11 >% THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES A" SONGS IN THE SHADE Songs in the Shade BY HENRY DOMAN, AuTHOE OF " The Cathedral, and otheb Poems : " Songs of Lymington : " &c. London : Simpkin, Marshall, & Co. Lymington : Keney DoiiAN. TO Mrs. DES CHAMPS DE LA TOUR, IN GRATEFUIi REMEMBRANCE OF HER KIND SYMPATHY AND ENCOURAGEMENT DURINQ MANY PAST YEARS, €f)ts Folumc IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 816670 The kind reception accorded to his two former Tolumes, now out of print, has encouraged the Author to publish a third set of poems. The present book contains three or four productions already published, but which appeared to him to need correction. The poems have been written in the intervals of a life devoted to business, and reilect the moods and cu'cumstances of many a passing day. Had more time been at his disposal, something of greater importance might have been attempted ; but, such as they are, they have helped to soothe many cares and troubles in the writer's experience, and to lift his thoughts to subjects calculated to make life worthier and better. That they may exert the same influence upon his readers, is the sincere desire of THE AUTHOR. Lymington, October, 1881. The view in the frontispiece, of the Isle of Wight and the Needles, as seen by moonlight from the opposite shore of MUford, is from the pencil of the Author's friend, Mr. J. H. Dell, and was kindly presented by him expressly for this work. INDEX PAGE To a Lady . . . . 1 An Afril Song 3 Lovers Immortality . . . . 5 Summer Rain 8 " Until the Bay hreak, and the Shadows flee away" 9 An Autumn Song 11 " Thou Renew est the Face of the Earth " 15 To Lieut. Castle, R.N. . 17 The Pure in Heart shall see God 18 The Moss-Rose 20 Sunday in my Garden , . . 22 Follow the Right . 24 In the Wood . . 26 Our Lady of the Spring 27 Somebody . , 29 Xll Prayer to the Holy Spirit The Loss of the Good . . Fading Flowers The Valley of Boldre . . Heart Voices {'HemorseJ The Wood Anetnone The Dismantled Home . . Atitimin Thoughts To April Brockenhurst Church . . To the Snowdrop To Henry Quintanilha . . A Pastoral To a Prisoner . . The Miser The LarVs Song " Our Father ! hallow' d he Thy Name In Beaulieu Abbey The Primrose in the Snow To Allan Skinner The Voice of the Night- Wind Second Roses The April Day . . Death of a Lady Bonnie Mary . . The Poor Folks in the Snow Bells S.111 PAGE The Good Mother 87 The Jewels 89 When it is Night 91 The Three Primroses . 93 Let them le . . . 95 The Saimted Copse . . 97 The Thunder Cloud . . 102 Fire- Side Mim7igs . 103 Sensual Pleasure . 107 The Bunch of Violets . . 108 Orchard Musings . 112 Liz and I . 114 Flowers for the hospital . 122 The Pose Tree of Uildesheim . . 124 Yellow Jasmin . . . 127 Prockenhursf River . 128 Garden Fancies . 129 Memory . 134 To the Poet of the Pcnc a . 138 The Bear Old Home . . 140 The Copse . 145 A Memory . 149 Be Strong . 151 The Storm Wind . 153 A Song of a Lily 155 To My Father . 157 My Garden Plot . 158 XIV PAGE In the Clouds . . .. 159 Little Harry's Shoes (A Mother'' s Lament ; .. 162 Stars e - .. 164 Bridal Gifts (The BiUeJ .. 166 "Sic Transit" .. 169 The Sea .. 171 Lilies in the Night .. 174 Musings .. 176 The Angel in the Night .. 178 The Clematis . . .. 180 " Imtist he going / " . . .. 182 Guiding Stars . . .. 184 The Keys of Randon . . .. 186 The Bead Barling .. 188 Scene near Lymington . . .. 190 The Valley of Shadow .. 192 Children in the House . . .. 193 To My Brother . . 196 The Fading Moon .. 199 A Bay in the Wood . . .. 201 " And I will he his Father, andheshaUhcmy > Son" 204 The Nightingale . . 205 Love . . 207 The Spirit of the Woods .. 209 Artie Boman . . .. 210 The First Kiss .. 212 Lament . . .. 213 XV PAGE The Town Quay Slip . . • • • • 214 The Burial of Charles Bichens in JFestminster Abbey . . • • • * 217 Light at Last . . . 218 Passford Stream • • 219 Retrospect t • • 221 Odds and Ends . . • • 223 TO A LADY. ^C'^ADY, forgive my claim, "fs^ To love the very ground your feet have trod, — To hold you next to honour, and to God ! Eor you are good and noble, — as your name ; And I am but the clod. Where your clear sjiirit shining hath brought forth All that in these i)Oor verses may have worth. Accept this tribute from your servant's hand, — An old memorial of departed years, — Tuned to no harp with rolling numbers grand ; But more akin to sorrow and sweet tears, And music flowing swift at grief's command ; — A few low strains, sung from the world apart, — And quiet thoughts that linger in the heart. They represent the story of those days. Your goodness brighten'd, as long years went by ; When many cares were mine, and life's rough ways Were heavy, and no other friends were nigh. You toiich'd my heart, — you sanctified my lays ; You shed sweet light upon my troubled youth ; You taught me tenderness ; you taught me truth. If there is aught that in my life was good, Or pure, or noble, it was all of you. Like some bright river running through a wood. Bordered with trees and flowers of fairest hue. So ran your goodness through my life, and made Beauty and gladness in its deepest shade, — The beautiful — the tender — and the true. Lady, I love you ! As the knights of old, I bear your name upon a loyal heart. Each held his queen in reverence ; so I hold You in true worship, bending low apart. I bring to you, as pilgrims brought their gold. And gems, and jewels, to a saintly shrine. These songs, which you have sometimes praised, of mine. AN APEIL SONG. '"^ EEEN bougts in April, pleasantly svraying. Moving to soft winds, murmiu^ing low, — BrigM leaves uplifting, that waving and playing, Fling rippled shades on the river below : Bend low your branches, And let us be gay. Violets in April, from leaf -tangled mosses, Each grass-hidden corner, each green woodland way, Sweet comes the breath of your fragrance across us, Show us your beautiful faces, we pray ! Let us behold you, And let us be gay. Hyacinths in April, primroses lowly, Stitchwort in clusters, and bright celandine, Fair wood-anemones, humble and holy. Speedwell the beautiful, creeping between, — Shine forth, ye loved ones, And let us be gay. Song-birds in April, oh skylark, oh linnet, And thrush with sweet madrigals thrilling the grove ; No concert, oh blackbird, but you must be in it, And thou gentle nightingale, poet of love ! Tune up your music, And let us be gay. Fair skies in April, — enchanting, endearing ! With low-curtained thunders round mountain and bay; With sun-guarded portals, noV clouding, now clearing ; And golden surprises, and meltings away ; Shine forth in beauty, And let us be gay, LOVE'S IMMOETALTTY, ^WT^HEN the first heavens and earth have pass'd away, And there is no more sea, — And men have heard the great evangel say That tears no more shall he, — And that the tahernacle of our God Is with us as of yore, And we, like gathered, folded sheep, abroad Shall wander forth no more ; — "When there shall be no death, nor grief, nor pain, Nor any evil thirst For wealth or power ; nor any further reign Of tyranny accurst ; — And God himself shall dwell with us, and bo Our comforter and friend, And lead us into that bright company, AVho praise him without end, — The place of tlie apostles and the saints, Prophets and martyrs meek, Who did through fiercer woes than fancy paints. His holy kingdom seek ; — Will Love's pure thoughts, amid those scenes sublime, Still gather round the memory of Time ? Tea ! Love is an immortal, priceless thing, And must for ever reign, The essence of all happiness — the king Of being's wide domain. YvTiether of heavenly or terrestrial birth, It holds a charm divine, A quality of such transcendent worth, Th' Almighty must resign Sceptre and name if aught of love should die, — If gentle deeds and words, Friendship's kind office, and sweet sympathy. Like shields, and helms, and swords, Sank into dim oblivion, or were made As antiquarian toys, — Eude things of dust and legendary shade : Ah no ! its living joys Mow in bright streams down all the peerless years; And glorious eyes shall weep. Brimming with tenderness and happy tears, As out of Memory's deej), Shall rise the blissful days, the golden time, When Love link'd heart to heart, and made oiu- lives sublime. Therefore should we in such pure service spend Our life's remaining days, — That are not many at the most, — and send To that celestial place Great store of loving memories without end. In words of lowly grace, Kind acts, sweet tendernesses, gentle things, — That, born in this cold clime. Have here no settled resting place ; whose wings Waft them in their young prime Into God's secret guarded treasury. There counted, written down. They rest until the day of days shall be, That brings Life's palm and crown. Not one of them is lost ; they are too fair For fading ; precious gems. Whose value may be reckoned only whore All earth's gay diadems,' — All the vain baubles madly sought for here, — Darken in their clear light, and disappear. Passing like withered leaves when winter's gale Strips the dead branches in the woodland vale. Worlds may decay and vanish from the sky. But love is strong as God, and may not, cannot die. SUMMEIi RAIN. SIT at my Btudy window, And look from my books abroad ; And I hear the voice of the summer rain, Like the tender voice of God. For the rain it is sweetly falling On the garden's dusty leaves, And the sparrow is chirping and calling. From the ivy under the eaves. And the great white rose that was drooping, And dying along the wall, — And the lilies I thought were fading, — Have waken' d at his caU. And the grass is greener and brighter, And the flowers have open'd again. And my heart it is better and lighter ; And all because of the rain. ''UNTIL THE DAY BEEAK AND THE SHADOVfS FLEE AAVAY." .tWN tlio night of my grief I wake, ^ I wake, and I weep and pray, And I think of the far-off day that shall break, "WTien the shadows will flee away. I muse upon many a word Of a voice that was tender and low, Sweet in my heart like the voice of the bird, That sang to me — long ago ! The rain and the sunshine faU, And the sea breeze sadly sweeps O'er the silent grave, near the old church wall, Where the true-hearted sleeps. Alas for the passing years ! How the seasons will come and go ! But never, ah never a time when tears Will cease for my love to tluw ! 10 The voice of the solemn sea, I hear it along the shore ; And its rolling waters to me — to me — Are mourning for evermore. The wind seems to cry to the leaves, That wave at my window-pane, — " Weep, oh weep for the heart that grieves, That will never be glad again ! " I wake, and I weep, and pray, — Oh when will the night be gone ? And the shades of death pass for ever away ? And I and my love be one ? My love — in the far-oif land, Waits for me, and the perfect day ; In the hapj)y land, where the Father's hand Will wipe our tears away. 11 AN AUTUMN SONG. ^T/^0 ! til' autumnal clay is dying, "s^^ In tlie yello^Y, fading woods ; Sad October winds are sighing Through the drooping solitudes. Through the meads the streams are going, - Mournful music in their tone ; Singing ever in their flowing Of the simmier past and gone. Singing with a tender sorrow, Telling, in their troubled flow, Of dark winter's coming morrow, And the days of long ago ; How the flowers, by death invaded, One by one grew pale and dim ; How the lily shrank and faded, Drooping by the river's brim. 12 Sing they not to us the story Of some days no more to be ; Filled with love's own light and glory, As the waters fill the sea ? y/ake they not, in their sweet numbers, Thoughts that touch the heart with pain,- Dreams, that rise from broken slumbers, We should never dream again ? On the heart their music falling, Wakes the fount of former tears, From the depths of mem'ry calling Treasured scenes of other years. Yet in their sweet songs of sadness. May we trace a brighter strain ; Grief shall yet give place to gladness ; Summer days will come again ! THE WHITE LILY. ^/^EILED in a tender mist of tears V)i6r Of Aj)ril dew and rain, Her saintly crown the lily rears Without a spot or stain, — So pure and wliite, So clear and bright, She gives me joy, — and pain. She shineth by her Maker's grace, So delicate and piu-e ; The light of heaven upon her face Serenely doth endure. Ah me, I sigh, — If but that I Were like the lily, pure ! 14 If in my heart no evil thought Had struck congenial ground, — If on my spirit-garment, spot Of sin could not be found, — What prayer — what psalm.— . What glorious calm — Within me would abound ! Yet e'en for me sweet waters flow Of healing, clear and bright ; I may be purer than the snow Of lilies in His sight. Friend supreme ! In Calvary's stream, Wash me, and make me white ! 15 "THOU EENEWEST THE EACE OF THE EAETH." jNCE more, my Q-od, the world hath, made Its old, old circuit round the sun ; The seasons everlasting run, — Simshine and splendour, — gloom and shade. Through th' eternal years hast Thou The face of this great earth renewed ; Sequence of all vicissitude, Thy past is present ; future, now ! We cannot reach Thee ; reason limps On broken crutches all the way. Thy light so great, it darks our day : We see Thee, hut with faintest glimpse. Eor human sight is weak ; the mind Strives to Thine awful thought in vain : The dead weed floating on the main As well as miglit hope the stars to find. IG Yet Thou dost help us ; Tliou hast rent The veil untouch'd by mortal power : On sea, on land, on tree and flower, Thy glory shineth : bloom and scent. The morning', bright with golden leaven. The slanting day-beam's crimson close. The yellow woods, the dying rose. Are rich with thoughts of death and heaven. Thou art the Everlasting One, The great pervading Spirit, found In every place, and sight, and sound, — In heart and thought, in star and sun. Not all that rash divines have preached, But something greater, something more, Than sage of east or western lore. Present or past, hath ever reached. "Wide is Thy word : it may not be Set to vain fashions of the time. The solemn jest, the flippant rhyme. Are not for that, are not for Thee. Its voice, though sin the music dims, Comforts the troubled heart, and dwells Sweet in the soul as Sunday bells, Or dying notes of holy hymns. 17 Only tlie earnest soul that seeks, By Thee sustained, the upward path, And keepeth Thy wise counsels, hath The inner light, that hums and hreaks "With such a splendour on his way. He needs no human torch nor spark ; But, through the mingled light and dark, Doth travel to the perfect day. TO LIEUT. CASTLE, R.N. (Lost in H.M.S. " Cai)tain." ) \ AEEWELL, farewell, thou sailor of the sea ! Sleep in the breast that so long carried thee. The wild, waves sing their requiem for thy death ; The wandering wind thy farewell whispereth. Deep in blue waters is thy peaceful bed : Deep in our hearts art thou remembered, Thy memory sweetening with the lapse of years, Eushiiu'd in sorrow, and embalm'd with tears. 18 THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE GOD. JjwfrY God, I ask no Letter part, "-^^ Of all tliy many gifts, Than the •vrise, patient, reverent heart. Than its possessor lifts From base and sensual things of earth. To themes of purity and worth ; — With power of contemplation clear, And holy insight given. To make this varied world appear A vestibule of heaven, And every pathway there may be, A place wherein to walk with Thee : — That shall, in voice of leaves, or bird's Sweet song, or summer stream's Low music, hear Thy wondrous words Of love, as in the dreams That come, we know not how, or whence. To bless the sleep of innocence ; — 19 And in the daisy's modest grace, Half-veiled in tender green, Behold the sliining of a face By common eyes unseen ; And feel as if, within the wild, An angel unawares had smiled : — Or where the shadow of the wool Is waving to and fro, The secrets of the solitude, To hear, in whispers low ; And learn, in green recesses dim. The forest's everlasting hj-mn ; — That, wheresoe'er I went, my lays, From these fair scenes of time, Ins^jired with love and grateful praise, Might reach thy throne sublime ; Like far-off music, mingling faint With song of seraphim and saint. 20 THE MOSS-EOSE. ^ HE wears a crimson coronet, '^ Her robes are mossy green, With, morning dew lier leaves are wet, Slie shines in light serene ; "With diamonds, pearls, and jewels set, She's Jewell' d, like a queen. So modest is her air. And oh she is so fair. She fills my heart with prayer. I think what time this gentle day In joy and grace was bom, The King of Glory came this way, With rainbow pomp of morn. And touch' d her with a passing ray. Her beauty to adorn. That beam divine Is made to shine Forth from her heart to mine. 21 My rose is of a lowly Lirth, A piu'e and simple flower ; She laath brief time to stay on earth, May perish in an hour, — And yet of such celestial worth, No human pride or power May haply dare With her compare, Or show a thing so fair. My rose must fade and pass away, She shares the common doom ; The sun, the wind, the fleeting day, Prepare her for the tomb : And yet how lovely in decay ! How sweet her last perfume ! Her dying breath Low whispereth — " Sweet life hath sweetest death." ^Vp* 22 SUNDAY IN MY GARDEN. tjKg/frY little garden is a place most holy, '"^^ AVherein a sinless congregation stands, Beautiiul as the angels, and as lowly, In natural worship lifting eyes and hands. I, as in some cathedral pacing slowly, Beverently gaze, and feel my heart oppress'd : Divinest tenderness, sweet melancholy, Touch me, and hush all meaner things to rest. Oh flowers, oh leaves, oh bowers before Ilim bending. Him whom I also love, and serve with tears ; Ye have no need to weep for evil, blending "With your pure natures through the troubled years. Ye are God's thoughts to men, if men would heed, — Thoughts that the pure in heart alone may read. Ye roses, filled with beauty and desire ; Thou, lily, that in white serenity, Liftest thy virgin flame amid the fire And play of many colours, — unto me 23 Most beautiful : tliou, tender mignonette, Of lowly, lowliest, and fragrance sweet ; And all your sister flowers in order set, — Embroideries and jewels for the feet Of tbe great Iving, who bere unseen dotb move, With His poor, sinful servant, at such time Wben Sabbath bells are ringing, and their chime Floats down the vale, and wakes all hearts to love, — His Spirit is on you now, and all the air Is filled with peace, and musical with prayer. Mine eyes are dim with tears of sweetest grief, Sprung from some fountain that is not of earth ; Some joy o'erpowers me, passionate and brief, That from no mortal sources drew its birth. All words, how dumb ! my heart alone can toll His love is all around me, and the calm Of that serener world where angels dwell, — And what in me is not of prayer is psalm. Sinful, yet in divinest sense restored. Borne down with goodness, sanctified, and awed, Lo, I am one with nature and with God. God of my love, thi-ough all my life adored. In every flower Thy love and mercy shine ; Creation speaks Thy jiraiso ; her voice be mine. 24 FOLLOW TnE EIGnT. ^"^HEN our cliildren have taken our places, And we shall have pass'd away, And other hearts and faces Fill the world as it's fill'd to day ; When the grass on our graves is growing, And ended our hopes and aims, And only the tombstones showing A list of neglected names : — If we turn'd not aside in temptation. If straight were the paths wo trod, If we have heen true to honour, " Faithful to man and God, — The world for us will be better. Though we had toil and pain ; We shall make each man our debtor ; We shall not have liv'd in vaiu. 25 Then let us be strong, tliough lowly The path of our feet may be ; We may live for the high and holy, Be brave, and true, and free. E'en if in life's rude battle, [ We go down, one by one ; 1 In its strife, and dust, and rattle, Wept for, and miss'd, by none. We may not be crown'd with glory, Or win a mighty name : Not every hero's story Is writ in the scroUs of fame : Not every act of daring Is trumpeted forth to men ; There is much of doing and bearing, Untold by tongue or pen. There is many a warrior dying On the field his sword hath won. With no proud voices crying The brave deeds he hath done. He asks no lamentation, Though bruis'd, and gash'd, and slain ; When for freedom and for nation He fought that field to gain. 20 Like tlio Lrave wlio have gone before us, We'll follow the right and true ; And till the sods close o'er us, The good that we can will do. Though the proud may flout and scorn us, We'll scatter the seeds sublime, Of love, and truth, and freedom, Over the fields of time ! IN THE WOOD. vjiN HE place is full of God, this shady wood, '^ With its innumerable arches dim : The daylight's golden flame Breathes of His presence ; voices on the flood Of the bright running river sing a hjTun Of glory to His name. He, great and good. Glad in His works, rejoiceth most to hear The prayer of faith, when lowliness draws near. 27 OUE LADY OF THE SPEING. fHE pines and larches wave green tops, Bright birds are on the wing, I seek within the sheltered copse Our lady of the spring. For I've heard the mavis sing — " The fair primrose, The rare primrose, — Is lady of the spring ! " Heap'd leaves along the woodland floor Lie crumpled, brown, and dead ; Dry, barren, shatter' d, scatter'd o'er Our lady's lowly bed : When shall she lift her head — This fair primrose, This rare primrose, — Our lady of the spring ? 28 lu deep damp darkness, cold and still, Our lady lieth low ; Oil tell her that from vale and hill Hath fled the winter snow ; Oh who shall let her know — The fair primrose, The rare primrose, — Our lady of the spring ? The big gnarl'd oaken roots that creep The mossy earth about. Our lady deep in prison keep : When will they let her out ? For she, beyond a doubt, — The fair primrose, The rare primrose, Is lady of the spring ! Come, brave young warrior winds of March, Swift flying o'er the sea ; Sweep storming through the woodland arch, And set our lady free. The sweetest thing is she — The fair primrose. The rare primrose, — Our lady of the spring ! 29 Cry in tlie forest tops, and shako The cedars, bring them low ; Smite the broad oak-stems, bend and break, Till they shall let her go. Then shall the glad earth know — The fair primrose, The rare primrose, — Is lady of the spring. SOMEBODY. LONG, large man, — Lateral — perpendicidar ; But in liis mental span, — Nothing particular ! 30 PEAYER TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. ^W^IIRN again, grieving Spirit, and once more, ^ Witli Thy great love, tender and sorrowful, Me, aU unwortliy of that love, restore. Breathe on the brow of penitence, and cool Sin's fitful fever, that hath wasted sore Life's early promise ; from repentant eyes Bid tears — bid sorrow's sweetest tears arise, Like streams in a volcanic land, to roU Through the dry lanes and valley's of the soul. Making the desert blossom as the rose, And the dark day beam radiant ere its close. As wearied stag pants for the water -jiool, So pants my heart, Thou injur'd one, to be Eeviv'd, heal'd, pardon'd, sanctified by Thee, And made submissive to Tliy gentle rule. ''I THE LOSS OF THE GOOD. , '^IS good to weep wlieu we liave lost tlie good ; '^■^ Thougli for ourselves we weep, and not for them, Who, wearing their eternal diadem, Are moving with the saintly multitude In heavenly palaces : and if we could But see them in their brightness, every tear We dropp'd upon their graves, would fall a gem Of gladness, quivering with love's light most clear. We should, for dirge and mournful requiem, Eejoice as when a bridal draweth near. Or kings come forth on coronation days : For these unto the heavenly bridal move, Joiyiul, with royal robes, and crown'd with love, In glory walking, singing deathless lays. 32 We may not see tliem through the golden door, That to our mortal sight is closed and barr'd; But we may see the angel that doth guard The portals they have pass'd for evermore. Men call him Death : his radiant face is starred With glorious light and tender ; his white hand Droppeth on weeping eyes perpetual halm, Gathered from gardens in that fair, bright land. His voice is full of music, sweet and low ; His words have healing in them, as they flow O'er weary spirits, soothing them to calm. To all who gather in that holy place, He is God's minister, and doth remove The mark of tears and crying from each face. Why should we call him Death, whose name is Love? 3*11 FADING FLOWEES. ^EAUTIFUL flo\7ers, so swiftly fading, "^ Shining so sweetly in forest and glen. Springing in glory, where trees are shading. Visions of heaven vouchsafed to men ; Climbing the steep and lofty mountain, Clothing with garlands each verdurous hill ; Bending over each crystal fountain. Lining the margin of river and rill : Sweet is your presence By stream and river ; Would ye might blossom And shine for •ever ! 34 Are ye not fading, — and fading fast, — Bending down in sorrow and death. ? Yonr blossoms, scattered afar on the blast, Are filling tbe breeze with their dying breath. Fading are ye from your beauty and glory, Spring hath departed, the summer had wings, Autumn is djdng, decrepit and hoary. The swallow hath vanish' d, the north wind sings. Tenderly mourning, The wind and the river Talk of your sweetness, For ever and over ! Through the forest the rumour is flying, Palo the leaves have grown at the news. The grey old oak like a prophet is sighing, Ileavily dropping his sorrowful dews ; The sunbeam slanteth, the day it waneth, The lark and blackbird are musing alone, The thrush to the linnet sings low and com- plaineth, Tenderly maketh the wind its moan. Tenderly mourning. The wind and the river Tell of the trouble. For ever and ever ! 35 Ferns are tipp'd with a golden yellow, Heavily hangs each feathery plume, Gone are the leaves of the purple niallow, Dead lie the glories of heather and broom ; Dog-rose gleams with a crunson herry, Chestnuts down from their branches fall, Hawthorn dangles its mimic cherry, Clematis slides from the garden wall : Tenderly mourning. The wind and the river Speak of the sorrow, For ever and ever ! For you the bright sun, desolate, Veils his face in a dusky pall ; Crimson clouds through his crystal gate, Come to your death and burial. Saintly and pure, the dim earth scorning, Sweeps the moon through her sorrowing spheres ; The stars they weep till the cold grey morning. Silently shedding theii" silver tears : They talk of the flowers To wind and river. Tenderly mourning, For ever and ever ! 36 Mourns old eartJi for your fading glory, As the cushat over her rifled nest, Ever singing your sorrowful story, Folding you, dead, to her desolate breast. Mourns the mountain, and moixrns the valley, Hush'd is the song of the bird and the bee ; Sighs the wind through the woodland alley. The river weeps to the broad grey sea : Tenderly mourning. The wind and the river Talk of the flowers, For ever and ever ! ■l^Mi^M^ >^'' _ ^'^^i-. 37 THE VALLEY OF BOLDEE. ^N the beautiful valley of Boldi-e, ^ Dwelleth sweet Emily Lane, So fair, that if once you behold her, You long to behold her again. In spring, through the valley of Boldi-e, The primrose and violet reign ; With envy they're ready to ecold her ; The beautifid Emily Lane ! The rose in the gardens of Boldre, From anger may scarcely refrain ; The lily grows colder and colder ; They're jealous of Emily Lane. 38 All night, in the valley of Boldre, The nightingales sweetly complain : But there's nothing so sweet, as I've told her, As the voice of my Emily Lane. The squire in the valley of Boldre, Has besought her again and again ; If he tries till he's fifty years older, He'll not win my Emily Lane. Oh soon shall the vicar of Boldre Join hands, and make one of the twain ; Ah then to my bosom I'll fold her. My wife, my sweet Emily Lane ! 39 IIEAET-VOICES. (Eemorse.) f'ER the barren landscape, bleak and brown, Sharply blows the chill November breeze ; Sheltered in the valley lies the town ; Dim its lines of light behind the trees. Like a serpent crawling to his prey, Creeps the winter mist along the hill ; Moonbeams slanting mingle with the grey Vaporous phantoms haunting lake and rill. As in cities, or great capitals, Vex'd with constant and beleaguering wars, Nightly flame along the heavenly walls, Cressets of the diamond-gleaming stars. 40 Lo, the forest, like a funeral pall, Set witli nodding plumes that awful ware, — (Shap'os gigantic, indistinct, and tall,) Covers half the earth, as 'twere a grave ! For a season from the world apart. Here in silent, lonely fields I sti^y ; Oh that there were silence in my heart, Like the silence of the closing day I Lonely wandering, mourning for my sin. Like a pilgrim on a desert shore, While the mystic utterances within Keep not silence, waking evermore, — "Waking, like the voices of the sea, Rising with a miiltitudo of waves ; Voices silent never more to me, Here, and far beyond the place of graves. For, like ghosts, some thoughts about me walk, Talking, like the waves upon the beach. With a ceaseless everlasting talk, Making me the subject of their speech. Shall I never from them move apart ? Is it vain to weep for sin, and pray ? Oh that there were silence in my heart, Like the silence of the closing day ! 41 THE WOOD ANEMONE. ^)^^HEN tliroiigli green shades my Wcay I wend, ^<-^ I find no flower more fair to see, Than thou, my little modest friend, My dainty wood anemone ! With fragile stem, And trembling leaves, And drooping head, like saint that grieves. Thou art so tender, mild, and meek, Thou seemest not of mortal birth ; There is a blush upon thy cheek. Like which is nothing upon earth. So sadly fair, It doth declare The mark of early death is there. 42 No tiny winds that creep and dwell Among the forest leaves and grass, But thou dost wave thy satin bell, With startled tremors, as they pass ; As if keen sense, We know not whence, Thou hadst of perilled innocence. Within the copse's friendly shade. Or 'neath the lordly forest stem, Thou livest, a perpetual maid, With meekness for a diadem ; And in the day Of pale decay, As a sweet soul dost pass away. And o'er thy grave for many a day. Wild roses tender blooms will shed. Hushing the summer birds at play, With — " One we lov'd, here lieth dead And it is meet A life so sweet, Should gently be remembered." 43 THE DISMANTLED HOME. (a page of REAIi LIFE.) ^ET in a belt of kingly trees, ^ Slielter'd from north and eastern breeze, Looking forth on southern seas, — With deep rich verdur'd fields between, Bright with hues of varied green, Where alternating shade and sheen Sweep swift o'er mead and wood, — Where, far away, the j)icture fills With high Freshwater's misty hills, And Ocean's song the spirit tlirills, — A stately mansion stood. The swallow built beneath its eaves ; The bees, those honeyed happy thieves, Sang in its cluster'd creeping leaves ; 44 Its garden was so sweetly fair, That nought but gladness anywhere In such a place to dwell might dare, — A gem from nature's wild : Here spring brought flowers of ancient name, Hero summer in all beauty came, Here autumn lit her loveliest flame, And even winter smiled. Within its well-remembered walls, O'er which no more the sunshine falls, Or saucy sparrow chirps and calls, — Where ne'er again the swallow's breast Shall shelter in its happy nest, A fondly welcom'd, favour'd guest, — Long dwelt a gracious pair ; One, — framed in manhood's noblest mould, High-natured, modest, gravely bold, Dower'd with virtues manifold, — A Man ! — without compare ! The Other — was a beam of light. Sweet-shining, dear to mortal sight, Gentle, and pure as lilies white, An.d beauteous as the blushing rose, When first its mossy veils unclose. 45 Her queenly, (HgnifiocI repose, Her graceful tenderness, Touch' d every heart, — all spirits won : Hers was the glory of the sun, Serene and constant ; there were none That Lady did not bless. It were a grievous task to tell How on that home the Shadow fell. How sadly tolled the parting knell, — When He, the gentle and the brave, We would have perill'd life to save. Was borne to his untimely grave ; Nor how that lady wept : — Of kind, sweet eyes in sorrow drown'd, — A broken heart, — a loss profound, — Hope dash'd in ruin to the ground, — And grief, that never slept. How from the spot to love endeared. Where truth was honoured — Grod revered- Where sorrowing souls were sooth'd and cheered, — Where many a kindly deed was planned. Where gentle heart, and generous hand, Mov'd swift at pity's sweet command, And countless blessings spread, — 46 Unable, 'mid those scenes so fair, In widowed loneliness to bear Life's crushing load, its weight and wear, The stricken mourner fled. The mansion, fall'n to other hands, No more adorns those pleasant lands, But in a mass of ruin stands : The shatter'd pile admits the gale. Through its torn roof the tempests sail, The night- wind's melancholy wail Creeps moaning, far and near : And day by day the wreck speeds on From roof-tree down to basement stone. Till, like a vision past and gone, The place shall disappear. vanish' d home of happy youth, Of manhood's glory, woman's truth! Well may we deem the deed uncouth, — A careless, cruel act, — to rase From earth such sacred dwelling-place, Hallowed by purity and grace, Higli thoughts, and Hves refined ; Cruel, — howe'er excused and giozed, Nor by necesssity imposed, — That such a tender chapter closed, And grieved a tender mind. 47 Yet love, in fancy's realm, recalls That sacred roof, those honoured walls. And calm its blessed simshine falls ; Each gentle voice again we hear, And faded forms, and faces dear, In sweet familiar scenes appear, And heaven itself draws nigh ; For love, while memory holds her part In that one pure and faithful heart, "Will bring, to soothe bereavement's smart, Sweet thoughts that cannot die. ■"^l 48 AUTUMN THOUGIITS. lj^>^S we move deeper do\ra the vale of years, ^^^ Life wears a sterner frown ; the road ajipoars Darker, and sadder ; gathering overhead, The clouds rise mountainous, and grey, and dead ; The sunbeams fail that on our early day So brightly shone •; the flowers have passed away. Trampled, and crush'd, and faded, — their sweet throngs Dimly remember'd in memorial songs. 'Our wither' d hopes, like yeUow autumn leaves, Tall one by one around us ; nature grieves In figure for our desolate broken ways ; Streams moui-n, skies weep, winds murmur, earth conveys, Through all h er voices, sympathy with man, E'en now as when the ages first began. 49 Divine and tender is the solemn liusli Of woods, in silence drooping, with the flush Of death upon them, — very sweet the low Singing of waters that with trouhled flow, Boll seawards, and, in faint melodious verse, The varied story of the years rehearse. Nature's deep heart in things inanimate, Throbs sympathizing with our doom and fate. Let us not grieve : or grieving, grieve no more All things are fading on this mortal shore ; All things were meant to fade and pass away, — Glory and pomp, — the minstrel, and his lay. We too shall fail, our feet no longer tread Accustom' d waj-s and paths, by sorrow led : A day of peace shall come, when care departs, And weary heads find rest, — and weary hearts. 50 TO APRIL. ,/^LEAE are thy dews on leaf and flower, "^ Bright month, wherein all seasons range : Whose sunshine follows storm and shower, "Whoso glooms to sudden glory change. Across the gardens and the grass, My spirit sees thy spii-it pass. I see thee piling cloud on cloud. Hills above hills, sublimely high ; I hear thy thunders crashing loud, I watch thy lightnings in the sky. Lo, the great pageant sweeps away ! Again the universe is gay. 51 I hear tliy winds In tempests speak, Also in voices liusli'd and low, — Wlien tliou tlie forest oaks dost break, Or float tlie li^-Iit down to and fro : — So strong, so meek — so fierce, so mild : A giant now, — and now a child. Thy breath at times is cold and rude, Then spiced with violet-odoured balm ; Thy music hath a changeful mood, — A song — a laugh — a chant — a psalm. At times thy shouting frights the vale, At times we hear thy nightingale. Imperious, hasty, tender, sweet! How much we love thee, none can know : Like waters melting at thy feet. Whose runnels flash, whose streamlets flow,- Our hearts, in thy bright presence glad. Forget old thoughts that made us sad. Sweet April ! to the poet's heart For ever welcome, ever dear ! We mourn thy tarrying is so short ; We fain would keep thee longer here. We have of friends like thee so few, — So faithful, loving, strong, and true. 52 BROCKENHURST CnURCH. ^ll^EAR old cliurch of the Saxon fathers ! ^-^*^ Worn with nine centuries' wear and decay, — Tender and sweet is the feeling that gathers Deep in my heart as I see thee to-day. AViklly the winds of October are sweeping, Darkly and swiftly the shadows are creeping, Ronnd thee the dead of the hamlet are sleeping, Chui'ch of the Forest, so silent and grey ! Here, when the Norman, with war's desolation. Spread, like a deluge, o'er city and town, Safe stood thy walls from the foe's desecration. Hid in the forest-depths tangled and brown. Red Senlac to thee brought no sorrow nor sighing. Noise of the battle-field, groan of the dying : The shout of the victor, the shriek of the flying, Disturb'd not thy peace where thou dwoUcst alone. 53 Dynasties, kingdoms, and races have faded ; Empires have floiirish'd, and sunk in decay ; Conquerors, conquer'd, — invaders, invaded, — All, like a vision, have vanish'd away. Monan h, and baron, and priest, are at rest ; The marble has crumbled to dust on their breast ; But the swallow stills builds in thy coping a nest, — Church of the Forest, so silent and grey ! Precious we hold thee, — the ancient — the holy ! The church of our fathers, the place of their rest ! Like moss round the stone of thy walls creeping slowly, We cKng to thee, loving thee, dearest and best ! Eude feet shall not trample thy grave-hallowed sod ; Kude hands shall not come on thee, Temple of God, To break up the aisles where our fathers have trod; Church of the Forest, so silent and grey ! 54 TO THE SNOWDROP. ^EBRUAEY'S nun, and abbess of tbe year I ^ Snowdrop! tbe purest of all pure sweet tilings! Wbo dost in spotless innocence ai>pear, Bending thy meek bead over winter's bier; No taint of earth to hem or border clings Of thy white raiment, clear as heaven is clear. Thou comest among us like a saintly dream, Tenderly graceful, modestly austere, — Holiest among the holy, — sad, supreme In sorrow, if, as minds poetic deem, That flowers may grieve : sure thou hast brought some tear Por nature's faded grace now lying dead ; Perchance for human treasures vanished, — Lover and friend, — that no more greet us here. 55 TO HENRY QUINTANILHA. ^HOU earnest to me, deax Friend, as from tlie •^ grave, In whose dark borders thou didst lately stand, A weary pilgrim in a far-off land, When 'tween us rolled the deep Atlantic wave. I, gratefid, bless th' Almighty healing hand, That from such misery our love did save. If thou hadst died, my spirit would have griev'd With sadness that coidd never be reliev'd. Long rolling years had sped since last we met In our lov'd Forest, underneath the shade Of kingly oak and elm, — when down the glade We, happy, wander'd, never to forget The thoughts that filled our hearts, — the words we said, — The tender gladness, mingled with regret, — The flying moments, snatch' d, as by a chance, From the opj)osing tides of circumstance. 56 Since then we've knoM'n some cares ; my head is grey "With stress of many toils, — not stress of years : Thy loving eyes have not been free from tears ; Just then thou hadst some tender friends, and they Have pass'd through death into serener spheres. We both have lov'd and lost, and in our day Have had our meed of suffering and pain ; Yet all imcliang'd sweet friendship's thoughts remain. It was a ]'oy to meet thee, when the years, Belenting, gave me again thy face to see, — Once more to clasp the hand so true to me, — Once more to hear the voice that love endears, — The tones that sweetly filled my heart and ears, Like the low music of a summer sea. When the high moon rides queenly o'er the deep, And every snarling wind is hush'd to sleep. Again in our lov'd Forest did we walk. Threading its stately Lowers so green and old, — While memory's waves across our spirits rolled, With nought to stay th'impetuous flood of talk. Each full-charg'd heart, like flower upon its stalk, Open'd, its inner treasures to unfold. Day ! apparell'd in celestial white ! Day ! to be remember'd with delight, Por many a day to come, and many a night ! 57 And o'er our heads, and tlirougli the -vraving boughs, The golden summer sun shone brightly down ; Each woodland monarch bath'd his verdured crown In glory, — a pillared palace — and a house For the Invisible — to whom our vows We, silent, paid in that green-templed town. The mystery and silence of the trees Touch'd us, and we were silent, — even as these. It was a day with sweetest pleasures fraught. Sacred to friendship, sweeten'd by delay, — A meeting of those who had been long away, And now by happy chance together brought. One, as we were of old, in heart and thought, High things, and noble, spake we in the way ; But one thought through all words and phrases ran, — Thou wert my David — I thy Jonathan. The Day is past ! Autumnal splendours faU On that lov'd Forest ; yeUow leaves are there. Thickening along the ways — the trees are bare — The thrush's voice is mute — the robin's call Sounds like a dirge at natiire's funeral. Winds rise, clouds darken, mists are in the air : O'er the dim woods I watch the shadows falling : And thou art gone! Ilearest thou my Spii'it, calling? 58 A PASTOEAL. ^^HE sweetest pastoral that ever was, ^■^ Is David's, — in liis psalm tlie twenty-tliird, "Wliere, loosen' d in the magic of a word. Flow the slow-gliding waters, clear as glass, And pure, reflecting heaven as they pass ; Laden with music, every fountain stirred "With its own melody ; through fields of grass Going brightly, silver-ribboning the meads : With flowery banks beset, and shining weeds, Whose long green tresses floating down their streams. East in clear waves, as thoughts may rest in dreams : A place all full of jiastures, where the wind Sings low, with gentle leaves and streams at play ; 59 Where nothing- luu'tful is, nor anght unkind, — Eeptile — or evil bird — or beast of prey ; Lowly, with many valleys, bright with trees. And rich with drooping lilies, and sweet plants, Of that fair realm alone inhabitants ; And wherein the Grood Shepherd through the day Moveth about, and keeps his flock alway ; His flock — once wandering, rude of heart and will, In danger's paths, on moimtains wild and high ; Now sav'd, reliev'd, restor'd, and brought to lie In pastures green, and by the waters still. Open Thy gate, sweet Shepherd, and let in Me too, a wanderer, weary of my sin ; Sick of the garish world, and fain to be Safe in Thy peacef id fold, and evermore with Thee. 60 TO A TEISONEE. LITTLE singing bird, I count it sliame To hold tKee captive in a barren cage, Tbougb tbou with sweetest music dost assuage The cares that vex a poet's moody frame, Whose thoughts thy voice alone hath pow'r to tame. Thine eyes have never look'd on nature's fields, Brighten' d with April pomp or summer's flame ; Thine ears have never heard the grand acclaim Thy kindred make when happy morning gilds The green, glad earth : thy tiny voice doth make Its silvery solos between narrow bars. And from an endless prison seems to take A melancholy taint of tone that jars With sweetness, till my heart is sad for thee, little minstrel, singing uuto me I 61 Fain would I open the imprisoning door, Ajid send thee soaring, singing tlirough the skies, Chough well I know 'twould break our tender ties, Ajid thou wouldst come to soothe my heart no more. But thou wert born a captive ; fowler's lure Ensnared thee not, nor schoolboy's graceless hand: To thee, alas ! were liberty a sure Sorrow and death ; thou could'st not imderstand The wiles and dangers in this free fair world. Thy slender wings would droop, thy brightness fade, — Chilled with drear rains, by driving tempests hurl'd, Thine eyes would close, thy form in death be laid : Fold creeping things of earth would come on thee, little minstrel, singing unto me I Therefore a captive, singing like a saint In prison, thou must stay : these hands shall bring Store for thy daily need, fresh weeds of spring. Scented with odours delicate and faint. Green sprigs, and fair young blossoms without taint, Eipe seed, clean gravel, waters bright and pure, From living fountains drawn : these gifts are sure. And when the summer days grow hot, a quaint 62 Arbour of leaves shall slielter thy meek head, Where rose and jasmiu intermingling run High o'er the breezy wall, and hide the sun With graceful glooms, lit up with white and red. Thy cage a place of flowers and joy shall be, little minstrel, singing unto me ! And when, little singer, thou must die, And tears, sweet tears, of sorrowing children fall On thy small grave beneath the garden wall, Thou shalt bo honour'd in thy death, and lie The grief of tender hearts, a melody Untimely stopp'd, remembcr'd many days : A minstrel of the house, that spake of praise, And liv'd in love, and died in love, and made Our lives at times a gladness ; on the ways Of sorrow shedding music's holy balm. And sanctifying trouble with a psalm. To thee in death shall sacred rites be paid, For memories that are sacrod cling to thee, O little singer, singing unto me ! ■^^^n^m^^"^ 63 THE MISEE. ^T^E goeth up and clo^v^l the street, ■^ His face is yellow and old ; He doth not little children greet ; The devil hath got him — hands and feet This man is bought and sold. His face is yellow, loan, and sad, He hath a stony eye ; He walketh about but meanly clad ; His fingers are worldng as if he had Some inward agony. His frame is weary, his back is bow'd, His head is white with snows ; He moveth quickly through the crowd, And hears the curses, deep, and loud, That follow as he goes. 64 The fingers of his long, lean hand, They are but gristle and bone : They clutch at money, and house, and land ; His tears, if any, are drops of sand, His heart is nought but stone. No friend hath he, no wife, nor son, No daughter, leal and true : No love is his, he giveth none : A thousand ill deeds he hath done ; A thousand more will do. He sees the little ones at play, This evil man and old. And turns him from the sight away ; He hath one only pray'r to pray — " Gold, gold, the yellow gold ! " 65 THE LARK'S SONG. ^HE lark's song makes my heart rejoice 'Tis for my comfort given ; It sounds so like an angel's voice, Singing somewhere in heaven. She hath on earth her little cares, Her nest within the corn, — The foe that creepeth unawares Upon her newly-born ; — The chilling wind, the drenching shower,— The darkness, nightly sj)read, — The hopes, the fears, of every hour, — The mouths that must be fed. 66 And yet, forgetting all, slie soars, And sings her happy lays : And from her tuneful bosom pours A thousand notes of praise. Far from the smoke and din of earth, - Beyond its toil and care, — Her clear, sweet hymns of holy mirth Fill the calm summer air. Thou happy minstrel ! happy bird ! I lov'd thee when a boy ; And even now my soul is stirred By that bright song of joy. could I fly from earth like thee, And such a rapture learn, — Methinks, if such a thing might be, I'd care not to return. >o-/ 67 "OUE FATHEE! HALLOWED BE THY NAME ! " jUE Father ! hallowed be Thy name ! " Sweet words, — the angels' song and prayer ! Why should we strive for gold and fame, Who may in such petition share, And see, through faith, the times unfold, Sketch' d in prophetic di-eams of old ? " Thine is the kingdom ! " — all is Thine ! Thine the broad earth, and circling sea : Thy royal kingly stamp divine On all is fix'd indelibly. All nature's works, — all man's, — proclaim " Our Father ! hallowed be Thy name ! " 68 " Thine is the power ! " — the stormy wind, The tempest, the wild hurricane, Are but the motions of Thy mind : Thy thunders peal across the main, Thy lightnings strike. Thine earthquakes shock, Thy hands the deluges unlock. " Thine is the glory ! " — shower and sun, The song of birds, the voice of trees, The star-lit heavens, night's mantle dun. The morning pomp on glittering seas, — All living things, — with glad acclaim, Cry — " Father ! hallowed be Thy name ! " And in the quiet heart no less For ever present, ever dear : Whom Thou dost condescend to bless, They find Thy Spirit always near. And touch' d as with a seraph's flame, Cry — " Father ! hallowed be Thy name ! " Dwell in us, tiU each random thought. Each fever' d hope and wild desire, .Be into love's obedience brought, And only to Thy will aspire, — And inmost wish, and highest aim. Say — " Father ! hallowed be Thy name ! " 69 IN BEAULIEU ABBEY. STAND in the silent ruins, Of the abbey-cloisters grey, And my heart is fill'd with musings, Deeper than words can say, — ' In the dreamy hush of autumn, At the closing of the day. Forth from the ancient windows. That speak of the days of old, The bats and owls are sweeping To the meadows and the wold, From their dens and hiding places, So lone, and grim, and cold. 70 The shadows are growing deeper, Tlie niglit with its ebon pall, Spreads a dark and silent curtain, Where my lonely footsteps fall ; And I hear the grey wings heating Of the owls along the wall. I hear them call to their fellows, From window, and wall, and tree ; And they sweep through the column'd arches, Like evil thoughts set free, — To prowl by the deej), dark river, That creeps to the far-off sea. And the rain is quietly falling, As I watch by the crumbling stone, Whence the glory hath long departed, And the strength and splendour flown, — Where the lords and priests of the abbey Lie each in his grave alone. And sweet, sad thoughts are rising. In gentle, impressive might, Filling the pensive spii-it With a mournful and tender light ; For the spell of the grey old ruins Lies strong on my soul to-night. 71 All more than their ancient story, The crumbling buildings tell ; There are loving and low-toned voices, Erom every arch and cell, That speak to the reverent spirit, And the heart that can listen well — " That nothing of good may perish, Though altars and creeds decay. And temple and tomb like a vision, Are silently passing away ; Like the mists that melt in the morning. And fade in the opening day." " Not to mourn for a faded glory, Nor trouble for wealth's increase, But quietly working and waiting Till the Master bids us cease. And then the long sweet resting, And the calm and infinite peace." And my heart is at rest, and quiet, As I turn from the cloisters grey, And back to the quaint old village Retrace my silent way, — In the dreamy hush of autunm, At the closing of the day. THE PEIMROSE IN THE SNOW. ^.jXj^N times of darkness, doubt, and fear, ^ Wlien hope and joy seem flown away,- An unexpected gleam may cheer, And turn the darkness into day. The wintry morn was cold and raw ; My heart was sad, my soul was low ; When by the garden path I saw A primrose shining in the snow. There were no leaves on many a tree ; The birds had all forgot to sing ; But 'twas a pleasant thing to see That sweet, meek harbinger of spring. 73 I bent above its petals fair, Half hid in snow, and moss, and leaves ; I lifted up my heart in prayer. And now that heart no longer grieves. Slight things have oft a magic power, To cheer us as we come and go : — A voice — a song — a face — a flower — A primrose shining in the snow. So, in our days of sternest grief, Some things remain, did we but know, To give the fainting heart relief, — Primroses shining in the snow ! 74 i TO ALLAN SiaNNEE. '^AIvE the ffift, and let it he '^'^ Token "between me and thee, Of peace and endless amity ; Like to an altar built of old, Of stones from some clear river rolled, On desert plain or dreary wold ; Hallowed with solemn rite and prayer. Eternal witnessing to bear Before the gods of earth and air ; Whose meaning deep no years shall mar, But through the world's great stress and war, ShaU in our hearts be felt afar ; "Whose incense- wreaths shall dimly glance O'er distant hills of time and chance, And widening seas of circvimstance ; Wliose sacred fii-e shall never set, (A memory sweeten' d with regret) Till life with higher life hath met. /o THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT-AVIND. i/WfYSTEEIOUS wind, slow-moving in the ""•^^^ boughs ! Night flings deep shadows on thy forest-house ; Each dark leaf quivers as thou passest hy, Low-listening to thy solemn melody. Thou mayest not linger wandering in tliis tree : A stranger thou — this is no home for thee. Go forth, lone wanderer on the silent air! Heaven's stars are shining — earth is all at prayer : Thou hast a tender voice, a sweet refrain, We love to hear, and long to hear again, — Touching the inner heart, the memory's ear, — Bringing to mind the lov'd, the lost, the dear. 76 Art thou a Spirit, from holy mansions sent ? Or some low voice, from the beloved dead ? Bringest thou some message from the excellent In heavenly places, still remembered ? Is there some sorrow, not forgotten quite, That thou dost linger round us, gentle sprite ? We hear thee, but we know not whence thou art, Thy coming, or thy going. By the seas. We, wandering lonely, feel thee in our heart. On hills, and moors, and mountains, — imder trees, — Thy pensive voice, in quiet accents still, Wakens high thought, and calms the unruly will. Wind ! art thou the secret voice of God, Speaking among the branches ? — all unheard By the unworthy — but to spirits awed In His great presence, singing like a bird, Of all things that are loveliest, sweetest, best, — With tender music soothing us to rest. Art thou that still smaU voice that spake of old In Horeb's awfiil mountain, — when the fire. The hurricane, the earthquake, vainly rolled Before Elijah ? Didst thou song inspire In David's soul ? wake it then in mine, — Strong, fervent, everlasting, and divine ! 77 SECOND EOSES. • EAUTIEUL flowers, tliat come wlien Summer ages, And Autumn tints steal on the varied year, — As wlien a story ends, some new, sweet pages Waken fresh, smiles, or claim another tear ! Your kindred brought us comfort as we sighed. When to our sorrow tender April died. They dwelt in greenest bowers of happy May, And many-tinted, many-scented June, — 'V\Tiere for a while they made with us their stay, Listing the bird's sweet song, the river's tune ; And then, as all fair things do, pass'd away. Leaving us grieving that they went so soon. How deal' to us your preaeuoe, when the da^^s Have sliorten'd, and the fading leaves come down, And the hot harvest sun its dreamy haze Spreads o'er the yellow field, the silent town ; The snow-drop — crocus — lily, — lying dead, — And Spring's fair retinue all vanished. Most beautiful are ye, though round you now Decay stalks, heaping with brown leaves the soil ; The fruit hangs I'ipening on the laden bough, — The rifled earth lies strewn with autumn spoil : blossom longer — further fragrance shed ! Stay with us yet, for beauty is not dead. We have our delicate pinks, carnations pure, To bear you company, — and dahlias bright. Asters and everlastings, — garniture Of gay geraniums, crimson, scarlet, white. Tinted with many coloxu's : — these endure To greet you, and with you to say^ — " Good night ! " We love you ! you are like those later friends, We find when Life's day waning gently closes; Whose tender sjTupathy new gladness lends To sorrowful hearts, more welcome than spring- posies : Stay with us then, till Autumn's pageant ends ! We cannot let you go, sweet Second Eoses ! THE APEIL DAY. ^j£j?OW pleasant to th' otservant eye, ^ The tender AjirH day ! At times the clouds obscure the sky, At times they melt away : The darkening shadows swiftly pass O'er the broad river's breast of glass ; Then, gleaming bright O'er tower and town, The golden light comes streaming down. I watch it spreading o'er the hills, And woodlands sloping fair ; Its glory gladdens earth, and fills The clear, translucent air ; It gilds, where waves are dancing free^ The many- voiced, glittering sea ; While far from view The lark is soaring, High in the blue deep heavens adoring. 80 I hear afar, from shading trees, The cuckoo's gentle call ; Her tender notes upon the breeze Alternate rise and fall. Last night burst forth in yonder vale The music of the nightingale. minstrels dear ! When you appear, We know the summer-time is near. A thousand flowers within the earth. In prison dark and deep, — - A thousand songs of innocent mirth, In guarded eggs asleep, — In quiet wait the Master's call To summer's regal festival ; When forms of grace, And all bright things, Come forth to greet the King of kings. So in the mind, the poet's thought Oft sleeps, as in a coll, — Like some rare flower that yet is not. Or song-bird in the shell ; Till love, or death, or sorrow's sake, Bid heart, and soul, and fancy wake : Then music swells, Then flowers unfold. And hearts no more are dumb and cold. 81 Our Life is but a chequered day, In April's pleasant time ; A merrj song — a roundelay — Percliauce a mournful cliime ! We, like green leaves and flowerets gay, Fade, and as shadows fleet away ; But fading, fly To regions where There is a calmer and serener air. DEATH OF A LADY. (dbowned while gatheeing fossils uxder hoedle cliff.) ^HE wild sea- waves came fierce and fast ; The lady o'er her fossils bent ; And, as she ponder'd o'er the Past, She out into the Future went. 1 82 BONNIE MAEY. p^ONNIE little woman ! ^^^ Happy little woman ! Dainty little woman, with tlie dark, briglit eye ! Waist so trim and tightly, Little feet so lightly, Tripping forth so sprightly, as she dances by. Lovely as the morning, Summer days adorning, When the birds and insects flit from spray to spray,— Comes she gaily springing, Gladness with her bringing. Like an angel singing down the garden way. 83 Siinsliine follows after ; Dainty breezes waft her Little trills of laughter, ringing, oh so sweet ! Never was a fairy Half so light and airy, As our bonnie Mary, with the tiny feet. Where the lights are glancing, "Where the leaves are dancing, Vision all entrancing, Mary may be seen ; Trees give shade and cover, Bending kind above her ; All the flowers love her, tender little queen ! When beneath the roses, Bonnie Mary dozes, Wealth of summer posies resting in her hand, — Beauty's in her bower. Innocence her dower ; Never sweeter flower blossoms in the laud. 84 THE rOOR FOLKS IN THE SNOW. ^^ITH festal leaves and berries twined , Comes Christmas, hale and bold : Quoth he, — " This is a harsh east wind For poor folks in the cold." " Dear friends," — ^he cries — ''when round your hearth The Yuletide songs are trolled, Forget not, in your happy mirth, The poor folks in the cold." " When, plenteous, from yoiu- easy store, You spend the ruddy gold, — Spend something for yourselves, but more For poor folks in the cold." 85 " Percliaiice, tkrougliout life's chequered lot, Your times have gaily roUed ; Then should you cherish kindly thought For poor folks in the cold." " It may be you have borne some grief, More deep than can be told ; The tenderest hearts give best relief To poor folks in the cold." " Oh, do not, in a selfish way, The helping hand withhold ; But gladden, on a Christmas day. The poor folks in the cold." " Ere long, for you the bell shall ring. The last sad bell, be toUed : Their prayers shall j)rove a blessed thing : Those poor folks in the cold." '^^(^ fff 86 BELLS. 7^ BELLS, tliat never more ^^ Shall fall upon my ear "With, voices clear And sweet, as in the pleasant days of yore, — The happy seasons fled For ever with the dead ; melancholy bells ! In strains I never heard before, In all your falls and swells, You mourn my loss, my sorrow you deplore, Eilliug the air with your most sad farewells. Ring no more ! Sing no more ! For I have lost my love, who keeps My heart where in the tomb she sleeps To wake no more. bells, bells, melancholy bells ! Eing no more. 87 THE GOOD MOTHEE. PEEEECT woman, — calm, — serene, — With graceful motion, gentle brow, — Wiiom all sweet sanctities endow, — The children's Mother, Friend, and Queen. Her heart a casket is, wherein She keeps of jewels goodly store ; These shown her children evermore, Their steps to highest pathways win. These, — memories are of noble deeds, — Of patient waiting, — perfect love, — Of faith, outsoaring fear above, — Of honour, strong as holy creeds ; — 88 Of tender thoughts, aud stately words, — Heroic lives, and actions true, — Of that old story, ever new, Of Judah's Saviour, Lord of Lords ! — Of prophet's glory, — martjTr's fame, — • Sweet Euth, — and weeping Magdalene, - Of patriot Esther, saint and queen, — And Mary of the blessed name. These, and of such, — fi'om day to day, From her heart's treasure she reveals, And with her life her teaching seals ; Her children love her, — and obey. Wisdom and purity are hers ; Honour and worship round her wait ; A perfect woman, — good and great, — With truth and love for ministers. 89 THE JEWELS. (recovery from sickness.) 5j^HIS morn, between my waking thouglits and •^-^ dreams, I saw the great Death- Angel, cahn and fair, Star-crown'd, and beautiful ; and in his hair Celestial roses twining ; glory's beams Erom his white raiment flowing : he did bear A gift of precious jewels from the King. " Lo ! I had well nigh come for thee " — he said — " To lead thee to life's river, and its spring. Thy crown is ready, but the Master bade Tarry; and sends to thee these jewels rare : — This, — patience, — found in trouble's gloomy mine ; Hope, — snatch'd from stormy billows of despair ; Faith, — brighten'd in afiliction ; peace divine, — Set in this cross : wear them, for they are thine." 90 I answer'd humbly, for my strength, was low, — " Friend, I have waited for thee many days ; And thought to have gone with thee in bright ways Of Paradise, and listened to the flow Of living waters ; and, with some I know And love to have united evermore ; But, chiefest, to have trod His temple-floor, Who bids me farther as a pilgrim go. The Master's will is mine, and I obey. The gifts thou bringest on my heart shall lie, Guarded and precious through my future way : And till the shadows shall have left the sky, And thou shalt lead me through fair Eden's gate, I'll wear the jewels thankfully, and wait." £^ . V^^, ^ 91 WHEN IT IS NIGHT. .iWP we beyond the veil would gaze, ^ That hides sweet heaven from mortal sight,— We wait the sun's declining rays, — We wait for Night. Then, in the darkness overhead, We, hush'd, Ibehold in glory bright, God's vaulted, vast cathedral spread, — When it is Night. His starry-flaming temple lamps. Deep vistaed, gleam on raptured sight, Beyond this world of mists and damps, When it is Night. 92 "We mark tlie awful radiance grow, In lines on lines of tender ligb.t, Whose streams of glory break and flow, Wlien it is Night. Vain is the common solar ray, — The morning beam — the noontide bright ; These higher splendours we survey Only at Night. So, — when the last lone vale we tread, — And fades poor earth from failing sight,— Shall break the glory overhead, In Death's dark night. We see not yet, as we would see. The perfect joy — the perfect light : We are not yet where we would be : We wait for Night. v^-^^*?* 93 THE THEEE PEIMEOSES. (to w. a. — ) ^y^'OU brought me once, when I was ill, "^^ Three small primroses, pale and sweet : Long time since then has pass'd, but still Do I remember, as is meet, The gentle act — the kindly will, That gave, to light my chamber drear, Those three first glories of the year. For well I mind me how they made Through my distemper'd fancy sweep Visions of woodland dell and glade, Wherein I saw bright waters leap. Flashing through forests green and deep, And birds, leaves, breezes, played their part. And made a concert in my heart. 94 Sweet flowers ; they faded in a day, Pining for native nooks in vain ; The glass that hekl them, cast away. Lies shiver'd in the dusty lane. Their forms within my heart remain ; In Memory's hallow'd realm they shine. And breathe a fragrance most divine. For they were links in that sweet tie That bound us, and that binds us still ; Pledges of friendship pure and high, That death's deep waters may not chill : And still their mission they fulfil ; A holy influence they give ; Wither' d and faded — yet they live. Por love doth give immortal grace Unto the meanest things that lie Around us ; and in every place, A tender light that cannot die, It leaves, and so doth sanctify To noblest end and highest use. Trifles the moment may produce. 95 LET THEM BE. ."^Z-'HEN, as we pass thi'ough lane and street, Small teri'iers bark, and bantams crow, — Or long- eared animals we meet, With, voices neither sweet nor low, — No wrath, is felt — no anger stii's ; Though, small cocks craw, And ' mokes ' bee-haw, And yelps are shrill of spiteful curs. When chattering jays wear peacocks' plumes, And swell and strut in false array, — When airs of men the ape assumes. And lion-coated donkeys bray, — They bring to mind that critic fine, Who wrote of old, In language bold, Of fools, and golden-snouted swine. 96 The saucy cock, tlie yelping ciir, — The donkey roaring down the lane, — The jay, the ape, — all minister Wise Laughter's heart to entertain. In these the types of fools we find : Asses and apes, In human shapes, And sapient pigs that see the wind. Though rich in pedagogues and schools, And;birch and tawse, by urchins wept, Earth still bears mighty crops of fools ; And being born, they must be kept. So let them pass, from censure free : They cannot help But snarl, and yelp. And bray like asses. — Let them be ! 97 THE HAUNTED COPSE. ,X^ESTWAED, a mile of fields beyond the town, There is a little coppice, sere and brown In winter, but when birds begin to sing, Fill'd with sweet flowers, and every pleasant thing ; Bordered with lofty elms, within whose shade The rooks a noisy colony have made : A narrow path from north to south divides The lone enclosure ; hazel trims the sides. Pendent with fleecy tassels ; shining broom On slender lances lifts its yellow bloom ; Dog-rose, and bryony, and columbine, With honeysuckles and sweetbriar entwine, And grow together till the mingled mass Of leaves, stems, buds, and flowers obstruct the pass. G 98 Here, in the early morning of the year, The snowdrops, nature's nuns and saints, appear; Too pure for earth, too tender for their time, But not too soon for love, or poet's rhjone ; Prinu'ose and celandine sjiread forth their stars ; The graceful stitchwort, from enleafed bars Of hedgerow quickset, glistens white and clear ; Mush'd wood-anemones, from winter's bier Just risen, look uji, and in the pleasant air. Hold forth their dainty banners bright and fair ; And, ere the tender show departs, is seen The hyacinth, guarded in a clump of green Spear-grasses, like the bayonets round a queen ; Orchis, in purple, springs from spotted leaves, The violet hides from tiny human thieves. Its scent alone revealing where it sleeps. In lowly safety under tangled heaps ; And — later down the year — the foxglove lifts, Bright bells and purple sleeves, caps, tassels, — gifts For the bright fairies, who in forest glades Their moonlight dances hold, and masquerades. Here, where the morning dews all leaves impearl. The linnet sings her early song : the merle Pours forth his glorious melody, and wakes His feathered neighbours with the noise he makes ; 99 These, answering his rejoicing call, reply, Theii' melloTV chorus swelling to the sky : And down below, among the leaves and flowers, The busy insect tribes exert their powers, Dig, weave, build, biu-row, happy in employ. And all is light, and life, and love, and joy. Central in this green wood, a marshy vale For some small space extends : to this a tale Of mystery, perchance ui death, belongs, — Of love unhappy, and foul murder's wrongs. I cannot say ; but some deep cm-se of hell Seems to brood o'er it with unholy sj)ell. On either side the pathway Im-ks a swamp, Osier'd and muddy, pestilential, damp, Set round with ragged bushes, slimy, deep, Where reptiles crawl, and ugly horrors creep : The path itself quakes treacherous as you pass, A frail earth-bridge across the black morass ; Two wither' d trees their crooked arms outspread, Like skinny beldames pointing overhead ; A shade doth hover there, impending ill ; Hoarse croaks the marsh-frog ; all beside is stiU. Last summer, as, on many thoughts intent, (The time was evening) through the copse I went, — The sun was setting with a ruddy glow, That fir'd the skies, the trees, the grass below ; 100 I near'd tlie s-wamp : before me I espied A sailor, — one hand raised, — 'One on Lis side ; About bis feet a tiny mist, that hid The spectre to the knees : it stood amid A clump of sedge and rushes ; as I gazed, It disappear'd ; I clear'd mine eyes, amaz'd At such a portent ; but it came not bact, Nor show of footprint left to mark its track. I stood and wondered till my blood ran chill, And an old fearful tale my thoughts did fill. 'Tis said, — some hundred years ago, or more, One Stubbs, a sailor, bound for India's shore, Lov'd a poor girl, a servant at the farm That crowns the hill ; her name Eliza Farm ; — That Stubbs some little wealth had sav'd, and meant T'entrust it with her ; that his good intent, By indiscretion bruited forth was known To evil men ; that in this copse, alone, He last was noticed, standing by the gate, "Waiting Eliza ; that she came too late. But if on distant seas or foreign lands He met his fate, or whether wicked hands Compass'd his end, Eliza never knew. &u) waited, wept, grew old, and died ; a few Old dames and patriarchs remember weU 101 The piteous tale their fathers oft would tell, Of hapless lovers parted in their youth, And fate that frown'd on constancy and truth. I hold it may be argued without sin, The poet to the prophet is akin, And that his mystic, wondrous power of verse May some deep secrets of the earth rehearse. This thing I know, that in the copse no more I wander, as in pleasant days of yore : Its birds may sing ; no music there will be : Its flowers may bloom ; they bring no joy to me : The place is haunted ; evil hath been done ; And curses, like foul reptiles, round it run. I prophesy — if ever judgment's light Shines on bad deeds, and turns the wrong to right. Men will, when they that awful swamp uncover, Find some grim tokens of the missing lover. 102 THE THUNDEE CLOUD. ^w SAW a dome of glory, pols'd in air, ^ The palace of tlie thunder, a black womb Of storm : on its embattled summits were Great cloudy towers of darkness, that did loom, Magnificent and terrible : the glare Of lightnings wreathing round their walls of gloom, Shew'd openings and archways here and there ; And shapes of winged warriors to and fro Passing, on dreadful business intent ; And cavern' d, lurid loopholes, all aglow With fiery fiashing ammunition, sent Swift flaming, hissing curses o'er the fair Bright face o' the world : and fearfully there went Through the vast heavens an audible voice of doom. 103 FIEE-SIDE MUSINGS. )LEASANT it is, when day is done, Musing alone by the study fire, Dreaming of dear friends, one by one, With loving thoughts that never tire. Many there are who have pass'd away Into the light of a happier day ; Many stiR wander on shore and sea, And the dead and the living are dear to me. In the curling smoke, and wreathing flames, I trace, as in writing, the far-off names ; And across the red cinders' burning glow, The pleasant faces come and go. Some that I saw but yesterday ; Some, alas, that are far away ; Some I no more on earth shall see ; And the dead and the living are dear to me. 104 When the fiery heap asunder fallg, I see the old ruins and broken walls, Where along by the river I lov'd to stray, With a poet's thought in my heart alway ; When the tender mind of a pensive boy Grew rich in treasures of peace and joy, As the evening shades came silently down, And mists fell thick on the distant town. Again, in the clear bright depths I trace A well-remembered burial place. Where white memorial stones are seen, Standing amid their hillocks green, — Where some who lov'd me most and best, Sleep in their everlasting rest ; And my eyes, with a rain of sudden tears, Are wet, as I think of the bygone years. East on my heart, like a gathering cloud. The distant scenes in fancy crowd : The gay green meadows, the lonely mill. Where Loddon's waters are deep and still; The willowy path down the village way, Where Basing lifts its turrets grey, — Where the sheep-bell clinks on the listening ear, And the moor-hen calls from the silent mere. 105 And pleasant voices, and faces bright, Come into my musing soul to-night ; And loving words, to memory dear, Like sweet-toned, far-off bells, I hear ; And gentle hands, from another shore, Mingle and clasp with mine once more, — As if all sorrow, and death's decay, Like a dream, for ever had pass'd away. They gather fast, as I sit and think, Watching the red flames rise and sink ; They gather in numbers without end, And every one is a loving friend : The gay, the gallant, the ybung, the fair, And reverend age with silver hair : They come from the mystic land, I ween, Where the river of death rolls deep between. That river is broad, and swift, and deep, And fill'd with the tears of those who weep ; Yet love its gloomy current di'ies. And often, with a sweet surprise, In a silent time, when the heart is still, Brings back our lost ones as we will ; Forging anew the link that binds, In deathless union, kindi-ed minds. 106 Steadily cnimbles the dying fire, The embers darken, the sparks expire ; There is nothing left but the ashes gi'ey. And the flame and the vision have pass'd away. But deep in my heart the memories dwell Of the scenes and faces I love so well : And, in heaven or earth, wherever they be. The dead and the living are dear to me. 107 SENSUAL PLEASUEE. jjIp^OOL ! to look on her, refrain ! ^ Lest thine eyes, with beauty slain, With everlasting drear eclipse. Close i' the bitter dark and pain : Touch thou not those honeyed lips. Where the heedless reveller sips Poison, cloying with the sweet, Heavy, luscious, tainted breath, Soothing dreamers into death ; Corpses lie around her feet. Fair is she, and false as fair, Hidden snakes wreathe in her hair, Furies lurk below her eyes : Touch her not : beware ! beware ! Death, and worse than death, are there 1 He who ventures, dies ! lOS THE BUNCH OF VIOLETS. ^jllOLETS, wrapp'd in cool green leaves, wIh Fairest daugMers of the sirring ! rieasant tliouglits my fancy weaves, As of you I sing. Queens in purple robes and wliite, Garden nuns and saints, How you steal upon our sight ; How you thrill us with delight ! Language never paints Half the happy thoughts you bring : So you make me sing Like the birds, Who, without words, Seek in music to express Somewhat of their joy fulness. 109 "Love," — some sages say — "is bliud; Poets' words are idle wind ; Money keeps the world agoing ; Power and pelf, And care of self, Are the only things worth knowing." Be it so, But I will go Where cowslips dwell and violets blow. Love is God's most precious gift ; And the poet's song may lift, With its divine, transcendent art, Many a weary, troubled spirit, Many an overburden'd heart, Into communion rare and sweet With the flowers, that, at our feet. Waft their odours into heaven. Never a thought have they of merit ; But in lowly reverence, Free from pharisaic leaven. Offer they their pure incense. Dumb are they, and need a tongue ; The merles and linnets bring a song. Such are sweet choristers at nature's feast, But nature hath the poet for her priest. Flowers droop, bii'ds will fly ; But the poet's words go up on high. And never, never die. 110 you violets, beautiful and pure ! 1 never knew, I never shall be sure Of what in you is dearest, — Your fragile forms of grace that rest So tenderly upon the green earth's breast, — Your subtle-breathing odours that instil The balm of heaven into my mind and will, — Your dainty colours — purple, blue, and white : You come with such combinements of delight, You are the clearest Tokens and signs of happy summer days. He must indeed be sad, "Whose heart is not made glad, When you appear along the pleasant ways. Also I think I love you most because, After the dreary pause Of winter, you come forth from prison cell. Awhile with us to dwell. I think of little children, how they dance For joy, when fii-st your countenance, Under the green and dewy leaves. Some tiny wanderer perceives, And shouts in a great gladness without measure, In the discovery of such a treasure. I think of the pure snowdrops brought with you,— Ill The meek and pale primrose, — Stitcliwort and celandine, the speedwell blue, — King-cups and daffodils, of golden hue, — Copses and meads wherein the hlue-bell grows, The graceful wind-flower, and a thousand such, Pleasant to eye and heart, to sight and touch. You fill my soul with sweet imaginings : I cannot tell 'V\Tiy thus my song should swell, Unless that, like the rivulet in the dell, Or happy wind, or happier bird that sings, My soul is one with nature's pleasant things. And turns with love and reverent joy to Him, "Without whom violets fade, and stars grow dim; AVhose name is "Everlasting," and whose power Shines in each globe and flower. 112 OECHAED MUSINGS, M TINY orcliard, fill'd with trees, ^^^ I planted some short time ago : These seem to whisper in the breeze, That floats through green leaves to and fro,- " Thou may'st not stay, To see the day, "When we with autumn fruits are gay." I watch and tend them year by j'ear, Although I know my time is brief ; I see some blossoming appear, But less of blossoming than leaf. Yet life I see, In every tree, And even that is dear to me. 113 I shield tliem from the harsh east wind, I give them shelter, food, and shade ; I wait with calm and patient mind, Although the harvest be delayed : 'Tis no defeat, r If I not eat ; The thought of doing good is sweet- I prune them with a reverent love ; O'er every hurt my spu-it grieves, All Might and mildew I remove, — And canker-worms among the leaves : There's not a tree, But's dear to me, — Although its fruit I may not see. I deem when I my tasks have wrought, And death winds up my working day, *Twill be a sweet and pleasant thought, To cheer me as I pass away, That something kind Was left behind, To keep me in the children's mind- H 114 LIZ AND I. fTS^IFTY years old to-day, seven years beyond my •^ wife : I was twenty-eight when I married, and Liz came to share my life. "We'd a hundi-ed pounds when we wedded, maybe, some fifteen more ; "With this we stock'd our shop ; then put our name on the door. Liz sold books and paper, I work'd with press and type, Seeking success in the world, a fruit that is not yet ripe : I had much to encounter and suffer ; and foes that wished me ill, Spake and did evil things; some speak and do them still. 115 But most of those are at rest, and the evil thej did was small ; To me it appears so now, and my heart is at peace with them all ; Though I sometimes grew weary, and fretful, and tired of life. There's not much harm happens a man who has a faithful wife. We lahour'd early and lato ; we j)idl'd, as folks say, together. And took life's rough with its smooth — its rainy and pleasant weather ; Faults we had in abundance ; most of them trouble us still ; Faults of the head and the heart, faults of the temper and will. I was hasty, impatient, and hot, unus'd to wisdom's restraint ; I was not the man that Liz thought me, and she was not always a saint ; Many a sharp short word pass'd, but a stodfast heaven of love Over swift little tempests of anger serenely shone above. 116 Some people say they are perfect, Loth as hiishands and wives ; They may keep their perfection for me, and their su2,-ar'd monotonous lives ; Our life was a month of April, with its showers, and storms, and tears, And flashes of golden sunshine, and the sky that clouds and clears. In the small dull town we dwell in 'tis hard to understand How each man against his neighbour seems to lift an unneighbourly hand : The strife is — not to be noble — ^but most for place and pelf ; And the maxim preach'd and practis'd is — "A man must take care of himself." Money, and lands, and houses, and added field to field. And shares in the stocks and railways, and the interest they yield. These are the things men covet, the prizes of their life; I don't think a man much needs them who has a worthy wife. 117 I know not how it was that whenever troubles fell, And they fell oft and heavily, as we remember well, They broiight lis closer together, and we learn' d amidst our tears. The strength of the love that bound us, increasing with the years. Sickness and sorrow came ; and death, that robb'd us sore ; There were angel faces that faded ; little feet that trod the floor. Grew strangely stiU in the house; sweet voices, that in prayer Went up at night and morning, were hush'd ; I cannot bear Even now those days to remember : I would not, if I could, Eecall the dead lost darlings, and I know that God is good. And Liz and I wept together, and o'er their little graves Planted a humble tombstone that speaks of One who saves The lambs for His Father's kingdom, as well as the grey and old ; And the love in the heart of each did the other's heart enfold. 118 We've known many a day of trouble, and pain^ and anxious care ; In the griefs that have fallen to others we have beea made to share : Losses have come in business, changes have injur'd trade, And heavy have been the burdens upon oux shoulders laid. The house is noisy and full, and we find a thousand ways For money as we earn it in these careful, weary days : Feeding so many, and clothing, and schooling, become a trial. When the means are the end of labour, and the fruit of self-denial. I have known men and women, rich in gold and land, Mean and narrow in heart, with griping, pitiless hand ; And others, wastefiil and selfish, tui-ning wealth into a curse. Spending their substance in riotous living, and worse : And some bereft of knowledge, on whom came raining down 119 Ease and luxurious plenty, to fill the liancis of a clown : And knaves in the world's high places, to whom men bow'd the knees ; And fools, with enormous purses, and souls the size of fleas. And I saw they were not happy, and their life a string of lies ; And that it was not in money to make men good or wise ; I have thought if I were rich I should have made many glad : God knows; I begin to doubt it: I might have been as bad. So Liz and I work'd, and waited, and did the best we could ; Most of our dreams have faded, but the facts are nearly as good ; "We've seven dear children living, and three are laid to rest, In the grave-yard's peaceful boundary, with the grass upon their breast ; Four daughters, two are school-girls, — and all are fair to see ; Three sons, — one four, one fourteen, one is sitting on my knee. 120 In thrift we've lived, and honestly; we've paid all men their own ; And when the trouble was on us, disturb'd none with ovir moan : We've kept a good name, which is something — to keej) in such a town ; If we gain'd no lofty places, we've not been beaten down; The children are pure and happy : no wolf is at the door ; God has been very good to us, and we desire no more. Greyer each day my hair grows, I begin to think I'm old ; A few more years I trust to be spar'd, but not for the love of gold : For the sake of Liz, and the girls and boys that I yet hope to see Grown up as men and women, with children on their knee ; If I may but see them doing well, before I sleep in dust ; But if I must go sooner, well: we know what must be, must. 121 Don't be troubled, Liz, 'tis nothing ; tliore'Il some day come the end : We've had a long day together, and God has been our friend ; We've had, — not all we wanted, — but many a blessing more Than ever we dreamt He'd give us, in basket and in store ; But the best of all the blessings a man can have in life, Is one that He gave to me, Liz, in a good and loving wife. 122 FLOWEES POE THE HOSPITAL. ]^f^OWN in the pleasant copses, A band of children went, On an errand of love and pity Each little heart intent ; — "Wandering along the hedge-rows. Under the budding trees. Plucking the pale primroses, Busy as happy bees ; — Plucking the pale primroses, Stitchwort and daisies bright, With here and there a violet, Purple, and blue, and white ; — Pilling their ample baskets. For sufferers far away. Pining in silent sick-wards, Through the weary night and day. AH through the glad bright morning, And the sunny afternoon, "With the birds above them singing Many a pleasant tune, — Wandered the loving children, i: Heaping, in baskets fair, Treasures of field and woodland. With tender, patient care ; — Some by the glancing water, Some in the cpiiet shade, Some in the broad green meadow, Some in the forest glade, — Plucking the pale primroses, For sufferers far away, Pining in silent sick-wards, Through the weary night and day. And there was joy in the morning, In the place where sick ones call Por God to soothe and help them, In the dreary hospital ; When they saw the wild primroses, Gleaming in every room, And every sufferer had a share Of leaves and scented bloom ; — And even in death the dying Uplifted thankful hands. Joyful once more to see the flowers. That grew in the pleasant lands ; — • And they bless'd the loving children,. WTio spent such a busy day, Plucking the pale primroses, For sufferers far away. 124 THE EOSE TEEE OF IIILDESHEIM. ^^HEEE is a pleasant town in Hanover, •^ An ancient, hoary town, called Hildeslieim, , Set, like a gem, within a cirque of hills ; And Innerste's waters move within the ring, Brightening the fruitful valley as they pass : — An ancient, hoary, quiet town, where life Moves like the beat of some cathedral hymn, Or slow Gregorian chant, with stately ease Plowing, and with an antique dignity : — Comely and old the houses, and most quaint, With high steep carved timbering, and roofs Heavy and many-gabled, looking down Sedately on well-ordered balconies : — A bishop's town in the romantic time Of Charlemagne and his wild paladins ; And ancient still with temples early built To the Redeemer's glory. Here remain 125 Saint Godeliard's and Saint Michael's holy fanes, And an old huge cathedral that doth still Erood, like a mother, o'er the peaceful town; And, climbing o'er its massy sides, a tree Of roses, with red blossoms fair to view — Eoses — alive with beauty, clustering sweet, Along the grey worn battlemented walls : Its root far down, deep buried in the cri^'pt, Lies hidden, but lifts a thick and rugged stem, With six great branches, spreading every way, And crown'd in summer time with countless flowers. More than a thousand years ago, as seen In ancient writings in that ancient pile, The godly bishop Henilo observed Its fresh young glories beaming from the wall, And, with a father and a poet's care. Bade his monks make a shelter for its leaves : And many a grateful year it flourish'd strongs And gave of its own beauty to his sight Freely, as he deserv'd ; he, living long, Eejoic'd with it at every summer's prime ; And, dying, looked on it with the last gaze Of loving eyes ; then gently pass'd away, Where other roses bloom that never fade. 126 Since t"hen, how many mournful Tbitter tears Have wet this weary world ; how many hearts Have suffered and rejoic'd; how many griefs Have risen and subsided ! Dust to dust, Sleep generations hidden in the tomb, — Crowns, harps, swords, sceptres, undistinguish'd laid To moulder in oblivion, — kingdoms pass'd, — Battles and crimes, and evil deeds and good, No more remember'd, — stately monuments Crumbled to their foundations, and the names They celebrated lost for ever more. Yet ever, as the tender breath of spring Woos the sad earth, kissing it into song. The ancient tree puts forth its leaves, andhangs Its glorious garlands round the hallowed walls Of Hildesheim's cathedral ; clustering bloom Lights the dark mass with floral lamps, and makes Eternal bridal of the old and new. Sweet leaves, sweet flowers, and sweeter still the thoughts. The tender recollections, the pure loves, 'The gentle griefs they foster in the soul ! Nature hath love for man, and ever soothes His inward sadness in a thousand ways. The rose on Hildesheim's cathedral wall :Speaks comfort to the wearied heart, and tells Of a good man a thousand years ago. 127 YELLOW JASMIN, ^"WEET fairy stems, and tipp'd with golden stars, •^ That come in the wild morning of the year. Pleasant to sight, to poet's fancy dear ; The fields lie prison' d under sullen bars Of winter, and the stream that ran so clear. Now black and turbid hoarsely murmm-s by ; The sides hang thick with dark and cloudy wars ; Yet know I by your presence sj)ring is nigh. When last you grac'd my lattice, one w.'^ here, Whose life went out as snowdrops 'gan to die, — Whose voice no longer soothes a father's ear, — Whose fair young face in hallowed earth doth lie. Forgive me, if I greet you with a sigh, And bid you welcome only with a tear. 128 BEOCKENHUEST EIYER. rV^EE of Broelcenliurst, amidst thy moors ^ Serenely gliding, ever clear and bright ! Thou -wert a dreadful spectacle last night, When at thy ford death opened his pale doors To poor demented Annie : if her sprite Unquiet wanders anywhere, 'tis here, "WTaen winds blow chill, and skies are dark anddrear. Where thy cold waters closed above her ey^es. Eiver, I love thee not ; thou wilt be dear To me no more : the sunny path that lies Along thy marge, my feet no more shall tread ; My soul shall take no pleasure in thy songs ; Thy flowers, thy birds, the woodlands round thee spread. Are faded, dumb, gro-wn desolate and dead ; — liO, thou art hated ! — for poor Anaiie's wron^ 129 GARDEN FANCIES. ,£WNTO this place, most dear ^ To contomplation, come, And listen — if God has giv'n thee cars to hear, And the poetic heart to feel. The clear Singing of happy linnets, — low, deep himi Of bees on earnest business intent, Making of labour wondrous merriment, — The music of green leaves, — The noise of little prisou'd winds, confined Between them and the trailing-creopor'd-wall, Those tiny amorous thieves. That steal soft kisses as they go, and crawl Into the treasure-houses of the flowers, And with inconstant mind, Trifle away their time iu groves and bowers, — I 130 These in tlie radiance of the morning call With low moloclious voices, seldom hoard, Or heard but dimly, when the soid is stirr'd With sin, and love of gain is lord of aU. If but thy heart is tun'd aright, This place is fill'd with light ; One of the sacred corners of the globe, With beauty hanging round it like a robe. He that is true within, The mystic key shall win. That with a turn unlocks the secret door Of wisdom, and revealeth hidden treasure, AVherein rejoicing without stint or measure, The soul finds grace and gladness evermore. Here may'st thou see The rose, of all sweet flowers lady and queen. With odour-breathing bosom, daintily Moating on waves of green, Eising and falling with the summer wind. The bright convolvulus doth here unbind Her trailing lustrous locks, Leaning for love on stately hollyocks ; The tender mignonette Creeps imderneath, in lowly guise, and makes Obeisance to white lilies, set In holy ranks like sainted souls in heaven. 131 Beyond all tliouglit of stain, redeem'd, forgiv'n, Celestially apparell'd, and made pure With God's own whiteness, ever to endure. The yellow stone-crop on the coping takes The hue and thought of purity and joy; The starry jessamine Shuts in the pleasing scene, While here and there a glimpse of summer sky, Shows, down th' expanse of blue, In shai^es for ever now, — Ships, angels, shades, — the white clouds fleet- ing by. To the poetic eye The flowers are a great marvel, wondrously Fashioned, uprising from the dark cold earth, Their grave and place of birth. All unannounc'd they come within these bowers. To heav'n uplifting cool and tranquil eyes, And silently, and with such tender moaning, The gazer's heart is melted as he looks. More than philosophy can tell they teach ; And in their leaves, as in enchanted books, The pure in heart can gather richer gleaning Than falls in these poor libraries of ours. And learn, enlighten'd with a swift surprise, Wisdoms angelic and sweet mysteries. Taught to the reverent in their gentle speech. 132 To me there is no flower, But in my thouglit its separate angel hatli, — Sworded and girded, standing in the path, And arm'd with guardian power. And most of all to me the lily seems Set round with sacred di'eams, And heav'nly lights, and spiritual gleams, — As if no guilty one might dare Approach a saint so fair, — And every wicked thing that ventured nigh, From her pure glance must fly. And, like an evil vision pass away, Or reptile, or foul bird that fears the day. God's priceless gifts, whose heauty never dies, His flowers gleam o'er the earth like suns and stars Of glory, — crosses set with gems, — and Lara Of many-coloured blazing jewelries : Each form of grace, each fragrant orb that shines. Are memories and signs Of much that I have lov'd, and still hold dear; And when I saunter near. They conjure back the happy past, the days, When on my youthful ways Love shed her golden light, and sang most true. Her wondrous, olden tale, for ever new. 133 They speak of friends wlioml shall see no more, Of tongues that will be silent till I die, Of parted hands, that, from death's quiet shore, Tenderly beckon as I wander by. Some thought of God, from His celestial place, As in a mirror, dwells on every face ; Every leaf that woos the air Seems to lift its hand in prayer. For ever pointing to the summer sky ; The green-robed, glorious trees, serene and calm, The wind that wakes their silence with a psalm, — Flow'rs, light, shade, sunshine, clouds, and skies above, — These are my teachers, — these the friends I love. 134 MEMORY. ^^HE soiil may wander in a region fair, ''^ That is more fair than bright, A country that is neither here nor there, Whose bounds are boundless, stretching every- where : It hath a tender light, A world of sorrowful beauty, and an air Of home ; it giveth to the raptur'd eight Things that have faded, forms that were most dear: Therein sweet voices fall upon the ear, Long silent in death's night : It hath the blooming fields, the water'd glades, The old church pathway through the woodland shades, 135 The once familiar houses, the green ways We throng'd, as children, singing happy lays To brooks that answer'd with a low sweet song, Throughout those ancient summers calm and long. Sweet days that are no more, And tender scenes for ever, ever fied. And wither' d hopes, and dying joys, or dead, Lost treasm-es, that have left us sad and sore. And loves that have departed, — all are there. That land hath all that we have lost ; it holds Life's opening thoughts, the crimsons, and the golds. And glories with which God did deck the skies, "When in the dying west. We saw, with childhood's fancy-vision' d eyes, The sun go down with awful pageantries, And heavenly gates imfolding wide the road, Bright with fair temples, to the place of God, And mansions of the blest ! Oh happy, happy time, Fill'd with sweet thoughts and mysteries sublime, When all things beauteous had a living tongue, The hallowed, halcyon days when we were young ! It hath its churches and cathedrals dim, And bulls of meUow sound, 136 Service, and sacred sofig, and req^ulom ; And consecrated ground, Wherein the dearest friends we liad are laid, Eut not for over, as in this cold earth, Where death hath an eternal silence made, And keeps his prisoners bound. There love may live again, and truth, and worth : They hear us in their graves ; they are not dead : They only rest, and answering to our call, They come as we have known them from our hirth : The sire, with reverend head. The mother, laden with her cares for all. The long-lost, long-wept little ones that fled, Like summer-birds departing ere their time, Bright manhood, stricken down at early prime. And holy maids, white lilies of the Lord, Lifting clear hands above us with a blessing. Once more the dead wife comes to xis restored In beauty, soothes the heart with love's caressing, Kisses away the gathering tears that tell Of grief, and brings a calm ineffable. It is a hallow'd land, Shaded with tenderness, and rounded off AVith sorrow : they alone may understand Its sweetness who have sorrow' d : they who scoff At tears, when love hath suffer' d, may not dwell Therein, nor touch its shore, nor breathe its calm. 137 There is a mighty swell Of waves along its border all must pass ; The way is trouhloiis ; he who loveth well, Sails through wild waters to a sea of glass, Then lands, and gathers, as he journeys, halm : A wanderer travel-weary, tempest-tcss'd, Finding again the treasures he had lost. Where is this peaceful strand, Shining far-off across life's stormy sea? TeU us, oh poet, where this land may he. The way is that of Sorrow, and the land Is Memory. 138 TO THE rOET OF THE rENCIL. (j. II. DELL.) ,^^F sickness, falling unawares, ^ Had marr'd not my poetic vein, I would have sought some pleasing airs, To sing to you again. Dear Poet of the Pencil, few Like you fair Nature's beauties trace ; The soul your pictures shining through Gives every line a grace. "When musing o'er your artist page, Where summer woods and nooks appear, Sweet scenes of every season's stage, And spots to memory dear, — 139 My heart grows softer as I gaze, Kind thoughts new food for friendship find ; Field, water, wood, and shady place. All bring you back to raind. The Forest that you lov'd is bare, Dead loaves lio heap'd in every glade, Wild winter's winds are in the air, And all the joy decayed. When brighter days new gladness lend, You vdil, I trust, with them appear ; Till then, best wishes with you wend, — Best wishes of the year ! 140 THE DEAR OLD HOME. W^ND so tlie old home is broken up, the dearly ^^^ lov'd old home ; The gathering place for the wanderers, who now abroad may roam : The home of onr pleasant childhood, where life's best days were pass'd ; The kind old home, the dear old home, is broken up at last. There is silence in the passage, there is mildew on the wall ; In the once well-dusted corners the hoary spiders crawl ; The shutters are in the window, and, creeping o'er the floor, A sunbeam stirs the darkness, brooding there for evermore. 141 Come softly up the staircase ; softly ! as uxion tho day, "WTien in liis oaken co£Bji, our loving father lay: Come softly up, and tenderly, and with a solemn air; Come softly up, and tenderly, as if the dead were there. Come softly up the staircase, as when our mother, dress'd In grave-clothes, calm and saintly, lay for evermore at rest, — When white cross'd hands, and loving heart, were moveless, cold, and chill ; Oh God, I cannot bear it : how her memory haunts me still ! This is the bedroom where they slept, the place wherein they died ; Enough ! thank God that even now they're sleep- ing side by side : Their grave is in the Liten field, where lovingly they rest : They could not dwell for ever here ; and God knows what is best. 142 Come, let us leave the room, and seek the attic chamber high, Where the linden waves its leaves between the window and the sky : 'Twas here we kept our books and toys ; 'twas here the children slept ; 'Twas here we quarrell'd, here we kiss'd, played, shouted, laugh' d, and wept. Here, in the early morn of life, my student hours were pass'd ; And hopes, all beautiful, were form'd, too beautiful to last : Here by the taper's glimmering light, and in the morning grey, I wove the tale, and thought the thought, and sang my youthful lay. The dear old room is empty now, but on its silent walls, The sunset glory comes and goes, and the evening shadow falls : The rain-drops rattle on the roof ; the lattic'd window high Oleams in the golden sunshine, as in the days gone by. 143 And see, where sad and desolate, the lonely garden lies; Methinks, if he were living, how 'twould sadden father's eyes ; The weeds are over the border, the trees drop from the wall, The flowers are dead and drooping, and the wither' d branches fall. How well can I remember when the autumn fruit was ripe, How under the trees our father came, to smoke his quiet pipe, How we would cluster round him for his wise and pleasant talk, "With a kindly nod to mother, as she saunter' d in the walk. And the pleasant Christmas gatherings we'll never now forget, Though we shall never meet again, at least as once we met : The wine may sparkle in the light, wit flash, and laughter roar ; There's an empty place within our hearts, empty for evermore. 144 For the dear old homo is broken up, the dearly lov'd old home, The gathering place for the wanderers, who now abroad may roam : The home of our pleasant childhood, where life's best days were pass'd, The kind old home, the dear old home, is broken up at last. 145 THE COPSE. .^AjF KNOW a copse that in the month of June, ^ Is gayest of the gay, Where the merle singeth to a pleasant tune His summer roundelay ; Where tallest foxgloves bend, Whose crimson ranks extend In stately lines down every path and way. There overhead the green Elm branches cast a sheen Of never-dying beauty, drooping low ; And through their leaves his bright Lances of living light The golden sunbeam scatters to and fro. K 146 Here, Trhispering as they wave, Tlie fir-trees tall and brave. Like dark-plum' d warriors stand beneatli the skies ; And, sheltered at their feet, The primrose, jiale and sweet, Lingers beyond her time, and smiling dies. The smooth grass-covered floor With gold is sprinkled o'er, Sown, like a sky, with stars of celandine ; The speedwell's eyes of blue. Emblems of love most true, Look forth, like souls, the lattic'd weeds between. The tangled thicket throws Odour of thorn and rose, Fragrance of lilies rising from the stream, That, with a gentle sound, Floweth the woodland round. Low murmuring, like an infant in a dream. The woodbine woos the gale, And with her flowery trail Weaveth new beauty as she creeps and clings, Wafting her scents abroad. Sweet, as a breath from God ; Sweetest and fairest of all fair, SYseot things. 147 And where the river runs Laughing beneath the sun's Broad golden radiance, rushes vainly hide The heavenly-hosom'd flower, That, in a hapless hour. Some lover called — "Forget-me-not," — and died. There, thro' the summer day. Thrushes and linnets play. While, far above, the sky-lark carols clear ; The robin, in the brake. Sings, for his lady's sake, A hymn of love, so loud that aU must hear. And when the night comes down On field, and thorpe, and town ; And thro' the skies sails forth the saintly moon. Then is the silence stirr'd By that melodious bird. The nightingale, chief chorister of June. Such tender airs and trills, As if a thousand rills Of warbled music from her feathered throat Ran sobbing, she doth make. The heart is fain to break, And evermore on saddest fancies doat. 148 In that most pleasant dell May all good fairies dwell, And all sweet things of beauty find a place ; And birds, and loaves, and flowers, SnnsLiiue, and vernal showers, Crown it with joy and everlasting grace. That when with care and thought, My heart is overwrought, I may with reverence to the place repair, And love and wisdom learn. And to the world return, Calm'd with the blessed peace that dwell eth there. 149 A MEMORY. ^t^E hath gone from the light of common day, ^ Into the shadow of the silent years, "Where there is neither hurry nor delay. Nor grief, nor restlessness, nor any fears ; Where all unquietness hath pass'd away. Without forgetfuluess, and without tears : — Though well we mourn for him, as well we may, WTiile sacred thought his memory endears. He is not dead, though silent in the earth. That which of him was mortal mouldering lies ; AH that was pure and of celestial worth, Hath found a home beyond Time's darken'd skies; Nothing is lost that hath immortal birth, — The true, the good, the beautiful, the wise : These are not lost, though we may suffer dearth ; Eternal are sweet virtue's majesties. 150 Then weep not, Lady, without hope ; let grief Have its full sway, let thy tears fall as rain Falls on the herb, the plant, the tender leaf, Tinting the earth with verdure ; not in vain They fall; they are the drops of heaven, the chief Chasteners and sanctifiers of onr brief Journey and heritage of joy and pain. Love wakens tears, the sun brings rain ; relief. Common to both, returns, and gladness lives again. Clear is the dew upon the passion-flower. Sweet is the perfume from the drenched rose. Clouds shadow lend, rough winds bring strength and power. Spring gathers life from winter's frosts and snows. Deep night is but the birth of daybreak's hour. Health comes with every breeze that rudely blows ; Love grows by suffering, and may claim its dower Only when Death's unfriendly gates unclose. K>/ 151 BE STEONG. P^^"e trave, be strong, in heart and will, The stately heights to climb, That gleam along life's fortress' d hill, Majestic and sublime : Although thou leave no name to thrill The battle fields of Time. Hear not, heed not, false pleasure's song ; Bend not, the sjTen's slave ; And fear thou not the powers of wrong, Nor truce with evil crave ; God gives the victory to the strong, The battle to the brave. 152 And seet thou not for fading fame. Or honour's empty breath ; Enough for thee to win the name, That God remembereth, — The heart that burns with virtue's flame, — The love that baffles death. Be patient : to the end endure ; Prize all true things and fair ; All that is high, and good, and pure, These nobly, greatly dare. Walk where God walks ; he walks secure, Only, who walketh there. As when, in vain, night's envious shroud To bar his path has striven. In pomp of storm and thunder-cloud, On wheels of glory driven. The Sim, in kingly splendours proud, Sweeps through the vault of heaven : — So shalt thou as a victor sweep Across life's clouded span ; Thou shalt go forth on glory's deep, As only conquerors can, If thou thy soul in patience keep, A brave, strong, faithful man. 15( THE STOEM WIND. BOAT came sailing into the bay : The night was quiet, the waters still ; But, like an eagle abroad for prey, The storm-cloud hover'd above the hill. A terrible wind came out of the west, The frail bark vanish'd beneath his tread, The sailor for one that he lov'd best Hastily i)ray'd, ere his soul was sped. The mountain 2:)ines they shiver'd and shook : Never was heard such a furious breeze, As thi'ough the forest his way he took, Thi-ashing, crashing, tearing the trees. 151 Over the river, and down the lane, He rush'd with the noise of a thousand feet ; He roar'd and ran with thunder and rain, Waking the folks in the village street. He flew to a cot on the lonely moor, Where a woman was striving in vain to sleep ; He shook the window, and cried at the door — " Waken, oh mariner's wife, and weep ! " "Waken, oh mariner's wife ! " — he said — " Trouble and sorrow I bring with me : Twenty fathoms are over the head Of the man who wiU never come back to thee." 155 A SONG or A LILY. Wp EA"R my song of a lily, ■^ That gi'ew in a garden fair ; I sougM for it one morning Tn vain ; it was not there. Some one had come in the midnight, Or close on the break of the day, And had stolen the thing that I cared for, Had taken my lily away. Hands I clasp' d in my sorrow, And made for the lily a moan ; When to my spirit a vision All in a moment was shown. 156 I saw a golden stairway ; — The stej)s were seven times seven ; — And went up with an angel Into the palace of heaven. I saw the King in His beauty, Thron'd on a fair white throne ; And lo ! in His hand a lily, The lily that was my own. He spake unto His servants : — These were the words of the King ; — " Tliis Hly shall bloom in the palace ; It is a precious thing." Then out spake the chief gardener — " There is none to say Thee nay ; But because Thou hast taken the lily, A heart has been broken to-day." And I said— "Thou hast spoken wrongly This heart is not broken of mine : The king He shall keep the lily ; For He is my Lord, and thine." And lo ! the vision departed, And I was left alone ; But no longer broken-hearted ; I knew where the lily had gone. 157 At that empty place in the garden, My tears I now refrain : I know a glad time is coming : I shall see my lily again. TO MY FATHEE. ^LEEPING father, dead and gone ! •^ Pleasant is the thoiight to me ; Death- divided, we are one, Now and through eternity. Though the grass be o'er thee growing, Tender nature, loving heart ! Swiftly Time's dark stream is flowing; Soon we'll meet, no more to part. 158 MY GAEDEN PLOT. SUNNY garden, looking south, --^ Across the land, across the sea, Across the breezy harbour mouth. And waters dancing free. A place where cahii x^oetic thought Sees thro' the veil of mortal things, And in pure dreams, divinely wrought, Beholds the King of kings. A spot for contemplation made, Secluded, peaceful, sweetly fair, Like that wherein Nathaniel prayed. And found that God was there. 159 Here roses, trailed along the wall, Load the warm air with fragrant breath ; On grassy paths their petals fall, Sweet both in life and death. 'Mid leaves o'erhead the throstle sings, The blackbird chants his mellow lay, And gay young linnets prune their wings. And flit from spray to spray. . Trees, grass, fruits, flowers, are here : above Floats the broad sunshine, streaming down, — Emblem of the Eternal Love, Jehovah's gift, and crown. Such is my garden plot ; within, A jasmin-trellis' d arbour stands, "Where oft, forgetting care and sin, I lift up heart and hands ; And feel the glory of the sky, The music of the sounding sea. Birds' voices, the wind's melody. Bring happy thoughts to me. IGO IN THE CLOUDS. yNE night I saw, when the round moon in heaven, Full-glob'd, slid down the west, a spectacle Of some great tragedy, iu dumb-show given. Eastward : two cloud-built walls of blackness, riven Asunder, while between them rose and feU Shapes that slow-moving chang'd, till they became A towering arch, whose edges, tipp'd with flame Of silver, fell in lapping mists, and hung Down-rolling like the borders of a pall. Beneath — supported from the sea — a tall Structure of gloom, whereon, in outlines dim, A form of pale and shadowy death reclined, Drap'd in thick- veiling clouds. A solemn hymn Of mournful music wandered down the wind, Spiritual — of mortal men unsaid or sung. 161 Then rose three shrouded stately forms, that spread, As o'er the catafalque of perish'd kings, Above the bier of him that seemed dead And lay thereon, their proud o'er- arching wings ; And haughty hands they lifted high o'erhead, And awful attestation made ; when lo ! Th' impending walls, down-shatter' d, with a sound Of far-oil-thunder, fell : the heavens around Wax'd fierce with rising winds, that to and fro Hurtled, and smote, and brake th' accusing shapes To fleecy powder scattered on the blast. All chang'd : the sky was fill'd with isles and capes, Headlands and spreading seas, dim continents, And vaporous mountains capp'd with cloudy tents. And rolling wreaths of storm. So the great pageant pass'd. 162 LITTLE HAEEY'S SHOES. (a mother's lament.) r^N a slielf , in a closet we seldom use, ^^ There is a pair of tiny shoes, Slightly worn, and such a pair, As a little four-year old boy might wear, Bounding from school on tiny feet, Leaping, dancing, down the street, With fresh glad face, and aspect pure, — Some one's darling, you may he sure. The tiny shoes are free from stain ; I will not have them soil'd again : Silently sorrowing, day by day, Dust and mildew I brush away : The little laces are turning brown, Erom tears of a mother dropping down : I count the knots in them, and muse With many a thought o'er the little shoes. 163 On the shelf is a box of toys, Of wooden houses, and men, and boys, And fabulous creatures, of wondrous shape, Hid in a parcel wrapp'd in crape. A wooden horse near the closet door, Stands, that will rock and prance no more ; A book of pictures, in reds and blues, — A velvet ball, and — the little shoes. Oft in the morning, calm and still, I stand in the closet, thinking, till My sorrowful heart becomes so sore, I fain would leave it, and weep no more ; For tears are useless, and grief is vain. And love is only a deadly pain ; Yet I still return ; I cannot choose To leave uncared-for the little shoes. And so I brush and keep them bright, While tears, big tears, bedim my sight ; I keep them clear from dust and stain, Though they will never be worn again. Have I not seen them on dancing feet, "When a voice, now hush'd, rang clear and sweet ? Oh my dead, lost darling, I cannot choose To leave uncared for your little shoes. 164 STAES. (1870) yH all you silent, glittering worlds that hang High in the midnight heavens, and make the dark Impressive with your splendour, every spark Instinct with glory, as when first you sprang Into bright being, and creation rang "With rapturous songs through all her boundless plains ! My heart is sad within me while I think Of the red battle-fields your eyes have seen, Of corpse-strewn hills and valleys that were green With verdure till men gave earth blood to drink ; Of cities wrapp'd in ruin's burning wreath — Of virtue outrag'd — loss of labour's gains — Dismantled palaces — dishonour'd fanes — 165 And proud oppression treading underneath Honour and manhood. From your cahn domains, Uamov'd, as if such things had never heen, You gaze upon us still, grave, stedf ast, and serene. Could you not with earth-hiding clouds have veH'd Your clear, sad eyes, when Ilium flaming fell ? Were no tears wept in heaven when the knell Of Salem struck, and Judah'a glory paled In death ? — or on that black Bartholomew's Foul night of murder, when fair France was red "With blood of her own saints, by bigots shed ? O'er Flodden's fatal field, or Waterloo's War-stricken plain, dropp'd ye no kindly dews? Or when through sullen mists your tender light Pierc'd the grim darkness of Sadowa's night, Did no sweet pitying rains your orbs diffuse ? Alas ! the portents ye have seen of old, And mysteries of evU, that the earth, Foredoom'd to bear, hath suffer'd from her birth ; The stately solemn tragedies unrolled Already on Time's stage, and others to unfold ! 166 BEIDAL GIFTS. (the bible.) BEIDE most fair, To whom these jewels rare belong, Listen to the poet's song : — In these shining diamonds see Love for thine, and love for thee ; In these glorious pearls behold "What in words may not be told ; Every costly, gemm'd device Hath a more than money price. 'Neath each casket's jewell'd lid Treasures mystical are hid ; Eor within these glittering toys Omens dwell of coming joys: 167 Like a bud conceal'd in leaves, Many a tender graceful tliought, With a wealth of kindness fraught, Eye and heart and fancy weaves Into a golden gracious speU, Wondrous and ineffable. bride, most fair, To whom these jewels rare belong, Listen to the poet's song : — Though not brightest, Not the slightest Of the gifts that love hath given. Is the solemn book of heaven. Truths from wisdom long concealed, By divinest grace revealed, DweU herein ; and reverent eyes In celestial moments trace, Gladden'd with a sweet surprise, On its page the holy face Of the Blessed One, who died. Strength and peace it gives, and calm To the weak and weary : balm Here is found for every sorrow, Help and wisdom for the morrow ; Light to comfort, light to guide Mortals to their Father's side. 168 bride, most fair, To whom these jewels rare belong ! Listen to the poet's song. Gems and gold are fading things, Bridal robes and wreaths decay, Love and joy have rapid wings, Love and joy may pass away : Moth and rust For ever must Bring all earthly things to dust. Youth is but a happy dream, Joy, a ripple on the stream ; Gold and gems, and life's fair prime. Fade as leaves in winter time ; Love, unless of heavenly birth. Dies, with baser things of earth ; Treasures only that are pure May for evermore endure. These, within this book divine, Eest as jewels in the mine — Faith, and hope, and humble trust ; These, — when other gems are dust, These, — when earthly scenes are o'er, These, — be thine for evermore ! 169 "SIC TEANSIT." ^^HE glories of the passing year, •^•^ By small degrees they disappear, — The radiant flower, the ruddy fruit, The leaf, the stem, the tender shoot, They come, they go ; It must be so : And even we must follow suit. There is no halting in their race ; They have no constant dwelling-place. A few bright suns — a few sweet hours, — And then farewell to fruits and flowers. Stern "Winter nips Their partnerships, And ransacks all their pleasant bowers. So in our days of youth we tread A gracef id measure, fancy led ; 170 Witli song, and dance, and music's strain, We gKde along the fairy plain. All things are fair : There is no care, Nor grief, nor mystery, nor pain. But when Time's cloud-robed tempest blows, And sweeps away our raree-shows ; When pain, and loss, and sorrow come, And trouble beats his muffled drum j And Death's duU bell Doth sadly knell, — Ah then are hearts and voices dumb ! Temptation-tried, and grief-oppress'd. It may be we are then most bless'd. When earth's gay pleasures lose their force, We turn to some diviner source, — And walk with God The higher road. Wherein the saints and martyrs trode. Then help us, Father ! day by day ! Our hearts are frail, our spirits tire : The world is fleeting, — fades away : Ambition, glory, fame, expire. They are but dross, And pain, and loss : Be Thou our everlasting stay ! 171 THE SEA. ^l^EAI?.'ST thou the Sea, earth's hoary minstrel, ■^ playing ? — Loud harping his great song before the throne Of the Invisible, whom he, obeying, Serveth with reverence, and fears alone- Greatest and mightiest of all the creatures, — Creation's first-born, — eldest son of glory ; There is no voice like his among the preachers, Magnificent and wonderful in story. Hound the grey rocks he rolls his fretful surges, His waves he rolls, he bids his breezes blow, He sweeps the wide earth to her farthest verges, And laughs at change in his eternal flow. How awful are his tones ! how deep his thunders ! He shakes the solid hills, and rocks the world : Great caves are in his depths, concealing wonders, 172 Precious with gold, and diamonded, and pearl'd. There are the coral palaces, the green And crimson-gleaming beds of living flowers ; There tritons swim, and monstrous broods are seen, Huge as Leviathan, in rocky bowers Sporting with death ; there precipices vast. Where the wild watery nations glide and climb ; And mountains of the under-world, that last Unchangeable as in creation's prime. Great silences are there, and drifting ships. That have gone down in tempests, rich within With many a costly cargo, and pale lips That speak and kiss no more ; and faces thin, And white limp hands that move to moving wave, Mocking its flow; and hearts once meek and lowly ; Whom the cold tide for evermore doth lave In their deep sleep, so stiU and melancholy. The dead are there ; earth's warriors lie entomb'd 'Neath broken battle-decks, fire-stained and gory ; Winds rang their knell — those brave ones : waters boom'd. Dirge-like, above their heads and perish' d glory ; And the sea mourns for them in many songs ; And, often sobbing grief, by rocks and caves, Tlu'ills the lone heart with music, and prolongs Their memory on his melodious waves. 173 It is the Minstrel calling to his hills With the great voice, that on Earth's primal morn, Led her first song of gladness, and now fills The ceaseless chant, for ever newly born. List to the booming surge, the breakers' roar. The wakening of the winds, the hollow sound Of caves, the laughter of the cliffs, the pour Of waters o'er the surf-tormented ground. Deep speaks to deep, the billows in their flow Make mightiest music ; the responsive shore Gloriously echoes, answering to and fro His melody uprising evermore. Sing on, majestic minstrel, wild and free ! My heart holds all thy songs, and sings with thee. ^M 174 LILIES IN THE NIGHT. ^n^OLY, as an angel's dream, ^ In celestial array, Pure and white the lilies gleam. Through the shades of closing day,- Shining in the doep'ning glooms, Breathing forth their rich perfumes. Other flowers, by sleep oppress'd. Fires of crimson, golden flame, That with morning's glory came, Silently have sunk to rest : One by one they died away. Fading with the fading day. 175 Yet the lilies through the night, Peaceful, humble, gentle, holy, Shine with soft supernal light, Touch'd with tender melancholy, — Whispering, as I wander by. Gentle teachings, pure and high. Silently I stand and wait, Gazing on their splendours dim. Till my secret heart elate. Breaks into a thankful hymn. Learning wisdom from the sight, — Lilies gleaming in the night ! For, when Life's brief joy declines, When for parted friends we weep, When its sun no longer shines. When its sorrows flow most deep, In its darken'd skies afar. Faith arises like a star. "VVTien the gloom of death is near, When the flesh and heart sliall fail, Then shall lov'd ones, lost and dear. Greet us in the shaded vale, — Beaming on our raptured sight, Lihes gleaming in the night ! 176 MUSINGS. ^OULD I my path ^ Shape to my heart's deep wish, my life would be Spent in long wand'rings over land and sea : And thou, the Switzer's glorious land, that hath From the first days of memory haunted me, Mother of mountains ! first I'd fly to thee. Thy snow-robed peaks that pierce the skies, I'd climb ; My feet should trace thy torrents as they roll ; The music of thy winds in songs sublime Should wake the deeper music in my soul ; And those great silences, where man is seen But seldom, brooding on thy topmost heights, Shoidd hush me with their stillness : had I been So favour'd, life were fuller of delights. 177 I have not seen The majesty of mountains, have not heard The wind's song in primeval forest glades, When at his voice their mighty depths are stirr'd : Glory of light, and mystery of shades, Wonder and harmonies of colour, sheen Of waterfall and river, — these to me Visions and dreams of glory must remain : Yet in my spirit everlastingly Dwell their august creations, and obtain Awe and deep reverence ; and I would fain Believe, wer't not presumption, some divine Hand of a Being that holds me most dear, Did thus in revelation bring me near To His own glories, and did make them mine. M 178 THE ANGEL IN THE NIGHT. T^HERE came an angel in the night, -tJ When we were weeping sore : He with our darling took his flight ; And she return' d no more. A shadow gather'd in the dell, — A shadow creeping slow ; A deeper shadow on us fell. And darken'd with our woe. The stars heam'd softly through the night. The moon rode calm and clear ; There was no motion to our sight, No sound that we might hear. 179 Tliouglit miglit have heard in those calm skies The music of the spheres ; But ah ! we only heard our sighs, The dropping of our tears. We knew not when our darling died, We know not how she went ; We saw no happy vision glide Across the fii-mament. No light, from radiant garments cast, Upon our darkness shone "; No glory mark'd her as she pass'd ; We look'd, and she was gone ! We know there is a land serene, Beyond this mortal sky, Where never sin nor grief has been, And love may never die. Within its deep, eternal calm. Through paths by flesh untrod, That angel guided her we love Before the face of God. 180 THE CLEMATIS. ..tWT was not long ago, ^ When in the frost and snow, This beauteous creeper hung its dying head, Its branches dropping down, AU wither'd, sere, and brown, And black, unsightly leaves beneath it spread. The chill November shower Dripp'd through its fading bower, Loos'ning its hold upon the slimy wall ; And from its slippery leaves, Up to the housetop eaves, The snail and spider did reluctant crawl. 181 The storm its requiem sung, With sad aucl solemn tongue, As flew its wither'd honours ou the blast ; And winter, calm and slow, A spotless shroud of snow, AU tenderly did o'er its branches cast. Now rous'd from winter's slee]?, Its verdant beauties creep, A robe of glory, round the gabled haU ; And where the ivy clings. And saucy blackbird sings, The clematis goes climbing over all. How oft the poet's thought, With noblest lessons fraught. And themes of tenderness divinely born, — That might, if men were wise, Exalt them to the skies, — Fades, with'ring in the world's unkindly scorn. For such no after days Of fame, success, and praise. Bring back the first sweet glow, the golden bloom : The soul of song hath fled, The sacred fire is dead ; — Ashes, and silent altars : — these their doom. 182 "I MUST BE GOING." ,-i/^E went doTm with him to the grave, "V\Tiere death's dark waters deep were flowing ; "We would have given our lives to save His life, who said — " I must be going ! " We wept, as friends will weep, when seas Are rough with storm, and winds are blowing : And some they love embark, and these Embrace, and cry — "We must be going ! " " Oh stay," — we cried, — "our hearts are sad : Our eyes with bitter tears are flowing : Remain with us, and make us glad : " He sigh'd, and said — "I must be going ! " 183 We spake of wife, of daughters dear, Of hopes uprooted in the sowing ; His voice, it souuded low, but clear : He only said — " I must be going ! " And so he pass'd away, and we Beheld his death our joy o'erthrowing : Long years since then have run, but he Still seems to say — " I must be going ! " He lieth resting under green Grasses that wave where winds are blowing ; Nought is there left of him, I ween, Save those sad words — " I must be going ! " Dark rolls the storm across the hill. Hoarse sounds the sea-wave, ever flowing ; His memory remaineth still. Who sigh'd in death — " I must be going ! " The ceaseless murmur of the wave, The constant noise of winds a'blowing, — These linger by the lonely grave Of him who said — " I must bo going ! " 184 GUIDING STAES. ^•ill^IIEEE are some names in history that shiue '^ Like stars in the great firmament of heaven, AVhose light of comfort, constant and divine, Cheers aU true hearts by stress of fortune driven : Beacons — that gleam along celestial walls ; On Time's dark sea theu' soothing splendour falls. Not many kings, not many conquerors, Hulers by force, and men of warlike fame, Shine from those heights of glory : Love abhors AU tyrants, blotting out each evil name. Splendour and gold, and crimson'd pomps of war, Her calm strong hand contemptuous flings afai'. 185 The wise, the pure, the reverent — these remain ; They who spake noble things, and did them ; they Who, lovely in their lives, to grief and pain Minister'd lowly, — over sorrow's way Spreading the mantle of their tenderness, — "Who lived to s^Tiipathize, who died to bless. The patriot's heart, the poet's song, the flash Of freedom, deeds heroic, words of grace, Shine through the world, and its false gods abash : These are the gems, the heir-looms of our race, — Whose glory brightens with increase, as Time Rolls them on upwards into light sublime. 186 THE KEYS OF EANDON. >ERTRAND du Glesquin dying, *2?^ Beleaguering Eandon, Cried — " Men ! tliink not of flying : Fiffht ! till the battle's won ! " ^O" " And, in the white pavilion, Down in the tented field, Keep ye my corse in armour, nesting upon my shield." " Nor, till the foe is vanquish'd. Lay me with other men ; I may not rest with honour ; I cannot sleep till then ! " The castle gates they batter'd, They slew, along the wall ; Till their despairing foemen Did loud for mercy call. 187 Then from the topmost turret They tore the banner down : — " Up with the Golden Lilies ! Hurrah ! for Charles's crown ! " And lo ! the keys of Eandon, By Bertrand's soldiers won, With shame and fear the vanquish'd Did place his corse upon. Then in the great cathedral, With solemn prayer and rite. His soldiers their dead baron Did bury out of sight. So, — in the brighter future, Our conquer'd foes, perchance. May, kneeling, bring us tribute, Gained, — not with sword and lance ; But sought in fields of honour. And fairly, nobly won, — Like those old keys of Eandon, Laid Bertrand's corse upon ; And on our tomb the chaplet, We liv'd and died to gain. Our foes may place, proclaiming We did not strive in vain. 18S THE DEAD DAELING. @^HE was my frailest lamb of all the flock, "^ The softest dove that shelter'd in my nest ; Her face, her voice, her smile, did e'er unlock All that in me was tenderest and best. There was no love like hers within my breast ; Her little woes, her tiny griefs, did make Their way into my heart of hearts, and shake All manhood with her sorrow : like the rock In desert smitten, by her childish fears My sold was melted into loving tears : Such was my love : she died ; she pass'd away ; She kiss'd me as she died, and dying, lay Resting upon my bosom : many years Must pass ere I forget that solemn day. 189 We laid her little heart to rest : she sleeps In the green, quiet graveyard : a white stone Speaks her sweet name to others ; we alone Hoard up our grief, e'en as the miser heaps Treasure of gold and jewels ; memory keeps That name recorded, where no monument Is needed, nor sepulchral line or date, Of one who was oiu' angel, briefly sent To bless us, — then to leave us desolate. 190 SCENE NEAE LYMINGTON. '^HE river in tlie fruitful valley gleams, '^-^ A silver-shining sabre that the sea Hath thrust into the land, his victory Proclaiming with the voice of all his streams. Woods cluster round its margin, branches bend, Low dipping to the blue cerulean wave, That siugeth low a musical but grave Monotonous song of sweetness without end. Bright flow'rs, green grasses, rashes tall and grey, Move to the summer airs, and in the clear Calm gliding mirror of the waters near, Watch their own beauties bloom and fade away. Here the free wind floats with a gentle sound, Like dim cathedi-al music from afar, As if all tend' rest melodies that are In heaven and earth did in this place abound. Yet faintly hoard, us on enchanted ground. 191 Here wand'ring: oft, oppress'd with many cares, Wearied with life's laLorious hopelessness, Heart-sick of its long struggle, the stern stress Of adverse fortune, the deceits and snares Spread for unwary feet, I come to pray, To hold communion with the unseen King, My Father, — sometimes unawares to sing, Stirr'd in the spirit to some gratefxd lay. The river flowing softly, the green shade, With young leaves whisp'ring summer tales of love, The cuckoo's note, the mournful murmuring dove, Sighing in lonely woods, — all lend their aid To holy contemplation, and serene Thoughts that do rest in heaven, and make of earth Another heav'n, and give a second birth To Eden, bringing back that primal scene Of beauty, as if sin and death had never been. 192 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW. ^^tMZ^HEN I pass tkroiigli cToatli's dark and «~i-^ dreadful vale, With awful shadows fill'd and spectres pale ; Shall fear be mine when God is there to be My lonely spirit's stay and company — His voice to cheer, His gentle hand to guide. To smooth the path, to comfort and provide, — His heart with mine to hold communion sweet, WTiere on that silent way no travellers meet, — Where human voices die, and human aid Impotent, fails — the shadow of a shade ? No ! fear shall vanish, and the gloomy road Hear my heart's song, as to His fail* abode, Thus safely led, I travel thi-ough the night Of death's deep darkness upwards into light. 193 CHILDEEN IN THE HOUSE. LOVE not much those houses where No children dwell ; I miss the tiny faces fair, The sunny eyes and curly hair, The little voices free from care, That ought to flow and swell Through every room, and make the air Ring like a merry bell ; I miss the whips, the guns, the balls, The broken hoops, the batter'd dolls. The horse with fractur'd legs ; The crack'd drums, innocent of sound, The jumpers that no longer bound, The tops devoid of pegs ; I miss the souls that smile and weep, That round our hearts so closely creep, That love so true and well ; N 194 Whose thoughts so tender are, and deep, That words are vain to tell. I would not for a mansion care, That knows not children's noise ; I'd rather have the cottage where Dwell loads of girls and boys. Theprim starch'd drawing-rooms demure, Where none can see Bright youngsters peeping round the door, Nor speck nor stain from wall to floor, Whence they are hanished evermore, How dreadful they must be ! Where little hats and tiny shoes, And dog's-eared books scarce fit to use, No visitor may see : But each thing in due order stands, Untouch' d by young, un tutor 'd hands ; Pianos — cottages or grands — All silent to their songs ; How sad were such a spot to me. It is not home whate'er it be. And he to whom such place belongs. Knows not the joy in me. Life's sweetest wine, love's fairy gold, With little children come ; Hearts grow not selfish, hard, and cold, When such abound at homo. 195 'Tis good at early morn to hear Their happy voices, sweet and clear, Their simple hymns and prayers, The joyous bound from couch and bed, The noise of dressing overhead. And then, like arrows, swiftly sped, Their scamper down the stairs. To me each tender, shining face. Each form replete with life and grace, That like an avalanche of love. Shot from the heavenly hills above, Glides by my chamber door, — Wakens deep gladness in the heart. And says — " Oh, bid thy cares depart ! For how canst thou be poor ? " ^*'R' 196 TO MY BEOTHEE. I would not see you, brother, in tlie spirit, as you are, Though, my love for you is greater than most other loves by far : For the flesh is frail and sinful, and aU too weak to bear The awful revelation, so wondrous, and so fair ; The eye might shrink from seeing, the heart might fail with fear. If, in heaven's immortal beauty, you should sud- denly appear. I remember how you lov'd me, and I know you love me still ; And the tender recollection through my heart will ever thi'ill ; And though your voice is silent, and your pleasant face is hid. To slowly fade and moulder 'neath the coffin's heavy lid, 197 And the grass is green aLove you, where our tears so sadly fell, When we left you calmly resting, still we know that all is well. There are grey and ancient ruins, spreading calni and tender shade, And the sun is sweetly shining, where your form in death is laid ; Dear friends are sleeping round you, many gentle ones and true ; Ah, how many there are gather'd ! while the living friends are few ! Quiet graves of those who lov'd you, who have pass'd away to rest, Where the tired head lies shelter' d, and the anxious, weary breast. I feel you often with me, in the full and busy day ; In the wakeful midnight watches you are not far away: There are sudden, gentle, yearning thoughts, that come I know not why. Unless you breathe them in my heart, as you are passing by ; For Death can never sever such a love as ours hath been. Though I am here, and you are there, beyond this mortal screen. 198 I know, too, when the day la near, that is to set me free From earth's dark cares, and troubles deep, that you will come to me, The Saviour's sacred messenger, to hold me to your breast, And guide these weary, wandering feet to His eternal rest, To bring me to His holy throne 'mid heav'n's un- clouded day, Where the soothing, healing hand of God will wipe all tears away. So with a calm and patient mind, I wait the Father's will; I trouble not that you have died, for you are with me still, Though rob'd in awful, saintly white, with glory on your brow, And all too beautifid and bright for me to see you now; I yet again shall hear your voice, again your face shall see. For One who bled ou Calvary died there for you and me. 199 THE FADING MOON. ^I^AEK ! from ocean's breast a dying strain ! '^■^^ Sweetness, floating on the sHent air ! Yon sad Spirit, risen from the main, That doth beauty as a garment wear, Singing to the waves of her own death, In the fading sunset wandereth. Glory droppeth from her flowing hair, Love and sorrow lend their grace to her, Eound her feet all holy things repair, That unto her they may minister : Lo ! they gather from the solemn west, Guiding her, their Lady, into rest. 200 Tears are raining on tlie purple seas, Tears of sorrow falling from sweet eyes, That, in far celestial palaces, Watch her slowly passing down the sMes ; Tears of angels, from heaven's crystal wall, Big with grief and pity, round her fall. Ocean lieth in a troubled rest. Mourning in deep sleep, with all his waves Lapp'd and gather'd to his mighty breast ; Hearing in his dreams, amid his caves, Sea-borne music, laden with farewells, Eising dimly from the place of shells. Lo, the stars, those radiant maids of heaven, Grieve for her death in their cloudy towers ; Mourns Orion, and the mystic seven Sisters sitting in Pleiadic bowers, Grieving in their stately spheres above ; Not too high for sorrow, nor for love. So she dieth, fading down the wind. Like a passing thought, or troubled dream : Flitting, like a vision, from the mind ; Sinking, like a shadow in the stream ; Like a song of happier days, whose strain, Iteard but once, may ne'er be heard again. 201 IN THE WOOD. NE day I wander'd in a wood — A pleasant day in June : My heart was in a merry mood, My spirit all in tune With, careless lays of happy birds, And music all too sweet for words. The lark was singing in the sky, The sky was all aflame With glory, yet so tenderly The summer brightness came, I deem'd its blue arch, deep and cool, God's temple-gate,— call'd " Beautiful." 202 The leaves, tMck-cluster'd on the trees, Flung down a grateful shade ; They toy'd and trifled with the breeze, And gentle whispers made : Flecks, bars, and beams they scatter'd o'er The woodland pathway's sunny floor. The bee — that lusty springald — he Sang with me as I strolled ; I mark'd his coat's embroidery, — Velvet, and dusky gold : And as he sang, I sang : who could Do aught but sing in that bright wood ? I heard the linnet in the brake Her lowly anthem bring : She sang — that for sweet singing's sake. She could not choose but sing. Ah me ! I marvell'd much to hear Her voice, like to an angel's, clear. A stream, low-murmuring underneath Long grass and nodding ferns. Leapt, like a bright sword from its sheath. With flashing ways and turns : It sang — it flash' d — it leapt — it went — Insane with its own merriment. 203 I follow' d it by beach and bar, Tkroiighout that summer day ; And knew not I had gone so far, ('Twas such a pleasant way) Till crimson flames in western skies Eeveal'd heaven's evening sacrifice. I know not what its words : I know My secret heart within, That something whisper' d, faint and low,- " dark ! because of sin ! " Yet the pure waters, as they went, Hinted, methought, encouragement. Oh happy day so swiftly sped ! Oh river flashing free ! Oh song most sweet, remembered With tender love by me ! I, looking o'er the waste of years, Eecall your memory with tears. 204 'AND I WILL BE HIS FATHEE, AND HE SHALL BE MY SON." may I caU Thee " Father,"— caU Thee '< Friend," Place my weak hand in Thine, and to the end Of life's long journey travel on with Thee ? Can it he true that Thou dost condescend, Bending from Thy great height, to dwell with me ? To make my heart Thy temple, and abide, My guest, my King, for ever at my side ? And I Thy son, a soul redeem' d, forgiven, To walk with Thee on earth ! why this is heaven ! For who can walk with Thee, and not he bless'd ? Or listen to Thy voice, and not have rest ? 205 THE NIGHTINGALE. ^\t^?7^HEN the day hath sunk to sleep, ^^ And the moon all pure and pale, Through the sky, a queen doth sweep, When the planets Llink and peep, — In the valley, green and deep. Weeps the nightingale. Stars are shining on the deep, Lighting up a lonely sail. All on board save one asleep. He is left the watch to keep ; Breezes bring to him the " weep ! " Of the nightingale. 206 Dark and dim the shadows creep O'er the hamlet in the vale, Bound the castle's broken keep, And the crags along the steep. Through the silence comes the " weep ! " Of the nightingale. Hush ! my darling lies asleep ; Very still her face and pale : Ashen shades about it creep ; Deep her slumbers, ah, so deep ! That I cannot choose but weep, — With the nightingale. 207 LOVE. '©OVE is bliss without alloy, Truest gold, and pow'r, and joy ; Love is life's serenest pleasure. Giving from its endless treasure, Satisfaction without measure. Love is a celestial river. Deeply flowing, flowing ever ; Flow'rs of gladness on its banks Flourish in immortal ranks ; Trees of fruit and beauteous shade Twine their boughs its waters over ; Leaves that cannot droop nor fade, Ne'er by cankering Time decayed, Whisper sweetest music, made By some bard, whom, to discover. One must pass beyond the skies, Even into Paradise. 208 By the throne of the Life-giver, Stands that minstrel, singing over ; Earthly greed and low desire, Waning, weaken and expire, In the music of his lyre ; Happy they on earth's dark plains Who may catch the distant strains ; In their souls his song shall be An eternal melody. Oh if thou true love wouldst see, Turn aside to Calvary ; There, through many tears, behold One who lov'd thee from of old ; Alpha and Omega he, — The beginning and the end, — The Creator, Saviour, Friend, — Bleeding, dying, dead, for thee ! Lowly there adoring, bend, Crying — " Lord, remember me ! " Thou wilt ne'er forget the day, Thou didst haply j)ass that way. 209 THE SPIEIT OF THE WOODS. TfETHOUQ-HT I saw, one day of grace, As in green depth of woods I strayed, Tlie wMte-rob'd spirit of the place Move calm and beauteous in the shade. Her fair pure face upon me beam'd, Her smile thrill'd through me, yet I fear'd : Awe-struck I gaz'd— the vision gleam'd A moment ; then it disappear'd. The envious branches, closing in With green impervious leaves, forbade All hope another glance to win, And left me lonely in the shade. Was it a phantom, or sweet dream Of fancy, sacred to the place ? Ah me ! no more by wood or stream May I behold that wondrous face. o 210 AETIE DOMAN. ^TILL, and pale, and cold he lies, ^ Wliom our souls did fondly prize ; Death has seal'd his loving eyes. Axtie Doman ! Like a rose untimely dead, — Like a joy too swiftly sped — So our little one hath fled. Artie Doman ! Like a taper's quenched rays, All his pleasant tricks and ways, Tiny sorrows, little plays. Artie Doman ! All his merry games are play'd, All his little prayers are pray'd, All his pretty words are said. Artie Doman ! 211 All his Sunday hjinns are sung, That so sweetly from his tongue, Like an angel's music rung. Artie Doman ! Horse, and top, and hoop, and hall, Put them out of sight, — and all That his memory may recall. Artie Doman ! Children's gentle tears are shed, Eound about his silent bed, For the darling lying dead. Artie Doman ! Sacred are their little tears ; Deeper far our grief appears ; Deep'ning with the passing years. Artie Doman ! Tiny heap of sacred dust ! God is good, and wise, and just ; Thee to His kind hand we trust. Artie Doman ! 212 THE FIRST KISS. ^WEETS to the sweet! on a summer's brig-lit '^ morning, I brought to dear Katie a maiden-bhish rose, The dew-drops its bosom with diamonds adorning, Where beauty lay blushing 'neath purity's snows. Oh long had I lov'd her with silent emotion ; My heart the sweet secret had guarded f uU well ; My tongue ne'er had uttered the spirit's devotion, Lest words rashly spoken had broken the spell. ''Take my rose, gentle Katie!" — she tenderly plac'd it To shine in the bodice that circled her breast : A smile lit her face ; a blush rose up and chased it; She gave me one glance, and I knew I was blest. Pure was the rose that I gather' d and gave her, Pure as the love that within us did burn ; Pure too, and sweet, that first kiss, sign of favour, From Kate, my soul's rose, that I won in return. 213 LAMENT. jH the night that he died how we wept for him ! What a mournfid vigil we kept for him ! How the taper's light, On his shroud so white, Faded slow as the morning crept o'er him ! Oh the desolate days as they went by him ! And his sorrowing widow bent by him : How pale and still He lay, and chill, As the little ones came to lament by him ! Oh the tender hearts that swell'd for him ! Oh the sad strong bell that knell'd for him ! So sad and slow, On that day of woe ! And the bitter tears that welled for him ! Oh the grief that lies so deep for him ! Oh the loving thoughts that we keep for him ! His sleep is sound In the hallow' d ground ; But our sorrow will never more sleep for him ! 214 THE TOWN aUAY SLIP. ' !W^^^ evening : on the town quay slip, '^ I heard the ferryman shouting — ' ' Over ! ' ' The steamer came from Yarmouth trip, A cloud of smoke-snakes twined above her. " Yeo-heave-0 ! " — on the collier's deck, Sang the mariners, lifting anchor ; Ship all ready, at skipper's beck, — All ataut, from jib to spanker. Snow-white sails, far out to sea, Flash'd, like birds, on the autumn glory ; Tumbling waves roU'd wild and free, Goldon-green, and blue, and hoary. 215 I saw the fisliers of our town, Clad in " Jerseys " and caps of flannel ; Where sea-swan yachts swam up and down, And men-of-war steam'd down the channel. Sank the sun, in mists of splendour ; Rose the moon, as winds blew colder, Like a saint, serene and tender, Over the pleasant vale of Boldi'e. The river it came creeping, creeping ; Boldre river — the cruel river ! Where three mothers stood a'weeping. As if they would weep for ever ; Wringing hands, and weepmg sadly, — Eiver of death, their sons deliver ! Wringing hands, and weeping madly, — Cruel river ! oh cruel river ! " Sorrowful hands they lifted, sighing. Sighing by that river's shore ; Still I seem to hear them crying, Sighing, crying, evermore. Seaward, haste, thou cruel river ! Heavy art thou with mothers' tears ; Hiding in thy depths for ever All the hopes of happy years ! 216 Creep, with smooth and treacherous tide ; Mothers' curses go with thee ; Crawl among thy piles, and glide ; Slink, thou murderer, to the sea ! Sank the sun in mists of splendour ; Eose the moon, as winds blew colder. Like a saint, serene and tender, Over the pleasant vale of Boldre. 217 THE BUEIAL OF CHAELES DICKENS IN WESTMINSTEE ABBEY. >UEY him meekly, — without prideful show, ^2^ In the great abbey, where, 'mid splendours dim, Sleep England's worthiest sons : there lay him low In hallow' d dust, and let some simple hymn, Laden with grief and tenderness, rise clear Upon our hearts : bid the great organ blow Softly, for sorrow — soothing friendship's ear : Let solemn words fall gently roimd his bier, And hope speak like an angel. With the great And good of his own day, and other days, Leave we him resting : this be ample praise For work well done, and nobly : he may wait The Master's coming, well assured of grace : The Master will not grieve to find him here. 218 LIGHT AT LAST. ^^ILL there be light when evening-tide Proclaims the close of day ? Will life's long sweep of storms subside, And tempests die away ? Shall darkening clouds of doubt unroll, And winds of error cease, And o'er the troubled anxious soul Come everlasting peace ? ShaU hate and envy cease to rage, And shafts of maHce fail, And joy light up the pilgi-imago That leads within the veil ? Oh soul, with many burdens tried, Oh heart, with care oppress'd, Keep thou the right true path, confide In God, and be at rest. 219 PASSrOED STREAM. jr%)ULL my sad soul, oh stream, ■e-^^ With music sweet ; GKde on as thought in dream, On liquid feet ; Sing, and be love yoiu' theme, Ye waters fleet. Sing of that lady fair, Whose sacred name Is whisper' d everywhere ; That peerless dame. Whose presence fills the air With love's pure flame. 220 Tell her, in murmurs low, When passing nigh, Love through my heart doth flow Eternally ; Love, that in weal or woe, Can never die. By tiny beach and bar I wander, late ; Hush, she draws nigh, my star, And queen of fate ! Tell her that from afar, I watch and wait. H '221 EETEOSPECT. f^HAT wliicli I miglit have been, had fate proved '^J kind, Or chances happier, or men less hlind, — Or I in worldly wisdom had been taught To curb th' impetuous speech and hasty thought ; And with a servile spirit had bent down To gilded folly, trembling at its frown ; Or, base and treacherous to Him who gave The poet's gift, had sold it,— mammon's slave, — And sought, unmindful of the shame and sin. By mean subservience acclaim to win, — I cannot tell : I might perchance have made Of prostituted powers a gainful trade, — And lowly ways of poverty had left, With pelf well laden, though of truth bereft. 222 It was not so to be : my path was laid 'Neath stormy skies, o'er stony roads, and made Weary with many burdens, dark with cares, Set thick with troubles starting unawares, "Winding o'er barren hills, through desert ways. Loading and lengthening with increase of days. Yet ever in the darkness there was light, And duty's finger pointing to the right ; And One in the deep silence sometimes spoke. With the small voice that on Elijah broke. Life has not been all sorrow ; scarce a grief Was paltry or ignoble ; death the chief Disturber, fountain of the bitterest tears, Flowing and deep'ning with the passing years : Affliction, not dishonour ; loss, not shame, — Have tried my soul, but left unstained my name. If love of nobleness for its own sake, And scorn of those false ways th' unworthy take, — Beverence for what is sacred, gentle, true, — Eespect for virtue, when its friends are few, — Honour for all high deeds and tender things Written, or said, or done, — if these make kings, Then am I royal, kingly, keeping state. Glory, and splendour, — these have made me great. Let the false world fleet onwards ; be it mine To keep undimm'd the poet's crown divine. ODDS AND ENDS. tDDS and ends, of many years, Joys and sorrows, — smiles and tears,- Thoughts and fancies, day by day, Gathering on a poet's way, — Trifling things, that many a mind, To more serious themes inclined, Might imagine light and vain ; — These to those I love I leave. Asking them, if they should grieve, Ne'er to see my face again, "With my name sweet thoughts to weave. liYMINGTON : FEINTED BX HENET DOMAN, STAMP OFFICE, HIGH STEEET. This book is DUE on the lasl date stamped below. 10M-ll-50(2555)470 REMINGTON RAND - 20 THE LIBn \ttY UMVEFvSITY OF^CALIFOItNIAi T i^O A T^ T y^ »^ ■» •»-• f^ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILIPr' AA 000 364 622 i PR ^613 D2868s