SPRING'S IMMORTALITY AND OTHER POEMS MACKENZIE BELL THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES NOTICES OF A FORMER VOLUME OF VERSE BY THE SAME AUTHOR. "Mr. Mackenzie Bell, in an original and happy- preface, indicates playfully the place which he aims to fill in poetry. He does not aspire to be an individual voice, or even an echo of an individual voice, but he shows that he can write good nervous prose, and can at once be finely ironical and humorous, and include himself in the subject of his laughter ; and he may claim at all events to be healthily objective and happily inspiring in a plain, un- pretending way. He admits he is old-fashioned ; and so he is. He does not aspire to rhythmic novelties, or per- verse metrical tricks after exotic examples ; beyond the sonnet, indeed, he does not go. But his forms suffice him ; as we read, we say happy also he who in poetiy does not aim beyond his reach. . . . There is decided humour in ' Waiting for the Dentist,' and a real lyrical glow in such pieces as ' Heart Echoes,' and the ' Heart's (Summer.' On the whole the volume attests a buoyant, healthy nature, open to fine impressions, and quick to turn the ordinary incidents of every day to poetic account." — British Quarterly Preview. " Mr. Mackenzie Bell prefaces his volume with a short dissertation on the kinds and uses of minor poetry. The little essay is certainly amusing, and is refreshing as affording proof that there is at least one minor poet who has not mistaken his function." — Academy. " We have great pleasure, indeed, in commending these poems to our readers." — Literary World. "With true consistency the poet has carried out his ideas. . . . This volume of poems is far beyond the usual run of verse, and we hope soon to see something more from the same skilful pen. This deserves to be a very successful book, for the merits are of no common order." — Public Opinion. " Tlie author lias evidently a good deal of poetic power ; and some of his verses are soothing as well as in the highest sense suggestive." — Churchman. ~oo v "The author's dedicatory sonnet is really very beau- tiful. " — L iverpool Mercury. " He is one of the few who have a cause to express themselves in metre, though his is no mere idle tinkling of the lyre ; his voice has exceptional power and sweetness, he has a keen eye for the poetical aspects of human life and external nature, and there runs through his verses a pure vein of imaginative thought that makes them pleasant reading." — Manchester- Courier. "The descriptive poems are decidedly the best." — Western Morning News. "Mr. Mackenzie Bell's verses are all as unpretentious as his preface ; but they contain many pretty conceits, marks of a fertile imagination, fruits of serious thought on the mysteries of life, and effective descriptions of scenery. . . . ' Heart Echoes ' is a beautiful little poem. We may quote the opening stanza as a fair specimen of the author's best style. . . . ' Edgar Vanning : a Sketch ' is a very creditable piece of blank-verse writing." — Western Daily Mercury. " Clever bits of description, quaint fancies. " — Yorkshire Post. " As a singer he touches, not without a certain skill, the simple loves and hopes, and aims, the simple faith ami creed, with which his heart is well content." — Literary World, Boston, U.S.A. " The author has prefixed to this volume of poetry an interesting preface on the claims of minor poets to be heard. ' ' — Bibliographer. "There are verses in it which deserve to live." — The Presbyterian. SPRING'S IMMORTALITY AND OTHER POEMS. SPRING'S IMMORTALITY AND OTHER POEMS. BY MACKENZIE BELL. ^London: WARD, LOCK, AND BOWDEN, LIMITED, WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE. 1893. CKISWICK PKESS :— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COIKT, CHANCERY LANE. /5T TO MY FRIEND EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN, FROM WHOSE POETRY AND SUBTLE CRITICISM OF POETRY I, WITH MANY OF MY COUNTRYMEN, HAVE FOR YEARS DERIVED MUCH DEEP AND GENUINE PLEASURE, I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME. 881869 PREFATORY NOTE. My former books of verse have all been long out of print. The volume now issued, besides the new poems to be found in it, contains, in an altered and greatly revised form, some of my previously published verse. I am indebted to the courtesy of the Editors of The Academy, The Speaker, Temple Bar, and other periodicals, for permission to reprint poems which have appeared in their pages. Two early pieces of mine, " The Late Autumn is Dying," and " December Daisies and December Days," attained some popularity in America by being included in Mr. Oscar Fay Adams's Through the Year with the Poets. Though viii PREFACE. I have submitted them to considerable revision, I trust those who liked the first versions will not regret my changes. Mackenzie Bell. London, October, 1S93. CONTENTS. PAGE Spring's Immortality 1 The Lame Boy in the Woods 3 Aspirations 5 Sonnets. Old Year Leaves 9 In Memoriam, W. E. Forster 10 At the Grave of Dante Gabriel Rossetti .... 11 An Autumn Reminiscence 12 Browning's Funeral — 1 13 Browning's Funeral — II 15 At Stratford-on-Avon 17 Poems founded on History. The Taking of the Flag 21 The Keeping of the Vow 26 The Death of Captain Hunt 36 June 22nd, 1893 39 x CONTENTS. Pictures of Travel. PAGE Palms by Moonlight at Alicante 43 Joao to Constanca 45 Francisca to Jaspear 48 Christmas in the Summer Sunshine 52 Verses on a Vase filled with sub-tropical flowers . 55 On the Road to Camara de Lobos, Madeira ... 58 Sunday Morning off Mazagan, Morocco .... 60 On looking up the Vale of Cauterets, Hautes Pyrenees, by Night 63 The Southern Night 65 Lines on a Stone near the Summit of the Simplon Pass 68 In the New Forest 72 Religious Poems. God's Peace 77 A Rallying Song 79 Morning Thoughts 81 A Song of Comfort 83 The Balance of Life 85 " Lord, teach us to Pray " 87 Holy Quietude 89 Lyrics and Miscellaneous Poems. The Unfulfilled Ideal 93 The Child Cowper at Berkhampstead 95 In Ellington Copse 97 CONTEXTS. xi PAGE A Song of Early Summer 99 The Heart's Summer 101 The Autumn is Dying 103 December Daisies and December Days 105 The Poet's Inspiration 106 A Memory and a Presence 10S " While the Sunset, slowly dying " Ill The Bride's Song 114 The Hawthorn Spray 11 (J The Puritan's Farewell to his Betrothed . . . . 118 Passion's Slave 122 Two Lives 123 To Sir Walter Scott 125 Solitude 126 Humorous Poems. Moonlight on the Tagus 131 Waiting for the Dentist 133 Notes 137 B SPRING'S IMMORTALITY. The buds awake at touch of Spring From Winter's joyless dream ; Prom many a stone the ouzels sing By yonder mossy stream. The cuckoo's voice, from copse and vale, Lingers, as if to meet The music of the nightingale Across the rising wheat — The bird whom ancient Solitude Hath kept for ever young, Unaltered since in studious mood Calm Milton mused and sung. SPRING'S IMMORTALITY. Ah, strange it is, dear heart, to know Spring's gladsome mystery Was sweet to lovers long ago — Most sweet to such as we — That fresh new leaves and meadow flowers Bloomed when the south wind came ; While hands of Spring caressed the bowers, The throstle sang the same. ***** Unchanged, unchanged the throstle's song, Unchanged Spring's answering breath, Unchanged, though cruel Time was strong, And stilled our love in death. THE LAME BOY IN THE WOODS. Each season hath its sadness, but for me Summer hath most of all. I know not why, But though its sylvan beauty soothes my soul And brings sweet reveries — though the happy birds, Discoursing music, stir my mind with dreams, With melodies, with thoughts of deep delight ; Yet still there lurks within the Summer's heart Or in mine own, a pain — a deep, wild pain — Which, even amid still Autumn's ravages I never feel, nor yet in Winter's storms. Is it, I ask, that Summer's voiceless spell — Her loveliness of copse and lea and flower Is all too soon dissolved — that blossoms fade THE LAME BOY IN THE WOODS. When Summer's glory dies ? Ah, no ; ah, no ! It is that Summer's mocking gladness lends To loss a sharper sting when I recall The joy of buoyant health and tireless limbs Which others feel — alas ! through all my life A joy that knows not me. ASPIRATIONS. for the poet's voice and song — Piercing, yet sweet and clear, Rich as the cushat's note, yet strong To reach the great world's ear! O for the visions that abide Within the poet's mind, The thoughts which through his bosom glide Leaving strange joy behind ! for the fruit — immortal fruit Soiled by no earthly leav'n, Not fame alone, nor vain repute, But something caught from heav'n — - ASPIRATIONS. Assurance that rny strain has cheered One soul, if only one, And shed on the dark path it feared A passing glimpse of sun. SONNETS. OLD TEAR LEAVES. Tossed by the storms of Autumn chill and drear, The leaves fall auburn-tinted, and the trees Stand reft and bare, yet on the silent leas The leaves lie drifted still — while cold, austere, Stern Winter waits — while early snowdrops cheer The woodland shadows — while the happy bees Are wakened by the balmy western breeze, And birds and boughs proclaim that Spring is here. So lost hopes severed by the stress of life Lie all unburied yet before our eyes, Though none but we regard their mute decay ; And ever amid this stir and moil and strife Fresh aims and growing purposes arise Above the faded hopes of yesterday. 10 IN MEMOKIAM, W. E. FORSTER. (Obiit April 5th, 1886.) stalwart man and pure, whose earnest face Mirrored thy fair-orbed soul, whose every deed Made answer to thy word, who gav'st no heed To selfish babble or the lust of place, Who — grieving at thy country's perilous case Grown dire by lack of knowledge — in her need Cam'st with thy succour — thou whose civic creed, Too wide for party, dealt with all the race. A year hath passed since thou wast laid to rest, Yet fragrant is thy memory ; thy bequest A work whose scope and grandeur Time shall gauge. Britain some day — her daughter-lands apart No longer — will remember thee whose heart Fired hers to win her world-wide heritage. 11 AT THE GRAVE OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. April 9th, 1883. 1 Here of a truth the world's extremes are met : Amid the grey — the moss-grown tombs of those Who led long lives obscure till came the close When, their calm days being done, their suns were set — Here stands a grave, all monumentless yet, Wrapt like the others in a deep repose ; But while yon wakeful ocean ebbs and flows It is a grave the world shall not forget — This grave on which meek violets grow and thyme, Summer's fair heralds ; and a stranger now Pauses to see a poet's resting-place, But one of those who will in many a clime On each return of this sad day avow Fond love's regret that ne'er they saw his face. 12 AN AUTUMN KEMLNISCENCE. A radiant garden rises on my view Where through the glowingkoursthesunraysfall Gently through hazel boughs ; while brooklets brawl O'er beds where gleam the pebbles brown and blue. Here, in that calm which never once they knew On earth, dead heroes keep the shapes in thrall — And russet ferns thereon, and dahlias tall, And lilies white, and flowers of mingled hue. Small wonder that these storied warrior forms Should now in sculptured stone have rest, when I Find here that Life's fierce conflicts seem to cease — Find respite here from all Life's rudest storms : — "Where still and silent 'neath a pale grey sky Contented Nature smiles and lies at peace. 13 BROWNING'S FUNERAL. Venice, December 15th, 1889. "The body of Robert Browning was conveyed to a gondola which had the figure of an angel at the prow and a lion at the stern, and was covered with flowers. The relations and friends followed in gondolas across the lagoon, in the light of the setting sun, to the ceme- tery." Now " past they glide," and bear the flower- wreathed bier Across the soundless waters, cold and grey, Ere Night falls, sable- vestured and austere, And Day dies in one roseate flush away, While they who follow, tearful, in the train See wonted sights with unfamiliar eyes ; — Like dreams, amid the fevered sleep of pain, Rich domes and frescoed palaces arise. 14 BROWNING'S FUNERAL. Yet, haply, mixed with sorrow, dawns the thought How fit such obsequies for him whose pen Hath given a wondrous poem, 2 passion-fraught, — Breathing of love and Venice, — unto men : And so hath added to her deathless glory A shining scroll of pure and ageless story. 15 II. Westminster Abbey, December 31st, 1889. The music of Croft and Purcell was used " as the Body was brought into Church, and for the processional parts of the burial service. This was followed by a ' medita- tion,' composed for the sendee by Dr. Bridge, the words from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's ' He giveth His be- loved Sleep.'" Croft's solemn music swells ; then comes at last The dim procession through the panelled choir ; And in the cloistral gloom, so still and vast, Many who loved him listen. Higher and higher Rise Purcell's dirge-like tones, Griefs very soul, Yet soon " He giveth His beloved Sleep " Brings to our anguished hearts relief, control, Memories of stately Florence, and the deep Love-sacrament which bound him to his spouse c 16 BROWNING'S FUNERAL. Changeless through changeful years. And now in heaven They meet in bliss — meet to renew their vows Beyond the soiling touch of earthly leaven. While England, as 'tis right, in sacred trust Keeps through the centuries his hallowed dust. 17 AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. Shakespeare, thy legacy of peerless song Reveals mankind in every age and place, In every joy, in every grief and wrong : 'Tis England's legacy to all our race. Little we know of all tliine inner life — Little of all thy swift, thy wondrous years — Years filled with toil — rich years whose days were rife With strains that bring us mirth, that bring us tears. Little we know, and yet this much we know, Sense was thy guiding star — sense guided thee To live in this thy Stratford long ago — To live content in calm simplicity ; Greatest of those who wrought with soul aflame At honest daily work — then found it fame. POEMS FOUNDED ON HISTORY. 21 THE TAKING OF THE FLAG. The dawning light Hath banished Night, Breaking the ocean's sleep — For all around Is heard a sound Of war upon the deep. The Dutch and we Are met at sea On this blithe summer day, To try at length Our fighting strength In battle's bloody fray. 22 THE TAKING OF THE FLAG. See ! on the right Two ships in fight In struggle long and hard, And though so near, They know not fear, Close grappling yard to yard. In very joy An orphan boy Speaks 'mid the battle's roar : " Since morning's sun The fight has run, — When will it then be o'er ? " " 'Twill never lag Till yon Dutch rag 3 Down from the mast-head runs, No other sign Along our line Can silence British guns." THE TAKING OF THE FLAG. 23 " If thus it be," Then swift quoth he With brightly flashing eye ; " 'Twill soon be past, Nor longer last, Though if I fail, I die." Hid by the cloak Of sable smoke, Full noiselessly he goes ; Nor does he wait, But springs elate 'Mid Britain's fiercest foes. And up their mast He clambers fast : He gains his precious prize : — Then from aloft He glides down soft, With triumph in his eyes. 24 THE TAKING OF THE FLAG. And through the roar He bounds once more To his appointed place ; Fearless, serene, Is now his mien, And noble looks his face. Our men with glee Shout " Victory ! " Waving the standard gay ; And from each gun The Dutchmen run In wonder and dismay. And while their chief Seeks, wild with grief, To rally them in vain, With one accord Our sailors board, And soon the vessel gain. THE TAKING OF THE FLAG. 25 And of the youth Who thus in truth Had won a worthy name, Men spoke aloud In accents proud, And world-wide was his fame. 26 THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. 4 A.D. 1330. King Bobert Brtjce is dying now, Heavily comes his breath, And that last strife 'twixt death and life Will soon be won by death ; Around his couch the liegemen stand ; They heave full many a sigh, In dire dismay and grief are they To see their leader die. " Sir James of Douglas, come ! " he cries, " Ever wert thou my friend, And though we part, 'tis well thou art With me unto the end. THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. 27 " When great my need I vowed to God If He would grant to me That war's surcease should bring us peace, And Scotland should be free, " His blessed banner I would bear To holy Palestine, With arms to quell the Infidel : Such was your King's design. " Sore grieved am I that here I lie — Death's hand upon my brow — In vain, in vain, 'mid gnawing pain, Do I recall my vow. " Then promise me right faithfully, When I am laid at rest, That with my heart thou wilt depart To do my last behest ! " 28 THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. " My liege, I pledge my knightly word, Thy bidding shall be done, The work is sad, yet am I glad Such favour to have won ! " Safe in my bosom shall thy trust Abide with me for ever, Unless, perchance, in peril's hour, 'Twere best that we should sever." The king smiles faintly in reply — Then slowly droops his head, And on the breast of him he loved Eobert the Bruce lies dead. In fit array at break of day Doth Douglas soon depart, And in a casket carefully He keeps that Kingly Heart. THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. 29 Crossing the main and sighting Spain, He joins the truceless war Of Moor and Christian — that fierce strife Which rages as of yore ; 5 For straight he deems that here it seems His devoir first should be, And with his host he swells the boast Of Spanish chivalry. The armies twain on Tebas's plain Outspread — a goodly sight ! Eager they wait with hope elate, Impatient for the fight ; The summer sunbeams on the shields Of warriors brightly glancing, Illume the mail of many a man And many a charger prancing, And gallant crest, round which the breeze Full gaily now is dancing ; 30 THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. Each Moslem there with scimitar, Upon his Arab horse, Moves with a calm, a fearless mien, Unswerving in his course. Lo here at length the stately strength The Cross and Crescent wield, As deadly foes now darkly close Upon this fatal field. The Spaniards' stroke hath broken through The dense opposing line ! Yet none the less both armies press Around their standard- sign, While many a Paynim once so proud Lies lifeless on the plain, And many a jennet of Castile Euns free with dangling rein. THE KEEPING OF THE VOW 31 First in the van the Douglas rides, With all his men-at-arms, — A worthy company are they To front the Paynim swarms. With bloody spur and loosened rein They break the stubborn foe, So swift the chase they scarce can trace The course by which they go, Till, looking back upon their track, The Paynim ranks they see Have closed them in, 'mid dust and din And shout of wolfish o-lee. " We find full late the danger great," Sir Douglas cries, " return ! And charge the foe like Scots who know The rout at Bannockburn. — 32 THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. " Surely the men who conquered then Vain Edward's mighty host Will never yield this sacred 6 field Nor let the base Moor boast." So, boldly speaking, quick he turns — He gallops to the rear — This dauntless quest through fierce unrest As gallant doth appear As his who braves the foam-flaked waves To succour one most dear. As Douglas passed the blows fell fast — Stern was the conflict wild, With steeds and men, who ne'er again Would rise, the field was piled. Yet, with his followers not a few, Now he has cleft his way With flashing eye and flashing blade Straight through the grim array, THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. 33 Once more he glances round, and sees, Still in the thickest fight, Walter St. Clair, his well-beloved, A very valiant knight. Full oft had they in tourney gay Their chargers deftly wheeled, Full oft were nigh in days gone by On many a battle field, — " Ride to the rescue ! " Douglas shouts, "Ride on, and do not spare, To save him from a woeful death Which of you will not dare !" Urging his horse with headlong force, He seeks to render aid, And many a tunic's fold is cleft By his resistless blade ; 34 THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. Yet is he left, of friends bereft, Swart foemen all around, Through the echoing strokes on helm and shield Of help there comes no sound. Now snatches he the jewelled casque Where lies the Heart he loves, ('Tis strange to see how lovingly His mailed hand o'er it moves), And flings it forward, forward yet, With this his battle cry, " Press on, brave Heart, as thou wert wont : I follow thee, or die ! " With lifted lance he makes advance To where his treasure fell, Each crash of blow — now fast, now slow-- Like a rude requiem knell, THE KEEPING OF THE VOW. 35 And left alone, yet ne'er overthrown, He grapples with the foe, Until a sword-thrust piercing him At last doth lay him low. Then gallantly he struggles still, Half kneeling on the plain, And there, o'erwhelmed by many a wound, The peerless knight is slain. So died the chief, his life well lost In Scottish hero's work, The stainless Douglas, he who sleeps In mossy Douglas kirk. 38 THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN HUNT. January 8th, 1761. The watch on board the Unicorn Look out at dawn of light, The sails are here, the sails at last ! The Frenchman heaves in sight. And swiftly now the order comes To give the Frenchman chase, The Frenchman who is lost, we know, If we can win the race. Hurrah ! the coward's flight is vain, The ships are drawing nigh, Each man prepares to win the fight- To win the fight or die. THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN HUNT. :<7 And soon the cannons' smoke and boom Are rolling all around, Through two fierce hours of clangorous strife Is heard the deadly sound ; Wild scene of strange delirious joy, Yet desolating woe, For now a shot our captain fells, And he is borne below. Two seamen gently bear him down, And while the surgeon tries To bind his wound, he looks on us With tender, pitying eyes. The strife ne'er stays — the bearers bring Another blood-stained man. " Surgeon," our captain says at once, " Go, save him if you can. 38 THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN HUNT. " My wound is mortal ; thus for me Your care is all in vain, Not so with him, then use your power To ease his heavier pain." Soon ebbed our captain's tide of life — Short was the time for him — Yet still his constant mind was clear Although his eyes grew dim. And in a while his heart was glad For we had won the day, His noble heart was satisfied — His spirit passed away. 39 JUNE 22nd, 1893. 3 Let England mourn for these her gallant sons, Who, seeing death was certain, yet remained Steadfast to duty, all unconsciously Grown to be heroes, — mourn for them whose souls, Fired with immortal courage, conquered fear. Let England grieve with them who, silent, weep A loss irreparable with bitter tears. Let England grieve for him who, though he erred Soon felt perchance, in feeling he had erred, An agony more great than death itself. ***** Let England still rejoice, for now she knows, Though time and science change the face of war, The stuff of English hearts they cannot change. July 5th, 1893. PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 43 PALMS BY MOONLIGHT AT ALICANTE. Palms by moonlight ! waving palms, How the thought of you embalms In memory still the spot whereon I saw you last ! Softly, wonderfully clear On that night did you appear Whose blissful hours, swift-winged, too soon, too soon, were past. Here the eye could range at will, And of beauty take its fill, Beauty so rare it soothed as soothes a heav'n-sent dream — Or a mellow Eastern tale Where the genii ride the gale And glide among such trees on many a moonlight gleam. 44 PALMS BY MOONLIGHT AT ALICANTE. For the strange ethereal sight Thrilled me with a new delight, "While still the full-orbed moon o'er leaf o'er feathery hough From a sky of purest blue Silver glory gently threw. Then rapturous visions came I know not whence or how — Visions, sweet and kind, that stole Through my hush'd and happy soul To strive against their power had been a vain endeavour, And, with ravished eye and heart, "Wished I never to depart, Looking, I longed to live, and see these sights for ever. io JOAO TO CONSTANCA. (A Lestk 9 sunrise in Madeira.) Yonder flush across the sea Brings the morning back to me When you seemed to lend the light That dispersed the lingering night ; When I heard your step, and knew Joy of joy ! 'twas surely you ; When I turned and saw your face, Saw you glide with girlish grace ; Though before my heart was moved, Then it was that first I loved. Rosy cloudlets, lately dun, Seemed as now to hide the sun ; 46 JOAO TO CONSTANCA. Other cloudlets seemed to stand Eeady waiting his command. Brighter, brighter grew the group, Every tint was in the troop, Eed, and blue, and rich maroon, Fleecy white apj>earing soon, As at length we plighted troth, Hallowed moments for us both. O'er the peaks the vapoury shrouds Shifted with the shifting clouds ; Faintly purpled clouds were spread O'er the peaceful ocean's bed ; Clouds empurpled now, and grand, Cast a halo o'er the land. Every bird and opening flower Felt the gladness of the hour, As the gentle landward breeze Stirred the tall banaua-trees. JOAO TO COXSTANCA. 47 You remember how the day, While dawn's freshness wore away, Took a dimmer purple hue As the clouds were changed anew. You remember how we walked, You remember how we talked, How, beneath this trellised vine, Oft you told me you were mine, Each remembrance makes more clear All the debt I owe you, dear. E 48 FRANCISCA TO JASPEAE: A Madeiran Idyl. The ricli — the rich alone — may dream of death As solace for their sorrow, not the poor. Whate'er their grief, the poor have work to do If they would not behold their dear ones starve. Now were I dead there's none to pluck the fruit And sort it on our stall o' market days, Mother is ill, and through the scorching hours Father is busy 'mid the sugar-canes. It seems but yesterday since you and I, Happy with thoughts of coming happiness, Lived in the future, for the pleasant years Stretched all before us, fraught with all the joy FEANCISCA TO JASPEAR. 49 That only love which changes not can give. Never shall I forget how once we sat Here where the orange-trees yield grateful shade, As with fond eyes of truth you told to me Once and again the sweet familiar tale That ever to a maiden's heart is new. Far, far beneath me, shimmering in the sun, Were palms with shapely branches, outlined now More clearly by the strong light pouring down, And nearer, on the left, an avenue Of red and white camellias full in flower Formed one long vista filled with varying hues, While countless clustering vines and citron trees Grleamed in a rare, a radiant mingled glow Of gorgeous colour. The banana-trees, Each with its fragrant load of luscious fruit, The graceful guavas with their light-green leaves, The loquats with their deeper verdant tints, 50 FRANCISCA TO J A SPEAR. The stately yam-trees with their blossoms white, Stood forth in all their loveliness together. Delightful was it, when the sun declined, To loiter with you as the breath of night Conquered the sultry ardour of the day ; To see the moon rise over silent seas ; To see the summer heavens, now decked with stars, Vie with the shafts of distance-mellowed light From many a cottage on the lone crag-sides In making a rich girdle round the bay ; To hear the soft machete 10 play some air Of gayest sound, perhaps a mazy dance. Alas ! alas for me, such hours of bliss Can nevermore return, for you are dead. Good were it if I lay where you are laid In that fair spot where one may hear the waves Break idly on the shingle beach below In noontide heat when scarce a lizard stirs ; FEANCISCA TO JASPEAR. 51 Where scented roses cling around the tombs Still blooming on tkroughoixt the sunny year. # * # # * Yes, mother, I am coming, you must look At these my oranges, fresh plucked and ripe, And at my custard apples, they will be The finest in the market-place to-day. 52 CHRISTMAS IN THE SUMMER SUNSHINE. (Funchal, Madeira.) Christmas in the summer sunshine ! O how wonderful it seems, — Dowered with gladness are its moments, realizing poet-dreams, While its moments hasten from me, how I wish they came to stay, — How I wish their guileless pleasure nevermore might pass away. Softly play around my forehead breathings of the seaward breeze, As it stirs the swaying branches of the palms and orange-trees, — CHRISTMAS IN THE SUMMER SUNSHINE. 53 As it stirs the cactus growing on the gaunt uprising cliffs Hanging o'er the gleaming ocean dotted with the fishing skiffs. Nature here with slightest tendance grants her gifts of loveliest hue — Gives among the vine-clad ridges wild-flowers purple, golden, blue, — Here azaleas, rich gardenias ope their blossoms to the air, With the rose and trained geranium — whose wild types are also fair. Pure and calm the moonlight radiance for the people as they pass On the eve of merry Christmas to and from the midnight mass ; While the jocund serenaders through the balmy hours of night 54 CHRISTMAS IN THE SUMMER SUNSHINE. By their songs and sprightly music often bring a brief delight. Christmas in the summer sunshine ! neither frost nor snow are here, Buoyant health can welcome winter but it fills the sick with fear — Here the sick with friends around them spend a cheerful Christmas day, Thinking of but seldom pining for a chill home far away. VEESES ON A VASE FILLED WITH SUB-TROPICAL FLOWERS GROWN IN THE OPEN AIR AT MADEIRA, IN DECEMBER. Most beauteous flowers ! Come ye to tell of summer hours, Of balmy breezes — lengthened days, Of warblers' blithesome lays ? Thus come ye not, For not in summer lies your lot, No lengthened days attend your birth Nor songsters' vocal mirth. .56 VERSES ON A VASE FILLED WITH FLOWERS. Yet gentle gales Are near, and sunshine still prevails, As in frail loveliness ye lie Too soon, alas ! to die. Ah fair, how fair, Here Nature working everywhere, — If winter thus it makes to me, What must the spring-time be ! And yet, although Each plant delights in southern glow, Upon no zephyr is there spent One breath of subtle scent. 'Tis England's flowers — The lily and rose of English bowers — Retain the perfume and the glow : These blossoms only blow. VERSES ON A VASE FILLED WITH FLOWERS. 57 'Tis England's spring Whose every floweret seems to bring New sweets to blend with every breeze Among the budding trees. Yet 'tis a power, This glory of each plant and flower, To make the poet's heart rejoice And sing with gladsome voice. The poet feels — Yet rarely even he reveals — The restful store of blissful thought Such flowers to him have brought. 5S ON THE EOAD TO CAMARA DE LOBOS, MADEIRA. January, 18 — . The sun that is setting afar in the west In raiment of glory goes down to his rest, And, like a young maiden who wishes good-bye To the lover when leaving her, "blushes the shy ; How fair is the picture as now in the west In raiment of glory the sun goes to rest. The clouds in apparel of sunset appear, Apparel of beauty while Evening draws near, While calmly they watch o'er the sleep of the sea Unstirred by the breezes. How wondrous to me Is the peace of the picture, as now in the west In raiment of glory the sun goes to rest. <>X THE ROAD TO CAMAEA DE LOBOS. 59 How peerless and perfect God's painting appears, His delicate work never fades with the years ; His painting now quiet, now wild beyond speech, Man only can copy, man never can reach In grandeur. So thought I, as now in the west In raiment of glory the sun goes to rest. 60 SUNDAY MOENING OFF MAZAGAN, MOROCCO. A magic city Fancy- dight, Thou seera'st this tranquil Sabbath day, Strange town all glittering, treeless, white, Begirt with sand and seething spray — Lit by the sun whose rays reveal Each flat-roofed Orient dwelling-place, — Each stately mosque, each well whose wheel A camel turns with tireless pace. Dark Moors in their fantastic dress, In haste to reach us, leave the shore, — They make the distance less and less, So strong the stroke of each long oar. SUNDAY MORNING OFF MAZAGAN 61 Now they Lave reached us and with pride Disdain the aid the steps afford, Bare feet from heel-less slippers glide, And, cat-like, quick they spring on board. All speak at once, with gestures quaint, And few but in an unknown tongue, Those in the boats take up the plaint, And on the deck still more have sprung. A single ship is in the bay Besides our own, — no others ride At anchor. And she goes her way — But not until to-morrow's tide. And from her mizen-mast there floats — Dear sight to every British heart — That flag whose mingled hue denotes A union naught should ever part. 62 SUNDAY MORNING OFF MAZAGAN. A welcome standard ! 'tis a sign — A welcome sign — that some are here Who worship at a common shrine, Who pray like me — like me revere. OX LOOKING UP THE VALE OF •CATJTERETS, HAUTES PYRENEES, BY NIGHT. Though night is here, In outline soft I see A vista through the gloom, where, mirrored clear, Gleam rock and peak and tree. The mountain forms In solemn grandeur rise, Each summit still the strength of countless storms For countless years defies. The dark- green pines Clothe all the slopes around — F 64 THE VALE OF CAUTEEETS BY NIGHT. How lone these slopes on which each cold star shines ! Nor doth a single sound Invade the calm, — Or by its presence change The sense of vastness, soothing like a balm, From heaven so new and strange. 65 THE SOUTHERN NIGHT. (The Valley of the G-ave de Patt.) Ah ! lovelier comes the southern night Than night of northern skies, Where tedious twilight mocks the flight Of clay that slowly dies — Here placid Evening's starry veil O'er all is swiftly cast — Here peace seems wafted on the gale — And care awhile is past. In southern summer's mellow night How sweet it is to stray 'Mid fairest scenes which soft moonlight Make fairer far than day ! 66 THE SOUTHERN NIGHT. How fair tlie widely stretching woods That gird the spacious plain, While watchful Silence, queen-like, broods O'er them in sombre reign — How fair the river's crystal thread, Seen faintly from afar, As silvery starlight now is shed From many a tranquil star. In southern summer's mellow night How sweet it is to stray 'Mid fairest scenes which soft moonlight Make fairer far than day ! How fair the crested mountains lie, Distant, yet wondrous clear, Their snow-capt peaks against the sky Uprising tier on tier ; — How fair the sleeping landscape seems, While here and there are heard THE SOUTHERN NIGHT. 67 Sounds bringing Music's richest dreams Or laughter-laden word. In southern summer's mellow night How sweet it is to stray 'Mid fairest scenes which soft moonlight Make fairer far than day ! 68 LINES: SUGGESTED BY SEEING, AT THE SUMMIT OF THE SIMPLON PASS, A STONE, FRAGMENT OF SOME RUDE ANCIENT CARVING, BROUGHT PERHAPS FROM A NEIGHBOURING VALLEY FOR ROAD- MAKING PURPOSES. THE STONE HAD LAIN DOUBTLESS FOR A LONG TIME NEAR THE SPOT WHERE I SAW IT. How strange perchance have been, quaint carven stone, Your harsh vicissitudes, how came you here ? Change spares not even you, though you have known No soul-distress, nor Sorrow's blinding tear, Nor deep unutterable heart- wrought fear. LIXES. 69 Did you of some calm shrine once form a part Where vesper hymns arose at close of day, "Where lovers true were linked heart to heart, And humble villagers approached to pray, Then, rising, went refreshed upon their way ? And did fierce war destroy your place of peace When some forgotten skirmish happened there Ere yet the Austrian yoke was made to cease By famed Marengo ? " Bullets did not spare The lowly church, and fire soon laid it bare. Maybe, when fickle Time had brought neglect, When reverence was a thing of long ago, When none in all the hamlet had respect For its old ruined fane, they came to throw Its remnants thus away, and used you so. Near you, must oft have wandered weary men 'Mid dire storm-battles fought on wintry nights ; — 70 LINES. Near you, perchance, have happened now and then More wondrous deeds, more awe-inspiring sights Than sages know in whom the world delights. What mighty tempests must have passed you by When 'mid the riven mountains thunder pealed, And storm-clouds came apace athwart the sky In mad career, while Nature half revealed The grandeur of the tumult, half concealed Its majesty and power. The silent snows Must oft have lain upon you, when the hands Of Winter framed his lofty couch, and chose His glacier lairs — when all the higher lands Loomed ghastly, shuddering at his dread com- mands In solemn midnight hours when callous stars Shine down on snow-drifts, on the glaciers lone, And on snow-laden pines : when nothing mars LIXES. 71 That spectacle to human eyes scarce known, Where Nature rears 'mid rocks her frost-bound throne. Yet now you are broken up to make a road — Fallen from your pristine state, and haply too You will be worthless in your chill abode, And shrink from man's unfeeling, heedless view In your small nook, ignoble, poor, and new. 72 IN THE NEW FOKEST. Most clear ! most fair ! The swelling woodland lies, Stretching in leafy glory everywhere Before my wondering eyes. Here mighty oaks, Stalwart, and vast, and strong, A thousand years have faced the tempest's strokes- Have been the home of song. Here wave the boughs Of tall and sombre pines, Here stands " the temple of beeches," made for vows Of love when softly shines IN THE NEW FOREST. 73 The summer moon. Here tremulous branches sway Of sun-lit birches, on the sward at noon Their shadows seem at play. I linger still In this sweet solitude, Wishing my care-sick mind could taste at will The healing sylvan mood. RELIGIOUS POEMS. GOD'S PEACE. " The peace of God which passeth all understanding." Phil. iv. 7. How oft amid the griefs of life — Perplexed, misjudged, distressed — O God, I waver in the strife, And long and cry for rest. How oft I feel — so great my need, My courage so outworn — As though my griefs were now indeed Greater than could be borne. Yet oft will come in times like these — Come like a gracious balm — A sense of peace, of joy, of ease, A sense of heaven's own calm. 7S GO US PEACE. Ah ! then my heart would fain express What I have felt before — 'Tis not I feel my griefs are less — I feel Thy love is more. And some are here, God, to-day, Here with their voiceless grief, O give the aid for which they pray, O give such sweet relief, give Thy peace, Thy calm, Thy joy, Here as they humbly bow — Such gifts nor Time nor Change destroy, Give them, and give them now. 79 A RALLYING SONG. Sometimes trustful, often fearful, In this world of shifting wrong ; Sometimes joyful, often tearful, Still be this our rallying song — Aye, in sadness And in gladness, Nobly act, for God is strong. When, oppressed by deep soul-sorrow, Life beneath the darkest skies Seems so drear that no to-morrow Holds a threat of worse surprise — In such sadness As in gladness Nobly act, for God is wise. G 80 A RALLYING SONG. When our souls are tried, and tempted Some ignoble end to buy, From the coward's bonds exempted, Let us resolutely cry — Evil sow not, That it grow not, Nobly act, for God is nigh. 81 MORNING THOUGHTS. Sweet-voiced songsters softly singing Tell me of a day begun, Its appointed portion bringing Of the duty to be done. Last day's deeds are gone for ever, — Seems it not most passing strange Their results remain, and never Can be touched by time or change ? Like a child, his pebble throwing From the streamlet's sedgy marge, Marking not the ripples growing Though they one by one enlarge — 82 MORNING THOUGHTS. So, with influence still increasing, Widening o'er Life's mystic sea, Man deals out his actions, — ceasing Only with Eternity. Many yesterday, unthinking, Chose the road which leads to night,- While a few, with souls unshrinking, Chose the pathway of the light. Thus I muse with deep emotion Whilst the moments melt away — Muse upon the boundless ocean Of the issues of to-day. S3 A SONG OF COMFOKT. Not always have we sorrow, there are seasons When buoyant joy dispels all dreams of ruth — Times when our thoughts of sorrow seem hut treasons To king-like Truth. Not always are we vext by cares and troubles, — Often the griefs of life appear no more — Vanished, as on a lake the showery bubbles, When rain is o'er. Not always feel we that our hopes are blighted ; A glad fruition will they often gain, When we perceive the good are aye requited Who conquer pain. 84 A SONG OF COMFORT. Not always should we grieve, each tribulation Is sent to purify — to raise the soul, To fit it for its glorious destination — A heavenly goal. So THE BALANCE OF LIFE. 'Tis false to say the world, though sad, Hath no redeeming feature, 'Tis false to say the world, though glad, Can hold no hopeless creature. The darkest life has oft a ray Of sunshine on the morrow, The brightest life has many a day Whose hours are filled with sorrow. No life with ceaseless grief is fraught, None with all bliss and beauty, By varied teaching are we taught The way to walk in duty. 86 THE BALANCE OF LIFE. If happy be our earthly lot, And free of Sorrow's burden, Greater the need to linger not ; — Our work shall have its guerdon : Yet richer guerdon comes to those Whom heav'n hath not exempted From pain, who quell the self-same foes Although more sorely tempted. Each grief that sweeps across the heart, If sinless be its sadness, In Life's long lesson bears a part And yields us future gladness. 87 "LORD, TEACH US TO PRAY." Luke xi. 1. A dark enigma is our life Without Thy guiding ray ; Then calm, Christ, its sordid strife By teaching us to pray. Prayer ! only conqueror of the fears And doubts along our way ; Whose holy influence ever cheers, — What peace it brings to pray ! Oft lies our path through pain and woe While in Earth's night we dwell, Yet prayer will prove a sun to show That still Thou leadest well ; 8S "LORD, TEACH US TO PRAY." So when Life's mysteries distress, And gloom enshrouds our day, We plead that Thou wouldst make it less By teaching us to pray. 89 HOLY QUIETUDE. Spirit of holy quietude, For thee my soul is sighing — For thee in many a mournful mood My soul is blindly crying — But still a voice comes softly clear, " That spirit seldom cometh here." Spirit of holy quietude, While, weary, I am breasting Life's waves, bring with thee all things good- Deep peace, and joy, and resting: — Yet still the voice — " No, never here Doth she thy soul would find appear." 90 HOLY QUIETUDE. Spirit of holy quietude, Grant me a single token — Show me that Life's long conflict rude By gleams of peace is broken ; But the voice whispers in mine ear, " That spirit never dwelleth here." Spirit of holy quietude, Mine earthly course is ending, Now let thy peace within me brood, Sin's strongest fetters rending ; " In heaven," the voice says at my side- " In heaven alone doth she abide." LYRICS AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 93 THE UNFULFILLED IDEAL. When youthful Summer decks the sward With flowers on plain and hill, And Nature wins her meet reward For working Winter's will, Even then Life's music lacks a chord : Something wanted still ! In Autumn, when each searing leaf With gentle sorrow fraught, And every garnered golden sheaf Yields fruit for mingled thought : — We feel a void — there comes a grief — Something vaguely sought ! 94 THE UNFULFILLED IDEAL. When Winter lays an icy hand Where Spring had kissed the ground, And stiff and stark lies all the land Where Summer erst was crowned : — We feel but do not understand : Something still unfound ! When Spring returns with radiant grace To fill the earth with song, And gladness smiles in every place, And love and life are strong, Still comes the want we cannot trace : Something wanted long ! 95 THE CHILD COWPER AT BERKHAMPSTEAD. " Where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way. " Cowpee, My Mother's Picture. Beight beams of sunshine lit the lawn, And all the landscape seemed as drawn From some enchanter's treasure ; — The birds were singing loud and clear, But most perchance he loved to hear The blackbird's cheery measure. And while he loiter'd 'neath the trees Soft scents were wafted by the breeze That blew across the hay-field H 96 COWPER AT BERKHAMPSTEAD. Where village children then resorted, And as among the swaths they sported Transformed it to a play-field. Did these dear visions fade away ? They did — and for their death that day He felt a throb of sorrow ; But gladness came in sorrow's place When Hope said with her smiling face, " 'Twill live again to-morrow." IN ELLINGTON COPSE. How lovely are these woodland ways Clad in their summer dress, Where come not din and smoke to mar Their evening loveliness ; Where wild-rose and convolvulus Are wov'n in every hedge, And buttercups and foxgloves glow By this clear brooklet's edge ; Where breezes waft their balmiest scents Adown the silent wood, And scarce a songster sings to break The hush of solitude ; 98 IN ELLINGTON COPSE. Where shadows creep across nay path And softly dies the day — And Summer's beauty holds the world Within her gracious sway. This evening every wild-flower here More deeply stirs my heart Than alien flowers or jnrodigies Of man's botanic art ; This sweet-brier bough, that meekly pours Its perfume on the air, I would not give for any flower The gardener deems most fair ; I leave the rich their bowers of art Wreathed with the rarest flowers, Enough for me these woodland ways In Summer's twilight hours. 99 A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER. Sweet is the time when tender leaves Burst forth in all their perfect grace, When swallows twitter from the eaves, And Spring to Summer yields her place ; When red and white the chestnut shows, When fragrance from the hawthorn spreads, When fair the blue wistaria blows, And iris lilies lift their heads. Yet soon the chestnut petals fade, Wistaria blooms droop one by one, Soon sigh the leaves for welcome shade, Then fall with dews at set of sun. 100 A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER. Not so the spring-time of tlie heart, That knows nor change nor swift decay, The spring-time of our nobler part It ne'er shall fade or pass away. 101 THE HEAET'S SUMMER. Sweet is the noon of a summer day When, through the woodlands coming, The village sounds seem far away And drowsy bees are humming. Sweet are the hours of a summer night When kindly dews are falling, And thoughts that come with the fading light Are soothing, or enthralling. Sweet are the tones of a friendly voice When all seems gone but sorrow, Bidding the heart once more rejoice, For peace may come to-morrow. 102 THE HEARTS SUM BIER. Sweet is the sound of the world's applause When fame at last hath found us, And (wage for toil in a righteous cause) Flings victory's wreath around us. But sweeter far is a heart at rest, A heart unsoured by sadness — Which throbs within a blissful breast With a God-imparted gladness. 103 THE AUTUMN IS DYING. The autumn is dying, And leaves that are still, Grief's tokens, are lying On plain and on hill ; My garden of pleasure Lies withered and hare, Oh the pitiless measure Of ruin wrought there. In a hedgerow wind-shaken To wildest unrest, Forlorn and forsaken I see a bird's nest, 104 THE AUTUMN IS DYING. Its soft down decaying, Its fledglings all flown, Naught save the shell staying Deserted and lone. Then the thought rises, cleaving The depths of my mind, Soon we too shall be leaving Our loved homes behind, Soon the grave will enclose us — Life's pilgrimage o'er — " And the place that now knows us Shall know us no more." 105 DECEMBER DAISIES AND DECEMBER DAYS. An, how the sight of these untimely flowers Brings dear remembrances of summer hours, When the full heart in buoyant mood was filled With happiness — when the swift moments thrilled The soul with subtle thoughts no words express. Kind halcyon moments ! How they soothe and bless And beautify my sordid life. And here, When this December day is stir-less, clear At its brief twilight — when there shines afar From out a cloudless heav'n yon evening star — When southern breezes blow, nor storm nor rain Disturb, — I dream 'tis summer come again. 106. THE POET'S INSPIRATION. True inspiration ever seems A joy and yet a pain, To light the poet's lofty dreams, To purify his strain. Its presence glorifies the line Whose rhythmic measure halts, Makes hackneyed thoughts seem half divine, Till few perceive such faults. And thus, although we sometimes find Imperfect chords like these In songs of many a master-mind, How seldom they displease : THE POETS INSPIRATION. 107 But when its presence is not felt, Though smooth the verses roll — Though cadences in sweetness melt — They cannot stir the soul. 108 A MEMORY AND A PRESENCE. When clasping in mine own the hand Of him I loved the best, Whose converse cheered, as sight of land Cheers mariners distressed, How once I loved the darkening hour Of Summer's happy day, As gently from each leaf and flower The daylight passed away. For he had learnt to bear his part In Earth's unending strife, To labour with unflinching heart Amid the ills of life — A MEMORY AND A PRESENCE. 109 To feel adversity and pain, Hopes blighted, bitter wrong, And yet, ere long, to find again God's peace which makes men strong. So would he talk of bygone years In that hush'd eventide, Of former hopes, delights, and fears, Of early friends who died, And wisely would my future trace, Then leaving things of Time, In raptured tones, with upturned face, Would speak of themes sublime. He had that wordless eloquence, That strange, that wondrous power, Which sways the soul with force intense In calm of such an hour ; 110 A MEMORY AND A PRESENCE. And walking where the shadows steal Across the garden here, Alone with memory still I feel His spirit ever near. Ill "WHILE THE SUNSET, SLOWLY DYING." While the sunset, slowly dying, Sheds a light o'er sea and strand, And the night-chilled breeze is sighing As the darkness wraps the land — Come, with influence strong yet tender, Mingled thoughts of vanished years, Waking soul-thrills that can render Sometimes joy and sometimes tears. All the past, returning, seems Present with its living dreams. When the kindly summer's glory Filled the earth with myriad charms, First I breathed a lover's story — First I felt true love's alarms — i 112 " WHILE THE SUNSET, SLOWLY DYING." First I pleaded with a maiden, Hazel-eyed, and pure, and fair As that eve whose gales love-laden Wantoned with her auburn hair. All the past, returning, seems Present with its living dreams. Now to me how swiftly thronging Come the visions of the past — ■ Treasured past to me belonging — Span of bliss too deep to last : Still do I remember clearly What I asked in trembling tone, And her words, " I love you dearly, Tours I am, and yours alone." All the past, returning, seems Present with its living dreams. *& We were " wedded, happy-hearted," And our future path seemed bright, " WHILE THE SUNSET, SLOWLY DYING." 113 Wlio could tell we should be parted, Love's glad sun obscured in night ? Yet one eve, when softly sighing Summer breezes lulled the rose, I beheld her, fainting, dying, I beheld her dim eyes close. Ah, how living, fraught with woe, Eise the sights of long ago ! # * * # # Yet amid my sore dejection Comes the comfort ever new — Comes the balm, the sweet reflection, To each other we were true. For some end God sendeth sorrow, When that end is gained at last, In the radiant heavenly morrow We shall meet — all sorrow past. There, no longer fraught with woe, Eise the days of long ago. 114 THE BELDE'S SONG. A few days more, a few days more, And all the world will change ! For I shall enter through Love's door To something sweet yet strange — To that new land where lives no fear Unshared by him I love — Where I shall always, always hear His voice where'er I rove. Ah then, ah then, my duty lies With him, and him alone, Less duty than delight, surprise, To me before unknown — THE BRIDE'S SONG. 115 Delight that I am ever nigh To do each fond behest, Surprise that I, and only I, Can make his life more blest. Oft does he praise my sunny hair, The bloom upon my cheeks — Would that I were indeed so fair When thus my dear one speaks. I feel myself unworthy, yet He takes me for his wife, But I will yield — to pay my debt — The service of my life. 116 THE HAWTHORN SPEAY. Happy, with that strange happiness Which Spring spreads o'er the land, I see a girl, I see a hoy, They are walking hand in hand. I hear them as they gaily talk, They heed no future care, He plucks a flushing hawthorn spray To deck her fairer hair. " And let this he a token now," The merry hoy exclaims, " That, some time in the coming years, We two may link our names. THE HAWTHORN SPRAY. 117 The may-buds are a symbol meet Of this our treaty pure, So may our compact bring us joy And evermore endure." * * * * # Tlese two — though many years have fled — ?led like a dream away, Ar* still as true of heart as on That unforgotten day. An! so together oft again /mid the spring-tide's glow They walk, remembering thankfully Their love-pledge long ago. 118 THE PURITAN'S FAKE WELL TO HIS BETROTHED, 1642. SHE — When Love arose and taught my heart To hold thee first and chief, I never dreamed that we should part In pain beyond belief, Then wherefore bring this aching woe To me, to thee, to all, E'en though harsh Duty bids thee go To obey thy faction's call ? he — Nay, speak not so ; that sigh, that Icok, Wound worse than blades of steel, THE PURITAN'S FAREWELL. 119 Yet what were I if I forsook, Because of thine appeal, No " faction " but God's righteous cause, No struggle of greed and shame — One stern last stand for Eight and laws That win His high acclaim ? Truth, Justice, Conscience plead with me, Then wouldst thou have me, dear, For calm and ease and joy with thee To yield to craven fear — To prove a recreant from the right — A coward sore afraid — A traitor in the coming fight Where England needs mine aid ? Thou murmur'st, " We shall meet no more : " I know, I know thy pain, Our life is brief, but when 'tis o'er True lovers live again — 120 THE PURITAN'S FAREWELL. They live again in that fair land Where conies nor strife nor sword — Where Truth and Joy go hand in hand- And Love hath Faith's reward. There, where each feeling stands confessed, Wilt thou know all my sorrow — Wilt know what pangs have rent my breast Ere leaving thee to-morrow. Lo, hearken to the distant chime, To us a knell of sadness, Then let us spend our span of time In peace more deep than gladness. she — The weakness goes : oh, heed it not ! My fears have done thee wrong ; My pain is but my woman's lot, And Love shall make me strong :— THE PURITAN'S FAREWELL. 121 In these brave arms I will be brave, And while thou still art here, To God will lift my soul, and crave The peace which casts out fear. 122 PASSION'S SLAVE. Blind passion ever showed its maddening power Enthroned within him — a sin-garnered dower Of quenchless loves and longings. That fierce storm Which breaks the boughs of Life, where sheltered warm Repose, like unfledged nestlings, Life's chief joys, Swept o'er his soul — the wave that swift destroys Man's store of peace. What years of labour cost He by one fatal step for ever lost. 123 TWO LIVES. A cottage home : a peaceful place Where Sorrow hides her pallid face ; Husband and wife, a happy pair, Who thankfully Life's blessings share ; And living far from towns' turmoil, They simply crave a " leave to toil ! " ***** A workhouse full of dreary din, Full of the signs of want and sin. A man and woman shaking fast, Sinking, yet conscious to the last, Their senses steeped in wrathful woe None but the frugal poor can know 124 TWO LIVES. When first, despite their care, is spent Their all through sickness and the rent ; When first, despite their abject grief, No kindly landlord grants relief ; When first, despite their abject gloom, His agent comes — decrees their doom ; When first within the workhouse gate Silent they stand, how desolate ! When first they feel, with sorrow bowed, The loneliness amid a crowd — When first they feel in their distress That is the deepest loneliness ; When first they feel they near their end, Yet by their bed no former friend ; When now, despite their struggles — struggles long and brave — Their death but fills — but helps to fill — a pauper's grave. 125 TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. (written after reading his "journal.") Poet, 'twas no strange sun that shone on thee Through thy pure life so crowned with dignity, No sun with light now clouded, now intense, But aye the unclouded sun of common- sense. 123 SOLITUDE. Amid tlie throng Which, restless, moves along With hurrying footsteps o'er the earth, But few their noblest thoughts have known, Seldom save when alone Come thoughts of worth. It needs the balm Of soul-restoring calm To purge the mind of Life's alloy ; Thus yielding back Man's highest power, His blessed pristine dower Of peace and joy. SOLITUDE. 127 And thus do men With new and eager ken Taste those rich joys that only live In solitude — joys which uplift Their souls to Truth — best gift- That Life can give. HUMOROUS POEMS. 131 MOONLIGHT ON THE TAGUS. The moon shines o'er the Tagus. Now a flood Of soft-spun sparkling radiance clothes the scene With dazzling splendour, save where shadows lie Upon the river's bosom, sheltering there The coward Darkness, here dethroned awhile, By the moon's great though seeming gentle might. Ah me, how beautiful ! Deep azure sky, Deep azure sea, and steadfast-beaming stars, — A dreamy blissful languor stealeth fast Over my soul while musing pensively On this fair vista steeped in rapt repose, And I forget the busy throng of life That it presents by day, — and almost now I could imagine it some magic realm 132 MOONLIGHT ON THE TAG US. Enchanted in far fairyland, beyond The power of mortal reach. Bnt soon a voice Says, " Supper's come at last, let's eat, and then to bed." 133 WAITING FOE THE DENTIST. Though many dismal years I've been To dull old Care apprenticed, Of smaller woes the worst I've seen Is — waiting for the dentist ! How dreary is the cheerless room Where pain must bide his pleasure, The very chairs are steeped in gloom And seem to grieve at leisure, As if his patients' molar grief, So uncontrolled its swelling, For its fierce tide had sought relief By deluging the dwelling. 134 WAITING FOB THE DENTIST. Books cannot soothe a rampant tooth Though they enrich a table, Sorrow alone seems kin to truth, And joy a lying fable. When from the window you, perchance, Behold sweet girlhood's graces, They only make you look askance And think how sore your face is. On many chairs and sofas, too, More martyrs round you languish, You glance at them, they glance at you, And give a groan of anguish. You deem it hard their turn arrives Before you in rotation, Or they wax wrath that yours deprives Their case of consolation. WAITING FOR THE DENTIST. 135 You muse upon the ruthless wrench That buys a tooth's departing, Or how the stopping-pangs to quench, In which you may be starting ; Or haply on these ivory chips Harsh Nature may deny you, But which the " golden key" equips Man's genius to supply you. No words your mood of mind express, A mood devoid of quiet, Where pain, delight, and keen distress Mingle in hopeless riot. Yes, though much sorrow one must know While to old Care apprenticed, The greatest unheroic woe Is — waiting for the dentist. NOTES. Note to " At the Grave of Dante Gabriel Eossetti." 1. Rossetti died at Birchington-on-Sea, Kent, on the 9th of April, 1882. Note to " Browning's Funeral — /." 2. See Browning's poem, entitled " In a Gondola." Note to " The Taking of the Flag." 3. The epithet "Dutch rag" is said to have been the actual phrase used by the sailor whom Hopson addressed. The boy had only joined the fleet on the day before as a volunteer, and had previously been a tailor's apprentice. Vide "Sea Fights," p. 73. Professor Laughton, in " The Dictionary of National Biography," expresses his opinion, however, that the incident on which this poem is based has no historical foundation. Notes to " The Keeping of the Voio." 4. When I first versified this incident, I was not aware that the subject had been already dealt with under the title of " The Heart of the Bruce," by Professor Aytoun. 5. It will he remembered that the struggle in Spain between the Moors and the Christians lasted for cen- turies. 138 NOTES. 6. It is evident, from what we know of his conduct, that Douglas regarded the war as pre-eminently a re- ligious one. Note to " The Death of Captain Hunt." 7. See " Battles of the British Navy," vol. i., p. 210. Note to " June 22nd, 1893." 8. The loss of H.M.S. " Victoria." Note to " Joao to Constanga." 9. The teste is a south-east wind felt in Madeira, and frecpiently prevalent for several days. At the heginning or close of a leste the sunrises and sunsets are superb. Purple is the colour particularly prominent. Note to " Francisca to Jasjiear." 10. The Portuguese guitar. Note to " Lines on a Stone near the Summit of the Simplon Pass." 11. There was some desultory fighting in the Italian Alpine valleys before Napoleon the First's decisive victory of Marengo. CHISWICK PRESS :— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., T00E.S COURT, CHANCERY LANE. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. CHARLES WHITEHEAD: A MONOGRAPH, WITH EXTRACTS FROM HIS WORKS. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. " It is strange how men with a true touch of genius in them can sink out of recognition ; and this occurs very rapidly sometimes, as in the case of Charles Whitehead. Several works hy this writer ought not to he allowed to drop out of English literature, and a publisher might do worse than hy reprinting some of them. They contain ever and again unquestionable evidence of power. Mr. Mackenzie Bell's sketch may consequently be welcomed for reviving the interest in Whitehead. . . . Whitehead's verse attracted the notice of two very different men, Dante Rossetti and Christopher North ; while one of his novels inspired a similar feeling in Dickens." — Times. " Mr. Mackenzie Bell has done a good service in intro- ducing us to a man of true genius, whose works have sunk into mysteriously swift and complete oblivion. Judging by the extracts furnished by Mr. Mackenzie Bell, Charles Whitehead's poem, 'The .Solitary,' and his novel, 'Richard Savage,' were both very remarkable works. . . . Mr. Mackenzie Bell writes in an excellent style, and his critical remarks are full of thoughtful good sense." — Contemporary Review. " Mr. Mackenzie Bell has given copious extracts from Whitehead's writings. They certainly contain some striking and powerful passages. " — Guardian. "Whitehead was an interesting man, and produced some good work. He is deserving of resurrection." — A theiueum. ' ' We can recommend the hook to our readers as one of considerahle interest." — Notes and Queries. "Mr. Mackenzie Bell, whose poems appear to gain more favour as they are more read, here, for the lirst time as far as we know, essays critical biography. . . . The work was well worth doing — for Whitehead wrote some very perfect things, sonnets which charmed Dante Rossetti, and stories which delighted Charles Dickens — and Mr. Mackenzie Bell has done it well. There is no more useful function of literary criticism than to remove the dust from the tombs of men of genius whom the world is forgetting." — British Quarterly Review. ' ' There are many persons still living in Melbourne in whose minds the sight of the title-page of this volume will call up pathetic recollections of the spare figure, tbe sadly thoughtful face, the nervous temperament, the shy manner and hesitating speech of the gifted but unfor- tunate man who died in the Melbourne Hospital twenty - seven years ago. . . . He was a child of genius for whom men like Charles Dickens, ' Christopher North,' Dante Gabriel Kossetti, and Douglas Jerrold conceived a high admiration, and who numbered among his personal friends [the first] Lord Lytton and William Makepeace Thackeray." — Australasian. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50m-7,'54 (5990)444 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES PR h099 H;125s UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 380 307 9