^^^K 
 
 
 n 
 
 HM.^ 
 
 
 A 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 OUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY 
 
 
 ■
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 a. M (>/^^^^^.<^ 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 BT THE REV. 
 
 CHAELES TUENEE 
 
 TrCAB OP GBASBT, Lllf COLX 
 
 lionbott anb Ciimbribgc 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1864 
 
 Tht Right of Translation and Reproduction is reserved
 
 LONDON 
 
 FEINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. 
 
 NETF-STKEET SQUARE
 
 
 TO 
 
 ALFEED TENNYSON 
 
 THESE SONNETS 
 
 ARE INSCUIBED 
 
 BY HIS AFFECTIONATE BEOTHER 
 
 CHAKLES TUENEE 
 
 86113G
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Phefatoey 
 
 
 
 • • ■ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 3 
 
 Geeat Localities. An 
 
 ASPIEATION . . . ' 
 
 . 4 
 
 Continued . 
 
 
 . 5 
 
 Continued . 
 
 
 6 
 
 Token Lights. A Conteast 
 
 7 
 
 Geeat Localities. Kome . . • . 
 
 S 
 
 The Moselle Boatman 
 
 AND HIS Daughter , 
 
 9 
 
 Continued . 
 
 
 10 
 
 The Blush of Constantine at the Council of Nice 
 
 . 11 
 
 Const antine's Amphitheatee at TEE^'ES 
 
 12 
 
 The Lion's Skeleton 
 
 > . • » ■ • 
 
 . 13 
 
 The Aeeow-King 
 
 , , 
 
 
 
 14 
 
 Cynotaphium . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 15 
 
 Conti7iued . 
 
 , , 
 
 
 
 . 16 
 
 The Vacant Cage . 
 
 , , 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 Continued . 
 
 , , 
 
 
 
 18 
 
 To the Laiuc . 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 To THE Robin . 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 BlED-NESTING . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 The Lacheyjlatoey . 
 
 
 
 
 22
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 An Incident in a Chuech 
 
 Continued — To the Suevivoes 
 On the Death of two little Childeen 
 
 GrODDAED AND LyCIDAS 
 
 Hope beneath the Waters 
 The Bvot-Bell 
 The Eainbo-w . 
 Anastasis .... 
 The Death-smile of Cowpee 
 Appeehension of Blindness 
 Loss AND Eestoeation of Smell 
 On the Statue of Lord Bteon 
 
 Continued .... 
 Maey Queen of Scots 
 
 Continued .... 
 Queen Elizabeth 
 The Order of the Star of India 
 
 Continued .... 
 A Thought foe March 1860 . 
 Autocratic Policy of the Federal Ameeicans 
 Possible Eesults of the Friends' Mission to 
 Petersburg .... 
 
 Continued .... 
 The Great Exhibition of 1862 
 
 Continued . . 
 Hebron ..... 
 
 Continued . . . . 
 
 Continued .... 
 The Telegraph Cable to India 
 
 PAGE 
 
 , 23 
 . 24 
 . 25 
 . 26 
 . 27 
 . 28 
 . 29 
 . 30 
 . 31 
 . 32 
 . 33 
 . 34 
 . 35 
 . 36 
 
 St.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Vll 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The SotTTH-FoRELAND Electric Light . . . .51 
 
 Greatness of Englantj .52 
 
 The Wind-bount) JIission 53 
 
 The Thaw-Wind 54 
 
 An April Day 55 
 
 The Charming of the East Wind 56 
 
 SumtEE Evening. KETmEjiENT of a Garden . . 57 
 FuLviA ; OR, Supposed Thoughts of a Hooted Candidate 
 IN HIS Garden ........ 58 
 
 Continued ......... 59 
 
 An Application of the Waxing Moon . . . .60 
 
 The Planet and the Tree 61 
 
 Hesperus 62 
 
 Nightingales 63 
 
 A Night Thought 64 
 
 Kesuscitation of Fancy 65 
 
 The Forest Glade .....•• 66 
 
 The Process of Composition 67 
 
 Morning 68 
 
 The Lattice at Sunrise . 
 Wind on the Corn . 
 Haevest-Home . 
 
 CEASDiG OF THE StORM 
 
 Time ant) Twilight . 
 Dreams .... 
 The Marble Landing 
 The Landing of Kino George I. of Greece at the 
 PlH.13US 
 
 69 
 70 
 71 
 72 
 73 
 74 
 75 
 
 76 
 
 To A Friend 77
 
 Vin CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Alexandeb the Geeat's Designs at Babylon frus- 
 trated . . . .78 
 
 Julian's Attempt to Build on the Site of the Temple 79 
 
 Terminus 80 
 
 Modeen Termini 81 
 
 Christ and Oepheus 82 
 
 Continued 83 
 
 Continued . . . • . . . . , .84 
 On Certain Books 85 
 
 Continued 86 
 
 A Dkeam . „ . . 87 
 
 A Waking Thought 88 
 
 Continued . . . . • . . . . .89 
 
 The Transfigueation 90 
 
 Gethsemane 91 
 
 The Critics at Gethsemane 92 
 
 The ' Higher Criticism ' 93 
 
 St. John's Eagle . 94 
 
 The Luxor Natitttt 95 
 
 A NON-NATUEAL ChEISTMAS 96 
 
 A Non-natueal Eastee 97 
 
 A NoN-NATUEAL AsCENSION AND WhIT-SuNDAT . . 98 
 
 German and French Gospels 99 
 
 Leben Jesu and Vie de Jesus 100 
 
 The Young Neologist at Bethlehem . . . .101 
 How the ' Highee Criticism' Blesses the Bible. . 102 
 Notes 103
 
 SONNETS.
 
 PREFATORT. 
 
 I dreamed I wrote an ode, and was not slack 
 To bring it where two mighty umpires dealt 
 The prize; but deep-mouthed Pindar bade me back, 
 And laughing Horace — like a boy I felt,* 
 WTio, idly thrumming on a single hair. 
 Stretched from his forehead, with his simple head 
 And child's ear close upon it, fancy-fed. 
 Conceits himself a harpist then and there ; 
 I woke, and murmured o'er a humbler strain, 
 A sonnet — smiling at my classic dream — 
 But still I may misuse some honest theme. 
 Tinkling this idle outgrowth of my brain ; 
 A hair amid the harpstrings ! my weak words 
 May pass unheard among the rolling chords. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 
 
 GREAT LOCALITIES. AN ASPIRATION. 
 
 Oft do I muse in castle-building hours — 
 
 ! might some trick o' the air advance the hill 
 Of Sion westward, I would gaze my fill 
 
 Upon her far-projected walls and towers ! 
 
 1 that the realms our rounded earth doth hide, 
 Could, maugre all the horizons, be displayed 
 To my rapt eyes and heart — o'er land and tide 
 By some intense refractive power conveyed ! 
 For I am bound by duties and constraints 
 
 To mine own land, or move in modest round 
 Among my neighbours ; tho' my spirit faints 
 And hungers for the storied eastern ground : 
 Cease, dreamer ! is it fit the laws of space 
 And vision should be strained to meet thy case ?
 
 Continued. 
 
 But, if it were, how soon Jerusalem 
 
 Should front my homestead with her mountain-hold ! 
 
 And ever-listening hills of Bethlehem 
 
 Report themselves in colours clear and bold ! 
 
 Then would I summon here old Cheops' tomb, 
 
 With its broad base to flank my bordering wood — 
 
 A mighty phantom ! pressing for the room 
 
 It holds in Egypt ! next, with change of mood. 
 
 Fair Athens should be welcomed, and the rest 
 
 Of those immortal cities, one by one ; 
 
 And, for my latest atmospheric guest, 
 
 I'd bid that crumbled mound from Babylon 
 
 Come looming up at sundown, with the moan 
 
 Of evening winds, and shadows from the west.
 
 6 
 
 Continued. 
 
 Nor — could I bring within my visual scope 
 The great localities old stories boast — 
 Would I forget thee, Troas ! whose first hope 
 Of travel pointed to thy lonely coast ; 
 How would my quicken'd fancy reproduce 
 Th' incessant brazen flash of Homer's war, 
 And heroes moving quick their ground to choose. 
 With spear-tops burning like the autumn star. 
 Along that sullen sea-board ! till, at length. 
 Mine ear should thrill, my startled pulses bound. 
 When from the trench those two grand voices rose — 
 And each involved in th' other, swept their foes 
 Before them, like a storm — the wrath and strength 
 Of Grod and man conspiring to the sound !
 
 TOKEN LIGHTS. A CONTRAST. 
 
 Of old, when Greek and Trojan took the field, 
 
 Before a lance was thrown or goat-horn bended. 
 
 The god, who on some favourite chief attended. 
 
 Lit up a sudden flame from helm and shield ; 
 
 We need no palpable approach of fire. 
 
 No visual intimation to be made. 
 
 Nor do we with our natural eyes require 
 
 To test om- GuarBian-God's protecting aid ; 
 
 From holier heavens our token-lights descend 
 
 Upon our Christian weapons, zeal and love, 
 
 To embolden and support us to the end 
 
 Of that great war thro' which we daily move , 
 
 To raise our drooping hearts and give us sight 
 
 Of our great Master's presence in the fight.
 
 8 
 
 GREAT LOCALITIES, ROME. 
 
 Keen was the vision which Ambition lent 
 To Eome's great captains, when the vacant realm 
 Was waiting for a chief to seize the helm, 
 And their stern martial looks were southward bent 
 From Graul or Britain, like a wizard's gaze 
 Constraining some weak victim to his harm, 
 While yet the nations had no countercharm 
 Against a despot's eye, in those fierce days ; 
 The city of their greed seemed well-nigh theirs, 
 Half in their grasp, full clearly bodied forth; 
 My Kome should softly float into the north 
 At my fond wish, convoyed by gentle airs — 
 Eapt into Freedom's land a little while 
 From Pio's grief, and Antonelli's guile !
 
 9 
 
 THE MOSELLE B0AT2IAN AND HIS 
 DAUGHTER. 
 
 Not high nor full enough to show things clear, 
 The half moon hung above the mountain-lines— 
 But, glancing on the waters, kindled there 
 A lamp of gold beneath the unseen vines ; 
 The night was fair, but, as our port we neared, 
 We sighed to lose the boatman and his mate, 
 Between whose pa>tient faces we had sate. 
 The old man rowing, while his daughter steered ; 
 ' Father,' she oft would say in accents mild, 
 WTiene'er she asked advice, or craved reply 
 To some brief question, while, with loving eye, 
 He smiled and nodded to his wstful child. 
 Over his close-joined hands and labouring oar — 
 'Twas sad to think we ne'er might see them more !
 
 10 
 
 Continued. 
 
 When first we took the stream, the maiden held 
 
 The oar, to keep her father s strength unworn 
 
 For midday labour ; but the sight compelled 
 
 Our pity, and the aid of pity born — 
 
 For at each stroke, whose ripples reached the land. 
 
 She rose up bodily, with toil and pain, 
 
 And often paused, and dipped her little hand, 
 
 To cool her brow, yet did she not complain ; 
 
 Full oft, in day-di-eams of that sweet Moselle, 
 
 I seek my gentle Grretchen, and persuade 
 
 My questing memory that all goes well 
 
 At Alf, by Bertrich, with that village-maid, 
 
 Who, when the task her slender force outweighed, 
 
 Rose from her seat, to make her rowing tell.
 
 II 
 
 THE BLUSH OF CONSTANTINE AT THE 
 COUNCIL OF NICE. 
 
 To that high Council gathered to compose 
 The troubled waters of the Church of Christ, 
 And with her noble words convince her foes. 
 Came the great monarch, faithful to his tryst ; 
 But lo ! on entering, how his visage glows 
 With sudden reverence, that doth enlist 
 The sympathies of bishop, courtier, priest ; 
 Who gaze in tender silence on the rose 
 He brings to their first meeting, and address 
 Themselves with braver hearts to their grand cause ; 
 And, though in aftertimes his zeal grew less 
 For the pure creed of those, whose eyes he draws 
 All is congenial now. They find no flaw 
 In that king's-aspect, dashed with holy awe.
 
 12 
 
 CONSTANTINE'S AMPHITHEATRE AT 
 TREVES. 
 
 This is the spot, where mighty Constantine, 
 
 His pagan pride o'ermatching Christian thought, 
 
 With his fair baths and palace did conjoin 
 
 The vast arena where his captives fought : 
 
 Strange ! that the first great prince who stood for Grod, 
 
 Should disaffect his new-won creed so far. 
 
 As thus to dally with the lust of blood, 
 
 And feed himself in peace with shows of war ! 
 
 Here, where the crowd, 'mid plaudits and alarms, 
 
 With brief stern action seal'd the will of Eome, 
 
 The vines outstretch their ever-floating arms. 
 
 That mark no victim, and denounce no doom ; 
 
 But round the ancient circuit waving stand, 
 
 To swell the vintage of this peaceful land.
 
 13 
 
 THE LION'S SKELETON. 
 
 How long, lion, hast thou fleshless lain ? 
 What rapt thy fierce and thirsty eyes away ? 
 First came the vulture: worms, heat, wind, and rain 
 Ensued, and ardors of the tropic day. 
 I know not — if they spared it thee — how long 
 The canker sate within thy monstrous mane. 
 Till it fell piecemeal, and bestrewed the plain ; 
 Or, shredded by the storming sands, was flung 
 Again to earth ; but now thine ample front, 
 WTiereon the great frowns gathered, is laid bare ; 
 The thunders of thy throat, which erst were wont 
 To scare the desert, are no longer there ; 
 Thy claws remain, but worms, wind, rain, and heat 
 Have sifted out the substance of thy feet.
 
 14 
 
 THE ARROW-KING. 
 
 How shall I picture forth the eagle's flight ? 
 An arrow feather'd with two mighty vans. 
 That soars and stoops at will, and broadly scans 
 The woods and waters with a living sight ! 
 A wondrous arrow ! wheeling round and round, 
 Before its prone descent upon the prey. 
 Descried far off upon the subject ground. 
 And with one stroke disabled for the fray ; 
 But lo ! there comes a small, unpennon'd thing. 
 And, from the rifle's throat directly sped, 
 Is potent to bring down this arrow-king. 
 With slacken'd wing and self-abandon'd head. 
 His nearest foe is yonder human eye. 
 With no assailant else in earth or sky !
 
 15 
 
 CYNOTAPHIUM. 
 
 When some dear human friend to death doth bow. 
 
 Fair blooming flowers are strewn upon the bier, 
 
 And haply, in the silent house, we hear 
 
 The last wild kiss ring on the marble brow. 
 
 And lips that never missed reply till now ; 
 
 And thou, poor dog, wert in thy measure dear — 
 
 And so I owe thee honour, and the tear 
 
 Of friendship, and would all thy worth allow. 
 
 In a false world, thy heart was brave and sound ; 
 
 So, when my spade carved out thy latest lair, 
 
 A spot to rest thee on, I sought and found — 
 
 It was a tuft of primrose, fresh and fair, 
 
 And, as it was thy last hour above ground, 
 
 I laid thy sightless head full gently there.
 
 i6 
 
 Continued. 
 
 ' I cannot think thine all is buried here,' 
 I said, and sighed — the wind awoke and blew 
 The morning-beam along the gossamer, 
 That floated o'er thy grave all wet with dew : 
 A hint of better things, however slight. 
 Will feed a loving hope ; it soothed my woe 
 To watch that little shaft of heavenly light 
 Pass o'er thee, moving softly to and fro : 
 Within our Father's heart the secret lies 
 Of this dim world ; why should we only live 
 And what was I that I should close mine eyes 
 On all those rich presumptions, that reprieve 
 The meanest life from dust and ashes ? Lo ! 
 How much on such dark ground a gleaming thread 
 can do !
 
 17 
 
 THE VACANT CAGE. 
 
 Our little bird in his full day of health 
 With his gold-coated beauty made us glad, 
 But when disease approached with cruel stealth, 
 A sadder interest our smiles forbade. 
 How oft we watched him, when the nigh thours came. 
 His poor head buried near his bursting heart. 
 Which beat within a puft and troubled frame ; 
 But he has gone at last, and played his part : 
 The seed-glass, slighted by his sickening taste- 
 The little moulted feathers, saffron-tipt. 
 The fountain, where his fever'd bill was dipt, 
 The perches, which his failing feet embraced 
 All these remain — not even his bath removed — 
 But where's the spray and flutter that we loved ?
 
 i8 
 
 Continued. 
 
 He shall not be cast out like wild-wood thine's ! 
 We will not spurn those delicate remains ; 
 No heat shall blanch his plumes, nor soaking rains 
 Shall wash the saffron from his little winss : 
 Nor shall he be inearthed — but in his casfe 
 Stand, with his innocent beauty unimpair'd ; 
 And all the skilled'st hand can do, to assuage 
 Poor Dora's grief, by more than Dora shared. 
 Shall here be done. What tho' those orbs of glass 
 Will feebly represent his merry look 
 Of recognition, when he saw her pass. 
 Or from her palm the melting cherry took — 
 Yet the artist's kindly craft shall not retain 
 The filming eye, and beak that gasped with pain.
 
 19 
 
 TO THE LARK. 
 
 Published in 1830. Slightly altered. 
 
 And am I up with thee, light-hearted minion ? 
 Who never dost thine early flight forego. 
 Catching for aye upon thy gamesome pinion 
 What was to fill some lily's cup below — 
 The morning shower-drops. What is half so thrilling 
 As thy glad voice i' th' argent prime of light ? 
 Just risen from the nest where thou wert billinff 
 A moment since, and with thy mate in sight, 
 Joy dwells with thee for ever — extasy — 
 Beyond the murmuring bliss of doves or bees ; 
 And with such vocal token of wild. ease 
 Thou dost reveal thy proud immunity 
 From mortal cares, that thou, perforce, must please; 
 Fair fall thy rapid song, sweet bird, and thee !
 
 20 
 
 TO TEE ROBIN. 
 
 Published in 1830. Slightly altered. 
 
 The ox is all as happy, in his stall, 
 As when he lowed i' the summer's yellow eve. 
 Browsing the king-cup slopes ; but no reprieve 
 Is left for thee, save thy sweet madrigal. 
 Poor robin: and severer days will fall. 
 Bethink thee well of all yon frosted sward. 
 The orchard-path, so desolate and hard, 
 And meadow-runnels, with no voice at all ! 
 Then feed with me, poor warbler, household bird, 
 And glad me with thy song so sadly tim'd, 
 And be on thankful ears thy lay conferr'd ; 
 So, till her latest rhyme my muse hath rhym'd, 
 Thy voice shall with a pleasant thrill be heard. 
 And with a poet's fear, when twigs are lim'd.
 
 21 
 
 BIRD-NESTING. 
 
 Ah ! that half bashful and half eager face ! 
 Among the trees thy guardian angel stands, 
 With his heart beating, lest thy little hands 
 Should come among the shadows and efface 
 The stainless beauty of a life of love, 
 And childhood innocence — for hark, the boys 
 Are peering through the hedgerows and the grove. 
 And ply their cruel sport with mirth and noise ; 
 But thou hast conquer'd ! and dispell'd his fear ; 
 Sweet is the hope thy youthful pity brings — 
 And oft, methinks, if thou shalt shelter here 
 When these blue eggs are linnets' throats and wings, 
 A secret spell shall bring about the tree 
 The little birds that owed their life to thee.
 
 22 
 
 THE LACHRYMATORY. 
 
 From out the grave of one whose budding years 
 Were crept by death, when Kome was in her prime, 
 I brought the phial of his kinsman's tears, 
 There placed, as was the wont of ancient time ; 
 Round me, that night, in meads of asphodel, 
 The souls of th' early dead did come and go, 
 Dra^^^l by that flask of grief, as by a spell. 
 That long-imprison'd shower of human woe ; 
 As round Ulysses, for the draught of blood, 
 The heroes thronged, those spirits flocked to me. 
 Where, lonely, with that charm of tears, I stood ; 
 Two, most of all, my dreaming eyes did see ; 
 The young Marcellus, young, but great and good. 
 And Tully's daughter, mourned so tenderly.
 
 23 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN A CHURCH. 
 
 As one whose eyes, by gleam of waters caught, 
 Should find them strewn with pansies, so to me 
 It chanced that morning, as I bowed the knee, 
 Soliciting th' approach of hallowed thought ; 
 I dreamed not that so dear a tomb was nigh ; 
 ]\Iy sidelong glance the lucid marble drew, 
 And, turning round about enquiringly, 
 I found it letter'd with the names I knew ; 
 Three precious names I knew, and lov'd withal, 
 Yea, knew and lov'd, albeit too briefly known- 
 Louisa, Henry, and the boy just grown 
 To boyhood's prime, as each receiv'd the call ; 
 And, over all, carv'd in the same white stone. 
 The symbol of the holiest death of all.
 
 24 
 
 Continued. 
 TO THE SURVIVORS. 
 
 Henceforth to you this monument shall be 
 A bright and constant presence : evermore 
 Your thoughts of death must pass by this white door, 
 Till ye yourselves shall meet Eternity ; 
 This vestal tablet written o'er with love, 
 From morn to eve your inner eye shall read. 
 And even in midnight darkness ye shall prove 
 What heavenward hopes its snowy gleam can feed; 
 Yes, ever in your hearts' clear depths shall lie 
 This fair tomb-shadow, when no ripple moves ; 
 And, when fresh rous'd to earthly sympathy, 
 Come floating softly o'er your living loves : 
 While I, not robbing you, may keep my share 
 Of that pure light which stole across my prayer.
 
 25 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF TWO LITTLE 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 Ah ! bitter chance ! no hand the blow could ward ! 
 
 Nor shield from harm her little guileless breast, 
 
 New to this perilous world, and daily prest 
 
 To a fond mother's heart ; her lot seems hard ; 
 
 But lo ! her face is calm — a gentle tone 
 
 Seems murmuring from those lips that breathe no more, 
 
 ' Come, little sistes, marked for heaven before ! 
 
 I crave that hand, yet smaller than mine own, 
 
 That baby-hand, to clasp again in mine ! ' 
 
 Sweet spirit ! as thou wish est, it shall be ; 
 
 Death drops his wing on younger heads than thine. 
 
 Though thine is of the youngest ; soon to thee 
 
 The little sister of thy soul shall come. 
 
 And one low funeral bell shall bring ye home I
 
 26 
 
 GODDARD AND LYCIDAS. 
 
 Two dirges by two poets have I read, 
 
 By two great masters of our English tongue ; 
 
 One for the youth who rests his drowned head 
 
 Upon the mighty harp of him who sung 
 
 The loss of Eden ; and the other, warm 
 
 From Wordsworth's gentle heart, o'er Goddard's grave 
 
 By Keller raised, near Zurich's stormy wave — 
 
 Both beautiful, with each its proper charm ; 
 
 The one so glorious — we are fain to blend 
 
 The name of Lycidas with that wild sea, 
 
 Where sank to deathless fame the poet's friend : 
 
 The other, with a humbler purpose penned, 
 
 Set one poor mother's stifled sorrows free, 
 
 And gained, by lowlier means, a sweeter end.
 
 2? 
 
 HOPE BENEATH THE WATERS. 
 
 ' I cannot mount to heaven beneath this ban : 
 
 Can Christian hope survive so far below 
 
 The level of the happiness of man ? 
 
 Can angels' wings in these dark waters grow ? ' 
 
 A spirit voice replied, ' From bearing right 
 
 Our sorest burthens, comes fresh strength to bear; 
 
 And so we rise again towards the light, 
 
 And quit the sunless depths for upper air : 
 
 Meek patience is as diver's breath to all 
 
 Who sink in sorrow's sea, and many a ray 
 
 Comes gleaming downward from the source of day, 
 
 To guide us reascending from our fall ; 
 
 The rocks have bruised thee sore, but angels' wings 
 
 Grow best from bruises, hope from anguish springs.'
 
 28 
 
 THE BUOY-BELL. 
 
 How like the leper, with his own sad cry 
 Enforcing his own solitude, it tolls ! 
 That lonely bell set in the rushing shoals. 
 To warn us from the place of jeopardy ! 
 friend of man ! sore-vext by ocean's power, 
 The changing tides wash o'er thee day by day ; 
 Thy trembling mouth is filled with bitter spray, 
 Yet still thou ringest on from hour to hour ; 
 High is thy mission, though thy lot is wild — 
 To be in danger's realm a guardian sound ; 
 In seamen's dreams a pleasant part to bear. 
 And earn their blessing as the year goes round ; 
 And strike the key-note of each grateful prayer, 
 Breathed in their distant homes by wife or child !
 
 29 
 
 THE BAIXBOW. 
 
 Father of all ! Thou dost not hide Thy Bond" 
 As one that would discla.im it — on the cloud. 
 Or springing fount, or torrent's misty shroud. 
 Lord of the waters ! are thy tokens found ; 
 Thy promise lives about the ambient air. 
 And, ever ready at a moment's call, 
 Reports itself, in colours fresh and fair ; 
 And, where St. Lawrence rushes to his fall 
 In thunder, Thou dost tend his angry breath 
 Infusinsc it with rainbows : — one and all 
 The floods of this green earth attest Thy ftxith, 
 The rain, the fountain, and the watery wall — 
 And, badg'd with sweet remembrancers, they say, 
 ' My word, once given, shall never pass away.'
 
 30 
 
 ANA STASIS. 
 
 Tho' deatti met love upon thy dying smile, 
 And staid him there for hours, yet th' orbs of sight 
 So speedily resign'd their aspect bright. 
 That Christian hope fell earthward for awhile, 
 Appalled by dissolution ; but on high 
 A record lives of thine identity ! 
 Thou shalt not lose one charm of lip or eye ; 
 The hues and liquid lights shall wait for thee. 
 And the fair tissues, wheresoe'er they be ! 
 Daughter of heaven ! our grieving hearts repose 
 On the dear thought that we once more shall see 
 Thy beauty — like Himself our Master rose — 
 So shall that beauty its old rights maintain. 
 And thy sweet spirit own those eyes again.
 
 31 
 
 THE DEATH-SMILE OF COWPER. 
 
 ' orphan smile ! born since our mourner died — 
 We ever long'd for thee, but saw thee not, 
 Till now, in posthumous beauty ; nought beside 
 Could have so moved us, while our tears were hot 
 And thrilling. Art thou not to each sad friend 
 The symbol of a long-desired release ? 
 A lovely prelude of immortal peace, 
 Now that the storm of life has reached its end ? ' 
 Fresh from kind Hayley's page these words I wrote. 
 As though I lean'd o'er Cowper, and beheld, 
 As present fact, what I from records quote ; 
 By rapture of pure sympathy impell'd 
 To join those first eye-witnesses, and note 
 A death-smile, and the sorrow that it quelled.
 
 32 
 
 APPREHENSION OF BLINDNESS. 
 
 When first upon mine eyes the darkness came, 
 
 I said, ' Will this dull film be always here, 
 
 To chide mine eyes with a perpetual fear ? 
 
 Or will the blind man's lot my spirit tame ? ' 
 
 Ah ! thankless heart ! and words which bring me shame 
 
 To think of; for a better time was near, 
 
 And wiser thoughts, which daily grow more dear. 
 
 With deep remorse for that unholy blame : 
 
 This web that falls and rises — Heaven be praised ! 
 
 Thro' its dark meshes I can read Thy Word : 
 
 Dim holy hopes have dawned where sunshine blazed 
 
 Unheeded ; sweet twilight undeplored ! 
 
 floating veil ! full gently dropt and raised 
 
 By the good hand of Jesus Christ my Lord !
 
 33 
 
 LOSS AND RESTORATION OF SMELL. 
 
 Dull to the year's first odours, I rebelled 
 
 Against the law which doom'd the violets 
 
 E'er I had smelt them ; but, ere long, I held 
 
 A quicken'd nostril over all the sweets 
 
 Of the full summer — for I had besought 
 
 The All-Giver to restore my blunted sense; 
 
 Humbly I pray'd,jand breath of roses brought 
 
 The answer. ! it was a joy intense, 
 
 After that dreary interval of loss. 
 
 I laughed, I ran about as one possessed ; 
 
 And now that winter seems my hopes to cross, 
 
 I snuff the very frost with happy zest. 
 
 Proud of recovered power, and fain to win 
 
 Fresh triumphs for it, when the Spring comes in. 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 ON THE STATUE OF LORD BYRON, 
 
 By Thorwcddsen, in Trinity College Library, Cambridge. 
 'Tis strange that I, who haply might have met 
 Thy living self — who sought to hide the flaws 
 In thy great fame, and, though I ne'er had set 
 Eyes on thee, heard thee singing without pause. 
 And long'd to see thee, should, alas ! detect 
 The Thyrza-sorrow first on seulptur'd brows. 
 And know thee best in marble ! Fate allows 
 But this poor intercourse ; high and erect 
 Thou hold'st thy head, whose forward glance beholds 
 All forms that throng this learned vestibule ; 
 Women and men, and boys and girls from school, 
 Who gaze with admiration all uncheck'd 
 On thy proud lips, and garment's moveless folds, 
 So still, so calm, so purely beautiful !
 
 35 
 
 Contimied. 
 
 And near thee hangs a page, in boyhood penn'd, 
 \STien all thy thoughts were, like thy marble, pure ; 
 When thou hadst none but little faults to mend. 
 In Lochnagar's cool shadow still secure 
 From praise or slander ; but thy brilliant youth 
 And manhood soon took tribute of thy kind ; 
 Grreat artists then thy lineaments designed. 
 And, last, the Dane's fine chisel struck the truth ; 
 And, when the current of the breath of fame 
 Drew up all relics of the master's craft, 
 This little page, — we know not whence it came,-- 
 Ran flitting forward in the mighty draught. 
 And, placed at last, where it was fain to be. 
 Shares our fond gaze between itself and thee. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, 
 
 According to her Advocates. 
 
 Thou pleadest well, yet some will say, and weep 
 
 To say it : ' See, the fond historian stands 
 
 Chafing- the blood from Mary's snowy hands 
 
 In vain, for still their ancient stains they keep ; ' 
 
 I join them not — I, too, am fain to think 
 
 That thou hast wrought a credible disproof 
 
 Of that old verdict. Shall I hold aloof. 
 
 And shut my heart up from the veriest blink 
 
 Of charitable sunshine, that descends 
 
 On this still-closing, still-re-opening bud 
 
 Of unproved innocence ? Holyrood I 
 
 Speak, for thou knowest ! Tell the means, the ends, 
 
 Of that dark conclave I All good spirits move 
 
 The lost truth to the light ; it is a work of love !
 
 Zl 
 
 Continued. 
 
 When the young hand of Darnley locked in her's 
 Had knit her to her northern doom — amid 
 The spousal pomp of flags and trumpeters, 
 Her fate look'd forth and was no longer hid ; 
 A jealous brain beneath a southern crown 
 Wrought spells upon her ; from afar she felt 
 The waxen image of her fortunes melt 
 Beneath the Tudor's eye, while the grim frown 
 Of her own lords o'ermaster'd her sweet smiles — 
 And nipt her growing gladness, till she mourned, 
 And sank, at last, beneath their cruel wiles ; 
 But, ever since, all generous hearts have burned 
 To clear her fame, yea, very babes have yearned 
 Over this saddest story of the isles.
 
 38 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 Yet our Elizabeth stood out alone. 
 
 ■'? 
 
 Shielding the faith — though tarnished thus with crime, 
 WTien any darknesss fell upon the time, 
 She heard the Jesuit's foot steal near the throne ; 
 When man and nature felt the advancing stress 
 Of that great armament, her mighty soul 
 Quailed not, and England from her steadfastness 
 Took heart^ — right-royal was her self control ; 
 Thames held his state ; bold headlands of the coast * 
 Sent mnds to chafe the foe, that, hintiog wreck, 
 Puft at each tilting prow and tower'd deck, 
 Till fuller tempests squandered all their host. 
 And, like a pack that overruns the scent. 
 Far to the north their scurrying vessels went !
 
 39 
 
 TEE ORDER OF THE STAR OF INDIA. 
 
 ' The star of India ! ' 'tis a goodly name — 
 
 Due to a fuller honour, purer love, 
 
 Than we, defaulters to our trust, can claim : 
 
 Yet sure its choice was prompted from above ; 
 
 Part-offspring of our civil hopes and fears, 
 
 Perchance its style is loftier than its birth ; 
 
 But seen by wistful eyes thro' holy tears, 
 
 It lengthens out its beams and lights the earth ; 
 
 We hail it as the herald of the day, 
 
 Earth's noblest badge, and knighthood's brightest prize ; 
 
 The spirit of Havelock, the pure and wise, 
 
 Leans forward to salute it on its way — 
 
 And sainted Heber, with a glad surprise 
 
 Sees from Almorah's hill its rising ray.
 
 40 
 
 Continued. 
 
 I dreamed — methought I stood upon a strand 
 
 Unblest with day for ages ; and despair 
 
 Had seized me, but for cooling airs that fann'd 
 
 My forehead, and a voice that said ' Prepare! ' 
 
 Anon I felt a dawning was at hand ; 
 
 A planet rose, whose light no cloud could mar. 
 
 And made thro' all the landscape near and far, 
 
 A wild half-morning for that dreary land ; 
 
 I saw her seas come washing to the shore 
 
 In sheets of gleaming ripples, wide and fair ; 
 
 I saw her goodly rivers brimming o'er, 
 
 And from their fruitful shallows looked the star ; 
 
 And all seem'd kissed with star-light ! till the beam 
 
 Of sunrise broke and yet fulfill'd my dream.
 
 41 
 
 A THOUGHT FOR MARCH 1860. 
 
 Yon happy blackbird's note the rushing wind 
 
 Quells not, nor disconcerts his golden tongue. 
 
 That breaks my morning dream with well-known song; 
 
 How many a roaring March I've left behind, 
 
 WTiose blasts, all-spirited with notes and trills, 
 
 Blew over peaceful England ! and, ere long. 
 
 Another March will come these hills among. 
 
 To clash the lattices and whirl the mills : 
 
 But what shall be ere then? Ambition's lust 
 
 Is broad awake, and gazing from a throne 
 
 But newly set, counts half the world his own ; 
 
 All ancient covenants aside are thrust, 
 
 Old landmarks are like scratches in the dust. 
 
 His eagles wave their wings, and they are gone.
 
 42 
 
 AUTOCRATIC POLICY OF THE FEDERAL 
 AMERICANS. 
 
 At length, a fierce autocracy is seen 
 
 Instaird aloft in Freedom's very seat ; 
 
 A throne built on the anger of defeat — 
 
 A virtual crown accorded in a spleen ; 
 
 The North, which brawled for Freedom and her rights 
 
 The North, which talk'd so big of brotherhood. 
 
 Hath dared for very rage a hundred fights. 
 
 When once her will was traversed ! Once withstood. 
 
 She opened condor's wings, and cried for blood: 
 
 And soared at once to sheer despotic heights — 
 
 And so we see, saddest of all sights ! 
 
 A ravening temper, deaf to all things good ; 
 
 While the poor slaves, cajoled by warring whites. 
 
 Drift between North and South like floating wood.
 
 43 
 
 POSSIBLE RESULTS OF THE FRIENDS' 
 
 MISSION TO ST. PETERSBURG. 
 
 In the Message of Alexander II. to Congress at the beginning of 
 
 the tvar. 
 
 Whatever be the meaning of that creed 
 
 Of the poke-bonnet and the ample brim, 
 
 Still in the shoes of truth the Quakers tread, 
 
 When they denounce our wars : forget the prim 
 
 Staid aspect of these worthy gentlemen, 
 
 WTiile purely, honestly, for peace they plead ; 
 
 Nor think it shame to propagate the seed 
 
 Sown by the sober hands of William Penn ; 
 
 Perchance — when to that Northern court they went, 
 
 Theyleftsomesaddeningthoughts of death and war; 
 
 And can we think their words were idly spent, 
 
 If that sweet message of the younger Czar 
 
 To deaf Americans, were meant to endorse, 
 
 By the son's act, the father's late remorse ?
 
 44 
 
 Continued. 
 
 Prove his own love of peace and sanction theirs. 
 The very quaintness of that precedent. 
 Which sought to baulk a warrior- king's intent 
 By quiet looks, and unofficial prayers, — 
 Blended with somewhat chivalrous and bold, 
 Even in the very act of their appeal 
 To him, full autocrat from head to heel, 
 Sworn to his own great plans, a lifetime old — 
 Might hit his fancy with a pleasant zest. 
 Might haunt his memory with a dim control. 
 Among a thousand thoughts the last and best, 
 While that stern leaguer of Sebastopol 
 Alternately exalted, and deprest. 
 Day after day, the balance of his soul.
 
 45 
 
 THE GREAT EXHIBITION OF 1862. 
 
 The great Exchanges press each other's heels. 
 Like the swift seasons or the swifter moons, 
 All Europe through — and every nation feels 
 This kindly intercourse the best of boons ; 
 The paths of peace and commerce, from all sides, 
 Lie straight for England, like old Koman ways ; 
 Hither the railway brawls, the steamboat glides. 
 The desert-ship is steered, the sledge-dog bays 1 
 Brought to the coast, and then disburthen'd there, 
 The o'erladen camel's spongy foot springs home 
 To its old span, while with a witless stare 
 He eyes the sea-board and the barks that come 
 To float his burthen off to the world's Fair : 
 The dog returns in snowy wilds to roam.
 
 46 
 
 Continued. 
 
 They snuff the breath of intervening seas, 
 And know no more of London, but the man 
 Ardent, competitive, and large of plan. 
 Brings all his spirit to such marts as these ; 
 The porterage of sea and land is claimed. 
 All common means we mend and multiply ; 
 Let not these bold preparatives be shamed, 
 These energies of hope advance to die ! 
 Art and Commerce, set the nations free. 
 And bid the rites of war's proud temples cease ! 
 power of steam ! for ever may'st thou be 
 A rolling incense in the house of peace ! 
 And all these vast consignments but increase 
 Our sense of brotherhood and charity !
 
 47 
 
 HEBRON. 
 The Prince of Wales's Visit. 
 Long had the Saracen with ruthless arms. 
 Denied all access to this place of awe ; 
 Next came the Christian Church, with holy psalms 
 Charming the gloom of hollow Machpelah : 
 Anon, the votaries of Mohammed's name, 
 Returning, trod the desecrated floors, 
 And, in the gusts^through those re-opening doors, 
 The dreary Moslem voices went and came 
 In Jacob's ears ! But now a step draws nigh, 
 A sound to reassure the patriarch's heart 
 With promise of the coming time, and start 
 The cerements from the hollow of his thigh. 
 As tho' the angel called : for lo ! they meet — 
 The 'Ladder' and the 'Cross,' with promise sweet!
 
 48 
 
 Continued. 
 
 How doth the Crescent brook this mighty change? 
 Sharpening those idle horns she cannot fill. 
 She peers with keen regret on that old range 
 Of tombs, and marks them for seclusion still ; 
 But Niphon and Cathay are entered now 
 On their new course, and shall the Turk's proud will 
 Reclose our unsealed Hebron ? and avow 
 Their stern monopoly of El Khalil ? 
 Help ! England, lend the shelter of thy love — 
 And let the firm stress of thy brooding wing 
 Be felt by those bold hands that would remove 
 Thy fond protective strength, which soon shall bring 
 These graves within the scope of Christian eyes, 
 And let poor Israel share the new-won prize.
 
 49 
 
 Contimied. 
 
 And when the coveted blessing is once gained, 
 And Israel to his father's tomb shall come, 
 By Christian aid recovered and maintained, 
 Oh may his heart for Christian hope find room I 
 And, as he leans and listens, inly thrilled, 
 May that dark chasm give forth One mystic word : 
 Oh ! may that beating heart and ear be filled 
 With one deep whisper, ' Jesus Christ is Lord ! ' 
 And as both Jew and Christian take their turn 
 To gaze, with kindly interchange of place, 
 Led up by Love, may hood-winkt Faith return. 
 Clear of the Talmud, and with open face ; 
 For Charity shall pave the way for Grace, 
 The pupil of pure love is quick to learn.
 
 50 
 
 THE TELEGRAPH CABLE TO INDIA. 
 
 Anticipative. 
 
 How all the old ways of intercourse have ceased. 
 
 Or well-nigh ceased — and we have lived to see 
 
 The word of England rapt into the East 
 
 Beneath the rolling waters I Can it be ? 
 
 Yea, and thro' lawless regions which we guard 
 
 And subsidize ; the Arab an^ the Turk 
 
 Are bound by stress of state, or gross reward, 
 
 To aid the mystic courier at its work 
 
 'Twixt land and sea ; soon, without wave or wind, 
 
 Our statesmen shall despatch their 'how' and ' why '- 
 
 And charge the lightning with their policy ; 
 
 Nor shall our home-affections lag behind ; 
 
 For all that longs, and loves, and craves reply, 
 
 Shall move the needle on the shores of lud.
 
 5^ 
 
 THE SOUTH-FOEELAND ELECTRIC 
 LIGHT. 
 
 From Calais pier I saw a brilliant sight, 
 And from the sailor at my side besought 
 The meaning of that fire, which pierc'd the night 
 With lustre, by the foaming billows caught. 
 ' 'Tis the South Foreland ! ' I resumed my gaze 
 With quicker pulse, thus, on the verge of France, 
 To come on Enolfmd's brightness in advance ! 
 There ! on the waters I In those far-seen rays 
 I hail'd the symbol of her fame in fight : 
 But, by a change akin to that which brought 
 The lightning under rule, the martial thought 
 Flashed itself out, transform'd to quiet light ; 
 I turned to all the good she did and taught, 
 Her shining honour and her moral might. 
 
 £ 2
 
 52 
 
 GREATNESS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Full long ere Europe knew the iron road, 
 The ' Eailway ' thundered on our English soil ; 
 There was a trembling in the sea-girt isle. 
 Where ' Hercules ' or mighty ' Samson ' trod. 
 Heavy and swift ; for Nature bore our yoke 
 Far earlier than elsewhere : we freed the slave 
 To take the lightning captive ; hearts of oak. 
 Of closest grain, the stalwart and the brave, 
 Thrill'd at the touch of science ; letters lent 
 Their gentle aid to feed the hungry strength 
 Of British minds with genial nourishment ; 
 And still these powers bear rule throughout the lengti 
 And breadth o' the land. The thought is rife v/ith pride 
 Perchance the ebb comes next. We stand at full of tide
 
 53 
 
 THE WIND-BOUND MISSION. 
 
 ' Deep in the West the godless Mormons dwell, 
 In the far East the Taepings waste and burn, 
 And stamp the name of Christ on deeds of hell — 
 Ah me I for comfort whither shall I turn, 
 \Miile East and West breed mockeries like these ? ' 
 I turned to Livingstone, on Afric's soil 
 Labouring, and good Mackenzie's holy toil, 
 And Selwyn praying for the southern seas — 
 But never thought more tender and sublime 
 To any bleeding anxious heart was given. 
 Than when I learned that not a wind-bound sail. 
 Near this rough foreland, waits the favouring gale, 
 But Christian men observe the vacant time. 
 Stand in the baffling wind and speak of heaven !
 
 54 
 
 THE TIIAW-WIND. 
 
 Thro' the deep drifts the south wind breathed its way 
 
 Down to the earth's green face ; the air grew warm. 
 
 The snow-drops had regain'd their lonely charm; 
 
 The world had melted round them in a day : 
 
 My full heart long'd for violets— the blue arch 
 
 Of heaven— the blackbird's song — but Nature kept 
 
 Her stately order — Vegetation slept — 
 
 Nor could I force the unborn sweets of March 
 
 Upon a winter's thaw. With eyes that brook'd 
 
 A narrower prospect than my fancy crav'd. 
 
 Upon the golden aconites I look'd, 
 
 And on the leafless willows as they wav'd — 
 
 And on the broad leav'd, half-thaw'd ivy-tod, 
 
 That glitter'd, dripping down upon the sod.
 
 55 
 
 ^.V APRIL DAY. 
 
 The lark sung loud ; the music at his heart 
 Had called him early ; upward straight he went, 
 And bore in nature's quire the merriest part, 
 As to the lake's broad shore my steps I bent ; 
 The waterflies with glancing motion drove 
 Their dimpling eddies in among the blooms 
 Shed by the flowering poplars from above; 
 While, overhead, the rooks, on sable plumes, 
 Floated and dipt about the gleaming haze 
 Of April, crost anon by April glooms. 
 As is the fashion of her chancreful davs : 
 When, what the rain-cloud blots, the sun relumes 
 0' the instant, and the shifting landscape shows 
 Each change, and, like a tide, the distance comes 
 and goes !
 
 56 
 
 THE CIIAR2IING OF THE EAST WIND. 
 
 Late in the month a rough east wind had sway, 
 
 The old trees thundered, and the dust was blown ; 
 
 But other powers possessed the night and day, 
 
 And soon he found he could not hold his own ; 
 
 The merry ruddock whistled at his heart, 
 
 And strenuous blackbirds pierced his flanks with song. 
 
 Pert sparrows wrangled o'er his every part, 
 
 And thro' him shot the larks on pinions strong : 
 
 Anon a sunbeam broke across the plain. 
 
 And the wild bee went forth on booming wing — 
 
 Whereat he feeble waxed, but rose again 
 
 With aimless rage, and idle blustering ; 
 
 The south wind touched him with a drift of rain. 
 
 And down he sank, a captive to the spring !
 
 57 
 
 SUMMER EVENING. RETIREMENT OF A 
 
 GARDEN. 
 
 'Scaped from th e day 's long heats and hustling crowds, 
 How much for that sweet silence I condon'd! 
 The gold moon glimpsed from out faint-stirring clouds, 
 And near the nested bird the beetle dron'd; 
 Pensive upon my garden-chair I sate, 
 And gave my ^irit up to evening dreams, 
 Haunted by fragments of that meagre chat, 
 That held so long, and touched such weary themes. 
 All worthless I Near me lay that burial sod 
 Where to a shining thread such power was given ; 
 A little, aimless, ferrying, light that stood, 
 And moved and stood again, at random driven. 
 But made, by hope, significant for good. 
 It plies, henceforth, between that hope and heaven.
 
 ^8 
 
 FULVIA, 
 
 or 
 
 Supposed Thoughts of a Hooted Candidate in his Garden. 
 
 Welcome, ye shades of summer eve, that close 
 My day among the tongues of yonder town ! 
 I would not pluck them out nor pin them down, 
 As vengeful Fulvia did with Cicero's — 
 Nor to mere petulance of speech assign 
 The cruel meed of his rare excellence — 
 Enough for me this stillness, and the sense 
 That they no longer vex these ears of mine ; 
 I will not vent my rage on foolish lungs, 
 Nor, even in fancy, re-enact the deed 
 Wreak'd on the Roman, in the stress and need 
 Of a great anger ; why should ribald songs 
 Scourge like impeaching eloquence ? or why 
 Should either tax our needles for reply ?
 
 59 
 
 Continued. 
 
 'Twas but a moment's ire — the next, withstood — 
 
 Yet, in that moment, liow my hungry spleen 
 
 Ean to the fierce triumvir's wife for food. 
 
 Through the long lapse of centuries between ! 
 
 And, by that ready reference, proved its kin ; 
 
 Strange ! how my angry mood sped back through time 
 
 To gust my fancy with the ancient crime ; 
 
 Impracticable thought ! unwelcome sin ! 
 
 I gauged again the depth of years, and found 
 
 -My ^Master, pleading in His hour of grief, 
 
 For friends who did not minister relief, 
 
 And foes who mocked Him, and stood brawling round 
 
 His divine silence ! — How distinct they were, — 
 
 The woman's vengeance and the .Saviour's prayer!
 
 6o 
 
 AN APPLICATION OF THE WAXING 
 MOON. 
 
 fair full moon ! that did'st embay the dark 
 With slender horns, when first my vow was made ; 
 
 1 saw thee grow, half-trustful, half- afraid. 
 But still prest onward to my goal and mark ; 
 Hard task was mine ! the true prayer to be prayed — 
 The bidding back of all my coward fears — 
 
 The ointment to be bought, the homage paid — 
 The feet of Jesus to be kissed with tears. 
 Yet soon the creeping shade will come again, 
 And drown thy snowy forelands night by night ; 
 For thy sole function is to wax and wane : 
 But faith must keep her victories of light, 
 Else were it better far to see thee shine. 
 With comfortable eyes of sheep and kine.
 
 bl 
 
 THE PLANET AND THE TREE. 
 
 The evening breeze is blowing from the lea 
 Upon the fluttering elm ; thou hast a mind, 
 star I methinks, to settle in the tree — 
 But, ever baffled by the pettish wind, 
 Thou movest back and forward, and I find 
 A pastime for my thoughts in watching thee; 
 In thy vast orbit^thou art rolling now, 
 And wottest not how to my human eye 
 Thou seeraest flouted by a waving bough, 
 Serving my fancy's needs right pleasantly ; 
 Thou wottest not — but He who made thee knows 
 Of all thy fair results both far and near. 
 Of all thine earthly, all thine heavenly shows — 
 The expression of thy beauty there and here.
 
 62 
 
 HESPERUS. 
 
 ' Shine on the sister planet at thy side,' 
 
 The Maker said, when first the worlds were made, 
 
 Just as our Hesperus began to glide 
 
 Along the path His prescient wisdom laid; 
 
 ' Shine on the earth, the home of sin to be ; 
 
 The sorrowing eyes of man will need thy light ; 
 
 Enter his guilty darkness night by night, 
 
 And symbolize his long-lost purity.' 
 
 Such is the story of our Evening Star, 
 
 As some fond muse might tell it — but, indeed, 
 
 'Tis God's own truth that all things near and far. 
 
 Were made for eyes to see, and hearts to read — 
 
 So comes it ever, as the twilights fall, 
 
 Sweet Hesperus shines forth for me, for all !
 
 63 
 
 NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 What spirit moves the quiring nightingales 
 To utter forth their notes so soft and clear ? 
 \Miat purport hath their music, which prevails 
 At midnight, thrilling all the darkened air ? 
 'Tis said, some weeks before the hen-birds land 
 Upon our shores, their tuneful mates appear ; 
 And, in that space, by hope and sorrow spann'd, 
 Their sweetest melodies 'tis ours to hear ; 
 And is it so ? for solace till they meet, 
 Does this most perfect chorus charm tlie grove ? 
 Do these wild voices, round me and above. 
 Of amorous forethought and condolence treat? 
 Well may such lays be sweetest of the sweet, 
 That aim to fill the intervals of Love I
 
 64 
 
 A NIGHT THOUGHT. 
 
 snowy star ! which I all night have eyed, 
 As some poor girl her lover's moon-lit sail, 
 Bound for the outer sea at early tide — 
 The rosy billows and the morning gale — 
 
 1 grieve to lose thee ! for the night will fail 
 And thou be gone at dawning ; but, to-night. 
 Thou fill'st my cup of tears with silver light, 
 And lustres of regret serene and pale : 
 Thou dost express and symbolize the whole 
 
 Of those deep thoughts that pierce me and refine ; 
 But see ! the daytime comes with all it's dole ! 
 Ah ! woody hills and autumn-tints divine ! 
 Ah ! mournful eyes ! Ah ! sad poetic soul ! 
 Ah ! beauteous thoughts and fatal woes of mine !
 
 65 
 
 RESUSCITATION OF FANCY. 
 
 The edge of thought was blunted by the stress 
 Of the hard world ; my fancy had wax'd dull, 
 All nature seemed less nobly beautiful, — 
 Robbed of her grandeur and her loveliness ; 
 Methought the Muse within my heart had died. 
 Till, late, awaken'd at the break of day. 
 Just as the East took fire and doffd its grey. 
 The rich preparatives of light I spied ; 
 But one sole star — none other anywhere — 
 A wild-rose odour from the fields was borne ; 
 The lark's mysterious joy fill'd earth and air, 
 And from the wind's top met the hunter's horn ; 
 The aspen treml)]ed wildly, and the morn 
 Hreath'd up in rosy clouds, divinely fair !
 
 66 
 
 THE FOREST GLADE. 
 
 As one dark morn I trod a forest glade, 
 A sunbeam entered at the further end, 
 And ran to meet me thro' the yielding shade — 
 As one, who in the distance sees a friend. 
 And, smiling, hurries to him ; but mine eyes. 
 Bewildered by the change from dark to bright, 
 Eeceived the greeting with a quick surprise 
 At first, and then with tears of pure delight ; 
 Forsad my thoughtshad been — thetempest'swrath 
 Had gloomed the night, and made the morrow grey; 
 That heavenly guidance humble sorrow hath. 
 Had turned my feet into that forest-way, 
 Just when His morning light came down the path. 
 Among the lonely woods at early day.
 
 b; 
 
 THE PROCESS OF COMPOSITION. 
 
 An Ilhistration. 
 
 Oft in our fancy an uncertain thought 
 Hangs colourless, like dew on bents of grass. 
 Before the morning o'er the field doth pass ; 
 But soon it glows and brightens; all unsought 
 A sudden glory flashes thro' the dream, 
 Our purpose deepens and our wit grows brave, 
 The thronging hints a richer utterance crave, 
 And tongues of fire approach the new-won theme; 
 A subtler process now begins — a claim 
 Is urged for order, a well-balanced scheme 
 Of words and numbers, a consistent aim ; 
 The dew dissolves before the warming beam ; 
 But that fair thought consolidates its flame, 
 And keeps its colours, hardening to a gem. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 It is the fairest sight in Nature's realms. 
 To see on summer morning, dewy-sweet. 
 That very type of freshness, the green wheat, 
 Surging thro' shadows of the hedgerow elms ; 
 How the eye revels in the many shapes 
 And colours which the risen day restores ! 
 How the wind blows the poppy's scarlet capes 
 About his urn ! and how the lark upsoars ! 
 Not like the timid corn-craik scudding fast 
 From his own voice, he with him takes his song 
 Heavenward, then, striking sideways, shoots along, 
 Happy as sailor boy that, from the mast. 
 Runs out upon the yard-arm, till at last 
 He sinks into his nest, those clover tufts among.
 
 eg 
 
 THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE. 
 
 As on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed, 
 
 I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall, 
 
 The flauntino- leaves and flittino; birds withal — 
 
 A sunny phantom interlaced with shade ; 
 
 ' Thanks be to heaven,' in happy mood I said, 
 
 ' What sweeter aid my matins could befall 
 
 Than this fair glory from the East hath made ? 
 
 \Miat holy sleights hath God, the Lord of all. 
 
 To bid us feel and see ! we are not free 
 
 To say we see not, for the glory comes 
 
 Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea ; 
 
 His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms ; 
 
 And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me 
 
 With golden shadows to my secret rooms !'
 
 70 
 
 WIJVD Oli THE CORN. 
 
 Full open as I rove by path or style, 
 To watch the harvest ripening in the vale, 
 Slowly and sweetly, like a growing smile — 
 A smile that ends in laughter — the quick gale 
 Upon the breadths of gold-green wheat descends ; 
 While still the swallow, with unbaffled grace. 
 About his viewless quarry dips and bends — 
 And all the fine excitement of the chase 
 Lies in the hunter's beauty: In the eclipse 
 Of that brief shadow, how the barley's beard 
 Tilts at the passing gloom, and wild-rose dips 
 Among the white-tops in the ditches reared : 
 And hedgerow's flowery breast of lacework stirs 
 Faint y in that full wind that rocks th' outstanding firs
 
 71 
 
 HARVEST-HOME. 
 
 Late in September came our corn-crops home, 
 Late, but full-ear'd — by many a merry noise 
 Of matron and of maid, young girls and boys, 
 Preceded, flank'd, and followed, did they come ; 
 A general joy ! for piles of unwrought food 
 For man and beast, on those broad axles prest, 
 And strained those sinewy necks in garlands drest ; 
 The harebell and the ragwort wondering stood 
 As the slow teams wound up that grassj^- lane ; 
 All knew the husbandman's long task was done ; 
 "WTiile, as they crost his disk, the setting sun 
 Blazed momently betwixt each rolling wain 
 And that which follow'd, pil'd with golden grain, 
 As if to gratulate the harvest won.
 
 72 
 
 CEASING OF THE STORM. 
 
 The storm had well nigh gone ; no fitful blast 
 Lifted the weeping willow into heaven. 
 To let it fall and weep again, downcast ; 
 How often is such fickle comfort given ! 
 How peaceful seemed the far up floating rook, 
 Crossing with jetty wing the full white cloud, 
 As to the blue beyond his way he took ; 
 While, in the grove, a lingering breeze allowed 
 The sight to catch, 'mid play of wind and sun, 
 The uncertain shadows of that woodland nook. 
 Swallowing the silent shafts of light that run 
 Along the spider's thread ; on nature's book 
 I love to pore, and mark what soars on high. 
 Or lurks in bye-paths for the observant eye.
 
 73 
 
 TIME AND TWILIGHT. 
 
 In the dark twilight of an autumn morn 
 I stood within a little country-town, 
 Wherefrom a long acquainted path went down 
 To the dear village haunts where I was born ; 
 The low of oxen on the rainy wind. 
 Death and the Past, came up the well-known road, 
 And bathed my heart with tears, but stiiTcd my mind 
 To tread once more the track so long untrod ; 
 But I was warned, ' Eegrets which are not thrust 
 Upon thee, seek not ; for this sobbing breeze 
 Will but unman thee ; thou art bold to trust 
 Thy woe-worn thoughts among these roaring trees, 
 And gleams of by-gone playgrounds — Is't no crime 
 To rush by night into the arms of Time ? '
 
 74- 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 Most dreams are like the tide upon the beach 
 
 Kolling the baseless pebbles, till their place 
 
 Is chaiiged and changed again, beyond the reach 
 
 Of the best waking memory to retrace 
 
 The loose and helpless motion ; these, and those 
 
 That stand like rocks, engraved with name and date, 
 
 And cognizable words of coming fate, 
 
 What mean they ? who among onr schoolmen knows ? 
 
 What means this double power to rave and teach ? 
 
 This common fund of toys and verities ? 
 
 Of dooming oracles and foolish cries ? 
 
 Now kept apart, now blending each with each — 
 
 Abortive interests, and unreal ties, 
 
 And prophecies no daylight can impeach ?
 
 75 
 
 THE MARBLE LANDING. 
 
 An Incident at Spezzia. 
 
 They sunk a graven stone into the ground 
 Where first our Garibaldi's ship was moor'd, 
 Whereon an angry record of his wound 
 Beneath those fair memorial lines, was scor'd ; 
 At night th' accusing tablet was replac'd 
 By one, discharg'd of that injurious word, 
 That pierced the ^neral bosom like a sword. 
 Belied their love, their common hope disgrac'd. 
 Lie firm, thou latest-written rock ! his meed 
 Of honour should be neighbour'd by no groan 
 Of party spleen — perish the bitter seed 
 In the pure marble furrow vainly sown ! 
 WTiy brand with purpos'd hate a casual deed 
 That made our hero's noble patience known ?
 
 76 
 
 THE LANDING OF KING GEORGE I. OF 
 GREECE AT THE PIRyETJS. 
 
 Nature and man should join with one accord 
 
 To celebrate this purer second birth 
 
 Of royalty — blue skies and attic mirth, 
 
 And boughs of myrtle round the guardian sword ; 
 
 A double strength of purple on the hills. 
 
 And a wine-fount in mid-Athens ! that each mouth 
 
 May quaff the young king's health, and slake the drou 
 
 Of that long-drawn Bavarian term of ills ; 
 
 And you, Ionian isles ! when Adria's wave 
 
 Comes foaming in before the Danish prows, 
 
 Eemember England, ruling but to save. 
 
 And how she listen'd to your earnest vows ; 
 
 Remember England in that night's carouse. 
 
 For what her mighty hand, unfolding, gave !
 
 77 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 My low deserts consist not with applause 
 So kindly — when I fain would deem it so, 
 My sad heart, musing on its proper flaws. 
 Thy gentle commendation must forego ; 
 As toys, which, glued together, hold awhile, 
 But, haply brought too near some searching fire, 
 Start from their frail compacture, and beguile 
 The child, that pieced them, of his fond desire : 
 I was a very child for that brief tide, 
 Whenas I join'd and solder'd thy good word 
 With my poor merits — 'twas a moment's pride— 
 The flames of conscience sunder'd their accord : 
 My heart dropt off in sorrow from thy praise. 
 Self-knowledge baulk'd self-love so many ways.
 
 78 
 
 ALEXANDER THE GREATS DESIGNS 
 AT BABYLON FRUSTRATED. 
 
 He plied Hephsestion's ear with royal schemes 
 Over the wine-cup ; hollow rang his voice 
 From barrier-rocks of Providence, and gleams 
 Of fatal fever lightened from his eyes ; 
 He thought to build and drain with busy power — 
 But could not pass beyond the appointed goal ; 
 For the strong ward of one prophetic scroll 
 Had frayed the horns of Amnion, and his hour 
 Drew nigh ; Time sped — the bitterns thronged the 
 
 strand. 
 And shook the site of his imperial dream 
 With booming, and the dropsy of the land 
 Grew from the untended waters ; evening's beam, 
 And morn's, looked down upon a realm of fear. 
 With pools and mounds and marshes far and near.
 
 79 
 
 JULIAN'S ATTEMPT TO BUILD ON THE 
 SITE OF THE TEMPLE. 
 
 The crowd is climbing up the sacred hill 
 
 With loud acclaim and music — shall we see 
 
 Jehovah's irreversible decree 
 
 Dogged into hiding by the Eoman's will ? 
 
 Shall this proud king our Lord's own words gainsay ? 
 
 Nay — by that burst of sudden fire which sears 
 
 The uplifted hand of labour I by the fears 
 
 Of that vast crowd ! By Christ and Moses, nay ! 
 
 The Apostate challenged God on His own ground ; 
 
 And as His prophet struck the fifties down. 
 
 The baffled servants of that older crown — 
 
 So now His flames their dazzled sense confound ; 
 
 For none but He, who did the like before, 
 
 Shall change the story of Araunah's floor.
 
 8o 
 
 TERMINUS. 
 
 Upon the roll of folly and of crime 
 
 There lives a fact, for intellectual scorn — 
 
 But more for Christian pity, so forlorn 
 
 And abject stands it in the stream of Time ! 
 
 The Imperial mandate ran, that, on a day, 
 
 Held sacred to the Lord of limitations. 
 
 The Christian faith should have its conquering way 
 
 Barred up, and so the disenchanted nations 
 
 Go back to Jove and Phoebus and the fanes ; 
 
 Messiah ! and the block-god Terminus ! 
 
 stolid humour ! elaborate pains. 
 
 All lost and wasted ! for it is not thus 
 
 That truth is stopt ; Saints bled, but idols fell, 
 
 The Church bowed eastward still, and all was well.
 
 8i 
 
 MODERN TERMINI. 
 
 Again we see the obstructive rites decreed — 
 
 This time by modern schools, a wrangling lot ; — 
 
 Each hopes his little god shall do the deed, 
 
 The glorious deed — which Terminus did not ! 
 
 The master lectures, and the pupils quote, 
 
 And noise abroad each fire-new theory, 
 
 Or stale old sophism. How they rave and dote ! 
 
 And plant their idols where their Lord should be ! 
 
 Soon may we say, ' the heathen dream is past ! 
 
 The worship of these human blocks of stone. 
 
 These heirs of Terminus, is failing fast I 
 
 By history and reason overthrown ; 
 
 On their hard fronts the sunrise strikes in vain, 
 
 No Memnon-chords have they in all their sorry grain I ' 
 
 G
 
 82 
 
 CHRIST AND ORPHEUS. 
 
 What means this vain ideal of our Lord, 
 
 With ' Orpheus ' underwritten ? Couldst thou see 
 
 With eyes of faith the Incarnate Deity, 
 
 That faith a nobler title would accord 
 
 Than this, whereat no Christian fancy warms ; 
 
 Thou would'st not score the mythic harper's name 
 
 Beneath the fallen head and outstretched arms. 
 
 Nor seem to blink our dear Eedeemer's claim 
 
 To His own cognizance and proper fame ; 
 
 The sorrowing manhood of the King of kings. 
 
 The double nature, and the death of shame, 
 
 The tomb — the rising— are substantial things. 
 
 Irrelevant to Orpheus ; What hath made 
 
 Thy wisdom match Messias with a shade ?
 
 8? 
 
 Continued. 
 
 give thy king no byenames ! nor decry 
 
 The title proper to his native throne 
 
 Within our hearts, as tho' thou would'st deny 
 
 The authentic angel's voice which made it known ; 
 
 'Tis treason to invalidate our creed 
 
 By understatements, partial, vague, and scant ; 
 
 A faith in music is not what we want. 
 
 This sweet-toned mythus meets no sinner's need ; 
 
 Come to the rescue, all who would not fuse 
 
 Redemption into harp-notes ! nor exchange 
 
 For this new style our grand prescriptive use ; 
 
 Nor seek, from flying leaves of legend strange, 
 
 To annotate Christ Jesus ! till the next 
 
 Bold pen obtrudes the margin on the text. 
 
 o 2
 
 84 
 
 Continued. 
 
 friend, it is a deep religious loss 
 
 To palter with our Master's pure renown ; 
 
 To lose the sad precision of the Cross 
 
 In Fancy's lights, and melt away His crown ; 
 
 Grazing on truth, why should our vision swim ? 
 
 Let Calvary stand clear of fabulous mist, 
 
 Keep all the paths of Olivet for Christ, 
 
 And let no Orphic phantom walk with Him ! 
 
 Then, and then only, welcome ! what they tell 
 
 Of that majestic harp, which came full-strung 
 
 Among the woes of Hades, to compel 
 
 A pause in all her penance — of the spell 
 
 Marred by a look — and of that faithful tongue, 
 
 Which Death and Hebrus strove in vain to quell.
 
 85 
 
 ON CERTAIN BOOKS. 
 
 Faith and fixt hope these pages may peruse. 
 And still be faith and hope ; but, ye winds ! 
 Blow them far off from all unstable minds, 
 And foolish grasping hands of youth ! Ye dews 
 Of heaven ! be pleased to rot them where they fall, 
 Lest loitering boys their fancies should abuse. 
 And they get hailn by chance, that cannot choose ; 
 So be they stained and sodden, each and all ! 
 And if, perforce, on dry and gusty days, 
 Upon the breeze some truant leaf should rise. 
 Brittle with many weathers, to the skies. 
 Or flit and dodge about the public ways- 
 Man's choral shout, or organ's peal of praise 
 Shall shake it into dust, like older lies.
 
 86 
 
 Continued. 
 
 Alas I my friend, 'tis motive power one needs 
 And not these idle fancies ill-advised ; 
 Mere harness will not pull us up to Christ, 
 Without the strength of full and living creeds ; 
 These shiny morals are no match for sin, 
 These empty trappings are not force nor speed ; 
 What I shall we hope the chariot race to win 
 With straps and head-stalls only ? To succeed 
 In that great race, to Faith alone is given — 
 On- looking Faith, whose object fires the will ; 
 And, as the distance shrinks 'twixt earth and heaven, 
 Grlows with its motion, and bears forward still, 
 Because it marks the goal with steadfast eye, 
 WTiile smart theosophies lose heart and die.
 
 87 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 I dreamed a morning dream — a torrent brought 
 
 From fruitless hills, was rushing deep and wide : 
 
 It ran in rapids, like impatient thought ; 
 
 It wheeled in eddies, like bewildered pride : 
 
 Bleak-faced Neology, in cap and gown. 
 
 Peered up the channel of the spreading tide, 
 
 As, with a starved expectancy, he cried, 
 
 ' When will the Body of the Christ come down ? ' 
 
 He came— not It, but He ! no rolling waif 
 
 Tost by the waves — nc drowned and helpless form — 
 
 But -svith unlapsing step, serene and safe. 
 
 As once He trod the waters in the storm ; 
 
 The gownsman trembled as his Grod went by — 
 
 I looked again, the torrent-bed was dry.
 
 88 
 
 A WAKING THOUGHT. 
 
 No water-floods shall drown our Lord and King ! 
 Nor shall those ancient organs of report, 
 His glorious Grospels, prove the tempest's sport ; 
 What makes me sure of what I boldly sing ? 
 Not my poor dreams ! tho', as the master wills. 
 They follow truth in darkness — 'tis revealed 
 That no brief torrents, from the fruitless hills. 
 Shall make an ooze of our historic field, 
 For all mankind by Christ's own prowess won — 
 Not my poor dreams ! but all that lies between 
 That time and this — what is and what hath been — 
 The long array of all that hath been done 
 And suffered, since the Virgin bore her son — 
 The facts of ages, and the hopes of men !
 
 89 
 
 Continued. 
 
 I tax not all with this unmanly hate 
 
 Of truth, for purer spirits stand without — 
 
 Meek men of reverent purpose, watch and wait, 
 
 And gaze in sorrow from the land of doubt. 
 
 Yes — gentle souls there be, who hold apart, 
 
 And long in silence for the day of gi-ace ; 
 
 For deep in many a brave, though bleeding, heart 
 
 There lurks a yearning for the Healer's face — 
 
 A yearning to be free from hint and guess. 
 
 To take the blessings -Christ is fain to give : 
 
 To all who dare not with their conscience strive, 
 
 To all who burn for this most dear success, 
 
 Faith shall be born ! and, by her natural stress, 
 
 Push through these dark philosophies, and live !
 
 90 
 
 TEE TBANSFIGURATION. 
 
 The old 'Pcmlus' Theory. 
 
 A fiction or a fact ? an interview 
 Of Christ with his own prophets ? or a blink 
 Of moonlight caught by dreaming eyes, that wink 
 And wonder, and report what is not true ? 
 When ^nll the impugners of the Grospel claims 
 The deep consistent likeness recognise 
 Between his woes and glories ? Living ties 
 That bind in one His honours and His shames ? 
 For all coheres ; His pangs and triumphs touch 
 Each other, like the wings of Cherubim : 
 Strange was His Birth— His death and rising, such 
 As to bear out that strangeness — and as much 
 May well be said of dark Grethsemane, 
 That sternest link in the great unity.
 
 9' 
 
 GETHSEMANE. 
 
 Pursing his traitor lips he onward went, 
 The Apostle, with those harsh ofScial men — 
 All on one cruel baleful thought intent, 
 To hunt the Lamb up from His sheltering glen, 
 cruel conclave ! where those murderers met ; 
 vile nisfht-market ! where our Lord was sold 
 Among the sad gray olives, in His sweat, 
 Just risen from that awful pra3^er; behold I 
 They lead Him forth, the Victim long foretold 
 To climb, like Isaac, up the fated hill : 
 And so Grod wrought Eedemption — fold in fold 
 With hate and guile He wrapt His holy will, 
 Yet left that will still holy — nor approved 
 The sin He worked with, nor its curse removed.
 
 92 
 
 THE CRITICS AT GETHSEMANE. 
 
 Ever here we meet the Critics. The deep grief, 
 Which all imaginative Art would faint 
 To express — the Angel's visit of relief — 
 The God bowed earthward like some mourning saint- 
 They tone down all in their unhappy way ; 
 Distilling rose-tints from their Saviour's blood, 
 The Grod-man's sweat of anguish ! to portray 
 Their sweet young Syrian — so divinely good, 
 ' We must forgive His worshippers,' they say ; 
 Not so the Church ! and tho' she needs must blush 
 At her own feeble handling, yet alway. 
 When she would paint her Master's darkest day, 
 She takes the full-hued life-drop on her brush. 
 And works, in simple faith, as best she may.
 
 93 
 
 THE ' HIGHER CEITICISM: 
 
 Sophistry ! how many lips have kissed 
 
 And fondled thy puft hand, bedaubed with ink 
 
 Of the ' higher criticism,' which does not shrink 
 
 To substitute, for our sound faith in Christ, 
 
 A dreamy, hollow, unsubstantial creed : 
 
 Strikes its small penknife through the covenants 
 
 Both old and new, and, in a trice, supplants 
 
 Without replacing, all we love and need ; 
 
 How blank will be thy scholarly regret 
 
 To see these blurred and shredded Gospels rise 
 
 Beyond the knives and ink-horns! — buoyant yet 
 
 With native strength, of which thou mad'st no count, 
 
 And, as heaven's lively oracles, confest 
 
 By all, disprove, perforce, each lying test.
 
 94 
 
 ST. JOHN'S EAGLE. 
 
 He holds his course, he stoops not at command. 
 That stately-soaring Eagle of Saint John ! 
 Though, all-agape, the learned critics stand 
 To lure him to their fancy-perch, upon 
 The lower rounds of time ; straight up he soars 
 From holy Zion ! bound by no Grreek rules, 
 Nor held in leash by Alexandrian schools — 
 The mind of Christ, not Plato's, he explores ; 
 Sunward he hies. Ye sages, clear your ken, 
 See true for once, and register your sight ; 
 And in the note-books fretted by your pen, 
 While yet your eye-balls glow, the vision write : 
 And, when the unrighteous question stirs again, 
 Remember what you wrote as thoughtful men !
 
 95 
 
 THE LUXOR NATIVITY. 
 
 A full-blowu, modern, speculative sage 
 Is on us, crammed with Egypt — with his dream 
 Of Nile he seeks the folds of Bethlehem, 
 And writes ' from Luxor ' on the sacred page ; 
 The ' young child ' came from Eg}^t : yet not so, 
 As this vain scribe would have it — not the son 
 Of an old Coptic frieze, but the Holy One 
 Of Israel, Virgin-born ! shame and woe ! 
 But, my Church, thou standest ever sure, ' 
 Though meteors through thine open portals glow. 
 Discolouring with strange lights, that come and go. 
 Thine altars, and thy fonts, and vestments pure — 
 Flashing their alien tinct on the true grain 
 Of thy great dogmas — Evermore in vain.
 
 96 
 
 A NON-NATURAL CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Christmas hollies ! thrice-blessed morn ! 
 Again with thy dear message art thou come, 
 A word of joy to thousands, but to some 
 A fable among fables, 'Christ is born!' 
 Hold off the hour to which our folly leans, 
 When priesthood in his own white robe shall stand 
 Forsworn — amid the faithful evergreens ! 
 A thief— a traitor to his own right hand ! 
 Once perjured and ordained, what follows next? 
 Whene'er, as preacher, to his flock he speaks, 
 The self-yoked sophist, fretting at his text, 
 Will rub against its meaning^while the weeks 
 And months drag on his hollow Christian year — 
 Woe to faint hearts ! we must not falter here.
 
 97 
 
 A NON-NATUBAL EASTER. 
 
 Ill fares the priest to-day, who blinks the faith 
 Of Easter, and, recoiling from the shock 
 Of the great theme submitted to his flock, 
 Keserves his thoughts about the Life and Death ; 
 How false he feels when our high feast returns I 
 While, in his pulpit, on his sidelong eye 
 The chalice gleajns, the great East window burns, 
 The snow-white board obtrudes its purity ; 
 And he must go and bless it — yea, he goes ! 
 Thouofh covert ironies within him ask 
 Whether, in very deed, our Day-star rose ; 
 'Tis sad to see him how he takes his mask 
 To meet the morning ! timid and untrue, 
 And missing all the sweet airs and the dew ! 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 A NON-NATURAL ASCENSION AND 
 WHIT-SUNDAY. 
 
 Christ leaves to-day the little gazing crowd 
 
 Upon the Mount, as straight to Heaven He fares ; 
 
 I let us follow Him with hymns and prayers 
 
 Up to the skii'ts of that receiving cloud ; 
 
 But lo ! the preacher hath no hope, no trust, 
 
 Nor can he, 'mid our coming Whitsun-songs, 
 
 Make common cause with all those fiery tongues 
 
 That hail the glories of the Pentecost ; 
 
 But, if he ever thought it joy to meet 
 
 The faithful — if that memory thrills him yet — 
 
 Full surely must he feel some fond regret. 
 
 At parting with a creed so grand and sweet ; 
 
 A grief, as when forsaken Olivet 
 
 Rolled sadly from beneath the Saviour's feet.
 
 99 
 
 GERMAN AND FRENCH GOSPELS. 
 
 How do these eloquent lecturers of France, 
 And more uncouth expositors of lame 
 Teutonic Saviours, on our creeds advance, 
 And push, in crowds, for Messianic fame I 
 Some in ' great swaths ' of learning and untruth 
 Utter themselves, and vent, in weary tomes, 
 Their cruel day-dreams, without pause or ruth. 
 Staunch to a worse apostacy than Eome's ; 
 Others, in tenderer tones, our hopes decry. 
 And blight all careless hearts with moral death, 
 And, with sweet voices, summon us to die ; 
 But, all alike, reduce our grand old faith, 
 Our full-orb'd creeds, to merest nuclei. 
 With atmospheres of philosophic breath 1 
 
 u 2
 
 100 
 
 LEBEN JESU AND VIE BE JESUS. 
 
 Hail, ancient creeds ! that help us to disdain 
 These 'Lives of Jesus ; ' you, that boldly speak 
 Of an authentic Saviour, gracious, meek. 
 And wonderful, the Lamb for sinners slain ; 
 Well, they may fret weak faith, make rebels glad. 
 But Oh ! what honest soul can wish to see 
 These churches of the ' Leben ' or the ' Vie ' 
 Get themselves towers in Christendom ? how sad 
 Is this wild masque of Christs, that flits athwart 
 The world, ' lo here ! lo there ! ' from all the schools 
 While the true Lord of glory stands apart, 
 And bides His welcome, as the madness cools. 
 When they shall greet Him with fond eyes and heart, 
 And test His slighted word bv holier rules.
 
 lOI 
 
 THE YOUNG NEOLOGIST AT BETHLEHEM. 
 
 A Itecommendatory Letter. 
 
 Ye shepherds ! angels now ! who gladly heard 
 
 That midnight Word of God, in music given, 
 
 Which told of Christ's Nativity, and stirr'd 
 
 Your hearts with melodies from middle heaven ; 
 
 Tend this poor creedless youth through David's town ! 
 
 Be ever near him with a silent spell, 
 
 And lead him to4:he spot, where, floating down 
 
 Upon your watch, the choral blessing fell ! 
 
 There charm away his false and flimsy lore, 
 
 And breathe into his soul your simple creed, 
 
 The child of angels' hymns and good men's heed. 
 
 The faith of Jesus Christ, nor less nor more — 
 
 So may he all his erring steps retrace. 
 
 And bless sweet Bethlehem for her day of grace.
 
 102 
 
 HOW THE 'HIGHER CRITICISM' BLESSES 
 THE BIBLE. 
 
 You say 'tis still Grod's Book, still true and wise — 
 Tho' you have shorn it of its noblest parts, 
 Disparag'd all its great biographies. 
 And left no nourishment for pining hearts ; 
 But that's a foodless river, where the fish 
 Are stolen from the waters, every fin, 
 Whence thieves have harried all that Grod put in, 
 And spared us scarce enough to freight a dish ; 
 So have you stolen away our food for faith — 
 With Moses disallow'd, and Paul review'd, 
 And Christ Himself by rival pens pursued. 
 That race each other thro' His life and death — 
 It irks my soul to see how bland you look, 
 Giving your foolish blessing to the Book !
 
 NOTES. 
 
 JULIANS ATTEMPT TO BUILD ON THE SITE OF 
 THE TEMPLE. Page 79. 
 
 This Sonnet is placed before the one whieli speaks of Diocletian, 
 iiTelevant to the chronology, and merely as a pendant to the 
 first: both recording abortive attempts to defeat the Divine 
 decrees ; though of course Alexander put himself in no conscious 
 opposition to them. These two Sonnets, being written inde- 
 pendently of, and therefore with but a loose relevancy to the rest, 
 may still be considered as, in some sort, introductory to the 
 series. »i 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF TWO LITTLE 
 CHILDREN. Page 25. 
 
 Daughters of the Hon. Gustavus and Lady Katharine Hamilton 
 Kussell, the elder of whom died by an accident during the mortal 
 illness of her sister, who almost immediately followed her. They 
 were both buried on the same day. 
 
 ' TERMINUS.' Page 80. 
 
 The feast of the Roman God ' Terminus,' who presided over 
 boundaries, had been selected to be the day beyond which
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Christianity shoiUd be imknown. — Wilberf one's Five Empires, 
 from Lactantius de M. P. XVII. 
 
 ' GODDAEB AND LYCIDAS: Page 26, line 6. 
 
 ' From Wordsworth's gentle heart.' 
 
 ' The fii'st human consolation that the afflicted mother felt 
 •was derived from this tribute to her son's memory ; a fact 
 which the author learned at his own residence from her 
 daughter who visited Europe some years afterwards.' — From a 
 note by Wordsworth to his Elegiac Stanzas on Frederick 
 William Goddard, who was drowned in the Lake of Zurich. 
 
 ' THE WIND-BOUND MISSION' Page 53, line 7. 
 
 ' Mackenzie's holy toil.' 
 Written previous to the Bishop's death. 
 
 ' SUMMER evening: Page 57, line 13. 
 
 ' Made, by hope, significant for good.' 
 The Sonnet, page 16, is referred to. 
 
 LONDON 
 PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. 
 NEW-SIEEET SQUAEE.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 
 
 S'S 
 
 \^ 
 
 I SEP 2, 
 
 4 1973 
 
 REMINGTON RAND INC. 20 
 
 213 
 
 (533)
 
 uc 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL UBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 367 047 8 
 
 m 
 
 5699 
 T85son