-1^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 HARPINGS OF LENA.
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^%^®S @rp ^^ 
 
 '■^# 
 
 BEING 
 
 ©rtstnal i^oemjS, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE LATE EDWARD LENTON, 
 
 W. J. EAITMAN. 
 
 TO WHICH IS AFFIXED, 
 
 A Brief Memoir of Edward lienton. 
 
 "Their Lays in coucert brcithed — 
 Hopes, fears, wishes, niis'd." 
 
 S. B. Jackson's " Ahab." 
 
 PUBLISHED BY MESSRS. WHITTAKER, TREACHER, A N t) 
 ARNOTT, AVE-MAUIA-LANE. 
 
 rXlKTBD BT JOSEPH CLARKE, MARKET-PLACE, BOSTOH. 
 
 1833.
 
 T7? 
 
 TO 
 
 THE HON. C. A. PELHAM, 
 
 ARB 
 
 THESE JUVENILE SKETCHES 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 W. J. BAITMAN. 
 
 Alford, Lincolnshire, 
 Oct. I2th, 1833. 
 
 841'783 
 
 .,.A.-..&daMiaiialii
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In soliciting public patronage for the Harpings 
 OF Lena, it may be observed that several of the 
 Poems have appeared some time since in various 
 Periodicals ; their favorable reception has been one 
 inducement to their publication in the present 
 form. 
 
 But, there is another, which, it is hoped, will not 
 be unappreciated, namely, benefit of its surviving 
 Author, who, by very severe and protracted afflic- 
 tion, has been deprived of the means of obtaining 
 a support. 
 
 Of the Work, enough is said, when it is stated, 
 that both of the youths must be classed among the 
 " self-educated.''
 
 Vlll. 
 
 L EN TON died at the early age of 15 years (5 
 uioiiths, a victim of his devotion to intellectual as- 
 pirations. The sketches left by him are not so much 
 to be regarded as what he has done, but as indica- 
 tions of what he might have done under fostering 
 influence of time and encouragement. 
 
 S. C. T. 
 
 n(HloH, Oct. \2th, 1833.
 
 GOPCTENlTSc 
 
 I. 
 
 A Colloquy 
 
 II. 
 
 The Blessing of Misery 
 
 III. 
 
 Woman 
 
 IV. 
 
 Mara 
 
 V. 
 
 Stanzas . . 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lines 
 
 VII. 
 
 A Comparison . . 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Flowers 
 
 IX. 
 
 Stanzas . . . . 
 
 X. 
 
 A Reverie 
 
 XI. 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 XII. 
 
 Inconstancy 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Occasional Prologue 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Counsels 
 
 XV. 
 
 Sunset 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Stanzas for Music 
 
 Page . 
 13 
 15 
 17 
 19 
 21 
 22 
 25 
 27 
 29 
 35 
 37 
 39 
 41 
 43 
 45 
 49
 
 X. 
 
 
 
 rage. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Night Scene . , 
 
 . . 51 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A Dream 
 
 .. 53 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A Reverie 
 
 .. 57 
 
 XX. 
 
 Stanzas for Music 
 
 . . 58 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Fire-Bridge 
 
 .. 60 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The Lost Ship 
 
 .. 63 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The War Ship 
 
 .. 66 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The Sea- Warrior's Dir^e 
 
 . . 69 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Battle Field 
 
 .. 72 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The Warrior's Death 
 
 .. 73 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The Bed of the Dead 
 
 .. 76 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Remember Me 
 
 .. 78 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Stanzas to J. R. Q. . . 
 
 . 80 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A Birth-day Token . . 
 
 .. 82 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 A Lay of Friendship 
 
 . . 84 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Apostrophe to a Spirit 
 
 . 87 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The Departure . . 
 
 . 89 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 An Epistle 
 
 . 91 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Lines 
 
 .. 93 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 My Mother 
 
 . 94 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 A Token 
 
 . 95 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Retrospective Musings 
 
 . 101 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Zilla 
 
 . 107
 
 XI. 
 
 
 
 Page. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Old Age 
 
 .. 109 
 
 XLT. 
 
 Life 
 
 .. 110 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A Request 
 
 .. Ill 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Glory and Fame 
 
 .. 113 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 A Fragment • . 
 
 .. 116 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Hymn 
 
 .. 117 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Sacred Gratitude 
 
 .. 119 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Hymn 
 
 .. 121 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Sabbath Hymn 
 
 .. 122 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Hymn 
 
 .. 124 
 
 L. 
 
 Ode to Death 
 
 .. 125 
 
 LI. 
 
 Fra"ments 
 
 .. 128 
 
 LII. 
 
 Lines • . • • 
 
 .. 133 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Elegy 
 
 .. 136 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Memoir of E. Lenton . 
 
 .. 141
 
 'i\1e^ "ID 
 
 ©W aSESS'^c 
 
 -««<•} -j-^^ 
 
 I. 
 
 A COLLOQUY. 
 
 I ASK'D of a cloud, that was swimming on o'er me, 
 " AY ho form'd thee to sport thus in ether confin'd ?" 
 
 When quickly a whisper came floating before me, 
 " The God of the vapours ! — the God of the icijid!'' 
 
 I ask'd of the thunder, that loudly was pealing, 
 
 " Who made thee to follow the lightning's wild 
 form ?" 
 When sudden a crash through the air came revealing 
 "The God of the uhirhcind! — the God of the 
 siorm /" 
 
 B
 
 14 
 
 1 ask'd of the mild-beaming star of the Even, 
 
 " Who form'd thee to shine the fair herald of night ?" 
 
 When a musical voice, darted swiftly from heaven, 
 "The God of the darkness! — the God of the 
 light ! 
 
 1 ask'd of the loud-roaring waves of the ocean, 
 
 " Wlio made ye to rage thus, and dash up the sand ?" 
 
 A breeze wrought the surge into wilder commotion, 
 "The God of the waters ! — the God of the land!" 
 
 Then I ask'd of my heart — " Why so fast art thou 
 beating ? 
 "Who form'd thee a check on the thoughts of my 
 mind ?" 
 It ansvver'd me gently, in throbbings repeating — 
 The God of the waters, — light, — darkness,— and 
 wind !"
 
 15 
 
 II. 
 
 THE BLESSING OF MISERY. 
 
 I FEEL a something in my heart, 
 That seems a sweet, enlivening grief; 
 
 A sorrow, healing Sorrow's smart ; 
 A woe that brings to Woe relief; 
 
 A mystic thing, that seems to be 
 
 A blessing, 'guised as — Misery. 
 
 I see the smile which others give, 
 And joy, although it's not for me ; 
 
 I'd rather cause that smile to live, 
 Than rob it of its witchery : 
 
 Albeit my soul's a fount of woe. 
 
 Where grief's black waters aye must flow.
 
 16 
 
 O ! much the sounds of joy, and mirth. 
 And Pleasure's tones it glees to hear ; 
 
 As if those joyous strains gave birth. 
 And all this pleasing grief did bear; 
 
 As if they touch'd some magic spell, 
 
 That hidden there doth sweetly dwell. 
 
 And yet this feeling of the heart 
 
 I would not change for reckless glee ; 
 
 Nor with its woe-fraught soothings part. 
 For joys which bloom but transiently. 
 
 But, long as mortal life I bear, 
 
 O ! may that feeling still be there ! 
 
 1827. Dec. 30. E. Lenton.
 
 17 
 
 III. 
 
 WOMAN 
 
 ! lovely Woman, thou art all 
 Perfection's self may claim. 
 
 The glory, and the coronal. 
 Of All-existive Flame. 
 
 When on my mother's breast I hung-, 
 
 Ere yet I learn'd to tone 
 Thy holy name, that on my tongue 
 
 Must ever dwell alone, — 
 
 1 gazed me on thy lovely face, 
 Enrapt in ecstasy, 
 
 And marveleuce, at peerless grace 
 I then beheld in thee. 
 B 3
 
 18 
 
 I wist me not what radiant thing 
 Thou wert, — so bright and fair. 
 
 Alike the glorious Forms which wing- 
 Far in celestial air. 
 
 Seen only by envision'd eye 
 
 Of infant, or of bard, 
 By whom alone the harmony 
 
 Of glowing orbs is heard. 
 
 O 1 then I felt the magic chain, 
 
 That thou canst fling o'er all, 
 Encircle my young heart and brain 
 
 With its bewitching thrall. 
 
 And, still, when babyhood was flown, 
 
 The influence unmoved, 
 That thy bright glance and smile had thrown. 
 
 My wondering spirit proved. 
 
 On wing of Reason's dawning ray, 
 
 Encreasing wonder came ; 
 As, on the pinions sheen, of day, 
 
 Expanding glories flame.
 
 19 
 
 IV. 
 
 M A R A. 
 
 A BRIGHT blush mantles o'er thy cheek, 
 And on thy lips a witchive smile, 
 
 And O ! entrancing are the rays 
 
 Come flashing from thy eyes' pure blaze ; 
 But, ah ! thy bosom throbs the while, 
 
 As if thy gentle heart would break. 
 
 Around thee Beauty's minions throng. 
 With Love's own glances, steps of pride ; 
 
 And all of sweet, and bright, and fair. 
 
 And Music's numbers too are there ; 
 From these thou turn'st thy gaze aside, 
 
 All weetless of the gushing song.
 
 20 
 
 Tho' many a burst of mirth is play'd 
 Around the festal-board, they fall 
 
 So toneless on thy gentle ear. 
 
 As they unheard, unutter'd were ; 
 Or, — strike they on thy ear at all, 
 
 They sound like voices of the Dead. 
 
 Yes ; — like tones of the Dead they seem, 
 Wakening with Memory's mystic spell, 
 
 Sad thought of what hath passed away ; 
 
 Bright joys empall'd in dark decay ; 
 
 Sweet strains which ne'er again may swell, 
 
 A darkly-bright, and cheerless dream.
 
 21 
 
 V. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE CLOSE OF 1827. 
 
 And lo ! it is pass'd, and the booming is o'er ; 
 
 And hush'd are the tones which rung deep in the air. 
 And dwells on my heart the year's farewell no more, 
 
 All cold as its sorrows — which still linger there. 
 
 But yet, in my memory these sad wastes of sorrow, 
 With joy and with gladness I'll treasure and keep, 
 
 And from them in after-time largely will borrow 
 The joys which the heart from its first woes can 
 reap. 
 
 1828. Jan. 1st. E. Lenton.
 
 90 
 
 VI. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF 1828. 
 
 I HEAR a deep and solemn boom, 
 
 Come bursting thro' the midnight gloom ; 
 
 At once a herald, and a knell. 
 
 It breathes a welcome, and farewell. 
 
 A requiem for the parting year : 
 
 To that — a welcome — winging near. 
 
 Say, hear ye not the fitful sound. 
 
 O'er earth, through air, that swells around ? 
 
 To me, alas ! on every tone 
 
 Is borne the thought of moments gone ; 
 
 Of bliss — for ever — vanished. 
 
 Like voices of the slayen dead.
 
 23 
 
 O ! Spirit of the dying Year, 
 
 To thee, what time thou linger'st near, 
 
 'Till thou art vanish'd hence away. 
 
 To thee I'll breathe ray anguish'd lay. 
 
 By Sorrow's all-consuraing fire 
 
 Irapell'd, I sweep my jarring lyre 
 
 Could whilome soothe the maddening pain 
 
 That swell'd my heart, and fired ray brain, 
 
 Mid every scene of joy and ill. 
 
 Hath cheer'd me with its murmurs still ; 
 
 Albeit their music were as rude 
 
 As eildritch-wail, in solitude 
 
 Of haunted wilderness, remote 
 
 From where the human-billows float. 
 
 O ! Spirit of the dying Year, 
 
 'Tis blissful ness thy dirge to hear, 
 
 If bliss on that lorn heart may fling 
 
 Its beams, where Woe's dark sorrows cling, 
 
 As round the captive's limbs the chain 
 
 That galls his soul, and burns his brain : 
 
 For, thou hast been unkind to me, 
 
 As, to the Sailor, stormy sea,
 
 24 
 
 My all of bliss, away — away, 
 
 With arrowy-speed, that nought might stay, 
 
 Have I beheld as lightning glide 
 
 Adown thy darkly raging tide.
 
 25 
 
 VII. 
 
 A COMPARISON 
 
 I SAW a Rose, wheu growing 'neath 
 
 The mountain's shady side ; — 
 I saw it in its carmine dress. 
 
 The Season's proudest pride, 
 I mark'd it bloom in radiant garb, 
 
 With hue so rich and fair. 
 As if the all of loveliness 
 
 And beauty blended there. 
 
 But, when the sun its genial rays 
 
 Imparted forth no more, 
 And when refreshing rain withheld 
 
 Its life-infusing store, — 
 c
 
 26 
 
 I saw it droop — beheld it die. 
 And all its glories fade ; 
 
 ! it was all unnoticed then, 
 Among the refuse laid. 
 
 E'en thus, dear Parents, is my lot. 
 
 Now ye no longer are ; 
 In your low grave is buried deep 
 
 Your Minstrel-child's welfare. 
 
 1 sicken — droop — and soon must die, 
 Alike the blighted Rose ; 
 
 And by my sun, and fountain gain 
 A visionless repose. 
 
 1827. Sept. 29. E. Lentow.
 
 27 
 
 VIII. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 Symbols of all bright, glorious, sweet, and fair, 
 
 ! much my spirit lists, and well, to brood 
 Contemplative, on meanings which ye bear ; 
 
 Balmy stars of green earth, and azure flood, 
 How do ye sanctify the raptured air. 
 
 With holy incense of Beatitude ! 
 Ye are the radiant Poesy of Earth, 
 The glowing Lays which tell us of its pristine birth. 
 
 Each sound your bright canorous fragrance swells 
 Enchants my heart with beauty- woven spells 
 Of solemn potency, which thought inspire 
 Of things far 'yond Creation's loftiest sphere 
 In blood-bought mansions of the sainted, where 
 
 1 long, — e'en now — to voice a Seraph's lyre.
 
 28 
 
 Are ye — for such my fancy in its dreams 
 
 Right oft imagines, — shrines of those bright ones, 
 
 Who fade in death, ere well their beauty beams, 
 As early-broken lute's scarce-waken'd tones; 
 
 Impalpable as aerial Bow that gleams 
 
 In roscid grace, what time young April thrones 
 
 "With his fair^ bride, in Love's own myrtle bowers. 
 
 At opening morn, or vesper's holy hours. 
 
 Thus Fancy dreams, if soothly so, to die 
 In sinless childhood were a blissful thing, 
 
 And thus to fade 'neath our own Mother's eye, 
 
 Where Passion's liquid words, 'like dews of Spring 
 
 In shadowy music tell the mystery 
 
 Of fondness her dear bosom cherishing 
 
 Hath wrought to many a glad and glorious vision. 
 
 Then — Floweret bloom, were ecstasy elysian. 
 
 Alforo Workhouse.
 
 29 
 
 IX. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 SENT WITH A SMALL BOUQUET OF VIOLETS. 
 
 O Lady ! I full oft have thought, 
 While musing on thy tenderness, — 
 
 On all that thou for me, hast wrought, 
 In Time, — Eternity to bless ; — 
 
 When gazing on the holy tear, 
 
 Trembled in thy soft eye— for me ; 
 
 While hearkening to the spirit-prayer 
 Thy yearning bosom breathed — for me ;- 
 
 While thy dear form hath o'er me bent, 
 Thy gentle hand enclasped mine, 
 
 My woe and anguish, all intent 
 
 To soothe, with sympathy divine ;— 
 c 2
 
 80 
 
 O ! I have long'd some pledge to give 
 Of my heart's feeling deep and strong. 
 
 Ere yet on earth I ceased to live, 
 
 Or join'd in Heaven the sainted throng 
 
 But what, alas ! that pledge should be, 
 All vain to tell were Fancy's dream ; 
 
 For aught that I could offer thee. 
 
 Too worthless far for such would seem. 
 
 And should I breathe a Minstrel-lay, 
 In mystic tones of chorded Lyre, 
 
 Vainly on me would shine the ray 
 Of Inspiration's glowing fire. 
 
 For, O ! too feeble were the swell. 
 My spirit's passion to express ; 
 
 Too feeble far, and cold to tell 
 How I esteem thy tenderness. 
 
 Desponding, thus I mused, but O ! 
 
 Thy gentle spirit well 1 ween 
 Will never deem the token so, 
 
 My true heart offers thee, tho' mean.
 
 31 
 
 It is the feeling of the heart, 
 Each deed alone can consecrate, 
 
 And to the token worth impart, 
 Tho' mean it be, and make it great. 
 
 But, say, what shall my token be ? 
 
 It is an humble, lowly one ; 
 Yet, well I wis it will to thee 
 
 Be dear, for ! it is thy own. 
 
 It is the sacred pledge that thou 
 At filial love's devoted shrine, 
 
 Did with thy young, pure spirit vow 
 To offer, yet as Spring shall shine. 
 
 And I will offer it to thee. 
 
 With feeling all as deep, and strong. 
 As then inspired thy spirit free. 
 
 With vow of token-fiower and song. 
 
 And were it ours on this fair earth 
 To wonne long circling years to come. 
 
 With each returning Spring's bright birth, 
 I'd offer thee its purple bloom.
 
 32 
 
 Who would not love the Violet fair, 
 So passing beauteous, and so sweet ; 
 
 Nor, on the flote of vernal air, 
 Its balmy fragrance joy to greet ? 
 
 1 love it, — for it seems to me. 
 In its sweet, lovely lowliness, 
 
 O lady ! sooth, so like to thee, 
 
 In more than brightest earthly grace. 
 
 Then take it for my token-flower. 
 And sun it with thy Seraph-smile ; 
 
 And thro' its little short-lived hour, 
 O ! let it voice my heart the while. 
 
 And when its fragrance pass'd away, 
 Its bloom all wither'd — lustre fled. 
 
 And petals blanch'd in dark decay, 
 
 With all its beauteous charms, are dead 
 
 Think then, how faint its power to tell 
 The feelings of ray heart and soul, 
 
 Must ever there undying dwell. 
 Long as enduring ages roll.
 
 33 
 
 May blessings rich, and sweet, and bright, 
 Of Earth below — of Heaven above, 
 
 No simoom- blast may ever blight, 
 lleward thy care and saintly love ! — 
 
 And when aneath the shrouding sod, 
 Our slumbering dust inane shall lay. 
 
 Our spirits with their Father — God, 
 
 Sheen'd " in the light of lasting day," — 
 
 " Enkindled by no earthly sun, 
 
 " With no" wan •' moon to mock its ray," 
 Our every toil and suffering done. 
 
 We swell the ever-flowing lay, — 
 
 The ever-flowing lay of praise, 
 
 To HIM who lived for us, and died, 
 
 That we might live, — be sav'd by grace ; 
 The Lamb, — the Saviour crucified ! 
 
 O ! we shall hail each other then, 
 
 With strain we may not breathe on earth ; 
 
 And fondly dwell us o'er again 
 
 The blissful hours we proved on earth.
 
 :34 
 
 O ! welcome be the glorious day. 
 When purified in Jesu's blood, — 
 
 We waft us from this earth away, 
 With joy " to meet an holy God." 
 
 Then, 'till that glorious day shall come. 
 Be we to our high calling true. 
 
 So — when we reach the awful foam. 
 Our Father's arm shall bear us thro'. 
 
 April 3.
 
 35 
 
 X. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 How fair is this Elysian scene ! 
 
 How bright is all around ! 
 How passing tranquil, and serene ! 
 
 How rich with pleasure crown'd ! 
 
 How sweet the golden moments fly ! 
 
 How softly glide along ! 
 Lovely, as yonder azure sky. 
 
 Sweet, as the night-bird's song. 
 
 How beauteous is each floweret hued, 
 That blooms in this sweet vale ! 
 
 How widely is the fragrance strew 'd, 
 That floats upon the gale !
 
 36 
 
 But, ah ! remains one wanting prize, 
 
 One bliss to make all bless'd ; 
 One more, and all's a paradise ; 
 
 That one is all the rest ! 
 
 That one is her who lives within 
 
 My wakeful memory ; 
 That one is her, who, absent, e'en 
 
 Each joy's but misery. 
 
 That one alone 's my star of hope ; 
 
 That one of all most true ; 
 That one, — and all life's bliss is ope ; 
 
 That one, — then woe adieu ! 
 
 1827. June 29. E. Lenton.
 
 37 
 
 XI. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 ON BEHOLDING A FAVORITE FLOWER IN BLOOM. 
 
 While gazing on this lovely flower, 
 By me recall'd are former days ; 
 
 When Love crown'd every joyous hour, 
 And themes of bliss w^ere all my lays. 
 
 Yes ; last when blush'd its vernal bloom, 
 Joy ruled my heart with hallow'd sway ; 
 
 But, ah ! stern Fate's relentless doom 
 Hath banish'd all these joys away. 
 
 Alas ! those days have glided bye. 
 Those rays of bliss no longer shine ; 
 
 And all appears but — phantasy, 
 While sorrow's shades my soul enshrineo 
 D
 
 38 
 
 E'er thus is Life's sad chequei'd scene 
 Deluding Man with visions gay, 
 
 'Till Holiness sublime — serene, 
 Direct his path, and lead his way. 
 
 1S27. May 27. E. Lenton.
 
 ;39 
 
 XII. 
 
 INCONSTANCY. 
 
 1 mark'd a Rose's early flower uiifurl'd, 
 It bloom'd the fairest 'mid its sister-throng-, 
 
 The beautiful amid that beauteous world. 
 
 The sweetest of the sweets it grew among, — 
 Vermilion on its fragrant stem it hung ; 
 
 But, ah ! the canker-worm upon that flower 
 
 Breathed its envenom'd breath, and rudely clung 
 
 To blight it in its fairest, brightest hour, 
 
 When Life was all of bliss within its roseate bower. 
 
 It revell'd in ambrosial luxury. 
 
 And drank its nectar till its bloom decay'd ; 
 Then left its victim in its spring to die, 
 
 When all its sweets were slowly doom'd to fade,
 
 40 
 
 Sought other beauties of the sun and shade. 
 Perish the wretch ! who thus with promise fair, 
 
 And winning smiles, shall woo the lovely maid. 
 And having won her love, shall, light as air. 
 Sue for another's smiles, while hers is grief and 
 dark despair !
 
 41 
 
 XIII. 
 
 OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, 
 
 Written for Recitation on Performance of ^' A Bold Stroke 
 FOR A Wife," at the Theatre, Boston, July, 1828, for Benefit 
 of Mrs. Chesterton, and her Orphan-children. 
 
 The Monarch of Creation's wide domain, 
 When he inspired in Man the mystic flame, 
 Than other Virtues bade more proudly rise 
 Benevolence, the glory of the skies : 
 And far as eye can glance, or foot can roam, 
 This pure, celestial feeling finds a home 
 Alike in savage breast, or soul refined, 
 "Wherever dvs^ells or moves the human kind, 
 Its smile can animate the care-worn breast, 
 Its blessing soothe the anguish'd soul to rest. 
 With Mercy, it a two-fold bliss awakes. 
 In blessing *' him who gives, and him who takes." 
 
 D 3
 
 42 
 
 To-night, no " charter 'd Actors" seek your praise. 
 Nor woo the beams of Glory's meteor-blaze : — 
 We tread these boards to succour Indigence, 
 Our inspiration this Benevolence. 
 
 Thalia nor Melpomene inspire 
 Our bosoms with Ambition's glowing iire, 
 It is the lonesome Widow's deep distress. 
 Combined with Childhood's Orphan-helplessness, — 
 These — these be our incentives, proud, and high, 
 Nor can we deem our audience will deny 
 In such a Cause, to waive the critic-sneer. 
 And let that holy feeling triumph here. 
 
 Who aid the Widow, and the Fatherless, 
 The great Omnipotent hath sworn to bless; 
 So, yours each lasting, bright reward shall be. 
 Thro' Life, — thro' Death, — and vast Eternity, 
 
 June 9.
 
 43 
 
 XIV 
 
 COUNSELS. 
 
 Think of the pleasures now swimming around us, 
 Think of the woes which may shortly surround us ; 
 Think of the mortals encompass'd with sorrow. 
 Think of the bliss that may brighten the morrow. 
 
 Joy quickly flies, like the tremulous breath, 
 When sickness is hasting fast onward to death ; 
 Sudden from sorrow does joyance arise, 
 Like the freed soul winging glad to the skies. 
 
 Mark, how the rain-drops yon flower weigh down, 
 Drooping, as if from Adversity's frown ! 
 Mark, how the sun, now the rain's pass'd away. 
 Raises the mourner, and cheers with its ray !
 
 44 
 
 See, how his beams streaming on the fair flower, 
 Glisten more sheen in the drops of the shower ; 
 See, how the rain that aftlicted but now, 
 Causes its lustre more brightly to glow. 
 
 Thus — the sad soul, when 'tis darken'd by grief. 
 Droops from affliction — despairs of relief ; 
 But, when Prosperity smiles on it gladness. 
 Pleasures redouble from past scenes of sadness. 
 
 Hope is a pleasure to misery given ; 
 
 Hope, then, — for hope is a gift from kind Heaven ; 
 
 Hope, — for by hope a poor mortal receives 
 
 Far greater joys than reality gives. 
 
 1828, Dec. 9.
 
 45 
 
 XV. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 SOL AD OCASUM." 
 
 The Sunset ! the Sunset! — O ! glorious hour! 
 
 When Angels and Seraphs — so Fancy is dreaming — 
 Encharming all Nature with magical power. 
 
 On light-glancing pinions from Heaven are 
 streaming, — 
 Are streaming to glee in the sun-rays, which shower 
 O'er Earth — Sky — and Ocean, their blushes far 
 
 gleaming ; 
 O, rapture ! O, rapture ! how dazzling the vision ! 
 The glory how clinquent, the calm how elysian ! 
 
 •ti
 
 46 
 
 The welkin's all aziire, and sardine, and gold ; 
 
 The billows are mirthful, and lightsome, and sheen ; 
 And widely the banners of Sunset disroU'd, 
 
 Are waving o'er mountain, grove, meadow so green, 
 Their splendors, more lovely than Morn can unfold ; 
 
 Such only dread midnight, and sunset have seen. 
 The clouds are like foam-bells on fleet-rushing river, 
 And symbol the love that e'en death cannot shiver. 
 
 The cloudlets are carmine, and amber, and red ; 
 
 And sweet is the incense of fragrancy gushing 
 From flowerets profusely in clarity shed ; 
 
 The air is all balm, and the brilliancy flushing 
 From cheek of the proud Sun, ere yet he hath sped 
 
 To Halls of the Ocean, where sea-gems lurk 
 blushing, 
 Jllumines the wavelets of Lena's blue stream, 
 That dances all gleesome, and laughs in the gleam. 
 
 " The birds their sweet music pour forth in the dell," 
 And streamlet and woodland re-echo the strain, 
 
 The mountains and vallics exult with the swell, 
 And echo to streamlet and woodland again.
 
 47 
 
 The far-setting sun bids to Nature farewell, 
 
 And twilight enmantles each mountain and plain. 
 O, rapture ! — O, rapture ! how dazzling the vision ! 
 The glory, how clinquent ! the calm, how elysian ! 
 
 O thou fair Orb ! that through blue wilds on high, 
 Dost speed thy course of joyance and delight ! 
 
 Of Ether's laughing face — one sparkling eye! 
 Whence, glancing floods of amber, rosy light, 
 
 Commingled, stream o'er ocean, earth, and sky, 
 Surpassing fair, and beautiful to sight : 
 
 ! I have loved thee long ! — e'en when a child ; 
 In thy deep glory hath my spirit smiled ! 
 
 1 love to gaze me on each crimson ray. 
 
 When thy bright, rosy banner wide dis-furl'd, 
 Proclaims the birth-hour of the infant day. 
 
 Thou radiant pennon of a stirring world, — 
 Love — when tliy tegal flames at midmost day, 
 
 In breathlessness are round creation curl'd ! 
 With awful magic charming every thing, 
 To deeper trance, than Nature's slumbering.
 
 48 
 
 Yet more, I list, to gaze me me on thy beam — 
 From portal of the western welkin, plays — 
 
 Of carmine glorj', — on the wave and stream, 
 
 When bosky fell, and mist-robed mountain-blaze, 
 
 In dazzling splendors of the purple gleam, 
 That halos round from thy deep setting rays, 
 
 Which ever and anon all brightly flash 
 
 From 'neath the fringe of thy dark cloudy lash.
 
 49 
 
 XVI. 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 The Day is sweet retiriug, 
 
 How gracefully ! 
 The Eve is rich attiring, 
 
 How gracefully ! 
 The merle is lightly flying 
 
 To yonder bosky dell. 
 To tell the Day is dying, 
 
 And breathe its parting knell ; 
 To sing its lays right cheerily. 
 And usher Eve with melody. 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 In music Lena's gliding, 
 
 How beauteously ! 
 The sun its beams is hiding, 
 
 How beauteously ! 
 My woes are all arising 
 
 To war within my breast, 
 O ! would yon stream but hide them, 
 
 Or, — hush them all to rest ! — 
 Ah ! — one alone that balm can bear, 
 My soul illume, my bosom cheer I 
 
 1827. Sept. 3. E. Lenton.
 
 51 
 
 XVII. 
 
 NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 This, is what I love to see — 
 Eve in her own peerless dress. 
 
 With the bright blue canopy 
 Of yon Heaven of loveliness, 
 
 While the white moon floats along, 
 As the Sky's night-sovereign, 
 
 'Mid yon countless gleaming throng, 
 Her attendant rolling train, 
 
 Shedding on the vale's sweet bower 
 Hadiant streams of fairest light, 
 
 Decking rich the night's noon-hour, 
 With her beauty, silver-bright ;
 
 52 
 
 Wandering with her nightly ray. 
 Where the cataracts loudly boom ; 
 
 Strolling o'er the forest-way, 
 
 Where the wild- flowers fairly bloom. 
 
 O, what beauty ! what delight ! 
 
 Seems it not alike a world 
 (Dress'd so rich, on such a night,) 
 
 To Creation newly hurl'd ? 
 
 1827. Oct 17. E. Lenton.
 
 53 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A DREAM, 
 
 IN SPENSERIAN STANZAS. 
 
 " Quaint and mouthy." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 I slept, and dreamt a wild and wondrous dream ; — 
 
 I saw a feodal castle proud and hi 
 Uprise afore me, and its turrets gleam. 
 
 In sungilt splendour, 'neath a cloudlesse sky ; 
 
 While flutter'd o'er the roof in surquedrie 
 The blazon'd banners of a noble Thane, 
 
 Whose mystic armourie would fain emplie. 
 What onely knightlie prowesse could obtain, 
 Emperill'd daurings fierce, on the red battail plaine. 
 
 E 3
 
 54 
 
 And in the dome were flitting Forms soe bright, 
 Of youthfiill Knights, and high-born damsels 
 faire, 
 
 AUe faerie forms of beautie and of light ; — 
 While sounds of merriment came on mine ear, 
 And sweetest tones of Minstrelsie were there ; — 
 
 The young — the gaie, alle — alle on pleasaunce bent, 
 Join'd in the daunce — rude eueraie to care, 
 
 Enraptured, I approach'd with wilde intente, 
 
 And gazed me long in joie, and speechlesse M'onder- 
 ment. 
 
 My Dream was darkcn'd, for a murky cloude 
 Hung o'er that stately edifice a while, 
 
 And hid its beauties in an envious shroude, 
 Concealing alle the granduer of the pile : — 
 T breathed a curse upon the cloud soe vile, 
 
 That thus could ravish from my longing sight, 
 The scenes of joie I'd gazed me on, the while 
 
 1 glad was looking on such pure delight. 
 
 That thus coulde shroude in gloorae a vision once 
 soe bright.
 
 DD 
 
 But soon, and suddain was that cloud disperst. 
 It sought the upper Heaven, and awaie ; — 
 
 But ne such beautie and such joie as erst 
 
 Were there mine anxious longings to repaie : — 
 I look'd to where a Baron once had swaie, 
 
 I saw the plaine the dome had stood upon ; — 
 But, ah ! the dome — the knights — the ladies gaie 
 
 Had melted from the scene ; — I stood alone 
 
 In mournfulle souvenance ; alle — alle were va- 
 nisht — gone ! 
 
 A few graie stones were scattered here and there, 
 
 And fragments of those walls, which once so hi 
 Reared their talle forms to Heaven in pomp so faire. 
 
 And shapes of windows, through whose hollows 
 tlie 
 
 The hooting owles, with shrill and dismal crie. 
 Over the o'er-grasst, desart-halls of pride ; 
 
 While through the ruins chilling breezes sigh : 
 A place where none save birds of prey abide. 
 And loathlie serpents traile their hideous forms, and 
 hide.
 
 56 
 
 But one wilde spectre-form saw I to glide, 
 
 Slowlie, and silent by each moss-grown walle, 
 Pale were his lookes, and teares he strove to hide, 
 
 Adown his hollowe cheeks I saw to fall ; 
 
 Bent by the weight of miserie's dark thrall, 
 He ever and anon his hands upraised, 
 
 As 'twere to mourne his losse, — the losse of alle. 
 In pitie at his fallen pomp I gazed, 
 And teares of grief mine e'eue in dewie moisture 
 glazed. 
 
 * * *
 
 57 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 " Crazed beyond all hope." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Borne by the wings of thought I took my flight. 
 
 Far where the Orbs of Night in splendour roU'd :- — 
 " O ! for a thousand tongues to" tell the sight, 
 
 The wonders which those brilliant worlds unfold 1 
 A soft, a soul-entrancing music stole 
 
 O'er my lost senses — lost in rapture deep ; 
 The glare how bright — how painful — O my soul ! 
 
 When wilt thou thither wing, ne'er more to weep ? 
 Methought I look'd around me for the view 
 
 Of that bright world I'd left : how small the star ! 
 So small, so pitiful, I scarcely knew 
 
 Which was the speck, 'mong myriads gleaming far. 
 To love that speck, the prison of Mankind, 
 How proud is Man, how low, how poor, how blind ! 
 
 J
 
 58 
 
 XX. 
 
 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 While the shades of Night are flying, 
 
 I'll think of thee ! 
 While the Eve is gently dying, 
 
 Think thou of me ! 
 When the Moon so brightly 
 
 All around is cheering. 
 When the Zephyr lightly 
 
 Fragrance round is bearing, 
 lUl gaze, and list, and think of thee, 
 And, O ! ray love, then think of me!
 
 59 
 
 When thy fancy's wandering. 
 
 Remember me ! 
 When my Reason 's slumbering, 
 
 I'll dream of thee. 
 When the gleesome birds of song 
 
 Peal their voiceful Minstrelsy, 
 And unto their notes belong 
 
 Tonings sweet of melody ; 
 Think — they but repeat the note, 
 From me to thee — ** Forget me not /" 
 
 1827. Sept. 2. E. Lenton.
 
 60 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE FIRE BRIDGE. 
 
 I look'd on the river, 'twas calm and still, 
 Xot a breeze was floating the sails to fill. 
 The wild-birds scream'd, and the woodlands rung, 
 As the water roU'd solemn and slow along : — 
 Yet, the Barque glided swift o'er its watery way, 
 And dash'd from its sides the foam and spray, 
 Tho' the mariners, chill'd with fear, oft tried 
 To stay its course, or turn it aside. 
 Nor rudder, nor skill avail'd them now. 
 Their hearts were sunk in deepest woe ; 
 They saw their fate, for they knew full well 
 They were dragg'd along by a Faery spell : 
 And soon the Faeries appear'd in sight, 
 In gossamer drapery all bedight ;
 
 61 
 
 They danced on the shore with elfin-glee. 
 
 And raock'd the sailors' misery ; 
 
 And they leap'd in the water with bound so light, 
 
 And pointed their fingers, and laugh'd outright : 
 
 Some swam behind , and flourish'd their wands, 
 
 And push'd them along with their tiny hands : 
 
 They cried — " We'll punish you well this time 
 
 For venturing into the Faery-clime." 
 
 In woods, — o'er vales, on water and land. 
 
 Was echo'd the laugh of that Faerie-band. 
 
 O ! what is yonder that gleams so bright ? — 
 It rivals the mid-day sun's fierce light. — 
 'Tis a fiery bridge — by Faerie hand. 
 Built in the midst of Faerie-lande ; 
 When mortal barques sail 'neath its walls, 
 Down — down the Phantom-building falls. 
 
 O ! 'twas a terrible sight to view ! — 
 The nigh approach of that wretched crew ; 
 For thro' the water, the Faerie-band 
 Sail'd merrily — merrily ; — mortal hand 
 Made not their boats, — no, — skulls of the slaia 
 Bore swiftly along the Ouphen-train, 
 
 E
 
 62 
 
 And one might hear that bridge's moans, — 
 
 — 'Twas a horrible bridge — built of dead men's bones ; 
 
 It had elfin-life, — though a deathly thing, — 
 
 Fit theme for an elfin-bard to sing, — 
 
 And 'twas guarded by elves of an awful seeming, 
 
 Who were pointing, and laughing, and loudly 
 
 screaming. 
 As they danced 'mid the red flame's lurid gleam, 
 Or leap'd with a laugh into the stream ; — 
 The flames lick'd the air with fiery tongues. 
 While the woods resounded with eildritch songs. 
 Swiftly the Barque nears the fateful goal, 
 And its crew to their death fast onward roll ; 
 Dismay'd they look on that fate so nigh, 
 They know 'tis vain to assay to fly ; 
 They stand on the deck in pale aflTright, 
 Half-shrinking — shuddering at the sight. 
 Now sudden the bridge as they came beneath, 
 With a hideous crash buried all in death : — 
 A burning mass crush'd deep the throng. 
 And it hiss'd as it fell the waters among, 
 While one loud shriek echo'd far around, 
 The laugh of the Faeries — the wail of the drown'd.
 
 63 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE LOST SHIP. 
 
 A STATELY Barque was on the foam, 
 Over its billows far to roam ! 
 With bearing- proud and high she lay, 
 Rocking free in that tranquil bay, 
 Floated her streamers gallantly 
 Over the calm and sun-lit sea, 
 Rolling on waves all soft and sheen, 
 As that the Lake of Heaven had been ; 
 The glassy sea by Seraphs trod. 
 And all the radiant Host of God. 
 
 In sooth, it was a glorious sight. 
 To see that vessel in its might. 
 With proud and gallant bearing sweep 
 Along the pathway of the deep,
 
 64 
 
 Alike a thing of that fair world. 
 Above the Azure wide unfurl'd ; 
 Where bright beings and holy, dwel! 
 Eternally in blissful swell ; 
 'Till, glancing like a twinkling star, 
 Shot the gleam of her sails from far. 
 
 I mark'd her shadow as she went 
 Along, shoot o'er the Firmament, 
 Whose sapphire bright was all unshroud. 
 By lightly rolling amber cloud. 
 'Twas like a glittering mirror fair, 
 Sheener than crystal, or the air ; 
 In its centre blazed the sun. 
 As all elated there to wonne. 
 A breathless hush pervaded round 
 The air — the ocean — and the ground, 
 As rose on high the stirring prayer 
 From bursting hearts consembled there, 
 That — Heaven unto that Barque would deign 
 Its blessing— sweeping o'er the main. 
 To bright and radiant climes afar, 
 Where earliest, brightest beams the star.
 
 65 
 
 That, heralding the Morn's advance, 
 Rivals the ray of Seraph's glance, 
 In lustre of soft Beauty's eye, 
 Enlit by Love's eflfulgency. 
 
 With rushing-dance o'er wave and foam 
 She swept her, as thro' vaulted dome 
 Of Nature's holy fane on high. 
 The terror-pinion'd levins fly. 
 And all o'er Ocean's realm is dark, — 
 And mute should tell of that proud Barque. 
 
 F 3
 
 66 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE WAR-SHIP. 
 
 I SAW a Ship full gallantly 
 
 Ride rushing thro' the spray ; 
 The sun shone bjight on the rippling sea. 
 
 With spirit-gladdening ray — 
 While o'er the waves light breezes blew. 
 And gay in the air the streamers flew ; 
 The tight sails o'er the yards were flung, 
 And bore her gloriously along. 
 'Neath bright blue sky,— o'er dark blue wave, 
 
 She traqued her playful way ; 
 With her freight of warrior-sailors brave. 
 
 She darted away — away. 
 
 I mark'd on the deck the high-soul'd crew 
 As keenly they watched that their course was true ;
 
 67 
 
 And I beheld, as they paced them to and fro, 
 That their hearts were light,— unscathed by woe, 
 And listing, fancied I heard the song 
 They chaunted, in a foreign tongue ;— 
 They sung of the dangers of the Deep, 
 And of those who aneath its billows sleep. 
 They sung too, methought, of the toils of war, 
 
 Of the glaive-man's cruel gash. 
 Of plains of blood— how they'd triuniph'd there. 
 
 Of the cannon's deathful crash ; 
 Of friends who had bravely fought and bled, 
 And rested low on a gory bed— 
 The turf— the proud couch of the dead. 
 And then they sung of their Country dear, 
 Of the loves they had left behind them there ; 
 And they vow'd they'd be to that Country true ; 
 And, methought, that their voices louder grew, — 
 'Twas but a wild fancy of the brain. 
 As I view'd them coursing o'er the Main ; 
 For my soul was deeply gloom'd by grief. 
 And such fancies soothed with sweet relief. 
 Since I joy'd that to others that bliss was given, 
 Th^t from my bosom thro' life was driven.
 
 68 
 
 And, as the ship pass'd, a heavenly smile 
 
 Beam'd on my soul of woe the while.— 
 
 But anon she tack'd, and that joyous band 
 
 Was borne away, far— far from land. 
 
 I watch'd as I lean'd o'er the cliff's stern height, 
 
 How rapidly she swept from sight :— 
 
 O'er calm blue waves-'neath the sun's bright ray, 
 
 She fled, like the dreams of youth, away.
 
 69 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE SEA-WARRIOR'S DIRGE. 
 
 List ! the loud resounding roar, 
 Echo'd round the sea-girt shore ; 
 From the wildly-surging Ocean, 
 Where for ever dwells Commotion. 
 Say, what does this dread wind bring 
 On its dark, tempestuous wing ? 
 Brings it sounds of life and glee, 
 Strains of sweet hilarity ? — 
 Brings it mirthful sounds of Joy, 
 Free from Sorrow's sad alloy — 
 Brings it Pleasure's blissful voice, 
 Whispering sweet — " Rejoice, — rejoice ! 
 Brings it Music's Orphean-lay, 
 'Guiling care away — away ?
 
 70 
 
 No ! — the sounds are none of these, 
 Howling from the crimson'd seas. 
 They are sounds of Battle's strife, 
 Riving Man from mortal life : 
 They are sounds of joyous woe, 
 Utter'd in each warrior's throe, 
 Fallen in youth, and fallen in age, 
 Ending there Life's pilgrimage. 
 
 Rest, departed heroes brave. 
 In each coral Ocean-cave, 
 Where no more the sounds of war. 
 Loudly pealing from afar, 
 Shall arouse you from your sleep. 
 In old Ocean's azure deep. 
 Ye who boldly, bravely fall 
 'Neath the glaive, and by the ball, 
 Soft the sweeping winds shall sing 
 And the fitful waves shall ring 
 Your death-knell, above your heads, 
 While ye sleep on Glory's beds. 
 No proud tomb, by mortal hand 
 'Rected on the peopled land.
 
 71 
 
 Shall your war-scathed bodies hold. 
 Rightly terra'd " Illustrious,— bold !" 
 ;Xo ! — ye claim a nobler grave, 
 Dear departed heroes brave ; 
 Ye, enlock'd iu Glory's sleep. 
 Sweet shall rest aneath the Deep. 
 
 Warrior-sleepers, sleep ye on ! 
 Still as Ages roll along, 
 Fame shall of your deeds be proud, 
 And shall tell your deeds aloud ; 
 They shall bloom when ye are not, 
 They shall never be forgot 
 
 I 
 
 1827. Sept. 28. E. Lenton.
 
 72 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD. 
 
 I mark'd the proud Field, where red Battle had 
 
 been, 
 But one vestige of battle was not to be seen. 
 Save a grass-mantled mound, while methought I could 
 
 hear 
 The bye-fleeting wind say — <' Some Warrior rests 
 
 here !" 
 
 I deem'd the spot sacred, and well earn'd the death 
 That hallow'd to Freedom this well-foughten heath ; 
 And dropp'don the mound an acknowledgment dear, 
 Bedewing the cold earth with Glory's warm tear. 
 
 182". Dec. 9. £. Lenton.
 
 78 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE WARRIOR'S DEATH. 
 
 WRITTEN AT REQUEST OF A LADY, 
 
 List '. the Peans of the Brave, 
 Pealing from the Field, — the Wave ; 
 Tell they of the Conflict done, 
 Tell they of the Battle won ; 
 Mingles with the triumph-strain. 
 Minstrel-requiem o'er the slain. 
 Fame, with spirit-rousing blasts, 
 To the winds their memory casts, — 
 Flies it o'er the world around, 
 Borne on speaking wings of sound. 
 Many a lip shall tell with pride, 
 Of the brave, who fought and died. 
 Many a lovely cheek shall pale 
 At the Warrior's prowess tale, 
 o
 
 74 
 
 Many a passion'd tear be shed 
 For the Sons of Glory fled — 
 Fled ayond the mystic bourne. 
 Whence they never may return. 
 
 Weeps the Mother, for her Son, 
 His bright course of done ; 
 Child of thousand hopes and fears. 
 All that to the heart endears 
 Thing of many a radiant dream, 
 That of Earth no part may seem. 
 Visions of declining days, 
 Gilded by Affection's rays; 
 O ! surpassing bright, o'er all 
 Glooms there now, a darkling pall. 
 
 Weeps the Widoiv, o'er the slain, 
 Oft hath on her bosom lain. 
 Thro' that bosom wild and dire, 
 Anguish streams its fiercest fire, 
 God of Mercy ! soothe the head, 
 Pillow'd on that widow'd bed : 
 Calm the swellings of that breast, 
 Kent by agony's un-rest.
 
 75 
 
 Gazing there her sorrows on, 
 Mourns his Sire, her orphan-son. 
 Circling years shall o'er him roll, 
 Firing his young daring soul ; 
 'Till, upon the gore-dew'd plain, 
 Or, on blood-empurpled main, 
 Like his sire he proudly fall, 
 'Neath the glaive, or by the ball. 
 
 Gazing at her sorrows there, 
 Mourns her orphan-daughter fair ; 
 Thro' this world of strife and dread, 
 Who shall shield that 'fenceless head ? 
 
 Canst thou gaze with soul unmoved, 
 On this wreck of all beloved ? 
 Ingrate, dark ! — Alas ! for thee, 
 All this scathe, and misery !
 
 76 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THE BED OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Softly, and stilly. 
 Where grows the lily. 
 In elegance blooming. 
 The ether perfuming, 
 Bathing its beauteous hues 
 In the morn's pearly dews. 
 Sunk on their turfy bed. 
 Sweet rest the Dead. 
 
 Yielded, tho' yielded not, 
 In the fierce battle hot ; 
 Fair in their fair-lessness ; 
 Dight in their warrior-dress ;
 
 77 
 
 Grasping their dread grave, — 
 Well won their red grave, 
 Sunk on their gory bed, 
 Proud rest the Dead. 
 
 Free from emotion, 
 Where rolls the Ocean ; 
 Aneath the fair bright Foam, 
 Still, in their dark green Home, 
 Where the bright billow, 
 Forms their light pillow. 
 Sunk on their coral bed. 
 Low rest the Dead. 
 
 1837. Dec. 15. E. Lenton. 
 
 G 3
 
 78 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 REMEMBER ME. 
 
 And must we part? — thou nymph divine ! 
 
 Of joy, O ! must we hear the knell ? 
 And may our sun no longer shine ? 
 
 And must we breathe the dread — farewell ? 
 O ! still — whate'er our fate may be, 
 My dearest Love — Remember me ! 
 
 When airy Mirth, with Gayty wed. 
 
 And Pleasure's radiant sun-beams play. 
 
 In circling halos round thy head, 
 
 "While bliss enstars Life's fairy way ; 
 
 O ! still, amid this phantasy. 
 
 Angel divine — Remember me !
 
 79 
 
 When gay Delight adorns the plume 
 Of Pleasure's proudly-glittering crest ; 
 
 When all Joy's matchless charms assume, 
 When all is lovely, all is bless'd ; 
 
 O ! think on him who thinks on thee. 
 
 Seraph of bliss — Remember me ! 
 
 Should scowling storms sweep o'er thy days. 
 And gloom o'ercast thy joys serene ; 
 
 Should dire Misfortune's scatheful blaze, 
 Spread desolation o'er each scene ; — 
 
 (Alas ! if such thy lot should be,) 
 
 Still think on, and — Remember me ! 
 
 When Fancy rules thy helm of thought. 
 While Contemplation's musings flow ; 
 
 When all with bale is darkly fraught ; 
 When gales of bliss so softly blow ; 
 
 Still, let one gentle thought be free, 
 
 And, O ! let that — Remember me ! 
 
 1827. June 27. E. Lenton.
 
 80 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 TO J. R. Q. 
 
 Now beams once more thy Natal-sun, 
 
 In all its radiant prime ; 
 Again thy Year its course hath run — 
 
 Become engulf'd in Time. 
 And I will hail this welcome day, 
 And greet it with a Minstrel-lay. 
 
 How swiftly glide our days along, 
 
 Stealing our Youth away ; 
 We gaze — and while we gaze, they're gone, 
 
 They know no lasting stay ; 
 Alike the arrovvv-"liding stream. 
 Or, like the morn's awaking dream.
 
 81 
 
 How truely Life's resembled to 
 A wreck, that's ocean-toss'd, 
 
 Which, while the ruthless tempests blow. 
 Is 'neath the billows lost. 
 
 E'ett as the lightly-fleeting bird ; 
 
 Or, as evanish 'd echo heard. 
 
 And this is Life ! — but what is Death ? 
 
 Ft is the Soul's true Life : 
 For, O ! when man's frail mortal-breath 
 
 Is gone, with cares and strife, 
 'Tis then celestial waters roll, 
 Which prove the Life-spring of the Soul. 
 
 1827. Oct. 29. E. Lenton.
 
 82 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A BIRTH-DAY TOKEN. 
 
 Number not all the sad scenes which are pass'd, 
 Deem not that sorrow for ever will last, 
 Think not thy woe a black simoom of sadness, 
 
 1 
 
 Fate hath in store for thee hours of gladness. 
 
 Though the black clouds may envelope the sky, 
 Hiding dark all that is lovely on high, 
 Yet they're seen only to brighten the view, 
 Making more lovely the beautiful Blue. 
 
 Though black Misfortune may frown on thee now, 
 And heart-graven melancholy's traced on thy brow ; 
 Thy glooming sun yet in its full sheen shall shine, 
 And smile on the frowns for a while which were 
 thine.
 
 83 
 
 Though the dark tempest-winds wing o'er the Ocean, 
 Swelling the blue waves to raging commotion ; 
 Yet, soon are they laid in their still, silent sleep, 
 How beautiful, then, is the calm-rolling Deep ! 
 
 Number not all the sad scenes which are pass'd. 
 Deem not that sorrow for ever will last ; 
 Think not thy woe a black simoom of sadness. 
 Fate hath in store, ^or thee, hours of gladness. 
 
 1827. Dec. 9. E. Lemtoii.
 
 84 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 A LAY OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 I SAW ihee, when in thy young Childhood's soft hour, 
 AVhen Care, and dark Sorrow were strangers to 
 thee ; 
 
 AVhen thy brow was as fair as the lily's rich flower ; 
 When woe and when sadness thou knew'st not to be ; 
 
 When thy heart was as light, and thy spirit as gay 
 
 As the lark, when he soars on the wings of the day. 
 
 I saw thee, when years were yet green on thy brow, 
 When Boyhood shone bright in its fairest of smiles ; 
 
 When Life was a phantasy, such as that thou 
 Glided gaily along in the stream of its wiles ; 
 
 When the wing of thy sail was as joyously fraught, 
 
 As the soul-'nobling pinions of gay Hope, and 
 Thought.
 
 85 
 
 I mark'd thee, as time was still rolling on o'er thee, 
 But, ah ! not this happiness smiled on thee then ; 
 
 I saw that it all had fled far from before thee, 
 And smiled for a while — but to smile not again ; 
 
 I saw all thy joy for dark sorrow awaying, 
 
 And all thy young hopes, and thy pleasures decaying. 
 
 I saw then, the tear that bedimmeth the eye, 
 
 When anguish and grief swell the heart, dimming 
 thine ; 
 I heard, tho' in silence, thy woe-telling sigh, 
 And painfully felt it thrill deep into mine. 
 Yes, — it grieved me to note that thy proud-swelling 
 
 brow. 
 By destiny humbled, was bowing to woe. 
 
 Yet oft have I listed with joy and delight, 
 
 To the swell of thy Lyre, that, strung to thy heart. 
 
 Though the tones were as sad as is Misery's night. 
 And the thrill was so deep as made Nature to start ; 
 
 For I knew, tho' thy Harp thus in woe swept along, 
 
 Thy soul was at ease, — in the soothing of Song. 
 
 H
 
 86 
 
 Yet, why should tliy heart be thus mildew'd with 
 sorrow, 
 As if that thy gladness for ever had fled ? 
 Tho' the sun may set low, yet he's seen on the morrow 
 
 To rise in the glory of gold, and of red ; 
 When he swims in his majesty — Lord of the Sky, 
 Thro' the proud gleaming Ocean of Azure on high.. 
 
 Does not Hope, like the beautiful Bow of the Shower, 
 Promise sunshine, and joy, and the dead'ning of 
 sadness; — 
 When the storm shall have pass'd, and the scowl of 
 its lour 
 Be lost in the brightness of pleasure and gladness ; 
 When thy heart shall be light, and thy spirit as gay 
 As the lark, when he soars on the wings of the Day ? 
 
 1828. Feb. 22. £. Lenton.
 
 87 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 APOSTROPHE 
 
 TO A SPIRIT. 
 
 " A Spirit to a Spirit speaks 
 Where these few letters stand." 
 
 J, Montgomery, 
 
 O ! THOU Seraphic Form, who first enwove 
 With magic-charm of spirit-witchery, 
 
 My heart and soul around the toils of love ; 
 To being woke my earliest minstrelsy, 
 
 And gave my Childhood's sinless years to prove — 
 Though Sages flout— the deep intensity 
 
 Of that high Passion, holy, pure, and bright, 
 
 Whose glowing birth was in the Realms of Light.
 
 88 
 
 Thou art gone — gone ; yet, still my memory 
 The' darkly-gloomiug years ou conder-wing, 
 
 "With spirit-bleuching rush Lave swept them bye, 
 To thy remembrance bless'd doth fondly cling, 
 
 And deems — in crowd, or void, it still can see 
 Ou aerial plume thy Angel hovering. 
 
 On me, thy earliest love, all softly smiling. 
 
 As then, — yet more transcendently beguiling.
 
 89 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 BY A LADY. 
 
 Soldier of the crimson cross. 
 Yearning with thy Home to part ; 
 
 Still esteeming all but loss, 
 
 Bear thee up thy bleeding heart. 
 
 Sever'd from thy Home before, 
 Hopeless anguish fiU'd thy eyes ; 
 
 This " Adieu !" afflicts thee more, 
 Second sorrow — deeper sighs. 
 
 Father, on thy furrow'd brow, 
 Years have shed the snows of Time ; 
 
 Heed not hopes, nor fears below, 
 Meet me in a happier clime : 
 H 3
 
 90 
 
 Gazing on thy locks of grey, 
 Lingering for the parting-word. 
 
 Tears I feel will force their way, 
 Sorrow's fount is freshly stirr'd. 
 
 Mother, more I feel for thee, 
 
 Than my warmest words express ; 
 
 And thy tears ^ which fall for me, 
 Touch my heart with tenderness. 
 
 In the light of lasting day. 
 
 Kindled by no earthly sun, 
 AVith no moon to mock its ray, 
 
 Tliou shalt see again thy son. 
 
 Now I weep my last farewell, 
 Now I drain the bitter cup : 
 
 Thou ! who hast done all things well, 
 Bear my fainting spirit up ! 
 
 In Thy keeping is my life. 
 
 On Thy mercy leans my soul ; 
 
 Heeding not the Heathen's knife, 
 Dreading not the billows' roll. 
 
 Alford. M *.
 
 91 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 AN EPISTLE, 
 
 SENT TO A CHRISTIAN FRIEND A FEW DAYS 
 BEFORE HER DEATH. 
 
 JoYENCE ! Sister; joy to thee ! 
 
 Soon shall waft thy chainless wing — 
 From all earthly thrall set free — 
 
 To the Presence of our King. 
 
 Joyence ! Sister ; joy to thee ! 
 
 'Till that moment shall appear, 
 Thou, by glance of Faith, may'st see 
 
 Thy Redeemer's glory here. 
 
 Joyence ! Sister ; joy to thee ! 
 
 When that moment shall have come, 
 Thou shalt with our Father be 
 
 Safe in thy perpetual Home.
 
 92 
 
 Courage ! Sister ! bear thee well ! 
 
 Jesus sweetly cheers thee on ; 
 Thou shalt every dread foe quell, 
 
 Thine the Harp, the Palm, the Crown. 
 
 Courage ! Sister ; bear thee brave ! 
 
 When thou passest thro' the flood, 
 Thou shalt stem its awful wave, 
 
 Strengthen'd by the Saviour's blood. 
 
 Alleluia! — Wake the Song, 
 
 Ere from Earth thy flight thou wing, 
 Thou, thro' endless ages long, 
 
 Ne'er shalt cease in bliss to sing :— 
 
 Glowing with Seraphic flame ; 
 
 Christ the glory of the strain ; 
 Alleluia to the Lamb ! 
 
 Ere the World's foundation slain. 
 
 1831. Feb. 26.
 
 93 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 There is a prideful lot destined for those 
 
 On whom the beams of Fortune's sun-light fall, 
 Its joy what dream of DuUuess ever knows ? 
 
 Too pure for Earth the charm celestial. 
 O ! who would sleep, might Glory's stirring call, 
 
 With more than earthly voice his spirit rouse, 
 Henceforth to shine a Pharos far to all. 
 
 Of men and things, 'till Time's eternal close ! 
 " Life is subservient to the voice of Fame ; 
 Who would not die — to gain a lasting name ?" 
 That lot be thine ! — those sunbeams smile on thee. 
 Go forth, and dare for — Immortality ! 
 Go thou, my Friend, the glorious lot be thine, 
 That /may never hope — alas ! — for mine ! 
 
 1831. August.
 
 94 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 MY MOTHER. 
 
 A FRAGMENT FROM A LARGER POEM. 
 
 O Mother ! art not thou 
 
 My Guardian-Seraph now, 
 Guiding my feeble erring feet, 
 Through paths all dark, and intricate ; — 
 Shielding from bale of scathive power. 
 Or doth assail, or o'er me lour ? 
 I must believe it so, sith gracious Heaven, 
 Hath Angel-ministrant in mercy given 
 Unto each Child of Earth, lest rudely driven, 
 They sink o'erwhelm'd, like barque by tempest 
 
 riven. 
 
 Alford Workhouse.
 
 95 
 XXXVII. 
 
 A TOKEN. 
 
 PRESENTED TO A LADY PROCEEDING TO INDIA. 
 
 I WILL not, Lady, urge thee — " Stay!" 
 
 Albeit the Land is far, 
 To where thou hiest thee hence away, 
 
 With the next-shining star. 
 O ! no : — I pray its every beam 
 Effuse on thee a kindly gleam : 
 And as thy gentle eye 
 Looks on that sky. 
 So beauteous in its sapphire light, 
 All meet for path of Seraph's flight, 
 Emission'd on glad wing. 
 
 To this low Earth, 
 With charge of ministering 
 To heirs of birth 
 Celestial. 
 O ! what may tell 
 The dreadly-lofty nobleness. 
 That glorifies the Sons of Grace !
 
 96 
 
 Then may its radiant whispers tell 
 Thy Spirit, tranced by holy spell. 
 Of bliss to be 
 Thro' future years, 
 Unmarr'd by tears, 
 Thy dowery. 
 And I'll pray the Angel of its sphere. 
 Be thine, to guide and shield thee, ever near. 
 
 What though in another Land thou roam, 
 
 Far from fair glades of thy Childhood's Home ; 
 
 From its moon-charm'd founts, and its sun-lumed 
 
 streams. 
 All beautiful as Love's first dreams, 
 
 Yet, Lady, still. 
 
 At beck of thy own will. 
 
 By Memory's charm, 
 
 Each sacred Form 
 Shall rise to thy empassion'd gaze, 
 Resplendent in its own pure rays. 
 
 Why list we so to stay, or roam ? 
 O, why ? sith Earth is not our Home.
 
 97 
 
 Its bowers be fair, 
 But all unmeet 
 For earthless feet 
 To linger there. 
 They were not meant to guile our stay, 
 But cheer us in our thorny way, 
 Thro' pangful " Valley of the Tear and Sigh ;" 
 Our pathway to the regions high : 
 
 ! far ayond this Vale — ayond the Foam, 
 Rolls its dark surge, — the Pilgrim-spirit's Home 
 Spreadeth in its Eternal gloriousness, 
 
 Our Sovereign Father's awful Dwelling-place : 
 Hath seen no eye, 
 
 Hath heard no ear, 
 One mystery 
 
 Exuberant there. 
 But O ! to vision of Faith how bright, 
 Exulting the heart with heaven's own light. 
 Lady, where'er thou wanderest, 
 
 1 pray thee with this vision bless'd ; 
 
 So then shall bliss be thine. 
 
 Whose tranquil shine, 
 No gloom may dim. 
 While from thy lips the Hymn 
 I
 
 98 
 
 Of Praise shall burst with gushing-swell. 
 To HIM who hath Avrought all things welL 
 
 Aboundant benisons to thee. 
 Be by Jehovah given ; 
 For Time, and for Eternity, 
 For Earth and Heaven. — 
 A parting-benison be thine ; 
 A blessing as o'er the proud brine 
 Thy Barque shall sweep its trackless way. 
 With bearing stern, and portance gay. 
 O ! may HIS Presence go with thee. 
 Whose Word embeing'd Earth and Sea ! 
 
 And when the surgy billows pass'd. 
 Thy feet all lightly press the strand. 
 
 Where earliest morn's first rays be cast, 
 Far from thy own dear native land ; 
 O may'st thou then with each choice blessing bless'd. 
 In joyence sun, and calm unruffled rest. 
 
 And should thy feet from far returning, 
 Tread thy wonted haunts again ; 
 
 I pray thee then no cause of mourning, 
 Hush thy joy's forth-bursting strain.
 
 99 
 
 But, may thy memory's visions be 
 As vesper bright, as zephyr free ! 
 
 Thou goest far ; — sweet hope is thine, 
 To hail thy birth's fair place once more, 
 
 Though many suns and moons must shine 
 With rising, setting ray before ; 
 
 And I too, turn my wandering feet 
 From my Childhood's cherish'd home, 
 In other Lands to roam ; 
 But, ah ! an Exile lone and lorn, 
 From every link of Being torn. 
 What kindly eye shall beam on me — 
 What lip shall soothe my agony ? 
 Than all, alas ! more bitter far, 
 O'er my dark path no guiding-star 
 
 Shall lead me on, that Home to greet. 
 
 Well ! be it thus : 'twere sin to 'plain, 
 
 The path of sorrow — woe — and pain, 
 
 By HIM was trod, who from his Throne 
 
 Eternal, deign'd come down, 
 
 And on the brow of Calvary, 
 
 For Man's Redemption bleed, and die.
 
 100 
 
 Say, who would not right gladly tread 
 The path His hlood hath hallowed. 
 Though rough, and thorny all it be ? 
 A light streams o'er it gloriously, 
 That shadoweth but dimly forth 
 The splendence of its place of birth, 
 O ! rapture ! soon that path is pass'd. 
 And we shall gain our Home at last. 
 Be ours the faith to bear us on, 
 "Whoever proved, ne'er fail'd hath one. 
 
 Lady, adieu ! O ! fare thee well. 
 As now thou hail'st the Ocean's swell. 
 
 Alfghd Workhouse, 
 May 28.
 
 101 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 RETROSPECTIVE MUSINGS. 
 
 AN ELEGY. 
 
 Ye Muses, so fair and so mild, 
 
 O ! list to the mourner's sad lay ; 
 Ye bless'd sympathizers so kind, 
 
 Attend to my sorrow-wove lay. 
 
 In your flower-wreathed strains I delight. 
 Which such balm-befraught treasures impart. 
 
 As dispell the dark hazes of night. 
 
 Which encircle the pale mourner's heart. 
 
 But, alas ! the fell demons of woe. 
 Have plunged me in sorrow's abyss. 
 
 Where boisterous black waters o'erflow, 
 And drown all my joy and my bliss. 
 1 3
 
 102 
 
 I once could range over the dell, 
 
 And delight in the charms I did see ; 
 
 But now, I have bid them — " Farewell :" 
 The dells have no pleasures for nie. 
 
 I once a kind Father could boast, 
 Who in virtue my spirit did lave ; 
 
 But, to me, is that treasure now lost, 
 
 Thick grows the green turf on his grave ! 
 
 A Mother, too, once I did own, 
 
 But that bliss now no longer I claim ; 
 
 Alas! all my Heaven hath flown, 
 That name is — to me — but a name. 
 
 The moon I have view'd with delight 
 Sail along the blue sea of the sky ; 
 
 But, alas ! now how dim is her light, 
 Her beauty now all hath gone bye. 
 
 No longer I joy to behold 
 
 Yon focus of grandeur and grace ; 
 
 Spread along his red broad beams of gold, 
 O'er the landscape's thrice-beauteous face.
 
 103 
 
 I've gazed on the glories of day. 
 Enraptured the more at each view ; 
 
 But, alas ! they have all fled away, 
 The charms of the day are but few. 
 
 I have loved to ramble afar. 
 
 When night in her robes has been dress'd ; 
 But now, her remembrances are 
 
 Fresh piercings to thrill in my breast. 
 
 Full oft have I haunted the vale. 
 
 And listen'd the birds of sweet song ; 
 
 While their music enamour'd the gale, 
 That bore it with rapture along. 
 
 But, alas ! now the charms are all fled. 
 Which erst seem'd so charming to me ; 
 
 But, alas ! now, the charms are all dead. 
 Which erst wont so charming to be. 
 
 '» 
 
 ♦Some boast of \\\g\x friends ever true, 
 
 Who heal dread misfortune's deep wound ; 
 
 But, the friends in aflliction are few, 
 Methinks there's no truth in the sound.
 
 104 
 
 But yet, let me pause for a while, — 
 There 's one who 's a Friend to me still ; 
 
 Whose friendship 's unalter'd by time, 
 Whose affection is proof against ill. 
 
 And, let me consider again, — 
 I've one who I trust is sincere ; 
 
 O ! let me not mourn so — the when 
 That one will bestow me a tear. 
 
 'Tis her whom my heart doth adore. 
 Though parted away from her wide ; 
 
 Who the blessings of love has in store, 
 My rapturous soul to betide. 
 
 She is fair as Aurora's first ray. 
 Bringing light to the regions of air ; 
 
 She is sweet as the nightingale's lay, 
 Whose music engladdens the ear. 
 
 '»■ 
 
 She alone the true magnet doth prove, 
 To attract ray affections so prone 
 
 To wander thro' mazes of love. 
 Before they by her had been won.
 
 105 
 
 But, alas! that adored one's not here, 
 To soothe me when sorrows oppress ; 
 
 Save her, there is no one can cheer 
 The lorn one whom Fate doth distress. 
 
 When in my wild ramblings of thought, 
 So brightly I 've colour'd the scene ; 
 
 When my life should be joyous, and fraught 
 With the laurels of bliss ever-green. 
 
 How widely and proudly did shine 
 
 The sun of my boding around. 
 But, alas ! this wide rambling of mine. 
 
 Disappointment's bleak desart hath found. 
 
 Yes ; the dream of my bliss is all o'er. 
 That fancy so lovely had made ; 
 
 The bright dreams of my bliss are no more ; 
 Ah me ! why so soon did they fade ! 
 
 O ! when shall I rest in the tomb, 
 And sleep in the cold bed of death ? 
 
 O ! when shall I hear the sweet doom, 
 That bids me resign up my breath ?
 
 106 
 
 Then — then, I can sweetly repose, 
 
 " My grave, as myself still unknown ;" 
 
 And bless the cold coverings which close 
 On hira all whose blessings are flown. 
 
 1S27. Aug. 21. E. Lenton.
 
 107 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Z I L L A. 
 
 " The beautiful is vanished, 
 And returns not." 
 
 COLEIUDGE. 
 
 She pass'd — but left a living spell, 
 Its potence words nor strains may tell. 
 
 Nor would I have it breathed or told 
 By mortal lip, by earthly strain, 
 
 Or heard by ear of earthly mould, 
 
 O ! no ; but in ray bosom hold 
 It as a sacred thing 
 
 To which, in after-circling years 
 My spirit well might cling : 
 
 A star through each dark mist of tears. 
 And woe-enclouding gloom, 
 That anguish'd spirit to illume, 
 
 Right well I wot that after-years, 
 If mine, will mar my brow. 
 
 Dark token of my spirit's cares, 
 And crush that spirit low : —
 
 108 
 
 It hath been so ; each year that pass'd 
 Eiiscath'd me deadlier than the last ; 
 And thus 'twill ever — ever be, 
 Long as is mine mortality. 
 O ! welcome then, thou holy spell, 
 Thy potence nought of earth may tell, 
 
 O welcome to my heart, 
 
 Xor ever thence depart ; 
 
 But dwell thee there, 
 
 All pure and fair. 
 As her who cast 
 Thee when she pass'd 
 To bless me, ne'er, O, ne'er again ! 
 
 O ! hail, thy blessed — blessed charm, 
 Of half its anguish can disarm ; 
 The woe that on my spirit preys. 
 And sheds a gloom o'er all ray days.
 
 109 
 
 XL. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Sabbath of Years ! calm Vesper-hour of Life ! 
 
 How few attain thee of the Sons of Earth I 
 Thou sweet retreat from care, from toil, from strife. 
 
 Which all have known, have sufFer'd since their 
 birth ! 
 When the hot current of my youthful blood 
 
 Shall gradual sink aneath thy cooling hand, 
 When busy Life, with all its turmoil flood, 
 
 Shall waveless rest upon thy tranquil strand, 
 The bliss of Retrospection let me feel, 
 
 And let thy shades, enfraught with influence 
 bland, 
 Over Existence' noon-day softly steal. 
 
 By balmy Zephyr's evening breezes fann'd ; 
 So shall thy dews my fading sunbeams weep, 
 As slow it sets behind Life's twilight sleep. 
 
 AlFORD. J. R. QUAGMBY. 
 
 K
 
 no 
 
 XLI. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 What is Life?-'Tis a shadow, when clouds thro' 
 
 the ether 
 Are skimming along, by the light breezes borne ; 
 At the M ill of a cloudlet our brightest hopes wither, 
 And friends are from friends with rude violence 
 
 torn. 
 To a shadow how like!-but the sunbeams which 
 
 sever 
 The shade from its substance, soon beam bright as 
 
 ever 
 Restore the lost shadow ; but never-ah ! never. 
 Shall the fiiend mc have lost to our bosoms return.
 
 Ill 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A REQUEST. 
 
 Let my green grass-enmantled grave 
 Be placed beneath a willow-tree, 
 
 Whose weeping boughs shall gently wave 
 Them o'er this spot's obscurity. 
 
 Let no fantastic marble gay 
 
 Be there, the sleeper's name to own, 
 But one small stone, whose leaf shall say- 
 
 " Here rests in peace the weary one." 
 
 Let a sweet, gently-purling tide 
 There-bye in bright meanders flow, 
 
 And let two flowerets, side by side, 
 There-on in vernal beauty grow.
 
 112 
 
 Forget-me-not, — that token fair. 
 
 With blooming grace the one shall be ; 
 
 i\nd let its gentle sister bear 
 
 The blossom sweet — Remember me ! 
 
 1827, Sept. 11. E. Lbktom.
 
 113 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 GLORY AND FAME. 
 
 -" Cite me something more 
 
 Than that most empty name, 
 GLORY/ 
 
 Percy Rolle. 
 
 What is Glory ?— What is Fame ? 
 
 Warrior ! — tell me, what is glory ? 
 Thou hast sought, through flood and flame, 
 
 Carnage-fields, all scathed and gory. 
 Laurels wreathe thy prideful brow. 
 
 Trophies 'reaved from vanquish'd foemen. 
 Ah ! unlike supernal bow 
 
 Of concord the radiant omen. 
 "Curse from darkest depths of Hell," 
 Every sacred feeling's knell !" 
 K 2
 
 114 
 
 Sages ! — nightly pondering o'er 
 
 Wisdom of evanish'd ages, 
 Deeply skill'd ia mystic lore. 
 
 What is glory ? — tell me, Sages. 
 Ye, with keenly-vision'd eye. 
 
 Far into the future glancing, 
 And thro' dim antiquity. 
 
 With still keener sight elancing, 
 " Fame 's a rayless meteor pale ! 
 Glory is oblivion's veil." 
 
 What is Glory ?— What is Fame ?— 
 
 Minstrel! — tell me, what is glory ? 
 Regal child of starry-flame, 
 
 Breather of immortal story ; 
 In aerial fetters bound. 
 
 Sweep the wild chords of thy lyre, 
 Sing what thou hast glory found, 
 
 Blazing on the Spirit's pyre, 
 " Voiceless echo ! such is Fame : 
 Glory is unglowing flame."
 
 115 
 
 What is Glory ?— What is Fame ? 
 
 Christian ? — tell me, what is glory ? 
 Tell in words of earth-less flame, 
 
 Of the raptures streaming o'er thee. 
 " This is Fame, — Emmanuel died! 
 
 His atonive blood is glory ! 
 Me ua-ending joys betide. 
 
 These the raptures streaming o'er me. 
 Jesus is my spotless Fame, 
 All my glortj is His name ! "
 
 116 
 
 XLIV. 
 A FRAGMENT, 
 
 FOUND IN HIS JOURNAL. 
 
 When pleasures are sick'ning — and hope is decaying, 
 When joy for dark sorrow itself is awaying, 
 When mirth on her light wing so fleetly has borne, 
 And the throes of the heart tell it misery-worn ; 
 How brightly the thought — like a meteor of light — 
 Up-flashing forth from the dark chaos of night — 
 Darts swift o'er the spirit, illuming the soul, 
 And makes the sweet hope of each after-time roll 
 In beams all eff"ulgent on vision of mind, 
 With glance like a thought on the fast-sweeping wind,-- 
 That — there is a Home where the weary may rest. 
 Where the mourner may joy in the bliss of the Blessed. 
 
 1828. Jan. 9. E. Lenton.
 
 117 
 
 XLV. 
 
 HYMN 
 
 FOR THE SABBATH-MORN. 
 
 Hail, sacred Mora ! — Hail, holy day ! 
 For rest ordaia'd, — that man may pray 
 
 And praise his God above. 
 Thy dawn breathes peace, — thy light abates 
 Life's stormy sea, to hira who waits 
 
 With fervor, and with love. 
 
 "What holy joy — what bliss divine. 
 
 Thro' thee, bless'd Day ! with radiance shine 
 
 From Heaven, — sweet the sound ! — 
 Where in high joy, and peace serene, 
 The ransom'd Spirits ever reign ; 
 
 Where Rest alone is found.
 
 118 
 
 Where Angel-hosts, on Canaan's shore. 
 With ceaseless song their God adore ; 
 
 And all 's absorb'd in praise. 
 Where all shall one long Sabbath be, 
 And praise, thro' all Eternity, 
 
 The burden of their lays. 
 
 182G. Dec. E. Lenton. 
 
 (
 
 119 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 SACRED GRATITUDE. 
 
 When we think of HIM who made us. 
 
 The all-potent Deity ; 
 When we think of HIM who saved us. 
 
 The all-gracious Deity ; 
 HE who form'd the star- wreathed sky, 
 HE who rules the orbs on high ; 
 HE whose breath is Life and Lo\ e, 
 Mighty Monarch of Above. 
 HE who scans Eternity, 
 The Omniscient Deity ; 
 How each care-engender'd thought, 
 But with earthly feeling fraught, 
 Vanish as the mists of morn, 
 'JF/ore the glance of Sol new-born.
 
 120 
 
 What ecstatic joyance feel we, — 
 What supernal reverence feel we, — 
 Musing o'er the Word of Grace ! 
 Heaven shining on the face 
 Of each line, salvation-fraught, 
 By the blood of Jesus wrought ; 
 Streams eterr\g,l life and love. 
 Radiant beaming from above ; 
 
 Gently rear that Heavenly flower. 
 With such varied beauties hued. 
 
 Fairer blooming every hour, 
 Holy — lovely Gratitude. 
 
 1827. Sep. 28. E. Lento.-*.
 
 121 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Eben-Ezer! Praise to God ! 
 
 Who my steps hereto hath sped ; 
 By His staff, and by His roc?. 
 
 Still through all sustain'd, and led. 
 
 Rough and thorny was the way, 
 Dark and louring all around ; 
 
 But, His mercy's holy ray 
 
 Made the desart Eden-ground. 
 
 On — in light of Faith I go, 
 
 On — in strength of Hope, and Love, 
 Through this Vale of Tears below, 
 
 To my Heavenly Home above. 
 L
 
 122 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 SABBATH HYMN. 
 
 Spirit of Rest! to Thee I cry, 
 My Sabbath-deeds, O ! sanctify ; 
 
 Cause all be wrought in Thee ; 
 O ! may they through the day declare 
 My heart establish'd in thy fear, 
 
 And love, inflexibly. 
 
 Spirit of Rest ! to Thee I cry, 
 Mv Sabbath -words, O ! sanctify. 
 
 Of God to breathe alone ; 
 By testimony — prayer — and praise. 
 To magnify Salvation's grace, 
 
 In every utter'd tone.
 
 123 
 
 Spirit of Rest! to thee I cry, 
 My Sabbath-thoughts, O ! sanctify, 
 
 With influence divine ; 
 And may my hallow'd musings prove 
 All sacred to Redeeming love, 
 
 That — I am wholly Thine !
 
 124 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 H Y M N. 
 
 " All things are yours," the Spirit saith, 
 " Whose hearts receive the word, with faith." 
 My heart receives them in Thy Name ; 
 !Bach — all for mine, by faith, I claim : 
 I wait — I wait to prove them noio : 
 Spirit of Truth ! Thy gifts bestow ! 
 
 I am the Saviour's ransom'd one ; 
 The Father's seal'd, adopted son ; 
 The Holy Witness now I feel. 
 And thus with confidence appeal. 
 I M'ait — I wait to [)rove them now. 
 Spirit of Truth ! Thy gifts bestow.
 
 J 25 
 
 L. 
 
 ODE TO DEATH. 
 
 Death ! mighty King ! 
 
 How dread doth ring: 
 Thy awful name in circles gay, 
 
 Where mirth doth reign, 
 
 'Mid pleasure's train 
 Of varied joys, with transient sway. 
 
 No mercies deck 
 
 Thy quailing wreck 
 Of bliss in bud, of hope serene, 
 
 But crush'd are all, 
 
 When by thy call, 
 They moulder 'neath earth's turfy green. 
 L 3
 
 126 
 
 The monarch's sway, 
 
 The poet's lay, 
 Each fail to arrest thy dread approach. 
 
 Thy icy stream. 
 
 Admits no beam 
 Of Life's fond hopes to there encroach. 
 
 But Christians hear, 
 
 Devoid of fear. 
 Thy nigh advance, resign'd and calm, 
 
 They bid adieu 
 
 To all below. 
 Freed from the pangs of dark alarm. 
 
 All pageant pride 
 
 Is cast aside ; 
 Far banish'd by thy stern command ; 
 
 But virtue bright 
 
 As day's noon-light,: 
 Ne'er dims beneath thy blanching hand. 
 
 The Hero's seen. 
 With Beauty's Queen, 
 In lifeless clay to be consign'd,
 
 127 
 
 In youthful bloom, 
 To early tomb, 
 By thee, terrific King, assign'd. 
 
 But soon shall end, 
 
 And none attend, 
 Thy mandate stern, — ^thy lengthful reign ; 
 
 Quell'd by the ray 
 
 Of endless Day ; 
 Nor thou, nor Time be known again. 
 
 1826. Oct. 26. E. Lenton.
 
 128 
 
 LI. 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 From « MUTABILITY ;" an unfinished Poem. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 What is Love ? 
 
 Fair Landon, tell, 
 
 With thy passion-utter'd spell. 
 Legends say it first was given 
 Pure and unalloy'd, from Heaven, 
 Charming all the raptured soul. 
 To its mystical controul. 
 
 But, that bless'd boon of the skies 
 
 Lost its all in Paradise. 
 
 « • «
 
 129 
 
 THE SUN. 
 
 Yon Sun, so gorgeous and so bright. 
 Robed in majesty of light. 
 Low must veil its radiant head 
 In Oblivion's darkest bed. 
 And no more his glance of gold. 
 Shall the lingering eye behold. 
 
 When his brilliant course is o'er. 
 Low he sets, to rise no more. 
 
 « « « 
 
 THE MOON. 
 
 E'en yon Moon, so bright above, 
 Emblem fair of purest love, 
 In that dark, that fateful hour, 
 Eke shall lose her shining power. 
 And no more in sacred hue. 
 Shall she speed her way of blue 
 O'er the welkin proud and high — 
 Pathway of the Deity ! 
 
 * * * 
 
 THE STARS. 
 
 E'en yon orbs which star on high, 
 Wonderous brilliants of the sky,
 
 130 
 
 They must end their course in night ; 
 They must pale their radiant light ; 
 Vanish with their glory thence, 
 Hurled by OiMNiPOTENCE ! 
 They must leave their homes of blue ; 
 Know no more the course they knew ; 
 Yet, their glory still must be, — 
 
 Mortal — immortality ! 
 
 * » * 
 
 ADAM. 
 
 Where is he — Creation's Sire ? 
 
 Offspring of Primeval-fire ! 
 
 *■ * * 
 
 ALEXANDER. 
 
 Where is He — the world who won, 
 Macedonia's conquering son. 
 Where his regal coronet, 
 With the gems of victory set ? 
 There was witchery in the sound 
 That elated hero bound. 
 
 Yet his laurels, carnage-wrought. 
 By the blood of nations bought,
 
 131 
 
 Might not peer with those were won, 
 On thy plain, O Marathon. 
 
 * s; * 
 CARTHAGE AND ROME. ' 
 
 Hliere is Carthage of the Foam ? 
 Where is proud Imperial Rome ! 
 Where her Eagles, — sternly spread 
 
 O'er the world their wings of dread ? 
 
 ^if * * 
 
 THE GAEL. 
 
 Where are they of Ossian's song, — 
 
 Fingal, with his warrior-throng ? 
 
 * * * 
 
 CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Where is He — the Lion-king ? 
 Where his deeds of wonderintr ? 
 Where the blood-stained Infidel 
 'Neath his glaive of vengeance fell. 
 When he swept Judea's plain. 
 That the Cross might rise again — 
 Rise in glory — proudly shine, 
 On thy fields, O Palestine ! 
 
 * * *
 
 132 
 
 BARDS. 
 
 "Where are they who swept the lyre, 
 
 In the pride of minstrel-fire, 
 
 When the holy tocsin rung, 
 
 And their Chieftain's deeds they sung ? 
 
 They in death have pass'd along, 
 
 Buried with the Voice of Song. 
 
 * * * 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 Where is He ? — the nobler far. 
 Where the Rlinstrel-patriot-star, 
 Where his deeply-sounding lyre. 
 Fraught with strange mysterious fire ? 
 
 Ah ! that harp, it sounds not now, 
 Nor its tones immortal flow ; 
 For the voice of Byron slumbers, 
 Hush'd its wild and pensive numbers. 
 * * * 
 
 1827. May 23. E. Lenton.
 
 133 
 
 LII. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN IN PROSPECT OF DEATH. 
 
 " The dreams of youth — the dreams of youth, 
 
 Of Passion's glow, and Friendship's truth," 
 
 Illume my youthful soul no more ; 
 
 On margin of that awful shore, 
 
 TV here all is dark, unknown and deep, 
 
 As secrets of the ocean sleep. 
 
 Like splendors " of expiring day," 
 
 Their glories^ in remembrance play, 
 
 As round the moon its halo fair. 
 
 Or bow that spans the weeping air. 
 
 O but for these', my life had been 
 One dark, forlorn, and cheerless scene ; 
 And Oh ! it ivas all dark — forlorn, 
 E'en from the opening of its morn ; 
 
 M
 
 134 
 
 Its morn which broke in storm and gloom. 
 
 My course presaging to the tomb. 
 
 But yet, when cheer'd by starry glow. 
 
 My spirit felt not all its woe ; 
 
 And O, 'ticus cheer'd by starry fire. 
 
 Of Love, and Friendship, and the Lyre : 
 
 But love and friendship pass'd away. 
 Alone is left to me the lay. 
 I mourn me not those visions gone ; — 
 Upon their silent wings hath flown 
 My soul, long since, from all of earth, 
 And all that breathes of mortal birth. 
 I would but live to wield the brand. 
 In concert with the freeman-band, 
 The battle-charge who proudly brave, 
 From despot-thrall their land to save : 
 I would but live to wake the strain 
 Of holy triumph o'er the chain 
 In pieces dash'd, by Osman flung 
 Around the land where Homer sung; 
 And where the proud "Athenian* won 
 The dccdhless day of Marathon ! 
 
 * Miltiades.
 
 135 
 
 This may not be — this may not be, 
 
 Such blissful day awaits not me. 
 
 Awaits me not ! — I deem me wrong, 
 
 For though on earth I wake no song, 
 
 Exultant o'er the carnage fray, 
 
 Shall blanch the Crescent's sheen for aye ; 
 
 Yet shall my spirit round the wale 
 
 Of proud Thermopylae, on gale 
 
 That fans the Red-Cross banner's wing, 
 
 Its aerial harp's glad numbers fling, 
 
 Where thine, dear Lenton, sweetly swells, 
 
 As soothly dreaming fancy tells. 
 
 With that fair form which first enwove 
 
 Around my heart the toils of love. 
 
 Alfoud, April 14th, 1829.
 
 136 
 
 LIII. 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 Beneath yon willow's weeping shade, 
 Sweet child of woe, and softest ruth. 
 
 In pillow'd rest a while to fade, 
 
 Sleeps beauty, — innocence, — and youth. 
 
 llcr opening bloom was heavenly fair, 
 And love soon her young bosom lit ; 
 
 Alas ! — the joys which centred there 
 To last were far too exquisite. 
 
 That heart, — so true, as forra'd above. 
 And, O ! that stainless breast, — so pure, 
 
 To feel the sad decay of love. 
 Such feeling never could endure.
 
 137 
 
 Within the grave, divinely bless'd, 
 
 She 's found a dreamless, sweet repose ; 
 
 And none shall break that slumberer's rest, 
 Or wake the memory of her woes. 
 
 How brightly beam'd that sapphire eye — 
 That now — alas ! — can beam no more ; 
 
 How soon its vieless witchery, 
 
 As Beauty's brightest star, is o'er ! 
 
 Her sigh — was such from zephyrs flow, 
 When stealing from the rose away ; 
 
 And O ! how bright the ruddy glow 
 That on her cheek luxuriant lay. 
 
 Her smile — that shone so sweet around, 
 Seem'd form'd but for the heart's controul, 
 
 Her melting voice — harmonious sound. 
 
 Breathed Heaven's own miisic o'er the soul. 
 
 Alas ! the floweret — pride of May, 
 
 So blooming, and so beautiful, 
 How oft is first to know decay. 
 
 And wither 'neath the seeker's cull. 
 M 3
 
 138 
 
 That sapphire eye — so bright before. 
 Ah lue ! its beaming beauty 's clone ; 
 
 That smile — such heavenly brightness wore, 
 Has vanished, gone, — for ever gone. 
 
 The music of that voice — is not, 
 
 That once could charm the soul away ; 
 
 That breast — to heave has quite forgot. 
 Where tenderest of all movement lay. 
 
 That form, — of grace the fairest mould, 
 Is sunk in dark , and rayless gloom ; 
 
 And all that eye could there behold 
 To grace its beauty, lost their bloom. 
 
 How oft she'd seek the leafy grove. 
 In morn's delicious, golden hours, 
 
 To list the warbled tones of love, 
 In music from the greenwood bowers. 
 
 Or, when the Eve, embathed in red, 
 Flush'd beauty o'er the western sky. 
 
 She'd seek some stream that brightly spread 
 Its waters 'neath the violet's eye.
 
 139 
 
 And there the lovely Solitaire, 
 
 Of that sweet hour her soul would balm ; 
 As if the peace that slumber'd there, 
 
 The swellings of her breast could calm. 
 
 But, ah ! the soothing of that hour, 
 Was as the meteor's phantom-light, 
 
 That only flashes shining power, 
 To gloom the soul in deeper night. 
 
 But, in the grave, divinely bless'd. 
 She 's found a dreamless, sweet repose, 
 
 And none shall break that slumberer's rest, 
 Or wake the memory of her woes. 
 
 1828. Mat 23. E. Lenton.
 
 M51SS(Q)Sm 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 EDWARD LENTON. 
 
 FROM THE BOSTON GAZETTE. 
 
 ' Several months have glided by since some poetic eft'itsioiw 
 from the mind of the Youth, whose name heads this article, 
 were offered to public notice. These specimens abounded 
 in tender sympathies, and were acknowledged to bear evi- 
 dence of the luxuriant buddings of a Genius destined, as then 
 imagined, to form one day a bright star in the literary he- 
 misphere. In those productions, evidence was given of a 
 powerful talent, when time and circumstances should 
 develope and mellow the imagination, and already had fancy 
 sketched a brilliant halo to encircle his name, and hand it 
 down to posterity with the many splendid instances of re- 
 warded genius. But how frequently has it occurred, that 
 the flame whic\cherished the ardour of juvenile talent, has 
 consumed the spirit j so that while the world has been led to
 
 142 
 
 hope the most it has been disappointed, and the fate of 
 I^ENTON adds anotlier instance to the melancholy train in 
 which the shades of Ciiatterton, Keates, Kirke White, 
 and Wolfe, pass silently before the pitying world, so that 
 thus tnily may we say of this unfortunate youth, 
 
 '* While life was in its spring. 
 
 And thy young muse just stretch'd its joyous wing, 
 
 The spoiler came, and all thy promise fair 
 
 Hath sought the grave, — to sleep for ever there." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 ' A slight sketch of this gifted son of poesy will not be mis- 
 placed here, because the public will then learn best to 
 appreciate the talent he possessed, and the promise held out 
 of brighter things to come. He was born at a village named 
 Hogsthorpe, October 29tli, 1812. When ^seven years old, he 
 lost his Father, who rented a farm in that village ; and pre- 
 viously had death deprived him of his Mother. Thus be- 
 coming an orphan in his infancy, his mind naturally became 
 tinctured with melancholy retrospection. Joy was to him 
 indeed a stranger ; and thus, from constantly brooding over 
 his sorrows, he imbibed a lonely feeling, which led him into 
 solitudes where his imagination revelled on the scenes of 
 misery and death, which he "afterwards so eloquently de- 
 picted, and admirably embodied in 'several of his poems. 
 The precise period at which he first expressed his thoughts
 
 143 
 
 in poesy is not known, but it is supposed to have been at aa 
 age, when even" the thoughts indulged in are rarely possessed 
 by youth. When about twelve years old, he is known to 
 have composed several finished pieces ; a fragment of one is 
 still retained. The subject is " LiuERxy," and in the lines 
 now existing, the following thought occurs, which, though 
 comparatively common, must still be regarded as a singular 
 effusion from such a boy : 
 
 " Where Slavery's dark, despotic stream. 
 With angry surges qnench'd thy beam, 
 Do thou extend thy heavenly sway 
 To lands enthrall'd, that they thy ray, 
 Thy genial ray, may quickly see, 
 And rise to peace and bliss thro' thee." 
 
 ' For a short period he was placed in the office of Messrs. 
 Green and Carter, Solicitors, Spalding, from whence, how- 
 ever, he was removed to that of Mr. Wilson, Solicitor, 
 Alford, where he devoted himself to studying the dry details 
 of law-practice, and gave up his leisure hours to the favorite 
 pursuit of his boyhood — Poesy. His effusions still bore the 
 impression of the same melancholy spirit which shadowed 
 his brief career : on the 2Gtli Oct. 182G, being then under 
 fourteen years of age, he composed his Ode to Death, (page 
 125—127.)
 
 144 
 
 * He is reported to have spent a great portion of his nights 
 in shadowing the ]/leas whicli floated so copiously from his 
 pen, and in the indulgence of his melancholy musings. The 
 effect of these protracted studies hecanie apparent — he sick- 
 ened, pined, and died. The world annoyed him with its 
 cares ; sorrows rushed in upon him as a flood, and, little 
 versed in the ways of mankind, lie betook himself to his 
 studies whenever a quiet hour might be enjoyed. He died, 
 as stated in our paper, on the 11th June. 
 
 ' Thus lias perished a genius promising richly for after- 
 years. The poems left by him are intended for publication, 
 and they will confirm the account wc have given. 
 
 " AVhora the Gods love, die young."' — 
 
 Boston Gazette, July 8, 1828. 
 
 JOlSPn CLARKE, PRI.\TER, MARKET-PLACE, BOSTOK.
 
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