rnia 1 uivyan-i^ ^^ii33Nvsoi^ ^LUSANGElfj/. ^ 'i? m:iaim ,OFCALIF0% '^/Sa^AINil ]\\'^ '^6'Aiivyan#^ -^nM-LIBRARYo.: ^(!/0JnV3J0' ^^WEUNIVERAVa ^OPCAIIFO/?^// ■>f/U!VH^n-'\>^- -o x^WYANlitUj: [ 1 f tl LJ _ '///rr sNlLlDliAi: ^VLU^ %EW YEAR'S EVE, 'y ^nti otl^er l^^txm* BY BERNARD BARTON. " The heart, And not the head, is fovntain of this art !" Francis Quarks. LONDON: JOHN HATCHARD AND SON, PICCADILLY. 1828. LONDON: :botson and palmer, printers, savoy street, strand. TO CHARLES RICHARD SUMNER, IN MEMORIAL OF HIS COURTESY AND KINDNESS, THIS VOLUME IS, WITH PERMISSION, MOST RESPECTFULLY AND OUATEFULI.Y INSCRIBED, BY THE AUTHOR. 780100 PREFACE. The Author of the following pages is well aware, from his own observation and expe- rience, that a preface to a volume of poetry is very apt to be overlooked by most readers, and perused attentively by few. But it seems hardly accordant with his ideas of the respect which every writer owes to the public, to be entirely silent on such an occasion ; and a still deeper feeling of gra- titude for repeated indulgence, yet more strongly forbids it in his own case. Perhaps the Author cannot more concisely express his feelings, in once more coming IV PREFACE. before the public, than by simply transcribing the following Sonnet of a poet of the olden time, * as embodying all he could wish to offer on his own behalf. TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AKD JUDICIOUS FAVOURER OF VERTUE, MR. FULKE GREVILLE. I do not here upon this humorous stage Bring my transformed verse apparelled With others' passions, or with others' rage ; With loves, with wounds, with factions furnished : But here present thee, only modelled In this poor frame, the form of mine own heart. Where, to revive herself, my muse is led With motions of her own to act her part ; Striving to make her own contemned art As fair t' herself as possibly she can ; Lest seeming of no force, of no desert, She might repent the course that she began : And, with these times of dissolution, fall From goodness, virtue, glory, fame, and all ! * Samuel Daniel, born in 1562 ; author of the " History of the Civil Wars ;" " Musophilus," &c. &c. CONTENTS. Page A New Year's Eve . . . .1 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A Winter Thought . .... 29 'V'erses, written during the alarming illness of a highly valued friend . . . . .32 Robert Bruce and the Spider ... .35 Sonnet to William and Mary Howitt . . . 41 Sonnet to the same . , . .42 The North Countrie . . . . . 43 A Child's Evening Hymn . . .46 A Child's Morning Hymn . . . .49 Power and Gentleness ; or the Cataract and the Streamlet . 52 Heath Scenery . . . . .55 Venice. Suggested by a View of the Rialto, &c. . 57 Counsels . . .... 60 I saw a Ruin, mossed and grey ... .62 The Past . . . . . . 63 The Present . . . . .65 The Future . . . . . . 67 Lady Rachel Russell ; or, a Roman Hero and an English Heroine compared . . . .69 A Spring Dirge . . . . . 73 William Cowper. Verses written in the first leaf of a small Volume, entitled, " Cowper's Rural Walks." . 75 Sonnet . . . . . .79 .Tohn William Fletcher, of Madely. Written after reading his Life . . . .BO VIU CONTENTS. Page The Nightingale Flower . . . . 82 A Thought . . . , .85 Recollections of Chichester. Written for the Bazaar in aid of the Infirmary . . . . 87 Stanzas on a Portrait hy A, E. Chalon, R.A. . .91 The Daughter of Herodias. . . . . 94 On a Picture of a Sleeping Child , . .97 The Rectory . . . . . 101 The Battle of Gibeon, Verses illustrative of Martin's Joshua, 105 A Poet's Appeal. \^erses written for the Bazaar in aid of the Stoke Newington Asylum . . . 109 In an Album ..... 112 The Death of Robin Hood . . . .114 Godiva . . . . . . 116 To a Child two Years old . . , . . .117 To an Elephant . . . . . 120 On a Portrait by Spagnoletto . . . 123 The Translation of Enoch . . . . 129 In an Album . . . . . 132 " Oh ! for that Citj', fair and bright." . . .134 On Sir Philip Sidney's Birth-day. . . . 136 Sonnet to John Fitzgerald, Esq. M. P. On receiving from his Lady a print of Canning . . . 138 Stanzas on the same Engraving ; respectfully inscribed to the Donor .... 139 The Resurrection . . . . . 141 The Sea . . . . .142 To John Martin. On his magnificent Print of Joshiia . 146 The Stars . . • . . 148 On hearing the Waits . . . . . 151 Fireside Quatrains, to Charles Lamb. . . 154 England's Oak . . . , . 157 An Evening Thought . . . .162 Cceur de Lion . . . . . 163 John Howard ..... 165 Stanzas on receiving from a Friend an early Sketch of Gainsborough's .... 167 CONTENTS. IX Page Sonnet to a brother Poet, on his opinion that no one cares about poets or their works . . . 169 Sonnet to the same on the same subject . . . 170 The Death of Rufus . . . .171 Syr Heron . . . . . . 176 .Sonnet to W. H. Brooke, Esq. . . .182 To a Mourner , . . . . 183 Spring ..... r . 185 Praise and Prayer . ... . 188 " I know thy Path." . . . . . 189 " If a hveUer Measure." . . . . 192 To Sir Samuel Fludyer, on the devastation effected on his Marine Villa at Felixtow,by the encroachments of the Sea .... . 193 Summer Musings . . ,. . . 199 Lines imder a drawing of a Wall-flower . . 203 Hymn for Easter , . . . . 204 A Veteran's Memorial ; or Verses on the fall of an old Tree in Playford Church-yard . . • • 207 Sonnet to Edward Romilly, Esq. . . . 212 Sonnet to the same • . • .213 Enigma . . . . • • 214 Verses suggested by an old etching from Rembrandt, of Christ asleep in the Storm . . .218 Sonnet on the Pyramid in the grounds of Major Moor, Great Bealings . . . . 221 Recollections of Martin's Print of the Deluge . . 222 Sonnet to Charlotte M . . • 225 The Mother to her sick Child . . . .226 To the Swallow . . • .229 " Oh ! had I the wings of a Dove." . . .230 The banks of Swale . . . . . 232 To a Child on the approach of Winter . • 235 To my Daughter, while on a Visit at • . . 237 Sonnet to a nameless Friend . . . 239 Christ walking on the Sea ; Verses illustrative of the Frontispiece, drawn and engraved by John INIartin . 240 WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. POEMS. Fourth Edition. Foolscap 8vo. 7s. 6d. MINOR POEMS, including NAPOLEON. Second Edition. 7s. POETIC VIGILS. Foolscap 8vo. 8s. DEVOTIONAL VERSES. ]2rao. 6s. 6d. A WIDOW'S TALE, and other Poems. 12mo. 5s. 6d. A NEW YEAR'S EVE. B A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. I. A New-year's Eve ! Methinks 'tis good to sit At such an hour, in silence and alone, Tracing that record, by the pen unwrit, Which every human heart has of its own, Of joys and griefs, of hopes and fears unknown To all beside ; to let the spirit feel, In all its force, the deep and solemn tone Of Time's unflattering, eloquent appeal. Which Truth to every breast wovdd inwardly reveal. B 2 4 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. II. A New-year's Eve! Though all who live on earth, Or rich, or poor, or vulgar, or refined, Have each a clay from whence they date their birth, In their domestic chronicles enshrined — To-morrow is a birth-day for mankind ! One of those epochs to which all refer Their measure of existence ; in each mind Be hope or fear its mute interpreter, Of pleasure or of pain the silent chronicler. III. It was no flight of fancy, then, in him. Of proudest living bards the gifted peer, Whose mental vision, purged from vapours dim, Beheld " the skirts of the departing year !" All who have eyes to see, or ears to hear. Objects which every grosser sense defy, Its parting footsteps catch with wakeful ear, Its fading form behold with wistful eye, 'Till lost in that dark cloud which veils eternity. A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 5 IV. Is this the preaclier's cant ? the poet's dream ? But few in silent solitude would dare, Unless deceived by ignorance extreme, As such to brand it. Age's silver hair, Youth's blooming cheek, and manhood's brow of care, What are they all but things that speak of time .'' Nor lives there one, whatever form he wear. Or rank he fill, who hears that midniglit chime, In whom it should not wake thoughts solemn and sublime. V. Nature herself seems, in her wintry dress. To own the closing year's solemnity : Spring's blooming flowers, and sunnner's leafiness. And autumn's richer charms are all thrown by ; I look abroad upon a starless sky ! Even the plaintive breeze sounds like the surge On ocean's shore among those pine trees high ; Or, sweeping o'er that dark wall's ivied verge. It rings unto my thought the old year's mournful dirge. 6 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. VI. Bear with me, gentle reader, if my vein Appear too serious : — sober, but not sad The thoughts and feelings which inspire my strain ; Could they with mirthful words be fitly clad.'* The thoughtless call the melancholy mad. And deem joy dwells where laughter lights the brow : But are the gay indeed the truly glad. Because they seem so.'' O, be wiser thou ! Winter which strips the vine, harms not the cypress' bough. VII. There is a joy in deep thought's pensive mood, Far, far beyond the worldling's noisiest mirth; It draws from purer elements its food. Higher and holier is its heavenly birth : It soars above the fleeting things of earth. Through faith that elevates, and hope that cheers ; And estimates by their e^idnring worth. The cares and trials, sorrows, toils, and fears. Whose varied shadows pass across this vale of tears. A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. VIII. Think not the sunny track, which lies thro' flowers, The sweetest or the safest course may be, Though Fancy there may build her fairy bowers. And Pleasure's jocund train there wander free : If heaven assign a thornier path to thee. By clouds overshadowed, start not at its gloom ; Wait patiently its onward course to see — Those seeming thorns may bear unfading bloom, And more than sun-set's light rest on the opening tomb. IX. E'en flowers are sweetest after sunnner's rain ; The sun shines brightest bursting from the cloud ; Pleasure is purest when it follows pain ; The moon smiles loveliest when, in beauty proud. She breaks forth from her fleecy, silvery shroud; Calm is the eve of many a stormy day; The heart has joys it knows not in a crowd ; And those alone are happy, if not gay. Who tread in patient hope life's smooth or rugged way. 8 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. X. Then marvel not, at such an hour as this, If, musing thus in silence and alone, I feel a mournful, yet a soothing bliss, In yielding up my spirit to the tone Of sober thought and feeling round it thrown. To render life a boon most justly dear, Enough of sunlight on my path has shone; More than enough of shadows dark and di'ear. To bid in brightest moods my heart rejoice with fear. XI. If such be life, oh! who of its strange book Shall turn, unmoved, a yet unopened page.'' What eye Avith dull indifference coldly look On what may be its changeful heritage.'' Tlie lone way-farer on his pilgrimage. On each hill-top looks round with wistful eyes. To see what warfare he must onward wage. Or ponder well the lore the past supplies : Are we not pilgrims all, whose home is in the skies.'' A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 9 XII. And when we find another stage is won On life's important journey, when we gain An eminence whence we may look upon The path already trodden, not in vain Should we review its pleasure or its pain ; He who refuses to retrace the past, Must meet the future ! wherefore then refrain, Because life's onward course seem overcast, To look with steadfast eye on what may come at last ? XIII. To me the yet untrodden road presents More clouds than sunshine, less to hope than dread ; And yet among its unforeseen events, Some there may be to lift in hope the head, O'er which thick mists of darkness now are spread : If e'en the little hoped may prove untrue. Bringing but disappointment in its stead. Fear's dark forebodings may deceive the view. And life's declining hours may wear a happier hue. 10 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XIV. Tliat he who lives the longest may out-live Much that gave life its highest, purest zest, Is true, though mournful ; one by one we give, In childhood, youth, or age, to earth's cold breast, The friends we've loved the fondest and the best : — The very bells that now " ring out the year," Since morn arose, this painful truth imprest ; And sadly those who loved Thee paused to hear Thy slow and solemn knell fall on the startled ear. XV. But can we mourn thee, gentlest friend, with grief That knows no soothing hope.-^ Oh! name it not; All that can yield to anguish sweet relief, Brightens the tear that mourns thy early lot ; A blameless life with no dark shade to blot Its tranquil splendour, save its early end, Was thine ; vmmourned, unhonoured, or forgot, Thou didst not to the silent grave descend ; What most embalms the dead must with thy memory blend. A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 11 XVI. In one bereaved, in many a pensive heart, Thy loved remembrance not e'en death can chill ; Strengthening that humble faith whose only chart Is meek submission to the Almighty's will : For " tribulation worketh patience" still, " Patience experience, and experience hope !" And thus is power afforded to fulfil Each duty, 'till the thorns with which we cope Burst forth in grateful flowers, and resignation slope XVII. Our passage to the tomb ! Grief is a sad Yet salutary teacher ; not so stern As many deem, although his brow be clad With the cold flowers that wreathe the funeral urn ! And wise are they who stoop of him to learn ; If these are taught wherein their weakness lies, Not less are they instructed to discern, And praise His goodness who their strength supplies, 'Till " crosses from His hand are blessings in disguise !" 12 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XVIII. AVhen He, the pure and sinless One, came down To sinful earth, our load of guilt to bear, And teach us how to win a heavenly crown By patient suifering, 'twas not His to wear Joy's smiling mien or mirth's enlivening air; By human folly, human crime imtainted. Of human woes he bore his ample share. And in his mortal aspect still is painted A man of sorrows deep, with darkest grief acquainted. XIX. Rare at the banquet board, but often found Where want, disease, and sorrow heaved their groan; Whether he trod Gethsemane's sad ground. Or on the Mount of Olives prayed alone. For us was grieFs dark vesture round him thrown ; Why ? but to teach us how to kiss the rod, And, " perfected through suffering,"" to make known That sorrow's thorny path, if meekly trod, IMust guide his followers still to glory and to God. A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 13 XX. Here tlien we reach the panacea, sought In vain of old by proud philosophy, Whereby e'en seeming ill with good is fraught, And grateful tears gush from the mourner''s eye ; For holy faith's all potent alchymy Can do far more than language can express : Beauty for ashes it can still supply. Give joy for mourning, and the spirit dress In the glad garb of praise for that of heaviness. XXI. Has not the Christian cause then to exclaim, Beyond the Greek philosopher of yore, " Eureka !" Shall a heathen"'s transports shame The meek disciple of a holier lore ? Thanks be to God, and praise for evermore ! There are whose spirits have been humbly taught For darkest days his goodness to adore. And own the mercy which has safely brought Their feet thro' rugged pathswith thorns of anguish frauglit. 14 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XXII. For these have found, e'en in the seven-fold heat Of trial's fiery furnace, that His power Can make the bitterest cup seem truly sweet. And cheer with hope when clouds most seemed to lower: His holy name hath been their fortress tower ; And faith in his dear Son who reigns above, Has made them in temptation's fearful hour, Wise as the serpent, harmless as the dove. And more than conquerors still thro' their Redeemer''s love ! XXIII. No more of sorrow. Think not I would fling O'er brighter hearts than mine a sadd'ning shade, Or have them, by the sober truths I sing, Be causelessly dejected or dismayed. My task has been to show how heavenly aid May lighten earthly grief; how flowers may cheer Even pale Sorrow's seeming thorny braid; And how, amid December's tempests drear. Some solemn thoughts are due unto the parting year. A NEAV-YEAR'S EVE. 15 XXIV. My brighter task remains. " A New-year's Eve ! 'Tis not an hour to sink in cheerless gloom, To take of every hope a mournful leave. As if the earth were but a yawning tomb. And sighs and tears mortality's sole doom ; The Christian knows " to enjoy is to obey ;" All he most hopes or fears is in the womb Of vast eternity, and there alway His thoughts and feelings tend ; yet in his transient stay XXV. On this fair earth, he truly can enjoy, And he alone, its transitory good ; The bliss of worldlings soon or late must cloy, For sensual is its element and food ; The Christian's is of higher, nobler mood, It brings no riot, leaves no dark unrest, Its source is seen, its end is understood, Its light is that calm " sunshine of the breast," Sanctioned by Reason's law, and by Religion blest. 16 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XXVI. To him the season, though it may recall Solemn and touching thoughts, has yet a ray Of brightness o'er it thrown, Avhich sheds on all His fellow-pilgrims in life's rugged way. Far more than sunshine ; and his heart is gay ! Were all like his, how beautiful were mirth ! Then human feelings might keep holiday In blameless joy, beside the social hearth, And honour Heaven's first law by happiness on earth. XXVII. Is not the hour just past when midnight laud Sang peace on earth, proclaim'd good- will to man .'' And would not e'en the coldest hearts be thawed, Melted to feeling, did they rightly scan Redemption's merciful and gracious plan ? Oh ! who the memory of that hour shall scorn. Unless indeed misanthropy's dark ban Hath made the heart of every hope forlorn. When the glad shepherds heard the glorious Child was born.-' A NEW-YEAR'S EYE. XXVIII. Then heap the blazing liearth, and spread the board, Enhirge the circle, open wide the door, Ve who are rich ; and from your ample hoard Clothe ye the naked, feed the hungry poor ; Impart to those M^ho mourn their scanty store : The measure that ye mete shall be your own ; Full measure, heaped, and pressed, and running o''er, May here on earth requite the kindness shown, And Heaven a richer boon hereafter shall make known. XXIX. Confine not to your equals, friends, or kin, The charities this wintry hour demands ; ""Tis wise to cherish, good to gather in, As to the heart's own garner, all that stands Linked to us by our nature's strongest bands ; To greet the present, and to think of those. As fondly loved, who roam in foreign lands. In whose warm hearts perchance at distance glows That yearning love of home the exile only knows. c 18 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XXX. All this is wise and good, and tends to keep NatuiVs best feelings actively alive ; To cherish sympathies which else might sleep The sleep of death, and never more revive ; But not for these alone so hoard and hive What Heaven has given you, as to limit there Your hospitable rites ; but rather strive To let the wretched in your bounty share, Remembering these were once your Lord*'s peculiar care. XXXI. Give unto those who cannot give again. Who have no claim upon you but distress ; Imagine not the boon bestowed in vain. The blessing of the poor your wealth may bless. And their prayers prove you worthy to possess Your earthly substance :— e'en what you partake Shall be enjoyed with truer happiness For every grateful feeling you awake ; — Since God hath given to you, give others for His sake. A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 19 XXXII. But banish from your hour of festive joy The revePs rude excess, the jest obscene ; — The orgies of the wicked ever cloy, And harpy feasts, unholy and unclean, But ill befit a Christian's sober mien : His mirth is cheerfulness that leaves no stine; ; Nor would he change the happiness serene Of hours that bear no stain upon their wing. For all the boisterous joys which prouder banquets brin*. XXXIII. He who of such delights can judge, yet spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise. Thus Milton sang ; the warbled Tuscan air. The neat repast and light, his taste implies : — Pure and refined that taste in Reason''s eyes, And worthy of Religion's high applause. Which taught our noble poet how to prize " The mirth that after no repenting draws," But can God's gifts enjoy, yet keep His holy laws. o. 20 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XXXIV. A New-year's Eve ! My fancy, wing tliy flight, Nor doubt that in thy native country dear, There are who honour with appropriate rite The closing hours of the departing year ; Who mingle with their hospitable cheer Feelings and thoughts to man in mercy given, Brightening in Sorrow's eye the pensive tear, And healing hearts by disappointment riven, Their's who o'er rougher seas have tempest-tost been driven. XXXV. And these are they who on this social eve Its old observances with joy fulfil ; Their simple hearts the loss of such would grieve, For childhood's early memory keeps them still. Like lovely wild-flowers by a chrystal rill, Fresh and unfading ; they may be antique, In towns disused ; but rural vale and hill, And those who live and die there, love to seek The blameless bliss they yield, for unto them they speak A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 21 XXXVI. A language dear as the remembered tone Of murmuring streamlet in his native land Is to the wanderer''s ear, who treads alone O'er India's or Arabia's wastes of sand : Their memory too is mixed with pleasures planned In the bright happy hours of blooming youth ; When Fancy scattered flowers with open hand Across Hope's path, whose visions passed for sooth, Yet linger in such hearts their ancient worth and truth. XXXVII. And therefore do they deck their walls with green ; There shines the holly-bough Avith berries red ; There too the yule-log's cheerful blaze is seen Around its genial warmth and light to shed ; Round it are happy faces, smiles that spread A feeling of enjoyment calm and pure, A sense of happiness, home-bom, home-bred. Whose influence shall unchangeably endure While home for English hearts has pleasures to allure. 22 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XXXVIII. And far remote be the degenerate day Which dooms our thoughts in quest of joy to roam ! From the thatched, white-washed cot, tho' built of clay, To Wealth's most costly, Grandeur's proudest dome, A Briton's breast should love and prize his home : Changeful our clime, and round our spot of earth, Roused by the wintry winds, the white waves foam ; But here all household ties have had their birth, And sires and sons been found to feel and own their worth. XXXIX. Here the Penates have been worshipped long, Not merely by the wood-fire blazing bright By childhood's pastime, and by poet's song. Though these have gladdened many a winter night, And made their longest, darkest hours seem light ; But their's has been the homage of the heart, That far surpasses each external rite. In which more quiet feelings have their part — Smiles that uncalled for come, tears that unbidden start. A NEAV-YEAR'S EVE. S XL. And though the world more worldly may have grown, And modes and manners to our fathers dear Be now by most unpractised and unknown, Not less their spirit w^ may still revere ; Honoured the smile, and hallowed be the tear. Given to these reliques of the olden time. For those there be that prize them ; as the ear May love the ancient poet's simple rhyme. Or feel the secret charm of minster''s distant chime. XLI. Thus it should be ! their memory is entwined With things long buried in Time's whelming wave ; Objects the heart has ever fondly shrined, And fain from dull forgetfulness would save ; The wise, the good, the gentle and the brave. Whose names o'er History's page have glory shed ; The patriot's birth-place, and the poet's grave, Old manners and old customs, long since fled, Yet to the Hving dear, linked with the lionoured dead ! 24 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XLII. Once more, " A New-year's Eve !" My strain began With sober thoughts, with such it well may end ; For when, oh ! when, should these come home to man, With such a season if they may not blend ? My gentle reader, let an unknown friend Remind thee of the ceaseless lapse of time ! Nor will his serious tone thy ear offend If love may plead his pardon for the crime Of blending solemn truth with minstrel's simple rhyme. XLIII. " I would not trifle merely, though the world Be loudest in their praise who do no more ;"" A standard is uplifted and unfurPd ; The summons hath gone forth from shore to shore ; In tliought'^s still pause, in passion's loud uproar, Thine ear has heard that gentle voice serene, Deep, but not loud, behind thee and before ; Thine inward eye that banner too hath seen ; — Hast thou obeyed the call 'i or still a loiterer been ? A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 25 XLIV. Canst thou forget who first on Calv'ry's height Lifted tliat glorious banner up on high, While heaven above ^vas wrapped in starless night, And earth, convulsed with hoiTor, heard the cry, Eli, Eli, lama sabacthaxi ? Look back upon that hour of grief and pain ; For THEE He came to suffer, and to die ! The blood He shed must be thy boon, or bane, Let conscience answer which ! He hath not died in vain. XLV. Christ died for all. But in that general debt He bled to cancel — dost not thou partake ? Is thine, too, blotted out.-^ Oh! do not set Upon a doubtful issue such a stake ! Each faculty of soul and sense awake ; Trust not a general truth which may be vain To thee ; but rather, for thy Saviour's sake. And for thy own, some evidence attain For thee indeed lie died, for thee hath risen again. 26 A NEW-YEAR'S EVE. XLVI. Are thy locks white with many long-past years ? One more is dawning which thy last may be ; Art thou in middle age, by worldly fears And hopes surrounded ? set thy spirit free, More awful fears, more glorious hopes to see. Art thou in blooming youth ? thyself engage To serve and honour Him, who unto thee Would be a guide and guard through hfe's first stage, Wisdom in manhood''s strength, and greenness in old age ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A WINTER THOUGHT. Dear friend! long tried and faithful proved In hours of grief and gloom ; In such more justly prized and loved, Than in joy's brightest bloom ; — AVell may that cheerless winter sky, That one bright star above, Recall thy worth and constancy To gratitude and love. 30 A WINTER THOUGHT. The steersman, in a summer night, When cloudless are the skies, May gaze upon their orbs of light, Till slumber seal his eyes ; But when the winds are loud and stern, And Heaven is drear and dark. To one alone his glance will turn, By that he guides his bark ! So clouds have veiled each star and sun, Once wont my sky to cheer ; And thou art now the polar one, By which my course I steer. Tlie ])lossoms of life's spring-tide gay, My path have long since fled. My summer foliage passed away. My autumn fruit been slied. A WINTER THOUGHT. 31 But thou in winter's storms art yet Unchanged in faith to me ; And dear though hopeless seems the debt I long have owed to thee. 32 VERSES, WRITTEN DURING THE ALARMING ILLNESS OF A HIGHLY VALUED FRIEND. Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils; for wherein is he to be accounted of?" Thusj speaks Thy holy word ! Yet in our jjassage through this vale of tears, Our inmost hearts are stirred By human passions, human hopes and fears. Nor does thy law re])rove, Or interdict each gentler human tie ; Pure friendship, virtuous love. Are objects of thy tender sympathy. VERSES DURING THE ILLNESS OF A FRIEND. 33 Our Saviour, when on earth, Honoured at Cana''s feast tlie bridal hour ; Of Friendship''s noblest worth, By Lazarus's grave confest the power. And still his heavenly grace Allows Affection's fond and anxious sigli ; It only points the place Which Thou in every heart shouldst occupy. Then teach us in His name. Meekly to yield to Thine our wish and will, To own Tli}^ sovVeign claim, Of life, of death, all- wise disposer still. Yet, in this fearfid hour Of doubt and grief, hear Thou the fervent prayer Of hearts that trust thy power. And on thy mercy cast their every care. 34 VERSES DURING THE ILLNESS OF A FRIEND. If it seem right to Thee, Give joy for mourning, turn tlieir prayers to praise ; And grant that they may see Him Avhom they love, preserved to lengthened days. But whatsoe'er his lot, Or ours, — to both, through thy beloved Son, Give faith that murmurs not. And strength to say — " Thy holy will l)e done !" cJ*J ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. Not in Prosperity's broad light Can Reason justly scan The sterling worth which, viewed aright, Most dignifies the man ; Favoured at once by wind and tide, A skill-less pilot well may guide The bark in safety on ; Yet, when his harbour he has gained, He who no conflict hath sustained. No meed has fairly won. d2 36 ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. But in Adversity's dark hour Of peril and of fear, When clouds above the vessel lower, With scarce one star to cheer ; AVhen winds are loud, and waves are high, And ocean to a timid eye Appears the seaman's grave ; Amid the conflict calm, unmoved. By Truth's unerring test is proved The skilful and the brave. For Scotland's and for Freedom's right The Bruce his part had played : In five successive fields of fight Been conquered, not dismayed ; Once more against the English host His band he led, and once more lost The meed for which he fought ; And now, from battle faint and worn, The homeless fugitive forlorn A hut's lone shelter sought. ROBERT BRUCE AND THE Sl'lDER. 37 And cheerless was that resting place For him who claimed a throne ; His canopy, devoid of grace, The rude, rough beams alone ; The heather couch his only bed, — Yet well I ween had slumber fled From couch of eider down ; Through darksome night to dawn of day, Inmiersed in wakeful thought he lay Of Scotland and her crown. The sun rose brightly, and its gleam Fell on that sleepless bed, And tinged with light each shapeless beam Which roofed the lowly shed ; When looking up with wistful eye, The Bruce beheld a spider try His filmy thread to fling From beam to l)eam of that rude cot ; And well the insect's toilsome lot Taught Scotland's future king. 38 ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. Six times his gossamery thread The wary spider threw : In vain the fihny line was sped ; For powerless, or untrue Each aim appeared, and back recoiled The patient insect, six times foiled, And yet unconquered still ; And soon the Bruce, with eager eye. Saw him prepare once more to try His courage, strength, and skill. One effort more, its seventh, and last ! The hero hailed the sign ! And on the wished-for beam hung fast That slender, silky line ; Slight as it was, his spirit caught The more than omen, for his thought The lesson well could trace. Which even " he who runs may read," That Perseverance gains its meed, And Patience wins the race. UOIJERT BRICE AND THE SPIDEK. 39 Is it a tale of mere romance? Its moral is the same ; A light and trivial circumstance r Some thought it still may claim. Art thou a father ? teach thy son Never to deem that all is done, While aught remains untried ; To hope, though every hope seem crost ; And when his bark is tempest-tost. Still calmly to confide. Hast thou been long and often foiled By adverse winds and seas, And vainly struggled, vainly toiled, For what some win with ease ? Yet bear up heart and hope and will. Nobly resolved to struggle still. With patience persevere ; Knowing when darkest seems the night The dawning of morn's glorious light Is swiftly drawing near. 40 ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. Art thou a Christian ? shall the frown Of fortune cause dismay ? — The Bruce but won an earthly crown, Which long hath pass'd away ; For thee a heavenly crown awaits, For thee are oped the pearly gates, Prepared the deathless palm ; — But bear in mind, that only those Who persevere unto the close, Can join in Victory's psalm. 41 SONNET TO WILLIAM AND MARY HOWITT. The breath of Spring is stirring in the wood, Wliose budding boughs confess the genial gale ; And thrush and blackbird tell their tender tale ; The hawthorn tree, that leafless long has stood, Shows signs of blossoming ; the streamlet's flood Hath shrunk into its banks, and in each vale The lowly violet, and the primrose pale, Have lured the bee to seek his wonted food. Then up ! and to your forest haunts repair. Where Robin Hood once held his revels gay ; Yours is the greensward smooth, and vocal spray ; And I, as on your pilgrimage ye fare. In all your sylvan luxvu'ies shall sliare When I peruse them in your minstrel lay. 42 SONNET TO THE SAME. Winter hath bound the brooks in icy chains ; The bee that murmured in the cowshp bell Now feasts securely in his honied cell ; Silence is on the woods and on the plains, And darkening clouds and desolating rains Have marred your forest fountain's quiet spell ; Yet, though retired from these awhile ye dwell, Your hearts' best hoard of poesy remains. The sports of childhood, the exhaustless store Of liome-born thoughts and feelings dear to each, Converse, or silence eloquent as speech ; History's rich page, tradition's richer lore, Of tale and legend prized in days of yore ; — These, worthy of the Muse, are in your reach. 43 THE NORTH COUNTRIE. " But he, I ween, was of the North Conntrie." Seattle's Minstrel. The North Countrie ! the North Countrie ! Who hath not heard its fame ? From shore to shore, from sea to sea, It bears an honoured name. Legend, and tale, and minstrelsy. And painter's magic hand, Have made it seem to heart and eye A loved and lovely land. The North Countrie ! the North Countrie I There mighty mountains rise, And many a sweetly slieltered lea In gentler beauty vies; 44 THE NORTH COUNTRIE. There gleams the lake, — and in its pride Is heard the torrent's flood, Whose grey rocks frowning by its side As guardians long have stood. The North Countrie ! the North Countrie ! Full many a ruined tower Is there, like trunk of scathed tree, Stripped of its pride and power ; Yet lovely to the musing eye Each battlemented hold, Telling a tale of deeds gone by, And feudal days of old. The North Countrie ! the North Countrie ! There spectral visions dwell, And Superstition holds the key Of Fancy's wizard cell ; There Wraith and Brownie linger still. For beldame or for bairn. On barren moor, on lofty hill, Beside the chief tain's cairn. THE NORTH COUMTRIR. 45 The North Countrie ! the North Coiintrie ! There Knowledge sheds her light, And soon before its beams must flee The shades of Error's night. Yet long the memory of the past, Cer glen and cavern drear A dim and shadowy spell shall cast. To wayward Fancy dear. Thou bonnie Nortli ! thou bonnie North ! If southron hearts can feel Of all thy blended charms the worth, And own their fond appeal, How must tliy children love each grace That crowns their " ain countrie !" And well may poet proudly trace His kith and kin to thee. 46 A CHILD'S EVENING HYMN. Bkforf, I close my eyes in sleep, Lord, hear my evening prayer ; And deign a helpless one to keep By thy protecting care. Though young in years, I have been taught Thy Name to love and fear, Of Thee to think with solemn thought, Thy goodness to revere. A CHILD'S EVENING HYMN. 47 That goodness gives each simple flo\\'cr Its scent and beauty too, And feeds it in nighfs darkest hour Witli heaven''s refreshing dew. Nor will Thy mercy less delight The infant's God to be, Who through the long and sleepless night, For safety trusts to thee. The little birds that sing all day In many a leafy wood, 13y Thee are clothed in plumage gay, By Thee supplied with food. And when at night they cease to sing. By Thee protected still. Their young ones sleep beneath their wing, Secvu'e from every ill. 48 A CHILD'S EVENING HYMN. Thus may St Thou guard with gracious arm The couch whereon I lie, And keep a child from every harm By Thy all-watchful eye. For night and day to Thee are one, The helpless are Thy care ; And for the sake of Thy dear Son, Thou hear'st an infant's prayer. 49 A CHILD S MORNING HYMN. Onck more the liglit of day I see; Lord, with it let me raise My heart and voice in song to Thee Of gratitude and praise. Tlie " busy bee" ere this hath gone O'er many a bud and bell : From flower to flower is humming: on. To store its waxen cell. 50 A CHILD'S MORNING HYMN. O may I like tlie bee still strive Each moment to employ. And store my mind, that richer hive, With sweets that cannot cloy. The skylark from its lowly nest Hath soared into the sky, And by its joyous song expressed Unconscious praise on high. My feeble voice and faltering tone No tuneful tribute bring ; But Thou canst in my heart make known What bird can never sing. Instruct me, then, to lift my heart To Thee in praise and prayer ; And love and gratitude im])art For every good I share. A CHILD'S MORNING HYMN. 51 For all the gifts tliy bounty sends, For whicli so many })ine, For food and clothing, home and friends. Since all these boons are thine. Thus let me. Lord, confess the debt I owe thee day by day ; Nor e''er at night or morn forget To Thee, O God, to pray ! E 2 52 POWER AND GENTLENESS; OR, THE CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET. Noble the mountain stream, Bursting in grandeur from its vantage-ground ; Glory is in its gleam Of brightness, — thunder in its deafening sound. Mark how its foamy spray, Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes, Mimics the bow of day. Arching in dignity the vaulted skies. POWER AND GENTLENESS. 53 Thence, in a summer shower, Steeping the rocks around ! Oh ! tell me, where Could Majesty and Power Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair ? Yet lovelier in my view The streamlet flowing silently serene ; Traced by the brighter hue, And livelier growth it gives, — itself unseen. It flows through flowery meads. Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse; Its quiet bounty feeds The alders that o^ershade it with their bouffhs. Gently it murmurs by The village church-yard ; its low, plaintive tone A dirge-like melody For worth and beauty modest as its own. 54 POWER AND GENTLENESS. More gaily now it sweeps By the small school-house, in the sunshine bright ; And oVr the pebbles leaps, Like happy hearts by holiday made light. May not its course express. In characters which they who run may read, The cliarm of gentleness. Were but its still small voice allowed to plead ? What are the trophies gained By Power alone, with all its noise and strife, To that meek wreath unstained, Won by the charities that gladden hfe ? Niagara's streams might fail, And human happiness be undisturbed ; — But Egypt would turn pale Were her still Nile"'s ©""erflowing bounty curbed ! 55 HEATH SCENERY. I LOVE the wild and ferny heath, Though dreary deemed and bare ; I love to feel heaven's balmy breath, A truant wanderer there. As sweetly there the wild-flower grows. And drinks the pearly dew, As in the garden blooms the rose, Of richer, prouder hue. As blythely from its broomy nest The skylark soars on high. As from the spots which man has drest With patient industry. 56 HEATH SCENERY. Nor has my heart by Music's power Been softened and subdued, As on the heath, at nighfs still hour, By quiet solitude ! In morn's young brightness, — noon's repose, At vesper-hour serene. Or when the moonlight softly tlirows Its splendour o'er the scene, I find some wild and simple grace, Beyond the reach of art. Which silent thought delights to trace. And cherish in the heart. 57 VENICE. SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF THE RIALTO, &C. Yes ! thou art glorious still ; And here the artist's skill Hath made thee seem so, even in decay ; What must thy noon have been. When now thou look'^t a queen In the last lingering twilight of thy day ? Boldly Rialto's arch Still spans the sleepy march Of what was once thy traffic-crowded tide ; And gorgeous to the sight The proudly-towering height Of princely palaces on cither side ! 58 VENICE. How noble was thy state, When, yet inviolate, " Thou wcrt a maiden city, bold and free ;" Which, when she deigned to wed, Uncrovvaied not her head To monarchs — but esjx>used the glorious Sea ! Such in thy pride wert thou ! Alas ! how altered now ! — Thy commerce, Avealth and power alike are fled ; Of fame, of freedom reft, Thy lingering splendours left Seem but a mockery of the silent dead. Yet with thy memory twined Are names by thought enshrined, Names justly dear to Nature and to Art ; Whose power intuitive Shall cause thee long to live In tlie fond day-dreams of each thrilling heart. VENICE. 59 In Otway's tragic fame. In Shakspeare''s mightier name, In Canaletto's tints, thy glories shine ; And in our later day, Byron''s undying lay Has linked thy honours with the deathless Nine. Then wherefore mourn the fall Of Doge or Carnival ? Or charge the ravages of Time with wrong ? Though abject be thy lot, Thou ne'er canst be forgot, Admired in painting, and beloved in song ! 60 COUNSELS. Though bright thy morn of life may seem. Remember clouds may rise ; And trust not to the transient gleam Of calm and sunny skies. So tread life's path, in sunshine drest, With lowly, cautious fear. That when griefs shadows o'er it rest, Joy's memory may be dear. If dark life's matin hours may be, Despond not at their gloom : Joy's cloudless sun may rise for thee, And Hope's briglit flowerets bloom ; COUNSELS. Gl So trace thy path- way, thorn-bestrewed, Tliat tliou, in happier hours, With pure and pangless gratitude, Mayst bless its fragrant flowers. Through cloud and sunshine, flower and thorn, Pursue thy even way, Nor let thy better hopes be born Of things that must decay. Rejoice with trembling, mourn with hope, Take life as life is given : Its rough ascent, its flowery slope, May lead alike to Heaven ! 62 I SAW a ruin, mossed and grey, A desolate and time-worn pile : Witli ivy-wreaths and wall-flowers gay, In morning's cloudless sunbeams smile. I saw a dark and gloomy cloud ; It drifted towards the glowing west ; Tinged by the setting sunshine proud, It seemed in more tlian beauty drest. I could but think to age were given Charms which might lapse of years defy ; To darkest sorrow light from Heaven, And hope of immortality. C3 THE PAST. O FOR the days of olden time ! With magic marvels rife. When visions, shadowy and sublime. Their influence shed oVr life. When ivied grot and darksome dell, Wild heath and mountain hoar, Were haunted by the potent spell Of legendary lore. When fairies danced on moon-lit green, And fauns in shady wood ; And by each fountain's silvery sheen Its guardian naiad stood. 04 THE PAST. Such were the wild and wondrous themes Wliich gave, in earlier days, The niinstreFs visionary dreams, And woke his favourite lays. But spell and vision, elf and faun, And naiad, loved of yore, In vale, on hill, in grove, on la^vTi, By fount — are known no more. Far from the worldling's frigid jest Hath fled the frolic train. And proud Philosophy's behest Unpeopled wood and plain. May not the poet mourn for this, And own with fruitless sighs, Where simple " ignorance was bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise .?" 65 THE PRESENT. Baud of the green- wood lyre ! How shalt thou hope, in these enlightened days, For themes which may inspire. Or readers who may love thy simple lays ? Science, with vaunted skill. Philosophy, with cold and proud pretence, Fashion''s capricious will. And sordid Mammon plead the joys of sense. The palpable and real Must now supplant the beautiful and wild ; The lovely and ideal Be deemed the nursery fables of a child. F 66 THE PRESENT. Go, sing the charms of Wealth, The praise of Commerce, glory of the Arts ; But breathe not, e'en by stealth. One rustic legend dear to simple hearts. Or turn from Mammon's gold, The pomp of Science, or the pride of Power, To win the plaudits cold Which Fashion gives her minion of an hour. But hymn not to the throng Of heartless worldlings thy derided strain ; Pluto heard Orpheus' song. The world's true denizens would thine disdain. 07 THE FUTURE. But is tlie poet thus bereft ? Hath song no glorious visions left, More holy, heavenly, and sublime. Than legends of the olden time ? Because the world and worldly cares Cumber life's daily path with snares. Hath Science, Commerce, Wealth or Power, Destroyed the minstrel's loftiest dower ? Believe it not ! The immortal soul Still travels onward to its goal ; Its holiest hopes, its visions high. Are linked to dim Futurity. F 2 68 THE FUTURE. In viewless ages yet to come, It seeks its everlasting home, And, conscious of its heavenly birth, It spurns the bounds of time and earth. Then, poet, mourn The Past no more, And cease The Present to deplore ; With humbled heart and heavenward eye. Look forward to Eternity ! Beyond thy mortal vision's scope Exists the " Promised Land^'' of Hope ; And through the shadoAvy vale of Death Extends the vista seen by Faith. 69 LADY RACHEL RUSSELL; OR, A ROMAN HERO AND AN ENGLISH HEROINE COMPARED. In the proud Forum's central space Earth yawned — a gulf profound ! And there, with awe on every face, Rome's bravest gathered round : Each seeming yet, with startled ear, The Oracle's dread voice to hear. Young Curtius on his war-horse sprung, 'Mid plaudits deep, not loud, For admiration checked each tongue Li all the circling crowd ; — He gave his noble steed the rein, Earth's closing gulf entombed the twain ! TO LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. Grant that the feat, if ever done, Was chivah'ous and bold, A loftier and a nobler one Our history can unfold ; Nor shall our heroine, meekly calm, To Rome's proud hero yield the palm. The Russell stood beside her lord When evil tongues were rife, And Perjury, with voice abhorred. Assailed his fame and life ; She stood there in the darkest hour Of Tyranny"'s and Faction''s power. No stern oracular behest Her gentle courage gave. No plaudits, uttered or supprest, Could she expect or crave ; Duty alone her Delphic shrine. The only praise she sought — divine ! LADY RACHEL RUSSELL. 71 She sate at Guilt's tribunal bar In Virtue's noblest guise, As beams some brightly shining star In night's o'erclouded skies ; Still, in that scene of hopeless strife, Southampton's daughter ! Russell's wife ! Fearless in love, in goodness great, She rose her lord to aid ; And well might he intrust his fate To one so undismayed ; Asking A\dth fond and grateful pride No help but that her love supplied. Her's was no briefly daring mood, Spe?it on one fearful deed ! Tlie gentle courage of the good More lasting worth can plead ; And her's made bright in after years The mother's toils, the widow's tears. 72 LADY RACHEL ItUSSELL. Woman of meek, yet fearless soul, Thy memory aye shall live ; Nor soon shall history's varied scroll A name more glorious give : — What English lieart but feels its claim Far, far beyond the Roman's fame ? 73 A SPRING DIRGE. The songster on the bougli, Spring's tender greenness, and its opening flower, Were joyous once ! — but now My spirit faintly seems to feel their j)ower. My heart with answering glee Was \vont to hail " the merry month of May," And, like the sapling tree, To bud and blossom in its genial ray. Now it seems cold and drear, While birds are singing round, and flowrets blow ; As rugged, mossed, and sere, Stands the scathed trunk whose sap forgets to flow. 74 A SPRING DIRGE. Round such Time does but fling- Its ivy- wreath of sorrows and of cares; Closer the tendrils cling As less and less of life within it bears. All is not dead beneath, For life still lingers in the root below ; But the dark ivy- wreath Lends it the only greenness it can show. And 'tis a mournful thought, To think the verdure of our lingering day Is but with ruin fraught, The pledge and prelude of its sure decay. 75 WILLIAM COWPER. VERSES WRITTEN IX THE EIllST LEAF OF A SMALL VOLUME, ENTITLED, " COWPER's RURAL WALKS." "'TIS not the graver's power to please That here attracts the eye, For prouder works of Art than these Are passed regardless by. Nor here magnificently grand Are Nature's beauties seen; On Ouse"'s bank her boiuiteous hand Bestows a softer mien. 7fi WILLIAM COWPER. \Yh\, then, are these tame landscapes fraught With charms whose meek appeal To sensibility and thought, My heart is prone to feel ? Cowper ! thy muse's magic skill Hath made them classic ground : Thy gentle memory haunts them still, And casts its spell around. The hoary oak, the peasant's nest, The rustic bridge, the grove. The turf thy feet so oft have prest, The temple and alcove ; The shrubbery, moss-house, simple urn, The elms, the lodge, the hall ; — Each is thy witness in its turn. Thy verse the charm of all ! WILLIAM COWPER. 77 Thy verse — not less to Nature true Than to Religion dear — O'er every object sheds a hue That long must linger here. Amid these scenes those hours were spent Of which we reap the fruit ; And each is now thy moninnent. Since that sweet lyre is mute. " Here, like the nightingale's," were poured " Thy solitary lays," Which sought the glory of the Lord, " Nor asked for human praise," Here, beneath clouds of darkest gloom, Thy cup of woe was drained ; And here, immortally to bloom, Thy stainless wreath was gained : — 7S AVILLIAM COWPER. Not given thee by the fabled Nine, ]Jut Virtue's just reward, And sucli as angels might entwine To crown a Christian bard ! 79 SONNET. I WISH, my friend, that I could fancy this The brightest age the world has ever known ; Alas ! too much to selfish splendour prone, Joy's smile seems faint ; and heartless Pleasure''s kiss Contrasted with the quiet, sober bliss That English hearts were wont to call their own ; Nor can its tinsel gaieties atone For all the sterling worth that now we miss. I rather deem it one of proud pretence. Of splendid means to gain a sordid end : Nor can I but be sick at heart, dear friend, To see, while Nature woos our every sense, How few there are who own her influence, And in their hearts her simple charms connnend. 80 JOHN WILLIAM FLETCHER, OF MADELY. WRITTEN AFTER READING HIS LIFE. Departed saint ! as here I trace Tliy pure, devoted love, Thy growth in every Christian grace, Imparted from above ; Thy deep humihty, thy faith, Tliy charity, thy zeal, Thy active life, thy peaceful death, — These to my heart appeal. JOHN WILLIAM FLETCHER. 81 Delight and shame at once they wake, With low, yet pleading tone ; The first excited for thy sake. The latter for my own. I can but see how brightly clear Thy lamp was wont to shine: I can but think with grief and fear, How dim and faint is mine. Yet the same Lord for both has died, For both has risen again ; The light which was thy guard and guide, Would make my pathway plain. Oh ! for faith, hope, and love like thine, That I might follow thee ; — Saviour ! thy power is still divine. Display that power for me .' 8.^ THE NIGHTINGALE FLOWER. " There is an evening flower of the Cape, which, in its natural state, remains in its calyx all the day invisible; in the evening it expands its corolla, and sheds a dcligl)tr«l perfume till the rising of the sun." Bucke's Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature. — Vol. iii. p. 340. Fair flower of silent night ! Unto thy bard an emblem thou should st be : His fount of song, in hours of garish light, Is closed like thee. But, with the vesper hour. Silence and .solitude its depths unseal : Its hidden springs, like thy unfolding flower, Their life reveal. THE NIGHTINGALE FLOWER. 83 Were it not sweeter still To give imagination holier scope, And deem that thus the future may fulfil A loftier hope ? That, as thy lovely bloom Sheds round its perfume at the close of day. With beauty sweeter from surrounding gloom, A star-like ray ; — So in life's dark decline. When the grave's shadows are around me cast. My spirit's hopes may like thy blossoms shine Bright at the last ; And as the gratefid scent Of thy meek flower, the memory of my name ! Oh ! who could wish for prouder monument. Or purer fame ? St THE NIGHTINGALE FLOWER. The darkness of the grave Would wear no gloom appalling to the sight, Might Hope''s fair blossom, like thy flowret brave DeatVs wintry night. Knowing the dawn drew nigh Of an eternal, though a sunless day. Whose glorious flowers must bloom immortally, Nor fear decay ! 85 A THOUGHT. The stillest streams lend life and light To fairest meads of Spring ; * The bird that flutters least in sight Is longest on the wing. The sweetest flowers their odours shed In silence, and alone ; xVnd Wisdom's hidden fount is fed By minds to fame unknown. * " stillest streams Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird That flutters least is longest on the wing." COWPEB. g3 86 A THOUGHT. But soon or late the time will come, Though long it seem deferred, When loudest talkers shall be dumb, And silent doers heard. Then shall a meed surpassing fame To lowly worth be given, Whose toil hath sought with humble aim To guide the soul to Heaven. 87 RECOLLECTIONS OF CHICIlESTEli. WRITTEN FOR THE BAZAAR IN AID OF THE INFIRMARY, I Lavant ! the Muse has graced thine humble stream, Making thy lovely borders classic ground ; There thy own bard, " in penury"'s extreme," Sought in '' one Book "" a l)ahn for every wound ; Nor far remote the pensive Cowper, crowned With wreath more honoured than the minstrePs bay, In Eartham's social bowers sweet refuge found, Where beechen groves the lawny slopes array, And on the distant main the sparkling sunbeams play. 88 RECOLLECTIONS OF CHICHESTER. II. Nor art thovi, Lavant, loved for these alone. Though these attract a poet's sympathies. And for thy failing urn may well atone ; Vet to Cicestria bound by stronger ties, Her silent spire up-pointing to the skies, Her blooming gardens and her cloistered shade. Her cross antique, her ivied walls arise Before me oft, the while fond Memory "'s aid Restores the lonfj-lost scene in all its charms arrayed. III. But near the hoary piles of ancient days, With pinnacle and turret crested o'er, A spacious structure greets my earnest gaze, Whose simple elegance delights me more. Fancy l)eliolds above its open door, (Unlike the words grav'd o'er the House of Woe, Pourtrayed in Dante's wild terrific lore, "All ye who enter iieue each hope forego !") Faith, Charity, and Hope, smiling on all ])clow. RECOLLECTIONS OF CHICHESTER. 80 IV. Blest Refuge ! see, the child of want and woe, Who else had pined in sickness and despair, Borne to thy lofty chambers, there to know Art's healing aid, and Naturc''s purer air ; I see him tended by as watchful care And skill as wait the favoured heir of wealth, 'Till science and humanity repair Each devastation, as by magic stealth. And send their patient forth in happiness and health. V. Then may His blessing, who is Lord of all. Descend on thee as night-dews nourish earth ! May they partake it, who, at pity's call. Still true to woman's purest, noblest worth. Leave for thy scenes the brighter haunts of mirth. To gladden by their presence grief and pain ; May peace be with them by their household hearth. When to its social joys they turn again, Peace which, when grief assails, can still their souls sustain. 1)0 RECOLLECTIONS OF CHICHESTER. And in tliat blest reward be theirs a part, Whose zeal unwearied bade thy walls arise ; Who, skilled to " turn aside Death's levelled dart,'^ Watch o'er thee with unshaken energies : For every tear they wipe from Sorrow's eyes, For every smile which Suffering's cheek steals o'er. Be given that richer meed which Fame outvies^ On earth — a tear the less, a smile the more ; In heaven — of purer bliss an everlasting store ! 91 STANZAS ON A PORTRAIT BY A. E. CHALON, R. A. " True yoke-fellow of Time, With unabating effort, see, the palm l3 won, and by all nations shall be worn." Wordsworth's -bonnet to Clarkson. Painting ! too oft thy magic power, With prostituted aim, Has given some idol of an hour Thy own enduring fame. Yet, by such trophies of thy skill, The heart remains unmoved ; They wake no glow, they prompt no thrill, By Virtue's voice approved. 92 STANZAS ON A PORTRAIT Tlie eye may on the portrait gaze, The tongue its charms may own ; And yet the paiuter''s meed of praise Be given to him alone. The warmer homage of the heart To THEE our spirits give, When subjects worthy of thy art Upon the canvass live. When there with gratitude we trace His features, who has stood The champion of an injured race, Amongst the great and good : One who, in Freedom's noble cause. Has braved the oppressor''s ire. And pleaded Truth's and Virtue's laws With zeal that could not tire. BY A. E. CHALON, R. A. 93 Oh! then thy triumph we confess, Thy potent spell revere, Which thus from dull forgetfulness Can rescue forms most dear ! Giving the casket of the soul, While yet that gem is there. To live on Fame''s immortal scroll, In colours bright and fair; Whose impress in far distant days Shall waken thoughts sublime, Due wlien Philanthropy displays Her " yoke-fellow of Time V 94 THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. On his royal throne of state, Herod sits, in power elate ; Rank and splendour round him wait, Kingly pride enhancing; He suspecting not the while Hatred's cruelty and guile, Gazes with approving smile On that maiden dancing. Lovely as tlie graceful play Of a fount in moonlight's ray. Or a proud swan on its way liipling waves dividing ; THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. 95 Airy as a sweet bird's flight Througli the azure realms of light, Seems that form of beauty bright Now before him gliding. Ceased the music's festive sound ! Ceased the dancer's sportive bound ! When the monarcli, looking round, Craved the syren's pleasure : — " Ask whate'er thou wilt," said he, " And my oath I plight to thee Thou shalt have it, though it be Half my kingly treasure !" " Give me here," the maiden said, " John the Baptist's forfeit head !" Herod heard with shame and dread, And too late repented ; But false honour's specious tie, Plighted oath, — his courtiers by Doomed the martyr saint to die Death revenue invented. 9G THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. Heartless damsel ! though the blame Of this act of fraud and shame Render odious Herod's name, Thou that odium sharest : More revolting was thy part, Blending cruelty with art ; — Girl-hood's grace without its heart, Hateful makes the fairest. Bard or painter, who would dress, " Beauty in unloveliness," Draw from thee : and thus express All thy charms have brought thee;- Sterner tone and deeper hue Best may body forth to view That relentless mother — who Thy foul lesson taught thee ! 97 ON A PICTURE OF A SLEEPING CHILD. How beautiful is sleep ! The peasant boy who, folded in his plaid, Kept watch beside his sheep, Seems lovelier in its silent beauty clad. The warrior in his tent. From fancied glory by its spell beguiled. Looks calmly innocent. As when he was a happy, gentle child. The brow of hoary Age, Pain"'s pallid cheek, and Sorrow"'s sunken eye, E'en the curled lip of Rage, Confess by turns its magic mastery. II OS ON A PICTURE OF But softest falls its dew On chiklhoocrs brow and cheek ; whether they wear The rose's healthier hue, y Or early sickness plant the lily there. How beautiful is sleep ! Yet if its purest beauties thou wouldst feel, On the babe's slumber creep, And bid thy heart confess its mute appeal. Or to this picture turn But for a moment thy attentive eye ; And let thy spirit learn The pleading charm of slumbering infancy. In breathless silence stand, As by the timid turtle's downy nest ; See, on its tiny hand Its little cheek in placid stillness prest ! A SLEEPING INFANT. 99 Mark what a helpless charm Is shed o'er every feature, every limb I Behold that lovely arm ; That smiling mouth ; — and if those eyes be dim. Quenching- their brighter flashes Beneath those veiny lids ! a softer spell Upon their silken lashes In quiet innocence appears to dwell. Yet sleep is awful, too. So like to death's its features it can dress ; — Meek slumberer ! while I view Thine oMm, I deeply feel its awfvdness. But unappalling seems Even the aAvfulness of sleep like thine, As fraught with heavenly dreams, And images less earthly than divine. h2 100 ON A PICTURE OF A SLEEPING INFANT. Or dost thou now partake That ch-eamless trance, in love and mercy given, AVith sweet surprise to wake A bright and blissful denizen of Heaven ? 101 THE RECTORY. " One of those spots the eye deliglits to look on For its own loveliness, and which the heart Loves for the sake of one far lovelier." A BEAUTIFUL and pastoral scene, A painter's study meet to be ; Or such as bard, in mood serene. Might wish to roam in, fancy free. Mark how that river to the sea Wafts the fair vessel on its tide. Breasting the rippling waves with glee, Herself their ornament and pride. 102 fHE RECTORY. How gracefully in towering height. Those venerable cedars rise ; How beautiful, with foliage bright. That laurel of gigantic size : Here the tall cypress proudly vies With ilex, chestnut, fir, and pine ; And there, with bloom of richer dyes. Those tulip-trees in glory shine. Nor lacks the spot that softer grace Which Flora's sweetest charms bestow ; Her votary's eye may quickly trace. In many a flowret's gorgeous glow. And simpler beauties, traits that show. Throughout the changeful, circhng year, As varying seasons come and go, A gentler taste has lingered here ! But where is she, once wont to tend In this loved spot each favourite flower. Delighted through these walks to wend, Or loiter in her summer bower? THE RECTOKY. 103 Where is she fled, who, hour by hour, Enjoyed their fragrance, praised their hue; Whose modest penciFs graceful power Tlus sweet memorial of them drew ? Seek not to know ! The tale is old. That loveliest blossoms soonest fade : That hearts of purest, gentlest moidd, In the cold earth are early laid ; The ivy- wreath and cypress-braid Wait not for age to share their gloom ; Who hath not marked their chilling shade Round beauty's, youth's, and virtue's tomb ? Yet, mourned and gentle one ! shall we So lightly estimate thy worth. As hopelessly to mourn for thee In any Eden found on earth ? Though fairest flowers of mortal birth. Frail in their nature, briefly shine ; Though sorrow mar our hours of mirth, A more enduring bliss is thine. 104- THE RECTORY. Much as we miss and mourn thee here, Yet Faith forbids all thankless gloom : Hope whispers of a heavenly sphere, Where love and joy immortal bloom; Oh .' who can sorrow for thy doom, Viewing the path which thou hast trod. And knowing that beyond the tomb "The pure in heart behold their God?" 105 THE BATTLE OF GIBEON. VERSES ILLUSTRATIVE OF MARTIN's JOSHUA. " For every battle of the warrior is with confused noise and garments rolled in bl-^od; but this with burning and fuel of fire." — Isaiah ix. 5. I. From GilgaFs camp went forth, at dead of night, The host of Israel : with the rising sun They stood arrayed against the Amorite, Beneath the regal heights of Gibeon, Glorious in morning's splendour ! Lebanon, Dim in the distance, reared its lofty head ; Light clouds o'erhung the vale of Ajalon, And the Five Armies, by their monarchs led Not to mere mortal fight, but conflict far more dread. lOG THE BATTLE OF GIBEON. II. How beautiful, at matin's early prime, Valley, and mountain, and that city fair ! Magnificent, yet fearfully sublime. In few brief hours the scene depicted there ! Below the battle raged, and high in air The gathering clouds, with tempest in their womb, A supernatural darkness seemed to wear ; As heralding, by their portentous gloom, \'ictory to Israel's host, her foes' impending doom ! III. Upon a jutting crag, below the height Where stands the royal city in its- pride. The ark is rested ! in the people's sight The priests and Joshua standing by its side ; Awhile the chief the sea of battle eyed. Which heaved beneath : — in accents undismayed, " Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon !" he cried, " And thou, O Moon, o'er Ajalon be stayed !" And holiest records tell the mandate was obeyed. THE BATTLE OF GIBEON. 107 IV. Look on the horrid conflict ; mark the stream Of lurid and unnatural light that falls, Like some wild meteor''s bright terrific gleam, On Gibeon's steep and battlemented walls ; Her royal palace, and her pillared halls. Seeming more gorgeous in its vivid blaze ! While o''er proud Lebanon the storm appals. In jagged lines the arrowy lightning plays, Softened to IsraePs sight by intervening haze. V. But o'er the Amoritish cariip the cloud Bursts in its fury ! on the race abhorred The parting heavens, as from a pitchy shroud. Their desolating hail-storm's wrath out-poured, More vengeful in its ire than Israel's sword ! Thus was deliverance unto Gibeon shown ; And by the fearful battle of the Lord, The army of the Amorites overthrown, And the almighty power of Israel's God made known. 108 THE BATTLE OF GIBEON. VI. Made known by marvels awfully sublime ! Yet far more glorious in the Christian's sight Than these stern terrors of the olden time, The gentler splendours of that peaceful night, When opening clouds displayed, in vision bright, The heavenly host to Bethlehem's shepherd train. Shedding around them more than cloudless light ! " Glory to God on high !" their opening strain, Its chorus, " Peace on earth !" its theme Messiah's reign 109 A POET'S APPEAL. VERSES WRITTEN FOR THE BAZAAR IN AID OF THE STOKE NEWINGTON ASYLUM. Judge not of the barcVs appeal By the rules which critics frame ; Let sweet charity reveal To thy heart its nobler aim; Wakening thoughts whose fruit may bless, Wealth's redundance, Want's distress. Art thou one of Fashion's train ? Bow before her better laws : Let them not be heard in vain, When they plead the sufferer's cause ! Be her generous voice obeyed ; Lend thy sympathy and aid. 110 A POET'S APPEAL. These to waken in thy heart, Fashion's daughters here have vied; Used the penciPs magic art, Or the restless needle plied : — For their sakes and tlmie, the bard Claims of thee their just reward. Owns thy heart a holier flame? Builds thy heart a loftier shrine? Consecrate each virtuous aim, Blendino; human with divine! Love of God is Virtue''s root ; Love to man its genuine fruit. He who on the poor bestows What he can, at Pity's call, Lends to Him to whom he owes Not that gift alone, but all ! Riches, health, are these thy lot ? Feel for those who know them not. A POET'S APPEAL. Ill Hast thou neither? Think afjain : Blessed was e'en the widow's mite: Hers were poverty and pain; Yet, in heaven's approving sight, Her poor pittance far surpassed All into the Treasury cast. Here thy heart and hand unclose To the spells around thee spread; They who soften others' woes Still may " lift in hope the head:" By the deeds thy faith approve, Deeds of charity and love. Reverence thou "the heaven-born three," Unto man in mercy given ; Faith, and Hope, and Charity Blended, render earth like heaven : And forget not, Truth's behest Hath pronounced the last the best. 112 IN AN ALBUM. There is glory in the gleaming Of the bright sun in the west ; There is beauty in the beaming Of the moon on ocean's breast: There is music in the measure Of the skylark at his height; And a sadder, softer pleasure In sweet PhilomeVs at night. There is merriment and brightness In the goblet's sparkling flow ; And purity and whiteness In the newlv-fallen snow. IN AN ALBUM. 113 But clouds too soon are shading The sunshine of delight. And the boons of Time are fading. Still briefest when most brio-ht. To enjoy them while afforded, Is their Giver to obey; But let not hope be hoarded On what soon must pass away. Entrust thy hopes of pleasure Unto Faith's celestial key ; Since where thou keep''st tliy treasure, There tliy heart will surely be! 114 THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD. His pulse was faint, his eye was dim, And pale his brow of pride ; He heeded not the monkish hymn They chanted by his side. He knew his parting hour was come ; And fancy wandered now To freedom's rude and lawless home, Beneath tlie forest bough. A faithful follower, standing by, Asked where he would be laid ; Then round the chieftain's languid eye A lingering lustre played. THE DEATH OK ROBIN HOOU. 115 " Now raise me on my dying bed. Bring here my trusty bow, And ere I join the silent dead, My arm that spot shall show." They raised him on his couch, and set The casement open wide ; Once more with vain and fond regret Fair Nature's face he eyed. With kindling glance and throbbing heart One parting look he cast, Sped on its way the feathered dart, Sank back ! and breathed his last ! And where it fell they dug his grave, Beneath the greenwood tree ; Meet resting-place for one so brave, So lawless, frank, and free. I 2 11{J GODIVA. The spacious streets were silent as the grave ! As though the place were uninhabited, Or some deserted city of the dead, With doors and windows closed : — when, meekly brave, From feudal tyranny's stern law to save, GoDivA fi-om her palace forth was led, In bashful boldness, of true Virtue bred; While tears and prayers her only welcome gave From thousands — listening for her courser's tread! So on she rode in unblenched majesty; " Naked, yet not ashamed !" — her tresses pale At once her modesty's and beauty's veil From every wanton or unhallowed eye ; More proudly clothed in thoughts and feehngs high Than warrior j^nnoplied in triple mail ! 117 TO A CHILD TWO YEARS OLD. Sweet boy, thou bearest a noble name,* To whidi more genuine lionour clings Than muse of mine would dare to claim For warriors, statesmen, bards, or kings: These prove, too oft, ignoble things, Howe"'er the world their glory praise, Or poets tune their lyres'* proud strings To servile, but elaborate lays. * That of the reputed founder of the Society of Friends. 118 TO A CHILD TWO YEARS OLD. Yes, unto thee a name is given, Perchance a humble one on earth, Yet haply registered in heaven, With their"'s of purest, holiest worth : Who, undeterred by Folly's mirth, Fashion's cold sneer, Oppression's rod. Held fast to hopes of heavenly birth. And knew no fear but that of God. E'en such was he who owned of yore Thy name, and gave it meek renown ; Nobly his Master's cross he bore. And fearless won the unfading crown : The worldling's jest, the bigot's frown He braved, and in them could rejoice ; A dungeon's floor his bed of down. An outcast's lot his cheerful choice. Dear boy, since such a name is thine. May grace be given thee from on high, By Him who every gift divine I'o those who seek it will supplv; TO A CHILD TWO VKAKS OLD. 11!) To guard its pure integrity Through life, in thouglit, act, word, and will ; And when thou 'rt called upon to die, To leave it undishonoured still. 120 TO AN ELEPHANT. Gigantic in thy bulk and height Art thou; yet gentle in thy might, As dew that falls on flowers ; And, though un wieldly be thy frame. At times thy instinct puts to shame Man's boasted reasoning powers. So grave and reverend is thy mien. So much of majesty serene, Around thee seems to cling. That, could my vote decisive be. The lion should give place to thee, And own thee as his king. TO AN ELEPHANT. 121 Not pent up in a caravan, Nor taught to aid the wrath of man In honour's gory field : Nor in the splendour of the chase Can thought discern thy native grace In regal pride revealed. This would we estimate aright, Fancy should wina- her eager flicjht Beneath far eastern skies ; And there thy happier life should paint, Untutored by each harsh restraint Thy vassalage implies. I love in thought with thee to roam 'Mid scenes, thy freedom's fitting home, Through jungles intertwined : Uncultured and untrodden plains. Shadowy and vast, where Nature reigns In savage pomp enshrined. 122 TO AN ELEPHANT. There could I picture thee — at morn, Not solitary and forlorn, But roaming, Avild and free, Among thy peers ; — in noon-tide's heat Enjoying thy siestra sweet Beneath some branching tree. Again at eve I see thee stray, Solemn and stately, on thy way, Through thickets still as death ; And, 'mid the silence of the night, I seem to hear, though lost to sight, Thy deep-drawn slumbering breath ! 'Tis but u dream, a vision all ! And see, my fancy to recall, And in recalling shock it, HMiat trunk, which from the topmost bough Once gathered mangoes, pilfers now Thy keepers dirty pocket ! 123 ON A PORTllAIT BY SPAGNOLETTO. I. 'Tis not the subject ! — More than this My eye had loved to greet Some quiet scene of past'ral bhss, The Muses' calm retreat : Or watch-tower, beetling o'er the sea : Or broken bank, with scathed tree : Or, yet more mildly sweet. The matron majesty and grace Of some Madonna's lovelv face. 1^4- ON A PORTRAIT II. Such is the beauty whose soft spell Is dearest to my heart : On which thought mobt delights to dwell In Nature or in Art ; Its gentle, fascinating power To Sorrow's darker, colder hour Brief sunshine can impart, Wakening calm thoughts and feelings high Which soar beyond mortality. III. Yet much the genius would I prize In nobler form displayed, Whose sterner, stronger energies Are deeply here pourtrayed : Whose power, like Rembrandfs, has imbued With solemn grandeur, bold and rude. And magic light and shade, This portrait of the olden time, Dim, sombre, shadowy, and sublime ! BY SPAGNOLKTTO. 125 IV. Not brightening tint, not mellowing tone, Thy mastery supply : A higher charm is round thee thrown By hoar antiquity ; In thee my musing thought reveres The memory of revolving years. Now passed for ever by ! Of them, of thee, how many a thought With vague conjecture might be fraught. V. Thrice fifty years, and more, hast thou Time's devastations dared, And still that hand, and arm, and brow, By age are unimpaired; While he, whose master-hand first drew, And gave to each its living hue, Man's common lot hath shared : His life a scanty span appears Compared witli thy protracted years. \'2G ON A PORTRAIT VI. But WHO wast thou ? — that flask of wine, The uphfted tambourine, Should speak a mood of joyaunce thine Which loved the festive scene : Yet no glad smile of humour gay Is seen in sunny light to play O'er thy stern, fearless mien, — Projecting from its mass of shade Laughter to chill, and mirth upbraid. VII. A bandit, at his lonely feast ? A monk within his cell, From cloistered solitude released — Art thou ? — or, truth to tell. Did Spagnoletto here design To paint himself? — face, form like thine Befit the artist well. If in his woi-ks we rightly scan The moods and passicms of the man. BY SPAGNOLETTO. 127 VIII. But, be thou who thou may'st, declare, If thou canst find a tongue, How time has passed with thee, and where ? In what far homes up-hung ? Hast thou e'er graced the tro])hied hall Of wealth and grandeur, on whose wall Bright lamps their lustre flung; While thronged beneath, in rich array, The young, the thoughtless, and the gay. IX. Thus Fancy chronicles thy lot ; Tiien thy sad fall pourtrays. Borne from the castle to the cot ; There, by the wood-fire's blaze, Now pale and dim, now proud and briglit. Striking some simple urchin's sight With awe and mute amaze : — And thence by Taste or Traffic's wile Transplanted to oiu* northern isle. 128 ON A PORTRAIT BY SPAGNOLETTO. X. Yet why should Fancy more make knowTi The history of thy lot ? Or in an exhibition shown, Or broker's stores forgot ? Who sold, who bought thee, unto me Is but a vision, and to thee I ween it matters not : — Enough for me to feel thy power, For thee to soothe my lonely hour. V29 THE TRANSLATION OF ENOCH. " Aud Enoch walked with God : aud he was not; for God took liim." GliNESIS. Though proudly through the vaulted sky Was borne Elisha'^s sire. And dazzling unto mortal eye His car and steeds of fire : To me as glorious seems the change Accorded to thy worth ; As instantaneous and as strang-e Thy exit from this earth. 130 THE TRANSLATION OF ENOCH. Something which wakes a deeper thrill, These few brief words unfold, Than all description's proudest skill Could of that hour have told. Fancy's keen eye may trace the course Elijah held on high : The car of flame, each fiery horse, Her visions may supply ; — But THY transition mocks each dream Framed by her wildest power, Nor can her mastery supreme Conceii^e thy parting hour. Were angels, with expanded wings, As guides and guardians given ? Or did sweet sounds from seraphs' strings Waft thee from earth to heaven? THE TRANSLATION OF ENOCH. 131 ""Twere vain to ask : we know but this — Thy path from grief and time Unto eternity and bliss. Mysterious and sublime ! With God thou walkedst : and wast not ! And thought and fancy fail Further than this to paint tliy lot, Or tell thy wondrous tale. K 2 132 IN AN ALBUM. Not in November's cheerless gloom Shovild poet sing for thee ; But in May's renovated bloom, 'Mid sights and sounds of glee. Then in some brightly opening flower Might thy sweet type be shown, Or from the songster in his bower Be caught joy's genuine tone. Yet all unworthy of the lyre Were he, who for thy sake Would wish the season to inspire What THOU might'st well awake. IN AN ALBUM. 1S3 Thou art thyself in life's young spring, Nor can November's skies Around thy heart their influence fling, Or dim thy smiling eyes. Thine is the guileless glow of heart. The spirit yet unbowed, Which Spring, alone, can ne'er im]>art. Nor sternest Winter shroud. Oh ! be it thus in after life, That thou the meed may'st win. To know in darkest days of strife Sunshine and peace within ! 134 «0H! FOR THAT CITY, FAIR AND BRIGHT. Oh ! for that city, fair and bright, Which shall not pass away ; The glory of The Lord its light, The Lamb its sunless day. Whose gates are pearl, whose street is gold, Whose wall of jasper stands On precious stones of worth untold, Reared not by mortal hands. Where tears are wiped from every eye, And none with anguish groan ; — Death lost in immortality ! And " former things unknown." 'OH! FOR THAT CITY, FAIR AND URIGHT." 135 Who only shall admittance win ? The nations of the saved ! Whom Jesus hath redeemed from sin, And in his l)lood hath laved. Who shall in no wise enter there ? Those who their Lord deny, Wiio have not knelt to Him in praver, But trusted to a lie. My unknown reader, MhatsoeVr INIay be thy sect or name, Ask of thy heart with reverent fear, CaX I AN ENTRANCE CLAIM ? 136 ON SIR PHILIP SYDNEY'S BIRTH-DAY. Whose birth-day on the Muse may call, If thine remain unsung? Thyself in camp, in bower, and hall. The theme of old and young. Two hundred years and more have fled Since thou on earth wert seen, Yet art thou of the honoured dead Whose memory still is green. Thy life, though brief, was fair and bright. And crowned with knightly fame; Thy death, though early, proved thy right To win a hero's name. ON SIR PHILIP SYDNEY'S BIRTH-DAY. 137 And what could chivalry desire But so to live and die ? And to bequeath to heart and lyre Such immortality ! 138 SONNET TO JOHN FITZGERALD, ESQ. M.P. ON RECEIVING FROM HIS LADY A PRINT OF CANNING, Fitzgerald, would that minstrel art of mine Could worthily thy lady's gift repay, Crowning your honoured friend with deathless bay, And giving you in glorious verse to shine. But what beyond the proud emphatic line Which speaksyouCANNiNG''s friends! could song convey, In glowing words, your title to display To the just homage of the tuneful Nine ? Nor can your favourite need another lyre Than that by his lamented death unstrung, Should lend his muse and memory fitting tongue ; Add to the poefs wit the patriots fire, And what could e'en your friendship more desire Tn (jclebration of liis glory sung? 130 STANZAS ON THE SAME ENGRAVING ; RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE DONOR. Were these thy features ? did tliey wear This fascinating grace ? Where is the statesman's brow of care ? The pride of power and place ? Where are the traces — stern, yet cold, Ambition left behind ? Each lineament I here behold Is noble, generous, kind. My fancy only hoped to meet Much that I might admire; Still more with glad surjH'isc I greet Attachment to inspire. 140 STANZAS ON THE SAME ENGRAVING. Thanks, then, unto that art divine AVhose impress thus hath proved The purer, happier triumph thine To be admired and loved ! 141 THE RESURRECTION. Hark to the trumpefs sound ! It rends the vaulted skies ! As by a peal of thunder The graves are burst asunder, And from their depths profound The dead awake and rise ! For Death is conquered now : — The Grave's last victory won ; — That trumpet's thrilling token Proclaims their power broken ; And triumph crowns the brow Of God's redeeming Son ! 142 THE SEA. The sea ! the sea ! its lonely shore ; Its billows, crested white ; The clouds whicli flit its bosom o'er, Or sunbeams dancing bright : The breakers bursting on the strand. In thunder to the ear ; The frow^ning cliff, the silvery sand, Each, all to me are dear. The sea ! the sea ! Oh, tell me not Of Art's triumphant power ! Its proudest trojjhies are forgot In one lone sea-side hour : THE SEA. 143 Von giant bark that breasts the tide, Though beautiful and brave, Beats not the curlew in its pride, Which mounts the stormiest wave. The sea ! the sea ! tlie moonlit sea ! How calm its slumbering; tides ! A weather-shore upon her lee, The bark in safety glides : The steersman keeps his watch alone. What time his messmates sleep, While to the strand, in gentlest tone, The murmuring billows creep. The sea ! the sea ! the stormy sea ! How dreadful in its wrath. When, bounding o'er the billows free. The bark piu'sues her path : A hidden rock arrests her keel ; She founders in the surge; Her seamen''s knell the thunder peal, The howling winds their dirge. 144 THE SEA. The sea ! the sea ! the treasured sea ! What mines of wealth untold, Could luinian art but set them free, Thy hidden coffers hold : The spoils of navies in their might, The young, the fair, the brave ; With pearls and gems of lustre bright, All sleep beneath thy wave. The sea ! the sea ! the glorious sea ! What has the earth so fair. Of hill or valley, grove or lea. Which with it may compare ? Oh ! I could sit for hours to look Upon its wide expanse ; And read in its unwritten book, Fresh charms at every glance. The sea ! the sea ! the solemn sea ! It has a voice for all ; And e'en to hearts of happiest glee May sobei- thoughts recall. THE SEA. 145 To me it speaks of distant days, Of vanished hopes and fears ; — Who silently can on it gaze With eyes undimmed by tears ? The sea ! the sea ! the changeless sea ! Of tears I take my leave ; It half recalls a smile from me To think for what I grieve : The hopes and fears I sorrowed o'er Were hopes and fears of time ; Thou art the type of something more Unchanging and sublime. 146 TO JOHN MARTIN. ON HTS MAGNIFICENT PRINT OF JOSHUA. Boldest painter of our day, Meetest for the poet's lay, What but genius like thy own Such a vision could have shown ? Vision even more sublime Than that feast of olden time. When the Babylonish king Feasted high his courtly ring. When, upon the sculptured wall. Sight each gazer to appal ! By fierce lightnings blazing bright Shone the characters of light. TO JOHN MARTIN. 147 Other artists to the life Paint of mortal men the strife ; Here thy genius has outpoured Sterner battle of the Lord ! Light and shadow, death and doom. Glory ""s brightness, horror's gloom, Rocky heights of awful form, Grandeur of the bursting stoi-m. Vistas of unbounded space. Architecture's richest grace. Lurid clouds by lightnings riven, Conflict fierce on earth, in heaven ! Such the marvels proud and high Brought out by thy mastery ; Gazed at — 'till the painter's theme Far transcends the poet's dream. L ^ Q 148 THE STARS. The stars ! the stars ! go forth by night, Lift up thine eyes on high, And view the countless orbs of light Which gem the vaulted sky : Go forth in silence and alone, This glorious sight to scan ; And bid thy humbled spirit own The littleness of man. The stars ! the stars ! thou canst not dream For thee alone they shine : That thus the heavens with splendour gleam, To glad those eyes of thine ; THE STARS. 1 If) Each orb that decks yon vavihed dome, For aught thy pride can tell, May be the brighter, happier home Where deathless spirits dwell. The stars ! the stars ! Oil well may pride Confess the truths they preach : Yet to devotion, eagle-eyed, Exalted thoughts they teach ; They tell not only of the might Of HiiM enthroned above, But trace, in characters of light, His mercy and his love. The stars ! the stars ! recall that one Which shone o'er Bethlehem's plains, When God sent down his glorious Son, To break our galling chains : To shed his blood ; upon the tree Our chastisement to bear ; Oh ! think of Him who died for thee. With gratitude and prayer. 150 THE STARS. The stars ! the stars ! the silent stars Unto the worldling's ear ; But he whose sense no passion mars, Their voice divine can hear ; To him they sing those heavenly songs Which seraph harps employ, And he in spirit joins the throngs Who with them " shout for joy !" 151 ON HEARING THE WAITS. "Tis sweet to roam in blythest)iue Spring Through meads with wild-Howers gay, And hear the birds their matins sing From many a budding spray ; Sweeter in Summer moonlight pale To hear the merry nightingale. Cheerful the sounds in Autumn heard From labour's rustic throng ; The breeze by fitful laughter stirred, The shout or jocund song, The distant cry for largess boon. Echoed beneath the broad bright moon 152 ON HEARING THE WAITS. Nor lacks stern Winter's long dark night Its tributary strain : And dear to me the ancient rite Which thus asserts its reign ; A soothing charm is o'er it cast, The hallowed glories of the past ! Though rude and homely be the sounds. And void of music's grace, They bear my thoughts beyond the bounds Which fetter time and space : To Fancy's ear their tuneless chime Is fraught with melody sublime. I think of Bethlehem's distant plains, Where shepherds watched by night, Whose ears first caught the joyful strains, Whose eyes the heavenly light : I think of him whose sinless birth Was thus made known to sinful earth. ON HEARING THE WAITS. 153 I muse in thought, until to me The past is present still : I tread thy walks, Gethsemane, Or climb the Olive hill ! Can Art's proud scorn my feelings freeze Tow'rd sounds that waken thoughts like these ? 154 FIRESIDE QUATRAINS, TO CHARLES LAMB. It is a mild and lovely winter night, The breeze without is scarcely heard to sigh ; The crescent moon, and stars with twinkling light, Are shining calmly in a cloudless sky. Within the fire burns clearly ; in its rays My old oak book-case wears a cheerful smile, Its antique mouldings brightened by the blaze IVlight vie with any of more modern style. That rural sketch ; that scene in Norway's land Of rocks and pine-trees by the torrent's foam ; Tliat landscape traced by Gainsborough's youthful hand^ Which shows how lovely is a peasant's home ; — FIRESIDE QUATRAINS. l55 That virgin and her child, witli those sweet boys ; All of the fire-light own the genial gleam, And lovelier far than in day's light and noise To me at this still hour their beauties seem. One more there is, which should not pass by me Unhonoured or unsung, because it bears In many a lonely hour my thoughts to thee, Heightening to fancy every charm it wears. How beautifvd that group ! A mother mild, And young, and fair, who fain would teach to read That urchin by her patience unbeguiled, The open volume on her lap to heed. Witli fingers thrust into his ears he looks As though he wished his weary task were done ; And more the love of pastime than of books Lurks in that arch dark eye so full of fun. 156 TO CHARLES LAMB. Graver, or in the pouts, 'twere hard to tell Which of the twain, his elder sister plies Her sempstress labours, none can read so well The mute expression of her downcast eyes. Dear Charles, if thou shouldst haply chance to know Where such a print once hung in days of yore. Its highest worth, its deepest charm to show, I need not tax my rhymes or fancy more. It is not womanhood in all its grace. And boyhood in its beauty — only plead ; Though these each stranger eye delights to trace, And many a plaudit oft has been their meed. With them my thoughts and feelings fondly blend A hidden charm, unborrowed from the eye, Claimed by each object that recalls a friend, And chronicles the pleasant hours gone by. 157 ENGLANDS OAK. Let India boast its spicy trees, Whose fruit and gorgeous bloom Give to each faint and languid breeze Its rich and rare perfume. Let Portugal and haughty Spain Display their orange groves; And France exidt her vines to train Around her trim alcoves. Let Norway vaunt its hardy pine, And Araby its palm, Libanus for its cedars shine, And Gilead for its balm. 158 ENGLAND'S OAK. Old England has a tree as strong, As stately as them all, As worthy of a minstrers song In cottage, or in hall. 'Tis not the yew-tree, though it lends Its greenness to the grave; Nor willow, though it fondly bends Its branches o''er the wave: Nor birch, although its slender tress Be beautifully fair. As graceful in its loveliness As maiden's flowing hair. 'Tis not the poplar, though its height May from afar be seen ; Nor beech, although its boughs be dight With leaves of glossv green. ENGLAND'S OAK. 159 All these are fair, but they may fling Their shade unsung by me; My favourite, and the forest's king. The British Oak shall be! Its stem though rough is stout and sound, Its giant branches throw Their arms in shady blessings round OVr man and beast below ; Its leaf, though late in spring it shares The zephyr's gentle sigh, As late and long in Autumn wears A deeper, richer dye. Type of an honest English heart. It opes not at a breath, But having opened, plays its part, Until it sinks in death : 100 ENGLAND'S OAK. Not early won by gleam of sun Its beauties to unfold; One of the last in skies overcast To lose its faithful hold. Its acorns, graceful to the sight, Are toys to childhood dear; Its misletoe, with berries white, Adds mirth to Christmas cheer. And when we reach life's closing stage, Worn out with care or ill, For childhood, youth, or hoary age, Its arms are open still. But prouder yet its glories shine, When, in a nobler form. It floats upon the heaving brine, And braves the bursting storm. ENGLAND'S OAK. 101 Or when, to aid the work of love, To some benighted clime It bears glad tidings from above. Of gospel truths subhme ; Oh! then, triumphant in its might, O'er waters dim and dark, It seems, in heaven''s approving sight, A second glorious ark ! On earth the forest's honoured king ! Man's castle on the sea! Who will another tree may sing. Old England's oak for me ! »i \&2 AN EVENING THOUGHT. On such a glowing sunset sky I gaze with " thoughts too deep for tears, 'Till Fancy longs to soar on high To brighter, purer, happier spheres. Though soon, to me, its glories fade, And darkening shadows bring on night, 'Tis but the mists of earth that shade The vision from mv wistful sight. Oh! for the hour when, like a dream. Those mists of earth shall pass away, And round me shine the brighter beam Of heaven's eternal cloudless dav 163 CCEUR DE LION. A WAiiiiioii"'s arm of stalwart might, Which well could wield the spear or sword; A heart undaunted in the fight, And gallant at the festive board; A monarch's and a minstrel's fame In tented fields of Palestine ; A bold crusader's dreaded name; — These, Coeur de Lion! these were thine Yet what was the result of all Thy skill and pi'owess in the fray? Thy bearing in the banquet hall, The gayest there among the gay ? 164 CCEUR DE LION. What meed did sword or lyre obtain, Once far renowned o'er land and sea? Rude honours, and a ruder strain Were all, alas! they won for thee. A name to still a froward child,* Or taunt a painim's startled steed; A wreath by blood and tears defiled — These were thy valour's empty meed. Then who would chivalry deplore? Or who its barbarous splendours sing.'' Since all its glories did no more For England's lion-hearted king! * " In Palestine, Coeur de Lion left behind him an impression that long survived himself. His dreaded name was employed by the Syrian mothers to silence their froward children ; and if a horse suddenly started from the way, his rider would exclaim: ' Dost thou think King Richard is in that bush ?' "—Maria Hack's English Stories. 165 JOHN HOWARD. A SPIRIT of unwearied zeal, Patience, which nothing could subdue, A heart the woes of man to feel. In every varied form and hue ; An open hand, and eye, and ear, For all in prisons doomed to pine; A voice the captive's hopes to cheer ; — These, noble Howard ! these were thine. In cells by Mercy's feet untrod 'Twas thine the mourner's lot to scan ; Thy polar star the love of God, Thy chart and compass love to man. 166 JOHN HOWARD. To mitigate the law's stern Avrath Thou trod'st, with steadfast heart and eye, " An open, unfrequented path To fame and immortahty !" What was thy meed ? a stranger''s grave, Divided from thy native land By many a white and stormy wave, By many a weary waste of sand. Yet to that lone and distant tomb Thy name its memory may entrust, 'Till cloudless glory burst its gloom. And thou shalt rise to meet the just ! 167 STANZAS 7 on receiving from a friend an early sketch of gainsborough''s. Loved for the sake of Gainsborough's name, Whose eye, and hand, and magic art, Have justly won enduring fame In many an English heart. Dear for the giver''s sake no less, Who gave a vision so imbued With Nature''s loveliness to bless A poet's solitude. 168 STANZAS, &c. Yet dearer for the cherished sake Of thoughts and feelings that have been ; Which once more seem from death to wake, Revived by such a scene. Feehngs and thoughts of shady trees, And sunny plains, and brooklet's tone, Of glowing sky and balmy breeze ; — Now but by memory known ! 169 SONNET TO A BROTHER POET, ON HIS OPINION THAT NO ONE CARES ABOUT POETS OR THEIR WORKS. O SUFFER not thy spirit so to deem, Though worldly may appear our later day, That thus hath fallen on poet or his lay The chilling insult of neglect's extreme. Yet do the Muses' glorious pages teem With vivid interest for the grave or gay ; Childhood, and Youth, and Age with tresses grey Honour the bard who sings a noble theme. It is a worldly age ; but faith is mine To think and feel that, worldly though it be, Many there are who have not bent the knee To sordid gain : — who love the Muses' shrine ; And for the faithful votaries of the Nine Cherish their old affections frank and free. 170 SONNET JO THE SAME OX THE SAME SUBJECT, But if the love of poesy be fled From the fair island that gave Milton birth ; If Traffic's din, or Fashion's heartless mirth, Have made their followers to its glories dead ; — Oh ! let not those whose spirits have been fed On its pure manna, by their household hearth Publish the fact, and over sea and earth Of our apostacy the tidings spread ! Still let the bard, if all beside forget The Muses'* charms, proclaim their peerless beauty, Assert their rights, and do a minstrel's duty ; Lest, when the lingering star of song be set. His ear should hear a voice, with vain regret, Utter the mournful language, " Et tu Brute !" 171 THE DEATH OF RUFUS. I. To chase the deer with horn and hound, King WiUiam bent his way. And through the forest depths profound He swept in proud array ; Where erst the peasants cot had stood, The royal hunter tracked the wood To seek his sylvan prey ; Reckless of all the o-rief and care His thoughtless will liad scattered there. 172 THE DEATH OF RUFUS. II. Vainly the monk, Avith warning tongue, Hatl spoke of omen drear : The monarch to his saddle sprung Like one who knew not fear ; Nor thought he as he rode the turf, That the small garden of the serf To him had been as dear. As now unto his kingly pride The forest which his sport supplied. III. Not thus are chronicled in Heaven The rights and Avrongs of man : For He by whom the first were given The last will strictly scan ; The oppressor triumphs for an hour : But, soon or late, a holier Power By his almighty ban Avenges on the haughtiest head Tlic outrage of the meanest shed. ' THE DEATFI OF RUFUS. 173 IV. 'Twas near the sunset hour, the chase, Of all that hunter train, Had left but two with faltering pace Its honours to obtain : Noble and knight and yeoman stout, Whose bugle peal or gallant shout Had echoed o'er the plain. Each after each, with toil out-worn. Had ceased to follow hound or horn. V. Sir Walter and the king were now The only hunters there ! When, bearino; high his antlered brow With proud majestic air, A noble stag, the greenwood's pride. As if their laggard zeal to chide, Sprang from his forest lair. And bounded like a vision bright Before the monarch and the knight. 174 THE DEATH Ol" UUFUS. VI. King Rufus drew his bow, and sped An arrow from its string ! The havighty stag, though wounded, fled Like wild bird on the wing; — Straight took the archer knight his mark : His shaft just grazed a tree's rough bark, And then transfixed the king ! It reached his heart, for TyrelFs bow Could scarce deal less than mortal blow. « I VII. One moment gazed with grief and awe That guiltless regicide, And struck with speechless horror saw The turf with crimson dyed ; The next he gave his steed the rein, And swift as lightening o''er the plain His eager course he hied, Far over ocean's briny wave To seek an exile's nameless grave. THE DEATH OF HUFUS. 170 VIII. A bloody corpse the lluf'us lay On that lone forest ground, 'Till those who chanced to come that way Their late despoiler found ; To Wittanceaster's minster fair They bore him, but brief honours there His kingly memory crowned ; Nor did one peasant's grateful tear Hallow the royal hunter's bier. 176 SYR HERON. INSCRIBED TO MY INGENIOUS FRIEND, JOHN MAJOR, ON RECEIVING FROM HIM A SEAL BEARING THE IMPRESS OF THAT BIRD. " And on the border of that silent lake There stood, with downcast eye and folded wing, A stately Heron, as if loth to wake Of that still water the least rippling ; Yet is he of that marshy waste the king, And there he takes his pleasure." — Lays of Idlesse. Major ! a poefs tuneful thanks, IVIight my poor verses keep their ranks To prove that title true, For such a token of thy taste As thou hast now before me placed, Most justly are thy due. SVR HRRON. 177 But I so rate " beyond all price''"' The execution and device Here by the artist wrought, I half distrust my homely lays, To give thy friend his meed of praise, Or thank thee as I ought. I marvel not that such a bird Should be by each of us preferred To many a one more fair Of plumage, and more proud of song : We both should do our feelings wrong Did we his praise forbear. Couldst thou, as Izaak Walton's chum, In tall Syr Heron's laud be dumb ? A feathered fisher he ! And that to Izaak and thyself, Votaries of angling more than pelf, His passport well might be. N 178 SYR HERON. BuFFON, indeed, has run him down ; But shall we mind the Frenchman's frown ? Who, if he ever saw one, As Yankees say, could poorly ^^ guess" The creature''s quiet happiness, And, therefore, ill could draAv one. He calls him haggard, gloomy, spare. Talks of his solitude and care. His wTetchedness and want ; As if he lived in joy"'s despite. Doomed with a craving appetite Still hopelessly to pant. My friend, a happier creed is thine ; You " brothers of the rod and line" Well know the joy of watching From hour to hour by lake or stream ; Know too the luxury supreme What vou liave sought — of catching ! SYR HKRON. 179 Then tliou too art boon Nature's ehild ; And for her sake spots lone and wild Are dear to heart and eye ; For their sake, and for his no less, Thou well hast ehosen for impress A heron's effigy ! I love him too : — for to my mind I know not where a bard might find, ""Mid all the feathered throng', One with more poesy imbued. Or bearing more similitude To many a child of song. Retired and shy, of pensive mien, Not gaily plumed, but lank and lean, A silent, patient creature ; To me he seems a type or sign Of countless votaries of the Nine, In character and feature. n2 180 SYR HERON. And then the haunts he fondly chooses ! Where, hermit-like, he stands and muses, Until he seems to be, Moveless in dream-like silence lone, Some spectre bird, or sculptured stone, Or stump of scathed tree. He is yny favourite for the sake Of rushy pool or sedgy lake. Oft by his presence graced : A regal bird in days of yore ; And monarch still, in minstrel lore. Of the lone marshy waste. Not crownless, though to him denied The silky plumes that don with pride The lovelier egret ; — For with a royal mien he bears His arching neck, and proudly wears His flowing crest of jet. SYR HKKON. 181 Then doubt not that with " right good will" I greet what here thy artist's skill So well has represented ; And if the idle rhymes I send Serve but to please my Major friend, We both may be contented. 182 SONNET TO \V. H. BROOKE, KSQ. Tiiou hast a graceful pencil, ready pen, A lively fancy, and from classic hoards Canst bring rich store of fitly spoken words ; Sucli gifts, abused by ill-designing men, (I leave to history, how, and where, and when,) Have been as baneful as bad council-boards, The bulls of popes, or warriors' conquering swords Heaven grant they ne'er may prove such pests again ! But thou, my friend, so honourest the worth Of painting and of song, that used by thee, These are admired as they were wont to be Ere hearts were wedded to this sordid earth ; Or in the limits of becoming mirth. Thy gifts but prove a source of harmless glee. 183 TO A MOURNEK. I KNEW not that lamented one Who was thy help and stay ; Yet not for this my muse would shun Her Christian debt to pay, Could I conceive that verse of mine Might soothe a wounded heart like thine. But thou hast long been taught to whom The sick at heart must flee : Who, in each hour of grief and gloom, Their only strength can be ; Look unto Him with steadfast eye, Nor doubt His gracious arm is niah. 184 TO A MOURNER. He still by His almighty hand Can open, at thy need, Sweet springs, as in a thirsty land, In Sorrow''s desert feed ; And through the influence of His grace Make glad thy solitary place. Then look not outward ! Trust to Him Who sweetens Sorrow's cup : Whose love, when eyes with tears are dim, Can bear the spirit up : Whose mercy, e'en in darkest days. Can make the mourner sing his praise. Well has thy spirit understood, In hour of deepest woe, That " worst events to final good Through secret channels flow :" And bright their bursting forth will prove To humble faith and holy love ! 185 SPRING. written at the request of a vriend, for a child's book. The bleak winds of Winter are past, The frost and the snow are both gone, And the trees are beginning at last To put their green leafiness on. The snowdrop, like ivory white, The crocus, as yellow as gold, Th' hepatica, hardy and bright, Have ventured their bloom to unfold. 186 SPRING. And, sweeter than these, in the lane, On its warm, sheltered bank may be found, The violets in blossom again, Shedding Spring's richest odours around. The primrose and cowslip are out. And the fields are with daisies all gay ; While the butterflies, flitting about, Seem glad in the sunshine to play. Not more glad than the bee is to gather New honey to store in his cell ; He too is abroad this fine weather. To rifle cup, blossom, and bell. The goldfinch, and blackbird, and thrush, Are brimful of music and glee ; They have each got a nest in some bush. And the rook has built liis on a tree. SIMaNG. 187 The lark's home is hid in the corn, But he springs from his low nest — on iiigh, And warbles his welcome to morn, 'Till he seems like a speck in the sky. ( )h ! who would be sleeping in bed When the skies with such melody ring, And the bright earth beneath him is fed With the beauty and fragrance of Spring ? 188 PRAISE AND PRAYER. Can words alone the first display ? Prove we the last by bended knee ? The right to praise, the power to pray, Must both be given us, Lord, by Thee. Thy Spirit must the heart prepare. And faith in thy dear Son be known, Before the voice of praise or prayer Can rise like incense to Thy throne. Then give the power Thy grace imparts, The love by Jesus shown of yore ; That praiscless lives and prayerlcss hearts May prove our guilt and shame no more. 189 I KNOW THY PATH. I KNOW thy path has many a cloud, With many a rankhng thorn is fraught ; I know thy spirit oft is bowed With heavy care and anxious thouglit ; Nor boast mine own so much of bhss, That I should love thee less for this. I can conceive thy faith is tried, From day to day, how, where, or when. Thy industry may best provide " Things honest in the sight of men ;" With cause to own, when all is done, Toil's scanty meed is hardly won. 190 "I KNOW THY PATH." Yet lift up head and heart in hope, Tread on thy dark and thorny way, Meekly with toil and sorrow cope. Be patient faith thy spirit's stay ; So shalt thou yet His goodness own Whose love conducts through " paths unknown. E'en now, at times, amid tlie gloom Of severing clouds, a light is seen ; At intervals the transient bloom Of flowers springs up life's thorns between ; If rare such blossom and such beam. The brighter from that cause they seem. Oh ! think not they would show so fair Were flowers and sunshine alwayn ours ; Those who life's pleasures only share, Know little of Affection! % powers ; Nor can the purer hopes of Heaven To hearts that live for earth be mven. < " I KNOW THY I'ATH." 191 Then lift up head and heart in hojie, Tread on thy dark and thorny way, Meekly with toil and sorrow cope, Be patient faith thy spirit's stay ; And thou shall yet His goodness own Whose love conducts through " paths unknown. " If not in time, of this be sure, Well can eternity make up. By joys unfading, pangless, pure, For triaPs thorns and sorrow's cup ; And more than sunshine's brightest glow Atone for darkest clouds below. 192 IF A LIVEIJER MEASURE. If a livelier measure may lighten Thy thoughts of their wearisome load, If the beauties of Nature may brighten Thy life on its pilgrimage road ; — The harp that has hung on the willow, The moonlight that sleeps on the tomb. The foam-crest that whitens the billow. Shall tell thee of glory in gloom. Sweet Philomel, tenderly pouring Her strains on the silence of night The skylark, to heaven's gate soaring 'Till lost in the blaze of its light ; "IF A LIVELIER iMEASURE." 193 The sun, which a tempest had shrouded, When bursting again from the sky, The stars, which night's dark vault had clouded, When once more they come forth on high ; — The ivy, a scathed oak entwining. Which but for its greenness seems dead ; Spring flowerets, in young beauty shining, With winter's sere leaves for their bed ; The butterfly, joyfully urging Its flight from the chrysalis cell ; The bow from the storm-cloud emerging, Of hope and of gladness shall tell. All these to thought's glance as it ranges Bring tidings it gratefully reads ; They show in their beauty and changes How joy unto sorrow succeeds ; They chide us for yielding to sadness, While Hope yet remains within reach, And Religion may listen with gladness To lessons that Nature can teach. o 194 » IF A LIVELIER MEASURE." Believe, then, when darkness appals thee, To-morrow thy sky may be light ; Still hope, e'en wliile sorrow enthrals thee. To-morrow joy's sun may be bright ; For He who to Nature's wild features Gives beauty where all appeared dim. Will never do less for his creatures Who patiently look up to Him ! 195 TO SIR SAMUEL FLUDYER, ON THE DEVASTATION EFFECTED ON HIS MARINE VILLA AT FELIXTOW, BY THE ENCROACHMENTS OF THE SEA. " The Sea versus Land is a cause much contended, And is oft broiiglit to trial, but never is ended ; For, spite of tlie plaintiff, bis foaming and potlier, Wliat lie gains on the one hand he loses on t'other." It may be thus, when thought can roam, Yet poor the consolation To tliose who trace, like thee, at home, The marks of devastation. Who see old Ocean's stormy pride Enlargino; still his border, Threatening with each successive tide More mischievous disorder. o2 '2dG TO SIR SAMUEL FLUDYER. T/iy Eden it can ill repair, Or disappointment sweeten, To know thy ruthless foe elsewhere By terra-firma beaten. It may be joy to those who claim Some acres from his clutches : Their lot who play a losing game No distant triumph touches. What to the owner must remain, When arrief strikes mere beholders ? But useless sorrow to disdain. And calmly shrug his shoulders. Thou art but foiled by that strong foe, The sternest in existence. Who taught pro\id Xerxes long ago How fruitless man's resistance. TO Sill SAMUEL FLUDYER. 197 From whom kinfr Canute's royal word, His courtiers'' idle plaudits, Alike with cold indifference heard, Gained no respectful audits. By such a general to be foiled, Proves thee no bad tactician ; By such a conqueror to be spoiled, No abject, low condition. He must be more than man who seems In such a strife victorious ; He must be less who rashly deems Defeat like thine inglorious. Never can that defeat efface The grateful recollection Of thy sweet spot, whose varied grace Repaid each fond inspection. 198 TO SIR SAMUEL FLUDYER. Numbers have sought that fair domain, And, should its beauties perish, Remembrance shall its charms retain, Their faded glory cherish. E'en I, but once a loiterer there, One lay could not refuse them ; And let these hasty lines declare How loth I am to lose them. J 09 SUMxAIER MUSINGS. A CLOUDLESS sky once more is ours, With all its depth of blue, Bright as the tint of sapphire flowers When bathed in morning dew ; And verdant leaves and blossoms fair Live in the balmy summer air. On hill, in valley, field and grove, From thousand trembling sprays, In notes of happiness and love Blythe warblers pour their lays; And glad bees round the flowrels luuu For joy that summer's reign is come. 200 SUMMER MUSINGS. But not the glorious azure sky, Gay flowers, nor foliage green, Nor happy songster's melody. Which animates the scene, Nor all I hear, nor all I see Can bring life's summer back to me. The mists of autumn gather round, My leaf is wan and sere. My spirit hears the hollow sound Of wintry winds draw near ; Those winds which, while they loudest rave. Portend the silence of the grave. Yet sometimes, e'en amid the gloom Of aiitumn's later days. Some ling'ring flowers burst forth in bloom, To greet its parting rays. Like smiles that break through glistening tears, Or chcrish'd hopes through chilling fears. SUMMER MUSINGS. '^01 Sucli the reflected lustre flung By memory o'er my soul, Borrowed from hours when life was young, And knew not grief's control ; When all without, whose charms might win. Its brightest mirror found within. And such, I fain woidd hope, the gleams Which greet my mental eye, Whose splendour far outshines the beams Which gild the eastern sky ; Bright gleams of hope, whose heavenward ray Leads on to faith's more perfect day. While memory thus, in visions fond. Can call back former years; While Hope's meek glance can look beyond This transient vale of tears. The past, the future may atone For all THE present can make known. -<^- SUMMER MUSINGS. And e'en in autumn's pensive mood, With winter's clouds in sight, My quiet thoughts may calmly brood O'er hours more blest and bright. When heaven's unclouded spring may shine, xVnd more than summer's light be mine. 20;^ LINES UNDER A DRAWING OF A WALL-FLOWER. Delightful flower, Avhose fair and fragrant bloom Tinges with beauty many a moukrring tower, Lending a grace to its declining doom Beyond the splendour of its proudest hour. What art thou like ? The cheerful smile of those Whose eyes are dim with years, whose locks are grey; The tranquil brightness of whose evening shows They gave to God the morning of their day. 204 HYMxN FOR EASTER. The Lord of life hath risen! O'er death and hell hath triumpli'd gloriously ; Hath burst the grave's dark prison, And soared to light and immortality. Sec ! from the narrow tomb, Tile stone, untouched by liands, is rolled away ; And from that spot of gloom Hath broke the dawn of everlasting day. HYMN FOR EASTER. ^05 Look in ! and thou shalt see No form of clay in funeral vestments bound : By Him who died for thee, The gloomy king of terrors is im-cvownci] ! Nothing of earth is there; But bright and shining ones, in light arrayed, AVhose speech and aspect fair Comfort the mourning, strengthen the dismayed. " Why, in death's silent prison, Seek ye the living where the dead should be ? He is not here, but risen, And gone before you into Galilee!" O Death ! where is thy sting? O Grave ! where is thy boasted victory 't Our Captain, Lord, and King, Hath conquered both, and triumphed gloriously. 20G HYMN FOR EASTER. And wlien He rose on high, His might and mercy, in the gospel's plan, Captured captivity, And gave his spirit's heavenly gifts for man. T'hanks, then, and praise to God! Honour and glory to the crucified! Hope springs up from the sod; We die, for Adam sinned; we live, for Christ hath died. 207 A VETERAN^S MEMORIAL; oil VERSES ON THE FALL OF AN OLD TREE INT PLAYFOED CHURCH-YARD. " And he who the ascending path-way scales. By the gate above, and the mossy pales. Will find the trunk of a leafless tree, All bleak, and blighted, and bare; Yet it keeps its station, and seems to be Like a silent monitor there I" From PJayford, a descriptive Fragment. Eet loftier muses mourn the fall Of heroes or of kings ; Enouoh for mine if she recall More loved familiar things, — Objects of retrospective thought, With pure and peaceful visions fraught, To which fond memory clings, Because their unassuming worth Outlives the form that ojave them birtli. 208 A VETERAN'S MEMORIAL. II. E'en such vvert thou, my favourite tree ; Thougli leafless, scathed, and sere, Once wont on this steep bank to be That grey tower's hoary peer ; The summer's heat, the winter's storm. Each, with its venerable form. Had braved for many a year ; Yourselves the same in blooming spring. And autumn's rich up-gathering. III. Whether from skies of cloudless l^lue The sun shone forth in pride, Or the bright moon with silvery hue In softer splendours vied ; Whether the snow, or hoar-frost bright With sparkling gems, or robe of white Your graceful garb supplied ; Yourselves unchangeably the same Unvarying homage seemed to claim. A VETERAN'S MEMORIAL. ^'09 IV. To me you were like links between The living and the dead ; One grey with moss, the other green With ivy's twining thread ; Unconscious each of sight or sound As those whose forms reposed around, Each in its earthy bed ; Yet both, in majesty serene, Tlie silent guardians of the scene. V. But Thou hast fallen ! and in thy fall A poet may deplore, The loss of one memorial Which time can ne'er restore : Thy leafless boughs, and barkless stem, So long that green bank's diadem. Now greet my eye no more ; Nor can thy presence to my heart Its treasured chronicles impart. p 310 A VETERAN'S MEMORIAL. VI. For Fancy, when on tliee I gazed, By her creative power. Her visionary fabrics raised Of many a long-past hour ; Simple and lowly, yet as bright As are the rainbow's tints of light In summer's softest shower, Or chastened by that milder shade Which served their purer spell to aid. VII. Since thou, that churchyard-gate beside, First waved thy sapling bough. Beneath thee many a blooming bride. Fresh from the nuptial vow. Hath passed with humble hopes elate ! And, slowly borne through that low gate. What numbers, sleeping now Beneath the green turf's flowery breast. Have sought their quiet, dreamless rest. A VETERAN'S MEMORIAL. 211 VIII. Under thy shadow, full of glee. Have village children played ; And hoary age has seen in thee Its own decline pourtrayed : With human joys, griefs, hopes, and fears, With humble smiles, and lowly tears, Thy memory is arrayed ; And for their sakes, though reft and riven, Tliis record of thy fall is given. p 2 ^-11 'Z SONNET TO EDWAIU) HOMILT.y, ESQ. Deak friend, what stimulus canst thou require, Beyond the name thou bearest, to animate Thy heart to choose the wise, the good, the great, And after pure and virtuous fame aspire ? Nor friendship's voice, nor e'en the muses' lyre. Stronger incentives could for thee create, Than in thy thoughts and feelings must await On the bright memory of thy honoured Sire. Then be his patriot, philanthropic fame. Ever before thee 'till life's course be run : Nor need a prouder epitaph be won, Even by him who boasts that noble name, Than justiv for his monument to claim, " Here rests a virtuous father's virtuous son !" 213 SONNET ro nil sAMi", I LOOKED on thee, dear Edward, as a friend Before I knew thee ; for, long ere we met I heard thy praise from one not wont to let His judgment lightly censure or commend. AVhat marvel, then, some pensive thoughts should lilend With thy loved converse ; or that fond regret, To his lamented worth a sacred debt, At times on brightest moment should attend ? Vet prize I not our social hours the less Because this tempering cloud is o'er them spread ; Glimpses of glory through its veil are shed, And gleams of beauty, which the heart may bless : So pure and precious parted worth's impress ! So beautiful the memoiv of the dead ! 214 ENIGMA. ".'Come hearken my rkldle, and read me my lay. And tell me the name of the spell I poiutray." Hast thou heard of Circe's * wand, Which, in that enchantress"' hand, Doomed, by potent mystery, Man to grovel in the sty ? Or of Prospero's,-f- at whose motion Tempests roused the slumbering ocean, Owned alike by mortal man, Ariel, and Caliban ? Hast thou read of magic words ? Regal sceptres ? Conquerors'* swords ? * Vide Homer's Odyssey, t Vide Shakspcare's Tempest. ENIGMA. -1-5 And the wonders these can do ? I can work strange mai-vels too : And, by my mysterious sway, Scatter in one fatal day, All that grandsire, sire, and son, By long years of toil have won. True it is my power, though strange. In dispersing cannot change ; But no talisman, or wand, E"'er, at Sorcery's command. Wrought more magic transformation In its subjects'' rank and station. Dost thou, reader, ask of me Of what nature these may be ? Every thing that wealth can buy Owns, in turn, my mastery : All that nature can produce. Or that art, witli skilful use, Forms and fashions ; earth and air. Fire and water; ships that bear 216 ENIGMA. Freightage o"'er the stormy seas, Castles, cottages, and trees, Books, and pictures ; — what you please Every thing, in short that man E'er possessed, or ever can, Every day, * if not each hour. Is obedient to my power. Fancy not my potent sway Shuns the open eye of day ; Mine is no mysterious rite Shrinking from the pu])hc sight ; On the contrary, when I Deign my potent spell to try. Views of profit, or of pride, Spread the tidings far and wide ; Throngs are gathered ; one and all Mark my rise, and wait my fall ; For, like Sampson in his day, Mightiest found in his decay, '* The Sabbath excepted ; as in duty and decency bound. KNIGMA. ~1T At my most auspicious hour In my fall is felt my power ! Of my substance, form, or size, Dost thou ask ? The muse replies These are various — all and each ; In my name, and in the speech Of him who sways me for the hour Is enshrined my mystic power. 218 VERSES SUGGESTED BY ANT OLD ETCIIIXG FROM REMBaANDT, OF CHRIST ASLEEP IN THE STORM. " Master, carest thou not that \vc perish?" Mark iv. 38. Such was the disciples' cry Wlien the crested waves beat high, And the heavens above were dark O'er the tempest-driven bark. Such, O Lord! in trial's hour. When afflictions round us lower, Now, on life's tempestuous sea, Our complaining O'v to Thee. VEKSES, Nc. 210 But thou didst not, though upbraideil, Leave thy followers then unaided; Prompt to succour, swift to save, Thou rebukedst wind and wave. At the word which spoke thy will, Every stormy wind was still ; At thy voice the waves subsided, And in gentlest murmurs glided. Though their faith, too often frail, In thy power divine might fail, Though thou mightst reprove their fear, Still thy saving arm was near. Thus, O Lord! on us look down. When above us clouds may frown; Tossing on a stormy sea, Helpless, hopeless, l)ut for Thee. 2-^ VERSES, ^c. Should we deem ourselves forgot. Let thy mercies fail iis not ; But in doubt's distrustful hour, ^Magnify Thy love and power oo 21 SONNET ox TIIK I'VltA.MII) r\ THE ClUOUXDS OF MA.TOU MOOIt, GREAT liKAl.INGS. Old Cheops, or Cephrenes might erect, On Egypt's plains, a loftier, prouder pile, Of more ambitious and elaborate style, To save his name and memory from neglect. Thou, happier far than either architect, Hast reared a humbler edifice the while, AVhich neither captives' blood nor tears defile. Nor thoughts of tyranny's stern yoke infect. Hence in an English landscape thine but seems An object with its beauties meet to blend; The graceful birch beside it loves to bend: — And if its crest* tri-une, in moonlight's beams. Recall to fancy Hindu's wilder di'eams, These should not Christian charity offend. * This '* cresl tri-vine" was dug out of the ruins of a Hindoo teini)le at Malabar Point, on the island of iionibay. It is a model of the celcijiated colossal bust in the cavern temple of Elcphanta. )0 RECOLLECTIONS OF marttn\s print of the deluge The awful vision haunts me still ! In thoughts by day, in dreams by night; So well had art's creative skill There shown its fearless might. The flood-gates of the foaming deep. By power supreme asunder riven; Heaven's opened windows, — and the sweep Of clouds by tempests driven ; — RECOLLECTIONS OF MARTIN'S DELUGE. The beetling crags wliich, on the right, Menace swift ruin in their fall; Yet rise on Memory's wistful sight, And Memory's dreams appal. ii^'3 The rocky foreground — where await Man, beast, and bird, their fearful doom. Wonder and awe, and love, and hate. Mute grief, despair, and gloom, — All passions of the himian heart, In moods the darkest, fiercest known, Here, by the mastery of art. In energy are shown. All wildest fancy can pourtray Of that tremendous scene and hour. Exerts its own resistless sway. And triumphs in its power. 224 RECOLLECTIONS OF MARTIN'S DELUGE. It is no momentary spell, Unfelt, when we behold it not ; Its woes on after hours must dwell, Its fears be unforgot. Y et not of woe or fear alone It tells a sad and solemn story; One object in the wreck is shown, Of love, and grace, and glory. One gleam, where all beside is dark. From stern and hopeless horror saves, Shows where the heaven-protected ark The world of waters braves. To that, amid Creation\s doom, Meek Faith and holy Hope may cling ; And in destruction's darkest gloom. Of Mercy's triumph sing. OOft SONNET TO CHARLOTTE M- " Thou art but in life's morning !" — Years liave sped Their silent flight since thus my idle rhyme Addressed thee in thy being's opening prime ; If since that hour some clouds at times have spread Their shadow o'er thy path, these have not shed On thee their anger ; but, from time to time. Have led thy thoughts tow'rd sunnier heights to climb ; Communing with the loved, lamented dead ! And still thou art but in the glowing morn Of thy existence : hearts of finest mould. And warm affections claim their right to hold Those purer, nobler feelings with them born, Which will not let them droop, of hope forlorn. Nor in a few brief years be changed and cold. 220 THE MOTHER TO HER SICK CHILD. Thixe eye has not the laughing light That childhoocVs glance should know; Thy cheek bears not the roses bright That childhood's cheek should show ; Thy step has not the buoyant glee Which seems with music fraught ; — But art thou, love ! less dear to me ? How cruel were the thought ! Oh ! none can tell, who have not known A nursing mother's lot. The charm by patient meekness thrown Around the sufferer's cot ; THE MOTHER TO HER SH K CHILD. 227 The trust that still, through many fears, The heart of love can buoy, That those who seem to " sow in tears," Sliall live to " reap in joy r That hope which knows no anxiovis fear Has never been my own, Love's smile, unchastened by its tear, Has been to me unknown ; Yet many hopes and many smiles, With thee, sweet child, were given. Whose influence yet a heart beguiles, That anguish else had riven. Though April's sky with clouds be dark, It has its spots of blue ; The sea that bears the storm-tost bark, Has calm and sunshine too ; Though winter's blast nip leaf and flower, It spares the root below ; And love in darkest days has power To lio-hten care and woe. q 2 228 THE MOTHER TO HER SICK CHILD. Then blessings on thee, helpless one ! If such thy lot must be ; In griefs dark shade, or joy's bright sun, Thou yet art dear to me : For thee I'll watch, for thee I'll wake. For thee put up my prayer, 'Till every task for thy loved sake, The form of pleasure wear. On Him who bears the feeble up, My spirit let me stay ; In Him who sweetens every cup, Confide from day to day ; His love in poverty is wealth, 'Tis joy in sorrow's thrall ; In darkness, hght, — in sickness, health, — In all things—" all in all !" OOCi TO THE SWALLOW. Aerial voyager, who spreadest thy wing O'er trackless waves to seek a sunnier clime ! To man's immortal spirit thou shouldst bring Thoughts of a lot more glorious and sublime. Thou, when stern winter comes to strip our bowers. Prompted by instinct only, takest thy flight To distant lands, where fair and beauteous flowers. Still hut of earth — with splendour charm tlie sight ; But souls immortal, in the gathering gloom Of death's dark winter, trust Faith's guiding ray, And soar where flowers of amaranthine bloom Shine forth in sunless and eternal dav. 230 "OH! HAD I THE WINGS OF A DOVE. Oh ! had I tlie wings of a dove ! How soon should they bear me above, To those regions of light and of love, Beyond the dark grave's gloomy portal; Where no sun-light illumines the day, Those pinions should waft me away. From this tenement, fashioned of clay, To a mansion of glory immortal. Who has not, in anguish and care. Often uttered in spirit this prayer. When the dark clouds of doubt and despair Around him their shadows were casting ? I ■'■i '1 1 " OH ! HAD I THE WINGS OF A DOVE. 231 Nor panted, in visions sublime, From this cold world of sorrow to climb, Exchano-ins: the troubles of time For the transports of joy everlasting ? But not on our wishes may wait, A transition so glorious and great : — For the joys of that happier estate, Man must watch — ^'till the signal be given. When the trumpet shall sound through the skies, And spirits redeemed shall arise, " Through the Lamb of the great sacrifice," To sing praise and thanksgiving in heaven ! 232 THE BANKS OF SWALE. Art thou free-born nature's child ? Dost thou love her features wild, More than all the grace which art By her efforts can impart ? Turn thee from the busy crowd, Contest fierce, and clamours loud. And by moonlight, still and pale, AVander on the banks of Swale. Climb the steeps of Shunner's fell. Towering o'er each darksome dell ; When, except the murmers lioarse. Heard from Keld or Kisdon force. .!J n THE BANKS OF SWALE. 233 Or the music, sweeter yet, Of romantic Ivelet, All is hushed ; — tliou wilt not fail Then to love the banks of Swale. Or at morning musing there. In the fresh and bracing air, Ere the dew has left the flower, Or the bird its leafy bower ; See, unfolding to thy sight, Giant Skiddaw's distant height. While below the mist- wreaths veil. Gracefully, the banks of Swale. Lonely as they now may seem, Time has been when, by its stream. Converts from dark error's night. To the gospel's glorious light. There in gathered thousands stood ; And, in its baptismal flood, Bade a purer faith " all hail !" On the rocky banks of Swale. ti 234 THE BANKS OF SAVALE. From such dim and distant day Turn thou not with scorn away : — AVith it to that age were given Peace on earth, and hope of heaven, Light for darkness, joy for pain, Liberty for thraldrom's chain, Christian bliss for heathen bale, By the cjuiet banks of Swale. The Swale is memorable not only for the romantic scenery of the dale to which it gives its name, bvit for having had ten thousand persons bap- tized in it at one time on the introduction of Christianity into this country. 23/ TO A CHILD. ox TlIK APPROACH OF WINTEK. MouiiN not, my little maid, That the flowers of spring are sere ; Or that summer leaves sliould fade In the autumn of the year. Those flowers have had their day ; The green leaves their task had done, When they screened us from the ray Of the briglit and scorching sun. The blossoms fed the bee ; And the leaves their shelter flung Where, in shady bush or tree, The birds brought up their young ; 23G TO A CHILD. But what have thou and I Done since April's teeming showers ? Or what fruits can we supply From past summer's long light hours ? Nor let it chill thy heart That stern winter now is near, It has pleasures to impart Which to childhood should be dear. Its brightly blazing hearth, And the smiling faces round it. With as high and pure a worth And as sweet a charm have crowned it. Yet, little maid, remember, That the prudent ant and bee, Provide for dark December, While the year is in its glee. 237 TO MY DAUGHTER. WHILE ox A VISIT AT Though lonely seems our home the while, I am content that thou shouldst stray 'Mid scenes w^hose memory can beguile My thoughts when thou art far away ; Nor will I chide thy lengthened stay, If thou wilt bring back to thy sire, The glow of heart, the spirit's play, Those scenes could once inspire. But this, my love, can never be ; And such a dream I could forego, If what those haunts have yielded me. Their infliR-nce mav on thee bestow : i 238 TO MV DAUGHTER. More grateful still it were to know, ^ Wliilc tlius afar 'tis thiiu- to roam. With what awakens pleasure's glow, May blend fontl thoughts of home. The ivy on our garden wall, On which I gaze ; — in many an hour To me can silently recall The wreaths whicli deck your old church-tower : May those in thee \vith magic power, Such feelings and such thoughts awake ; And many a tree and many a flower, The same fond spell partake. Oh ! be it thus ; then though thou art A truant still from home and me, These links shall bind us to thy heart. And loved memorials ever be ; Nor shall thine eye an object see, Though fair the scenes where thou mayst roam, Which boasts a sweeter charm for thee, Than wakening thoughts of home. ^39 SONNET TO A NAMELESS FRIEND. In each successive tome that bears my name Hast thou, though veiled thy 0W7i from public eyes, Won from my muse that willing sacrifice Which worth and talents such as thine should claim : And I should close my minstrel task with shame. Could I forget the indissoluble ties Which every grateful thought of thee supplies To one who deems tliy friendship more than fame. Accept then, thus imperfectly, once more. The homage of thy poet and thy friend ; And should thy partial praise my lays commend. Versed as thou art in all the gentle lore Of English poesy's exhaustless store. Whom I most love they never can offend 240 CHRIST WALKING ON THE SEA. VERSES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE FRONTISPIECE, DRAWN AND ENGRAVED BY JOHN MARTIN. I. The multitudes, miraculously fed, Had to their distant homes been sent away ; Jesus had sought, apart, the mountain-head, 'Mid nature's silent solitude to pray : In darkness and in storm had closed the day. And on tlie water of Gennesaret The bark which held his faithful followers, lay Tossed to and fro ; — their Master comes not yet ! Can he who fed the crowd, his chosen few forget .'* CHRIST WALKING ON THE SEA. 241 II. Believe it not : — though heaven above be dark, And ocean stormy, still his love and might Are with the inmates of that little bark ; And, in the fourth watch of the fearful night, A heavenly form arrayed in vestments bright, Treads with unfaltering feet the billowy tide : The moon has risen, and sheds her silvery light Full on that form which toward them seems to glide, As if the winds to chain, and all their fears to chide. III. Can it be human ? One of mortal mould Could walk not thus the waves in majesty ! Fear strikes the timid, awe overcomes the bold, As, underneath that shadowy moon-lit sky, The glorious vision silently draws nigh. Shining more brightly from surrounding shade ; " It is a spirit !" in their fear they cry : — Soon does their Master's voice those fears upbraid, " Be of good cheer," he says, " 'Tis I, be not afraid !" K 242 CHRIST WALKING ON THE SEA. IV. Peter goes forth to meet him : but the sound E'en of the sinking tempest's lingering breath, The clouds of night yet darkly hovering round, The parting waves, his only path beneath. Recall to him but images of death, And fear had sank liim: — ^but with out-stretched hand. His Lord exclaims, " O thou of little faith ! Why didst thou doubt ?" his hope and faith expand ; And by his Master's side he walks as on dry land. V. Oh ! well might they before whose eyes were trod The deep's unyielding waves, then worship Thee ; Confess Thee of a truth the Son of God, And bend in prayer and praise the reverend knee : Should their's, alone, such rites of homage be ? Forbid the thought ! imseen of mortal eye Even in this day, on life's tempestuous sea. Thou walk'st its waves when stormy winds are high, Thy people's guide and guard : nor wilt thou pass thcmby ! CHRIST WALKING ON THE SEA. 243 VI. As to thy loved disciples in their bark Thou showedst Thyself upon that fearful night, E''en now when waves are rough, and skies are dark. Dost thou, in condescending love, delight To manifest thy saving arm of might For such as look to thee alone for aid ; To those who walk by faith and not by sight Yet visible in sorrow's dreariest shade, And heard proclaiming still, " 'Tis I, be not afraid !" VII. Then wind and wave are hushed, and all is calm ; Light from above breaks forth, the clouds are riven, And for the cry of fear, the grateful psalm Of joy and praise is to the spirit given: No more the bark is tempest-tossed or driven, But, as in this delightfid, tranquil scene, The parting clouds ope vistas into heaven ; For fear and doubt spring faith and hope serene. And holy peace presides where horror late hath been. 244 CHRIST WALKING ON THE SEA. VIII. Saviour, Redeemer, and Incarnate Word ! Since Scripture hath declared that every knee To Thee shall bow, each tongue confess Thee " Lord " In mercy or in judgment; grant that we May in the hour of mercy bow to Thee ! If not — in judgment, gracious Lord ! arise ; And on the wave of trial's stormiest sea, Beneath the gloom of sorrow's darkest skies, Come as thou camest of yore to Thy disciples' eyes. THE END. LONDON: IBOTSON AND PALMEIl, PRINTEXIS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. (t Ill University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. Form L9- UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILirC AA 000 380 385 5 I PLEAf^t DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARD« University Research Library -0 1 IVJ CO iZ PR 4079 B28ne X o s U;