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 \SLiS
 
 POETRY. 
 
 BY MRS. ABDY. 
 
 rllE GREATER PART OF THESE VERSES HAVE APPEARED AT VARIOUS 
 TIMES, IN DIFFERENT MIGAZINES AND ANNUALS. 
 
 (FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION.) 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY J. ROBINS AND SONS, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 1834.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Broken Ties 1 
 
 ■ The Birth of an Heir 3 
 
 The Second Marriage 5 
 
 Brother and Sister • . 7 
 
 The Songs of Scotland ^ 
 
 The Home of Happier Days 10 
 
 The Infant's Evening Prayer 11 
 
 The World of Change 13 
 
 The Orphan's Dream 15 
 
 The Magic Lantern 17 
 
 The Birth-day Gift 18 
 
 The Last of the Family 19 
 
 Tlie Soldier's Bride 21 
 
 My very Particular Friend 24 
 
 The Minstrel's Truest Fame 27 
 
 The Children's Ball 29 
 
 The KalLidescope 31 
 
 The Separation , 32 
 
 Oh 1 ask me not to sing to-night 34 
 
 The Portrait 35 
 
 A Mother's Love 36 
 
 Dreams 38 
 
 Lover's Presents 40 
 
 An Original Thought , 41 
 
 _j_ Neglected Talent , 43 
 
 764.583
 
 IV. 
 
 rrM rr, PAGE. 
 
 1 he Treasures of the Eaitl 45 
 
 Caroline, a Sketch 47 
 
 The Wall-Flower 49 
 
 The Songs we used to sing together 50 
 
 The Philosophical Lover, a true anecdote 51 
 
 Congenial Spirits „ . . 52 
 
 The Night-blowing Cereus 54 
 
 The Widower's Dream 55 
 
 The Pilgrim's Home 57 
 
 Meeting Again , 59 
 
 The Children in the Temple 61 
 
 Lines wiitten in a Young Lady's Album, under a Lock of her 
 
 deceased Mother's Hair 63 
 
 Earth and Heaven 64 
 
 The Land of the Blest 65 
 
 Temptation 6? 
 
 The Bondage of Israel 70 
 
 The Sisters of Eethany 73 
 
 Hymn sung at St. John'.^ Church, Southwaik, on occasion of 
 
 a Century having elapsed since its Consecration 75 
 
 Hymn sung at the School for Indigent Blind, on occasion of 
 
 Laying the First Stone of the proposed New Building, by 
 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury, April 25th, 1834 77
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BROKEN TIES. 
 
 The Broken Ties of happier days, 
 
 How often do they seem 
 To come before our mental gaze, 
 
 Like a remembered dream ; 
 Around us each dissevered chain, 
 
 In sparkling ruin lies. 
 And earthly hand can ne'er again 
 
 Unite those Broken Ties. 
 
 The parents of our infant home, 
 
 The kindred that we loved, 
 Far from our arms perchance may roam. 
 
 To distant scenes removed, 
 Or we have watched their parting breath, 
 
 And closed their weary eyes. 
 And sighed to think how sadly death 
 
 Can sever human ties.
 
 BROKEN TIES. 
 
 The friends, the loved ones of our youth, 
 
 They too are gone or changed, 
 Or worse than all, their love and truth 
 
 Are darkened and estranged ; 
 They meet us in the glittering throng 
 
 With cold averted eyes, 
 And wonder that we weep our wrong, 
 
 And mourn our Broken Ties. 
 
 Oh ! who in such a world as this, 
 
 Could bear their lot of pain, 
 Did not one radiant hope of 1)1 iss 
 
 Unclouded yet remain ? 
 That hope the Sovereign Lord has given, 
 
 Who reigns beyond the skies; 
 That hope unites our souls to Heaven, 
 
 By Faith's enduring ties. 
 
 Each care, each ill of mortal birth, 
 
 Is sent in pitying love, 
 To lift the lingering heart from earth. 
 
 And speed its flight above ; 
 And every pang that rends the breast. 
 
 And every joy that dies, 
 Tell us to seek a safer rest, 
 
 And trust to holier ties.
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN HEIR. 
 
 Hark ! pealing bells salute the morn ; 
 They speak of joy — an heir is born ! 
 Kinsman and friend now smile elate, 
 Glad tenants throng the castle gate. 
 While the proud father, in his joy, 
 Reads the sweet aspect of his boy, 
 And strives in every look to trace 
 The features of his noble race. 
 
 Babe of a high and honored line, 
 A bright and blessed lot is thine ; 
 Not for thy lands and forests wide, 
 Not for thy gilded halls of pride ; — 
 These may be phantoms to betray 
 Thy wandering feet from wisdom's way ; 
 No — on a simpler scene I rest, 
 And viewing it, I deem thee blest, 
 
 B 2
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN IIEIU. 
 
 Within yon still and tranquil room, 
 Shaded to soft and twilight gloom, 
 Thy youthful mother, fair and good, 
 Breatlies forth her holy gratitude ; 
 And while the thoughtless sons of earth 
 Thy coming greet with festal mirth, 
 She, in low tones of heartfelt prayer, 
 Commends thee to thy Maker's care. 
 
 Her looks, her words, with gentle power. 
 Shall guide thy steps in childhood's hour ; 
 And when a flattering servile train, 
 Extol to thee thy fair domain, 
 And to thy titles bend the knee — 
 Her's shall that best ambition be. 
 To fit thee for a sphere more bright — 
 The heirship of a realm of light 1
 
 .5 
 
 THE SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 Oh ! think not I can calmly see 
 
 Thy second nuptial morn, 
 Thou know'st with what delighted glee 
 
 I hailed its former dawn ; 
 How proud, how joyous did I feel 
 
 Thy loved one to attend. 
 And with a bridesmaid's eager zeal 
 
 Adorn my gentle friend. 
 
 I clasped the string of costly pearls. 
 
 Thy gift in courtship's hours ; 
 I placed upon her shining curls 
 
 The crown of orange flowers ; 
 O'er her sweet face I flung the veil, 
 
 Yet drew it half aside, 
 That thy triumphant gaze might hail 
 
 The beauty of thy bride !
 
 THE SECOND MARRIAGE, 
 
 And when I knew her in the sphere 
 
 Of calm domestic life ; 
 How did I honor and revere 
 
 The virtues of the wife ; 
 She turned from flattery's syren voice, 
 
 And pleasure's splendid dome, 
 To bless the husband of her choice, 
 
 And grace his tranquil home. 
 
 Time passed — I saw her in the gloom 
 
 Of sickness and of death ; 
 I marked her faint and fading bloom, 
 
 I watched her failing breath ; 
 1 heard her last fond feeble prayer 
 
 That heaven would thee sustain, 
 Support thy steps, and soothe thy care, 
 
 Through a lone world of pain. 
 
 Nay, weep not thus ! new duties bind 
 
 Thy thoughts to this low span ; 
 Thou ever while she lived wcrt kind — 
 
 Thine is the faith of man ! 
 Mine is more firm — my woman's heart 
 
 Loves on, though hope be fled — 
 This day can nought but grief impart 
 
 To one who mourns the dead !
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 Her cheek was like the blossoms of the spring ; 
 
 Her eye was blue as the calm heavens above her ; 
 Her lips, like parted rose-buds, severing, 
 
 Seemed to command the gazing world to love her ; 
 Yet, woman like, her strength was in her weakness, 
 Ruling all hearts by her resistless meekness. 
 
 Beside her stood a form of manly grace ; 
 
 Mind in his aspect held its high revealing ; 
 In his, her winning features, I could trace 
 
 The magic smile, the glance of tender feeling; 
 And when I heard his silvery voice — none other 
 Could speak in tones so like her — save her brother. 
 
 Such forms must Shakspeare in his dreams have seen, 
 When he imagined his transcendent pair, 
 
 Sebastian, counterpart in look and mien 
 Of the sweet Viola, his sister fair ; 
 
 Would he were here, to see his fancied story 
 
 Exemplified in living truth and glory !
 
 THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 Oh ! give me yet another lay, 
 
 One song of Scotland ere we part ; 
 
 Thou dost not know the magic sway 
 Such accents hold upon my heart. 
 
 They lead me back to girlhood's hour. 
 When music's spell my soul possest ; 
 
 And when of all its treasured lore, 
 I loved the Songs of Scotland best. 
 
 I sung them in the dazzling throng, 
 
 And oft, when pressed to change the strain ; 
 
 Coldly I breathed the chosen song, 
 Then turned to Scotland's lays again. 
 
 I murmured them alone — and then, 
 
 With fancied scenes my sight was glad ; 
 
 I wandered through some northern glen, 
 In silken snood, and robe of plaid.
 
 SONGS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 I watched the waterfall's white spray ; 
 
 Wove garlands of the yellow broom ; 
 Heard the sweet mavis pour its lay, 
 
 And saw the opening gowans bloom. 
 
 Those days have past — I now repress 
 The waking dreams indulged before ; 
 
 The charm of fancy sways me less ; 
 The power of custom rules me more. 
 
 And varied songs attract my praise. 
 The German strains of wild romance ; 
 
 Soft Italy's subduing lays, 
 
 And the light airs of merry France. 
 
 Yet, when the simple melodies 
 
 Of bonny Scotland greet my ear ; 
 
 Forth at the potent call arise 
 
 Feelings and thoughts long prized and dear, 
 
 My sunny girlhood smiles again, 
 
 And 'midst a world of strife and art ; 
 
 The Songs of Scotland still retain, 
 Their early empire o'er my heart !
 
 10 
 
 THE HOME OF HAPPIER DAYS. 
 
 Yes, bright the velvet lawn appears, 
 
 And fair the blooming bowers ; 
 Yet blame me not — I view with tears, 
 
 This scene of light and flowers ; 
 Strangers possess my native halls, 
 
 And tread my wonted ways ; 
 Alas ! no look, no voice recalls, 
 
 The Home of Happier Days. 
 
 The gay guitar is still in tune ; 
 
 The greenhouse plants are rare ; 
 Glad faces throng the wide saloon, 
 
 But none I love are there : 
 Oh ! give me friendship's cherished tone, 
 
 Give me affection's gaze ; 
 Else my sad heart can never own 
 
 The Home of Happier Days.
 
 11 
 
 THE INFANT'S EVENING PRAYER. 
 
 The day is over, my frolic child ! 
 
 Thou hast left thy sports of glee ; 
 With looks composed, and with accents mild, 
 
 Thou hast sunk on thy bended knee ; — 
 And the moonbeams play on thy hazel eye, 
 
 And shine on thy flaxen hair ; 
 While thy voice is raised to the power on high, 
 
 In a simple Evening Prayer. 
 
 Few are thy words, my gentle boy, 
 
 Thou art but of infant years ; 
 Thou can'st not tell of the world's vain joy, 
 
 Its temptations, toils, and tears ; 
 But thou still can'st ask from the Lord above, 
 
 His protecting grace and care ; 
 And each earthly friend who has won thy love, 
 
 Is named in thy Evening Prayer.
 
 12 THE infant's evening prayer. 
 
 Ere thy lips could a lengthened sentence frame, 
 
 Or utter a perfect tone ; 
 We taught thee to lisp thy Maker's name, 
 
 And bow at his heavenly throne ; 
 We bade thee gaze on the bright blue skies, 
 
 And told thee His home was there ; 
 And He will not the simple words despise 
 
 Of our Infant's Evening Prayer !
 
 13 
 
 THE WORLD OF CHANGE. 
 
 Oh ! trust not, cling not, to the hope 
 
 Of constancy below ; 
 Earth's fragile blossoms smile and droop. 
 
 Her waters ebb and flow : 
 Yon flow'ret withers as it springs. 
 
 Yon bird is on the range ; 
 Aye, even in life's meanest things, 
 
 This is a World of Change. 
 
 The friends of thy secluded youth, 
 
 Who cheer thy tranquil hours ; 
 Will they retain their boasted truth, 
 
 Far from these peaceful bowers ? 
 No ! glittering scenes their faith shall try, 
 
 Their tenderness estrange ; 
 And thou in bitterness shalt sigh. 
 
 O'er a false World of Change.
 
 14 THE WORLD OF CirAXGE. 
 
 Thou too wilt change in after years, 
 
 Thy spirit's noble ken, 
 Will share the sordid hopes and fears 
 
 Of calculating men ; 
 And nature's charms will fail to please, 
 
 And music's notes seem strange ; 
 And poesy's sweet spell will cease, 
 
 To bless a World of Change. 
 
 Yet though stern time some joys may blight, 
 
 Some finer feelings chill ; 
 Oh ! may'st thou hold one hope of light, 
 
 Unchanged, unclouded still — 
 The hope to win in realms above, 
 
 Of bright and boundless range, 
 A world of constancy and love, 
 
 A world that cannot change !
 
 15 
 
 THE ORPHAN'S DREAM. 
 
 " I dreamed that in a garden fair, 
 
 I wandered free with spirits light ; 
 And my dear parents met me there, 
 
 And kissed and clasped me with delight : 
 
 " A thousand tender things we spoke, 
 Nor seemed of parting e'er to deem ; 
 
 And when I suddenly awoke, 
 I wept to find it but a dream ! " 
 
 " And was it but a dream, sweet child, 
 
 From which thy waking thoughts should turn ' 
 
 No ! from the scenes that round thee smiled, 
 A heavenly lesson thou may'st learn. 
 
 " Thy parents lived in Christian trust, 
 They sought a purer world than this ; 
 
 And now they do not sleep in dust, 
 But wake in realms of cloudless bliss.
 
 U) THE ORPHAN S PRAYER. 
 
 " And shouldst thou in their footsteps tread, 
 And pray like them for pardoning grace ; 
 
 By heaven's kind aid' thou may'st be led, 
 To reach their happy dwelling place. 
 
 '' Then, as thy cheering dream foretold. 
 Thy parents shall with rapturous love, 
 
 Welcome their lost-one to its fold, 
 Their wanderer to a rest above."
 
 THE MAGIC LANTERN. 
 
 What wonders before us incessantly pass, 
 Revealed by the power of this marvellous glass ; 
 There are shadows to please, to surprise, to delight, 
 And some that the senseless and weak might affright. 
 
 But you each by your parents and friends have been told, 
 That it is but a mimic display you behold ; 
 And as soon as a taper the darkness shall cheer, 
 These forms of deception shall all disappear. 
 
 And thus, when you enter the world, you will view 
 A crowd of bright phantoms apparently true ; 
 Gay fashion will tempt you, and flattery smile, 
 And pleasure will beckon, and fancy beguile. 
 
 Then think on the magical glass of your youth, 
 Try these beautiful shades by the touchstone of truth ; 
 And the moment she shines with her calm sober ray, 
 The cheating illusions will vanish away ! 
 
 c
 
 18 
 
 THE BIRTH-DAY GIFT. 
 
 Well pleased, I saw thee, noble boy. 
 
 Thy birth-day gift expend, — 
 Thou didst not purchase sweets to cloy, 
 
 Nor toys to break and rend ; 
 But yon poor lad, thy pitying care 
 
 Supplied with clothes and food ; 
 And now he breathes for thee the prayer 
 
 Of heartfelt gratitude. 
 
 Oh ! may'st thou think upon this day 
 
 In manhood's trying hours ; 
 When wealth is thine, and on thy way 
 
 Temptation strews its flowers ! 
 Then, while thy steps avoid each snare 
 
 That would to harm delude ; 
 Still may thy bounty win the prayer 
 
 Of heartfelt gratitude.
 
 19 
 
 THE LAST OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 I bid thee welcome to my father's halls, 
 But fled for ever is their wonted mirth ; 
 
 Death hath been busy in these ancient walls, 
 
 Casting dark shadows o'er our house and hearth : 
 
 The brave — the beauteous from their home have past, 
 
 And I remain of that loved band the last. 
 
 Thou wilt not now my gallant brothers greet. 
 Riding amidst the glades with hound and horn ; 
 
 Nor my fair sisters, warbling ditties sweet, 
 
 While gathering wild-flowers in the dewy morn ; 
 
 Evening will come, but will not bring again, 
 
 The social circle, nor the festal train. 
 
 I can but lead thee to my lonely room. 
 
 Where in fond dreams I pass my blighted youth ; 
 
 Musing on vanished loveliness and bloom, 
 
 Man's dauntless courage, woman's changeless truth ; 
 
 And scenes of joyous glee, or tranquil rest, 
 
 Shared with the early lost— the bright— the blest. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE LAST OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 Yet mine is not a wild and impious grief; 
 
 Meekly I pray for Heaven's supporting grace, 
 And soon I feel His hand will give relief; 
 
 And the last sad survivor of her race, 
 Quit this lone mansion for the home above, 
 Where dwell her happy family of love.
 
 21 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 Yes, ye may pay your thoughtless duty, 
 
 Vain throng, to glory's distant star ; 
 And ye may smile when bloomuig beauty 
 
 Rewards the gallant son of war ; 
 For me, I sigh to think that sorrow 
 
 May soon that gentle heart betide ; 
 And soon a dark, a gloomy morrow, 
 
 May dawn upon the Soldier's Bride. 
 
 Oh ! were her path the scene of brightness, 
 
 Pourtrayed by ardent fancy's ray ; 
 Oh ! could her bosom thrill in lightness, 
 
 When glory's pictured charms decay ; 
 Could hope still bless her golden slumbers. 
 
 And crown the dreams of youthful pride, 
 Then might ye smile, ye reckless numbers, 
 
 Then greet with joy the Soldier's Bride.
 
 22 TiiE soldier's bride. 
 
 But when appalled by threatening dangers. 
 
 And doomed in distant scenes to roam, 
 To meet the chilling glance of strangers. 
 
 And vainly mourn her peaceful home ; 
 Oft shall her tearful eye discover 
 
 The fears her bosom once defied ; 
 Oft shall the smiles that blest the lover, 
 
 Desert the Soldier's weeping Bride. 
 
 And when, perchance, war's stunning rattle 
 
 Greets from afar her shuddering ear ; 
 When yielding to the storm of battle, 
 
 Her hero meets an early bier : 
 Condemned in solitude to languish. 
 
 She yields to sorrow's gushing tide ; 
 And tears express in silent anguish 
 
 The sadness of the Soldier's Bride. 
 
 What then avails the wreath of glory ? 
 
 The victor it should crown is fled ; 
 The din of fame, the martial story, 
 
 Reach not the mansions of the dead ; 
 She greets with sighs the dear-bought treasure. 
 
 That seems her trials to deride ; 
 And shuns the mimic gleam of pleasure, 
 
 That mocks the Soldier's widowed Bride.
 
 THE SOLDlJill's BlllDE. 23 
 
 To me her flowery crown of gladness, 
 
 Seems like the drooping cypress wreath ; 
 Her nuptial throng — a train of sadness, 
 
 Her minstrel band — the dirge of death : 
 Oh ! in her days of deep dejection, 
 
 May Heaven her trembling footsteps guide ; 
 And soothe with pity and protection, 
 
 The sorrows of the Soldier's Bride.
 
 24 
 
 MY VERY PARTICULAR FRIEND. 
 
 Are you struck with her figure and luce ? 
 
 How lucky you happened to meet 
 With none of the gossipping- race, 
 
 Who dwell in this horrible street ! 
 They of slanderous hints never tire ; 
 
 / love to approve and commend, 
 And the lady you so much admire, 
 
 Is my very particular friend ! 
 
 How charming she looks — her dark curls 
 
 Really float with a natural air ; 
 And the beads might be taken for pearls, 
 
 That arc twined in that beautiful hair : 
 Then what tints her fair features o'erspread- 
 
 That she uses white paint some pretend ; 
 But, believe me, she only wears red- ■ 
 
 She's my very particular friend !
 
 MY VERY PARTICULAR FRIEND. 25 
 
 Then her voice, how divine it appears 
 
 While carolling: " Rise gentle moon ; " 
 Lord Crotchet last night stopped his ears, 
 
 And declared that she sung out of tune ; 
 For m%j part, I think that her lay 
 
 Might to Malibran's sw^eetness pretend ; 
 But people wont mind what I say — 
 
 I'm her very particular friend ! 
 
 Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme 
 
 To posterity surely must reach ; 
 (1 wonder she finds so much time 
 
 With four little sisters to teach !) 
 A critic in Blackwood, indeed. 
 
 Abused the last poem she penned ; 
 The article made my heart bleed — 
 
 She's my very particular friend ! 
 
 Her brother dispatched with a sword, 
 
 His friend in a duel, last June ; 
 And her cousin eloped from her lord, 
 
 With a handsome and whiskered dragoon : 
 Her father with duns is beset, 
 
 Yet continues to dash and to spend — 
 She's too good for so worthless a set — 
 
 She's my very particular friend !
 
 26 MY VERY PARTICULAR FRIEND. 
 
 All her chance of a portion is lost, 
 
 And I fear she'll be single for life ; 
 Wise people will count up the cost 
 
 Of a gay and extravagant wife : 
 But tis odious to marry for pelf, 
 
 (Though the times are not likely to mend,) 
 She's a fortune besides in herself — 
 
 She's my very particular friend ! 
 
 That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert, 
 
 It were useless and vain to deny ; 
 She's a little too much of a flirt, 
 
 And a slattern when no one is by : 
 From her servants she constantly parts, 
 
 Before they have reached the year's end ; 
 But her heart is the kindest of hearts — 
 
 She's my very particular friend ! 
 
 Oh ! never have pencil or pen, 
 
 A creature more exquisite traced ; 
 That her style does not take with the men, 
 
 Proves a sad want of judgment and taste ; 
 And if to the sketch I give now, 
 
 ^ome Jlatterinrj touches I lend ; 
 Do for partial affection allow — 
 
 She's my very particular friend !
 
 THE MINSTREL'S TRUEST FAME. 
 
 Minstrel, though gay and smiling throngs 
 
 Court thee with ardent zeal, 
 And lavish praises on the songs 
 
 Beyond their power to feel ; 
 Oh ! build not on those specious arts, 
 
 The honors of thy name ; 
 In simpler scenes, in warmer hearts. 
 
 Seek for thy truest fame, 
 
 Where'er a social band are met 
 
 Around the quiet hearth. 
 Who, wrapt in thy sweet strains, forget 
 
 The gilded toys of earth ; 
 Where'er the student's midnight hours. 
 
 Sacred to learning's claim. 
 Are brightened by thy magic powers, 
 
 There rest thy real fame.
 
 28 THE minstrel's truest fame. 
 
 Thine is the soul refined and high, 
 
 And thine the gifted lyre ; 
 Can worldly minds to such reply 
 
 With pure congenial fire ? 
 Oh ! sigh not their applause to own, 
 
 Nor heed their fickle blame ; 
 But seek in kindred hearts alone 
 
 For true and lasting fame !
 
 29 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S BALL. 
 
 Brilliant and gay was the lighted hall, 
 'Twas the night of an infant festival ; 
 There were sylph-like forms in the mazy dance, 
 And there were the tutored step and glance. 
 And the gay attire, and the hopes and fears 
 That might well bespeak maturer years ; 
 The sight might to common eyes seem glad, 
 But I own that it made my spirit sad. 
 
 I saw not in all that festive scene. 
 The cloudless brow, and the careless mien ; 
 But vanity sought the stranger's gaze. 
 And envy shrunk from another's praise. 
 And pride repelled with disdainful eye, 
 The once-loved playmate of days gone by ; 
 Alas ! that feelings so far from mild, 
 Should enter the breast of a little child.
 
 30 THE CHILDREN S BALL. 
 
 And how, tliouglit I, on the morrow's rise, 
 
 Will these fair young sleepers ope their eyes ; 
 
 Will their smiles the freshness of morning speak, 
 
 And the roses of health suffuse their cheek ? 
 
 No, with a wearied mind and look. 
 
 They shall turn from the pencil, the globe, and book, 
 
 A longing and feverish glance to cast, 
 
 On the joys and pains of the evening past. 
 
 Parents ! 'tis all too soon to press 
 The glittering fetters of worldliness. 
 On those tender years, to which belong 
 The merry sport, and the bird-like song ; 
 What fruit can the trees of autumn bring, 
 If the fragile blossoms be nipt in spring ? 
 Such stores shall meridian life impart, 
 If ye spoil the bloom of the infant heart !
 
 31 
 
 THE KALEIDESCOPE. 
 
 The fragments of ribbon, of silk, and of lace, 
 
 Of industry's toil the display, 
 You seemed at my entrance to deem a disgrace, 
 
 And hastily hurried away. 
 
 But place in the wondrous Kaleidescope's glass. 
 
 The shreds you appear to despise ; 
 And beautiful shapes will successively pass. 
 
 In various tints to your eyes. 
 
 From the change which this simple contrivance has made , 
 
 A lesson of use we may learn ; 
 Whenever to scenes or to objects conveyed. 
 
 Which taste and refinement would spurn. 
 
 Though little our favor they seem to invite, 
 
 We must not repine or lament ; 
 For they all may look lovely and fair in our sight, 
 
 If viewed through the glass of content !
 
 32 
 
 THE SEPARATION. 
 
 Parting for ever ! is thy home 
 
 So sad, so cheerless grown, 
 That thou art each prepared to roam 
 
 Through this false world alone ? 
 Recall the words, though love be fled, 
 
 Though hope's bright visions cease ; 
 Still, still together thou may'st tread 
 
 The tranquil path of peace. 
 
 Think on the season dear and fleet, 
 Of young and fond romance ; 
 
 When thou in ecstacy would'st meet 
 Each other's smile and glance : 
 
 Think on the joyous bridal day, 
 And on its sacred vow ; 
 
 Then, fair and flowery seemed tliy way- 
 Why is it clouded now.
 
 THE SEFA RATION. 33 
 
 Oh ! by the real ills of life 
 
 How little art thou tried ; 
 Thy niutual taunts, thy daily strife, 
 
 Spring from one feeling — Pride ! 
 Bear and forbear, no longer blame 
 
 Thy partner's faults alone ; 
 Conscience may urge a ready claim 
 
 To tell thee of thy own. 
 
 But part — the chosen one forsake, 
 
 To whom thy troth was given ? 
 Reflect, nor dare a tie to break, 
 
 Approved by earth and heaven : 
 Man cannot, must not rend the band 
 
 Of holy marriage love ; 
 'Tis ruled by an unerring hand, 
 
 The hand of Him above !
 
 34 
 
 OH ! ASK ME NOT TO SING TO-NIGHT. 
 
 Oh ! ask me not to sing to niglit, 
 
 Dejection chills ray feeble powers ; 
 I own thy halls of glittering light 
 
 Are festive as in former hours ; 
 But when I last amid' them moved, 
 
 I sung for friends beloved and dear, 
 Their smiles inspired, their lips approved, 
 
 Now all is changed — they are not here. 
 
 I gaze around — I view a throng, 
 
 The radiant slaves of pride and art ; 
 Oh ! can thetj prize my simple song, 
 
 The soft low breathings of the heart ? 
 Take back the lute — its tuneful string 
 
 Is moistened by a sorrowing tear ; 
 To night, I may not, cannot sing, 
 
 The friends that love me are not here !
 
 ;i.3 
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 Yes, it is lovely — those eyes are bright 
 
 With the vivid blaze of nature's light ; 
 
 Surely those lips will sever ere long 
 
 For the winning speech, or the warbling song . 
 
 Artist, I give thee unmingled praise, 
 
 Yet I do not grieve to withdraw my gaze ; 
 
 For I boast a source of more genial bliss, 
 
 And I know a portrait more just than this. 
 
 Affection's true and unerring art 
 Has fixed that form in my faithful heart, 
 There, like a pearl in the ocean cells. 
 Sacred from glance and from touch it dwells ; 
 With tedious skill thou hast wrought a shade 
 Which chance may injure, and time must fade ; 
 But mine, which was traced without endeavor, 
 Shall live in its guarded shrine for ever ! 
 
 I) 2
 
 36 
 
 A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 Oh ! do you ask me why I weep, 
 
 Who used to seem so glad ? 
 There are but few a watch to keep, 
 
 If I am pleased or sad : 
 My father in life's busy toils 
 
 Throughout the day must rove ; 
 And much I miss a mother's smiles. 
 
 And mourn a Mother's Love. 
 
 My garden is o'errun with weeds, 
 
 It gives me little joy, 
 For no fond mother stands and heeds 
 
 The pastimes of her boy ; 
 And when my lessons I repeat, 
 
 Though many may approve, 
 I sigh the warm caress to meet, 
 
 That spoke a Mother's Love !
 
 A mother's love, 37 
 
 When lately, fever's grasp I felt, 
 
 My wants were all supplied ; 
 But she, that clear one, would have knelt 
 
 My sleepless couch beside, 
 And whispered comfort for each ill, 
 
 And prayed to Him above. 
 That he would deign to spare me still. 
 
 To bless a Mother's Love. 
 
 And yet, my father's second choice 
 
 In nothing- can offend, 
 And I would willingly rejoice 
 
 To know her as a friend ; 
 But when she pleads a dearer claim. 
 
 The mockery I prove ; 
 And, shrinking from a mother's name, 
 
 Sigh for a Mother's Love !
 
 3S 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 Yes, doubts and griefs may cloud my cheerless day, 
 But peace attends the visions of the night, 
 
 For then, in fair and magical array, 
 
 The loved and lost, the beautiful and bright, 
 
 Come round my pillow in a sparkling train, 
 
 Charming my thoughts to long-past hours again. 
 
 I see their sweet familiar forms, I hear 
 
 Voices that spoke erewhile of love and truth ; 
 
 And household scenes to early feeling dear. 
 Return, arrayed in all the glow of youth, 
 
 Ere anxious cares and grovelling thoughts of earth 
 
 Had chilled the festive board, the joyous hearth. 
 
 And when I wake, and o'er my troubled heart 
 Comes the dim consciousness of pleasures fled ; 
 
 Sadly I turn from life's deceptive art. 
 
 To mourn the tried fond friendships of the dead ; 
 
 Yet sweet and soothing the reflection seems, 
 
 That I can view them in the land of dreams.
 
 DREAMS. 39 
 
 And not, I trust, in vain, these forms of love, 
 Their radiant visits on my sleep bestow ; 
 
 They seem bright heralds from a world above, 
 They bid me tread their holy steps below, 
 
 And seek and pray to join them on that shore 
 
 Where severed friends shall meet — to part no more.
 
 40 
 
 LOVER'S PRESENTS. 
 
 Rich gifts wax poor when givejs prove unkind. 
 
 Shaksfearg. 
 
 Take back thy gifts, thou noble dame, 
 Gifts that might courtly homage claim ; 
 This ring is circled with diamonds bright, 
 This locket flashes with ruby light, 
 This chain reveals in each mazy fold, 
 Pale emeralds gleaming through links of gold ; 
 Lady, such gifts were unsought by me, 
 And I loved them but as bestowed by thee. 
 
 Pledges so splendid I could not impart, 
 My poor return was a faithful heart ; 
 But now that our gifts we each resign. 
 Lady, how sad an exchange is mine; 
 Thy glittering gems are still gay and bright, 
 And may charm a high-born lover's sight ; 
 But the humblest maid will spurn a token, 
 Like the heart thy treachery has broken.
 
 41 
 
 AN ORIGINAL THOUGHT. 
 
 Does the press wait for copy ? I shrink from the task ; 
 
 One boon from the Genius of fancy I ask ; 
 
 I want not a subject, I want not a rhyme, 
 
 Nor metaphors florid, nor figures sublime ; 
 
 Additional leisure I sigh not to claim. 
 
 And I feel I have more than due justice from fame; 
 
 I covet what cannot be borrowed or bought, 
 
 The gift of a striking Original Thought. 
 
 Could Memory desert me, I yet might succeed ; 
 
 Oh ! why was I suffered the poets to read ? 
 
 Would that Campbell and Moore could at once be 
 
 forgot ! 
 Would my mind were not haunted by Wordsworth and 
 
 Scott I 
 When some brilliant idea I have carefully nurst, 
 1 discover that " Shakspeare had thought of it first," 
 And my path with such glittering phantoms is fraught' 
 That they really exclude one Original Thought !
 
 42 A\ OUIGIKAL THOUGHT. 
 
 The claims of the Annuals I must not neglect, 
 And two Magazines contributions expect, 
 Before me the leaves of an Album unclose, 
 (How I dread its bright pages of azure and rose,) 
 I must write an Address for a Charity soon, 
 And set some new words to an old German tune ; 
 And how in the world are these works to be wrought, 
 When I cannot command one Original Thought ! 
 
 Well, I bow not beneath a peculiar disgrace, 
 
 'Tis the fate of our present poetical race, 
 
 To live in the sun-shine of summers long o'er, 
 
 " Pensioned off," on the wit and the wisdom of yore ; 
 
 But since Fancy her slights may yet please to repair. 
 
 In her lottery still I will venture a share; 
 
 And perhaps at this moment, the wheel may be fraught 
 
 With that capital prize — an Original Thought.
 
 43 
 
 NEGLECTED TALENT. 
 
 Thy lot has fallen, my gifted friend, 
 
 Amid' those who ill requite thee ; 
 To their grovelling sphere thou canst not bend, 
 
 And their sordid spirits slight thee. 
 
 Thine is the sun-shine of mental day, 
 And the beams of soul surround thee ; 
 
 But they cast no warmth, and they shed no ray, 
 On the dull cold hearts around thee. 
 
 They are slaves to Mammon's servile toil. 
 And his dark base spell is o'er them ; 
 
 And they grasp at a low and drossy spoil, 
 Witli thy minds vast wealth before them. 
 
 Like a lovely tree upon desert land. 
 Thou can'st win no passing duty ; 
 
 Rut tliy blossoms fall on the barren saiul, 
 In a mournful waste of beauty.
 
 44 NEGLECTED TALENT. 
 
 I cast a laurel wreath on thy shrine, 
 I give it in grief and weeping, 
 
 To think that no step, no eye but mine, 
 At that shrine a watch are keeping. 
 
 And that talents splendid, rare, and bright. 
 
 As e'er graced poetic story. 
 Should be doomed to die by the fitful light 
 
 Of their own neglected glory !
 
 4.5 
 
 THE TREASURES OF THE EARTH. 
 
 What are the vaunted treasures of the earth, 
 The pomp of dazzling gems, of gold, and lands, 
 
 Fair palaces that echo festal mirth. 
 
 Pageants of pride, and kneeling vassal bands ? 
 
 The eye may roam these brilliant phantoms o'er, 
 
 But the heart asks for more. 
 
 What better gifts has earth ? — The crown of bays, 
 By warrior and by minstrel fondly woo'd ; 
 
 Friendship's kind smile, the social circle's praise, 
 Love's tender vow, the tear of gratitude ? 
 
 Oh ! dearer these than all that wealth can pour, 
 
 Yet the heart asks for more. 
 
 It asks a land where dreams of bliss deceive not, 
 Where hearts and feelings are not bought and sold, 
 
 Where envy's shafts of dear-won fame bereave not, 
 Where love is never false, nor friendship cold, 
 
 And where the spirit to pure joys may soar, 
 
 Nor feel a wish for more.
 
 46 
 
 There is that land— there let the Chri.-^tian render 
 The homage of his heart, his lips, his eyes, 
 
 And turn from this false world's deceitful splendor, 
 Its hollow gladnesses, and faithless ties, 
 
 To seek those heavenly treasures, whose bright store 
 
 Endures for evermore.
 
 47 
 
 CAROLINE, 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 Soft pity in her eye of blue, 
 Enchants the raptured gazer's view ; 
 The very soul of gentle feeling 
 Through its long silken fringe revealing 
 Loose flovi7 the locks of nut-brown hair, 
 That shade her brow and bosom fair, 
 
 And with officious duty, 
 Conceal from fond admiring eye, 
 The tender tear of sympathy. 
 
 Or varying glance of beauty. 
 Her cheek in tranquil hours is pale, 
 
 But modesty's suflPusing glows. 
 Can at the voice of praise prevail, 
 
 And with the lily blend the rose : 
 Her brow is marked with pensive grace, 
 And we can read in that fair face, 
 Some woes have fallen to her share, 
 
 And pierced her with their dart ; 
 And that the gloomy sway of care 
 
 Has touched her heart.
 
 48 CAUOLINK. 
 
 Yet, when wilh sweetness free from guile, 
 Her lip is dimpled by a smile, 
 'Tis like the stealing summer gale. 
 That fans the wild-rose of the vale, 
 And softly dries the pearly gem. 
 That glitters on its fragile stem ; 
 She views applause with meek disdain, 
 Nor heeds her listening votive train ; 
 To Wisdom gives her only care, 
 And scarcely knows that she is fair !
 
 49 
 
 THE WALL-FLOWER. 
 
 I love thee, lone and pensive flower, 
 
 Because thou dost not flaunt thy bloom 
 In pleasure's gay and garish bower, 
 
 Or luxury's proud banquet-room ; 
 But on the silent mouldering wall, 
 
 Thy clinging leaves a fragrance shed, 
 Or give to the deserted hall 
 
 A relic of its glories fled. 
 
 Yon roses, beautiful and bright, 
 
 Methinks the flattering crowd pourtray, 
 
 Who bask in fortune's golden light, 
 And wanton in her joyous way ; 
 
 But thou art like the faithful love. 
 
 That blooms when friends and fame have past, 
 
 Towers the dark wreck of hope above, 
 
 And smiles through ruin to the last !
 
 50 
 
 THE SONGS WE USED TO SING TOGETHER. 
 
 The songs we used to sing together, 
 
 Speak to my heart of happier hours ; 
 We sung them in the spring's bright weather, 
 
 Beneath a canopy of flowers ; 
 Now, while the wint'ry evening closes, 
 
 I sit and hear the falling rain, 
 And think on withered joys and roses, 
 
 And songs I may not sing again ! 
 
 When spring once more the land rejoices, 
 
 Blossoms and buds shall gaily blend ; 
 But never can our hearts or voices 
 
 Again unite — my faithless friend ! 
 Affection's master-chord is broken. 
 
 Then let us not her lays profane, 
 The soul's deep language they have spoken, 
 
 Such words they cannot speak again !
 
 51 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHICAL LOVER. 
 
 A TRUE ANECDOTE. 
 
 An heiress one morning eloped with a youth, 
 
 Leaving kindred and friends in the lurch ; 
 They arrived at the spot for exchanging their truth, 
 
 Just as " twelve" was proclaimed from the church ; 
 " Our clock has gained time," quoth the sexton, 
 we'll send 
 
 For a ladder, its course to repel ;" 
 But the lover replied — "Take no trouble my friend, 
 
 To-morrow will do just as well ! " 
 
 At the neat village inn a retreat they procured ; 
 
 The lover arose the next morn, 
 And found that his fair one a chaise had secured. 
 
 And departed at break of the dawn ; 
 " Did she leave not a word ? " was his eager demand, 
 
 " Yes," the chambermaid hastened to tell, 
 " This message, she said, sir, you'd quite understand, 
 
 To-morrow will do just as ivell ! ! " 
 
 E 2
 
 52 
 
 CONGENIAL SPIRITS. 
 
 Oh ! in the varied scenes of life, 
 
 Is there a joy so sweet, 
 As when amid' its busy strife 
 
 Congenial spirits meet ? 
 Feelings and thoughts, a fairy band 
 
 Long hid from mortal sight, 
 Then start to meet the master-hand, 
 
 That calls them forth to light. 
 
 When turning o'er some gifted page. 
 
 How fondly do we pause, 
 That dear companion to engage 
 
 In answering applause ; 
 And when we list to music's sighs, 
 
 How sweet at every tone, 
 To read within another's eyes 
 
 The rapture of our own !
 
 CONGENIAL SPJKITS. 53 
 
 To share together waking dreams, 
 
 Apart from sordid men ; 
 Or speak on high and holy themes, 
 
 Beyond the worldling's ken : 
 These are most dear — but soon shall pass 
 
 That summer of the heart, 
 Congenial spirits, soon, alas ! 
 
 Are ever doomed to part. 
 
 Yet thou to whom such grief is given, 
 
 Mourn not thy lot of woe ; 
 Say, can a wandering light from heaven 
 
 Ere sparkle long below ? 
 Earth would be all too bright, too blest, 
 
 With such pure ties of love ; 
 Let kindred spirits hope no rest. 
 
 Save in a rest above.
 
 54 
 
 THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS. 
 
 Fair flower, whose coy and diffident revealings 
 Bloom to the gaze of pensive night alone ; 
 
 Thou seem'st a record of my wayward feelings, — 
 For when life's glittering sunbeams round me shone. 
 
 Closed was my heart, nor gave one bud of love 
 
 To glorify its bounteous Lord above. 
 
 But sorrow came, and summer friends departed ; 
 
 Then at the throne of grace I learned to kneel ; 
 And now, redeemed from sloth, and fervent-hearted. 
 
 The holy glow of gratitude I feel : 
 And those sweet leaves in darkness have unfurled, 
 That shunned the gaudy splendor of the world.
 
 55 
 
 THE WIDOWER'S DREAM. 
 
 I saw thee in the dreams of night, 
 
 Loved spirit, near me stand ; 
 Encircled with the glorious light 
 
 Of a celestial land : 
 But yet thy aspect, once so dear. 
 Repelled me by its glance severe, 
 
 Of stern and high command ; 
 I veiled my face — I could not brook 
 On that indignant brow to look. 
 
 Oh ! then, with deep remorse I thought 
 
 On all my wrongs to thee ; 
 How oft my wandering feet had sought 
 
 The haunts of frolic glee ; 
 And how amid' the giddy train, 
 My smiles had hailed their mirthful strain, 
 
 False to thy memory ; 
 Thy vows, which blessed my early lot, 
 Thy love, thy life, thy loss forgot.
 
 56 THE AVIDOWKR's DRExiJI. 
 
 I raised my eyes — thy frown had fled, 
 The same soft touchins; grrace, ' 
 
 That once on earth its radiance shed, 
 Again illumed thy face : 
 
 Thy hazel eyes, so meek before, 
 
 Looked still more gentle than of yore, 
 And shone with purer rays ; 
 
 They spoke the sweetness of the dove. 
 
 They told of pardon, pity, love. 
 
 1 woke in tears : the moon's pale light 
 
 Poured round its holy beam : — 
 Oh ! could that vision of the niirht 
 
 Be bjt a fleeting dream ? 
 No, no ! it surely came to call 
 My erring steps from folly's thrall, 
 
 And teach my heart to deem 
 That life's best joys must worthless be, 
 If banishing one thought of thee.
 
 57 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S HOME. 
 
 There are climates of sun-shine, of beauty, and gladness, 
 
 Where roses are flourishing all the year long ; 
 Their bowers are despoiled not by wintery sadness, 
 
 And their echoes reply to the nightingale's song : 
 But coldly the Briton regards their temptations, 
 
 Compelled from his friends and his kindred to roam ; 
 He looks on the brightness of lovelier nations, 
 
 But his heart and his wishes still turn to his Home. 
 
 Oh ! why is this duteous and home-loving feeling 
 
 So seldom displayed by the pilgrim of life ? 
 While faith to his mind a bright scene is revealing, 
 
 He toils through a world of sin, sorrow, and strife ; 
 Yet lured by the paltry attractions around him. 
 
 Too oft he forgets the pure pleasures to come ; 
 And wildly forgoes for the toys that surround him, 
 
 His hopes of a lasting, a glorious Home.
 
 58 THE PILGUIRl's HOME. 
 
 Not such is the Christian — devoted, believing, 
 
 Through storm and through sun-shine his trust shall 
 abide ; 
 The way that he wends may be dark or deceiving. 
 
 But Heaven is his shrine, and the Lord is his guidq : 
 And when Death's warning angel around him shall 
 hover, 
 
 He dreads not the mandate that bids him to come ; 
 It tells that his toils and temptations are over — 
 
 'Tis the voice of his Father ; it calls to his Home.
 
 59 
 
 MEETING AGAIN. 
 
 Yes, we may meet again, my banished friend, 
 Not in the beautiful autumnal bowers, 
 
 Where we have seen the waving corn-fields bend. 
 And twined bright garlands of the harvest flowers. 
 
 And watched the gleaners with their golden store — 
 There we shall meet no more. 
 
 Not in the well remembered hall of mirth, 
 Where at the winter eve each heart rejoices, 
 
 And kinsmen gather round the blazing hearth, 
 And the glad breathings of young happy voices 
 
 Strains of sweet melody in concert pour — 
 
 There we shall meet no more. 
 
 Not in the haunts of busy strife, which bind 
 Thy soaring spirit to dull worldly toil ; 
 
 Where the revealings of thy vivid mind 
 Exhaust their treasures on a barren soil, 
 
 With few to praise, to wonder, or deplore — 
 
 There we shall meet no more.
 
 60 MEETING AGAIN. 
 
 Yet mourn not thus — in fields of sunny splendor, 
 Unchilled by storms, and rich in fadeless bloom ; 
 
 In scenes where Friendship reigns supreme and tender. 
 Secure from change, disquietude, and gloom, 
 
 And parting words ne'er give the spirit pain — ^ 
 
 There may we meet again.
 
 61- 
 
 THE CHILDREN IN Tllli TEMPLE. 
 
 St. Matthew, c. 21. v. 15 and 10. 
 
 Beneath Judea's hallowed fane, 
 
 When infant lips Hosannas poured, 
 
 Our gracious Saviour heard the strain, 
 Approved the spirit that adored ; 
 
 And deemed that lips like theirs could raise 
 
 The purest song of perfect praise. 
 
 The blessed lot was then their own, 
 His voice to hear, his form to view ; 
 
 But now, the power of faith alone 
 His holy presence can renew. 
 
 And picture to their mental sight. 
 
 His image in reflected light. 
 
 Then, oh ! how direful is the thought, 
 That darkness may those minds conceal, 
 
 That youth may bloom and fade, untaught 
 His name to breathe, his power to feel ; 
 
 Or offer at his gracious throne. 
 
 The hymn of praise he loves to own.
 
 62 iiiE ciiiLiJury i.v nii: ilmple. 
 
 But Charity's benignant care, 
 
 Those steps can guide, those clouds dispel ; 
 Again, beneath the house of prayer, 
 
 Can bid their loud Hosannas swell ; 
 And earthly gratitude shall raise 
 
 Its mingled notes with heavenly praise.
 
 63 
 
 LINES 
 
 WUITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY's ALBUM, UNDER A LOCK 
 OF HER DECEASED MOTHEr's HAIR. 
 
 She who once blessed this tranquil home has fled, 
 And her surviving friends with pensive care 
 
 Behold this sole memorial of the dead, 
 The last sad relic of a lock of hair. 
 
 Yet on no outward tribute need we gaze, 
 To bring before our minds her useful life ; 
 
 All must her unobtrusive virtues praise, 
 Who knew her as a Mother and a Wife. 
 
 She sought and loved the hallowed courts of prayer, 
 Nor did she breathe her worship there alone ; 
 
 But oft from social converse would repair, 
 To kneel devoutly at her Maker's throne. 
 
 Oh ! may the objects of her prayers on earth, 
 Partake the blessings of her pious love ; 
 
 Tread in her footsteps, emulate her worth. 
 And share hereafter in her rest above.
 
 6i 
 
 EARTH AND HEAVEN. 
 
 Oh ! ye whose spirits faint. 
 
 When all around looks drear, 
 The Lord ye serve regards your plaint, 
 
 Brief are your trials here : 
 Life's passing joys or woes. 
 
 Are but of fragile worth ; 
 There is a brighter world for those 
 
 Whose trust is not on Earth. 
 
 There, freed from care and pain, 
 
 Shall ye in glory stand ; 
 There shall ye meet lost friends again, 
 
 A blest and holy band : 
 Think on your Saviour's love, 
 
 Think on your sins forgiven ; 
 Oil ! rise Life's fleeting ills above. 
 
 And fix your hopes on Heaven.
 
 65 
 
 THE LAND OF THE BLEST. 
 
 " Dear Father, I ask for my Mother in vain, 
 Has she sought some far country her health to regain ; 
 Has she left our cold climate of frost and of snow, 
 For some warm sunny land where the soft breezes 
 
 blow?" 
 — " Yes, yes, gentle boy, thy loved Mother has gone 
 To a climate where sorrow and pain are unknown ; 
 Her spirit is strengthened, her frame is at rest, 
 There is health, there is peace, in the Land of the Blest." 
 
 " Is that land, my dear Father, more lovely than ours, 
 Are the rivers more clear, and more blooming the 
 
 flowers ; 
 Does summer shine over it all the year long. 
 Is it cheered by the glad sounds of music and song ? " 
 — " Yes, the flowers are despoiled not by winter or 
 
 night, 
 The well-springs of life are exhaustless and bright ; 
 And by exquisite voices sweet hymns are addrest 
 To the Lord who reigns over the Land of the Blest." 
 
 F
 
 66 THE LA^D OF THE BLEST. 
 
 " Yet that land to my Mother will lonely appear, 
 She shrunk from the glance of a stranger while here ; 
 From her foreign companions I know she will flee, 
 And sigh, dearest Father, for you and for me." 
 — " My darling, thy Mother rejoices to gaze , 
 
 On the long-severed friends of her earliest days ; 
 Her parents have there found a mansion of rest, 
 And they welcome their child to the Land of the Blest." 
 
 " How I long to partake of such meetings of bliss, 
 That land must be surely more happy than this ; 
 On you, my kind Father, the journey depends. 
 Let us go to my Mother, her kindred, and friends." 
 — " Not on me, love, I trust I may reach that bright clime, 
 But in patience I stay till the Lord's chosen time ; 
 And must strive while awaiting His gracious behest, 
 To guide thy young steps to the Land of the Blest." 
 
 "Thou must toil through aworld full of dangers, my boy? 
 Thy peace it may blight, and thy virtue destroy ; 
 Nor wilt thou, alas ! be withheld from its snares 
 By a Mother's kind counsels, a Mother's fond prayers : 
 Yet fear not — the God whose direction we crave, 
 Is mighty to strengthen, to shield, and to save ; 
 And His hand may yet lead thee, a glorified guest, 
 To the Home of thy Mother, the Land of the Blest."
 
 67 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 " God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye 
 
 are able, but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye 
 
 may be able to bear it." 
 
 1st Corinthians, c. 10. v. 13. 
 
 Oh ! words of great and gracious power ! 
 Blest safeguard in Temptation's hour 1 
 When all my feeble props depart, 
 This promise cheers my drooping heart. 
 My steps may err, my courage fail. 
 And worldly lures my strength assail ; 
 Yet still it tells me that the snare 
 Shall not be more than I can bear. 
 
 Oft, when I feel disturbing doubt, 
 Caused by a treacherous world without ; 
 Oft when I mourn corroding sin, 
 Deep in a guilty heart within ; 
 Though hard the conflict to sustain. 
 Let me not tremble or complain ; 
 For that blest thought relieves my care, — 
 It is not more than I can bear. 
 
 f2
 
 68 TEMPTATION. 
 
 When Pleasure's gay and glittering way 
 Invites my heedless feet to stray ; 
 When Passion's stormy waves molest 
 My aching heart, and troubled breast ; 
 When hourly round my path arise 
 Temptations in each varied guise ; 
 What were my anguish, my despair, 
 To find them more than I could bear. 
 
 Yet more they would be, blessed Lord, 
 But for thy strength, thy arm, thy word ; 
 Yes, 'tis thy hand supports my form 
 Amid' the sunshine or the storm : 
 Thy voice when sin and strife control, 
 Still whispers comfort to my soul : 
 Kneeling before thy throne in prayer, 
 I learn to trust, submit, and bear. 
 
 Away, then, vain and coward tears ! 
 
 Away, distrustful, impious fears ! 
 
 Let me not rashly dare to say, 
 
 That I am doomed the Tempter's prey ; 
 
 Although awhile I own his art. 
 
 Though frail, though weak my rebel heart 
 
 The Lord that feeble heart will spare. 
 
 Nor try it more than it can bear.
 
 TEMPTATION. 69 
 
 Then deign, Almighty Guardian, still 
 
 Thy word of promise to fulfil ; 
 
 I would not crave release from strife, 
 
 Nor absence from the snares of life ; 
 
 But grant that in Temptation's day, 
 
 I still may meekly, humbly say, 
 
 '' Thanks to my Heavenly Father's care, 
 
 I feel not more than I can bear ! "
 
 70 
 
 THE BONDAGE OF ISRAEL. 
 
 6th Chapter of Judges. 
 
 Oh ! Israel, dark was the doom of thy nation, 
 
 When the spoilers of Midian prevailed o'er thy pride; 
 
 When thy children were scattered in wide desolation, 
 And forced in the dens of the mountains to hide. 
 
 They cried to the Lord to retract his just sentence ; 
 
 He heard them, and soon at his bidding arose 
 A Prophet, to melt their hard hearts to repentance, 
 
 A Champion, to humble the might of their foes. 
 
 No outward destroyers our land are oppressing. 
 But alas ! we have foes who assault from within ; 
 
 How many, perchance, whom I nov/ am addressing. 
 Have struggled for years in the bondage of Sin. 
 
 Ye, are driven by Sin from your homes of calm quiet. 
 Ye fly to the world, poor impoverished slaves ; 
 
 Yet degraded ye sigii in its scenes of wild riot, 
 As desolate Israel mourned in her caves.
 
 THE BONDAGE OF ISRAEL. 71 
 
 Thus sunk in the thraldom of shame and dejection, 
 To whom can ye turn, to the Lord will ye plead ? 
 
 Will he send you a Prophet to give you direction, 
 Will he send you a Gideon to help in your need ? 
 
 Ye need not a Prophet to tell of your errors, 
 The fearless firm preachers of God's holy word, 
 
 Have dwelt to you oft on his love and his terrors, 
 But the message was slighted, the warning unheard. 
 
 Nor need ye a Gideon to strike off your fetters. 
 Your foe has been vanquished, your cause has been 
 won ; 
 
 To Sin ye were slaves, to the Lord ye were debtors, 
 Till your freedom was bought by the blood of his Son. 
 
 And though Sin will still strive to become your oppressor. 
 Though ye struggle awhile in the Tempter's dark 
 snare ; 
 
 Ye may triumph through faith in your blest intercessor. 
 And return to the Lord by repentance and prayer. 
 
 Then fear not, for God your redemption has spoken 
 In his gospel of pardon, of love, and of peace ; 
 
 Nor need ye like Israel crave for a token, 
 The fire from the rock, or the dew on the fleece.
 
 72 THE BONDAGE OF ISRAEL. 
 
 The Cross of your Saviour is ever before you, 
 The Cross where he suffered in sorrow and pain ; 
 
 Its light may illume your dark ways, and restore you, 
 To dwell with your God and his people again. 
 
 And oh ! may those Prophets be blest in their mission, 
 Who faithfully lead you that refuge to win ; 
 
 At the foot of the Cross may ye kneel in submission, 
 And your souls shall be freed from the Bondage of Sin.
 
 73 
 
 THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 
 
 St. Luke, c. x. v. 38. to the end. 
 
 Sisters, whose favored home was blest 
 By owning Jesus for a guest, 
 How do ye each the fruits reveal 
 Of earthly and of heavenly zeal : 
 She who the lavish feast prepares, 
 Droops with the weight of busy cares ; 
 While holy joys with her abound, 
 Who at her Master's feet is found. 
 
 Ye Christians of the present days, 
 Who shun the world's enticing ways. 
 And gladly welcome at your board 
 A guest with sacred wisdom stored ; 
 Do ye his pious counsels hear 
 With undivided mind and ear ? 
 Or do your thoughts oft idly roam 
 To the proud plenty of your home ?
 
 74 THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 
 
 Know that such trifles boast no worth 
 
 To please the " excellent of earth ; " 
 
 The banquet rare, the lighted hall, 
 
 May Fashion's giddy slaves enthrall ; 
 
 But splendid show, and gay excess, 
 
 Suit not those sons of holiness, 
 
 Whose chastened minds have ceased to prize 
 
 The world's weak pomps and vanities. 
 
 Ye may not now your Saviour meet, 
 But when his chosen saints ye greet, 
 Oh ! strive devoutly to improve 
 Such interviews of Christian love : 
 Keep in your path no gilded snare ; 
 Cast from your thoughts each earthly care, 
 And listening with ear and heart. 
 Rejoice to choose the better part.
 
 75 
 
 HYMN 
 
 SUNG AT ST. John's church, southwark, 
 
 ON OCCASION OF A CENTURY HAVING ELAPSED SINCE 
 ITS CONSECRATION. 
 
 Years swiftly pass ! this house of prayer, 
 Devoted, gracious Lord, to thee ; 
 
 Has stood, defended by thy care, 
 Unharmed for one long century. 
 
 From time to time a varied race 
 
 Have here been taught thy ways to know ; 
 
 Who now (most solemn thought) retrace 
 That privilege in joy or woe. 
 
 Oh ! Lord ! to all now present here, 
 
 Thy holy influence impart ; 
 Grant that the words which strike the ear. 
 
 May touch and sanctify the heart.
 
 76 HYMN. 
 
 While earthly temples yet remain, 
 
 Still may this Church thy truth reveal ; 
 
 And teach a young and rising- train 
 Their Saviour's name to bless and feel. 
 
 And when this house no longer stands, 
 May all who loved its courts to fill. 
 
 Meet in a " house not made with hands," 
 And worship thee and serve thee still.
 
 77 
 
 HYMN 
 
 SUNG AT THE SCHOOL FOR INDIGENT BLIND, 
 
 On occasion of Lajnng the First Stone of the proposed New Building, 
 
 by the Archbishop of Canterbiiry, April 25th, 1834. 
 
 Lord, we thy wondrous grace adore ; 
 
 Thou hast our generous friends inclined, 
 To grant like holy Job of yore, 
 
 Succour and guidance to the blind. 
 
 Here, varied arts our darkness soothe, 
 And here, before our mental sight. 
 
 Are brought in all the blaze of truth, 
 The glories of the Gospel light. 
 
 Soft Charity's benignant hand. 
 
 Has now enlarged this ample dome, 
 
 That others soon may join our band. 
 And share the shelter of our home.
 
 78 HYMN. 
 
 We may not our kind guardians view ; 
 
 But while tliis thought some grief imparts, 
 Let Gratitude with pencil true, 
 
 Trace each loved image on our hearts. 
 
 And should we to those mansions rise, 
 Where cloudless sight to all is given ; 
 
 May we unfold our longing eyes 
 To greet our earthly friends in Heaven. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 ROBINS AND SONS, PRINTERS, SOUTIIWARK.
 
 POETRY. 
 
 BY MRS. ABDY. 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 
 THESE VERSES HAVE APPEARED AT VARIOUS TIMES, IN DIFFEREAT 
 MAGAZINES AND ANNUALS. 
 
 (FUR PRIVATE C I R C U LA T JO N.) 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY J. AND VV. ROBINS, SOUTHWARK. 
 
 1838.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 • • • • P.lUl,. 
 
 My Home is by the Sea - 1 
 
 The Unequal Marriage 4 
 
 The Son to his Widowed IVIother 8 
 
 Sing not of the Past 12 
 
 The Manuscript Volume , 13 
 
 Thy Maiden Name 16 
 
 Family Portraits .,., 18 
 
 A Governess Wanted 21 
 
 Lines written on the Death of Mrs. Henians 24 
 
 The Serenade (From the German) 28 
 
 Idol Worship 30 
 
 Dear-Bought Wisdom 32 
 
 i'lie Widow's Home 35 
 
 1 he Dependent Child 37 
 
 Lines written on seeing the Portrait of a Girl in tiie attitude of 
 
 Prayer 4I 
 
 The Dream of the Poetess 44 
 
 The Burial of the 1 1 eir 47 
 
 I'he Treasure Seeker 52 
 
 Poor Relations 55 
 
 Rich Relations gQ 
 
 The ^oUan Harp 65 
 
 Homeward-Bound 66 
 
 I'he Sage's Advice 70 
 
 The Library 73
 
 IV 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Bride 78 
 
 Holy Ground 80 
 
 The Companions of tlie Past 82 
 
 Would I were a Child 84 
 
 Farewell Bequests 88 
 
 The Friends of Early Years 91 
 
 The Lonely Tree 93 
 
 The Sister to her Brother 95 
 
 The Transplanted Flower 100 
 
 False and True Hope ^ ■>.... 102 
 
 " Lighten our Darkness" 104 
 
 The Enclosed Common 106 
 
 The Daughter's Request 109 
 
 The Hospital Chaplain 112 
 
 The Marriage Festival US 
 
 The Language of Flowers H^ 
 
 The Widow and her Child 120 
 
 The Song of the Sea-Shell 1 22 
 
 The Last Trial 124 
 
 Peace to our Absent Friends 131 
 
 Recollections of a Mother 133 
 
 The Darkened Cage 135 
 
 Knowledge l"^'
 
 POEMS. 
 
 MY HOME IS BY THE SEA. 
 
 Oh ! lead me not o'er banks of flowers, 
 
 In Summer's garb array 'd, 
 To gaze on fair and fragrant bowers, 
 
 And groves of clustering shade; 
 Proudly I claim my birth and lot, 
 'Mid scenes more wild and free, 
 Your woods, your glades, delight me not — 
 
 My home is by the sea. 
 
 You bid me mark the rising day 
 
 Your gay parterre illume, 
 Glancing through almond-trees its ray. 
 
 O'er each faint floweret's bloom ; 
 But I, upon the rock's high verge, 
 
 Have loved at dawn to be. 
 And watched glad sunbeams gild the surge, 
 
 Tossed from the foaming sea. 
 
 6
 
 MY HOME IS BY THE SEA. 
 
 And when the silvery stars of night, 
 
 From their dark chambers break, 
 You fondly view the pensive light. 
 
 Sleep on the glassy lake ; 
 You ask me if those waters clear, 
 
 Recall loved thoughts to nie — 
 A cheating phantom they appear, 
 
 Mocking the vast, vast sea ! 
 
 Your storms — I smile to think on them, 
 
 And trace their damage dread, 
 A woodbine severed from its stem, 
 
 A scattered tulip-bed ! 
 For I have seen the shipwrecked band, 
 
 To the swift life-boat flee. 
 And welcomed strugglers to the strand, 
 
 Snatched from the raging sea ! 
 
 Mariners, oft in pining mood, 
 
 Seem in the deep to trace 
 The verdant mead and leafy wood, 
 
 Of their loved dwelling place ; 
 Thus, though your gardens, groves, and vales, 
 
 Around my steps may be. 
 One image in my mind prevails — 
 
 The bright, the boundless sea.
 
 MY HOME IS BY THE SEA. 
 
 I bear with me an ocean shell, 
 
 Its sounds to me are dear, — 
 Oh! like an old familiar spell, 
 
 It murmurs in my ear ; 
 Even in exile, I rejoice 
 
 In some still spot to be, 
 And greet its low mysterious voice, 
 
 The language of the sea. 
 
 Yet deem not that with cold neglect. 
 
 Your lawns and bowers I scan, 
 I could not fairer works expect 
 
 From the frail skill of man : 
 But since I first in childhood trod 
 
 The sands with footsteps free, 
 I traced the mighty hand of God 
 
 O'er the wide pathless sea. 
 
 I wander on the lonely shore. 
 
 And wait His presence there ; 
 His grace, his mercy I implore. 
 
 In musing and in prayer : 
 And oft, his voice appears to speak 
 
 Of heavenly hopes to me ; — 
 Then wonder not I pine to seek 
 
 My home beside the sea ! 
 b2
 
 THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Joy, joy to the young and happy pair, 
 The youth is learned, the maiden fair, 
 They are rich in friends, and in gold and lands. 
 And love has united their willing hands." 
 Thus the smiling world its sentence passed, 
 But the honeymoon has ceased to last, 
 And already contending views divide 
 The wearied bridegroom and sullen bride. 
 
 From whence can such early jars proceed ? 
 
 Alas ! the riddle too well I read ; 
 
 They share no feelings and thoughts in kind, 
 
 They are not linked in the ties of mind. 
 
 He has a name and a glory won. 
 
 Genius exults in her gifted son ; 
 
 And she is soulless, and weak, and vain, 
 
 A cold, light daughter of Fashion's train.
 
 THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 He loves to gather from Learning's store 
 The treasures of scientific lore, 
 Or trace the deeds of a former age 
 In the classic or historic page ; 
 And oft when the poet's strain beguiles, 
 He ventures to seek the Muse's smiles, 
 And the lyre of few can boast a tone 
 So sweet and so perfect as his own. 
 
 She to light trifles devotes her hours, 
 
 Weaves in gay garlands her greenhouse flowers. 
 
 Turns over the leaves of a vain romance, 
 
 Then bends on the mirror a lengthened glance ; 
 
 Perchance devising some art of dress 
 
 To heighten her native loveliness ; 
 
 At the welcome time, when observed of all, 
 
 She shines in the bright and crowded hall. 
 
 His speech and his actions bear impress 
 Of the calm deep power of holiness ; 
 In the earliest spring-tide of his days, 
 He sought not pleasure's delusive ways ; 
 And though votive crowds his steps pursue, 
 His spirit is like the sunflower true ; 
 To earthly objects it is not given, 
 But it rests its stedfast gaze on heaven.
 
 6 THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 No thoughts sublime in her mind have birth, 
 Her hopes, her wishes are all of earth ; 
 She hears him dwell upon holy themes, 
 As though his speech were of fabled dreams. 
 Oh ! the gifted feel a pang intense. 
 When they lavish their burning eloquence, 
 To meet with the careless, cold, reply 
 Of hardened and heartless levity. 
 
 What marvel, then, that his steps he bends 
 To the quiet hearths of congenial friends ; 
 Or seeks discourse with the wise and good, 
 In his study's peaceful solitude; — 
 She feels no joy at his coming tread 
 But turns in disquietude and dread, 
 From the powers his varied speech displays, 
 To hang on a coxcomb's lisping praise. 
 
 Ye sons of mind, will my words avail — 
 Will ye study the moral of my tale ? 
 Ye are raised above our common race — 
 Descend not then from your starry place, 
 To choose a bride from a grovelling sphere, 
 Who will shrink from your talents in servile fear ; 
 Ye must shadow your glories from her sight. 
 Lest, like Psyche, she die in the blaze of light.
 
 THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE. 
 
 Your wedded bliss can be found alone 
 In her whose genius can prize your own, 
 Your taste approve, and your thoughts inspire, 
 With kindred spirit and answering fire : 
 The world may extol your honoured name. 
 And bind your brows with the wreath of fame ; 
 But its praise is light as the ocean foam. 
 Compared with the kindly words of home. 
 
 Knowledge may surely some skill impart, 
 To teach you to read the human heart ; 
 Oh ! then combine, in your choice for life. 
 The enlightened friend and devoted wife ; 
 One who with glad, exulting glow. 
 Will share your triumph and fame below ; 
 But with holier fervor and deeper love. 
 Assist your steps to a world above.
 
 THE SON TO HIS WIDOWED MOTHER. 
 
 Mother, I cannot blame thy tears, — 
 
 'Tis sad, 'tis bitter to resign 
 The partner of thy youthful years. 
 
 The kind and tender guide of mine. 
 
 And while thou mournest with regret — 
 A friend all human friends above — 
 
 Believe not I can e'er foro-et 
 
 My dear and valued father's love. 
 
 Yet, mother, this excessive grief 
 
 Seems to arraign our Lord's behest ; 
 
 Who made his earthly trials brief. 
 That he might live among the blest 
 
 I would not boast — too well I know 
 Our best resolves must doubtful be ; 
 
 Yet all the love a son can show, 
 Mother, I hope to show to thee.
 
 THE SON TO HIS WIDOWED MOTHER. 
 
 My father his loved boy would teach 
 
 Less as a tutor than a friend ; 
 Perchance his sentiments and speech, 
 
 In part, may on his son descend. 
 
 And this reflexion oft be brought 
 Before the fond and widowed wife, 
 
 " Thus had my honoured husband thought. 
 Thus felt, thus spoken, if in life." 
 
 While I my father's kindness trace, 
 Think not I dwell on his alone ; 
 
 Nought from my bosom can efface 
 The memory, mother, of thy own. 
 
 Thy tenderness in childhood's days, 
 Thy many proofs of patient care. 
 
 The gentle smile, the cheering praise. 
 The soft caress, the whispered prayer: 
 
 These, these are stamped on memory's page 
 And let me prove the record's truth, 
 
 By giving back to thee, in age, 
 
 The love thou gav'st to me in youth
 
 10 THE SON TO HIS WIDOAVED MOTHER. 
 
 And do not deem thy labours o'er, 
 Mother, in manhood's ripening hour ; 
 
 I need thy counsels more and more, 
 To guard me from temptation's power ; 
 
 Each hidden flowery snare to show, 
 Spread in the world's enticing course. 
 
 And save me from the future woe 
 
 Of humbling shame, and late remorse. 
 
 Then cast this settled grief aside. 
 Discourse with me on former days, 
 
 Tell how my father lived and died, 
 And lead me in his holy ways. 
 
 Sorrow should hearts more closely bind,— 
 May ours through life united be, — 
 
 Thou may'st in me a solace find, 
 And I, a counsellor in thee. 
 
 The blessed saint above shall view 
 Our journey to his happier land, 
 
 And smile to see us thus pursue 
 
 Oiii way to meet him, hand-in-hand.
 
 THE SON TO HIS WIDOWED MOTHER. 11 
 
 Oh ! never let us hopeless prove, 
 
 Nor earthly consolations shun, 
 While I can claim a mother's love, 
 
 Thou, the fond duty of a son !
 
 12 
 
 SING NOT OF THE PAST. 
 
 Sing not in these glittering halls, 
 
 Songs of former years, 
 Each remembered note recalls 
 
 Life's young hopes and fears ; 
 Win me not to dwell on days 
 
 Far too bright to last, 
 Touch thy lute to careless lays, 
 
 Sing not of the past! 
 
 When the moon is shining bright, 
 
 Over lawn and lea, 
 Come, and in the silvery light. 
 
 Sigh those songs to me : 
 Soothing calmness then each sound 
 
 O'er my soul shall cast ; 
 But when strangers smile around, 
 
 Sing not of the past.
 
 13 
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT VOLUME. 
 
 Young Poet, to thy task repair, 
 
 And exquisitely trace 
 Thy songs, upon these pages fair. 
 
 In lines of waving grace : 
 While gazing on thy work and thee, 
 
 My thoughts delight to glance 
 O'er days of banished minstrelsy, 
 
 And bards of old romance. 
 
 What wonders in thy volume lie. 
 
 From curious gaze enshrined ; 
 What breathing thoughts, what feelings high, 
 
 What priceless gems of mind : 
 A treasure of enchanted lore 
 
 That book appears to me, 
 And thou, the owner of the store, 
 
 Holding its magic key.
 
 14 THE MANUSCRIPT VOLUME. 
 
 It is not meant for common eyes, 
 
 No triflers light and vain, 
 No pedants, in dull dogmas wise, 
 
 Its precious depths profane ; 
 A favoured few its leaves inspect, 
 
 Whose minds of kindred tone. 
 Can, in a faint degree, reflect 
 
 The feelings of thy own. 
 
 Thy flowers of genius meekly rest 
 
 With their sweet blossoms furled. 
 Secluded from the eager quest 
 
 Of a presuming world ; 
 Let not their tender bloom be nipt 
 
 At that rude world's command, 
 I deem the guarded manuscript 
 
 The bard's true fairy-land. 
 
 Yet hold— while thus I idly write, 
 
 Does wisdom guide my pen. 
 Should lays like thine avoid the light. 
 
 And shun the gaze of men ? 
 Young Poet, talents rare and great 
 
 Are to thy keeping given, 
 Those talents thou should'st consecrate 
 
 To aid the cause of Heaven.
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT VOLUME. 15 
 
 And well thy lines that cause proclaim, 
 
 To thee, I can award 
 That simple, yet most honoured name, 
 
 A truly Christian bard. 
 Then to the world thy gifted lays 
 
 A patriot offering send. 
 He who corrects a nation's ways 
 
 Is most a nation's friend. 
 
 'Tis true that thou must learn to brook 
 
 Cold censure of thy lays. 
 The envious taunt — the harsh rebuke, 
 
 The slow and measured praise ; 
 Thy volume, nursed in solitude, 
 
 Half strange to thee shall seem. 
 When daring men, with comments rude. 
 
 Invade each hallowed theme. 
 
 Yet thou shalt view this scene of strife 
 
 In quiet peace at last. 
 Feeling that thou the bread of life 
 
 Hast on its waters cast ; 
 And multitudes thou can'st not see, 
 
 Scattered o'er England's sod. 
 Shall bless thy name, and learn from thee 
 
 To know and serve their God.
 
 16 
 
 THY MAIDEN NAME. 
 
 Thy Maiden Name!— oh! how that word recalls, 
 
 Thoughts of glad meetings and of happy faces : 
 I see thee bounding in thy father's halls, 
 
 Once more arrayed in girlhood's blooming graces ; 
 Loose float thy nut-brown locks, thy step is light, 
 
 Thy harp is ever tuned to songs of gladness. 
 Kindred and friends extol thee with delight, 
 
 And none but lovers look on thee with sadness. 
 
 Thy Maiden Name !— the scene is changed, and now 
 
 I see thee standing at the sacred altar ; 
 Thy robes are spotless, gems are on thy brow. 
 
 Bright are thy blushes, thy faint accents falter : 
 Awhile thy hazel eyes with tears are dim. 
 
 Leaving a home of kindness and protection ; 
 But soon they smile with trusting faith on him, 
 
 Who owns the treasure of thy young affection.
 
 THY MAIDEN NAME. 17 
 
 Thy Maiden Name ! — since thou that name resigned, 
 
 Time, which has somewhat dimmed thy sportive 
 beauty, 
 Has strengthened the firm qualities of mind, 
 
 Befitting the calm sphere of matron duty : 
 Thy loved, thy chosen, estimates thy worth, 
 
 Nor do thy hopes e'er dwell upon another, 
 Save on the children who surround thy hearth, 
 
 Hearing sweet words of wisdom from their mother. 
 
 Thy Maiden Name ! — though soft its flowing sound, 
 
 Though high and pure its stainless reputation, — 
 I will not mourn its loss, since thou hast found 
 
 A nobler duty, home, and designation : 
 Never, I feel, can England's downfall be, 
 
 Counting such wives and mothers in her pages, 
 Whose lives displayed in their posterity. 
 
 Perchance may cast a light o'er future ages.
 
 18 
 
 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 
 
 Dim portraits of an age past by, — 
 How oft in childhood's artless days. 
 
 Would thy grave stateliness supply 
 Themes for my wondering awe and praise ! 
 
 Each spreading hoop and tightened waist. 
 And sweeping train was prized by me ; 
 
 And much I censured modern taste, 
 Vain of my gorgeous ancestry. 
 
 Yon splendid dame in plumes and pearls, 
 Seemed by the Graces' hand arrayed ; 
 
 Who could resist such powdered curls, 
 Or gaze unmoved on such brocade ? 
 
 And the trim courtier by her side, 
 
 Some score of hearts I deemed had won ; 
 
 In wig, and sword, and ruffles wide. 
 He looked a very Grandison !
 
 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 19 
 
 Fain would I here some annals trace 
 
 Of wonder, peril, or mischance ; 
 But 'tis in vain — our luckless race 
 
 Boasts not one story of romance. 
 
 And if it did, romance I fear 
 
 Has almost lost its spell for me ; 
 The tales I tell, and those I hear. 
 
 Are now of plain reality. 
 
 Yet even in this time of truth , 
 These portraits cause my heart to thrill, 
 
 Not with the ecstasies of youth, 
 But with a holier feeling still. 
 
 The dreams have fled that wrapped me then, 
 
 But in their subjects I can claim 
 A race of honourable men, 
 
 And matrons of unblemished fame. 
 
 'Twas their's in tranquil ease to move, 
 Yet their calm ways could brightened be 
 
 By many a kindly deed of love, 
 And prayer of fervent piety, 
 c 2
 
 20 FAMILY PORTRAITS. 
 
 Malice ne'er dared their lives to scan, 
 In duty's hallowed path they trod ; 
 
 Their actions were approved by man, — 
 Their souls, I trust, received by God. 
 
 Oh ! may their honoured names obtain 
 No spot from thought or deed of mine ; 
 
 May I the principles retain, 
 
 Transmitted from a worthy line. 
 
 And may I meet and recognize 
 Hereafter in a happier sphere, 
 
 The forms that pleased my childish eyes. 
 And won my simple homage here.
 
 21 
 
 A GOVERNESS WANTED. 
 
 ' Our governess left us, dear brother, 
 
 Last night, in a strange fit of pique, 
 Will you kindly seek out for another ? 
 
 We want her at latest next week : 
 But I'll give you a (ew plain credentials. 
 
 The bargain with speed to complete ; 
 Take a pen— just set down the essentials, 
 
 And begin at the top of the sheet ! 
 
 " With easy and modest decision, 
 
 She ever must move, act, and speak ; 
 She must understand French with precision, 
 
 Italian, and Latin, and Greek : 
 She must play the piano divinely, 
 
 Excel on the harp and the lute. 
 Do all sorts of needle-work finely, 
 
 And make feather- flowers, and wax-fruit.
 
 22 A GOVERNESS WANTED. 
 
 " She must answer all queries directly, 
 
 And all sciences well understand, 
 Paint in oils, sketch from nature correctly, 
 
 And write German text, and short-hand : 
 She must sing with power, science, and sweetness, 
 
 Yet for concerts must sigh not at all. 
 She must dance with etherial fleetness ; 
 
 Yet never must go to a ball. 
 
 " She must not have needy relations, 
 
 Her dress must be tasteful yet plain, 
 Her discourse must abound in quotations. 
 
 Her memory all dates must retain : 
 She must point out each author's chief beauties, 
 
 She must manage dull natures with skill, 
 Her pleasures must lie in her duties. 
 
 She must never be nervous or ill ! 
 
 " If she write essays, odes, themes, and sonnets, 
 
 Yet be not pedantic or pert ; 
 If she wear none but deep cottage bonnets, 
 
 If she deem it high treason to flirt. 
 If to mildness she add sense and spirit. 
 
 Engage her at once without fear ; 
 I love to reward modest merit. 
 
 And I give — forty guineas a year."
 
 A GOVERNESS WANTED. 23 
 
 ** I accept, my good sister, your mission. 
 
 To-morrow, my search I'll begin, — 
 In all circles, in every condition, 
 
 I'll strive such a treasure to win ; 
 And, if after years of probation. 
 
 My eyes on the wonder should rest, 
 I'll engage her without hesitation, 
 
 But not on the terras you suggest. 
 
 " Of a bride I have ne'er made selection, 
 
 For my bachelor thoughts would still dwell 
 On an object so near to perfection. 
 
 That I blushed half my fancies to tell ; 
 Now this list that you kindly have granted, 
 
 I'll quote and refer to through life. 
 But just blot out — ' A Governess Wanted,* 
 
 And head it with—' Wanted a Wife !' "
 
 24 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MRS, HEMANS. 
 
 Yes, — she has left us. She, whose gifted lays 
 So nobly earned a nation's love and praise, 
 Entranced the high and lofty ones of earth, 
 And shed a radiance o'er the peasant's hearth, — 
 She from the world is taken. Her sweet lute 
 Hangs on the willow, desolate and mute ; 
 And while we half-unconsciously repeat 
 Strains we have learned as household words to greet, 
 How mournful is the thought that she can pour 
 Songs of such touching melody no more ! 
 
 Oh ! what a range of mind was hers, how bright 
 
 Her pages seemed with Inspiration's light ; 
 
 And yet, though skilled to dazzle and o'erwhelm 
 
 Queen of Imagination's fairy realm, 
 
 Her highest excellence appeared to be 
 
 In the calm region of reality.
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. HEMANS, 25 
 
 In Nature's wondrous workings lay her art ; 
 
 From that exhaustless mine, the human heart, 
 
 She brought her gems. 'Twas hers, with gentle skill, 
 
 The slumbering feelings to arouse and thrill ; 
 
 With colours not more beautiful than true 
 
 The modest virtues of her sex she drew : 
 
 " Records of Woman," — at that name arise 
 
 Fair shapes of truth and goodness to our eyes ; 
 
 Not the gay phantoms seen in Fancy's trance ; 
 
 Not the bright paragons of old romance ; 
 
 Nor yet the wonders of a later age. 
 
 The heroines of Reason's formal page, 
 
 Full of cold, calculating, worldly sense, 
 
 And self-elate in moral excellence ! 
 
 No — at Religion's pure and sacred flame 
 
 Her torch she kindled — 'twas her wish and aim 
 
 That, in her female portraits, we should see 
 
 The blest effects of humble piety, — 
 
 Proving; that in this world of sin and strife. 
 
 None could fulfil the charities of life, 
 
 Or bear its trials, save the path they trod 
 
 Were hallowed by the guiding grace of God. 
 
 And well her spirit in her life was shown. 
 No character more lovely than her own
 
 26 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Fell from her gifted pen— though numbers breathed 
 Her name, though laurel bands her brow enwreathed, 
 She sought not in the world's vain scenes to roam, 
 Her duties were her joys, her sphere was home : 
 And Memory still a pensive pleasure blends 
 With the affliction of her weeping friends. 
 When they recal the meek calm lowliness 
 With which she bore the blaze of her success : 
 But trials soon, as well as triumphs, came ; 
 Sickness subdued her weak and languid frame, 
 Then was she patient, tranquil, and resigned, 
 ' Religion soothed and fortified her mind ; 
 She knew that for the blessed Saviour's sake. 
 In whom she trusted, she should sleep to wake 
 In glory, and she yielded up her breath, 
 Feeling she won eternity by death. 
 
 Oh ! may her holy principles impress 
 
 The soul of each surviving poetess ! 
 
 No trivial charge is to her, care consigned, 
 
 Who gives to public view her stores of mind ; 
 
 Even though her sum of treasures may be small, 
 
 Good can be worked, if Heaven permit, by all : 
 
 She who a single talent holds in store. 
 
 By patient zeal, may make that little more :
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OV MRS. HEMANS. 27 
 
 And though but few, alas ! can boast th6 powers 
 Of her now lost, the gift may still be ours 
 Humbly to imitate her better part, 
 And strive to elevate each reader's heart 
 To themes of purer and of holier birth 
 Than the low pleasures and vain pomps of earth. 
 Never may Woman's lays their service lend 
 Vice to encourage, soften, or defend, — 
 Nor may we in our own conceit be wise, 
 Weaving frail webs of mere moralities : 
 No, may we ever on His grace reflect, 
 To whom we owe our cherished intellect ; 
 Deem that such powers in trust to us were given 
 To serve and glorify our Lord in heaven ; 
 And place, amid the highest joys of fame. 
 Our best distinction in a Christian's name.
 
 28 
 
 THE SERENADE. 
 
 From the German. 
 
 ** List ! mother, the strains of soft music I hear, 
 How sweetly the melody falls on my ear ! 
 Withdraw those dark curtains, the moon's silver light 
 Will make the sad chamber of sickness seem bright ; 
 Fling open the lattice — I pine for the air, 
 And give me yon roses to twine in my hair ; 
 I feel what those exquisite numbers must be, 
 I know my young lover is singing to me." 
 
 " Oh ! hush, gentle daughter, no lover is nigh, 
 He has left thee in sorrow and sickness to die ; 
 Thy beauty has vanished — thy triumphs are o'er 
 And gay serenaders shall woo thee no more : 
 My voice only greets thee with pitying strain ; 
 / sit by thy pillow, — / weep for thy pain ; 
 Thou hast now, my poor child, on this desolate sod, 
 No friend but thy mother, — no hope but thy God." 
 
 " Hark ! mother — the sounds more exultingly rise 
 A peal of loud joy fulness swells to the skies ;
 
 THE SERENADE. 29 
 
 Our friends some glad festival surely prepare, 
 
 And summon us thus in the pageant to share." 
 
 " Our friends, are all changed, love — they pass by our 
 
 door. 
 Their smiles and their banquets rejoice not the poor : 
 Oh! heed not their faithlessness — quick heaves thy 
 
 breath, 
 These subjects befit not the chamber of death." 
 
 " Again the clear voices the chorus repeat, — 
 Say, mother, was harmony ever so sweet ?" 
 " I listen, my child, but I hear not a tone, 
 That music is breathed to no ear but thy own. 
 Oh ! think not of passion, of pomp, or of mirth, 
 Thy heart must be weaned from the trifles of earth ; 
 Those voices proceed from a region of light, — 
 My daughter, I feel thou must leave me to-night." 
 
 '* Oh ! mother, a knowledge prophetic is thine, 
 I am passing from life, yet I do not repine. 
 Thanks, thanks for thy patience and tenderness past, 
 But most for this faithful rebuke at the last ; 
 Though the world has its injuries heaped on my head, 
 I mourn not — my mother hangs over my bed, 
 And the God whom she taught me to serve and to love, 
 Has sent his kind angels to call me above."
 
 30 
 
 IDOL WORSHIP. 
 
 " Thou shalt have none other Gods but me." — First Commandment. 
 
 None other Gods but thee, oh ! Lord — 
 
 How blest the task appears, 
 To pour the wonders of thy word 
 
 In listening heathen ears ; 
 Their cherished idols to remove, 
 
 Their souls from clouds to free, 
 And bid them worship, serve, and love 
 
 None other Gods but Thee. 
 
 Yet while thy glories we reveal 
 
 To many a Pagan land. 
 Do we, thy chosen people feel, 
 
 The force of thy command ? 
 Oh ! do we to thy name divine. 
 
 As to a refuge flee, 
 And do our inmost souls enshrine 
 
 None other Gods but Thee ?
 
 IDOL WORSHIP. 31 
 
 Oft Wealth our dazzled sight betrays, 
 
 Ambition's power beguiles, 
 And Pleasure, to her specious ways. 
 
 Courts us with flattering smiles ; 
 Fame waves on high her laurel crown, 
 
 We bend the votive knee ; 
 Lord, can we then be said to own 
 
 None other Gods but Thee ? 
 
 And even in our social ties, 
 
 Around the quiet hearth. 
 Too tenderly perchance we prize 
 
 Some dear one of the earth ; 
 Our love, to heavenly objects weak. 
 
 Chained to our homes may be, 
 Although our lips profess to seek 
 
 None other Gods but Thee. 
 
 Lord, while we lead the heathen still 
 
 In thy pure laws to live. 
 Grant that we better may fulfil 
 
 The precepts that we give ; 
 On us thy Holy Spirit pour, 
 
 From idols set us free. 
 And may our hearts henceforth adore 
 
 None other Gods but Thee.
 
 32 
 
 DEAR-BOUGHT WISDOM. 
 
 My father warned me in childhood's days, 
 That the world was full of fraudful ways, 
 That men in their dealings were oft unjust. 
 And that much we should doubt, and seldom trust. 
 
 But I rashly the first fair words believed, 
 My plans were baffled, my trust deceived, 
 And I owned in sad and bitter rulh, 
 That my father spoke the words of truth. 
 
 My mother bade me observant be 
 Of the snares of evil company. 
 The ways of learning and virtue prize, 
 And only walk with the good and wise. 
 
 But my heart was all with the light and vain, 
 I mingled with Pleasure's frolic train ; 
 They led me onward to shame and ill. 
 Oh ! would I had done my mother's will !
 
 DEAR-BOUGfIT WISDOM. 33 
 
 My grandsire told me to share my store 
 In cheerful love with the suffering poor, 
 And to lay a thrifty portion by, 
 The wants of the future to supply. 
 
 But the poor I cared not to behold, 
 I lavished in feasting my ready gold ; 
 Now age has silvered my raven hair. 
 It is hard to begin to save and spare. 
 
 Our worthy pastor, with holy zeal, 
 
 Bade me in prayer to the Lord appeal. 
 
 To shun the tumults of worldly strife, 
 
 And make the Scriptures my guide through life : 
 
 But I never bent to the Lord my knee. 
 His sacred book was unread by me ; 
 Forgetting his laws, in sin I trod, 
 But I was not forgotten in turn by God. 
 
 His grace to waken my soul he sent ; 
 I confess my faults, and my sins repent, 
 I look with grief on my follies past, 
 And I tread in the ways of peace at last. 
 
 D
 
 34 DEAR-BOUGHT WISDOM. 
 
 But vanished, alas ! is my ample wealth, — 
 Gone is my youth, and impaired my health, — 
 And my mind presents a dreary void 
 Of talents wasted and unemployed ! 
 
 Oh ! had I been willing to attend 
 To the counsels of each early friend. 
 Those lessons I safely had been taught. 
 Which now I have dearly, madly bought. 
 
 And I give these counsels in my turn, 
 That the young may timely prudence learn, 
 Nor their health, and wealth, and bloom engage, 
 In purchasing wisdom for their age !
 
 35 
 
 THE WIDOW'S HOME. 
 
 Oh ! press me not, my friends, to leave 
 
 This home endeared by former ties, 
 Nor deem that I could cease to grieve 
 
 Beneath the smiles of foreign skies : 
 Let those who fancied ills endure, 
 
 In search of rest from home depart, 
 No change of place can ever cure 
 
 The settled sorrows of the heart. 
 
 These scenes my fond affection claim, 
 
 They speak of calm and peaceful life,- 
 Here, first a happy bride I came, 
 
 Here, dwelt for years a happier wife : 
 And though, with him I loved, has fled 
 
 Each former image of delight. 
 Still, while his favorite haunts I tread, 
 
 I feel I have not lost him quite. 
 d2
 
 36 THE WIDOW S HOME 
 
 The cottages surround me here, 
 
 Where those who shared his bounty dwelt 
 The church embowered in trees is near, 
 
 Where on the Sabbath-day we knelt ; 
 Oft in an open book I trace 
 
 Some passage by his taste approved, 
 Or greet in a familiar face 
 
 Some friend by him esteemed and loved. 
 
 Ill would the widow's mournful dress 
 
 With strange and distant scenes accord, 
 111 would her heart's deep loneliness 
 
 Brook the light jest, the heedless word : 
 It is my cherished solace, now. 
 
 In all who meet me, to accost, 
 Those who can feel and can avow 
 
 The worth of him I loved and lost. . 
 
 Think not your friendly zeal I slight. 
 
 Although your counsels I repel, 
 Oh! leave me, like the Shunamite, 
 
 With " my own people" still to dwell : 
 My thoughts are to ray lost one given. 
 
 My place is by his quiet hearth. 
 And only for his home in heaven, 
 
 May I desert his home on earth.
 
 37 
 
 THE DEPENDENT CHILD. 
 
 Yes, you may deem my station blest, 
 
 No hardships now I bear, — 
 In russet frock I am not drest, 
 
 Nor fed on humble fare ; 
 But yet my heart the home recalls, 
 
 Where once I played and smiled, — 
 I pine within a stranger's halls, 
 
 A sad dependent child. 
 
 The owners of this stately place 
 
 Came to my father's cot, 
 They said, my lovely form and face 
 
 Deserved a better lot ; 
 With honied words, and golden store, 
 
 My parents they beguiled. 
 And to their lordly towers they bore 
 
 The simple cottage child.
 
 38 THE DEPENDENT CHILD. 
 
 Awhile, how fleetly flew the hours, 
 
 What more could I desire 
 Than winning looks, and birds, and flowers, 
 
 And toys, and gay attire ? 
 But soon those looks grew changed and cold, 
 
 Those eyes no longer smiled. 
 But frowns the thoughtless mirth controlled 
 
 Of the dependent child. 
 
 Disdain I now have learned to brook, 
 
 And slowly pass my days, 
 The very menials on me look 
 
 With stern unfriendly gaze : 
 My merry laugh and free caress 
 
 Were coarse and rustic styled. 
 And noAv they blame the sullenness 
 
 Of the neglected child. 
 
 How oft 1 mournfully reflect 
 
 On scenes far, far away, — 
 Our cot with clustering roses decked. 
 
 My sisters at their play ; 
 My father's song when work was o'er. 
 
 My mother's accents mild, — 
 The smiles and kisses each would pour 
 
 On their gay happy child.
 
 THE DEPENDENT CHILD. 39 
 
 I know I sometimes wilful prove, 
 
 And heedlessly offend, 
 But my own mother gently strove 
 
 My feelings to amend ; 
 'Twas Nature's yearnings made her bear 
 
 My spirit high and wild, 
 She could excuse, forgive, and spare 
 
 The weakness of her child. 
 
 My courtly patrons feel for me 
 
 No fond parental glow, — 
 I meet no fellowship in glee, 
 
 No sympathy in woe ; 
 If in respect I chance to fail, 
 
 Ungrateful I am styled, 
 And guests are told some humbling tale 
 
 Of the poor peasant's child. 
 
 Mothers, whom sportive children bless, 
 
 Preserve them yours alone ; 
 List not to those who would profess 
 
 To love them as their own : 
 Think, how you felt, when on your knees 
 
 Your precious infant smiled — 
 Could you with feelings warm as these 
 
 Turn to another's child 1
 
 40 THE DEPENDENT CHILD. 
 
 Though gold awhile may blind the eyes, 
 
 And pride the feelings quell, 
 Still Nature's laws and Nature's ties 
 
 Will triumph o'er their spell. 
 Oh ! let this truth to all appeal 
 
 By worldly lures beguiled, 
 None ! none — a parent's love can feel 
 
 For an adopted child !
 
 41 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON SEEING THE PORTRAIT OF A .GIRL IN THE 
 ATTITUDE OF PRAYER. 
 
 Fair girl ! although unknown to me 
 Thy name, thy home, thy history, 
 In thy meek attitude I trace 
 The leadings of Almighty grace, 
 And read that thou, in opening youth. 
 Hast sought that holy light of truth, 
 Which proves, through life's uncertain way. 
 The suJEFerer's aid, the sinner's stay. 
 
 Fain would I hear thy fervent prayer ; 
 Perchance thy heart has felt the care 
 Of hopes betrayed, of fortunes changed, 
 Of friends lost, absent, or estranged : 
 If so, how wisely hast thou done 
 To bring thy secret griefs to One 
 On whom thou ever may'st depend, 
 As Father, brother, guide, and friend.
 
 42 LINES ON SEEING THE PORTRAIT OF A GIRL 
 
 Perchance such ills assail thee not, — 
 The world's bright bonds may be thy lot ; 
 Thine may the dazzling- perils be 
 Of gay unmixed prosperity ; — 
 Then seek a saving hand above, 
 None but a God of might and love 
 Can free thee from the flowery ties 
 Woven by Earth's light vanities. 
 
 Turn from the worldlings who would praise 
 
 The " blameless tenor" of thy ways, 
 
 Thy " freedom from fierce passion's strife," 
 
 Thy quiet " purity of life !" 
 
 Thou art in all thy bloom and grace, 
 
 The daughter of a guilty race — 
 
 The Tempter lurks thy soul within, 
 
 And daily bends thy thoughts to sin. 
 
 Yet well such snares are met by thee, 
 Craving for help on bended knee — 
 Thy Saviour, who in lingering pain. 
 Died thy redemption to obtain, 
 Who knows, from bitter trial knows, 
 Human temptations, wiles, and woes, 
 Thy steps shall guide, thy dangers heed, 
 And strengthen thee in time of need.
 
 IN THE ATTITUDE OF PRAYER. 43 
 
 Though coming years may wring thy heart, 
 Beauty, and bloom, and health depart, 
 Thou yet the privilege shalt claim 
 Of calling on thy Maker's name ; 
 And He will ne'er the pleadings scorn 
 Of her, who, from youth's early morn. 
 Her course in humble meekness trod, 
 Seeking direction from her God.
 
 44 
 
 THE DREAM OF THE POETESS. 
 
 She smiles in her slumber— what visions arise 
 Beneath the closed lids of those beautiful eyes ! 
 Does she feel inspiration vast, mighty, and deep ? 
 Does the light of her mind sparkle forth in her sleep ? 
 
 Does she tread the gay hall ? Does she hear the soft 
 
 strain 
 Of eager and earnest devotion again ? 
 Does she gather fresh laurels to bind on her brow ? 
 No, — quelled is the pride of the Poetess now ? 
 
 She dreams of the home where in childhood she 
 
 strayed , — 
 Once more she reclines in the sycamore shade ; 
 Before her the river glides gaily along, 
 And she hears the sweet tones of the nightingale's 
 
 song.
 
 THE DREAM OF THE POETESS. 45 
 
 The bright varied flowers of her garden she tends, 
 She roams through the woodlands with dear valued 
 
 friends ; 
 She sits with her kindred at evening's calm hour, 
 And touches the lute in her jessamine bower. 
 
 She wakes, she goes forth to the multitude's gaze, 
 They greet her with murmurs of pleasure and praise ; 
 She is courted by dames \n the trappings of pride, 
 And nobles contend for a place at her side. 
 
 But her dark eye is dimmed by a sorrowing tear, — 
 The voice of the stranger sounds harsh in her ear, — 
 She thinks on her home, on the pleasures long fled, 
 On the friends and the parents, changed, absent, or 
 dead. 
 
 Oh ! thus turns the heart, with unvarying truth, 
 To the scenes and the thoughts of its earliest youth. 
 And we feel when life's gaudiest gifts are possest, 
 Our simplest enjoyments have still been our best. 
 
 'Tis true, when the banner of Fame is unfurled, 
 Man finds his reward in the smiles of the world ; 
 But woman, though raised by that world to a throne. 
 Will languish, if destined to fill it alone.
 
 46 THE DREAM OF THE POETESS. 
 
 Though her path be illumined by intellect's ray, 
 She sighs for companions to gladden her way ; 
 And this feeling her proudest success must attend — 
 In an equal, alone, we can hope for a friend. 
 
 The region of fancy faint bliss can impart 
 
 To her who has lived in the world of the heart ; 
 
 And the thoughts of the Poetess ever are cast 
 
 To the friends of her youth, to the home of the past.
 
 47 
 
 THE BURIAL OF THE HEIR. 
 
 I stood in sadness by the vault, I saw it opened wide, 
 And the lovely infant heir was laid his ancestors 
 
 beside ; 
 I sighed not for the blessed child, removed from pain 
 
 and woe. 
 My sighs were for the living ones who still remained 
 
 below : 
 With lingering and reluctant steps, I sought the 
 
 ancient hall, 
 The grey-haired servants came in tears to answer to 
 
 my call ; 
 And when I joined my mourning friends, and strove 
 
 to speak relief, 
 My very heart was wrung by their intensity of grief.
 
 48 THE BURIAL OF THE HEIR. 
 
 The stately fathers head was bowed — that voice was 
 
 faint and weak, 
 Whose words assembled senates oft in reverence 
 
 would seek ; 
 His eagle eye was dimmed with care, dishevelled 
 
 were his curls, 
 And a stranger scarce had deemed him one of 
 
 England's proudest Earls ; 
 But I marvelled not to see him, for I know how 
 
 sorrow brings 
 A stern and cold indifference for life's most costly 
 
 things ; 
 And I thought of royal David, who, when told the 
 
 fight was won. 
 Poured forth a wail of bitterness, and sighed " My 
 
 son, my son." 
 
 The grandsire, who had watched the boy with all a 
 
 parent's care, 
 Blamed the behest of Providence, as far too hard to 
 
 bear ; 
 And dark repining words, that it would grieve me to 
 
 repeat, 
 Fell on the fair young daughter's ear, reclining at his 
 
 feet :
 
 THE BURIAL OF THE HEIR. 49 
 
 She was a girl with sunny hair, and spirit gay and 
 
 wild, 
 Who from morn till eve had frolicked with her sister's 
 
 only child ; 
 But now the tears were falling from her azure eyes 
 
 like rain. 
 And her lip was pale and parched, as though it ne'er 
 
 would smile again ! 
 
 Yet one was tranquil and resigned within that mourn- 
 ful room, 
 Her look was soft and serious, but wore no sullen 
 
 gloom ; 
 Apart from all, the mother knelt before her Maker's 
 
 throne. 
 Nor could I wonder at her strength, — that strength 
 
 was not her own. 
 In silence I approached her, and I heard her meekly 
 
 say— 
 '• Almighty Lord ! 'tis thine to give, and thine to take 
 
 away : 
 Oh ! let me on thy grace alone my rebel thoughts 
 
 employ, 
 And grant me in thy own good time again to meet 
 
 my boy."
 
 ,50 THE BURIAL OF THE HEIR. 
 
 A year passed by — once more I sought that sad and 
 
 childless hearth ; 
 The gay saloon was bright with lamps, and filled with 
 
 sounds of mirth : 
 There stood the host with noble mien, and accents 
 
 kind and bland, 
 Surrounded by the gifted and the great ones of the 
 
 land ; 
 And there the grandsire, too, conversed with many a 
 
 sprightly guest, 
 And ready was his apt retort, and pointed was his 
 
 jest; 
 While gaily his young daughter smiled amid the 
 
 festal throng. 
 And none were lighter in the dance, or sweeter in the 
 
 song. 
 
 Yes, changed, indeed, that scene appeared ; yet one 
 
 unchanged was there, — 
 The gentle mother still preserved her look of patient 
 
 care, — 
 Her firmness had supported those who shrank from 
 
 Heaven's decree, 
 And now her pensive brow reproved their wild and 
 
 eager glee.
 
 THE BURIAL OF THE HEIR. 51 
 
 Though courteously she spoke to all, I saw she bore 
 
 no part 
 In dazzling pomp — the dart of grief had entered in 
 
 her heart : 
 She dwelt upon her absent son with strong unaltered 
 
 love; 
 And her spirit yearned to quit the earth, and live with 
 
 him above. 
 
 Again 1 stood beside the vault ; — the mother young 
 
 and fair, 
 In the dark chambers of the grave rejoined her infant 
 
 heir. 
 Her kindred have forgotten both — they shine amid 
 
 the gay, 
 But I envy not their feelings — she is happier far than 
 
 they. 
 I loved her well ; but yet to me a soothing balm is 
 
 given, 
 For the eye of faith enables me to see my friend in 
 
 heaven : 
 Her earthly trials sanctified — her earthly labours 
 
 done — 
 And welcomed to those mansions by her dear and 
 
 precious son. 
 
 2e
 
 52 
 
 THE TREASURE SEEKER. 
 
 He has gone from his calm and quiet home. 
 He has gone to the distant hill, — 
 
 The moon is wrapt in a cloud of gloom, 
 And the winds blow loud and chill. 
 
 The smiles of his bride detain him not, 
 
 Nor his mother's anxious eyes ; 
 He goes to the lone and mystic spot, 
 
 Where the hidden treasure lies. 
 
 Slowly he turns the heavy soil, 
 
 Through the dreary hours of night. 
 
 But his eyes behold not the glittering spoil, 
 At the dawn of the morn's clear light. 
 
 Yet he murmurs not, for his faith is strong 
 In the wonderous tales of yore, 
 
 And he trusts that, by patient toil, ere long, 
 He shall grasp the precious store.
 
 , THE TREASURE SEEKER. 53 
 
 For his wilful dreams, for his labours vain, 
 
 An impatient scorn we feel ; 
 May we not rather a lesson gain 
 
 From the Treasure Seeker's zeal ? 
 
 Do we not each for a treasure seek, 
 
 Of immortal, changeless worth ? 
 It does not rest on a legend weak, 
 
 And it is not hid in earth. 
 
 The treasure of gospel grace we crave, 
 'Tis in God's own book enshrined, — 
 
 He has told us that those who ask shall have, 
 And that all who seek shall find. 
 
 In that book we read of his paths and laws, 
 But we shrink from the rugged way ; 
 
 Our kindred press us awhile to pause, 
 And we willingly delay. 
 
 Shall the Treasure Seeker from day to day 
 
 Still strive for the drossy ore. 
 And shall we supinely, idly stay, 
 
 Nor press for a richer store ?
 
 54 THE TREASURE SEEKER. 
 
 That treasure no rival can steal away, 
 And 'tis brought to mortal sight, 
 
 Not by Superstition's fitful ray, 
 But by Revelation's light. 
 
 By no false diviner's wand 'tis shown, 
 
 Held over the grassy sod. 
 But 'tis placed in the bright blue skies alone, 
 
 And kept in the trust of God.
 
 55 
 
 POOR RELATIONS. 
 
 My godfather was rich and old, 
 
 And when his days were numbered, 
 He left me lands, estates, and gold. 
 
 Quite free and unencumbered ; 
 Yet are my spirits faint and low, 
 
 'Midst all congratulations ; 
 This is my ceaseless source of woe, 
 
 A host of Poor Relations ! 
 
 Fame's trumpet my good fortune blew 
 
 Throughout the neighbouring region, 
 And like the horn of Roderick Dhu, 
 
 It roused an active legion : 
 All to my lucky name allied 
 
 Sprang to their several stations ; 
 I saw myself on every side 
 
 Hemmed in by Poor Relations !
 
 56 POOR RELATIOiVS. 
 
 When I attempt to go at large, 
 
 They cling to me like brambles ; 
 They ** stop the chariot, board the barge," 
 
 And join me in my rambles ; 
 Drop in to dinner every day, 
 
 Nor wait for invitations, — 
 " Rich men should open house," they say, 
 
 " Keep for their Poor Relations.'' 
 
 My uncle loudly slaps my back. 
 
 With freedom bold and hearty, 
 And actually has styled me " Jack," 
 
 Before a titled party ! 
 Nay, he my school-boy days recalls, 
 
 When (matchless degradation !) 
 I've nuts and apples, bats and balls, 
 
 Coaxed from my Poor Relation. 
 
 My aunt esteems my house, 'tis clear, 
 
 Most eligible quarters ; 
 She's got two hundred pounds a year, 
 
 And five unmarried daughters ; 
 My feasts will lead, she oft declares. 
 
 To nuptial celebrations, 
 And quickly bring five nice young heirs 
 
 To woo my Poor Relations.
 
 POOR RELATIONS. .57 
 
 My cousins to my house resort 
 
 In tribes too great to mention, — 
 One much desires a place at court, 
 
 And one a trifling pension ; 
 A pair of colours one would seize 
 
 With loyal exultation, 
 An India writership would please 
 
 Another Poor Relation. 
 
 One has a poem just sent forth, 
 
 A mark for critic battery, 
 In which my talents, wit, and worth. 
 
 He lauds with fulsome flattery ; 
 All the Reviews to pieces pull 
 
 His clumsy adulation, 
 And quiz the vain and wealthy gull. 
 
 Puffed by his Poor Relation ! 
 
 I read once in a German book. 
 
 Of some poor wretch's trouble. 
 Who moved, whichever way he took. 
 
 Attended by a " double ;" 
 I deem his sufferings incomplete. 
 
 Far worse arc my vexations, 
 Daily pursued down Regent Street 
 
 By twenty Poor Relations !
 
 58 ruOK RELATIONS. 
 
 If I some coldness e'er display, 
 
 One twaddler or another 
 Whines—" What would your dear father say, 
 
 And what your worthy mother ? 
 Kind friendly folks, so good, so plain, 
 
 Imagine their sensations. 
 To see their only son's disdain 
 
 Shown to his Poor Relations !" 
 
 To-day a letter came to me, 
 
 Enough my nerves to splinter. 
 Two thirteenth cousins from Dundee, 
 
 Mean at my house to winter ! 
 They " know their visit I shall prize," 
 
 They've " often heard narrations 
 Of my kind hospitalities 
 
 To all my Poor Relations." 
 
 The Honourable Grace De Lisle 
 
 Might grant me her affections, 
 " Could I," she whispers with a smile, 
 
 Shake off my low connections :" 
 Alas ! I've tried a thousand schemes, 
 
 All ending in frustrations. 
 My daily thoughts, my nightly dreams, 
 
 Are full of Poor Relations.
 
 POOR RELATIONS. 59 
 
 One hero of romance I know, 
 
 Safe from all rude intrusion, 
 How can the world its tears bestow 
 
 Upon his sad seclusion ? 
 'Tis the Last Man ! — this thought must check 
 
 At once his lamentations — 
 That he 's, amid the general wreck, 
 
 Outlived his Poor Relations !
 
 60 
 
 RICH RELATIONS. 
 
 Ye, who are haunted by a band 
 
 Of kinsmen poor and needy, 
 Still fostering with reluctant hand 
 
 The thankless and the greedy ; 
 How will ye smile when I complain. 
 
 How mock my lamentations — 
 Alas ! my every care and pain 
 
 Arise from Rich Relations ! 
 
 When first I entered life's career, 
 
 Thus spoke my wary mother — 
 " Son, you'll inherit, never fear, 
 
 The riches of my brother ; 
 He occupies, the wise ones say, 
 
 A little Rothschild's station, — 
 Be prudent, saving, try each way 
 
 To please youi Rich Relation.
 
 RICH RELATIONS. 
 
 61 
 
 " Your father's aunt declines apace, 
 
 She owns five thousands yearly, 
 Deems perjured men a worthless race, 
 
 And loves dumb creatures merely ; 
 Her squirrel coax — aspire to fix 
 
 Her poodle's approbation ; 
 Don't mind her monkey's playful tricks, 
 
 But court your Rich Relation." 
 
 My uncle's slightest hints I heed, 
 
 His taste I please completely. 
 His correspondents' letters read, 
 
 And write his answers neatly ; 
 I wield a slate, profusely scrawled 
 
 With many a calculation. 
 In all (save payment) I'm installed 
 Clerk to my Rich Relation. 
 
 I say and do whate'er I'm told. 
 
 My time ne'er idly lingers, — 
 Thick clumsy shoes my feet enfold. 
 
 And worsted gloves my fingers ; 
 I vote gay waistcoats, seals, and rings. 
 
 Mere useless decoration, — 
 " Young men should wear plain homely things," 
 
 Thus says my Rich Relation.
 
 62 UrCH UFXATIONS. 
 
 He " hates to see a rhyming book 
 
 A stripling's table cumber ; " 
 Since then I've locked up Lalla Rookh, 
 
 And let Childe Harold slumber ; 
 Marmion lies torn, and Christabel 
 
 Takes on the shelf her station ; 
 I even shun sweet L. E. L. 
 
 To please my Rich Relation, 
 
 My great aunt's pet menagerie, 
 
 Around me daily capers. 
 And once a week I go to tea, 
 
 Read through two penny papers, 
 And then a hand of cribbage take, 
 
 By way of recreation. 
 Three games for two-pence is the stake. 
 
 Fixed by my Rich Relation. 
 
 Though often she contrives to cheat, 
 
 I never dare to wrangle ; 
 Meanwhile her monkey climbs my seat, 
 
 My hair to twist and tangle ; 
 One night he tightened my cravat 
 
 Almost to strangulation, 
 And but received a smile and pat 
 
 From my kind Rich Relation.
 
 RICH RELATIONS. 63 
 
 I'm sent about from dawn till dark 
 
 On some absurd commission, 
 I never stroll across the Park, 
 
 Nor see the Exhibition ; 
 My friends begin to pout and lower, 
 
 And cease their invitations ; 
 He cannot boast one leisure hour 
 
 Who owns two Rich Relations. 
 
 This mode of life I loathe and fear, 
 
 Would I could try some other. 
 Would I could fly— hold ! what is here ? 
 
 A letter from my mother ! 
 I guess the reason why she writes, 
 
 Some precious accusations, 
 A lecture for some fancied slights 
 
 Shown to my Rich Relations. 
 
 Stay—" All our hopes, dear boy, are fled, 
 
 Prepare for grief and pity, 
 The fall of Spanish bonds has spread 
 
 A panic through the City : 
 Your uncle's all he rashly set 
 
 On one vast speculation, — 
 We fear next Saturday's Gazette 
 
 Will see our Rich Relation !
 
 64 RICH RELATIONS. 
 
 " Your aunt, you know, for flying gout, 
 
 Last month to Bath resorted, 
 A foreign Count her wealth found out, 
 
 Herself and poodle courted ! 
 His sable whiskers, sallow cheek. 
 
 And lengthy appellation, 
 Have turned her head— next Friday week 
 
 He'll wed our Rich Relation '." 
 
 Huzza ! my raptures will not brook 
 
 The labour of concealing. 
 Henceforth I'll think, read, dress, and look. 
 
 With independent feeling ! 
 Like Sinbad, I'm at length set free 
 
 For brisk perambulations: 
 I've dropped my Old Man of the Sea,— 
 
 I've lost my Rich Relations ! 
 
 Emancipators, see me stand 
 
 In liberty's possession ; 
 Senates, without your helping hand, 
 
 I'm rescued from oppression ; 
 Match me the triumph, if ye can, 
 
 Surrounding lands and nations, 
 Felt by a free-born Englishman 
 
 Released from Rich Relations.
 
 65 
 
 THE ^OLIAN HARP. 
 
 Harp of soft melody, when silent sitting-, 
 I strive to lift my thoughts from worldly things, 
 
 I love to hear the gales of evening flitting 
 In low awakening murmurs o'er thy strings. 
 
 No hand is nigh— again the breezes tremble, 
 Imparting to thy heavenly music birth ; 
 
 Would that my feeble heart could thee resemble, 
 Yielding no answer to the spells of earth. 
 
 Would that by human lures and arts unshaken. 
 My spirit thus from thraldom could arise, 
 
 Resist the power of man its depths to waken, 
 And only give its breathings to the skies. 
 
 f
 
 66 
 
 HOMEWARD-BOUND. 
 
 *' Land !" is proclaimed — 'tis a joyous sound, 
 
 Yon gallant vessel is Homeward-Bound ; 
 
 See on the deck gay numbers pour, 
 
 Seeking a glimpse of their native shore. 
 
 They think on the friends of changeless truth, 
 
 And the peaceful homes of their early youth. 
 
 Smiles of enjoyment are beaming round, — 
 
 Oh ! light are the hearts of the Homeward-Bound. 
 
 Look at yon group of gentle girls, 
 
 The sea-breeze plays with their golden curls, 
 
 Their blue eyes glance o'er the billowy foam 
 
 As they gaily carol the songs of home ; 
 
 How the mother who nursed them on her knee, 
 
 Will triumph their finished forms to see ! 
 
 Though distant lands have their graces crowned, 
 
 Their hearts have ever been Homeward-Bound.
 
 HOMEWARD-BOUND. 67 
 
 Yon thoughtful youth left his native clime, 
 
 Stained with the withering touch of crime, 
 
 But contrition has worked his soul within. 
 
 And loosened the glittering bonds of sin ! 
 
 He has mourned for his first and last offence, 
 
 In fasting, — in tears, — in penitence, — 
 
 And the friends who once on his wanderings frowned 
 
 Have pardon in store for the Homeward-Bound. 
 
 That blooming maiden her land forsook, 
 Pale as a drooping lily in look ; 
 She left not her home for dazzling wealth, 
 She sought for the smiling stranger — Health : 
 Now her cheek is glowing with rose-bud dyes, 
 And sunshine laughs in her hazel eyes ; 
 Her lover dwells upon British ground, — 
 How will he welcome the Homeward-Bound, 
 
 ^ear her, two prattling children stand, 
 Telling gay tales of their own fair land, 
 Of the winter fire, and the fall of snow. 
 And the hedge where the scarlet berries grow, 
 And the banks where the purple violets fling 
 Their lavish stores in the lap of Spring ; 
 Oh ! dear is each early sight and sound 
 To the thoughts of the youthful Homeward-Bound. 
 
 2 f
 
 68 HOMEWARD-BOUND. 
 
 Blest are they all in the vessel's speed, 
 
 And to outward changes they give not heed 
 
 Bright sunbeams flash on the emerald deep, 
 
 The sea-birds skim, and the fishes leap ; 
 
 Now the dancing clouds begin to lower, 
 
 And break in a sudden and plashing shower ; 
 
 But little they reck of the scene around, 
 
 Their minds and their feelings are Homeward-Bound. 
 
 Oh ! should not the thought before us come, 
 Tliat like them we sail to a distant home ? 
 May not that bright and beauteous shore, 
 The loved and lost to our arms restore ? 
 And though perchance we may feel inclined 
 To weep for the friends we leave behind. 
 Soon shall their steps in our track be found, 
 For their course, like ours, is Homeward Bound. 
 
 And should we have strayed like the wandering youth, 
 From the ways of safety, the paths of truth. 
 Oh ! in repentance, — in faith, — and prayer, 
 Let us flee from the specious shoal and snare ; 
 In the Book of Life, let us humbly trace 
 The blessed tidings of saving grace ; 
 Our hopes on that Rock of Ages found, 
 Nortremble to think we are Homeward-Bound.
 
 HOMEWARD-BOUND. 69 
 
 Still may our minds the theme pursue, 
 
 In the glass of faith may we ever view 
 
 The glorious strand of life's troubled sea, 
 
 Tlie boundless shore of Eternity : 
 
 May we calmly gaze upon sunny skies; 
 
 And, should loud tempests around us rise, 
 
 May the soothing thought in our hearts be found. 
 
 That our vessel is ever Homeward-Bound.
 
 70 
 
 THE SAGE'S ADVICE. 
 
 " An ancient philosopher once told a maiden, who sought his coun»els 
 as to what she should do in the world, — to ' live, love, and hope ;' and 
 that by so doing she would be fultilling the end of her being." 
 
 Live, but beware of living for thyself, 
 Live not for earth's low vanities, nor aim 
 
 At the acquirement of frail heaps of pelf, 
 Or the still frailer laurel-wreaths of fame ; 
 
 Maiden, such joys a fleeting transport give, 
 
 Would'st thou be truly wise — for others live. 
 
 Live for the poor and destitute, explore 
 
 The haunts of ignorance, of want, and strife, 
 
 Relieve their inmates from thy worldly store, 
 And give them the more precious bread of life ; 
 
 While heaven's bright glories to their eyes are shown, 
 
 Thou in their happiness shalt find thine own.
 
 THE sage's advice. 71 
 
 Love, but love vi^isely, not too well, reflect 
 
 That slights and falsehood thy young dreams may 
 chill, 
 
 Nor e'er from love unmingled bliss expect, 
 The idol of thy heart is human still ; 
 
 The union sought by thee, may be thy share, 
 
 And much, perchance, be still thy lot to bear. 
 
 Bear with thy partner's faults, nor such reveal 
 Even to the kindest and the fondest friend. 
 
 Let gentleness attemper still thy zeal, 
 Nor vainly strive his errors to amend, 
 
 Unless to the rich treasures of thy mind. 
 
 Meekness and sledfast piety be joined. 
 
 Consult his feelings, and with watchful care. 
 
 His worldly interests guard from fraud and hurt ; 
 
 Commend him to the Lord in frequent prayer. 
 And ever thy best influence exert 
 
 Gently to draw him from this worthless sod, 
 
 Winning his thoughts, his words, his heart to God. 
 
 Hope, and hope warmly — hope success may crown 
 Thy schemes to help thy brethren on the earth, 
 
 But shrink not from stern disappointment's frown, 
 The purest hopes are not of mortal birth ;
 
 72 THE sage's advice. 
 
 But on the wings of faith triumphant rise, 
 To seek eternal blessings in the skies. 
 
 Thus living, to assist and serve thy race. 
 Thus loving, with a pure and holy truth, 
 
 Thus hoping, for Almighty aid and grace ; 
 Maiden, serene and blest shall be thy youth, - 
 
 Duty thy guide, thou shalt be kept from ill, 
 
 And well the purpose of thy life fulfil.
 
 73 
 
 THE LIBRARY. 
 
 Oh ! marvel not that day by day 
 I love to seek this quiet room, 
 
 Although the thoughtless and the gay 
 Deem it a haunt of lonely gloom. 
 
 The shelves around, whose crowded rows 
 Appear so dull and grave to thee, 
 
 To my enraptured sense disclose 
 A bright and goodly company. 
 
 Lessons of varied kind they teach, 
 They tell me tales of former times, 
 
 Nay, oft assume the very speech 
 Of distant lands and foreign climes. 
 
 Nor strive they with officious zeal 
 My praise and notice to command, 
 
 Each with persuasive mute appeal. 
 Invites my eye, and courts my hand.
 
 74 THE LIBRARY. 
 
 Sometimes a stranger I select, 
 
 On whom my eager gaze to bend ; 
 
 Sometimes salute with fond respect, 
 An old and well-remembered friend. 
 
 And many a friend surrounds me here, 
 
 Of long-tried worth, and changeless truth ; 
 Some, my wise guides through life's career. 
 Some, the dear playmates of my youth. 
 
 Even in childhood's opening day, 
 
 My shining toys I oft forsook, 
 And stole to solitude away 
 
 To hold sweet converse with a book. 
 
 And as new comprehension came, 
 
 More brightly beamed instruction's page, 
 
 And lighted, with a steady flame, 
 The path of my advancing age. 
 
 Most soothing then appears this scene. 
 
 Renewing fancies of the past ; 
 Where knowledge has our first-love been. 
 
 It seldom fails to be our last.
 
 THE LIBRARY. 75 
 
 And, Oh ! how holy, how divine. 
 
 The charm to earthly knowledge given, 
 
 When in its soft and calm decline, 
 
 It glows with sacred light from heaven. 
 
 What varied claims invite mv choice : 
 Historians here their records pour, 
 
 Statesmen contend with fluent voice, 
 Sages reveal their learned store ; 
 
 Philosophers the secrets tell 
 
 Treasured by nature and by art ; 
 Poets unfold with sweeter spell, 
 
 The secrets of the human heart ; 
 
 And writers purer, nobler yet. 
 
 Soaring all human themes above. 
 With faithful zeal, before us set, 
 
 The blessed truths of gospel love ! 
 
 Such truths indeed one volume fill. 
 
 Our safeguard through this world of strife, 
 
 Beyond all works of human skill, 
 The Book of Wisdom and of Life.
 
 76 THE LIBRARY. 
 
 Yet mortal skill each holy truth 
 
 May place in lights distinct and plain. 
 
 To fix the faith of timid youth, 
 
 And prove the sceptic's doubtings vain. 
 
 And mortal pen may well express 
 The fortitude that never faints, — 
 
 The patience, peace, and holiness 
 
 Of God's own band, his chosen saints. 
 
 Encompassed by such spirits here, 
 Whose voices reach me from the dead, 
 
 Shall I desert this tranquil sphere, 
 And seek the trifling- crowd instead ? 
 
 When o'er these volumes I have hung 
 A few absorbing hours, I then 
 
 With spirits braced, and nerves new strung, 
 Can go among my fellow-men. 
 
 Secure that if ordained to meet 
 
 With disappointment, care, or pain, 
 
 I soon can seek my still retreat, 
 And greet my silent friends again :
 
 THE LIBRARY. 77 
 
 Nay, smile not at my warmth — I deem 
 
 My loved pursuits of better worth 
 Than pleasure's spell, ambition's dream, 
 
 The praise of man, the pomps of earth. 
 
 Oh ! would that all who own their ties. 
 The glittering thraldom could resign, 
 
 And learn to cherish and to prize 
 
 Such calm and peaceful joys as mine.
 
 78 
 
 THE BRIDE. 
 
 We miss her from these halls of mirth, 
 Her home is by a calmer hearth, 
 And gold and gems no longer grace 
 The loveliest daughter of her race ; 
 She dwells in a secluded spot, 
 And her vain kindred name her not ; 
 Save to deplore in baffled pride, 
 The fortunes of the exiled bride. 
 
 The exquisite and tutored song. 
 That once entranced this radiant throng. 
 She murmurs now in woodland bowers. 
 Amid the stars, and trees, and flowers ; 
 Yet one shall bless those syren lays. 
 And in those dark eyes warmly gaze, 
 And joyously the hours shall glide 
 O'er the fond lover and his bride.
 
 THE BRIDE. 79 
 
 Fair girl, rest calmly in thy bliss ; 
 Thou wert not formed for scenes like this, 
 For feverish hopes, and jealous fears, 
 And heartless smiles, and hidden tears : 
 Thy gay companions mourn thy doom, 
 Think on their fading smiles and bloom, 
 Their feelings worn, and spirits tried, 
 And weep for them — young happy bride ! 
 
 Far from the world's deceitful maze. 
 Thine are calm nights and quiet days, 
 And friendship's smile, and love's caress, 
 Hallow thy household happiness : 
 Then in thy guarded home remain. 
 We would not wish thee here again, 
 And ever may good angels guide 
 Thy ways in safety — gentle bride !
 
 80 
 
 HOLY GROUND. 
 
 " And the Lord said unto Moses, ' Draw not nigh hither, put off thy 
 shoes from off thy feet, for tlie place whereoa thou standest is holy 
 ground.' "—Exodus, c, iii. v. 5. 
 
 " Mother, when near the bush of fire 
 
 Moses aspired to stand, 
 I grieve to think he should require 
 
 These words of just command ; 
 Methinks my bosom would have beat 
 
 With awe and fear profound ; 
 / had not dared, with covered feet, 
 To tread on Holy Ground !" 
 
 " Alas ! my child, from erring pride. 
 
 Your hasty comment springs, 
 Would that your actions testified 
 
 More awe of sacred things : 
 Though in your daily walks and ways, 
 
 No burning bush be found. 
 Your rebel heart its bent displays 
 
 Too oft on Holy Ground.
 
 HOLY GROUND. 81 
 
 '* When on the Sabbath-day of rest, 
 
 In each revolving week, 
 You hasten, as a youthful guest, 
 
 God's earthly house to seek ; 
 Do thankful feelings of his grace 
 
 In your warm heart abound ; 
 And do you prize his dwelling-place, 
 
 And count it Holy Ground ? 
 
 " Do you with fixed attention hear 
 
 Those preachers of the word, 
 Who bring to every willing ear 
 
 Glad tidings from the Lord ? 
 No — oft with gestures, light and vain, 
 
 You idly gaze around ; 
 Your heart denies, your looks profane 
 
 Your Maker's Holy Ground, 
 
 " Oh ! as a boon of love divine 
 
 Was public worship given ; 
 A quenchless light it seems to shine. 
 
 Supplied with fire from Heaven : 
 The Lord has left us not — he still 
 
 May in his courts be found : 
 Dear boy, those courts rejoice to fill. 
 
 And deem them Holy Ground." 
 
 G
 
 82 
 
 THE COMPANIONS OF THE PAST. 
 
 Oh ! when we picture, in fond contemplation, 
 The gay companions of our mirthful hours, 
 
 How radiant seems the loved association 
 
 With images of light, of songs, and flowers ; 
 
 At each bright page glad memory recalls 
 
 Visions of fragrant bowers, or dazzling halls. 
 
 We think on summer days of cloudless splendour, 
 On barks, light skimming o'er the emerald sea; 
 
 On fair saloons, where accents soft and tender, 
 Mingled with notes of merry minstrelsy ; 
 
 And mirrors, lamps, and roses smiled around, 
 
 As though we trod upon enchanted ground. 
 
 But memory greets, with purer better feeling, 
 Those who partook our hours of grief and gloom ; 
 
 Lo ! she presents her mystic glass, revealing 
 The couch of suffering in the shaded room, 
 
 Where they, perchance, with us, were wont to share 
 
 The midnight vigil, and the murmured prayer.
 
 THE COMPANIONS OF THE PAST, 83 
 
 They heard the last faint words of blessing spoken, 
 That on our hearts, like heavenly whispers, fell, — 
 
 They wept with us, the precious ties thus broken ; 
 And, when we shrank from the deep funeral knell, 
 
 They poured kind words of comfort in our ear, 
 
 Speaking of Him who dries the mourner's tear. 
 
 Yes, the gay sharers of our smiles and gladness, 
 Pass like bright shades before our mental sight. 
 
 But they who soothed and counselled us in sadness, 
 Ever suggest to us this hope of light, — 
 
 Hereafter at the throne of heaven to stand, 
 
 In close companionship with that blest band. 
 
 g2
 
 84 
 
 WOULD I WERE A CHILD. 
 
 Oh ! would I were a child again, a child with spirit 
 
 free, 
 Singing glad songs of merriment beneath the hawthorn 
 
 tree ; 
 Watching the many-coloured clouds pursue their 
 
 course on high, 
 
 Trying to count the silver stars that gem the evening 
 sky; 
 
 Weaving beside the sparkling stream a wreath of sum- 
 mer flowers ; 
 
 Or reading wond'rous fairy-tales in green sequestered 
 bowers. 
 
 The sights, the sounds of Nature, then my happy hours 
 beguiled, 
 
 Would I could feel her power again,— Oh ! would I 
 were a child.
 
 WOULD I WERE A CHILD. 85 
 
 I chose my sprightly playmates for simplicity and 
 
 mirth, 
 I recked not of the lofty or the sage ones of the 
 
 earth ; 
 Laden with gifts, by lavish friends, I asked no monied 
 
 store, 
 Save to relieve the beggar's wants who wandered to 
 
 my door ; 
 I wrote my artless verses without effort, toil, or 
 
 aim, 
 I read them to a listening group without a hope of 
 
 fame; 
 By grovelling schemes, by worldly views, my thoughts 
 
 were undefiled, — 
 Would I were now as free from care, — Oh ! would I 
 
 were a child. 
 
 Yet soon my youthful heart began to spurn a life like 
 
 this, 
 I deemed the far-off glittering world a fairy-land of 
 
 bliss ; 
 I left my playmates to their sports — bright dreams 
 
 came o'er me then. 
 Of stirring scenes, of crowded halls, high dames, and 
 
 gifted men.
 
 86 WOULD I WERE A CHILD. 
 
 And while my short and simple tasks with careless 
 
 speed I conned, 
 I sighed to study learned lore my feeble power 
 
 beyond ; 
 Like Rasselas, around me while the Happy Valley 
 
 smiled, 
 I longed to quit its limits, and to cease to be a child. 
 
 The magic circle of the world I now have stood within, 
 
 I turn from its frivolity — I tremble at its sin : 
 
 And Science — my long cherished hope, the object of 
 
 my love. 
 She still eludes my eager quest, still soars my grasp 
 
 above : 
 I add from her bright treasury new jewels to my store. 
 Yet, miser-like, I murmur that I cannot grasp at 
 
 more; 
 Before me seem exhaustless heaps of mental riches 
 
 piled, 
 Yet still in Learning's highest gifts, I feel myself a 
 
 child. 
 
 Oh ! foolish, — oh ! repining heart, — thus wilfully to 
 
 cast 
 Fond wishes to the future, and vain longings to the 
 
 past,
 
 WOULD 1 WERE A CHILD. 87 
 
 Panting to overleap the bounds of childhood's simple 
 track, 
 
 Anxious to 'scape from woman's cares, and trace the 
 journey back. 
 
 Should I not rather be content to pass from youth to age , 
 
 Striving to do my Maker's work in life's short pil- 
 grimage ! 
 
 Owning His mercies undeserved, his chastening les- 
 sons mild, 
 
 As when a father, kind and wise, corrects an erring 
 child ? 
 
 Lord ! I recall my heedless wish, still let me, day by 
 
 day. 
 Beneath thy pure all-seeing eye pursue my humble 
 
 way ; 
 The steep and rugged hill of life with cheerful patience 
 
 climb. 
 Trusting to reach fair Zion's land at thy appointed 
 
 time. 
 Or if my hurried prayer in part thou deignest to fulfil, 
 Grant that, with infant meekness, I may ever wait thy 
 
 will : 
 Aid me to school my rebel heart, to calm my fancies 
 
 wild, 
 And make me, in submissive love, indeed, a little child.
 
 80 
 
 FAREWELL BEQUESTS. 
 
 Ere the last fleeting ties of life are broken, 
 
 While those I love around me weeping stand, 
 Let me dispense to each some parting token 
 Of one fast hastening to the spirit-land : 
 Language and gifts but feebly can impart 
 The deep affection of my ardent heart, 
 Yet, dearest friends, these last memorials take, 
 And prize them for my sake. 
 
 Father, — thy high and stainless reputation 
 
 By the pure diamond well may imaged be, 
 Accept this ring — see how its radiation 
 
 Casts round its neighbourhood a brilliancy; 
 Within thy home I thus have honoured dwelt, 
 And when the world has praised me, I have felt 
 That in its homage I should not partake, 
 Save for my father's sake.
 
 FAREWELL BEQUESTS. 89 
 
 Mother ! — this locket thou wilt fondly cherish, 
 Not for its outward shrine of gold and pearls , 
 
 It guards a part of me that need not perish, 
 One of my lavish store of auburn curls ; 
 
 Methinks I could not to thy share assign 
 
 Aught that appeared so fully, truly mine — 
 
 This relic of thy grateful daughter take, 
 And wear it for her sake. 
 
 Sister !— receive this lute, its sprightly numbers 
 Once gaily sounded by our joyous hearth ; 
 
 But when thou see'st me laid in death's cold slumbers, 
 Touch it no more to songs of festal mirth : 
 
 Sing of the meetings of fond friends above, 
 
 Sing of God's wond'rous grace and pardoning love ; 
 
 These holy strains at peaceful evening wake. 
 For thy poor sister's sake. 
 
 Brother! — my little brother I—thou hast tended 
 Often, with me, my greenhouse plants and flowers, 
 
 Take their sole charge — they safely are defended 
 By fostering walls from sudden blights and showers ; 
 
 Thus is thy childhood in its tender bloom 
 
 Trained with fond care, and kept from storm and gloom ; 
 
 Dear child, improvement daily strive to make 
 For thy kind parent's sake.
 
 90 FAREWELL BEQUESTS. 
 
 I seek in vain one absent, erring brother, 
 
 Alas! he wanders on a foreign sod, — 
 Yet, when thou next shalt see him, give him, mother, 
 
 This sacred volume — 'tis the word of God : 
 Tell him, his sister asked, in constant prayer, 
 That he, in its blest promises might share ; 
 Bid him from sin's delusive trance awake, 
 For his soul's precious sake. 
 
 Loved ones ! — why gaze upon these gifts with sadness ? 
 
 My worldly wants and wishes are at rest : 
 Dost thou not know I go in trusting gladness 
 
 To take possession of a vast bequest ? 
 That heritage was by my Saviour given, 
 When he descended from his throne in heaven, 
 Sorrow and suffering on himself to take, 
 For man's poor sinful sake. 
 
 Not mine alone those treasures of salvation. 
 
 The precious boon extends, dear friends, to thee ; 
 Then mourn not for our transient separation, 
 
 But when I leave thee, think and speak of me 
 As of a freed one, mounting to the skies, 
 Called from a world of snares and vanities. 
 Her place amid the blessed saints to take, 
 For her Redeemer's sake.
 
 91 
 
 THE FRIENDS OF EARLY YEARS. 
 
 I sought my youthful home again ; 
 
 The birds poured forth a tuneful strain, 
 
 The silver stream its waters flung 
 
 O'er banks where blushing wild-flowers clung ; 
 
 The lambs were sporting on the lea, 
 
 Light waved the milk-white hawthorn tree ; 
 
 And yet I viewed the scene with tears, — 
 
 I mourned the Friends of Early Years. 
 
 I left that spot of light and bloom, 
 
 To seek the church-yard's sheltered gloom ; 
 
 They slept beneath the mossy earth, 
 
 Untold, unsung, their simple worth : 
 
 Yet, fondly, sadly, I avowed 
 
 That none amid the dazzling crowd 
 
 Had shared my hopes, or soothed my fears 
 
 Like these— the Friends of Early Years.
 
 92 THE FRIENDS OF EARLY YEARS. 
 
 That home I wish not now to see, 
 It boasts no charm, no joy for me ; 
 Yet, Time my feelings cannot chill. 
 My faithful friends are near me still : 
 I lift to them my longing eyes, 
 Whene'er I view the peaceful skies ; 
 For there the blessed home appears, 
 Where dwell the Friends of Early Years.
 
 93 
 
 THE LONELY TREE. 
 
 Thou lonely tree, that on the mountain standing, 
 
 Frownest in grandeur on the vale below, 
 In stern magnificence our awe commanding — 
 
 No soothing fellowship is thine to know ; 
 Each wild-flower that this tranquil vale embosoms. 
 
 Seems in its social ties more blest than thee ; 
 We walk among them, and we cull their blossoms, 
 
 But shun thy dizzy height — thou lonely tree. 
 
 In life I often thus sad homage rendei 
 
 To some fine mind, removed from grovelling ken, 
 Standing aloft in solitary splendour, 
 
 Beyond the reach or touch of common men ; 
 The world inclines to those who crave protection, 
 
 Loving the suppliant voice and bended knee, — 
 But, oh ! if Genius ever seek affection. 
 
 It shares a fate like thine — thou lonely tree.
 
 94 THE LONELY TREE. 
 
 Stay, from a cloud a sunbeam brightly darting, 
 
 Even while I speak, invests thy boughs with light, 
 No radiance to the lowly vale imparting, 
 
 But resting long on thy majestic height ; 
 Oh ! to thy dwelling-place a charm is given, 
 
 Though uncompanioned by thy kind it be. 
 Thou hast a brilliant messenger from heaven 
 
 To cheer thy solitude — thou lonely tree. 
 
 When I lament the gloomy elevation 
 
 That talent holds, this scene may I recall. 
 And think that beams of holy inspiration, 
 
 Perchance, oft visit one unwooed by all : 
 Cold feeble minds may lesser boons inherit, 
 
 But Heaven's peculiar communings may be 
 Reserved to gladden the etherial spirit. 
 
 That upward towers, like thee — oh ! lonely tree !
 
 95 
 
 THE SISTER TO HER BROTHER. 
 
 My brother, when in life's first years 
 
 I stood an infant by thy side, 
 Lisping- to thee my hopes and fears, 
 
 I loved thee as my friend and guide. 
 
 And when in girlhood's opening hours 
 I shared thy mind's extensive store. 
 
 Improved by thy superior powers. 
 
 Each day I learned to love thee more. 
 
 Those joys have withered in their bloom. 
 Those hopes exist no more for me, — 
 
 Our home is now a home of gloom ; 
 Brother, that gloom is caused by thee. 
 
 A world, with snares and dangers fraught, 
 Has lured thee on to deeds of ill ; 
 
 Yet midst each trouble thou hast brought, 
 Brother, I feel I love thee still !
 
 96 THE SISTER TO HER BROTHER. 
 
 Perchance these words thou may'st not brook 
 From thy fond sister's feeble tongue ; 
 
 And thou may'st scoff at the rebuke 
 
 Of one unskilled, and weak, and young : 
 
 Yet I was early taught to dwell 
 On that blest book of gospel light, 
 
 By which a very child may tell 
 The principles of wrong and right. 
 
 And scenes of lawless wild excess — 
 Companions versed in ways of sin — 
 
 Brother ! can Heaven such revels bless ? 
 Can scenes like these his sanction win ? 
 
 Perchance this warm and strong appeal 
 Might better with my parents suit, — 
 
 But sometimes those who deepest feel, 
 Are from intense affliction mute. 
 
 Thou deem'st our father harsh and stern ; 
 
 Thou would'st not long that thought retain, 
 Could'st thou his frequent tear discern, 
 
 And catch his smothered sigh of pain.
 
 THE SISTER TO HER BROTHER. 97 
 
 Thou wouldst not think our mother dear, 
 
 Beheld thee with less tender care, 
 Couldst thou the fervent blessing-s hear. 
 
 Breathed for thy sake by her in prayer. 
 
 And I — my youthful glee has fled, 
 A change has come my spirit o'er ; 
 
 I, who thy absence used to dread, 
 Now seem to dread thy presence more ; 
 
 Because thy speech a tale conveys 
 
 Even to girlhood's artless ken, 
 Of freedom with the world's loose ways, 
 
 And intercourse with godless men. 
 
 But would'st thou from their counsels flee. 
 And strive their precepts to unlearn, 
 
 Oh ! with what thankful ecstasy, 
 My heart would welcome thy return. 
 
 Have we not both in Scripture read, 
 
 What ills the prodigal befell. 
 Who from his father's mansion fled, 
 
 Amid the base and vile to dwell. 
 
 If
 
 98 THE SISTER TO HER BROTHER. 
 
 Yet when he homeward bent his way, 
 His father blessed the youth forlorn ; 
 
 And nought disturbed the feast that day. 
 Save a cold brother's envious scorn. 
 
 Such feast, I know, thy parents dear 
 
 With lavish hand would spread for thee,- 
 
 And taunt of mine thou need'st not fear. 
 To damp the glad festivity. 
 
 Hopes, brother, both of mortal birth 
 And source divine to thee are given ; 
 
 Thou hast forgiving friends on earth, 
 Thou hast a pitying God in heaven : 
 
 And should'st thou come to mercy's gate, 
 And break the glittering bonds of sin. 
 
 Thou would'st not long be told to wait ; 
 None would forbid thy entrance in. 
 
 My speech may boast but little worth, 
 Yet none its plainness should despise ; 
 
 Oft God the foolish things of earth 
 Hath chosen, to confound the wise ; — •
 
 THE SISTER TO HER BROTHER. 99 
 
 And God a blessing may impart 
 
 On my untaught, unpractised phrase ; 
 
 And bid it turn my brother's heart 
 To holier thoughts, and better ways. 
 
 h2
 
 100 
 
 THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWER. 
 
 Oh ! lone and languid flower, thou art taken from the 
 
 glen, 
 In a gay parterre thou bloomest, thou art watched by 
 
 careful men ; 
 Bright sunbeams shine above thee, fair roses smile 
 
 around, 
 Yet thou droopest in the garden — it is not thy native 
 
 ground. 
 
 Thus oft are human flowers by officious hands re- 
 moved 
 
 From shades of calm seclusion, from scenes and 
 friends beloved ; 
 
 In gilded halls, and proud saloons, amid the great 
 they roam. 
 
 Yet they languish in their triumph for their dear and 
 early home.
 
 THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWER. 101 
 
 From this sad, and simple story a moral we may 
 
 trace, 
 God gives to man and floweret a safe appointed 
 
 place ; 
 And the blossoms of the vale, and the lowly ones of 
 
 earth. 
 Ever flourish best and fairest in the sphere that gave 
 
 them birth.
 
 102 
 
 FALSE AND TRUE HOPE. 
 
 " Mother, they tell me that mortals weave 
 Hopes that must ever their hearts deceive ; 
 My wish is for Manhood's power and sway, 
 Will not its pleasures my trust repay ?" 
 " No, dearest boy, in this weary span. 
 Trial and toil are the lot of man, — 
 Thou wilt shrink from thy anxious course of pain. 
 And sigh to become a child again." 
 
 *' Mother, the hero to battle goes. 
 
 Hoping to vanquish a field of foes, 
 
 Does he not joy when they fall in fight. 
 
 And the shouts of thousands his toils requite ?" 
 
 " His heart, love, glows with a feverish flame. 
 
 While the strains of numbers his deeds proclaim. 
 
 But alone he mourns, as his fancy paints 
 
 The widow's tears, and the orphan's plaints."
 
 FALSE AND TRUE HOPE. 103 
 
 *' Mother, what triumph must greet the bard, 
 
 Whose hopes are crowned with a bright reward, 
 
 An applauding crowd his progress cheers, 
 
 His laurels are all unstained by tears." 
 
 " No, love, the poet's peculiar sense 
 
 Is for earthly happiness too intense ; 
 
 He shrinks like a flower with its soft leaves furled, 
 
 From the eager touch of a heartless world." 
 
 " Mother, when parents have fondly smiled 
 Like thee, o'er the growth of an only child. 
 Should he wise, and duteous, and learned prove, 
 Do they not joy with exulting love V 
 " Dearest, they joy, but they joy in fear, 
 Lest harm should approach their darling near ; 
 Dangers they picture without and within. 
 From a world of snares, and a heart of sin. 
 
 " Yet give to thy wishes unbounded scope, 
 Hope, — for thy Maker hath bade thee hope, — 
 Hope that those gifts thou may'st yet partake. 
 Offered to thee for thy Saviour's sake : 
 Earth will thy visions of bliss destroy. 
 Place them alone in the heavens, sweet boy ; 
 These are the hopes thou may'st safely weave, 
 These are the hopes that can ne'er deceive."
 
 104 
 
 *« LIGHTEN OUR DARKNESS." 
 
 " Lighten our darkness," gracious Lord, 
 
 Watch o'er us while we sleep, 
 From every ill that walks abroad, 
 
 Thy faithful servants keep ; 
 And should'st thou send a dream of thee 
 
 To glad us in the night, 
 Soon shall the shades of darkness flee 
 
 Before the cheering light. 
 
 " Lighten our darkness," gracious Lord, 
 
 When forth at day we go ; 
 Teach us, the doctrines of thy word 
 
 To prize, as well as know ; 
 And, should the sceptic's doubt and sneer 
 
 Attempt our faith to blight. 
 Aid us to make thy counsel clear, 
 
 And pierce the cloud with light.
 
 " LIGHTEN OUR DARKNESS." 105 
 
 " Lighten our darkness," gracious Lord, 
 
 When shadowed round by death. 
 The image of thy Son afford, 
 
 To soothe our failing breath ; 
 Lead us on Him our hopes to place. 
 
 And bid us trust His might, 
 Who turned, by his redeeming grace, 
 
 Our darkness into light I
 
 106 
 
 THE ENCLOSED COMMON. 
 
 I stood and gazed from the breezy height, — 
 
 The scene was fair in the morning light, 
 And I cast my joyous glance around 
 
 On a grassy track of smiling ground ; 
 The silvery stream ran clear and cold, 
 
 The broom looked gay with its flowers of gold ; 
 In each path the clustering wild-rose smiled, 
 
 And the purple thyme grew thick and wild. 
 
 There, blooming children in playful glee 
 
 Gathered white wreaths from the hawthorn tree ; 
 There, wearied peasants, their labours done, 
 
 Watched the rich rays of the setting sun ; 
 And the fevered slaves of Mammon's toil 
 
 There rested from anxious strife awhile, 
 And seemed new vigour, new life to breathe, 
 
 From the fragrant air of the open heath.
 
 THE ENCLOSED COMMON. 107 
 
 Again I stood on the breezy height. 
 
 But an altered prospect met my sight, 
 Where flowers had blushed in their varied hue, 
 
 The smoke of the brick-field rose to view : — 
 And I gazed on formal and measured roads, 
 
 And on crowded, comfortless abodes. 
 And found no trace of the birds and bowers. 
 
 That had lent a charm to my childish hours. 
 
 " 01 why," I sighed in my deep distress, 
 
 " Must the grasping spirit of worldliness, 
 A scene so fair and so free profane, 
 
 For the sordid purposes of gain ? 
 Must traffic spread o'er the world its ban, 
 
 And cannot the selfish hand of man 
 Forbear to seize on one spot of sod. 
 
 Thus brightly decked by the hand of God ?" 
 
 I spoke, when a voice, distinct and clear. 
 
 Appeared to fall on my listening ear — 
 *' Thou mournest tlie loss of this pleasant range, 
 
 May'st thou not mourn for a greater change ? 
 Long hast thou roamed in the world's vain" mart. 
 
 Has it wrought no work on thine own weak heart ? 
 Is it still as simple, as wild, as free. 
 
 As in former days it was wont to be ?
 
 108 THE ENCLOSED COMMON. 
 
 " When a child thou wert sporting gladly here. 
 
 Thou did'st not wish for a busier sphere, 
 Bounding the flowery paths along, 
 
 And blithely singing some mirthful song : 
 Glad thoughts, bright visions, blessed thy m.ind, 
 
 Thou wert full of love for all mankind ; 
 Thy smile was beaming, and clear thy brow. 
 
 Such wert thou then— art thou altered now ?" 
 
 '* Yes, yes," I sighed, " on my spirit gay 
 
 The world's dark spell has had its sway ; 
 Ambitious longings, and restless schemes, 
 
 Have chased the light of my girlish dreams ; 
 And if in my bosom's inmost cell 
 
 Some kindly feelings yet chance to dwell. 
 Like the lingering flowers on this fated ground. 
 
 They are crushed and scorned by the throng around, 
 
 "Oh! Time, oh! Change, ye have cast a gloom 
 
 On this lovely region of joy and bloom : 
 But on scenes like these ye might wage your war, 
 
 Would ye spare possessions dearer far ! 
 Go, the free bounties of Nature seize— 
 
 Go, spoil the meadows, the brooks, the trees, 
 So that ye play not your cruel part, 
 
 On the warm, ingenuous, happy heart !"
 
 109 
 
 THE DAUGHTER'S REQUEST. 
 
 My father, thou hast not the tale denied — 
 
 They say that ere noon to-morrow 
 Thou wilt bring back a radiant and smiling bride 
 
 To our lonely house of sorrow. 
 I should wish thee joy of thy coming bliss, 
 
 But tears are my words suppressing ; 
 I think on my mother's dying kiss. 
 
 And my mother's parting blessing. 
 
 Yet, to-morrow, I hope to hide my care, 
 
 I will still my bosom's beating, 
 And strive to give to thy chosen fair 
 
 A gentle and courteous greeting. 
 She will heed me not, in the joyous pride 
 
 Of her pomp, and friends, and beauty ; 
 Ah ! little need has a new-made bride 
 
 Of a daughter's quiet duty.
 
 110 THE daughter's REQUEST. 
 
 Thou gavest her costly gems, they say, 
 
 When thy heart first fondly sought her : 
 Dear father, one nuptial gift, I pray, 
 
 Bestow on thy weeping daughter. 
 My eye, even now, on the treasure falls, 
 
 I covet and ask no other, 
 It has hung for years on our ancient walls, 
 
 'Tis the portrait of my mother ! 
 
 To-morrow, when all is in festal guise, 
 
 And the guests our rooms are filling. 
 The calm meek gaze of those hazel eyes 
 
 Might thy soul with grief be thrilling; 
 And a gloom on thy marriage banquet cast. 
 
 Sad thoughts of their owner giving. 
 For a fleeting twelvemonth scarce has past. 
 
 Since she mingled with the living. 
 
 If thy bride should weary or offend. 
 
 That portrait might waken feelings 
 Of the love of thy fond departed friend, 
 
 And its sweet and kind revealings : 
 Of her mind's commanding force, unchecked 
 
 By feeble or selfish weakness ; 
 Of her speech, where dazzling intellect 
 
 Was softened by Christian meekness.
 
 THE daughter's REQUEST. Ill 
 
 Then, father, grant that at once to-night, 
 
 Ere the bridal crowd's intrusion, 
 I remove this portrait from thy sight 
 
 To my chamber's still seclusion ; 
 It will nerve me to-morrow's dawn to bear. 
 
 It will beam on me protection, 
 When I ask of Heaven, in my faltering prayer, 
 
 To hallow thy new connexion. 
 
 Thou wilt waken, father, in pride and glee. 
 
 To renew the ties once broken. 
 But nought upon earth remains to me 
 
 Save this sad and silent token. 
 The husband's tears may be few and brief. 
 
 He may woo and win another. 
 But the daughter clings, in unchanging grief, 
 
 To the image of her mother !
 
 11-2 
 
 THE HOSPITAL CHAPLAIN. 
 
 Although the echoing voice of fame 
 Sound not thy labours and thy name, — 
 Though many deem confined and drear 
 The duties of thy narrow sphere ; 
 Still, when I look around, and see 
 Thy brethren of the ministry 
 By troubles, toils, and cares opprest, 
 I prize thy tranquil place of rest. 
 
 Thou dost not view, with sorrowing eyes. 
 
 The slaves of idle vanities 
 
 A heedless course of pleasure run, 
 
 Thy warnings slight, thy presence shun ; 
 
 Or coldly bend their listless way 
 
 To hear thee on the Sabbath-day ; 
 
 Then, even from God's holy fane, 
 
 Rush to the dazzling world again.
 
 THE HOSPITAL CHAPLAIN. 113 
 
 Thou art not called on to oppose 
 Bold lawless men, Religion's foes, 
 Ready and loud in faction's cause. 
 Scoffing- established claims and laws, 
 
 Fluent with sceptic doubt and sneer, 
 
 While thou must silent stand, and hear 
 All that thou hold'st most dear, most blest > 
 The subject of a reckless jest. 
 
 And, oh ! when death thy flock is nigh, 
 Thou need'st not vainly strive and sigh 
 The couch of suffering to attend. 
 Watched by some false officious friend,— 
 Who, light of thought, and cold of heart, 
 Can let the sinner's soul depart. 
 Close to his minister's abode, 
 Without a word of Christ and God ! 
 
 No ; they who claim thy cares are all 
 Humbly prepared to meet thy call ; 
 By sickness curbed, by pain subdued. 
 By kindness won to gratitude : 
 Amid their ranks thou seem'st to move 
 A messenger of peace and love ; 
 Of mercies more than man has given, 
 Mercies revealed and sent by Heaven.
 
 114 THE HOSPITAL CHAPLAIN. 
 
 Spirits tumultuous, proud, and wild. 
 There learn the meekness of a child ; 
 Freed from the world's oppressive cares,. 
 And safe from its seductive snares. 
 They mourn to look their hearts within, 
 They joy to hear of pardoned sin. 
 And trustfully in Him confide 
 Who for the lost and guilty died. 
 
 Though none should in their posts repine. 
 Few own a privilege like thine : 
 To mingle hopes of heavenly birth 
 With the soft charities of earth ; 
 To see thy dying charge receive 
 Each aid that human skill can give, 
 And add thine own best boon of love. 
 Glad tidings of a world above.
 
 115 
 
 THE MARRIAGE FESTIVAL. 
 
 " Festivities are fit for what is happily concluded ; at the commence- 
 ment they but waste the force and «eal which should inspire us. Of all 
 festivities, the marriage festival appears the most unsuitable ; calmness, 
 humility, and silent hope, befit no ceremony more than this."— Goethe. 
 
 Lady ! thy merry marriage bells are ringing, 
 
 And all around thee speaks of festal mirth, 
 The loss of one so good and fair is bringing 
 
 Methinks, strange gladness to her father's hearth ; 
 Yet thou, amid the throng, art pensive sitting, 
 
 And well I know these revels cloud thy bliss, 
 And that thou deem'st such triumph unbefitting 
 
 A solemn and important rite like this. 
 
 These flowery wreaths, these sounds of exultation. 
 
 Some victor's glorious deeds might celebrate ; 
 But thou can'st claim no proud congratulation,— 
 
 Untried, uncertain is thy future fate : 
 Nor would true friends a brilliant spell cast o'er thee» 
 
 Giving to girlhood's dreams delusive scope. 
 But rather bid thee view the scene before thee 
 
 With calm humility, and silent hope. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE MARRIAGE FESTIVAL. 
 
 Thine is a path by toils and snares attended, 
 
 Yet, lady, in thy prudence I confide, — 
 Thou art not by mere mortal aid befriended, 
 
 Prayer is thy stay, and Providence thy guide 
 And should thy coming years with ills be laden, 
 
 Thou safely may'st abide the storms of life, 
 If the meek virtues of the Christian maiden 
 
 Shine forth as brightly in the Christian wife.
 
 117 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 The mystic science is not mine 
 
 That Eastern records teach, 
 1 cannot to each bud assign 
 
 A sentiment and speech ; 
 Yet, when in yonder blossomed dell 
 
 I pass my lonely hours, 
 Methinks my heart interprets well 
 
 The eloquence of flowers. 
 
 Of life's first thoughtless years they tell, 
 
 When half my joy and grief 
 Dwelt in a lily's opening bell, 
 
 A rosebud's drooping leaf : 
 I watched for them the sun's bright rays, 
 
 And feared the driving showers, — 
 Types of my girlhood's radiant days 
 
 Were ye, sweet transient flowers!
 
 118 THE LANGUAGE OF f LOWERS. 
 
 And sadder scenes ye bring to mind ; 
 
 The moments ye renew 
 When first the woodbine's wreaths I twined, 
 
 A loved one's grave to strew; 
 On the cold turf I weeping spread 
 
 My offering from the bowers, — 
 Ye seemed meet tribute to the dead, 
 
 Pale, perishable flowers. 
 
 Yet speak ye not alone, fair band, 
 
 Of changefulness and gloom, 
 Ye tell me of God's gracious hand 
 
 That clothes ye thus in bloom. 
 And sends, to soften and to calm 
 
 A sinful world like ours, 
 Gifts of such purity and balm 
 
 As ye, fresh dewy flowers. 
 
 And while your smiling ranks I view, 
 
 In vivid colours drest, 
 My heart, with faith confirmed and true. 
 
 Learns on the Lord to rest ; 
 If He the lilies of the field 
 
 With lavish glory dowers, 
 Will he not greater bounties yield 
 
 To me, than to the flowers ?
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 119 
 
 Still, Still, they speak ! — around my track 
 
 Some faded blossoms lie, 
 Another spring shall bring them back, 
 
 Yet bring them, but to die : 
 But we forsake this world of strife 
 
 To rise to nobler powers, 
 And share those gifts of endless life 
 
 Withheld from earth's frail flowers. 
 
 Oh ! may I bear your lessons hence. 
 
 Fair children of the sod ! 
 Your's is the calm mute eloquence 
 
 That leads the thoughts to God : 
 And oft, amid the great and wise. 
 
 My heart shall seek these bowers, 
 And turn from man's proud colloquies 
 
 To commune with the flowers.
 
 J 20 
 
 THE WIDOW AND HER CHILD. 
 
 " Oh ! mother, dear mother, what dreams of delight 
 Have brightened and gladdened my rest in the night ; 
 Methought, the kind father we mourn for as dead 
 Had returned to our dwelling, and stood by my bed. 
 
 He questioned me much on the paths I had trod, — 
 Of affection to you, and obedience to God ; 
 My answers he seemed quite rejoiced to obtain, 
 And said, ' Soon, dearest boy, I shall meet you again.' " 
 
 The mother felt faint and desponding of heart, — 
 She looked on the child, and she knew they must part ; 
 For the flush on his cheek, and the light in his eye, 
 Foretold that her sweet one was destined to die. 
 
 One murmuring thought on her trial she cast, 
 
 But she sank on her knees— the temptation had past, 
 
 And she sobbed forth, while clasping the hand of her 
 
 son, — 
 " The will of our gracious Creator be done !"
 
 THE WIDOW AND HER CHILD. 121 
 
 Night came — the fair boy was reposing in sleep, 
 His mother sat near him to watch and to weep ; 
 The volume of life her sad vigils beguiled, 
 And she turned o'er its pages, and looked on her child. 
 
 On his red lip a smile now appeared to arise, 
 
 And he suddenly opened his dark radiant eyes ; 
 
 He stretched forth his arms, as though called to his 
 
 home, 
 And softly he murmured — " Dear father, I come !" 
 
 Life fled in that moment — all cares were in vain, 
 Friends came at the tidings, — a sorrowing train ! — 
 They wept for the sweet playful child they had known, 
 But more for the widow deserted and lone. 
 
 Yet not without hope her affliction deplore, 
 For the God who has taken can also restore ; 
 And the desolate widow has trust in His love, 
 Who can call her to join her dear lost ones above.
 
 122 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEA-SHELL. 
 
 I came from the ocean — a billow passed o'er me, 
 
 And, covered with sea-weeds and glittering foam, 
 I fell on the sands, and a stranger soon bore me 
 
 To deck the gay halls of his far distant home : 
 Encompassed by exquisite myrtles and roses, 
 
 Still, still, in the deep I am pining to be ; 
 And the low voice within me my feeling discloses, 
 
 And evermore murmurs the sounds of the sea. 
 
 The sky-lark at morn pours a carol of pleasure ; 
 
 At eve, the sad nightingale warbles her note ; 
 The harp in our halls nightly sounds a glad measure, 
 
 And Beauty's sweet songs on the air lightly float : 
 Yet I sigh for the loud breaking billows that tossed me, 
 
 I long to the cool coral caverns to flee ; 
 And when guests, with ofiicious intrusion, accost me, 
 
 I answer them still in the strains of the sea.
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEA-SHELL. 123 
 
 Since I left the blue deep I am ever regretting, 
 
 And mingled with men in the regions above, 
 I have known them the ties they once cherished for- 
 getting,— 
 
 Oft trust to new friendship, and cling to new love. 
 Oh ! is it so hard to preserve true devotion ? 
 
 Let mortals, who doubt, seek a lesson from me, — 
 1 am bound by mysterious links to the ocean, 
 
 And no language is mine but the sounds of the sea.
 
 124 
 
 THE LAST TRIAL. 
 
 A gentle lady, young and fair, upon her death-bed 
 
 lay, 
 She had walked from early childhood in Religion's 
 
 holy way ; 
 But fearfully and gaspingly she drew her failing 
 
 breath, 
 And mournfully she shuddered at the near approach 
 
 of death. 
 
 It was not that the Tempter to subvert her faith had 
 
 power, 
 That precious stay forsake her not in Nature's trying 
 
 hour ; 
 She felt that for her Saviour's sake, and through her 
 
 Saviour's love, 
 She should meet with pardon for her sins, and join 
 
 the saints above.
 
 THE LAST TRIAL. 125 
 
 But peacefully and happily had past her even life, 
 She had been blest and blessing, as a mother and a 
 
 wife ; 
 Nor could she lift her feeble heart to joys of heavenly 
 
 birth, — 
 That heart too fondly lingered on the fleeting joys of 
 
 earth. 
 
 ** Soon, soon," she murmured heavily, " neglect shall 
 
 be my lot. 
 My memory shall pass from earth, my course shall be 
 
 forgot ; 
 These lofty hills, these gliding streams, these trees 
 
 with foliage green. 
 Shall still remain, but I must quit each dear familiar 
 
 scene. 
 
 " The flowers that bloom so freshly now must shortly 
 
 fade away. 
 But new ones shall supply their loss, as bright, as 
 
 sweet as they ; 
 And so, when I have ceased to rank amid a living 
 
 race, 
 Others shall speedily come forth, and fill my vacant 
 
 place.
 
 126 THE LAST TRIAL. 
 
 '* The friends, who in my listening ear soft words of 
 
 kindness poured, 
 Shall welcome other guests ere long around their 
 
 cheerful board ; 
 The lute I used to touch, they will to stranger hands 
 
 consign, 
 And deem, perchance, those melodies are sweeter far 
 
 than mine. 
 
 " The husband of my fervent love, so cherished and 
 
 so dear. 
 His heart awhile shall thrill with grief, his home 
 
 awhile seem drear ; 
 But soon his hopes shall be renewed, his lingering 
 
 tears be dried. 
 And his deserted halls shall greet a fair triumphant 
 
 bride. 
 
 " My only son, my treasured boy ! — there most my 
 trial lies, — 
 
 How will he miss my ceaseless care, my fond approv- 
 ing eyes ? 
 
 And when he enters on a world where evil roams un- 
 checked, 
 
 Who, with a mother's watchful love, his footsteps shall 
 direct !
 
 THE LAST TRIAL. 127 
 
 " I feel 'tis sinful thus to dread the awful summons 
 
 nigh, 
 But when I think upon these things, I fear and grieve 
 
 to die : 
 Oh ! Lord, forgive me, that I thus should prize a 
 
 world of strife, 
 Vouchsafe to grant me at my prayer a few short years 
 
 of life." 
 
 These thoughts within the lady's breast a weary con- 
 flict kept. 
 
 She on her pillow turned her head, and bitterly she 
 wept ; 
 
 But the Lord that she had served, of her tears took 
 timely heed, 
 
 And sent a gracious messenger to help her in her 
 need. 
 
 Unheard by all around, save her, arose a heavenly 
 voice — 
 
 " Oh ! daughter of the earth," it cried, " be thank- 
 ful and rejoice ; 
 
 Thou art bursting the dark prison-house of sorrow and 
 of sin, 
 
 And angels wait at Heaven's bright gate to bid thee 
 enter in.
 
 128 THE LAST TRIAL. 
 
 *' Though fair may be thy earthly lionie, though blest 
 
 thy earthly love, 
 How valueless such gifts appear to those dispensed 
 
 above : 
 Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, nor mortal 
 
 tongue can tell, 
 The joys thy Father hath in store for those that love 
 
 him well. 
 
 " Thy friends — oh ! wish not selfishly to cloud their 
 days on earth, — 
 
 Their minds shall often dwell on thee in scenes of 
 social mirtli ; 
 
 And when they feel the pains and cares of life's un- 
 certain track, 
 
 If they be Christian friends indeed, they will not wish 
 thee back. 
 
 " Thoughts of thy virtues and thy faith shall con- 
 stantly arise 
 
 In thy fond husband's tender heart, whatever his future 
 ties ;- 
 
 Who can he love like her who owned his early vows 
 of truth, 
 
 The mother of his first-born child, the chosen of his 
 youth ?
 
 THE LAST TRIAL. 129 
 
 '* And though thou leav'st thy helpless boy in child- 
 hood's opening bloom, 
 
 A pious mother's influence may reach beyond the 
 tomb ; 
 
 The offspring of the wicked in their parent's shame 
 must share, 
 
 But the children of the righteous are the Lord's pecu- 
 liar care. 
 
 " Of all the good and bounteous gifts of which thou 
 
 art possest. 
 Thy dear Redeemer's sacrifice is held by thee the 
 
 best ; 
 Oh ! then, resist this sinful grief, put off this mortal 
 
 leaven, 
 He who was pierced for thee on earth, awaits thee 
 
 now in heaven." 
 
 Around the gentle lady's lip, a placid smile npw 
 played. 
 
 She knelt, she clasped her wasted hands, and fer- 
 vently she said — 
 
 " Lord I have clung to human ties, but at thy 
 gracious call. 
 
 Behold, I come to thee with joy, content to leave 
 them all." 
 
 K
 
 130 THE LAST TRIAL. 
 
 Then she sank upon her pillow in a slumber still and 
 
 deep, 
 But she never woke on earth again, — that trance was 
 
 death's own sleep : 
 The smile yet rested on her lip, her aspect calm and 
 
 fair, 
 Had never worn so bright a look as then was beaming 
 
 there. 
 
 Her kindred gazed upon her face with mingled awe 
 
 and love. 
 It spoke of peace enjoyed below, and peace prepared 
 
 above ; 
 Her earthly trials had been few, their bitterness had 
 
 past. 
 For her God had safely brought her through the sorest 
 
 and the last.
 
 131 
 
 PEACE TO OUR ABSENT FRIENDS. 
 
 " Peace to our absent friends!" Within this hall 
 
 Of proud festivity, and sparkling mirth, 
 Does not each heart some former hour recall, 
 
 And linger fondly on some distant hearth ? 
 Yes, tender memories rest our smiles beneath. 
 
 And silently the listening throng attends, 
 "While to my trembling lute I softly breathe 
 
 These simple words—" Peace to our absent friends. 
 
 The present rarely satisfies the heart, 
 
 'Tis all too bright, too burning in its blaze ; 
 But thought supplies the want— before us start 
 
 Scenes of the past, and forms of other days : 
 Veiled in an indistinct and shadowy liaht 
 
 Some radiance with their darkest trial blends, 
 And 'midst companions gifted, gay, and bright. 
 
 We gently sigh-'' Peace to our absent friends."
 
 132 PEACE TO OUR ABSENT FRIENDS. 
 
 Oh ! is our tenderness by their's repaid, 
 
 And do they pine lost moments to regain, 
 And wish each look recalled, each word unsaid, 
 
 That ever chanced to give our spirits pain ? 
 Yes, doubt it not — though cold and severed long, 
 
 Pride to the power of time and distance bends. 
 Forgotten is the slight — repaired the wrong, — 
 
 The heart still sighs — "Peace to our absent friends." 
 
 And if we feel a fellowship so blest 
 
 In the dear communings of earthly love. 
 How fondly the believing heart must rest 
 
 On the bright time when friends shall meet above. 
 Say, have I saddened ye, gay, thoughtless crowd ? 
 
 Yes, Nature's voice the force of art transcends. 
 And ever can I melt the cold and proud 
 
 By this soft spell — " Peace to our absent friends."
 
 133 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF A MOTHER. 
 
 " Why, lady, thus pensive and drooping appear, 
 Dost thou think on thy husband who hunts the fleet 
 
 deer? 
 Does the fate of thy brothers thy sorrow demand, 
 Who toil to win gold in a far distant land ? 
 Dost thou muse on thy children, fair, happy and gay, 
 Who amid the tall beech-treea are bounding in play ? 
 I guess by each action, expression, and tone. 
 Thy thoughts are bestowed on the absent alone.'' 
 
 " Oh ! stranger, 'tis not for my husband I grieve. 
 He returns from the chase in the shadows of eve ; 
 My brothers, who live beneath bright Eastern skies, 
 Are cheered by new friendships, and blessed by new 
 
 ties ; 
 My beautiful children, like birds on the wing, 
 Exult in the freshness of life's sunny spring ; 
 Yet a loved and an absent one causes these tears, 
 'Tis my mother, who sinks in the valley of years. 
 
 * K
 
 134 RECOLLKCTIONS OF A MOTHER. 
 
 " To her image, what stores of fond memories cling, 
 I hear her again the sweet lullaby sing ; 
 I bring to her wreaths of wild roses in glee, 
 Or murmur my soft evening prayer at her knee. 
 Oh ! mother, how oft in the world's busy throng, 
 Have I suffered ingratitude, falsehood, and wrong. 
 And called back the hour, when disturbed or opprest, 
 I could sob all my cares on thy bosom to rest. 
 
 " Though severed by distance, my fancy pourtrays 
 
 Her kind looks of love in my walks and my ways ; 
 
 And the dear ones who solace and gladden me now, 
 
 My tender devotion approve and allow ; 
 
 They never in vain on my tenderness call, 
 
 And they know that my heart can find room for them 
 
 all. 
 Although in its deepest recesses be nursed, 
 The mother who woke its young sympathies first."
 
 135 
 
 THE DARKENED CAGE. 
 
 He wakens from sleep — that blithesome bird, 
 The leaves are by gentle breezes stirred, 
 And he longs to look on the streams and bowers, 
 That oft have solaced his prisoned hours : 
 But the scene before him is dark and dim, 
 Morn and its glories are not for him : 
 A shroud has veiled from his eager sight 
 The world of verdure, of flowers, and light. 
 
 Hark ! a slow melody, soft and clear. 
 Strikes in his sorrow his grateful ear, — 
 Perchance he had valued not that lay, 
 Had he heard it amid the smiles of day ; 
 But now he learns for the sound to wait, 
 And he strives the notes to emulate, 
 Daily he masters some mystic tone. 
 Till the whole sweet strain becomes his own
 
 136 THE DARKENED CAGE. 
 
 He sings it in full free notes at last — 
 
 Now has the time of his darkness past, 
 
 The veil is raised, and again he sees 
 
 The dancing waters and blossomed trees ; 
 
 Not in oppression was placed that shade, 
 
 It was meant his toilsome task to aid. 
 
 And that task accomplished — that purpose won, 
 
 His cares are over — his trials done. 
 
 Have we not oft, like that drooping bird, 
 Lessons of truth in our sadness heard, 
 And felt their wisdom, and blessed their worth. 
 Though we prized them not in our days of mirth ? 
 To those hidden meanings in grief we turn. 
 Which the worldling deems too hard to learn ; 
 And we rise all human themes above, 
 Telling alone of our Saviour's love. 
 
 Like the bird, we may not hope to gain 
 
 Immediate ease from our passing pain ; 
 
 That bird is from future joys debarred, 
 
 And earth alone can his toils reward ; 
 
 But though darkness reign o'er our mortal day, 
 
 A scene of light we shall yet survey, 
 
 When the shroud is raised from our longing eyes 
 
 By the hand of God in the blissful skies.
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 "Where is the wisci where is the scribe? where is the disputer 
 of this world >. hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world >"— 
 1 Corinth, i. 20. 
 
 Knowledge ! thou idol that in youth I sought, 
 Yielding my spirit to thy potent spell, 
 
 Giving to thee my bloom of heart and thought, 
 And loving thee, not wisely, but too well ; 
 
 111 were my love and faith repaid by thee — 
 
 A bane, a bitter bane, thou wert to me. 
 
 Have I not wooed thee by the waning light, 
 Climbing with patient pain thy rugged way ; 
 
 Yet when I breathless gained the wished-for 
 height, 
 Beheld uprising hills my toil repay? 
 
 Fainting, I paused— repressed the burning tear, 
 
 Then rushed unquailing on my new career.
 
 138 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 And how in sickness would I wail and grieve, 
 To think thy gifts could profit not the dead ! 
 
 I dwelt on all the treasures I must leave, 
 On languages unstudied, books unread, 
 
 Countries unvisited, arts unattained, 
 
 Problems unsolved, and sciences ungained. 
 
 But God has touch'd my heart with holier feelings 
 Knowledge ! I love thee with a chastened love. 
 
 And hold the proudest wealth of thy revealings 
 Poor to that sacred wisdom from above. 
 
 Which tells the humbled sinner how to win 
 
 Peace, pardon, and redemption for his sin. 
 
 Nor need we towering intellect to learn 
 The lessons taught in Revelation's page ; 
 
 The simple peasant can those truths discern 
 As clearly as the poet or the sage ; 
 
 God to no lettered band confines his call— 
 
 His mercy and his grace extend to all. 
 
 And when Death comes upon his awful mission, 
 We need not fear such knowledge to forego ; 
 
 Since we shall reap in heaven the full fruition 
 Of all our humbly cherished hopes below, 
 
 Faith on the " things unseen" reposes here, 
 
 And greets their glories in a happier sphere.
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 139 
 
 Knowledge ! at length I view thee as thou art — 
 Religion's handmaid : I can still allow 
 
 Thy power to charm and dazzle ; but my heart 
 Rests firmly on the Rock of Ages now ; 
 
 Nor pants proud scientific lore to scan, 
 
 Content to know that Jesus died for man. 
 
 ifcnis.
 
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