uMuunr 
 
 UNIVEWJTI^^ 
 CALIFCM2NIA 
 
t'*M' 
 
POEMS 
 
 CHAS. F. FORSHAW, LL.D. 
 
POEMS 
 
 CHAS. F. FORSHAW, LL.D 
 
 BRADFORD : 
 PERCY LUND & CO., THE COUNTRY PRESS. 
 
 G. B. RUSSELL, g, DARLEY STREET. 
 
 LONDON : 
 TRUBNER & CO. 
 
 MANCHESTER : 
 JOHN HEYWOOD. 
 
LOAN STAOC 
 
 PERCY LUND AND CO., 
 THE COUNTRY PRESS 
 
 SAINT JOHN'S STREET, 
 BRADFORD. 
 
1^1 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS INSCRIBED TO THE 
 
 REV. DR. WILKINSON, M.A., 
 
 CHRIST CHURCH, 
 
 LEAMINGTON. 
 
 772 
 
PREFACE 
 
 HOUGH most, if not all, of the 
 Subscribers to this work will 
 have read from time to time the 
 author's producTtions in the daily 
 and weekly press, many of them 
 probably only know him as an 
 industrious writer of verse. It 
 may, therefore, be interesting to a few if the preface 
 to the present volume of poems be made to consist of 
 a short biographical sketch. For this purpose the 
 subjoined extradt from *' Popular Poets of the Period," 
 a widel}^ circulated publication which is ostensibty 
 "a series of brief biographies of poets of our time 
 and country," will answer well : — 
 
 Dr. Forshaw, who has resided in Bradford since childhood, 
 was born at Bilston, StaffoMshire, on the 23rd of January, 1863. 
 He served his apprenticeship as a chemist and dentist, obtained 
 his diploma as a Dodor of Dental Surgery in 1885, and is now 
 the senior partner in a firm of well-known dental practitioners in 
 Bradford. In the intervals of his busy professional life he has 
 found time to write several volumes of poetry and many scientific 
 pamphlets. Dr. Forshaw is about to publish a work, entitled 
 " Yorkshire Poets' Birthday Book," which will contain over one 
 hundred poems and biographies by various native authors. He 
 is at the present time editing a serial publication, " Yorkshire 
 Poets, Past and Present," which is meeting with considerable 
 success, and will form a fitting sequel to Newsam's " Poets of 
 Yorkshire," and Grainge's "Poets and Poetry of Yorkshire." 
 Being the President of the West Riding Literary Club, and an 
 adive correspondent and contributor to many newspapers, he is 
 well known throughout Yorkshire ; and as an author, poet, and 
 ledturer, has many admirers. 
 
 The Publishers. 
 September, 1889. 
 
POEMS 
 
 THE STOKESLEY CROMLECH. 
 
 Oh ! rude old Cromlech ! tell, who placed thee here, 
 And for what purpose ? Dost thou hide the bones 
 Of one of Yorkshire's ancient Kings ? Thy stones 
 
 Must mark the grave of one to memory dear ; 
 
 Perhaps a prophet or an ancient seer 
 
 Lies sepulchred, entombed, now turned to dust. 
 And o'er his ashes thou art keeping trust, 
 
 Till Gabriel's trump shall raise him from his bier. 
 
 Or was't a warrior strong in truth and bold. 
 Who fighting fell 'fore time had made him old, 
 
 That thou art here his resting-place to show ? 
 Was he an honoured man of good intent, 
 That thou, his consecrated monument, 
 
 Should'st tell the spot wherein he lieth low ? 
 
lO A SUMMER S DAY. 
 
 A SUMMER'S DAY.— MORNING. 
 
 Now, Nature smiles, and decks the radiant earth 
 With beauteous brightness. The sun's glad blaze 
 On verdant hill and rippling streamlet plays, 
 
 And calls their thousand beauties into birth. 
 
 All inse(rt life sport round in playful mirth ; 
 In shady glades rare flowers glad the eyes 
 And fill the bosom with a wrapt surprise. 
 
 For well we love their glory and their worth. 
 
 The birds send forth their rapture-breathing strains, 
 And fill the groves and all the woodland lanes 
 
 With their wild minstrelsy. Their music sweet 
 Rings through the soul with balmy influence, 
 ^All earth is clad in gay magnificence. 
 
 In hallowed grandeur, heav'nly and complete. 
 
 A SUMMER'S DAY.— EVENING. 
 
 Sweet shadowy eve, thy calm solitude 
 
 Steals o'er the heart and soothes the pangs of pain. 
 Brings blissful quiet to the restless brain, 
 
 And whispers soft to those who pensive brood. 
 
 Blest eventide, thou are reflecflion's food. 
 
 Thy gentle breathings, thy soft lulling breast. 
 Tell us of hope, tranquillity and rest. 
 
 And bringeth peace with fond solicitude. 
 Yon glorious orb — the silvery moon above, 
 Inspires with joy, with holiness and love. 
 
 The sky bedecked with starry gems of light. 
 The solemn hush, the hour's distant chime, 
 The stilly mildness — plaintive and sublime, 
 
 Tell us of realms wherein there is no night. 
 
JUNE. II* 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 Welcome thou leafy month ! thy sister May 
 
 Is dead and gone. 
 Yet o'er her corse we chant no dirge, nor say 
 
 Poor lonesome one ! 
 Rather we sing a merry roundelay 
 
 Her grave upon. 
 Thine are the riper glories, for the glade 
 
 Holds sweeter flowers : 
 And birds delight us with their serenade 
 
 'Mid fairy bowers ; 
 Whilst youth and age thy lengthening day invade 
 
 Till twilight hours. 
 Thine is the verdure and the sweet perfume, 
 
 Thou welcome boon. 
 Thine the bright landscape and the mellow bloom 
 
 Which hearts attune. 
 Oh ! crown of summer, still our breasts illume, 
 
 Depart not soon ; 
 But dwell with us and banish all our gloom. 
 
 Blest month of June. 
 
12 A VILLAGE SCENE, 
 
 A VILLAGE SCENE. 
 
 A RUINED wall, 'neath sweetly blooming trees, 
 A rough hewn log, where one can take his ease. 
 And sitting on't, a weary man and old, 
 O'er whose bent form some eighty years had rolled ; 
 The sky all round, clear with an azure light ; 
 The hedges, gay with blossoms pure and white ; 
 The ancient church, with ivy overgrown. 
 Its yard, nigh filled with many a cross and stone ; 
 The dear old vicar, with his book in hand ; 
 Three farmers, talking of the price of land ; 
 The little school, where infants learn to sum ; 
 The teacher's voice, the children's busy hum ; 
 The gay green fields, the many pleasant stiles, 
 The landscape, stretching far away for miles ; 
 The little brook, gay, murm'ring on its way ; 
 A cart, heaped up with richly perfumed hay. 
 Above, the trill of the melodious lark. 
 Beyond, the sound of watchdog's honest bark ; 
 The cackle, from the scraping, scratching hens ; 
 The grunt, proceeding from the brood pigs' pens ; 
 The quack, quack, quack, from out the dirty pool. 
 Where ducks and geese alternately hold rule ; 
 The cow's soft low ; the flowers of many a hue ; 
 The scattered houses, only built for two. 
 With roofs of thatch, now overspread with moss, 
 And narrow windows, thickly-barred across ; 
 The postman with his letters — four a day ; 
 The stumbling docflor, bent and worn and grey ; 
 The pump, where housewives meet to talk the news ; 
 The quaint old chapel, with its high-backed pews. 
 
THE NEW YEAR. I3 
 
 And last of all, the tavern, whitewashed o'er, 
 With spotless tables, neatly sanded floor ; 
 The portly landlord and his robust wife, — 
 How sweet 't must be to lead a village life ! 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 We speed the old year and welcome the new. 
 And look back apace on the false and the true ; 
 And tho' the New Year seems both balmy and bright, 
 Alas ! 'twill contain both sorrow and blight. 
 
 Yet we longed for its coming with wishes sincere. 
 And gaily we part from the dreary old year ; 
 Its joys, hopes, and troubles are over and fled, 
 And now, with its comrades, the old year lies dead. 
 
 Like a glorious meteor shining above 
 
 It came with its promise of peace, hope, and love ; 
 
 But with sickness and suffering, storm, wind, and wave. 
 
 Many friends it has taken where no tempests rave. 
 
 To some the New Year will bring anguish and woe — 
 Each has a share, both the high and the low ; 
 But we must be valiant, courageous, and strong, 
 Fighting for right and condemning the wrong ; 
 
 Helping the aged in the battle for truth. 
 Ever aiding the weak and guiding the youth, 
 Kind words to the weary, their spirits to cheer, 
 Trying to give each one a Happy New Year. 
 
14 AN OLD MAN S REVERIE. 
 
 AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 I DO not know why tears bedim mine eyes, 
 
 Nor yet why past days fill my heart with woe 
 I cannot tell the reason of my sighs — 
 I do not know. 
 
 My spirits always were not sad and low ; 
 
 But youth, alack, ever too quickly flies ; 
 Time still is onward, there's no ebb or flow, 
 
 And life's a dream — a spark that always dies. 
 In age the pulse beats laboured, cold, and slow ; 
 
 But why I'm lonesome, that my spirit cries — 
 I do not know. 
 
 The sweet sunlight I'm sure is not so strong. 
 
 For when a child its brilliance was so bright ; 
 I could not gaze on it for very long — 
 The sweet sunlight. 
 
 Now I can scarcely tell the noon from night ; 
 
 And that sometimes I hear the wild birds' sou^ 
 Pour forth their thrilling music exquisite. 
 
 That the kind breeze may'hap will bear alon*; : 
 I should not know whether 'twas dark or light. 
 
 Ah ! how I loved to linger once, among 
 The sweet sunlight. 
 
 Life's race is past — life is at best a dream ; 
 
 Sometimes 'tis sunny, then it flies too fast ; 
 The sun on life gives but a transient beam — 
 Life's race is past. 
 
ILKLEY MOORS. I5 
 
 If at life's outset we could but forecast 
 
 The future, as a shadow in a stream — 
 At all our trials we should shrink aghast, 
 
 For earthly life's a fleeting, troublous theme. 
 We toil for riches, fortune is amassed, 
 
 And when from darkness comes the bright sun gleam — 
 Life's race is past. 
 
 ILKLEY MOORS. 
 
 Here we inhale a breath of heaven-sent air ; 
 
 Here from the maddening haunts of man we're free 
 To taste the bliss of freedom's purity ; 
 
 To feel we've vanquished vain deceit and care. 
 
 There is such grandeur in these moors so bare 
 That never sense of loneliness have we, 
 For most can tell it is our God's decree 
 
 That they His joyous bounteousness should share. 
 To me, oh moors ! ye're not a barren waste — 
 
 Rather I call ye " Garden of Our Lord ;" 
 
 For ye can tune our heartstrings' tenderest chord, 
 And all our thoughts and inmost souls make chaste. 
 
 And lead our minds from earthliness away 
 
 To realms beyond — where dwells Eternal Day. 
 
l6 SUNRISE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 SUNRISE IN THE WOODS— AUGUST. 
 
 The blended beauties of liill, dale, and stream, 
 
 Are now awake, 
 From o'er the mountain tops the sun's red gleam 
 In ruddy glory, like a glowing beam. 
 
 Shines o'er the lake. 
 The hallowed haunts of wood and dell, are all 
 
 Bathed in sweet dew ; 
 The rippling brook, slow-trickling, in its fall, 
 Makes music sweet, and now each wild-bird's call 
 
 Sounds fresh and new. 
 Their warbled song of gladm ss cheers the heart, 
 
 And makes the s( ail 
 Thrill with a charm that see. as of life a part. 
 The fresh'ning breeze feels never to depart. 
 
 Each grassy knoji 
 With gayest flow'rs in many varied hues. 
 
 Makes the brea'^t fire 
 With sweet emotion. Their perfumes suffuse 
 The air ; and when we on tlieir glories muse. 
 
 Each poet's lyre 
 Throbs with new rapture an< 1 sings songs of praise 
 
 Enchanting mirtli. 
 The sunbeam on their gladd'ning beauty plays. 
 And they, cheered by its wai ming halcyon rays, 
 
 Charm all the eatih. 
 Sweet hour of morn, in mar\ raptures blest, 
 
 Thou leav'st no r<om 
 For sadness, but still nurses on thy breast. 
 And ever with a touch mosi idnd, caressed, 
 
 All those in glocni. 
 
SUNRISE IN THE WOODS. I7 
 
 The humming insecfls thy fond breath inhale, 
 
 They buzz with glee ; 
 Thy kindly spirit, borne along the vale 
 Makes them exult ; and as they skyward sail, 
 
 Lightsome and free, 
 We ponder on the ever-beauteous scene. 
 
 For morn's fair face 
 Decks all the earth in radiant living green. 
 Tints all the woodland with a blissful sheen, 
 
 Fills it with grace ; 
 The trees in richest foliage now are dight, - 
 
 The sky above 
 Seems calm and tranquil, full of holy light ; 
 We feel when turning from this prospedl bright^ 
 
 Burdened with love 
 To the Creator, who has crowned the land 
 
 With lustrous gems. 
 And with a splendour seen on every hand, 
 Robed all the leafy glades ; made Nature grand 
 
 With diadems ; 
 Till with a dazzling halo, landscapes seem 
 
 In bridal dress, 
 And birds and flow'rs all waking from their dream^ 
 With cloudless love cHid gorgeous lustre teem, 
 
 And joy's excess. 
 
THE YEAR OF JUBILEE. 
 
 THE YEAR OF JUBILEE.- 
 
 Ring out the gladsome tidings 
 
 Ye bells from far and near, 
 Pour forth the thrilling chorus 
 
 Throughout each hemisphere. 
 In accents clear and joyous, 
 
 Let every sound be heard, 
 The true heart-felt thanksgiving, 
 
 That struggles into word. 
 
 And now, ye hills, re-echo 
 
 Those joyous strains afar, 
 To ocean's deepest crevice. 
 
 To Heaven's brightest star ; 
 Till with a sound triumphant, 
 
 O'er woodland and o'er lea, 
 We hear the glorious murmur — 
 
 The Year of Jubilee ! 
 
 Now glow, ye youthful faces, 
 
 And beat, ye swelling hearts. 
 With rapture still increasing 
 
 Each nerve and heartstring starts. 
 Ye bosoms ever tender. 
 
 Are still more tender now ; 
 Your eyes with brightness sparkle. 
 
 And gladness beams on brow. 
 
 * This poem was accepted by the Queen and the Prince of Wales, and 
 was the last poem set to music by the late eminent composer, Sydney 
 Smith. It may be obtained from Mr, W. Hemingway, Halifax. 
 
THE YEAR OF JUBILEE. I9 
 
 So now, ye youths and maidens 
 
 Uplift the tuneful voice ; 
 With cadence soft and lowly 
 
 To bid the world rejoice. 
 Now gratitude o'erwhelms us, 
 
 We bid our sorrows flee. 
 And hear but one sweet sentence- 
 
 The Year of Jubilee ! 
 
 And now the age is golden ; 
 
 For fifty years serene 
 Our monarch well has ruled us — 
 
 England's beloved Queen. 
 So lift once more your voices, 
 
 Bid care and discord cease ; 
 And live and love in unity. 
 
 In joy, and hope, and peace. 
 
 We raise our hearts to Heaven, 
 
 And thank the God above 
 For this most bounteous blessing, 
 
 That tells but of His love : 
 Who granted us our Sovereign 
 
 To rule o'er land and sea, 
 And gave her gracious majesty 
 
 A Year of Jubilee ! 
 
20 AT THE GATE. 
 
 AT THE GATE. 
 
 Beside the gate once more I stand, 
 
 Where Spring's fresh breeze my forehead fanned 
 
 In days that now have fled — 
 Cheerfully to and fro we swung, 
 For all was gay and life was young, 
 
 And ne'er a tear was shed. 
 
 From here, we now, as could we then, 
 Behold the mossy, fern-clad glen. 
 
 And daisy-spangled nook, — 
 Through here we went in childhood's hours, 
 Picking the bright and beauteous flow'rs, 
 
 Down by the limpid brook. 
 
 Ah ! what a fairy sylvan scene. 
 
 When trees were dressed in living green, 
 
 And birds sang loud and shrill ; 
 When earth was crowned with golden bloom, 
 When neither sadness, care, nor gloom. 
 
 Had tried our joy to kill. 
 
 My mem'ry still recalls the time. 
 
 Though thirty years I've passed my prime. 
 
 When laughter's echoes sweet 
 Fill'd all the air with music gay 
 As thro' this gate we took our way 
 
 With scamp'ring, boist'rous feet. 
 
HOME. 21 
 
 And gathered hawthorn berries bright, 
 Ah ! they were treasures in our sight, 
 
 None others could surpass — 
 Sometimes we plucked the wild-white rose, 
 Or, sudden tumble, would repose 
 
 A moment on the grass. 
 
 Then up and chase the butterfly 
 And thus, without a tear or sigh 
 
 Those gladsome moments went. 
 When all was happiness and glee, 
 When all was love and harmony, 
 
 And gladness and content. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Methinks 'tis the happiest dream of life. 
 To hasten home to my babe and wife. 
 And it surely is the depth of bliss 
 To greet them there with a welcome kiss. 
 
 For their loving voices seem to me 
 Like a glorious glimpse of eternity. 
 And wherever my footsteps chance to roam. 
 There is nothing so sweet as wife and home. 
 
22 CHURCH BELLS. 
 
 CHURCH BELLS. 
 
 How sweetly sound the joyous bells, 
 
 With all their freshness ringing ; 
 How soul-thrilling their music swells, 
 
 Like angels' voices singing ; 
 How gaily do they clang and clash 
 
 With melody and gladness. 
 And now with merry peal and dash, 
 
 As tho' in very madness. 
 
 Now, softly, on the cool, crisp air 
 
 Anon the sound comes stealing, 
 Dispelling all our gloom and care 
 
 With their harmonious pealing. 
 The cadence of those silv'ry chimes, 
 
 So wildly, softly blending. 
 Brings to each mind the olden times, 
 
 Sweet recollecftion sending. 
 
 And as we listen to the sound 
 
 That each one loves so dearly. 
 Our throbbing hearts for ever bound, 
 
 Deep-felt, true, strong, sincerely ; 
 And when from them we turn away, 
 
 O'erflowing with emotion. 
 It seems to me a gladsome ray 
 
 Of Heaven's own devotion. 
 
SHIPLEY GLEN. 23 
 
 It seems as though our many pains 
 
 Are gone, past re-appearing, 
 When these divine and mellow strains 
 
 Delight and glad our hearing. 
 To me, I think these dear old bells 
 
 We love to hear vibrating. 
 To each the sweet, sweet story tells 
 
 That Christ our Lord is waiting. 
 
 SHIPLEY GLEN. 
 
 One bright May morn my wife and I 
 When larks were trilling in the sky, 
 
 Left all the bustling haunts of men, 
 To visit Shipley's rugged glen. 
 And breathe fair Nature's ecstasy. 
 
 We heard the blithesome cuckoo cry, 
 We saw the chattering magpie. 
 
 Whilst bluebell sweet bewitched our ken, 
 One bright May morn. 
 
 And felt we never care or sigh. 
 
 For buds, and bees, and birds were nigh ; 
 
 We heard the voice of many a wren ; 
 
 We gazed on crag, on brook, on fen. 
 And loth we felt to homewards hie. 
 One bright May morn. 
 
24 HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 Human nature to me seems a queer kind of thing, 
 
 For a strangeness it hath which the bard now would sing ; 
 
 The youth in his impulse and e'er longing for fame, 
 
 Strives to get in this cold world a bit of a name. 
 
 But unless all his acftions are simple and meek, 
 
 They will say his success is all owing to " cheek." 
 
 Though he puzzles his brain how to best please each one, 
 
 In the hope that his friends will be helping him on ; 
 
 It is little they care if he sinks or he swims : 
 
 If he sinks it is due to his foibles and whims ; 
 
 But should he meet with success his friends all look wise, 
 
 For they say that the " bombast " is certain to rise. 
 
 Though the world be against him he battles away. 
 And amid all his struggles he strives to look gay, 
 Though the jealous ones bind him 'neath fetters of steel. 
 He lives for a day when all " trump cards " they will deal ; 
 And if then he should conquer the "knowing" will "wag," 
 The}^ will say that his "fame" is allowing to "brag." 
 
 It's nothing to them if in still hours of night. 
 He is working and thinking how best he may fight ; 
 How best he may cast off the shackles that bind him. 
 How best he may see through the blinkers that blind him, 
 His bonds they more tighten — and evince no surprise 
 If he still goes ahead — for the " impudent " rise. 
 
THE SARCOPHAGUS. 2$ 
 
 Though his heart may be heavy at seeing each frown, 
 
 Though his brain's in a reel when they're runnin^^ him down, 
 
 He must put on a smile and show in his face, 
 
 That though they've handicapped him he's winning the race, 
 
 If he doesn't the rumour will spread from them all 
 
 That the "proud" ones will sink and the "mighty" ones fall. 
 
 Human nature is callous and cruel and cold. 
 
 It sneers at the young ones and it scoffs at the old, 
 
 'Twill accuse you of impudence, brag, cheek, and pride. 
 
 If by true perseverance a carriage you ride, 
 
 Should your business "swell" — why, your friends in a host 
 
 Will deny it in toto and sa}' it's a "boast." 
 
 THE SARCOPHAGUS. 
 
 Thou seem'st to me a melancholy sight, 
 
 A sight which makes my inmost mind to mourn ; 
 
 For thou mayhap was erst some old monk's bourne 
 Whose soul long since took its immortal flight 
 To Heaven's sacred and most beauteous height. 
 
 A tenement thou wast for some man's dust, 
 
 Who now may dwell with all the good and just 
 In that bright home wherein there is no night. 
 
 Why should'st thou stand to glut man's curious eyes? 
 To me, it seems a sacrilege that they 
 With heedless thought should cut a piece away 
 
 Perchance to treasure, hoard, and highly prize, 
 Or (at the thought the heart within me cries), 
 
 To quite forget thee ere the close of day. 
 
26 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Of all the happy, joyous days, oh, childhood's days are best, 
 Days when the eve aye brought to us still, calm, refreshing 
 
 rest, 
 Days when our paths ran smoothly, and our way was strewn^ 
 
 with flow'rs. 
 When all was merry, light, and gay in those Elysian hours. 
 
 'Tis pleasant to recall the time when hearts with mirth ran 
 
 free, 
 When every sight which met our eyes was brimming o'er 
 
 with glee, 
 When nought of this world's vanity had stained our souls 
 
 with sin, 
 When recked we not of misery amongst cur kith ard kin. 
 
 How beautiful when, in our dreams, we live those days again, 
 And, careless of the coming years, we think they hold no pain ; 
 We blend our childish voices in shrill re-echoing song, 
 As on some pleasant country lane we wend our way along. 
 
 The flowers shed their fragrance, oh ! far more sweetly then. 
 And brighter seemed each coppice and wood and field and 
 
 glen; 
 The birds upon the hawthorn tree far merrier seemed to sing, 
 For bounteous Nature lent her charm and crowned each one 
 
 a king. 
 
LITTLE TWO-YEAR-OLD. 27 
 
 Oh ! childhood's daj^s are far the best that earthly life shall 
 
 know, 
 For they were free from vice and care, from sorrow, shame 
 
 and woe. 
 Could but those days return to us, how happy we should be — 
 How full of tender love and hope, and blitheful harmony ! 
 
 LITTLE TWO-YEAR-OLD. 
 
 Crowing, laughing, screaming wild, 
 Little winsome, prattling child, 
 Merry, winning, happy voice. 
 Making father's heart rejoice. 
 
 Stumbling, falt'ring, patt'ring feet, 
 Running mother dear to meet ; 
 Outstretched hands and eager face 
 All his a(5lions full of grace. 
 
 Sweet blue eyes and golden hair, 
 Rosy cheeks devoid of care ; 
 Smiling lips and dimpled chin. 
 Pure and careless, free from sin, 
 
 Such a darling, chubby boy, 
 Brave one moment, then so coy ; 
 He is worth his weight in gold, 
 Fearless little two-year-old. 
 
28 THE VILLAGE WEDDING, 
 
 THE VILLAGE WEDDING. 
 
 My eyes ne'er saw a happier sight, 
 Nor one more full of wild delight, 
 Than did they when from yonder green, 
 They saw this pleasant village scene. 
 The time was ten — an August morn. 
 The meadows thick with waving corn. 
 The sun with glory shone o'erhead, 
 And all around its lustre shed. 
 When from the church, so old and grey, 
 The wedding party came away. 
 The church, an old and time-worn pile. 
 Of picfturesquely Saxon style. 
 Had stood there for five hundred years. 
 But still withstood Time's ruthless shears. 
 The belfry — sweet as poet's rhymes 
 Was ringing out the thrilling chimes; 
 Its peals were merry, loud and long. 
 With gladsome ding and mellow dong, 
 Swelling the tuneful bridal song ; 
 The village was but one long street, 
 Of ancient houses — quaintly sweet — 
 Low built and each with roof of thatch. 
 Before them all a garden patch. 
 Except the old inn and the shop, 
 They'd each of flow'rs a pleasant crop. 
 The street from end to end was lined 
 With children, men, and womankind. 
 It seemed as each was giving way 
 To celebrate the bridal day. 
 Their work neglecfted — put aside. 
 
THE VILLAGE WEDDING. 29 
 
 To look on this their latest bride, 
 
 She who was still the village pride. 
 
 There's eager Sue with pegs in hand, 
 
 On cottage doorstep takes her stand. 
 
 Her basketful of clothes puts down. 
 
 And says, '*How neat's her wedding gown," 
 
 On her young shoulder mother leans, 
 
 Who's witnessed many such bright scenes, 
 
 And Peg with slipper in her hand, 
 
 She seems imbued with mischiefs brand, 
 
 She looks — she feels inclined to throw 
 
 But rosy Dolly looks a ♦* No." 
 
 The children sit upon the ground. 
 
 With healthy faces brown and round ; 
 
 There's Dick, he on his barrow sits. 
 
 An idle lad, with dullard wits. 
 
 And sturdy Sam a basket carries. 
 
 To see the sight he also tarries. 
 
 Old Giles, too, leaning on his stick, 
 
 Feels young again, though worn and sick, 
 
 And next to him — devoid of care 
 
 A little urchin — head so bare. 
 
 Whose garments show each rent and tear. 
 
 Behind him stands a little cot, 
 
 A rustic, whitewashed old-world spot. 
 
 And in the door, with outspread arms, 
 
 A woman stands, whose former charms, 
 
 Must long since from her form have fled. 
 
 For surly looks her face, and dead 
 
 To all the hopes of joy and truth. 
 
 That made it bright in early youth, 
 
 Someone now beckons her to come, 
 
30 THE VILLAGE WEDDING. 
 
 But still she stands smileless and glum, 
 
 Her face would almost tell to you 
 
 That this is Bet, the village shrew. 
 
 She surely has a thankless name, 
 
 And is a most high-minded dame, 
 
 In all her looks the words we see, 
 
 These flimsy things are not for me 
 
 And / with them do not agree. 
 
 But on this day they all despise 
 
 The mischief-making of her eyes, 
 
 And all can see her heart is sore 
 
 That they her surliness ignore. 
 
 Here are some children with a cart. 
 
 They shout and crow with all their heart. 
 
 And in procession take a part. 
 
 Two girls come next, one's little Sis, 
 
 Holds Poll by left hand, loaf in this ; 
 
 And so on I could tell to you 
 
 What 'twas my happy lot to view ; 
 
 But I must give a word or two 
 
 To those, the subjecTt of my theme 
 
 Whose life seemed one long summer's dream. 
 
 First comes the bridegroom, strong and tall 
 
 Whose right hand holds her parasol ; 
 
 He's speckled vest and velvet coat 
 
 And silken necktie round his throat. 
 
 An honest, manly face is his. 
 
 That now shows all his heartfelt bliss ; 
 
 His rough brown hands no gloves have on. 
 
 She on his left sleeve rests upon. 
 
 And shcy my pen can scarcely tell 
 
 The hundred charms of this *' His belle." 
 
THE VILLAGE WEDDING. 3I 
 
 From head to foot, sedate and neat, 
 A blushing maiden, shy and sweet ; 
 The very profile of her face 
 Was full of rare and matchless grace. 
 The flowers she held were not more fair, 
 Their hues, though lovely too and rare, 
 Could not with this his bride compare. 
 She looked in her white muslin dress 
 Full of a lady's comeliness. 
 And of surpassing loveliness ; 
 She to the bosom and the eye 
 Lends all a poet's phantasy, 
 In every sense a rustic Queen, 
 In all the pride of sweet eighteen ; 
 Her hair in wavy ringlets flows 
 Tossed by the breeze which gently blows. 
 A stately lissom form has she. 
 With every motion blithe and free : 
 A form that shuns vain folly's mart, 
 That never sought the aid of Art ; 
 Her's is the beauty ever good. 
 The charms of budding womanhood, 
 The beauty that Dame Nature sends, 
 The charm she for a season lends 
 Holding her dress from out the dirt. 
 She showed her neat embroidered skirt. 
 Then followed next a son of Mars, 
 His stripes as well as cuts and scars, 
 Told that he'd taken part in wars. 
 His martial bearing firm and straight, 
 Made him a glory to the State. 
 A good head higher than the rest 
 
32 THE VILLAGE WEDDING. 
 
 He easy confidence possessed ; 
 
 'Twas plain to see the bride was sister, 
 
 For coming out of church he kissed her. 
 
 And rosy Doll — his future wife, 
 
 Whose beaming face shows blissful life, 
 
 A very gay bridesmaid is she, 
 
 For all can tell she's full of glee. 
 
 One arm is raised as if in fear 
 
 The looked-for slipper should come near, 
 
 The fun is shining in her eyes. 
 
 And Peg and slipper she defies. 
 
 Her right arm holds her lover's left. 
 
 Of troubles she is quite bereft ; 
 
 We all can see that on his other 
 
 With fond affecftion rests his mother, 
 
 She's lost her daughter, but has still, 
 
 Her hope, her joy, her son, her Will, 
 
 He soon will pensioned be for life. 
 
 To join no more in wars and strife. 
 
 Behind them next in light attire. 
 
 Comes one we judge the bridegroom's sire. 
 
 The second bridesmaid is with him, 
 
 With thoughts of yore his eyes are dim. 
 
 And at the last with careworn faces, 
 
 The bride's grandparents take their places, 
 
 They've lived together fifty years. 
 
 And had their share of doubts and fears, 
 
 But this, the best of all their days. 
 
 Their former sorrows full repays. 
 
 They in the self-same church were wed, 
 
 And in the yard repose their dead. 
 
THE VILLAGE WEDDING. 33 
 
 Well, well ; my heart could cry aloud 
 Like any of the village crowd, 
 For all the scene impressed my heart, 
 With vain regrets that I must part, 
 From this dear rustic rural scene, 
 And thinking of the " might have been," 
 I gazed once more with fond delight. 
 On this harmonious scene so bright. 
 With all surroundings exquisite. 
 Then as they disappeared from view, 
 I from the charming sight withdrew, 
 I took my path — the valley down. 
 And thought on sorrows of the town ; 
 No sweet romance — all guile and sin. 
 And wretchedness 'mong kith and kin. 
 Of wickedness and vice and strife. 
 Which ill compares with village life. 
 
34 THE CHRISTENING. 
 
 THE CHRISTENING. 
 
 A SEQUEL TO THE ''VILLAGE WEDDING." 
 
 A YEAR has fled — and once again 
 I tread the dear old rustic lane — 
 Where snugly nestles, gay and bright, 
 The village that enhanced my sight ; 
 And where I saw that happy throng, 
 Whose days seemed full of tuneful song, 
 Come up this same quaint village street. 
 Their lives with happiness complete. 
 Ah ! many's the time at close of day, 
 When cares and books were put away ; 
 I've thought and pondered on that scene 
 I saw whilst standing on the green. 
 'Tis Sabbath afternoon, and now 
 I wander up the village brow, 
 And enter at the churchyard gate, 
 For I in there intend to wait, 
 Till I shall hear the holy chime 
 That tells me it is service time. 
 I see the old worn tombs, moss-grown. 
 Of many a generation flown ; 
 I read the inscriptions on the stones 
 Whilst listening to the solemn tones 
 Which now are ringing sweet and clear 
 To tell that worship-hour is near. 
 But now from out the little school, 
 Where teachers, with a kindly rule, 
 Guide the young ones in Jesu's way, 
 And, with a firm but loving sway, 
 Tell them to trust and watch and pray. 
 
THE CHRISTENING. 35 
 
 And thus prepare for Judgment day. 
 
 I see a troop of girls and boys 
 
 Making no laughing, boist'rous noise, 
 
 But walking on the gravelled walk 
 
 With step sedate and quiet talk. 
 
 Then come the teachers close behind, 
 
 Like Paul of old — their flocks to mind. 
 
 The bent, old vicar follows last — 
 
 His life's best days are clearly past, 
 
 Yet still he wears a smiling face. 
 
 Though time's furrows have left their trace, 
 
 His countenance is most benign, 
 
 His hair like silver seems to shine. 
 
 He is a good and noble man. 
 
 Who still works out the Saviour's plan. 
 
 And, though he'll soon go to his grave, 
 
 He ever works and strives to save ; 
 
 All honour and revere his name. 
 
 And have done since the day he came 
 
 To tell the old and teach the youth. 
 
 The word of life and love and truth ; 
 
 And e'en, though weary, they must plod 
 
 If they would ever know their God, 
 
 They must not mind the uphill road. 
 
 It guides them to His blest abode. 
 
 They enter now the house of prayer. 
 
 To sing and hear His praises there ; 
 
 Whilst I, too, enter at the door. 
 
 And, taking up the sacred lore. 
 
 With rev'rence I my God adore. 
 
 The fine old organ thrills my heart ; 
 
 The words a gracious peace impart 
 
36 THE CHRISTENING. 
 
 They have a glorious comfort brought ; 
 
 They've filled my soul with tender thought, 
 
 And joy and peace within me wrought. 
 
 The service done — away I turn, 
 
 When — brain and bosom seem to burn, 
 
 For walking down the portalled aisle. 
 
 Each with a proud and happy smile, 
 
 I see the faces that last year 
 
 Gave me a gladness most sincere. 
 
 I do not know — but I can guess — 
 
 What means that fondle and caress. 
 
 As rosy Doll stoops down to kiss 
 
 Their first-born lovely bud of bliss. 
 
 Yes ! that is she so full of charms 
 
 Holding the baby in her arms. 
 
 I see its smiling pleasant face 
 
 From out its coverture of lace, 
 
 With father's features, and with eyes 
 
 Far bluer than Italia's skies, 
 
 I hear them whisper — *' How like mother," 
 
 *'0h! no; oh! no," I hear another — 
 
 " / think 'tis far more like her brother." 
 
 And there's its mother standing near ; 
 
 Shines in her eye the glist'ning tear, 
 
 But 'tis the tear of heartfelt love. 
 
 And blessed thanks to Him above ; 
 
 Her cup of joy is overflowing, 
 
 Her charming face with rapture's glowing. 
 
 Her form is now more matronly, 
 
 Full of a lissom dignity. 
 
 And father, stalwart as of yore, 
 
 Seems e'en more manly than before, 
 
THE CHRISTENING. 37 
 
 His baby and his winsome wife 
 
 Have crowned with joy his rural Hfe. 
 
 The old grandparents would not miss 
 
 This scene, to them so full of bliss, 
 
 Their hearts and minds are now elate, 
 
 For now they are both "grand" and "great." 
 
 Ah ! now I see them turn aside. 
 
 And to the Vicar's ear confide. 
 
 With tender voice and loving pride, 
 
 That God has filled their lives with joy, 
 
 By sending them a baby boy. 
 
 He holds him for a little space, 
 
 Speaking the holy words of grace, 
 
 Whilst mother looks with anxious face. 
 
 The chosen name I hear is Will, 
 
 In coming years, oh ! may he still 
 
 His parents' hearts with gladness fill. 
 
 Now round the font they kneel to pray, 
 
 That God will guide him in His way, 
 
 And that when earthly life is past 
 
 He'll take him to His Home at last. — 
 
 But now the holy rite is ended 
 
 And down the aisle their steps are wended 
 
 Out of the sacred edifice. 
 
 And then, I muse on joy like this — 
 
 As disappearing from my sight, 
 
 With hearts and hopes and prospecfts bright, 
 
 I watch them down the village street — 
 
 Then turn away with ling'ring feet. 
 
 My life more calm, more free from care 
 
 At that glad scene depidled there, 
 
 In which I, too, have played a share. 
 
38 MY LOVE. 
 
 MY LOVE. 
 
 My Love has eyes of vivid blue, 
 My Love has cheeks of damask hue, 
 My Love has hair as black as jet, 
 And smiles like rippling rivulet. 
 
 My Love's fair brow is white as snow, 
 My Love has lips of cherry glow. 
 My Love would take the world by storm, 
 Her heart is tender, true, and warm. 
 
 My Love has sweet, capricious ways, 
 My Love has voice like lark's clear lays, 
 My Love is stately as a queen, 
 With crown of gold and silver sheen. 
 
 My Love is known by name of Ruth, 
 My Love's a mine of priceless truth, 
 My Love, my life, my hope, my all, 
 I'll love tliee whatso'er befall. 
 
KIRKDALE CAVE. 39 
 
 KIRKDALE CAVE. 
 
 What theme can be more wonderful or great 
 Than thee — the relic of an age long past ; 
 How well thou bear'st the traces of Time's blast 
 
 Without a cringe at the decree of Fate. 
 
 Inside thy vaulted, caverned, cells of State — 
 Long ere the days of prehistoric man — 
 Were held in thee, thou hoary veteran. 
 
 High carnivals and revels. But no date 
 
 Can we ascribe when these events took place. 
 We only know that here we find remains 
 
 Of ancient pottery and human bones, 
 
 And the great joints of some departed race 
 Of animals, who roamed the unformed lanes 
 
 And growl'd in search of prey with thund'rous tones. 
 
40 HOME BEAUTIES. 
 
 HOME BEAUTIES. 
 
 Why search in foreign lands for scen'ry fair ? 
 Why cross the bounding, billowy, seething foam, 
 To look on cupola, on tower and dome ? 
 
 Because, forsooth, you're ordered ** change of air," 
 
 When here old Yorkshire's beauties you can share, 
 And up and down her rugged glens can roam, 
 Without the need of wandering from home ; 
 
 When here are sights with any to compare. 
 
 The sweetly murmuring brook, speeds careless on, 
 The stately trees a calm shade spread around, 
 
 Theflow'rs, the birds, the moors, the browsing flocks 
 The hills, the dales, the ferns, the massive rocks, 
 The cool soft moss, the yielding heathery ground 
 Have all by thousands oft been gazed upon. 
 
THE VILLAG?: CHURCH. 4I 
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 Girt round with waving elm trees, 
 
 Our village church still stands, — 
 With square embattled tower 
 
 Raised by our fathers' hands. 
 It is a shrine of glory 
 
 To all the Saxon race, 
 Crowned o'er with clinging ivy, 
 
 A fount of hallowed grace. 
 
 Its crumbling walls are stately. 
 
 Though falling to decay, 
 So time-worn and so honoured — 
 
 So moss-grown o'er and grey. 
 I've known each stone since childhood. 
 
 And love them each so well, 
 That now when gazing on them 
 
 Comes o'er my soul a spell. 
 
 Once more 'tis merry Springtime, 
 
 Once more I am a child, 
 Gath'ring the buds and blossoms 
 
 That Nature showers wild, — 
 A laughing, prattling youngster 
 
 With ])ound and romp and start, 
 No worldly cares about me, 
 
 No pain within my heart. 
 
42 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 Once more 'tis Sabbath morning, 
 
 Again I worship here ; 
 I hear the vicar preaching, 
 
 So earnest, firm, and clear ; 
 My parents, too, are with me, 
 
 Both in Hfe's early prime ; 
 Both loving, true and tender — 
 
 Ah ! those were days sublime. 
 
 There comes another morning. 
 
 The bells ring loud and sweet, 
 With swelling joyous carols — 
 
 Me and my bride to greet. 
 The children scattered flowers. 
 
 The choir melodious sang ; 
 Our hearts returned the rapture 
 
 With ev'ry peal that rang. 
 
 But in the early winter 
 
 Clangs out the solemn bell, 
 Grim-visaged death has claimed her, 
 
 'Tis Mary's fun'ral knell. 
 Oh, soul, keep down thy madness, 
 
 It is the King of kings. 
 Who to His home has borne her 
 
 And now with Him she sings. 
 
 Still comes another morning, 
 Oh, bosom wild be still ; 
 
 Remember He ordained it — 
 Bend to His holy will. 
 
THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 4^ 
 
 Within its sacred precindls, 
 
 Where years ago they wed — 
 No more again they'll praise Him 
 
 For mother now is dead. 
 
 *Tis but a few weeks after — 
 
 The grave re-opens wide, 
 And they by death divided, 
 
 Are resting side by side. 
 Ah me ! the thought is bitter, 
 
 But God is ever just, 
 Tho' heart and mind are crying 
 
 Against the " Dust to dust." 
 
 I left my native village, 
 
 To mem'ry ever blest — 
 I sought the city's babble. 
 
 To ease my aching breast. 
 Vain deed ! the throbbing city 
 
 Relieved me not of care, 
 For life's best dreams had vanished — 
 
 Remembrance lingered there. 
 
 And now, all aged and wrinkled, 
 
 I come to childhood's home, 
 I wander through the village. 
 
 Along its lanes I roam. 
 It softens my afflicftions — 
 
 I need not further search ; 
 The tend'rest recolle(51:ions cling 
 
 Around the village church. 
 
44 THE TRYST. 
 
 THE TRYST. 
 
 Adown the West the sun is slowly sinking, 
 
 In golden light ; 
 And in the sky the early stars are twinking, 
 
 Heralding night. 
 
 The patient sheep for home are gently bleating, 
 
 But I am here 
 With heart aglow, with bosom wildly beating, 
 
 And eager ear. 
 
 List'ning for her who will the darkness lighten. 
 
 With tender grace, 
 Waiting for her who will my future brighten 
 
 With her glad face. 
 
 And as night's veil upon the earth comes creeping. 
 
 Still here I wait. 
 My lonely vigil in the gloaming keeping, 
 
 My mind elate. 
 
 Oh, heart, constrain thy wild tempestuous motion, 
 
 Thy throbbing wakes 
 The thrilling echoes of such sweet devotion ; 
 
 My bosom aches 
 
 For very joy ; and in transport of feeling 
 
 I stamp the ground. 
 When, plump, white arms come softly 'bout mc stealing, 
 
 Compass me round. 
 
TO THE SPHINX. 45 
 
 Oh, the glad pleasure — the great joy's completeness ; 
 
 Whilst together 
 We feel the glamour of divinest sweetness 
 
 In Love's tether. 
 
 And then we talk of, — well, 'tis no use saying, 
 
 Love's magic rod 
 Finds us the subjecfl whilst the path we're straying. 
 
 Which you have trod. 
 
 TO THE SPHINX. 
 
 Oh, mighty work ! thy more than human face 
 
 Has watched the fall of nations and the rise ; 
 
 Has gazed o'er Egypt's ancient dynasties. 
 And shared the sorrows of their troubled race. 
 Thou lone hast stood, an almost countless space, 
 
 With thy sad, stolid, careworn, earnest eyes ; 
 
 Tranquil ; surveying all their miseries. 
 Their world of longing. Time cannot deface. 
 
 Unchangeable for ages thou hast stood. 
 
 Viewing war, famine, pestilence and death — 
 
 Gazing unmoved on scenes of strife and blood, 
 Watching Greek, Arab, Roman, fail for breath. 
 
 Oh, awful image, could I break the spell 
 
 Which binds thy voice, what wonders thou could'st tell! 
 
46 A summer's morn and a winter's eve. 
 
 A SUMMER'S MORN AND A WINTER'S EVE. 
 
 Oh, Poesy ! thy thrilling powers steal soft within my breast, 
 And flush my soul with rapture and give my bosom rest. 
 Bright dreams seem hov'ring nigh me, bright dreams of fancy 
 
 light; 
 For thy sweet song has sent to me a wondrous, joyful sight. 
 
 'Tis early morn of Summertime, I, in a garden stand. 
 The strains the warblers trill to me 'mind me of fairyland ; 
 And ne'er a zephyr moves the trees, no cloud bedims the 
 
 skies. 
 All things around are beautiful — I gaze with sparkling eyes. 
 
 The dew is glist'ning on the flowers, their scent spreads all 
 
 around ; 
 The many tinted butterflies flit lightsome from the ground. 
 All earth is clothed in glory, all things are bathed in love. 
 Sky, sea, and landscape seem to be as bright as Heaven 
 
 above. 
 
 But suddenly, before mine eyes they vanish from my sight. 
 With dazed, feared glance I look around, and oh ! the fearful 
 
 blight ; 
 The flowers are gone, the trees are bare — the sky is black 
 
 and grim. 
 And ne'er a bird is carolling to me its evening hymn. 
 
THE STRID. 
 
 47 
 
 The wind wakes swiftly from its sleep and fans the gale to 
 
 life, 
 It fills the earth with bitterness and plants the world with 
 
 strife ; 
 Hail, rain, and snow are blended, and wage their war with 
 
 man. 
 They force him in their passion to bend beneath their ban. 
 
 Oh, Poesy ! thy thrilling powers stir rancour in my heart. 
 Thou art so coyly changeable, so cruel with thy dart ; 
 Sure fickle cupid could not be as whimsical as thou. 
 One hour thou crown'st with laurels, then with thorns piercest 
 the brow. 
 
 THE STRID. 
 
 How oft beside this rapid have I stood, 
 
 And watch'd with awe, the wild tempestuous spray 
 Foaming and hissing in its own rash way, 
 Like a huge wolf at taste of human blood. 
 Sounds in mine ears this fierce tumultuous flood ; 
 For lo ! it almost seems to thirst to slay 
 E'er since that fateful, ne'er forgotten day. 
 When he of Egremond passed through the wood 
 
 With hound in leash, and strove to leap across 
 
 The hound, unHke its master, was not brave. 
 
 And shrank behind, and dragged the young boy in. 
 The whirling current madly both did toss — 
 Engulphed them in this most untimely grave — 
 For none could hear their shrieks amid its din. 
 
48 MY FATHER. 
 
 MY FATHER. 
 
 The cares, the joys, the hopes, the fears 
 Of fifty-nine long, weary years, 
 Have little changed thee since I first 
 Remember by thee being nurst. 
 Perhaps thy hair's more tinged with grey, 
 Thine eyes lost part their lustrous ray, 
 But still, my loved and honoured sire, 
 They do not lack their wonted fire, 
 But ever gleam benignant, kind, 
 When thine offspring are in thy mind, 
 And that, dear dad, is day and night ; 
 May acfts of theirs ne'er dim thy sight, 
 Nor words make thy dear eyes less bright. 
 
 How oft thou'st shared our childish fun 
 
 When thou thy daily task had done ; 
 
 I still recall glad romp and play 
 
 We had with thee at close of day, 
 
 And though thou'rt little changed, yet we 
 
 Are sailing on life's troubled sea 
 
 'Mid storms and trials tossed and worn, 
 
 'Fore dangers shrinking and forlorn. 
 
 We think how glad we each should be 
 
 To tell our sorrows unto thee, 
 
 And seek for comfort on thy knee 
 
 As we once did in days gone by, 
 
 When thy kind words healed ev'ry sigh. 
 
 Life's trials thou hast met and fought. 
 But still the battle's dearly bought. 
 For age creeps on ere yet 'tis won. 
 Then sinks to rest our short-lived sun. 
 
MY FATHER. 49 
 
 But still manoeuvres may be met 
 
 By artifices' equal net ; 
 
 Thy struggle has not been in vain, 
 
 For we to thee may come again 
 
 And seek advice and sympathy 
 
 When wounded by earth's treachery ; 
 
 And then as old you speak of God, 
 
 And bid us ever upwards plod, 
 
 That He the Lamp of Light and Love 
 
 Will comfort send from Heaven above. 
 
 And from the mansions of the Blest 
 
 Will send peace, hope, joy, truth and rest. 
 
 Ah well ! thy words were ever true ; 
 
 Oh, may we e'er His wishes do. 
 
 And may He mercifully grant 
 
 That you, dear dad, be free from want. 
 
 And ne'er know scarcity or dearth 
 
 As long as you remain on earth, 
 
 And may He spare thee many a year 
 
 To dwell with thy dear children here, 
 
 And may our mother share thy life 
 
 With never thought of care or strife, 
 
 And when our earthly life is past. 
 
 In God's Great Kingdom, boundless, vast. 
 
 While dread eternity shall last. 
 
 May I and all thy dear ones roam 
 
 Throughout that blest and happy home. 
 
 To those who know me not, I deem 
 This birthday wish will feeble seem, 
 But yfet to one 'twill joy impart. 
 For dad will know 'tis from my heart. 
 
56 BABY NELL. 
 
 BABY NELL. 
 
 How are you, good old fellow ? As happy as you can ? 
 Why I'm delighted to see you, wandering shopmate Dan. 
 What ? You leave in an hour and a quarter ? that's rather 
 
 too bad, you know ; 
 For it's years since we saw each other — years and years ago. 
 
 Never, Dan, — you above all ! But then it is news to you, 
 
 So I'll tell you the whole of the story, — and every word is true. 
 
 I've sworn that I never will taste again that deadly poison, 
 
 wine; 
 It turns us to fiends in human form, and filthy as the swine. 
 No, no ! please do not tempt me. Did I want it ever so much, 
 I'd sooner die a thousand times than the devilish liquor touch. 
 'Tis useless trying to persuade me — my will is as firm as steel ; 
 Methinks I would almost die of thirst, than its murderous 
 
 gripping feel. 
 For when once in its iron clutches, it needs the power Divine 
 To save us from the mockings of that cursed tempter, wine. 
 It brings mankind to the level of the serpent and the brute, 
 And snares us to destrucflion, like the strains of the Siren's lute. 
 It nearly wrecked my life, and through it I nigh lost my soul, 
 For it lured me on to the gates of Hell, and pointed it as my 
 
 goal. 
 Yes, if you wish I'll tell you, but never a word in therey 
 The sign is that of the '' Rising Sun ;" it should be the 
 
 ** Devil's Snare." 
 My home isn't what it used to be — I've the drink to thank 
 
 for that, 
 But we'll go to its cosy brightness, and have a quiet chat. 
 
BABY NELL. 5I 
 
 Now, sit down there in the **easy" — the wife is going out. 
 (Katie, my old friend Fisher, that I've talked so oft about ; 
 Don't stay so long, my darling — he's only an hour to wait, 
 And I want to see him on his way as far as the old church 
 gate.) 
 
 Well, well, the years pass swiftly — I shouldn't have thought 
 
 it ten, 
 But not for all Australia's gold would I pass those years again. 
 I'd gone to see a schoolmate in the first bright days of spring, 
 When the sweet wild flowers were blooming, and the birds 
 
 did gaily sing, 
 'Twas a village down in Devon, and 'twas there I met my fate, 
 For I wooed and won my lassie, and I married bonny Kate. 
 I met her first one morning, whilst on a flow'ret search 
 At the far end of the village, near the ivy-mantled church. 
 We first spoke of the weather, of this thing and of that. 
 And I felt within my bosom my heart go pit a pat. 
 When she left me, all the brightness of the morning seemed 
 
 to fly; 
 I felt both dull and lonely, and I knew the reason why ! 
 Ah ! then her hair was golden, and her cheeks like cherries red, 
 With her stately and lissom beauty, and her shapely, queenly 
 
 head. 
 We met, of course, by accident, a many times again, 
 Either in the wood or valley, or in some quiet lane.. 
 She showed me where her parents lived, in a sweet sequestered 
 
 spot, — 
 A homestead in a garden, — 'twas a rustic old-world cot. 
 And as I said, I wooed her, and I won her for my wife. 
 But through the treacherous demon drink, I've caused her 
 
 pain and strife. 
 
52 BABY NELL. 
 
 It was on an Autumn morning, when the leaves were nearly 
 
 dead, 
 That I and Katie Conway in that village church were wed. 
 Those were the days Elysian — the tenour of our life 
 Was even, smooth, and gentle for me and Kate, my wife. 
 We dwelt in perfedl unity : we lived in each other's love ; 
 We tasted for one brief year below the joy of the realms above. 
 And then there came a baby — such a blue-eyed baby girl. 
 With its peals of childish laughter, and its hair of flaxen curl. 
 This was our crown of happiness, our cup o'erflowed with 
 
 bliss. 
 For none of our former day-dreams could we liken unto this. 
 But as night succeeds the morning, and as shadows come 
 
 and go, 
 I filled my home with misery, starvation, want and woe. 
 Ah, such a home it used to be ! clematis hung outside. 
 With woodbine bloom and jasmine the sun's fierce rays to 
 
 hide. 
 The roof was thatched all over — within a garden stood. 
 The river passed the bottom, and was shaded by a wood. 
 
 I'll tell you how it came about — 'twas surely Satan's link 
 That 'ticed me on to the jaws of death by the aid of the 
 
 hideous drink. 
 I'd been a moderate drinker, but when our baby came 
 It was — " Jack, we now must drink its health," with every 
 
 friend the same. 
 But it isn't a friend — it's a foe, who says, " just have another 
 
 drop ;" 
 It leads to glass and glass and glass, till you don't know 
 
 when to stop. 
 And so I got a-tippling, and as glass succeeded glass, 
 
BABY XKLL. 53 
 
 I felt I loved it better than home, my wife, or my little lass. 
 Sometimes I'd go home dead drunk, Dan, and cursed and 
 
 raved and swore, 
 And one night — God forgive me ! — I flung them both to the 
 
 floor. 
 Ah me ! when I come to think of the rest, my soul cries out 
 
 for shame, 
 The kick that I'd giv'n my baby Nell made her for ever lame. 
 And then I lost my work, but I still must have my " sup," 
 I still was in the tempter's power — in drink's accursed cup. 
 And then I got pawning my things — first one, then another 
 
 went ; 
 This was the devil's own price, for in drink that money was 
 
 spent. 
 My home got bare and comfortless — for this I blamed my wife 
 And baby Nell — ah me ! I feel I surely took her life. 
 One night, I went home in my tantrums, when Kate said, 
 
 "Baby's ill; 
 She's feverish, hot, and restless ; poor Nell, she can't keep 
 
 still." 
 But I said, in my drunken stupor, "I wish the kid was dead; 
 For I then could have the money, with which the brat is fed." 
 Oh ! surely Heaven's righteous wrath followed me from that 
 
 day, 
 As within a week from then He took poor little Nell away, 
 There was no money for Doclor, no food in the house at all. 
 And then she died, God help me ! with me in a drunken brawl. 
 The parish had to bury her — she went to a pauper's grave. 
 And I'd in drink spent the coppers, which her little life could 
 
 save, 
 It sobered me, though, when I knew it, and I swore it then 
 
 and there 
 
54 BABY NELL. 
 
 That I nevermore would taste it, or enter the demon's lair, 
 If ever a man wants punishing I know that I am he, 
 For little bright-eyed baby Nell died from a drunken spree. 
 Poor Katie ! now her hair is grey, her face is wan and pale ; 
 But she only once gave way, in a low heart-broken wail. 
 Her form seemed to shrink to nothing ; the brightness left 
 
 her eye ; 
 And I felt only able to moan and think, to think, and moan, 
 
 and sigh. 
 It's five long years now, though, since dear Nell's spirit fled ; 
 And many's the prayer I've murmured, and many's the tear 
 
 I've shed. 
 Her portrait's hanging yonder, she seems to be looking at me 
 With her little eager laughing eyes, and face so full of glee. 
 I deserve to be sent this moment, Dan, to the blackest depths 
 
 of hell. 
 For as certain as Cain killed Abel, I killed my Baby Nell. 
 
 But, as you say, your time is up, and seeing the wife's not 
 
 back, 
 Whenever you come this way again, look up your old friend 
 
 Jack. 
 Remember the path I used to tread ; which many a one has 
 
 trod 
 Until bound by the chains of Satan, or saved by a righteous 
 
 God. 
 Beware of drink ! 'tis a magnet that holds fast to the steel ! 
 It grips you with an iron hand, and its rancour all can feel. 
 Good-bye, once more, my hearty ! it's a sad, sad tale to tell. 
 For my heart still yearns for my darling, my little Baby Nell. 
 
NATURE S BEAUTIES. 55 
 
 NATURE'S BEAUTIES. 
 
 How sweet it is to understand 
 
 The living beauties of our land, 
 
 To mark the habit of each bird 
 
 And know each thrilling songster's word ; 
 
 To tell a friend from out whose throat 
 
 Came forth that mellow tuneful note ; 
 
 To know each insedt of the grove, 
 
 And watch them ever joyful rove ; 
 
 To have the knowledge to describe 
 
 The vagaries of all their tribe ; 
 
 To watch the butterfly elate 
 
 And tell him of its larva state, 
 
 The eggs it lays, and where to find 
 
 The many species of its kind ; 
 
 To know each herb and flow'r that grows, 
 
 And to your wond'ring ear disclose 
 
 With apt and interesting speech 
 
 The name and habitat of each ; 
 
 To tell their uses and proclaim 
 
 How each one got its pretty name ; 
 
 To tell him that in such a spot 
 
 He's sure to find " Forget-me-not ;" 
 
 To say that down in yonder glen, 
 
 Whence sounds the chirrup of the wren, 
 
 He there may see at close of day 
 
 The merry tadpoles frisk and play ; 
 
 Or point him sitting on its nest 
 
 The robin with its scarlet breast ; 
 
 To lift a stone, down in the mead, 
 
 And show his friend the centipede ; 
 
5^ nature's beauties. 
 
 Inform him that it is a prize 
 
 To all who see with Nature's eyes, 
 
 And that there's beauty iii the germs 
 
 Of slugs and beetles, grubs and worms, 
 
 And that it is a pleasant study 
 
 To poke in holes so soft and muddy 
 
 To rouse them from their torpid ways, 
 
 And on their flight in wonder gaze ; 
 
 To tell each moss upon the wall, 
 
 To give descriptions of them all. 
 
 Oh ! Nature will her charms unfold 
 
 And deck the earth in living gold ; 
 
 If we but seek and ;isk her aid, 
 
 Her gorgeous gems will be displayed. 
 
 She touches with a hand most kind 
 
 And gladdens both the heart and mind. 
 
 Full sweet it is in leisure hours 
 
 To search amongst the trees and flow'rs. 
 
 To feel the fragrance of the breeze, 
 
 To hear the voice of birds and bees. 
 
 To watch the rippling of the brook. 
 
 To gaze in cranny and in nook. 
 
 And for new treasures ever seek 
 
 With beating heart and glowing cheek. 
 
 Of all the studies far the best, 
 
 And which to life lends greater zest — 
 
 That of Queen Nature leads the van 
 
 A study meet for an}^ man. 
 
 And I for hours could talk and list 
 
 With Nature's son — the botanist. 
 
 His is a sympathetic heart. 
 
 For he to others would impart 
 
SUNSET. 57 
 
 The gladness and the joys that he 
 Doth ev'rywhere around him see. 
 Then Nature proves a happy sight, 
 Clad in new garments of delight. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 O'er mountain tops the crimson light is fading, 
 
 Solemn and slow, 
 Tinting the earth with quiet, gentle shading 
 
 And golden glow. 
 
 The early stars the heavens are now adorning 
 
 With twinkle bright. 
 And the hushed trill of birds giveth us w^arning 
 
 Of coming night. 
 
 The Queen of Night — the pale-faced moon comes gliding, 
 
 With halo deep, 
 And but for crickets' chirp from out yon siding 
 
 Nature's asleep. 
 
 Gaunt shadows hang around us as we're walking 
 
 Through forests grim ; 
 Low fall our footsteps — softly sounds our talking 
 
 In twilight dim. 
 
 Ah ! how the spirit from the dark seems shrinking ; 
 
 But eve gives rest. 
 Finds the mind food and calms our troubled thinking, 
 
 And soothes the breast. 
 
58 IN THE HAYFIELDS. 
 
 IN THE HAYFIELDS. 
 
 Here's a song to the hay, the fragrant hay, 
 
 For it smells so sweet at the close of day : 
 
 'Tis wafted to us on the balmy breeze. 
 
 As we idly lie 'neath the leafy trees. 
 
 It is good to watch in the summer's sun 
 
 The boys and girls as they romp in their fun ; 
 
 How they tumble and toss and heap it high. 
 
 Until with the warmth of the sun 'tis dry. 
 
 And now in their frolicsome youthful pride, 
 
 They will raise it up each other to hide. 
 
 But, oh ! what a boist'rous, musical sound, 
 
 That echoes above and sounds all around. 
 
 There is when father they cover with hay ; 
 
 And he makes them believe that he can't get away 
 
 Oh, little they reck of the hours that pass 
 
 Whilst raking the beautiful meadow grass. 
 
 Their laughing voices, loud, merry and blithe — 
 
 Seem to keep in tune with the mower's scythe. 
 
 With the sky above of a liquid blue, 
 
 And all Nature wearing a gladsome hue. 
 
 Then when the sun sinks away in the west. 
 
 And the tired children go home to rest, 
 
 'Tis good to linger and sit for awhile 
 
 With your heart's best choice at each rustic stile. 
 
FIGURES IN THE FIRE. 59 
 
 FIGURES IN THE FIRE. 
 
 To watch the glowing embers burn was ever my delight, 
 
 As cosily we sat around and watched the flames burn bright ; 
 
 So come imagination and sweetly tune my lyre, 
 
 And I'll describe those fleeting scenes — the figures in the fire. 
 
 There were fairy rocks and mountains, and many a cave and 
 i fell ; 
 
 There were little streams and rivulets, green banks, and mossy 
 
 dell. 
 The shapes — the heads of animals — of monsters grim and 
 
 dire ; 
 Huge reptiles, fish, and giant birds, were figures in the fire. 
 
 And should our glance a moment stray, our look be turned 
 
 aside, 
 With lightning-like rapidity they'd vanish far and wide. 
 Tall trees and stately castles, of many a lordly sire, 
 Would to our vivid fancy come, as figures in the fire. 
 
 Long rows of shapely terraces we saw within the blaze ; 
 A labyrinth of forests would next attradl our gaze, 
 Until with drooping eyelids and heads that quickly tire, 
 We sought our couch, to dream about the figures in the fire. 
 
 :;: ^c j;; :;; ;;; ^: * 
 
 'Tis not to childish fancy do the figures but appear. 
 
 They come to youth and manhood — to the hoary and the 
 
 sere — 
 And as / gaze upon them, the flames my pen inspire, 
 And I see the scenes of long ago, as figures in the fire. 
 
60 FIGURES IN THE FIRE. 
 
 I'm entering on life's journey — 'tis a battle to us all ; 
 
 And many give the struggle up, or 'neath its burdens fall ; 
 
 But I'm enthusiastic and full of youth's desire ; 
 
 Life seems all glow and sunshine, like the figures in the fire. 
 
 The road, I find, is toilsome, but my young blood pulls me 
 
 through. 
 Though oftentimes I'm weary and know not what to do ; 
 And as uphill I'm travelling and frequent in the mire, 
 I find that life is fleeting, as the figures in the fire. 
 
 Ah ! now 'tis early manhood — I've a maiden by my side ; 
 Merrily pass the summer days — too quick the moments 
 
 glide — 
 The bond is sealed, she now is mine, I'm the happiest in the 
 
 shire, 
 I see the scene that makes us one — a figure in the fire. 
 
 Again I look, the view is changed, I've children on my knee, 
 I hear their happy prattling, join in their swelling glee : 
 But still my fevered fancy roves, and further I aspire, 
 I see the mansion where I dwell — a figure in the fire. 
 
 I see my servants, horses, dogs — I see the sun-lit lake. 
 
 Ah ! could I but have listened to the tiny voice which spake, 
 
 That told me I had seen enough — but it seemed to rouse my 
 
 ire : 
 I still must look, I yet must search, for figures in the fire. 
 
FIGURES IN THE FIRE. 6l 
 
 And SO I gaze and see myself, old, weary, worn, and grey : 
 My children all have left me to plod my lonely wa}^ 
 M}' hall, my lands, have vanished, oh ! hush ye feeble wire ; 
 Th}' strength is not sufficient for this figure in the fire. 
 
 Yet I feel a fascination that compels my eyes to gaze. 
 Though my head is almost reeling, and my mind is in a craze ; 
 For though the glow is dying, I must watch each spark 
 
 expire, 
 They have filled me with delirium — the figures in the fire. 
 
 So still my eyes are searching, and I see my aged wife, 
 
 For sixty years my stay and friend, and helpmate through 
 
 my life. 
 I see — O God ! — I see her form upon the funeral pyre ; 
 And there's nothing left but ashes, and no figures in the fire. 
 
62 THE Spaniard's amour. 
 
 THE SPANIARD'S AMOUR. 
 
 I CANNOT WOO thee calm and slow, — 
 No sluggard's love is mine ; 
 
 There's madness in my pulses glow, 
 
 My blood is like the torrent's flow, 
 O'erheated as with wine : 
 
 I feel a bliss which few can know 
 When my hand's clasped in thine. 
 
 Ambition now is nought to me ; 
 
 Wealth, power, I do not crave ; 
 A freeman, yet no longer free, 
 For am I not enslaved by thee ? 
 
 Do I not of thee rave ? 
 Am I not wrecked in love's fierce sea, 
 Whirling about tempestuously, 
 
 Engulphed beneath its wave ? 
 
 Homage to thee for e'er I'll pay, 
 
 My queen of love and light ; 
 I'll be thy dog, and guard thy way. 
 Thy slave, thy servant, all the day 
 
 Thy path shall e'er be bright ; 
 Oh, heed me as I humbly pray. 
 Say but the word — 'twill shed its ray 
 On my chaotic night. 
 
 Could'st thou but feel my passion's fire, 
 
 Which rages fast within. 
 The flames which never will expire. 
 But glow more bright and always higher, 
 
MALHAM COVE. 63 
 
 When thee I strive to win ; 
 Could'st thou but feel love's keen desire, 
 Then would'st thou know that nought could tire 
 My love's exhaustless bin. 
 
 Do I see on thy cheek the smile 
 
 Which tells me I have won ? 
 Thou dost not then my cause revile, 
 And though I've sunken 'neath thy wile. 
 
 My pleadings dost not shun ; 
 Ah ! now I'm on a fairy isle, 
 With all things round me to beguile, 
 
 And thou'rt my brightest sun. 
 
 MALHAM COVE. 
 
 All hail to thee — gigantic Malham Cove, 
 Tremendous freak of Nature, noble, grand. 
 Made by the pow'r of her almighty hand, 
 
 Assisted by the thunderbolts of Jove. 
 
 Looking upon thee from the lowly grove, 
 We feel a glory, that thou'rt on our land, 
 And gaze on thee with awe from where we stand, 
 
 With minds, that on thee gazing, cannot rove. 
 Oh, scene sublime, stupendous and august, 
 We feel when near thee, that we are but dust, 
 
 Weak, puny mortals — creatures of a day. 
 We feel a horror at thy rocky height, 
 Thou huge example of majestic might 
 
 Which Time's vast ages has not swept away. 
 
64 
 
 AWAKING. 
 
 AWAKING. 
 
 What is this new strange feeling 
 
 That fills my soul with joy ? 
 That over me comes stealing 
 
 And makes me feel so coy ? 
 That thrills my bosom and my heart 
 
 With most divine romances, 
 And causes all my frame to start 
 
 With most delicious fancies. 
 
 And why do all the lovely flowers 
 
 Each wear a brighter hue ? 
 And why do all the passing hours 
 
 Seem sadly short and few ? 
 Why does my heart seem lighter ? 
 
 What makes my pulses glow ? 
 What makes the world seem brighter ? 
 
 I really do not know. 
 
 Why do my cares seem fewer ? 
 
 What makes all earth so gay ? 
 The very sky seems bluer 
 
 Than this time yesterday. 
 The birds they sing more sweetly, 
 
 The gaudy butterflies 
 Come near me indiscreetly, 
 
 The lark melodious cries. 
 
 And onward flows the river 
 As though from care set free, 
 
 So calm, without a quiver. 
 It glides on to the sea. 
 
LOVE. 65 
 
 And now the stars are shining 
 
 And twinkling up afar, 
 Each set in golden lining 
 
 Like me — no gloom to mar. 
 
 They seem to shine more brilliantly 
 
 Than at this time yest'rnight, 
 Or, perhaps, it is only to me 
 
 They look more dazzling bright. 
 But only one short day has passed 
 
 Since Jack proposed to me — 
 Will each seem fairer than the last, 
 
 More full of harmony ? 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Love attra^s, it is magnetic, 
 Love is soothing, sympathetic, 
 Love is incense, always burning. 
 Love is longing, always yearning. 
 Love is rapture, radiant meekness, 
 Love is strength, sustaining weakness, 
 Love is wealth and hope and duty, 
 Love is elegance and beauty. 
 Love is tune and Love is song. 
 Love is always. Love is long, 
 Love is Hfetime's noblest treasure. 
 Love is thrilling, joyous pleasure. 
 Love is chaste and love is pure, 
 Love forever shall endure. 
 
66 A PRIMROSE. 
 
 A PRIMROSE. 
 
 Thou gem of flowers, thou empress of the earth, 
 
 Thou art to us as dear as all thy kin ; 
 When winter, dying, gently gives thee birth 
 Thou comest forth amid the barren dearth, 
 And smil'st on us, and all our hearts doth win. 
 
 Thou art to us at this time, doubly dear 
 For now our love for thee is manifold, 
 And glad we feel when thy pale buds appear. 
 Lending a charm to copses bare and drear, 
 And tinting them with thine unsullied gold. 
 
 Reminding us of these first days of Spring, 
 When earth her winter garment casts aside, 
 
 And birds, melodious, make the wild woods ring 
 
 With thousand notes of fairy carolling, 
 
 When Spring's fair sceptre is to all applied. 
 
 When all around new verdure we can see, 
 
 When bleating lambs unto their mothers hie, 
 When all we hear unto the heart sends glee. 
 When all we think is madd'ning ecstasy, 
 Thou canst with all thy sisters haply vie. 
 
 But not alone because thou speak'st of Spring 
 
 Art thou to us so beautiful, so bright. 
 Thou aye remind'st us, 'mid Time's wanton wing 
 Of one now dead, who whilst here was a king 
 
 And ruled our land with Justice, Truth, and Right. 
 
SPRING. 67 
 
 Thou wast his favourite bud — so be thou ours 
 
 Thou Httle gem, 'mid cool soft moss concealed 
 Bloom on in all thy beauty 'freshed by showers, 
 And still remind us — best of Nature's flowers — 
 Of him who ever loved thee — Beaconsfield. 
 
 I 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 All hail to thee, sweet perfume-laden Spring, 
 
 Bringing once more the birds and buds and flowers^ 
 April's gay breezes, and its playful showers. 
 
 Thy verdant freshness, and thy blossoming, 
 
 Makes thee to us seem like a fairy thing. 
 Thou art so fair and sunny, and so bright, 
 Casting on us thy smile and mystic light. 
 
 With touch so soft, 'tis like an angel's wing. 
 
 The murmuring rills splash with a jo3^ful sound ; 
 In pleasant meadows see the young lambs bound ; 
 
 And hearken to the ringdove's gentle note ; 
 Hear the loud warbler, the melodious thrush. 
 Call on its mate from out yon wild briar's bush ; 
 
 List to the music from the linnet's throat. 
 
68 THE MANIAC. 
 
 THE MANIAC. 
 
 Still do I feel this never-ceasing pain, 
 
 This weight of anguish on my burning brow, 
 That writhes and throbs my heated, feverish brain, 
 
 And makes me 'neath my load of terror bow. 
 
 Sometimes I think it will depart, but now 
 With tenfold power it grips me in its clutch, 
 
 And makes my feeble form to shrink again 
 In agony at its o'erwhelming touch ; 
 
 I cry for mercy, but I cry in vain. 
 
 My God ! it was not always so, for I 
 
 Can mind the time when my poor brain was clear, 
 When not in vain for help I'd have to cry. 
 
 For there were many who would hurry near 
 
 To soothe my thoughts and chase away my fear. 
 But none now come, and wildly I may shriek ; 
 
 The blank, cold walls take up my dismal scream. 
 Re-echo back my voice which now is weak 
 
 With asking freedom from my frenzied dream. 
 
 I have no rest, no peace all day and night. 
 
 For shapes come floating round me as I sleep. 
 Palsy my frame, and fill my soul with fright, 
 
 For round about my coverlet they leap ; 
 
 And when for mercy unto them I weep 
 They sneer at me with hideous grimace ; 
 
 They try to wound me with their venomed stings, 
 They claw the flesh from off my wrinkled face, 
 
 And almost scorch me with their fiery wings. 
 
THE MAX I AC. 69 
 
 Sometimes my mind grows tranquil, and I feel 
 No thought of woe, of pain, or of despair, 
 
 And I can walk without this swimming reel ; 
 Nor see I demons hovering in the air, 
 Trying to drag me to their murderous lair. 
 
 I feel a sense of quiet, calm, and rest. 
 And then I try to think and think and think 
 
 How came I here, and at whose stern behest 
 My wrists are joined with this great iron link. 
 
 But Memory aids me not, nor does she give 
 
 The slightest solace to my weary soul ; 
 I know not who I am, nor why I live ; 
 
 My thoughts, my actions are beyond control. 
 
 She points to me no sweet, refreshing goal 
 Where I can find a balm for all my care. 
 
 She only tells me that I'm locked in here 
 With these four walls, so bleak, so cold, so bare, 
 
 To frown at me and mock me in my fear. 
 
 And yet I feel it was not always so, 
 For long ago in Time's forgotten past 
 
 I seem to dwell ; I seem to feel and know 
 That this great burden I from me could cast. 
 Once more be free, nor at life shrink aghast, 
 
 But when and where it was, or in what sphere 
 I cannot tell, there seems but one huge void, 
 
 A blank oblivion, all past days appear. 
 The present are with bitterness alloyed. 
 
70 THE MANIAC. 
 
 Lo ! as I speak ten thousand eyes assail, 
 
 Then grin at me with malice and with spite, 
 Above, below, all round, oh ! how I quail 
 
 Before the fury of their deadly light. 
 
 Could I but rid me of this torturous sight 
 Methinks I might endure whate'er come next ; 
 
 Do you not see them, staring, maddening, fierce ? 
 Look ye ! my God ! why am I so perplexed ? 
 
 They seem to me, my inmost soul to pierce. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! they've gone, once more my soul is free 
 
 From the wild stare of those relentless eyes. 
 From their infernal look of enmity 
 
 Which never, never, never from them dies. 
 
 They've been before! sometimes one round me flies, 
 And gives a glance of such hatred and scorn 
 
 That with the strength of myriads I cr}^ ; 
 I beat the walls till my poor flesh is torn 
 
 And bleeding ; yet no comforter comes nigh. 
 
 At times I hear a harsh, demoniac yell. 
 
 And peering at me through the darkened room 
 I see some monster from the caves of hell 
 
 Beckoning me forth into the horrid gloom. 
 
 I hear its voice — it says, it is my tomb. 
 That for Eternity — my dweUing place 
 
 Shall be with all the satyrs down below. 
 That it has hated man's accursed race 
 
 For ages, and that hate doth dail}' grow. 
 
THE MANIAC. 7I 
 
 Useless I ask for mercy, 'tis in vain 
 
 I suppliant bend, ask it my life to spare, 
 It comes to bind me 'neath it galling chain ; 
 
 You see it not ? — look man, 'tis there ! 'tis there ! 
 
 For my body to its cavern to bear. 
 Drive it away, the horrid, cursed gnome. 
 
 The fiend of Satan — to its dismal shade ; 
 Send it to Hades, 'tis its fittest home. 
 
 Nor let it e'er again my roorn invade. 
 
 'Tis gone, a thousand thanks, my misery 
 Is still supreme in its most awful power, 
 
 For see, yon serpent, as in mockery. 
 
 Steals in my room to make me crouch and cower, 
 Uprears itself and o'er my head doth tower. 
 
 See ye its jaws, its horrid oozing slime ? 
 
 Smell ye the sickening vapour spreading round ? 
 
 Why cringe ye not at its entainted grime. 
 Do you not see it — here, upon the ground ? 
 
 A Siren Queen now tries me to entice 
 
 To her grim grot, beneath a lava lake, 
 But I resist such treacherous device. 
 
 For nought I know its burning e'er will slake. 
 
 Oh ! Mercy ! Mercy ! at thy feet I quake ; 
 Call off these monsters, ease my troubled mind ; 
 
 A balm thou canst to my disease apply. 
 Oil ! Mercy ! Mercy ! thou wert ever kind — 
 
 If thou canst not cure, Mercy — let me die. 
 
72 THREE QUESTIONS. 
 
 THREE QUESTIONS. 
 
 A MELODY seemed floating round 
 
 The soft ambrosial air, 
 We, in love's fetters, fast were bound, 
 
 Entranced within its lair. 
 Her gentle sway enamoured me. 
 And so I asked her questions three. 
 
 A graceful fancy filled my breast 
 
 With paeans of delight. 
 My heart had sought and found its rest 
 
 On that fair summer's night. 
 When with a wild exultant thrill 
 I heard her whisper " Jack, I will." 
 
 A glowing joy my frame spread o'er, 
 And chased earth's griefs away, 
 
 For love had sent its boundless store 
 For ever and for aye ; 
 
 And in its thraldom sweet and true 
 
 She said, " Why, Jack, you know I do." 
 
 A perfe(5l charm took hold of me. 
 And stole away dull care ; 
 
 Instilled me with her witchery 
 And tender debonair ; 
 
 But one more question — ^joy sublime. 
 
 She murmurs, " Jack, dear, any time." 
 
• WAITING. -7.3 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 I SAW my darling standing at the door 
 
 In all the pride of beauty, youth, and grace, 
 
 The sunlight shed a lustre on the floor. 
 
 Lightened her face. 
 
 She glanced adown the dear old rustic lane, 
 And hummed a song, a pleasant song to hear ; 
 I stood and listened to the merry strain 
 
 So pure and clear. 
 
 -:■■ ^;= * -o^ * Nc 
 
 'Twas an old lovr tale of a belted knight 
 Who had won the heart of his lady fair, 
 Who though ne'er worsted in chivalrous fight. 
 In Cupid's snare 
 
 Had been 'ticed and captured, well pleased to lose 
 His love and his heart, for to him 'twas sweet ; 
 A bonnier damsel he could not choose 
 
 Or wish to greet. 
 
 But he had to fight a much sterner foe. 
 For his king and country were sore in need. 
 And he'd left his lady in grief and woe. 
 
 With heart ableed. 
 
 And the hours seemed long, but the days sped on 
 Till the time draws nigh when he comes back home, 
 x\nd as soon as another sun has gone 
 
 He'll cease to roam. 
 
■74 WAITING. 
 
 He has bid his love to be at the door 
 To give him her welcome blushes and smiles ; 
 To the two who know they will part no more 
 The thought beguiles. 
 
 There are only a few more moments now, 
 Her breath it comes fast and her pale cheeks flush, 
 And her heart nigh stops, and moist is her brow — 
 Oh, wild birds, hush ! 
 
 She is in his arms, she is on his breast, 
 And now have fled all her hopes and her fears ; 
 And though for ever her heart is at rest. 
 The happy tears 
 
 Come thick and fast, and they mingle with his ; 
 He holds her close and he fondly kisses — 
 Oh, surely there never was joy like this, 
 Sweeter blisses ! 
 
 She saw me looking and she ceased her song, 
 And the rosy blush overspread her face. 
 Then with her buoyant footsteps light and strong 
 And full of grace 
 
 Came running to meet me, wild with deliglit. 
 And I heaped on her many a sweet caress. 
 And many a fond endearment exquisite — 
 Could I do less ? 
 
POET HOLROYD. ^ 
 
 Sure knight ne'er saluted a maid more fair, 
 As in the doorway young and bright she stood ; 
 I was enraptured with her beauties rare, 
 Her womanhood. 
 
 POET HOLROYD. 
 
 Thou oft hast sung of woodland scenes^ 
 
 Of calm and sunny vales, 
 Of forests, and the golden sheens 
 
 That deck our hills and dales. 
 Thy minstrelsy we ever loved, 
 
 Thy themes were fresh and free ; 
 And ever as the fancy roved, 
 
 With its wild bursts of glee, 
 We long'd to linger in the light 
 
 Of each new simile ; 
 For they were always soft and bright. 
 
 Alike the sparkling sea. 
 
 And ever as their golden beams 
 Fell on these minds of ours. 
 
 With music like the gentle streams, 
 And fragrant as the flowers, 
 
76 POET HOLROYD. 
 
 We listened to the melody 
 
 That thrilled our very brains, 
 For there was glorious harmony 
 
 In all thy songs and strains, 
 That 'minded us of boyhood's days, 
 
 Of hedge-girt country lanes. 
 And as we, loving, read thy lays, 
 
 Forgot were all our pains. 
 
 But now thy voice no longer sings. 
 
 Thy spirit's left its clay. 
 And borne by brightest angels' wings 
 
 To everlasting day. 
 Thy Muse again can never blend, 
 
 Yet Hope's exhausted urn 
 Its tiny little voice doth lend. 
 
 And says, '* This lesson learn. 
 For though on high he's gone to live, 
 
 On earth ne'er to return, 
 A message to you I will give. 
 
 It is — * not always mourn.' " 
 
 And then, this welcome little voice. 
 
 Which is to each one sent. 
 Bids all on earth to aye rejoice — 
 
 To watch, pray, trust, repent ; 
 To live for the blessed home above — 
 
 And when that life is spent. 
 To dwell with the great God of Love. 
 
 In bliss for ever blent. 
 
wilberforce's oak. 77 
 
 WILBERFORCE'S OAK.- 
 
 The scene is Holwood, just by Keston's vale, 
 The time is evening, and night's shadows pale 
 Are softly stealing over all the earth, 
 And the grey sky to stars is giving birth. 
 
 On an oak's root, whilst resting from their walk, 
 Two men have sat to have an earnest talk. 
 They speak in solemn tones — hushed, slow, and grave, 
 Their theme's a sad one, for 'tis of the slave. 
 
 One now is speaking, and the other lists 
 With furrowed brow and firmly clenched fists — 
 He tells the hardships of the negro race. 
 With eloquence and wild appealing face. 
 
 And asks his list'ner to do what he can — 
 To give back freedom to his fellow man ; 
 On their great sufferings he for long dilates. 
 'Tis Pitt who's spoken — he for answer waits. 
 
 And now the other, with a glowing breast. 
 Gives him the promise — " that he will not rest 
 Until the slave of every secfl and creed. 
 On British land are by the British freed." 
 
 The die is cast, the " House " has said the word, 
 With awed attention was the speaker heard — 
 'Twas nobly passed by all that vast concourse. 
 The mover's name was William Wilberforce. 
 
 ♦ At Holwood on the evening of May 12th, 1789, two men might have been 
 seen in earnest conversation sitting on the gnarled root of an old oak tree, 
 known to this day as Wilberforce's Oak. The verses explain the purport of 
 their conversation. 
 
,78 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 'Tis now Odtober — 
 And each shrivelled leaf by the wind's fierce gust 
 With fluttering motion falls upon the ground, 
 A mournful sight to see and full of pain, 
 As, with a rustling sound, they strew the earth 
 And whirl around — tossing, restless, abjedl 
 In their decay. 
 
 Erstwhile, the bleak bare branches, 
 Which held them in an embrace kind and strong, 
 Gloried in the majesty of their power. 
 And in Spring's breeze with lithe and graceful sway- 
 In all the pride and splendour of their dress. 
 They formed a canopy of loveliness ; 
 Their bright green hue made them a glorious garb. 
 And clothed them in a mantle of delight 
 Till Summer came. 
 
 Changed them to golden brown, 
 Matured and nursed them with a loving care. 
 And seemed to watch them with an anxious eye 
 Lest aught might rob her of these her nurselings. 
 But fleeting Summer could not stay — so she 
 Departed, 
 
 And then came mellow Autumn — 
 That fickle goddess of the worn-out year ; 
 Faded their hues, took their life's-blood away, 
 Left them to perish, all forlorn to die 
 Dejecfted, lonesome, in a sea of care. 
 Yet, wondrous to relate ! 
 
TO MRS. MARGARET BARTON. 79 
 
 These fallen leaves 
 Which now in eddying, whirling motion, strew 
 Mother earth in wretchedness and sorrow 
 Shall help to nourish the next year's offspring 
 Of perchance, the same woodland tree, the beech ; 
 Those monarchs of the forest, the giant oak, 
 The stately elm, or e'en the lowly bush 
 From which they lately fell. 
 
 TO MRS. MARGARET BARTON. 
 
 THE HEYSHAM CENTENARIAN. 
 
 Far, far beyond th' allotted space of man 
 
 Has God in all- wise mercy granted thee ; 
 
 Full five score years and four, thou'st lived to see, 
 And thou hast lived them as a Christian can. 
 'Tis true our life below is but a span, 
 
 O'erspread with thorns ne'er from temptation free ; 
 
 Yet He will listen to the sinner's plea, 
 And comfort give by blest salvation's plan. 
 Thou art an aged pilgrim on life's way ; 
 
 The cares of many years have dimmed thine eyes ; 
 Thou hast not long down here to watch and pray, 
 
 Thou soon wilt dwell in realms beyond the skies, 
 And 'fore thou enters Jesus' voice will say. 
 
 Welcome dear soul — welcome to Paradise. 
 
So IF FATHER HOLDS THE ROPE. 
 
 IF FATHER HOLDS THE ROPE. 
 
 (founded on fact.) 
 
 Before us stands a precipice, 
 
 Deep water is below, 
 And on the sides of this abyss, 
 
 Abundant wild flow'rs grow. 
 Fragrant and beautiful and rare, 
 In sweetest nature blooming there, 
 So bountiful and free. 
 
 But none can reach those lovely flow'rs, 
 For though quite plain to view 
 
 These puny human hands of ours 
 Those rocks can not cling to. 
 
 And so we stand with longing gaze. 
 
 Each one suggesting many ways. 
 But none of any use. 
 
 Here comes upon our path a boy, 
 
 A rustic Highland lad. 
 And now our hearts are crowned with joy, 
 
 Each one is feeling glad, 
 For by the means of boy and rope. 
 We can with all our trials cope 
 And gain the flowers. 
 
 We offer him a handsome sum, 
 
 But still he hesitates. 
 And though we each press him to come. 
 
 He loiters by and waits ; 
 
IF FATHER HOLDS THE ROPE. 
 
 At last, with foot-steps short and slow, 
 He looks upon the gulf below, 
 
 With brave and fearless eyes. 
 
 Then says, and on his cheek the while 
 
 Appears a happy glow, 
 And o'er his face there comes a smile, 
 
 A bliss to see and know ; 
 "I'll go with pleasure, but I hope 
 You'll let my father hold the rope. 
 
 He lives not far from here." 
 
 Oh, God ! this is a lesson dear 
 
 That Thou hast surely taught. 
 For Thou bidst not Thy children fear 
 
 The path with danger fraught ; 
 And we may still rely on Thee 
 From earthly toils to set us free. 
 If we cling to Thy rope. 
 
 The lad could trust his father's pow'rs 
 
 To grasp him firm and strong 
 Whilst getting those sweet mountain flow'rs 
 
 The rugged rocks among. 
 So can we trust Thee for Our Guide, 
 Though perils lurk on every side. 
 
 And hidden snares abound. 
 
82 A winter's day. 
 
 A WINTER'S DAY.— MORNING. 
 
 The grass is crisp with frost, hard is the ground, 
 And covered o'er with sheet of sombre grey. 
 The air hangs heavy ; the approaching day 
 
 In garb of melancholy hue seems wound. 
 
 In vain we seek the sun — no sun is found ; 
 No heart is cheered by his forthcoming ray, 
 No birds chant forth a rapture-breathing lay ; 
 
 We do not hear the sparrow's chirping sound ; 
 The sky is dull, we argue coming snow. 
 
 For thick and threat'ning those black clouds appear, 
 All earth seems wrapped in gloom and grief and woe, 
 
 And naught there is the desolate to cheer. 
 Bearing its burden, nor that burden light, 
 Earth hails with gladness signs of coming night. 
 
 A WINTER'S DAY.— EVENING. 
 
 Now earth is clothed in pure unsullied white. 
 For tenderly the snow came fluttering down, 
 Its mantle cast on country and on town, 
 
 And sure it is a garment of delight. 
 
 Soft to the tread and pleasing to the sight. 
 The gazer's brow should never wear a frown. 
 Fair Luna comes as though our joys to crown. 
 
 Making the snow e'en more surpassing bright. 
 
 Lo ! the deep vault of heaven sheds forth its praise 
 
 By sending myriad stars to glad the eye. 
 
 On sky and earth we now with gladness gaze, 
 
 All, all seems pleasing — naught to cause a sigh. 
 Each field and meadow, aye, each croft and lawn. 
 Seems whisp'ring to you, " Now you'll welcome morn." 
 
THE SONG OF THE PEN. 83 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PEN. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! a mighty power is mine, 
 
 As I will quickly show ; 
 I am the king of the universe, 
 
 And monarch of all below. 
 My will is strong, my sway supreme, 
 
 None can my force defy. 
 And the proudest I can humble, 
 
 Who dares my majesty. 
 
 Yet I can be calm and soothing. 
 
 No despot's sway is mine ; 
 I am a wondrous comforter 
 
 To those who would repine. 
 I'm gentle as the butterfly, 
 
 Refreshing as the breeze, 
 I'm tender as the humming bee, 
 
 Fair as Italia's seas. 
 
 But the tigress has a temper, 
 
 Nor aye is calm and meek : 
 My fury oft I vent upon 
 
 The poor and old and weak. 
 And like a resistless torrent 
 
 The mightiest I can crush. 
 And bend them to earth in anguish 
 
 Like winds can bend a rush. 
 
 I kiss like the fairest zephyr, 
 
 And breathe forth words of truth ; 
 I pat the head of the struggling, 
 
 I sing love songs to youth. 
 
84 THE SONG OF THE PEN. 
 
 I whisper sweet to the chubby child, 
 Caress its cherub mouth, 
 
 I smooth its plump and ruddy cheek 
 Like a breeze from the sunny South. 
 
 I sing of the chubby infant 
 
 Laughing in happy glee, 
 I chant a dull, decorous dirge 
 
 If I its coffin see. 
 And gaily I sing of wedding bells 
 
 Or sonorous clang for death ; 
 'Tis all as one to me, you know. 
 
 Taking or giving breath. 
 
 Childhood, youth, manhood, and age 
 
 I aye am unconcerned. 
 And little I reck of heartache, 
 
 Love accepted or spurned. 
 I'm an artful chap and very sly, 
 
 Cupid and I oft rove, 
 And I love a bit of mischief 
 
 Like any mischievous cove. 
 
 Then come the breaches of promise, 
 
 The letters are read in court ; 
 This is the crown of my happiness, 
 
 This is my princely sport : 
 For I chuckle and grin in mirth, 
 
 And 'tis the best of bliss, 
 When I tell of the honeyed words 
 
 And sing of love's first kiss. 
 
THE SONG OF THE FEN. 85 
 
 When I rave and rant of splendour 
 
 (Thirty shilHngs a week), 
 I murmur of halls and palaces, 
 
 Of horses fat and sleek, 
 1 sing of the girl with raven hair 
 
 With eyes dark as a sloe, 
 I say, she's always in my mind 
 
 Wherever I may go. 
 
 But then perchance I see a blonde 
 
 Whose eyes are deepest blue, 
 I promise her love and marriage, 
 
 I tell her I am true ; 
 Between two stools we often fall 
 
 And sink into the ground : 
 Ver(5^r(5t, " Two hundred and fifty," 
 
 (Defendant hasn't a pound). 
 
 Ho ! ho ! I am a merry elf 
 
 No puny power is mine. 
 And never a soul but worships 
 
 At my almighty shrine ; 
 I speak of bloodshed, war, and death. 
 
 Murder and suicide, 
 I say that a lovely sister 
 
 In foreign lands has died. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! I love to tell them this 
 
 When summer's morn is bright, 
 To see a pale, wan cheek despair 
 
 Always gives me delight. 
 
86 THE SONG OF THE PEN. 
 
 I tell of sickening accidents, 
 
 1 glory in seeing tears, 
 I throb with ecstasy of bliss 
 
 When causing pains and fears. 
 
 I chant of shipwreck, sing of storms, 
 
 Collisions 'twixt railway trains ; 
 I murmur of horrible earthquakes 
 
 In most patlietic strains ; 
 I say that father's coming home, 
 
 From miles across the sea ; 
 The next morn that the ship is lost, 
 
 And laugh in fiendish glee. 
 
 I say, 'twas tlie hour of midnight. 
 
 Fire ! was the startling cry, 
 And never a soul but perished 
 
 Under the starry sky. 
 That the flames leaped higher and higher, 
 
 The ship but a mile from land. 
 The powder burst with deaf'ning noise, 
 
 Hurled wreckage on the sand. 
 
 I sing of the Christmas holidays. 
 
 That Jack is home from school. 
 That the house is filled with gladness. 
 
 That romp and fun hold rule ; 
 Of the many welcome meetings. 
 
 Altogether once more, 
 The kisses under the mistletoe, 
 
 The partings at the door. 
 
THE SONG OF THE PEN. Sf 
 
 I'm a friend of the brooding poet, 
 
 Sing of the straw-thatched cot, 
 With its whitewashed walls and garden, 
 
 Flow'rs of forget-me-not, 
 Clematis, woodbine, and roses, 
 
 Air filled with glad perfume, 
 Old-fashioned windows — spotless blinds, 
 
 Cosy and sweet each room. 
 
 Tell of the ancient village church. 
 
 With greenest ivy clad, 
 Its old sun dial and crumbling tombs 
 
 Make antiquaries glad. 
 Of hill and dale, cavern and dell, 
 
 To him I love to sing, 
 Of moss-grown banks of heath and moor, 
 
 Summer, Autumn, and Spring. 
 
 Of Winter with its frost and snow. 
 
 Skating upon the lake, 
 The thunders roll, the lightnings flash, 
 
 The heaving buildings shake ; 
 Of the babbling brook, the rushing stream. 
 
 The woodland's mountain fells, 
 The forest wild, its giant trees. 
 
 Spray from the dropping wells. 
 
 The stars, the clouds, the sun, the moon, 
 
 The ocean stern and wild. 
 Our rock-bound coasts, our iron walls, 
 
 Our bulwarks undefiled. 
 
S^ THE SONG OF THE PEN. 
 
 Christening, burying, marrying, 
 Weeping, dancing, or death, 
 
 Cannot bring glow into marble, 
 Cannot destroy my birth. 
 
 So 'tis with me — a callous one, 
 
 Can never weep when sad, 
 And none can convert the heathen, 
 
 Whose hearts are wholly bad. 
 Ha! ha! Ha! ha! selfisli you think, 
 
 W^ell, well, it may be s-; ; 
 I was always fond of tyr;inny, 
 
 Of seeing the great laid low. 
 
 'Tis all as one, my work I do. 
 
 Yesterday, now, to-morrow, 
 I care not whether 'tis mirth or gloom. 
 
 Gaiety's laugh, or sorr- nv ; 
 I'm dull and slow, and bright and quick. 
 
 Laughing smiling, solemn. 
 And little I reck of beginning 
 
 Or finishing a column. 
 
 I'm never weary of my work, 
 
 And all say I'm a treasure, 
 I'm useful to the old and young 
 
 Whenever they have leisure. 
 How vain the Atlantic's cable, 
 
 Vain the electric wire, 
 Vain phonograph and telephone. 
 
 Of all I am the sire. 
 
BOLTON CASTLE. 89 
 
 And I have millions of vassals, 
 
 Of slaves I have a horde, 
 All grovel and crouch before me, 
 
 Acknowledge me as lord ; 
 Mightier far than gun or sword, 
 
 Beyond all mortal ken. 
 World after world I have conquered, 
 
 None can subdue the pen. 
 
 BOLTON CASTLE. 
 
 Our Lady Mary — Bonnie Scotia's Queen, 
 Lingered within these walls two weary years 
 In deep distress, in agony and tears. 
 
 Without, in summer, all was clothied in green. 
 
 Yet could she not gaze on the lovely scene. 
 For they, oh irony ! whom man called peers, 
 Intensified her thraldom's bitter fears 
 
 By keeping from her Nature's tenderest sheen. 
 
 Ah, well^three centuries have fled since then, 
 The towers to Time's blast long since fell a prey. 
 
 The walls are crumbling 'neath the same decree, 
 And all around to our admiring ken. 
 
 Bearing the trace of former majesty — 
 We see the ruin falling to decay. 
 
go TO AN OLD MAN ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 TO AN OLD MAN ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Now your friends will come nigh you with congratulations, 
 And express ardent hopes for a happy birthday ; 
 
 And though I can't count you amongst my relations, 
 I hope that you'll give me permission to say : 
 
 That I wish you with candour, with fervour, and truth, 
 
 As bright a birthday as you had in your youth. 
 
 Ma}^ the rest of your days be devoid of bewailing. 
 
 Be tranquil and peaceful as any now past ; 
 Ma}^ they each one prove calm, may you have no rough 
 sailing. 
 
 And may you safe enter *' The Haven " at last ; 
 And may you ne'er miss in that Home up above 
 The face of one friend that you know and you love. 
 
 Though the winter of age o'er your body is stealing, 
 Though memory pales and your fancies seem dull, 
 
 Though past dreams may come o'er you with harrowing 
 feeling. 
 Though the world has scarce left you a blossom to cull. 
 
 Remember there's still in your life's eventide 
 
 A friend true and steadfast in whom to abide. 
 
 Though your waking hours seem but a blurred recolle(5\ion 
 Of the days when in youth you in happiness dwelt, 
 
 Though your mind cannot bear all the anguished refledlion 
 On those 't whom in childhood to Heaven you knelt, 
 
 You must not forget. He'll still list to your prayers, 
 
 And soothe your afflicflions and lessen your cares. 
 
AN ACROSTIC. QI 
 
 It were well if we all were God-trusting and fearing ; 
 
 'T were well if we ne'er at His statutes demurred ; 
 For then we should find Him a source of all cheering, 
 
 And be blest with His comfort, His love, and His Word ; 
 Oh ! let us then try His edicfts to obey. 
 We shall not get wrong if we watch and we pray. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE RIGHT HON. 
 JOHN BRIGHT, M.P. 
 
 (Written in grateful recognition of a kind letter he once addressed to the 
 author concerning one of his volumes of poems.) 
 
 JOHN means a conqueror, fearless, brave, and true; 
 One who e'er fights for freedom's noble cause. 
 Honest and faithful — who'll his duty do. 
 Nor thinks by doing it to win applause ; 
 
 But ever strives, without a thought for fame, 
 Regardless of all frowns, to work for right ; 
 In hope of doing so to make his name 
 Grateful to those who sink beneath man's might. 
 How well this suited him ! There is no shame 
 To mar the beauty of the name, John Bright. 
 
92 MUSINGS O ER THE BIBLE. 
 
 MUSINGS O'ER THE BIBLE. 
 
 I GAZE upon thy pages with reverence and awe, 
 
 Bright beacon of the powerfulness of God's almighty law, 
 
 And as I gaze I seem to see the light of other years, 
 
 A light most calm and holy, unmixed with doubts and fears ; 
 
 A light of realms beyond us, a day without a night, 
 
 With hosts of purest angels in garments spotless white. 
 
 And as I read of that fair home which none but saints have 
 
 trod, 
 I seem to see before me the bright palace of our God ; 
 I can almost hear the echoes of those sweet celestial notes 
 As they drop with richest cadence from the angels' swelling 
 
 throats ; 
 I fancy that I see their crowns with purest lustre shine 
 As they fall down and worship their King and Lord Divine. 
 
 The golden harp of Israel with its enchanting strains, 
 With its wild thrill of music seemed throbbing in my veins ; 
 Heaven's gates of pearl and amethyst were there before my 
 
 gaze 
 With their sparkling gems of topaz and the sapphires dazzling 
 
 blaze, 
 And sitting in all splendour was Jesus on His throne 
 Listing with smiles most holy to each trump's majestic tone. 
 
 But as I gaze all disappears from my delighted eyes — 
 The music fades to silence and the soft vibration dies ; 
 The Lamb I see no longer, the gems of priceless worth 
 Have with their glory vanished^ and only left the earth ; 
 
BELIEF. 93 
 
 And yet the earth is beautiful, sweet as an infant's kiss, 
 Though that one glance at Heaven filled me with nameless 
 bliss. 
 
 But when our hearts are weary, oh, God, we look to Thee 
 For loving help and sympathy Thou scatterest so free ; 
 
 For Thy overwhelming kindness, for Thy mercy strong and 
 
 deep, 
 For tenderest compassion when Thou see'st Thy children 
 weep, 
 For Thy promise of a resting-place in Thy dear home so fair, 
 For grateful comfort down below and the welcome that is there. 
 
 BELIEF. 
 
 Standing upon the threshold of the year, 
 I pause to think of days that are before — 
 Whether of gladness they hold bounteous store. 
 
 Or if they're tinged with sorrow's dismal tear. 
 
 'Tis well we can't see all that will appear ; 
 'Tis good we are not prophets as of yore, 
 Who could by God's most mystic learned love 
 
 Foretell who soon would lay on death's grim bier. 
 Let us be ready for whate'er befall. 
 
 Our days are mostly hewn by our own hands, 
 And He will never hear His children call 
 
 For Him to take them to those better lands 
 When earthly life is ended — but He'll heed : 
 Aye, trust in Him, and then we're saved, indeed. 
 
94 ACCEPTED. 
 
 ACCEPTED. 
 
 Oh ! my heart is bathed in gladness, 
 My soul is thrilled with bliss ; 
 
 I have said farewell to sadness, 
 The cause is simply this — 
 
 I proposed last night to Katie, 
 She answered with a kiss. 
 
 Her saucy eyes and 'witching face 
 
 A glamour cast on me, 
 Her piquant, wilful, wanton grace, 
 
 Mischievous as could be, 
 Flushed me with wild, delirious love 
 
 And tender ecstasy. 
 
 The flowing ripples of her hair, 
 Her winsome winning ways. 
 
 Her bonny brow devoid of care 
 On which I love to gaze ; 
 
 Have sent me off to fairydom 
 And put me in a maze. 
 
 She has charmed me with her beauty, 
 Her face is always bright ; 
 
 And I'll make it e'er my duty 
 To keep her young heart light ; 
 
 For her sunny, fairy laughter 
 Dispels the darkest night. 
 
THE RIVER AIRE. 95 
 
 She's a dainty little creature 
 
 This fiancee of mine, 
 And her every perfedl feature, 
 
 A gleam of sweet sunshine : 
 No wonder that I feel elate 
 
 Now that I call her mine. . 
 
 THE RIVER AIRE. 
 
 'Mid greenest banks in queenly May 
 With many a splash of fairy spray. 
 It blithely, gently flows along 
 The pebbled, mossy stones among, 
 Its ripples chant a gladsome lay. 
 
 On, on it speeds, careless and gay, 
 Through time-worn arches old and grey, 
 Whilst happy joy-birds trill a song 
 'Mid greenest banks. 
 
 Oh ! what so fair as early day 
 When waters sweet catch Sol's glad ray, 
 To leave the City's surging throng, 
 To quit the haunts of vice and wrong, 
 And watch the river wend its way 
 'Mid greenest banks. 
 
96 THE SPINDLE ROCK. 
 
 THE SPINDLE ROCK. 
 
 Oh, scene sublime ! Oh, mighty Spindle Rock ! 
 
 How puny seems the power of man when we 
 
 Behold thee towering far above the sea, 
 Withstanding and repelling still its shock, 
 Thou canst its wildest, maddest furies mock, 
 
 And, like a giant, stand'st triumphantly 
 
 An obelisk of Nature's majesty. 
 Thou splendid column — thou tremendous block ; 
 
 All Scotia's bards should worship at thy shrine ; 
 And when I saw thee forty feet in height 
 
 I thanked the fates that Poetry was mine — 
 That I to others could describe the sight. 
 
 Queen Nature carved thee with a hand divine, 
 And thou remain'st a tribute to her might. 
 
 Kirkwell may justly look on thee with pride, 
 
 Thou mass of basalt rearing from the sand ; 
 
 For thy surroundings are all stern and grand. 
 And thou need'st ne'er thy lofty summit hide. 
 Hard by thee caves and caverns deep and wide 
 
 Abound ; and near thee, on thy girded strand. 
 
 The rocks of Budda and of Maiden stand — 
 They too, have long withstood both time and tide. 
 
 Thou still defies the German Ocean's force. 
 And vain it hurls on thee its mighty waves ; 
 
 The tempest screams and whistles shrill and hoarse, 
 Sending poor seamen to their watery graves — 
 
 Thou heedest not the waters' wild discourse, 
 Thou smilest not if round thy base it laves. 
 
QUATRAINS. 97 
 
 QUATRAINS. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Envy and malice, hatred, passion, scorn, 
 The parents are of this most brutal foe : 
 Its offspring bears a world of bitter woe. 
 
 For to remorse and suffering 'tis born. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 Ambition 'tis that fires the thirsty soul, 
 
 And leads him on to win where others fail ; 
 
 He conquers foes that make his comrades quail : 
 
 They fall, whilst he in safety wins his goal. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 Kind brother to ambition ! Oh, that all 
 
 Could for a brief space worship at thy shrine ! 
 For they would then feel that some power Divine 
 
 Sustained them each, whatever might befall. 
 
 ZEAL. 
 
 A zealous man his kindred should admire — 
 Assist him in his efforts to succeed. 
 And, if they see him falling, give their meed 
 
 Of fond encouragement — 'twill him inspire. 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 Too oft begot by sin and nursed by shame. 
 This child is thrust upon the callous world ; 
 Temptations are from all sides on him hurled. 
 
 Because, alas ! he bears this fearful name. 
 
gS QUATRAINS. 
 
 DETERMINATION. 
 
 The power of will must always be supreme : 
 In vain the fickle try to quell its might ; 
 Its force unbounded, and, when joined with right, 
 
 Cannot be worsted, though assailants teem. 
 
 INFANCY. 
 
 The chubby child, with merry, laughing face ; 
 
 With bright blue eyes, with sunny golden hair ; 
 With eager steps, and acftions full of grace ; 
 
 With every movement blithe and debonnaire. 
 
 With prattling voice, with cry and shout and shriek ; 
 
 With look of gay and blest expecftancy ; 
 With many a humour, caprice, whim, and freak — 
 
 All these are pregnant signs of infancy. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Hope, like a magnet, stretches forth her hand, 
 And nestles to us when her most we need ; 
 She to the sorrowing proves a friend indeed — 
 
 She is the harbour where 'tis safe to land. 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 All things in life — past, present, and to be — 
 Enhanced are by the wonders of a thought ; 
 And so in unison we all are fraught. 
 
 Linked each to each by blessed memory. 
 
■ QUATRAINS. 9*9 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 How beautiful and soft and clear 
 
 Sounds the dear name of Charity ; 
 They shall in spotless robes appear, 
 
 If they have this and purity. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 True friends are like the wayside flowers 
 
 That cheer and help us on our way ; 
 They brighten our most gloomy hours, 
 
 And shorten each long dreary day. 
 
 THE BLUEBELL. 
 
 An emblem of Spring and its charms, 
 
 When Winter has vanished away— 
 To soothe from its peevish alarms, 
 
 Thou comest to brighten our day. 
 
 THE BROOKLET. 
 
 The music of the brooklet in mine ear 
 
 Thrills sweetest when, at early dawn of day, 
 
 'Tis joined by birds, who chant their roundelay, 
 And glad us with their soft notes, choice and clear. 
 
lOO SUNDAY. 
 
 SUNDAY. 
 
 Sweet day of holy calm and rest, 
 Bright beam our path adorning, 
 
 Thou com'st from mansions of the blest 
 To soothe our life's rough morning. 
 
 To aid us on our way through life, 
 Our tears and grief beguiling. 
 
 To help us in our daily strife 
 By thy dear gladsome smiling. 
 
 Thou art our comfort's strongest ray, 
 Thou art our weekly leaven, 
 
 To aid us on our toilsome way, 
 And point the path to Heaven. 
 
 Thou art our friend, our hope, oUr guide, 
 And in rich fruits abounding, 
 
 The road on High seems not so wide 
 When thy joybells are sounding. 
 
 To wanderers in the darksome night, 
 When watching and when praying, 
 
 Tliou seem'st to shed a peaceful light, 
 To keep their feet from straying. 
 
 God knows we're very frail and weak. 
 From right paths ever veering ; 
 
 But those who erst with faith Him seek, 
 Will find Him constant cheering. 
 
SHIPLEY GLEN IN MAY. lOI 
 
 He granted us this day of calm, 
 To keep our hearts from aching, 
 
 To shield us from eternal harm, 
 By vice and sin forsakmg. 
 
 SHIPLEY GLEN IN MAY. 
 
 Sweet scented flowers, and leafy bowers, 
 
 Abound there in profusion : 
 While mountain dells and dropping wells 
 
 Are mixed up in confusion. 
 Rippling streamlets, babbling brooks, 
 Bracken wild, and shady nooks ; 
 Rocks and mountains, hills and dales. 
 Caves to shelter from the gales. 
 Wild birds singing all day long. 
 Made quite joyful with their song ; 
 The forest trees, where the mountain breeze, 
 
 And sunshine catches always, 
 Do there abound ; while from all around 
 
 Are visitors on all days. 
 All sorts of fern, where'er you turn ; 
 
 That is just how I found it ; 
 And the little jets from the rivulets, 
 
 And meadows all around it. 
 
102 THE COTTAGER. 
 
 THE COTTAGER. 
 
 Some distance from the rural, winding lane 
 
 A village swain 
 Dwells in a thatch'd and ivy-clinging cot, 
 
 Happy his lot. 
 His garden to th' admiring eye discloses 
 
 Gayest roses. 
 And other flowers upon whose velvet walls 
 
 The dewdrop falls. 
 At morn the tuneful lark on flutt'ring wings 
 
 Sweet to him sings ; 
 And as he wends his way to daily toil, 
 
 Free from turmoil. 
 Its swelling carol cheers him all the time 
 
 With joy sublime. 
 When noontide heats melt all morn's dew away, 
 
 When all is gay, 
 Home he'll return to take his frugal meal, 
 
 There pleasures steal 
 Around him, as his children laugh and crow. 
 
 No thought of woe. 
 And then when evening softens into grace 
 
 With smiling face 
 He homeward turns, his work for that day done. 
 
 His wages won ; 
 He now can with his young ones romp and play 
 
 Till close of day. 
 With songs of love — with rapturous delight 
 
 Voices unite. 
 When Sabbath comes, at Church he will be seen 
 
 Both morn and e'en. 
 
BERT AND HARRY AT PLAY. IO3 
 
 What bliss to spend in such Elysian ways 
 
 Our earthly days, 
 Where Nature's well, unceasing gladness, flows, 
 
 Where softly blows 
 The wind of tumult — where no gale nor strife 
 
 Troubles our life. 
 Adorned with richest hues from glory's stream — 
 
 A Summer's dream 
 Would be our path along life's stormy road. 
 
 Lightsome our load. 
 
 BERT AND HARRY AT PLAY. 
 
 In all the tender pride of early life, 
 
 Dear little Bert and Harry sport and play ; 
 
 They romp and gambol — careless as the day. 
 With never thought of bitterness or strife. 
 How proud does father feel and his dear wife, 
 
 To see their children merry, glad, and gay ; 
 
 Their life as yet is beautiful as May, 
 And May's sweet blossom o'er their days is rife. 
 
 O God ! I pray Thee keep their young hearts light. 
 And in the years to come grant unto them, 
 
 Rich showers of blossoms, fragrant, fair and white, 
 Pure and unsullied as a costly gem. 
 
 Then at life's close, in regions ever bright. 
 Place on each head a fadeless diadem. 
 
104 "^^^ PRUNKARD S VISION. 
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S VISION. 
 
 I. 
 
 I COULD not sleep, — my brain was racked and torn, 
 My fevered fancy seemed to see a shape — 
 A phantom, that was neither man nor ape — 
 
 A shadow, full of wild sarcastic scorn. 
 
 I, awed and frightened, felt myself forlorn. 
 
 For there it stood, with gape, and sneer, and grin ; 
 I heard it say — I, am the imp of sin 
 
 And thou shalt never see another morn. 
 
 This monster, gnome, this dread Sardonic sprite. 
 Who threatened that I ne'er should see the light 
 
 Filled me with terror ; lo, once more it spoke 
 
 And hissed. Ha, ha ! with goblins thou shalt dwell. 
 With ghouls and specftres in the caves of Hell 
 
 Where all is fire and thick sulphurous smoke. 
 
 II. 
 Ha! ha! Thou did'st not guess when mad with drink 
 
 That in delirium thou cursed my slave 
 
 That tried to warn thee,, tried thy soul to save, 
 As it was hovering, almost on the brink 
 Of Death. Ha! ha! 'Twas .then thou did'st not think, 
 
 For gin had made thee for a moment brave. 
 
 'Tis useless now to fret and fume and rave — 
 Henceforth with me thy future thou must link. 
 
 Who dares my wrath, must e'er my fury feel. 
 I am the Satyr known as Prince Vampyre, 
 
 I come to clutch thee, chain thee at my wheel — 
 Ha I ha ! That wheel is blazing, molten fire. 
 
 Come when I bid thee — thou shalt see its stream 
 
 But lo ! I woke. Thank God, 'twas but a dream. 
 
A LULLABY. 
 
 A LULLABY. 
 
 Angels watch o'er thee, 
 
 Keep thee from care ; 
 E'er go before thee, 
 
 'Move every snare. 
 Still keep beside thee, 
 
 All thy life's way ; 
 E'er may they guide thee. 
 
 And for thee pray. 
 
 May they caress thee, 
 
 E'er on thee smile ; 
 Guard thee and bless thee, 
 
 Keep thee from wile. 
 Look o'er thee tenderly. 
 
 Ward off all strife ; 
 Ever go lovingly 
 
 With thee through life. 
 
 Tempests keep from thee, 
 
 Sickness prevent ; 
 Aye treat thee kindly, 
 
 Give thee content. 
 And may they never 
 
 Cause thee to weep ; 
 Angels watch o'er thee. 
 
 Sleep, darling, sleep. 
 
 105 
 
I06 THE SWEET MINSTREL " HOPE.' 
 
 THE SWEET MINSTREL '' HOPE." 
 
 Oh ! what should we do in the night of our trouble, 
 When friends had departed and left us alone ; 
 
 When the help they had promised had burst like a bubble, 
 And the hearts of each one had proved hard as a stone ? 
 
 Oh ! what should we do with our trials to cope, 
 
 If we e'er should lose sight of that sweet minstrel " Hope ?" 
 
 Of what should we think in the day of misfortune, 
 When poverty's pang stared us all in the face ; 
 
 When a cold, blank refusal met ev'ry importune 
 For help or assistance to soothe our sad case ? 
 
 Of what should we think when all blindly we'd grope, 
 
 If mem'ry stole from us that sweet minstrel '* Hope?" 
 
 And how should we pray when from all sides deserted. 
 When sneered and despised at because we were poor. 
 
 When everything tended to make disconcerted 
 
 The heart that had always been trustful and sure ? 
 
 Of what should we pray if we grasped not that rope, 
 
 Whose strands are decayless, that sweet minstrel " Hope?" 
 
SELECTED DESCRIPTIONS OF A WINTER DAY. IO7 
 
 SELECTED DESCRIPTIONS OF A WINTER DAY. 
 
 A RIDGE of glaciers in mural white — Kirke White. 
 
 How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright, Wordsworth. 
 Their mingled shadows intercept the sight, Scott. 
 AttracSled by the far-seen ruddy light. Southey. 
 
 Oh, heart-felt raptures, bliss beyond compare. Burns. 
 All in the freshness of the humid air ; Thomson. 
 
 And thither let the village swain repair, Beattie. 
 
 Attracted, and absorbed, and centred there. Coleridge. 
 
 How vast the blessings that around us flow, Mackay. 
 
 Beauty, tranquillity, delight below, Montgomery. 
 
 Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn did go, Tennyson. 
 
 But, after all, 'twas nothing but cold snow. Byron. 
 
 Beneath the upliftingwinds,likeplainsof corn, Shelley. 
 The earth was beautiful as if newborn, Longfellow. 
 
 And proud and tameless, laughing fear to scorn, Hemans. 
 In dear remembrance, lonely and forlorn Hood. 
 
I08 I THINK OF THEE. 
 
 I THINK OF THEE. 
 
 When the lunar light is leaping, 
 When the flowers with dew are weeping, 
 When the buds and bees are sleeping — 
 I think of Thee. 
 
 When the lark is heav'nward soaring, 
 When the billows wild are roaring. 
 When the rain's in torrents pouring — 
 I think of Thee. 
 
 When the blossoms gay are springing, 
 When the cuckoo's blithely singing. 
 When all Nature's gladly ringing — 
 I think of Thee. 
 
 When the winter's winds are blowing, 
 When the river's swiftly flowing. 
 When the kine for home are lowing — 
 I think of Thee. 
 
 When the robin-redbreast's mating. 
 When the morn the sun is waiting, 
 When the linnet's softly prating — 
 I think of Thee. 
 
 When the stars on high are twinking. 
 When the orb of day is sinking. 
 When I'm dreaming, I am thinking — 
 Thinking of Thee. 
 
SIN. 109 
 
 When the day once more is breaking, 
 When all earth's the night forsaking, 
 When once more I am awaking — 
 I think of Thee. 
 
 When my footsteps go astraying, 
 When my mind my heart is saying, 
 When to God I'm daily praying — 
 I think of Thee. 
 
 SIN. 
 
 There is a dreadful monster, dire and grim, 
 A huge, contorted, evil-working sprite, 
 Who e'er is making mischief day and night. 
 
 And causing woe to life, and health, and limb. 
 
 This awful demon dwells in places dim. 
 But does not shun the blest abode of light, 
 Nor does he cease to cast on all his blight, 
 
 For what is grief to most is joy to him ; 
 
 He has the power to kill, and wound, and maim, 
 
 To destroy all the peace of mind within. 
 
 To send forth from us all the thoughts of shame, 
 
 And to himself our souls forever win. 
 His, is an ugly, vicious, deadly name : 
 
 This monster's known to all the world as Sin. 
 
no THE ROBIN. 
 
 THE ROBIN. 
 
 One wintry day, when frost and snow 
 Made children shudder 'neath their throe, 
 I chanced to look upon the ground, 
 And, lo ! a robin there I found 
 Nigh unto death by Winter's blow. 
 
 I took it to the fire's warm glow, 
 And it looked up and seemed to know 
 That there it had a haven sound, 
 One wintry day. 
 
 When quite recovered from its woe. 
 
 Our little robin wished to go. 
 
 But we had captive birdie bound 
 And fettered by a cage around. 
 
 Redbreast will ne'er again lie low. 
 One wintry day. 
 
MY SWEET BRUNETTE. Ill 
 
 MY SWEET BRUNETTE. 
 
 My sweet brunette, down in the glade 
 Where larches form a pleasant shade, 
 
 I soon shall see her 'witching face. 
 
 If only for a little space, 
 My own, my love, my village maid. 
 
 She ne'er is by vain art arrayed, 
 Yet, I should never be afraid 
 For any artist born to trace 
 
 My sweet brunette. 
 
 Ah ! how the merry sunbeams played 
 Around that form the gods had made. 
 
 So full of smiling, tender grace. 
 
 Though only born of peasant race, 
 She calls not artifice to aid 
 
 My sweet brunette. 
 
112 A SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 A SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 MARCH lOTH, 1888. 
 
 Oh ! now let me try to enchantingly sing, 
 
 And make the wild woods with my melody ring ; 
 
 Oh ! come ye sweet muses and tune up my lyre, 
 
 And with your rich fancies my bosom inspire ; 
 
 Oh ! come ye with freshness, with hope, joy, and love, 
 
 Oh ! come with the rapture that's sent from above. 
 
 Oh ! I feel that I now your fond breathings inhale, 
 And I feel on your breast to most joyously sail ; 
 I can tell by your struggles you long to be free. 
 For I feel your deep fervour implanted in me ; 
 I can feel the strong essence of poesy's gleam 
 Well up from my heart in a bountiful stream. 
 
 Now thanks, oh kind muse, for your soul-stirring gift, 
 I now unto God would my weak voice uplift ; 
 And would earnestly ask, would entreat and implore. 
 That He'll send from His blessings a plentiful store ; 
 And give them to one whom old Time's ruthless wing 
 Will transform from Prince to our Ruler and King. 
 
 I would ask all to list, for sincere is my lay, 
 I would ask one and all to most thankfully pray ; 
 For now of long years has passed twenty and five 
 Since the heir to our throne took his Princess to wive ; 
 The wedding's now silver, how bell-like, serene, 
 And they live in our hearts with a glorious sheen. 
 
HANNAH. 113 
 
 I would ask you to shout through the hills and the dales 
 God bless both the Prince and the Princess of Wales ; 
 May the Ruler of all be their stay and their guide, 
 May they live in contentment and walk by His side ; 
 May He in His mercy His spirit implant, 
 May He give them His love and true happiness grant. 
 
 May He still point the way that leads to His fold, 
 
 May He give them together their " wedding of gold ;" 
 
 May He give a long life to the Prince and Princess, 
 
 And their family aye in futurity bless ; 
 
 Oh ! and long may He spare their good mother, our Queen, 
 
 For a kinder and better there never has been. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 Time was, when e'en the mention of thy name 
 Would bring a gush of gladness to my face. 
 Cause my pulse to increase tenfold its pace 
 
 At the mere thought of thee, my peerless dame. 
 
 Now, in the strife for wealth and worldly fame, 
 I can look back as through a lone, drear space. 
 And think I once held thee in my embrace. 
 
 Though never day since then has been the same. 
 
 I can recall my heart's wild, madd'ning beat 
 
 Throbbing with rapture, in those days now fled ; 
 And now, alas ! thou'rt numbered with the dead, 
 
 And here below no more shall I thee greet. 
 
 But yet, poor heart, although we know not when 
 We shall behold each other once again. 
 
114 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Now, lads, come get your mistletoe, 
 Your Christmas tree and holly, 
 
 And banish care and sadness. 
 For to-night we must be jolly. 
 
 Hang up the leaflets all around 
 With berries bright and red, 
 
 Make welkin ring, and laugh and sing- 
 Let not a tear be shed. 
 
 And now we make a company, 
 
 We tread the hard, crisp ground. 
 We sing our Christmas melody, 
 
 Make the keen air resound — 
 Till over vale and hill-top 
 
 The joyous echo swells : 
 The gladsome sound from all around, 
 
 The merry Christmas bells. 
 
 Morrow's the day of gladness. 
 
 The jovial festal time : 
 So let each bell try and excel 
 
 In ringing out the chime ; 
 Let all join in the chorus, 
 
 Once more — and yet again — 
 That all below, who love it so, 
 
 May hear the happy strain. 
 
SUMMER. 115 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 When woodbirds trill in tones sublime, 
 When poets' thoughts break into rhyme, 
 When earth and sea and sky and air 
 Remind you of some sylvan lair ; 
 When all seems happy, glad, and gay. 
 And all things round you cheer the way, 
 Then you may know a Summer's day 
 Its charms are shedding. 
 
 When borne along by every breeze, 
 You hear the hum of busy bees, 
 And when in all the rural bowers, 
 You see ten-thousand fairy flowers. 
 When boughs in golden green appear. 
 Then you may know that Summer's here. 
 Its joys unfolding. 
 
 When lovers' choose a quiet nook 
 To watch the rippling of the brook. 
 When children gaily romp and sing. 
 And with their shouts the woodlands ring. 
 When you can scent the new-mown hay 
 From pleasant meadows far away, 
 Then you may know a Summer's day 
 Is glories bringing. 
 
ii6 love's dream. 
 
 LOVE'S DREAM. 
 
 We are out on the river sailing, 
 
 Our boat is, *' The Bright Sunbeam ;" 
 
 The shadows of night earth are pahng, 
 But nothing can pale our dream, 
 
 For our dream is Love, so sweet and fair, 
 
 And never a thought have we of care. 
 
 The stars on high are gaily shining, 
 
 The water reflecfts their light ; 
 E'en the trees are in silvery lining. 
 
 For Luna, the " Queen of Night," 
 Comes peeping forth in her fresh, young birth. 
 As though to gladden old Mother Earth. 
 
 And as our boat is gently gliding. 
 
 As softly it floats along. 
 The gladness of our hearts confiding. 
 
 Makes us chant the old, old song. 
 And the song is Love, so sweet and fair, 
 For never a thought have we of care. 
 
 The night birds sing as, swiftly flying, 
 
 They flit from tree to tree ; 
 A fairy zephyr now is sighing. 
 
 But never a sigh have we ; 
 For water below and sky above. 
 And calm night air but adds to our love. 
 
WHAT IS A SMILE. II7 
 
 And when for homewards we are steering, 
 The gallant, "The Bright Sunbeam," 
 
 There's one thought gives us constant cheering : 
 " To-morrow we'll renew our dream." 
 
 And that dream is Love, so sweet and fair, 
 
 For never a thought have we of care. 
 
 WHAT IS A SMILE? 
 
 What is a smile — Do you bid me tell ? 
 
 'Tis the sweetest flower of the mountain dell ; 
 
 'Tis the gladsome look of watchful glee 
 
 Seen on the faces of infancy ; 
 
 'Tis the first bright thought of the infant young ; 
 
 'Tis a diamond dropped from a fairy's tongue ; 
 
 'Tis a sparkling gem from a silver ewer ; 
 
 'Tis a pearl of gold — unsullied, pure ; 
 
 'Tis a gentle waft from the lightsome wing 
 
 Of some bird which dwelleth where wood-nymphs sing; 
 
 'Tis a kiss from some mirth-provoking fay ; 
 
 'Tis sunlight splashing through sparkling spray ; 
 
 'Tis slumbering joy, awaking to life ; 
 
 'Tis a vision of beauty, ever rife ; 
 
 'Tis the Orient gleam which hearts beguile ; 
 
 'Tis a zephyr rare from some Eastern Isle ; 
 
 'Tis a token of holy calm and rest ; 
 
 'Tis a message from mansions of the blest. 
 
Il8 TO SLEEP. 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 
 Come, gentle sprite, and in oblivion steep 
 My weary mind, and steal dull care away ; 
 And make me to know neither night nor day — 
 
 Oh ! send to me a vision strong and deep. 
 
 Take me to Dreamland, where no eyes e'er weep, 
 Give me refreshing slumber, oh ! I pray ; 
 And all my throbbing senses seem to say 
 
 Send me, sweet sprite, a season soft of sleep. 
 
 Ease thou my aching brain — calm thou my heart, 
 Assuage the burning thoughts that come and go, 
 Cool the fierce madness of my pulses glow, 
 
 And peace and comfort to my soul impart. 
 
 Woo me upon the pillows of thy breast, 
 Soothe my distress, and give me peiiefSi rest. 
 
BOLTON PRIORY. IIQ 
 
 BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 No more do holy monks devoutly pray 
 
 Within the sacred precin(5ls of thy pile, 
 Nor yet re-echoing through thy vaulted aisle 
 
 Do we the vesper hear at close of day. 
 
 None now chant forth the solemn requiem lay, 
 Or bands at midnight unto Jesus sing, 
 The early matin bell has ceased to ring. 
 
 And all thy hallowed carvings breathe decay. 
 
 Yet in thy venerable grace I see 
 
 A calm, sweet beauty others would not find. 
 For Nature to me has been ever kind, 
 
 And filled my soul with choicest poesy. 
 
 To-night my thoughts came flooding in a stream, 
 What could I do, then, but make thee my theme. 
 
I20 IT MIGHtf HAVE BEEN. 
 
 IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 
 
 Three months ago her spirit fled, 
 
 And I only knew to-day ; 
 In by-gone times we might have wed, 
 
 But shadows beset our way ; 
 And now the hopes of buried years 
 Have left but memories and tears. 
 
 She loved me well ; I loved her too, 
 With the first sweet love of youth ; 
 
 I dare not say she was not true, 
 'Twas fate against love and truth. 
 
 Black storm-clouds fell long years ago. 
 
 And tinged my life with grief and woe. 
 
 Ah me ! thought is a blessed thing ; 
 
 To look back to days of yore 
 Makes my heart throb with bitter sting. 
 
 But there's brighter ones in store ; 
 'Tis hard to look for coming years. 
 When the time past so dark appears. 
 
 I'm married now, with child and wife, 
 
 My home it is fair to see ; 
 To-day my thoughts for her are rife, 
 
 And none of them comfort me, 
 To-morn in them I'll take delight — 
 Dream of my dead, lost love to-night. 
 
HALF MAST HIGH. 121 
 
 HALF MAST HIGH. 
 
 Up on the tower the Union Jack is floating, 
 
 But only half mast high : 
 To the gay world in accents stern denoting, 
 
 That none can death defy. 
 
 Whom does it honour ? Do I hear the muttering, 
 
 Asking this question grim ? 
 For whom is it so weirdly-mournful fluttering, 
 
 Making our eyes seem dim ? 
 
 We give the answer to repeated queries 
 
 However our bosoms ache, 
 And tell the tale of which none ever wearies. 
 
 Of brave Lieutenant Drake. 
 
 'Twas in the heat of battle, and the adlion 
 
 Grew fierce and fiercer still ; 
 The fight was not a fight of party faclion 
 
 Here, men fought but to kill. 
 
 On all sides around were forms of dead and dying, 
 
 The moon-beams' struggling light 
 Told where the forms of those we loved were lying 
 
 On that Oaober night. 
 
 The guns were useless, for the rain was falling. 
 
 Damping the deadly fire ; 
 When suddenly we hear our bugle calling 
 
 Upon us to retire. 
 
122 HALF MAST HIGH. 
 
 Answering the call — the dread behest obeying, 
 
 We to head-quarter's went ; 
 And learnt that we must have without delaying 
 
 Some quick assistance sent. 
 
 Who'll volunteer to take the swiftest horses ? 
 
 We hear our Colonel cry ; 
 And then at midnight, break our rivals forces 
 
 Prepared to do or die. 
 
 If you get through them — yours the greater glory- 
 To where your comrades lay. 
 
 Tell of this field of carnage — hot and gory. 
 That we shall lose the day, 
 
 Unless in this, the hour of tribulation. 
 
 They give the needful aid. 
 And gallop madly, fiercely from their station 
 
 And our foes' ranks invade. 
 
 Many there were who volunteered most bravely 
 
 And said that they would go, 
 Some he accepted, and to others gravely 
 
 Our Colonel answered, '* No." 
 
 I was not one who galloped through the valley 
 
 But yet I know the tale, 
 *Twas our brave Drake who bade his comrades rally, 
 
 Then swept on through the vale. 
 
HALF MAST HIGH. 123 
 
 'Twas all through him, that that dreadful field of slaughter 
 
 Was not by Russians won, 
 The day was ours — though our blood ran like water, 
 
 Beneath the next day's sun. 
 
 This was in 'thirty, and the world's forgetting 
 
 Those deeds of long ago, 
 But there's never a fear that we are letting 
 
 His memory's light burn low. 
 
 Hacked at by sabres, and cut 'most to pieces 
 
 By lances cruel thrust ; 
 He said, " We'll fight, lads, till our heart's beat ceases. 
 
 We've promised and we must." 
 
 Ah ! how it pains me when I see its motion 
 
 My eyes can scarce keep dry, 
 For it reminds me of his brave devotion 
 
 When waving half mast high. 
 
124 SABBATH BELLS. 
 
 SABBATH BELLS. 
 
 How sweet they chime, those Sabbath bells, 
 
 How gloriously their music swells, 
 
 As, softly wafted through the trees, 
 O'er moorland wild and spangled leas, 
 
 They wake the echoes in the dells. 
 
 Of hope and joy their clear sound tells. 
 Their rapture all our care dispels. 
 
 Now gently borne along the breeze, 
 How sweet they chime. 
 
 When night winds shut the floweret's cells. 
 And everything calm eve foretells. 
 
 When all things that one round him sees 
 Tendeth his inmost soul to please. 
 When peace in brain and bosom dwells. 
 How sweet they chime. 
 
THE WAYSIDE FLOWERS. I25 
 
 THE WAYSIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 The wayside flowers, how sweet they bloom, 
 As lovingly 'neath Heaven's blue dome 
 They shed their beauty all around, 
 Shining from out the dusty ground. 
 And scattering far their rich perfume. 
 
 They all our inmost souls illume, 
 They send from hence our grief and gloom, 
 For they with hidden charms abound — 
 The wayside flowers. 
 
 I love to have a piece of broom 
 
 Or spangled daisy in my room ; 
 
 I love to gather from some mound 
 That is with starry blossoms crowned, 
 
 And that with buds appears to loom — 
 The wayside flowers. 
 
126 TO A LILY. 
 
 TO A LILY. 
 
 Emblem of Purity — 
 
 Spotless and rare ; 
 Token of Modesty — 
 
 Unsullied and rare ; 
 Symbol of Meekness — 
 
 Radiant and bright, 
 'Minding earth's creatures 
 
 Of realms ever light — 
 Strong in the knowledge of virtuous might. 
 
 Symbol of Chastity, 
 
 Cherub of Bliss, 
 Coming to cheer us 
 
 Through earth's dark abyss. 
 Token of Faithfulness — 
 
 Be thou our guide ; 
 Emblem of Hopefulness — 
 
 Keep by our side : 
 Help us and lead us o'er every dark tide. 
 
THE BROOK. 127 
 
 THE BROOK. 
 
 I LOVE the gentle murmur 
 
 Of the sweetly rippling brook, 
 As it gaily rushes onward 
 
 Past cavern, dell, and nook. 
 I love its merry gurgling 
 
 As it speeds its way along, 
 With graceful, gliding movement 
 
 The pebbled moss among ; 
 Now joined by many a rivulet. 
 
 From valley, plain, and hill, 
 Onward it wends its careless course 
 
 To streamlet or to rill. 
 The twittering swallows kiss it 
 
 As they skim along the air. 
 The lilies smile upon it 
 
 With their petals fresh and fair ; 
 The bleating lambs caress it 
 
 As they stoop their heads to drink, 
 And the flowerets nestle to it, 
 
 That bloom upon the brink. 
 
128 MY THREE VALENTINES. 
 
 MY THREE VALENTINES. 
 
 MY MOTHER. 
 
 My heart's best Valentine, to you I send 
 
 My choicest greetings on this gladsome day, 
 
 For you, my muse is clothed in bright array, 
 For you, my mother, is this sonnet penned. 
 Did you not years ago your son befriend ? 
 
 Did you not guide and cheer him on his way ? 
 
 You did ; and now my verses shall repay, 
 So I to you this filial tribute tend. 
 
 Long may you live, sweet mother dear of mine, 
 Long years of brightness may you spend below, 
 May all your future ne'er a sorrow know ; 
 
 May your last days be crowned with bliss divine, 
 This will I hope, in some small measure show 
 
 How much I love thee, my dear Valentine. 
 
 MY WIFE. 
 
 How nobly beautiful the name of wife, 
 How softly musical it strikes the ear. 
 Sure 'tis a woman's place, her rightful sphere. 
 
 To cheer and bless us on our way through life, 
 
 To make our lot with tenfold blessings rife. 
 Should we not love her with a love sincere, 
 Guard her, protecft her, as a prize most dear. 
 
 And keep her life from bitterness and strife. 
 
 A wife and mother — Ah ! how sweet the sound ; 
 No names in all the universe are found 
 
 Which bring such joy and gladness to the heart. 
 Dear little wife, my little Arthur's mother. 
 In all the world I could not find another 
 
 That would to me such rapturous bliss impart. 
 
MY THREE VALENTINES. 12g 
 
 MY SON. 
 
 A Valentine art thou my little one, 
 
 My little angel, first-born bud of bliss, 
 
 Come hither, darling, do not be remiss. 
 For thou thy father's heart for aye hast won. 
 When the first dawn of morning has begun, 
 
 I hail with pleasure thy sweet welcome kiss ; 
 
 No other joy I liken unto this. 
 M}^ hope, my pride, my treasure, and my son. 
 
 How glad I feel when I thy frolics see, 
 
 With thy dear ways and merry childish glee. 
 How full of rapture, heartfelt and sincere. 
 
 How glad it feels by thee to be caressed. 
 
 None e'er can know but those whom God has blessed 
 With such as thee, to comfort and to cheer. 
 
130 A RAVEN TRESS. 
 
 A RAVEN TRESS. 
 
 A RAVEN tress and nothing more, 
 Yet, how my brain it saddens sore, 
 And thought and hfe sends in a maze 
 Whene'er I on that dear lock gaze. 
 Which I've oft gazed on before. 
 
 My heart it stings unto the core. 
 And welleth tears my eyelids o'er. 
 Ah ! memory could' st thou but erase 
 A raven tress. 
 
 And yet on yon far golden shore, 
 If we but trust the blessed lore. 
 
 For endless, everlasting days 
 
 We aye shall dwell and love and praise, 
 Then ne'er again shall I deplore 
 A raven tress. 
 
MY MOTHER. I3I 
 
 MY MOTHER. 
 
 I LIKE to waste a little time 
 In writing jangling bits of rhyme ; 
 But one should hardly call it waste 
 When 'tis so to a fellow's taste ; 
 And what I like more than another 
 Is writing jaunting bits to mother ; 
 And when St. Valentine comes round 
 In poetry I'm always found. 
 For she is my true Valentine, 
 This darling mother dear of mine ; 
 And you may guess she'd ope her eyes, 
 And think and wonder with surprise. 
 If I should cease to write a line 
 On 14th Feb.— St. Valentine. 
 Now, first of all, I'd have you know 
 The reason why I love her so, 
 And why I would not have her miss 
 The words that cause her so much bliss. 
 
 Now in the early days of Spring, 
 When I was quite a little thing, 
 When I held out my chubby fist, 
 And almost asked to have it kissed ; 
 And when with fat and dimpled cheek, 
 And laughing eyes that seemed to speak. 
 And with the infant's airy grace 
 I looked into my mother's face, 
 And almost said, Come tell to me 
 The names of all the things I see ; 
 And when with tired voice and slow 
 
132 MY MOTHER. 
 
 She thought to bed 'twas time to go 
 She'd say, " Good night, my Httle pet. 
 Your mother's here, you need not fret." 
 And when in morning's shiny hour 
 I wakened Hke an opening flower, 
 Our hearts together seemed to ding 
 In those sweet laughing days of Spring. 
 
 But I threw off my childhood's yoke, 
 And on a Summer's morn awoke 
 To find my mother still the same 
 Though I desired not childish game ; 
 For of a truth the time had come 
 When I must leave my cherished home. 
 And all my mind must be unfurled 
 To battle with the storm-tossed world ; 
 And busy life scarce gave me rest. 
 And yet I knew 'twas for the best. 
 And though another shares my love 
 (Thanks to the goodness from above). 
 And though with her I spend my life 
 My sweet, my loved, my honoured wife ; 
 Though her lips press upon my brow 
 And comforts, cheers, sustains me now, 
 Though she is with me on life's way, 
 I still have time and heart to say 
 Another voice falls on my ear 
 And bids my weary heart take cheer. 
 Its tones are tender, soft, and low : 
 It is my mother's voice I know ; 
 She who watched o'er me when asleep, 
 Her love how great, how strong, how deep, 
 
BY THE SEA SHORE. 1 33 
 
 She is my heart's own Valentine ! 
 The dearest treasures that combine 
 A mother's hand, a mother's heart, 
 My love for her shall ne'er depart ; 
 And long as God her life shall lend, 
 I'll love my mother to the end. 
 
 BY THE SEA SHORE. 
 
 By the sea shore at dawn of day, 
 To watch the rippling wavelets play, 
 
 I ever, ever loved to roam ; 
 
 To smell the briny ocean's foam. 
 And gaze upon the tossing spray. 
 
 Then to its splash with heart so gay, 
 I ever hummed a tuneful lay. 
 For I could ever feel at home. 
 By the sea shore. 
 
 And I would look across the bay. 
 
 My thoughts and fancies far away : 
 Sometimes I'd see the mermaid comb 
 Her locks 'neath Heaven's bright blue dome ; 
 
 Ah ! life to me would e'er be gay. 
 By the sea shore. 
 
134 ON COUNTRY LANES. 
 
 ON COUNTRY LANES. 
 
 On country lanes in smiling Spring, 
 
 I love to see the cool moss cling ; 
 
 To breathe the pure, soft, breezy air, 
 To cull the wild flowers, rich and rare, 
 
 And watch each insedl: on the wing. 
 
 I love to hear the wood birds sing. 
 Making the earth with gladness ring ; 
 When all around is free from care, 
 On country lanes. 
 
 We all our woes can from us fling, 
 For Nature has blessed everything ; 
 
 Of gloom and grief we have no share ; 
 
 With scenes like this none can compare ; 
 On all sides joy and hope they bring 
 On country lanes. 
 
MAY. 135 
 
 MAY. 
 
 Sweet, laughing May has come to cheer, 
 And speed old Winter on his bier, 
 With loving voice and tender heart. 
 She bids our tears and griefs depart, 
 By singing to us — " I am here." 
 
 She bids us dry our every tear. 
 To quite forget each former fear, 
 On all sides she doth joy impart, 
 Sweet, laughing May. 
 
 Then we her charming smiles revere. 
 And to the world once more appear 
 Free from the wiles of sorrow's dart, 
 From care and pain and sin and art — 
 No wonder that to all she's dear. 
 Sweet, laughing May. 
 
136 THE moor's wooing. 
 
 THE MOOR'S WOOING. 
 
 Thou mirror of virtue, thou rose of delight, 
 Whose eyes are Uke sapphires, so radiant and bright ; 
 Thy peach blossom cheeks, no flower can surpass. 
 Come, cheer up the heart of Don Reigo la Bias. 
 
 Thy head is so queenly, face brimming with mirth, 
 Thy beauty surpasseth all others on earth ; 
 Thy lips are like corals, thy hair burnished gold, 
 Abdallah von Remo, oh ! come to my fold ? 
 
 Thy speech is like silver, thy teeth pearls of price. 
 They're the envy of all who see their device ; 
 Like sunbeams thy laughter, so rippling and free, 
 Abdallah, my own love, oh ! come dwell with me ? 
 
 Thy form it is swan-like, so stately and grand, 
 Thy shadow's a halo to gladden the land ; 
 My home's on the mountains, those blue hills afar, 
 Don Reigo entreats you to be his bright star. 
 
 Ah ! and dost thou say. Yes ? my empress, my queen, 
 Together we'll go to the Chapelle la Meine ; 
 The Priest shall unite us, his blessings he'll give, 
 Abdallah von Remo, together we'll live. 
 
 Oh ! come to my arms, love, a minute of space. 
 And Allah we'll thank for his bountiful grace ; 
 My guerdon of rapture, my hope's charming bood, 
 Give thanks unto Allah, for Allah is good. 
 
TO MY LUTE. I37 
 
 TO MY LUTE. 
 
 Come, my sweet lute, and cheer my heart, 
 
 Thou can'st at all times joy impart. 
 
 For when I touch thy thrilling strings 
 
 Thou hope and joy and comfort brings. 
 
 Thou speak'st to me of bright lands fair. 
 
 And sendest from me dull, dull care. 
 
 Thou wakest joy bells in my soul. 
 
 Till my glad heart's beyond control. 
 
 My fingers bid thee gladsome sing 
 
 And then my thoughts and words take wing, 
 
 As hst'ning to thy magic voice, 
 
 Thou bid'st the inmost soul rejoice. 
 
 Never thou warblest wailing strains. 
 
 That chill the heart and giveth pains ; 
 
 But ever singest blithe and free 
 
 With truest inborn ecstasy. 
 
 Thy harmony is sweet to hear. 
 
 Thou trilleth e'er in tones so clear, 
 
 That thinketh I thy minstrelsy, 
 
 Was wholly meant alone for me. 
 
 For I can feel my breast inflame. 
 
 At but the mention of thy name ; 
 
 And I can feel my brain inspire. 
 
 Trembling within like living fire. 
 
 Until the flames with madness strong, 
 
 Make thee, my lute, break into song. 
 
 And as thy highest chords I wake, 
 
 I feel as on some 'chanted lake, 
 
 Where all is pure — unsullied — bright. 
 
 And bathed in soft translucent light. 
 
138 THE soldier's STORY. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S STORY. 
 
 How did I lose my legs, sir, and whence came this scar on 
 
 my face ? 
 Well, sir, I'll tell you the story, for I trow it is not a disgrace ; 
 You see this cut on my eye, sir, this sear just over my heart, 
 You see this gash on my forehead, that severed it nigh apart ? 
 They were done by the skulking Russians on Balaclava day. 
 Yes, sir, but then 'twas not for them to take my life away. 
 
 Poor Captain Grey commanded, a braver man ne'er stood. 
 But the devilish, rascally Russians, thirsted for British 
 
 blood ; 
 It was ten to one that day, sir, but an Englishman you know 
 Reckons himself an equal with a dozen of the foe. 
 And then we, faint and weak, sir, for we'd scarcely a drop to 
 
 drink, 
 But England's sons you know, sir, their duty never shrink ; 
 Besides, we only tasted food, on an average, once a day, 
 This made us more than willing, though, and eager for the fray, 
 We longed for the coming adlion, and every man I'll swear, 
 Prayed for the hour, when they might vshow, how much the 
 
 Britons dare. 
 
 We used to give our captain the English three times three. 
 Whenever he said now listen lads, and take your mark from 
 
 me ; 
 For we loved him like a brother, and you know a hearty cheer 
 Falls like the sweetest music, and says good-bye to fear, 
 He waved his sword aloft, sir, and said, now list my men. 
 For none of you know that I may-hap, might never command 
 
 again, v 
 
THE SOLDIER S STORY. 139 
 
 The guns in the distance yonder, with death in their smoke 
 
 and flame, 
 Must be spiked in an hour from now, men, though they 
 
 batter, and kill, and maim ; 
 'Tis death or glory now, boys, we may never return alive. 
 And better death a thousand times than the Russians galling 
 
 gyve. 
 The odds you know are fearful, but we are England's sons, 
 And fear no foe, however strong, nor cringe at Russian guns, 
 So say the word my gallant men, 'tis vi(5lory or death. 
 And never ask for quarter, whilst your body holds your 
 
 breath ; 
 Now, once again I say to you, whoe'er will follow me. 
 Honoured for all time, shall remain — 'tis death or victory. 
 There was'nt a man amongst us but who gave a ringing 
 
 shout ; 
 And if shouts could have quelled the foe, sir, they'd soon 
 
 have been put to rout, 
 We all would follow the captain, each man cried out, we will, 
 For foreign foes, to British hearts, can never put a chill. 
 Tennyson's told of the day, sir, but Tennyson was'nt there ; 
 Though none of our hearts a moment quailed, we thought not 
 
 of despair ; 
 He called it a ' valle}^ of death,' well, a valley of death it was. 
 The enemies' guns were levelled, before, behind, across. 
 Men were falling all round, sir, and the ground was strewn 
 
 with slain, 
 For from all sides Russian bullets fell upon us like rain. 
 Our poor, dear captain, brave and true, was one of the first 
 
 to fall. 
 Shattered and maimed to pieces, by a twenty-four pounder 
 
 ball; 
 
140 THE SOLDIER S STORY. 
 
 His body lay crushed and lifeless, all covered with dust 
 
 and gore, 
 Yes, sir, a braver man ne'er breathed — I've said it oft before. 
 At last we reached the guns, though I should'nt have used 
 
 the we, 
 For two-thirds of the men that started, would nevermore 
 
 daylight see, 
 And then we spiked the guns, sir, in spite of the fire and 
 
 smoke. 
 In spite of the guns and cannon, and the deathly sabre stroke ; 
 And then the remnant of the band, and they were very few. 
 Had again to run the gauntlet of that hellish, murderous crew, 
 And though most were sick and w^ounded, oh, the eternal 
 
 shame 
 The Russians' guns kept firing, with their death-dealing flame. 
 I've heard it said that Russians, sir, are a cowardly, cringing 
 
 race. 
 And though some of them fought like demons, manfully face 
 
 to face, 
 The others waylaid the wounded, who were faint and sick 
 
 and sore, 
 And stripped them of their medals, and the dress from off 
 
 them tore : 
 'Twas an everlasting disgrace, sir, for the}' on our maimed 
 
 ones fired, 
 And shot and wrecked the hospital tent, with its inmates 
 
 unattired ; 
 I was carrying a dear old comrade, 'neath the shelter of our 
 
 guns, 
 To hand him to the nurses, the kind Franciscan Nuns, 
 When some of the dastardly fellows in front, around, behind, 
 Attacked us with the swiftness and the keenness of the wind : 
 
THE SOLDIER S STORY. I4I 
 
 My pal, whom I was bearing, they cut his head in twain, 
 They cursed with fiendish laughter, and though he was free 
 
 from pain, 
 They kicked his lifeless body, and screamed with joyful glee, 
 And four of the cowardly ruffians thrusted and stabbed at me ; 
 I'd had many a wound that day, sir ; but this one on my brow 
 I feel the smart and burning, like a fire-brand on it now ; 
 They gave me that when away from the rest, they cut me on 
 
 my head, 
 And hacked my legs away, sir, and left me 'most for dead ; 
 I was found next day, near lifeless, as the soldiers the valley 
 
 crossed. 
 With my veins nigh emptied of their blood, and my wounds 
 
 all bitten with frost ; 
 Oh, its a frightful thing this war, I think I would rather die 
 Than suffer again one half the pain, whilst I on the ground 
 
 did lie. 
 My sores were throbbing and jumping, and covered with 
 
 grime and mire ; 
 My mouth felt crushed and parched and dry, my bosom 
 
 seemed on fire. 
 And I lay in my bed for weeks, praying God my soul to take : 
 For my body was racked with bitter pain, with dull and 
 
 fearful ache ; 
 Yes, I recovered at last, and now, to many a one I tell 
 How I lost my limbs, and was scarred and bruised on that 
 
 cursed field of hell. 
 
142 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 The sunbeams kiss her golden hair, 
 
 Which shimmers sparkHng bright, 
 And falls in sweet entanglement 
 
 On shoulders soft and white ; 
 And an enraptured wonder, 
 
 When you first see the sight, 
 Fills you with poet's melody 
 
 When gazing on its light. 
 
 There seems to be a glory 
 
 About her clear blue eyes, 
 Which 'minds you of the transient stream 
 
 'Neath earth's coerulean skies ; 
 Such orbs are only meant for mirth, 
 
 And eloquent surprise, 
 Or to express the sunny smile 
 
 Of love that never dies ; 
 
 For which the ancient minstrels. 
 
 Their tuneful lyres would string. 
 And make the woodland air resound 
 
 With its harmonious ring. 
 And on her marble forehead, 
 
 Somehow there seems to cling 
 The same mysterious sweetness 
 
 Of which bards love to sing. 
 
KIRKSTALL ABBEY. I43 
 
 But to describe her fully 
 
 Is quite beyond my reach ; 
 Sometimes her lips press firmly, 
 
 At others they beseech ; 
 Like tiny corulets of pearl 
 
 Her armaments of speech, 
 And cheeks are full of loveliness 
 
 As blossoms of the peach. 
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Poetic fabric — lovely in decay : 
 
 I love to wander through thy ancient aisle, 
 I love to linger near thy sacred pile 
 
 At early dawn or at the close of day. 
 
 Thy ivy-mantled tower, so calmly grey, 
 Thy ruined cloisters, noble and sublime. 
 Have ages borne the ravages of time. 
 
 Yet still thou stand'st the theme of many a lay. 
 
 What veneration feel we as we gaze, 
 For now thou'rt ours, no more to be turmoiled ; 
 
 What indignation in our bosoms blaze 
 At thoughts of him-^' who, ruthless, thee despoiled. 
 
 Though but a remnant of thy former pride. 
 
 Our love for thee is strong and deep and wide. 
 
 ♦ Henry VIII. 
 
144 MILLY. A SONG. 
 
 MILLY.— A SONG. 
 
 Where the wild flowers spring, 
 And the lark and throstle sing, 
 
 Where the brook sheds its music around, 
 Where the scent of the hay 
 Is wafted far away ; 
 
 It was there where my true love I found. 
 
 The dew was on the grass. 
 When I saw my bonny lass ; 
 
 Her cheeks wore the blush of the rose, 
 I was charmed with the sight. 
 It filled me with delight, 
 
 And banished for the nonce all my woes. 
 
 I call her lovely Milly, 
 She's as fair as any lily. 
 
 Her love for me is strong, true, and pure ; 
 She's the darling of my heart. 
 Her love will ne'er depart. 
 
 For ever and for aye 'twill endure. 
 
 I have bought a golden ring. 
 Such a little fairy thing, 
 
 In the morn I'll place it on her hand. 
 Her glorious ecstasy 
 Sheds a glamour over me. 
 
 We're the happiest couple in the land. 
 
LADY BELL. I45 
 
 LADY BELL. 
 
 A STAFFORDSHIRE BALLAD. FOUNDED ON FACT. 
 
 Now list awhile, and I'll tell to you 
 
 The tale of the Lady Bell Carew ; 
 
 But first of all I'll describe the scene 
 
 Where the story opens — A village green. 
 
 To the left, the stately village church, 
 
 Approached by a road through limes and birch ; 
 
 To the right, some houses, grey and old. 
 
 Behind, the castle firm and bold ; 
 
 In front, green fields, beyond, a wood — 
 
 Here Lady Bell and her lover stood. 
 
 Now the village green was free to all, 
 
 Not so the castle, strong and tall ; 
 
 To the ancient church each one could go 
 
 And be as free as the winds that blow ; 
 
 Through the fields each had a right of way. 
 
 But the woods belonged to the castle grey ; 
 
 Now the Lady Bell was fair of face. 
 
 Of stately figure and noble race ; 
 
 The heiress was she of all the ground 
 
 Behind, before, all sides around ; 
 
 Her lover, alas ! though a handsome man 
 
 Lithe and tall and fair to scan. 
 
 Was poor as regards the things of wealth. 
 
 But rich in the blessing of priceless health ; 
 
 Lady Bell's father was stern of mien 
 
 Haggard and hoary, gaunt and lean. 
 
 And he bid his retainers look well out 
 
 To try and catch Lady Bell's lover about ; 
 
146 LADY BELL. 
 
 He swore he would punish as hard as he could 
 Those whom he caught in the castle wood, 
 And should they catch young Guy de Vale 
 They'd put a stop to his lover's tale ; 
 For none should have his daughter's hand 
 Unless they'd money, estates, and land, 
 No matter how Lady Bell should weep. 
 They'd put him in dungeon's darkest keep ; 
 Now Guy de Vale had heard of this 
 And he said to his lady love — I wis, 
 If your father's servants your lover should get 
 I know what you'd do, dear — fume and fret ; 
 But the Lady Bell said, ''Nay not so 
 Though I might do inwardly you know, 
 I should bribe the gaoler to lend the key 
 And once again my Guy'd be free, 
 We would hurry away in the dead of night 
 To be wed in the morn by sacred rite." 
 And there they stood with their bill and coo 
 Talking and doing as lovers do. 
 The time was nine on an Autumn eve 
 When Guy, just thinking of taking his leave, 
 Was seized, and before he knew where he was, 
 His hands were tightly tied across ; 
 They heeded not Lady Bell's loud shriek, 
 And gagged young Guy, so he could not speak ; 
 When the baron heard, 'twas welcome news. 
 And to look at his captive couldn't refuse ; 
 What he saw to him was a welcome sight. 
 And he rubbed his hands in a mad delight. 
 He told them to take him down below 
 Where of light he never would see a glow ; 
 
LADY BELL. I47 
 
 Three days fled by when the artful jade 
 
 To her father said, *' I'm a naughty maid, 
 
 For now when I've had time to think 
 
 I'm glad you saved me from ruin's brink ; 
 
 And however I loved a thing like Guy 
 
 Is past my comprehension why. 
 
 So I pray you, father, me forgive. 
 
 And with you I will always live." 
 
 Then her father blessed her and said, " My dear, 
 
 That I'll forgive you, never fear, 
 
 And to-night we'll keep in merry state 
 
 The joyful news to celebrate." 
 
 The baron feasted his servants well 
 
 With dishes of savoury taste and smell ; 
 
 But none saw my Lady's bright eyes shine 
 
 As she drugged each flagon of Rhenish wine, 
 
 As she poured them out a bumping glass 
 
 And said, " Whatever may come to pass, 
 
 Drink more than once, drink deep and well 
 
 Long life and health to your Lady Bell." 
 
 Lady Bell's face gleamed like a star 
 
 As she heard the sound of the wild hurrah. 
 
 Each drank the draught, each went to sleep 
 
 And my Lady hied to the castle's keep ; 
 
 She opened the door with the gaoler's key. 
 
 And once again her Guy was free. 
 
 Now who could tell of the nameless bliss 
 
 As each to each gave the lover's kiss, 
 
 And who could tell of the lover's light 
 
 That shone in their eyes that happy night ; 
 
 They thought of her father's frantic search 
 
 As they walked away to the nearest church, 
 
148 LADY BELL. 
 
 They awoke the parson, and said to him, " Sir, 
 
 You can make us the happiest ever were. 
 
 Unite us in wedlock's holy bond ; 
 
 We have run away from the castle beyond." 
 
 The good old man the knot soon tied, 
 
 And back to the castle the lovers hied ; 
 
 The baron was raging mad and cross. 
 
 For he'd just discovered his awful loss. 
 
 He tore his hair, and raved, and swore 
 
 And stamped and stamped on the castle floor ; 
 
 He cursed his retainers one and all. 
 
 Throughout each room did vent his brawl. 
 
 And he reached the climax of his woes 
 
 When a pidture fell on his gouty toes. 
 
 He shrieked with pain and his servants came, 
 
 He said that they were each to blame. 
 
 But should their Lady e'er come back 
 
 They should drink her health in a quart of sack. 
 
 He could even forgive her lover, young Guy, 
 
 If on Lady Bell he could cast his eye ; 
 
 He had barely spoke when he heard a laugh 
 
 And he walked to the door by the aid of his staff, 
 
 With pleasure he stumbled and nearly fell. 
 
 For there was Guy — with the Lady Bell ; 
 
 They each went down on their bended knees 
 
 And said, " Father forgive us, if you please, 
 
 I know we left you in the lurch 
 
 But this morn we were wed at Audley Church." 
 
 The baron said, " Children, please to rise 
 
 For I somehow can scarcely believe my eyes ; 
 
 Forgive you, that I do right well 
 
 And I bless both Guy and the Lady Bell." 
 
IN SYLVAN WOODS. I49 
 
 Then Guy and Bell gave a peal of laughter 
 And happily lived for ever after. 
 
 IN SYLVAN WOODS. 
 
 In sylvan woods, in blest July, 
 You'll see the merry youngsters hie ; 
 A prattling troup of children gay, 
 You'll find where'er you take your way 
 Children who know not yet a sigh. 
 
 Ah ! blithe they shout if they should spy 
 The nest of some wild bird hard by, 
 
 And shrill they scream when glad they play, 
 In sylvan woods. 
 
 Amongst each bush they nimbly pry. 
 And feehng, neither coy nor shy, 
 They spend their infant holiday. 
 Each happy as a sprightly fay ; 
 Oh ! would these days for them ne'er die : 
 In sylvan woods. 
 
150 A DIRGE. 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 Chant ye a low refrain, 
 Chant in a mournful strain, 
 Ye who repine. 
 
 Cease ye those mirthful smiles, 
 Sadness each heart beguiles. 
 Grief holds her sway. 
 
 Woe, woe is ours to-night, 
 Sorrow has cast her blight 
 On all our lives. 
 
 Bitter despair is ours. 
 Grim Death above us towers. 
 Then steals a life. 
 
 Well may we dismal feel. 
 Well may our poor brains reel, 
 Now she is gone. 
 
 Suffered she anguish deep, 
 Yet never once did weep. 
 
 Never complained. 
 
 Long on her sickly bed 
 Laid she with aching head. 
 Long, long she lay. 
 
 Dull are our feelings now, 
 Dull, dull each youthful brow, 
 Comfort we've none. 
 
A DIRGE. 
 
 Quiet and ease have flown, 
 Joys which we all have known 
 Ne'er will return. 
 
 Dire is our dismal song, 
 • Withered our hopes once strong, 
 Blasted our lives. 
 
 Grave now is each one's thought. 
 Yet with true reverence fraught 
 And Godly fear. 
 
 Death is a shadow grim, 
 
 There's no escaping him, 
 
 No warding off. 
 
 Ye must attend his call 
 When he holds out the pall. 
 Your forms to cover. 
 
 Solemnly chant again 
 
 Ye who have hearts in pain. 
 
 Ye whom Death robs. 
 
 Chant ye, who anxious are. 
 Chant ye, whom Death does mar. 
 Chant ye 'mid tears. 
 
 151 
 
152 MY SWEETHEART. 
 
 MY SWEETHEART. 
 
 Her form is wondrously divine, 
 
 This little fiance of mine, 
 
 Her raven locks in ringlets flow 
 
 On shoulders soft, and white as snow. 
 
 Her smile sheds glamour all around, 
 
 Dispels all gloom, howe'er profound. 
 
 Each tooth is like a tiny pearl 
 
 Decking the coronet of an earl. 
 
 Her cheeks e'er brightly shine with health, 
 
 Her beauty is a priceless wealth. 
 
 Her lips, when closed, appear to view 
 
 Like rose-buds tipped with mountain dew. 
 
 Her eyes I liken to a sloe. 
 
 So brightly do they ever glow. 
 
 She has a dimple in her chin. 
 
 Her name is Rosie — Rosie Wynne, 
 
 Her beauty's not confined to face. 
 
 Each step abounds with blithesome grace, 
 
 Her laughter ever seems to me 
 
 Like ripples on the bounding sea. 
 
 And when with her I aye rejoice, 
 
 For sweetest music is her voice. 
 
 Its tones clear as a silver bell — 
 
 No wonder that I love her well. 
 
PARENTAL LOVE. I53 
 
 PARENTAL LOVE. 
 
 Like a gleam of sun on a cloudy day, 
 Like the balmy breath of gentle May, 
 Like the softest zephyr wind that blows, 
 Like the petals of a wild white rose, 
 Like the sweetest taste of earthly bliss, 
 Like the maiden's love, and the lovers' kiss. 
 Like the notes of the merriest birds that sing. 
 Like the many flowers of thrice welcome Spring, 
 Like the whistling brook as it speeds its way, 
 Like the swelling tune of the poet's lay. 
 Like the lambs of the meadow in leafy June, 
 Like the glorious ray of the harvest moon. 
 Like the buds on the trees when Winter's past, 
 Like the calm which succeeds a stormy blast, 
 Like the bounding river, gay and free, 
 Like the beating waves of the billowy sea, 
 Like the buoyant heart of a merry child. 
 Like the grandeur of the forest wild. 
 Like the mountain's ever warm and blue. 
 Like a mother's voice, tender and true. 
 Like the water is to the thirsty one. 
 Like the couch the wanderer rests upon. 
 Like a golden dream without alloy — 
 Is the love we feel for our darling boy. 
 
154 THE COMING WINTER. 
 
 THE COMING WINTER. 
 
 The flowers have all withered, the leaves are all dead, 
 The moss is all faded, each swallow has fled ; 
 We hear but the chirp of the sparrow's gay tune. 
 And the clouded air tells us the snow will fall soon. 
 
 The first sign of Winter the hedge banks has kissed. 
 And shrouded them o'er in its garment of mist ; 
 The ice, too, has coated each slow running brook. 
 And planted its footprints in dell and in nook. 
 
 The fog in the morning its mantle does cast ; 
 The biting north wind sends its harrowing blast. 
 While the swift swaying trees as they bend to the wind 
 Seem asking for shelter they nowhere can find. 
 
 The desolate fields are of verdure bereft. 
 And all things tell plainly that Summer has left. 
 Each grot looks so dismal, each cranny looks drear, 
 All Nature reminds us that Winter is near. 
 
 But though it be freezing on valley and hill, 
 
 And out in the forest 'tis darksome and chill, 
 
 We forget all our thoughts which are gruesome and dire, 
 
 In the glow and the heat of our home-circle fire. 
 
AT THE WAYSIDE POOL. I55 
 
 AT THE WAYSIDE POOL. 
 
 The Summer's day was drawing to a close, 
 
 The drowsy insecfls sought their peaceful rest, 
 The feathered songsters were within the nest, 
 
 And all around betokened calm repose. 
 
 Each flower, as though abashed, hung down the head, 
 Each blade of grass had sunken unto sleep. 
 The lowing kine — the patient, humble sheep. 
 
 Had drooped beneath the langour that night shed. 
 
 The trees around scarce rustled in the breeze, 
 The sound they made was one of full content, 
 ' A gentle sob, as though the feelings pent, 
 Gave utterance to a sigh of perfect ease. 
 
 Down by the wayside pool, the farmer's boy 
 Had stood awhile to let his horses drink, 
 He, like the flowers, hangs his head, to think 
 nd ponder on the evening and its joy. 
 
 He and his horses all the Summer's day 
 
 Have toiled beneath the blazing, burning sun, 
 And now at even, when their work is done. 
 
 To blessed sleep and comfort wend their way. 
 
 Across the pool a bat goes flitting fast, 
 A distant owl sends forth its dismal cry. 
 The twinkling stars are gathering in the sky. 
 
 And soon, too soon, this bright day will be past. 
 
156 AT THE WAYSIDE POOL. 
 
 I stand beside the pool to muse awhile, 
 
 To think and brood on what I've done to-day, 
 To ask my heart, — if, on his lonesome way, 
 
 I've cheered some wanderer with a word or smile. 
 
 I ask myself if to do right I've striven, 
 
 And if to-day one good deed I have done, 
 
 If words of comfort have some lone heart won, 
 
 Or, if those words of comfort have been given. 
 
 And, as I muse, my conscience seems to say — 
 
 Thou hast not done one half that thou could'st do 
 Thy words, thy deeds, for others have been few — 
 
 This, has to thee, been then ** A wasted day." 
 
 I turn to go, for night has spread his shroud, 
 But lo ! I hear a tiny voice within, 
 Saying abide, I tell thee thine is sin. 
 
 If from no soul to-day thou'st raised the cloud. 
 
 It may not be that thou hast done some wrong, 
 Or harboured in thy mind some wicked thought, 
 It may be that thy deeds with truth are fraught, 
 
 But, hast thou scattered them mankind among ? 
 
 If thou hast not, oh ! brother, when to-morn 
 Sheds all her glory o'er the beauteous earth, 
 Raise some poor heart from deep despair and dearth, 
 
 And then in truth thou shalt be newly-born. 
 
MORNING. 157 
 
 Speak unto them the words of joy divine, 
 
 Tell them from ways of wickedness to cease, 
 
 Tell them that here there's pardon, hope, and peace, 
 
 To those who evil works and paths resign. 
 
 The voice is silent, but within my breast 
 
 A calmness and a gladness seems to reign. 
 And far has vanished all my former pain, 
 
 Which filled my bosom with a vague unrest. 
 
 I gaze into the waters cool below. 
 
 Then turn away with halting, lingering feet, 
 For there I found contentment full and sweet, 
 
 And there I learnt the way that I should go. 
 
 'Twill aye be hallowed in my memory. 
 
 For there, whilst standing nigh the wayside pool 
 I learnt the lesson taught in life's hard school. 
 
 Of telling all of love and unity. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 The early mists herald the rise of dawn. 
 
 The lark's fresh voice to each one seems to say 
 
 O sluggards wake, behold, 'tis now the morn. 
 The night had left both mead and valley grey. 
 
 Fair Sol, of this garb has them both now shorn, 
 And to all earth proclaims another day. 
 
158 OLD DAYS. 
 
 OLD DAYS. 
 
 How often in the stilly night 
 When Luna's orb is shining bright, 
 
 I think of former days. 
 How often 'neath the noonday sun 
 I've thought of childish tasks begun, 
 
 And merry, boyish ways. 
 
 How often when cold Winter's gloom 
 Bids us go seek our firelit room 
 
 We dwell on infant times. 
 How often on a Summer's day, 
 When all is sweet as new-mown hay, 
 
 And listening to the chimes. 
 
 We think of days long, long gone by. 
 Days which alas ! too quickly fly 
 
 With all their hopes and fears ; 
 Their sadness though is mixed with joy. 
 Like purest gold joined with alloy ; 
 
 Their memory brings us tears. 
 
A FRAGMENT. I59 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Could I but rule my future lot, 
 This then would be my keen desire, 
 
 To dwell in some sweet rustic cot 
 And feed me on poetic fire, 
 
 Vd tune my lyre to sing the praise 
 
 That bards e'er sing — sweet roundelays. 
 
 I'd ever call upon the muse, 
 
 Her kind assistance always ask, 
 
 Methinks she ne'er would me refuse 
 But aid me in my pleasant task ; 
 
 Sweet harmony I'd ever sing, 
 
 Of birds and flowers and welcome Spring. 
 
 I would unto the world impart. 
 The happiest gifts of human race, 
 
 I'd breathe the words from off my heart 
 And tell of God's ne'er faiHng grace, 
 
 His glorious goodness, blest and pure, 
 
 His faithful mercy, ever sure. 
 
l6o TWO BIRTHDAYS. 
 
 TWO BIRTHDAYS. 
 
 MAY 24TH. 
 MY queen's 
 
 Oh ! lend your aid, ye muses, 
 
 Inspire me whilst I write ; 
 And all ye gentle spirits 
 
 Cast round your glamour's light. 
 My thoughts are for '* our lady," 
 
 Our tender, gracious Queen ; 
 Who now for half a century, 
 
 Our ruler true has been. 
 
 We ask from God, our Father, 
 
 To grant thee many years 
 Of peace and hope and happiness, 
 
 To shield thee from all tears. 
 We ask with faith most holy, 
 
 Well knowing that He'll give 
 A life most calm and bounteous, 
 
 To all who for Him live. 
 
 And on this bright and beautiful. 
 
 This twenty-fourth of May, 
 We ask that He will give to thee 
 
 A happy natal day. 
 We ask with eyes all sparkling, 
 
 While in our bosom burns 
 One thought alone for utterance, — 
 
 'Tis ** many more returns :" 
 
TWO BIRTHDAYS. 
 
 And those returns all happy, 
 
 With not a care to mar, 
 With not a doubt or shadow, 
 
 Thy gracious mind to jar. 
 We thank the great High Heaven 
 
 For all His gifts to thee, 
 For all His tender mercies 
 
 That thou hast lived to see. 
 
 We know that He is watching 
 
 O'er thee with kindly eye ; 
 We know that His hand guides thee, 
 
 E'er upward to the sky ; 
 We know, O gracious lady. 
 
 That He to thee has given, 
 A joy that others wot not of, 
 
 A ray of light from Heaven. 
 
 And now, most kind and queenliest, 
 
 For fifty years thou'st been 
 Our ever gracious sovereign, 
 
 Our ever gracious queen. 
 So again we ask our Father 
 
 To list to what we say : 
 We ask Him aye to grant thee 
 
 A happy natal day. 
 
 MY wife's. 
 
 I long for golden language, 
 
 To give my mind a vent : 
 To speak of my sweet helpmate, 
 
 In loving sentiment. 
 
 i6i 
 
l62 TWO BIRTHDAYS. 
 
 I call on the sweet graces, 
 To lend me their dear aid, 
 
 That in loving tones and tender, 
 My mind I may unlade. 
 
 It needs a brave, true woman. 
 
 To cast her lot with man, 
 To share in his afflicftions. 
 
 Or lead him when she can. 
 It needs the help of Heaven 
 
 A woman's cross to bear ! 
 It needs a constant watching. 
 
 And a greater trust in prayer. 
 
 Her presence ever brightens. 
 
 And soothes when in despair : 
 Her word gives hope and comfort, 
 
 The dullest day turns fair. 
 Though dark and gloomy shadows 
 
 Loom o'er me from afar, 
 My life is cheered and gladdened 
 
 By her, — my guiding star ! 
 
 Though every ill assails me, 
 
 And I'm inclined to stray. 
 Throughout each dark temptation- 
 
 I have her on the way. 
 And though a feeling lonely 
 
 Re-echoes in my heart, 
 'Tis turned to fairy laughter. 
 
 When from her I'm not apart. 
 
TWO BIRTHDAYS. 163 
 
 So it is with us poor mortals, 
 
 Had we not our lot to share 
 Heaven's greatest gift to manhood, 
 
 A wife, both brave and fair. 
 So I press her to my bosom, 
 
 On this bright day in May, 
 And do my best to give her 
 
 A happy, glad birthday. 
 
 Oh ! would that I could shelter her 
 
 From every storm-tossed wind ; 
 But I can use sweet, loving words. 
 
 And never prove unkind. 
 How noble is the name of wife ! 
 
 Mine is especial dear ; 
 O God, my Heavenly Father, 
 
 Let her life be pure and clear. 
 
164 KATIE. A SONG. 
 
 KATIE.— A SONG. 
 
 My Kate is a fairy nymph, 
 
 A sylph-like form has she, 
 And full of grace is her laughing face, 
 
 Yet tender as can be ; 
 For the sight of care makes her brow so fair, 
 
 Wear a look of sympathy. 
 
 Her eyes do ever sparkle 
 
 With mischief, glee, and fun, 
 And the bright red tips of her coral lips 
 
 No man could ever shun ; 
 And the teeth between like dewdrops are seen, 
 
 Which glisten in the sun. 
 
 No bird can trill like Katie, 
 
 Her voice is most divine, 
 She carols sublime some dainty rhyme 
 
 Whilst her cheeks with gladness shine ; 
 Oh ! my joy is complete for Katie, my sweet, 
 
 For aye will soon be mine. 
 
LOVE AND GOLD. 165 
 
 LOVE AND GOLD. 
 
 The laddie was young and blithe and gay, 
 
 And he stole the heart of the lassie away. 
 
 The girl was fair and bright and glad, 
 
 And she fell in love with the handsome lad. 
 
 And they walked in the fields, and shady lanes, 
 
 Ne'er thinking a moment that '* Love hath pains ;" 
 
 Through the leafy wood and the river side. 
 
 And quickly away the time did glide. 
 
 They went in the glen 'mid the blooming heather, 
 
 And down by the lake they strolled together ; 
 
 They told of their love, and said that they 
 
 Would love each other for ever and aye. 
 
 And they hied back home in a lightsome mood. 
 
 He was so happy, for had he not wooed 
 
 And won the girl that was bright and fair. 
 
 And as pure and clear as the noontide air. 
 
 And they gaily trod the bracken and fern, 
 
 Without a thought of her father stern. 
 
 At length they came to the rustic gate. 
 
 And he all forgetful of ruthless fate. 
 
 Then he said to her father, " I love your child," 
 
 And then he blushed, and then he smiled ; 
 
 *' Will you give her to me to be my wife, 
 
 I'll love her and cherish her all my life ?" 
 
 And he waited awhile e'er the old man spoke, 
 
 Upright and careless ; of the heavy yoke 
 
 That he was to bear he did not think ; 
 
 He loved her too well for his spirits to sink. 
 
 Then her father lifted high his head. 
 
 And fiercely gruff were the words he said : 
 
l66 LOVE AND GOLD. 
 
 " My daughter, young man, is not for you ^ 
 
 And as ior you loving her, pooh, pooh, pooh." 
 
 And he laughed the lad and his love to scorn, 
 
 Ne'er a thought for the heart he had wrecked and torn 
 
 " I have others who want my girl from me," 
 
 And he would not list to the young man's plea. 
 
 " Who wooes my daughter must win her with gold, 
 
 Be he peasant or peer, or young or old ; 
 
 My daughter is rich, and you, you're poor, 
 
 And you shan't have her, you may be sure." 
 
 Then the laddie said to his lassie dear, 
 
 " If you'll be true, and I have no fear, 
 
 I'll come back in a year with plenty of gold," 
 
 And he kissed her gently this laddie so bold ; 
 
 " I will work and slave to win 3^ou away. 
 
 And as I am toiling by night and day, 
 
 You will not forget me, will you, my pet, 
 
 For you know that I will never forget." 
 
 And her heart went out to her handsome lad. 
 
 And she answered him in words so sad, 
 
 " Of you, my darling, by night or day, 
 
 I will always think, and shall always pray." 
 
 Then he went away to win her gold, 
 
 On the ocean's breast and the waves that rolled : 
 
 And he toiled and worked, across the water, 
 
 To win the old man's only daughter. 
 
 And she, all the time that he was away. 
 
 Did not forget him by night or day. 
 
 And to him his task was as light as light, 
 
 For did she not love him, this girl so bright ? 
 
 Then he came back home with his hard earned gold, 
 
 And lightly he entered the old man's fold ; 
 
THE RIVER WHARFE. 167 
 
 And he saw his lassie, and seized her hand, 
 
 The happiest laddie in all the land. 
 
 *' My darling, have you never a word to say ? 
 
 I've worked hard for you by night and day." 
 
 And she said to her laddie, " I'm too happy to speak,'' 
 
 And the teardrops trickled down her cheek. 
 
 And the old man gave his daughter to him. 
 
 For had he not satisfied his whim ? 
 
 But the laddie he told him in voice so cold. 
 
 That love was much better and purer than gold. 
 
 THE RIVER WHARFE. 
 
 Dear, gentle Wharfe ! to ramble by thy side 
 Was my delight in days that now are fled, 
 With friends who long have joined the mighty dead, 
 
 Or, who are fast approaching Death's black tide. 
 
 Yet still thou floweth in thy pristine pride, 
 Calm," fresh, and cool, over thy pebbly bed. 
 And mindeth not the tears thy watchers shed, 
 
 And listeth not if one who's loved thee died. 
 
 How glad thy ripples sounded in mine ear 
 In those dear, joyous, happy days of yore ; 
 
 When I knew not the words ''distress" and "fear," 
 When I was careless as thy verdant shore. 
 
 Ah ! now I'm in " the yellow leaf and sere," 
 And long for days that can return no more. 
 
l68 PARTED. 
 
 PARTED. 
 
 " A CHANGE came o'er the spirit of my dream," 
 And made my soul with thriUing raptures teem, 
 Methought once more I clasped her hand in mine. 
 Once more I saw her face with radiance shine ; 
 I was embracing her loved form again, 
 I had forgotten that the old, old pain 
 Had never fled ; I'd forgotten that I slept ; 
 I was caressing her ; I awoke and wept. 
 
 Alas ! vain hope ; ah, never more for me 
 Are this world's pleasures ; but stern reality 
 Comes back once more ; there is an ache, a void 
 That does not vanish, howsoe'er employed. 
 Oh, how delusive is this worn-out token ! 
 And just as real is the heart that's broken. 
 How bitter now she's gone, and yet how sweet. 
 Could I but hear the echo of her feet. 
 
 Oh, darling sweetheart mine, but for a while. 
 How oft I've basked beneath your sunny smile ; 
 O'erwhelmed with love, those happy hours have flown, 
 And made my life with seeds of sorrow strewn. 
 But why repine, when in our Heavenly Home 
 We, side by side and hand in hand, will roam. 
 And, filled with bliss divine, our hearts will swell, 
 Till then my loved one, " hope of my heart," farewell ! 
 
HAVE PATIENXE. 169 
 
 HAVE PATIENCE. 
 
 How can we know what seems the best ? 
 
 How can we tell the right or wrong ? 
 Why should we murmur at a test ? 
 How can we know ? 
 
 We must not judge the stern decree, 
 
 What seemeth wrong is perhaps the right ; 
 We cannot tell Heaven's mystery, 
 We must not judge. 
 
 Why should we fret, when all forlorn 
 
 We wonder if no help can come ? 
 Next day ma}^ see a brighter morn, 
 Why should we fret ? 
 
 'Tis not for long our trials here. 
 
 We are poor creatures if we pine. 
 And if we suffer, never fear, 
 
 'Tis not for long. 
 
170 TO A DEWDROP. 
 
 TO A DEWDROP. 
 
 Like a sparkling diamond, 
 
 Shining bright and fair ; 
 Like a brilHant pearl-ling, 
 
 Fresh from virtue's lair ; 
 Like a glowing sunbeam, 
 
 On the waters blue ; 
 Like a costly diadem, 
 
 Little gem of dew. 
 Sleeping on the lily. 
 
 Taking sweet repose 
 Oh the purple violet. 
 
 On the damask rose. 
 
 Like a glistening jewel, 
 
 In a wood-sprite's wand ; 
 Like a golden meteor, 
 
 Radiant o'er the land ; 
 Like a merry twinkle. 
 
 From some wild bird's eye ; 
 Like the flashing orblets, 
 
 Peering through the sky. 
 On the moss reclining, 
 
 In some mountain dell, 
 Dainty little dewdrop. 
 
 Flowerets love thee well. 
 
TO MY LOST LOVE. I7I 
 
 TO MY LOST LOVE. 
 
 The silvery moon is shining 
 
 O'er mountain and o'er vale, 
 And with her soft light, lining 
 
 With rapture all the dale. 
 The stars are gently twinking. 
 
 The world is fast asleep. 
 But I am of thee thinking. 
 
 My thoughts they make me weep ; 
 For thou, too, hast been sleeping, 
 
 My bosom wildly aches. 
 And useless is my weeping, 
 
 'Tis sleep that ne'er awakes. 
 
 Before me are the meadows 
 
 In which we used to stray, 
 They're full of spirit shadows. 
 
 Whene'er 'tis close of day. 
 Should I go there at gloaming. 
 
 Thy form I'm sure to see, 
 Thou, too, with sprites art roaming ; 
 
 But should I beckon thee, 
 Thy form, amid the shading, 
 
 Dieth before my sight, 
 I see thee softly fading, 
 
 And nought remains but night. 
 
172 ON VISITING AUDLEY, STAFFS. 
 
 ON VISITING AUDLEY, STAFFS. 
 
 I TROD the lanes, which years ago 
 My uncle trod ; 
 
 I saw the grave, wherein he lies 
 Beneath the sod ; 
 
 And went inside the church, where oft 
 He's talked of God. 
 
 Looked through the ancient registers, 
 Beheld his name 
 
 Signed at a baptism, or when joining 
 Man and dame, 
 
 And written there when death, 
 
 Ever relentless, came. 
 
 I saw the pulpit, where he preached 
 
 For many a day, 
 Where years ago it was his wont 
 
 To kneel and pray ; 
 I saw the book, from which he read 
 
 The service o'er man's clay. 
 
 But now, when memory calls me back 
 To days of yore. 
 
 The pain to me is bitter, sweet 
 
 That steals me o'er. 
 
 For pleasure and sadness blended. 
 My feelings wore. 
 
TO SAY FAREWELL. 1 73 
 
 Pleasure to think, in days of old, 
 
 In this dear place 
 He told and taught the villagers 
 
 Of Jesu's grace. 
 Pleasure that through God's goodness I 
 
 Come of his race. 
 
 But pain and sadness at the thought 
 
 That his life's run, 
 Long before God ordained that I 
 
 Should see the sun ; 
 Sadness that ere He gave me breath 
 
 His crown was won. 
 
 TO SAY FAREWELL. 
 
 To say farewell, nigh breaks my heart. 
 
 And strikes my bosom like a knell, 
 And makes the burning teardrops start- 
 To say farewell. 
 
 My grief's almost too hard to tell ; 
 
 I feel as pierced with some dart. 
 And o'er my soul there comes a spell — 
 
 A spell it is of sorrow's smart ; 
 Nought can assuage this feeling fell ; 
 
 It is to me so hard to part — 
 To say farewell. 
 
174 ^^ SHOOK HANDS WITH ME. 
 
 HE SHOOK HANDS WITH ME. 
 
 I'm a privileged chap with Nasr-ed-Din, 
 
 And Nasr-ed-Din, you must know, is the Shah ; 
 
 As the monarch of Persia he deemed it no sin 
 To give me his fist 'mid a loud Hip-hurrah. 
 
 I'm royal myself now, from serfdom I'm free, 
 
 For the Shah of the Persias he shook hands with me. 
 
 Though it wasn't a grip like an Englishman holds, 
 *Twas a shake all the same, and I prize it the more, 
 
 For now I can tell how a Persian enfolds 
 
 His hand o'er your fingers when shaking galore. 
 
 'Twas greasy and flabby — I know it, you see — 
 
 For the Shah of the Persias he shook hands with me. 
 
 I held his right hand but a moment or so, 
 
 But that moment will make me at Persians e'er scoff; 
 
 Our fingers encased were a second, and lo ! 
 Old Nasr-ed-Din, K.G., took them all off; 
 
 But yet I'm as happy as happy can be. 
 
 For the Shah of the Persias he shook hands with me. 
 
LARRY O FLYNN S DESCRIPTION OF WINTER. 1 75 
 
 LARRY O'FLYNN'S DESCRIPTION OF WINTER. 
 
 Arrah' be aisy a minnit, my dears, and listen unto me wail, 
 An O'll spake awhoile av the pleasures av the sleet, the snow, 
 
 and the hail : 
 The tip av my toes, and the end av my nose, are freezing 
 
 whoile I'm writin', 
 My finger end has stuck to my pen, begorra, oi might av bane 
 
 foightin' ; 
 And just outside is a bit av a slide, though I couldn't say it 
 
 whin walkin'. 
 For the fog was as thick as a six inch brick, but what is the 
 
 good av me talkin', 
 All at once oi went whack on the broad av me back, ah, sure 
 
 now, I near broke a flag, 
 It was such a tumble Pat Flynn heard the rumble, away 
 
 down at Donovan's crag ; 
 And the snow is so dape that I can't get a pape out av my 
 
 window pane — 
 Och, murder, look there, by Saint Patrick's hair, its just 
 
 beginning to rain. 
 
176 WATCHING. 
 
 WATCHING. 
 
 With waiting long my heart grows sick, 
 
 And reels and throbs my heated brain, 
 
 Until a faintness steals me o'er, 
 
 Making my senses seem to swim. 
 
 My breast grows cold, my head on fire, 
 
 A dizziness o'erspreads my frame, 
 
 I stagger and I almost fall — 
 
 But yet I keep my weary watch : 
 
 Listening in vain for any sound 
 
 To fall upon my eager ear. 
 
 Telling me that once more dear Jack 
 
 Is home again with her he loves. 
 
 Ah ! it is useless, months have passed 
 
 Since that dark day when the fierce storm 
 
 Filled all the fishers' hearts with dread. 
 
 A ship was in distress ; poor Jack 
 
 Was always first to volunteer 
 
 To man the lifeboat, if a storm 
 
 Had hurled some ship upon the rocks ; 
 
 He went in hope of saving life. 
 
 But he, the boat, and all the crew 
 
 Perished amid the hungry waves. 
 
 I know he's dead ; but yet I watch, 
 And wait and hope and think and pray, 
 And wonder if 'tis true, that I, 
 Jack's darling, have no husband now. 
 It can't be true ; he must come back ; 
 
AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 177 
 
 I think the waves would never drown 
 A noble man, who risked his life, 
 And tried to save a shipwrecked crew. 
 
 Ah ! me my vigil sorely tries. 
 
 For I have watched and waited long — 
 
 But watched and waited all in vain. 
 
 AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 
 (to a friend who addressed a sonnet to the 
 
 AUTHOR.) 
 
 Thanks, brother bard, for thy kind offering, 
 
 It is a tribute that I value much ; 
 
 Oh ! may your fingers long the sweet lyre touch, 
 To swell with joy its tuneful, thriUing string. 
 I still will mind whene'er I strive to sing, 
 
 The fond encouragement you give to me ; 
 
 I ever loved the gracious Euterpe, 
 For oft she does her tender fancies fling 
 On heart and mind, and then with rapture fed, 
 
 I strive to give sweet utterance to my thought, 
 
 And woo her till her whisperings I've caught. 
 Until methinks I hear her gentle tread ; 
 
 Then look around for her I oft have sought 
 To find, alas ! the coy Euterpe fled. 
 
178 A WASTED DAY. 
 
 A WASTED DAY. 
 
 A WASTED day ; ah ! ye in pain, 
 Have trifled many such away, 
 And would do much could ye regain — 
 A wasted day. 
 
 Now, as on your sick couch you lay, 
 And wildly murmur and complain, 
 
 You make rash promises, and say : 
 Could but I live my time again, 
 
 I would not thus my lifetime slay ; 
 
 Then none could taunt me with that bane — 
 A wasted day. 
 
 A wasted day ; oh ! brother, friend. 
 
 Remember 'tis not always May, 
 
 And you will long for — at the end — 
 
 A wasted day. 
 
 If ye have wasted such, repay 
 
 Someway, somehow, what God doth lend. 
 And oh ! for pardon fervent pray, 
 
 That pardon God to you will tend, 
 And of His bliss will give a ray ; 
 
 But think, oh, think, He ne'er doth send — 
 A wasted day. 
 
TRUTH. 179 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 Where is thy power, O wisdom ? 
 
 Where is thy grace, O youth ? 
 Where is thy beauty, loveliness ? 
 
 If thou possess not truth. 
 
 Where is the music's melody ? 
 
 Where is our faith's strong spot ? 
 Where is thy light, O sunshine ? 
 
 If we possess thee not. 
 
 Where is thy glory, paradise ? 
 
 Where is thy happy joy ? 
 If truth is absent from us 
 
 Our life is all alloy. 
 
 Where our mysterious dwelling 
 In boundless realms afar ? 
 
 Where is our Hfe eternal 
 If we without thee are. 
 
l8o THE NAIADS AND THE NINE. 
 
 THE NAIADS AND THE NINE. 
 
 Some subtle spell entranced me with its power, 
 And bound me captive with its thrilling chains ; 
 Sent back my mind to days of long ago, 
 Enthralled me with the passion of sweet song, 
 And throbbed my brain wath joyous ecstasy. 
 Methought I strayed on that enchanted hill 
 Where the bright bloom of gay Parnassus shone, 
 Where, at its foot, the lovely maidens played 
 In that clear stream, whose ripples did not sound 
 More musical than that of those ga}^ nymphs 
 Who governed it, and made it flow along 
 With tenfold beauty by their magic sway. 
 I heard them chant a low, harmonious strain 
 Which echoed sweetly through the hallowed grove. 
 Vibrating richly on my wondering ear 
 And firmer bound me with each chord divine, 
 That I, imparted with their witchery. 
 Strove to take part in their wild minstrelsy. 
 But mine so harsh, compared with that of their. 
 Affrighted them, and left me pondering lone, 
 Cheerless, and sad at my heart's recklessness 
 Which drove the fairy Naiads away. 
 
 But now, the spell more firmly binds my mind, 
 And as I gaze a throng appears to view. 
 Up that loved vale, with gliding, stately steps. 
 'Tis Zeus himself, with kind Mnemosyne, 
 Leading their offspring to that hallowed spot 
 Which mortal foot has never yet alloyed. 
 Oh ! Zeus, thy manly vigour, bhthe and free. 
 
THE NAIADS AND THE NINE. l8l 
 
 And yet withal so full of pride and state, 
 Makes me more thankful to th' uncertain fates 
 That they've permitted me to gaze on thee 
 And on thy daughters — the immortal Nine. 
 Mnemosyne I too behold with pride ; 
 Her name speaks Memory to my heated brain 
 And makes me long to tell the human world 
 Of what 't has been my happy lot to view. 
 Ah ! now good Zeus bids the nine damsels sing, 
 And then they trill a swelling, joyous strain ; 
 Such warblings sure by man were never heard, 
 The hills resounded with vibrating tune, 
 Filling the air with cadenced melody, 
 Until he waves his hand for them to stop. 
 And then I hear him bid them sing in turns. 
 Thalia first he asks to sing to him 
 The sweetest strains that ever cheered the heart ; 
 Then she, with humour shining in her face, 
 With laughter sparkling in her merry e3^es, 
 Sings unto him a mirth-provoking song — 
 A gladsome epic, full of lively glee. 
 Brimful of wit and bright jocundity. 
 Warm, true approval greets Thalia's song, 
 Then by a look Zeus beckons nimble Clio, 
 Who, with a fawn-like motion, leaves the group 
 Uttering words of sweetness and of grace. 
 Melpomene, that queen of tragedy, 
 Depidlress of a warfare stern and grand, 
 Follows her sister, and now carries out 
 Her father's will with such a force of feeling 
 That I could think the da}^ had turned to night, 
 And the bright sky bedimmed with sombre hues. 
 
l82 THE NAIADS AND THE NINE. 
 
 Yet she has chanted a most wondrous tale 
 
 Of love's fair passion turned to hate and scorn 
 
 By black deceit, falseness, and treachery, 
 
 Leaving tempestuous wailings of despair. 
 
 Now Euterpe and Erato advance 
 
 And for a space a duet gaily trill — 
 
 Their theme's of love — pure, bright-eyed, youthful love, 
 
 And of its scenes, surpassing fair and sweet ; 
 
 They hold their hearers in a thraldom strong, 
 
 For 'tis the story that is ever new. 
 
 Urania next with graceful attitude. 
 
 Trips o'er the mead, uplifts her head to Heaven, 
 
 And breathes forth praise to Him who gave her life 
 
 In tones of fervour, thoughtfulness, and power. 
 
 Polyhymnia now obeys her father's call. 
 
 Carrying the lyre she scarcely ever drops 
 
 And brings a thousand tones of harmony 
 
 From out that god-like organ of delight, 
 
 They mingle with her voice, which softly falls 
 
 And rivals that of her triumphant lyre. 
 
 Mnemosyne it is who gently bids 
 
 The coy Terpischore to bring her lute 
 
 And glad their ears with music silvery. 
 
 Hastening she comes and playing all the time, 
 
 Her boundless song comes issuing freely forth 
 
 With mighty influence swaying all their hearts. 
 
 Calliope is last of that gay throng. 
 
 She breathes forth notes surpassing all the rest 
 
 In full-voiced richness, and so wildly grand 
 
 My speech, in spite of me, gives way to praise. 
 
 Then the spell breaks ; a direful blackness comes, 
 
RAIN. 183 
 
 Sudden spreads round, and lo ! the}^ all have fled. 
 
 Left me despondent that I nevermore 
 
 Their forms may see or listen to their songs. 
 
 That but in spirit can they visit me 
 
 To cheer the careworn lot of earthly life. 
 
 RAIN. 
 
 God in His mercy sent a time of shining, 
 
 Of Summer warmth, that filled with joy all hearts ; 
 Now He sends welcome rain that aye imparts 
 
 True gladness ; a sure balm to all repining. 
 
 We know each cloud has still its silver lining. 
 Yet we, poor mortals, with our fits and starts, 
 Brood so o'er trifles ; though with wiles and arts 
 
 Try to persuade ourselves we are not pining. 
 
 God doeth all things well ; He knoweth best, 
 And when 'tis needful sends refreshing rest. 
 Why should we sorrow when the rainbow bright 
 Tells of His promise — from the day comes night. 
 We need not ponder, when we've God for guide 
 With His hand leading, fear not time nor tide. 
 
184 AN EVENTIDE. 
 
 AT EVENTIDE. 
 
 At Eventide, when all is still, 
 To linger by the murmuring rill, 
 
 I ever take a fond delight ; 
 
 The flitting shadows others' fright, 
 To me — they give a joyous thrill. 
 
 And when nigh to the ruined mill 
 I hear the owlets' voices shrill. 
 Comes o'er me feelings exquisite. 
 At Eventide. 
 
 Bending beneath the Supreme will. 
 Fair Sol sinks down behind the hill, 
 When softly fades the dying light. 
 And all things round bespeak the night, 
 Disquietness they seem to kill. 
 At Eventide. 
 
WHEN SICK TO DEATH. 185 
 
 WHEN SICK TO DEATH. 
 
 When sick to Death ! Oh ! awful thought, 
 What meanings are in those words fraught 
 Mayhap throughout the lonely night, 
 The sufferer longs for morning light. 
 But all his longings count for nought. 
 
 Perhaps, ne'er heeding what Christ taught, 
 He had works evil often wrought ; 
 Think of it, oh ! the solemn sight. 
 When sick to Death. 
 
 God's gracious mercy can't be bought. 
 But if we love Him as we ought 
 We may escape eternal blight, 
 By ever trusting in His might ; 
 May we His mercy long have sought 
 When sick to death. 
 
l86 A NOVEL. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 'Twas at a fancy ball 
 
 He met her, 
 Each felt love's thrilling thrall 
 
 To fetter. 
 A weary week drags on, 
 
 He sees her — 
 They call each other "John," 
 
 " Louisa." 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 A kiss does much to soothe. 
 Oh! Honey; 
 
 Love's ways were never smooth- 
 No money. 
 
 He goes to foreign parts, 
 To make some. 
 
 It causes both their hearts 
 To break some. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 He's back again with " brass " 
 
 To tease her ; 
 Says, " I've wed another lass, 
 
 Louisa." 
 She goes in hysterics. 
 
 Screams frightful ; 
 
FAITH AND HOPE. 187 
 
 John says it is his tricks — 
 
 Delightful. 
 Furniture, house, everything, 
 
 A carriage, 
 Clergyman, church, a ring, 
 
 A marriage. 
 
 FAITH AND HOPE. 
 
 These are twin heavenly sisters 
 That cheer the drooping heart ; 
 
 They whisper words of comfort, 
 And joy and strength impart. 
 
 They speak of golden gateways, 
 And tell of happier climes, 
 
 In that sweet land of glory 
 We read about sometimes. 
 
 They fill our soul with gladness. 
 And banish worldly cares ; 
 
 They dispel gloom and sadness 
 When trusting in our prayers. 
 
l88 A MEMORY. 
 
 A MEMORY. 
 
 How many Summers is it ? Let me think ! 
 Since you and I, Frank, spent that holiday ? 
 Is it eleven. Well, now, who'd have thought 
 That Time could work such wonders in his flight ? 
 A happy day it was for Joe and I, 
 Made all the happier at your presence there. 
 
 It was at Bingley, ah ! I mind it well. 
 
 Our boyish laughter filled Aire's pleasant vale. 
 
 As, rowing up the river we recalled 
 
 Some merry memory of a by-gone time, 
 
 A flood of jo}^ illumed our youthful hearts ; 
 
 And recked we not of troublous days to come ; 
 
 The present ones were jolly, what cared we 
 
 For all the " might-be's" that the world possessed ? 
 
 And I have never seen you since that day, 
 Though many a time my mind has travelled back, 
 And I have smiled when memory gave to me 
 A glimpse of those days when no thought of care 
 Disturbed the even tenour of our way, 
 Or racked the brain of what the morn might bring. 
 
 This afternoon I took my album out. 
 
 And there you were along with dear old Joe, 
 
 My thoughts flew back, my fingers seized the pen , 
 
 And once again I lived that happy day. 
 
 You'd perhaps not think it, but old friend, to me 
 
IF FROM THE PATHS OF WRONG WE STRAY. 189 
 
 It seems that now — this moment — you and I 
 And Joe were boys — mad, wilful boys once more, 
 Ready at any moment to perform 
 The wildest mischief that our playful brains 
 Could to our w^illing souls suggest. 
 
 IF FROM THE PATHS OF WRONG WE STRAY. 
 
 When storm-clouds fall around the way, 
 And turn to night our brightest day, 
 We shall obtain a blest release. 
 And comfort find and hope and peace. 
 If from the paths of wrong we stray. 
 
 And when we watch in faith and pray. 
 Into our souls will come a ray 
 
 Of joy, and all our cares will cease 
 
 When storm clouds fall. 
 
 If dawn of morning should be grey. 
 
 And things we long for say us nay. 
 
 Then troublous thoughts we can appease 
 And ours and other hearts' can please 
 
 If from the paths of wrong we stray. 
 
 When storm clouds fall. 
 
igO THE TRYSTING TREE. 
 
 THE TRYSTING TREE. 
 
 Again I stand 'neath the trysting tree, 
 Where oft, in days gone by, 
 
 We would stand with throbbing bosoms- 
 Sweet Cora Lee and I. 
 
 The dewy freshness of her kiss 
 
 I feel upon my face, 
 And I can fancy on my breast 
 
 She leans with lissom grace. 
 
 Methinks in my arms I hold her, 
 Her eyes upraised to mine, 
 
 With her sweet, shy smile of welcome 
 That on each cheek did shine. 
 
 I fancy I smell the fragrance 
 Of a thousand honeyed flow'rs. 
 
 With their golden wealth of freshness 
 As they bloom in their fairy bow'rs. 
 
 Anon, as my fancy leaves me. 
 Comes the burden of my pain. 
 
 For Cora, my own, own Cora, 
 I shall never see again. 
 
 She's now where no heartaches linger, 
 Where grief can ne'er hold sway, 
 
 Where all is an endless Summer, 
 The Land of Eternal Day. 
 
THE TRYSTING TREE. I9I 
 
 I come to the dear old trysting tree 
 
 As soon as Spring is here, 
 Again I hear the joyous song 
 
 Of the lark — sound shrill and clear. 
 
 And I fancy my arms enfold her, 
 
 But stay, tempestuous heart. 
 Stay, stay thy wild, mad fluttering, 
 
 Oh ! stay each bounding start. 
 
 Were I to think of each pleasant hour, 
 
 My reason and all would go, 
 So I turn with my load of anguish, 
 
 To bear my weight of woe. 
 
 I turn with a dull, dead feeling. 
 
 That gnaws my heart in twain, 
 With heavy and falt'ring footsteps, 
 
 I walk down the dear old lane. 
 
 But I hope in those realms we read of, 
 
 When from all cares set free. 
 The Lord will take me to her. 
 
 My darling, Cora Lee. 
 
 For there are no partings yonder — 
 
 All ye who know the word — 
 No partings and no sorrows 
 
 For those who trust the Lord. 
 
192 RABBITS. 
 
 RABBITS. 
 
 Away from the busy city, away from the noisy din, 
 Away from the manufacflories, away from the stain of sin, 
 Away from care and trouble, away from the battle of life. 
 Away from the row and tumult, away from the worry and strife. 
 
 Away to where sunbeams linger, away where the streamlet 
 
 flows. 
 Away to the trees of the forest, away where the daffodil grows. 
 Away where the moonbeam glances, away to the mountain 
 
 dell. 
 Away to the furze and hedgerows, away to the tarn and fell, 
 
 Away where the wood is thickest, away where the dewdrop 
 
 beams. 
 Away to the flow'rets and mosses, away where the primrose 
 
 teems. 
 Away where the air is clearest, away with the zephyr breeze. 
 Away where the stars shine brightest, away to the meadows 
 
 and lees. 
 
 This is where the rabbits gambol, among the bush, about the 
 
 bramble. 
 Startled at the slightest sound, disappearing in the ground ; 
 Running, jumping, often risking their short lives for love of 
 
 frisking ; 
 Whirling, turning, bounding, creeping, never can you catch 
 
 them sleeping. 
 
RABBITS. 193 
 
 They rush in the rocks, never heeding the shocks, 
 Their poor little hearts going in fits and in starts 
 
 When there's no cause for alarm ; 
 They are ready to dart, they are ready to part, 
 
 Before the}^ can see any harm. 
 They run through the rills, they dash through the gills, 
 
 They bound through heather and brake, 
 Through the field and the glade, sometimes keeping in shade, 
 
 They stop on the edge of the lake ; 
 
 They prance and they play, thinking nought of the day 
 
 When sportsmen will exercise skill. 
 Now they are hurrying, now the}^ are flurrying. 
 
 Now all at once they are still ; 
 They seem to delight in having a fight, 
 
 Now they are shivering from fear and from fright, 
 They have passed by the weeds, the}' have gone through the 
 reeds, 
 
 They are now once more in their holes out of sight. 
 
 Oh, poor little bunny, I wouldn't for money 
 
 Kill you for love, or for sport. 
 You are timid and shy, and have good reason why 
 
 To think I shall offer you hurt. 
 You are often in danger, I know, from the ranger, 
 
 Somehow you seem always to grab it. 
 But keep out of the way, or you'll find that some day 
 
 You'll be killed by a gun, Mr. Rabbit. 
 
194 VALENTINE DAY. 
 
 VALENTINE DAY. 
 
 I'm almost tired of watching the clock ; 
 
 Will the postman never come ? 
 I'm longing and list'ning for his knock ; 
 
 Of breakfast I can't eat a crumb ; 
 I wish he were here, my heart's in a whirl, 
 I wonder I ever was born a girl. 
 
 I'll sit me down and try to reflecft, 
 I'll be calm and cool if I can ; 
 
 Let me see, how many do I expedl- 
 Oh dear, that horrid man ! 
 
 I'll go to the door and look again, 
 
 I declare the time is nearly ten. 
 
 Now Tom is sure to send me one, 
 
 And so is cousin Joe ; 
 I hope the postman has'nt gone, 
 
 He's really very slow — 
 Oh, how much longer will he be, 
 Before he comes with those for me. 
 
 He's nowhere in sight, the awful bore, 
 I'm getting quite anxious and sad ; 
 
 Its nineteen times I've been to the door, 
 Quite enough to drive me mad. 
 
 I think there'll be one from Sam and Jack, 
 
 If so, I'll send them each one back. 
 
LILIAN. 195 
 
 And Jim, he sent me one last year — 
 That postman's dreadful lazy ; 
 
 I'll look again, it does seem queer, 
 I'm sure I'm going crazy. 
 
 I'll go once more — this time's the last — 
 
 Why, Mary says, he's long since passed. 
 
 LILIAN. 
 
 One of God's earthly angels sure thou art, 
 Thou merry little winsome, chubby child, 
 So pure, so careless, and so undefiled ; 
 
 God keep thee so ; nor in life's busy mart 
 
 May thou be sullied ; but always, sweet heart, 
 Unto His wise decrees be reconciled, 
 And, like our Saviour, gentle, meek, and mild, 
 
 E'en though thou'rt pierced and stung by sorrow's dart. 
 
 Dear little lassie, only one short year 
 
 Has passed away since thou first saw the light ; 
 Oh ! may thy future years be always bright, 
 
 And mayest thou never know a thought of fear. 
 If thou wilt trust Him, whatsoe'er betide. 
 For aye, dear Lilian, God will be thy Guide. 
 
196 HAWORTH. 
 
 HAWORTH. 
 
 (august.) 
 
 Haworth ! thy name makes pleasant mem'ries rise, 
 And gives a peace to bosom and to brain, 
 Soothes our disquiet and relieves our pain, 
 
 And proves a balm for all our anxious sighs. 
 
 Here 'twas the gifted Brontes caused surprise 
 To a whole nation by their wondrous sheaf 
 Of books. Eager the world perused each leaf, 
 
 And learnt at Haworth they had found a prize. 
 
 The knots of charming heather, blooming wild, 
 Speaking of hope and joy and trust and love ; 
 The yielding ground below, the sky above, 
 
 And the calm breeze, so gentle and so mild. 
 
 Full of deep thought must each one be to see 
 The crumbling church, so sweet in its decay ; 
 God's acre, filled with forms now turned to clay, 
 
 'Minding us all of dread eternity. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. I97 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 God called him Home ere life had reached its morning, 
 And took his spirit to those realms above, 
 
 Where he shall be a gem of bright adorning 
 Amidst those Angels in that Court of love. 
 
 God chastens those whose love He holds the dearest. 
 And here below oft sickness sore doth send, 
 
 Yet if they're faithful in High Heaven they're nearest 
 To Him, our Father and Eternal Friend. 
 
 He bravely bore his load of deep afflicflion ; 
 
 He ever trusted in the glorious Lamb, 
 And thus received the bountiful convicflion 
 
 Of blessings given by the great " I Am." 
 
 So why should we, his friends, feel heavy-hearted ! 
 
 Why should we sadden ? He's but gone before ; 
 It only is the body that's departed, 
 
 His spirit lives for ever. Evermore. 
 
ig^ THE GOLDEN HARP. 
 
 THE GOLDEN HARP. 
 
 Dear sister, I am dying, 
 
 And soon from you must part ; 
 I hear our mother caUing, 
 
 Nay, sister, do not start, 
 For I shall be so happy 
 
 When I'm in Jesu's fold. 
 And you must follow quickly 
 
 To see my harp of gold. 
 
 At rest I soon shall be, dear, 
 
 In that bright Home on high, 
 And be with dearest mother 
 
 In realms beyond the sky. 
 Then I shall think so often 
 
 Of you, and days of old, 
 So you must soon come to me 
 
 And hear my harp of gold. 
 
 List, sister, to its music, 
 
 So wild and yet so sweet ; 
 I long to hear it plainer, 
 
 To sit at Jesu's feet ; 
 And though your days pass slowly 
 
 When I'm beneath the mould, 
 Some day you will come to me 
 
 And see my harp of gold. 
 
 And then, when it is thrilling 
 With its enchanting strains, 
 
 When its glad throb of music 
 Is swelling in your veins. 
 
THE GOLDEN HARP. I99 
 
 You'll quite forget the sorrow 
 
 With which your bosom's cold, 
 When in those Heavenly regions, 
 
 Playing an harp of gold. 
 
 Roaming with all the ransomed, 
 
 Where none but saints have trod, 
 In those eternal regions, 
 
 E'er dwelling with our God. 
 Money can't get God's bounty. 
 
 It is not bought or sold : 
 But put your trust in Jesus 
 
 He'll give a harp of gold. 
 
 So good-bye sister, dearest, 
 
 Pray God to come to me. 
 And we shall dwell forever 
 
 Through all eternity. 
 His love for us, dear sister. 
 
 In words can ne'er be told. 
 But fear and trust and love Him — 
 
 There's harp and crown of gold. 
 
200 THE BIRTH OF LOVE. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF LOVE. 
 
 Ah me ! the maiden sighs, 
 
 I am but newly born ; 
 My past hfe is a blank, 
 
 I but awoke this morn. 
 To find things round me beautiful. 
 And all Love's blossoms left to cull. 
 
 Yesterday I was a girl, 
 
 With every fancy free ; 
 To-day, I'm old, but young. 
 
 For Love has conquered me ; 
 My bosom palpitates with mirth. 
 For bright-eyed Love in me has birth. 
 
 How rapid beats my heart. 
 
 As if with eager thrill. 
 How glows my gushing face, 
 
 How feeble is my will ; 
 My only thought which nought can move 
 Is I have wakened into Love. 
 
 I think that nevermore 
 
 Will childish sorrows rise ; 
 My thoughts are all of joy. 
 
 Each fresh with new surprise — 
 How blest seems everything on earth, 
 Now bright-eyed Love in me has birth. 
 
AS LONG AS OUR LIVES SHALL LAST. 20I 
 
 AS LONG AS OUR LIVES SHALL LAST. 
 
 My darling, oh ! my darling — 
 
 The words are sweet as true — 
 And I know it is the same, dear, 
 
 To me as well as you : 
 That as the days roll on, dear, 
 
 And months and years go past, 
 We two shall love each other. 
 
 As long as our lives shall last. 
 
 It will not be all sunshine, ' 
 
 As we journey on in years ; 
 We have a share of happiness 
 
 And a larger share of tears. 
 But we must look to our Saviour, 
 
 Our burdens upon Him cast, 
 He'll help us to love each other, 
 
 As long as our lives shall last. 
 
 He will help us to journey onwards, 
 
 However steep the road ; 
 He will give us a lift when weary. 
 
 And help to bear the load ; 
 W^e know His love for us, dear, 
 
 Can never be surpassed, 
 'Tis greater than yours and mine, dear. 
 
 Though long as our lives shall last. 
 
 When we are old and wrinkled. 
 
 And silvered is our hair, 
 When furrowed are our brows, love. 
 
 And life seems all a care — 
 
202 AS LONG AS OUR LIVES SHALL LAST. 
 
 How glad 'twill be to think, dear, 
 When death is hast'ning fast, 
 
 That we shall love each other, 
 As long as our lives shall last. 
 
 We've felt down here the happiness 
 
 Which approaches that above, 
 And have also felt the sweetness 
 
 Of perfedt, trusting love ; 
 And we know that it will shelter us 
 
 From Winter's keenest blast, 
 For ours is the love of a lifetime — 
 
 As long as our lives shall last. 
 
 If God sends us prosperity 
 
 Our love will be as great ; 
 Or if He sends us poverty 
 
 It can never deviate ; 
 For we have the world before us, 
 
 Like the sailor at the mast. 
 And nothing can change its trueness — 
 
 'Tis long as our lives shall last. 
 
 They say most things are changeable, 
 
 And nothing certain in life ; 
 But I know for truth you'll always be 
 
 My little sweetheart-wife. 
 And if riches are showered upon us. 
 
 And fortune is amassed, 
 'Twill make no difference to the love, 
 
 That's as long as our lives shall last. 
 
I HEAR HIS VOICE. 203 
 
 And when the evening of our lives 
 
 Is drawing to a close, 
 And when we shall be entering 
 
 Into death's last, long repose, 
 How sweet it is to think, dear. 
 
 When the sting of death is passed — 
 That we shall love each other 
 
 While Eternity shall last. 
 
 I HEAR HIS VOICE. 
 
 I HEAR His voice amid my woes, 
 Which e'er for me doth interpose. 
 And when with suff'ring nigh insane, 
 With anguish deep and grief and pain, 
 This voice relieves me from my throes. 
 
 When my eyes-curtains will not close. 
 And all in vain I seek repose, 
 
 Whene'er I murmur or complain — 
 I hear His voice. 
 
 Then I can battle with my foes, 
 For lo ! the voice upon me grows 
 And strengthens my enfeebled brain. 
 And bids me from my grief refrain ; 
 Oh may, — when reaching lifetime's close- 
 I hear His voice. 
 
204 LONGINGS. 
 
 LONGINGS. 
 
 With trembling lips I asked sweet Grace 
 
 To let me kiss her bonny face ; 
 
 She granted me this one request, 
 Yet still my heart was not at rest, 
 
 I longed her lithe form to embrace. 
 
 With breast on fire, my arms I placed 
 Around her graceful, lissom waist, 
 But I was not yet satisfied 
 Until she to my wish complied, 
 And her arms round me interlaced. 
 
 Then when her arms did me entwine. 
 And on each cheek was love-light shine. 
 
 Another blessing I did crave ; 
 
 And she the promise freely gave 
 That someday I could call her mine. 
 
MONA. 205 
 
 MONA. 
 
 I'd give the world, if it were mine, 
 
 For one kiss from her lips divine, 
 
 Or for a kind look from her eyes. 
 
 Such orbs she has — a sweet surprise 
 
 Lingers within and never dies ; 
 
 They pure and fresh for ever shine, 
 
 For one more gaze of them I pine. 
 
 But, as I worship at her shrine, 
 
 I'm drunk, somehow, as though with wine, 
 
 My feeling never, never dies. 
 
 Causing me heartaches, pain, and sighs ; 
 
 Well, well, I know I am not wise. 
 
 For she has never given sign. 
 
 And wots not of my heart's decline. 
 
 So Love's wild passion's given rise 
 
 To something that my soul defies. 
 
 But yet my trembling spirit cries 
 
 For Mona, she can ne'er be mine. 
 
2o6 MY grandmother's picture. 
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER'S PICTURE. 
 
 Methinks I might look long, but find 
 No other eyes which look so kind ; 
 I perhaps might see another face 
 On whom " patrician " I could trace, 
 But never one more full of grace. 
 
 In every line of it I see 
 
 Expressed a true benignity ; 
 
 In every feature there doth dwell 
 
 The innate gift I know so well. 
 
 The gift which says, " I will be good," 
 
 The gift of perfecft womanhood. 
 
 And what more beauteous than her hair, 
 Though silvered o'er with many a care ; 
 In days mayhap when she was young 
 It on her shoulders flaxen hung. 
 The envy of each village girl, 
 Who jealous were of every curl. 
 
 And those dear hands, though wrinkled o'er 
 With toil and suffering she bore, 
 They are most beautiful to see — 
 For oft they have caressed me. 
 
 Now, many years have passed away. 
 And her dear form has turned to clay. 
 But, looking at her carte to-day, 
 Seeing the face that e'er was dear. 
 
TO MY SON. 207 
 
 Made the dead days once more appear ; 
 Old Time stopped on his onward track, 
 And in ** the good old days "I'm back 
 With her whose mem'ry I revere. 
 
 TO MY SON. 
 
 From care and worldliness our hearts beguiling, 
 Thou art a memory of our youthful days, 
 With thy sweet voice and pretty playful ways — 
 
 One moment crying and the next one smiling. 
 
 Oh ! could I keep thee from the world's defiling, 
 From all its snares of shame and grief and sin, 
 And all temptations that befall our kin, 
 
 Which aye the purest of our lives are spoiling ; 
 
 Then should I think my life's task almost ended, 
 And raise with thanks my voice unto the sky. 
 
 To Him who now and ever has defended 
 
 All those who trust our King and God most high. 
 
 My head I bow, once more my knees are bended. 
 And of Jehovah I ask strength to try. 
 
208 GOD GAVE US FLOWERS. 
 
 GOD GAVE US FLOWERS. 
 
 To cheer us on life's stormy way, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To fill our hearts with hope's blest ray, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To comfort us throughout each day, 
 God gave us flowers. 
 
 To please us with their sweet perfume, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To thrill us with their fragrant bloom, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To be a balm, when deep in gloom, 
 God gave us flowers. 
 
 To charm us with their colours rare, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To glad our breasts with budlets fair, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To give on earth of Heaven a share, 
 God gave us flowers. 
 
 To soften grief throughout our life, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To soothe distress, to ease our strife, 
 God gave us flowers ; 
 
 To be with tenfold blessings rife, 
 God gave us flowers. 
 
WATER. 209 
 
 WATER. 
 
 It sparkles in the fountains, 
 
 It shimmers on the hills, 
 It gleams upon the mountains. 
 
 And shines upon the rills ; 
 It glitters in the moonlight. 
 
 And sings in woodland dell, 
 It glistens in the forest. 
 
 In lake and tarn and fell. 
 
 It dances in the rivulets, 
 
 It sports in shady nooks. 
 It murmurs in the streamlets. 
 
 And whistles in the brooks ; 
 It forms the pretty dewdrop, 
 
 And on the glacier grows, 
 It sleeps upon the icicle. 
 
 It hangs upon the rose. 
 
 It dreams upon the ocean. 
 
 It smiles in field and glen. 
 And makes a sweet commotion 
 
 In bog and marsh and fen ; 
 It bubbles in the meadow. 
 
 It roams in grassy dales. 
 It mingles with the snowflakes. 
 
 And whispers in the vales. 
 
 It foams upon the river, 
 
 It roars upon the storm, 
 It shrieks with many a quiver, 
 
 In pi(51uresque deform ; 
 
210 WATER. 
 
 It howls amid the tempest, 
 
 It shouts in hurricane, 
 
 It speeds its merry pathway 
 
 Down many a country lane. 
 
 It leaps among the mosses, 
 
 It darts among the ferns. 
 It now the valley crosses 
 
 To join the swelling burns. 
 It eddies in the rapids, 
 
 It frisks in pond and bay, 
 It springs and sinks and rises 
 
 As though a lamb at play. 
 
 It froths in many a whirlpool, 
 
 It creeps in many a glade, 
 It twists in many a cavern. 
 
 It hides in many a shade ; 
 It ripples in the brooklet. 
 
 Meanders 'neath the trees, 
 It lurks among the mallow, 
 
 And strolls across the lees. 
 
 It drops from many a crevice. 
 
 In cliff and rock and chasm, 
 It spouts and smokes and skips 
 
 With many a hissing spasm ; 
 It twines through many a moorland, 
 
 It runs through many a gill, 
 It dashes through the heather, 
 
 And stays or strays at will. 
 
WATER. 211 
 
 It prances, gapes, and shivers 
 
 In Alpine pathways steep, 
 And in the placid brooklet 
 
 It calmly falls to sleep. 
 It kisses the fragrant lily, 
 
 With tender kiss and pure. 
 And floweth clear and sparkling 
 
 From many a golden ewer. 
 
 It rushes in the torrent. 
 
 And glides into the stream, 
 It hops upon the heaving sands, 
 
 With many a silvery gleam. 
 It gushes in profusion 
 
 From many a granite rock, 
 And oft-times makes intrusion 
 
 O'er rugged heath and brock. 
 
 It chimes amid the wilderness, 
 
 It rolls and basks in fun. 
 It fades from blast of whirlwind. 
 
 It dies beneath the sun. 
 It splutters, shakes, and tosses. 
 
 It drips in many a bower. 
 And to repair its losses. 
 
 Comes down in many a shower. 
 
212 SUN-GLEAMS. 
 
 SUN-GLEAMS. 
 
 To cheer the heart and soften care, 
 To raise us from our deep despair, 
 When trials seem too hard to bear — 
 Are Sun-gleams. 
 
 To dry the tears which oft are shed. 
 To lighten breasts that feel like lead, 
 When friends prove false and hope is dead- 
 Are Sun-gleams. 
 
 To brighten faces wrinkled o'er 
 With suffering and sickness sore, 
 To make us think of Jesu more — 
 
 Are Sun-gleams. 
 
 To comfort us and make us brave. 
 To help us souls for Heav'n to save. 
 And smooth the pathwa}' to the grave — 
 Are Sun-gleams. 
 
MARY. 213 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Mary, the name to lovers dear, 
 
 The name that thrills one through, 
 The name to honour, love, revere, 
 
 The name to worship too. 
 A fav'rite name in ev'ry home, 
 
 It suits the good and great 
 \^'herever we may chance to roam, 
 
 In high or low estate. 
 Mary's the name you love to have 
 
 Fall gently on your ear, 
 Mary's the form you long to see 
 
 When sickness doth appear. 
 
 Mary's the step you listen for 
 
 With eager, 'bated breath : 
 Mary, that moves so lovingly 
 
 In chambers darked by death. 
 Her's is the voice that sweetly sounds 
 
 When weary, faint, and sad ; 
 Her's is the voice that comforts you, 
 
 And helps to make you glad ; 
 Her's is the hand that cools your brow 
 
 When warm with fever's flush ; 
 Her's the soft hand that quiets 
 
 The pulses' maddening rush. 
 
 Two of the Queens of England 
 
 Have held this stately name. 
 While Mary's, Queen of Scotland, 
 
 Immortal is in fame. 
 
214 MARY. 
 
 The dark-eyed girls of sunny Spain, 
 
 The dainty maids of France, 
 The daughters of the Isles of Greece 
 
 Are not named thus by chance ; 
 Italian dames of beauty rare. 
 
 And Russia's haughty belles. 
 The sweet Colleens of Ireland's Isle, 
 
 Lasses of English dells — 
 All share this name, and love it too : 
 The name for ever, ever new. 
 
 Mary — how musical it is ; 
 
 It comes so fresh, so clear ; 
 It breathes a mine of truthfulness — 
 
 The name for ever dear. 
 It sounds so pure and womanly. 
 
 So full of candid trust, 
 That e'en before we are aware 
 
 To love it feel we must. 
 It seems to me a gladsome name — 
 
 Pi(51ure of home content — 
 Matchless, suggestive, tender, true : 
 
 A name from Heaven sent. 
 
 How winsome, too, is Mary, 
 
 How picfturesque it sounds ; 
 It is divinely beautiful, 
 
 And full of love abounds. 
 It speaks of hope and joy and grace. 
 
 It seems composed of smiles ; 
 No other name its charm possess, 
 
 None other us beguiles. 
 
MARY. 215 
 
 Were I a bard for one brief day, 
 
 And had the gift of sages, 
 I'd breathe my love for this dear name, 
 
 And hand it down for ages. 
 A name so full of dignity. 
 Of tender, Heav'nly purity. 
 
 It is a magic, fairy spell — 
 This glorious name sublime ; 
 
 Its tone — as if a silver bell 
 Were chanting some sweet chime. 
 
 My little daughter, Mary, 
 
 My sister who is dead. 
 My loving helpmate, Mary, 
 
 Whose footsteps softly tread ; 
 M}' dearest mother, Mary, 
 
 How lovingly it clings. 
 And with the name, a memory 
 
 Of olden times it brings : 
 How, in the days of long ago. 
 
 When the sun's rays had fled, 
 She taught us to say, " Our Father," 
 
 And by her '' the Book " was read. 
 Alas ! those days are over now, 
 
 Those pleasant, happy days. 
 When at her feet we learnt to say 
 
 Our first thanksgiving praise. 
 
 Borne by the Saviour's mother — 
 
 It aye should ever be 
 The very dearest lady's name. 
 
 At home or cross the sea. 
 
2l6 MARY. 
 
 How simple, yet how lofty, 
 
 This name of Mary is : 
 None other can with it compare — 
 
 Entrances us as this. 
 
 How fanciful is Mary 
 
 In kitchen or in hall; 
 No other name has half the power 
 
 Its hearers to enthrall. 
 Some of earth's noblest women 
 
 Have honoured this dear name, 
 While others have disgraced it, 
 
 And tinged it with their shame. 
 
 We speak of Lady Mary, 
 
 And thereon hangs the charm : 
 'Tis no more bright and beautiful 
 
 Than Mary at the farm. 
 Whether in lordly mansion. 
 
 Or peasant's humble dwelling, 
 It comes with such a joy intense, 
 
 I have no words for telling. 
 Oh ! 'tis a name that all admire, 
 
 It takes our hearts by storm, 
 Flushes the face with spirit fire, 
 
 Transported makes the form. 
 
 Were I a painter, I would paint 
 A face with radiance bright. 
 
 With dark blue eyes and ruddy cheeks, 
 Decked round with halo's light ; 
 
THE WIND. 217 
 
 A coronet should rest upon 
 
 The tresses of my love, 
 And to her I would give the name 
 
 That God sent from above — 
 And Mary should be that dear name, 
 
 In cadence wondrous rich : 
 Sweet Mary, with the lovely eyes, 
 
 Whose dazzling looks bewitch. 
 Proud should she feel who owns it — 
 
 This name in feehng strong ; 
 And may Jesu in His mercy. 
 
 Preserve her from all wrong 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 Mighty, mysterious, wonderful wind ! 
 
 Where is thy dwelling-place ? where dost thou hide ? 
 
 In what fairy grot or cave dost abide ? 
 In what dread haunt shall we seek thee and find ? 
 Thy nature is marvellous, cruel, and kind. 
 
 Sometimes thou bear'st the soft breeze by thy side. 
 
 Then lashest to foam the fierce rolling tide. 
 Coyly thou changest thy whimsical mind. 
 
 As balmy zephyr, thou coolest the brow ; 
 
 As cyclone, the bravest of men dost cow ; 
 
 And when fevers burn thou canst sweetly play 
 Till the tempest howls thee to come away. 
 
 Then with thy harsh gust of resistless breath. 
 
 Thou workest the waves to fury and death. 
 
2l8 ■ IF? 
 
 IF? 
 
 To be for ever young and fair, 
 Untouched by guile and sin, 
 
 And live in a rustic village. 
 Where woe could ne'er step in. 
 
 Where all was a cloudless Summer, 
 
 The sky for ever blue, 
 And list to the merry songsters, 
 
 And watch them bill and coo ; 
 
 With the deep green sea before me, 
 
 With shady woods behind, 
 Where grew the rarest, sweetest flowers 
 
 That one could wish to find ; 
 
 Where the blossom never fades, 
 Where the fruit is always ripe, 
 
 I think I could be happy — 
 If I'd baccy, match, and pipe. 
 
KISSING. 219 
 
 KISSING. 
 
 I'll put my eager thoughts in rhyme, 
 
 And descant on a joy sublime ; 
 
 I bid my ficftions all depart, 
 
 And breathe the rapture of my heart ; 
 
 Ye gods above us, me inspire. 
 
 And fill me with your holy fire. 
 
 We oft have heard from mind to mind, 
 And of the shackles those can bind ; 
 We oft have heard of heart to heart, 
 That makes it difficult to part ; 
 But stronger is the passion's whip, 
 Of mouth to mouth and lip to lip. 
 
 Ye bosoms glow with airy grace, 
 And show the mirror of the face ; 
 Ye souls flash with celestial light, 
 And help me guide the pen aright ; 
 Ye powers above me lend your aid, 
 And I shall then be undismayed. 
 
 Now for the blessed inspiration, 
 
 The glories of imagination. 
 
 The height, the depth, the length, the bHss, 
 
 In love's first sweet enraptured kiss ; 
 
 The strong, pastoral passion's beam. 
 
 The springs from love's almighty gleam. 
 
 Ye weak compounds of man's cold art, 
 I bid ye one and all — depart ; 
 Ye flimsy stories of romance. 
 
220 KISSING. 
 
 For ye I have not left a glance, 
 But I from off my mind will pour 
 The essence of phantasy's store. 
 
 The sweet memorial of love, 
 The glorious incense from above, 
 The shafts from Cupid's barbed dart, 
 Would ne'er have pow'r to touch the heart, 
 If man should ever learn to miss 
 The sweet remembrance of a kiss. 
 
 Now, flow away ye willing muse, 
 
 You are too ready to refuse, 
 
 And tell me where is wealth's vain treasure, 
 
 Where is the lover's joyous pleasure, 
 
 Where is the joy compared to this 
 
 Soul-thrilling glory of a kiss. 
 
 It surely is from sunny skies, 
 
 A portion of our paradise. 
 
 And though sometimes it needs be fleet, 
 
 It then to us seems doubly sweet, 
 
 Our sorrow's visions haply go 
 
 And leave us Eden here below. 
 
 It is the necflar of the soul, 
 Our earthly life's Elysian goal ; 
 It is the balm of all our woes. 
 The sweet deco(5lion of the rose ; 
 'Tis happiness in concentration, 
 And joyousness in distillation. 
 
ENGLAND. 221 
 
 Sometimes you ask to take a kiss, 
 And blushingly she answers, " Yes ;" 
 Sometimes she looks in mute appeal, 
 You then feel most inclined to steal ; 
 And though sometimes you are prevented, 
 You'd rather that than she consented. 
 
 But whether yes or whether no, 
 And whether fast or calm or slow, 
 Though prudes and bigots may condemn, 
 'Tis part of our life's noblest stem ; 
 And nought to us e'er seems amiss. 
 When tasting love's immortal kiss. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 England, sweet land of the strong and the brave, 
 Wherever is daylight thy blue banners wave ; 
 Wherever flows the ocean th}^ proud war-ships are there, 
 Uprearing high their stately heads and floating pennons fair. 
 Wherever human footsteps have ever dared to tread. 
 Thou hast been there in vicftory and held aloft thy head. 
 Thy intelle(51:ual dignity, united with thy might, 
 Has made imperial crowns bow down, and put thy foes~to 
 
 flight. 
 The valour of thy offspring, enjoyed by not a few. 
 Is but excelled by honour, so noble and so true ; 
 And he who is a Briton may proudly hold his own. 
 And be as free and happy as a monarch on his throne. 
 
222 A VISION OF HELL. 
 
 A VISION OF HELL. 
 
 A GHASTLY spedlre burst upon my view, 
 With stiffened jaw and horrid staring eyes ; 
 
 It beckoned me with fleshless hand to come, 
 And heeded not my craving, suppliant cries. 
 
 A wild convulsion shook my feeble frame, 
 As it to me in gloomy accents said : — 
 
 ** Prepare thy nature's debt to pay in full. 
 To mingle thy frail body with the dead." 
 
 What pangs now shook this puny form of mine 
 No mortal tongue could e'er describe to you. 
 
 As borne along by some tremendous power, 
 Hell's dismal, dreadful, caverns came to view. 
 
 Here was a man who, with expiring groan, 
 Was struggling, battling with himself to die ; 
 
 Oh ! how remorseful was his frantic gaze, 
 Oh ! how appalling was his bitter cry. 
 
 My palsied tongue felt frozen to my mouth. 
 My limbs by iron manacles were chained — 
 
 Whilst all around the black and frightful den 
 Were hideous demons in long rows arraigned. 
 
 Their sickly faces almost drove me mad. 
 
 Then ponderous beetles crawled about my form. 
 
 And through the caverned archways, here and there. 
 Slid serpents darker than the midnight storm. 
 
A VISION OF HELL. 223 
 
 Their deadly stings they on my body used, 
 They tortured me with bitter, burning yoke ; 
 
 My breath came heavy, thick and clogged, but still 
 Howe'er compressed the air, I could not choke. 
 
 Goblins and evil elves beset the path. 
 
 Whilst ghouls and vampyres lay on either side ; 
 
 Above my head was a huge dragon chained. 
 Which seemed to mock my struggles, to deride. 
 
 And now a phantom joins my hideous guide. 
 From top to toe mired in entangling grime, 
 
 With spider-arms extended forth, it tried 
 To grip me in its sickly, noisome slime. 
 
 I tried to pray, to shriek ; no sound came forth. 
 
 My throat was parched and hot and dry ; 
 And in infernal tone the phantom said : 
 
 Ha ! ha ! thou here eternally shalt lie. 
 
 It vanished ; and methought I was alone. 
 
 When all at once a myriad voices spoke. 
 And said in cruel, hollow laughter to me : 
 
 Thy chains, ha ! ha ! like ours, will ne'er be broke. 
 
 And now, a mangled skeleton greets my eye 
 
 Wearing a look of fiendish exultation, 
 With gape and gibe it hissed at me and said : 
 
 Thou, too, shalt suffer past imagination. 
 
 It opened out a yellow, well-thumbed parchment, 
 I still could see it through the darkened gloom, 
 
224 A VISION OF HELL. 
 
 And said, ''this is the mandate that compels thee 
 To be engulphed in hell's almighty tomb." 
 
 It hurled me to a treacherous quagmire's bog, 
 
 And folded me in its malacious coil, 
 Bedaubed me in its stifling, sticky mud, 
 
 And crushed me in the horrid, yielding soil. 
 
 My heartstrings seemed as though prepared to burst, 
 A tempest lashed the mire about my face ; 
 
 I was consumed with a burning thirst 
 
 And imps leered at me with a foul grimace. 
 
 And then I was enveloped overhead. 
 
 Yet still, somehow, I breathed and saw and heard ; 
 I felt their distempered hands upon me. 
 
 And I could tell by unknown force each word. 
 
 Here, said they, is King Satan's latest slave ! 
 
 Speechless terror turned me to a coward ; 
 Place him in chains down in the deepest vaults. 
 
 And let him by the tritons be devoured. 
 
 Ten thousand devils now my path assailed. 
 
 And grasped me with their hellish, pointed claws ; 
 
 Their giant leader, with a murderous grip. 
 Held me secured beneath his massive paws. 
 
 Now I was bound in thickset rings of steel. 
 Revenge and malice shone in every look. 
 
 Whilst bitter hate lay on their face, as they, 
 In bloody arms, my brain-racked body took. 
 
COMFORT. 225 
 
 Saying, ** Repentance is too late for thee, 
 
 Thou was a scourge amongst thy fellow men. 
 
 Now dost thou suffer for the ill deeds done, 
 B}' lasting misery in this poisonous den. 
 
 Thou never, never, never shalt be dead, 
 All day and night in anguish thou shall be ; 
 
 In Hades, thou shalt meet a just reward. 
 And eke it out for all eternit}^ 
 
 Thou shalt be withered, wrinkled, and forlorn ! 
 
 Cut off his flesh with fell, tremendous stroke ;" 
 In agony I tried once more to scream. 
 
 And bathed in perspiration — I awoke. 
 
 COMFORT. 
 
 How sweet it is when journeying on life's road. 
 To have a friend in whom we can confide. 
 Who will our erring footsteps safely guide. 
 
 Who'll speak to us of God's eternal code. 
 
 And help to lighten half our earthly load. 
 Our life below is rugged, steep, and wide. 
 And many are there ready to deride 
 
 All those who seek Our Father's blest abode. 
 
 How glad we feel when we have found a friend 
 Whose words will courage, joy, and solace give ; 
 
 Upon whose guidance we can e'er depend, 
 \Miose adlions teach us how to daily live. 
 
 And by whose precepts, should perchance we stray, 
 
 We all may see which is the Right Highway. 
 
226 TO A VIOLET. 
 
 TO A VIOLET. 
 
 Sweet gem of spotless innocence 
 
 And modesty combined, 
 Thy fragrant, ling'ring perfume 
 
 Delighteth e'er the mind. 
 
 Thy blushing beauty, soft and sweet, 
 Fills all our hearts with pride. 
 
 As we see thee in thy glory, 
 The cool, soft moss beside. 
 
 Thou emblem art of faithfulness, 
 And virtue, frank and fair. 
 
 And beautiful is all around 
 Where chooseth thou thy lair. 
 
 And though e'er thou art retiring, 
 And hang'st thy drooping head, 
 
 Thou shed'st a ray of lustre 
 
 Round thy purple shadowed bed. 
 
EARTHLY THINGS. 227 
 
 EARTHLY THINGS. 
 
 Oh ! what is pomp and glory ? 
 
 What vi(ftory and fame ? 
 And what is power and splendour ? 
 
 And what a deathless name ? 
 Oh ! what are gifts and riches ? 
 
 And what the ruler's sway ? — 
 They are but earthly honours, 
 
 And soon must fade away ! 
 
 Yet we hope and struggle for them, 
 
 Till we have them in our grasp : 
 But they are airy bubbles 
 
 That break beneath our clasp ; 
 Like shadows on the footpath. 
 
 As we go walking on, 
 Now small, now large, now small again, 
 
 A moment and they're gone. 
 
228 ON VISITING NEWCHAPEL. 
 
 ON VISITING NEWCHAPEL.- 
 
 My fancy led my feet one day 
 Where happy hours were passed away 
 In childhood's pleasant days of yore — 
 Days which, alas ! return no more. 
 Though ever does the memory dwell 
 On places which we love so well, 
 And when from there we are apart. 
 Led by the instindl of the heart, 
 Our footsteps ever, fondly stray, 
 And guide us on our lonely way. 
 
 With feelings much akin to pain, 
 I wandered up the dear old lane ; 
 I saw the place where many hours 
 I've passed amid the fields and flowers ; 
 I saw the house wherein I dwelt. 
 But painful was the pleasure felt, 
 For every brick and every stone 
 Made memory's traces wondrous lone. 
 
 Something within me bade me wait 
 
 And not to ope the garden gate ; 
 
 I did what I'd ne'er done before, 
 
 I gently knocked the hallowed door. 
 
 Ah me ! it seemed my brain to mock. 
 
 It felt a sacrilege to knock ; 
 
 I went in each and every room. 
 
 Though each one helped to share my gloom ; 
 
 Oh, God ! how bitter was my prayer, 
 
 ♦ The author's grandfather was for thirty-three years the vicar of this parish. 
 
ON VISITING NEWCHAPEL. 229 
 
 For was I not a stranger there — 
 
 It was so bitter — yet how sweet 
 
 Could they have but been there to greet. 
 
 I strolled the dear old garden through, 
 Time changes all — the old the new ; 
 But Time, howe'er he runs his race, 
 Can never with his scythe deface 
 The beauties of my boyhood's place. 
 How oft in days which now are gone 
 I've romped the same dear sods upon 
 Without a thought for future years, 
 With all their misery and tears. 
 Their yearnings, bitterness, and fears. 
 Oh ! wildly throbbed my aching heart. 
 The teardrops, too, began to start, 
 For memory is a fickle friend. 
 And sad, sad thoughts she oft doth send — 
 So sad this time that I did wend 
 My footsteps up the village lane, 
 With faltering feet and aching brain. 
 
 At length the holy ground I reached. 
 Where many years dear grandad preached. 
 The church had crumbled to decay. 
 And like his soul had passed away. 
 Another one stood on the place 
 W^here erst he told Our Father's grace. 
 Mayhap to some 'tis fair to see, 
 But somehow 'twas not so to me — 
 I cared not for the varnished paint ; 
 The old oak pews, so high and quaint, 
 
230 ON VISITING NEWCHAPEL. 
 
 Could I have seen them but once more, 
 
 Could I have sat as oft before, 
 
 And listened to the words he spoke, 
 
 Which only they the silence broke. 
 
 As, telling of the Lord most high, 
 
 Who can both words and works descry, 
 
 That He would thoughts and acftions bless, 
 
 And ever would their lives caress. 
 
 If they aye lived in faithfulness. 
 
 And He would send His boundless store 
 
 Of love and joy for evermore ; 
 
 Then they would find earth's life more sweet, 
 
 And would their troubles calmly meet. 
 
 Until in mansions of the blest, 
 
 He gives to them eternal rest. 
 
 I mind me well in days gone b}^, 
 
 I on the churchyard grass would lie ; 
 
 For grandmother I'd errands go. 
 
 And gaily sing both to and fro ; 
 
 With grandad's hand fast clasped in mine, 
 
 I'd lead him out in rain or fine ; 
 
 His years had made him almost blind, 
 
 Yet was he always loving, kind — 
 
 Oh ! how much kinder would I be 
 
 If I had him once more with me. 
 
 Happy indeed would be my lot. 
 
 To live once more in this dear spot. 
 
 Ah me ! those times have long since fled. 
 Their memory though will ne'er be dead. 
 
SALTAIRE MILLS. 23I 
 
 The pleasures of those days of old 
 Could not be bought for wealth untold ; 
 But when our earthly joys are o'er 
 We've brighter, happier ones in store, 
 When we with angels wings shall rise. 
 And join our loved ones in the skies. 
 
 SALTAIRE MILLS. 
 
 Our poet wrote the words, " Not for an age 
 But for all time." Methinks this well applies 
 To this huge seat of Yorkshire's industries, 
 
 Whose might we cannot comprehend or guage. 
 
 Whose vastness oft with wonder fills the sage ; 
 For speaks it of the progress and the rise 
 Of man's invention, skill, and enterprise 
 
 Which still is new, though told on many a page. 
 
 Unto great Salt, now teens of years ago 
 Men, with an aim undoubtedly well meant, 
 
 And most desirous their heart's love to show 
 Raised in the town,''' a noble monument. 
 
 How futile this when for all future time, 
 Are these great records famed in every clime. 
 
 * Bradford. 
 
232 BINGLEY STOCKS. 
 
 BINGLEY STOCKS.- 
 
 Thou art a relic of those good old days 
 
 When man foi punishment was placed in thee, 
 Upholding him to public mockery, 
 
 And the contempt of those who'd stop to gaze. 
 
 Drunkards Avith minds and bodies in a craze 
 Have been fast held — exposed to contumely, 
 To gibes and sneers by frail humanity. 
 
 To scorn, derision, ridicule, rude lays. 
 
 And whilst enfolded in th}^ close embrace. 
 Whilst tightly held in thine encircled clasp, 
 
 Were subjedls meet for idlers' foul grimace. 
 
 For well they knew thou ne'er let go thy grasp. 
 
 Ah, well ! those times lie far back in the past ; 
 Her records say not whom thou caged the last. 
 
 * Until a few months ago this primitive instrument of ignominy re- 
 mained in its original position intadt. 
 
HER PORTRAIT. 233 
 
 HER PORTRAIT. 
 
 Her lustrous hair is black as sable plume, 
 Yet carries with it ne'er a breath of gloom. 
 
 Her forehead is like marble — white and fair, 
 Nor yet is wrinkled o'er with thought of care. 
 
 Her ears, so small and chaste, are pink-tipped shells 
 That one might gather in some sea-sprite's dells. 
 
 Her cheeks are painted with kind Nature's brush. 
 Their hue is of the vivid rose-bud's blush. 
 
 Her nose is Grecian, and her perfecft lips 
 Are like the poppy with its coral tips. 
 
 Her chin is dimpled, and her teeth are gems 
 Shining like pearls 'mid sparkling diadems. 
 
 Her eyes, ah me ! how shall I tell her eyes ? 
 Bluer by far than bright cerulean skies. 
 
 And all these features, on a perfecfl face. 
 Make it abound with beauteousness and grace. 
 
234 A LEAP-YEAR S LAY. 
 
 A LEAP-YEAR'S LAY. 
 
 Listen a moment, and I'll chant you a rhyme, 
 A lay of the leap-year — a glad, merry time ; 
 For now is the season for choosing your mate. 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
 Leap-year is the time when the girls all propose ; 
 Leap-year is the time for dispelling your woes ; 
 So ladies advance and don't be too late, 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
 This is the time for all ye who'd be merry, 
 For now is the season for '' popping the query ;" 
 If you go with a rush you'll not have to wait. 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
 So now all ye girls — Lucy, Frances, and Polly, 
 Say farewell to sadness, good-bye melancholy ; 
 Look out for rich husbands, oh ! what a good fate. 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
 It is legal, you know, and I'll tell you why. 
 And you'll vex me much if then you are shy : 
 *' It was passed by the peers in Scottish debate 
 In one thousand two hundred and twenty-eight."''' 
 
 Fair Margaret then of the Scots was Queen, 
 
 And she gave the assent to it, I ween ;" 
 
 It did great joy in Scotch lassies create, 
 
 In one thousand two hundred and twenty-eight. 
 
 ♦ Fadts. 
 
A LEAP-YEAR S LAY. 235 
 
 Now do not be backward — this is a good chance, 
 All ye who've been stabbed with Cupid's sharp lance ; 
 Don't stay four more years — for this is the date, 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
 Go to him valiantly ; say, ** Wilt thou be mine ?" 
 For thou hast my heart and I know I have thine ! 
 He cannot resist such a plausible bait. 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
 And then when you're married and leaving the church. 
 You'll thank the kind fates you're not left in the lurch, ; 
 You'll be glad you proposed as he stood at the gate. 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
 And then, when you're living in your neat little home. 
 And through all the rooms you so lovingly roam. 
 You'll say to your friends, '* I did it first-rate," 
 In eighteen hundred and eighty-eight. 
 
236 A lover's new year's wish. 
 
 A LOVER'S NEW YEAR'S WISH. 
 
 Now for some jollities written in rhyme, 
 Now for the incense from some balmy clime, 
 Now for some loving words, written to cheer 
 The hope of my heart on the first of the year. 
 
 May never an hour, a day, or a minute 
 Have aught but the essence of happiness in it ; 
 May never a second, a month, or a week 
 Receive but the tint of pleasure's fond streak. 
 
 May unpleasant things seem lightsome to bear. 
 May God in His mercy prevent you a care. 
 May you never know aught that is darksome or drear, 
 Is the wish of your lover, throughout the new year. 
 
 And think, oh ! my darling, in this world of tears 
 That as we age upwards and pass on the years, 
 We two can pass gladly in stormiest weather 
 The worst of discomforts by clinging together. 
 
 And like the Crusaders, who years ago fought. 
 And never were absent from lady-love's thought. 
 Please think, oh ! my darling, I always am true. 
 And never a moment but thinking of you. 
 
 Never a moment away from my heart, 
 You are to me like the mariner's chart — 
 They without that would forget how to steer. 
 And I without you could not live through the year. 
 
TO THE DRUID S ALTAR. 237 
 
 But now, little sweetheart, excuse me a while, 
 I'm living on nothing except your dear smile ; 
 And through all the beautiful coming new year 
 May your face wear a happiness always sincere. 
 
 TO THE DRUID'S ALTAR. 
 
 Speak, mighty stone, and tell thy servant here 
 Some of the scenes that have ta'en place on thee 
 When, 'midst the sound of horrid revelry. 
 
 They dragged their off'ring out at point of spear, 
 
 A prey to wild emotions — and to fear. 
 Heedless of cries, regardless of his plea, 
 In very wantonness of devilry, 
 
 'Mid shrieks appalling, hurled him on his bier. 
 
 And like demoniacs — gloated in his cries. 
 Till, glutted with the sight of human gore, 
 They sank to sleep until another day 
 Should bring return of these their ecstasies. 
 Thank God we live not in those days of yore. 
 When priests were fiends, who only lived to slay. 
 
238 A LEGEND OF ST. BEES. 
 
 A LEGEND OF ST. BEES.^- 
 
 Go back, old Time ! go back twelve hundred years, 
 And let me see what thou wast doing then 
 On the sea coast of rock-bound Cumberland ? 
 Obedient to my wish, Time stops his race, 
 His wheel turns back, and, lo ! he places me 
 In the dim years of the forgotten past. 
 
 Wildly the wind blew round Whitehaven's coast, 
 
 Lashing the waves to fury in its wrath ; 
 
 A little barque, nigh driven to its doom. 
 
 By the sore tossings of the tempest stern, 
 
 Sought refuge in the harbour close to hand. 
 
 On board the ship with many sisters dear 
 
 Journeyed a lady abbess, great and good ; 
 
 Their time, their all, devoted to the laud 
 
 And worship of the King of all the world. 
 
 When safely landed on Whitehaven's shore. 
 
 Secure from being engulphed beneath the wave. 
 
 They sped a prayer unto their Lord Supreme, 
 
 Thanking Him for their safe deliverance, 
 
 And for the preservation of their lives. 
 
 But how dismayed each heart, benumbed each brain 
 
 When, looking towards the bay that sheltered them, 
 
 They found the hungry waters had destroyed 
 
 Their ship, their chattels, all that it contained. 
 
 Leaving them strangers in a foreign land, 
 
 Without the means of sustenance — no roof 
 
 To cover their devoted heads, and none. 
 
 No none to give relief. 
 
 * See Sandford's MS. in the library of the Dean and Chapter, Carlisle. 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. BEES. 239 
 
 Did I say none ? 
 If so, methinks for once my trusty pen 
 Well nigh led me astray ; for He above 
 Has ne'er yet seen the destitute forsaken 
 But He has sent them — if they trusted Him, 
 Hope, comfort, succour, and the means to live. 
 And so in this their tribulation's hour, 
 He led their footsteps up to Egremont, 
 The castle of the lord of all the land 
 For many miles around. 
 
 A godly woman 
 Had long been mistress of that mansion strong. 
 And when they came to her with prayers and tears. 
 She " pitied their distress." We all know pity 
 Is akin to love — they who pity, love ; 
 And love of kind is dearest love of all. 
 She pitied them, and she prevailed upon 
 Her lord and master to give unto them 
 Some place where they might live in peace for aye. 
 
 Egremont's lord could never steel his heart 
 Against the wishes of his lady fair. 
 He, too, felt love within his bosom glow 
 For his dear mistress, and he honoured e'er 
 The slightest favours that she asked. 
 
 So he, 
 My lord, unto the homeless gave a home 
 In the small village of St. Bees, and there 
 For many years they toiled and spinned and sewed. 
 
240 A LEGEND OF ST. BEES. . 
 
 And tapestry and carpets made ; living 
 Such godly lives that made them each by all 
 Beloved. 
 
 Congenial were their tasks, they ne'er 
 Complained, nor murmured at hard fate's decree ; 
 But hitherto their lives had been for Him, 
 The Saviour of the universe — alone ; 
 And oft-times they would raise their voice to Heaven 
 Saying that if He willed it, would He send 
 In the near future unto them, a home 
 Where they could worship Him as they were wont, 
 Where they could pious live, and do much good 
 By prayers, solicitations, and advice. 
 
 Again the Ruler of earth, sea, and sky 
 
 Direcfted them and told them what to do, 
 
 Once more their way they wend to Egremont, 
 
 Again they interviewed the mistress kind 
 
 And say to her, they long so much to lead 
 
 The life which erst they led, before the storm 
 
 Deprived them of the means of doing it — 
 
 That far and near, all round, they've been beseeched 
 
 By many friends to found an Abbey near. 
 
 That they would join them in their glorious work. 
 
 And to the cause of Truth devote their lives ; 
 
 Would she, oh ! would she pray her noble lord 
 
 To build for them a house where they might live 
 
 And worship God as they once did of old. 
 
 My lady — ever gracious, was most pleased 
 To ask him their request to gratify — 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. BEES. 24I 
 
 Loud laughed my lord — he was in merry mood 
 And said, forsooth, what will they long for next ? 
 Ha ! ha ! to-morn, said he, will see the day 
 Of midsummer, and I shall be most glad 
 To give to them — extending for all time — 
 Sufficient land to build their Abbey on. 
 And what is more, I'll build the Abbey too, 
 If in the morn the land is covered o'er 
 With snow ; nay, but I'll give to them each inch, 
 Each rood, each acre, where the snow doth fall — 
 And loud once more he gave a vent to mirth. 
 
 The sisters and their abbess sorrowed then, 
 
 And for a time distress o'er them held sway. 
 
 Yet did they not despair, but comfort found 
 
 By faith and trust in God's most holy will. 
 
 And sped on high to Heaven this heartfelt prayer : — 
 
 Father, Supreme ! Thy servants kneel 
 
 And earnestly implore 
 That Thou with us wilt kindly deal 
 
 As Thou hast dealt before. 
 Oh ! touch with all Thy gracious word, 
 And make him to Thy voice be heard. 
 
 Father, Supreme ! unto Thy will 
 
 Oh ! make him bend beneath. 
 And he Thy word will then fulfil. 
 
 And to us now bequeath 
 Sufficient land where we can make 
 A house to pray in, for Thy sake. 
 
242 A LEGEND OF ST. BEES. 
 
 Father, Supreme ! Oh ! touch his heart 
 
 And then will he relent, 
 If Thou Thy Spirit dost impart. 
 
 Once more shall knees be bent ; 
 And we to Thee will voice upraise 
 Swelling an endless song of praise. 
 
 Father, Supreme ! if in the morn 
 
 Snow covers all the land, 
 And with its whiteness doth adorn 
 
 The erstwhile golden sand, 
 Hiding the earth — the grass, the flowers, 
 Where'er it hideth — that is ours. 
 
 Father, Supreme ! Oh ! send the snow ; 
 
 He says that he will give 
 Unto Thy servants here below 
 
 Land and a house to live, 
 If on the ground to-morn we find 
 The beauteous snow ; O Lord, be kind. 
 
 When monarch Sol once more lit up the earth 
 In that bright, merry, leafy month of June, 
 My lord from out the castle window high 
 Did gaze, and lo ! as far as he could see 
 Down to the ocean, and for miles around. 
 Was covered with the gentle flakes of snow ; 
 Amazement was depi(5ted on his face, 
 And to his lady hurriedly he hied 
 To bid her look — to see the wondrous sight. 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. BEES. 243 
 
 She said it is God's will, and we will build 
 For them an Abbey, where in future years 
 Unto their Maker they may give all praise. 
 Egremont spoke : 
 
 My love, it shall be so. 
 And as I promised they shall have the land 
 Which now is covered by the fleecy snow, 
 The town Whitehaven, too, is also theirs. 
 The mountains and the forest Inerdale ; 
 And all the tithes that to them now belong 
 Shall be support for St. Bees' Nunnery, 
 So that, in future years, no scarcity. 
 No want nor dearth, shall these my sisters know. 
 
 And thus it was the Abbey of St. Bees 
 Was founded, and whose traces still remain. 
 
244 '^^ LIGHTNING. 
 
 TO LIGHTNING. 
 
 Oh ! thou magnificent and splendid power, 
 
 Thou art the wonder of the universe, 
 
 Thou fill'st all hearts with terror and with dread, 
 
 And makes amazement stand upon our brow, 
 
 Whilst fear stamps us as creatures insignificant. 
 
 Thou art, indeed, sublimely grand, but awe 
 
 From us takes thy sublimity away, 
 
 And leaves us poor, hopeless, wretched mortals. 
 
 Thy vivid, fiery dart, the thunder's roll, 
 
 Tell of thy might, and make us cringe beneath 
 
 The fury of the storm. 
 
 Another streak 
 Hangs for a moment in mid-air and then 
 Vanishes for ever. 
 
 Ah ! now a clap 
 Falls with redoubled energy, gathering 
 A concentrated force ; but terror now 
 Is giving way to thoughtfulness, as we 
 Think of the One Supreme, who e'er controls 
 This dread inspiring element. 
 
 And though 
 A flash once more illumes the darkened air, 
 'Tis lost at once in earth's vast wilderness : 
 Now it is followed by vast roaring peals 
 From the huge artillery of Heaven, 
 Yet feel we not afraid, although our hearts 
 Beat with tumultuous motion, and we 
 Think of the frailness of our storm-tossed world. 
 
SNOW. 245 
 
 Thy forked tongue tells us of God's promise, 
 The heavy rain now pouring torrents down 
 Makes memory once more clear, and reminds us 
 That by it, the earth, shall ne'er more be destroyed. 
 
 Thou art a truly great and noble specftacle. 
 Astounding in thy beauteous majesty. 
 
 SNOW. 
 
 Fall gently down — ye pure, soft flakes of snow. 
 Cover the cold, grey earth with garlands bright, 
 Deck it in fleecy covering of white ; 
 
 Make it to wear thy garments spotless glow. 
 
 Cast us a myriad feathers here below, 
 Each one unsullied — full of glad delight. 
 Each one a pearl-gem — lovely, fair, and light ; 
 
 And when your garb on all has cast its glow, 
 P'all gently down. 
 
 Now, when your robe has mantled all the earth, 
 Weaved it a dress both beautiful and chaste, 
 
 We quite forget our former thoughts of dearth 
 For you have with your foliage all things graced. 
 
 Oh ! still as you bequeath to all new birth, 
 Fall gently down. 
 
246 KINDNESS. 
 
 KINDNESS. 
 
 Kindness ! thou fount of all our bliss, 
 
 Thou blossom from above ; 
 Thy gentle lips for ever kiss 
 
 With pure and lasting love ; 
 Thou mak'st us smile when bathed in tears, 
 And banishes our worldly fears. 
 
 Kindness ! thou art a ray of light, 
 
 A dazzling rainbow, shining 
 In colours with soft radiance bright, 
 
 A balm to all repining ; 
 Thou turnest darkness into day, 
 And 'witches all dull care away. 
 
 Kindness ! thou sunshine of the heart, 
 
 That only springs to life, 
 Thou ever dost great strength impart 
 
 To those who're crushed by strife ; 
 Kindness ! thou'rt spread from pole to pole. 
 The solace of the weary soul. 
 
AUTUMN. 247 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 When the leaves are red in the Autumn time, 
 
 When the green grass fades, when the flow'rs are dead, 
 When almost dried up is the brooklet's bed, 
 
 When the rich, ripe harvest is almost prime. 
 
 Then loveth my soul to break into rhyme. 
 And loveth my lyre to the words be wed. 
 But saddens my heart when the tears are shed 
 
 At some mournful note as it falls sublime. 
 
 The fitful muse is like the Autumn days. 
 She cannot always those who list enthrall, 
 She tells you that some rain is bound to fall 
 
 In all our lives, when singing her sweet lays. 
 
 Though withered and sere at the year's decline. 
 Be the days which erst were bright and fair. 
 There is one thought comforts our grief and care, 
 
 'Tis in the future, Sol will once more shine. 
 
 Our days on earth cannot be always fine. 
 And all on earth of sorrow have a share. 
 But let us trust, there is no Autumn there. 
 
 No cause for us to murmur or repine. 
 
248 FAME. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 The thoughts of fame 
 
 Fill weary breasts with hope, 
 Make us with dangers cope, 
 
 To gain a name. 
 
 Fame spurs and leads us on. 
 Points to the weary soul 
 The resting goal 
 
 When life is gone. 
 
 The bosom ardent glows, 
 Fanned by its flame : 
 This is our earthly aim. 
 
 Strongly it grows. 
 
 It makes us all strive, 
 To conquer and win. 
 To fight death and sin. 
 
 And dangers survive. 
 
 Fame leads by its fire. 
 
 Points by its finger-post — 
 Full many a host 
 
 Leads by its keen desire. 
 
AUGUST S HERE. 249 
 
 AUGUST'S HERE. 
 
 Ripeness abounds, for August's here, 
 
 To fill us with a joy sincere : 
 
 The field, the glen, the wood, the shade, 
 The barren moors, the blossomed glade, 
 
 All, all foretell that she is near. 
 
 A golden glory fills the earth. 
 And hails with joy blest August's birth ; 
 Luxurious gladness fills the land. 
 For, touched by August's mellow hand. 
 It basks no more in careworn dearth. 
 
 Each leaf seems by her supreme will 
 Matured, and is more beauteous still ; 
 The insecft w^orld awakes to find 
 That she to them is also kind, 
 And now they Nature's ways fulfil. 
 
 The hills, too, seem no longer drear. 
 For lo ! the purple lings appear ; 
 
 They bloom on all sides fresh and free. 
 
 Full of an inborn modesty. 
 And telling plainly — August's here. 
 
250 LIFE. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Life ! thou glint of Heavenly pleasure, 
 Spark of pure, celestial joy ; 
 
 Thou art Nature's brimming measure, 
 Full of phantoms that destroy. 
 
 Life ! thou stream of earthly blessing, 
 Flowing bountiful and free ; 
 
 Full of ecstasy's caressing, 
 Ending in eternity. 
 
 Life ! thou charm of golden beauty — 
 Flowers and fruits dost thou prepare 
 
 To mankind in boundless duty. 
 Bid them take a welcome share. 
 
 Life ! thou ray of sunshine teeming 
 O'er the face of mighty earth. 
 
 With thy fragrant blossoms beaming. 
 With the light that gave them birth. 
 
 Life ! thou winning, graceful glory ! 
 
 Emblem of immortal day ! 
 When the body's grim and hoary. 
 
 Thou hast still the potent sway. 
 
 Life ! thou art a world of frailness. 
 Teeming with thy feeble bliss : 
 
 Sorrow oft in livid paleness, 
 
 Shadows dread we fain would miss. 
 
THE BRIDE. 
 
 251 
 
 Still we have that hope eternal, 
 In the realms of lasting light, 
 
 Where, beyond this vale so vernal, 
 We shall know no fear of night. 
 
 THE BRIDE. 
 
 Leaning upon the bridegroom's arm, 
 She steps within the sacred pile. 
 
 Her every movement seems a charm 
 To those who watch her up the aisle ; 
 And all upon her sweetly smile. 
 
 She seems so good, so pure, so calm. 
 
 Her cheeks blush with a vivid glow, 
 She is so beautiful and young. 
 Tremulous is her falt'ring tongue. 
 
 But musical, though soft and low. 
 
 A restful peace is on her brow, 
 
 A holy light shines on her face. 
 And rev'rent she her head doth bow. 
 
 As kneeling in that solemn place ; 
 
 She hears the words so fraught with grace, 
 Which tell her she is married now. 
 
252 MY BABY BOY ! 
 
 MY BABY BOY ! 
 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 Thou'rt one year old to-day ; 
 Since thou hast come, my darHng, 
 
 " How time has flown away." 
 Thy merry, prattling antics 
 
 Are dear unto my heart ; 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 I could not from thee part. 
 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 Thy soft and winsome smile, 
 Free from all art and worldliness, 
 
 Free from the taint of sin — 
 Makes me hunger to caress thee 
 
 Whilst thou art in surprise ; 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 With sparkling sky-blue eyes. 
 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 Thy infant gamboling, 
 So gladsome and so merry, 
 
 So light and frolicking — 
 It seems to me so graceful, 
 
 So full of tenderness ; 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 I ne'er could love thee less. 
 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 How thankful we should be 
 That God, in His great mercy, 
 
 Has kindly sent us thee. 
 
PRIMULA VULGARIS. 253 
 
 I will pray thou'lt ne'er be wilful, 
 
 I'll trust thou'lt ne'er be wild, 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 When thou'rt an older child. 
 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 With gratitude to Heaven, 
 I raise my heart in thankfulness 
 
 That God us thee hast given ; 
 I'll pray that He will guide thee 
 
 On the rugged path of life — 
 My baby boy ! my baby boy ! 
 
 'Tis full of pain and strife. 
 
 PRIMULA VULGARIS. 
 
 We love thee for the sake of one 
 Who ever loved to gaze upon 
 
 Thy stately head. 
 
 Thou tell'st of the undying fame 
 Of one whose honoured, noble name 
 Will ne'er be dead. 
 
 Though other flowers have brighter hues, 
 Though sweeter perfumes they suffuse, 
 We love thee best. 
 
 For well we loved the man, who now 
 Wears brighter laurels on his brow, 
 In Heavenly rest. 
 
254 THE SWISS LOVERS. 
 
 THE SWISS LOVERS. 
 
 An evening in Autumn — 
 
 The moon shining bright ; 
 A laddie and lassie — 
 
 Hearts happy and light ; 
 Each one fair and merry, 
 
 Fresh coloured of hue : 
 And his eyes a dark brown, 
 
 But her's a dark blue. 
 Said he, '* How I love you, 
 
 To me thou'rt divine ; 
 Oh ! I long for the day 
 
 On which thou'lt be mine ; 
 For when thou'rt my wife, 
 
 No care shalt thou know. 
 And Summer and Winter 
 
 Shall wear the same glow. 
 I have loved thee so true, 
 
 I've loved thee so long. 
 And thy voice to me sounds 
 
 Like nightingale's song. 
 Thy step is so lightsome, 
 
 Thy form full of grace, 
 I always am longing 
 
 To see thy sweet face. 
 Thy lips are like rubies. 
 
 That oft-times with haste 
 I'm wishing devoutly 
 
 To touch and to taste. 
 And thy light golden hair 
 
 Its spell casts on me, 
 
THE SWISS LOVERS. 255 
 
 It falls on thy shoulders 
 
 So long and so free. 
 Thy chin is so dimpled, 
 
 Thy teeth are so white — 
 I long to be near thee 
 
 From morning to night. 
 So I ask thee once more — 
 
 I ask with a prayer, 
 That life in the future 
 
 With me thou wilt share." 
 
 Then spake she, " I am blest 
 
 In having thy love. 
 And I will be as true 
 
 As the stars above, 
 That shine in their glory 
 
 On high in the night. 
 Lending their radiance 
 
 So soft and so bright ; 
 Just so will I love thee 
 
 Though clouds spread us o'er, 
 Though ever so gloomy 
 
 I'll love as before. 
 My hero, my true one, 
 
 I love thee so well, 
 How much my devotion 
 
 My tongue cannot tell. 
 When, love, thou art ready 
 
 To make me thy wife, 
 I'll spend with thee only 
 
 The rest of my life. 
 
256 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 Ring, ring the festal signal 
 
 Ye bells with clarion sound ; 
 Throb, throb with joyous rapture, 
 
 And make our glad hearts bound. 
 Oh ! pour the tone forth freely 
 
 With shrill re-echoing clash ; 
 Venting your deep vibration 
 
 With thrilling peal and dash ; 
 Let all take up the chorus, — 
 
 Join in the gladsome lay. 
 And e'er with tuneful voices, 
 
 Proclaim the Wedding Day. 
 Till all the vales around us, 
 
 And all the woodland dells, 
 Are wakened with the music, 
 
 Of these sweet Wedding Bells. 
 
 Come wives from out the cottage. 
 
 Come lab'rers from the field, 
 Come dainty, blithesome maidens 
 
 And when the bells are peal'd, — 
 Speed forth a prayer to Heaven, 
 
 The pair may happy be. 
 That cares may not come o'er them 
 
 Sorrows for ever flee. 
 Now, like a fairy zephyr 
 
 Which makes the fresh'ning breeze, 
 Send out the sounds of gladness 
 
 O'er meadows and o'er lees ; 
 
WEDDING BELLS. 257 
 
 Till like some winged spirit 
 
 It joins the mirth that swells, 
 And with the cadence mingles — 
 
 Of these sweet Wedding Bells. 
 
 Now Sol is gaily shining, 
 
 With pure and sparkHng light, 
 From fleecy fields of azure, 
 
 Casting his radiance bright. 
 Now is the service ended, 
 
 Lo ! comes the charming throng, 
 So flash the welcome tidings 
 
 And let them list our song. 
 Gleam out, oh ! sun more brightly. 
 
 Ye voices louder sing. 
 Strew blossoms rare before them, 
 
 Ye bells more tuneful ring. 
 Until with sublime feeling 
 
 Each one the other tells, 
 That nought sounds more delightful, — 
 
 Than these sweet Wedding Bells. 
 
258 A VILLANELLE TO RAIN. 
 
 A VILLANELLE TO RAIN. 
 
 I WATCH the pitiless rain, 
 
 I'm vexed, — so I bite my lip, 
 It falls on my window pane. 
 
 It drops and it drops again, 
 
 With ceaseless, wearying drip. 
 I watch the pitiless rain, 
 
 My hopes for to-day are slain, 
 Fortune has given me slip, 
 It falls on my window pane. 
 
 Still comes the cruel refrain, 
 It knows it has me in grip, 
 I watch the pitiless rain. 
 
 I'm almost driven insane 
 
 With its unrelentless flip. 
 It falls on my window pane. 
 
 Still it comes with might and main, 
 
 And greedy the earth doth sip ; 
 I watch the pitiless rain. 
 It falls on my window pane. 
 
THE FUNERAL KNELL. VILLANELLE. 259 
 
 THE FUNERAL KNELL.— VILLANELLE. 
 
 She lists to the clanging peals 
 
 With an aching and weary head ; 
 And despair upon her steals. 
 
 For e'er as she lists, she feels 
 
 Her heart grow heavy as lead ; 
 She lists to the clanging peals. 
 
 She sorrows at Time who deals 
 
 The blow to the one now dead ; 
 And despair upon her steals. 
 
 She stumbles and almost reels 
 
 When she thinks of the narrow bed ; 
 She lists to the clanging peals. 
 
 And her doom it also seals — 
 
 She wishes she'd ne'er been wed ; 
 And despair upon her steals. 
 
 The wound in her heart ne'er heals, 
 
 It widens the more instead ; 
 She lists to the clanging peals. 
 And despair upon her steals. 
 
260 THE DAYS WHEN WE WERE YOUNG. 
 
 THE DAYS WHEN WE WERE YOUNG. 
 
 'Tis sad to think of former days, 
 
 Those pleasant days gone by — 
 When all was youth and happiness, 
 
 And nought to cause a sigh ; 
 When neither care nor sadness. 
 
 Nor shadows o'er us hung, 
 In those sweet, merry, happy days — 
 
 The days when we were young. 
 
 How well do I remember 
 
 The Summer fields and flowers, 
 The pond, too, where in fishing, 
 
 We've spent so many hours ; 
 And down the dear old garden. 
 
 How to and fro we swung, 
 In those dear, joyous, youthful days — 
 
 The days when we were young. 
 
 And how upon the river. 
 
 In those gladsome days of yore, 
 I spoke of these our pleasant days, 
 
 Whilst resting on my oar. 
 The tuneful cadence of your voice. 
 
 How sweetly then it rung. 
 But not more sweetly then than now, 
 
 In days when we were young. 
 
 And then when we were married. 
 On that beauteous Autumn day — 
 
 Do you remember, darling, 
 The church and village gay ? 
 
THE DAYS WHEN WE WERE YOUNG. 261 
 
 And when upon our holiday, 
 
 The hours away we flung ; 
 Ah me ! we ne'er a moment thought 
 
 We'd not be always young. 
 
 And when the snow was on the ground, 
 
 In Winter, stern and wild, 
 You'd look at me with loving eyes. 
 
 With face that always smiled. 
 Methinks I hear the whisper 
 
 Of your soft and mellow tongue, 
 As I have heard in olden days — 
 
 The days when we were young. 
 
 But now with faces wrinkled. 
 
 And our hair thick- strewn with grey. 
 We think with yearning bosoms 
 
 Of the days now passed away ; 
 And with eyes and hearts turned Heavenwards, 
 
 With feelings over-strung. 
 We look for future, happier days, 
 
 When we'll be always young. 
 
262 HOPE 'mid depression. 
 
 HOPE 'MID DEPRESSION. 
 
 I AM weary and dejedled, 
 
 All my hopes are fallen now ; 
 I am weakened and disheartened, 
 
 With my hand upon my brow ; 
 Overburdened with my sorrow, 
 
 I am tossed amid the foam, 
 Waiting till my Heavenly Father 
 
 Calls me to a Better Home. 
 
 Overshadowed, I am helpless 
 
 As I peer into the gloom, 
 Oft I wonder what to-morrow 
 
 Will engulph me to my doom ; 
 For I long for rest and quiet 
 
 That shall ease me from my woes, 
 My only consolation is 
 
 My Heavenly Father knows. 
 
 I have often been afflicfted 
 
 And full hard has been my lot. 
 Though amid my many sorrows 
 
 I have still some comfort got ; 
 'Tis that others grieving — mourning, 
 
 Have a lot as hard to bear. 
 And that in this vale of sadness 
 
 I have only found a share. 
 
 Oh ! then why should I be downcast, 
 When the sun that brightly shines. 
 
 Pours its beams upon the weary 
 And the heart that weakly pines ? 
 
TO W. CARTWRIGHT NEWSAM. 263 
 
 'Tis the thought of that grim future 
 
 That has filled me with despair, 
 When I ought to lose my burdens 
 
 In the earnestness of prayer. 
 
 I will cast away my sadness 
 
 In the thought of future bliss, 
 Though the Home beyond be happy, 
 
 I'll content myself in this ; 
 Though this life be frail and chequered, 
 
 It is only for a time, 
 There is hope beyond the portals 
 
 In that far-off better clime. 
 
 TO W. CARTWRIGHT NEWSAM. 
 
 Illustrious son of a worthy sire 
 
 I give thee my hand, and I greet thee well, 
 Thou, too, hast sunk 'neath poesy's bright spell, 
 
 And made sweet music from the muses' lyre. 
 
 Such strains divine whene'er thou tuned the wire, 
 My weak voice unto others cannot tell ; 
 Like fairies singing in some 'chanted dell. 
 
 Or glee of sea-nymphs — is thy poet's fire. 
 
 No theme forlorn to sad the drooping heart. 
 Doth emanate from thy triumphant pen. 
 No ghosts or goblins in some eyrie den 
 
 That freeze the brain and make the tear-drops start, 
 But sprightly singest of some woodland glen. 
 
 That hope and joy and comfort doth impart. 
 
264 WHEN THE END COMES. 
 
 WHEN THE END COMES. 
 
 When the end comes — oh ! Lord of all, 
 
 May I be ready for Thy call ; 
 
 May I prepare for that great day 
 When Thou shalt take my soul away, 
 
 And in the arms of death I fall — 
 
 When the end comes. 
 
 When the end comes — oh ! Saviour dear. 
 Help me to feel that Thou art near, 
 That Thou art nigh unto my side, 
 And that Thy Spirit doth abide, 
 Bidding Thy servant never fear — 
 
 When the end comes. 
 
 When the end comes — oh ! Father God, 
 And near that valley, grim, I plod, 
 
 Be Thou my Guide and Friend and Stay, 
 And oh ! keep near me all the way. 
 That I may see where Thou hast trod — 
 When the end comes. 
 
YE EMERALD HILLS. 265 
 
 YE EMERALD HILLS. 
 
 Ye emerald hills ! I love your steeps to climb, 
 When Sol on earth first sheds his lambent ray. 
 Giving us warning that another day 
 
 Is entered in the book of Father Time. 
 
 On your green brows I love to spin my rhyme — 
 To feel rude Boreas round about me play, 
 Giving a freshness to my simple lay ; 
 
 And lending to it half your joy sublime, 
 Ye emerald hills. 
 
 And when upon your summit, oh ! I love 
 To gaze upon the landscape stretching far. 
 
 To see the bright blue firmament above, 
 And in my fancy sail in golden car 
 To realms beyond where is no gloom to mar 
 Ye emerald hills. 
 
266 SYMPATHY. 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 It comes from realms of lasting day, 
 Through golden archways bright ; 
 
 It comes from the home of blisses, 
 From the shore of dazzling light. 
 
 'Tis cherished by all the angels, 
 And nursed by that holy throng ; 
 
 'Tis loved by mortals here below, 
 With a love both pure and strong. 
 
 A treasure sent from God above 
 To His children upon earth : 
 
 To soothe them in afflicftion's hour. 
 By the power that gave them birth ! 
 
 It comes from lands of joy and peace. 
 Where grim sorrow ne'er is known ; 
 
 It comes with a Saviour's message, 
 From Heaven's exalted throne. 
 
 It speaks with soft and gentle voice. 
 Of our hopes and joys it tells ; 
 
 It lives within the inner soul, 
 And it there forever dwells. 
 
PETULANCE. 267 
 
 PETULANCE. 
 
 I MEAN to have my own way, 
 
 I have had it in the past, 
 No matter what others say. 
 
 Now you need not tell me nay. 
 
 And you must not look aghast, 
 I mean to have my own way. 
 
 I won't have any display, 
 
 Nor allow your stormy blast. 
 No matter what others say. 
 
 I shall enter into no fray, 
 
 Well, although you call me ** fast,' 
 I mean to have my own way. 
 
 You can fume and fret and pray. 
 
 With me it will always last. 
 No matter what others say. 
 
 I said on my wedding day 
 
 That as the years are passed, 
 I mean to have my own way. 
 No matter what others say. 
 
268 THE WIND. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 The wind can lash the raging storm, 
 
 Can gently kiss a rose ; 
 The wind can blow a hurricane, 
 
 Can dwell in calm repose. 
 
 The wind can shriek upon the sea, 
 Can raise the billowy foam ; 
 
 The wind can bring a tempest. 
 
 Can howl around our home. 
 
 The wind can whistle through the trees, 
 Can gently moan and sigh ; 
 
 The wind can give refreshing breeze, 
 Can all man's work defy. 
 
 The wind can sing a plaintive song, 
 
 The wind is ever free ; 
 The wind, the swift, resistless wind 
 
 Can laugh in sportive glee. 
 
FATE. 269 
 
 FATE. 
 
 If men would think that so-called " Fate 
 Is dealt alike to poor and great, 
 They'd murmur not at the decree, 
 Nor calmly say, " it had to be," 
 Nor for their trials sit and wait. 
 
 And when they say nought can create 
 Them joy, or make their hearts elate, 
 A share they'd lose of misery — 
 
 If men would think. 
 
 Oh ! could we all in life's estate 
 Be manly with our simple freight, 
 We then should tenfold pleasures see. 
 And from depression e'er be free ; 
 Turmoils and troubles would abate — 
 
 If men would think. 
 
270 LAUGHIER. 
 
 LAUGHTER. 
 
 How glad it is to have a rippling peal 
 
 Of heartfelt laughter fall upon the ear ; 
 
 To hear the maiden, with her trilling voice, 
 
 Give a wild burst of merriment and glee. 
 
 And then the prattling laughter of a child, 
 
 So full of melody, so fraught with joy, 
 
 So overflowing with a pregnant bliss. 
 
 Then the strong man, with his huge base guffaw, 
 
 How like a series of small cannonades — 
 
 So unconstrained, so powerful, so sincere, 
 
 So heartfelt, so impulsive, and so true. 
 
 The simper and the giggle of the miss 
 
 Just ent'ring on her teens, is rich to hear ; 
 
 She to her face can any moment bring 
 
 A look of wonderment and seeming smile, 
 
 And chuckle with delight at all she sees. 
 
 The " whining schoolboy," when he jocund laughs 
 
 Is full of fun, of mischief, and of mirth. 
 
 Of sparkling humour, wit, and wantonness — 
 
 These are most pleasant, both to hear and know. 
 
 But when we see the chubby, crowing babe. 
 
 When the first dawn of intelledl: awakes. 
 
 Raise its blue eyes to ours, and stretch its hands 
 
 To be enfolded in a parent's arms — 
 
 Then do our souls grow nigh delirious 
 
 With love for the sweet cherub clasped so close ; 
 
 And feel we such an overpowering bliss 
 
 That whilst we press it to us and caress. 
 
 And laugh at it and fondle it and kiss. 
 
 We almost feel inclined to cry for joy. 
 
THE VALE OF LOVE. 27I 
 
 THE VALE OF LOVE. 
 
 You ask me where — where is this lovely vale, 
 
 This bright, this piquant verdant vale of Love ? 
 
 List then, dear heart, and I will tell you true. 
 
 It need not be where rippling streamlets play. 
 
 Nor yet where blossomed banks take their abode ; 
 
 It need not be in realms of sunshine gay. 
 
 Where smiling woods and lawns and brooklets dwell. 
 
 The vale of Love is in the crowded town, 
 
 Amid the surging, thronging race for life ; 
 
 'Tis in the quiet village where peace lists, 
 
 And in the busy city of unrest. 
 
 'Tis in the rustic hamlet, where no vice 
 
 Has yet stepped in to sadden parents' hearts : 
 
 The vale of Love within its grove may have 
 
 No pretty, tuneful birds to sing with glee. 
 
 No budding hawthorn to delight the eye ; 
 
 The trees may all be barren, and no flowers 
 
 Ma}^ live to rear their petalled heads aloft. 
 
 No flitting insecfis hover to and fro, 
 
 No zephyr breeze to fan the heated brow. 
 
 No cool, soft, clinging moss within the vale. 
 
 May lend a charm and glad the inmost mind ; 
 
 But where love dwells there is no desolation. 
 
 No bitterness, reproaches, or regret ; 
 
 For, '* tempered with love's sighs," all things around 
 
 Are clothed in garb of beauteous harmony. 
 
 Ah ! yes, the vale of Love is everywhere. 
 
 Cupid, the saucy sprite, respecfts not persons 
 
 Nor chooseth aye the sylvan solitudes 
 
 To cast his shafts ; — this vale, this vale of Love 
 
 Stretches through all the world. 
 
272 MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 (On the occasion of his being presented with a Timepiece by some of the 
 " Old Boys" of Clarendon Academy, Bradford, January 17th, 1888.) 
 
 Now, Mr. Spencer, listen, for we give to you the " Time," 
 And the reason why we give it, I'll tell you in a rhyme : 
 'Tis a tribute of affedlion that has welled within each heart 
 Till it overflowed its limits, and has caused us all to " part ;" 
 When I say '* part," of course I mean with what is termed 
 
 the " coin." 
 A hundred odd have paid their mite, and now the " old 
 
 boys " join 
 In giving you this timepiece with the ornaments to match. 
 And more than willing all have been in coming to the 
 
 '* scratch." 
 But 'tis not alone affe(ftion that has caused us to do this, 
 'Tis a feeling of sincere regard and friendship, too, I wis ; 
 'Tis a token of our gratefulness for good received from you. 
 For deep and lasting benefit, for kindness warm and true ; 
 You guided us in days gone by with loving hand and voice, 
 And though our lessons then to us seemed not so very choice, 
 Yet now we are at manhood, we know 'twas for the best. 
 And could the time come back again, we'd work with greater 
 
 zest. 
 Ah ! many an hour we've wasted in the playground with our 
 
 toys, 
 When we might have been in study to fit us for **old boys." 
 Your tutorage was always bright, but few e'er found it dull. 
 You seemed to know exadlly when our little heads were full ; 
 And though I have no doubt you thought some were 
 
 tremendous thick, 
 I have not yet seen one " old boy " but voted you a '* brick," 
 
MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 273 
 
 For some would not hold Euclid, or Algebra, or Grammar, 
 Or " Brewer's Guide to Science," though struck in with a 
 
 hammer. 
 And when you were diredling us in those brave days of yore, 
 I well remember anecdotes you always had in store, 
 You'd interest each youthful brain with tales of the Sepoys, 
 And thus our minds recall the time when we were not ** old 
 
 boys;" 
 You'd one for William Rufus, and the others in our history, 
 You'd many a one for Chemistry, that were then to us a 
 
 mystery. 
 And many a time when perhaps I thought you'd give me 
 
 *' half-an-hour," 
 By way of gaining favour I've brought you many a flower, 
 For we all knew Flora's offerings were richly prized by you, 
 And by such tricks we tried to shirk the " half-hours " not a 
 
 few. 
 A schoolmaster with kindly heart forgives much which annoys. 
 And we're sorry now for wasted time when we've become 
 
 '* old boys ;" 
 I know we had to be most insubordinately bad. 
 Before you sentenced us to get what made each one feel sad. 
 For the Principal was powerful — I know we thought so then. 
 And I, for one, reludtant was to hold it up again. 
 But now our school-boy days are past, would they were here 
 
 once more. 
 Would that each morning saw us entering the schoolroom 
 
 door ; 
 These vain regrets are useless, but I trust that every year 
 We shall hold a good re-union, and dine and have ** good 
 
 cheer," 
 Meet on a common level — share in each other's joys. 
 
274 MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 And remember for that night at least, we're all of us " old 
 
 boys." 
 We wish you, Mr. Spencer, many years of life and health, 
 There's such a thing you know, sir, as doing good by stealth. 
 That you did us in days gone by, we never found you lack, 
 And in a trivial measure now we try and pay you back. 
 We wish you years of happiness — full of completest blisses, 
 Shared by your sons and daughters, and divided with the Mrs. 
 We hope you'll never know a care, that all may go on straight. 
 And we trust the clock we've given you may ne'er make you 
 
 " too late ;" 
 We hope that in the schoolroom, 'mid the tumult and the 
 
 noise. 
 When teaching the "young idea to shoot," you'll think of us 
 
 " old boys." 
 And I hope on this "effusion," "old boys/' you'll not be hard, 
 For I've rather an ambition to shine as Bradford's bard. 
 
MIZPAH. 275 
 
 MIZPAH. 
 
 " May God keep watch, my love, 'tween thee and me, 
 All the long years that I shall be away ; 
 May He watch o'er and guide thee day by day. 
 
 And make thy sorrows and thy troubles flee. 
 
 Good-bye, Sweetheart, it is a hard decree — 
 Mine is a love that ne'er will know decay. 
 Though oft in foreign climes I'll kneel and pray. 
 
 And ask, that when I am apart from thee — 
 
 May God keep watch. 
 
 Farewell, my darling, wipe those bitter tears, 
 My heart will often yearn for thee in vain ; 
 
 Quell all thy anxious thoughts, thy trembling fears. 
 For in the future I'll return again. 
 
 And whilst we're waiting all the weary years — 
 
 May God keep watch. 
 
276 PARTING. RONDELETS. 
 
 PARTING.— RONDELETS. 
 
 Good-bye, sweetheart, 
 I find it very hard to go. 
 
 Good-bye sweetheart — 
 It is extremely sad to part, 
 But half this world is made of woe. 
 And sorrow's trials on us grow. 
 
 Good-bye, sweetheart. 
 
 Be true, dear soul. 
 In far off years we'll meet again. 
 
 Be true, dear soul, 
 You e'er will be my brightest goal. 
 Part of the bitterness and pain 
 Will fly, if we do not complain, 
 
 Be true, dear soul. 
 
 When I am gone 
 Sometimes for me I hope you'll pray, 
 
 When I am gone. 
 Remember there is always One 
 Who will watch o'er us day by day, 
 And comfort us and cheer our way, 
 
 When I am gone. 
 
STRUGGLING. — GLOZE. 277 
 
 STRUGGLING.— GLOZE. 
 
 Why do my friends deride 
 A nd sneer f and call it pride P 
 
 Ah me ! why should I pine, 
 
 Some one will be my guide, 
 Though hope is always mine, 
 
 Why do my friends deride ? 
 I ever strive for fame. 
 To gain a worldly name. 
 
 The way is long and wide. 
 But yet I mean to win, 
 Why should they say 'tis sin. 
 
 And sneer, and call it pride. 
 
 My fight, I know, is jnst, 
 And to succeed I must. 
 
 They do not comfort me, 
 
 But humble to the dust, 
 Yet I shall e'er be free, 
 
 My fight, I know, is just. 
 I still will work and try, 
 And every one defy ; 
 
 So I will ever trust. 
 And if I'm vicflor then, 
 I'll fight the fight again, 
 
 A nd to succeed I must. 
 
278 IN EARLY YEARS. 
 
 IN EARLY YEARS. 
 
 In early years how bright we feel, 
 For care with us doth gently deal, 
 
 And nought of sorrow do we know. 
 
 Of heartache, misery, or woe. 
 Young life seems full of perfecfl weal. 
 
 And good it was for us to kneel 
 At parents' feet, and to appeal 
 
 That God would us the right way show. 
 In early years. 
 
 Nought then would make our young brains reel, 
 And never tried we to conceal, 
 
 The many tears that soon would grow 
 
 Into a well, and overflow — 
 Our childhood's troubles soon would heal. 
 
 In early years. 
 
YE BALMY GALES. 279 
 
 YE BALMY GALES. 
 
 Ye balmy gales, adown life's troublous way 
 
 Blow fresh and fair, and o'er the verdant plains 
 Let white-winged zephyrs add unto your strains, 
 
 And like a golden sun-gleam cheer each day. 
 
 Ripple the limpid fountain with your play. 
 
 Waft the wild moorland where the heather reigns, 
 And with your melting music, through the lanes 
 
 Make the trees bend with lithe and supple sway, 
 
 Ye balmy gales. 
 
 When softly shines the roseate beams of morn. 
 Your incense rivals that of sweetest flowers. 
 To quaff your breath is fresh'ning as the showers, 
 
 And makes us feel we are indeed new-born. 
 
 Oh ! still the undulating meads adorn 
 
 Ye balmy gales. 
 
28o TO A POET FRIEND. 
 
 TO A POET FRIEND. 
 
 Dear brother toiler in the realms of song, 
 Nay, hardly toilers, for to us 'tis sweet 
 To bring the willing muses to our feet, 
 
 And make them lead us joyously along. 
 
 Dear brother poet, may thy thrilling gong 
 Still throb with rapture, and with joy vibrate. 
 And sing to us of Holy things and great ; 
 
 Re-echoing with pureness loud and long. 
 
 Thy minstrelsy, so pure from taint of guile, 
 I know has cheered full many a lonely heart, 
 
 And made them beat with gladness, that the while 
 They heard thy song, they quite forgot the smart 
 
 Which made them sad. Sing on, dear brother bard. 
 
 Thy wreath is fadeless — 'tis by Heaven starred. 
 
TRUST. 281 
 
 TRUST. 
 
 No, no, it cannot be, 
 
 I'll try and trust her aye, 
 
 She'd ne'er deceive poor me 
 Whatever others say. 
 
 It was but yesterday. 
 She kissed me fervently ; 
 No, no, it cannot be, 
 
 I'll try and trust her aye. 
 
 When I'm across the sea, 
 Far, far from her away, 
 
 I'll trust implicitly. 
 And ever for her pray. 
 
 No, no, it cannot be, 
 
 I'll try and trust her aye. 
 
282 LINES. 
 
 LINES 
 
 On becoming the possessor of a volume of poems written by the 
 
 Vicar of Audley, the Rev. Thomas Garratt, M.A. — the Author's 
 
 great uncle. 
 
 'Tis long since thy spirit has sunken to rest, 
 And joined those above in the Isles of the Blest, 
 Where in Heavenly mantle thy body is drest. 
 
 Thy works are forgotten, thy spirit's no more — 
 Ne'er again will thy pen write poetical lore, 
 Which oft it has done in the good days of yore. 
 
 Now, I look thy book through, and read it with pride, 
 
 I each column peruse, nor one turn aside — 
 
 For, like me, thou wast wed to sweet poesy's bride. 
 
 Full oft didst thou write with a mystical power. 
 The muse gifted thee with a bounteous dower, 
 And shed upon thee their omnipotent shower. 
 
 And when to the world thou didst issue thy mind, 
 'Twas in words soft and clear and tuneful and kind — 
 Like breeze from a zephyr, like kiss from the wind. 
 
 And when thou hast sung thy poetical lays, 
 Thou'st listed mayhap to the aye welcome praise 
 Which adts as a magnet to poesy's blaze. 
 
 Thy book now is storm-tossed and crumpled and torn, 
 Some pages are missing, old, battered, and worn. 
 The leaves of their cover have long since been shorn. 
 
MUSIC. 283 
 
 Though stript of its binding, the beauty is there, 
 A heirloom — I prize it and guard it with care — 
 To me 'twill be always a treasure most rare. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 In music's gentle, celestial strains 
 
 We always find a wondrous soothing power, 
 
 'Tis not the idle fancy of an hour ; 
 It thrills our brains with joy and fills our veins 
 With wild emotion, and makes cares and pains 
 
 Last but as long as April's passing shower ; 
 
 We are, by music, like a drooping flower 
 Refreshed and brightened — like the flower from rains. 
 
 She stirs our hearts and makes them pant with glee, 
 And with delirious gladness fills the breast, 
 Sends to us comfort and restoring rest. 
 
 Making our sorrows and our longings flee. 
 
 And when we worship at the charming shrine, 
 She gives to us a solace most divine. 
 
284 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 Of two members of the Bradford Fire Brigade, who lost 
 
 their lives at the fire at Manningham Mills, 
 
 June 23rd, i88g. 
 
 Died at their posts like warriors bold, 
 With the seething flames around them ; 
 
 Gripped 'neath the merciless rafters' hold, 
 And the stones which cruelly bound them. 
 
 Died whilst answering the clanging peal 
 Of the shrill, dread bell, that called them 
 
 To quench the fire which made them reel, 
 But never once appalled them. 
 
 Died at duty like heroes true. 
 
 With never a fear about them, 
 Whilst the raging flames o'erwrapped the two> 
 
 Who bravely tried to rout them. 
 
 Died in harness like soldiers brave, 
 
 With the smoke of the battle o'er them ; 
 
 Their comrades weep, for nought could save 
 The two, who have gone before them. 
 
DETERMINATION. 285 
 
 DETERMINATION. 
 
 Whatever grief betide, 
 I'll aye remain the same ; 
 
 And in this world so wide, 
 I'll try and make a name. 
 
 Maybe that fickle fame, 
 Will all my works deride ; 
 But, whatever grief betide, 
 
 I'll aye remain the same. 
 
 There is both pride and pride. 
 Though pride is not my dame ; 
 
 She's an uncanny bride : 
 This, then, shall be my aim — 
 
 Whatever grief betide, 
 I'll aye remain the same. 
 
286 RESURGAM. 
 
 RESURGAM. 
 
 I WILL not madly weep, 
 
 And thus give way to grief, 
 
 Although my sorrow's deep, 
 I shall obtain relief. 
 
 I e'er will have belief. 
 
 When troubles o'er me creep, 
 
 I will not madly weep, 
 And thus give way to grief. 
 
 My heart can't joyous leap. 
 For my cares are still the chief, 
 
 But yet my woe shall sleep 
 A space, however brief. 
 
 I will not madly weep. 
 
 And thus give way to grief. 
 
AT THE VERY OUTSIDE. 287 
 
 AT THE VERY OUTSIDE. 
 
 (with apologies to EDWIN HAMILTON, M.A.) 
 
 I AM known to my friends as the moderate man, 
 Who keeps within limits as well as he can. 
 
 And this through the town should be " cried ;" 
 For I never, when jesting, have yet made a pun, 
 In fa(5l, if I have, it has only been one, 
 
 Or two, at the very outside, 
 
 I am married, you know ! I've a sweet little wife, 
 
 And though married four years we have never had strife ! 
 
 The reason ? I never yet lied ? 
 And I always impress her I ever am true ; 
 The times I've deceived her they number but two, 
 
 Or three, at the very outside. 
 
 Sometimes when " a ballet is on " at the Queen's, 
 I'm a privileged chap, and go '* back o' the scenes," 
 
 The manager ne'er has to chide. 
 For I do not kiss all that come flirting to me. 
 As a matter of fadl, but a couple or three. 
 
 Or four, at the very outside. 
 
 When " detained at my office " till midnight or so. 
 
 In *' balancing books " — they must balance, you know — 
 
 Wife never her questions has plied ; 
 But she says that the horrid old books are a bore. 
 So to-morrow, I tell her, I'll be home by four, 
 
 Or five, at the very outside. 
 
288 AT THE VERY OUTSIDE. 
 
 If she could but have seen what I really was at, 
 I'm sure she would ne'er have forgiven me for that, 
 
 This knowledge from her I must hide ; 
 For Smithson and I were more dead than alive. 
 Though of " cham." we but drank four bottles or five, 
 
 Or six, at the very outside. 
 
 At football I'm thought quite au fait (that's tip top). 
 And am reckoned a " hero " at ** doing " the drop. 
 
 My ball o'er the goal bar does glide ; 
 And the legs of my rivals do ne'er get more kicks. 
 On purpose or meaningly, more than say six. 
 
 Or seven, at the very outside. 
 
 For the " Council " my friends once asked me to stand, 
 I was certain to go — so I gave them my hand, 
 
 I ever upon them relied ; 
 And I easily won ? Oh ! delight's blissful heaven. 
 What a swinging majority ! I only got seven. 
 
 Or eight (votes) at the very outside. 
 
 Now when I got married, I said to friend Hal, 
 
 Will you be my ** best man ?" don't desert your old pal, 
 
 But give me next Monday my bride ; 
 Though the place was quite crowded, the clergyman late, 
 I didn't wish myself ** out of it " more times than eight, 
 
 Or nine, at the very outside. 
 
 I was once on a lecflure on ** Earth, sea and air," 
 Asked, as a favour, to ♦* be in the chair," 
 I think I would rather have died, 
 
AT THE VERY OUTSIDE. 289 
 
 For " taking the chair " is no forte of mine, 
 Though of bungles and blunders I only made nine, 
 Or ten at the very outside. 
 
 That's the reason they call me the moderate man. 
 So I earnestly ask you to try the same plan, 
 
 And then there'll be none to deride ; 
 You can edit a paper by wielding a pen. 
 But the days of your labours will only be ten, 
 
 Or eleven, at the very outside. 
 
 If you're fond of the games known as "billiards" or "pool," 
 Don't play with a stranger who looks like a fool — 
 
 A secret to you I'll confide : 
 I once had a game with a " novice " from Devon, 
 And whilst he got fifty, I got but eleven, 
 
 Or twelve, at the very outside. 
 
 Very likely your friends will press you some day, 
 For their new church or chapel to dig the first clay, 
 
 And if to their wish you decide. 
 Why you do not feel nervous at having to delve. 
 And you don't drop the shovel, say, more times than twelve, 
 
 Or thirteen, at the very outside. 
 
290 HAVE COURAGE. 
 
 HAVE COURAGE. 
 
 Always keep a good heart, 
 And try some soul to cheer ; 
 
 Maybe 'twill joy impart, 
 And banish sense of fear. 
 
 If you are aye sincere, 
 
 You will in life's rough mart, 
 Always keep a good heart, 
 
 And try some soul to cheer. 
 
 And your predestined chart 
 
 Will then seem plain and clear, 
 
 Sorrow's deep, stinging dart 
 Forever disappear. 
 
 Always keep a good heart, 
 And try some soul to cheer. 
 
A CHRISTMAS GREETING. 29I 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GREETING. 
 
 Six friends have I, all votaries of the muse, 
 And to each one the season's wish I send : 
 A merry Christmas to each poet friend ; 
 
 A glad New Year I also would diffuse, 
 
 If I the coming days for them might choose, 
 
 No thorns, no briars should e'er bestrew their road, 
 Their paths run smoothly, lightsome be their load, 
 
 I tenderly and gently each would use. 
 
 But 'tis not I who can the future rule, 
 
 I cannot sketch for them a sunn}^ way ; 
 We all below are scholars for that school 
 
 Whose precepts teach us, watch and trust and pray- 
 Once more I wish them, heartily, sincere, 
 A merry Xmas and a glad New Year. 
 
292 TO A BROTHER BARD. 
 
 TO A BROTHER BARD. 
 
 Friend, brother-poet on the hill of fame, 
 
 Like me you've published, and like me have wrought, 
 To give the world the essence of your thought. 
 
 In hopes your works would lustre give your name. 
 
 Your thoughts have fanned sweet poesy's bright flame, 
 
 And left no room for critics to deride ; 
 
 A wealth of beauty shines in " Eventide," 
 And leaves thy laurelled brow no blush of shame. 
 
 Write on, old friend — the world will yet thee greet, 
 And cast her favours broadcast at thy feet. 
 
 And hail thy songs with tribute of delight ; 
 Sing on, old boy — no transient fame is thine, 
 No fleeting glory, for thy muse divine 
 
 Will live as long as morn succeeds the night. 
 
GO AND BE FREE. 293 
 
 GO AND BE FREE. 
 
 [As Tamberlik, the famous tenor, was one morning 
 walking through the Bird Market, at Madrid, he suddenly 
 drew a bank-note for a thousand francs from his pocket, 
 bought up all the little creatures, opened the cages, and 
 shouted laughingly, as the birds flew up into the air, " Go 
 and be free, my brothers !"] 
 
 The singer smiled, and gaily he 
 Opened the cages laughingly, 
 
 And let the little prisoners fly 
 
 Unto the blue expanse of sky, 
 And said, " My brothers, ye are free." 
 
 The warbling birds, in ecstasy, 
 Sang to their freer lovingly, 
 
 A song which ne'er on earth shall die — 
 The singer smiled. 
 
 Once more they breathe the purity 
 Of breezes fresh from o'er the sea. 
 
 And skim, with fluttering pinions high, 
 To realms where they can man defy ; 
 The people shouted loud in glee — 
 The singer smiled. 
 
294 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 A FELLOW-FEELING makes us wondrous kind ; 
 Bradford has lost one rich in ancient lore, 
 Rich in the blessings that to most are bhnd, 
 And learned in the doings of the days of yore. 
 Heaven sent him gifts full of sweet poesy, 
 And taught him how to write of former times : 
 Making the world more blest with harmony. 
 
 He wrote melodious as the mellow chimes, 
 Onward he went — was't by ambition led ? 
 Lighting mankind by all he did and said. 
 Right gladly I do now this tribute pay 
 On one who made more smooth our life's rough way. 
 Ye who have ne'er the vale of verses crossed. 
 Don't know how true and kind a friend we've lost. 
 
IMPROMPTU. 295 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 On being " sworn in " as a " Special Constable " at the Bradford 
 Town Hall. Odlober 17th. 1888. 
 
 Methought that " press gang " days had long since fled, 
 
 And that the Army and the Navy too, 
 
 Aye, and the Police Force, could not now insist 
 
 Upon a Briton to defend his Queen. 
 
 That only those who freely volunteer, 
 
 Are for a time compelled to serve H.M. 
 
 In this I was mistaken, as regards 
 
 The brave defenders of our public streets. 
 
 For lo ! one morn a warrant came for me, 
 
 Which said, " That the next day — naming a certain hour, 
 
 I must proceed — and in the trial court 
 
 Connec5led with our noble town's great hall — 
 
 Be '' duly sworn " before two magistrates, 
 
 Bringing my warrant, and to which I must. 
 
 Before presenting, fix my signature ! " 
 
 What did the warrant say ? 
 
 Oh ! not so much. 
 Merely " That I should for the next twelve months 
 Use my best efforts to put down and quell 
 Any disturbance I might hap to see ; 
 That I should do my best to uphold law. 
 To maintain order, and to see that peace 
 Was kept within the precincfts of the town ; 
 That I would well and truly serve the Queen, 
 And loyal be and help maintain the right." 
 To these I swore, that is, I kissed the book, 
 'Twas rather greasy, but then it sufficed. 
 And proved indeed quite equal to the task 
 For me to take the " Oath of Office " named. 
 
296 DAISIES. 
 
 DAISIES. 
 
 I'll sing you a song of a beautiful flower — 
 
 The daisies, so sunny and bright ; 
 They spangle the meadows in Spring's balmy hour 
 
 With petals so dainty and white. 
 
 They're found in the woodlands — by river and brook, 
 
 In the lanes and over the green, 
 In the glen and the glade, and the knoll and the nook, 
 
 They everywhere blooming are seen. 
 
 Where the lambkins gambol in frolicsome play. 
 Where kingcups are gilding the plain, 
 
 They spring into blossom with golden breasts gay, 
 Bedewed by the sunshine and rain. 
 
 When the lark soars on high to welcome the morn. 
 
 Their petals unfold to beguile ; 
 When the first streak of light the green hills adorn, 
 
 The daisies look upward and smile. 
 
 We love them in childhood — in manhood's fair prime, 
 
 Our hearts ever eloquent grow ; 
 The pride of the valley, the flower of all time, 
 
 Wherever they blossom or grow. 
 
 They're wreathed by the fair ones 'mid tresses of gold, 
 
 On fairest of bosoms they lie ; 
 Though buds may be found more delightful and bold, 
 
 There are few with the daisies to vie. 
 
DAISIES. 297 
 
 The primrose may be spotless, the violet rare, 
 
 The hawthorn with blossom abound, 
 But the bright daisy's form is seen everywhere, 
 
 When primroses cannot be found. 
 
 The bees love to light on its bright golden breast. 
 
 And sip of the fair morning dew, 
 The butterfly stops on its bosom to rest. 
 
 Ere she wanders to pastures anew. 
 
 They're trod 'neath the feet of the weary and sad. 
 
 By the wayside, under the trees ; 
 They're plucked by the aged, the youthful, the glad. 
 
 And fanned by the frolicking breeze. 
 
 'Tis the flower of the humble, the joyous, the meek. 
 
 Few poets but trill it a lay ; 
 It boasts not of grandeur, but yet doth bespeak 
 
 The charms of a bright Summer day. 
 
 'Tis the flower that the fairies gem over the earth. 
 
 To bespangle the verdant sod ; 
 And its charms oft recall youth's innocent mirth. 
 
 For it raises the soul to God. 
 
 Ah ! daisies, ye waken time's dream in my soul. 
 Though childhood has vanished and fled, 
 
 The thought of the days when I plucked of thy dole 
 Will ne'er to my mem'ry be dead. 
 
 M 
 
298 TO THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 
 
 TO THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 
 
 Rest thee awhile, my sweet-vibrating lyre, 
 
 In time to come feed my poetic fire ; 
 
 A space the flames shall smoulder, but some day, 
 
 To life and warmth thou'lt bring them with thy ray: 
 
 And when by thee they're lightly, gently fanned, 
 
 Once more shall I be sent to fairyland ; 
 
 I'll bid the muses all their chains unyoke. 
 
 And with true fervour I'll their aid invoke — 
 
 They will not thwart me, I ne'er ask in vain, 
 
 But should they do so, then I'll ask again. 
 
 Thou art a tuneful elf, thy ways I love. 
 
 The charms thou sendest come but from above ; 
 
 And loth I am, if only for a space 
 
 To leave the beauteous brightness of thy face; 
 
 I long to linger and I fain would stay, 
 
 But duty calls me — on some other day 
 
 I'll woo thee, and drink deep of thy delight, 
 
 If thou wilt give it, thou sweet poet-sprite. 
 
 Then fare thee well, thou stately queen of rhyme, 
 
 Implant in others thy melodious chime. 
 
 Thou art a fickle witch — like child at play. 
 
 One moment sad, the next one glad and gay. 
 
 Sometimes thou mak'st with rapture throb my heart. 
 
 Sometimes with sorrow piercest with thy dart — 
 
 But still I love thee, and I love thy pranks. 
 
 And sadly leave thee with the best of thanks. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
INDEX. 299 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A Christmas Greeting . . . . . . . . . . . . 291 
 
 A Dirge .. .. .. .. .. 150 
 
 A Fragment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 
 
 A Leap-year's Lay . . . . . . . . . . . . 234 
 
 A Legend of St. Bees . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 
 
 A Lover's New Year's Wish . . . . . . . . . . 236 
 
 A Lullaby . . . . . . . . 105 
 
 A Memory . . . . . . . . . . 188 
 
 A Novel 186 
 
 A Primrose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 
 
 A Raven Tress .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 130 
 
 A Summer's Day — Morning . . . . . . . . . . 10 
 
 A Summer's Day — Evening . . . . . . . . . . 10 
 
 A Summer's Morn and a Winter's Eve . . . . . . 46 
 
 A Village Scene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 
 
 A Villanelle to Rain . . . . . . 258 
 
 A Vision of Hell . . . . . . . . 222 
 
 A Wasted Day 178 
 
 A Winter's Day — Morning . . • • . . . . . . 82 
 
 A Winter's Day — Evening . . . . . . . . . . 82 
 
 Accepted . . . . . . . . . . 94 
 
 An Old Man's Reverie . . . . . . 14 
 
 An Acrostic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . gi 
 
 An Acrostic 294 
 
 An Acknowledgment . . . . 177 
 
 As Long as our Lives shall Last . . . . . . . . 201 
 
 At the Gate . . . . . . . . 20 
 
 At the Very Outside . . . . . . 287 
 
 At the Wayside Pool .. .. .. 155 
 
 At Eventide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184 
 
 August's Here 249 
 
 Autumn . . . . . . , . . . . . . . . . 247 
 
 Awaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 
 
 Baby Nell 50 
 
 Belief . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 
 
 Bert and Harry at Play 103 
 
300 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Bingley Stocks 
 Bolton Castle 
 Bolton Priory 
 By the Sea Shore 
 
 Childhood .. 
 Christmas Eve 
 Comfort 
 Church Bells 
 
 Daisies 
 Determination 
 
 Earthly Things 
 England 
 
 Faith and Hope 
 
 Fallen Leaves 
 
 Fame 
 
 Fate . . 
 
 Figures in the Fire 
 
 God gave us Flowers 
 Go and be Free 
 
 Half Mast High . . 
 
 Hannah 
 
 Have Patience 
 
 Have Courage 
 
 Haworth 
 
 He Shook Hands v^ith Me 
 
 Her Portrait 
 
 Home 
 
 Home Beauties 
 
 Hope 'mid Depression 
 
 Human Nature 
 
 I hear His Voice . . 
 I think of Thee . . 
 
 If? 
 
 If Father Holds the Rope 
 
INDEX. 
 
 301 
 
 If from the Paths of Wrong we Stray 
 
 Ilkley Moors 
 
 Impromptu.. 
 
 In the Hayfields . . 
 
 In Memoriam 
 
 In Memoriam 
 
 In Early Years 
 
 In Sylvan Woods . 
 
 It might Have Been 
 
 June . . 
 
 Katie — A Song 
 Kindness 
 Kirkdale Cave 
 Kirkstall Abbey 
 Kissing 
 
 Lady Bell . . 
 
 Larry O'Flynn's Description of Winter 
 
 Laughter . . 
 
 Life .. 
 
 Lilian 
 
 Lines 
 
 Little Two Year Old 
 
 Longings . . 
 
 Love . . 
 
 Love's Dream 
 
 Love and Gold 
 
 Malham Cove 
 
 May . . 
 
 Mary 
 
 Milly — A Song 
 
 Mizpah 
 
 Mona 
 
 Morning 
 
 Musings o'er the Bible 
 
 Music 
 
 PAGE. 
 189 
 
 58 
 197 
 284 
 278 
 149 
 120 
 
 164 
 246 
 
 39 
 143 
 219 
 
 145 
 175 
 270 
 250 
 
 195 
 
 282 
 
 27 
 
 204 
 
 65 
 116 
 
 165 
 
 63 
 135 
 213 
 
 144 
 
 275 
 265 
 
 157 
 
 92 
 
 283 
 
302 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 My Baby Boy ! . . 
 
 My Father 
 
 My Grandmother's Pidure 
 
 My Love 
 
 My Mother. . 
 
 My Old Schoolmaster 
 
 My Sweetheart 
 
 My Three Valentines 
 
 My Sweet Brunette 
 
 Nature's Beauties . . 
 
 Old Days 
 
 On Country Lanes 
 
 On Visiting Audley (Staffs.) 
 
 On Visiting Newchapel . . 
 
 On the Prince and Princess of Wales' 
 
 Parental Love 
 
 Parted 
 
 Parting — Rondelets 
 
 Petulance . . 
 
 Primula Vulgaris . . 
 
 Poet Holroyd 
 
 Quatrains . . 
 
 Rabbits 
 Rain . . 
 Resurgam . . 
 
 Silver 
 
 Wedding 
 
 Sabbath Bells 
 
 Saltaire Mills 
 
 Seleded Descriptions of a Winter 
 
 Shipley Glen 
 
 Shipley Glen in May 
 
 Sin 
 
 Snow 
 
 Spring 
 
 Struggling— Gloze 
 Sunday 
 
 Day 
 

 INDEX. 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Sun-gleams.. 
 
 
 
 
 212 
 
 Sunrise in the Woods — August . . 
 
 
 
 
 i6 
 
 Sunset 
 
 
 
 
 
 57 
 
 Summer 
 
 
 
 
 
 115 
 
 Sympathy 
 
 
 
 
 
 266 
 
 The Birth of Love.. 
 
 
 
 
 
 200 
 
 The Bride 
 
 
 
 
 
 251 
 
 The Brook 
 
 
 
 
 
 127 
 
 The Christening . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 34 
 
 The Coming Winter 
 
 
 
 
 
 154 
 
 The Cottager 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 The Drunkard's Vision . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 The Days when we were Young 
 
 
 
 
 260 
 
 The Funeral Knell— Villanelle . . 
 
 
 
 
 259 
 
 The Golden Harp 
 
 
 
 
 19S 
 
 The Maniac 
 
 
 
 
 OS 
 
 The Moor's Wooing 
 
 
 
 
 136 
 
 The Naiads and the Nine 
 
 
 
 
 180 
 
 The New Year 
 
 
 
 
 13 
 
 The River Wharfe 
 
 
 
 
 167 
 
 The River Aire 
 
 
 
 
 95 
 
 The Robin 
 
 
 
 
 no 
 
 The Sarcophagus 
 
 
 
 
 25 
 
 The Soldier's Story 
 
 
 
 
 138 
 
 The Song of the Pen 
 
 
 
 
 83 
 
 The Spaniard's Amour 
 
 
 
 
 62 
 
 The Spindle Rock 
 
 
 
 
 96 
 
 The Stokesley Cromlech 
 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 The Strid 
 
 
 
 
 47 
 
 The Sweet Minstrel " Hope " . . 
 
 
 
 
 106 
 
 The Swiss Lovers . . 
 
 
 
 
 254 
 
 The Tryst 
 
 
 
 
 44 
 
 The Trysting Tree 
 
 
 
 
 190 
 
 The Vale of Love 
 
 
 
 
 271 
 
 The Villiage Church 
 
 
 
 
 41 
 
 The Village Wedding 
 
 
 
 
 28 
 
 The Wayside Flowers . 
 
 
 
 
 
 125 
 
 303 
 
304 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Wind 26S 
 
 The Wind 217 
 
 The Year of Jubilee 18 
 
 Three Questions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 
 
 To a Dewdrop .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 170 
 
 To a Lily .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 126 
 
 To a Brother Bard 292 
 
 To Lightning 244 
 
 To My Lute 137 
 
 To My Lost Love.. .. .. .. .. .. .. 171 
 
 To Mrs. Margaret Barton 79 
 
 To My Sister 142 
 
 To My Son.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 207 
 
 To Say Farewell .. .. .. .. 173 
 
 To Sleep 118 
 
 To a Poet Friend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280 
 
 To an Old Man on his Birthday 90 
 
 To the Sphinx 45 
 
 To a Violet 226 
 
 To W. Cartwright Newsam . . . . . . . . . . 263 
 
 To the Druid's Altar 237 
 
 To the Spirit of Poesy 298 
 
 Trust 281 
 
 Truth 179 
 
 Two Birthdays 160 
 
 Valentine Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194 
 
 Waiting . , . , . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 
 
 Watching 176 
 
 Water 209 
 
 Wedding Bells 256 
 
 What is a Smile ? 117 
 
 When Sick to Death 185 
 
 When the End Comes 264 
 
 Wilberforce's Oak .. .. 77 
 
 Ye Balmy Gales 279 
 
 Ye Emerald Hills 265 
 
 I 
 
 H 
 

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