^mmim. .^-s^.f t"--.' .-.1 '. ..«■ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POETIC ZEPHYRS. Bury : Printed by folui Heap. OETIC ZEPHYRS. BY JAMES HOLDEN BURY : PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY J. HEAP. 1866. k rR CONTENTS. Summer .... The Death of Childhood Death of Richard Cobden, M.P. Lily Gray.— A Ballad . To a certain Lark at Daybreak . Sweet Love of Mine. — To Her in Youth Sweet Love of Mine. — To Her in Old Age Good Time for Lancashire. — Written in April, 1863 Little Claribel ..... Invocation to Spring .... The Rose and the Myrtle. — A Dialogue . A Hymn ...... Lines Written in a Lady's Album. — 1\\ Scotch Dialect Shakspere. — Written in April, 1864 From Hollingworlli to Roclidale. — On a Summer Evening Page. 9 25 i9 33 45 48 52 56 63 68 74 80 84 88 S6GG82 VI. Contents. To Elizabeth ...... May-Day Morn ...... My Garden. — By an Old Bachelor Lines on the Death of Count Cavour. — Written in May, 1862 ..... An Album . . . , . Acrostic. — On seeing a Daisy alive at Christmas . God Bless the Prince and Princess. — On the occasion of their Marriage, March, 1863 Going a-Maying ..... To ...... Picture of a Hayfield. — Scene in Wardleworth Brow- Rochdale, August 28th, 1862 To Watch and Pray ..... Henry Kirke White .... Robert Bums ..... To On the Death of a Favourite Rabbit The Emigrant's Return .... Page. 103 104 no 120 125 128 130 135 138 141 153 155 160 162 165 167 169 Contents. vu. The Weeping Maid's Reply. — The Sublime and the Ridiculous ..... The Rifle Corps. — A Satire written in June, i860 Robin's Fix .... To ..... To To a Friend at Christmas . Christmas Acrostic. — A Wish O Dig it near the Western Gate . On the Death of F. A. R. To . (To Her in Sickness) . " Vote of Thanks to the Ladies," &c.— Recited at a Tea Meeting, April 22nd, 1862 . Prologue. — Read at a Tea Meeting connected with an Improvement Class . Epistle to a Friend. — April loth, 1861 On the Cliffs .... Page. 179 181 186 191 193 195 204 206 213 216 218 227 232 237 SUMMER OW is the golden time, mellow time, When Youth and Beauty, Love and Hope, Descry through Nature's telescope Their images i' bravest prime ; II. For now fair Nature owns no fault ; She tops the summit of the world, WTierefrom the gods are willing hurled, To make — by Magic's grand assault — lo Summer. III. Woodland terraces all ablaze With emerald fire that throbs and heaves, And palaces of clustering leaves Flame brilliantly with rubiest rays. IV. Now Splendour is on tip-toe stretch, To flash her presence through all space, Ere Autumn's Queen draws on apace, The Summer's wonderments to fetch ; V. And Pride puts on her lofty airs, And the Purple and the Linen fine Of Nature wears ; and Bliss divine On food of Paradise, sumptuous fares ; Stmimer. 1 1 ^^. While Echo stoops on the qui vive, To catch the Breathings of Dehght From mouths of Flowers, and lips of Light, And send them on vibratingly. VII. Now Plenty shouts from out a heap Of Blessings golden ; and Queen Love Outspreads her wings, and rules above The Heart of Youth, of passions deep ; VIII. And Mirth is in her happiest mood ; While Memory wheels up from the Past, To crown the Present, glories vast, And Beauty brims with Heaven's own good. 1 2 Summer. IX. Now Fancy swingeth back the doors, — The mystic doors of Wonderland ; We hang upon its rosy strand, And roam its gold-mist-veiled moors ; X. While Praise mouths out her very soul, And linkt with Hope sweeps round the vale ; Joy mounts the shoulders of the gale, And Pleasure froths her sparkling bowl. XI. What Spring bequeatht of Innocence Now wantons with the blue-eyed hours, In labyrinthine greenered bowers. In summer glooms superbly dense. Summer. i XII. Now from her lattice, all aglow, Aurora peers i' sheeniest robe, And speeds athwart the new-born globe, Bright shafts of scarlet from her bow ; XHI. While from their tree-towers, faerilie-fine, The larks shoot music on to flowers, To melt i' their hearts to richest dowers O' merry-making, maddening wine ; XIV, And rillets twinkle diamond-drops, And trip it gay on silver feet, Dowii avenues of odours sweet. Through beechen green, and elm-tree copse. a 14 Slimmer. XV, Now the green light a-laughing mocks Each violet's eye o' love-blue tint, And like a pretty Imp doth glint At coolest, lushest, leafiest nooks. XVI. And the silvery gossamer, weirdly Haunts the air like a midday ghost, And Song, in a winged bark, is lost While revelling i' the blue air-sea. xvri. Now insects steal up faery stairs To catch the sunbeams, them to crowd Into a gorgeous living cloud. That flashes out at unawares, — SiLmmer. 1 5 XVIII. That winks from out a million eyes, — Lifts with a million ardent hearts — And quivers with a million darts, Atipt with insect-mysteries ; XIX. While bees i' swarms do deeply boom, And i' the dimpled flow'rets lurk ; The secret of their honey-work To learn, from cups of drowsing fume. XX. Now amorous leaflets, azure-vein'd, Leap up with summer's greening blood, A surging, dancing, quickening flood. From out the vernal cloudlets rain'd. 1 6 Slimmer. XXI. And wee, wee Syrens of the dells, On lilies luxuriantly loll In royal ease, the while they pull The unseen ropes of fuchsias' bells ; XXII. While goldeny-sunny showers decoy, From couches green, flowers debonair, To fan the air with spices rare, And with the little blue-birds toy. XXIII. Now buxom winds, with stores of musk Of roses sweet, slip from the South, And kiss, with full, voluptuous mouth. The dallying sprays from dawn to dusk ; Stunnier. 1 7 XXIV. While a river of melody sweet, Cuts the blithe woodland atwain, And runs and ripples such a strain As is for Angel-listeners meet. XXV. Now flagons o' winy dew are pusht Out o' the windows o' the dawn ; — Wine, from some Elfland Fountain drawn O' nights by gods, — to make hot-flusht, XXVI. And drunken i' the head with joy, The early-rising passion-flowers. And change to spruce and gallant wooers Of birds, — buds and leaves erst so coy. 1 8 Slimmer. XXVII. Now the lush cherry copious bleeds, And reddens mossied gable wall, WHiere thrushes hold high festival And cater for the world's song-needs. XXVIII. Now the pear is ripeliest grown, Down to the dainty, dainty core ; And garbing precious treasures o'er, The apple boasts a ruddyish brown ; XXIX. And strawberries their coverings plump, ^^'hile peaches shine a golden rind, And currants, loth to be behind. With lusty juiciness upjump. I Summer. 19 XXX, Hedgerows — blinkt on by bonnie June — Grow rich i' wild thyme, wild bluebells, And sweetbrier ; than whose pleasant smells, The Summer has no princelier boon. XXXI. Nasturtiums — ^with gold-dash t-vermeil heads — Are i' the hey-day o' their prime, And up the garden palings climb. To spread o'er marigolded beds ; XXXII. And on the rushy upland, the broom Blooms purply, and woos the gipsy's grasp, And woodbinescottage-porches clasp ^Vith leaf-hands full of choice perfume. 20 Siiminer. XXXIII. In light straw hat to shade his eyes, The mower, with a spirit blithe. In shirt sleeves, briskly whets his scythe, And soon the pompous grass low lies ; XXXIV. And men and women shake it oft 'Neath genial sunlight, that it may Mature to sweetly-smelling hay. To garner up in barn's high loft. XXXV. Now grasshoppers do nimbly range Their grassy kingdoms poppy-deckt ; And the good hills with heads erect, A thousand holy kisses change. Slimmer. 2 1 XXXVI. With skyey cheeks that flush with heat, And the Great Sun — the glorious Eye Set i' Heaven's Head so regally — Looks down, where at his dainty feet, XXXVII. A braver, sensitiver heart Beats i' the bosom o' the earth. And roundens it to such a girth As makes its tensioned nerves upstart. XXXVIII. Now weeping willows lean the most, As tho' with harps of crost-loves crusht. And yearn for waters that are husht, To nod a tune of Hope long lost ; 2 2 Summc}'. XXXIX. And on the hill, and on the lea, The sheep and ox, too hot to browse, Themselves from lethargy ne'er rouse Till night swings o'er them coolingly ; XL. When Nightingales — like seraphs flankt— Dole out their grief, and o'er it brood. And sap therewith the very wood That was by day with Laughter prankt. XLI. And Night is but the web of day Spun out ; Phoebus plays the truant. And to supply the growing want, Diana for a time has sway ; SiLmmer. XLII. WTien warblers, too, call for their turn Of rest, and some are rockt to sleep In red-rose-cradles pillowed deep ; But soon the runaways return ; — XLIII. Sol steps atop o' the Eastern Hills Equipt for raiding thro' the Blue ; Song-birds their praise-solos renew, And lo ! the world with joyance fills, XLIV. Till Nature's kingliest thoughts do live In the green forest's summer-brain. And fields of fluctuating grain. Great earnests of rich harvests give. 24 Summer. Yes, Summer is a red-letter'd time In Life of bird, and tree, and flower, And their hearts grow merrier every hour, Till, O ! the Bells of Autumn chime. THE DEATH OF CHILDHOOD. (Suggested by Tennyson's ''Death of the Old Year:') HAT season of my golden dreams, O'er my head is quickly flying \ That mellow age which throws a ray Of gay romance o'er every day, Alas ! now lies a-dyint ig- 26 The Death of Childhood. Childhood, we will not part ! You've been so very long with me — You shall your stay prolong with me Childhood, we will not part ! It gave me joys which Laughter brought From happy Eden's sylvan bower \ And then it was that first I caught A passion for poetic thought, And felt its Avinning power ; — Childhood, you shall not go ! You came to me so cheerily — You've passed the time so merrily I Childhood, you must not go. The Death of Childhoody 2 7 In Childhood's day my flowers I nurst, And oft upon the grass soft-kneehng, Would watch for hours to know when first The hyacinth its cones had burst, Its constant flowers revealing. Then, Childhood, do not die ! The cup of mirth we've quaff^'d together, We've crack'd, and jok'd, and laugh'd together \ Oh ! Childhood do not die ! He is but young. Ten short yeafs Since first I knew him now have flown, And yet his face a sadness wears, And he is leaving me in tears, Clad in his flowing sable gown--= 28 The Death of Childhood. Farewell, if you will die ! I can do nought but weep with you ! May I lie down and sleep with you ? Whisper now — ere you die ! DEATH OF RICHARD COBDEN, M.P. HE hero of a hundred glorious, bloodless Fights, fought for liberty when in its Youth ; Brave, blessed Bread-winner to thousand foodless Ones, who have hung upon his words of Truth ! 30 Death of Richard Cobden. O bravely did he the Sons of Toil urge on Right-ward ; and, having firmly taken root, The Tree of Liberty did quickly burgeon Into blossom, and bore us luscious fruit. How he could sway the hearts of peoples legion, From out the broad and dangerous paths of wrong To the fair walks of virtue — God's own region ! How did he help the Weak against the Strong ! Child-simple, yet in mind of Kingly bearing ! The man of grand though unadorned speech ! And, while sinking thoughts of self, uprearing A. life, which but the truly good can reach. Death of Richard Cobden. 3 1 When he began the conflict, oh how fearful Were the odds ! — David's Uttle Justice-sling 'Gainst Error armed to the teeth. — Yet cheerful He went forth, and he came back conquering. How rare such true and clearly-ringing metal 'Mid so much dross ! And now, mourned e'en by foes, When he has borne the heat and brunt of battle, The Statesman-warrior finds, in heaven, repose. His Life was sweetened Toil ; he — lightly leaning His world of care on God's strong arms of Love, And fighting for the Right — was ever weaning His mind from too much love for what he strove. 32 Death of Richard Cobdcn. Truly noble Patriot ! Large-hearted Donor ! Thy words and deeds shall never be forgot ; Thou to furthest time shall be crowned with honor, And in the Nation's heart hold the best spot. LILY GRAY. (a ballad.) LREADY through the western gates, Had sunk the dying day, And twihght stole upon the scene, Waving lier banners grey, 34 Lily Gray. II. When passing by a churchyard wall, With dingy moss o'ergrown, I heard, methought, a dismal wail, Atween a sigh and moan. ni. I quickly scaled the mouldering wall, And in the sombrous gloom. Half-hidden 'neath a cypress tree, And leaning o'er a tomb, rv. A comely youth, in seaman's garb, Sat weeping like a child ; His breast he beat in sad despair. His hair was streaming wild. Lily Gray. 35 " Why loiter here, thou sailor lad, '* These ghastly tombs among ? *' Dost make thee shed those bitter tears " To hear the ring-dove's song ? VI. " The phantom shadows of the trees " Athwart the gravestones fall, " And Evening's solemn bird now chants " From yon grey turret wall !" vn. Quoth'd I — " It grieves me much to see *' A stalwart youth downcast, " One who has braved the tempest wind " Which bends the gallant mast." ''6 Lily G7'ay. 3 viir. Lo ! when I spoke of billows high, He to my side drew near, And slow upturned his mournful face, This bright-eyed mariner. IX. " Ah ! gentle Sir," quoth'd he to me, " Deep solitude is dear : " But listen to my piteous tale," Sobbed the young mariner. " Secluded from the haunts of men, " Adown a valley green, " The sweet abode of Lily Gray, " A cottage could be seen. Lily Gray. 37 XI. " Oh Lily was no light coquette — " She knew no artful wile ; " Ever loving and beloved, " She had for all a smile. xn. " Her auburn hair, in easy curls, " About her neck was strewn, " Appearing like soft, golden clouds " Aflitting past the moon." xni. " Her cheeks were of an Angel's hue, " Commix't with venneil red, — *' Such intermingling dyes are like *' Roses 'mong lilies shed. 38 Lily Gray, XTf. " Her tout ensemble it was chaste ; " Radiant were her eyes, " Outvieing e'en the bright-haired sun, " When seen in western skies." XV. " Full tnellow was her voice and sweet, " Enchanting old and young, " Who, when the harvest work was done, " Sat listening to her song." XYI. " Nimbly as a fawn she tripped " Across the primrosed lea, " And on her noble brow there reigned " Beauteous serenity." Lily Gray. 39 XVII. " My father was a wealthy peer, *' And owned lands broad and fair ; " We dwelt beside the River Dee, " And I his only heir." xvin. " Mid light and music I did rove, " Blithe as the lark at morn ; " My life was sunshine without shade, " A rose without a thorn." XIX. " Till Lily, flowret of the vale, " Did win my youthful heart, " And oh 1 with what a deadly aim " Had Cupid shot his dart I 40 Lily Gray XX. " My pallid cheek, and sunken ey6, " Bespoke of love supreme : " It occupied my thought by day, " By night my every dream." XXI. " Unnumbered youths of noble mien, " Some prince-born of the land, " Did either feel, or feign a flame, " And sought fair Lily's hand. xxn. *' But ah ! her blushes when I gazed " Her love for me betrayed, "And ere our childhood's days were pass'd, "We each our vows had made." Lily Gray. 41 xxin. " Oft would we hie, claspt arm in arm, " To some dim twilight grove, " And there, amid the gathering gloom, " Unfold the bliss of love. xxrv. *' One day I left my father's house, " And took a walk alone ; — " The grass was ready for the scythe, " The poppies newly blown. XXV. " Now when I clear'd green busli and brake,' " I found me near a field, " Where stood my darling with a youth, " With the tall grass concealed. 42 Lily Gray. XXVT. " And through the honeysuckle hedge, " I saw her place a blossom, " Bedight with flowers that tokened love, " Upon his heaving bosom. xxTn. " My brain was crazed, full quick I drew " My sabre from its sheath ; " ' O my brother, save,' — she stept between, " I struck — she fell beneath. ***** xxvm. " Yes, she was dead — I left the spot, " Upon the banks of Dee, " And since that cursed hour I've been " A rover on the sea. Lily Gray. 4 XXIX. " But canst thou tell me, stranger-friend, "If she be buried here ? " For where she is I too will be," Groaned the poor mariner. XXX. But now the Stars began to blink. The moon shone cold and clear, Oh, heavens ! how ghastly was the face Of the sad mariner. xxxr. To wipe the cold sweat from my brow, I stept from off the stone. And when I turned me round asjain. The mariner was gone. 44 Lily Gray. xxxn. And since I've never passed at night A churchyard wall for fear ; For oft I've thought it was the ghost Of some drowned mariner. TO A CERTAIN LARK AT DAYBREAK. ANDERER through the silent sky, Dimly seen by human eye ; Thrush and swallow seem to be Content to perch on tuft and tree, — Aspiring minstrel ! up thou springs, On thy lucid, quivering wings, — 46 To a Certain Lark at Daybreak. Sleeks thy coat of fairest hue, In Nature's coolest, freshest dew, . And eager leaves thy mossy nest, To greet the crimson-glowing East. Is yon thy mansion near the sun, In the Eastern horizon? To the poplar's dizzy height, Thou, twinkling, takes thy daring flight. Few other birds can thereon rest. And thus thou art a welcome guest. Now thou revell'st in Phoebus' rays, Carolling thy gushing lays ; Now thou'rt lost in cloudlets dim, And though it be a childish whim, I fancy thou art made of light ; To a Ccrtai7i Lark at Daybreak. 47 Converses with the angels bright, And learns from lip of Cherubim, The simple grandeur of thy hymn ; — And so from high a gift is given, Which gratitude devotes to heaven. The sight to me with good is fraught, A salutary lesson taught; — My mind shall leave this grovelling earth, And soar to things of nobler birth. To Jehovah great my songs I'll raise In gratitude and humble praise. SWEET LOVE OF MINE. (To Her in Youth.) AINTY, dainty, is the Moss-rose, 'Neath the stare of Phoebus blushing, While from its unstain'd greening bed, Where coy peers out the ripe, lush red, An elixir stream is gushing ; But daintier, holier, is the shrine At which I kneel — Sweet Love of mine. Sweet Love of Mine. 49 Maddening is the strong Dew-wine, From Morning's fair robe-skirts dripping, To the passionate flowers, which leap As if wizard-toucht, from their sleep, The fiery nectar first sipping ; More maddening far those charms of thine To me, — to me, Sweet Love of mine. Bewitching is the brave Lark's song, When yon 'fulgent orb acourting With her marvellous gamut of love, Whom she — on his mission above — From the ruddy East's escorting ; But more bewitching, more divine, Thy liquid voice-tones. Love of mine. 50 Sweet Love of Mine. Tranquil droop the infant Bluebells, When the summer eve's acoming, As if some Aveird Enchantress blest, LuUabied them to pleasant rest, While still in their Dreamland blooming ; But tranquiller dream thy dulcet eye'n, Archt grand with jet — Sweet Love of mine. Merrily come at sultry noontide. To the meadow-tenants parching, The Raindrops — messengers of mirth ! Which wed the Bride — ^the new cool'd earth — To the Bridegroom-heavens o'er-arching ; But merrier dances my heart's wine. When, when thy ruby lips meet mine. Sweet Love of Mine. A God-send to the wood's wee choir, Is the jovial Sunshine twinkUng, A-mellowing their frozen tSood, A-summering their deep song-flood, With the rich magical sprinkling; Thy smiles whereon my soul doth dine. Are mightier God-sends, Love of mine. SWEET LOVE OF MINE. (To Her in Old Age.) ilONSTANT'S the trellis'd Ivy-plant, Yon age-worn abbey climbing, For till the hallow'd walls decay, With it 'twill be perpetual May, Its dusk leaves ever priming ; But closer shall our fond hearts twine. The while we live. Sweet love of mine. Sweet Love of Mine. 5 3 Unruffled lives yon Autumn lake, 'Twixt asper mountains sparkling, — Embosomed like a nursling child, — While mirror'd on its surface mild. Are forms, half clear, half darkling ; Thy mind has been, thro' rough and fine, Serener far, Sweet Love of mine, A blessing is the purhng Rill, To meads thro' which it's wending, — Fresh'ning each sun-scorcht mottled scene, A-draping in a livelier green, Grief-'namoured osiers bending ; So reft of thee, my hopes would pine — With thee they bloom, Sweet Love of mine. 54 Swcd Love of Mine. Our Vine — our fovourite vine— is 'neath Ambrosial clusters shaking, As if some rural god, unseen, A miniature palace for his queen. In its tendrils were a-making : Thy life has been a richer vine Of christian acts, Sweet Love of mine. As the pale Moon illumes the night. Its sable mantle tinging With her fantastic silv'ry light, Eke with her figured 'broidery bright, The streamlet's margin fringing ; — So round my path thy Soul's rays shine, To show heaven's " strait-gate," Lo^•e of mine. Sweet Love of Mine. 55 Now on Eternity's vast Sea, Thou, dear, and I are verging ; But care we though its solemn wave Our twin-heart-shores begin to lave, Forced by the tide a-surging ? Nay ! cheery we in Life's decline, As in Life's hey-day, Love of mine. GOOD TIME FOR LANCASHIRE. (Writtm in April, 1863.; OME evil genius o'er our shire, His net has been broad-casting, But ye may set at nought his ire. Your thraldom can't be lasting. Oh ! ye whose locks are tinged with grey. Ye i' the dawn of sorrow, Breast stoutly Jordan's stream to-day, You'll Canaan tread to-morrow. Good Time for Lancashire. 57 Your up-hill road is bleak just now, No lamps your steps to brighten, The wine is suckt up i' the bough, Your hearts no song-birds lighten ; But pastures green lie right away Across the wastes of sorrow, Your hearts shall be — tho' faint To-day — A world of hope To-morrow. The waters chill which o'er you roll, Your words and deeds should chasten , And i' one Freemasonry of soul, The "Man" and "Master" fasten ; Give your noblest feelings play — 58 Good Time for Lancashire. Prove your manhood thorough ; Battle with Want, your foe, To-day, And Plenty crowns To-morrow. Hark ! ye whose sufferings cry aloud, Hark ! ye in secret pining ; Ye only see the murky cloud, And not its silver lining ; Nay ! faint hearts don't become a prey To th' canker worm of sorrow ; Prosperity's Sun's eclipsed To-day, But O, 'twill blaze To-morrow. Ho, big, brave, honest, working hearts, Ring out like truest metal, Good Time for Lancashire. 50 The dew of comfort quick upstarts Your life-flowers from the petal : Ay, from these seeming ills, ye may The sweetest teaching borrow, That they who feel the Thorn To-day, Shall pluck the Rose To-morrow. There is a dearth of labour, through Our Western brethren's blindness ; But ah ! no dearth (what an overflow ) 1 Of the milk o' human kindness : — From Truth and Virtue never stray, Though Grief your minds may harrow ; Tis sowing Sovereign-seed To-day That brings the Food To-morrow. 6o Good Time for Lancashire. If to one another ye prove leal, And o'er your soul's pavilion Let the Genuine Dove of Peace aye dwell, You'll win Love from the million ; — A phalanx'd-troop of friends to stay The turgid sea of sorrow ; You're buffetted 'mong the Waves To-day, You'll gain the Port To-morrow. To carve a path where legions throng, You are atiptoe yearning — Wait, be the lane never so long, 'Tis sure to have a turning. Bear up — the storm won't last for aye — A rainbow gilds your sorrow; Good Time for Lancashire. 6i You're in your chrysalis To-day — Of perfect growth To-niorrovv. Pshaw ! spend no moment of your Hves In sloughs of despair moiling ; Be of good faith, till there arrives The time for glorious toiling, — When ruthless swords shall cease to slay, And ploughs begin to furrow, When Commerce winds, dead-calm To-day, Shall blow a gale To-morrow. Plant your moral standard higher, And spurn mere tinsel glory ; 62 Good Time for Lancashire. Nobly to noble things aspire — Run well the race before ye. Cheer ye each other on your way, And brood not o'er your sorrow ; You walk Affliction's fire To-day, Oh ! come out "GOLD " To-morrow. mgwKgaa R^^ K^^ hC* *3nr 1^^ RH| ^ ^ rf ^ ii LITTLE CLARIBEL. LITTLE, little Claribel, With countenance so sunny, I cannot make her out at all, She is so very funny. Sometimes she steals behind my back, And with her fingers tiny, Will shut my eyes, and scornful laugh,- "Now don't things look sunshiny?" 64 Little ClaribeL Sometimes she comes, and shakes her locks. Locks, golden — sparkling — airy — Right in my face, and coaxing lisps — "Now say, I am a fairy !" Sometimes she'll stand atiptoe, and — As if with pleasure weary, — Press down my neck to her, and sigh- "Do kiss me, there's a deary." Always in depth-of-Summer days She plucks the freshest posy, And when she sees I'm pleased, she's pleased, And her sweet face grows rosy. Little Claribel. 65 Sometimes her cheeks blush deep, deep red ; Each lip ripes to a cherry ; Bewitchingly her blue eyes laugh, Her voice rings silv'ry-merry ; When suddenly the self-same face, And self-same form grow saintly ; The rich fire of her eyes dies down, The Blueness flashes faintly. Then she will look me thro' and thro' — (Her face of thoughts a medley ) — And as she seems to read my soul, Her cheeks no more bloom redly. 66 Little Claribel. Sometimes she thro' the window looks, In mood so very dreamy, That though I tease her, as I'm won't, She never seems to see me. And when I ask her why she acts So freely — then so coyly, She hangs her head :— "I love you much ; "So much," — she answers shyly ; " And when I see you love me too, " And smile on me so brightly, " I trust my golden hopes may flower, " And years pass o'er me lightly ; Little Claribel. 67 " But when I think you're growing old, " Dear Uncle, and must leave me, " A cloud steals o'er my little sky, " And dark forebodings grieve me." INVOCATION TO SPRING. OME, wonder-working Spring ! And snap from off the captive earth its chain ; Infuse fresh Hfe-germs in its every vein; Oh metamorphosise each deadened plain ! Crush out the ills which to it cling, And o'er its face thy Spirit fling ; For all things will thy coming bless If thou thy magic lever press. Invocation to Spring. 69 O doff stern Winter's ghostly dress For one of regal gorgeousness ; The curtain from yon Dome be roll'd, And make, with smiles, the cloudlets flee, So that the sun — a Ship of Gold — Sail gaily through a sapphire sea. In the golden Spring-time, The golden, mellow Spring. ' Come, merry-making Spring ! Come paint the laughing soil in colours sheen, Make far-off woods to shine with burnisht green, Be hill-slopes daisied ^vnth the Upland Queen ; Unfold thy rosy wing, And Nature's ample lap bestrew 70 Invocation to Spring. With health and youthful beauty too ; And where the candied grass once grew Let tufts of lilies peep in view ; Burst the buds of lilacs blue ; Let amorous pinks the low winds woo, And king-cups gem the banks anew ; Let cowslips bend 'neath loads of dew, And buttercups — to Spring-time true — Their yellow blend with violets' hue ; Where "Winter hoar precocious threw One puny primrose, just to shew He once was King ; Thus shed a galaxy of vernal stars To mark thy coming, O, merry-making Spring ! O, roseate-tinted Spring ! Invocation to Spring. 71 Come faery-footed Spring ! Give our imagination fuller scope, And let us steal, thro' thy mystic telescope, A glance of the regions of Fancy and Hope As they pass. Come and bring The sunny wind which fragrance boasts — Rifled from sweets on Southern Coasts — To breathe upon our grassy leas, Snatches of foreign melodies (Softened with coming o'er the seas) It caught while dallying Among the luscious orange-trees ! O, faery-footed Spring ! O, lovely, dainty Spring ! Come music-breathing Spring ! Send down thy balmy and matronly showers, 72 Invocation to Spring. To bathe their young children, the embryo flowers, As playmates for butterflies in voluptuous hours. Let thy voice, like a viol string, Make forests' spreading branches ring, With song that's mimicked in emerald bowers ; Let love-sick cuckoos sweetly sing, And woodlarks give their notes full swing ; Now call from other cHmes away The birds of passage — swallows gay ; Bid linnets whistle on the spray, And red-wing'd throstles herald May ; Bid speckled chafiinch its joy obey, And in twitterings its tribute pay ; Let the blue-bird — a blithe winged fay— For thee, O Spring, its love betray, Invocalion to Spring. 'ji l,et dimpled brooklets own thy sway, And dance to music on their way ; Let on their bosoms sunbeams play, Like Spirits in a loose array; O, music-breathing Spring ! O, generous-hearted Spring ! O, precious, precious Spring ! THE ROSE AND THE MYRTLE (A Dialogue.) WAS on a lovely Summer's day, I happened through the grove to stray , To ease my mind from worldly care, And breathe the vivifying air. The sky was one of azure blue. Save where one cloud of golden hue Encircled the sun on its way, As though it did its homage pay. The bonnie Lark soared i'the sky, The Rose and the Myrtle. 75 Warbling its song harmoniously ; The Thrush, inspired, poured forth a lav, As it skipped from spray to spray. A gentle Zephyr from the valley, Moved the trees fantastically. Nature was vocal now, I ween, As much delighted with the scene, Tn pensive mind T onward sped, When on a green and shady bed, I spied two flowers of different dye, Engaged in warm controversy. " I stand unrivalled" — the Rose said, (As proudly it reared its head) " The daffodil of brilliant hue, *' The violet so sweet to view. 76 The Rose and the Myrtle. " The primrose, cowslip, eglantine, " The pansy, cowslip, and woodbine, , •' All in me their charms combine." Again, addressing the myrtle, {Such was his foe) he paced a circle— " I'm of such a noble rank, " Sparkling on this verdant bank, " Like a pure and precious gem " In a Sovereign's diadem, " That if to me you do come near, " I know you all my garb would sear. " Devoid of beauty, form or taste, " I know not why your lot is cast " With me. I scorn you from my heart, •' And wish from me you would depart." The Rose and the Myrilc, The Myrtle heaved a heavy sigh, Shocked at the Rose's vanity. He now repUed in thriUing tone, His garments all aside were thrown — " What, though you are of pleasing form, " Possessed of every wishful charm, ^' What tho' the favourite of the nation — " Of noble ancestry and station ? ■" Remember that your life is brief, " Like the withering of the leaf. '' When winter comes you're sear and dead, ^' You float upon the water's bed, " And ushered in again with Spring " Your resplendent glories bring, " But tho' I am of mean estate, / / 78 The Rose and the Myj^tle. -' I'm not of such uncertain date ; " I brave the Winter's storm and blast, " When o'er this place the gloom is cast, •' I'm praised in prose, and sung in verse, " Which all my virtues do rehearse." Time speeds, — the day was at its close. And now from off the bank I rose. What I heard was surely true, And I from it a moral drew. Is't not the same with human kind ? At the face, not at the mind. Most persons look, A sparkling eye, A form of perfect symmetry, A cherry lip, a blooming cheek, Are nearly all for which they seek. The Rose and the Myrtle. 79 But in a few and transient years, Their beauty quickly disappears— The sparkling eye is weak and dim, The blooming face is pale and thin. But in a pure and transient mind, One chaste, sincere, and well refined, We have thro' life a blessing given, A guide to point our feet to heaven. A HYMN. ESUS, meekest of the meek. Ever found by them that seek ; Closest friend the Christian hath, Ray that gilds his Pilgrim path ; Balm that heals his every wound, Sun that makes Love's fruits abound. Let my soul from Earth take wing. While I all thy goodness sing. Jesus, meekest of the meek, Golden words of Comfort speak ; A Hymn. 8i When the lashing billows roll, With thy music cheer my soul ; When I with the foeman fight, Gird me with thy Spirit's might ; When the road is lone and drear, By my side be ever near. Jesus, meekest of the meek. Smiling through the midnight bleak, Blesser of the poor in mind, Priceless Pearl, which all may find ; Star of Hope, which never pales ; Cruse of Oil, which never fails ; Let me in thy Truth rejoice. Let me hear thy still small voice. 82 A Hymn. Jesus, meekest of the meek, Brightest Light on Faith's high Peak, Hill from whence our help doth come. Voice that calls us when we roam, Haven to the heart that craves Shelter from the stormy waves — O thou World of Sympathy, Hear me, hear me when I cry. Jesus, meekest of the meek. Tower of Strength to sinners weak ; Mine of Love too deep to gauge, Staff to comfort hoary age ; A Hymn. 83 Stretch'd-out Arm when danger nears, Bosom where we lose our fears ; When Death's shadows round me come, Take me to thy heavenly home. LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. ( In Scotch Dialect. ) CCEPT frae me, for Friendship's sake, This dainty nosegay, Annie, For oh ! it is an emblem meet Of thy virtues — many. Ilk forest dell, and elfin grot, An' flowery braes sae bonnie, I've robbed of a' their opening sweets, To deck thy posie— Annie. Lines Written in a Lady's Albtim. 85 The wakened lav'rock warbling springs When Phoebus peeps 'i view, An' 'twas then I found the queen-rose Fresh-washed i' coolest dew ; The Hly wi' its snawie breast Clad in a garb fu cannie, I hae pu'd an' placed it here, Since it is like thee — Annie. I've taen the mountain daffodil, Sae brilliant is its hue, The hyacinth for constancy Wi its unchanging blue ; The we fu' modest violet, The virgin snawdrop, bonnie, 86 Lines Written in a Ladys Album. The tender meek-eyed daisy, For they are Hke thee— Annie. The crocus and the primrose gay, As firsthng o' the year, The winsome dew-gemmed hlac. The cowsHp wi' its tear ; An' tho' nae e'ening star was seen, An' tho' yestreen was rainy, I pu'd the pink frae the lonesome glen, For it's thy emblem — Annie. I've tied wi' Friendship's silken bands This posie sweet o' thine ; An' let thine een blink blithe on it For sake o' "Auld Lang Syne." Lines Written in a Lady s Album. 87 An' Annie, maun this fair pledge dwell Where Memory holds a spot ? Since surely then ye'll make it prove, A true "Forget-me-not." SHAKSPERE. ( Written in April, 1 864. ; N Fame's Great Temple, all the people stand Awe-struck, as held in thrall by potent spell, With eyes upturned to the high pinnacle, Where, towering — unapproachable and grand — Stands Shakspere. While far, far beneath, a band Of Ambition's votaries, strive hard to gain The slippery steps which oft by tears of pain Are washed by many Great Ones of our land. Shakspere ! To thee some mystic power was lent, To mount at once and form a Monument. Shakspere. 89 Where verse-beauties are as fresh as ocean spray ; Dazzling as July's sun-quivers ; and more In count than gold-sands on the ocean shore ; Varied-toned as Minstrel's harp — soft as his lay ; Where all 's like Spring-flowers on a heaven-sent day ; Bright as stars — heaven's crown jewels — round the moon ; Where marvels are as forest leaves thick-strewn ; As densest-volumed blossom in sweet May — Where all is gorgeous, flowing, full, divine. Vain task to find in what thou most doth shine. Thy words are " Household Words ;" near our hearts lie ; They link our land, like an electric wire, 90 Shakspere. I'o lands remote — good fellowships inspire ; They are pictures of noble thoughts piled high. To deck the chambers of our Memory. They are beads we hang upon our spirit's neck To charm the vices' plague-spot. They beck And urge us on a loftier flight to \xy ; — Thus lifting us — the best ideal given ! — Farther from Earth and nearer up to Heaven. " A Poet, not for one age, but all Time !" The rightest epitaph for thy dear grave, And in our heart's heart we'll the words engrave In fire-letters. And since we cannot climb To where thy Si)irit draws its thoughts sublime, Be 't ours to sit down at thy feet and hear Shakspere. <) i Thee speak out things that touch the heart and ear, As does a Mother's prayer, or bell's sweet chime, Or as the grandeur of a Bible-psalm, "Which first can fire and then the soul becalm. Oh, lavish Nature ! Thus on him to shower At once The Graces and The Virtues rare ! Why hast thou made him thy especial care, Equipt and graced him with a heavenly dower, And Knighted him with honours little lower Than Angels boast? Ah ! sure thy happiest skill Was ablest shown in building up " Sweet Will" — 92 Shakspere. ^-ave testimony to the Muse's power : — Nature's Vicegerent, who the Thought-land guards, — The Passions' Artist, and the King of Bards. FROM HOLLINGWORTH TO ROCHDALE. ( On a Summer Evening.) o OW adovvn the Western slope, — Whereon is flung June's horoscope,- The Sun his load of light has roll'd Away, and sleeps in rose and gold, Till, above the horizon's verge, The pleasant waves of Dawn will surge ; When, toucht and flusht to life and Joy, 94 From Hollingworih (o RochciaCc^ He will emblazon land and sky Once more, and make a sea of Spires Scintillant with God-litten fires. Now Master Song dares no more stir And rustle trees, where precious myrrh Is hived in sly green secrecies, From out the reaches of wood-spies ; But ah ! the morn he'll drench in rains. Of richly-honeyed music-strains. n. This lane — which, like an emerald arm, Winds round the landscape's waist so warm — This lane — a pretty town of trees — The happy home of Birds and Bees — From Hollingworth to Rochdale. 95 Is no more noisy with leaf-tongues, (Whose utterances the breeze prolongs.) Its people — flow'rets primed with bliss — Have now received their bed-time kiss ; And, looking-up a fragrant thank. Each topples from the dewy bank. You pansies, quaker-like and prim ; You daisies, simple as a hymn ; You violets, with eyes divine ; You pinks, that reel with June's red wine : You foxgloves, from whose faery bells A p^an rolls, which Gladness tells ; You lilacs, starrily bedight, And all you other flowers — " Crood Night." 96 From Hollingworth to Rockdale. in. Tis twilight ; — Light with Dark doth cope ; And the world, like a kaleidoscope, Will be on the change, till Morn's eye Magics it into symmetry ; — Just as the letters of a book. Seen from afar, a medley look ; But which, when rightly read, unrol A Pleasure-garden for the soul. See ! now o'er hillsides and hilltops A veil (which Puck has woven) drops. And Evening, Uke a soothing psalm. Breathes out and smiles a holy calm ; While Evening's Goddess hath alit From Hollingzvorth to Rochdale. 97 On throne of June-flowers, there to sit ; And Silence, velvet-cloak'd, hath slid Down, the mellowly-fringed lid Of the Eye of the world to closei And lull it into sweet repose. Across the waters, all the woods Slip on their Summer-tinctured hoods ; While higher up, above their heads, Blackstonedge his limbs of heather spreads. Dark grow the hills ! Our backs behind, To sombre peaks the pathways wind ; While Rooley's far-off swelling moors. And " Knoll" that looks, by day, on floors So beautifully-greened and fair, Gleam purply tliro' the twinkling air. 98 From Hollingworth to Rochdale. Thus Silence rules where Mirth has been, And hovers o'er the darkling scene. IV, But list ! What breaks the giant hush ? — For wrapt in sleep are brake and bush. 'Tis Music, travelling o'er the lake, By sweetest storm soul-ears to take ; And water-softened strains now chime With, and to, the oars keep time. The Lake's sea-imitating waves Of things around become the slaves. Mirth smites the air — they dash up " here ; "v We liush our Mirth — they roll back " thete.'' Thus Mirth takes up the gauntlet thrown From Hollingworth to Rockdale. 99 By the great despot, Silence, down ; And, for to tell that Mirth has won, Light Echoes round the waters run. We leave the living Lake ; and now, A miniature mountain's brow We gain ; and soon — but not too soon — We see the bonnie Lady Moon, Who bursts her cloud-bands, gorgeous-dim, And takes the sky-tide in brave swim, To ope the floodgates of the Night, And let in Beauty and Delight ; And what was Nature's Red-and-green- And-blue-and-gold-and-crimson-sheen, lOo Fro7n Hollingworth to Rochdale. When Noon did "lord it" o'er the earth (Re-robed in raiment of " New Birth") Is silver'd over by a hand That holds a perfumed wizard's wand. And lo ! each hamlet, village, town. Vast " things of beauty " now have grown. " Distance lends enchantment ;" spires Seem all alive with bickering fires ; And see, like Magic, link on link Of windows (Eyes of Houses) ^yink, And ever and anon so glow On hills, and in the vales below. That they seem to our inner eye Reflections of the stars on high. From Hollinzwortk to Rochdale, roi vr. We leave the hills, by west winds fann'd, And all the charms of lower land, Which Space had mellow'd with her hue, Are brou!?ht much nearer to our view. Look back ! and you will be amazed To see the hilltop, whence we gazed, Seem all that made this spot to seem Fit brow for Nature's daintiest dream, — A stepping-stone to Summer's cliff, — On Verdure's Sea a gallant skiff; — Thus Beauty's shade shifts back when we Steal on to where it seems to be. And so it is. Most Joy will leap Into that ring which down Life's Steep I02 From HoIIingwortk to Rockdale. Is distantest; but which when near'd Is yellow, wither 'd, crisp 'd, and sear'd. We reach our several homes. Adieu To birds and bees and flowers and dew. Sweet is the blushing Mom, and sweet And solemn is the Noon-day heat ; But sweeter, solemner the Night, Than ail the Glories of the Light. TO ELIZABETH. |NCIRCLED with a halo bright, Leaning o'er the water chilly, In Simplicity's garment dight, Zone made up of heaven's own light, Abides yon spotless lily. Behold in it a lesson grand ! Each jewelled-hour hve purely ; Take Virtue's offered pearly hand — Hold on to heaven more surely. -^Jg^ MAY-DAY MORN. URORA'S bosom friend— the lark— i Woke by a faery's larum bell — That May approaches knows full well, E'en tho' the light yet fights the dark. His mates last night did serenade Departing April, with a rain Of music, all of farewell strain, And they are now in slumber laid. May -Day Morn. 105 So in their ears he whispers soft, "Oh fie ! my mates abed to He — Arise, long-lookt for May is nigh ; " Then, rapt in praise, he soars aloft To the Grand Eastern Entrance-Gates, Where sentry stands Day's Harbinger, And on a white cloud-branch anear. The coming of the Empress waits. Meanwhile Proud Pan, in bold array ; Shows forest trees, in native might, In light-green livery bravely dight, As loyal servants of The May. io6 May- Day Morn. And Flora 's long been all astir In her Empire's sylvan avenues, To give each flower heaven-pencill'd hues, And April's gamer' d-stores of myrrh. The Orient sky 's now rosy-flusht — Quick vanishes the Morning Star — The Gods the massive gates unbar — And while the Universe is husht, In all her bridal raiments gay, In amber wreath, and scarlet sash, — While 'mong her tresses jewels flash- In State is ushered in The May. May -Day Morn. 107 And lusty Summer, full of pride, In blossom robe, and sandals green, Advances from his arbour-screen, And clasps his tender, blushing bride. And now the lark from his watch-post — In a May-inspired madrigal — The welcome signal down lets fall, To a feathered Minstrel Host ; — Each one of whom 's in hottest strife To top the rest, and pierce the skies, While with the wood's song-batteries The May-Morn air is joyance-rife. io8 May -Day Morn. Ha! what a bustle in yon grove — Stronghold of birds, blooms, buds, and leaves, Each inmate's little heart upheaves To win the charming May's first love. Soon, with delicious draughts of Bliss, Each winsome warbler's soul shall dance — Each flow'ret reel beneath Her glance — Each leaflet feel Her burning kiss. The Alder-tree forgets to sigh, No Aspen shows a trembling leaf; And the wild bee — the garden's thief — With paramour goes humming by. May -Day Morn. 109 The rillets, with their pebble tongue Begin to prattle of The May ; And snow-white lambkins mirth display, And frisk the heath-clad hills among. Now voices on the breeze are borne, Of Youth and Age from City straying To the woods, to be a-maying Upon this merry May-day morn. MY GARDEN. (By an Old Bachelor.) Y Garden is a home to me, The flow'rets are my family, And oh ! my spirits till with glee, Oft as I pace it round. My Garden is to me a mine Of fragrant gems, which lustrous shine, And, joyful with full-summered wine, Is every bonnie leaf. My Ga7'den. My Garden is a spot to me Which Nature makes' a treasury, Wherein— in shape of flower and tree — She smiUng casts her wealth. I II My Garden is to me a mint, Where flowers of every rainbow tint Are coined by nature without stint. With beauty royally stampt. Along my Garden beds is roU'd As much of heaven as earth will hold ; In cups of blue, and pink, and gold. The birds quaff pearly dew. 112 Mj/ Garden. My Garden-gate does not shut up Those flowers which fullest are of hope ; The Daisy and the Buttercup Revel with the Queen-rose. And in my Garden-beds there be Among the flowers no rivalry ; Nature's kingly blooms you see Close to the peasant-herbs. The flowers to me sweet counsel give, Bid me for Virtue's heights to strive, Show how to be happy while I live, And when I die, gain heaven. My Garde7i. 1 1 3 The Violet says " Oh ! modest be, " The Lily adds " Have purity, " The Hyacinth sighs " Be like me. Constant in thy own day. " The plain, far-scenting Mignonette, On it I do much value set ; It teaches this, " Be meek, but let Thy actions be wide-spread." Lost in a broad lane of sunbeams. The Daisy's soul with rapture teems. And from its golden eye it seems To glance " Oh ! be grateful. " 1 14 My Garden. As up the trees in fairest prime The faithful Honeysuckles climb, My fancy gives them bells, whose chime Calls me from earth away. The Foxglove tall, with its long link Of fairy bells, of freckled pink, Has this language — " From low-deeds shrink. And index holy thoughts ! " The coffin flower — the Rosemary— Soft-whispers that I soon must die, Tells of a state beyond the sky. And bids me be prepared. My Garden. 1 1 5 The golden-dotted Bluebells cry, " We're like the heaven's bright canopy, At night inverted ; — so thou try To be like things above." The Myrtle, greening all the year ; The essence-loaded Lavender ; That flower which into heaven would peer — The name-sake of the Sun ; The small Heart's-ease, in humble gear ; The Rose, which holds a ruby tear ; Forget-me-nots, which blue garbs wear — 'Tis Constancy's own hue ; 1 1 6 My Garden. Cowslips, that hang the pensive head ; Daffodilhes, that wet their bed ; The Gentian, which, when summer's fled, Gleams through its Autumn-fringe ; The Ilehotrope, which proudly plumes Itself on giving best perfumes ; The Dahlia, which, when night assumes Her sway, steals so much de^v; The Passion-flower in scarlet dress ; The Tulip, topt with heavenliness ; — These are flower-vessels, which, to bless, Sail o'er my mind's calm sea. My Garden. 1 1 7 Each season's like a well-known face, That goes by at a merry pace, Whose flowery footfalls I can trace — 'Tis pleasant toil to me. The Crocus is hoar Winter's child, Spring's favourite is the Primrose mild ; Summer's offspring's legion — all joy-wild, The Gentian is Autumn's. A Willow Tree — a branchy dome — All o'er my little Garden-home, Doth fling an air of mellow gloom — A Sabbath stillness, sweet. 1 1 8 My Garden. And past the spot where, tired, I lie, A pretty brooklet crystals by. So archt by trees that scarce the sky Sees its own reflection. And through the ferns, and past The Hall, And o'er the rocks its waters fall, In silver droppings musical, Then twinkling 'mid green glades. The little birds are known to me, They come and skip upon my knee. Of crumbs they ask their daily fee, And pay in music coin. My Garden. 1 19 My Garden is Elysian-rife, Its walks were never trod by Strife ; If I lose it, I lose my life, — It is a World to me. I watch each flower's growth day and day ; I sigh if one should pine away ; When they are blooming I am gay ; I grieve, I joy with them. LINES ON THE DEATH OF COUNT CAVOUR. (Written in May, 1862.; P rose the Sun, as he was wont, O'er Turin's fretted spires ; Turin, which boasts of painted walls, Of towers, and festal fires. But since the West was last lit up. The Angel of Death had pass'd. And robbed the earth of a bright gem— Cavour had breathed his last. L hies on the Death of Count Cavour. 121 Go, Warrior — fling away thy lance, Thy corslet, casque, and spear, And drop upon his chill bleak corse One tributary tear ; And know, with him, not to vain pomp, Nor pageantry allied ; — That Virtue lost her greatest boast. Fair Italy her pride. When he was young — his country lay In Austria's grasp enslaved — And black despair o'er his large soul Its darkest pennons waved ; But soon throughout the noble land Was freedom's flag unfurled, I 2 2 Z ines on the Death of Count Cavour. And all the pent-up wrath of years At the base tyrant hurled. Sorrow darkens the hamlet now, And, too, the Princely Hall, To see the Statesman-warrior Amid true glory fall ; — • Saviour of the vine-clad hills ! Defender of the Cross ! Shaker of proud Joseph's power ! We deeply mourn thy loss. Nor bust of marble would he wish — Nor storied urn to tell Lines 07i the Death of Co7nit Cavour. 1 2 Who sleeps beneath — nor vain display — Nor solemn requiem's swell — Nor sable hearse to bear his bier, In raven plumes arrayed — Nor long procession, sad and slow — Alas ! these honours fade. J No, let Cavour's name be deep engraved On Prince and Peasant's heart, As one who held his country dear. And acted well his part : — And strew with rosemary and yew — Meet emblems of true grief! — T 24 Lines on the Death of Count Cavour. The giave of one who was cut down Ere the Oak was in the leaf. AN ALBUM. HE autographs of friends, which An Album's leaves contain, Are like a cabinet of rich And curious porcelain. An Album is a garden-plot, Where bloom Affection's flowers ; Shone on by Friendship's ripening sim- - And fed by Love's May showers. 1 26 My Albu77t. An Album is a landscape, With letter-beauties strewn ; Or like a sweet-strung instrument- Each friend's quill plays a tune. An Album 's a cathedral, wed To things which heavenward thrive, Where golden memories of the dead Keep fragrant and survive. The souvenirs of friends Which crowd an Album's pages. Are like a picture rare, which blends Fancy's happiest images. My Album. 127 An Album is a banquet-feast Of intellectual fare ; Its verses, costly viands ; Its proze-scraps, dainties rare. An Album is a garland-wreath Composed of wishes good ; Festoon'd with Love's flower-tokens, From Pleasure's Summer-wood. ACROSTIC. ( On Seeing a Daisy Alive at Christmas. ) RETTY, pleasant, praiseworthy sight ! A tender flower with crest of light, — (Used to the sunshine's golden shower, Laden with the Summer's wealth, Illumined with the Summer's health, Nurtured in some fairy's bower) — Escapes from Autumn's Ordeal-blast, Acrostic. 129 Softened and chastened and serene, — Unruffled as the storm roars past, Striving to cheer the sullen scene ; As grand as when in dew-dipt rest. Noble in low estate as high, Nestling in the Winter's breast, Alive to see the Old Year die. Well, be thou like this flow'ret-child, In midst of Winter's trumpet strife, — Learn to be meek, and pure, and mild. During bleak as well as sunny life. GOD BLESS THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS. (On the occasion of their Marriage, March, 1863 J HOSTILE visit did the Saxon Oft receive from the Dane of old ; But now a maid, with light hair — flaxen, Of princely birth, and princely mould, Has left the Danish Royal Courts, And 'cross the deep-blue sea has come, God bless the Prince and Princess. 1 3 1 To find on good old England's shores, — A mate, a welcome, and a home. And that her welcome has been warm. That memorable day evinces, Wlien every heart did feel the charm, And breathed — " God bless the Princess." II. Jubilant rung round the joy-bells, The Danish Lady's ears to greet ; The footpaths have been strewn with flowers, That eager kist her Royal feet ; Huge fires lit up the mountain-tops : Rich banners floated in the breeze; 132 God bless the Prince mid Pinncess. The guns have fired their best salute, And boom'd like thunder o'er the seas. Ah ! 'neath such grand display of joy, Disloyalty soon winces : — The burden of our wish has been For God to bless the Princess. III. All England answered to the call, And thus the welcome has been meet For the fair Dane with flaxen hair — With face so mild, and voice so sweet. In North and South, and East and West, Each heart with joyfulness did bound, God bless the Prince and Princess. 133 'Till every hill, and echoing vale With " Welcome, welcome," did resound. And e'en where Sickness has its sway, And poverty hard-pinches, A fervent prayer has reached the skies, For God to bless the Princess. IV. O may their union prove a gem, Richly their whole lives to adorn, — Be 't merry as their wedding-bells. And happy as their nuptial morn. May she who's wed be like our Queen — Her actions gold without alloy; 1 34 God bless the Prince a^id Princess. And may the " worth " of our dead Prince Live, and be imaged in his boy. May Albert Edward be one, who From duty's path ne'er flinches, Be 't flower-deckt, or a wilderness ;— God bless the Prince and Princess. GOING A-MAYING. HE violet is dight In a garb of blue, And the hawthorn white Has wept the silv'ry dew Off every spray, Mary-buds ope their golden eyes ; The garden-queen its fragrance sighs 1 3 6 Going a -Maying. Come Annie, from thy couch arise, And welcome merry May. The Lark has soar'd above, To usher in with pride The Queen of grot and grove, — Summer's blooming bride. Make haste, I pray ; And while the wild bee winds her horn, Lost in the cups of flowers new-bom, We'll deck our cot with the white thorn, In honour of the day. The kisses of the flowers, Give odour to the breeze, Going a- Maying. 137 There's warbling in the bowers And foliage on the trees ; Come, don't delay ; A fairy waves her magic wand, . And Flora with a lavish hand. Flings her gold-gifts o'er the green land, This merry morn in May. On such a morn as this, I see no good in staying ; Don quick your woodland dress, And let us go a-Maying, In spirits gay. Deckt is the laughing streamlet's side ; 138 Going a- Maying. With columbines in purple pride ; *' The meadows trim with daisies pied" Hold special holiday. TO- |NTHRONED upon thine inmost soul, Let Virtue reign supreme ; Enchanted spot, thro' which shall roll A heaven-reflecting stream. Nobler and nobler grow thy life, Odorous with deeds of love, Running clear of worldly strife, Help'd by the Arm above. Oh ! ask for blessings freely given, I40 To— Yearn for the Gospel Truth ; Lo ! then shall golden gleams from Heaven, Escape to gild thy youth. PICTURE OF A HAYFIELD. (Seen in Wardleworth Brow, Rockdale, August 1%th, 1862. j iJOST towns of which this district's full, Are piled with buildings dark and dull, And nought of Nature beautiful Can there be seen, From which we can wise morals cull, And lessons glean. And the poor wights who live, and move, And have being here ; who have strove 142 Picture of a HayJiJd. To win dear bread for those they love The most on earth, Are thus pent up from wood and grove, And scenes of mirth. The peasant snufifs the balmy air, Redolent with flowrets everywhere, His hall — the lofty trees so fair — He loves the most ; He treads a carpet brighter, gayer, Than lordlings boast. O for the spot where hills abound ! Where timid echoes do resound ! Picture of a Hay field. 1 43 Where the sunny side of Life is found In solitude ! To sit on crags, and catch the sound Of fell and flood. 'Tis true the moral appetite Is palled with excess of delight, Or cankering care ; with the world's fight, Or too much ease ; — A picture mixed with dark and light Doth oft most please. « Not fattening on Luxury's soil, Not revelling 'neath Fortune's smile, 144 Picture of a Hay field. Not spurning from us they who toil,. And till the ground ; But in Adversity's dread coil Sometimes be found. Thus Rochdale stands somewhat alone, For Commerce famed, yet Nature's own ; The loom, — all by Invention known Will flourish here ; And yet the Muse might settle down In scenes so dear. (the scene.) One side the field there nobly stood Nature's Cathedral grand — a Wood, Picture of a Hayficld. 145 Whose Aisles with reverence ever should By us be trod, Since the good things therein that bud Were reared by God. The Brook, which at the wood's foot streamed, (A ripphng silver thread it seemed) Whose banks with flow'ret-treasure teemed — Flowers, sapphirine And ruby, which, like Earth-lights, gleamed Amongst the green ; The Summer heavens, which so did vie With hues that cling to Italy, ** 146 Pichirc of a Hay field. That people, on the hilltops high, * Appeared to lean Against a framework of that sky Of azure sheen ; The pretty Cottages, foliage-clad, (Where shimmering sunlight was a-mad With joy) which, in the distance, had The pleasant look Of Children peeping coy, but glad, From some green nook ; The little Bridge that spanned the brook ; The sturdy Farmer with his crook. Pic hire of a Hay field. 147 WSho at the waggish Youngsters shook His ponderous head ; The Schoolboy rapt up in his book Of wondrous deed \ The bronzed -faced men who ever hail With joy the pot of nut-brown ale ; The lassie who with flow'rets pale Her bonnet hung, Whose silver voice rang thro' the vale In merry song ] The crawing from the Nursery-trees ; * The whirl of insects in the breeze \ 1 48 Pic here of a Hay field. The mastiff's bark ; the hum of bees * So gladly heard ; The rich out-gushing melodies Of grateful bird ; The Merchant-flowers of myriad count, (The which had oped a wide account With some kind Goddess, from whose fount Of precious scent They drew that fragrance which did mount To where we leant) ; — These gifts, so prodigally a-strewn, Were, on this dazzling August noon, Pichtre of a Hayjield. 1 49 Caught in a view so much in tune With Nature's pride, As would flatter e'en the Queenly June — The Summer's Bride. 'Tis meet, when Meditation sage, And hallowed thoughts our mind engage. To con such parts of Nature's page As suit our mood : This to man's mind in every age, Has furnished food. These sights, smells, sounds, had earthward stole To onward us to Pleasure's goal, I 50 Pictvre of a Hay field. To waft through portals of the soul Sensations sweet, And waves of Blessings rich to roll O'er Sorrow's feet. And thus a Hayfield, oft I've thought, May unto us with good be fraught, And Mom and Noon have many sought Such tranquil scene, And when dark shades, by Twilight brought, Will intervene. For oh ! the Grass that withereth, Man's emblem is, the Scriptures saith ; Picture of a Hay field. 1 5 1 Thy Sickle keen — relentless Death ! — Soon cuts us down Thou passest by — thou breathest thy breath, And lo ! we're gone. But e'en to this a virtue clings, Like healing to an Angel's wings ; For, where that Grass was, other springs (In turn to fade) ; — The hopeful blessed Spring-time brings The Virgin blade. So is it in the beaten path Of Life's short round. They whom Man hath i=;2 Future of a Hayfield. Hailed as the white flowers of our faith, Shall hence be borne ; And other brows shall wear the wreath Which they have worn. In Foxholes. TO OSES may chance, at the first sight, Our praises win, our souls delight ; Beautiful, sweet, and blooming too, — Enchanting with their deep red hue. Remember yet that tho' so fair, Though scenting all the Summer air, Hung o'er with Flora's choicest gems. Endless thorns entwine their stems. Nature, how true ! Here can we trace Reflections sure of Adam's race — Yea, e'en that Man is deceitful. 154 To — Hence take great care, and be thou wise ; On outward form set no great prize ; Look in the heart, and if there be Devotion firm, sincerity, — Enduring friendship thou shalt share, Ne'er to depart while Hfe is there. WATCH AND PRAY. HEN the Sun is shining In a cloudless Sky, And green-garbed Hope is joining Hand-in-hand with Joy, To make Life's early morning Bright, serene, and gay. Let thy Life's adorning Be this—" Watch and Pray." 156 Watch and Pray. When each heart-wish blossoms Into perfect flower, And its sweets embosoms In the passing hour ; When the world is pleasant, And sunny is the way ; Let this thought be present — " Ever watch and pray." Though Time's stream seems gushing O'er with full-voiced thanks, And thy Boat is rushing Past its flowering banks ; Know, it may be smitten With the blinding spray, Watch and Pray. 157 Wherein thou wilt see written " Take heed — watch and pray." Golden Youth will vanish To make for Manhood room, And Old Age will banish Traces of their bloom ; Then, through skies bedarkened, Will shoot a heavenly ray Of Hope, to those who've hearkened The words " Watch and pray." To weak and helpless mortals 'Tis a cheering strain. 158 Watch and Pray, Wafted from Heaven's portals. To bid us bear our pain, Till is lost in glory The setting of Life's day ; — Then, keep these words before thee- " Ever watch and pray." The prospect may be dreary. The mountain-path be steep, Thy spirit's feet be weary, And thou mayst want to sleep ; Then take the hand outholden — A sure support and stay — Watch and Pray. 159 And thou wilt win things golden If thou watch and pray. HENRY KIRKE WHITE. LEST be thy sweet and sacred Memory, Fair Child of Poesy ! that gift divine — Devotee at Nature's hallowed shrine ; As manifesting signs of Deity. Just as some dainty flower that charms the eye, No sooner blooms than withers and decays ; Or like some transient meteor's blaze That illumines a dark and sullen sky, Did'st thy bright spirit dwell in mortal frame, For a short time, to add to Virtue's fame. Henry Kirke White. i6i Everything in Nature told thee a tale — Every warble travelling thro' the grove; Every drop of rain stealing from above ; Every gentle breeze that swelled the gale ; The leafy woodland with symphonious wail Whispered God's love. Thou saw'st his wondrous skill Displayed upon the everlasting hill — In every tree and flower that deckt the vale. The Sun — the Moon — the Stars — his impress bore, Thou heard'st his voice in the wild Tempest's roar. ROBERT BURNS. I. POET of the plough ! we own thy sway ; For who hke thee could'st wanton with The Nine, And fling a radiance o'er every Hne, Soft as the mellifluent dews of May ? A strain of melancholy runs thro' thy lay ; Lovelier far than if divinely bright ; — So do the varied tints of solemn Night Commingle with the hues of gaudy Day. Robert B%irns, 163 Thou art peculiarly volant Fancy's child, Who trained thee up to sing those "wood-notes wild," Thy genius did'st not flash with sudden gleam, And then lie dormant till a genial hour, But eagle-like impetuously did'st tower. Dazzling to the eye as Noon-day's scorching beam. Thou clad'st in heaven-bom verse the simplest theme, — The "Doon" and "Ayr," not linkt with classic lore. Possess a magic spell unfelt of yore. And now with rich associations teem ; Thou placed'st a chann on field and fruitful sod, For there thou saw'st the handiwork of God, 164 Robert Burns. m. For Liberty thy Muse did'st never tire, And on its foes successfully she warr'd ; And thou wilt be Old Coila's fav'rite bard To age remotest. Thou their souls could'st fire With one wide-sounding sweep of thy Orphean lyre. Thou taught'st that Freedom was a priceless dower, Scorned'st beneath the rich man's frown to cower, Albeit he be born of princely sire ; Proclaimed'st that Independence was to live According to Man's sole prerogative. TO j|AY can boast its dews delicious ; April, sun and shower capricious ; Rosy June is flower-attended ; July spreads out landscapes splendid ; August shows these beauties blended, — Ripened fruits and sunsets glowing,^ Odorous plants and streams soft-flowing. Then September comes all mellow, Heaping up the harvest yellow. 166 To — Well these charms, our Life adorning, Ethereal are as mists of Morning ; Lilies fade, and leaflets perish — Love models more meet to cherish. Be like the Evergreen, blooming ever ; As gentle as a Summer River ; Constant as Ivy, which nought can sever ; Unspotted as the Stars eternal ; Pure as the Myrtle, chaste and vernal. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE RABBIT. HEE, poor thing, we must consign To the dark and dismal grave ; Comforted, thou did'st repine — Help and pity could not save. Born and reared in balmy Spring, Thou wast content and gay ; i68 Death of a Favoi'ite Rabbit. Summer did her pleasures bring, And thy death seemed far away. Autumn, too, thou did'st o'ercome In thy mansion nice and neat ; Winter came, and took thee home — Gentle, dear, and loving pet. Buried deep beneath this bed, O'er-shadowed by this woodbine-bower ; Our footsteps hither shall be led To muse on thee hour by hour. THE EMIGRANT'S RETURN. IS first of May, and near five years Since last I crossed this road, To reach the ship that carried me Over the ocean broad. Ambition leapt high i' my breast, The fire-thought raged within,— That on Old England's busy shores No fortune could I win ; 1 70 The Emigrant' s Return. So I left my wife and my child A foreign land to roam ; Sing O, but my heart beats lighter As I near my native home. I love this old familiar road — Rich in trees, flowers, song, and light- Here ash and chesnut, beech and birch, Canopy the hedges bright. Whereon Spring hangs her earliest buds To steal the hearts of Birds, And barter their Birthright of Sweets For Music without Words. Along its length, the sunshine loves To ever come and go The Einigra7if s Return. lyj Through boughs, which, whitening with the May, Shake down their scented snow. And, where this leaves the other roads, Two Elms, like sentinels, stand And watch it start its course clean through The shining orchard-land, — Now in and out the pleasant meads — Now running with some rill — Now hiding in the hollow — now Winding round yon breezy hill, — The hill with dusky, tapering peaks. Which seem to prop Heaven's dome. And which give me a glittering glimpse Of my far-off cottage home. [ 72 The Emigrant's Return. What if, abroad, a grander orb Sunnies bluer skies ? If birds of brighter plumage Sing sweeter melodies ? What if India's world-old caves With gems be all a-glow, And if o'er flowers of gaudier hues Balmier breezes blow ? \Vhat if nobler streams flow down To finer-coasted seas, — With orange light upon their breasts, Lookt on them from the trees ? What if groves more greenly wave, and. Like martyrs, smile 'neath crush TJie Emigrant s Return. Of fruitage, \vrinkle-ripe, that doth For happiness outflush ? To see these wonders I have been, But, by my haHdome, I would rather dwell in the lonely wood Where stands my cottage home. The mighty splendour of the East But tame to me appears ; The vision of a lovely face Hath cheered these weary years. To muse upon my last-spent hours Beneath our hawthome shade, With my darling Janet by my side, Far wider charms displayed ; 1 74 The Emigrant' s Retzirn. They've been sad yet soothing thoughts — RecaUing Childhood's scenes — How we clomb Helvellyn's rocky heights, And cross'd its dark ravines ; And how were followed Love's pledged vows. By our happy wedded days, O'er which kind Fortune's Sun did shine And shed its welcome rays. Ah ! when last we sung the Harvest hjmn There were no signs of gloom :— This was the Eve before the Tlom I left my pretty home. And well do I remember, too. That glorious golden Morn ; The Emigrant's Return. 175 I feel to smell the new-mown hay, And see the waving com. Methought the willows dirges sung, O'er the streamlet murmuring by, When the lark aloft its vigils keeps, And the flowers their perfumes sigh — For the Sun Avas just bathing the East In a sea of purple foam. As I took a farewell glance Of my happy English home. 'Tis evening now ; the bells' gay chime Greets me on my safe return, And to view my comely hut 1 76 The Emigrant's Return, My very heart doth yearn. Hark ! hark ! I hear the merry throng Dancing on the village green ; 'Tis festive time — there is not one Who will not there be seen : But who's that at my garden-gate. Speaking in mournful strain Of somebody that went abroad Ne'er to come back again ? I can see that the Moon's pale beams Coyly kiss her bonnie brow ; She is like the primrose sweet, I think I know her now. Yes surely, my beautiful, my own, My dove, my sweet, I come ; The Emi^ratit' s Rctitjni. / / And soon in my arms I'll clasp thee, In our thrice happy home. THE WEEPING MAID'S REPLY. ( The Sublime and the Ridiculous. ) f^ NE day I saw an angel face In marble fingers buried deep ; Her's was a form of loveliness, And much I grieved to see her weep : So I smooth't her hair, and kist her brow. And cried, " Oh Maiden ! — why weepest thou ?" The Weeping Maid's Reply. i 79 But she told me not why tears she shed, Nor raised her pretty, drooping head. " A pity wert that thou should'st dim That eye, as bright as the gazelle's \ The famous Hellespont I'd swim, To spy that bosom as it swells : Yet, if sympathy thy soul can'st move, Oh ! prithee say, dost weep for love ?" But she told me not why tears she shed. Nor raised her pretty, drooping head. I claspt her dainty, dainty waist, Girt round with jewels rich and rare — r8o The Weeping Maid's Reply. And whispered sweet — " Ah ! Maiden chaste, Fain would I all thy sorrows share :" And lo ! — faint-glimmering hope appears : — She checks her sobs ! — she dries her tears ! — And lovers list, or you may n't think it true, — She madly shrieked, " What's that to you ? " THE RIFLE CORPS. A Satire, ■written in yicne, 1860. ITH looks majestic and mild. Brandishing their glittering spears, The Riflemen march, as tho' in time To the music of the spheres. Drill— drill— drill. In gorgeous attire, While in their breasts Bums high the patriot's fire. i82 The Rifle Corps. Drill— drill— drill, When summer kindly warms, And drill— drill— drill, 'Mid Winter's whirling storms. Fight, and review, and march, March, and review, and fight, Till their bodies are weak and faint — Tho' their souls are full of might. Their fancy painting scenes Like Alma's bloody hill, Or where, in May, on Belgium's plains, Heaven's balmy dews distil ; Or haply, methinks, those great events. So sung in Scotia's lays. The Rifle Corps. 1 83 The time when Wallace fought and bled, Produce their worthy praise. Oh you ! with malice keen, — With scornful tone — Oh stop !- No more your vengeance wreak On Britain's truest prop ; Let them withdraw their aid, Let them desert their posts, And lo ! Albion's hallowed cliffs Are free to foreign hosts. Banish the thought ! we'll chant their names In loud and lofty strain ; 1 84 The Rifle Corps. In humble cot, — in stately hall, And on the boisterous main. Nay, Nature's Choristers shall not be dumb, For they (in ecstacy) Shall, near unto heaven's high gates, Echo the melody. Then — then in the noble cause In which you are enrolled. Press on with unabated zeal For glories yet untold. As England's greatest heroes Laurels fresh and fair — The victor's palm — your nation's thanks — Shall be your envied share. The Rifle Co^'ps. 185 With looks majestic and mild, Armed with their glittering spears, The Riflemen march, as tho' in time To the music of the spheres. Drill— drill— drill, Without reward or pay. For to save their fellowmen from harm They'll give e'en their lives away. ROBIN'S FIX. W'R coming thro' fields yesterneet Afore th' Sun his hook had yet taen ;- Aw'r scheming to make things o sweet 'Tween th' owd folk an' me once again ; Wlien aw met a lass wi' merry een — Like a goblet sparkling wi' wine — Aw sed, "Will it be o serene If aw kiss thoose roses o' thine ?'' Robins Fix. 1 8 7 Hoo wur gradely done o'er, yo may think, An' axed me to let her a-be, But th' same time, hoo gav me a blink Ov her fausish, pratty blue ee ; Wi' that, aw went whot as a oon, Farmheawses and haystacks wuz'zed reaund : Aw cud hardly see th' blue sky aboon, Or th' hedges or th' posies o'th' greaund. Yo'n sin a flower yo'n thought wur d'yead, An' wouldn't tak labbor to poo ; Heaw it's howded up its gowden yead, When it's swallowt a drop o' dew : — Well, aw'd taen a swig fro' Sorrow's cup. An' loike to ha' mizzelt fro th' sect, 1 8S Robins Fix. But fire ov her een warmt me up ; — Yo never seed such een for breet. Aw towd her aw'd getten a cot, Wi' honeysuckles grooing up th' door, An' a window to peep thro' an' watch Mi flocks ut pasturt o'th' moor. An' o thro' th' summer neets we'd doance To th' sound o'th' tamboreen ; — Aw'd plait her yure wi' pink and gowd, If hoo wud but be mi queen. Hoo'r a fine an' leet-heartsome lass, Fond ov a frolicksome doo, Robins Fix. 1 89 An' yo know when o's sed an' done Aw con be marlockin too ; But summut neaw trubbelt mi nob, Mi heart, heaw it flustert i'th' neest ! Done yo see ? aw'm cworting bonnie Nell, An' yet yon lass is a feast. If aw show th' white fither to Nell, Whoi ! there '11 be th' owd dule to play ; If aw loise yon witch wi' blue een, Whoi ! mi heart '11 o brun away. An' iv aw wed um i' their turns, On me, mi betters '11 pounce ; T90 Robin's Fix. Eh dear ! aw wish we wur like th' Turks, » For then aw cud tay bwoth at once. TO KSfE? Lftoss: APPY as a breeze from the South, Across the Soul's threshold which blows Nectar'd whispers from the Summer's mouth- Now live and bloom the fair White Rose Atop o' thy life. And may each grace Heaven ever royally bestows, My friend in thee find dwelling-place As on thro' purpled Life thou goes. 192 To Robe thyself in Love — robe free from spots- Image Righteousness and Truth, And Temples, built of Holy Thoughts, Hang i' the golden air of Youth. Oh ! then shalt good Old Age rejoice, Yea shalt, a-yearning for heaven's rest. Lean out and listen till God's voice, Echoing, calls thee to his breast. TO EE, on some moonless evening densely dark, A single star which its effulgence shows ; Richer then is the blessing heaven bestows, And since it is on high the only spark. Holier 's the light which bravely throbs and glows. And thus when on a dreary desert-waste Nought save one solitary rose-bud blows, Nature then with a beauty far more chaste Endows it, than the common flow'ret knows, — Dazzling with simple grandeur as it grows. 194 To May you, Dear Lady, thus 'mid Earth's brief scene, Unostentatious ever be as they — Noble as that Rose the burning sands between, Divinely shining as that single Ray ; — Shedding a softening, soothing power On all whom fickle Chance may with you bring ; Not TRANSIENT as the dew at morning hour. But CONSTANT as some pure perennial spring. And when you well have played your part. Culling sweet Peace from out a world of Strife — Uplifted shall you be in every heart. Prized as the " Good Angel of their Life." TO A FRIEND AT CHRISTMAS. EAR Friend, I duly got your letter, Than which I never read a better ; And now in verse (as I'm your debtor) This note I'll write ; For sure my Muse, if I'll let her, Will take a flight. That rapid-flowing river, Time, Has washed from off our golden prime 1 96 To a Friend at Christmas. Another year. Then, as we dimb Life's rugged hill, Let's make our callings more sublime And purer still. It much behoves both me and you To take a retrospective view, Noting our words, and actions too, In bygone days. And see if they've been good and true, And worthy praise. I love this season of the year. Its festive rites, its 'livening cheer; To a Friend at Christmas. 197 My heart beats light as it draws near, And hope revives ; A respite from the toil and care Which haunt our lives. The Primrose young proclaims the Spring, When mirth-soul'd birds begin to sing, Making the budding groves to ring With music gay, And bees go by on fluttering wing The live-long day. The Summer boasts its gorgeous flowers, Its sunny skies, its vernal showers, 1 98 To a Friend at Christmas. Ay, and its cool sequestered bowers, Where lovers hie, To wile away their leisure hours And weep and sigh. Hail, Christmas hail ! Hey for the snow, The beauteous frost, and mistletoe, The evergreen,and holly-bough With berries bright ; And O to feel the Yule-log's glow Far i' the night ! The Mistletoe ! hung up ceiling-high, A-bhnking on the company, To a Friend at Ckrisbnas. 1 99 'Neath which the merry rustics try To lure some " Miss," And win thereby Love's penalty, "Which is a — Kiss. I' the fire, childlike, what sights I see ; Brave Kings and Queens and Knights there be, In midst of noiseless revelry ; And Faces strange ; And Ships upon a fairy-sea That knows no change ; And Birds that perch on fire-leaved tree ; And Flowers that live on ruby lea ; 200 To a Friend at Christmas. And Castles built fantastically By little sprites ; Whom fancy makes to skip with glee Through magic lights. Now e'en the Churchbells on the hill Appear to ring " On Earth good will," And, in shape of silver chimings, spill A goodly cup Of sweets, with which our spirits fill With liveHest hope. And now we meet our dearest friends — Those welcome, holy, sweet, god-sends- To a Friend at Christinas, 201 By the spell which Christmas lends Together brought. Christmas ! the magnet-power which tends To draw one's thought Up to that all-absorbing theme, — The wondrous birth at Bethlehem — From which — as from a summer stem — ■ Rich fruits we reap ; — The setting of Divinity's Gem In Man's form, deep. Ah ! Christmas doth our souls upbuoy, Doth feeling us with ripest joy ; SOI: To a Friend at CJnHstmas. As tho' across our Life's bleak sky Heaven's blue were rolled \ It runs through regions of alloy, Like vein of gold. Then let us at this Christmas-tide, The doorways of our souls ope wide. Arid usher in, like a fair Bride, The Prince of Peace ; Therein for ever to abide — Our Joy's increase. I hope you soon will write again, For when you last took up your pen, ^To a Friend at Christmas. 203 You wrote in such a friendly strain As to embolden Me to write. And I now remain, Yours, James Holden^ CHRISTMAS ACROSTIC. A Wish. |ANE, I wish that Christmas may to thee A Merry Christmas always be ; " Nods and becks and wreathed smiles " — Everything which care beguiles — Cast their shadows on thy path. Laden with all the gifts Heaven hath, — Each pleasure which this season brings — Golden hopes — sweet imaginings — Christmas Acrostic. 205 Gems dug out of Memory's Mine — Be all these happinesses thine. And may this season oft return Clad in the garb by Laughter worn- Uniting every wish and joy — Pleasures, graces without alloy. O DIG IT NEAR THE WESTERN GATE. I. DIG it near the Western Gate, Behind the wall grown green with moss, Where the people but seldom cross. And let there be no burial state. II. Yes, let my grave lie all alone Under the crumbling Western Wall ;- ► O Dig it near the Western Gate. 207 The dying smiles of day there fall, Like a Christian's ere his soul has gone. HL And may thereon the Night-bird oft Alight ; tree-shadowed let it be, So that, through all the years, on me The noon-tide rays may fall more soft. IT. And let it be a dark Yew tree, Low-bent with age, and in full leaf, That the low-winds may dirge their grief, Among its branches, mournfully. 2oS O Dig if near the Western Gate, V. My white gravestone — like bed of snow With Spring primroses yellow-fringed — Set round with flowers, with Sadness tinged. Amid this twilight gloom to grow. VI. Ah ! never, nevermore to me Will yon worn Sun-dial tell the time, Or yon Old Churchbells grandly chime — This is the last day I shall see. VII. Now through our windows, the red Sun Floods radiance till the whole room fills. O Dig it near the Western Gate. 209 Soon will it set behind the hills, — Its race, and mine, are nearly run. VIII. Through life, thou'st lookt my rough heart-tide To calm. Thy eyes, ablaze with soul. Have made the Dark of Life round-roll And sky-ward turn its sunniest side. IX. Thy words a golden balm have shed ; Thy face came smiling down my dreams, And lighted up, with constant gleams. The hills of Glory overhead. 2 1 o O Dig it near the Western Gate. A Star in splendour burst, thou'st shone And burned thro' my winterliest gloom, And startled Life's thorns into bloom \ — Still we must part — God's will be done ! XI. And O, but Death were hard to bide When Love hath crimsoned o'er the hours, And ripjDled down in rain of flowers, — When Life, with thee, is glorified ; XII. Wert not, that when I lie near death, My soul rests on the tree of prayer. O Dig it near the Western Gate. 2 1 1 And waits, with missioned angels there, Till God's hand upward beckoneth. XIII. Lower me down near the wall of moss, And you, my love, at each sunset, With many tears the grief-flowers wet, To show them that you mourn my loss. XIV. For welcomer will be Death's sleep If I but know that you will come. And keep " Forget-me-nots " in bloom With Love's rich rain — the tears you weep. 2 12 O Dig it near the Western Gate. XV. Then 'neath the wall that lies to the West O bury me when I am dead, And put the ring, which did us wed, Upon my finger, there to rest. ON THE DEATH OF F. A. R. HAVE seen full many a Rose — Meet to adorn the Summer's brow- With weight of precious bloom bent low — Redden until it fairly glows — And then, from off its Joy's tree-top, A corpse of faded leaves down drop. I have seen a Plant to flower- Burst gently from the Earth's green arms — 2 14 On the Death of F. A. R. Unfolden daily infant charms — Deluge with perfume-streams the bower — And then — struck by some strange malady Known 'mong flowers — suddenly droop and die. And I have seen the Day's great Orb Peep from the ruddied East to view — Dash through the mystic Gold-and-Blue-^ Fair Nature's Gaze and Thought absorb — And then when it has reached the West, Sink amid leaden clouds to rest. And I have seen — sight sadder still ! — A rare and radiant Pearl On the Death of F. A. R. 215 (Shrined in an angel-girl) Ere it hath flashed and lit the Hill Of Life halfway, — to Heaven's grand height Be snatch'd from out our wondering sight. The garden-tenants feel the want Of sunshine flooding the air — Of such a Rose-bud royally fair — Of such an odour-breathing plant ; ' And we can ill aff"ord to lose Our Plant, our Sunbeam, our sweet Rose. TO (To Her in Sickness.) ilOYS and sorrows both thou'lt have Amid Life's scenes so fleet \ Never can'st thou here below Enjoy the "rest so sweet." Bold sickness comes with blighting breath, And of thy frame doth ruin make ; Relatives, like summer birds, may fly ; Kind friends (of old) may thee forsake ; To 21 Each cherished heart-wish may unknown Remain to all but God alone. Repine not thou, — all is not gloom, On every hand Hope's form abides — Careering o'er the mightiest storm High, in peace, the halycon rides ; Desert spots can boast a flower ; A star burns in the darkest hour ; Like flowers that perfume give when press'd, E'en so let sickness make thee blest. ''VOTE OF THANKS TO THE LADIES," &c. (Recited at a Tea Aleethtg, April 21fid, 1862J |0-NIGHT we're permitted to assemble again In a manner quite homely, becoming, and plain, To hear the sweet strains which to music belong, And listen to speeches not short nor too long. Vote of Thanks to the Ladies. 219 Yor had they savoured of philosophy deep, "Tis ten to one we should have all gone to sleep ; Whereas these statesmen of real sterling worth, Have dashed their remarks with humour and mirth. As for the music — has not each chorus Exerted a genial influence o'er us ? And one fine glee, rather akin to a ditty, Couldn't fail to awaken the deep chord of pity. We've had good recitals from Whitworth and Slater, From Hardman and Taylor whose was a first-rater, Tho' our language can boast a strange kind of lore When a " Raven" can learn to croak " Nevermore.' 2 20 Vote of Thanks to the Ladies. The Success of th' Report all labour repays ; The Committee, as well, are deserving of praise ; And our Chairman, i' faith, is in the right place. For I'm sure you will see that he fills it with grace. The kind Goddess of Mirth diffuses her ray ; Before me are faces all joyous and gay ; To each heart a share of pure pleasure is given — All sorrow is flung to the four winds of heaven. In proud Spain there's a place which they call Cadiz, Which I'm told has ever been famed for its Ladies ; But such as to-night have presided at table, Have never been equalled in story or fable. Vote of Thanks to the Ladies. 2 2 1 So kind have they been, their attention so good, That all have been kept in a capital mood ; So chatty, so handy, and so full of spirit. We can't possibly praise them more than they merit. The bread has been nice and so has the cream, — Nay I wonder the s[)eakers haven't made them their theme ; All other et ceteras from blame have been free, Hut what, then, O what shall I say of the Tea? Had our forefathers had it, they'd have broken the bowl, The adder-like cup which corrupteth the soul ; 22 2 Voie of Thanks to the Ladies. But alas ! not long has this luxury been known, So we must excuse that age, but condemn our own. It, they'd have banished from their balls and levees, And have been good patrons of Coffees and Teas ; Yet still, in spite of these rich Teas and Coffees, Bacchus is continually winning new trophies. Ay, if the harvest be good the farmers will chime, " Come landlord, we must have a glass of your prime ;" If a man is unlucky at market or fair, He must needs take a drop to drive away care. If a comrade steps in, 'tis " Come, Mary, come. Bring a high-frothing bumper of 'Jolly Old Tom ; '" Vote of Thanks to the Ladies. 223 If a sailor or pensioner receiveth his pay, He skips like a harlequin to the " inn o'er the way.'' But, kind friends of my soul, right glad I'm to say, We strongly object to this vice of the day; We wish for the Cause of Temperance to rise, Its fame circle the earth while it touches the skies. ( To Return. ) But what tho' we've had full many a pleasure This evening, which our memories shall treasure ? What tho' we're gladsome, and our spirits are up ? A something is wanting to fill pleasure's cup. 2 24 Vote of Thanks to the Ladies. The tea and the speeches have been splendid, 'tis true. The singing and recitals excellent, too ; But these are mere shells., we want the pure pearls. And these are to be found in the women and girls. Supposing the violet was robb'd of its hues, Or the rose could no longer its perfumes diffuse — If the sun from the moon was its rich light to stint, Or the rainbow to lose but one single tint, — We should imagine their cardinal virtues were gone, And that Nature herself was for ever outdone ; And yet man's plight would more sorry appear Were there no women to guide, to solace, and cheer. Vote of Thanks to the Ladies. 225 We can't drink their happiness, health, and long lives, Like the barons of yore drank their friends and their wives, — In bumpers and toasters ; but praises are due ; They've a claim on our gratitude ; what shall we do ? Well, as we like water far better than wine, We couldn't do better than borrow a line From poor Bobby Bums : so, " May they ne'er die Till the rocks melt i' th' sun and the seas gang dry." Ah, yes ! we are sensible of a great burden. We know at our hands is required a meet guerdon ; But lengthy expressions time will not afford — Our feelings are summ'd up in one little word. 2 26 Vote of Thanks to the Ladies. " Thanks '' is the word ; so my motion completing : — I give (on behalf of this honorable meeting) I give to the Ladies of all shades and ranks ! Thanks, and thanks, and thanks, and nothing else but thanks. PROLOGUE. Read at a Tea Meeting connected with an Improvement Class. IS known to you that we are come to spend An liour or two, to celebrate the end Of the first happy session of a class, Whose worthy object has been to erase All that is vicious from the human kind — In Friendship's silken bonds our souls to bind ; — To pull down foul Krror ; to rc-enstall 2 28 Prologue. Virtue and Truth on the high pedestal Destined for them by God. We don't belong To that poor creed who merely pluck what's wrong From out their Natures ; who their talents hide Within, and make their Indolence their pride ; We can't one moment think that folly 'tis To be wise e'en though Ignorance be bliss. We rather think knowledge is a given Way, whereby our souls may fly to heaven ; And that within us we've a wealthy mine, Wherein lies ore, which to smelt and refine Should be our aim, and not to let the ore Embedded be till lost for evermore. Then we shall have (when Life's voyage is dark. And when it is hard to steer our frail bark Prologue. 229 From the deadly rocks called •' Malice " and " Guile,'' Which in myriads dwell near the flower-girt Isle Where Piety enkindles an innocent flame, And Friendship doth win a widely-spread fame) — A communion within to which to fly For an Intellectual luxury. This then has been the goal for which we've wrought, This then has been the passion which we've caught. To attain the perfection by study bought. And to revel in the wide world of thought, This training works the feelings fine ; lets us cull Sweets from Nature, — this round earth beautiful ; So that we latent beauties can descry In sun and moon and stars and evening sky : In blush of morn, in noonday's scorching beam, 2 30 Prologue. In evening mild, in every gushing stream, In the blue ocean when in calmness laid, In flowers of every odour, tint, and shade. Thus the Poet could draw, as from a spring, " " Sermons from stones, and good from everything," And in nicely-chiselled hill and verdant sod Behold the vast workings of a God. And hence we have had, from time to time, good Extracts read from Milton, Cowper, Hood, From Bell and Pope and Poe and Knowles and Scott, From Byron, Tennyson, and the other lot Of poets. The principles of Phrenology, Of History, Fiction, and Geology, And of the mighty Solar System too, ' Have been discussed in manner somewhat new. Prologjie. 231 This said, your kind attention now we court, While is read of our proceedings a report. EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. (April IQth, 18G1.; AST Thursday Eve witnessed me safelyhome,- Comfortably ensconced by the fire side, — Employed with the irksome task of eating, , Literally beseiged with questions, too, From our own little family circle As to the welfare of those I had left ; But I might go on ad infinitum, Epistle to a Friend. 233 And quite fill the leaves of a huge volume, Were I to enumerate their queries, (For indeed nothing else can I term them) — Therefore I leave this for another theme. I believe you love to study Nature, To watch the visages of all mankind, And read the "human countenance divine." And so it is I wish you had with me Been in the vehicle on Thursday night Which bore us seven unearthly miles. For there you might have revelled one full hour In your favorite path to your heart's content. There was the follower of the God Bacchus, Lying unconscious in INIorpheus' arms. Having imbibed too much, I plainly saw, Of some intoxicating beverage — 2 34 Epistle to a Friend. His features from their wonted placidness Distorted with the pangs of inward pain — A face from which God's image was blot out. A lady stout there was, with rosy cheeks — Merry as the flowers at break of day — Hot as the sun in his full meridian ; Why, when I looked at her I thought I smelled Roast Beef and rich Plum Pudding once again, So much old Merry Christmas' type was she. And, in contrast, there was a young lady, Most neatly yet with elegance attired ; Of graceful form ; of modest, gentle mien ; And of features exquisitely refined ; — From whose bright eyes her soul look'd bravely out ; AV^ho smiled her thoughts, — ^though her voice was soft as The falling of the petal from the rose, — Epistle to a Friend. 235 i \ Sweet as the music of a pink sea-shell. And then there was a Scotch " chiel amang us," With look as rigid, and as stern, as are The snows which royally crown his native hills ; Praising in rugged phrase, the three great names — Bruce and Wallace and the sweet poet Burns. And last, and least, there was the fop, looking On all with wondrous self-complacency — Supplying what Nature had denied him Of manly mould, with rich habiliments, Bedecked with ornaments glittering afar. Well, each man has some great hobby-horse, And as you promise fair to keep unwed, I now advise you, in my humble way, To hug your darling-science to your breast. ****** 22,6 Epistle to a Friend. Excuse this trivial note of mine, I pray ; We do not hold the lily in contempt Because it cannot boast the oak's strong stem, Or snuft" the breath of airy fields above ; Nor should you, who the sweets have tasted Of Parnassus' heights, — and of the waters Of Helicon had your fill, deem beneath Your notice, or look upon with angry frown, A poor and humble votary of the Muse, Who, with pilgrim scrip and scallop shell, Is striving a few stray fiowers to pluck At the high mountain's base. Adieu ' my friend. ON THE CLIFFS. (A Reminiscence. ) WAS in the depth of Summer's pleasant time, That Frank and I — tired of the httle port Which we had sought to steal its rest and ease, And which, imitating cities close-streeted And dark, was astir with unwonted life — Sauntered on towards the cliffs Avhich Nature, In her grand caprice, had abruptly tost Many hundred feet skyward. Ah ! the world. That day did wear its bravest holiday garb, And was all on the dimple with glad smiles. 238 On the Cliffs. The horizon, clear and wave-toucht, mockingly Receded as we higher clomb. Landward, The odour of a million flowers headway Made 'gainst opposing foliage o'erhanging, And, with blithe song-birds, sought an upper world. That day, how many colours the ocean, A vast prism of glass, marvellously showed ! Now — as they came bounding with merry pace Towards the time-and-wave-worn cliffs, only To be check'd by some mystic power, — rolling Back with low, musical lamentations — The waves were brightly blued and foam-crested. Now — midway 'tween the lowest-bending sky And the shore — green ocean -scenery we saw, Which (for we saw with Fancy's eye) had hills And dales and towns with fretted spires. And then, I On the Cliffs. 239 For hours the billows wore the unclouded Blue O'erhead, — and sky and air and sea were lapt In azure dreams. Anon, the horizon — Which seemed to battle with che hurrying waves In the full sweep and swing of their majesty — Assumed the kingly robe of purple, till Such time as the June Sun, burning itself Down the swelling bosom of the great deep, Tinged all with crimson and gold. How rich the scene ! An angel had come down from heav'n, to calm The sea anent the haven of the world. We sat, and wisdom drew from things around ; From the ebbing and flowing of the sea — The sandhills shining, goid-like, i' tlie sun — 240 On the Cliffs. And the far-off hills — rear'd when Time was born. Memory stores that day. Life was rosiest then ; And, well pleased, diamond routes we planned ourselves Down happy Life. Years have rolled by. His path Left mine. He crossed the sea, to find a home In the land of spices and myrtle groves. But I lost him not. A little news-bird Has brought me tidings — good tidings from him. He hears from me ; and, true to boyhood's vow, We love each other as in days gone by. FINIS. J. Heap, Printer, Bury. OECl 91980 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-32m-8, '57(0868084)444 3 1158 00653 03c UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITi AA 000 370 304 8