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 it'»ti.?i'tM'»W.'>i|V 
 
 AMIiy rlJGITIVE 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A I Fa-'? 
 
 Jllf HE following unpretending Rhymes are printed to 
 
 (pJllg) save the labour of copying. They are called 
 
 <^ "Family Fugitives" because, having been written 
 
 Y at various times by members of the same family, 
 
 (or rather of two families linked by marriage into one,) 
 
 they have recently been collected together in a manuscript 
 
 volume. 
 
 With the exception of the " Spaniard's Appeal," 
 sent to the Morning Chronicle at a time of great political 
 excitement, none of the pieces were written with a view 
 to publication, although a few of them have appeared 
 in the pages of the Inspector and other periodicals. 
 
 937875
 
 fWritten for the Manuscript Collection). 
 
 T^O meet no Stranger's careless eye, 
 
 To wake no Critic's pitying thought, 
 The Fugitives of days gone by 
 
 Back to their early homes are brought 
 
 " The Fugitives ! " oh no, not all ; 
 
 Some dwell in chosen bowers apart ; 
 And some are gone beyond recall ; 
 
 Unfeatured even in Memory's heart. 
 
 But yet a few are left to tell 
 
 Their varied tales of other days ; 
 
 Of Fancy's dream, of Beauty's spell, 
 Of Joy and Sorrow, Blame and Praise.
 
 Introduction. 
 
 Some enter with iinwrinkled hrow ; 
 
 And some are grown or growing old : 
 While o'er them all are hovering now 
 
 Spirits whose latest tale is told. 
 
 For each, although to worth unknown, 
 Affection finds an honored place ; 
 
 The lowliest plant that Love has grown, 
 Endears the spot it may not grace.
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A Winter's Sail ... ... ... ... 81 
 
 Absence ... ... ... ... 48 
 
 A Reply ... ••• ••• ... ... 88 
 
 A Farewell ... ... ... ... 94 
 
 Be Still ... ... ... ... ... 93 
 
 Bowers of Sympathy ... ... .. 56 
 
 Birthdays ... ... ... ••• ... 1^6 
 
 Coeur de Lion's Song ... ... ... 31 
 
 Donnington Castle ... ... ••• ••• 1 
 
 Elda ... ... ... ... ••• 91 
 
 Exeter by Moonlight ... ... ... ... 90 
 
 Fatherland ... ... ... ... . 61 
 
 Farewells ... ... ... ... ... 83
 
 Index. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Four Prophecies — 
 
 No. 1, to a Boy ... ... ... 108 
 
 No. 2, to a Girl ... ... ... ... 109 
 
 No. 3, to Anybody ... ... ... no 
 
 No. 4, to Nobody ... ... ... ... no 
 
 Four Valentines to an Infant Girl — 
 
 First Year, with a Doll ... ... ... m 
 
 Second Year, with a Noah's Ark ... ... 112 
 
 Third Year, with a Weather House ... 115 
 
 Fourth Year, with a Dissected Map ... ... lib 
 
 Gratitude .. ... ... ... 15 
 
 Home ... ... ... ... .._ 59 
 
 Is it Nothing to Thee ? ... ... ... 105 
 
 Lady RusseU at the Trial of her Husband ... ... IQ 
 
 Lament for the Fairies ... ... ... 22 
 
 Love's Prophecy ... ... ... ... 29 
 
 Lines with a Bible ... ... ... ... 34 
 
 Lines in Pencil in Album ... ... ... 66 
 
 Look on to the Future ... ... ... 92 
 
 No Night ... ... ... ... ... 118 
 
 No! Pio Nono ! ... ... ... ... 36 
 
 On L W 's Wedding Day ... ... ... 65 
 
 Psalm 134 ... ... ... ... 27 
 
 Prayer for Rain ... ... ... ... 73 
 
 Queen Mary's Lament for Calais ... ,., 38
 
 Index. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth's Lament for Essex ... ... 24 
 
 Retrospection ... ... ... ... 41 
 
 Resigned and Unresigned ... ... ... 46 
 
 Red Cross Warriors Grave ... ... ... 57 
 
 Rest ... ... ... ... ... 84 
 
 Song ... ... ... ... ... 45 
 
 Talent and Genius ... ... ... ... 104 
 
 The Bridal Dress ... ... .. ... 10 
 
 The Daisy's Lesson ... ... ... ... 13 
 
 The Departed ... - ... ... ... 74 
 
 The Demon's Castle ... ... ... ... 43 
 
 The Crosses of Life... ... ... ., 99 
 
 The Exile ... ... ... ... ... 67 
 
 The Flower of Home ... ... ... 4 
 
 The Fever of Vain Longing ... ... ... 86 
 
 The Mourners ... ... ... ... fi 
 
 The Old Man's Bride ... ... ... ... 101 
 
 The Spaniard's Appeal ... ... ... 49 
 
 Tlie Watery Grave ... ... ... ... 79 
 
 To a Calm Sea ... ... ... ... 63 
 
 To a Young Friend ... ... ... ... 64 
 
 To a Young Lady ... ... ... ... 69 
 
 To a Lady ... ... ... ... ... 78 
 
 To Donningtou ... ... ... ... 51 
 
 To Eva ... .., ,.» ,., „, ?8
 
 Index. 
 
 To Edith (in Album) 
 
 To Ella 
 
 To the Spirit of Poesy 
 
 To a Photograph 
 
 To Winter 
 
 What is a Nun? 
 
 What I do thou know'st not now, etc. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 71 
 76 
 63 
 
 100 
 19 
 97 
 
 120
 
 «
 
 Bomtmgton Casitle* 
 
 A DONNINGTON, the single tower, 
 
 That, ruined, crowns the verdant hill, 
 Is rife with dreams of former power, 
 
 And breathes of war and splendour still ; 
 The few short moments that I stayed 
 Lingering beneath that turret's shade, 
 
 Shall haunt my memory long 
 With visions of the evil days. 
 When round thee flashed the battle blaze, 
 
 And charged the hostile throng ; 
 And Kennet rolled a purple flood 
 With England's best and noblest blood.
 
 Donnington Castle. 
 
 Then floated from thy stately wall 
 
 The royal banner o'er the fray ; 
 With equal ardor firing all 
 
 Who gazed upon thy tower that day : 
 Hark ! how the shouts around thee ring 
 For God ! the Crown ! the Cause ! the King ! 
 
 And, ere they ceased to rave, 
 Or ere the smoke-dimmed sun was set, 
 The earth with Falkland's blood was met 
 
 The generous and the brave — 
 Nor long since Hampden fell, — to be 
 The warning word of liberty. 
 
 Thy ruins, Donnington, recall 
 
 The hours of England's deepest woe, 
 
 And sadder seems thy broken wall 
 
 From shades those hours around thee throw. 
 
 When from thy hill I looked around 
 
 Autumnal tints the groves embrowned ; 
 And darkly o'er the sky 
 
 The clouds in heavy masses rolled :
 
 Donnington Castle. 
 
 Though sometimes tinged with brightest gold 
 
 The fleeting sunbeams die ; 
 And melancholy sighed the blast 
 As if the voice of ages past. 
 
 Yet lovely was the sea of hills 
 
 That round thee heaved in brightest green ; 
 Lovely the glistening of thy rills 
 
 That flowed the darksome woods between. 
 And, Donnington, thou hast for me 
 A charm for future memory. 
 
 Besides thine own delio-ht : 
 
 O 
 
 For when I think upon thy towers, 
 Shall fancy summon back the hours — 
 
 Those hours so brief and bright — 
 When I incurred a grateful debt, 
 I shall not well, nor soon forget.
 
 €f)t jriolwer of i)ame* 
 
 T) RIGHT was the bloom of Paradise, 
 
 And fresh the leaf's perpetual green ; 
 While crystal streams reflected skies 
 
 Without a cloud to intervene. 
 But yet man knew not, even there, 
 
 The flower that gilds his home on earth : 
 A flower as fragrant and as fair 
 
 As aught that owned supernal birth ; 
 In Eden's bowers he could not prove 
 The sweetness of a daughter's love. 
 
 It was a boon laid up in store 
 For nature in her ruined state — 
 
 For man when pristine joys were o'er- 
 For earth when dark and desolate :
 
 The Flower of Home. 
 
 And still that nature it illumes, 
 
 And still fall'n man it soothes and cheers, 
 And still on earth it sweetly blooms, 
 
 Fadeless as if of brighter spheres : 
 Frosts cannot chill, nor tempests move 
 The flower of home — a daughter's love. 
 
 It is the heart's own cherished flower, 
 
 In all conditions recognised. 
 Dear in the lowly cottage bower. 
 
 In royal dwellings known and prized : 
 Oh ! must it share at last the doom 
 
 Of hopes that wither — ^joys that die ? 
 No, no, this earth shall not entomb 
 
 The flower of immortality 1 
 Death but transplants to realms above 
 Unchilled, unchanged — a daughter's love.
 
 Cfte iiflourners:* 
 
 ''TWO forms were there — the old man's head, 
 
 All gently silvered o'er, 
 Was bowed in anguish for the dead — 
 
 He would not raise it more. 
 His son — the father's priceless gem 
 
 Above all other prized ; 
 Star of his hearth's bright diadem 
 
 Lay dead before his eyes. 
 
 " My son ! my son ! " he wildly breathed, 
 
 " Is this thy marble brow .-' 
 " Oh ! tell me, say I am deceived ! " 
 
 There is no answer now. 
 Ah ! well he knew that manly face, 
 
 So calmly sunk to rest ; 
 Its silent grandeur, tender grace — 
 
 Unmanned the old man's breast.
 
 Tlie Mouimers. 
 
 Sobs, faint at first, came trembling 
 
 As waves before a storm ; 
 Then wilder ones, resembling 
 
 A tempest, shook his form. 
 The father's heart was breaking ; 
 
 The strong man was undone ; 
 All seemed, save one, partaking 
 
 His sorrow for his 3on. 
 
 She stood, and quailed not, by his side — 
 
 No tear stood in her eye ; 
 None knew she was his chosen bride ; 
 
 And none must hear her sigh. 
 She, too, could hear that passing bell, 
 
 She saw that death cold brow ; 
 Strong will — thou yet has served her well- 
 
 Oh ! do not fail her now. 
 
 Yes ! she, too, marked the quiet grace, 
 All shadowed round — her own ; 
 
 No trembling vexed her pallid face — 
 For she was not alone.
 
 8 The Mourners. 
 
 She looked upon that regal head, 
 
 Soft pillowed in its shroud ; 
 She stood by him she was to wed — 
 
 Her stately form unbowed. 
 
 " Oh ! sever me one clustering curl," 
 
 The old man weeping said, 
 " And gently as I would, young girl, 
 
 " Treat ye my hallowed dead. 
 " There's none to mourn him as I mourn ; 
 
 " His heart was young and free ; 
 " He leaves no fair young bride forlorn ; 
 
 " None shared his love with me." 
 
 Firmly she clasped the scissors bright, 
 
 And bent her gently down ; 
 'Twas severed — and she held it tight — 
 
 That lock of shady brown : 
 " Oh ! Douglas, love ! " she whispered low, 
 
 " Thy heart was only mine ; 
 " Thy father — none shall ever know 
 
 " The secret that was thine."
 
 TJie Mourners. 
 
 Then, raising slow her bright young head, 
 
 She gently laid the hair, 
 Just severed from her worshipped dead, 
 
 Upon the old man's chair. 
 Some wonder'd that she shed no tear, 
 
 Nor shared her guardian's grief: 
 " Her childhood's playmate was not dear— 
 
 " True sorrow is not brief." 
 
 They came to bear him to his rest — 
 
 Would anguish conquer now ? 
 She heard the last, last words that blessed, 
 
 And sacred kept her vow. 
 One moment — and her woman's heart 
 
 Was calm and resolute ; 
 One look — 'twas death almost to part, 
 
 And her pale lips were mute.
 
 €i)t iSntial IBressf* 
 
 'PHE foremost in the cavalcade, the highest at the board, 
 'Mid noble maids and gallant knights, I soon shall see 
 
 my lord : 
 " Come put me on his costly gifts, and deck me out in 
 
 pride, 
 " For who should look so rich and gay as his betrothed 
 
 bride ? " 
 
 " O Agnes ! thou hast chosen ill, is this a bridal dress ? 
 "These colors have no bloom, these folds no grace nor 
 
 comeliness : " 
 " Nay, lady dear, what can you see amiss in this array ? 
 " Sure never looked your stately form so stately as to-day." 
 
 "Well, put me on that gorgeous zone, with silver leaves 
 
 inwrought, 
 " And clasp it with the brightest gem with which my faith 
 
 was bought."
 
 The Bridal Dress. 1 1 
 
 " Around your waist is girt the band, with silver woven o'er, 
 " And fastened with as rare a gem as ever Sultan wore." 
 
 " Yet, yet, I am not gay enough, come bring the casket here ; 
 " Place shining stones around my neck, and drops in either 
 
 ear:" 
 " The diamonds in your bosom, in your ears, upon your arms, 
 "Are glittering all the brighter near so bright a blaze of 
 
 charms." 
 
 ** Oh, yet, I am not gay enough ; Agnes what must I wear 
 " To give this dull cold grandeur a brighter fresher air } 
 " Perchance I lack the bridal veil — come, let it shade my 
 
 brow. 
 And, mingling with these wreaths, among my braided tresses 
 
 flow." 
 
 "The veil is fastened in your hair, with blossoms gay and 
 
 sweet, 
 " And down it falls in graceful folds e'en to your sandalled 
 
 feet: 
 " You need but in that mirror look, to see as fair a thing 
 "As ever won from throne or field the heart of crowned 
 
 king."
 
 12 The Bridal Di^ess. 
 
 " Aye ! I do look upon that glass — and read what it doth say ; 
 " And, look thou too, — is this a garb to grace a bridal day ? 
 " Talk not of beauty and of kings, but gaze upon me well, 
 " Speak ! look I meet to be a bride — the truth I bid thee 
 tell ? " 
 
 r 
 
 " Alas, dear lady, so conjured, I dare no more deny 
 "Your cheek is pale, and sunk, and dim your languid brow 
 
 and eye ; 
 "'Mid all the sparkling of the gems your lovely form that grace 
 " The smile of happy love not once has beamed upon your 
 
 face." 
 
 " 'Tis true — 'tis true, and wanting that, how shall I dare to 
 
 wed ? 
 " Take off the bridal veil, unbind the chaplet from my head ; 
 " Unclasp the girdle, and the robe, and lay the gems aside ; 
 " I'll give them to my lord again, for some more worthy 
 
 bride." 
 
 I thank him, and I wish him blest, but too well understand 
 We cannot change the heart away for titles and for land. 
 Oh, my own love ! Wilt thou forget the story thou wert told 
 That I had sold my truth and faith for jewels and for gold ?
 
 CJ)e DaisJp'sf %t^io\h 
 
 A STORM is gathering thick and fast, 
 
 The heavy rain-drops fall ; 
 The thunder clouds have burst at last, 
 And rent the murky pall : 
 
 A little daisy on the grass 
 Is shivering in the gale ; 
 
 It trembles as the lightnings pass, 
 And cries with piteous wail. 
 
 " I am too small, too frail, to bear 
 " The weight of such a storm : 
 
 " The pelting rain, the lightning near, 
 " Will crush my feeble form :
 
 14 The DaisiJ s Lessmi. 
 
 " The thunder's roar, the howling wind, 
 
 " I can no more endure ; 
 " Alas ! some shelter I must find, 
 
 " Or speedy death is sure." 
 
 But see ! the storm has passed away ; 
 
 Daisy ! thy head upraise : 
 Join in all nature's song to-day. 
 
 The song of grateful praise. 
 
 The scorching sun had bowed thy head, 
 Thy gaze was earthward turned ; 
 
 Look up, sweet flower, and thankful read 
 The lesson thou hast learned. 
 
 Straight from a Father's loving hand 
 That heavy storm was given ; 
 
 To bid thee once more upright stand, 
 And lift thine eye to Heaven.
 
 (Bratitutie. 
 
 T^HERE are who say that in this earth below 
 
 The flower of gratitude can never blow ; 
 That 'tis a plant of the celestial sphere, 
 And ne'er can flourish or be cherished here ; 
 That pride, deceit, and often secret hate, 
 Would kill the seed ere it could germinate. 
 
 Ah ! hasty mortals ! ye but know a part. 
 
 And show your ignorance of the human heart — 
 
 As a receptacle for sin alone, 
 
 Did the Most High create it like His own ? 
 
 Unknown to us its complications fine, 
 
 For, oh ! remember that it is divine. 
 
 They who thus think can ne'er have felt love's power 
 
 For love engenders such a lovely flower — 
 
 It is with love's own excellence imbued. 
 
 With mutual love there must be gratitude : 
 
 Sweet gratitude ! inestimably dear, 
 
 Thou wilt not, shalt not, ever perish here.
 
 Eatip 3ausis;ell at tfje Cnal of f)tt 
 gusfljanti* 
 
 CHE sits within a crowded hall, 
 But those who round her swarm 
 Might fix their glances, one and all. 
 
 At once upon her form, 
 And that unaltered cheek and brow 
 No more of bashful dread would show, 
 Than if the thronged, tumultuous place, 
 Were, but for one, unpeopled space. 
 
 To her it z's such solitude : 
 
 Upon that gaze intense 
 His image only can intrude ; 
 
 And, through that hour's suspense. 
 She does not lose the lightest breath 
 That turns his fate to life or death ; 
 But overwhelming love has drowned 
 The voice of every other sound :
 
 Lady Russell at the Trial of her Husband. 17 
 
 Yes, love, o'er whose triumphant pride 
 
 No lessening terrors lour, 
 The wife of Russell by his side 
 
 Is raised above their power : 
 Her eye reveals a fire so bright. 
 Her cheek looks pale beneath its light, 
 But in the depths of its still gaze 
 No trembling tenderness betrays. 
 
 What should she fear ? they have no charm 
 
 That can his mind control ; 
 And when their fetters check his arm. 
 
 They will not change his soul. 
 When foulest vaults his form im mence, 
 The breath of that will still be pure ; 
 And when their deadliest hate is shown 
 "'Twill change his prison to a throne ! " 
 
 Yet, left on earth through lonely years 
 
 How will her courage last ? 
 Ah ! there will come long days of tears, 
 
 This hour's high passion past !
 
 1 8 Lady Russell at the Trial of her Husband, 
 
 But could she all the pangs foresee, 
 That must her after portion be, 
 It is a grief she would not shun 
 By loving a less noble one. 
 
 E'en did such love one pang bestow 
 
 It had no power to heal ; 
 Were there not comfort in the woe 
 
 The dear one cannot feel ; 
 How could the wife of Russell think 
 On Russell, and from suffering shrink ? 
 O meaner love can give no bliss 
 So precious as the grief of this ! 
 
 "Had I not then a reasonable ground to hope that what I loved as ray own soul 
 was raised from a prison to a throne."— I<ady Russell's Letters,
 
 Co m\intn\ 
 
 TinNTER ! thine arms arc spread again 
 Creation's shrinking form to clasp ; 
 While every limb, and pulse, and vein — 
 Is chilled within thine icy grasp. 
 
 Thy hand has thrown a covering sheet 
 O'er nature, and her eyes of light 
 
 Are closed, as if they feared to meet 
 On the cold earth so sad a sight. 
 
 Within our homes we feel thy might, 
 We see it in surrounding snow ; 
 
 Thou sittest on the mountain's height, 
 To watch thy banners wave below. 
 
 Thy spirit rules the frozen deep, 
 
 The stiffened ground, the chilling air : 
 
 It draws the tears the naked weep. 
 And it is breathed in hunger's prayer.
 
 20 To Winter. 
 
 Yet, despot ! gloomy as thou art, 
 In nature fierce, in aspect stern ; 
 
 Thou teachest truths the human heart, 
 Without thy lessons, could not learn. 
 
 Emblem of dim and joyless age, 
 Of adverse fortune, woe, and pain ! 
 
 Thou art the visible presage 
 
 That joy, like spring, will come again. 
 
 Soft feelings, too, that else had been 
 Untouched, unknown, within the breast. 
 
 Like streams beneath the earth unseen. 
 Thou rousest from inglorious rest : 
 
 'O' 
 
 For there's in every blast that shakes 
 
 The frail abode of poverty, 
 A spirit-stirring voice that wakes 
 
 The slumbering angel sympathy. 
 
 An angel from a higher sphere. 
 
 Sent down to man, when Adam's fall 
 
 Brought labor, care, and sorrow here. 
 To lighten and to share them all,
 
 To Winter. 21 
 
 It is in seasons such as this, 
 
 When thou on earth thy power doth show, 
 That man may earn one tranquil bHss — 
 
 Pure as thine own unsuUied snow. 
 
 That bhss — the bhss of doing good — 
 
 In giving and receiving lives. 
 We light the flame of gratitude, 
 
 And feel ourselves the warmth it gives. 
 
 Then, mighty Winter ! though thy reign 
 
 A reign of terror seem to be, 
 Though seen in gloom, and felt in pain, 
 
 Though flowerless plant, and leafless tree, 
 
 And shrouded sky, attest thy power ; 
 
 Though want and woe on thee attend, 
 Yet, spirit of the freezing hour ! 
 
 Thou art man's monitor and friend.
 
 g[ i.ammt for tf)e jTainesi^ 
 
 r\ WHO has not hearkened in days of his childhood 
 
 To tales that were told of the lost fairy-land, 
 Whose denizens sported at night through the wild wood, 
 
 Or chased the blue waves on the moon-lighted strand ; 
 Nor sometimes been tempted to doubt whether knowledge 
 
 Be worth the belief it has driven away ; 
 Whether all the lore gathered at school or at college 
 
 Hath pleased like the visions of fairies at play. 
 
 Fairy-land was the dream of the world, when awaking 
 
 From her second long slumber of darkness and dread ; 
 When ev'n superstition began to be taking 
 
 Some tinges of beauty and light ere she fled : 
 Then fancy delighted, first mingled her terrors 
 
 Of demons and ghosts with the lovely and fair. 
 And called to adorn her that dearest of errors — 
 
 Of fairies on earth, and of sylphs in the air. 
 
 But now the world's older : they say it is wiser ; 
 
 I wish they could prove it is happier too ; 
 But I fear that as much as we think we despise her 
 
 We oft sigh for pleasures that ignorance knew.
 
 A Lament for the Fairies. 23 
 
 The fairies, alas ! are for ever gone from us, 
 
 The joys of our childhood in age leave no trace ; 
 
 But I cannot discover the rapture they promise 
 
 Our wisdom shall bring us have yet filled their place. 
 
 The shepherd has oft ranged o'er mountains and valleys, 
 
 A look at the elves at their gambles to steal ; 
 And when disappointed has thought it was malice 
 
 That would not themselves or their treasures reveal. 
 But tell me, ye sages, who smile at the story. 
 
 Were ye never lured by as foolish a thought ? 
 Have ye never chased riches, or grandeur, or glory. 
 
 For pleasures they never could give you, if caught ? 
 
 We all are deceived by some phantom or other, 
 
 Like dreams of the fairy-land — bright but untrue ; 
 And the fancy we smile to detect in another, 
 
 Only altered in shape, is beguiling us too. 
 Do not sigh at the truth — 'twill but give you assistance 
 
 To keep still in view the real sources of bliss — 
 The joys that shall light up another existence, 
 
 The friendship and love that console us in this.
 
 (Bmtn €lmhttiy^ ^nimnt on itrnbmg: 
 ti)t iving:, i)tv pkticje to (B^<^t}:. 
 
 rpH'E sad, sad truth lies all revealed, 
 
 And now, alas, I know 
 That she who should have pardoned, sealed 
 
 The climax of thy woe. 
 It is so — and there's nothing left 
 
 But sorrow for that heart 
 Which was, by subject, deemed bereft 
 
 Of honor's queenly part. 
 
 And was the thought — thy latest thought — 
 
 Distrustful of thy queen ? 
 And didst thou think her soul was fraught 
 
 With falsehood's hateful mien ? 
 Low would I lay this crowned head, 
 
 If — Essex — I could hear 
 Thy voice proclaim from out the dead 
 
 Thy sovereign's honor clear.
 
 Queen Elizahetli s Lament^ &c. 25 
 
 Proud Essex ! — didst thou think thy queen 
 
 Had broke her royal word ! 
 And didst thou think, because unseen, 
 
 Thou wert forgot — unheard ? 
 Oh ! if a kingdom and a crown 
 
 Could win thee back again, 
 Elizabeth would all lay down 
 
 To know thou wert not slain. 
 
 I thought, lost Earl, thou didst but scorn 
 
 The pledge thy sovereign gave ! 
 That thy proud spirit had not borne 
 
 To ask thy queen to save ! 
 I thought — but Essex, all is vain. 
 
 Nought can avail thee now : 
 Remorse and grief must ever reign 
 
 O'er this deceived brow. 
 
 Is this the pledge of honor bright 
 
 Elizabeth's proud hand 
 Bestowed upon her favored knight. 
 
 The pride of courtliest band ?
 
 26 Queen Elizahetlis Lament, &c. 
 
 Oh would that I had ceased to be 
 
 E'er that lamented hour, 
 Which saw thee die at my decree, 
 
 Slain by my queenly power. 
 
 Oh never — never — can this heart 
 
 Forgive that cruel deed — 
 That one who played so base a part 
 
 In Essex sorest need : 
 And did I breathe out half the scorn 
 
 The hatred that I feel, 
 It were enough, if upward borne, 
 
 Thy sovereign's doom to seal.
 
 {For a Week-day Evening Service.) 
 
 V'E who come to hold communion 
 In this pure and sacred place ; 
 Ye whose hearts, in pious union, 
 
 Join before the Throne of Grace ; 
 While that God, whose mercy near you 
 
 Placed the volume of His Word, 
 Standeth in the midst to hear you, 
 
 Lift your hands and praise the Lord ! 
 
 Shades of evening now are closing 
 
 O'er your prospects, on your way, 
 Man and Nature seem reposing 
 
 From the toils and cares of day ; 
 Stillness dwells on earth and ocean : 
 
 Christians 1 let your hearts accord 
 With creation's mute devotion. 
 
 Lift your hands and praise the Lord !
 
 28 Psalm 134 J Prayer Booh Version. 
 
 By the dead around you sleeping, — 
 
 Friends whose earthly love you've proved,- 
 By their sainted spirits keeping 
 
 Watch o'er those in life beloved ; 
 By your hope again to greet them, 
 
 In the realms of bliss adored ; 
 By that heaven where you may meet them, 
 
 Lift your hands and praise the Lord ! 
 
 Praise Him every age and station, 
 
 Poor and wealthy, old and young. 
 Praise the God of all creation ; 
 
 Praise Him with untiring tongue : 
 Praise Him now in music's numbers. 
 
 Praise Him here, where praise is heard, 
 Ere you seek your nightly slumbers, 
 
 Lift your hands and praise the Lord !
 
 ?Cobt's( |)ropf)fC|). 
 
 T MOURN, indeed, her faded life, 
 
 Yet early did I see 
 That long this world of grovelling strife, 
 
 Her dwelling could not be : 
 So soon the brightness of her youth, 
 Reflected on my heart the truth. 
 
 That, could its anguish die. 
 Could time exhaust such tears of woe 
 As those for loss of her that flow, 
 
 Mine eyes would now be dry. 
 
 While on her form a parent's gaze 
 
 Has dwelt with tender pride ; 
 I to that sweet and silent praise 
 
 Have with my tears replied : 
 My fancy saw her in the grave, 
 E'en while her voice to music gave 
 
 Its own endearing sway : 
 I've listened to her gayest word, 
 As if in that light tone I heard 
 
 The requiem of to-day.
 
 30 Lovers Prophecy. 
 
 Oh Love ! to thee the heaviest ill 
 
 Has never strange appeared ! 
 To thee, come sorrow when it will 
 
 It cannot come unfeared : 
 Though there are griefs of darker frame 
 Than words can fashion — tongue can name, 
 
 Thou long hast known them well ; 
 Hast felt through many a shuddering hour 
 The fulness of affliction's power 
 
 Before its vengeance fell.
 
 Coeur tre iCion'g ^ong on terapmg 
 from Captibitp* 
 
 IVTERRILY, merrily, urge the boat, 
 
 The morning rays appear ; 
 The lark's shrill songs in the breezes float, 
 
 And rouse the startled deer : 
 The gale blows fresh, the dew-drops bright 
 Like diamonds sparkle in the light ; 
 And all around looks blithe and gay, 
 To cheer us on our watery way. 
 
 Merrily, merrily, speed our flight ; 
 
 No moment for delay ; 
 Though the charms which round us rise to light 
 
 Might well excuse our stay. 
 No travellers we to roam or rest — 
 As pleasure leads the varying breast ; 
 The Austrian shouts behind us ring ; 
 They've traced the flight of England's King,
 
 32 CcBiir de Lion's So7ig, &g. 
 
 Swiftly, my bark, cleave through the wave ; 
 
 Thou bear'st a noble freight ; 
 On thee depends a throne or grave. 
 
 Bold Coeur de Lion's fate. 
 Speed on, speed on, the foeman's chain 
 Shall never press these hands again : 
 Once more doth freedom light mine eye ; 
 I will not lose her but to die. 
 
 Merrily, merrily, raise the song, 
 
 Away with doubt or fear ; 
 The notes my harp hath heard so long 
 
 It ne'er again shall hear, 
 I change a prison for a throne — 
 The Austrian chain for kingly zone — 
 The insults of a hireling slave, 
 For shouts of welcome from the brave. 
 
 Barons of England ! do you still 
 Revere your monarch's name ? 
 
 Say will your hearts with transport thrill 
 When I my kingdom claim ?
 
 Coeur de Ldon^s Songy &g. 
 
 33 
 
 Long absent from his regal den, 
 The Lion turns him home again, 
 And woe betide the slavish herd, 
 That have the Fox's reign preferred. 
 
 Regent of Austria ! thou shalt mourn 
 
 That I have Inirst the cage ; 
 Whilst I, on joy's proud pinions borne, 
 
 Shall mock thy puny rage. 
 Yes, lovely earth, thou smilest bright, 
 Rejoicing in the sun's broad light ; 
 And feelings now to me are given 
 That do not spring from thee, but Heaven.
 
 3lmeg enrlosieti luitf; a Bible ag a Birtfitiap 
 
 eat 
 
 T ET others from their thousands pour 
 
 Their treasures at the loved one's feet ; 
 But can they find on earth a store 
 So vast as this her eyes to greet ? 
 
 The paths where peace and pleasure lie 
 These sacred pages will unfold ; 
 
 And open to the wanderer's eye 
 
 A mine more rich than Afric's gold. 
 
 When doubts and fears perplex the mind, 
 And all around seems dark and drear — 
 
 Then search this Book, and you will find 
 The Comforter will meet you here. 
 
 Accept this tribute then from one 
 
 Whom you have bless'd, and still can bless, 
 From him who owes to you alone 
 
 His chief of earthly happiness.
 
 Lines Enclosed loith a Bible, &g. 
 
 35 
 
 Pardon the faults of him who loves 
 
 That guileless heart — perhaps too well — 
 
 Whose hopes and thoughts, where'er he roves, 
 Can find no other place to dwell. 
 
 And when, on this your natal day, 
 
 Your voice ascends to Heaven in prayer; 
 
 Oh ! ask one boon — one moment pray — 
 That he who writes may meet you there. 
 

 
 {Suggested by the Pope's Bull and the Durham Letter, 1850). 
 
 r\^ the hills of Old England her sheep were reposing; 
 Some shepherds were watching, some fighting, some 
 dozing, 
 When a bull came along and invited them home 
 To a fold full of pasture and comfort in Rome : 
 Follow me, said the bull, to dear Pio Nono ; 
 But the sheep looked astounded, and echo said no, 
 
 No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 But still the Bull lingered, and blandly he said 
 Your rivers are muddy, your herbage is dead ; 
 O the Tiber's the stream where the pure water flows. 
 On the banks of the Tiber the sweetest grass grows ; 
 Then come to the land of dear Pio Nono ; 
 But the sheep were indignant, and echo said no, 
 
 No, no, no, no, no.
 
 No ! Pio Nono ! 
 
 37 
 
 Then the shepherds with cudgels attacked the bull's hide, 
 While the sheep by ten thousands were butting his side ; 
 And they gave him no rest on the hills or the vales 
 Till they drove him from England, and Scotland, and Wales. 
 Then Brittannia loud shouted " No, Pio Nono," 
 And echo resounded " No, Pio Nono," 
 
 No, no, no, no, NO. 
 
 Such was the Bull's apparent fate in 1850, — but
 
 (Bxum M^vf^ ^Lament for Calais. 
 
 TTPON the winds — upon the waves — 
 
 There comes a voice of fear ; 
 The tenants of a thousand graves 
 
 Are screaming in mine ear. 
 They corns from ocean and from plain, 
 Beneath the walls they won in vain, 
 
 With me to wail and weep : 
 From rampart and from citadel 
 The Frenchmen's shouts of triumph swell, 
 
 And will not let them sleep. 
 
 Pale mourner of his child's disgrace, 
 
 I see my father's ghost ; 
 Leading the Kings of Edward's race 
 
 To join the shadowy host : 
 Well, royal spectre, may'st thou frown ; 
 Gone is the gem which England's crown. 
 
 By England's valour won- 
 Yet am I worthy that and thee 
 My doom is sealed, — I cannot be 
 
 Despised, and yet live on.
 
 Queen Mari/s Lament for Calais. 39 
 
 There came a fiend, — with with'ring breath 
 
 He told a tale of shame ; 
 Of bhghts on England's rosy wreath, 
 
 Of scorn on Mary's name. 
 The word of Calais on my heart 
 Is traced as with a fiery dart ; 
 
 And as the letters grew, 
 More slowly rolled the sanguine tide, 
 The springs of life within me died, 
 
 My destiny I knew. 
 
 Gone are my hopes of glory, — fled 
 
 My dreams of shout and song, — 
 Still must I hide my unwreathed head 
 
 Amid the courtier throng : 
 Joy lights for me no sparkling eyes. 
 For me no unbought cheers arise, 
 
 And mine may never be : 
 Ye saints of heaven, for whom I've borne 
 To be abhorred, — this curse of scorn 
 
 Ye might have spared to me,
 
 40 Queen Mary's Lament for Calais, 
 
 There is no time to call my brave, 
 
 To win my glory back ; 
 There is no time, — the grave, — the grave, 
 
 Lies close before my track : 
 Still be it welcome — I've not been 
 So happy, daughter, wife, or queen. 
 
 To mourn with life to part : 
 Perhaps, too, there may yet be one. 
 Who'll say for me when I am gone 
 
 "She had an English heart."
 
 3aftro<>|)rrtion* 
 
 "\17HEN the toils of day are done, 
 
 And wearily I sit alone, 
 Without a friend to cheer ; 
 
 The visions of the cherished past, 
 
 To bright, too beautiful, to last, 
 
 Arise in myriads near. 
 
 They bear me back, with rapid flight, 
 To feel again the rich delight 
 
 That once, with bounteous store. 
 My boyhood's years was wont to bless. 
 When life was not a weariness, 
 
 And / — was not threescore ! 
 
 Come voices sweet of earlier years ! 
 And sing to mine enraptured ears 
 
 The songs of other days : 
 Let me again in thought behold 
 The loving glances that of old 
 
 Were wont to meet my gaze.
 
 42 
 
 Befrospecfion. 
 
 I thank thee, time ! thy hand destroys, 
 With ruthless touch, all other joys. 
 
 Yet thou has left me this, 
 The power to lose myself awhile, 
 Beneath the never changing smile 
 
 Of memory's perfect bliss.
 
 Wbt Bemonei' Castle* 
 
 'T*HE warrior rode on with the speed of the blast, 
 
 O'er hills, vallics, mountains, like lightning he passed ; 
 Till he reached the red lake, where all terribly gleam 
 The turrets of steel o'er the flame-rolling stream. 
 
 He sounded his horn — on the battlements height 
 Appeared false Demara accoutred for fight ; 
 " Give my wife and my child back." Sir Reginald cried ; 
 " First cross yon red torrent," Demara replied. 
 
 " I am proof to thy magic, thou false hearted lord ! 
 " On the walls of Jerusalem flashed this good sword ;" 
 He plunged in the lake — the flames innocent rolled : 
 Then again spoke Demara, still vauntingly bold— 
 
 " Thou hast crossed my red torrent, now enter my halls," 
 And demons, and giants appeared on the walls ; 
 And darkness hung round him, while arrowy showers 
 Fell on Reginald's mail from the magical towers.
 
 44 The Demon s Castle. 
 
 " Foul fiend, thou hast failed — O Virgin ! to thee 
 " A crusader appeals," and he sank on his knee — 
 The darkness disperses — the demons are gone — 
 On the turret of steel stood Demara alone. 
 
 " Thou hast vanquished my demons, now try if thy sword 
 " Can as easily vanquish Demara their lord, 
 " Unfold my steel turrets," the turrets obeyed, 
 And a hall and a furnace of flame they displayed. 
 
 Sir Reginald enters — Demara descends — 
 
 " In this hall not even thy Virgin defends ; 
 
 " For know this the fates to Demara revealed — 
 
 " Thy life nor to man, nor to woman, shall yield." 
 
 " Then a child thus destroy^thee ! " and swift to his heart 
 Sir Reginald's son wings the death-bearing dart : 
 Loud shrieked he in death, and 'mid laughter and scorn^ 
 By fiends to the furnace Demara is borne. 
 
 Swift flashed the red lightning, the thunder roared loud, 
 The steel castle sank in a sulphurous cloud : 
 And when all was silent. Sir Reginald pressed 
 His wife and his gallant son safe to his breast. 

 
 pONDENSE the Light, surrounding 
 
 The Sun's descending throne, 
 Into one ray of glory, — 
 One ray and one alone. 
 
 Distil the countless roses 
 
 That bloom in every zone. 
 Into one drop of fragrance, — 
 
 One drop and one alone. 
 
 Bind up all sounds enchanting, 
 That music's voice has known, 
 
 Into one tone of sweetness, — 
 One tone and one alone. 
 
 But they are only emblems 
 That ray, that drop, that tone, 
 
 Of excellence that dwelleth 
 In love and love alone. 
 
 Some scattered rills of Eden 
 Earth still can call her own ; 
 
 Their waters meet and mingle 
 In love and love alone.
 
 {To 071 hearing of her Marriage!) 
 
 TTOW quickly Mow hast understood that we may live apart! 
 'Tis true I did, in words, resign the empire of thy heart : 
 But, looking into mine alone, how little could I tell 
 That when I said "forget me love" thou would' st obey so 
 well! 
 
 So, when I gave thee back the vows, that might have made 
 me blest, 
 
 And said I would control the love that once my lips 
 expressed ; 
 
 Those flattering words to thee were all that could my mind 
 disclose ; 
 
 Thou did'st not see how high my heart against the false- 
 hood rose. 
 
 It was unalterable love which nerved me with the power 
 To speak the fatal words that wove the anguish of this 
 
 hour ; 
 I did not dream that, 'twixt us two, disunion could be 
 
 wrought, 
 And what affliction it might bring had never crossed my 
 
 thought. 
 
 #
 
 Resigned and TJnresigned. 47 
 
 And it was right that we should try to love each other less, — 
 But was it well to find so quick, so easy a success ? 
 Yet can I wonder that to thee my heart was not more plain ; 
 Ah I did I know, myself, till now, the love it could contain! 
 
 I said I would not have thee share my dark and lowly state; 
 I said I would rejoice to hear thou had'st a happier fate ; 
 And do I not rejoice then, now ? and does my heart repine ? 
 Oh let it break with any grief but that of causing thine. 
 
 To tremble when a thought of thee comes o'er my lonely 
 
 soul ; 
 To find in memories of thee my darkest moments roll ; 
 To shudder if I chance to dream thy heart with mine may 
 
 beat; 
 And feel that to possess thy love would make my ills 
 
 complete. 
 
 All this is now my destiny — it is a fearful change ! 
 Methinks it would subdue me more if it were not so strange. 
 As yet I seem to weep for woes I can scarce understand, 
 Told in the \&e^(ii some remote, some new discovered land.
 
 ^h^tmt. 
 
 /'^H, absence ! thou most treacherous, luring power, 
 
 How many hearts are lost in thy long hour ! 
 How many words and vows to be so true — 
 Are all forgotten, mocked away by you ! 
 Thou art the tomb of many a fair fond hope, 
 Of many a brave heart struggling hard to grope 
 Through thy dark chasms a long, long belief, 
 Which comes not ere its dead to all its grief. 
 We most have knelt upon the new turned sod, 
 And all must feel the touches of thy rod. 
 
 The young wife standing on the lonely shore — 
 His ship has started — will she see him more ? 
 The daughter kneeling by her mother's tomb — 
 To love as she did, is there left her — whom ? 
 The lov'd friend parting for some distant lands — 
 Will friendship clasp again those trembling hands ? 
 The mourner bending for the long farewell — 
 Believing not until there sounds the knell. 
 Oh ! cruel partings, farewells, sighs, and tears, 
 How often absence links ye with her years.
 
 €l)t ^paniar33*£( ^PpeaL 
 
 r^OD of our fathers ! in whose name, 
 
 Resistless as the wild Simoom, 
 We rushed through clouds of smoke and flame. 
 
 And swept away to death and doom 
 The legions of the Iron Crown, 
 And hurled the Imperial Despot down ; 
 
 Inflamed by whose life-giving word. 
 
 We poured our unrequited blood, 
 More freely than the desert bird — 
 
 Whose heart-drops feed her infant brood ; 
 To fix that monarch on the throne, 
 We hoped would make our weal his own. 
 
 To thee, at this dread hour, ascend 
 
 The indignant prayers of men deceived ; 
 
 Who see that IMonarch foully rend 
 
 The sacred rights our hands retrieved ; 
 
 And strive to bind us with a chain 
 
 ]\Iore dread than that we broke in vairi,
 
 50 The Spaniard's Appeal. 
 
 Though kings forget, yet will not we, 
 The rights of all that think or breathe ; 
 
 And if, when struggling to be free, 
 
 We sound the notes of war and death. 
 
 In Thy name shall the banners wave, 
 
 That lead to freedom or the grave. 
 
 I
 
 %im^ tonttm on t\)t top of 
 IBoimiugton Casitle* 
 
 {"By a Boy.) 
 
 TTAIL, Donnington ! thou loved retreat, 
 
 Where I have oft beguiled an hour 
 In gathering blackberries or sweet 
 Wild violets, around thy tower : 
 
 Regardless, or before I knew 
 
 How beautiful, how grand the scene, 
 
 Which from this turret's height I view ; 
 High hills and fertile vales between. 
 
 Each spot from Beacon Hill I know — 
 Round to the Castle where I stand; 
 
 Yet all seems changed : through autumn's glow 
 New features smile o'er all the land. 
 
 That town, the eye can scarcely trace 
 Through smoke, by which 'tis overcast, 
 
 Is Newbury, my native place, 
 
 And where my infancy was passed,
 
 5 2 Lines Written on the Top of Donnington Castle. 
 
 O if on earth a joy there be — 
 
 That can repay our pains and fears, 
 
 'Tis felt when first the home we see, 
 
 Which we've been absent from for years : 
 
 'Tis there affection stands to greet, 
 
 Ev'n on the threshold, friends most dear ; 
 
 There hearts in fond re-union meet, 
 And love's first welcome is a tear. 
 
 iSf 
 
 O famed in hapless Charles'slife, 
 
 When England mourned her bravest dead ; 
 O scene of that internal strife 
 
 In which the high-souled Falkland bled ! 
 
 Farewell ! and may the rays of peace 
 And love, anc. joy, and harmony, 
 
 Bless all who share thy land's increase, 
 Until again I visit thee.
 
 Co tl)t Spirit cif yoc5|)» 
 
 r\ hoi}' S])irit ! oft when eve 
 
 Hath slowly o'er the western sky 
 Her gorgeous pall begun to weave, 
 
 Of gold and crimson's richest dye ; 
 I've thought the gentle gales thy breath — 
 
 The murmuring of the groves thy voice — 
 And heaven above, and earth beneath, 
 
 In thee seemed to rejoice. 
 
 Sweet visions then, that sleep by day. 
 
 Thy magic wand hath made mine own ; 
 As brilliant as the clouds that play 
 
 Around the sun's descending throne : 
 And I have striven in many a song 
 
 To pay my homage at thy shrine ; 
 A worthly offering, for a throng 
 
 Of joys by thee made mine. 
 
 What though the idle wreath would fade, 
 By weak though willing fingers twined, 
 
 Soon gathered to oblivion's shade ; 
 
 Not less the task would soothe my mind.
 
 54 To the Spirit of Poesy. 
 
 Inspired by thee, I ceased to pine, 
 
 Nor thought on aught that crossed my bHss, 
 
 And, borne to the other worlds of thine, 
 Forgot the pangs of this. 
 
 But this was all in early days, 
 
 When boyhood's hopes were wild and high, 
 And, eaglet like, I fixed my gaze 
 
 Where glory's sun blazed through the sky ; 
 But fate and circumstance forbade 
 
 The noble though presumptuous flight ; 
 Those hopes are blasted and decayed 
 
 By disappointment's blight. 
 
 Oh, Poesy ! thou, too, hast now 
 
 Withdrawn thy wonted influence. 
 When most I need thy tender glow 
 
 To renovate my aching sense : 
 No more thy dreams before me pass. 
 
 In swift succession bright and fair ; 
 And when I would unveil thy glass. 
 
 Thou show' St me nothing but despair. 
 
 I
 
 To the Spirit of Poesy. 55 
 
 By all the intense love of thee, 
 
 Which fires my soul and thrills my frame ; 
 By tears thou giv'st thy words to be 
 
 When struggling feelings have no name : 
 Return, return, by thee upborne. 
 
 And by a yet unvanquished will, 
 The malice of my fate I'd scorn, 
 
 In woe triumphant still.
 
 €i)t M\i)tv$ of ^|)mpatl)p* 
 
 'T^IS said that Seraphs consecrate 
 
 The tear that flows from pity's eye, 
 And on a ray the drop translate, 
 
 To water bowers of bliss on high : 
 Blest bowers ! for those alone that grow 
 Who sympathise with others woe. 
 
 And that, as here the sunshine beams 
 To gild our paths and ope their flowers. 
 
 So there aff"ection softly streams 
 A holy light around those bowers ; 
 
 And all on earth that pure is found, 
 
 Is wafted to that hallowed, ground. 
 
 Where they, who on this clouded sphere 
 The soothing glance or tear have given, 
 
 Have stilled the troubled waves of fear, 
 Or fixed an erring gaze on heaven. 
 
 May mount, on glory's wing, to share 
 
 The joys those seraphs nurture there.
 
 €i)t Jx^ti'Crosd 3:51arnor*s! ^rabe* 
 
 nPHE Red-Cross Warrior sleeps 
 
 Far o'er the eastern waves, 
 Where the wild Sirocco sweeps, 
 And the Syrian whirlwind raves. 
 
 No marble decks the ground, 
 No cypress droops her leaves ; 
 
 But a lone and barren mound 
 In the desert o'er him heaves. 
 
 The Arab rests awhile, 
 The only wanderer there, 
 
 Then, regardless of the pile, 
 Hies on to scenes more fair. 
 
 So poorly rests the dead, 
 
 Who knew nor fear nor shame : 
 Is the land for which he bled 
 
 So regardless of his fame ?
 
 ^8 
 
 The Red- Cross Warr{oi''s Grave. 
 
 Away ! here lies his dust ; 
 
 We honor not his clay ; 
 To his spirit we are just ; 
 
 'Tis to that we homage pay. 
 
 What need of bust or stone 
 To mark where fell the brave : 
 
 Be his tomb his name alone. 
 
 And his countr}''s heart his grave.
 
 Borne ! 
 
 'l^HOUGH wandering far in foreign lands 
 
 The Englishman may roam ; 
 Where earth in loveliness expands, 
 
 We find no place like home : 
 There hearts in sacred union love — 
 Reflecting beauty from above. 
 
 In ecstacies with Leman's lake, 
 
 Or Saint Sophia's dome, 
 His rapture does not tend to break 
 
 The chain that binds him home : 
 There gentle purity doth gleam. 
 And mental grandeur ever beam. 
 
 Australia's gold, its azure skies, 
 
 May dear to him become ; 
 But equal not those strong sweet ties. 
 
 Which draw his heatstrings home: 
 There richest feelingralways glow. 
 And bright eyes radiance bestow.
 
 6o 
 
 Home. 
 
 Fair Southern Isles he may admire, 
 
 Or gilded Eastern tomb ; 
 But oft returns the fond desire 
 
 To gaze again on home : 
 There love, more constant than the wave, 
 Would gild with faith an English grave. 

 
 {Suggested hj a regretful Letter from an Emigrant). 
 
 /^H yes, we may indeed depart 
 
 From the loved region of our birth ; 
 But never, never, will the heart 
 
 Find other spots so bright on earth. 
 
 Wealth, honor, fame, may be our prize 
 On the far shores to which we roam ; 
 
 But o'er them all will sweetly rise 
 The sun that gilds our early home. 
 
 Our Fatherland is dearest still. 
 Wherever else we set our foot ; 
 
 Transplant the tree where'er we will 
 lis first soil lingers next the root,
 
 Co a Calm ^ea ; after t\)t IBrttk oi a Boat. 
 
 /^H, shining sea ! art thou the same 
 
 That, with tempestuous clamour came 
 But yesternight, the shore to strew 
 With relics of the boat and crew, 
 That, o'er thy treacherous billows borne, 
 Set forth so joyously at morn ? 
 
 Is it for sport — thou cruel sea ! 
 That thou hast brought such misery 
 Upon the homes of those who kept 
 Their weeping watch while others slept ? 
 That, heeding not the widow's cry. 
 Thou playest tfeen- so merrily ? 
 
 Could'st thou not tune thy swelling surge 
 To something like a funeral dirge ? 
 Yet, stay — beneath thy wavelet's flow 
 There seems a soft complaint, as though 
 The morning freshness of thy joy 
 Hath found invisible alloy, 
 In icy figures, laid beneath 
 Thy waters in the sleep of death,
 
 To a Calm Sea, &c. 
 
 63 
 
 For they were friends of thine — full oft 
 Thy waves have borne their bark aloft ; 
 And as they toiled with manly glee 
 They carolled many a song of thee — 
 Ah, shining ocean ! cease not yet 
 That murmured cadence of regret.
 
 Co a ©ouncj: ffvimXi. 
 
 {The only child of her parents.) 
 
 'T*HE holiest earthly love we feel 
 
 Has drawn a circle round thee, 
 Within whose hallowed line can steal 
 
 No evil thing to wound thee ; 
 There sheltered by its tender zeal 
 
 Nothing but bliss hath found thee. 
 
 There's something in this peace of thine 
 That seems to make thee holy ; 
 
 Methinks thou art a thing divine, 
 Worshipped in gladness solely ; 
 
 And it were sin to touch the shrine 
 With worldly melancholy.
 
 <Bn 31 2E^ *£( Q^^aetrtrmg: I3ap» 
 
 C HINE brightly down, it is a bridal day ! 
 
 Cheer them, thou sun, with thy most loving ray ; 
 Light up the sacred aisles as they draw near, 
 Gleam forth, the bride and bridal train appear : 
 Shine softly down upon the fair young bride. 
 Mindful of nought but him who kneels beside — 
 Shine on her as her head is lowly bent. 
 Blessing the Father who such joy hath sent. 
 
 Aye, gently touch her as the whispered sound 
 
 So dear to one, scarce heard by those around, 
 
 Falls from her lips, and kindly, softly light — ■ 
 
 The white-veil'd form that kneels in heaven's sight, 
 
 Pledging her vow — the holy marriage vow — 
 
 As he pledged his. Shine on them brightly now. 
 
 The music bursts upon the retiring ear, 
 
 The time for parting and farewell is near.
 
 Wirittm in prnn'I in a fjoiina: UnW^ ^Hjum. 
 
 T WILL not on this page of thine 
 
 A stain of darkness cast ; 
 I will not pen an erring line 
 
 In colors formed to last ; 
 But faint, as sorrow's smile, shall be 
 
 My weak effusion traced : 
 Then if it give offence to thee 
 
 'Tis easily effaced. 
 
 And, oh ! may time, who stamps the best 
 
 On earth with signs of grief, 
 On thee let the impression rest 
 
 Like mine on this fair leaf : 
 That if ui3on thy lovely brow 
 
 Some gloomy lines be placed, 
 They may, like those thou readest now. 
 
 Be easily effaced.
 
 Cfie ejriTe* 
 
 TTIS native home ! his native home ! 
 
 He ne'er again may see ; 
 But still, oh, still, where'er he roam 
 His heart will turn to thee. 
 
 'Tis sweet, though sad, to muse in thought 
 O'er thy loved peaceful bowers, 
 
 Where mirth and gladness came unsought 
 To gild the fleeting hours. 
 
 The kindred hearts that fondly beat, 
 Ere youth's bright dreams had fled ; 
 
 And friends, whose smile he loved to greet, 
 Are numbered with the dead. 
 
 Through crowds he takes his lonely way, 
 Far from that hallowed spot — 
 
 Where brightly beamed the orb of day 
 On his once happy lot. 
 
 Yet, midst the hum of busy strife 
 His breast with hope will swell, 
 
 Once more to gain, ere close of life, 
 The home he loved so well.
 
 O €bn. 
 
 T DO not meet thee, gentle one, 
 With looks of love or praise ; 
 Instinctively my glances shun 
 Communion with thy gaze. 
 
 I breathe not, with the admiring throng, 
 
 Soft accents in thine ear ; 
 It is the stillness of my tongue 
 
 That tells when thou art near. 
 
 Thou art to me a radiant star, 
 
 Shining in light above ; 
 Too purely bright, too holy, far. 
 
 To waken mortal love. 
 
 I give not then love's vows to thee; 
 
 But, oh ! I give thee more — 
 The worship of a bended knee, 
 
 A heart that can adore.
 
 Co a Uounff latrp^ 
 
 TF flowers are freshest in the morn, 
 
 Before the mid-day sun 
 With with'ring glare has dried the dews 
 That in the night have come ; 
 
 If birds sing sweetest ere the din 
 
 Of busy life begins ; 
 Or man goes forth to earn the bread 
 
 His daily labor wins. 
 
 So in the morn of life the heart 
 
 Its freshest verdure shows ; 
 And wakes its sweetest notes before 
 
 'Tis crushed by earthly woes. 
 
 Then maiden lilt thy virgin heart 
 To Him whose throne's above: 
 
 'Twill be the purest, holiest, gift 
 That can requite His love.
 
 70 To a Young Lady. 
 
 Wait not till care and sorrow come, 
 To cloud thy fair young brow ; 
 
 Or age to bow thy youthful form : 
 But maiden seek Him now. 
 
 Now in the sunshine of thy youth ; 
 
 Now in thy early bloom ; 
 And He will then remember thee 
 
 When far beyond" the tomb.
 
 Co (S^Wi), on Uv asifemcj: for a Contviijution 
 to i)tv ^Iljum* 
 
 /^H ! Ask not me, oh ask not me, this now white page to 
 
 blot, 
 Or promise that whate'er I write, it shall offend thee not ; 
 For there's a Spirit in my breast, which prophecies to me 
 That every thought, and every word, will be alone of thee. 
 
 I look in vain within my mind to find another theme ; 
 For thou art Memory's cherished thought, and Hope's 
 
 unchanging dream ; 
 I look around when sunbeams play on beauteous field and 
 
 tree. 
 But there too does thine image rest, and Nature smiles like 
 
 thee. 
 
 I look on high when countless stars unclose their eyes of 
 
 light 
 To watch a slumbering world repose upon the couch of 
 
 night ;
 
 72 To Edith, &€. 
 
 But that sweet, hallowed scene presents one vision still to 
 
 me ; 
 I cannot gaze on loveliness, and not remember thee. 
 
 There's nothing beautiful on Earth — there's nothing bright 
 
 above, 
 That does not some communion own, some fellowship with 
 
 love : 
 Whatever then of fair and pure, on Earth or Skies I see 
 To raise poetic feeling high, inspires a thought of thee. 
 
 Then ask not me, oh ask not me, this now white page to 
 
 blot. 
 Or promise that what'er my theme it shall offend thee not; 
 For still that trembling Spirit breathes a more than fear to 
 
 me. 
 That every word and thought of mine will be alone of thee.
 
 ^t an Cbtnmg ^trbire* 
 
 After a long season of Drought, the Congregation of S. J- 
 
 joined in the Prayer for Rain, and they got tvet going home. 
 
 'THEY prayed for Rain ; long months of drought 
 
 Had threatened months of dearth ; 
 That prayer pierced through the clouds, and brought 
 
 An instant shower to earth. 
 
 That shower revived the fainting land ; 
 That shower revealed the Giver's hand ; 
 And prayer, too oft unsought, unprized, 
 Rose up — an Angel recognised.
 
 Cf)e Btpartetr* 
 
 r\ THOU art now a shape of light 
 Before the Eternal Throne ; 
 And charmg and form more soft or bright 
 
 This world ne'er ceased to own. 
 I might have deemed a soul like thine 
 
 Earth could not long possess ; 
 But must have been, like thee, divine, 
 
 Could I have mourned thee less. 
 
 The sigh will breathe, the tear will fall. 
 
 In memory of thee ; 
 Not e'en thy love can teach me all 
 
 Pure as thyself to be. 
 Life has no task so dark or stern. 
 
 That I will seek to shun ; 
 But, oh forgive me, if I yearn 
 
 To find its dim hours done.
 
 The Departed. 
 
 75 
 
 The storm of grief hath died away ; 
 
 But left a tender gloom ; 
 O'er which the smile may sadly play, 
 
 Like smibeams on the tomb ; 
 While skies above are blue and bright, 
 
 And flowers around it blow, 
 But all is darkness, worse than night, 
 
 And dreariness below. 
 
 ^mm
 
 €o eila* 
 
 T^HOU hast said my love was all a dream — if so, it would 
 
 depart, 
 But years have rolled, and still it plays and lightens round 
 
 my heart ; 
 Full many a fount of other joys hath ceased to flow for 
 
 me; 
 I'm changed in looks, in hopes, in pride, in all, save love 
 
 to thee. 
 
 When others praise the summer's sun — the birds and 
 
 flowers of spring, 
 Or gaily quaff" the laughing wine, the days of autumn 
 
 bring ; 
 I think how dear the wintry hours, when snow hangs on 
 
 the tree. 
 For was it not in winter first I walked with love and thee ? 
 
 Let others talk of noon-day's glow, or morning's crimson 
 
 glance, 
 Or when the evening's star looks bright athwart the blue 
 
 expanse ;
 
 To Ella. 77 
 
 I love the dark and midnight hour, when nought I hear 
 
 and see, 
 Except thy voice in fancy's ear, in fancy's vision thee ! 
 
 Oh, awful is the sound of waves that dash against the 
 
 shore, 
 But there's to me a gentler thought, that mingles in its 
 
 roar; 
 Sweeter than calm or bright sunshine, the tempest on the 
 
 sea. 
 For storms were dark on ocean's verge, when there I 
 
 roamed with thee. 
 
 I've watched through many a midnight hour, and seen the 
 
 autumn wane, 
 And many a year hath brought the hours of wintry storms 
 
 again ; 
 But time hath made, nor night, nor storms, less beautiful 
 
 to me ; 
 The dearest sights, the dearest sounds, are still what 
 
 breathe of thee.
 
 €o a ^Catrp. 
 
 That toiiching and unearthly charm 
 ■ Where early death has set its seal."' 
 
 T^H Y stop is measured by the beating heart ; 
 
 Thy voice is passion's choking sigh, thy form 
 Is trembling with the presence of the storm ; 
 The eyes that see thee give thee up their tears 
 For all thou dost appear, and all thou art ; 
 
 Too like a temple, radiant with the flame, 
 
 Whose fiery breathings feed upon its frame, 
 Thy very peril so sublime appears, 
 
 We hardly dare thy destiny deplore : 
 Such awful loveliness thine aspect wears. 
 We feel to wrong that beauty with our tears, 
 
 And lose our pity, learning to adore ; 
 Though while we look on thee, we cannot keep 
 From weeping, yet we worship as we weep.
 
 **€l)t OTaterp (Brabe/* 
 
 Reply to the Author. 
 
 /^H ! would'st thou indeed be consigned to the deep, 
 
 When thy spirit from earth shall fly ? 
 Could'st thou hope to enjoy unbroken sleep 
 
 Beneath the sea-bird's cry ? 
 Could'st thou take thy rest where the raving storm, 
 
 And the tempest's angry breath, 
 That have wildly shaken thy living form, 
 
 Might assail it after death : 
 
 No well-known step would follow thy bier, 
 Nor o'er it would drop one sacred tear, 
 
 When thou were entombed in the wave : 
 Far better to lie where the friends we've proved, 
 (And which of us passes through life unloved ?) 
 
 Might honor and bless our grave. 
 
 O let me repose by that hallowed shrine 
 
 Where my earliest vows were paid ; 
 In that spot where the spirit was nearest divine — 
 
 Should the form that it quickened be laid.
 
 8o The Watery Grave. 
 
 I would rest — where my steps have in infancy strayed ; 
 I would rest — where my lips in my boyhood have prayed ; 
 I would rest — where the living assemble to breathe 
 A prayer o'er the dead that are sleeping beneath. 
 
 I would rest where the voices that broke on my slumbers — 
 Were the same that in life had been joined with mine 
 own ; 
 
 And the music that rose in celestial numbers, 
 Was once to mine ears a familiar tone. 
 
 Then throw not my corse to the troubled deep, 
 
 When my spirit from earth shall fly ; 
 I could never enjoy unbroken sleep 
 
 Beneath the sea-bird's cry ; 
 But make me a bed upon holy ground. 
 
 And smooth me a green grass pillow ; 
 And let the soft wind that is breathing around — 
 
 Be tuned by the weeping willow ; 
 Far sweeter my slumbers will there be found, 
 
 Than under the raging billow.
 
 91 WBinttv*^ ^aiL 
 
 TT may be, I deny it not, 
 
 That life is but one long deep sigh ; 
 And I must share the common lot — 
 Feel griefs that will not wholly die. 
 
 Yet I have had wild hours of bliss, 
 Beyond which fancy cannot soar ; 
 
 Swelling to such intense excess, 
 That earthly heart would burst with more. 
 
 Such bliss, as though its hues more bright 
 Fade in the hour that gave them birth, 
 
 Long glimmer with reflected light 
 To cheer our future course on earth. 
 
 Such bliss, imperial Thames, was mine, 
 When borne upon thy glassy breast, 
 
 I felt earth, air, and heaven combine, 
 To steep my soul in sweet unrest. 
 
 It was not that the waves were gold, 
 
 Dividing as we glided on, 
 And seemed to chase the path which rolled 
 
 Its sparkling ripj)les to the sun.
 
 82 A Winter' s Sail, 
 
 « 
 
 It was not that the domes we passed, 
 Like more than mortal fabrics shone ; 
 
 So gorgeous was the radiance cast 
 O'er stately arch, and pillared stone. 
 
 Not these — at least not these alone, 
 (For nature hath for me that spell 
 
 That thrills the bosoMi's proudest tone 
 And makes each cord to rapture swell.) 
 
 Made of that hour a deathless thought, 
 A cell within my bosom's shrine. 
 
 Where duly shall be fancy brought 
 To bend and worship dreams divine. 
 
 She — at whose side I passed that hour — 
 Perchance might guess, perchance forgive 
 
 The mightier untold cause, whose power 
 Made rapture mine too deep to live. 
 
 Though it hath fled, I feel it yet, 
 
 In memory's reflecting ray ; 
 And life must fade ere I forget 
 
 The silver Thames that winter's day.
 
 jTarebjellsf* 
 
 /^H let us bid a kind adieu ! 
 
 For \vc see not the years that come stcahng slow, 
 Nor times' strange caprices which alter us so, 
 Nor the tide of change with its ceaseless flow, 
 And fortune's reverses we may not know ; 
 
 Then let our farewell words be true ! 
 For the ocean waste may between us lie ; 
 Or a breast may be heaving its last, last sigh. 
 And mem'ry be waking a bitter cry. 
 And longing in vain for a dearer good-bye ; 
 
 Then let us bid a kind adieu ! 
 
 Oh let us breathe a fond farewell ! 
 For we know not the hour when next we mav meet, 
 A life may have faded, a heart ceased to beat, 
 And the cruel cold tablet the parted one greet, 
 And the lips the false farewell may sadly repeat, 
 
 For the truth it then were vain to tell. 
 No — we cannot tell when we may meet again ; 
 And the brief hurried words — or the look of disdain 
 Mav in coming years haunt us with bitter pain. 
 When the narrow grave tells us regret is in vain. 
 
 Then let us breathe a fond farewell !
 
 rVti ! lay thine aching heart on mine, 
 And rest thee there ; 
 
 Each bitter, cruel grief of thine 
 My love can bear. 
 
 Aye, rest ! thy sorrows soothed away — 
 Rest thee, and sleep ; 
 
 Between thee and the darkest day 
 Love-watch I keep. 
 
 No venom from the cruel past 
 
 Can wound thee now ; 
 
 The olive branch of peace at last 
 Shall soothe thy brow. 
 
 I do not ask thy love, my child — 
 Rest ! only rest, 
 
 Safe sheltered from the tempest wild, 
 Upon my breast.
 
 Best. 85 
 
 There's love enough for me and thee 
 
 In my heart's store ; 
 Say only thou can'st trust in me — 
 
 I ask no more. 
 
 Aye, nestle closer to my breast 
 
 My weary dove ; 
 There's nothing now has power to wrest 
 
 Thee from my love.
 
 mn fftiitv of Want longinci:, 
 
 {C/ii7de Harro/d, yd Canto.) 
 
 T SHED no tear beside thy bier ; 
 But those who round me wept 
 Had Httle cause to wish they shared 
 The tearless calm I kept. 
 
 I moved to gaze on thee again, 
 And made the weepers start ; 
 
 They thought that I should then become 
 As lifeless as thou art. 
 
 But when mine eye was on thy form, 
 
 It did not tell me more 
 Of that pale shade of life and love 
 
 Than I had known before. 
 
 Nor had I power that sight to shun. 
 
 If such had been my will, 
 For when I turned mine eyes away, 
 
 i\Iy spirit saw thee still.
 
 Tlie Fever of Vain Longing. 87 
 
 Then in my breast conflicting pangs 
 
 Warred with so fierce a strife — 
 I thought none mightier could invade, 
 
 And not destroy the life. 
 
 But, oh ! to look upon thee now, 
 
 Ev'n on that bed of death ; 
 To say, but now, I heard thee sigh, 
 
 Even thy latest breath. 
 
 To cure this aching of my heart — 
 
 To hold thee there again — 
 I'd pray that moment could return, 
 
 With all it nameless pain ! 
 
 Yes, grief, with all her thousand wounds. 
 
 No mortal blow may give ; 
 It is the lightning stroke of joy 
 
 We cannot feel and live.
 
 21 J\rpI|Ln 
 
 r\il no not "smiling" wilt thou speak 
 
 Farewell, when we shall part, 
 There will be tears upon thy cheek, 
 
 And sorrow in thy heart : 
 For though a home and friends most dear, 
 
 Will be before thee then, 
 Thou'lt think on those thou lovest here, 
 
 And sigh to meet again. 
 
 Thou leav'st us while the withered leaf 
 
 Is strewed beneath its bower ; 
 And winds pour forth their dirge of grief 
 
 O'er the departed flower ; 
 But leaves ma}- bud, and flowers may bloom, 
 
 Beneath the sunny rain. 
 And buried beauty leave her tomb. 
 
 Ere we shall meet again.
 
 A Ileply. 89 
 
 Thou leav'st us too, wliile every brow 
 
 Is shaded o'er by care, 
 And every bosom feels, even now, 
 
 That suffering has been there ; 
 We do not know beneath what skies 
 
 Our fortunes may remain, 
 What clouds may lour, what stars may rise, 
 
 Ere we shall meet again. 
 
 But this we know, that whatsoe'er 
 
 Our fate on earth may be, 
 Our purest wish, our warmest prayer, 
 
 Will rise to heaven for thee : 
 Rise as the Spirit's incense may, 
 
 (Perchance not all in vain), 
 For peaceful blessings on thy way, 
 
 Till we shall meet again.
 
 {^From the Northern Rays.) 
 
 'T^HE sun's departed, and the blue serene 
 
 Is colored by the moon-beam's purest light, 
 
 Above the wanderer who, night after night, 
 An ocean of dark clouds alone hath seen 
 With dense and murky billows intervene ; 
 
 But now all's loveliness around him — bright 
 
 The city lies beneath the bowery height, 
 A map of roofs and towers with smoke between — 
 
 All softened into beauty by the ray : 
 While, through the vale beyond, the glist'ning stream 
 
 Of Exe through fields and forests winds his way : 
 O'er all the proud Cathedral's turrets seem 
 
 Like spirits of the past — aged, worn, and grey, 
 But still in melancholy grace supreme.
 
 "CAIR Elda lived unsought on earth 
 
 By all but woe and shame ; 
 There was a mystery round her birth — 
 A cloud upon her name. 
 
 She dwelt among the cold and rude, 
 The sport of scornful breath ; 
 
 Her only friend was solitude, 
 Her only hope was death. 
 
 But time the m}-stery removed — 
 The cloud that dimmed her fame — 
 
 And she was great, and she was loved, 
 And friends around her came. 
 
 She had endured through sorrow's night, 
 
 Neglect and scorn defied, 
 But joy like this was all too bright. 
 
 She felt it and she died. 
 
 The plant that through the winter's blast 
 
 Uninjured had lived on ; 
 When summer glory shone at last 
 
 Was withered by the sun.
 
 S.ook on to tin ^future* 
 
 T OOK on to the future — dream not of the past, 
 
 The sky may be bright that was once over-cast, 
 Tho' thy path hath been rough, and the way-side drear, 
 Bright flowers may blossom — the gloom disappear. 
 When nature first robes her in garments of green, 
 Does not spring seem the fairer that winter hath been ? 
 And brighter the sun-beam when storms have raged high 
 Because for a season its light was not nigh. 
 
 Look on to the future — dream not of the past. 
 
 The air may be soft that succeeds the rough blast ; 
 
 The cloud that loomed darkest soon fades from our view, 
 
 Tho' some have been false — there are who are true. 
 
 Look on to the future— the gloomiest night 
 
 Is the herald sometimes of a day-time bright, 
 
 And the shadows that once did so darkly lour, 
 
 Will pass from remembrance some happier hour.
 
 Be ^till! 
 
 CHOULD blessings numerless be here thy lot, 
 
 Humbly give thanks for all — and triumph not ; 
 Joy not too much — thou mayst be called to part 
 
 From all thou'st had — 
 Out of the fulness of thine own glad heart 
 
 Make others glad. 
 
 Should only grief or suff'ring be thy lot — 
 Wait for the end — be still, and murmur not ; 
 Wisdom ordains, and can the sharp points smooth 
 
 That rankle so : 
 Let thy deep sorrows teach thee how to soothe 
 
 Another's woe. 
 
 Fret not, and plan not, with thine own weak will, 
 Look to the hand that guides thee and be still ; 
 Doing and trusting, be content whate'er 
 
 To thee is given ; 
 So shall thy soul be fitter hence to share 
 
 The calm of Heaven.
 
 ^ jTarftoell* 
 
 'T^O the battle has he sent thee ? — as a soldier, — far awav, 
 Thou didst tell me — and I — listening — spoke not of my 
 dread dismay. 
 
 But the words they fell, and resting — robbed my heart of 
 
 all its rest. 
 And a drear and sad foreboding — clouding over, filled my 
 
 breast. 
 
 For my father — he who sends thee — holds thee as a deadly 
 
 foe, 
 And the look that's given in parting is the last that we may 
 
 know. 
 
 Oh ! how desolate and dreary will our fav'rite haunts appear 
 When I visit them without thee- — thinking of a past how 
 dear: 
 
 Thou wilt think perhaps a little — how when lingering — 
 
 thou and I 
 Strayed together in the twilight — and above — an autumn 
 
 sk^.
 
 A Farewell. 95 
 
 And how oft when I — provoking forced the angry look to 
 
 rise 
 Felt it fade away — and looking — read forgiveness in thine 
 
 eyes, 
 
 And how sometimes — feeling wayward — crossed thy will 
 
 and vexed thee sore, 
 Met thy sad reproachful glances — turned — and angered 
 
 thee no more. 
 
 And of the October noon-tides— by the brook-side — we 
 
 have spent 
 Till the sun-set — and returning — each a hand to each hath 
 
 lent. 
 
 Think — and then thou must be faithful to the memory of 
 
 those hours 
 When of hope, and joy, and sadness — mingling freely — 
 
 some was ours. 
 
 In the long — long years that coming — steal upon us as a 
 
 dream 
 Thou wilt wiser grow — and aging — thine a sterner heart 
 
 may seem ;
 
 96 A Farewell. 
 
 Thou wilt plunge in battle deeper — and the man scarce 
 
 give a thought 
 To the visions of his boyhood — dreams his younger brain 
 
 hath wrought. 
 
 Some will dream thee proud and distant — others call thee 
 
 stern and hard, 
 They will say that war and tumult hath thy spirit strangely 
 
 marr'd. 
 
 Time will pass, may passing leave thee — sitting musing all 
 
 alone, 
 O'er the many — many seasons that thy closing life hath 
 
 known ; 
 
 Will the voice of memory whispering — lead thee back to 
 
 days once dear ? 
 Wilt thou pay to her sweet visions the fond tribute of a tear? 
 
 m
 
 91 Woitt from ^niH* 
 
 {See the Saurtn Trial—'' What is a Nun ? ") 
 
 A NUN'S a sister, — nothing more : 
 
 Parents she had, and friends, before 
 She knelt within a convent cell, 
 And bade life's sympathies farewell : 
 Then shrouded mercy closed the door. 
 And called her "sister" — nothing more." 
 
 She knows no mother's fond caressing. 
 No brother's smile, no father's blessing ; 
 No real sister's welcome meets her. 
 No voice of happy childhood greets her: 
 The joys of kindred all are o'er ; 
 Sister in name, she's nothing more. 
 
 But finds she there a tranquil life, 
 An Eden-home hedged in from strife, 
 Or does she daily, hourly, learn 
 That peace, like duty, is "extern." 
 Alas 1 her inner life explore : 
 She's a sad sister — nothing more.
 
 98 A Voice from Hull. 
 
 On treasured stones, in hallowed ground, 
 Names of the honored dead are found. 
 The living dead has no such stone ; 
 Her coffined name becomes unknown ; 
 Immured and "lost" not "gone before," 
 A Nun's a sister — nothing more. 
 
 :t5e: 
 
 rnrnJ)""
 
 €l)t Crosi^es of iCite* 
 
 "TjEATH takes away the happy and the young, 
 
 And life that is most loathsome is most long; 
 And smiles are given to those who prize them not, 
 And scorn and coldness are the fond one's lot ; 
 And honours come to those who shrink from fame, 
 And quiet smothers many a soul of flame. 
 Those whom we don't like every day will call, 
 And those we do like never come at all !
 
 €o ti)t ^pftotoffrapi) oi a ^till-ljont Cf)iltr. 
 
 nPHY mother heard no wailing cry, 
 
 Sweet infant ! at thy birth ; 
 Not for one moment did thine eye 
 
 Look on the gloom of earth. 
 Thou didst not wake to sigh or weep ; 
 Thine earliest was thy latest sleep. 
 
 But is it sleep ? That pictured face, 
 By heaven's own light impressed, 
 
 Reveals a more than mortal grace, 
 A more than earthly rest : 
 
 'Tis peace — whatever else it be ; 
 
 'Twere sin to shed a tear for thee.
 
 €f)t (Bta Mm*^ JSritie* 
 
 CHE was but a maiden of tender years ; 
 
 I — old as her father they said : 
 A lonely life and a sad was hers, 
 
 They that loved her and cherished were dead. 
 Can she love me ? I thought with my whiten'd hair, 
 
 I'll try to be young for her sake — 
 If she come, little maiden, so pretty, so fair. 
 
 Her love to me surely will wake. 
 
 She came — for she " could not refuse me aught 
 
 " I had ever been kind" — as now 
 One fair spring morning her lips were taught 
 
 To utter the marriage vow 
 Ah yes ! she had mingled her bright spring-tide 
 
 With winter's darksome day, 
 And the old man thought from his youthful bride 
 
 To learn to be blithsome and gay.
 
 I02 The Old Maris Bride. 
 
 But winter can but be winter still, 
 
 And spring-tide must mate with spring, 
 The sky-lark could never be taught to be still, 
 
 It must mount on its happy wing. 
 And so my poor birdie — it could not attune 
 
 Its song to the ear of age, 
 It strove to be happy — but languish'd as soon 
 
 As a prisoned bird in a cage. 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! but a short time's past, , 
 
 And the old man only is left ; 
 My little bird drooped and died at last, 
 
 As a dove of its mate bereft : 
 Too late ! too late ! but I tell my heart, 
 
 The old are as like as the young, 
 As the stagnant pool that lies apart 
 
 Resembles the mid-day sun. 
 
 Ah love, young love, with thy beating heart 
 All fraught with impassioned sighs, 
 
 Thine eyes which speak with their silent art 
 Of the hope in thy bosom that lies ;
 
 The Old Mans Bride. 103 
 
 Ah youth, fond youth — such a tender thing, 
 Is the heart in thy being that's shrined, 
 
 That to cherish it love must its roses bring. 
 Love's garland around it be twined. 
 
 Old age, old age, thy sunny time's past, 
 
 Lying clear in the long ago, 
 And the joys that were thine while youth did last 
 
 Are buried 'neath winter's snow. 
 Then leave, ah leave to their pleasure awhile, 
 
 The young, and the happy, the gay, 
 The old cannot smile as ihey love to smile. 
 
 Then let them love on while they may.
 
 Calent anb <8emug, 
 
 {On hearing it said that there was no difference between them). 
 
 VES ! talent is the glittering gem, 
 That well might grace a diadem ; 
 But genius is the blushing rose, 
 Whose beauty all spontaneous grows. 
 
 Unseen — unprized — may talent shine. 
 Till chance unearth it from the mine ; 
 While, by their own instinctive power. 
 The seeds of genius bud and flower.
 
 Itf It ^otfjmg to €l)tt ? 
 
 TS it nothing to thee if thy careless word 
 The spell that bound memory broke ? 
 And the depths of a mighty grief have stirr'd, 
 And the sorrow that slumber'd awoke ? 
 
 Is it nothing to thee if thy look of scorn 
 
 Hath hinder'd a struggling brother — 
 A look that perhaps he had bravely borne 
 
 Had it shone from the eye of another ? 
 
 Is it nothing to thee if a deed of thine 
 
 Hath quench'd from some trusting heart — 
 
 Hath banish'd for ever the light divine 
 That before was its very part ? 
 
 And when thou hast thoughtlessly led the way 
 
 Where that weaker one must fall, 
 And urged on that soul which one word could stay 
 
 To its doom — is it nothing at all ? 
 
 Oh, say, is it nothing — no, nothing to thee, 
 
 If at last, at the awful hour. 
 The words which shall sound from the trumpet shall be 
 
 " What use didst thou make of thy power ? "
 
 Birtl)traps(* 
 
 TJ OW merrily in days gone by 
 We kept this day of thine, 
 How proudly round thy brow did I 
 
 My daisy wreath entwine. 
 We loved to hail thy birthday fair 
 
 With spring-tide's brightest sun, 
 To hear the special offered prayer 
 
 For this — our youngest one. 
 
 We loved to mark the happy light 
 
 That dwelt upon thy brow, 
 The flush of joy and smile so bright 
 
 Ah ! well I see it now, 
 When loving wishes reached thine ear, 
 
 Borne through the sunny air 
 That glad might be the pathway here 
 
 For thee — so young and fair.
 
 Birthdays. 107 
 
 And now thy birthday comes again, 
 
 And all the world looks drear, 
 Changed is the mirth for weary pain 
 
 For joy — the bitter tear. 
 Aye ! nature even seems to mourn 
 
 The young life that has passed, 
 For we now miss our youngest born, 
 
 Earth's fairest may not last. 
 
 The flowers that sadly I entwine. 
 
 Are not to deck thy brow, 
 The crown's not earthly but divine. 
 
 That rests upon it now ; 
 But these bright gems I'll weave thee still, 
 
 And many a flowret fair 
 Shall blossom round thy tomb until 
 
 I, too, am resting there. 
 
 -^Jk^
 
 foxiv prop&enefii* 
 
 M. l.—To a Boy. 
 
 ''PIS early morn — I see a form 
 
 Towards a high hill walk firmly on :- 
 It turns not from the passing storm, 
 Reposes not beneath the sun. 
 
 'Tis noon — upon the mountain's brow 
 That rising form still meets my sight 
 
 'Tis evening — and I see him now 
 Resting securely on its height. 
 
 Around that form bright honors shine. 
 Enquirer ! it resembles thine. 
 On then to fame, undaunted, press, 
 And let thy motto be "success."
 
 Four Propliecies. 109 
 
 ITo. I.—T0 a Girl. 
 Go — gaze upon a cloudless day 
 For thus thy life shall pass away, 
 It dawns, while beauteous stars of light 
 Are shining o'er thee, calmly bright ; 
 Like the pure joys of early years, 
 Ere passion brings its hopes and fears, 
 And fills the anxious eye with tears. 
 
 But, mark the change, as, one by one. 
 Those stars retire before the sun : 
 So shall thine early joys be given 
 
 To a new all-absorbing feeling. 
 Bright as that radient orb of heaven, 
 
 A world of life and warmth revealing. 
 It shall pervade all nature's face, 
 
 The earth beneath, the skies above, 
 It is life's universal grace, 
 
 The Spirit's sun, resplendent LOVE. 
 
 Once more a change — the burning sun 
 His mission through the world hath done; 
 And calmly o'er the coming night, 
 Preside again the stars of light.
 
 no Four Prophecies. 
 
 Thus shall the evening of thy days, 
 When freed from passion's dazzling blaze, 
 Give, in its beauty, back to thee 
 The early dawn's serenity. 
 
 No. Z.—To Anybody. 
 Thy course shall be that of the mountain stream, 
 
 As it proudly flows on from its place of birth, 
 In the light of the sun's unclouded beam, 
 
 Through the beautiful vales of the verdant earth. 
 
 The breeze that is softest shall kiss its tide ; — 
 The flower that is sweetest shall grace its side ; — 
 Surrounding it all shall be bright and fair ; 
 And the glories above shall be imaged there : 
 
 Thus brflliant the stream of thy life shall be, 
 Till it mix in the sea of eternity. 
 
 No. A.— To Nobody. 
 A falling leaf — a fading flower — 
 
 A sinking ship — a setting star — 
 A dying gleam in twilight's hour — 
 
 The emblems of thy fortune are.
 
 jTour ©aUntiuesi to an Infant #irL 
 
 First Year {ivith a Doll). 
 r^OOD morning, little Valentine! 
 Thou art to-day my lady fair, 
 And I in courtesy should twine 
 A rosy garland for thy hair. 
 
 But this dull earth affords no flowers 
 To form a wreath, sweet child, for thee ; 
 
 And those which bloom in fancy's bowers 
 Are distant as the stars from me. 
 
 One little gift thy true knight brings 
 
 Before his lady-love to lay ; 
 'Tis trifling — but as trifling things 
 
 Please older infants every day. 
 
 From earliest youth to latest age 
 We all some doll or idol love ; — 
 
 Some objects that our hearts engage, 
 
 But which more frail than playthings prove.
 
 112 Four Valentines to an Infant Girl. 
 
 Some of us kneel at beauty's shrine, 
 Some worship power, or worldly pelf, 
 
 And if we deem nought else divine, 
 We're sure to have one idol — self. 
 
 Then, pretty one, if friends should say 
 Thy plaything's childish, tell them all 
 
 To look into their hearts, for they, 
 Like little children, nurse a doll. 
 
 Second Year {with a Noah's Ark). 
 I asked you, little Valentine, 
 
 Whose sway a second year I own. 
 What tribute I should bring, in sign 
 
 Of constant fealty to your throne } 
 The quick reply vouchsafed by you, 
 ('Twas nature's wish,) was "Something New." 
 
 Sweet child ! when life's dramatic scene 
 A few years longer you have viewed, 
 
 And in its latest changes seen 
 
 The past revived, the old renewed, 
 
 You'll find the Sage's maxim true, 
 
 " Beneath the sun there's nothing new."
 
 Four Valentines to an Infant Girl. 1 1 3 
 
 You'll see the Moon, in fitful state, 
 
 Rise or decline, increase or wane, 
 You'll see a lady's sleeve wax great, 
 
 Then dwindle, and then grow again ; 
 You'll see states change, and bonnets too, 
 But, midst mutation, nothing new. 
 
 For while this world is trundled round 
 The things gone by must re-appear ; 
 
 Its follies, like its flowers, are found 
 The common growth of every year : 
 
 Search Nature's vast Dominions through 
 
 The realms of Earth hold nothing new. 
 
 Look up through Space — the songsters there 
 Sing the same songs they sang of yore. 
 
 And wear the plumes they used to wear : 
 The Clouds we see have been before 
 
 The same in shape, the same in hue. 
 
 The realms of Air hold nothing new. 
 
 Then mark the Ocean, on whose breast 
 
 Eternity's grand image lies, 
 Sometimes the waves, like infants, rest ;
 
 114 Four Valentines to an Infant Girl. 
 
 Sometimes like wakened giants rise ; 
 But calm and tempest both are true 
 To ancient laws — they're nothing new. 
 
 We are ourselves more wondrous far 
 Than aught that ever meets our sight ; 
 
 Our minds are bright as Evening's star, 
 Yet darker than the clouds of night, 
 
 Mingling, like rainbows, every hue 
 
 Of earth and heaven — but nothing new. 
 
 We feel, as others oft have felt. 
 
 The passions and the cares of earth ; 
 
 We kneel, as others oft have knelt, 
 
 To Fortune, Beauty, Power, or Worth : 
 
 Our joys are old, our sorrows too : 
 
 The human world owns nothing new. 
 
 Shall " Nothing," then, be all I lay 
 Before my little beauty's shrine ? 
 
 Can I no off' ring make to-day ? 
 Send me a gift, S. Valentine ! 
 
 What ! Noah's Ark ! yes, that will do. 
 
 For I can prove it Something New.
 
 Four Valentines to an Infant Girl. 1 1 5 
 
 A house crammed full of inmates where 
 
 No sound of discord e'er is heard, 
 Where cold neglect ne'er draws a tear, 
 
 Nor strife provokes an angry word ; 
 In such, though old, mankind may view 
 The world's eighth wonder, Something New. 
 
 A house where females never talk, 
 
 A house where children never cry, 
 A house where schoolboys never chalk n 
 
 Great D for dunce when passing by ; 
 A house where taxes ne'er are due, 
 We sigh to own is Something New. 
 
 Third Year {with a Weather House). 
 
 I've scarcely time, sweet Valentine ! 
 To pen for you a single line. 
 
 Or string two rhymes together : 
 Take, without comment, then, these two 
 (Unsocial beings, it is true) 
 
 Who will foretel the weather.
 
 1 1 6 Four Valentines to an Infant Girl. 
 
 If fair and promising it be, 
 The lady walks abroad to see 
 
 The beauties round about her : 
 But when a stormy sky impends, 
 She wisely stays at home, and sends 
 
 Her husband out without her. 
 
 Learn then there's none of human kind. 
 Though low in lot, or poor in mind, 
 
 But may some knowledge teach us : 
 Since ev'n from forms inanimate, 
 Figures which we ourselves create, 
 
 A useful hint may reach us. 
 
 Fourth Year {with a Dissected Map). 
 
 'Tis said that they who woo in verse 
 Are always fickle, if not worse. 
 And simple must the maiden be 
 That trusts a rhymer's constancy.
 
 Four Vahiitines to an Infant Girl. 1 1 7 
 
 I dare not call the charge untrue ; 
 For though, sweet child, I've sung to you 
 In the same strain these three years past, 
 The parting tone is heard at last. 
 
 Yes, time has brought me, since last year 
 
 A rival valentine, so dear 
 
 That fancy will no longer roam. 
 
 But stays and builds her shrine at home. 
 
 And his is now the prior claim, 
 
 Who gave to me a father's name ; 
 hxidyours must be the farewell line, 
 My long remembered Valentine, 
 
 Then, since I have no heart for you, 
 Accept the pictured world in lieu ; 
 It is the world in which we live. 
 All love can ask or power can give. 
 
 'Tis chaos yet, but you may trace 
 That every fragment has its place ; 
 And your gigantic task will be 
 To make all parts of Earth agree.
 
 Bo Bmt 
 
 VyHILE Earth remains, Her Maker said, nor day nor 
 
 night shall cease : 
 The Day he gave for work and thought, the Night for rest 
 
 and peace : 
 But Night forgot her mission soon, and sheltered deeds of 
 
 ill, 
 And o'er the fields of crime her wing is spread in darkness 
 
 still. 
 Since then man heard an Angel's voice, in trumpet-tones 
 
 declare 
 ** In Heaven there shall be endless Day for .Night shall not 
 
 be there." 
 
 Night that was born with Earth and Time, with them is- 
 
 doomed to die ; 
 In the same grave with Earth and Time the form of Night 
 
 shall lie : 
 And o'er their triple tomb shall rise the light that needs 
 
 no sun:
 
 No Night. 
 
 iig 
 
 " The voice of many waters" speaks, and their dark reign 
 
 is done ; 
 And ev'n the cloud, that formed the bow of promise in the 
 
 air, 
 Is lost in Heav'n's own hueless light : no shade of Night 
 
 is there.
 
 **^WM $ bo tf)ou knolut£{t not noto; Ijut 
 *' tfeou siftalt knotD f)ereaftei\** 
 
 — 13th St. John. 
 
 TiriTH towel girt, the Saviour stooped, (His garments 
 laid aside,) 
 
 And washed His loved Disciple's feet. But one astonished 
 cried 
 
 (It was the impetuous Peter's voice) " Lord dost thou wash 
 my feet 
 
 " Oh surely for the Master's hand such service is not 
 meet." 
 
 But Jesus said, with mild rebuke, in accents soft and 
 low 
 
 " That which I do thou know'st not now, but shalt here- 
 after know."
 
 Hereafter Know. 1 2 1 
 
 And are not these mysterious words the same that still 
 we hear 
 
 As scenes unlocked for meet our eye, — unwonted sounds 
 our ear ; 
 
 When dispensations fall, too strange for sense to under- 
 stand, 
 
 " Why are these shadows on our path ?" we faithlessly 
 demand. 
 
 And then the still small voice replies, in accents soft and 
 low, 
 
 "That which I do thou know'st not now, but shalt here- 
 after know." 
 
 But yet, we ask, why cherished flowers are scattered .and 
 decayed ; 
 
 Why sorrow sits within the bower that joyous hope had 
 made ; 
 
 Why loosened is the silver cord that bound up all we 
 loved ; 
 
 Why is our dearest idol from its guarded shrine 
 removed. 
 
 Vain questions all 1 The answer's breathed, in accents 
 soft and low, 
 
 " That which I do thou know'st not now, but shalt here- 
 after know."
 
 122 Hereafter Know. 
 
 Once more — while buds of promise die, — the fairest always 
 first, 
 
 Why are the idle garden weeds by shower and sunshine 
 
 nurst ; 
 
 When forests of their noblest trees by tempests are 
 bereft 
 
 Why are the cumberers of the ground in useless vigour 
 left : 
 
 Again, the same grave voice replies, in accents soft and 
 low, 
 
 " That which I do thou know'st not now, but shalt here- 
 after know. 
 
 Herjeafter ? Yes ! But even here some purposes are 
 shewn, 
 
 And faith must leave the rest till we shall know as we are 
 known : 
 
 It is in love the usual robes are sometimes laid 
 aside, 
 
 In love the arm is bared, to cleanse the dust-soiled foot 
 of pride ; 
 
 Then ask no more, while Jesus speaks, in accents soft and 
 low, 
 
 "That which I do thou know'st not now, but shalt here- 
 after know."
 
 FEINTED BY GEO. J. COSBURN, AT THE CAXTON MACHINE WORKS, 
 
 MARKET PLACE. 
 
 1879.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
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