mi /- 'A ">i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES A- /' , .V.H . .i^r^ vr ''^/h\f lA 1-*^ — x w ^; . f? is ii,. y.<^ '..OX ^^.y^t5ifl,||^ i<' V ^'^i- ^.-^^.i Sum .Kill. Marstt.tti ii 8G(>/G2 ^^3^ — »ii^^a:i® IV. ADVERTISEMENT. M in this volume, the ephemeral character of periodical literature led the several authors of these to rescue them from their brief tenure of place, for a more enduring position here. With these exceptions, this work is exclusively original ; and it is sincerely hoped that it may be found by the unbiassed reader to please the fancy, rectify the judgment, and exalt the mind. Manchester, February 1853. — <»^^^|^ «&m»*- COXTENTS. V. if CONTENTS. To the City Muse .... W. Reid. 1 "Winter D. Stirling 3 To E. G., the Appeal of Friendship . . IT. Dixon 5 Happy Old Age . . . . J. C. Prince 7 The Poet's Fears M. Ross 10 Sonnet John Evans 12 To My Son at Sea . . . G. Richardson 13 Sonnet John Evans 14 Stanzas on the Death of Campbell . Charles Davlin 15 To a Brother Poet in Distress . A. F. Sutherland 21 Spring . . . .• . . W. Reid 27 On Seeing a Young Lady at the Grave of a Poet ..... James Telford 30 One Hour of Musing . . . J. B. Rogerson 32 The Song of the Redbreast . . T. Nicholson 34 Acrostic TF. ^. 3G Ode to the Moon .... J/. Ross 36 Acrostic W. R. 39 Summer W. Reid 40 The Prisoner's ^\'ail . . . James Telford 43 Reflections on ilan . . . Charles Davlin 44 ei>«^*H<- - liwe a Q ^ I ms- VI. CONTENTS, i Autumnal Sonnets To Clarissa .... Love and Absence .... Song of the Cuckoo When Nations Afar Ode to Time .... The Ballad Girl .... Home ..... Fall of the Leaf in Birkenhead Priory From a Mother to her Daughter Autumn ..... The Spider Watching and Sickness The Chase Unrequited Love .... The Three Graces . . , , Despair The Neglected Bard . . ■• . Song of the Nations To Three Sister Vocalists . Kenilworth To E A Word to the Few A Heart Song .... To the Muse .... To a Dying Flower April The MUkmaid .... PAGE. 49 52 54 56 58 59 G4 65 67 72 74 78 106 108 [£- J C. Prince . A. Henderson . H. Dixon T. Nicholson G. Richardson Charles Davlin James Telford . J, C. Prince R. W. Procter M. Ross W. Reid Charles Davlin M. Ross Nimrod James Telford 110 R. Williams 111 Charles Davlin 114 . George Smith 116 G. Richardson 118 W. Reid 120 W. H. 123 James Telford 124 . M. Ross 127 J. B. Roger son 128 R. W. Procter 130 W. Reid 134 G. Richardson 136 James Telford 137 9>aimsi<- :\9 CONTENTS. VII. PAGE Spots in the Sun . T. A'ichokon HO Once More to Life Restored . W. Reid 142 The T,ast Spree .... Charles Darlin 1« The Grief of Absence James Telford 14G To .1 Fly loitering near a Spider's Web . M'. Reid 148 Mountain Mary . Charles DavUn 150 Love J. C. Prince 152 The Fate of Love . James Telford 153 To Fanny ..... W. Reid 154 Epitaph on an Infant W. H. 155 The Wanderer's Grave . Alexis 15G Look Up ! J. C. Prince 158 The Wranglers .... W. R. Dawson IGO Hopeless Love .... . W. Reid 1C2 To Sir. H. D. . . . ^ Bard of Promise 1G3 Lines to the Old Year . M. Ross 1G7 Bewitching Creature . W. Reid 1G8 Never Despair T. F. Ker 170 To Matilda .1. Tlenderson 171 My Charming May . \V. Kershaw 174 Lines Written in a Flower Garden W. Reid 17G Bide Ou Edwin Waufjh 177 Give Me a Cot .... . T. Nicholson 178 Individual Good often General Evil M. Ross 179 Liberty — a Dream . . W. Reid 181 To a Rose-tree in my Workshop . Edwin Wauf/h 192 Exhortation .... . T. Nicholson 194 p The Voice of Christmas R. W. Procter 19G -•Ht^S^* VIII. CONTENTS. Cultivate Your Men On Hearing a Street Organ . Lines "Written on a Blank Leaf Epitaph on an Old Lady To M. S Ode on the Tragic Death of Mrs. The World . . . , Ale versus Physic . On a Drunk Virago A Book for the Home Fireside . PAGE. . Edwin Waugh 199 . W. R. Ellis 201 . J. Wilson 202 W. Reid 203 . Edwin Waugh 204 Baxter W. Reid 205 Edwin Waugh 210 Elijah Ridings 212 W. R. Ellis 213 . J. C. Prince 214 I ST-I^?*-® I TO THK CITY ML'Sl!;. THE CITY MUSE. TO THE CITY MUSE. BY WILLIAM REID. Daughter of Song, thy mission speed ! Begin where fame began ! Declare thy sentimental eree ' i 'i:^^S§«-'^- HAPPY OLD AGE. I have not been all free from sin. For what imperfect nature can ? But I have no remorse within For scorn of my poor fellow-man ; Blest more than thousands of my race. Above all worldly caste or creed, I never turned disdainful face Against another's need. And now, unruffled as the pool Reflecting Autumn's sunset hues. My mind remains all clear and cool. As I serenely talk or muse ; Time has not dulled my moral sense ; Age has not dimmed my mental sight ; No passions weaken my defence. No doubts and cares affright : And Retrospection, even yet, Will lead me through past-trodden ways, And I remember — how forget ? — The magic of my early days ; All nature, so divinely wrought. The unravelled mystery of things. Expanded every boyish thought, And lent my spirit wings. | ^ I -n#^?^l© *^^*«- HAIM'Y OLD AGE. And I remember how I grew Up to the sunny noon of youth, And thence to manhood, till I knew How near akin was love to truth ; My trials, bravely overcome, ^ly tiiumjihs, not of purpose vain. All these, with vague but pleasant hum. Still murmiir through my bi-aiu. My children, oft'spring of a tree Whose top is hoary with decay ; Whose trunk is shaken as may be Before it falls and fades away ; Cherish whate'er good men unfold ; Revere whate'er true men proclaim ; And before heaven and man uphold The houour of uiv name. For me, I have no mortal fear, I quake not as I hurry down ; The path is clear, the goal is near. The end, the glory, and the crown ; Rather than let your eyes grow dim. As ye consign me to the sod, Rejoice that I shall be with Ilim, My hope, my trust, my God ! o«S4)^M« i\i?=S2^^ r- I 10 THE POET S FEARS. THE POET'S FEARS. BY M. ROSS. Say what shall be the Poet's lot, The solace of his fears, — The comforter of all his thought Should pain in every limb be fraught, And Death itself appears ? Shall Beauty linger o'er his couch And weep in grief for him, If fell Disease, with chilly touch. Display the languid cheek, as such When all life's light is dim ? If Madness spreads its dismal cloud Around the path of mind ; And horrid shapes within him crowd. While fancied shrieks are heard aloud In every breath of wind. Shall Pity not a tear bestow For Genius wreck'd and riven, And mourn the bitter, adverse blow Which cast its mental structure low, & As if by thunder driven ? I -^►^s THE POET S FEARS. 11 i If Poverty shall cleave and cling. And rave to him along : If Want shall Hap her raven wings, While he, in broken numbers, sings, A wild and mournful song. Shall Affluence relentless wear A cold, disdainful sneer ; And vaunting Pride, remorseless, dare To crush the son of song, nor spare His hallow'd, humble bier ? And, if a rush of dark despair Steal thro' his harrow'd brain, As blighted love, like pois'nous air, Destroys his youthful hopes, which were Ne'er to return again : And from Death's rugged, joyless brink When Reason's reign is o'er. When Memory lost every link, If down Time's dark gulph he doth sink To rise in life no more, — Oh ! will his requiem be unsung. Will not another lyre For worth rejected still be strung. And sound as if its cadence hung Where Genius did expire ? '>B^Xl« M 12 SONNET. i SONNET. BY JOHN EVANS, Now glows the sapphire vault with goldeu studs. The moon glides slowly o'er her cloudless way. And with the silver brilliance of her ray Impearls the dewy glades and rippling floods. Now o'er the grassy path the lev'ret scuds, Now seeks the screeching owl her vermin prey. The night air whispers in the blossom'd spray. And wafts the fragrance of the sweet-briar buds. Calm quiet listens to the lamb's low bleat, The deep-drawn breathings of recumbent kine, And hears the waves their rocky barrier beat. While on its beetling brow the soft beams shine Then night and silence, in the lone retreat. From cloudy cares perturbed thoughts refine. k^^^ >sf^^^ i TO MY SON AT SEA. TO MY SON AT SEA. BY G. RICHARDSON. (Written on a tempestuous nitjht.) God help thee, child, upon the ocean wide ! The tempest-laden clouds, huge, black, and driven. Obscure the blue serene expanse of heaven. And on the blast in dread confusion ride. Fiercely the winds like distant thunders roll — And pondering on thy sad and hapless fate. Repose in Him, my fears to dissipate — And check the yearning anguish of my soul ! A thousand times, when stillness reigns around, Will midnight musings fearful vigils keep — Woo me with watching from refreshing sleep, And steep me in anxiety profound ! I deem thee lost ! and o'er my lost one mourn. Or Hope's fond fancy paints thy long — but safe return. ^j«**** •*i»«ej*io ^l-^»^- S 14 SONNET. SONNET. BY JOHN EVANS. Lov'sT tliOLi to pace the downland's mounded green In Night's still hour, when their fantastic maze Dance lightly round, the feather-footed fays. Beneath the silent moon's love-beaming sheen ? Nor trip they on their verdant rings unseen To th' inspired bard's enthusiast gaze. When, to the measure of the night-bird's lays. They follow up their dream-presiding queen. Or, when the bowery walk thy step invites. Where the fond glow-worm, like Leander's bride. Gilding the dark, the torch of Cupid lights. The course of her approaching love to guide. Say, does not Fancy with illusive art, An interest to their simple loves impart ? ©C^^s^^- -*^^'4#=§«IO ON THK DEATH OF CAMPBELL. 15 I STANZAS UN THE DEATH UF THOMAS CAMPBELL, A Hthor of the " Pleasures of Hope." RY CHARLES DAVLIN. What, Campbell dead! No, no. Shall Fame with trumpet tongue long, long reply; His resting place below Proclaims the truth, that Campbell cannot die ! No, Fancy's favour'd child , And nursling of the Muses, from thy birth Hope sanctioned, as she smiled. Thy slumber with the mighty ones of earth. Though ])ompous, dark parade Mark'd the cessation of thy tuneful tongue : Though pensiveness pervade Where now, in silence, hangs thy harp unstrung. Death dares not come to thee. As Time's dread hangsman onward he careers. 'Tis thine at least to be The living minstrel of a thousand years. Thy " Warning of Lochicl," 1 m 16 ON THE DEATH OF CAMPBELL. i " Lord Ullen's Daughter," and thy " Last Man," Could not in vain reveal Thy vast imaginative mental span. Thy least aspiring theme Bore the eternal stamp of sterling fame. Ere yet thy " Soldier's Dream " Shed an immortal halo round thy name. Thy lines dehght shall give As generations roll from age to age. While taste and language live. Or beauty shall adorn the classic page. Then mourn not the beloved Of bards, whose life so lastingly hath s!:ed A hght, which, though removed Himself, burns but the brighter : who is dead ? Not Cair.pbell ? No ! the bard Of " Hope " shall perish not till time retires. And they, who longest spared. Shall cease to be, and Death himself expires. Alas ! my simple muse. In solemn silence pause, thy wings be still ; Truth, in her sterner views Outsoars the sisters of Parnassus hill. Uncompromising truth. In all decay discovers all supply ; Nor hides from age nor youth That all who live, as positively die. s i 1 ON THE DEATH OF CAMPBELL. 17 A Yes, thou art gone, sweet b«-tl ! From all who loved thee, from thyself, from all The world, whose due regard Shall never, never, penetrate thy pall. On thee all praise and blame Alike were idly wasted ; all to thee Of infamy or fame Exist not, even as nonentity. Where genius rests, rest thou, Long honour'd of the dead, — that chaplet green Which late adorn'd thy brow. In undeclining splendour may be seen For ages yet unborn ; While mouldering in the depth of thy repose, While Fame's far sounding horn Wakes not one thrill to censure or applause. Now that the spark hath fled, Which late illum'd thine ashes, now inurn'd, Thou sharest the lowly bed Of those whose genius not less brightly biirn'd ; That flame Promethean which May radiate the brightest of mankind, j Lends nothing to enrich The feeble tenement it leaves behind. i How fleeting is the dream ; Of sublunary being ! e'en when most | Consistently we seem ^ :f. To occupy the span so briefly lost. J' C 4 i 18 ON THE DEATH OF CAMPBELL. Unfavour'd fall the proud As fall their slaves, the meanest of the yoke ; As reckless from the cloud The shaft of hghtning cleaves the giant oak. So severs the last hold We have of life, Death's bolts impartial strike The backward and the bold. The despot and the dustman, all alike. The ruthless, rebel hand Of daring Death does not less lowly lay The proudest of the land, Than those who basely breathe but to obey. Where sleep the silent dead The brazen battle trump, or tocsin loud. Bears nought of import dread ; The voice of thunder pierces not the shroud. Where care and crime no more The soul's sublimest sympathies corrode And all who mourn'd before Serenely sleep, in this their last abode. The past annoys them not ; That multitude, though silent, seem to say. In fellowship we rot, Whate'er our feuds in wending life's rough way. The solemn, silent grave. Where rest alike the savage and the seer. The tyrant and the slave ; All, all are aliens to distinction there. -Q^g^^f ON THE DEATH OF CAMPBELL. .': "With pity more than scorn We hear the hollow boast of blood and birth. Since all alike were born, Here all in common claim one parent earth. Let him of laurell'd brow Late lured by victorj's fell, fleeting charms, Say what avails him now The havoc of his desolating arms. In mockery of forms By whatsoever light of judgment led, A banquet hall for worms Must be the diadem encircled head. Let coffin'd beauty speak Of how the graces and the loves conform To spare the damask cheek. In this the mighty workshop of the worm. This hall of dark display, Whose thousand gates confront the thousand roads Where, wearied on their way. The travellers through life lay down their loads ; This place of peace profound, This sombre, silent city, which the sun Salutes not in his round Of splendour, here where all lies lost or won. Hence be our actions here So self approved as, ere we come to this. We welcome, more than fear, Decomposition's dark analysis. I 20 ON THE DEATH OF CAMPBELL. -s^m 'Tis strange, that though we shrink To scan the solemn sepulchre, as now We sport upon the brink Of time's dark precipice, uncaring how. But thou to whom we raise This humble, heartfelt, tributary strain, We venture not in praise To span thy merits, such attempt were vain. Earth's noblest sons of song Shall pitch a dirge more reaching thy degree. To say how loud and long The muse in cypress mourns her loss in thee. Still let us prize thy worth While living, rather than thy loss repine. Sweet songster of the north. The common doom of all is that of thine. <&|i#i5*S-^ ©""s^ee*- TO A BROTHKR POET IN DISTRESS. TO A BROTHER POET IN DISTRESS, WHO SOLICITS PECUNIARY AID. BY'A. SUTHERLAND. Just now deep sullen sadness clouds rae all, The poet's hapless lot and dire mischance. Struck like a felon by an adverse blow Of merciless severity. Alas, How undeserving ! Yet 'tis thus that worth Must ever suffer in this gloomy world. While fraud and guile in g«ilty steps advance With iron features and with brazen front. And o'er the weakness of the innocent Ride hideous, with impunity and dread. And is there no redress for such as suffer thus ? Shall the malignant viper, in his little hour Of brief authority, transfix his fangs And spit his venom in the rankling woimd Which be in rancorous hate hath opened ? Where is the boasted Law, whose ample shield Protects ? and 'neath whose sacred care the weak Seek shelter from the thrusts of felon power? Ho, seek'st thou justice ? there is none. Justice Is a mockery— an idle phantom — «/ StSi^C- -o^^iiSr'IO — »^^^l# 22 TO A BROTHER POET IN DISTRESS || \ That o'er its vigils sleeps, while eager fiends Insatiate prowl, with bloody, grim intent, And hurl th' unwary to the dark abyss Of chaos and of hell ! while Ruin sits Enthroned on human bones, his gory jaws Entrench'd and stuck deep in the vital seat Of mortal agony ! When shall outrage Cease to o'ertake the feeble steps of man? And fell, inexorable despotism. Hunt him like a beast, timid and fearful. Panting in thickets of horror ! Oh, Man, How savage and ferocious to thy kind ! How far thy wayward will and dark desires Have led thee to the sacrifice Of bleeding millions ! how oft have fall'n The good, the great, the worthy, and the wise. The young and beautiful ! and hoary age Alike has sunk in utter helplessness 'Neath th' atrocious arm of ruffian power. Arise, oh mortal ! from thy apathy And dangerous indifi^erence. Arise, With breast of fire, with thunder on thy brow, And hghtning in thine eye. Come forth With godlike courage and almighty daring. And in the blazing panoply of right o -iK! TO A BROTHER POET IN DISTRESS. 23 Advance I aud burn terrific on the plain Where lurks the monster that has wrung the wail Of poor humanity, for ages that Have rolled in grey and hoary majesty, Since the first note of time pealed on the ear. Oh come, and stretch in death the shape abhorr'd Of foul and gaunt Oppression ; whose dread shade Encircles the great earth, and settles dark, Deep as Jehovah's curse, on nations struck With desolation, silence, and despair. O'erthrow its horrid bulk, and let it writhe In its own slime, until the flaming gulphs Of hell-resounding earthquakes swallow it. Then shall the hght of freedom's ardent eye Beam as the ray that lights the starry halls Of sap])hire-glowing heaven ; then shall fields Teem rich with nature's luxuries, and Man Shall walk enfranchised and exult o'er her Exuberant conceptions, which for all alike Spring from her bosom in full laden ])lenty. Then shall bards rejoice, sublime in ecstacy, In Picans grand shall celebrate the age Of concord and of peace ; when all shall hold An equal privilege with all — and Man In universal bond of amity — Shall walk the round of time exalted high E'en in the simple pride of honest worth. 0«E^; T~^ G>^^^ fig 42 SUMMER. I Life teems from thy creative power Soon as thy rich resplendent dower Arrays the joyous earth ; Fresh beauties rise on magic wing, Ephemeral forms exulting spring, And own a second birth. What congregated charms arise, To form surrounding paradise. And crowd thy blazing throne ! The azure depth, the landscape's glow. Afar, the sounding ocean's flow, And belted horizon. How lovely in thy native showers, How awful when thy thunder lowers Grim, crater-mouth'd, and wild ! So beauty thus is seen to weep — So passion's scathing lightnings sweep The world, aghast recoil'd ! But Summer, I am weak in song, To lead the glowing soul along Is not my envied store ; But while devotion fires my veins, While ardour wakes my rustic strains, I'm fitted to adore ! ©< fe*5-e- THE PRISONER S WAIL. 43 i THE PRISONER'S WAIL. BY JAMES TELFORD. O, Fate ! in this vile gloomy dungeon thrown, Why am I doom'd to pass my manhood's prime Encaged in this huge labjTinth of stone ? To count the dreary hours of duU-wing'd time, And, more than all, this base ignoble chain To bear, and helpless bide a tyrant's will. Whilst its debasement through each vein doth thrill. Here, here to writhe beneath the black'ning stain, "NMiich now doth well nigh rend my tortured heart in twain ! Oh ! who can tell ray anguish as I cieep Where Sol in pity pours his daily beams Through this small grating — whilst I sit and weep, And conjure up full many a youthful dream. But fate, oh, cruel fate ! where now are they ? All — all — have vanish'd from my fond control. And steep'd in dark despair my inmost soul. «ill^**H>- -^W^^'^ 44 REFLECTIONS ON MAN. •) O, powers almighty, which in heaven do dwell, My arm with giant strength one moment crown. That I may burst from this my hated cell And to destruction hurl its fabric down. At liberty ! (how strange the word) I'd fly In haste to some green mountain's rising ground, And gazing on the world that lay around. And breathing zephyrs pure from heaven's blue sky. Content and happy then I'd heave my latest sigh. REFLECTIONS ON MAN. BY CHARLES DAVLIN. On what is call'd the craft of creeds and kings Conflicting cavillers may carp in vain ; As from the putrid mass the maggot springs Ambition bred on baseness feeds to reign. Remove the carcase, and on stealthy wings ^ The disappointed vulture leaves the plain I eis -^ i -lCBIiiO REFLECTIONS OX MAN. "Where erst he may have flesh'd his gory beak. Remove the nuisance, then, which thus suppHes The human cormorants by whom your lot Is reuder'd wretched ; let the ravenous wreak Their wrongs where else they may for subsidies, Where else they find the social lump to rot And maggot in its baseness, until hurl'd From the remotest regions of the world ! But there are rigid moral duties, whence Our claims are justified, our rights sustain'd. Neglect those duties, and the wrongs which thence We sufler are retributive, ordain'd And foster'd by ourselves ; the consequence That we to Mammon's chariot wheels are chain'd- The blatent multitude, the self-enslaved. The scoff'd and jeer'd, the baited and befool'd — The stuff of which is moulded every form Of rule that fraud or folly e'er conceiv'd. Or hell devised in torture to the ruled ; The cause is in ourselves, however storm The malcontents — the pest will perish when The suffering mass is moulded into men. Ere man was ruled by delegated powers. The mountain was his monarchy, the wood 1 ^.0. * 46 REFLECTIONS ON MAN. ^Jj ! His homestead and his hopes, of blissful bowers To slaves and sycophants not understood. By freedom sweeten'd were his fruits and flowers ; His playmate and his pride, by field and flood, Was heaven-born Liberty ; his short-lived care She strangled as it came, or cast it forth To perish in the wild from whence he drew His hardy frame's uncomplicated fare. While yet untaught the soil's proportion'd worth, The earth was bountiful, his wants were few. Till damn'd with a desire to have and hold The subterranean curse of cavern'd gold. A change came o'er the race, at Plutus' shrine Minerva blush'd such prostrate groups to see Around the flaming altar ; how condign The goddess shriek'd, your penalty shall be ! Though Jove withhold his thunder, yet your line For many an age shall suffer, so decree The fates offended. Now to force and fraud You furnish date. Now have ye rear'd a ram To batter down such bastions as your need In future time shall warrant, while you laud And lick the hand that beats you, not the lamb In feeble contact with the wolf shall bleed. Nor less resisting from the knife shall fall Than men, in millions from this interval. ^ — s^^S=?li<> KEFLECTIONS ON MAN. 4? M The wiu-cry burst upou the stilly night lu after ages, the prediction dread Was more than verified, and in affright Security and peace together fled Far from the haunts of men, and Luna's light Of silver sheen was subsequently shed Oft o'er the crimson carnage-covered plain ; "WTiere, sleeping in their glory and their gore. Ten thousand corses strew'd, gave the gaunt wolf His unrestricted meal ; now and again The vulture's startling scream, attaching more Of horror to the scene : and thus the gulf Of hell subserving war, with ravening roar Entomb'd its millions, while each death implied Nor less than that a murderer had died ! Deluded men ! who wield the scorpion lash Whence writhe your mangled feelings— whence array'd The tyrant's armament— whence comes the crash Of immolating war ? without your aid Such things had never been. The nitrous flash The death-wing'd bullet and the gory blade From you their desolating force derive ; You work the vile machine which renders life ; The wretched thing it is, and blindly make | - The manacles that bind you ; while your hive - I . I -©•sB 148 REFLECTIONS ON MAN. Still drone-infested, famine, faction, strife. And terror-struck shall be, while you mistake The cause for the effect, and thence endure The self-inflicted wrongs you still decline to cure. Yet still be comforted, ye sons of care, Since that which governs matter is the mind ; Though selfish inappropriations bear Hard on your helplessness, still as a kmd Bequest of heaven, behold each movement rare Of science in advance ; not far behind Shall dawn a brighter day, when discord shall Have ceased to darken the bright hemisphere. Nor sighs nor curses longer load the breeze. Anon a second Iris once for all Shall span the vault of heaven ; nor more the tear By destitution throned upon disease. By ruthless famine wrung, shall sadly start With the last life drop of a broken heart. The world's millennial morning is no dream Of fancy's fair creation ; every clime From Ganges to the Poles shall hail the stream Of all-redeeming science ! care and crime Subverting as it flows, while blessings teem In rich profusion from the womb of time. I ^■s^^t ^>^?5*«- AUTUMNAL SONNETS. 49 1 At length elicited from mind alone, All conquering, all comprehensive miud, Shall give a new direction to the tide Of the affairs of men, till there be known, Nor slave, uor tyrant, on the earth to bind Or bear the bonds due to the homicide Of self-respect ; a tyrant merely rates In rank, as number his subordinates. AUTUMNAL SONNETS. BV JOHN CKITCHLEY PRINCE. When we have pass'd beyond life's middle arch, With what accelerated speed the years Seem to flit by us, sowing hopes and fears As they pursue their never-ceasing march ! But is our wisdom equal to the speed Which brings us nearer to that shadowy bourne, Whence we must never, never more return? Alas ! the thought is wiser than the i4€^'|© i 54 LOVE AND ABSENCE. I Clarissa, favour'd name ! Baptized in fonts above, Oh kindly view my flame And melting own the same In all-consuming love. Make answer to my claim A meek responding dove. Then as the heavens glow O'er continent and sea. So shall my manhood throw Its lustre o'er thy brow And centre all in thee : While all our moments flow In sweet felicity. LOVE AND ABSENCE. BY H. DIXON. Canst thou so soon forget The swain who loved thee well ? Or does his memory yet Within thy bosom dwell? Tell, oh tell ! ^I'^^**- -^^^^■© ^-*.£^il«B «^*^ — tOVE AND ABSENCE. 55 | If absence now allays The flame that b\irnM for him, How fickle is its blaze ! A lamp love cannot trim : — Colli and dim. I ■S^^?3*«- Perbaps thy heart misgives In giving passion play ; Or if that passion lives, The frown of prudence may Chill its sway. Or could thy heart suspect That he requites thy love With sterile cold neglect, As false as fauns that rove Through the grove ; Ah ! then, thou never knew The ardour of his soul, That burn'd alone for you. And proudly spurn'd control ; Thine in whole. IJut though his name should not Be breathed by thee again. Thine ne'er shall be forgot While memory can retain Power to reign ! |» — ^^^ HOME. 65 IIOMK. BV JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE. Let us honour the goils of the household ahvay, Love ever the hearth and its graces, The spot where serenely and cheerfully play The smiles of familiar faces ; Where the calm tender tones of affection are heard. Where the child's gladsome carol is ringing, Wliere the heart's best emotions are quicken'd, and stirr'd By the founts that arc inwardly springing. Oh, what are the charms of the banquet-hour glee. And the words of frivolity spoken. To the hoher joys 'neath our quiet roof-tree, When the compact of love is unbroken ? Not the selfish delight, the obstreperous mirth, Not the glare of conventional splendour. May compare with the spells that encircle the hearth. If it hold but the true and the tender. - aj'D ^ aC 'O HOME. * Too long 'mid the the gay revel's profitless scene. The weak one may foolishly linger, Where false pleasure lures him with treachei'ous mien. And holds him with magical finger ; But he who has wisdom to baffle the snare. Clings close to his home, and how dearly ! Fond feelings, kind looks, are in store for him there. And gentle words utter'd sincerely. Howsoever the spirit may struggle and fret In the conflict of worldly commotion. There's a solace to soothe and to strengthen us yet. If home have our truest devotion ; It needeth not hall, nor palatial dome. To afford us a refuge so holy ; To the loving and pure any roof is a home. Be it ever so narrow and lowly. And home, when it is home, sounds sweet in our ears. For it speaks of our heart-cherish'd treasure ; 'Tis a word which beguiles us of tenderest tears. Or thrills us with tranquillest pleasure ; It prompts us to set rude enjoyments at nought. It chastens our speech and demeanour. It nerves us to action, awakes us to thought. And makes our whole being serener. «S.^^*«- Ik fall of the leaf. Dear home, rightly guarded aud graced, is a soil Where the virtues are constantly growing ; 'Tis a sanctified shelter, the guerdon of toil, A thousand cahn blessings bestowing. Home, country, humanity ! Ileav'n ! how they please ! Things leaving all else at a distance ! Who lends a true soul, does his duty to these, Fultils the best ends of existence ! FALL OF THE LEAF IN BIRKENHEAD PRIORY. BV UICHAUD WRIGHT PROCTER. I've cross'd the wave to muse with thee. Grey lingerer of antiquity ! I've cross'd the wave, From time's creations new and cold, To commune with mute spirits old. In yon sea-grave The glorious sun has ceased to rove. And silence, wedded to sweet eve, Bringis comfort to warm hearts that love — Worn hearts that grieve : -**«#i»;^ H 68 FALL OF THE LEAF. 1 f- —'i Nature's best influence reigns around, And this was once deem'd holy ground. Yet joy's gay chihlren, wandering near, Court not thine shrine, Nor share the blessed spirit-sphere That now is mine. Strange must they be to that great power, That soother of the bard's lone hour, Wliich verdure-crowns earth's blighted spot, And life reveals where life is not. Old haven of long-vanish'd shades. Wreck of five hundred years. How swift man's poor ambition fades. His feverish hopes and fears. While dreaming o'er thy fate and form. And his— creation's lord and worm ! Ten thousand leaves are strewn around. To crumble, piecemeal, on the ground ; Time drives them forth : Some brown and sear — ^some geeen appear, As when young Spring, with beauty crown'd. First gave them birth ; But all descend to parent earth. Their brief reign o'er : Each tree, new deck'd, may flourish wild, To glad the soul of nature's child, < But leaves — no more ! I -®^^^'M5 €Hf^^£- FALL OK THE LEAF. Low, riuttcriug sounils steal on niy ear. Like whispering hope, or startled fear ; Life's foe and mine is labouring near, And whistling flies his viewless dait, Each falling leaf a slaughter'd heart. Truth needs no tone ! This, blanch'd and sear, depictures age. That sinks, alone : These speak of childhood's fairy stage. When all is gold on hfe's rich page. When even death In mercy to the fond hearts riven, Leaves both the hope and bloom of heaven, For such sweet breath. Whilst lingering on this rude worn stile, Dear rustic charm, that lends a smile To town-bred pain ; Thoughts, old as truth, Yet hale and vigorous as youth, O'ercrowd my brain. Yes ! though the oracles that stirr'il Dull millions with the prophet-word, May perish from the searching eye, Thought, like the fabled Eastern bird. Disdains to die ; -»*iiSSIi^ % "70 FALL OP THE LEAF. But soothes on earth the nobly just. While incense from its sacred dust Mates with the sky ! Great Nature, through thy boundless plan, Thou'rt just to all ; the leaf, the man. The wilding flower ; all have their hour, Then vanish — where? Where are the realms once Nature's care ? We stole like shadows o'er them ; And worlds that spring on Time's fleet wing Sweep us before them. The day hath faded from thee ; night Creeps o'er thee with her mellowing light, And rarely will her queen espy. Or dawn reveal, A softer scene to mind's chaste eye, A sadder for the heart to feel. High o'er thy sides, deep in thy cells. The ivy green in beauty dwells ; And shields thee, with its clustering form. From many a beam, from many a storm. Bless'd be the friend who faithful stays And guards when every hope decays ; Who soothes when nature's doom appears. And haunts the spot our dust endears. Though brief thy train, and small thy sphere. Still, death has housed rich harvest near ; ^m^- X FALL OF THE LEAF. /I M But those proud bajs have left his brow, So wide the space 'tween tlien and now ; Oh ! Time has hush'd Death's victor-cheer, Since that n^aunt reaper flourish'd here ; Each learned and each homely scroll, Hicjacet, and Here lies inunCd, Have moulder'd with the loved and mourn'd. Thank God for thee, undying soul ! Heir to pure realms by faith unfurl'd, Afar from this ephemeral world. The towering pile that decks thy side. Is graceful in its modem pride ; And hundreds press its seats in prayer Who yield to thee nor thought nor care ; But sooner would my breast record Its hopes and frailties to its Lord, Whilst kneeling upon knee-worn ground. Than cushion'd where new aisles surround : For every thing the earth doth hold. The white-hair'd sire, and turret bold. E'en God's bless'd fanes on sacred mould, Seem purer, holier, when they're old. Like thine own i\'y, whilst I stay. My young heart loves thy stern decay ; And memory, to this brief sojourn. When far my steps have ]>as8'd away, Will sweetly turn. >^i4A^*«- * ] 72 FROM A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER. M FROM A MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTER ON HER MARRIAGE. BY M. ROSS. Happy be thy life-lot, child. In another's promised care. May thy sun that always smiled Always smile on thee as fair. May no sorrow thee betide On thy onward path of life ; Wearing beauty in the bride, Wear thou virtue in the wife. Ever call to mind the past — Memory ! that healing balm ; Seek contentment in the blast, Grateful with returning calm. Nerve thy young heart to endure Trials, none escape with fear ; Joy, like health, is never sure, k Courage stays the truant tear. -*4SB^6® FROM A MOTHEK TO HEK DAUGHTER. 73 Hope for peace to cheer thy hearth, Brifrhtest comforter of youth ; Golil is worthless, if its worth Is prized above love, peace, and truth. Who must sweetest friendship get. Must such friendship ever give ; Our faults we may ourselves forget, With others fruitfully they live. The earth is cold and dead to all Who are themselves but dead and cold. Who clothe with universal pall The beauty that the great behold. Be constant, and thy husband's smile Shall warm thy heart unto its core ; And plenty shall reward thy toil From its abundant, varied store. Unto thy new home, daughter, go ; My benison thou hast : adieu ! Live well in purity, that so Thy end will offer peace to you. -^^^ *^§«*- AUTUMX. All, all must sink in tlesert gloom ; But ere tby glories fade Thy tints shall rival summer's bloom. Thy beams illume the shade ; The trophied year in pride display'd Thy cavalcade adorn, And Ceres swell the gay parade With Plenty's teeming horn. E'en now o'er all the fair expanse, lUum'd by floods of light, I see thy fain,- troop advance In line of order bright ; One leads the starry mantled night. Faint shot with languid beams. Where dim descried the mountains height Nods o'er the sleeping streams. And one attired in misty wreath Unveils the blushing dawn, Pale gleaming on the purple heath, Or 'thwart the smoky lawn ; The lazy lumb'ring clouds withdrawn, Sol mounts in gorgeous sheen ; While rousing swift the bounding fawn i Inhales the blue serene. izi AUTUMN. Lo ! full before the eager pack The stag affrighted flies, The startled echoes thunder back The huntsman's deep'ning cries ; And see the wheeling covey rise. Upborne on whirring wing, Where near the lurking fowler lies And subtle pointers spring. But dearer to the studious mind To mark the plumed host. Expectant wait the favouring wind That sweeps far Tangier's coast ; And see the doubling swallows lost In labyrinthine coil. In airy evolution tost To test their wings the while. The plover and the noisy quail Gulp down their morning fare ; And downward through the sounding vale Soft steals the timid hare ; And hooded crows in middle air Float past— a sable train. With flocks that crop the herbage bare. And herds upon the plain. ®\^m^- I AUTUMN. 77 il Stretch'd wide to tempt the stealthy foot, Fair Edeu's treasures lie ; The orchard, hung with luscious fruit, Allures the vagrant eye. Insidious apples, pendant high. Hang dubious o'er the earth, With laden plum-trees blooming nigh, And peaches' sweeter birth. Green vistas point the sylvan walk For love's ecstatic rove, Where fond hearts beat to tender talk. Or list the cooing dove ; Reclined in arbours ivy wove. While swells upon the ear, Sad pealing through the rustling grove The requiem of the year. Farewell, sweet Autumn ! we must part ; But while this breast shall heave. Thy smile will light my lonely heart, Though faithless friends deceive ; As falls thy meteor-gleaming eve. And nature shrinks aghast, While through thy sered and yellow leaf Hoarse swells the hollow blast. p ^^^ — — "^"=^^^^^1 •* 78 THE SPIDER. >5| THE SPIDER. BY CHARLES DAVLIN. In such an age of learning and of song, "Who dares the risk of such untutor'd skill As mine, might be adjudged to madly long To taste the critic's all correcting thong, A fool confirm'd, while roves his random quill Attesting folly, such as fitly fails To feel the punishment it thence entails. We may in some sort merit what we name, The lash of the enlighten'd ; let it come ! Nor shall less vigorously glow the flame Enkindled by the muse, nor honest fame Be less attainable, less wish'd for from The check judiciously and fairly dealt. But feel more competent than erst we felt. 1 5? s^^^;lo i THE SPIDER. 79 ill Give me the niauly fellow who would raise His voice in loud hostility, before The snake who, to assassinate my lays, Would seek to damu me with a spice of praise. And some slight wonderment that somewhat more Should have escaped my pen, than well might be Suspected from a songster such as me. Here we dispense with grammar ; true, but then One's closing couplet needs a decent rhyme, And when cue cannot furnish both, and when One does their best, nine judges out of ten Would deem as no great literary crime A license thus poetically taken, To save one's jingle, rather than one's bacon. Such be the sacrifice, but as I said Give me the daylight ruffian, whose assault May be unjust, tyrannical, and made To murder one's pretensions to the trade Of rhyme, before the secret, mildly, fault Insinuating slave, whose rising scheme Is sinking others in the world's esteem. &9C««« A! ijJiS^^^^ ^ „ « •- -.7 n i ^^ THE SPIDER. Yes, he who (no one knows with what regret) Sees many faults, as learnedly he thumbs The page he means to burthen with a debt Of lenity unbribed, though oft we let Such goodness go unnoticed when it comes ; Though e'en the oracle may have been led To say 'the thing if publish'd, might be read.' My list of many specimens affords Another sort of fly, that feeds on sores ; The noisy swaggerer, whose choice of words Is such as most consistently accords To screen his cripple thoughts, as out of doors Thus blanketed they rush, and thus defy The keenest powers in point of scrutiny. Deem not the viper impotent because 'Tis vile and despicable, viper stings Are sometimes mortal ; he who loves applause He knows not how to merit, often draws The secret knife, while envy lends him wings To aim a thrust at every slender claim Of those, who 'tempt to tread the paths of fame. 0l^»s s »^^^.< THE Sl'IDER. I And bow intolerable 'tis to bear The deafeninw j)rattle of a thing like this ! Who, taking under his especial care Your management of style, and every where Denouncing vaguely what he deems amiss, The vulgar thence to stagger with surprise At such astounding capabilities. Take not, as indiscriminately thrown, These gentle hints, which may be rather thrust Upon your notices, nor think me grown Litigious; no, I wish it to be known The competent and critically just I duly venerate, and merely blame The would-be critic of dishonest fame. 'Twas night, and cold, bleak January wind Was hoarsely howling, and the driving snow Mv paper casement putter'd, and my mind Was wra|)t in meditation of a kind Which made a melancholy change of woe; Yet still it was a change, and change to me Were well prel'err'd to dull monotony. i m 82 THE SPIDER. I;fc I thought upon myself, I thought isjwn Society in general, I thought I heard th' adjacent village clock strike one, And much was yet to do ere I had done ; A pass to which a weaver may be brought Full oft, alas ! when on his piece depends His Sunday's dinner; weavers have few friends I My fate was to continue through the night To plod at my vocation, or to feel The stated consequence ; which in despite My noblest efforts, nearly was the plight In which the morning found me, had my zeal But flagg'd the least, old Time had won the race. And puU'd a luckless length my Sunday face. But I'm before my tale ; the village clock As I have said, struck one, and all around Had sunk to rest, when I essay'd to knock The ashes from my pipe, the lessen'd stock Of my tobacco, too, did somewhat wound My peace, for yet 'twas very long till day. And little left to puff my cares away. Si^^iJ WliH c 86 THE SPIDER. §1 To speak professionally, all that's in it, Thou canst not meet nie, science, arts, and all, Whate'er might be the wager I should win it, That you make no such wool, and weave and spin it, As tents my curtain'd corners of the wall ; Not as an idle l)oaster to upbraid With clumsinesi, my brethren of the trade. It seems my mode of life disturbs thy feelings. That I regale myself at nature's call By clutching wanton grubs on dusty ceilings, Drunk with regardless gambols, windings^ reelings. On window frames or corners of the wail. Go, tell your worshipp'd warriors of renown, I but bereave of life'^to save my own. From this my plea, lest thou shouldst waive the hint, I would from wilful apathy recall Thy vaunted, vast perceptions ; but, by dint Of facts too palpable to look asquint. While branding thus^the monster of the wall. Whose frame must fail to furnish all excuse For thee to give, or him to bear abuse. «'^^« « — as THE SPIDER. To say thou canst not kill, were idle sham, Though breeding bi.|i?^^££5^ n ,T».f.3^^ i ^^ THE SPIDER. O'er all between the mammoth and the shrew Since man's assumption of decided reign. All the voracious birds that ever flew, With all the monstrous, midnight howling crew, Ne'er spread such devastation o'er the plain As man ! for better evidence retrace The deep-dyed annals of the human race. Talk not of blood — the lust of fame alone Hath crimson'd all the earth, and made the green Sward gory ! Wheresoever man was known Has war's pollution tainted ; far outgone Bv him the fabled furies long have been. Dream on the havoc glory's name involves, To banquet screaming cormocants and wolves. Talk not of blood — the murders of thy race Might lend at least some influence to check Thy ravings vile, while shame, that blushless face Had clothed in crimson, less to thy disgrace Than others thus brow-beating at the beck Of blind, besotted self-sufficiency, Which but befools thy wretched race and thee. * -®^^^®» (S>'3^5g^ <»*fi§^i© i. THE SPIDER. 3bMN»« 89 'Tis true we craftsmen of the silken thread That glitters in the sunbeam, may not know What intellect implies ; that which is said To make mankind, with high erected head, Assume the god or demon here belovr, As policy or pride may move the revel To play the part of deity or devil. Hut simply judging from the ways of all The biped family of word and wit, One might conceive the bargain of the fall Of Adam not a good one; though to call It bad, were less for me than those who s])lit Their hairs of diflfereuce, as best they can About the stumbling, stupid fall of man. Doth reason teach the human race to prize This life's enjoyment as the end of life. And manutncture thus, the destinies Of the contributors of wealth, 'mid cries Of want, to spend their hapless days in strife And cares unspeakable, while they who give Nor time nor toil, in wealth and splendour live? >»»§sxio ©i'S^^-J^ - 90 THE SPIDER. iS> t Endow'd with reason though thy race may be. What joys have thence resulted, on the whole What share of happiness to thine and thee Hath fortune dealt ? But couldst thou see The miseries of man from pole to pole. To what conclusions wouldst thou then be brought In reference to his vaunted powers of thouf^ht ? What boots to thee that measurement of mind, To which exclusively thy race may hold No very candid claim ; I feel inclined To doubt its vast importance, since we find Such wrongs prevail. In short, should I unfold My honest thoughts, I must in candour say Man's social movements little sense betrav. Say, canst thou tell me how it comes to pass That those who labour not, monopolize The world's abundance, while the stupid class (Of which thou makest a unit) starve en masse, That wealth-accumulating drones may rise From off their shoulders, spurning, when in power. The mammoth mass of baseness whence they tower? <3h:5^^&« — . ^m^ 3-^^^'« aP THE SPIDER. The earthquake and the tempest and the tide Alarm ahke the hohlest ; should they then Behold the hairsbreadth limits which divide Time and eternity — all, all their pride Yields to the terror of the moment, when That last dark leap admits no longer stay. Then what, than man more chills with dire dismay ? What more than man, hath reason to deplore Its utter helplessness, what more than he Needs faith and hope and fortitude, or more Requires the dream of that Elysian shore Where roam the shades of immortality ; Or would, with late repentance seek to waive All chance of jeoiiardy beyond the grave. What more than man, when once within the pale Of jXJril, shrinks, or willingly would fly The shaft of death, could such attempt avail ; When doubly dread, the lightning and the gale In bold sublimity the blackening sky Have clothed in clouds of thunder ! land alee — Himself a trembling atom, on the tumbling sea? •msx^ 1^^^^ 104 THE SPIDEE. M Nay, smile not that a spider thus declaims On poor humanity's behalf ; nor smile That such a picture of the ends and aims Of man the mighty, positively shames That little creature of cognomen vile. Whom it so well became thee to miscall The multifooted monster of the wall. These facts I merely mention with a view Less to enlighten thee, than to sustain This humble state and station as my due. And somewhat thence thy bosom to imbue With less of loathing to the spider train ; 'Gainst which once more I challenge thee to state A ground whereon to justify thy hate. Vain child of dust ! say what art thou in all Thy pomp, that I am not, beneath yon vast Immeasurable vault of heaven ? Thy fall Like mine approaches, when this parent ball Of earth shall call thee back again, to cast Thee forth in atoms, each a part to bear Alternate, through the ocean, earth, and air. N^^K^" X THE SPIDER. Poor, perishable thing, the shghtest shock Of matter makes thee humble ! then what power Of mind avails thee, more than serves to mock Thy frailty, should the slightest motion rock The solid earth thou treadest ! e'en the lower Of elemental wrath can blanch thy cheek With bodiugs which thy littleness bespeak. That thou couldst crush me, should thy whim incite To such an act of folly, were most true ; And thus comparatively show thy might. And interdict my every chance of flight From instant death : still, mortal, what art thou, More than the merest maggot that may be Toss'd on the billows of eternity ? A transient bubble on the surge of time ^Vrt thou ! nor less ephemeral and frail Than the minutest creature from the slime Of procreative matter, though to crime And care less be its access, to assail The rights of those around it ; yet its rank Shall cope with thine in time's eternal blank. (Br -Mild I - OH O^O 106 WATCHING AND SICKNESS. So spoke the spider, or splenetic muse, No matter which, the sentiments were these. And stand the case whichever way you choose I could not quarter decently refuse. Had I been bold enough the beast to seize ; When quick as lightning's gleam through vapour dense His heav'nward pointing knees convey'd him thence. WATCHING AND SICKNESS. BY M. ROSS. Oh ! we have watch'd night after night, And wish'd our little sufferer rest ; Who, starting now with dreaming fright, And then lay still with pain opprest. How often look'd into his eyes- Dim, sunken, heavy, mournful they — As if to read some hoped surprise, Some life-assuring, bright'ning ray. @^^^- ^f^ — aK WATCHING AND SICKNESS. Attending with a parent's care, Alone a parent can maintain. To all his wants that whisper'il were, And strove to soothe returning pain. Now grieving deep, deep from the heart. We could not suffer in his stead ; Awe-struck to feel that we might part. And he be number'd with the dead. Strange fears, forebodings dark as night, Within the night went thronging by. And nothing save the morning light Could check the tear or still the sigh. But ah ! no sunbeam could subdue The sorrow of the heart unseen. While our dear boy, we too well knew. Was suff'ring deep from morn to e'en. And yet a ray of hope would glide Down through the heart, by grief opprest, Stemming awhile the rapid tide Of sad despair within the breast. i ©,^^^*« ;| 108 THE CHASE. Then if a smile, however slight, Peep'd out through features sickly worn. We welcomed it with hearts as light As though they ne'er had cause to mourn. And oh ! as one poor spark may rise And gather strength till lost in flame, That single ray of hope we prize And treasure well, may grow the same. THE CHASE. BY NIMROD. Oh, hark in the forest the merry-toned horn. Calls loudly ye sons of the chase come away ! Whilst yet from yon hill the bright herald of morn. Sheds through the dark valley his first purple ray. Oh joy is abroad on the earth, in the skies The lark his glad matin sings loudly and high : The flow'rs ope their petals, the songsters rejoice, While incense regales the soft winds that pass by. i 0!^^f3*« — ' — — ■« ^^^f E* THE CHASE. 109 '.|'; 'S Autl lo, in yon shady secluded green nook, "Where towers up in grandeur yon woody-peak'd hill, A stag from his covert the dew-drops hath shook, And calmly he drinks in yon clear sparkling rill. And j)roud steeds are neighing around the old hall. The hunters are mounting to join in the chase ; And scenes of past pleasures which many recall, Awakens the smile on each health-beaming face. Hark, nearer they come ! see in trembling and fear The stag darkly hides till his eye meets the foe ; Then awav through the woods in terrific career He sweeps with his proud antler'd head hanging low. The silence is broken which dwelt in the vale, By the voice of the huntsman, the yell of the pack ; They're gone — but the sounds are still borne by the gale, From the mouth of the glen in the mountain's rough track ! There's joy in the chase, and the sun's golden ray Shall decline in its i)ride, and faintly shall burn. Ere scenes which they left at the dawning of day. Shall witness them wearily homewards return. -« tm^ & 110 UNREQUITED LOVE. UNREQUITED LOVE. BY JAMES TELFORD, My soul is sad and tempest toss'd, And like a bark is onward driven To dark oblivion's dreary coast. Its rudder, Hope, unsbipp'd and lost. And all its sails of promise riven. For oh, how painful is the sense Of love defeated, which intwining Around the heart still burns intense. Without a hope to recompense Its lone and secret hours of pining. i I ®i^^- I si!? «»i^^3^ JK THE THREE GRACES. X- THE THREE GRACES. -■1 Fragment. BY H. WILLIAMS. Erato, mistress of the Cyprian lyre, Auil muse of the enamour'd swain, attend ! And o'er my puerile attempts preside. While I presumptuous meditate to sing Of three fair sisters, fairest of their sex, With minds deep fraught with sensibility, Aud in demeanour aflfable and chaste ; Of modesty serene, without reserve. And in familiar converse — ah, forbear ! Xor inundate my theme with fond regret That e'er 1 heard their fascinating tongues, That e'er I listen'd as the song arose. Or fondly linger'd o'er the lessening cadence Emulating in luxuriant tones The pathos of adoring seraphim. * * « * These with exterior graces archly join'd Display a phalanx irresistible. -•*! THE THREE GRACES. ■P T* "F "P Ah, mourn the wretch who innocently strays Within the verdict of their fell enchantment ! I, alas ! from sad experience sing, And often to some solitude retire To teach the distant echoes to repeat my woes ; And oft in sadden'd epithets inveigh The trio tyrants of my love-lorn breast With icy bosoms cold and pitiless ! Nor sighs, nor tears, nor importunities. Nor all the lover's little arts avail To soothe the rage of their despotic sway. Ah, fatal moment, with emotion rapt, That urged my tongue to break the silent spell That held me once in sweetest thraldom. Ere interviews as often sought as gain'd Betray'd the import of my wondering eyes. That often gazed upon their peerless forms, And still unsated gaze ; Minion of time ! Why did I trespass on thy little circuit To be fetter'd thus in treble bondage ? And yet, methinks, had I not acted thus. What were I now ? the prey of meaner care, Immersed in artifice, engaged in plots, T' accomplish that which now I hapless mourn ; ^ And which (ah, inauspicious change !) now gain'd, s; & ^^^^ — — ^^mi diJS?3c-«- THE THREE GRACES. Unbars an entrance to profounder woe. But cease, fond reverie, for Stella comes ! And with her comes the presence of an angel, To assuage the dark contentions of my mind. She comes from sylvan haunts and purling rills, Iler bosom moisten'd with the early dew, And odour breathing from her rosy lips. Maid of the laughing eye and ebon locks. In curls luxuriant, down the damask cheek, That wildly revel in the fitful blast. Or playful wanton with the amorous breeze. * * * * Say, oh ye spirits of prophetic bards ! That hence have stolen from this fitful scene To worlds celestial, robed in awful state. Who o'er th' affairs of men in secrecy Hold special interest. * * * Farewell, ye maids, I will not see you long, This life is the j)rerogative of fate. And as she wills it we must needs obey ; But whcresoe'er I am in form My heart is still with you. I iii4 DESPAIR. DESPAIR. BY CHARLES DAVLIN. Dreams of pleasure, now no more O'er my moody musings breaking. Shall ye vagrant peace restore. Dreamy hope, and wretch-forsaking Peace, farewell ! on that lone shore Where the weary rest are taking. Let me, since life's joys are o'er. Sleep the sleep that knows no waking. Let me rest with, when removed. Those whom living, most I loved. Darkly frowns the prospect drear. Not one gleam of hope retaining ; Nothing my lone soul to cheer. Pity, deaf to my complaining. Deep, indelible despair, All my mind's resources draining ; Death, my only solace near. Points to peace eternal reigning — That last home of wrongs redress'd Where, alone, the wretched rest. i>^^s& ■«> *^^^^c^ DESPAIR. 115 1 Death, thou dark, dread hero, come ! Most to power and wealth appalling ; Give me that eternal home, Drive me hence those cares enthrallinir. Bid the wanderer cease to roam. Wayworn, woeworn, shrinking, falling. Shield him further trials from. Bid fate's thunders cease their rolling. Dread one ! I would brietly be Wafted o'er life's stormy sea. Friendship false, and friendship true. Sweets that soothe, and woes that wound us. All that shocks or glads the view And in mystic maze surround us. Could I live past life anew. Time should not be as he found us ; Hopes, and fears, and doubts, adieu ! Fate hath cut the chord that bound us. Hence, each life-attaching spell ! World of wailings, fare tliee well ! ♦;i* it SONG OF THE NATIONS. Sous of earth, would ye be wise ? Quell the fiendish spirit, war ! Be kinsmen fond, in sacred bond, And friendly converse, near and fai'. Be the flag of peace uufurl'd. Nor war's red carnage stain the fair and fertile world. Lo ! the mighty of the earth, Regardless {'mid fierce strife embroil'd) Of mothers' fears, and chiklren's tears, And homely comfort all despoil'd ! Peace, stretch thy wings from strand to strand, And bless with love and joy mankind of every land. Kings of earth, be nobly great ! Calm civil feuds by just control : Let wisdom's gain, with reason reign, And moral grandeur light the soul ! Let the flag of war be furl'd, And knowledge, virtue, plant their standard in the world. 1 120 -»^^l.t SISTER VOCALISTS. TO THREE SISTER VOCALISTS. BY WILLIAM REID. Ye sirens three ! whose vocal art Wins fatal influence o'er the heart. And ravishes the soul ; Or sweetly o'er the fever'd breast With grief and iron care oppress'd. Usurps supreme control. Pleased I have heard the woodlands ring. As the voluptuous voice of spring Proclaim'd the early year ; But when my stealthy charmers sing Elate on rapture's ardent wing I scan a higher sphere. When love and music sway the soul, What power can arrogate control. Or stem the erapassion'd tide ? And who could lend a callous ear While strains which heav'n entranced might hear. Nor sacred joys divide. ^N^ -> SISTER VOCALISTS. 121 But how shall I, in equal phrase. Reiterate the meed of praise Your several charms demand ? To whom must I bequeath the bays ? Or consecrate to whom these lays ? I hesitating stand. Not more perplex'd, on Ida's height, "When judgment of immortal weight Trembled on mortal tongue, While three celestial matrons strove For the prerogative of love, Till heaven's dread plaudits rung. If " Stella " with mellifluous voice. Anticipates superior choice, How shall the bard refuse ? Yet " Silvia " claims an equal prize ; And " Dajjhne," ah ! with love-Ut eyes. The homage of my muse. Ah ! " Daphne," mistress of my breast. Whose image seriously impress'd Dictates supremely there — So mild, so beauteous, and young. Nor sculptor traced nor poet sung A breathing form so fair. i^^^.f ^ . (Hl^ 122 SISTER VOCALISTS. Forgive, ye maids, the selfish aim That animates the poet's flame. To sing of " Daphne's " charms ; Not all the idle pomp of fame. Not all the grandeur of a name, Alluring as her arms. Oh ! could my burning numbers move ; Ah ! could they kindle mutual love Within her guileless breast ! E'en then, though rapture seized the lyre. Though smitten with immortal fire, My joy still unexpress'd. Antecedant I mark the hour That leads me to the woodland bower, And eke my " Daphne's " arms ; When evening's misty shadows low'r. When fancy 'neath the ruin'd tower Arrays her airy forms. I ^J4j^^-^3- KENILWORTH. 123 KENILWORTH. BY W. H. Proud Kenilworth, a ruin stands, That is of old renown : 'Mid smiling streams and pleasant lands, lie bows his glory down. My spirit dreams of other days, While yet I gaze on thee : Of mailed knights, and minstrel lays. And Queenly rcvelrie ! And then, methinks, how sad the things, Which such mutation know ! The pomps of nobles, and of kings Are but a passing show ! And where are they, who, in thy halls, Have suit and service known ? Who piled thy ivy-tangled walls, Unshaped, and overthrown ? *p»5*i*" N^^^ — ' — &*s=^|« k 124 TO E — I All silent now ! in mist and gloom. The shadows of the past ! Their mansion is the barren tomb, Their triumphs could not last ! Be mine a portion, better far Than aught of earth can be ; Whose glory is a falling star — Like, Kenilworth, to thee ! TO E- BY JAMES TELFORD. Of fabled flowers, which ever breathe Their incense round all things most fair. My hands shall garland thee a wreath. To deck the braids of thy dark hair, And wake my lyre ('tis Beauty's claim), And from my soul's depths frame a lay. To link to verse thy beauteous name. And give thy sweetness to the day. * '^i-v.T^; ***^^ TO E — 125 ml Roam where thou wilt, thy winning grace. Thy joyous voice, thy beauty's pow'r. Shall claim the smile from every face That bails thee Queen of Pleasure's hour. For where thou art no sadness dwells. E'en sorrow wipes her eyes, and smiles, Beneath the witchery of thy spells. Which from each heart all care beguiles. Erewhile when grief, with mantle dark, Made summer's brightest day all gloom, When ho])e was dead, and life's dim spark Cast its pale flicker on the tomb ; Should I thy praise, my song forego. Whose charms dispell'd the dark alloy ? And taught my heart's dull tide to flow To mirthful measures of pure joy ? Where pleasure held her joyous sway. And beauty ihrong'd her spacious hall. Thy smiles like roses mark'd our way. And made thee cherish'd — loved by all. How oft, when music o'er us stole, I've raptured borne thee through the dance. Until thy fond — thine inmost soul i Spake in thy bright eyes' burning glance. *; 126 TO E- -^^^i< In vouth, when fond affections leave The heart, as odours leave the flow'rs, 'Tis mine, with thy sweet smile, to weave The joys of all my happiest hours. But oh ! to sing my love, sweetheart ! My poor lyre lacks the pow'r divine. To paint of hliss the thousandth part My fond heart feels, possessing thine. The form of faultless mould, the mind Oft searches for, and learns despair ; But viewing thee, sweet love, would find All lost in others, centred there. And oh ! if loveliness, her thrall Like thee with pleasures ever wove. My heart, indeed, would pity all Who know not what is to love. ^L^«^- 1@ 0i^^^*«- A WORD TO THE FEW. 127 'M &9fiH A WORD TO THE FEW BV M. BOSS. The world is not wholly deserted By man who is friendly to man ; The few, we would say, are bad-hearted ; The many do good when they can. Deceit does not walk in our streets Where'er we encounter their throng, Though the ' evil eye ' doubts all it meets — We will think so, although we be wrong. If we prove, in our search for subsistence, To meanness we never can bend, We will find such a one in existence. Perhaps when least look'd for — a friend. Abuses lie mostly within, And these are worse, far worse to cure ; Be true to yourself, and you win — Be false, and to lose be as sure. A I I'i^^^ 5- M 128 A HEART SONG. ^i The spirit of freedom increases As man seeks his welfare in peace ; The moment that jealousy ceases. That moment will comfort increase. Then think not all mankind your foe, And if you be arm'd with the right, The wrong you may suffer, well know. Will sooner be brought to the light. A HEART SONG. BY JOHN BOLTON ROGERSON. When first I saw thee, young in years. Attired in maiden grace. Within my bosom hopes to fears Alternately gave place ; There was about thee such a train Of love's enchantments thrown, I deem'd the wish was wild and vain That thou wouldst be mine own. m I I * A HEART SONG. 129 M I gazed upon thy gentle eyes, With heauty bright and cleai-, And felt within my heart arise All thoughts that made thee dear : 'Twas not the charms alone that broke, Like morning, o'er thy youth — From out thy face the spirit spoke Of purity and truth. Time pass'd, and, as in some glad dream, I woo'd thee for my bride. And on thy cheek saw blushes beam. By love's sweet warmth supplied ; And in thy soul faith built its throne. And vows — not empty breath — Have made thee mine, and mine alone. Through changeful hfe to death. Night follows day, and day the night. And weeks and months arc gone. And years have o'er us wing'd their flight Since thou and I were one : Though time hath lightly dealt with thee, I woo'd not cheek and brow — Thou wert but woman once to me. Thou art an angel now ! I *«^*HJ m 130 TO THE MUSE. * TO THE MUSE. BY RICHARD WRIGHT PROCTER. I woo'd thee, bright nymph, in the minstrel's May, When my heart, hke the year, was young ; When hopes beat wild in the poet-child, That rarely found a tongue : Fond nature fired my spirit free. Whilst fancy fix'd my gaze on thee. And who shall paint the bliss that warms. Type of the sea, that mocks control, When first the rapt eye greets thy charms. Ethereal Hebe of the soul ! What fairy forms entranced me then — When will such day-dreams live again ? 'Twas then I view'd that minstrel band To whom perpetual youth is given ; Who toucli'd the grave with potent wand. Who bloom at once on earth — in heaven ! i m J- — -a^^^i^.® ^3eS^?j~£- TO THE Mt'SE. And as I bless'd each dear-loved name. Each gem within the crown of fame, In wordless prayer I press'd its shrine ; The mortal worshipp'd the divine. Till earth was into chaos thrown — My gods, my idols, lived alone ! How shall my heart's deep joy be told. When fancy wrote my name in gold. And placed it 'midst that glittering throng, A magnet to the world of song ? Sweet children of thy teeming smile, Fair visions of a day. Bright sunflowers on life's desert isle. How soon they pass'd away ; For truth has touch'd where fancy drew. And sear'd the bays my young heart knew. Yet, when I hear the poet's power ExtoU'd by wit in wisdom's hour — When beauty's lips pour forth his strain, And waken hope, or joy, or pain — When bright eyes gleam athwart each line. Till looks and words are both divine — And those high thoughts are all his own. Which love would claim, and love alone ; What wonder if I yearn for fame. And envy each undying name. ©.>j^#^^e- -^*^^.l© ®1^^€^- 3^^!,^ if 132 TO THE MUSE, M Though beaming forth from sainted ground, Creation-lost, but heaven-found ! Full oft old Time, with stately pride. Hath paced each mount and mead. With young Spring blushing by his side ; Since vainly, with my sylvan reed, I woo'd thee for my bride. Yet still thine image fills my soul. Still burns that flame with fierce control ; And should I breathe through years untold. Thy beauty never will grow old ; But purer pride and rapture bring To me, a minstrel, than a king ! Oh ! fleet, though fair, their fate must prove. Whose hopes, whose hearts, to flesh are given. Who build no ark of rest above ; Earth holds a grave for earthly love, But deathless is the love of heaven ; And, source of all things pure and free. The love of heaven is loving thee ! Great empress of the spirit-land. The sting of youth's best hour. The griefs that cursed me like a brand. Were seeds of thy mute power. -»^». it TO THE MUSE. 133 But high the rose o'crtops the thorn, The rainbow gilds the tempest-worn ; For hours of deep pure bosom-glee, A realm of beauty and of mind, A land where giftless eyes are blind. Thy bright brief smile bequeath'd to me. What blessings, nursed in Nature's lap. Burst forth from that sweet time ; What riches for the poor man's heart — Hail to the poet-clime ! Where'er thy angel-foot doth fall. One holy passion tinctures all ! I'll laud thy lyre, still drink thy words. Though stranger fingers wake the chords ; And aye shall breathe these lips of mine. The nymph that spurns me is divine ; And years confirm thy blcss'd control — Ethereal Hebe of my soul ! I Z 134 TO A DYING FLOWER. ^ TO A DYING FLOWER. BY WILLIAM REID. Poor little wan forsaken flower, Insidious steals the cruel hour That triumphs o'er thy doom. With chilly breast and drooping head Thou mourn'st thy dewy sisters dead. None left to cheer the gloom. Full on thy silly fragile form Grim winter pours the ruthless storm, With fell, vindictive joy. Nor heeds thee shrinking all aghast. Imploring pity of the blast, That maddens to destroy. Poor flow'ret, once thy robes were gay, And blushing in the ardent ray, Thy bosom bless'd the sun. While catering in roguish glee. Thy sweets allured the pilfering bee. To feast till day was done. I 9l)^^tiH>- I i TO A DYING FLOWER. Alas ! no longer glows that sky When glist'ning dew illumed thine eye, Soft peering through the dawn, To meet Aurora's kindling smile. As lusty Phoebus rose the while, Embracing hill and lawn. The whirlwind raves where zephyrs sigh'd, Fell havoc sweeps the garden's pride. And lays thy honours low. No sheltering thorn thy frailty shields ; Forlorn, thy broken spirit yields To dark, desponding woe. So smiles the world while fortune's sun All glorious, gilds the horizon That circles mortal view ; But when its beams descend in gloom, Man, darkling sinks into the tomb. With sad, with fiiint adieu. But, timid trembler, though thy fate Unkindly leaves thee desolate Where all is bleak and bare. Yet think not thou art all forgot ; Transplanted to some genial spot Thy stem shall flourish there. ♦WST***" 136 APRIL. And when the genius of the year Through bright'ning azure shall appear Array'd in dewy green ; While vocal woods her presence hail Thy fragrant sweets shall load the gale. Thy beauty charm the scene. APRIL. BY GEORGE RICHARDSON. " The drought, which commenced on the 19th February, was terminated about one o'clock on Wednesday last, ^the 28th April, a period of seventy days, or ten weeks."— Manchester Guardian, May 1, 1852. Eternal as the heavens, God's mercy deigns To tend his creatures with omniscient hand. For lo ! upon the arid, drooping land, Descend like blessed dews the fertile rains ! The earth, refresh'd, unfolds a brighter face ; Plant, shrub, and flower, and incense-breathing trees, Open their varied beauties to the breeze. And wave their tresses in luxuriant grace. -<^^^1^ THE MILKMAID. 137 i Sweet jovous pseans from the woods career Like distant melody of silver bells — Or tinkling waters beard from way-side wells. And Spring's loved verdure in tbe glades appear ! Tbe sun sboots down his warm, effulgent beams, And now the peasant's eye vnih hope's bright aspect gleams. I I THE MILKMAID. BY JAMES TELFORD. In yonder cot, whose ivied beauty, Of sweet contentment tells the tale, There dwells a child of love and duty. The prettiest milkmaid in the vale ; An angel charm that fondly clingeth Round her parents' aged hearts, Who ever to their fireside bringeth Smiles, before which care departs. w e wq!" ^If 1 S 138 THE MILKMAID. % Her eyes are blue, all hearts subduing, Her voice like pleasing music falls. Her lovely face, one moment's vievping The eye and heart with love enthralls ; By all beloved — with all agreeing, With heart as tender as a dove : In form and feature, form'd a being For manhood's noblest heart to love. Forth she goes at early dawning O'er the dew bespangled lea. Like a sunbeam of the morning So light and airy moveth she. On her path sweet flow'rs are springing, Which kiss with balmy lips the breeze ; And from the woodlands loudly ringing Come day-awak'ning melodies. And where the landscape's richly glowing Beneath the rising sun's first smile. And where the dappled kine are lowing On she goes and sings the while ; They hear her voice, and come to meet her. Whilst she with smiles comes blithely on, O gentle scene ! a milkmaid sweeter Tlie morning sun ne'er shone upon ! ^-^ —a ^^^^ I II THE MILKMAID. 139 Of tend'rest thought and purest feeling. Fair nature's child, thou know'st no art — Each word and look to all revealing The language of thy simple heart ; Within whose depths, where peace reposes, May care a dwelling never seek, Nor blight destroy the sweet twin roses Which blooming smile on either cheek. And thy fond swain, whose kind advances Have won the first love of thy youth, Who shares thy blue eyes' sweetest glances. Thy thoughts, and all thy bosom's truth. Be his the task — the warm endeavour To chase all sadness from tliose eyes. And time will teach him more than ever. Thy sweetness and thy love to prize. »^gg»?s* **f«^JC|« ©1^ ill 140 SPOTS IN THE SUN. SPOTS IN THE SUN. ANONYMOUS. ' Spots in the sun ' was late the cr}' : The spots were sought by every eye. " Oh, have you seen spots in the sun ? " Enquired our neighbours every one. " Spots in the sun ! you are mistook." " Oh no, clear sir, I've had a look Through glass all smear'd with soot and smoke I never saw the sun before ; So thought I'd look, e'en to make sure. Strange it may seem ; yet I aver, 'Tis spotted as a leopard, sir ! The spots some people do insist Are each no bigger than one's fist ; Whilst others say they're fields of dross, Full many a thousand leagues across ! " " Dross ! " others cry, with fear and doubt — " Why then the sun is burning out ! " " What ! going out ? how stupid ! no : Without its light what should we do ? Learn'd men assert when light there fails 'Tis fed with comet's wings and tails : g £@£c - -!H' «.is SPOTS IN THE SUN. 141 When they approach too near the sun The natives catch them one by one, And sell them all to Phaeton — Yes, comet-merchants sell their spoil Just as our whalers sell their oil ! " " Lord, is that true ? " cries one in turn, " When comets fail, what will they burn ? The sun will out, just like a spark. And leave the world completely dark ! " Spots in the sun are mischief brewing, That must involve us all in ruin. Greater than that which every one Expects when all our coal is done ! ' Spots in the sun ! ' oh, does not this Show what poor human weakness is ? Eyes which, naked, never one Can look upon the glorious sun, Through cloudy medium will pry At him, in bright meridian sky. To tind a blemish on that crest. Whereon their envious gaze to rest ; And thence, with fear, prognosticate The evils that mankind await. Oh, mortal frail ! does not this earth Give to great evils daily birth. But thou e'en to the heavens wouldst soar ^ With impious gaze, to seek for more ? ^If^mt* — — >^«%#?*'i« ^J^^^ — 1 142 ONCE MORE TO LIFE RESTORED. i MORAL. Whene'er I see ao envious man The glorious works of genius span, And blindly pass their merits by. To dwell on faults, with evil eye, I wish that they could better see : ' Spots in the sun ' recur to me ! When one I see, of feeble mind, To all his earthly blessings blind. Pervert them all to present curse. And dread the future may be worse. He passes the untasted good On never-coming ills to brood ; To him I say, " how dark and drear The spots upon the sun appear ! " ONCE MORE TO LIFE RESTORED. BY W. REID. Once more to life restored, Hope leads the glowing day. While through the ills that lower'd Joy darts her streaming ray. I fliitnfWir f ONCE MORE TO LIFE RESTORED. 143 S When love and fortune smile. Who would not bless their bctiuis ? E'en though they oft beguile, And leave heart-broken themes. E'en so my youthful morn, And so my prospects were ; Till dark'niug clouds were borne O'er all that seem'd so fair. Now all is bright again, The sun laughs on the hill. Though tempests shook the plain, The scene is fairer still. So when some traveller hies Through dcep'ning solitudes, While Phoebus limns the skies, And echo wakes the woods. Is not his soul elate ? And warm his pulse's play, As nature's charms dilate On the illumined way ? But if the brooding storm Should spread its omen'd wings, And savage blasts deform His fond imaginings. .4 I -•«e^f|* 144 THE LAST SPREE. Then who so sad in soul ? Yet when its fury's o'er His eyes enraptured roll On charms unseen before. THE LAST SPREE. BY CHARLES DAVLIN. What tumult startles, on the breeze of morning, The sleeping occupants of peaceful homes ? What mental murderers thus scoflf the warning To shun the pest-house whence their madness comes. Whose song obscene, whose roar of maniac laughter. Proclaim where reason's lamp no more illumes. But bold and brutalized, whom sickness after. Provokes to belch their curses with their fumes ! The distance-mellow'd sounds, now much subsided. Are all, anon, surmounted by the roar And rising wrath of elements, divided By fitful squalls, which through the welkin tore. In wildness waxing still, the concave deepens Its pitchy hue, the spirits of that gale Now howling, hurl their hyperborean weapons i Of blinding sleet, and keenly cutting hail. 4. =%?«-t- THK LAST SI'RKE. 145 I Ben Brown had seen his boon-mates, all good fellows. In wild dispersion reel their several wajs, Drujrg'd with that draught which maddens while it mellows ; Cuts short, and clouds alike, the drunkard's days. Ben's homeward course was crooked, long, and lonely, On such a night, with perils in the path All black and blanching to the soul, when only By sunlight seen, devoid night's tempest wrath. Yet boldiv on, with all the drunkard's darins. He blindly strode, where erst by night and *§^^!^ e'^^e*- -»^^sCiO THE GRIEF OF ABSENCE. 147 1 la this dark inwoven bower, Where the sunbeams scarce can creep, Why resorts thou at this hour 'Mid its sadness wild to weep ? Doth thy bosom's heaving motion Anguish of the heart portend, Moumest thou with love's devotion Absence of some loving friend ? Fair repiner ! dry thy tears, Let those bitter flowings cease ; Banish all those cruel fears Which would rob thee of thy peace ; Oh ! sweetly trust his plighted vow, For if his heart is human mould. He never can forget that thou Art fairest to behold. If beneath thy melting glance lie has bask'd, he must adore ; And this absence will enhance Tliine endearments still the more. Oh ! sweetly trust his plighted vow. For if his heart is human mould. He never can forget that thou Art fairest to behold ! i ecs^Wft*- ®l^^^— 1 'M 148 TO A FLY LOITERING NEAR A SPIDER S WEB. m i TO A FLY LOITERING NEAR A SPIDER'S WEB. BY WILLIAM REID. Hasten, hasten, little fly, Pass yon artful tissue by ; Touch it not, it is a snare — Rise upon thy native air ; Give not hesitation breath — Shun the netted web of death. See beneath the ambuscade Schemes of murder darkly laid ; There the cunning spider lies. Gloomy foe of thoughtless flies ! Cruel with suspense it waits, Fix'd as chance preponderates, Watching thy advent'rous limbs, As the sunny wall thou climbs, Wandering with exploring eye, Seeking sweets that hidden lie. Little know'st thou, witless thing. What a heedless step may bring. -=H=^^I« ^^^=>-^ — .• H^m^^ M TO A FLY LOITEKING NEAR A SPIDEr's WEB. 149 11 Pleasure thus arrays her charms, Rapture kindling in her arms. Rosy nectar's subtle tiile — Rich in golden channels, glide ! Laughing flowers, enwreath the cup ! Giddy mortal drain it up ! Now dissolves the potent spell Changing into loathsome hell ; Fell remorse and racking pain Gnaw the vitals, fire the brain, Dark'ning hope and with'ring thought — Poison rankling in the draught — Gather on the thicken'd breath Emptied in despair and death. Such is folly's destiny ! As with man, it is with thee. If, alas ! thou luckless stray. Reckless of the fatal way. Then, poor fly, thou liv'st to know Indiscretion ends in woe. X i-^^^'-- i 150 MOUNTAIN MARY. MOUNTAIN MARY, BY CHAELES DAVLIN. i 'Neath yonder yew, that mourns like Isis, Where, wet with dew, the green turf rises. Morn with her tears each grass blade cumbers. Meets pity where that maiden slumbers. Fair was that form so briefly wasted ; Bleak was the storm that beauty blasted ; Grief blighted pleasures sublunary, Guile pierced the heart of Mountain Mary. Too truly was her soul united, Falsehood, alas ! that truth requited ; Long, long she pined her bonds to sever. Peace to her mind found access never. Time saw that child of love unchanging, Witless, yon wild, bleak mountain ranging, la squalid rags, cold, solitary. Sleepless and sad, roam'd Mountain Mary. I I. MOUNTAIN MARY. 151 ^ S Late, where yon rocks o'erhang the billow, Waved her bright locks in riuglets yellow ; Reckless, that steep, where death did hover. To the hoarse deep she wail'd her lover. Last from yon glade night's stillness reigning, Watch'd the lone maid, the wan moon waning ; There once again, loru, lone, and weary. Love's latest strain sang Mountain Mary. There closed the song of fate's foredooming. Reason, her long lost rule resuming. Told her, her lone friend, death, was near her. As sad she turn'd to moments dearer, ' Sleep, sleep,' she cried, ' nor mem'ry wake, oh ! ' ' Sleep, sleep ! ' replied the lingering echo. The moon grew dim, the woodland fairy Dirged the last hymn to Mountain Mary. Call'd hence to where all grief reposes, Death chill'd the tear on love's pale roses, Nor ere she laid her down for ever. Did she upbraid her dear deceiver ; But to redeem her perjured lover, Sigh'd, and her dream of life was over. While seraphs to Heaven's sanctuary % Bore the last sigh from Mountain Mary. X It s -**^^;l^ i 152 t LOVE. LOVE. BY JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE. Love is an odour from the heavenly bowers, Which stirs our senses tenderly, and brings Dreams which are shadows of diviner things Beyond this grosser atmosphere of ours. An oasis of verdure and of flowers. Love smileth on the pilgrim's weary way ; There fresher airs, there sweeter waters play. There purer solace speeds the quiet hours. This glorious passion, unalloyed, endowers With moral beauty all who feel its fire ; Maid, wife, and offspring, brother, mother, sire, Are names and symbols of its hallow'd powers. Love is immortal : — from our hold may fly Earth's other joys, but Love can never die ! THE KATE OF LOVE. 153 I THE FATE OF LOVE. BY JAMES TELFORU. When Luna fair from heav'n sends down her glances, And all by her soft silvery beams are lit. Beneath yon beech-tree's widely spreading branches — Two spirit-forms like beauteous lovers sit ; Whilst hovering round them oft are seen to flit Attendant fairies through their aerial dances : And grey tradition tells, before they parted, Two such ones carved on this same tree their names, (The rustics still can trace the worn remains,) And wept their last adieu n ith grief nigh broken- hearted. The youth to Minden's gory plains went fighting. And mouths and years roUM un, and still no tide Brought news to cheer his young affianced bride. Whose heart and cheek grief's canker worm was blighting. «j»i€*<- «^«*igiflO 154 TO FANNY. Foretold by visions of her lover's death she hied From earthly friends, and as in heav'n she lighted, His quick'ning spirit — he whom earth to her denied, Join'd her's 'midst joy which all past grief requited ; And now they in their love at last united Dwell, aye in peace, in fields Elysian fair and wide. TO FANNY, BY WILLIAM REID. My Fanny's faultless, fair, and young. Pure as the tear in pity's eye ; And oh ! the music of her tongue Could soothe the soul of agony. Her smile is like the beam of morn, That kissing wakes the dewy flowers : Her fairy figure might adorn The fairest of Elysian bowers. And oh ! the glances of her eye. Where rapture beams expressive love. Illumes my soul with sudden joy Scarce known to brightest forms above. &i^^^- •^^^'^Vi^ EPITAPH ON AN INFANT, 155 Her heart is open as the day. And cheers with warmth her lover's toil ; Yon sun that burns with fervent ray Ne'er woke the east with softer smile. And what though life with adverse fate May swell in dark and sad portent ! While bless'd with her I'm passing great ; While bless'd with her I am content. And still should fate provoke the strife, Nor cease till with the closiug breath. E'en then we'll burn with love and life. Though slumb'ring in the vaults of death. EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. BY W. H. He, who little children blest. Took thee in his arms to rest : Infant, as a starry ray. Seen a moment, pass'd away ! 0«;^i>»H- r^^^^'* -s^^^i'is I 156 THE WANDERER S GRAVE. THE WANDERER'S GRAVE. Written on reading an Indian Tale. BY ALEXIS. Hark, o'er the dark blue main Where the lingering tropic sun doth smile, How sweet the plaintive strain, That comes from off yon verdant isle. Where yonder plantains wave, Lo, many a uark-hair'd Indian maid Mourns by the lowly grave, Where the stranger youth is laid. His fair locks no more Shall float on the soft and perfumed breeze ; Nor his proud eye glance o'er His fondly loved, deep swelling seas. Light from those eyes hath gone, And life from his heart hath fled ; With many a wail and moan They've cover'd with earth his sunny head. -iH4 « 'S THE wanderer's GRAVE. 157 « T To the poor Indian maid He was kind, and loved by the chief; Hark, by the plantain shade, How sweetly sonnds their artless grief. Sad, sad, on a foreign strand They have closed his vacant eye. Far from the northern land Where the bones of his kindred lie. Far from his blue-eyed maid He has laid his weary head, And her heart's bright hopes now fade For her faithful love is dead. Sad, sad is her early fate. And her bosom heaves with pain ; Who can her pangs relate. As she fondly waits and weeps in vain. When eve her shades shall fling, They'll come to cheer his lonely rest ; And tell, as soft they sing. How grief bides in an Indian breast. Their hands shall build a bow'r. That when his spirit fair shall roam I In the tranquil moonlit hour, i 'Twill learn to bless its island home. -^►■s^^l? 158 LOOK UP. LOOK UP! BY JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE. " Look up ! " cried the seaman, with nerves like steel. As skyward his glance he cast. And beheld his own son grow giddy, and reel On the point of the tapering mast ; " Look up ! " and the bold boy lifted his face. And banish'd his brief alarms. Slid down at once from his perilous place. And leapt in his father's arms. " Look up ! " we cry to the sorely oppress'd, Who seem from all comfort shut. They had better look up to the mountain crest Than down to the precipice foot ; The one offers heights they may hope to gain. Pure ether, and freedom, and room ; The other bewilders the aching brain With roughness, and danger, and gloom. j S552* — *^f^?i LOOK UP. 159 " Look up ! " meek souls by affliction bent, Nor dally with dull despair, Look up, and in faith, to the firmament. For Heaven and Mercy are there. The frail flower droops in the stormy shower, And the shadows of needful night. But it looks to the sun in the after hour. And takes full measure of light. " Look up ! " sad man, by adverses brought From high unto low estate. Flay not with the bane of corrosive thought. Nor murmur at chance and fate ; Renew thy hopes, look the world in the face. For it helps not those who repine — Press on, and its voice will amend thy pace, Succeed, and its homage is thine. " Look up ! " great crowd, who are foremost set. In the changeful " Battle of Life," Some days of calm may reward ye yet For years of allotted strife ; Look up, and beyond, there's a guerdon there For the humble and pure of heart, Fruition of joys unalioy'd by care, Of peace that can never depart. ^«^k:^^( x3Cti3lc e- TO MR. H D — . 163 The woodland choir, with joyous song Now soothes the grateful ear ; The cuckoo marks returning Spring, And hails the glowing year. The wakeful echoes cone the notes Far in the sylvan gloom ; While nature, with exulting step. Leaps out in vernal bloom. But what are all the joys of Spring, And all its melody. Or what the soften'd breeze to him Whose soul is lost in ihee ! TO MR. H D- Professor of Calligraphy in the University of Fame, requesting him to transcribe and illuminate two productions of the author's. BY A BARD OF PROMISE. 1 SEND thee, Harry, by design, A bagatt'Ue or two ; Meant more to stimulate thy line, Than aught esteeming you. I 164 TO MR, H- D- This compliment I must confess Displays no polish'd sense, But say, who e'er expected less From damned impudence? As blunt as Boreas in his cave I spread my meaning wide ; As barefaced as the gallows knave Who steps by virtue's side. Enclosed are two creations fair, The fretwork of the brain, Form'd in lone hour by studious care From fancy's airy train. The gay and lusty seasons these — That follow youthful Spring ! They fain would prove thy art to please In graceful finishing. And when the dainty curve and line. And angular ascent. The varied characters define. In beauteous union blent. Then smiling in their native bloom. Each with a gilded name Shall languish in a sunny room, Environ'd in a frame. -(»^^^1© -JJ- TO MR. H — D — . 165 Another season yet remains To test thy wondrous skill. Which, slumb'ring in the poet's brains, Awaits his potent will. Ah ! let not this discourage thee, Nor daunt thy noble mind, Great master of calligraphy ! Though winter frowns behind. So when thy brilliant touch has lit The universal /owr, A hymn to Genius, Art, and Wit, The bard shall duly pour. And while the varied year revolves And brings the seasons due ; The eulogistic verse absolves The debt he owes to you. But look not for thy arduous pains Remunerative ore. For scanty are the minstrel's gains From fancy's idle lore. That they are ragged and obscure, I'm not ashamed to tell ; All know that poets are as poor As charity in hell. I|j?3*»« — — — '^■^g?*;:0 -e^^^Y 166 TO MR. H — D — . I know thy soul indignant spurns The mercenary bribe ; The mind where nobler passion burns. Reveals the God-like scribe. Long may thy lofty aims be erown'd With eminent success : Life's ample volume richly bound In splendid happiness. And when the hoary lapse of time Has dimm'd thy lustrous eye, And sounds from some mysterious clime Proclaim that thou must die ; O, may thy viewless spirit rest On Glory's brightest beams ! Tower'd high amid the upper blest, Engross'd in heavenly themes. Whate'er thy destiny or doom Thy splendid parts shall shine. Or plunged in deep sulphuric gloom. Or raised to bliss divine. God bless the poet and his page. And guide bis loose effusions ; And may no hypercritic rage O'er his obscure allusions. m ]]■ LINES TO THE OLD YEAR. 167 J LINES TO THE OLD YEAR. BY M. ROSS. I CANNOT regret thou art gone, Old Year ! For thou brought'st me naught but sorrow ; I ask'd for a smile, and thou gav'st me a tear. And happier ara I that thy close is near — I shall hail a New Y'ear to-morrow ! Thy entrance I hail'd with heart-felt delight ; In happiness anthem'd thy birth — But in return, all my hope thou didst blight, And the restless day and the sleepless night Saw sadness succeeding my mirth. Let others profusely laud thy career, And sing of thy end with regret ; Joy filleth my heart as I sit by thy bier, And I welcome, thrice welcome, another New Y'^ear, When I hope to be happy yet. i 168 BEWITCHING CREATURE. I shall whisper thy dirge to the cold, biting air. And shall strike thy funeral knell ; But no sorrowful hymn nor no fawning pray'r Shall my heart and lips with others share — But a simple Fare-thee-well. BEWITCHING CREATURE. BY WILLIAM REID. Bewitching creature ! scorn me not. For I do love thee dearly ; And fain would link thee to my lot. And doat on thee sincerely. For thy whole soul is form'd for love. And I was born to love thee ; And as the heavens glow above I rest not till I have thee. Chide not, my dove, that I am bold. For thou hast taught this boldness ; And now my passion must be told And burn before thy coldness. I BEWITCHING CREATURE. 169 %• t Turn not away those fuU-orb'd eyes With hquid softness beaming, Nor leave me, light of paradise ! In adoration dreaming. *o* Let me still look into that face, The sweetest and the fairest ! Still let my wilder'd senses trace A feast of charms the rarest ! Oh ! this full heart would cease to beat. This bosom cease its heaving — If thou shouldst join in the defeat Of my fond hope's conceiving. As heaven's glory to the soul, And as the sun to nature. So is thy magical control O'er me, ethereal creature ! 0B*3W*^' I 170 NEVER DESPAIR. -»^^m^ NEVER DESPAIR! BY THOMAS FORSTER KER. Never despair ! though dark shadows surround thee, Let not thine heart be oppress'd with the gloom ; Remember, though /ai^wre to-day may have found thee, To-morrow, success may thy pathway illume ! Never despair ! though long suflPering and weary ; Look forward with faith to the future's bright morn ; And despite thy dark prospects, all lonesome and dreary, Fortune, at last, may thine efforts adorn ! Never despair ! though the task long begun Seems more than thy heart's strength can carry thee through ; Perseverance may tell thee, long ere thou hast done, That thy strength is full strong if thou'rt willing to do ! Never despair ! like the coward and craven, Who carp o'er the ills which they else might evade ; Nor rest till thou reacheth the goal and the haven, And snatch the bright honours which hope long display'd ! if TO MATILDA. Never despair ! though dark shadows surround thee. Let not thine heart be oppress'd with the gloom ; Remember, though /a j/wre to-day may have found thee, To-morrow, success may thy pathway illume ! I TO MATILDA Bl' A. HENDERSON. Matilda ! sweet recluse, \Miy art thou all alone ? Does thy fond nature muse On pleasures scarcely known Ere they're flown ? So runs the storied page Of this eventful life, From youth to hoary age One long embattled strife. Fitful, rife- But why should one so fair So guileless and so young. Be press'd so sad with care, Or grief untune that tongue Sweetly hung. Oi ' t W J gtB __(H*^^^ 172 TO MATILDA. Rude is the touch that mars Thy bosom's harmony. And harsh the note that jars Where heaven's own melody Tunes its key. For whom those mystic sighs ? From what devoted source ? What visions fill thine eyes ? Say what attracts their course. Passion's force ? Is it a tribute paid To friendship early lost ? See'st thou thy mother's shade In th' empyrean host ? Happy ghost ! Ah ! no, the blush reveals The fond resistless cause. The glance that melting steals Where nature's mighty laws Captive draws. 'Tis love that heaves thy breast And kindles in thine eye : Then say for whom confess'd — A whisper casts the die. No reply? -G^^^^IO TO MATILDA. 173 I Then let my soul divine What silence may express, The gods proclaim thee mine ! So says the pythoness In distress. My lovely seraph, speak In native eloquence, While roses flush thy cheek, Steal on ray ravish'd sense — Rapt, intense. Sweet is the artless tale. And sweet the modest blush ; Where innocence prevails Affection's tide will gush. Love will rush. This heart has long been thine Sweet geni of my dreams, Where glowing all divine Thy presence comes as beams To lone streams. And I will love thee yet. And claim thee all my own ; For I can ne'er forget The witchery thou hast thrown O'er days gone ! «n«W*« — »4»$gX« -3>^^^I5 lis r 174 MY CHARMING MAY. MY CHARMING MAY. BY W. KERSHAW. My cliarming May, I love thee yet. And sweet is love's revealing ! And ever since the hour we met Thy spells are o'er me stealing. Could sentiment pourtray thy face, 'Twould be a bed of roses ; The heav'n of beauty, love, and grace. Where innocence reposes. What fairy tints spread o'er thy cheeks In fatal archness smiling ; Dame Nature, in her antic freaks. Has form'd thee all-beguiling. But let me hence, ere thy blue eyes Contemplate my undoing. Though beaming in affection's guise They swim with secret ruin. ^^^^^- — <^^^> 1<& MY CHARMING MAY. Yet, tempted by thy dewy lips — A luscious, balmy treasure ! How happy he who freely sips Their honied sweets at pleasure ! How spotless is thy lily neck, How heav'nly pure thy bosom ! Eiulow'd with all the sweets that deck The fairest opening blossom. And such are thy immortal charms, Omnipotent resistless : He who ne'er felt their wild alarms, Is doubly dull and listless. Thy very name my bosom warms, I know no other pleasure ; Come, fill the circuit of these arms No other form shall measure ! 176 LINES WRITTEN IN A FLOWER GARDEN. LINES WRITTEN IN A FLOWER GARDEN. BY W. REID. If pleasure leads thy footsteps here — Exulting in the vernal year, Approach ! and view these simple flow'rs Nursed in the glow of genial hours ; O'er these let fancy's flights aspire And at a distance due admire ; But let not ruthless touch despoil The beauteous ofi'spring of the soil. Their tender stems were rear'd with care, To please the eye and scent the air ; That he of sympathetic soul Might trace this being in the whole. And prove such sentiment refined The noblest tribute of the mind ; While they who joy in wanton waste Are void of feeling, void of taste. ©1?^^- -H^^ «J^*SH- •■•^^"S=? I BIDE ON. 177 i BIDE ON. BY EDWIN WAUGH. When the heart 'neath its troubles sinks down, And the joys that misled it are gone ; When the hopes that inspired it are flown, And it gropes through thick darkness alone ; Be faith, then, thy cheer ; Scorn the whisper of fear ; Look trustfully up, and bide on. When fancy's wild meteor-ray Allures thee from duty to roam, Beware its bewildering way, Abide with the soul in its home ; And hearken its voice : Let the stream of thy joys From the fountain of purity come. When by failures and follies bonie down. The future looks hopelessly drear. And each day, as it flies, with a frown Tells how helpless — how abject we are ; Let nothing dismay Thy brave effort to-day ; Be patient, and still persevere. >1^^^ — — s^^i^' I 178 GIVE ME A COT. Be steady in joy and in sorrow ; Be truthful in great and in small ; Fear nothing but sin, and each morrow Heaven's blessings upon thee shall fall ; In worst tribulation Shun low consolation, And trust in the God that sees all. GIVE ME A COT. BY T. NICHOLSON. Give me a cot by the greenwood side, When summer days are fine. And the landscape spreads both far and wide. In nature's rich design. How sweet to stray my garden through, Amongst the opening buds ! And sweeter still to listen to The music of the woods. Give me a cot by the bleak wood side. When winter days are cold, And snow enwraps the country wide, And trees look hoar and old. M INDIVIDUAL GOOD. At night we'd sit by the cheerful fire — My own good wife and I ; And when to rest we should retire The winds go whistling by. I would not envy the prince or peer, The baron or the squire, Might I reside by the greenwood side — 'Tis all my heart's desire : Give me but that, with those whom fate Doth to my lot entwine, I there in peace would death await. Then calmly all resign. INDIVIDUAL GOOD FREQUENTLY GENERAL EVIL. BV M. ROSS. Who is he that is unwilling To do all the good he can ? All his duty unfulfilling ? Let him name himself untrembling, Be sincere and no dissembling — My life on't, there is no such man. ■^m^\Q -e>«^^l© 180 INDIVIDUAL GOOD. The Despot to his own inclining Reckons, with his thirst for pow'r, That 'tis good in thousands pining ; In close dungeons life protracting, Terribly his laws enacting — " Good ? mark the issue, not the hour ! " Underneath the garb of meekness The Bigot's soul is fired with zeal ; Where that we expected weakness. Comes out like red lava rushing, Liberty and Reason crushing ; " And 'tis good for souls to feel ! " The very thief has no compunction, For he says man made him so ; And he's forced to use that function Which protrudes beyond all others — But he wars not with his brothers — The laws, he'll tell j'ou, are his foe ! Each does his good as best he pleases. Striving for a better end ; Applying cures for all diseases : Fighting, feasting, cursing, praying, Are employed in evils staying — Mending what may never mend. \h «^s^s^- LIBERTY. 181 LIBERTY. A Dream. BY W. REID. When Phoebus o'er the gaudy West Had spread his setting beams ; And OQ the mountain's kindling breast Stream'd faint, in fitful gleams ; I mark'd the pensive close of day And Autumn's solemn evening grey Slow deep'ning in the vale ; As sad I quit the miry toil. Where I must ever mope and moil. While want and cares assail. Across the dun moor's barren waste I sought my lowly shed ; And as my stifFen'd limbs retraced The track that homeward led, My soul in scorn of fortune's spite. Indignant, sought congenial night To muse upon my lot ; How I am doora'd to waste my life In poverty's inglorious strife. Beneath the clay-built cot. -s>^ 182 LIBERTY. I I gain'd my tempest-riven door That led to mud walls bare. And threw me on the earthy floor Dark brooding in despair : I look'd into my wife's sweet face, And oh ! its melancholy grace Beam'd only for the bless'd ! But yet, the dark upheaving tide Of baffled hope and wounded pride. Was surging in my breast. I glanced the future, and the past ; Deep pond'ring o'er my fate : Still, I must brave misfortune's blast. Still bow before the great, And trembling bear oppression's stroke. And slavery's ignoble yoke, Nor dare a murmur make : Thus wretched, I lay down to sleep. And wish'd it might be sound and deep So 1 might never wake. Oh sleep ! a blessed balm art thou To minds harrass'd and torn ! When troubles cloud the poor man's brow Dark bov'ring o'er his morn ; ->^^^^^ «i^^S^*«- LIBERTY. How sweet to breathe a short respite ! To pass the horrors of his niglit In unalloy'd repose, Then wake refresh'd to guide his eyes O'er dewy fields and kindling skies As dappled morn arose ! With fitful start, and labour'd sigh, I sunk in fever'd rest ; Till reason still'd the stern reply Faint echoed in the breast : When fancy o'er my senses stole. And soaring, led my trembling soul Through wilds and worlds imknown : Here, nature's awful wreck was pass'd, There, flaming spheroids were cast, And fix'd, terrific shone ! Toss'd in the wilderness of space Among the booming spheres ; Where fiery comets urged the race Of million, million years ! My spirit bow'd before a god Who woke the thunder with his nod And rent a globe in twain ! Array'd in glory's sapphire blaze, That shot insufferable rays X Around his glowing train. * t 184 LIBERTY. With awe, adown the azure steep My burning soul recoil'd, And plunged into the ether deep Where beamy vessels toil'd, And seraphs laved their snowy limbs ; Then chaimting soul-rejoicing hymns, They wing'd the bright ascent ! While gusts of odour curl'd the waves That murmuring in their starry caves, Responsive music lent. Emerging from the glowing flood, I spread my wondrous wings ; When straight, I felt my stealthy blood Gush through its wonted springs ! And feeling like a weight of lead, Through cloven air I swiftly sped Back to the earth again ; And lighting on a mountain's brow With hurried pace I swept below — To reach the haunts of men. Along a dark and savage stream I took the devious way ; To rave o'er love's inspiring theme Or pour the patriot lay : g^^» — H^^SO qK LIBERTY. 185 IP { I A deadly gloom was spread around, ' And horrid stillness sat profound i Like Chaos watching Death ! While spectral shapes were seen to glide And flit athwart the yawning void ; The birth of terror's breath. The wind had languish'd to a sigh. Soft journeying from the west ; And nature's melancholy eye Was seal'd in solemn rest ; But suddenly a sound was heard, And all the sleeping echoes stirr'd To thunder back the call ! Careering wild, with awful swell ! O'er rocks abrupt there roaring fell A foaming waterfall ! With quaking limb, I fearful stood, And felt myself alone ; At distance waved a dreary wood Where sunshine never shone ; There, endless mountains closed the sijrht. And darker than the darkest night. Hung on the verge of day : Pale Phoebe, with her lonely star, I Was chased by clouds that swept afar, '$ In low'ring grim array ! ^ 186 LIBERTY. A low, mysterious, fitful howl. Broke from the coming blast ; And distant thunder's mutter'd growl Along the concave pass'd : Then, jagged hghtning's lurid gleam In flaming splendour swept the stream And scorch'd it like a scroll ! When lo ! a gaunt, tremendous form. Leapt from the horrors of the storm. And gazed down through my soul ! Struck by the glory of his eye, I sunk in helpless fear ; When thus, in tones that rent the sky, A voice roU'd on my ear : " Ho ! mortal of the pallid hue. Arise ! confront our sacred view, And promptly tune thy speech ; Declare thy mission to this state ; Beyond the boundary of fate. And far from human reach." I raised my eyes, and as I glanced, I met his awful frown ; Around, the streaming lightnings danced And storms were round him thrown ! i I ^ LIBERTY. 187 $ His stature was the mighty tower That first divides the serried shower Descending to the earth ! And as he moved the planets shook ! Young earthquakes leapt at his rebuke, Or ceased their livid mirth. Around, my ravish'd vision turn'd, Lo ! bursting on the view Magnificence in glory burn'd, Beneath eternal blue ! Resplendent day display'd his beams, Descending bright on gorgeous streams. In glittering showers of gold ! Wide spreading o'er elysian fields ; A region that luxuriant yields Fruit, mortals ne'er behold. His throne was on a hoary rock With gaps and fissures riven, Plough'd by the dreadful thunder shock And fierce assaults of heaven ! The eagle was his symbol bird ; The restless winds that ever stirr'd. His banners streaming free ! His sway was fire, flood, earth, and air ; And writ upon the sun's broad glare X The name was Liberty ! « i 188 LIBERTY. ib 'Twas thus my falt'ring accents broke : " Oh, potentate supreme ! On whose dread fiat empires smoke, And vanish as a dream ! Deem not that my presumptuous foot Hath ventured here in the pursuit Of insolent desires, I come, oh god-hke chief ! in woe ; If thou no succour can bestow Humanity expires ! To plead for my degenerate race, I penetrate these realms ; Here, where oppression has no trace, No misery o'erwhelras : To thee, the ancient friend of man. Whose bond of union first began Coeval with the world ! To thee I bare all human wrongs — To thee, for but to thee belongs The power of vengeance hurl'd ! Beneath the despot's grim control How many hearts have bled ! The writhing agonies of soul. The tears of lava shed ! I _i -^>SSS LIBERTY. The stifled groan, and piercing shriek ; The helpless struggles of the weak, Who sink beneath the blow — The exile's sigh, the captive's wail. And misery's distressing tale Of torture, want, and woe. The ruthless havoc of the sword, And engines breathing death ; The lash, the shackle, and the cord That warps the choking breath ; The rack, the dungeon, and the chain ; And all the instruments of pain, Which bloated tyrants wield, In prisons or in camps applied, Or where destructive navies ride. Or in the bloody field ! The injuries, insults, and scorn. That man has heap'd on man ; The burning wrongs, in patience borne. Since time itself began ; The pride and cruelty of pow'r, Oppression's crime-recording hour That moves in heaven's view. These speak aloud, with tongues of flame ; These, speedy retribution claim, {i And urge the vengeance due ! " i I ^ I 190 LIBERTY. i I paused— and ere I further said, The God of freedom spoke : " Thy race has long and basely bled And bow'd before the yoke. In vain thy suit, thy tears are vain ; Till reason's universal reign Holds empire o'er the mind. Till then, I keep my sohtude ; Till then, no being shall intrude In form of human kind. Grey centuries have roU'd their length. And worlds have died in space, Since I stood in the blaze of strength Among thy wayward race ; I've seen the empires of the world To howhng desolation hurl'd, Crush'd 'neath the foot of time ; I've wither'd tyrants in their pride. But others swift the gap supplied— Reuew'd the ancient crime. But mortal, hark ! there comes a day, A day of endless date ; When I shall hold eternal sway. And triumph over fate ! LIBERTY. When death, and time, in mighty hour. Shall cease their devastating power. No longer fear'd, or known ! When earth recalls her injured host, And kindred, that have long been lost, Shall gather round my throne ! " He ceased — and o'er a smoking waste Evanish'd from my sight ! Loud, fierce, and shrill, an awful blast Raved to returning night ! I shriek'd, and rent the phantom dream ! To bathe my eyes in morn's sweet beam, And list its syren call ! Still turning to the human race, In sad essay I sought to trace The end and aim of all. In vain philosophy divines That wisdom prompts the cause ; No reason justifies designs Involving cruel laws : 'Tis simple passiveness alone. That gives the monster, shaped in stone. The horrid fangs of power : With us, lies the disease, and cure — They who inflict, and who endure. Alike rot in their hour. - EPITAPH ON AN OLD LADY. 203 M EPITAPH ON AN OLD LADY, Esteemed through life for greatness of soul, and generosity of heart. BY W. REID. Here, in the bosom of the grave. An ancient form's consign'd ; Long toss'd on hfe's tempestuous wave. And beaten by its wind. Still equal to the tide of fate Her soul undaunted rose : Alike, her virtues shone elate In tumult or repose. With ])ious step she wander'd forth Beneath this pallid clime, Secure in honesty and worth, An ornament to time. As dark her gathering troubles grew, A pitying help was given ; Till death's cold shade eclipsed her view. Anticipating heaven. 204 TO M. s. TO M. S. BY EDWIN WAUGH. Ah ! this wild voyage o'er the sea of life Needs all the help that heaven and earth can give, Through its dark storms and shoals, and battle strife, God must be pilot to the ships that live. Happy the heart that finds a haven of love, Where in the tempest it can sweetly moor, And taste below, the bliss that but above, Is ever stainless, and is ever sure. And blest the hearth where pure affections glow — The husband's and the father's best retreat ; Where heavenward souls in one direction grow. With darling tendrils twining from their feet. Such be thy home ; through earth's mutations strange A garden where the flowers of heaven grow ; And sheltered there from blight, through every change, Its loves, its hopes, no touch of ruin know. ©■?^§3«H- ODE. 205 May time, whose withering finger ever brings To nature's best, the doom of sure decline. Float over thee with softly-fanning wings. And find the twilight of thy life divine. And, ever hand in hand, along your path — For thee and thine, thus doth the poet pray — That ye may walk in peace through life to death, And earth's night be the dawn of heaven's day. ODE ON THE TRAGIC DEATH OF MRS. BAXTER. BY WILLIAM REIU. Mrs. Baxter was a young lady about twenty years of age, as accomplished as she was beautiful. Her death was one of a most melancholy and tragic nature. The circumstances of this lamentable catastrophe may be thus briefly stated : — The young lady in question had been married to a gentle- man of the name of Baxter, a partner in a respectable firm of that name in Glasgow, I believe but a few months previous to the event which 1 am about to relate; when they resolved to pay a visit to the beautiful falls of Clyde, near Lanark. u -mmi^ '^^ — — — 3>^ft^^:.f 208 ODE. i Ah ! who shall lift the doleful pall That wraps thee in thy youthful bloom ? Or who, pure shade ! shall e'er recall The horrors of thy awful doom ? No eye beheld thee sink in death — No eye, save an almighty one ! But chaos, writhing wild beneath In madness tells, the deed was done ! At eve, as nature's pilgrims hie To watch the lone Hesperian star, The startled ear oft lists a cry Wild, agonising, faint, and far ! It comes, as from a seraph's voice — But one in death's convulsive throes ; That seems to call its bosom's choice In tones the lover sadly knows ! And fitful as the wailing winds Dull moaning in the caves of night — It breaks with awe on simple hinds, Who deem the sounds from elfin sprite. And fancy oft in solemn hour Has conjured up the bleeding scene. And rose with a mysterious power O'er yonder cloudy gaps between : — ^i: -»^^^j@ H ODE. 209 "' Has led the bard, with frenzied soul — Terrific o'er yon foaming hell ! E'en where its thuudring torrents roll Adown the gorge with giant swell ! There lock'd and lost in fearful trance He penetrates the mist of years, Lo ! on his sight, dim shades advance And female loveliness appears ! Led pale and trembling to yon height — It is ! it is ! her beauteous form ! She reels ! as fades her swimming sight Wild glaring on the crested storm ! An idiot laugh assails my ears — Now stifled in the torrent's roar. The apparition disappears ! Alas ! alas ! and all is o'er ! The fates have work'd their fell decree. And vanish'd with malignant grin ! But oh ! what anguish wails with thee Dread, torture-toiling Corra-linn ! The hopes and joys that rose elate . Ah ! fled with that delusive morn, Left grief to mourn the stroke of fate, J: And pity, wce|)ing o'er her urn. ■* I 0.*»#H<«- M 210 THE WORLD. M And there is one who sadly turns Back from the busthng haunts of men ; In agony his memory burns O'er bhss earth ne'er renews again. THE WORLD. A/tei' Sir Walter Raleigh. BY EDWIN WAUGH. This foohsh world doth wink Its cunning lid ; And, when it thinks, it thinks Its thoughts are hid. Its piety's a screen Where vice doth hide ; Its purity's unclean — Its meekness, pride. Its charity's a bait To catch a name ; Its kindness covers hate ; Its praise is blame. m ^^^ee- THE WORLD. 211 i Its learning's empty talk ; Its heart is cold ; Its church is an exchange ; Its Goil is gold. Its pleasures all are blind, And lead to pain ; Its treasures are a kind Of losing gain. Its wisdom sows the seeds Which follies prove, And its repentance needs Repenting of. Lust moves it more than love — Fear more than shame ; Its best ambitions have A grovelling aim. Oh ! cure our moral madness — Our soul-disease ; Show us that Vice brings sadness, And Virtue, ease. And teach us in the hour Of Sin's dismay, That Truth's the only flower Without decay. ^ i& i dn *- -<^>^^ 212 ALE V. PHYSIC. ALE versus PHYSIC. BY ELIJAH RIDINGS. Aw'r gooin' by a docthur's shop, Ut top o' Newton Yeth ; Un theer aw gan a sudden stop, Un begun t' be feort o' death. My bonds shak'd loike un aspen leof. Aw dithert i' my shoon ; It seemt as dark as twelve at neet, Though it wur boh twelve at noon. Aw thowt aw seed the gallows tree, Wheer th' yorn-croft thief wur swung ; Un ut Owd Nick wur takkin me, Un theer he'd ha' me hung. Aw grop'd my way to th' docthur's heawse Un then aw tumblet deawn ; Th' floor it gan me sich a seawse. Aw welly breek ray creawn. ON A DRUNK VIRAGO. Neaw, what wur tb' docthur thinkin' on For t'bring me to mysel, Ua save a sick un deein mon. So feort o' death un bell ? He used no lance — he used no drug, Ut strengthens, or ut soothes ; Boh he browt some strung ale in a jug, Ut had come fro' Willev Booth's. lie put it i' my wackerin hont, Ut wur so pale un thin ; Aw swoipt it o' off ut a woint, Un aw ne'er ailt nowt sin. ON A DRUNK VIRAGO. BY W. R. ELLIS. Mark well the features of that hideous face. Where shame has long transform'd its early grace; O'erspread with blotches, and a guilty flame. Like fell Alecto, of infernal fame : The Styxian breast, and dull Eoeotian head, The beamless eyes, that roll like orbs of lead ! — How low and loathsome nature may be brought When vice corrupts the very source of thought ! How mean is pride, how poor is wisdom's boast X When sense, in sensual impotence is lost I * ^^^S;5-o — — — 0^^^^? 214 A BOOK FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. A BOOK FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. BY JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE. When the night cometh round, and our duties are done, And a calm stealeth over the breast ; When the bread that is needful is honestly won. And our worldly thoughts nestle to rest ; How sweet at that hour is the truth-written page, With fancy and fiction allied ! The magic of childhood, the solace of age, Is a Book for the Home Fireside. There manhood may strengthen a wavering mind. By the sage's severest of lore ; There, woman, with sweetness and pathos combined, Makes the fountains of feeling run o'er ; There the voices of children may warble like birds What the poet hath utter'd with pride ; And the faint and desponding take heart at the words. Of a Book for the Home Fireside. 1 s^^^^^l^ I A BOOK FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. 215 ffj Man}' souls have been train'd into goodness and grace, And manj- stern hearts chasten'd down ; Many men have been nerved to look up with bright face Whatever misfortune might frown ; Many minds have been roused to new life, and grown great, Though baffled, obstructed,'and tried, Have been school'd to endure, learn'd to labour and wait, Bj' a Book for the Home Fireside. And not with the presence of home is it gone, For abroad, in the fulness of day, Its spirit remains with us, cheering us on. O'er the roughness of life's common way ; And nature looks lovely, but lovelier yet Through the glass of reflection descried ; We have read of her wonders, and who would forget ? In the Book for the Home Fireside. Whate'er be my fortune, in shadow or shine, 'Mid comfort, stern labour, or woe. May I ne'er miss the taste of those waters divine From the well-springs of genius that flow. I should lose a sweet charm, I should lack a great joy, And my heart would seem wither'd and dried, Did I want what has been my delight from a boy, A Book for the Home Fireside. ^ 6 216 A BOOK FOR THE HOME FIRESIDE. Bless the bards and the prosemen, whatever their clime, Who bequeath us the wealth of their thought, Their truth-revelations, their visions sublime. Their fancies so tenderly wrought. We were poor, with the riches of kings for our dower. Without what their pens have supplied. And that brain must be barren which owns not the power Of a Book for the Home Fireside. Dear child ! let thy leisure be link'd with the page. But one nor too light nor austere ; May its precepts improve thee, its spirit engage. And its sentiments soften and cheer ; May it keep thy afifections in freshness and bloom. Console thee, and teach thee, and guide, Be a flower in the sunshine, a star in the gloom. A Book for the Home Fireside ! ^ ^ _ — ^ I?TVTS. Z- . I ^ FINIS. ^ ~X^~A ^^m^- 1 his book IS uvjc on tne lasi date stamped below. REMINGTON RAND INC. 20 213 (533) THE LIBRARY TJNrV''ERSrrY of CALIFORNLfliI LOS ANGELES PR Re id - 1223 The city muss R27c lllllli 111 mil nil III ii I )0 297 165 3 PR 1223 R27c