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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SONGS OF MY LEISUIIE HOURS.
 
 I
 
 SONGS 
 
 OF 
 
 MY LEISURE HOURS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. WILLIAM HOBSON. 
 
 MANCHESTER : 
 I'BINTEl) AT THK "GUARDIAN ' STEAM-PRINTING OFFICES. 
 
 MDCCCLXI.
 
 
 TO Mr BltOTHER, 
 
 L. COOKE, 
 
 OF TAMMEBFOES, FINLAND, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, 
 
 AS A TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM AND LOVE, 
 
 BY HIS SISTEl!, 
 
 MARTHA SOPHIA HOBSON. 

 
 PKKFACK, 
 
 Many of the poems in this volume were the productions 
 of my twentieth year, and have been collected from the 
 columns of local newspapers in which they enjoyed a 
 brief existence at the time. Others have been written 
 at intervals since. Their composition was undertaken 
 as a task to lighten the burden of too early soitow, and 
 to retain the passing emotions of affection and friendship. 
 I had not thought them worthy of collection, nor would 
 they have appeared in this form but for the encourage- 
 ment of many valued friends. If their perusal will make 
 one lowly home brighter, or one sad heart happier, my 
 leisure hours will not have been spent in v.ain. 
 
 M. S. H. 
 
 Ashton-undee-Lyne, 1861.
 
 C O N T E K T S . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE poet's mission ^ 
 
 "THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT " 6 
 
 KATIE ^° 
 
 MY IDEAL HOME '3 
 
 "DINNA FORGET ME" l8 
 
 THE MIND MAKRS THE MAN 21 
 
 THE SABBATH ^4 
 
 THE ORPHAN ^7 
 
 WELCOME WHITSUNTIDE 3' 
 
 FOR EVERMORE 3^ 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE 3^ 
 
 "HOMEWARD BOUND" 4^ 
 
 AUTUMN 44 
 
 IT WAS NOT WELL 47
 
 via CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FORGIVE 50 
 
 A LAY TO FRIENOSHII' 52 
 
 THE KISS BENEATH THE HOLLY 56 
 
 "ISLE OF beauty" 58 
 
 HIE TO THE HILLS AWAY 60 
 
 I MISS THEE *«• 63 
 
 NEW year's aspir,\tions 66 
 
 MY BONNIE BARK 69 
 
 SONG FOR MUSIC 72 
 
 THE DRUNKARD 74 
 
 THE MUSIC IN OUR HOME 77 
 
 DO THOSE WORDS SO FONDLY SPOKEN? 80 
 
 OUR ENEMIES 83 
 
 I 'll quaff the health 86 
 
 TWILIGHT 88 
 
 THE "BRITISH PRESS" 9I 
 
 OUR RIFLEMEN 94 
 
 HER BONNY BLUE EYE 98 
 
 THERE 'S A SPELL ABOUT THE SEA ....... lOI 
 
 "I LOVE thee" 103
 
 CONTENTS. IX 
 
 TAG K 
 
 HEAUTY I06 
 
 LINES loS 
 
 THE FRIENDS OF "AULD LANG SYNE" Ill 
 
 MOTHER 113 
 
 LOVE "6 
 
 THINK NOT OF FAILURE 119 
 
 THOU ART NOT HERE 122 
 
 BENEVOLENCE I25 
 
 OH, FOR THE SPRINti I28 
 
 LINES .... - 132 
 
 WHERE IS ANNIE? 13^ 
 
 WELCOME HOME 14° 
 
 OUR CHURCH 144 
 
 FADED FORGET-ME-NOTS I48 
 
 THE SNOWDROP I5I 
 
 LINES 155 
 
 DEATH 157 
 
 MY COUNTRY 159 
 
 <HRISTMAS 163 
 
 THAT OLD SONG 167 
 
 h
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 TO J. K. . . 169 
 
 JUNE 171 
 
 "can this be death?" 175 
 
 there is a magic voice 179 
 
 TO MISS R. ■ 181 
 
 TO MY SISTER 184 
 
 GOD HELP THE I'OOR 187 
 
 I CANNOT SAY GOOD-BYE I92 
 
 TO MY TYRE I94 
 
 "oh! ask THY SOUL IF WE SHOULD PART?" . . . 20I 
 
 ANGEL ANNIE 2O4 
 
 STANZAS 208 
 
 THE TWO CITRLS . .' 2IO 
 
 MY HARP IS SAD 2I4 
 
 TO MY FRIENDS 2X6
 
 THE POET'S MISSIOK 
 
 NOT for fame's bright crown of laurel, 
 Though each leaf be deemed a gem ; 
 Not to make that wreath immortal, 
 Not to will applause from men ; 
 Not to make his name a glory, 
 
 \Vhich shall circle round his tomb. 
 Like the fflowino; suuliffht circles 
 
 o o o 
 
 Round the regal brow of June;
 
 THE POET'S MISSION. 
 
 II. 
 Not alone to swell the story 
 
 Of the great ones who have died, 
 Doth the poet fill his mission — 
 
 Holtl it with an honest pride. 
 Tliere are hiohcr themes that thrill him- 
 
 Themes that whisper to his soul, 
 " Hearts are ti-ying to decipher 
 
 Mists that shroud the waiting goal." 
 
 III. 
 Heaits are pining for the dawning 
 
 Of a hrighter, better day ; 
 Hope grows weary for the gloaming 
 
 Of the quiet sunset ray ; 
 Souls are sunk in tangled meshes, 
 
 Vice sits brooding in the mind ; 
 Thought is fettered, talent wasted, 
 
 Noble impulse left behind.
 
 THE POET'S MISSION. 
 
 IV. 
 
 1'liis the poet sees, and, feeling, 
 
 Yearns to make his brother see, — 
 Longs to hft his soul up higher — 
 
 Longs to make his spirit free. 
 Thus it is that inspiration 
 
 Burns within his breast. Go write 
 From tlic world within thy bosom — 
 
 Give the halo of its lio;lit. 
 
 V. 
 
 Give thy wealth of thought and feeling, 
 
 Give thy magic power of mind. 
 To cinioble and to brighten — 
 
 Sin-wrouo-ht fetters to unbind. 
 There are spirits that will bless thee 
 
 For thy great exalted thought, 
 There are bosoms that will listen 
 
 For the strain thy lyre has wrought.
 
 THE POET'S MISSION. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Happier for its clioeriiig music, 
 
 Calmer for its hallowed tone, 
 Strengthening faith in human nature, 
 
 Strengthening light within their own. 
 There are homesteads where no summer 
 
 Ever comes with cheering ray ; 
 Millions Avho are daily toiling 
 
 With no sunbeam on their way ; 
 
 YII. 
 
 Mourners who are watching, waiting 
 
 For the loved who never come ; 
 Spirits that are weary, broken. 
 
 Yearning for a resting home ; 
 Hearts where no wee bonnie flower 
 
 Ever suns its little head ; 
 Bosoms where all light and beauty 
 
 Seem for ever sunk or dead.
 
 THK POET'S MISSION. 
 
 t 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh ! this is the poet's mission, 
 
 CfiviiJg Hfe and hope to these — 
 Giving to their hearts God's sunlight, 
 
 Cahiiing passions' troubled seas ; 
 Tliis the talisman that circles. 
 
 Breathing incense, round his name, 
 This that binds his brow with laui'el, 
 
 This that gives immortal fame.
 
 «'THE VOICE OP THE XIGHT." 
 
 HUSH ! thcvc 's a song note 
 Borne on the breeze, 
 Hush ! whisper softly 
 Ye rustling trees ; 
 Stir not a leaflet, 
 
 Heave not a sigh. 
 Let nic but hear the sweet 
 Spirit song nigh.
 
 •THK VOICE OF THE NIGHT." 
 
 II. 
 Trd lu la, tra la la, 
 
 I love the night, 
 Sung out the hu'die, 
 
 Flowiet or sprite, 
 Tra la la, tra la la. 
 
 Come fairy star ; 
 Come from your dark home 
 
 Join my guitar. 
 
 III. 
 Night has come again, 
 
 I must awake ; 
 There are sad hearts to soothe- 
 
 Ilearts that would hreak, 
 But for my spirit song 
 
 Falling around. 
 Falling where sorrow's 
 
 Dark shadow is found.
 
 8 "THK VOICE OF THE NIGHT.' 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus the sweet nightingale 
 
 Breatli'd out its song, 
 All through the lonely night 
 
 Dreary and long ; 
 Xever once pausing, 
 
 Never once still. 
 Till the hright day gloant 
 
 Blush'd o'er the hill. 
 
 w 
 
 And the sweet hirdie. 
 
 This h'sson taught, 
 Kight hath God's holv love 
 
 Over it wrouglit ; 
 E'en though its dark clouds 
 
 Round us may cling. 
 Still should our spirit 
 
 Look upwards and sing.
 
 "THK VOICE OF Til?: NIGHT." 9 
 
 VI. 
 
 Xiglit hath its angel voice 
 
 Echoing low, 
 Hush ! and be patient, 
 
 O'er thee 't will flow, 
 E'en thougli its daik clou(l.< 
 
 Round thee niav cling. 
 Still lot thy ^mk 
 
 Look upwards and sing.
 
 KATIE. 
 
 I. 
 
 KATIE ! little laughing Katie 1 
 Sunbeam of iiiv heart and home I 
 Ever cheering with her prattle 
 And the music of her tone ; 
 Weavino; all unconscious round me 
 
 Flowers of heavenly hue and light, 
 Gilding them with sunny beauty, 
 Like some little fairy sprite.
 
 KATIE. 1 1 
 
 II. 
 Tripping feet come dancing near me, 
 
 And her bright face peeps in mine ; 
 Little hands are clasp'd about nie, 
 
 Trvino: up my chair to chmb ; 
 Now her head of sunny tresses 
 
 Xestles to her mother's breast, 
 Seeking blessings whilst she blesses. 
 
 And would be again caressed. 
 
 III. 
 Now she asks a strange grave question 
 
 With an earnest, thoughtful eye. 
 And my heart throbs with foreboding 
 
 Of some ill, I know not why, 
 Till her riiio:ing laua-h recalls me 
 
 Back again to joyousness ; 
 Having her, my darling Katie, 
 
 I have vet a share of bliss.
 
 J 2 KATIE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Heavenly Father teach my spirit 
 
 How to guide and keep her own, 
 Pure unspotted as the angels 
 
 Worshipping around th}' throne ; 
 Shield her in each hour of trial 
 
 With the presence of thy love ; 
 Lead her heart to find those treasures 
 
 13iightest that are tixed above.
 
 MY IDEAL JIOME. 
 
 " A tiling of In-anty i-; m joy for ever.' 
 
 "IVTUT in the city, nor the crowiletl town, 
 
 -i- ' Where the faint breeze with fever 's ever rife ; 
 
 Not where those heated liives look darkly down 
 
 Upon the hum of ever-warring strife : 
 Nor 'midst tlie classic shrines of that fair laud 
 
 Whose fame is sung in ancient poets' story, 
 Thouah the blue iEo-ean waves roll o'er her strand, 
 
 And sculptor'd ruins give their hallow'd glory.
 
 14 ilY IDEAL HOME. 
 
 II. 
 Give mc a homestead in an English vale ; 
 
 A little, sunny, and secluded spot, 
 "Where the sweet dove and minstrel nif>htinoale 
 
 "W^ould chime their vespoi-s round my lowly cot ; 
 "Where the soft, balmy breeze of summer comes, 
 
 Laden with perfume fr(jm the violet wild : 
 Where the forget-me-not its blue eye suns, 
 
 Fair summer's lowliest, yet most lovely child. 
 
 in. 
 
 I'd have it nestling near thick-foliaged trees; 
 
 The rippling stream should tell its harp-notes near, 
 And mingle with the sighing of the breeze. 
 
 Charming with music the enraptured ear ; 
 A river, winding like a silver thread, 
 
 Should roll its ever-dancing waves along, 
 And spangling o'er its sinuous mossy bed, 
 
 The fairest flowers breathe their voiceless song.
 
 MY IDEAL HOME. 15 
 
 IV. 
 
 The gushing grape should hang its trailing vine, 
 
 The tinted apple, and the juicy pear, 
 "With silvery blossoms in the summer shine. 
 
 And autumn find their golden fruitage there ; 
 The blushing rose, with dewy, drooping head. 
 
 Should twine around the window of mv room. 
 Like some fair Cupid, with love's wings outspread, 
 
 Whisp'ring sweet stories of the gorgeous June. 
 
 A'. 
 
 T w(ndd not have a grand and lordly home, 
 
 AMiere the tamed artist had spent all his skill 
 To decorate and carve each fretted dome. 
 
 The gazer's mind with wonderment to fill ; 
 The only gilding should be nature's green, 
 
 Ilei- living tracery of flowers and leaves ; 
 A little gem set in an emerald scene, 
 
 With fond, ti-ue hearts beneath its peaceful eaves.
 
 10 MY IDKAL UOSIK. 
 
 VI. 
 Within the louni fair jewels fiuni afai', 
 
 Wiouolit (jii the eaiivas, breathin<>: full nf life, 
 Shnuld whispei' to uti. like a luiie bright star, 
 
 < )f ages past, of iiiimls with beauty rife ; 
 The ehisellil foim, cut from the tinted stone. 
 
 The sio'hint;' shfll. the iiow'rets of the sea, 
 Kare gems of ait, from climes bovond our own. 
 
 Clustor il around in fairy i;i'ouj)s should be. 
 
 VII. 
 I'd have the antique book with gleanings old, 
 
 The master iniiuls of every land and age ; 
 Deep science, with her wealth of sterling gold. 
 
 Scattered like pearls upon the mystic page ; 
 The })oet's lyre — the soul-wrought breathing lyre, 
 
 Immortal Shakspere, and the laurell'd throng, 
 AMth glowing imagery, and thoughts of tire. 
 
 Should wile the dreamv twiliolit hours aloni"-.
 
 MY IDEAL HOME. 17 
 
 viir. 
 The brokcn-hoartetl, and the weary one, 
 
 The orphan, friendless, and the homeless poor, 
 {Should ne'er in vain with sorrow's story come — 
 
 A ready hand would freely give its store ; 
 True love within each heart and word should live, 
 
 The deep devoted love that knows no bliss 
 Ueyond the feeling that its well-springs give — 
 
 \\'ho would not gladly claim a home like this ?
 
 "DINNA FORGET ME." 
 
 I. 
 
 DINNA forget me, oli ! dinna foi'get," 
 I remember how long, long ago. 
 The words seem'd to rest, in mj wondering breast, 
 
 Like sweet music so softened and low : 
 I gathered the line from some ballad of old, 
 
 And it lingers in memory 3-et, 
 The first words that start to the tremulous heart 
 "N^Hien at parting is " Dinna forget."
 
 •DIXXA FORGET ME.' 19 
 
 II. 
 '• D'mna furgct nic, oh ! iliniia forget," 
 
 How I quoted it over aii<l o'er, 
 'T was echoed around in each love-whispered sound, 
 
 Ever brinnini!- that ballad of vore ; 
 Manv years have sped on, and the dear ones are gone, 
 
 But I hear the fond parting words yet, 
 They come at their will, and are nuirnrring stdl, 
 ( )h ronieniher me. "' Dinna forget." 
 
 m. 
 
 "Dinna forget me, oh I dinna forget," 
 
 It will never from memory part. 
 Other songs have beguiled with their melody wild, 
 
 But that one is blent with my heart, 
 It brings old faces, and trysting places, 
 
 The spots where we joyously met. 
 And with them the song is echoed along. 
 
 Oh remember me. " Dinna forget."
 
 20 "DINNA FOKGET ME." 
 
 IV. 
 " Diana forget me, oh ! tliuna forget," 
 
 Once more to my lip comes the strain. 
 To those who will weep o'er my changeless sleep, 
 
 I would whisper the ballad again. 
 When the funereal pall doth over me fall, 
 
 And the twilight of evening has set. 
 Plant over my tomb some flow'ret to bloom, 
 
 And remember me, "Dinna forget."
 
 TTTE :MIND makes THE MAN. 
 
 Tlie rank is but the guinea stamp, 
 The man 's the gowd for a' that. 
 
 BrRNS. 
 
 HOW I liH-e that song of the Scottish bard ! 
 There 's a true clear ring in its tone, 
 A rinf that will tell like a clarion bell, 
 
 And at once to the heart strike home. 
 'T is the noblest test, the mind makes the man, 
 
 Not the wealth of his purse or land ; 
 Though his friends be few, if his heart be true, 
 I would proudly clasp his hand.
 
 22 THE MIND MAKES THE MAX. 
 
 II. 
 
 Give me the man who will stand apart 
 
 From the vice that is grovelling' round ; 
 Who will hold on his way tluongh the darkest day 
 
 Nor stop till the victory 's fomid ; 
 Who would boldly stand and defend the right, 
 
 Who would scorn to utter a lie ; 
 Who in every deed has ti-uth for his creed, 
 
 And "Eight" for his watchword cry. 
 
 III. 
 Show me the man who will take by the hand 
 
 The oi^pressed of the earth and the poor ; 
 Who will gently speak to the lone and weak, 
 
 And give what he can from his store ; 
 AA'ho scatters the light of his nobler mind 
 
 To the winning of some soul back. 
 From the treacherous smiles of sin-wrought wiles, 
 
 To the clear broad daylight track.
 
 THE MINI) MAKES THE MAN. 23 
 
 IV. 
 His name may not shine on fame's bright roll, 
 
 With the rich, the great, or the high, 
 Yet his life is told in letters of gold. 
 
 On a scroll that will never die. 
 'T is graven above on the tablets of God, 
 
 'Mongst those who are noble and great, 
 The man of true worth — the "gowd" of the earth, 
 
 True lord of himself and his fate.
 
 THE SAP.BATII. 
 
 TIIETvE is a cfilm, a p\A'oot, a tranquil calm, 
 Dwelling upon Cxod's holy day of rest, 
 As if some winged messenger from heaven 
 
 Had breathed its spirit over nature's breast, 
 Hushing each sound irreverent to the day — 
 
 Calming each thought within the world-stained soul 
 The spirit feels again the holy truth 
 
 That eaith, though beautiful, is not its goal.
 
 THE SABBATH. 25 
 
 II. 
 
 A (Icoper hue of loveliness steals o'er 
 
 Earth's bosom as the hallowed morning beams ; 
 A softer zephyr 'mid the foliage jdajs — 
 
 A brighter sparkle in the sunlight gleams ; 
 Hope springs anew as, gazing round, we hear 
 
 AMiispered from each fair flower that gems the sod, 
 " Have faith, rejoice, thou weary-hearted one. 
 
 This is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God." 
 
 III. 
 The Sabbaths are the precious pearls of time 
 
 Tliat God has strewn amidst his holy band ; 
 Bright amaranth flowers dropped from the heavenly 
 clime — 
 
 The way-marks guiding to the spirit land 
 Which the true Christian hails with grateful joy. 
 
 As the parched traveller o'er the burning plain. 
 With bounding heart, and gladdened, eager eye, 
 
 Greets the cool fount that gives him life again.
 
 2() THE SABBATH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tv^ic of the lung', unlji-okeii Sabbath rest, 
 
 Of fadeless joys, of immortality : 
 The eye of faith looks upwaiil, and beholds 
 
 All these, which emanate, oh I God, from thee. 
 Teach us to use thy holy days aright, — 
 
 To live whilst vet the hallowed hours be ijiven,- 
 To turn the bubbles of the world away, — 
 
 To soar to thee, aiul win a hope in heaven.
 
 THE OJIPllAX, 
 
 I. 
 
 I FOUND her stamliiig by a new formed iiiouiul, 
 Her little heart half bursting with its grief", 
 Sobbing ill touching agony with sound 
 
 That told a strano-er could not o-ive relief. 
 *' Mamma, mamma,'' with lisping tone she said, 
 
 " I want you, oh so much, just once again ; 
 Again to kiss you, and to lay my head 
 
 Upon your breast, 1 "11 let you go back then,"
 
 28 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 n. 
 
 '' But I '11 ask Jesus if lio '11 take me too." 
 
 And down upon the cold, damp, dew^- sod 
 The weeping child knelt, and with fervour true 
 
 Breathed out her little artless prayer to God — 
 " Please take nie to mamma, I love her so." 
 
 Those simple words, oh liovv they pierced my heart ! 
 If angels ever weep, they wept to know 
 
 That tender babe must from its mother part. 
 
 III. 
 She was a lovely, fair-haired, guileless child, 
 
 With brow of thought beyond her infant years ; 
 A heavenly halo shone so sweetly mild 
 
 Fi-om out her blue eyes, wet with falling tears. 
 Four summers had just dimpled o'er her cheek. 
 
 And left its roseate hues of beauty there ; 
 Her winning voice, so soft, to hear her speak, 
 
 "T was like the wind-harp swept by passing air.
 
 THE ORPHAN. 29 
 
 IV. 
 With tear-dimin'd eye, I took her little liaiul : 
 
 Come here, my darling, weary one, and rest, 
 And I will tell thee of that fair, hiight land. 
 
 Where dear mamma is safe on Jesu's breast. 
 She tm-n'd and gazed with wondering, loving eye, 
 
 Then nestled to me like a tired dove ; 
 She seemed to feel, with child-like faith, that I 
 
 Was yearning towards her with a mother's love. 
 
 V. 
 
 She clung about me, and I took her home — 
 
 Home to my heart, that lonely oi'phaned one ; 
 I could not leave her by the grave alone. 
 
 And hear her sobbing, " My mamma is gone." 
 In the calm stillness of the evening time, 
 
 W^e often wander now together there ; 
 And with her hand clasped lovingly in mine. 
 
 She '11 whimper softly of that first lone prayer.
 
 ,'i() THE OliPHAX. 
 
 VI. 
 
 1 "vo lioai'd llio man of (rod witli soloinn totu' 
 
 JJivatho tlirilliiio' wonl^; "neatli tlie catlicdral pile; 
 Heard the low cliaiit swoop by the .scidptur'd stone. 
 
 Dying in murniurs thronoh each fretted aisle. 
 And it has melted, tonched my inmost thought. 
 
 And sootlied my spii it, cleansed its earthly leaven 
 But ne'er \vas holy spell so deeply wrought 
 
 As when that babe sent up its prayer to heaven. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Please take me to mamma, I love her so;*' 
 
 Oh, ye who have the motherless to guide. 
 Remember the departed one may know 
 
 Your actions, arc they sucli that you would liide. 
 Speak softly to it, use not one harsh tone ; 
 
 Its little heart is cravin"' oidv love ; 
 Shield it within your bosom as your own, 
 
 And angel ones will bloss you .'rom above.
 
 T^ 
 
 WELCOME AVTIITSUNTIDE. 
 
 I. 
 ;\"7"ELC0ME, witli til y face of beauty : 
 Welcome, witli thy joyous smile : 
 
 Pleasure beams avouiul each fluty 
 When thy sunny hours beguile — 
 
 Glowiu"' Whitsuntide. 
 
 II. 
 Welcome, witli tliy look of gladness 
 Sparkling forth from every eye ; 
 Where 's the heart that 's dimm'd with sadness 
 Wlien thou comest laughing by ? 
 
 eToYous Whitsuntide.
 
 32 WELCOME WHITSUNTIDE. 
 
 III. 
 Welcome, with tliy flow'rets geinniing 
 
 Field and meadow, hill and dale, 
 Gleaming, round, rare pearl drops hemming 
 O'er the forest and the vale, 
 
 Jewelled Whitsuntide. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Welcome, with th}' form of brightness. 
 
 And thy iimsic breathing tone ; 
 Happiness, and love, and lightness 
 
 Are the children of thy home — 
 
 Laughing Whitsuntide. 
 
 V. 
 
 Welcome, with thy life breeze springing, 
 Waftiiiti' round us health and joy ; 
 
 To each care-worn spirit bringing 
 Pleasures bearing no alloy. 
 
 Fresheiung Whitsuntide,
 
 WELCOME WHITSUNTIDE. 33 
 
 VI. 
 
 Welcome, with thy pleasant rambles 
 
 By the ocean and the stream, 
 Through the iieath-wood and the brambles, 
 
 Glowing as a poet's dream. 
 
 Fairy Whitsuntide. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Welcome, with tliy laugh of childhood, 
 Mingling with each zephyr's sigh — 
 
 Kinging through the gladdened wildwood. 
 Startling feather'd sono-sters niffh. 
 
 Youthful Whitsuntide. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Welcome, with thy holy teaching, 
 Weighty truths of nature's gold, 
 
 Bringing to our minds the preaching 
 
 Of the patriarchs of old. 
 
 Hallowed Whitftuutide. 
 D
 
 3i WELCOME WHITSUNTIDE. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Welcome, witli thy .simple treasures, 
 
 Violet and aziirc-bcll, 
 Coming to the heart as pleasures. 
 
 With a holy heaven -wrought spell. 
 
 Happy Whitsuntide. 
 
 X. 
 
 Welcome, with thy youthful voices, 
 
 Gaily singing from each glen •, 
 How the inmost soul rejoices. 
 
 Listening to thy strains ao-ain. 
 
 Pleasant Whitsuntide, 
 
 XI. 
 
 Welcome, with thy scenes elysian. 
 Glowing landscapes rich and grand. 
 
 Like the pictures of some vision 
 AVe have read of fairy land. 
 
 Dreamy Whitsuntide.
 
 WELCOME WHITSUNTIDE. 35 
 
 XII. 
 
 Welcome, gladly do we greet thee, 
 
 Holy, happy, regal time ; 
 And, with bounding heart, we 'U meet thee 
 
 With a joyous silvery chime. 
 
 Welcome Whitsuntide.
 
 FOR E^'ERMOEE. 
 
 I. 
 
 CAN I forget thee ; no, for evermore 
 Thy loving words will linger in my breast, 
 Thou oh death divide, and scatter darkness o'er 
 
 They still shall keep their vigils there and rest. 
 No other heart can ever breathe such love, 
 No other be, Avliat thou hast been to me ; 
 Too pure for earth, it winged its flight above, 
 To sing iu heaven its faithful minstrelsy.
 
 FOR EVERMORE. 37 
 
 II. 
 Can I forgot thee ; no, for evermore 
 
 About my lieart tliy memory will dwell 
 An amaranth flower, whose leaves ai'e Avi'itten o'er 
 
 With love, the angels grieve, yet smile to tell. 
 Grieve, that its light on earth so soon was dim : 
 
 Smile, that its faith was holy, perfect, true ; — 
 Smile that the song of love — the sacred hymn. 
 
 Will be in heaven breathed and suno- anew.
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE. 
 
 IN the land of the east, where the flow'rets twhie 
 With the ohve hloom and the chistcring vine, — 
 Where tlic skies are hlue, and a sunny smile 
 Beams bright o'er the face of each ocean isle, 
 There 's a legend old ; and the fair ones dwell 
 With a softened tone o'er the tale they tell 
 Of the rose that bloomed in Eden's bowers, 
 Ere Eve had smiled o'er the (|ueen of flowers.
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE. 39 
 
 The soft eastei'n ravs had driven afar 
 Nio-ht's sable clouds and each tiomhlinar star, — 
 The mora beamed again, and the pearly dew- 
 Was gemming each flower that in Eden grew ; 
 Eve wandered with joy 'midst the floial bowers, 
 Fragrant with sweets from a thousand flowers, 
 Gorgeous in beauty, of radiant hue. 
 They almost rivalled the heavenly blue 
 Of her own bright eye as it glanced along. 
 And singled a flower from the floral throng. 
 
 'T was a beauteous rose of spotless white. 
 Nestling in moss, and the pearly drops bright, 
 Trembling around it, as if its soft eye 
 Had been weeping glad tears that Eve was by. 
 She gazed with delight, and she stooped to kiss 
 The flower that bloomed in such loveliness ; 
 Ere she gazed again, lo ! a change was wrought : 
 Its petals a bright coral glow had caught ; 
 From her ruddy lips it had kissed the hue, 
 And smiled as it blushed on its stem anew.
 
 40 THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE. 
 
 Oft has it faded, sm\ left us since then, 
 The (]uoen of the parterre — the floral gem ; 
 But summer scarce touches Aurora's train 
 Ere the rose awakes with a blush aofain, — 
 And wlicther it waves in the garden fair. 
 In the sculptured vase amidst blossoms rare. 
 Or the lowly room o'er the window sill, 
 Tt shows that Eve's kiss lingers round it still.
 
 "HOMEWAKD BOUND. 
 
 I. 
 
 " TTUERAH for home," shouts the young sailor boy, 
 J- J- As he tosses his cap in the air : 
 
 And hits face hghts up with a smile of joy, 
 "When he thinks of the fond mother there. 
 
 The union streamer is fluttering free, 
 With a rustling, joyous sound ; 
 
 And voices call naerrily over the sea, 
 
 " Hurrah for the brave, ' Homeward bound.' "
 
 42 "HOMEWARD BOUND." 
 
 n. 
 
 The ship is away ; there 's a pause, then a shout, 
 
 A loud cheer from each hale English heart, 
 That rolls o'er the waves, and is echoed about 
 
 Till it sounds of the waters a part. 
 All hands are at work, every face wears a smile. 
 
 There is music in each rippling sound. 
 Gay voices are merrily singing, the while, 
 
 "Hurrah for the brave, 'Homeward bound.' " 
 
 III. 
 How many a bosom is waiting, with prayer, 
 
 To embrace the dear rover ajrain ; 
 How many a heart, when the sun-set is fair, 
 
 Prays 't is so on the billowy main. 
 The sailor boy hears the fond greeting of home. 
 
 And his soul throbs with joy at the sound ; 
 tV tear sparkles bright in the feathery foam. 
 
 As he whispers, " Speed on, ' Homeward bound.' "
 
 "HOMEWARD BOUND. l.'i 
 
 IV. 
 
 Beneath the blue jackets true hearts are enshrined, 
 
 That woukl die for their de^ir native kind ; 
 Xn foeman woukl find them e'er lagging- behind, 
 
 For each deck owns a brave, gallant band. 
 Hurrah for the sailors, wherever they be. 
 
 May the\' never in sorrow be found ; 
 May each one be known as the dauntless and free. 
 
 And God speed the brave, '■ Homeward bound."
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 AUTUMN 's coming, Autumn 's coming, 
 With her sad and thoughtful brow, 
 Garlanded with drooping liow'rets 
 
 Seeming far more lovely now 
 That they are departing fi-om us, 
 
 Breathing out their last perfume, 
 Like the halo round the dying, 
 Ere they sink beneath the tomb.
 
 AUTUMN. 45 
 
 II. 
 
 Nature ha« a softened glory 
 
 Whisp'ring, breathing round her no\s, 
 Like the last touch of the painter, 
 
 Giving soul to beauty's brow. 
 There are pleasures, there arc treasures, 
 
 Mingled with the summer time ; 
 But give me the mellow'd season, 
 
 Wreathed about with clustercd vine. 
 
 III. 
 Oh ! there is a hallow'd beaut}* 
 
 Gathered round an autumn scene ! 
 Crimson tints their richness throwino- 
 
 O'er the forest and the stream ; 
 Golden corn in glory waving ; 
 
 Purpled fruits around us teem. 
 Oh ! the heart should throb with gladness, 
 
 Contemplating such a scene.
 
 16 AUTUMN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Autumn 's coming, autumn 's coming ; 
 
 List, 't is whispered in the bi'eeze, 
 And the wild bird hears the echo, 
 
 And he trills it through the trees, 
 Like the farewell of the songstress, 
 
 Who has charmed an eager throng, 
 Keeps her sweetest notes to mingle 
 
 In the one last burst of song. 
 
 V. 
 
 Autunm has, besides her beauties, 
 
 Holy truths spread o'er her way ; 
 Let us gather up the treasures 
 
 Whilst the sunbeams make it day ; 
 Let us garner in our spuit 
 
 Flowers that will a lustre shed 
 Round our life when in its autumn, 
 
 And make bright the dying bed.
 
 IT WAS NOT WELL. 
 
 I. 
 
 IT was nut well to win that youthful heart, 
 To make its love to thee, thee only, cling ! 
 To win it as a priceless gem, then part, 
 
 xVnd cokllj spurn it as a worthless thing. 
 It was not well, she was an orphan lone. 
 
 Thy love her world, her life, her only flower ; 
 No other voice could breathe such magic tone, 
 No other soothe in sorrow's lonely hour.
 
 48 IT WAS NOT WELL. 
 
 II. 
 
 It wa.s nut well : did no tone whisper o'er 
 
 Thy restless heart, and tell thee joy could ne'er 
 Build in a home with such dark blot before, 
 
 Without its shadow sometimes lingerino- there ? 
 Thou couldst not know her faithful trusting heart. 
 
 Each pulse was true, and throbbed alone for thee ; 
 Though spurned, it could not from the dream depart, 
 
 But clung, how closely, to its memory. 
 
 III. 
 k was not well, yet I have seen her kneel, 
 
 With quivering lip, before the throne divine, 
 And plead, how deeply, for thy future weal. 
 
 Plead for a blessing upon thee and thine. 
 Oh, woman's love is deep, and strong as death— 
 
 As strong as death ; and hcr's was sucli fur thee ; 
 'T would not have died but witli her ])arting breath, 
 
 Had not thine own been but a mockerv.
 
 IT WAS NOT WELL. J:9 
 
 IV. 
 A prattling- voice wliose lisping accents flow, 
 
 And calls thee father with a winning smile ; 
 In future years, oh ! may she never know 
 
 The traitor's love, the traitor's treacherous wile ; 
 Shield her from such as thou wouldst shield her life 
 
 From the cold shroud, the grave, the last sad hour ; 
 Guard her young heart that it may ne'er be rife 
 
 \Mth love that 's trampled as a worthless flower. 
 
 V. 
 
 For love shoidd be a hallow'd, sacred thing — 
 
 When once awoke it never sleeps again ; 
 Though false ones breathe upon its soaring wing. 
 
 It flutters on, a sweet, a holy strain. 
 It flutters on, and, like the wounded bird 
 
 That soars and sings though with a bleeding breast, 
 The wound is there, yet its clear note is heard 
 
 Till it is prisoned, lifeless, in its nest, 
 
 E
 
 FOIWIVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 FOKGIVE, 't is a little and homely word, 
 Yet how softlv it falls on the bteast; 
 "When from the lips of the lov'd one 't is hoard, 
 
 How its echo can soothe us to rest. 
 The heart must be harden'd and callous indeed, 
 
 If it cannot forgive and forget, 
 Whatever the crime, it should ne'er have sul-Ii mofd ; 
 
 A kind word is the best teacher yet. 
 Oh forgive ! 't is the song of the angels in heaven. 
 
 Let us make it our own, and whisper forgiven.
 
 FOKGIVE. 51 
 
 II. 
 The bosom we 've trusted, and shrin'd with oiii' love, 
 
 In its deepest affection, and best ; 
 To which we have clung, as the fluttering dove — 
 
 Will turn homeward, and cling to its rest. 
 That bosom may be the first one to call up, 
 
 •• T will never forgive, nor forget," 
 Yet think not thus harshly, though bitter the cup : 
 
 Some bright flowers are wreathed with it yet. 
 ()\\ forgive ! "t is the song of the angels in heaven, 
 
 We will make it our own, and whisper forgiven.
 
 A LAY TO FEIEND8HIP. 
 
 ao (t. §. 
 
 H0^^^ quickly pass tlu' hours along, 
 When we would woo their stay : 
 How speedily the moments Hy, 
 
 \^licn friendship lights the way : 
 Leaving around the lonely heart. 
 
 A sweet, though sadden'd spell ; 
 Of loved ones gone, of bright days closed 
 In the drear word farewell.
 
 A LAY TO FBIENDSHIP. 53 
 
 II. 
 I would our life had longer been 
 
 Together intertwined ; 
 That all the joys could fall again 
 
 As brightly o'er the mind ; 
 That all the hours of dear commune, 
 
 Of sweet, and hallow'd thought, 
 Could weave again the mystic spell, 
 
 Thy love and friendship wrought. 
 
 III. 
 Ours is no tie that time will change, 
 
 No love that breathes decay ; 
 Its light will live, and living, bloom, 
 
 Through many a wintry day ; 
 Gilding o'er fair memory's page. 
 
 With dreams that will not die ; 
 Dreams that will linger round my heart 
 
 When thou 'rt no longer by.
 
 i>l A LAY TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A\^e 'vc shared too-etlier many a oricf 
 
 Of (lark and anxious hours; 
 And sniilod o'er many a joyous thouo-lit. 
 
 Brioht as the summer flowers. 
 In sickness, i-ound my pillow thou 
 
 ITast breathed a soften 'd tone : 
 Hast fondly soothed the aehinc; lirow. 
 
 And calniod each restless moan. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh could I give thee all the joy 
 
 My heart would give to thine ; 
 'T would be a cell of fairy gems. 
 
 A blight, and happy shrine : 
 Love, hope, and peace, should l»e the stars 
 
 To glinmier round thy way ; 
 Some light should fall, some beam should shine. 
 
 Around each passing day.
 
 A L.\Y TO FRIENDSHIP. 55 
 
 vr. 
 Oh may thy young heart never know 
 
 The blight that "s wither'd mine ; 
 May many a sunmior, come and go, 
 
 E'er death elaini.s aught of thine. 
 ^Lay all the bliss that earth can count, 
 
 Be gather'd round thee now ; 
 All the sweet peace of heaven entwine 
 
 Its halo round thv brow.
 
 THE KISS BENEATH THE HOLLY, 
 
 I. 
 ' ' X) E mciTj and wise," says the gooci old soiic;, 
 
 -L' And joy to tlie heart wlio penned it ; 
 If we 've aught to fret, the stately pet 
 
 Will never reforni nor mend it. 
 On Christmas night, when the log bui-ns bright, 
 
 To be joyous is not folly ; 
 There 's nought amiss in the playful kiss 
 
 That 's stolen beneath the holly.
 
 THE KISS BENEATH THE HOLLY. 57 
 
 II. 
 Let liaml clasp hand with a hearty grasp, 
 
 To all give a welcome greeting ; 
 Fling pride afar, do n't gloom or mar 
 
 The coming Christmas meeting. 
 "Be merry and wise,'' say sparkling eyes. 
 
 Away with all melancholy — 
 There 's nought amiss, just laugh at the kiss 
 
 That 's stolen beneath the holly. 
 
 III. 
 Oh, welcome with glee the festive night, 
 
 When the joyous bells are ringing ; 
 But once a year the chime we hear 
 
 That the Christmas time is bringing. 
 Do n't pout or frown 'neath the mystic crown,- 
 
 To be joyous is not folly ; 
 There 's nought amiss in the Christmas kiss 
 
 That 's stolen beneath the holly.
 
 LSLK OF BEAUTY.-' 
 
 OIL I do not breathe that song again. 
 It pales my lip, and dims mj eye ; 
 I 've heard a loved one sing the strain, 
 
 And memory will not let it die. 
 Each liquid note falls on my heart 
 
 With grief that finds no soothing sleep, 
 My breast will heave, the tear will start, 
 I cannot hear it ami not weep.
 
 '• ISLE OF BEAUTY." 59 
 
 II. 
 Oil I do not brcatlio thfit song again. 
 
 It holds witliin its magic tone, 
 A spell that leadeth memory's chain 
 
 To one I fondh called my own. 
 My wayward heart clings to each note. 
 
 Though with what anguish none can tell, 
 The past lives, as those murmurs float, 
 
 In " Isle of beautv. fare thee well."
 
 HIE TO THE HILLS AWAY. 
 
 H 
 
 I. 
 
 IE to tlie hills away, away ; 
 The sun is sinking, 
 
 The crimson light 
 Is softly fading 
 
 To hues of night ; 
 The flowers are drooping, 
 
 The dewdrops fair 
 Are gemming with pearls 
 
 Aurora's hair — 
 Hie home away.
 
 HIE TO THE HILLS AWAY. 61 
 
 II- 
 Hie to the hills away, away ; 
 The evening stal- 
 ls shining clear. 
 The vesper chime 
 
 Is sounding near : 
 There 's a calm around, 
 
 Tlie breeze is still, 
 And the taper gleams 
 From the distant hill — 
 Hie home away. 
 
 III. 
 Hie to the hills away, away ; 
 The listening trees 
 
 Have a whispering sound : 
 " Away, away," 
 
 They are murmuring round ; 
 The babbling stream 
 And the dripping well
 
 ^>2 HIE TO THE HILLS AWAY. 
 
 Are softly sighiiii;- 
 
 ''Farew.-ll, fare\v..>ll,"— 
 Jlie hoine awav. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Jlic to the liills away, away 
 The nightingale's mnig 
 
 Is heard no more. 
 The silence of night 
 
 Ls gathering o'er. 
 The moon is hathing 
 
 The mountain height 
 With fairy heauty : 
 
 Away, good night I 
 Hie home uwav.
 
 I MISS THEE. 
 
 I. 
 
 I MISS thee ; ah ! how sadly ilo the words 
 Strike o'er the lieart of the bereaved one, 
 "When death has broken up the household band, 
 And those we cherished, loved the most, are gone 
 
 II. 
 
 I miss thee ! home seems dark and silent now — 
 AVithout thy presence what can make it bright ; 
 
 Thou wert the star that made the fireside glow 
 With happiness and beauty, love and light.
 
 Gi I MISS THEE. 
 
 in. 
 I miss thee ! oft I list, but list in vain ; 
 
 The well-known step, the loving word and tone, 
 No more shall greet me ; all around but tells 
 
 Thou art not here — that I am left alone. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I miss thee ! when our little one lisps o'er 
 Thy name, and wants papa to come again ; 
 
 The tear-dimmed eye and wildly throbbing heart 
 
 Tell how I miss thee, dearest ; how I miss thee then. 
 
 V. 
 
 I miss thee ! earth no more spreads out for me 
 Her flowers of joy, her radiant summer bloom : 
 
 Hope, happiness, and love alike are dead, 
 And witheral lie around thv hallowed tomb.
 
 I MISS THEE. 65 
 
 \t:. 
 I miss tlicc I but thy memory ne'er will pass 
 
 From out my spirit, where 't is deeply graven ; 
 It will o-o with me through life's wearv waA-, 
 
 Until we meet ao-ain at home, in heaven. 
 
 V
 
 NEW YEAR'S ASrillATlONS. 
 
 1. 
 
 SWIFTLY %iiig, ever oinvuid, 
 O'er the lolliiig' sea of time, 
 One by one tlie yeaia are 2)ass>iiig, 
 
 Quickly as tlie flowers decline, 
 Gi'aving on each toiling spirit, 
 
 Footprints of their weal or woe, 
 Round a few heaixs weaving flowers, 
 In the summer sunlight glow.
 
 NEW YEAR'S ASPIRATIONS. G7 
 
 n. 
 
 Su another year has left us, 
 
 Fainter grows his •l.ying knell, 
 J lull V ronnd his l)rnw is brcathina' 
 
 Forth a loving sad farewell, 
 'i'urn wc now with mind undaunted. 
 
 Thought unfetter'd, honest, true. 
 To the smiling new-horn season. 
 
 With a heart to hear and do. 
 
 III. 
 
 Are the shadows darkly gathering 
 
 Round thy drooping wearied heart? 
 Up, and firmly breast the tempest, 
 
 Xobly, bravely do thy part. 
 Gleaming brightly in the future. 
 
 Shines the glorious noontide sun, 
 Waiting with his beams to clieer thee, 
 
 When the goal, the victoiy 's won.
 
 68 NEW YEAR'S ASPIRATIONS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tliat 's the noblest ship that >Yeathei's, 
 
 Every storm upon the deep. 
 Though the billows heave around her, 
 
 Proudly in her course she '11 keep, 
 Ploughing through the foaming surges, 
 
 Onward to the promised land, 
 Onward till her keel is grating, 
 
 On the welcome wished-for strand. 
 
 V. 
 
 So have we in life's rough waters, 
 
 Work to do, a i)laco to earn. 
 Let us take the floAving current, 
 
 Fear at rest, and purpose firm, 
 Carve upon the new year's footsteps, 
 
 Actions that shall noblv tell, 
 'Mongst our fellows, and in heaven, 
 
 Win from God *' Thou hast done well.
 
 MY BOiSmiE BAEK. 
 
 I. 
 rriHE tide has neared the Refuge rock, 
 -L 'T is eddying in the bay ; 
 L"p, up, my men, the sails unfurl, 
 
 Weigh anchor and away. 
 Away, away, the moon is out. 
 
 And jutting o'er tlie tower ; 
 Our bark must be far o'er the sea. 
 
 Before the daybreak hour.
 
 70 MY RONNIE BARK. 
 
 II. 
 Once fairly launcbed I know slio '11 skim 
 
 The waters like a bird, 
 She '11 dip along the dancing waves, 
 
 As though no ripple stirr'd. 
 Hurrah I we 're off, my gallant bai'k. 
 
 Eight merrily we go ; 
 The waves may dash, the breakers lash. 
 
 We never fear a foe. 
 
 m. 
 
 The nerveless youth may love the land, 
 
 The tamo calm inland home ; 
 And never feel within his breast. 
 
 The longing wish to roam. 
 But oh, give me my bonnie bark, 
 
 My hardy gallant crew ; 
 My home upon the surging foam, 
 
 AVith dauntless hearts and true.
 
 ]VrY BONNIE BARK. 
 
 IV. 
 I care not thongli a foe should come, 
 
 I have a heart to meet him ; 
 A fearless eye to aim the gun, 
 
 A freeman's hand to o-reet him. 
 I foar not, though the waters rage, 
 
 ]\Iy bark has bravely weather'd 
 Through many a storm of angry form. 
 
 And yet we 'vc not been severed. 
 
 V. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! my gallant skiff, 
 
 INIy heart is blent with thee ; 
 T care not for a woman's smile, 
 
 While thou ai"t on the sea. 
 Thou art my bride, my home, my friend, 
 
 No other will I claim ; 
 My song shall be, my baik, of thee. 
 
 My home the surging main.
 
 SONG FOR MUSIC. 
 
 COME when the first star 's peeping forth. 
 And the fairy flowers are sleeping ; 
 Come Avhen the gloaming 's o'er tlio earth, 
 
 And the moon her watch is keeping. 
 Meet me then, and I 'II tell thee, love. 
 
 The hopes I 've dared to cherish. 
 That thou one day wilt be my bride ; 
 
 Oh ! say, must the bright dream perish ?
 
 SONG FOR MUSIC. 73 
 
 II. 
 Come when the clew hghts up the leaves, 
 
 And the vesper bell is ringing ; 
 Come when the dove beneath the eaves 
 
 Her soft, low note is singing. 
 Meet me then, and I '11 tell thee, love, 
 
 The hopes I 'vc dared to cherish, 
 That thou one day wilt be ray bride ; 
 
 Oh ! say, must the bright dream perish ?
 
 THE DRUXKARD. 
 
 Behold the wretch, besotted and beguiled, 
 Whose hours are wasted, and whose thoughts defiled, 
 Within those dens of drunkenness that stand, 
 Breathing a moral poison o'er the land. 
 
 Peince. 
 
 II /FUSING at evening, as the shadows dim 
 J^TJ_ Were flitting softly round my quiet room, 
 Pictures of firesides, comfortless and grim. 
 
 Before me passed in all their wretched gloom. 
 Upon my mind in its dark colours rose 
 
 The grovelling sin we meet on every hand, 
 Spreading abroad with noisome step it grows — 
 
 A foulsome hlot, a shame upon our land.
 
 THE DRUNKARD. 75 
 
 II. 
 The (Iruiikaril ! see him when the midnight hoiii- 
 
 Has sent him reeling from the shameless haunt ; 
 He seeks his liome — a home whose only dower 
 
 Is eveiT form of misery and want. 
 He greets his little ones and patient wife 
 
 Perchance with curses — makes his home a den : 
 Without one spot of heauty in his life, 
 
 Ho stands a hlot amongst his fellow-men. 
 
 III. 
 No nohle thought e'er animates his mind : 
 
 Degraded, sottish — life an aimless thing, 
 "Without one hope to leave a name behind. 
 
 Beyond the boasting brag that drunkards sing. 
 Staggering abroad, shunned by the passer-by, 
 
 Below the reptile creeping on the earth ; 
 For God endowed it with no reason high. 
 
 And it disgraces not its meaner birth.
 
 76 THE DRUNKARD. 
 
 IV. 
 Call naught be clone — can nothing tempt or win 
 
 The poor degraded soul from out the stings 
 Of this great vice — this evil, haunting sin, 
 
 To less debasing — to some better thinga ? 
 The purple wine may glitter bright and clear, 
 
 The flash of genius sparkle round the cup, 
 Yet touch it not, — 't is poison, — go not near : 
 
 One draught may call a thousand demons up. 
 
 V. 
 
 It is no vision, no ideal dream ; 
 
 The poison lurks, though all around seems fair. 
 Stand back ! Away from tlie beguiling stream, 
 
 For death — ah ! worse than death — awaits you there. 
 Oh I could the sons of Bacchus learn to know 
 
 The happiness — the bliss that virtue brings, 
 'T would surely lure them from the path of woe, — 
 
 Lure them to seek for better, nobler things.
 
 THE MUSIC IN OUE HOME. 
 
 T 
 
 "'rp IS not the harp that fairy fingers 
 Sweep to charm us with its tone, 
 
 Althouo-h its thrillins; echo Hnfjers 
 Long and sweetly in our homo. 
 
 II. 
 Ah! no; 't is music that brinos brightness 
 
 To the mother's heart and eye, 
 Telling her that life has flowers, 
 
 Lighting up the shadows by.
 
 "8 THE MUSIC IN OUK HOME. 
 
 III. 
 'T is the liiun of pleasant voices, 
 
 Prattling in sweet childhood's tone, 
 Making glad the household ingle 
 
 Witli a nuisic all their own. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'T is the pattering of liglit footsteps 
 Up and down the homely floor, 
 
 With untiring perseveiance 
 Pacing one path o'er and o'er. 
 
 V. 
 
 "J' is the merry shout and laughter 
 liinging out in joyous glee, 
 
 Making all around re-echo 
 VV^ith the wild glad melody.
 
 THE MUSIC IN OUR HOME. 79 
 
 VI. 
 
 'T i.s the timid first- taugl it ucceiits 
 
 Of the bonny household pet. 
 Lisping words to the fond mother 
 
 That .she never will foru-et. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ( 'h I that home is drear and lonely 
 That has never heard the tone 
 
 Uf this })leasaiit tireside music 
 
 From .some brioht-eved little one.
 
 DO THOSE WOEDS SO FONDLY SPOKEN? 
 
 I. 
 
 DO those words so fondly spoken 
 Ever haunt thy memory now ? 
 Do those meetings, partings, ever 
 
 Cast a shade upon thy brow ? 
 Oh ! I deem'd not that a falsehood 
 Lingered in the sweet low tone ; 
 Love but heard its witching music, 
 Making my fond lieart their home.
 
 1)0 THOSE WORDS SO FONDLY SPOKEN ? 81 
 
 II. 
 Deep they sunk within my spirit, 
 
 Twining closely round my heart, 
 Blending with each deed and action, 
 
 Of my being forming part. 
 'T was no idle, fancied day-dream, 
 
 Where but promises were rife ; 
 But 't was love, deep and unchanging, 
 
 Woven with each thread of life. 
 
 III. 
 Love that would have braved each peril, 
 
 Dared each danger, soothed each care, 
 Clinging closer in the trial. 
 
 Glad for thee a part to boar. 
 How 't was mingled with my future, 
 
 Graven with each hallowed thought, 
 Lighting with a strange bright beauty 
 
 All the dreams its spell had wrought.
 
 82 DO THOSE WORDS SO FONDLY SPOKEN ? 
 
 IV. 
 Ertitli's fair things grew still more lovely, 
 
 Like some vision from above ; 
 All its pictured scones were gazed at 
 
 Tlirough the glowing light of love. 
 But 't is past, and with it mcm'rj 
 
 Of the part that once gave pain ; 
 Calndy now my heart can wander 
 
 O'er that oaily dream again — 
 
 V. 
 
 Calmly pray that nought of sorrow 
 
 E'er may dim the hallowed ray, 
 Eesting o'er that little homestead, 
 
 Stretched in beauty far away. 
 May the hearts enshrined within it, 
 
 Long be one unbroken band ; 
 Peace upon the threshold standing, 
 
 Scattering bright gifts from her hand.
 
 OUR ENEMIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 LET us forgive them every one, 
 Nor bear within our breast 
 The wound that bleeds and rankles on, 
 
 Destroying beakliful rest ; 
 Our patli would liave much more of hght, 
 
 Much less of weary care, 
 If at God's hallowed throne each night 
 This were our vesper prayer — 
 
 Foi'give our enemies.
 
 84 OUR ENEMIES. 
 
 n. 
 
 We may have cause to turn with pain 
 
 From those we once deemed true ; 
 The hps that breathed but in love's strain 
 
 May now speak harshly too ; 
 But, yet, that heart has most of love, 
 
 Has most of godlike lore. 
 That in its breathings sent above 
 
 Can softly whisper o'er, 
 
 Forgive our enemies. 
 
 in. 
 
 We may have shrined with fondest pride, 
 
 With love's first treasured ray, 
 Some worshipped idol at our side. 
 
 And seen it turn to clay ; 
 The spirit looks indignant back. 
 
 Burns to resent the wrong. 
 Yet sweeter flow'rets wreathe our track 
 
 When we have learnt the song, 
 
 Forgive our enemies.
 
 OUR ENEMIES. 85 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tlie hand we 've pressed in friendship's clasp 
 
 May be the first to bhght ; 
 The first to wrest, with miser's grasp, 
 
 What most we deemed our ric-ht : 
 
 !j ^ 
 
 i Such cannot hghtly be effaced. 
 
 Not easily forgiven ; 
 Yet, this the record God has traced 
 Upon the seal of heaven, 
 
 " Forgive your enemies."
 
 I 'LL QUAFF THE HEALTH. 
 
 I'LL quaff the health with a right good wil 
 But not in the spaikhng wine, 
 The words would be but a mockery, 
 
 If drunk from the treacherous vine. 
 Give me a draught from the crystal fount, 
 
 And I '11 gladly drain the bowl, 
 I know it will bring no demon sting 
 To torture the fever'd soul.
 
 I LL QUAFF THE HEALTH. 87 
 
 II. 
 
 The poet may sing in boasting strain 
 
 Of the gushing purpled stream, 
 Of the juicy grape, from foreign cape, 
 
 ^Vith its ripeu'd frothy beam ; 
 He may call his friends around the cup, 
 
 And wit may flash from his lip. 
 But his hrain will reel, and his soul will feel. 
 
 Each grovelling, poisoned sip. 
 
 III. 
 I '11 quatf the health with a right good will. 
 
 In a cool draught from the spring. 
 Where the pimpernel, with azure bell. 
 
 Has laved its dewy wing. 
 There 's life where the brooklet glides along, 
 
 There 's joy at the flowing shrine ; 
 The drunkard's stream may glitter and gleam, 
 
 Yet it has no health like mine.
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 THE sun is sinking', 't is the twilight hour — 
 Tlie hour when fancy takes its airy flight. 
 And wings its way o'er many a cherished flower. 
 That deatli or absence liideth from our sight. 
 Surely some spirit with the gloaming flies 
 
 From out the blue haunts of the ether main, 
 Gently to place before our longing eyes 
 The loved ones of our early youth again.
 
 \ . 
 
 TWILIGHT. 89 
 
 II. 
 With tlroamiug eye, o'er the soft clouds we look 
 
 L'pou the hallowed glory gathered there ; 
 And trace, as in a truthful pictured book, 
 
 Loved forms amidst the waving fields of air. 
 Perchance a mother stands with the same eye 
 
 And smile, that thrill'd us with its beaming light ; 
 That smile, how oft it soothed the troubled sigh, 
 
 And cheered us on through many a dreary night. 
 
 III. 
 With yearning soul, we long to have her press 
 
 Her hand, as when a child, upon our brow, 
 To clasp our throbbing iieart to hers and bless, 
 
 To give again a mother's blessing now. 
 Other sweet visions quickly come and go. 
 
 First love, with all its deep devoted dreams. 
 Dreams that live on, within the heart, and know 
 
 No change, till death has closed all earthly scenes.
 
 00 TWILIGHT. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sweet evening hour, far dearer than the noon, 
 
 Thoun-h sunhirht trembles o'er each leaf and flower, 
 Give nic the gloaming, when the silvery moon 
 
 Is softly wreathing with its rays each bower ; 
 Sweet evening time, the hour for thought and prayer, 
 
 The time when nature whispers from the sod, 
 Voices seem murm'ring from each flow'ret fair. 
 
 And join in one grand anthem to their God.
 
 THE 'BRITISH PRESS." 
 
 I. 
 TTTE crown with laurel the conquering one ; 
 
 * '' We honour the truly hi-avc ; 
 And we proudly tell that our stainless flag- 
 Ne'er floats o'er a chain-hound slave ; 
 But a nohler hoast has each patriot soul, 
 
 And one we may gratefully bless, 
 Is the fetterless bulwark of our land. 
 The glorious " British Press."
 
 92 THE "BKITISH PRESS.' 
 
 II. 
 
 'T was a noble deed, 't M'as a lieavenward aim, 
 
 When that first rude press was wrought, 
 And the banner of truth, its page unfurled, 
 
 Gleamed out in each printed thought ; 
 In the loftiest line of England's fame, 
 
 In her shrines and senate halls, 
 The name of that deathless one shall rest 
 
 As a star upon our walls. 
 
 III. 
 The wise man's thought would have pass'd away, 
 
 As a legend lost and dead ; 
 And the toiling millions searched in vain 
 
 For the light his spirit shed ; 
 How many a dark and grovelling soul 
 
 Would have brooded round us now. 
 Whore we note the rays of a noble mind 
 
 Beaming forth from a soul-lit brow.
 
 THE "BRITISH PRESS." 93 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh ! the proudest throb of our liearts should turn 
 
 To those stirring ones who bless 
 And aid to uprear, in their daily toil, 
 
 Our great and fetterless press. 
 Long may it truthfully speak to the world, 
 
 With its banner of success ; 
 And every heart on its tablet bear, 
 
 God speed the " British Press."
 
 OUK RIFLEMEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 rpO arms ! Arm ! was the watchword cry 
 -L O'er England's land ; along 
 Her sunny vales and hallowed homes 
 
 A\ as heard the stirriiiu- sonu-. 
 A foreign foe had dared to breathe 
 
 A doubt o'er Albion's fame, — 
 Had dared to think our proud, free isle 
 
 Might own a forcio-n name. 
 
 •jjiji/ ijiiii >k juieigi
 
 OUK RIFLEMEN. !)."> 
 
 II. 
 
 But e'er the echo of tlmt song 
 
 Had faintly tlietl away, 
 Ten thousand hearts throbbed to the strain, 
 
 All eager to obey ; 
 The British lion woke, and stood 
 
 '^eath the pi-oud flag unfurled. 
 With mien erect, and regal eye. 
 
 The monarch of the world. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ready to prove that Englishmen 
 
 • Had heard the warlike call, 
 And would with hand and heart unite 
 
 To guard each hallowed wall ; 
 Nobly they rose, a gallant band, 
 
 Albion's true-hearted ones, 
 With gun and rifle, sword in hand^ 
 
 Worthy old England's sons.
 
 96 OUR RIFLEMEN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Well may our good old banner float 
 
 So proudly in the breeze, 
 For England is, and e'er shall be. 
 
 The monarch of the seas ; 
 And bright in her historic page 
 
 Shall shuic a nation's gem, 
 The guardians of our island home. 
 
 Our valiant riflemen. 
 
 V. 
 
 And when long years have passed away, 
 
 Our little ones shall dwell 
 Upon the theme, and with proud heart 
 
 Of their forefathers tell. 
 Oh ! may they ne'er degrade their sword, 
 
 And long, long may it bo 
 Before 't is red, although it gain 
 
 A glorious victory.
 
 OUR RIFLEMEN. 
 
 VI. 
 In good old England's jewelled crown, 
 
 Amidst its gems so rare, 
 Shine the great men who guard our land, 
 
 The hrightest jewels there. 
 Cheers for them all, and for our Queen, 
 
 All nations shall revere 
 Our fatlicrland, Victoria, 
 
 And each brave volunteer. 
 
 H
 
 HEE BONNY BLUE EYE. 
 
 I. 
 
 SPAEKLING, twinkling, heaven's own azure 
 Beaming In lier loving glance ; 
 Flashing, quick as lightning flashes. 
 On the brightly gleaming lance, — 
 Summer violet, nestling shy, 
 Is not lovelier than her eye. 
 
 u. 
 Laughing as the dancing sunlight^ 
 \\'hen its glinting joyous beam
 
 HER BONNY BLUE EYE. 99 
 
 Plays upon the gushing brooklet, 
 Or the merry uiountaiu stream, — 
 Summer violet, nestling shy, 
 Is not lovelier than her eye. 
 
 III. 
 Earnest, thoughtful, when 't is listening 
 
 To some moving tale of ill ; 
 Soft as the gazelle's when bounding 
 By its native mountain rill, — 
 
 Summer violet, nestling shy, 
 Is not lovelier than her eye. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Deep and loving soul doth whisper 
 
 In each sparkling ray of light, 
 Breathing o'er her face a halo, 
 
 Thrilling fond hearts with delight, — 
 Summer violet, nestling shy, 
 Is not lovelier than her eye.
 
 100 HER BONNY BLUE EYE. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh that I might woo and win lier, 
 Love her as my soul could love ; 
 I would shield her iu my hosom 
 As a tender fluttering dove, — 
 
 Summer violet, nestling shy, 
 Is not lovelier than her eye.
 
 TJIEEE 'S A SPELL ABOUT THE SEA. 
 
 Oil fi)r a home by the surging foam 
 Of the rippling, dancing sea, 
 There 's a strange deep spell in the ceaseless knell 
 
 Of its nuu-muriiig minstrelsy ; 
 My spirit is bound with the mystic sound 
 
 Of eacli wild wave dashing free, 
 And I gaze with pride on the heaving tide 
 Of the pathless wayward sea.
 
 102 THERE S A SPELL ABOUT THE SEA. 
 
 II. 
 
 I never could look on its chano-intr book 
 
 With a spiritless breast and eye, 
 By the foaming wave, my heni't could brave 
 
 The clouds of a checkered skv ; 
 There 's a voice in its tone that thi-ills my own, 
 
 That tells of the great and free, 
 And I love the song that echoes along 
 
 From the wild and wayward sea. 
 
 III. 
 
 O'er many a scene of dazzling sheen 
 
 We may gaze with soul-lit eye, 
 The flower-strewn glade, in the forest shade. 
 
 Has its own sweet witchery- ; 
 But its voice is tame to the sur!rino- main. 
 
 To that song so wild and free, 
 Oh my heart is bound with the mystic sound, 
 
 The voice of the wayward sea.
 
 ''I LOVE THEE." 
 
 OH ! wliere is the bosom that has not a day-dream 
 Aioimd which it lovetli to linger and dwell ; 
 Some oasis bestrewing the desert with blossoms, 
 And greening it o'er with love's magical spell ? 
 
 II. 
 Who does not remember some radiant summer, 
 
 When the garland of hope wore its rosiest hue ; 
 When the first whispered accents fell softly around us, 
 
 " I love thee,"' and life made the melody true.
 
 104 "I LOVE THEE." 
 
 III. 
 New friends may surround us, and dear ones may utter 
 
 Fond words that will waken some chord in the "heart ; 
 But yet the first soul-dream will murmur and flutter, 
 
 "I love thee" — it cannot and will not depart. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'T is Avreathed with each life-throh too closely to perish. 
 Though wisdom may whisper 't is fancy's vain dream 
 
 Yet where is the one that from nit'iuury would luinish 
 The deepest, the holiest joy that hath heen. 
 
 V. 
 
 The voice may be absent, and distance may sever, 
 
 The tomb may have hidden the loved from our siglit ; 
 
 Yet deep in the spirit still echoes " I love thee," 
 And cheei's with its halo the dreariest night.
 
 •'I LOVK THEE.' 105 
 
 VI. 
 
 The world in its changing liath tauglit us stern lessons, 
 Hath broken some day-dreams, and bid them depart ; 
 
 But the shroud must enfold us, the turf be our jiillow. 
 Before it uproots a first love from the heart.
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 
 
 H ! where does the charm of bright beauty dwell, 
 In the flashing eye of the sparkling belle, 
 
 Whose radiant glances rival in light 
 
 Yon shining orbs that arc gemming the night ? 
 
 Or in the bright bloom of the glowing cheek, 
 
 Where each changing throb of the heart doth speak ? 
 
 Or on lips that the rose might wish to kiss, 
 
 And envy the charm of their loveliness ?
 
 BEAUTY. 107 
 
 Xo. The face may be fair, the eye may beam. 
 
 The form be divine as the artist's dream, 
 
 And yot not the pleasing power possess, 
 
 Witliont which frail beauty is valueless. 
 
 List ! this is the secret ; oh ! mark it well— 
 
 'T is the HEART, the mind, where beauty must dwell.
 
 LINES. 
 
 ?tt nffttionatc ^Icmcmbnmtt of the late ^rs. |)ugb P^nson. 
 
 There is no tlock, however watched and tended, 
 
 But one dead lamb is there ! 
 There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 
 
 But has one vacant chair. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 OH death why dost thou tluust tliy sickle in 
 Tlie liomes where " peace dwells like a beauteou? 
 dove?" 
 Why dost thou come to dim with sudden night, 
 Hearts that were beating full of hope and love ?
 
 LINES. 100 
 
 The words of Holy Writ scarce bear tlieir tide 
 Of hope or comfort to the mourner's breast, 
 
 When thou hast touched the httle fireside band, 
 Wliere is tlie heart can say, " 'T is for the best." 
 
 II. 
 A spirit 's passed away ; we miss the light 
 
 That shone not like the brilliant meteor's gleam, 
 But softly as the gentle evening star, 
 
 That soothes and cheers us with its loving beam. 
 A heart has ceased to beat whose every chord 
 
 Throbb'd with each virtue that can grace the mind 
 'T is stilled in death, yet long its light will glow, 
 
 As flow'rets leave their fragrance on the wind. 
 
 III. 
 Her name was not emblazoned on the roll 
 
 That glitters only that it may be known, 
 But graven in the lowly homes of toil — 
 
 There, like a lamp from heaven, it sweetly shone
 
 110 LINES. 
 
 There, 'midst the humble homesteads of the poor, 
 Casting its radiance over many a heart. 
 
 Lifting up gently many a drooping head, 
 And of their sorrows taking e'en a part. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A mother from her little band is ta'en, 
 
 A star that made the light of home is gone ; 
 No hand can soothe, no voice with magic tone 
 
 Can hush to rest like the beloved one. 
 A spirit 's passed away, yet not away ; 
 
 Its virtues still are round us, and will live — 
 Live shrined in many a humble heart and home, 
 
 And to the mourners hallowed comfort give.
 
 THE FETENDS OF "AULD LANG SYNE." 
 
 HERE 's to tlio friends who have clicerctl our youtli, 
 Tlio friends we loved and knew ; 
 When the world was hright to our dazzled sight, 
 
 And every heart seemed true : 
 We fondly cherish their memory yet, 
 
 'T is graved in affection's mine. 
 And wc often turn with heart-felt yearn, 
 To the friends of " Auld lang svne."
 
 112 THE FKIENDS OF "AULD LANG SYNE. 
 
 II. 
 The heart looks back to its early love. 
 
 And lingerhig longs to dwell, 
 O'er the first sweet vow that flush'd our brow, 
 
 And thrlll'd with its nameless spell : 
 That spell it is haunting our day-dream yet. 
 
 It tells of the radiant time, 
 And we sighing turn and fondly yearn. 
 
 To the love of " Auld lang syne." 
 
 III. 
 Here '.s to the friends wherever they he, 
 
 Tlie absent, the lost, or the dead, 
 Their names shall rest in our faithful breast. 
 
 Till we 're laid in the grassy bed. 
 We never again may clasp their hand. 
 
 Yet deep in affection's shrine. 
 We have graven there on an altar fair, 
 
 " To the friends of ' Auld lang syne.' ''
 
 MOTHEK. 
 
 I. 
 
 IT must be precious, but I never knew 
 The love that dwells within a mother's breast ; 
 No shielding arms e'er clasping round me drew 
 
 My heart to hers, to nestle there and rest. 
 Mother ! what music in the name doth dwell, 
 
 What strange quick feeling wakens at the word, 
 "Wliat is the link — the deep mysterious spell — 
 
 That thrills our pulse when the sweet title 'a heard ? 
 I
 
 114 MOTHER. 
 
 n. 
 
 I 've seen a merry-hearted cliikl at play 
 
 Start at some trifling pain, and, sobbing-, cry 
 " Mother," in tears. I, too, have turned awaj'. 
 
 And yearned for some one, yet I knew not why ; 
 I 've seen a vouni"- wife when the last fond tie 
 
 That bound her to another has been torn, 
 With widow'd heart, and weary weeping eye, 
 
 Turn to seek comfort near a mother's form. 
 
 III. 
 There has been watching and a lonely hour — 
 
 Wave after wave of grief hath left its tide 
 Upon my heart, — each fondly-cherish'd flower 
 
 The reaper, death, has stolen from my side ; 
 Then o'er my spirit wildl}' has it come. 
 
 The wish that I mio-ht find that lovino- rest. 
 And pillow in sweet childhood's hallow'd home. 
 
 My world-tired heart upon a mother's breast.
 
 MOTHER. 115 
 
 IV. 
 
 .Motlior, my mother! oh where art thou, where? 
 
 ^i\ soul hath often yearned and longed for thee : 
 Shall it be given me to know thee there ; 
 
 In yon fair world beyond this changing sea? 
 It must bo bliss to be where thou dost dwell — 
 
 Then thou wilt clasp me to thy changeless heart, 
 And I can love, and know the loving spell 
 
 AVill still remain, for we shall never part.
 
 LOVE. 
 
 LOVE I what is true love," said the niaiilen shy, 
 "With a blushing cheek and a sparkUng eye, 
 "That it weaves around such a mystic spell. 
 And brightens each spot where its sunbeams dwell?" 
 List, true hearts are telling — list to the tone, 
 'T will whisper its echo within thine own.
 
 LOVE. 117 
 
 See tliat fair 3'oiing bride, in her robes of white, 
 
 How lier dark eye turns with fond delight 
 
 To him at her side, like the dove to its haven ; 
 
 She whispers, " oh ! love is a thing from heaven." 
 
 Henceforth she will cling, whatever betide. 
 
 To him she has chosen — her world, her pride ; 
 
 Through sorrow, through sunshine, through weal or woe ; 
 
 His love is her life and her all below. 
 
 And, like the wild flower in the forest's gloom, 
 
 In shadow 't will glow with a brighter bloom, 
 
 Gilding with glorious beauty his life, 
 
 Whilst he with a full heart blesses his wife. 
 
 And that infant clasped to its mother's breast, 
 What love lights her eye as its lips are pressed ; 
 The wide world for her has no flower or joy 
 To equal her beautiful, peerless boy, 
 She places her hand o'er his brow so fair, 
 And ofliers for him an earnest prayei'.
 
 118 LOVE. 
 
 Oh ! this is true luve, — 't is a hallowed bHss, 
 
 A bright gleam of heaven's own loveliness ; 
 
 An immortal ray, by God 't is given, 
 
 To lift our soul to its native heaven. 
 
 Let us cherish its light, and woo its stay, 
 
 For that hearth 's not home tliat owns not its swav.
 
 THINK NOT OF FAILURE. 
 
 THINK not of failure, 
 Look hopefully on, 
 Droop not o'er sorrows 
 
 Whilst joy may be won ; 
 Cease useless pining, 
 
 Be up and astir, 
 Look boldly round thee, 
 At fate ne'er demur.
 
 120 THINK NOT OF FAILURE. 
 
 n. 
 
 Think not of stopping, 
 
 Because in the strife 
 Some gain before thee 
 
 The battle of life ; 
 Let it awake thee 
 
 To what may be won ; 
 Let it arouse thee 
 
 To what mav be done. 
 
 in. 
 Tliink not of casting 
 
 Thy soul's dream away. 
 Because the road "s rugged, 
 
 And dreary the day ; 
 Clear the mountain crest 
 
 With the eagle's eye, 
 Its summit surmount, 
 
 Though it pierce the sky.
 
 THINK NOT OF FAILURE. 121 
 
 IV. 
 
 Think not that shadows 
 
 For ever will rest ; 
 Sunshine must follow — 
 
 Hope on for the best. 
 Life has its beauty, 
 
 Its summer and flowers, 
 To cheer with their liffht 
 
 The dreariest hours.
 
 THOU ART ^^OT HERE. 
 
 T 
 
 HOU art not hci-e 1 are words which tell 
 Upon the heart, like some deep knell, 
 
 To those whose well-loved friend is gone, 
 The dearest, noblest, only one ; 
 But when that friend 's a niothcr, then 
 The soul's deep anguish, who can stem ? 
 The lonely heart-grief, who can cheer, 
 While burn the words, " Thou art not here."
 
 THOU ART NOT 11EI\Y. 123 
 
 " Tliou art not liei-c !" 'T is graven ruiiiHl 
 And whispered e'eii in lightest sound 
 Th:it 's heard within tlie hallow'd home ; 
 AVhen once its star, its liglit is gone. 
 The vacant chair, around whicli dwell, 
 (Endeared hy niany a holy spell.) 
 The first briuht thouiihts of" her so dear. 
 Too truly says, *' Thou art not here." 
 
 Her Bible I memory rushes back, 
 
 And bi'ings sweet childhood's ilowerv track 
 
 When first she taught in accents mild, 
 
 Its truths, its blessings, to her child : 
 
 I deemed not then the voice whose sound 
 
 Breathed ever sweetest music round, 
 
 And harmony in lightest breath, 
 
 Could e'er be silent, hushed in death. 
 
 Yet it was so. Oh I who can tell 
 
 A dying mother's last farewell ?
 
 124 THOU ART NOT HERE. 
 
 That heart alone can only know, 
 
 That 's felt the deep, the sorrowinf^ woo, 
 
 The drear, the chilling loneliness ; 
 
 The agony of grief like this, 
 
 To stand beside the dying bed, 
 
 To gaze, when the freed spirit 's fled, 
 
 To feel, although the form we 're near, 
 
 The thrilling words, " Thou art not here." 
 
 " Thou art not here," but still enshrined 
 
 Within my heart, my soul, my mind, 
 
 In lines too deep e'er to efface 
 
 With change or time's quick fleeting pace ; 
 
 Thy image will be ever near, 
 
 E'en though in form, " Thou art not here."
 
 ]JENEVULEXCE. 
 
 WITHIN the bosom doep and true, 
 As gold within the mine, 
 One feeling dwells whose hallowed light, 
 
 Can make the rest divine ; 
 As early spring-flowers give their bloom 
 
 To glad and cheer the earth, 
 Benevolence sown in the heart, 
 Gives light and beauty birth.
 
 12G BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 II. 
 'T is like some railiant beam from iieaveu 
 
 Where'er its ray may rest, 
 The spot gleams with a sunny smile, 
 
 And lights up many a breast: 
 'T is like the summer's lovely rose, — • 
 
 The bud blooms but an hour. 
 Yet long u[ton the breeze is boi-ne 
 
 The perfume of the flowei'. 
 
 III. 
 The mind, without benevolence, 
 
 A wilderness would seem ; 
 A plain, whose sweetest oasis 
 
 Was robbed of half its sheen. 
 "T is writ upon the sacred page, 
 
 " Give freely from thy heart ; ' 
 Give freely as thy spirit hopes 
 
 CJf heaven to claim a part.
 
 BENEVOLENCE. \2'i 
 
 IV. 
 No hiinian heart, no Inmiau eye, 
 
 !May note thy gift, thy mite, 
 Yet angels register the act, 
 
 And grave it in Gotl's siglit. 
 He sees it, and the deed will add 
 
 Another floweret rare 
 Unto thy crown, when God makes np 
 
 His jewels bright and f;iir.
 
 OH, FOK THE SPRING. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, for the spring, the bright glad spring, 
 The life, the health, the joy she '11 bring, 
 The buds, the bloom, the length'ning light, 
 The balmy day, and genial night. 
 
 Bright, blooming spring.
 
 OH, FOR THE SPRING. 129 
 
 II. 
 Oh, for the spring, the joyous thrill 
 That fires the breast, the languid will — 
 With bounding hope, as the green buds peep 
 Forth from their long daik wintry sleep. 
 
 Soul quickening spring. 
 
 III. 
 Oh, for the spring, the welcome May, 
 Her emerald wreaths, and garlands gay. 
 Her sunny haunts, and witching hours. 
 Her light green leaves, and peerless flowers. 
 Fair laughing spring. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, for the spring, the warmth and sun, 
 The laugh of joy, the gladsome fun, 
 The scattering of drear wintry blight. 
 For rosy scenes and glowing light. 
 
 Fresh genial spring. 
 k:
 
 130 OH, FOR THE SPRING. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh, for the spring, the cahn soft days. 
 The rambles in the twilight rays, 
 The hours of love, the houi's of alee. 
 The songs of wild- wood melodv. 
 
 Sweet, witching spring. 
 
 VI, 
 
 Oh, for the spring, the green-clad hills. 
 The tinkling streams, the gushing rills, 
 The tinted woods, the dew-lit glade. 
 The fairy dells, the leafy shade. 
 
 Soft, rosy spring. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh, for the spring, to be away 
 From haunts of men and pageants gay. 
 With nature and her grand old trees, 
 To feel her health-refreshing breeze. 
 
 Life-giving spring.
 
 OH, FOE THE SPRING. 131 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oil, for the spiing, to feel again 
 The bright hopes thronging through tlic brain, 
 The pulses quickening joyous flow 
 Within our hearts the youthful glow — 
 Of vig'rous spring. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh, for the spring, tlie briglit glad time. 
 Who will not join my carol rhyme? 
 Come with tliy leaves, and buds, and flowers, 
 Come with tiiy light-winged rosy homs. 
 
 Come, welcome spring.
 
 Suggcskir Jbjr mt ^bening S^lalh Hjrouglj (Dlbhnotus, 
 mux Compstall ^ribgc. 
 
 iiinsciibcb to tbt (Comijaiuons of inir S^lalk. 
 
 Is it not lovely, tell me where doth dwell 
 The fay who wrought so beautiful a spell ? 
 
 Dana. 
 
 HAST aught of sadness weighing on thy breast, 
 Doth love, whh tickle smile, disturb thy rest : 
 Doth fame or wealth elude thy eager grasp, 
 Have others won what thou woiddst fondly clasp,
 
 LINES. 133 
 
 Doth aught upon thy workl-th'od spirit brood ? 
 Come here and rest 'midst nature's soHtude. 
 
 It is a lovely spot, a fitting scene, 
 To calm the spirit's restless fevered dream. 
 Seek out the haunt, when the sweet twilight hour 
 Has hung with pearls each little fluttering flower, 
 When the red light the dim horizon dies, 
 And glade and glen in deeper shadow lies. 
 
 The river, like a thread of silver light, 
 
 liulls on its waves beneath the gladdened sight, 
 
 Nestling amidst its fringe of leaves and flowers, 
 
 Losing 'mongst beauty its light roving hours, 
 
 The feathery fern and "blue-eyed pimpernel" 
 
 Droop o'er its tide, as though some mystic spell 
 
 Had bound the two, the flowerets and the stream. 
 
 To pass together their light summer dream. 
 
 The purple rays upon its bosom glide 
 
 With dancing beam, and kiss its sleeping tide ;
 
 134 LINES. 
 
 Picturing a scene clysian, that Mill dwel 
 Within the bosom like a magnet spell. 
 
 Italia's son niav fell with flashing eye 
 
 Of the bright azure of his cloudless sky ; 
 
 Of orange groves, of classic sti-eams and bowei's, 
 
 Of islands fragrant with their wealth of flowers ; 
 
 Of mountains, tow'ring in their beauty grand, 
 
 And all the witch 'I'y of his starry land ; 
 
 Yet England bears upon her placid breast 
 
 Fair spots of beauty that outshine the rest, — 
 
 Beauty that breathes upon the heart and mind 
 
 A hallow'd calm, which is not left behind 
 
 When back we turn, on to the busy life, 
 
 It stays — a memory soothing man}- a strife — 
 
 A leaf, to which we often turn and look. 
 
 As to the passage in a favorite book, — 
 
 A scene that lives, and living, dwells upon 
 
 The chamber"d mind long when its light is gonc- 
 
 A ray that 'midst the city's toil and jar, 
 
 Shines out a dim yet ever beauteous star.
 
 LINES. 135 
 
 Thus, fairy spot, thy loveliness has thrown 
 
 Its halo o'er my spirit, and a tone 
 
 Of music breathing such sweet notes around. 
 
 As hush to rest each harsh discordant sound ; 
 
 Thy sunny beauty will for ever be 
 
 Within my heart a fadeless memory.
 
 WHERE IS ANNIE? 
 
 ANNIE, where is little Annie ? 
 Spring has come, but she 's not here ; 
 Flowers are whispering, waiting for her, 
 Waiting for her light step near. 
 
 II. 
 
 She was fairer tlian the fairest 
 Of the peerless flowers that grew ; 
 
 Flowers her little fingers often 
 Plucked with wonder ever new.
 
 WHERE IS ANNIE ? 137 
 
 III. 
 Bright as summer's laughing sunbeam, 
 
 Gaining daily on our love. 
 Shy, yet nestling to our bosom. 
 
 As a little untamed dove. 
 
 IV. 
 
 She it was who made the homestead, 
 Bright with thoughts of heavenly birth ; 
 
 She who cheered us with her prattle, 
 And her merry, childish mirth. 
 
 Now a mother's eye is weeping, 
 Weeping for her absent one : 
 
 And a baby-sister "s lisping, 
 
 "Annie, come again, come home."
 
 138 WHERE IS ANNIE? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Annie, wliore is little Annie ? 
 
 List, an angel voice will tell, 
 " Near God's throne on Jesu's bosom. 
 
 Sleeps your Annie, all is well." 
 
 VII. 
 
 See a little crown is shining, 
 Shining o'er her baby brow ; 
 
 And her lips arc sweetly smiling, 
 Oh ! we would not claim her now. 
 
 viir. 
 Up with God and with his angels. 
 
 She an angel bright and fair ; 
 In a world of deathless irhji'v, 
 
 Annie, little Annie 's there.
 
 WHERE IS ANXIE? 139 
 
 IX. 
 
 Heavenly Father, in thy wisdom 
 Thou hast ta'en our peerless one ; 
 
 Teach our weeping hearts to whisper, 
 " Not our will hut thine he done."
 
 WELC(3ME HOME. 
 
 ao i:. c. 
 
 I. 
 
 WELCOME from foreign straiul, 
 Welcome to fatherland ; 
 Dear is the track. 
 True glad hearts will meet thee, 
 All eager to greet thee, 
 Right welcome back. 
 
 II. 
 Calm may the ocean be, 
 When it is bearinn; thee 
 Over its breast.
 
 WELCOME HOME. 141 
 
 Softly ye zephyrs sigh, 
 Sweep fVoni the angiy sky 
 Storms tu their rest. 
 
 III. 
 Some angel guard with love. 
 From the fair haunts above : 
 
 This be my prayer. 
 Guard him with heaven's light, 
 Guard him in danger's night, 
 
 God shield him there. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Often in fancy's eye, 
 This hour hath floated by, 
 
 Thrilling my heart : 
 Filling my spirit o'er 
 "With the old joys of yore. 
 
 But they depart.
 
 142 WELCO.MH HOSIK. 
 
 V. 
 
 A true heart, tlio nearest, 
 The noblest and dearest, 
 
 Hath left lis now ; 
 I see the kind louk and tone 
 That would have met thine own 
 
 From his pale brow. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh ! iu that dreary night. 
 How my soul winged its flight, 
 
 Yearning to thee ; 
 Longing its grief to tell. 
 Grief which no hope could quell 
 
 Yearned I for thee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Still, heart, be still and hear. 
 Footsteps are hastening near, 
 Fling care afar ;
 
 WELCOME HOME. 143 
 
 Let not past griefs ami fears, 
 With their sad hours and tears, 
 The ejreetinfi; mar. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Olio true heart is heatino- yet. 
 Thine like some jewel set 
 
 With steiliiiti' gold. 
 Fearless as Tell of yore, 
 True to its inmost core. 
 
 Of dauntless mould. 
 
 IX. 
 
 God speed the meeting houi', 
 God speed the greeting hour. 
 
 Hand grasping hand. 
 Weloume home, welcome thou, 
 AVelcome, right welcome, now. 
 
 To thine own laud.
 
 OUR CHUKCH. 
 
 A QUIET sleeps upon the land, 
 Some spirit might have been 
 And left upon the homes of earth 
 
 A glimpse of heaven's fair scene ; 
 No sound but hallowed music floats 
 
 Upon the morning air ; 
 Each little hamlet lies at rest : 
 'T is England's hour of prayer.
 
 OUU CHUliCH. 115 
 
 II. 
 Her vvorsliippois are thronging round 
 
 God's church, and worklly care 
 Is bauislied ; for each bosom feels 
 
 Jehovah 's dwelUng tliere. 
 The Sovereign leaves her palace home, 
 
 And Ijends with hunihle knee ; 
 She knows that England's church has made 
 
 Her state so nobly free. 
 
 III. 
 She knows tliat England's greatness, 
 
 Its glory and its crown, 
 Are built upon our ancient church ; 
 
 No foe can sweep it down. 
 But who are they, with bUnded zeal 
 
 And tenets of a day. 
 That would enshroud our state in gloom 
 
 xVnd strip its life away? 
 
 L
 
 146 OUK CHUKCH. 
 
 IV. 
 Ah, life ! is not the church the life 
 
 Of England's liberty — 
 The church that "s made our fatherland 
 
 "The holy and the free?" 
 But we fear not, for our martyrs 
 
 Have bled, and not in vain ; 
 The faggots may have juissed away, 
 
 But vet tliere burns the flame. 
 
 V. 
 
 Tt lives, and will for ever live. 
 
 An incense for (rod's shrine, — 
 A beacon fire that cannot die, — 
 
 A church whose law 's divine. 
 We fear not whilst her litanies 
 
 Are swelling through the air ; 
 We fear not whilst her altars breathe 
 
 Their deep and hallowed prayer.
 
 OUU CHURCH. li'i 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh ! guard the church, and it will guard 
 
 Its people and our home ; 
 Enshrine with all their ancient rites 
 
 The altar and the throne ; 
 Seal her religion with the crown, 
 
 And then our land will be 
 For ever on the roll of fame, 
 
 " The gloriously free."
 
 FADED FOKGET-ME-KOTS. 
 
 SCENTLESS and faded, 
 Yet they are telling, 
 Ever the old song, 
 
 " Love is still dwelling ; " 
 Dwelling in one heart, 
 
 Deep and unchanging, 
 True until death part. 
 Nothing estranging.
 
 FADED FOKGET-ME-NOTS. 149 
 
 n. 
 
 Scentless and faded, 
 
 Yet they are dearer, 
 Dearer for thy sake : 
 
 To my heart neaier 
 Than all the blossoms 
 
 Tinted and blooming. 
 Sparkling with dew drops 
 
 The breeze perfnming. 
 
 III. 
 
 Scentless and faded, 
 
 Yet they are blended 
 With dreams that will not die 
 
 Till life is ended ; 
 Dreams that 'woke a love 
 
 Ne'er again sleeping, 
 Silent yet faithful 
 
 Watch ever keeping.
 
 150 FADED FORGET-ME-NOTS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Scentless and faded, 
 
 Yet thej are living, 
 Ever the sweet song, 
 
 Whispering and giving ; 
 Blent with each life chord, 
 
 Blent with those hours 
 When love first plucked ve. 
 
 Beautiful flowers.
 
 THE SNOWDKOP 
 
 I. 
 
 LITTT.E fain- l.lossoni. 
 Heralil of the spring", 
 Has some bird of Iieaveu 
 
 Dropped thee from its wing ; 
 Left thee on the lone earth, 
 
 Blooming in the wild, 
 As if some anc-cl-mother 
 There had left her eliild.
 
 152 THE SNOWDROP. 
 
 II. 
 Like a beam of twilight, 
 
 llesting o'er a heart 
 Where the brighter sunbeam 
 
 In ever forms a part : 
 Like a liope still blooming 
 
 Where all else is niffht ; 
 Like a lone star cheering 
 
 With its pensive liglit : 
 
 III. 
 
 Like a high thought garnei-Ofl 
 
 In a weary mind, 
 Keeping one spot lighted, 
 
 Though the rest be blind ; 
 Like an hour of childhood, 
 
 Like a gleam of love, 
 Like a spirit breathing 
 
 Incense from above.
 
 THE SNOWDKOP 153 
 
 IV. 
 Little fairv IJossom, 
 
 With thy snowy brow, 
 Summer has no rosebud 
 
 Loveliei- tliaii tliou ; 
 How I love to meet thee, 
 
 Nestling- 'mid the snow, 
 Like fair virtue shinin<j 
 
 Bright on beauty's brow, 
 
 V. 
 
 Darling of mv cliildhood. 
 
 Feeling turns to thee, 
 With an earnest lono-ino- 
 
 Child again to be : 
 Plucking thy bright blossoms. 
 
 Free as summer aii'. 
 Heart and thought as bounding, 
 
 Life as free from care.
 
 ] r> 1. THE SNOWDROP. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But I must not nun-mui-. 
 
 Gazing down on thee, 
 Tliou arc lone and lonely 
 
 Out upon the lee : 
 Yet thy bonnic blossom 
 
 Glads the passer-by, 
 Breathes into his spirit 
 
 Feelino-s true and high. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thou hast taught a lesson. 
 
 Little peerless gem, 
 Waving in bright beauty 
 
 From thy fairy stem ; 
 " Learn to be contented," 
 
 Thou whisperest to me, 
 " Life has yet its blessings," 
 
 Wintry though it be.
 
 LINES. 
 
 ao |lliss p. 
 |)r£srntcb foltli n C-baplcf of /lobcrs. 
 
 COME, bring the wreatli ; for who so fit to wear 
 A crown so briglit, a coronal so fair? 
 We cannot find a tvpe more meet than tliee. 
 To enihloni forth sweet Flora's purity. 
 
 And oh ! despise not this our simple lay ; 
 
 'T is breathed in love, to greet thee on this day.
 
 156 LINES. 
 
 Though no poetic fire in hrilliancc shines, 
 Or high wrouglit talent whispers in tlie lines, 
 The earnest wishes they would fain impart, 
 Are fondly echoed within every heart. 
 
 Oh I may thy path in life's quick fleeting hours, 
 Ue blight and sunny as those blooming flowers ; 
 Thy thoughts as light, as they ai"e waving now, 
 In smiling innocence, upon thy brow ; 
 Thy sky as cloudless, and as free from care. 
 As each gay bud that rests in fragrance there ; 
 And may our God his peace and blessing send 
 O'er thee, and keep thy treasured ones, my friend ; 
 And when the lamp of life begins to dim. 
 May angels gently waft thy soul to Him ; 
 And there, awaiting thee, shall brightly shine, 
 A FADELESS crown, made by the Hand Divine I
 
 DEATH. 
 
 HOW solemn, thrilling, are those last sad houi-s 
 Ere death, mysterious death, has chilled for aye 
 The well-loved form. Affection's hand may soothe 
 The ebbing moments — love's whispering voice 
 Make the dull beating heart vibrate again, 
 And cheer the dread, the utter loneliness 
 Of that dark hour which all must grapple with. 
 But once the portal gained — the reaper there, 
 All friends must part : no mortal eye or hand 
 May pierce the veil that hides the spirit laud.
 
 158 DEATH. 
 
 Man }>lans and toils witli restless, feverish heart, 
 
 Building within his breast shrine upon shrine, 
 
 And yet his soul I'cmains unsatisfied. 
 
 The phantom Fame, with fascinating smile 
 
 And syren voice, holds out her glittering wreath 
 
 And boasted name of immortality. 
 
 Wealth, with hollow friends allurements gay, 
 
 Oft tempts him on. Thus as the insect 
 
 Flutters round the summer flowers and woos them ; 
 
 !So man, dreaming, fritters o'er the precious years. 
 
 Until he 's pillowed on the bed of death. 
 
 With what distinctness then come o'er his soul 
 
 The words, "13e still, and know that I am God." 
 
 With clearer sight he sees how empty all 
 
 The Inibbles he has chased; — how hollow, vain. 
 
 The visions that have formed his little world. 
 
 Weighed in the balance of eternity. 
 
 All are as nothing, meaningless and dead. 
 
 The intidel may scoff, the callous sneer, 
 
 .But when the last hour dawns, e'en they must feel 
 
 Heath is a solemn and an earnest thinn-.
 
 MY COUNTEY 
 
 T is a glorious charter, deny it wlio eau ; 
 
 That 's breathed in the words I 'm an Euglishinan. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 M 
 
 Y (.•ountry, oh I there 's iiouglit on eartli 
 -i-'J- That thrills my hrcast with priik. 
 As the thi-ee fair jewels sparkling 
 
 111 the ileep hhie ocean tide ; 
 Albion, Scotia, Erin, these 
 
 L'pou the scroll of fame, 
 When other empires die, shall live 
 
 AVith bright untarnished name.
 
 160 MY COUNTRY. 
 
 II. 
 Wlieio i« the laiiil can blazon tortli 
 
 The deeds that Eiigliuid 's dune, 
 Where is the monarch that can .show 
 
 The g'lory ivc have won. 
 Ijeneatli our Hay. where'er it waves, 
 
 On Tiianies or India'-s sea, 
 The eve li<i;hts up. the lieart exults. 
 
 And proudly owns 't is tree. 
 
 III. 
 Old England speaks, and despots hear, 
 
 And trenihle at the sound ; 
 Old England smiles, and swords are sheathed, 
 
 Peace flings her blessings round. 
 Iler hallowed name, her deathless fame. 
 
 Is known to every tongue ; 
 Her commerce, strength, and greatness, 
 
 By every Lard is sung.
 
 MY COUNTRY. IGl 
 
 IV. 
 
 There "s not a noble heart that beats, 
 
 Where'er that heart may be, 
 But has in holy freedom's cause 
 
 01(1 England's sympathy. 
 Thei-e 's not a toiling slave but feels, 
 
 If he may rest his head 
 Beneath the shadow of our flag, 
 
 He *s free — no frown to dread. 
 
 V. 
 
 Free as the roving bird that sweeps 
 
 Unfettered o'er the land, 
 His brow may be of dusky mien. 
 
 Yet England clasps his hand, 
 And owns him as a brother should, 
 
 Because he dared be free, 
 And gives him all the glorious rights 
 
 Of her true liberty.
 
 162 MY COUNTRY. 
 
 VI. 
 
 My countiy, oh ! tliy name *s engraved, 
 
 In letters true and fair, 
 Within my breast tliey will not fade 
 
 While life is gushing there. 
 I love thee, and my heart's last beat 
 
 Will fondly cling to thee, 
 My latest breath will whisper forth, 
 
 Home, heaven, and liberty.
 
 CHRISTMAS ! 
 
 CHEISTMAS ! welcome, joyous Christmas ! 
 ^^'elcomc, with thy smiUng brow, 
 Wreathed about with bhishing berries, 
 Crowned with holly — welcome uow. 
 Beamiug faces wait to greet thee, 
 
 Clustered round the home fireside ; 
 Happy hearts o'erflow with gladness 
 At thy coming, Cliristmas-tide.
 
 161^ CHlilSTMAS. 
 
 II. 
 "Bring the mistletoe and holly, 
 
 Pile the crackling yule-log higher. 
 Where 's the heart that is not joyous 
 
 Near the blazing Christmas fire ? 
 Glorious time of festive gatherings, — 
 
 Meetings, greetings, welcome cheer. 
 Kisses, love, and joy, and gladness, — 
 
 Happiest season of the year. 
 
 Holy Christmas ! thought is blended. 
 
 Even in our mirthful glee. 
 With the star that streamed o'er Bethlehem, 
 
 Telling of the mystery. 
 Hark ! the carol now is floatincr 
 
 Softly through the midnight breeze ; 
 " Peace on earth," what words can yield us 
 
 Consolation, joy, like these?
 
 CHRISTMAS. 165 
 
 IV. 
 
 Trials have {lerchance across us 
 
 Thrown their shadows, dark and deep ; 
 
 Perhaps some loved ones now are lying- 
 in their last, calm, holy sleep ; 
 
 But the blessino-s far outnumber 
 Aught of ill we 've ever met ; 
 
 Light has streamed up in the midnight, 
 Like the star in Bethlehem set. 
 
 V. 
 
 .So our voices swell the chorus. 
 
 Heard in praise as well as mirth, 
 For the good gifts showered around us, 
 
 Daily springing into birth. 
 Freely, with a cheerful s[)irit, 
 
 Will WG give from out our store, 
 Aiding each less favoured brother — 
 
 Winning blessings from the poor.
 
 160 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Happy Christmas ! merry Christmas ! 
 
 Brinciiio; jrladness unto all ; 
 Lot kind words like stars be mingled 
 
 With the berries on the wall. 
 Now the bells are loudly pealing 
 
 Forth their joyous silvery chime ; 
 So will we with a glad welcome 
 
 Greet the holy Christmas time.
 
 THAT OLD SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 IT haunts me yet, that wild sweet melody, 
 Nor will it with the passing years depart ; 
 'T is long since the rich tones my spirit thrilled. 
 
 Yet still its echo trembles in my heart. 
 I hear it in the siixhino; of the breeze, 
 
 Floating around in softened tones and low ; 
 'T is whispered in the music of the woods, 
 And in the tinkling of the streandet's flow.
 
 16H THAT OLD SONCi. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bringing again tliose other brighter lioui's, 
 
 A gentle voice and mildly beaming eye, 
 That threw o'ei- me its wealth of lovini!" licht, 
 
 And nought could sadden whilst that light was by;- 
 It brings a summer radiant in its beaiity, 
 
 And gladsome hours crowned with their cup of joy. 
 Love made life's path a paradise of pleasure, 
 
 Unmingled with its selfish base alloy. 
 
 in. 
 
 But oh ! that melody brings musings too 
 
 Of dark clouds fiilling round the sunniest spot ; 
 A saddened hour, and lonely, weary moments, 
 
 Still dwell in memory ne'er to be forgot : 
 But yet, 't is better to have had the shadows 
 
 Than never to have felt the golden sheen, 
 It gilds the j>resent with a twilight halo. 
 
 To know that love once brightened with its beam.
 
 TO J. K. 
 
 HOW oft doth memory, my dear young friend, 
 Wander afar into the scenes gone by, 
 How often Fancy her fair brusli doth lend 
 To paint again the loved no longer nigh. 
 Those radiant summers beam before me now ; 
 Again old pages we are pondering o'er, 
 The zephyrs lightly fanning thy young brow, 
 Thy dark eyes fixed upon the classic lore 
 That led us on to many a sunny spot, — 
 To tales of chivalry and ancient halls,
 
 170 TO J. K. 
 
 To luidly domes, anil peasant's humble cot. 
 
 And deeds thut hallowed e'en their lowlv walls.- — 
 
 Imperial Home is traversed o'er again, 
 
 Its temples, Forum, and its world-famed pile ; — 
 
 The organ 's heard in deep-toned thrilling strain, 
 
 Murmuring its music through each fretted aisle ; 
 
 Itaha's vales are seen, and paintings grand, 
 
 And Raphael 's whispered of with beaming eye ; 
 
 And classic Greece spreads out her fairy strand, 
 
 Her poet's tomb, and clear blue sunny sky ; 
 
 Helvetia's hills and glassy lakes are viewed. 
 
 Reposing sweetly near thick foliaged bowers ; 
 
 Iberia's groves with orange verdure strewed, 
 
 Fragrant with odours from a thousand flowers ; 
 
 The ocean 's crossed to where the purple wave 
 
 Lashed round the exiled monarch's sea-girt home ; 
 
 Again we linger o'er the lonely grave 
 
 Which rested not 'neath Gallia's sculptui-ed dome. 
 
 Oh ! those were J03'0us liours, my dear young friend ! 
 
 Mav all that follow be as bright and fair ; 
 
 May nought across thy path a shadow send, 
 
 Jiut sweetest flowerets breathe their fragi'ance there.
 
 JUNE. 
 
 AGAIN thou comest, like a stately queen 
 With regal step, and jewels rich aiul rare 
 Sparkling around thy robe of glittering sheen, 
 And drooping lightly from thy sunny hair. 
 We mutely gaze, and bow before thy shrine 
 
 At opening morn, at mid-day's dazzling noon : 
 Thy strange, bright beauty seems a thing divine, 
 Queen of the summei', stately, regal June.
 
 172 JUNE. 
 
 II. 
 Again thou coinest, like a beauteous maid, 
 
 "With smiling brow, and dimpled, rosy lips, 
 Hiding half coy]y in the leafy shade, 
 
 Down where the bee its honeyed nectar sips. 
 We love thee, and our thoua'hts o-o forth to meet 
 
 Thy coming, as the true and changeless dove, 
 AVith panting breast, flies eagerly to greet 
 
 Its mate, with songs of welcome and of love. 
 
 III. 
 Again thou comest, like a laughing child, 
 
 ^^^ith roguish eye, and sunny, joyous face, 
 With voice of music, many-toned and wild, 
 
 And form of pencilled loveliness and grace. 
 We joy to gaze upon thy youthful brow. 
 
 To hie away to the soft coverts green, 
 Wasting the hours beneath the foliaged bough, 
 
 Wrapped in the witchei'y of the glowing scene.
 
 JUNE. 173 
 
 IV. 
 
 Agniii thou eomest, like a sweet, deep dream 
 
 Of early love in its first hour of bliss ; 
 AVhcu hope with starry blossoms gilds the scene. 
 
 And seals the garlands with its gushing kiss. 
 All feel the power — the simile of love, — 
 
 'T is wreathed about amidst its roses rare, 
 'T is breathed in the low sighing of the dove, 
 
 And whispered out in the soft evening air. 
 
 V. 
 
 Again thou eomest, to the city dim, 
 
 A stream of light into a prison cell, 
 With voice that soothes like some cathedral hymn, 
 
 Calming the spirit with a nameless spell. 
 Tlio crime-stained one, the weary, and the poor. 
 
 Old age and youth, the prisoned and the free, 
 With quickened pulse, view thy rich jewelled store, 
 
 And turn to catch some straying beam from thee.
 
 171 JUNE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Again thou coiiK'st, like a o'oi'geous wi'cath 
 
 Of golden biuls and silver blossoms rare, 
 And toiling millions seek to rest beneath, 
 
 Reading rich promise in thy perfumed aii'. 
 They see the wreath matured to autumn's fruit. 
 
 The yellow grain, the mellow purple vine — 
 They hear the voices that are never mute, 
 
 Telling of plenty in the coming time. 
 
 \'ii. 
 Again thou comest, now with holier spell — 
 
 A loving glimpse of heaven's immortal land, — 
 The mind hears round thee breathing airs that tell, 
 
 In whispering echoes, of the angel band. 
 The soul is dark indeed that cannot see, 
 
 When gazing on the beauty of thy noon. 
 That God hath formed a world where life will be 
 
 One long, immortal, glowing, flower-crowned June.
 
 "CAN THIS BE DEATH?" 
 
 I. 
 
 AND can it be that this is death, 
 My beautiful, my first-born son, 
 Oh ! can it be that thy career 
 So soon is o'er, so soon is run ? 
 
 II. 
 Josus forgive the murmuring wish, 
 
 That cannot, will not leave my breast, 
 That thou hadst spared my [leerless one, 
 
 Thou hadst not called his soul tu rest.
 
 176 "CAN THIS BE DEATH?" 
 
 III. 
 I gaze on his angelic face, 
 
 So beautiful reposing there, 
 And scarce believe the reaper has 
 
 Touched aught so lovely, aught so fair. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Those featui'es fixed, alas ! too well 
 Impress the truth upon my heart, 
 
 That changeless brow, my infant love, 
 All tell me, with thee I must part. 
 
 V. 
 
 Those parted lips are smiling still. 
 
 They seem to whisper even 
 Of angels, and the love that fills 
 
 
 riiat bright unchanging heaven.
 
 "CAN THIS BE DEATH?" 177 
 
 VI. 
 
 Father, I bend in luuuble grief 
 
 To thy all-chastciiing rod, 
 For sending mo those last blest thoughts, 
 
 My infant 's with its God. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Could I have tuned that wondrous haip, 
 
 And kept it pure as now, 
 I otter it, a stainless lamb. 
 
 And to thy decree bow. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 1^0, e'en a mother's watchful eye, 
 Thouo-li ever on her child. 
 
 Can always keep it free from sin, 
 l[oly, and undctiled.
 
 178 "CAN THIS BE DEATH?' 
 
 IX. 
 
 One last sad kiss, my angel son, 
 Once my proud hope and joy, 
 
 I would not wish thee here ao-aln. 
 My beautiful, my boy.
 
 THERE IS A MAGIC VOICE. 
 
 T 
 
 I. 
 
 HEKE is ci magic voice, 
 Whose lio-htest word 
 
 Thrills like the trembling harp 
 When it is stiri'od — 
 
 Stirred by the summer wind, 
 Floating along, 
 
 Waking sweet melody, 
 Breathing of sonij.
 
 180 THERE IS A MAGIC VOICE. 
 
 II. 
 There is a magic voice, 
 
 Softly it spoke 
 On that fair summer eve, 
 
 When it awoke 
 The love that still hngers, 
 
 Lingers and sings, 
 Deep in my inmost thought, 
 
 Closely it clings. 
 
 III. 
 Oh ! may that magic voice. 
 
 With its loved tone. 
 Again o'er my spirit fall, 
 
 Ere I go home ; 
 Thus with its music near, 
 
 Soothing my breast, 
 Calmly my soul could soar 
 
 Home to its rest.
 
 TO MISS K. 
 
 Oil may that eye, which, soft as the gazelle's, 
 
 Now brightly bold, or beautifully shy, 
 Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, 
 Glance o'er this page. 
 
 Byrox. 
 
 I. 
 
 A FAITHFUL heart is looking back 
 O'er the sauily moorland wide, 
 To a hallowed homestead restinc: 
 Near the ocean's rippling tide. 
 A faithful heart is looking back, 
 With the yearning of a dove, 
 To meet once more the true warm clasp 
 
 From friends of its girlhood's love.
 
 182 TO MISS R. 
 
 II. 
 
 'T was a sweet, bright, glowing day-droani. 
 
 That radiant summer fair, 
 And long in memory's chain 't will shine, 
 
 The brightest love-link there. 
 Again within that little room, 
 
 I sit with shadeless brow, 
 With thy dark eye beaming brightly. 
 
 As of old, upon me now. 
 
 III. 
 But, ah I it is a fairv dream. 
 
 Loved themes will conjure up. 
 Since then my lips have tasted oft. 
 
 Of many a bitter cup. 
 But, thank God, I have mot true liearis. 
 
 Hearts that have wept with me ; 
 And gratefully I bless thorn all, 
 
 But memory turns to thee.
 
 TO MISS R. 183 
 
 IV. 
 
 I know that tliou hast often knelt, 
 
 When in thy chamber lone, 
 And ofFei'cd many a prayer for mo 
 
 At the Redeemer's throne. 
 These, these, have linked my soul to thine, 
 
 With a deep and holy love. 
 That soars to meet and clasp thy hand 
 
 In the sun-bright world above. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh ! wilt thou take this simple wreath, 
 
 And keep it as a part 
 Of fiiendship's "sunny memories" 
 
 That are whispering in my heart. 
 A dreaming spirit holds them close, 
 
 And lingers o'er them yet. 
 As fairy things, shrined with the home 
 
 My soul can ne'er forget.
 
 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 " They reckon not by months, and years, 
 Where she hath gone to dwell." 
 
 On I how I miss the loving lieait, 
 That led me thiough sweet chiklhoocFs track ; 
 How oft the burning tear will start, 
 
 Anil quivering lips sob forth, " Come back." 
 'T was at thy knee the vesper song. 
 
 And childhood's earliest prayer was said ; 
 Thy voice that soothed each infant wrong, 
 Thy bi-east that pillowed oft my head.
 
 TO MY SISTEK. 185 
 
 II. 
 
 Sinco thou wort ta'eii. tlie deepest woe. 
 
 Tliat liiuiian licart eau meet oi' bear. 
 Has laid love's cherished Howcrets low. 
 
 And left my spirit bowed with care. 
 Oh ! how I yearned to have thee by, 
 
 To hear thy loving words and tone, 
 III that dark niolit of agony, 
 
 When death had left me sad and lone. 
 
 ui. 
 
 Oh ! how I yearned to lay my head. 
 
 As when a child, upon thy breast; 
 But vainly was the loved name said. 
 
 It could not wake thy hallowed rest. 
 I miss the smile that soothed my heart. 
 
 The eye whose glance beamed like the dove. 
 The hand that took a mother's part. 
 
 And nursed me with a mother's love.
 
 186 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 IV. 
 The years liavo sped— liavc fleeted fast. 
 
 And many a spring has left its bloom, 
 And many a Christmas-tide has past. 
 
 Since thou wert laid within the tomb. 
 But faithful memory cannot part, 
 
 It lingers still o'er childhood's track, 
 Yet, yet, the burning tear will start, 
 
 And quivering lips sob forth, " Come back."
 
 GOD HELP THE FOOK. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, my hoart is sadly yearning. 
 Yearnino- to those homeless ones 
 Who, with world-crushed heart, are learning- 
 How the gaunt form, famine, comes. 
 
 II. 
 Bleeding feet rough paths are pacing, 
 
 With a grief-seared hopeless eye ; 
 Palid brows stem want are facing, 
 
 With an anguished prayer to die.
 
 188 GOD HELP THE POOR. 
 
 III. 
 Lisping ones are drooping, (lying, 
 
 On the hungered mother's breast ; 
 Vainly asking, vainly crying, 
 
 For the crust of food and rest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Youth is thrust where crime is reeking, 
 Where their virtue 's sold fur bread ; 
 
 Oh, God, fearful is the seeking 
 Such a roof for roofless head. 
 
 V. 
 
 Swiftly now t]i(! cloud is coming. 
 That will quench in starless night, 
 
 Many a hearth where hope is humming- 
 Like a beauteous bird of liiiht. 
 
 » O
 
 GOD HELP THE POOR. 189 
 
 VT. 
 
 01), 1 cuvy not the coffer 
 
 Hoarded by the miser's hand ; 
 But I would have gold to offer 
 
 To the poor, God's chosen baud. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Son of wealth, oh ! stand not dreaming 
 
 Idly by the shining ore, 
 Callous to the gospel meaning, 
 
 Which has said, " Feed ye my poor.' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Give thy wealth, he is thy brother, 
 Steeped in misery though he be ; 
 
 Let thy gold liis heart- wounds cover, 
 So thy God shall prosper thee.
 
 190 GOD HELP THE POOR. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fame has not a higher glory, 
 Not a brighter, hoher Hght, 
 
 Than is breatlied out in the story 
 Of that one who gave hoi- mite. 
 
 X. 
 
 'T was but httic, yet 't was given 
 Freely, with a willing hand ; 
 
 And the deed God tuld in heaven, 
 Told amongst his angel band. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now, 't is ever deeply teaching, 
 
 " We may make our lives sublime ;" 
 
 Ever uttering, ever preaching. 
 Charity is love divine.
 
 GOD HELP THE POOR. lUl 
 
 XII. 
 
 Let us grave it on our altars, 
 
 Let its whisper stir our breast, 
 When a white lip near us falters 
 
 Out a prayer for food and rest. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 This should be our morning breathing, 
 And our vespers tell it o'er, 
 
 This each Christian heart be wreathing, 
 Help, oh, help the suffering poor.
 
 I CAJS^OT SAY CtOOD-BYE. 
 
 I CANNOT say good-bye, love, 
 I cannot say good-bye ; 
 A cbill comes o'er my heart, love, 
 
 A mist ii[)on ni}^ eye ; 
 When others leave ray side, love, 
 The words come full and free, 
 To them I say good-bye, love, 
 But not, oh ! not to thee.
 
 I CANNOT SAY GOOD-BYE. 193 
 
 n. 
 
 I cannot say good-bye, love, 
 
 There is a mournful knell 
 Heard in the parting sigh, love, 
 
 AVhen true liearts say farewell ; 
 The smile will leave my lip, love, 
 
 The burning tear will start, 
 The heaving breast will tell, love, 
 
 How hard it is to part. 
 
 ui. 
 When the heart beats for one, love, 
 
 Beats but alone for one, 
 It cannot breathe the word, love, 
 
 To have that dear one gone. 
 The red sun 's going down, love. 
 
 The parting hour is nigh, 
 INI}- heart clings, clings to thine, love, 
 
 I cannot say good-bye. 
 o
 
 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 I. 
 
 I COULD not part with thee, 
 My heart would weep, 
 Weep for its spirit, love, 
 
 Witli sorrow deep. 
 I could not part with thee, 
 
 Thou ai-t the friend 
 That changes not, whate'er 
 Stern fate may send.
 
 TO MY LYRE. 195 
 
 II. 
 
 If joys bright blossoms fling, 
 
 (h\ sunny ground, 
 Its goklen tinted fruit, 
 
 There thi)u art found ; 
 If tlie dread nio-htshade ffrows 
 
 With poisoned breath, 
 Still wilt thou,, clinging, cheer 
 
 The vale of death. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Midst summer's glowing day, 
 
 Its wealth of light, 
 Its ever beauteous buds, 
 
 Its soft calm night; 
 'Midst autumn's coronal 
 
 Of amber leaves, 
 'Midst the low muffled sin-hs 
 
 She sadlv heaves.
 
 196 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Midst the cold wintry gloom. 
 
 Its frost-bound night, 
 Softly my lyre will sing, 
 
 Cheering its blight ; 
 Thus am I 'midst all griefs, 
 
 All seasons blest, 
 If but its music 's left 
 
 To soothe my breast. 
 
 V. 
 
 I envy not the crown 
 
 That cleanis around 
 The monarch's lofty brow ; 
 
 Joy is not bound, 
 Not bound with lustrous gems ; 
 
 The circlet bears, 
 Oft 'midst its rubies, stains 
 
 Of bitterest tears.
 
 TO MY LYRE. 197 
 
 VI. 
 Tlio poet's coron.nl 
 
 Is riclior far, 
 Thouo-h on its petals burn 
 
 No klno'ly star ; 
 Its livino- leaflets shine 
 
 With holier lioht. 
 With ray that brio-htens many 
 
 A heart's deep night. 
 
 VII. 
 
 It is a ehaplet worth 
 
 Leaves not behind, 
 A nation's tribute paid 
 
 To wealth of mind ; 
 A crown that dies not with 
 
 The owner's breath, 
 But lives, and living, gilds 
 
 The tomb of death.
 
 198 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Long years ago thou wert 
 
 AVreatlied with my lieart. 
 The (.IcaJX'st thing, iioni wliieh 
 
 I coiilil not part ; 
 Twined with all sunny dieanis, 
 
 The dreams of youth. 
 When every tablet bon- 
 
 The seal of truth. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And now that life with thouiilit 
 
 Has marked my brow. 
 Unlocked its mission. 
 
 Yet 't is with me now ; 
 An ever flowing spring, 
 
 That gives its bliss 
 Alike in sorrow's hours 
 
 And happiness.
 
 TO MY LYRE. 199 
 
 X. 
 
 The heavy cloud but serves 
 
 To make it cling, 
 Cling- yet more closely still, 
 
 And sweeter sing ; 
 And like the rose-bud torn 
 
 In tempest's hour, 
 'T is then its perfume gives 
 
 The sweetest dower. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Though stricken to the ground 
 
 With cloven breast, 
 'T will breathe rich fi-agrance o'er 
 
 Its mossy nest ; 
 And through the tear-drops round 
 
 Its drooping head. 
 Will sweetest essence o'er 
 
 Its owner shed.
 
 200 
 
 TO MY lyrp:. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus hast thou over hoou. 
 
 Ill loueliost (lav. 
 The '• silver lining'" round 
 
 My cheekorcd wav ; 
 Thou hast been to nie, 
 
 More than friend could be,. 
 And I am blest, my lyre, 
 
 Whilst I have thee.
 
 "Oil! ASK THY SOUL IF WE SHOULD 
 PART?" 
 
 OH ! ask tliy soul if we should part?" 
 It cannot, slioulcl not be, 
 The deepest prayer my heart e'er hreatlied, 
 
 Was offered, love, for thee. 
 The deepest sigh my bosom heaves, 
 
 The bitterest tears I shed, 
 Are given to those bygone hours, 
 For ever, ever fled.
 
 202 'OH! ASK THY SOUL 
 
 II. 
 '- Oh ! ask tlij soul if we should part?" 
 
 Mj heart is all thine own, 
 Its every pulse is true to thee, 
 
 And beats for thee alone ; 
 The brightest dreams oF girlhood's jeais, 
 
 Were woven with thy lot. 
 And now within my woman's heart, 
 
 They hold the dearest spot. 
 
 III. 
 "Oh ! ask thy soul if we should part?" 
 
 And if the words be vain, 
 My broken heai-t will never feel 
 
 The summer sun again ; 
 But like the lonely harp will lie 
 
 With toin and shattered string ; 
 Or stricken bird, the arrow 's left 
 
 With bleeding broken wing.
 
 IF WE SHOULD PART?" 203 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Oh ! ask thy soul if we should part 
 
 There is no other breast 
 On wliifh I'd la}' my weary head, 
 
 Thine is its chosen rest : 
 By all the dreams of earliei- vears. 
 
 By every whispered vow, 
 Thou canst not say farewell again. 
 
 Thou canst not breathe it now. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Oh I ask thy soul if we should part ? '' 
 
 I ne'er again may see 
 The wild iioweis springing o'er the plain, 
 
 The blossom on the tree ; 
 When next we meet thy tear may fall, 
 
 Unheeded where 't is shed, 
 It may be on my coffined brow, 
 
 But 't will not wake the dead. 
 •' Oh ! ask thy soul if we should part ?" 
 If we should part again?
 
 ANGEL ANNIE. 
 
 I. 
 
 SHE came, a little fairy one, 
 Aiul nestled to my breast ; 
 Came, as a truant dove would turn, 
 
 And seek its parent nest ; 
 Her soft blue eye beamed with a light 
 
 Tliat was not caught from earth, 
 Her coral lip smiled with a love 
 That had an aniicl's birth.
 
 ANGEL ANNIE. 205 
 
 II. 
 
 She grew ; grew with the summer flovverri, 
 
 A little violet wild, 
 A rosebud with immortal soul, 
 
 A lovely, winning child. 
 The stranger e'en would hush his breath, 
 
 To hear her soft, low tone ; 
 'T was like the echo of some harp. 
 
 Heard but in heaven alone. 
 
 III. 
 
 'T was stranue how close that little one 
 
 Viaa wreathed about my heart ; 
 kShe was amongst the things from which 
 
 My memory could not part. 
 I never see the violet bloom, 
 
 The little daisy peep, 
 But I think of her, the " gathered flower,"' 
 
 I think of her, and weep.
 
 .■^06 ANGEL ANNIE 
 
 IV. 
 
 Deatli came, ami fumul upon lior face, 
 
 Strange, wondrous beauty there ; 
 A light shone round her baby brow, 
 
 And rippled in her hair. 
 She turned and said, with heavenly smile, 
 
 Bright, yet foreboding sorrow, 
 '' Mamma, I shall not want my curls, 
 
 Not want my curls to-morrow." 
 
 V. 
 
 And then her blue eyes quivering closed. 
 
 She softly went to sleep ; 
 The little bird had fluttered home — 
 
 It seemed a sin to weep : 
 A sin to weep ! yet, oh ! to stand 
 
 Beside that darling one. 
 And feel the starry light of home 
 
 Had with her spirit gone.
 
 ANGEL ANNIE. 20< 
 
 VI. 
 
 We know the prattling voice was luished, 
 
 The lisping, love-taught word 
 Would ne'er again call foitli a jov, 
 
 Would ne'er again be heard ; 
 The pattering step, the little hand 
 
 That lovinolv souojht ours. 
 Would never more be clasped round us, 
 
 Xor seek the summer flowers. 
 
 VII. 
 
 We knew that God had need of her, 
 
 The peerless angel one, 
 And that no wintry wind would blight 
 
 The flowers where she had ijone. 
 But, oh ! 't was grief, deep grief to watch 
 
 Beside that little bed ; 
 To gaze upon the household pet, 
 
 And know that she was dead.
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Though we may dread the lips we once helieved, 
 And know their falsehood shadows all our days ; 
 
 Who would not rather trust and be deceived, 
 Than own the mean cold spirit that betrays. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oil soul-breathecl words, ye have a full deep meaning, 
 To the vounc; heart that 's turned to seek its rest, 
 Turned to the idol one with eye love beaming, 
 And found its altar built on faithless breast. 
 "What thoughts so pure as those first love is breathing ? 
 
 When raiidjow hues fall o'er its sunlit way, 
 What flowers so fair as those its dreams are wreathing ? 
 Oh, win should false ones dim their heavenward rav.
 
 STANZAS. 209 
 
 ir. 
 Wlio would not rather see the red lip paling, 
 
 Tile green turf resting o'er the worshipped one ; 
 And know the heart e'en when its pulse was failing, 
 
 .Still throbbed for us, throbbed but for us alone, — 
 Than have the dread, the soul-felt crushing sorrow. 
 
 Of lips we 've pressed becoming harshly cold, 
 < )f hands we Ve clasped, but hasting on the morrow 
 
 'i'o fling us back the love we'd fondly told. 
 
 III. 
 "T is well there are some bosoms warmly glowing. 
 
 With love that lives beyond the passing hour ; 
 Some spirits where the well of truth is flowing, 
 
 Bright in the beauty of its matcliless dower. 
 For these true hearts, we hold that love is holy. 
 
 The brightest boon that God has loft on earth ; 
 Though callous ones may falsely breathe its story, 
 
 They cannot blight its pum and heavenly birth.
 
 THE TWO CUKLS. 
 
 I. 
 
 THEY 're placed together, sacred liuks 
 From which I never part ; 
 The dearest of the idol things 
 
 I treasure in mj heart. 
 They 're placed together, sacred links — • 
 
 That dark and golden tress. 
 One beauteous in its sunny hue 
 And fairy loveliness.
 
 THE TWO CURLS. 211 
 
 n. 
 
 I severed it, one festal Jay, 
 
 AVith all a mother's pride. 
 And gave it, as a love gift, 
 
 To the dear one at my side. 
 He took it, and a parent's tear 
 
 Stood in his calm blue eye ; 
 Oh, 't was a holy link that bound 
 
 The husband, child, and I. 
 
 III. 
 We placed it with the sacred things 
 
 Our souls had held most fair ; 
 We felt it was a precious bond. 
 
 That curl of sunny hair. 
 And as the babe hung at my breast, 
 
 In winning helplessness, 
 We pictured how we'd tell her of 
 
 That little golden tress.
 
 212 THE TWO CURLS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The days sped on, but, ali I tlieie i-aiiie 
 
 A shadow daik and deep ; 
 A shadow tliat no noontide lay 
 
 Can ever hire to sleep. 
 The reaper broke our love-wrought ehaiii 
 
 The dearest link was gone ; 
 'T was then I placed that i-aven curl 
 
 Beside the golden one. 
 
 v. 
 With throbbing heart and quivering lip, 
 
 I hold the relic now ; 
 And memory sees it wave again 
 
 Upon the worshipped brow. 
 My orphaned one will nestle near, 
 
 And wonder why I weep ; 
 She asks when dear papa will wake. 
 
 Wake from his long, long sleep.
 
 THE TWO CURLS. 213 
 
 Ami then 1 show licr that dark curl. 
 
 And toll her where he 's gone ; — 
 She clasps her little hand in mine, 
 
 And tearfully looks on. 
 And then she '11 cling about my breast, 
 
 As though we should not part ; — 
 Oh, Father, let me keep this one, 
 
 This lone lamb, neai' my heart. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Together place them— thev shall be 
 
 A sacred mystic spell, 
 To tell me of the spirit one 
 
 My soul hath loved so well ; 
 And wlion the grave shall offer me 
 
 Its hidy, dreamless rest, 
 I'd have that dark and golden curl 
 
 Placed gently on my breast.
 
 MY HARP IS SAD. 
 
 (! 
 
 I. 
 
 II /TY harp is sad, I know its song notes dwell 
 -^'-*- Upon those jovs, past, yet remembered well ; 
 New chords may flutter, but 't will tui'n again, 
 
 And cling, how fondly, to its own sad strain. 
 But yet the music that most wins the heart. 
 
 The strains from which the spirit cannot jiart, 
 Aio those low tones that make the listenino' bi'cast 
 
 Weep as with grief, then softly soothe to rest.
 
 MY HARP IS SAD. 215 
 
 II. 
 My harp is sad, how can its songs be light 
 
 When my heart 's sunk in (heary, starless night? 
 AMthuut one beam to herald with its ray. 
 
 A\ ithout one gleam to show a coming day. 
 But yet the nightingale, the sweetest sings 
 
 When eve has shrouded o'er her drooping wings, 
 M'hen the lone rose is only left to tell, 
 
 And tremble o'er the song that 's sung so well.
 
 TO MY FEIENDS. 
 
 I. 
 
 IGREPjT yv all again, my tVieiuls, 
 Though wintry winds may sigh ; 
 It matters not, if hearts are warm, 
 
 What storm-cloud cliills the sky. 
 My faithful breast meets yours with love, 
 
 And grateful tears will start, 
 A tribute to the honey drops 
 
 Ye 've flung upon my heart. 
 Here 's health and joy to ye, my friends, 
 
 I know ye '11 sing luy rhyme ;
 
 TO 5n' FRIENDS. 217 
 
 ^lay tiiio hearts gleam witli love's warm beam, 
 Ami ne'er forget "Lang syne.'' 
 
 II. 
 My harp has strung but simple flowers, 
 
 Yet ye have gleaned them up ; 
 And placed my moorland blossoms wild, 
 
 Within the treasured cup. 
 Ye 've listened to my untaught songs 
 
 With pleasure-beaming eye ; 
 And shed around life's checkered path 
 
 A light that will not die. 
 Here 's health and joy to ye, my friends, 
 
 I know ye 'II sing my rhyme ; 
 May true hearts gleam with love's wai'ui beam, 
 
 And ne'er forget " Lang syne." 
 
 III. 
 Since first we met, our human lot 
 Has had its share of grief;
 
 218 TO MY FRIENDS. 
 
 But then, we 've liad the sun us well, 
 
 To weave the wild-flower wreath ; 
 So wipe the tear, and cheat old care, 
 
 Ne'er have him croaking now, 
 We '11 laugh, and rub the furrows out 
 
 He 's wreathing on our brow. , 
 
 Here 's health and joy to ye, my friends, 
 
 I know ye '11 sing ray rhyme ; 
 May true hearts gleam with love's warm be; 
 
 And ne'er forget " Lang syne." 
 
 IV. 
 
 There may be some to whom we owe 
 
 Forgiveness for a word, 
 Or action, done when passion ruled 
 
 The spirit it had stirred ; 
 To such we '11 freely give the hand. 
 
 As freely clasp their own ; 
 And plant, upon the buried past. 
 
 The olive love has grown.
 
 TO MY FRIENDS. 219 
 
 Here 's health and joy to ye, my friends, 
 
 I know ye '11 sing my rhyme ; 
 May true hearts gleam with love's warm beam, 
 
 And ne'er forget " Lang syne." 
 
 V. 
 
 I know your hearts are warm and true, 
 
 As honest hearts should be ; 
 I know the roughest blast would fail 
 
 To blight affection's tree. 
 Your kindly tones are whispering yet, 
 
 Within my bosom deep, 
 The spirit chimes will murmur on 
 
 Till hushed in death's calm sleep. 
 Here 's health and joy to ye, my friends, 
 
 I know ye '11 sing my rhyme ; 
 And carol out, with joyful shout. 
 
 We '11 ne'er forget " Lang syne."
 
 MANCHESTER : 
 
 I'RINlEn AT THE "gIAUDIAN" STEAJI-l'RINTING OII'KES, 
 
 rliosS-STnEET.
 
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