THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 THE SEA-SPIEIT 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS.
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. STEPHEN LUSHINGTON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 JOHN W. PARKER, WEST STRAND. 
 
 M DCCC L.
 
 LONDON . 
 SAVItL AND EDWARDS, PUINTEBS, 
 CIIANDOS STREET.
 
 
 Most of the following Poems have already 
 
 appeared in the pages of Frasers Magazine. 
 
 Those now published for the first time are 
 
 marked in the Table of Contents with an 
 
 asterisk. 
 
 H. L. 
 
 Bombay, August, 1849. 
 
 852904
 
 /
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Sea-Spirit 1 
 
 The Funeral of the Sea-King 13 
 
 A Danish Legend 18 
 
 A Tale of Real Life 23 
 
 *The Cross of Renfusa 31 
 
 The L.vND-BraD at Sea 39 
 
 NEW FOREST LYRICS. 
 
 A Forest Home 44 
 
 A Forest Home in Summer 47 
 
 * A Forest Home Deserted 50 
 
 The Sun-dial 55 
 
 * A Winter Sunset 60 
 
 A Vision of Hoar Frost 65 
 
 Spring Flowers 69 
 
 A Spring Carol 72 
 
 PRIilROSES 76 
 
 Lyndhdrst Hill 78
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To A Child 83 
 
 *LoNELY Thoughts 86 
 
 *To My Child 90 
 
 The Caged Laek 93 
 
 Verses to an Old Fkiend 100 
 
 *A Sketch from Nature 103 
 
 The Poet's Life 106 
 
 Love, Present and Past 110 
 
 An Eveiting's Romance 116 
 
 On Revisiting the Sea-Shore 126 
 
 The Old Year and the New 130 
 
 *The W1LL0W.S OF San Giuseppe 138 
 
 Verses to a Friend 142 
 
 Reminiscences of the 'Overland Trip' . . . .145 
 
 *To Agnes 155 
 
 *The Isle of Elephanta 157 
 
 *'LiFE, Death, and Immortality' 160
 
 THE SEA-SPIEIT/ 
 
 rpHE sunshine gilds the rolling stream, 
 
 -*- The air is calm and still, 
 
 While two sweet human children come 
 
 Slow wending down the hill. 
 Often and often linger they. 
 For they hear a wild, unearthly lay 
 
 Steal upward from the stream ; 
 And down beneath a willow-tree, 
 The spirit-singer's form they see. 
 
 Beautiful as a dream ! 
 
 His eyes are large, and round, and blue. 
 
 His cheek is very fair; 
 And flowers that grow deep seas below 
 
 Are twined in his yellow hair. 
 He bows him gaily o'er his harp. 
 
 And his fingers kiss the strings; 
 
 * This poem was written some years ago, after reading a 
 passage in Leigh Hunt's ' London Journal.' The tradition has 
 since become more familial- to the English reader through 
 Mrs. Howitt's translation of ' The Neighbours.' It is told of 
 the sons of a Swedish clergyman. 
 
 B
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 
 
 Oh ! Imman sounds were ne'er so sweet 
 As the sounds the spirit flings, 
 
 And human lay was ne'er so gay 
 As the lay the spirit sings ! 
 
 The human children near him come, 
 
 The green boughs o'er them fall ; 
 And now the waving willow-tree 
 
 Is a pleasant bower for all. 
 The spirit lifts his head and smiles, 
 
 For he hears their blessed breathing, 
 And loves to see the willow-tree 
 
 Round him and them enwreathiug. 
 
 He sings, ' Thrice welcome here, 
 
 Ye lovely human faces ; 
 Oh ! linger, linger near. 
 
 And I will tell of them that dwell 
 
 In ocean's secret places. 
 Ye cannot go where I have been, 
 Ye cannot see what I have seen ; 
 Earth's music is but sad and dull 
 To those rich melodies that lull 
 
 The tempests of the deep. 
 When wave by wave sinks down to rest. 
 Like passions in an angry breast. 
 
 Beneath the spell of sleep.
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 
 
 Oh ! listen, for ye cannot come 
 To meet me in mine ocean home ! 
 
 * Ye call your earthly flowers bright, — 
 Oh, brighter far the blossoms are 
 That lend the seas their light ! 
 
 The sunbeams glide, 
 
 Through the purple tide, 
 To the radiant zoophjrte; 
 
 The sea-weeds shine, 
 
 Like gems in a mine, 
 Red, purple, green, and white; 
 
 And the lily spreads 
 
 Her golden threads 
 In the water-spirit's sight ! 
 
 ' There are halls with many a wreathed column 
 
 Under the heaving waves ; 
 There are cloisters, silent, and dark, and solemn. 
 
 And echo-haunted caves ; 
 And think you unpeopled those homes may be? 
 Ah ! no, there are voices of love and glee. 
 And shapes of beauty under the sea. 
 
 ' Ye have a human mother, who loves 
 To hear your gladsome voices ; 
 B 2
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 
 
 She sees the smile in her children's eyes, 
 And her gentle heart rejoices ; 
 
 But often her cheek is pale with care, 
 And her eyes are dim with tears, 
 
 She sees a shade on the time to come. 
 And her heart is dark with fears. 
 
 ' Ye have a human mother, who bends 
 
 To kiss your sleeping brow. 
 And many a vision of future bliss 
 
 She weaves for her children now ; 
 But Death may call that mother hence. 
 
 Or Time work change in you. 
 For never aught of human growth 
 
 Was strong, or sure, or true. 
 
 ' I have a mother, a spirit fair. 
 
 Who rides in a pearly shell. 
 Her voice is low as the winds that blow 
 
 Adown the forest dell; 
 Her eyes are soft as the early stars 
 
 When they fondly gaze on mine. 
 And I love to feel her gentle arms 
 
 At morn around me twine. 
 Her cheek is never pale, 
 Her bright smiles never fail ;
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. { 
 
 She parts ray locks of yellow hair, 
 And combs them with a golden comb, 
 Singing, as I am singing now, 
 
 The pleasures of our home ; 
 And other sprites who love us well 
 Will haste to lift the chambered shell. 
 
 And wake the music sleeping there; 
 And some will touch their harps' sweet chords, 
 And some will warble loving words. 
 
 The while my mother combs my hair. 
 
 * And when I call, a merry crowd 
 
 Come bounding to my side; 
 And soon our laughter ringeth loud, 
 As one by one my playmates run 
 
 In the pillared caves to hide. 
 In and out, in and out ; 
 With the playful call and the careless shout. 
 And the echoes replying round about! 
 
 ' There are creatures whose beauty may never be told, 
 With eyes of fire and scales of gold ; 
 And I rule them all with a kingly sway. 
 When they come around to hear the sound 
 
 Of the water-spirit's lay ; 
 And mighty creatures of savage natures 
 
 Will listen and obey;
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 
 
 I yoke them to my car of pearl, 
 And tliey draw me o'er the sea ; 
 
 And the nautili their sails unfurl, 
 And merrily ride with me ; 
 
 While my voice's chime still keepeth time 
 With the pulse of the heaving sea ! 
 
 ' Oh beautiful, most beautiful 
 
 The secrets of the deep, 
 Where the tide of song is ever flowing. 
 And the ruddy coral-trees are glowing ! 
 Bright forms are there which ne'er grow old, 
 
 And eyes that never weep !' 
 
 The spirit pauses for awhile, 
 And he gazes round with a happy smile; 
 But the human children envy not 
 The joys he has told of his mystic lot. 
 
 ' Spirit, look up !' those children cry; 
 
 ' Spirit, look up to the blue, bright sky ! 
 A time shall be when men more free 
 Than thou, in thy palaces under the sea, 
 Shall upwards spring with an angel's wing 
 
 Through the light of Infinity ! 
 There is One who died that men might live, 
 He an immortal crown can give ; 
 But it is not said that He died to save
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 7 
 
 The spirits whose home is under the wave. 
 Wherefore sing, when a hidden chain 
 Binds thee for aye to the purple main 1 
 There are purer joys in the Christian's heaven ; 
 But, spirit, thou art not among the forgiven !" 
 
 Oh ! changed is the cheer of the water-sprite, 
 And passed from his eyes their smile of light ! 
 He weeps as a child of earth might weep, 
 
 And flings his harp aside. 
 The voice of his sorrow is loud and wild, 
 For bitter the thought of the ocean-child. 
 
 That not for the spirits who fill the deep 
 The Saviour of men hath died. 
 Like a summer-cloud he hath passed away, 
 Like a summer- wind hath ceased his lay ! 
 The human children hear his moan. 
 Still mingling with the river's tone, 
 While the water in gladness roUeth on, — 
 But the spirit-singer's form is gone. 
 The air is sunny, and calm, and still. 
 And the children wend homeward over the hill ; 
 But a shadow has dimm'd their infant joy, 
 For the grief of the beautiful ocean-boy ! 
 
 'Tis evening, and a^in I see 
 Those children move, with looks of love,
 
 8 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 
 
 To the gay, green willow-tree. 
 Again I see the spirit there, 
 But the flowers are torn from his yellow hair. 
 His harp is silent, he breathes no song. 
 He weeps as the gay stream rolls along. 
 The children near him come once more, 
 But he smiles not as he smiled before; 
 He bows his head, as if in shame 
 To hear their voices name his name. 
 
 For he knows that his portion is not with 
 theirs. 
 And he feels the weight of his deathless state 
 
 Like the weight of many cares ! 
 He fain would rise, but it drags him down, 
 
 Down to the earth for aye ; 
 He may not hope for the fadeless crown, 
 
 Nor the light of unchanging day. 
 He may weep and murmur early and late. 
 
 But all shall be in vain. 
 For man alone shall Death's dark gate 
 Open the road to a blessed fate 
 
 Untouched by care or pain. 
 For man, and not for those Avho dwell 
 
 Under the purple main ! 
 
 ' Spirit, sweet spirit !' tlie children call, 
 ' Oh ! take thy harp and breathe again
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 
 
 A louder and a gayer strain, 
 
 For there is hope for all. 
 Our father is a holy man : 
 He bade us say there is no ban 
 On thee, or those who dwell with thee, 
 In the bright palaces under the sea. 
 Then hush, sweet spirit, hush thy woe, 
 Since thy Redeemer lives also !' 
 
 Like suulight o'er the waters stealing 
 Was the smile that broke as the children spoke 
 Those gentle words, so full of healing 
 To the ocean-spirit's wounded feeling. 
 Once more he clasps his cherished lyre. 
 And wildly from each trembling mre 
 A tone of joy is pealing. 
 
 ' Joy, joy !' he sings, and louder yet. 
 Though his eyelids still with tears are wet, 
 ' Joy, joy ! ye beauteous spirits, whose path 
 Is the loveliest bower the ocean hath. 
 Who better love the twilight there 
 Than the glitter and heat of the upper air ; 
 ye whose lamps are the starry eyes 
 Of fish that dart as the eagle flies, 
 AVhose music is joyous, and rich, and clear, 
 As the fabled sounds of the shining sphere, 
 Rejoice, rejoice in your homes to-night,
 
 10 THE SEA-SPIPJT. 
 
 For a human voice foretells delight, 
 And speaks glad words of cheer ! 
 
 ' A vision of liQ-ht hath found me ! 
 I seem to stand in the blissful land 
 
 With the angel-host around me. 
 Hark ! hark ! their rushing wings 
 
 Make music as they pass, 
 And many a delicate flower upsprings 
 
 And waves o'er the sunlit grass. 
 I see a broad, deep river. 
 
 And groves of blooming shade, 
 And I know the river shall flow for ever, 
 
 And the bloom shall never fade. 
 
 * I hear a thousand thousand tones 
 
 All blending into one, 
 Singing of Him on the throne of thrones, 
 
 And His great and holy Son. 
 I spoke of the joys of them who dwell 
 
 In the depths of summer seas ; 
 But only an angel's tongue could tell 
 
 The glory of joys like these ! 
 
 ' Oh, children of earth ! oh, blessed souls ! 
 Rejoice, rejoice, when the death-bell tolls. 
 Rejoice, if the parted has lived in faith. 
 For the righteous have favour and peace in death.
 
 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 1 1 
 
 Rejoice, for their rest is a lasting rest, 
 And the blessing is changeless wherewith they are 
 bless'd ! 
 
 ' Oh ! children of earth, how calm and sweet 
 
 Are the thoughts of heaven that o'er me glide ; 
 Like the spirits that hasten with silent feet 
 On the breast of the slumbering sea to meet 
 In the quiet of eventide !' 
 
 Sweetly, sweetly ringeth the lay, 
 SloAvly the echo is dying away — 
 Dying like odours of plants that grow 
 In vales where the breezes of summer blow. 
 When the bees are hid in their own sweet cells, 
 And the hyacinth closes her scented bells, 
 Leaving her breath, like a thought of love. 
 Lingering still in the twilight grove. 
 
 The shadows of night have wrapp'd the stream. 
 
 The stars are peeping overhead, 
 
 And the echoes that murmur'd the lay are dead. 
 The children wake as from a dream. 
 
 And ask if still on earth they are; 
 They had heeded not the deep'ning gloom. 
 
 For the spirit's words had borne them far 
 To the world beyond the tomb.
 
 12 THE SEA-SPIRIT. 
 
 They see no more his form so fair, 
 His soft blue eyes and his yellow hair, 
 For dark the shade of the willow lies 
 
 Across the rivers flo^^^ng, 
 And pale and dim is the light the stars 
 
 Upon the earth are throwing. 
 Joyfully up the hill they go, 
 And their hearts with undimm'd pleasure glow, 
 As ' Spirit, sweet spirit !' again they call ; 
 'Rejoice, rejoice! there is hope for all!' 
 
 1839.
 
 THE FUNEEAL OF THE SEA-KING.* 
 
 rpELL it out in sounding numbers, 
 -*- Tell it out in words of song, 
 How Scyld, the son of Odin, 
 To his rest was borne along ! 
 
 The people, in their war-dress. 
 
 Gathered thick upon the shore, 
 "VVliile six, the best and bravest, 
 
 Their aged monarch bore. 
 
 They bore him from his palace 
 
 With a slow and solemn pace. 
 And the people hushed their wailing 
 
 WTien they saw their dead king's face. 
 
 To the crowded shore they brought him, 
 
 And not a word was said ; 
 All the sound among those hundreds 
 
 Was the bearers' heavy tread. 
 
 * Suggested by a passage in Mr. Kemble's translation of 
 the Anglo-Saxon poem of ' Beowulf.'
 
 14 FUNERAL OF THE SEA-KING. 
 
 A stately boat was lyiug 
 
 Close moored along the strand, 
 
 And there they laid their monarch; 
 With his sceptre in his hand. 
 
 The ring was on his finger, 
 The crown upon his head ; 
 
 And ne'er mio^ht livinfj hero 
 Look nobler than the dead. 
 
 Rich store of gold and jewels 
 At the warrior's feet they heaped, 
 
 A portion of the harvest 
 
 His strong right arm had reaped ; 
 
 Then came a troop of maidens 
 With rose and oaken bough 
 
 And they wove a kingly garland 
 And hung it at the prow. 
 
 Then was spread the sail of purple, 
 The swan-necked boat rode free; 
 
 And alone across the waters 
 Passed the monarch of the sea. 
 
 In his life king Scyld was mighty, 
 He was awful in his death ; 
 
 'Mong all the crowd was heard not 
 A whisper or a breath ;
 
 FUNERAL OF THE SEA-KING. 15 
 
 But the heroes stood in silence, 
 
 The brave, the men of might, 
 And women held their infants 
 
 To see the noble sight. 
 
 The wind blew strong and steady. 
 
 And the day was waning fast, 
 The while across the waters 
 
 The stately vessel past. 
 
 It passed across the waters, 
 
 And the people saw no more, 
 But wended home in sorrow 
 
 That the reign of Scyld was o'er. 
 
 That night a gentle maiden. 
 
 Full thirty leagues away, 
 Arose from dreams of trouble 
 
 To watch for dawn of day. 
 
 She heard, beneath her chamber 
 
 The waves' incessant beat. 
 And she trod across the rushes 
 
 With her white and silent feet. 
 
 Then gazing from her bower, 
 
 She saw a sail afar, 
 And she deemed it was her lover. 
 
 Coming homeward from the war.
 
 16 rUNERAL OF THE SEA-KING. 
 
 She smiled, and said, ' He cometh ! 
 
 I shall see him at my side; 
 And Death alone shall part us, 
 
 The Hero and his Bride!' 
 
 The sail came gliding onward 
 From the shadow to the light. 
 
 And the gentle maiden shuddered 
 At the thing that met her sight. 
 
 The yellow moonlight showed her 
 A crowned and sceptred king; 
 
 His robe was wrapped around him, 
 His finger wore the ring; 
 
 But his hollow cheek was paler 
 Than the foam upon the sea, 
 
 For the Mighty had been conquered 
 By a mightier than he ! 
 
 At mom a lonely sailor, 
 Among the Northern seas. 
 
 Saw a boat with sails of purple 
 Ride on before the breeze. 
 
 At the helm he saw no steersman. 
 Yet the boat came bounding on, 
 
 And he laughed a laugh of triumph 
 At the booty to be won.
 
 FUNERAL OF THE SEA-KINO. 17 
 
 He saw the gleam of jewels, 
 
 He saw the red gold shine ; 
 He saw the costly raiment, 
 
 And he said ' They shall be mine !* 
 
 The boat came sweeping onward 
 
 With a strange unaltered speed, 
 Till the sailor's stout heart trembled 
 
 Like a tempest-shaken reed. 
 
 He gazed in fear and wonder, — 
 
 The boat unharmed passed by, 
 For among the gold and jewels 
 
 Looked forth a dead man's eye. 
 
 Thus Scyld, the mighty Sea- King, 
 
 Passed away from human ken, — 
 Thus went he forth for ever 
 
 From the sight of mortal men ! 
 
 1842.
 
 A DANISH LEGEND.* 
 
 rPHERE is a tale of sorrow, 
 -■- Of wonder and of wrong, 
 By northern minstrels chanted 
 
 In a sad and ancient song; 
 Yet, like a thread of silver 
 
 Through a mournful web inwrought, 
 With its sadness interwoven 
 
 Is a sweet, consoling thought. 
 Through shadows dull and gloomy 
 
 Of grief and broken faith. 
 Shines out the thought of comfort. 
 
 That love may conquer death ! 
 
 There dwelt a lovely lady 
 
 Beside the Northern Sea, 
 Of stately form and feature, 
 
 And born of high degree. 
 
 * This legend was related to me by a Norwegian, as the sub- 
 stance of a song set to a very auoient Danish air. I believe he 
 told me the words were as old as the music.
 
 A DANISH LEGEND. 19 
 
 Among the liost of lovers 
 
 That were ever in her train, 
 Was one whose heart grew bitter 
 
 Because lie wooed in vain; 
 And thoiigli lier voice was gentle, 
 
 And her words were kind and gay, 
 Yet he vowed a cruel vengeance 
 
 From the hour she said him nay. 
 
 He muttered spells of darkness, 
 
 He called the powers of ill ; 
 In secret and in silence 
 
 They wrought his wicked will. 
 Her pure young heart soon yielded 
 
 To the might of magic spell. 
 And he mocked her in his triumph 
 
 When he saw she loved him well. 
 ' Proud heart,' he said, ' that scorn'd me, 
 
 Thy love is nought to me, 
 The heartless scorn thou gavest 
 
 I give again to thee !' 
 
 He left her in her anguish — 
 
 He left his native land. 
 And she watch'd the parting vessel 
 
 As she paced the lonely strand ; 
 c 2
 
 20 A DANISH LEGEND. 
 
 It sped across the waters 
 
 Like a sea-bird free and light, 
 Its snowy wings grew fainter, 
 
 Then faded from her sight. 
 They sought that high-born lady 
 
 At eve along the shore. 
 Her lips were wan and silent, 
 
 Her dreary life was o'er ! 
 
 They laid her by the waters, 
 
 In a fair and costly tomb, 
 While the cruel one passed onward 
 
 All heedless of her doom. 
 " Her heart may break !" he muttered; 
 
 " She shall rue her early pride; 
 In the merry world there beateth 
 
 Full many a heart beside; 
 In the merry world there shineth 
 
 Full many a face as fair; 
 Farewell, once scornful lady, 
 
 I leave thee to despair !" 
 
 They laid her by the waters, 
 Bur her spirit could not rest; 
 
 And she tracked her faithless lover 
 Across the sea's dark breast.
 
 A DANISH LEGEND. 2] 
 
 To him where'er he wandered, 
 
 Invisibly she clung, 
 And spells of hidden power 
 
 About his steps she flung. 
 From land to land she led him, 
 
 Where gold and beauty shone. 
 But his soul was dark within him. 
 
 And the charm of life was gone. 
 
 From land to land she led him. 
 
 Till he saw how poor and vain 
 To one with sin o'erladen 
 
 Were pride, and mirth, and gain. 
 From land to land she led him. 
 
 Till his heart grew weak and mild ; 
 And his haughty soul was humbled 
 
 To the meekness of a child, — 
 Till tears of shame and sorrow 
 
 He wept by night and day; 
 Then homeward o'er the waters 
 
 Once more he bent his way. 
 
 He neared the land, beholding 
 
 The costly tomb that bore 
 The corpse of her whose spirit 
 
 Had led him to the shore.
 
 22 A DANISH LEGEND. 
 
 * The tomb of the Forsaken /' 
 
 He knew it must be hers, — 
 Her love, her faith, her sorrow, 
 
 He owned them conquerors. 
 ' Oh ! that thy soul might bless me- 
 
 He murmur'd, kneeling there — 
 ' Might see my deep repentance, 
 
 And hear my hopeless prayer !' 
 
 For one brief moment round him 
 
 A radiant light was shed, 
 And beside him, in her beauty. 
 
 Stood the shadow of the dead ! 
 It passed, he bow'd in silence. 
 
 For he knew the blessed sign 
 Was a promise of forgiveness 
 
 Revealed by love divine: 
 He bow'd him down in silence, 
 
 For he knew his hour was nigh, 
 And ere the daylight faded 
 
 He breathed his last calm sigh ! 
 
 1843.
 
 A TALE OF EEAL LIFE. 
 
 THE early buds are swelling; 
 The time will soon be come, — 
 The blessed time he promised 
 
 I should see him here at home. 
 He said, ' I will be with thee 
 
 Ere the leaves are on the bough;' 
 And the time -svill soon be coming, 
 For the buds are swelling now ! 
 
 * The light leaves are unfolding 
 
 On plant, and bush, and tree, 
 And the spring-tide sun of promise 
 
 Shines out o'er land and sea. 
 Ere the larch before the window 
 
 Hath donned its summer veil, 
 O'er the purple waters sweeping, 
 
 I shall see his welcome sail 1' 
 
 Thus she murmured in her gladness 
 To her loving heart alone, 
 
 Thus she hoped, and thus she trusted 
 Till the spring was nearly gone;
 
 24 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 Thus watched she till the larch boughs 
 Had donned their veil of green, 
 
 And hidden from her window 
 The water's sunny sheen. 
 
 Then stole she forth at morning, 
 
 Then stole she forth at eve, 
 (For she knew his heart too truly 
 
 To dream he could deceive); 
 With weary eyes still watching, 
 
 Yet she hoped with steadfast heart; 
 ' When he cometh home,' she whispered, 
 
 ' He will never more depart !' 
 
 Though she saw the scattered daisies. 
 
 Unfolding one by one, 
 Till many a starry blossom 
 
 Lay laughing to the sun; 
 Though the larch's feath'ry shadow 
 
 Fell dark upon the slope. 
 Yet she watched with quiet i^atience, 
 
 And hoped with constant hope. 
 
 She wandered by the waters 
 Where he first had told his love. 
 
 With the summer sea for witness. 
 And the placid stars above;
 
 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 25 
 
 Where she listened, looking downward, 
 With a blush on cheek and brow. 
 
 And a heart that fluttered wildly 
 To the music of his vow. 
 
 That music had not failed her, 
 
 Though her home was full of strife; 
 It quelled, by its sweet power, 
 
 The harsher tones of life; 
 And she served the frowning stranger 
 
 Wlio filled her mother's place, 
 With a spirit full of meekness, 
 
 And an ever-smiling face. 
 
 o 
 
 Her father's younger children 
 
 Learned the meaning of that look. 
 Wandering idly o'er the waters 
 
 From the oft-neglected book. 
 And in many a thoughtful moment 
 
 They would whisper in her ear 
 Their merry words of comfort. 
 
 And dreams of blithest cheer. 
 
 She smiled, and she believed them. 
 Though the lilac buds were blown, 
 
 And across the lawn the thorn-tree 
 Its rosv wands had thrown;
 
 26 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 Though tlie apple-bloom was falling, 
 And the almond-bough in leaf, 
 
 Yet there fell upon her spirit 
 No thought of coming grief. 
 
 The scarlet tufts were peeping 
 
 On the larch-boughs, lithe and free. 
 That were swapng in the breezes 
 
 Like sea-weeds in the sea. 
 The bee among the flowers 
 
 Hummed merrily and long, 
 Yet still her smile was joyful, 
 
 And still her hope was strong. 
 
 At length, one sunny morning, 
 
 She arose at break of day. 
 And, lo ! the look'd-for vessel 
 
 Was at anchor in the bay ! 
 She stole in silence homeward 
 
 To await his coming there, 
 Ev'ry inmost thought o'erflowing, 
 
 With thankfulness and prayer. 
 
 She had dcck'd the room with flowers, 
 She had tied upon her breast 
 
 The little cross he gave her 
 When sailing for the West;
 
 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 27 
 
 She had watch'd the larch's shadow 
 
 Moving slowly o'er the grass, 
 And many a time had started 
 
 When she heard the swallows pass. 
 
 Yet still the lover came not ! 
 
 Through the calm and sultry noon, 
 Through eve, till from the ocean 
 
 Uprose the cloudless moon ; 
 Though their ancient trysting hour 
 
 Had come and pass'd away, 
 And a cloud of dewy freshness 
 
 On the sleeping blossoms lay ; 
 
 Though the true heart beat with fondness. 
 
 And the loving eyes were dim 
 With tears of joy fresh springing 
 
 At each dear thought of him. 
 Yet he came not — still he came not. 
 
 Till at length her cheek grew pale, 
 And the hope that had upheld her 
 
 At last began to fail. 
 
 i^jjt. 
 
 loving heart, how vainly 
 
 For the dear one dost thou yearn ! 
 loving heart, how dreary 
 
 The tale thou hast to learn !
 
 28 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 In that sparkling sea, to-morrow, 
 Thou wilt see but one wide tomb ; 
 
 Those sunny skies, to-morrow, 
 
 Shall be dull with hopeless gloom. 
 
 Night came, and dreary visions 
 
 Thronged her terror-broken sleep, — 
 A death-white face looked on her 
 
 From the caverns of the deep. 
 Morrow dawned, and then they whispered 
 
 Wliat her spirit had foretold. 
 And she knew that o'er his bosom 
 
 The restless waters rolled. 
 
 Then wept she not, nor murmured ; 
 
 Ev'ry sound of grief was hushed. 
 For heart and hope within her, 
 
 Like a withered flow'r, lay crushed ; 
 And though her step was slower. 
 
 And she smiled not ever more, 
 Yet a look of mournful patience 
 
 To her dying day she bore. 
 
 ' It had been sweet,' she murmured, 
 
 ' To hold his dying head. 
 To seize with jealous fondness 
 
 The latest words he said.
 
 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 20 
 
 Where, beneath the church's shadow, 
 
 The solemn yew-trees wave, 
 'Twould be sweet in long, still evenings, 
 
 To sit beside his grave. 
 
 ' The wild sea moans above him. 
 
 No siffn remains to tell 
 Where they gave him to the waters ; 
 
 Yet I know that all is well — 
 All is well with thee, beloved one. 
 
 Though my heart is weak and lone ; 
 In the world where all is real, 
 
 I shall call thee still mine own !' 
 
 So she lingered, fading slowly, 
 
 Till the larch's boughs were bare, 
 Waving with funereal motion 
 
 In the cold autumnal air; 
 Till the latest withered leaflet 
 
 From the vine's long branches shrank. 
 And the last pale blossom faded, 
 
 From the sunny garden bank. 
 
 Then she said, in playful sadness, 
 ' Mine are truer words than thine ! 
 
 Before a bud shall open 
 
 On the larch tree or the vine,
 
 30 A TALE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 I shall go to thee, my loved one, 
 
 Though thou com'st no more to me, 
 
 My heart shall rest in quiet — 
 My spirit shall be free !' 
 
 She had holy hopes to cheer her, 
 
 And she dreaded not to die, 
 For life and all its pleasures 
 
 Had passed like visions by. 
 One sleeps beneath the ocean, 
 
 One rests beneath the sod, 
 But we trust their souls are meeting 
 
 In the presence of their God !
 
 THE CROSS OF RENFUSA.* 
 
 ■jl/TIDNIGHT darkness on the land, 
 -'-'-'- Midnight darkness on the sea; 
 All along the lonely sand 
 
 Crept the waters lovingly. 
 Scarcely was a leaflet stirred 
 By a sound of breeze or bird 
 In the wood, whose shadow lay 
 Darkly on the sands all day. 
 Though a thousand busy feet 
 Daily thronged each stately street, 
 Ev'ry murmur now was still 
 In the City of the Hill, 
 Save the watchman's drowsy tone 
 Telling when the hour had flown. 
 Wearily he went his round, 
 Pausing on the highest ground, 
 Lest a fitful gleam might show 
 How the ocean slept below. 
 
 From a passage in Lord Bacon's ' New Atlantis. '
 
 •32 THE CROSS OF RENFUSA. 
 
 But no gleam of starlight slione ; 
 
 And the quiet breeze upbore 
 Whispers of the waves alone 
 
 Creeping softly to the shore. 
 
 Wliile he turned him to the west, 
 
 Suddenly there rose a light 
 From the Ocean's tranquil breast, 
 
 Piercing through the calm, black night, 
 Till it stood, a column fair 
 Shining in the silent air ; 
 Then above the column came, 
 Towering, a Cross of flame. 
 Burning with so clear a sheen, 
 That the woods of shadowy green, 
 And the pearly sands that lay 
 Girdling fair Renfusa's Bay, 
 And the palaces that rose. 
 Radiant as her mountain-snows. 
 Tier o'er tier above the deep, 
 And the wild and rugged steep 
 Rising, with its solemn frown. 
 Like a monarch's iron crown, — 
 All threw back the glory, given 
 By that wondrous sign in Heaven. 
 
 Earth was younger then than now: 
 Only twenty years had gone
 
 THE CROSS OF RENFUSA. 33 
 
 Since the Saviour's dying brow 
 
 From the cruel Cross had shone, 
 Lovely through the mists of death ; 
 
 Even as the star which rose 
 When he drew his earliest breath, 
 
 Did such loveliness disclose, 
 Smiling through the murky shade. 
 That the night was joj'ful made. 
 Since the Saviour sought his throne, 
 Only twenty years had flown. 
 Living men had seen His face. 
 Heard Him utter words of grace : 
 Children whose young heads had felt 
 
 Pressure of His holy hand. 
 Who in simple faith had knelt 
 
 Down to pray by His command, 
 Now arrived at manhood's prime. 
 Loved to speak of that glad time. 
 Some with trembling lips would tell 
 How the mystic darkness fell. 
 When the awful strife was done, 
 And mankind's salvation won. 
 
 Therefore when the Watchman's cry 
 Hailed that marvel of the sky. 
 Wakened by the sudden shout, 
 Anxious crowds came rushing out.
 
 34 THE CROSS OF RENFUSA. 
 
 Gazing wildly o'er the sea, 
 Lest that ruddy Cross should be 
 As a banner then unfurled 
 For the judgment of the world. 
 Still and beautiful it stood 
 Mirrored in the peaceful flood. 
 And so hushed the peojile gazed 
 That the wing of passing bird, 
 By the sudden light amazed, 
 In the still air might be heard. 
 And the low and rii^pling sound 
 Of the shallow waves rebound. 
 Yea ! the sick man, on his bed 
 Waiting with a solemn dread, 
 Heard the faintest breath that blew; 
 Heard the buds and leaves, that grew 
 Round his casement, waving slow; 
 Heard from far the quiet flow 
 Of a rushy stream, that made. 
 Underneath the alder's shade 
 And the willow-branches' play, 
 To the sea its cheerful way. 
 Singing with a drowsy chime 
 To the bees among the thyme. 
 
 Steadily the red Cross burned. 
 Till the wond'ring people yearned
 
 THE CROSS OF EENFUSA. 36 • 
 
 With such longing, that the first 
 Who from bonds of silence burst, — 
 Crying, ' Let us forth to see 
 What this pageant strange may be !' 
 Heard a thousand voices say, 
 ' Lead us downward to the Bay !' 
 
 To the sands the people sped, 
 By that sacred token led, 
 And, ere long, away from shore 
 Plied full many an active oar. 
 Over yielding waves they flew, 
 Till anear the Cross they drew : 
 Vain were all their eff'orts then. 
 Vain the strength of strongest men ! 
 By a viewless power restrained 
 Each lay still as if enchained, 
 And the people, old and young, 
 
 Trembled Avith a solemn fear; 
 While the wondrous token hung, 
 
 Shining out divinely clear. 
 
 One old man, who gazed serene 
 On the strange and lovely scene, 
 (Still, whatever might betide, 
 Trusting in the Crucified,) 
 Low awhile in silence bowed ; 
 Then arose and prayed aloud. 
 d2
 
 36 THE CROSS OF RENFUSA. 
 
 Saying, ' Father, give a sign 
 That this token strange is Thine ! 
 By the love of Him who hung 
 
 Dying on the Cross of shame, 
 Praying with unfalt'riug tongue 
 
 E'en for those who cursed His name, 
 By that death of woe, declare 
 Why that wondrous sign is there!' 
 
 While he prayed, the ruddy glare 
 Shone upon the old man's hair, 
 Lighting up his earnest eyes 
 Fixed intently on the skies, 
 Showed the crowd on sea and land 
 Where he knelt with lifted hand. 
 Rising from his knees at length, 
 * Now the Lord hath given you strength, 
 Take,' he said, ' each man his oar. 
 Strive to reach the Cross once more!' 
 
 To their oars the rowers bent. 
 Onward now the small boat went. 
 And the people watched her go, 
 Rocking softly to and fro, 
 Till she seemed to reach the base 
 
 Of that column fair and high, 
 From whose top the sign of grace 
 
 Towered brightly to the sky.
 
 THE CROSS OF REXFUSA, 87 
 
 Ere the boat hath touched tlie Q-oal, 
 Cross and shaft asunder roll, 
 But the glittering fragments shine 
 O'er the Bay with rays benign, — 
 Stars of beauty, stars of love. 
 Crowding the dark skies above ! 
 
 Suddenly a wonder neAV 
 Breaks upon the people's \aew, 
 For a vessel hath appeared. 
 
 Built of scented cedar-wood. 
 By a viewless power steered. 
 
 Wending where the column stood. 
 Moves it on without a sail, 
 Yet its speed doth never fail. 
 Lovingly the waters glide 
 Harmless from its fretted side ; 
 From the lilies, bud and bell, 
 Angel-hands have carved well ; 
 From the prow that glideth free, 
 And the pale serenity 
 Of the Angel-face, so fair 
 In its scul])tured beauty there, 
 With the changeless smile it flings 
 From between its folded wines. 
 At the helm, a branch of palm 
 Waveth, beautiful and calm.
 
 38 THE CROSS OF RENFUSA. 
 
 Like a plant of heav'nly birth 
 For the healing of the Earth. 
 
 While the happy people gaze 
 More in gladness than amaze, 
 From the skies the unwonted liofht 
 Fades once more to darkest night,— 
 And the people grope their way 
 To Renfusa's sand-bound Bay, — 
 Wending homeward silently, 
 For they feel the lovely sign 
 That hath faded from the sky, 
 . Was a mystery divine, 
 And the palm-branch not in vain 
 Passed in beauty o'er the main, 
 Passed in loveliness serene 
 Where the Holy Cross had been. 
 Blest for ever was that night. 
 For they read the sign aright. 
 Angels' lore they practised then, 
 * Peace on earth, goodwill to men :' 
 Living thought and kindly deed 
 Witnessed of their righteous creed,— 
 For the Palm should take its root 
 Ever at the Cross's foot ! 
 
 August, 184.0.
 
 THE LAND-BIRD AT SEA.* 
 
 rpHOU gentle bird, from far thy lone course 
 -*- wending, 
 
 Thy music with old ocean's murmur blending, 
 Oh ! stay thy weary pinion, 
 Till gloomy Night's dominion 
 Upon the bosom of the stormy deep is ending ! 
 
 Eest awhile, wanderer ! Fold here thy tired wings ! 
 Fond hearts and true shall give welcome to thee : 
 Linger then, weary one ! linger till morning flings 
 Light, hope, and gladness, again o'er the sea ! 
 
 Sweet woodland bird! what wild and tameless 
 
 yearning 
 Hath led thee thus, all former pleasure spurning. 
 To seek an untried gladness, 
 And dare the tempest's madness ? 
 What new and eager hope within thy heart was 
 burning? 
 Wanderer, say, shall the hoary deep ever give 
 
 Joy like the joy of the flowery shore? 
 Turn, oh! thou weary one, back to thy home and live, 
 Brave thou the dangers of ocean no more ! 
 
 * Adapted to an ancient Danish air.
 
 40 THE LAND-BIRD AT SEA. 
 
 It was not well from home and kin to tear thee, 
 And bid thy Aving to unknown regions bear thee, — 
 To leave thy wood-clad mountains, 
 And silv'ry inland fountains, 
 For roaring waves and storms, whose rage shall 
 hardly spare thee. 
 Vain thine ambition, thou weary and lonely one ! 
 
 Back to thy kindred — return to thy home ! 
 Better thy calm course of peace be content to run, 
 Tempting no more the wild breeze and the foam! 
 
 1839.
 
 NEW FOREST LYRICS.
 
 A FOREST HOME. 
 
 ^^HEY call our dwelling lonely, but they err; 
 
 We have companions in the very winds 
 That wake the oak's rich murmurs, and that stir 
 
 The pine-tree's solemn branches ; on our minds 
 Fall images of beauty day by day ; 
 
 And sounds of wildest, natural music mould 
 Our inmost thoughts to peace, and steal away 
 
 All fancies that might make the heart grow cold. 
 
 The glory the autumnal sunset brings, 
 
 The shadows of the changeful clouds that sweep 
 Above the trees, as o'er the lyre's sweet strings 
 
 Runneth a master-hand, arousing deep, 
 Undream'd-of harmony ; the varied woods, 
 
 That like a wreath of triumph crown yon hill ; — 
 All these have power to cheer our sadder moods, 
 
 And make our hours of joy more joyful still. 
 
 Alas ! these words are all too cold and weak. 
 They tell but of our joy the lesser part ; 
 
 Would that a voice were given us to speak 
 The hidden music breathing at the heart,
 
 44 A FOREST HOME. 
 
 The thousand lovely thoughts that leap to life, 
 And, like sweet spirits, haunt this solitude, — 
 
 The freedom, the forgetfulness of strife, — 
 
 Pain soothed, grief hushed, and care almost subdued. 
 
 Deem not it is in vain that daily thus 
 
 The soul holds commune with the beautiful ; 
 Not only all the past had left with us 
 
 Of sorrow or of care, grows calm and dull. 
 Not this alone ; for, half unconsciously. 
 
 We gather up a blessed treasure-store 
 Of sights and sounds, whose beauty shall not die, 
 
 But haunt the secret heart for evermore ! 
 
 Our forest lonely ? There are kingly oaks 
 
 Lifting their rugged branches as of old, 
 Wlien in their shadow rang the battle-strokes 
 
 Of warrior-men, long ages dead and cold ; 
 The birch-tree waves its tresses in the breeze, 
 
 Th' unchanging pine defies the tempest's power, 
 The stately beech, a queen among the trees. 
 
 Flings from her moss-grown stems a golden shower. 
 
 There are shy deer, that glide across our sight, 
 Or pause with lifted neck and glowing eye ; 
 
 There are wild owls, that oftentimes at night, 
 From tree to tree give out their cheerful cry.
 
 A FOREST HOME. 45 
 
 Yea, many a liappy creature roimd us dwells, 
 And we have caught an echo of their bliss. 
 
 And learned to love their haunts, their woods, their 
 dells. 
 And e'en a home they deem so lone as this ! 
 
 At even-tide, Avhene'er the driving rain 
 
 Hides from our view the fair autumnal scene, 
 Rushing like white-robed ghosts in rapid train. 
 
 Then turn we from what is, to what has been. 
 Some gorgeous history of olden time 
 
 Unfolds its pageants to our gladdened sight, 
 Or poet's lay, with sweet returning chime, 
 
 Fills the hushed soul with beauty and delight. 
 
 Nor deem a home is lonely where a child — 
 
 A gay and hapjjy child — in joy doth move; 
 Earth has no other sound so glad and wild 
 
 As is an infant's laughter ; mirth and love 
 Beam from a young child's presence ; and 'tis well 
 
 (E'en by the pow'r Love gives to sympathize). 
 Our worldly wisdom for awhile to quell, 
 
 And look around us through a child's pure eyes. 
 
 And still, as Time glides on, we ever feel 
 
 'T was wisely done to make our dwelling here. 
 
 And take to heart such joys as cannot steal 
 
 Like shadows from our grasp ; more and more dear,
 
 46 A FOREST HOME. 
 
 And far more beautiful, doth Nature seem 
 To them who daily meet her face to face, 
 
 And learn from her the bliss, that, like a dream, 
 Robes common things with beauty and with grace. 
 
 November, 1843.
 
 A FOREST-HOME IN SUMMER.* 
 
 TT70ULD I might breathe the spirit of this hour 
 
 ' ' Into a sweet, glad song ! Would that my voice 
 Were gifted for awhile with blessed power 
 
 To move all them that heard it to rejoice ! 
 Oh ! if cold words were not, alas ! all vain 
 
 To picture forth a scene so gay, so fair. 
 How many a loving lip should bless my strain. 
 
 How many a kindling heart my rapture share ! 
 
 Around me is a bower of light-green leaves. 
 
 And almond-scented blossoms, white as snow; 
 What wondrous fragrance the warm air receives 
 
 From those light branches, waving to and fro ! 
 How, hour by hour, the soft round buds unclose 
 
 And shine in star-like beauty ! how the bee. 
 Embowered in these sweets, forsakes the rose. 
 
 And here, the live-long day, hums merrily ! 
 
 And those fair roses with their clustered bloom, — 
 The opening buds wearing their ruddy light 
 
 Of youth, that fadeth as they near their doom, 
 Till e'en the inmost leaf is marble-white; 
 
 » Published in ' Fraser," September, 1845.
 
 48 A FOREST HOME IN SUMMER. 
 
 The jessamine, sweet parasite ! is near; 
 
 The lavender breathes out its spicy scent ; 
 Sweetly the varied odours mingle here, 
 
 Like many sounds in richest concord blent. 
 
 Yonder the lime-tree, like a temple green. 
 
 Stands in its summer verdure ; who could say 
 With what a glorious light the sun, at e'en, 
 
 Enwraps that tree, when every yellow ray 
 Has left in gloom the neighb'ring oaks 1 — who tell 
 
 How gracefully its branches wave, whene'er 
 The all-awakening wind, with deepened swell. 
 
 Calls forth the marvellous beauty sleeping there "? 
 
 Far, far away, how calm and beautiful 
 
 The sunny distance seems ! — a land of hope. 
 And promise, and delight, wherein to cull 
 
 All lovely flow'rs of thought, and give free scope 
 To the soul's wandering fancies ; for it lies 
 
 Half-hidden, half-revealed, and I can gaze 
 Upon its purjile tints with gladdened eyes. 
 
 Catching soft glimpses through the floating haze. 
 
 Those nearer beechen woods, the sunshine loves 
 To vary their glad beauty, lingering 
 
 At eventide to flood the highest groves 
 
 With ruddy splendour. Many a busy wing
 
 A FOREST HOME IN SUMMER. 49 
 
 Throws a light passing shadow, many a sound 
 Of joyful music bursts upon the breeze, 
 
 The while those deer to yonder heathy mound 
 Glide softly from the shadow of the trees. 
 
 Near me the dial, with a wreath of flowers 
 
 Twining about its foot, all silently 
 Marketh the passage of the silent hours : 
 
 Calm monitor, that 'neath this summer sky, 
 Amid this woodland gladness, witness bears 
 
 Of things that here we else might oft forget, — 
 Of time, and change, and all the human cares 
 
 That, even here, have pow'r to reach us yet ! 
 
 I had not meant to breathe of aught but joy 
 
 In this my summer song; but now a thought 
 Of care has come to dim, yet not destroy. 
 
 The bliss my soul from God's own works had 
 caught. 
 To them I turn again, and o'er my mind 
 
 Their influence steals : all shades of sadness flee, 
 All earthly cares their galling chains unbind. 
 
 And my glad spirit as a child's is free 1 
 
 August, 1 844. 
 
 E
 
 A FOREST HOME DESERTED. 
 
 AT^EA ! sometimes o'er my memory float again 
 
 The earnest words of fondness and of praise, 
 I wove together in a single strain, 
 
 Toucliing the pleasant home of other days ; 
 And once again, as in departed hours, 
 
 The murmur of the pine-trees riseth clear. 
 Again I see the dial wrapt in flowers. 
 
 Again the oaks their moss-grown branches rear. 
 
 Yea, and while round me floateth richest scent. 
 
 Out-shaken from mine own clematis bowers ; 
 And while the lime-tree spreads a goodly tent. 
 
 And palest rose-leaves fall in quiet showers; 
 While the trim garden makes a brilliant show 
 
 Of bud and bloom, and fruit is on the tree. 
 And, at calm eventide, a crimson glow 
 
 About the giant pines clings lovingly; 
 
 While long, deep shadows o'er the lawn are spread. 
 Rising and falling with the gentle air. 
 
 And from the beechen-boughs above my head 
 
 The ring-dove's voice is heard; and here and there
 
 A FOREST HOME DESERTED. 51 
 
 A rapid wing flits by; while all is gay, 
 
 And bright, aud beautiful anear my home, — 
 
 There lies the forest, stretching far away. 
 
 With many a leaf-grown aisle, aud spire, and dome. 
 
 To yonder valley daily comes a troop 
 
 Of stately deer, to feed beside the rill ; 
 In yonder wood the purple fox-gloves droop. 
 
 The heather reddens all yon beech-crowned hill. 
 Like silent river-paths among the fern, 
 
 Now catching gleams of sun-light, now in shade, 
 Are grassy walks, with many a graceful turn. 
 
 Losing themselves at last in some green glade. 
 
 It was a calm and blessed place; and still 
 
 Low sounding in the depths of my fond heart 
 The forest voices waken at my Avill, 
 
 Their music from my soul shall ne'er depart. 
 I, at their sound, can dream I see again 
 
 My brilliant flowers. Alas ! I know that much 
 Is changed and saddened there, yet still remain 
 
 Beauty and joy, that change may never touch. 
 
 Within the house the saddest change hath come : 
 The walls that echoed back light laugh and jest. 
 
 Are now, from day to day, all cold aud dumb. 
 The chamber hallowed by an infant's rest, 
 
 e2
 
 52 A FOREST HOME DESERTED. 
 
 Where with a whispered blessing nightly bent 
 A fond young mother o'er her darling's bed, 
 
 Deeming that unseen angels came and went, 
 
 To shield from harm that bright and sinless head ; 
 
 Even that chamber now is damp and cold, 
 
 And dreary silence fiUeth all the place 
 Wliere merry voices often rose of old; 
 
 No longer beameth there a child's fair face. 
 Her frequent laughter and her merry speech. 
 
 The delicate music of her tiny feet, 
 Have left those chambers silent, all and each 
 
 Sadder for that past joy so wondrous sweet. 
 
 Hushed is the room where music rose at night. 
 
 For fairy dancer tripping on the floor; 
 While through the window streamed the moon's free 
 light. 
 
 And words of love were spoken o'er and o'er; 
 Till, wearied out at last, the happy child, 
 
 Her mother's hand upon her golden hair. 
 Knelt, and in accents serious and mild, 
 
 Lisped forth a few short words of simple prayer. 
 
 There, once the poet's earnest songs were sung. 
 And there the poet's earnest heart was stirred: 
 
 There, to the poet's eye, a gladness clung 
 
 Round common sights; and music, all unheard,
 
 A FOREST HOME DESERTED. 53 
 
 Or all unmarked by other ears, was rife ; 
 
 Now singing in the pines, now pealing deep 
 Among the dark old woods. The poet's life 
 
 Was lovely there as an enchanted sleep. 
 
 And now in that dear home, no sign remains 
 
 To show to stranger eyes the bliss we knew; 
 The frequent stoi-m hath dimmed the window-panes, 
 
 And weeds have spread where sweetest flow'rs once 
 blew. 
 The trailing plants, earth-soiled, hang downward low, 
 
 The untrimmed lawn is strewn with withered 
 leaves, 
 Green mosses o'er the untrod doorstep grow, 
 
 His light web, undisturbed, the spider weaves. 
 
 The crocus-cups among the matted grass. 
 
 Peeping in spring about the old pines' root. 
 Shall tempt the cottage children as they pass. 
 
 Where, crushed beneath my baby's fairy foot, 
 The starry primroses were thickly spread. 
 
 Where her small hand among the daisies strayed. 
 And where the sight of swinging bluebells led 
 
 Her steps and mine, beneath the oaken shade ; 
 
 We shall be there no more ! for we have found 
 In scenes still fair, (yet far less fair than those,)
 
 54 A FOREST HOME DESERTED. 
 
 Another home ; and other ties have bound 
 Our hearts, and our life's current calmly flows. 
 
 Yet prize we still the wealth we gathered there, 
 Of sweet remembrances — a blessed store ! — 
 
 Still speak with love of that dear home, though ne'er 
 Our eyes may rest upon its beauty more. 
 
 October 11th, 1845.
 
 THE SUN-DIAL. 
 
 QURE we witness, day by day, 
 
 Proof enough that all things gay 
 From our sight must pass away ! 
 The cistus' tender flow'rs, at morn 
 In their pearly beauty born, 
 Ere the evening shrink and die, 
 Falling earthward silently. 
 The rose, whose inmost dewy cup 
 The early sunbeams lifted up, 
 Unveiling many a ruddy streak, 
 Lovely as a child's fair cheek. 
 At nightfall gleameth pale and wan, 
 Like the cheek of a dying man. 
 Gently, with a rustling sound, 
 Shrivell'd lime-leaves reach the ground; 
 Fairy knells, that tell how soon 
 Passeth now the year's glad noon. 
 Flowers we loved have come and gone,- 
 Miss we not full many a one 
 Whose sweet life, alas ! is done 1 
 Feel we not a cooler breath 
 Steal the oaken boughs beneath 1
 
 56 THE SUN-DIAL, 
 
 See we not the wood-crown'd height 
 Changing in our daily sight ? 
 Ah ! we cannot, if we will, 
 Dream that time is standing still. 
 Well we know the summer hours 
 Wither like their own frail flowers ; 
 We can number what have past, 
 Each one swifter than the last. 
 
 Dial ! here we need not thee. 
 Marking ofl" our hours of glee, 
 With thine iron-finger's shade 
 On the iron index laid. 
 Faded blossom, wither'd leaf. 
 Mix with joy enough of grief, 
 Warning us that time is brief : 
 Gloomy heart must his have been 
 Who })laced thee in this sylvan scene. 
 Gentle grief is that which breathes 
 From the cistus' dying wreaths — 
 From the rose, whose faded bloom 
 Is like the carving on a tomb — 
 From the lime-leaves, as they fall 
 With murmur faintly musical. 
 Calmly we can bear to see 
 Changes sad as these may be, — 
 Calmly see the flowers decay,
 
 THE SUN-DIAL. 57 
 
 Perchance because we've past our May, 
 And we are alter'd, e'en as they ! 
 We know, too, they shall come again. 
 With springtide sun and April rain ; 
 And e'en in this we sympathize, 
 Trusting all in us that dies 
 Of youth and joy shall bloom once more, 
 When we land on Eden's shore : 
 Therefore are we calm at heart, 
 Though the beautiful depart. 
 
 Stern, cold monitor ! with thee 
 
 We have no such sympathy. 
 
 Noting but the hours that run 
 
 Gaily in the laughing sun, 
 
 Never heeding those that flow 
 
 When heaven is dark and earth below; 
 
 The same through days, and months, and years. 
 
 Spite of our joys, and hopes, and fears, — 
 
 Spite of our changes and our tears ; 
 
 Sullen, save when skies are fair. 
 
 Thou hast in our love no share. 
 
 We have planted at thy foot 
 Trailing rose and ivy root, — 
 We have brought the wild, red vine. 
 Hereafter round thy base to shine.
 
 58 THE SUN-DIAL. 
 
 Willing that some of Nature's grace 
 Should fit thee for so fair a place. 
 Yet the thought will still return — 
 Thou art some sepulchral urn, 
 A sorrowful, cold monument. 
 Of hours of gladness long since spent — 
 Hours of sunshine that are fled — 
 Leaves and blossoms past and dead. 
 
 Haply some might plead for thee 
 That it were as well to see, 
 'Mid all this mutability. 
 Something that remains behind, 
 Spite of winter's rain and wind. 
 Have we not full many an oak 
 Unbow'd by winter's frequent stroke, 
 A witness of enduring life, 
 Through wet and cold, decay and strife ? 
 Boast we not full many a pine, 
 Alway green through storm and shine ? 
 And over all the blessed sky 
 Smilcth on unchangeably. 
 Though clouds and shadows pass between 
 ' Us and its all-lovely sheen. 
 
 When from this beloved spot 
 We depart, returning not, —
 
 THE SUN-DIAL. 59 
 
 Weeping Avhen we name its name, — 
 Thou alone wilt be the same. 
 The fondly tended flowers will fade, 
 Some spell of change on all be laid ; 
 But thou, all-cheerless then, and sad, 
 As now thou art, though we be glad. 
 Wilt bear no sign for other eyes 
 Of aught we've done, or gay or wise. 
 Of aught that made our dwelling bright. 
 Our love, our laughter, and delight. 
 The selfsame tale will still be told 
 Thou tellest now, and saidst of old ; 
 No word of care's dull bondage riven, 
 Of blessed thoughts and visions given 
 To lift the spirit nearer heaven, 
 Nought of the peace we here have won, 
 Only that ' Time is hastening on ! ' 
 
 August, 1844.
 
 A WINTEK SUNSET. 
 
 TO A CHILD. 
 
 BRIGHTEST, fairest, dearest, 
 Lift thy happy eyes, 
 To watch the wondrous beauty 
 
 Streaming from the skies ! 
 See our pines' thick branches 
 
 Catch the evening light, 
 The ruddy stems all gleaming, 
 
 Beautiful and bright ; 
 And the brave old forest 
 
 Is like a temple wide, 
 With rows of goodly pillars 
 
 Standing side by side. 
 Aisle and mossy archway, 
 
 Dome and leafy spire 
 Are redd'ning in the glory 
 
 Of the sunset fire. 
 
 How the purple distance 
 Seems a laud too fair
 
 A WINTER SUNSET. 01 
 
 To harbour in its shadows 
 
 The homes of want and care ! 
 And how the wind's calm whispers 
 
 As they come and go, 
 Sound like fairy voices, 
 
 Mystical and low. 
 Hear them sweetly singing. 
 
 In the pine-tree's height, 
 A music clear and thrilling 
 
 To tell this hour's delight. 
 Brightest, fairest, dearest. 
 
 Stay beside me here. 
 And let that blessed murmur 
 
 Fall upon thine ear ! 
 
 It is a scene of glory, 
 
 And yet my thoughtful heart 
 Turns thence to thee my sweet one, 
 
 Most joyful as thou art ! 
 From clouds of wondrous beauty, 
 
 From sunset's rosy streak, 
 I turn to watch the colour 
 
 Upon thy soft round cheek. 
 From clear and thrilling music 
 
 Of pine-bough and of wind, — 
 The murmur that is stirring 
 
 E'en now thine infant mind,—
 
 62 A WINTER SUNSET. 
 
 From this my heart turns fondly 
 
 To music of its own, 
 The mother-love still singing 
 
 In a quiet undertone. 
 
 HoAv changed thou art, my bright one ! 
 
 Thy cheek was once so pale, 
 Thy glance so meek and timid, 
 
 My hope was like to fail. 
 Was it the noisy city 
 
 That made thy young soul pine? 
 Alas ! its endless turmoil 
 
 Pressed wearily on mine. 
 'Tis Nature's own free spirit 
 
 That breathes about thee now, 
 Thou mov'st in shadows only 
 
 Beneath the forest bough. 
 'Tis Nature's own free spirit 
 
 That shineth in thy face, — 
 Thank God ! ' our lot hath fallen 
 
 In a goodly place.' 
 
 Oh, fair and happy creature. 
 
 Child of my dearest love, 
 I deem thine eyes not vainly 
 
 O'er scenes of beauty rove. 
 I deem thy mirthful temper. 
 
 Thy free and frequent smile,
 
 A WINTER SUNSET. 63 
 
 Thy love that shows its being 
 
 In many a graceful wile, — 
 All these bright gifts and blessings 
 
 Are thine, because thy soul 
 Feels Nature's gentle teaching 
 
 All day without control. 
 
 Brightest, fairest, dearest. 
 
 Many a time of old 
 I've feared to tell my feelings 
 
 To hearts that might be cold, 
 But now to thee they're flowing 
 
 In free and rapid stream, — 
 There's sympathy between us 
 
 That others little dream ! 
 Other ears might weary 
 
 Of fancies wild and weak, 
 But thou, with patient fondness, 
 
 Smil'st to hear me speak. 
 
 Brightest, fairest, dearest. 
 
 Many a dreaming Bard 
 Hath had his Muse to cheer him 
 
 When his fate was hard. 
 There are Muses plenty 
 
 Sought throughout all times. 
 With charms of voice and feature 
 
 Declared in lengthy rhymes.
 
 64 A WINTER SUNSET. 
 
 I leave beside their fountain 
 Uncalled the mighty Nine, — 
 
 Let others seek such Muses, 
 Thou alone art mine ! 
 
 Turn to me a moment. 
 
 Gayest, sweetest childj 
 How this stillness calmeth 
 
 Thy spirits, erst so wild; 
 How thy face hath borrowed 
 
 A mimicry of thought, — 
 Perchance a passing shadow 
 
 From thy Mother's caught ! 
 How thy dear voice lispeth 
 
 Words of joyful praise. 
 To tell me how thou lovest 
 
 The sunset's gorgeous blaze ! 
 Thank God for all the beauty 
 
 Of sky, and wood, and lea, 
 But more than all, a thousand-fold. 
 
 Thank God, my child, for thee ! 
 
 January, 1844.
 
 A VISION OF HOAR-FEOST. 
 
 I SAID, ' Oh ! time of frost and rain, 
 No charm thou wear'st for me ; 
 Nought, till summer comes again, 
 
 Is beautiful to see ! 
 The snow, albeit without a stain. 
 Dims the visions of my brain. 
 And brings me thoughts funereal. 
 When it lieth, like a pall. 
 Veiling earth's sweet, friendly face. 
 
 And a mournful silence fills 
 Every familiar face ; 
 
 And the hollows of the hills, 
 Where the streams in summer-tide 
 Like happy living creatures glide, 
 Are still, and cold, and voiceless now, 
 Save when dreary tempests blow 
 With a fitful icy breath. 
 Sounding far, yet sad as death ! 
 
 ' Why is Autumn called most sad 1 
 He is like a king 
 
 F
 
 06 A VISION OF HOAR-FROST. 
 
 In a robe of triumph clad, 
 
 Gayer than the spring ! 
 
 In his woods the trees are dight 
 
 With a splendour rich and bright, 
 
 From their bouahs there fall in showers 
 
 Leaves of warmer hue than flowers. 
 
 Down upon the earth they fall, 
 
 Frequent drops of living gold, 
 Like some fountain magical 
 
 In Arabian groves of old, 
 Dropping with a pleasant sound 
 Where the grass was sun-embrown'd. 
 The winds that herald him breathe low, 
 And wake new glories as they go ; 
 Merrily the brooklets leap. 
 And the streams are wide and deep. 
 
 ' But in days of frost and snow, 
 Wlien the streams are still. 
 
 And the woods no longer glow, 
 And the air is chill, 
 
 I could weep for all the gloom. 
 
 Like a mourner at a tomb. 
 
 Earth's heart grieveth like my own 
 
 For the gladness that is flown. 
 
 Dreary season, saddest time. 
 Gloomy days of storm and rain.
 
 A VISION OF HOAR-FROST. 67 
 
 Binding even song's glad chime 
 With a weary, leaden chain ! 
 When I hear of lands far hence, 
 Where the summer's influence 
 Burnetii through the livelong year, 
 I could weep that I am here, 
 And my inmost heart is stirr'd. 
 Pining like a captive bird.' 
 
 Thus my fretful spirit said 
 
 Only yesterday ; 
 Now those darker thoughts are dead. 
 
 Now my heart is gay ! 
 Oh, the pomp mine eyes have seen ! 
 Oh, the glory that hath been ! 
 Every branch and every spray 
 Wore a radiant garb to-day ; 
 Not its veil of summer green, 
 
 And yet as beautiful a dress, 
 White, and dazzling in its sheen, 
 
 Wondrous in its loveliness; 
 And the sunbeams, gliding through 
 Knotted oak and beechen bough, 
 Made the upland's woody height 
 Seem a region of delight ; 
 The very silence made it seem 
 Less like truth than some fair dream ! 
 F 2
 
 68 A VISION OF HOAR FROST. 
 
 When, by noonday sunshine kiss'd, 
 
 The splendour faded slow, 
 Among the trees a purple mist 
 
 Floated to and fro — 
 Floated like a wandering thought, 
 Whose beauty from on high is caught, 
 Yet, cleaving still to earthly things, 
 Unwonted radiance o'er them flings. 
 Though the glory might not stay. 
 
 Not in vain for me it shone ; 
 I have won a joy to-day, 
 
 Though the pomp so soon was gone. 
 Now I know how fair to see 
 Winter, the long-scorn'd, may be. 
 Robed and garlanded she came. 
 Room in my deep heart to claim ; 
 Yea, she came in pomp and pride, 
 And the portal open'd wide? 
 
 1843.
 
 SPRING FLOWERS. 
 
 T^HERE are flowers round about me, 
 
 As I sit beneath the lime, 
 Sweet, lowly things outbreathing 
 The breath of olden time. 
 
 They look so kindly upward, 
 I greet them as my friends ; 
 
 And my mind to each small blossom 
 Such holy beauty l^nds ; 
 
 That, as if to living creatures, 
 Whene'er my glance may fall 
 
 On the blue-bells or the daisies, 
 I say, " God bless you all !" 
 
 Go forth, my little daughter. 
 
 The mid-day heat is o'er. 
 Go forth among the flowers. 
 
 And gather thee a store ! 
 
 The little fairy speedwell, 
 With its merry eyes of blue. 
 
 How well I can remember 
 Green lanes wherein it grew !
 
 70 SPUING FLOWERS. 
 
 The daisies, — see liow gaily, 
 Like little stars they shine; 
 
 The darlings of thy childhood, 
 As once they were of mine. 
 
 The blue-bell, — when I see it, 
 My thoughts fly back once more 
 
 To a pine- wood, whose recesses 
 With its bloom were purpled o'er. 
 
 Go forth, dear child, and pluck them. 
 And bring thy spoils to me ; 
 
 Thou lov'st their gay, bright colours. 
 Though thou see'st not what I see. 
 
 *&* 
 
 To me they bring remembrance 
 
 Of many long-past springs. 
 They are types to me, and shadows 
 
 Of yet more lovely things. 
 
 They have sprung in joyous beauty 
 From the dull and wintry earth ; 
 
 Where all was dead and dreary. 
 
 They have brought their new-born mirth. 
 
 Their stems are weak and fragile ; 
 
 To the lightest breath they bend ; 
 Yet their coming is a token 
 
 That Death is not our end.
 
 SPRING FLOWERS. 71 
 
 Not more of love than wisdom 
 Was theirs, who round the tomb, 
 
 First brouylit, in faith far-seeing, 
 Gay flow'rs to bud and bloom. 
 
 On ev'ry leaf is written 
 
 A SAveet, consoling thought ; 
 The hope of life, upspriuging 
 
 From Death, by them is brought. 
 
 My child, my happy darling, 
 
 Go, pluck me many an one. 
 Though thou'rt the gayest flower 
 
 That smiles beneath the sun. 
 
 Go forth, thou blessed Bein^, 
 And bring thy sweet spoils here, 
 
 Though I need no other token 
 Of Heav'n when thou art near. 
 
 I need no other token 
 
 Than thy fair and happy face. 
 Through which on me are beaming 
 
 God's mercy and God's grace ! 
 
 May, 184i.
 
 A SPRING CAROL. 
 
 rPHE spring's free sunshine falleth 
 
 Like balm upon the heart; 
 And care and fear, dull shadows ! 
 
 Are hastening to depart. 
 Oh ! time of resurrection 
 
 From sadness unto bliss; 
 From death, decay, and silence. 
 
 To loveliness like this. 
 Oh! season of rejoicing. 
 
 That fills my heart and brain 
 With visions such as never, 
 
 Methought, should come again. 
 Oh ! blessed time, renewing 
 
 The light that childhood wore; 
 Till thought, and hope, and feeling, 
 
 Grow earnest as of yore ! 
 
 The young green lime bends o'er me, 
 Through its boughs the sunbeams pass, 
 
 Making here and there bright islands 
 'Mid the shadows on the grass. 
 
 The butterfly is wending 
 
 Its way from flower to flower.
 
 A SPRING CAROL. 73 
 
 Like a freed and haj^py spirit — 
 
 Meet emblem of such hour ! 
 Loud sings the hidden cuckoo 
 
 In his bower of leaves all day, 
 And many a voice of gladness 
 
 Is answering his lay. 
 The rose is opening slowly, 
 
 The lilac's scented cones 
 Are musical till nightfall, 
 
 With the wild bees' drowsy tones. 
 
 The oaks, moss-grown and aged, 
 
 How beautiful they seem; 
 With glory wrapt about them, 
 
 Like the glory of a dream ! 
 How lovingly the sunshine 
 
 Clings round the tufts of green ; 
 And all is fair and joyful 
 
 As if winter had not been ! 
 Far off, the furze is blooming, 
 
 With spaces, far and near. 
 Of lawn, where now are straying 
 
 Large herds of graceful deer; 
 And turfy pathways wending 
 
 Through sunshine and through shade, 
 And wooded hills enfolding 
 
 This lovely forest glade.
 
 74 A SPRING CAROL. 
 
 I turn, and see the fruit-trees 
 
 With blossoms pink and wliite, 
 Like gems of Eastern story 
 
 In the gardens of delight; 
 And strewn like fairy favours 
 
 Are flowers of every hue 
 Among the grasses shining, 
 
 Red, yellow, white, and blue. 
 The pines, so tall and regal. 
 
 Their shado^vy branches wave. 
 Like plume-crowned pillars standing 
 
 Round a mighty monarch's grave. 
 Less sorrowful than stately 
 
 Those dark unbending trees 
 Give out a silv'ry murmur 
 
 To the gentle evening breeze. 
 
 In this season of life's triumph 
 
 Man's spirit hath a share. 
 It can see the grave unclosing, 
 
 Yet feel all ends not there. 
 It smiles to see the conquest 
 
 Of beauty o'er decay. 
 With the merry lark up-soaring 
 
 It greets the dawning day. 
 Not vainly by such gladness 
 
 The poet's heart is stirred,
 
 A SPRING CAROL. 75 
 
 These sights and sounds not vainly 
 
 By him are seen and heard. 
 All fears that crowded o'er him, 
 
 Like clouds asunder roll, 
 Spring's hope and joyful promise 
 
 Sink deep into his soul. 
 
 May, 1844.
 
 PRIMROSES. 
 
 npHANK God! though we be prone to grieve, 
 -■- Small things can bring us joy; 
 And holy feelings, planted deep, 
 Though change or care may bid them sleep, 
 No time can e'er destroy. 
 
 Dear friend ! thy thought was but to give 
 
 This pale and scented flower, 
 Some token of the spring to show; 
 Thou gavest me more than thou canst know — 
 
 A charm of wondrous power ! 
 
 My lips are trembling now with prayer, 
 
 My eyes are full of tears ; 
 The blessed thoughts that once were mine 
 Came back with this small gift of thine. 
 
 Pure as in childhood's years. 
 
 Again I wander as of old. 
 
 Or watch the calm spring sky 
 Through roofing boughs look down on me, 
 Kneeling beneath some tented tree. 
 
 When none but God is nigh.
 
 PRIMROSES. 77 
 
 A whisper runs along the grass, 
 
 A tremor of delight; 
 The tassell'd hazel to and fro 
 Is waving round me as I go; 
 And now the river, singing low, 
 
 Has flash'd upon my sight. 
 
 Again, I feel my heart o'erflow 
 
 With charity and love. 
 And know that earth is link'd with heaven. 
 Since to her flow'rs is beauty given. 
 
 Like the sweet stars above. 
 
 Again my mother's whisper falls 
 
 Upon mine eager ear; 
 Sweet words of counsel or of praise, 
 Returning from those long past days 
 
 In echoes soft, yet clear. 
 
 Thank God, who gives to lowly things 
 
 Such sweet, resistless power! 
 I feel that highest, holiest thought. 
 To new existence may be brought 
 By ministry, unknown, unsought, 
 
 Of one pale simple flower ! 
 
 February, 1844,
 
 LYNDHUKST HILL. 
 
 T HAVE won a joy to-day 
 
 -•- Such as shall not pass away, — 
 
 Such as shall be mine for aye. 
 
 Round me was a sylvan scene, 
 O'er me clouds of pearly sheen 
 Islanded the blue serene. 
 
 Faces that I loved were near, 
 Voices I rejoiced to hear 
 Sounded gaily in mine ear. 
 
 Greenest boughs were overhead. 
 Greenest turf beneath my tread, 
 Hands beloved my footsteps led. 
 
 Change and care may come, yet still 
 I can summon, when I will, 
 Visions of that Forest Hill. 
 
 Often in mine hours of pain. 
 
 Those green boughs shall wave again. 
 
 Breathing calmness on my brain.
 
 LYNDHURST HILL, 79 
 
 I can close my aching eyes, 
 And again that scene shall rise, 
 Loving faces, sunny skies. 
 
 Yea ! whatever be our lot. 
 Hours like these are ne'er forgot, 
 Joy like this departeth not. 
 
 Thus, as year by year flows by, 
 Though, perchance, some blessings die, 
 Some are ours unchangeably. 
 
 Happy memories of the past 
 Sunshine o'er our path may cast, 
 Bringing comfort to the last. 
 
 Times and seasons, as they roll. 
 Over these have no control. 
 For their home is in the soul. 
 
 September, 1844.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS.
 
 TO A CHILD. 
 
 IVT Y happy child ! I smile to see 
 
 How wisdom, I have sought so long, 
 Hath come spontaneously to thee. 
 
 In thine unconsciousness of wrong ; 
 How, wheresoe'er thine eyes may stray. 
 
 Their pure, unclouded sight can find 
 A something beautiful or gay, — 
 
 A joy, to which mine eyes are blind. 
 
 The red leaves dancing in the breeze. 
 
 The falling of the autumn rain. 
 The solemn waving of the trees. 
 
 For us are beautiful in vain ; 
 But thou, vfith. better wisdom far. 
 
 Canst find ncAv joy in every change; 
 Contented with the things that are, 
 
 Thy wishes ask no farther range. 
 
 And if they're sent to thee alone, 
 
 Or if they come alike to all. 
 Thou carest not ; but mak'st thine own 
 
 The blessings that around thee fall. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 TO A CHILD. 
 
 The sunshine and the breath of heaven, 
 The beauty of the field and wood, 
 
 To thee these blessed gifts are given, — 
 Enough for thee, thou know'st them good. 
 
 I love to cast all cares aside, 
 
 And, calming down each hope and fear, 
 To watch the smiles of light that glide 
 
 Across thy face when none are near. 
 And think that glories hid from eyes 
 
 Long dimmed with mists of grief and ill, 
 Before thy holier vision rise, 
 
 Clad in their vernal beauty still. 
 
 Young stranger in the world of care, 
 
 Keep, keep thy keen unclouded sight ; 
 No thoughts of ours are half so fair 
 
 As those which give thy soul delight. 
 Our laughter is an empty sound 
 
 To tliat clear, silvery tone of thine, — 
 Our very hopes are check'd and bound, 
 
 Our thoughts in vain for freedom pine. 
 
 In thee so lovely life doth seem, 
 So rich in stores of happy thought, 
 
 So calm, so sweet, that I could deem 
 All joys men feel must needs be brought
 
 TO A CHILD. 85 
 
 From far-off shores of infancy ; 
 
 Borne onward o'er the wastes of life 
 Like bursts of music o'er the sea, 
 
 Dulled, hut still heard amid the strife. 
 
 My child ! I blessed thee at thy birth. 
 
 Yet knew not then how much had come 
 Of happiness, and love, and mirth. 
 
 With thee, to haunt my heart and home. 
 I dream'd not thy young life could shed 
 
 Such joy and beauty upon mine, 
 Nor I, by watching thee, be led 
 
 To better thoughts of things di\'ine. 
 
 1844.
 
 LONELY THOUGHTS. 
 
 T KNOW I spoke uuwisely, and the Avords 
 
 -*- Which tell the pangs of lone, impassioned thought, 
 
 Grate harshly on thy milder spirit's chords; 
 
 And thou hast heard, yet comprehended nought 
 
 Of all the bitterness which overflowed, — 
 
 The Marah hoarsely moaning from its dark abode. 
 
 Yet blame me not, or else with pity blame ! 
 My soul was wearied with its daring flight; 
 Dim were the shadoAvy regions whence it came, 
 Dreary the things which there appalled its sight. 
 AAvhile I seemed without a hope or guide, 
 As if the Angel moved no longer at my side. 
 
 I questioned of death's mysteries; I turned 
 Mine eyes to watch the steadfast stars. In vain 
 I asked if the deep love wherewith I yearned. 
 Should be, like them, immortal; if — my chain 
 Unloosed — my pining spirit should be free 
 To bathe in their pure light throughout eternity.
 
 LONELY THOUGHTS. 87 
 
 My heart thus questioned them, my straining eyes 
 Thus sought to read an answer; but the clouds 
 Came swiftly back upon the tempest's sighs, 
 Veiling the lovely orbs of heav'n, like shrouds. 
 As o'er the last pale star I saw them roll, 
 I felt the darkness sink like death upon my soul. 
 
 Then turned I to the everlasting hills, 
 
 Asking if heroes in their valleys born 
 
 Could perish, while their name far regions fills; 
 
 And the wild echoes flung me back in scorn 
 
 Mine earnest words, and huge old forest-trees 
 
 Sent forth a mocking whisper on the damp, chill breeze. 
 
 I asked the streams, through ages rolling on 
 Triumphantly, and with a voice of mirth, 
 I called on men whose undimmed minds have shone 
 In days long fled, chasing the gloom of earth; 
 I questioned madly of the sea and sky. 
 And none gave answer to my spirit's bitter cry ! 
 • 
 
 It was a time of anguish. Chide me not. 
 For there are hours of darkness for the mind. 
 When, all its highest destinies forgot. 
 It struggles vainly, other rest to find, — 
 Thus learning from its very power to be 
 More childlike in its faith and true humility.
 
 88 LONELY THOUGHTS. 
 
 Nay, do not leave me. Let me clasp thy hand. 
 Press doAvn thy lips upon my burning brow, 
 And let us commune of the Unseen Land, 
 Of blossoms springing from a fadeless bough; 
 Of rivers flowing on eternally. 
 Console me with the thought of immortality ! 
 
 And soothe me with some dear old household hymn, 
 That all sweet dreams and hopes of childhood's days 
 May throng around, and grow less faint and dim, 
 Awakened from their slumber by thy lays. 
 Pour forth the low, rich murmurs ! ^liat if tears 
 Should flow the while, calmly as oft in vanished years ? 
 
 Yea ! let them flow; and if thy dear voice pause 
 
 In such emotion as I well may share, 
 
 My inmost heart shall bless thee for the cause, 
 
 Thy name be blended with mine own in prayer ; 
 
 For in unselfish human love, I read 
 
 A promise of eternal things, — the hope I need. 
 
 Thou canst not know, when outer things are still, 
 When smiles are on the lip, and words are gay. 
 What tameless thoughts and sudden fears may thrill 
 A heart like mine; and none might know there lay 
 Far depths of thought and feeling, unrevealed. 
 Save when the hidden fount is thus by storms un- 
 sealed.
 
 LONELY THOUGHTS. 89 
 
 Then speak thou holy words and true, that tell 
 Of Him, the meek though Mighty One, who dwelt 
 Upon this changeful earth e'en as we dwell; 
 And we will weep to hear what love He felt 
 For weak and faithless souls, drawing them back 
 By gentle signs to tread once more the heav'nward 
 track. 
 
 1839.
 
 TO MY CHILD. 
 
 SLEEP, baby mine ! 'tis joy enough 
 To watch thy quiet rest, 
 And see the smiles that come and go, 
 
 And the heaving of thy breast. 
 Sleep, darling ! for thy low, soft breath 
 
 Is musical to me ; 
 Those sweet mysterious smiles of thine 
 
 It cheers my heart to see. 
 I feel that our humanity 
 
 Is still a holy thing, 
 So blest the thoughts that in my soul. 
 
 When thou art near me, spring. 
 I feel a sense of joyful peace, 
 
 As if an Eye divine 
 Were watching thee, with holier love, 
 
 Yet scarce more deep, than mine. 
 
 There lies outspread before my sight 
 A page of choicest lore, — 
 
 I turn my eyes to thee, my child. 
 And I can read no more.
 
 TO MY CHILD. 01 
 
 More wisdom far than books can teach, 
 
 My loving heart can trace, 
 In the light of innocence that beams 
 
 So calmly from thy face. 
 Oh ! child of many an earnest prayer ! 
 
 Oh ! mystery of life ! 
 Hereafter must that face be dim 
 
 With clouds of passion-strife ! 
 Can taint of sin be hid with thee. 
 
 Oh, sweet and folded flower 1 
 Can sorrow over such as thou. 
 
 In after days, have power ? 
 
 Sleep on, my baby ! thou art now 
 
 A fair yet solemn sight. 
 More pure in thine unconsciousness. 
 
 Than we, in wisdom's light. 
 My heart is full of anxious hope, 
 
 My cheek is wet with tears, 
 I know what change must pass o'er thee, 
 
 My child, in coming years. 
 Yet not with ignorance of ill 
 
 Need innocence depart. 
 In the calmness of a holy faith 
 
 Is shelter for the heart. 
 
 And thou, beloved, in those changed days, 
 Mayst still serenely smile.
 
 92 TO MY CHILD. 
 
 Thy spirit rising far above 
 
 All worklliness and guile. 
 God keep thee, baby, then as now, 
 
 Whatever may betide ! 
 God keep thy heart in peace, my child, 
 
 His angel be thy guide ! 
 
 December, 1842.
 
 THE CAGED LARK. 
 
 TTOUR by hour the dreary day 
 -^-'- Slowly, sadly wore away; 
 Heavy drops of ceaseless rain 
 Beating 'gainst the window-jjanej 
 Bitter winds with gusty sound 
 Mournfully were wailing round, 
 Till at last the outward gloom 
 Seem'd to fill my quiet room, 
 And I look'd with tearful eyes 
 Upward to the weeping skies. 
 Now and then a few quick feet 
 Pass'd along the village street, 
 Now and then a child's shrill cry 
 Mingled with the wind's deep sigh. 
 Many a thought of other days — 
 Fairer scenes and brighter Mays — 
 Fill'd my discontented heart : 
 I, who oft had taken part 
 In the gladness of the spring ; 
 I, whose joy it was to sing 
 Of the earth's awakening
 
 94 THE CAGED LARK. 
 
 From lier ice-bound wintry sleep, 
 Now could only pine and weep, 
 For my soul grew faint and dull, 
 Lontjincr for the beautiful. 
 
 ' Spring was wont of old,' I said, 
 ' Blessings on my path to shed. 
 Once her skies were all serene, 
 All her fields of richest green. 
 All her flowers of loveliest sheen. 
 Then the hidden cuckoo sang. 
 Till the leafy greenwood rang 
 With his lay, and thousands more 
 Sounding till the day was o'er ; 
 Nor were even hush'd at night 
 Songs and echoes of delight. 
 Then, where'er my feet might tread, 
 Starlike flowers were gaily spread : 
 Studded were the banks and fields 
 With the primrose' yellow shields. 
 Cowslip-bells and violets small 
 Blossom'd ere the grass was tall, 
 And the murmur of the bee 
 Ever rose unceasingly, 
 Where the scented furze unroll'd 
 Banners fair of green and gold. 
 Then the bright-wing'd butterfly.
 
 THE CAGED LARK. 95 
 
 Like a dream of joy, flew by, 
 Or awhile in quiet hung 
 Where the tufted harebells swung. 
 All of old was bright and glad, — 
 Now, alas ! how changed and sad ! 
 Now the skies are cold and grey, 
 And throughout the livelong day, 
 Prison'd in my room, I hear 
 Not a sound of joyous cheer — 
 Nothing but the ceaseless rain 
 Beating 'gainst the window-pane. 
 And the wind, with hollow tone. 
 Round my dwelling making moan. 
 Few and pale the leaves I see 
 Budding on yon chesnut-tree. 
 Here and there, within the bound 
 Of my plot of garden-ground, 
 Some stray flower of fairest dye 
 Half unveils its timid eye, 
 Till the storm-blast, rushing by. 
 Blights its charms, but half-reveal'd. 
 And its early doom is sealed. 
 Spring-time — season sad and drear, 
 Once the gayest of the year, 
 I am alter'd e'en as thou ! 
 Pain hath left upon my brow 
 Shadows that may ne'er depart ;
 
 96 THE CAGED LARK. 
 
 Care hath brooded at my heart, 
 Till I feel I cannot be 
 E'er again in spirit free. 
 Now I have no spells to raise 
 Thoughts that cheer'd my brighter days ; 
 Other visions life hath brought, 
 Sadder lore than once I sought.' 
 
 Thus, in lonely hour, I said. 
 Half believing joy hath fled, 
 And my own bright hopes were dead. 
 Suddenly, while still I spoke, 
 Blithest music near me woke, 
 Piercing through the gloomy air, 
 Like a voice of praise and prayer. 
 Though the wind blew loud and shrill, 
 Yet it had not power to chill 
 Gladness such as fill'd that strain ; 
 And the shower beat in vain 
 Eound the prison, where had birth 
 Those rich sounds of dauntless mirth. 
 Well I knew the strains I heard 
 Came from an imprison'd bird, 
 One whose nature was to cleave 
 Freest air from morn till eve, 
 Prone to greet with fearless wing. 
 Sunshine and the breath of spring.
 
 THE CAGED LARK. 97 
 
 o> 
 
 Yet, though men had done him wrong 
 
 Still arose his cheerful sonc: ; 
 
 Still, although the clouds were dark, 
 
 Wildly sang that captive lark. 
 
 Quickly faded the distress 
 
 Of mine hours of loneliness. 
 
 Near me seem'd to pass once more 
 
 Lovely things I'd seen of yore ; 
 
 Sense of all the love and joy 
 
 Time and change could ne'er destroy 
 
 Thoughts of eyes whose loving light 
 
 Still could make my dwelling bright, 
 
 O'er my spirit rush'd again, 
 
 At the bidding of that strain ; 
 
 And my humbled head I bent, 
 
 Heedful of the lesson sent 
 
 To rebuke my discontent. 
 
 Brightly falls the sunshine now 
 On each blossom-laden bou^h. 
 Every moss-grown apple-tree 
 Is a lovely sight to see, 
 With its bloom in clusters fair 
 Opening to the sunny air. 
 Breezes, stealing round about. 
 Shake the hidden fragrance out, 
 Flinging on the ground below 
 
 H
 
 98 THE CAGED LARK. 
 
 Frequent showers of mimic snow. 
 
 Gleams of purest white are seen 
 
 'Mid the chestnut's tufts of green ; 
 
 Pyramids of pearly flowers 
 
 Peeping from their thick-leaved bowers. 
 
 'Mong the boughs light breezes pass, 
 
 And the shadows on the grass 
 
 Move the while like living things; 
 
 Many a pendent blossom swings 
 
 From the lofty sycamore, 
 
 And along the turfy floor 
 
 Thick the lowly daisies beam ; 
 
 King-cups shed a golden gleam 
 
 O'er the meadows near the stream. 
 
 Proud, and beautiful, and strong 
 
 Still the river sweeps along. 
 
 Here and there a pleasant shade 
 
 Elm or hawthorn-bough hath made, 
 
 Or the willow's streamers gay 
 
 Throw their shadow on its way ; 
 
 Beauty more than gloom they shed 
 
 O'er the river's sunlit bed. 
 
 Swallows in their merry flight 
 
 Haunt the stream from morn till night. 
 
 Gracefully as fairy boat 
 
 On a magic lake might float, 
 
 Now and then a milk-white swan
 
 THE CAGED LARK. 99 
 
 In his stately joy moves on. 
 Yet though Spring's rich beauty glow 
 As it did long years ago, 
 I am but a captive still 
 With an oft-impatient will ; 
 But whene'er my heart is fain, 
 In its weakness to complain, 
 Hark ! for once again I hear 
 Blithest music, rising clear 
 From that other captive near. 
 Little of the sky he sees, 
 Little of the flowers and trees ; 
 Little he was used to love, — 
 Houses round him and above ! 
 Yet upon the sod he stands 
 (Laid, perchance, by kindly hands 
 On his-prison-floor) and sings. 
 E'en as if his folded winjrs 
 Still were free to range at will 
 Higher than the highest hill. 
 And again my heart will heed 
 This sweet lesson in its need ; 
 And in others' bliss rejoice, 
 Bidden by that captive's voice. 
 
 Weybbidge, May, 1845. 
 
 h2
 
 VERSES TO AN OLD miEND. 
 
 WE will not meet again, old friend of mine ! 
 Much of life's beauty hatli already past, 
 And now I would not willingly resign 
 
 The spell thy memory can about me cast. 
 What I have been to thee, and thou to me, 
 
 Even since those old days wherein we met, 
 We ne'er could be again, if each should see 
 How little of the past remaineth yet. 
 
 No, no ! It were not well to learn how strange, 
 
 How all unlike thy heart and mine have grown ; 
 To feel and know how sorrowful a change 
 
 Time and the world have wrought ; weeping to own 
 The fairest vision of our lives had fled. 
 
 I know we are not as we were ; I know 
 How nmch, alas, of my past self is dead ! 
 
 Therefore, old friend, we'll meet no more below ! 
 
 How have the depths of bitterness been stirr'd 
 Within my soul since those departed days; 
 
 I, who could smile at every jesting word, — 
 I, whom thy spirit at its will could raise
 
 VERSES TO AN OLD FRIEND. 101 
 
 Up to its own proud heights of dreamy thought, — 
 I, from whose sunny hopes, thy nobler mind 
 
 Fresh energy and inspiration caught, — 
 
 How little of all this thou now wouldst find ! 
 
 I would be still to thee the same as then, — 
 
 The bright, the gay, the fearless ; I would be 
 To thy vex'd soul, amid the strife of men, 
 
 A joy and comfort ; o'er the dreary sea 
 Of this unresting life I fain would bring 
 
 From the sweet promise-land of youth, some sign 
 Of hope, some token of that joyful spring 
 
 When time flow'd sweetly as a hymn divine. 
 
 We will not meet again ; for though I've clung, 
 
 As a fond child, to every lovely dream 
 We culled, like blossoms, when we two were young, 
 
 Many have wither'd in the duller beam 
 That lights my pathway now, and we should feel 
 
 At once too bitterly that harshest truth, — 
 That Time, in our despite, hath power to steal 
 
 Such sjTnpathy as bound our hearts in youth. 
 
 We mil not meet again ! I dare not look 
 Into the secrets of thy world-tried heart. 
 
 Kemembering all thou wert, I ill could brook 
 To see a change in thee, if changed thou art :
 
 102 VERSES TO AN OLD FPaEXD. 
 
 Thou, from whose wisdom, breathed to me of old. 
 My soul has gather'd strength in hours of pain,— 
 
 How could I bear to find thee dull and cold 1 
 Old friend of mine, we must not meet again ! 
 
 It may be that I wrong thee, thus to dread 
 
 Losing the comfort thy remembrance gives ; 
 That through life's trials thou hast nobly sped, 
 
 And still thy lofty faith has lived and lives. 
 Forgive, if this be so, for I am weak 
 
 With many care-worn thoughts, and full of fear 
 Lest now that voice in altered tones should speak. 
 
 Nor pour rich words of wisdom on mine ear. 
 
 We will not meet, and all that thou hast been 
 
 Thou still mayst be to me till life is o'er, 
 And I, my later griefs unknown, unseen. 
 
 Can still to thee be all I was of yore. 
 Thou, with thy wise and holy Avords, shalt bless 
 
 My lonely thoughts ; and ever o'er thy soul, 
 Mine image, bright with youth and happiness. 
 
 Shall hold, in spite of time, its soft control. 
 
 August, 1844.
 
 A SKETCH FROM NATUEE. 
 
 "\7'ES ! leave me here awliile, alone with Thought, 
 -*- While through the open window floweth in 
 The calm of Autumn sunshine. There is brought 
 
 Full softly to mine ear, the far-off din 
 Of human voices, and the short, quick bark 
 
 Of some stray dog : but sweeter, nearer sounds 
 Thrill o'er my list'ning heart, for through the dark 
 
 And whispering firs, within the garden's bound, 
 I hear the low wind passing, while I see 
 
 The feathery top of many a leafless tree 
 Wave slowly to the breeze, with softest harmony. 
 
 Blue is the upper sky, but far below 
 
 There is a purple cloud, its edges white 
 With gleams of sunshine, and a sunny glow 
 
 Is on each stem and bough that fronts the light. 
 One vine leaf lingers at my window still, 
 
 In mellow beauty dancing to the wind, 
 One bird is singing near, whose notes can fill 
 
 With dreamy thoughts of joy my ra^jtured mind.
 
 104 A. SKETCH FROM NATURE. 
 
 Siug Oil, sweet Bird ! In many an hour of pain, 
 I've gathered comfort from such heav'n-taught strain. 
 And now 'tis bliss to hear thy liquid voice again. 
 
 Louder and louder swells the wind : how wild 
 
 And full of passionate murmur is its tone ! 
 Most like the broken wailing of a child, 
 
 Now hushed awhile, now louder making moan. 
 Thus to mine ear it comes ; and on its breath, 
 
 With rapid flight and a low, rustling sound. 
 Like bright-winged creatures, beautiful in death, 
 
 The leaves, the many-coloured, seek the ground. 
 The two tall sycamores are almost bare ; 
 The young acacia, erst so greenly fair. 
 Now waves its long arms, thin and leafless, in the air. 
 
 The flower-beds are dark with nightly rain, 
 
 The flow'rs all dead ; the blue carnation-leaves 
 Are lying flat and withered, with a stain 
 
 Of the damp mould about them ; softly grieves 
 The laurel's voice above them, and alone 
 
 The snowberry is dropping tears of pearl. 
 Hither and thither fallen leaves are blown ; 
 
 The few still hanging take a crisper curl : 
 The lawn alone is green as erst in spring, 
 And o'er it now the trees their shadows fling, 
 With the low voice of their Autumnal whispering.
 
 A SKETCH FROM NATURE. 105 
 
 Small is the space o'er which my eye can roam, 
 
 Yet can I wish no more, for there is here 
 A sweet, still atmosphere of love and home, 
 
 Nor asks my heart for aught that is not near. 
 Pain has been with me many and many a day, 
 
 And many a tear I've wept ; but now, sing on 
 Glad Bird, dance to the wind thou merry spray ! 
 
 Grief has no pow'r to-day and Pain is gone. 
 With a deep thankfulness I hear and see 
 How much of beauty and of joy can be 
 In one small spot of Earth, like this surrounding me. 
 
 Addlestone, Nov. 1842.
 
 THE POET'S LIFE. 
 
 T^HE poet's loveliest thoughts can ne'er be toldj 
 
 A chain of silence they must ever wear ; 
 Like prison'd eagles, pining to unfold 
 
 Their wings, and cleave the boundless upper air, 
 Unspoken, caged within one lonely breast, 
 No stranger's eye can see their feverish unrest. 
 
 Yet 'twere a cold and narrow thought of ours 
 To mourn that restlessness, or fondly deem 
 
 Our poor half-wisdom meet to judge of powers 
 That through the mists of earth but dimly beam, 
 
 Like stars that 'mid the clouds pale glances throw, 
 
 To cheer the wayworn hearts that watch them from 
 below. 
 
 The poet hath his grief; he cannot speak 
 The unearthly glory of his vision, save 
 
 In broken tones of song, as wild and weak 
 As dying murmurs of a summer wave, 
 
 All powerless the wonders to declare. 
 
 Which flash across his sight in dreams that none 
 may share.
 
 THE poet's life. 107 
 
 Let him sing on, though we so faintly hear 
 The murmur flowing, like a sunny stream, 
 
 "Within the garden of his life ; his ear 
 Is blest with music we can never dream. 
 
 Yet his wild words may give the common earth 
 
 Some shadow, some faint thought of his exceeding 
 mirth. 
 
 His secret life is like an Indian isle. 
 
 Where stately trees and fairest blossoms grow, 
 
 Where days and nights of cloudless beauty smile. 
 And scented winds thro' long, green pathways blow; 
 
 Gay woods are there whose verdure doth not fade. 
 
 And fountains of delight sing softly in the shade. 
 
 And there he dwells, and there the midnight stars 
 Look down on him like friends; there seldom sound 
 
 The moan of care, the din of worldly wars. 
 In spells of peace and love that isle is bound ; 
 
 The very waves that kiss its happy shore 
 
 Seem hushed, as if the storm could never wake them 
 more. 
 
 And yet the unresting sea of outward life. 
 
 Whose treach'rous waters seemed for ever hushed, 
 
 Hath still its darker hours of storm and strife. 
 And pain may come where pain for aye seemed 
 crushed.
 
 108 THE poet's life. 
 
 Change they may bring to that sweet sunny isle. 
 Thank God ! they mar its beauty only for awhile. 
 
 The storm may rend a few green boughs away, — 
 May break the tender stems of some fair flow'rs ; 
 
 Its louder voice may drown the fountain's play, 
 Its rage alone be heard a few short hours ; 
 
 But then must end its mad destructive reign, 
 
 And earth is beautiful, and heav'n is calm again. 
 
 Then from that lovely isle there floateth out 
 Unwonted fi-agrance o'er the changeful deep, 
 
 Till they who chance to wander thereabout. 
 
 Feel strange delight, and eyes long dry Avill weep 
 
 Such tears as have in them a deeper bliss 
 
 Than the unquiet laughter of a world like this. 
 
 Oh ! who, because a storm at times may break 
 O'er that fair scene, could wish one flower the 
 less? 
 
 Who from the poet's life one vision take. 
 
 In dread lest after-hours should bring distress 1 
 
 Fear not for him, no sorrow can destroy 
 
 His heaven-implanted sense of beauty and of joy ! 
 
 He may have cares to duller souls unknown. 
 And grief wc know not be to liim revealed ;
 
 THE poet's life. 109 
 
 Fear not for him ! his gladness is his own, 
 
 New springs of comfort are for him unsealed. 
 His life is more than ours ; to him are given, 
 Even on this dull earth, thoughts that belong to 
 heaven ! 
 
 1844.
 
 LOVE, PRESENT AND PAST. 
 
 rPHEY stood in their young beauty, wliere the 
 
 
 s 
 
 hade 
 
 Of kingly pines a deeper twilight made, — 
 
 A girl, whose weeping eyes were downward bent, 
 
 A youth, whose whispers love made eloquent. 
 
 And as he watched her colour come and go, 
 And saw her tears, half sad, half timid, flow, 
 And knew her heart was his, — all his — he told 
 How heaven and earth must change ere he grew 
 cold. 
 
 ' Lift up those dearest eyes, and let me read 
 A tale of promise in their light ! No need 
 To bow thy drooping head in sorrow thus, — 
 Days, months, and years of joy shall come for us! 
 
 ' Mine own ! mine own ! it is a thought of pi-ide 
 To know that none in all the world beside 
 Hath part with me in thy affection — none ! 
 Fear not, I know the blessed prize I've won !
 
 LOVE, PRESENT AND PAST, III 
 
 ' Nay, love, I pray thee weep not ! Must I swear 
 That I am even true as thou art fair ? 
 Come, dearest, turn, and, kneeling at thy feet. 
 Let me once more mine earnest vows repeat.' 
 
 She heard him long in silence, and at last 
 She turn'd to him, as if she strove to cast 
 Her grief aside; ' I need no vows,' she said, 
 ' Love such as mine has no mistrustful dread. 
 
 'I feel all joy departs with thee; no eye 
 
 Will ever look upon me lo\dngly 
 
 Till thou return; the grave has closed o'er all 
 
 Who would have grieved to see these sad tears fall. 
 
 ' Thou art mine all. It is a fearful thingr 
 To love as I love thee ! I can but cling 
 To one, one only hope, — that time may ne'er 
 Bring change to thee, to my poor heart despair. 
 
 ' Surely thou wilt but smile when others scorn 
 Thine own betrothed, the poor and lowly born, 
 Knowing how great a wealth of love was given 
 To thee, mine only friend on this side heaven, 
 
 ' Go now, while I am calm. God knoweth where 
 We two shall meet again ! Go, with my prayer 
 Still sounding in thy heart ! Go on thy way. 
 Mine own beloved ! God keep thee night and day !'
 
 112 LOVE, PRESENT AND PAST. 
 
 They parted; years roll'd on before they stood 
 Once more together, in far other mood 
 Than when they said farewell; at last he came, 
 Gay as of old, to all but her the same. 
 
 To her, alas ! to her those years had brought 
 A mournful change in aspect and in thought. 
 There was a stillness in her eye and air 
 That told of conquer'd passion, long-past care. 
 
 Theirs was a sudden meeting, yet it woke 
 No change in her pale face; and then she spoke 
 Of that last parting, where the pines were green, 
 As if her dream of love had never been. 
 
 And he, who thought to hear but words of blame, 
 Laugh'd lightly, and recall'd his boyish flame: 
 •'We must be friends,' he cried, 'for all the joy 
 Of that old time when we were girl and boy — ' 
 
 He stopp'd; for as he spoke, a bitter smile 
 Pass'd o'er her lips ; and o'er his thoughts, the while, 
 There came remembrance of her love and truth 
 Before his falsehood blighted her fair youth. 
 
 ' We never can be friends, for friends should feel 
 Kind sympathy,' she said, ' in woe or weal. 
 My broken trust no time can e'er renew, 
 I shall be lonely all this long life through.
 
 LOVE, PRESENT AND VAST. 118 
 
 ' There was a time when thou and I were one 
 In hope, and thought, in love; it seemed that none 
 E'er loved with deeper earnestness of faith, 
 Defying change and sorrow, care and death. 
 
 ' There was a time when at thy lightest word 
 My pulse leap'd wildly and my heart was stirr'd. 
 Re-echoing the passion of thine own, 
 Cleavino- in this wide world to thee alone. 
 
 ' Then at thy footstep how the red blood came 
 Flushing my cheek ! how at thy very name 
 I trembled, lest a stranger's eye should see 
 How wildly my young spirit clung to thee ! 
 
 ' I blame thee not, for now my alter'd heart 
 Is cold, and I am tranquil as thou art; 
 Nothing remains of that old love of mine, 
 I have no part in joy or grief of thine. 
 
 ' At times I weep to think such love could be. 
 And yet have pass'd away like mine for thee; 
 To think that I can gaze with unchanged brow 
 On thee, — on tliee ! aa I am gazing now. 
 
 ' At times there come old thoughts across my brain. 
 Shadows of joy I cannot know again. 
 Come they to thee? Ah, no ! for thou wouldst weep 
 If those wild shadows came to haunt thy sleep. 
 
 I
 
 1]1 LOVE, PRESENT AND PAST. 
 
 ' I seem to hear again that blessed stream, 
 The music of the pine-tree fills my dream, 
 Thy hand clasps mine, thy voice is in mine ear, — 
 The voice my waking soul unmoved can hear. 
 
 ' Yea ! one by one, past hours of bliss return; 
 I wake and weep, and then my heart will yearn, 
 Feeling one hour of love's own smiles and tears 
 Were better far than these dull, hopeless years. 
 
 '■ Strange ! strange how all are pass'd — love, hope, and 
 
 grief; 
 My love than thine scarce truer or less brief! 
 Strange how I hear thy voice and tremble not, 
 Even with all the past still unforgot. 
 
 ' I deem'd that grief would dwell Avith me for aye; 
 But time roll'd on, and sorrow died away. 
 And now we meet as strangers meet, and I 
 Feel nothing of that long-past agony. 
 
 ' We, who once boasted Death should hardly tear 
 Us two apart, not dreaming we could bear 
 All that we since have born, and now can brook; 
 Thus meeting coldly with unchanging look. 
 
 '■ How those who see us meet would laugh to know 
 That once the passion of thy soul could flow 
 In buniing words to me, — 'thy beautiful,' — 
 Me, who am now so spiritless, so dull.
 
 LOVE, PRESEiNT AND PAST. 115 
 
 ' Alas ! methinks I would recall again 
 The cruel past with all its hours of pain, 
 Rather than be the thing I am, — unmoved 
 To grief or joy by thee, my once beloved !' 
 
 1844. 
 
 I 2
 
 AN" EVENING'S EOMANCE. 
 
 /CLOSER draw tlie curtain's fold, 
 ^^ For the niglit is bitter cold ; 
 Earth and sky alike are dreary, 
 And my heart and eyes are weary 
 Of the mist that clung all day 
 (Like a veil of saddest grey, 
 Heavy and funereal,) 
 O'er the ash-trees, bare and tall, 
 O'er the dark green firs, that stand 
 Like grim mourners, hand in hand, 
 Round about an open tomb, 
 Saddened with a changeless gloom. 
 I am weary of the sight 
 Of those larch-boughs long and light, 
 Waving, waving to and fro, 
 With a motion sadly slow, 
 ^Miile the wind sighs out amain. 
 Like a human soul in pain. 
 As upon some sandy shore 
 When the tempest's rage is o'er.
 
 AN evening's romance. 117 
 
 And the breeze's trumpet-tone 
 Sinketh to a whispered moan, 
 Some pale form may lie outspread, 
 Lone, and ocean-stained, and dead, — 
 Some young girl, whose flowing hair 
 Strewn in mortal beauty there, 
 (When the waters come and go 
 With a tranquil ebb and flow), 
 Rises on each wavelet's crest, 
 Drops when sinks the wave to rest, 
 Even so those branches bare, 
 Float upon the moaning air. 
 
 We will turn from thoughts like this 
 To a fairy realm of bliss — 
 We? Alas! I am alone! 
 He, whose voice's kindly tone 
 Aye responded to mine own. 
 Wanders far away ; and those, 
 Who from dawn to daylight's close, 
 Flitting oft from room to room, 
 Chased away the wintry gloom 
 With the music of their feet, 
 And the sound of laughter sweet ; 
 Those gay sprites, whose children fair. 
 Bright-haired, blue- eyed, laughing pair 
 (She whose ready fancy still
 
 118 AN evening's komance. 
 
 Summons blithest scenes at will, 
 Hears the swallow's coming wings, 
 Sees gay flowers and summer things, 
 Where my sad eye only sees 
 Withered plants and leafless trees ; 
 And that younger one, so bright 
 With her spirit's sunny light. 
 That a stranger's eye will dwell 
 On her face, as if the spell 
 Of her happy beauty won 
 Ev'ry heart it shone upon) ; 
 Each within her little nest 
 Lieth wrapt in joyful rest. 
 Yet, to-night, with spirit free. 
 Lone and silent though I be, 
 I will dream a poet's dream. 
 Sitting by the fire's red gleam, 
 I will gaze with joyful glance 
 On the woods of old romance, — 
 Those wild woods that never fade, 
 Flinging everlasting shade 
 Over paths of living green. 
 Winding hoary stems between; 
 Leading off' to nooks aj^art. 
 Where no sunbeam e'er can dart 
 Through the leafy screen above, 
 Whence the voice of hidden dove
 
 AN evening's romance. 119 
 
 Low repHeth to the fall 
 Of the waters musical, 
 Welling from a fouutaia clear, 
 Calmly glad as all things near, 
 
 * -A * * 
 
 Now along a pathway wide 
 (Whence diverge on either side 
 Lesser paths, with flowers bestrown, 
 Or with burnished moss o'ergrown), 
 Comes a war-horse' stately tread : 
 High he rears his graceful head, 
 And the grass is flecked below. 
 As he moves, with foam like snow. 
 Sleek his coat, and black as night, 
 Save that one small star of white 
 Gleams upon his brow : dark red 
 Are his housings, thickly spread 
 With a maze of golden thread ; 
 On his bridle glitter fair 
 Wroughtcn gold and broid'ry rare. 
 Bears he forth a youthfvd knight. 
 Armed and ready for the fight. 
 He in garb of mail is drest. 
 And above his jewelled crest 
 Milk-white plumes are floating free, 
 Stainless as his fame can be. 
 O'er the dappled turf he rides.
 
 1-20 AX evening's romance. 
 
 And anon a sunbeam glides 
 Through the boughs above his track, 
 And its light is given back 
 By his armour's dazzling sheen ; 
 Then through depths of shade serene, 
 Where the dark cedars o'er them bend, 
 Steed and rider calmly wend. 
 
 Now, in thought, some long past fight 
 Flashes o'er the warrior's sight. 
 And his lance he proudly shakes. 
 While a muttered war-cry breaks 
 From his parted lips ; and now 
 Dear remembrance of the vow. 
 Uttered by a voice as sweet 
 As the hidden streams that fleet 
 Where the shadow deepest lies, 
 Bringeth softness to his eyes. 
 While his heart with fondness thrills, 
 At the thought of those far hills, 
 Where the lady of his heart 
 In her sadness dwells apart. 
 Suddenly a bitter wail 
 Rises on the summer gale. 
 Bound to succour all who need, 
 Lo, the knight hath turned his steed 
 Down a walk bestrewn with showers
 
 AN evening's romance. 121 
 
 Of the linden's yellow flowers! 
 Dim the light that passeth through 
 Interwoven branch and bough ; 
 Heavy is the air beneath 
 With the blossoms' scented breath ; 
 Drowsy with their toil, the bees 
 Hang in clusters on the trees, 
 Moving on, from time to time. 
 With their pleasant summer chime, 
 Answered by a merry note 
 From the leaf-hid cuckoo's throat. 
 
 Soon, beyond the linden shade, 
 Sees the knight a turfy glade. 
 Folded in with mountain peaks, 
 Down whose sides in glitt'ring streaks 
 Many a singing streamlet flows : 
 In the midst, in still repose, 
 Lies outspread a crystal pool. 
 And within its waters cool, 
 Mirrored sleeps the quiet sky; 
 And a pearly cloud sails by, — 
 E'en as if an angel flew 
 O'er the depths of calmest blue. 
 
 But a woful sight is now 
 
 'Neath the cedar's whisp'ring bough ;
 
 122 AN evening's eomance. 
 
 Stretched upon the turf lies one 
 Whose last battle deed is done. 
 Falls the red sword from his hand, 
 Broken like a willow-wand ; 
 Helm and breastplate, all unbound, 
 Lie beside him on the crround ; 
 And the life-blood welleth slow 
 From a wound upon his brow. 
 At his head a lady fair, 
 Kneeling with her long bright hair, 
 Strives to stanch the wound — in vain ! 
 Gasping sigh and sob of pain 
 Echo back her saddest fear, 
 And she feels that death is near. 
 Wildly weeps she in her woe, 
 O'er his face the hot tears flow ; 
 Yet he speaks no loving word, — 
 He whose heart was ever stirr'd 
 By the lightest grief that stole 
 O'er the sunshine of her soul ! 
 
 Swift the wand'ring knight draws nigh. 
 
 Gazing with a pitying eye 
 
 On the lady's tear-stain'd check ; 
 
 Words of cheer he fain would speak, 
 
 But he feels how vain they were 
 
 In that hour of wild despair.
 
 AN evening's romance. 123 
 
 Quickly from liis steed lie springs, 
 Lance and shield aside he flings, 
 And the scarf his lady wove 
 (Precious token of her love) 
 From his gallant breast uuwdnds. 
 And about the stranger bind; 
 
 .s. 
 
 Vain his care — he writhes no more — 
 One deep sigh and all is o'er ! 
 
 Then he strives with gentle speech 
 That sad lady's ear to reach. 
 Praying her, in brief, to tell 
 How such cruel hap befell ; 
 And, at last, in accents weak. 
 Strives she all the truth to speak. 
 Pausing many a time to weep 
 O'er her hero's bloody sleep. 
 Tells she how for many a day 
 They had wandered, blithe and gay ; 
 Tells she how her sire held sway 
 O'er a lovely land that lay 
 On the sunny Indian shore ; 
 Tells she how that warrior bore 
 From her gentle mother's side 
 Her, his fond and wedded bride. 
 Wrought he many a deed of fame 
 For the love of his dear dame ;
 
 124 AN evening's eomance. 
 
 Strong and ready was his arm, 
 Rescuing the weak from harm, 
 Laying low each wicked wight, 
 As became a stalwart knight. 
 But, at last, a paynim bold. 
 With a shield of fretted gold. 
 And a lance of magic might. 
 Met him there in deadly fight 1 
 Powerless the paynim's arm. 
 But for help of magic charm ; 
 Strong in that unearthly strength, 
 He had won the day at length. 
 Bent he o'er his prostrate foe, 
 When the lady's shriek of woe 
 Brought the Flow'r of Knighthood near, 
 And the caitiff fled in fear 
 (Warned of old to keep aloof 
 From that armour, magic-proof.) 
 * * * * 
 
 Hark, the clock ! — an hour hath sped. 
 And my sunny dream is fled, — 
 Fled while I as yet could see, 
 Dimly, how the end would be; 
 Ei-e the knight had laid the corse 
 Gently on his own war-horse, 
 And had pass'd adown the dell 
 To a holy hermit's cell ;
 
 AN evening's romance. 125 
 
 Ere the hermit's cares had shewn 
 Life, in truth, was not yet flown, — 
 And the lady's tears fell fast, 
 When the hour of woe was past, — 
 Weeping more in joy's excess 
 Than she wept in bitterness ! 
 Pass'd those phantoms of the brain, 
 Never to be seen again, — 
 Save, perhaps, in dreamy trance, 
 'Mong the woods of old Romance ! 
 
 1847.
 
 ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 TT is a joy to hear thee yet once more, 
 
 -*- Thou many voiced sea, 
 
 To see thy light waves dance along the shore, 
 
 Like children in their glee, 
 And watch the spray that falls in mimic showers, 
 Of gayer tints than earth's most radiant flowers. 
 
 Summer, that bringeth blossoms to the tree. 
 
 And leaves of softest green, 
 Giveth no less of loveliness to thee : 
 
 A veil of sunny sheen 
 Spreadeth its golden net-work far and wide 
 Above the purple glory of thy tide. 
 
 All the dark tales of sorrow and of blood. 
 
 The secrets dire, that still. 
 Though hidden fathoms deep beneath thy flood, 
 
 In caverns dark and chill, 
 Up through the voiceless air unheeded steal. 
 Sending to highest heav'n their mute appeal.
 
 ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE. 127 
 
 The crash of storms, the bitter cry of pain, 
 
 Lost in thine angry roar; 
 The dying slave's despair, outbreathed in vain. 
 
 When his last hope is o'er; — 
 These seem but idle tales of terror now, 
 In thy majestic calm, so fair art thou ! 
 
 Rather the lovely dreams of fable land 
 
 Are present to our thought; 
 Fair spirits seem to tread the printless sand, 
 
 And, where the waves have caught 
 The shadow of a cloud, there seems to sweep 
 A group of sea-nymphs, dancing o'er the deep. 
 
 Yon sail that moves so dreamily along, 
 
 Might be the bark of state 
 Whence Undine — gentle victim of base wrong — 
 
 Pass'd, weeping, to her fate; 
 Only too sad for day like this would seem 
 Even the sorrow of a poet's dream. 
 
 Yet when the waves, with all their varied tones, 
 
 Give out a mournful breath. 
 We seem to hear the Northern Spirit's moans. 
 
 Mingled with prayers for death; 
 Then bursts a wild, exulting strain to tell 
 The praise of Him who doeth all things well.
 
 128 ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 And tones of laughter, snatches of gay song, 
 
 Seem gurgling from below. 
 From coral caves, where sea-weeds light and long, 
 
 Are waving to and fro. 
 The wondrous lays by many a poet sung 
 We can believe as erst when we were young. 
 
 But deeper chords give echoes to thy voice, 
 
 E'en from the inmost heart ; 
 Time has been when we lived but to rejoice, 
 
 And still we have a part 
 In Earth and Ocean's summer jubilee. 
 Changed from that former gladness though we be. 
 
 Something of our young life and buoyant hope 
 
 Laughs in the sun again. 
 Springs with the daisies on the turfy slope 
 
 Shmes with the sparkling main. 
 And in thy voice, great Sea ! once more we hear 
 Sounds that seem'd oracles to youth's fond ear. 
 
 TJien was our hope as boundless as thy waves. 
 
 And radiant as thy breast ; 
 Life, a sweet mystery, like thy hidden caves, 
 
 With gems and sea-flowers drest. 
 And filled with gayest sounds and loveliest forms. 
 Safe from the noisy strife of winds and storms.
 
 ON REVISITING THE SEA-SHORE. 129 
 
 Now the wild tumult of our heart is o'er, 
 
 Life's mystery is known ; 
 And, resting calmly here, beside thy shore. 
 
 We hear in thy low moan. 
 Not the wild fancies Time hath long since stilled, 
 But tones that tell of many a hope fulfilled. 
 
 We watch the children 'mid the stones at play, 
 
 As once we played of old, 
 And smile that, though so much hath passed away. 
 
 The heart hath not grown cold. 
 But loveth with a yearning, constant love. 
 Thy boundless waves, and the broad sky above. 
 
 And life, that was so beautiful at first, 
 
 Weareth a glory still. 
 Sweet buds of promise by our path still burst. 
 
 Go wheresoe'er we will ; 
 Though slowly now our way-worn feet may wend, 
 Beauty and joy are with us to the end ! 
 
 June, 1846.
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 HOLLOW-EYED, and lean, and wan. 
 Earthward bow'd like an aged man, 
 Slow, as one with travel worn, 
 Or with weight of care o'erborne. 
 Through the arch of sculptured stone 
 Goes the Old Year forth alone. 
 Scarcely hath he strength to hold 
 Records long, wherein are told 
 All the sorrow, all the crime. 
 All the errors, of his time; 
 Pages hoarded 'gainst the day 
 When this earth shall pass away. 
 With those records in his hand, 
 Wends he to the Silent Land ; 
 And the shadows of the Past 
 Wrap his trembling form at last. 
 Now his charge he hath resign'd. 
 He hath done with human -kind: 
 None again of mortal race 
 Ever shall behold his face, — 
 E'en till Time itself be done. 
 And Eternity begun !
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 131 
 
 Youngest-born of hoary Time, 
 Welcomed to earth with song and chime; 
 Prank'd with boughs of ivy green, 
 Berries bright of scarlet sheen; 
 With a childish face that bears 
 Not a stain of grief or cares, 
 Not a token of pain or sin, — 
 Gaily cometh the New Year in ! 
 
 Loudly rings the midnight hour 
 From the church's ivied tow'r; 
 Ere the murmur dies away, 
 Loud the merry minstrels play; 
 Bells peal out with merry din, 
 Welcoming the New Year in ! 
 
 Like a monarch in his state, 
 He bath pass'd the city gate, 
 Whose long shadows, stern and dim, 
 Silently have fall'n on him, 
 As on those that went before. 
 Twice three hundred years or more. 
 
 Like a crowned king he seems 
 Moving where the moonlight gleams. 
 With his quick, triumphant feet. 
 All along the snowy street. 
 k2
 
 132 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 And the bells are ringing out 
 And the noisy people sliout, — 
 ' We have lived a joy to win, 
 For the New Year cometh in !' 
 
 Yet he oft his feet will stay, 
 Ling'ring kindly on his way, 
 Knocking low at ev'ry door. 
 Palace proud and hovel poor. 
 He hath hopeful words to speak 
 To the weary and the weak; 
 He hath warning words, and bold. 
 For the careless and the cold; 
 He hath words of mildest tone 
 For the sorrowful and lone. 
 As he wendeth to and fro. 
 Many a scene of joy and woe, — 
 Many a sight of varied cheer. 
 Now of mirth and now of fear, 
 Witnesseth the gay young Year. 
 Though the sky hath ne'er a cloud, 
 Though the bells be ringing loud. 
 Till the steeple rocks with glee. 
 Graves are 'neath the old ^ew-tree, — 
 New-made graves, where not alone 
 Lies the corse of the cherish'd one. 
 But with it some fond heart's delight, 
 Buried in a changeless night.
 
 THE OLD YEAH AND THE NEW. 183 
 
 Yet, ye incrry bells ring round, 
 It is well to think your sound 
 Floatetli first o'er graves, — to know 
 How your merry voices flow 
 Sweetly down the night wind's breath, 
 O'er the very home of Death ! 
 They sleep well who slumber there, 
 Round the lowly House of Prayer; 
 Theirs the rest, and ours the strife, — 
 Ours the careful toil of life. 
 Welcome, now, the glad new year, 
 While his footstep passeth near; 
 Breathe of courage, breathe of hope, 
 For upon each grassy slope. 
 Calm the moonlight sleeps the while, 
 Like an angel's holy smile. 
 
 Shout again wdth merry cry, 
 While the new year passeth by ! 
 
 He hath passed a portal tall, 
 He hath reached a stately hall. 
 Where a thousand torches' light 
 Bursts upon the dazzled sight; 
 Mirthful music, laughter gay, 
 Chase the midnight hour away; 
 Sparkling gems, and roses fair, 
 Gleam in many a maiden's hair.
 
 134 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 White-bair'd men and cliildren small, 
 Youths and matrons, one and all. 
 Welcome to the New Year sing. 
 Till the oaken rafters ring, 
 And old hearts grow young again 
 By the magic of that strain. 
 
 In a quiet nook aside, 
 
 See the lover and his bride ! 
 
 Earth to them a fairy-land, 
 
 Where they wander hand in hand; 
 
 Love and hope, bright stars on high, 
 
 In their glad and cloudless sky; 
 
 Life, a lovely path that leads 
 
 By fair streams and grassy meads. 
 
 Forest depths and valleys still, 
 
 Sunny plain and wood-crowned hill, — 
 
 Where the sweetest flowers abound; 
 
 And if thorns must needs be found. 
 
 They are veiled in garlands green, 
 
 Never felt, and seldom seen ! 
 
 Shout again with merry sound. 
 While the New Year goes his round ! 
 
 Alas ! full near that palace proud. 
 Breaking hearts in anguish bow'd,
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 135 
 
 Hear the sound of revelry 
 Blend with their despairing cry. 
 Motionless upon its bed, 
 Lies outstretched the shrouded dead: 
 Though the curtain trembleth slow, 
 Though the chamber echoes now 
 To the music and the song, 
 On the still air borne along, 
 Yet no breath hath stirred a fold 
 Of the snow-white linen rolled 
 Round about that thing of fear, — 
 Yesterday so passing dear, — 
 Round that stiff and senseless form, 
 Now the sister of the worm ! 
 
 Shout again with merry sound, 
 While the New Year goes bis round ! 
 
 Thoughtfully he passeth on. 
 Pausing where a light hath shone 
 Through a cottage window pane, 
 Throwing forth a ruddy stain 
 O'er the radiant bed of snow. 
 In the garden path below. 
 Low the roof, and jjoor to see, 
 Yet a welcome sound hears he.
 
 13G THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 Underneath the icy thatch, 
 While he gently lifts the latch. 
 Fair the sight that meets his eye ! 
 Near the wood-fire hlazingf high. 
 In its little cradle-bed, 
 Lies a sleeping infant's head, 
 And the happy parents deem 
 Angel could not fairer seem 
 Than that baby in its sleep. 
 Sweet the loving thoughts that creep 
 Over each young parent's heart; 
 Sweet the silent tears that start, 
 As, with clasping hands, they say, 
 ' A happy year comes in to-day !' 
 
 Thus from house to house he wends, 
 Thus new joy his presence lends 
 To the joyful; and despair 
 Melts before his beauty rare. 
 E'en the prisoner in his cell 
 Dreameth all may yet be well ; 
 Even they whom Death had left 
 For a while of hope bereft, 
 Looking in his cheerful eyes. 
 Feel new hope and courage rise. 
 Bruised and weary hearts again
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 137 
 
 Feel tliey are not spared in vain ; 
 Alike from scenes of grief and bliss, 
 Breathes a tone of thankfulness, — 
 ' Blest be God, that we are here ! 
 Welcome to the dawning Year !'
 
 THE WILLOWS OF SAN GIUSEPPE. 
 
 THE ONLY WILLOWS IN MALTA. 
 
 TT7AVE lightly, willow-branches, 
 
 ' Wave lightly in the wind. 
 For winter and its sadness 
 
 Are left far, far behind. 
 Unsheathe your budding glory. 
 
 Let ev'ry leaf that lies. 
 To its parent stem fast clinging, 
 
 Unfold before our eyes, 
 The boughs which wore at morning 
 
 A pale and silv'ry sheen, 
 Ere the sun is high in heaven 
 
 May be clothed in living green. 
 Wave lightly -willow-branches. 
 
 Ye banners of the Spring, 
 Free to the lau^jhinff sunshine 
 
 Your mirthful streamers fling ! 
 
 Above, the light wands dancing; 
 
 Below, the flick'ring shade ; 
 A touch on my cheek in passing 
 
 Like loving fingers laid j
 
 THE WILLOWS OF SAN GIUSEPPE. 139 
 
 A murmur like an infant's 
 
 Tliat whispers in its sleep, 
 When winds, like mothers' blessings, 
 
 Above the green boughs creep j 
 A balmy scent outbreathing 
 
 As the youngest leaves unfold ; 
 A sunny haze about you. 
 
 Like nets of woven gold ; 
 Wave gaily, willow-branches, 
 
 Wave, beautiful and free ! 
 Mine eyes behold your motion. 
 
 My heart can share your glee ! 
 
 Wave lightly, willow-branches, 
 
 Sweet promise-bearers, signs 
 That leaves are on the fig-tree 
 
 And buds upon the vines ; 
 Like a warrior's plume that proudly 
 
 Ere the battle has begun. 
 As across the plain he wendeth. 
 
 Is gleaming in the sun; 
 Or like the silken tresses 
 
 Of a playful infixnt's hair. 
 When the idle wind displayeth 
 
 Its golden beauty rare; 
 Wave lightly, willow-branches, 
 
 Obey the wind's glad will !
 
 140 THE WILLOWS OF SAN GIUSEPPE. 
 
 These visions all are joyful, 
 But ye're more joyful still ! 
 
 A cloud creeps o'er the heavens, — 
 
 My thoughts grow darker, too ; 
 How was't that dreams of gladness 
 
 Out of your beauty grew ? 
 see far other visions 
 
 Beneath this gloomy cloud, 
 I see you most resembling 
 
 A head in sorrow bowed, — 
 A head that earthward droopeth, 
 
 Hair veiling tearful eyes ; 
 And the whisper of your motion 
 
 Is like the voice of sighs. 
 Wave slowly willow-branches. 
 
 Wave sadly, for I know. 
 Even in all your beauty 
 
 A type of human woe ! 
 
 I see a plume bend darkly 
 
 Beside an open grave, 
 I see rent sails outstreaming 
 
 Above a stormy wave ; 
 In caves beneath the waters 
 
 I see the seaweeds grow, 
 Hither and thither swaying 
 
 As the tides may come and go ;
 
 THE WILLOWS OF SAN GIUSEPPE. 141 
 
 About their roots are bleaching 
 
 Things that I dare not see, — 
 Fearful and drear the visions 
 
 Thick-crowding now on me. 
 Wave sadly willow branches, 
 
 Wave sadly in the gloom, 
 For Earth is dark and mournful 
 
 With a shadow of the Tomb. 
 
 But the cloud is passing onward, 
 
 And ye are bright again. 
 And from my soul has vanished 
 
 Its sudden sense of pain. 
 I greet you, willow-branches, 
 
 I look on you once more 
 As I hail'd the opening glory 
 
 Of the willow-boughs of yore. 
 As I hailed those wands, low bending 
 
 By the quiet river-side. 
 O'er the Iris, and the rushes, 
 
 And the meadow's snowy pride, 
 Wave lightly, willow-branches, 
 
 Wave gaily in the wind. 
 For wintry gloom and sadness 
 Are left far, far behind ! 
 
 March, 1848.
 
 VERSES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 "VTO, no, I cannot bear it, — speak not ttus ! 
 -'-^ In thoughts like these my spirit has no part. 
 Let not the shadow of the world o'er us 
 
 A deadly influence shed ! Strengthen my heart 
 With holy aspirations, words of power, 
 Such as have soothed me many a painful hour. 
 
 Wildly my brain is throbbing with a sense 
 
 Of the disquietude of life ; my soul 
 Tremblingly feels its native impotence, 
 
 And round me here the world's loud tumults roll, 
 Trouble and joy in strange misunion blent: 
 Soothe thou my thoughts, revive my strength o'er- 
 spent ! 
 
 Mine ear is thirsting for an earnest tone, 
 
 A voice from some deep heart. Oh, speak to me 
 
 Of deathless things ; let me not see alone 
 Life's frothy surface : let me soar with thee 
 
 To something stronger, calmer, holier far 
 
 Than this pale joy and trivial gladness are !
 
 VERSES TO A FRIEND. 143 
 
 Yea, like the summer raiu upon the sea ; 
 
 Like the deep rest that follows weary toil ; 
 Like the cool shadow of an ancient tree 
 
 Flung far, at eve, across the parched soil ; 
 Like the low whisper of a reedy stream 
 Heai'd through the visions of a fever dream ; 
 
 So on my soul shall fall thy words. Call back, 
 Spite of the stir and turmoil of the crowd, 
 
 Some of the calm that blest our early track : 
 Let us not be as those whose hearts have bowed 
 
 From the high purpose of their youth, but still 
 
 Tread we our path with firm, unshaken will. 
 
 Oh, but for one, one hour of that old time ! 
 
 Oh, for the gnarled oaks in their leafy pride ! 
 Oh, for the whispers of the blossomed lime. 
 
 The roses shining o'er the fair hill-side ! 
 Oh, for the singing of the evening breeze 
 In the dark beauty of our old pine-trees ! 
 
 Oh, for the grassy paths among the fern, 
 Winding away to silent forest glades, 
 
 Where the wild cry of solitary hern 
 
 Ringeth at times adown the startled shades ! 
 
 Oh ! but beneath the stars, to stand once more, 
 
 Where the sweet night-birds sang so loud of yore !
 
 144 VERSES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Oh, once again beside the forest-pool, 
 
 Where pearly blossoms on the waters sleep, 
 
 And, 'neath the beechen boughs, when day grows cool, 
 The herds of antlered deer in gladness leap. 
 
 To build up visions in the sunny air, 
 
 Less bright than all that really blest us there ! 
 
 Thank God ! these longings are not all in vain ; 
 
 We can return in spirit there, and feel, 
 Across the weary heart and heated brain. 
 
 Beauty, and peace, and joy, and comfort steal. 
 Back to those haunts let our hush'd spirits glide ; 
 The Past is still our own, whate'er betide. 
 
 Then to these altered scenes we turn at last. 
 Refreshed and cheered; nor shall the stir of life 
 
 Have power to drown that music of the Past 
 
 To which our hearts keep time : the wildest strife 
 
 Of the world's troublous ocean shall not quell 
 
 The faith and hope that in our bosoms dwell. 
 
 And, looking upward to the far-off sky 
 
 ' That bendeth over all,' our souls shall cling 
 
 To the bright promise of futurity; 
 
 And, mounting ever with unflagging wing, 
 
 Pause not, till sweetly o'er the strife below, 
 
 Sounds the eternal river's changeless flow. 
 
 May, 1819.
 
 EEMINLSCENCES OF THE ' OVERLAND 
 TRIP.' 
 
 VALETTA — MALTA. 
 
 TTPRISING from beside the purple deep, 
 ^ To crown with palaces the highest steep, 
 The fortress-city standeth, stern and proud. 
 About her feet a thousand vessels crowd; 
 And boats, with sailors, singing as they go. 
 Among the anchored ships flit to and fro. 
 Within her streets a motley host is seen ; 
 Cowled monks, and bearded Turks with solemn mien, 
 Albanians, brown-clad Jews, and savage men 
 From Barbary or distant Fez; and then 
 The black-robed women pace along the street, 
 Missal in hand, in kneeling groups to meet 
 Before some saintly shrine. And English girls, 
 Blue-eyed and fair; children, with sunny curls 
 About their rosy faces, laughing glide. 
 
 In rich profusion heaped the way beside 
 Are luscious figs, melons, and bloomy grapes, 
 Blossoms of lovely hues and graceful shapes.
 
 140 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 The proud old knights have vanished from their halls, 
 Leaving their features pictured on the walls 
 Of the fair chambers where of old they dwelt ; 
 And now around the shrines at which they knelt, 
 Breathing high, warrior-vows, in days long gone, 
 Within the holy ehurch of good St. John 
 They sleep in death; and all the marble floor 
 Is with their quaint devices blazoned o'er. 
 The broken clock, the outstretched bony hand 
 Of Death, that breaks the prisoner's weary band, — 
 Such emblems tell us where the dead knights lie : 
 Yet still the city rears her white crown high. 
 And glances proudly o'er the sea to greet 
 The gallant ships that in her havens meet. 
 
 One kindly word, old city, at the last. 
 For hapjiy days within thy precincts j^ast ! 
 One word — that warmly from the deep heart comes — 
 To dAvellers in thy hospitable homes, 
 And ere in distance fades thy tower'd height. 
 Our tears arc falling fast, and veil it from our sight ! 
 ***** 
 
 THE FIRST SIGHT OF THE NILE. 
 
 ' Look forth ! ' they said ; and there before our sight, 
 Beneath the ruddy haze of dawning light, 
 A mighty river flowed ; and here and there. 
 Waving with stately motion in the glare
 
 THE OVERLAND TRIP. 147 
 
 Of the red sunrise, scattered palm-trees stood ; 
 And scattered huts were ranged along the flood ; 
 And fields, wherein the maize was thick and green ; 
 And wild, dark men, and dogs all gaunt and lean, 
 Were on the level banks. Though fair alone 
 From the red light that o'er it softly shone, 
 Yet had that scene a charm ; and with a smile 
 We muttered, ' Thus we greet thee, old traditionary- 
 Nile!' 
 
 THE CITADEL AT CAIRO. 
 
 Morning without a cloud had come again. 
 When gazed we on the vast Egyptian plain 
 From Cairo's citadel. Behind us rose 
 The yet unfinished mosque, whose walls inclose 
 A wilderness of pillars, bearing high 
 Fretwork and gold, a gorgeous canopy. 
 Before us — oh ! all words, or said or sung, 
 Are weak as babblings of an infant's tongue, 
 To tell the glories of the scene below ! 
 Street beyond street in many a busy row. 
 Teeming with busy life; fair domes and towers, 
 Li^kniinarets, and ladies' latticed bowers. 
 Beyond are palaces among the trees. 
 Broad fields of grain, wa\'iug like wind-swept seas; 
 And gleaming silv'ry 'mid the palms, the stream 
 
 L 2
 
 148 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Of ancient Nile flows calmly as a dream. 
 
 And farther still, the Desert lies outspread, 
 
 Solemn, and wide, and tenantless, and dread. 
 
 Those wonders of the olden world, that stand 
 
 Fliumnof their giant shadows on the sand — 
 
 The Pyramids, — still to the lingering eye 
 
 Seem swelling into grander majesty 
 
 E'en while we gaze, — familiar yet how strange ! 
 
 Mocking us with a thought of all the change 
 
 That time hath WTOught beneath the inconstant sky, 
 
 While, like an idle wind, it passed them by ! 
 
 Like the still corse of some far-famous king. 
 
 From whose dead brow (such awe it still doth fling) 
 
 No hand hath dared remove the crown; so lies 
 
 The Desert with its Pyramids. There rise 
 
 Fair palm-trees near it, tufted woods most fair, 
 
 Yet the charmed gaze will linger longest there, 
 
 On those grey relics of dim ages fled, 
 
 Those silent monuments of long-forgotten dead ! 
 
 THE PASHAS GARDENS AT SHOOBRA. 
 
 One page of old Romance ! One hour of life 
 Such as we dreamed of when the Caliph's Wife 
 And all her thousand tales to us were truth ! 
 One hour called back from vision-haunted youth !
 
 THE OVERLAND TRIP. 149 
 
 Our road wound on beside the Nile: o'erhcad 
 Mimosa-boughs and light acacias spread 
 A pleasant roof; and, the dark stems between, 
 Fair homes, and fields, and far-off hills were 
 
 seen. 
 We passed a portal, on whose marble stair, 
 At the muezzin's call, was bowed in prayer 
 A bearded Moslem. Passed Ave in, and found 
 A garden, in whose shade fair alleys wound. 
 Some beneath trellises all curtained o'er 
 With lovely parasites. The jasmine bore 
 Large stars of beauty, gold and silver bright; 
 The roses hung in clusters red and white; 
 The spicy myrtle breathed its fragrance out; 
 The cypress spires rose proudly thereabout. 
 And in their shadow many a fountain played; 
 Clusters of yellow fruit were in the shade 
 Of the dark orange-leaves; in stately lines. 
 Above the rest tower'd high the lordly pines. 
 Amid this wealth of beauty shone the walls 
 Of the white garden palace, in whose halls 
 The voice of fountains sang. They drew aside 
 A curtain rarely 'broidered, and the pride 
 Of Eastern pomp was there; the soft divan 
 With richest cushions, and the gorgeous plan 
 Of inlaid floor, and gilded wall and roof. 
 Curtains and canopies of silken woof.
 
 ]50 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Thrones with rose-tinted drapery, gold-enwrought, 
 Lamps, radiant as if cue had newly caught 
 The rainbow hues, and prisoned them; all shone 
 In splendour there. We gazed, and marvelled, and 
 passed on. 
 
 THE DESERT. 
 
 The round moon shone upon our sandy way. 
 
 And veiled the stars with light; the desert lay 
 
 All shadowless around us; not a tree, 
 
 And scarce a stone, far as the eye could see; 
 
 And when we paused awhile we heard the wind, 
 
 Sweeping across the vast expanse, unbind 
 
 Its mystic harmonies; now plaining wild. 
 
 Like a grief-maddened heart; now like a child 
 
 That sobs itself to rest, yet in its sleep 
 
 Still feels a sense of terror o'er it creep. 
 
 A shrill and sudden cry rings out amain 
 
 From hungry jackals prowling o'er the plain; 
 
 And oft the camel's bleaching bones betray 
 
 "Where they but lately feasted on their prey. 
 
 Morn broke upon the desert, calm and clear, 
 
 And far away we saw low hills appear. 
 
 The sand piled up in strange fantastic forms, 
 
 And stained with many a hue by winds and storms 
 
 Our way was lone no longer; frequent now 
 Long trains of laden camels, toiling slow,
 
 THE OVERLAND TllIP. 151 
 
 With swarthy Nubian guides, and then anon 
 
 A swift-paced dromedary, bearing on 
 
 A man of note; or now a tribe, that bore 
 
 Their tents to some far well, — their little store 
 
 Carried by weary women; or perchance 
 
 Some turbaned chieftain, with his fiery glance 
 
 Flashing a moment on us, hurries past 
 
 Upon his glorious steed. And now at last 
 
 The sunny sea and blue Arabian shore 
 
 Gleam on our eager sight, — our desert journey o'er! 
 
 A SUNSET IN THE RED SEA. 
 
 Our good ship floated on through balmy air. 
 And calm, unruffled waters; children fair 
 Were playing on the deck; and oftentime 
 A voice would murmur the delicious chime 
 Of some sweet poet's lay, that might exjiress 
 The fancies, born of veriest idleness. 
 That seemed in that still hour almost like love; 
 And eyes, in which tears glittered, gazed above 
 Upon the kindling heavens. 
 
 Along the coast 
 The mountain-peaks were ranged, a fiery host, — 
 Height beyond height, — that, as the sun sank low 
 Behind their furrowed shoulders, doffed the glow
 
 152 REMIXISCENCES OF 
 
 That, crown-like, had about their summits played, 
 And robed themselves in depth of purple shade. 
 Long time the red light lingered in the sky; 
 And when at length it faded, from on high 
 The white stars shone upon us, and the waves 
 Trembled in brightness, e'en as if the caves, 
 By spirits haunted, sent a magic light 
 To flash a moment on our wondering sight. 
 Kind words flowed freely then, and hand met hand 
 With kindlier pressure. All that motley band 
 Joined in a brief companionship, were filled 
 With gentler thoughts, with holier feelings thrilled ; 
 And night, that fell like dew on flowers, had brought 
 Hope to the anxious heart, peace to the weary 
 thought. 
 
 AX IXDIAN HOME. 
 
 Black rocks piled, seaward, like a rugged wall. 
 Yet, landward, sinking in a gentle fall. 
 Clothed in rich foliage, from whose depths are seen 
 The low-roofed houses peeping 'mong the green : 
 Such is the hill whereon we've made our home. 
 Low at its foot, the wreaths of snow-white foam 
 Are borne as gently onAvard o'er the seas 
 As fallen rose-leaves on a summer-breeze.
 
 THE OVERLAND TKir. 153 
 
 Above the haze, far-floating o'er the bay, 
 
 The peaks of mighty mountains far away 
 
 Tow'r silently tow'rds heav'n ; and sails o'erswcep, 
 
 Like white-plumed birds, the bosom of the deep. 
 
 Right balmily the air at eventide 
 
 Across the waters stealeth ; and the pride 
 
 Of tallest palm-trees (like a kingly crown 
 
 At love's sweet whisper) gladly boweth down. 
 
 The scarlet blossoms flash among the leaves 
 
 Like stars of flame, and the free air receives 
 
 Their breathing as it rocks them. Many a bough 
 
 Is laden with its scented treasure now ; 
 
 Not earthward-drooping bells, like those that bend 
 
 To northern storms ; to these the bright skies lend 
 
 Their own warm hues; the sunset's fiery glow. 
 
 The mid-day heav'n's deep blue, the tints that flow 
 
 In rosy beauty o'er the opening day. 
 
 The golden beams that o'er the waters play : 
 
 All these are painted on the flowers. Low down. 
 
 Like silver stars upon the earth's dull brown, 
 
 Here fallen blossoms lie ; there, from the gloom 
 
 Of thick-leaved boughs, fall showers of pearly bloom. 
 
 How beautiful ! how calm ! and, as the light 
 Of day fades altogether, and the night, 
 In all her pomp of stars, has hushed the air 
 To perfect stillness, — like a temple fair
 
 154 THE OVERLAND TRIP. 
 
 The pillared palm-trees stand, their fau-like shade 
 O'er-arching the still isles. Where sunbeams played 
 But now upon the sea, the stars have flung 
 Soft lines of trembling light ; the moon, yet young, 
 Shows her thin crescent, and night's shadow lies 
 Softly on earth, as slumber on a child's sweet eyes ! 
 
 April, 1819.
 
 TO AGNES. 
 
 ONE page for thee, my lovely one, 
 Before my little book be done, — 
 One page, to speak in after days 
 Thy childhood's meed of love and praise; 
 To tell what laughing archness lies 
 In the blue depth of those sweet eyes. 
 How rosy mouth and dainty chin 
 A shower of frequent kisses win ; 
 How merry fancies even creep 
 Among the visions of thy sleep. 
 And wake amidst the shades of night 
 Thy silv'ry murmurs of delight. 
 
 Yes ! all things beautiful to see, — 
 Flower, or bird, or cloud or tree, — 
 Are ministers of joy to thee ! 
 Yet blends with all thy mirth, no less 
 Of thoughtful love and gentleness, 
 When with thy small feet tripping slow. 
 Thy laughter hushed to whispers low, 
 Thou soothest pain with careful art 
 That might beseem an older heart.
 
 loG TO AGNES. 
 
 And when, for some small error cliid, 
 How quickly falls the tearful lid ! 
 The long, dark lashes o'er the cheek 
 Droop with an air so soft and meek, 
 What heart could bear to know thy pain? 
 What loving lips would not be fain 
 To kiss thy bright smiles back again 1 
 
 No stranger sees that fairest face 
 
 But wonders at its gentle grace : 
 
 To us, who see thee live and move, 
 
 The very type of peace and love, 
 
 Thy smile is sunshine, and the tone 
 
 Of thy dear voice seems music's own. 
 
 Oh ! but to see thee as thou art, 
 
 When time and care have done their part ! 
 
 Oh ! but in after years to say, 
 
 ' God's peace and love were hers alway, 
 
 And will be till life's latest day !' 
 
 August, 1849.
 
 THE ISLE OF ELEPHANTA. 
 
 QEE, how the Island riseth from the deep, 
 ^ Its double summit and the gradual sweep 
 Of its fair sides, all garlanded with green ! 
 See the thick woods, -with peeps of grass between. 
 Surely these Indian seas can scarcely kiss 
 A brighter, fairer, greener shore than this. 
 How gently creep the wavelets to the land ; 
 With what caressing murmurs o'er the sand 
 They play and linger ! How the laughing breeze 
 Shakes banners light of flow'rs and leaves among the 
 trees ! 
 
 Mind you how, long ago, we trod the way 
 To the great idol-cavern? Then there lay 
 Much that was fair around us, for high towered 
 The small-leaved tamarind ; the palm-tree, dowered 
 With wealth of stately beauty ; and the tall 
 Palmyra-tree, its crown o'ertopping all. 
 And blossoms white and purple gaily swung 
 From many a bough, and fruit in clusters hung. 
 We filled our hands with flowers as we went. 
 And the warm air we breathed was drowsy with 
 their scent.
 
 158 THE ISLE OF ELEPHANTA. 
 
 And when we stood within the Idol-cave 
 
 And looked on woody shore and glancing wave, 
 
 Bathed in the sunset glory; from that bay 
 
 How strange and solemn 'twas to turn away 
 
 To the dark chambers on whose walls are told 
 
 The mystic law of faith men held of old ! 
 
 The awful faces, whose composure breathed 
 
 A calm like conscious power; the serpents wreathed 
 
 Round the destroyer, where the awful three 
 
 Wear something, even yet, of their old Majesty, 
 
 Was not your fimcy busy 'mong them there? 
 Did you not seem to hear the hum of prayer? 
 On the huge altars, did you dread to see 
 The sacrifice, as it was wont to be 
 In grim old times? Did you not fill once more 
 The space with worshipj^ers, and, as of yore, 
 Hang rose-wreaths on the pillars; then awake 
 To truth, and see festoons of wild weeds shake 
 Before the entrance; yet, in your despite, 
 Look back at those still forms, half trembling at the 
 sight? 
 
 Then, as the eve grew darker, and they brought 
 The torches, till each giant-figure caught 
 A ghastly hue, and in the bluish glare 
 Seemed almost moving doAvn, to bid us dare 
 Disturb their haunts no more, we gladly turned 
 Into the woods, where fires of sunset burned
 
 THE ISLE OF ELEPHANT A. 159 
 
 No lonjrer, but the round and cloudless moon 
 Poured floods of softness on the earth; and soon 
 Our boat was moving homeward, o'er the calm, 
 Low rippling waves, through air whose every breath 
 was balm. 
 
 But now, more lovely still, those shores arise 
 O'er the bright seas, a radiant Paradise ! 
 The ground is turfy, greener still the wood, 
 More stately yet, above the sparkling flood. 
 The palm-trees with their freshened verdure seem. 
 Less fair Armida's Isle; less fair the dream 
 Of the long sought Atlantis, for whose sake 
 Men braved tempestuous seas: yet let us take 
 Our way far hence, nor trust the glowing smile. 
 The false and syren beauty of that dreaded isle ! 
 
 The flood-gates of the heavens have opened wide 
 Since with glad feet we trod that fair hill-side. 
 Those emerald lawns, those winding paths that shine 
 Among bright woods, each one a brighter line, 
 Wear but deceptive beauty; ooze and slime 
 Send forth a poisoned breath; dank vapours climb 
 Those hills from marshy depths, that, to the eye, 
 Seem fair as Eden, softest airs flow by 
 Death-laden. thou treach'rous Indian land, 
 How Death and Beauty here seem ever hand in hand ! 
 
 Poona, 1849.
 
 ' LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY.' 
 
 TT7H AT were the words you said ? ' Life, Death, 
 ' And Immortality !' And can they seem. 
 
 Though solemn-toned, more than an idle breath ! 
 Do we believe yet walk, as in a dream, 
 Not fearing to awake? Catv^e believe, 
 
 Yet live, but idle thoughts and idler hopes to weave ? 
 
 Visions of Paradise came thronging near 
 With spirit-stirring force about our youth : 
 
 Dim the world-shrouded eye and dull the ear ! 
 Like him of old, we mutter, ' What is truth V 
 
 And coldly turn aside, as if there lay 
 
 No mystery, no awe, no death beside our way. 
 
 Oh, God ! do we believe, and can we be, 
 E'en as we are, — poor triflers, — borne along 
 
 Tow'rds the eternal shore, across the sea 
 Of fluctuating life ? Are sin and wrong 
 
 In truth so fearful? Are we actors all. 
 
 Or do we know that Death and Judgment shall befal?
 
 LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. IGl 
 
 Oh ! from this noisy life to stand apart, 
 No longer of the panting, hurrying crowd, 
 
 But list'ning, with an awed and silent heart. 
 Time's passing footsteps ; hearing rise aloud 
 
 The voice of life, yet watching, calm and still, 
 
 Without this endless strife of feeling, thought and will ! 
 
 Oh, but to live one hour of perfect rest ! 
 
 Not whirled along in our despite by Time, 
 Not with a dreary sense of change opprest. 
 
 But, rapt in quietude and peace sublime 
 To see as angels see, and hear the tide 
 Of being glide by harmless, as they hear it glide. 
 
 Yet it was almost thus in youth, when low 
 Yet sweetest music pierced all duller sound. 
 
 And sang to us in secret, long ago. 
 
 Alas ! too surely has the dull world bound 
 
 Its spells about us, forebear no more, 
 
 Or faintly hear, the voices singing from th' Eternal 
 Shore. 
 
 Where is our Faith? Where is our holy Hope? 
 
 Where is the Charity that waits to bless, 
 Free as the air, wide as the world's far scope ! 
 
 Listen ! we speak in wrath and bitterness, — 
 
 Our words are cold, or frivolous, or vain 
 
 And we believe we die, and wake, and rise again !
 
 102 LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Yes, day by day, we say it ; day by day 
 
 Sigus warn us ; and the veil is thin that hides 
 
 The spiritual world ; we know and say 
 All these and more familiar truths besides. 
 
 And yet our hearts are dead ! — By pain or grief, 
 
 Rather than this should be, Lord, help our unbelief? 
 
 Not for a momentary flash that thrills 
 
 The dark depths of the soul, like lightning's glare, 
 Revealing secrets of the riven hills, 
 
 And leaving them in gloom again ; our prayer 
 Is for a strong unfailing light, to be 
 A steadfast trutli 'mid all this unreality ! 
 
 Poona, 1840.
 
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