«n 
 
 ^sf 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 Solitary Song 
 
 :^"
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 

 
 SOLITARY SONG
 
 SOLITARY SONG. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALLEYNE HARRIS 
 
 ^ ^ ^* 
 ? ? ? 
 
 LONDON : 
 ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 1891. 
 
 [All rights resert<ed.\
 
 ti 
 
 Bcbication. 
 
 % 
 
 MISS ROSE KINGS LEY. 
 
 Lady, I gather to thy hand my spoil, 
 Poor fruit of Love and Fancy, Truth and Toil ; 
 And if the garland hold one blossom true, 
 It is enough for me to pleasure you. 
 
 And when fair thoughts and theories are flown, 
 There but remains the query, ' Have we sown 
 As we would reap ? Or have we flung abroad 
 What is but fit for sweeping scythe and sword ?' 
 
 Ah, who can tell when swords so swiftly deal 
 Death-blows, and scythes so noiselessly do steal 
 Across the verdant lawns, then leave to die 
 The trustful flow'ret that once met the eye ! 
 
 Lady, the whisp'ring wind may tell a tale 
 That fans the queenly rose and daisies pale ; 
 If thine the will to trace the hidden song, 
 Then thine the ear to heed its echo long. 
 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VICTORIA ! - - - - 
 
 GRANNY ON THE JUBILEE 
 THE SPIRIT-DREAM 
 THE RIDE FROM PARIS, 1814 - 
 ROBIN REDBREAST 
 THE SOUND OF THE SEA 
 REMORSE - - - - 
 
 UNSOUNDED ! - - - 
 
 LINES TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES 
 THE OLD HOME - - - - 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE STREAM - 
 SONNET - 
 
 'SOMEBODY' AND 'NOBODY' - 
 TOO LATE ... - 
 
 'ST. MARY REDCLIFF' (BRISTOL) 
 BROUGHT BACK - - - - 
 
 THE RED TEST - - - - 
 
 THE STORY OF A LIFE - 
 THE OLD BOAT - 
 Mil; STRANGER - 
 I'ARTED - - 
 
 QUEEN VERA ! - 
 TWO WKKSTLERS 
 FOOTMARKS! - 
 
 l'AGE 
 I 
 2 
 
 7 
 
 9 
 
 *S 
 16 
 18 
 20 
 21 
 
 24 
 • 26 
 
 ■ 28 
 
 ■ 29 
 3 r 
 
 - 33 
 
 - 35 
 
 - 36 
 42 
 
 - 45 
 
 - 48 
 
 - So 
 
 - 52 
 
 ■ 55 
 
 - 57
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 THE PICTURED STORY - - - - - "59 
 
 GO FORTH ! - - - - - 6l 
 
 ' THERE IS AN ANGEL !' - - - - "63 
 
 THE WINDING RILL - - - - 64 
 
 GRANDFATHER'S PROPHECY - - - - 66 
 
 RONDEAU ....... 68 
 
 FELLOWSHIP - - - - - - - 69 
 
 THROWN ASIDE - 70 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LIFE - - - - - "72 
 
 HER WEDDING MORNING - - - - 76 
 
 THE PRAYER OF LIFE - - - - - 78 
 
 ONLY — WHAT ? - - - - - - "79 
 
 YESTERDAY ....... 80 
 
 GRANNY'S GOLDEN WEDDING - - - - - 81 
 
 THE TOURNAMENT - - - - - 83 
 
 ON A CHILD • ...... 84 
 
 A HAPPY DAY ---.... 86 
 
 ON ROBERT BROWNING - - - - - - 87 
 
 TWO GEMS ....... 88 
 
 ' MAIDEN COY !' - 
 
 MUFFLED OARS ----.. 
 
 " 90 
 
 - 92 
 'WHERE ART THOU, FRIEND?' - - - 95 
 
 LIFE-LINKS 
 
 AFTER THE AUTUMN SHOWER 
 
 MINE 
 
 97 
 
 99 
 
 'SLEEPING AND WAKING* ..... IOI 
 
 102 
 
 WRECKED ! - - - - - . - 103 
 
 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE - - - - - 105 
 
 LIVING ROSES ---...- 10 j 
 
 LOST AND FOUND !--...- 109 
 
 LAME CHARLIE --.---. no 
 
 ' MY DARLING ' - - - - - - - 114 
 
 'PATCHWORK' --.-... 115
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 IX 
 
 AKIN - 
 
 evensong .... 
 
 what's o'clock? 
 
 to a captive bird - 
 
 twin rosebuds 
 
 SONNET - 
 
 WHAT? - 
 
 AT BREAK OF DAY 
 
 RONDEAU .... 
 
 HEARD - 
 
 HISTORY OF A GREAT-GRANDMOTHER 
 
 KEPT ---•-. 
 
 AFTER MIDNIGHT (LONDON) - 
 
 COME BACK TO ME ! - 
 
 FULL LIFE - 
 
 THE STREET ROSE-SELLER 
 
 VEILED ANGELS 
 
 OUR SCOTCH LASSIE 
 
 TRANSPLANTED - - - - 
 
 BY THE SEA 
 
 FOUNDATIONS . - - - 
 
 ASLEEP - - - - - 
 
 INTRICACIES - 
 
 SATISFIED - 
 
 FAREWELL TO ' THE SCHWARTZWALD 
 
 TRIOLET - - - - - 
 
 SUMMER AND WINTER - 
 
 BY THE WAYSIDE 
 
 UNFINISHED MUSIC ! - 
 
 SONNET - - - - 
 
 AFTER-CONFIDENCES 
 
 RONDEAU - 
 
 A LESSON IN COLOURS - 
 
 PAGE 
 117 
 119 
 121 
 122 
 123 
 
 125 
 126 
 I27 
 128 
 I29 
 131 
 133 
 
 i3S 
 i37 
 i39 
 Mi 
 M3 
 
 ■ i44 
 
 ■ 145 
 147 
 
 - 149 
 
 ■ 150 
 
 - i5 2 
 
 - 153 
 
 - 155 
 
 - 157 
 
 - 158 
 
 - 159 
 
 - 161 
 
 - 163 
 
 - 164 
 
 - 166 
 
 - 167
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 WEET SEVENTEEN 
 VILLANELLE 
 PATT'RING FEET 
 EVENING - 
 
 GOING TO 'THE DRAWING-ROOM' 
 WAVES AND RIPPLES - 
 TRIOLET - - - - 
 
 SUNSET BRINGS SUNRISE 
 SOUL VOICES 
 PERFECT LOVE - 
 FATHER DAMIEN ! 
 RIDDLE ME RIGHT ! 
 WHAT IS THE DAY? 
 SERENADE ... 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE 
 THE SETTLER'S SONG - 
 THE DAWN 
 ' REPARATION ' - 
 WHEN YOU AND I 
 THE GREAT SOLEMN ASSEMBLY ! 
 ABIDING ! 
 IT WAS EVENTIME 
 ONE MISTAKE 
 DREAM RAYS 
 LAID BY ! 
 SONNET - 
 THE GOOD-BYE - 
 TRY AGAIN 
 
 THE QUEEN OF NIGHT - 
 MUSIC ! - 
 WHEN I AM DEAD 
 ON MODERN POETRY 
 ONE GATHERED LIFE - 
 
 PAGE 
 
 169 
 170 
 172 
 
 174 
 
 176 
 
 178 
 
 179 
 180 
 181 
 
 183 
 
 186 
 
 187 
 
 189 
 191 
 
 192 
 
 198 
 
 200 
 202 
 203 
 20S 
 207 
 209 
 2IO 
 212 
 213 
 214 
 
 2I 5 
 217 
 
 219 
 220 
 222 
 223 
 
 225.
 
 VICTORIA ! 
 
 We sing of Beauty, and we sing of Love, 
 
 Shall we not also sing of Honoured Age ? 
 
 Life's prizes plucked and registered above, 
 
 Shall they not be my all-sufficient gage ? 
 
 And silvered as time-honoured Head and Hair, 
 
 'One' Queenly life shines yet, than crowns more fair! 
 
 Thy Name ! revered Lady of the Land, 
 
 Thy Fame ! each sculptured shell on England's 
 
 strand 
 Sings in a loving monotone of Thee ; 
 While the weird waves that own thee Queen to be 
 Uplift their voices from dark ages' thrall, 
 ' Victoria,' the best, most loved, of all !
 
 GRANNY ON THE JUBILEE.* 
 
 What's that I hear ye say, my girl, 
 
 About the Queen so free ? 
 Ye should na' be in such a whirl 
 
 'Cause it's her Jubilee. 
 
 It's thought for many a thinking heart, 
 
 More'n for noise and skirl, 
 To mind the long and lonely part 
 
 Our good Queen's borne, my girl ! 
 
 Ah ! well I mind me o' the day 
 
 They crowned her the Queen ; 
 I stood with my man by the way, 
 
 And but the crowd between ! 
 
 So young she looked and winsome-free, 
 
 It seems but yesterday 
 Sin 1 Jim and me in Lunnon see 
 
 Her on her Crowning Day ! 
 
 * As graciously offered to Her Majesty by Her Royal High- 
 ness the Princess Christian on behalf of the Author, 1887.
 
 GRANNY ON THE JUBILEE. 
 
 It's all as fine as fine thinks T, 
 
 And awfu' grand to see ! 
 But I'm thinking of the weight, says I, 
 
 Of that there crown on ' she ' ! 
 
 And glad I was, when all was o'er, 
 
 Back here ag'in to come ; 
 My heart for that young lass were sore — 
 
 A Palace ain't like home ! 
 
 But Jim he laughed and said 'twere fine 
 
 To be a Queen like she, 
 And bet that soon she'd be a goin' 
 
 To get a mate like he. 
 
 And so she did, a true love match, 
 
 I heard 'em say it were ; 
 That night when Jim's hand raised the latch, 
 
 I pray'd for ' Him ' and ' Her ' ! 
 
 And then the years went by so quick, 
 
 I hardly seem to mind ! 
 I know the childer oft were sick, 
 
 But Jim was always kind. 
 
 And when we got a paper lent, 
 
 He always looked to see 
 How Queen and Prince's time was spent, 
 
 So homelike, happily !
 
 GRANNY ON THE JUBILEE. 
 
 An' oft I felt right glad to think 
 That dear young lass I see 
 
 Had got a luvin', tender heart 
 To lean upon, like me. 
 
 For we maun all have ups and downs, 
 And Kings and Queens ain't free ; 
 
 Ye'll know they are but human bein's 
 When ye're as old as me. 
 
 But I know well when my Jim died, 
 When my man went to God, 
 
 How long and bitter hard I tried 
 To bow beneath the rod. 
 
 'Tis only each one soul that knows 
 Her own heart's bitterness, 
 
 When a lone woman's comfort goes, 
 And her life's happiness ! 
 
 'Twas just as I had roused mysel' 
 
 To face the world alone, 
 When to our Queen the like befell — 
 
 The Queen upon her Throne 
 
 Was left a widow, too, like me, 
 And that good Prince was gone ! 
 
 Ah, then I cried full bitterly — 
 Afore I was like stone.
 
 GRANNY ON THE JUBILEE. 
 
 My heart just seemed to bleed for her, 
 
 I knew what 'twas to ' me ' ; 
 But she in all her grande-ur, 
 
 I knew what it must be ! 
 
 Since first I see that dear Queen's face, 
 
 Upon her crowning day, 
 I loved to think a smile would chase 
 
 Each coming tear away. 
 
 A dear good husband, like my Jim, 
 
 Was what I longed for her ! 
 Except in course a ' Diadim ' 
 
 A Queen's goodman must wear. 
 
 Ah well ! there's Him that bids us trust, 
 That loves both high and low ; 
 
 1 He giveth His beloved rest f 
 But oh, they days went slow ! 
 
 Full slow for her, as well as me, 
 There kind o' seemed to be 
 
 A feeling like o' sympathy 
 Betwixt that Queen an' me ! 
 
 Ye need na' smile : I know on her 
 
 I'd never set an eye 
 Sin' Jim and me had looked on her 
 
 In them days long gone by.
 
 GRANNY ON THE JUBILEE. 
 
 I heerd the guns a-firing then, 
 
 I seed the bonfires blaze ; 
 And now I'm turned threescore and ten 
 
 And Jim has gone his ways. 
 
 I would na' stay the mirth an' din 
 They're making o'er the land ; 
 
 I know how long our Queen has bin 
 A-reigning, good and grand. 
 
 I would na' say she is na' proud 
 
 To gain her people's love ; 
 I only think that in the crowd 
 
 Her heart must be 'above.' 
 
 Ye see, I'm old and ye are young, 
 
 And young folk canna' say 
 How weary seems the road an' long 
 
 When him ye loved's away. 
 
 And so I think the Queen knows ' best,' 
 
 And tho' it's all so gay, 
 ' Her ' heart, ' God bless her,' can but rest 
 
 With ' her ' own Prince this day !
 
 THE SPIRIT-DREAM. 
 
 You came to me and took me by the hand, 
 
 You showed me the far vista of a Land, 
 
 ' So ' beautiful, in nestling, rosy clouds, 
 
 I gazed entranced, from out life's weary crowds ; 
 
 Then turned and cried, ' What sweet rest this !' to you ; 
 
 You smiled and said, ''Tis "Poesy" you view.' 
 
 And then you sighed and grieved o'er many blind ; 
 You whispered, 'Hand in hand perchance we'd find 
 The golden clue to that far land of Song ;' 
 I answered, ' It is late, the way is long ;' 
 You murmured in my ear a rare refrain, 
 I viewed the ' Land of Poesy ' again. 
 
 And ravished by the beauties of that shore, 
 I prayed to you to lead me on, before 
 The last sweet glow had faded in the west, 
 The last songbird had flown home to its nest. 
 Your eyes were lustrous with the borrowed light, 
 And answered mine, when o'er us fell the night !
 
 8 THE SPIRIT-DREAM. 
 
 When morning came, that mirage-land was flown, 
 The once bright skies wore one dull leaden frown, 
 And you were not ! When from the mists one ray, 
 One flooding golden Sunbeam lit the way ; 
 And ere the flush of holy light withdrew, 
 Within my heart was laid the long-sought clue !
 
 THE RIDE FROM PARIS, 1814.* 
 
 When first the Allied forces kept 
 
 The Eagle from his thrall, 
 The Day when death and carnage was 
 
 The common theme of all, 
 The world was thund'ring, cannon roared 
 
 The sombre skies were pale ; 
 Our Isle alone gave forth the sound 
 
 Of reaper's scythe or flail : 
 Pale Russia's millions had drawn breath, 
 
 Her fierce foe fled and gone ; 
 Or frozen 'neath white winter's snows, 
 
 Left bare bleached bones alone, 
 From banks of holy Moskva spread 
 
 To Balkan slopes and sea ; 
 And Europe's flutt'ring pulses stirred 
 
 To feel that it was ' free !' 
 
 * ' There is one remarkable circumstance will descend as an 
 heirloom in the family. He was the officer entrusted with the 
 important news, to this country, of hostilities having ceased be- 
 tween France and England, in the great Continental War of 
 1814-20.' — Illustrated London News, May, i860.
 
 io THE RIDE FROM PARIS, 1814. 
 
 For wide the gates ' Montmartre ' had flung, 
 
 And ' Paris ' was the throne, 
 Not of the would-be Caesar, but 
 
 Of ' Kingly Peace ' alone ; 
 'Twas then the Crowned Heads therein 
 
 Sought one to ride away, 
 And bear the welcome news to those 
 
 Who in our land held sway; 
 Those days when no swift current ran, 
 
 And, reaching farthest shores, 
 Could gladden by one kindled word 
 
 Both friend and foe by scores ! 
 It was the day of Sword and Steel, 
 
 Ere peace and quiet research 
 Had tamed the nations : War's red page 
 
 Left ' Science ' in the lurch ! 
 There was a man old Blucher knew, 
 
 An Englishman, whose name 
 Was known to that commander, too, 
 
 Who death preferred to shame ; 
 A heart of iron which beat to be 
 
 Where it had ever been : 
 ' To Front ' in every danger, as 
 
 The first on ' Hazard's ' scene ! 
 They chose him out and bid him ride 
 
 Upon fleet-footed steed, 
 To tell how they had crushed and curbed 
 
 ' King Corsican ' indeed ;
 
 THE RIDE FROM PARIS, 1S14. 11 
 
 To take the joyful news and spread 
 
 It wildfire thro' the land — 
 The sea-girt land that never quailed 
 
 Beneath usurper's hand. 
 H^ was but honoured to be held 
 
 Worthy to cross the sea, 
 And be the first to carry home 
 
 Word of their victory. 
 What recked the soldier of that day 
 
 The cold-death shot or ball ? — 
 When named to run the gauntlet, 
 
 Was not ' duty ' more than all ? 
 So out he rode beneath the shade 
 
 Of stealthy night's dark wing, 
 And passed the scattered French picquets, 
 
 Tho' shouts and bullets ring. 
 He scoured the unsown, weed-grown fields, 
 
 The miles of slave-bound sod, 
 Which, robbed of men killed in harsh wars, 
 
 Sent forth its cry to God ! 
 He rode, and when he stayed to change 
 
 The foam-flecked steed, and on, 
 The widow and her children joyed 
 
 To hear of ' Blood's Reign ' done ; 
 The peasants thronged from out their homes 
 
 To speed him on his way, 
 And watch the rider out of sight, 
 
 Then sighed he could not stay
 
 12 THE RIDE FROM PARIS, 1814. 
 
 To tell them more, and turned to count 
 
 The coins the sergeant flung, 
 To mutter of their wish to see 
 
 ' Cet diable anglais ' hung ! 
 And thence resolving into groups, 
 
 They sought the cafe near, 
 Where palsied old men spoke of sons, 
 
 Now slain, with useless tear ! 
 But onward till the dawning gray 
 
 Our English Captain rode, 
 Nor thought of rest, save for the steed 
 
 Whose broad back he bestrode ; 
 And on and on they flew, as swift 
 
 As arrow from the bow ; 
 Past ruined chalet, unroofed church, 
 
 Whose shading poplars throw 
 Their skeleton and spiral forms 
 
 In hazy lengths below — 
 Reflections which the sad spring sun 
 
 Caught tearfully enow ; 
 Past weary tracts of wasted soil, 
 
 With fertile strips between ; 
 Past ' Ardres ' and ' Terrouenne,' until 
 
 The 'arm' of England seen ! 
 And pausing as he came in sight 
 
 Of Calais Straits outspread, 
 Our soldier half forgot in joy 
 
 The weary hours he'd sped !
 
 THE RIDE FROM PARIS, 1814. 13 
 
 For there is ' home ' beyond those waves, 
 
 And he the first to bring 
 The news of Paris taken, to 
 
 His country and his King ; 
 The older sergeant at his side 
 
 Spoke gruffly, with a tear 
 Half shining in his soft'ning eye, 
 
 ' Hurrah ! the Sea, we're near !' 
 And then half shamed and half abashed, 
 
 He wiped the streaming flanks 
 Of his good steed and stood erect, 
 
 Upright as when in ranks ; 
 Then on until at length they reached 
 
 That once contested Key 
 Of France, now but a lockless gate 
 
 Left open by the sea ; 
 There they embarked with morning's dawn, 
 
 The Captain and his men ; 
 And gained old Britain's guardian cliffs , 
 
 Upon a good ship, then 
 The waters bore them safely o'er, 
 
 And swelled in secret pride 
 To bear upon their breast the news 
 
 None other bore beside ! 
 Thus ends my tale ; it was a ride 
 
 Whose prints, forgotten now, 
 Have faded from mute mem'ry's page, 
 
 As greater deeds must do !
 
 14 THE RIDE FROM PARIS, 1814. 
 
 Ah ! those were times when lives were staked, 
 
 And lost and won each day ; 
 Days, too, when brave true-hearted men 
 
 Thought nought of life or fray ; 
 The time when 'neath the angry skies 
 
 All Europe's watch-fires blazed, 
 And English hearts and hands in death 
 
 Held fast the Standard raised ! 
 The age of our good grandsires, whom 
 
 This age of peace forgets ; 
 And yet a time tough hearts are fired 
 
 To think of with regrets ; 
 Yet Days of glory, looking back, 
 
 Shine with a mellowed ray ; 
 Some long for days and deeds, to dare, 
 
 Long passed by on life's way ; 
 There need nor gory battles nor 
 
 Cruel endless wars without, 
 To ask where are the old brave hearts, 
 
 Once fired at Danger's shout ! 
 Not all go forth to battle-fields, 
 
 Where Europe's Powers may rage ; 
 But there are yet fierce frays and foes 
 
 Where all who will engage ! 
 The days once told of come again, 
 
 If we know not the name 
 Of those who as our grandsires fought, 
 
 And fearlessly o'ercame.
 
 ROBIN REDBREAST. 
 
 Robin, Robin Redbreast, Rose upon the snow ! 
 Are you come a-beggin' — for the crumbs, you know ? 
 Robin, little vagrant, are you watching still ? 
 There your dinner waits you, on the window-sill. 
 
 Robin, Robin Redbreast, well I mind the day, 
 One short day last winter, I first heard your lay ; 
 Then you flew down gently, put your head askew, 
 Looked in impudently, saucy Robin, you ! 
 
 Robin, Robin Redbreast, there was no one by, 
 Not a soul to see us, when you came to pry ; 
 From the snow you blushed, dear — it was you, I say — 
 But you never told, dear, what you saw that day. 
 
 Robin, pretty Robin, I will tell you true : 
 Someone said he loved me ; did you hear him too ? 
 Why, you saucy Robin, did you look that way ? 
 Did you see him kiss me, do you mean to say ? 
 
 Robin, Robin Redbreast, when next winter comes, 
 And when you are looking for your dish of crumbs, 
 Someone else shall feed you — I shall tell them to : 
 For we shall remember, I, ' my love,' and ' you.'
 
 THE SOUND OF THE SEA. 
 
 O mystic, changeful, sounding Sea, 
 Life's hurried chaos dies in thee, 
 As with a far yet full refrain 
 Your surges sweep my heart again. 
 
 Unbridled, unrestrained, free ! 
 Your waves withhold ' a memory ' ; 
 Which when half caught, its passion plain 
 Sinks, as by whispered charm, again. 
 
 What lore lies hidden in thy moan, 
 Thy sea-shell's story all unknown ! 
 A silent sympathy we trace 
 Beneath thy stormy, smiling face. 
 
 Upon thy bosom Vikings rowed 
 
 To plough the world. Thou art the road- 
 
 Unfathomed yet ; for who can tell 
 
 The language of thy troubled spell ? 
 
 We dream of thee when far away ; 
 A ' dream ' thou art, unread this day ! 
 In pride of power, in pictured peace, 
 Your vision'd problem seeks release !
 
 THE SOUND OF THE SEA. 17 
 
 Oh, take me with thee, Spirit-sea, 
 
 And teach thy wondrous dream to me ! 
 
 Then, fearless as thy frothed foam, 
 
 My soul shall float towards freedom's home.
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 Ask me not who I am, why here, my name: 
 An outcast among men, a thing of shame — 
 A being whose soul was staked, lost, and sold 
 In a fell hour, it never dare unfold ! 
 
 Once was I loved, but she has gone away; 
 Where, do you ask ? I dare not, cannot say ; 
 I only know the sun's light died to me, 
 And that, where'er she is, she still loves me. 
 
 I am alone ! Oh, hideous word — alone ! 
 Yet, shadow of the truth, all, all is gone ; 
 A doom that should not come till life is o'er, 
 Nor till this quiv'ring soul can die no more. 
 
 The curse is mine beforehand, heart and mind : 
 Ever by ling'ring month and year you'll find 
 I stand alone, accursed, as speechless, dumb, 
 And no sweet voice to break the awesome gloom. 
 
 And yet she loved me ; and she must love yet : 
 For tho' her course be o'er, her sun be set, 
 She lives ! the setting sun will rise again, 
 And break the thicke-t midnight sky of pain.
 
 REMORSE. 19 
 
 I feel her breath play on my forehead, seared, 
 I hear her child-like ringing mirth ; 'tis heard 
 Amid a stifled groan of agony ! 
 Vision avaunt ! I dare not gaze on thee. 
 
 And yet I must ! No, holy Powers, it goes ! 
 Ah ! still I seem to view her dying throes : 
 She died of hunger ! I was mad with drink ! 
 Demons, forsake me ! shall I ever think ? 
 
 No ; thought is flown ; and yet I see her face — 
 No longer weary ; not a tear I trace. 
 Oh, shade seraphic ! welcome back ; your smile 
 Sheds its sweet blessing o'er Time's roughest mile. 
 
 Alone again ! my dark'ning face can speak, 
 And show it would no mocking pity seek ; 
 And yet, within my writhing soul's lost pain, 
 I feel an angel's healing touch again. 
 
 You speak to ' me '! Just so she gently strove, 
 When here on earth, to speak of Heaven's love — 
 Of joy ! Ah ! bitter sense of death to me : 
 She who could save me, ' she ' has gone from me. 
 
 What would you more? Have I not spurned the one 
 Whom God once gave me ? Now I am alone ! 
 And 1 must on alone ; the silent goal, 
 The grave, may give peace to my darkened soul.
 
 UNSOUNDED ! 
 
 Within thy Mind 
 
 Lies stored treasure thou 
 Mayst, opening, find. 
 
 Deep in thine Heart 
 
 Seek thy true purpose, 'tis 
 Of rich gold wrought ! 
 
 A priceless Pearl, 
 
 Too precious for this world, 
 Thy priceless Soul. 
 
 These all are Thine, 
 
 And in their wondrous wealth 
 Hast thou a ' mine ' ! 
 
 With these held True, 
 
 What recks if ' Life ' and ' Time ' 
 Prove false to you !
 
 LINES TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES, 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF THE SILVER WEDDING, 
 MARCH, 1888. 
 
 Princess ! Thou of England's Heart ! 
 As the sweet wild-flowers that start 
 In thy fair home's wood and dell, 
 Scarce can e'en Time's footprints tell 
 Change in thee since first these shores 
 Thundered with the iron-tongued roars 
 Of the Nation's welcome given, 
 And the proud ship, that had striven 
 With each angry, envious wave, 
 Safely brought, and gladly gave 
 Thy rare beauty up to Him, 
 Heir to England's Diadem. 
 
 Princess ! Flower of England's Throne, 
 Tho' the rough March breath has blown, 
 Fragrant blossom it has sown, 
 Light the loving shadows thrown :
 
 22 LINES TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 
 
 Still we gaze with joy and pride 
 On our Prince's unchanged bride, 
 While the dear old greeting given 
 (Registered in heart and heaven), 
 Rouses from the yielding years 
 Mem'ries both of smiles and tears ! 
 Yet it brings us too, I trow, 
 Treasured thought, our Princess now ! 
 
 Princess ! All rejoice with thee, 
 Gladly keep the memory 
 Of the day when thy fair face 
 First among our own found place ; 
 And the bells that peal would fain 
 Speak of our true love again ! 
 As it thrills each heart to see 
 The spring Violet's beauty, 
 After earth's long winter sleep, 
 So we fond remembrance keep 
 Of that time when thou didst come 
 In thy trustful beauty's bloom ! 
 
 Princess ! Summer breezes sway 
 With the breath of stolen day ; 
 Warmer, sweeter, overflow, 
 Hold the hearts that virtues know ! 
 Heed not, fear not, Time's rude blast, 
 English love will live and last. 
 What tho' years may go their way, 
 What tho' life itself decay.
 
 LINES TO H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF WALES. 23 
 
 When there lives the perfumed breath 
 Of the love that outlives death ! 
 And the fairest flowers that fade 
 Star the Spring of Heaven's glade.
 
 THE OLD HOME. 
 
 I stood spell-bound once more 
 
 Beside the dear old home, 
 And in the summer air 
 
 Uprose the evening gloam ; 
 It shrouded the far hills, 
 
 As time had veiled the hours, 
 And all the joys and ills 
 
 Since youth's long-gathered flowers. 
 
 Ah, how my heart was moved 
 
 To see them all again ! 
 Again in fancy roved 
 
 I with them in the lane ; 
 Upon the gate I leant : 
 
 How sacred seemed the spot 
 Where now my head was bent 
 
 In tears o'er life's frail lot ! 
 
 Would no pale form arise 
 
 To welcome me within ? 
 And would no kindling eyes 
 
 Fulfil my yearning keen ?
 
 THE OLD HOME. 25 
 
 From still and silent calm, 
 
 From dreamy dead repose, 
 No faces woke to charm — 
 
 No voice to break my woes. 
 
 Those cold unheeding walls, 
 
 Whose sight brought forth but pain 
 Seemed ringing with recalls 
 
 To life and love in vain ! 
 Alas ! the bright years fled 
 
 Are faded, and I mourn ; 
 For, oh ! those days long sped 
 
 Can never more return.
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE STREAM. 
 
 Whither flowing, rushing Stream, whither art thou 
 bound ? 
 
 'Neath thy silv'ry waters gleam silent depths pro- 
 found — 
 
 As a hazel eye in mirth, radiant in sweet joy, 
 
 Child of Nature and of Earth, glancing, gaily coy. 
 
 Bounding seething on thy way, singing as you go, 
 Leaping mossy rock and fall, fretting to and fro ; 
 Whither flowing, rushing Stream, whither tends thy 
 
 way ? 
 Changefully thy childlike laugh echoes thro' the day. 
 
 'Stay awhile,' the branching trees softly murmur 
 
 through 
 Their hushed rows, as gentle breeze lightly stirs each 
 
 bough ; 
 Gravely, wond'ringly they wave thee a staid aditu, 
 Then their sober faces lave in thy spray anew.
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE STREAM. 27 
 
 Stay awhile O sylvan stream, but to glance around ; 
 Magic tho' thy luscious theme, stay before its sound, 
 Stemmed by winter's silent might, hoarsely dies away; 
 Answers yet the naiad bright, ' Wherefore should I 
 stay ? 
 
 ' I must hurry on the more while my heart is free ; 
 
 I would all my sources pour, fully, as I flee 
 
 Past the sunlight's lightsome kiss, past the dreamy 
 
 shade, 
 Flowing on in happiness ere the sun-hours fade !' 
 
 Deftly on her way she slipped, gleaming dark her 
 
 eye; 
 Flashing diamond triumph tripped, fleet as maidens 
 
 shy; 
 Swiftly, snowy on her train plashed the crystal foam, 
 Musical her murm'ring strain whispered, ' With me 
 
 roam.' 
 
 Something in my spirit stirred, with the stream's bright 
 
 flow, 
 Thrilled, as when I watched the bird scale the breezes 
 
 brow, 
 Saddened that it might not soar, cleave the skies with 
 
 song, 
 Yet the streamlet bore away on her breast my wrong.
 
 SONNET, 
 
 ON DANTE'S BEATRICE.* 
 
 Thine was the gifted Spirit by whose light 
 
 One scaled God's Heights Transcendent, Love's soft 
 
 glow, 
 Wrapped as a Shield the unseared feet we know, 
 And led past lurid flame and with'ring night 
 Into the boundless steppes of untrod ' Joy' ; 
 Where other's unshod feet might never stray, 
 Till by thy Soul's sweet side the Poet's Lay — 
 Swelled to immortal song no strains destroy ; 
 While graves gave up their dead and Hell's fierce 
 
 Fear 
 Was vanquished 'fore the fulness of Love's breath, 
 The Love inspired by ' Truest Beauty ' here 
 Was strengthened to explore the Realm of Death ; 
 The Garlands of this earth are worn and sere — 
 With ' Love-triumphant ' Thy white brow we wreath. 
 
 ;¥ As sent for sixth centenary, Florence, 1890.
 
 'SOMEBODY' AND 'NOBODY.' 
 
 When ' Nobody ' was yet a child 
 (A babe on whom bright angels smiled), 
 'Twas ' Somebody ' was handed round, 
 His praise in every mouth was found ! 
 
 When Nobody was grown a youth 
 (And was a goodly lad, in sooth !), 
 'Twas Somebody who ruled the roast, 
 While of his actions all must boast ! 
 
 When Nobody became a man 
 (You may deny it, if you can), 
 'Twas Somebody who made his mark, 
 Tho' our poor friend rose with the lark. 
 
 When Somebody reclined in down, 
 (Some called him but a wealthy clown), 
 Poor Nobody, yet toiling, strove 
 To earn sufficient for his love ! 
 
 While Somebody's touch turned to gold, 
 His neighbour's roof was o'er him sold ; 
 And Nobody, poor luckless scamp ! 
 Found country lanes were sadly damp.
 
 'SOMEBODY' AND 'NOBODY.' 
 
 And last of all, I caught a sight 
 Of Nobody one winter's night : 
 His face was drawn, his hair was gray ; 
 There were none by to weep or pray : 
 
 While Somebody, so I am told, 
 Died comfortably when quite old, 
 And where his grave's rich marbles rise, 
 Poor Nobody unheeded lies !
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 I left her in my anger — 
 
 Ah, my own Love ! 
 To jealousy a stranger — 
 
 Ah, my pure Love ! 
 She knew not of dark Passion's thrall ; 
 She only loved me, that was all — 
 
 Ah, my true Love ! 
 
 I left her, and in sorrow — 
 
 Ah, my own Love ! 
 I would return to-morrow — 
 
 Ah, for my Love ! 
 
 Her heart was broken, and she died ; 
 In vain the fleeting night-wind cried, 
 ' He will come back whate'er betide,' 
 And wailed and moaned at her dear side ! 
 Ah. for my Love !
 
 32 TOO LATE. 
 
 I came back with the gray, gray dawn — 
 
 Ah, my dear Love ! 
 The closed flower in the red, red corn 
 
 Mourned for my Love. 
 I came — one moment's lurid flame 
 Had purged her tender heart from blame- 
 I bent and wept in lonely shame, 
 And I yet weep : ' Too late ' I came— 
 
 Ah, my dead Love !
 
 'ST. MARY REDCLTFF' (BRISTOL). 
 
 'Mid the old town's din and clamour, 
 
 Near the sullen Avon's side ; 
 Where the sunset's fitful glamour 
 
 Stirs the mute and murky tide ; 
 As a star serene thro' storm-cloud 
 
 Gazing steadfast o'er the sea, 
 As a pure bride 'neath her veil-shroud, 
 
 ■ Mary Redcliff ' smiles on me. 
 
 Graceful, rare, a gracious relic, 
 
 To the heart of Bristol known, 
 Thro' the mist of years chaotic, 
 
 Glows the graven Gem, there shown ; 
 Shining out from ages' denseness, 
 
 As a virgin-heart whose praise, 
 Close enwrapt in shrouded tenseness, 
 
 Sheds pale splendour o'er dark ways. 
 
 Speaking peace from past times' voices, 
 Raising mute beseeching eyes, 
 
 Whose full soul-lit fire rejoices 
 
 (To be quenched awhile in sighs) : 
 
 3
 
 34 'ST. MARY REDCLIFF* {BRISTOL). 
 
 Lovely as a statued vision, 
 
 Breaking on the gloom around, 
 
 Blended sweetness and decision 
 In its sacred outlines found. 
 
 'Neath each spiral slender column, 
 
 And that serried roof of gold, 
 Breathes close sense of silence solemn, 
 
 Garlanded with ' rest ' untold : 
 Hushed within that fretted portal, 
 
 Hurried feet but seldom stray; 
 There the clang and strife of mortal 
 
 Rush and tumult dies away ! 
 
 Many buildings have we older, 
 
 Few more perfect in design ; 
 Where dismantled ruins moulder, 
 
 Where restored cathedrals shine : 
 Thou, upraised upon the altar 
 
 Of thy pedestal of prayer, 
 Close enlinked, a jewelled psalter, 
 
 Art a memory most rare. 
 
 Lying 'neath the far-spread heaven, 
 
 'Mid the moody moment-life, 
 With thy pointing finger given, 
 
 Beckoning beyond its strife — 
 Left to stand a silent member 
 
 Of the multitude and throng, 
 Yet thou call'st them to remember 
 
 Vanished lives may call forth song !
 
 BROUGHT BACK. 
 
 You left the room, and, ling'ring at the door, 
 You spoke of things that we had loved before, 
 And then the latch was closed ; I never knew, 
 
 Not then, that Love and Hope had gone with you. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 You left the dark'ning room ; the light went out, 
 And deeper shadows stole in, ' fear ' and ' doubt ' ; 
 And these resolved into a mist of years, 
 Whose chary sunshine shone through half-shed tears. 
 
 And I was weary when you came again, 
 
 And could not read your heart ; for life's dull pain 
 
 Had eaten to the very core of mine — 
 
 A faded blossom Love had ceased to shine ! 
 
 Bat when you came the second time to me, 
 
 You broke the unsolved years' dark mystery ; 
 
 And by the blessed light, at last I knew 
 
 That Love, and Trust, and Hope, came back in you.
 
 THE RED TEST. 
 
 In the record of our past, 
 Shrieking on the winter-blast, 
 Shudd'ring on hot Summer's wing, 
 Murder's fearful cry may ring. 
 
 Hoarsely in the soul it cries, 
 With a sound that never dies, 
 In dread annals of dark crime, 
 Writ in red tides' sullen slime. 
 
 Three-score years and more are gone, 
 Yet there haunt me, when alone, 
 Thoughts of him who careless, gay, 
 Freedom gave, and death his pay ! 
 
 There are bad in every race- 
 Will be, while the Day apace 
 Leaves the Noon for Eve's soft sway : 
 Deeds of evil mark the way. 
 
 Golden good has eagles' wings ; 
 Evil, snakelike, lurks and stings — 
 Bat-like flits within the dusk, 
 Strives to hide within its husk.
 
 THE RED TEST. 37 
 
 Far away across the main 
 Lie the Western Indies chain 
 Of fair Islands, long to be 
 Rich in sweet's fertility. 
 
 Foreign lands with ours now deal, 
 Give base produce for the real ; 
 Those far Islands' wealth was told 
 When their pride no longer sold I 
 
 Tush, what then ! the world must change; 
 Scarce discerned, Time's veiled hills range, 
 Sleeping in the shaded glow, 
 Lost in cloudland, long ago. 
 
 No ; upon horizon pale, 
 Where the fairest outlines fail, 
 Springs to life the red-lined brow 
 Dastard deeds must ever throw. 
 
 It is night : in slumber blest, 
 
 In the land with dreams close pres't, 
 
 Lost in spirit, far away 
 
 With his little child at play, 
 
 Lies the man whose breath drawn low, 
 
 In its gentle ' come and go,' 
 
 'Minds one of an infant's rest ; 
 
 Yet that room holds ' Death ' for guest !
 
 3 8 THE RED TEST. 
 
 Lithe and stealthy in there creeps 
 One dark devil-face ! it peeps 
 Right and left ; the weeping night 
 Cannot see, to tell the sight ! 
 
 Softly in the slumber hour, 
 One black-hearted villain's power 
 Severs sleep ! The silent soul 
 Hies to plead the life he stole ! 
 
 It is morning : not a sound 
 
 From that room ; upon the ground 
 
 Ne'er a red spot tells a tale ; 
 
 Naught but ' Death ' the cheek to pale ! 
 
 It is morning : prying gleams 
 
 Of the fierce sun's glancing beams ; 
 
 Break in fevered blaze of light 
 
 May not pierce the still dead's sight ! 
 
 It is morning : voices heard ; 
 Feet without ; one shrill short word ! 
 Terror reigns that room within ; 
 Negroes' wild grief swells the din ! 
 
 (Only one in all that grief 
 Makes his tears and outcries brief — 
 Glides away ; he cannot stay, 
 View his master by ' the Day !')
 
 THE RED TEST. 
 
 And men whisper, ' Yes, he died 
 (See the razor laid beside !) — 
 Died, we fear, by his own hand !' 
 Yet some doubt suspicion fanned. 
 
 ' No, no, Massa, no kill he,' 
 Whispers weeping black Sally ; 
 And with white lips close comprest 
 Someone urges, ' Try the Test !' 
 
 Know that Superstition reigned, 
 And those Isles' dark children stained ; 
 Deemed the slain man's blood would flow, 
 If his slayer touched him now ! 
 
 So they one by one led in 
 Slaves from out, and slaves from in : 
 None were free : those were the times 
 Servitude provoked such crimes. 
 
 There were two their master loved ; 
 There were tivo : with his ungloved, 
 He had grasped each hand, and said, 
 ' You are free when I am dead.' 
 
 Not America's brute crime, 
 Spread to this far Island's clime — 
 No ; well treated, oft beloved, 
 Slaves here worked as it behoved. 
 
 39
 
 4 o THE RED TEST. 
 
 But the two of whom I tell, 
 As the whisper in sea shell, 
 Heard their Master's words alway, 
 Thro' the night and thro' the day, 
 
 Till the evil, guileful snare 
 One laid to the other bare ; 
 And the favour'd valet swore 
 They'd be free, and wait no more ! 
 
 Let us draw the loathsome veil, 
 See the man's dark visage pale, 
 For he, too, must shrinking go, 
 Touch the hand so lifeless now ! 
 
 ' You must undergo the test,' 
 Whispers one who'd sought the rest ; 
 ' Follow me ' — the ingrate stood 
 Where the silence spoke of ' blood ' ! 
 
 ' No, Sare, no ; I canna go ! 
 My poor Massa luv' him so ;' 
 Stern the Englishman, and cold, 
 Answers : ' Do as you are told.' 
 
 Real not feigned sobs broke forth, 
 As the white man in his wrath 
 Sternly whispered, ' Touch that hand, 
 Which so late could yours command !'
 
 THE RED TEST. 41 
 
 Shrieking, writhing, the wretch fell 
 On his knees, he feared the spell ; 
 Should he touch the man he'd slain, 
 Forth would flow convicting stain ! 
 
 Swift to end the awful scene, 
 
 The Black, dragged two men between, 
 
 In his terror and dismay 
 
 Owned he did his master slay. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I have seen the gallows hang 
 Where those negroes' last cries rang ; 
 And the rusty chains yet ring — 
 In the cooling winds they swing. 
 
 But a stain was washed away 
 
 From our grandsire's memory ; 
 
 Nor was he the first who bore 
 
 Death, lor kind thought shown before ! 
 
 Fertile still, his lands are ours, 
 Three-score years have passed as hours ; 
 ' Superstition ' we despise 
 Brought forth ' truth ' to light men's eyes ! 
 
 But the best light was the Law 
 Which set free those bound of yore — 
 The just gift that England gave, 
 Was his freedom to the Slave.
 
 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 I heard the footstep of the passer-by, 
 I watched the throng, until my own heart's cry 
 So strong became, the fettered bars unsealed, 
 My close desire would out ; thus I appealed, 
 And to the nearest in that hast'ning crowd 
 I breathed a whispered word, yet half aloud : 
 ' I would go with you, only smile on me, 
 My heart will give you thanks, for none love me !' 
 I gathered courage as he mutely passed, 
 And pleaded to the next that I was cast, 
 Forlorn and helpless ; that my heart's warm beat 
 Was his, if he would raise it from his feet. 
 He answered back, ' I cannot stay; At home 
 My love is stored, I too, have far to roam ; 
 But when I pass again upon this way 
 Call thou me in, and I may haply stay.' 
 Another passed, but no, my hope was vain ; 
 He would scarce listen to my yearning plain, 
 Bur, striding on his way with gibe and jeer. 
 Said, ' Love is transient as the April tear !'
 
 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 43 
 
 And so with many, till I shamed to show 
 
 That I could love my brother here below ; 
 
 Thu' many gave fair words, their hearts were cold, 
 
 Deadened by bitterness and love of gold ; 
 
 And thus my once warm heart grew cold and dead, 
 
 As unresponsive as gray skies o'erhead ; 
 
 With no one's love in soft'ning joy to shine, 
 
 And light my soul, and none to value mine. 
 
 Thus went the day whose waking rays had caught 
 
 A borrowed radiance, whose sweet light was fraught 
 
 With dreams of friendship true, and love, and joys — 
 
 Whose early visions oft the world destroys ; 
 
 But as I watched the Sun sink down to rest, 
 
 From out the shadows came an ' Angel Guest !' 
 
 No word He said, but in His eyes I saw 
 
 A wondrous light I never knew before; 
 
 And fascinated by that holy gaze, 
 
 I drooped my lids before those brilliant rays ; 
 
 And trembling with a silent, speechless awe, 
 
 I felt my chilled hard heart begin to thaw. 
 
 Then was a Hand laid on my shamed head ; 
 
 I sank upon my knees, a clear voice said : 
 
 ' I came to ask My heart ! It is My own ! 
 
 I came to claim the heart whose love had flown. 
 
 Thou didst not know that / was standing by, 
 
 And gave thee not Earth's love, that thine might die 
 
 To wake again for Him who craves thy love, 
 
 That He may bind it to His own above ! 
 
 And as that sun, now crims'ning to its rest,
 
 44 THE STORY OF A LIFE. 
 
 Sinks but to flood a golden morning's crest, 
 
 So let thy heart break forth and shine for Me, 
 
 And love the more those dead in misery.' 
 
 Then lower still I sank at those pierced feet, 
 
 The while my kindled heart with fervour beat ; 
 
 When out the west the gathered gleam of day 
 
 Ceased, and the Angel Form had fled away ! 
 * * * * # 
 
 And now I give the Golden Love, not mine, 
 Freely to all ; and from its living shrine 
 Is poured on me such sweet refreshing stream, 
 My heart is golden in the God-like gleam !
 
 THE OLD BOAT. 
 
 The old Boat rests on the gilded beach, 
 
 Aflame with the setting sun ; 
 And the waves are whisp'ring, ' Out our reach 
 
 You lie, for your work is done. 
 
 ' You will ride no more upon our crests, 
 
 Nor float on our bosoms free ; 
 You rest as beneath the drowned man rests, 
 
 In caverns below the sea ! 
 
 ' You will never feel our arms upheave, 
 
 And raise you above the storm ; 
 And the crew you bore so safely leave 
 
 To rot your now worn-out form. 
 
 ' Oh, come with us ; we will rise to-night, 
 When your thankless owners sleep ; 
 
 Be free, be free ! ere the day dawn bright, 
 And afloat upon the deep !' 
 
 The old Boat smiled 'neath the sinking sun, 
 And answered, 'Why fret and fear? 
 
 If the good old days are o'er and done, 
 I dream of them resting here !
 
 46 THE OLD BOA T. 
 
 ' It is well to sail in youth's glad power, 
 
 Face the breakers on the main ; 
 When old and spent I would stay ashore, 
 
 And not turn adrift again. 
 
 ' I lie here and see the ships sail past, 
 And listen thro' calm and storm ; 
 
 And what do I need ? — my anchor's cast, 
 If I rest here safe and warm. 
 
 ' And the skipper comes to smoke his pipe, 
 
 And his children's children play 
 Upon my bows when the sun is ripe, 
 
 And sinks far beneath the Bay ! 
 
 ' No ! restless waves, it is peaceful now, 
 Tho' I love your well-known song, 
 
 To stay in my age and watch your flow, 
 But I strive not with the strong !' 
 
 Loud cried the waves in their rising wrath, 
 
 ' It is cowardice there to stay ; 
 This night on the fresh breeze from the North 
 
 We will bear your hulk away ! 
 
 ' The sailors who gather round you now, 
 And the children whom you love, 
 
 Will burn you to make their bright hearths glow, 
 Ere the white snow rests above !'
 
 THE OLD BOAT. 47 
 
 And the golden orb of the dying sun- 
 
 Flashed its rose-ray o'er the wave ; 
 And the old craft said, ' I can feel it done, 
 
 And no higher lot I crave ! 
 
 ' Tho' my heart be burnt to ashes here, 
 
 It is true this day, and warm ; 
 It is good to glow and man's heart to cheer, 
 
 After drifting on the storm. 
 
 ' Old friends ! when our work and day is o'er, 
 
 It is best to be patient here ; 
 And the ruddy blaze that lights the shore 
 
 Bids the weary homeward steer !'
 
 THE STRANGER. 
 
 He watched her come, 
 
 A rose beneath its dewy shroud ; 
 
 Her downcast eye 
 
 Veiled as the sun's 'neath summer cloud ; 
 
 For who may leave 
 
 The sheltered love of childhood's home, 
 
 And separate 
 
 Unmoved, the past, and new life come ! 
 
 He watched her as 
 
 She knelt beside her choice, that day ! 
 
 He heard her voice 
 
 Again, and then he heard them pray ; 
 
 And one wrung heart 
 
 Went up with all its weight of woe, 
 
 Yet almost joyed 
 
 That none its secret pain should know ! 
 
 Upon his ear, 
 
 Lethargic with the rush of years, 
 
 Woke thronging sounds 
 
 Of speech subdued. ' She ' reappears!
 
 THE STRANGER. 49 
 
 Before his sight — 
 
 As when she passed between the files 
 
 Of faces charged 
 
 With sympathetic love and smiles ! 
 
 He saw again 
 
 The lurking tear shine out its cell, 
 
 While fond and fast, 
 
 Last kisses on her pale cheek fell ; 
 
 He felt her gaze 
 
 Fall on his ' soul,' and linger there ; 
 
 He felt the breeze 
 
 That caught and stirred the bride's dark hair ! 
 
 He heeds no more 
 
 The blank of time that pressed between ; 
 
 He only sees 
 
 The ' centre ' of that sylvan scene ; 
 
 He only ' feels ' 
 
 A sleeping pain rouse from its rest, 
 
 The probing pain 
 
 That ne'er was quenched in life's quest ! 
 
 Unknown, alone ! 
 
 Where once the children flung their flowers 
 
 And carpeted 
 
 The turf with rose and lily showers, 
 
 ' A stranger ' stands, 
 
 And sees the Bride pass in her bloom ! 
 
 Then in a maze 
 
 Reads that dear name upon a tomb ! 
 
 4
 
 PARTED. 
 
 The hand that once gave pledge of friendship true 
 No more holds out its speaking grasp to you ; 
 The voice that trembled ere it spoke, ' Good-bye,' 
 Now calmly says, ' Apart our paths must lie.' 
 
 And must I say that you have broken troth ? 
 Or is there in your heart what frees us both ? 
 Oh, friend, the bitterness of doubt is gone, 
 And I can trust you, though bereft and lone. 
 
 Altho' aflame at first my heart it glowed, 
 To think the one who turned aside and showed 
 The wealth of moments to one wayworn soul, 
 Should vanish, mute as years passed to their goal. 
 
 You are my friend, you must be, for you said 
 You were, and God Himself, o'erhead, 
 Witnessed the compact from His throne on high ; 
 Your heart will answer me, it cannot lie ! 
 
 Dear friend (such I may call you), past and gone, 
 The happy hours (when you and I were prone. 
 To speak of friendship and its solace true) 
 Yet whisper messages of ' peace ' from you.
 
 PARTED. 5 1 
 
 Should I amid the clang and tumult round, 
 Of life's long journey, grieve I hear no sound 
 Of tones that thrill the chord of memory — 
 Ah, should I yearn, my former friend, for thee — 
 
 I will but answer my weak heart : Though flown 
 And drowned those accents in Time's rush and 
 
 moan, 
 As messengers of God they speak to me, 
 Not ' lost ' ; I know my friend ' in sympathy !' 
 
 4—2
 
 QUEEN VERA ! 
 
 Changeful eyes that dance with light, 
 Shadows quickly lost to sight, 
 Loadstone stars that sparkle gay, 
 Beam pathetic on the way : 
 ' No dark Queen's that I explore, 
 Yet my Love's for evermore !' 
 
 ' Vera ' owns those orbs of blue, 
 Softly touched with twilight hue ; 
 ' Vera' wields cruel Cupid's sway, 
 And rejoices o'er her prey ! 
 ' No dark Queen that I adore, 
 Yet my Love for evermore !' 
 
 She is laughter, smiles and tears, 
 April sunlight always clears ; 
 She's a tale that's all untold, 
 Cast within the purest mould ; 
 ' No dark Queen that I adore 
 Yet my Love for evermore !'
 
 QUEEN VERA ! 53 
 
 Pink-rose clouds and petals share 
 Brightness with her cheek as fair ; 
 Vera is my joyous joy, 
 Love and beauty cannot cloy : 
 ' No dark Queen that I adore, 
 Yet my Love for evermore !' 
 
 Fragile footprints fairy light 
 Scarce impress the sands in flight ; 
 Vera's years are four years told, 
 Kisses fleet that she has sold : 
 ' No dark Queen that I adore, 
 Yet my Love for evermore !' 
 
 Vera's arms that closely cling 
 Round my throat in coral ring ; 
 Bind their chain around my heart, 
 Bid its blossom thickly start : 
 1 No dark Queen that I adore, 
 Yet my Love for evermore !' 
 
 She has taught me words of prayer, 
 Strange unto the shamefaced air ; 
 Tales her loving life tells true, 
 Teach worn hearts to trust anew : 
 • No dark Queen that I adore, 
 Yet my Love for evermore !' 
 
 Proudly riding on my arm, 
 Innocence her angel charm ;
 
 54 QUEEN VERA ! 
 
 Crown and sceptre needs she none, 
 Rival fears she ? no, not one ! 
 ' No dark Queen do I adore ; 
 Vera's mine for evermore !'
 
 TWO WRESTLERS. 
 
 Upon the plain within my heart, 
 Two wrestlers strong are taking part, 
 And hotly do they both contend ; 
 I fear the struggle ne'er will end ! 
 
 For if awhile the one be thrown, 
 His foe is also oft flung down \ 
 And, oh ! it seemeth hard to me 
 To tell the which will victor be. 
 
 And yet I love the frailer one, 
 And when the hot day's fight seems done, 
 While foemen stand to breathe awhile, 
 And watch the slowly moving dial ; 
 
 Ah ! then my quickened pulses thrill 
 If but the stronger hath fared ill, 
 And from my lips an orison 
 Is blent with psalm for victory won. 
 
 Too soon the strain away will die : 
 Again they strive, and one doth lie 
 Half-slain and breathless on the field ; 
 And must my heart to Evil yield?
 
 56 TWO WRESTLERS. 
 
 Not so ! while Good, my hero, feels 
 My voiceless prayer, he with me kneels ; 
 Then rising once again, the foes 
 In sharp and deadly combat close. 
 
 I know on which doth Heaven smile ; 
 
 Evil is dark, and full of guile ; 
 
 I tremble at his gloomy glance, 
 
 So fraught with mem'ries, mute perchance. 
 
 But Good, my champion, he is fair, 
 And wanting not in strength to bear ; 
 And when a hard-won test is o'er, 
 How princely noble shines his power ! 
 
 My heart is wearied in the strife 
 That never ends except with life ; 
 But then O Good, thou'lt gain the day, 
 The victor's song thine own for aye.
 
 FOOTMARKS ! 
 
 I traced your footprints on the golden sand — 
 
 I traced them clear ! 
 I followed o'er the track your beck'ning hand, 
 
 And knew no fear ! 
 And I pursued you in my thought all day, 
 
 You seemed so near. 
 The sun was sunk beneath the seething bay ; 
 
 I woke in fear, 
 And heard the whisper of the stealthy tide, 
 Which murmured as it moaned, and moaning cried, 
 ' We come, we go, but she will come no more, 
 Her footsteps we erase for evermore. 
 Our feet go on for ever ; others fail, 
 And vanish as receding ship's white sail.' 
 I turned ; the sands of Time were wet with tears, 
 
 The night wind blew, 
 And living thoughts had given place to fears : 
 
 For where were you ?
 
 58 FOOTMARKS 1 
 
 I could not hear beside the ocean's roar — 
 
 The thick spray flew ; 
 I could not trace the footprints on the shore 
 
 To lead to you ! 
 One silver arrow flecked the heavens' night, 
 O'er turbid chaos gleamed pearled Luna's light, 
 And calmly, riding in serene repose, 
 Heedless of all around, above my woes, 
 A word I traced — a word that spoke of thee, 
 And I had tracked you by that trackless Sea 
 
 !
 
 THE PICTURED STORY. 
 
 There's an old, old painting in a carved gilt frame, 
 
 And in the far corner a forgotten name ; 
 
 Just a bowl of water and a silv'ry spray 
 
 Of fresh dewy roses culled one Summer's day. 
 
 The white hand that drew them was long since but 
 
 dust, 
 But red lips once prest those flowers with loving trust ; 
 And a lover jealous said, ' They shall not die, 
 But shall live a mem'ry, Love, of you and I.' 
 
 And he bent and whispered, 'They shall speak of 
 
 thee, 
 And shall tell who kissed them because she loved me. 
 Life is sweet in springtime, roses fair in June ; 
 Ah, but sweeter far's the bride to be mine soon !' 
 
 And the pictured posy lives and tells the tale, 
 And yet glows with pride as when the lady, pale 
 In her sweet emotion, told the flowers she loved ! 
 And the one that gave them learnt their secret proved
 
 60 THE PICTURED STORY. 
 
 Oh, the living Rose of one tried heart and pure, 
 Oh, the loving trust that ever shall endure ! 
 From the simple story that, tho' old, shall last 
 When the morn of lovers be long o'er and past. 
 
 Just a kiss that lingers when the sun is set, 
 Just a breath of fragrance stirring mem'ry yet, 
 Just a dawn of joy that ever comes again, 
 Bathed in smiling dewdrops, tender summer rain.
 
 GO FORTH! 
 
 How golden is the sunbeam's pow'r, 
 How quiv'ring and how frail ! 
 
 How full and strong Life's little hour, 
 How high the wild night gale ! 
 
 How fierce the fray within our hearts 
 Beneath the noontide glare, 
 
 And when the ling'ring eve departs, 
 What ' Passions,' slain, lie there ! 
 
 Desire, and Greed, and angry Pride 
 Are shrieking on the blast, 
 
 And what was scorned, or cast aside, 
 Returns upon the ' Past' 
 
 We cannot see ; a mask is worn, 
 And spectral are those forms : 
 
 Bathed in the smiling, happy dawn, 
 We know no foes, no storms !
 
 62 GO FORTH! 
 
 Wait but till hungry darkness falls, 
 
 When, beastlike on their prey, 
 Dark Passions steal in guarded walls, 
 And lie in wait, to slay ! 
 * * * * * 
 
 Go forth by God's light dawning clear, 
 Go forth and give them chase ; 
 
 For Youth is short, and Manhood dear, 
 And ' Midnight ' nears apace !
 
 'THERE IS AN ANGEL!' 
 
 There is an Angel, oh, so white and pure ! 
 Veiled are His eyelids, mute His glance of power ; 
 But when that Angel turns His gaze on thee,^ 
 You read the lightning flash ' Eternity.' 
 
 And though life's echoes hush before His tread, 
 And Heaven's terrors play around His head, 
 Flinch not, but raise the eyes that cannot see, 
 And learn from Him there is no ' Death ' for thee ! 
 
 And He will take within His hand of snow 
 Your failing heart, and bid its current flow 
 With such fruition and such speechless bliss ! 
 Told in the rapture of His wakening kiss. 
 
 Then in its tender gratitude and praise, 
 In its sweet freedom from dark, sultry days, 
 With one full rush your heart will break and flood, 
 Merge its freed waters in the Sea of God !
 
 THE WINDING RILL. 
 
 Sweet triller, singing as you go, 
 In dulcet tones so soft and low ; 
 Your silver speech seems rife 
 With echoes of the ' Psalm of Life ' ! 
 
 You seek the verdant glade and still 
 Flow rushing on, oh, restless rill ! 
 And steadfast on your way, 
 Dare us to join your mystic lay. 
 
 And smiling o'er the meadow-sward, 
 The list'ning flowers a word afford, 
 Then, dashing in delight, 
 Pass prattling yet beyond their sight ! 
 
 You chafe beside the Cotter's home, 
 Frail lilies ape in fleeting foam ; 
 Then, breaking forth in glee, 
 Sing doubly sweet and race on free. 
 
 Your ferny neighbours start surprised, 
 The shrinking harebell drops her eyes, 
 While on, and ever on, 
 You hurry till your goal is won.
 
 THE WINDING RILL. 65 
 
 The grave and scarce-awakenecl trees, 
 Now rustling 'neath the shadowed breeze 
 Their branches bending sigh, 
 To woo your kiss before you fly ! 
 
 And on and on you flow and glide, 
 By fields and woods a silent guide, 
 Beneath the solemn skies, 
 Which darken as the daylight dies 
 
 Beside the garden wall you pause, 
 Ere tripping, with sweet mimic roars, 
 Adown the waiting fall, 
 And, hastening on, forget it all ! 
 
 The current of your happy life 
 Flows gladly thro' vexed maze and strife, 
 Flies 'fore your heart's deep song, 
 Oh, blithesome babbler, all day long.
 
 GRANDFATHER'S PROPHECY. 
 
 You will work, Lad, you will labour, 
 
 In your smiling youth's glad joy, 
 And no dark thick shade will harbour 
 
 Your soul's visions to destroy ; 
 You will deem that all around you, 
 
 E'en the labour, is but play ; 
 That the buoyant hearts that beat true 
 
 In their fealty, beat for aye. 
 
 You will work, Lad ; you will gather, 
 
 In your early prime of gain, 
 It may be the World's soft whisper, 
 
 Or the harder trial of pain ; 
 You will listen to the one, Lad, 
 
 You will bear the other, too ; 
 Yet the lesson never solve, Lad, 
 
 That each one would teach to you. 
 
 You will work, Lad, you will labour, 
 When the morning fresh has gone, 
 
 When the noontide rays beat fiercer, 
 And your youth's fond trust is flown ;
 
 GRANDFATHER'S PROPHECY. 67 
 
 When the rosy veil is lifted, 
 
 And the evening shades loom nigh ; 
 
 When the trusting heart has drifted 
 Where the cold seas kiss the sky ! 
 
 You must work, Lad, then, the harder, 
 
 And your hand will never fail, 
 And your eye will be the keener, 
 
 Tho' you know this poor life frail ; 
 For the hearts you knew of old, Lad, 
 
 And the tried and trusted few, 
 Wait behind the painted scenes, Lad, 
 
 To renew their youth with you ! 
 
 5-2
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 (ON ' WAXWORKS.') 
 
 ' One vivid blush ' betrayed her cheek, 
 Tho' look was fixed and gesture meek ; 
 
 Decked in brocades and baubles rare, 
 
 Indignant was she at my stare ? 
 Ah, neither scarce dare breathe or speak ! 
 
 I gazed — it was a pretty freak : 
 The gems from out her coif's quaint peak 
 Quivered and trembled out their lair, 
 ' One vivid blush !' 
 
 My fleet view gave what I would seek, 
 When pale wax flushes tis ' unique ' ; 
 No figures gay, fantastic, fair, 
 I seemed to see ; for one face there 
 Had kindling shown from love, from pique? 
 1 One vivid blush !'
 
 FELLOWSHIP. 
 
 (fragment.) 
 
 When I, in fellowship with thy sweet Soul, 
 Read thro' earth's mists our mutual hidden goal 
 How still is Time, how full of endless Day, 
 While the gemmed hours fly swiftly far away. 
 
 When I, alone, am left to dreamy toil, 
 How harsh and burning one day's trodden soil ! 
 How full of bitterness and wrath the air, 
 While this poor life cries out in thine to share ! 
 
 When I am cast to drift adown the stream, 
 When I am left to hear the sea-mew's scream, 
 By the sad waves that mystic speak of thee, 
 Once more I feel our souls in unity !
 
 THROWN ASIDE. 
 
 I gathered a bunch of flowers, 
 And took them to where you lay ; 
 
 For I thought the breath of flowers 
 Might chase the dark care away. 
 
 You smiled, the tear-drops lying 
 Unheeded upon your cheek ; 
 
 I left the blossoms sighing 
 
 A message such lives best speak. 
 
 I gathered a bunch of flowers 
 On that failing autumn day, 
 
 And thought no more of the flowers 
 Which passed, with the tears, away. 
 
 Their dewy eyes, upgazing, 
 Gave rest to a troubled hour, 
 
 Their sweet endurance raising 
 Your slackened spirit's power. 
 
 You rose ; the weight of sadness, 
 As danksome night-dew, had sped ; 
 
 Your smile's returning gladness 
 
 Scarce heeded the flowers were dead
 
 THROWN ASIDE. 71 
 
 They perished, were forgotten, 
 Their minist'ring love thrown by ; 
 
 Yet, out their dust begotten, 
 Arose that which ' cannot die.'
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LIFE. 
 
 I dreamt ! 'Twas of a battle-field : 
 I heard the clash and clang of war, 
 The iron-tongued cannon's sullen roar ; 
 And with a harsh and whirring sound, 
 The air with bullets teemed around, 
 Which dealt in slaughter swift and sure. 
 I saw with wonder, men endure 
 To let their comrades fall beside, 
 And scarce to heed them as they died ! 
 But there were some — I see them now — 
 Chill dews and clammy crowned each brow 
 And yet these turned, to raise again 
 The mortal wounded, soothe their pain, 
 And in the crushing, marring rout, 
 As 'tendant angels moved about. 
 That strong brave band, their number few, 
 And many deeply wounded too — 
 I watched them ; and the gory field 
 Seemed glory-lit, though others dealed 
 Forth muttered curses — oaths and groans. 
 Were mingled with half-muffled moans,
 
 THE MYSTER Y OF LIFE. 73 
 
 For while men fell and mutely died, 
 Yet more and more pressed on beside ! 
 The sun sank low beneath the west, 
 But yet no sign of peace or rest ; 
 Red ' Carnage ' revelled in her prey, 
 The pale star shuddered on the way ; 
 I wearied of the turbid scene, 
 The sickly slaughter dealt between ; 
 A shadowed voice spoke clear to me, 
 ' This scene is Life, its mystery.' 
 
 I dreamt ! 'Twas of the open sea : 
 Upon the bosom of the deep, 
 All passion hushed to child-like sleep, 
 Soft heaved the wave ; my light bark lay, 
 And rocked upon the surges' sway ; 
 Beneath some playful, tender strain, 
 The lulling wavelet crooned refrain. 
 The air was full of pillowed rest, 
 While cooling zephyrs added zest, 
 As floating from th' enamoured wave, 
 With balmy breathings sweet they lave 
 The vessel's sides, and am'rous sigh ; 
 While full before my eager eye, 
 Cradled upon the white-fringed sea, 
 An islet whispered ' Home ' to me. 
 Those fairy beauties were haze-veiled, 
 Although I deemed my light bark sailed
 
 74 THE MYSTERY OF LIFE. 
 
 For the dear port I held in view, 
 And ' there,' I felt it, I was due. 
 But as my heart spake came a cloud, 
 And denser mists my Zenith shroud ; 
 While, with a sound of growing pain, 
 The waters rouse them to complain ; 
 The zephyrs die away in fear, 
 And flown the amber sunlight clear ; 
 The dark storm breaks ! my bark is given 
 To mercy of the winds of heaven ; 
 The elements rage fiercely round — 
 I fear their cry where shoals abound ! 
 When silence fell, naught could I see ; 
 ' 'Twas pictured Life,' its mystery. 
 
 I dreamt ! I hurried o'er a waste 
 Of desert sands, impelled by dread ; 
 I scarce might stay, turn foot or head. 
 The noontide orb upon my path 
 His beams outpoured in fiery wrath ; 
 The scanty herbage, burnt and bare, 
 Was arid as the pale plain there. 
 A parching thirst consumed my tongue ; 
 To right, to left, in vain I flung 
 Swift hurried glances, fever-born ; 
 My sterile path, of verdure shorn, 
 Gave forth no sound of swelling springs. 
 But on I flew with terror-wings,
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LIFE. 75 
 
 Till glazing eye and failing feet, 
 
 Nor warned by sight nor instinct fleet, 
 
 No more could guard 'gainst peril share. 
 
 I sank at last, scarce conscious, there. 
 
 Then low and lucid on my woes 
 
 The grateful sound of waters rose ; 
 
 I might not reach the silv'ry stream, 
 
 Tho' thirsting sight now caught the gleam 
 
 Of shining crystal, cooling source ; 
 
 My voice was altered — strange and hoarse — 
 
 Yet speech I found ; my startled ear 
 
 Heard the weak wail in wond'ring fear ; 
 
 When blending with the streamlet's strain 
 
 A sweeter murmur stilled my pain, 
 
 And dimming sight and senses knew 
 
 A dewy draught before their view ; 
 
 To my dry lip a hand upbore 
 
 The healing liquid's thrilling store, 
 
 I felt its fragrant moisture meet 
 
 The stiffened source of speech, when fleet 
 
 And sudden fell the full o'erflow. 
 
 I was alone in darkness now, 
 
 And knew no thirst ; weird voices rang : 
 
 ' Life's desert past,' it seemed they sang.
 
 HER WEDDING MORNING. 
 
 Sweet Bride, companion of my childish years, 
 I think of this day's happiness ; yet alien tears, 
 Uncalled-for, well from out some depth profound, 
 Whilst you, the cynosure of all around, 
 Are plighting your tried faith and trust to him ; 
 God grant the love of each may never dim ! 
 
 Sweet Bride, not in first girlhood's golden dream, 
 Has your love floated gently, calmly down life's 
 
 stream ; 
 For you have known too well the dark waves' foam. 
 But 'tis the roughest tide that oft brings home ; 
 And you are home, dear — home in all our hearts, 
 And sheltered safe in one, until death parts. 
 
 Sweet Bride, the radiance that surrounds this dawn 
 Let glow, and shed its fragrant fulness o'er the morn 
 That bears the pledge of noble constancy 
 Beside the heart that first did beat for thee ; 
 But think not, dear one, of earth's love alone, 
 When kneeling with your choice before ' God's 
 throne.'
 
 HER WEDDING MORNING. 77 
 
 Sweet Bride, remembrance comes of long-past days, 
 
 Smiles, tears, and laughter, dark and shining ways ; 
 
 And they may come again in turn to thee, 
 
 Only ' to-day ' all care and sorrow flee. 
 
 And may the shades that veiled the sunlight's power 
 
 Fade from thy heart ' for ever' from this hour !
 
 THE PRAYER OF LIFE. 
 
 The smiling first-fruits of the spring 
 Are spread abroad, woods, wakening, ring 
 One still small voice goes up to Thee, 
 One cry ; 'tis, Nearer, God, to Thee. 
 
 Within the summer's soft repose 
 The heart gives forth her joys and woes ; 
 There yet ascends, O God, to Thee 
 One prayer ; 'tis, Nearer, ?iearer Thee. 
 
 The autumn's tribute tear is cast, 
 The shrouded earth lies hid at last ; 
 The loamy leaves give forth to Thee 
 The prayer of life ; 'tis, Nearer Thee. 
 
 Upon the winter's pallid breath — 
 The ice-bound frost of coming death — 
 One whisper wakes earth's dying day, 
 ' Near to Thy feet, our God,' we pray.
 
 ONLY— WHAT ? 
 
 Only a shiv'ring sigh, 
 Only a half- drawn moan ; 
 
 Only a faded eye, 
 
 And a hand extended, shown. 
 
 Only a heap of rags, 
 Only a thin white face ; 
 
 A weary step that lags, 
 
 And a helpless, hopeless case. 
 
 Gay once with merry smiles, 
 Joyous with laughter, too, 
 
 Or full of pretty wiles ; 
 
 But with all the life gone now. 
 
 Once with a heart that loved, 
 In that poor bruised breast ; 
 
 Now of all feeling robbed, 
 But a craving dull for rest. 
 
 Only a message come, 
 
 Only a beggar dead ; 
 A homeless soul at home, 
 
 And a starving heart full fed.
 
 YESTERDAY. 
 
 When you have left me, and gone far away — 
 
 Oh, very far away, o'er land and sea — 
 Then in the silence to your heart may stray 
 
 One little sunlit gleam of memory ; 
 And faded violets of ' thought ' may throw 
 
 A fragrance from the past, and there may be 
 Within your soul a tender, trembling glow — 
 
 A dying breath, that stirs sweet memory. 
 
 Oh, do not quench the ling'ring incense flung 
 Among the still fresh flowers of one bright day ; 
 
 Oh, do not fling aside the chaplet hung 
 
 With blossoms frail — a dream of Yesterday ; 
 
 But take it with a soft'ning sweet regret, 
 And lay it gently on your breast, and say, 
 
 ' 'Tis dead, long dead, but I can love it yet, 
 
 That fragile, loving dream of Yesterday !' 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Ah, then, when you are gone far, far away, 
 And I am left alone and cannot see, 
 
 Fear not for me, for I, too, keep the ray, 
 The radiance of a ' living memory ' !
 
 GRANNY'S GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 Fifty years are gone and past, 
 Fifty years have sped so fast, 
 Since the day when in youth's bloom, 
 Ent'ring on your new life's home ; 
 One the golden symbol placed, 
 Which has ever since encased, 
 Not alone that finger frail, 
 But ' two hearts,' within its pale ! 
 Let those hearts rejoice this day 
 With their children's children gay ! 
 
 Fifty years all golden weather ? 
 
 Nay, for ' all ' life's storms must weather ; 
 
 But the smile and tear together, 
 
 ' Golden gorse and dewy heather,' 
 
 Show each other fairer far ; 
 
 We should never view the star 
 
 If no darkness did enshroud ; 
 
 Sunlight shines behind each cloud : 
 
 Let united love this day 
 
 Shed its sunbeam on your way !
 
 82 GRANNY'S GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 Fifty years now o'er and done ; 
 
 But they leave you not alone ! 
 
 In the maiden's happy face, 
 
 In the schoolboy's rough embrace — 
 
 Is there not a tribute true, 
 
 In the smiles surrounding you ? 
 
 Ay, an off'ring worth far more 
 
 Than a mine of golden ore : 
 
 See, your dear old wedding-ring 
 
 Yet a halo round can fling ! 
 
 Golden weddings, silver too, 
 Children, what are they to you ? 
 Golden times for fun and play, 
 Golden mem'ries live for aye ! 
 And within our souls they sing 
 With a song that still doth ring 
 Sweetly thro' all care and din, 
 Over ' years ' of toil and sin ; 
 And the purest song I know, 
 ' Children's joy,' shall with you go !
 
 THE TOURNAMENT. 
 
 ' Oh, bring me my Charger,' the bold Knight cried ; 
 
 ' I'd ride in the lists this day — 
 The loveliest face in the country-side 
 
 Will smile on the bold Tourney !' 
 
 The Heralds have given the signal toned, 
 
 The combatants charge midway ; 
 Ah, neither is down, and the Lady, throned, 
 
 Yet watches the angry fray. 
 
 The Steeds are wheel'd round, ere again they meet, 
 
 The Lady's rose cheek it pales ! 
 ' Which Knight is it falls 'neath the charger's feet,' 
 
 She cries, ' for my sight it fails !' 
 
 ' Oh, Lady, thy Knight wins the jousts this day, 
 
 And rich is the prize I ween ! 
 The gage, is it aught to the Victor, say, 
 
 Who wins him his Heart's fair Queen ? 
 
 6—2
 
 ON A CHILD. 
 
 Ay, hide thy pretty roguish smile, 
 
 Sweet child, upon thy mother's breast, 
 
 Thy short-lived griefs and artless guile, 
 To that fond heart alike confest. 
 
 'Twas there thine infant head was laid, 
 Ere yet thy blue eyes knew the light ; 
 
 Thy merry antics first were played 
 
 In that embrace, there hushed at night. 
 
 There, too, thy lisping baby tongue 
 First framed a sound articulate ; 
 
 On thy first word thy mother hung 
 With love and pride dispassionate. 
 
 Ay, turn and gaze with bashful pride ; 
 
 Encircled by those tender arms, 
 Thou'rt safe from ill on every side — 
 
 Canst queen it there, with cherub charms ! 
 
 Thou mindst me of a day, long past, 
 When I, too, was a little child ; 
 
 Ere on the world my lot was cast, 
 And yet on me a mother smiled !
 
 ON A CHILD. 85 
 
 Ah, flee not yet that resting-place, 
 And never wound that bosom dear, 
 
 Nor aid in bringing to that face 
 
 One furrowed line or yearning tear ! 
 
 The day will come when powerless proves 
 That close embrace to shelter thee ; 
 
 When thy light bark from harbour roves, 
 A mother's love thine anchor be !
 
 A HAPPY DAY. 
 
 Oh, wondrous Clouds ! ye frown in darkening power ; 
 Say, are ye mourning for the day now o'er ? 
 Lo, see it die, and weep the last gilt trace 
 That tells its life is ebbing out apace. 
 
 Oh, wondrous Clouds ! bethink you, I would fain 
 That ye should lift on that past day again ; 
 When ye, unveiling, flee the fiery dawn, 
 It may not bring, for me, so fair a morn. 
 
 While ye, forgetful, court the coming day, 
 
 As fairy sponsors regal in array ; 
 
 Then clouds, bright clouds, while ye bring forth in 
 
 bliss, 
 I shall be mourning short-lived happiness !
 
 ON ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 (DECEMBER 12, 1889.) 
 
 Listen ! upon the gliding gondola's dark wing 
 The dark Lagoons of Venice, sighing, sing 
 A far refrain, ' In our deep heart we hold 
 Another memory of sweet song told !' 
 
 Listen ! the breeze scarce stirs the Adriatic's shore, 
 One voice from Venice shall be heard no more ; 
 'Tis lost within the wearied city's rest : 
 The Poet's song is spent, the Poet's quest ! 
 
 Listen ! the dead past quickens to a murmured sigh 
 All greatness falls, the sweetest sound must die ; 
 And from the soul of Venice speaks a strain 
 That comes and goes ; 'tis heard in power again ! 
 
 Not in the broken song of shattered chords, 
 Not from the soulless lyre of earthly words, 
 But from the garnered height of mystic lay, 
 The Poet's dream reads true to him this day.
 
 TWO GEMS. 
 
 I held a diamond of the purest water, 
 
 And kept it shrined within my inmost heart ; 
 
 And all were blinded by its wondrous lustre, 
 All save the one who from the gem did part. 
 
 I cherished, too, a pearl of peerless beauty, 
 Its sheen seemed purer as the jewels lay ; 
 
 But tho' it shared the diamond's throne, 'twas duty 
 That held it there, and not love's stronger stay. 
 
 And many envied me the dual treasure, 
 
 And would have stol'n the brighter one away ; 
 
 For so it was that all took far more pleasure 
 The Brilliant in, than in its neighbour stray. 
 
 There came a day when I was weary, sleeping : 
 When I awoke the diamond shone alone ; 
 
 And all that day I sought my lost pearl weeping — 
 I knew its value when, alas ! 'twas gone.
 
 TWO GEMS. 89 
 
 And I was conscience-struck when in the Even 
 My lonely gem would give scarce half its light ; 
 
 And when the diamond stars gleamed out from 
 heaven, 
 I feared to meet the Jewel-giver's sight. 
 
 Too soon she saw her priceless pearl was missing, 
 Too soon she knew I to my trust was false ; 
 
 But tho' she mourned, she murmur'd a last blessing, 
 And took not back the diamond for my faults. 
 
 She bade me keep the stone as mine for ever, 
 And share it with the one who stole her pearl ; 
 
 Thus might both gems in radiance shine, nor sever, 
 Thus might an angel's holy love unfurl. 
 
 And in the gloaming now the pearl is lying 
 Beside the kindling Diamond's fire in peace ; 
 
 Yet in their depth two careworn hearts are trying 
 To quench another flame that will not cease. 
 
 But when they dream of that once noble giver, 
 Her sweet gem's rays will glance and flash divine ; 
 
 And when they ponder on that gift ' for ever,' 
 
 A lightning gleam doth through the diamond shine ! 
 
 And with a flood of light that reaches heaven, 
 I Hose hearts are fired a vision sweet to know, 
 
 For there, forgetful of her own once riven, 
 An angel beckons them with jewelled brow !
 
 'MAIDEN COY!' 
 
 Maiden, cruel and hard to please, 
 Give this aching heart some ease : 
 Say, beneath this outward show, 
 Lies no lurking love below, 
 Tell me, pretty maiden ? 
 
 Maiden, for an hour have done, 
 Sad for me this idle fun ! 
 Know thy play is cold to me, 
 Know I love in verity ! 
 Frown not, pretty maiden ! 
 
 Maiden, have I not been flung 
 Empty jests with gibing tongue? 
 Yet those rosy lips need give 
 But a smile, to bid me live ; 
 Smile then, pretty maiden ! 
 
 Maiden, coy and hard to please, 
 Say you only love to tease ! 
 Would you I should leave you now ? 
 Nay, you have a heart, I trow ? 
 Give it, pretty maiden !
 
 'MAIDEN COY f 91 
 
 Maiden, well you know and feel — 
 Hear me ! Tis my last appeal ; 
 Ah, you turn your face away, 
 Burning blushes bid me stay 
 With my pretty maiden !
 
 MUFFLED OARS. 
 
 Stroke by stroke the oars are dipping 
 
 In the surfy, smiling sea ; 
 Step by step the moments slipping, 
 
 Nearing shores we may not see. 
 
 Slow or swift the hourly journey, 
 Yet life's bark doth gliding run, 
 
 Past the banks befiower'd and ferny, 
 Bathed in dew or morning sun. 
 
 Do we feel the minutes creeping ? 
 
 Do we count the melting days — 
 In the noontide, or but sleeping, 
 
 Drowsy 'neath the warm sunrays ? 
 
 Have we lost our hearts in gazing 
 
 On the fairy scene around, 
 Or are billows dark erasing 
 
 From our eyes joy lately found ? 
 
 Smooth or rough the oars are plying, 
 Ploughing through the trackless main 
 
 Joy and laughter, tears and sighing, 
 Fleetly pass as sunshine, rain.
 
 MUFFLED OARS. 93 
 
 And we never stay or linger, 
 
 Tho' some deem we stand so still ; 
 They see not the silent ringer 
 
 Pointing on for good or ill. 
 
 Muffled oars have ' Time's ' swift rowers, 
 
 To the dazed eye and ear ; 
 While some watch the cloud that lowers 
 
 With a speechless, chilling fear. 
 
 Still the stroke divides the waters, 
 
 And the beating heart is true ; 
 For the wings of ' Time's ' gray daughters 
 
 Speed us on where all are due. 
 
 And the shore is drawing nearer, 
 
 'Mid the weeping and the song ; 
 Most but value life the dearer, 
 
 As it may not stay for long. 
 
 Mystic in the silver moonlight, 
 
 Boats unlade their freight as due ; 
 But the distant sailor's eyesight 
 
 May not pierce that far-off view. 
 
 Only some are gazing mastward, 
 
 And, unblinded by salt spray, 
 They are steering steadfast onward, 
 
 To the light of coming Day.
 
 94 MUFFLED OARS. 
 
 Stroke by stroke the morning passes, 
 Step by step the bright hours flee ; 
 
 Do we gather fruit or grasses 
 For thy shores, ' Eternity ' ?
 
 ' WHERE ART THOU, FRIEND ?' 
 
 Where art thou, friend, this moody midnight hour ? 
 Sleeping serenely, or in wakeful power 
 Inditing half-read thoughts that sweep the soul, 
 As a white hand which trembling harp-chords stole ? 
 
 Do some unbidden forces speak to thee, 
 And tinge thy dawning dreams with memory ? 
 Within thy heart, thy mind, comes no far gleam, 
 No star of night to shed its silver beam — 
 
 To lead thee, in this still and silent rest, 
 Beneath those countless hosts whose vigils blest 
 Seem rapt in depth of prayer for this dark world ; 
 A diamond dais 'neath one vast throne unfurled! 
 
 Oh, doth thy soul not throb to see beyond, 
 And pierce the depth of that vast silvered bond 
 That stretches overhead an unread scroll, 
 Written in lucid light night's shades unroll ? 
 
 What is thy thought, thy dream, if thou art gone 
 To slumber where the dreamer's dream atone ? 
 For night and day dreams may be bright in hue, 
 But well we know the brightest ne'er come true.
 
 96 * WHERE ART THOU, FRIEND? 
 
 Peace to thee, friend, where'er thy soul may roam- 
 Peace to thy visions, absent or at home ; 
 Mayhap our winged thoughts may meet and rest 
 'Neath loving Sleep's soft hand, and there be blest.
 
 LIFE-LINKS. 
 
 I took a golden Chainlet, 
 
 And round about it cast 
 The diamond links of mem 'ry fleet, 
 
 And thought I'd bound it fast; 
 But, alas ! the gold contained alloy, 
 
 And in the wintry blast 
 The tension tried the glist'ning bond ; 
 
 It snapt and broke at last, 
 
 I took a silver Cable-cord, 
 
 And thought that it was sure 
 To bind me to the hearts I loved, 
 
 It seemed so strong and pure ; 
 But a noxious vapour rose from earth. 
 
 Corroding to the core; 
 It sullied every virgin ring, 
 
 And broke my chain once more. 
 
 I took a sheeny Riband, 
 
 Begirt with costly jewel ; 
 I flung it to the hands held out. 
 
 And bound it to my soul :
 
 9 8 LIFE-LINKS. 
 
 But the radiant flame of glowing love 
 Was dimmed by years of toil ; 
 
 The storms of life beat down the band 
 And rent away the whole ! 
 
 And then I chose a silken Thread, 
 
 Made fast with earnest prayer, 
 Close-claspt with loving sympathy, 
 
 And sent it to them there. 
 And that single clue awoke their hearts 
 
 From sleep of sin and care ; 
 The golden coil of Heaven's Love 
 
 Has brought our spirits near !
 
 AFTER THE AUTUMN SHOWER. 
 (lake scenery.) 
 
 When the vale lies in the sunlight, 
 
 And the weeping skies have shed 
 All their tears upon the woods bright, 
 
 On the leaf, and flower, and mead ; 
 ^Yhen from out th' unveiling tree-top 
 
 Springs the rainbow's mystic arch, 
 And as crystal shines the raindrop 
 
 On the graceful fringed Larch ; 
 When the gleaming Mountain-Ashes 
 
 With their scarlet berries shine, 
 And the newly-filled rill dashes, 
 
 Onward, downward, to its shrine ; 
 When among the green gold bracken 
 
 Lights illuminate and glow, 
 And the watchful trees, unshaken, 
 
 Shed their diamonds as you go ; 
 When the air, in dreamy stillness, 
 
 Seems to rest as from a storm, 
 And the wild-flower breathes fresh sweetness, 
 
 And expands its slender form ; 
 
 7—2
 
 iog AFTER THE AUTUMN SHOWER. 
 
 When the dead leaves give their odour, 
 
 And the grateful earth its scent, 
 And the trembling aspens shudder, 
 
 With their tear-stained faces bent- 
 Then the world awakes in beauty, 
 
 As did 'Venus'* from the sea, 
 And from out its freshened glory 
 
 Smiles a welcome unto me !
 
 'SLEEPING AND WAKING.' 
 
 We sleep ; and restless in our dreams, 
 
 The harassed mind gains no true rest, ' 
 And even sleep a picture seems 
 
 Of daily toil, of earthly quest ! 
 In each we grasp, with clinging hands, 
 
 But shifting phantoms, dream them true ; 
 And pass 'twixt drear and fertile lands, 
 
 Ourselves but shadows gliding through ! 
 
 We sleep : each dreams his own short tale, 
 
 And wakes at last to know it so ; 
 For whether blank or full, dreams fail 
 
 Before the radiant morning glow : 
 Tho' some have passed in guileless sleep, 
 
 To rouse from childhood's slumber where 
 No mock repose sad eyelids steep ; 
 
 For all awake for ever there !
 
 MINE. 
 
 I loved you ! 
 Not with most men's love, rugged, strong, 
 Nor women's, on through right or wrong, 
 But as you love and know not why, 
 Yet feel such love can never die, 
 
 I loved you ! 
 
 I loved you ! 
 It may be that your face awoke 
 Some sleeping chord, released the yoke 
 Of portals bound. There ope'd to thee 
 My heart : 'twas Love that set it free 
 
 To love you ! 
 
 I loved you ! 
 The deepest shade, the strongest will, 
 Alike dissolved, and all was still ; 
 You smiled and lit a ray divine, 
 You took my heart, now yours is mine ! 
 
 I love you !
 
 WRECKED ! 
 
 I often gaze on the crested waves 
 
 That ride far out at sea, 
 And the tossed and broken foam that laves 
 
 The white sand tenderly ; 
 I never dream of the spirit-wraith 
 
 That sobs above the storm, 
 But I feel my sailor lad's true faith 
 
 Within my heart is warm ! 
 
 It may be I watch the angry wave 
 
 Beside the frowning dawn, 
 And know that no human hand can save 
 
 The helmless ship forlorn ; 
 'Mid the thunder of the elements, 
 
 And boom of signal gun, 
 I cannot join in the folk's laments — 
 
 Nor ' Danger's ' rocket shun. 
 
 When I leave the brooding shore and wend 
 
 My lone way up the lane, 
 Cold despair and fear within me blend, 
 
 And surge their deadly pain ;
 
 104 WRECKED. 
 
 For the strife I leave beneath the cliff 
 
 Wakes in my heart alone, 
 And I see again my own lad's skiff, 
 
 And hear his drowning moan. 
 
 The sound of the sea is sweet to me, 
 
 Whether it sleeps or strives, 
 For the murm'ring waves speak soothingly, 
 
 ' O'er us he rides and drives ;' 
 And the Ocean lures me to its bed, 
 
 My woe I leave at home, 
 All the bitter tears I there have shed, 
 
 Are checked beside the foam. 
 
 Ah, folks say, ' She's daft 1 ': they'll have their say; 
 
 But one voice speaks to me — 
 That whisper lives on the flying spray 
 
 That bids the dark care flee ; 
 So I wander by the trackless main, 
 
 And fear no storm for him : 
 I must wait and watch thro' sun and rain, 
 
 Altho' my eyes grow dim !
 
 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE. 
 
 Leave you, after yearly treading 
 Smooth and thorny paths with you ! 
 
 Days and nights of patient plodding, 
 Thro' the dark and cold, we two ! 
 
 Could you deem me so unloving 
 As to leave you lonely now ? 
 
 Leave you, I who ever cherished 
 In this heart the thought of you ! 
 
 Not till that and soul have perished, 
 Could I ever part from you ; 
 
 Not till all my journey finished, 
 Shall I your dear hand let go ! 
 
 See the bryony festooning 
 
 All the dark'ning hedgerows near ; 
 See the clematis that's clinging 
 
 In its purple mantle there ; 
 Should you rend them from their holding, 
 
 Would they half so sweet appear ?
 
 106 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE. 
 
 Pluck the ivy from the fond tree, 
 Lay the ' Gloire de Dijon ' prone, 
 
 You would take away all beauty, 
 Kill the climber, bare its throne ; 
 
 And how cold and drear life would be 
 If you tore ' Love's ' tendrils down ! 
 
 Contrast 'tis that makes things lovely, 
 Light and shadow give the charm ; 
 
 Woman's love shines far more sweetly 
 Clinging to the man's strong arm ; 
 
 And the truest life-tints brightly, 
 But in failing, kindle warm !
 
 LIVING ROSES. 
 
 My love brought me three Roses 
 
 From out a garden gay ; 
 And one was white, and one was red, 
 
 And one cream-gold in ray. 
 My love plucked me those Roses, 
 
 Oh, many years ago, 
 Before the summer posies 
 
 Were hid 'neath winter's snow. 
 
 My love, that brought me Roses, 
 
 Has gone himself away ; 
 For roses bud, and bloom, and fall, 
 
 All in one summer's day ! 
 And yet those fair gift-roses 
 
 Gleam out their leaves to me, 
 For 'neath life's snows bloom posies 
 
 That flower eternally ! 
 
 My love may bring me Roses 
 
 From gardens old, yet new- 
 May bring again sweet Roses 
 Of varied shade and hue ;
 
 ioS LIVING ROSES. 
 
 Pure Rose of ' Faith,' deep Rose of ' Love, 
 And gold-tipped bloom of ' Joy' : 
 
 These, these the living Roses 
 That neither fade nor cloy.
 
 LOST AND FOUND ! 
 
 Lost in the golden shroud of Fancy's hue, 
 
 Withdrawn as exhaled drop of diamond dew ; 
 
 To shine again a gem from out the sky, 
 
 One swift but scarce-grasped thought that cannot die. 
 
 Borne on the fiery wing of after-glow, 
 Touching the list'ning heart's sweet overflow ; 
 (learning undimmed throughout the march of years, 
 Above the care and trouble, toil and tears ! 
 
 Found, yet unknown, as dreamt of but in dreams, 
 Lit full in sight, a glory-light it seems ; 
 Far, far above its living life will throw 
 One meteor flash, and then it fades below !
 
 LAME CHARLIE. 
 
 ' Your Mother is old and crusty; 
 
 She never before was laid 
 Aside — I was strong and lusty ; 
 
 But never you heed what I've said ! 
 You're the last one, Charlie, left me — 
 
 The others are gone their own gait ; 
 You mustn't be down upon me, 
 
 For 'tis hard to lie here and wait ! 
 
 ' But 'tisn't as hard for me, dear, 
 
 As it was all them years for you. 
 I'm glad that 'tis me that lies he - e, 
 
 It 'ad better be me than you ; 
 Eh, Charlie ! I love to see ye 
 
 A-gettin' about in such style ; 
 Don't ye be troublin' about me, 
 
 If Mother is cross for awhile ! 
 
 Your brothers seldom come near me, 
 Your sisters are married and gone, 
 
 And 'tis when a daughter leaves ye 
 Her husband and children's her own ;
 
 LAME CHARLIE. m 
 
 Ah, yes, they are all gone from me, 
 They've their bairnies, and 'tis best ; 
 
 But, Charlie, I've got you with me, 
 You'll stay till I go to my rest ! 
 
 ' Don't shake your head and look sad, dear, 
 
 There's no need for to speak o' that now : 
 I'm thinking that God was good, dear, 
 
 Though you never could follow the plough : 
 For had you been strong and likely, 
 
 And tall and well grown like the rest, 
 Maybe you'd have not been with me, 
 
 And I always have loved you the best. 
 
 ' Ah, Charlie, you needn't flush so — 
 
 Do ye think I don't know the pain — 
 The pain your heart knows, and must know ? 
 
 But now you walk blithely again, 
 My boy. that was with me always, 
 
 My baby long after the rest ! 
 But One understands all the hard ways, 
 
 And I always have loved you the best. 
 
 ' The children that call me Granny, 
 
 Little dears, they just come and go 
 (But, ah ! there are few, if any, 
 
 Such children as yo?t, long ago) ; 
 They come and they prattle round me 
 
 And show me their bits of things — 
 Remind me of my little Charlie 
 
 Before God had dipt his wings !
 
 ii2 LAME CHARLIE. 
 
 ' Ah, dearie, 'twas God that done it, 
 
 And often I wondered for why ; 
 I troubled a mint about it, 
 
 And often knelt, down for to cry ! 
 Eh ! I never thought to see you 
 
 As I see you a-walking now ; 
 'Twas the London doctor saved you, 
 
 Who gave you them crutches, too. 
 
 ' Ah, Charlie, my winsome laddie, 
 
 How you followed me with your eyes ! 
 When I went to my work and left ye, 
 
 How the tears within 'em would rise ! 
 I never forget it, my darlin' ! 
 
 Now's my turn to watch and to wait ; 
 When the others met me a-playin', 
 
 How I cried by the garden gate ! 
 
 v Yes, Charlie, you've been my blessin', 
 
 Some blessin's are born from tears ; 
 You've always been good and willin', 
 
 And you've loved me for all these years. 
 Your brothers are strong and steady, 
 
 And Sally and Jane they are kind; 
 But 'twas you that looked out for me 
 
 When I came home late— d'ye mind ? 
 
 ' And now that my boy is older, 
 And I'm an old woman laid low, 
 He never forgets his Mother, 
 
 Tho' she scolds him at times, you know
 
 LAME CHARLIE. n 
 
 Yet, Charlie, I've often wondered, 
 
 Since I've done with the work and play, 
 
 Of that Mother who sat and pondered 
 On what her dear Son would say ! 
 
 1 You were sent with a message to me — 
 
 Yes, I feel it the more and more — 
 From the One who can love and pity, 
 
 (Laid low my poor boy before !) 
 The years of )Our patient bearing 
 
 Are teaching me still to lie ; 
 And now you are up and stirring, 
 
 I'm ready, when called, to die ! 
 
 ' Your brothers are seldom near me, 
 
 Your sisters both married and gone ; 
 I was always quick-tempered, Charlie, 
 
 But you'll not leave your Mother alone ; 
 You know what it is to suffer — 
 
 Some day the old woman must die : 
 She knows the last son God gave her 
 
 Will meet her again up on high !' 
 
 8
 
 'MY DARLING.' 
 
 She lay — 
 A statued angel on a sleeping tomb ; 
 
 Her dark hair clust'ring round that marbled brow 
 Her sweet face smiled from out the stricken gloom ; 
 
 Her pale locked hands were pleading mutely now. 
 
 She lay ! 
 And something not of earth seemed watching there, 
 
 For even Sorrow froze and fled away 
 Before the holy calm that lingered near, 
 
 That whispered, ' This is ground to kneel and pray !' 
 
 She lay 
 As in sweet sleep, and smiled upon my prayer : 
 
 A peace I scarce could grasp came o'er my heart ! 
 I heard the angels' wings stir softly there, 
 
 And felt not even death our souls could part. 
 
 She lay — 
 Purer than lenten lilies, drifted snow ; 
 
 Outside the world went on, its joy and pain ; 
 And I am comforted, for now I know 
 
 That ' Death ' will give her back to me again !
 
 ' PATCHWORK.' 
 
 Neatly, deftly, 
 
 Laid in with stitches clean, 
 Is the varied drap'ry wrought, 
 
 With the bright hues between ; 
 Patchwork, Patchwork ! 
 
 Blended the light and shade ; 
 Ah ! but the world is 'Patchwork,' 
 
 With its old edges frayed ! 
 
 Harshly, crudely, 
 
 Striking upon the eye, 
 Gleam the Reds and Blues of Life, 
 
 But for the soft shades nigh ; 
 Neatly, deftly, 
 
 Lay in the deep rich hue ; 
 And though the world be 'Patchwork,' 
 
 Yet may it smile for you ! 
 
 Gladly, sadly, 
 
 One by the other laid, 
 Bit by bit we place them in, 
 
 And tho' the edge be frayed ;
 
 n6 ^patchwork: 
 
 Patchwork, Patchwork ! 
 
 Bronzes to peacock blue, 
 Tell, tho' the world be ' Patchwork, 
 
 Yet it may smile for you !
 
 AKIN. 
 
 A minstrel sang for a Royal Princess, 
 Both beauty and grace had she ; 
 
 And she smiled with a smile of graciousness, 
 That the singer yearned to see. 
 
 Bat the hungry heart was sore and sad, 
 
 The song was all in vain ! 
 For no word of kindness sent him glad 
 
 To his darksome home again. 
 
 A minstrel craved of a Royal Princess 
 A boon that the great oft threw, 
 
 But she scarce turned in her languidness 
 To say, ' It is not for you.' 
 
 And the suppliant sank into the shade, 
 
 His hand to his moody brow, 
 And longed that ha in the dust had laid, 
 
 Ere in vain he bent so low. 
 
 But the beaming noontide bright bent down 
 And kissed the poor downcast heart ; 
 
 And the pleader looked, the shade was flown 
 The shade from his weary heart.
 
 n8 AKIN. 
 
 And he said, ' I have asked from both a dole — 
 
 A dole a Princess might give ; 
 But one loving heart is worth the whole 
 
 Of the world, and for that I'll live !' 
 
 And that night he sang for the Queen of all — 
 
 Not of beauty, grace, nor power ; 
 On a chastened heart the strain did fall, 
 
 As rain on the thirsty flower. 
 
 And the gentle Lady Royal sent down, 
 ' We have heard thy song's sweet tone !' 
 
 For the heart that beat upon a throne, 
 And the singer's heart, were one. 
 
 And the minstrel passed from the Palace Gate 
 
 With his heart aglow with ' love ' ; 
 The long-sough t-for gift, though it reached him late, 
 
 A ray from the Throne above.
 
 EVENSONG. 
 
 It is the Vesper Hour of Day, 
 The flooding West each branching spray 
 And traceried leaf has tinted bright, 
 And gilt the copse with burnished light ; 
 While on the silent air there floats 
 A warbled song of varied notes 
 Fro;n feathered songsters \ now subdued, 
 Now raised again, as tho' some feud 
 Prevailed, and every tiny throat 
 Joined in sweet babel to promote 
 The hubbub, (ere all sinks to rest,) 
 Or trial to prove which chirp the best ! 
 The vale now slumbers in the glow, 
 And hallowed Peace is Queen below, 
 No rustle wakens o'er the lea, 
 The sun, in smiling harmony, 
 Is sinking 'neath the hilly brow ; 
 The land is glory-lit, the plough, 
 Still and unused, a soft shade cast 
 Upon the golden furrowed past !
 
 120 EVENSONG. 
 
 In cradled calm, the feathered flock, 
 Within soft bowers, reposing, rock. 
 As at command their wings they fold, 
 Phoebus, in splendour all untold, 
 Fades with a crimson flush from sight, 
 And heralds the approaching night. 
 A cloudy veil o'er all is thrown ; 
 Then, flooding with her lucid crown, 
 Majestic rises the pale Moon, 
 Her starry train around her throne. 
 It rests the weary, anxious mind, 
 A balm unspoken still to find 
 In Nature's ever-soothing breast; 
 Tho' changeful be her mood, 'tis best : 
 If sad, how full of tender grace ! 
 If gay, 'tis from her radiant face 
 Man's heart is strengthened for the right, 
 His spirit, bathed in new-found light, 
 Is borne beyond these realms to know 
 A fresh Day dawns, if this must go !
 
 WHAT'S O'CLOCK ? 
 (puff-balls.) 
 
 One o'clock ! 
 Rosy cheeks swoll'n in glee ; 
 
 Two o'clock ! 
 Even ' Time ' lingers to see. 
 
 Three o'clock ! 
 Ne'er a snow-second has sped ; 
 
 Four o'clock ! 
 Downy still Dandelion's head ! 
 
 Five o'clock ! 
 Far away, ah ! who can trace 
 
 Vanished 
 Seedlets which life's children chase?
 
 TO A CAPTIVE BIRD. 
 
 Poor captive bird, thy song has flown ; the thrill 
 That woke the echoes of the mountain rill 
 Is shattered and imprisoned ; 'tis thy pain, 
 No more to know triumphant song again ! 
 
 Thou shalt not skim elate the cloud's white breast, 
 Nor gauge the golden glamour of the west, 
 Nor circle round the topmost branching tree ; 
 Such flights of winged song are o'er for thee. 
 
 Yet sweeter far, oh, fettered, singing soul, 
 To trace, where loving mem'ries true enroll 
 The raptured burst of deep ecstatic swell, 
 The crystal ring of one sweet-voiced knell ! 
 
 Ah, captive bird, tho' chill thy lot and cold, 
 Pour forth thy tone's tried fulness as of old ; 
 And on the silv'ry burden of thy lay 
 Thy wing shall mount the yielding heights each day. 
 
 The sweetest singer finds the sweetest rest, 
 But 'tis within ' his song,' not in 'its quest' ; 
 Far, far above the weighted minor strain, 
 Thy clarion thrill shall flood the skies again !
 
 TWIN ROSEBUDS. 
 
 Two Rosebuds in my heedless hand, 
 
 Rivals in scent and hue, 
 Seemed in their fragrance to demand, 
 
 ' Which is the one for you ?' 
 
 Two Rosebuds, one a creamy white, 
 
 Spangled with silv'ry dew ; 
 The other in the shaded light 
 
 Glowed as a gem might do. 
 
 Two Maidens, one on either side, 
 
 Gave each to me a flower, 
 Whose beauties I had scarce espied, 
 
 But for their od'rous power. 
 
 Two Maidens, one with laughing eyes, 
 
 Wavelets of gold her hair ; 
 The other in whose glance their lies 
 
 As sweet a smile as rare. 
 
 Two rosebud Maidens, fresh and free 
 As their own flow'rets there ; 
 
 The scented Summer's purity 
 Showed no more lovely pair.
 
 124 TWIN ROSEBUDS. 
 
 Two Rosebuds : ah, I took the one — 
 One that I deemed most fair ; 
 
 But in my heart there bloomed alone 
 One that I might not wear. 
 
 The Summer breath of 'long ago ' 
 Speaks in the silence true, 
 
 ' I fanned the roses' hearts, and know 
 That was the one for you !'
 
 SONNET. 
 
 (ONE CHRISTMAS EVE.) 
 
 'Twas Christmas Eve, and wakeful seemed the night, 
 
 As hushed, expectant of the Angels' song, 
 
 I joined the watch and listened for it long ; 
 
 Until a sudden sound of growing might 
 
 Broke through the blankness of my chilled sight, 
 
 And touched my inmost heart's long silent wrong : 
 
 The flood of my dried soul's dark depths and strong 
 
 Burst their vain barrier ; the plaintive light 
 
 Of pale stars' eyes met mine in sympathy. 
 
 When Heaven drew a veil across her face, 
 
 Winds wailing rose, woke weirdly, angrily ; 
 
 Then sudden silence, sunk the storm's wild chase ; 
 
 Deep in my heart was singing tearfully 
 
 A summer song, that swelling, sobbed through space.
 
 WHAT ? 
 
 A darkening Shade cast on the ground, 
 A golden sunbeam hov'ring round ; 
 A strain pathetic, sweet and low, 
 A tide of bliss scarce dashed with woe ; 
 ' Such Life's varied song may be, 
 Weeping, shade, or harmony.' 
 
 And when its little hist'ry told, 
 Its warfare o'er, its noontide cold ; 
 What left to us, what can remain, 
 Nothing save one more broken chain. 
 Forgotten links which scarce supply 
 Our needed lesson : How to die.
 
 AT BREAK OF DAY. 
 
 At break of Day 
 
 A thousand wakening voices ring ; 
 A thousand hearts gain strength to sing, 
 And rise on morning's silver wing, 
 At break of Day. 
 
 At close of Day 
 The childish accents, floating, fly ; 
 The day is doomed, the day must die, 
 Yet clust'ring shades but sweep light's eye 
 
 At close of Day. 
 
 * * * * •*• 
 
 For morning, evening, both are true ; 
 Both hold their folded bloom for you ; 
 Both splendour dawn and sober dew 
 Transmute the herb, whose heart anew 
 Absorbs the flush and tear-drop too ! 
 There glint forth gold threads not a few 
 
 At break of Day, 
 
 At close of Day !
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 (ON NOVEMBER.) 
 
 Chill barren month ! the last but one, 
 Thou art the Year's eleventh son ; 
 Oh, cold, still wraith, why linger near — 
 A silent herald, misty fear ? 
 Dull barrier of the winter sun : 
 
 Thy merry Brothers' course is run ; 
 But after thee ' December's ' fun 
 And Holy Joy ! Haste, haste from here, 
 Chill barren month ! 
 
 Ungenial watcher, we would shun 
 Thy presence ; all Earth's blossom done, 
 Thy hands, unfilial, spread her bier, 
 And, churlish, thou hast but one tear 
 ('Chrysanthemum,' white novice nun !), 
 Chill barren month !
 
 HEARD. 
 
 I heard the plash of waters, 
 The ocean's breaking swell ; 
 
 I heard the voices in my heart, 
 From out its depths, as well. 
 
 I heard them sing sweet music, 
 And then discordant die ; 
 
 Was it the lapping, surging wave, 
 Or out my heart, that sigh ? 
 
 I know not, yet the murmur 
 And blent dissonance flew ; 
 
 Serenely, calmly slept the tide, 
 The sportive spray's bright dew. 
 
 Yet rang there o'er the billow 
 
 A whisper ; and again 
 A shadow strove within my breast, 
 
 Suggestive, as of pain. 
 
 I listened 'mid the laughter 
 That swept so lightly by — 
 
 The mirrored smiling, whirling tides, 
 Beneath the main's heart ply ; 
 
 9
 
 130 HEARD. 
 
 And from the field of waters, 
 The chasing petrel's fear, 
 
 I learnt the echoes of my soul, 
 Solved by that deep voice near.
 
 HISTORY OF A GREAT -GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 (to e. e. e.) 
 
 She was a Beauty ! 
 
 They ' were ' all, you know ! 
 She shirked her duty ; 
 In those days 'twas so ! 
 Her parent would that she should wed his will, 
 She kicked against it (as they all do still !). 
 
 She loved another, 
 
 And for him she sighed ; 
 The usual bother — 
 And papa defied ! 
 Those were the days when parents' will had strength ; 
 He locked her up, till she gave way, at length! 
 
 I cannot picture 
 
 How 'twas brought about ; 
 I will not censure, 
 
 But may have a doubt 
 If the aspirant to her hand held true — 
 So what, with all her spirit, could she do ? 
 
 9—2
 
 1 32 HIS TOR Y OF A GREA T- GRAN DMO THER. 
 
 Well, from her durance, 
 
 And her prison fare, 
 She made a clearance : 
 Reconciled her pere, 
 By bending to his will, as maidens should, 
 And strove to love the gentleman he would. 
 
 And she succeeded — 
 
 For 'twas well for her : 
 The one that pleaded 
 Was one worthy her. 
 And ever after, through long married years, 
 She blessed her father's choice with happy tears !
 
 KEPT. 
 
 There's a sacred spot in a far-off land 
 
 Where the woodland mosses lie, 
 And the hills around and near are fanned 
 
 By the fir-tree's boding sigh ; 
 There's a sleeping heart that sweetly dreams, 
 
 And yet never wakes to know 
 The call of the rushing, fretting streams 
 
 Which for ever onward flow. 
 
 Dream on, my sweetheart, never rouse again, 
 
 But slumber in peaceful trust ; 
 For why should you learn of hidden pain, 
 
 Or taste of the desert's dust ? 
 I see you smile in your sleep, and feel 
 
 'Tis best that you slumber there, 
 Than to know a midnight thief might steal 
 
 My heart's guarded treasure rare ! 
 
 There's a weary heart that throbs and beats, 
 
 And listens beside the stream ; 
 In the winter snows and summer heats 
 
 It stays not to sleep or dream ;
 
 134 KEPT. 
 
 For the vision dreamt of long ago 
 Is o'er for that heart, and done — 
 
 Borne far away on the streamlet's flow ; 
 But the poor tired heart waits on ! 
 
 And the current echoes past the glen 
 
 As the bank ferns kiss the spray, 
 ' Thy dream, it has passed beyond our ken, 
 
 As a dream of yesterday !' 
 But the steadfast flowers still gaze above, 
 
 And the bird sings from the tree : 
 ' There's a sweeter song, whose strain is love, 
 
 Shall bring thy lost dream to thee !'
 
 AFTER MIDNIGHT (LONDON). 
 
 There is no sound upon the trodden street, 
 
 Wont to re-echo with swift eager feet ; 
 
 There is no light from out the dark, still rooms, 
 
 Whose windows give back, as the bold moon looms 
 
 From dusky cloud, a cold, blank look forlorn, 
 
 Like eyes from which the warmth and light is gone. 
 
 The city slumbers, and the ceaseless cry, 
 
 Clamour and rout, are pillowed, while on high, 
 
 Calmly the stars look down in beauty cold ; 
 
 The heavens, with dusky arms around, enfold 
 
 All in impassive vastness widely spread ; 
 
 Faded and gone the once-blue skies o'erhead, 
 
 For sable Night has come to mourn and weep, 
 
 While Daylight's denizens are wrapt in sleep ; 
 
 She gazes darkly do.vn in awful gloom 
 
 On silent millions in their silent home. 
 
 In sable trappings and in weeds of woe, 
 
 The Night enshrouds them in her gloomy throe ; 
 
 Like a fell spirit over all she broods, 
 
 And frowns upon the fitful Moon, whose moods
 
 136 AFTER MIDNIGHT (LONDON). 
 
 Lead her to hide behind Night's wing, and stay 
 In gulfs obscure, till lost to sight her ray ; 
 When suddenly emerging from around, 
 She flashes her soft gaze, and Night, thus found, 
 And turned to shadow'd Day, shrinks back, away 
 (As the dark nun who vows to kneel and pray, 
 In the black darkness, shirks the taper's light, 
 Deems no sin worse than deadly sin of light) ; 
 Lost in her shadows thus, the sad Night cowers, 
 Trembling till lingering Day's first fiery hours 
 Strike as a ruthless spear her phantom form, 
 When, shrieking wildly, Night flies on the storm.
 
 COME BACK TO ME ! 
 
 Come back to me ! 
 Come, for one fleeting moment, that mine eyes 
 May probe the depths in thine, and read the thought 
 
 that lies 
 In your soul's soul, and ask is there no qualm, 
 No troubled wave, beneath your bosom's outward 
 
 calm ? 
 
 Come back to me ! 
 Then will the angry, doubting wound be healed ; 
 Then will the lips be opened that before were sealed ; 
 And we could part, not as in discord now, 
 But with the balm ' forgiveness ' on each furrowed 
 brow ! 
 
 Come back to me ! 
 The chilling silence echoes back the words ; 
 The outside life smiles on, as steel-cold swords 
 Flash in the battle-field, and ne'er a moan 
 Vibrates upon the air once comrades breathed alone !
 
 138 COME BACK TO ME! 
 
 Come back to me ! 
 And say you love me — your heart still is mine ; 
 Then let the birds break forth in song, the warm sun- 
 shine 
 Flood the wrapt life of our two hearts' full bliss ; 
 Only come back, and still my yearning with one kiss !
 
 FULL LIFE. 
 
 Take the blank page of life's leaflet, 
 Fill the hungry void with joy ; 
 
 One bright gem in heaven's chaplet 
 Is the one we oft destroy. 
 
 Take the folded bud, and place it 
 Where the gentle shade may fall ; 
 
 And when playful sunbeams chase it, 
 Roses open 'neath their thrall. 
 
 Take the pale and angry shadows, 
 Grasp them in your hand, and know, 
 
 Far beneath lie flowery meadows, 
 Smiling out the depths below. 
 
 Take life's graven bowl, and fill it 
 With the blossoms round you cast, 
 
 And their fragrance shall yet give it 
 Deepened sweetness that will last. 
 
 Nerve the trembling hand and listless, 
 For it may yet gather more ; 
 
 And the strength we deem resistless 
 Is but careless in its power.
 
 140 FULL LIFE. 
 
 Know your heart holds fast within it 
 Hidden treasure known to you, 
 
 When alone you sit and spin it — 
 Wondrous is the web spun true ! 
 
 Should another seek to share it, 
 Rise and give an entry free ! 
 
 None can steal — nay, never fear it : 
 They can give but more to thee !
 
 THE STREET ROSE-SELLER. 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Blossoms of every hue ; 
 Bright in their blushing beauty : 
 ' Please, sir, to take a few.' 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Born on a cottage lawn ; 
 Sweet with the breath of Summer, 
 Crowned by the dewy dawn ! 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Fresh for your buttonhole ; 
 ' Fair as the cheek whose flush, sir, 
 Tells of a heart you stole !' 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Gilt with the sun's first kiss ; 
 Paled 'neath the silver starlight, 
 Crimsoned with true love's bliss ! 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! • 
 Gay from the garden's store ; 
 ' One that shall brighten eyes, sir, 
 Watching behind your door.'
 
 142 THE STREET ROSE-SELLER. 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Buy just a bud or two 
 (' Haven't folks eyes or noses ') 
 ' Lady, they're made for you.' 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Things by the crowded way, 
 Giving their subtle odour 
 While the soft zephyrs play. 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Fresh from their blooming pride ; 
 Lost in the sea of faces, 
 Cast to the rushing tide. 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Fragrant as tried and true ; 
 Garlanding heavy noontide, 
 Shrouding night's tears anew ! 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Perishing in a sigh ; 
 Frailest and fullest wither, 
 Fearlessly fall and die. 
 
 Roses ! Roses ! 
 Garnered your loving breath ; 
 Pitying tears of angels, 
 
 Roses that know no death !
 
 VEILED ANGELS. 
 
 If Sorrow come ! 
 Bend thy low head before the blast, 
 And raise it out the dust at last, 
 More humble, but possessed of power — 
 Once learnt, ne'er lost, from Sorrow's hour. 
 
 If Pale Paiti come ! 
 Let not the light within thee die, 
 For secret strength doth in thee lie ; 
 Hidden, as shades of night bring forth 
 Sweet stars of Hope, from out its wrath. 
 
 If Anguish come ! 
 And rack thy frame with agony, 
 Look boldly out thy misery ; 
 The beats within thy thrice-tried heart 
 Count, as dense midnight clouds depart. 
 
 If Cold Death come ! 
 The fruit of Anguish, Sorrow, Pain, 
 Alone can aid thee bear that strain ; 
 'Tis then thine enemies of yore 
 Can bloom forth friends, unknown before!
 
 OUR SCOTCH LASSIE. 
 
 Of medium height, of daintiness possessed, 
 All that she is before you stands confessed ; 
 Perfect in simple dignity ; her face 
 Sweet in sincerity and changeful grace. 
 
 And when she smiles, you feel the warm ray shine 
 Into your heart, ah ! would that smile were mine ; 
 But, like the sun in her own land, 'tis rare, 
 Yet, wheti it breaks, what radiant hopes shine there 
 
 And then she is so gentle and so true, 
 My heart is sair to have her love me too ! 
 For in her comeliness she's so complete, 
 The very vagrants bless her in the street. 
 
 And go you where you will, you cannot find 
 So douce a lassie, or so choice a mind ; 
 The breath of evil flies before her gaze, 
 And as a sunbeam in your heart she stays.
 
 TRANSPLANTED. 
 There bloomed within a garden 
 
 A virgin flow'ret rare, 
 Sweet Love the only warden ; 
 And all men deemed it fair. 
 
 The Seasons passed, and with them 
 
 The blossoms fairer grew ; 
 And some would fain have plucked them 
 
 But dared not so to do. 
 
 Again the years, set rolling, 
 Paused in their hast'ning tide ; 
 
 This lovely flower consoling 
 All hearts in its fresh pride, 
 
 Until its deep rich wonder 
 
 None deemed aught could excel ; 
 
 When, lo ! 'twas rent asunder : 
 By whom no lip could tell. 
 
 And those who most had loved it 
 
 In its sweet opening day, 
 Had ne'er a good word for it 
 
 When prone and pierced it lay. 
 
 10
 
 146 TRANSPLANTED. 
 
 And faded grew each leaflet, 
 Until the brilliant spray, 
 
 The rainbow-hued chaplet, 
 Hung lifeless by the way. 
 
 There flew a shining spirit, 
 
 And plucked the dying flower; 
 
 Placed on his breast, he bore it 
 Beyond earth's little hour !
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 The tiny wavelets chase and glide 
 
 Upon the glist'ning sand ; 
 The sun bends down to kiss the tide, 
 
 And flood the dreaming land. 
 The white sail-wings grow clear and true, 
 
 And flutter ere they flee ; 
 The song of life sounds nearer — too, 
 
 The voices from the sea. 
 
 Within the yearning of my dole, 
 
 That stirs with closing day ; 
 Within the spent sea's whispered roll, 
 
 The strain of ' Hope ' will stray — 
 A melody that may not die 
 
 From out the western glow, 
 A song above the salt sea's sigh, 
 
 That stills the strife below. 
 
 The speaking suntide's living breath 
 
 May tinge the unrevealed ; 
 The looming hand of darkest Death 
 
 Is pierced beneath its shield ! 
 
 10 — 2
 
 i 4 8 BY THE SEA. 
 
 I, too, can wait, I shall not quail, 
 And through the mist I see ! 
 
 Tho' phantom shades awhile prevail, 
 They sink beneath the sea. 
 
 Ah, who can know ? I dare not say 
 If my own love is mine for aye ; 
 I only know that death is past, 
 And I must wait to know at last ; 
 I loved her so, her heart was mine ! 
 And deathless love may intertwine, 
 Till, breaking thro' the closed past, 
 It rend her spirit's bond at last ! 
 When, kneeling at the Girded Gate, 
 I hear her whisper, ' Not too late !'
 
 FOUNDATIONS. 
 
 We are as children delving in the sand ; 
 We raise our castles on the shelving strand 
 Of Time, and never note the tide has come 
 And turned strong-seeming fortress into foam ! 
 
 We deem our playthings true, and true things play ; 
 Th' unsparing tide, that no man may delay, 
 We turn our backs upon, or stem in vain 
 With idle dreams we dare not trust again. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Build, build upon the solid ground ! the shore 
 Is plaintive with the sound of ' Nevermore V 
 While the deep whisper from the land-breeze free 
 Thrills with ' For evermore] its symphony !
 
 ASLEEP. 
 
 Granny leans back in her own armchair ; 
 How silv'ry white is her braided hair ! 
 And her gentle eyes, so sweet and true, 
 Shine like loving stars upon Rose and you. 
 (But Granny is tired, the tale she told 
 Was long for her, for she is so old !) 
 
 Yes, dears, once Granny was young and fair ; 
 A dead rose lies in her Bible there, 
 But it blooms again beneath her view 
 When she dreams of youth and girlhood too. 
 (Ah, Granny remembers early love ; 
 The dead rose lives in her heart above !) 
 
 Granny's asleep in her old armchair ; 
 She is resting, and she slumbers there 
 As a little worn-out child might do, 
 Tho' Granny, you know, is eighty-two. 
 (Dear me ! how quickly the years go by ; 
 I scarce can count them, they seem to fly !) 
 
 Granny's asleep in her old armchair ; 
 She lies and she smiles so sweetly there.
 
 ASLEEP. 151 
 
 What a peaceful look spreads o'er her face, 
 Which can even the lines of time efface ! 
 (I think I know by that half-drawn sigh 
 That Granny will wake up by-and-by !) 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Granny has gone from her old armchair ; 
 The place she has filled for many a year 
 Is vacant now, and her tired feet lie 
 Beneath the sod ; but her soul cannot die ! 
 (Granny is young and beautiful now, 
 Where the faded roses again will blow.)
 
 INTRICACIES. 
 
 It was a moment rich and gracious, 
 A second, yet a day, alone with you ; 
 
 I grasped it not, and joy, audacious, 
 
 Passed on and bore it far away with you. 
 
 The shadowed cloud, the scudding glamour, 
 
 Were breaths upon the vaulted dome of blue ; 
 
 The teeming haze, its filmy vapour, 
 
 All things as fragile as the moment's hue. 
 * # * * 
 
 I passed the sweetbriar in the hedgerow, 
 
 I caught the fragrance from the rose-bowered wall ; 
 
 I read the secret 'neath the drift-snow, 
 
 Ah ! laden June breath comes again to all !
 
 SATISFIED. 
 
 The Ransomed Spirits paced the shore 
 
 Of Paradise, and, gazing down 
 Afar, the lab'ring earth they saw ; 
 
 Each spirit in his glory-crown ! 
 
 And from the happy heart of each 
 The tear, a stranger to those eyes, 
 
 Welled forth, and fell upon the beach, 
 While sympathy broke forth in sighs. 
 
 ' Strange ' was that second to the throng, 
 Yet heart to heart was subtly drawn ; 
 
 Th' arrested strain of Heaven's Song 
 Was tremulously upward borne ! 
 
 Th' unsealed sigh's absolved plain 
 
 Rose where the Sleepless Seraphs stand ; 
 
 Swift cleaving through that Starry Train, 
 The ' Breath of God ' gave forth command 
 
 t> c 
 
 ' Go, tell those Souls the whispered woe, 
 Thus wafted over Mem'ry's Main, 
 
 Stirred the deep " Heart of Heaven " ! Know 
 " We" heard the laden earth complain !'
 
 154 SATISFIED. 
 
 And gazing far, far out to sea, 
 
 Each soul-wrapt eye read sweet and still 
 The golden answer to its plea, 
 
 That ' He who died remembered still.'
 
 FAREWELL TO 'THE SCHWARTZWALD.' 
 
 Oh, restful forest, fairy hill and dale, 
 
 Thy varied hues once more my sight regale; 
 
 Only in visions may I see thee now, 
 
 Only in dreams ascend each rocky brow ; 
 
 Within thy sweet retreat and vernal shade, 
 
 Within each mossy dell and grateful glade, 
 
 My spirit hath rejoiced to be thy guest, 
 
 And in thy stranger loveliness found rest ! 
 
 Oh, myriad brooks, and gleaming mountain rills, 
 
 Sparkling and rushing, while the sun distils 
 
 Thy crystal waters, and the glowing skies 
 
 Reflect in thee an azure Paradise, 
 
 These now beclouded eyes their last view take, 
 
 And straining strive their fond desire to slake, 
 
 By drinking in with one long farewell gaze, 
 
 Thy glimm'ring beauties in the golden haze. 
 
 Oh, murm'ring, fretting stream, and mountain plain 
 
 Shall this poor mortal view thee once again ? 
 
 Shall e'er again this frail, short-sighted eye 
 
 Yet light upon th' embrace it now must fly ?
 
 156 FAREWELL TO 'THE SCHWARTZWALD: 
 
 Or only to the mind's eye reappear 
 
 Those rippling falls whose music soothes mine ear ? 
 
 Alas for me, I fear the hours here won, 
 
 As stars must fail 'neath thine own mirror'd Sun!
 
 TRIOLET. 
 
 RuBY-red the rose she wore ; 
 
 Could it be the one I sent her? 
 'Wounded was my heart and sore ; 
 
 Ruby-red the rose she wore, 
 Doubtless she received a store ; 
 
 Well she knows She is the centre ! 
 Ruby-red the rose she wore ; 
 
 Could it be the one I sent her !
 
 SUMMER AND WINTER. 
 
 I came from out the thronging care, 
 
 Where joy itself was crushed ; 
 
 I came across the weary miles 
 
 To see a face not wreathed in smiles ; 
 
 I came, the withered leaflet hung 
 
 Upon the barren tree ; 
 
 The melting wraith of white snow clung. 
 
 One redbreast in sweet welcome sung ; 
 
 And there it was I first saw thee, 
 
 And it was summer-time for me ! 
 
 I came again, wild winter gone, 
 
 The pale rose wept in dew ; 
 
 I came, the sparkling Summer lay 
 
 Shrouded in floral tributes gay ; 
 
 The em'rald mead's bejewelled lawn 
 
 I yet in verdure see • 
 
 I could not trace sweet Summer's morn, 
 
 Its burnished beauties all were shorn, 
 
 And bitter winter 'twas to me, 
 
 For Summer life was hid with thee !
 
 BY THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 I am thrown beside life's pathway, 
 While the heedless, reckless throng 
 
 Hurries forward to the highway, 
 Where the pressure is most strong. 
 
 I am thrown beside life's pathway, 
 
 But I follow with my eyes 
 All the crowd upon life's roadway, 
 
 Where each passing footprint dies. 
 
 And I weary of the chaos 
 And confusion on the way ; 
 
 For all cry ' We cannot stay us ; 
 We can neither rest nor pray !' 
 
 I am thrown beside life's pathway, 
 And the tears will fill my eyes, 
 
 For the bright heart-warming Sun's ray 
 Seldom shines where my part lies. 
 
 And the figures that go past me, 
 With their heavy tramp and tread, 
 
 Often turn to gaze upon me, 
 But none raise my fallen head !
 
 160 BY THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 In the dewy, stilly evening 
 
 I can hear their laugh and song ; 
 
 But they do not know my yearning, 
 For they never stay for long. 
 
 But my heart goes out unto them, 
 With a voiceless, wordless cry, 
 
 For so many fall among them, 
 And thus sinking down they die. 
 
 And their comrades scarcely heed them, 
 Scarcely stay to see them fall ; 
 
 And the few that pause to mourn them 
 Must obey the others' call ! 
 
 There are some have passed beside me 
 With their faces, oh, so sad ! 
 
 There were others smiled so sweetly 
 That it made my own heart glad. 
 
 But I ponder on those gone by 
 
 I shall never see again, 
 Till God's Angel in his pity 
 
 Gives them ' rest ' from this life's pain
 
 UNFINISHED MUSIC ! 
 
 (l. w. v.) 
 
 A dreamlike interlude — 
 And then a sylvan stream ; 
 
 A cadence deep yet crude — 
 And then a rift, a gleam ! 
 
 I heard it all, 
 
 Yet not th' expectant strain 
 
 That held my soul in thrall. 
 
 A loving fantasie — 
 Lost in a fleeting pain ; 
 
 A mystic melody — 
 A ling'ring chord's refrain, 
 
 I knew in part, 
 Yet not the outlined song 
 
 That echoed in my heart. 
 * * * * 
 
 The music of a life — 
 
 A running streamlet stray, 
 
 i i
 
 1 62 UNFINISHED MUSIC. 
 
 That bears where jars are rife 
 Its deep and restful lay — 
 
 I know ' at last,' 
 
 For far within my soul 
 
 The brief strain broke — and past !
 
 SONNET. 
 
 (on discontent.) 
 
 What art thou, creeping as a meshwork round 
 
 Our several acts and deeds, a dark'ning veil ; 
 
 A shadowed shroud that follows on our trail, 
 And overhangs each bud of promise found ; 
 Chasing the sunshine warm upon the ground, 
 
 Bidding fair blossoms' bloom to close, or pale 
 
 Beneath thy peevish presence, and inhale 
 Thy noxious exhalations all around ? 
 Our very joys, extinguished, scarce may spring 
 
 To life beneath thy ling'ring sickly blight ; 
 
 Thy blemish steals upon us as the night 
 Sends its first shade, to streak the rosy wing 
 Of day's last hour; and when our hearts would sing 
 
 Deep tones of ' Discontent ' their songs affright ! 
 
 1 1-
 
 AFTER-CONFIDENCES. 
 
 One there was I deemed I loved 
 (My heart, too, was strangely moved !) 
 Came and whispered, well — to me — 
 Words ! I was but young, you see ! 
 
 One there was, ah ! full of guile, 
 Sweet, unstable as his smile ; 
 Yes, he gave me paltry pain, 
 Such love seldom comes again. 
 
 One there was, I see him now ; 
 Life's swift ebbtide stays its flow 
 While we pass unmindful by : 
 Roses forced, the first to die ! 
 
 One there was, I deemed him proud, 
 Never pierced that strong soul's shroud 
 When that noble heart found rest, 
 Then, too late, I loved him best !
 
 AFTER-CONFIDENCES. 165 
 
 Prosy is my tale to you, 
 But you say one loves you too ! 
 Gales blow hot and gales blow cold, 
 Summer breaths the soonest told ! 
 
 Is there one (he is not near), 
 
 Once you thought you loved him, dear ? 
 
 Some strains slacken in a day ; 
 
 Do not cast life-chords away !
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 (on memory!) 
 
 ' O Memory !' from out thy cell 
 I gather thee, for thou wilt tell 
 
 Sweet varied tale of truth to me ; 
 
 Long lost thy surge of mockery 
 Within its gaily-painted shell ! 
 
 Thy hushed, clear voice, when first it fell 
 On my dull ear, but rang death-knell ; 
 I would not wait to learn of thee, 
 ' O Memory !' 
 
 Till, pensive one day, it befell 
 I heard a voice that I loved well ; 
 Which, swelling to a mighty sea, 
 Sank to a whispered calm, to flee ! 
 Fresh are the voices from thy dell, 
 
 ' O Memory !'
 
 A LESSON IN COLOURS. 
 
 Paint me a scene, and in Sunlight trace 
 The varied woof of life's early grace; 
 Dash it with tints of youth's brightest joy 
 Age cannot dim, and no cloud destroy. 
 
 How shall I picture from Fancy's loom 
 
 Love's fair outlines with no background gloom ? 
 
 Contrast alone gives a lasting hue ; 
 
 The brightest flowers have their shadows too. 
 
 Take, then, thy canvas and on it lay 
 The glory tints of bright morning's ray ; 
 Bathe the whole earth in the sheeny glow, 
 Let the dark shades all hide them below. 
 
 Nay, e'en the sunbeams are born in cloud ; 
 The lightning shafts of the morn enshroud 
 A shadowed depth that must mirrored lie 
 On the waters' breast, as the deep blue sky. 
 
 See, I will trace a sweet day for you : 
 How fair is the Landscape soft and true ; 
 But 'tis where the gilding daylight falls, 
 Shadow must creep 'neath the sheltering walls.
 
 1 68 A LESSON IN COLOURS. 
 
 Under the dome of the cloudless sky 
 Hundreds of dark shades break on the eye, 
 Blended to show up each brilliant hue : 
 Sunlight needs shade, and shines brighter thro' ! 
 
 Note while I wash in the gray tints sad, 
 Watch how each sunshaft gleams out more glad ! 
 But 'tis the shadow's most dark'ning pall 
 Brings forth the richest gleam of them all. 
 
 From the World's casement gaze out and see, 
 Its varied beauties bloom out for thee ; 
 Light Without shade is no light at all — 
 The light must be strengthened ere it fall !
 
 SWEET SEVENTEEN. 
 
 Eyes thro' whose depth no passion wave e'er swept, 
 
 Whose calm serenity is undisturbed ; 
 Thoughts undismayed, whose purity's unwept 
 
 E'en by God's angels, sweet and unperturbed. 
 
 Braids hanging lovely, as the shaded sun 
 Tinges the cloudland of its waiting bier, 
 
 And a warm blush, a rose bloom's short life done, 
 Dropping soft petals in a summer fear ! 
 
 Language that speaks with plaintive pain to me, 
 Rousing crushed sweetness from long-faded flowers; 
 
 Silence that tells two close prest lips may be ; 
 Heralds awak'ning long, long silent hours !
 
 VILLANELLE, 
 
 ARRANGED AS A DUET. 
 (TO C. E. D.) 
 
 When once you have made a name, 
 Then write whatever trash that you will, 
 The critics will never blame ! 
 
 Most authors they do the same ; 
 The magazines full soon you may fill 
 When once you have made a name ! 
 
 You can have no other claim ; 
 There's not the ghost of a chance until 
 The critics will never blame ! 
 
 Meanwhile it may seem but tame ; 
 But write for yourself the time to kill, 
 ' When once you have made a name ! 
 
 I'll own it ' does ' seem a shame ; 
 Sweet from the bitter you may distil, 
 The critics will never blame !
 
 VILLANELLE. 
 
 So work when you're in the frame, 
 For tho' you feel disappointment chill, 
 ' When once you have made a name,' 
 The critics will never blame ! 
 
 171
 
 PATT'RING FEET. 
 
 The little faces loved are fled, 
 The patt'ring feet are gone ; 
 
 The tears and smiles and laughter shed 
 On list'ning air are flown ! 
 
 Oh, voices of the iron-bound past, 
 
 Can ye return no more ? 
 Yes, when the cowl of Eve hath cast 
 
 Its shade upon the floor. 
 
 I lay them lovingly to sleep, 
 I hear them lisp their prayer ; 
 
 In vain the Angel's scythe may reap, 
 My flowers, if culled, are there ! 
 
 I hold them in my arms again, 
 
 Their weary eyelids close ; 
 And gone long night of death and pain, 
 
 1 lull them to repose. 
 
 And in the evening hour I know 
 They are ' at home ' for me ; 
 
 I gaze on Heaven's Starry Brow, 
 And see them smile to me !
 
 PATTERING FEET. 173 
 
 And when my restless heart will fail, 
 
 Beneath its void and care, 
 I murmur to myself at home, 
 
 And pray their baby prayer !
 
 EVENING. 
 
 Though all praise the golden morning, 
 
 And the rosy daybreak dawn, 
 Yet give me the sweet adorning 
 
 By the fragile ' Evening ' borne. 
 When between its lengthening shadows 
 
 The sun's bated rays pour down, 
 And upon the flooding meadows 
 
 Deep'ning mellow light is thrown ; 
 When the Day shines all the brighter, 
 
 As she knows her end is near, 
 And the cooling zephyrs whisper, 
 
 And the changeful sky is clear ; 
 When the red-brick cot is glowing 
 
 In the warmth of light around, 
 And the distant train, vibrating, 
 
 Seems to wake the list'ning ground ; 
 When the rooks are homeward cawing, 
 
 And all birds are on the wing, 
 And the cattle softly lowing, 
 
 While they're driven slowly in ;
 
 EVENING. 175 
 
 When the children's voices linger, 
 
 As they break upon the air, 
 And the sound of some far singer 
 
 Bears its music to the ear ; 
 When the sunset, glories shedding, 
 
 Bid its waves of light o'erfall, 
 When it bathes the earth with crims'ning, 
 
 Or with gold-dust fleckers all ; 
 When the stars come out in heaven, 
 
 And all life is hushed and still, 
 And from out the silence riven 
 
 Pours the nightingale's sweet trill ; 
 When the vaulted dome is shading 
 
 To a deeper sapphire glow, 
 When all trace of day is fading, 
 
 And the half-light steeps us now : 
 As a holy Saint in dying, 
 
 Ere in peace he sinks to rest ; 
 As an infant sweetly crooning, 
 
 Ere it sleeps on mother's breast ; 
 As a ling'ring strain of rapture, 
 
 As a lover's fondest sigh, 
 Is the Evening in its lustre, 
 
 When the birth of ' Night ' is nigh.
 
 GOING TO 'THE DRAWING-ROOM.' 
 
 Do you envy me ? 
 Would you have gold and gems like mine ? 
 Would you, too, have the diamond shine 
 From out your tresses, gleaming through 
 Their sombre night with starlike hue ? 
 Fond dream ! once gained, such baubles give 
 No pleasure ; best without them live. 
 
 Do you envy me ? 
 You envy what you know not of. 
 Think you poor paltry wealth brings loi'e — 
 Love such as lights the humble hearth 
 In unstained sweetness? Know its 'worth : 
 Pure love and tender, joys untold, 
 All wither 'neath the touch of gold. 
 
 Do you envy me ? 
 You know not I was once like you, 
 Till, childlike, dazzled, for the true 
 Fresh dewdrop of the morn, I gave 
 Myself to be sick Splendour's Slave. 
 Wild flowers beneath the hedgerow there 
 Taste not the world's cold gilded care.
 
 GOING TO ' THE DRAWING-ROOM' 177 
 
 And you envy me ! 
 Your dark eyes gaze and hold my own : 
 The fire of mine is quenched and flown ; 
 The spirit of youth's dream no more 
 Breaks o'er my face as heretofore. 
 Envy not me ! Strange I should feel 
 What I have lost, you would not steal ! 
 
 12
 
 WAVES AND RIPPLES. 
 
 I stood beside a river deep and wide, 
 And watched the ripples on its shimm'ring tide ; 
 They shook and trembled in the sunny hour, 
 Altho' the golden beams did on them pour. 
 
 They shivered, shudd'ring in the glory glow, 
 As tho' they feared the love that bade them flow ; 
 While gravely, calmly, in the softer shade, 
 The silent eddies swift obedience paid. 
 
 And then the garish orb withdrew its light, 
 Like shooting-stars were flown the ripples bright ; 
 And in the gray and sunless hour was spread 
 The river, passing mutely, grandly, to its bed.
 
 TRIOLET. 
 
 Pshaw, my dear ! I would not cry, 
 Lovers come, and go to-morrow, 
 
 And before the fancy fly ; 
 
 Pshaw, my dear ! I would not cry. 
 
 Almost ere you cease to sigh, 
 
 You may learn true strain of sorrow. 
 
 Pshaw, my dear ! I would not cry, 
 Lovers come, and go to-morrow ! 
 
 12 — 2
 
 SUNSET BRINGS SUNRISE. 
 
 And do you fear to love, because the love you kept 
 Sacred within your heart faded at last and slept, 
 As fades and sleeps the mirrored sun below the main ? 
 Fear not, for with the morn yon sun shall rise again, 
 Shine truer, stronger far, when weary clouds shall part, 
 And flood the deep recesses of your tested heart. 
 
 ;|: ^c V ".' ; . ; 
 
 But though the sun be bright, the summer day is done, 
 And is there not a nameless pain when it is gone? 
 Oh, Love was also bright ; its day was all too short ; 
 And tho' its hallowed ling'ring rays be upward caught, 
 To join the parent source from which their sweet birth 
 came, 
 
 That love could never be upon this earth the same. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 'Tis sad to see the gorgeous suntide die away, 
 
 But dying Love is lovely as the closing day. 
 
 If in its very death a sacrifice is wrung, 
 
 As incense from a bruised leaflet it is flung ; 
 
 Fear not to love, then, for thy love will rise again, 
 
 Thy chastened heart love purer for its former pain.
 
 SOUL VOICES. 
 
 Oh, voices echoed on the mountain ! 
 
 Oh, spirits borne upon the air ! 
 The swift stream's play, the laughing fountain, 
 
 Suggest your unsolved speech is there. 
 
 Ye hover o'er the slumb'ring valley, 
 
 Ye murmur in the mystic sea, 
 Ye linger by life's crowded alley, 
 
 And blend in half-taught harmony. 
 
 Oh, light as down your soul-swept breezes. 
 
 That thro' the pensive pine-woods weep 
 Nor ice nor snow's chill grip e'er freezes 
 
 Those tones that sink but never sleep. 
 
 Ye ring with tracks of flying footsteps, 
 Ye surge with shimmers of soft play ; 
 
 Your cadence calls from gorge and dark deuths 
 Where precipices part the way. 
 
 Ye fall as frail as fearful snowflakes, 
 Yet full and fast ye whirl around, 
 
 Where'er the once unconscious car wakes 
 To trace your ceaseless waves of sound.
 
 1 82 SOUL VOICES. 
 
 What are ye ? Spirits whose white pinions 
 Vibrate upon the pillowed air ? 
 
 Or watching, waiting, crowding, minions 
 Whose stolen speech it may not bear ? 
 
 Ob, voices trembling in the zephyr 
 And quiv'ring on the sunwing's glow, 
 
 Is it Earth's ear and heart grows deafer 
 Ere unread language it may know ?
 
 PERFECT LOVE 
 
 Suppose this hand should loose its hold, 
 Grow tired, relaxed, or stricken cold, 
 Returned no more fond pressure true, 
 Ah ! tell me, Love, what should I do ? 
 
 Suppose the dark breath of a cloud 
 Should tinge the future with its shroud ; 
 Suppose you said, ' I've changed to you ! 
 Oh ! tell me, then what should I do ? 
 
 For hearts grow unresponsive now, 
 And hands oft slacken, fail below ; 
 The warm caressing clasp we loved 
 Is gone ere yet its strength be proved. 
 
 I do not fear the growing old, 
 To share with you dark watches told, 
 If but I felt no change would come, 
 If but I knew 'twas always home.
 
 1 84 PERFECT LOVE. 
 
 Nor do I fear while you are by ; 
 Yet thoughts will come : around us lie 
 The blasted life, forsaken hearth, 
 Their mute reproaches and their dearth. 
 
 Nay, do not interrupt me yet, 
 We know that these as lovers met ; 
 Forgive, dear, if I fear their doom, 
 And lose your love in weary gloom ! 
 
 Suppose I loved you not at all, 
 
 I should not fear the night's dark pall ; 
 
 I fear lest unseen clouds arise 
 
 And blot the future from our eyes. 
 
 ii. 
 
 My Love, if but you love me true, 
 You need not trace the morrow's hue ; 
 That golden light will lead you on 
 As when the brightest noontide shone. 
 
 My Love, though seething life around 
 Wail with a bitter cry, the sound 
 Will often drown what, too, is near. 
 The song of Love that knows no fear. 
 
 We all must learn, in joy or woe, 
 To trace the secret of that throe ; 
 If your own heart grow never cold, 
 Tis there >ou have the secret told !
 
 PERFECT LOVE. 1S5 
 
 No shade need creep where noontide lays 
 Her glowing hand, her lambent rays, 
 Or harmless 'twill be traced, to flee ! 
 So with your fears, if you love me. 
 
 I do not doubt it ; ah ! I feel 
 The warm glow from your bosom steal ; 
 And, dearest, could my heart grow cold ? 
 This hand was neither bought nor sold. 
 
 The mystery of Life is great, 
 The key is often found too late ! 
 When Love unlocks Love's portals, too, 
 It need but find us ' Lovers true !' 
 
 If separated on the road, 
 If burdened 'neath Life's heavy load, 
 If silent 'neath some gnawing pain, 
 What matters, if sweet ' Love ' yet reign ? 
 
 Nay, we are weak, but Love is strong, 
 And snatches of its wondrous song 
 Will bear us over all you fear, 
 Until its one true Home appear. 
 
 Then, Love, if one went on before 
 
 And lingered watching at the door, 
 
 Which would you rather be that night, 
 
 When shadows flee 'neath 'Morning's Light'?
 
 FATHER DAMIEN ! 
 
 A sacred name, a sacred life ! and now 
 
 A name no newer in the ' after-glow !' 
 
 No, not while dazzling heights enshrined on high 
 
 Erase the faintest whisper of a sigh ; 
 
 ' He,' willing, gave life's cherished, silver'd span, 
 
 To love and live for stricken brother-man ; 
 
 To seek a loathsome death on that far isle 
 
 Where moments move as months upon life's dial, 
 
 Whose very seas, which sweep the shrinking shore, 
 
 Moan in compassion — or, in silenced awe, 
 
 Unlade their fearsome freight, — to herd alone, 
 
 And live a Death in Life, unclean, alone ! 
 
 What man among us would go forth to die, 
 
 Yet live, among a poisoned Colony — 
 
 To seek among the vilest carrion-crew, 
 
 To bear ' their ' awful doom, and love them too ? 
 
 Thanks to the Star that shines from Calvary, 
 
 That shone and set, for them, for you, for me, 
 
 There are some spirits from whose hearts shine forth, 
 
 As hidden gems from East, West, South, and North, 
 
 Such deathless gleams that e'en the hard, cold World 
 
 Starts, to behold such Love Divine unfurled !
 
 RIDDLE ME RIGHT! 
 
 Will you tell me, can you tell me, 
 What my secret thought this day ? 
 
 Will you read me, read me rightly, 
 What I scarcely dare to say ? 
 
 I will tell you, I will read you, 
 By your bright'ning eye and smile, 
 
 All the tale your heart scarce told you, 
 For its throb and beat the while ! 
 
 I can read your fortune glibly, 
 
 Never scrutinize your palm, 
 Turn your bent face flushing gladly; 
 
 Yes, I can translate the charm. 
 
 Once there was a desert island, 
 
 And a sullen, tideless sea 
 Slept around that sunless cloudland, 
 
 For it knew no light, you see. 
 
 "Winter's iron reign was brooding 
 Darkly o'er that waveless shore, 
 
 And the cold, cold blast seemed moaning 
 Back relets for evermore ;
 
 RIDDLE ME RIGHT! 
 
 When there came a golden shimmer, 
 Pierced the gray skies' leaden hue, 
 
 And the gracious jewelled summer 
 Broke long winter's sleep for you !
 
 WHAT IS THE DAY? 
 
 What is the day ? It is a breath, 
 A passing shadow lost in death ; 
 Or should it be a fleeting ' cloud,' 
 That, too, is lost in night's dark shroud. 
 
 What is the day ? We cannot know 
 
 Whether it work for weal or woe ; 
 
 We only know another comes, 
 
 And Hope's bright starlight o'er us looms. 
 
 What is the day ? Maybe but toil, 
 Or lost in pleasure's shining coil ; 
 How little recks, when gone the day, 
 Whether 'twas spent in work or play ! 
 
 What is the day ? It is a light 
 That shines forever in our sight ; 
 When gorgeous planet fires are gone, 
 One little day may glitter on ! 
 
 What is a day?' Twill live or die, 
 Tho' brief as ever fleeting sigh ; 
 May like a dead life honoured be, 
 Or lost in hopeless infamy !
 
 1 90 WHA T IS THE DA Y ? 
 
 A day ! it may give years of pain, 
 Or freshen hearts as longed-for rain ; 
 Can steep the soul in ages' bliss, 
 Or kill a life with Judas kiss ! 
 
 A day, an hour, a minute's sun, 
 How swiftly told, ere yet begun ! 
 Yet diamond arrows that have striv'n 
 May reach beyond the target giv'n. 
 
 What is a day ? A little life, 
 Peaceful or varied, calm or strife, 
 That leaves upon the evening air 
 A trace of thrilling fragrance rare ! 
 
 It may be hidden as the flower 
 That gives its rarest perfume's power ; 
 It may be lost within the sea — 
 The sea of Immortality ! 
 
 It may be that, a priceless gem, 
 'Tis set in God's own Diadem, 
 Which, shining o'er death's sullen wave, 
 Shall prove a beacon strong to save.
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 ' Bid me live near thine heart !' 
 
 And when the dark-robed night is nigh, 
 Breathe from thy casement one soft sigh, 
 
 ' Lie thou within mine heart !' 
 
 ' Bid me live near thine heart !' 
 And when the zephyr stirs the bough, 
 Kisses the red rose bending low, 
 
 ' Bid it caress thine heart !' 
 
 ' Bid me draw near thine heart !' 
 And as thy bosom rises, falls, 
 Quivers not e'en a breath that calls 
 
 Me to draw near thine heart ! 
 
 ' Bid me live in thine heart !' 
 
 Nay, but my life is there e'en now ; 
 You could not stay love's fullest flow 
 
 Ever within thine heart.
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 i. 
 
 It was a little child who knelt in prayer : 
 The rosebuds tapped upon the diamond pane ; 
 The fiery sun, retreating to its lair, 
 Sank 'neath the hedgerow in the silent lane, 
 While one belated bee's soft drowsy hum 
 Touched the wrapt silence which around was flung 
 And scarcely broke it in the silent room, 
 Around whose walls the shifting sunset clung. 
 Was it an Angel bright was bending low, 
 Or one last arrow-beam of light that came 
 And laid its golden kiss on the bent brow, 
 Then flooded the light form in rosy flame ? 
 Whiche'er it was, the child lies down to rest, 
 The flushed face prest upon the pillow's snow 
 In peace and innocence, a cherub guest, 
 Unsullied in the angels' charge below.
 
 YO UTH AND A GE. 1 93 
 
 II. 
 It was a fair-haired youth who turned to gaze 
 Upon the wand'ring creeper o'er the door ; 
 He lingered, and his bright eyes then did raise, 
 Beclouded with a tear not there before ! 
 The cottage stood, within no sound of life — 
 A thing that seemed to frown in empty pain ; 
 Without, the mingled weeds and flowers were rife, 
 Th' unheeded climber veiled each window-pane. 
 'Twas not the same sweet home that he had known, 
 But, as the bird regards the riven nest, 
 His eye was chained there, though his heart was stone 
 Until it fell upon the churchyard's rest ! 
 A rush of feeling came : it was too late 
 To stem the torrent which relief yet brought ; 
 And leaning on the old and moss-grown gate, 
 He gave his weighted heart the dues she sought. 
 
 111. 
 Inflexible in beauty nature bloomed, 
 And spoke of summer plenty far and wide ; 
 While 'midst fertility around, entombed, 
 Lay those who, too, had lived, and loved, and died ! 
 The boy looked up, his loved ones were not there, 
 Yet loth to leave the spot where he could trace 
 Something yet left of them that he might share, 
 Something of ' Peace,' that lingered in that place : 
 The cold gray Tower frowns down in gravity, 
 The zephyrs sweep the long grass like a sea ; 
 
 '3
 
 1 94 YO UTH AND A GE. 
 
 The cloud-flecked sky spreads drifted purity. 
 
 He murmurs : • Let their blessing rest on me !' 
 
 Is it an Angel-form that hovers there, 
 
 Or one bright sunbeam, that alone can throw 
 
 A winged caress upon the orphan's prayer ? 
 
 The air is all one golden overflow • 
 
 Beneath the shade that bathes the tombstone's head 
 
 The shifting sunlight glances in its play; 
 
 The young bowed head is raised, for time has sped : 
 
 He turns to start upon life's opening way. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Who is this comes, so wond'ringly doth gaze 
 
 Upon the gloomy level of the street, 
 
 Lost in amused amazement at the ways, 
 
 The bustle of the busy city's heat ? 
 
 Is it the youth ? Around all lives again ; 
 
 His boyish hopes are stirred, his heart beats high. 
 
 Before is untried ground and heights to gain ; 
 
 The dark clouds of the morning quickly fly. 
 
 He views the grimy houses and the throng ; 
 
 But all is new and strange to him to see, 
 
 And hope and faith are strong within the young, 
 
 Whose minds are gladly weaned from misery. 
 
 Onward he speeds amid the cleaving crowd, 
 
 The circling city's arms take one more in ; 
 
 Leaving no leisure for the lad to brood, 
 
 O'er Sorrow's voice, that wakes his heart within.
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 195 
 
 V. 
 
 Long years are told and finished, and the boy 
 
 Has in them toiled as in the dusky mine ; 
 
 And his reward is gold, but, ah ! youth's joy 
 
 Has fled before the lined forehead's sign, 
 
 And where the peaceful churchyard turf enwrapt, 
 
 And folded softly o'er, his parents' grave, 
 
 Each daisy-spangled mound is proudly capped 
 
 With marble monument and lengthy stave. 
 
 Now many envy him, and speak him fair, 
 
 Who would have scorned the orphan boy to note. 
 
 And see, for in this room the man stands there, 
 
 A man who all say rowed in Fortune's boat ; 
 
 Can you yet view the suppliant child-face, 
 
 Or in that careworn one before you see 
 
 A ling'ring touch of the once boy's fresh grace, 
 
 Who in his grief yet looked up hopefully ? 
 
 Ah ! vain is wealth, when he who wins it dies 
 
 Beneath the weight and over-care it brings, 
 
 And the light heart's contented spirit flies 
 
 Where gilded sound of golden gain yet rings ; 
 
 How hardly shall he turn again to hear 
 
 The sweeter cadences in life around ; 
 
 Whose spirit, weighted by a burden'd fear, 
 
 Grows unresponsive to all music round; 
 
 The childish innocence, the early trust, 
 
 Is counted, told, and laid apart, or fled? 
 
 The prime of youth and manhood, low in dust 
 
 Is left ; it leaves a wealthy man, instead ! 
 
 *3 — 2
 
 196 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Again years pass, and bear upon their wing 
 
 Away like shrill March winds the dust of wealth ; 
 
 Or sadden with their moan or cold death-sting, 
 
 And steal, or give sweet joy, as if by stealth ! 
 
 It is an attic-room where I would climb, 
 
 Within a city slum I lead you now ; 
 
 For there in helpless case with palsied limb 
 
 Lies an old man, poor and uncared-for now ! 
 
 Riches have taken flight, and want, neglect, 
 
 Have paled the cheek and sunk the wayworn frame. 
 
 ' Little,' he murmurs, ' now can I expect 
 
 But death, to end the ruined beggar's shame !' 
 
 And the worn rigid face, relaxing, throws 
 
 An eager glance around the chamber drear ; 
 
 And then the aged, trembling head it bows, 
 
 To hide from the cold walls the old man's tear ;* 
 
 When, lo ! the door is opened, and there comes 
 
 A sylph-like form into the silence there ; 
 
 A radiance o'er the wasted face there looms, 
 
 He gazes on a Seraph childling fair. 
 
 The rosy lips part, smiling, as they say, 
 
 ' I am yourself, as once you used to be, 
 
 The child that in the cottage knelt to pray, 
 
 Whose spirit has returned, and set yours free.' 
 
 And the old man gazed on and on, until 
 
 The vision flooded his fast-glazing eye ; 
 
 And then he softly smiled, and lay so still, 
 
 For as a child he feared no more to die.
 
 YO UTH AND AGE. 197 
 
 Hush, wake him not ! the dream of wealth is o'er, 
 The happy sleep of childhood steeps his brow, 
 The tides of life are ebbing yet once more, 
 A child's forgotten prayer breathes 'peace ' below.
 
 THE SETTLER'S SONG. 
 
 When the weary night-watches are ended and flown, 
 And the callous world wakes, and I find me alone, 
 It is sweet to remember one heart beats for me, 
 That awakens and listens far o'er the broad sea. 
 
 When there's never a hand stretched to clasp in my 
 
 own, 
 And no kindly word-echoes respond to my tone, 
 It is then my tried spirit finds strengthening and rest, 
 In the thought of the bright smile that I love the 
 
 best. 
 
 When I pause in the stillness, and listen around, 
 
 And the bird and the grasshopper's lay seems new- 
 found, 
 
 There's another voice mingles and wakes my heart's 
 song, 
 
 As it whispers so softly, ' Don't stay away long !' 
 
 And I gaze on the field-flower that ope's to the sun, 
 With its deep steadfast eye, which no rough breeze 
 
 will shun, 
 And I think of a clear blue eye looking for me, 
 While a sweet dewdrop lurks in its corner, maybe !
 
 THE SETTLER'S SONG. 199 
 
 And my labour is lightened, the day sooner o'er, 
 My weary mood brightened, my heart to the fore, 
 When I muse on the treasure that's hidden for me 
 In the dear mother-country far o'er the broad sea !
 
 THE DAWN. 
 
 I woke in the early morning ; 
 
 The sun first broke in light 
 Thro' the shroud of heaven's awning, 
 
 And flashed upon the sight. 
 
 There was silence in the meadow, 
 
 O'er the expectant grove ; 
 For the passing hour of Shadow 
 
 Yet held her reign above. 
 
 In a pure dream all unbroken 
 The prostrate earth slept there, 
 
 While the molten glory-token 
 Enshrined the eastern air. 
 
 And the pulse of earth seemed beating 
 At breaking day's first birth — 
 
 As fond lovers dream a meeting, 
 Or children dream of mirth. 
 
 As the first primeval dawning, 
 
 In thrilling beauty drest, 
 Is the peace of early morning, 
 
 In virgin sweets confest.
 
 THE DAWN. 20 1 
 
 And a joy caress'd my spirit — 
 
 A calm I could not trace 
 Came o'er my being — inspired it 
 
 With touch of Heaven's grace. 
 
 And I gauged the roseate garden 
 
 Of bloom unveiling sky ; 
 As the angry clouds' last Warden 
 
 Kept watch with jealous eye. 
 
 I gazed on the dewy morning, 
 The fresh, sweet, summer skies, 
 
 Till the diamond drops, adorning, 
 Were gems in the sunrise. 
 
 And I felt a nameless Dawning, 
 
 Which cannot pass away 
 Till the Light of Endless Morning 
 
 Chases the clouds for aye.
 
 ' REPARATION.' 
 
 I THOUGHT Of yOU, 
 
 In your calm haven far away, 
 Where no disturbing breeze may stray ; 
 A boundless ocean 
 
 Strives again anew — 
 The sea of Separation 
 'Tis divides us two ! 
 
 I thought of you ; 
 And tho' I hear no more your voice, 
 The very thought bid me rejoice ; 
 For there is union 
 
 Yet before us two, 
 And there is ' reparation ' 
 When I think of you !
 
 WHEN YOU AND I. 
 
 (lake scenery.) 
 
 When you and I together roved, 
 
 Gazed on the Hills and Moors you loved, 
 
 They seemed to smile upon me, too, 
 
 And e'en the mountain's rugged brow, 
 
 Beguiled by the laughing sun, 
 
 Shone as a veteran who has done 
 
 With grim day's strife, and soft'ning stood, 
 
 A Watchman o'er the vale and wood, 
 
 Or like the Mastiff quietly lay, 
 
 And let the little sunbeams play 
 
 Athwart his breast, so rough and broad, 
 
 Until the skies in anger thawed, 
 
 And, jealous of earth's varied charms, 
 
 Let loose the dark cloud from their arms : 
 
 But vainly soon the teardrop wept 
 
 Yet once again the valleys slept, 
 
 In freshened beauties naught could mar, 
 
 Again the sunbeams played afar,
 
 204 WHEN YOU AND I. 
 
 While Phoebus bent once more to kiss 
 Earth's sweet face rapt in happiness ; 
 When you and I together roved, 
 And gazed upon the scenes you loved
 
 THE GREAT SOLEMN ASSEMBLY !* 
 
 What as a wave has swept the mighty throng? 
 What the swift current, fleet, and full, and strong, 
 Sways the vast multitude and bends them there, 
 Prostrate in supplication — one great prayer ? 
 
 What is the hand, the touch, on these bowed heads ? 
 What unknown presence that above outspreads ? 
 What the magnetic influence whose thrill 
 Can every heart and every bosom fill — 
 
 Till e'en the mockers, some would gibe there are, 
 Swell the one wail, stretch pleading hands afar, 
 Carried their souls on tears and sobs away ? 
 Ah ! all may learn : this is in truth ' to pray !' 
 
 * On Tuesday, July 15th, 1890, the Salvation Army held an 
 immense gathering in the ' Crystal Palace ' to celebrate their 
 twenty-fifth anniversary. The Great ' Solemn Assembly,' held in 
 the Central Transept, was the great feature : between 6,000 and 
 7,000 soldiers formed the audience. Hymn after hymn ascends. 
 Women crouch in attitudes of supplication, sobbing, etc. Strong 
 men grovel on all fours, rock to and fro in agonies of remorse. 
 ' Let everybody go down ! Not a soul must move !' And the 
 immense quivering body of contrite beings sinks before the com- 
 mand — a spectacle ! Few witness the sight ; those who do are 
 not likely to forget it as long as they live : it is indescribable ! — 
 Daily Telegraph.
 
 206 THE GEE A T SOLEMN ASSEMBL Y ! 
 
 Tho' darkest surge— tho' swift reaction turn 
 Back the full flow — quench holy fires that burn, 
 Shall that great flood, that spasm, end in foam? 
 Nay, for the whisper, ' Truth,' must pierce its home. 
 
 Tis not earth's voice can bend these abject forms ; 
 It is a whisper heard above life's storms. 
 Far, far beneath ungainly speech, crude sigh, 
 Thrills to each soul o'er winds and waves, ' 'Tis I !' 
 
 Where the new song vibrates those pearly walls, 
 Where the grand throng, all blood-bought kin, low 
 
 falls, 
 Who dares to say no deep swell-strain shall be 
 Gathered from these, ' worthy, O Lamb,' through 
 
 Thee ?
 
 ABIDING ! 
 
 The pale old gold of primrose bloom 
 
 All tapestried the wood ; 
 The year had waived cold winter's doom 
 
 And sent what flowers she could ; 
 The violet in modest pride 
 
 Thrust out her head the while, 
 But, sinking back, she merely sighed 
 
 Beneath the Sun's warm smile ! 
 
 We strayed into the copse, and roved 
 
 Among the dell's fresh green ; 
 We wandered thro' its depths, and proved 
 
 Their virgin sweets between ! 
 And hand in hand we gathered bloom 
 
 Of Spring's fair off 'rings thrown 
 About our feet, till we did come 
 
 On one to both scarce known ! 
 
 With in the thickest underwood, 
 The opening fronds and leaves, 
 
 A Flower untouched by winter stood : 
 Who gathers it achieves
 
 2o8 ABIDING! 
 
 A fairer than the floral chain 
 
 Of all young Springtime's wealth : 
 
 For it will bloom and bloom again, 
 That Flower I plucked by stealth, 
 
 And you — you gave the rosy joy, 
 
 And placed it on my breast ! 
 Nor after-seasons could destroy, 
 
 Nor after-storms distress't. 
 The pink anemone's frail flush, 
 
 The cowslips amber-dyed, 
 Have past, but in our hearts' deep hush 
 
 Love's beauteous Flowers abide !
 
 IT WAS EVENTIME. 
 
 It was Eventime ! The sun was shining 
 
 In its glory on the hilly Brow. 
 It was Eventime ; and you were standing 
 
 On the flooded purple moor, you know. 
 
 It was Eventime ; and you were whisp'ring 
 
 Golden words of life to me ! 
 And the boundless light and love were trembling 
 
 In that sunset hour you spoke to me. 
 
 It is Eventime ; and I am standing 
 
 On the same bleak moor ; but where are you ? 
 It is Eventime ! The sun is sinking, 
 
 And my heart is crying out for you ! 
 
 1 4
 
 ONE MISTAKE. 
 
 I could not read your mind, 
 
 My heart was full ; 
 And all I had designed 
 
 Seemed fanciful. 
 
 I could not read your heart, 
 
 And mine was sad ; 
 I could not speak my thought 
 
 When you were glad ! 
 
 I could not tell you all, 
 
 My lips were dumb ; 
 I felt cold silence fall, 
 
 My heart's beat numb. 
 
 A spectre glided in 
 
 Between two souls, 
 And lives I deemed akin 
 
 Showed distant goals. 
 
 I could not read your heart ; 
 
 I never knew 
 That close-hid tears would start 
 
 When I left you !
 
 ONE MISTAKE 
 
 It was the will of God, 
 
 For you, for me ; 
 My heart beneath Time's sod 
 
 Keeps true to thee. 
 
 211 
 
 M-
 
 DREAM RAYS. 
 
 When suntide streams into the sleeping heart, 
 And golden Hope lies flushed with amber glow, 
 
 When trembling Happiness' warm pulses start, 
 Oh, where is life's late frowning, haggard brow ? 
 
 When wat'ry clouds enshroud the weary West, 
 And opal fears lie shimm'ring thro' the glow, 
 
 Comes calm ' Content,' a scarcely welcomed guest, 
 After the full sweet flood-tide taste we know. 
 
 When Winter's frost has nipt the last green blade, 
 And ice and snow have ta'en the place of love, 
 
 When more than lost the summer's fleckered shade, 
 But one dull dome outstretched abroad, above ; 
 
 Then let them take thy hand and lead thee in 
 The place beside the ruddy fire for thee, 
 
 With folded fancies feed cold contrast's din, 
 And doze and dream of days that yet may be !
 
 LAID BY ! 
 
 Laid by among old tomes and moth and rust, 
 I came upon ' a Story ' laid in dust. 
 And the soft gladness of a past Spring day 
 Came back with that old letter laid away. 
 
 Laid by, the faded record lived again, 
 And choral songsters swelled a slumb'ring strain ; 
 Between the scanty fields, the cold highway, 
 I only saw life's letter, laid away ! 
 
 Upon the shelf the barred and blurred lines 
 Smiled back, and in the little distance shines 
 The flicker of the welcome lights that play 
 Around that one old letter, laid away. 
 
 I closed the loving record whose full fiow'rs 
 Could more than sweep with fragrance faded hours, 
 But in my heart, my soul, unsealed 'twill stay, 
 That dear unfaded letter, laid away !
 
 SONNET. 
 
 (on sleep.) 
 
 O silent Sleep, thy soundless snowflake pall 
 
 Hovers arrested on the longing air ; 
 
 O pitying Sleep, mine eyelids fain would share, 
 
 In thy soft dews, thy melting tears let fall, 
 
 Unconsciousness that quenches Unrest's gall ; 
 
 Come silv'ry Sleep, thou white-winged guest most fair. 
 
 Thou, too, the stilly challenger of Care, 
 
 Whose leaden eyes are jealous of thy thrall, 
 
 Lest thy benign and dreamy tenderness 
 
 Flood with its peace reflected regal calm, 
 
 And in the borrowed vision Happiness 
 
 Absolve the churlish ruler with its psalm, 
 
 To flood these fevered pulses with blest balm, 
 
 The loving kiss of sweet Forgetfulness !
 
 THE GOOD-BYE. 
 
 Take my hand in yours, and press it ; 
 
 Let me feel that you are near ; 
 For I shall not see you, darling, 
 
 Till the morning-star appear ! . 
 
 Put your loving arm around me, 
 
 It has sheltered me so long ; 
 Whisper, dear, of how you loved me, 
 
 For the weary night is long ! 
 
 Ah, your soft touch thrills my heart's core, 
 
 And the voice I love to hear 
 I shall hear again, and love more 
 
 When the dark night disappear ! 
 
 This dear hand I hold within mine 
 Speaks of life's long troubled way, 
 
 And the lips now trembling for me 
 Gave sweet comfort day by day ; 
 
 Never faltered in the pressure, 
 Always gave their love and cheer ; 
 
 I shall hear their words speak to me 
 When the morning-star appear !
 
 216 THE GOOD-BYE. 
 
 I shall feel them in the glow, dear, 
 Tho' the glory round may daze ; 
 
 God, the God who gave you to me, 
 Will not separate our ways.
 
 TRY AGAIN. 
 
 And who shall say, 
 
 To fail was not to win ? 
 
 The fiercest fray 
 Call-bugle to begin. 
 
 He failed ! How failed ? 
 
 To others' sight, you mean ; 
 The cheek that paled 
 
 Is ever plainly seen. 
 
 Some would confess — 
 
 Success knows hope nor fear. 
 And is ' success ' 
 
 Only with ' failure ' near ! 
 
 No, never ' failed ' ! 
 
 Best learning how to strive, 
 Till, when assailed, 
 
 'Tis proved he learnt ' to live.' 
 
 Another bears 
 
 Contested prize away, 
 And Chagrin's tears 
 
 Turn crystals in the fray !
 
 2iS TRY AGAIN. 
 
 The ' Well done,' said, 
 
 Is from the servile world — 
 
 Once favour's shed, 
 
 Too soon its ' stone ' is hurled. 
 
 While he that lost, 
 
 If seen no more again, 
 
 Gains far the most — 
 
 Has yet ' the world ' to gain ! 
 
 One shallow blast 
 
 From fickle, faithless Fame 
 Builds not to last ! 
 
 The fabric of ' a name.'
 
 THE QUEEN OF NIGHT. 
 
 She rose ! 
 And cleft the shaded, shrinking soul of night, 
 Her brow encircled with the pale star's light. 
 
 She rose ! 
 And swept the sleeping, shrouded realm that lay 
 Low at her feet, while summer lightnings play. 
 
 She rose ! 
 Her peerless eye no pensive cloud o'ercast, 
 And as a vision heav'nward, homeward, past. 
 
 She rose ! 
 And at her touch the starry diamonds fell, 
 And sank within the vast sea's stricken dell. 
 
 She rose ! 
 Deep was the hush, until the ' Queen of Night,' 
 Majestic, mounted to her throned height. 
 
 She rose ! 
 Her coronation robe of velvets, seen, 
 Enwrought and gorgeous with the latent sheen ! 
 
 She rose ! 
 One flash of pallid fire — a peace serene, 
 Told me that Night had crowned her queenly Queen.
 
 MUSIC ! 
 
 The sweetest sound was ever toll'd . 
 Where angels tune their harps of gold. 
 It breaks upon th' enchanted ear, 
 And wakes fond echoes everywhere. 
 
 It thrills upon the hov'ring soul, 
 And tells it of th' immortal goal, 
 Then bids it rise and wing its flight 
 Undaunted, out the gathering night. 
 
 It speaks of comfort yet to come, 
 And dashes 'gainst the walls of gloom ; 
 It soothes the anxious, wearied one, 
 And bears fresh hope on silv'ry tone. 
 
 It rolls in flood of mystic spell, 
 And speaks a language all can tell ; 
 And subtle joys that never fade 
 Re-bud and bloom where it invade. 
 
 And when the stricken, aching heart, 
 Can to no being its griefs impart, 
 'Tis music often gives its balm, 
 And rouses, like some Eastern charm ;
 
 MUSIC! 221 
 
 'Twill move again the grateful tear. 
 The icy heart, so closed and sere, 
 Runs o'er with happiness new-found, 
 And lives again in the sweet sound ! 
 
 It fills with flooded life anew, 
 
 And falling light as morning dew, 
 
 It surges o'er the mem'ries won, 
 
 And sparkles back the bright hours done. 
 
 Its far refrain is caught below, 
 Its wondrous drift seems nearer now ! 
 When fleeting as the rainbow's hue 
 Its voice has fled— 'tis Heaven due !
 
 WHEN I AM DEAD. 
 
 When I am dead, oh, do not let me lie 
 
 Among the graveyards of the city by. 
 
 I could not bear to swell the silent throng 
 
 Which lie forgotten where no birds' sweet song 
 
 Shall sing a requiem their dust unto — 
 
 A desert on the brink of ' human woe.' 
 
 When I am dead, oh, let me lie alone 
 
 Where fevered life and passions' strife is done ; 
 
 In some far spot where I may sleep and be 
 
 Lulled to my rest by sweet obscurity. 
 
 No sculptured marbles raise o'er my low head ; 
 
 There let there rise the wild-flowers' breath instead. 
 
 When I am dead, Life's spirit fled with me, 
 
 Yet would I love to leave this clay near thee, 
 
 Yet would I ask it might repose and rest 
 
 In solitudes I ever loved the best ; 
 
 Where, when the lightning of God's waking come, 
 
 My dust shall rise unfettered to His Home.
 
 ON MODERN POETRY. 
 
 Few hands now tremble o'er thy golden lyre, 
 
 Whose touch is ' tried ' ! 
 Few hearts now kindle at thine ashen pyre, 
 
 Whose fires have died ! 
 But hurried fingers sweep and play, 
 Brief notes that speak, then die away; 
 Mere echoes, lost beside the way, 
 
 Where full tones plied. 
 
 The altar of the muse is thickly spread, 
 
 Her votive shrine ! 
 She haughty curls her lip, scarce turns her head, 
 
 Or gives no sign ! 
 But take the ringing chords' refrain, 
 Wake but one tender, mellow strain, 
 And she may turn and smile again, " 
 
 Though man repine. 
 
 The simple story of a simple heart, 
 
 If truly told, 
 Is sweet to her who bid the sweet sound start : 
 
 The muse grows old !
 
 224 ON MODERN FOE TR Y. 
 
 Yet though neglected, and her voice 
 But rarely bid thy soul rejoice, 
 ' Truth ' is the sole spring of her choice, 
 Not bartered, sold. 
 
 The voices of the ' Morning ' seldom gain 
 
 The far ' encore ' ! 
 The links within the sleeping heart's deep chain 
 
 Are heard no more ! 
 If scorned and tossed aside they be, 
 As tones that only sing of Thee, 
 They will return, though now they flee 
 
 The echo-shore !
 
 ONE GATHERED LIFE. 
 
 He dwelt within 
 
 The city's vast enfold, 
 Where the dull din 
 
 Speaks rushing life untold. 
 
 She lived and loved 
 
 Among the starred fields, 
 Where sweetness proved 
 
 Its double fragrance yields. 
 
 She gave her heart, 
 
 The rose-enflow'red chain 
 Of life and love, 
 
 To soothe his restive pain. 
 
 He took the gift, 
 And bore it far away 
 
 To where the drift 
 
 Of o'ercast shadows stay. 
 
 He mused o'er wrongs 
 And questions of the day ; 
 
 She warbled songs 
 
 To sing to him one day. 
 
 '5
 
 226 ONE GATHERED LIFE. 
 
 She, fairer still 
 
 Held life than 'twas before ; 
 He drank his fill, 
 
 Then sought her love no more ! 
 
 He slumbered on, 
 
 Nor knew his dawn a dream ; 
 Her ' all ' was gone, 
 
 The very sunlight's gleam. 
 
 And evening came, 
 
 And morning passed away ; 
 
 He never came, 
 
 She could but weep and pray. 
 
 He was as lost 
 
 Within a troubled sea ; 
 She as one toss'd 
 
 Upon life's mockery. 
 
 There came a hush, 
 
 Her gentle spirit waned ; 
 
 More in the rush, 
 
 His eye towards Fame was strained. 
 
 On, on he delved, 
 
 Absorbed, yet serene ; 
 Love's life was shelved, 
 
 Its pauses filled between.
 
 ONE GATHERED LIFE. 227 
 
 Rose pink the bloom 
 
 Of blossom on the wall, 
 Frail breaths that loom 
 
 Where laden, full, they fall. 
 
 Her ling'ring tread 
 
 Had trod its last ; the day 
 Bent its bright head, 
 
 And wept beside the way. 
 
 So far away, 
 
 Upon that summer night — 
 So far away, 
 
 There soared a spirit bright. 
 
 Holy the peace, 
 
 In silence ' Night ' knelt by ; 
 Her watches cease, 
 
 She, too, must tearful fly. 
 
 And what of Him ? 
 
 He woke to mourn, and know 
 Life's Diadem 
 
 Embraced his dead Love's brow. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Elliot Stock, Paternoster Roiv, London.
 
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