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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 I' *' V- -"^ / t, %'■ l 
 
 Lay s'hi^/ , 'f_ 
 
 Mtddle Age: ' 
 
 and 
 
 Other Poems, 
 
 By James Hedderwick, ll.d. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 18 89.
 
 I HE Volume, entitled 'LAVS OF MIDDLE AGE, 
 and OTHER POEMS,' -was originally published 
 by Messrs. Macnnillan & Co. as far back as 1859. 
 It has long been out of print, and the Author 
 has found occupation for the leisure of his more 
 advanced years in preparing the present Pocket 
 Edition for the press. 
 
 "While the 'Lays' are largely nnade up of 
 reflections appropriate to 'Middle Age,' they 
 were mainly suggested by incidents or events — 
 personal or public — either occurring when they 
 were written, or remennbered from a prior 
 date. The several interesting decades which 
 have since elapsed have been quite as fruitful 
 of themes inviting poetical treatment, but no 
 attempt has been made to encumber the poem, 
 view^ed in its homogeneous character, with addi- 
 tions in which the standpoint would necessarily 
 have been different. Accordingly, the first and 
 leading section of this little Book is simply a 
 reprint of the work of thirty years ago, with a 
 few trifling emendations. 
 
 As regards the 'Other Poemis,' a good many 
 alterations have been made. Some have been 
 altogether omitted, and their places supplied by a 
 
 918CG1
 
 select number written at various tinnes, although, 
 ■with one exception, previously printed elsewhere. 
 The portion of the Volume thus re-edited has also 
 been differently arranged and grouped; while the 
 Pieces which are new to this edition are, for the 
 guidance of the reader, marked, with an asterisk. 
 
 It nnay be observed that the work and worry 
 of Journalism, in the midst of which most of the 
 following pages were composed, are unfavourable 
 to any considerable achievement in the field of 
 polite letters. Of this the Author is abundantly, 
 if not painfully conscious. But however far he 
 may have fallen short of his own poetic desires 
 and. ideals, there are, he may be pardoned for 
 stating, sonne things included in this re-issue 
 which have won commendation in very grati- 
 fying quarters ; and he, therefore, ventui-es to 
 express a hope that, in the form in >ArhiGh they 
 are now presented, they may meet with an 
 equally synnpathetie and. perhaps wider welcome. 
 
 The few pictorial embellishments with which 
 the letter -press is interspersed are from the 
 pencil of a young Scottish artist, Mr. David 
 Gauld. 
 
 RocKBANK House, 
 
 Helensburgh, N.B,
 
 €ni^%ih. 
 
 LAYS OF MIDDLE AGE. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Reconciled, 
 
 I 
 
 Too Much we Marvel, 
 
 43 
 
 The Release, 
 
 3 
 
 Sunshine and Storm, 
 
 45 
 
 Thought Pictures, 
 
 4 
 
 A Brighter Clime, 
 
 46 
 
 Nature Inexhaustible, 
 
 6 
 
 Severed, 
 
 48 
 
 Books, 
 
 7 
 
 From My fVindow, 
 
 49 
 
 A Dark Background, 
 
 9 
 
 Helpless, 
 
 SI 
 
 Up the Stream, 
 
 lO 
 
 Rich Only, 
 
 S2 
 
 The Inner Life, 
 
 12 
 
 Whom have I Known ? 
 
 54 
 
 A Miser's Treasure, 
 
 13 
 
 Heart-Ache, 
 
 55 
 
 Cheerfulness in Age, 
 
 IS 
 
 Epithalamium, 
 
 57 
 
 The New Cemetery, 
 
 i6 
 
 In the Street, 
 
 58 
 
 Once and Again, 
 
 i8 
 
 The Revolt, 
 
 60 
 
 Hereditary Monarchy, 
 
 19 
 
 Victory, 
 
 61 
 
 Passed Away, 
 
 21 
 
 When ? 
 
 63 
 
 Confidential, 
 
 22 
 
 The Resumption, 
 
 64 
 
 In Vain, 
 
 24 
 
 Where are the Friends ? 
 
 66 
 
 Alone, 
 
 25 
 
 The Inevitable, 
 
 67 
 
 Genius and Presumption 
 
 27 
 
 Too Eager, 
 
 69 
 
 Posthumous, 
 
 28 
 
 Sabbath in the Country, 
 
 70 
 
 The Crown of Song, 
 
 3° 
 
 The Grave, 
 
 72 
 
 War, 
 
 31 
 
 A Contrast, 
 
 73 
 
 After the Fight, 
 
 33 
 
 The Eclipse, 
 
 75 
 
 Consolation, 
 
 34 
 
 Poetic Melancholy, 
 
 76 
 
 The Majority, 
 
 36 
 
 Under the Waves, 
 
 78 
 
 Changed Scenes, 
 
 37 
 
 The New-Year, 
 
 79 
 
 Aspiration, 
 
 39 
 
 When I Reflect, 
 
 81 
 
 Fame, 
 
 40 
 
 Middle Age, 
 
 87 
 
 Unwritten Fancies, 
 
 42 
 

 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Wailing for the Ship, 
 Sorrow and Song, 
 The Twin Sisters, 
 The Sky-Lark, 
 By the Sea-Side, 
 The Stars, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 hip, 87 
 
 In the Night, 
 
 
 102 
 
 90 
 
 To a Cotuslip, 
 
 
 los 
 
 92 
 
 The Emigrants, 
 
 
 107 
 
 95 
 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 
 109 
 
 98 
 
 Household Words, 
 
 
 "3 
 
 100 
 
 Any Man of Himself, 
 
 117 
 
 First Grief, 
 Home Trial, 
 
 ELEGIAC. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 123 
 127 
 
 Flo's Photo, 
 Storm and Calm, 
 
 PACE 
 134 
 142 
 
 TWO ODES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Victoria, 149 
 
 A Midsummer Day's Dream, 157
 
 Lays of Middle Age: 
 
 and 
 
 Other Poejns.
 
 LAYS OF MIDDLE AGE. 
 
 I.—R E CONCILED. 
 
 Oi 
 
 UR loved one lay in depth of suffering, 
 And there was suffering in all the rooms, 
 Wide-eyed suspense amid the sickly glooms, 
 And faltering prayers which no relief could bring. 
 We saw the agony we could not ease, 
 As of one drowning in the sight of shore. 
 At length came lessening pain with more disease- 
 Came the calm end — a calm unknown before — 
 A calm rebuke to mortal sorrowing.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Even as in tears we gazed, the silent balm 
 Fell sweet within, for we began to see 
 A preparation in the agony, 
 Until we knew to uplift the grateful psalm, 
 Reading God's mercy in the tortured breast, 
 And thinking all was right when all was still. 
 How could we part with him we loved the best ? 
 But came the calm upon the mighty ill, 
 And we were sadly calm to see him calm. 
 
 Thoughts of that hour have tuned my soul to know 
 
 The beauty palaccd in the face of Death. 
 
 How easeful is the absence of all breath ! 
 
 How soothed the pulse whose tides have ceased to flow ! 
 
 Who brands with ' tyrant ' him w ho bears release 
 
 Up to the martyr's stake, and isles the deep 
 
 Through all its raging waste with shores of peace ? 
 
 O angel Death ! that bringest healing sleep 
 
 To bosoms wounded with a hopeless woe !
 
 Lays of Aliddle Age. 
 
 II.— The Reiease. 
 
 L 
 
 *IKE a world-weary student, free to rove 
 For ease and health by fair poetic streams, 
 To cull the flowers that only grow in dreams, 
 For simple tastes to censure or approve. 
 Would I with grateful heart make sorrow sweet. 
 The fitful blooms which now in pride I twine 
 For thee, dear Friend ! may wither at thy feet: 
 Yet haply may'st thou, in their transient shine. 
 See gleams of beauty through thine eyes of love. 
 
 No coming darkness striketh needless fears : 
 
 Yet, looking onward o'er life's glittering meads, 
 
 I spy a road and wonder where it leads. 
 
 A chill is wafted from the fleeting years. 
 
 Great Heaven ! what doom it were to walk alone 
 
 To the final Mystery ! but hand in hand, 
 
 \Vith all the generation journeying on. 
 
 We face with courage due the shadowy land. 
 
 And scarce would lag behind our marching peers.
 
 4 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 And so, best loved ! each sad and gradual trace 
 
 Our future may reveal of springtime past 
 
 Will catch a soothing from the splendour cast 
 
 On Autumn woods. Though each with each keep pace, 
 
 And age Init mark our long companionship, 
 
 If mellowing love of mine new joy illume 
 
 Within thy soul, and crown with smiles thy lip, 
 
 To my unstraying eyes through life shall bloom 
 
 A youth of beauty in thy matron face. 
 
 ///.— Thought Pictures. 
 
 1\ OON walks the earth in Summer's sultry pride. 
 Bewildcr'd butterflies of many hues 
 Flatter the flowers to yield their huncy-dews: 
 Where the leaves tremble and the shadows hide 
 Are voices wrestling for the mastery 
 Of fluted melody in feather'd throats: 
 White sails are gleaming on the quiet sea : 
 Along the craggy shore the white gull floats : 
 For clinging odours scarce a breeze can glide.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 The tawny herd-boy wields his wand of power 
 
 O'er nibbled mountain steeps ; nor knows nor thinks 
 
 How bless 'd his station, nor what golden links 
 
 Of memory he forgeth hour by hour : 
 
 The fragrant kine lie languid in the heat : 
 
 Half hid in leaves and smoke the village dreams : 
 
 The river glideth at the angler's feet : 
 
 Child-voices cheer the glade where beauty gleams 
 
 In many a sunny glint and simple flower. 
 
 Meet scenes to environ a poetic home ! 
 
 Ye, from lone impulse of the beautiful, 
 
 I joy to paint, even under skies made dull 
 
 By hovering smoke, amid a dreary boom 
 
 Of city traffic sounding evermore, 
 
 Happy to feci that round about me lies 
 
 A world as fresh and splenditl as of yore, 
 
 Whence come sweet airs like breaths from Paradise, 
 
 And thoughts like sunbeams gladdening as they come !
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 IV.— N A TURE InEXHA USTIBLE. 
 
 Vv ILED by the charm that lies in measured tones, 
 I grow enamour'd of a patient tune ; 
 Yet lives there now a beauty in the moon, 
 Or any music in the night wind's moans. 
 That has not wrought enchantment many a year ? 
 Seen was the universe with clearer eye, 
 And heard its melodies with finer ear. 
 By generations in the dust that lie. 
 And lo, their laureates on immortal thrones !' 
 
 Thus mused I wandering in the year's sweet prime, 
 
 At feud with slavery of commonplace — 
 
 Seeking how I my casual lay might grace 
 
 With thoughts new-borrow'd from the l)U(lding-timc. 
 
 The poet's richest harvest is the Spring. 
 
 Yet every opening flower I spied was wreathed 
 
 With some old bard's most gentle fancying, 
 
 Like the soft incense whicli itself outhrcathed. 
 
 Oh, wherefore load it witli superfluous rhyme?
 
 Lays of Middle Ai::;e. 
 
 Athwart my dawn of hopes there crept a chill, 
 
 Like morning frost among the youngling buds ; 
 
 But when I look'd upon the lands and floods, 
 
 And the clear azure, arch'd from hill to hill, 
 
 To win new larks to heaven — that hour there came, 
 
 Like a rich bride to her adorer's arms, 
 
 A summer feeling, like a glow of shame, 
 
 To think how I had wrong'd great Nature's charms, 
 
 Renew'd and beauteous for the poet still. 
 
 V.—BOOKS. 
 
 A. 
 
 S mong the wondrous growths of some hot clime 
 The traveller pauses, wilder'd with excess 
 Of trackless herbage, plants of gaudy dress, 
 And stately palms — so L through prose and rhyme, 
 Thick as the forest with its drowsy plumes, 
 In vain essay to compass in a life 
 The magic splendours and immortal lilooms 
 Scattered o'er pages as the foliage rife 
 Of smothering summers faint with musk and thyme.
 
 Lays of Aliddle Age. 
 
 What need of more? In the celestial bowers 
 Must new stars blossom? Must the burden'd shore 
 Of the world's continents hunger for more 
 Far-stretchint; wealth of shells? Must vernal hours 
 Alive with birds for richer music pine? 
 WTierefore more books? WTiy dip another pen 
 In the ink that burns by alchemy divine 
 Like Danae's fount, when our tired age of men 
 Is drench'd and flooded with its aureate showers? 
 
 Ah me ! we wander in a tangled maze. 
 There is no waste. So, let the eternal gold 
 From genius' mint he scatter'd myriadfold: 
 Never a star was launcITil but its tine rays 
 Took some small shade of darkness from the night; 
 The stream that sings imseen among the ferns 
 Bears welcome increase to the ocean's might ; 
 Even the minutest flower the sense discerns 
 Enriches all the breaths of summer days.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 VI.— A Dark Background. 
 
 \J NE said to me, with the meek plea in his face 
 Of faihng health, ' I have a picture, sir, 
 I wish you much to see. ' At secret stir 
 Of sympathy, I sought his dwelling-place 
 WTiere poverty sat bare. From childhood's eyes 
 Yearn 'd looks of age and urged him to fresh toil. 
 The canvas show'd ' A Dream of Paradise,' 
 Fairly conceived, and colonr'd well in oil, 
 With Eve's young blush, and Adam's lofty grace. 
 
 It was the only sunshine in the room. 
 For all the rays of gladness from around 
 Were gathcr'd in itself. The garden-ground 
 Uewy and prank'd with tlowers of wondrous bloom, 
 The skies cerulean, and the first fine forms 
 Of all humanity, shone like a gleam 
 Of peaceful azure 'mid a rack of storms. 
 Much talk'd he of the beauty of his dream — 
 Much saw I of the sadness of his doom.
 
 lo Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Some faults the picture had ; but when he roll'cl 
 A paper forth and read — ' A poor attempt, 
 From every sin of genius quite exempt ; ' 
 And added, ' It of course came back unsold,' 
 I had no eyes but for its loveliness, 
 No feeling but of sorrow for the tear 
 That came in witness of his dumb distress. 
 Ah me ! that Paradise so sweet and clear ! 
 The sickly artist and the children old ! 
 
 VI I. — Up the St re a m. 
 
 M, 
 
 USING on aged faces, oft I read 
 Their history backward. Woman ! whom I see 
 Like dry fruit wrinkled, I can trace in thee 
 The maiden beauty that was thine indeed ; 
 Smooth thy scored forehead, and about it braid 
 Soft girlish tresses ; open wide thine eyes ; 
 Round out thy cheeks for artless blushes made; 
 Ruby thy lips to smile at flatteries; 
 And row thy mouth with pearls of native lirced.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 1 1 
 
 Thou walk'st as under burdens. \Mio so light 
 In the old century, when thy nimble feet 
 Leapt to untiring violins in the fleet 
 And boisterous country-dance ? Oh age's spite ! 
 Dost frown upon the joys 'twas thine to share ? 
 Thou art grave now ; yet, at Medean touch 
 Of fancy, I can see thee young and fair. 
 In jewell'd splendour, mocking age's crutch, 
 And whirling in the mazes of the night. 
 
 WTiat rivals once had barter 'd half their gains 
 
 And all their sleep for thy conceded kiss ! 
 
 Do these old lips their low-breathed ardours miss, 
 
 And fondly mumble still of love and chains ? 
 
 I plump them back to rosebud poutings, bland 
 
 And beautiful in maidhood, and I own 
 
 The charms that put a price upon the hand 
 
 Thou gav'st, in pity of his constant moan, 
 
 To him, now old, who laughs at love-sick swains !
 
 1 2 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 VIII.— The Inner Life. 
 
 ± ROM lender thinkings to the eye's fine lid 
 A dew comes sweetly. Unforgotten sights, 
 Escapes of travel, chance-spent glorious nights 
 With those whose memory like a pyramid 
 Is broadly based and higher than all mists. 
 Our daily lot of fortune or of wrong, 
 We tell in fearless prose though the world lists. 
 But all have secrets which, like griefs in song, 
 Disguised are utterM or kept always hid. 
 
 Some early cross or long-repented sin 
 Cowers in the heart, of daylight eyes afraid; 
 Some life-aim miss'd, or failure bitter made 
 By jeering tongues; some grovelling shame of kin 
 Draining mute drops ; some haunting form and face 
 More precious than the spoils of many books; — 
 All these wc lock as in a secret place 
 The letters of dead loves, for aching looks 
 When clouds of loneliness make gloom within.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 13 
 
 But even the silent treasury of the breast, 
 By pride lone-sentinell'd, has a secret spring 
 WTiich lays it open. Music's sorrowing, 
 Through echo of some voice long years at rest, 
 May touch it groping in the tearful dark. 
 Some tale which has a mystery of truth 
 May on a sudden hit the invisible mark. 
 And charm the cloister'd memories of youth 
 To tears which but to weep is to be blest. 
 
 IX.— A Miser's Treasure. 
 
 J. N z. small chamber, cobwebb'd 'gainst the sky, 
 WTiere the celestial lights forgotten were. 
 Sat one of juiceless veins, a usurer. 
 Gloating on gold with hungry hand and eye. 
 For him the world had naught of beauty save 
 The yellow shimmer of his counted heaps. 
 Nor music but the chink his guineas gave : 
 These drank he madly in his tortured sleeps, 
 And ever as he drank his life ran dry.
 
 14 J^ays of Middle Age. 
 
 For him the seasons pattern'd all in vain 
 The joyous fields. In vain for him the streams 
 Made breezy melody. No voice of dreams 
 Came to him from the sea. The russet wain, 
 Ringing through woodland lanes, was naught to him. 
 For him the grove was tuneless, and the skies, 
 Bounteous in showers, were vile. His vision dim 
 Saw not the flowers laugh up with licjuid eyes 
 At balmy whisper of the summer rain. 
 
 His neighbours wonder'd who might be his heir, 
 
 They call'd him ' miser,' ' wretch,' ' poor grubbing worm,' 
 
 ' His mind,' said one, ' is crooked as his form. 
 
 And more of earth. ' Another envying sware, 
 
 ' By Heaven ! his very face — his every look 
 
 Is stamp'd with greed. ' To gibes he was a stone : 
 
 But from a secret drawer he sometimes took, 
 
 For tearful gaze when he was quite alone, 
 
 A fadetl writing and a lock of hair !
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 1 5 
 
 X. — C HE EK FULNESS IN AgE. 
 
 I 
 
 PASS' D a pleasant evening with Leigh Hunt. 
 The room was squared with books, 'mong which I spied 
 Rows of the Tuscan poets. On each side 
 The fire we sat ; — he, as appear'd his wont, 
 Sipping refreshful draughts of sober tea. 
 Wiry and thin, a figure tall he show'd, 
 Unbent with years. His gray hair lankily 
 Over his ears hung straight. His dark eyes glow'd. 
 He wore the conscious poet in his front. 
 
 He talk'd with store of happy similes 
 
 Of his own toils ; of trials all but past ; 
 
 Of honours coming to his age at last ; 
 
 Of stubborn heights surmounted Ijy degrees ; 
 
 Of Keats, love-sicken"d with the beautiful ; 
 
 Of all poetic sweets on I lybla hived ; 
 
 Of him whose conquering eye was crown and rule — 
 
 Kean — how immortal could his art have lived ! 
 
 To listen well was all my art to please.
 
 1 6 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Some men there are of prompt achieving mind 
 \NTio wait not any gale to waft them on, 
 But move like ships that walk the seas alone, 
 And take its ancient uses from the wind : 
 He, the fine bard of tragic Rimini, 
 Seem'd one of these on that delicious night. 
 I mark'd his soul of native buoyancy, 
 And I was cheer'd from sitting in the light 
 Of his white hairs, and wish'd me of his kind. 
 
 XL— The New Cemetery. 
 
 A. 
 
 S any lawn this burial-place is even. 
 Save the white head-stones with their dates of woe, 
 It yields no sign of those who rest below. 
 To mourning eyes no outward mark is given 
 That the smooth sward holds all the heart regrets. 
 The graves are level as the empty beds 
 That stand at home with unstirr'd coverlets; 
 Or as the prairie-turf the traveller treads 
 Where never spade has delved or [jloughshare driven.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 1 7 
 
 Our simple fathers in their church-yards old 
 
 O'er the loved dead heap'd up the grassy mound, 
 
 As they would shape the sleeper underground 
 
 For friends in dewy twilight to behold. 
 
 O fitting couch for grief to lean upon ! 
 
 It caught an earlier greeting from the day, 
 
 A later blessing from the setting sun. 
 
 Earth's kindly sob it seem'd o'er kindred clay. 
 
 The heaving turf lay lightly on the mould. 
 
 But here the callous grass shows no more sorrow 
 Than o'er the drown'd the placid ocean-plain. 
 It swells not up to meet the eyes' sweet rain. 
 What footing may the mounting spirit borrow 
 From this roll'd flat? The dead are blotted out — 
 Buried, and earth no richer — vague their sleep ! 
 We try to trace our own, almost in doubt 
 If they are there. To-day we idly weep, 
 Or faintly murmur of a golden morrow.
 
 i8 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 XII.— Once and Again. 
 
 a 
 
 NCE as I stray 'd a student, happiest then, 
 What time the Summer's garniture was on, 
 Beneath the princely shades of Kensington, 
 A girl I spied whose years might number ten, 
 With full round eyes, and fair soft English face. 
 A liveried lackey upon either side 
 Her palfrey walk'd afoot. With equal pace 
 Follow 'd a mounted dame at distance wide. 
 They thrid the turfy paths scarce seen of men. 
 
 From the surroundings of the maiden-child 
 I guess'd her Royal state and destiny. 
 Across the gulf which lay 'twixt her and me, 
 In those green alleys where the seasons smiled 
 Alike on both, though fortune most on her, 
 I dared to look, for she came slowly near. 
 Features like hers were radiant otherwhere. 
 Save for her high-bred pallor, calm and clear, 
 She might have bloom 'd a flower on any wild.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 19 
 
 Again I saw her. Alter 'd was her mien. 
 
 A matron flush upon her aspect show'd 
 
 The high sun flaming on her noonday road. 
 
 One call'd her wife — some mother — miUions queen ! 
 
 No more to her the small birds only sang. 
 
 The fluttering streets, as she went floating past, 
 
 Were bank'd with people whose hoarse voices rang 
 
 With loud ' Victorias !' Ah the difference vast ! — 
 
 The flaring city and those alleys green. 
 
 XIII. —Heredita k y Mona R CH Y. 
 
 VV HEREFORE,'' a vain boy ask'd, 'should England 
 A crown hereditary, to be conferr'd [own 
 
 Perchance on feeble brows?' A sage who heard 
 Thus answer'd — 'Argued well: the great alone 
 Should hold great sway : our king of men should rule. 
 But which were king should twenty kings arise? 
 To know its greatest men the world is dull, 
 And to the loudest yields the largest prize. 
 Whom, witii thy choice, would'st thi>u this hour enthrone?'
 
 20 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 The unripe youth exclaim'd — ' Can our brave land 
 
 Be barren ever of heroic men ? 
 
 Live they not now, with sword, or tongue, or pen, 
 
 To prove their mighty title to command?' 
 
 ' They live,' repHed the sage, ' and in such force, 
 
 That each, in virtue of his kingly mood. 
 
 Heading a party fierce with faction's curse. 
 
 Might covet triumph through his country's blood, 
 
 Till order came but from a tyrant's hand.' 
 
 A mild and temper'd rule is England's dower. 
 
 Won from a wise and stul)born ancestry. 
 
 What safety for her charter of the free 
 
 In strong hands trembling with precarious power? 
 
 Our old inheritance be still our pride. 
 
 Happy the land where each may rise and shine. 
 
 From turmoil safe, uncaring to decide 
 
 Which in the forest is the tallest pine, 
 
 WTiich in the garden is the fairest flower.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 2t 
 
 X I V.—P A S S E D A WA V. 
 
 P. 
 
 EACE dwells at last with poor Elizabeth, 
 Wife of my trusted friend. The end has come. 
 There is no tremulous voice to call him home ; 
 And yet he goes, and sits alone with Death, 
 Though useless now his tender ministries. 
 There is no fretting at his absence now ; 
 Vet sits he by her side, and sadly tries 
 To gather soothing from her tranquil brow 
 And stony bosom without pulse or breath. 
 
 The fever'd watching has been all in vain ; 
 The struggle now has ended in defeat : 
 Yet in her aspect is a rest so sweet 
 That were she waked she might again complain. 
 Oh who could wish to wring her human heart 
 With one pang more? But past is every fear: 
 Still'd by the mystery that wouUl not start 
 Although a cannon thunder'd at her ear — 
 Although her little infant cried with pain.
 
 22 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Ah me ! that one so beautiful should die ! 
 Full on her widow'd husband ere she went, 
 Like light within a shatter'd tenement, 
 Linger'd the last love-lustre of her eye. 
 On the vague threshold of the unseen life 
 She paused ; then feebly from her finger took 
 The golden circlet of the mortal wife. 
 Placed it on his, with reassuring look. 
 And wedded him to immortality. 
 
 XV.— Confidential. 
 
 Hj 
 
 IGH rose the noon. I had an hour to spare 
 In Reginald's garden, trimm'd witli niatcliless grace. 
 Warbled that day a spirit in the place, 
 Like music knowing that the flowers were fair ; 
 And I was happy, but my friend was sad. 
 So spake I rallying — ' Thou art out of tune 
 With this sweet Eden and its voices glad ! 
 What wintry cloud should dim his sky of June, 
 Of health and fortune who has ample share ? '
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 23 
 
 Sighing, he said — ' A truth which many prove, 
 With me, too slowly fear'd, has come to pass. 
 As perilous for foot as adder's grass 
 Are all the flowery ways of youthful love. ' 
 * .Sad fate,' said I, ' to love in spite of scorn ! ' 
 ' Thou judgest wrong,' cried doleful Reginald : 
 'Some leagues away a maiden pines forlorn ; 
 Thither to soothe her I am hourly call'd ; 
 Honour cries ' On ! ' and yet I fail to move ! ' 
 
 More question'd I. At length he thus explain'd 
 ' I have a cousin whom I once adored. 
 Ere yet I left my teens I long implored, 
 Until her girlish troth at last I gain'd 
 By oaths which time has turn'd to perjuries ! 
 Her beauty now is wither'd to my view, 
 But still her heart is faithful to my lies ! 
 As I wax false she weareth doul^ly true : 
 >Her love is torture now that mine has wanc<l I'
 
 ^4 i'^'ys of Middle Age. 
 
 XVI.— In Vain. 
 
 JT ITY, I said — as on a rustic form 
 We sat us down, myself and Reginald, 
 Where happy birds their true loves madrigall'd — 
 ' Pity that in this nook, where frost and storm 
 Would seem unknown, the imps of ill should lurk. 
 Like fairy cankers in the velvet buds ; 
 Pity that alien thoughts should inly work, 
 And gnaw with grief a maiden's blushful moods, 
 As berries oft are hollow'd l)y a worm. 
 
 ' Helpless as clinging fruit upon the tree 
 
 She hung upon thy love. Say she has lost 
 
 Some outward bloom, through hopes delay 'd and cross 'd, 
 
 Hath it not gone to enrich her trust in thee 
 
 Beyond thy frail desert to parallel ? 
 
 If haply some new beauty thou should'st wed, 
 
 That beauty faded, where will be its spell? 
 
 By oldest mcninry is love l)cst fed, 
 
 As farthest founts swell largest to the sea.
 
 Lavs of Middle Age. 2^ 
 
 • WTiy should thy true love any longer seek 
 
 To wear the bashful beauty on her brow 
 
 Once woo'd and worshipp'd ? \Vhere thy whisper'd vow ? 
 
 F'lowers come when airs invite. Beauty as weak 
 
 As flowers or tears, the flattery should sip 
 
 That it is still the bribe of constant love. 
 
 Cheated of that it dies.' Upon his lip 
 
 A passion trembled and with judgment strove ; — 
 
 But left the lilies in the maiden's cheek ! 
 
 XVII.— Alone. 
 
 5< 
 
 Recinalu is still a bachelor — 
 Not young, yet youthful — studious of his ease- 
 His only thought how best himself to please. 
 Of richest wines he has an endless store. 
 These are his pride, and oft as lovingly 
 As they were children he will tell their age. 
 His city house, his mansion by the sea. 
 Alternately his jovial hours engage. 
 So great his wealth it hourly groweth more.
 
 26 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 A little luck, a little keen address, 
 
 A little kindly help in time of need, 
 
 A little industry and touch of greed, 
 
 Have made his life a singular success ; 
 
 And he asks homage for his splendid gains, 
 
 Paying the flattery in meats and drinks ! 
 
 Applauding friends he daily entertains, 
 
 To ease him of himself. Sometimes he thinks 
 
 If he were poor his friends might love him less. 
 
 Gray-headed Reginai.d! he has royal parts. 
 
 And in all circles fills an honour'd seat. 
 
 Yet vain for him are maiden's accents sweet: 
 
 At wedded slavery and henpeck'd hearts 
 
 He jeers and laughs; though, when the nights are cold, 
 
 The tables empty, and he feels alone, 
 
 A memory breaks of purer joys of old ; 
 
 And, selfish to the last, he thinks of one 
 
 Who might have soothed him with her gentle arts!
 
 Lays of Middle Age. e? 
 
 xviiL— Genius and Presumption. 
 
 yl NOISE of talk was in the public ways. 
 One had arrived the city's votes to claim, 
 At whose approach the invisible trump of Fame 
 Blew into life the echoes of all praise. 
 His song had stirr'd the dust of buried Rome; 
 His pen in England's annals had struck life ; 
 His voice had made a muttering Senate dumb. 
 Lo ! a throng'd hall, with expectation rife, 
 And ears attent, and eyes of eager gaze ! 
 
 Macaulay rose; — a man of sturdy build, 
 With ageing hair, and face of dusky hue 
 Lit up with restless eyes of luminous blue ; 
 His frame erect as with disdain to yield 
 To the high task to which it was upnerved. 
 In the first lull of welcome and applause, 
 His voice bespoke a soul that never swerved 
 In its devotion to a chosen cause. 
 And all the admiring multitude was thrill'd.
 
 28 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 His arguments like deftly-wielded swords 
 
 P^lasli'd and struck home. When he resumed his seat, 
 
 A demagogue rose grimly to his feet, 
 
 And flung his pittance 'gainst the master's hoards 
 
 Of thought and knowledge; — clamour'd down, yet cool, 
 
 He talk'd in tones of ignorant dispute ! 
 
 Oh much I marvell'd at the matchless fool ! — 
 
 I so content to listen humbly mute, 
 
 And gather wisdom from the great man's words. 
 
 XIX. —POS THUMO US. 
 
 Sj 
 
 • HE sat where sorrow is content to dwell ; 
 From pious words she drew unwonted calm; 
 Her voice was lowly in the shouted psalm. 
 As the low murmur of an empty shell 
 That to one ear alone breathes out its sighs ; 
 In crape and caml)ric she was chastely clad. 
 But most she wore licr mourning in her eyes: 
 Close by her sitle a lovely boy she had. 
 Who raised his forelicad's calm licr giicf to quell.
 
 Lays o f Middle Age. 29 
 
 Like one who by the troubled orbs makes guess 
 Of where an unseen planet shines afar, 
 By her emotion I could trace a star 
 Hid in the secret heaven. Her pale distress 
 Bore record of a love no cloud could dim — 
 A sweet betrothal kiss — a burning vow — 
 A trembling marriage blissful to the brim— 
 A sheltering arm — a calm advising brow — 
 A death, a burial, and a loneliness. 
 
 \Miat was the lost one like? The boy, I ween, 
 Reveal'd the features of his countenance 
 To me as to the mother's mindful glance. 
 Even as a painter's practised eye may glean 
 Looks of the dead from living semblances, 
 To clothe the child with age I straight began, 
 Adding Time's mellowing touches by degrees, 
 Until my mind caught vision of the man — 
 The buried man whom I had never seen.
 
 30 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 XX.— The Crown of Song. 
 
 1 N clays when monarchs fought and minstrels sang, 
 The harp was oft-times stronger than the sword : 
 It urged the patriot's cause, and wing'd the word 
 That flash'd a glory on the combat's clang: 
 Its music was a nation's sympathy, 
 Present applause, and Fame's enduring crown : 
 Prompter and prize of high-plumed chivalry, 
 War's shout, love's sigh, wound's balm, and death's renown- 
 How ring the names in Chevy-Chase that rang! 
 
 All records of brave deeds are poor and tame 
 To the full trumpet-notes by poets blown. 
 In many a stately tomb they rest unknown. 
 Lost to true hearts, and dead to perfect fame, 
 Wlioin no iniinortal of llic Muses' court 
 In any deathless lay has sung aloud. 
 I''ame, Fame I how is thy votary lliy sport ! — 
 To-day the idol of tlic shouting crowd — 
 To-morrow but the plianlom of a name!
 
 Lays of Middle A,^e. %l 
 
 O England ! when has mighty son of thine 
 
 Been loved and mourn'd like thy dead WELLINGTON? 
 
 From field and council is our hero gone, 
 
 But who may weave his crown of song divine ? 
 
 We vow in bronze his memory shall endure, 
 
 And lo ! a kingdom's tears upon his pall ! 
 
 Vet on Corunna's height immortal Moore 
 
 In Wolfe's fine verse has nobler funeral ; 
 
 And Nelson livelier lives in Campbell's line. 
 
 xxi.— War. 
 
 A 
 
 LMOST twice twenty years of sweet repose 
 Had bless'd our land — when, hark ! a cry of war 
 Clang'd through the isles. Muscovy's towering Czar, 
 Whetted for conquest of his Moslem foes. 
 Had smitten Europe with a tyrant's glaive! 
 The shock that palsied Almayne with alarms, 
 Drew answering echoes from tlic Western wave ; 
 The martial blood of France flew fierce to arms, 
 And England's chivalry in transport rose!
 
 32 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 In cot and hall were women's looks aghast, 
 And manly hearts unmann'd in love's embrace; 
 Blind hurried partings left their scalding trace 
 On cheeks soon to be dried against the blast 
 Which stream'd a hundred pennants to the skies. 
 P'rom clamorous shores went forth our armed host ; 
 Piedmont waken'd at their battle-cries; 
 While on their side were murder'd Poland's ghost, 
 And Hungary's tears, and songs of triumphs past ! 
 
 Anon the clouds of war in thunder broke, 
 Lighting with baleful flames the Baltic flood, 
 Drenching the fierce Crimean land with blood, 
 And murking Asia's plains with sulphurous smoke ! 
 The storm boom'd on. At length, when all were tired 
 Of mutual slaughter's awful holocaust. 
 Came words of truce. A glad salute was fired ; 
 Rock'd e%'ery steeple ; fluttcr'd every mast; 
 And in a grateful calm the world awoke.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 33 
 
 XXII.— After the Fight. 
 
 1 IME'S shore, that ghsten'd in the sweet light shed 
 Of peace new-dawning in the turban'd East, 
 Was strewn with dead. ^\^lO spread the vulture- feast 
 Himself was dead— great Nicholas was dead. 
 Dead were St. Arnaud, Raglan high of mind, 
 And bold Cathcart. Dead, dead to all but fame. 
 Were thousands butcher'd. Where the wounded pined, 
 England's brave daughter of the tuneful name, 
 Fair Nightingale, her nursing sisters led. 
 
 What loves and hopes were hush'd beneath the blooms 
 That grew beyond the stormy Euxine's flood ! 
 What gain had Europe from her drench of blood? 
 WTiat fruit to show, save one sad hill of tombs? 
 Our bronzed and bearded warriors from the fi^ht 
 Made England stand up strong within her seas : — 
 But flash'd no prestige of a higher might 
 From those who fell on fiery Chersonese? 
 Or sprang but barren glory from their dooms?
 
 34 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Thanks be to GOD, who made us what we are ! 
 He fixed our fate — to lapse in languid age, 
 Or suffer grandly on a tragic stage. 
 The scowl of tyranny in King or Czar, 
 Quails at the proud defiance of an eye 
 Illumin'd with a fire of martyrdom. 
 Man wrong'd feels most his immortality, 
 And holds life worthless to the general sum 
 Of freedoms nurtured with the blood of war. 
 
 XXIII.—CONSOLA TION. 
 
 We 
 
 EEP, lonely eyes ! whose seeing is in vam. 
 Weep, widow'd eyes ! that may as well be blind. 
 The ships that come, uncared of any wind. 
 Bring many a manly shout and martial strain ; 
 The wharfs are throng'd ; — but you are lonely still ! 
 ■S'et were it well to soothe your wilder sobs — 
 To gather calm from Cathcart's sacred hill. 
 And wear the sovereign grief that hides its throbs, 
 With wet-press 'd fingers on the lips of pain.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 35 
 
 In fancy I have listen'd to your moans: 
 They who had thrill'd you with their meeting cheers 
 Rest far away, beyond your reach of tears ! 
 What public gain for your great woe atones? 
 Yet towers our queenly England calm and fair : 
 Well knew her sons the fealty they should give ; 
 Unlacing fond arms at the trumpet's blare, 
 They dared to die that liberty might live, 
 And built us ramparts of heroic bones ! 
 
 Who knows that herds might browse on peaceful downs, 
 
 Or rustling Autumn spread her mellow crops 
 
 For the glad sickle, over straths and slopes. 
 
 By happy hamlets and laborious towns, 
 
 vSave for the guarding of our heroes' deeds? 
 
 Still, 'neath her ribs of valour, England's heart 
 
 Beats to a tender tune when valour bleeds: 
 
 She takes the warrior's, then the widow's part. 
 
 And gilds with homely love her high renowns !
 
 36 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 XXIV.— The Majority. 
 
 I 
 
 HA VE been trying, half a rainy day, 
 To count how many of my friends are dead ; 
 How many Hve Hfe's mazy way to tread ; 
 And which are most — the seal'd in senseless clay, 
 Or they to whom the Inland winds minister. 
 The larger number have their sacred lodge 
 In marble darkness of the sepulchre. 
 Or Ijlinding light beyond. WTicrefore I judge 
 That on my journey I am past midway. 
 
 And so, like one whose bulk of kin have gone 
 To some far land, returning nevermore — 
 Who wistful looks unto that other shore 
 As to his ultimate goal, yet would postpone 
 His voyage thither, having fond hearts left 
 Awhile to l)ind him to his native strand — 
 I think of those gone first ; yet, unbereft 
 Of many a seeking eye and clasping hand, 
 I linger here, though white hands wave me on.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 37 
 
 Oft as our trusting darlings to the fold 
 
 Of the Eternal Shepherd are removed, 
 
 Our links are loosen'd with the world we loved. 
 
 The earth is thinly peopled to the old ; — 
 
 Sad anniversaries this truth avouch : 
 
 Yet soothing are the ills that by degrees 
 
 Make the grave welcome as tired labour's couch ; 
 
 The cautery is kind that kills disease ; 
 
 With breath of sighs truth's mottoes are unroU'd. 
 
 XXV.— Changed Scenes. 
 
 w. 
 
 HERE first my life its prattling course began, 
 Offended Nature gather 'd up her sweets; 
 Labour and commerce and invading streets, 
 The slow sure progress of the conqueror man, 
 Threw doom of exile on the trampled grass ; 
 Blotting the sky the smoky banners curl'd 
 Of toil exulting ; slopes where once might pass 
 The herd's lone life were throng'd ; the sunny world 
 Of birds was crush'd; the waters darkling ran.
 
 38 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Yet even within the batter'd thoroughfare, 
 
 Flowers of the youthful heart to beauty spring, 
 
 And root themselves in stones ; the bright-faced ring 
 
 Of children in the city's gaslight glare 
 
 Gives out a voice of mirth as unsubdued 
 
 As greets the awakening stars on village-green. 
 
 So from the seasons in their bounteous mood. 
 
 Though scarce a greening bough might cheer the scene, 
 
 My heart drew summer gladness unaware. 
 
 Now, only now, alas ! a sorrow clouds 
 My lapsing days, to think that not a spot 
 Unchanged remains, by memory unforgot, 
 Where I at last might rest away from crowds. 
 I mark the old man of the hamlet's love 
 For his first play-ground and his final bed. 
 'Mong sights of change my heart can only move, 
 'Mong unfamiliar scenes my footsteps tread. 
 And alien seems my home of dust and shrouds.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 39 
 
 XXVI.— As PI R A TION. 
 
 (_/ for a garden-croft of wholesome mould, 
 Small for my culture, whither I might hie, 
 Ere the day-lily opes its darling eye, 
 And whence, at waking of the marigold, 
 FlushM with the roseate dawn, to my first meal 
 I might return with zest my boyhood knew! 
 My heart is sick for Nature, for I feel 
 Fallen out of harmony with her flowers and dew, 
 And gurgling wells, and musics manifold. 
 
 Last night I read the whole that I have writ. 
 Trying to wean me from my poet's dream. 
 I have been blowing bubbles on the stream 
 Of fretted Castaly. Fancy and wit 
 Are duU'd and mudded at their finer fount. 
 Yet through a dreary waste of days o'erworn, 
 Sighing of frailest things to swell the amount, 
 How many souls, in light of music born, 
 Sing to themselves, for other joy unfit !
 
 40 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 How many stretch vain wings while doom'tl to plod 
 'Mong limed themes that snare the soul to earth ! 
 In bloomy Paradise had Adam birth: 
 Say, does a memory of his first abode 
 Linger with man? Oft do I yearn to find 
 A calm retreat where Summer spreads her gains, 
 Where the hand's toil might ease the jaded mind, 
 And where as freely forth might flow my strains 
 As ploughman's whistle on a moorland road. 
 
 xxvii.-Fame. 
 
 I. 
 
 F I must mourn my Spring of being past, 
 My older life should boast fresh wealth of flowers — 
 Adornings of the sunnier Summer hours 
 Of manhood's ripeness — thoughts more thickly cast 
 In richer fields of memory to bloom. 
 And catch a glory from diviner skies. 
 Vet falls c\ shadow of the coming doom, 
 As of a gathering cloud on all I |irize — ■ 
 A sense of loosening leaves and threatening blast.
 
 Lays of MidiUe Age. 41 
 
 Great Alexander conquer'd half the earth, 
 Yet died in youth; and mighty C^sar wept 
 To think that he had Hved like years, nor leapt 
 Into the arms of Fame. To feel a dearth 
 Of fruitage in our lives and springtime gone, 
 Is bitter grief. To gardens, fields, and woods. 
 Springtime returns ; but ah ! life's vernal sun 
 Comes not again to melt the wintry moods 
 Of hearts unhappy for a second birth. 
 
 And where are they who wing'd my callow muse 
 With words that wore a light of prophecy, 
 When hope was strong to mould its own decree. 
 And shape immortal futures? Ah to lose 
 Sucli ministrants to effort ! By my side 
 Their torches sicken'd. Now that these are out. 
 All fame were dark, for theirs had been the pride, 
 Save that one liveth still to list its shout, 
 Or for its silence coin some sweet excuse.
 
 4? Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 XX VIII. — Unwritten Fancies. 
 
 1 N my young Summers, comrade of my noons 
 Of truant ramblings to the distant fields, 
 Where the brown Hnnets had their leafy bields, 
 Was a fair boy, who, as swift liquid tunes 
 Gush'd to the air and made it beautiful. 
 Would pause and listen with delight unbreathed. 
 Fine lessons conn'd we in that ample school, 
 And, graduates of Nature, oft we wreathed 
 Sweet-vision 'd laurels through the flowery Junes. 
 
 He had a heart as liberal to give 
 
 As Autumn that unask'd by any wind 
 
 Drops richest fruit. His natural bent of mind 
 
 Was towards bright virtue, as the sensitive 
 
 Spirit of growth in trees is towards the light. 
 
 Beauty incarnating immortal love 
 
 He worshipp'd. In his creed the stars of night 
 
 Were God's own lamps, hung in the void above 
 
 To calm the shuddering fears of all who live.
 
 Lays of Middle A ge. 43 
 
 In mountain solitudes he sang his fill, 
 
 But to the world was dumb as the shy stream 
 
 That o'er the populous plain pursues its dream, 
 
 And leaves its music on the lonely hill. 
 
 O world of wealth and waste— of loved and spurn 'd ! 
 
 How many fancies are as fleeting breaths, 
 
 Or last year's leaves, or lovely eyes that burn'd 
 
 In skulls that now are dust ! Yet o"er such deaths 
 
 Awakes the myriad life that pulses still. 
 
 XXIX.— Too Much We Marvel. 
 
 Tc 
 
 00 much we marvel at the things of old. 
 Too much we deem that Grecian love is dead ; 
 That Roman matrons are no longer bred ; 
 That modern women's wiles are tame and cold. 
 Compared with those that made the gorgeous East 
 A lap where valour slept and lost a crown. 
 Too much we fancy life a vulgar feast ; 
 That love's romance lives but in old renown, 
 And in the passionate tales by poets told.
 
 44 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Never a glow of rapture would arise, 
 Never a tear of sorrow would descend, 
 O'er stories always read unto the end, 
 But that they stir some hidden fount that lies 
 In the universal bosom. If not kin 
 To the immortals of the vanish'd ages, 
 How do we take their joys and sorrows in, 
 Live o'er their loves in bright historic pages, 
 And bridge the centuries to blend our sighs? 
 
 Long have I learn'd of common life to prove 
 That in secluded nooks, where no storm comes — 
 In the recesses of well-order'd homes. 
 With no perturbed surface seen aliove, 
 Passion survives, and burns, and yearns for wings; 
 That to our sober world there still are given 
 Enraptured Saithos striking golden strings, 
 Distress'd Lucretias going pure to heaven. 
 And Cleoi'ATKAS making sovereign love.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 45 
 
 XXX.— Sunshine and S^vrm. 
 
 \J JULIA ! if a love no death can sever, 
 But stretching wings of hope beyond the grave, 
 Content thy wish. Fate's self shall be thy slave : 
 Small means well spent will prove the bounteous Giver, 
 While endless wealth will sparkle in our books, 
 And in the rapture of my Julia's eyes.' 
 Content and pride were in the maiden's looks; 
 Her clasps and kisses made divine replies ; 
 And Henry felt she was his own forever. 
 
 Thrice came the swallow. A sweet evening's shade 
 Fell on the pair, all homely by themselves ; 
 But Henry, book in hand, was with the elves 
 On sheeny meadows where the moonlight stray'd. 
 At length, with sullen anger in her eye, 
 Kindled at neighbouring grandeurs, Julia spake. 
 Like one who made a wrong of poverty ! 
 The dreamer stared as from a dream awake. 
 And saw his fairy vision slowly fade.
 
 46 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Content was fled. Two reckless summers more, 
 
 O'er yielding carpets JULIA swept her halls, 
 
 'Mid marquetry, and ormolu, and walls 
 
 Whose mirrors made her proud ! Henry, heart-sore. 
 
 From costly goblets other comforts drain'd : 
 
 Keats, Milton, Shakespeare's self no more could charm, 
 
 Nor the new friends whose hollow laughters pain'd ! 
 
 What next? A baffled hope — a fierce alarm — 
 
 Dishevell'd grief — and frenzy at the door! 
 
 xxxi.—A Brighter Clime. 
 
 'Z. 
 
 f AND ED at last — the climate is divine — 
 I suffer little — I am strong and well.' 
 So wrote a noble youth in pain to quell 
 The fears that he had traced in every line 
 Of the loved faces he had left at home. 
 ' The wind was fair that blandly wafted me 
 To these bright shores where not an angry foam, 
 Unless in storms I've seen not, frets the sea. 
 Here will I find the health for which I pine.'
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 47 
 
 Again he wrote — ' I every dny improve. 
 Oh what a fair and heavenly land is this ! 
 It is a garden steep'd in Summer bliss; 
 The orange hangs its lamps in every grove ; 
 The grapes are luscious in the curling vines ; 
 The peaches ripen in the open sun. 
 That I may soon return I have good signs, 
 And count my weeks of absence one by one. 
 To Rosa kisses, and to all my love. ' 
 
 In the next packet the dear hand was miss'd. 
 
 A stranger told how life had vanish'd fast, 
 
 Vet cheer'd with hope's faint smiles unto the last ! 
 
 Even when a finger-ring his poor thin wrist 
 
 Had almost clasp'd, of healthful flesh bereft, 
 
 His talk was all of home ! 'Neath simple grass. 
 
 Like England's own, he sleeps. Naught, naught is left 
 
 For weeping RosA but a dream that was — 
 
 And sundry letters often read and kiss'd.
 
 48 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 xxxii.—Se vered. 
 
 L 
 
 N zones of cedar 'd hills and sultry seas, 
 The dusky nations dream'd among the vines ; 
 But where the winds made fierce the stalwart pines, 
 Labour and genius spurn'd the couch of ease, 
 Drill'd the rich ore, and skimm'd the fields of light. 
 To broaden all the circles of the known 
 Men went like marshall'd seraphs to the fight — 
 Swam in the golden clouds that gird God's throne, 
 And forged for magic doors enchanted keys ! 
 
 The stars they measured and the planets weigh 'd ! 
 From hieroglyphs of stone gray scrolls unfurl'd 
 Rich with the wonders of the primal world ! 
 They the strong vapour and swift lightning made 
 Drudges for ease and profit ! Not a shore. 
 Sweet bay, or sea-scarr'd promontory caught 
 Unmark'd the echo of the wild waves' roar, 
 Save where old Winter his proud ftjrtrcss wrought 
 Of icy solitude and dreary shade !
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 49 
 
 Thither in vain all eyes might anxious bend 
 
 Through gray-cold years. Vet fancy shaped the gloorn: 
 
 'Twas now a growing ship, and now a tomb 
 
 Of homeless snow without a human friend. 
 
 The loved were there, and had been absent long. 
 
 Help went when hope was dead ; — but why persist ? 
 
 For lo ! a sever'd twain are all my song — 
 
 The fearless Franklin fading into mist. 
 
 And one brave heart un widow 'd to the end ! 
 
 xxxiii.—From My Window. 
 
 ^1. LL day the snow had fallen in a white 
 And blinding whirl. But that the flakes were fair 
 As tears of angels, the bewilder'd air 
 Had been a chaos of dull spotted night. 
 The roofs, the window-ledges, and the rails 
 Were furr'd with cold. A tree, long obsolete 
 Even to the wooing of sweet .Summer gales. 
 Stood like tix'd coral. Through the muffled street 
 Stole clotted wheels, and many a shivering wight.
 
 50 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Towards eve, the clouds had wholly shaken down 
 
 Their wintry fleece. Above the pale roofs gloom 'd 
 
 A leaden sky, with all its stars entomb'd ; 
 
 The frost fell bitter on the sheeted town. 
 
 At intervals a toiling horse went past 
 
 Pufiing out fog. Back to my parlour grate 
 
 All warmth was scared. Homeward hurrying fast. 
 
 Went many hungry souls, with slippery gait, 
 
 And blue pinch 'd faces pucker'd to a frown. 
 
 The long thick night was stifling in its arms 
 The shrinking day. Ah me ! the houseless poor ! 
 Ah straying sheep ujion a lonely moor ! 
 Ah weary travellers, amljusji'd with alarms 
 Amid the whelming drifts! My heart was moved 
 Towards all around to act a neighl:)our's part : 
 Had any knock 'd, how fain would I have proved 
 How Winter breeds a warmth aboul the licart, 
 Even as the mantling snow earth's bosom warms.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 5 1 
 
 XXXI V. —He LP less. 
 
 M, 
 
 IDNIGHT ! A female shriek, piercing and strong, 
 Wrestles with curses in the public street. 
 None pity — none obey. Once to his feet 
 Had leapt a champion to avenge the wrong 
 At woman's voice as at a trumpet's call. 
 The chivalry is dead in modern schools ; 
 And that mad scream is lonely — heard by all — 
 As bittern's cry among the sedgy pools : 
 Distress is helpless in the Christian throng. 
 
 ' Some poor lost wretch ! — why stir ? A sisterhood 
 
 Of sin and suffering has been her choice ; 
 
 She reaps what she has sow'd— why heed her voice ? 
 
 Such cries are common — they are understood.' 
 
 And with such solace to its sleep again 
 
 Sinks the soothed head. Yet she who shrieks and cowers 
 
 In murderous fear, perchance remembers when 
 
 She blush 'd an Amaryllis in the bowers 
 
 Of rustic love, and life was pure and goud.
 
 52 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Fell she or was she dragg'd ? The shame and tears 
 
 Are hers ; but whose the guilt ? O age of gold ! 
 
 How may some weeping memory have told 
 
 The household ana of her childish years ! 
 
 How at her whispers may have leapt the blood, 
 
 Though now a city to her cries is mute ! 
 
 Yet, at the anguish of her alter'd mood, 
 
 And at the maniac terror of her suit, 
 
 Somewhere some breast may shake with deeper fears. 
 
 XXXV.— Rich Only. 
 
 J. HIS note came to me in a free glad hand, 
 
 Unblotted by a tear: — ' Our millionaire 
 
 Died yesternight. I pray you, sir, prepare 
 
 A tribute to his v/orth. You understand 
 
 How best to word it.' P'lush'd with honest shame, 
 
 I tore the insulting paper fiercely through, 
 
 And gave its hundred atoms to the flame. 
 
 Then thus I mused: — ' Let the paid chisel hew 
 
 Ill-fitting phrases at an heir's command !
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 53 
 
 ' The moveless marble will hold fast the lies 
 To one untrusted spot ; and these the moss 
 In time will cover, even as earth the dross 
 Soon to be placed with tawdry obsequies 
 Where never Grief will hang her asphodel. 
 No ink of mine shall be made substitute 
 For the pure drops from Sorrow's sacred well. 
 Ah me ! the loudest epitaphs how mute 
 To silent grassy mounds and weeping eyes ! ' 
 
 His death was buzz'd on 'Change. Some said, ' Alas ! 
 
 How vain his wealth ! ' Others, ' His hugest heap 
 
 Could bribe not the Destroyer ! ' Quiet his sleep, 
 
 Now that a simple shroud is all he has. 
 
 I breathe no censure : what was due he paid — 
 
 WTiat owing he exacted; he was just. 
 
 But not for him will I a chaplet braid, 
 
 Or to the spot where rests his unloved dust 
 
 Mislead one pilgrim. Let the poor man pass !
 
 54 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 XXXVI.— Whom Have I Known? 
 
 vV HOM have I known that I remember best? 
 Whom do I feel that I most truly loved ? 
 WTio fix'd his image never to be moved 
 From the clasp'd cabinet of my brain and breast ? 
 Was it not he of wise and chaste desire — 
 Of brightest thought, yet sweetest modesty; 
 With tongue of eloquence and eye of fire ; 
 Vet unaware of how he stood so high, 
 From never looking down on any guest ? 
 
 Was it not he who, as a gracious knight 
 Curbs his steed proudly, rein'd his temper in ; 
 Whose simple presence was rebuke to sin ; 
 Whose manly charity was death to spite ; 
 Who look'd on mortal foibles with a glance 
 Of tenderness; who knew to list as well 
 As to discourse with kingly utterance ; 
 Who scorn'd to wound where if a harsh word fell 
 The wound were deadly as the adder's bite ?
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 55 
 
 To greatest minds the least is ever known 
 
 Of their own greatness. Theirs the towering thought 
 
 That dwarfs each noble deed themselves have wrought. 
 
 Likest to God, and nearest to His throne, 
 
 Are they who under blatant calumnies 
 
 Keep mute the tongue can fulmine to the skies 
 
 For others' right ; whom simple pleasures please ; 
 
 And who, o'er heights of toil and sacrifice, 
 
 Fincl their chief meed in thoughts of duty done. 
 
 XXX J 'II. —He a r t- a che. 
 
 IV, 
 
 HA T simple fools the lender passion makes 
 Of many a goodly youth ! Friend Cil.\Rl.ES, I know 
 The coil that chafes thee; — I have guess "d thy woe. 
 Thou lov'st where love the fever 'd motion takes 
 Of torturing douln. The proud LiSF.TTF. has charms 
 As sparkling as Aurora's pearly gleams: 
 Oh that her cincture were thy seeking arms ! 
 Yet when thou fain would'st clasp her in thy dreams. 
 She is gone like Summer mist when morn awakes.
 
 56 Lays of Middle Age, 
 
 When ihou woukl'st spurn her as a maid fursworn, 
 She cahns thy jealous frenzy with a smile : 
 When thou would 'st hang thy faith upon her wile, 
 Her looks are cold, and thou art quite forlorn. 
 Poor page ! that bendest to her beckoning brow 
 When she would teach the world her beauty's state, 
 Her lirooch or bracelet is as prized as thou ! 
 She is a tyrant whom thy pride should hate : 
 She is a mocker whom thy truth should scorn. 
 
 Of thy own worth thy sense must be as slight 
 
 As of its precious freight the carrier-dove : 
 
 Why wreck the treasure of so great a love 
 
 On one who draweth from thy pain delight ? 
 
 Leave her alone a mark for any blast. 
 
 Win a true heart, where comes nor storm nor cold: 
 
 So shall thy life, its perilous trial past, 
 
 Be as a billow by the headlands roll'd 
 
 To silvery ripples in the shelter'd bight.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 57 
 
 XXX VI H. —Epithalamium. 
 
 S^ 
 
 • HE is thine at last — thy own adoring wife ! 
 Thank the dear Gou for so divine a boon. 
 Heaven opes its beauty on thy honeymoon: 
 Thou see'st the light that when thy mortal strife 
 Is ended may be thine for evermore. 
 So full of happiness, thy bosom now 
 Can hold no pain: thou wert asleep before, 
 With dreams of anguish working on thy brow : 
 Thou now hast waken'd lu a finer life. 
 
 Long hast thou look'd into thy Emma's eyes, 
 And gather 'd calm to make thy spirit strong: 
 Nor sneer of worldly pride, nor word of wrong, 
 Can move thee more to secret pangs and sighs. 
 For thou art shelter'd in the whitest arms 
 That ever trembled at a great heart's beating. 
 Already thou'rt in heaven- -above all harms — 
 Above all envious darts, as vain and fleeting 
 As arrows aim'd at birds that sail the skies.
 
 58 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Thine own ! thine own ! — ^the heart is all surrender 
 That at thy first coy meeting throbb'd with fear. 
 Life's ills are otherwhere ; its bliss is here — • 
 Here in a love as exquisite and lender 
 As ever ripen 'd to unrivall'd flower. 
 Should rapture soar upon a fleeting wing, 
 Thine be the deeper joy of calmer hour — 
 A balm for every ache that age may bring, 
 And for the gloom of death a dream of splendour. 
 
 XXXIX.— In the Street. 
 
 •^JL herd of beeves chokes up the angry street, 
 Goaded by cruel hands ; while, following near, 
 Some dingy sheep press on in huddling fear — 
 For tranquil pastures making piteous bleat. 
 Hemm'd in by snarling dogs, helpless, at liay, 
 'Mid hurrying crowds, and no green peep of home, 
 All stagger feel)ly past. Ah ! happy they 
 If haunted by no vision of the doom 
 To which they go with blind reluctant feet !
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 59 
 
 Sad sight, alas ! If righteous, who can tell ? 
 Feeling is weak : God may have sent man food 
 In living shape, with finely pulsing blood, 
 And eyes of dumb appeal. Here, where I dwell, 
 The hunted mouse is murder'd in my sight. 
 Though arm'd for protests of defensive strife. 
 Small for concealment, or alert for flight, 
 On earth — in sea — in air, life preys on life: 
 In the red shambles all perhaps is well. 
 
 Yet from the ensanguined histories of time 
 Prate we content of Heaven's obscure decrees, 
 And take God's sanction for man's madnesses? 
 Feel we not rather the strong hate of crime 
 As our true monitor ? So I, recluse 
 But sad and watchful as these poor brutes pass, 
 Even when I judge their flesh for human use, 
 Am fain to wish them happy on the grass. 
 And me their shepherd making grateful rhyme.
 
 6o Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 XL.— The Revolt. 
 
 JL,0! 
 
 where the Ganges winds through sultry plains, 
 The awful banner of revolt unfurl'd ! 
 God ! will the demon fires that fright the world 
 Ne'er smoulder out ? Must tears like thunder-rains 
 Still weep the lightning's ravage ? England's sons, 
 And more, her shuddering babes and frenzied daughters, 
 Have found such woe as the chaste daylight shuns: 
 Post follows post with tales of wrongs and slaughters. 
 Till vengeance riots in the Christian's veins. 
 
 Oh ! dusky warriors of a fiery land. 
 If our brave slain were strangers to your tongue. 
 And could not move you with the accents wrung 
 From lips that ([uivcr'd at a lost command ; 
 If vain their pleading to your ignorant ears 
 As tortured billows the deaf rocks assailing ; 
 Was there no eloquence in woman's tears. 
 Or in sick childhood's self-translated wailing, 
 That were you human you might understand ?
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 6i 
 
 In grief we look'd upon our loving ones, 
 
 And call'd them by their dearest household names : 
 
 How had we felt had these, 'mid shrieks and shames, 
 
 Found murder mercy under burning suns ? 
 
 Britannia shudders and a moment weeps ; 
 
 Then rising sudden, with her eyes aglow, 
 
 Hurls all her thunders from her giant steeps ; 
 
 Yet, ere one bolt from home has struck the foe, 
 
 Far Delhi crumbles under English guns. 
 
 XLL— Victory. 
 
 w. 
 
 E heard the wild roar of the cannonade 
 In broken dreams ; and, 'mid the clearing smoke- 
 Oh never daylight on such horror broke ! — 
 Saw mangled limbs of matron and of maid. 
 To insult dead, with flesh of innocents 
 By hell-kites torn. But lo ! the hot air shook 
 With storm of steel, nor peace in British tents 
 Dwelt till for every gash a blow was struck. 
 And for each clotted tress a life had paid.
 
 62 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Honour to Campbell and the dauntless brave! 
 Tears, tears for Havelock, whose heroic brand, 
 F"rom startled sheath sprang flaming to his hand, 
 And scatter 'd lightnings to avenge and save ! 
 Woe to the traitors! well they play'd their parts: 
 Theirs were the triumphs which a world abhors: 
 We gave them British arms, but British hearts 
 Beat in the bosoms of the conquerors 
 Who drove them howling to a felon grave. 
 
 O clotted tresses of the lost and loved ! 
 
 O small gash'd hands that with the ringlets twined ! 
 
 The fiery eyes of Vengeance' self are blind 
 
 With scalding tears. Vet, by fell suffering proved, 
 
 How England towers a giant to the world ! 
 
 Weeping her loved ones vanquish 'd, and the fate 
 
 Of Havelock, Neill, and Nicholson, — while hnrlVl 
 
 Ikr vengeance on the foe, in pride of hate, 
 
 Her foot on India's neck, she stanils unmoved.
 
 Lays of Middle Age.' 63 
 
 xlil—JVhen? 
 
 vV HEN will it come?— the grand and gracious time 
 WTien the mild light that tills our Christian hearths — 
 Born of good books, and happy household mirths, 
 And poets' dreamings of the peaceful prime — 
 Will steal like morning through the city lanes 
 And tame the angers that make \'irtue sad ;■ 
 Thence spread a noontide glory o'er the plains 
 Where foes are met, till faces passion-mad 
 
 Relax and melt into a love sublime? 
 
 \Mien will it come? — the reign of judgment cool, 
 When truth and right shall compass in one band 
 All isles and continents? — when every land 
 Shall glow with worship of the beautiful 
 In nature, virtue, charity, and God? — 
 When kindred, one in love through divers paths. 
 Shall have their semblances in States abroad — 
 And, as in households strange to hates and wraths, 
 The world's one code shall be the Golden Rule?
 
 64 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 When will it come? — the age when to their den 
 Rapine, and lust, and murder shall be scared? 
 Still by our warriors must the sword be bared 
 Against the grim assaults of savage men ? 
 Is the dream vain that, in some far-off year. 
 In its own saintly lustre panoplied. 
 Goodness shall walk the world without a fear? 
 When will it come, — the proudly prophesied? 
 Lord! Lord of Destiny ! make answer, When? 
 
 xlih.—The Resumption. 
 
 Fi 
 
 ULL many days I laid my Muse asleep, 
 Not through suspicion of a liarren age, 
 For ever on my near world's shifting stage 
 Went by a pageant, with the phantom sweep 
 Of endless sorrow eased by eyes divine ; 
 Hut those about me read no rhymed books, 
 Nor hung hcait-charin'd on any trancing line ; 
 My thoughts took worldly colour from their looks. 
 And worldly gains were all I cared to reap.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 65 
 
 Proud Poesy drew back with face of shame 
 To see me temper'd to a servile yoke. 
 Vet, while I shared the social evening joke, 
 And loves and laughters to delight me came, 
 Was I not happy ? \Mierefore waste the years 
 A shy itinerant in the groves of song ? 
 Even as a half-built house, when frost appears, 
 My rhyme stood still, and in the common throng 
 I moved unmindful of my nobler aim. 
 
 Vet once again ! A lustrous eve it was 
 Of opening lights. For host, a friend I had, 
 Who, 'mid a round of faces fair and glad. 
 Shook off a learned load of forms and laws. 
 The talk was genial, letter'd, and o'erflush'd 
 With radiance caught from dreamy Tennyson. 
 That night, beneath the stars, I felt all hush'd 
 At echo of a strain long-time begun. 
 And secret thrill of a remote applause.
 
 66 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 xLiv.— Where are the Friends? 
 
 w. 
 
 here arii the fearless friends who once were mine ? 
 Can they be sleeping under earthy mounds 
 Who travell'd with me through the dim profounds 
 Of speculation upon things divine ? — 
 Who, thorough Poesy's enchanted meads, 
 Were my companions many a blissful eve ? — 
 With whom I pierced the veil of mystic creeds, 
 And, nigher God, first learn'd in joy to weave 
 The lay I offer at a dearer shrine ? 
 
 Of the same waters drank we ; and, in sooth, 
 So small our stature, and so lofty grew 
 The jewell'd herbage, we could nothing view 
 Beyond our teeming oasis of youth. 
 Embosom'd in a world of greenery. 
 Only when looking upward had we scope 
 To range at will. We saw an azure sea 
 Beacon'd with stars. Ah ! blindly now I grope 
 O'er desert wastes for blessed wells of trutli.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 67 
 
 O Heaven ! how brief the span that lies before ! 
 
 How have I profited this tract of time ? 
 
 What have I done of deathless deed or rhyme 
 
 To be a joy of life for evermore ? 
 
 If comes the seal at last of turf or stone, 
 
 Whence the wild wish round this death-fated clay, 
 
 With creeping age like Winter o'er me blown, 
 
 To feel the buds of a perennial May ? 
 
 Shower down, ye stars ! the ardent creeds of yore ! 
 
 XL V. -^ The Ink i '-/table. 
 
 jTi. GRIM and shadowy shape forever stands 
 In front of all humanity. He keeps 
 Watch for the sailor on the treacherous deeps : 
 His breath is heavy on the sun-parch'd lands. 
 The bribe of wealth, fair beauty's pleading tears. 
 Are vain to stay him ; vain, too, is the appea 
 Of infant's innocence or age's fears. 
 There is no heart beneath his ribs to feel — 
 No yielding flesh u]-)on his knotted hands.
 
 68 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Man soars into the wide eternities 
 
 Till, wilder'd in their awful solitudes, 
 
 He shrinks for soothing to the homely moods 
 
 Of womanly affection, and the wise 
 
 Calm faith of childhood, and the love display 'd 
 
 In the familiar smile the season wears. 
 
 Yet soon the summons of the dreaded shade 
 
 Turns all his yearnings to intense despairs. 
 
 And all his beckoning dreams to ghastly lies. 
 
 What glowing heights of bliss were in the scoj-ie 
 Of aimful youth, if years would give him play ! — 
 A knowledge wide as night and bright as day 
 Flickers like boreal flame about the cope 
 Of his soul's heaven. What wondrous orbs revolve 
 By him unmark'd ! What lands around arc spread 
 Unvisitcd ! What truths he fain would solve 
 Are hid in tongues unlearn'd and books unread ! — 
 Oh life, how short without the aftcrhope !
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 69 
 
 XLvi.— Too Eager. 
 
 r. 
 
 HERE lived — I saw him oft — a studious man, 
 WTio burrow'd secrets from the hearts of stones — 
 Dug from the stubborn rock dim wrecks of bones — 
 And of the world, ere Adam's race began, 
 Bade them discourse in strangely living shapes ; 
 Till, musing thus, in dreams unsoothed by sleep, 
 He saw, 'mid slimy wastes, fair isles and capes 
 Heaved up in pearly splendour from the deep, 
 And shining rills adown their sides tJiat ran. 
 
 Alone v\ ith God he walk'd where the young past 
 Leapt into being. With far-prying look 
 He burn'd for light to cast on Moses' book. 
 Creation grew around him vague and vast. 
 How days were ages, and great ages days, 
 He, Miller, sang in unrhymed mystic strain, 
 Till, spying a beyond that mock'd his gaze, 
 He stagger'd onward with a wilder'd brain. 
 And burst life's gates to learn the truth at last.
 
 70 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 In the thick eve is heard a whir of wings 
 
 Toward their sure nests. So may they make for home, 
 
 Who feel the aches of brain that madly come 
 
 Of batifled wanderings 'mong the shadowy things 
 
 Couch 'd in far twilights of the infinite. 
 
 Time without end and distance without bound 
 
 Blind and bewilder our poor reach of sight. 
 
 God walks beside us upon common ground, 
 
 And to the near and known meek wisdom clings. 
 
 xlvii.—Sabbath in the Country. 
 
 I 
 
 LEA VE the church. It is a fair May morn. 
 The preacher's voice is frantic in my ears. 
 Earnest his aim to waken holy fears; — 
 Yet this bright hour I cannot choose but turn 
 From the majestic agony of words, 
 Lurid with curses of eternal woe, 
 To the cool purl of brooks, the chirm of birds. 
 The odorous meanings in the flowers that blow, 
 And endless blessings of God's sweet love Lorn.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 7£ 
 
 The storm sweeps by ; and lo ! a zephyr fine 
 Dallies delighted with the flowery earth : 
 The hot volcano has a fierce brief birth, 
 And soon its ashes cool beneath the vine : 
 Pain is a little hour and health a life : 
 There is no anguish on the dead man's face: 
 Heaven sends a healing for all mortal strife : 
 The lightning flashes but a moment's space : 
 The cheerful stars through all the ages shine. 
 
 Yet what is Death? \\Tiy are we ever dull 
 In luminous face of such a universe? 
 Ah me ! the shadow of the sable hearse 
 Falls like a cloud on hopes we yearn to cull 
 As bearing treasure of prophetic light. 
 Oh for a glimmer in our mortal gloom ! 
 Oh for a voice of soothing in the night ! 
 Oh for a hand with flowers of heavenly bloom 
 To make the grave divinely beautiful !
 
 72 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 XL VIII. — The Gra ve. 
 
 T, 
 
 HE grave ! — how wondrous is the eye of Faith, 
 That can contemplate where the loved one lies — 
 Track out through earth a pathway to the skies — 
 And clothe with angel wings the loathsome death ! 
 Yet, if old miracles could vanquish doubt, 
 Not vainly would the acorn climb the air 
 A stately oak, nor even the flower bloom out, 
 Redeem'd from mould and worms, and strangely fair, 
 And crown 'd with sweetness of its own sweet breath. 
 
 What are our miracles of human skill 
 
 But gleams divine reveal 'd to mortal sense — 
 
 Rents in the veil that hides Omnipotence? 
 
 A vapour toils obedient to man's will: 
 
 The sun-limn'd picture shames the limner's art: 
 
 A word, a touch, and half the world is spannVl ! 
 
 Each keeps its mystery in Nature's heart. 
 
 We only see what none may understand : 
 
 l?ut that we sec we initrhl l)e dubious still.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 73 
 
 WTiy stretch forth yearnings for the infinite, 
 
 Yet grope in darkness, stumbling by the way, 
 
 Calling forever for the perfect day, 
 
 Like Bartimeus for restored sight? 
 
 If Christ gives eyes our waking world to bless, 
 
 ^^^ly should life's torch the soothing heavens conceal? 
 
 Our hearts are bow'd with a sublime distress ; 
 
 Yet Death how beauteous, if its night reveal 
 
 A moon'd and starr'd eternity of light ! 
 
 XL IX. —A Contrast. 
 
 T, 
 
 IVO friends are mine whose deeds all men approve ; 
 WTiose hearts are kindly as December hearths 
 \Vhen gladden 'd with the immemorial mirths 
 Of dear old Christmas. Sights of suffering move 
 Both to quick tears. Their hands are prompt to give. 
 A word of falsehood or an act of wrong 
 Could come from neither. Knowing that to live 
 For others' good brings its own gain along, 
 Each reaps in blessing what he sows in love.
 
 74 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 They have walk'd in charity a kindred way 
 
 Till near their end. But in the soul of ime 
 
 A trouble lurks, for he has ponder'd on 
 
 Life, Death, and hovering Fate, till light is gray, 
 
 And gray is dark, and night-fears come apace. 
 
 He feels a weariness, and would be clad 
 
 In the grave's peace. Anon this wish gives place 
 
 To starward longings, whence he falls back sad, 
 
 Hugs the warm life he leaves, and fain would stay. 
 
 The other loves life well, but deems it vain. 
 Therefore he shapes a future in the skies, 
 And meekly dwells on its assured surprise 
 And dawn of victory over tears and pain, 
 With waiting friends and welcomes glorious. 
 When help is idle, he has words to aid. 
 He knows no doubt. Serene he labours thus, — 
 Happy to live, yet not of death afraid. 
 Which dost thou envy of these aged twain ?
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 75 
 
 l.—The Eclipse. 
 
 B, 
 
 ' RIEF shadow of night's wing at noon of day- 
 Mantling with sickly hue the vales and hills, 
 Hushing the birds, saddening the low-voiced lis, 
 And tempting some few stars of anxious ray 
 To deem their hour of vigil is at hand ! 
 In dingy chambers falls a fearful gloom ; 
 The labourer pauses on his twilight land, 
 V.'ith puzzled fancies of a day of doom ; 
 And crowds are staring in the open way. 
 
 What mask is that upon day's orbed flame? 
 Is it indeed the moon that trails her night 
 Athwart day's face, as with a human spite 
 To obscure where rivalry she may not claim? 
 Ah ! foolish to forsake her gentler throne 
 Where monthly she enjoy'd renewed youth : 
 But lo ! the shadow from the sun hath gone ! 
 So passes error from a luminous truth — 
 So passes slander from a peerless name.
 
 76 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Great eye of day ! this gloom our vision clears, 
 More than the mounting splendours of the dawn ; 
 We see thee most when thou art most withdrawn, 
 Like God made visible through eclipse of tears ! 
 Yet wert thou always veil'd — ah then the close !- - 
 Spring wildly weeping her unfolded buds, 
 And Nature maddening to a grave of woes ! 
 But there is order in the rolling clouds, 
 And wondrous order in the circling spheres. 
 
 LL —POE TIC MeLANCHOT. V. 
 
 L. 
 
 'IKE one who pleases by his merry jest, 
 And urges laughter to the verge of pain. 
 Then, being call'd on, sings a melting strain 
 Of Doon or Yarrow, until every breast 
 O'erflows with pathos of his voice and looks, — 
 So I, who own me of the joyous brood, 
 Weave doleful rhymes, attuned like summer brooks 
 To the soft sorrow of the poet's mood, 
 Thus seeming saddest when most truly blest.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 77 
 
 Ever as human objects intervene, 
 Sunshine makes shadow. Round our shining day, 
 And round each far-off star's seraphic ray 
 Crowds the vast darkness. Round the oasis green 
 Burn the dry desert sands. Death bounds all life 
 Like sleep all waking. In the festal rout, 
 'Mid flaming lights and mad orchestral strife, 
 Come thoughts of silent floors, the candles out, 
 And ghostly midnight over all the scene. 
 
 Now when my days go by serenely bright, 
 I own it luxury to dip at times 
 Into the dream-world of my mused rhymes. 
 My griefs are old, and none are mine to-night. 
 I could laugh breezily with any friend — 
 Roar over Rabelais' or Falstaff's wit: 
 But laughters loud come erelong to an end, 
 While by each dying couch pale Thought will sit, 
 With moistening eyes amid the quenching light.
 
 78 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 lii.^Under the Waves. 
 
 1 HROUGH wilds of silent sea-grass, rock, and sand, 
 WTiere monsters swim and crawl — through slimy caves — 
 O'er peaks far sunk from any sound of waves — 
 Low trails the Electric Wire from strand to strand, 
 Or festoons chasms wide-yawning and profound. 
 Darkling it trails 'mong shells and floating forms- 
 Over the dismal faces of the drown'd — 
 Cold fathoms down below the reach of storms, 
 Or tides deep-heaving at the moon's command. 
 
 And on the mystic path of that fine line 
 C}o wondrous messages. Far nations talk, 
 As near as arm-link'd lovers in their walk, 
 Through twice a thousand miles of awful brine ! 
 Man's speech through ocean flits, like light express'd 
 Through the rent cloud. Knit be the hearts as now 
 The exulting shores of England and the West ! 
 Proud Science wears a glory on her brow. 
 As newly-gifted with a power divine.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 79 
 
 Marvel of modern days ! Man's mastery 
 
 Is over Nature. By his sovereign skill 
 
 Her magic steeds are harness'd to his will : 
 
 Yet at his bidding while they course the sea, 
 
 In awed humility he needs must own 
 
 To claim the praise were impious and rash. 
 
 Great God ! the miracle is Thine alone ! 
 
 Thine the fleet lightnings through the depths that flash ; 
 
 And their wild secret dwells alone with Thee ! 
 
 LI 1 1.— The New-Year. 
 
 I 
 
 T comes — another year ! the voiceful tower 
 Proclaims its advent. I could look with tears 
 Upon the growing burden of the years, 
 But that a voice of childish joy has power 
 To scare the thoughtful shadows of the night. 
 Ah ! well I mind me of the happy time 
 When I, too, hail'd each New-Year with delight — 
 With shouts that mingled with the midnight chime, 
 And drown'd with noise the pathos of the hour.
 
 8o Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 Time and seift song have made my sorrow sweet ; 
 And of a hand I once might grasp and prize, 
 And of a face lit up with tender eyes, 
 Wherein the soul I loved had its clear seat, 
 A memory is left now calm and glad. 
 Solaced by song my secret tears are dry, 
 And all is beautiful where all was sad. 
 A channel'd grief my Muse has wander'd by. 
 And arch'd it o'er with flowers in tribute meet. 
 
 Mark how the eyes of little children fill 
 At every fancied wrong or petty loss : 
 Oh be it mine to bear each larger cross, 
 And at my manliest age have strongest will ! 
 When life a daisied meadow round me lay, 
 Old people stood between me and the tomb : 
 Now that a rosy group hides life's decay 
 With garlands woven of the morning's bloom, 
 The world through lapsing years seems lovely still.
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 8i 
 
 LI v.— When I Reflect. 
 
 W. 
 
 HEN I reflect that I was once a child, 
 Of check impatient as a mountain brook, 
 Prizing my ball more dearly than my book, 
 And spying beauty in the floweret wild 
 More than in any bloom the garden wears. 
 To me seems music in the playground's noise — 
 Hope for the truant who outruns his cares — 
 Study, not idleness, in wandering joys, 
 And summer days beside the brooks beguiled. 
 
 When I reflect what errors held the place 
 Of the new truths for which I battle now — 
 What grief has sat upon the sternest brow, 
 What tears have wash'd the most repulsive face — 
 How through all clouds of ill the virtues shine — 
 How 'mong base rivalries and mean pretence, 
 Beats in each breast home-feelings like to mine, 
 I grow more tolerant of difference — 
 More large in charity to all my race.
 
 82 Lays of Middle Age. 
 
 \\'Tien I reflect how Mammon's paradise 
 The serpent mars — how death is in the gold 
 Which men forego the friendly grasp to hold — 
 How Fortune murders with her siren kiss — 
 Yielding the power that tempts to foul abuse 
 And the sweet founts of charity upsealing, 
 I prize the wealth that's given for simple use, 
 Not overmuch to choke the springs of feeling, 
 But for content enough. Content is bliss ! 
 
 L v.— Middle Age. 
 
 b AIR 
 
 time of calm resolve — of sober thought ! 
 Quiet half-way hostelry on life's long road, 
 In which to rest and readjust our load ! 
 High table-land, to which we have been brought 
 By stumbling steps of ill-directed toil ! 
 Season when not to achieve is to despair ! 
 Last field for us of a full fruitful soil ! 
 Only springtide our freighted aims to bear 
 Onward to all our yearning dreams have sought !
 
 Lays of Middle Age. 83 
 
 How art thou changed ! Once to our youthful eyes 
 Thin silvering locks and thought's imprinted lines, 
 Of sloping age gave weird and wintry signs ; 
 But now these trophies ours, we recognise 
 Only a voice faint-rippling to its shore, 
 And a weak tottering step as marks of eld. 
 None are so far but some are on before : 
 Thus still at distance is the goal beheld, 
 And to improve the way is truly wise. 
 
 Farewell, ye blossom 'd hedges ! and the deep 
 Thick green of Summer on the matted bough ! 
 The languid Autumn mellows round us now : 
 Yet fancy may its vernal beauties keep, 
 Like holly leaves for a December wreath. 
 To take this gift of life with trusting hands, 
 And star with heavenly hopes the night of death, 
 Is all that poor humanity demands 
 To lull its meaner fears in easy sleep.
 
 Miscella7ieotis.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Waiting for the Ship. 
 
 IvOlV he stroU'd along the pebbles, now he saunter'd on 
 
 the pier, 
 Now the summit of the nearest hill he clomb ; 
 His looks were full of straining, through all weathers foul 
 
 and clear, 
 For the ship that he was weary wishing home. 
 
 On the white wings of the dawn, far as human eye could 
 
 reach. 
 Went his vision like a sea-gull's o'er the deep ; 
 WTiile the fishers' boats lay silent in the bay and on the 
 
 beach, 
 And the houses and the mountains were asleep. 
 
 Mid the chat of boys and men, and the laugh from women's 
 
 lips, 
 When the labours of the morning were begun, 
 On the far horizon's dreary edge his soul was with the ships, 
 As they caught a gleam of welcome from the sun,
 
 S8 Miscellaneous 
 
 Through the grey of eve he peer'd when the stars were in 
 
 the sky — 
 They were watchers which the angels seem'd to send; 
 And he bless'd the faithful lighthouse, with its large and 
 
 ruddy eye, 
 For it cheer 'd him like the bright eye of a friend. 
 
 The gentle waves came lisping things of promise at his feet, 
 
 Then they ebb'd as if to vex him with delay ; 
 
 The soothing winds against his face came blowing strong and 
 
 sweet, 
 Then they blew as blowing all his hope away. , 
 
 One day a wiseling argued liow the shi]) miglit be delay 'd — 
 ' 'Twas odd,' (juoth he, ' I thought so from the first;' 
 But a man of many voyages was standing liy and said — • 
 ' It is best to be prepared against the worst.' 
 
 A keen-eyed old coastguardsman, with his telescope in hand, 
 And his cheeks in countless puckers 'gainst the rain. 
 Mere shook his large and grizzled head, lliat all might under- 
 stand 
 How he knew that hoping longer was in vain.
 
 Miscellaneous. 89 
 
 Then silent thought the stranger of his wife and children five, 
 As he slowly turn'd with trembling lip aside; 
 Yet with his heart to feed upon his hopes were kept alive, 
 So for months he watch'd and wander'd by the tide. 
 
 ' Lo, what wretched man is that,' asked an idler at the coast, 
 ' WTio looks as if he something seem'd to lack ? ' 
 Then answer made a villager — ' His wife and babes are lost, 
 Yet he thinks that ere to-morrow they'll be back.' 
 
 Oh, a fresh hale man he flourish 'd in the Springtime of the 
 
 year, 
 But before the wintry rains began to drip — 
 No more he climb'd the headland, but sat sickly on the pier. 
 Saying sadly—' I am waiting for the ship.' 
 
 On a morn, of all the blackest, only whiten'd by the spray 
 Of the billows wild for shelter of the shore. 
 He came not in the dawning forth, he came not all the day; 
 And the morrow came — but never came he more.
 
 9© Miscellatieous. 
 
 Sorrow and Song. 
 
 We 
 
 EEP not over poet's wrong, 
 Mourn not his mischances : 
 Sorrow is the source of song, 
 And of gentle fancies. 
 
 Rills o'er rocky beds are borne. 
 Ere they gush in whiteness ; 
 
 Pebbles are wave-chafed and worn. 
 Ere they show their brightness. 
 
 Fairest gleam the morning flowers 
 When in tears they waken; 
 
 Earth is liathed in sweetest showers 
 When the boughs are shaken. 
 
 Ceylon's glistening pearls are sought 
 
 In its deepest waters; 
 From the darkest mines are brought 
 
 Gems for beauty's daughters. 
 
 Through the rent and shiver'd rock 
 Limpid water boundeth;
 
 Miscellatieous. 9 1 
 
 Tis but when the chords are struck 
 That their music soundeth. 
 
 Flowers by heedless footstep press'd, 
 
 All their sweets surrender ; 
 Gold must brook the fiery test, 
 
 Ere it breaks in splendour. 
 
 When the twilight cold and damp 
 Gloom and silence bringeth, 
 
 Then the glow-worm lights its lamp, 
 And the bulbul singeth. 
 
 Stars come forth when Night her shroud 
 
 Draws as daylight fainteth ; 
 Brightest on the blackest cloud 
 
 Gou his rainbow painteth. 
 
 Weep not, then, o'er poet's wrong, 
 Mourn not his mischances, — 
 
 Sorrow is the source of song, 
 And of gentle fancies.
 
 g2 Miscellaneous. 
 
 The Twin Sisters. 
 
 S 
 
 TAND both before me ; for, when one is gone, 
 I scarce can tell which is the absent one ; 
 To stray asunder you should aye be loth, 
 So much alike you are — so lovely both. 
 
 Together ye are peerless, but apart 
 Each may be match'd by each ; to rule the heart 
 Keep, gentle cherubs ! a conjoined sway ; 
 Our love's divided when there's one away. 
 
 Oh wherefore both so lovely? wherefore came 
 Such beauty separate, and yet the same? 
 Was it too great for one alone to bear, 
 That each comes laden with an equal share? 
 
 It may be, Nature, anxious to excel. 
 Moulded one lovely face, and loved it well; 
 Then, hopeless to achieve a higher aim, 
 Sought but to form one more in all the same.
 
 Miscellaneous. 93 
 
 Or haply 'twas in kindness to the one, 
 That Nature would not trust her forth alone ; 
 Lest she should mar her looks with vanity, 
 To think none other was so fair as she. 
 
 If you but hold a mirror up to each, 
 'Twill name its sister in its lisping speech ; 
 And still, while equal loveliness is theirs, 
 May one see only what the other shares ! 
 
 Beauty that only looks upon itself 
 Becomes unlovely; yet, thou little elf! 
 Not even thy sister should be praised by thee, 
 Lest the harsh world pronounce it vanity. 
 
 Talk not to others of her silken hair, 
 
 Lest they should say, ' Thou know'st thine own as fair.' 
 
 Nor laud the lustre of her light blue eye, 
 
 Lest thy own glance win back the flattery. 
 
 Ah me ! I wonder if alike ye'll prove 
 WTien maiden blushes paint the dawn of love: 
 Then will sad lovers, puzzled which to choose. 
 Find solace in the thought, ' Can both refuse?'
 
 94 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Then will the promise which the one has named, 
 Be haply often from the other claim'd ; 
 And the fond wish of secret whisperer 
 Be met with — ' Oh, it was my sister, sir ! ' 
 
 Go, go your ways, and in your little breasts 
 Still bear the innocence your joy attests ! 
 Go, wander forth 'neath childhood's sunny sky. 
 And gather flowers whose fragrance will not die !
 
 Miscellaneous. 95 
 
 The S k y- L a k k. 
 
 w,. 
 
 HITHER away, proud bird ? is not thy home 
 
 On earth's low breast ? 
 And when thou'rt wearied, whither wilt thou come 
 
 To be at rest ? 
 Whither away ? the fields with summer bloom 
 
 Are newly dress 'd ! 
 
 From the soft herbage thou hast brush 'd in showers 
 
 The glittering dew, 
 And upward sprung to greet the blue-eyed Hours 
 
 Seen peeping through ! 
 Has earth no spell to bind ? have wilding flowers 
 
 No power to woo ? 
 
 Haply thou'st gazed through the long gloom of night 
 
 On some fair star, 
 Yet dreaded to pursue a darkling flight 
 
 Untried — afar, 
 And now ascend'st to track liy the golden light 
 
 Its silver car !
 
 96 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Haply to thee alone 'tis given to hear, 
 
 When stars grow dim, 
 The matin song mellifluous and clear 
 
 Of seraphim, 
 Till envious of their bliss thou drawest near 
 
 To join their hymn ! 
 
 Or knowing whence sweet inspiration's given, 
 
 This morn, as wont, 
 Perchance with eager pinion thou hast striven 
 
 On high to mount, 
 That thou might'st drink the sacred stream from Heaven, 
 
 Fresh at its fount ! 
 
 Rapt flutterer ! who may tell thy keen delight — 
 
 Thy poet's thrill ? 
 Upward and upward in thy tuneful flight. 
 
 Thou soar'st at will ! 
 Perch 'd on the highest point of heavenward sight, 
 
 I see thee still ! 
 
 Oh marvellous ! that thou, a thing so small, 
 
 The air should'st flood 
 With voice to hold the listening world in thrall ! 
 
 As from a cloud 
 Most tiny in the blue, thy sky-notes call 
 
 In descants loud !
 
 Miscellaneous. 97 
 
 What ear such bright entrancing melody 
 
 Could ever cloy ? 
 The healthful air, high-heaved with ecstasy. 
 
 Thy wings up-buoy ! 
 Methinks the Morning has commission 'd thee 
 
 To speak its joy ! 
 
 Now that the curtain of the mist is drawn, 
 
 What wealth is ours ! 
 A liquid silver glistens on the lawn, 
 
 And on the flowers — 
 As if the stars had melted in the dawn 
 
 And fallen in showers. 
 
 Glad Nature seems the freshness to partake 
 
 Of Eden's birth ; 
 The very murmur that the waters make, 
 
 Has tones of mirth ; 
 WTiile thou, to hail the glorious day awake, 
 
 Soar'st high o'er earth ! 
 
 Minstrel supreme ! bold laureate of the skies ! 
 
 'Tis thine to sing, 
 In numbers snatch'd from Heaven, till to mine eyes 
 
 All heaven they bring ! 
 
 Or, listening thus, do I to that height rise 
 
 On Music's wing ? 
 G
 
 98 Miscellaneous. 
 
 By the Sea-Side. 
 
 0. 
 
 ' N thy fancy, gentle friend ! come listen while I paint 
 A little sea-side village, with its houses old and quaint, 
 With a range of hills behind, and a rocky beach before. 
 And a mountain-circled sea lying flat from shore to shore, 
 Like a molten metal floor. 
 
 The noon is faint with splendour ; the sails are hanging slack ; 
 The steamer, pass'd an hour ago, has left a foamy track ; 
 The fisher's skiff is motionless at anchor in the bay ; 
 The tall ship in the offing has been idling all the day 
 WTiere yesternight it lay. 
 
 There is not breath enough to wake an infant wave from sleep ; 
 A dreamy haze is on the hills and on the shimmering deep ; 
 The rower slackens in his toil, and basks within his boat ; 
 On the dry grass the student sprawls, too indolent to note 
 The glory that's afloat. 
 
 Round my throne of rock and heather the fat bee reels 
 
 and hums; 
 The liquid whistle of some bird from the near hillside comes; 
 All else is silence on the beach, and silence on the brine. 
 And tranquil bliss in many a heart, yet sudden grief in mine 
 To mark a stranger pine.
 
 Miscellaneous. 99 
 
 He is young, with youth departed; moist death is on his 
 
 cheek ; 
 They have borne him out into the sun a little health to seek; — 
 An old man, and a mother, and a maid with yearning eyes ; 
 They smile whene'er they talk to him; he smiles when hereplies; 
 Despair takes that disguise. 
 
 Long months of weary watching o'er a patient bed of pain — 
 The light held softly backward that might show all watching 
 
 vain — 
 With footsteps hush'd, and awful fears unbreathed except in 
 
 prayer, 
 And healing draughts that would not heal, and whisperings 
 
 on the stair. 
 
 Are imaged meekly there. 
 
 Oh picture sad to be so framed in the sunshine sent of GOD ! 
 Alas ! those sorrrowing faces, and such loveliness abroad ! 
 I look a little forward, and I spy a wider woe — 
 The heather wet and wither'd, and the waters moaning low, 
 And a church-yard white with snow. 
 
 Yet seems it well, my thoughtful friend, to cheer that dying eye 
 With witness of the spousals of the glowing earth and sky, — 
 To wrap that frail immortal in the year's delicious prime, 
 And nurse him into dreamings of the bright celestial clime, 
 Ere falls the wintry rime.
 
 loo Miscella?ieous. 
 
 The Stars.* 
 
 \_Written in Early Vozit/t.] 
 
 J. HE little stars we love have tender eyes, 
 And veil them when the sun is in the skies ; 
 Like nestling infants that repose by day — 
 Their faces screen 'd to keep the light away ! 
 
 But now, serene companions of the night ! 
 Steal from your coverts of concealing light ! 
 No sovereign lord forbids your shy advance. 
 Or turns you pale before his fiery glance ! 
 
 I know not if to you our spirits flee, 
 Or if you rule our earthly destiny ; 
 But in your silent gazing from above 
 I read a language of divinest love. 
 
 To soothe the sick, to solace those who mourn, 
 In night's dull chamber your small tapers burn- 
 A light too mild man's needful rest to break, 
 And yet a light to cheer him if he wake.
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 lOI 
 
 All may not sink to sleep with day's decline, 
 And lo, for these the stars in beauty shine ! 
 Gleaming like lamps of comfort hopefully 
 For many a tortured heart and tear-drown'd eye ! 
 
 The maid lovelorn, the stars were lit for her : 
 
 A gift, God gave them to the mariner : 
 
 The outcast poor — to them the stars were given. 
 
 To show, when earth is dark, there's light in Heaven !
 
 I o 2 Miscellajieous. 
 
 In the Night* 
 
 5< 
 
 OMEBOD VS wretch, not mine ! a drunken brawl f 
 A maniac reeling past and wild for fight ! 
 A shriek of murder in the hollow night ! 
 
 But not a window answers to the call : 
 
 The clamour dies: again 'tis silence all. 
 
 No comfort, none, in the great empty street ! 
 Yet out I lean, regardless of the chill. 
 And strain red-sore and weary eyes until 
 All sounds go by, and I in vain entreat 
 The darkness for a step to make night sweet. 
 
 Did but one orb look down with watery face, 
 Some sympathy might reach me from above : 
 But the slow clouds awhile have ceased to move : 
 
 A heavy gloom lies thick in every place. 
 
 Nor moon nor any star in heaven I trace. 
 
 Would he but come methinks I could rejoice. 
 And smile glad smiles in spite of deeds unblcst. 
 Ah me ! that I should wish to break the rest 
 
 Of my poor babe for lack of other noise ! 
 
 Her cry would be at least a living voice.
 
 Miscellaneous. 103 
 
 Yet, darling! sleep, while I shut out the cold, 
 And make for thee and me a cheery fire : 
 Unhappy offspring of a hapless sire ! 
 
 But that my years are young I should be old, 
 
 Seeing what I have seen and kept untold. 
 
 The stilly night thy tranquil breathing hears : 
 Soft is thy slumber. Once I slept as thou — 
 Watch 'd by a mother. Could she see me now ! 
 Maybe she does amid her sinless peers. 
 And asks the angels for some human tears. 
 
 Could I but think, frail child ! thy feet should tread 
 The path that I in lonely hours have trod, 
 Forsaken of the world, almost of Gon, 
 Even while thou smilest in thy cradle-bed. 
 Upon my knees I'd pray to kiss thee dead. 
 
 And yet such innocence as thine should make 
 Mankind all gods to bring back Paradise : 
 Thy beauty, too, that wears a mother's kiss. 
 
 Should from that tender consecration take 
 
 A charm to keep it sacred for her sake.
 
 I04 Miscellaneous. 
 
 So be thou partner, not in my despairs, 
 But only in the love that will not end. 
 Even him who has been, alas ! my less than friend. 
 Thee I will teach to plead for in thy prayers, 
 And praying with thee half forget my cares. 
 
 What pride remains for anger or rebuke? 
 
 What fire of scorn to comfort or avenge? 
 
 Oh should I spurn him now, would it be strange 
 If on his orphan 'd image I should look 
 And feel a pang beyond my strength to brook? 
 
 Dear was the garden where I saw him first, 
 My hero of the gentlest perjuries 
 That ever dimm'd with tears a woman's eyes! 
 Dear were the scenes where my fond love was nurst. 
 And dear the words with which my life was curst. 
 
 But hark ! a step, more welcome even than sleep — 
 A step — not his — hope comes but to depart ! 
 That closing door has closed on this crush 'd heart. 
 
 Lone little breather in the silence deep ! 
 
 The world is dead. I only wake and weep.
 
 Miscellaneous. 105 
 
 To A Cowslip.^ 
 
 1\0 tiny alien plant art thou, 
 
 But one to England's Poet dear: 
 The very pearl I witness now 
 
 He hung enchanted in thine ear. 
 
 'Mid mesh of matted grass and weed, 
 
 O unchanged Cowslip that I see ! 
 "What time he stray'd through Stratford mead, 
 
 He saw and pluck 'd a prize in thee. 
 
 'Twas in this narrow saffron cell. 
 
 Where bees might poke their clammy feet, 
 
 That for the dainty Ariel 
 He spied a dormitory sweet. 
 
 As erewhile to his peering soul. 
 
 The pattern coyly burns within. 
 Cinque-spotted like the crimson mole 
 
 Upon the breast of Imogen. 
 
 How strong the life in things that live 
 By Beauty and the Bard approved ! 
 
 This pearly urn, these rubies five. 
 
 Proclaim the flower that Shakespeare loved.
 
 I o 6 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And O proud nursling of the Spring, 
 
 Fresh-born by haunted grove and stream ! 
 
 He sang of thee who best could sing, 
 
 And lapp'd thee in his Moonlight Dream. 
 
 Now here, now there, at his command, 
 The light-foot fairies come and go ; 
 
 While faintly from the silvern strand 
 The airy elfin trumpets blow. 
 
 Strange things of life about thee stir, 
 
 A sense of wings is in the air : 
 To thee, her small tall pensioner, 
 
 TiTANiA brings her jewels rare. 
 
 Thy lips with honey-dew are fed. 
 
 The glow-worm's eyes thy glades illume, 
 
 Ethereal banquets round thee spread 
 
 Make endless sweet thy breath and bloom. 
 
 O wizard wonders thus unfurl'd ! 
 
 Ye take the grossness from the hour. 
 With glimpses of a spirit-world. 
 
 Through glamour of this golden flower.
 
 Miscellaneous. 107 
 
 The Emigrants. 
 
 I HE daylight was dying, the twilight was dreary, 
 And eerie the face of the fast-falling night ; 
 
 But, closing the shutters, we made ourselves cheery 
 With gas-light and fire-light and eyes glancing bright. 
 
 When, hark ! came a chorus of wailing and anguish ! 
 
 We ran to the door and look'd out through the dark, 
 Till, gazing, at length we began to distinguish 
 
 The slow-moving masts of an ocean-bound bark. 
 
 Alas ! 'twas the emigrants leaving the river, 
 
 Their homes in the city, their haunts in the dell ; 
 
 From kindred and friends they had parted for ever, 
 But their voices still blended in cries of farewell. 
 
 We saw not the eyes that their last looks were taking ; 
 
 We heard but the shouts that were meant to be cheers. 
 But which told of the aching of hearts that were breaking, 
 
 A past of delight and a future of tears.
 
 io8 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And long as we listen'd, in lulls of the night-breeze, 
 On our ears the sad shouting in faint music fell, 
 
 Till methought it seem'd lost in the roll of the white seas, 
 And the rocks and the winds only echoed farewell. 
 
 More bright was our home-hearth, more bright and more cosy, 
 As we shut out the night and its darkness once more ; 
 
 But pale were the cheeks that, so radiant and rosy, 
 Were flush'd with delight a few moments before. 
 
 So I told how the morning, all lovely and tender. 
 Sweet dew on the hills, and soft light on the sea. 
 
 Would follow the exiles, and float with its splendour * 
 
 To gild the far land where their homes were to be. 
 
 In the eyes of my children were gladness and gleaming: 
 Their little prayer utter'd, how calm was their sleep ! 
 
 But I in my dreaming could hear the wind screaming. 
 And fancy I heard hoarse replies from the deep. 
 
 And often, when slumber had cool'd my brow's fever, 
 A dream-utter'd shriek of despair broke the spell ; 
 
 'Twas the voice of the emigrants leaving the river. 
 And startling the night with their cries of farewelL
 
 Miscella7ieous. 109 
 
 Shakespeare.* 
 
 [ Composed for the Tercentenary Celebratiott of the 
 Poet's Bh-thday.l 
 
 1-^IKE one who deftly makes the puppets move 
 
 While hid behind a screen, 
 My Shakespeare shows the wonders of his love 
 
 But is himself unseen ; 
 And so I sigh, amid his wizard skill, 
 For one true look of my beloved Will. 
 
 \\Tiat was he when he woo'd, by Avon's side. 
 
 The damsels of his shire ? 
 How walk'd he through great London's living tide ? 
 
 How flash'd his eyes of fire 
 When impious Scorn struck poverty to tears ? 
 Or pined his heart at human griefs and fears ?
 
 no Miscellaneous. 
 
 Oh say, came kings to do him homages ? 
 
 Knelt sages at his feet ? 
 Ran shouting breaths before him Hke a breeze 
 
 Through all the rippling street, 
 Till clashing casements, fill'd with swift delight, 
 Went with him in a surge of 'kerchiefs white ? 
 
 Or did my Shakespeare toil in obscure ways, 
 
 The light untrumpeted 
 That now doth shine to all the world's amaze ? 
 
 And as he meekly thrid 
 His course among the crowd, did no eye note 
 The dawning glory round about him float ? 
 
 ^Vhat answer find I in his magic glass ? 
 
 O eyes with sorrow wet ! 
 O faces shedding sunshine as you pass ! 
 
 O lovers blandly met ! 
 O godlike men, the marvels of your race ! 
 O maids and matrons of transcendent grace !
 
 Miscellaneous. 1 1 1 
 
 Voluptuous Egypt scorches with her glance^ 
 
 WTiite Athens floats in dream, 
 Rome builds her pomp, Italia her romance. 
 
 The helms of England gleam, 
 Wierd Scotia towers in mist, the leafy smile 
 Of Arden breaks, and now, a Haunted Isle ! 
 
 Amazed, but bending low to Shakespeare's world, 
 
 I list the loves of birds. 
 The march of men with battle-flags unfurl'd. 
 
 Music and maddening words. 
 And happy pastorals 'mong the streams and trees, 
 And giddy talks, and gray philosophies. 
 
 But where is he whose witchery creates 
 The things I see and hear ? 
 
 On Falstaff's wit his vivid fancy waits. 
 He wears the crown of Lear, 
 
 From Hamlet's lips his lofty accents fall — 
 
 Oh wherefore hides he howsoe'er I call ?
 
 112 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Through all the studious night I make my quest 
 
 Until my eyelids fill ; 
 I grope forlorn, yet feel him in my breast— 
 
 My witching Willy still ! — 
 And fain to realise his heavenly looks, 
 I steal soft glances from his deathless books. 
 
 O ever-gladdening smile of Rosalind ! 
 
 O Desuemona wreck'd 
 Like a frail bark in a perfidious wind ! 
 
 Imogen flower-deck'd ! 
 
 O guileless Juliet sweetly passioning ! 
 
 O dear Cordelia with thy gray-hair'd King ! 
 
 In your chaste eyes, ye all immortal fair ! 
 
 1 see my Shakespeare's face ; 
 And like an angel's is the image there 
 
 That I enraptured trace. 
 Till, gazing, I feel nearer to the skies. 
 Being of his race, with upward wondering eyes !
 
 Miscellaneous. 113 
 
 Household Words.* 
 
 yy H V should 'st thou spurn thy sister's proffer 'd kiss? 
 And yet it may be mere shamefacedness, 
 I being by: how else could'st thou despise 
 What some would gladly prize? 
 
 But Jack ! for she is taller for her years 
 Than most tall girls, thou banterest her to tears. 
 And call'st her 'gawky,' with full many a name 
 That sets her cheek in flame. 
 
 Never a kindly word escapes thy lips 
 To keep her young bright eyes from brief eclipse : 
 Even when her playful arms are round thee flung. 
 What scorn is on thy tongue ! 
 
 Now, merry trickster ! thou dost greatly err, 
 
 When thus thou triest to make a mock of her, 
 
 WTio ere a few short moons will wake a pride 
 
 In thee thou scarce wilt hide. 
 H
 
 114 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Gawky forsooth ! such is her beauty's dower. 
 That at her motion she will yet have power 
 To lay awe-struck adorers at her feet, 
 With flatteries strange and sweet. 
 
 What other damsel dost thou thus misery? 
 One do I know, the terror of whose eye, 
 Though less illumin'd with celestial gleam. 
 Could hush thee into dream. 
 
 Yet still, thou soul of mischief! born to tease 
 Thy guileless sister, half ashamed to please, 
 Or call her ' Blanche dear,' save in mockery. 
 Thyself thou dost belie. 
 
 Should any dare to assail her, well I know 
 Thy chivalrous rebuke would be a blow, 
 Were he a giant that made fierce thy breath. 
 And his revenge were death. 
 
 Still more: despite thy rude and taunting speech. 
 Should she be ta'en where love were frail to reach, 
 Ah Jack ! thy heart would doubtless for her sake 
 Like a big rain-cloud break.
 
 Miscellaneous. 115 
 
 For, underlying all thy torturing jest, 
 Is that deep well of goodness in thy breast, 
 That makes thee everywhere a favourite 
 For all thy gibing wit. 
 
 Then leave poor Blanche her gift of placid brow 
 And tranquil pulse : let her be glad as thou : 
 That happy thoughts of these her early days 
 May be her joy always. 
 
 Let sweetest dreams of thee, in years to come, 
 Blend with her memories of childhood's home — 
 Its daisy-chains, its innocent delights. 
 Its kisses and 'good nights.' 
 
 Trial and sorrow will too soon appear, 
 To stay the smile, nor spare the speaking tear : 
 Then vex her not, but rather with thy play 
 Make glad her life's young day. 
 
 If age should lay its burden on thy head, 
 And thou should'st mourn a wife or infant dead, 
 Oh ! not in vain to her wilt thou repair 
 In thy forlorn despair.
 
 ii6 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Or should some hope o'erthrown thy spirit grieve, 
 Some foe affront thee or some friend deceive, 
 To whom wilt thou so turn to still thy fears. 
 Or share thy blindest tears? 
 
 This, too, believe : if ever fortune frown — 
 Yea, even if sin or guilt should drag thee down. 
 She still a sister's instinct will assert. 
 And cling and cling to thee for what thou wert, 
 Though all the world desert.
 
 Miscellaneous. 117 
 
 Any Man of Himself* 
 
 Oi 
 
 ' NL Y a fragment of clay 
 Where my bones they may chance to lay ! 
 Will nothing more be on the earth of me 
 WTien my spirit has pass'd away? 
 
 Some souls that I love will fret 
 With the pangs of a useless regret, 
 And I sorrow to wis that the lids I kiss 
 Will awhile be weary and wet. 
 
 But the weeping will not be long, 
 For happy are laughter and song. 
 And time as it flies will dry the eyes 
 Alike of the old and the young. 
 
 And the boys will grow up with the years. 
 And the maidens be blithe 'mong their peers, 
 And poets make moan sitting singing alone 
 Their ballads of passion and tears.
 
 1 1 8 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And the noons will be fierce in their heat, 
 
 And the twilights be dewy and sweet, 
 
 And the lamps of the night burn down with delight 
 
 Where lovers in transport meet. 
 
 And greetings will blend with farewells, 
 And roses with asphodels, 
 And steeples be stirr'd with the music heard 
 Of mourning or marriage bells. 
 
 And wonders will burst on the ken. 
 And thrill from the tongue and the pen, 
 And the buzz of the crowd be low or loud 
 With an endless trampling of men. 
 
 And the trumpets will blow from afar 
 
 To the startling of sunshine or star. 
 
 And the hush of the Word or the flash of the Sword 
 
 Be mighty for wisdom or war. 
 
 It was so in the days long sped, 
 In the years of the tears long shed, 
 And so will it hap when in earth's cold lap 
 They have laid my dreamless head.
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 119 
 
 Oh ! then for the wind's no tone, 
 And the thunder to me unknown, 
 While the centuries pass as silent as grass, 
 And the lichen is gray on the stone ! 
 
 Deep rest for the relics beneath ! 
 But the life that goes out with the breath — 
 It will not be there! then whither, oh where? 
 Being dead no answer has Death.
 
 Elegiac.
 
 ELEGIAC, 
 
 FiKST Grief. 
 
 1 HE V tell me, first and early love 
 
 Outlives all after-dreams ; 
 But the memory of a first great grief 
 
 To me more lasting seems : 
 The grief that marks our dawning youth 
 
 To memory ever clings, 
 And o'er the path of future years 
 
 A lengthen 'd shadow flings. 
 
 Oh, oft my mind recalls the hour, 
 
 WTien to my father's home 
 Death came — an uninvited guest — 
 
 From his dwelling in the tomb ! 
 I had not seen his face before — 
 
 I shudder'd at the sight ; 
 And I shudder still to think upon 
 
 The anguish of that night.
 
 124 Elegiac. 
 
 A youthful brow and ruddy cheek 
 
 Became all cold and wan, 
 An eye grew dim in which the light 
 
 Of radiant fancy shone. 
 Cold was the cheek, and cold the brow, 
 
 The eye was fix'd and dim ; 
 And one there mourn 'd a brother dead, 
 
 Who would have died for him. 
 
 I know not if 'twas Summer then, 
 
 I know not if 'twas Spring ; 
 But if the birds sang on the trees, 
 
 I did not hear them sing ! 
 If flowers came forth to deck the earth. 
 
 Their bloom I did not see — 
 I look'd upon one wither'd flower, 
 
 And none else bloom 'd for me. 
 
 A sad and silent time it was 
 Within that house of woe ; 
 
 All eyes were dull and overcast, 
 And every voice was low ; —
 
 Elegiac. 125 
 
 And from each cheek at intervals 
 
 The blood appear 'd to start, 
 As if recall 'd in sudden haste, 
 
 To aid the sinking heart. 
 
 Softly we trode, as if afraid 
 
 To mar the sleeper's sleep, 
 And stole last looks of his pale face 
 
 For memory to keep. 
 With him the agony was o'er ; 
 
 And now the pain was ours, 
 As thoughts of his sweet childhood rose 
 
 Like odour from dead flowers. 
 
 And when at length he was borne afar 
 
 From the world's weary strife, 
 How oft in thought did we again 
 
 Live o'er his little life ! — 
 His every look — his every word — 
 
 His very voice's tone, 
 Came back to us like things whose worth 
 
 Is only prized when gone.
 
 126 
 
 Elegiac. 
 
 The grief has pass'd with years away, 
 
 And joy has been my lot ; 
 But the one is oft remember 'd. 
 
 And the other soon forgot. 
 The gayest hours trip lightest by, 
 
 And leave the faintest trace ; 
 But the deep, deep track that sorrow wears 
 
 No time can e'er efface.
 
 Elegiac. 127 
 
 Home Trial. 
 
 I 
 
 NEVER thought of him and Death, so far apart they 
 
 seem'd — 
 The love that would have died to save of danger scarcely 
 
 dream 'd ; 
 Too late the fear that prompted help — too late the yearning 
 
 care ; 
 Yet who that saw his lustrous face could doubt that Death 
 
 would spare ? 
 
 Oh, could my pangs have lighten'd his, or eased his failing 
 
 breath, 
 I would have drain'd the bitter cup had every drop been 
 
 death ; 
 But though I drank his agony until my heart o'erflowed — 
 From off the little sufferer's breast I could not lift the load. 
 
 It weighed him down ; I saw him sink away from life and 
 
 me : 
 Grief waded in the gentlest eyes ; my own could scarcely see: 
 He look'd so calm, he felt so cold — all hope, all life had fled — 
 A cry of pain would have been sweet, but pain itself was 
 
 dead.
 
 128 Elegiac. 
 
 They took his form of innocence, and stretch 'd it out alone ; 
 Tears fell upon the pulseless clay, like rain-drops upon stone; 
 They closed his eyes of beauty, for their glory was o'ercast, 
 And sorrow drew its deepest shade from gladness that was 
 past. 
 
 The sun was lazy in the heavens that day our darling died, 
 And longer wore away the night we miss'd him from our side; 
 All sleep was scared by weary sobs from one wild heart and 
 
 mine — 
 The only sleep in all the house, my innocent ! was thine. 
 
 I made mad inquest of the skies ; I breathed an inward 
 
 psalm : 
 The stars burn'd incense at God's feet — I grew more strong 
 
 and calm : 
 I utter'd brave and soothing words as was my manhood's part. 
 Then hurried speechlessly away to hide the father's heart. 
 
 His coffin-crib a soft hand deck'd with flowers of sweetest scent; 
 To beauty and decay akin, their living breath they lent ; 
 But never could they breath impart whence other breath had 
 
 flown ; — 
 Ah me! affection's helplessness, when Death has claim 'd his 
 
 own !
 
 Elegiac. 129 
 
 Our child was now God's holy child, yet still he linger'd 
 
 here : 
 Could we have always kept him thus, the pictured dust how 
 
 dear! 
 But soon the grave its summons writ upon the black 'ning lips. 
 And wheresoe'er I looked for light, I only saw eclipse. 
 
 There was no loveliness in flowers, in human eyes, or books ; 
 Dear household faces flitted round with pain'd and ghastly 
 
 looks ; 
 A shadow muffled like a mist the splendours of the day, 
 And sorrow speaking to the night took all its stars away. 
 
 No more might fair hands fondly smooth the pillow for his 
 
 head ; 
 The joyless task was now all mine to lay him in his bed ; 
 I laid him in his earth-cold bed, and buried with him there, 
 The hope that trembling on its knees expired 'mid broken 
 
 prayer. 
 
 As in the round and beauteous bud the promise we may trace 
 
 Of the unfolded perfect flower, I used to read his face. 
 
 Till love grown rash in prophecy foretold him brave and 
 
 strong — 
 A battler for the true and right, a trampler on the wrong. 
 I
 
 1 30 Elegiac. 
 
 Had I my life to live again I know how I would live, 
 And all the wisdom I had learn'd, to him I meant to give — 
 To 1 iless his glowing boyhood with the ripeness of my age, 
 And train him up a better man, to tread a nobler stage: 
 
 To train him up a perfect man the crown of life to win, 
 \Vith kingly chastity of thought to awe rebellious sin, — 
 With all the lights thrown forward of a bright unwasted 
 
 youth — 
 A soul as pure as cloister'd love, and strong as castled truth. 
 
 His lot, how happy had it been, with age to guard and 
 
 guide ! 
 And yet he might have proved a sire — his dear one might 
 
 have died : 
 If so, I need not canvass more the heavens why this should 
 
 be— 
 Ah! better to be early dead, than live to weep like me! 
 
 Tears! tears! ye never can be his! The thought my own 
 
 should dry ; 
 'S'et other thoughts and sadder thoughts still brood the 
 
 fountains by : 
 Why was a treasure to me given, for Death so soon to take ? 
 Oh, may the answer be a heart grown purer for his sake !
 
 Elegiac. 131 
 
 Striving one day to be myself, of living things I thought, 
 And musing on my blessings left, a calm was in me wrought, 
 Till gliding to my infant's room, all noiselessly I stept, 
 And shudder 'd as remembrance woke that there no more he 
 slept. 
 
 The world is emptied of my child, yet crowded wkh his loss; 
 The silence and the vacancy my steps for ever cross ; 
 With every sound of merriment my sorrow is at strife, 
 And happy children stare at me like pictures wanting life. 
 
 My eye grows greedy of distress ; — what healthless looks I 
 
 meet ! 
 What tear-writ tales of anguish in the harsh unheeding street ! 
 Yet while the wasting griefs I trace in other hearts that dwell, 
 The sympathy I fain would give my own heart soothelh well. 
 
 Again, to dwarf my woe I dream of war and shijnvreck 
 
 dire — 
 Of choking pit — of crashing train — of fierce o'crmastering 
 
 fire ; — 
 Alas ! the thousand frantic ills which some are doom'd to 
 
 prove ! — 
 O God ! how sweetly died my child 'midst ministries of 
 
 love!
 
 132 Elegiac. 
 
 So gently wail, ye pleasant winds ! and weep, ye silver 
 
 showers ! 
 Thou shadow of the cypress-tree lie lightly on the flowers ! 
 The Summer has its mildews, and the daylight has its clouds, 
 And some put on their marriage robes, while some are clad 
 
 in shrouds. 
 
 Thus o'er the gleaming track of life the generations run — 
 Do they to clodded darkness pass, or to a brighter sun ? 
 Does nothing spiritual live ? can soul become a sod ? 
 Is man on earth an orphan ? is creation void of God ? 
 
 Is the resplendent cope of night deserted, drear, and dead ? 
 Does no great ear lean down to catch the prayers by good 
 
 men said ? 
 Is groan of murder'd patriot, or shout of martyr'd saint, 
 As idle as on savage shores the homeless ocean's plaint ? 
 
 Al)ove the lands that front the sky in the illumin'd East, 
 The stars hang low and large like lamps at some immortal 
 
 feast, 
 And from those lands so near to Heaven have wondrous 
 
 voices come 
 Of God's eternal Fatherhood and man's celestial Home.
 
 Elegiac. 
 
 133 
 
 I marvel, then, dear child of mine ! whom 'neath the grass 
 
 I laid. 
 If wing'd and bright, a spirit now, though scarcely purer 
 
 made, 
 Thou liv'st in His almighty care in mansions of the skies! 
 Oh say, wilt thou come down to me, or I to thee arise ? 
 
 <jreat mysteries are round thee, child ! unknown or dim to me, 
 But yet I cannot dread the death made beautiful by thee; 
 The path thy little feet have trod I may not fear to tread, 
 And so I follow— through the dark — as by an angel led !
 
 134 Elegiac. 
 
 Flo's Photo* 
 
 [Printed for the First Tii)ie.'\ 
 
 1 HOUGH my lids are fain lo fill, 
 Here methinks I see her still, 
 
 Ere her sorrow came. 
 Will her gay 'Good-morning' break? 
 Will she answer for my sake, 
 
 If I name her name? 
 
 Ere the sun this picture took, 
 Long we tried to shape the look, 
 
 And the hair arrange. 
 Oh this winsome pose at last ! 
 Oh this sweetest mood made fast ! 
 
 Not again to change. 
 
 Flo was Summer breath to me, 
 Music, health, and ecstasy: 
 
 Yet her brilliance paled,
 
 Elegiac. 135 
 
 As she sometimes press'd my hand, 
 Making me to understand 
 
 Something that she ail'd. 
 
 There was blight within the blood 
 Of her growing womanhood 
 
 That to hide were vain. 
 Like a canker in the rose 
 WTien its leaf the loveliest shows, 
 
 Was her conscious pain. 
 
 Bright her eyes were with the gleam 
 Of the Heaven she saw in dream ; 
 
 But that light divine 
 Soon would be forever seal'd, 
 All the glory unreveal'd 
 
 That on earth was mine. 
 
 Wan the ripple on her cheek 
 As she heard the breezes speak 
 
 Of the health they'd bring ! 
 Languid on her lip the words 
 Prattled of the flowers and birds 
 
 That would come with Spring.
 
 1$^ Elegiac. 
 
 WTien the pulse is beating slow, 
 AVhen the lamp is burning low. 
 
 Who may comfort find? 
 Utter love gives no relief, 
 And the helplessness of grief 
 
 Gazes and is blind. 
 
 How I struggled 'gainst the gloom, 
 'Gainst the darkening hour of doom, 
 
 'Gainst my failing trust ! 
 What to do when all was done? 
 Naught I cared for 'neath the sun, 
 
 Save what now was dust. 
 
 Where was any light on earth? 
 Any warmth to cheer my hearth? 
 
 W^as I quite alone? 
 Oh the mouth that Death had kiss'd ! 
 Oh the soft low breathing miss'd ! 
 
 Oh the touch like stone ! 
 
 Was that marble stillness dumb? 
 Or did thrilling sermons come 
 From the patient look?
 
 Elegiac. 137 
 
 Sore the anguish of my sighs, 
 But the silken-lidded eyes 
 Lay like a rebuke. 
 
 Not a throb to meet my palm 
 In the depth divinely calm 
 Of her sure decease ! 
 All her secrets now were kept, 
 Like eternity she slept 
 
 In her dreamless peace. 
 
 Who could turn nor weep farewell, 
 ^^^lcn I laid her down to dwell 
 
 With the silent years? 
 Every turf that happ'd her o'er 
 Through the seasons evermore 
 
 Would be wet with tears. 
 
 Round me all creation whirl'd : 
 All was Winter in the world 
 
 Wheresoe'er I trod. 
 Ah ! what mortal beauty died, 
 When her soul became enskied 
 
 'Mong the loved of GoD !
 
 1 38 Elegiac. 
 
 As the lingering dews, alas ! 
 Would be faithful to the grass 
 
 On her grave that grew, 
 So would my lone thoughts repair 
 To my treasure buried there, 
 
 With a tryst as true. 
 
 Casual pilgrims might be seen, 
 Near that little patch of green, 
 
 Making idle stir. 
 Not for me their careless laughs, 
 All my thoughts were epitaphs 
 
 Fill'd with only her. 
 
 Luminous the golden hope 
 In her young life's horoscope. 
 
 For she found a friend 
 Ever where her smile might fall. 
 Such the spell she threw o'er all. 
 
 But how soon to end ! 
 
 Now in cold defeat she lies 
 With the vague immensities, 
 Leaving my poor wail
 
 Elenac. i39 
 
 "A 
 
 Like the moan a small wave makes 
 On a shoreless sea that breaks, 
 And of like avail. 
 
 What is beauty's transient glance 
 In the rapture of the dance 
 
 But a mocking show? 
 What the Springtime of the year 
 But the joy that brings the tear? 
 
 How I miss thee, Flo ! 
 
 Grief on grief the day has dimm'd, 
 Since its light those features limn'd 
 
 Here and in my heart. 
 Truth with fancy is at strife, 
 Yet how keen the glow of life 
 
 In this life of art ! 
 
 Hast thou from thy bliss on higli 
 Floated hither tenderly, 
 
 With thy filial eyes? 
 With thy pale impassion 'd grace, 
 And a glory in thy face 
 
 As of gladdening skies ?
 
 140 Elegiac. 
 
 O thou soul in looks and lips, 
 Deathless through all death's eclipse ! 
 
 my risen star ! 
 
 Age may strike its wintry chime : 
 Thou art no more touch'd by time 
 Than the angels are ! 
 
 Seasons ten have crisp'd the leaves, 
 Bared the fields and bound the sheaves, 
 
 Yet how fair that brow ! 
 ClOD so true a limner is, 
 That fresh-born of Paradise 
 
 1 behold thee now ! 
 
 I'"rom the pitying spheres above, 
 Com'st thou with thy human love 
 
 To relieve my fret? 
 Had all Heaven no rest for thee? 
 Wert thou thinking still of me? 
 
 Art thou near me yet? 
 
 Is it thou I truly mark, 
 vShining in the gradual dark 
 Of this hour serene?
 
 Elegiac. 14^ 
 
 Oh for one bright Summer walk, 
 With the sunshine in our talk, 
 And no grave between ! 
 
 Oh to hear thy voice again ! 
 Tremulous with hope as when 
 
 Thou hadst but one grief— 
 In the yearning wish to live, 
 Having so much love to give, 
 
 And the time so brief! 
 
 Hush, O hush ! yet soothly still, 
 With the gray upon the hill, 
 
 And Hesperus o'erhead, 
 I can take thee in my gaze, 
 Even as in the happy days 
 
 Ere our pearls were shed. 
 
 Miracle of life renew 'd! 
 Victress o'er vicissitude ! 
 
 Spirit disentomb'd ! 
 Mortal, yet immortal grown. 
 Still be in this vision shown, 
 
 By God's torch illum'd !
 
 142 Elegiac. 
 
 Evening's drowsy veil is drawn, 
 Tarry, darling ! till the dawn 
 
 Of the endless light ! 
 Be the daughter of my dreams. 
 But ere dies the day-star's beams 
 
 Give me, sweet, ' Good-night ! ' 
 
 Storm and Calm' 
 
 [Adapted fror/i a Prose Story by the Author.] 
 
 W HAT lime the pulses of my inner life 
 Were strangely tender, with the world al strife, 
 And sick for sorrow of a daughter dead, 
 I met the man I loved. His age-crown d head 
 Came with a jiower to soothe me and sustain. 
 From off my breast I heaved the leaden pain, 
 I'Or he, fine-mettled as the stanchest steel, 
 I had known in other trouble quick to feel 
 And strong to help, half woman and whole man. 
 Yet when to clasp his liand I bounding ran,
 
 Elegiac. 143 
 
 He struck and stunn'd me with a languid stare ! 
 
 Helpless I stood with only my despair, 
 
 Like some night wanderer who, having hail'd 
 
 A friendly light, beholds it suddenly paled. 
 
 Or clean blown out by fury of a blast. 
 
 Ah me ! that such estrangement should o'ercast 
 
 The eyes that else with mine had melted been ! 
 
 But all is now explain'd : the vital sheen 
 
 Of those dear eyes was sheathed alike to me 
 
 And all the world ! their blindness made me see. 
 
 And 1 am happy in the knowledge won. 
 
 Our friendship old has all anew begun, 
 
 Though something sadden 'd by a memory 
 
 That while I live I never can let die. 
 
 Yes, I am happy — happy as an eve 
 
 When clouds that threaten'd take a tranquil leave, 
 
 Awed by the infinite beauty of the night. 
 
 Through every chink of Heaven there breaks a light, 
 
 .Subdued and fitted to my mortal eyes. 
 
 There is no speck of storm in all my skies. 
 
 Friendship is mine, and love that will not end. 
 
 But with the glory of the future blend.
 
 144 Elegiac. 
 
 Till what is best of man grows part of Gou ! 
 Rancours at home and enmities abroad 
 Have ceased to be. My heart is well at ease> 
 Steep'd in that sweetness of the charities 
 That still can pity where it may not praise. 
 God keep my footsteps in the gracious ways 
 On which 'twill be a joy to look behind, 
 Untrack'd by any bowlings in the wind 
 Of fierce remorses ever in pursuit ! 
 Yes, I am happy — temper'd like a lute 
 With all its chords deliciously in tune. 
 Not Heaven itself has any dearer boon 
 Than a glad heart with its own self at peace. 
 My life runs mellowing as my years increase. 
 Yet over all there broods a memory 
 That while I live I never can let die. 
 
 The Winter nights to me are very dear. 
 
 All the home voices that I love to hear 
 
 Are round about me, and at distance keep 
 
 The ravenous owls that kill the doves of sleep. 
 
 Humanity grows beauteous to my eyes, 
 
 For I have learn 'd at last to recognise 
 
 The cheering truth that friendship may be true.
 
 Elegiac. 145' 
 
 Well pleased my thoughts their sportive wills pursue, 
 
 And laughters follow where the wit is bright. 
 
 My friend who sees me not fills all my sight, 
 
 And I his hearing fill with mutual gain. 
 
 More are we one that for a time we twain 
 
 Found through divergent paths unhappiness. 
 
 Greater the joy again to coalesce, 
 
 In simple trust, after some treacherous thought 
 
 A partial madness in the brain has wrought. 
 
 By witchery of books around us cast 
 
 Immortal guests are summon'd from the past. 
 
 Such as no single age has ever claim 'd — 
 
 Poets and sages whom we hear but named, 
 
 And feel ennobled to be of their blood ! 
 
 Yet though uphfted to that higher mood. 
 
 With the great bliss is blent a memory 
 
 That while I live I never can let die. 
 
 A little while, and she the hopefullest 
 
 Of the year's daughters — leading all the rest — 
 
 The Hebe Spring will walk the emerald dews. 
 
 A flush of gladness will her smile diffuse 
 
 Over the earth, making it beautiful 
 K
 
 146 Elegiac. 
 
 As a young face fresh bounding out of school 
 And caught with sudden carol of a bird ! 
 A happier voice will in the streams be heard, 
 And endless flowers make vagrants of the bees ; 
 While daylight lingers till it almost sees 
 The night-sky trembling with its wealth of stars ! 
 Old ruts of tearing cannon, and the scars 
 Of cleaving armies thundering as they pass. 
 Time smooths and heals with silence of the grass 
 So shall I list the great sea's monotone. 
 And think of trials past, of terrors flown, 
 With a heal'd heart and pulse of perfect calm ! 
 Yet when the air grows precious with the balm 
 Of myriad blooms, and health beats everywhere, 
 Regrets will rise for one who once was fair — 
 By robber winds removed from my embrace ! 
 And so, with tears upon my placid face. 
 The brightest scene will wear a memory 
 That while I live I never can let die.
 
 Two Odes.
 
 TWO ODES. 
 
 Victoria.* 
 
 [A Poem of the Queen'' s Jubilee, 1S87. 
 
 wj ILENCE was round me, flame and streak of gold 
 
 Had shrunk and paled in the declining west, 
 
 The dim historic page no longer told 
 
 A tale of splendour to my drowsy quest. 
 
 When through my closing lids there flash 'd a crowd 
 
 Of helms and luminous plumes and pageantries, 
 
 Passing in pomp with meteoric gleams, 
 
 'Mid myriad shoutings loud ! 
 The great Elizabeth look'd grandly wise, 
 Shakespeare stood dreaming his immortal dreams.
 
 150 Two Odes. 
 
 II. 
 At sudden dropping of my book I woke. 
 Fled was the vision of that manful age, 
 When England spurn 'd her spiritual yoke, 
 And Drake and Howard voiced the nation's rage. 
 In concert with the thunder-blasts that blew, 
 Till shatter 'd was the huge Armada's threat ! 
 But lo, the living triumphs of to-day ! 
 
 The popular love more true ! 
 A happier Queen on England's high throne set, 
 Unstain'd by any blood of Fotheringay ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh for some giant bard of that great time 
 To sing the later glories we have seen. 
 The newer wonders that have made sublime 
 Thy reign, Victoria ! Simple Mother-Queen, 
 Whose influence gilds the continents and isles 
 That shape our ampler world ! all hearts are full 
 Of thee where duty prompts or valour bleeds ! 
 
 Content with comfort smiles. 
 Where men confess thy mild majestic rule. 
 Thy fifty honour'd years of blameless deeds.
 
 Two Odes. 151 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let bells proclaim thy golden Jubilee, 
 
 From spire and tower o'er all thy shining lands, 
 
 Conjoin 'd, not sunder'd by the wide-arm'd sea ! 
 
 In closer union, knit like triple strands, 
 
 Be England, Scotland, Ireland intertwined ! 
 
 Bid bonfires blaze, and chorals heavenward rise. 
 
 For freedom, to the Tudor Queen unknown. 
 
 Within thy realm enshrined ! 
 Unstable were the birthright that we prize. 
 Save for its bulwark in the constant Throne. 
 
 V. 
 
 Crowns for the deathless dead who made our past ! 
 
 Yet knew they not our travel's iron sweep, 
 
 Nor heard they far-sent whispers through the blast. 
 
 Or through vague gulfs of the bewilder'd deep. 
 
 No counsel took they with the distant sun 
 
 To stamp swift pictures for dear memory. 
 
 High-soaring Science, conquering in its flight, 
 
 With wizard-power new-won, 
 Launches the mandate— let these marvels be ! — 
 Like God's own fiat when He made the light.
 
 152 Two Odes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 In the far Orient, in remoter Ind, 
 
 Thy faithful arms repell'd aggressions rude; 
 
 And now are heard low mutterings in the wind 
 
 Of nearer troubles of as dark a brood. 
 
 But more this day's full argument has force 
 
 Malignant sophistries to expose and foil 
 
 Than red arbitraments on burning plains ; 
 
 While steadfast in its course 
 Our country moves, content with honest toil, 
 Unruffled progress, and enduring gains. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ring louder, jubilant bells ! tall banners wave ! 
 And poets' hearts be stirr'd to joyous song ! 
 Half of thy woman's heart is in the grave, 
 But all of thee that's Queen is brave and strong ! 
 With her broad franchises for citadels, 
 Britannia towers to every clime erect, 
 Arm'd with the force of immemorial years. 
 
 In sovereign law that dwells, 
 Slow to restrain but powerful to protect ! 
 Take our deep love made deeper by thy tears.
 
 Two Odes. 153 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Proud Queen and Empress ! thee mine eyes beheld 
 
 A child in Kensington's familiar glades. 
 
 Now life's young morn is turn'd to pensive eld, 
 
 But day is sweeter for its twilight shades, 
 
 And for the silvern stars we scarce discern. 
 
 So when thy millions feel in thee their good. 
 
 Let no regretful thought thy fond eyes drown, 
 
 But be thou soothed to learn 
 Thou shouldst not weep if prayers could ease thy mood, 
 Or love make light the burden of thy Crown. 
 
 IX. 
 
 •Gold to be worthy must have some alloy, 
 Life to be noble must be mix'd with ills. 
 If thou shouldst sigh 'mid this tumultuous joy 
 For the gray silence of thy Northern hills, 
 None will dare blame. Yet tender as thou art, 
 Be strong to accept thy later term of care : 
 Fear not thy fresh half-century begun : 
 
 Wear still the regnant heart ! 
 Rightly to strive is not to know despair : 
 Let hope new-waken with each morning's sun !
 
 154 Two Odes. 
 
 X. 
 
 Why at this moment shouldst thou not be glad? 
 Behold thy fifty sceptred years complete ! 
 Oft has the doom of Royalty been sad^ 
 Exile, a prison, martyrdom, defeat ! 
 But thou from whom is nothing to be fear'd — • 
 But thou in whom are all things to be loved — 
 Art safe in thine applauded eminence ! 
 
 O vehemently cheer'd ! 
 The hands which wave, were need or duty proved. 
 Would flash a storm of swords in thy defence ! 
 
 XI. 
 Symbol of fix'd authority art thou, 
 Unquestion'd in thine office paramount ! 
 To that high office — then to thee we bow, 
 Not making thee of any less account ! 
 For, though al)ove all noise of faction, Queen, 
 Such is thy dower of gracious womanhood. 
 That most we love thy home-ways to rehearse ! 
 
 So be as thou hast been ! 
 We name thy name — Victoria Wise and Good, 
 For patriot bards to trumpet in their verse.
 
 ( 
 
 Two Odes. 155 \ 
 
 XII. 
 
 'Tis prime of June: the red-lipp'd roses burn, 
 As when the nightingales their love-tales told : 
 WTiile all the flowers that greet this month's return- 
 The woodbine and the dainty marigold, 
 With fragrant flush of midsummer delights — 
 In rainbow-tinted broideries appear, 
 Duly their seasonable tryst to keep, 
 
 And join our festal rites. 
 What time the days are longest in the year, 
 And scarce comes any night to hint of sleep. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Therefore for garlands let the roses bloom ! 
 Dear Widow'd Lady, who hast ever drawn 
 Meek guidance from thy gentle Albert's tomb, 
 May thy great Jubilee mark the growing dawn 
 Of that sure peace which keeps our island shores 
 Ramparts of honour ! Long on this side death. 
 May time to thee a mellower fruitage give 
 
 To enrich thy people's stores ! 
 We greet thee. Queen, with shouts of loyal breath, 
 With high resolves that shall this age outlive !
 
 156 
 
 Two Odes. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And when the flowers of many seasons die, 
 And some new Jubilee has come to strew 
 The land with stars and flags and revels high, 
 May Princes give to thee the praise that's due, 
 And statesmen, to thy best traditions wed, 
 Guard well their gift of tranquil government ! 
 While haply here and there some aged man 
 
 Talks of the great ones dead, 
 And of his happy youth-time proudly spent 
 In the old glorious days Victorian !
 
 Two Odes. 
 
 157 
 
 A Midsummer Day's Dream* 
 
 \Suggested by tlic Preparations for the Glasgo'M International 
 Exhibition, 1888.] 
 
 F, 
 
 ROM bustling thoroughfares I museful stray 
 To a new world of faery round me spread, 
 Where classic Kelvin winds its sombre way, 
 The busier waters of the Clyde to wed. 
 O glorious sunburst of a summer's day !
 
 158 Two Odes. 
 
 WTiat domes are these in Eastern brilliance rear'd ? 
 What Kremlin with its mosques and minarets 
 Has in gray Scotland like a dream appear'd? 
 And lo ! what gala throng the scene besets ! 
 
 II. 
 Here let me rest upon this tranquil seat, 
 And ask where now is that song-haunted grove, 
 Where youths and maids were wont well pleased to meet 
 For happy interviews of honey'd love ? 
 Ah me ! the old simplicities are gone ; 
 The woodland choristers are scared or dumb ; 
 But the same sun that then in glory shone 
 Flings down its gladness from the heavens above, 
 Wliile jubilant harmony of trump and drum 
 Makes other music than the cooing dove. 
 
 III. 
 Green lawns, inlaid with pleasant beds of flowers, 
 WTiich way I walk from breadths of sunshine peep. 
 Cool shadows cower for shelter 'neath the trees. 
 And cling half-hid about their barky stems. 
 Gay fountains bid the clouds take back their showers, 
 And, ever breaking in their upward leap, 
 Spangle the air with jets and plumes of gems. 
 Joyous with rival flags — red, blue, and gold —
 
 Two Odes. 159 
 
 The Kelvin swims with mimic argosies ; 
 And in their midst what sight the gazer greets — 
 A tall-prow'd gondola from the floating streets 
 Of the ocean-city of the Doges old ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 O wide-spread scene of festal happiness ! 
 
 From stately Gilmorehill grave learning looks, 
 
 And in the living world descries not less 
 
 True theme for study than an anchorite 
 
 Might reach through delving in deep mines of books. 
 
 But most I mark these temples of delight, 
 
 Of modern years new-started in the van. 
 
 Scarce wore Aladdin's Palace hues more bright. 
 
 Nor even the pleasure-dome which KuBLA Khan 
 
 Built in the goblin realm of Xanadu. 
 
 Was e'er such vision seen 'neath Northern skies ? 
 
 Could sprite of wonderland unfold to view 
 
 A picture painted for enchanted eyes 
 
 To match that day-dream of ambitious man ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Gokonda treasures, cuU'd from many a field. 
 Enrich these mansions of Minerva's love. 
 O Goddess ! wise to instruct, and strong to shield ! 
 Watch o'er thy votaries who worthy prove.
 
 1 60 Two Odes. 
 
 And o'er the precious things that in the hour 
 Of their completed splendour proudly blend 
 With all the sunniest growths of Kelvingrove ! 
 Throughout these ample corridors what dower 
 Of genius stands reveal'd in dazzling forms ! 
 So let me stroll from forth the open sward, 
 Which the ripe Summer with its radiance warms, 
 To where my thoughtful steps instinctive bend, 
 Moved by the hope of an assured reward 
 In full fruitions of all art in flower. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I cross the precincts in bewilderment. 
 
 Are these the grandeurs of Alhambra's halls ? 
 
 O laggard Muse ! does some divine intent 
 
 Speak from the canvas of these glowing walls ? 
 
 Move where I may, what effort and resource ! 
 
 What dreams of beauty in new shapes express'd ! 
 
 O dizzying labyrinths of mechanic force, 
 
 Revolving as if never more to rest ! 
 
 O metals wrought for loveliness or use ! 
 
 O textiles rich as from the vats of Tyre ! 
 
 O industries magnificent, profuse. 
 
 Whether from distant shore or native shire,
 
 Two Odes. i6i 
 
 Telling of commerce wide as walks the sun ! 
 
 O utter feast, too big for appetite, 
 
 Ending, yet still anew to be begun 
 
 Through strong temptation of some fresh delight ! 
 
 O affluence, majestic, manifold. 
 
 Resplendent as the golden Orient, 
 
 Enough to almost tempt the idyllic sigh 
 
 Which he who felt the curse of too much gold 
 
 Heaved for some sweet relief of poverty ! 
 
 A weight of wonder on my spirit falls. 
 
 Has some enchantress these allurements lent ? 
 
 Do the high gods hold earthly festivals ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 And what of man's device do men most prize? 
 Great city of my birth, my love, my pride ! 
 'Twas thou that tamed the elastic vapour born 
 Of elements whose birth-place is the skies. 
 And sent it forth a giant in its strength — 
 The brilliant Titan of our shores of Clyde — 
 To do the drudgeries of a world o'erworn ! 
 Not in these temples does it only shine, 
 A toy to move the wheels that never fail 
 To draw keen eyes to marvel and admire ;
 
 1 62 Two Odes. 
 
 But over leagues of ever-growing length 
 It drives the cars with vehement heart of fire, 
 Or bears huge ships athwart the obsequious brine, 
 Nor waits a wind to bulge the idle sail. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ah ! could our homely ancestors return 
 
 To earth with unforgetting memories, 
 
 And read of history this latest page, 
 
 Set forth in symphonies attuned to please, 
 
 With what new ardour would their spirits burn 
 
 To feel the forceful Science of our age 
 
 Shaming all prophecies the past could show ! 
 
 How has the wonder of her wizard skill 
 
 Tempted and train'd the evanescent light 
 
 To print enduring pictures at her will ! 
 
 While not even Ariel's self with viewless wings, 
 
 Weave<l in the magic looms of Prospero, 
 
 Could match the electric messages she flings 
 
 O'er land and sea with infinite lightning flight. 
 
 Like fire-fledged arrows from AcESTEs' bow ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Say not these lx)ld achievements of the years 
 
 Have come of elfin spirits of the air. 
 
 From busy brains that knew to think and dare
 
 Two Odes. 163 
 
 Have they forth sprung with aims more strong than vows. 
 
 All hail, brave workers through the frets and fears, 
 
 The adverse blows and battles 'gainst despair, 
 
 That score their rhetoric on fine-thoughted brows, 
 
 And compass triumphs often blurr'd with tears ! 
 
 Hail uncrown 'd victors in pacific fields, 
 
 Who, with no bugle blown, or flag unfurl'd, 
 
 Or store of thunderous bolts such as Jove wields, 
 
 But labouring thoughtfully in obscure bields. 
 
 Have made for man a more exultant world ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Emerging I contrast what I have seen 
 With God's own handiwork in tree and sky. 
 But lo ! what harmony exists between 
 ^Vhat man devises and what meets the eye 
 \\Tiere'er the miracles of being stir ! 
 Nothing supreme can man achieve alone. 
 God gives the inspiration that succeeds 
 To unseal the cabinets of the infinite, 
 And make Great Nature meekly minister 
 To the infirmity of human needs. 
 Who further drives the frontiers of the known. 
 Dwarfing past victories of sword or pen.
 
 164 Two Odes. 
 
 Wields but God's mandate to unveil the Might 
 That dwells in stars and suns beyond his ken. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Replete with contraries is humankind. 
 
 We court the new, we dally with the old : 
 
 Our steps are forward, yet we look behind, 
 
 And own a pensive pleasure in the past. 
 
 WTiile breaks a future flush'd with rosy gold, 
 
 We clutch at relics to oblivion cast. 
 
 Hence is that antique story freshly told 
 
 In stately structure — like Alcestis brought, 
 
 A startling vision from the buried mould. 
 
 Stout buttress of the Church in ages rude, 
 
 Our grandsires saw it crumble stone by stone. 
 
 Where famed St. Mungo flourish 'd, there it stood 
 
 For low-breathed litanies and leisured thought 
 
 Ere our great Glasgow had begun to grow. 
 
 Let Molendinar's flood make heavy moan : 
 
 The place that knew it may no longer know. 
 
 But now with sudden years upon its head. 
 
 See where it towers to grace our modern Show — • 
 
 A pictured fragment of the centuries dead ! t 
 
 t Mo<lel of the old Bishop's Castle erected in the Exhibition Grounds. The 
 original building stood near the Cathedral.
 
 Two Odes. 165 
 
 XII. 
 Soon fades the sunshine from the fairest scene : 
 Of raptures and regrets is life made up : 
 We drink our sparkling draughts of hippocrene, 
 Then drop a tear into the empty cup. 
 O towers and domes so strongly visible ! 
 Is that arena of Olympic skill 
 Where men contend — as on a village green 
 They boast the stalwart arm, the steadfast will — 
 Naught but a phantasm of uncertain sheen, 
 An Arab camp — to dream-like melt away. 
 The frail Adonis garden of a day, 
 Nor leave a trace to tell that it has been ? 
 
 XIII. 
 Life's panorama flits by sure degrees. 
 \Miat time the year is lash'd with wintry rain, 
 And leaves are few and stricken on the trees. 
 Our Summer's Wonder may no more remain. 
 But though swift-lapp'd in Time's eternal night, 
 The glitter may be gone, but not the gain. 
 Shall we not know it by its trail of light 
 In heart or home where'er its lessons reach ? 
 So may the vision that delights us pass
 
 i66 Two Odes. 
 
 Ere yet its novel charms have ceased to teach, 
 
 As passes some Heaven-gifted soul that leaves 
 
 Its fire Promethean to make earth more bright. 
 
 A livelier green is waken'd in the grass 
 
 Where some full freshet has its influence spent. 
 
 From beauteous things, though brief, the soul receives 
 
 New sense of beauty as from fleeting flowers 
 
 That come but for a season's ornament 
 
 In sweet apparels of the dews and showers. 
 
 XIV. 
 Be hush'd my song ! Low constellated lights, 
 Full many-hued and wondrous to behold, 
 Throw flaming lustres to far-startled heights, 
 Or spread white noons through lingering Kelvingrove. 
 The multitude applaud the unwonted sights. 
 Yet with reluctant feet slow homeward move. 
 The joy-fires fade, the timid stars grow bold. 
 And peep from out the blue like night-blown flowers. 
 Now the large Moon, beneath a cloudlet's fold, 
 As through her silent heaven she sails supreme. 
 Looks on this world with a licnign amaze.
 
 Two Odes. 
 
 167 
 
 She lays her blessing on calm Kelvin's stream : 
 She tips with beauty all the neighbouring towers. 
 Oh for Endymion's eyes to read her gaze ! 
 Methinks she shares the fervour of my dream.
 
 Printed by the Author s Firm, 
 
 " Citizen " Office, Glasgow. 
 
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