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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 LIFE, AND OTHER POEMS.
 
 l.UNTLEY AND DICK, 
 TRINTERS, 
 NEW IIROAD STREET COUET, LONDON.
 
 LIFE, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 O • k^ • C5 • 
 
 " Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part 
 
 Of me and of my soul, as I of tlicm? 
 Is not the love of these deep in my heart, 
 
 With a pure passion ? Should I not contemn 
 
 All objects, if compared with these, and stem 
 A tide of suffering, rather than forego 
 
 Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
 Of those whose eyes are only turn'd below. 
 Gazing upon the ground with thoughts that dare not glow ?" 
 
 " The beings of the mind are not of clay; 
 Essentially immortal, they create 
 And multiply in us a brighter ray, 
 
 And more beloved existence, 
 Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, 
 And with a fresher growth replenishing the void." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 LONDON: 
 WILLIAM SMITH, 113, FLEET STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXLIV,
 
 T7? 
 399 ( 
 S3 LCo<^ 
 
 TO 
 
 SIR E. LYTl^ON BULWER, 
 
 IS 
 
 (by P E U M I S S I o n) 
 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 
 
 AS AX HUMBLE TESTIMONY 
 
 TO THE HIGH ESTEEM 
 
 IN WHICH 
 
 HIS DISTINGUISHED TALENTS AND GENEKOUS MIND 
 
 ARE HELD BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 852899
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Although the Author is fully aware that fame in the 
 present day, is not always dependent upon merit — that a 
 name is every thing — and that popularity is but too often 
 the purchase of money, or of interest — she is nevertheless 
 resolved to launch this little volume upon the precarious 
 ocean of public favour, and to trust to the current of chance, 
 which will be kindly or otherwise, according to the first 
 opinion given as to its pretensions to reception. 
 
 With publications as with individuals, it may be equally 
 justly said — 
 
 " A breath can niake them, as a breath hath made." 
 
 If this volume should be lavourablv received, it will be 
 some reward to the Author for having admitted others 
 into the arcana of her own feelings; if the reverse, she 
 will still have had the enjoyment which the arranging of 
 it afforded her; and instead of retiring abashed, should 
 some deem it presumptuous thus to have brought it 
 forward, she will console herself with the hope, at some more 
 fortunate moment, to bring the same volume before the 
 jiublic, to receive, perhaps, its proportionate meed of ])raise.
 
 iLidt of ^ul)S(rnljfrs(» 
 
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 Bates," J. Esq. . . . 3 
 Betts, — , Esq. . . 3 
 Bendle, Rev. II. 
 Bhindell, Miss 
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 Bird, J., Esq. 
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 Butterworth, J. W., Esq. 3 
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 Curtis, John Aldis, Esq. 3 
 Cowper, E., Esq. 
 Coxhead, B. L., Esq. 3 
 Cooper, Mrs. ... 3 
 Chinnock, F., Esq. . 2 
 Crowdy, — , Esq. 
 Collins, Miss 
 
 Cotting, Mrs. 
 
 Conquest, Dr. ... 2 
 Clayton, Rev. George. 
 Chaldieott, W., Esq. 
 
 Dore, Mrs., .... 5 
 Daniell, Rev. J. M. 
 
 Embling, Mrs. Thos. 
 Evans, W., Esq. 
 
 A Friend by Sir Jas. South. 
 
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 A Friend. 
 
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 LIFE AND OTHER POEMS, 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Hail infancy! first period, all replete 
 
 With innocence onfeit, yet pwe and sweet, 
 
 Like unto angels' essence, if the fall 
 
 Had not undeitied and tarnish'd all. 
 
 An infant's smile! how touching to behold! 
 
 A mother's heart, melting with love, grows cold, 
 
 While in her own, she sees her infant's life, — 
 
 Full of temptation, disappointment, strife ; 
 
 And while in blest unconsciousness he sleeps. 
 
 She o'er his loveliness in sorrow weeps. 
 
 " Ah ! " sighs her heart, " too like the rosy morn. 
 
 All free from cloud, all promise in the dawn : 
 
 The bloom upon thy cheek, the calm, the peace, 
 
 Which looks a brightness that must still increase. 
 
 But 'tis not so. The little cloud which skims 
 
 Across the blue expanse of heaven, and dims
 
 Ereloii;^ its clearness, — ^so corrodiiiL; cure, 
 
 The folly or the vice of years, shall spare 
 
 1\() more thy hri^liliiess. Time's gatirriiig cloud 
 
 Will dim thy lustre, and thy beauty shroud ; 
 
 Leave thee a i)rey to every blasting jiower. 
 
 With none to succour in the darksome hour, 
 
 If she whose l)reast in infancy doth yield 
 
 Thy sole support, should be no more thy shield. 
 
 Ah ! little think'st thou of the joy or woe 
 
 Time is preparing o'er thy path to throw ; 
 
 Unheedfnl of the ])ast, the yet to come, 
 
 At thy young feet sweet flowerets only bloom. 
 
 The present hour is thine, like sunny ray 
 
 Or balmy air, to insects of a day : 
 
 Poised on their fragile wings, they court each charm, 
 
 Bask in the shiny hour, and fear no harm. 
 
 Thus infancy is blest: no hoi)es to blast. 
 
 No foes to struggle with, yet fall at last; 
 
 No agony of mind, no dull suspense, 
 
 No fond expectance dashd, no pain, no sorrow, 
 
 But what, perchance, may pass away to-morrow. 
 
 These lie before, along the untrod road, 
 
 Thy future life, — are time's own heavy load. 
 
 Thy mother's arms, thy cradle, all the good 
 
 Thou needest now ; her bosom, if the rude
 
 8 
 
 And ficathing- elements should be abroad, 
 
 To shelter thee from harm, and warmth aflbrd ; 
 
 Where, if a little closer thou art pressed, 
 
 Thou and thy fears alike are hush'd to rest." 
 
 These are thy favours, infancy, thine own ! 
 
 Would I could say they are not thine alone! 
 
 For there's a season yet more lovely fair, 
 
 Whose bloom and grace to what shall I compare ? 
 
 'Tis like the sun's first ray, which summer's morn 
 
 Throws o'er the earth, when just has past the dawn. 
 
 And the bright orb of day retakes his throne, 
 
 To call the waking world once more his own. 
 
 All slowly coming forth, as somewhat loth 
 
 To leave his other sphere, he casts on both 
 
 A lustre ; while his fresh, unclouded ray 
 
 He sends before, to lift the veil of day. 
 
 The opening bud, beneath my fitful muse, 
 
 With its more glowing tints and varied hues, 
 
 I now will bring ; 'neath memory's light reveal'd, 
 
 Each leaf that immaturity conceal'd, 
 
 Shall meet our gaze : not e'en to age in vain ; 
 
 For, by its aid, we live our life again ; 
 
 Retrace the beaten track, and all we knew 
 
 Of youth's best joys, by her soft beams review.
 
 4 
 
 As o\iV tlirir liiavcs whose memory still we love, 
 Grows tlie green turf, the floweret sweet above, — 
 So memory restores the dead to life, 
 And makes the tomb of hope with verdure rife. 
 O youth! thou truthful season, when the heart 
 Can joy receive, and doth its joy impart, — 
 Season of j)leasure, when each object smiles, 
 And everything; within the heart beguiles. 
 As opening flowerets catch the sun's first ray. 
 Then pour their sweetness on the golden day; 
 So doth the young mind first receive its tone 
 From nature's beauties, — not for him aJoue 
 In gladsomeness and symmetry arrayed. 
 But to recii)rocate they thus were made. 
 This the young heart's first holiday, all glad, 
 And dress'd in gayest colours, it seems clad 
 For years of bliss. But often, all too soon, 
 Like nature's sun, its glory sets at noon. 
 Yet who, with health and vigour, redolent 
 Of hoj)e, of joy, on youthful j)leasures bent. 
 E'er forward looks, to number up his years? 
 To youth this life eternity aj)pears. 
 And who would break the spell? so nnich of woe 
 Undream'd of, time, alas! too soon doth show.
 
 I would not dim the eye, nor rob the heart 
 Of one of its pulsations, nor impart 
 One sadd'ning thought, reflected from my own : 
 Not to the happy should sad thoughts be shown. 
 No ! I would see them with the sparkling eye 
 Of happiness and truth, and bid them fly 
 To meet the pleasures flowering in their way ; 
 Bid them enjoy themselves, nor let them stay 
 To ask how long such happiness will last. 
 The end of pleasure seen, is pleasure past. 
 Oh ! there is much in this terrestrial sphere 
 To meet the heart, and make existence dear, 
 Did youthfulness remain, with its keen zest, 
 And kindly disposition to be blest. 
 Now every object, like the heart, looks gay, 
 And to the vivid fancy seems to say 
 That life and peace can never know decay. 
 Thus innocent and blest, the bounding heart 
 Seeks one to whom its bliss it may impart ; 
 And one from out the host where all are fair. 
 He singles out his blessedness to share. 
 And what his joy, wlien, in such sinless love, 
 lie looks to lind all that such love miglil proxc, — 
 A transcrijit of himself; as star is seen 
 licllected clcarlv in the ocean's «:re(^n.
 
 6 
 
 Tlie sigh, tlie smile, the sentiment, the all 
 
 She looks or breathes, on liim divinely fall. 
 
 One essence thus they seem, — their hearts are one ; 
 
 And thus, united by such ties alone. 
 
 They mij^ht go forth, if man were what he was 
 
 When first from God he came. But ah ! because 
 
 Some treacliTous (Spirit, envious of his rigiit. 
 
 Was found to wander forth, the bud to bliglit 
 
 Of every promised joy — (oh, sick'ning thought 
 
 That innocence to ruin should thus be brought!) 
 
 The human heart, all trustful and sincere. 
 
 To evil stoop'd and lent a listening ear : 
 
 Too soon, alas ! its pristine glory lost, 
 
 And evil's prey became ; and while thus toss'd 
 
 On life's rough aea, wash'd by its waves of sin, 
 
 No more on earth 't will be what it hath been. 
 
 Yet there are joys remaining, which, if shared 
 
 With one we love, much, much of evil's spared. 
 
 But oh ! to wander forth, all sad and lone. 
 
 No eye to share the tear, no heart tht; moan, — 
 
 No voice to calm the risings of the breast, 
 
 Or hush the harsher feelings into rest, — 
 
 ■^I'liis is a h)t youtli's ar(h)ur (N)uld not bear. 
 
 Death were an angel s slii( Id against (hspair
 
 The tli()U2,lit of ills or cares, ^vhi^ll after life 
 
 Is sure to Ijrinij;, with which the future's rife, 
 
 The eye observant and reflective mind 
 
 Alone doth see; but such, though disinclined, 
 
 In others' weal or woe, do see their own. 
 
 To such, hope's fairy mantle, so well thrown 
 
 Over the ills by distance faintly shown, 
 
 Leaves her bright flatteries no less fully known. 
 
 But cherish'd still ; for as years roll away. 
 
 And we, and all life's pleasures fast decay, 
 
 We court her smile ; and till our sun be set, 
 
 And time's, eternity's horizon met, 
 
 We still shall court it, as our life, our all ; 
 
 And when shall hang o'er earthly things the pall 
 
 Of closing time, and we shall soar away, 
 
 (For spirit surely never can decay,) 
 
 We, in our flight to some more blissful slate. 
 
 Shall feel this principle still animate 
 
 Th' undying soul ; it must for ever be 
 
 Life's moving spring through all eternity ! 
 
 Yet must I lift the veil, howe'er too soon. 
 
 And show the clouds which follow youth's bright noon. 
 
 Would I might dwell, still dwell on morning's light, 
 
 The heart's meridian, when all things look bright, —
 
 8 
 
 Halt at llir |)('ii()<l wlicii all lliiiitis tlu cliaiin, 
 
 When sympathy's electric chain can warm, 
 
 And cause to vibrate every pulse that \vakes 
 
 To joyfulness and peace; that quickly makes 
 
 The master-uheel in the machine revolve, 
 
 As ne'er it will again. Why? He can solve 
 
 The mystic spell, who, having pass'd his youth, 
 
 Hath sifted falsehood ofttimes from the truth. 
 
 Pity it is that youth should ever pass! 
 
 Yet strange it seems that all, when young, alas ! 
 
 Long to be men, not knowing what they ask. 
 
 As when at foot of lofty mount the task 
 
 Of its ascent seems easy, we nor stay 
 
 To ask the route, and we forget to weigh 
 
 The deep nu)rass that in our path may lay ; 
 
 Nor satisfied, one ridge attained, to rest, 
 
 Howe'er by thos(! who've diinlj'd its top we're press'd 
 
 To halt, and told there's nothing more to see; 
 
 Till we have tried, we think it cannot be. 
 
 But when the top is gained, we feel how true 
 
 The statement nuide, and how much nu)re they knew. 
 
 Thus far more lovely, ere within our reach 
 
 The sweets of life, which hope so well doth preach, 
 
 But when her shadows flee, and we insteatl 
 
 Grapple realities, our joys are fled.
 
 Witli youth, our fancy fiiils ; and fancy i^onc, 
 
 Into another stage of life we're l)orne. 
 
 Oh, would that years but added to our worth, 
 
 And that perfection grew with us from birtli ! 
 
 Alas ! it is not so : the ills of life 
 
 Oft make (if find us not) with evil rife ; 
 
 Maturity of liml), and nervous frame, 
 
 Not always speak the spirit's purer flame. 
 
 The heart now hides itself, or wears a veil, 
 
 And looks the ghost of what it was : we fail 
 
 To trace one ray that early youth display'd ; 
 
 Quench'd is its glory, all in darkness laid. 
 
 And though at first the youthful mind may shrink 
 
 From earth's low ways, by slow degrees we sink ; 
 
 Till — finding isolated we must live, 
 
 If conscience, friend, nor foe, we will not grieve — 
 
 We seek our better feelings to subdue, 
 
 And try to think that all that's false is true. 
 
 But what a with 'ring chill the heart must know, 
 
 Ere all we gloried in we can forego ! 
 
 Our early risings, generous, warm, and true, 
 
 And the more kindly feelings then we knew, 
 
 All blighted now! and where, but genuine love 
 
 And pure benevolence (which sweetly prove
 
 10 
 
 Tin- heart imtarnisird yet ^villl sin or sliamc) 
 
 In blest reciprocation dwelt, now blame, 
 
 From friend or foe, has changed the sigh that ros<' ; 
 
 Nor soft emotion, which 'mid virtue grows, 
 
 And is, by fancy's all-alluring power, 
 
 Fed by some sweet response, in happy hour 
 
 Fann'd into passion, energetic, pure. 
 
 That heaven itself alone could show a truer, 
 
 E'er rises now ; pure love's soft sigh is huslTd ; 
 
 And all that deified the man is crush'd. 
 
 Alas the change, by time thus undergone ! 
 
 This ])eauteous specimen of man thus shorn 
 
 Of all his glory ! bright in life's young smiles, 
 
 No more he walks abroad ; but time beguiles 
 
 By dreaming o'er the past. Now see him clad 
 
 In manhood's soberer vest, with face less glad. 
 
 In youth, no veil is needed to conceal 
 
 The heart within, wliich doth itself reveal : 
 
 But we, through others' vices, all unkind, 
 
 Morose become; and, where we once were blind. 
 
 Now see a thousand faults — so tarnish'd we, 
 
 That every thing unlovely seems to be ; 
 
 And he who once walk'd forth to court his kind. 
 
 Now solitude ju'efers to kindred mind ;
 
 11 
 
 With rank disgust he turns away from man, 
 Weeps o'er a world in which his hopes began, 
 But which to him, alas ! has now become 
 A barren waste, a wilderness of gloom : 
 A ruin'd fabric this fair world doth seem 
 When innocence has fled, and joy's a dream. 
 The fragrant flower, with all its rich perfume, 
 For joy to his sad heart no more doth bloom. 
 Once it was hail'd, when on the breeze it bore 
 Thoughts that were dear beyond its sweetness more 
 Now, if it meet his sense, it doth recall 
 A sorrowful remembrance of his fall ; 
 And the blue sky, without obscuring cloud, 
 Seems only more his sadden'd brow to shroud ; 
 And song of birds, and voices of gay tone, 
 Remind him but of what was once his own ; 
 The bliss of others, then his joy to see, 
 Now wakes him into mental agony. 
 "This is the season, is it ? " sighs his heart. 
 Which she predicted, (with the bitter smart 
 Of one who had its thorny path o'ertrod, 
 And dreaded for her child,) when to her God 
 She breathed the fervent, supplicating prayer, — 
 That when, from 'neath a mother's watchful care,
 
 12 
 
 He forth into ;i world corriij)t should i;o, 
 
 Where sin doth stalk abroad, the friend of woe, 
 
 That He woidd shelter from the with rinj^ blast 
 
 The fragile flower on its cold bosom cast. 
 
 " Oil ! were she here to bless me with her smile ; 
 
 My spirit of its sadness to beguile ; 
 
 To cheer, by showinc; me 'tis not too late 
 
 Another youth to yet antici})ate, 
 
 Where disappointment doth not come, nor care. 
 
 But where hope brings fruition, not desj)air. 
 
 'Mid this world's changes, man is doom'd to say, 
 
 As from each stage he passes in dismay, 
 
 Alas, alas ! where shall I look for truth ? 
 
 We ne'er have met since the bright days of youth ; 
 
 When she, who then 1 doubted, whisper'd me, 
 
 With all a mother's own anxiety, — 
 
 ' Place not yoiu- hopes upon this flattering state ; 
 
 Its friendshi[)'s selfishness, its love is hate : 
 
 In summer hours we have our summer friends ; 
 
 But when the winter comes, their friendship ends ; 
 
 So long as we can meet their oft recpiest. 
 
 We are tlieir dearest friends, we too tluur best ; 
 
 But let misfortune come, wlien we no more 
 
 (yaii o[)en throw iIk- liosj)i(able door,
 
 13 
 
 Or give to them from our abundant store, — 
 
 Oh ! then the dear affinities once seen 
 
 Are all forgot, as though they ne'er had been ; 
 
 And often, too, humanity's best laws 
 
 Are outraged, free from shame, as without cause.' ' 
 
 This, then, is manhood ! what is call'd our })rime — 
 The harvest of our life — the fitting time 
 To lay up stores for our advancing age, 
 When bliss alone's derived from mem'ry's page; 
 When sweet associations, once enjoy 'd, 
 Time, with his darkling wing, shall have destroyed, 
 And we, perchance, may waken sorrow's tear. 
 As ours has fallen over those most dear. 
 How often have we stroU'd the churchyard o'er, 
 To seek the graves of those who Avere no more ; 
 And, as we stood beside the mould'rinij: tomb, 
 Which, 'mid bright sunshine, show'd a deeper gloom, 
 We thought of years by-gone, when, young as they. 
 We met full often on that spot to play ! 
 Not then, long, dark, and solemn look'd the grass 
 Low bending in the breeze : we used to pass 
 Those lonely graves, o'er which we now behold 
 Its stately waving ; nor e'er thought to hold 
 Communion with the dead ; but careless stray 'd 
 Alike forgetful of, as undismay'd.
 
 14 
 
 But ncnv no more we sport : the (leopninc; hiu.'s 
 
 Of manhood's eve, their soberer tints diffuse ; 
 
 And we our future read from ofl" those stones, 
 
 And see beneath them too our mould'ring bones ; 
 
 We think ourselves decaying as we stand, 
 
 And feel how false was fancy's magic wand, 
 
 Which bade us onward press to reach the goal 
 
 Where fame's bright occ^an should await the soul. 
 
 Too late, alas ! we reach that golden shore ; 
 
 Our threescore years are gone, our strength no more 
 
 " And what to us is fame ?" fatigued we sigh : 
 
 " One good alone remains — it is to die." 
 
 For who, among the herd which can but grieve 
 
 The spectres of departed joys, would live? 
 
 And, oh ! at last — if there is ought that's fair, 
 
 'Tis but the laurel which too late we wear : 
 
 A name, perchance, whose glory passes down 
 
 To our successors, who take our renown. 
 
 The wreath we wish'd to deck our living brow, 
 
 "^l^u-ns into cypress o'er our graves to bow. 
 
 And such is Life ! not merely mine, alas ! 
 
 But that of all who througli its stages pass ; 
 
 With licrc and there a little diti'erence seen, 
 
 Tliat is but fancied oftentimes, I ween.
 
 15 
 
 Tlu' dazzling surface hides the deej)-laiii woe, 
 
 And smiles oft phiy beneatli the saddest brow ; 
 
 So inequalities which seem to be, 
 
 If rightly trac'd would prove equality. 
 
 One lesson we should learn, — if such tlie lot 
 
 Of liuman kind, ne'er let it be forgot, 
 
 That many evils which are ours to know, 
 
 From our own vice or folly often flow ; 
 
 We stifle principle, our judgment shroud. 
 
 And give our feelings sway : thus we becloud, 
 
 Full oft, the sky that else might brighter be ; 
 
 Then fortune blame, or else the Deitv. 
 
 Pluck, then, the flowers which in your path upspring, 
 
 Nor curse the soil that doth no better bring ; 
 
 The good you have refuse not to enjoy. 
 
 Because it is not free from earth's alloy ; 
 
 Contentment is the germ of every bliss. 
 
 And makes a heaven of e'en a world like this.
 
 17 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell for ever! oh, farewell! 
 
 Farewell to all I've dream'd of bliss ! 
 One thought alone is left to me; 
 
 But there's enough of joy in this : 
 I've sooth'd awhile thy sadden'd heart, 
 
 When past and future frown'd on thee ; 
 And if the present wore a smile. 
 
 Or aught of good, 'twas found in me. 
 This thought, like some bright star, that peers 
 
 Above night's dark and dreary waste. 
 On my heart's loneliness shall rise, 
 
 Where nought except its gloom is trac'd. 
 Yes : this shall pour into my soul. 
 
 When memory's chords are harsh and wild, 
 A stream of light, to show that, once, 
 
 1 was not only sorrow's child.
 
 18 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 *' AVhat is a shadow?" asks the mfant tongue. 
 
 *' Man's chief pursuit," age says, with quiv'ring lip ; 
 
 " But while we dream of bliss, my child, we sip 
 A draught that to mankind doth not belong ; 
 Bliss only lives in vision or in song — 
 
 Like hope, a flower reality doth nip." 
 Who has not felt, when earliest youth hath fled, 
 
 The nothingness of life ? In vain pursuit 
 Our years are pass'd away ; and ah ! instead 
 
 Of plucking the sweet flower, or the rich fruit. 
 The blossom's wither'd, or the branch is dead, 
 And we are left to mourn that time hath sped. 
 Leaving the shadow of his wing, to say, 
 "The sunshine of our life hath pass'd away!"
 
 19 
 
 TO MEMNON, IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM. 
 
 I've bent beneath the shadow of that head, 
 Which oft the waters of the Nile have lash'd, 
 Whilstroimd its base her proudest waves have dasird, 
 
 And often thither liath the saint been led, 
 
 In pious fear, or superstitious dread ; 
 But not with truer sanctity, I ween, 
 Than hers who here thy majesty hath seen, 
 
 As thougli her foot did tread on sacred ground. 
 Nor wonders she that spirits of the deep 
 
 Were conjured up, and naiads danced around, 
 To list thy music wild. Oh, who could keep 
 
 His ear unlent to such mysterious sound ? 
 
 Fancy's broad pinion, in its mystic flight. 
 
 Soars o'er thy head majestic witli delight.
 
 20 
 
 TO 
 
 Smile once again, nor let thy sadness tell 
 A tale of woe my soul doth too well read. 
 
 Thou once wert gay : O let no thought of me 
 E'er dun thy joy, or cause thy soul to bleed ! 
 
 Love was not meant to darken life's dull road, 
 But to enliven, and to make it blest ; 
 
 To lift from off our mind griefs heavy load 
 And give the sorrow-stricken spirit rest. 
 
 And tliink'st thou I would cloud thy brow, 
 Or quench thy spirit's sacred fire? 
 
 I would not cause one hope to fade, 
 Of all thy bosom could desire. 
 
 From thy high tower of fair renown, 
 Of deep-toned principle and thought, 
 
 No wisli of mine should bring thee down : 
 Oil, nut for this thy love I sought!
 
 21 
 
 To share thy intellectual joys, 
 
 To soothe thy heart, and light thy way, 
 Amid the world's tumultuous noise, 
 
 By friendship's ever cheering ray. — 
 
 This was my hope, this all my aim ; 
 
 And never was one wish of mine 
 Press'd beyond friendship's lawful claim, 
 
 Or thought that was opposed to thine. . 
 
 Smile, then, again, and let me know 
 I yet have power to make thee glad, — 
 
 To turn to joy thy every woe, 
 
 And thou shalt never more be sad.
 
 22 
 
 TO 
 
 Ihine is a face on which 1 love to gaze: 
 No symmetry of feature doth appear, 
 But an expression tliat the soul doth cheer ; 
 Above the dazzling power of beauty's rays 
 Thy spirit's loveliness : that ever stays, 
 
 And warms the heart, when all around is drear; 
 That memory feeds upon, when far remote 
 
 The object of its thoughts, on which 1 dwell 
 With an intensity of love devout, 
 As when to thee my heart's best joys I tell ; 
 And though thy presence every bliss must swell, 
 And every gladsome feeling must promote, 
 Yet love's full tide absence doth but restrain, 
 Or 1 might wish we ne'er might part again.
 
 23 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ^^Vho that doth gaze upon the clear blue sky, 
 The silv'ry lake, the ivy-shaded tower, 
 Lists the gay song of birds, scents the wild flower, 
 
 Feels not his inmost spirit rising high, 
 
 As though he communed with the Deity 
 
 Of nature's works, whose self-existent power, 
 
 And never-ending sweet variety 
 
 Crosses his path, and ever seems to meet, 
 
 In rich luxuriance, his all-ravish'd eye ? 
 
 And, with what gladness doth the sad heart greet 
 Those joyous objects, though they be less sweet 
 
 Than once, when in the breast felicity, 
 
 As a response to every joy, was found. 
 
 And, like a chorus, 'mid her works did full resound.
 
 24 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 LoNfi us tliis heart can feel — tliis liand can move, 
 The one shall love, the other fondly press ; 
 
 And while susceptible 1 may be found 
 
 Of wliat can please, thou shalt my spirit bhss. 
 
 Thou hast to me in months of absence been 
 Tiie circle still in which my heart has lived, — 
 
 Tlie magic influence that forbade to die 
 The spirit that from thee its life received. 
 
 Tliine is the potent spell that memory lends, 
 To waken up the scenes of happier days, — 
 
 That throws a halo round departed joys, 
 
 And makes them sparkle as in new-born rays.
 
 or: 
 
 THE PARTING. 
 
 Thy barque's unmoor'd, its white sails swell, 
 And here thou never more wilt dwell ; 
 
 Yet think of me ; 
 And when the deep ])lue sky above 
 Inspires sweet feelings soft as love, 
 
 Where shall I be? 
 I shall not in thy barque be sailing, 
 Yet shall I every breeze be hailing, 
 
 To speed thy way ; 
 And, when no other star is shining, 
 My love, its radiance all combining, 
 
 Shall lend its ray 
 To guide thee onward to the port 
 Where one thou lovest holds her court, 
 
 Waiting for thee.
 
 26 
 
 With heart as warm, perchance more true, 
 Than thine, with all its feelinp^s new, 
 
 Once felt for me. 
 For me, I know, thou never sighest. 
 But still 1 feel it joy the highest 
 
 To know thee blest ; 
 My heart ne'er sigh'd in selfish tone, 
 Thy bliss, in all it breathed, was known 
 
 Above the rest. 
 And thus it will be to the last. 
 Though thine with my lot ne'er be cast, 
 
 My love will shine ; 
 And should'st thou ever know distress, — 
 Thy heart be sorrowful, — I'll press 
 
 Thee closer mine.
 
 Ji7 
 
 THE MOONLIGHT HOUR. 
 
 What means that stream of lij^ht upon the sea, 
 Which scarce a ripple moves, while silent night 
 Awakes the loftier feelings of the soul, 
 And bears them up to the ethereal plains. 
 Where yonder orb, in placid majesty. 
 Sits, like a queen, upon her azure throne? 
 Who has not felt her tranquillizing power. 
 Soothing the careworn heart with whispers soft 
 Of hope and peace, as from angelic choirs? 
 Oft have I watch'd her mild and sacred light. 
 Until, 'mid fancy's airy visions lost, 
 I've e'en forgot myself a thing of earth ; 
 And, as her beams upon the ocean play, 
 Sparkling upon the surface of its breast, 
 Bestudding it with thousand glitt'ring gems, 
 Oft do I sigh for privilege like hers, 
 That I might shed an influence as pure, 
 To bless the hearts to whom I may be dear.
 
 28 
 
 ON VISITING THE ABODE OF AN AGED FRIEND. 
 
 How (lirterent, full often, the same place appears, 
 When those who were young tread the valley of years, 
 The sun shines as brightly, the sky is as blue ; 
 For joy or for peace we must bid it adieu. 
 
 They're among the sweet things for ever gone by, — 
 We may mourn their departure with sorrowful sigh ; 
 But alas ! we can only remember them now : 
 Our hearts to the change must submissively bow. 
 
 And years may roll on, but still we shall cherish 
 The sunshiny hours that never can perish : 
 Time only can blunt the keen edge of regret ; 
 The attachments of childhood we cannot forget. 
 
 Just as ivy still climbs the blasted oak's form, 
 When scathed by lightning, or riven by storm, 
 So fondly we cling to the friends of our yojitli. 
 From whom we received the first impress of truth.
 
 29 
 
 O, at length, when like them, we are laid 'neath the sod, 
 And our spirits, in peace, have returned to God, — 
 When the tears once we shed, shed no longer can he. 
 Then beside their lone graves plant the green wil- 
 low-tree ! 
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 Presented to an officer on board a Belgian brig of war, about to make a 
 voyage of discovery round the world, while the vessel was in harbour 
 undergoing repairs. 
 
 Sweet flowers, where will your perfume die? 
 Beneath some cold, ungenial sky. 
 Or, ere your native soil be past. 
 Will it be found it could not last ? 
 
 The fragrance of the sweet wild rose, 
 That lives within it, while it grows, 
 Pluck'd from the stem, first droops, then dies, 
 And like a heart forsaken lies. 
 
 Yet, scentless, ye'll retain a charm. 
 In frigid zone, or climate warm. 
 Your sweetness will o'er memory cast 
 A fragrance that must ever last.
 
 30 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF AN EVENING STROLL. 
 
 How sweet was the scene ! as I silently 2;aze(l, 
 The deep shades of evening stole stealtliily on, 
 
 And my licart heaved a sigh, as I thought of the friends 
 Whose mem'ry is dear, tho' their spirits are gone. 
 
 And is there, said 1, in this desolate world, 
 A heart that will beat with affection for me, — 
 
 That will shed o'er my grave the tear of regret, 
 Or think of the hours that will soon cease to be ? 
 
 O yes ! there is one who can never forget 
 
 The bright sunbeams of hope that gleam'd o'er 
 my youth, — 
 
 There is one whose affection can never decay, 
 For 'tis based on esteem, it is founded in truth. 
 
 And, while fate's stormy sky o'er my destiny lowers, 
 And wraps, like night's curtain, my spirit in gloom. 
 
 My path he will smooth, my sorrows beguile, 
 Till no longer uncertain and shroiuled my doom.
 
 31 
 
 TO , ENCLOSING A MEMENTO OF AFFECTION. 
 
 Take this, and bind it to thy heart, 
 
 A talisman 't will be, 
 When thou art on some distant shore, 
 
 Far, far away from me. 
 
 'T will save thee from despairing; thouglits 
 
 Of one who would invite 
 To tenderest feelings o'er again. 
 
 In reminiscence bright. 
 
 When we have sat in converse sweet. 
 
 Watching the moon ascend, 
 And lighting up the slumb'ring waves, 
 
 Like face of friend, a friend. 
 
 While we have felt the living glow — 
 Love's current — tinge the cheek, 
 
 Filling the eye with burning tears. 
 The heart alone could speak.
 
 32 
 
 And we have sigh'd for far off lands, 
 Where brigliter seasons shine; 
 
 Where love is cherish'd for itself 
 There 1 will call thee mine. 
 
 Then let these thoughts thy spirit cheer, 
 
 As I were with thee still ; 
 Where'er thou art, thy love alone 
 
 My every thought shall till. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 They say I'm still beautiful, wearing a grace 
 Of all that is lovely in mien or in face ; 
 
 But alas ! oh alas ! I see not a line 
 
 That displays not the mark of destroying time. 
 
 My eye may still beam with the si)irit of life, 
 But its smile, with mem'ry of the past is rife ; 
 
 There is nothing of hope, — no future of bliss 
 To make my cheek glow, — it is this, only this!
 
 33 
 
 As in some vast deserts, where solitude reigns, 
 Are spots which are fertile and verdant as plains, 
 
 So, over my lonely and desolate heart, 
 The sunlight of memVy a ray may impart. 
 
 But 'tis like to the last golden beams which tlie sun 
 Sheds over some ruin, with ivy o'erhung; 
 
 Which enriches each beautiful object we see 
 
 With colours more bright, e'er he sinks in the sea. 
 
 Yes ! the glow on my cheek, e'er he leaves it for aye, 
 Shines brighter than when in youth's halcyon day, 
 
 When it rose with the freshness of innocent bliss, 
 And sparkled like waves the sunbeams that kiss. 
 
 And 'tis welcome to those who my sorrows may see, 
 
 As ever the cheering oasis may be. 
 Since it says that my heart will erelong be at rest, — 
 
 And, 'mid all that is blighting, in verdure be drest.
 
 34 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 W^HAT means that blaze of light amid the gloom, 
 Cheering my spirit though the tempest lower, 
 And the dark sea, with all its fury roar. 
 
 Beaming a hope of brighter hours to come? 
 
 In its soft ray I see my peaceful home, 
 A little cot upon yon quiet shore, 
 
 Welcome, glad beacon! welcome, orb of light! 
 Who doth not from afar thy glory hail 
 
 Amid the storm ? — the only star in sight, 
 A sweet beguiler, that doth never fail. 
 But even asks tlie mariner to sail 
 
 Regardless of the waves that him afright, 
 
 Beneath the shelter it is thine to give. 
 
 Bidding him, like tliyself, the storm outlive !
 
 35 
 
 EARLY MORNING. 
 
 1 DREAD the hour that sets me free 
 From all the loneliness of night, 
 
 When others' hopes and joys return, 
 And all things look to them so bright. 
 
 Oh ! not for me the happy lark 
 Doth trill his matin song on high, 
 
 Soaring, and resting on his wing. 
 Filling the air with minstrelsy ; 
 
 Nor balmy zephyrs fan the trees. 
 
 Which 'neath the veil of night hath slept, 
 
 When wakes to life each object fresh. 
 O'er which awhile the darkness crept. 
 
 Ah no ! to me returns each sorrow 
 The keener with the light of day, 
 
 And not e'en nature's fairest works 
 Can charm my loneliness away.
 
 36 
 
 Alas! 1 feel a coldness creep 
 
 Like some fell blight upon my heart, 
 
 When forced to gaze on all that's bright, 
 Yet feel that tliere I share no part. 
 
 To look upon day's glorious king, 
 As he ascends his sky-built throne, 
 
 Smiling upon the beauteous world. 
 Round which for ages he hath shone ; 
 
 And feel — for me, alas ! that sun 
 
 In vain doth shed his cheerful beams ; 
 
 Hope, love, and joy, all dead to me, 
 
 Save what, perchance, may live in dreams. 
 
 I sigh for some far distant land. 
 
 Some region, in my fancy seen. 
 Where never beat the heart of man, 
 
 Where human footstep ne'er hath been. 
 
 Oh, ye who know to shed a tear, 
 
 Whose bosoms sometimes heave a sigh, 
 
 Shed now one kindred drop, and breathe 
 One sad lament o'er misery !
 
 37 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 A-s the lone mariner thy bright star hails, 
 
 Whose brilliant ray illumes the foaming" wave, 
 And doth direct his trembling bark with riven sails 
 That scarce the furious elements can brave, 
 Towards the port which will his vessel save 
 
 From the destruction of the threatening gales, — 
 So he who finds, when sorrow's tide runs high. 
 Some friendly bosom as a haven kind, 
 Bidding him fear no more the angry wind 
 Of dissonance, its fury doth defy. 
 As though some friendly deity were nigh. 
 
 To keep from shipwreck his fast drifting mind. 
 Emblem of rest, thou in my heart wilt stay, 
 When all beside from mem'ry fades away !
 
 38 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 By days or hours time is not always traced ; 
 The sober grey of morn, or evening light, 
 Or perfume sweet of flowers, may tell his flight, 
 By bringing objects back his wing erased 
 From memory's tablet, or that were eflViced 
 
 By interests new, if not extinguish'd quite ; 
 Objects which when afresh we warmly feel. 
 Reminded of by chords we can't define. 
 Thus strangely touch'd, we think them warm and real, 
 As though their freshness ne'er had known decline, 
 But, like the fadeless ivy which doth twine 
 (When dead the tree, or parted by the steel) 
 The wild oak's form, had clung so close the things 
 Which back again association only brings.
 
 41 
 
 TO A POPULAR AUTHOR, 
 
 Retiring from public life, who gave his name for the benefit of another. 
 
 How like the glorious orb that makes our day, 
 
 O bard poetic, art thou in thy race ! 
 
 His altitude attain'd, he still doth grace 
 The objects that have felt his noontide ray; 
 And in his slowly setting, seems to say — 
 
 Reluctantly do I withdraw my face : 
 So thou> in thy retiring, still dost shine, 
 
 A portion still of glory dost bestow 
 On those who long have felt thy warmth divine 
 
 To kindle or to feed their genius low, 
 
 Which else nor strength nor beauty e'er would show ; 
 But nurtured thus, though weak compared with thine. 
 Which is a brilliant sun, it yet may be 
 A lesser orb in the poetic orrery.
 
 42 
 
 TO 
 
 Just as the sun dispels the mist that shrouds 
 
 The mountain peak from the spectator's eye, 
 So hast thou helped to dissipate the clouds 
 
 That veil'd her talents in obscurity. 
 Thou, like an eagle in its towering flight 
 
 And out-spread wings, to reach the sunlit sky, 
 Didst teach her to explore th' ethereal height. 
 
 With like unshrinking and untiring eye. 
 Now, as her fancy skims the vast profound. 
 
 Where myriad stars begem the trackless skies. 
 And throw their radiance o'er the sleeping world, 
 
 As wrapt in silent night's dark veil it lies ; 
 She sees thee, as her star in every thought. 
 
 The brightness of her intellectual tire. 
 Which, kindled tirst at thy poetic shrine, 
 
 Still borrows thence the power to rise yet higher — 
 Oh, should that spark which thou didst cause to shine. 
 
 Die out amidst the gloom of sorrow's night. 
 In higher regions may it rise again. 
 
 And blend its brightness with celestial light !
 
 39 
 
 ON VISITING BEDLAM. 
 
 Tis a strange place, but stranger yet there be 
 
 Where the sane mind with mind imgenial dwells. 
 Dwells — did I say ? no resting-place hath he 
 
 Whose breast is torn by grief, with sorrow swells. 
 
 The raving of the lunatic, that nothing quells, 
 Is heavenly strain, seraphic symphony, 
 Compared with the deep tones of agony 
 
 That speak the tortured heart, the racking brain, 
 The ceaseless gnawings of a misery. 
 
 Worse than the gallings of the maniac's chain ; 
 
 Since he, one day, may cast it oft' again : 
 But fetter'd, slave-bound hearts in vain may sigh, 
 Link'd by a law that dares to make them one — 
 Yes, one for ever, till by death undone!
 
 40 
 
 THE WILD FLOWER. 
 
 Oh, dear to me the simple, sweet, wild flower, 
 
 Upon the shady bank of evergreen! 
 Seeming- to bloom unconscious of its power 
 
 To charm ; which, though by idle wand'rer seen, 
 'Tis meant not for his gaze — his soul-less smile, — 
 
 But breathes alone for such as seek, and find 
 Its fragrance rich, their footsteps to beguile. 
 
 Like the pure essence of the soul refined, 
 Which, with a kindred spirit, should exhale 
 
 Its grace and beauty — all it can disclose, 
 And with like sympathies itself regale. 
 
 INot in the wilderness doth bloom the rose. 
 But, 'mid the flowers of the gay parterre, 
 Lives with its kind, and sheds its fragrance there.
 
 43 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Vv HAT means the sudden burst of joy from grief, 
 When some familiar accent meets our ear, 
 Telling- a tale of many a bygone year, 
 
 That makes the period seem as though 't were brief, 
 
 Since the sad heart refused to find relief 
 In aught beside the frequent falling tear ? 
 
 Oh ! there are chords within us strung to woe. 
 And there are some which waken dreams of joy ; 
 
 These touch'd alternately, do come and go 
 Seasons of grief and bliss : but some alloy 
 In mortal cup, is needed to destroy 
 
 What else would be to us a heaven below ; 
 
 And pilgrims less might prize their home of peace, 
 
 Where all the sorrows of this world shall cease.
 
 41. 
 
 TO , ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Is there one thought of warmer glow, 
 Amid the host of feelings rare 
 
 Within this heart? — oh, let it show 
 How much of truth and love is there! 
 
 And may they, in their brightness, shine 
 To gild, at least, this welcome day ; 
 
 Which to illumine, were it mine, 
 
 Should w ear a warm, an endless ray ! 
 
 The laurel wreath, the fadeless bay, 
 1 leave for other hands to give ; 
 
 I wish but at thy shrine to lay 
 Feelings that in the heart do live. 
 
 I love the homage that resides 
 Within the bosom's deepest cell, 
 
 That every tender impulse guides. 
 But never needs weak words to tell.
 
 45 
 
 TO 
 
 Nor kindly look, nor welcome smile 
 Can cross this cheek again, 
 
 For thou can'st ne'er again beguile 
 My spirit's grief and pain. 
 
 Thou, like the world, art faithless grown, 
 Love, truth, — hast thrown away ; 
 
 Made all of bliss, so late my own. 
 To perish in a day. 
 
 But I'll forgive thy wayward heart, 
 Thy nature blame — not thee ; 
 
 Firmly pronounce the words " we part," 
 As thou wert true to me. 
 
 Yes, I can say the word "farewell," 
 
 But not its echo hear ; 
 Myself re^e-At the parting sound — 
 
 From thee I could not bear.
 
 46 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 T)iD ye e'er wake from dreams of purest bliss 
 Too })right to last ; and as ye felt the chill 
 Of sorrow's sad returning current, fill 
 Each vein that caused the pulse, with sympathy's 
 Quick throb, in wretchedness again to rise, 
 
 And knew yourself stern sorrow's victim still — 
 Oil ! did ye not implore that life might end. 
 Or hope no longer might deceiver prove. 
 Seeming, with fell despair, her light to blend ; 
 
 But that henceforth, '* long life's impervious grove," 
 Thro' which, too oft in vain, her lamp had strove 
 With ignis-fatuus' glare, her ray to lend : 
 Ye might, alone, your pilgrimage conclude. 
 Nor ask again that flow'rs along your path be strew'd?
 
 47 
 
 TO 
 
 On the Seventeenth Anniversary of his Birthday, May 3 1st, 1840. 
 
 Below time's dim horizon sunk, 
 
 Like some bright hope that could not last, 
 
 Another year, my dearest boy, 
 
 With all its joys and griefs, hath past. 
 
 But thou art still a thing of earth, 
 A youtliful pilgrim journeying on; 
 
 Within thy breast, the seeds of hope, 
 Of love, and joy, to feed upon. 
 
 Oh, may they, like that radiant star 
 Which ushers in the light of day, 
 
 (Bright Lucifer,) illume thy path, 
 And shed as bright, as pure a ray ! 
 
 Yet dream not that these visions bright. 
 Which float before youth's joyous eye, 
 
 Like gorgeous palaces that rear 
 
 Their glittering spires towards the sky.
 
 48 
 
 Will all be realised by thee: 
 
 Alas ! like dew drops in the sun, 
 
 Their sparkling beauty ; 'ncath our touch 
 They vanish, and as soon are gone. 
 
 But there are buds of purer joy 
 
 Than earth's ungenial soil e'er shows, 
 
 Which blossom, howsoe'er the storm 
 Or blighting tempest o'er them blows. 
 
 These are the buds be thine to rear ; 
 
 They thrive beyond earth's changeful skies, 
 And yield the joys that never perish, 
 
 But to fruition rise. 
 
 The fairest blossoms here are shaken, 
 And oft-times scattered by the wind ; 
 
 But these are flowers that never die, 
 Immortal as the mind. 
 
 Then let thy youthful days be spent, 
 An amaranthine wreath to twine, 
 
 A garland that may deck thy brow. 
 
 When thou, dear boy, hast done with time.
 
 49 
 
 TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Strike the soft chords of friendship's magic lyre ; 
 
 Though winter, with his icy hand, doth chill, 
 
 And stem the flo wings of each gurgling rill, 
 Thy power (a quenchless, an eternal fire) 
 Doth warm the heart, and sweetest thoughts inspire. 
 
 What tho' there are whose eyes with sorrow fill. 
 When nature in her stormy vest is clad? 
 (As tho' the world without their world must be,) 
 
 To me, thus robed, she seemeth not less glad. 
 O say, what friendship's sacred power must be ! 
 
 Beneath her genial ray the dark clouds flee ; 
 She thaws the current in the bosom sad, 
 And warms it into energy divine, — 
 A second sun, that nature's doth outshine. 
 
 £
 
 50 
 
 S T A N Z A S 
 
 Written at sunset, in sight of a favourite bower. 
 
 Tis sunset, and my heart grows sad, — 
 
 I feel the approaching hour 
 When he, in brighter livery clad, 
 
 Will shine o'er yonder bower. — 
 
 That bower where I so lately sat, 
 
 Happy in love's young dream. 
 With one who vow'd to share my joys, 
 
 And I each grief witli him. 
 
 But oh, how altered now that voice! 
 
 How sadly changed that eye. 
 Which said, in language mute, but strong, 
 
 '* My love shall never die !" 
 
 And there did seem within his heart 
 
 Some being's sweet control. 
 That sway'd each motion, word, and thought, 
 
 And held his conscious soul.
 
 51 
 
 And 1 had thoughts and feelings too, 
 
 In harmony with his, 
 Awaken'd by some power unseen, — 
 
 By kindred sympathies. 
 
 No hope had he — no fear, but I 
 Was conscious of the same ; 
 
 His bosom never heaved a sigh, 
 But mine shared half the pain. 
 
 Each joy, each grief, aye, every thought 
 That stirred within his heart. 
 
 Was known, was felt, was dear to me, 
 Howe'er severe the smart. 
 
 And my fond heart, it trusted him, 
 And thought it could confide 
 
 Its every hope — its every joy, 
 To him, and none beside. 
 
 But oh, how false, how faithless grown ! 
 
 Henceforth we meet in sorrow ; 
 And never more within yon bower, 
 
 The sun will 2'ild to-morrow.
 
 52 
 
 Gay flow'rets now around it twine, 
 And yield their fragrance sweet ; 
 
 But, wither'd soon, their fallen leaves 
 No more of joy shall speak. 
 
 But there will be the long dark grass, 
 Bending beneath the wind. 
 
 And Avhat of joy so lately spoke, 
 Be all to gloom consigned. 
 
 Thus sadly fade all earthly hopes. 
 
 The best and fondest too ; 
 Like phantoms that dissolve in air. 
 
 They seem, but are not, true. 
 
 E'en friendship, with its tow'ring crest. 
 And love's high boasted power. 
 
 Like playthings, oft are thrown aside, 
 In some unlook'd-for hour. 
 
 Who has not felt the withering chill 
 
 Of friends no longer kind ? 
 The sunshine of our youthful days 
 
 Leaves shadows broad behind.
 
 53 
 
 The blight of age comes o'er our brow, 
 As frost the green leaf sears, 
 
 And smiles that once illumed the cheek, 
 Are all exchanged for tears. 
 
 Then ah ! as o'er the loveliest scenes, 
 We look with raptured eye, 
 Through hope's bright vista let us read, 
 " Her flowers all bloom to die." 
 
 THOUGHTS AT MIDNIGHT, Oct. 7, 1839. 
 
 Oh ! life is like some airy thing. 
 All flutt'ring in a summer ray, 
 
 And poised upon its fragile wing. 
 As by the fortunes of a day. 
 
 Oh! life is like some little barque, 
 vSoft gliding o'er the quiet sea, — 
 
 Its white sails glitt'ring in the sun, 
 And all around tranquillity.
 
 54 
 
 But, ere it reach the destin'd port, 
 Some storm unlook'd-for raises high, 
 
 Tremendous billows swell the sea, 
 
 And threatn'ning clouds spread o'er the sky. 
 
 Such, such is life : its morning- fair. 
 No veil of clouds obscures its dawn ; 
 
 But, oh, how soon doth sorrow come, 
 And all its sunlight joys are gone ! 
 
 Then let me look with stedfast eye. 
 Beyond this dreary world's rough sea, 
 
 Where no loud billows harshly roll — 
 The ocean of eternity.
 
 55 
 
 TO 
 
 Oft do I liold with thee the converse sweet 
 
 Of kindred minds ; for though thou 'rt far away, 
 The echo of thy voice doth with me stay, 
 And memory its notes can well repeat 
 In full response as when we erst did meet : 
 
 Nor can its tone of interest e'er decay. 
 As the soft strains of distant minstrelsy, 
 It soothes my heart, my ravish'd ear delights ; 
 
 And, like my musings on eternity, 
 It tills my soul ; and while it thus invites 
 
 To deepest thought, it cheerfulness incites. 
 And wakes a chord of gladsomeness for thee. 
 Oh sympathy ! thou art a power divine, 
 A sacred spring, which moves my constant heart to 
 thine.
 
 56 
 
 YOU MUST NOT COME. 
 
 Oh, come not when the wound is bleedmg! 
 
 When it is staunch'd, 
 
 And my spirit launch'd, 
 Then thou may'st come, no danger heeding. 
 
 For thy power to grieve will then be o'er, 
 
 And with dismay, 
 
 Thou then wilt say — 
 ** Too late ! I can be kind no more ! " 
 
 How mem'ry then will tear thy breast. 
 
 Will rack thy brain, 
 
 While horrid pain ' 
 Of conscience ne'er will let thee rest ! 
 
 Oh dismal sight — to look upon a face. 
 
 In smiles once clad, 
 
 By thee made sad. 
 And death's cold hand upon my brow to trace !
 
 57 
 
 " Oh ! would these eves once more mioht meet 
 
 The gaze of thine : 
 
 They once were mine ! " 
 In accents wild, thoult then repeat. 
 
 But closed for ever they '11 remain 
 
 Against thy voice ; 
 
 Thou 'It ne'er rejoice 
 To see them smile on thee again. 
 
 " Oh bitter pang of death!" thou'lt say, 
 
 " And didst thou tear — 
 
 And I not there — 
 Her heart, her soul, her life away ? 
 
 *' Would I had felt her dying breath, 
 
 Heard her last sigh, 
 
 Wiped the tear dry. 
 Or sooth'd her in the hour of death ! 
 
 *' I might have heard her pardon speaking ; 
 
 For, ah ! I see 
 
 She thought of me. 
 When the chill of death was o'er her creeping.
 
 58 
 
 " But she is j^one ! Too late to save : 
 
 All that 1 see 
 
 Now left to me, 
 Is to lay her down in the quiet grave." 
 
 LIFE'S ILLS. 
 
 Oh sickening thought! our days are passing by, 
 And, ere we are aware, will all have flown, 
 With aught of bliss we ever called our own ! 
 Who does not ask, though breathed in quiet sigli, 
 Wherefore are we, if thus our joys must die? 
 And who, that youth outlives, but doth bemoan 
 That all in [)rospect is as dark and drear ? 
 The trodden path reveals what lies before ; 
 Only more frequent is the falling tear, 
 Whicli, brush'd away, returneth evermore 
 Until the heart is wounded to the core. 
 Fraught with distress the past, the future drear — 
 What wonder if the captive heart com})lains. 
 And longs to quit its prison and its chains ?
 
 59 
 
 TO GEORGE, 
 
 After his departure for China. 
 
 Thou 'it sailing, my child, far, far from thy home; 
 
 But I feel, though thus we 're apart, 
 A chain still unites us, howe'er thou may'st roam, 
 
 Which anchors thee tirm in my heart, 
 
 IN o storm can from thence break the hold thouhast ta'en, 
 
 Though o'er thee its fury beat long ; 
 No tempests can sever the links of a chain 
 
 Maternal affection makes strong. 
 
 Fixed there, thou art safe : thou ever must meet 
 
 A haven where'er thou mayest be ; 
 Where the billows of life's stormy sea, if they beat. 
 
 Will harmlessly dash against thee. 
 
 There safe shall thou be as the desolate rock, 
 
 Unmoved in the midst of the sea. 
 Which seems e'en the fury of ocean to mock, 
 
 Lash'd howe'er by its waves it may be. 
 
 My love be thy compass while yet thou mayst roam, 
 The star by whose light thou may'st steer. 
 
 The chart that shall guide thee safe back to thy home, 
 That focus of all that's most dear.
 
 60 
 
 TO FREDDY. 
 
 Stem not the tear that fain would steal, 
 And wet that still, soft cheek of thine ; 
 But rather court the heart to feel 
 
 A full response to love like mine ; 
 For love like mine 't were no disgrace 
 To dim the lustre of thy face. 
 
 A mother's heart — a fitting shrine 
 To offer nature's sweetest flowers ; 
 
 And thou'st been wont of such to twine 
 A wreath for me in childhood's hours : 
 
 But breath of years has o'er them past. 
 
 And wither'd some, too bright to last. 
 
 Yet, if the lovelier ones must fade, 
 As time rolls on, may those still bloom 
 
 Which on my altar may be laid. 
 Or serve as garlands for my tomb : 
 
 The brighter ones 111 part with now 
 
 To deck a younger, fairer brow.
 
 61 
 
 But let the tear bedew thy cheek, 
 
 Nor stem its course, nor speed its flight; 
 
 O'er the heart's boiind'ry let it leap, 
 
 Since she, who could not bear the sight, 
 
 Would still rejoice, to know her power 
 
 Unshaken, in her dying hour. 
 
 TO 
 
 Though all without may dark appear. 
 And hope withhold its cheering ray. 
 
 Let but thy love illume my path. 
 And in this world 1 yet would stay. 
 
 Though there's a darkness of the mind, 
 That sheds a sadness o'er the heart, 
 
 Which friendship, with its sacred light, 
 May bid, but cannot make depart.
 
 62 
 
 Yet, with thy love, envy may rage, 
 
 And fortune change — 'twill all be well : 
 
 Such love can never fail to calm 
 
 Tlie heart where heaviest sorrows dwell. 
 
 Then wilt thou not for ever stay, 
 And watch me with affection's eye, 
 
 Wipe every rising tear away. 
 
 And break each heart-oppressive sigh? 
 
 I know thou wilt, — for thou art true ; 
 
 And, when o'erclouded most my way, 
 Thy love, like sunbeam through a cloud, 
 
 Shall come and chase the gloom away. 
 
 Let but thy voice, in accents mild, 
 Fall, like soft music, on my ear, 
 
 I shall forget the storms witliout, 
 And calmly smile, if thou art near.
 
 63 
 
 TO 
 
 And woiildst thou linger in this dreary world, 
 To soothe my heart, and smooth my rugged way ? 
 
 To cast upon my gloomy path of life 
 
 A gleam of joy from friendship's purest ray? 
 
 Friendship! thou balm of life, thou solace sweet! 
 
 Though few^ the joys this lonely heart doth know, — 
 Thou hast a charm which even angels own,* 
 
 And all adore thee in this world below. 
 
 To thy sweet power, I yield my bosom sad ; 
 
 And, when o'ercharged w ith grief, this aching breast, 
 I'll fly to thee, as zealots to their gods, 
 
 And, at thine altar find eternal rest. 
 
 And in that hour, which often fancy paints. 
 
 When from mortality my spirit flies. 
 Oh, be thou there, with kindly hand, to guide 
 
 Its unrobed essence to the upper skies ! 
 
 * i 
 
 'Angels from fi-iendship gather half their joy." — Young.
 
 6-1 
 
 A MOTHER'S SOLILOQUY OVER HER SLEEPING CHILD. 
 
 Untarnish'd innocence, imminj^led joy, 
 
 Sit on that infant brow ; and smiles of bliss, 
 
 Like wild-flowers sparkling- in morn's early dew, 
 
 Light up each feature of that lovely face ! 
 
 Heedless of danger, and unused to art. 
 
 How wilt thou bear what thou mayest have to brave, 
 
 "When thou a mother's tender care mayest lose ; 
 
 And strangers in this cold unfeeling world 
 
 Shall rob thee of thy peace, and leave thee lorn. 
 
 And sorrowful, and helpless in thy grief? 
 
 Who then shall soothe thee? Helpless and forlorn, 
 
 Oh thou wilt weep for her whose bosom bleeds 
 
 Witli fears of what thy future days may bring! 
 
 But weep in vain : she may no longer look 
 
 With deep solicitude, and love intense, 
 
 Upon her child. But, parted though on earth, 
 
 She'll meet thee in a happier sphere — in heaven !
 
 65 
 
 ON VISITING MY NATIVE LAND, 
 After an absence of many years. 
 
 Remember'd spot! ill childhood's happy hours, 
 
 When my young mind was free from every care, 
 
 And all around seem'd pleasure and content, 
 
 How oft I've wander'd, with a rustic train, 
 
 Who own'd me as their queen, in this loved vale! 
 
 Then, innocence, like the sweet blush of morn, 
 
 Suffus'd my youthful cheek ; and pleasure beam'd 
 
 A purer lustre from my sparkling eye. 
 
 The gloom of sorrow never cross'd my brow, 
 
 Save when, perchance> some childish project fail'd ; 
 
 And then how short my grief! a shower of tears, 
 
 And all was o'er, and joy resumed its smiles ; 
 
 Soon other schemes were plann'd, and I forgot. 
 
 In them, the transient sorrows of an hour. 
 
 How changed the scene ! all my companions fled.
 
 66 
 
 Not one to bid me welcome ; and oh, percliance, 
 
 Forgotten too ! But has my native land 
 
 No other charms, dearer than these? Oh yes! 
 
 For here my parents dwelt ; here I was train'd, 
 
 Ere yet intelligence possess'd my mind. 
 
 Can I forget, though years have pass'd, the cot 
 
 Whose roof received me first, — where I was launch'd, 
 
 A little stranger, on the sea of life ? 
 
 No, never ! there is a magic in the power 
 
 Of sweet association, that renews, 
 
 In lively colours, scenes of former days. 
 
 And gives them back, awhile, to soothe our woe ; 
 
 And thus, while mem'ry lasts, deeply impress'd 
 
 Will be the recollection of their love; 
 
 And, while I'm bending o'er such sacred dust, 
 
 I'll moisten, with the tear of gratitude. 
 
 The dear remains of those I most revered ; 
 
 I'll pour, in Heaven's attentive ear, the prayer 
 
 That I ere long may join them in the skies, 
 
 And quit a world whicli now has lost its charms.
 
 67 
 
 ON BEING ASKED TO FORGIVE. 
 
 Forgive thee! does the lightning strike 
 
 Its fury on the fallen tree? 
 Long ere thy lips had breathed the wish, 
 
 My love had all return'd to thee. 
 
 As all unlike the angry waves 
 
 That make the mighty ocean roar, 
 
 To the soft music of a lake, 
 
 When summer breezes sweep it o'er — 
 
 Is the sweet, gentle tide of love. 
 When ruffled, as it glides along 
 
 'Tis by some stream unlook'd-for met. 
 That does not to its course belong. 
 
 Ere long, the little tempest o'er. 
 It flows into its former track, 
 
 As though no storm its rest had broke, 
 Or thrown its gentle current back.
 
 68 
 
 On being requested to write a few lines on the Annivcrsarj' of the 
 Birtli of a dear Friend. 
 
 Fain would 1 touch some gladsome string- 
 To usher in this day ; 
 
 But mute is joy within my heart, 
 I can no cheerful lay. 
 
 But, though the muse may fail to tell, 
 
 The voice refuse to sing, 
 There is a chord within my heart, 
 
 A tribute glad would bring. 
 
 Nor art nor science needed here 
 
 To wake its soothing lays ; 
 'Tis friendships loftier, nobler strain, 
 
 Attuned to highest praise. 
 
 THE DAY-DREAM. 
 
 Her sparkling eye seems picturing future scenes. 
 And speaks of life, and love, and joy to come, 
 (Like nature's beauties op'ning to the spring,) 
 While, in her heart, a sweet response is found.
 
 69 
 
 THE MANIAC. 
 
 Edwin visiting the spot where he had been accustomed to meet Adelaide 
 and discovering her standing, in a melancholy attitude, on the point of a 
 rock ; viewing her at a distance. 
 
 Edwin. 
 
 And thou wert faithful, Adelaide, and true ! 
 Oh would thy Edwin had but proved so too ! 
 Yet turn, my love, and look on me once more ; 
 Peace, for one moment, to my soul restore. 
 Here, on this rock, how often have we met. 
 And watch'd the paly moon in silence set ; 
 When stillness has prevailed these scenes among, 
 How oft I've listened to thy melting song. 
 Like cherub accents from a world of bliss. 
 Wrapping my soul in love's sweet ecstacies ! 
 Ah, what a different view the scene presents ! 
 Too late, dear maid, thy Edwin now repents. 
 Yes, Adelaide, I love thee now — if heretofore 
 I knew it not ; and peace, for evermore, 
 Must quit this breast. No more the evening star 
 Which oft we've watched, bright rising from afar.
 
 70 
 
 Can shed, for us, its radiance on this scene : 
 
 In vain for joys I look that erst have been. 
 
 Now the fork'd lightning, with its vivid flash, 
 
 And awful thunders, with tremendous crash, 
 
 Assail my ears ; whilst only to my eyes 
 
 Pale spectres of departed joys arise. 
 
 I must away — Oh my distracted mind ! 
 
 Farewell, dear Adelaide, thou hast been kind ; 
 
 Would I could now repay thee for thy truth ! 
 
 But all thou used to prize is fled with youth. 
 
 I dare not 7ioiv present at thy fair shrine, 
 
 A heart that once, perchance, was pure as thine ; 
 
 Absence and time have changed its snowy vest. 
 
 And now in guilt's dark drapery 'tis drest. 
 
 1 will not ofl'er it to thee my love : 
 
 I'll fly, and hope to meet thee in the realms above. 
 
 x4delaide's Sololiquy. 
 
 (Edwin still viewing her.) 
 
 She turn'd, and o'er the mighty plain, replete 
 With verdant beauty, stretch'd beneath her feet, 
 She gazed, with such a wildness in her look. 
 As if some spell her recollection woke 
 Of former times ; and as in deep despair.
 
 71 
 
 Like dying accents from a lieart of care, 
 
 She thus breathed fortli her melting strain of woe : — 
 
 Ah, my lost Edwin! would that thou could'st know 
 Thy once-loved Adelaide still thinks of one 
 With whom she's wander'd oft these scenes among ; 
 And who has never ceased, from day to day, 
 To visit them, though thou wert far away. 
 Where art thou now my Edwin ? such a night 
 Of howling wind and tempest might affright 
 Much stouter hearts than mine at this lone hour ; 
 But, faithful to my vow, (tho' storms may low'r 
 Or lightning's flash or howling thunders roll,) 
 I, unconcern'd, here silently do stroll 
 To think of thee ; and fancy thou art still 
 Watching with me the moon, o'er yonder hill 
 Rising in placid beauty, and the evening star, 
 In all its splendou)-, glist'ning from afar — 
 Fancy I'm gazing still, with fond delight, 
 On one so fair. Ah ! would the vision bright 
 Could linger on, till this poor, throbbing heart 
 Had ever ceased to beat, or ceased to smart ! 
 
 She paused ; then in a tone of deep despair 
 Call'd on his name, which e'en in death was dear ; 
 But, ere he could advance, her slender form
 
 72 
 
 Was lost to sight, and the tremendous storm, 
 With double fur} raging through the sky, 
 That well the strongest courage might defy, 
 Conceal'd the dreadful truth. When he had gain'd 
 The sacred spot, too well 'twas all explained : 
 She was beyond the reach of mortal aid ; 
 The debt of nature she had madly paid. 
 
 TO 
 
 Written in a favourite Summer-house. Tiine — Evening. 
 
 How I wish you were here! now the sweet star is up, 
 On which we so often delighted have gazed. 
 While soft-breathing zephyrs, like whisp'rings of hope, 
 Sigird sweetly around, as each other we praised. 
 
 Yes, I wish you were here ! it is just such a night. 
 As in childhood's blest dawn we first happily met ; 
 When our hopes and our wishes, together, seem'd bright. 
 Like von cloudless horizon, where tho sun has just set.
 
 73 
 
 And I wisli you were here ! for each cloud moving on, 
 Reminds me of pleasures that long have been past; 
 But, alas ! the illusion too quickly is gone, 
 And I weep with regret that it was not to last. 
 
 Oh, I wish you were here ! and tho' now but to trace 
 How sorrow^ has alter'd each feature you loved ; 
 Where happiness beam'd, thro' each smile of a face 
 That was only beclouded when yours was removed. 
 
 Yet 1 wish you were here ! for one note of your voice 
 Would restore to my bosom a transient delight; 
 And tho' short be its stay, yet my heart would rejoice, 
 Were it only to dream o'er a vision so bright. 
 
 Love and honour compel me to wish you were here : 
 'Twas from hence 1 first vow'd you should ne'er be forgot ; 
 And though now 1 am sealing that vow with a tear, 
 1 am not the less glad that we met on this spot. 
 
 What tho' some would fain whisper " You should not 
 
 be here," 
 Yet aft'ection like mine know s no bounds to its pow er ; 
 Affection like mine ever wishes you near. 
 And never more strongly than it does at this hour.
 
 74 
 
 A PENSIVE HOUR. 
 
 Ah ! the bright green sea, with its foaming billow, 
 
 I never shall gaze on again ; 
 No — my head will rest on its snow-white pillow, 
 
 While the sun still shines o'er the main. 
 
 The breakers afar may be watch'd with delight, 
 By hundreds who gaze from the shore, 
 
 While my eyes, for aye, shall be closed to the sight 
 Of what now they all but adore. 
 
 Well, if on a more peaceful ocean, my barque 
 
 Shall calmly be gliding along, 
 Borne quietly on by some heavenly breeze. 
 
 All vocal with seraphim's song, — 
 
 I shall never more sigh for life's treach'rous sea, 
 
 With all its angry commotion, 
 But welcome, more gladly, the haven of peace, 
 
 Tht; j)ort on eternity's ocean.
 
 75 
 THE CONSOLATION. 
 
 My little barque is homeward bound, 
 
 Her voyage well nigh made ; 
 The haven of her rest in sight, 
 
 Where she will last unlade. 
 
 Then, all the storms and billows past, 
 
 And fear of shipwreck o'er, 
 How sweet, her anchor safe to cast 
 
 On some more genial shore ! 
 
 There, with her quiet sails all furl'd, 
 Where no rude tempest blows, 
 
 To rest secure from every gale. 
 Quiescent in repose. 
 
 The billows that now o'er her roll, 
 While crossing life's rough sea, 
 
 Will never, there, disturb her calm 
 Of blest tranquillity. 
 
 Speed, then, thy course, my little barque 
 Once more spread every sail ; 
 
 Press onward to the destined port, 
 And peace immortal hail !
 
 76 
 
 MY STAR OF HOPE IS SET. 
 
 My star of hope is set, 
 
 Night's clouds are commg o'er ; 
 My happiness is gone, 
 
 And I shall smile no more. 
 
 'Till late my heart rejoiced, 
 
 And dream'd of bliss in store ; 
 
 But, blighted every liope. 
 Oh, 1 shall smile no more ! 
 
 Why do Ave look for peace 
 
 Where changeful billows roar? 
 
 Life's ocean is no resting-place ; 
 Here wreck'd, we smile no more. 
 
 In sadness I must walk 
 My journey on this shore ; 
 
 Till cross'd its stormy sea. 
 My heart can smile no more. 
 
 Above this dreary waste, 
 
 Then let my wishes soar ; 
 Where none are heard to mourn 
 That they can smile no more.
 
 / / 
 
 THE SMILE. 
 
 Dost thou suppose, because I smile 
 Thy bosom's sorrow to beguile, 
 I feel not for thy care the while? 
 
 My ... . 
 
 Full many a tear bedims my eye, 
 And many a deep, embosom'd sigh 
 Escapes its cell, when thou'rt not nigh, 
 
 My 
 
 I try to hide my grief from thee. 
 
 And hope, through smiles, thou may'st not see 
 
 The bitter pangs that torture me, 
 
 My 
 
 Yet, whilst I know thy heart is sad. 
 Although my face in smiles be clad, 
 I never can be really glad. 
 
 My 
 
 Could I but place the beauteous rose, 
 Where now the plant of sorrow grows, — 
 Oh ! this would lessen all my woes, 
 
 My 
 
 • • • •
 
 78 
 
 But, while I see that look of care, 
 Believe me, 1 must ever share 
 A part in all thou hast to bear, 
 
 My ... . 
 
 And though my face in smiles be drest ; 
 Yet know, the grief that's but repress'd, 
 Leaves the sad heart yet more distress'd. 
 
 My 
 
 Written on my way home through the Highlands of Scotland. 
 
 Ye fair and beauteous skies, 
 
 Crystal fountains, 
 
 Glorious mountains, 
 Deep'ning shades, that meet my eyes ! 
 
 Castle, ruin, hill, and glen, — 
 
 Scenes 1 prize. 
 
 But language dies. 
 When I strive to paint them!
 
 79 
 
 Fairest of earthly ground, 
 
 Where sweet wild flowers, 
 By gentle showers, 
 
 Breathe fragrant perfumes round ! 
 
 Why is my heart so sad ? 
 
 Why thus bleeding, 
 
 While 'tis feeding 
 On all things sweet and glad ? 
 
 Is it because I go 
 To meet again 
 Each source of pain, 
 
 Or weep for other's woe ? 
 
 Farewell, ye scenes too dear 
 
 For memory's joy. 
 
 Without alloy. 
 Would 1 might rest me here !
 
 80 
 
 SONG. 
 
 There are on me wlio love to gaze, 
 And J may pleased appear; 
 
 But yet I never saw a face 
 With yours 1 would compare. 
 
 I ask no other lip, to speak 
 In praise of aught they see ; 
 
 I ask no other eye to gaze, 
 Or shed its light o'er me. 
 
 1 would not hear another's voice, 
 
 Nor see another's face ; 
 I would not meet another's smile, 
 
 Another's fond embrace. 
 
 No ! like the needle to the pole, • 
 Which cannot rest elsewhere ; 
 
 So in your presence I would live, 
 Be happy only there.
 
 81 
 JOYS DEPARTED. 
 
 Oh ! who would wish their by-gone years, 
 With all their bliss, to live again ? 
 
 Since, oft as mem'ry towards them strays, 
 Each pleasing thought is mix'd with pain. 
 
 I would not — no, I would not feel 
 The lofty joys that once were mine ; 
 
 Lest round the heart that loved them well. 
 They might more closely still entwine. 
 
 For now, alas ! like gloomy clouds. 
 That float beneath the azure sky. 
 
 Thought of the past too often shrouds 
 The smile, that fain would grief deny. 
 
 But ah ! the canker-worm within. 
 That, vampire-like, destroys its prey, 
 
 Embosom'd in the heart's sad shrine. 
 Cannot conceal'd for ever lay. 
 
 When hope's last withering fibre dies. 
 And dark despair has ta'en its seat, 
 
 The fairest fabric shortly lies 
 A mouldering ruin at our feet. 
 
 G
 
 82 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Nay do not chide, thou'lt make me sad, 
 
 1 never will again repine ; 
 Do what thou wilt, I'll seek to chase 
 
 Each sorrow that is thine. 
 
 Full many a grief my heart has borne, 
 And weather'd storms of sorrow, 
 
 But I have learnt, the darkest night 
 Oft brings the brightest morrow. 
 
 And oh ! I heed not, love, the storm, 
 If but thy presence cheer me ; 
 
 Above all trouble I can rise, 
 If thou art smiling near me. 
 
 Then look not sad again, love. 
 
 But trust my faithful breast, 
 Affection's echo there thou'lt hear ; 
 
 To hush thy cares to rest.
 
 83 
 
 Written after pai-ting from Freddy.— May 27th, 1840. 
 
 Ere thy mother gave thee ])irth, 
 Ere thou wert a thing of earth, 
 
 I loved thee, Freddy 
 
 Since with thee time hath begun> 
 Far as yet thy race is run, 
 
 I love thee, Freddy. 
 
 Thon dost wind around my heart, 
 Mak'st it loth with thee to part. 
 
 My Freddy. 
 
 And thou wilt ever cling to me. 
 Like ivy roimd the green oak tree, 
 
 My Freddy. 
 
 In life, in death, in joy or pain, 
 I still shall thee, my child, retain. 
 
 My Freddy. 
 
 Together, we shall soar away, 
 And live in everlasting day, 
 
 My Freddy.
 
 84 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 
 
 A.S, one by one, the fragile cords 
 
 That bind me to this lower sphere 
 
 Loosen their hold, my spirit faints, 
 
 And mourns the power that keeps me here. 
 
 Borne on the wings of those I love, 
 
 All lesser joys I'd leave behind, 
 
 And stretch my thoughts towards higher things, 
 
 On which may feast the immortal mind. 
 
 That subtle essence, undefined, 
 Which holds with spirit oft, unseen. 
 The converse sweet of kindred souls ; 
 As though on earth it ne'er had been. 
 
 Oh ! might I but the breeze command, 
 My little barque should homeward steer. 
 And bear, safe into port with me. 
 The friends that still on earth are dear.
 
 85 
 TO . 
 
 As some sweet sound borne on the summer air, 
 A moment heard fillmg the soul with joy, 
 Keeping the list'ninu ear in full employ, 
 
 To catch again, perchance, a tone so rare, 
 
 Seeming design'd the wretched heart to cheer, 
 (And which its sadness doth awhile destroy) 
 So, unto me, the music of thy voice ; 
 
 Which, like some cadence well to memory known. 
 Wakens ten thousand echoes that rejoice 
 
 The pensive mind, with feelings all its own ; 
 Causing the tear of joy to trickle down, 
 
 As tho' to weep were now the heart's own choice. 
 
 Sweet melody ! fain would 1 court thy power ; 
 
 Thy spirit hail in every pensive hour! 
 
 TO SPRING. 
 
 W^iNTER is gone, and spring comes hast'ning on. 
 As tho' she joy'd to come — like some dear friend, 
 Who long, perchance, hath absent been from home.
 
 86 
 
 But in our mem'i y lived — to whom, o'er land 
 
 Or ocean, wandered still our constant thoughts ; 
 
 Whose near approach raises our hopes all gay, 
 
 As streamers floating, 'neath a clear blue sky, 
 
 From sacred battlements, or spirit pure 
 
 Who, of this earth all tired, spreads forth its wings, 
 
 Anxious to cleave yon blest ethereal dome. 
 
 And leave the dregs of this dull sphere behind. 
 
 O come ! and though not welcome to my heart, 
 
 Wearied by sorrow, and by hope deceived. 
 
 Yet, long as thou humanity canst cheer. 
 
 Spread out thy mantle green, and chase away 
 
 The gloom that winter casts on all around ; 
 
 Which (like the clouds that sometimes shroud the brow, 
 
 And oft in showers of tears bedew the cheek 
 
 Of disappointment's children) nature's face bedims. 
 
 What though outlived I have thy glad return! 
 
 Shall I not hail thee still, thou season fair. 
 
 As welcome all, to those who yet are free 
 
 To look upon thy loveliness, with eye as bright 
 
 Of ripening hopes to them, as sweet as the young buds 
 
 That blush and blossom 'neath thy power divine!
 
 87 
 
 TO , ON PARTING. 
 
 23rdJune, 1840. 
 
 AVe parted — it seem'd well, no tear escaped 
 Or trembling stood, to tell the heartfelt pang 
 That stirred within us ; but there are looks 
 That speak a bitterness of soul, silent. 
 Yet more expressive far, than floods of tears. 
 And such were visible,,! ween, (to those 
 Who pierce beneath a smile,) on cither's cheek. 
 Oh ! 'tis a wretched thought to those who love, 
 " We meet no more 'neath earth's blue canopy. 
 We've breath'd the last farewell — the last fond look 
 Of friendship's living fire has cross'd the eye. 
 And mingled with its kindred flame — the last 
 Warm pressure of the parting hand been given!" 
 Oh ! ye who know to part with those most dear. 
 Alone, can judge what such farewells can mean : 
 But ye can tell — for ye have felt the sting.
 
 88 
 
 TO MEMORY. 
 
 Oh ! when the present can no longer charm, 
 How fair the past appears ! — We then retrace 
 The beaten track which wears a lovelier face 
 Than erst it did, when every thing was warm, 
 And bore a sunny hue — ^that mem'ry doth embalm. 
 
 And, from her tablet, nothing can efface 
 The recollections of those moment^; dear, 
 Which, in his flight, the dark'ning wing of Time 
 
 Could never shadow, but that will appear. 
 Fraught with each reminiscence, or sublime, 
 Or beautiful, or exquisitely dear. 
 
 The saddest heart amid its gloom to cheer. 
 Adieu to grief — since memory's power divine 
 Gives back departed joys, making them doubly mine. 
 
 TO MELANCHOLY. 
 A Fiiipnent. 
 
 Oh come! and, with tiiy sable vesture, wrap 
 My spirit, tremblingly alive to catch 
 The inspiration of thy magic spell!
 
 89 
 
 I am thy child : and as a parent dear 
 
 I love thee — for beneath thv touch, 
 
 I have been happier far, than though the world, 
 
 In all its sunshine of deligiit, were mine ! 
 
 How oft, when those I loved, in the gay dance 
 
 Were joining, have 1, all secretly, stole 
 
 Far from the giddy scene, with nature fair, 
 
 Alone, converse to hold — and dark green trees, 
 
 With their umbrageous foliage, did form 
 
 A canopy, all fit for summer eve, 
 
 'Neath which my lonely, sorrow-stricken heart, 
 
 A peace inhaled — pure as the streams of light 
 
 Seen thro' their branches thick. On moonbeams oft 
 
 My thoughts have travell'd towards that distant sphere, 
 
 The calm abode of spirits once on earth — 
 
 To the companions of my by-gone days. 
 
 Who lov'd with me to wander, and survey 
 
 Nature's fair works, and, as they gazed. 
 
 Admired, and loved, the glories they display'd.
 
 90 
 
 THE WREATH. 
 
 Oh ! do not weave that wreath for me, 
 
 Of flow'rets fresh and fair ; 
 The wither'd heart — the shrouded brow, 
 
 Can ne'er such trophies wear. 
 
 In hai)pier hours, there once was wove 
 
 A coronet for me ; 
 A chaplet form'd of sweetest flowers, 
 
 The sweetest that might be. 
 
 But, one by one, they fell — and now 
 
 A ruined heap they lie ; 
 Telling a tale, all wildly true, 
 
 That pleasure soon may die. 
 
 All silent is the voice, that bade 
 For me their beauty bloom ; 
 
 And flow'rs of dark and sadder hue 
 Now better me become. 
 
 The cypress, night-shade, or the yew, 
 
 With sorrow best agree ; 
 And tiiese, the fittest emblems are 
 
 Of love's mortalitv.
 
 91 
 
 TO 
 
 Oh, I have loved thee from my earliest youth, 
 And still do love thee ; to my shipwrecked heart 
 Thou art a haven, that doth well impart 
 Shelter amid the storm ; and though forsooth 
 There may be others, who, with equal truth 
 
 And love and zeal, would ward off every dart 
 From sorrow's quiver, yet dearer to me 
 The notes of thy poetic lyre, whose strain. 
 
 Breathed forth in soft and hallow'd minstrelsy, 
 Can soothe my heart amid the deepest gloom ; 
 
 And, while thou'rt near, misfortune shall in vain 
 Strive to subdue this spirit ; for to thee. 
 With sweet assurance and with love intense, 
 ril fly, that comfort still thou may'st to me dispense.
 
 92 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 Ou hearing there was no more room in a Family Vault for any of its members. 
 
 W^HAT boots it mnv where I may lay me down? 
 Whether beneath the sod, where mid-day sun 
 Sheds his full radiance o'er the sleeping dust, 
 And happy children gambol round the grave ; 
 Or in some vault, remote from vulgar eye. 
 And sheltered from his rays? It matters not 
 Where the frail body shall resolve itself 
 Into its native elements, so long- 
 As the immortal essence is secure. 
 There was a time when I had fondly hoped 
 To sleep with tliose w ho to this heart were dear. 
 With whom I pass'd the happiest hours of life ; 
 But it is over now — in a strange grave, 
 Some distant spot, where not a particle, 
 Perchance, of kindred dust may ever reach, 
 I must repose, till that great day shall come, 
 When atom shall its fellow atom seek, 
 And sister spirits meet in one blest spliere ;
 
 93 
 
 ON A FAVOURITE CHILD LEAVING HOME. 
 
 Oh ! what avail the genial air, 
 Books, friends, or silent grove ? 
 
 These may be sweet — but what are these, 
 If absent one we love? 
 
 To watch the glorious setting sun, 
 
 The stream beside to rove — 
 Oh ! these are sweet, but cannot please 
 
 If absent one we love. 
 
 To listen to the waving corn. 
 
 So watch its graceful move. 
 This, this is sweet, yet pleases not, 
 
 If absent one we love. 
 
 The paly moon, or setting sun, 
 May somewhat soothing prove ; 
 
 But oh ! there's something wanting still. 
 If absent one we love ! 
 
 All nature's varied charms we feel 
 
 To admiration move; 
 But what, oh what is all the world, 
 
 If absent one we love !
 
 94 
 Oh who would wish, if earth could yield 
 
 Nothinji^ tliese charms above, 
 To linger here ? There's nouglit can please, 
 
 While absent one we love. 
 
 TO 
 
 Once was my heart to gladsomeness attuned, 
 But grief has left it dead to joyous tone ; 
 Now sad and unbefriended, all alone, 
 
 As it had ne'er with kindred heart communed, 
 
 It lies, well nigh by its own grief consumed. 
 Yet thus, all anguish-torn, it still doth own 
 
 A sympathetic chord which could respond 
 To highest thoughts, to sentiment refined. 
 
 And is there not a spirit to be found 
 
 Who would not gladly mingle mind with mind. 
 Who fain with me would sacred pleasure find. 
 
 The universe sublime to traverse round ? 
 
 Yes, there is one, who, with the rainbow's grace. 
 
 Amid the storm appears, my gloom to chase.
 
 95 
 TO JENNIE ON HER BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Dear Jennie, though my heart is sad, 
 
 Fain would I tune my lyre, 
 To strike, for thee, the notes most glad, 
 
 A flection can inspire. 
 
 I would not sweep its chords to break 
 Those gladsome smiles of thine; 
 
 But every joyous string awake 
 To make them brighter shine. 
 
 I would not shroud thy youthful brow. 
 
 Nor raise one pensive sigh ; 
 Thy spring of life and and joy is now — 
 
 Oh may it never die ! 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 To Friendship's shrine sweet flowerets bring, 
 
 Bathed in ethereal dew ; 
 Her influence cheers the saddest heart, 
 
 As springs in deserts do.
 
 96 
 
 Oh, 1 have felt her magic power, 
 
 Liftmg the soul on high, 
 And whispr ing there was in my breast 
 
 A spark of Deity. 
 
 And, while 1 listened to her voice, 
 My thoughts were borne away 
 
 To yonder sphere, where angels bask 
 In her celestial ray. 
 
 Full oft I've swell'd her sacred strains, 
 And bow'd before her shrine. 
 
 And offer'd there pure incense, meet 
 For sacrifice divine. 
 
 And still my heart shall fondly seek, 
 Mov'd by her sacred power. 
 
 With flow'rets fresh, each hour to deck 
 Her soul-enchanting bower. 
 
 Until, with powers enlarged, I reach 
 
 The paradise above ; 
 With angels, from the fountain drink 
 
 Of friendship and of love.
 
 97 
 
 TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Not half so sweet, the soft iEolian lyre, 
 Bearing its sighs upon the summer air, 
 In strains all soothing to the heart of care, 
 As friendship's notes, breathed by celestial choir, 
 In harmony with feelings that inspire 
 
 (Touch'd by some master-hand, some genius rare) 
 Within the breast, that pure ennobling joy 
 Which softens, and yet elevates the soul ; 
 
 Wafts it above, where nothing can destroy 
 The melody divine, but where the whole 
 In one continuous strain shall ever roll, 
 And tind in every heart, without alloy, 
 An echo meet, a more than answering chord, 
 That shall respond to Friendship and her God.
 
 98 
 SOLILOQUY. 
 
 How little dreams the soft and gentle child, 
 When the bright morn of infancy is his, 
 
 That soon the clouds of sorrow, dark and wild. 
 Will shroud in gloom his best felicities ! 
 
 But, as the clear blue sky at early morn, 
 
 When the gay lark, with joyous wing, doth soar. 
 
 Looks as the veil from nature's face were torn, 
 To hide her smiles from mortal eye no more ; 
 
 So, youth's horizon glows with hope's bright hue, 
 And tints divine of future, pure, delight: 
 
 But, oh ! he finds her promises untrue ; 
 
 The sun goes down, and day is changed to night. 
 
 Thus, and more sad, hath been my youth's short day ; 
 
 ]No brightness e'er did my horizon streak; 
 In earliest infancy, it seem'd to say, 
 
 O'er thee no sun of happiness shall break. 
 
 Oh, 'twas a gloomy morn ! all unillumed. 
 
 Dark clouds then o'er my destiny did lower ; 
 
 And still, alas, poor liapless child ! I'm doom'd 
 To feel the pangs of that prophetic hour.
 
 99 
 
 Is there no balm to soothe the grief- worn heart, 
 To calm its risings, and to heal its smart? 
 
 Yes, in the grave, there is eternal rest! 
 Then bid my wretched spirit hence depart. 
 
 TO SHELLEY. 
 
 Thou minstrel sweet, whose soul-absorbing strain, 
 In hours of sadness, on the ear doth swell, 
 And ling'ring stay, well-pleased! In thee doth dwell, 
 
 Like echo, w hich the sound doth still retain 
 
 Of music sweet, giving it back again, 
 
 The spirit's melody! Thou dost know well 
 
 The poetry of thought, and can'st inspire. 
 Touched by creative fancy's magic power, 
 
 All that can wake the soul's melodious lyre; 
 And, as the soft notes from some lonely tower. 
 Or grateful odour from some lovely flower. 
 
 Which we've been wont to welcome and admire, 
 
 Revives the feelings of the heart ; 
 
 So do thy lays to me a soothing joy impart.
 
 98 
 OX PARTING FROM A BELOVED CHILD. 
 
 Sweet child ! I i;o with thee in heart and soul, 
 
 Though this fond eye can follow thee no more ; 
 
 At study or at play, Tm with thee still ; 
 
 And when soft sleep doth li^ht upon thy brow. 
 
 My prayers ascends to Heaven, to ask for thee 
 
 The ceaseless watchings of Jehovah's care. 
 
 To guard, through stilly night, thy innocence, 
 
 And spare thee to a mother's fondest love. 
 
 For one like thee, such love may be forgiven ; 
 
 For thou art fair enouiih for angels' ken : 
 
 They, with complacent smiles, might look on thee. 
 
 And winsrs outstretch to flv on thv behalf, 
 
 Gladly to rescue from impending ills. 
 
 Oh ! may they ever thus encamp around 
 
 Thy youthful destiny, and, all through life. 
 
 Be thy right hand, thy safe attendants still. 
 
 And thy bright convoys to a happier world ; 
 
 When heart and flesh shall fail, and thou must die, 
 
 Then waft him on your wings, ye spirits pure, 
 
 To where the blessed do for ever rest. 
 
 Free from the sin and cares of this dark world, 
 
 To bask in heavenly sunshine, heavenly love !
 
 101 
 FRAG31ENT. 
 
 Oh ! why expect in earthly soil, 
 The seeds of joy to rear? 
 
 The germ may seem to promise fair 
 But seldom blossoms here. 
 
 So many blights assail the bud, 
 Ere yet its leaves expand, 
 
 'Tis \ain» maturity to seek 
 In this ungenial land. 
 
 The canker-worm oft lurks within 
 The flower that looks most fair ; 
 
 And, when expanded, disappoints 
 Our culture and our care. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE OF- 
 
 The blush of guilt ne'er mantled o'er that cheek, 
 But conscious innocence sat smiling there ; 
 That eye ne'er beam'd a ray but what might seem 
 A sudden flEfsh emitted from the skies. 
 Forth from those lips, in language eloquent. 
 Would sometimes break truth's loveliest music ;
 
 102 
 
 But otViier closed l)y melancholy's power; 
 While pensive thought cast o'er his features mild 
 A gloom that told a restlessness of soul, 
 Wliich spoke the anguish which liis bosom knew. 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAY. 
 
 Hail, day of days! whose morn was ushered in 
 By star more bright than heaven's whole host : its 
 
 beam 
 Illumined the fair plains of Bethlehem 
 With a celestial radiance, and did shine 
 Upon the shepherds there, with light divine ; 
 A splendid galaxy, that one bright gem 
 Which flung its lustre "cross the vast expanse 
 Of heaven's blue arch, in coruscations bright ; 
 K\'c long the lesser planets did advance. 
 And they together sang, and did unite 
 To pay their homage to the greater light, 
 That glorious " Morning Star," whence still elance 
 Those brilliant rays which shine through all the soul, 
 Like streams of living fire, flashing from pole to pole!
 
 103 
 
 TO , ON HIS LEAVING ENGLAND. 
 
 Tv HO knows that we again may meet 
 In such a changeful world as this ? 
 
 Yet, wheresoever you may dwell, 
 My heart will wish you bliss. 
 
 If over foreign lands you roam, 
 
 With strangers, false or true. 
 Remember there is one at hoyne. 
 
 Whose friendship follows you ; 
 
 Whose heart responds to all your hopes, 
 
 Whose int'rest fills her soul, 
 To whom your welfare must be dear, 
 
 Though years of absence roll. 
 
 You never need, when far away, 
 
 Ee'r feel yourself alone ; 
 Mind never leaves the mind attuned 
 
 To feelings like its own. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! oh, think of me, 
 If e'er your heart grows sad ; 
 
 Remember mine is true to you. 
 And let this make you glad !
 
 104 
 
 On hearing the Aii' of the " the Light of other days." 
 
 W^HERE is tlie heart that does not feel, 
 
 And lend its meed of praise, 
 To those, alas ! too touching words, 
 
 ''The light of other days " ? 
 
 Ah ! who that reads tlie pages back 
 
 Of life's eventful book, 
 Breathes not a sigh o'er those bright days 
 
 Which long have him forsook ? 
 
 Those sunny days without a cloud, 
 When childhood's bliss he knew, 
 
 Nor dreara'd that he so soon should wish 
 Those pleasures to renew. 
 
 A tender mother then he had, 
 
 But she, alas ! is gone ; 
 And often, since, the storms of life 
 His little barque have torn. 
 
 Her counsel was his compass then. 
 By which his course was steer'd ; 
 
 And safe it bore him into port. 
 When not a star appearVl.
 
 105 
 
 And one he loved, the favour'd one, 
 
 Whose joy was his to raise ; 
 He only sees, in memory's glass 
 
 "The light of other days." 
 
 Each object now seems shadow'd o'er, 
 And grief within him preys ; 
 
 A sun-set memory o'er him gleams, 
 "The light of other days." 
 
 Well may he weep, while thus his eyes 
 On by-gone pleasures gaze ; 
 
 And sigh, while thus his thoughts renew 
 " The light of other days." 
 
 AN APOSTROPHE TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friendship ! some deem thee an exhausted theme; 
 But oh ! while time endures thou must be prized. 
 What's human life without thy cheering power? 
 A trackless waste — a world without a sun! 
 Thou art the ray that lighteth up the mind, 
 The only star which 'mid its darkness shines! 
 Oh! I for ever would thy brightness hail, 
 Thou scintillation of the Deity !
 
 106 
 
 DECEMBER 31st, 1840. 
 
 Mark how the changeful tide of time rolls by ! 
 Each swift revolving year but speeds its flow, 
 And as the current of its stream doth go 
 Into tlie ocean of eternity, 
 Swelling its waters, })lainly do we see 
 
 Borne on its surface, all of bliss we know. 
 But if our barque escape a final wreck, 
 If it at length its wished- for port attain, 
 Who would its rapid course e'er wish to check, 
 Which bears us but the sooner from all pain. 
 The stormy billows ne'er to ride again ? 
 With banner gay her joyous prow we'll deck, 
 And look with rapture down the stream of time, 
 Which fast conveys us to a Ijiighter clime.
 
 107 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Poor child of misfortune ! thy vessel was launched 
 
 On a troubled and boisterous sea ; 
 But the storm will soon cease, the anchor be cast 
 
 Where a rest remaineth for thee. 
 
 The sails shall be furl'd, and thy barque shall be 
 steer'd, 
 
 In peace, to the safe port of heaven ; 
 Anchored there, it will rest, eternally rest, 
 
 By tempests no more to be riven. 
 
 A^ FRAGMENT. 
 
 Smile once again, though sadly lower 
 
 The heavy clouds of sorrow's ill ; 
 And let me feel I yet have power, 
 Though storms may rage, to soothe thee still. 
 
 Though grief may darken that dear brow. 
 
 So lately glad, yet turn to me ; 
 I would not wish that thou shouldst know 
 
 A pang I did not sliare with thee.
 
 108 
 
 THE SORROWFUL HOUR. 
 
 What thoiiiih misfortune's clouds niav low'r> 
 
 Or dark my sky may be ? 
 All trouble I but little heed, 
 
 If thou art left to me. 
 
 The gay, the proud, may soon forget. 
 
 When sunny hours were mine ; 
 But with their smiles I well can part, 
 
 If 1 may still have thine. 
 
 For, oh! when sorrow shrouds the heart, 
 
 And anguish pales the cheek, 
 The selfish world no balm can give. 
 
 No comfort has to speak. 
 
 Then shall I heed the vacant gaze. 
 
 Or withering look of scorn ? 
 Smile thou on me, and I'm content, 
 
 Though all beside were gone. 
 
 Thou art my world : in thee I tind 
 
 Enough to make me blest : 
 Thy love be mine, in weal or woe, 
 
 And farewell all the rest.
 
 109 
 
 Tlic tide of sorrow still may rise, 
 And grief's rough billows swell ; 
 
 But with thee, ^vhatsoe'er my lot, 
 1 still shall think it well. 
 
 TO 
 
 Oh ! 'mid the bustle of this toilsome state. 
 
 Is it not soothing to the heart, to feel 
 
 Some spirit kind is labouring for our weal. 
 In sympathy with all that doth relate 
 To us and ours ; whose smile doth animate 
 
 And cheer our path, and help us to unseal 
 The stores that long in mem'ry's cell have slept, 
 (Like those who may within the tomb have lain 
 
 Unvisited, but all securely kept,) 
 Those joys we ne'er had hoped would wake again? 
 
 Fraught with emotion, fond, tho' mixed with pain, 
 What if we shed again the tears once wept ! 
 The key-note, too, of joy afresh is given, 
 And sorrow and despair from the sad heart are driven.
 
 no 
 
 ON BEING TOLD I SEEMED GAY. 
 
 Among the crowd, I wear a smile, 
 And cheerful seem as they ; 
 
 But, as conceal'd within the flow'r, 
 Destruction's worm doth prey. 
 
 So 'neath a face of smiles, oft lurks 
 
 Grief's dark resistless spell, 
 Which quietly performs its work, 
 
 Within each secret cell. 
 
 Too soon the smile that welcomes thee, 
 The form that now looks gay, 
 
 May, like some faded flow'ret, be 
 Enveloped in decay. 
 
 Trust not too much the fitful smile, 
 Nor yet the cheek of bloom ; 
 
 These idols, tho' we love them well, 
 Are victims for the tomb.
 
 Ill 
 
 TO 
 
 Past are the hours when thou coiild'st make me glad I 
 In those blest moments, oft this heart did smile 
 Amid its bitterness ; for thou didst wile, 
 
 Resistlessly, away all ills it had 
 
 Remembrance of — and, when in darkness clad, 
 E'en in an agony its griefs beguile. 
 
 Gone now the hope that thou would'st long control 
 Each rising current that might ruffle still, 
 
 Like breeze-fann'd lake, my sorrow-stricken soul, 
 Leaving it all a prey to what doth fill 
 And agitate it o'er, with fears of ill. 
 
 That rougher waves may one day o'er it roll, 
 
 Like some lone vessel, within sight of shore 
 
 Yet to be wreck'd — ^the waves above, to rise no more.
 
 112 
 
 TO GENIUS. 
 
 Come, i^enius, come! quickly a mantle weave, 
 And round my soul all magicly entwine! 
 Thou hast been others' guest, oh, be thou mine ! 
 Thy spirit kindled — may it never leave 
 One who a double portion would receive ! 
 
 Without thine aid, oh, what the minstrel's lays! 
 For him await no wreath of verdant bays, 
 Or laurel green ; all sadly he must grieve, 
 If not for him thine inspiration lives. 
 Still will he seek thine energy divine. 
 Still will he crave, what genius ever gives. 
 The power, one day, in thy bright page to shine : 
 Once there enroU'd, though he may but appear 
 Amongst the meanest of thy sons, his heart 't will 
 cheer.
 
 113 
 
 A LAMENT. 
 
 What now is nature\s voice to me, 
 With all her touching minstrelsy ? 
 
 'Tis like a death-knell to my heart, 
 Bidding its latest hope depart. 
 
 Nor song of bird, nor gentle breeze. 
 
 Nor moonbeams seen thro' dark green trees, 
 
 Nor mountain height, nor silent lake. 
 Its grief-bound spell can ever break. 
 
 But still the lark will chaunt his song, 
 All sweetly clear, and full as long, 
 
 'Neath bright blue skies, as when by me 
 Was felt his soothing melody. 
 
 And summer sounds the air that fill. 
 Pleasing or sad, will float on still ; 
 
 But ne'er to me can these restore 
 The bliss I now may feel no more. 
 
 Alas ! how sad to linger on. 
 
 With ev'ry source of pleasure gone. 
 
 Where naught of joy is left to me, 
 Save tracing back from memory !
 
 114 
 
 TO 
 
 Thou art a gem, all worth tlie miner's toil ; 
 
 And tho' days, months, or years, should pass away, 
 Ere thou dost shed on me thy fullest ray ; 
 Though, like the spirit in its mortal coil. 
 Shrouded and dim ; or diamond, which, despoil 
 The roughness which obscures its full display, 
 At length doth glisten forth, and well reward 
 The diligence, the patience, and the skill 
 Of him who made it worthy of regard — 
 So thou shalt all my sanguine hopes fulfil : 
 A polished gem become, whose lustre will 
 Make me, ere long, all lesser lights discard; 
 Leaving within my breast one fear alone. 
 That its bright rays may soon eclipse my own.
 
 115 
 
 A SOLILOQUY, 
 
 On revisiting a gate, the resort of my childhood. 
 
 Dear spot! replete with recollections fond 
 
 Of early days, when all my thoughts were bright; 
 Ere disappointment taught me to despond, 
 
 When joy, like dew-drops sparkling in the light 
 Of morning sunbeam, and the fragrance sweet 
 
 Of opening flowers, regaled my buoyant youth 
 With their rich perfumes, breathing odours meet 
 
 To offer Him, who did their charms impart. 
 Oh what a change a few short years have made, 
 
 Since last I stray'd, a careless school-girl, here ! 
 How many in the cold, cold grave are laid. 
 
 Whom then 1 loved, whose mem'ry still is dear ! 
 Say, retrospection, what a task is thine, 
 
 If call'd our hearts best idols to resign!
 
 116 
 
 TO MARY, ON HER WEDDING DAY, 
 
 If wishes, fraught with friendship's truth, 
 Alone were needed to procure, 
 
 For thee, the blessings Heaven bestows ; 
 The boon, dear Mary, would be sure. 
 
 Sorrow should never shroud thv brow, 
 Misfortune's quiver yield no dart. 
 
 That could thy happiness assail. 
 Or agitate or wound thy heart. 
 
 But calm and smooth thy path should be, 
 With flow'rets strew'd of fadeless bloom ; 
 
 And ev'ry bliss, and ev'ry joy. 
 
 Dear girl, should at thy bidding come.
 
 117 
 
 NEGLECT. 
 
 Neglect ! thou cruel, devastating blight, 
 
 How often doth thy cold and with'ring power, 
 With all its host of ills, in one short hour 
 
 The trusting heart with disappointment smite ; 
 
 And o'er it cast a mantle dark as night, 
 All chilling as the dreary winter shower ! 
 
 Oh, happy they whose little barque is seen. 
 
 As though no storm its white sails e'er did feel. 
 Gliding, unlash'd by angry billows green. 
 
 Through quiet waters, while its polish'd keel. 
 Gently inclining, through the waves doth steal 
 
 Towards some fair port, where it before hath been ; 
 
 While sighs the shipwreck'd heart this sad lament, 
 
 " Would that some beacon true my hapless course 
 had bent ! "
 
 118 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 That little barque upon the stormy wave, 
 Riding unsconcious of its danger there, 
 Speaks loudly of that absence of all fear, 
 Which infants know, in passing to the grave, 
 Borne on His breast who came their souls to save. 
 How easy thus to cross, without impair, 
 Death's bitter stream ! — gain the celestial port 
 Without one adverse current — and ere thought 
 Of shipwreck can disturb the peaceful breast. 
 Its spreading canvass the rich gale has caught, 
 Uninjured cast its anchor — there to rest 
 In sweet quiescence — till He call, who taught 
 Its white sails first to catch the favouring breeze, 
 "^J'lien steer'd it safe, across life's rough and dang'rous 
 seas.
 
 no 
 
 A COMPARISON. 
 
 As the harebell on the mountain 
 Stands trembling in the blast, 
 
 Bending* its fragile form to earth, 
 Until the storm be past ; 
 
 And when the wind hath hush'd its roar, 
 And ceased to beat the rain, 
 
 Its native elasticity 
 Raises it up again ; — 
 
 So man, a plant of stronger growth, 
 On whom disease doth beat, 
 
 And pour its fury like a storm. 
 Bends down beneath the weight ; 
 
 Till, from a secret power within, 
 Erelong (the storm gone by) 
 
 He, like the mountain flower, upsprings. 
 Unwilling thus to die!
 
 uo 
 
 THE EVENING HOUR. 
 
 This is the lioiir that makes me sad, 
 When sunk the sun below the west. 
 
 And all, save my lone bosom, seems 
 LulFd to a sweet, a peaceful rest. 
 
 When gently seems each leaf to move, 
 And scarce is heard to breathe a sound. 
 
 And over ocean's glassy breast, 
 Not e'en a ripple can be found. 
 
 The paly moon, with her mild beams, 
 Calm o'er the quiet waters sleeping, 
 
 Like to affection, watching o'er 
 The object of its fondest keeping. 
 
 The stillness which all nature wears. 
 In solemn moments such as these, 
 
 Is like the pensive heart's lone musings, 
 On distant friend it no more sees. 
 
 And the rich glow the sun has left 
 
 Above the far horizon's line, 
 Heightens the tints of all around; 
 
 But sadder makes a heart like mine.
 
 121 
 
 Those brilliant beams, too, that are thrown 
 By yonder moon, across the sea, 
 
 Although they are divinely fair, 
 Yet oh ! they look not thus to me. 
 
 Once I could gaze on them with joy. 
 In by-gone days, ere yet I sorrowed ; 
 
 But, what of bliss I now may feel, 
 From mem'ry of the past is borrow'd. 
 
 TO 
 
 JVIay all the joy you wish for me, 
 
 (Breath'd in affection's tone) 
 Return to you, and may it be 
 
 Prophetic of your own ! 
 
 Yours is the sunny hour of youth, 
 
 When all doth bright appear. 
 And wears, at least, the garb of truth, 
 
 The guileless heart to cheer. 
 
 May grief's dark cloud ne'er shade your brow, 
 
 Or dim your eye with sorrow ; 
 But may it ever be, as now — 
 
 And brighter, every morrow!
 
 123 
 
 MATERNAL LOVE. 
 
 A mother's love! what is a mother's love? 
 Oh ! it is like the rock which none can move, 
 Which, howsoever dash'd by angry waves, 
 Serves only as a barrier kind, that saves, 
 Or keeps the reckless torrent within bounds ; 
 Which spends itself, ere long, in murmuring sounds, 
 And tlien retires, all pacified and calm : 
 So, oft, maternal love doth save from harm. 
 
 But ah ! the sunshine of a mother's smile, 
 W liich lights her gentle brow, and doth beguile 
 The treasure of her heart, her darling boy, 
 To meet her love ; that nothing may destroy 
 The hope she cherishes — that when no more 
 He, on her ear, his infant tale shall pour. 
 She yet may have his love, her tears to dry. 
 When clouded o'er shall be her summer sky. 
 
 Too oft, alas! the child, our heaven that made. 
 Ere infancy be past, in death is laid ;
 
 123 
 
 But this, oh! this is nothing to compare 
 
 With tlie heart's coldness, which hath ceased to care 
 
 For griefs which once it was its joy to share. 
 
 What though in solitude? forsaken though? 
 
 The mother's love still circles round her brow ; 
 
 And though her child with others now may wend, 
 
 And pass the hours he once with her did spend, 
 
 She loves him still ! nor asks him to forego 
 
 One pleasure for her sake; though tears do flow 
 
 Adown her cheek, this still her highest bliss, 
 
 To sacrifice her own to heighten his. 
 
 Alone, she sighs ; but with him, still she smiles ; 
 
 And, while her heart is sad, his grief beguiles. 
 
 Yes! hers might break, ere she would tell her grief 
 
 To him, or ask of him relief. 
 
 He knows not how she's watch'd the backward tide 
 
 Of his aflection, since he left her side ; 
 
 The tone of voice first changed, and then another 
 
 Mode of address — from "dearest" into ''mother:" 
 
 Cold, though not felt by him, unknown the change. 
 
 Except to her, whose thoughts have but one range. 
 
 Then comes the comrade, glowing in his youth, 
 And wearing like himself, the vest of truth ; 
 Whose young affinities, like dew-drops bright.
 
 124 
 
 Sparkling- in morning's pure and early light, 
 Are seen to shine, and by affection's rays, 
 Absorb'd like them become, while yet we gaze ; 
 Yet, still, her love moves on its even flow, 
 Uncheck'd by adverse currents : it can show, 
 Can feel no change, no change can know. 
 
 This is a mother's love — her cheek may pale, 
 Her heart may break, but this can never fail : 
 When set her sun beneath the clouds of time, 
 Its glow will live — ^just as the sun doth shine 
 All brightly still, below the horizon's line ; 
 And leaves, long after he has sunk to rest. 
 The traces of his light, with which he bless'd 
 The sphere so late he warm'd — thus, long will shine 
 A mother's love, in memory's light divine.
 
 125 
 
 TO 
 
 Scarce unto me, my child, as yet, thou'rt known, 
 But unto one who fills this soul thou hast been kind ; 
 For this I love thee much! but words are faint, 
 To speak the w armer feelings of the heart : 
 Accept this silent tribute of my thanks, 
 With all the kindliest wishes I can breathe — 
 That o'er the opening bud of thy fair spring. 
 The genial rays of heaven's bright sun may fall. 
 And chase each threat'ning blight that may assail 
 Thy growing beauty. May it wide expand, 
 And thus, all perfect, send its fragrance forth 
 To scent the atmosphere in which it blooms ! 
 May happiness be thine, that thou mayst yield 
 To those who need a portion of thy store ; 
 And, giving thus, mayst thou increase thine own !
 
 12G 
 
 Written on the 25th of Dec-enil)er, IS^d. 
 
 I ENVY not the hearts so gay 
 That liail with joy a Christmas day, 
 Unheedful of the sorrows past, 
 (Howe'er bereaving,) since the last. 
 A chasm, here and there, to such, 
 Their mirtlifidness doth never touch ; 
 With equal joy their bosoms swell, 
 Though echoes still the solemn knell 
 Of those who once with them did share 
 The crowning bounties of the year. 
 But oh ! there are whose hopes are gone, 
 Whose brows have been of pleasure shorn, 
 Whose chaplets, once with roses deck'd, 
 Are faded now, through cold neglect ; 
 Who weep, with sorrowful concern, 
 Of days like these the sad return : 
 And such, alas ! the pilgrim drear, 
 Who halts upon his journey here. 
 To spend, once more, but ah, not gay ! 
 With friends on earth, a Christmas day.
 
 127 
 
 TO 
 
 As some sad captive, who, from forth the bars 
 
 Of hiM contracted cell, looks out and sees 
 
 The bright blue sky, and feels the balmy air. 
 
 That well remind him of those by-gone days 
 
 His childhood knew ; when he, all free from care, 
 
 And redolent of hope, did walk abroad. 
 
 And vainly dream their brightness long would last — 
 
 So the lone heart that once enjoy'd the bliss 
 
 Of sympathy, with those whose kindred fires 
 
 Burned on one altar, often looketh back. 
 
 With longing eye, to hours when, free as air, 
 
 It rose on fancy's wing, and reached the skies, 
 
 Check'd by no adverse current ; when nor mist. 
 
 Nor cloud, nor floating atom, intervened 
 
 To shroud its native element : it breathed 
 
 An essence pure, all like its own ; and soar'd, 
 
 And revell'd in an atmosphere of joy.
 
 128 
 
 TO MR. 
 
 Acknowledging the receipt of two miniatures— one of himself, and the other 
 of his lady, taken when they were quite young — accompanied with the 
 remark that they looked not as once. 
 
 The bloom of youth has pass'd away, 
 And time has made a change ; 
 
 But more of beauty, I would say. 
 Does o'er those features range. 
 
 What, in years past, w as in the germ, 
 
 Is now become matured ; 
 And what hope whisper'd might be firm, 
 
 Is now to us secured. 
 
 Oh, youth is sweet, but youth is frail ! 
 
 How many blights may come ! 
 And all that promised fair may fail, 
 
 Or but imperfect bloom. 
 
 But, like as when the tender flower 
 Has weather'd the rude blast. 
 
 We feel that, in a darker hour, 
 Its vigour still may last :
 
 129 
 
 Thus, though long years may pale the cheek, 
 
 The outward frame impair, 
 The ravages of time — these speak, 
 
 The heart is no less fair. 
 
 TO FREDDY, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Though sad the heart that breathes this lay. 
 All that the fondest love can ask, 
 
 Or pure affection can display, 
 
 Is still your mother's proudest task. 
 
 Sweet child! along the path of life 
 
 For you may pleasure grow ; 
 And may my days of care and strife, 
 
 Be never yours to know ! 
 
 But hours of bliss, undying bliss. 
 
 That sorrow ne'er may shroud, 
 And ev'ry day be bright as this, 
 
 A sky without a cloud !
 
 130 
 
 TO 
 
 Thou'lt miss me in the far-off land, 
 While wending on thy lonely way ; 
 When distant every friendly hand, 
 Or smile of mine, to shed its ray. 
 
 A light, which, mingling with thine own, 
 So often told of truth and love; 
 And, blending thus, like meteor shone, 
 Brighter than any star above. 
 
 That smile will memory often wake. 
 And back, its lustre will be given 
 Reflected — as, in glassy lake. 
 Are clearly seen the stars of heaven. 
 
 And Poesy her power will raise, 
 To charm thee with her sacred strain ; 
 But thou will want my kindred lays, 
 And so wilt list her notes in vain. 
 
 Ah yes! like joys that long have past, 
 All that thou meet'st, will only tend 
 To make the far-off land, at last, 
 A wilderness, without thy friend.
 
 131 
 
 DIM NOT THOSE EYES. 
 
 Dim not those eyes, my spirit's life, 
 With crystal drops from sorrow's stream : 
 Their lustre ne'er should tarnish'd be 
 With aught that doth like mis'ry seem. 
 
 Their brilliancy, all like the sun's, 
 Was meant to gladden us below; 
 Then let not tears their glory shroud : 
 Why should they aught of sadness know ? 
 
 Oh ! for my sake, whose heart is thine, 
 Which on thy smiles for joy depends, 
 Quench not the light that from them shines, 
 And to my own a lustre lends. 
 
 I cannot live without their light. 
 Which long hath been my world of bliss, 
 Heaven would be dark, without their rays. 
 Which make to me a heaven of this!
 
 132 
 
 AFFECTION. 
 
 AVhat is affection? 'tis a look, 
 When words have lost their pow'r; 
 
 It is the tear of sympathy, 
 For sorrow's blighting hour; 
 
 It is the smile, too, of delight. 
 When those we love are blest ; 
 
 It is the ready helping hand, 
 That gives the spirit rest ; 
 
 It is the music of the soul, 
 That sorrow doth beguile ; 
 
 It is the balsam of the heart. 
 
 Which soothes, and heals the while. 
 
 Then let affection like a star, 
 
 My path of life illume ; 
 And shed its radiance o'er my dust. 
 
 When laid beneath the tomb.
 
 133 
 
 TO 
 
 I COULD have loved thee, tho' I ne'er had seen 
 
 Thy face with mortal eye ; 
 I heard the thrilling accents of thy voice. 
 
 The spirit's minstrelsy. 
 
 And though now grown familiar to my ear 
 
 Like touch that wakes a chord, 
 All delicately strung, 1 still do feel 
 
 Response in every word. 
 
 Like the vibration true, that strongly speaks 
 
 From music's magic lyre, 
 Will ever sound to me, the gladsome notes 
 
 Thy memory doth inspire. 
 
 As time rolls on, may all my bosom feels 
 
 A kindred impulse prove ; 
 And, while I live, may I ne'er think thou art 
 
 Less worthy of my love !
 
 134 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 I LONG to watch the moonlit sea, 
 With its dancing waves of light, 
 
 Pressing onwards hastily, 
 
 As tho' they had been told they might 
 
 No longer seek the golden shore, 
 
 Or on its strand their murmurs pour. 
 
 I fain would live upon the sea, 
 
 I love its changeful motion ; 
 No irksome task is it to me, 
 
 To sing the praise of ocean ; 
 The music of its waves to me. 
 Is earth's divinest minstrelsy. 
 
 Oh! when the golden sun is hasting 
 Towards the dark horizon's line. 
 
 O'er its glassy bosom casting 
 Rays of glory, all divine, 
 
 My spirit soars, with thoughts sublime. 
 
 Beyond the bounds of space and time. 
 
 Glorious ocean! nature's pride! 
 Though thou hidest from my eye
 
 135 
 
 One with whom I would abide, 
 Yet, gazing on thy majesty, 
 
 As in a mirror, still I see 
 
 The soul of him so dear to me. 
 
 TO 
 
 Oh ! if, by fate, we'd earlier met. 
 Ere grief my brow had clouded, 
 
 This cheek had ne'er, as now, been wet, 
 Or had its brightness shrouded. 
 
 But go, some loftier spirit seek ; 
 
 And only think of me. 
 As one who ne'er thy peace would break, 
 
 Or sway thy destiny. 
 
 I love thee ; but my love is cold 
 To that which fires thy breast ; 
 
 Mine in calm words might all be told, 
 But thine's the soul's unrest. 
 
 Then fare thee well — in distant land. 
 
 If lonely thou may'st be. 
 Or thou should'st need some kindly hand. 
 
 Then think again of me.
 
 136 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 On earth no more a mother's eves 
 Can gaze on tliee, my boy, 
 
 Oh may she meet thee in the skies, 
 With full unmingled joy ! 
 
 Here, as she look'd, her fondest heart 
 Shrunk oft within its shrine ; 
 
 She felt the cords of love too strong, 
 That round thee did entwine. 
 
 Each breath of air she fear'd too keen. 
 
 To meet thy tender form, 
 Lest it might crush the fragile flower. 
 
 Trembling in life's first storm. 
 
 But oh ! thy gentle spirit now, 
 
 Breathes in its native air ; 
 Snatch'd from a cold ungenial soil, 
 
 To milder atmosphere. 
 
 And there, the spark of life is strong, 
 And sorrow never shrouds 
 
 The sunlight of the immortal mind, 
 With her overwhelming clouds.
 
 137 
 
 NEVER SEE ME AGAIN. 
 
 Never see me again! oh think of it never! 
 
 Can two, who so love, ever parted remain ? 
 The bond that cements us, death only can sever ; 
 
 Then say not, " I never shall see thee again." 
 
 Thou'rt my own love, and dear hast thou been to my 
 heart, 
 Since first, like a star, on my path thou didst beam ; 
 We must die, love! yes die, love! before we can part: 
 Of meeting no more then, oh! why shotdd'st thou 
 dream. 
 
 1 have loved thee too long, and too long hast thou cast 
 The sunshine of hope on my desolate lot, 
 
 That my happiness, love, wert thou gone, would be past, 
 Tho' thou, my own love, could'st ne'er be forgot. 
 
 In my dreams I should see thee, as tho' thou wert near; 
 And thy smiles, which have long been the light of my 
 life. 
 Would still ciieer the hours, all darksome and drear. 
 Which have been, in thy presence, with happiness 
 rife.
 
 138 
 
 Oh I love thee! and would 1 for ever might stay, 
 To show thee, by all that affection can show, 
 
 That mine is a love that can never decay ; 
 A love that for ever and ever must grow ! 
 
 Surely this will suffice that we never can part : 
 
 Then cherish such sad thoughts, I pray thee, no longer; 
 
 But believe, without doubting, the love of my heart, 
 Which absence and time can only make stronger. 
 
 TO A FRIEND IN SORROW. 
 
 A.ND think you it is well for one 
 Whose heart is sear'd by grief. 
 
 To check the current of a stream 
 That offers kind relief? 
 
 Oh ! rather let its gentle flow 
 Glide o'er your ruffled breast, 
 
 And gladly hail the kindly spring; 
 'Twill give your spirit rest.
 
 140 
 
 Few are the hearts that meet our own, 
 
 And fewer still that try 
 To smooth the rugged path of life, 
 
 Or help one tear to dry. 
 
 Then shall we stem the living stream 
 Of Friendship's constant flow ; 
 
 Or scorn the tribute of her aid. 
 Our richest boon below ? 
 
 Oh no ! if you the friend have found, 
 
 Who answers sigh for sigh, 
 And is a port amid the storm, 
 
 A haven ever nigh, 
 
 Drink of the brook along the way, 
 
 Life's journey 'twill beguile, 
 'Twill lessen e'en the bitterest woe, 
 
 And heighten every smile. 
 
 Accept the boon from Friendship's hand 
 Wet with her choicest dew ; 
 
 Upon the altar of your heart, 
 May it distil anew !
 
 140 
 
 SONG. 
 
 And thee 1 love, my own, my dear ; 
 For thee 1 shed the gladsome tear 
 
 Of sympathy divine; 
 'Mid sorrow's frowns, 'mid fortune's smiles, 
 Thou art the light my path beguiles. 
 
 Thou dost for ever shine! 
 
 Thou art to me a polar star, 
 
 To which my thoughts directed are, 
 
 Through every change of time ; 
 And thou wilt be the same, 1 know. 
 In future years ; in weal or woe, 
 
 Thou ever must be mine! 
 
 INot the rough powers of earth, combined, 
 Could force thee from my constant mind, 
 
 Nor change, nor place, nor time ; 
 Souls knit like ours need never fear 
 Misfortune's rage, howe'er severe : 
 
 Thou must be ever mine!
 
 141 
 I MUST LEAVE THEE. 
 
 I MUST leave thee; but oh ! while this bosom can feel, 
 Its tenderest thoughts shall be cherished for thee ; 
 And the tear-drop, full often, unbidden shall steal, 
 When thy thoughts, as thyself, shall be far off from me. 
 
 When the grey light of morning my eyelids shall greet, 
 And when quiet and calmness around may appear, 
 This shall bring to my mem'ry the moments so sweet. 
 When I dream'd of thy image, and fancied thee near. 
 
 When the deep shades of evening shall silently steal 
 O'er the brightness of things that had cheer'd me before, 
 I shall think of thee then, love, and bitterly feel 
 That it may be, my eyes shall behold thee no more. 
 
 'Mid the darkness of night, too, when sad and alone, 
 Where so late thou wert with me, to soothe me to rest, 
 I shall think of thee then — but to know thou art flown 
 And that nothing remains for this desolate breast, 
 
 But to sigh o'er the past, and to wait for the grave — 
 That all-welcome repose to the sorrowful mind ; 
 Where the grey light of morning, or evening's last hue. 
 No difference e'er makes to the tenant confined.
 
 142 
 
 SONNET 
 
 A.S some bright vision crossing Fancy's eye, 
 Which in a happy honr her spirit woke, 
 Thon didst appear ; and tho' no word was spoke, 
 
 I felt thy power, as thou wert really nigh, 
 
 In tangible and close affinity : 
 
 But, ere I could the Deity invoke, 
 
 Like all that we do wish the most to keep, 
 
 Thou 'dst ta'en thy flight and left me all forlorn ; 
 
 And o'er thy absence do I often weep, 
 
 With vain regret that thou shouldst thus have gone. 
 
 Oh, would that on my track thou hadst not shone ; 
 
 Since, meteor-like, that heaven's own arch doth sweep, 
 
 Thou leav'st but darker still the heart's deep gloom ; 
 
 A torch that lights its victim to the dreary tomb !
 
 143 
 
 TO 
 
 As the green ivy, round the full-grown oak, 
 Derives support from that majestic tree, 
 
 And, in return, its gratitude displays 
 By adding beauty to its majesty — 
 
 So, from superior intellect I've drawn 
 
 The help which mind to mind should ever lend ; 
 
 And oh ! of beauty, if I've aught to bring, 
 Let it with thy sublimer talents blend. 
 
 And if thy topmost bough should e'er be scathed 
 By time's decay, the closer I will cling 
 
 About the ruin, yet more proudly climb. 
 
 And o'er thy wither'd form, still my green mantle 
 fling.
 
 144. 
 
 THE DEPARTING SPIRIT. 
 
 Like brilliant stars upon night's darksome sky, 
 Sparkling- more brightly on its cloudy brow, 
 So the pure spirit that is parting now 
 With mortal coil, for immortality ; 
 With hope elate, and pious ecstasy. 
 
 It longs with those above humbly to bow 
 Before its great Creator, 'mong a host of planets. 
 Of planets, brighter than e'er lit the dome 
 Of yon material canopy. Once cross'd 
 The dull confinement of the dreary tomb. 
 Eternal glories shall its path illume. 
 And pain and sorrow in their light be lost : 
 Then no dark sky, not e'en a passing cloud, 
 The sunlight of the soul shall ever shroud.
 
 145 
 
 TO AUTUMN. 
 
 Oh, thou bright and clear blue sky ! 
 
 How unlike the season nioh ! 
 Thou, like hope, dost play thy part, 
 
 Smiling to deceive the heart. 
 
 Bright and gay the flowers appear, 
 That presage the closing year ; 
 
 Thus our dearest joys rise high, 
 Just before they are to die. 
 
 The smile that from the glad heart breaks, 
 And the storm the forest shakes, 
 
 Both alike, as sadly speak 
 
 Of hope deceived, and winter bleak.
 
 146 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 I WOULD that now my little race were run ; 
 That I might lay me down beneath the sod 
 O'er which in happier hours, my feet have trod ; 
 Ere sorrow had its direful work begun, 
 When, redolent of hope, I smiled like one 
 
 Who dream'd not that so soon his joys should end. 
 But ah ! all premature, they did descend 
 Beneath youth's bright horizon ; as the sun, 
 When clouds portentous, gathering in the skies 
 Before his setting time is come, too soon 
 Conceal him from our view, and nature lies 
 Shrouded in darkness, ere 'tis scarcely noon. 
 Oh retrospection! thou dost damp our joys. 
 Thou art a vampire, which the heart's warm blood 
 destroys.
 
 147 
 
 LOVE'S GRAVE. 
 
 AVhile o'er the sod that covers thee 
 
 I bend in silent grief, 
 To know that thou art near to me 
 
 Yields somewhat of relief. 
 
 Oh sacred spot ! to me more dear 
 Than halls of splendid show, 
 
 Would I could rest for ever here, 
 And bury all my woe. 
 
 But ah ! 'tis joy, for me too great, 
 To share thy lonely grave ; 
 
 Sometimes, unknown, to visit it. 
 Is all the bliss I have. 
 
 Well, be it so : beyond the tomb. 
 
 In vista bright, I see 
 A fairer state, where never come, 
 
 Death, pain, or misery. 
 
 Oh may I meet thy spirit pure 
 In some benignant sphere, 
 
 Where love and happiness endure, 
 Undimm'd by sorrow's tear.
 
 148 
 
 TO 
 
 Thou'lt think of me in lonely liour, 
 
 At evening's fading light; 
 When memory, with her magic power, 
 
 Gives back our pleasures bright. 
 
 And when the soothing vesper bell 
 
 Chimes musically clear, 
 Amid those notes, that sadly swell, 
 
 My own will meet thy ear. 
 
 When gliding o'er some glassy lake. 
 
 Blue as the vault above. 
 Thy soul will, sure, its silence break 
 
 In strains attuned to love. 
 
 Or be it thine to steer thy flight 
 Where sparkling moonbeams play, 
 
 Or climb some lofty ruin's height, 
 Sublime in its decay;
 
 U9 
 
 Or, like the happy bird which soars 
 
 Where'er its fancy guides, 
 That visits home or foreign shores, 
 
 And where it will abides. 
 
 Oh then, but hover o'er my barque ! 
 
 Thou'lt see it gliding by ; 
 Whence, if thou beam'st a kindred spark, 
 
 My own will meet thine eye. 
 
 Once more I'll breathe with thee on earth 
 
 The air of pure delight, 
 However low some rank thy worth ; 
 
 'Tis past their spirit's height. 
 
 The riches of the mind I prize, 
 
 And these are surely thine ; 
 The empty pomp of earth's disguise 
 
 ril leave, to call thee mine.
 
 150 
 
 TO SATURDAY EVENING. 
 
 So long as any thing- this heart can warm, 
 
 In sweetest estimation it will hold 
 
 These sacred hours on mem'ry's page enroll'd ; 
 In days to come to be a friendly charm 
 That o'er its surface shall produce a calm ; 
 
 Which, wlien all brighter hopes are growing cold, 
 Shall throw a mantle o'er severer tliinsrs. 
 And only to my weaken'd sight, display 
 
 The joys that do from retrospection spring. 
 And when I dwell on scenes long past away. 
 
 The fond expectance soon this heart to lay 
 With those I love to look upon, shall bring 
 The rapid current of youth's vigorous tide 
 Back to the fountain pure, that first its warmth 
 supplied.
 
 J 51 
 
 TO , ON BEING ASKED TO FORGIVE. 
 
 And think you I can wish to bring- 
 That lofty soul of thine, 
 Upon a level with the crowd, 
 Or even down to mine? 
 
 Ah no ! thy spirit's quenchless fire 
 
 I'd rather help to fan ; 
 'Tis this ennobles, raises high, 
 
 And dignifies the man. 
 
 1 could not see the giant oak 
 Laid prostrate by the storm, 
 
 And weep not o'er the havoc made 
 Of its majestic form. 
 
 And could I feel a joy arise 
 
 Within my breast, to see 
 The spirit of the man I love 
 
 Laid low , and that by me ? 
 
 Begone such thoughts ! a woman may 
 Her power be pleased to know ; 
 
 But if she loves as woman can, 
 That power she'll never show
 
 152 
 S L E E ]'. 
 
 Oh welcome sleep! tliou opiate, kind and safe. 
 
 Which soothes the billows of the troubled heart, 
 
 And lulls the soul to sweet forgetfulness ; 
 
 Sheathes memory's sword, and takes excursions wide 
 
 To foreign shores, where all is gaiety, 
 
 And pleasure reigns, and innocence, and truth : 
 
 Would ye could bind me, till the thread of life 
 
 Had drojjpd its hold, and set my spirit free ; 
 
 That from such sweet elysium 1 might glide. 
 
 Of death unconscious, into heaven itself! 
 
 LINES 
 Descriptive of a Painting called "Tlie Day-Dream." 
 
 Hope sparkles in her eye, and pleasure beams 
 A brighter ray, strewing her path with flowers; 
 The briglit blue sky, the balmy air, all speak 
 Of joy to her young heart ; like April's sun, 
 Beaming o'er nature's beauties, she, redolent 
 With hope and joy, sets out on life in smiles.
 
 153 
 
 TO INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 Come Independence! thou shalt be my guest; 
 
 While other feelings may delight my heart, 
 
 And softer influence to my soul impart, 
 Thou hast been cherish'd most, been loved the best 
 Yes, even in thy rudest garment drest, 
 
 1 still would court thee : thou dost bear a part 
 In all I do and feel ; and, bold as truth, 
 Dost sway thy sceptre o'er my willing mind. 
 
 E'en in the sunny hours of gladsome youth. 
 When all around was bright, and bland, and kind, 
 And every thought to tenderness inclined. 
 
 Thy power I own'd, stirring my soul, forsooth. 
 To lofty darings ; and I hail thee still, 
 Not as a captive, but a slave at will.
 
 154 
 
 "WHEN SHALL I COME?" 
 
 Come? when no more the tones of love, 
 From lips once thine can e'er be spoken : 
 Come? when these eyes are closed in death, 
 And when this heart shall quite have broken. 
 
 Then come — and gaze upon this face, 
 And mark its sad, forsaken look ; 
 Recall the smiles that once were thine. 
 Then close for ever memory's book. 
 
 And bear me quick to some lone place, 
 Some unknown spot where silence dwells ; 
 And lay me low beneath the sod, 
 Where grief no more the bosom swells. 
 
 Then leave me : 1 shall need no more 
 Thy love to cheer my lonely way ; 
 At rest within tlie kindly tomb, 
 / may be happy, thou be gay. 
 
 Oh shed no tear, oh breathe no sigh 
 
 O'er me, whose days were pass'd in sadness ; 
 
 Forget my love, forget my name. 
 
 But let thy hours be spent in gladness.
 
 155 
 
 Death's latest chill shall then be past, 
 The last convulsive throb gone by, 
 
 And still shall be this beating heart. 
 
 Where one wish linger'd — 'twas to die. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 The days are gone, when sometimes cheer'd 
 
 My dreary path would be, 
 By sunny smiles and looks of love 
 
 From hearts of sympathy. 
 
 But summer friends too oft depart. 
 
 When fortune smiles no more; 
 Like birds that quit a wintry clime, 
 
 To seek some milder shore.
 
 150 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 Now sorrow hath chilld the heart tliat was warm, 
 
 Sweet planet of night, 
 
 I hail thy soft light, 
 That can shed o'er my spirit a calm. 
 
 Yes, now that my eye is dimm'd with a tear, 
 
 I welcome thy rays. 
 
 Which, in happier days, 
 Fonnd me free from all sorrow and care. 
 
 As I gaze on thy pale yet beautiful face, 
 
 It speaks to my mind. 
 
 Like some friend that is kind, 
 Or as one who by smiles would my miseries chase, 
 
 Alas! that the moments thus granted should be 
 
 So short in their stay ! 
 
 They soon flee away, 
 And sorrow and sadness return unto me.
 
 157 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 But one fond look — I ask but one, 
 Since here we meet no more ; 
 
 Yet think of me as fond and true, 
 When on a foreign shore. 
 
 No other charms my heart can win, 
 
 It is for ever thine ; 
 Distance nor time shall alter love, 
 
 Affection pure as mine. 
 
 Yet let not one sad thought arise. 
 To crush thy promised joy ; 
 
 1 would not blight thy smallest hope, 
 Nor one bright smile destroy. 
 
 I go, in distant lands to seek 
 
 What fate denies me here; 
 And there, with strangers, or alone. 
 
 To shed the heart's sad tear. 
 
 Farewell, then, love — on earth farewell ! 
 
 When time and death are o'er, 
 Perchance we may each other meet 
 
 On heaven's eternal shore.
 
 158 
 
 TO , 
 
 Whose j)oetical talents were first elieited by the Author. 
 
 W^HEN first my lute 1 strung to please thine ear, 
 My spirit dream'd not e'er its chords would wake 
 An inspiration, that so soon should make 
 
 The latent powers of thy great soul appear. 
 
 Whose melodies poetic now might share 
 In all the honours Genius' sons partake. 
 
 As in the cloud lies hid the electric spark, 
 Until attracted by a kindred fire — 
 
 E'en thus, thy soul to poetry was dark, 
 Till kindled at my altar's humble pyre. 
 Now thou dost touch the silver-stringed lyre. 
 
 And master-bards its symphonies do hark. 
 
 Accept the honours offer'd thee by one, 
 
 Who, at thy feet, would lay her chaplet down.
 
 l.UNTLKY AND UICK, 
 PRI.NTEKS, 
 NKW BROAD STRKKT COURT, LONDON.
 
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