AND OTHER POEMS Ex Libris C. K7*Cil)EN < HOME MEMORIES AND OTHER POEMS. L B. L. LONDON: PRINTED BY WERTHEIMER, LEA, & CO., CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBURY CIRCUS. I873- TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE H4.1 ce ' THE LADY MARY TOPHAM, THE NOBLEST, TRUEST, AND DEAREST OF HER FRIENDS, THIS LITTLE VOLUME (FULL OF RECORDS OF THE PAST) IS INSCRIBED, WITH GRATEFUL AFFECTION, BY L. B. L. May, 1873. 1S24738 A FEW WORDS OF PREFACE. WHILST I am yet amongst the living, I believe these Fragmentary Poems will not be devoid of interest to the kind eyes which will peruse them ; and when my place on earth " shall know me no more" all I would ask is this : " Speak gently of the Dead ; for, judge who will, The Loving Heart which beat so high is still." In the better words of the Italian Poet " Fermossi al fin quel cor Che balzo tanto ! " CONTENTS. SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. PAGE Ben Donich 3 Lake Lochan 4 Duncan 4 Glen Glasslet, or Drimsynie Cave 5 The Highland Storm 7 My Highland Home 9 The Sportsman's Song The Hunt of the Roe. ... 9 A Sportsman's Song The Ptarmigan 10 Lonely Thoughts 1 1 The Return 12 The Two Leaves 13 The Wild Gheen Tree . . . . . . . .14 The Sapphire Lake 15 A Boating Song 16 Sea-shore Musings . . 17 Dear Old Ben Donich 17 Loch Goil by Moonlight 19 Adieu, Loch Goil . . 20 Gem of the Highlands . . . . ', . . .21 FLOWERS OF AUCHENGRAY. Introductory Lines 25 Scotch Thistle . . . . . . . . .25 viii CONTENTS. PAGE The White Heather 25 The Heather 26 The Lady's Mantle 27 Lines . . . . . . . . . . .27 The Ragged Robin, or Wild Clarkia 27 The Lady Rush 28 The White Harebell 29 The Silver Leaf 29 The Grass of Parnassus 30 White Cud-weed . . 30 On some Sea-weeds . . . . . . . .31 The St. John's Wort 31 The Wood-Sage . . . . . . . . .32 On some Wild Flowers gathered by Sir A. and Lady G. . 32 Balm-wood Fig-wort 32 Golden Rod ; or, Summer Farewell 33 Frozen Fern Leaves 33 Wild Bouquet (gathered by the Lady M. T.) 34 Epilobium, or Willow Herb . . . . . . -34 The Foxglove's Bridal . . . . . . . -35 On Another Visit 36 Wild Bouquet . -37 The Sea Pink, or Thrift 37 Snowdrop, or Galanthus ....... 38 Ferns covered with Ice and Hoar Frost . . . - 39 To Heathcote . . . . . . . . .40 The Forget-me-not Bed at Auchengray . . . .41 Minnie's Wild Bouquet 41 In Ricordanza ......... 42 Flowers by the Lake . . . . . . . -43 June Thoughts 44 CONTENTS. ix PAGE To James B , Esq 45 The Alpine Walk 46 The Last Flowers gathered in my Scottish Home . . 48 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Fairlight Glen . . 51 Lines suggested by the Massacre at Hango Head, etc. . 55 The Stranger's Adieu to Moray Land . .'.'. -57 Moray Land 59 The Shepherd's Chief Mourner 60 Solitary Musings .62 The Butterfly at Sea 63 The Nightingale in the Acacia Tree 66 The Little Miners t . . .67 Forest Song 67 Summer Days 68 God's Sunshine 69 To the Robins ......... 70 Youthful Memories . . .' 70 Warning .......... 73 Pleading 76 Thoughts on the Lamented Death of the Right Hon. Lord George Bentinck 77 Hagar ' 79 Songs . 80 A May Song .81 A Song . . .82 A Life . . . . . .83 Meditations in Illness 84 Spring Fancies 86 Lines written July, 1871 87 X CONTENTS. PAGE Two Christmas Songs 88 Christmas Song . . ... . . . -89 Farewell to the Old Year 90 On the death of little Tiny 91 The Weary Heart 92 Marino Faliero 94 Lines written in the first page of the " Book of Beauty " in 1841 98 They cannot return 100 Hymn Adoration . . 101 Faith lor Sympathy 102 Heaven 103 Supplication 103 Words written for Jacques Blumenthal's beautiful melody " Les Deux Anges" 104 Voices 105 Forbearance 106 Cheer up, sad Heart 107 Mercy 108 A Hymn 109 Written in a Suffering Hour 109 Simple Words of Comfort no Alone in Sabbath Bells 113 Lines 113 Self-questionings 114 Desolation 115 May Thoughts at Chetnole ... .116 SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. BEN DONICH. BEX DoxiCH ! Ben Donich ! * thou mountain so grand ! Thou art one of the giants of Scotia's fair land ! Thou hast loftier brothers, defying the storm, But to me, none so fondly familiar in form : Their glens may be deeper, their heather more bright, But never so lovely or dear to my sight. So happy I've been at thy foot, I could dwell Thus for years 'neath thy shadow : then kindly fare- well ! * * * * Ben Donich ! I've gazed on thee ; Morning and Eve I've seen thee thy first snowy garland receive ; Where the grouse and the ptarmigan love to abide. And the roe-deer bound free o'er thy steep rocky side Looking down on Loch Goil's sapphire waters that lake Whose name doth the soul of sweet Poesy wake So happy I've been at thy foot I could dwell Thus for years 'neath thy shadow then fondly fare- well ! . Ben Donich, the highest mountain near Loch GoiL 4 SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. LAKE LOCHAN. THERE are spots in our Highlands so lovely ! Enchantment rules over the scene That Lake, 'mongst the mountains all lonely, No lips can describe it ! I ween ; So bright and still, half-way up to the skies, That lake in its silvery radiance lies, And gently rebukes old Ben Lochan's frown Which scowls on Ben Viula's rival crown ; O Lochan ! sweet Lochan ! thou'rt haunting me yet ; Should I ne'er more behold thee, I could not forget ! Though the way to approach thee be weary, O'er precipice, river, and fen, The waterfall's music is cheery, Dashing down from thy wild native glen. Like some fair girl guarded by warriors stern, To thy smile, from the cold dark rocks we turn And think, though the tempest may round thee roar, There must ever be peace on thy tranquil shore O Lochan ! sweet Lochan ! thou'rt haunting me yet ; Should I ne'er more behold thee, I could not forget. DUNCAN. (Our old Gamekeeper.} I'VE a Friend in the Highlands, of humble degree, Far more to my taste than a courtier would be, There's a dignity sits on his weather-stain'd brow, And worth all the mock homage of fashion's cold bow Is his kindly " Good Morrow." Respect in his mien As he stands, cap in hand, with his smile so serene ; SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. 5 Or follows his master with dogs and with gun ; Oh ! of Nature's own gentlemen, Duncan is one. I've a Friend in the Highlands, though poor in degree, He might teach a bright lesson to you and to me Of cheerful contentment, of love most sincere A mind that seeks Heaven, and faith to revere ! From his grand native mountains a spirit he's caught, A gaze that looks upward, with hopefulness fraught. He works hard from the dawn to the setting of sun, But of Nature's own gentlemen, Duncan is one ! I've a Friend in the Highlands, of lowly degree, And his honest old face aye is welcome to me ! Oft a bunch of wild heather and sweet gale in hand He'll present with the air of a prince of the land ! Up the steep rocky mountains he fearlessly springs, The eagle and hawk from their eyry he brings ; How gladsome his eye when such trophies he's won : Oh ! of Nature's own gentlemen, Duncan is one ! Aug., 1854. GLEN GLASSLET, OR DRIMSYNIE CAVE. GLEN GLASSLET ! in thy woodland bowers I've pass'd a thousand pleasant hours ; And who methinks could look on thee Nor revel in thy scenery ? A combination, sweet and grand, Which makes thee seem like Fairy Land, Of mountain, streamlet, dell and rock, The broad expanse of yon fair loch, The beetling cliff above the burn, Whose banks laugh out at Spring's return 6 SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. With many a varied floral gem, Wood-sorrel on its coral stem, The primrose pale, and celandine, And hyacinth with scent divine ; Forget-me-not with soft tears wet, And columbine, and violet, Succeeded, as the year grows old, By Summer wealth of bloom untold ! * * * * Oh ! when the heat grows faint how rare Tc Glasslet's grotto to repair ! Where no disturbing sound shall come, Save the gay insect's busy hum, Or startled tread of doe and fawn Within the leafy covert borne How sweet, 'midst music of the streams, To give the rein to fancy's dreams ! All haunting griefs and cares forgot In this romantic sylvan spot, W T hile visions, not of this dull world, Are to our mental gaze unfurl'd ; Ah mortal ! chide them not away, For brief those fairy visions' sway ! * * * * The torrent comes rushing O'er rocky bed, The wild roses blushing Above my head. They hang in festoons from the wood-nymph's grot- Full surely the dryads must own this spot ! Hark ! I hear them now In each whispering bough, SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. / And their frolic laugh rises above the wave ! Sweet the elfin sound, As it swells around, And fills with wild music the mossy cave. Listen ! hush ! listen ! It echoes the woods among, The leaves in the sunshine glisten As they bend to the wood-nymph's song, * * # * In the mountain burn, In the forest gloom, In the feathery fern, 'Neath its fan-like plume, Where the foxglove rings his gay chime of bells, Yon brawling stream lulling, the wood-nymph dwells ; Never will she her deep spells reveal, Never shall mortal her rich lore steal ; But all ye who worship rock, wood, and wave, Your homage pay to Drimsynie's Cave. ' 1853. THE HIGHLAND STORM. (HELL'S GLEN.) A STORM is on the mountain brow 'tis coming on apace ; Haste ! haste ! and let us strive to gain some safe and sheltered place ; A thousand streams are rushing down the dark hill's seamed side ; The storm fiends on the hurricane in ruthless fury ride. 8 SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. Look up, look up ! can'st thou discern no little speck of blue ? No ! nought save murky darkness meets the dim be- wildered view ; The thunder loudly peals above, with lightning flash between Our Highland glen has never shown a sterner, wilder scene. Oh, luckless wanderer, trust amid the perils of the hour In Him whose might alone can shield and stem the tempest's power ; What, though the eagle's scream doth bode a death- cry in the gale, Proceed undaunted on thy way why should thy spirit fail ? He thinks, while struggling manfully against the pelt- ing storm, Of his own hearth-fire's cheerful blaze of some be- loved form, Some faithful heart that's watching for his well- known step to come, O God ! protect the wanderer, and guide him safely home ! But now the air hath clearer grown ; light pierces through the shroud, And Hope's bright rainbow arch begins the " Bow set in the Cloud ;" Like baffled hosts, dark vapours fast are driven athwart the sky ; Our " Highland Glen " doth smile again; the tempest hath passed by. SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. MY HIGHLAND HOME. THE mountains! glorious mountains ! How beautiful are ye ! The mountains ! oh, the mountains ! Familiar friends to me ! How I love my Highland home ! Where the waterfalls rush madly down, And the snow-wreath, with a brilliant crown, Adorns each rocky dome. There the eagle wings his towering flight, Soaring through the deep blue sky ; And the lake below sleeps calm and bright, Or tosses wild and high. I know all the hills by name, And their frowning heights so sternly grand, What can vie with thee ! romantic land ? In thy beauty, aye, the same ! Thy forests deep, where the dark pines wave Oer the red deer's couch of fern, And thy thousand crystal streams which lave Banks of flowers at Spring's return. THE SPORTSMAN'S SONG. THE HUNT OF THE ROE. HARK ! to the merry horn, As it sounds " To the woods away /" It calls the loiterers on, For the deer must be slain this day ! 10 SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. The lovely creatures pant on, Nor slack their lightning pace ; In- vain ! for the unerring Manton Soon ends the exciting chase. While the sportsman's cry is " FOLLOW, Follow ! follow me ! By stream, through glen and hollow, The stately roe-deer flee ! O'er the mountain torrent bounding, In fancied safety lain, You shall hear my bugle sounding, " THE WILD ROE-DEER is SLAIN !" Then follow ! follow ! onward ! Brave comrades side by side ; On our stalwart shoulders " Homeward," We'll bear our spoils in pride. By waterfall and fountain, Still follow ! follow still ! O'er moorland, and o'er mountain, By river, and by rill ! We'll track the stately quarry, And step by step we'll go, And until nightfall tarry, BUT WE'LL CARRY HOME TPIE ROE ! A SPORTSMAN'S SONG. THE PTARMIGAN. BEN DONICH wears his cap of snow A crown of dazzling splendour While the foaming torrents flung below, Their subject homage render ! SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. II " Hurrah, we'll have glorious sport to-day ; Let him climb the hill who can ! On ! over those sparkling heights away, For the white-plumed Ptarmigan !" The pretty birds ! how still they lie ! On their couch of silvery whiteness ; Nor dream that a foot can climb so high, Or an eye pierce through the brightness. Hurrah ! o'er the dark ravines we'll cross, Where the clear stream lately ran, O'er the slippery rocks, o'er the frozen moss, For the milk-white ptarmigan. 'Tis a bird that's fit for a Monarch's feast, If true the old tradition, That he who doth THE FIRST TIME taste Shall win his heart's ambition ! * And the sportsman's wish, 'tis " th' unerring aim," With "SUCCESS "for his talisman, Then " Hurrah f" in pursuit of our mountain game, Of the snow-white " Ptarmigan." LONELY THOUGHTS. THOU art not near me, Thou canst not hear me ; Yet I say, " Bless thee ! my own love, good night /" Fondly I'm yearning For thy returning ; Thou art my sunbeam, my joy, and delight ! In the Highlands the Ptarmigan is called the "Wishing Bird." 12 SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. Little reck I of the wind or the weather So that we spend all the seasons together. The Summer's fierce heat or the Winter's bleak chill, If but my own loved one be with me still. Yes, though thou'rt absent, Still in my heart, Thou'rt ever present, And bearest thy part. In every thought, whether mournful or bright, " So I sigh softly, Heaven bless tliee ; good-night /" I open my casement When morning is come, The sun shines on mine, and on many a home ; But the light in my bosom Is all clouded o'er, Till thon, my " own loved one," Art with me once more ! O'er mountain, glen, vale, Night spreads her dark veil ; Stars twinkle o'er the lake calmly and bright ; Thou art not near me, Thou canst not hear me ; Softly sigh, " Bless thee ! my own love ! Good-night /" Drimsynie, 1854. THE RETURN. HE'S " coming home again !" in a very little while I shall see those blue eyes glisten, I shall see that sunny smile ; In the joy of his return, I forget our parting pain, And my heart is full of bliss, for " he's Coming home again." SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. 13 His favourite steed which droop'd, when his master was away, Will lift his head once more in pride, and give a joyous neigh When the hand, whose fond caress it knows, is laid upon its mane Oh ! every creature loves him, and he's Coining home again. The echo of his gun, shall amidst the hills resound, And the sportsman's cheery music, call to huntsman and to hound ; While many a kindly "welcoming" returns his greeting free Each kind word shall be precious for he's All the world to me. There may be colder natures, which would scorn the anxious fear That follows still the absent one so exquisitely dear! Who'd think 'twas idle folly thus to care till love grows pain THEY cannot feel the ecstacy of " Coming home again" THE TWO LEAVES. THAT "Life is like a River" Thou'st often said to me Still floating on for ever Towards Time's boundless sea ! 14 SONGS OF LOCH GOIL. And iith, 1869. My record of it -written February, 1872. THE LAST FLOWERS GATHER'D IN MY SCOTTISH HOME. November 13, 1871. THESE faded flowers, so bright of yore, Are emblems of my fate ! Joys that once bloom'd, to bloom no more, Wither'd, and desolate ! My life lies wasting 'neath the touch Of one consuming fear ; Terror ! for him I love so much ; Dread ! lest cold death be near. Oh Thou ! on whom alone our hearts Can lay their heavy care, Have mercy on the wound that smarts ; Oh, Heavenly Father spare ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. FAIRLIGHT GLEN. SWEET Fair-light Glen ! in thy deep recess, Where a thousand varied beauties dwell, How we pilfer'd thy flowery wilderness As we bent our steps to the Dripping Well. The treasures we gather'd ! how fresh and bright Look'd those buds and bells on thy banks so high ! Loveliest half-conceal'd from sight By the reeds, as the stream went rippling by. Oh ! surely the dryads themselves have made Their favorite home 'neath the beechen shade, O'erhanging the basin in that green dell Which woodland spirits throne ? Oh, tell ! The twisted roots of that ancient tree Are the nightly haunt of Titania's train, And its boughs form their glorious canopy. Hark ! hark ! to the nightingale's song again, What wonder she loves to linger here, Where the rivulet flows on so fresh and clear Ere 'tis gathered into the silent pool, Where the deer-grass dips its long leaves so cool, And the bright cup-moss, like a wreath of gems, Crowns the water with its diadems ? What marvel she gives her minstrelsy To the woods midst such lovely scenery ? 52 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Could ye not listen for ever, now As, hid 'mongst the tufts of the chestnut bough She pours forth that wild enchanting lay, Stealing the cares from our hearts away ? Care ! name it not in a spot like this, While we're breathing an atmosphere of bliss. Nature's own beautiful spells shall bind Their welcome chain on the willing mind : And if there be sorrow in bosoms here Let her soothing magic that grief endear ! But, wend we on ! and with climbing feet Seek we the far-famed Lover's Seat, Ere we reach the cliff through the deep woods till, We ascend, to surmount the toilsome hill, Where the pale primrose and yellow broom, The golden furze with its fragrant bloom, The blue-bell and pink campanula, And meek anemone's silver star All tempt our uncertain steps to rove From the path in search of the sweets we love. But now, when the steepest point we gain, Oh, who would look back to the woods again ? Ocean lies stretch'd 'neath the precipice ; Couldst thou fancy a scene more wild than this ? The tall, dark cliffs, and the boundless sea, Whose mighty waves, like war horses free, Bound on, unrestrain'd by men's slight power ? Is not this a romantic trysting bower ? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 53 A few steps lead to its rocky site, Perch'd on a fearful dizzy height, Whence the long descent leads down to the shore, There the " Two " met who can meet no more ! T'was mournful ! that young pair's history : When dark frown'd the world on their destiny, And their plighted troth was held false and light, She met him here, in the silent night, And her sailor love in his strong arms bore His affianced bride to the friendly shore ! Oh, joy ! midst the brightly glittering spray, Their boat waits her coming they are away ! Away from the cold and cruel hearts Which know not the bliss that true love imparts, Nor how easy to bear are all earthly woes When the spirit in such trust may repose ! A brief space they were blest alas ! Too swiftly do years of happiness pass. Oft did she gaze on the restless deep With a grateful thrill from her bower steep, Recalling that evening so fraught with fear When her sailor sought for and found her here. * * * # -H- But one sad night, when the sky was dark, He was out at sea in his slender bark, She, watching its course and while gazing on, The moon peep'd, and show'd it then, then 'twas gone ! Gone with the treasure of life and soul ! O'er his lifeless corpse the billows roll ; 54 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Gone ! all that made existence worth, In a moment's space such her fate on earth ! ***'** Sweet Fairlight Glen, and woods and well, And " Lover's Seat," we must take farewell Of your bright enchantments with regret, But ye shall live in our memories yet ? Oh ! as we linger'd around each spot Was there one absent remember'd not ? Did we not wish in our hearts for some Who might by kind fairy influence come To share in the dreamy joy which thrill'd Our bosoms ? With Nature's rare beauty fill'd ! Did we not often and often say " Oh, would they were with us ! the far away." * # * * * I NEVER felt the magic sense, Of beauty all my thoughts enthrall, Nor bow'd to Nature's eloquence, But those best loved it did recall. I never stoop'd to pick a flower But that its native sweetness spoke To me of some past happy hour, And memories of a friend awoke ! Too oft, some little token bears A mournful message unto me, E'en from the tomb and sorrow tears The soft veil worn by memory. But oh ! it is a precious thing To feel that by this mystic power Spirit to spirit still may cling In absence, through each parted hour. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 55 To think that e'en a violet ! A lowly blossom may remind The dearly-loved and absent yet Of one with happy hopes entwin'd. The summer insect's busy hum, The flute-like notes of forest bird Nature to me is never dumb, But still by recollection stirr'd. And I would have it thus with all Who wear my name within their heart, For, let what may in life befall, That name in all would bear its part ! LINES SUGGESTED BY THE MASSACRE AT HAUGO HEAD, AND THE GALLANT CAPTAIN NEWMAN HALL'S FUNERAL TRIBUTE TO THE VICTIMS IN 1855. " HAUGO !" accursed shalt thou ever be In blackest page of Russian history. Lost to humanity, and dead to shame, A brand is set on thy assassin name, And Men hereafter when they speak of " treachery " Shall cry, " a Haugo deed !" if vile enough it be. And was it fit, unmourned our countrymen Should meet their doom in that base coward's den ? When on sweet mercy's trusting errand sent The " Cossack's" crew, unarmed, defenceless went, Bringing the Finnish captain to his mother land, His wife and children's home ? Ah ! dark, perfidious strand ! 56 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. What greeting met they ? From their ambush forth Rushed the vile band hyaenas of the North : And so they perished ! while high Heaven looked down And viewed the foul betrayal with a frown ! While false De Bergh, that wretch, with felon ribaldry Laughed, as he saw the English dupes lured on to die. But did I say unmourned they fell ? Ah, no ! A nation's vengeance, and a nation's woe Have made the " Savages " regret their crime, And stigmatised them to the end of time ; While Hall, chivalrous Hall, honour to him ! has known How to provide the victims with a burial stone ! Nor unrecorded was thy fate, fond wife ! Whose love and sorrow cut the thread of life, " Sacred to those so barbarously slain " Sacred to her whose heart-strings burst with pain." These words, upon a tablet reverently placed, Never can be forgot though soon, perchance, erased ! Now the procession, resolute and stern, Armed to the teeth, to their own boats return ; No flag of truce upheld by them I trow ! But in each breast lies registered a vow, Wherever freedom's cause demands the righteous blow, To strike for the betrayed, on bloody couch laid low. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 57 Oh, sounder will ye sleep, ye true and brave ! Now friendly feet have trod your narrow grave : Your gallant ocean brothers' manly woe, Hallowed the spot which saw your life-blood flow, Honour to him who caused the Holy Rites be said Which living hearts console and consecrate the dead ! THE STRANGER'S ADIEU TO MORAY LAND. ( Written after a long and happy sojourn at Darnaway Castle, in 1839.) FAREWELL ! a long and fond farewell, to thee, sweet Moray Land ! To thy wild rivers deep and clear thine ocean-belted strand ! Green "Darnaway," whose forest leaves now wear their wintry hue, With heavy heart the Stranger bids thy varied charms adieu ! "With heavy heart?" Ah, no! by many a token prized and dear, The thought of thee shall lighten care through every coming year ; For, link'd with thy familiar name where Love with Beauty vies, From their rich treasure caves shall still a thousand memories rise ! The " Findhorn's " sweeping waters, rolling on in kingly might ; Now sleeping calm now flashing by, in many a line of light ; 58 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The giant rocks above them, which the cragsmen dare not scale, Where the gnarled oak and Alpine fir sigh hoarsely in the gale. The wild romantic banks, which fringe the winding Devy's side ; The woodland paths, where bound the graceful roe- deer in their pride ; The castles, where the Highland Chief now rules in peaceful power ; All all will ever present be, in Fancy's musing hour. Too soon in Randolph's ancient hall the echoes mute will be, Which late were wakened by the sound of festive mirth and glee ; On Darnaway's high battlement the banner cease to wave ; Which, free as flowed its silken folds, a generous wel- come gave ! The Stranger, who with lingering steps, must from the scenes depart, Takes the lovely picture home in light and shadow to the heart ; And with many a wishful look behind, as slow she waves her hand, Sighs forth "A long farewell to thee, thou bonny Moray Land!" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 59 MORAY LAND. (Written in 1846.) MORAY Land ! sweet Moray Land ! how often in my dreams Thy varied scenery appears! the rapid Findhorn gleams Athwart deep forest paths, and bright the mountain torrents fling Their silvery wreaths of froth and foam like summer lightning. 1 see the Earl's proud banners wave from battlement on high ; I see the plaid I love so well the Stuarts are passing by! O Moray Land ! dear Moray Land ! my heart for joy would leap, Could I but realise the dreams which haunt my trou- bled sleep ! Methinks I hear the bagpipe now as on that autumn day, When with a band of cherish'd friends, with spirits light and gay, We roved far in the forest depths ; whilst ever and anon The sound of that wild minstrelsy beguiled our foot- steps on, Through steep romantic winding ways, o'er precipice and flood, Till on the heights, in frolic glee, the daring climbers stood. We made the Forest echo, as we laughed so merrily ! 60 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Moray Land ! dear Moray Land ! why are those days gone by ? 1 see Earl Randolph's hall decked out, as for a festal scene ; I see his high place fill'd by one whose countenance serene, Whose kind and noble face beams forth with that benignant smile Which welcomes all so graciously ! his daughters fair the while Presiding with a winning grace o'er that gay festival ; And all is joy and happiness within Lord Moray's hall. And was I there ? I was. Ah ! would that with a fairy wand I once more could re-visit thee, nor dream, dear Moray Land! THE SHEPHERD'S CHIEF MOURNER. (SUGGESTED BY SIR EDWIN LANDSEER'S BEAUTIFUL PICTURE.) PART THE FIRST. (Representing the Dog Watching his Master's Coffin. ) THE shepherd sleeps, he is at rest, And none are nigh to mourn the dead, Save one poor dog ; whose faithful head Against the coffin-lid is press'd ! See with what fond affection dwells His earnest gaze on that still thing ! Whilst a stray gleam of sunshine tells What nerved the parted spirit's wing MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 6 1 The Book of Life ! whose late-closed leaves With holy peace and comfort fraught, Were daily, humbly, meekly sought, By him for whom yon mourner grieves. Grieves with a deep intensity Which many a human heart might shame ! To change is mans propensity ; His love too oft not worth the name ! But thou, whose joy it was to wait On thy dear master's pleasure, still Tracking his steps o'er vale and hill, Guarding his flock early and late ! Oh ! would that mortals were as true, As thou, mute guardian friend, hast proved ! Oh ! would that many a bosom knew What 'tis to love, as thou hast loved ! Behold, with what a piteous face He listens for one voice in vain ! So late he watch'd his couch of pain ! He's gone from the accustom'd place ; Beneath the cruel boards they've hid That master's old and cherish'd form ; And so he'll guard the coffin lid, Thinking e'en there his love may warm ! That humble, cheerless cottage room The spectacles and vacant chair ; Though all deserted, bleak and bare, A spell of beauty doth illume, For He, who to yon fond brute gave Devotion past expression's power, Vouchsafed a hope beyond the grave, To soothe the shepherd's dying hour ! O2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PART THE SECOND. (IVhere he is represented standing close to his master's grave in the country churchvard. ) " DEAR faithful dog ! and art thou here again ?" Day after day still watching o'er his tomb, Striving to pierce that grassy mound in vain As if thy love could see through Death's cold gloom. Mark with what soft and almost stealthy tread He doth approach the green and daisied plot, As if he feared to wake the silent dead Sleeping beneath the well-known hallowed spot. Well known to him ! for, ever since the day Which saw his master to the churchyard borne, Those faithful feet have tracked their constant way Whence never shall his shepherd friend return. And oft he looks up to the village spire Remembering that mysterious funeral toll : Fidelity ! such love thy depths inspire, We almost ask, Has thy dumb type no soul ? SOLITARY MUSINGS. ARE there not passages in life's rich page ? Are there not dangerous moments " passing sweet] Which bid us linger on our pilgrimage And try to stop the wheel of time ? Our feet, Our passive feet, must never know a rest, Borne down the pathway by resistless fate, We've scarcely breath to own that we are blest, Ere sorrow and her train knock at our gate ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 63 Too late we feel what might have made us rich In every joy our mental state can know ; Too late ! we've peopled every secret niche Of fond remembrance with some self-sought woe. Oh ! could we but recall the precious past, " How different" say we, our career had been ! 'Tis thus we blindly argue to the last, Until death closes on our fitful scene. There is no resting-place for us on earth ! A trite remark, but oh most deeply true ; For ever, from the moment of our birth, We've hurried on to something fresh and new. How often are we tempted to exclaim " Give us a pause ! some breathing time to know More of our happiness than the mere name, More resignation in the midst of woe !" It cannot be ! for ever, fate impelled, Our steps are hurried to some distant goal ; Thrice happy they, who not alone propelled, By impulse guided, take unto their soul Those calm grand principles of sacred light, Our only safeguard in life's mystic way, Which are a lamp of comfort in the night, Of sorrow and a sun in joy's bright day ! THE BUTTERFLY AT SEA. (A party engaged in a sailing excursion were surprised, at the distance of twelve miles from shore, by the appearance of a butterfly fluttering on the mast. The circumstance gave rise to the following lines. ) BRIGHT winged and brilliant wanderer ! Child of the ambient air ! What makes thee here a sojourner Far from thy playmates fair ? 64 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The dew is on the rose leaves yet, Thine own beloved rose ; The tear of sorrow and regret Fly back to thy repose I In her soft bosom thou should'st lie Safe from our chilling gale Unheeded, must her fragrant sigh Breathe forth its plaintive tale ? The dawn beheld her blushing cheek Exulting in thy love, What moved thee other joys to seek ? What taught thee thus to rove ? Beautiful stranger ! wild and free, What seekest thou upon the sea ? Far, far away, o'er the dark blue wave The butterfly has come, W r here the truant may find a watery grave, Alas, for his- flowery home ! Full many a weary mile there lies Between the mighty main, And the scented shore where the sweet rose dies He never may reach again. Yet onwards still on his airy track His pinions bear him free, Nor dreams he once of turning back All weary though he be. No perfumed blossoms are here to bloom, His gay familiar friends, Yet still to encounter an unknown doom His aimless flight he wends. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 65 Creature of sunshine ! self-exiled thus From all which suits thee best, Bear'st thou no warning sign to us Of our own heart's unrest ? Of the wayward spirit's reckless bent, So prone to pine and range ? Of thanklessness for the rich gifts sent, And the wild desire for change ? Of blessings contemn'd within our reach Which should be prized the most ? All this may yon fluttering insect teach, Oh, let not the type be lost ! But see ! he alights on our friendly mast With his spent and toil-worn wings : Our bark will speed over the wave as fast As the lone one which to it clings. Let us waft him back to his favourite rose, So loved from her fragrant birth : Let us waft him back to each flower that grows, Fair children of verdant earth ! There are garlands the watery depths beneath, Where the seaweeds are floating on, But none boast the rich hues or scented breath Of the rose, his chosen one. So ere the dark shadows close around, And the world is of light bereft, Our wanderer his welcome may have found In the fairy bowers he left. And when discontent lures our hearts to roam Ah ! well it were, could we F 66 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. On the Spirit's wings be borne scatheless home Like the butterfly at sea ! THE NIGHTINGALE IN THE ACACIA TREE. A NIGHTINGALE was singing In the white acacia tree ; Her song through the woods was ringing With the richest melody. That bird's enchanting music brought A host of dreams to me, With tender, mournful musings fraught, Too dear to memory ! And as I stood and listen'd To the warbler's witching tone, The flowers in the sunshine glisten'd With a glory all their own ! Yet bitterly I could have wept O'er hopes and joys gone by ; For " loved ones " in the grave who slept, But that one form was nigh ! One of that band whom household love Of yore so firmly bound ; And in the song which peal'd above A soothing spell I found ; It seem'd to breathe a warning tone In its entrancing strain ; " Mourn not o'er hope and brightness gone, Prize that which doth remain ! " MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 67 THE LITTLE MINERS. YE merry, happy children, who can play amongst the flowers, And feel the sweet fresh air blow soft amid your balmy bowers ; Think what a different lot is theirs who work beneath the soil, Digging the riches of the earth, with ceaseless care and toil ! There's many a little miner who but seldom sees the sky, Buried in gloomy chambers deep, his days and weeks pass by ; So dull his destiny ! Oh, pray that heavenly light may break On each young soul so precious ! for the dear Redeemer's sake ! Give to the Pitmen's little ones the key of happiness ; That key which opes bright Wisdom's door, and makes privation less ; And though no joy of sunshine or of flowers to them be given, Pray, when their life's dark task is done, themselves may bloom in heaven ! FOREST SONG. SPEED ! speed ! speed ! To the forest depths with me ; Where the wild bee sips from the lime tree's bough, And the air blows fresh and free ! 68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. There the spirit of joy shall touch thy brow, And its gifts shall descend on thee ; Oh ! this is the loveliest season now, In our forest haunts to be ! Speed ! speed ! speed ! Speed ! speed ! speed ! To the woodlands, mount and ride ; No more midst the city's glare delay, But come ! for in beauty's pride The wild flowers are blooming sweet and gay ; The deer in their covert hide. Let us watch the graceful fawns at play By their gentle mother's side. Speed ! speed ! speed ! Speed ! speed ! speed ! To the forester's dear home ; Where the old oak spreads his mighty arms Let us rest 'neath its verdant dome ! There the sun with a softer glory warms, As o'er hill and dale \ve roam ; There Liberty breathes her thousand charms : To our sylvan shelter come ! Speed ! speed ! speed ! SUMMER DAYS. OH ! welcome is the Summer, when she comes in all her pride; Reminding me of happy days, when we rode side by side MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 69 O'er the smooth elastic turf, as our good steeds flew along, While our hearts were full of pleasant thoughts our voices full of song ! O halcyon Time so exquisite, of early love and truth! Each pulse leapt up in gladness at the trumpet call of youth ; No sordid cares weighed on us no sorrows long oppressed ; But generous trust in others made a heaven in the breast. Those days of Prime, alas! are gone, and youth's bright joys are fled ; Our gay companions all are changed, or numbered with the dead ; Yet ever as the Summer comes to flower, and leaf, and tree, Sweet memories of the olden time it doth revive in me! And though Life's brilliant sunshine in its dazzling glory fades, A chasten'd, softer light, perchance, its warning bloom pervades ; For fond and tried affection with a tender eye surveys ' The wreck of youth and beauty not less dear than "Summer days ! " GOD'S SUNSHINE. THE cold, cold snow, like a funeral pall, Doth enshroud the cottage and lordly hall ; But God's bright sunshine is over all ! 70 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The winter of woe to all hearts must come, To the peasant's cot, and the noble's home God's sunshine lights hovel and lofty dome. The summer of joy cheers each human breast ! And love makes the poor as the rich man blest ; Whilst the sun shines on, and loves no one best. TO THE ROBIN. DEAR little bird ! that lovingly dost linger Amid the winter's storm, our hearts to cheer ! Sweet robin ! January's favourite singer ! Thou bring'st the kindest message of the year Fond words ! and wishes : with affection fraught, Our absent cherished ones are wont to send By thee the welcome harbinger they're brought, And " Robin redbreast " is the general friend ! YOUTHFUL MEMORIES: (ADDRESSED TO AN OLD PLAYFELLOW.) DOST thou remember that deep green dell, Where the earliest primrose was wont to dwell ? Where the violets in the soft moss hid, Dried the tear-drops within each dewy lid ! Dost thou remember how blithe and gay Were the hours we used to dream away, As our light and slender limbs we laid Under the graceful willow's shade ? Bending our heads to the rippling stream, Where the trout, for an instant, with silvery gleam, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Would leap to the surface so merrily ! Ah ! why are those happy days gone by ? Dost thou remember the deep delight Which lent us wings, when the sun shone bright As we flew to our haunt in the greenwood ? Then Exploring each sweet sequestered glen, And hailing with gay triumphant shout, Each bud and bell fresh peeping out From some warm and closely sheltered nook ; Where no eyes but our own had been to look, For the treasures of lovely, blooming Spring, Which a message from Summer (bright Summer) bring ; Bidding us greet her with joy and smiles, When she comes to illumine our sea-girt Isles ! Dost thou remember the furtive gaze We stole around, at the flickering blaze Of the wandering gipsy's fire, betrayed By the smoke curling up through the friendly shade ? How the fortune-telling elves came round At the chink of the silver's welcome sound ! With their wild, dark eyes, and tangled hair Yet with something of pride, in their Moorish air As if, in their strange and vagrant lot Were a charm, which the world divineth not. Dost remember the willing faith we lent To the mysteries of their low, dark tent ? 72 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. While they talked of the stars which would rule our fate, Dealing out honours, and wealth, and state ? How we listened with awe ! and yet smilingly, As they read the lines in our destiny ! *:**#' Oh ! holiday period of happy youth, When all sweet, bright visions looked like truth ! Oh ! season of pleasure without alloy, From the chill which impaireth all future joy : That cold cloud which stern experience throws O'er the warm sanguine bosom that fondly glows With the light shed by hope in her fairy track ! Dear and vanished days ! will ye ne'er come back ? * * * * * Ah, no ! though the depths of the forest glade Are as lovely as when of old we played In their green recesses ! though fount and rill Are sparkling and flowing like crystal still Though the fawn bounds along by its mother's side, And the hares in their leafy covert hide Though the wilding rose blushes on, unseen, And the soft grass is marked by those circlets green Which show the night haunts of the elfin train, When Titania gives way to her frolic vein Though all nature is blooming as 'twas of yore, Those enchanting days can return no more ! * * * * * Yet ! come come away : though long years have flown, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 73 And thought, care, and sorrow their shade have thrown O'er the features which shone once so radiantly glad Though the brow may be heavy the glance may be sad, There's a magic impression, a fresh breathing spell In those scenes of our childhood we cherished so well. Come away from the courtly, the formal, the vain, 'Twill revive thy worn heart to escape from their chain ! Early memories into thy breast shall steal, And waken its depths with their soft appeal, And the answer prove true to old sympathies yet, Not " Dost thou remember ?" but, " Can'st thou forget?" WARNING. AGATHA. " There is an error in the labyrinth Of woman's life, whence never step returns. GIOVANNA. Hath God said this ? AGATHA. O Lady ! Man hath said it. GIOVANNA. He built that labyrinth he led that foot Into it and then left it. Shame upon him ! " [From Waller Savage Lander's Tragedy of" Fra Rupert."} WOMAN, guard well thy spotless fame, Woman, steel well thy tender heart ; For, if one blot but soil thy name, Then must thy peace of mind depart 74 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. For ever, yes, for ever ! He who has won thee, may awhile Cling to the wreck his love has made, Endure the absence of thy smile, And fain would with his oaths persuade That he will alter never ! But, oh, be sure the hour will come When the sharp pang will strike thee home, And all thine art will be in vain To rivet that delusive chain. Thou shalt be fettered ! ay ! but he, Thy lawless lover, will be free ! Oh agony ! to think of all All thou hast given up for him ! What bitter tears must mourn thy fall, What dark thoughts make thy beauty dim ! Muse on, and tremble ! See'st thou yon brilliant butterfly ? The soft bloom on its feathery wing ? A rude touch has confused each dye On its bruised pinion, ill-used thing ! What does its fate resemble ? Thine, fond and fragile being, thine ! Left in thy day of shame to pine, Afraid to lift thy voice in prayer, Remorse is added to despair, And many a weary hour must cast Its deepening shadow o'er the past, And many a wild sad tear must flow When memory wakes her tale of woe, And many a penalty atone For that sweet dream for ever gone ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 75 Go forth into the hollow world, And wreath with smiles thy pensive face. Grant that no lip in scorn be curled, No eye to haunt thee with disgrace ; Grant that no human heart save one Be conscious of the hidden stain ; No eye thy shrinking glance to shun ; But, followed by a numerous train Of friends and flatterers, who grace The chambers of the gay and great, Thou keep'st unscathed thy lofty place, A sharer in their sunny state. Yet moments there will surely be When the dark shadow will grow deeper, And, if thy memory be free From pain, remorse will wake the sleeper ! Then, when o'erwearied, faint and lone (Thine idolised one far from thee), Thy thoughts their secret burthen own, And thy head bows upon thy knee, - Then, when the stifled sob shall force Its long forbidden, smothered way, And burning tears shall hold their course Down cheeks which lately looked so gay ; Oh ! surely even the sternest mood Would speak some comfort to thee now, To one so fondly, wildly wooed, Sitting there with pale, altered brow, Musing in hopeless keen regret O'er innocent calm days departed ; But clinging to the loved one yet, Though he has made her Broken-hearted ! 76 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PLEADING. CONDEMN not thou the guilty one ! For little can'st thou know The arts, the wiles which have undone And brought her now so low ! In other days she may have been Lofty and pure like thee, As innocent and bright of mien, From sinful thought as free. But oh ! what human eye can read The trials unconfessed ? The tempting hours to sin which lead, And wreck the unguarded breast ? By slow degrees beguiled from truth, Dazzled, and led astray, What snares for beauty and for youth Beset the flowery way ! Then, oh, condemn not harshly thou The erring, fallen one, Nor with a cold and haughty brow Her trembling footsteps shun ; But thank thy God thou hast been spared The fiery ordeal, Which others have so largely shared, To stain thy spirit's weal! Yes, lift thy grateful eyes to heaven And drop a pitying tear For her who prays to be forgiven When no stern gaze is near ; No glance to crush her with its scorn When drooping, penitent, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 77 And, in her bitterness forlorn, Her upward prayers are sent. Be sure that error leads to woe ! And many a dreary hour Must follow the deceitful glow Of bliss in pleasure's bower. Then do not add thy weight of blame To sink her shattered bark, O'erladen with the heavy shame Which freights her shivered ark. No peace, no soft serenity Can smooth her troubled wave. Oh ! view her fate with lenity ; For only in the grave Can that poor fallen one find rest, Or be by those forgiven, Whose virtue dwells not in the breast, But owes its strength to heaven. THOUGHTS ON THE LAMENTED DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. LORD GEORGE BENTINCK. Addressed to his favourite Sisler, September, 1848. A STAR has fallen, a brilliant light is gone Which shed the flash of genius o'er the earth, And tears spring fast, and bitter is the moan In ducal halls for him of noble birth He who has carved unto himself a name Which will illumine future history, Lost to us in the zenith of his fame, Rut ever dear to England's memory ! 78 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Yes, gentle mourner ! in thy heavy woe A nation's sorrow fain would share with thee, And none but kindred bosoms e'er can know How deep the measure of that grief must be. 'Tis long since first I saw him, yet that face With its most speaking and expressive gaze, That sunny smile, and true patrician grace, No time can ever from my mind erase ! So like a poet's vision, that reality ! Ah me ! that genius, beauty, soul, should seem But meant to prove of life the vanity : Existence seeming but a lovely dream ! Oh, gifted spirit ! which, so nobly free From every meaner attribute did'st soar, Well may they weep who loved and valued thee : Honour be to thy memory evermore ! Amidst the vulgar, mercenary herd, Seeking the viler interests of their kind, How glorious to find a man whose word Followed the genuine impulse of his mind I Foe to oppression ! advocate of right ! Protector of the wronged, the poor, and weak, Ithuriel's spear shone in that glance so bright, And hypocrites shrunk back, when thou did'st speak. Now mute for ever is that voice which breathed Integrity's pure accents undismayed, Though fresh and blooming still the trophies wreathed Which at his feet admiring fame has laid. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 79 The world its glittering tribute scarce had given To worth and talent all too lately known, When that bright spirit from its home was riven Ah no ! to heaven, its native home, 'tis flown ! HAGAR. THE cruse was empty, and the food had gone Provided for the wanderer and her son : Death in the wilderness ! the-desert wild Seems doomed for them poor Hagar and her child. She sees the colour from his young cheek fade, She casts him down beneath a date-tree's shade, And with a breaking heart she moistens now, With heavy tears, his parched and burning brow ; Folds him with anguish in her fond embrace, And gazes on his changed and pallid face. His grasp around her neck becomes more faint, He cannot hear the words of her complaint ; The hapless exile, delicately bred, The stricken flower bows its drooping head. Can Hagar stay to watch him perish there ? She, weeping, turns away in her despair. ****** Death is upon his closing eye, Death in each languid limb ; " Ishmael ! I cannot see thee die, Oh Father ! succour him ! Thou who dost oft in mercy bend From Thine eternal throne : Forsaken by each earthly friend, Oh, take us for Thine own." * # * # * So MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Weep no more, Hagar ! for thy prayer is heard, Ishmael revives at the Almighty word. See ! at the waving of an angel's wings, A fountain in the sandy desert springs. Bright hopes for future years an angel's voice Predicts, and bids thy trembling heart rejoice ! Heaven breaks upon thee in the savage wild, For God has heard, and gives thee back thy child ! SONGS. THE world may think me lonely, But they little know the heart Which for thee Beloved only . Thus has played its desperate part ! With thee, to love and cherish With thee, to soothe and bless ; All other thoughts must perish In our tried devotedness ! * # * * * Were I by thee forsaken, No tear should mark the change My soul by ruin shaken, Would leave thee free to range ! In deep seclusion hidden, My life away would pine ; Till by fond memories chidden, Thou'dst mourn for what teas thine ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 8 1 A MAY SONG. "MERRILY THE SUNBEAM GLEAMETH." MERRILY the sunbeam gleameth Through the forest shades, so warm and bright ; Merrily its radiance streameth O'er the green-sward, in long lines of light ! How my heart with delight would be beating, Were some loved companion near ! All the loveliness of nature greeting, Which now wakes the pensive tear. I'm longing but for one ! but for one only To respond to my yearning spirit's call ; " // never can be good to be lonely ! " Thus saith Nature's voice unto each and all. Pleasantly the streamlet glideth Down her course through the deep and rocky glen, Gracefully the woodbine hideth The tangled path to the fox's den ! While the birds high above are singing Their varied, triumphant lay And soft winds, on their wings are bringing All the odours of fragrant May ; I'm longing but for one ! but for one only, To respond to my yearning spirit's call " It never can be right to be lonely ! " Thus saith Nature's voice unto each and all ! Oh ! when the wintry storm is howling Through the shivering, leafless wood, G 82 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And the tempest dark is scowling How dreary is solitude ! But companionship will brighten The cloudiest, most threatening hour, And sweet sympathy can lighten Every burden 'neath stern sorrow's power ! I'm longing but for one, but for one only, To respond to my spirit's yearning call " It never can be wise to be lonely ! " Thus saith Nature's voice unto each and all. A SONG. " OH DEEM ME NOT SO WEAK AND VAIN." OH ! deem me not so weak and vain, Oh ! think me not so frail That only flattery's honied strain To win me can avail ! I'd rather hear truth's faithful voice Howe'er severe it be, Or saddening than take the choice 'Twixt flatteries and thee ! Perhaps it seems temerity So openly to chide, But love in its sincerity Doth conquer wounded pride. I'd rather hear thy frank reproof, Whilst sitting by my side, Than bear to see thee stand aloof, Though all should praise beside. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 83 Alas ! 'tis true ! I fear 'tis true, My heedless smile may seem To challenge homage as its due, And flash with pleasure's beam ! I know my spirits, gay and light. Too often overleap Their lawful bounds too wildly bright ! When prudence goes to sleep. Not theirs, the safe and useful gift, To keep an even tone Expended with too little thought They dazzle and are gone ! But, though the world's most bland caress, No lasting joy can bring Thou by thy faithful tenderness Hast touched its secret spring ! A LIFE. A SMILING da\vn, a fervid noon 'Neath passion's burning ray, Whose fierce breath, like the wild simoom, Scorches sweet peace away; An eve refreshed by Heaven's soft dew, Rain of regretful tears : Too bitter ! till the angels flew To soothe that sad soul's fears. Angels of mercy and of Ruth, Each with a snow-white wand, Waving around the band of truth, Making their wings expand 84 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. To guard, with softly-healing touch The drooping, stricken form Of one who'd " loved and suffered much " Beneath Fate's pelting storm. O Saviour Christ, Thou bad'st despair, From mortal bosoms flee ; Teach us to cast on Thee our care, Whate'er that care may be ! Teach us to heed no worldly scorn, Nor sink beneath our doom, (He never spurns the heart forlorn Nor leaves it to its gloom). Inspire us with kind thoughts of all, And if by insult stung, Bid us the hasty words recall Which hover on the tongue. Ah yes ; withdraw thy gaze from earth, Look upward look above ! And realise how little worth Is aught, save faith and love. May, 1873. MEDITATIONS IN ILLNESS. THROUGH many a weary, lonely hour My mind has been oppressed With thoughts of the Almighty power, Which give my heart no rest ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 85 Yet closer, firmer may I cling To Christ to Him alone Who can the lowest sinners bring Back to His Heavenly Throne. Yes ! even to one so lost as I, Who all through life have erred ; Forgiveness He will not deny, As promised in His word ! Well may our trembling spirits yearn For pardon and for grace Oh, sweet to know He will not turn From contrite ones His face ! What though the cold world should desert, And fondest love should fade, The only really deadly hurt Is this which sin hath made ! To love and serve Thee when I try, Oh, bless the weak endeavour ! And listen to my fervent cry " Forsake me not for ever ! " Even should it prove Thy just decree To smite with suffering sore Hereafter may I dwell with Thee Redeemed for evermore ! 86 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SPRING FANCIES. I WILL lie by the side of this glassy stream Where the clear bright waters gently glide, And give free way to my spirit's dream, And the flush of its joy in the sweet spring tide. Around me is sounding the insect hum, Which tells of gladness ! and many a bird, Whose carol in winter time was dumb, 'Mid the pale-green hazel leaves is heard. As, reclined on this grassy bank, I gaze Up into the smiling azure sky, How soft is the air which around me plays, How limpid the wavelets dancing by ! \Vhile the pensive flowers which fringe the shore Bend their lovely head (as" if whispering) " We shall droop 'neath the frost and snow no more ! The cuckoo has brought us back joy and spring '.'' See, the ice-bound rivulet is free ! Free and unshackled by Winter's chain : Shadowed o'er by the silvery hawthorn tree, Whose blossoms are scenting each deep green lane Where the wild crab blushes so softly mingle Their brilliant pink with the pearly May, And the violets, hidden in glen and dingle, Ope their sweet blue eyes to the light of day. Yon fairy child, with a fawn-like speed, O'er the daisy-spangled mead is bounding, And scarce in his reckless glee gives heed To the fragrant things his steps surrounding. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 87 E'en thus, ever thus, in youth's prideful reign Are the treasures of life unnoted nigh, For which weary hearts may sigh in vain When their vernal season hath long passed by. The murmuring stream sings its lullaby, And slumber will steal o'er my senses soon, For the wandering bee, as he glances by, Hath wooed me to sleep by his pleasant tune, And the butterfly's rainbow wing flits near, Fanning my upturn'd face and brow, So beautiful in his wild career, As he sips the sweets from each flower and bough. Let me dream that the fondly loved are near, Whose images dwell in my secret soul, Let the lost and the parted, the true appear, Summoned hither by fancy's strong control ; While their well-known voices thrill again On our raptured senses, as of yore : Oh, could I behold them ! the thought is pain, Away I away ! I must dream no more. LINES WRITTEN JULY, 1871. YES ; we lived there like birds in a bower, Where the rose bushes bloomed at our feet, And though sorrow was mixed with each hour Yet affection still rendered them sweet. The lovely and loved must all perish, Too well do we know 'tis earth's doom, But the hopes which so fondly we cherish, Come from heaven to lighten our gloom. 3 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. By the calm beauteous lake, while reclining, We watched where the white lilies float, While the bright golden fishes lay shining, Of their cups making each one a boat. The summer birds gaily were flying, And the world seemed with joy to o'erbrim Though our bosoms were heavy with sighing, And our eyes oft with tear drops were dim. One stern law rules o'er every existence, One sentence o'er all doth pervade, It is written, with cruel persistence, " The brightest and dearest must fade." Oh world, full of sadness and glory, Oh mysteries, hidden above ! Too mournful were life's fitful story, But for heart-cheering kindness and love. TWO CHRISTMAS SONGS. CHRISTMAS time is come again, With its voice of joy and mirth ! All Christians join the gladdening strain- 'Tis the happiest day on earth ! No kindly English heart can beat Where'er sad exiles roam, But responds to that salutation sweet, The greeting words at home ! vr /\ vv Merry, merry Christmas ! Happy, happy Christmas ! On every side we hear Hark ! the joyous sound ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 89 As the wish goes round, Re-echoing far and near ! Christmas time returns once more, With some memories sad and drear : We miss the dear ones gone before, Who were wont, this day to cheer ; But such thoughts should not too much oppress Poor pilgrims, heaven-ward bound, Since an earnest of their happiness In this blessed day is found. CHRISTMAS SONG. OH ! the bright Christmas berries ! They're the cheeriest sight I know ; Oh ! the bright scarlet berries, So gay 'midst the frost and snow ! Pile the fuel higher ! yet higher ! Fill the room with a cheerful glow ; Let us sing round the blazing fire, And forget all the frost and snow ! Let the music of innocent laughter Resound in our festive hall, And re-echo round beam and rafter, Where the dancers' footsteps fall ! Here's a welcome to friend and stranger ; Give the humble a share in our store ! Remember the Babe in the manger, Who was born 'mongst the lowly and poor ! Replenish each cup and bicker With the spirit-reviving wine ; 9O MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. While the snow falls thicker and thicker, Let the light of contentment shine : And oh ! whilst we bless the Giver, Who has kept all want from our door, Think of many who starve and shiver, And remember, remember the poor ! FAREWELL TO THE OLD YEAR! FAREWELL old year ! farewell ! How like a troubled dream Already dost thou seem, . Farewell old year ! farewell ! *#*** With all thy wealth of blessings, With all thy weight of pain ! With all love's fond caressings, Now ended is thy reign ! With all thy bland professings, With many a promise vain, With all thy store of blessings, Now ended is thy reign ! Farewell old year ! farewell ! Be thankful unto Heaven For all its mercies past I For sins and wrongs forgiven, And may its bounties last ! Perchance some tie is riven Some troubles overcast But, trust in gracious Heaven ! And may its bounties last. Farewell old year ! farewell ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 9 1 With firm and thankful spirit, The opening year we'll greet ; And through its varied transit, God guide our pilgrim feet ! Alive to others' merit, (For kindly thoughts are sweet !) Thus through the new years' transit, God guide our pilgrim feet.. Farewell old year ! farewell ! The new year may be joyous It may be dark and drear Whate'er the cup filled for us, God bless the coming year ! Trials must hover o'er us Yet falter not ! nor fear ! Whate'er the cup filled for us, God bless the opening year ! Farewell old year ! farewell ! ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE TINY, MY FAVOURITE KING CHARLES SPANIEL. WE laid her in her lowly bed, Bestrewn with ferns and heath ; And kissed her lovely little head So beautiful in death ! Now gone for ever from our sight No loving hand could save ! Dear little loving favourite, Sad tears bedew thy grave ! 92 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Long shall I miss those noiseless feet Which constant followed me ; Or, flying on, with pace so fleet, 'Twas wonderful to see ! Long shall I miss those soft dark eyes, Whose earnest, mute appeal Spoke of such boundless sympathies With all my heart could feel ! Thanks to that gift so exquisite, The limner's blessed art, I have not lost thee, Tiny, quite Before me still thou art.* Those silken curls which were my pride, I seem to stroke them yet ; Would thou wert lying by my side, My gentle little pet ! Dumb friend ! through many a vanished year Of mingled good and ill, Thy graceful form was ever near, My joy and comfort still ! Ah ! those, and those alone who've known Fidelity as well, Can guess my sorrow now thou'rt gone The pain of this farewell ! Auchengrey, 1862. THE WEARY HEART. AH ! bitter when the weary heart Can find no place of rest ; * Tiny's picture was painted by George Sant, Esq., in her favourite basket house, as if asleep. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 93 When softest tones and looks impart No dream of being blest ! When all our world of pleasure lies In one sad word the past, And the remaining gifts we prize Fade from our grasp too fast. Ah bitter ! when the withered smile Is feigned, and feign'd in vain ; For can we cheat the heart the while Teach it to beat again With the sweet thrilling consciousness Of joy which once it knew When life was fraught with loveliness, And every scene was new ? Ah, no ! the mind whence peace has fled Where sorrow ceaseless dwells, Thinks but of hours vanished, And all life's broken spells ! The softest notes of music give No pleasure to the ear, For in the cells of memory live Strains of the past too dear ! Oh ! can they waken as of yore The pulse which long has slept ? Alas ! that bounding glee is o'er Which once in gladness leapt ! Go ! call the gay and lovely round, Summon the minstrel train ! Let each smooth brow with flowers be crowned While mirth and pleasure reign Bid India's richest jewels glow, The choicest perfumes find 94 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And let the red grape's nectar flow In golden goblets shrined ! o o Collect each treasure earth can boast, And countless riches pile ; Gather the things we valued most To win one happy smile ! And, granting that all this could be, The effort would be vain When busy thought and memory Alike but lead to pain ! So different from life's sweet first hour When flattery seemed truth, And each delusive dream had power To charm the mind in youth. No ! sorrow shuts the avenues Which led but to delight And faded hope's enchanting hues Have lost their rosy light. Go ! to enforce a joyous mood It is too hard a part ; The deepest, darkest solitude Suits best the weary heart ! MARINO FALIERO. LINKS WRITTEN TO ILLUSTRATE A PICTURE REPRESENTING HIM TAKING A LAST FAREWELL OF ANGIOLINA, HIS DUCHESS, BEFORE HIS EXECUTION. "FAREWELL, my beautiful! condemn me not If the foul wrong the slanderer heap'd on thee. Forgiven by thy calm purity forgot If the vile Steno's insult madden'd me. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 95 How, unaveng'd, could Zara's conqueror die ? He who, for Venice, shed his blood to save ! Hear the hoarse murmur! the patricians cry " The warrior prince must fill a traitor's grave." " But thou, sweet Angiolina ! gentle wife ! Though bitter thus to leave thee, and alone In the cold world, the blossom of thy life Is in its summer yet ; and, when I'm gone When the stern memories of my fated lot Shall fade away in the dim mist of years, Perchance thy weary steps may reach some spot Untainted by the haunting trace of tears ! " Dost thou remember when the ' Bucentaur ' Through the blue Adriatic clave its way, While shouts, and song, and greetings from the shore Hail'd, with acclaim, Marino's festal day, Sudden, a thick and murky darkness shrouded Our gallant bark, and the haze-mantled land, The brilliant sky was in a moment clouded, And misty vapours hid th' expectant strand ? " My fate was shadow'd forth in omens dark, E'en in mine hour of glory there was gloom ! It was between the columns of Saint Mark (The spot where evil-doers meet their doom) That Venice saw Faliero's footstep leave, On her loved soil, its first and fatal trace, When pouring forth in gladness, to receive The victor Doge, the chosen of her race ; 96 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " And he, the hero of full many a field, Whose skill and courage battled with despair, Who taught the Saracen and Hun to yield, They wait for him upon the Giant's stair ; Not, as in olden time, with pomp to set The ducal crown upon his hoary head. Here let it rest this mocking coronet A few brief moments more its lustre shed I "Ere they shall lift it from the traitor's brow, The prince conspirator, who dared to seek His just revenge for calumnies so low My heart would burst, did it essay to speak Thou'st loved me, Angiolina, though thy youth Was (haply) ill-assorted with thy lord's ; Yet, in thy peerless virtues, in thy truth, I found a jewel, priceless beyond words. "The air blows freshly through the orange-trees, Our clime's bright noon-tide sheds its purest ray, And o'er the azure waves the healthful breeze Curls the Lagune's deep waters, as in play ! But hark ! they swarm around my palace gates ! Yon gazing multitude one breathing flood ! The victim is prepared the scaffold waits Nature is calm, while man's athirst for blood ! " The headsman's axe is sharp ; but sharper still This parting pang, sweet love. I dread not death ; But shuddering fears my anxious bosom fill For thee. No rose is on thy cheek, no breath ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 9/ Alas ! must I be thankful that I grasp In my fond arms but pale unconscious clay, For the last time her small white hand I clasp, The hour is come, I must be firm ; away ! " Support, but wake her not ; this death-like swoon Is surely sent in Heaven's mercy now. O God ! that I should hail it as a boon To gaze my last upon that pallid brow, And bless the marble whiteness stealing o'er Those lovely features, reft of life and bloom, The lips, whose accents I shall hear no more Until we meet, my own, beyond the tomb." vv ?fC 5jC 3}C One wild and passionate embrace. 'Tis o'er, The fatal summons comes ; the hollow sound Of armed feet approaching to the door. His guards in silent pomp the Doge surround. Erect, majestic, he goes forth in state, A sovereign to the last, in regal pride His madness and his crime to expiate And thus the noble and the aged died ! LAMENT. THERE is woe on the waters, A wail o'er the sea : And in Venice, fair daughters Are weeping for thee ! For the mighty has perished, And tarnished his fame, In the country he cherished Disgrace blots his name. II 98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. In the hall of the crowned, Where his image should be, His place is disowned, A black veil we see,* Which with sable fold covers That dishonoured space, And a dark shadow hovers O'er the last of his race ! In one wild frenzied hour One hour of deep guilt When fierce passion had power The proud blood was spilt. Wise statesman ! true hero ! And bravest of all ! Ah ! Marino Faliero ; Woe, woe, for thy fall ! LINES WRITTEN IN THE FIRST PAGE OF THE " BOOK OF BEAUTY," IN 1841. THOU mute remembrancer ! yet speaking one ! How forcibly thy graceful leaves recall The speed with which the vanished year hath gone, Leaving its trace of change on me and all. Alas ! kind hearts have ceased to beat, whose worth Was deeply cherished in the grateful soul. The brave the true have passed away from earth, And weeping memory mourns their distant goal ; * The portraits of all the Doges of Venice are to be seen, save that of " Marino Faliero." A black veil alone marks his vacant place. MISCELLANEOUS POZMS. 99 Sorrow keeps watch for them o'er saddened breasts The scenes which late they cheered look new and strange ; Powerless, and low, and still, the strong man rests, His place is vacant here ; all, all is changed. Beauty and youth ! how gradually they fade 'Neath the cold touch of time still withering ; Oh ! ere their brilliant hues are all decayed Seek out those gifts which lasting radiance fling Athwart the shaded path we all must tread When the vain triumphs of our bloom are o'er, And the gay troop of worshippers have fled From those whose fading charms can chain no more A tear may fall, perchance to think how fond The homage was thus won in early years, But there's a tribute to be sought beyond Such transient incense ; then, away with tears. Ah, why should we lament those witching dreams, The wild and passionate emotion woke, When we remember in our sweetest gleams Of bliss, some envious hand the charm had broke. Ah, why should we so sadly, fondly muse O'er all that wealth of love cast at our feet, Which in past years we scarcely sighed to lose : Why do we muse ? because, though sad, 'tis sweet ! * * * *- * Sweet, though the treasure we so sighed to clasp, Almost our own, was rudely torn away ; Sweet, though escaping from our ardent grasp, Our dearest hopes were disappointment's prey. 100 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Yes, in the deep recesses of the heart A thousand hidden memories must dwell ; Our Books of Beauty richly there are shrined, And the mysterious past their pages tell. THEY CANNOT RETURN. COME to that vale where the wild flowers bloom sweetest ! They'll speak to thy heart of the bright years gone by;- They'll bring thee fond memories back, though thou greetest The coming of spring, alas ! now with a sigh ! Ah, no ! Let me weep for the loved ones departed, Though vainly and sadly my spirit must yearn For the tones and the looks which enchantment im- parted To each fair scene of nature. They cannot return ! The nightingale warbles of hope and of gladness ; The soft breezes whisper of pleasure and peace ; But my heart knows no answering echo, for sadness Keeps watch o'er its depths ! Ah ! will sorrow ne'er cease No ! no ! though the clear crystal streamlets are dancing Through violet banks, from their beauty I turn ! I miss the soft eyes the dear voices enhancing Each vanish'd enjoyment. They cannot return ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IOJ HYMN ADORATION. O HEAVENLY LORD ! how beautiful Are all things Thou hast made ! Thy mercies are so plentiful Thy good gifts never fade. The moon and stars, whose brilliant orbs Illume the silent night My raptured soul the view absorbs In ever new delight. Hereafter when the spirit's chain From earthly ties is riven When, freed from sin's debasing stain, The ransomed meet in heaven. What joy ! to sing the Saviour's praise. Midst those bright stars to soar While angel voices sweetly raise Loud paeans evermore ! FAITH. THINE, LORD ! all Thine This trembling heart would be ; Thy love divine From sin has set me free. Weary, I bent Beneath my guilty load ; Now I'm content I lean upon my God ! 1O2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Blest be Thy name, For all Thy mercies given ; Priceless my claim, Through Christ's dear blood to heaven ! In grateful rapture My feeble soul essays, With every creature, To sing my song of praise ! Pleasure's vain toys Allure, but to beguile ; Vain are earth's joys Without our Maker's smile ! Those who repent, And kiss the chastening rod ; Shall learn content, While leaning on our God ! SYMPATHY. THE heart will oft be lonely ! No sympathy around ; There is but One, One only In whom love doth abound. Ah ! why cast we our pearls abroad ? Our pearls of heart and soul ? Why still the guilty conscience load With burdens past control ? It is a weary feeling To find no answer given To dry the salt tears stealing, When vainly we have striven MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IO3 To wake one thought responding To those which in us burn Well may we be desponding, Unless to Christ we turn ! HEAVEN. WHEN friends long parted meet again, And happy tears fall down like rain As to our hearts their forms we strain We cry, " Oh ! this is Heaven ! " Or, gazing on some beauteous scene Where lovely nature smiles serene, No mournful thoughts to intervene We murmur, " This is Heaven ! " Though earth is full of sin and woe, God yet hath pleasures to bestow On fainting pilgrims here below, Who struggle on towards Heaven But, oh, my soul, what joy for thee When, from thy load of guilt set free, To thy dear Saviour thou shalt flee And sing, " Oh ! this is Heaven ! " SUPPLICATION. FORGIVE ! O Lord ! forgive ! And hear my hymn of praise That Thou hast let me live To mend mine erring ways. 104 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Oh ! for a heart to feel The mercies Thou dost give, In worship as I kneel : Forgive ! O Lord ! forgive ! # # # # Sustain me, Lord ! sustain ! And in my dying hour, When human help is vain, Be there in love and power. When Thou shalt call me home, Though sharp the parting pain, My Saviour Jesus, come! And in that hour sustain. WRITTEN FOR JACQUES BLUMENTHAL'S BEAUTIFUL MELODY, "LES DEUX ANGES." " NEVER more ! ah ! never more ! " Sighs my soul in bitter pain ' Never more ! ah ! never more ! Can I taste such bliss again ! " Then my paths seemed strewn with flowers, Youth and love enwreathing Pleasure winged the fleeting hours, Rapture round me breathing. " Evermore ! yes ! evermore : " Hark ! a seraph's voice is telling " Evermore ! yes ! evermore ! Joy in Heaven is dwelling." Dim foretastes of our happy state Are granted unto mortals, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IO5 They cannot enter glory's gate Till sorrow opes the portals. Nevermore ! no ! nevermore ! Sinning or repenting Earth's sad conflict will be o'er, And each vain lamenting. Life's vicissitudes will cease Beyond death's lonely river; There loving hearts shall rest in peace, Adoring God for ever ! VOICES, 'TWAS on a Sabbath evening, Helpless and ill I lay Musing on death and Heaven, Ready to pass away. The silent room seemed filling With forms I loved of yore My fainting bosom thrilling With whispers o'er and o'er. " Soon thou mayest reach thy spirit's home Quickly come ! oh ! come ! come ! " So sweetly sadly calling Methought I must obey ! A solemn awe was falling Upon the parting day. But earthly love was stronger Then each beseeching tone I prayed to tarry longer With him who is my own. 106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " No ! not yet ! I cannot come Without him to my spirit's home ! " July, 1867. FORBEARANCE. WHO knows not how the spirit grieves, That finds deceit in one beloved ? Trust not the friend who once deceives Whose falsehood is too clearly proved. 'Tis well we should condemn yet pause Ere hotly we the wrong resent, For ah ! what misery they cause Who think no erring ones repent ! Alas ! it is a cruel blow To find our confidence betrayed Our loyal trust at once laid low, And all our faith a ruin made. Yet think how often have we broke Our vows to God ! the Lord of all ! Too oft revoked the words we spoke, And failed to answer at His call ! Yes ! thus the Friend of friends we treat Not once but constantly we err ; Yet hourly, with His pity sweet He deigns to be our comforter ! The penitent He'll gently spare, And crushes not the contrite heart. Dear Saviour! teach me to forbear : Teach me the blest forgiving part ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IO/ Rather to bear the cruel jeer The inuendo cutting deep The bitter treachery to hear, Than one resentful feeling keep ! Though all in vain we may have striven Our meed of grateful love to earn He who has countless sins forgiven, Bids us forgiving lessons learn ! CHEER UP SAD HEART. CHEER up, sad heart ! Nothing lasts long Hope for to-morrow, if grief claim to-day List to the comfort Contained in my song Sorrow and sighing shall all pass away ! Yes ! but oh ! when ? Life is so dreary ! Parting so bitter ! and suffering so keen ! Rest to the mourner, And sleep to the weary Such all the comfort your pity would mean. Comfort ! ah, yes : But joy in the distance Joy never dreamt of, to thee shall be given ; Love in its purity Blissful existence : Be thou but patient, and live on for Heaven ! Cast away from thee Earth's grovelling wishes Aspire to the height which true piety wins ; 108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. All here must fail thee, Ambition and riches ! When this world fades then the real one beeins. MERCY. PITY all the sad of heart ! Think thine own dark hour may come- Ne'er forget the Christian's part : Else no peace shall bless thy home. Mercy is a holy thing ! Think without it what were we ? Lost ! but for Christ's ransoming : Then like Him let's strive to be, Full of gentlest sympathy With our fellow-creatures' woe, Whatsoe'er the cause may be 'Tis the least we can bestow ! Well may wounded spirits shrink From the eyes that coldly scan Love should rivet every link, Kindness plead for man with man ! If the suffering come from sin, Censure not with mien so stern ; How shall we forgiveness win, If we from our brother turn ? Then with accents soft and mild, Generous hand and helpful brain, Welcome ever sorrow's child, So shall we God's blessing gain ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IOQ A HYMN. GOD Almighty ! Heavenly Father ! Thou to whom all creatures bow When the storms of life shall gather, Let Thy hand avert the blow : Thou, the God of all the living ! Who dost know our grief and sin W T ith temptations daily striving, Let our prayers a refuge win ! When the world its most alluring Aspect wears to heedless youth, Teach our hearts Thy joy enduring ! That of holy faith and truth ! Fainting 'neath the heavy pressure Of our trials dark and sad, Thou, whose power is without measure, Thou alone can'st make us glad ! Elevate men's restless spirit, Ever sighing and in vain ; Show us how we may inherit All the peace we've failed to gain. Heavenly Father ! ever dwelling In Thy glory ! bend Thine ear ! Hear Thy suppliant children telling All their woe in pity hear ! WRITTEN IN A SUFFERING HOUR. MY Saviour ! in the hour of pain When every nerve is on the strain, 110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. When anguish racks the weary frame, And suffering the spirits tame How weak, how wretched should we be, Unless our thoughts could rest on Thee ! What does the cold, vain world avail When health and strength alike must fail ? And e'en affection's \varmest glow, No lasting comfort can bestow ; But Christ will be our stay in all Which human frailty can befall. O Thou, who didst so suffer here, My sufferings to me endear If through their means my soul may be More closely brought to cling to Thee. Be Thou my guardian and my rest, And that of him I love the best ! SIMPLE WORDS OF COMFORT (ADDRESSED TO ONE IN DEEP SUFFERING). I CLING to Thee, Lord Jesus ! I humbly cling to Thee ! To Him who knows and sees us Wherever we may be. In all my deep affliction, In all my hours of woe ; It is no dream nor fiction, That to Him I may go For comfort and instruction, For pardon and for peace, To save me from destruction, And bid my sorrows cease. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ill So numberless my errors, Well may they bow me down ; But love shall calm my terrors His love in mercy shown ! On my Redeemer leaning When fails my parting breath His arm will then be screening My soul from pangs of death. I've known life's sweetest pleasures, Though grief has made them dim ; No name my heart so treasures As the blest name of Him, Our Saviour! the Lord Jesus ! Who doth from sin set free ; Who knows us, and who sees us ; And loves both you and me ! ALONE. ALL must yield up their breath, And cross the gulf alone The dreary gulf of death Which leads to shores unknown. Yes ! all the true, the fond, The idols of each heart To reach the world beyond, Must journey hence apart ! It is a mournful truth : The dearest and the best, The loved in age or youth All lonely is their rest ! I J 2 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The closely-linked in mind The soul's most cherished one ; The fair, the bright, the kind, Must perish and alone ! It is a thought of woe A pang too deep for speech : Yet all this grief must know Ah ! let it wisdom teach ! And while the loved are here, Be it our fond employ To brighten their career, And deck their paths with joy. If, in our Saviour's love We place our stedfast trust, Far less our fear 'twill move The fiat " Dust to dust ! " As through the shadowy vale Our trembling steps we wend, Our courage need not fail With Jesus for our friend ! Oh ! then while health and youth Still crown the flowery way, Seek we the path of truth And God's command obey ! So yielding up our breath To Him the boon who gave, No sting shall be in death No terror in the grave ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 113 SABBATH BELLS. SWEET sabbath bells ! so loud and clear ! Pealing o'er valley and o'er hill ! What heavenly music to mine ear ! They seem to say, " Why linger still ? Come to God's temple while ye may, And prayer will steal your griefs away ! " Haste to God's temple ! there to raise The song warm springing from the heart - The incense of your grateful praise, In, which all Christians bear a part. Hear our glad summons, and obey ! The angels join ye as ye pray ! " Come to that holy, solemn place, Where peace and soul-felt comfort dwell ; The home of each celestial grace, Where mercy's beams all clouds dispel ! Haste to God's temple while ye may ! The angels join the meek who pray ! " LINES. LORD JESUS ! who art ever near The soul that suffering flies to Thee, Do Thou in mercy bend Thine ear, And this frail form from anguish free ! 114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But if it be the Almighty will That I this torture should endure Let thoughts of Thee, impatience still, And make Thy word of promise sure ! Dear martyred Lord ! what is my pain To that which Thou didst bear for me ? Thou who didst gloriously sustain The whole world's sin on Calvary : Yet fainting, trembling, do I cry Whene'er my feeble strength is spent. Oh ! listen to me as I sigh, And make me with Thy love content. SELF-QUESTIONINGS. How shall I feel when life is surely fading ? And few brief hours on earth for me remain ? When death's dark wings all brightness shall be shading, And tears from kindly eyes are shed in vain. Shall I feel hopeless, lost, and terrified ? No ! not while Jesus tarries by my side ! Leave me not, Jesus, I have truly loved Thee ! Though other things alas ! I've loved too well ! For this Thou hast chastised Thou hast reproved me, And to all former joys I've bade farewell ; All save affection ! mingling with my breath That love defying change, and strong as death. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 115 How shall I feel ? O God, I do beseech Thee, In that dark fearsome valley, be my guide ! And let the sweet words in Thy gospel teach me, With Thy sure promise ta rest satisfied. Believe in Jesus Christ, poor trembling heart, Then all thy fears and sorrows shall depart. DESOLATION, " Withdraw not Thou Thy mercy from me, O Lord ! Let Thy loving-kindness and Thy truth alway preserve me ! " PSALM xL 14. LEAVE me not, Jesus, I totter I fall : My case is so grievous, But Thou know'st it all. My frailty, my sorrow, My weakness and pain, Oh, where shall I borrow The strength to sustain ? Leave me not, Jesus, When we go astray, When all we love leave us, Do Thou point the way To sweet consolation, By Thee alone given, In my desolation : Oh, guide me to Heaven. My life is so dreary, In loneliness left ; My poor heart so weary, Of all joy bereft. Il6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. O Saviour! O Jesus ! Respond to its call : My burthen is grievous, But Thou know'st it all. While thus sadly weeping An angel sings near, " Thy Saviour is keeping Account of each tear. O'er life's stormy ocean The tempest shall cease ; Grief leads to devotion, To pardon, and peace." December, 1872. MAY THOUGHTS AT CHETNOLE. METHOUGHT this weary heart was dead, Dead, in its living grave ; That from the treasures vanished No relic hope could save. But God is better than our thought, And in this sweet spring tide, I find the world with beauty fraught, Still dear ones by my side. How exquisite the opening leaves, The wealth of lovely flowers : Fresh strength the o'erwrought brain receives, Living such life as ours. The sweet birds warble midst the flush Of orchard's rosy bloom, The blackbird, nightingale, and thrush, Fill earth's vast concert room MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. With melodies which breathe of praise To the Great God on high : Oh, in these gladsome vernal days, How soft grows every sigh. The weary, desolate, and worn, Whose eyes sad tears made dim, If meekly they their cross have borne, Sure refuge find with Him Who pities our infirmities, And sees us as we are : In all life's dark perplexities There's but one guiding star. Ay, in this transitory home, Our springs will soon be told, But in the glorious world to come None will grow sad or old. No change, no partings there will be To rend the soul in twain, But oh, the thought is ecstacy ! The loved will meet again. \\ERTHEI.MER, LEA AND CO., PRINTERS, CIRCUS PLACE, KINSBURY CIRCUS. A 000105459 2