THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES V63. POEMS. OEMS BY A P A R SON, ; Suavidicis potius quam multis versibus edam, Parvus ut est cycni melior canor, ille gruum quam Clamor, in aetheriis dispersus nubibus austri." Lucretius, iv . 908 " Look here — Gentlemen ; do not hurry on so fast, And lose the chance of a good pennyworth. I have a pack full of the choicest wares Of every sort." Pedlar-Witch, is' "Faust." L O N D O N : HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1863. LONDON : PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE, BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET. f\(. I p. zs~ DEDICATION. TO Wilt thou look kindly on these waifs of Song, That I have gathered from the fading time When I was young? With all their faults of rhyme And reason, still receive them : do not wrong My trust in thee, whom I have known so long And loved so well, by bidding me withhold This off ring. Were it music, such as rolled When blind Demodocus entranced the throng, 'T were worthier of thee ; but it would not bear More truly to thee, than these simple words, The message which no charm of liquid chords Or subtle tongue tells fitly, that the heart Hidden in the humblest gift transforms it fair With Love and Beauty, far beyond all Art. 918039 BY WAY OF PREFACE. A friend suggests that I should call the pieces that follow, " Flowers offered at many Shrines." I prefer, however, the title, " Poems by a Parson." I don't mean to say that the verses are Poems, any more than to affirm that the writer is a Parson : but everybody knows that " apt alliteration's art- ful aid " goes far to allure the purchaser of books ; and this help, you see, my title secures. My verses are printed for a charitable end ; and I beg my read- ers to bear in mind that charity covereth "the mul- titude of sins." I should think I need not deprecate the wrath of the corps of critics. Unless there be PREFACE. a Mr. Bumble in their ranks, none of them will so far forget himself as to quarrel with a foundling picked up in a Bazaar. So I send forth my humble volume, and say as Ovid said long ago about a volume of his — " Orba parente suo quicunque voluniine tangis, His saltern vestra detur in urbe locus. Quicquid in his igitur vitii rude carmen habebit, Emendaturus, si licuisset, eram." March. 1863. CONTENTS, BESIDE THE TWEED BESIDE A HIDDEN SHORE THE VIOLET GONE AFTER SORROW THE RESULT NORTH AND SOUTH THE MAY AT THE EXHIBITION AUTUMNAL THE LODGINGS WHERE ARE YE NOW ? GLENDALOUGH AND THE THE GLEN A REVERIE REMINISCENCE TO BLONDINE ON HER BIRTHDAY ... TO EDITH FORGET-ME-NOT Mil 1 9 15 22 25 29 32 35 ■IT 4(1 43 51 54 CONTEXTS. PAGK TO STELLA 59 TOA.M.D ,;1 TO AMARYLLIS 6-3 TO A LADY REQUESTING LINES FOR AN ALBUM 66 SERENADE 68 MOSELLE 70 IN THE GARDENS OF HEIDELBERG CASTLE 72 COLOGNE '"> RHINE WINE '5 A VOICE FROM NAPLES UNDER BOMBA " EMIGRANTS' SONG 30 THE BONES OF BRUCE 82 DALHOUSIE s " THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN 92 THE CAUDINE FORKS 103 IN MEMORIAM M. H. M 117 MORNING HYMN U9 EVENING HYMN 121 P E 31 S. BESIDE THE TWEED. My friend, you claim a long forsaken task, And yet no task, when clone for love of yon : How to refuse I know not ; what to write I know as little ; for your mind is quick To mark a flaw, and pierce an empty phrase With keen intelligence — as is your heart True, when touched truly — tender too, I think, With no light sympathy, when once its chords Are thrilled, but needing that its depths be stirred. Ere it will answer, — as the Sacred Pool We read of in the Evangel would not heal, Until the Angel troubled it. BESIDE THE TWEED. To-day The Tweed's low ripple whispered in mine eai — I passed by Melrose with its broken pile Reared by Devotion, razed by frantic Zeal, Each calling on its God, — to Abbotsford, Sir Walter's fair creation — his last home. Oft had I seen the place, and wandered there In fancy, — now in fact I trod the courts — An irreproachable lackey by my side, With a perpetual and remorseless flow Of catalogue and description from his lips. Even in the room He died ia. When at last Safe from his chatter — in a hazel copse Hard by the Tweed that swept its banks below, Thinking of that sad mansion — of this stream With cold grey waters hurrying on, and there Beyond, a railway gashing all the hill, I scarce could deem 'twas Abbotsford and Tweed. The actual scenes were poor and stript and chill Compared with those my early dreams had loved To dwell on. This the legend-haunted Flood ! And that the wizard's dwelling ! Oh ! no ! no ! I'll keep the picture that my fancy drew — The fair Ideal— let the Real pass. — BESIDE THE TWEED. And is it not thus, often? Dwell we not In two worlds far apart— the world of sense, And that unrealized, wherein the heart And spirit seek their portion? Which is real — The Tweed and Abbotsford I saw, or those I dreamed of long ago ? Those yet shall perish : The stone shall crumble, and the stream be lost To distant aeons ; but my thought shall live, Eternal as my life, it lives in me, — - The offspring of the spirit cannot die. What is the Real then? Or is there aught Within this visible world, on which the Soul Can plant itself unshaken, and be strong? Alas ! I cannot tell : I look within, And find nought there but my own changeful self Reflecting changefully an outer light, — Warmed or illumined by no inward flame. Without — all changes, cheats, dissolves, decays : Youth, Pleasure, Beauty — how like falling stars. They gleam athwart our sky — to set for ever ; Faith, Honour, Goodness — names unheeded now. And living only in the twilight dim Of scarce remembered legend ; Truth itself, Uncertain as the flick'ring rays that [day a b -2 BESIDE THE TWEED. Thro' rippling waters on a pebbly floor, Discarded or denied. And what remains To make life better than a dotard's dream, And round it shed some living light of God, Who— some say — is the Father of us all — And others, Father only of a few ? Lore ? Love — the glory of the happy heart — The mockery of the wretched — the Despair Of those, perchance, who need its office most. And most its tender ministries. To me It comes not. Is it that I dwell apart, Withdrawn to worship one fair Image — far Too perfect for this Earth, idealized From many a vision of a wayward heart Inspiring restless Fancy — into one As far above the real that exists, As were the Dreamland Landscapes I had loved, Above the actual Abbotsford and Tweed ? "Gray Time fares on : around me throngs the world, With all its Mystery and Strife ; and I Am in the midst of all — a part of all ; And yet, within my heart, in the deep core And silent centre of the inner life, BESIDE THE TWEED. Where uncompanioned ever dwells the Soul, There is a void the world can never fill — The void which Nature leaves that One may rear Therein her golden throne — a void I fain Would fill with that fair linage ; but ah me ! She comes not— nor in sooth will ever come ; And when I fly from self, and eager seek To trace her shadow in the work-day world, And gaze around with waiting, searching eyes, I meet the same stale bow, or smile, or jest, The dull frivolities of hackneyed life, And a blank stare, if on my moodier brow Have Disappointment and Expectance writ A deeper line of gloominess and care. What matter, after all ? Do you believe, Dear friend, that what I say is only true Of me who say it— or of me at all? Is life not lonely — do not most hearts sock (When hopeless ev n, by Hope's strange glamour wiled, ) The One who could interpi*et all their strifes, And know by keen electric sympathy Their needs, and answer them — fulfil their love. And stay their dark unrest ? And finding not That which they crave, some (do they not?) grow eold, BESIDE THE TWEED. A? J have known true hearts left vacant grow Cold, hard, ay, selfish — till their bright spring bloom Mad turned to ashes — -as full many must — While man's high hopes and longings mock the lot Assigned him in the sphere of mortal life, That leads— ah ! leave us still that Godlike hope That leads to the Immortal. BESIDE A HIDDEN SHORE. The bells in the darkness knelling The lights on the hidden shore— The land-breeze falling and swelling Thro' the pines on the headland hoar- The long, slow heave of the ocean As it travels on to the strand— The fitful and muffled motion And noise of life from the land— All these, as my bark is sliding Along thro' the gloom of the night, Reprove me with gentlest chiding, As the voice of a mother might. BESIDE A HIDDEN SIIOTCE. Iii light and in music speaking "With a measured and dreamful tone, My heart, that is wearily seeking Release from its toil and moan, They chide for its nerveless shrinking From Avatching and care and strife — For it-; faithlessness ever thinking Of the toil, not the crown, of Life. So the bells in their dim tower knelling. Winds and waves in their roar and roll. Of "Worship and Labour telling, Rebuke my unfaithful Soul. THE VIOLET. After long shivering 'mid the frost and snow. Their naked branches clanging in the wind And in the chill rains dripping — the bleak woods Begin to flush with tender green, and low Amid their feathery boughs the Zephyr sighs, Like the tired voice of one who long has pined O'er a remembered sorrow. Solitudes Are then no longer voiceless, but arise Commingled melodies of birds and streams And gentle airs — soft anthems to soft skies. Nor incense is awanting, fragrant, rare, As from the blending of a Seraph's breath, With the low sigh of penitential prayer, Up float Earth's odours — as in happy dreams THE VIOLET. Lithe forms of shadowy loveliness enwreath Their wavering outlines in the ivory gleams That fairv moonshine sheds on dreamland air. And "monLET. That with its smile responsive to the Sun. Tells that the fount of winter's tears are dry, And the blithe reign of jocund Spring begun. Upon my heart long since there passed the chill And blight of gloomy winter: many storms Had tossed my spirit, and my laggard will Rose not heroic "gainst their dangerous sway. And thro' the dismal winter-light sad forms In resting and remorseful ever thronged Stern louring my dull sky by night and day. My heart and soul and all my being longed For light and rest and beauty. All my dreams And thoughts and prayers and fancies bent to this. As a frail spirit yearning for Heaven's bliss Turns to the throne whence God's great mercy beam? And one fair morning — ere the twilight gray Was scattered by the Sunrise — when the bars Of earthly life were lifted from the Soul, And the weird influence of the golden stars Thro' the dark spell of sleep, 'neath their control Held all the subject powers of life and thought- Then was the thick veil of dull sense upraised, And through a pale and mystic gleam I gazed, And saw — ah, blessed vision ! never hide. 11 THE TIG LET. Ye stars ! the memory and the hope from me — A dell so beauteous that the Idean grove, Where the three Queens of Heaven the Shepherd sought Were bleak beside it. The rich star of love Shone with the full-orbed Moon in all her pride Upon its plumy trees ; and the broad sea With one white track of silver on its breast Slumbered beyond — bushed in unmurmuring rest. Methought I trod the dell, beneath the shade Of the tall trees that chequered th' emerald lea With dusky shadows ; and a vista oped Before me in the lustrous light, and sloped Up to a fount, whose rivulet sang and strayed — A gleaming thread of life and light afar Amid the woodlands ; and the morning star Right down into the welling fountain shone With silvery "litter. Bv the smooth, soft brink Smiling mid golden moss, there bloomed alone One fragrant violet. On my tranced ear There breathed a voice — as from some distant sphere Of chiming choirs, an Elfin strain had strayed— " Stoop, pluck the violet ; of the fountain drink : 'Twill be thy heart's nepenthe, and the flower The magic and the blessing of thy life." 12 THE VIOLET. The fairy voice was silent : I obeyed. I drank, and all the freshness of an hour When sorrow was a name unknown returned; I plucked the flower, and to my bosom pressed Its purple softness ; and within my breast, Where erst wild passion nursed its fieriest strife, I felt a joyful and most holy calm — As tho' my years of storm-beat change had earned Refreshful rest at length and healing balm. Then seemed the blessed vision all to fade, And slumher left me ; on the drowsy air Were jangling loud the bells from the gray tower That by the river rises ; day's stern light Came hack unto me, and the Dreamland fair Was gone, — but not for ever : for I made A vow, as kneeling in that morning hour I communed with the Spirit of the Past And read the future in the vanished night. I vowed that wheresoe'er my lot were cast In years to come — amid the city's toil, Or in the Desert's silence — by the shore Of ocean, or of lake, by winding stream In golden valley, or in sunlit plain, In East or West — gay South, or Northland hoar — 13 THK VIOLET. Ye stars ! the memory and the hope from me — A dell so beauteous that the Idean grove, Where the three Queens of Heaven the Shepherd sought Were bleak beside it. The rich star of love Shone with the full-orbed Moon in all her pride Upon its plumy trees ; and the broad sea With one white track of silver on its breast Slumbered beyond — hushed in unmurmuring rest. Methought I trod the dell, beneath the shade Of the tall trees that chequered th' emerald lea With dusky shadows ; and a vista oped Before me in the lustrous light, and sloped Up to a fount, whose rivulet sang and strayed — A gleaming thread of life and light afar Amid the woodlands ; and the morning star Right down into the welling fountain shone With silvery glitter. By the smooth, soft brink Smiling mid golden moss, there bloomed alone One fragrant violet. On my tranced ear There breathed a voice — as from some distant sphere Of chiming choirs, an Elfin strain had strayed— " Stoop, pluck the violet ; of the fountain drink : 'Twill be thy heart's nepenthe, and the flower The magic and the blessing of thy life." 12 THE VIOLET. The fairy voice was silent: I obeyed. I drank, and all the freshness of an hour When sorrow was a name unknown returned ; I plucked the flower, and to my bosom pressed Its purple softness; and within my breast, Where erst wild passion nursed its fieriest strife, I felt a joyful and most holy calm — As tho' my years of storm-heat change had earned Refreshful rest ;it length and healing balm. Then seemed the blessed vision all to fade. And slumber left me ; on the drowsy air Were jangling loud the bells from the gray tower That by the river rises ; day's stern light Came back unto me, and the Dreamland fair Was gone, — but not for ever : for I made A vow, as kneeling in that morning hour I communed with the Spirit of the Fast And read the future in the vanished night. I vowed that wheresoe'er my lot were cast In years to come — amid the city'.- toil, Or in the Desert's silence — by the shore Of ocean, or of lake, by winding stream In golden valley, or in sunlit plain, In East or West — gay South, or Northland hoar — 13 THE VIOLET. No tame delay, no change, no joy, no pain Should the deep purpose of my being foil, To find the flower and fountain of my dream. With them the well-spring of my life is hid : I seek them now with long-expectant eyes ; ( >'er the strained eyeball droops the weary lid ; The way-worn steps are tottering, and the air Is heavy : where the Dreamland valley lies The moonlit ether sparkles sheen and light — Springs the cool fount, and floats the fragrance rare Of the sweet flower. Upon my aching sight When will that scene gleam 'neath its tranquil skies ? Where sleeps that valley 'neath Astarte's light .' Ah ! gentle Ladye, canst thou tell me where ! U Sadly falls the westering sunshine Round our silent home to-night ; Sadly muse I in the chambers Whence our friends have ta'en their llight All around is still and empty — Only here and there I glean Little waifs and strays that tell me Where the parted guests have been: Little waifs and strays that whisper. With an accent low and sweet, " Mingled here the happy voices, Twinkled here the fairy feet — Rose and fell the merry laughter, Echoed here the darling song — " 15 GONE. Echoed ! ah ! the happy voices With me here shall echo long. Evening comes ; but while its shadows Droop around me dim and gray, Memory pours along the landscape Purer light than light of Day. There, the River lies before me In that calm and silvery eve, And I hear the Angel music Round me its enchantment Aveave : There again, the rainy meadow Beaten by the cloudy wind Fret in front the whitening waters. Rise the frowning heights behind : Yonder, yet again, the carriage Toiling up the mountain road, Horse and man alike unconscious Of the value of their load ; Just as long ago at Mamre Abr ham washing wearied feet Reck'd not they that morn had trodden Far on high a golden street. Other visions pass before me — Other scenes and sounds arise — 16 GONE. But no more I'll gaze and listen 'Neath these sad and silent skies — Tho' in every scene awakened By Rememhrance' fatal spell, Ever shine the same fair faces. Ever the same voices swell — Ever the same group is gathered — Whitest light around them thrown, And for them the Earth is fragrant, And its lap with flowers is strown. Pass away, ye blessed visions — Such as ye have passed before : Wherefore linger, when the spirits That inspired yon — come no more ? "Wherefore stay, like flower-wreathed arches, When the pageant's past and gone — Like the festal lamps, when vanished Is the light that in them shone '. 'Twere not well that ye should linger, And so pure and bright intrude On the hours of life's long labour, On the spirit's solitude. Oh ! away ! too fair and happy — Duller scenes must intervene — GONE. Fade into a deeper distance, Unforgotten — but unseen. Rise not with so keen a brightnes — Else mine eye must dim with tears The effulgence of the beauty That my spirit loves, yet fears. Pass away — but take the blessing Of a heart that ye have blest, That perchance when sad and weaiy In the thought of you shalt rest ; That, when in a world of falseness, Tost with doubt and tried with wrong, From your memory shall "father Hope more bright and faith more strong. Y. - ! I ofttimes shall recall ye — Happy group and joyous hour.-. Vocal with that spirit music, Garlanded with fadeless flowers; But, oh linger not beside me, Leave me uncompanioned now ; Voices from the future call me, ■• Child, why thus a troubled brow . Gaze not back on flowers and sunshine : List not to the gentlest song : GONE. Take the light and strength they give thee, Onward, then — be brave and strong." Rise not then so fair and witching ; Why should I obscure Avith tears The effulgence and the glorv That my spirit loves, yet fears ; Shall I not recall their brightness With a blessing all my years I 19 AFTER SORROW. I look back to the shades of vanished years ; I scarce could see them once — so bright the rays Of sunshine gilding them ; now blinding tears Dim all that morning landscape, like a haze. It is not changed : ah no ! the peaceful lake Still smiles amidst its mountains, and the breeze Scented with heather sweeps o'er moor and brake — Still 'mong the wild flowers hum the nimble bees ; Still stands the quaint old church — the ivy leaf A little higher on the wall has crept : Still falls the shadow, like a cloak of gri O'er the green mounds where love bereaved has wept Still sinks the ruddy sun in summer eve Behind the empurpled mountains as of yore. 20 AFTER SORROW. Still the grey fields the twilight dews receive, Still all is fair; but on my heart no more Falls spring's soft shower of love — or summer's ray Of kindly warmth — or Autumn's genial glow : But only Winter with its cheerless day, And its long darkness and its driving snow. 21 THE RESULT. 1 might have seen disaster ere it came . I might have known the Eden would not iast — That my dark destiny with sword of flame "Would drive me from it : and the portal passed, 'Tis barred for ever ; I may come no more — Life lies discrowned now — the life of life is o'er. When last 1 loved, thro' many a haunted night My heart's lone anguish paid the penance due To Love unworthy and insulted Right. Till of repentance, consolation grew, And I could gather from my pain at length A wise experience and a stable strength. 22 THE RESULT, But what can solace now or strength afford .' Will it bring peace to curse the hapless hour When first I saw thee — beautiful — adored '. Or shall I bless it ? Ah ! I lack the power To do or one or other : all I know Is that it bared my breast to love and keenest woe. I saw thee — lovely as the dawn ; I heard Thy voice — the music of each young day-dream ; Ah ! how my heart laid up thy lightest word ; Ah ! how my memory dwelt on every beam Of that blue eye, which like an inner light Shone in my heart, the while it blest my sight ! And did I love thee? Does the gushing rill. When Winter bleak unclasps his icy hand. Bound to the lake that sleeps below the hill? Do violets bloom when Spring breathes o'er the land ' I loved, as men will love — nor till too late Saw between me and thee the barrier of Fate. And now — my lesson ? I must not rebel — I must not weary of a weary life — And tho' my heart should burn — a secret Hell — Must smoothe my brow, nor show the wasting strifi . 23 THE RESULT. I must not raise to Heaven an angry ore — And mock the madd'ning calm of that eternal sky. I had forgot : no titled wealth was mine: What a dull fool ! to deem a human heart An offering meet for Love and Beauty's shrine: How much I need to learn of the world's art ! And if the teaching seem a little rough And painful, yet 'tis plain and positive enough. i shall not need to have it o'er again. Nor curb once more my stubborn will and pride; My heart deep stabbed has bled, and not in vain ; It will he wise in future, and will chide Into subjection its vagaries wild — a smooth matron cheeks a wilful child. Then hush, dark heart! why storm, and heave, and swell.' 1 After the tempest comes the dull deep rest : What ! art thou wayward yet '. My love, farewell ! I dreamed I might have dreamed upon thy breast ; The cold world's voice broke that dear dream; and see. read night-paths, and leave my Light and Hope with Thee. 2-t NORTH AND SOUTH. This time a year agone I strolled "With Her beside the sea : The shons were white — the wind blew cold- The waves were dashing free. We heeded not the wintry storm. But strolled with even pace : Around was gloom — hut bright and warm Shone Love's light from her face — Her young pale face, with eyes so blue, And wreathed with braids of gold, Its smile so tender and so true — "What tho' the day were eclrl >. 25 N'oinil AND SOUTH. And now I wander by the main, The Sun is blazing high ; The waves are laughing as they win Its splendour from the sky. The hills are basking in the glow. And from each deep green vale The. orange and the myrtle throw Their fragrance on the gale. But yet methinks yon bleak white shore. Beside the Northern Sea — Yon leaden sky all clouded o'er, Were brighter far to me. 26 THE MAY. There is a fragrance in the air — The sun is warm and bright to-day ; And whitening round me everywhere I see the May. The same pure flowers, a month agone. I gathered 'neath a bluer sky, And was not then, as now, alone, For Thou wast nigh. Their clusters are as rich, their flower As white, by breeze as balmy tossed ; And yet I've asked myself this hour. "What is't they've lost?" 27 THE MAY, Thcv '. Nothing : still their scent they fling As sweetly to the wind ; but I I I've lost the glory of the Spring In heart and eye. Their life within my Highland Glen Is fair as on thy Southern plain : But mine amid the ways of men Is girt with pain. its light and bloom arc left with thee, Where thou art happy, far away ; And night and gloom remain with me. And memory stings me, when I see The flowering May. 28 AT THE EXHIBITION. Si ik trod these galleries and courts : And here she paused and gazed — To landscape bright or sculpture fair Her sweet blue eyes upraised : And here her silk robe rustled past. Her airy footstep fell. As on the rosy summer eve The chime of Vesper bell — She drank the beauty of the scene. She knew its thrilling spell. Her heart, that in the angel sphere Of pure Love ever dwelt. Like star in sky serene and clear. The sacred influence felt ; AT THE EXHIBITION. And at the holy Shrine of Art She bowed her reverent head, And communed with the mighty Soul That breathes in quick and Dead, And felt upon her life the light ( )f the Immortals shed. And I, who now where once she passed. Pass like the mournful breeze That sighs along- an autumn vale, Where Spring once decked the trees— I too can feel my being knit To hers more closely now ; — It seems as if I saw once more Thought throned upon her brow. And knelt before her loveliness, Where laurelled heads might bow. It seems as if we 'bode once more Within the zone of light, That gleamed around us long ago, Most beautiful and bright ; As if we met on blessed shores Beyond Time's moaning foam — 80 AT THE EXHIBITION. With plumy palms and summer winds, 'Neath Heaven's wide sunhright dome, And angel voices singing low, " Fair children, this is home." Alas! it is a fancy frail, And I am far from thee : Yd thy calm Presence lingers still In these fair halls with me. I gather comfort, fcr methinks These tench this lesson clear — That with the Lovely, True, and Good Thy spirit finds its sphere ; And that, whene'er these shining ones Are round me, Thou art near. 31 AUTUMNAL. The sun is sparkling on the frosty braes Ami on the shining waters ; all the woods Stand gorgeous in thin robes of red and gold And orange ; the low fields lie stript and still ; Amd over all the heaven heads keen and blue. And ;•- 1 look around, I mark each nook Where she and I spent unforgotten hours In rosy summer-time ; and now they seem Most sombre and most lonely ; for with me Her memory abides (but she is gone) Like a sweet perfume from a hidden shore- Like a low echo when the harp is still — Like a meek twilight when the sun is set. There, 'neath the plane that every now and thei 32 i AUTUMNAL. Shivering, shakes off" its sere, reluctant leaves, I sat and read, with low and lingering tone, Old songs and ballads of our Scottish glens, Or knightly tales of chivalry and love, In the soft language of the sunny South : Whilst "neath her pencil yon blue ridge of hills Across the lake rose shadowy on the page, O'er which bent her fair form and smiling face. 'Neath yonder feathery lime, whose few pale leaves Still clinging, flutter round its slender sprays, Hung childhood's pendulous delight — the swing. Ah ! still I hear her silvery mirthful laugh The while she flew up to the shadow cool Of the green branches — then swept rustling back. Shooting in music and in fragrance through The air her beauty seemed to till with light, And making, Iris-like, a fairy arc Cinder the deep cool linden, in the noon Of those dear days of summer. Where the stream. With foam-flecked eddies from its channel rough And flowery marge, shoots bubbling to the loch. We sat and watched the wavelets as they broke In glittering gushes on the hard grey sands ; Or the lona; rolling lines of flashing light 33 D AUTUMNAL. Rippling along the waters toward the strand ; Or the white sails that glistened on the deep Far out to seaward ; or the quivering haze Through which the villa's white 'mid woodlands green Round the hot shores gleamed faintly ; or we heard The even dash of oars, or boisterous cries Of children playing somewhere by the beach Borne idly over the sun-sprinkled meer, And echoed idly back ; and then her voice Would lose its love-linked music on the air. That seemed to listen hushed and pleased the while To tones so soft and clear. And now — ah me ! — The voice is musical to me no more— Those fairy feet tread other paths — those eyes Gaze on far-distant landscapes. I am left With but the memory, that can never fade, Hesper-like, earliest in my nightly sky ; Phosphor-like, last to dim in garish morn, When the loud world to toil awakes ; — and she- Does she remember? :'A THE LODGINGS. Sleeping, we hardly knew we slept, So full of haunted life we seemed ; Dreaming, we knew too well we dreamed, Such stifling horrors o'er us swept. When longed-for morn illumed the sky, Aroused we heard the Street's shrill calls, And watched the spiders on the walls, Or nimbler insects leaping nigh. Eating, we scarce knew what we ate, Disguised in dirt was all our food, And e'en when we pronounced it good, The word of praise came faint and late. D 2 TIIK LODGINGS. Drinking, we shuddered as we drank, The lymph was never clear and cold. The tumblers wore an aspect old — The dull carraffes were green and dank. And up and down and all around Black smells possest the sultry air — The fiend of smell seemed everywhere To sit on high enthroned and crowned. Our windows looked upon the Street — The Street gave hack a -tony blaze, And sweltering in the noontide rays The fishy gutters swelled the heat. And yet despite discomforts all. The five brief days serenely passed : And still along my path they cast A gleam that I would fain recall; And bid again around me pour The light of merry eyes — the tone Of happy voices that are gone — Like waters from a lonely shore. 36 WHERE ARE YE NOW? Dm shadows of the happy past, I sadly miss you now ; Visions and dreams that faded fast, Hopes bright, but ah ! too fair to last, "Where are ye now? Scenes, whose remembrance swells my breast, And clouds my furrow'd brow, Coming, in sorrow's garments dress'd, To rob the empty heart of rest, Where are ye now ? 37 WHERE ARE YE NOW ? Dark eyes, before whose melting gaze My heart would yielding bow. Whose glance spoke more than human praise, When love approving lent its rays, Where are ye now? Soft hands, which oft I've clasp'd in mine, When love's low whisper' d vow Told me round mine one heart would twine. As round the oak the fair woodbine, Where are ye now ? Dear voices,, whose bewitching tone Chain'd ear and heart, ah, how Has your once tuneful music grown So silent ? Whither has it flown ? Where are ye now ? And thou, more loved than all the rest Of the beloved, thou The brightest, gayest, loveliest, best, That reigned within this lonely breast, Where art thou now ? 38 WHERE ARE YE NOW . ; Gone where no more life's weary task Can mark the throbbing brow ; Gone where joy wears no heavy mask ; Gone where love reigns. I need not ask, Where art thou now ? Scenes, hopes, friends, loves, of early years- I miss you sadly now — Why have ye fled ? and why appears This cold dull cloud of sorrow's tears? Where are ye now ? 39 GLENDALOUGH AND THE FORGET-ME-NOT. ( rLENDALOUGH ! when years have Sped O'er thy heights and o'er thy head, Leaving still thy gloomy brow Rugged and unsunned as now — Wrinkling mine with lines of care, Scatt'ring snows on youth's swart hair — Through the lapse of weary years — With their struggles, doubts, and tears — Thro' the vista of a life With its trial, toil, and strife, How shall then those scenes appear Which I now esteem so dear '. Shall my heart have ceased to feel Old loved memories o'er it steal ! 40 GLENDALOUGH AN!) THE FORGET-ME-NOT. Shall it scan each tender link Severed by cold hands, nor think Sadly of the happy time When the love was in its prime, Which had bound those sweetest ties Under youth's unclouded skies ! Xo : tho' every link be broken. Still shall live one tiny token, Which shall say, when storms are nigh — Smiling from its soft blue eye — " Oh, remember those bright hours — Live still in those summer bowers — Let thy heart among them play, And again be young and gay ; Manhood's happiest hours, in sooth, Are when memory wakens youth.'' And shall not the gentle word In my heart of hearts be heard, Which it speaks to soothe my lot — True Love's own "Forget me nut .'" Yes, sweet flower, my heart must be Close barred 'gainst Love and Sympathy, Ere with equal pulse it beat When thy modest buds I greet. 41 GLENDALOUGH AND THE FORGET-ME-NOT. Ever wear that darling hue, Emblem of affection true, That illumed thy slender stem, Where yon heights the dark Lake hem : Where I prest thee to my heart, Swearing Ave should never part. Soon the eye that brightly smiled On me then — shall o'er the wild Wastes of sea and desert sands Smile as sweet in distant lands ; Still I in my bosom hoard The dear gift of the adored, And remember, tho' forgot, She has said •' Forget me not." Yes, mavourneen, this slight flower Ne'er shall lose its gentle power To link my thoughts to thee, where'er On life's lone sea my bark may steer ; Again the memories to awake Of the long day beside the Lake ; To touch to life the hidden rills, Whence early love its dew distils ; And as I feel its power and truth, I'll bless the love that blest my youth. 42 THE GLEX. About two miles from Weissnichtwo, There is a leafy glade — A brooklet wimpling through it Makes music in the shade ; No winds disturb its stillness, But breathings cool and mild Rustle among the leaves and flowers. Like the sighs of a sleeping child ; And sparkling waters trickle Adown the glen's steep sides, To swell with tiny rills the stream That 'neath the green leaves slides, 43 THE GLEN. Oozing from slopes of fern and moss, With their refreshful showers, They shed a brighter tint around Upon the grass and flowers. The foxglove nods most haughtily In this sequestered dell — The fairiest music tinkles faint From the trembling heath erbell ; The primrose, springing by the rock, Wears a more lovely hue : The violet and the hyacinth Blush with a deeper blue ; And there with Love's serenest smile, Deep in the shadiest nooks, Peeps the slight flower whose mild blue eye Reflects Love*s sweetest looks. The butterfly flits in the sunbeam, And the bees — they hum in the lime, With a sound like the changeless cadence Of a dull unvarying rhyme; And the cushat's liquid cooings. And the thrush's mellow lay, Link, as with threads of silver, The hours of the long still day, U THE GLEN. And murmuring there for ever, The brooklet is at play. Far in the glen's recesses The rocks rise steep and stark. And the water 'neath their shadow, In its pools lies deep and dark ; Atop the trees grow spreadingly, And the wild flowers blossom fair ; But save a scattered tuft below, The smooth-worn juts are bare, .Inst where a little wooden bridge Across the burn is thrown. The rocks close round a narrow pool. Deep, dark, and cold and lone ; There with a clear brown current The lustrous waters glide, And the pebbly floor of green and red Gleams through the amber tide. The fairies — from their silvan haunts, Where the acorns drink the dew ; Where the hawthorns in the lap of May Their fragrant blossoms strew; Where the sward is meshed with fairy ring-. And Elfin strains are beat, +5 THE GLEN. Might bathe their dainty limbs unseen. In this remote retreat ; Or Dian, way-worn from the chase. Might cool her weary feet. There on that little homely bridge I saw a lady lean — Methought all else in blank eclipse Was lost — she only seen ; For years had passed since I saw her last, And seas had rolled between. *6 A REVERIE. How sitt'st thou in thy lonely hall, In these November eves, Hearing the rain in dreary fall Upon the trampled leaves — Watching the ghastly daylight die Along the wintry vale — 'Neath fitful gleams of cloud and skj Toss'd by the drifting gale ? Look'st thou upon the streaming rain, Out on the windy night, And dream'st old summer back again In all its rosy light ? Or dost thou bid the rattling storm Let loose its angriest strife, A REVERIE. To mimic, in its wild alarm. The tempest of thy life '. How sitt'st thou in thy sombre hall In these November eves, When the rain has stayed its sobbing fall ( ' | ion the sodden leaves — When in the gloaming far and grim, Between the earth and sky. The pale moon riseth slow and dim, Vv'hile bleak winds moan and sigh ' Reeallest thou a dreamlike hour Beside a moonlit sea — ■ The rocky path — the gathered flower — The vow r — the bended knee .' Or with no shadow on thy brow, Dost thou discard each scene — Each hour I thrill to think of now. As though they ne'er had been ! Here spanning all the raving Forth. The heaven is black with night, Save where athwart the icy North Shoot trembling trails of light — 48 A REVERIE. They flicker o'er the looming hills Dead 'neath their hoods of snow. But they gleam not where the river fills The rough deep gulf below ; The river's sullen voice I hear, But as I list and gaze, A low loved tone is in mine ear. And in mine eyes a haze ; Methinks I see a sparkling tide Kissing a foreland fair, And tones of love on the breezes glide. And fragrance fills the air. The dream I dream'd is shattered now. It may not dawn again ; Would'st bid the lightning's shivered bough Wave greenly o'er the glen ? And thy dream— hath it vanished too ? And has thy dark eye wept ? And has thy bosom, warm and true The sad remembrance kept ? I know not : I may never know. For as through life we fare— 49 A REVERIE. To meet, were but awakened woe To thee — to me, despair. Be calm — oh, calm — on God's own earth How many a stricken breast Sees fade the Love, and Hope, and Mirth. That once it fond carest, Ere yet it knew their fleeting worth. And yearned for God's own rest. 50 REMINISCENCE. Came a phantom to my pillow. Hovering o'er my stormy sleep, As a Petrel o'er the billow When wild winds the surges sweep ; And its cheek was wan and hollow. And its eye was strangely bright, And its glitter seemed to follow Far away some angry light, 'Mid the shadows of the night — Gloomy, cold, and death-like night. Then my spirit trembled, quailing ; And I felt the unshed tears, As a memory came slow sailing Up the dusky tide of years — 51 e3 KEMINISCENCE. Memory of the sunny valley, 'Mid the hills beside the sea — Sunshine — music — witty sally, And the magic girdling thee, Whom I never more shall see, Where the main is dashing free. o And I knew thee wan and wasted, Worn with sorrow, scathed by Death ; Knew the lip, where I had tasted Rapture in its balmy breath ; Knew the breast that, fondly swelling, Once had throbbed beside mine own. When the latest hour was knelling, Doom within its iron tone ; For it rent a golden zone — Rent it — left us lorn and lone. And that faery zone shall never Wind us in its trance again, But its memory traileth ever, Like a worm, across the brain : When the rain is wildly streaming. And the thunder growling deep, 52 REJITNISCEXCE. Then my spirit, darkly dreaming As the phantoms o'er it sweep, Haunted, scowls o'er main and steep, Billows booming, lightning gleaming Round its shadowy pathway leap, In the horror of its sleep — Till, affrayed, I wake and weep. TO BLOXDIXE OX HER BIRTHDAY. Farewell to sweet seventeen, Blondine, Farewell to sweet seventeen ; "When the primroses fade In the greenwood shade, The roses bloom out in their sheen, Blondine. When the sun's strong rays Lift morn's soft haze, Forth gleams the broad fair scene, Blondine- YVhen the jewel-like rill Has glanced from the hill, It rolls proud banks between, Blondine. 54 TO BLONDINE. And in champaigns wide Its silver tide Flashing afar is seen, Blondine. Farewell to sweet seventeen, Blondine, Farewell to sweet seventeen ; Your bright young years That knew no tears Are among the things that have been, And womanhood now. On your calm pale brow. Beams like the crown of a cpieen, Blondine. Farewell to sweet seventeen, Blondine, Farewell to sweet seventeen ; When your golden hair And hue so fair Are, too, with the things that have been ; May the light of truth And the dew of youth Still glisten in thy blue eyne, Blondine ; 55 TO BLOXDINE. Still may hearts be stirred By thy gentle word. And smile so sweet and serene, Blondine. Farewell to sweet seventeen, Blondine, Farewell to sweet seventeen ; So, still more dear, Each gliding year Will make thee to this fend heart, Blondine- Twill still be true To her it kneAV, Y\ hen life's young leaves were green, Tho' none remain, Thro' storm and rain, For memory sad to glean, Blondine ! 56 TO EDITH. Ah, Edith, with the keen bright eyes, do you remember me, And that cold and misty evening beside the winter sea, And the piping of the breezes and dripping of the rain, And the rough billows rolling in from the bleak northern main I Ah ! Edith, laughing Edith ! I've often dreamed since then That I held your hand, and heard your voice, and watched your eyes again ; And I've wakened from the pleasant dream, to sigh, " would she were here With the merry smile that cheered my heart in the op'ning of the year." Ah ! Edith, little Edith ! your heart is young and gay ; And you know not yet the gnawing care, and " grief that maketh grey ; " 57 TO EDITH. Long, long, within your heart of hearts that gaiety enshrine. And let its guileless mirthfulness in those bright glances shine. -' For Edith ! as thro' life you fare, how smooth soe'er your track, You'll find it still, at every step, the sweeter to look back. And that the only living fount of joy and love and truth Lies deep 'mid the wild tangled flowers that wreathed your joyous youth. And Edith ! fairy Edith ! amid the toils and pains That mar and manacle our lives — as slaves are cramped with chains, Oh ! 'tis most sweet to see a ray of light of purest birth. A beam of Heaven's own sunshine illume this sordid earth. Such wast thou, merry Edith — just such a ray to me — Bright as the first green gleam of land across a weary sea ; And welcome as the vesper-bell on a day of noise and strife — A chord that sounded passing sweet amid the din of life. Then Edith, sweetest Edith ! still let it blithely fling Its tender echoes round me — still let my memory cling To the joyous voice, and sunny smile, and eyes so bright and clear, That lighted up the sparkling hours in the op'ning of the year. TO STELLA. He writes to Thee — most fair and bright, And in his paltry line Prattles of Love — presumptuous wight, And weds his name to thine. Well ! let him scribble. Did he know The magic circling thee, The youngster could not chatter so With phrase so glib and free ; For when the heart of hearts is stirred By such a witching spell, No human speech can lend the word That may its secret tell. The fancy of an idle hour May idle rhymes unfold ; 59 TO STELLA. The charm that o'er our life has power May not be lightly told. A smiling lip — a merry brow — On these a eyes may rest ; But none can mark the ebb and flow ( )f life's blood in the breast. fiO TO A. M. I). Ara Bella — Altar fair ! My vows, niy worship, all are thine ; Hear me breathe my trembling prayer— See me prostrate at thy shrine, Where I lay the votive flowers Of my peace-forsaken hours. Mary — named of pensive sorrow ! Look benignant as I kneel ; From thy pity let me borrow Balm to soothe : say — balm to heal — Love's own gift and blessing free Dare I never ask of thee ? Gl TO A. M. D. De 1' Amour ! thy liquid name Like a crown befits thy brow ; Ne'er could Love or Beauty claim Fairer, sweeter Queen than thou — Queen, whose throne of light is reared On a bosom crushed and seared. TO AMARYLLIS. Methougiit I wandered in a wood Where the green shade was calm and cool. And babbling on in gleeful mood Glided the stream from pool to pool ; The sunshine of serenest June Upon the golden ripples quivered — The linnet piped his liquid tune — In the low breeze the aspen shivered ; And yet to me the leafy glades Seemed laden with a dusky gloom. As with a winter twilight's shades Which the broad sun could not illume ; The warbler's song could not dispel The silence of the lonely wood ; 63 TO AMAKYIXIS. The meriy sunbeams as they fell Seemed but to mock the solitude: But as I strayed, methought the light With rosier radiance tilled the air, The streamlet sparkled diamond-bright By one green bower, for thou wast there. I saw thee wreathed in white attire, A rosy chaplet on thy brow ; No knightly bard e'er tuned his lyre To sing a Ladye fair as thou. Around thee seemed the flowers to bloom, As tho' they knew a Goddess near — Each stately vista from the gloom Waved its wide arms in sunshine clear. Down on the golden moss I kneeled. Where dimpled light thy fairy fe My fainting sense in rapture reeled, My heart with lightning pulses beat : Methought, as in a wizard dream The woodland scenes seemed far to fade ; I recked not of the laughing stream, Nor of the flowery sunlit glade ; I only knew thou wast beside, And felt upon my sense and soul G4 TO AMARYLLIS. Thy beauty like a silver tide In waves of light and music roll. I humbly knelt, then strove to speak ; And raised mine eyes; the light in thine Was cold, and on thine angry cheek The proud blood mantling blighted mine. The sombre forest boughs did seem Again to droop in shade, and moan Most mournful in the gloaming gleam. And horror wrapt the woodland lone. I saw Thee go, a vision fair ; As Evening's glow from cloudy night Thou wentest, but my heart shall bear For evermore thine image bright Alas ! thy maiden heart was free, But mine for ever is thy thrall ; Nor ceases still to roam with thee. By silent shore, in festal hall; And tho' athwart the future drear Thy Beauty's ray no more should gleam, Thy memory ever calm and clear Shall be the Spirit of my Dream. <.;:> TO A LADY REQUESTING LINES FOR AN ALBUM. Fair Lady ! who that owned a lyre Would fail to tune it at thy best? What heart could Helicon inspire, If dull to thy request ? But ah ! the chords I once could wake No longer at my bidding thrill ; And but a few faint echoes break Their silence sad and still. My muse is sunk in slumber deep, And only stirred from voiceless rest, When o'er her pallid brow may sweep From out the distant West 66 TO A LADY REQUESTING LINKS FOR AN ALBUM. Wild winds from forests dark and free, — Or when the Southern breezes bring Day-dreams of golden Italy Tpon their fragrant wing. The gray and bitter East to-night Blows harsh and shrill. Draw round the fire; We'll pledge Thee in a goblet bright. But lav aside the lvre. 67 SERENADE. Darling, sleep ; the stars are twinkling On the waters slumbering calm. And the cool clear air is sprinkling All the flowers with dewy balm. Darling, sleep : see I am keeping Vigil 'neath thy latticed nest, All night long while thou art sleeping. I will guard thy peaceful rest : Sleep, beloved, sleep. Now she sleeps; the roses clamber O'er the trellis, peeping in. Clustering round her holy chamber — All is dim and still within. 68 SERENADE. Rippling down her long fair tresses Rise and fall upon her breast, Soft her cheek the pillow presses, Pure dove in her fragrant nest : Sweetest — now she sleeps. Darling, wake : the morn is breaking, Let my watch thy kisses close; Now the trilling birds are waking, Opening now the blushing rose. Rise, my love, the night is dying ; Gaily o'er the laughing sea Leaps tiie day ; the breeze is sighing At thy casement, dear, for thee : Rise, sweet-heart, arise. 09 MOSELLE. Where rolls in silent strength the Rhine Neath Ehrenbreitstein's martial steeps A gentler stream mid groves of vine To join its kingly current sweeps. From smiling plains of sunny France. By flowery mead and hosky dell. And fields where erst oft gleamed the lanee. Sparkles and winds the fair Moselle. I saw the hills of far Lorraine Rise o'er these scenes of fruits and flowers, As evening deepened, and the strain Of music stirred the rustic bowers MOSELLE. To dance and song ; far, far away The peasants of my people dwell, Mid toil more hard, mid mirth less gay Than those which gladden bright Moselle. The flowers bloomed freshly ; clusters blue Festooned the vines that crown the wave ; But, tho' thus fair the varied view, 'Twas memory all its beauty gave ; For one who strays by shady streams, In that green isle I love so well, Thinks not her presence throngs the dreams, That gild the waves of blue Moselle. Adieu ! dear stream ; I ne'er may gaze Upon thy glancing waters more ; Yet pensive thoughts like Autumn's haze Shall ever gather round thy shore ; And tho' around my struggling bark Life's storms may frown and surges swell, One scene no gloom shall tinge with dark — Thy vine-wreathed bosom, calm Moselle. IX THE GARDENS OF HEIDELBERG CASTLE. See ! athwart the level Rhein-gau slowly rolls the purple haze.. As toward the far-blue Vosges sinks the day-god's slanting blaze, Through the darkly-louring fortress, which the clo"d-charged winds have piled See him burst, as through primeval forests flames in fury wild; See his rays like fiery sabres flashing 'mid a routed host, Then like golden wavelets streaming outward to a viewless coast- Outward o'er an azure ocean slumbering in eternal calm. Where the happy spirits wander 'mid their tranquil isles of palm. Now all bathed in blood-red splendour, like a hero from a fight, Proudly has the orb descended to the swarthy arms of ni«ht; She has kiss'd his sultry forehead with her dewy lips and cool. And has laid him down to slumber on her bosom soft and full, And the silvery moon has risen, and upon the earth has smiled IX THE GARDENS OF HEIDELBERG CASTLE. Softly, as a youthful mother bends to kiss her sleeping child. Still above the Holy Mountain floats a wreath of lustre faint, Like a pale and waning glory round the brow of dying saint; And I muse, the while I watch it fading into twilight grey, How the unseen western heaven still is bright with rosy day; How, the while the dews are falling on the myrtle and the vine. And a fitful ghost-like shadow broods above the haunted Rhine. Far away, o'er chequer'd landscapes, rapid river, cold grey shore, Woody glens and waving uplands, rugged mountains wild and hoar, Still the day in mellow glory lingers soft by moor and glade. Struggling, as it slowly parteth, to repel th' advancing shade. Softly o'er the fells of Scotland — softly o'er green Erin's plains — Does the dewy gloaming gather, as the orb of glory wanes ; Softly from the dimpled ocean comes the gently-breathing air, Sighing 'mid the solemn woodlands softly as a lisped prayer. Ah ! methinks I hear its music stealing like a vesper-hymn, As though guardian angels bore it hither through the shadows dim. Mingling with it loving voices seem my exiled heart to thrill: Hark! my name is fondly whispered. Yes! I am remembered still ! :.' COLOGNE. Oh, town of mingled fumes and stenches, Of unwash'd children, ugly wenches, And jabberers whose broken French is Mix'd up with rough-shod German ! Against your stinking streets and lanes, High-priced hotels, unfinished fanes, Your gurgling gutters, yawning drains, Well could I preach a sermon. Had men but courage 'mid this scent To give their sicken'd anger vent, They soon would force you to repent, Worse than Augean stable ! But none for more than half a day In such a nauseous hole can stay; They see the sights— the bills they pay— And bolt as hard's they're able. RHINE WINE. Wine from the vine By the castled Rhine, Oh ! what a magic spell is thine : As the broad river joyously boundeth — As its billow note ever gleefully soundeth, So thy bright wavelets spring, While our tall goblets ring, And chimin"; round them flinjr Music and mirth divine — Rhine— Father Rhine ! Stint not the stream, Let its genial beam Like the crimson flash of the ruby gleam ; 75 RHIXE WIXE, Like the blue eyed flowers that Love lets not perish. Those too fleeting hours let Memory cherish, When o'er the misty plain We've watched the daylight wane, While the gay flask we drain — Bright with thy best sunshine, Rhine — Father Rhine ! Wine from the vine By the royal Rhine, A long farewell to thy spell benign ! Bold Fatherland — proudly crowned River ! Broad plain — vine-wreathed strand, I leave ye for ever Yet under distant skies, Chill, but for love-lit eyes, Oft shall your memory rise, Thy vineyards, pleasure's shrine, Rhine — Father Rhine ! A VOICE FROM NAPLES UXDER BOMBA. Powers ! that rule the fates of nations And the patriot's labours bless, Loose your lightnings on the tyrant ; Let bis fall be our redress. Let a glorious sun uprising Sweep the shadows from our brow; May the bonds no more disgrace us, Under which we're writhing now. Ours be noontide's Orient splendour, His the murkiest midnight's sjloom. Ours the joy, the feast, the gladness, His the woe and curse and doom. Ours the plenty, ours the riches, His the penury and dole, A VOICE FROM NAPLES UNDER B0M15A. Ours high Heaven's choicest blessing, His the blight that sears the soul. Ours to draw the gaze of nations, Who admiring see us rise, Like the dawn on Eastern landscapes. Like the moon in summer skies : His to fall mid shame and loathing, Mid a people's jeer and hiss, To the foulest pit of darkness In the fathomless abyss : Ours to soar from high to higher, His to sink from worse to worse ; Ours to know life's mirth and blessing, His to dree its weariest curse. May his roof tree shiver round him, May the night of darkness fall, May the grimmest memories haunt him. May the blackest dreams appal : May the minions of his glory And the slaves of his renown Turn upon him now to curse him, And to drag his honour down. May his children, whining vagrants, Beg their coarse and scanty meal. 78 A VOICE FROM NAPLES UNDER BOMI5A. May they meet with hands of iron, And with bosoms cold and steel. May the heart that shared his fortune Leave him in his ruin now, May he wander shunned and spit at. With God's curse-stamp on his brow Then great God that rulest nations, Hear the prayer we pray to thee, — Deal the Despot his damnation. Sot thy poor oppressed free. 79 EMIGRANTS' SONG. Farewell, ye bold mountains, on whose purple heather We've watched the gay sunbeams as richly they shone ; Farewell, dearest glen, where we all lived together, Less bonnie thou'lt be when we Exiles are gone. Dear old land of our fathers we leave thee for ever, No more shall we tread on thy grey rocky shore, Farewell, ye green uplands ! thou beautiful River, We return — we return — we return no more. Farewell to the Hills, where as children we roaming Have spent happy days in each pine-covered glade, Never leaving our sports till the grey of the gloaming Wrapt mountain and valley and streamlet in shade. 80 EMIGRANTS SONG. Farewell to the Mother who called me her Dearie, And oh, may I follow where she's gone heforc! But to the bright ingle that once was so cheery, We return — we return — we return no more. And farewell to Him — the reverend the hoary, With his kind smile for virtue, his sad frown for sin. Who pointed the way, while he told us of glory, And opening Life's narrow gate, beckoned us in. Farewell to the Kirk where we prayed with our fathers. Ah ! dear to my heart was its humble bit door, Small and sad is the number that round it now gathers ; We return — we return — we return no more. Farewell to the graves where our kindred are lying, All resting together 'neath Scotia's green sod ; But w r e Emigrants — we, when we come to be dying, Will be far from the Land that our forefathers trod. Farewell ye true Hearts — ye poor sons of the Highlands, Opprest and forgotten — your state we deplore ; Oh, stay while ye may by your own rugged Islands, We return — we return — we return no more. 81 THE BONES OF BRUCE. Stay! — 'twas there they laid King Robert, "When his soul had rest in God, Where the holy altar's censers Ward their incense sweet abroad; Where the wreath'd and gorgeous mullions Shed their twilight of rich rays, And the choral strain of voices Swelled the lofty song of praise : — And 'twas there we found his ashes hi their mouldering shroud of gold. When the blight of careless ages O'er the sacred tomb had roll'd ; When the sunken shafts and arches Strew'd the cloisters cold and dim. THE BONES OF BRUCE. And around the shatter'd altar, Peal'd no more the vesper hymn. 'Twas November's dreary winter, And a morn of misty gloom Wrapp'd the grey and lonely abbey, As we gather'd round the tomb : There within the crumbling coffin, "Mid the clammy mould and stones. In their earth-stain'd tatter'd cerement Lay the white and wasted bones. From the dismal vault we raised them ; Long we stood a silent ring, Gazing on these grisly relics Of the great and goodly King : Alhyn's own Immortal Hero, Once her bulwark, still her pride. As when erst he spread the terror Of her vengeance far and wide. Oft of old the headlong onset Saw the Southron squadrons reel, When that arm was seen to brandish In the van its deadly steel ; 83 THE BOXES OF BRUCE. Keen within that hollow socket Once had gleam'd his lightning eye. As h<> watched the midnight beacon Redd'ning 'neath the Scottish sky ; Flashing with the fire of glory, Oft it scanned the stubborn fight, While adown the breeze of battle Rang, — " St. Andrew and our Right !" What though now through roofless ruins Rain and sleet his tomb defile, And the fitful blasts of winter Howl along the darken' d aisle ; What though now the solemn Availing Of his dirge be heard no more, And the night-owl's hooting only Echo through the arches hoar — We could see the sky of summer Radiant with serenest light, While the mighty God of battles, Bore the hero through the fight : We could see the Lion standard, Proudly waving o'er the Free, 84 THE BONES <>K BRUCE. While the stream through all its mazes, Crimson foaming sought the sea ; We could see the gory casket, On the stricken field of Spain, Scotland's royal heart enshrining, 'Mid the heaps of Paynim slain ; Ay, and we could see him resting, In his still and stately .sleep — O'er his corse his glory beaming Like the moonlight o'er the deep. Calmly rest thou great departed; Guard, ye hoary towers, his dust ; Never on your holiest altars 'Shrined ye such a sacred trust. Alhyn's Hero ! though the ages Haste along their fiery range — Though the strife of selfish factions. And the din of weary change, Fain would banish from our bosoms All the glorious days of old — Though the curse of Mammon fetters Hearts whose faith is dim and cold — THE BONES OF BRUCE. Though the stern and headlong Present Heeds not the majestic Past, The remembrance of thy glory Changeless in our hearts shall last : Still thy deathless fame shall fire us, And the land that holds thy grave Still shall be the tyrant's terror. The Avenger of the slave ; And our proud embanner'd Lion, Borne aloft of yore by thee, Still shall ramp its grim defiance ( >'er the Faithful, Brave, and Five. SO DALHOUSIE. They tell us that our age is weak iu faith, In action unheroic ; that the prize Men struggle for is not the proud award Of conscience smiling on a loftv deed — But place, or power, or gold, or vulgar fame. Whose hollow baubles catch the common eye. That pierces not beyond the rough-grained husk. Into the secret life of men and things. Too true : the mighty Spirit that upheld The world's grand heroes in their life-long wars With falsehood and oppression and brute force ; That sent them forth to wrestle in the field. Or die amid the bigot's fires, or pine In low damp dungeons bound in tyrant's gyves, DALHOUSIE. Is rare amongst us, and the very name Of Hero laid aside for want of use. But still men's hearts are generous and just, And still, when some bold deed or thought stands forth Above th' ignoble level of the times, Like a tall rock above a misty sea, With an electric sympathy they thrill With one strong throb of reverence for the good, Of homage for the faithful — brave and true. So. when of late we heard the moving tale, How lie, who had so long the sceptre swayed Of our majestic Empire of the East, Had, worn and weary, laid the sceptre down, All hearts in Britain — save a sorry few Barred to all noble influence — leapt with pride, For we remembered how, eight weary years. In peace and war — amid contending broils — Harassed by cai'e — deafened with clamorous cries Of right and wrong — with sorrow oft at heart — And the unceasing toil of anxious thought Tasking his mind's activity — he had, Careless of calumny orglozing praise. Done what he deemed his dutv — with few words. And no parade, but with resistless strength 88 DALHOUSIE. Of energy and purpose — so that he Had bent to his strong will with stern control All elements antagonistic, and Left on broad India's destiny the stamp Of his own lofty genius, and the law He made his guide, of justice, truth, and right, And wisdom stretching out a hand to grasp Its treasui'es from the future : and we said. As with one voice, " Here is indeed a hero ! — One who, forgetting self, and all the cares That make the paltry lives of paltry men, Used to their utmost all the noble powers Bestowed by God, to spread Clod's blessed boons Of enterprise, and wealth, and peacefulness, Of gentler manners, purer modes of life, And heartier reverence for law and right." Yes ; and in after years, when one shall ask, As 'mid the splendours of that gorgeous clime, He sees how some great mind has been at work, Unfettering the native powers of men ; Unfolding the resources lying hid Beneath the dust of ages, or the gloom Of tropic forests, or the barren reign Of ignorance and sloth and apathy — 89 DALHOUSIE. •• Who first began these renovating toils, Creating out of anarchy and death, Order and fruitful life ?" With one glad voice, India shall answer — " 'Twas the Scottish Lord, Who, in the days of good Victoria, Came hither, and for eight bright years maintained A rigid, upright, honourable rule, Swaying the sceptre like a crowned King, Above corruption and above reproach; Sweeping away the errors of the past. And looking far adown the stream of years To mark the channel where erewhile would roll The mighty tide of our prosperity. So all men honoured him ; and when at length Tlie day had come when he must leave our shore. The cannon thundered and the trumpets rang, And crowds prest round him, to have one last look ( )f their Queen's king'v Viceroy ; when they tried To raise a hearty cheer, and cry ' God speed ' Their voices failed them, and they died away To a low sob of sorrow, for their hearts Were swelling high with jrreat and mournful thoughts, As they beheld him, pale and worn and weak With the jrreat burden he so well had borne. 90 DALIIOUSIE. And bearing, for all others lighter made, Yet with a steadfast purpose in his eye Which told that in the enfeebled frame there dwelt A spirit dauntless and unwearied yet, And nerved like a bent bow for other toil, If duty should demand new sacrifice. He left us for his home in that far isle Which, like a beacon in a wintry sea, To all the storm-tost is the star of hope. But here he left an unforgotteu name — A monument no time can overthrow — The mem'ry of those eight heroic years, A heritage to us — to all who love Faith, honour, wisdom, and unflinching will." 91 THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. The Knights hold revel in the hall, Hark to the music pealing — Within, before the holy Rood The aged Priest is kneeling. The Baron bold amid his peers The joyous hour is keeping — The Lady, o'er her new-born babe, A mother's tears is weeping. The towers are old — the vassals bold, The lands are broad and fair ; Then let the red wine circle free, To hail the lordly heir. 92 THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. II. The soft west wind was blowing faint, O'er rose and violet playing ; And up the valley all alone, Was young Lord Julian straying. He thought upon his mother's love, And on his father's pride, When he was 'ware of a gloomy shade. And a presence at his side : " Ha ! think'st thou of thy mother's love. Feel'st thou her soft caressing '. Ha ! deem'st thou thou'rt thy father's pride, The child of hope and blessing ? There's father's blood upon thine hand — And doom shall haunt thy way — They hailed thy birth with mickle mirth. They yet shall curse the day." in. The evening fell — the red light died Along the castle wall ; They set the goblets on the board. The torches in the Hall. 93 THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. The shadows from among the hills O'er moor and grove were creeping, And the lady, at her lattice high, A fretful watch was keeping ; The warder stood without the gate, The anxious sire beside him — "The night is mirk, and full of storm — God grant no ill betide him !" The whole night long an eager throng Await his home returning ; And watchmen shout, and bells ring out, And beacon tires are burning. l)av broke — but Julian never came; And thro' the lonely years He came not, and his mother wept A childless mother's tears ; And his father never more rode forth Amid his knightly peers. IV. And where was he, the gallant boy, The heir of the gallant race ? Oh ! dying far by cliff and scar, Like the stag in the deadly chase. '.)4 THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. With cheek blanched white in the stormy night, And dumb fear at heart lie fled. And ever he deemed that he heard behind A close and tireless tread. The night went by, and the sullen sky Gleamed forth into rosy day, But still he fled, in his nameless dread. Along the dreary way, For he deemed that Satan came hard belli ml. To make his soul his prey. At last, when many a day was gone. He climbed a mountain crest — Beneath him rolled a great wide sea, The sunlight on its breast, And by the shore a meadow green, A meadow full of rest ; And on a cliff beside the sea There stood an ancient keep, Whose banner with a rose red Cross Waved proudly o'er the deep. •• My mother and my sire,'' said he, '' I ne'er may see again ; 'Gainst yonder whisper of the fiend I steel my heart in vain, 05 THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. Even now methinks I see my hand Red with the damning stain ; All ! heavy hearts are their.'', I ween, And mine is sad and sore ; But Satan's guile would work us woe. Were I to see them more ; I'll tarry with this Christian Knight, Beside this pleasant shore." v. The years rolled on, and Julian dwelt Hard by the Northern Sea. In battle's brunt — in council hall Was none renowned as he ; No friend but loved — no foe but feared To hear Lord Julian's name ; And so he moved among his peers. A Knight of mickle fame : Yet Fame's is but a barren voice, Unless its echoes blend With a soft low music sweeter far Than tones of friendliest friend, That sings alike mid pomp and pride. Mid downfall and distress, 9G THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. " Beloved, I cannot love thee more, I do not love thee less." Ah ! she was fair with sunny hair, And eyes like violets hlue, And her cheeks like roses blushing faint Mid lilies sprent with dew, As Julian drew her to his heart Within her trellised bower, And she chode him not as he told his love, At twilight's witching hour. As they knelt to plight their lifelong troth, Before the altar fair, The priest, I ween, had never seen So beautiful a pair. VI. My masters — 'tis a heavy tale Ye ask me to rehearse — For I must tell how Satan's wiles Smote Julian with a curse. The envious fiend, with scowl malign, Surveyed his princely state, Then turned him to his darkest den, To weave his web of hate. 97 THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. Clad as a palmer grey, lie passed Along the valley fair, Where first his words struck Julian's heart With horror and despair. He passed beside the castle gate, Where stood an aged dame — Ah ! still the mother's heart beat young At sound of Julian's name ; She saw not in the evil eye, The spark of fiendish flame. "Thy son that left thee long ago, Is now a famous Knight ; Away to North his flag Hies forth, Above his castled height. And a lovely lady fills his halls With music, love, and light." VII. The sun had sunken broad and red Beneath the ocean's rim. And thro' the evening mist, the towers Soared upwards vast and dim: The Lady for her Lord's return Is watching in the Hall — 98 THE LEGEND OF S. JULIAN. 'lis not his step that falls without, Tis not his tones that call ; Two aged travellers enter in, " Fair daughter — ere we die, God wills that we should see the boy We lost in years gone by. The holy man Avho bade us forth Said Christ would be our guide : Until we saw his banner flaunt, Where rolled the northern tide : Now this we deem is Julian's home, And thou art Julian's bride !" VIII. Ah me ! the dream of many years — The hope that had outlasted So many shocks— so many fears — In one wild moment blasted ! He comes from cares of war and state. Worn with the long day's toil — Yearning to hear the one sweet voice. To see the one sweet smile. Weary of council and of court. Weary of sword and crest, 99 h -l THE legend of s. juliax. Weary of every thought,, save this — " My loved one loves me best," He comes, and seeks the inmost hall, Where she has bade them rest. Alack, what cursed Fate had doomed This night he should not meet The welcomer, avIio ne'er had failed Till now his step to greet '. A dim surmise of evil touched A chord of nameless fear — • k Why comes she not ? It was her wont To hail my coming — here." He drew the curtain 'neath whose folds He first had clasped his bride, Within there lay a bearded man. A woman by his side. There fell on him the utter woe Of love and faith betrayed — Then like a flood the wild deep rage Burst forth — he clasped his blade, And once, and twice, and once again, He dealt the furious blow — The blood is pouring red and fast. The moan is faint and low ; 100 THE LEGEND OF S» JULIAN. Then resting on his gory sword, Stung thro' with woe and hate, A dull dumb horror shakes his soul, He knows his sire too late ; A murderer now — the hellish fiend Has wrought his cursed fate. IX. Within a sunlit southern vale I heard the tale I tell, From a holy hermit who abode Within a lonesome cell ; His robe was rough — his feet were bare — His cheek with fasting wan, A wasting sorrow marred his face, Albeit a holy man. " Father, " I said, " what woe is thine That thus has crossed thy brow ?" A sudden shudder wrunS ANGELES Poems by a H3991 parson JA6P25 — PR 3991 A6P25 llliuiiiniiln RN REGI0NA L LIBRARY FACILITY I III II I AA 000 397 991 _