f% •-*•' ? « ANB OTHER i<^. I rB'Rra^v^^ i^ J^E JOHN ,^o$)<:]eu BKioa^A. ^^^ ^ '^ < * I s\ ll ■5;^ J 0^-^ -^^!t !i^*i*i -tjii THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES MifV^ ^■%i:4^. i?' vir«'; ,^-V >>f^ VC^ ^^' AND OTHER ^ e)' Cc^ MB^ O ^ I JOHN jo$)i;]eH fea\aa3, '^"(^'^ F./7.S.L. V r 5»*'. -•>!{i^?M. ^ ■•^M * '^t- B+' ^isrti .'itj:**'; I 861914 ^onfFnfe. PAGE THE TRENT 3 TO THOS. J. CANTRELL, ESQ 28 MOONLIGHT •■ 29 SILENCE 30 SONNET 31 AUTUMN 32 SONNET 33 THE SABBATH 34 THE SNOWDROP 35 SONNET 36 REMPSTONE GROVE 37 THE HAREBELL f.. ... 38 CHILDHOOD'S LOVE ... 40 OH ! SPARE OUR LOVED ONES YET 42 LAST WISHES 44 ON SPRING 47 TO A LADY AT NEEDLEWORK 49 WOMAN 50 TO THE TRENT 52 FRAGMENTS 55 MORN ON WATERLOO 58 THE WHITE DEER 61 NOTES 67 IKUrefions. PAGE KING'S NEWTON HALL 6 HOLY WELL S WESTON CLIFF 12 BOAT HOUSE/ DONINGTON CLIFF 52 OLD OAK TREE IN DONINGTON PARK 64 TO THE LADY EDITH MAUD ABNEY HASTINGS, Madam, If an offering is to be estimated according to its magnitude or value, I should scarcely have ventured to solicit the honor of dedicating this httle Volume to your Ladyship. But since it is not, but rather on account of the sincerity with which it is offered, I have no hesitation in throwing this simple wreath at your feet, although the flowers of which it is composed consist merely of the daisy or the primrose. With a work wdiich treats upon the river Trent and the woods of Donington, the name of Hastings seems to have special connexion. Ancient as the oaks beneath whose shadow it has so long dwelt — seated, as it has been, upon the very brink of the Trent — the noble family of Hastings seems closely allied with the scenes and objects which form the principal subject of the following Poems. Added to these circumstances, is the fact, that amidst the scenes described and refen*ed to your Ladyship spent some of your earhest years ; and it may naturally be supposed that with them are connected many pleasant associations. To you, then, respectfully, and, I feel sm-c, appropriately, I dedicate this humble verse. That your Ladyship may long live to retain that respect which you have inspired by the exercise of "the vu'tucs which adorn," and "the charities which sweeten life," is the sincere wish of him who Has the honour to subscribe himself, Madam, Your Ladyship's most Humble and Veiy obedient Sei-vant, THE AUTHOE. PREFACE. The following Poems have appeared in various publi- cations. The " Sonnet," called " Silence," was originally published in the "Sun" newspaper, edited by Kent. It was afterwards copied into a standard work called " Beautiful Poetry," compiled by the editors of "The Critic." The Sonnet caUed "Autumn" appeared in "Hood's Magazine," and the remaining Pieces in various provincial newspapers. The flowers — if flowers they may be called — which have bloomed on various soils are now gathered into a wreath. The view of the Boat-house at Donington Cliff, and an Oak Tree, gi'owing in Donington Park, are copied, by permission, from photographic drawings taken by W. A. Warwick, Esq., and published by Mr. Keene, Irongate, Derby. The wood cuts are executed by my friend Llewellynn Jewett, Esq., F.S.A., a suflicient guarantee for their excellence. The title-page was designed and executed at the establishment of my esteemed friend and quondam master, the publisher, W. Bemrose of Derby. King's Newton, Swarkeston, Derby. tB^f t^vml A DESCRIPTIVE POEM, ^^ij|M)IS eve — 'tis gentle eve — that calm, sweet hour, g;^^ When, in their sleep, Dews kiss each fresh young flower ; The thrush hath hushed his song, the merle her lay, And the lone plover mourns departing day ; The buoyant lark that fiUed the morning sky With sprightly song, sleeps in the clover nigh ; Those rural sounds that cheered the busy day. Grown faint and few, have sweetly died away, 'Till all things round from noise and motion cease, And in Night's ear. Eve softly whispers, "Peace." Amidst the golden islands of the sky A single cloud — bark-like — sails tranquilly ; And o'er the portal of the Keep of Night The Moon displays her shield of glowing light — B Illumes the peasant's cot, the lady's bower, And leaves her radiance on the blushing flower, AVhose dew-drops glisten as the orient peai'ls Which bead fair Beauty's bi'ow, or bind her curls. Cheered by her beams, alone this hour I stroll Through the green fields to yonder gentle knoll : What beauteous visions now mine eye beholds ! Beneath my feet, old (iTrCtXt in serpent folds Leads on his waves in many a wandering maze, By which the dappled herds and white flocks graze ; Here let me rest and dream of other times. And catch the sound of Memory's hallowed chimes. Sweet is thy name to me, old hoary ^rCUt J 'Twas liy thy marge mine earliest steps I bent, When round my neck lov'd Childhood threw her arm, And called me her's, and bade me fear no harm, 'TM'as near thy brink I spent the laughing hours, And eager culled the daisy's snowy flowers. And stretched my hands wet with the dripping dew. O'er the clear wave where broad the lily grew. 'Twas there I watched the swan spread forth her sail Of snow-white plumes, and drift before the gale ; And there, when later years had o'er me thi'own Life's weightier cares, I oft have roamed alone, The cliff — the wave — the tree — the field have view'd, And prostrate knelt to worship Solitude ; And the deep truths inscribed on Nature's page Made the first study of my riper age. But let me turn from hom's long flitted by, To those fair scenes which now before me lie. Sweet j}iCU3t01l, (^) first to thee my song I raise. Thy charms, loved hamlet, need no poet's praise ; O'er thy gTeen meads first trips the laughing Spring, And shakes primroses from each flower-wreathed wing There the first swallow skims the daisied vale, And the loved cuckoo breathes her mellow tale ; And merry chiff-chaff" from the budding tree. Gives out his joyous notes so wild and free. And when old Autumn sheds o'er field and bower The radiant hues of many a gorgeous flower, And bids the sun lead do'WTi his stately dance. Thy fields are last to catch his parting glance. Within thy bouuds I drew mine earliest breath, And there, grant, heaven, these eyes may close in death ! My kindred's mouldering dust is gathered near. And there still dwell the forms this heart holds dear ; Of sister, mother, whose deep care through life Sui-passeth ministering of the tenderest wife. Yes ! thou hast bound, loved hamlet, round this heart Those golden ties, that time nor change can part ; Thy precincts hold her treasured form, whose love Has lent its charm to every field and grove ; Retired — known but to few — and just where swells Yon bright gi-een knoll, that gentle sister dwells : Her modest actions fear not critic's frown, The foot of scandal caimot tread them down ; The soul of misery is she first to cheer, Afiiiction's woes draw forth her ready tear ; In her. Religion finds an ardent friend. The Sabbath School her willing steps attend ; And when from yonder old and gi'ay chm-ch-towcr, The hallowed chimes pi'oclaim the appointed hour. To meet and offer up the soul-breathed prayer, My Marian's form is over present there. -.L.JEVJITT.*'^** Ring's D^cWatt pall. Her heart ne'er echoes back the voice of wrong, The words of truth flow from her dulcet tongue ; Through all life's trials ever has she been The fit-st to blunt the poisoned shaft of Spleen ; The last to blame ; and soon her ready eye Has sought the cause and shewn the remedy. The winds may whistle through the vessel's shroud, And the wild sea arrest her progress proud ; But the firm compass can no tide estrange, Turns to one point, whatever else may change ; So through the world's tumultuous cares and strife. Turned that sweet soul to mine and gave new life. (-) Oh ! beauteous hamlet, w^hat fair charms are thine, As now o'er all the en-silvered moonbeams shine ! How still — how peaceful — are the hut and hall, (^) As drowsy Night enwraps them in her pall ! So softly nestling in their nook of trees. Whose foliage stirs not in the cool night breeze. Thy orchard-blossoms steeped in rose and white, Seem sweetly resting in the silver light ; 8 Thy brooklet, dancing on in joy and mirth, Breathes its low music to the listening earth. Time was (ere yet thy raven wing, Decay ! Had from the hamlet swept its stones away,) '■ That on yon knoll an old grey Cljlirclj^Objer stood, (') Which flung rich Sabbath music o'er Trent's flood. There, too, half overgrown with weeds and moss, And gray with age, a simple village ^I'OSS, {^) Where prayed in stone (of face and feature mild,) Apostle, Saint, the Virgin and her Child, And there was, too, within a little dell, (*') A limpid fountain named the '' P^OlV SEcll/* Where pilgrims came to di-ink the sacred wave. That hcal'd their wounds and snatched them from the grave. Those times, those customs now have passed away ; Those pilgrim feet no more a-ncar them stray. But still the waters bubble as of yore, And yield a gi'ateful offering to the poor. Oh ! when on earth we've lived oiir transient day, And clay has mingled with its native clay, Some small memorial may we leave behind. That we have sought to benefit mankind. ^t ioljr mtW, Jlhrg's fcfofoir. Oh ! may we cause to flow some little well, A blessed spring, within life's narrow dell, Whose waves may gladden the then sterile ground, The world leave better, than the world we found. 10 PART II. 'j|m\gN couch of odorous flowers, whereon she lies, .'v^.rj rpj^g |v^-j, j^a^i(j^ Mom, now opes her soft blue eyes ; The warbling merle hath bid her swiftly rise "^ And view the rose-clouds stretched o'er yonder skies. The sun is up, and, radiaut with his beams, Thy vale, © ^XtXltl in all its beauty gleams ; (') Green field, fair tree, old hamlet, and broad wood, Enrich the banks that cm-b thy classic flood. Thy osier-groves grow tremulous and bright ; Thy willows wave, all radiant with the hght ; Thy meads are dotted o'er with flocks and herds ; Thy woods are vocal with the songs of birds ; Rich-foliaged trees diversify the scene. While village temples Hft their spires between. 11 Field beyond field in rich succession lies, Their wide range girdled by the clear blue skies. Ere White, (^) or Bailey Q wore the unfading bay Lived one who sang of thee a simpler lay. Long years have passed, yet Fancy's eye doth see, Bancroft ('") attuning his soft lyre to thee, The " little bard of friendlie ironie." Honor' d, respected, once : now, on the spot Where 'erst ho dwelt, his very name forgot. Save but by liim whose rustic ear doth move Not the loud bird whose wild notes fill the grove — But she who tells the simple tales we love. Methinks I see the bard on yon green ridge, Or 'midst the pleasant meads at Swarkcston Bridge, (") Loving to hear the wind by Trent's soft edge Whisper in reeds or sigh amongst the sedge ; Peering with gentle eye in every nook, Or conning o'er with care some favourite book ; Gathering rich thoughts : then with a poet's tongue. Breathing his dulcet utterances in song. 12 Just rising froui fair fields clad now in green, Thy Cliff, sweet SECStOll, {'■) stands to crown the scene. Its beauteous chui-ch-spire tapering o'er the wood, Near which lie those who erst beneath it stood. 'Tis Avell, fair Edifice ! within thy walls The ray of heavenly truth now brightly falls ; That weekly to a lowly village band Are preached glad tidings of a " better land ;" Bread of true knowledge placed within the scrip, And living waters offered to the lip — 'Tis well that in this false and wavering age A hand unswei'ving opes the Gospel page, A voice unused to disputatious strife. Reads the rich charter of eternal life. Long may the much-loved Pastor (^^) lead his flock Beneath the shadow of the Immortal Rock, And when the heat and scorching simbeams cease, Beside " still waters" in the vale of peace — Long may he live, armed with the vital power. To soothe the sinner in his dying hour ; To cheer the aged on that lonely way, Whose rugged course leads to a brighter day. Mtdan dTliff. 13 When thou art launched, oh, Pastor ! on that sea, That vast and shoreless deep, Futurity. May the Great Pilot steer thy course for thee : Thine be the Ark of Faith which bears the blest To the hio-h Ararat of eternal rest. Sweet SEeStOlt (Uplift ! how beautiful art thou ! How dark the firs that crown thy rugged brow ! Adown thy sides the straggling wliite sloe falls, And blossom' d thorns outspread their snowy palls, And the glad furze hath beauteously unroll' d For the Spring's feet her gorgeous cloth of gold. Where broader rolls old ^rtttt its stately flood. Uplifts fair ©OninStOtX ('^) her Cliff of Wood, Whose proud trees bend, and on its waves descry Their own bright image as it passes by. Oh ! where is he whose noble form held sway O'er those green woods and knolls, where idly play The graceful deer, the squirrel, and the birds Whose songs mellifluous are as human words 1 14 Gone in the plenitude of youth and power, A blighted branch cut off, a frost-nipped flower, Just when its opened leaves began to glow With those bright hues matured which manhood show. Courteous he was to all, of manner bland, Of nature generous, and of liberal hand ; The peasant's woe drew forth his ready tear, The sigh of grief his ear was first to hear; Distress her victims crowded to his door. He eased their wants, nor went as came they, poor ; The liar's tale drew forth his darkening frown, He scorn' d the lip that called not truth its own. Oh ! wlio can look upon his fur demesne, ISTor sigh to think what Hastings (^^) would have been 1 When names have died renowned for good or ill, Thine, generous Hastings, will be treasured still. No more for thee puts forth the old grey thorn Its frosted blooms ; nor e'er at early morn Will tlic wild thinish his loud, fresh lay prolone-. Or midst thy brakes the merle give forth her song? No more for thee those gnarled ancestral trees Rear their blanched forms to brave the storm and breeze 15 Nor the sweet plants their vernal leaves renew lu the still woods where thick the hyacinth grew. But still thy worth will live in good, men's hearts, The tear will long be thine that downward starts From eyes ftxmiliar with thy generous deeds, The fruits that time matured — thine own the seeds. 16 PART III. ^#^?#JOW seasons change ! Sometimes old Winter comes ^3^^ Howling like jackal ronnd our sun-lit homes : Then on his brow he hath, a deep, deep, frown, For winds have stripped the snow-flakes from his crown. And now, a worn, decrepid man is he Gathering a few diy sticks upon the lea. And then he comes with smile and song, as gay As coimtry lass amidst the new-mown hay : Or like a rustic at a neighbouring fair Tliat a fine nosegay in his coat doth wear. (""') Come as he will to me, he's always dear. The pet of all the children of the year. What care I if he's wayward, weep or chide. My hearth is warm and literature my bride. Would that as bright a home bless'd all the world beside. 17 With dainty foot now modest Spring appears, Wearing the pendant Snowdrop at her ears : Flinging at random over field and wold The early Celandine's (^') small coins of gold. The sun rests on the stream : he makes the hills Bloom as with sheen of countless daffodils. See ! now the fern, from her brown covert stealing. The winter's leaves her bosom half concealing. See ! the blue Speedwell ('*) blow : and on the air Hark ! to the notes of Woodlark trilling there, Each wintry thing hath life : how light and free The graceful squirrel springs from tree to tree. And the red Dormouse Q^) quits his nest of leaves ; The Martin {^) builds and twitters 'neath our eaves. Mark ! how the little bird comes day by day, And hour by hour, and brings each pea of clay ; 'Tis very small, yet added to the rest, It soon builds up her fabric of a nest. She toils from morn till eve, through wind and rain, Until complete, it rests above the pane. May we not take a lesson ? though the bird, Be but a bird, is there not something heard 18 To cheer ovir hearts in her mere artless t\Yitter 1 This precept WTitteu ou her clay and litter 1 " Genius may be true ore ; it may be thine, But what avails it bm-ied in the mine 1 'Tis not the mere possession, but the use That gives it value : then remember Bruce And Spider : (-') how, her thread on thread The insect threw, till to the beam one sped. Though nineteen times her utmost efforts failed Before the task, her courage never quailed. Past efforts were forgot, labours unheeded, She threw her twentieth thread and then succeeded. So Robert Bruce from her took a good hint ; He saw the choicest medal in Life's mint Was perseverance : then, no more he thought Of all his perils, passed ; his battles fought And lost : forgetting Fortune's frown, He made one effort more and won his crown. Genius her jewels to the mind may bring. But Pei-severance sets them in the rinar. The axe is shai-p, but how without the grip Can e'er it scatter round, the flying cliip 1 19 Give it the stroke firm, trusty, straight, and free, Grasp it with willing hand and soon 'twill fell the tree.' Oh ! let me till the ground my fathers tilled, (^-) And fill the station which my fathers filled. Let me go forth, when merrily smiles the morn, Amidst my harmless flocks and lambs just born ; And, as delight my rapturous bosom fills, Count my fine herds upon the distant hills. Let honest independence be my lot. Let city strife and bustle harm me not — Freedom of limb be mine, and health to roam By wood and field, and stream, which skirt my home : Surrounded by a rural, labouring band, Let me go forth to plough the willing land : And, as the green up-springing blades appear. See future harvests crown the plenteous year. And when my flocks are ready for the fold, And my rich corn-fields turn to waving gold, From my heart's censer, let the incense rise, To Him, the Great, the Giver, Just, All-wise : 20 Such be my life, and oli ! how passing fair Are the rich hues which niral Hfe doth wear ; It brings contentment, peace, flings o'er the mind Such tranquil joy, as leaves no shade behind : That joy which never wounds with poisonous sting, When the rich bloom is brush'd from off its wing, But shines a cheerful light ; a blessed boon, Such as the I'adiance which a Summer moon Will fling adown some rich cathedral aisle, When each sweet thing grows sweeter in her smile. 21 PART IV. ONDERS surround our path : Mark ! thi'otighout Earth £)iJfel® How Order and Contrivance have their birth. Old Winter j^ast, how soon the fresh flowers blow, Concealed beneath his ermined robe of snow ! The trees all leaf : the wild birds conae and go ! The April days, 'tween love and hate perplext, Shake hands one hour and measure swords the next. And yet how soon their various qu.arrels cease When May alights on earth with branch of peace. Mark ! how each individual in its place Lives : and fulfils the dutici of its race ! The bee contrives her exquisite, small cell. Fills it with rifled sweets from every bell : How the Reed Warbler ('^) builds her lovely nest 22 Between the reeds, whcrciu her eggs do rest : The boist'roiis winds may rustle thro' the sedge And rock her hammock to the river's edjre. But stih the bird rides on, secure and free, As doth the rook upon the firmest tree. Look ! how the Mole that lives within the soil, Is amply fitted for his night of toil. His palms are broad : his nose like snout of pig, Enabling him to excavate and dig ; His coat of plush no earth can rest between, 'Tis glossy, close, and tliick, like velveteen. And from his work, he issues neat and clean. Her creatures, nature guards witli tender care. Shielded from danger by the coat they wear : The timid hare, iu modest brown is drcst, Like the bare fallow, where it lies at rest : The Ptarmigan hath winter robe of white Pure as the snow upon the mountain height ; The plumage of the Woodcock, Snipe, and Rail, Is like the tints that on tlic marsli prevail. 23 How wonderfully nature doth provide For all her creatures spread on eveiy side ! Some have their snug retreats in which to hide, In holes, and nests, and crevices abide ; Whilst the poor snail strikes from the beaten track. And travels with her tent upon her back. Some beings live upon the same small prey- Yet each one captures it in different way : The Toad and Swallow feed upon the fly, The first takes it on earth, the last in sky. The Swallow, by provision, is decreed To hawk it down by her superior speed. But the poor Toad hath neither wings nor bill. And yet he captures it with equal skill : Placing himself upon the dark rough earth, Near sorae broad plant, that on its breast hath birth. The cimning reptile waits with watchful eye. Till on its leaves alights the artless fly. When, launching foiiih his tongue, both fine and smooth, He draws the little flv within his mouth. 24 And thus by nature's law it is decreed, Contrivance here supplies the place of speed. In common things the naturalist may find Food for the thoughtful and reflective mind ; The richness of his district eveiy day For its historian may suffice alway ; The wonders of his homestead, wood or fen. Are quite sufficient to employ his pen. For nature is a Book, wherein are written, Truths which philosopher and sage have smitten. 'Tis perfect now as when the day it came Fresh from its Author's hands ; the same Through each edition issued by the Year : Its precepts are most beautiful and clear. It shows how wisdom, goodness, skill and power On earth are manifest ; on rock, as flower ; Seen in the Heavens, lovely in repose, As in the colour of the opening rose : Written in stars upon the page of night : Chased on tlie Morning's chalice fill'd witli light : 25 Visible on Ocean's thousand forms, Her wild unresting waves, her tides and storms ; Seen when the night resigns to bolder day That sceptre which she timidly did sway : Seen when from Summer's iiand the year receives Chaplets of fir-cones twin'd with oaken leaves ; When Autumn treads upon the golden leaf, Or binds 'midst beauteous fields, the rustling sheaf : When Spring and Winter weave in maze alway The dance of renovation and decay ; Seen in the plan which animates Earth's whole, Gives to her body's wond'rous parts — the soul. Marks of design above, around, are rife — On animal, on vegetable life. Showing some gi-eat Designer : One, whose skill, Makes every part its office to fulfil. Then who shall deem to study or to scan Such things, beneath the dignity of man ? Small things are noble ; their true value lies In their construction, beauty, and not size. The little worm that heaves the coral rocks 26 Is ciu'ious as the Elephant, or Ox. The finite well may study, small or great, The things which did the Infinite create. Such are the thoughts I have been taught to think Fair Trent ! as I have wandered by thy brink. Such are the thoughts that oft have had the power To wdiile away the calm and peaceful hour. Thy gentle murmur oft hath been to me A hymn : thy pebbled marge, a homily. Long may such charms, as now thou hast, be thine ; The hcai-t, to love and worship them, be mine ; And, when the daisy must bloom o'er my grave, Mine ear no more be solaced by thy wave. May the rude stone, raised by affection's care, This simple, beautiful, small tribute bear : " Sweet-heart of nature, from a child " He lov'd hor sunniest nooks ; " And streams and flowers, and wood notes wild, " Supplied him well with books ; 27 " Trent's sinuous course, and Weston's spire "Scathed oak, and daisied mead, "The matin lark — the glowworm's fire " Attuned his rustic reed." (**) E 28 JUDGE OF THE DEEBY COUNTY COURT. '(;'1^^,PRUNG from thy soil, fair Newton ! there is one ),)d2X^ Who in peculiar place now stands alone. Then Cantrell f ^) let my sportive cause be free To twine of song one little thread for thee. Learn'd in the law : grave, calm, of judgment due. And thought, to sift " the false from out the true ;" Well has thy Country placed thee on that seat, (-") Wliere just appeals impartial verdicts meet. Of office high : more honorable thy gown, Than Roman toga, or the civic crown. And yet, methinks, delight must gild the hour Spent 'neath Newtonian shade, and hollied bower ; Retired from crowded courts, is it not sweet, To find the daisy scattcr'd at thy feet 1 To see the thrush, shy as the spotted fawn, Steal from the shrubs to feed upon thy lawn 1 Or pluck the coral beads from oft' the fruited thorn t 29 mi^oonligllt ^«^sN Autumn day hath died on wood and cloud : His red blood stains the witheriuu' forest bouch Eve comes with her light footstep, softly now, Folds his still corse in a white moonlight sliroud. How fair is earth ! To her, it seems, as if Heaven now had lent a beauty sweet and new. Skies have no cloud, save one, which as a skiff With white sail spread, doth navigate the blue. No leaf's astir : no sigh is on the gale : No stars peep out save one, and only one, The pearl Night wears upon her forehead pale. So mute is earth, man seems with God alone, Listening the solemn whispers low and clear Breathed from the shell Night places to his ear. 30 ^ilfpnrp. KS^^ILENCE hath set her finger with deep touch i^ki Upon Creation's brow. Like a young wife, the Moon Lifts up Night's curtains, and, with countenance mild. Smiles on the beauteous Earth — her sleeping child. For joy the wild flowers weep. Soft incense, such As steals from herbs, 'midst pleasant fields in June, Freights the night air. Each light tree's waving tress Is edged with silver. Flocks lie motionless. How sweet arc hours spent in such scenes as this, When Peace looks down from Heaven in plaintive mood, And Earth, in deep tranquillity of bliss, Becomes a suitor to fair Sohtudc ! What noble actions spring to fruited prime Spring — from the seeds Thought sows in such a time! 31 jSonnpl^. Written in Mr. Bateman's Museum of British Antiquities. gJPl|jRAISED be the hand that with unflinching zeal Hath ope'd the Past's rich, rare sepulchral mm And ciilled its treasures. Histoiy's lamp may biu-n, But cannot show how in her cradle lay Our infant country : axe and urn of clay Here speak with eloquence at every turn ; Rude weapons point to a far distant day, When Britons by their use the battle won, The red-deer took, or trout from out the burn. The Briton's life is writ in flint and bone, Made visible by arrow-head of stone : By pebble, trinket, red-deers' horn or celt These earth had seal'd but Bateman f ) broke the seal To show us how our fathers thought or felt. • 2 SStuJ^umn. (IDE o'er the woodlands, clad till now in green, Autumn her gorgeous banner doth um-oll ; jSTot saintly missal, nor emblazon' d scroll, Can boast of richer hues than it, I ween : She holds a wondrous pageant in the wood ; The sylph-lil£e Birch hath dress of lemon tinge ; Tlie queenly Elm a robe with orange fringe ; The warrior Beech hath "garments rolled in blood;" The kingly Maple dons his golden crown ; The Sycamore a coat of russet hue ; While, gloomy as the Midnight's frown, the Yew Hath his funereal mantle round him thrown, As though he drcam'd earth all too bright, Lo I now. Winds strip with i-uthless breath, the many-coloured bough. 33 ^onnpf. Addressed to Commander M'Clure, of the "Investigator," on his Arctic voyage. ^l^^OBLE M'Clure : heaven speed thy gallant sail |li^^ That hath so bravely battled with the deep ; Armed with the steel of duty, donn'd in mail Of dauntless magnanimity of soul, Thou hast defied the foes of storm, snow, hail And wind — hosts of ice-crested waves that roll, To guard the portal of the Arctic's keep. The enterprize hath open'd a dark seal, And thou hast read the secrets of that scroll. Which none had been permitted to reveal. For this thy country loves thee ; but thy name Writes she in fairest amaranth — for thy aim. To rescue from a sepulchre of wave Her long-lost cherished baud of " unreturning brave." 34 ^t $M(if% j^^^OFT is the music, which those village bells SXij/ii Now breathe upon the calm and listening air ; Save it, no soimd of earth seems lingering there, But all is hushed and still. In gentle swells, And dying falls, o'er Britain's hills and dells. Ever, oh ! ever, may that music sound. The voice that bids us throng her altars round, Of joy and peace its softened cadence tells, Ever, oh ! ever, from our places holy. May Sabbath song and Sabbath prayer arise Responsive to that anthem of the skies By host seraphic hymn'd ! Oh ! pure and lowly Is om- faith, yet rife with love untold, Which melts man's hetu-t to frame it in her mould. 35 W^f $m\ahvii^. ;S the small snowdrop draped in hood of white, Mi^ Which seems too frail, too fair, for floral mould, Heedless of bhnding rain, wind, sleet and cold. Leaves, like a mm, her cell ere Morning's light : So, in unsullied purity of soul, The modest virgin steals upon the world, Fearless of Envy's shafts around her hurled, And unalloy'd by praise which false lips dole : Scorning to prize the spangled robe which Wealth Would round her sweet and cherished form enfold, Loving that charity which aids by stealth Rather than that admiring eyes l^ehold : Seeking — not proud rewards the world calls blest. But the calm joy which gilds a stainless breast. p 36 $timft. (CANT. 2 Cn. 10 V.) iJiSWAKE ! arise ! my fair one, come away, 3^ Winter is past, the flowers on earth appear ; The tui-tle's murmur from the budding spray, With song of birds awakes the opening year ; The myrtle's bloom, by softest breezes fanned ; The olives fair their infant leaves unfold ; The gushing citrons now adorn the land, Fairer than when they droop with fruits of gold. The fig-tree putteth forth her freshest green ; The vine ambrosial, rich in leaf is seen ; Then let the lute and merry pipe resound, Tlien let the dimpled laugh of Mirth be found : Haste, my Beloved ! why dost thou delay 1 Awake ! arise ! my fair one, come away. 37 PlpraptonF (^Ttibf, \ffM^jK'E gentle miirmvir of thy low-voiced dove i^ StiU fiills iijion mine ear : tho' years have -past Since with the friends of youth I saw thee last, Haimt of my boyish days sweet Eempstone Grove ! f®) To linger o'er such scenes doth memory love. 'Twas there we watch'd the robin print the ground, Its small round nest of moss and oak leaves found ; And there it was that in one circle twin'd We carved our names upon a beech tree's rind. Such were Youth's simple joys : and yet methinks, Than Manhood's bliss they had a nobler birth, Than Manhood's merriment a blither mirth ; Of that bright chain which binds the soul to earth, They were the purest, fairest, loveliest links. 38 t^p Ijarpi&plK. 9/t j|i^N shaggy brae a Harebell grew, (pl^a Jewell' d by Morn with pearls of dew, A chaste and lovely blossom ; Spring clad it in a light-blue di'ess, So delicate in loveliness. E'en dappled white roes feared to press Its form to earth's gi'een bosom. Sweet Jessie Bell came tripping by, Whose beauty caught the Harebell's eye, Which breathed an earnest prayer — That round so fair and lov'd a thing Her odorous sweets she e'er might flin • 39 But o'er the green and fragi-ant sod Disdainfully the maiden trod, And crushed the floweret sweet : Its dying breath perfumed the air, And these its latest accents were — " Death e'en to life is passing fair, Caused by such beauteous feet." 40 (JiiKbloob's ILobF. ^^^TFi^HERE is a deep, abiding love ^^l^ii In childhood's gentle breast, Which burns when those who lighted it Are gathered to their rest. Can a child forget the fair field-flowers A mother bade her seek 1 Or the tear-water' d loving kiss She planted on her cheek ] Can she forget youth's sunny j 03^3 'Midst lovehest things of earth, When death has still'd the sister feet Which shar'd with her the mh-th 1 41 On Memory's stream, which as a dream, Is calm and smooth and fair That sister star will shine from far, And glass its image there And oft her feet in fancy sweet Will seek that sister's grave, And love the fair, will hallow there The flowers that o'er her wave ; — For dear is e'en the idlest weed That in a churchyard grows, And dear is there the gather'd dust In which the blossom blows. 42 0|? sperp oup fo&pb onps Qpf. ^^»|.(^H ! spare our loved ones yet, <^^M Thou, who dost guard the treasured forms of earth Give back theu- lip its hue, their cheek its mirth. Cause not life's sun to set. Oh ! spare them yet awhile, Those dear companions of our brightest years : They who have shared our joys, have dried om* tears. And sweetened every smile. Our lives have been too fair, Too full of bliss : around earth's radiant bowers Delight hath seemed to hang perennial flowers : Hope bud with vcrdm'e rare. " But stay, fond wishes, stay, Why call to earth the joyous wanderei'S back ] Why check thch' spirits in then* heavenward track To realms of brighter day ?" 43 No ! rather let them go, A glorious lot, a brighter home is theirs, To crowus of immortality the heirs, Why wish them here below 1 Then take them, take them. Lord, Assured that they shall see thy glorious face ; Make them thy love, thy wondrous mercy trace, And rest upon thy word. And though thy dealings here, May seem mysterious to our mortal eyes, Perchance ere long some bright day will arise And make all darkness clear. Then we shall see and tell. How perfect justice rules thy ways to man ; How perfect wisdom shines in every plan — Thou, orderest all things well. G 44 Hesf Mh^t%. ^I^I^HERE is a nook, a calm, sweet, sylvan spot, ^^^'^ Far from the strife of crowds, and the thick hum HJ^ Of myriads struggling for their gold and greed ; Nought breaks its silence, save the lowing herd, The ploughman's whistle, or the rural song Of village maiden, as she hies her home At eventide, her latest labour done. Most hallowed are its precincts : side by side Ranged orderly, are graves of young and old. The fair, the beautiful ; daughters and sons, With those who nursed them, lie for aye at rest. A village temple rising 'midst them all. Rears unto heaven its tall, thin, tapering spire, (Seeming to point us to a temple higher,) O'er whose gray walls broad elms their shadows fling, And x-evcrend yews, whose sable boughs seem born 45 Of many a generation's gathered dust. "When I have shuffled off this mortal coil," Sweet, passing sweet, methinks 'twould be to lie In that green nook. 'Tis true this earth Shows not her dead the sheen of beauteous things 'Tis true the blossoms of the budding Spring Charm not the eye for ever clos'd against them ; The charnel house no visions of green fields Displays — nor doth the cold grave hear The enrapturing melody of awakened birds. Yet 'tis no idle wish ; for, oh ! 'tis sweet To feel our ashes will for ever lie 'Midst the fair scenes that we have loved in life. Then lay me there, for there do daisies pied Besprinkled lightly o'er the grassy turf The earliest bloom. There, too, round trees Of beauteous growth, or gnarled with many years, (Obedient to the dulcet voice of Spring,) First peep anemonies, and cluster thick ; And the first swallow from the gray church tower Twitters his pleasant tales of sunnier lands. Let not the stately tomb or sculptured stone, 46 Freighted with praise, which, Hving, I should blush To call mine own — above my relics rise. Let pliant willows swathe my gi-een grave round, Like the young cotters' that have risen near. Culled from the branches of some brook-fed tree Where I was wont at eve to hang my harp When its last sounds had died upon the breeze. Oh ! lay me, too, with those I've loved in youth, Or those to whom Affection's bonds Of friendship bound me — those whose memories dwell In many an honest, if not noble deed. 47 0n ^Spring. fUMfpiJiE year awakes ! soft, southern breezes bring ^iJk^ Glad news of Winter's bridal with the Spring Her sunniest smile wears each created tiling. Mark the calm beauty of the violet's eye, As with expressive, native modesty, She peepeth from the budding brake hard by. In yellow vests, a rich and clustering train, The mead-flowers now come trooping o'er the plain, Bringing new life and beauty back again. The leaf is green upon the forest tree, And myi-iad daisies sprinkled o'er the lea Shine like white barks upon an emerald sea. 48 'Midst nodding heather flowers, old oaks and fern, The low-A'oiced stream and wild-bird each in turn. Fill with delicious song the Morning's urn. Swallow ! that from fair groves of myrtle, palm. Or orange, comest \ what a radiant charm Thy presence flings o'er meads, by rivers calm ! The butterfly, on deeply-damask'd wing, The first and frail companion of the Spring, 'Mongst crocus flowers is gaily journeying. All things have life — all things have beauty now, Contentment calm doth sit on Nature's brow : In our life's bay, joy anchors many a prow. 49 k fl £ifl&B fli^ JQFF&KFfnopL ^M^OME, leave gentle lady, thy needle and flowers, g^^^l The beautiful forms that have grown 'neath thy hand ; Let us haste to the thickets and sweet woodland bowers, Where e'en brighter than they, in their loveliness stand. Or wander through meads, where the cowslip is springing, And the hawthorns are white, with the blossoms of May, And the air with the notes of the skylai'k is ringing. Or the thrush that is bidding his farewell to-day. Or perchance by the brink of some sweet flowing river, On whose sm-face unbroken the pale lily lies. When the breeze stirs the flowers, and the green willows quiver. And her hair twined with gold-threads Eve walks thro' the skies- Yes ! leave, gentle lady, thy needle and flowers, Come, wander abroad, with the bird and the bee ; For such, and such ever, as these are the hours That I fain would devote, but to love and to thee. 50 Montan. ^T is not in seasons of sunshine and wealth, 5ft!#s?) That we see woman's virtues shine forth : o"'^^ Nor e'en when our cheeks show the foot-prints of health, \y And joy's flowei*s by life's pathways have birth. But when sickness hath sheathed in man's bosom its dart, Woman's natm-e seems all but divine : She's the woodbine that roiind the scathed oak of his heart, Loves its deHcate wreathes to entwine. How patient her watchings — her wants then how few ! — Man's loneliness eager to share ; And how oft is her lily cheek bathed with the dew Of warm tears that hang silently there. She heeds not the length of the cold, sunless night, That is robbing her check of its bloom ; She heeds not the taper's pale glimmering light, That just burns through the dai-kness and gloom. 51 With an eye ever watchful — an ear that e'er hears, Each half-uttered, each soft whispered word, Her vigil she keeps, and hope hushes the fears — The dark fears which anxiety stirred. Oh, woman ! I love not thy beauty and grace — (Though rich are these gifts thou dost wear :) I love thee, because thou dost closer embrace Him whom sorrow hath stricken, or care. Man may boast of fair deeds ; in prowess and might, In arts and in arms may he shine : But he shrinks back appalled and dismayed at a sight, When a nobler courage is thine. With thy patient endurance he never can tend, The lone couch where the sick ones recline : Let others choose man — boasted man — for their friend Let woman — true woman — be mine. 52 ^0 f^f ^ppnl / / ^1^^^^^ ^"^^^ ^^^® ^^'^^^i thou river old, ^^1^ As on thy banks I lie, Which lov'st thou best of all fair things Thy silver waves pass by 1 Lov'st thou the antler-garnished hall ? Or castle proud and hoar, Where 'scutcheon' d banners grace the wall, And spears old warriors bore ? The sun, that with his blazing hand Fling's fire-flakes o'er the West 1 Eve, folding in many-coloiu'ed plaid The babe-cloud to her breast 1 L. jemTT. ®;ij£ goat povis«, gjcmitrgtou Cliff. 53 If none of these, oh ! river old, Is it the streamlet wild That runneth down from jileasant hills To meet thee as a child ? Or may it be the queenly June In purple heath arrayed, Sitting crown'd with golden broom Beneath a gnarled oak's shade 1 Is it the storm 1 the thunder-cloud 1 The lightning in his ire, Scribbling on scroll of blackest night His autograph in fii-e 1 Perchance it is some humbler thing ; An insect rich and rare ? The red-moth resting its tired wing On lilies thou dost wear ? 54 The bee — that devotee, whose shrine Is the rose in every bower 1 The zephyr — whispering lovingly In the ear of a listening flower ? Or lovest thoxi enchanting sounds The merle's melodious song 1 Or shepherd-lark that plays his flute The clouds, his flock among 1 Thus did the river old reply : " All things to me are fair, The forms that decorate the eartl^i. That animate the air. All things I love : the beautiful The grand — the vast — the small, For God, in perfect wisdom, love, And mercy made them all." 55 Frappnfs. Joy and Sorrow. liCl?*C?^^ chisel out our soitows on the rock ; ^^® In sand, we WTite our mercies : the elements Of Time, change not the first : the last, The lightest ocean wave doth wash away. False Friends. They cluster roiind us in our hours of ease. When sorrow comes we sigh for them in vain : So the small scarlet flower opes her false eye, To catch the sun's sweet smile, but closes with the rain. 56 An Evil Tongue, Thou know'st a viper by the sting he gives ; Aud by the loathsome slime he leaves behind, The snail : thou knowest a rej)tilc heaii By the envenom'd words the tongue doth utter. Gloom. Dark was his brow, but darker was his soul, Amidst surrounding joys : in the world's wood He stood, a pine, when all around was green. Coming Spring. Yon naked trees Stand like a group of beggars at Spring's door, Asking a rag to cover their cold limbs ; A pitying tear steals down her velvet cheek, As from her wardrobe brings she choicest suits And one to each apportions : on the good deed Kaius down the sun most sweet, approving smiles. 57 Song-bird with stream in gentle music vies To lisp her praises : and for her feet April doth damask the green earth with flowers. Hidden Jewels. Long dormant in some chamber of the brain, A valtiable acquirement may have lain, Till accident, or circumstance arise. To bring to light the undiscovered prize : So the rich pearl 'neath Ocean's breast doth lie, Hidden a thousand fathoms from the eye, When some adventurous diver seeks it there. And brings it up for Beauty's ear to wear. How many a priceless pearl of thought doth dwell In a hard, crude, and uninviting shell ! 58 pl^orn on MalprKoo. (A BALLAD.) rp^jHE early lark had scarcely risen, O'er fields of ripening corn, And with his wild and jocund song Aroused the slumbering morn. When marshalling in all tlieir might, Two oft-tried hosts advance, The flower of England's chivalry. The bravest hearts of France. From east, from west, from north and south, Seem'd gathering far and near. The fierce hussar — the brave dragoon — The dauntless curassier, 59 O'er ranks of braver, nobler men, The sun ne'er shed his lilaze, Outvying e'en the warUke hosts, Of England's proudest days. By Heaven ! it was a glorious thing, To see in arms and might. The veterans of a hundred fields, Assembled for the fight. How shone the sun on glittering plume ! How burnished he the steel ! How flashed his glance from sword and lance ! And every spur on heel ! How lightly over countless men, Napoleon's eagles flew ! How proudly waved our banners bright By many a shot pierced through. The war-horse crested high his neck, And burned to skim with speed, The RTOund which ere to-morrow's sun His carcase was to feed : And he was there, whose thirst for power To death had thousands hurl'd ; 60 And he was there (that veteran chief) Whose conquests filled the world. Full many a hard, well-foughten field, Their ranks had drenched with gore, But now they met (those warlike chiefs) As ne'er they met before. They sought to avenge no petty feud — No trifling cause to try, On Waterloo hung England's fate — E'en Em'ope's destiny. 61 W^f tH|lfp Bfpr. A BALLAD. {Vide Hist, of England, reign of Ed. IV.) ^^F all the herd in Burdetfs jDark, '^p One stately deer the pride And pure milk-white, as daisies bright, That couched his glossy side Roam'd wide and free ; more agile far And graceful was his bound Than every fair companion there, Which sped the oaks around. So gentle, that the russet fern, O'er which he swiftly trod Felt not his soft foot's pressure. Nor drooped to kiss the sod — 62 As beautiful, that stately deer, So gallant he and bold That scarcely for a monarch's price, The favourite A\oiild be sold : He stood upon a grassy knowl, Beneath the forest bough, His antlers high, most gallantly Broad branching from his brow. From Burdett's towers, the castle bell, The eleventh hour had toll'd. When issuing forth across the park Were men in green and gold ; And winded they the mellow horn, And chided they the hound Till quick from out their heathery lairs, The forest dwellers bound. The milk-white deer is singled out — The merry hounds give tongue, The hoai-y woods are rolling back The music of their song ; 63 Onward he presses over hill — Through brake — through copsewood, all, Till many a panting horse and hound, Behind his footsteps fail. But see the hounds are at him now — He bounds — he turns — he flies — He plunges in the swollen stream And there the pack defies ; But no — it is no resting place — Again he seeks the hill, But soon his nimble feet must tii'e — His gallant heart lie still, For baying hounds are at his heels. And horsemen at his back, And stoutest hart that roam'd the chase Must fall before the pack. Right bravely he is dying now — His blood is flowing fast — And reddening deep the forest leaves That o'er the earth are cast. And pencilling adown his side. Full many a narrow band 64 Like the clear veius that wander o'er Sweet Beauty's bridal hand. Then quick from off his antler'd brow The huntsman broke the crown, And gave it to the foremost hand That pulled the monarch down ; But scarcely on the wintry air The deer had breathed his last, When mounted on his fleetest steed, Came BniTlctt spurring fast ; And angrily, and proudly wished To all assembled near, " That in the belly were the horns Of him who slew the deer" — And who was he who slew the deer 1 It was his lord, the King, Who speedily commanded " That before him they should bring, " The traitor who had used such words "- Then Burdett's cause was tried, And like some felon foul in guilt The fated noble died. ®lir Ci^ak oTrw in pomngtott ^arL 65 Nor argument — nor eloquence His faultless head could save, And for his favourite white deer's life- His dearer life he gave. jFmt0, 67 jiofps. (1) The " Newton" here alluded to is the village of King's Newton, situated on the banks of the river Trent, in the parish of Melbourne, Derbyshire. (2) I little thought in how short a period after penning those lines I should have to deplore the loss of this sincere friend and amiable sister. She slept in peace on the 10th of May, 1846. From her childhood to her grave her life was one of unwearied iisefulness and indefatigable industry in the cause of doing good. She was, in the true sense of the term, a sincere Christian. It has been beautifully said of her by a Christian lady, " that she was as unfailing in every good work she undertook, and as sure of its accomplishment, as though she thought to merit Heaven by her virtues, and yet humility was decidedly one of the most prominent features in her character." Sunday-Schools— the building of Churches— clothing societies — visiting the sick and distressed, were objects to which she devoted her leisure hours with cheerfulness and alacrity. As a daughter, she was kind and considerate ; as a friend, sincere, showing regardlessness of self and kindness to others. (3) King's Newton Hall is a pleasant mansion, situated on an agreeable knowl on the south bank of the Trent. Built, as it is in the Tudor style, and half screened by luxuriant limes and elms, its appearance is picturesque. It was built by the Hardinges, a family which resided at King's Newton for some centuries. Sir Robert Hardinge, a distingtiished Royalist, who was buried in Melboui-ne Church, was honored with a visit from King Charles I, at this mansion. On one 68 of the windows he scribbled with his diamond ring this anagram, which when transposed makes Carolus Rex—" Cnis ero lux:' Anagrams were very popular about this period. Thus, there was written one on the Attorney General of King Charles I, whose name was William Noy, which was turned into — ''1 moyle in laic" After the Hardinges left King's Newton Hall, the property was sold, and was purchased by the Melbourne family. The late Lord Hardinge, who was Governor General ot India, in consideration of his brilliant exploits on the banks of the Sutlej, was created Viscount Hardinge of King's Newton. Wishing to possess the old hall and estate formerly the property of his ancestors, he wrote to the late Lord Melbourne to purchase it. His Lordship's answer was brief and charac- teristic—" The Sikhs might as well ask your Lordship to restore to them the territory which you have recently won from them, as me to give up King's Newton Hall anel my Trent meadows." It is somewhat singular that the place has frequently been occupied by individuals who were fond of literary pursuits. Here resided for .some time Mr. Speech'ey, who wrote a valuable treatise " On the Cultivation of the Grapo Vine." Here, also, Francis Noel Clarke Mundy, Esq., the sound magistrate and sweet poet, who sang of " Needwood Forest," and "The Fall of Need- wood ; " and here too, at present, resides Mrs. Green, the accomplished authoress of a little work called " John Gray of Willoughby." Mr. Mundy's works are now so scarce, and his poetry is so sweet, that we ai-e tempted to give a slight notice of both. Francis Xoel Clarke Mundy was bona in Leicestershire in 1758 His descent ivas ancient, and has been fully given by Nichols the historian. His ancestor was Lord Mayor of London in the reign of King Henry VIII. His mother was the sister of Sir Robert Burdett of Foremark, and he man-ied his first cousin, Sir Robert's daughter. Mr. Mundy was known to the literary world as the author of thoso justly admired poems, " The Fall of Needwood," and ^'Needwood Forest." These works are pervaded by a train of sweet feeling ; the sentiments are frequently beautiful and clothed in chaste and elegant diction. His Needwood Forest origin- filly printe 'i'"' ■■-'^ " ''i^MrS. ^ K ; m i^-^A- H^iNj^ OTUEH 'J'r,m^^ '^1?:^^'' "^-mm 40ShHl )5mao3. ^ ^ m V, rt U 9 / A I" ;si y-