart of this majestic world jovial 
 To think men, no longer shedding seas 
 Of blood, were friends — that one great family 
 Of earth, countless as the sands on ocean's 
 Shore, long exclusive, lone, felt emotions, 
 Thro' fear perhaps, at last of sympathy 
 With others, of nmtual trust ; and hope 
 Already points to blessings without scope. 
 
SONNETS. 131 
 
 If men had won it there would be wars no 
 More, not e'en of passion in the human 
 Breast. When we look round us upon the plan 
 
 Of nature thoughtfully, which we all know 
 
 Was sketch'd for man, matured, is still maintain'd, 
 So full of order, design and beautj^ ! 
 So impressive ! palpable ! our duty, 
 
 As its sole interpreters, to be sustain'd 
 
 Consistently, is a conformity 
 
 To it, to the will of Him who made it. 
 And whose life exhibits this in a fit 
 
 Obedience, an uniformity 
 
 Of purpose ? and failing, who but must feel 
 
 Contrition ? vvhich he cannot all conceal. 
 
 Oh virtue ! thou good supreme ! why art thou 
 
 So inaccessible, above the reach 
 
 Of all ? like those eternal snows which bleach 
 In the sun's light upon the alpine brow 
 Of mountains, where human foot has never 
 
 Trod, Why dost thou haunt the soul ? a spirit, 
 
 Revealing beauty, which we inherit 
 In our dreams alone, phantoms that sever 
 From us when we wake ; nor can we conjure 
 
 Them in the palace of the soul to stay, 
 
 Thy true abode, if we but knew the way 
 To make it so. Oh ! that we could ensure 
 Thy permanency, and repel reproach 
 Of conscience, which alone bars thy approach I 
 
 k2 
 
HOME 
 AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
L. A. B. 
 
 THESE THOUGHTS ON HOME 
 
 AND ITS DUTIES, 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE 
 
 FOLLOWING PASSAGE FROM ONE OF HER LETTERS, 
 
 " MR. W.'S PLACE IS LOVELY : NO VIEW BEYOND HOME, BUT 
 THE HOJtE VIEW IS AS FINE AS YOU COULD WISH," 
 
 ARE 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 1 HRO" all the mazes of this lovely world, 
 Its verdant lawns, its deep umbrageous woods, 
 The eye, observant of the moral scene. 
 Can ne'er extend, beyond the view of Home. 
 
 The cherish'd haunt of childhood's happy hours. 
 To which the wearied foot of age returns, 
 After long travel o'er earth's farthest bounds. 
 To gaze once more upon the hallow'd spot 
 Where first a mother's tender care was known. 
 And where her grave imparts a sacredness. 
 That springs from recollections of her love, 
 So pure ! so constant ! 'mid all the errors 
 Of our youthful way ; and where the kindred 
 Race of brothers, sisters, friends sprang to meet 
 
138 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 With US the joys, the sorrows, and the toils 
 
 Of life, before its solemn purposes 
 
 Had dawn'd upon the mind ; — this native spot, 
 
 Is not our home ! but where the sober voice 
 
 Of duty calls ; where honour can be won. 
 
 By humble resignation to the will 
 
 Of God, bearing our cross, nor, o'er the rugged way. 
 
 Fainting beneath the load his discipline 
 
 Enjoins in love and wisdom infinite ! 
 
 The Christian's home is in the mind, the heart, 
 
 In thoughts, affections, dispositions, hopes 
 
 That reach beyond the bounds of space and time. 
 
 There is no enduring home but only 
 
 These ; and all earth's varied scenes of beauty 
 
 Are but means appointed to a moral 
 
 End, revealing thro' their soft loveliness 
 
 The Source supreme of beauty, who imparts 
 
 Himself to all who seek Him thro' his works ; 
 
 So lavishly display'd ! to show his power. 
 
 To inspire trust, to whisjier hope, amid 
 
 The frail and changing circumstance of life. 
 
 How exquisite every hue of Nature ! 
 Her forms diversified, emanations 
 Of the mind creative. Not a flower blooms. 
 But its delicate contrivance was first 
 Devised by Him who made the soul of man 
 After his own image ; and still maintains 
 The subtle life erst impress'd on matter, 
 All chaotic, void, until he breathed it 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 139 
 
 Into being, gave it lustre, and bade 
 
 It draw its nurture from the earth and dews, 
 
 Exhaling perfume odorous, to give 
 
 The air its healthy and refreshing charm. 
 
 What magic skill display 'd on all around ! 
 
 What fair investment of the formless earth. 
 
 As the " spring comes forth her work of gladness 
 
 To contrive," clothing the scatter'd ruins 
 
 Of a former year with fresh loveliness, 
 
 Teaching, by a blest analogy, frail 
 
 Man a lesson, annually retold, 
 
 To point his mental eye beyond the grave, 
 
 That cheerless winter of his waning year ! 
 
 To which succeeds a spring that knows no change. 
 
 There is on every page of Nature's work 
 A moral, and so eloquently urged I 
 Would man but read it, as he journeys on 
 His pilgrimage, from infancy to age ; 
 Design'd to cheer him on his toilsome way. 
 So rugged else thro' cares that e'er molest 
 His peace, yet each ordain'd, not casual, 
 To teach him virtue, not to be acquired 
 In easy dalliance with the sports of life. 
 
 How illustrative of his fleeting years 
 
 The waning seasons ! and between his state 
 
 And natural phsenomena, what fine 
 
 Analogies ! which the mind discerns not, 
 
 In its thoughtless glance ; tho' a moral power 
 
14"0 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 May oft be found to throw a radiance 
 Round him, in the dark profound of error, 
 When the world entices him with shadows, 
 That flit as he pursues, leaving him lost, 
 From idly chasing unsubstantial joys. 
 
 'T is wise to let imagination spread 
 
 Her wings, and bear the free, unfetter'd mind 
 
 Along the shadowy paths where fancy 
 
 Serves the cause of truth, in her wayward flights 
 
 Skimming the doubtful confines that exist 
 
 Between her faery world and reason's realm. 
 
 Who, startled, but must pause to meditate 
 The change miraculous that from a worm 
 Grov'ling and sensuous, after seeming 
 Death, wrapt in cerements that befit the tomb, 
 Evolves the light and spiritual fly. 
 Which, on downy wing upborne, sports in air, 
 With glory crown'd, sipping the nectar 'd sweet 
 Of flowers, meet companions to a spirit 
 Enfranchised thus from earth's material bonds ! 
 
 I prize these kind suggestions of a Power, 
 Who, in the wonders he has made, has thus 
 Instill'd lessons of profoundest wisdom 
 For the mind of man, poor, helpless pilgrim ! 
 In the hourly need of aid and comfort, 
 From a Father's love, on which dependent 
 At every step of a deceitful life — 
 Virtue the aim of all below the skies. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 141 
 
 Nor can aught that we behold have other 
 Purpose than to prompt purity of thought 
 And high resolve, raising the conscious mind 
 To contemplate the attributes of God, 
 Which stand reveal'd in all that He has made. 
 We cannot gaze, nor far nor near, where He 
 Is not ; a privilege alone conferr'd 
 On man to retrace the works of nature 
 To their Source, expressive all of greatness. 
 To complete the plan of mercy, His Son 
 By special inspiration taught his love. 
 Each mode but parts of a consistent whole, 
 The blest instructions to an earthly race, 
 Lost to all hope without such high regard. 
 
 It cannot be that there exists in truth 
 
 A sceptic to that Messenger of Heav'n, 
 
 Whose accents wake an echo in the heart 
 
 Before the mind can reason of the cause. 
 
 What ! can vain man, the creature of an hour. 
 
 Who comes he knows not whence, nor whither borne, 
 
 As his frail breath exhales away in sighs, 
 
 While he is planning schemes of prosp'rous 
 
 Days, that dawn on a forgotten grave — 
 
 Dare he lift up so high presumptuous 
 
 Thought, as to question the Almighty plan ; 
 
 Opposing it with a doubt, when nothing 
 
 Certain but his utter nothingness is known 
 
 Amid his boasted knowledge, empty else 
 
 Of aught that bears the name of wisdom here ? 
 
 Do miracles dismay ? Where can we turn 
 
142 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 To hide them from our view, among the things 
 Best known and most familiar to the eye ? 
 Does e'en the simplest change we note admit 
 Of explanation, other than effect 
 Without a cause, except the Cause of all ? 
 What logical connection can we trace 
 Between the oak and acorn ; or between 
 The verdant leaf and earthy nutriment ? 
 The one essential to the other's growth ; 
 But how we know not, nor e'er hope to know. 
 Do things familiar merit less the name 
 Of miracle than those of rarer birth. 
 When observation leaves us in the dark 
 As to all reasoning on the gradual change 
 Of material elements quickening 
 Into life ? 
 
 There 's not a being so lost 
 To hope, whate'er his speculative thoughts 
 On creeds, but his affections prompt his faith 
 To a life beyond the grave. Is there not 
 A miracle e'en in the nascent hope 
 That life again can issue out of death ? 
 May human reason e'er explain the mode 
 By which a sentient being can be raised 
 From dust ; and mind, which vanishes away. 
 Can spring, unchanged, triumphant from the tomb ? 
 Yet this the sceptic clings to in his need, 
 Referring all to an Almighty power. 
 Why, for a moral purpose, kindly plann'd. 
 May not He who made us, display on earth 
 The power, it is admitted, that He will 
 
HOiME AND ITS DUTIES. 143 
 
 Exert hereafter in the life to come ? 
 Does not life itself suggest a constant 
 Miracle ? and shall we, inlieritors 
 Of it, presume to limit the designs 
 Of Him who gave it, as if one only 
 Mode exists in which it can be display'd 
 
 > 
 
 I marvel not at miracle, but cling 
 
 With fervent faith and fond belief to all.. 
 
 But one there is which mingles with my thought, 
 
 Nor comes in any questionable 
 
 Shape, but so attractive ! so persuasive 
 
 In appeal ! that in every mood I muse 
 
 Upon its charms, accordant all to me 
 
 With those I trace display'd in Nature's haunts, 
 
 Where all is harmony, and peace, and power. 
 
 That miracle, the character of Christ. 
 
 W' hat gentle wisdom issues from his lips ! 
 
 What soft compassion breathes in every tone ! 
 
 What fervent piety in every prayer ! 
 
 What steadfast faith, to reassure his mind 
 
 Amid the storms which beat upon his head, 
 
 Exposed to every exigence of woe ! 
 
 Tho' tempted, pure ; forgiving, tho' reviled ; 
 
 Where most he trusted doom'd to be betray'd ; 
 
 He died the victim of a bigot hate. 
 
 Imploring mercy on his ruthless foes ; 
 
 Leaving his legacy of peace and love 
 
 To all succeeding ages of mankind, 
 
 And his example as our guide to Heaven. 
 
 Nor other can there be ; nor need : 
 The final revelation has been made, 
 
144 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 The rugged paths have been made smooth, and faitli 
 
 To be companion of our onward way. 
 
 It was his incessant exhortation 
 
 To those who saw his works, and doubted oft ; 
 
 Listen'd to his voice, and mistook its tone ; 
 
 Gazed upon him, and yet knew him never I 
 
 Dare we then be presumptuous in our faith. 
 
 That last accomplishment of noblest minds ? 
 
 " Lord ! I believe, help thou my unbelief," 
 
 Should be the prayer of all, not saints in Heaven. 
 
 Faint glimpses of it visit us at times : 
 
 Then soars the cloudless mind above the world, 
 
 Enabling it to move the mountains vast 
 
 Of care which oppress or overwhelm the soul ; 
 
 The mystery of life is clearly solved ; 
 
 We walk in gladness, and evil is not ; 
 
 The telescope of truth is ours, by which 
 
 We penetrate the infinite of space, 
 
 And gaze around the illimitable 
 
 Orb of life, the present, past, and future. 
 
 Sensible, as it were, to e'en our sight. 
 
 Who can stumble whom His right hand sustains ? 
 
 Or doubt when He is present to assure ? 
 
 Yet there are those who, over-confident 
 In themselves, look not beyond the narrow 
 Range of casual circumstance, and dream 
 That they can make provision for their wants, 
 Needing no aid from any higher source. 
 In their blindfold play of life, one event 
 In turn succeeds another, as trifling 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. l^S 
 
 As are the incidents in childish sports. 
 
 They are satisfied while the game goes on 
 
 Successfully, rainist'ring to their pride, 
 
 Or, losing, they declaim against their fate : 
 
 No higher thought than self, from either chance, 
 
 Suggested ever thro' a wayward life, 
 
 Pass'd in ignoble indolence and ease. 
 
 'T is one routine of vapid form and show, 
 
 '•Flat, stale, unprofitable." They are th se 
 
 Who never truly live : spurn'd by the wise, 
 
 Their aim alone to gratify the sense ; 
 
 To toil for place and precedence ; to deck 
 
 Themselves in fine array ; and catch the gaze 
 
 Of envy, pining at their proud estate. 
 
 Alas ! can the soul be fed on incense 
 
 Other than that it renders up to God, 
 
 In deep humility for all its sins. 
 
 The worst, the greatest far, forgetfulness 
 
 Of all his goodness to a thing so mean, 
 
 For mercies shown as countless as the stars ? 
 
 There 's no array befits a child of Heaven, 
 
 Save that which must e'en plume angelic wings, 
 
 Humility, — the only garb for all created 
 
 Beings, e'en for hope, to which we highest 
 
 May aspire. But let us not profess it. 
 
 To deny it in our lives ; affecting 
 
 Lowliness, Avhile usurping high res])ect. 
 
 From self-conceit in our own consequence. 
 
 Because we boast such accidents of life 
 
 As wealth, or state, from birth, or other chance. 
 
 L 
 
146 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 We all have powers to be put to use ; 
 
 Many have had ten talents for their share. 
 
 But not for selfish purpose or display. 
 
 The poor but only one ; appointments all 
 
 Wise and predetermined of a Father's love. 
 
 His righteous judgement will take due account 
 
 Of that entrusted to our care, and faith 
 
 In e'en the smallest pittance will outweigh 
 
 All shows and seeming of a thoughtless world. 
 
 That world's respects how hoIloMv false and vain I 
 
 And those most captivated by its lures, 
 
 Who fill the largest space in its esteem, J 
 
 May shrink before the merits of the poor. 
 
 They, doom'd to toil, obscurity and want. 
 
 Own their dependence on a higher Power 
 
 Than aught within ; they sum up their blessings. 
 
 Their faith, hopes, affections, mutual love. 
 
 More dear to them than princely potentates. 
 
 And commit themselves to Heaven ; their prayer 
 
 For daily bread is utter'd from the heart, 
 
 Feeling, with grace, 't is all they dare to seek. 
 
 Nor more they need, nor all. Satiety 
 
 Makes that humble need unfelt to many. 
 
 The means of life, too easily acquired, 
 
 Or of that which makes it pleasurable [ful 
 
 To use, beguiles the mind from thoughts most health- 
 
 To the soul ; the feeling imminent of our dependence 
 
 Upon the providential care of God. 
 
 In spirit, truly blessed are the poor! 
 
 For they are humble. Life to them is rich 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 147 
 
 In discipline ; they are chasten'd by it. 
 No idle dreams of self-assurance blend 
 With the stern realities of their toilsome 
 Lot. They earn their scanty meal by labour, 
 Grateful for the boon ; toil is all they ask, 
 Its wages all their hope, to feed, and clothe 
 Them from inclement skies ; content with this. 
 Health oft rewards them with its ruddiest glow ; 
 Repose to them is luxury ; and sleep 
 Invigorates their hardy frames anew 
 To toil afresh, — their sole inheritance. 
 They have no soft ministerings to pride. 
 The world regards them not ; and, far apart 
 From its observance, they pursue their way. 
 Unnoticed and unknown. They covet not 
 Its honours, all prescribed; and hence they seek 
 With Heaven communion, referring all 
 Their claims and wants to its compassion. 
 Sympathy and love : they have their reward. 
 
 'T is false to say the poor are coarse and rude. 
 Their simple manners and their homely speech 
 Are far removed from coarseness ; want may guad 
 Them to desperation ; and vice creep in, 
 While reckless of their sway, the savage host 
 Of passions may invade, and thro' the world's 
 Neglect, convert to ruin the once well- 
 Proportion'd mind, crush'd by the weight of \\ oe. 
 
 I note the record of the righteous poor 
 In the blest book of life, and mark the fame 
 
 L 2 
 
l^S HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Impress'd upon their deeds by Him who lowly 
 
 Was, and meek of heart ; and often ponder 
 
 On the influences which poverty 
 
 Exerts in aid of virtue. He ever 
 
 Sought his bright examples from the humble 
 
 And the contrite spirit. The Prodigal 
 
 Was one, — the pious Magdalen ; the blind 
 
 Wayfarer; the Widow with her mite ; and he who 
 
 Bow'd his head upon his breast, and proffer'd 
 
 His brief, simple, but most expressive prayer. 
 
 These teach me a deep lesson : each in turn 
 
 Is eloquent in meaning ; all accord 
 
 In that sole gem, humility ; the sense. 
 
 The feeling deep and urgent of something 
 
 Needful, which the world can neither give nor 
 
 Take away : dependence on the mercy 
 
 And the grace of God ; self-oblivion, 
 
 Self-sacrifice ; merging all in earnest 
 
 Prayer for aid and strength conferr'd from Heaven. 
 
 The Prodigal ! oh, what a theme for thought ! 
 That poor, lost outcast ! from the dust pick'd up 
 A pearl inestimable ; and around 
 His brow circles a more than regal crown. 
 He united infinite extremes. From 
 Lowest degradation rising highest 
 In the moral scale ; ascending beyond 
 Angel's flight: giving more joy in heaven. 
 Thro' repentance, than e'en just men can give. 
 He was penitent ; and has taught us thus 
 How we yet may hope to save the guilty, 
 
 I 
 
 ( 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES., 149 
 
 How faith can glorify the abject soul. 
 Lessons of deep import to erring man ! 
 In penitence he should be example 
 To us all : in self-humiliation ! 
 We, like him, should rise, go to our Father, 
 And say, " Father ! I have sinn'd, and no more 
 Am worthy to be call'd thy son." Those blest 
 Accents ! oh, how they ring upon the heart ! 
 Assaulting pride, the last stronghold of guilt, 
 We melt in tears, heal'd, soften'd, and subdued ! 
 
 We read, it is difficult for the rich 
 
 To enter in at the gate of heaven. 
 
 Whom call we rich ? Not surely those alone 
 
 Who in a worldly sense are so esteem'd, 
 
 But all who do not feel their poverty 
 
 Of power to sustain the load of life, 
 
 Unaided from above. The beautiful 
 
 Are rich, the wise, the high in fame, 
 
 Those who have friends to minister at need, 
 
 And satisfy the wants which indigence 
 
 Implies. The centurion was not poor : 
 
 He had the commendation of our Lord, 
 
 The most assured passport into heaven. 
 
 The pious Cheverus* had a princely 
 
 State and revenue. Since apostolic 
 
 Days, who has walk'd more humbly in the paths 
 
 That lead to immortality than he ? 
 
 Wealth oft inspires self-confidence and pride ; 
 
 'Tis a temptation, lurking to betray. 
 
 * Cardinal Cheverus, Archbishop of Bourdeaux. 
 
150 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 A mean for righteous use, not indulgence 
 As vanity or appetite may crave. 
 Like all other gifts, riches are talents 
 To be put to service, not of ourselves, 
 But Him who has committed them in trust. 
 They are not essential, else imparted 
 Freely. Too oft they lie as hidden snares 
 To the unwary ; and are coveted 
 With over-restless and intemperate zeal. 
 
 There often is of wealth a consequence 
 
 To be deplored in those possessing it ; 
 
 A want of sympathy with indigence 
 
 And woe : not from insensibility, 
 
 But ignorance what real suffering means. 
 
 A wise compassion softens and expands 
 
 The heart, refines and elevates the mind, 
 
 Quickens our best affections, and unfolds 
 
 The germs of latent tenderness, dormant 
 
 For want of nutriment to spring within 
 
 The garden of the soul, choked up with weeds. 
 
 Or left to barrenness and waste. There are 
 
 Inflictions common to us all ; hardships. 
 
 Privations trying to the mind, from which 
 
 The happiest are not free, nor can be 
 
 Ever. They are ordain'd visitations 
 
 Of calamity, to convince mankind 
 
 How transitory are the boons of life ! 
 
 To lead us to a more enduring world. 
 
 We must meet them meekly, bowing the head 
 
 Submissive to the hand which chastens us ; 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 151 
 
 Grateful still for mercies shown, and clinging 
 With renovated zeal to faith and trust. 
 We may not hope to shelter those we love 
 From fate ; but there are sorrows we can soothe ; 
 Pains which admit of ease ; cravings we can 
 Satisfy ; bright'ning the wan cheek with smiles, 
 The heart with gladness, and the mind with hope. 
 
 We lose a precious privilege, failing 
 To minister to those who sink beneath 
 Misfortune, and who are lost to peace, shut 
 Out from all the joyances of life, left 
 Wandering in a darkness palpable, 
 Without a clue to guide them back to light. 
 
 " What can he know who has never sufier'd ? " 
 
 Was the inquiry of a thoughtful mind. 
 
 Is ignorance a consequence of ease ? 
 
 Do the facilities which await on 
 
 Affluence check development of mind, 
 
 Impeding virtue, while they minister 
 
 To sense and pamper pride ? Life was design'd 
 
 To be a scene of moral happiness 
 
 To all ; not the abode of misery, 
 
 Darken'd by guilt and weariness and woe. 
 
 It was not meant to satisfy the soul, 
 
 To fill our measure of contentment up, 
 
 To realize the waking dreams of hope. 
 
 To afford sufficiency to still 
 
 The restless craving of an immortal 
 
 Want. We should not fail to appropriate 
 
152 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Its advantages thro' our supineness, 
 Suffering our affections to run to waste 
 On perishable things ; when there are hearts 
 That need them, pining in loneliness, whose 
 Capacities, from the want of freedom 
 To expand, are lost to others, on whom 
 They might pour joy inappreciable, 
 From all the might and majesty of love. 
 
 I know by sad experience the clouds 
 
 Which darken o'er the mind, amid the storms 
 
 Of fate that beat on the unshelter'd head, 
 
 And feel for those on whom the tempest lowers. 
 
 There are sensibilities, which neither 
 
 Time nor hardships wear away ; but render'd 
 
 The more acute by each successive blow. 
 
 And not the calm, undoubting faith in all 
 
 The truth religion opens on the soul 
 
 Can temper the wind to the shorn spirit, 
 
 Sensitive to every blast, and doubtful 
 
 Of its claims to any happier fate. 
 
 The barbed arrows of adversity, 
 
 With which the atmosphere of life is rife, 
 
 Piercing the heart with their resistless force, 
 
 Which, bleeding, still must struggle on, thro' keen 
 
 Wounds and anguish, to sustain existence, 
 
 Tho' each throb gives capacity to pain, 
 
 Would not be felt so sharply if the pangs 
 
 We suffer were but individual, 
 
 Exhausting all their desolating power 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 153 
 
 Directly upon the hapless victim 
 
 They assail ; for he knows little truly 
 
 Worth the knowing, who feels not how blessed 
 
 Are all the uses of adversity, 
 
 ^Making us plod the sands of life, barren 
 
 And waste, till they are made to yield us flowers, 
 
 Water'd by tears — their only nutriment. 
 
 But who may meet discouragement to hope. 
 In all the ardour of its fond pursuit, 
 Without "decline upon his brow," musing 
 In abstract mood, 'mid ruins and decay ? 
 Where others, light and gay of heart, forbear 
 To follow ; who miss the accustom'd smile. 
 The wonted tone, and refer the inward 
 Struggle, and incommunicable thought. 
 To morbid misery and gloomy change. 
 
 The mind o'er-sensitive to suffering 
 Quails before imputed harshness, fainting 
 O'er efforts to convey its constancy 
 And truth, in vain : alas ! its only hold 
 Of what of hope is left, to cheer it on, 
 To weave again its web of circumstance 
 From the poor remnants of its shatter'd guise. 
 The sufferer feels this rash injustice 
 More than the milder hardships of his lot. 
 But adjusts his burden : with feebler hope 
 Along his solitary way, while fond 
 Companionship is struggling at his heart. 
 He gazes on the careless groups around, 
 Apart from him, each in the fond pursuit 
 
154 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Of happiness, to him denied ; while doubts 
 Will press upon his diffidence of worth ; 
 And all his secret solace, to refer 
 His humble claim to Him who knows the heart. 
 
 There are many victims who can never 
 
 Make appeal to aught but Heaven. Silent 
 
 And stern, in seeming, they pursue their way 
 
 Alone ; the busy world regards them not. 
 
 They are those who feel the exigencies 
 
 Of life ; who cannot share the interest 
 
 In its common circumstance, nor express 
 
 Emotions over every passing scene. 
 
 Their sensibilities lie deeper far 
 
 Than ordinary events can reach. Judge 
 
 Them not censorious, nor proud ; nor shrink 
 
 From their communion, tho' they may seem 
 
 Insensible. Follow them in action. 
 
 And you may find disinterestedness, J 
 
 A zeal prompt in the charities of life, * 
 
 Counsel which profits others in their need. 
 
 To track them on their unobtrusive way. 
 
 They do the good permitted them, and shrink ^ 
 
 From other recompense than it affords, 
 
 Unworthy as they feel of fame, or else 
 
 Regardless, insensible to its charm. 
 
 Of self severe in judgement, they deny 
 
 The claim to approbation, and would do 
 
 Their best, nor covet notice as reward, 
 
 1 would not press on any human heart. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 155 
 
 And least on one too sensitive to all 
 
 That makes existence a long endurance. 
 
 Not that it does not yield abundant joy 
 
 To him who joins trembling with his mirth. We 
 
 Could not survive the slow progressive lapse 
 
 Of years, if some choice sweets were not instill'd 
 
 As antidotes within the cup of fate. 
 
 Sweetest far of all the home affections, 
 
 Mutual love, if confidence pervade 
 
 The mutual mind, else powerless of good. 
 
 'T is these that make the sum of happiness 
 
 In lowly scenes, where few enjoyments lie 
 
 Beyond the bounds of home. There are only found 
 
 The simple elements which make up the true 
 
 If scanty pleasures of the poor : sweeten'd 
 
 All by reflection from the kindred smile, 
 
 By their contrast with habitual care. 
 
 Mutual to all, who feel a common 
 
 Interest in a common welfare too. 
 
 I would not ask of Heaven a greater boon 
 
 Than a consistent and a reverent 
 
 Mind, respective of the claims of others ; 
 
 Conscious, tho' still diffident of my own. 
 
 Lest I might invade some plan another 
 
 May have form'd, in the common search of life. 
 
 Happiness, that shadow fleeting onwards, 
 
 As we pursue. I would not for shadows 
 
 Intrude on e'en a common privilege. 
 
 If I must molest another, burden'd, 
 
 And seeking to lay down his load of care. 
 
156 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 To lighten him upon the pilgrimage 
 To be made by all : and if easier by me, 
 Perhaps more hard by him, thro' success 
 Unconsciously monopolized by me. 
 If, as we sometimes may fancy, the goods 
 Of life be limited, and to be shared 
 Among mankind, as they may chance to earn 
 Them, my excess may leave another poor ; 
 And, in the struggle to acquire, my loss 
 Is others' gain : then equally I win ; 
 For I can better bear to lose, than be 
 The cause of loss to any of my kin 
 In need ; for full success cannot afford 
 Relief from suffering ; and 't is sweet to feel 
 In all emergency, I ne'er have lain 
 Wilfully a burden, I might have borne, 
 Upon another, gall'd perhaps like me. 
 
 Nothing of woe is so immedicable. 
 
 Come in what shape it may, as self-reproach. 
 
 It wears all forms, degrees ; subtle to mind J 
 
 Its serpent folds round every thought, and mix " 
 
 Its venom with the sweet remembrances 
 
 Of early years, ere the heart was conscious 
 
 Of a care. We may not escape its sting. 
 
 But the pursuit of happiness is vain. 
 
 Void of all promise, even to the hope, 
 
 Where an analysis of motive, aim, 
 
 And purpose, is not made an establish'd 
 
 Habit of the mind, preceding action. 
 
 'T is wise to cast a rapid glance around 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 157 
 
 On circumstance and interests ; to trace 
 With calm perception where temptations lie, 
 And throw our energy of will at once 
 To rescue from e'en suspicion our fair 
 Fame ; content, if poor beside in other things, 
 With sure exemption from deserved blame. 
 This gives us freedom from habitual 
 Fear, distrust of self, far the worst of all. 
 Doubts may in time arise in other minds 
 Perplexing judgement; never in our own. 
 We pass the erring imputation by, 
 Invincible to opinion's power. 
 From conscious purity of word and deed ; 
 And, leaving to truth her times appointed, 
 Can gaze on all the warring elements 
 Around, serene, and reckless of the strife. 
 
 But he who values, as above all price. 
 This conscious peace and purity of mind, 
 May rarely hope for other perquisites : 
 Nor need he want, sufficient in itself. 
 The world will not impute him prosperous, 
 Nor friends perchance ere deem him overwise. 
 He cannot make display of affluence 
 Or fame. His accomplishments in the arts 
 Of life attract neither praise nor envy. 
 He must yield precedence oft to others, 
 While he hears success imputed honour. 
 The reward of a superior worth ; 
 Reproaches faintly made at times on him 
 By implication ; glances, as it were. 
 
158 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Of thought, aside, at his estate ; so poor 
 
 And humbly mean in all comparison. 
 
 These the trials oft of self-denial. 
 
 Fearing to advance too far, and doubtful 
 
 Of all claims on fate, beyond the connnon 
 
 Hardships of the poor, the chiefest portion 
 
 Of the aspirants which compose the world. 
 
 I compassionate the poor. They cannot 
 
 Reproach me with their estate. I have no 
 
 More than they ; nothing beyond sympathies 
 
 To give them in their need. I lack like them 
 
 Opportunities to rise, and assert 
 
 The dignity of willing energies 
 
 To labour diligently, and acquire 
 
 More ample means of usefulness and ease. 
 
 We have alike our duties to fulfil. 
 
 The reward will be proportionate 
 
 To fidelity in our trust. There are 
 
 Who must be content, in serving, to stand 
 
 And wait ; labourers in the market-place 
 
 Who are not call'd till the eleventh hour. 
 
 Happier they who were permitted early 
 
 To toil, and late ; but all have their equal 
 
 Recompense. We must nerve ourselves to bear 
 
 The fix'd appointments of superior 
 
 Wisdom ; yielding where we cannot command. 
 
 This scene of trial soon will have a close, 
 And we shall leave our memories behind, 
 And our example. The links which bind us 
 To our kin must sever ; and a broken chain 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 159 
 
 Will alone remain with those surviving, 
 
 To indicate that we have ever been. 
 
 I would not have its weight, to those I had 
 
 Cherish'd fondly, be oppressive; dragging 
 
 Their spirits to the level of the grave 
 
 Where my tired limbs have found their last repose. 
 
 Love should never prove a burden. It must 
 
 Be spontaneous, as an instinct ; worn 
 
 As we wear the feeling, so pervading I 
 
 Of the charms of nature, all-refining 
 
 In their influence o'er the mind and heart. 
 
 Sensitive to their soft appeal ; and while 
 
 A tender sorrow melts thro' all the frame, 
 
 When the earth closes on a form we love ; 
 
 For tears are soothing to the aching sense. 
 
 Meet tributes on a hallow'd bier ; yet I 
 
 Would regard a buried love so sacred 
 
 As to have its wishes triumph over 
 
 Death, and be a source of joy, as it was 
 
 In life, when, eloquent in smiles and tone, 
 
 It made the earth a paradise to me. 
 
 Who, with the love of life, the dread of death, 
 
 So fearfully impress'd upon us all, 
 
 But feels at times an irresistible 
 
 Desire to shuffle off this mortal coil, 
 
 And realize the fate beyond the tomb ? 
 
 I often yield to this delusive wish. 
 
 My accomplishments fall so far below 
 
 The bright examples I have placed before 
 
 My view for imitation, that I shrink 
 
160 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Discouraged at the poor resemblance, nor 
 
 Dare to hope success from future effort 
 
 To reach the standard of a self-respect. 
 
 Who but must wish to rise superior 
 
 To the force of habit, that early taint, 
 
 Weak'ning the healthy energies of will, 
 
 Which a sound experience, time and thought, 
 
 Have developed in us, yet impeded 
 
 All by obstacles, self-created, ere 
 
 The mind, matured, had obtained perceptions 
 
 Definite of the fix'd course of duty ? 
 
 But we must struggle against even hope. 
 
 For facilities are unknown to all 
 
 In the pursuit of virtue ; and the best 
 
 Have fail'd to make themselves familiar 
 
 With her haunts. Her paths are over mountains 
 
 Rugged, bare, and wearisome ; difficult 
 
 Of access ; high above all allurements 
 
 Of the vales beneath ; throned in the clear air 
 
 And sunny light of an unclouded sky. 
 
 It must be gain'd by individual 
 
 Toil. Higher elevations rise to view 
 
 As we ascend, till the summits vanish 
 
 In heaven, of our pilgrimage the end. 
 
 'T is a fatal error, unsuspected 
 Oft by those who strive to free themselves 
 From all debasing passion, to suppose 
 That, of our prone nature, the tendency 
 Is to rise but by its own inherent 
 Buoyancy, freed from all inertia. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 161 
 
 And unloosed from shackles, that may impede 
 
 Its flight above the atmosphere obscure 
 
 Of the gross material world. 'T is true, 
 
 The universe around, within, is full 
 
 Of blest encouragements ; and other minds 
 
 May throw their radiance forth to dispel 
 
 The mists which darken and distort our view. 
 
 But experience, individual. 
 
 Self-acquired, wrought out by inward 
 
 Effort, shining by its own created 
 
 Light, must be the polar star to guide us. 
 
 But for it, all is darkness palpable. 
 
 The ocean we must traverse still extends, 
 
 Without a port, or bay accessible, 
 
 To shelter and refit our tossing bark. 
 
 The field of knowledge incessantly 
 
 Expands. As generations rise and fall, 
 
 Successful inroads made in the domains 
 
 Of ignorance add new habitable 
 
 Ground for science to store up her harvests, 
 
 The garner'd products of the seeds of thouglit 
 
 Which take root, and in due time yield their fruit 
 
 Abundantly — the nourishment of truth. 
 
 But after myriads of active minds 
 
 Have plough'd the stubborn earth for its increase, 
 
 And thro' successive ages of the world 
 
 Been fed, and doubtingly been satisfied. 
 
 Leaving a surplus they have not consumed, 
 
 For others who succeed ; each hapless child 
 
 Of this, the later generation, comes 
 
162 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 As feebly furnish'd with capacities 
 To maintain existence, and, thro' the paths 
 Of faith and truth, accomplish happiness, 
 As he whose feeble cry first struck the chord 
 Of human sympathy ; and in the breast 
 Maternal woke the echo, ever since 
 Keverberating thro' the teeming globe. 
 
 Life e'en on earth still triumphs over death. 
 Populous as is the grave, o'er its sod 
 Tread carelessly increasing multitudes, 
 Hurrying, and pressing on each other. 
 Too absorb'd in speculation to think 
 Of those who tenant it, the earlier 
 Victims of the same fate which lurks beneath 
 Delusive promise to deceive again, 
 And undermine the crumbling sands of hope. 
 . What revelations would be unfolded 
 From the dark abyss, if we had chemic 
 Power to sift the dust beneath, and extract 
 The essence from the crude precipitate 
 Of earth, to appropriate the perish'd 
 Secrets that all lie hidden in the tomb ! 
 We have its records. None who die vanish 
 Away with the last throes of expiring 
 Consciousness. Some are engraved on hearts 
 Whose pulsations must beat in unison 
 With the silenced chord that first awoke 
 Music in its strings ; or turn to discord 
 From the jarring conflict of other sounds 
 And the,key-ucte, for ever mute to them. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 163 
 
 Their remembrance is one of feeling, keen, 
 
 O'er- sensitive, profitable alone 
 
 In suffering, and tells no other tale. 
 
 Others are written in calmer language, 
 
 Eloquent o'er accomplishments, virtues 
 
 Seen thro' the too partial medium 
 
 Of affection ; and we learn the homage 
 
 Which genius or benevolence has power 
 
 To kindle in the soul, susceptible 
 
 Of a fond but indiscrirainating 
 
 Admiration of a character prone 
 
 To good, but whose peculiar bias 
 
 In the devious paths towards doubt and error 
 
 Is obscured to us, or was render'd dark 
 
 By the exclusive light concentrated 
 
 On the mind observant, which made record 
 
 Of some prevailing virtues. Transcripts these 
 
 To stimulate to imitation due, 
 
 But not reveal for others the secrets 
 
 Of a soul, school'd in the stern tasks of life. 
 
 The story of the past is never told : 
 It lies unfolded in the voiceless tomb 
 Wrapt in the cerements of oblivion, 
 And no human power can charm the silence 
 Of, to us, mute, irrevocable death. 
 We may glean some lapsed fragments 
 From the heap, but too disjointed, formless, 
 To restore the structure, into ruin 
 Fallen ; and we must build anew, rearing 
 Habitations for ourselves, which will sink 
 
 M 2 
 
164 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 In turn, crumbling away, without a trace 
 To show to others they have ever been. 
 
 We walk o'er ruins, the vast globe itself 
 
 But made up of fragments of other worlds. 
 
 Its rocks are streAved with wrecks of what once were 
 
 Beings sentient in their day. We rend 
 
 Them to explore the dark detail, in vain. 
 
 Monsters huge, uncouth, strange to nature now, 
 
 Startle those observant of her order ; 
 
 And conclusions drawn from all her present 
 
 Regularity make the past a dream. 
 
 Which has no interpreter to explain 
 
 To man aught beyond his ignorance, 
 
 And the might and wisdom of the Supreme. 
 
 Climates and their productions mix confused. 
 
 Coral reefs, which now within the tropics 
 
 Oft arrest the wanderer on his trackless 
 
 Way, strew'd o'er with wrecks beneath the cocoa's 
 
 Shade, are found, extinct, to form the firm-set 
 
 Battlements of a polar zone, 'gainst which 
 
 The heave of ocean, with her pinnacles 
 
 Of mountain ice, gigantic, strike in vain. 
 
 Relics of animals, vast of size, which 
 
 Must have needed nutriment adequate 
 
 To sustain their strength and bulk, lie buried 
 
 'Neath the surface of high northern plains. 
 
 Scanty of verdure from prevailing frost. 
 
 Creatures, existent now, have, limb from limb, 
 
 With bloody fangs, to appease keen hunger, 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 165 
 
 Torn the fleshy Mammoth, monster unseen ! 
 
 Unknown, cradled in annals e'en before 
 
 The Flood, hid congeal'd for ages, unchanged 
 
 In ice, soluble at last to disclose 
 
 To sight, in its fulness of proportion, 
 
 The huge structure : marvel beyond compare ! 
 
 Forests which in luxuriant freshness 
 
 Once waved to the sportive air, their leafy 
 
 Murmur responsive to the billow's foam. 
 
 Which on the pebbly beach once laved their roots. 
 
 Now stand monuments, of a primaeval 
 
 World ! silicified ! on far mountain heights ; 
 
 To a distance measureless, the ocean 
 
 Backwards hurl'd, with trackless plains, and rivers, 
 
 Monarchs of the floods ! intermediate ! 
 
 And the keen, discerning eye of science 
 
 Sees in the wondrous change proofs unerring 
 
 Of the subsidence of a former world 
 
 Beneath the deep, and an elevation 
 
 Subsequent, in the lapse of ages lost. 
 
 To solve the marvel to the startled mind. 
 
 Vegetable forms, the graceful products 
 
 Of some sunny glade, where genial summer 
 
 In one unbroken season ruled thi-oughout 
 
 The year, are found imbedded, where no heat 
 
 Prevails, in frozen regions, whiten'd o'er 
 
 W^ith perpetual snow. Types not extant 
 
 Now denote successive generations 
 
 Pass'd away. Dwellers in the deep profound 
 
 Lie scatter'd o'er the mountain range. Huge rocks, 
 
 Once impending over alpine summits, 
 
166 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Now, on plains remote, are found, isolate, 
 Traversing space where valleys now lie scoopd. 
 And elevations, intermediate, 
 Rise, insurmountable ! 
 
 Hard problems these 
 To solve ! They amuse the mind, perplexing 
 It ; tasking ingenuity to lift 
 The veil w^hich mantles o'er the form of truth. 
 The effort is beyond our power. 'T is vain 
 To speculate, and hope that the beauty 
 It conceals will reward our search wdth smiles. 
 We discern but the outward drapery, 
 And turn idolaters, bending the knee 
 Submissive, in the worship of a shade. 
 
 Time past, all but eternity to thought I 
 
 And present, tell equally the same tale 
 
 Of wonder. If we seek the evidence. 
 
 Not darkly shadow'd forth, of successive 
 
 Fiats of Almighty will ; commanding 
 
 A creation, which, past away, again 
 
 In other form, more complex, is restored, 
 
 To perish in its turn, and be replaced 
 
 l?y organization rising higher 
 
 In the scale of structure, till at last man. 
 
 In the express image of his Maker, 
 
 Comes to crown the whole I he who has left no 
 
 Trace of being in the former seras 
 
 Of the world — centuries on centuries, 
 
 Beyond compute ! with no interpreter 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 167 
 
 Then of the cause of all! no ej^e to cast 
 
 Its glance on beautj' ! but conceivable 
 
 To us from its coeval dust wrapt round 
 
 Like cerements, shrouding its decay ; no ear 
 
 Attuned to harmony ! all sensual ! 
 
 Save the life which animated nature : 
 
 Unless, as fancy may conceive, spirits 
 
 Walk'd the earth, invisible and formless, 
 
 Rendering homage to the Inscrutable, 
 
 Fulfilling duty in communion 
 
 With his works, and leaving no trace behind. 
 
 'Tis wonder all ! oppressive to the mind. 
 
 Without the aid of imagination 
 
 To give wings to thought, which in its boundless 
 
 Range wanders, lost in inextricable 
 
 Mazes, without a guide, or clue, or hope, 
 
 To escape from the labyrinth involved. 
 
 There is but One can lead it to discern 
 Where order lies. His high omnipotence 
 Our assurance 'mid the wreck of worlds, 
 His love our sanction, and His word our bond. 
 To trust His promise, and obey His will. 
 We gaze upon his works in awe, reading. 
 As on a scroll, the nothingness of man. 
 Dark, vain, presumptuous, where enlighten'd 
 Not by faith, by humility controll'd. 
 
 The laws presiding over former worlds 
 Equally exert their influence now. 
 Manifestations all of Deity, 
 
168 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 They must be immutable. In extent, 
 
 Variety, infinite : changeable 
 
 Alone, in seeming, to our short-sighted 
 
 Glance ; aghast at miracle ! idly thought 
 
 A marvel deviate from an order 
 
 Only too vast for us to comprehend. 
 
 Its arrangements flovv from a common source 
 
 Alike consistent ; productive ever 
 
 Of effects which harmonize togrether. 
 
 However varied and involved to us. 
 
 And in the mind created to observe 
 
 Them, should establish confidence and trust, 
 
 These pillars of our faith ; sustaining us 
 
 Amid the ruin of all earthly things. 
 
 Companions of our destiny, save in 
 
 Immortal hope. 
 
 Decay, part of nature's 
 Order, is essential to her plan, 
 Startling the mind, to reassure it 
 With a firmer trust. The vital principle 
 Undergoes a change ; transmitted onwards 
 In new forms of being. Beauty diffused J 
 
 O'er all. In its young development, so ■ 
 
 Ravishing to eye, complete and perfect ; 
 Without fault in delicate proportion, 
 In hue, which admit of admiration 
 Only, the heart's response to all its charm. 
 Evanescent, it vanishes away, 
 Leaving us pensive, musing o'er the change, 
 Void of attraction, to explain the cause. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 169 
 
 We feel its fate analogous to ours, 
 
 Perishable alike ; doom'd not, on earth, 
 
 From its nature to endure ; too fragile 
 
 In all its nicely balanced elements 
 
 To withstand the unchanging lapse of time. 
 
 It ftdfiU'd its purpose, answering the soul's 
 
 Demand of something to appease its wants, 
 
 Some bright reality of its own dreams, 
 
 Then fled, leaving a void, thro' which all search 
 
 Is vain, suggestive only of despair. 
 
 Intolerable to thought ; till relief 
 
 Is urgent ; and we mount on wings of hope 
 
 And find it imperishable in heaven. 
 
 A principle, enduring in no form, 
 
 Unchangeable, subject to no decay. 
 
 But all of beauty in external things 
 
 Is but the emanation of the mind 
 
 Over all that we behold. If the charm 
 
 Be amplified, from association. 
 
 By the magic lustre reflected back 
 
 To us from the smooth sheen of nature's works, 
 
 Those master-spells of power, the young, bright 
 
 Creations of her will ; 't is equally 
 
 We see a moral fitness in decay. 
 
 Which ministers to use, essential ; 
 
 A change, productive of the elements 
 
 Of reviving power, wakening in the soul 
 
 Emotions which shake the worldly fabrics 
 
 Of our happiness, as by an earthquake. 
 
 Till they crumble into dust ; and we build 
 
170 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Anew on foundations as enduring 
 
 As the heavens, fix'd permanently there. 
 
 Creation, in all its varying forms 
 And changes, even these too creative, 
 Breathes a persuasive eloquence, beyond 
 Capacity of language to convey. 
 Can it be that those who investigate 
 Her minute details, of structure, function, 
 Animal or vegetable, which task 
 Invention to devise terms adequate 
 To convey our praise and wonder — can man. 
 Insensible to the appeal of power. 
 Infinite and Almighty, and the moral 
 Of the whole, forget his worship, nor bend 
 The knee in adoration, prayer and praise ? 
 Humbling himself e'en for the conscious skill 
 To trace the Source of all ; for that sole end 
 Entrusted to him, his peculiar good ? 
 Was the light imparted to the kindling 
 Mind, a delegated ray from the fount 
 Supreme, intended for a selfish use ? 
 To concentrate its focus on ourselves? 
 To display, not the stores of nature. 
 But our importance in her mighty scale ? 
 Enough the privilege to comprehend 
 Her wonders ; to explore her mysteries ; 
 To track the link of incongruities 
 Seemingly disjoin'd, till by a patient 
 Scrutiny they form one consistent whole 
 Harmonious ; to eye and intellect 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 171 
 
 Unfolding whence all order is derived, 
 
 Amid the boundless range of existing 
 
 Things ; realities inexplicable 
 
 To the thoughtless glance of admiration, 
 
 Awakening no fit impulse in the mind, 
 
 To which they were created monitors. 
 
 We must humble ourselves to learn ; couching 
 
 The mental orb, obscured, to let in light, 
 
 Darken'd by films which intercept the ray 
 
 Of knowledge, destined to expand the soul. 
 
 Who that reflects upon the destiny 
 
 And nature of the soul, that subtle 
 
 Essence ! eluding metaphysic skill 
 
 To comprehend, can forbear, in eager 
 
 Thought, to wander far beyond the narrow 
 
 Circumstance of self ; and lose his being, 
 
 Interests, in higher contemplations 
 
 Than those connected with the passing hour ? 
 
 The schemes of happiness are delusive 
 
 Which centre in the daily wants of life ; 
 
 Perpetually recurring, never 
 
 Satisfied. Expectancy from complete 
 
 Success is vain, inordinate. We grasp 
 
 At shadows when we hope to minister 
 
 To our real need by accomplishing 
 
 All that interest may prompt us to attempt. 
 
 There is but one thing needful. Let us choose 
 
 That better part, nor by too much serving 
 
 Be cumber'd in the fashion of the world. 
 
172 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 I am weary of the gay derision, 
 
 The fictitious joys, the heartless pleasures, 
 
 The crude, abortive hopes, the vain conceits, 
 
 Which pass sufficient in society. 
 
 They jar upon me, and a mournful smile 
 
 My sole response to all such shallow mirth. 
 
 I affect no chaste, discerning judgement. 
 
 No capacity to enlighten minds 
 
 Misled, and wandering in the groping 
 
 Mist of worldliness ; my humanity 
 
 Is sensible to myself. I but shrink 
 
 From association with a lower 
 
 Fellowship than my better thoughts demand, 
 
 I would aspire to a higher being 
 
 Thro' examples worthy imitation. 
 
 Of the wise and good. I need inducements 
 
 To quicken me to virtue ; intellect 
 
 To point the way to knowledge ; reverence 
 
 To awe, gentleness to soothe, modesty 
 
 Refine, and pity to compassionate ; 
 
 Generosity to expand, and justice 
 
 To acquit ; truth, faith, love, humility, 
 
 To disarm a self-reproach, unworthy 
 
 Of all pretension to my own respect. 
 
 I fret, perceiving others no better 
 
 Than myself: frivolities, suggestive 
 
 Of my own, thro' weak compliance, sink me 
 
 In self-esteem, essential to my peace, 
 
 At war continually from its hard 
 
 Attainment. If I e'er effect a truce, 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 173 
 
 An indolent security renders 
 My defences vain ; and hosts of passions 
 Rush to the assault, and lead me captive. 
 Should I ere soothe my servitude with hope, 
 Or break the bonds which curb my liberty, 
 Roamins: in the free air, M'ithout restraint, 
 Arm'd for surprise, confident against doubt. 
 Some new calamity will, unforeseen, 
 Bewilder me, e'en in the fairest haunts 
 Where peace and beauty dwell habitual. 
 And I lose my way, blind to all appeal 
 From objects most familiar to my gaze. 
 
 I would not judge the world, as if deeming 
 Myself above it, seeming to affect 
 Superiority to aught that breathes. 
 1 mark the excellence, and feel the power 
 Of many round me ; and a radiance 
 Fills my mind, encircling it with glory. 
 A genial glow enkindles in my heart. 
 I bless existence, and, poor as I am, 
 Am satisfied, without a conscious want. 
 If I murmur, it is because the faults 
 I see perpetually remind me 
 Of my own, when I long to shut my eyes 
 On frailty, and gaze, absorb'd on virtue. 
 That I may grow to what I contemplate. 
 I w^ould have my mind true to itself, calm. 
 In its judgements clear, discriminating. 
 Above all seeming, all self-delusion, 
 And, instinctively alive to beauty, 
 
174 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 In free communion with all holy thought, 
 In prayer, and praise, and faith habitual. 
 Incapable of all distrust of God, 
 His providence, and kind, paternal care. 
 If, with these desires, I should seem to fling 
 A sarcasm at the folly of the crowd, 
 'T is but the sting which rankles in myself. 
 Indignantly confess'd, far less to wound, 
 Than relieve a startled sensitiveness, 
 By the keen inflictions of a judgement. 
 Stern and relentless, wheresoe'er it fall. 
 On all perversion of the moral rule. 
 
 The worst endurance is to list to those 
 
 Who make a mockery of sentiment. 
 
 Sneering at virtue in her modest guise. 
 
 Turning the o'er-timid aspirations 
 
 Of the pure and gentle to derision. 
 
 As if the heartless callousness were wit ! 
 
 How many guileless spirits have been crush'd, 
 
 In moments of deep emotion, fearful 
 
 To give utterance to some cherish'd thought, 
 
 By ridicule, — the senseless scoffer's jest ! 
 
 If excellence e'er be imitative, 
 
 How sad, that aspirations in the young 
 
 Should be repress'd by levity or scorn ! 
 
 The habitual jester violates 
 
 The sanctities in that consecrated 
 
 Temple, not rear'd of hands, where oli'rings 
 
 Are laid upon the altar of the heart 
 
 In worship of the beautiful and true. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 175 
 
 They know not what they do. Their sacrilege 
 May sap the firm foundations of the mind, 
 Taking the bloom from thought, which, once removed, 
 May never be restored ; its fruit blasted 
 By the canker'd element of decay. 
 
 He knows but little of its inward strife. 
 
 Its constant struggles, wrestling hard with doubt. 
 
 Its faint convictions, void of certainty. 
 
 In that imperfect dawn of consciousness, 
 
 Before the glow, prophetic of the day, 
 
 Who rashly sports with feeling, as a thing 
 
 Indifferent, to amuse the passing 
 
 Hour. There are observations, often thrown 
 
 As if at random, to explore our depth, 
 
 Sounding-lines of thought, borne devious oft 
 
 By some light under-current of remark, 
 
 Which hazards safety, or misleads our way, 
 
 Till we miss the beacon where dangers lurk, 
 
 And rush confused to meet impending wreck. 
 
 The solemn purposes of life oppress 
 
 Me : its thoughtless mirth awakes no echo 
 
 In my breast, or heard, leaves no impress there 
 
 Beyond amazement at the estimate 
 
 Of all the moral beauty, spread abroad 
 
 As fit inducements to a holy joy. 
 
 A cheerful spirit, chastened and refined, 
 
 Is in harmony with nature ; the meet 
 
 Intelligence from her blest tuition. 
 
 Time is too short to be absorb'd in care, 
 
176 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Our sensibilities far too acute 
 
 To throb to pain, perversion of effect ; 
 
 They were form'd for finer issues : the mind's 
 
 Creations, meditative upon life 
 
 And all its rich capacities of joy. 
 
 In the scheme of Providence there are clouds 
 
 Which pass along the blue serene, veiling 
 
 The face of heaven, and eclipsing from our view 
 
 The source of light ; spreading before the eye 
 
 A dull pall, suggestive least of beauty ; 
 
 Or arm'd with tempest, fraught with apparent 
 
 Desolation, which, in their furious 
 
 Rage, pall with alarm the timid gazer. 
 
 Startled by their dread resistless sway. 
 
 Yet these but the agencies of mercy, 
 
 Productive of a varied good to all ; 
 
 And the weak alone, from superstition, 
 
 Regard them as signs of a relentless 
 
 Wrath, kindled to terrify and appal 
 
 The world. They shield the quick'ning energies 
 
 Of life from over-stimulus ; refresh 
 
 The air ; give nutriment to expectant 
 
 Beings nursed in the lap of earth, adding 
 
 Increase to swell the general store. 
 
 Unclouded sunshine would be destructive 
 
 Of all promise. And in the moral world 
 
 We have vicissitudes analogous, 
 
 Fruitful in blessings, rightly understood. 
 
 Dark clouds will rise, unbidden, in the mind, 
 
 O'ershadowing it, falling in silent 
 
 Drops, refreshing to the heart, nourishing 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 1 / I 
 
 Its bloom ; or the whirlwind gusts of passion 
 Sweep over it, uncontroU'd, revealing, 
 Within its mysterious depths, godlike 
 Capacities, before unknown, fitting 
 Under due restraint an immortal soul. 
 
 The holy attributes of Deity 
 
 We profane, blending an impious fear 
 
 With our conceptions of Almighty power. 
 
 We may fear ourselves, incurring righteous 
 
 Judgement for our misdeeds, the penalty 
 
 Of disobedience, salutary 
 
 To restrain excess, and its dire effects. 
 
 Injurious alike to physical 
 
 As moral order. Inevitable 
 
 The pain consequent on deviatiun 
 
 From our duty. It is the establish'd 
 
 Law. Ignorance pleads no exemption, 
 
 Nor can accuse but itself as author 
 
 Of its woe. 
 
 There is a revelation 
 Known and felt by all, requiring no lore 
 To comprehend, dependent upon no 
 Tradition, seeking no authority 
 In the records of the past, sensible 
 To instinct, conscience ! that primaeval guide, 
 First monitor ; still authoritative. 
 Clear and persuasive in its prompt appeals. 
 It has never been supplanted, nor can 
 Ever be ; enlarging with the widening 
 
 N 
 
178 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Circle of experience ; enlighten' d, 
 
 And expanded more and more by the growth 
 
 Of knowledge ; successive acquisitions 
 
 Adding but the more impressively 
 
 To it ; and w hether seated in the rude 
 
 Or accomplish'd nature, its monitions 
 
 Are audibly heard in the Avild tumults 
 
 E'en of passion, calmly admonishing 
 
 With a clear voice the victim from their sway. 
 
 Then wherefore murmurs against Providence ? 
 
 We know how^ transitory is the world. 
 
 'T is the lesson of the past. We feel it 
 
 In the lapse of time, as each successive 
 
 Moment changes the evanescent hues 
 
 Of every joy. We see bright creations 
 
 Born to fade away, before the impulse 
 
 They awake of admiration has ceased 
 
 To vibrate o'er the soul. We make response 
 
 To beauty, kindled by her smiles, and ere 
 
 The tone has died upon the ear, we gaze 
 
 On vacancy, in lonely fellowship 
 
 With decay and death. Hence necessity 
 
 Of faith ; that last accomplishment of mind, 
 
 The compensation for every trial. 
 
 The odd which makes all even to the thought, 
 
 The sole sufficiency ; end of all things 
 
 Else ; unattainable by substantial 
 
 Good ; a principle immaterial ; 
 
 Outweighing in importance wealth of worlds. 
 
 Its acquisition vindicates the ways 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 179 
 
 Of God to man, especial object of his care. 
 Subtract the due amount of suffering 
 From intemperance, whether sensual, 
 Or from an overbalanced state of mind, 
 Some one affection, faculty or taste, 
 Preponderating to the injury 
 Of all, robbing of its due proportion 
 The character, sway'd by a favourite bias. 
 And what remains of evil, in our state 
 Probationary, that a steadfast faith 
 May not, thro' piety, convert to good ? 
 It was not ordain'd that we should suffer 
 From a wanton, or a casual fate ; 
 Created to be victims of caprice, 
 Our capacities of discernment check'd 
 
 By doubt ; of wisdom to be task'd alone 
 
 Within the sphere of temporal concerns, 
 
 Eluding our control ; and hope to be 
 
 A lure, enticing us astray in chase 
 
 Of phantoms, vanishing as we pursue. 
 
 Providence implies higher aims than these. 
 
 We create the evil we cannot solve. 
 
 Our pretensions shadow us with darkness ; 
 
 Within the caves of earth, our dwelling-place. 
 
 Seeking in vain for light material. 
 
 Accorded to the mental eye alone. 
 
 Thro' faith, its own bright illumination, 
 
 Inferential, radiant from no other 
 
 Source. 
 
 Who doubts the endurances of life ? 
 Affects to think them easy to be borne ? 
 
 N 2 
 
180 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 To be charm'd by words, the calm deductions 
 
 Of the most enlighten'd reason ? No one 
 
 Conversant with humanity, its wants, 
 
 Its woes innumerable ; its ceaseless 
 
 Sighs and groans of pain ; its throbs of anguish, 
 
 And its mute despair. Where may the list'ning 
 
 Ear find refuge from the discordant cry 
 
 Of misery, bewailing of her woe ? 
 
 Where can the eye, in its excursive glance 
 
 In search of beauty, exclude the burden'd 
 
 Form of sufferance ? or the ravages 
 
 Which slow disease and penury have made 
 
 On some lone victim, outcast from the ease 
 
 And joys of life ; with nothing left of hope, 
 
 But death, that agony of dread to all I 
 
 Humiliating to the pride of man ! 
 
 Thankless inheritor of all his goods ! 
 
 Stern and remorseless in his cold demands ! 
 
 Death I how does its silent shroud, its abject 
 
 Lowliness, and forgotten dust, accord 
 
 W^ith the inflated pomp of circumstance, 
 
 So jealously maintain'd and coveted 
 
 By man, drunk, and insensate with his draughts 
 
 Of vanity ; annihilating all 
 
 Of fear that fate can do, to undermine 
 
 His charm'd supremacy against its jjower ? 
 
 Insatiable as he is, and dread, 
 
 O'ershadowing the world, in its brightest 
 
 Promise, with an instinctive fear, fatal 
 
 To all peace, nipping the bright germs of hope 
 
 Which spring in happy bosoms ; there are those 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 181 
 
 Who shudder not at his advancing strides, 
 The bruised and broken spirits, overborne 
 By sorrow, anxious to lay down the load 
 Of life, and find relief within the tomb. 
 To suffer what shall be appointed just 
 Beyond it ; so submissive to their fate, 
 Tliat not a fear disturbs the parting hour, 
 Too sunk to cherish but the wish to die. 
 
 The history of the past requires no 
 
 Written record. We may read it ever 
 
 In the living page of sentient life ; 
 
 More eloquently true, elaborate 
 
 In detail, more pathetic in effect. 
 
 Than in all the labour'd compilations 
 
 Of research that fatigue the memory 
 
 And oppress the mind. Time, beyond adding 
 
 Years to centuries to swell the barren 
 
 Sum, affords no other evidence 
 
 Than variety of ill to human 
 
 Kind, misled by passion, or fatally 
 
 Beguiled by confidence in itself: 
 
 Forgetful of its nature, so infirm 
 
 Of purpose, if left to struggle, hopeless, 
 
 Without dependence on a higher Power. 
 
 Vain all philosophy without this truth 
 
 So comprehensive, meeting all our wants ! 
 
 The perfect law of liberty ! our sole 
 
 Refuge in all emergences of fate ! 
 
 There is but one solution of our woe. 
 The will of God, if our free-agency, 
 
182 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 So oft contested, be denied. The fall 
 
 Primaeval was a gain to man *. Tempted 
 
 Jn the search of knowledge, he disobey'd, 
 
 And found the fruits of sin, as his award. 
 
 The loss of peace, fierce passions, care, and shame; 
 
 The paradise he lost must be regain'd 
 
 By virtue ; nobler far than innocence 
 
 Nursed by indulgence in the lap of ease. 
 
 Purity was his dower, Eden his home. 
 
 All things created for his wants and use ; 
 
 But more was needful, and the penalty 
 
 Of the transgressing deed is ours : grievous 
 
 To bear, but glorious. We have risen 
 
 By the fall : our nature now ascendant 
 
 Highest in the moral scale, capable 
 
 Of good, subduing self, superior 
 
 To temptation, living by faith and hope, 
 
 Triumphant, while repentance wipes away 
 
 All tears, and gives angelic natures joy. 
 
 Inevitable then the common doom. 
 
 There is no escape from thraldom ; no nook 
 
 Of earth where flowers and weeds are not combined, 
 
 If rich in promise, yet yielding ever 
 
 Unprofitable tares which choke the grain. 
 
 Sharp thorns which pierce the feet ; poisons lurking 
 
 'Neath fair allurements tempting to beti'ay. 
 
 The subtle venom, unsuspected oft. 
 
 Lurking unseen to taint the springs of life. 
 
 Yet there is hope. A healing balm is found 
 * See Mrs. Barbauld's Rhapsody on Evil. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 183 
 
 In bitterness. The great Physician 
 
 Of the soul has said, " Come unto me, all 
 
 That are afflicted ; I will give you rest : 
 
 My yoke is easy, and my burden light." — 
 
 Blest accents ! yet because familiar, 
 
 Disregarded oft ; as the wayward child 
 
 Turns from the fond mother's admonitions, 
 
 Heedless of her voice ; seeking for newer 
 
 Counsels, inciting it to delusive 
 
 Promise, which smiles but to mislead its way. 
 
 How capricious, blind, and inconsistent 
 
 Is deceitful man ! wandering afar 
 
 From his bright convictions to plunge himself 
 
 In darkness ; clinging to the love of life 
 
 Only to reap disgust from its abuse ; 
 
 At war between lofty aspiration 
 
 And low attainment. Winging his joyous 
 
 Flight beyond the stars, to bathe his spirit 
 
 In the founts of light — sinking prone to earth 
 
 To grovel in its dust, oblivious 
 
 Of the power to soar, and hold communion 
 
 With the just made perfect, who held their path 
 
 Above the world, and gaiu'd their native heav'n. 
 
 His fastidious taste rejects wisdom 
 
 For its triteness, tho' enshrined in humble 
 
 Bosoms, covetous of joy: more precious 
 
 From the impress of age ; familiar 
 
 To all time, and surviving memories 
 
 Of annals past, still fresh with youthfulness ; 
 
IS^ HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 The only immortality below 
 
 To guide the soul to its immortal home. 
 
 I am sick of the pretence that so fills 
 
 The world, for ever restless in pursuit 
 
 Of novelty, as if the true essential 
 
 Of our search had not been found, with nothing ■ 
 
 Left beyond amazement at the novel 
 
 Proofs, successively obtain'd, of the old 
 
 Philosophy, so rich in proof before ! 
 
 We have all that reason can accomplish, 
 
 All the rare endowments which genius. 
 
 From the birth of knowledge to the present 
 
 Growth, has e'er display 'd ; bright illustrations 
 
 Of the majesty of truth in those who 
 
 Have pour'd forth their thought in rich floods of light. 
 
 To irradiate the obscure : adding 
 
 Glory to the old intelligence, felt , 
 
 And understood by all ; their glowing page 1 
 
 Kindling the flame of sympathy in e'en 
 
 Icy bosoms, difi'usive of a warmth, | 
 
 And joy, and admiration ; quick'ning 
 
 E'en devotion in those habitual 
 
 In piety, and the silent worship 
 
 Of the heart : and other minds will proffer. 
 
 Too, the fervour of their inspiration 
 
 To succeeding multitudes, swelling more 
 
 Loud the voice of praise : yet generations 
 
 Will arise and pass away, bequeathing 
 
 The exhaustless legacy of knowledge, 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 185 
 
 From the accumulations of the past, 
 Centuries beyond compute, to beings 
 Their survivors ; — and not, of all, the wisest 
 Then existing can have moi'e to build up 
 The edifice of faith, than we have now. 
 
 It is our duty to explore the vast 
 
 inimitable domain of knowledge ; 
 
 Penetrating beyond the discover'd 
 
 Country, peopled by adventurous minds 
 
 Who have gone forth from among the crowded 
 
 Mass to find free space for speculation ; 
 
 And each accession adds variety 
 
 To illustrate the familiar laws 
 
 Of nature, seen under novel phases, 
 
 Confirming old conclusions, or throwing 
 
 Broader light to amplify and expand 
 
 Our view, from a higher elevation 
 
 Commanding still a wider horizon. 
 
 Indefinitely extending onwards. 
 
 Never to end before the mind's researcli. 
 
 But vain the expectation to discern 
 
 Aught that can supersede the foundations 
 
 Of our hope, as ancient as the pillars 
 
 That prop the fabric of the world. 
 
 Take any instance of the miracles 
 
 Of nature : for of all that we behold 
 
 What is not miraculous to our gaze ? 
 
 Search even the most familiar object 
 
 To its infinite conclusions ; and what 
 
 Of the unknown remains to iUustrate 
 
186 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 The might of the Supreme, his majesty) 
 His inimitable skill, and our vain 
 Efforts to comprehend e'en the humblest 
 Evidence of his condescending love ? 
 
 Who, by the most subtle scrutiny, may 
 
 Hope to unveil the mystery of life ? 
 
 How supported ? its origin and end ? 
 
 All its strange variety fading, like 
 
 Exhalations, leaving no trace behind. 
 
 We ponder o'er the dust, seeking in vain 
 
 The spirit that gave it form and being ; 
 
 While the void whispers the hidden secret 
 
 Of our nature, explicable alone 
 
 By death, and the blest miracle beyond. 
 
 Have future ages, from the womb of time. 
 
 Aught to bring forth that will make pervious 
 
 To sight this impenetrable obscure ? 
 
 Must new discoveries supplant the old ? 
 
 Will flowers from some undiscover'd spot, 
 
 Wliere human foot has never trod, nor eye 
 
 Borne witness to the hues which blush unseen, 
 
 Defeat the rose ? or surpass in sweetness 
 
 The pale jasmin and azure violet? 
 
 And all the vernal gems that neither toil 
 
 Nor spin, yet each array 'd in its own glory, 
 
 Like the lilies of the field, which supplied 
 
 The illustration, so profitable 
 
 To us all, in our familiar glance 
 
 At nature, where we may read homilies 
 
 Of the Supreme in mute yet pleading terms ? 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 187 
 
 Is there a clime in some novel zone fann'd 
 
 By purer air ; with a more resplendent 
 
 Sun than those of old ? where birds and insects 
 
 With lighter wing image to the mind forms 
 
 More spiritual than those which have task'd 
 
 Admiration from the first dawn of time ? 
 
 Will science, in its widening grasp, e'er give 
 
 Us explanation of the subtle power 
 
 That moves the mechanism invisible 
 
 Of the fly ? or gives instinct to the bee ? 
 
 Or modes of flight, so varied, yet fitted 
 
 To each kind ? or that will trace the chymic 
 
 Skill in herbs, elaborating healing 
 
 Virtues for the solace and use of man ? 
 
 Then vain all hope from mere variety 
 Of nature's works to inspire true wisdom. 
 Those already known sufficiently 
 Suggestive, would man but learn their import, 
 Nor sigh for knowledge wrapt in the future 
 Eras of the world, not profitable 
 More to those observant than his is now. 
 The spirit which presides o'er all below 
 Breathed its influence at the creation 
 On all that was made : and discoveries 
 Are but the awakenings of the mind 
 To the amplitude of design and power, 
 Too vast to be discern'd in the brief life 
 Of man : nor will countless generations 
 E'er exhaust the field of observation, 
 Reaching thro' the infinity of space, 
 
188 ■ . HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 So incomprehensible to our thought ! 
 Yet Providence, mindful of the creatures 
 It has made, has given each its appointed 
 Season ; and facts discernible to us 
 Are the implements of an agency 
 O'er the mind, as great in power as others. 
 More diversified, in the lapse of years, 
 Can ever be ; for true wisdom has few 
 Elements. It has been reveal'd to babes, 
 Of whom is the kingdom of heaven, lost 
 Too oft in the rude contact with the world. 
 
 Who can muse o'er nature, nor long to lose 
 
 This fretful state of being, and imbibe 
 
 The peacefulness that dwells along her glades ? 
 
 There living forms of beauty realize 
 
 Their capacities of life ; obstacles, 
 
 Self-created, like those impeding man. 
 
 Unknown in their submission to the laws 
 
 Which regulate their state ; instinct their sum 
 
 Of knowledge, unerringly suggestive 
 
 Of the true ; each accomplishing its meed 
 
 Of duty ; and in due mode rendering 
 
 Homage silently to the cause of all. 
 
 The contemplation of the placid scene 
 
 In every mood, how soothing to the soul ! 
 
 Charms, unobtrusive, there arrest the eye, 
 
 Shedding soft influence, beguiling us 
 
 Of care, awakening calm perceptions 
 
 Of the repose that reigns around, hushing 
 
 The voice of passion, or assuaging grief. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 189 
 
 We lose the best enjoyments, freely ofFer'd. 
 
 Coop'd up in cities, the abodes of art ; 
 
 Where we herd in crowds, jostling each other 
 
 In the pursuit of gain ; immersed in cares 
 
 That spring from only artificial wants. 
 
 Tasking our energies meant for higher 
 
 Aims ; usefulness, self-oblivion, love, 
 
 Purity and faith, the sole requisites. 
 
 We become inextricably involved 
 
 In unceasing strife between seeming 
 
 Interests and duty, oft conflicting. 
 While temptations, lurking under specious 
 Forms, beti-ay ; till we forfeit self-respect, 
 Gaining the objects of our eager search. 
 To find them worthless by the loss of peace. 
 We abandon habits of reflection 
 Hurried on in the career of a false 
 Ambition, striving to be great. To win 
 Attention we stoop to arts unworthy, 
 Offering hollow seeming in the place 
 Of truth ; to others false, and wilfully 
 Deceitful to ourselves. We but become 
 The victims of our wrong. Success can ne'er 
 Eradicate the taint of treachery. 
 Which inevitably stains all virtue 
 We may show in our exercise of power. 
 
 Those who win the world as surely lose all 
 Else worth the wealth of many worlds to gain. 
 Fascinated by the charm of power, we 
 Press on to its attainment, blind to all 
 Allurement, save the deceitful object 
 
190 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Of our search, far from our elevation 
 
 Looking round us elated by success, 
 
 Confident of the present, nor doubting 
 
 Of the future, arm'd in conscious proof 'gainst 
 
 Fate, secure from ill, pleased complacently 
 
 With others' admiration of our state. 
 
 As if a homage render'd to our worth ; 
 
 While we lose all the nobler attributes 
 
 Of soul, debased by selfishness and pride. 
 
 Basing our hopes on sand, until the poor 
 
 Unsubstantial edifice we rear 
 
 Of vanity lapses into utter 
 
 Ruin, and we lie buried iu its fall. 
 
 We oft discern o'er the ever-smiling 
 Scenes of nature, venerable remains 
 Of art, relics of some former age, all 
 Picturesque in their hoary battlements, 
 Worn by time, or left as moral emblems 
 Of fierce passions, in the rage of strife 
 Warring to destruction ; and we prize 
 The massive ruin, searching in annals 
 Of years long elapsed for the history 
 Of its might, when within its lofty walls 
 Power dwelt secure, issuing to make 
 Its evil or its blessing felt around ; 
 The feudal baron, or the mitred priest, 
 Array'd in pomp, perversive of a meek 
 Religion, lost in the darken'd ages 
 Of the world. 
 
 But who in the crov.ded haunts 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 191 
 
 Of men, amid festivities and joy, 
 Where all seems mirth and gladness, may detect 
 The living ruins, hidden under smiles. 
 Which, like sunbeams over festering decay, 
 Shed no reviving influence beneath ? 
 Hearts, lost to feeling, callous from excess 
 Of self-indulgence ; or, absorb'd by pride, 
 Harden'd against sympathy with their kind. 
 Minds goaded by remorse, a prey to woe 
 Immedicable, some dark remembrance. 
 Like a lowering cloud, casting its shadow 
 O'er the thought, with no cheering light around 
 To animate them on their midnight way. 
 Natures cast in virtue's mould, by follies 
 Warp'd from their unresisted sway, taking 
 
 The bloom from thought, and strength from ciiaracter, 
 
 Converting life from active usefulness 
 
 To scenes of mere frivolity and ease. 
 
 Some the prey of passions, beguiled awhile 
 
 By reason, to usurp again the rule 
 
 Wlien circumstance removes the forced restraint. 
 
 Others fond of ease, neglecting duty. 
 
 Nor by the pains of its omission school'd, 
 
 Or false to their convictions, tho' the truth 
 
 Recurs in lightning flashes to the mind, 
 
 But powerless to overcome the force 
 
 Of habit, interest or example, 
 
 Which make a coward of the will : and life, 
 
 Its better purpose turn'd aside, is past 
 
 In opposition to the judgement, false 
 
 To its faith, reason and all self-respect. 
 
192 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Religion e'en is made to wear a mask. 
 The worship of the Supreme oft confined 
 To outward show, a service of the lips 
 Without the heart, from an acquiescence 
 To establish'd rule, M'hich a calm judgement 
 Totally condemns, yet yields its sanction 
 For convenience, favouring some plan 
 Of profit, or motive of servile fear. 
 
 To him who looks beyond the present scene, 
 
 Its poor capacities offering no lure 
 
 To charm the eye, with all that it affords 
 
 E'en of promise to the hope, this mental 
 
 Prostitution, fatal to every 
 
 Purpose of existence, is destructive 
 
 Equally of the character and life. 
 
 There is not beyond enlighten'd reason, 
 
 Fearlessly pursued, its dictates our law 
 
 Immutable, a safeguard to the mind ; 
 
 And to shape our course adverse to its clear 
 
 Direction, playing wantonly with truth, 
 
 As if denial were a harmless sport 
 
 Of intellect, indifferent whether 
 
 We refuse or yield assent, is fatal 
 
 To all moral growth in beauty, alone 
 
 Discernible by a calm rectitude 
 
 Of judgement, swerving never from the true. 
 
 I would least of all affect an insiglit 
 
 Into duty, denying others' claims 
 
 To all respect, tho' differing from me : 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 193 
 
 As if I had caught the full reflection 
 
 From the light of nature, or the mirrors 
 
 Which lofty minds have left, as legacies. 
 
 To show the pictured image of their thought ; 
 
 But what seems only true to me, being 
 
 Sought and found, must be my guide and compass, 
 
 Tho' the needle vibrates at the slightest 
 
 Touch, still to tremble backwards to its pole. 
 
 I cannot conceive of order outwards. 
 
 Unless the mind, from its consistency. 
 
 Has correspondent sympathies to meet 
 
 The harmony : and the repose, impress'd 
 
 By all the laws of nature, must be vain 
 
 To him whose moral sense has no fix'd point 
 
 For conscience to exert her power to guide. 
 
 Weakest of all the fear to follow on 
 
 Adventurous, where truth may lead, as if 
 
 Her paths, tho' devious from the beaten 
 
 Tract, could conduct to aught but only peace. 
 
 Many dread the energy to explore 
 
 Untrodden ways, or may doubt the issue, 
 
 Tho' unsought impulse prompts to the attempt ; 
 
 And flowers, unknown before, invite them. 
 
 Whose rare perfume they mistrust for poison. 
 
 Or sway'd by others who have backwards turn'd, 
 
 Confessing dangers lurking in the way. 
 
 But who may safely trust another mind 
 In search of truth, itself appropriate 
 To only individual nature ? 
 Who compass motives perchance unworthy 
 
 o 
 
194 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Imitation ? or compare designs 
 
 Perhaps most inconsistent with our own ? 
 
 E'en principles will vary ; elements 
 
 Of faith, hope have often least resemblance. 
 
 What is considered false may still be true 
 
 To us. Objects to the crowd can never 
 
 From the same angle be discernible ; 
 
 The view, tho' different, yet still the same, 
 
 Foreshorten'd, or in full development, 
 
 Or else curtail'd by some defect of light. 
 
 The variety we see in outward 
 
 Aspect, no two forms alike, tho' so few 
 
 The features that compose expression. 
 
 Yet ever individual in size. 
 
 Proportion, and combined effect, in mind 
 
 Must equally exist, all whose subtle 
 
 Elements elude our computation. 
 
 Worse than hopeless then the attempt to find 
 
 Uniformity of thought and feeling 
 
 On any subject which demands our care. J 
 
 Hence necessity of toleration 
 
 In religion, its varied creeds and rites ! 
 
 A theme too nicely scann'd in our belief, \ 
 
 Too fitly moulded to the inward sense, 
 
 To be squared by rule, and made 
 
 Adapted to the universal mind. 
 
 It alone can profit where its doctrine 
 
 Springs from our convictions, and where its rule, 
 
 Acknowledged by the heart, sways each impulse 
 
 There, making life a service to the faith, 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 195 
 
 Inseparably join'd, a freedom felt 
 Froui all conscious absence of control. 
 
 The restraint imposed on the assenting 
 
 Will, thro' moral obligation based on 
 
 Piety, is the only freedom known ; 
 
 All else implies a bondage o'er the mind. 
 
 The constraint of passions which have never known 
 
 The curb, the world's example, so potent 
 
 To mislead — opinion, universal 
 
 Judge, or fashion enticing to us all. 
 
 These still may be permitted guides, tho" oft 
 
 Delusive, and without some previous 
 
 Standard to refer our judgement, we fail 
 
 To follow but in the general wake, 
 
 Impell'd by forces greater than our own. 
 
 But under such protection, we pursue 
 
 Our way in peace, fearless of all censure. 
 
 Whether lone, or blended in the mass. 
 
 For we but follow where we else should lead. 
 
 There is no real life where liberty 
 Is not, as the air we breathe, our birthright, 
 Part of our very being, essential 
 To its every need ; and without v/hich 
 We die to all the nobler j)urposes 
 Of existence ; body without a soul. 
 We have no perfect law conferring it, 
 Save that religion graves upon the heart. 
 The eye by which we read the commandments 
 Of our faith ; thro' which it is our duty 
 
 o2 
 
196 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 In all time, — the only Sabbath ! to search 
 
 The scriptures, the only ritual left ; 
 
 Making our worship to be coeval 
 
 With intelligence, and coexistent 
 
 Ever with our thoughts, our deeds and motives. 
 
 We only thus fulfill the Injunction 
 
 To prefer our orisons in spirit 
 
 And in truth, conforming all the nature 
 
 To the service of the Supreme, himself 
 
 A spirit, seeking such to worship him. 
 
 Consistently with the life and virtue. 
 
 There must be no hallucination here. 
 
 No fond delusion, as if time or place 
 
 Prescribed were adequate to a service, 
 
 Demanding every moment of our care, 
 
 Which admits no pause, jealous to require 
 
 All things at our hands, to be incessant 
 
 At our labour, with undivided zeal. 
 
 Faithful to our duty, but free in will. 
 
 To accomplish all within our power, 
 
 But only in the livery of our bond. 
 
 There are who limit worship to an hour, 
 Ascribing sanctity to place and time, 
 Investing man, as erring as ourselves. 
 With anointed power, and earthly structures 
 As the shrines peculiar to our trust. 
 They consider these as holy, blending 
 Them with their conceptions of religion, 
 A thing apart from ordinary life, 
 From the familiar scenes of nature ; 
 
HOME AXD ITS DUTIES. 197 
 
 Putting a curb occasionally 
 
 On the will to restrain its tendencies, 
 
 To leave it free or loosed, when most it needs 
 
 Control, in the dail}' rounds of duty. 
 
 Where temptations lie at every turn 
 
 To make the world exclusive to our view. 
 
 But who observant of the mind may hope 
 To force its eager sympathies, making 
 Them obedient to control, changing 
 Direction, to suit some formal plan ? 
 Or compel the stubborn heart to forgo 
 Its privilege, and be subservient 
 To establish'd rule ? who force conviction 
 On the judgement, tho' the plea be urgent, 
 Sanction'd by authorities in all time ? 
 
 Sufficient what is saaction'd to each mind, 
 
 That meets consent instinctive to the thought. 
 
 Gives energy to principle, quickens 
 
 Faith, and satisfies the claims of duty. 
 
 If forms can aid, however profitless 
 
 To those who abstain from their observance; 
 
 Or if stated times incite to deeper 
 
 Meditation, these all are holy rites, 
 
 By their effects and uses justified. 
 
 But difference of mode or influence 
 
 Imply nor want nor excess of credence, 
 
 Authorizing least uncharitable 
 
 Imputations, as if superstition 
 
 Or the infidel doubt usurp'd the thought. 
 
198 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Siicli rash aspersions ever poison peace, 
 
 Sow the rank seeds of discord thro' the world, 
 
 Embittering social intercourse ; 
 
 Fixing on amiable characters, 
 
 Touch'd with every grace, suspicions foul. 
 
 Painful alike to hear, unjust and false. 
 
 Strange ! that a principle so refining 
 
 As religion, blending with all our best 
 
 Affections, itself the source of every 
 
 Virtue, the connecting link between earth 
 
 And heaven, allying man to the just 
 
 Made perfect, the angelic host, who know 
 
 No other thought than piety, the sole 
 
 Expression of a life spiritual 
 
 In the presence of the Supreme, — most strange f 
 
 That such a feeling, meant to purify 
 
 The grosser elements of our nature, 
 
 To soften every passion, to refine 
 
 And elevate the soul, should in gentle 
 
 Bosoms e'en be oft associated 
 
 With illiberal zeal and rancorous hate, 
 
 Because minds as pure and conscientious 
 
 As their own adopt a difl^erent sense 
 
 On subjects which admit of no consent 
 
 Common to all who profess a common 
 
 Faith, enjoy equally the promises 
 
 Of a common hope, putting their equal 
 
 Trust in the common providence of God ! 
 
 But however painful to the candid 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 199 
 
 Nature the censure of the world may be, 
 
 There is a claim above the world's regard, 
 
 Its principalities and powers, the mind 
 
 Itself, its conscientious thought, which must 
 
 Be satisfied. Tho' it be isolate 
 
 From all human sympathy, it will find 
 
 Meet favour where it must alone be sought. 
 
 We have our guidance ; not every zealot 
 
 Whom we meet, oracular in judgement, 
 
 Who expounds the law, nor admits a doubt 
 
 Of what he deems truth, sinning against all 
 
 Judgement in his ignorance of its first 
 
 Element, charity, and above all, 
 
 Humility, the essence of all truth. 
 
 We have our guidance : the great example 
 
 To our faith, whose compassion is our best 
 
 Assurance in the hope of acting well 
 
 Our part by prayer and meditation ; 
 
 Nor need we fear, supported by his love. 
 
 Familiar with his precepts, kindling 
 
 Piety by communion of the heart 
 
 And mind with the Father of our spirit, 
 
 The busy condemnation of the world. 
 
 Alas for human blindness I how many 
 
 Pride themselves on religious truth in vain, 
 
 Professing it in all humility 
 
 Of language, to deny it in the life ! 
 
 They nourish strange delusions with strange creeds. 
 
 All who differ from them condemn'd to die 
 
 Without compassion and without a hope ! 
 
 Who, weary with disgust of bigotry. 
 
200 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 But sighs to find some favour'd nook of earth 
 Where charity might dwell without alarm 
 From outrage, sharpen'd by fanatic zeal ? 
 That blest retreat is yet denied to all. 
 There is no refuge from the poison'd shafts 
 Of keen intolerance : not an effort 
 Made to soften human woe, but the herd 
 Of zealots question the intent, unless 
 The clang of fetters, forged to bind the thought, 
 Be heard to blend their discord with the deed. 
 Goodness has no exemption from their rage, 
 Benevolence no plea, nor innocence 
 Protection : recreation is a sin ; 
 A cold formality, so destructive 
 To free developement of character, 
 Advocated, but to deform the life. 
 
 But evil, whatsoever shape it wear, 
 
 And none more hideous than bigotry, 
 
 Has moral tendencies. Life is no scene 
 
 Of easiness and sport, where careless hearts 
 
 Re-echo sounds of mirth to glad appeals. 
 
 Responsive, in peaceful glades, where cloudless 
 
 Skies throw radiance on unfading bloom. 
 
 We must wrestle with contention, seeking 
 
 Repose awhile to renovate our strength 
 
 To meet opposing obstacles. The world 
 
 Has high attractions, full of nobleness 
 
 And power, bright examples of excelling 
 
 Virtue : but it has its shades. When these wear 
 
 Upon the spirit, presenting objects 
 
 Of discouragement to depress the mind. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. '201 
 
 We shrink within to hold communion 
 
 With the idols of our thought, imaged forms 
 
 Which imagination decks with light, caught 
 
 From inspiration of the wise and good ; 
 
 Or we fly to nature in her silent 
 
 Haunts, there to contemplate the beautiful. 
 
 Which abstracts us from ourselves, supplanting 
 
 Self by the higher aspect of perfection ; 
 
 And the glow of disinterested thought 
 
 Thus communicated kindles within 
 
 The energies unknown of sacrifice, 
 
 Calm and irresistible in their power, 
 
 Fruitful in every virtue, suggestive 
 
 Of a courage, force and elevation, 
 
 And a sympathy far above our own*. 
 
 'T is wise in us to leave the busy throng 
 
 Of worldly interests, inimical 
 
 To peace, where hollow councils fall so far 
 
 Below the standard of our hope, and where 
 
 Examples sap the confidence we place 
 
 In virtue, conscious that we have resource 
 
 In nature to reassure the spirit 
 
 Depress'd and doubting of its plans of joy. 
 
 There is no other solace in the rude 
 
 Collisions of society, in which 
 
 We seldom meet the sympathies we need. 
 
 Our thoughts estranging us from the gayer 
 
 Crowd, absorb'd in objects unfamiliar 
 
 To our taste, or unaccordant, making 
 
 * Constant, Melanges de Litterature, p. 176. 
 
202 HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 
 
 Our being an exception to the rule. 
 
 We forget the energies which abound 
 
 Throughout creation, not more without 
 
 Than in the deep recesses of the mind, 
 
 Which may be made the firm abode of thoughts 
 
 Excursive in their range o'er every tlieme 
 
 Of glory, with imagination prompt 
 
 And unconfined to guide their pathless way. 
 
 Inheritors of exhaustless power, 
 
 It is the thankless only from supine 
 
 Forgetfulness, who bemoan their state, blindly 
 
 Indifferent to capacities, which 
 
 Might enable them to rise by faithful 
 
 Effort to the highest comprehension, 
 
 The attributes sublime of Deity, 
 
 Impress'd on all which the eye observant 
 
 Can glean within its boundless range of view. 
 
 Who, pure of purpose, with his mental eye 
 Directed to impending destiny, 
 Reveal'd, inevitable, imminent. 
 Will e'er debase the dignity of hope 
 Which knows no conscious limit to its flight? 
 The misery we feel we oft create, 
 Our happiness so lowly placed on chance. 
 That any change of circumstance affects 
 Us, well or ill, as the prevailing thought 
 Fix'd on no firm foundation may decide ; 
 Looking abroad with restless search for good 
 When we have chymic power to separate 
 Sweets e'en from all the bitterness of fate. 
 
HOME AND ITS DUTIES. 203 
 
 For we are but " pipes for fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please," tho' melody, 
 Beyond the concord of known sounds, is ours, 
 If discord were not made to vibrate 
 From our lack of skill to bring forth the tone. 
 
 Concluding Sonnet. 
 
 My dream has pass'd ! Tho' a changeable one, 
 It has beguiled some weary hours of night 
 And morn away. I at least have no right 
 
 To quarrel with it, having served my turn. 
 
 Like most fancies, which only profit those 
 Who indulge them, mine will prove tedious 
 In recital. Yet I am serious 
 
 In the belief that all who may choose 
 
 " To ponder fitly," will find themselves, if 
 Not better, wishing to be so. I fear 
 Some may look grave, or stern o'er errors here 
 
 And there discernible, and others stiff: 
 
 But I cannot see why thoughts should not be 
 
 Free, if honest, tho' all may not agree. 
 
 THE end. 
 
PRINTED BY RICHARD AND JOHN E. TAYLOR, 
 RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET. 
 
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