5£99 T78s AS ^^^^ '-^ m ^^^ — t 1 = ■ ZD 3 1 ==^ 6 i I^^ >■ ^^^^ 1 7 = >^^~ ID — — T^ n ^ ■ -n U = 5 1 — I> 2 i [ — = 8 ~ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE SONG OF AZRAEL, THE ANGEL OF DEATH. RECOLLECTIONS OF A VILLAGE SCHOOL, AND OTHER POEMS. BY Mrs. TURNBULL, ARTIST. LONDON : J. W. SOUTHGATE, 164, STRAND. 1840. LONDON : PRINTED BY P. WHITE AND SON, 17, Devonshire-square, Bishopsgatc. TO MRS. HEN SHAW JONES, THIS LITTLE WORK JS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, BY HER EARLIEST FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. The present era, with regard to poetry, has been styled, " The Age of Bronze." Does it really merit the appellation ? I humbly think not ; — the voice of song yet finds an echo in every heart, imperishable and unextinguishable, but distinct only in proportion to the force which sweeps the magic lyre. Milton and Spenser, Shakspeare, Pope, and Blrns come before us weekly, in ten thousand new and success- ful editions. Could their equals again arise, they VI PREFACE, would hardly have to complain ol' want ol' readers. I say this not disparagingly of the present race of poets. MooRK, SouTiiEY, Campbell, Rogers, and liAKTON, with gentle Mary Howitt, are still weav- ing sweet spells around our senses ; but true it is, that the mightier masters of the art have been taken from us, and their harps are hung for a season on the willow. Byron, Shelley, Keats, Scott, Hemans, and Landon — all cotemporaries — have been called away, before they had i'ully garnered up their stores of melody ; — " They have gone, tliey have all piLcseil by ;" but their works will live for ever, perennials of genius and delight, calling man from the nuulal, to the im- mortal — from the material, to that which dies not. The following little pieces have been written during brief intervals, snatched from ihf precarious labours of the pencil ; but never shoidd I have PREFACE. VU ventured to publish, had the " giants of the land" been still walking bodily on the earth. In the ab- sence of fairer and brighter flowers, the daisy of the field may be sometimes thought worth the gathering. I trust my unpretending work may be considered too simple to excite severe criticism. The storm of public censure may rend the sturdy oak, when the lowly weed is passed by unharmed. ANNE C. T . 32, Ratkbone Place, London. CONTENTS. Page THE SONG OF AZRAEL 1 RECOLLECTIONS OF A VILLAGE SCHOOL. Part I. The Indian Girl 13 II. The Two Letters 17 III. The Young Poet 23 On the E.uins of Castle Acre, in Norfolk 27 The Child's Inquiry 31 '• God Bless Thee!" 34 The Dying Flower 35 The Remembrance 37 Castle Building 3S The Bride 40 Harvest Home 42 Faded Flowers 44 The Picture Gift ". 45 Consolation 49 The Swiss Girl's Dream 50 How Shall I Woo Thee 53 Time 55 Vl CONTENTS. Page Love, Hopt', and Despair 56 The Cottage Girl ■''8 Serenade (iO The Parting 61 The Pictures >3 April 84 Oh! Think not the Heart 85 On Copying the Portrait of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France 86 By that Brook 88 On Seeing a Fly, One Autumnal Day 80 The Fairy's Song 90 My Pretty Azile 92 To A Friend 94 The Blossoms of Summer 95 The Heart's First Love 96 The Minstrel's Song 97 The Reply 99 SUBSCRIBERS. Mrs. Arnold. Mrs. Ayres, Lingwood. Miss E. Alsop. Colonel Drinkwater Bethune, (2 copies.) Baylie Bernard, Esq. Mrs. Bulford. Dr. Goulding Bird. Goulding Bird, Esq. Mrs. Bird. Miss Bird. V. Bartholomew, Esq. W. Bartholomew, Esq. William Behnes, Esq. JNIrs. Beckett. Miss Beckett. Miss R. Beckett. Miss M. Burch. Mrs. Bushel 1. JVIiss Barber, Yarmouth. SUBSCRIBERS. Mrs. Birch. Robert Buss, Esq. H. Branilretli, Esq. Mrs. Banks. Mrs. Braysher, (2 copies.) T. Ben well, Esq. Mr. J. R. Bradnach. Sir Charles Chad, Bart. (3 copies.) George Cruickshauks, Esq. Mrs. George Cruickshanks. George Clint, Esq. Alfred Clint, Esq. Mrs. Scipio Clint. James Collier, Esq. Miss Cook. Signor Crevelli. Mrs. Carter, Ipswich, (2 copies.') Henry Choveaux, Esq. INIiss Choveaux. Alfred J. Channpr, Esq. — Collard, Esq. Miss Connibeere. Charles Dickens, Esq. (Boz.) 2 copies Col. Dewar, E(linl)urgh. Mrs. Dewar, ilitto. Miss M. Dewar, ditto. J. Dewar, Esq. ditto, (2 copie-.) Mrs. Downing, (2 copies.) H. B. Downing, Esq. (2 copie?.) SUBSCKIBERS. Charles William Day, Esq. (2 copies.) W. D. Rev. William Deighton, Dereham, (4 copies.) Captain Douglas, Brighton. Mrs. Doran. Mrs. Dacke, Dereham. Mr. Frederick Dendy, Yarmouth. Frederick Edwards, Esq. Mrs. Edwards. Eade, Esq. Blofield. ' Mrs. Ellis, Adlington. Samuel Fuller, Esq. W. Fryer, Esq. (2 copies.) Gordon, Esq. Mrs. Gordon. Mrs. Gilbert, Dereham. Miss Gray. Miss Goddard, Lingwood. Benjamin B. Haydon, Esq. R. Hills, Esq. (2 copies.) Thomas Havers, Esq. (4 copies.) J. Havers, Esq. Miss Hayward, Colchester. Mrs. Hart. Stewart Hewlings, Esq. Miss Hewlings. Mrs. T. Howard. SUBSCRIBERS. Mrs. Hensliaw Jones, Edinburgh, (0 copies.) Miss Johnson, Ipswich. K. Jeffery, Esq. Mrs. E. Jeffury. Mrs. C. J. (4 copies.) James Sheridan Knowles, Esq. John Prescott Knight, Esq. Mrs. Charles Knight. Mrs. Knapton. 4 Mrs. Lushington, Park [louse, Maidstone. Mrs. Lyster. A Lady, Edinburgh, (4 copies.) A Lady. Mrs. Lambert. Sir Hugh Munro, Bart. (2 copies.) Miss Munro, (2 copies.) Thomas Moore, Esq. Author of Lalla Rookli. Daniel Maclise, Esq. A.ll.A. Lieutenant J. Mathias. Mrs. J. Mathias. Miss INlalhias. Miss Dora Matiiias. Master Alfred JMathias. Mrs. Mason, Rliss Morley. Rev. Nursey, Lingwood. Henry Nisbett, Esq. SUBSCRIBERS. Edward Orme, Esq. Henry Phillips, Esq. Miss Pitt. Miss Pond, Dereham. Miss Palmer, Lingwood. G. A. P. Mrs. Pickersgill. Howard Payne, Esq. New York. Michael Quin, Esq. Mrs. Jane Raven. Mrs.R . Dr. Robert Maidstone Smith. Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Charles Selby. Miss Skerritt. Miss M. Skerritt. Mrs. Schobell. Signor Sola, (3 copies.) Mrs. Staples. Mrs. Smith, Kensington, (2 copies.) Lady Jane Tumour, (2 copies.) Hon. Mrs. Tumour, (4 copies.) Miss Tumour, (4 copies.) A. Tumour, Esq. Edinburgh. Mrs. Thompson, (4 copies.) James Thompson, Esq. SUBSCRIBERS. Thomas Welsh, Esq. (4 copies.) Mrs. Walker, Edinburgh. Miss Walker, Edinburgh. Miss Madeline Walker, Edinburgh. Rlrs. Whitbread, Lingwood. Mrs Wilmore. Mrs. Welsh, Lingwood. Miss Win nock. Willis, Esq. Mrs. Warcup, (4 copies.) Mrs. D. W . G. W . Mrs. Warriner. Mrs. Williams. Mrs. Whittaker. X. Y. (2 copies.) POEM S. THE SONG OF AZRAEL, THE ANGEL OF DEATH. I HAVE travell'd all day on tlie nortli-east wind, And left the wide track of my ruin behind ; In a valley I rested, and shook from my plume. The dews that shall blight every rose in its bloom ; Then I flew to the mountain, and scatter'd the trees That for ages had stood unharm'd by a breeze. In the shadowless Desert, the one pool I dried. And caus'd the false mirage to spring by its side ; And loudly I laughed — as my victim, in haste. Sought vainly to reach the green spot of that waste. I swept through a Palace — and there was but one I cared to embrace, — she was weeping alone ; Alone was that maiden, with sorrow and shame, For Scandal and Malice had darken'd her fame ; 1 cover'd my face as 1 strctch'd forth my liand, To bear her away to a happier land. From thence to a Village I turn'd my keen eyes, There was nothing more lovely beneath the clear skies ; The orchards and hedges were rife with perfume, Man smil'd in his pride, as if earth had no tomb ; The music of water was heard in the rills, Leaping joyously over the echoing hills ; And the hum of the bee, with the featlier'd throng. Filled the gladsome aiv with tlio sound of song; Not a thing of life but witli joy did appear — Ah ! little deem'd they that my shadow drew near. Borne along on the wind, I passed a fair boy, The proud father's heir, the mother's sole joy; By a river's green bank, on a hot summer's day, He sat down to rest, over-tired with play ; In a ray of the sun I shrouded my form, And sent him to sleep, without whirlwind or storjn : I smiled, as I numbered the tears that were shed, That night o'er the bier of the hallowed dead. Then I heard, from the depths of a flowery vale, A Bride's wild lament borne along on the gale ; 'Twas a summons for me — and 1 hasten'd with speed. As 1 twined my dart witli the sighing reed. o O THE BRIDE S SONG. Oh! must I wear these bands of pearl, And throw my flowers aside ; Must I, till now a happy girl, Become that old man's Bride ! I never thought that I should be With golden fetters tied — And he I love no more must see The old roan's wretched Bride. Father ! — Is he my father now, Who grief like mine can chide ? — To save his name I made the vow To be an old man's Bride. O Death ! thou welcome friend of those, Like me, too often tried — Come ! free me from my heartless foes — Wed Thou the old man's Bride ! B 2 As that last cadence died away in air, I stood beside an open cottage door ; And saw a girl, in loveliness so rare, That Pity (which I never knew before) Half staid my purpose — as mine eye glanced o'er That childhke face, upturned in wild despair. In the next room her selfish father lay, Dreaming of gold, that changed to molten lead ; Within his grasp all things seemed wrenched away. By a strong arm, which brandished o'er his head A fiery sword — then, in that dream, instead Of Death and Danger, his fair daughter shed Imploring tears, which Avarice changed to pearls, Binding in silver strings her golden curls ; Then I the curtains of his bed undrew. And roused him from his sleep — to pay Death's due ; With glazing eyes, he saw me raise my dart. Which flew unerring to his sinful heart. Close by, I saw a darkened room, Excluding every ray. And mourners weeping in that gloom, Were watchinfj life's decay. The restless tenant of that bed Had scarcely reached his prime — No tear of penitence he shed, For many an untold crime. The Priest was praying at his side, And spoke of holy things — God's hatred of the heart's cold pride. Which fro^e a thousand springs ; — His Love, that could all sin efface. Leaving Faith, Purity, and Grace; — But all in vain the good man tried To save his soul from shame ; He doubted that our Saviour died Such sinners to reclaim ; — He doubted, too, he then should die. Although his breath came fast ; Though / already dimmed his eye, He hoped the worst was past : I nearer drew, and lightly laid My hand upon his own ; The terrors of my arm I staid, That he might yet atone For past misdeeds — and own God's power, To save him at the eleventh hour. G No mortal heard that mortal's prayer — None saw the penitential tear ; The drops that fell were thought to be The sweat of dying agony ; But, as they gazed upon the dead, Defying pain's control, A smile o'er every feature spread The traces of a pardoned soul. As evening closed in, with the tempest I rode, And flung to old Neptune some rich merchandise, For the mariners gladly their ships did unload, As they saw my dark form from the waters arise. And some to their reckoning for ever 1 sent, Whilst others I sufFer'd, unscathed, to go free ; Like a miser, I knew the few years that I lent, Wcmld bring a full harvest, reaped only by me. Then swift, through the mists of the mournful night, To a fisherman's dwelling I hastened my flight, Wliere a mother was singing her infant to sleep, Whilst the storm unabated swept over the deep. THE SONG OF THE FISHERMAN S WIFE. Sleep, baby, sleep ! cry not so loud, For I would watch yon threatening cloud, That flings its shadow o'er the sea, Keeping thy father far from me. The hour he named has long been past, And storm on storm is gathering fast ; Omens of evil fill my heart, And phantom forms before me start. Hush, baby, hush ! is yon dim speck A fragment of some fearful wreck ? — O God ! thy father cannot be In that doomed bark, on such a sea ! The candle, in the window seat, Burns blue, and bears a \vinding sheet — And now the forked lightning flies — By that red flash thy father dies ! 8 And away she flew where the foaming surge. Was howling and wailing a funeral dirge, For the souls of the many who found a grave On tlie bristling rock, or the furious wave. All night did she stand by the lone sea shore. For the husband whose love she would never know more ; And the mother forgot, in her agony wild, To watch o'er the couch of her sleepless child ; So I tainted with fever its innocent breatli. Then fanned its cheek with my wings of Death ; For I knew, had it lived, what temptation and strife Would follow its steps through the journey of life ; And I knew that the widow, when childless she grew. Would give her full heart where alone it was due. Then away, for a while. To a rocky isle, Where a hero stood alone ; Fading away, Like the setting ray Of the sun he gazed upon. He raised his eye To the cloud-swept sky. Then turned to the shipless sea — 9 By the side of Despair, Hope slowly sailed there, But no smile bade that exile go free. Then he thought of the fields, Where, with glittering shields, The ranks of his armies stood by — When heroes, with pride, Had fought by his side. And he now uuhonoured must die. Perchance not unwept — The chieftains who slept For a time over fortune's mischance. Would wake from their sleep, And millions would leap To the cry of " Napoleon and France !" Oh, yes ! he might live That watch-word to give — Perchance, he might once more command — When, lo ! on the rock. He encounter'd my shock ; Like a stealthy foe, I laid him low. In a dreamless grave, on that stranger land. b5 10 From thence I sought the Grecian isles, Where, through unnumbered years, The Greeks had worn their bonds with smiles, Instead of burning tears. Which should have rusted every link, Until they snapt in twain. O coward slaves ! why dreaming think There's glory in a chain ! But on ye slept, until One came To make ye feel the blush of shame ; His was the spirit to inspire The coldest breast to burn with fire — For he was born the favorite child Of wayward Genius ; at his birth, The seeds she sowed, burst forth all wild, ^fixing with flowers the weeds of earth ; Loving, yet stern, his feehngs were. Some called liim cynic — cold and proud — For scorn was on his li[) whene'er He glanced his eye upon the crowd. Who dared presume his thoughts to know, And read their import on his brow ; And yet, o'er every bitter feeling, A gushing fount of love came steaUng ; 11 Like summer brooks — which cahnly run O'er many a rugged bed of stone, Making the uneven surface be Smooth as the pebbles of the sea. I sought him when his heart beat high, With bright and joyous things — When Glory, daughter of the sky, Spread over him her wings. I cast my shadow o'er the wreath. Which round his temples twined. And slower came the thickening breath, As there I lay enshrined. I smote him in the hour of night, Wlien Hope and Faith were strong, Urging that dying one to fight With Sin, who held so long His soul in chains; and, ere he died, Truth was his teacher — Faith his j^uide. o' Then, children of mortals, why tremble at me ? Why think of my coming with lips pale with fear? If ye be but prepared, when my dread form ye see, The footstep of Mercy is sure to be there. Ye know not the joys of the soul, when its flight No more is imprisoned by fetters of clay — 12 When by me ye are led to the cluimbers ol" li^ht, AVhere the shadows of evil are melted away — Then your eyes, without film, shall for ever behold The Treasures of Knowledge before ye unrolled. And I, though conquering all things here, Must one day conquered be ; When ye before God's throne appear, And learn his high decree. Then must my dart be laid aside, My mission will be o'er ; And Pain and I with giant stride, Shall walk this world no more. And I may then resume my place Beside that starry throne, Mingling again with that bright race I once could call my own — Until Pride came, and then God's wrath Sent me, Destroyer of the Earth ! All loathe mc for the fearful power I wield o'er every living thing! Oh ! when will come that blessed hour. When Death shall lose its sting ; And I shall be condcnnicd to know No more the withering voice of woe. 13 RECOLLECTIONS OF A VILLAGE SCHOOL. PART I. THE INDIAN GIRL. Dost thou remember ? — I can ne'er forget — •_ Our Village School ! Surrounded by a wall, O'er which the bright laburnum flung its boughs, Wooing the ivy from its ruined home. Oh ! what an Eden spread its verdant fields Beyond the precincts of that garden gate ; And how we wished the lagging day to close, That we, like wild birds loosen'd from a cage. Might gaily revel over hill and dale. Then emulation in our young heart raised A gentle flame, unlike that wild ambition, Which, in later years, is often stained by sin. Or crushed, by disappointment and despair ; — 14 With us, success was sure to follow toil — The task was easy, the reward was great — The smile of one we feared, yet dearly loved, The mistress of that school. How eagerly We watched her smile, and trembled at her frown ; Yet still we loved her, for, from evening prayer. None left her presence, faulty though they were, Without her kiss and blessing. Dost thou remember, When the clock struck five, how joyous rose the shout Of merry voices ! Then in groups we strolled ; Some few were conning o'er the morrow's task, And some were gathering flowers; others there were Whose thoughts were fixed on loved and distant homes. Thinking perchance the flowers they planted there Were sweeter far than these. Apart from all. Unnoticed by her fair companions, stood. An orphan girl, from India's burning clime ; O'er her bright childhood, fairy charms were flung ; Rocked was her cradle by the " sweet south wind," And near her slumbers, watched, the faithful ayah. With ready hand fanning her infant cheek. Which glowed beneath the atmosphere of Ind. 15 But now, transplanted from that sunny land, Restless she grew — the rose tint left her lip ; Yet her dark eyes shone bright — as winter stars, "When seen at midnight through soft fleecy clouds ; And when December came, with frozen hand. Binding the sportive rills in chains of ice, She daily pined away. In vain we spoke Of Spring, that season full of hope, to those Doomed ne'er again to see a summer sky. We told her of the treasures ^May brought forth — The violet, hidden in its leafy bed. The graceful lilac, and the scented briar — " Take me," she cried, " beside that sacred stream, The holy Ganges, where my mother died ! There the red lotus floats upon its breast, Mocking, \vith hue of health, the pale girl's cheek, Who sends her flower-wreathed lamp down that clear tide. How many a time, when that sweet bird of eve, The thrush of Hindostan, was pouring forth Her tlirilling notes, filling the ambient air With melody divine, I've often sat On the long grass, beneath the date-tree's shade, Listening, with eager ear and beating heart, 16 To the wild tales my ayali used to tell. All ! could I see her now, and fling my arms Around that dear one's neck, I should be blest — 'Tis hard to die with only strangers near !"' With bursts of grief like these, she soon became A shadow of the past. Thou wert the oldest Of that Village School, and thine the grateful task To sit beside that wayw-ard sufferer's bed ; And when, with sweet low voice, thou didst explain The Book of Life, and read its holy page. That murmuring Indian girl ceased to repine ; For she was told of other worlds, where tears Are never known. She smiling died in peace ! And many weary years of toil and care, And many changes both of time and space, Have passed away, since we together stood, As we are standing now, beside the Indian's grave. 17 RECOLLECTIONS OF A VILLAGE SCHOOL. PART II. Does not this spot recal a thousand thoughts ? Unhke ourselves, the aspect is unchanged ; There is the rustic bridge — the willow tree, Bathing its tresses in the quiet brook. Do not these flowers look fresh and fair as those We used to twine around our baby brows, Some twenty years ago ? Here stands the worn-out stile, Unmended still ; and there, the noisy train Of mischief-loving boys, the pebbles flinging Down the dangerous well. There, on that gentle slope. The church spire rises from the yew tree grove. Does not this scene bring back our childish days. When lightly stepping o'er the grassy mounds. 18 We only thought of death and future worlds As idle names ? Few were the gravestones then — But look around ! how thickly now they stand ! In sad memento that the scythe of Time Has not grown rusty. Dost thou remember, In that same school, a girl, we Juliet named :* Because her bitterest foes were Montagues — As proud, as noble, as implacable, As those of old, in Shakespeare's loving play ; Like Shakespeare's Juliet too, she won the heart Of Montague's young heir. 'Tis a sad tale. And better told, perchance, in tlie rude sketch I've made for thy perusal. THE TWO LETTERS. Within a bower, sheltered from winter's winds, And summer's sun, sat a fair girl ; the long And silken lashes of her downcast eyes Resting upon a cheek, whose tint might vie With the \vild hedge-rose in its springtide bloom. Deep were her thoughts ; — and ever and anon. She passed her small white hand across a brow Radiant with happiness — and then she read. 19 And read again, the treasure she had pressed Against her throbbing heart. 'Twas Love's ^r5^ letter, Written by one, so far above her hopes, That only at a distance, had she dared To gaze upon the idol she had made : — And were those words of fire addressed to her ? Should she — the orphan of a hated house — Become the bride of one whose fathers were Her father's foes ? — Again she read, and kissed A thousand times the dear unconscious scroll That brought such bliss. O Love ! how beautiful Thou art — imbuing all created things With the rich colours of thy rainbow form. Without thee ! what would be the youthful Spring, Or glorious Summer, with its golden fruit — The mellow Autumn and its crimson skies, And Winter with its household blazing hearth? — All joyless would these be, wert thou not there, An emanation of the God Divine, To purify man's heart, and make it be An offering fit for heaven — where all is Love ! ***** 20 Ere many months had passed, young Juliet left Her village home, for Italy's soft clime. It was in Venice, I beheld again The dear companion, of our early youth, Surrounded by the luxury of wealth. How beautiful she looked !— the endearing ties Of wife and mother now were hers ; and yet Alone within her splendid halls she sat. Gazing with vacant eye on all around, For he — her Montague beloved — the light And lustre of her soul — was absent still ; Three listless days and nights had passed away, Since he, at parting said, " Remember, love, The evening hour will find me by thy side. Then in our curtained gondola we'll sail To those green isles that cluster in the sea." Another night and day of wild suspense Still found her watching in her lonely home ; When, suddenly a messenger, in haste, Knocked at the portal gate — " a fearful man," So said the timid page, as tremblingly, On bended knee, he to his mistress gave The fatal packet from her dying lord, Who, on his way to Venice, had been stabbed, 21 And left for dead at the road side, till one Came by, who, like the good Samaritan Of old, bound up his wounds — then carried him, With care, to his own house ; there searched in vain For tokens to identify liis name Or home. The sufferer could not speak, nor write, Till the third day, when sense returned, and then There came an inward monitor, which told His time was come — he must prepare to die ! Again I saw that delicate white hand Put back the tresses from her burning brow, As hurriedly she read, with quivering lip, The Knes which sealed her fate. 'Twos loves last letter ! And she — that wretched wife — reached not his side In time, to hear him breathe one Uttle word, Or meet the look, which anxiously was fixed Upon the door ; — no form beloved was there — No gentle hand to wipe away the dews, "WTiich gathered on his brow. Ere she arrived, Mysterious Death had given his victim Life — Life, in that brighter world, free from the chain oo That binds our spirits for a space on earth. It was a sad — yet useful sight, to see That youthful widow struggling with her grief, Patient and calm, though sunshine never more Could lighten up the darkness of her soul. She murmured not — yet day by day she withered. How rarely does the flower revive, if once Its stem be broken ! I spoke of change of scene — Her native air — the necessary means She ought to take to save her infant's life, Who, since its father's death, had pined, and looked As if it longed to w'mg its flight to heaven : The proper chord was struck — we reached this spot. Where, for a little time, old scenes recalled That healthiness of mind, which can create A paradise from thorns ; still she was doomed To drain the cup of sorrow to its dregs. The angel Death still hovered o'er path ; The poor child died — and then the mother drooped, Never to rise again ; all human ties Which bound her to this worldly scene were gone. Beneath yon marble tomb fair Juliet sleeps. Her baby cradled in her icy arms. 23 RECOLLECTIONS OF A VILLAGE SCHOOL. PART III. THE YOUNG POET. Here is another walk we used to take ; Across yon meadow lies that little wood, Wliere we, in former times, so idly strayed, Truants from school, forgetting unlearned tasks. How anxiously we sought the nut tree boughs, So laden with temptation ; now, as then. How slight a thing will turn our steps away From what should be our duty, not our pleasure. Look at that river, like a silver band Binding the emerald robe of Spring — 'tis there She holds her court ; the attendant winds * Flinging around her throne, a million sweets From tributary flowers ; her minstrel birds, 24 Concealed within their orchestra of leaves, Resound her praise ; her courtiers are all things That breathe, — hailing with heart or voice, the reign Of Spring. This was the favorite spot of one, Wliose mind was fevered with the thirst of fame. How rarely to the votary's mind it brings Peace and content ! How many thorns lie hie! Beneath the wreath which decks the aspiring brow ! Like the lone ivy o'er the oak's worn trunk, Tlie laurel leaf, too oft conceals, the ruins Of the mind. I never tread this pleasant patl., But 1 recal that fair haired girl at school, Who was disliked by all, except myself. They called her sullen, cold, and obstinate ; If any erred, she^ was the culprit named. And doggedly she bore the punishment For faults, that were not hers. She had no friends — No home : an orphan, it was said, she was, Of parents whose misdeeds disgraced their birth. No kind remembrances, to children dear, Of cakes, and toys, and all those simple gifts, That show a mother's love, were sent to cheer 25 That poor girl's drooping heart ; ill dressed was she, In fasliion so unlike the other girls ;* Oft have I seen her struggling with a tear, As they, with all their finery displayed. Would point to her, and ridicule her dress. Inferior too in intellect she seemed. Until one day, when restlessly I sat, Attempting vainly to give words to thoughts, My paper lay unblotted by a line ; A few more hours, and I should lose all hope Of gaining that reward, which eagerly Was sought — the Poet's Christmas Prize. Intent Were all, like me, to chmb Parnassus' mount. Save that neglected girl, who took my hand. And looking with much meaning in my face — " Oh how I wish," she said, " I might be deemed Equal to serve my only friend on earth. And show the deep devotion of my heart * The rules in the French schools cannot be too much ad- mired : all the children are obliged to wear frocks of the same color and materials, thus preventing the child of indigent pa- rents from being subjected to the contempt and ridicule of her richer companions, who would, otherwise, parade in all the finery of muslins and lace. 9.G To one who has not scorned nie hke the rest. I've thought," — and then she blushed — " much of the tlienie It is thy task to write. 'Tis on a subject I could ever dwell — the ruined towers Of my native place ; beside its grass-grown courts, Our cottage stood. In dreams I think my childhood Has returned — I see my gentle mother's face : Once more I'm clasped within her feeble arms : — No marvel then my waking thoughts should be- On that dear spot, allui'iiig me to write The humble rhymes I offer now to thee. Take them, dear friend, and should they fail, Onmebe all the blame; but if" — and then she paused ; If they should gain the prize — Oh ! never tell 'Twas I presumed thus to compete with thee." I fondly kissed her cheek and gladly took Her proffered gift, resolving to myself It should become truth and affection's charm, Binding for ever prejudice and pride, That ruled so sternly o'er poor Ellen's life. The day ai'rived, when all, with throbbing hearts, Heard, one by one, their different poems read. By her who was the delegate of Fame. 27 My verse — or that which passed for mine — came last; Young Ellen's cheek grew pale, and mine was flushed With almost sure success — and not a breath Disturbed the silence, whilst our mistress read : ON THE RUINS OF CASTLE ACRE, IN NORFOLK. Hushed is the sound of revelry Within thy crumbling walls ; Mute is the voice of minstrelsy. In thy deserted halls. The rust has gathered on the spear, The bows are all unstrung, And tattered are the banners where In triumph they have hung. O Time ! how soon thou sweep'st away The beautiful and brave ! But here are traces of decay That live beyond the grave, c 2 28 !Methinks I see the tables spread, As they were wont to be ; And forms, long mingled with the dead. Sit there in mockery. And high-born dames, and noble lords, Crowd round the cheerful fire, As some grey minstrel strikes the chords Of his inspiring lyre. And then begin the song and dance — The tread of nimble feet ; The pressure of the hand, when chance Makes youthful lovers meet. The laugh, and jest, rise high between The wine-cup and the song ; And flitting o'er the joyous scene, I see a careless throng. Hist ! are they gone ? what was that sound ? The falling of a stone ; — 1 turned once more to look — but found Ruin sat there alone ! 29 A murmur of applause ran through the room ; Those simple girls forgot their own defeat, In what they thought my merited reward. " Oh, not to me," cried I, " such praise is due ! I cannot claim the prize :" — and then I led The timid Ellen forth, and in brief words Explained her noble singleness of mind. How often " trifles light as air" become The pivots on which turn the ponderous doors Of Fate ! Ellen, from that eventful hour, Was valued and beloved throughout the school ; Her countenance was changed — for sympathy. The electric spark that kindles in the breast A gentle fire, had thawed the ice of hers. Out broke the stream of poetry — but wild. Untutored, were her lays. We will together read. The aspirations of her early muse. 31 THE CHILD'S INQUIRY. " Earth is so beautiful, dear mother, I should not like to die, Although they tell me there are worlds More bright beyond the sky : But, mother, in that distant land, For this home I should pine ; The little children have not there A father kind as mine." — " Jesus, my child, the helpless loves ! In Scripture we are told, He gathers all his wandering lambs, Within one cherished fold. Come, read that Book of holy word, What says the Prophet of the Lord ^ 32 Eye hath not seen, ear hath not known, The wonders of God's mighty throne." " And yet, how pretty are my flowers ! How sweet the linnet's song ! And dearer still my own pet lamb — How could I leave it long !" — " The flowers of earth, my child, will fade- Thy petted lamb must die ; And singing birds, when winter comes, Far, far from thee will fly. But buds and blossoms round the gate Of Eden ne'er decay ; And birds of Paradise are there, With plumage always gay. Read in that Book of holy word — What says the prophet of the Lord ? Eye hath not seen, ear hath not known. The glories of Jehovah's throne." " But, mother, I'm so happy here, With every thing to love — Why should I leave this pretty world. For one so far above ?" — S3 "' Alas, poor child ! when sickness comes, And takes away thy bloom, And suffering has made thee seek Those joys beyond the tomb — Then, when thine eyes are dimmed with tears, Thy heart torn with despair, Thou'lt ponder o'er the sacred page, And find thy comfort there ; For in that Book of holy word. Well speaks the prophet of the Lord — Eye hath not seen, ear hath not known, The splendour of God's shining throne," c5 34 " GOD BLESS THEE!" " God bless thee!" those are words to charm The human breast from every harm : " God bless thee !" — 'Tis a prayer to bless Man's life with peace and lioliness. And yet, liow often is it said By lips, whose hearts have never prayed ! How often, as it were in joke, God's sacred blessing we invoke ! How often, with the farewell laugh. Or sparkling wine-cup that we quafl" We lightly utter what should bt- Sought as a boon on bended knee ! 35 THE DYING FLOWER. Oh ! bloom again, sweet little flower, I cannot bear to see thee fade ; How could I pluck thee from thy bower, Where the light breezes round thee played ! Blushing upon thy native tree, I found thee, beautiful and fair ; Oh ! lift thy drooping head, and be Such as I saw thee blooming there. Vain hope ! thy freshness never more Can be renewed by sun or dew; The breath of Spring cannot restore Again to health thy faded hue. :iG How many hearts, sweet flower, are torn, As thou hast been, by spoiler's hand ; And left to meet the world's cold scorn, Forsaken in their native land ! [The Music of this Song was composed by my late husband, Walter Turnbull, and ])ublished by J. B. Cramer, Addison, and Beale, 201, Regent Street.] 37 THE REMEMBRANCE. I'll not forget thee, though we part ! Perchance we ne'er may meet again — But thou shalt cling around my heart, In Memory's dearest strongest chain. I'll not forget thee, though I feel The past can never be renewed ; But many a thought of thee shall steal Upon mine hour of soHtude. 38 CASTLE BUILDING. And are ye fallen, Castles of the Air? Does no dear vestige of your walls remain ? Oh no ! your towers rose far too proudly fair To stand upon the fabric of the brain. Where are your gardens ? where the blushing flowers, The thomless roses blooming in their pride, Which Fancy planted in her happiest hours, And thought them far too lovely to have died ; But when they met cold Reason's chilling eye, They withered 'neath her frown, and perished by her sigh. 39 Yet o'er the ruined shrine and crumbhng walls, Fancy again appears, untired in mind ; She fearlessly rebuilds those castle halls. And round the ivy -porch fresh buds have twined ; She changes darkness into glorious day ; She makes the song of birds ascend the skies ; She crowns old Winter with a wreath of May, And in her pathway flowers and shrubs arise, Which young Hope nurses for a time — and then At Reason's glance, they droop their forms again. 40 THE BRIDE. My mother watched me all the day, And when she thought me sleeping, She kissed my cheek, and stole away. And left me to my weeping. Oh ! when she told me I should be A happy bride to-morrow, I smiled — as if my breaking heart Had never known a sorrow. But now, alone — I'll once more gaze On every treasured token, Wliich I received in happier days, Before my faith was broken. 41 One sigh for cherished hopes destroyed, Would surely be forgiven, If e'en my bridegroom knew the thoughts By which my heart is riven. But, see ! the ray of morn appears, Upon my window gleaming ; And I must rise, and dry the tears That down my cheeks are streaming : The hour is nearly come, when I Must kneel before the altar ; But when I breathe the heartless vow, I fear my voice will falter. [The Music published by D'Ahnaine, Soho Square.] 42' HARVEST HOME. Through many a clime I've idly roved, And in each place new beauties found ; But none so prized, so fondly loved, As one sweet spot of English ground. How simple is the mountain lay, The merry Swiss boy gaily sings — As o'er the hills, at break of day, He leads his Hock to cooling springs ; But sweeter to my ears would come Our rustic song of Harvest Home. ' 43 In Spain, that land of wild romance, I've listened to the serenade ; When by the maiden's thrilling glance, The minstrel's note was well repaid ; — In Italy, where blooms the rose, I've joined the peasant's moonlight dance. And from the wandering troubadours I learned the merry songs of France ; But sweeter to my dreams would come Our EngHsh song of Harvest Home. 44 FADED FLOWERS, ADAPTED TO WINTER'S DUETT OF PARTO TI LASCIO. " Flowers, why bend your heads ? I've placed you in cool bowers, Where never wintry showers Can reach your leafy beds." " Take us, take us, to our glade, For there we grew and flourished ; The rain our beauty nourished — But here we pine and fade ! Restore us to our valiies — The bright blue skies above ; For what to us is splendour, Wlien torn from those we love ?" 45 THE PICTURE GIFT, ON PAINTING A SKETCH OF MYSELF AND MRS. CARTER, WHICH I SENT AS A PRESENT TO A DEAR AND EARLY FRIEND. No strings of pearl, or chains of gold, have I to offer thee, But far more prized than costly gems, my picture gift will be. Oh ! if my pencil has but sketched each line with ' force and truth, These portraits, like a fairy spell, shall bring thee back thy youth. 46 Once more witliin those pleasant lanes, that bound our childhood's home, With buoyant heart, and bounding step, thou'lt seem with me to roam; Again \vc cross the rustic bridge — again we watch the stream, As silently it glides along, unlike Life's troubled dream. With merry laugh at eventide, we reach the verdant vale. Just as the music of the bells comes floating o'er the gale; AVe talk of brighter worlds than this, whilst listening to those chimes — Say ! does my picture gift recal those days of happier times ? The scene is changed — another friend is standing by our side. With soul, and feeling, like ourselves — with less per- haps of pride ; 47 With more of meekness, more of faith, with thoughts that soar above This lowly earth — yet with a heart our very faults to love. Is she not here ? — does she not bring a thousand thoughts to thee ? The blazing hearth, the hissing urn, the rice-cakes, and the tea ? These are poor themes for poefs song — yet, trifles though they be. Such are the keys that oft unlock the stores of memory. Look on her brow ! — the hand of time has scarcely left a trace, The calmness of a holy mind, still beams upon her face; And o'er my own, I've tried to bring, \nth all the painter's art, The youthful look — the sunny smile — the gladness of the heart. 48 Think me all this — for as 1 write, a change has o'er ine come : The spirit of my early years, returns to bless my home ; My dog has watched my glistening eye, and gently climbs my knee — Farewell ! I would not have my Picture Gift, bring aught but joy to thee. 49 CONSOLATION. Why dost thou weep because thy path Has not been strewed with roses ? — Why shouldst thou sigh, because thy couch Is not where love reposes ? — Within the dreariest wilderness. There blooms some little flower ; And winter, with its storms and clouds. Hath still its sunny hour. Though sin and sorrow cast their blight, On all our heart's best feelings, They'll spring again, if we but seek, Religion's blest revealings ; The frailest bark on Life's dark sea, By w^nds and tempests driven, Shall reach, if Mercy take the helm. The peaceful shores of heaven. 50 THE SWISS GIRL'S DREAM. mother! I have had a dream — abrio-ht and glorious di'eam, Methought I once more stood beside our mountain's rushing stream ; 1 lieard again the Ranz des Vaches* — still in my heart it thrills, And to my feet my tame chamois came bounding o'er the hills. • Tlie extraordinary effect of the Ranz des Vaches, when the notes of that simple melody fall on the ear of the Swiss in foreijjn lands, can, in certain cases, hardly be exaggerated. It is a matter of history, that dnring the French revolutionary war, when the Helvetians were gathered beneath the tri-color, to fight in stranger climes, tlie regimental hands were forbidden to play tile Ranz des Vaches; the well-known sounds not only affecting the mens nerves to extreme weeping, and utter incapacity for military duty, but having, in more than one instance, been sup- posed, by the medical men, to cause suicide itself. 51 I gazed upon our quiet home, and felt no longer weak, So fresh and cool the morning air, played o'er my feverish cheek ; And on that breeze came Zurich's chimes, most musical and clear. Bringing the pleasant happy days of many a bygone year. The murmuring of the waterfall, the humming of the bee — The lowing kine, the herdsman's song, were well known sounds to me ; And his dear voice — my early love's, nay, mother, do not chide — I was so happy in my dream, for he was by my side. The wild flower blooms — how beautiful! upon our mountain's brow ; But take it from its native soil, it fades as I do now — I pine amid this stranger land, and sigh for that dear home. Beneath a sunnier sky than this, where freely I might roam. d2 52 And yet I've tried to school this lieart, to do my mother's will ; But though it break, it yet must love ; — to him 'tis faithful still ; Then take me home, the mountain air will soon my health restore ; And then thy droopini^ child will spring to life and joy once more. 53 HOW SHALL I WOO THEE? How shall I woo thee, beautiful Spring ? What shall my offering be ? Shall I seek the abode of the Ocean King, And his chaplet of pearis bring to thee ? Oh no ! for there shines in thy clustering curls, The dew-drops of morning, brighter than pearls. Shall I seek " the sweet south," where the balmy breeze. Kisses lightly the cheek of her flowers ? — Shall I bring them to thee, midst perfumed trees. And plant them within thy bowers ? — Oh no ! for the violet that blooms at thy feet. Has a lovelier tint, and a breath more sweet. 54 How shall I woo thee, beautiful Spring? — Whence shall my offering come ? — Shall I echo the birds as they joyously sing, In the groves of thy flowery home ? — • Oh, yes ! for sweet music alone has the spell, To fathom the depths of thy leafy dell. oo T I M E. How warm the heart in boyhood's dajs ! And warmer are the smiles that greet it ; But time will come, when those soft rays Of Love and Hope no longer meet it ! How bright the dream when young eyes sleep, And brighter glows their lip of gladness ! But Time will doom those eyes to weep, And change such smiles to tears of sadness. How beautiful the book of life, If Fancy glances o'er its pages ! She sees no sorrow — feels no strife, In the fair scene of future ages. But changed are those unblotted lines. When feelings, hopes, and all are slighted ; And dim the star of Genius shines. When all its trembling beams are blighted. 56 LOVE, HOPE, AND DESPAIR. As young Love and Hope together were roving. And talking of those they fondly were loving, The sky was all sunshine, earth gay with spring flowers. And Jo}', with old Time, danced away the light hours. But Cupid was always a troublesome boy, And the hearts he once sighed for he longed to destroy ; So he parted from Hope, with a petulant air. And took to his councils, her rival, Despair. With such a companion, it soon became known. That dimples, and smiles, from his godship were flown ; 57 And young hearts were withered, and bright eyes grew dim, As they gazed on the spectre that frowned upon him. But Love became tired of sighs and of tears, And recalled back the friend of his happier years ; From that moment, whenever the god spread his snare. The net-work was woven by Hope and Despair, d5 58 THE COTTAGE GIRL. The following lines have reference to the well-known romantic stor>' of a former Marquis of Exeter, who fell in love with a beautiful countr)' girl, and married her, con- cealing his rank, with which she was not made acquainted until two years afterwards, when her husband took her to dine at his magnilicent seat, Burleigh, as if they were guests of the Marquis's steward, and when dinner was over, drank her health as the lady and mistress of the domain. This interesting incident in the history of the peerage is well known to have laid the foundation of I'rior's celebrated poem of the " Nut Brown Maid." Oh ! merry and gay was the young Cottage Girl, As she sat by her door, wildly singing! Her lips were pomegranates, her teeth rows of j)eail, And her voice was a silver bell ringing. Her bodice, so simple, set off her sweet shape, Her cap was a snow-drift in whiteness. From whence a stray ringlet would often escape, And rival the sunbeams in brightness. 59 One fine summer's evening, a bold cavalier, Rode up to the Cottage Girl's dwelling ; And covered with blushes, she heard without fear, The story of love he was telling. He wooed her — he won her — I cannot tell how ; But he made her his bride the next morning ; And a circlet of jewels, he placed on her brow, Her beautiful tresses adorning. In her castle so stately, admired by all, To her lord she ne'er fails in her duty ; Though the song of the minstrel resounds through the hall, In the praise of her youth and her beauty. Yet she never forgets when, a poor Cottage Girl, She sat at her door wildly singing. With those lips like pomegranates, those teeth rows of pearl, And that voice like a silver bell ringing. CO SERENADE. Awake, my love ! the sun's warm ray Has gleamed upon thy casement long ; And I have watched the night away, To greet thee with my morning song. There's not a blossom on the tree, A dew-drop on the brake, That will not bring a joy to thee ; Then wake ! sweet love, awake ! The rose has left its blushing bed, To seek the fragrant breath of morn ; And see ! — the daisy's dappled head. Is peeping from the dewy lawn : There's not a cloud upon the sky, A ripple on the lake, But all looks calm to meet thine eye : Then wake ! sweet love, awake ! 61 THE PARTING. Go ! join the giddy round of mirth, And let no thought of me depress thee ; Go ! smile ! — a paradise on earth, Has blossomed all its sweets to bless thee. Go, and be happy !— I will pray, That friends and fortune may surround thee ; That year on year may pass away, With life's best blessings circling round thee. 6U THE PICTURES. A younp EnRlishwomau of rank, wliilc visiting Florence, with lier family, became passionately attached to an artist, through viewing liis works; he being as mucli celebrated for his personal beauty as his general talent. They saw each other often, unknown to her friends; and the young girl was eventually prevailed on by her Italian lover, to promise him marriage; but their clandestine intercourse liaving l)een discovered, the lady was hurried olf to England, and forced to give her hand to one, more suited to her rank and station. Some years afterwards, she again visited Italy, and seeing there some more works of ••••••, she gave utterance to her sorrow, and une.vtinguished passion, in the following lines: — I've gazed upon thy pictures — till the past, Comes, like a mighty whirlwind, o'er the brain ! Unchaining the mind's memory — and at last. Feelings, that slept for years, awake again ! 63 For, as I look upon those sunny skies — Those touches, true to nature, in each scene ; Mine eyes are filled with tears, my heart with sighs, To think of what I am, and what I might have been. Long years have come and gone, since last we met ! Youth, Joy, and Hope, alike have passed away ! Yet, all in vain, I've struggled to forget Those hours which seem as now, but yesterday. In fancy, I behold thee ! — by thy side, I once more watch the magic of thy art ! And feel thou art again my life and pride — The only idol of this care-worn heart. I meet thy kind and loving glance again ! I hear that well-known voice — its gentle tone, Electric thrills through every throbbing vein ; But starting from my dream — 07ice more I am alone/ Alone am I — ^yet wedded ! hearts and hands Are seldom hnked together ! — if they were The chains of Hymen would be flowery bands, And not the iron yoke it is my doom to bear. G4 1 think I should be happier, if I knew, In some still hour, I was recalled to thee ; A heart so warm as mine — so fondly true. Errs not in wishing thou mightst think of me. How idle is this folly ! — I have ties, That leave no room for others ! — Had I none, I'd dwell with thee beneath thine own bright skies. And not be thus, in mind and soul alone. MY PRETTY ANNETTE. A BALLAD. " 'Tis our last night of meeting, My pretty Annette ! But the vow I have plighted, I'll never forget ! So dry up thy tears, love, And listen to me ; When the spring time returns, love, I'll come back to thee." 66 As he spoke, on her finger, He placed a gold ring ; Whilst softly he whispered, " Remember the Spring !" The parting is over, Young Henri is gone ; Annette, in her cottage, Sits weeping alone. How slowly the seasons, To her passed away ! Now hoping, now fearing, She numbered each day — Till the spring, with its garlands. Came fresh as before ; But that false-hearted lover Was never seen more. [The Music composed by Walter TurnbuU, and pub by M. Wybrow, llathbonc Place.] 67 COME FORTH. Come forth, amid the vallies. Where all is fresh and fair ; There's sunshine on the waters, There's music in the air ; We'll rest beneath the shadow, Of that old willow tree ; Where, in our days of childhood, I used to sine: to thee. 'O I know a lovely meadow, Where cowslips woo the bees ; There, lady's-hair-grass quivers, Beside the wild heartsease ; — 68 Come forth, and I will shew thee, The loveliest flowers that grow ; Like those we used to gather, 111 times so lonj; asfo. 'Tis true, we are grown older. But thou and I shall feel, As in those paths we wander, A pleasure o'er us steal : Reminding us of treasures, We used to cherish then ; Unlike what we are seeking. Amid the haunts of men. G9 THE WARRIOR'S DEATH. The hero is gone to the field of war, With a band of his chosen men ; His heart beats high, as he thinks of his home, Which he never may see again ; And the last, sad word, still rings in his ear. As it fell from the Kps of his bride ; But he gives the spur to his prancing steed, And dashes the tear-drop aside. The flourish of trumpets no longer is heard, The vanquished are left on the plain ; The neigh of the war-horse comes loud on the gale. As he looks for his master in vain. 70 But his rider lies pale on the blood-stained turf, With the Ibeman's spear in his side ; And he struggles in vain with the fleeting breath, As he thinks of his lonely bride. [The Music of this little Ballad published by D'Aliuaine & Co. of Soho Square.] Tl THE SONG OF THE ITALIAN GIRL. They told me thou wast false to me, And laughed to scorn my plighted vow ;- But still I deemed, thou couldst not be The heartless thing I find thee now ! *b But, when at last conviction came, To shake the faith which clung to thee ; The silent tear, and blush of shame, Proclaimed my heart's deep agony. And then there crept through every vein, A cold and desolating chill — A burning pressure on the brain ; But yet I lived — to love thee still. 7'^ I struck the harp I loved so long — Discordant were the sounds I made ; I poured forth feelings into song, Which told of love and vows betrayed. I took my pencil — but its touch Was blotted by the falling tear ; The figures that I sketched were sucl As grew within my mind's despair. I rushed amid the thoughtless throng, And vainly bade my grief depart ; Then Pleasure hurried me along, But it was with — a broken heart ! (3 THE SPRING WREATH. ON PAINTING A CHILD OF O'DWYER, ESQ. SURROUNDED BY A GARLAND OF FLOWERS. Beautiful Infant ! around thee I fling, The earliest buds of the promising Spring ; For art thou not pure, and fair as the flowers, That blossom in beauty through earth's fairy bowers? And is not thine eye as bright and as blue, As the sweet-scented hyacinth, sparkling with dew ? And has not thy cheek the young rose's bloom — Thy lip its soft tint, thy breath its perfume ? 74 And is not thy voice as sportive and gay As the song of the birds, in the morning of May ? — And do not thy tresses float soft on the breeze, Like the gossamer web through the ghstcning trees. Beautiful Infant ! I bid thee farewell ! — Fain would I weave with thy garland a spell, That should give to thy Ufe the peace that might bring To the gloom of thy winter the freshness of Spring. Thy heart should possess all the strength to retain A virtue unsullied by pleasure or pain ; But much as I love thee, such gift is not mine. Or gladly the charm with this wreath I would twine. THE DREAM. I DREAMED that I stood in my own quiet glen, And my thatch-covered home was unblemished by time, And there smiled my playmates as joyous, as when They ceased from their work at the evening chime. And I gathered the rose buds that blushed on the tree. To wreathe in the hair of the bright blue-eyed maid. Whose glances of fondness were turned upon me, As in silence we roved through the flowery glade. E 2 76 Then, metliought, that I wandered alone on the hill, 'Till I reached the green banks of a murmuring stream, And the voice, that I fancied for ever was still. Repeated my name — and I woke from my dream. Yes ! I woke — and the joys which had mocked me in sleep, Were changed to the dullness of grief and despair ; And I tossed on my pillow the long night to weep. And to think of the maid with the long flowing hair. [The Music composed by Walter Tuinbull, and published by Collard, 26, Cheapside.] 77 OUR VILLAGE HOME. I've thought of all our early days, Our quiet Village Home, Our mother's fond, yet anxious gaze, Whene'er we used to roam ; The summer days and summer nights We passed upon the lake ; The ramble that we took at dawn Across the dewy brake. That valley, where the violets bloomed, I never can forget — 'Twas there we watched the evening sun, Before his last ray set ; 78 From thence we saw our village home, Upon the mountain's brow, Just peeping from the dark green grove — Oh ! would I lived there now ! When memory brings such scenes again, I seem once more to see That bubbhng brook, and rustic bridge. Beside the willow tree ! The weight of years may blight our hearts, As through the world we roam ; But you and I can ne'er forget Our quiet Village Home. [The Music of this Song puhlislicdby Dean, New Bond Street.] 79 THE BEREAVED. My faithful dog ! my faithful dog ! Thou long hast watched mine eye ; And wondered what this tear-drop means, And what this sorrowing sigh. My gentle dog, thou dost not know. Of all I am bereft ; That thou art now the only friend The world to me hath left. The one I loved is false to me — Has broke his plighted vow ; My children — idols of my heart — Where are they wandering now ? 80 I never hear the wild winds roar, But Fancy brings to nic, My boys — my loved, my noble boys — Tossed on the treacherous sea. And when I seek a troubled sleep, Visions around me come. Bringing them back as smiling babes — Their father and their home. The fire burns brightly on my hearth. And with a voice of glee. They twine their soft arms round his neck. Or chmb upon his knee. A fearful change comes o'er that dream— I see a lonely wreck, Borne slowly o'er the sullen wave — My children on its deck. So pale with famine and despair. My boys 1 scarcely know ; CHnging to hope when none is there — Nought but each other's woe. 81 And as they perish, one by one, The sea receives the dead ; No mother's sad, but sacred tear, Is o'er her children shed. With dreams so wild, my watchful dog, I burst the bands of sleep. And see thy kind eyes fixed on mine. In wonder that I weep. Thou hast no word of sympathy ; And yet thy pitying whine, Tells me thou hast, by instinct, learned To feel for woes like mine. b5 82 TO THE DEPARTED. Shadowless spirit! I call upon thee, To come to my dreams of the night ; Come ! and unveil that deep mystery Of thy glorious realm of light. Come ! and watch over my mortal state, And train me to enter fair Eden's gate. Be by my side when temptation has power To fasten its chains round my heart; Let me see thy bright glance in that hour, And evil from me will depart ; Leaving me free to worship once more The God, when on earth, 'twas thy pride to adore. 83 SPRING. Blest hope of man, enchanting Spring ! Thy throne is made of budding flowers ; Thy voice is with the birds, that sing Amid the leaves of thy green bowers. Thy breath is in that sweet perfume, Which comes where violets make their beds ; Thy cheek is of the mellow bloom. That's sprinkled o'er a daisy's head. Thine eye is of the sky's deep blue ; Thy robe is of the grassy mound ; Thy gems are of the morning dew ; Thy footstep makes a fairy ground. 84 APRIL. Oh dear to my heart, sweet April, art tliou, With thy smiles and thy weeping skies, For the drops that fall o'er thy flower-crowned hrow, Only heighten their radiant dyes. How lovely thy forests of emerald green, Where the little birds joyously come ! And sweet is the violet, blooming unseen. Till its perfume discovers its home. All hushed are thy winds, and thy rivers are calm, As an infant's untroubled repose ; And soft are thy showers, descending like balm, On the leaves of thy first budding rose. 85 OH! THINK NOT THE HEART. Oh think not tlie heart I have given to thee, Can ever be false to its vow ; Nor deem that my actions, whatever they be, Will prove that I love thee less now. The sunshine of April may herald the rain, But without it the flowers would fade ; And pleasure would weary, unless it brought pain, Relieving its brilliance with shade. How often will words on the lip appear cold. When the heart is o'erflowing with joy ! How many a feeling remains there untold, Lest the telhng its hopes should destroy ! 86 ON COPYING THE PORTRAIT OF THE LATE UNFORTUNATE MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE. Fair daughter of a fallen race, Mixed with thy smiles, I see A shadow passing o'er thy face — Dark herald of thy destiny. And yet, upon that brow, so fair, Unmarked by careless eyes. Rules resignation, o'er despair, Pointing to happier skies. 87 Vainly this trembling hand has tried, Thy features to pourtray ; The thoughts that float down memory's tide, Bear all my powers away. I see the fearful guillotine — I hear the mocking crowd, Deride thy calm and lofty mien, With curses deep and loud. Unhappy France ! the blood that day Which deluged every street, I fear will rise, when ye shall pray Before God's judgement-seat. And she, your victim, there may stand In high and bright renown — One of the pure and angel band, Wearing the martyr's crown. 88 SONG. " BY THAT imOOK." By that brook so gently flowing, Through our happy sunht vale; By the flowers sweetly glowing, With the kiss of Sunniier's