• e ■ K C L E y LJORARY UNIVERSITY Of CALIFORNIA A SONGS OF LYMINGTON, BY HENEY DOMAN, AUTHOR OF "THE CATHEDRAL AND OTHER POEMS," &*S* < 3& — LONDON : SiMrKiN, Marshall, & Co. Salisbuey ; Bnoww & Co., Canal. Lyminoton : II. Doman. 1807. LOAN STACK ERRATA. Pago 36, line 5, read—" The day went down." Tage 72, line 1, read—" In this fair scene not out of place." Page 164, line 15, read—" And sink forgotten in the shade." INDEX. Lymington .... . . . .page 1 The Waning Year 4 A Garden Thought 7 Here and There .... 12 Burnet .... 18 The Nightingale 21 England's Glory 24 The Lost Friend .... 28 Time . . .... 30 Memory .... .... Sing, River , M The Bride .... 48 Molly and 7. . . . M God' 8 If ill .... 48 Muijgie Blake . . .... 5S Lilies of ilw Valley . . 55 Ball .... .... a IV. The Gift of Flowers The Street and the River The Fancy Ball (Newlands) The Wave The Old Chwch Organ My Lady's Place . . , , Long Ago .... .... The Last Minstrel .... Evermore .... .... Sunday Morning .... Night .... .... The Sleepless Night .... The Coming of the King Hurst Castle .... Franky Brown .... The Spectres of Buchland Rings Leila (A Memorial) .... Fiddlers' Race .... The Groaning Tree of Baddesley The Seven Brothers .... The Singer in the Valley Thou Renewest the Face of the Earth The Saxon Relic in Romsey Abbey , .page 154 Talk o y W Hill ... 159 Not Yet 162 The Home Minstrel .... 165 Ellen Somer8 .... 169 The Pestilence .... 171 The Captain's Wife .... 175 The Wreck of the "London" , 179 The Forest Nook .... , 184 The Grave by the River , 187 The Seer . 190 TEE SECOND VOLUME. A year or two ago into the world An unpretentious booh of song I sent, Much fearing such hold emprise to repent. Some look'd uponH with mighty scorn, and curled Disdainful lips, loud wondering what was meant By such presumption ; some, to mercy bent, Suspended judgment, read, and gave it place With nobler volumes ; some there were indeed, Who praised it slightly for poetic grace And promise in the future, though not much : And there were some who in those rhymes the touch Of minstrel true discerned, and bade me sing Again in mine own fashion : unto such, Embolden' d, I another offering bring. Vll. A wreath of melodies, that many cares And sorrows of a graver cast, have made Bear to the singer, singing in the shade Of a cold world : some psalms it hath, and prayers, A few low symphonies and solemn airs, Stray gleams of fancy, broken thoughts that play Round memory's misty mountains, still and grey ; Here shade and shine commingle, natures scenes Lie mirror* d in the music, fair and clear ; And if some note of sadness intervenes, To move the tender heart, and ash a tear — Are there not clouds to dim the brightest day ? Forgive such tribute to the lost and dear — A few names that I laved, remembered here, And left, enshrined in song, along my way. LYMINGTON : TO ' Beautiful is Lymington, Terraced by the sea : Queenly from her wooded steep. She looks down upon the doep, "Whcro on sinning beaches leap Waves oxultingly. Stately, about Lymington, Biso tlio forosts gram I : LYMINGTOST. Mighty trunk and mossy limb, Vast, innumerable, dim, Shadow many a river's brim, Wandering through the land. Fair lieth Lymington, Listening to the sweet Song the merry lark doth make, Singing for sweet singing's sake : Every note that falls, a flake Of music, at her feet. Pleasant paths hath Lymington, Flowery ways, and fair ; Shelter' d glades and sunny fields, Shades wherein the mavis builds, Slopes the dying sunset gilds With heav'nly glories rare. LTOIKGTON. Maidens sweet hath Lymington, Stately men and tall : But the fairest thing to me Is the friend she gave ; and he Ever to my heart shall be, The dearest of them all. Songs are these of Lymington, In spare moments sung : These a poet's gift I make ; These I ask of you to take, For sweet love, and for the sake Of days when we woro young. THE WANING YEAE. u Let us weep for the waning year ! " I heard three sorrowful voices say : The first was a robin singing clear, The second a wind that hover'd near, The third a river, through meadows drear, Travelling its lonely way. u Weep, weep ! " the,robin he said : II The days are dreary ; the night is cold ; The fruits have fallen j the leaves are shed j THE WANING YEAE. 5 The lily hath withered ; the rose is dead ; There's a pall of snow in the garden spread For the year so grey and old." "Weep, weep ! " sang the mourning wind, A voice in the tree-tops bare and high, Where the pale green ivy sits entwined, And mistletoe gleams on the oaken rind ; " Weep for the year so old and blind ; The year that is near to die." "Weep," — sang the river — "weep to-day ! " And the willows wept by the sobbing shoro : And golden shallow and sandy bay To the swordod sodgo and rushoe groy, Said, " Woop for the friond that must pass away; Tho yoar wo shall soo no nn 6 THE WAKING YEAR. The voices sad rang a sorrowful chime, Mournful and sweet to a poet's ear ; My soul with the cadence was beating time, And memory wept for a vanished prime, And I wove the music into a rhyme — And a song for the dying year. A GARDEN THOUGHT. If kind looks had but power On tree, and herb, and flower, How would my garden bloom ! Could I, whene'er I please, Bid the soft southern broezo Bring balm here and perfume, now would my roses glow : How fairest buds would blow i now would their spices flow Bonoath Unit summer sky ! A GAEDEIT THOUGHT: Black blight should flee away, Nor caterpillar slay, Nor festering mildew stay ; Nor beauty ever die. Each wind that came should kiss Ivy and clematis, Whose leaves should toy and twine With fragrant flowering bean, And honeysuckles green, Bound ev'ry bow'r of mine. Pansies of velvet jet, With polyanthus set ; Primrose and mignonette ; ♦Should blossom where I went : Clove and carnation red, For me should ever shed Their soul-reviving scent. A GARDEN THOUGHT. The snowdrop all the year Should bare her bosom clear, — A saint, to God most dear : Each primrose that came up Should never, never fade, But an immortal maid, Should from her golden cup, Drink sweet dews as they fall From Eden's crystal wall. Fair lilies white and tall Should all my borders grace : And king-cup and jonquil, Myrtle and daffodil, Should, through all changos, still Ilavo hero thoir dwelling placo. Through all tlio flying hours, 1M liavo my garden bow'rs 10 A GARDEN THOUGHT. Crown' d with undying flowers : And in their pleasant shade, Should summer music ring ; Here the dark merle should bring His tales of love and spring ; And songs by angels made, The tenderer mavis sing. And when the day grew pale, Then should the nightingale Flood all the listening vale With her sweet sorrowing. Beauty should never fly, Nor love, nor melody. Ah me ! how vain the thought ! Yet in my fancy, not Without some comfort fraught, — Some glimpse of that pure lore A GARDEN THOUGHT. 11 And wisdom from above, Instinct with light and love, That God's white-winged Dove Brings to this earthly shore. May not a gentle face, And tender words of grace, Bring into every place A glory and a spell, That shall with magic rare, Make human gardens fair, Where all is bleak and bare, Where evil passions dwell ? Oh lovo ! oh tender light, That makest darkness bright I Who shall declare thy might ? Who shall thy magic 1. 11 ? 12 HEBE AND THEEE. When the Sabbath noon of rest Crowns the many-laboured week, They who know and love us best Have not very far to seek, Would they find my wife and me Sitting with our children three. Yet we have six darlings fair ; Three are here, and three are there : Here and there! HERE AND TIIERE. 13 Three have left a world of sin ; Little pilgrims soon at home : Early privilege to win That for which we longer roam. Three fair scions of our raco Still give life its tender grace ; Three whom death's cold hand did spare, Three are hero, and three are there : Here and there ! It is on such hallow'd noons, They como clustering round my knees, Singing holy hymns and tunes, — Littlo, rfmplfl HK'lmlioB. Then we count them, ono by one ; Two IWMl duughtors, a dear »on : 14 HERE AND THERE. Six there were ; the sum is clear : Three are there, and three are here : There and here. As a miser sadly tells Golden pieces that are few ; As the night on silent dells Slowly droppeth silver dew ; So we count them — so we weep, Inly mourning ; grief lies deep : Though the face a calm may wear, Thoughts will wander here and there ; Here and there ! Yet in grieving we are glad ; Comfort mingles with our sighs ; Two fair daughters, one bright lad ; These, with their clear-shining eyes, Tender, loving, trusting, true, HERE AKD THERE. 15 Spread o'er life a rosy hue, Rainbows set in clouds of care : Eainbows are not needed there ; Here, not there ! There ! — where death has never crept; There ! — where trouble never falls ; There ! — where tears are never wept ; Sin no more the soul appals : Through the radiant gates that shine Golden, oh thou wife of mine ! Darlings three in doath most dear, Early pass'd ; and three are hero : There, and hero ! So upon thoso statod times, From some pressing care releobM, On our ears the tondor chimes railing, \xv prcparo a feast: 16 HERE AND THERE* Nuts, that make a sober show, Oranges of golden glow, Apple ruddy, mellow pear, Spread for darlings here, not there ; Here, not there ! These we take and pour the wine ; Then on memory's voyage bound, While the little faces shine, Tiny glasses make their round. Tiny glass to tiny lip ; Tiny tipplers take a sip ; One bright boy, two daughters fair, Softly lisping, — " here and there ! " " Here, and there ! n ft Here, and there!" — the words are said: Only two of five can tell HERE AND THERE. 17 What is by the toast convoyed, — "What its hidden, soothing spell. Yet we prize the blessed grief; "Would not ask a day's relief ; Bind it to us with a prayer, Blonding ever, "hero with there." Here, and there ! Here, and there ; and there, and here ! On two worlds our spirits L i Earth is lovely : hoax -'i: Like the Angel of t h. ! Foot on ooeaa, fool on I So our souls divided stand. Chi! i thore! re, and thore! SUNSET. Slowly, proudly, bear him to his grave In the western sea : Lay his fading beams along the wave ; Beams that made the morn so fair and brave, When his golden sword the darkness clave ; When, serene and free, Came the daylight from her crystal cave, And through heav'n her flaming chariots drave In royal pageantry. SUNSET. 19 Music sighing, waileth in the troos : Tender, dying falls Fill the air, and mingle with tho sea's Sterner, deeper, grander melodies : Ocean-harpings wander with tho breozo : Cloudy, golden palls Dusky, hang along the palaces, Whoro from earth tho sadden' d gazer sees Glory's broken walls. Oli, yo clouds, that bear his mighty hearso ! Trail your crimson plumos ! Sing a dirge, sing dirgos in sad vorso, Mountain winds that moan through all your fire ! Bond, <>h woods! and your groon hoads immoreo In doopost shades and glooms : Sing a dirgo, sing dirgos; and rohoareo All his majesty whom Night in ton Within Iu«r pla06 of tuinhs. 20 SUNSET. Sing a dirge, sing dirges ; oh ye waves, To your mountains hoar ! Wander, wailing, weeping, through your caves. Sob, oh sea, above thy many graves ! Gleam again, oh dying light that paves Ocean's western floor ! Gleam again, oh light upon the waves ! "Lo, the day is dead !" — the night wind raves, — " Dead for evermore I " 21 THE NIGHTINGALE. When tlio day hath sunk to d And the moon, all pure and Xhrongh thoslcy, a queen doth n Where tl J a tho valloy groon and doop, — "Woop, ("— w '< , Hu [ghtingale. 22 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, — Weep, — weep ! " — Of the nightingale. Dark and dim the shadows creep O'er the dwellings in the vale, Bound the castle's broken keep, And the crags along the steep : Through the silence comes the "weep,- Weep, — weep ! " — Of the nightingale. And my darling lies asleep : Very still her face, and pale : THE NIGHTINGALE. 23 Dim tlie lines that round it creep ; And her slumber is so doop, That I cannot choose but weep, — Weep, — weep ! — With the nightingale. 24 ENGLAND'S GLOEY. Thy glory standeth, England, at the full: A sun, in whose meridian splendour fades The light of Greece or Borne; whose brightness shades All other : a great country, in whose rule Half this old planet rests — the other hopes. Star of the nations through the deepening years ! Fair is thy shield and radiant : none shall shame The land that freedom to the world endears. England's glory. Science and song for thee, — arts, arms, — unfold Each day an ampler page, a wider fame. The blessing of great Solomon is thine, In majesty and wisdom, pow'r and gold ; And thine the stores of plenty ; corn and wino. God stands, as Joshua, on the purple slopes Of history — bids the light of thy renown To shine with increase never to go down. For God, thy God, hath long anointed thee With joy above thy fellows ; and hath sot Thee in the place whero many thrones havo mot ; And giv'n thoo all the kingdoms of the sea, The riches of the land, the master-key Of commerce, and the tolls of all tho world. i sprinkled thee with tho pure salt losoth not its savour, — many-pearled. in that red emblem on thv Qa$ unfurled In oquatorial climes, on polar snows, 26 England's glory. East, west, or north, — the terror of thy foes ; Its glory spreading without break or halt, Bounded alone by fair creation's arch, — We trace the secret of thy mighty march. Art thou not the king's daughter, fair within, And clad in glorious garments, golden- wrought ? Are not fair truth, faith, honor, duty, — brought To thee, — sweet sisters of thy race and kin ? Are not thy children princes, born to win Fame for all love of great deeds, and high thought, And noble emprise ? Do not the distress' d Of the wide world find refuge near thy feet ? Thou mother of the weary, art thou not The patriot's mother, home, and place of rest? Do not th' eternal waves, that round thee beat, Sing thee of all lands loveliest and best — The beauteous realm — the pearl of the blue sea — The priceless gom o' the world, by God confess' d : England's glory. Beneath whose flag the chained slave grows free ? He touches liberty who touches thee. The crested billows breaking on thy rocks, These are thy watch-dogs, surly in their play, Faithful to thee ; in their unruly way Guarding thy shores, and shaking their green locks And great sea-manes by every cliff and bay. The organ- winds, whose anthems clash and roll With peals of storm and glory through the skies, These are thy choristers, whose voices rise Chanting to Him whose mighty hands control Creation — who hath made thoo great and wiso. Thus guardod, thus bosung, lo ! thou dost sit A qucon of nations, girdled with the sea, Ami crownM with many crowns ; yot, as is fit, Wearing thorn all for TTim who gavo thorn all to thoo. 28 THE LOST FEIEND. A friend I had : I lov'd him well : None dearer to my heart could be : But in that heart there tolls a bell Of death ; for he is dead — to me. At church and market still his talk Is heard : he wanders by the sea : In busy streets he's known to walk : Yet ho is but a ghost — to me. TIIE LOST FRIEND. 29 He died some time ago : that is, His truth expired, as it might be; And friendship's lamp was broken : this Is fact, that he is dead — to me. Ilis death was sudden, like the flame Of lightning falling in the sea : Grim falsehood, the foul murderer, came, And slew him dead — that is, to me. I wept for him, as those who weep For losses that eternal 1 laid him in He'll Q€ l With bttfc r grief, lam l v, : I I, and] 30 TIME. There is a silent foe that steals, Day after day, Our goods away : We may not hear his horses' heels ; His chariot rolls on noiseless wheels ; His ear is deaf to all appeals : In vain we pray — " Let Friendship stay ! Oh, give to Love a long delay ! " TIME. 31 To other hearts his heart ho steels ; With equal hands he sternly doals ; He smites to slay : And visions gay, And glory's ray, And love and friendship — whero arc they? He spreads green moss on stately walls ; Ho planteth in ancestral halls Seeds that shall play, And swing, and sway, In loaves that wave where ruin calls ; Whore, stono from stono, tho building falls; And through i Whoro, opon to the night and dfl Old splendours sink in alow de<; And terror tin fonfl ln-ai 32 TIME. All to his cruel touch must yield : He weareth down The helm, the crown, The cross on knighthood's sculptured shield : He laughs at legends of renown ; He treats the monarch as the clown. He steals her beauty from the fair : Her grace and pride He skulks beside : He bends her stately form with care. With silver sprinkles, hero and there, He dims her glorious flowing hair : He wrinkles all her maiden bloom ; He scores her brow with lines of doom : He takes the lustre from her eyes, Youth's pearly tints, and vermeil dyes j TIMBv 33 He cools affection, true and tried : Alike with bridegroom and with bride, His cruel, cruel fingers dare To break the knot that lovo hath tied, That God hath own'd and sanctified. Ho makes a thousand ploasures fade : He lives our dearest hopes to kill : At every turn of lifo's long hill, no waits in deadly ambuscade. His plans aro made ; His snares aro laid : And doath, obediont to his will, Stands ready, — waiting, waiting I Ho swoops tho nations liko the leavos Of autumn, fffan tlio wind is high : no soos all generations dio : Eel I < entoziei in sheaves. 34 TIME. He liftetli up nor voice nor cry, Through endless years Of smiles and tears ; A silent reaper, pausing never. By mortal griefs untouch' d, unstirred ; With stealthy hand, unseen, unheard, He reapeth, reapeth on for ever ! 35 MEMOEY. The soul may wander in a country 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 homo ; it givoth to the raptured ri| Things that hare faded, forms that were most door : Thoroin sweet voices fall upon the Long silont in doath's nigl It hath tho blooming fields, tho wator'd glades, Tho old church pathway through tho woodland 36 MEMORY. It keeps the love that we have lost ; it holds The buds of life the crimsons and the golds, And glories with which God did deck the skies, When in the dying west, The day when down with awful pageantries, And the green earth had rest : When all things beauteous had a living tongue : The hallow' d, halcyon days when we were young. It hath its churches and cathedrals dim, And bells of mellow sound ; Service, and sacred song, and requiem, And consecrated ground ; Wherein the dearest things we had are laid, But not for ever, as in this cold earth, Where death hath an eternal silence made, And keeps his prisoners bound. £ttbt . MEMORY. 37 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 birth : — The sire, with reverent head ; The mother, laden with her cares for all ; The long-lost, long- wept little ones that fled Like summer birds departing ere their timo ; Bright manhood, stricken down in early prime ; And holy maids, white lilies of the Lord, Lifting clear hands above us with the blessing Of peace. Tho dead wife comes to us rostorod In beauty ; soothes tho heart with lovo's caressing, Kissos away the gathoring tears that toll Of griof ; and brings a calm inoila It is a hallowed land, Shaded with tenderness, and rounded off 38 MEMORY. With sorrow. They alone may understand Its sweetness, who have sorrowed. They who scoff At tears, when love hath suffer' d, may not dwell Therein, nor touch its shore, nor breathe its calm. There is a mighty swell Of waves along its border all must pass : A troublous voyage : he who loveth well Eides through wild waters to a " sea of glass ; " Then lands, and gathers, as he travels, balm : A wanderer, travel- weary, tempest-toss' d, Finding again the treasures he had^lost. Where is this peaceful strand, Whose light has never shone on earth or sea ? Tell us, oh poet, where this land may be. The light is that of sorrow, and the land Is Memory! 39 SING, EIYEE! Sing, river ! To thy dewy meads, Whero green sedges quivor 'Mid the whispering reeds. Whoro tho willow lowly weeps ( )\ a thy crystal flowing deeps ; Whoro tho goldon lily sleeps. Sing, river! Sing! 40 sing, o river! Sing, river ! Where in pleasant dells, Nature hangeth ever Buds and broider'd bells. Tender fragrance there is made, Where within the leafy shade, Boses bloom and roses fade : Sing, river ! Sing! Sing, river ! To the listening hills : Thy glad music ever Through all nature thrills. The lone mavis comes to sing In the boughs that o'er thee swing, Laden with the leaves of spring. Sing, river ! Sing! SING, o river! 41 Sing, river ! To the golden day, Slanting sunbeams shiver, With thy waves at play ; Where upon thy shining brim, Moving to thy mellow hymn, Diamond-flashing sparkles swim. Sing, river ! Sing, river ! To the silent moon, Listoning for ever To thy silver tune. From thoir bods in the blue doop, On thy tondor face to peep^ Ono by one the planets creep. Sing, riyor ! Sing! 42 SING, O KIVEE ! Sing, river! To the changing year, Flowing, flowing ever, Musical and clear. Spring shall still with beauty blow, Summer shine and autumn glow, Winter come with cloud and snow. Sing, river ! Sing! Sing, river ! Ring thy silver bells ; May thy music never Cease in these green dells. In the stilly summer noon, And at night to the sad moon, Singing an eternal tune. Sing, river ! Sing! 43 THE BEIDE. To shady Brockenliurst she came, When summer days were young, And roses lit with crimson flame, In conscious beauty hung. The thrushes warbled forth her name ; The merle her wolcomo sung. The brook's low tuno, tho hum of bees, Went up from woodlands fair ; Joy whisper' d in tho waving trees Love wandor'd tlirough tho air ; Swoot voices, floating on tho breeze, Wero talking everywhere. 44 THE BKEDE. The dames and greybeards of the place Their lady came to greet ; They lov'd her for her tender grace, Her voice, so low and sweet ; And children, when they saw her face, Play'd fearless at her feet. The day-beam on the grassy slope Lay, golden-bright and broad, Symbol of love's fair horoscope Sun-painted on the sod ; Broad, bright, and golden, as the hope We sent in pray'r to God. We bless* d her, and gave in her name To heav'n, with heart sincere ; And, — as the rose brake into flame, And songs came on the ear, — We knew that heav'n had heard the same, And made the answer clear. 45 MOLLY AND I. We sate at the farmers festal board, That was spread with Christmas cheer ; With fruit wo had gathor'd from autumn's hoard; And tho roost beof and tho beer. Wo carolTd a glorious wealth of song ; Our hoarta with mirth did fl Tlir \\ it ran lmhl, tho alo was strong, And the ma it iwi bI did go. 46 MOLLY AND I. The fiddler, he is a merry man, Although he may not see : He'll sit in the blaze as long as he can, With his fiddle for company. We made the fiddler stand by the wall, And the "Kigs of Barley" play: We said — " strike up when you hear us call — One, two, and three — and away ! " The farmer, — so long dead and gone — Was burly then, and young : He laugh' d as Betty was kissed by John, Where the mistletoe bough was hung. And Molly and I were in our prime, Though now we're bent and grey : We courted first in the sweet spring time, When she was the Queen of the May. MOLLY AND I. 47 The fiddler, lie kept time with, his foot, And many a jig played he ; And Molly and I, we followed suit In " Sir Boger de Coverley." There are three green hillocks in yon church- yard, We could'nt see then, I ween : For babes have died, and times boon hard, Now and that time between. But Molly and I, up life's long hill, Through ovory kind of woathor, Have travolTd ; and if it bo God's will, Would end the journoy togethor. Tho Christmas timo is a blossod timo ; Though anothor we may not see ; And tho bolls arc ringing as sweet a chimo, As thoy rang and mo. 48 GOD'S HILL. Who shall into the holy place ascend, Or gain admittance through the golden gate, Where angel hands have reared in pomp and state The temple of the universe : where bend In lowly reverence and love, the great Spirits of every earth, who from the end Of worlds remote on spreading wings have flown, To deck God's altar fair with purest gems, And crown it with their starry diadems : — god's hill. 49 That stately temple, built of living stone, With glory flashing from its diamond walls ; Where white robes gleam, and tender music falls ; And spirit-harpings mingle with the tone Of organ's deeper voice that from dim distanco calls? He only enters there whose heart is pure, Whose hands are white and clear from mortal taint, Whose pious love flows free from sin's rostraint — An unchock'd river, rolling evermore ; Whose truthful words as monuments onduro, Stately and calm, though to his hurt he swear; Whoso steadfast soul, unmov'd by passion's 1 Like living crystal marble shiin For him alone each everlasting door Swings on its golden hingo as to a king ; 50 god's hill. Seraphs bow down before him ; angels sing — 11 Enter, oh conqueror, to go forth no more ! For thou wast strong in battle, and hast slain God's enemies and thine, on many a well-fought plain." This temple hath its image in the heart, — The wondrous heart of man. Angels have built The structure stone by stone and part by part. Th' incarnate blood of Godhead hath been spilt About its deep foundations ; massive, vast. Its mighty walls, bj spiritual art, Compact and stately in their grandeur stand, — Founded on solid rock, not shifting sand, — Immovable for ever — firm and fast. Though suns may reel, stars sink, and worlds depart, It shall outlive the last great storm ; the blast god's hill, 51 That shakes tlie earth, and wakes the dead, and calls The past to judgment, like a whisper falls, Or summer's tender breath, on its eternal walls. For it hath open'd wide its golden door To him, who was, and is, of glory king : For whom the endless heavens with praises ring ; Victor and monarch, — Lord for evermore. And nave and transept, vestibule and tower, And battlemented roof, are gleaming bright With splendours flashing from its inner shrine : Where the Eternal shrouds himself in light ; And sanctifies the dwolling — all divine. Thero all is purity and lovo : th< Flios as on angels' wings ; and hymn and pealm For ovor ocho through its holy aisles ; 1 flows as flows a sunum I aim, Where happy QhUcta a sing, and bountoous naturo 52 MAGGIE BLAKE. When sweet Maggie Blake was drown' d, Sore we wept for her, till we Heard the daughters of the sea Singing from its depths profound. Standing on the beach we heard What they chanted, — tune and word. Sad as music from the bell That with death and grief doth swell, Thus their tender cadence fell : — MAGGIE BLAKE. 53 14 Let us weep and mourn for her, Whom we this sad day inter In a briny sepulchre ! " " Lightly, ah lightly lift, Oh ye waves, her golden hair ! Loosely streaming in your drift, — Tangled on her bosom fair." " Float her down in ocean's arms Westward, where the daylight dies : Shroud, oh seaweed ! Maggie's charms ; Sliroud her bosom, bind her eyes." 11 Fold her gentle hands to rest ; So that down tho silent tide, A doad angel aho may glide : Cross thorn, pationt, on hor breast." 54 MAGGIE BLAKE. " Toll, oh winds ! and waters, toll ! Saddest music of tlie deep, Sing a requiem for the soul Of little Maggie ! " " Mourn and weep, Waves that linger round her bed ! Where within a coral cave, Yellow sands beneath her spread, We have made her lowly grave." " Silver shells about her lie ; Silver waters, gliding clear, Make with your low lullaby, Silver murmurs in her ear ; Whispering of a mother's tear, And a grief that may not die." 55 LILIES OF THE VALLEY. What is that tho thrushes cry Through the shaded alley ? " By the streamlet you may spy Lilies of tho valley." Flashing wators come and go, Tarn, and gush, and rally : You may hoar them murmur " Lilios of tho valL 56 LILIES OF THE VALLEY. Eose-leaves floating down the wave, Each a fairy's galley, Blushing say — u Oh, pure and grave Lilies of the valley ! " Beetles creeping in the glade Make a start and sally ; Crying — " Hide us in your shade, Lilies of the valley ! " Honeyed buds and insects quaint Toy, and toss, and dally ; Singing — " Who would be a saint, Lilies of the valley ? " All the voices of the place Whisper through the alley — 11 Tender is the lily's grace ; Lilies of the valley ! " 57 THE BALL. Lonely in the darknoss, crouching near the wall, Listening to tho dancers dancing at tho ball, Tripping Hghfyj li^ ll b'> to the music's call : — Bttftftag In t ho night-wind, snow-flakes in her hair, god all hor garments, nock and bosom bare,— Staudoth ono forsaken ; mu: cbfptir. 58 THE BALL. Ho for the carriage ! Lear the horses' tread ! Pamper' d pawing horses : hold them by the head ! Welcome, smiling lady, by the captain led ! Softly speaks the captain ; softly speaketh he : His voice is very tender ; tender as may be : And the lady loves to listen. That woman, ! who is she? Very brave's the captain: through the shot and shell At deadly Balaclava, straight he rode and well : Many a bearded Eussian 'neath his sabre fell. Brave man is the captain, for all his courtly guise ; High his look and haughty ; very proud his eyes ; Yet starts he at the stranger with terrible surprise. THE BALL. 59 Blocking up the doorway, darkening the hall, Standing like a statue, resolute and tall, Listening to the dancers dancing at the ball ; — Standing like a statue, with stony heart and eyes, Gazing at the captain, till his color flies, Till his heart is shrivelTd, and his blood is ice. " Come to me, oh captain ! surely thou art mine ! So© this ring, oh lady ! is it not the sign Of what he may not give thee; that never shall bo thine ? " " Dost thou hear, oh lady ? Coward ! lift hfll fa Her lips with blood aro dubblod ; with it thy hands aro red : Bring water : she huth Qod help her ! she is dead ! " 60 THE BALL. Long the years and many since that mournful day : Buried is the lady : her tomb is worn and grey. A sad man is the captain — he lives to weep and pray. Dead the lonely woman, whose memory we recall, Who stood that night, a stranger, crouching near the wall, Listening to the dancers dancing at the ball. 61 THE GIFT OF FLOWEES. Thanks, lady, for the graceful gift, Pluck' d from the living diadems Of blue-eyed summer : floral gems, To light a homo whoro care and thrift Aro gladdon'd with tho sight of flowora. Forms fair and slondor, fragrant bloom, Golden and glorious, flush tho room Withboauty, [ og of groon bowers, 62 THE GIFT OF FLOWERS. Where roses blow, and die, and fall To music breathing through the vale ; And linnet, thrush, and nightingale, For ever to each other call, Singing loud, and sweet, and clear : — Whispering how soft winds are playing Where its green roof the forest heaves, And veils of beauty ivy weaves Bound trunks with hoary time decaying :- Whispering of the noise of leaves, And the swinging and the swaying, And the pleasant things they're saying, To the young birds of the year, Who with drows'd eye and list'ning ear, Out of their downy dwellings peer. THE GIFT OF FLOWERS. 63 Whispering of the beams that quiver On the diamond-dimpled river, Ever through the woodlands straying ; Where tender- verdured boughs have made Cathedral- window traceries, And leafy lanes, and canopies, Fleck* d with shimmering shine and shade : — Whispering low of silent dells, Green with moss and feathery plumo Of fern, and gilt with furzy bloom, And bright with purply-crimson bells Of foxglove ; in whose marbled colls Many a quaint and mystic line Lies written by a pon di tinting wphyn gaily sweep, And load tho passing wind with balm Of meadows, lying in tho calm Grand sunshine, lazily asloop : — 64 THE GIFT OF FLOWERS. Whispering of ancestral trees, And cry of mavis, merle, and rook, From every wooded, leafy nook, Swelling and dying with, the breeze : — Whispering more than all the story Of the Father's love and care, Who made all things good and fair, And crown' d the great earth with His glory, Thanks, lady, for the flow'rs, And the fancies they have brought ; Soothing to the troubled thought : Balm and peace for weary hours. 65 THE STREET AND THE RIVER. I stand at my warehouse window, And look down tho busy street : I hoar the talk of tho traders ; Tho tramp of thoir oagcr foot. I hoar the chat tor of chiMi Throading thoir way to tho schools ; Thoy aro deop in "Lindloy Mun Pi iK-o-tablo, Spelling,' and Rules." 66 THE STEEET AND THE EIVEE. A marriage peal is ringing : How the big bells clash and roll ! But the loudest bell in the belfry, Ere night, for a death may toll. Hoarse comes the noise of labour, Sturdy, and full, and strong ; And sweet from that open casement, The voice of a lady's song. To work, church, pleasure, or market, The thronging people go ; Like streams, twisted hither and thither, That in green meadows flow. A lord rides forth on his charger ; Here is a child in tears ; A butcher-lad with a basket ; A net on his pony's ears. THE STREET AND THE RIVER. 67 A beggar in rags and tatters, A lady in velvet and silk, A painter, a noted author, A sweep, the man with the milk. A maiden with golden tresses ; A priest, a soldier, a fop ; A man crying " water-cresses ! " An urchin spinning a top. A missionary, a miser , A tradesman wrinkled with care, Two rogue.", a dozen policemon ; Those on thoir way to tho mayor. Trade, physic, law, and gospol ; Music, and mammon, and mirtli ; All that a man may core Between hi i death ind hii birth. 68 THE STREET AWD TIIE RIVER. And green hills skirting the river, — A shade from the glare and the heat ; And the musical waters for ever That murmur and glide at their feet. A beautiful shadowy vision, A tender prophetical shore, Of woods, hills, and waters Elysian, When the work of the world shall be o'er. 69 THE FANCY BALL. (newlajtds.) Bright is tho sceno : and sweetly falls The fairy music on tho oar, As sparkling water singing clear To its groy rocks or weody walls. Bright is tho scono : tho lamps aro lit : Away with thoughts of phi and i;looni, Whoro, graceful, down tho gildod room, Youth, manhood, glory, beauty Hit. 70 THE FANCY BALL. Bright is the scene : the moments fly On wings of gladness through the soul : Life's wheels on golden axles roll : Joy lifts his magic cup on high. Yet here, amid the sparkling throng, The solemn-storied past is seen : Prince, priest, and cardinal, and queen, And knight, and noble, known to song. Here sweeps Pescara's queenly dame ; Fair daughter of a mighty race ; The first in honor as in place ; The glory of Colonna's name. And floating graceful through the dance, Comes sweet Lamballe, with Scotland's queen, And tender, glorious Anne Boleyn, With fair Elizabeth of France. THE FANCY BALL. 71 Here's princely Buckingham : and here Bowena, hapless maid, doth move ; And here's Du Barry, queen of love ; And Ealeigh, stately and severe. And many a kirtled dame that graced Eevel, and masque, and courtly ball, In royal Tudor's palace hall, — FrilTd, pointed, Jewell' d and belaced. Knight, baron, love-lorn cavalier, Earl, courtier, page, and warrior bravo ; Grey councillor, sedato and gravo ; Statesman, and rulor, — all oro horo. Stars of a grand historic tiino : Stars of a timo that long hath sot ; Thoir very namos aro mighty y. Gems of a nation's golden prime 72 THE FANCY BALL, In this fair scene not of place ; For it is fitting they should cast Their glory's shadow, dim and vast. Where beauty moves, and love, and grace. Press to the dance : the moments fly On wings of gladness through the soul : Life's wheels on golden axles roll : Joy lifts his magic cup on high. 73 THE WAVE. A wave came singing through Milford Eeach, A wreath of pearls in his lordly hand : A maiden was weeping on the beach : Ho came to her feet ; his soothing speech Said— " Fly with mo, lady, from the land.'' "Liston, oh lady mino ! " — ho said, — Said and sang with his silver tonguo : — 11 Life is woary when love is d And hopo hath gone, and joy hath fled. And friendship'* kmll lmtli long boen rung." 74 THE WAVE. "Desolate maid ! no longer weep : Say but a prayer, and come to me : Quiet dwells in the soundless deep, Sorrowful hearts are hushed to sleep, And tears are unknown beneath the sea." The maid, she listen'd all too long : The wave came over the shining sand : He won her with his wondrous song ; She leapt to his arms so wide and strong ; And swift he bore her from the land. 75 THE OLD CHUECH OEGAN. u Mourn not, ohwandoror from afar!" — thus sang Tho old church organ, whilo tho playor swept His fingors softly o'or tho chords, and kopt Timo to all tondor cadoncos that hung, And WOI in drops of molody, and v. In music, and through all tho building m In wavos that rippling murmured a low rhyme, Soothing and sad. Thon moniorios that had d 76 THE OLD CHURCH ORGAN. Awoke and cried aloud : a buried time Came back all bright and rosy with, the prime Of life in its gay beauty : boyhood leapt Forth from the misty years : youth's golden clime Return' d with peal of organ and the chime Of Sunday bells : a fair land where I stept With lightsome foot through many atreasur'd scene, Untroubled as if grief had never been. And in the pulpit, thundering forth the law, The hoary parson, buried deep for years ; The beadle stern, who pull'd my wicked ears ; The clerk, who did with such a rook-like caw, From a lean throat his quavering "Amens" draw ; Pew-opener, sexton, verger frowning fierce ; And some that I had mourn' d with many tears ; Some, ah, how many ! these in mind I saw : My father, and my mother at his side ; THE OLD CntJRCH ORGAN. 11 And next to her my brother, with his bride, In modest Sunday robes : a face more sweet God made not. I remember how she cried. Her pretty chin I tickled with a straw For dozing in the sermon. Ah, she died ! She and my brother lie at father's feet : Their tomb is near the porchway, just outside. The schoolboys gathered hero, a noisy throng, Eudo as the sea waves, ardent, never still : There stood the imperious mast or, strong of will, Muttering old scraps of Greek or Roman song : And near him the meek usher, limp and long, Who wept melodious sorrows through his B The ruddy rogues pass'd sweetmeats round, and fruit ; riayed " toss the 1 '' made tho missile fly Birdlike, from hand to hand ; soino slyly road 78 THE OLD CHUKCH ORGAN. The tale unfinished in that morning's bed ; One, worse than others, brought a stock of pins, And prick'd his neighbours as they mourn' d their sins; And heard, delighted, heavenwards-turn' d his eye, The sighing of his victims, as they bled : He pinn'd — the cane fell with explosive crack, — The master and the usher back to back. I mark'd the hatchments blazon'd on the wall ; The epitaphs and kneeling effigies ; The solemn lies about the dead, to please The living ; dusty, tatter' d flags that fall Piecemeal ; the carved monumental frieze ; Urns ; skull and cross bones ; heraldry that blazed In fields of deadly strife, or festal hall Of chivalry ; the knightly helmets grazed By sweep of sword in battle's bloody fray ; THE OLD CHURCH ORGAN. 79 And storied altars tipt with marble flames, Eecording benefactions made to cheat The conscience on a sinner's dying day : — I saw them slowly mouldering, as is meet, With nobles', and churchwardens' meaner names. These built the gallery, for which they laid The public under contribution : this Provided chandeliers, for which he paid : A noble act ; his soul is now in bliss. These had the organ mended ; and 'tis said Wore large subscribers — 3J, ©tCCJt and till I. Breto. Behold thoir saintod namos with gold thick laid On every lottor. Both woro woll to d This was Drow's soat; Groon had tho cornor pow. And hero's a d luted in black strokoe; And undornoath anothor naino— 3>0l)U JlofcttS. 80 THE OLD CHURCH ORGAN. John Nokes is with the cherubim, be sure : He gave the great lock for the western door, And two keys : one was lost : he gave one more. And through the eastern traceried window came The shining of the morning sun ; it fell In flashing drops of crystal crimson flame Upon the altar-cloth, and o'er the name Of Him who for us conquer' d death and hell. It made around the preacher's silver hair A mystic halo ; threw a sanguine stain That splash' d and rippled o'er the Book of Prayer, And sparkled in red cascades down the wall ; It glimmer' d in the roof; the columns tall €aught the live splendour : still it grew and spread. On oaken pews it threw a ruddy glare ; It touch'd with fire the legends of the dead, And with its glory filled the chancel fair ; THE OLD cmrRcn OEGAN. 81 Floor, galleries, pillars, bathed in golden rain, And martyrs burning on the storied pane. Again the organ brake into a roll And crash of melody — a mighty peal Of gladness ; then most soothingly did steal A softer strain that wander'd through my soul, And touch' d all tender memories of the leal And lov'd, that I had lost and wept ; whose names Were writ on the great tombstone near the door ; Names, naught but names, of thoso who novermoro Shall raise the sacred song, or pious kneel In prayer : cut down by death's romorsoless st Lovor, and friend, and parents ; little frames Of children, fairost buds that doathleea bl i In Edon's realm ; and ono swoot maid ; all ! slow ly We'll speak of hor : all musi. , all poriumo Her lifo ; her soul as lilios, whito and kfflf] Ifa death ono summor's ovo, — as calm and holy. 82 THE OLD CHTJECH OKGAtf. We called her "Ella," and we lov'd the name : There was a wealth of music in the word ; And music came to her, as to the bird Thatsings when day hath quench' d his goldenname. All love, all tenderness, all goodness came Into her heart, as sunshine on the sea : All lov'd her, she lov'd all ; and she lov'd me, And was my life's sole glory, joy, and crown. Ah, God of mine ! that such a change should be ! That death with his rude foot should trample down Hopes that did make a heav'n of earth ; and drag Life trailing at his gloomy wheels ! She fell In beauty, as the roses fall, when storms Darken the summer heavens. For her the bell Heavily tolled, as if it fain would lag On duty, as she went to earth's cold arms. I left the church, and went out in the air, Where I might look up to the quiet sky, THE OLD CUTJECn ORGAN. 83 And let its great calm soothe my misery. My grief was heavy, more than I could bear : It fell with such a pitiless weight ; it crush' d Out of my soul the long-pent tears, that rush'd In sudden rivers that could not be stayed. There was the linnet singing by her grave, Where through the summer day the lindens wave : The roses, planted where my heart is laid, Bore a few blossoms : zephyrs lightly played With lilies of the valley ; insects made A low melodious thrumming ; birds and boos Disported, now in sunshine, now in shade ; And " Ella ! Ella ! Ella ! "—sang tho breozo. 84 MY LADY'S PLACE. Oh would I were the rose that clings About my lady's lattice pane ! Oh would I were the bird that sings To cheer her fancy with its strain ! Or those twin-lilies tall, that graee The porchway ; or the vine that weaves A veil of beauty round the place, In graceful, labyrinthine leaves. my lady's place. 85 Or the great willow tree, that shades Her pathway where the waters run, And from the saintliest of maids Checks the bold glances of the sun. Or yonder swan that charms the eye, A distant vision, dimly seen, On crystal waters gliding by : My lady loves him well, I ween. Or that soft wind of dying bliss, Fainting with incense of the south, That takes its last expiring kiss Of sweotnoss from hor rosy mouth. Or the frail, brokon flow'r that lios Breathing last odours at her foot ; For one kind look from such dear oyos, Ah mo, such dying wore too b\\ < MY LADY'S PLACE. So I might linger in the place, By lake, and lawn, and river fair ; And win, perchance, my lady's grace, And dwell for ever with her there. 87 LONG AGO! In the days of long ago, Summer skies were all aglow With a crystal golden flame : How the glory went and came, As it cometh novermore ! Then the vaulted shining bluo, Curtain' d heavon from my viow : Then tho angol forms that k Watch by God's groat tomxuo door, Through tho veil would somo- times pteg : 88 LONG AGO! Tlien the sun that flush'd the west With his majesty and state, Open'd to my soul the gate Of the city of the blest. In those days of long ago, Silver-shining rivers ran With a purer, brighter flow, With a sweeter music than Falleth now upon my ear. Through the joyful woods they went With a burst of merriment ; Singing to the laughing year, Singing to the summer birds, Who the summons answer' d clear. Then my spirit's inner sense Knew the mystery of words Thus in nature's language given j long ago! 89 And the earth to me was heaven In those days of innocence ; In those days of long ago. In those days of long ago, Days, ah nevermore to be ! Life was all a raree-show, Fair and beautiful to me. Friendship's beacon bright and true Throw its light along the way ; Time in radiant circlos flew ; Love and gladnoss, mirth and play, Hold unbrokon holiday. No^ I r dream is deal \ 1 1 1 »po hath vaniah'd ; joy hath fed ; 90 LONG AGO! At the gate of happy years Grief is standing, blind with tears: Lips that whispered love are still, Faithful hearts lie cold and low, Where the stream that skirts the hill, Mourns the days of long ago. 91 THE LAST MINSTEEL. Tlio wind was roaring on the soa ; the snow fell thick and fast : Tho forest loaves, liko frightonod birds, woro flying on tho blast : Dark clouds had gathor'd in tho sky : tho light was blurrod and dim : The poplars by tho gardon walk look'd dosolato and grim: 92 THE LAST MINSTREL. The swollen river sobbing ran along the dreary lane; When Eobin Eedbreast came a tapping at the window pane. "Oh Eobin, darling Eobin ! oh Eobin, ever dear ! The snow beats on your scarlet breast ; oh where- fore come you here ? Cold falls the night ; the wind is high ; the flow'rs are dead you know : Your nest fell from its place last night ; 'tis on the ground below : No leaves are on the bushes now ; the frost has taken all : Seek shelter, pretty Eobin, in the ivy on the wall." " Oh ladies, pretty ladies, sure Eobin' s heart is sad : From morn to night, from night to morn, there's nothing to be had : THE LAST MINSTREL. 93 The cruel, cruel winter's come his dearest hopes . to kill : There is no worm above the ground, nor berry on the hill: His little ones are all grown up, thank God ! one trouble less : They're gone to get their living now ; but how, he cannot guess." "The fir-tree by the garden gate is laden thick with snow: Within its shelter'd hiding placo I hear the tempests blow ; Its branches whispor as thoy wave, mul whore I shadows spread, I sit, as in a tomb, and muso of faded things and dead : Yot somotimos will my hoart awake ; my soul \ lovo will thrill ; 94 THE LAST MINSTREL. And I come to sing my little tune upon your window-sill." 11 1 make no quarrel with my lot : the summer days . were long; Its skies were very clear and bright ; the world was filled with song : My nest lay bosom' d in green leaves ; the scent of many flowers Eose from earth's thousand altars fair ; sweet ran the sunny hours : My heart was glad — all things were glad, — in the year's golden prime ; 'Tis right a change should come about ; and this is winter time." "The swallow may not skim the lake, nor circle through the sky ; THE LAST MINSTBEL. 95 Gone is the tuneful nightingale, and hush'd the cushat's cry ; The blackbird and the thrush are mute ; the linnet sings no more ; The goldfinch sits with drooping wing by the black river shore ; Dead, dark, and dumb, the world hath grown, — brown, desolate, and sere ; And I, the last of minstrels, sing the death-song of the year. ,, " I could not let him dio unsung ; nor soo his hoary hairs Sink, all unmourn'd, into the gravo; though I have hoavy caros ; I may not sing anothor spring : again tho fli and tree May como with ploasant shado and scont for J but not lor mo. 96 TIIE LAST MINSTREL. My heart with love and grief must break : woe's me ! woe's me ! — I cry : A crumb or two is all I ask, dear souls, before I die." " Oh Eobin, darling Robin, oh Eobin ever dear ! Come, pretty minstrel, to our hearts; we'll give you Christmas cheer. Along the window-sill for you with loving hands we'll spread Each night and morn, and all day long, our crumbs of cake and bread ; And should you fear the schoolboys rude, when gathering on the slide, We'll put the window-frame ajar, and you shall come inside." "So Eobin, pretty Eobin, sweet Eobin ever dear! THE LAST MINSTEEL. 97 You shall not break your little heart, nor die with this old year : But you shall sing through many a spring ; and summer buds shall peep Again into your cosy nest; and summer winds shall sweep About your pleasant dwelling place : so weep not, Robin dear ! Though you, the last of minstrels, sing the death- song of the year. 98 EVEEMOEE. By Milford's lonely shore A stately lady sits : She listens to the roar Of waves that evermore Roam ocean's heaving floor : A golden shadow flits On the billows, as they meet The sands beneath her feet, "Where the waters break and beat Evermore ; Break and beat Evermore ! Ever, evermore ! EVERMORE. 99 She traces on the sands A name, that bids her weep ; Anon she wrings her hands, As the liquid foaming bands Sweep the writing from the lands To the cruel, cruel deep. And 'mid the watery roar, She hears in thought a bell, Tolling a ceaseless knoll For one sho lovoth well Evermore ! Loveth well Evormoro ! Evor, ovormoro ! Lo ! on the wostorn sky Lies a puple^ painted those: Temple and tou'r h 100 EVERMOKE. With mosque and minaret, And walls of golden fret, With glory sprinkled o'er. Oh lady, lift thine eye ! She sees ; but weepeth yet : Shall her faithful heart forget A fairer day that's set, Gone down for evermore ? Evermore ! Sunk for evermore ! Ever, evermore I 101 SUNDAY MOKNING. The day is calm, and cold, and clear : I wander, thoughtful, through the town, 'Mid houses, silent, squaro, and brown ; And mark whore tho old church doth roar Its hoary walls and reverend Load O'er its tall neighbours in the street ; While, in tho bolfry, low and sweety Tho chimos sooiu talking of tho dead : 102 SUNDAY MORNING. Now from the chancel window bars A solemn sound begins to roll : The organ, lifting up its soul, Doth sing, as sang the morning stars. And now the mighty quire of bells Swings out its music on the air ; And from their homes, in garments fair, The people come, as from their cells Came forth the monks of olden days, When broider'd cope and blazon' d cross, "White alb, and mitre's silken gloss, Pass'd slowly down these ancient ways. The day is cold, and calm, and clear ; The wind is low, the sea is still ; The river, underneath the hill, Flows soberly in quiet cheer. SUNDAY MORNING. 103 The ships, moored to their silent quay, Move idly on the creeping tides ; And foam-bells break along their sides, Down the smooth pathway to the sea. They float, these foam-bells, as in years And centuries that have gone before ; As they must float for evermore, — These silver-whirling shining spheres. So floated they in history's prime, When Britons, on these rushy banks, Battlod with Ccosar's serried ranks, — The patriots of that olden timo. Or whon in lator days tho Dano Swept fiorcoly up tho broad lagoon; And grim and stark beneath tho moon, Lay Cult and gash'd and slain. 104 SUNDAY MOKNTNG. The day is cold, and calm, and clear ; Calm are the woods — divinely calm : The trees are priests ; each lifts a palm Bared, Godwards. Underneath, the sere Dropp'd leaves are lying ; they are naught : They were the glories of their time ; They had their tender birth and prime, And died : but to th' immortal thought, They speak as nature ever speaks, Through the pure soul's sublimer sense, To him that pays her reverence, And of her wisdom, wisdom seeks. Through tangled briar glides the snake ; The fox sleeps lonely in his den ; The rabbit burrows in the glen ; The deer lies couchant in the brake. SUNDAY MORNING. 105 The blue kingfisher woos the stream, A painted hermit of the shades ; But, startled, flies to deeper glades ; And with him flies my wayward dream. Old woods, with God's own beauty crown' d ! Town, church, and river wandering by ! "What is the link, the sympathy, By which to you my soul is bound ? I cannot tell ; but can descry, That, for the better or tho worso, Tho pattorns of the universe Must in that soul for over lie. Form, light, and sunshine ; shade, and tint Painted on oarth, and sky, and sea, (Divineet writing) are to me Symbol, or spiritual hint 106 SUNDAY MORNING. Of somewhat to be understood, Of higher wisdom, wider scope Of love, and charity, and hope, And faithful working into good. 107 NIGHT. How dark the tree-tops loom across the skies ; Splendour hath left the gardens gay and proud : The earth lies black and silent as a cloud : Sound, there is none ; save when the cricket cries From turf or mossy twig. My heart is bowod, My soul is melted into eye and ear. This is God's funeral methinks. Her shroud Tho reverent night doth lay along His bier. The heavens are all alive with golden eyes Of angels gazing downwards with a tear Of sympathy an