!f!!!!lliill!lllllin;: iPiii: liiiiiH^^^^^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS. POEMS, BY THE REV. GEORGE EDMOND lAUNSELL. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AND CO., G5, CORNIIILL. M.DCCC.LXI. These pieces, with the exception of those of later date, were \ printed for private circulation in the years 1853-56. ; i p^ -f^ MSqr,.^ • iSbl CONTENTS. PAGE A Legend of Hastings Field / Alone ..... 17 As a dead Man, clean out of Mind . 46 Astarte ..... 74 Antedilu\-ian Relics .... . 100 A Poet's Heart .... 127 As thy Day is, so shaU thy Strength be . 143 A ScandinaA-ian Legend 188 All Hearts are Sad by Times . 258 A Legend of Inkemiann . 288 An early Love rejected .... . 99 Broken-Hearted . . . ' . 102 Breath ...... . 118 Blood-black Wine .... 121 Beauty's Wreath .... . 250 Christmas Eve .... 31 Cassandra landing in Greece . 37 Consumption .... 44 Congenial Spirits .... . 66 Christe, Audi Nos .... 133 Communion with the Departed . . 279 Dreams . . 24 Distance ..... 80 Darkness ..... 157 Death ...... . 160 De Eance at T/a, Trappe 196 Ephialtcs ..... . 123 Execution of Maiy, Queen of Scots 180 Egyptian Feast Song .... . 253 Forest Winds .... 3 862224 VI CONTENTS. PAGE Footsteps of the Gazelle . 98 False Prophets .... 137 Forebodings ..... . 169 Foi-wards ..... 204 Flowers ...... . 256 Freedom ..... 274 Foxglove ..... . 290 Five Travellers .... 296 Grown Old ..... . 68 Gossamer Hall .... 88 God's Acre ..... . 239 Hallowed Ground .... 97 Hesperus ..... . 120 Hope ..... 128 Home Truth ..... . 210 His Ways are not as our Ways 219 Hope on ..... . 285 Han-est Hymn .... 292 Incipient Madness .... . 112 lone ..... 191 Isiac Symbols of Death and Immortality . 215 I love ..... 221 Imagination ..... . 231 Irish Keen ..... 283 John, viii. 4 .... . . 29 Joy and Sorrow .... 40 Let not my Child be a Girl 19 Life . 174 Long, long Ago .... 103 Love ...... . 153 La Demoiselle a marier 262 Music ...... 5 Mariage de Convenance 69 My First Love ..... . 166 Momnfully, so MoumfiiUy . 171 Merry England ..... . 226 Memoirs of Departed Genius 238 Mcmoiy ...... . 272 Nia;ht-scented Flowers 18 CONTENTS. vu PAGE New Year's Eve .... . 23 NcUGwATi . 205 Not of the World .... 217 No More ..... . 271 On a Seal ..... 6 On a Seal ..... . 11.5 Our Churchyards .... 12.5 Old Things have passed away . 1.52 One Dead ..... . 245 Psyche ..... 89 Platonism . . . . . . 229 Passed Away .... 278 Portraits . . . . . . 294 Queen Eleanor .... 35 Runic Chant . . . . 105 Retrospect ..... 139 Romance and Reality . . . . . 164 Rizpah ..... 192 Reminiscences . . . . . . 234 Rushton Hall 241 Speak kindly of the Dead . 25 Song of Hueipa and Hubba 91 Spiritual Pride . . . . . . 108 Symbols ..... 146 Sleep ...... . 155 Swallows ..... 233 Scutari Nurses . . . . . . 276 Song of the Forge .... 286 Self . 300 Think of the Silent Dead . 1 The Nuns of Coldingham 4 The Last Hours of the Infanticide . • . 11 To an old Friend . . . . . 28 The Rejected .... 33 The Angel's Wliispcr . . . . 41 The Vigil of the New Year 47 The Yew . . . . . . 49 The Fairy Seat at Cork-beg 50 The Knight's Ransom . . . . 70 vm CONTENTS. PAGE To Everything there is a Season . 76 The Wind 82 The Battle of Crecy . 84 The Banshee .... 87 The Mistletoe . . 93 The Old Dutch Bible 95 The Battle of Poitiers . . 110 To Aura ..... 117 To my Old Pipe . 129 Towton Field .... 134 The Peepul Tree .144 The Pleasure Boat .... 148 The Inner Chamber . 150 The Spanish Armada 162 The Irish Squatter . 172 The Legend of the Wolfsbrunnen . 175 The Magic Pipe . 184 The Legend of the Redbreast 186 The Curfew .... . 190 The Harp . . 200 To a Bride .... . 202 The Ideal ..... 208 Trifles ..... . 222 To-morrow ..... 224 The Battle of Sobraon . . 236 To be Content 248 The Libraiy .... .259 The " President " . 265 The Beautiful .... . 281 Wulstan ..... 15 "Wilham Rufas .... . 26 Where? ..... 168 Whether? .... . 298 POEMS. ihinii of the Mint 9ml Think of the silent dead ! The loved, whose souls are fled, We tiTist, unto their God. Their place on earth is gone. Their fiiends have looked their last ; A dreary blank alone Reminds us of the past. ^ - Think of the silent dead ! -J ^ B THINK OF THE SILENT DEAD. Theirs is a race that's ran, Theirs is a fight that's done ; Forgotten, out of mind ! Still in affection's bond Let them retain their part ; Where should their memories live, If not within our heart ? Think of the silent dead ! Years may have passed away. Blithe may have sped each day, And dulled our sorrow's edge ; It may be still they watch. And weep our eveiy pain ; One thought of answering love, Let them not watch in vain. Think of the silent dead ! 1842. I Api Miiul.^. A SOUND of forest Tvinds is on my hearing, A sound as of the distant sea at night ; Xearing, on viewless wings still ever nearing, Thi'ough the tree-tops it mshes in its might. The tall elms hoarsely groan, The ashes wail and sigh, In deep and measured tone. Booming, the oaks reply. A lull — the dancing hroMn leaves downwards flutter, The frantic tossing of the hranches stops, The beech-tree stills midway its rustling mutter. The whistling firs lift up theii- bended tops. Each has a voice its own, Answering the stoi-m-wind's call, And yet one Power alone, One Spirit wakens all. So Nature's impulse, through the many going, Strikes difierent chords, new impulses imparts ; Think pitifully we of each, as knowing Not ours the key-note to our fellows' hearts. Mysteries full oft appear Thoughts, unto others fiiir ; Love in them all will hear But the one Spiiit there. 1854. B 2 ^lu IJun.^ ofi CoIdiufilianL •' III the last whereof (Coldingham), Lady Ebbe, with her chast nunnes, to auoid theu- sauage and filthy pollutions, cut oft' their owne noses and vpper lips, least the baite of their beauties should proue the bane of their honours." — Speed's Chrojiicle. A SONG- for the holy sisters, The God-devoted band ! Wlio wrought for themselves their safety, When the Dane was in the land ! To our Lady with strong cryings They lifted up their voice, And she gave them grace in choosing, And strength for the bitter choice. They took no shield on the weak arm, No sword, or spear, for strife. But gave themselves to the tortui-e. Their lips to the shearing knife ! And the baffled Dane with curses Went backwards at the sight, And the crown was left unsullied On the martyrs' wreath of light ! * 1857. * Bishop Taylor's Holy Living, ch. xi. sec. 3. u s I r. I LOVE the music that hath power to wake A sjinpathy responsive in the soul ; Some "nilcl and touching aii% some hallad old. Is to me far beyond the huriying roll, The swift, continuous clang, that tells, indeed. Of science and hard learned mechanic art, Calls forth and merits wonder and applause, But mth the heart's emotion hath no part. Nor with the rude, unthinking crowd would I Throng to di'ink in the sounds I love to hear ; But far apart fi'om all, and unobseiTed, List to the notes soft stealing on the ear. ^o strange and mysterious power ! it may be, taught First by some fallen seraph, who with eye Upturned to Heaven, on earth would fain essay Sadly her yet remembered minstrelsy. Gift to the chosen few ! full oft the heart, Even in hours of mirth and reckless glee. As conscious of some yearning want, some void, Lists to thy chords, and solace finds in thee ; As the tired eye, with gorgeous colours vexed. From feeding on some painter's Eastern scene, Gladly from art to nature turns her gaze. And rests, refreshed, on cooling fields of gi-een, 1847. n f fal KNGEAVED WITH A BROKEN SHAMROCK AND THE lElSH WOEI) SIGNIFYING " SOKKOW." -*o*- God's cliasteniug hand is on thee sore ; * With deadly drink thy cup runs o"er ; Bow down — no aid, lerne, more Canst thou from mortal borrow ! Thy broken shararock droops her head ; Thy sons are passed away, or fled. Hang up thine harp, as of one dead, And be thy motto, Sorrob). Ill-fated island of the west ! Hope cheers e'en slaves with grief o'erprest Thou hast no hope ; for one unblest There is no bright to-morrow. Then grave thy seal mth lines of woe. Worn by thy tears' repentant flov/ ; From idols turn, and seek to know The holier part of SorrolD. 1847. * The year of the famine. ^ Scigpnd of |)a.^fin()s ^idcl ■■' ISo that Harold, lying stript, bemangled, and goared in his bloud, could not be known or found, 'till they sent for a woman named Editha (for her passing beauty snrnamcd Swan-shals, that is, Swansnecke), whom he entertained in secret loue before he was king, who, by some secret markes of his body, to her well known, found him out." — Speed's Chro7iicle. PAET I. There came two monks* from Waltham church To Edith Swanshal's door. '• Rise up this night, and come vnth. us ; Good truth ! we need thee sore." '• I may not rise. My knees are bent 1 may not nse. My knees are b( In prayer both night and day ; For vigils, fasting, tears, alone Can wipe my guilt away ' " * Osegod and Ailric. — Speed's Chronicle. 8 A LEGEND OF HASTINGS FIELD. " Yet rise thou up, and for a space Leave cross and bead within, And Waltham Abbey's mitred lord Shall shrive thee of the sin." " Oh ! leave me, leave me to my prayers, My watchings in the night ; God's coming dawn and Maiy's wrath Would blast me in thy sight ! " " Yet rise and come ; or if thou pray'st, For Harold be thy prayer ; He lies a corpse on Hastings field — And thou must seek him there." She started up — drew bolt and bar ; No word she uttered more ; But barefoot, even as she knelt. Ran headlong fi-om the door. PAET 11. The thin gray mist on Hastings field Was steaming fi-om the dead. When at the dawn they trod the ground, With corpses overspread. A LEGEKD OF HASTINGS FIELD. And all that livelong day they searched Each blood-bedabbled spot ; And many a knight and thane they found, But Harold found they not. " \Vhen God denies," old Ailric said, " All vainly man shall try."' But even as he spoke went forth A shai-p and bitter cry. There, on the rising hill where last The Saxon fought and bled, Knelt Edith Swanshal, bending o'er The long-sought royal dead. But stripped and mangled as he lay Upon the trampled turf. No eye save that of love had known King Harold from a serf. o A monk's rough fi'ock for purple robe, A wattled bier for throne ; So bore they off the corj^se, and left Fair Edith there alone. She miglit not brook the funeral pomp, The sorrowing people's gaze ; But homewards turned, and in her grief Went softly all her days. 10 A LEGEND OF HASTINGS FIELD. Ah, Edith ! with that bitter cry Uplifted o'er the dead, From out thy very heart of hearts A lingering hope had fled. The world to thee became a void, And on that bloody sod The love which Harold shared before Was wholly turned to God. 1857. 11 i^\u last gours of thtj lufuuticidc. Am I sleeping yet, and shall the morrow Break for me as it was wont of old, Diy from oflf my cheek the di-eamer's sorrow, Leave the visioned past a tale untold ! As I stii' a watchful eye is peering Up from yonder pallet in my cell, Whilst I almost hope, upon my hearing Tolls the midnight from the prison bell. Ah ! I mind me now of thronging faces, Mocking eyed, and eager, as for sport ; Hundreds looking up, and in high places Men aiTayed for judgment, and a Court. And I heard, or seemed to hear, one seeking Answer back fi'om one he doomed to die — Pitifully, sadly, sternly spealdug Unto one — and oh, my God ! 'twas I ! 12 LAST HOURS OF THE INFANTICIDE. Bom to early want and hardship, never Knew I childhood's free and careless heart ; At the poor man's hearth the youngest ever, As the oldest there, must play her part. Ladies took me thence, a child unwitting Of my low and hrutalized estate, Clothed, and gave me learning more befitting To the children of the rich and great. So to early haunts again returning, There to toil and eat the peasant's bread, Pride arose and shame, and, undisceming Of the futui'e ill, I turned and fled. All my after acts and deeds confessing. In good truth, what have I yet to tell ? But the world-wide story : want was pressing. And the tempter there, and so I fell. As a feverish morning dream, departed All the guilty splendours of my life ; And I woke, deserted, broken-hearted. Soon to be a mother, but no wife. So my shame was known, and future horrors Rose before me at my baby's cry ; " Back to God," I said, " and shun thy sorrows Unto thee at least 'tis gain to die ! " LAST HOURS OF THE INFANTICIDE. Oh ! ye mothers, in your thoughts adoiTiing Your new-born ones with each hopeful sign, Think ye not that I, too, saw the scorning. And the bitter shame in store for mine ! As refasiQg comfort ye will languish, "While your infants suffer day by day ; Think ye not that I, too, had my anguish, "UTien my hand was lifted up to slay ! But ye cannot know the fiend that urges Guilty ones like me fi-om ill to worse, "When our noblest feelings are our scoui-ges, And our best affections but our curse. Go, then, and in fiction's pages duly Write our histories as of injured worth, But remember, if ye WTite them truly, One short line suffices — " Hell on earth." See ! the morning of my last day shining ; Hark ! rude voices mingling with the breeze ; And the author of my death, reclining In his chair shall read it at his ease ! Blood for blood — for rapine, slander, stealings. Gaols and fines, dishonour and control ; What for him, ye men of pious feelings. Who hath slain the body and the soul ? 14 LAST HOUES OF THE INFANTICIDE. He shall live, unscathed and undegraded — Live for pleasure, quiet, or for fame : I shall perish, hated and uphraided, With the hrand of murd'ress on my name ! So man's justice has ordained it, giving Record of his care for such as I, As unfit to mingle with the living. And, my God ! oh, how unfit to die ! 1859. 15 Mtulstitn. " Willituu the Conqueror having demanded the pastoral staff and ring of Wulstan, Bishop of Worcester, he answered that he had them fi-om King Edward, and would give them back to him alone; and going to the Confessor's tomb, struck the crozier so deeply into the stone, that no one was able to draw it out, on which he was allowed to retain the bishopric." — Note to Hume's History of England. He stood by Edward's tomb, That man of saintly mien, Around with brows of gloom The Conqueror's hosts were seen. " And ye have come," he said, " With sword and spear arrayed, With mail, and helm on head. And ye must be obeyed ! " From Edward, sainted king. Ye men of haughty brow, I hold this staff and ring, And I restore them now." 16 WULSTAN. He spake with awful frown, And face almost divine, And struck the crozier down Deep through the marble shrine. Then thronged they round the stone. That evil Norman rout ; No hand save his alone Might draw that crozier out. And, "Back," he cried, " of men God's servants have no fear ; Back to your tents again. Lest ill befal you here ! " And Norman William quailed, And scoffs were heard no more, And cheeks with fear were paled, That fear ne'er paled before. And silently they crushed Back from the sainted stone ; The voice of strife was hushed, And he was left alone. 1848. 17 S I U C . The seasons come and go, The night succeeds to day, With ceaseless, noiseless flow The year-stream glides away. Let days and months depart. Let years run out their range ; But oh, for one true heart To share in eveiy change ! 1860. 18 ItiuM-f rented Jfl'^^^'^^l-''- Not in your comeliness the eye rejoices Beneath the sun's broad light, Not to the outward ear ye raise your voices, Flower- spirits of the night ! Yet, as your still, mysterious life progresses. Both foiTu and speech are shown In hues, whose loveliness the soul confesses In language all your own. Wlien, foreordained, one change succeeds another, ^Vhen light rolls back the cloud, Ye flaunt not in the one, beneath the other Ye di'oop not, earthwards bowed ; But in the weirdest darkness, or the shining Of countless stars, your eyes Alike are lifted up, and unrepining Your odours heav'nwards rise. So are ye types of faith, from God receiving According to His will. Meek under good bestowed, and still believing Him present in the ill. 1857. 19 Sti not mn dIhiUl be ix 6irl. Let not my child be a girl, For veiy sorrowful is the lot of woman." Pkaieii;. A mother's words ! Is woman's life so sad, That this should be of all her earliest prayer ? Not for long length of days, not health, not gold, Nought, so the unborn 'scape the woes she bear. Yet so it is. Our fixed conventional rales Weigh down her feelings, e'en from girlhood's spring ; Custom and fashion wi'est her heart to earth, And send her forth an artificial thing. Is woman's life so sad ? Go, search the world, From Europe's polished climes to savage land ; Still the same lot, the same oft-trodden round. The weaiy, sorrowing heart, the oppressing hand. Oh, man ! creation's haughty, boastful lord, ^Vhere is thy vaunted justice '? Thou hast all This world can offer : thou mayst choose, and tread Thine own selected paths ; and if thou fall, If vice allure thcc, man can pardon man. C 2 20 LET NOT MY CHILD BE A GIRL. The high-born fool, the gamester, and the cheat, The adulterer, knave, seducer, aye, for each. So they have wealth, the world is at their feet. But woman's path is fixed, and if she fall, She is for ever fallen. Man may woo, May wed for wealth, hut woman's heart must stand Steeled to the world's first idol, and eschew Her home, her childhood's comforts — all for one. For one who gives her but a transient joy, A fleeting glimpse of bliss, then casts aside. Like to some froward child, his cherished toy. Man's voice is free, and if, perchance, he love, He may declare it ; woman still must keep Her secret hidden close within her heart. She has but one resource, to hope and weep. To hope ! What hope for her who vainly writhes In custom's iron shackles? She must stand Before God's altar, not with him she sought. But with her parents' choice, and give her hand Where she gives not her heart ; or if, perchance, Love's coui'se run smooth, too quickly from her eyes Shall fall the scales, and falling, tint with gall Those lesser faults, those bickerings that arise E'en with the best. The gentle lover's lost In the stem husband : she, whose slightest word Late was his only law, now finds her spumed, Her wish unheeded, and her will abhon-ed. LET XOT MY CHILD BE A GIRL. 21 Yet still the same devotedness is asked, Still the same love, as when he bowed his heart Low at her feet. She, iu return, may claim All that the world claims not — a meagre part ! Man may in selfish pleasures pass his day. Free from domestic strife. In hopes to share The old man's gold, the expectant world looks on. Praises his msdom, and applauds his care. But woman's wealth is but another grief. Another stumbling-block to mar her way ; The adventurer, the needy, polished rake. The ruined spendthrift, mark her as their prey. She, for awhile, perchance, is wise, but soon Womanlike, yields her heart, and, free fi'om doubt, Measm-ing his love by hers, esteems her blest. Only too blest with that man, who, without Her wealth, had never sought her. So he lives And grows within her heart, not what in sooth He is, but what her love would fain believe ; All constancy, bright honour, changeless tnith ! And then the old, old lot. All, me ! how oft Love lights at Hymen's torch his funeral pyres ; How oft, in after years, he learns to read Rightly that once dark speech, " All men are liars !"' Cease, then, ye unjust fools, your whining dirge O'er woman's falseness, and o'er man betrayed ! 22 LET NOT MY CHILD BE A GIRL. Flesh of thy flesh she is, bone of thy hone, And if she mock thee, thou thyself hast made Her false and venal. Aye, for one aggrieved Truly by woman, thousands, forced to roam. Weep man's injustice, and those wiles of men, That lured them first from vii'tue and their home. Yet, like the hyaena wailing o'er his prey, Ye wail the ruin ye yourselves have brought ; Crush, as she springs, all nature in her heart, Teach her to feign, unfeignedly curse her taught. 1848. 23 Ucm fjeaiffi druu. It seems a strange, unthinking part For mortal man to play, That we should mark in revelry The old year pass away. Yes, 'tis as if round some friend's couch, "\Mio gasps and strives for breath, We were to lead the merry dance, And mock him in his death. Man ! in futurity's dark womb The new year's boons are pent ; Wlio may declare what sooth shall be Ere her young hours be spent ! Cease, then, thus blindly to rejoice. Or turn thy thoughts to Heaven ; Pray that this year be better spent, Or pray the past forgiven. 1848. 24 grtiims. As the foam-bells that dance, and sport, and play, In the fountain's fall, then pass away ; As the shadow of clouds in April gleams, Ye flit o'er the spirit, ye mystic dreams ! Are ye boders of ill that needs must be, Or come ye to warn us to rise and flee ? I know not in truth, yet I marvel not That ye swayed, in the times of old, man's lot ; For the spirit eternal vigil keeps. And the soul rests not, though the body sleeps ; And ye, like the still, small winds that stray Through the slumberer's book on a summer's day, Flit hither and there through memory's page. From the youth's first hope to the grief of age, And entwine, ere a moment's sand be run, The future, and present, and past, as one. 1848. 25 f |jc;ili lundlLT of the pi^iuL Speak kindly of the dead, Or pass their memories by ; WTien once life's spark is fled, All thoughts but one should die. It may be, whiles they ran A fitful, de\dous race. Yet who, in this their span, Might every motive trace ? Not ours to judge the deed ; Enough that they are gone : Pity the broken reed, Or silently pass on. 1849. 26 William Sufus, Speak not of chance or accident Befalling mortal man, We breathe, we move, we live ■within A God- directed span. And though our will or hand may seem To govern or to force, His finger surely turns us to The predetermined course. Along the forest gi'ounds at mom The Red I&ig passed alone, i By ruined wall, by roofless hut, ] With brambles overgrown. I Small thought had he of homeless poor, ' Small care for bondsman's lack, [ Nor where his father's hand had robbed \ Restored he meetly back. \ But reckless, nithless in his sport, j He galloped down the path, I To rouse the wild deer from his lair 1 Upon his people's hearth. ' WILLIAM RUFUS. 27 A stag rose up : his bow in haste, The ambushed Tprel drew, The glancing aiTow tiuned aside. And pierced the Red King through. None raised him up, none sought to stay The fast departing breath, Forsaken and alone he proved The bitterness of death. Down sank the sun, the crouching fox Went stealing round the dead, The hind snuffed blood upon the gale. And starting, turned and fled. And all that night fi'om wall and tower The flaring torches glow'd, And menials fi'om the castle gate Peered listening down the road ; But in the portion of the poor. Like Israel's King of old,* When quiet morning's beam arose, Lay Rufus stark and cold ! 1853. 2 Kings, ix. 25. 28 i^o mi old 4/mul As two ships at midnight meeting, Their course a moment stay, Exchanging ftienclly greeting. Then pass by on their way ; So we met, old friend, true-hearted ! In the early flush of life ; But the pause was brief, we parted. And passed on into strife. As two ships, theii" course renewing. Gaze on each other's light, Every eye the spark pursuing. Till it vanishes from sight ; So, awhile, we watched each other, Launching forth upon life's main ; Thou hast passed from sight, brother ! Shall we ever meet again ? 1849. 29 John, uiih 4. Friendless auJ outcast, Weepiug alone, None, save the Righteous One, Heeding her moan ; Mock her not, scofl' her not, Pale, braised reed, Rather leave judgment Till judgment's decreed ! Happiness, honest name. What were they all, Weighed against him who Hath compassed her fall ? Liar, seducer, Cliief in the deed ! Where is he now, in The hour of her need *? Oh, thine injustice, Thou pitiless world ! Oh, the lost souls, whom Thou downwards hast hurled ! 30 JOHN VIII. 4. Fawn on him, cherish him, Set him on high ; As for the stricken one, — Leave her to die ! Sorro'R'fal sister ! Ill was thy deed ; Meekly submit thee To infamy's meed ! Shrinking and speechless, Midst clamour and strife. Circled with scomers who Thirst for thy life, Magdalen, Sinner, Look upwards and trust. Thou hast found mercy. Though humbled to dust. 1850. 31 C!hrislnui5i §vi[. Once more alone on Christmas eve, I watch the glimmering embers wane, And listening wait, yet scarce believe Iramanuel's day come round again. Yet so it is ; one distant note Comes echoing softly dowTi the gale, Then livelier, louder, nearer float The answering peals from hill and dale, Till all, as one, proclaim the mom "When " unto us a child was bom." Yea, unto us, — but days like these (The traveller's wayside guides thi-ough life) Have saddening thoughts which bow the knees, And goad the slumbering soul to strife ; For quickening conscience backward turns Her memory doAvn the vale of tears. Where many a dusky Baal-lire burns In lengthening range mth lengthened years, And wakes the thought, " If I should die This self-same night, what part have I ? " 32 CHRISTMAS EVE. All, soul, self-conscious, trembling soul ! Though Naaman's lord should intei-pose, Not Israel's king can make thee whole, Or Syrian Pharphar aid thy woes. In humbler lands (as seemed of old) The appointed waters took their rise, From lowlier founts through eaiih were rolled The healing streams, where faith descries The smitten rock, the plenteous flood Of heavenly waters tinged with blood. Deem not such themes as these unapt In Christian joy, nor have thou scorn (Since heaven itself was hushed and wi'apped In awe) to think u-hy Christ was bom. So, circling round, the coming years Shall work not gathering woe, but weal ; Bring heavenward hopes for earth-clogged fears, And teach the hungering soul to feel Blest, when her eyes not only see Bethlehem, but also Calvary. 1857. 33 mt llcjcrtnL I THOUGHT not at first of the future, but gladly I saw tliee, I heard thee, I felt thee ere near, As a dream of the morning it stole on my senses ; I wakened to find thee but only too dear. 'Tis over — ^my heart is too fall for reproaches, Or, fitfully angry, yet Hves in the past. And the musings on hours when I hoped are but ended In bitter regret that they fleeted so fast. Farewell — be the madness I cherished forgiven, The words that I uttered with thee as unsaid, And my name from thy thoughts blotted out, or remembered, Remembered only as though of one dead. 1856. PAKT II. In this, the busiest haunt of men, For me the moments idly fly, The echoing streets are filled with life, And every soul can hope but I. D 34 THE REJECTED. As yet my heart is braised and sore, Nor dares to scan the impending day, But, sadly lingering, only sees The darkening shade upon the way. I dare not say of this, my grief, " God's chalice holds no bitterer wine ; " Nor, " Cii'cling Time, who tempers all, Is powerless here to temper mine." What shall be, will be. Every year May find me soiTowing as before, May find me happier, and resigned To lose what was, and is no more. God grant it so — and if, perchance, Some natural clouds obscure thy sun, His guardian angels interpose. And pitying Mercy spare thee one. 1857 n 35 Queen dj^aniir. The summer's sea, the courtier's knee, The whispering vdnds that stray ; Oh ! some make oath that woman's troth Is fair and false as they. It may be so, but this I know, And this I vnll defend. Her once fixed love no power can move, Nor death nor tortures end. Then hear me tell what once befel Our king in Holy Laud, How woman's art and woman's heart Wrought more than leech's hand. The princely wight to death was dight, He sank in torments slow ; The venomcd knife had touched his life, And tinged the heart's blood flow. And though was seen our comely queen By day and eke by night, To seek each way his pains to stay, And give him to the fight, D 2 36 QUEEN ELEANOR. 'Twas all in vain ; the poison's stain Still rankled in his side ; Oh, then vowed she to do or di'ee, And would not be denied. Her watch she kept when all men slept, And, bending down her knee. Her own sweet lip the wound did clip, As in a swoon lay he. Then tell no more of poet's lore, Or maids who false have grown. For Edward's life his royal wife Full freely staked her own ; And many a maid so coy and staid. And many a high-bora dame, Aye, hundreds more, on England's shore For love had done the same. 1843. 37 d^ass;uulni htndin^ in (Brn^, I SEE the green shore fresh and fairly glowing Fai" in the distance of the clear blue sky ; With even stroke the well-oared barks are rowing : A captive's bt awaits me ; Greece is nigh. Ah, me ! those festive notes' responsive echo, The soft, sweet breathings of the Dorian flute, The white-anned virgins linked in choral dances. The love-fraught measm-es of the Etolian lute ! How sadly fall the notes of hostile triumph, The gatheiTDg people's hum upon mine ear ; All, all their clamours sei've but to remind me Why I, a Phrygian maid, a queen, am here. Alas, my country, Hion ! now no longer The unconquered, but the captive of the spear,* Shorn wert thou of thy crown of towers, when o'er thee The thunder- cloud of Greece came shadowing near. Poor wi'etch, all smoke-defiled and fire-blasted, No more shall I thy glorious mansions tread ; Lost, lost at midnight's hour, when thy defenders Slept, hot ^vith Phiygian wine, and filled with bread. * A loose translation from the Hecuba of Euripides. 38 CASSANDRA LANDING IN GREECE. I, too, my hair in fillets deftly binding, Was glancing back upon the mirror's light, For sleep preparing, when, oh, sudden hoiTor ! The war- shout broke the silence of the night. And I, half naked, like some Dorian virgin, Sped forth for succour to Diana's fane ; Alas ! that I prevailed not. Heart-sick, fainting, They bore me captive o'er the briny main. We come. I feel a sea of upturned faces Upon me, like some fearfal vision rise ; Hatred and triumph in each glance commingled, Glare wolf-like on me from their fierce dark eyes ! I hear a fitful sound of joy and wailing. Loud bursts of triumph, weeping for the slain ; They ask them at my hand, the countless numbers Who rot, afar, on Ilion's blood-soaked plain. Who waits with downcast look and guile dissembled To bid Atrides welcome to his throne ? What mean those ghastly shades, yon axe uplifted. The entangled robe, the low-drawn, quivering groan ? I see, I see fell visions round me flitting, And blood-red vapours floating in the air ; The baths are all prepared, the victim ready — Strike ! strike ! 'tis destiny, adulterous pair ! Hades is moved beneath my feet ; upheaving Sound forth the pasans of the Phrygian dead ; " Art thou become as us, great son of Atreus ? How are thy triumphs passed, thy glories fled ! " CASSAXDKA LAXDIXG IN GREECE. 39 Not there ! not there ! Oh, drag me not within ! Dark, undistinguishable forms are there ; The ftiries leap around, and, murder-tainted. Sickens upon my very sense the aii*. "V\Tiere am I ? Oh, those shapes, those fearful visions ! The gift of Phoebus in an ill-starred day. Lead onwards in your train, proud, vaunting monarch. The gods ordain it, man can but obey. 1850. 40 Sou and ^mm. Joy and Soitow— names combining , In themselves the lot of all ; In two words a life int^ining, Whatsoever may befal. i Old familiar sounds, and duly ^\ In the mouths of grave and gay, Yet we know not either truly, Till its hour be passed away. 1857. 41 ghe Jmcjcr^ 'aulliispcr. " I know that the angels are -whispering with thee." Lover's Irish Song. In Erin's isle, wtere yet is told Full many a tale and legend old Of pale banshee and wandering sprite, Phooka, and fay, and blue coqise liglit, Still do tliey in the faith abide, That often by the cradle's side Angels, unseen, their vigils keep. Guardians of those who calmly sleep. So, if some happy dream awhile Light up the slumbering infant's smile, Fondly they deem that, hovering near, Angels are whispering at its ear. Idle, perchance, and vain the thought. Yet, as I deem, full surely taught First by that spark from heaven above, That holiest thing, a mother's love. 42 THE Alf gel's whisper. Aye, and though learning's broadening ray Chaseth. such mist-like di-eams away, Though now our hearts respond no more To the wild tales of ancient lore, May it not chance that still there he In the young soul some sympathy 'Twixt heaven and earth, that lingering clings Unto the realms from whence it springs ? May it not chance, that as two fi-iends, Whose hilar'ous span of meeting ends, Linger, and stand, as loth to say Their farewell words, and turn away ; So the bright beings of seraph birth Cling to the souls new clad in earth. Whispering the yet remembered strain, Pointing from earth to heaven again, As if to lure them thence to fly Back to their common home, the sky. Idle the thought ! Oh 1 would that we (Boastful and proud although we be) Gave to our creed the faith that they In theu' wild legends oft display ! Would, when at some ill deed or word. Conscience, our angel guard, hath stirred, We with their humble, child- like fear Did but incline our hearts, and hear ; So, floating down Time's shoreless sea To the vast gulf, Eternity, THE angel's whisper. 43 As we began, so might we end, And heavenly things with earthly blend ; Till, to GUI- dying eyes revealed, Stood those bright forms, no more concealed. Thronging the gates of heaven's high dome, To bid the wanderer welcome home. 1851. u Consumption. " Thy will be done, thy will be clone ! " God grant thee strength to say, Wan mother, in whose anguished sight A daughter fades away ! We watched her pale and wasted face, We turned a greedy ear To every proffered cure, till doubt Gave way to sickening fear. We felt, we knew, there was no hope, Yet, as at times a trace Of flickering colour tinged her cheek, Hope, yet scarce hope, found place. We could not bring ourselves to deem The last dread change so nigh ; We could not, would not, bear to think That one so young must die. CONSUMPTION. 45 And eveiy ■word, and look, and deed Of cliildisli "work or play Rose up at once into our minds As though 'twere yesterday. Then came the simple wiles, to hide Each pain, however bad ; The faint, wan smile, the cheerful word. So exquisitely sad. And day by day, as still she strove To raise some hope again, It seemed as if we never knew How dear she was till then. At last that little chamber's quiet Was deeper than before ; And every still small sound of life Therein was heard no more. A passing bell — deep, trastful prayers, A mound of grassy sod ; The dust to dust had back returned, The spii'it unto God. 1851. 46 3is a dead Pan, dmx out of