A 
 
 A = 
 
 
 
 ^^ o 
 
 A = 
 
 
 - 
 
 c= 
 
 m 
 
 ^^ :n 
 
 = 
 
 =^^ jij 
 
 3 = 
 
 ^ 
 
 7 = 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 3 = 
 
 
 1 = 
 
 
 
 
 = 
 
 m^n^ 1 — 
 ' ■■ — ( 
 
 
 ■^^ -< 
 
 5
 
 /> /^yj...^ ' 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^*^ -^^i^tc^ 'hc-^^^l^ <l) c^A2^^^^it^^^r7^i 
 

 
 POEMS, 
 
 RURAL AND MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 BY DAVID HOLT, JUN. 
 
 " Poetry is youth's language— and the scroll 
 Whereon is poured the music of the soul." 
 
 L. K. L. 
 
 MANCHESTER : 
 JOSEPH GILLETT, PRINTER, 2, BROWN STREET : 
 
 SOLD ALSO BY 
 
 LEWIS: AINSWORTHS : & WHITMORE. 
 1846.
 
 
 TO 
 
 DAVID HOLT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "MISCELLANEOUS EXTRACTS," "INCIDENTS," ETC., 
 
 ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 AS A SMALL BUT SINCERE 
 
 TOKEN OF REVERENCE FOR HIS CHARACTER, 
 
 ADMIRATION OF HIS TALENTS, 
 
 AND 
 SYMPATHY IN HIS MISFORTUNES, 
 
 BY HIS AFFECTIONATE SON, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 937?,'3G
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Q[j\ In presenting the following effusions of a very youthful 
 I muse to the public, the author is aware that some 
 apology is necessary. He can only say, that he would 
 not have been induced to take such a step, had he 
 not obtainedThe opinion of a poet, of no mean estimation in 
 the literary world, that they were worthy of some notice ; 
 emboldened, therefore, by this consideration, he offers them 
 to the public, with the full knowledge that they must stand 
 or fall according to their own merits.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 A Day amid the Mountains . . . . . . . . . . 9 
 
 The Village Maiden . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 
 
 Switzerland .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 28 
 
 To an Italian Minstrel .. .. .. .. .. ..31 
 
 To an .2;olian Harp . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 
 
 The Summer Cloud . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 
 
 Greece . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , . 33 
 
 The Halls of Haddon .. .. .. .. .. ..43 
 
 To the Anti- Slavery Association .. .. .. .. 49 
 
 The Morning Walk . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 
 
 Monsal Dale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 
 
 The HaU of the Chief .. .. .. .. .. ..61 
 
 On an Affecting Instance of Early Death . . . . . . G3 
 
 To the Lily .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..67 
 
 Lands of the Poets . . . . . . . . . . . . r,i) 
 
 Lines, on hearing some verses, by G.'iRincK, describing Buxton as the 
 
 most dreary and desolate place that could well be imagine J .. 72 
 
 Sonnet, written on Comb Moss . . . . . . , . . . 76 
 
 Since last we Met . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 
 
 Spirit of the Past . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 
 
 King of the Eagles .. .. .. .. .. .. ..81 
 
 Canzonet .. .. .. .. .. .. .. g4 
 
 Sonnet.— The Nun's Glen . . . . . . . . . . .. SG
 
 VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 I'age. 
 
 Tbe Patriot's Grave . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 
 
 Wild Flowers 89 
 
 To the Memory of Thomas Campbell . . . . . . • . 92 
 
 Sonnet. — Chatswortli .. .. .. .. .. ..95 
 
 Visions of Old . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9G 
 
 To the Winds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 
 
 Stanzas written in a time of Dejection .. .. .. .. 100 
 
 Grave of Glen coila .. .. .. .. .. .. ..103 
 
 Lines inserted in a Young Lady's Album . . .. .. .. 104 
 
 On the Fading of a Bunch of Wild Flowers . . .. .. ..106 
 
 When first we Met .. .. .. .. .. .. 108 
 
 Stars 110 
 
 Sonnet on an Engraving of Dovedale, sent to me by my Mother from 
 
 Buxton .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ll'« 
 
 The Setting Sun . . . . . . . . . . • • 1 H 
 
 On the Death of a Young Lady . . . . • • • • ..117 
 
 Meditative Stanzas . . . . . . . . • • • • "9 
 
 A Broken Heart .. .. .. .. .. .. .. V22 
 
 To a Sunbeam .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 123 
 
 The Poet .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 124 
 
 Stanzas to .. .. .. .. .. .. 128 
 
 Ode to Solitiide .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 131 
 
 On the Death of Laman Blanchard .. .. .. .. 137 
 
 Sonnet, to the Derwent, at Matlock .. .. .. .. ..139 
 
 To Moss and Ivy .. .. . .. .. .. 140 
 
 Home .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 142 
 
 Sonnetto W. C. S. .. .. . .. .. .. 144 
 
 To a Friend, on his returning " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" . . . . 145 
 
 New Year's Eve .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 149
 
 POEMS, 
 
 RURAL AND MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 " I live not to myself, but I become 
 Portion of that around mo, and to me 
 High mountains are a feeling." 
 
 Bykon. 
 
 I WILL away v;nto the mountain wild, 
 To roam as I was wont, in days of yore 
 When I was Nature's free and chainless child. 
 Feasting upon her pure and boundless store 
 Of li^ing loveliness — scorning the lore 
 Of Art's intricate path, and clinging still 
 To her, my first instructress — wand'ring o'er 
 The deep still valley and majestic hill. 
 Finding a lasting charm in river, glen, and rill ! 
 n
 
 10 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 n. 
 
 'Tis scarcely dawn — the gray and spangled heaven 
 But half unveil'd by the retiring night ; 
 Not yet to morn's nnrivall'd reign is given, 
 And darkness playfully contends with light — 
 Yon hoary mountain's head alone is bright. 
 Forerunner of the yet unrisen sun, 
 All else in mist-wreathed vales is lost to sight, 
 Yet wait I here till night's full course is run. 
 And mists are scared away and daylight is begun. 
 
 in. 
 
 'Tis done — night's starry chariots retire, 
 Up springs, all-glorious, the god of day. 
 Exalts his standard like a flag of fire. 
 And, as a monarch, walks upon his way ; 
 'Tis done — departed is the curtain gray. 
 The mists are curling from the wooded hill. 
 And earth rejoices in the golden ray 
 That sweetly sparkles in the mountain rill. 
 Leaping from ledge to ledge — unwearying — never still.
 
 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 1 I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hail, gentle morning ! bringer of new life ! 
 Child of tlie beaming sun ! we bid thee hail. 
 With fruits, and flowers, and opening blossoms rife, 
 And stolen perfumes borne upon the gale. 
 From balmy forest and from flowery dale. 
 — How sweetly opes the prospect ! glen and grove, 
 And mountain's heathy brow, and em'rald vale, 
 And a clear, bright, and cloudless sky above. 
 Amid whose wavy depths thought's vagrant wing may 
 rove ! 
 
 V. 
 
 The dews yet rest upon the mountain flowers — 
 Nature's untainted tear-drops — sheening well 
 As gems, to deck those daughters of the bowers 
 That seem but half awak'd.— The heather bell 
 Yet droops her gentle head ; through all the dell 
 The path is paved with these — where'er we stray 
 They cling around our feet ; oh, who may tell 
 Their thousand charms ! the soft, the sweet, the gay ! 
 The painter's power alone their beauties can pourtray !
 
 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Flowers ! ye are very lovely, everywhere — 
 In cultur'd gardens where man's hand is seen ; 
 But more than lovely when the taintless air 
 Breathes o'er yon, springing nature's hills between. 
 Where man's invading hand hath never been. 
 To mar the glorious gifts that God hath given — 
 Oh, then ye smile with beauty most serene ; 
 By tempests injur'd not — by storms unriven, 
 Gazing with smiling eyes upon the bright blue 
 heaven. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And I have seen you springing into life 
 In nooks and corners of ovir land — unsought ; 
 In vales, with wild romantic beauties rife. 
 Spreading your bloom, like fairy forms of thought. 
 Yet each with most divine perfection wrought. 
 Each simple leaf and every tender stem. 
 To me, delightful memories ! ye have brought 
 Of youth, and love, and joys that dwelt in them 
 When life was strew' d with flowers, and every flower a 
 -gem !
 
 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 13 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Fain would I climb yon mountain's brow, and catch 
 The new-born beams of morning ! I would faiu 
 Ascend yon throne of nature, thence to watch 
 The clouds of night retiring, and so gain 
 A glorious prospect of the wooded plain 
 Where, brightly shining on the crystal rills. 
 Lie the new sunbeams, slanting from the chain 
 Of heathery uplands and uncultured hills. 
 That, like a fortress wall, the far horizon fills. 
 
 IX. 
 
 'Tis gain'd — the mountain's venerable brow, — 
 By many a rugged sheep-walk : I survey 
 O'er heath, and glen, and valley, high and low. 
 Into the difaa of distance far away. 
 Where farm and hamlet, wood and water lay. 
 With many a pleasant meadow-path between ; 
 Whilst the bright glances of the King of Day 
 Shed down their beauty on the lovely scene. 
 And add a richer hue to river and ravine.
 
 14 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 There is a charm in mountain soUtude — 
 A quiet joy in heing thus alone 
 'Mid nature's works — the wonderful ! the rude ! 
 O'ergazing the far scene, as from a throne. 
 Unto the eyes of all this earth hath shown ; 
 Some spot that is beloved, wheresoe'er 
 It be, — it stealeth like a blessed tone 
 Of music, banishing our grief and care. 
 And through the eye it strikes the heart, and settles 
 there ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 To climb the thunder-splinter' d pinnacles 
 Of mighty mountains, till our footsteps seek 
 O'er craggy rocks, and lone secluded dells. 
 The topmost and the most sequester'd peak 
 Of those vast thrones of nature, where, to break 
 The wide extended stillness, sounds are none. 
 Save where the eagle, in his flight, doth make 
 His dreary scream, so far and faint, and lone. 
 While echoes, shrieks reply, as from a mountain tone.
 
 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 15 
 
 XII. 
 
 The mountain wild ! the desert sohtude ! 
 The lonely valley, and the wild wood green ! 
 The rocky precipice ! — all stern and rude — 
 The crystal cavern, and the lone ravine ! 
 Green meadows, and the silver stream between ! 
 The soft or stern, the beautiful or grand ! 
 Nature, still fair in every changing scene. 
 Hath scatter' d round, with an unsparing hand. 
 Her thousand varied charms upon this mountain land. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Nature, 1 dedicate my lowly lay — 
 Albeit unworthy and unprized — to thee, 
 In gratitude for many a pleasant day 
 Of pensive musing thou hast yielded me, 
 From the calm beauties of thy scenery ; 
 For I have loved thee — loved thee long and well ; 
 I have drank deeply from sublimity. 
 And tasted rapture that few tongues can tell — 
 Roaming, with fancies sweet, the lonely evening dell.
 
 10 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 'Raptur'd with valleys — over-awed by mountains, 
 How often have I gazed upon thy face ! 
 Look'd upon lakes — ponder' d by gushing fountains. 
 And stay'd my steps in many a pleasant place ! 
 How often have I lov'd, alone, to trace 
 Mountain and vale, and steep and craggy fell ! 
 The forests waving in their sylvan grace ! 
 The wildliug woodland and the moon-lit dell. 
 And all the pleasant scenes that I remember well I 
 
 XV, 
 
 Ye hills, ye hills, ye everlasting hills ! 
 Rising all dreary to my raptur'd view ; 
 How my delighted spirit wildly thrills 
 With admiration, as I gaze on you ; 
 Yon are the chainless peaks of glorious hue ! 
 Yonder is Kinder' s brow, so stern and high ; 
 And yonder Axia, in the cloudless blue 
 Of the serene o'erhanging summer sky. 
 Girt, as it were, with robes of desert majesty.
 
 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 1 7 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Ye are the homes of freedom, cand your sod 
 Is the proud dwelliug of the brave and free ! 
 Ye are the chosen sanctuaries of God, 
 Pointing to Heaven, — and ye shall ever be 
 Consecrate from the stains of slavery, 
 When Hope hath left the valleys still and lone. 
 And nations are stamped down by tyranny ; 
 Liberty sits upon her mountain throne. 
 And triumphs in a clime exclusively her own ! 
 
 XVII, 
 
 Ye are the giant guardians of our land ; 
 The gentle springs that irrigate the earth 
 Flow from your bosoms, and on every hand 
 Behold what teeming plenty springs to birth. 
 More than the groves of Cashmere, are ye worth 
 Though on your sides no waving harvests grow. 
 Though storms sweep o'er you in their wasting wrath, 
 And on your peaks lies everlasting snow, 
 Still ye look kindly down ujion the scenes below, 
 c
 
 18 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 I have an ardent love for hills and dales ; 
 Nature to me presents a thousand charms, — 
 I see a splendour in the strength of gales, 
 I hear a music in the voice of storms. 
 All that inspires, or dignifies, or warms. 
 Hath found a willing echo in my heart ; 
 I've lov'd creation in her thousand forms. 
 Her loveliness and I have formed a part, 
 Free from the toils of strife, the labyrinths of art. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And thou, oh, poetry ! what power is thine 
 To give to nature's charms their sweetest zest ; 
 Thou gift of Heavenly goodness — gift divine — 
 Thou mighty mover of the human breast ! 
 Language of angels, by weak man express' d. 
 To wake affections that would else expire ! 
 Songs of the seraphs, music of the bless'd ! 
 Immortal spark of Promethean fire ! 
 Essence of light and love, enchantment breathing lyre !
 
 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 19 
 
 XX. 
 
 Much have I ow'd thee in my walk through Ufe ; 
 'Twas thhie to quell the storms of sorrow's sea. 
 To still the troubled waters ; and their strife 
 Sank, at thy voice, into serenity. 
 'Twas love of nature led to love of thee, 
 When first thou shed thine intellectual ray. 
 And op'd the beauty of thy page to me ; 
 Fresh flowers of fancy rose around my way. 
 And shed their od'rous hues — the glorious and the gay. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Earth and its many cares were all forgot ! 
 Entranced, I wander'd in Elysian dream. 
 And sought and found full many a lovely spot, 
 And many a lonely haunt by wood and stream. 
 In dreams like these existence well might seem 
 A garden, full of Oriental flowers. 
 On which the sun looked down with rip'ning beam, 
 And gave a golden glow to all the bowers, 
 Beneath whose em'rald shade enchantment winged the 
 hours !
 
 20 A DAY AMID THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 But the pale moon exalts her silver bow, 
 And dreamy night her dusky robe hath spread 
 Upon the long-drawn vales that smile below ; 
 And mists are gath'ring round the mountain's head. 
 Upon whose peaks the sun's last beams are shed — 
 As loth to leave so beautiful a scene ! 
 The glorious hues of day have vanished. 
 And darkness rears his throne where light hath been. 
 And night asserts her reign — and all things are serene. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The stars shine forth in beauty — everywhere. 
 It seems as though some spirit of the past 
 Pour'd forth its voice upon the dewy air. 
 And told the heart of joys too bright to last, — 
 Of a resplendent sky, too soon o'ercast ! 
 A setting sun, while yet the day is bright ! 
 Of pleasures, wither'd in the cold world's blast! 
 Of happiness, too rapid in its flight ! 
 All pour'd into thine ear, oh, pensive, dark -robed night !
 
 A DAY AMID THE AIOUNTAINS. 
 
 21 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 I seek the shelter of my rural home, 
 And love that shelter — humble though it be. 
 Oh ! far more dear tliau monarch's regal dome. 
 Or lordling's halls, was that sweet home to me ! 
 Yet, ere I go, I turn to look on thee : 
 Thou fair and fading prospect, fare thee well ! 
 Yet, often times, revived by memory. 
 Shall be the scene on which I loved to dwell, 
 "When the bright sun lit up the mountain flood and fell !
 
 THE VILLAGE MAIDEN. 
 
 She was as fair as fair could be — 
 A form of love, and light, and glee ; 
 There was a radiance in her eye. 
 
 There was a music in her voice. 
 And something even in her sigh, 
 
 That made the heart rejoice. 
 A cottage was her humble home — 
 A lowly woodbine bower ; 
 But, 'mid the flowers that spread their bloom, 
 And cast around their sweet perfume, 
 
 She was the fairest flower ; 
 And they who met her at day-dawn, 
 
 Her basket full of watercress, 
 Deem'd she personified the morn. 
 
 In her own taintless loveliness ! 
 But bask not thou in beauty's blaze, 
 Nor deem that youth hath length of days !
 
 THE VILLAGE MAIDEN. 23 
 
 Who would have thought that matchless eye, 
 Whose hght was love — that cheek, whose bloom 
 
 Appear'd as though it ne'er should die, 
 Was telhng of the tomb ? 
 
 She was our hamlet's joy and pride — 
 The blessing of our mountain side ; 
 The quiet vale wherein we dwelt 
 
 Her presence made more dear. 
 And in our rural sports, we felt 
 
 More glad when she was near. 
 But, ah ! consumption sent decay 
 
 Into her gentle breast. 
 As though he joy'd to tear away 
 
 The gem we lov'd the best ! 
 It was the spring time of the year 
 
 When first we saw her fade ; 
 When flowers began their heads to rear 
 
 Beneath the greenwood shade. 
 When new-born life brought joy to all. 
 
 It brought no joy to her ; 
 She heard and understood the call 
 
 Of the pale messenger. 
 And all the summer months she passed. 
 As though each day would be her last ; 
 When nature wore her sweetest bloom. 
 She took her journey to the tomb !
 
 24 THK VH-LAGE MAIDEN. 
 
 " Oh God, it is a fearful thing 
 
 To see the young heart withering ;" 
 
 To watch the flower that once we thought 
 
 With such divine perfection wrought, 
 
 "Wasting its heauty and its bloom. 
 
 Its loveliness and its perfume. 
 
 And sinking gradual to the tomb ! 
 
 And thus we saw her fade away, 
 
 And wither slowly, day by day ; 
 
 Yet beauty still was on her cheek. 
 
 Her eye was pensive, mild, and meek ; 
 
 She was so fair ! — how could we think 
 
 She stood upon the grave's cold brink ? 
 
 And not one murmuring word she said 
 
 'Gainst the decree that laid her low, 
 And bow'd her unrepining head 
 
 Beneath the cruel blow. 
 
 It was a placid autumn day 
 When her pure spirit passed away ; 
 And nature, wrapp'd in garb of gloom, 
 Seem'd to lament her early doom. 
 There was a sadness on the hill — 
 
 The forest made its moan ; 
 With mournful murmur flow'd the rill 
 
 Beside the mossy stone ; 
 And some few drops of rain from Heaven 
 Came down, as if for mourning given.
 
 THE VII.LAGE MAIDEN. 25 
 
 And was she dead ? — alas ! too well 
 
 Do I remember how that word 
 Pass'd through our hamlet, like a spell — 
 
 And scarce believed when heard ! 
 And is she dead ? was ask'd again — 
 And tears pour'd down like mountain rain ; 
 And many a brow with grief was bent, 
 And many a voice, in wild lament, 
 
 Pour'd forth its mournful strain ! 
 We laid her in her quiet grave. 
 But neither yew nor cypress gave 
 Above her sinless dust to wave ; 
 With flowers we strew' d her funeral forth, — 
 
 Sweet gems from nature's bowers — ' ^ 
 For well had she, in death and mv tb, O-iA/ Jv 
 
 Resembl'd those fair flowers. 
 
 Oh, grave ! that to thyself takes all — 
 
 To whom both wealth and beauty fall ! 
 
 Oh, dreaded grave ! we give to thee 
 
 Insatiate, the victory ; 
 
 Yet, from thy damp and dreamless lair — 
 
 Thy dark abode — couldst thou not spare 
 
 Such loveliness to bless us still. 
 
 And cheer our steps through joy or ill '' 
 
 Could not her cheek and roseate breath
 
 26 THK V ULLAGE MAIDEN. 
 
 Beguile the stubborn sense of death ? 
 
 And Avin upon his stony heart. 
 
 And rob the spoiler of his dart I 
 
 Oh ! could he not contented be 
 
 With one less lov'd — less mourn'd than she ? 
 
 The gladsome spring hath come again, 
 
 And fruits and flowerets deck the plain ; 
 
 The lark is up on airy wing, 
 
 And forest birds have wak'd to sing ; 
 
 Yet sadness hath not ceas'd to dwell 
 
 On our sweet homes, and peaceful dell — 
 
 And when the evening sports go round. 
 
 Beneath the village tree. 
 
 We ask — with sadness in the sound — 
 
 " Oh ! where, oh, where is she ?" 
 And if her tomb, in roving by, 
 The loiterer draw near. 
 He gives her memory a sigh, 
 
 Her fun'ral flowers — a tear. 
 The beauty of our vale hath died — 
 
 The promise of our spring is o'er ; 
 And she who was our hope and pride 
 
 Shall glad our sight no more ! 
 And when the star of night appears 
 
 Above the lonely dell.
 
 THE VILLAGE MAIDEN. 
 
 27 
 
 'Tis said her grave is bath'd with tears. 
 
 By one who loved her well. 
 And oft, at eve, our children come 
 
 With baskets flower-ladeu. 
 And scatter them upon the tomb 
 
 Of that poor village maiden.
 
 SWITZERLAND. 
 
 " Behold a race, 
 Such as Meltiades, at Marathon, 
 Led, when he aliased the Persians to their ships." 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 Behold the land of mountains ! region drear ! 
 Nature's sublime, unciviliz'd domain ! 
 Yet liberty batli built her temple here. 
 And hero the spirits of the tameless reign ! 
 Here man hath burst the haughty despot's chain, 
 And, as on Jura's brow, the spotless snow 
 Lies everlastingly ! there is no stain, 
 Save tyrants' blood, in all the scene below, — 
 But happy hearts are there, and chainless footsteps go.
 
 SWITZERLAND. 29 
 
 II. 
 
 Land of the glorious! high Helvetia's land. 
 Free be thy homes, thy desert dwellings free ! 
 Still unpolluted be thy mountain strand, 
 And consecrated unto Liberty, 
 A fitting altar whereon well may be 
 OfFer'd the blood of Tyrants ! for thou hast 
 Recorded many a sweeping victory 
 When Burgundy's high host were given to waste — 
 Whose bones by Mo rat's lake a monument are placed I 
 
 III. 
 
 It is thy monument — thy funeral shrine — 
 It is thy recompense — great Burgundy ! 
 A fitting recompense for deeds like thine ! 
 Unsepulchred the bones of thousands lie. 
 And raise to Heav'n a mute but bitter cry, 
 Invoking curses on his hateful name 
 Who led them on with dreams of victory. 
 And blinded them with gay deceits of fame. 
 But left them here to die — a mock'ry and a shame !
 
 30 SWITZERLAND. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And is this all that thou canst do for man, 
 Ambition ? thou, whose ever restless knife 
 Cuts shorter still the too protracted span 
 Of mortal sojourn on the stage of life; 
 For thee do millions join in mortal strife, 
 And bloat the pride of one poor creeping worm, 
 While the 'reft mother and the widowed wife 
 Fly to the field with kindred blood still warm, 
 And curse the pride of man, and thy destroying storm. 
 
 . V. 
 
 But thine be all the glory — Switzerland ! 
 Bright in all hearts thy memory shall dwell. 
 Since Gesler perished by the vengeful hand 
 Of the first, greatest of thy patriots. Tell ! 
 Freedom look'd down from her proud pinnacle. 
 Smiling serenely when the deed was done, 
 And with her awful voice pronounc'd it well : 
 Then Morat was a second Marathon, 
 And brilliant names were known, and glorious deeds 
 were done.
 
 TO AN ITALIAN MINSTREL. 
 
 Thotj com'st from the land of the dance and the song. 
 And thy way hath been wearisome, lonely, and long ; 
 Thro' lands where the accents of kindness were mute. 
 But thy soul hath been sooth'd by the voice of thy lute. 
 
 II. 
 
 It spoke to thee kindly, when all frowned beside. 
 It never forsook thee — the true and the tried ! 
 'Twas thy constant companion by night and by day, 
 And the tones that it utter'd lent light to thy way.
 
 32 TO AN ITALIAN MINSTREL. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Twas potent to solace — more potent to cheer. 
 
 It lighten' d thy sorrow, and banish' d thy fear ; 
 
 It had tones of compassion, more balmy than words, 
 
 For the siren, sweet Hope, had her home on the chords. 
 
 IV, 
 
 And, tho' sometimes its tones bade thy bright tears to 
 
 flow, 
 'Twas the sweetness of sorrow, — the softness of woe ; 
 For it told thee of scenes that thine infancy loved. 
 And of paths in the vine-bowers thy young footsteps 
 
 roved. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then, child of Apollo, pursue thy lone way — 
 Be it glad, be it sad, be it gloomy or gay ; 
 Tho' the clouds of misfortune upon thee may bend, 
 Thou art not forsaken — thy lute is thy friend !
 
 TO AN ^OLIAN HARP. 
 
 Sweet Harp ! on whom, when eve is near. 
 
 The zephyr plays with wanton wing, 
 How have I loved to sit and hear 
 Thy murmuring ! 
 
 II. 
 
 More sweet than childhood's early hymn 
 Thy tones arise when soft winds blow, 
 Pour'd out upon the ev'ning dim, 
 In accents low ! 
 
 E
 
 34 TO AN BOLIAN HARl*. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now pealing forth, distinct and high, 
 
 Now dying gently on the ear. 
 As tho' the spirit of a sigh 
 Were floating near ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou breathest, in the pale twilight. 
 
 The vesper hymn of fading flowers ; 
 Veiling their beauties for the night, 
 In nature's bowers. 
 
 The murmur of the passing breeze. 
 In yellow autumn's rich decline. 
 Lamenting 'mid the faded trees, 
 Hath tones like thine ! 
 
 VI, 
 
 The tink'Ung sound of falling streams. 
 At distance heard, till they become 
 Like symphonies of fairy dreams. 
 Or wild bees' hum.
 
 TO AN .i;OLIAN HARP. 35 
 
 VII. 
 
 The last low breathings of a flute — 
 Soft wafted over moonlight lakes. 
 Or dying echoes of a lute, 
 Thy music makes ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 It tells of hours for ever fled — 
 
 It 'wakens tears, — we scarce know why- 
 It seems like voices from the dead 
 That cannot die ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 What music can we match with thee ? 
 What skill can equal, or what art ? 
 For, unto us, thou seem'st to be 
 The music of a lonely heart !
 
 THE SUMMER CLOUD. 
 
 It came and it went, like a glorious vision. 
 
 And seem'd to be bathed in the rainbow's rich dyes, 
 As tho' it had sail'd from a region Elysian, 
 
 Em'iched with the radiance of orient skies. 
 It had gold on its forehead, and deep blue beneath it — 
 
 A silvery whiteness was spread o'er its breast ; 
 The hues of the sun-set combin'd to enwreath it, 
 
 And beams from the day-star had form'd it a crest — < 
 And it look'd like an angel sent forth from the throne. 
 On some glorious mission, to mortals unknown !
 
 THE SUMMER CLOUD. 37 
 
 ir. 
 
 It sail'd tow'rds the west, and the zephyr's wings bore it 
 
 Thro' a bright summer sky that was cloudless beside, 
 The bright sun himself seem'd almost to adore it, 
 
 As it floated along in the pomp of its pride ! 
 But, after a space, it was seen that it faded, — 
 
 That the hues of its glory were passing away ; 
 And the silvery sheen of its breast was so shaded, 
 
 That ye might forget that it once had been gay ! 
 And it melted at last, and left nothing to tell. 
 Save a shower of bright dew-drops the spot where it fell ! 
 
 ffiX^
 
 GREECE ! 
 
 ' Ancient of days, august Athena ! — where, 
 Where are thy men of might, thy grand in soul ?" 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Ai-1. hail to thee ! the high, immortal land. 
 Where freedom sprang to birth a second time 
 
 Region of fable, beautiful, and grand — 
 " Shrine of the mighty" — Homer's native clime ! 
 Immortal Greece ! the glorious and sublime — 
 All hail to thee, for ever ! for thou art 
 Soul of romance, of revery, and rhyme, 
 A quickening spirit to the poet's heart, 
 A fount of loveliness, whence glories ever start I
 
 GREECE. ;i[) 
 
 II. 
 
 Land of unfading glory ! since the days 
 When first thy Homer's pages I unroll' d. 
 And loved to ponder on the deathless lays 
 And high achievements of the days of old. 
 That to my wond'ring infancy were told — 
 Since then, how have I long'd, as years increase, 
 To tread thy land of fable, and behold 
 The scene where "grew the arts of war and peace !" 
 Land of the classic days — the high, immortal Greece ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Thou rose and quickly ripened into fame, — 
 Brave were thy warriors, and thy sages wise ; 
 The thrones of monarchs trembl'd at thy name. 
 And fires of freedom flash' d along thy skies ! 
 The world beheld thee with admiring eyes. 
 And conquest crowned thee with her laurel wreath ! 
 Then thou beheld thy free-born sons arise 
 Far above cowardice, or fear of death. 
 But free they lived and died — for freedom drew their 
 l)reath !
 
 40 GREECE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then was't thou bless'd with plenty, and with peace, 
 But plenty had its evils, — thou became 
 Weak and effeminate — with wealth's increase. 
 Thy sons were sunk in infamy and shame. 
 And all unworthy of the glorious name 
 Of Grecians — scions of the ancient free ! 
 Forgotten were the records of thy fame ! 
 — Then came the Moslemite and conquered thee. 
 And flung around thy neck the yoke of slavery ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Subdued, but not destroy' d, was freedom's fire ! 
 Immortal Greece ! once more in thee it rose 
 A second Phoenix ! from thy funeral pyre 
 Thou bounded from the thraldom of thy foes : 
 Starting from their inglorious repose. 
 Thy children grasped the battle-brand once more. 
 And wreak' d deep vengeance for their many woes- 
 Fired with the spirits that their fathers bore ! 
 Then thou beheld a race worthy the race of yore !
 
 GREECE. 41 
 
 VI. 
 
 From Suli's rocks a belted legion came, 
 From iEgsean isles and Sparta's wooded height. 
 All burning with the same invet'rate flame 
 And deep abhorrence of the Moslemite : 
 Then were there many fields of desp'rate fight, 
 And Marathons, on many a modern plain ! 
 Then was there a renewal of the light 
 That play'd upon Thermopyle in vain, 
 With more success when Greece unsheathed her sword 
 again ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thou hast recorded on thy modern page 
 Full many a name to worth and truth allied. 
 Worthy the glory of thy former age ! 
 Well may the Attic muse proclaim, with pride, 
 How Ypselantes fought and Marco died ! 
 And how Mavracordato joined the band 
 To stem oppression's desolating tide. 
 And waved the red cross, with victorious hand. 
 Above the sacred rights of his awakened land !
 
 42 GREECE. 
 
 VI 11. 
 
 Oh, Missolonghi ! thy sad shores resound 
 With universal grief for him who came — 
 His lofty brows with well-earned laurels crowned, 
 And chaplets gathered by poetic fame — 
 Thy dark, degenerate children to reclaim ; 
 But fell a victim to the spoiler's dart. 
 Bequeathing to the world a deathless name — 
 A name, whose very memory can impart 
 A cloud to every brow — -a grief to every heart !
 
 THE HALLS OF HADDON. 
 
 " The harp that once through Tara's halls 
 The soul of music shed, 
 Now hang's as mute on Tara's walls, 
 As if that soul were fled." 
 
 MoORE. 
 
 In Haddon's halls the swallow makes 
 
 Her nest ; the ruin'd tower 
 No more the harp of Haddou wakes 
 
 Its tones in festal hour : 
 And they who circl'd round the bowl- 
 
 A high, chivalric race — 
 Have long relinquish' d to the owl 
 
 Their desolated place.
 
 44 THE HALLS OF HADDON. 
 
 II. 
 
 Tread, pilgrim, with a deep regret. 
 
 The shrine where valour sleeps ! 
 Where many a watchful spirit yet 
 
 Its lonely vigil keeps ! 
 Yes — spirits of the past arise 
 
 Upon the nightly view ! 
 What time the moon is in the skies, 
 
 And on the flowers, the dew. 
 
 III. 
 
 Old mansion ! wandering in thee. 
 
 The truant mind recalls 
 The time when deeds of chivalry 
 
 Were done amid thy halls ! 
 When courtly knight and lady bright 
 
 Were in thy galleries fair. 
 And troubadour was humming o'er 
 
 His gentle love-lay there.
 
 THE HALLS OF HADDON. 45 
 
 IV. 
 
 The record of thine elder day 
 
 Is but an idle theme 
 To glitter in a minstrel's lay, 
 
 And wake a poet's dream ; 
 But what thou art is fitter far 
 
 To swell a strain sublime — 
 Noting the still, but certain war. 
 
 Waged upon thee by time ! 
 
 The turret's battlemented brow 
 
 Hath ivy made its owUj 
 And in the silent courts below 
 
 The slipp'ry moss hath grown ; 
 "Where charger's tramp and warrior's tread 
 
 "Were heard the live-long day, 
 A silence deep as of the dead 
 
 Holds undisputed sway.
 
 4G THK HALLS OF HADDON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 No more shall roving Minstrel see. 
 
 Advancing from thy gate. 
 The chosen sons of chivalry 
 
 In panoply of state ; 
 No more adown thy rocky way 
 
 Shall prance the war-steed proud, 
 "With plume and pennon floating gay 
 
 Above the courtly crowd. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Unheeded comes the dawning light. 
 
 No bugle greets the morn ; 
 Unheeded fall the shades of night — 
 
 There is no warder's horn ! 
 No more, returning from the chase, 
 
 A gallant band advance, 
 Of ladies on their steeds of grace. 
 
 And warriors vdth the lance.
 
 THE HALLS OF HADDON. 4/ 
 
 IX. 
 
 No more aloug thy terrac'd height 
 
 Shall gentle ladye move, 
 And listen to a gallant knight 
 
 Pour forth his tale of love ; 
 No more shall issue from that door 
 
 The ladye and the knight — 
 And hot pursuit — and cry no more 
 
 Disturb the ear of night.* 
 
 No more shall rush the high tournay ! 
 
 No more shall maidens wave 
 Their snowy kerchiefs, broidered gay, 
 
 To hail the victor brave ! 
 Gone is the wassail revelry, 
 
 And gone the minstrel rhyme ! 
 Oh, Grave ! thine is the victory ! 
 
 And thou, grey monarch. Time ! 
 
 * Alluding to tlio well-known elopement of Lady Dorothy Vernon, with 
 Sir John Manners.
 
 48 THE HALLS OF HADDON. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Though Peace hath spread her angel wing 
 
 Upon our happy isle, 
 And bade the waste with verdure spring — 
 
 The barren desert smile ! 
 Though ivy mantles o'er thy walls. 
 
 And clothes thy ruined brow, 
 The poet loves thy lonely halls. 
 
 Though they are useless now !
 
 TO THE ANTI-SLAVERY ASSOCIATION. 
 
 " Thus saith Hritannia, empress of the sea,— 
 Thy chains are hroken, Africa— be free !" 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
 Oh, noblest theme, to wake the poet's strain ! 
 Oh, purest inspiration for his song ! 
 I sing the men who burst the negro's chain — 
 The men who stood in conscious justice strong, 
 Demanding recompense for Afric's wrong ! 
 — Their's was a bloodless conflict ! o'er the wave 
 Floated the joyous shout — the exulting song. 
 When they stretched forth the friendly hand to save. 
 And from the tyrant's scourge to shield the trcmb'ling 
 slave ! 
 
 G
 
 oO TO THK ANTI-SLAVKRY ASSOCIATION, 
 
 II. 
 
 Beneath their hand an injured race arose, 
 Tramp'ling their wrongs — while mercy, from on high, 
 Look'd down triumphant on her baffled foes, 
 And pealed the shouts, exulting to the sky. 
 From liberated thousands ! one glad cry 
 From wife and husband reunited there ! 
 Then rose the swell of tameless ecstasy 
 From hearts that long had drooped in deep despair. 
 But bounded from their woes as free as mountain air ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Well — justly, have ye earned immortal fame ! 
 Humanity ! how great to you her debt ! 
 Yours is a bloodless, an unspotted name ! 
 Bright is your conclave — tho', since first it met. 
 How many a radiance-beaming sun is set ! 
 How many a voice now slumbers in the grave ! 
 Yet are there not high souls remaining yet. 
 And hands the palm of victory to wave. 
 And able tongues to plead deliverance for the slave ?
 
 TO THE ANTI-SLAVERY ASSOCIATION. . J 1 
 
 IV 
 
 Rise, injured laud, the white man is thy friend ! 
 No more is Albion to thy mis'ry blind ; 
 Soon shall thy woes and gross injustice end. 
 For there are pleaders to convince mankind ; 
 Soon shall thy lot, oh, Afric ! be assigned 
 An independent, intellectual land ! 
 Th' inhuman trade in man shall be resigned ! 
 No more shall shrieking victims leave thy strand 
 Tom from their peaceful homes by power's relentless 
 hand ! 
 
 V. 
 
 This is thy deed, Philanthropy ! who art 
 A spirit bright ! descended from the skies 
 To pour reviving to the dead, in heart, 
 And bid the anguish-stricken soul arise ! 
 Before thy brow serene, injustice flies — 
 Oppression trembles at thy gentle power ; 
 The bloody hand of tyrants thou defies — 
 And still intent the healing balm to pour 
 Works perseveringly, and braves the darkest hour.
 
 52 
 
 TO THK ANTI-SLAVKRV ASSOCFATTON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Forward and prosper, then, altho' my song 
 Be as the weakest zephyr that ere blew 
 The withered leaf of Autumn's hour along ! 
 Forward and prosper, ye enlightened few — 
 And, all undaunted, persevere to do 
 The deed that shall exalt your name on high ! 
 And soon the shout of triumph ringing through 
 The glad expanse of Afric's sunny sky, 
 Shall tell that ye have won the bloodless victory ! 
 
 'OS)"
 
 THE MORNING WALK. 
 
 " Him who simply thus recounts 
 The morning's plea.'ures o'er." 
 
 KiRKE White. 
 
 In the pure breath of mornhig when dayUght awoke 
 And the first golden sunbeams in lovehuess broke 
 Thro' my ivy-wreathed casement, with joy I arose 
 From the soft couch of shimber, the bed of repose ; 
 
 II. 
 
 And then wandered forth with dehght to inhale 
 Those balm-bearing zephyrs, that exquisite gale ; 
 While the mist on the mountains hung heavy and long. 
 And the woodlands were vocal with music and song.
 
 r)4 THE MORXINf; WAI-K. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Tvvas the youth of the year, 'twas the season of spring, 
 And the minstrels of nature had wakened to sing ; 
 The sun had looked forth from the curtain of night, 
 And the earth was rejoicing in beauty and hght. 
 
 IV, 
 
 'Twas a lone woodland glade, where the fir trees had spread 
 Their desert luxuriance over my head ; 
 And mountains, and meadows, and valleys were near. 
 And the sound of sweet waters fell soft on the ear. 
 
 I stood and I gazed on that exquisite scene. 
 That landscape of beauty, so soft and serene ; 
 My heart owned the spell of its soul-soothing power. 
 And my spirit was softened to love in that hour. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And the sound of those waters 'twas soothing and clear. 
 And it seemed like a spell as it fell on the ear ; 
 'Twas the music of nature, the voice of the rill — 
 A ceaseless emotion by dale and by hill.
 
 THE MORNING WALK. 
 
 00 
 
 VII. 
 
 I have listed to music in hall and in bower — 
 
 I have owned its enchantment, and bowed to its power ; 
 
 My soul hath been raised into rapturous bliss. 
 
 But I never knew pleasure so pleasing as this.
 
 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 The sun is in the summer sky. 
 
 And light awakes on lea and lawn, 
 In the rich east is seen on high 
 
 The full effulgence of the morn. 
 From forest nook and mossy glade 
 
 The thrush's note is on the gale, 
 " And every bird for music made," 
 
 Is in thy woodlands, Monsal Dale.
 
 MONSAL DALE. 57 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, let a poet's roving feet 
 
 Thy splendid scenery explore. 
 The mountain height, the vale's retreat, 
 
 The silver stream and pebbled shore. 
 And he mil raise an artless song — 
 
 An unsophisticated tale, 
 And cherish in remembrance long 
 
 Thv sweet seclusion, Monsal Dale. 
 
 III. 
 
 Before me is the gentle Wye, 
 
 Meandering in silver sheen ; 
 And yonder are the mountains high. 
 
 And at their feet the meadows green. 
 The fragrance of those meadow flowers 
 
 Conies, gently wafted on the gale ; 
 And perfume breathes from all the bowers 
 
 Of thy seclusion, JNIousal Dale.
 
 58 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Upon those mountain summits, still 
 
 The morning mists are lingering ; 
 And voices from the purling rill. 
 
 And from the myriad birds that sing 
 In the green glades and hollows near — 
 
 Sequester'd from the haunts of men — 
 Fall sweetly on the list'ning ear. 
 
 As the breeze bears them now and then. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thou 'rt lovely in the blushing Spring, 
 
 And beautiful in Summer's bloom ; 
 Thou 'rt sweet in Autumn's withering. 
 
 And grand in Winter's solemn gloom ; 
 In every season of the year — 
 
 In balmy breeze or boisterous gale. 
 To nature's pilgrim thou art dear — 
 
 Enchanting, lovely, Monsal Dale.
 
 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 59 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thou art my beautiful, my own — 
 
 A very realm of Arcady ; 
 In all my wand'rings, I have known 
 
 No sweeter, lovelier spot than thee ! 
 And as a friend, whose gentle sway 
 
 Can soothe the soul when griefs assail. 
 And chase each darkling cloud away, 
 
 I welcome thee, sweet Monsal Dale ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 How beautiful and calm thou art ! 
 
 Thy quiet scene how still and dear ! 
 That we might say unto the heart. 
 
 Ambition may not enter here. 
 The heart that loves to form an home. 
 
 Secure from earth's unsettled gale, 
 Would never, never wish to roam 
 
 From thy seclusion, Monsal Dale.
 
 f)0 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He who hath wooed the phantom Fame, 
 
 And hved on Hope, and found it vain. 
 Might hither bring his grief and shame, 
 
 And hide in sohtvide his pain. 
 The vultures of the mind might cease 
 
 The troubled spirit to assail. 
 And every thought be hushed to peace 
 
 In thy seclusion, Monsal Dale.
 
 THE HALL OF THE CHIEF. 
 
 " His master's gone, and no one now 
 Dwells in tlie halls of Ivor." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Silent and sad is the hall of the chief, 
 For the chieftain himself hath departed ; 
 
 On the tree of his household is left not a leaf, 
 And his last link of kindred hath started. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, where are the warriors that 'circled his board, 
 And follow' d his standard in danger? 
 
 Deserted their dwelling, and perished their lord — 
 They follow the crest of a stranger !
 
 62 
 
 THK HALL OF THK CHIEF. 
 
 III. 
 
 And why is the mansion thus dreary and still, 
 And wholly abandoned to sadness ? 
 
 Is there no one the seat of the banquet to fill, 
 And 'waken the echoes to gladness? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah ! no — there is nothing save sohtnde here — 
 All passed are the famous in story ; 
 
 Each footfall that drear' ly rebounds on the ear 
 Seems waihng the loss of their glory.
 
 ON AN 
 
 AFFECTING INSTANCE OF EARLY DEATH. 
 
 " Yet, among them all, 
 
 None were so formed to love, and to be loved, 
 
 None to delight, adorn, and on thee now 
 
 A curtain blacker than the night is dropped 
 
 For ever." 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 Oh, dreadful Death, from whom the soul shrinks back. 
 
 As when upon the verge of an abyss. 
 
 We tremble as we look upon the black 
 
 And awful aspect of the precipice. 
 
 And flee away and seek some safer track. 
 
 Whereby we may regain our being's bliss; 
 
 But slide at last adown the awful steep, 
 
 And sink into its dark and dreamless sleep !
 
 64 AFFECTING INSTANCE OF EARLY DEATH. 
 
 II. 
 
 And art thou dead ? the gay, the glad, the bright ! 
 And art thou dead ? the beautiful, the young ! 
 And hast thou sunk into the shades of night 
 Ere half thy song of happiness was sung ? 
 Thou who wer't once a vision of delight — 
 To Avhom one heart's affection wholly clung ! 
 And hast thou joined so soon the sister band 
 That take their passage to the better land ? 
 
 III. 
 
 But lately we beheld thee a fair bride 
 In beauty's bloom, and youthful loveliness. 
 And friends and kindred gathered at thy side, 
 And poured congratulation's warm address. 
 And He gazed on thee with a glance of pride. 
 As 'twere a vision his fond eyes to bless ; 
 And all was light and gladness where thou wer't. 
 Gay as the flutt'ring of thy guileless heart.
 
 AFFECTING INSTANCE OF EARLY DEATH. C)."* 
 
 IV. 
 
 And thou was't happy, and that heart beat high 
 With conjugal affection true and warm ; 
 And beauty gathered in thy dove-hke eye. 
 And o'er thy features shed its mtching charm. 
 And did we think that thou so soon should die ? 
 And did we fear the spoiler's dark alarm ? 
 And could we deem that heart so light and gay. 
 So soon should mingle with its kindred clay ? • 
 
 V. 
 
 Had'st thou sur\aved the greenness of thy Spring, 
 Had'st thou survived maturing Summer's hour, 
 Had'st thou survived thine Autumn's withering. 
 And perished in thy Winter's snowy hour — 
 We had not marvell'd that the shaft should wing 
 Its way unto thine heart ! — but, like a flower. 
 To perish in the noon-tide of thy youth. 
 Seems like a dreadful dream — but not like truth.
 
 66 AFFECTING INSTANCE OF EARLY DEATH. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But, since inevitable is the woe, 
 
 God, in his mercy, grant thy spirit peace ! 
 
 Then may we almost bless the cruel blow 
 
 That gave unto that spirit a release 
 
 From ills that all are heirs to here below ; 
 
 For, where thou art, each grief, each care must cease, 
 
 And in the realms of never-fading joy, 
 
 To hymn thy Maker's praise shall be thy bright employ.
 
 TO THE LILY. 
 
 Ne'er saw I form fairer than thou. 
 And never looked I on a lovelier brow ; 
 Of all thy sisters who blush and bloom. 
 And cast to the wanton winds their perfume. 
 Thou art the fairest by field and bower — 
 Lily, bright Uly, oh, peerless flower ! 
 
 II. 
 
 And that Eastern King, who in splendour sate 
 On his jewelled throne, in robes of state, 
 Tho' the vesture that round him hung might vie 
 With the gorgeous glow of the richest sky — 
 Lily, tho' lowly and poor thou be. 
 Was not in his glory arrayed like thee !
 
 C8 
 
 TO THE I.ILY. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, gentlest maiden, where'er thou blows. 
 
 In the garden beside thy sister rose. 
 
 Or far in the desert, where, hid from view. 
 
 Thou opens thy petals of purest hue, 
 
 The heart must own thee the first and best 
 
 Emblem of truth, and a guileless breast ! 

 
 LANDS OF THE POETS. 
 
 The minstrel hallows every place 
 In north and south, in east and west. 
 
 And every land on nature's face 
 Is dear unto some poet's breast. 
 
 II. 
 
 Some are beloved for classic fame. 
 Some for misfortune and distress, 
 
 And some for freedom's sacred flame- 
 But all are hallowed more or less.
 
 70 LANDS OF TIIK POKTS. 
 
 III. 
 
 So Scotia boasts her Walter Scott, 
 Nor less her gentler spirit Burns : 
 
 So Greece deplores her Byron's lot, 
 And o'er his hallowed ashes mourns. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So Germany to Schiller rears 
 The consecrated shrine of song : 
 
 And Poland brightens when she hears 
 
 Her Campbell's measures stern and strong. 
 
 And loud is echoed Rogers' name 
 
 Along Italia' s classic shore : 
 And Erin, 'mid her grief and shame, 
 
 Smiles when she hears the song of Moore. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Who is there but with rapture dwells 
 On Hemans's heroic strain — 
 
 That in such lofty numbers tells 
 Of the chivalric days of Spain.
 
 LANDS OF THE POETS. 71 
 
 VII. 
 
 Columbia's mountains, stern and wild, 
 Are bright in gentle Bowles' dream : 
 
 On Cottle Cambria's genius smiled. 
 And Persian lore was Southey's theme. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The negro, freed from grief and shame. 
 
 Emancipated from his chains. 
 Shouts when he hears Montgomery's name, 
 
 And dwells with rapture on his strains. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And England hath her chaplet, too. 
 Of brightest hue and richest bloom ; 
 
 On Avon's banks that chaplet grew, 
 
 And hangs upon her Shakspeare's tomb !
 
 LINES, 
 
 On hearing some verses, by Garrick, describing Buxton as the most 
 dreary and desolate place that could well be imagined. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, Garrick, could' st thou now but see 
 This lovely mountam scenery 
 
 So beauteously displayed — 
 The forest and the valley still, 
 The summit of the wood-crown'd hill, 
 
 And lowly rural glade : 
 
 II. 
 
 Nature, with summer verdure glowing, 
 The silver streamlet sweetly flowing 
 
 And wending thro' the vale — 
 Perchance thy muse her strain might change 
 Her theme, to take a higher range— 
 
 At Buxton cease to rail.
 
 LINES. 73 
 
 III. 
 
 Perchance thine ire might turn to praise, 
 Thy lyre a rapturous song, to raise 
 
 A strain to Nature's charms : 
 Instead of murmuring at the doom 
 That plunged thee into so much gloom, 
 
 And gave thee false alarms. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou would' st retract thy ruthless song, 
 That does to Buxton so much wrong — 
 
 And write it o'er again : 
 Praise with thy verses thou might' st breathe. 
 And sweetly twine a flowery wreath 
 
 To mingle with thy strain. 
 
 I own that then the scene, to thee, 
 "Was dreary, as it well could be — 
 Without a single shrub or tree 
 
 The aching sight to cheer ; 
 Wild wastes, with bog-land overspread. 
 And many a mountain, round whose head 
 
 The heather mantled drear. 
 
 K
 
 74 LINES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But, since thy time a genial change. 
 Gradual, yet wonderful and strange. 
 
 Hath silent working been ; 
 And what was, fifty years ago. 
 Barren, and waste, and wild, is now 
 
 More like a fairy scene. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sweet waterfalls adorn the rills. 
 And rich plantations clothe the hills. 
 
 In which e'en thou might' st rove : 
 Green meadows deck the streamlet's side 
 And villages, wherein abide 
 
 The souls of peace and love. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yet, unto me, I must confess. 
 Dear is the natural wilderness 
 
 Of hills, with heath embrowned : 
 I love the valleys — still and deep. 
 And glens — where quiet waters sleep. 
 
 With rocks engirdled round.
 
 LINES. 75 
 
 IX. 
 
 And deem that such a soul as thine, 
 On which the Muses deigned to shine 
 
 With radiance rich and bright, 
 Should find in mountains, that arise 
 And seem to touch the distant skies. 
 Bright dreams, that, brought to poet's eyes, 
 
 Are sure to yield delight. 
 
 Visions, to which the gilded things 
 That fashion to her votary brmgs, 
 
 Are volatile and vain ; 
 Dreams which the poet's soul inspire. 
 And draw from his harmonious lyre 
 
 A deep and lasting strain. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yet, still I think, that could' st thou know 
 How altered is the scenery now. 
 
 That prompted this thy lay. 
 Thou would' st retract thy ruthless song. 
 That does to Buxton so much wrong, 
 
 And wipe the stain away.
 
 SONNET, 
 
 W II I T T K N ON COMB M O S S. 
 
 How solemn is this desolated scene 
 Of Nature ! — in her uninvaded mood 
 How indescribable, yet how serene 
 Is the deep stillness of this solitude ! 
 The passions of the world may not intrude 
 Their poisonous spells into the spirit here. 
 For sure this quiet scene is hallowed ground ; 
 And, save the plover's shrilly cry, no sound 
 Breaks on the wanderer's attentive ear. 
 The dark brown heather (nature's carpet) spread 
 With blacken'd moss, cov'ring the mountain's dun 
 With bracken waving green, and heath-flower red. 
 Spreading their garlands in the golden sun, 
 That looks with his bright eye upon this mountain's head.
 
 SINCE LAST WE MET. 
 
 Since last we met! how many things 
 
 Have passed away since we niet last ! 
 Now, to my mind fond mem'ry brings 
 
 The faded records of the past. 
 Full many a hope that then was bright 
 
 Hath moulder' d into vain regret. 
 And many a joy been quenched in night, 
 
 Since last we met — since last we met.
 
 SINCE X.AST WK MKT. 
 
 II. 
 
 Since last we met our friends have died. 
 
 And one by one have perished ; 
 The forms that frohcked by our side 
 
 Are numbered with the dreamless dead. 
 Their graves are in the churchyard ground. 
 
 And side by side they have been set : 
 Oh ! they have cluster'd close around 
 
 Since last we met — since last we met. 
 
 in. 
 
 Since last we met, o'er each fair scene 
 
 Methinks hath darkly passed a change. 
 As though some spell had working been — 
 
 Our very woodland walks are strange. 
 All — all have changed, save thou and I, 
 
 And we, methinks, are faithful yet, 
 Though many years have fleeted by 
 
 Since last we met — since last we met.
 
 SPIRIT OF THE PAST. 
 
 Spirit of the past, 
 
 'Mid the old gray towers, 
 When the midnight blast 
 
 Sweeps those ivy'd bowers ; 
 When the vestal moon 
 
 In the heav'n is bright, 
 Wand'ring up the noon 
 
 Of the deep blue night ; 
 When the stars are cast 
 
 On that serial sea — 
 Spirit of the Past, 
 
 I commune with thee !
 
 ^0 Sl'IUlT OF TIIK I'AST. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thine the better days. 
 
 When our Ufe was young- 
 When the first fond lays 
 
 Of our love were sung : 
 Thine our better years, 
 
 Ere the clouds of strife, 
 Or the showers of tears. 
 
 Had embittered life. 
 " Joys too bright to last," 
 
 Sunshine on the sea — 
 Spirit of the Past, 
 
 All belong to thee !
 
 KING OF THE EAGLES. 
 
 I SAIL from my nest, in the far, far west. 
 
 And float thro' the bright bhie sky ; 
 Wliile ocean and streams, Uke shadows of dreams. 
 
 On the earth beneath me he. 
 I ride on the storm, and the hght'ning's form 
 
 It gleameth around my path ; 
 And the thunders roll that shakes the pole, 
 
 A sound congenial hath. 
 I fix on. the sun, careering on, 
 
 A firm and unaltered eye — 
 As he showers his beams, in golden streams. 
 
 Thro' my empire — the circling sky. 
 And this is the throne that I rise upon — 
 
 The thin and viewless air ; 
 I look around on its mighty bound. 
 
 And I know that my home is there. 
 
 L
 
 82 . KING OF THE EAGLES. 
 
 For I am a king and a tameless thing, 
 
 And I have an heart of pride ; 
 O'er mountain and vale, on the breath of the gale, 
 
 Like a shadowy spirit I ride. 
 Poor, poor man, thy little span 
 
 I view with an eye of scorn ; 
 Thou lookest low on thy world of woe, 
 
 And I am mountain born ! 
 
 And when I sleep the wild winds keep 
 
 Their watch around my nest ; 
 Say, art thou skilled to say where I build 
 
 My lone and unlovely nest ? 
 'Tis on the rock which the tempest's shock 
 
 Moves not — hath never moved — 
 Where the wild wind rages from ages to ages. 
 
 And hath not a conqueror proved : 
 And there I stand and hold command. 
 
 And cradle my mountain brood 
 In the mighty space of that desert place. 
 
 And its awful solitude. 
 When the sun hath risen from his cloudy prison, 
 
 I am up in the eye of day. 
 Over the hills and the murmuring rills — 
 
 Over and far away : 
 When radiance shines and the moon declines, 
 
 And mists from the mountains are curling ;
 
 KING OF THE EAGLES. 83 
 
 When the broad day-Ught over the night 
 
 His banner is unfurhng, 
 1 love the morn and the purple dawn. 
 
 And they are a joy to me — 
 My heart beats high at the glad gay sky, 
 
 For I am the free — the free ! 
 
 I rarely deign to touch the plain, 
 
 And seldom to earth descend ; 
 But on — right on, to the golden sun 
 
 My stedfast course I bend. 
 Except when I stoop to gather up 
 
 ]VIy tribute from toiling man ; 
 And I bear my prey far, far away 
 
 Into the heaven's blue span. 
 And when I die I will die on high. 
 
 Where the winds o'er my corse shall rave ; 
 I will not stoop to the grovelling group, 
 
 For I brook not the name of slave ! 
 For I am a king and a tameless thing, 
 
 And I have an heart of pride ; 
 O'er mountain and vale, on the breath of the gale. 
 
 Like a shadowy spirit I ride.
 
 CANZONET. 
 
 Oh, come to me, when daylight dies, 
 And sunbeams fade along the skies ; 
 "When purple twilight, like a nun" 
 With pensive step, steals slowly on : 
 When forest birds have ceased to sing. 
 And idly fold the weary wing 
 Upon the boughs of every tree. 
 Oh, come with me — oh, come with me !
 
 CANZONET. 
 
 85 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, come to me, when the pale moon 
 Is sailing up the night's clear noon ; 
 When stars are lighting midnight's hour. 
 And zephyrs fawn the blessed bower 
 Where beauty sleeps ! when down the dale 
 Is heard the sweet-voic'd nightingale — 
 When all looks calm and fair, like thee, 
 Oh, come with me — oh, come with me ! 

 
 SONNET. 
 
 THE nun's G I. E N 
 
 KoCKS upon rocks in rude confusion piled, 
 
 In all the pride of mountain majesty ; 
 
 No sound — not e'en a wild bird's passing by 
 Salutes the ear — magnificently wild 
 And cultureless ! here hath no verdure smiled 
 
 Since time began — not e'en an heath-flower's bloom 
 
 Or mountain violet, with its sweet perfume 
 Scenting the desert air : yet, to the child 
 Of nature, if he love such solitudes. 
 
 More dear and welcome are stern scenes like these 
 Than the luxuriant shade of waving woods. 
 
 Or the rich shelter of the brightest trees, — 
 Silent, secluded from the haunts of men, 
 Majestic nature's uninvaded glen !
 
 THE PATRIOT'S GRAVE. 
 
 It was a lone and silent tomb. 
 Girt round by majesty and gloom. 
 With nought of freshness or of bloom 
 To break the savage scenery. 
 
 II. 
 
 No sound, save of the martlet's cry, 
 Or the dull raven's deep reply ; 
 Or where the eagle from on higli 
 Poured down his mountain melody
 
 1^'^ THE patriot's GRAVE. 
 
 III. 
 
 First had he ever stood in fight. 
 Maintaining well his country's right, 
 His soul illumin'd with a light — 
 The glorious light of liberty ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 His foot was ever on the field — 
 His arm was ever thro' his shield. 
 For he would rather die than yield 
 To the base sons of slavery. 
 
 But they have laid him down to rest, 
 And piled the brown turf on his breast ; 
 One stone is graven with his crest 
 To mark his lonely sepulchre. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And there, in sooth, he slumbers well, 
 Within that dark and narrow dell, 
 Engirdl'd round by flood and fell — 
 Meet tomb for such a warrior !
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 Ye WILD flowers, ye are beautiful — 
 
 Ye little dew-born gems. 
 Bearing your meek and modest headj 
 
 Upon your graceful stems. 
 As I have-seen you springing up 
 
 In many a wilding scene — 
 The daisy and the buttercup, 
 
 And lichen fresh and green. 
 
 M
 
 90 
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Retired, remote from public gaze. 
 
 Ye bloom in hidden bowers ; 
 But -quiet beauty o'er you plays. 
 
 Unknown to other flowers. 
 The red rose and anemone 
 
 Of gaudier hues may be. 
 But ye, the wild and cultureless, 
 
 Are dearer far to me. 
 
 III. 
 
 And often, in my woodland walks. 
 
 In sunny hours of Spring, 
 When singing birds and butterflies 
 
 Are on the wanton wing, 
 I see you spring, at every step, 
 
 Like spirits of the grass. 
 Breathing to me — your minstrel, 
 
 A sweet welcome as I pass.
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 91 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then give the rose to palaces. 
 
 The tuhp to kings' halls ; 
 Go, twine the stately orange flower 
 
 Upon the lordling's walls : 
 Give me the yellow buttercup. 
 
 The daisy, bright and gay, 
 That bloom upon the hills, and down 
 
 The valleys far away. 
 
 ^®). ^
 
 /^' 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF THOMAS CAMPBELL. 
 
 The names of Campbell and Poland shall float down the stream of 
 time together. Wlien Sobieskl with his spear, and Kosinsko with his 
 sword, gallantly, but unsuccessfully, resisted the encroachments of the 
 Vulture of the North, Campbell, in his measure — and a glorious measure 
 too — lent his aid to the attainment of the grand object. His heart was 
 in the cause, — and he shall be honoured by posterity no less as the 
 eloquent asserter of Poland's rights and liberties, than as the author of 
 " Pleasures of Hope," and "Gertrude of Wyoming." 
 
 Another withered from the sky of song ! 
 
 Another planet sentenced to depart 
 And leave a name which shall endure as long 
 
 As poetry can move the human heart — 
 A name on which another race shall gaze, 
 And, gazing, praise.
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF T. CAMPBELL. 93 
 
 II. 
 
 Weep, Poland, weep ! thy sun hath set in night — 
 In night and cloud — the blackness of despair ! 
 
 Where is that harp which was thy shining light ! 
 WTiere is thy prophet ! where thy minstrel ! where ! 
 
 His dust with Kosinsko's dust should be. 
 Who sang so well of thee. 
 
 III. 
 
 He loved to hymn thy praise : his name should rest 
 For ever with the land he loved — entwined ; 
 
 The hope that thou would' st one day be the blest 
 Was the first glorious feeling of his mind : 
 
 He saw for thee a glimpse of better years 
 Thro' all thy blood and tears. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou iron despot ! thy blood-bought renown 
 Wanes at the purer splendour of his name, — 
 
 Thy brow was great because it wore a crown ! 
 His crown is the immortal wreath of fame ! 
 
 He struck his lyre, and forth there floated free 
 The voice of liberty !
 
 94 TO THK MEMORY OF T. CAMPBELT- 
 
 Oh, ye who knew him in his earthly days, 
 Guard well his mem'ry, — it shall be to you 
 
 A thing whereon, in after years, to gaze 
 
 With gladness and with joy : ye happy few, 
 
 Who hung upon his words, and caught the fire 
 From his etherial lyre. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then rest, thou mighty master of that lyre, 
 
 With England's best and bravest : long thy lays 
 
 With liberty shall British breasts inspire, 
 And live in an eternity of days : 
 
 When brighter names have withered from the earth 
 Thine shall blaze forth.
 
 SONNET. 
 
 CH A.TSWORTH 
 
 Fair palace of the peak ! that smiling stands, 
 In lonely sovereignty and peerless pride, 
 By old romantic Derwent's flow'ry side. 
 
 Looking upon thy broad and sunny lands ! 
 
 Wand'rer ! this is the work of human hands, — 
 No fairy dome and no ideal shrine. 
 But brightly real doth the picture shine : 
 
 This is the shrine of science and of art, — 
 Painting and poetry have here their home ; 
 
 And the cold marble seems in life to start 
 'Neath the rich shelter of the classic dome : 
 
 Wealth, from each clime and every distant sphere, 
 
 From Turkey's domes and Russia's deserts drear. 
 
 Is with a liberal hand pil'd up in splendour here.
 
 VISIONS OF OLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 They come in the sunshine of Ufe's early day. 
 
 Like beautiful blossoms of spring, 
 Infusing their sweetness in every lay 
 
 Which the young lips of infancy sing : 
 They dwell on the mountains — they rest on the streams, 
 
 They hallow each beautiful spot — 
 Which, tho' only remember' d like shadows of dreams, 
 
 Can never be wholly forgot.
 
 VISIONS OF THE OLD. 97 
 
 II. 
 
 But the cold world will come and unfeelingly blight 
 
 The roses of infancy's years. 
 And the garden wherein they sprang up in delight 
 
 Be a Mildemess water' d with tears : 
 We know that the hght of their gladness is o'er, 
 
 We know their affection is cold, — 
 Oh, do what we will, we can never restore 
 
 The visions that bless'd us of old.
 
 TO THE WINDS. 
 
 Sweep on, sweep on in your glory, — sweep 
 
 O'er monntain and valley, o'er land and deep ! 
 
 Invisible winds of the stormy sky, 
 
 Sweep on — sweep on in your majesty. 
 
 As ye come in the silence of midnight's hour. 
 
 Unknown in your gloiy — unseen in your power. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ye come from the caves of the stormy north. 
 Careering along in your boist'rous mirth ; 
 Ye sweep o'er the sea on your onward way. 
 And its wild waves are lashed into snowy spray ; 
 Ye sweep in your strength thro' the forest hoar. 
 And the woodlands resound to your mighty roar.
 
 TO THE WINDS. 99 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye are uufetter'd, and well may be 
 
 A name for the tameless — a sign of the free ; 
 
 Ye come when the midnight tempests lower. 
 
 And ye laugh at the weakness of human power, 
 
 Y'^e are the agents of anger and wrath. 
 
 And ravage and ruin attend your path. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye have been called the breath of the Lord, — 
 His voice is the thunder, the light' ning his sword ; 
 We see you not, but we feel your force — 
 We mark not your forms, but we note your course ; 
 Ye blow where ye list, and ye come and go. 
 But your rising and resting-place none can know.
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 WRITTEN IN A TIME OF DEJECTION 
 
 Cease, oh, cease that melting strain, 
 
 For I will not weep again : 
 
 I have lost my tend'rer tone, — 
 
 I am almost callous grown. 
 
 I have wept my fill of tears, 
 
 Even in my early years ; 
 
 Now, how great soe'er my pain, 
 
 I can never weep again.
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 101 
 
 II. 
 
 Tears may give the soul relief 
 From the burning pangs of grief, — 
 Tears may soothe affliction's smart. 
 Tears may heal the broken heart, — 
 But of tears I've wept my fill, 
 And their spring is dry and still ; 
 Now, how great soe'er my pain, 
 I can never weep again. 
 
 III. 
 
 I have had my woes to bear, 
 
 I have had my load of care, 
 
 I have known the worldhng's slight, 
 
 I have felt affliction's blight, 
 
 Seen pleasures fade before my view, 
 
 Had loved ones false, and friends untrue,- 
 
 Cease, then, cease that melting strain, 
 
 For I will not weep again.
 
 102 STANZAS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Pains of body I can bear, 
 And of these I've had my share ; 
 'Tis the mind's convulsive start 
 That will break the feeling heart, — 
 'Tis that inward burning grief 
 That hath not on earth relief: 
 Cease, then, cease that melting strain, 
 For I will not weep again.
 
 GRAVE OF GLENCOILA. 
 
 I. 
 
 We laid him alone, where the heath bracken wavmg 
 Wreathed its garlands at will, o'er the warrior's head ; 
 His requiem was sung by the wild tempest raving, 
 And the desert winds sigh o'er the tomb of the dead. 
 
 II. 
 
 No organ pealed forth in solemnity o'er him, 
 But the tears of the warrior fell fast on his tomb : 
 No false-hearted sycophant feigned to deplore him, — 
 But the hearts of the faithful are mourning his doom. 
 
 III. 
 
 No robings of silver nor velvet arrayed him, [breast ; 
 But the plaid was his winding-sheet wrapp'd round his 
 A mountain fir marked the rude spot where we laid him. 
 And the scream of the night raven sang him to rest.
 
 LINES. 
 
 INSERTED IN A YOUNG LADY'S ALBUM 
 
 Long years have passed since last we met. 
 In slow and varied course away, 
 
 Still is thy form remembered yet, 
 As though it were but yesterday. 
 
 II. 
 
 The mem'ry of those happy hours 
 
 I passed with thee, when life was young, 
 
 When hope was fed on fairy flowel's. 
 And youth's enchanting song was sung,
 
 LINES INSCRIBED IN A LADy's ALBUM, 105 
 
 III. 
 
 Still lingers with me, as a dream 
 Of lost delight in life's rough way ; 
 
 A beam of bliss on sorrow's stream 
 To chase the clouds of care away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou art thy parents' tender plant. 
 Their fondest hope is fixed on thee ; 
 
 God guard thee with his care, — and grant 
 That thou may'st be their olive tree. 
 
 Oh, if these stanzas placed may be 
 In any page or leaf of thine, 
 
 " Be they but worthy deemed of thee. 
 And I will proudly own them mine." 
 
 VI. 
 
 And when thy kind approving eye 
 Peruses them, oh, let them be 
 
 Mementos of the times gone by. 
 
 And one who passed a week with thee. 
 o
 
 ON THE 
 
 FADING OF A BUNCH OF WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 They are drooping ! 
 The flowers we took such joy in grouping, 
 
 They are drooping 
 And fading fast away : 
 
 The rose her lovely head is stooping 
 Beneath the hand of pale decay. 
 
 The rose's head was the first to bow : 
 
 Then the lily white, 
 
 As struck by a blight. 
 
 Faded fast on the longing sight. 
 And bowed her beautiful head, as tho' 
 She mourned, with a deep and bitter woe. 
 That her sister rose should from her go : 
 Then the hair-bell let fall her cup of dew, — 
 The cowslip her pearls of exquisite hue. 
 And the violet closed her eyes of blue ;
 
 FADING OF A BUNCH OF WILD FLOWERS, 10/ 
 
 But the buttercup 
 
 Held her head up 
 To the last — to the very last ; 
 
 And the daisy seemed 
 
 Like a thing that dreamed 
 Of hope — when all hope was past. 
 
 Such is the fate of each earthly delight. 
 
 And one by one they are faded ; 
 And those that seemed the most lasting and bright 
 
 Are often the first to be shaded ; 
 They are all like flowers, — fleeting and frail. 
 And swept by every passing gale. 
 
 They are gone, and we must bid farewell 
 
 To the flowers we love : 
 
 But our steps may rove 
 Once more the lonely ev'ning dell, — 
 "We may gather fresh ones as bright and gay 
 As those that we have seen pass away : 
 We may renew our bunch of flowers — 
 But we cannot recall the bygone hours, 
 
 And the fairy joys of youth 
 When our spirits lived in enchanted bowers. 
 And every thing wore the garb of truth ; 
 
 These ties must sever, 
 
 They'll return never — 
 They come not back — they are gone for ever.
 
 WHEN FIRST WE MET. 
 
 I. 
 
 When first we met thine eye was bright. 
 
 Thy brow was smooth and fair. 
 Thy form was fairy-hke and Ught, 
 
 As forms of angels are ; 
 Each sunny hour had rapture's glow 
 
 Upon its glancing wing. 
 Nought knew thy soul of care or woe, 
 For life was in its spring. 
 
 Thou seemed to me all gladness, — 
 
 I could not think that thou 
 Could' st have one wreath of sadness 
 To twine around thv brow.
 
 WHEN FIRST WE MET. 109 
 
 II. 
 
 But, ah ! too soon the vision fled — 
 
 Too soon the charm was o'er ; 
 Thine eyes which once their lustre shed, 
 
 Could shed their light no more ! 
 I saw thy gentle brow o'ercast 
 
 With more than transient gloom ; 
 Too well I knew the cold world's blast 
 Had blighted all thy bloom. 
 I thought no more of gladness, 
 
 For well I knew that thou 
 Had'st many wreathes of sadness 
 To twine around thy brow. 

 
 STARS. 
 
 " Yc stars, which arc tlic poetry of Ileav'n." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Beautiful guardians of the night's deep noon. 
 That look upon the earth, like angel eyes, 
 Gath'ring in silence round the quiet moon. 
 Who sails serenely up th' unclouded skies, — 
 What gentle thoughts and fair ideas rise 
 Within my bosom, as I gaze on you ! 
 Unto your orbs vagarying fancy flies, 
 Clust'ring in beauty on my raptured view. 
 In the deep vault of night — the Heaven ethereal blue.
 
 STARS. 1 1 1 
 
 II. 
 
 How beautiful, upon an autumn night, 
 To look into the firmament, and see 
 " Your exquisite embodiments of light" 
 Gemming the surface of that azure sea 
 That floats above, in calm serenity. 
 And pure and placid beauty — far beyond 
 The domes that in imagination be, — 
 The bright creations of the poet-land, 
 Or structures that arose beneath the magi's wand. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye stars ! ye stars ! ye ever lovely ones ! 
 How silent — yet how musical ye are ! 
 There seems an unison of all sweet tones 
 Of music in the aspect of a star ; 
 The fiery breath of passion may not mar 
 Your heav'nly beauty, — and the softest dreams 
 Of fancy greet your radiance from afar ; 
 As on the sleeping earth it faintly beams, 
 Inspiring holy thoughts and yielding hallowed themes
 
 112 STARS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Whereon to build a superstructure bright, 
 And beautiful as that which gave it birth ; 
 A concentration of all love and light. 
 Belonging rather unto heav'n than earth ; 
 In joy or sorrow, seriousness or mirth, 
 A thing to muse on in a distant day. 
 And be remember'd as a gem of worth — 
 One of the few that blessed our earthly way. 
 Which, lit by mem'ry's lamp, now cheers us with its ray. 
 
 Sublime is that philosophy which teaches 
 The soul to hold communion with the sky — 
 That rides upon the wings of wind, and reaches 
 The starry realms of silver light on high — 
 That bids us gaze, with an enlightened eye, 
 Into the starry firmament, and trace 
 The beauty, amplitude, and harmony. 
 The order, the sublimity, the grace. 
 Of the high dome of God — the heav'ns resplendent face.
 
 SONNET, 
 
 ON AN ENGRAVING OF DOVEDALE, SENT TO ME BY WY 
 MOTHER FROM BUXTON. 
 
 Blest be the art which can bring home to me, 
 Even unto the crowded city street, 
 
 Bright glances of that mountain scenery 
 So lately left — that drew my vagrant feet 
 To moss and moorland, where I lov'd to meet 
 
 The misty mountain breezes, blowing free. 
 
 I never saw thee, valley, but my mind, 
 Gazing on this thy portraiture, can find 
 Fit food for fancy, and can leave behind 
 
 The smoky city and its busy crowd. 
 And soar away, upon the wings of wind. 
 
 To mountains, 'circled by the misty cloud, 
 And muse till duty's call the vision breaks. 
 And from its reverv the truant thou<iht awakes.
 
 THE SETTING SUN. 
 
 How sweet, when daily labour's done, 
 And toil gives place to rest, 
 
 To watch yon golden setting sun 
 Sink slowly to the west : 
 
 II. 
 
 When man, emancipate awhile 
 From slav'ry's cank'ring band. 
 
 Exults in nature's genial smile, 
 And bends 'neath fancy's wand
 
 THE SETTING SUN. 115 
 
 III. 
 
 Then odours rise from flow'ry ground, 
 When housed 's the humming bee, — 
 
 And all the scene is hush'd around 
 In calm serenity : 
 
 IV. 
 
 When the tired lark, his day-dream o'er. 
 
 Descending to the sod, 
 Retunes his notes, intent to pour 
 
 His vesper hymn to God : 
 
 Oh, then upon the mountain's brow- 
 To sit and see the plain 
 
 And wooded vallies far below — 
 Resigned to ev'ning's reign. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then raise our eyes to the far hills, 
 And view, with deep delight, 
 
 The sparkling of a thousand rills 
 In the last beams of light.
 
 116 THE SETTING SUN. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Where, on wild peak and craggy fell. 
 The sun, with fondness, throws 
 
 A bright and glorious farewell. 
 Ere sinking to repose. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And watch each flood of radiance bright. 
 
 On the horizon cast ; 
 And note each lingering line of light. 
 
 More golden than the last. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O God ! who gave this glorious scene. 
 We raise our prayer to thee, — 
 
 That, as the setting bright hath been, 
 So may the rising be ! 
 
 (JSv^j 
 
 'J
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 ' I never nursed a dear Gazelle, 
 
 To glad me with its soft black eye, 
 15ut when it came to know me well. 
 And love me, it was sm'e to die !" 
 
 Moore. 
 
 She seemed too full of light and glee 
 
 To be a thing of earth ; 
 She was as fair as aught can be 
 
 That hath a mortal breath ; 
 She was a very gem of love, 
 
 A rose of summer's bowers, 
 A seraph, given from above. 
 
 To bless our brightest hours.
 
 118 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 II. 
 
 She faded — and we saw her fade 
 
 As with a withering blight ; 
 We saw that death had cast his shade 
 
 Upon that eye of light. 
 She died, as sinks the star to rest. 
 
 Behind the clouds of even ; 
 And her long-tried, but faithful breast, 
 
 Found sweet repose in heav'n. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, friendship ! fleeting is thy dream, 
 
 And quickly to expire ; 
 But momentary is the beam 
 
 Of thy celestial fire. 
 The friends we love — the pure and bright. 
 
 Are by our side to-day ; 
 We seek them in to-morrow's light. 
 
 But they have passed away.
 
 MEDITATIVE STANZAS. 
 
 The thoughts of early childhood, and the dreams 
 
 That played around the spirit, when the soul 
 Found sweet companionship in woods and streams, 
 
 And viewed the page of nature's works unroll, 
 When fairy joys before us were arrayed, — 
 
 Could we believe they ever could depart ! 
 
 And yet, 'tis written on each human heart 
 That they must fade.
 
 1'20 MEDITATIVE STANZAS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Can we behold the bright blue laughing eyes, 
 The loved companions of our infant years, 
 
 That seemed like gentle spirits of the skies 
 To share our joys and wipe away our tears : 
 
 Can we behold the young lips' vermeil shade. 
 That seemed in their own sprightliness to drink 
 From rapture's fount, — can we behold and think 
 That it must fade ! 
 
 III. 
 
 And those young hearts that, with their mild affections. 
 
 Could make us smile thro' every childish pain, 
 That seemed the seat of all sweet recollections 
 
 Of days departed, ne'er to come again ; 
 Those hearts that seemed almost immortal made, — 
 
 Can we behold them, and then have the woe, 
 
 The deep unutterable grief to know 
 That they must fade !
 
 MEDITATIVE STANZAS. 121 
 
 IV. 
 
 There is a region in the bright blue skies, 
 Whose hallelujahs ear hath never known. 
 
 Whose light hath ne'er been seen by mortal eyes. 
 And to whose shore no passage bird hath flown : 
 
 There the departed are immortal made, 
 
 And they whom we have mourned and wept for here. 
 Translated to that bright and blessed sphere, 
 Can never fade. 
 
 (fDxf^
 
 A BROKEN HEART. 
 
 A BROKEN heart, a broken heart, and a spirit rent in 
 
 twain, 
 A sever'd soul that earthly ties can never join again ; 
 An eye whose light, tho' brilliant, is beaming of the tomb, 
 And a cheek whose lingering rosiness is but an hectic 
 
 bloom. 
 
 II. 
 
 The semblance of gladness above affliction's smart, 
 A smile on the lip and a worm within the heart, 
 The light laugh of folly 'mid the wasting of despair, 
 And a soul of seeming airiness when all is heavy there. 
 
 III. 
 
 This may not last, this may not last, and death will come 
 to part [heart ; 
 
 Each cankering bond that sorrow hath cast around the 
 
 Then shall we sleep serenely with the green turf on our 
 breast, [are at rest." 
 
 "Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary
 
 TO A SUNBEAM. 
 
 Hail ! child of a refulgent sire. 
 We hail thy golden gleam, 
 
 Reflected from the village spire, 
 And dancing on the stream. 
 
 Filling with light the laughing vale,- 
 
 Child of the sun, we bid thee hail ! 
 
 II. 
 
 'Mid sorrow's gloom, affliction's night. 
 May hope's enlivening ray 
 
 Come, like thy beam of blessed light, 
 To cheer us on our way, 
 
 Dispel the clouds that round us roll, 
 
 And be the sunbeam of the soul !
 
 THE POET. 
 
 I. 
 
 His mind was filled with all sweet harmonies 
 Of earth and air, and nature was to him 
 
 An open page displayed, where fields and trees 
 Were things whose images might ne'er grow dim. 
 
 The rippling river and the summer breeze, 
 Or cries of lonely birds, that swiftly skim 
 
 Across the bosom of the wood-girt lake, 
 
 A melody within his soul would wake.
 
 THE POET. 125 
 
 II. 
 
 'Twas his to wander, when the day begun, 
 Amid the mists upon the mountain's head ; 
 
 'Twas his to watch the rising of the sun, 
 
 Wlien new-born beams were o'er the landscape spread ; 
 
 'Twas his to watch the rippling rivers run 
 In silv'ry softness o'er their pebbled bed ; 
 
 'Twas his to roam o'er moss and moorland wild 
 
 With native step — for he was nature's child. 
 
 III. 
 
 One, in his early childhood, taught to look 
 On all her glories as on hallowed things ; 
 
 To view creation as an open book. 
 
 Imbibing knowledge from the taintless springs 
 
 Of rural life, — wand' ring by dale and brook. 
 Lost in the light of sweet imaginings. 
 
 And viewing in each flower that deck'd the sod 
 
 The mighty works of an Almighty God.
 
 126 THE POET. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All things of stern and grand to him were dear — 
 The tempest raving through the darken' d sky ; 
 
 His was the gladness of the mountaineer 
 
 "When light' nings flash' d and the wild winds rose high ; 
 
 When gloaming clouds proclaimed the tempest near. 
 The fire of freedom lit his thoughtful eye. 
 
 And on the wild rocks, musing, he would stand 
 
 Till his rapt' soul was filled with feelings grand. 
 
 Yet, not the stern alone his soul delighted, — 
 All things in nature unto him were fair ; 
 
 And not the lowliest, meanest thing was slighted, 
 Of all that blossom'd in her taintless air ; 
 
 To every lowly flower his love was plighted. 
 And all things in his bosom had their share — 
 
 Spring blossoms, Autumn fadings. Summer flowers. 
 
 Winter solemnities, snows, storms, and showers.
 
 THE POET. 12y 
 
 VI. 
 
 His morning ramble and his walk at night, 
 His mossy seat — deep in the forest nook, 
 
 The bank — whereon he stood to see the bright 
 And bounding waters of the joyous brook. 
 
 The summer lawn — on which 'twas his delight 
 To lay reclined, perusing some sweet book 
 
 Of poetry — to him were dearer far 
 
 Than all the worldling's pleasures ever are. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And thus his moments glided calm away, 
 
 And harmless were his youthful joys, I ween ; 
 
 In happiness he whiled away each day, 
 
 Roaming some loved or new discovered scene, 
 
 The rock-girt dell, or mountain's summit gray, 
 Or wood recesses intricate and green, — 
 
 Passing his hours of unambitious youth 
 
 With God and nature — innocence and truth.
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 TO 
 
 I. 
 
 Waking or sleeping, — in the hour of night, 
 "When stars are kindled in the darkened sky, 
 
 "When sorrow for a season takes her flight, 
 And earth's inhabitants in slumber lie, — 
 
 Waking or sleeping, fancy flies to thee. 
 
 And dreams present thy fairy form to me. 
 
 II. 
 
 And if I think of those delightful bowers 
 
 That in youth's eyes looked beautiful and fair, 
 
 Still art thou there — a flower amid the flowers ; 
 Just as thou us'd to be, still thou art there. 
 
 Wliate'er I think, whate'er I hear or see. 
 
 Revives some gentle memory of thee.
 
 STANZAS. 129 
 
 III. 
 
 Though we are parted, and an ocean rolls, 
 
 Formed by fallen fortune, 'twixt our sep'rate lot, 
 
 There was a something kindred in our souls 
 That ne'er, I ween, can wholly be forgot ; 
 
 As for myself, I feel I never could 
 
 Cease to remember thee, e'en if I would. 
 
 IV 
 
 Therefore, I'll not withhold this humble line. 
 Breathed forth in deepest gratitude to thee. 
 
 For days departed, when sweet hope was mine, 
 And thou wast dear as aught on earth to me, 
 
 I know thy gentle heart will not reprove 
 
 This last fond testimonial of my love. 
 
 Hope hath departed, yet I may not weep, — 
 It were, indeed, a wanton waste of tears ; 
 
 Yet mem'ry will oft' times her vigils keep 
 O'er the lost loveliness of former years — 
 
 So I have but to ask thee to excuse 
 
 This farewell freedom of a poet's muse. 
 
 R
 
 130 STANZAS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, memory ! thou art a principle 
 
 Mysterious, yet most beautiful, when thou 
 
 Revivest scenes on which we loved to dwell. 
 Ere care had visited the heart or brow ; 
 
 Mournful, yet sweet, e'en though awakening tears. 
 
 These recollections of dej)arted years !
 
 ODE TO SOLITUDE. 
 
 Tired with a world of care, 
 My spirit sighs for peace : 
 Oh, soUtude ! to thee I fly 
 To hide me from society. 
 
 And bid my sorrow cease ; 
 For thine is joy 
 Without alloy — 
 Thine arc unfading sweets that never, never cloy.
 
 132 ODE TO SOLITUDE. 
 
 II. 
 
 Beneath the ivy'd shade 
 Of yonder ruined towers, 
 I lay me down to muse awhile, 
 And watch the moonbeams as they smile 
 Upon the primrose flowers ; 
 And now I feel 
 Thy charms reveal 
 Their beauty to my soul, and o'er my spirits steal. 
 
 III. 
 
 For midnight is an hour 
 To pensive sorrow dear, 
 When we unheard, unknown, unseen, 
 Beneath the shade of willow green. 
 May drop the heart-sent tear. 
 When the rough day 
 Hath passed away, 
 And the pale moon of heav'n holds on her silver way.
 
 ODE TO SOLITUDE. 133 
 
 IV. 
 
 The heart oppressed with toil, 
 
 And wounded by despair. 
 Will ever fly from care and strife. 
 And love those moonlight scenes of life 
 "Which far serener are 
 Than when the sun 
 Is rolling on, 
 Scorching the lofty head that his beams fall upon. 
 
 Thus, solitude ! to me 
 
 Thou art a precious boon ; 
 And I have loved to dwell with thee 
 By fountain, hill, or shady tree, 
 Beneath the quiet moon, 
 When musings high 
 Lit up mine eye. 
 And in my bosom sprang the germs of poesy.
 
 134 ODK TO SOLITUDE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thought is thine eldest born, 
 Thy first and favoured child ; 
 And when th' Almighty formed the world 
 Thy mighty banner was unfurl' d 
 Above the lonely wild ; 
 When, 'mid the space 
 There was no trace 
 Of voice, or foot, or work of aught of human race. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Where art thou to be found ? 
 In the still moonlight glade, 
 Wand'ring with pensive step, and lone 
 By woodland well or mossy stone 
 Beneath the cypress shade, 
 Dreaming thy dreams. 
 Whilst rills and streams 
 Are babbling on beneath thy Cynthia's quiet beams.
 
 ODE TO SOLITUDE. 1 •'^i'J 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Where art thou to be found ? 
 'Mid abbeys old and gray. 
 When midnight myst'ry stills the air, — 
 'Mid cloisters when the owl is there, 
 And man is far away ; 
 Thou dost recline 
 O'er ruin'd shrine. 
 Where mllows bending low with moss and ivy twine, 
 
 IX. 
 
 Or in the lonely glen 
 
 Where quiet waters sleep ; 
 Or where adown the precipice. 
 Foaming into the vast abyss, 
 The laughing torrents leap : 
 High dost thou sit. 
 While around thee flit 
 Tlie visions that arise from many a musing fit.
 
 130 
 
 ODK TO SOT.ITJJDE. 
 
 Oh, solitude ! where'er 
 
 Thou art, there would I be ; 
 To thee, mild sorceress, would I fly 
 To hide me from society, 
 
 And pour my woes to thee, — 
 For thine is joy 
 Without alloy. 
 Thine are unfading sweets that never, never cloy.
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF LAM AN BLANCHARU. 
 
 Forth did'st thou spring iu iutellectual might, 
 Along the path of genius lay thy way ; 
 
 Thou lit thy mental lamp, and there was light, 
 And crowds, admiring, hung upon its ray. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bright was thy morning where rich hues combined. 
 And life one Oriental garden seemed ; 
 
 Gay were the fancies floating thro' thy mind. 
 
 And glorious were the visions that thou dreamed, 
 s
 
 138 DEATH OF LAM AN BLANCHARD. 
 
 III. 
 
 But, all ! too soon the spoiler came, and blighted 
 Thy youth's fair promise : now thy day is o'er, 
 
 And that wild harp, that all who heard delighted. 
 Shall 'wake the sweetness of its strain no more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Many have mourned for thee, and tears have flow'd. 
 And shall not cease to flow for thy dark doom, 
 
 That thou should' st travel in the downward road, 
 And seek the dreamless slumber of the tomb. 
 
 Pilgrim of song ! where'er thy footsteps be, 
 Drop to his memory one heart-vent tear ; 
 
 Rich was the feast that he purveyed for thee,- 
 Return one grateful oflPring at his bier.
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO THE D E R \V 1£ N T , AT MA T L O C K 
 
 I REST, romantic Derweut, on thy stream — 
 My boatman ships his oar, and I look round 
 
 Entranced — as though it were a fairy dream, 
 And thy wild woodlands were enchanted ground 
 Of serial beings — while a pleasant sound 
 
 Of birds and bees falls on my list'ning ear. 
 Borne from the mossy glades, and bright green hollows 
 near! 
 
 The lofty rocks ascend like castled walls 
 
 From their rich basement of green foliaged trees, 
 
 While the soft sound of murm'ring waterfalls 
 Comes gently wafted on the summer breeze : 
 
 All seems enchantment, like a dream divine, — 
 
 Great God ! how glorious must thy Heaven shine, 
 Since all this loveliness is liaudiwork of thine !
 
 TO MOSS AND IVY. 
 
 Twin Sisters, growing on the ancient walls 
 
 Which are Time's monuments — rich tapestry. 
 
 That wreath your garlands in chivalric halls, 
 
 Outrivalling the page of heraldry ! 
 
 In desolation's garden ye are fair. 
 
 And ruin loves you — ye her children are. 
 
 II. 
 
 How solemn — when the silent moon reclines 
 Upon the broken arch, the ruined tower. 
 And thro' the shafted oriel brightly shines — 
 How solemn, then, to rove at such an hour. 
 And trace your fragile trellice-work on high 
 Upon the surface of the deep blue sky !
 
 TO MOSS AND IVY. 141 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye grow when man hatli ceased to cultivate. 
 So, ye are nature's own ! the wreath she hears 
 To Time, her father ; and ye do create 
 A chart whereon to trace the lapse of years, 
 Creeping and growing o'er the shatter' d stone. 
 In your own simple majesty, alone. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In old ancestral mansions, where, oh, where 
 
 Are lordly brows and eyes — the soft and bright ? 
 
 Where the brave soldier ? where the matchless fair ? 
 
 The gentle lady and the courtly knight ? 
 
 Thro' the high lattice moss and ivy still 
 
 Peep forth and whisper, " We their places fill." 
 
 
 ^o
 
 HOME. 
 
 How bright the hearth lit by the smiles of love, 
 Where all is quiet, peaceful, and serene ! 
 
 Where Peace sits brooding like a turtle-dove, 
 And happy faces gather round the scene. 
 
 II. 
 
 Go, thou proud vi^orld ! we envy not thy joys. 
 The vain, unmeaning clamour of the crowd ; 
 
 For dull satiety and care that cloys 
 Must ever be the portion of the proud.
 
 HOME. 
 
 III. 
 
 WA 
 
 But, sweet content I we own thy presence fair, 
 Nor blame our fortune, tho' it be obscure ; 
 
 We ask not fame, accompanied by care. 
 Nor envy wealth, if we are happy poor. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And thou, sweet home I thine is a witching power, 
 To soothe the storms of life's tempestuous sea ; 
 
 And lighter seem the clouds of sorrow's hour 
 If they come o'er us when we are with thee. 
 
 Thou art the pole star of the darken'd sky 
 Lighting the wand'rer, wheresoe'er he roam. 
 
 Still turn his thoughts, with fond anxiety. 
 To kith and kindred — family and home.
 
 SONNET. 
 
 T o vv . i; . s . 
 
 Now universal nature wears her gay 
 
 And gladsome mantle of luxm*iant green — 
 And sweet enchantment rests on ev'ry scene, 
 Dropped from the dewy wings of May — sweet May ! 
 Come, then, dear friend, together let us stray 
 While earth is redolent of light and bloom. 
 And bright blue violets, with their sweet perfume 
 Scenting the air, are springing round our way : 
 The throstle poureth forth his woodland lay 
 
 To cheer us with the voice of song — come, then. 
 Sweet is the shelter of this lovel}'^ glen. 
 That half admits, and half excludes the day : 
 Friendship is blissful any^vhere — but here, 
 *Mid natures loveliest scenes, how doubly dear!
 
 TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON HIS UETUIINING " CHILDE HAROLDS Pil.GRIM AGE. 
 
 So, THOU liast read the deathless lays 
 Of that immortal child of fame 
 
 Whose genius charmed the wond'ring gaze 
 Of millions — bursting into flame, 
 
 And rising like a rocket forth 
 
 To scatter splendour o'er the eartii. 
 
 II. 
 
 And thou hast read them rightly, too, 
 'Mid nature in her grandest scenes, 
 
 'Neath desert peaks of cold gray hue. 
 Wild waterfalls and lone ravines — 
 
 Where solitude, in stern array. 
 
 Unbroken slumbers night and day. 
 
 T
 
 140 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 IIT 
 
 Oh, I can picture thy dehght 
 Thus wand'ring silent and alone 
 
 By smiling vale or frowning height. 
 By woodland well and mossy stone. 
 
 Amid such splendid scenery. 
 
 With such a book for company ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Well, art thou still dissatisfied ? 
 
 Or dost thou own him now to be 
 The Poet King — the child of pride, 
 
 Which then I pictured him to thee, — 
 One whose rich mind with ease hath wrousht 
 Intricate labyrinths of thought. 
 
 His was indeed a master mind, 
 
 Wild as his tameless ocean's spray; 
 
 The spell that he hath left behind 
 Not soon shall pass from earth away 
 
 Firm as the day-star of the sky 
 
 His fame shall never, never die.
 
 TO A FRIEMD. 14/ 
 
 VI. 
 
 A wayward and a restless thing. 
 To misanthropic musing given ; 
 
 Lost in his own imagining, 
 
 A mixture half of hell and heav'n,- 
 
 A mighty mover of the heart 
 
 Who clung to nature — spurning art. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The mountains and the mountain streams. 
 The lonely lakes by foreign strand. 
 
 Were ever his most welcome themes ; 
 Receiving from his mighty hand 
 
 A tissue which, to say no less. 
 
 Enhanced their natural loveliness. 
 
 viri. 
 
 And Nature opened to his eyes, 
 As she will do to all of those 
 
 Who seek the light that in her lies 
 And love her truly to the close,— 
 
 x\ page of beauty and of truth, 
 
 In manhood and.in early youth.
 
 148 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The love of Nature will not die. 
 It burns within the human breast, 
 
 It is a never broken tie. 
 
 It lives tho' it may be represt — 
 
 And care and toil and trade and strife 
 
 Will drown its power in public life. 
 
 Bvit Byron's was a soul that flew 
 
 From cities and their scenes of crime. 
 
 And, 'mid the waters bright and blue. 
 Found a companionship sublime ; 
 
 Sweet voices in the purling rills, 
 
 And friends in the majestic hills. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Hail Poetry ! thou pleasing fair ! 
 
 For ever ready to impart. 
 Amid the clouds of grief and care, 
 
 A solace to the wounded heart ; 
 My comforter, when cares assail. 
 Sweet Poetry, I bid thee hail !
 
 NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Another New Year's Eve, — 
 
 Another year is gone, 
 Leaving us to joy or grieve 
 
 For good or evil clone. 
 
 II. 
 
 To look upon the past. 
 And see if we have trod 
 
 A path more perfect than the last, 
 A closer walk with God.
 
 ir)() NEW year's KVE. 
 
 111. 
 
 To trace our bygone years, 
 
 And note if we have had 
 Most of smiles or most of tears, 
 
 Most of gay or sad. 
 
 IV. 
 
 If smiles — to mend their force 
 
 And purify their glow : 
 If tears — to trace them to their source, 
 
 And note for what they flow : 
 
 If for another's ills, 
 
 'Tis well if they have been 
 As plentiful as mountain rills 
 
 Adown a wild ravine. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If only for our own, 
 
 'Twere well (the truth to speak,) 
 If every drop had turned to stone 
 
 Upon our selfish cheek.
 
 NEW year's eve. 151 
 
 VII. 
 
 How much of care and strife 
 One little year can hold ; 
 
 How much vicissitude of life 
 Twelve rolling months unfold ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 To-day we are — and then, 
 To-morrow — we are not ! 
 
 We perish from our fellow men, 
 Forgetting and forgot ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 We live our little day, 
 We sport in every beam ; 
 
 And then we fade from life away 
 Like shadows in a dream. 
 
 X. 
 
 And in an hour that none 
 
 Have known — that none can know. 
 The spoiler comes — and we are gone 
 
 To greater joy or woe.
 
 ];V2 
 
 NKW YEAR S EVE. 
 
 XI. 
 
 This thought a thought should be 
 Impression deep to leave, 
 
 That we, perchance, may never see 
 Another New Year's Eve. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 i 
 
 JOSEPH GILLETT, PRINTEH, MANCflESTRR. 
 
 <*
 
 PR 
 
 Holt ^ 
 
 hl9h Poems, rural 
 
 H73A17 and 
 
 ±0UO miscellaneous 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 370 310 5 
 
 * 
 
 HI 
 
 h79h 
 
 H73A17 
 
 181;6