*^*- 
 
 ^;v*M,
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 MEDITATIVE HOURS 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 J. ROBERTSHAW, 
 
 Slntjinr of " $k^m m^ foMtinns nf tjje f nrksliirB 
 3ilDnrlaufe," ik. 
 
 ' I to the woodland solitude would bend 
 My lonesome way — where Mirth's obstreperous shout 
 Shall not intrude to break 
 The meditative hour." 
 
 H. K. White. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO., 25, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 keighley; r. aked : and all booksellers. 
 
 MDCCCLVI.
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A VEEY few words shall suffice to preface the poems 
 contained ii) the following pages, and to explain 
 the reason of tlieir publication. Their composition 
 has been the pleasant labour of leisure hours, and 
 has been prompted by thoughts and feelings which 
 the author felt desirous to record. And since his 
 love of the beautiful in nature and in song has 
 not only yielded him intense pleasure, and raised 
 him above the " dull routine," but has also improved 
 his own mind and heart, he trusts that the hope 
 of producing corresponding impressions upon con- 
 genial minds may be a sufficient apology for giving 
 these poems to the world. With these motives, 
 and with a wish to take his place among the poets
 
 VUl. 
 
 of Yorkshire, he gives his book to a candid and 
 indulgent public. His own estimation of his work 
 is humble, and, therefore, if the place assigned to 
 him by the critics be lowly, he shall be content to 
 fill it; and shall feel little disappointment whatever 
 judgment be pronounced by them, provided it be 
 given in an unprejudiced, kind, and honest spirit. 
 
 To the nobility and gentry who have so kindly 
 patronized this work ; — to the gentleman who so 
 courteously permitted its dedication to him ; and to 
 the numerous subscribers who have assisted the 
 author in realizing his fond hopes, he tenders his 
 grateful acknowledgments, and under their auspices 
 he now launches his little bark on the ocean of mind, 
 trusting that it may weather the storm that may 
 await it, and eventually gain its "desired haven." 
 
 J. K. 
 
 Keighley, Oct. 1st, 1856.
 
 DEDICATORY SONNET 
 
 FEANK CROSSLEY, Esq., M.P. 
 
 'tis not for valorous deeds done in the field 
 
 of sanguinary strife; nor that thy worth 
 
 is the mere hollow boast of noble birth, 
 
 or hoarded gold; nor that his heart would yield 
 
 the meed of praise to those who merit none, 
 
 THAT NOW THE BARD, O CROSSLEY ! SINGS THY NAME ; 
 
 'tis THINE OWN GENEROUS DEEDS THAT GIVE IT FAME, 
 
 FAME THAT WILL LIVE LONG AFTER THOU ART GONE 
 TO THY REWARD. THE WIDOW'S GRATEFUL HEART 
 WILL BLESS THEE, AND THY TOWNSMEN ALL UNITE 
 TO HONOR ONE WHO THUS DISPENSED ARIGHT 
 THE GIFTS THAT HEAVEN SO RICHLY DID IMPART. 
 AND SINCE THIS FRUIT SPRINGS FROM TRUE PIETY, 
 THE POET SEEKS TO DEDICATE HIS LAYS TO THEE.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 To Poesy ^^ 
 
 To Truth l'^ 
 
 Solitary Musings . . , 21 
 
 Nature 27 
 
 Life 34 
 
 A Sunset Scene 39 
 
 Heaven's Design and Man's Choice 45 
 
 An Invocation S" 
 
 A Retrospect 58 
 
 Man . . 65 
 
 3Jli2rtllanjnn3 f urns. 
 
 Lines Written on Reading Tennyson's Poems ... 75 
 
 My Native HUls 84 
 
 Childhood 87 
 
 A Morning on the Mountams 90 
 
 The Dying Daughter to her Infidel Father ... 95 
 
 My Child 98 
 
 My Native Glens 102 
 
 Moonlight Musings 106 
 
 An Evening Voluntary, No 1 110 
 
 Do. Do. No. II 115 
 
 To an Early Primrose 122 
 
 " Away ye Gloomy Thoughts " 124 
 
 To a Young Prodigal 127 
 
 Life 131 
 
 A Summer Evening Scene 133 
 
 Celandine Leaves . 136 
 
 Stanzas 138 
 
 Thoughts suggested by a Winter Scene .... 140 
 
 Harvest Hymn . . , 143 
 
 Another Word on Wealtli 145 
 
 A Nevf Year's Psalm 148 
 
 Stanzas 151
 
 X, 
 
 Page. 
 
 On the Death of a ChUd 154 
 
 The Wife 156 
 
 " Man Travels to the Tomb " 15S 
 
 Dream-land 161 
 
 Love's Absence 163 
 
 The Holmfirth Flood 165 
 
 An Invocation to Duty 172 
 
 To My Native Vale IH 
 
 " The Notes, Sweet Birds " 177 
 
 "The Good Old Town" 180 
 
 The Last Fond Look . . , 183 
 
 The Moorland Heather 186 
 
 The AVoodland Home 189 
 
 The Woodland Dell 192 
 
 Twilight Thoughts 194 
 
 Spring 198 
 
 The Dying Sister 201 
 
 The Bereaved Sister 206 
 
 Life's Passage 209 
 
 The Bard to his Lyre 212 
 
 Temptation 217 
 
 A Rural Glimpse , . . . 218 
 
 The Midnight Whisper 219 
 
 Imagination and Piety 220 
 
 April : . . 221 
 
 Scepticism 222 
 
 Despair 223 
 
 Life 224 
 
 Sabbath Mom 225 
 
 To My Niece • • . 226 
 
 Human Seasons. — Spring 227 
 
 Do. Summer 228 
 
 Do. Autumn 229 
 
 Do. Winter 230 
 
 A Word of Hope 231 
 
 ToMay.— No. 1 232 
 
 Do. No II 233 
 
 Do. No. III. 234 
 
 To a Redbreast —No. 1 235 
 
 Do. No. II 236 
 
 Do. No. Ill 237 
 
 To John Keats 238 
 
 To the Memory of a Friend 239 
 
 An Evening Thought 240
 
 ♦ am (Wa-> 
 
 Mwmm
 
 Jfi^Htatint 3nxn, 
 
 .--^^'"^^^-^ 
 
 TO POESY. 
 
 Hail ! poesy, thou lovely visitant 
 
 From Heaven's ethereal plains, 
 Sent forth by God to minister to man — 
 
 To heal his wounds, and soothe his i)ains. 
 Ten thousand welcomes to our sin-stained shore, 
 
 With thankful hearts we render thee ; 
 Thou liftest up the veil that hides from view 
 
 The blissful scenes of immortality.
 
 14 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 One of " the presence " of the Deity,, 
 
 Attendant on His high behests ; 
 One of His favoured Oracles ! on thee 
 
 Each feature of His image rests. 
 Forth gushing from the throne of living light. 
 
 Onward through thy flowery region flows 
 The crj'stal stream of life, whose virtues give 
 
 To poor distressed humanity repose. 
 
 Upboi'ne by thee the spirit mounts with joy 
 
 The " heights delectable !" from whence 
 The golden city's towers, and domes 
 
 Appear in rich magnificence. 
 I see the dazzling seraphs clothed in light 
 
 Eesplendent, marshalled round The Throne, 
 Whereon in light inefi"able — unseen. 
 
 The sovereign Lord of all things reigns alone. 
 
 I hear the Angel of His pi-esence, high 
 Above the throng proclaiming loud 
 
 The fiats of Omnipotence ; when, lo ! 
 Adoring low, a shining crowd 
 
 Of winged messengers to distant worlds. 
 Upon their various missions start,
 
 TO POESY. 15 
 
 To crumble into dust some despot's throne, 
 
 Or heal the wounds of some poor widow's heart. 
 
 Oh ! hear ye not those blessed strains that come 
 
 Across that vast chaotic sea ; — 
 Those trumpet- blasts that peal through heaven's 
 blue vault, 
 
 Proclaiming boundless liberty ? 
 The harmony diffuses o'er the mind 
 
 The feelings of the blest in heaven. 
 And nerves the heart to strive with all the ills 
 
 Of life, as those who've reached its goal have striven. 
 
 I cannot bind my spirit down to earth, — 
 
 To time and sense — it must take wing — 
 With boldness soar, and quench its burning thirst. 
 
 At sacred Truth's unfailing spring. 
 The amaranthine bowers of Paradise — 
 
 Above that star-bespangled dome. 
 Which seems replete with God — smiling, invite 
 
 Earth's wearied ones to their unchanging bloom. 
 
 I love to rove, celestial maid i with thee. 
 And all the works of God explore ;
 
 16 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 Deign but the glance of thine immortal eyes, 
 And my tranced soul away would soar — 
 
 Would cleave, with arrowj' speed, yon boundless blue, 
 Through thy fair regions, void of fear, 
 
 And trace the footsteps of the Deity, 
 
 With mingled awe and joy, from sphere to sphere. 
 
 Blest poesy ! who fir'dst the seers of old, 
 
 To thee the mission has been given 
 To light unquenchable desires in man 
 
 For bliss, then lead him on to heaven. 
 Ten thousand welcomes to our sin-stained shore, 
 
 With thankful hearts we render thee ; 
 'Tis thine to lift the veil that hides from view. 
 
 The glorious scenes of immortality.
 
 MEDITATIVE HOUES. IT 
 
 TO TKUTH. 
 
 ' Hail 1 sacred Truth, that with soul-wooing charms 
 Doth sometimes glad our weeping, wayward race, 
 And teach us how to walk life's paths aright." 
 
 Fisher. 
 
 Hail ! glorious Truth, 
 Thou beauteous offspring of the Deity; 
 Thou swift-wing'd spirit of sweet liberty ; 
 The swelling torrent of my heart I pour 
 In praise to thee ; for every passing hour 
 Reveals new beauties of thy heavenly form 
 To my pleased sight. Through every blasting storm 
 Of earth my trusting spirit, led by thee, 
 Still passes scathless, happy, bounding — free.
 
 18 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 The brightness of thy heaven-reflecting eye 
 My spirit fills with hopes that ne'er can die ; 
 Thou pure bright essence of the great Unknown, 
 For ever hovering near His glorious throne, 
 Like a vast sun whose full resplendent beams, 
 Through Heaven's immortal bowers, in gladd'ning 
 
 streams, 
 Unceasing shoot their everlasting light. 
 To bless those souls whose "faith is turned to sight." 
 Thee, thee, I laud ! would I could snatch thy lyre, 
 Would that a moment I could catch thy fire, 
 Would that the first Archangel's voice were mine, 
 Then would I sing thy praise iu strains divine. 
 Oh ! let a son of earth, ye angel choirs. 
 Unite with yours the lay that Truth inspires ; 
 Fired by that Power to whom all power belongs, 
 Loud would he blend his voice with your sweet 
 
 songs. 
 Like the Eternal God, blessed Truth ! 
 Celestial beauty, and immortal youth. 
 In dazzling radiance circle round thy brow. 
 In bloom as fresh — as brightly glowing now, 
 As when at His right hand at first thou stood, 
 And viewing His creation, call'dst it " good "
 
 TO TRUTH. 19 
 
 But not confined to heaven thy winged way. 
 Swift as the hright heart-cheering moming-ray, 
 Thou to our world of sin and woe hast sped, 
 And raised to life earth's sons, else lost or dead ! 
 In darkness deep, without thy chasing spell, 
 Would all have groped their desperate road to hell. 
 Yes, he, the Prince of Darkness, would have still 
 (His mission here to work our lasting ill) 
 Eeaped for his garner, with exulting gripe, 
 A larger crop for harvest still moi-e ripe. 
 But, oh ! not so decreed oiu" glorious God, 
 Or thy blest footsteps ne'er our earth had trod ; 
 A minst'ring spirit blandly thou hast come. 
 And unto man revealed a brighter home. 
 In every flower that meets our kindling eye, 
 We see the emblems of thy pui-ity ; 
 In yonder bow that spans the threatening cloud — 
 Thy glowing faithfulness ; and visions crowd 
 Within our rapt imagination's grasp. 
 That fondly to our loving hearts we clasp. 
 In every fleecy cloudlet, gently driven 
 Athwart yon vast cerulean vault of heaven ; 
 In every twinkling, hope-inspiring star. 
 That gems old Night's dark, ever-rolling car ;
 
 20 MEDITATIVE HOUKS. 
 
 In every roseate beam of wak'ning morn ; 
 
 In every sound that to our ear then borne, 
 
 Comes softly o'er us in sweet harmony. 
 
 And wafts the soul into eternity ; 
 
 In every witching trait ol beauteous Eve, 
 
 When she reposes calmly — we receive 
 
 A quick'ning impulse on our heaven-ward way, 
 
 And pant to soar to everlasting day.
 
 MEDITATIVE HOUKS. 21 
 
 SOLITARY MUSINGS. 
 
 ' These are the haunts of Meditation, these 
 The scenes where ancient hards the inspiring breath 
 Extatic, felt ; and, from the world retired, 
 Conversed vrith angels, and immortal forms. 
 On gracious errands bent ; 
 
 To hint pure thoughts, and warn the favour'd soul 
 
 For future trials fated to prepare ; 
 
 To prompt the poet, who devoted gives 
 
 His muse to better themes." 
 
 Thompson. 
 
 'Tis in the silence of the solitude, 
 Where none of life's distracting cares intrude. 
 Nor aught to hreak the musing soul's repose ; 
 Far from the world — its censure or applause.
 
 22 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 When over all the glowing scene is spread 
 The curtain fair of heaven ; and when is fed 
 Each wondering sense, with every sight and sound, 
 Till the charmed spirit, with a blissful bound, 
 Shakes off the chains of earth, and like a dove, 
 Soars on swift pinions to the realms above; 
 'Tis then vile passions from the breast are driven. 
 And the tranced soul sweet commune holds with 
 heaven. 
 
 Who at the skirt of some wild moor hath been, 
 When setting sun hath poured its golden sheen 
 Upon the sea of purple heather blooms 
 That round him stretched, while delicate perfumes 
 Have gratefully disported round his brow. 
 And at his feet with calm and constant flow. 
 The lonely moorland stream has wound along 
 Its silver thread, and humm'd its simple song, 
 But there has felt himself shut in with God, 
 And far away from life's rough crowded road 
 Has wished to spend his days. Not with the gloom 
 Of the dark misanthrope who scorns the tie 
 Of human brotherhood, with a proud eye. 
 And icy heart, in which there is no room
 
 SOLITARY MUSINGS. 23 
 
 To lodge one generous impulse foi' the weal 
 
 Of those around. No, such can never feel 
 
 The bliss of being alone— but from a strong 
 
 Upheaving of the longing soul to know 
 
 The mysteries of being — what the breath 
 
 Of life, and what the change that waits on Death ; — 
 
 To soar the bright, inviting stars among, 
 
 And at the throne of heaven itself to bow ; 
 
 A pure outgoing of his better part 
 
 In search of God ; an impulse from on high. 
 
 To see the glory of His passing by ; 
 
 A calm presenting of his naked heart 
 
 Before th' Almighty Spirit, with the prayer, 
 
 That Truth in characters of flame might there 
 
 Be with His finger writ. Oh I blessed Truth, 
 
 With all the vigour of impassioned youth. 
 
 In crowded haunts, in glen, and flowery lea, 
 
 In the mysterious language of the sea, 
 
 In twilight, in the solitary tree, 
 
 In mom's first flush, and when the mid-day beam 
 
 Gilds sleeping woods, by lonely moon-lit stream, 
 
 And in the starry heavens, he seeks for thee. 
 
 0, how sublime ! to stand on lonely tower.
 
 24 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 At night's mid-watch, and at that solemn hour, 
 
 When earth is wrapp'd in darkness and in sleep, 
 
 To scan with raptured soul heaven's azm^e deep, 
 
 And then, with faith in God, from eailh to spring 
 
 Among the shining spheres, on restless wing, 
 
 Yearning, w^ith all the seraphim's desire, 
 
 To know the works of the Eternal Sire ; — 
 
 Or stand, a solitary sentinel, 
 
 On mouldering ruin, listening to the fall 
 
 Of rain-drops dashing down the frowning wall. 
 
 Into the gloomy, sluggish stream beneath, 
 
 Low moaning round the sepulchres of death. 
 
 Or listen to the night-wind as it blows 
 
 In mystic whispers through the forest boughs, 
 
 And watch the shadows of the moonbeams pass 
 
 In silvery wavelets o'er the church-yard grass : — 
 
 What lofty feelings then the heart dilate ! 
 
 What brooding 'ueath the tombstone's darkyewshade ! 
 
 What strong desires to know our future fate ! 
 
 What pondering o'er the words that have been said, 
 
 By those we loved, in memory-treasured tones, 
 
 But o'er whose graves we hear the willow's moans ! 
 
 Oh, then, how is the searching spirit thrown 
 
 Into the arms of the Almighty One ;
 
 SOLITARY MUSINGS. 25 
 
 What firm impassioned prayer tliat lie would lead 
 
 Into the paths of knowledge, and that, freed 
 
 From flesh and sense, its powers might gently blend 
 
 With spiritual existence, and ascend 
 
 With angel step, the sparkling heights of heaven, 
 
 To view the glories of its future home, 
 
 And drink its fill of Truth ! And none have striven 
 
 To read the language of yon living dome, 
 
 Or trace the handiwork of God in vain ; 
 
 For as the eye from star to star, the plain. 
 
 With all its living hosts an-ayed, hath scann'd, 
 
 Piercing the mazes of infinity, 
 
 How would the proud exulting soul expand. 
 
 Commensurate with the scene's sublimity. 
 
 And in its conscious greatness raise to Him, 
 
 Creation's Lord ! its willing, gi-ateful hymn 
 
 Of adoration. Never loving child 
 
 Walked in the foot-prints of creation's God, 
 
 Wishful to find the spirit's safe abode, 
 
 Without success. Be it upon the wild 
 
 And arid tracts of Afric's desert — where 
 
 The bold, intrepid Parke gave up his hope 
 
 Of mortal life, no longer strength to cope 
 
 With dangers of his trackless path — e'en there 
 
 B
 
 36 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 The microscopic forest reared its head, 
 
 Near the adventurous travller's dying bed ; 
 
 That tiny moss was as a golden link 
 
 To chain his drooping heart to life. He saw ; 
 
 His weakened faculties were led to think ; 
 
 The fatal dart Death was about to throw 
 
 Fell short the mark ; he drank the draught heaven 
 
 sent, 
 His hope revived, and in its strength he went, 
 Until he gained his goal. 
 
 A thousand doors 
 Ope to the mansions of the ransomed just, 
 Which Faith unlocks, and, with confiding trust, 
 Treads, with the glorified, Heaven's golden floors. 
 None ever walked in Natm'e's realms intent, 
 With centred thought, more of her mysteries 
 To learn, but found where'er his footsteps went, 
 Beneath the canopy of smiling skies, 
 In her imperial grounds — a rich reward — 
 Rose in true worth on earth, and Heaven's regard.
 
 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 27 
 
 NATURE. 
 
 ' O, Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose 
 His bright perfections, at whose word they rose, 
 Next to that power who formed thee and sustains, 
 Be thou the great inspirer of my strains." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 " The pure in heart are bless'd ; and shall see God." 
 
 Thus si:)oke incarnate Truth ; and he who robes 
 
 Himself in purity, where'er he walks, 
 
 Within creation's ample round, doth find 
 
 The smile and presence of the living God. 
 
 As Adam — with the regal dignity 
 
 Of soul unstained bv sin, in the retreat
 
 28 MEDITATIVE HOUBS. 
 
 Of Edens beauteous shades — walked forth and held 
 
 Communion with the Sovereign of the Skies, 
 
 So man can enter Nature's gorgeous fane, 
 
 And, walking 'mid its endless beauties, hold 
 
 Sweet converse with creation's God. For though 
 
 Through sin the glorious privilege was lost, 
 
 Of walking there with Heaven's high Majesty, 
 
 And listening to His words on themes divine ; — 
 
 Though man was driven thence, and swords of flame 
 
 Guarded the closed gates, yet One e'en there 
 
 Arose who, in the greatness of his might, 
 
 Before the world's rapt gaze, asunder burst 
 
 The bai's of brass — crushed sin beneath his foot, 
 
 And in his world-wide love bids welcome now 
 
 All those whose hearts to purity aspire. 
 
 Oh ! what a place of safety and of strength 
 
 Is that fair " paradise regained !" The soul 
 
 Eises to its primeval dignity, 
 
 When it doth tread those sacred grounds, and gives. 
 
 Fill'd with the fulness of the life divine, 
 
 The homage of its being to its God. 
 
 Thus will it pour the burden of its song : — 
 
 " Eternal God, I bless thee for my life ; 
 
 That out of nothing thine all-powerful hand
 
 NATUBE. 29 
 
 Did raise me into being, and endow 
 Me with those powers which, when this world 
 Hath fled before the awful majesty, 
 And glory of Thy second coming, back 
 Into the fathomless, chaotic gulf. 
 To take again the impress of Thy will — 
 Shall still be mine, expanding evermore 
 Into the fulness of Thyself. Great God ! 
 I lay my being at Thy feet, and own, 
 With gratitude unspeakable. Thy claim 
 On each volition of my will — each thought 
 That passes through the chambers of my soul. 
 And every act that marks my changeful life — 
 I own, and glory in, the act — my full 
 Dependence on Thyself for all I am. 
 And have, or may, or ever can possess. 
 
 "Upheld by Thee I walk a living soul. 
 Erect and fearless through this world of sin, 
 And tread upon the serpent's head, which trails, 
 With hellish craft and hate, his hideous form. 
 Beneath the precious flowers my hand hath reared, 
 Within the garden of my soul. I pluck, 
 With triumph, from his red, distended jaws.
 
 30 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 Th' envenomed sting, and send him powerless, 
 
 And writhing, to the dark and slimy depths 
 
 Of his deep misery. Upheld by Thee, 
 
 I smile in conscious, calm security, 
 
 While the loud thunder roars from hill to hill. 
 
 Each rocking like a reed in Winter's blast, 
 
 And trembling to their base, at the dread sound 
 
 Of Thy Almighty voice, which rolls across 
 
 The sea of space to its remotest verge ; 
 
 Or when the lightning of Thy fearful wrath 
 
 Bursts through the lurid, massive, cloud-built heavens. 
 
 Shattering all to flaming wreck, I climb 
 
 The cloven cloud-rocks, on the whirlwind borae. 
 
 And view, with soul serene, the troubled Earth, 
 
 Affrighted at the progress of the storm ; 
 
 And — as the firebrands leap from cloud to cloud. 
 
 With dazzling brightness, lighting up the frown, 
 
 Throned, charged with seven thunders on Thy brow, — 
 
 Fleeing the vengeance of Thy dreadful hand." 
 
 Oh I the vast strength of eveiy one whose heart 
 Is one with Heaven. Like the lone granite rock, 
 That rears its hoary head amid the wide 
 And dreaiy wilderness of raging waves.
 
 NATURE. 31 
 
 And breasts and braves the ocean's fiercest storms, 
 So he who puts his trust iu Heaven stands firm, 
 Amid hfe's direst scenes, with giant strength, 
 And turns by prayer all to his highest good. 
 
 Thus stands he in the sylvan solitude, 
 Inspired by Nature's grand simplicity, 
 And feasts on angels' food. Oh ! beautiful 
 The earth appears, robed in its floweiy dress, 
 At this calm morning hour ! The golden com 
 Doth rustle in the breeze and sweetly sing 
 Of Him who planted it to satisfy 
 Man's e'er retm-ning wants. Woods, fields, and 
 
 streams, 
 The silent glen, and winding vale, that leads 
 The eye away to the far distant hills ! 
 The graceful trees of variegated tints. 
 And richly carved leaves ; the spiral grass. 
 Each blade topp'd with a drop of crystal dew, 
 That burns and blazes in the rising sun. 
 Combining hues more rich and brilliant 
 Than costly diamond ever blazed abroad ; 
 The soothing hush of Natm'e, as she lies 
 In the embrace of deep repose, only
 
 32 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 Disturbed by woodland choristers, who sing 
 
 Their prelude to the anthem of the day ; 
 
 Or the sweet music of the waterfall, 
 
 Awakening gently from their sleep the flowers 
 
 That dwell within the sound of its sweet voice ; 
 
 The sun, in regal splendour, coming forth 
 
 From his pavilion, and throwing off 
 
 His cloudy robes, ascending, like a god. 
 
 The eastern heavens, and scattering light and life 
 
 O'er all the scene — these give the soul a joy 
 
 That holds life's bitterest misery in check. 
 
 How do they elevate, and purify ! 
 
 And how fair Nature's votary they bless ! 
 
 To him the all-pervading Deity 
 
 They symbolize. The more he contemplates 
 
 The various forms of the material world. 
 
 The more their grossness seems to disappeai* ; 
 
 In their ethereal lightness, and the grace 
 
 Of all their motions, they appear instinct 
 
 With life, and to imagination's eye. 
 
 Endowed with spiritual power — a power 
 
 That soothes the soul, and draws it up to God. 
 
 From Nature he doth ever hear a voice 
 
 Which blends with Revelation's silver tones.
 
 NATUEE. 33 
 
 In sweetest harmony, tuning his heart 
 
 To join the anthem, which doth evermore 
 
 Ascend to God. He can not, dare not bow 
 
 In base idolatry before the shrine 
 
 Which creatures may erect, and give to them 
 
 The homage of his soul. He feels the act. 
 
 All aspirations for the unattained 
 
 In what is holy, pure, and good, would quench, 
 
 And make his heart a cold, unfruitful thing ; 
 
 But yet, in eveiy thing around, he sees 
 
 The emblems of the lovely attributes 
 
 Of his immortal mind. These outward forms 
 
 Of beauty image forth the gentle, pure 
 
 Affections of the heart, and bind it close, 
 
 By a mysterious influence, to that 
 
 Bright spirit-world for which he ever seeks. 
 
 Thus beauteous Natiu-e leads th' enquiring soul 
 
 Along a quiet, flowery path to Heaven.
 
 34 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 "This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, 
 The twilight of our day, the vestibule." 
 
 Young. 
 
 How doth the wakeuing mind exult with joy 
 
 Unspeakable, when from the gloomy depths 
 
 Of cloudy ignorance, with pride, it steps 
 
 Into the light of life ! How then each toy 
 
 Of childhood, which beguiled its grovlling thought. 
 
 Is banished from the place it occupied 
 
 In the affections ! "Wisdom then doth guide 
 
 Its steps, and, by advancing years, 'tis taught 
 
 Its destiny. Those motions then are stirred,
 
 LIFE. 35 
 
 Whose influence doth attract the growing soul 
 
 With kindly power ; and voices then are heard, 
 
 From every field, copse, brook, and mountain rill, 
 
 From clustering stars, that shed round every hill 
 
 Their streaming lustre, and from squandered hours 
 
 Of thoughtless folly, spent in the gay bowers 
 
 Of worldly bliss — that warn of Error's way. 
 
 And call mankind into the light of day. 
 
 From Nature's inmost depths these voices blend, 
 
 In telling us of being's holy end ; — 
 
 Alike both prompt and answer questions rife 
 
 With weightiest interests of human life. 
 
 Life, life ! Oh ! who can solve its mystery? 
 
 Ye gi'eat of earth i who on the proudest heights 
 
 Of Kevelation stand, whose daring flights 
 
 Into the regions of eternity 
 
 Have led you farthest o'er the shoreless sea. 
 
 Say, what is life ? Or, like the restless dove. 
 
 Which, wheeling its lone rounds o'er the vast deep — 
 
 That horrid pall, which hid, in endless sleep, 
 
 A teeming world — and, looking round, above, 
 
 Below, in vain, for resting place, was glad. 
 
 To gain the ark, have ye — bewildered, sad, 
 
 Through impotence of human skill, to find
 
 36 MEDITATIVE HOUKS. 
 
 Out God, or understand th' eternal mind ; 
 
 And startled at your loneliness sublime, 
 
 While hovering o'er the fathomless abyss 
 
 Of his deep things — your pinions closed, 
 
 And sought that ark of truth where have reposed, 
 
 And must, earth's heaven-bom sons, in every age, 
 
 Till life's huge sweep of waters do assuage, 
 
 And earth become a second heaven ; content 
 
 To know how little can be known — though bent 
 
 To know — of Him who sits on viewless throne. 
 
 The great, the unapproachable, Unknown, 
 
 Whose essence none can entertain ? But life ! 
 
 My soul, seest thou the confines of the past, 
 
 Or futm-e ? Where art thou ? Though now bound 
 
 fast 
 To part of the vile dust thou tread'st, the strife 
 For purer regions — more extended sights — 
 Hath never ceased, and never will ! Delights 
 To come are based on pleasm-es past. Though bound 
 Thus to this earth, yet through the realms profound 
 Of God's vast universe, what can our flights 
 Prevent ? The powers of hell cannot ; and heaven 
 These bright and glorious hopes would ne'er have 
 
 given.
 
 LIFE. , 37 
 
 To crush them in their birth ; — nor lit desires. 
 
 Each one of which with aspirations fires 
 
 The soul — its glow increasing, each degi-ee 
 
 It nears its source in deep intensity. 
 
 Life is a constant daring of the soul 
 
 (With hope's bright eye fixed on the distant goal) 
 
 In its ascent up the high hill of Fame, 
 
 There to unfurl the flag of one's own name, 
 
 Fluttering in the breath of human praise. 
 
 Crowning a long career of virtuous days. 
 
 But fame worth having, such as shall increase 
 
 In brilliance when that of stars shall cease 
 
 To light this world upon its path sublime ! 
 
 Its mission to fulfil — as angels will 
 
 Perpetuate when human tongues are still 
 
 In death, and closed are all the scenes of Time. 
 
 Life is the great recurring thought of God, — 
 
 His attributes. His wondrous works and ways ; 
 
 Of man, his source, his course and destiny ; 
 
 Of that which has been, is, and is to be. 
 
 Man is but what he thinks, and all his davs 
 
 Are measured by his thoughts. He may have trod 
 
 Each quarter of the globe in search of pleasure ; 
 
 He may have breathed his century of years,
 
 38 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 And spent a lifetime in amassing treasure, 
 
 And yet may ne'er have truly lived one hour. 
 
 Life is a constant growth in moral power — 
 
 Approximation to the Deity, 
 
 In love, in meekness, and in purity. 
 
 An active use of all the powers given 
 
 For good, whose full fruition will be heaven.
 
 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 39 
 
 A SUNSET SCENE. 
 
 ■" Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees, 
 Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds. 
 Assembled gay, in richly gorgeous train. 
 In all theii' pomp attend his setting throne. 
 
 Thompson. 
 
 How cheering is the morn's first golden ray 
 
 To him who through the solitary night 
 
 Hath watched the tardy moments take their flight 
 
 Into the land of endless shades ! — a prey 
 
 To thoughts more dark than is the thickest veil 
 
 That heaven e'er draws around the silent earth. 
 
 Oh ! how the soul rejoices at the birth
 
 40 . MEDITATIVE HOURS, 
 
 Of the fresh beam that bursts into the vale. 
 And lightens up within the watcher's heart 
 Still fresher hopes that all may yet be well ; 
 That, as the sun from every woodland dell 
 Drinks uj) the mist, and as the clouds depart 
 At his approach, whose brightness fills the sky, 
 So may the mists of human ills, that close 
 Around his path, disperse ; — the cloud of woes 
 That hides from view his hopeful star, may fly 
 Before more prosperous gales, and life have still 
 For him some bliss resei'ved. 
 
 And at sunset. 
 When two congenial, loving hearts are met 
 To wander forth, at prompting of their will. 
 Along the silent, floweiy vale, or o'er 
 Some moorland height, or by tlie lonely shore 
 Of the deep-sounding ocean — bound by ties 
 Of kindred thoughts, and hallowed sympathies, — 
 There to recount the chequered past, and blend 
 Their hopes for coming time, or lowly bend 
 In earnest worship at some rural shrine, 
 Seeking, amid life's struggles, strength divine 
 To aid them in the evil day. What scene
 
 A SUNSET SCENE. 41 
 
 So beautiful, so calm, so truly grand, 
 
 So emblematic of the spirit-land, 
 
 As that which with the undulating green, 
 
 And floweiy varieties of earth. 
 
 Blends the soft iris-tints of peaceful skies ? 
 
 If e'er we truly feel our being's worth, 
 
 And to the dignity of freemen rise ; 
 
 If e'er we spurn the blandishments of vice, 
 
 Though the enchanting syren doth entice 
 
 With softest words, and most voluptuous charms, 
 
 'Tis in a scene like this. The spirit warms 
 
 With conscious joy as it doth gaze around, 
 
 And fancies the reposing earth to be 
 
 An angel-home. It listens ! but no sound 
 
 Is heard that mars the reigning harmony. 
 
 It gazes on the quiet western sky. 
 
 And traces the converging lines of light 
 
 To the pavilion of the sun. The high 
 
 Arcade, with molten gold, intensely bright, 
 
 Is roofed, and with transparent sapphires paved, 
 
 It seems to be the gorgeous vestibule of heaven. 
 
 And in its rosy light, those who have braved 
 
 Earth's storms walk onward to the mansions given 
 
 To faithful pilgrims : backward do they gaze,
 
 42 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 A moment, on the way they've come, then raise 
 
 Their loud triumphant, tearless song of praise, 
 
 And with the rapture of a welcome guest. 
 
 Press forward to their everlasting rest. 
 
 And haste towards the gates which lead to founts 
 
 Of living streams that lave the verdant mounts 
 
 Of heaven, where stand the spirits of the just 
 
 Emancipate ; who — sprung from human dust, 
 
 And risen to their native clime — can view, 
 
 'Neath curtains of a brighter, richer hue 
 
 Than e'er were spread o'er earth, such scenes of bliss 
 
 As the lone bard of Patmos never saw ; — 
 
 As none but the Eternal hand could draw ; 
 
 Where all the elements of happiness 
 
 For all capacities exist. The star 
 
 Which circles round the Throne of Light, 
 
 Whose rich effulgence feeds, and makes more bright 
 
 Its lustrous rays ; for (not as here below) 
 
 The nearer heaven's great Sun, the deeper is its glow ; 
 
 And the dim luminary that, afar, ' 
 
 Within the distant depths of heaven, shoots forth 
 
 His lesser ray, alike receiye their birth. 
 
 Their worth, their all from Heaven's exhaustless store : 
 
 And each, with bliss replete, desires no more.
 
 A SUNSET SCENE. 43 
 
 Or, if desires are felt, such only rise 
 
 As feed the bliss enjoyed — the life that never dies. 
 
 Far stretching, as can reach immortal eye, 
 Heaven's amaranthine bovvers of beauty lie ; 
 And, interspersing all the verdant plains. 
 Where Love, in its perfection, ever reigns, 
 The trees of Life their laden branches spread. 
 From whose rich fruitage the redeemed are fed ; 
 And unproscribed their food, of every fruit 
 Each one may eat as best his taste may suit : 
 Unlike the earthly Eden — here no voice 
 Of warning wisdom checks each new-born choice 
 Of its inhabitants. Earth's trials o'er. 
 Heaven's crowning joy is, " They go out no more.'" 
 
 Forth from the sacred Sanctuaiy flow 
 Life's crystal streams, meandering between 
 Their bowery banks of fresh, unchanging green, 
 Onward they murmur 'neath the golden glow 
 Of bright, unfading skies, and soothe to rest — 
 Unbroken rest ! and holy musings, those 
 Who through earth's tribulations — hellish foes 
 Have fought, and gained the regions of the blest.
 
 44 MEDITATIVE HOOKS. 
 
 Oh ! how that sabbath air, with fragrance fraught, 
 Whose soothing influence, e'er inducing thought, 
 Plays round the spirit, bearing fitful strains 
 Of harmony across the heavenly plains 
 Fi-om lowliest harps and highest Powers and Thrones, 
 In ever-changing and delicious tones ; 
 By distance mellowed now they thrill the soul ; 
 Now through the open flood-gates onward roll 
 The harmonies through every vale of heaven, 
 Increasing as they roll, with tribute given 
 By gentlest rill ; all join ! until the blest abode 
 At once is vocal with the praises of its God. — 
 Thus to a thoughtful mind, a sunset scene 
 Glories unfolds by grov'lling worldlings never seen.
 
 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 45 
 
 HEAVEN'S DESIGN AND MAN'S CHOICE. 
 
 ' Hard lot of man — to toO for the reward 
 Of virtue, yet lose it ! Wherefore hard? 
 * * * * 
 
 Grace leads the right way ; if you choose the wrong, 
 Take it and perish ; but restrain your tongue ; 
 Charge not, with light sufficient, and left free. 
 Your wilful suicide on God's decree." 
 
 COWPEK. 
 
 To ope heaven's pearly gates for rebel man, 
 
 Was sovran Wisdom's sole, unaided plan, 
 
 And power omnipotent to execute. 
 
 But though frail man is impotent to gain 
 
 An entrance there, yet still doth Wisdom deign 
 
 To mark approvingly his earnest suit
 
 46 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 For immortality of bliss. How few, 
 
 Alas ! how few appreciate the boon 
 
 She offers. Walking 'neath a hazy moon — 
 
 Their o-\vn creation — bringing nought to view 
 
 But shapes, and images, and low desires, 
 
 ■The reflex of their own besotted mind. 
 
 The mass of mortals flee the sun which fires 
 
 To noble thoughts ; — the path where they might find 
 
 Heaven's scattered manna, (the rich food of gods !) 
 
 And which would lead to angels' bright abodes. 
 
 Sole guided by their feeble lunar ray, 
 
 Each one, contented, walks his devious way, 
 
 Nor cares to step into the light of day. 
 
 And not the grossly ignorant alone 
 
 Construct and walk paths wayward of their own, 
 
 But those who traverse learning's starry heights, 
 
 With souls susceptible of all delights 
 
 That earth affords ; these, in their spirit's pride, 
 
 Will lift their heads and scoflingly deride 
 
 The truth round which all other truths revolve. 
 
 In which the truly great have put their trust 
 
 In every age — a God wrapp'd in the dust 
 
 Of His creating — folded in a tomb ! 
 
 So low He bowed, that mortal's hopes might bloom
 
 heavem's design and man's choice. 47 
 
 With immortality ; discrediting — 
 
 'Cause in their fancied greatness they can't solve 
 
 The mysteiy — the evidence He brought 
 
 Of His divinity — plain to the eyes 
 
 Of babes, but hidden from the pi-oud and wise. 
 
 Or, if they do not thus reject the ground 
 
 Of man's acceptance at the gates of heaven, 
 
 How coldly they regard those who have striven 
 
 To imitate a Saviour's life, and crowned. 
 
 Oh! bliss supreme I their efforts with success ; — 
 
 The "righteous overmuch!" who, to excess. 
 
 Have drunk at the pure fountain-head of bliss ; — 
 
 The abject suppliants at the feet of Him 
 
 To whom archangels raise their lowly hymn 
 
 Of praise ; — they who have bravely met the waves 
 
 Of life's tempestuous sea, in strength divine. 
 
 Whose kindly acts in loveliness enshrine 
 
 Their characters, and from whose honoured graves 
 
 A voice outspeaks, in language loud and clear : 
 
 "Ye vain, self- wise, and proud, know that the fear 
 
 Of God is the first lesson learnt by all 
 
 W^hose knowledge does them good ; and that to fall 
 
 In meek simplicity before his throne. 
 
 Is the sole way to make true bliss our own.
 
 48 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 Ye pigmies, pufif'd with self-important airs. 
 
 To creatures arrogating what was never theirs, 
 
 Eaised on the mole-hill of your vast conceit. 
 
 You stretch across your Lilliputian realm 
 
 Of knowledge — scorning all the tnily great 
 
 Of earth — your puny arms, and think to helm 
 
 Your vessel safely through the misty deep 
 
 Of future life. Dauntless ye onward sweep 
 
 O'er the now calm, and the now howling main. 
 
 To gain some fairy island of your brain, 
 
 Y^e know not where. Nor knowing that your bark 
 
 Is compassless and rudderless, ye drift 
 
 Along the wilderness of waters dark. 
 
 And plunge into the gulf of deep despair. 
 
 Then follows shipwreck ; and upon the gale. 
 
 Mid warring elements, is borne the wail 
 
 Of hopeless misery. Alas ! too late 
 
 Ye cry for help ; ye sought and urged the fate 
 
 A God beneficent did ne'er intend ; 
 
 Whose mercy did with justice ever blend 
 
 Her voice for you ; but ye would no control. 
 
 And, in the spring-tide of your glowing soul. 
 
 Threw off allegiance to the Truth, and rose 
 
 Superior to the trammels of her laws.
 
 heaven's design and man's choice. 49 
 
 Ye snapt tliB silken cords of trusting faith, 
 That bound ye to the pure and good, and bowed, 
 In base idolatry, your minds, — too proud 
 To take the gospel yoke — with every breath 
 Of doctrine tossed, ye bowed, like slaves, before 
 Mere creatures of imagination ; — bore 
 Away into the trackless regions drear 
 Of self-sufficiency, and madly there 
 Yoiu'selves destroyed." 
 
 D
 
 50 
 
 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 AN INVOCATION. 
 
 "Man must soar. 
 An obstinate activity ^vithin, 
 An insuppressive spring, will toss him up, 
 In spite of fortunes's load. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And why ? Because immortal as his Lord ; 
 And souls immortal must for ever heave 
 At something great ; the glitter, or the gold ! 
 The praise of mortals, or the praise of Heaven ! 
 
 Young. 
 
 But is not man to soai- '? 
 Is he not Nature s secrets to explore ? 
 Content is he in ignorance to He, 
 And to her thousand beauties shut his eye ; — 
 To live a useless life and then to die ; — 
 Into oblivion sink, and leave no trace
 
 AN INVOCATION. 51 
 
 Of active being, which will mark the place 
 He occupied in this worlds history ? 
 No, no ! though he is mortal, he hath powers 
 That are immortal ! great and priceless dowers ! 
 Capacities that ever will expand — 
 Beneath the culture of the Giver's hand — 
 And raise him to primeval dignity. 
 In glory growing through eternity. 
 
 Kise, mortals, rise ! your privilege assert ; 
 Your birthright claim ; no longer lie inert, 
 Content with husks ; heirs of eternal life. 
 Leave the low elements, with poison rife, 
 That dwarf the soul, and rise to purer air. 
 A gracious Father waits to lead you where 
 You may find rest, — a rest of ceaseless toil. 
 Blest toil ! for ever labouring in a soil 
 That yields a competence which fully meets 
 All possible necessities ; — those sweets 
 The most embittered life can meet below. 
 And more than any creature good can e'er bestow. 
 
 Rise, mortals, rise ! yet venture not alone 
 Into the wide, interminable field
 
 52 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 Of intellect ; but to His guidance yield 
 A child-like will, who can your labours crown 
 With lasting gain, or leave you far to stray 
 O'er Error's hills your dark and devious way 
 To perish in your pride. 
 
 Else, mortals, rise : 
 With strong desire, rise through yon yielding skies, — 
 Through the bright ranks that guard, with sword of 
 
 flame, 
 The great Eternal's throne ; — still upward mount, 
 And for your passport shout a Saviour's name ; 
 Nor cease to rise, till at creation's fount, 
 Which gushes thence, ye drink your fill of bliss. 
 This is true life, nor be content with less ; 
 For know that ye the loftiest heights may climb 
 Into the regions of Philosophy, 
 And cull the faii'est flowers of Poesy, — 
 Fame's brightest halo circle throughout Time 
 Your name, emblazoning each generous deed 
 Of life, — admiring nations give their meed 
 Of willing praise, a tribute to the mind 
 That glows with love for creatures of its kind. 
 And compasses both earth, and air, and sea.
 
 AN INVOCATION. 53 
 
 Threading "the mazes of infinity, 
 
 And yet ye may be strangers to your God, — 
 
 May choose the lesser for the greater good. 
 
 Yes ! ye may drink your draughts of bliss from streams 
 
 Whose source and course will cease to be with Time ; 
 
 And ye may satisfy yourselves with dreams 
 
 Of greatness, treading in the paths sublime 
 
 Of science and of art, which, at the blast 
 
 Of the archangel's trumpet, will be hurled 
 
 To dust, and ye the witnesses — aghast — 
 
 Of their destruction with a burning world. 
 
 Rise, mortals ! but diminish not, nor add 
 One jot unto the glorious gospel plan 
 Which angels, ever emulative, scan, 
 And Wisdom infinite drew out ; but glad 
 To learn its mysteries — eager to scale 
 Its lofty heights, and grasp the mighty whole, 
 To its blest Author lend an humble soul, 
 And hearken from His lips the simple tale 
 Of His redeeming love. Apart from Him, 
 True greatness there is not. The cherubim 
 And seraphim, who on his pleasure wait, 
 In all the pomp of hierarchal state.
 
 54 MEDITATIVE HOUES. 
 
 Are equally dependent, as the worm 
 
 That creeps the earth, what time the summer storm 
 
 Hath washed the green-grown rural lane, for all 
 
 That they possess, on Him, and lowly fall 
 
 In reverential love and gratitude, 
 
 Acknowledging the Giver of all good. 
 
 And shall proud man explore the treasury 
 
 Of His perfections, with the very powers 
 
 "WTiich He hath given ; — in contemplative hours, 
 
 Draw from the depths of dim eternity 
 
 Those thoughts that thrill with their sublimity — 
 
 Those tones that fill with heavenly ecstacy 
 
 The human soul, and yet prefer to range 
 
 His mountain fancies — keep at distance still 
 
 Him who, with one volition of His will, 
 
 Could give his being to oblivion's shade 
 
 On the four winds. Anomaly most strange ! 
 
 Oh I what is learning — what the vain parade 
 
 Of Wisdom, but a vague, unmeaning name, 
 
 If they lead not, in profound humility. 
 
 The soul unto its God ; kindling a flame 
 
 Of deep adoring love ; desires to be 
 
 For ever His, and in His image grow 
 
 Each moment of its being ; bent to gain
 
 AN INVOCATION. 55 
 
 Perfection's fair proportions, with a glow 
 
 Akin to warm seraphic zeal ; — a love 
 
 Which floods can never quench, nor waters drown, 
 
 Expansive as the far-extending main, 
 
 As boundless as the mantling dome above. 
 
 Embracing — from the first archangel, down 
 
 To meanest worm — all beings God hath made. 
 
 True knowledge is a pearl of untold price, — 
 
 Flowers of excellence that never fade, 
 
 Upspringing in the garden of the mind — 
 
 That inner world — that blooming paradise 
 
 In which the spirit walks, and oft doth find 
 
 Those blessed seasons of sweet intercourse 
 
 With self, and Avith the great eternal Source 
 
 Of Knowledge and of Wisdom, which afford 
 
 So rich an antepast of joys to come, — 
 
 The unveiled splendours of its future home, 
 
 And sweet communion with its gracious Lord, 
 
 When Eevelation's mellow light doth flood 
 The landscape of the mind, and when is gained 
 Some overlooking height of Purity, 
 The spirit, wrapt in the serenity 
 Of the fair scene around, hath there attained,
 
 56 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 Tn calm, collected thought, the highest good 
 
 That it can ever realize below. 
 
 'Tis Heaven — in its degree — sending a glow 
 
 Of its pure raptures through the heart — a scent 
 
 Of its bright blooms, with sweetest fragrance redolent. 
 
 'Tis Wisdom from above that only can 
 Kightly direct the feet of erring man. 
 He may have knowledge, but that is a power 
 For good or evil, and may bless each hour 
 Of life, and make it one harmonious whole ; 
 Or, making more susceptible the soul 
 To pain or pleasure, it may prove the bane 
 To all enjoyment, from the conscious feeling 
 Of disparity between the heart's desire. 
 And the convictions of the judgment, stealing, 
 Unbidden, where unruly passions reign. 
 
 The greatest man the world hath ever seen 
 Is he, who learning's giddy heights doth tread. 
 And grasps with ease all knowledge, yet Ihe higher 
 He climbs, with deeper reverence his head 
 Bows to his great Creator : such hath been 
 The most approved of man and God. The place
 
 AN INVOCATION. 57 
 
 Most enviable, in all creation's round, 
 
 Is at the Saviour's footstool- to be found — 
 
 The blest recipient of his smiles and grace. 
 
 All short of this — though Fame's loud trumpet-blast 
 
 Might echo forth man's praise while Time shall last — 
 
 Is raising structures without counting cost — 
 
 Is dreaming, and when wak'ning, finding all is lost
 
 58 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 A RETROSPECT. 
 
 ' Glory to him, whose just avenging ire 
 Had driven out the ungodly from his sight 
 And th' habitations of the just ; to him 
 Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordained 
 Good out of evil to create, instead 
 Of sjjirits malign, a better race to bring 
 Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse 
 His good to worlds and ages infinite." 
 
 MUTON. 
 
 Near to yoo mystic cloud, pavilioning 
 The everlasting God, Heaven's mighty ones 
 Attend to hear the counsels of their King ; 
 And that imperial cabinet He owns 
 To be the choice of heaven, for these are they
 
 A KETEOSPECT. 59 
 
 Who — when the proud usurper of its throne. 
 
 In hate and envy, would have made his way 
 
 To that high seat, and cast in triumph down 
 
 Its glorious occupant — drove the foul foe, 
 
 With all his legions of revolt, to hell — 
 
 The region of unfathomable woe. 
 
 The flower of God's creation ! how ye fell ; 
 
 And, oh ! from what a glorious altitude, 
 
 From highest seats of excellence, to brood 
 
 Upon your fall, and feed upon despair. 
 
 The veriest wretch, down to your regions drear, 
 
 Ye drag in hate from earth, is now your peer. 
 
 And in his torments hath the lesser share. 
 
 Satan ! with all thy pride's inflating swell ; 
 
 Thy hollow pomp and pageantry of hell ; 
 
 Thy knowledge and seducing subtilty ; 
 
 Thy hate and pain-inflicting cruelty, — 
 
 Thy damning power is limited. No child 
 
 Of earth need fear to be by thee beguiled, 
 
 Who stands in heaven's high grace; for He who drove 
 
 Thee from thy throne, can still His prowess prove. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen ! they who erst, 
 Next to the great I Am, were counted first
 
 60 MEDITATIVE HOUBS. 
 
 In being's rank. The morning stars I how dim 
 
 Their glory has become. The lofty hymn 
 
 Which at creation's birth was by them sung, 
 
 Is turned to curses, and their harps — unstning, 
 
 Piled up in heaps, — swept by the sulphurous gale, 
 
 Which through the wastes, and darkness-raftered halls 
 
 Of hell drive fiercely, — send forth such a wail 
 
 Of desolation as the heart appals 
 
 Of the arch-fiend himself. Yes, he most proud, 
 
 In dark, unbending hate, is lowest bowed ! 
 
 Pride, like a mill-stone, dragg'd thee to that doom. 
 
 Whose blackness will thy eveiy hope entomb, 
 
 While 'tis the pleasure of thy Conqueror's will 
 
 To set His captive free. Meantime He still 
 
 Doth hold the reins of universal sway. 
 
 As if thou ne'er hadst been ! nor doth one ray 
 
 The less beam from the glory of that crown, 
 
 A willing universe accords His own. 
 
 What contrast in creation's round so great, 
 
 As that between thy former and thy present state ! 
 
 From contemplating thy drear residence. 
 
 The eye rests pleased on that bright eminence 
 
 Thou once didst occupy ; — views with delight 
 
 The blest enjoyment of thine old compeers.
 
 A RETROSPECT. 61 
 
 Who, swerving not from duty, know no fears 
 
 Of changing state, but move in phalanx bright, 
 
 Performing still in love the high behests 
 
 Of Him with whom, they feel, for ever rests 
 
 Their lease of being, and of growing bliss. 
 
 Nor is, thanks, great Supreme ! the happiness 
 
 Of those whom Thou redeemest from our earth. 
 
 One tittle less because their being's birth 
 
 Dates later in the annals of Thy mind. 
 
 Bent on Thy creatures' good, and ever kind 
 
 To all, Thou giv'st to all alike their fill. 
 
 Witness the advent of His only Son 
 
 On earth, ye wond'ring worlds, who, to fulful 
 
 His father's will and to regain a world, which, run 
 
 Its path centrifugal, was plunged in woe, 
 
 Producing discord through the spheres, came down 
 
 Through his dominions, and with a rich glow 
 
 Of unextinguishable love, the crown 
 
 And regal splendours of a God laid by, 
 
 To save a I'ebel of the deepest dye. 
 
 This is the mystery of mysteries ; 
 For this more brightly shine yon ambient skies ; 
 For this old ocean's rolling floods upraise 
 
 E
 
 62 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 Their mighty voice in everlasting praise ; 
 
 'Tis this day uttereth to clay, and night 
 
 Shews forth to night in still increasing light; 
 
 For this the seasons in their beauty roll, 
 
 And spread the tidings round from pole to pole ; — 
 
 Throughout the astonished earth hath gone the word l 
 
 Nor place remaineth where the voices are not heard. 
 
 This fired the soul of each prophetic bard 
 
 Of old, and was the burden of his song. 
 
 On Lebanon's proud heights, with eye sky-ward. 
 
 Or in Judea's stately groves among, 
 
 They swept the lofty harps which God had given, 
 
 And told to earth the kind designs of heaven. 
 
 The weal of unborn generations hung 
 
 On their inspired and truth-revealing tongue. 
 
 They, looking down the winding vale of Time, 
 
 From its high headlands, saw each future scene 
 
 Enacted, as already it had been ; 
 
 And heard its army's ceaseless tramp sublime ! 
 
 As on it mai-ched to take the field 'gainst Death. 
 
 How fruitlessly ! for, in his withering breath. 
 
 How silently each fresh arrival fell ! 
 
 No sanguinary struggle there to tell, 
 
 With streams of gore, the havoc that he made ;
 
 A EETROSPECT. OS 
 
 They fell ; — within the limits of his shade, 
 Their crumblinsj bones lav scattered, till the wind 
 To the four heavens gave their dust, to find, 
 In polar regions — Lapland's dreary shades — 
 By its lone shores, where endless twilight braids 
 Its gloomy stole ; or, India's bmning plains ; 
 Or, in the coral caves, where Ocean reigns 
 With undisputed sway — a resting place. 
 Till, by the trumpet's blast, and the deep bass 
 Of crashing worlds, each particle leaps forth, 
 Instinct with life, from east, west, south and north. 
 
 Far backwards turned th' enraptux'ed Seers their 
 gaze. 
 Beyond earth's earliest infancy of days, 
 And saw the troubled breast of Chaos heave 
 With wild commotion, as if on the eve 
 Of mighty change ; when lo ! before them rose 
 From out the void, the far-extending sweep 
 Of varied elements, while o'er the deep. 
 The spirit brooded in his calm repose — 
 In grandeur rose the earth, raised by the hand 
 Of Him, who, wrapt in His eternity — 
 The self-created Was, and Is To Be,
 
 64 MEDITATIVE HOUBS. 
 
 Did speak, and it was done — who gave command. 
 
 And it stood fast. In pristine beauty stood 
 
 Man's smiling home, and God pronounced it good. 
 
 Sun, moon and stars, earth, air and rolling sea, 
 
 Took up their places in immensity. 
 
 And joined their voices with those mighty ones — 
 
 Those ministers of his — heaven's first-born sons I 
 
 In lofty pseans to the viewless throne. 
 
 Where sits the Lord omnipotent alone, 
 
 And silent meditates, well pleased to hear 
 
 The choral anthem of his new-born sphere.
 
 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 65 
 
 MAN. 
 
 ' How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
 How complicate, how wonderful is man ! 
 * * * * 
 
 An heir of glorj' ! a frail child of dust ! 
 
 Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
 
 A worm ! a god ! — I tremble at myself, 
 
 And in myself am lost." 
 
 Young. 
 
 TowAEDs his goal, Time rolls unnumbered years, 
 When man, the monarch of the earth, appears 
 The hero of the Epic, whose grand strains 
 Should startle hell, and echo o'er heaven's plains 
 Mysterious being ! the connecting link 
 'Tween spirits pure and brutes that never think;
 
 66 MEDITATIVE HOUR&. 
 
 The slave of passion, yet in spirit free ; 
 
 A clod of earth, yet lives eternally ; 
 
 A heart that beats in nnison with God, 
 
 Yet often braves his thunder and his rod ; 
 
 A mind illumined with meridian lis^ht. 
 
 Anon enveloped in the blackest night ; 
 
 Now humbly asking Heaven its child to own, 
 
 Then proudly hurling Godhead from His throne ; 
 
 His breast the place where heavenly raptures dwelU 
 
 Oft followed by the deep despair of hell. 
 
 (Immortal Shakspere ! well did'st thou unfold 
 
 The human heart. — Oh ! well the tale was told, 
 
 By thine unerring tongue, of all the fears 
 
 And hopes which mark man's chequei'ed three-score 
 
 years. 
 And still the book, whence thou didst sing thy song — 
 The wond'rous song, which through the nations rung. 
 Whose touching strains thrill every listener's breast 
 With thoughts and feelings ne'er before expressed — 
 Is inexhausted of those melodies, 
 WTiich, deep as thought, and lofty as the skies. 
 Wake universal sympathy for man.) 
 And is this he whose birth the mighty plan 
 Of the creation crowned ? — who came a soul
 
 MAN. 
 
 67 
 
 Pure as the crystal floods of life that roll, 
 
 Like sea of glass, around the throne of Deity 
 
 Fresh from his Maker's hand ? Oh ! is this he 
 
 Who, girded with immortal strength, did stand 
 
 In Eden's midst, the sovereign ?— whose command 
 
 Was earth's sole rule ? — who was companion meet 
 
 For God, within that garden's still retreat ; 
 
 So full of Truth, so holy, pure and good, 
 
 That heaven he felt within, where'er he stood 
 
 Or walked in that blest place ? How great thy fall ! 
 
 Methinks, when the sad news reached heaven, that all 
 
 The sons of light their work of love would cease. 
 
 To mourn the act which broke thine earthly peace ; — 
 
 The throne of God with pity veil its face, 
 
 For guilty man and for his suffering race : 
 
 And Satan's dark and hateful soul recoil 
 
 With horror from the sad but sacred spoil 
 
 His hellish craft had seized. Alas ! what woe 
 
 Thy disobedience hath wrought below ; 
 
 And yet thy very fall is the sole key 
 
 That opens up man's earthly history-. 
 
 Redemption is creation's aim and end. 
 
 Man fell from God that God might man befriend ; 
 
 That he might show those depths of love divine
 
 68 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 Which those high beings, who in brightness shine 
 
 Clear as the eyes of flame the prophet saw, 
 
 Can never fathom ; and that he might draw 
 
 His creatures into closer bonds of love 
 
 Than he in Eden's bowers could ever prove. 
 
 Yet we the rising sigh can scarce repress, 
 
 When thinking of the short-lived happiness 
 
 Which earth's first sovereign and his beauteous queen 
 
 In Eden felt. See where those walls of green — 
 
 Towering in verdant beauty to the sky, 
 
 EnwTeathed with golden fruitage which doth vie 
 
 In its rich colours with the gorgeous west — 
 
 Circle the region where, so richly blest 
 
 In love and innocence, the happy pair 
 
 (Each with the other pleased their bliss to share) 
 
 Did pass the golden hours of life's glad mom, 
 
 Ne'er dreaming they would ever have to mourn 
 
 The loss of present joys. The very air 
 
 Feels fresh from Heaven, and on its wings doth bear 
 
 A balm which, while it soothes the soul wath dreams 
 
 Of inexpressible delights, doth nerve 
 
 It with immortal strength. High are the themes 
 
 Of blissful contemplation in those bowers ; 
 
 Yet equal to them are the mind's vast powers
 
 MAN. 69 
 
 Given to the dwellers there ; and will these swerve 
 From their allegiance to their gracious Lord ? 
 SuiTOunded with whate'er can make their life 
 A thing to be desired — fair Paradise 
 Around them — Heaven within. Oh ! why not prize 
 Their blest estate ? Oh ! wherefore discord, strife — 
 The fruit of sin. e'er mar the growing bliss 
 Of their pm'e souls ? By what necessity — 
 Earth's groans, and man's dire sufferings, all ask this, 
 Though it may impious seem — should they, the free. 
 The pure, the new-made monarchs of the earth. 
 So soon fall from their bliss ? Why Sin and Death 
 So soon stalk through those bowers, and, with foul 
 
 breath. 
 Blast every flower, and trample, at the birth. 
 Each budding hope beneath their iron foot? 
 Eack'd with perplexity, man will thus put 
 Such questions as can ne'er be solved by man ; 
 Yet though, bewildered, he doth often scan 
 The suffering state in which he finds mankind. 
 No power of earth or hell can ever bind 
 His hopes for man, which are the wings that raise 
 The soul into the world of thought sublime ! 
 Where, undisturbed, the past or coming time
 
 70 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 It contemplates, illumined by those rays 
 That from the empjTean stream 
 Upon the heart of man, — that guiding beam 
 'Mid darkness, doubt and fear, will lead along 
 A path of safety, beauty, and of song. 
 
 I lay me in the bosom of a wood, 
 Clothed in the beauty of its summer dress ; 
 In sooth a spot of passing loveliness 
 Was that green wood. I lay in musing mood, 
 Thinking of joys that blest my dear boyhood. 
 These bloomed fresh as the flowers that round me 
 
 grew, — 
 Lovely as when at first they sprung to view. 
 And seemed to whisper of some future good. 
 There as I lay surrounded with the light 
 Of that bright time, how did my full heart long 
 To blend its thoughts and music in a song, 
 Whose strains should bless the world. Oh ! for the 
 
 might 
 Of seraphs' voice : Oh ! for their golden lyre, 
 Cried I, that I mankind to noblest deeds might fire. 
 Thus lay I talking with my burning thought, 
 Striving for utterance to give it birth,
 
 MAN. 
 
 When came — chilly as night-winds from the North — 
 A voice from bower hard by. "Vain man, hope nought 
 Of those who err, then laugh at their own folly ; 
 Hope not to touch their heart, or change their way ; 
 Others have tried and failed before thy day. 
 Though for their good thou givst a life-time wholly. 
 Think not the amaranth shall grace thy brow ; 
 Far mightier than thou have won the wreath. 
 Which soon has withered in the world's cold breath. 
 And men do grovel much as ever now : 
 Yes, still they err, and laugh at their own folly. 
 Then throw away thy moping melancholy." 
 Indignant at the harsh insulting voice 
 From one I felt did wish the world no good. 
 With passion circling in my heated blood, 
 I warmly answered, " Yes, thou would'st rejoice. 
 Base Sophist, were but what thou say'st true : 
 Seek not my hope for man away to lure. 
 While Nature blooms, and while yon stars endui-e 
 To joys more pure than those he ever knew 
 Man shall ascend." While thus I made reply. 
 A brightness burst from out the evening sky ; 
 I felt the presence of some spirit good, 
 And heard another and a better voice,
 
 72 MEDITATIVE HOURS. 
 
 " Mortal, hold firm thy hope, blest is thy choice." 
 
 When lo ! the heavenly visitant before me stood. 
 
 While the first voice had filled my soul with gloom ; 
 
 Made sad my heart at thought of the world's woe, 
 
 And that its state should e'er continue so, 
 
 With none to save it from its hapless doom. 
 
 " God's agents are abroad," the vision said, 
 
 In nervous tones, " the world shall yet be better, 
 
 Man yet shall triumph — bm'sting every fetter, 
 
 And Heaven's full glory on the earth be shed." 
 
 Thus spake, — and the bright vision soared on high, — 
 
 In thrilling, hopeful words that better voice. 
 
 And a glad chorus, " Man, in hope rejoice !" 
 
 Filled the sweet silence of that evening sky. 
 
 Oh, Poesy ! though madness often styled, 
 
 I love thee as the mother loves her darling child.
 

 
 3Hiiirdlatieoii£i '^^umB. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON READING TENNYSONS 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 0, GENTLE Tennyson ! I breathe thy name 
 With tenderness : thee, though unseen, I love. 
 Thy wandering voice hath filled my native grove 
 With music, such as doth the mind inflame 
 With noblest aspirations. The moss-rose 
 And mountain daisy have a brighter eye, —
 
 76 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A chaster, fresher cheek ; a blither sky 
 Hath rising morn, the day a gentler close, 
 E'er since these mountains echoed with thy song. 
 Oft hast thou led me to that fairy shore, 
 Where thou hast culled those flowers that evermort 
 Will grace thy brow. And oft I've strayed among 
 Its moon-lit bowers, and, guided by thy hand, 
 The wonders heard and seen of that bright, dreamy 
 land. 
 
 The breaking of the ever-surging sea, 
 Against the craggy, solitary shore ; 
 The rush of wintry winds ; the hollow roar 
 Of mighty waters, struggling to be free, 
 Down in the gloomy depths of ocean's caves ; 
 The mermaid's shrill, wild song, that o'er the waves 
 Comes bounding Avith unearthly sound ; the scream 
 Of lonely bittern, as she wings her way 
 Across the dreary waste, or echoing bay, 
 To her far homo — are sounds that in the dream 
 Of the lone midnight-muser, with a grand, 
 A thrilling power, come to the listening soul. 
 And waken thoughts unspeakable ! How dear 
 Are Locksley's dreams, when, through the dreamer's 
 car.
 
 LINES OX READING TENNTSON's POEMS. 77 
 
 They murmur inward, — like the restless roll 
 Of landward wave on some deserted strand — 
 The ever-busy world, the while, but heard 
 Like hum of passing bee. Then voices come 
 From the invisible ; and founts are stirred, 
 Whose waters flash beneath a golden dome. 
 Their Iris tints of promise and of hope, 
 These never stirred ; those never heard, along 
 The crowded thoroughfare of life, where grope 
 Their darksome way, in one commingled throng, 
 Those of the outer world. 
 
 Still onward roll, 
 Thou restless river ; roll thy troubled waves 
 On to the sea. I hear them reach their goal, 
 Resounding in the mighty ocean's caves. 
 I see ! I feel ! that Time will yet be tossed 
 Down the eternal gulf ! And, as a star, 
 Lone twinkling in the depths of summer sky, 
 Shoots forth its solitary ray afar, 
 At break of morn, and — as the sun on high 
 Climbs up the east — grows dim, and then is lost; 
 So yonder glorious sun, and all the spheres 
 On which he shines, will, in the rolling years
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Of the eternity to corae, yet fade, 
 
 Like that lone star. The season yet will come. 
 
 When all the cycles by this system made, 
 
 Will seem as one dim glance at childhood's home, 
 
 To him who, from the height of seventy years, 
 
 Surveys life's chequered vale. Ye doubts and fears 
 
 Begone ! for there is life beyond^the tomb. 
 
 There is a voice that man can never hush, 
 
 With all his sophistry ; a hope, whose bloom 
 
 Will ever live, which hell can never crush ; 
 
 An inward influence that propels us on 
 
 To greater good, to nobler eminence 
 
 In the bright realms of purity, which sense 
 
 Can never fully grasp. The sun that shone 
 
 On our first parents, ere their fatal fall, 
 
 Will shine again, with brighter radiance, on 
 
 The good man's soul. Till then, he strives with all 
 
 His palsied powers to sound the depths profound. 
 
 And scale the dizzy heights of the Unknoivn. 
 
 His secret aspirations gushing forth, 
 
 And evermore increasing, will bear down, 
 
 As on they flov/, th' impediments of earth. 
 
 His language this : — 
 
 *' Father of all ! I pine, I die ;
 
 LINES ON READING TENNYSON S POEMS. 79 
 
 My spirit burns to know and be ; 
 My strong desires, earth, air, and sea, 
 Inflame, and lead me on to thee. 
 Eternal shadows, dim and high, 
 Eising to the inmost heaven, 
 Or to creation's frontiers driven, 
 Hang round my path incessantly. 
 A path how glorious i gemm'd with flowers 
 Of immortality, 
 Where walketh poesy, 
 In Heaven-born majesty ; 
 
 And scattereth round her radiant showers 
 Of light celestial, whose lustre shines 
 Through mind's broad mazy realms, where deepest 
 
 mines 
 Of treasured pearly thoughts are shown to view ; 
 Or, glowing through each starry fold 
 Of Heaven's aerial blue. 
 It lighteth up with living gold 
 The glorious mansions of earth's mighty dead ! 
 Immortal spirits who for ever tread 
 Ethereal halls ; whose constant food 
 Is their own thoughts ; their conscci-atod drink,
 
 80 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Th' Eternal Spirit's smile. In blissful mood, 
 Pm'suing their own way, they find their heaven ; 
 And, as on earth, though angel-powers are given, 
 Their greatest happiness is still to think. 
 As boomings of the ever-rolling sea. 
 Or distant shouts of the vast multitude, 
 Come o'er the soul in Nature's solitude, 
 So their inspiring voices come to me, 
 And thrill with heavenly ecstacy, 
 With aspirations grand. 
 After that immortal land. 
 Oh ! that my food 
 Might be the good 
 And greatness of its purity. 
 Great Spirit pour thy quickening breath 
 On the diy bones around ; 
 Come, rushing mighty sound ! 
 Command them from the shades of Death. 
 Eternal shadows, dim and high, 
 Rising to the inmost heaven. 
 Or to creation's frontiers driven, 
 Haunt my path incessantly. 
 Rise, rise, thou glorious sun ! 
 Who shin'st on meanest worm,
 
 LINES ON READING TENNYSON 's POEMS. 81 
 
 Ere my clay's work is done, 
 
 And give these shadows form. 
 Shine all the landscape o'er ; 
 
 Each object bring to view ; 
 Oh I live for evermore, 
 
 The beautiful and true. 
 
 But brief the blissful hour the " better voice'" 
 Inspires. Although it biddeth us rejoice. 
 How soon the pealings of the bugle-horn, 
 From our gay comrades, on the breezes borne, 
 Awake us from our trance, who back to earth 
 The spirit call, with their obstreperous mirth. 
 
 Ah ! brief the hour beneath our favourite oak 
 We loiter, listening its delicious talk, 
 With closed park-gate, of those we dearly love, 
 Who in our presence ever chastely strove 
 To hide the flame they felt; yet, blushing, made 
 Their full confession 'neath its sacred shade. 
 
 Oh ! precious are these old oak histories; 
 Dear to the soul are those deep mysteries, 
 Which they to hearts susceptible reveal.
 
 82 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Like breath of flowers, or music's tone, they steal 
 
 Through the still chambers of the musing mind. 
 
 And fill the soul with love to all mankind. 
 
 The spring of sensibility unsealed, 
 
 Forth gush its waters round the inner field. 
 
 Where grow our treasured flowers of thought, whose 
 
 bloom 
 With bright, vmchanging freshness, cheer the gloom, 
 Of low'ring skies. In each wood-nook of life, 
 Where nettles rank, and every weed are rife, 
 The poet's simple wild flowers spring. 
 And o'er the tainted air tlieir fragrance fling. 
 
 And, Tennyson ! who recks it, if the world 
 Their bloom and redolence discover not ; 
 For soon, if noted, would they be forgot, — 
 Their tendrils broken, — and their blossoms whirled 
 Into some forest hollow, far away 
 By dreary, wintry Avinds, there to decay. 
 
 But the true poet bows not at the shrine 
 Of this world's wisdom : higher is his aim, 
 And higher the reward he seeks. His flame 
 Is from his God : his hopes no less Divine.
 
 LINES ON READING TEXNYSOn's POEMS. 83 
 
 The flowers of Beauty which he fondly rears, 
 Witli gentle hand, survive the fleeting years 
 Of Time's applause, and freshest will appear 
 When spread with friendship's hand upon his hier, 
 And will for ever live in fadeless bloom. 
 
 One of the anointed priesthood, don thy robe 
 Of spotless purity ; by Heaven's high grace, 
 Make thou thy residence the holy place 
 Of the most High ! and to the listening globe, 
 Whate'er the oracle commands thee to proclaim, 
 Oh ! utter. Tennyson ! in the Eternal's name.
 
 84 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MY NATIVE HILLS. 
 
 I siiNG the everlasting hills, that rear 
 
 Their giant forms around my moorland home, — 
 A lowly home, 'tis true, but far more dear 
 
 Than place and wealth beneath Victoria's dome. 
 0, mighty mountains, noble, high and hoar ! 
 
 Proudly and fiiin ye stand, as ever, now ; 
 Nor lightning's flash can scathe, nor thunders roar, 
 
 Nor time, can bend your everlasting brow. 
 Proud guardians of my native vale, I raise 
 
 My humble, glowing numbers in your praise.
 
 MY NATIVE HILLS. 85 
 
 Cradled amid the storms that whirl around 
 
 Your dauntless breasts, my youthful footsteps roved 
 Among your fastnesses. There was I hound 
 
 By nature's charms — by nature's charms beloved. 
 Surrounded by your torrents' music wild ! 
 
 Sequestered in your fairy solitude, 
 She reared the mind of your admiring child, 
 
 And led him to the Great, the Wise, the Good ! 
 Brought forth and reared beneath your silent shade, 
 There, too, may my lone corse be lowly laid. 
 
 Oh ! how I love to climb yov;r purple peaks. 
 
 When golden sunbeams flood your noble crests ; 
 And thence to view the western sky, with streaks 
 
 Of richest tints adorned ; while calmly rests 
 The landscape, stretching far, in deep repose. 
 
 'Tis then — when feelings holy and serene 
 Steal o'er the mind — when every breeze that blows 
 
 Is fraught with bliss — we think what would have 
 been 
 This gloomy, wretched, and apostate earth, 
 Had Sin, the horrid monster, ne'er had birth. 
 
 Or, when dread Winter holds his iron sway,
 
 86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And battling elements around you roar, 
 Alone, among your haunts I love to stray, 
 
 And listen to the storm-sprite "s shriek, as o'er 
 Your reeling heads he sails; while deaf'ning, deep. 
 
 Reverberating thunder rolls along 
 Your rugged sides, or down some awful steep 
 
 Darts till it spends itself the glens among. — 
 Oh ! then, with palpitating heart, how grand 
 To view the flashing, swift-descending brand ! 
 
 Ye fill the mind with images sublime, 
 
 Which aspirations after what is great 
 And good beget, — which, nor the hand of time, 
 
 Nor death itself can e'er obliterate. 
 Yes, ye are agents, like the simple flower, 
 
 Of God, that stamp in characters of flame 
 His nature's impress with resistless power 
 
 Upon the glowing soul ; and loud proclaim 
 His wisdom and His glorious majesty, 
 Who is for ever wrapt within his own eternity.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 87 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Come, sweet enchantress of my early days, 
 Infuse thy genial warmth into my breast ; 
 Let me as erst, once more, Oh ! let me gaze 
 On the loved form that oft the nursling blest. 
 Let me thy fairy hand again but kiss ! 
 And from thy sparkling chalice quaff fidl draughts of 
 bliss. 
 
 Long, long before my untaught lips could tell 
 The secret workings of my youthful mind, 
 I felt the influence of thy magic spell ; 
 And oft through fancy's regions, unconfined,
 
 88 MISCELLAKEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Led on by thee, my new-fledged soul on high 
 Would soar to realms of light beyond the azure sky. 
 
 O then, at dewy morn, or evening calm, 
 How did the landscape charm my glowing heart ! 
 Oh ! with what joy I drank the south wind's balm, 
 And gazed and gazed till tears of bliss would start, 
 With power ecstatic, from their hidden spring, 
 While with my buoyant shouts I made the woodland 
 ring. 
 
 Ah ! then the sun shone brighter far than now ; 
 The forest flowers a sweeter fragrance shed ; 
 A mellower music trilled the streamlet's flow, 
 As it rolled sparkling e'er its pebbly bed ; 
 And fairer far the smiling valley where. 
 In peace and innocence, I rov'd — all devoid care. 
 
 Blest days ! I oft times think of you and weep ; 
 For nought ye yielded but unmixed delight. 
 My draughts of pleasure then were sweet and deep; 
 No warring tempests spread their baneful night ; 
 But all was joyance through the flower-gemm'd way, 
 And bright heart-cheering radiance through tlie cloud- 
 less day.
 
 CHILDHOOD. 89 
 
 Yet, thoTigh I weep, I still woulf" not repine. 
 Nor vainly question heaven's supreme decrees ; 
 For heaven is good, and good is its design. 
 In blending storms with sunshine and the breeze. 
 More sweet is rest to him who needs repose ; 
 More dearly prized life's joys when blended with its 
 woes. 
 
 Oh ! how the sun of our blest childhood's days 
 Shoots gleaming down the vista of the past. 
 How brightly round the woe-worn heart it plays, 
 And soothes to holy calm life's bitterest blast. 
 Infusing through the soul that tranquil joy, 
 Which all the varied ills of life can ne'er destroy. 
 
 Oh ! yes, let sorrow spread its darkest gloom 
 Around the weary way of after years ; 
 The flowers of childhood still in beauty bloom ; 
 And, while their fragrant breath the spirit cheers, 
 And o'er the heart diffuses halcyon peace, 
 They tell of glorious climes where care and sorrow 
 cease.
 
 90 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 A MORNING ON THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Lift up your heads, ye Yorkshire hills ! 
 Lift up your noble heads on high ; 
 Your venerable grandeur fills 
 With awe my heart, with tears my eye. 
 A lonely bard doth fondly hie 
 His way among your wavy woods ; 
 The bustling world let others try, 
 The only wish his breast intrudes, 
 Is for the quiet of your solitudes.
 
 A MORNING ON THE kOtJNTAINS. 91 
 
 Bland Peace ! come, lead me to thy home 
 Amid those green withdrawing vales. 
 Where streams, fresh from the mountains, roam, 
 In sun and shade, and murmur tales 
 Of gentle love, as evening pales. 
 To the wild flowers that coyly peep 
 Down on their breast. — till rising gales 
 Do gently rock each one to sleep. 
 While stars, their sister flowers, their vigils keep. 
 
 Come ! and to broom-clad moorlands lead 
 My buoyant spirit far away, 
 Where I, from useless babbling freed, 
 Can greet the first approach of day ; 
 When Phoebus, in his bright array. 
 From Ocean springs, and floods the crest 
 Of dewy hill, or arching spray 
 Of flashing waterfall, or breast 
 Of lake that slumbers in unbroken rest. 
 
 Through orient climes, o'er Indian plains, 
 The glittering steeds come from afar. 
 And scatter from their dazzling manes 
 The golden Ught : their hot breaths mar
 
 93 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 Night's beauties ; for each twinkling star, 
 And harvest moon in pallor fade, 
 As swift the bright stupendous car 
 Sweeps through the heavens ; whose splendours 
 braid, 
 With lustrous tints, yon eastern vast arcade. 
 
 Lo ! tripj)ing o'er the mountain, comes 
 Blithe Health ! whose form against heaven's blue 
 In beauty glides, enwreathed with blooms 
 All dripping with the glistening dew, 
 Young smiling Morn she doth pursue ; 
 x\nd from her sparkling chalice pours 
 The enlivening nectar for the few 
 Who, filled with love for birds and flowers. 
 Leave couches for the wood-crowned mountain-bowers. 
 
 Hark ! how the brightening welkin rings 
 
 With the full flush of melody 
 
 From vei-dant vales ; and wood-nook springs 
 
 O'er cressy bed, 'neath golden sky, 
 
 Send forth their rills, which merrily 
 
 Warble along the forest glade. 
 
 And mirror eveiy plant and tree
 
 A MORNING ON THE MOUNTAINS. 93 
 
 That kisses them ; then half afraid 
 Steal, like a maiden coy, into the woodland shade. 
 
 Nature, thy beauties are a boon 
 From heaven to feed the immortal soul. 
 I love the balmy morn — high noon — 
 Or placid eve. The flowing bowl 
 Of bliss — dipped in the streams that roll 
 Through thy fair realms — aye passes round 
 For man, though damned spirits foul. 
 Would dash it still with woe ; — disowned 
 By Heaven, they fain would plant man's mortal wound. 
 
 Though not one foot of earth I own, 
 Yet all the beauteous earth is mine ; 
 For me are laughing fluw'rets strewn ; 
 For me a glorious sun doth shine ; 
 For me doth wave the mountain-pine, 
 'Neath gilded skies, 'mid frost and snow, 
 To cheer life's gloom ; — a hand Divine 
 Doth all these precious gifts bestow. 
 To bless the hopeful wanderer below. 
 
 Eternal mountains ! let me climb
 
 94 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Your heights ; and with an ardent eye 
 View earth at this most holy time, 
 While universal charity 
 Urges my honest earnest prayer on high, 
 That as yon glorious sun doth chase 
 The darkness from that western sky, 
 Heaven's brighter sun, with quickened race, 
 May drive the gloom of sin from earth's fair face.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 95 
 
 THE DYING DAUGHTER TO HER 
 INFIDEL FATHER. 
 
 " The hour is come ! the hour is come ! 
 
 My father I must hence. 
 My eyes grow dim, my senses swim. 
 
 Death's shades become more dense. 
 Oh ! in this dark, this dreadful hour. 
 
 Whose aid must I implore ? 
 Speak, father dear, the hour draws near 
 
 When I shall be no more. 
 
 " Must I believe what thou hast taught, 
 Or what my mother's tongue,
 
 96 THE DYING DAUGHTER TO HER INFIDEL FATHER. 
 
 With anxious care, and fervent prayer, 
 Has taught my whole life long ? 
 
 Speak ! must I spurn the Nazarine, 
 And trample on his blood : 
 
 And madlv brave the rushing wave, 
 Of Jordan's swelling flood ?" 
 
 Those accents pierced the father's heart, 
 
 They melted down his soul ; 
 With features wild, he viewed his child, 
 
 With giief beyond control. 
 He saw the sepulchre's dark shades 
 
 Were gathering thick and fast; 
 He felt his heart with terror start ; 
 
 He heard the trumpet's blast. 
 
 It echoed o'er the vaulted heavens ; 
 
 It shook both earth and hell ; 
 The stars all fled ; it roused the dead ; 
 
 It shook his faith as well. 
 " Believe the truths thy mother taught /" 
 
 He cried in accents wild ; 
 And in his arms, with frenzied love, 
 
 He clasped his dying child.
 
 THE DYING DAUGHTEB TO HER INFIDEL FATHER. 97 
 
 " Oh ! father, now I die in peace," 
 
 She said, as on his breast 
 She laid her head, and joined the dead 
 
 In their eternal rest. 
 The father kissed his withered flower ; 
 
 And in that solemn hour. 
 He kissed the rod a gracious God 
 
 Had sent in love and power. 
 
 H
 
 98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MY CHILD. 
 
 Fair children ! — why they're common, and their death 
 Is common too, and so I used to think ; 
 But how life's rising sun doth clear the haze 
 Of its dim dawn ! My lot has been to gaze 
 Since then upon a flower which on the brink 
 Of life a moment bloomed, and whose breath 
 Awhile perfumed nay sacred cottage bower 
 With more than sweets of Araby. The dower 
 I deem'd divine ; — an ornament bestowed 
 To beautify and grace my lovd abode ;
 
 MY CHILD. 99 
 
 « 
 
 And, though that flower did neither toil nor spin. 
 No Eastern Queen in all her glory dress'd, 
 Could with it vie ; by genial winds caress'd, 
 Its kindness did the heart's best feelings win. 
 Love it exhaled, because with love imbued ; 
 How did it charm my mountain solitude ! 
 Too soon the storm swept o'er the moorlands wild, 
 And nipp'd the budding beauties of my child. 
 But such are common ! ay, when they upspring 
 In other soil ; for then the pretty thing 
 May please this hour — the next forgotten be, 
 But if our own, 'tis for eternity. 
 
 Pm-e was the life that nestled in thy breast, 
 A transient earthly — now a heavenly guest. 
 I gazed, how often i through the window of thy soul. 
 And saw these bright transparent waters roll, 
 Along the secret channels of thy heart, 
 That vernal beauty spread in every part ; — 
 A gentle current from the crystal sea 
 That flows around the throne of Deity ; 
 And saw reflected there, in purest guise, 
 The changeless beauties of heaven's paradise. 
 Its innocence, its love, and purity,
 
 100 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Were mirror'd to my mind, dear child, in thee. 
 
 Thou wast, but art not, and the place on earth 
 
 That knew thee once will know thy form no more ; 
 
 But in the book of Being stands thy birth, 
 
 Recorded by the hand of Him who o'er 
 
 Thy destiny presides. Thou wast and art ! 
 
 And ever must be while the Eternal lives. 
 
 I feel that thou art now as near my heart 
 
 As the incarnate God himself, who gives 
 
 My soul all those immortal hopes which yet. 
 
 When done my day's work in the vale of Time, 
 
 I trust, will raise my spirit to that clime 
 
 Where tears are changed to smiles — and suns will 
 
 never set. 
 Meantime there's not a sound that from the shore, 
 Which thou hast gain'd, comes o'er life's restless sea; 
 There's not a vision of its scenes floats o'er 
 My mind, reveahng its deep mystery ; 
 Nor thought, that with immortal beauty dress'd, 
 Springs up and animates my grief-fraught breast ; 
 Nothing of heaven conceived — nor form I see 
 Of earthly bliss, but blends itself with thee. 
 0, happy child ! sublimely great that bliss 
 Which knows no fear of ever being less ;
 
 MY CHILD. 101 
 
 That happiness must be indeed divine 
 
 Which feeds on its enjoyments — such is thine. 
 
 Live on ! and in immortal stature grow ; 
 
 Live on ! and emulate the seraph's glow. 
 
 Live on ! the higher raised, the humbler bow 
 
 To Him who rolls each planet in its sphere, 
 
 Who sees and wipes the lonely orphan's tear ; 
 
 To Him who was, and is, and must be first. 
 
 Who waked and can alone quench thy immortal thirst
 
 10'2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MY NATIVE GLENS. 
 
 Lone wandering in my native glens remote 
 
 From men, in nature's wilds how sweet to stray, 
 
 While the lone blackbird's soft mellifluous note 
 Is heard in plaintive strains at close of day; — 
 
 When twilight gently deepens all around. 
 And veils in mellow shades the prospect fair, 
 
 'Tis Eden, for in every sight and sound 
 The Everlasting One in majesty walks there.
 
 MY NATIVE GLENS. 103 
 
 The spirit, hampered by the ills of life, 
 Here finds a season bi-ief of calm repose ; 
 
 Rest from the world's conflicting scenes of strife ; 
 A respite from humanity's deep woes. 
 
 The balmy breath of forest flowers sports round, 
 In playfulness, the aching, grief-scarred brow ; 
 
 The wearied mind, in reverie profound, 
 Is lull'd to tranquil rest by the calm streamlet's flow. 
 
 Come, pensive Melancholy, come ! meet form 
 
 To grace a solitary scene like this ; 
 Come to my heart ; no frost now nips — no storm 
 
 Comes with rude breath to mar our mutual bliss. 
 Pastoral beauty decks the landscape dim ; — 
 
 Secluded wood — paths under star-lit skies 
 Invite our steps ; and hidden songsters hymn, 
 In sweetest harmony, their forest melodies. 
 
 Oh ! beauteous goddess, now I feel thy power, 
 I catch the glances of thy melting eye, 
 
 The soft sensations which my soul come o'er. 
 With holy impulse, tell me thou art nigh. 
 
 Thou fair illuminator of the soul; 
 
 Thou gushing spring of intellectual fire ;
 
 104 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Thy humble wooer owns thy kind control, 
 And pours, for thee, the music of his humble lyre. 
 
 Thou ! gentle one, hast often hushed to peace 
 The stormy passions that invade the mind 
 
 Of the lone bard, who, glad of his release 
 From worldly cares — in happy ease reclined. 
 
 Has sweetly dreamed of childhood's flowery home-— 
 Of treasures deep enshrined within the heart ; 
 
 While dear and long departed ones have come 
 With radiant smiles their soothing influence to impart. 
 
 Or, led by thee, through fancy's boundless world, 
 
 Above the starry-fretted vault of heaven. 
 What holy visions hast thou oft unrolled 
 
 To my tranced gaze — what raptures have they 
 given ! 
 How pleasant thus in mossy dell to lie. 
 
 And snatch from bygone days life's dearestflowers ; 
 Or view, while fast tlie happy moments fly, 
 Our future home, with hopes to gain its blissful bowers. 
 
 Oh! yes, I love these glens ; thou evening star
 
 ITY NATIVE GLENS. 105 
 
 Bear witness to my passion deep and strong ; 
 For thou hast wandered with me near and far, 
 
 Their silent shades and green retreats among. 
 Here, joining nature in her tuneful strain 
 
 Of vocal praise to her Creator's name, 
 'Tis sweet to worship in this glorious fane, 
 While woodland voices fan devotion's holv flame.
 
 106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MOONLIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 Lo ! o'er yon purple mountains high, 
 The draperies of darkness drear, 
 Thick gathering, to the eye appear 
 Stretching across the eastern sky ; 
 And onward, through the reahns of twilight gi-ey, 
 Old Night pursues the fast retreating King of Day.
 
 MOONLIGHT MUSINGS. 107 
 
 Fax- o'er the spacious fields of heaven, 
 
 111 dread array, he spreads around 
 
 His darksome elements profound, 
 
 That on the rough gale fiercely driven, 
 
 Fly o'er his empire wild in sullen gloom, 
 
 Intent light, life, and verdant beauty to entomb. 
 
 But, quickly travelling in his rear, 
 Day's sister, like a lovely Queen 
 With stately step, yet modest mien, 
 In full-orb 'd gloiy does appear. 
 And rolls her shining floods of mellow light 
 Against the leaden, tow'ring battlements of night ; 
 
 Or, o'er their heights most placidly 
 She pours her rays, and gilds the piles 
 Of clouds which look like fairy isles 
 SmTounded by a shining sea ; 
 Or worlds that round her as their centre sail, 
 Till shattered into fragments by the rising gale. 
 
 Then, with a vivid lustre, gleams 
 The circling parapets along, 
 Of vast aerial castle strong.
 
 108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Which, as if struck by lightning, seems. 
 Amid the peeling thunders loud and deep, 
 To reel and tumble earthward with a might}- sweep. 
 
 And now victorious she sweeps. 
 With pride along her glorious way. 
 Among the massive ruins grey, 
 That lie around in gorgeous heaps : 
 Then rises, with a halo round her beauteous form. 
 The mistress of the night, and conqueror o'er the 
 storm. 
 
 Thus, through the universe, cried I, 
 Wherever pitched the battle plain, 
 The light of Truth must ever reign 
 Triumphantly, however high 
 The powers of darkness lift their hateful heads, 
 Or, far and wide, their deep Egyptian night-glooms 
 spread. 
 
 Yes, blessed Truth ! thou shedd'st thy ray 
 O'er error's dreary leaden sky, 
 And all its misty shadows fly 
 • Down to the Stygian gulf away :
 
 MOONLIGHT MUSIKGS. 109 
 
 Thou Still art conqueror I howe'er thy foes have striven 
 To crush thy strength ; nor strange, when 'tis the will 
 of heaven. 
 
 March forward on thy glorious path, 
 
 Thou beauteous one ! armed by that power 
 Omnipotent ; full fast the hour 
 Speeds on its way, when hell's fierce wrath, 
 And eveiy foe on earth, shall bow to thy blest sway, 
 And all the nations bask in one unclouded day.
 
 110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS„ 
 
 AN EVENING VOLUNTARY, 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 Upon the brow of yonder verdant hill, 
 O'ei'looking many a green romantic vale, 
 Lo ! one of England's fanes erects its head — 
 A sacred monument for God — to men, 
 A gracious monitor. For age on age, 
 Like to a mighty chronicler of Time, 
 It has maintained its proud position there ; 
 Time's changes noting, but itself unchanged,
 
 AN EVENING A'OLUNTAET. 1 1 1 
 
 It rises out the bosom of the earth, 
 
 A guardian-spirit of the scene around. 
 
 And points pure virtue to the starry sky ; 
 
 And with a voice that echoes through the vales. 
 
 Brightening the eye of trusting piety, 
 
 Proclaims the tidings, "Immortality !" 
 
 At whose glad sound the good man's bosom heaves 
 
 With joyous hope — his glowing soul upsprings 
 
 Into the regions of unending love. 
 
 And tastes the eai-nest of its future home. 
 
 The votaries of vice it seems to point 
 Down to its feet, where, scattered all around. 
 The mouldering ashes of the villagers. 
 And those who lived among the hills and vales 
 It overlooks, lie low beneath its shade ; 
 And to the poor deluded wanderers, 
 It trumpets forth, with Sinai's majesty. 
 Its righteous judgments on their evil course. 
 
 From out the glowing west — which now appears 
 From north to south — a brilliant flood of light 
 Rolls o'er the gorgeous battlements of heaven. 
 And gilds the clouds that o'er the welkin float.
 
 112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Like guardian-angels wrapped in lily robes, 
 Fresh from their native clime. They seem to view 
 With wonder and delight our beauteous earth ; 
 And, while they trace the ravages of Time — 
 See all the dread effects of Sin and Death, 
 With all the ills of human life — and weep ! 
 They still remember the intent of Heaven, — 
 That 'tis the fiat of the Mighty One, 
 This earth shall yet be blessed and free ; and man, 
 Poor erring man, shall be reclaimed — forgiven. 
 
 And now their radiant faces they unveil, 
 Which beam with happiness unspeakable. 
 Methinks I hear, in rich celestial tones, 
 Their voice, in tender sympathy and love, 
 Bid suffering humanity "hope on;" 
 Then to their glorious home they soar. 
 Amid the pteans of angelic choirs. 
 
 Still onward rolls the sparkling stream of light 
 O'er all the glorious landscape stretching far. 
 Gilding the crests of undulating hiUs, 
 That lift in pride their heads on every hand. 
 Like waves of one vast, ever-rolling sea.
 
 AN EVENING VOLUNTARY. 113 
 
 That bears its billows from the glorious West, 
 On to the yawning caverns of the East ; 
 Or bathes their verdant sides, decked with the stars 
 Of earth, which, in their variegated hues, 
 Appear as beautiful as those of heaven. 
 Now flashing on the lonely woodland pools ; 
 Now lighting up each wood-embowered glen ; 
 Now dancing in the forest's high arcades ; 
 Now steeping wavy woods, whose glittering leaves. 
 All honey-glazed, are quivering in the breeze 
 Of eve ; then o'er the purple moorland sweeps, 
 And fills each heather-bell with liquid gold. 
 
 List ! from yon tower the bells pour forth a tide 
 Of melody, that to the aching heart 
 Speaks peace ; and soothes to sweet forgetfulness 
 Its fears and pains. The charmed Zephyrs stop 
 Upon their balmy way to catch the sounds 
 Elysian, then spread their wings, and bear 
 Them through each winding vale, each silent glen. 
 And fairy nook, till the whole scene is full 
 Of heavenly, soul-inspiring harmony. 
 
 How many hearts have listened to the strains,
 
 114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 That now rest on the bosom of the earth ! 
 
 How many hear them now, and, with a sigh, 
 
 Eevert to other davs ; — before whose vision 
 
 Dim images of well-remembered shapes 
 
 Appear, with lights and shades, with calms and storms, 
 
 Of by-gone life — whose tale will soon be told ; 
 
 Leaving the world to other hands and hearts. 
 
 To manage its affairs, and moralise 
 
 On all the deeds which they have writ upon 
 
 The page of Time. Thus are its pages filled, 
 
 Until the last receives the signature 
 
 Of the dread Angel, iris-crown 'd, when all will close. 
 
 Like the departing glory of this hom^ ; 
 
 jP/ims will eartlis generations pass away.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 115 
 
 AN EVENING VOLUNTAKY. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 Freed from the turmoil of the world, once more 
 
 I walk m Nature's holy grounds, and find 
 
 The peace and joy which rural scenery 
 
 And calm retirement ever do impart. 
 
 The sun now sinks behind the Western hills, 
 
 And from the depths of his pavilion, 
 
 Sun'ounded by its gorgeous drapery, 
 
 He casts a parting glance down the green vale.
 
 116 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And fills with gladness the gay songsters' breasts, 
 
 That siDg then' evening psalm of praise to Him 
 
 Who gives them life and all their sylvan joys. 
 
 Nor are less happy those whose peaceful Hves 
 
 Are spent iu such delightful nool^-s of earth. 
 
 Afar removed from its vain, noisy scenes. 
 
 The sunlight, flashing from yon cottage panes, 
 
 Marks the sweet spot where nestles many a home, 
 
 Upon the green hill side, or on the skirt 
 
 Of heathery moorland, where domestic joys 
 
 And virtuous love — such as are seldom found 
 
 In the gay city's artificial life, 
 
 Eife with conventionalities and forms 
 
 Of etiquette that make dull life a load, — 
 
 Bless the inhabitants with calm content. 
 
 And peaceful days. I hear the gladsome shouts 
 
 Of momitain children come across the vale, 
 
 As, with a joyous bound, they dart away 
 
 Into the oft-frequented glen, to spend 
 
 The evening hours in meiTy, careless play. 
 
 Hark ! now their voices warble forth clear strains 
 
 Of rich wild music rising to the sky, 
 
 And blending with the infinite. How swells 
 
 My heart with pure delight while, all entranced,
 
 AN EVENING VOLUNTARY. 117 
 
 I listen to their artless song. No roof, 
 
 Adorned with the magnificence of art, 
 
 Confines the gushing, simple melody ; 
 
 It rises on the soft free winds of heaven, 
 
 And mingles with the music of the spheres. 
 
 " God bless the innocents !" is my heart's prayer, 
 
 " Grant them long life, and may these smiling vales 
 
 And pine-clad hills e'er echo with their songs ; 
 
 Free as the limpid streams that dance along 
 
 These mossy dells, and pure as free be all 
 
 Their joyous thoughts. Oh I may the images 
 
 Which Natm'e stamps upon their glowing hearts, 
 
 Expanding and refining them, e'er prove 
 
 A never-failing source of happiness ; 
 
 Build up their characters in all that's good 
 
 And kind towards their fellow-men and God, 
 
 And pave then* path to immortality." 
 
 The moorland tarn in placid beauty lies, 
 Reflecting its green margin, interspersed 
 With purple heather-bells and golden broom. 
 While, far below, the rosy sunset clouds 
 Float on through the infinitude of space, 
 Like messengers of the Eternal, bound
 
 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 To some far world, with tidings of His will ; 
 
 And deeper still appear the glowing stars, 
 
 Those foot-prints of the Deity, to roll 
 
 In silence, telling to a doubting world 
 
 The being of a God. How grand the thought 
 
 Of sweeping through the vast, profound abyss, 
 
 On eagle pinion safe upborne, to view 
 
 Creation's mighty wonders, and to trace 
 
 Those wonders to their glorious source — the great, 
 
 The everlasting God. How grateful thus 
 
 To sit and ruminate in some lone glen, 
 
 Or by the side of some clear moorland lake, 
 
 And dive, m spirit-thought, into the depths 
 
 Of dread Eternity. A few more years 
 
 Of earnest struggling, mid the good and bad 
 
 Of this world's chequered scenes, and then the soul 
 
 Must wing its lonely flight to the Unknown : 
 
 And with the grandeur and sublimity 
 
 Of scenes immortal mingle future life. 
 
 Or muse, in Desolation's dark and drear 
 
 Domain, in lonely misery, o'er life 
 
 Misspent on earth, and hopes for ever lost. 
 
 Who would not then retire, betimes, from all 
 
 That damps the spirit's energies, to muse
 
 AN EVENING VOLUNTARY. 119 
 
 In rural solitude ? and send his thoughts 
 Before him to the theatre, where soon — 
 Just in the character he here assumes — 
 He must appear — before the assembled world. 
 And, 'mid the damning hisses of the lost, 
 Or the rewarding plaudits of the saved, 
 For ever play his fixed, allotted part. 
 
 Oh ! tell me not of wealth ; though it hath power 
 For good or evil, as the sordid or 
 The generous soul of its possessor prompts. 
 It grasps the good of which the virtuous 
 Soul is oft denied, and oft, too oft. alas ! 
 The golden road to swift destruction leads. 
 Oh ! tell me not of pleasure ; only such 
 As Heaven approves and is befitting man, 
 Who, than the angels, is but little lower ; 
 The flowers which strew its path too often hide 
 The serpent foul, whose piercing sting is death. 
 The soul needs more than these can e'er afford. 
 Give me by skill of mind, by honest toil. 
 To gain a competence, my humble wants will meet, 
 A small provision for the claims of age. 
 So that life's sunset be but chequered by
 
 120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The clouds of common ills. No more than this 
 
 I ask of this world's good. Those who wish more 
 
 I envy not — their covetous desire, 
 
 Or cumbersome possessions. Give to me 
 
 A heart of pmity, that all mankind 
 
 In its enlarged embrace enclasps ! — that leads 
 
 Away to Nature's temple, there to view. 
 
 From flower to star, and from the mountain rill 
 
 On to the ever-booming sea, the hand 
 
 Of Him, at whose august command sprung forth 
 
 The universe, in all its grandeur clothed. 
 
 Each object in creation, rightly viewed. 
 
 Leads up the inquiring spirit to its God. 
 
 I feel the kind impressions Nature makes ; 
 
 They fill with strong desires for what is pure, 
 
 And stamp God's image on the loving heart. 
 
 That sunset scene, how beautiful and calm ! 
 Those purple hills ! how truly grand they rise 
 From out the bosom of the earth ! Those pines ! 
 How gi'acefuUy they wave their stately forms 
 To the soft evening breeze, as on it floats, 
 So gently to its far-off northern home. 
 And thou, my native stream, who wanderest on
 
 AN EVENING VOLUNTARY. 121 
 
 In pensive loneliness along thy way, 
 
 By foot of beetling crags, and 'mid the groves 
 
 That clothe and beautify the winding vale. 
 
 0, crystal Luddon ! thee I dearly love ! 
 
 Lulled by thy voice in infancy to rest. 
 
 And wandering through my youth on thy green banks, 
 
 Indulging dreams that oft have gladdened life ; 
 
 In manhood sweet associations bind 
 
 My heart to thee by many a tender tie. 
 
 While wandering by thy side, the tiniest views 
 
 Of life I've had — the firmest basis laid 
 
 For future bliss. The dust of those I loved 
 
 In life, reposes near thy verdant banks. 
 
 My fathers laid them do^vn, within the sound 
 
 Of thy sweet voice, to wait the awful mom. 
 
 Whose dawn shall be the last to gladden earth ; 
 
 And, when my work is done, I too would join 
 
 My dust with theirs and, soothed by thee to rest. 
 
 In joyful hope would sleep the sleep of death. 
 
 K
 
 122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO AN EAKLY PKIMEOSE. 
 
 Wild flower ! with fond admiiing eyes 
 Do I behold thy fragile stem ! 
 
 At sight of thee what feelings rise 
 Of hope and joy, thou lovely gem ! 
 
 Kock'd in the rushing wintry storm, 
 That sweeps along the snow-clad vale. 
 
 Thou bravely rearst thy frail form 
 Amid the perils of the gale. 
 
 To aU alike that pass thee by. 
 
 Thou lookest up, and seem'st to say. 
 
 That "bright and sunny months are nigh, 
 Hope on ! and dash yom- tears away —
 
 TO AN EARLY I'RIMEOSE. 123 
 
 " And dreary though, the landscape be, 
 Still onward stretch your fearful view ; 
 
 Pierce through the gloom around — and see, 
 Is there no good in store for you '? 
 
 " I am from God ; he placed me here, 
 The emblem of his faithfulness ; — 
 
 The promise of another year 
 Of plenty, peace, and happiness. 
 
 " This is my mission from His throne ; 
 
 And if I do but cheer one heart, 
 Content am I to bloom alone, — 
 
 To live my hour, and then depart." 
 
 O welcome art thou, gentle flower, 
 
 An early blessing, kindly given ; 
 Thy silent eloquence hath poAver 
 
 To raise the soul from earth to heaven.
 
 124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 "AWAY YE GLOOMY THOUGHTS." 
 
 Away, ye gloomy thoughts I that make 
 
 The joys of life yom' prey ; — 
 That make more slow the tardy night — 
 
 More dark the gloomy day ; — 
 That to the darker scenes of life 
 
 A deeper shade impart, 
 And curses make those blessings sent 
 
 To cheer the drooping heart.
 
 *'AWAY, YE GLOOMY THOUGHTS." 125 
 
 Hence ! brooding Melancholy, hence ! 
 
 Nor longer dare intrude 
 Within our path, to steal the flowers 
 
 That are so thinly sti-ew'd. 
 God sent those flowers, so beautiful, 
 
 So sweet, so full of bloom, 
 To cheer us through this weary world 
 
 Of cank'ring care and gloom. 
 
 Cheerless and chill are life's rude blasts ; 
 
 Its biting frosts severe ; 
 Yet oft o'er ills that never come 
 
 We shed the bitterest tear. 
 The world is but a weary place ; 
 
 But, ah ! we often find 
 Its dark, as well as brighter scenes 
 
 Are mirror'd from the mind. 
 
 Though sin has marr'd the beautiful, 
 
 That once made earth so fair ; 
 There still are ti'aits of beauty left 
 
 To drive away despair. 
 Though we throvigh dark, perplexing scenes 
 
 Have oft to grope our way,
 
 126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Yet still, blest thought ! that light is given 
 Which leads to endless day. 
 
 Oh ! for that happy, cheerful mind, 
 
 Content with blessings given, — 
 That seeks to do the good it can, 
 
 And leaves the rest to heaven ; — 
 'Tis that whose longest path through life 
 
 Is strewn with sweetest roses ; 
 And with blest confidence, in death. 
 
 On Jesu's breast reposes.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 137 
 
 TO A YOUNG PRODIGAL. 
 
 Young man ! a word or two with thee — 
 
 Come, tell me wherefore dost thou roam ? 
 Why dost thou thus perversely flee 
 
 The comforts of a happy home ? 
 Is it because a father dear 
 
 Has interposed his right to stay 
 Thee in thy rash, thy mad career 
 
 To death. Is this thy reason, pray ? 
 
 Or is't because a mother kind. 
 
 Who ever sought thy highest good,
 
 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Has crossed, for once, thy wayward mind, 
 That thou assum'st this sullen mood ? 
 
 Or is't because a sister's love 
 
 Has prompted her to thwart thy will '? 
 
 In that she could not look above, 
 And calmly help to work thine ill. 
 
 Or is thy heart, free as the lark, 
 
 On base and worldy pleasures bent ? 
 If so, pursue thy course ; but hark ! 
 
 Thou soon wilt bitterly repent. 
 Awhile gay pleasure's noisy stream 
 
 INIay lull thee to delusive rest ; 
 But soon will pass the pleasing dream. 
 
 And deep remorse will fill thy breast. 
 
 Thou now mayst boldly, bravely boast 
 
 That thou art happy, gay, and free ; 
 But ah ! look on to time's rough coast, 
 
 And think, young man, how thou wilt be. 
 Thou now mayst vent thy venomed spite. 
 
 And poui' thy bitter curse on those 
 Who ever laboured, day and night. 
 
 To feed thy joys and ease thy woes.
 
 TO A YOUNG PBODIGAL 129 
 
 And canst thou thus requite the care 
 
 Thy sh-e bestowed, the love he felt ; 
 The tender, earnest, heartfelt prayer, 
 
 He breathed, when round the altar knelt ? 
 Canst thou forget thy mother's tears, 
 
 When deep affliction brought thee low ; 
 Her bitter anguish, hopes, and fears, 
 
 While bending o'er thy burning brow ? 
 
 Canst thou forget the happy days, 
 
 That in thy sister's sunny smiles 
 Thou'st basked ; her loving blue-eyed gaze 
 
 When she has played her harmless wiles ? 
 In pleasm-e's bowers there may be flowers, 
 
 But transient is their loveliness. 
 Search all thy hours with all thy powers. 
 
 There's nothing like domestic bliss. 
 
 Those scenes may, for a time, destroy 
 A sense of guilt, and yield delight ; 
 
 But soon, full soon, all these will cloy, 
 And conscience stem assert her right. 
 
 'Tis vain to quaff the maddening drink, 
 With gay associates to dwell ;
 
 130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Thou must, thou canst not help but think, 
 And those dark thoughts will make thy hell. 
 
 Kash youth ! he wise, retrace thy steps ! 
 
 Oh ! yet forgiveness may he found ! 
 A parent's love has heights and depths, 
 
 That line can't scale, nor plummet sound, 
 Keturn ! there's hope ; proceed ! there's none : 
 
 Despair will haunt thy wretched path. 
 And oh ! thy lot, when life is gone. 
 
 Will he divine, consuming wrath !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 131 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Life, life, immortal life ! 
 
 To be and never cease to be ! 
 O ! deep and Avond'rous mystery — 
 Birth without death — a ceaseless strife, 
 With burning glow- 
 To search and know 
 The hidden truths of dread Eternity. 
 
 On from the shoreless sea, 
 
 The evei-flowing, sparkling stream 
 Dances through Time. Our fitful dream,
 
 133 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Soon past, into Eternity 
 We drop. From earth, 
 When tried our worth, 
 We pass again up to the Great Supreme. 
 
 Immortal life — from first ! 
 
 But then (put off this mortal dress, 
 And robed in hght), we onward press 
 To prouder eminence ; and thirst 
 For purer rills, 
 From nobler hills, 
 And brighter visions of unclouded bliss. 
 
 for one blessed glance — 
 
 From the celestial, flowery mount, 
 Whence gushes the eternal fount — 
 Around creation's vast expanse ! 
 O then would be 
 Life's mystery 
 Unfolded free. 
 And earth be valued at its just amount.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 133 
 
 A SUMMER EVENING SCENE. 
 
 Thy charms are ever new, fan- Nature ! — here, 
 
 Beneath this wood-spring's deep sequestered shade, 
 
 How sweet to ruminate ! while here and there 
 The sunhght dances in the verdant glade ; 
 
 Or, through the trees, in shafts of burnished gold, 
 Darts down into the lonely woodland lake, 
 
 Whose placid waters to the eye unfold 
 
 A fairy land of skies, fields, flowers, and brake. 
 
 L
 
 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The holy quiet of my native vale 
 
 Comes o'er me with an influence sweet and calm ; 
 The gentle, harvest-scented evening gale 
 
 Spreads all around a spirit-soothing balm. 
 
 Bright amber clouds, high o'er the distant hills, 
 Sail peacefully along the western sky ; 
 
 And music from the neighbouring moorland rills. 
 In silvery strains, by zephyrs borne, floats by. 
 
 The golden day-streaks gently fade away ; 
 
 The shades and dews of eve as gently fall ; 
 The harvest moon sheds down her mellow ray 
 
 Upon the scene, and throws a charm o'er all. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a season and a scene so sweet — 
 
 'Tis such a glimpse and taste of Eden's bliss ! 
 
 That in this silent, wood-embowered, retreat, 
 I'd rest — environed round with happiness. 
 
 I love to bend my weary footsteps here. 
 
 For here the world's rude clamour reaches not : 
 
 But Meditation checks each rising tear. 
 And all life's bitter sorrows are forgot.
 
 A SUMMER EVENING SCENE. 135 
 
 Here would I rest ; but, ah ! it may not be. 
 
 Still must I sail along the tide of life ; 
 Must steer my feeble bark o'er that dark sea. 
 
 Amid its battling elements of strife. 
 
 Well, be it so ; still will I not repine. 
 
 Why should I seek exemption from life's ill ? 
 With trust in God — in hope of help divine, 
 
 I'll brave it in obedience to his will. 
 
 Yet, 'tis relief to snatch but one short hour 
 From busy life, and taste the bliss sublime 
 
 In scenes like this, which Nature's fountains pour 
 Into the soul, Heaven's draughts — before the time I
 
 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 CELANDINE LEAVES. 
 
 Therefore am I still 
 A lover of the meadows and the woods, 
 And mountams, and of all that we behold, 
 Prom this green earth. 
 
 WORBSWOKTH. 
 
 Never more ! 
 Saddening words ! ye cast a shadow 
 Bound our pathway full of gloom, 
 Which, if lengthened out, would wither 
 All the flowers that there may hloom ; 
 But affection's sun still gleameth, 
 And exhales their sweet perfume. 
 Sun, shine on ! 
 
 Oh ! say not 
 Never more my feet shall wander. 
 
 Through that dear romantic vale, 
 Where those sunny streams meander,
 
 CELANDINE LEAVES. 137 
 
 Round the mountain primrose pale. 
 Say not that our hearts are severed, — 
 Friendship's holy feelings fail ! 
 Say not so. 
 
 Ever more 
 Nature blooms ! that pastoral landscape, 
 
 Which we viewed, is still the same ; 
 Poesy's shrine, at which we lingered, 
 
 With beauties deck'd that want a name, 
 Still invites oiu- pilgrim footsteps. 
 And our heart's devoted flame, — 
 Ever more. 
 
 Ever more, 
 Ope but once the glorious portal, 
 
 Then appeareth light divine, 
 If but once the Dove immortal 
 
 With his wings the heart enshrine. 
 Then our skies, though often darkened, 
 Smile with roseate beams benign, — 
 Blessed thought ! for ever more.
 
 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Onwakd, upward, soul ! and never 
 Yield thyself to dark despair : 
 
 Be thy motto " Hope, endeavour," 
 Joined with earnest, heartfelt prayer. 
 
 Believe in universal goodness, 
 Beauteous as the starry sky ; 
 
 And though, alas i as far remote, 
 Yet be thy every aim as high.
 
 STANZAS. 139 
 
 Hear'st thou not that voice that cometh 
 
 From Eternity's dim land ? 
 Spurn objections, scale the mountam. 
 
 On its summit take thy stand. 
 
 Brother, fix thine eye on heaven. 
 
 Take it not a moment thence, 
 And on, though hell obstnict thy path, 
 
 Trusting in Omnipotence. — 
 
 On into the field of harvest. 
 
 Thy every power for God employ ; 
 
 The more the sheaves thou bearest with thee, 
 The greater thine eternal joy.
 
 140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THOUGHTS 
 SUGGESTED BY A WINTER SCENE. 
 
 The fierce blast, from the icy North, 
 
 Sweeps on through leafless grove and tree ; 
 
 And, pendent from the wavy boughs. 
 Icicles trill sweet melody. 
 
 To the heart all music stealeth; 
 
 O'er ever}^ grave-bound human clod 
 It tells of hope ;— each tone revealeth 
 
 The love and wisdom of a God 
 
 Oh ! who hath wandered free and lonely, 
 Mong the liaunts round boyhood's home ; — 
 
 Or by the snow-clad mountain streamlets. 
 But there again hath longed to roam.
 
 THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A WINTER SCENE. 141 
 
 'Tis passing sweet to list their music, 
 
 As their waters flow along, 
 While the praise of their Creator, 
 
 Is the bm-den of their song. 
 
 I've listened to their distant murmurs 
 
 In the snoAvy glen untrod ; 
 Or down the side of rocky mountain, 
 
 And their song was ever " God." 
 
 And as their soft strains gently faded, 
 Round the mountain hoar and high. 
 
 My full heart ached, as when ts broken 
 Friendship's long endearing tie. 
 
 Then to the hills, whose broad foundations 
 
 Deeply in the earth are laid, 
 I've turned and gazed in silent awe ; 
 
 And wandering in their mighty shade, 
 
 Would trembling ask them whence their source r 
 Who their builder ? what their age ? 
 
 Who upheld their towering forms, 
 Amid the howling tempest's rage ?
 
 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Who had laid their craggy pathways ? 
 
 Only seen by vulture's eye, 
 Whose scream came mingling with the storm, 
 
 From out the rolling clouds on high. 
 
 Who their wavy foreheads planted ? 
 
 Who had clothed their heathery sod ? 
 And a thousand voices loudly 
 
 Thundered forth the answer " God." 
 
 The Ocean heard the mighty shout ; 
 
 Awhile Britannia bowed her rod; 
 Then onward rolled again its waves 
 
 To every shore, and echoed " God." 
 
 The sparkling stars looked down from heaven, 
 And, catching up the glorious sound, 
 
 Ee-echoed it, with deepening glow, 
 Along the azure dome profound. 
 
 And those bright spirits, ever living, 
 
 Blest in heaven's effulgent rays, 
 Joining in the glorious anthem 
 
 Filled their happy homes with praise.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 
 
 HAKVEST HYMN. 
 
 As from the sun, in one rich dazzling flood, 
 
 Blest light — heart-cheering light ! for ever beams ; 
 So too, from Thee, the All-wise, Kind, and Good— 
 
 The self-created Sun — for ever streams 
 One boundless flood of blessings, rich and free. 
 
 The wants of all Thy creatures to supply ; 
 For all Thy creatures wait, great God, on Thee, 
 
 And thou again hast heard their needy cry. 
 
 In mercy hast Thou laid Thine anger by ; 
 
 Once more hast Thou remembered us for good ; 
 The kindling flashes of Thy feai'ful eye 
 
 Are softened into love. Our mouths with food,
 
 144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 In Thy prolific goodness, hast Thou fiU'd — 
 
 Once more our drooping spirits hast Thou raised ; 
 The throbbing hearts of hungry ones are stilled ; 
 ■ Oh ! be Thy blessed name for ever praised. 
 
 Down from Thy cloudy chambers has been pom-ed 
 
 The rich, refreshing, fertilizing rain ; 
 And Thou hast sent Thy blessed sunlight, Lord, 
 
 To fructify each valley, hill, and plain. 
 Now, safely gathered-in the fruits of earth, 
 
 We lift to Thee, God, our hymn of praise ; 
 But oh ! our tongues can never speak Thy worth. 
 
 For Thou art love and truth in all Thy ways. 
 
 Accept a nation's praise. Eternal One, 
 
 For the rich harvest reaped throughout our land. 
 Lowly, O God, we bend before Thy throne, 
 
 To bless Thee for thine interposing hand. 
 From eveiy valley let thy praise ascend ; 
 
 From every hill let grateful notes arise ; 
 And all the people their glad voices blend, 
 
 Li one harmonious anthem to the skies.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1-45 
 
 ANOTHER WORD ON WEALTH. 
 
 Oh ! give us riches ! is the earnest voice 
 
 Of eager men intent to clutch 
 
 The hard, red gold, whose very touch 
 Begets a look that says, this is our heart's just choice. 
 
 Oh ! give us riches ! is the trumpet crj-, 
 
 Amidst the deafening din and strife, 
 
 That fill up every day of life. 
 As if none e'er had died, or eer again would die. 
 
 " Oh ! 'tis not in the power of wealth to give 
 Mankind true bliss ;" — so Christians say ; 
 Yet is the stmggle day by day 
 
 For wealth ; too much, alas ! for this men plan and live. 
 
 M
 
 146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " Brethren, in riches put you not your trust, 
 
 For these take wings and fly away," 
 
 The preacher's voice is heard to say ; 
 Yet oft it is too plain the preacher is but dust. 
 
 Mammon rejoice ! thy votaries increase ; 
 
 Thine are the sterling hearts and true ! 
 
 'Tis but a poor and paltry few 
 Who walk a quieter path that leads to deeper peace. 
 
 "■ But wealth is power." Ah ! brother, so it is, 
 A power that binds men down to earth ; 
 For, gloating o'er their treasure's worth, 
 
 Some spend their life, nor care for any higher bliss. 
 
 " Poet, still wealth is power, say what you can ; 
 
 Makes it not men esteemed and great?" 
 
 Well ! some do ever adulate 
 Him that hath wealth ; — some do prefer a poorer man. 
 
 Wealth is a power that lights the eye with pride. 
 And clothes the haughty lip with scorn ; 
 And thousands wish they'd ne'er been born. 
 
 Whom men of riches brow-beat, torture and deride.
 
 ANOTHER WORD ON WEALTH. 147 
 
 A power that crushes oft the boasting brave, 
 
 Ay! oft proves ruin's very means; 
 
 For witness those heart-rending scenes. 
 Wealth sometimes paints — the horrid death, the un- 
 timely grave. 
 
 Though all do not thus bow at Mammon's feet, 
 
 And join the coarse insensate cry 
 
 For wealth, nor see the reason why 
 'Tis thought man's highest good ; — we must again 
 repeat, 
 
 Mammon, rejoice ! thy votaries increase; 
 
 Thine are the sterling hearts and true ! 
 
 The world says 'tis a poor weak-headed few, 
 Who walk a quieter path that leads to deeper peace.
 
 148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S PSALM. 
 
 Life is precious ! yet, as ever : 
 It is marked by joy and woe ; 
 
 And amid its lights and shadows. 
 Do the nations come and go. 
 
 Shadows that are ever prompting 
 Yearnings after higher life ; — 
 
 Lights that seek to guide us safely 
 Through the present ceaseless strife. 
 
 Like a stream, Time bears us onward : 
 
 More distinctly every year, 
 Do the boomings of the ocean 
 
 Fall upon the lisfning ear.
 
 A NEW year's psalm. 149 
 
 And the wild voice of its surges 
 
 Through the heart a sadness sends, 
 
 Sounding like funereal dirges 
 Over our departed friends. 
 
 Deep the mysteries around us, 
 
 "Whatsoe'er the preacher saith ; 
 And to solve them we must travel 
 
 Through the deeper shades of death. 
 
 But life still is precious ! never 
 
 Will we yield ourselves to fear ; 
 God hath been ovir help, and ever 
 
 Will be through each coming year. 
 
 Through the day of life's great battle. 
 
 Little time is there for rest ; 
 But our pathway ever leads us 
 
 Nearer to the glowing west. 
 
 In the silence of the midnight — 
 
 Gazing on some solemn star. 
 Oh ! what visions then come o'er us 
 
 Of the •' Better Land afar !"
 
 150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Visions that are oft derided, — 
 Scouted by the worldly wise ; 
 
 Those who've found on earth their heaven^ 
 Will not, cannot higher rise. 
 
 Pilgrim, lift thy head ! and bravely 
 Tread the path the good have trod ; 
 
 Dare the future ! thou shalt conquer. 
 Trusting in the might of God.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 151 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 WRITTEN ON READINCi OF THE DEPARTURE OF THE BRITISH 
 TROOPS FOR THE SEAT OF WAR IN THE CRIMEA. 
 
 Hark ! the trumpet now is pealing, 
 The Soldier is his bosom steeling, 
 Crushed is every tender feeling ; 
 Duty calls, he must obey — 
 See him dash the tear away. 
 England ! thy sons to battle go. 
 O God ! that e'er it should be so. 
 
 See ! they come, with banners flying. 
 
 In bravery with each other vicing ; 
 
 And their look, how death-defying. 
 As they march with steady tread, 
 Solemn as the silent dead ! 
 
 Their country calls, and they must go ; 
 
 O God ! that e'er it should be so.
 
 152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Cheering shouts the air are rending ; 
 
 With them martial strains are blending, 
 
 As the warriors are wending 
 
 To the battle-field their way — 
 Men their fellow-men to slay. 
 
 On to a goiy death they go. 
 
 O God ! that e'er it should be so. 
 
 But amid the cheerful hailing ! 
 
 There ascends the sound of wailing, 
 
 Bereft ones after them are trailing, 
 
 For one more glimpse — 'twill be the last, 
 For, hark ! the distant trumpet blast 
 
 Proclaims that onward still they go. 
 
 O God ! that e'er it should be so. 
 
 Oh ! what fond hearts have been broken ! 
 
 What bitter farewells have been spoken ! 
 
 What speechless looks deep grief betoken ! 
 And thousands on the world are thrown 
 With none to pity, none to own — 
 
 Their guardians on to battle go. 
 
 O God ! that e'er it should be so.
 
 STANZAS. 153 
 
 'Gainst bloody war the wise have striven, 
 Ten thousand prayers have flown to Heaven ; 
 And yet the challenge has been given ; 
 
 Proud might would triumph over right ; 
 
 But British Soldiers yet can fight — 
 Can prove their prowess o'er the foe. 
 God of battles ! with them go. 
 
 England fears Thee, and her glory 
 Is to humbly bow before Thee, 
 In her need now to implore Thee 
 
 To espouse the righteous cause. 
 
 In the world's dread coming throes. 
 Be with her, and assist her still 
 To know and do Thy sovereign will. 
 
 God of Battles ! let Thy thunder 
 Break the tyrant's bands asunder. 
 And the world, with awful wonder. 
 
 See the miglit of Thy dread sword ; 
 
 Speak, Eternal One, the word ! 
 Eoll back War's threatening floods of woe. 
 And bring the haughty despot low.
 
 154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 Teaks flow apace, and ease my heart. 
 
 For Nature bids ye flow ; 
 Those who have lost a darling child 
 
 Know well my weight of woe. 
 
 Tears flow apace, and ease my heart, 
 
 Flow faster still — flow deep ; 
 Did not incarnate Deity 
 
 At Bethany once weep ? 
 
 Poor mortals shrink at Death's cold touch ; 
 
 The grave is cold and drear ; 
 How hard to see its portals close 
 
 On those we hold so dear !
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 155 
 
 Hark ! onward through the gloomy vale, 
 
 The sullen waters roll ! 
 Oh, keen the pangs to hear the plunge 
 
 Of a departing soul ! 
 
 But cease to flow, ye welcome tears ; 
 
 However hard to part, 
 I see the dawning of a hope 
 
 That cheers my drooping heart. 
 
 Yes, I can stand beside thy grave, 
 
 And view the starr}- sky, 
 And fondly think how thy dear form 
 
 Will yet be raised as high. 
 
 I see thee in the train of Him 
 
 WTio welcomed such on earth, 
 And feel that to be there is more 
 
 Than countless worlds are worth : 
 
 For now thy infant warbling voice 
 
 Joins that celestial song. 
 Whose numbers shall for ever trill 
 
 From thy immortal tongue.
 
 156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE WIFE. 
 
 Oh ! I remember oft the hour. 
 
 When first thine azure eyes met mine, 
 The tender glance whose winning power 
 
 Made my fond heart for ever thine. 
 And I remember too the grove, 
 
 Where thy soft voice in accents sweet, 
 First breathed to me the ardent love 
 
 Which made this heart with raptm-e beat.
 
 THE WIFE. 157 
 
 Since then how oft those loving eyes 
 
 Have hghted up the darkest scene ; 
 How oft that sympathizing voice 
 
 Has to my heart a solace been. 
 When other friends would cast the glance 
 
 Of freezing coldness, thy sweet eyes, 
 With heartfelt love and joy, would dance, 
 
 And check my rising, plaintive sighs. 
 
 O ! cold may blow the bitter blast, 
 
 And rough may be life's restless tide ; 
 But times of sadness cannot last, 
 
 Whilst thou art, loved one, by my side. 
 Come sickness, health — come weal or woe, 
 
 I will not at my lot repine ; 
 Should every other comfbrt go, 
 
 I'm still content if thou art mine.
 
 158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MAN TRAVELS TO THE TOMB. 
 
 Whate'ek the changing scenes of hfe, 
 
 Or dark or bright the past, 
 Placid our walk, or fierce om^ strife, 
 
 No season long can last. 
 Whate'er the sympathy of friends. 
 
 Or deep the present gloom. 
 All earthly joy or soitow ends, 
 
 Man travels to the tomb. 
 
 Pure and high may be our aim, 
 Deep love flash from the eye.
 
 man's tbavels to the tomb. 159 
 
 !For the whole world a sacred flame 
 
 Of prayer may reach the sky ; 
 And for its good our efforts may 
 
 Our days and nights consume ; 
 Howe'er we wish earth's brighter day, 
 
 We travel to the tomb. 
 
 How pleasant into life to spring, 
 
 And range earth's paradise ! 
 In thought, with an unwearied wing, 
 
 To rise, — and still to rise ; 
 To feel how grand it is to be 
 
 In man and nature's bloom ; 
 But there remains the mystery, 
 
 Man travels to the tomb. 
 
 The skies still blandly smile o'erhead. 
 
 The earth puts forth her green. 
 The sti-eams roll to their ocean bed, 
 
 Night sheds her starry sheen ; 
 But skies may smile, and earth invite. 
 
 Flowers shed their sweet perfume. 
 Life's future path seem calm and bright, — 
 
 Man travels to the tomb.
 
 160 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Seasons roll on. Young Spring his flowers 
 
 Throws round our youthful feet ; 
 And gladsome are the Summer hours, 
 
 In after life we meet ; 
 But Autumn's short-lived mellow rav 
 
 Soon fades to Winter's gloom ; 
 And young, and old, the grave, the gay, 
 
 All travel to the tomb.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 161 
 
 DKEAM-LAND. 
 
 In the silence of that dream-land, 
 
 Often do I think of thee, 
 While listening to the soothing strains 
 
 Of its unearthly melody. 
 
 O ! the grandeur of those mountains ! 
 
 ! the beauty of that home, 
 Where through glens by mossy fountains, 
 
 We so joyously did roam. 
 
 And when we gained the open moorland, 
 What a scene did we behold ! 
 
 Ten thousand purple heather-bells, 
 All filled with liquid gold.
 
 162 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Far and wide the sunset glory 
 
 Poured its rich and pleasant light ; — 
 
 Bathing all within the valley ; 
 Gilding every fir-clad height. 
 
 And the tarn upon the moorland, 
 
 ! how calmly did it lie, 
 While its bosom, like a mirror. 
 
 Caught the glory of the sky. 
 
 But not so the merry streamlet, 
 
 Which purled by our trysting bower. 
 
 How did its music soothe and bless 
 Om- hearts that holy hour ! 
 
 Yes, into those blissful moments 
 Were the joys of years comprest ; 
 
 There from toil earth's weary pilgrims 
 Found an interval of rest.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1 63 
 
 LOVE'S ABSENCE. 
 
 Life ! O 'tis a blessed thing ! 
 
 Full of care though it may be ; 
 With music, hark ! the woodlaiids ring — 
 
 Note of song-bird — hum of bee. 
 But there is sweeter music far, 
 
 When woman's love-fraught voice is heard. 
 Then how brightly glows life's star. 
 
 How the human heart is stuTed ! 
 Ye who've listened to the strain, 
 
 Drunk its music day by day, 
 What on earth can give more pain 
 
 Than when your home-bird is away. 
 
 Cheering is the blessed light, 
 
 When it floods the verdant earth ;
 
 164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Forgot is then the joyless night, 
 In the hopes that then have birth. 
 
 But there's a pleasure, dearer far. 
 
 When woman looks her heartfelt love. 
 
 ! then how rapt in bliss we are. 
 The highest that on earth we prove! 
 
 Ye who've bask'd in its bright beam, — 
 Felt its soothing influence — say. 
 
 When does the world less joyous seem, 
 Than when your home-light is away. 
 
 1 have heard that joyous strain ; 
 
 I have seen that blessed light ; 
 It hath often eased my pain, 
 
 Lighted up my darkest night. 
 And I tell the world that nought, 
 
 (Wise ones ! shake your heads— so wise !) 
 With half such happiness is fraught ;— 
 
 Nought on earth that I so prize. 
 Ay, smile at weakness, an' ye will, 
 
 Though life is sweet, again I say. 
 Its purest bliss is wanting still. 
 
 If the loved-one is away.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 1 65 
 
 THE HOLMFIRTH FLOOD. 
 
 ■WRITTEN ON VISITING THE SCENE OF THE AWFUL FLOOD., AT HOLMFIRTH, 
 
 FEBRUARY, 1852. 
 
 In gloomy grandeur have the clouds for days 
 
 Roll'd o'er the heights that guard the vale of Holme. 
 
 For days the rain across the moorlands wild 
 
 Has swept incessantly. The mountain streams 
 
 Dash down their pathways as if all pursued 
 
 By moorland furies ; — driven from their heights 
 
 Into the vales below, to seek a home 
 
 In calmer scenes. Downward do they dash, 
 
 Foaming with rage, and with the sweeping blasts, 
 
 Which howl portentous, join their maddened cry 
 
 Of proud defiance 'gainst the threatening sky.
 
 1^6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The mass of congregating waters meet, 
 In wild commotion, in the mountain gorge, 
 Prepared, when gathered in their mighty strength. 
 To rush upon the vale, and carry death 
 And fierce destruction in their fearful flow. 
 Lo ! higher, and still higher do they rise. 
 And, in the shadow of the beetling crags, 
 Eesemhle Lethe in their gloomy depths ; 
 While from their troubled heart is heard to come 
 The cry for victims from insatiate Death, 
 Who arms his ministers for their dread work. 
 
 Devoted vale ! lulled by the storm to rest, 
 Soon are thy scenes of rural quietude. 
 And pure domestic bliss, to be assailed 
 By mortal Avoe ; — by a relentless foe, 
 Who breaks all ties, and lays all comforts low ; 
 And yet, thou know'st it not. O, mighty God ! 
 Must these, thy creatures, perish in their sleep ? 
 Oh i must they wake no more to life on earth } 
 Must they not see the coming spring, nor feel 
 The flush of nature in her joyous youtli? 
 Must they be swept away in all their sins. 
 And, disembodied spirits, wake before
 
 THE HOLMFIRTH FLOOD. 167 
 
 The Throne they dread, to hear unwarned their doom ? 
 
 Save, save the wicked for the righteous' sake ! 
 
 Nor let thy baleful, pent-up thunders break 
 
 On their unconscious heads ! Oh ! pleading vain ! 
 
 As on the plains where stood, in all their wealth 
 
 And wickedness, the cities of the east ; 
 
 In vain, the venerable patriarch. 
 
 In sympathy for their inhabitants, 
 
 Did intercede ; so here too hath gone forth 
 
 (Let Earth not question Heaven's supreme decrees) 
 
 The fiat of the dread Eternal Power. 
 
 For see ! behind a rolling cloud of mist, 
 
 The waters, having bvirst the massive banks, 
 
 Their dreadful work begin, and with the sound 
 
 Of deep reverberating thunder, sweep 
 
 Along their destined course. The mighty oaks^ 
 
 That to the earth's foundations fast have twined 
 
 Their thousand roots, are in their furious grasp 
 
 All seized, and like the tiny river flag, 
 
 Are borne upon the bosom of the deep. 
 
 The rocks, that reared to heaven their giant form, 
 
 And laughed, in proud defiance, when the storm 
 
 Has raged in fury round them, from their seats 
 
 Are hurled, and thunder down the gloomy vale.
 
 168 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Still onward rolls the mighty flood, and spreads 
 Wild devastation in its dreadful course. 
 And hark ! the watchman lifts his warning voice ! 
 Above the storm is heard his trumpet blast : 
 " He comes ! the storm-sprite comes ! flee for your 
 
 lives." 
 And now, oh ! what a scene doth fill the eye ! 
 'Tis midnight, but the moon through murky clouds 
 Sheds her pale beams. Yon well-built fabric stems 
 The flood a moment, then with a loud ci-ash 
 It sinks, and all is gone. The homes of men 
 Are deluged in the angry waves, and shrieks 
 Of mortal terror through the vale resoimd. 
 Yes, homes which a few hours before had smiled 
 In the enjoyment of the richest bliss 
 That earth affords, are now the watery graves 
 Of their possessors ; and their hopes and fears 
 Of future life, are whelmed in sudden death. 
 
 " My child ! my child ! " the drowning mother cries. 
 And clasps it in her death-throes to her breast, 
 Then sinks to rest beneath the sedgy bank 
 Of the fell stream that murdered her ; or, borne 
 Along the flood, doth find a resting place 
 In some deep ocean cave. " Save, father, save ! "
 
 THE HO LMFIKTH FLOOD. 10 9 
 
 In piercing accents shrieks the dying girl, 
 As she is by the raging torrent torn 
 From his endeared embrace; while grappling with 
 Its mighty force, intent to save his child, 
 His deep paternal love his ruin proves — 
 Death is too strong — he sinks to rise no more. 
 The girl was to be wed the morrow morn, 
 And in the height of hope she fell asleep ; 
 Bright visions of her futm-e joys had blessed 
 Her dreams. She thought to rise and realize 
 Her blooming hopes ; alas ! she woke to die. 
 
 Still onward does the reckless monster roam ; 
 Now, he invades the precincts of the dead. 
 And, not content with the dread havoc made 
 With precious life, he rushes to the tomb. 
 And di-ags from thence the livid, mouldering corpse, 
 And bears the lidless coffin to the door 
 Of those who wail, in utter wretchedness. 
 The loss irreparable they have sustained. 
 
 See, now it nears the hamlet, doomed to share 
 The horrors of its wild, destructive power; 
 The villagers, alarmed, flee in dismay — 
 o
 
 170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Flee for their lives, and leave the dear, dear homes. 
 That hitherto have sheltered from life's ills. 
 Some, horror-stricken, stay awhile to gaze 
 Upon the impetuous flood, but, caught within 
 Its whirling, whelming rush, they pass away, 
 And hopelessly are lost. Home after home 
 Is deluged in its swell. Life after life 
 Is sacrificed, and Moloch is appeased ; — 
 The dreadful tragedy is now complete. 
 The waters spread into the opening plain, 
 And seek their level in the far-off main. 
 
 Kemorseless torrent ! what a scene hast thou 
 Left in thy gloomy wake ! How doth the howl 
 Of desolation sound through every wood, 
 And naked glen, and devastated field ! 
 Gaunt Euin, rearing his black form to heaven. 
 Bestrides the wreck-strewed vale, and, with a laugh 
 Of proud derision, points us to his prey ; 
 While Nature, weeping o'er the dreadful scene. 
 Leaves for a time her once beloved retreat. 
 
 How doth the heart of the beholder swell 
 With grief unspeakable, as he surveys
 
 THE HOLMFIRTH FLOOD. 171 
 
 The vale from some high-jutting crag, and thinks 
 Of those who lie entombed beneath the mass 
 Of mingled wreck! — he scarce can see for tears. 
 In wrapt imagination back he turns 
 His gaze, and sees in awful grandeur roll 
 That wilderness of waters which o'erwhelmed 
 The earth, and swept all being from its face. 
 Then down Time's vale he wings, in thought, his 
 
 flight, 
 And sees a mightier deluge — one of fire; 
 And Heaven's dread angel, who but waits the word 
 Of the Omnipotent to light 
 The rolling world in its consuming flames : 
 And, as he slowly leaves the awful spot. 
 His saddened heart communes in prayer with heaven.
 
 no, MISCEIilANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 AN INVOCATION TO DUTY. 
 
 Onward, Soul ! into the field — 
 
 The hattle-field of life ! 
 O ! never to the foeman yield — 
 
 On, on into its strife. 
 Go forth in all the strength of youth ; 
 
 Be something, dare and do ; 
 Up ! arm thee in the mail of truth. 
 
 And thou shalt conquer too. 
 
 O ! shrink not from the enemy, 
 Though numerous and strong : 
 
 Let faith in God encourage thee ; , 
 Be hope thy constant song.
 
 AN INVOCATION TO DUTY. 173 
 
 Look forward ! angels beckon thee ; 
 
 Behold the conqueror's cro-wn ! 
 Fight on into eternity, 
 
 And it shall be thine own. 
 
 O ! the bliss of being, when 
 
 We're faithful to our trust ; 
 For, when we quit ourselves as men, 
 
 We trample in the dust 
 All those who dare oppose to bind 
 
 From glory and from fame. 
 And in the firmament of mind, 
 
 We write our deathless name. 
 
 Then venture, Soul, into the storm — 
 
 The stern, yet noble strife ! 
 Brave Death! heed not his upraised arm, 
 
 And win immortal life. 
 Go forth in all the strength of youth, 
 
 Be sometJiing, dare and do ; 
 Up ! arm thee in the mail of truth, 
 
 And thou shalt conquer too.
 
 174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 TO MY NATIVE VALE. 
 
 Sweet vale ! I love thee dearly, 
 Shrined in thy holy calm, 
 
 I listen late and early 
 To the inspiring psalm 
 
 That from thy bosom rises high, 
 
 A daily anthem to the sky. 
 
 I gaze upon thy beauty, 
 Thy music never palls, 
 
 But nerves me for the duty 
 To which life ever calls :
 
 TO MY NATIVE VALE. 175 
 
 Thou givest to my heart a joy, 
 Which all life's cares can ne'er destroy. 
 
 The glens, the heath-clad mountains, 
 
 The aged hawthorn tree. 
 The rills, the mossy fountains — 
 
 All have their charms for me ; 
 In calm or storm, hy night or day, 
 1 love in their lone haunts to stray. 
 
 How bright the sunset glory 
 
 Upon thy woodland stream ! 
 What feelings now come over me, 
 
 While, lost in the bright dream 
 Of early days, I walk once more 
 Along its green, romantic shore. 
 
 I prize those youthful feelings — 
 
 Those aspirations grand ; 
 To me they were revealings 
 
 Of the future spirit-land ; 
 Their influence sheds around my way 
 The glory of immortal day.
 
 176 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 When, as the day-beam fadeth, 
 The Moon walks forth serene, 
 
 O what a power pervadeth 
 The fair, enchanting scene ! 
 
 How is the spirit caught on high, 
 
 And pants to know Hfe's mystery 
 
 I wish not wealth nor splendour. 
 Nor pomp of earthly power ; 
 
 To me 'tis wealth to wander, 
 At morn or evening hour, 
 
 Beneath the sky, upon the sod. 
 
 Where first my thoughts were led to God. 
 
 Long as I live, dear vaUey, 
 
 Whei-e'er my lot be cast. 
 While recollections rally 
 
 Round the standard of the past; 
 Thee will my heart still fondly prize, 
 Earth's first and only paradise.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 177 
 
 "THE NOTES, SWEET BIRDS." 
 
 The notes, sweet birds, ye raise so high, 
 
 My bosom fill with grief; 
 In vain, to cheer my heart ye try — 
 
 Ye cannot give relief. * 
 No, no, ye bring to mind those hours, 
 
 For ever passed away, 
 I spent among these woodland bowers, 
 
 In wild and careless play.
 
 178 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Those hours when I, with early feet, 
 
 Strayed through this leafy grove, 
 The first soft hlush of morn to gi'eet — 
 
 To hear sweet lays of love ; 
 Or watch the golden sunbeams sip 
 
 The dew-drops bright and clear, 
 Which trembled on each floweret's lip, 
 
 That bloomed and blossomed here. 
 
 Those hours, when her kind, cheerful voice — 
 
 Her heart-enlivening smile. 
 Whom I had made my early choice, 
 
 Would life's dark seasons guile — 
 When bright and cloudless was our sky, 
 
 And every bliss was ours, — 
 But ah ! for ever have gone by 
 
 Those calm, those happy, hours. 
 
 The warblers that so gaily sung. 
 The flowers that blossomed here, 
 
 And breathed their sweets when I was young. 
 Will never more appear. 
 
 The heart that beat for me alone — 
 The fair and cheerful brow
 
 "THE NOTES, SWEET BIRDS." 179 
 
 Of her, whom once I call'd my own, 
 In dust are now laid low. 
 
 And vainly yonder sun now shines ; 
 
 In vain the flow'i-et's bloom ; 
 My lonely heart in sorrow pines, 
 
 Nor can they cheer its gloom. 
 And your blithe songs, that rise so high, 
 
 Sweet birds, oppress with grief. 
 In vain, to cheer my heart ye try — 
 
 Ye cannot give relief.
 
 180 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE GOOD OLD TOWN." 
 
 Home of my fathers ! thee I hail ! 
 O ! fondly do I gaze on thee ; 
 For in my free, my native vale, 
 
 Are treasures dear to me. 
 Lo ! smiling in the morning sun, 
 In the sweet calm of days now flown, 
 A pleasant sight to look upon. 
 
 Is still "the good old town."
 
 "THE GOOD OLD TOWN." 181 
 
 Though eyes are dim and hearts are still, 
 
 For ever hushed in death's repose, 
 Whence flowed a pure and constant rill 
 
 Of balm to heal my woes. 
 Though Time hath swept some joys away, 
 Still laughing skies are o'er thee thrown, 
 Like those that in my boyhood's day, 
 O'erspread " the good old town." 
 
 To distant lands let others roam ; 
 
 The peaceful vale my sires have trod, 
 Through life shall be my happy home — 
 
 My grave, its verdant sod. 
 At sight of thee dear memories start, 
 
 Bright as the flowers around thee strewn, 
 That bind, as years roll on, my heart 
 More firm to thee " old town." 
 
 Long as thy steeples flood the air 
 
 With Sabbath harmonies and peace, 
 0, may Heaven hear thy voice of prayer! 
 
 Its blessings still increase. 
 May thy brave sons join heart and hand 
 To guard those precious rights their own, — 
 p
 
 182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Prove, like the hills that round thee stand, 
 Thy bulwarks, " good old town." 
 
 May pleasure, innocence, and love, 
 
 Be ever by thy youths possessed ; 
 And peaceful years e'er gently move 
 
 Thine aged to their rest. 
 Thus may heaven's blessing rest on thee, 
 
 When wild flowers o'er my grave have grown, 
 And other bards, in numbers free. 
 Sing of the " good old town."
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 183 
 
 THE LAST FOND LOOK. 
 
 " Yet just once more 
 I fain would scan, dear vale, thy beauties o'er ; 
 I fain these fond, admiring eyes would cast 
 O'er childhood's home and scenes ! 'twill be my last 
 Fond gaze — for ere the shades of eve come on, 
 And hide from view these flowers — I shall be gone. 
 I feel life's ebbing sands are nearly run : 
 For me no more will rise yon morning sun ; 
 And when the warbling songsters tune their lay, 
 In yonder shady bowers, the live long day ; 
 And when the forest-bee, at rosy morn. 
 Shall wind, with ceaseless hum, its tiny horn ; 
 And when the sigh of trees, the flow of rills, 
 With sweetest music this green valley fills ;
 
 184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Or when the jocund shouts of cheerful mirth 
 Shall echo to the laughing sky from earth, 
 This heart, unconscious of that joy will be 
 Sepulchred 'neath yon church-yard alder tree. 
 The balmy breeze may run her fingers through 
 Each holly bush, or wild fantastic bough, 
 'Till each breathes harmony — the flowers there. 
 With richest fragrance may perfume the air ; 
 The early lark, wing'd for the orient skies. 
 Her matin-song may warble as she flies ; 
 The nightingale, in yonder distant grove. 
 At eventide may sing her song of love ; 
 The butterfly may wanton in its play, 
 And bask and flutter in the sun's bright ray ; 
 Bright Sol may tip with gold those verdant hills. 
 And Cynthia silver o'er those murmuring rills ; 
 Her beams may dance upon the rippling brook, 
 Yet I on these dear scenes no more may look. 
 
 Adieu, blest scenes ! to me for ever dear ; — 
 For ye fond memory sheds her warmest tear ; 
 For ye again the silver wires among 
 My hand I throw, to weave my parting song. 
 Adieu ! ye crystal rills, ye rippling streams.
 
 THE LAST FOND LOOK. 185 
 
 That blest, with music sweet, my childhood's dreams; 
 
 Ye free-wing'd zephyrs, fresh and cool, that blow — 
 
 That erst did fan my warm and youthful brow. 
 
 Adieu ! ye floral meads, and verdant woods. 
 
 Ye mountain torrents, and ye vernal floods. 
 
 Ye purple peaks, deep dells, and sylvan bowers, 
 
 Where I ere-while have spent my happiest hours. 
 
 Adieu ! ye friends of youth, ye faithful few, 
 
 In love unchanging, and in friendship true, 
 
 Wliose eyes would ever lighten when I came. 
 
 For ever 'midst life's changes still the same, 
 
 Who ever more would consolation pour 
 
 Into my aching breast — and in the hour. 
 
 The darkest hour of chill adversity 
 
 Would ever breathe the kindest sympathy. 
 
 Farewell ! dear friends, — a few more tears to shed. 
 
 And I shall mingle with the silent dead ; 
 
 But though the ties be broke that bound us here. 
 
 We yet, blest thought ! may meetinyon bright sphere." 
 
 Thus poured the poet forth his mournful song ; 
 He was but young, and with a faltering tongue 
 He gave expression to his last adieu ! 
 To the dear vale he ne'er again might view.
 
 186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE MOOELAND HEATHER. 
 
 Yes ! that day I still remember, 
 
 When, with light and gladsome hearts, 
 
 We two walked, in bright September, 
 Far from towns and crowded marts. 
 
 ! that golden sunshine's glow, 
 
 Warms and cheers my bosom now. 
 
 O ! what music woke each green grove, 
 As we slowly passed them by ; 
 
 How the warblers trilled their true love, 
 Perched on wavy branches high ;
 
 THE MOORLAND HEATHER. 187 
 
 How our spirits, gay and free, 
 Drank that soothing melody ! 
 
 Pure and playful flowed that river 
 
 Down its winding rocky bed, 
 Brawling, gliding, restless ever, 
 
 Swiftly on its course it sped. 
 Brightly did the sparkling spray 
 Glitter in the sunset's ray. 
 
 Far and wide the purple mountains 
 
 Cast around their mellow shade ; 
 And the limpid, mossy fountains 
 
 Soothing; melting music made. 
 Bound us forest flow'rets grew, 
 And around us odours threw. 
 
 Roses, woodbines wild together 
 
 Were by Nature interwreathed ; 
 And thy bonnie Moorland heather 
 
 A refreshing fragrance breathed. 
 O ! that golden sunshine's glow 
 Plays around my spirit now, —
 
 188 THE MOORLAND HEATHER. 
 
 Lighting up my hours of sorrow, 
 Pouring balm into my soul, 
 
 Brightly gilding each to mon-ow, 
 As they ever onward roll. 
 
 Tell me, kind one, dost not thou 
 
 Feel that cheering sunshine's glow ? 
 
 When shall we two meet together. 
 Dear one, in that flower}^ plain ? 
 
 When shall sight of moorland heather 
 Bless and cheer thy heart again ? 
 
 It ne'er may be, and yet it may. 
 
 Hope ! and cast thy griefs away.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 189 
 
 THE WOODLAND HOME. 
 
 Embosomed in a silent vale, 
 
 Surrounded by deep dells, 
 Lone stands the happy sylvan home 
 
 Where gentle Laura dwells. 
 The richest flower-gems trellis round 
 
 That peaceful Eden bower ; 
 And woodland voices there breathe forth, 
 
 A spiritual power. 
 
 A bright translucent stream rolls by 
 Its restless amber flood,
 
 ] 90 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 1 
 
 And joins its music with the songs 
 
 That echo through the wood. 
 There undulating, flowery meads 
 
 In all their beauty lie ; 
 And balmy zephyrs softly bear 
 
 Their incense to the sky. 
 
 Oh ! sweetly smiles that bower when bathed 
 
 In morning's golden sheen ; 
 And blithely on the wings of hope 
 
 The moments pass serene. 
 Yes ! 'tis a place of light and love, 
 
 From morn to evening pale ; 
 For sorrow flies before the smile 
 
 Of Laura of the vale ! 
 
 Soft as the roseate beams of morn 
 
 That light the eastern sky, 
 Are those kind gleams that ever dart 
 
 From her expressive eye ; 
 And gently, as at eventide, 
 
 When gush the streams of song, 
 The tender tones of joy and love 
 Fall from her silvery tongue.
 
 THE WOODLAND HOME. 191 
 
 And she is merry as the rill, 
 
 Which through the valley flows, 
 And rivals every graceful bloom 
 
 That there in beauty blows. 
 And in the joyous harmony 
 
 Which round that Eden floats. 
 In mellow, soul-subduing strains. 
 
 She blends the sweetest notes. 
 
 ! sweetly smiles that bower when bathed 
 
 In morning's golden sheen ; 
 And blithely on the wings of hope 
 
 The moments pass serene. 
 Yes ! 'tis a place of light and love 
 
 From mom to evening pale ; 
 For sorrow flies before the smile 
 
 Of Laura of the vale !
 
 192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE WOODLAND DELL. 
 
 To thy loved shade, lone woodland dell, 
 
 I bend my weary feet ; 
 Ah ! there is still that crystal weU, 
 
 And here's my mossy seat ; 
 And ye, bright flowers, that seem to look 
 
 At me, so coy, so shy, 
 I see you in that fairy nook. 
 
 And read your laughing eye. 
 ! ye possess a modest charm, 
 
 A gentle winning power, 
 That rush ai'ound the heart so warm ! — 
 
 Who does not love a flower? 
 
 And your loud pipings, songsters free, 
 O ! how they charm the ear !
 
 THE WOODLAND DELL. 193 
 
 So rich, so full of melody, 
 
 They draw the blissful tear. 
 Your singing blends so softly sweet 
 
 With those clear singing rills ; 
 And with a melting, I'apturous beat 
 
 Of joy, the glad heart fills. 
 I never yet repaired to thee, 
 
 Thou lovely woodland dell. 
 But feelings have come over me 
 
 No tongue may ever tell. 
 
 The birds, the rills, the quivering leaves, 
 
 The flowers that bloom so fair, 
 Impress the soul ; the bosom heaves 
 
 With untold joy ; while care, 
 Surrounded with the rushing tide, 
 
 Is deluged in its swell. 
 The feelings felt when here I've hied. 
 
 No tongue may ever tell. 
 Life is a struggle from our birth ; 
 
 A chequei'ed scene at best ; 
 But in these pleasant nooks of earth, 
 
 We find a ti'ansient rest.
 
 194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TWILIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 Eteknitt ! — the everlasting home 
 Of souls — how faintly grasped by deepest thought ! 
 While rarely, ! how rarely, man is brought 
 To stretch his mind beyond the starry dome 
 That veils from mortal gaze the residence 
 Mysterious of souls. How slowly sense 
 Drinks spirit in ! — yet how the pure in heart 
 Hang on the Eternal's lips ! All things impart 
 To them some knowledge of His glorious ways : 
 The note of bird — the simplest flower — can raise 
 The lowliest spirit to that glorious throne, 
 Whence, free as beams of morning light, is strown. 
 Throughout the mighty universe profound, 
 The creature's happiness in one eternal round.
 
 TWILIGHT THOUGHTS. 195 
 
 When day's last vestige softly steals away, 
 
 And from the deep'ning vault bright Hesper's ray 
 
 Darts down into the lonely woodland pool, 
 
 0, then what joy ! — while odorous and cool 
 
 Around the weary spirit, plays the gale 
 
 Of ev'ning, as adown the flowery vale 
 
 Invisible it sails, with gentle sigh — 
 
 To plunge into the depths of some lone wood, 
 
 And, in the embrace of soothing solitude. 
 
 Commune with thought. While the propitious sky 
 
 Throws round the evening landscape rose-bloom hues 
 
 Of mellow light, and Nature's charms infuse 
 
 Into the mind a sweet and tranquil joy. 
 
 Which she doth evermore impart without alloy. 
 
 'Tis wise in man, betimes, thus to retreat 
 From busy life, and stay the fluttering beat 
 Of his sad heart, — to view the chequer'd past 
 Of life, in self-communion, and cast 
 His thoughts above. Few through the open gates 
 Of Nature's temple step, though Wisdom waits. 
 And there lifts up her voice to passers by. 
 And graciously would lead them to her high 
 And sacred altar ; — at whose holy shrine
 
 196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Are kindled in the breast those hopes divine. 
 That bless earth's weary pilgrims on their way 
 To purer temples in the skies. All may, 
 But few do, enter there. " The woi'd is nigh, 
 E'en in their mouths." They choose their wayward 
 paths and die. 
 
 But from the outer world, great God, I come 
 To the high altar thou hast raised. As flame 
 Seeks yonder sun — as streams for ever roam 
 On to their ocean home, — I come to claim. 
 With humble spirit, aud with reverend awe. 
 Thy nature aud Thy love. A part of Thee, 
 I come to Thee, aud ask that I may know. 
 Without partaking the forbidden tree. 
 More of the great I Am. With burning thirst 
 I wait — a thirst such as no earthly stream 
 Can e"er allay, — My eager soul would burst 
 Its mortal bonds, and on some bright sunbeam. 
 Would track the shining way, and joyful rise 
 To its high home amid the gloi'ies of the skies. 
 
 Yet even there, my trembling spirit asks 
 
 " What art Thou, dread Eternity ?"— A tongue
 
 TWILIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 197 
 
 Of flame disparts the mystic cloud that masks 
 The Eternal's throne from the encircling throng, 
 And thence a voice, that moves all Heaven, proclaims 
 In thunder, "God ! and God is all in all !" 
 Then why should earth's vain blandishments enthral 
 Th' immortal soul, where this world's mightiest names 
 Live but a moment in duration's round. 
 
 ! let me faithful evermore be found 
 
 Fast by thy throne, God ! and in its light 
 Behold each scene of earth, — and higher climb 
 The hill of life, until, from Pisgah's height, 
 
 1 view the land beyond the dark frontiers of time.
 
 198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Lo ! yonder on the south winds borne, 
 
 A beautiful maiden comes, 
 To cheer the hearts of those that mourn, 
 
 And enliven dreary homes. 
 
 Careering high from climes afar. 
 The fair one, in pride and power. 
 
 Sweeps fleetly on in golden car. 
 Adorned with blossom and flower. 
 
 From yonder shining portals, down 
 She hies to shadowy plains ; 
 
 And Winter, with a parting frown. 
 Yields up the envied reins.
 
 SPRING. 199 
 
 Through barren woodlands — bloom less bowers 
 Passing — she scatters balmy breath ; 
 
 And lo ! sweet buds, and sweeter flowers, 
 Start as from shades of death. 
 
 The valleys don their robes of green ; 
 
 Streamlets break their icy chain ; 
 And mountains, bathed in golden sheen. 
 
 Lift in pride their heads again. 
 
 O ! vernal beauty's first bright gleam. 
 
 Bursting ou the town-pent heart, 
 Exhales griefs tears ; and all things seem 
 
 A hopeful influence to impart. 
 
 Hail ! beauteous Natm'e ! boundless scource. 
 
 Ever fresh, of blissful thought ; 
 For ever teaching in thy course, 
 
 Wisdom's lore ne'er fully taught. 
 
 Pure fount of ever flowing streams. 
 Gurgling through the heart's rude soil, 
 
 With gentle music, wak'ning dreams — 
 Charming dreams — that lighten toil.
 
 200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 O ! cold the heart that does not love 
 Beauty so serene as thine ; 
 
 And dull the heart that cannot prove 
 Pleasures such as now thrill mine. 
 
 In every season, thy fair charms 
 Sway the mind with gentle power ;- 
 
 Soothe to peace life's rude alarms, 
 And brighten up its saddest hour.
 
 (lDh0. 
 
 THE DYING SISTEE. 
 
 Come, sister mine ! 
 One parting sight at these dear scenes below, — 
 One glance I fain would take ere hence I go, — 
 
 Ere they are hidden from my sight. 
 Come, gently bear me to my favom-ite seat. 
 Whence through the leafy lattice I may greet 
 Mom's rosy streaks of cheerful light, 
 And view the grove 
 Where our fond love 
 Has oft encircled us, and led our thoughts above.
 
 202 ODES. 
 
 Oh, what a dawn ! 
 'Tis such a fitting scene to cheer the gloom 
 Of my lone passage to the darkling tomb, 
 
 Where I must shortly sink to rest. 
 Hark ! how the stream of yonder fountain plays 
 The well-remembered tunes of "other days," 
 When, fondly on each other's breast. 
 We oft reclined. 
 And ever kind. 
 We breathed our thoughts and feelings to each other's 
 mind. 
 
 See how the sun, 
 In splendour rising, pours her sparkling tide 
 Of golden light adown the dewy side 
 
 Of that green hill, which now appears 
 Like one huge pyi*amid of brilliant pearls ! 
 And see, ascending slow the azure curls 
 
 Of smoke, from that sweet home, which rears 
 Its humble head 
 O'er its fair bed 
 Of cottage flowers, that all around their odours 
 shed.
 
 THE DYINa SISTEB. 203 
 
 It rises like 
 The holy incense of believing prayer, 
 From off the sacred household altar there, 
 
 Which — from humility's low vales, 
 Ascending gently through the air serene 
 To Him who dwells the cherubims between— 
 Before the Throne of Love prevails ; 
 When' troubles cease, 
 And gentle peace 
 Comes to the grief-fraught heart, and gives a sweet 
 release. 
 
 Now on the ear. 
 From yonder sleeping hamlet, faintly starts 
 The busy hum of life, and buoyant hearts 
 
 Undreaming yet of future ill, 
 Begin their daily round of cheerful toil. 
 Nor wish to wander from their native soil, 
 Their few and low desires to fill ; 
 But sunny rays 
 Light all their days, 
 And blest contentment scatters flowers through all 
 their ways.
 
 204 ODES. 
 
 And there still lies 
 The shady wood-path, leading to the glen 
 We loved ; 'tis skirted still with flowers, as when 
 
 We trod it in the days gone by. 
 And by its side still flows that limpid stream, 
 Discoursing music, — glitt'ring iu the beam 
 Of morn, beneath the dappled sky ; 
 And songsters free, 
 From bush and tree, 
 Attune their lays, and fill the vale with melody. 
 
 'Tis such a morn 
 As we erewhile have spent together, love, 
 When through the scenes delighted we would rove, 
 
 And sweetly dream of joys to come ; 
 But ah, 'tis over now — those times are past. 
 And hai'k ! the gentle summons comes at last 
 That calls me to my future home. 
 0, sister dear ! 
 Art thou still near ? 
 Come to my heart — nay, weep not ! thou hast nought 
 to fear ;
 
 THE DYING SISTER. 205 
 
 For listen how 
 The gladsome strains of earth now sweetly blend 
 With heavenly harmony ; and earthward bend 
 
 Bright visitants their shining way. 
 Come, let me lean my head upon thy breast, 
 And, like the soft tints of the fading west. 
 There close my sweet, but short-lived day. 
 Yes, sister minp ! 
 There I'd recline, 
 And breathe my soul away near that dear heart of 
 thine.
 
 '206 ODES. 
 
 THE BEREAVED SISTER. 
 
 Alas ! she's gone i 
 The fountain of her heart has ceased to pour 
 Its stream of sympathy around the bower 
 
 Of love, in which we used to dwell. 
 The golden bowl is broken ; and the cords — 
 The silver cords are loosed ! Earth affords 
 No other being that I loved so well. 
 Her gentle soul, 
 Beyond control 
 Of eai'thly things, has now attained life's happy goal ;
 
 THE BEREAVED SISTER. "^,07 
 
 And I am left 
 A cheerless wanderer along the way, 
 The dreary way of life ; for night and day 
 
 I miss her well-beloved form. 
 As ei'st, the sun to me shines not so bricfht • 
 Nor does the face of Nature charm mv sight • 
 And I must meet each bitter storm 
 f life alone, 
 With none to own 
 The young bereaved one, or breathe one soothing 
 tone. 
 
 I pace the room 
 Where she in resignation bowed her head 
 To Heaven's high will, and meekly joined the dead ; 
 
 I see the flowers she called her own. 
 Her favourite bird — her books — her wonted chair : 
 I sometimes fancy that I see her there, 
 But when I start, the vision's flown ; 
 The moaning blast 
 Then hurries past 
 Our ivied home, and says that nought on earth can 
 last.
 
 208 ODES. 
 
 I seek the woods, 
 The flowery fields, the stream, the leafy bowers. 
 The silent glens, where all the sunny houi's 
 
 Of life, in bliss, were passed away. 
 But silent glen, nor flower bespangled field. 
 Nor bowery wood, alive with song, can yield 
 My heart's dear flower — all seem to say 
 " She is not here :" 
 Then sorrow's tear 
 Bedews my cheek as thought looks at the flower- 
 decked bier. 
 
 But cruel Death, 
 Thou oflfspring of foul Sin, though thou on earth 
 Mayst often crash our fondest hopes at birth, 
 
 Thou canst not close the road to Heaven. 
 No, tyrant ! though our nature shrinks thy grasp. 
 Yet never soul by faith the cross did clasp. 
 And 'gainst thy power has vainly striven. 
 Then, soul, hope on ! 
 Though all is gone. 
 That made earth dear, thou yet shall meet thine 
 absent one.
 
 ODES. 209 
 
 LIFE'S PASSAGE. 
 
 Far across life's dreary waters 
 
 Oft we cast a fearful eye, 
 As the wreck of the disasters 
 
 Of other voyagers float by. 
 Anxiously we strain our sight 
 Through the thick veil of the night, 
 To catch the welcome beacon-light, 
 
 To guide us into port. 
 The low'ring skies, the raging ocean, 
 Every blast, and every motion 
 
 Of our leaky bark— the sport 
 Of angry billows— fills with fear. 
 That every wave 
 Will be our grave. 
 And bury us from all we hold most dear. 
 
 Through the wilderness of waters 
 Ever on and on we float.
 
 210 ODES. 
 
 Over mountain-waves, through valleys, 
 Onward drives our storm-tossed boat. 
 Powerless through numbing fear, 
 We gaze, but have not heart to steer. 
 And on into the region drear 
 Of dark despair we bound. 
 Above the storm is heard the cry. 
 The cry of mortal agony, 
 
 For help — but none is found. 
 A shriek, a plunge, then over all 
 Om- joys and woes 
 The waters close, 
 When low is laid the weary head. 
 Upon its cold, cold ocean bed. 
 To wait the world-awakening trumpet-caU. 
 
 Must life thus aimless pass away ? 
 
 Is such to be its close ? 
 Oh ! must there dawn no calmer day 
 
 To give the soul repose ? 
 Listless are we thus to lie. 
 With the fatal Maelstrom nigh. 
 That whirls into eternity, 
 
 And yet not strike an oar ?
 
 life's PASSAGE. -^11 
 
 List to the warning voice of Heaven, 
 Through yon dark clouds all thunder-riven. 
 
 And in the ocean's roar : 
 "Lift up your heads ! hehold afar, 
 Bethlehem's bright and guiding Star 
 Shines to illume 
 The midnight gloom, 
 Which hopes of future safety doth entomb !'" 
 
 Mortal ! invoke his aid whose hand 
 
 Spread out life's mighty sea, — 
 Who winds and billows doth command, — 
 
 Who sets the hopeless free. 
 Say not, " I'm but a helpless Avorm," 
 But nerve thy arm for every storm ; 
 And in God's strength meet every form 
 
 Of ill that can befal. 
 Through faith in Him the darkness flies. 
 The thunders cease, and smiling skies 
 
 Shed their blessed light o'er all. 
 "Tis faith gives all our energy 
 Amid the strife 
 Of mortal life ; 
 And to our eye unfolds its mysterj'.
 
 '^12 ODES. 
 
 THE BARD TO HIS LYRE. 
 
 0, HiTHEE waft, ye balmy gales ! 
 
 0, hither waft your rich perfume 
 In undulating sweeps, from vales 
 
 Where flow'rets fresh and fragrant bloom ! 
 0, come in whispers soft and low ! 
 O, come disport around my brow ! 
 And on your pinions bear along 
 Yon men'y wood-nymph's mystic song. 
 
 Far from the world's alluring wiles, 
 Where deadliest hate is hid by smiles ; 
 Far from its fever and its strife, 
 Its smooth deceit, its vices rife. 
 How pleasant 'tis to sit and hear 
 
 Yon mountain rills dissolving sound. 
 As now 'tis heard, distinct and clear, 
 
 Then melts away in glens around ;
 
 THE BARD TO HIS LYBE, 213 
 
 To watch yon eastern gold-tinged braid 
 Into the gathering tw-ilight fade ; 
 And while gay songsters merrily 
 Attune their songs to liberty, 
 To quaff the rosy nectarous di'aught 
 Of health, the balmy breezes waft. 
 
 Spirit of life and love ! impart 
 
 Thy soothing measures to my heart ; 
 
 O ! let me thy sweet influence taste ! 
 
 Preside thou o'er the rural feast ; 
 
 Touch with thy wand the se duteous eyes ; 
 
 Bid all thy sylvan beauties rise ; 
 
 And from thy richly-deck'd parterre, 
 
 Teach me to cull a garland fair 
 
 Of glowing Poesy, and inspire 
 
 With music sweet my simple lyre. 
 
 O, simple lyre ! thy music oft 
 
 Hath stay'd the throbbings of this heart 
 Thy plaintive tones, so sweet, so soft, 
 
 Have often eased its painful smart, 
 And brought the balm of kind relief 
 When overwhelm'd with deepest grief.
 
 314 ODES. 
 
 The busy world may know thee not, 
 Nor care for thy unskilful strains ; 
 
 But, ! whatever be my lot — 
 While memory her seat retains — 
 
 Till marks the seulptur'd stone the spot 
 Where deep in earth lie my remains, 
 
 Nought shall ou earth our friendship sever. 
 
 We'll journey on, united ever. 
 
 For thou, when other friends have ceased to smile, 
 Hast never failed the weary hour to 'guile ; 
 When others have unkind, inconstant proved. 
 Thy tender strains my inmost soul have moved. 
 However deep the sorrow of my heart, 
 I need but gently sweep my hand athwart 
 Thy tuneful strings, and my freed soul upsprings 
 Into the realms of hope on joyous wings. 
 In days gone by, how oft thy music wild 
 Hath wrapt in dreams the visionary child ! . 
 And now, e'en now, amidst life's cares and pains, 
 With tears of bliss, I own thy magic strains ; 
 Thou charm'st the present, and recall'st the past ; 
 I love thee, and will love thee to the last.
 
 §nnntB. 
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 The by-path leads to a far fairer clime 
 
 Than e'er by mortal viewed ; — more sweet its flowers 
 Than ever gladden earth ; — more bright its showers 
 
 Of light than fall at richest sunset time. 
 
 Hark ! from the still, enchanted grounds there come 
 The sweetest strains that ever smote the ear, 
 Or fir'd the heart, or drew the exquisite tear ; 
 
 The syren's song allures man to her home. 
 
 Her charms lay hold of every power and sense ; 
 But soon as felt is gone the transient bliss ; 
 They change. Ah ! listen to the serpent's hiss. 
 
 Lo! darkness shrouds the dream-land, deep and dense. 
 
 ! brother, pray thou in temptation's hour ! 
 
 She sings but to allure — allm-es but to devour.
 
 218 SONNETS. 
 
 A RURAL GLIMPSE. 
 
 My pathway led along the mountain's brow, 
 The sky's clear azure scarcely hid from view 
 The spirit-land afar ; while through the rosy hue 
 
 That veiled the 'West, with a celestial glow, 
 
 The distant stars, like angel eyes, looked down 
 Upon the inspiring scene. Woods, meadows, 
 
 streams, 
 Diversified the vending vales ; sunbeams 
 
 Flash'd round their lingering light on the far town, 
 
 And hamlets girt with orchards, smiling in 
 Their rural beauty. Peaceful did they seem, 
 And lovely. ! how sweet was it to dream 
 
 Those quiet homes had ne'er been reached by sin. 
 
 Beauty still walks the earth ; and to the pure 
 
 Unfold her charms. He who is pure is never poor.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 219 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT WHISPER. 
 
 O EAKTH, earth, earth ! speed on thy destined course ; 
 
 Sweep round the cycles which thou hast to make ; 
 
 Against the unknown land I hear thy waters break — 
 tide of life — and my heart's longing's gather force. 
 This midnight stillness settles on my soul 
 
 Deep awe ; in sleep are wrapt my fellow-men, 
 
 Nor know that they on earth may wake again. 
 While from Time's promontory I the scroll 
 Of dark futurity would trace, and know 
 
 My being's reason, and my being's end. 
 
 ! who in life's great conflict can befriend ? 
 This silence fires desire to its intensest glow. 
 Down from the midnight heavens a star-voice fell, 
 " Put thou thy trust in God. ' who doeth all things 
 well.' "
 
 220 SONNETS. 
 
 IMAGINATION AND PIETY. 
 
 GLOEiors power ! the faculty supreme 
 
 Of all the powers that God to man has given ! 
 Lo ! on the shiuing battlements of heaven 
 
 1 see thy form in beauty robed ; — thy theme 
 Of contemplation — human destiny. 
 
 As o'er the vast profound of coming time 
 
 Thy piercing vision sweeps, with hopes sublime 
 Thou pointest Man to immortality. 
 And near thy side is one whose looks of love 
 
 Would win an erring world back to its God ; 
 
 To Mercy's sceptre change the chastening rod 
 Stern Justice wields, and lead man to his home above. 
 O beauteous ones ! e'er blend your charms of price- 
 less worth ! 
 These win the heart and those to happiness give birth.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 221 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 How beautiful the country ! what sweet strains 
 Of melody fall on the listening ear ! 
 What Eden glimpses everyi;\'here appear, 
 
 Scattered o'er valleys, hills, and flower-strewed plains, 
 
 Filling the eye with beauty ! April reigns ; 
 
 Giving the earth fresh bloom — fresh smiles the sky, 
 And telling man that God still lives on high. 
 
 Who winter's gloom, and frosts, and dismal rains. 
 
 Can change into a spring of joyous hope. 
 
 Sweet voice of Nature, true ! but He must touch 
 Man's fount of feeling, and his eye ; or such 
 
 His blindness — so insensate, he would grope 
 
 His way in darkness and in misery. 
 
 Though treading Heaven's own bowers — surrounded 
 with its sky.
 
 222 SONNETS. 
 
 SCEPTICISM. 
 
 Doubt drives th' Eternal from his rightful throne ; 
 Creation's guidance leaves to Chance's power, 
 ControU'd by Passion every changeful hour ; 
 
 Makes life a thing mankind cares not to own ; 
 
 Shrivels the soul ; — before whom hope-light fades ; 
 Makes man a foam-bell on a stormy sea, 
 To burst 'mid lowering gloom and misery ; 
 
 Borne by oblivion's blast to endless shades. 
 
 Back, back, foul Demon ! to thy dismal place ; 
 Back Scepticism ! ring out thy laughing jeers ! 
 The humblest child of faith thee never fears, 
 
 For he a thousand thousand ways can trace 
 
 To immortality : — a flower, a tear, a sigh. 
 
 Wake hopes within his heart that never, never die.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 223 
 
 DESPAIE. 
 
 Eternal Spirit ! in my soul's deep gloom 
 I turn to thee ; for darkness, blacker far 
 Than Nature ever saw, doth every star 
 
 Of Hope blot from my mind's drear sky. Each bloom 
 
 That gladdened with its smile, or fragrant breath, 
 The solitary place, where vagrant thought 
 Was wont to rove so free, in vain is sought 
 
 To cheer the heart — all droops in silent death. 
 
 I turn to Thee, for thou alone canst roll 
 
 The baleful cloud away. No creature power 
 Can soothe me in this agonizing hour, 
 
 Or spread a sky of sunlight o'er my soul. 
 
 Oh! come assuage the anguish of despair. 
 
 And turn its heavy groans into the voice of prayer.
 
 •324 SONNETS. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 They err who say the world is full of gloom, 
 
 That "man was made to mourn," and like a slave, 
 To struggle on through life, 'till in the grave 
 He findeth rest beneath oblivion's tomb. 
 The soul, with all her gathered strength, doth hurl 
 The monstrous thought into the loathsome deep 
 From whence it sprang, while God-ward she doth 
 keep 
 Her steadfast eye, and proudly doth unfurl 
 On Eevelation's towering mount the flag 
 Of deathless hope, and in her agony 
 Would move the universe ere cease to be. 
 Life comes from God : and she the topmost crag 
 Of wildering thought will climb, till she hath found 
 Her source, and there she settles into peace profound.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 225 
 
 SABBATH MORN. 
 
 God of the Sabbath ! 0, how grand the swell, 
 This golden morn, of Nature's hymn of praise i 
 The universe is vocal, and doth raise 
 
 To Thee its paeans, who dost ever dwell 
 
 The cherubim between. Thou shinest forth 
 In glory, and with one broad, dazzling beam 
 Of light, thy truth, thy love, and beauty seem 
 
 Inscribed on the fair bosom of the earth. 
 
 So too thv children lift their hearts to thee 
 
 In songs of grateful praise. There still are those 
 Who find in sori'ow, joy — in toil, repose, 
 
 By trusting Thee with their high destiny. 
 
 "Tis meet that earth's intelligence should raise 
 
 A nobler hymn than nature in its Maker's praise.
 
 'i'-iQ SONNETS. 
 
 TO MY NIECE. 
 
 Heaven's richest blessing rest upon thee, niece ! — 
 Thy every step of future life attend ; 
 And, like a ray of blessed sunlight, blend 
 With all its gloom, and fill thy heart with peace ! 
 Thy opening years are beautiful as Spring ; 
 may their dawn flush into Summer's prime. 
 Then melt to Autumn's rosy twilight time ; 
 And if thy sky by Winter's sable wing 
 A moment be o'crspread, still may the sun 
 Of piety dart through the cloud its ray, 
 And make life's close like one bright winter's day. 
 Thus, when thy joyous course on earth is run, 
 From some sweet valley may thy spirit rise. 
 Like holy incense, to the peaceful skies.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 2-27 
 
 THE HUMAN SEASONS. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Welcome life's beauteous Spring ! O priceless boon 
 
 To live for aye ! — for ever growing up 
 
 To immortality. How sweet the cup 
 Of life ! Thus fair its morn, how grand the noon 
 Of splendour that will burst upon my soul ! 
 
 Shine on, ye heavens ! and pour your blessed light 
 
 Around the heaven within. Bound with delight. 
 My heart, and let the tide of pleasure roll, 
 And bear me on to future bliss. The earth 
 
 Nurses her offspring with the tenderest care ! 
 
 From Nature's heart love gushes ; — everywhere 
 I catch the bliss of life. wondrous birth, 
 
 That opes to an eternity of joy ! 
 wondrous life, which Death itself cannot destroy !
 
 228 SONNETS, 
 
 THE HUMAN SEASONS. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 Steep the ascent! yet, soul, thou must essay 
 To climb the highest and most distant height ; 
 Through the dark cloud Hope's star glows clear 
 and bright, 
 
 Then on, though gaunt Despair across thy way 
 
 Bears up his huge obstructions mountains high. 
 Blending the glow of Manhood's primest blood 
 "Vv^ith that bright star, seize thou Heaven's offered 
 good ! 
 
 ! gain the height ! pass meaner gloiy by ! 
 
 Then Summer beauties deck thy inner world ; 
 The tree of knowledge yields a rich repast ; 
 Thus strengthened, thou shalt brave earth's rudest 
 blast, 
 
 With triumph's flag unto the breeze unfurled. 
 
 The world may doubt it, but I tell thee, thou 
 
 Mayst wear an angel's diadem while here below.
 
 PASSING MOODS AMD THOUGHTS. 229 
 
 THE HUMAN SEASONS. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Season of mellow shades and soothing dreams ! 
 
 When Heaven's pure crescent lights the woodpaths 
 dim, 
 
 And harvestmen sing loud their evening hymn 
 Enamoured of thy charms, by lonely streams, 
 In forest haunts, I love to walk with thee. 
 'Tis joy to see Earth's luscious bosom spread 
 
 With ripend fruit ; to feel from want secure. 
 
 But there's a joy more lofty and more pm'e, 
 When through the fruitful realms of mind we tread. 
 And feel what then is ours will ever be. 
 O I to have gained the height of a good life ; 
 
 And, girt in virtue's strength, with serene eye, 
 
 Look round our flower-world, or our thought- 
 starred sky ; 
 We then forgot the pain of all past strife. 
 'Neath a full harvest-moon we wander on. 
 Delighted with each beauteous scene we gaze upon. 
 
 T
 
 230 SONNETS. 
 
 THE HUMAN SEASONS. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Cold, damp, and dreary is the gloomy day ; 
 
 The naked vales are roofed with leaden clouds ; 
 The hills pour forth their snow-floods ; — mist 
 enshrouds 
 Earth's face, and man gropes on his cheerless way. 
 But wherefoi-e cheerless ? Is the sunlight gone 
 Never to chase the deep oppressive gloom ? 
 What, though we travel to the darkling tomb. 
 Is life a blank ? shines not fair virtue's sun ? 
 Who can forget, sweet Spring ! thy sunny smile ? 
 Or, Summer! the bright hopes which thou 
 
 inwrought ? 
 And of the bliss which thou, blithe Autumn! 
 brought. 
 Stern Winter cannot the brave heart despoil. 
 Oh, aged One ! let not thy faith now fail. 
 For hark! Heaven's music blends with Winter's 
 loudest wail !
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 23 J. 
 
 A WORD OF HOPE. 
 
 Hold on thy weary way, pilgrim of earth. 
 
 Hard though thy lot— by daily cares oppressed ; 
 
 Oh ! there is rest for thee — unbroken rest. 
 To recompense thy toil o'er life's rough path. 
 Gird up thy loins, and bravely venture on. 
 
 Nor vainly wish to know thy future lot ; 
 
 No, there is One by whom thou'rt not forgot; 
 With all thy heart trust that Almighty one. 
 Look round thee, earth will sti'engthen trust in him ; 
 
 With faith behold yon mighty glowing dome ; 
 
 Its stars will light thee to a blissful home. 
 And tune thy heart to sing a hopeful hymn. 
 Hope, brother, what is promised will be given. 
 This is the poet's pledge, " the tidings come from 
 Heaven."
 
 •232 SONNETS. 
 
 TO MAY. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 Hail ! queen of flowery months, thy regal brow, — 
 Encircled with the glory of the year ; 
 Decked with its choicest gems — doth now appear. 
 To England's raptur'd eye, with such a glow 
 Of freshness, as doth thrill with bliss her heart. 
 Sending pulsations strong to the extremes 
 Of her broad lands. Waking from wintry dreams, 
 Her manly sons and beauteous daughters start 
 Again to gladden life ; for thy bland smiles 
 None can resist ; the music of thy voice. 
 So sweet ! all hear, and cannot but rejoice : 
 E'en sickness, poverty, and want it wiles 
 From their foreboding fears, and woes of yesterday, 
 While drinking in thy beauty, life-cheering May !
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 233 
 
 TO MAY. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 All hail ! for at thy advent are renewed 
 The thoughts, the innocence, and purity 
 Of childhood, which spring up from life's dark sea 
 An island steeped in rosy light, when viewed 
 'Neath thy calm skies. An island never more 
 To be approached, and, as we voyage on. 
 Not seldom hid by fogs ; but when hath shone 
 Thy sun, although no nearer to its shore, 
 How vivid has the glorious vision been 
 
 Of its enchanting scenes ! The woodnook spring ; 
 The forest haunts ; birds ever on the wing ; 
 The household voices ; the eternal green 
 Of watered valleys ; and the grandeur of its hills, 
 how they melt the heart, and soften all its ills I
 
 234 SONNETS. 
 
 TO MAY. 
 
 No. Til. 
 
 O'er the dark waters do we plough our way, 
 To the horizon's bright, but distant line 
 That marks the ocean's bound ; in strength divine 
 
 We urge our vessel — guided by the I'ay 
 
 Of childhood's star — to harbour in the bay 
 Of far eternity. Tempests may howl, 
 But only nerve the more each battling soul. 
 
 Intent to gain the everlasting May, 
 
 To spirits given in their high abode. 
 Myriads of voyagers do hail each year 
 Thy glad'ning influence with a welcome cheer ; 
 
 Myriads of voices grateful raise to God 
 
 Their songs for hopes revived, for love enkindled — 
 triumph won — 
 
 While treading thy green paths, and basking in thy sun.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 235 
 
 TO A REDBREAST. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 O LONELY minstrel ! welcome sure thou art 
 
 To make thy home my garden's cloistered bower ; 
 Thy melancholy pipings have a power 
 
 To fill with universal love my heart. 
 
 ! they have touched its sympathetic chords, 
 Which vibrate now with pleasure passing sweet, 
 And, as I watch thee in thy green retreat, 
 
 1 love thee for the bliss thy song affords. 
 O soul-inspiring poesy ! the earth 
 
 Is full of thee ; throughout its wide domain 
 Thy charms extend ; and every tuneful strain. 
 
 And every view of those sweet charms, gives birth 
 
 To soft emotions, such as harmonize 
 
 With theirs who live and love beyond the starry skies.
 
 236 SONNETS. 
 
 TO A REDBEEAST. 
 
 No. II. 
 
 The ruddy streaks of morning's yellow light, 
 
 Appear to be reflected on thy breast ; 
 
 And still, while Autumn folds his arms in rest, 
 And bright Aurora flushes on the sight, 
 Thou pourest forth into my eager ear, 
 
 Thy sweet unearthly music, Avliich now comes 
 
 Mystei'iously, as if from spirit-homes, 
 And from the heart's fount draws the silent tear. 
 The spirit with imaginings sublime 
 
 It fills, and longings undefinable 
 
 Are felt, as when the muffled sounds of deep-toned 
 bell 
 Are heard ; or 'gainst the wasting shores of Time, 
 We hear the surges of the unknown sea. 
 Low murmuring plaintively their mystic melody.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 237 
 
 TO A REDBREAST. 
 
 No. III. 
 
 Of all the forest warblers that have sung 
 Their lays when Spring inhabited the vale. 
 When Summer's charming beauties did prevail. 
 And smiling skies o'er all the prospect flung 
 A softening, soothing radiance, — not one- 
 Remains save thee, thou sacred household bird : 
 Yet through each season thy sweet note is heard. 
 Like Friendship's voice when parasites are gone : 
 Soothing the heart where Winter's blighting breath 
 Sweeps ruthlessly across the landscape drear. 
 And one by one the friends whom we held dear 
 Have vanished in the mistv vale ot Death. 
 Sing on, sweet bird, within thy native dell, 
 Thine own sweet English melodies we love so well.
 
 238 SONNETS. 
 
 TO JOHN KEATS. 
 
 Fancy's magician, soul-entrancing Keats ! 
 Like young Apollo on Parnassus' brow, 
 Thou stand'st sublime, and from those heights dost 
 throw, 
 The richest flowers of poesy, whose sweets 
 Delight the soul. The trembling bosom beats 
 With wildest transports, when thou wav'st thy wand ; 
 For, lofty-vis ioned seer, at thy command 
 All forms of beauty, from their dim retreats. 
 Start forth upon the soul's astonished gaze 
 In all their light ; and earth, and air, and sea. 
 Their various treasures yield, great bard, to thee. 
 Thy radiant muse, full orb'd, dispels the haze 
 That shrouded them, and bursting on the world, 
 Are to the raptured mind bright mysteries unfurled.
 
 PASSING MOODS AND THOUGHTS. 239 
 
 TO THE MEMOKY OF A FEIEND. 
 
 'Tis over, Allan, now — the struggle's o'er. 
 
 And thou hast heaved humanity's last sigh. 
 The noble spirit now has left our shore, 
 
 And passed through death's dark shades to I'ealms 
 on high. 
 No trumpet-blast now echoes o'er thy grave, 
 
 In hollow gusts to sound thine earthly fame ; 
 
 But one who loved thee sings thine honoured name, 
 To tell how calm thou sank'st 'neath Jordan's wave. 
 
 Within the heart's shrine of a friendly few 
 Thou art embalmed, and yet dost live though dead ; 
 And, thinking of thy end, they lift their head 
 
 With glorious hopes, and thy bright path pursue. 
 O be thy spirit's zeal by them possessed, — 
 Be theirs thine honoured life, — thine heavenly rest.
 
 240 SONNETS. 
 
 AN EVENING THOUGHT. 
 
 Behold yon glowing glorious orb of day. 
 
 As now in majesty he sinks to rest ! 
 
 His rays embue with iris tints the west, 
 Which mark his splendour as he fades away. 
 As he his steady downward course is wheeling, 
 
 Through the vast mazes of ethereal blue. 
 From the dun east grey twilight now comes stealing, 
 
 Enveloping fair Nature's face from view. 
 So man, like day, is born, and blooms, and dies ; 
 
 His deeds, the one memorial of his being, live. 
 
 Which stamp his character as wise 
 And good, or darkest tints the picture give. 
 Virtue ! be thou the orbit of my sun. 
 Whose rays shine brightest when its com'se is run. 
 
 [h. aked, printer, keiohlet.
 
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