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 A SHEAF 
 
 FROM THE MOORLAND 
 
 A COLLECTION OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 BY JOHN HARTLEY, 
 
 Author of "Yorkshire Lyrics," "Mally an' Me," 
 " yorksher puddin'." &c, &c. 
 
 xr-.fyiMl 
 
 LON DON: 
 W . NICHOLSON & SONS, Limited, 
 2 6, PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C., 
 
 AND ALBION WORKS, WAKEKIRLD.
 
 9o$}i8 
 
 JOHN HARTLEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OK 
 
 " A Rolli7ig Stone," "Many a Slip" " Yorksher Puddiri ', 
 
 " Yorkshire Ditties," " Grimes's Trip to America" 
 " Seets V Paris" " Seets i' Lwndttn" "Clock Almanack. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 W. NICHOLSON & SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 26, PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C., 
 
 AND ALBION WORKS, WAKEFIELD.
 
 ©@©S! 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 11TE think we may without apology, offer to 
 the public this collection of fugitive 
 poems from the pen of John Hartley, and 
 in this more permanent form secure for his 
 admirers much that would otherwise have 
 been lost; and echo the hope of the Author's 
 dedication, that it may prove pleasurable, 
 profitable, and creditable. 
 
 THE PUBLISHERS. 
 
 Wakefield, 1880. 
 
 *$r
 
 a #l\eki from tl\e jtfoori^d. 
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER 
 
 1KNEW her — Annie Linn — a pretty child, 
 That in times past has gambol' d round my knee ; 
 And running oft amongst the moorland's wild, 
 Has vied with moorland flowers, seemed as free ; 
 Ev'n now methinks I see her mellow eyes 
 Of soft ethereal blue, and the gold wave 
 Of her light Saxon hair, the roseate dyes 
 Which dwelt upon her cheek, and strove to save 
 The lily's usurpation of her face, 
 And made it share possession with the rose ; 
 Whilst each seem'd striving which could each displace, — 
 Together blending, softly did repose 
 On her sweet countenance ; — a heavenly smile 
 Wreath'd round her ruddy mouth, which knew not guile.
 
 IO ANNIE 
 
 W«£tt Annie Linn was born, near twenty years 
 Had passed o'er me, yet when she first began 
 To walk alone, to share her joys and fears 
 Was pleasure to me ; and many a plan 
 Did I contrive, to keep her near to me ; 
 And her fond parents, kind, good souls, tho' poor, 
 Would smile as soon as e'er they chanced to see 
 Me coming near, and open wide the door ; 
 And Annie, toddling on unstable feet, 
 Would hurry out to meet me, holding high 
 Her arms above her head, she would me greet 
 With lisping accent, call me ' Uncle John,' 
 Nor would she rest, until safe on my breast 
 Her head was softly pillow'd ; there where none 
 Before, and none have since e'er found a rest : — 
 Now I'm alone, uncar'd for, and unblest. 
 
 (gittd when the summer sun its radiance shed, 
 And bathed in brilliancy the hills and dales ; 
 For sweet companionship I often led 
 Dear Annie forth, and as the sultry gales 
 Have swept across her little brow so white, 
 Or wantoned 'midst her curls, and made her gay ; 
 I oft have look'd, and dreaded, lest the sight 
 Of wings should warn me she would fly away : 
 For she appeared too pure to be of earth ; 
 Each thing of beauty strove to hide its head ; 
 The heather seemed to pale in early birth]; 
 And the wild dog-rose blushed a deeper red
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. II 
 
 When she approach' d, for she was passing fair, 
 A moorland flow'r, as wild, as free as they ; 
 Her simple mind knew not the weight of care,— 
 Her silv'ry laugh drove others' cares away, — 
 For melancholy near her could not stay. 
 
 Aftd thus together did we spend the hours, 
 Her mind grew with her body's strength, her love 
 Outgrew them both, and fell in soothing show'rs 
 On the parched heart, as blessings from above. 
 
 But Time, perpetual mover, as he pass'd, 
 Wrought num'rous changes for poor Annie Linn ; 
 Sickness and death amongst her friends he cast, 
 And left her without parents, without kin. 
 From babyhood to girlhood she had grown, 
 (And Nature seem'd as tho' to make amends 
 For her unkindness, for the joys o'erthrown, 
 And for thus leaving her devoid of friends,) 
 As tho' she showered upon her every good ; 
 Not dazzling beauty such as makes you quail 
 She gave her, but such beauty as is wooed 
 By painters, who an angel's face unveil, 
 And fix it upon canvas, there to show, 
 Mortals such beauty as is none below. 
 
 $,ttd there, when all were gone, beside the door 
 Of that old cot she lean'd, and wept her grief; 
 Tears such as fall from none but from the poor,—
 
 12 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 The poor with soul too proud to ask relief : 
 
 And her long ringlets like dishevelled threads 
 
 Of shining gold, clung to her lovely face, 
 
 All wet with tears ; such tears as sorrow breeds ; — 
 
 Tears drawn from out the heart's remotest place. 
 
 And whilst she stood and wept, I gaz'd and sigh'd, — 
 
 I could not trespass on her lonely grief, — 
 
 She wept for those who own'd her as their pride, 
 
 For those who own'd her for a time so brief, 
 
 She left the door ; — gave one long ling' ring look ; 
 
 I met her at the gate and took her hand ; — 
 
 With strong emotions her frail frame was shook, 
 
 And sobs, half-chok'd, burst forth without command. 
 
 I knew, poor child, that she could frame no way 
 
 To live, nor had she means to gain support ; 
 
 Her eyes were turn'd upon me, their dull ray 
 
 Told all she felt, although the gaze was short. 
 
 She held my hand, and trustingly was led, 
 
 Home to my humble dwelling near the wood ; 
 
 I could not bear the thought, she should be fed 
 
 By stranger hands, or that her mind so good, 
 
 Should by contact with vice, be soil'd and marr'd, 
 
 Or lose one jot of that angelic beam, 
 
 Which sent its glimmer thro' each act and word, 
 
 And made each look of heav'nly sweetness seem, 
 
 And made me her more heav'nly still to deem. 
 
 3fft time her grief was lessen' d, and I sent 
 Her to a school ; it was not far from home, 
 And 'twas a lovely walk ; I often went
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 1$ 
 
 To meet her as she'd home at even come ; — 
 
 The way was narrow, and on either side 
 
 Rose up an earthen footpath crown' d with trees ; 
 
 Some old, decay'd, and some just in their pride, 
 
 And slender young ones bending to the breeze. 
 
 Their branches interlacing overhead, 
 
 Rich with their foliage, and closely grown, 
 
 Kept a perpetual twilight, or instead, 
 
 When the bright sun his very brightest shone, 
 
 Made rich mosaic shadows on the ground ; 
 
 Yet still excluded quite enough of light 
 
 That you might feel repose ; and not a sound, 
 
 Saye from some tiny bird of plumage bright, 
 
 Broke in upon your peace. Here would I watch, 
 
 Stretch'd on the green moss, near a mould'ring stile, 
 
 And strain my eyes, impatiently, to catch 
 
 Her earliest approach, her welcome smile. 
 
 And sometimes hold communion with myself, 
 
 And ask my inmost heart if I was true ? 
 
 And if I valued not myself and pelf 
 
 More than in former years I used to do ? 
 
 And if I did not value her, and feel 
 
 More interest in her than pure friendship's bring? 
 
 Or if some tend'rer passion did not steal, 
 
 And round my heart its wand' ring tendrils fling ? 
 
 And sighing, wait, until with fairy feet, 
 
 She'd hasten to invade my cool retreat. 
 
 J£.tWl in the summer evenings, roaming far 
 To cull wild flow'rs, and breathe the balmy air;
 
 14 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Or watch the rise of the first evening star, 
 
 And hear the landrail's croak, as of despair. 
 
 Or sitting under trees, 'midst glittering flies, 
 
 Whose winged brightness court the pale moon's ray ; 
 
 Or listening to the hum, which swells and dies, 
 
 Of some night beetle passing on his way ; — 
 
 And feel that all around is full of life, 
 
 Yet all is peaceful, and inclines the heart 
 
 To fancy insect hum with music rife, — 
 
 Like fairy minstrels, each one plays his part. 
 
 And then walk homeward through the rustic lanes, 
 
 Spotted at intervals with loving pairs, 
 
 Who breathe to willing ears their tender pains, 
 
 Whilst each the bliss of sympathising shares ; 
 
 And on the manly breast in sweet repose 
 
 Is laid the head of the all-trusting maid, 
 
 And drinking in the honey' d sweet that flows 
 
 From out his lips, — nor does she feel dismay'd, 
 
 Although the twilight thickens, and the way 
 
 Is far from home, and one but rarely trod ; 
 
 Secure in him she dreads no evil da)', 
 
 And holds him second in her heart to God. 
 
 JUtd thus the summer nights stole quickly by, 
 And winter came and brought its homely joys ; 
 How cheering was the blaze that leaping high, 
 Danced in the grate, with roaring, crackling noise. 
 To sit in easy chairs, with doors secure, 
 And windows proof against the fiercest blast,
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 15 
 
 And hear the winds sweep howling o'er the moor, 
 
 Each following seeming fiercer than the last. 
 
 To see the table set with china ware, 
 
 And the clean cloth, as white as driven snow, 
 
 And the lamp lit, that cast no vulgar glare, 
 
 But threw its mild soft beams on all below ; 
 
 Whilst sav'ry dishes wreathed their steams on high, 
 
 (Each one a gem of culinary art,) 
 
 And the housekeeper's calculating eye, 
 
 Saw each one placed in its assigned part. 
 
 And when the meal was o'er, smoking my pipe, 
 
 And picturing objects in the soothing cloud, 
 
 Rising in graceful curves ; a fitting type 
 
 Of by-gone pleasures, such as daily crowd 
 
 Upon my brain ; for Mem'ry kindly lends 
 
 Her aid to view again those happy scenes, — 
 
 Again I hold communion with lost friends, 
 
 And feel joy through her retrospective gleams. 
 
 Sometimes would Annie read to me a tale 
 
 Of touching pathos ; not as school girls read, 
 
 Wearily dragging on in sleepy wail, — 
 
 But tune her voice to suit the written deed. 
 
 And I should sit and listen quite entranced ; 
 
 Happier by far than had I own'd a throne ; — 
 
 Each sentence by some fitting act enhanced, 
 
 Each circumstance told in befitting tone ; 
 
 And when the hero wept, I wept as well ; 
 
 And when he laughed, I laughed to help his glee ; 
 
 And when he had mischance my spirits fell ; 
 
 And when he claim' d, he found my sympathy.
 
 16 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Then Annie, when the hour was growing late, 
 Would read a chapter from the Holy Book, 
 And pray for all in high or low estate, 
 That by His grace they ne'er should be forsook, 
 Then with a blessing she would go to bed 
 And leave me pondering, when oft alone 
 Have I in humble prayer bow'd down my head, 
 And asked God's blessing for the orphan one. 
 
 ($,&& well do I remember now the morn, 
 
 That brought a message seal'd for Annie Linn ; 
 
 The postman loudly blew the twanging horn 
 
 That signal' d his approach with welcome din ;— 
 
 The rain fell down in torrents, and the wind 
 
 Drove it furiously against the panes, 
 
 And seem'd a voice of warning to mankind, 
 
 That Winter comes and Summer's glory wanes. 
 
 And when he placed the letter in my hand, 
 
 And on the superscription fell my eye, 
 
 There came a dread my heart could not withstand, - 
 
 A fear that some calamity was nigh. 
 
 And thoughts portending ill rose fast and thick; 
 
 With heavy heart I bore the missive in, 
 
 My mind convinced it was some cruel trick 
 
 To steal my moorland flower, my Annie Linn. 
 
 With eager eyes I watch' d her break the seal, — 
 
 In mute astonishment she read it through, — 
 
 And then the old sweet smile began to steal 
 
 Upon her features, and her eyes so blue 
 
 Look'd full into my face, and then she said —
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 17 
 
 " 'Tis strange, I thought I was the only one 
 
 That now was left, — and that all others dead, 
 
 Without you, in the world left quite alone ; 
 
 But here I read that one is on his way, 
 
 More lonely and more desolate than me ; 
 
 Intending but a passing call to pay, 
 
 To learn the stories of their deaths from me ; — 
 
 He is a soldier, and his service done, 
 
 He comes back to his native land to dwell, 
 
 And finds, save one, each kindred tie is gone, 
 
 Me only left, the mournful news to tell. 
 
 If I mistake not, I have heard you say 
 
 That you remember when he went abroad, 
 
 A thoughtless youth, with lightsome heart, and gay, 
 
 He was a loss his friends could ill afford ; 
 
 And that his parents died with broken hearts, 
 
 Because the news was brought that he was dead ; 
 
 And now he comes again from distant parts, 
 
 To mourn for those who all their tears have shed. 
 
 To-morrow is the day he does intend 
 
 To call upon us, so we must prepare 
 
 And give him cordial welcome as a friend, 
 
 And yet one other favour I would dare 
 
 To ask, that he his visit may prolong, 
 
 That we may try to cheer his aching breast ; 
 
 So for a time to win him from the throng 
 
 And bustle of the world, to be at rest." 
 
 * ' 3ft3tJ t Annie, a more cheering welcome still ; 
 
 More than a friendly greeting he can claim ; 
 
 B
 
 l8 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 He is your cousin, so with hearty will 
 
 Prepare to welcome, — pray thee do not shame 
 
 My hospitality ! — see all is done 
 
 That these small means afford ; so he may see 
 
 He is not in the world so much alone, 
 
 Nor wanting friends, nor wanting sympathy. 
 
 And beg him he will make my home, his home, 
 
 Until the dreary Winter shall be pass'd, — 
 
 Until the welcome Spring again shall come 
 
 To soothe with zephyrs those who've borne the blast. 
 
 I leave thee now sweet Hebe to prepare 
 
 The fitting welcome to this son of Mars ; 
 
 Whilst I, as Fama, go perform my share, 
 
 To spread the news of who comes from the wars : 
 
 For many of the villagers can tell 
 
 Of his departure, and the false report 
 
 Which told his death, and on his parents fell 
 
 A heavy blow which cut their sorrows short." 
 
 "3t*iS strange how much of selfishness can dwell 
 Within the heart of man ! — what envy sits 
 Enthroned within the breast ! — nor can he tell 
 From whence it comes ; — until some object flits 
 Across his path, he lives in fond security, 
 And deems himself most saintly ; and ignores 
 The truth, that ought without the garb of purity 
 Could gain admittance at his bosom's doors. 
 And oft with smooth complacency will dream 
 That he is safe, — his righteous armour on, — 
 When as a stone drop'd on a tranquil stream
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 1Q 
 
 Some trouble falls, — and lo ! his peace is gone. 
 "Man know thyself!" — 'Tis better he should not, 
 Lest finding out the multitudinous ills 
 That constitute himself, — what passions hot 
 And ready for revolt, his bosom fills, 
 He should despairing, — give him up for lost,— 
 Nor think that Justice could be still withheld 
 By Mercy, — for incessantly being cross' d 
 E'en Mercy's intercession be repelled. 
 
 Th#tt t Love, which holds a prisoner my heart ! 
 
 Ye tempting, whispering hopes, begone ! begone ! 
 
 Base cowardice, usurp each vital part ! 
 
 And make me tremble, when I look upon 
 
 Her peerless loveliness ! — lest driven bold 
 
 By fear of loosing the ecstatic bliss 
 
 Of drinking in such honey'd words as roll'd 
 
 From out those lips, — I dare to do amiss, 
 
 And tell her that, I love her ! — strive to win 
 
 Her heart, and change the current of her love 
 
 From out its even course, — so, Annie Linn, 
 
 May, taking her adopted father, prove 
 
 Her gratitude. — Hence ! hence ! avaunt base thought ! 
 
 Much rather would I, yond heav'n kissing hills 
 
 Were hurl'd upon my head, than act so fraught 
 
 With dangerous consequences that it fills 
 
 My soul with fears, should emanate from me ! 
 
 Ye evil thoughts, which like rank parasites 
 
 Feed on my better self, nor leave me free 
 
 One moment, but intrude on my delights,
 
 20 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 (Which wanting you were pure as dews from Heaven,) 
 How came ye thus to tempt me ? — cease your wiles ! — 
 For rather should my throbbing heart be riv'n 
 By ceaseless anguish ; — than one of her smiles 
 Should be a ray less bright, — and me the cause; 
 For purest light, the deepest shadow throws. 
 
 Jit last, the hour approached when he should come ; 
 In dreading restlessness I paced around, 
 As though I waited for some fearful doom ; — 
 I listened, and I fancied every sound 
 Seem'd tuned to some, sad, melancholy note ; 
 The sighing winds, — the rustle of dry leaves ; 
 The sparrow's chirp, who for his breakfast sought; 
 All sounded dreary. — Quickly Fancy weaves 
 Dark thoughts of some approaching evil hour, 
 And makes the strong man coward, — and his heart 
 Sinks heavy in his breast ; — then the power 
 Of fear and hopelessness each bear their part, 
 And hold him down in their tyrannic chain, 
 Till Faith, sweet Goddess, sets him free again. 
 Why should I dread young Walter's visit thus ? 
 A youth come from a foreign land alone, 
 Where he had bravely fought the sturdy Russ, 
 And held his part in battles nobly won. 
 Was it not right that he should seek to trace 
 The only tie of kindred left to tell, 
 How death had claim'd each member of his race, 
 Whom when he left were all alive and well ? 
 Yet still 1 felt a fear, lest he should see, —
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 21 
 
 And seeing, love the beauteous moorland maid ; 
 
 And leave but her rememberance to me, 
 
 " To cheer me as I walk life's checquered shade." 
 
 Th# sound of hoofs rings now upon the road, — 
 
 'Tis he ! he reins his charger at the gate, 
 
 And leaping lightly from his saddle broad, 
 
 Strides to the door with measured martial gait. 
 
 His dangling sword, clanking against the ground,— 
 
 His glitt'ring helmet with its nodding crest, — 
 
 His manly face by long exposure brown' d, — 
 
 And silver honours thick upon his breast ; 
 
 His figure cast in true Herculean mould, 
 
 His lips compressed, show'd his determin'd mind ; 
 
 And heavy eyebrows fringed the forehead bold, 
 
 A careless smile making the whole seem kind : — 
 
 And knocking with his whip, as though the door 
 
 Barred up the entrance to some castle keep ; 
 
 Starting the old housekeeper with the roar 
 
 Till she could scarce command her aged feet. 
 
 A noble brute, of pure Newfoundland breed, 
 
 Stood near at hand, and peer'd into his face ; 
 
 Its panting sides told of the headlong speed 
 
 Which had been used to gain a resting place. 
 
 The door was opened and I hastened out, 
 
 With strange misgivings, lest my face should show 
 
 He was not wholly welcome ; cause a doubt 
 
 To cross his mind whether he was or no.
 
 22 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 % loathe that man, who whilst dissembling, 
 
 Can clothe his face with seeming honesty ; 
 
 And smiles, whilst in his heart assembling 
 
 Dark plots, to loose at opportunity ; — 
 
 And breathes kind wishes, gives his open hand, 
 
 As token of sincerity and love ; — 
 
 Knowing ! — I'd rather grasp a burning brand 
 
 With naked palm, — than touch him with my glove ! 
 
 And yet, I find myself, without a cause, 
 
 Nursing distrust, which like rank weeds, unchecked, 
 
 Thriving apace, each virtuous thought o'erthrows, 
 
 And live and feed on their sweet blossoms wreck'd. 
 
 He grasp' d my hand, and gave it hearty shake, 
 
 Nor wanting invitation, strode about 
 
 In soldier fashion, as though bent to make 
 
 Himself at home : — nor was the dog without 
 
 A spice of that nonchalance which seems bred 
 
 With those who mix up in the world's rough throng; 
 
 For in full confidence it laid its head 
 
 On the housekeeper's lap, nor deemed it wrong 
 
 To stretch its weary length upon the floor, 
 
 And with closed eyes in conscious safety snore. 
 
 XJXXWf Annie, like a flutt'ring dove approached, — 
 Clad in sweet modesty, which served to deck 
 Her lovely face in blushes, that encroached 
 And bathed in rosy tints her swan-like neck ; 
 And with extended hand, and smiling face, 
 And those blue eyes, which like translucent lakes, 
 Seem'd full to overflow at his sad case ;
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 23 
 
 Whilst he those fairy fingers doubting takes ; — 
 
 And then, the brave and dauntless stands dismayed ! 
 
 Abashed ! embarrassed ! in confusion thrown ! 
 
 Feasting his eyes upon the beauteous maid, — 
 
 Mute as a statue, — rigid as a stone. 
 
 Recovering himself, he bow'd his head, — 
 
 His tongue unloosed, — his^thoughts' interpreter, — 
 
 " Juno had ne'er been queen of heav'n," he said, 
 
 " Had Annie Linn been seen by Jupiter. 
 
 Forgive this freedom fair one, I am prone 
 
 To speak the thoughts that flit across my brain ; 
 
 But willing for my weakness to atone, 
 
 If thoughtlessly, I cause another pain. 
 
 Here have I come to hear the woeful tales, 
 
 Of long lost friends, — their absence to deplore ; 
 
 But that sweet face o'er all my grief prevails, 
 
 And lights my heart, which thought to joy no more. 
 
 I scarce dare ask a heav'nly nymph like thee 
 
 To tell me that sad news, — lest I forget, 
 
 And hear the story of their misery 
 
 Without a pang of sorrow or regret. 
 
 Come, Nero ! faithful brute, we must not stay 
 
 And cast a shadow o'er so bright a star, 
 
 But hence and bear our darkening gloom away, 
 
 And seek for solace in the moil of war." 
 
 (i 1B£&£ Sir, I said, pray be not resolute ! 
 Leave not so suddenly, and bear the gloom 
 Upon your face, like to a sable suit, 
 To tell the world your thoughts are in the tomb.
 
 24 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Come, Annie, with your ever winning tongue, 
 And press the offer, so we may prevail 
 On his acceptance, for the will is strong, 
 If thy solicitations too shall fail." 
 
 ' ' @0ttSitt, pray thee do not leave me, 
 
 Other kindred have I none, 
 
 Let me of thy griefs relieve thee, 
 
 Till each gloomy thought be gone. 
 
 And if smiles can give thee pleasure, 
 
 Gladly will I strive to smile ; 
 
 Truly happy, beyond measure, 
 
 If thy hours I can beguile. 
 
 See yond fleecy clouds reposing 
 
 In the murky vault above, 
 
 Each in ceaseless change disclosing, 
 
 Beauties as they onward rove ; 
 
 Short time since in heaviest gloom,— 
 
 Gilded now in silv'ry light, — 
 
 As the sun's bright rays illume 
 
 The dark curtains of the night. 
 
 So let me thy griefs dispel,— 
 
 Chase the darkening thoughts of woe,— 
 
 Leaving naught but joy to dwell 
 
 In thy breast, then leave us so. 
 
 Share with me my guardian's heart, 
 
 There is still some room to spare, 
 
 Consolation to impart, 
 
 Naught but goodness dwelleth there."
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 25 
 
 " Cease your entreaties for I fain will stay, 
 And share with you this peaceful home awhile, 
 And hear no more the brazen bugle bray, 
 Which for long years has call'd me out to toil ; 
 But midst fair Nature's charms, drink from her cup 
 Of consolation, freely filled for all, 
 With sweets of comfort, brimming brightly up, 
 Unmix' d with worldly dregs, of bitt'rest gall." 
 
 TfrttS he consented and became my guest, 
 And joined in every innocent pursuit 
 Which was our wont to do, with hearty zest ; 
 And like his master, the sagacious brute 
 Shook off his former self, and frisked in play, 
 Devoid of cares, light-hearted, free, and gay. 
 
 Jt-ftll often we have saunter' d out at morn, 
 
 When the hoar frost his glitt'ring robe has flung 
 
 O'er all the landscape, and the echoing horn 
 
 Of distant huntsman in the hills has rung ; 
 
 And watched the day's red orb with fiery train, 
 
 Struggle to pierce the mists with cheering ray, 
 
 Tinting with rosy hue the whitened plain, 
 
 Bathing in golden light each frost hung spray ; 
 
 And having gained the pathway through the wood, 
 
 Have wandered on beneath the avenue 
 
 Of trees, which like huge marble columns stood ; 
 
 Whilst sunlight pierced their close knit branches through, 
 
 As though we walked in some cathedral hall,
 
 26 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Where " storied windows" dyed the soften'd beam, 
 
 Painting in fleeting brightness on the wall, 
 
 Piercing the gloom with many colour' d gleam :— 
 
 And here and there a solitary bird 
 
 Sat chirping in disconsolate distress ; 
 
 Or some faint-hearted conie that had fear'd 
 
 We should invade his solitaryness, 
 
 Plunged in the thicket, which when Nero spied, 
 
 Dashing along he gave it bootless chase, 
 
 Returning panting to his master's side 
 
 With downcast looks as though in sore disgrace. 
 
 W&ttBtf and Annie often lagged behind, 
 
 Whilst he with eloquence described the things 
 
 Of beauty, or they listened to the wind, 
 
 That sighing soothes Eolns as it sings ; — 
 
 And as she stood with health's glow on her cheek, 
 
 Beneath those hoary trees, one might mistake 
 
 Her for bright Salus, who had come to seek 
 
 Silvanus in his bowers, and bid him wake. 
 
 Or stooping down o'er some small ice-bound pool, 
 
 Conning the frost-wrought tracery that mocks 
 
 The artist's skill, and proves how weak a fool 
 
 Is he who would outvie dame Nature's works : — 
 
 And when their eyes have met, a long, long pause 
 
 Has intervened, and not a word has pass'd, 
 
 And each embarrassed withTno other cause 
 
 Than that short glance, — their eyes around have cast 
 
 To note some object to renew again, 
 
 The seeming trifling yet absorbing strain.
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 27 
 
 TfotXSB who have ever felt the power of Love 
 Need no description of its many signs ; 
 The simplest actions which undoubted prove 
 The wounded heart, and press its sure designs : — 
 The look of joy, the twinkling of the eye, 
 The silent tongue, and absent mind, convey 
 A world of meaning to the lover nigh, 
 And tells him there is hope, although she may 
 Avoid him, and in dark frowns veil her face, 
 He reads her heart as through a crystal vase. 
 
 itf needed no one versed in Cupid's laws 
 
 To solve the mystery, the reason why 
 
 She often blushed without a seeming cause, 
 
 Or heaved, to her almost unknown, a sigh. 
 
 Oh ! how I struggled with my sense of right, 
 
 And argued that I had no cause to fear ! 
 
 My heart was proof and gloried in its might, 
 
 No wrongful thought could gain an entrance there ! 
 
 Strong in my good resolves, their powers I dare. 
 
 Tft&t man is weakest, who sure in his strength, 
 Places no sentinel upon his heart 
 To guard 'gainst evil's entrance ; till at length 
 The foe approaching at his weakest part, 
 Do so assail with force well disciplined, 
 They make the breach, and e'er he is awake, 
 The conqueror's banner floating in the wind, 
 Proclaims the spoilers triumph,— his mistake ; —
 
 28 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 For palsied with defeat he lacks the power 
 
 To cope with those whose strength he scorned before. 
 
 Jtttll now what most I fear'd had come to pass, 
 
 For he had seen, and lov'd, and not in vain ; — 
 
 I knew she did not love myself the less, 
 
 Her heart was far too pure for such a stain : — 
 
 And when at home, sat round the humble board, 
 
 When sweet Felicitas her influence shed 
 
 Upon the scene, it would but ill accord 
 
 Had I the cloud of gloom about them spread. 
 
 And as he told the tales of war and toil, 
 
 And recollection brought the hot blood back 
 
 Into his cheeks, fading away the smile, 
 
 Which left determination in its track ; — 
 
 Her mild blue eyes with an unwonted fire 
 
 Would sparkle, as the tale in interest ran, 
 
 And show the strong, tho' unexpressed desire, 
 
 And wish "that Heaven had made her such a man.' 
 
 He had not made avowal of his love, 
 
 Nor trusted his heart's secret to his tongue ; 
 
 His every act abundantly could prove 
 
 Without the aid of words, the passion strong, 
 
 Which held him captive, feeble as a child, 
 
 And knew no sunshine, save when Annie smiled. 
 
 ]f will not dwell upon each stolen glance, 
 Nor chronicle each sigh or kindly word, 
 Or note the smile upon the features dance,
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 20 
 
 When the expected footsteps they have heard. 
 My pen is wielded by a hand too weak 
 To render justice to such lofty strain, 
 And leaves the reader in his heart to seek 
 For light, to make the forced omission plain. 
 
 mXXt Annie's busy fingers still would ply 
 
 The needle, for she never once forgot 
 
 Or left undone the works of charity, 
 
 Which made her blest in every humble cot ; 
 
 She visited the poor, oppressed with age, 
 
 And watched beside the bed when death was near, 
 
 Whilst Walter read aloud the sacred page 
 
 And breathed a prayer in accents most sincere. 
 
 git last the great momentous day arrived, 
 When Annie, falt'ring, asked for my consent 
 To give her hand to him ; and though she strived 
 To look composed, the colour came and went 
 Like cloud-cast shadows o'er her anxious face ; — 
 She ne'er had asked for aught and been denied ; 
 I could not say her nay in such a case : — 
 I kissed her brow, and drew her to my side, 
 And wished her joy as Walter's future bride. 
 
 ' ' 3&ttt, Annie dear, think on my poverty, 
 Rich in another's love thou needs not fear, 
 But there is none to take the place of thee, — 
 Robbed of the prize -my heart has held most dear.
 
 30 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 No man is poor because he lacks the joys 
 Which others have, and which he never knew; 
 But he, whom fated one of Fortune's toys, 
 Blessed with abundance, or denied the few, — 
 Who bears caress or slight alternately, 
 Endures more pain for want of luxuries known 
 Than he, who born in stern necessity 
 Can comprehend ; — and oft is left alone, 
 Unpitied, struggling, oftentimes despised, 
 To brood o'er former joys too dearly prized." 
 
 * ' S&$ not you will be poor ! I still shall be 
 
 The same to you, for naught can e'er dispel 
 
 Your image from my heart : — such poverty 
 
 You need not dread, for here I still would dwell, 
 
 Though poorer far than I know words to tell. 
 
 What is it to be poor ? the want of gold, 
 
 For which poor mortals oft risk life and soul i 
 
 To bear a part in misery's untold ? 
 
 Or go a houseless one from pole to pole ? 
 
 Or is it to be poor when on the bed 
 
 Of want and sickness, no fond friendship's nigh, 
 
 No loved one near to soothe the troubled head, 
 
 Nor one to heave a sympathetic sigh ? 
 
 Yes ! such is to be poor, but poorer still 
 
 Are they, who blessed with kind and gen'rous friends, 
 
 Receive their kindness, and not wanting will, 
 
 Have not the power to make them just amends. 
 
 To be so poor in words, that thanks sincere, 
 
 Die e'er they pass the threshold of the heart;—
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 31 
 
 Such is my poverty, but do not fear, 
 Ingratitude shall never form a part 
 Of her, on whom your kindness every day 
 Has placed a debt 'twill serve a life to pay." 
 
 Tifftfi hurries on, how quick each moment speeds ! 
 How swiftly fly the hours when Saturn calls 
 Aurora forth to lash her fiery steeds 
 And wake a day of joy ! and as she rolls 
 Along the heavens in her bespangled car, 
 Flinging the glitt'ring brightness from the wheels 
 In silver show'rs, until the waning star 
 Its nightly lamp's soft ray at last conceals ;— 
 One oft has felt desire to stay her flight, 
 Regretful such a day should end in night. 
 
 But when dull Melancholy hangs abroad 
 Her tear-stained ensign, and envelopes all 
 In rayless gloom, how weary seems the road 
 Through one short day, when sorrow's clouds appal. 
 
 Years have seem'd months, months weeks, weeks 
 scarce a day, 
 Days hours, and hours have pass'd unheeded by, 
 When void of care along the flow'ry way 
 Of peaceful life, with sweet Felicity 
 Smiling at every step to cheer us on, 
 With harmless pleasures ; such like happy days 
 Were they, but now, alas, those days have gone 
 Leaving their wreck round which fond mem'ry plays, 
 Striving to deck the past with living leaves 
 Of present thoughts, which wayward fancy weaves.
 
 32 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Wfo&t more for Annie's good could I desire ? 
 
 A noble looking youth, with mind well stored 
 
 With ancient lore, one whose thoughts sought higher 
 
 Than God's revolving footstool, for he soared 
 
 And seemed most happy in his thoughts of Heaven ; 
 
 Richer by far in hopes of future bliss, — 
 
 Seeming to live to claim the promise given 
 
 Of endless joy, and more content with this 
 
 And an approving conscience, than the praise 
 
 Of selfish worldlings, or the gold reward 
 
 Which blinds one half mankind, until they chase 
 
 The phantom wealth, and treat with disregard 
 
 Those mines, in which more lasting riches hide 
 
 Than dwell in gold or in loose tongues abide. 
 
 Jt. shallow-pated fool with well fill'd purse 
 
 May gain applause, from those more senseless still ; 
 
 Whilst genius dwells despised beneath the curse 
 
 Of poverty, and cringes to the will 
 
 Of those who own the glittering sordid dross, 
 
 And yet disgrace God-like humanity : — 
 
 Still toiling on beneath his weighty cross, 
 
 He bears their sneers with forced urbanity, 
 
 And bows the knee to gilt insanity. 
 
 •J&trt who, of all who ever felt the joy3 
 Of 9elf communion, and from the mind 
 Has dragged the pleasing thought which never cloys, 
 And lived in Fancy's realms ; leaving behind
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 33 
 
 All worldly cares and troubles, revelling 
 
 On fond imagination's soaring wing, 
 
 Would change those thoughts for all the drivelling 
 
 Of brainless mortal, though he were a King ? 
 
 Or lose for gold, or other earthly prize, 
 
 The privilege of living with the dead, 
 
 And mingling with the spirits in the skies 
 
 Of those illustrious great ones that have fled, 
 
 Yet left behind a halo round each name, 
 
 Which ages waft into a blaze of fame ? 
 
 XlW5 day was fixed, and with sure steps advanced, 
 
 When he should claim the promised hand, and take 
 
 Unto himself the priceless gem enhanced 
 
 With all the comely virtues which could make 
 
 A woman lov'd ; and preparations buzz 
 
 Early and late, told of the great event 
 
 Which fill'd the neighbouring matrons with such fuss, 
 
 As in and out they ceaseless came and went. 
 
 But Walter shared not this, for he was call'd, 
 
 And had to leave in haste one early morn, 
 
 To settle weighty matters we were told, 
 
 But left assurance of his quick return. 
 
 XbB village bells peal'd forth in gladsome strains, 
 
 And woke the echoes of the neighbouring hills ; 
 
 Floating their joyful tidings o'er the plains, 
 
 Joining their cadence with the murm'ring rills. 
 
 The village was astir, and streamers gay, 
 
 Waved o'er many a neat tho' humble cot ; 
 
 c
 
 34 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 And festoon' d flowers were hung to deck the way, 
 And banners trimmed with the forget-me-not ; 
 Whilst little children, dress' d in snowy white, 
 Each with a small bouquet upon her breast, 
 Hurried from spot to spot, their chief delight 
 The novelty of being gaily dress' d ; — 
 And stately dames with stiff portentious skirts, 
 And formidable caps with double frill ; 
 And sturdy men, sporting their ruffled shirts, 
 Uncomfortably grand, were standing still, 
 And smiling as they saw each youthful group 
 Careering past, big with some new event ; 
 Or watch'd the idlers in straggling troop, 
 Wind up the street, each on enjoyment bent. 
 Around the church was stood a motley crowd, 
 Who at the beadle laugh' d and poked their wit ; 
 His pursed up mouth and knitted forehead show'd 
 How oft their playful sallies made a hit ; 
 And he revengeful for his honour's slight, 
 Fiercely enraged, walk'd with more pompous gait, 
 Scorning to think that gold and scarlet bright 
 Should fail to strike with awe each rustic pate ; 
 And on the hapless urchins who had dared 
 To venture on the ground he stood to guard, 
 His sounding whacks impartially he shared, 
 And made them fly the consecrated yard. 
 
 Wfrttst all abroad seem'd joy and sweet content, 
 I sat and mused, nursing my bitter pain ; 
 Or softly stealing past the room I went
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 35 
 
 To gaze on her I ne'er might see again. 
 And there she sat, more lovely than before, 
 Deck'd in her bridal robes, her angel face 
 Methought a touch of melancholy wore 
 Which seem'd to add to her another grace ; 
 She saw me pass, and in a falt'ring tone 
 Pronounced my name. I hurried to her side, 
 And found her weeping in her room alone, 
 Tearful, yet joyful, as became a bride ; — • 
 And round my neck she twined her jewell'd arms, 
 Sobbing, she knew not why, upon my breast, 
 Unconscious or unmindful of her charms, 
 Feeling in happiness, prospective, bless'd. 
 
 <( ©fy think on me, dear friend, when I am gone; 
 More than a father you have been to me ; 
 I grieve to leave you here again alone, 
 Dearer to me than all, save only he ; — 
 He, who now comes to claim me for his own. 
 And oh, my heart shall never once forget 
 The thousand kindly acts towards me shown, 
 Until my day of life in night be set ; 
 And then, if the blest privilege be given 
 To mortals when they leave this earthly clay, 
 To bear the sweet remembrance up to Heavea, 
 'Twill serve to cheer me in that endless day. 
 To utter thanks I cannot frame my tongue 
 As I could wish, but my fond flutt'ring heart 
 Swells with its gratitude, nor is it wrong 
 At such a time to sigh that we must part.
 
 Jb ANNIE LINN, 
 
 And when far distant, at the time of prayer, 
 
 Ever remembered, will I pray for thee ; 
 
 And oh, deny me not a little share 
 
 In all your thoughts, your joy, your misery. 
 
 I hear your heart's loud beating now, as though 
 
 Some hidden sorrow struggled for release ; 
 
 Speak a few words of comfort e'er I go, 
 
 And bless me, then can I depart in peace." 
 
 4 ' Wfoft t words of comfort would'st thou have me speak ? 
 'Tis rather me who need solacing now ; 
 Light-hearted smiles will dance upon thy cheek, 
 And hope with joy contend upon thy brow ; 
 And if there lurks a shadow of regret 
 Within thy heart, the light of love will scare 
 The gloom away, but oh, my soul would fret 
 If in thy love I ceased to have a share. 
 
 Go with my blessing, dearly loved one, go ! 
 Thy light should not be hid, the virtues rare 
 Which live within thee pure as falling snov>', — 
 Thy tender heart, (which never knew a care 
 Save those which sympathy implanted there, — ) 
 Will throw a lustre through a wider sphere, 
 And more shall learn thy powers to soothe and cheer. 
 
 One short hour more and I shall give away 
 The key which holds my joys in custody ; 
 Joying yet sorrowing on thy marriage day, 
 And bowing to the loss the Fates decree. 
 God bless thee ! — bless thee ! — fair creation's gem ! 
 Unrivalled, brightest in her diadem !"
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 37 
 
 ' ©fr, say not pure, I know my froward heart, 
 And see dark spots which need repentant tears 
 To wash away, and sinful thoughts that dart 
 Across my mind, which none save conscience hears. 
 But let me haste away lest Walter chide, 
 Or deem his Annie a reluctant bride." 
 
 XfoCtt quickly borne along, our anxious eyes 
 Soon saw the time-worn village church arise. 
 
 TfoXXtt venerable pile ! never forgot 
 Will thy old features be ! like some dear face 
 Thy form arises clear ; — cares cannot blot 
 Thy image out, nor aught save death erase 
 The thousand recollections now entwined 
 Around thy memory. As the ivy grasps 
 Thy crumbling tower, and woos the fickle wind 
 To whisper in its leaves, so fondly clasps 
 The old associations around me, 
 And binds me to thy sacred shades with ties 
 Which hold me firmer as my moments flee, 
 Nor e'er will loosen till remembrance dies. 
 I seem as though I saw thy walls to-day, 
 Dappled with sunlight, and the sculpture strange 
 And uncouth, basking in the cheering ray 
 Of golden sunshine, — which lit up the range 
 Of weighty buttresses and peep'd between 
 The heavy mullions of the window'd niche, 
 Where formerly the pictured pane had been,
 
 38 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 To clothe th' intrusive beam with colours rich, 
 
 As tho' to fit it with more comely grace, 
 
 And make it worthier of that holy place. 
 
 And that old tower with battlemented top, 
 
 Has half its walls concealed with living green ; — 
 
 The old sun-dial which had long forgot 
 
 To note the hours, weary of what had been, 
 
 Is now no more than a projecting block 
 
 Of shelving stone, unlettered and o'ergrown 
 
 With moss and lichen, whilst below, a clock 
 
 Has made an ancient window seat its own. 
 
 The sheltering porch whose crazy roof was laid 
 
 On undressed beams of sturdy English oak, 
 
 And proved on stormy days a welcome shade 
 
 For out-door gossips, or the needy folk 
 
 Who houseless wandered by ; and the one bell 
 
 Which for long years above the gable hung 
 
 In sullen silence ; but old men could tell 
 
 Of times of dread, when that old bell has rung 
 
 In the mysterious hours of night, 
 
 When mortal was not near, and has foretold 
 
 Some dire calamity ; and still with fright 
 
 They tell of deeds its knell served to unfold. 
 
 % led dear Annie up that solemn aisle, 
 And in the " dim religious light " she seem'd 
 Like some fair wand'rer in that ancient pile ; 
 And the sweet smile which o'er her features beam'd 
 Was answered by a hundred smiles around ; 
 And fervent blessings and good wishes fell
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 39 
 
 From every lip, and thick upon the ground 
 Were Flora's fav' rites culled from hill and dell, 
 Which scarce seem'd bruised beneath her dainty tread, 
 And all around their fragrant odours shed. 
 
 ■j&ttt Walter had not come ! why this delay ? 
 Did he mistake the hour he should appear ? 
 Some unforseen event might cause his stay, 
 Some accident, else he had sure been here ! 
 Or sickness perhaps may hold him back awhile, 
 Or circumstances o'er which he lacks control : — 
 Why fades from every face the kindly smile ? 
 List ! 'tis the bell's prophetic warning toll. 
 And Annie heard it, and her colour fled, 
 And anxious looks o'erspread each pallid face, 
 As though some apparition from the dead 
 Had howling paused, within that sacred place. 
 And Annie's frail built form shook like a leaf, 
 And paler grew her cheek, her eyes were turned 
 Heavenward, and in whispering accents brief 
 Pray'd God that Walter might be safe returned. 
 Then fainting in my arms I bore her thence, 
 A poor pale flow'r of blighted innocence. 
 
 jm sounds of joy were hushed ; no funeral 
 Had ever cast so deep a gloom around ; 
 A panic seem'd to seize the hearts of all 
 Who heard the bell's unearthly ringing sound 
 I bore her home, but sympathy was vain, 
 She lived in death, and never smiled again.
 
 40 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 ijt&W anxiously I counted every hour 
 In hopes he would return again, but no. 
 Weeks rolled away, until at length the power 
 Of hope was gone, and naught was left but woe. 
 
 At last the curtain fell ; — the mystery 
 Was mystery no more, but clear as day : — 
 A man acquainted with his history 
 Was thrown by accident across my way, 
 He told me Walter was not what he seem'd, 
 That his religion was most base deceit, 
 A reckless libertine, who never deem'd 
 To trample youth and virtue 'neath his feet 
 A crime ; and then to make his tale believed, 
 He showed me love tokens, the sight of which 
 Told but too plainly how we were deceived ; 
 And my heart sank pow'rless into the ditch 
 Of dark despair ; to see each little toy 
 Which Annie had selected with such care, 
 O'er which she'd pondered in her childish joy 
 And falsely dream' d he would her pleasure share. 
 I bought them from him for a trifling sum, 
 I have them yet, they tell a mournful tale ; — 
 Dear fond memorials tho' ye are dumb, 
 Food for reflection when all others fail. 
 
 StiU, still, I hoped more cheering tales to hear, 
 Alas, in vain, thicker and blacker grew 
 The cloud of wickedness, and doubt and fear 
 O'er his long absence dark misgivings threw.
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 41 
 
 And Walter came no more, no he had fled 
 And left behind him a poor breaking heart ; 
 Himself to every voice of conscience dead, 
 To play amongst the world his evil part. 
 
 Oh, why was he not well content before ? 
 Why envied he the lovely moorland flower ? 
 Why should he rob what he could ne'er restore ? 
 Why cheat the maiden of her heavenly dower ? 
 Perchance e'en then in some low brothel laid, 
 Half mad with wine which never knew the grape, 
 Gazing with leaden eyes on some lost maid 
 And fancying beauty in a harlot's shape ; 
 Or pacing round the tawdry gas lit room 
 Which like its inmates dreads the light of day; 
 Courting with heedless haste his awful doom, 
 And revelling in lust, yet seeming gay. 
 Whilst the loud laugh which leaves no joy behind, 
 Breaks in upon the peaceful hours of night ; 
 Or round his neck a maiden's arms entwined. 
 Which clasp another's with as much delight. 
 
 Or perhaps with one more bawdy still than they 
 Holds favor' d converse, — opes to her his purse, — 
 Her, who in that, her little hell, holds sway, 
 And issues forth her orders with a curse. 
 
 And this is fancied happiness to some, 
 Degraded men ! — but human beasts at best ! 
 Devouring innocence where e'er they roam, 
 And slighted virtue furnishing their jest. 
 
 Ye heartless hypocrites, with fawning smile, 
 Wand' ring like rav'nous wolves amongst the sheep ;
 
 42 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Using- religion's cloak to hide the guile, — 
 Think not that its disguise will always keep ; 
 From off the hideous form it shall be torn 
 Bare to the world, fit object for its scorn. 
 
 Jt fading lily laid upon the ground, 
 Pluck' d by some ruthless hand, then cast aside, 
 Sweet in its wreck it sheds its influence round, 
 Its fault was beauty, and for that it died. 
 
 Sweet flower, fit emblem of poor Annie's lot, 
 Sought for, obtained, discarded, and forgot. 
 
 Xfo£ pious priest with calm impressive face ; 
 (In fancy I appear to see him now,) 
 Bearing from cot to cot the means of grace, 
 Braving the pelting rain or blinding snow ; 
 His broad-brimmed hat, 'neath which his hoary hair 
 Hung straggling from his venerable head, — 
 The quaint cut overcoat he used to wear, — 
 Figure erect, his slow and stately tread, — 
 His oaken staff 'fore whose imposing shake 
 The village urchins ran with well feigned-fear ; 
 Whilst sternly frowning still he fail'd to make 
 Them to regard him as a friend less dear. 
 
 And he, as Annie pined away would come 
 And strive to cheer her, bid her hope again ; — 
 Her drooping eye and heaving breast tho' dumb 
 Told more than words her life's devouring pain. 
 And day by day as she more sickly grew,
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 43 
 
 Paler and paler, sinking like a child, 
 
 Her eyelids shutting out the world from view, 
 
 Her face assuming its expression mild : — 
 
 Whilst he in prayer bow'd down his reverent head, 
 
 Beseeching God to spare her for awhile. 
 
 "Thy will be done, not mine, oh God," she said, 
 
 " Thy chast'nings I can welcome with a smile." 
 
 And many times the minister would stay, 
 And brush the tear away that dim'd his eyes, 
 With falt'ring voice he'd strive to teach the way 
 "To realms of bliss prepared beyond the skies." 
 
 And she was lost to all her cares below, 
 Her heart seem'd but to yearn to be above ; 
 Content to leave this world of pain and woe, 
 And firmly trusting in a Saviour's love. 
 
 Jlfttt then the bustling doctor, cane in hand, 
 
 With look mysterious and talk profound, 
 Did visit daily and give some command 
 And leave in haste to go his 'custom'd round. 
 
 But once he came, nor left he her again, 
 But anxious stood and watch'd her flick'ring breath ; 
 Exerting all his craft to ease her pain, 
 And bravely striving to out-master Death. 
 
 At length his eyes began to sparkle bright, 
 And bustling women hurried here and there, 
 Each seeming to partake of his delight, 
 And each in the good fortune claim a share. 
 At last he placed upon the nurse's arms 
 A little smiling cherub newly born ;
 
 44 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Sweet innocent, with all its mother's charms, 
 Doom'd not to live to spend life's fleeting morn. 
 
 J»tff Annie now demanded all his care, 
 Windows close curtain' d to exclude the light ; — 
 Each face looked anxious, yet not one would dare 
 To ask the other if they guessed aright ; 
 And soon she slowly raised her drooping eyes, 
 Looking around on each familiar face, 
 And tries to speak, alas, she vainly tries, — 
 Then sank exhausted with her hopeless case. 
 And there she lay whilst stimulating drinks 
 Revived once more the last small vital spark, 
 Which like the waning taper e'er it sinks 
 Shines brightest, and is then for ever dark. 
 
 She summoned me, I hastily complied, 
 To hear the words I knew would be her last. 
 " Tell Walter, when you see him, that I died 
 And blessed him, and forgave him for the past. 
 
 Grant me your blessing, let me lay my head 
 And part with life upon your faithful breast ; 
 Death and the grave have lost their powers to dread, 
 Good-bye," she sighed, and calmly sank to rest. 
 
 SC&VJX not the fallen, tho' far, far astray 
 Their feet have gone ; oft trusting innocence, 
 And unsuspecting hearts are forced to pa)' 
 The penalty of keen remorse ; — the sense 
 Of conscious degradation will depress
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 45 
 
 The heart for sins which are not all their own :— 
 And wrongs enduring, for which no redress 
 Can be obtained, or kindliness atone. 
 
 &:8t those not boast of virtue, who ne'er stood 
 Within the shade of strong temptation's power ; — 
 Nor talk of chastity, who 'gainst the flood 
 Of life's deceptions have shut fast the door, 
 Or hid behind a convent's walls the light 
 God gave them, as a ray to cheer and guide 
 Some one less fitted for the arduous fight, 
 Who wanting help, thoughtlessly step'd aside. 
 
 But they who bravely battle with the world, 
 And through a life-time press on for the goal 
 Of duty done, their tattered flag unfurl'd 
 Merits more praises, tho' at last they fall. 
 
 The soldier who at home reads o'er the tales 
 Of hard fought battles which he never shared, 
 May charge with cowardice the force that fails 
 And flees before the foe, or that which dared 
 To grapple to the last, and conquered lies, 
 He may condemn for want of judgment shown ; 
 Whilst pulseless 'neath inhospitable skies 
 Lie braver hearts than his, cold and unknown. 
 
 Despise not then the frail one sorely press'd, 
 Whose fault was innocence — but let her rest 
 "Admitting her weakness, her evil behaviour, 
 But leaving with meekness, her sins to her Saviour." 
 
 J£ simple stone marks Annie's early grave ; 
 No willow drops its tears above her head ;
 
 46 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 A few small tufts of heather sadly wave ; 
 
 And two short words to tell where we have laid 
 
 "§Utti* fiat*/' 
 
 A slumbering babe awaits with her the hour, 
 
 When the loud trump shall wake the Moorland Flower. 
 
 SlXTftD long, long years roll'd on, until at last 
 I saw my former life as some sweet dream, 
 Which left a deep impression as it pass'd, 
 That has survived, above the muddled stream 
 Of daily life ; until one day I heard 
 A man lay ill with a disorder' d mind, 
 And longed to see me ; so without a word 
 I hasten'd out, his lone abode to find. 
 
 $t was a darksome prison-looking place, 
 Built for the poor unfortunates who live 
 And bear their Maker's likeness on their face, 
 But void of reason, which alone can give 
 The stamp of man's superiority, 
 Or dress his actions in authority. 
 
 Jittd there, within a close dark cell, was laid 
 All that was left of Walter, pale and wan ; — 
 A miserable wreck, o'er which there play'd 
 The lamp's uncertain light, which shed upon 
 His wretched form a strange unearthly glare
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 47 
 
 That made me shudder. As he turned his eyes 
 Upon me with a wild affrighted stare, 
 I pitied him I thought I should despise. 
 
 He knew me, and a stifled moan escaped 
 His firm set lips ; a sound of agony, 
 Which seemed to rend in twain the gloom that drap'd 
 His heart in weighty folds of misery. 
 
 He motion'd me unto him, and I found 
 His gangrened limbs with iron fetters hung, 
 That trailed their loathsome length upon the ground, 
 Or 'gainst the wall their links of sorrow swung 
 
 (l ©fa, save me ! save me ! from this awful fate ! 
 Rid me of life, or ease me of my pain ! 
 And watch with me until as hours grow late 
 That torturing vision visits me again ! 
 
 See where she comes ! there in that cold blue mist ! 
 Ah, you may see her now ! that wasted form 
 Fresh from the grave, round which the earthworms twist 
 And feed upon her beauty ! — lo ! and from 
 Those empty holes where once two bright blue eyes 
 Beam'd love, look now the loathsome reptiles creep ! 
 And see her hair ! matted with filth it lies 
 Upon her breast, where a dead child does sleep. 
 And see ! from off her arms the putrid flesh 
 Falls on the ground, and when it touches earth 
 Becomes a horrid imp, with torment fresh 
 From Hell it brings, from whence it took its birth ! 
 And can you watch and see them all array'd 
 And quail not ? Would it were a fantasy I
 
 48 ANNIE LINN, 
 
 Nearer they come unless their march be stayed 
 By some strong hand ! — and close behind them see 
 That changing form, 'tis beauteous Annie still ! 
 The cloud clears off, those hideous forms have gone ; 
 Oh, would they had not, for that look does chill 
 With horrors worse than they;— but soft, — anon 
 It changes, and the smile which was her own 
 Usurps her face again, and seems to say 
 That she forgives me for the mighty wrong 
 I wrought her ; — now she quickly glides away. 
 
 Oh, Annie, I have paid the penalty 
 A thousand times ! — in mercy pity me ! 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ye fiends let loose again ye come 
 To vent your spleen ! — Help ! help ! I feel them twine 
 Around my throat ! I feel my coming doom, 
 And cry for help who never pitied thine ! 
 Oh, save me, Annie, bid these torments fly ! 
 Too late, — too late, — I faint, — I die, — I die." 
 
 Ji-ttCl sinking breathless on the floor he cast 
 His eyes on me, and raving breathed his last. 
 
 J£ doleful story, friend, it sounds to you, 
 'Tis sorrowful, — 'tis sad, — 'tis strange, — but true. 
 
 3£$0S beam as bright, smiles deck as dainty cheeks, 
 As steadfast hearts beat lovingly within 
 As snowy breasts ; but fancy vainly seeks 
 Amongst them all, and finds no Annie Linn.
 
 *■» &r*«»u and mi J^W**' 
 
 ^^
 
 ELIZA;- 
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 
 
 THIS tale of children, full of innocence, 
 (Loving each other as but children love,) 
 To follow on to youth and maidenhood, 
 Through Fancy's dreams, and Life's realities, 
 Noting their passions, longings, joys and griefs, 
 And what befel them ere their journey's end, 
 I ask your ear ; 'twill not detain you long. 
 
 JPl&WIJ, town-bred, amidst the hum of trade, — 
 Liz, running wild amidst the hum of bees ;__ 
 She, older by a year and some few months, 
 He, taller by the merest difference was ; — 
 She claimed for years more wisdom to advise, 
 And he for height more power to do and dare. 
 Each parents had, folks in their several spheres 
 Respected and considered well to do ; 
 Harry's most apt to growl at towns and trade,— 
 Lizzie's to sneer at simple country joys ;
 
 Si eliza; — 
 
 And when a leisure day each one befell, 
 
 'Twas spent in seeking what they feigned to prize. 
 
 And thus the families together drawn, 
 
 Were often seated 'neath each other's roof; — 
 
 The men talked politics, or held converse 
 
 On seasons, crops, or latest market rates ; 
 
 And whilst their wisdom ran without restraint, 
 
 (In streams of words, high sounding, oft misplaced, 
 
 Till each in argument had lost himself, 
 
 Then ramblingback from whence he took his starting, 
 
 Praise claimed for having gone the round of all 
 
 Fallacious policies and crushed them out.) 
 
 Lizzie and Harry were together thrown, 
 
 And left as children, to seek childish things 
 
 To while away the hours ; and when it chanced 
 
 That she was Harry's guest, he took her out 
 
 To view the wonders at the shops he knew ; 
 
 The waxen doll that ope'd and shut its eyes ; 
 
 The gorgeous ark well stored with bird and beast ; 
 
 The bats and balls and hoops and spinning tops ; 
 
 And speculated what grand thing to buy 
 
 When next good fortune should their purses fill. 
 
 And she was timid of the crowd of folk, 
 
 And rattling vehicles that rushed along ; 
 
 And he was proud to show her knightly aid, 
 
 And bring her safely to her friends again. 
 
 Thus oft in winter did they meet in town, 
 
 But in the summer, then 'twas Lizzie's turn 
 
 To act as guide, and show the shallow spot, 
 
 Where best the crystal brook could waded be,
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 5 J 
 
 And where to take the stand behind the hedge 
 
 And peer unnoticed at the cozy nest. 
 
 Then would she point where gipsy's fires had glowed, 
 
 And show the bush where largest roses bloomed ; 
 
 She knew the wood where fox-gloves grew profuse, 
 
 And cuckoo-meat and wood anemone ; 
 
 Of rocky caves she knew where they could hide, 
 
 And banquet on wild nuts and blackberries. 
 
 Then tales she told of fairy creatures bright, 
 
 Who danced at night upon the velvet moss, 
 
 And in the day hid sleeping 'neath the ferns. 
 
 Still further on she'd show, in fear, the pit 
 
 Where two poor hapless kittens met their fate, 
 
 And tell how for two days they cried to her, 
 
 But she as they was helpless, so she sat 
 
 And wept and grieved and joined her cries with theirs. 
 
 Ah ! those indeed were happy, happy days ! 
 
 And yet 'twas then the seeds of after griefs 
 
 Were sown, which bloomed abundantly, alas ! 
 
 *|£&£$ rolled along, and still no gloomy cloud 
 Had cast its shadow o'er their happy lot ; 
 But as two buds beneath the sun, so they 
 Unfolded as the months flew on apace : — 
 She with her locks of jet that scorned restraint, 
 And wandered wild in rich bewilderment ; 
 Her eyes so dark beneath their silken fringe, — 
 Her cheeks on which the rose strove with the tan, 
 Which showed how oft the sun had kissed his child.
 
 54 eliza;— 
 
 Her lips, from which sweet music perfumed came ; 
 
 Her figure full, and rounded all her limbs ; 
 
 Nor wanting strength, nor wanting grace to deck 
 
 The promise of a perfect womanhood. 
 
 But Harry, as a lad, was slighter formed, 
 
 Fairer he was, with hair of flaxen hue, 
 
 Yet with a nobleness upon his brow 
 
 That spoke of power and wealth of soul within. 
 
 And sixteen summers with their sunny days, 
 
 And sixteen winters with their frosts and snows 
 
 Had wafted o'er him, when he started out 
 
 To see the playmate of his early days. 
 
 His step was firm and springy, yet his gait 
 
 Seemed half in haste and half in lagging pace ; — 
 
 There was no smile, his brows were slightly knit, 
 
 And once or twice he stopt, abrupt, and mused ; 
 
 Then started off with quickened pace again. 
 
 At length he reached the summit of the hill ; — 
 
 The town below was not as yet awake ; 
 
 He paused a moment to take in the view 
 
 Of countless roofs with here and there a spire ; 
 
 Then pressing on he left the town behind, 
 
 To taste the sweets of day's awakening, 
 
 'Midst verdant fields, and trees, and glist'ning brooks. 
 
 ® ! who that e'er has watched the early dawn. 
 Slowly awaking from its eastern bed, 
 Trailing its sun-fringed skirt across the plains, 
 And bright' ning with its yet unsullied ray,
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 55 
 
 The courtiers of the dark-browed night, and heard 
 
 The songbird's welcome, mingling thanks and praise, 
 
 Whilst all the landscape is beteared with dew, 
 
 And surly kine with steaming nostrils greet, 
 
 With low on low, the faint yet growing light ; 
 
 Has not been soothed into a reverie 
 
 Of such delicious thought, that when aroused 
 
 By passing hind, or rumbling wain, it seemed 
 
 As if so far aloft the soul had soared, 
 
 That to descend and mingle with the crowd 
 
 Of everyday affairs, was to debase 
 
 Ones self, and turn the back on bliss ? 
 
 £WU thus felt Harry, when the passing tread 
 Of early labourer called him to himself; 
 And from his face departed the sweet smile, 
 (Which contemplating nature had replaced,) 
 And with a sigh he murmured, "Ah, that dream ! 
 It clings unto me still. Yet, what's a dream ?" 
 
 htV&UQfj, unexplored, inexplicable life ! 
 So near akin to death, — so marvellous ! 
 When soothing slumber robs care of its sting, 
 And wraps in dull oblivion the sense : — 
 When save the beating of the restless heart, 
 And the breast slightly heaving, mortals seem 
 Meet tenants for the tomb ; — 'tis then the king 
 Of unexplored dreamland sits enthroned, 
 And by his power we live a middle life,
 
 56 eliza; — 
 
 (So fascinating, or so horrible, 
 That as they each alternate, so the mind 
 When waking, would call back or thrust aside 
 The mem'ry of his reign ;) and only know 
 When roused and bid to battle with the world, 
 We bear a heavy or a lightsome heart, 
 Scorning the thought of other agency, 
 We in the absence of a better name, 
 Rest us contented, calling it a dream. 
 
 $> rustic lane led on to Lizzie's home,-^- 
 'Twas narrow, and composed of heavy stones, 
 Toss'd in the mud, devoid of thought or plan. 
 Down one side ran a little babbling stream, 
 That made sweet music midst the solitude : 
 A lofty hedge flourished on either hand, 
 From which tall trees sprung up and overhung, 
 Roofing the whole with emerald foliage 
 Through which the sun cast softly flick'ring light. 
 The birds flitting athwart the green arcade 
 Chirp'd cheerfully, secure from mortal ken, 
 And such a sense of peace and quiet reigned, 
 That sound of footfall mar'd the silent charm, 
 And made the wanderer an intruder feel. 
 Just at its foot nestled the little cot 
 Which Harry's step, lagging, yet longed to reach 
 The trelliced windows winking in the sun ; 
 A noble gourd, twined fondly round the door 
 Which open stood, proving the folk astir ; —
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 57 
 
 And forth there came a figure ;— Could it be ? 
 Could the sweet child in so few years have grown 
 Into the woman ? Yea, those locks are hers ! 
 Longer and richer, — yet the same dark locks ! 
 The face,— the neck,— the well developed bust ; 
 Yes, yes, — 'tis her, — more lovely than before ; 
 List to her voice ; — angelic music still. 
 
 TtelJ meet, — the kiss of friendship each bestows 
 Unthinkingly, — then blushing each withdraws ; — 
 Their hearts were not once wont to leap and bound, 
 As now they leap when lips by lips are pressed. 
 Some questions pass which neither care to ask 
 And neither care to answer, but the form 
 Serves to dispel the slight embarrassment, 
 And they take refuge neath its flimsy screen. 
 
 Th$ morning's meal passed by with homely chat, 
 
 Followed by simple worship round the board ; 
 
 And then the farmer toddled to his barn, 
 
 And his good wife grew busy in the house. 
 
 Lizzie and Harry slowly sauntered out, 
 
 Choosing the quiet walk skirting the wood ; 
 
 And Harry sighed, then coughed to check himself; — 
 
 And Lizzie sighed, then stooped to cull a flower ;— 
 
 Each anxious to appear quite unconcerned, 
 
 Yet each betraying the entanglement 
 
 Caused by a consciousness of hidden thoughts,
 
 58 eliza; — 
 
 Longings, desires, and fears commingling, 
 Of some vague theme, heart-nursed for many years. 
 At length they reached the rock that long ago 
 Had been the children's velvet-covered couch, — 
 And there they sat, and silence for a time 
 Unbroken reigned ; — and then his hand sought hers, 
 Which in his clasp fluttered like 'frighted bird ;— 
 Then in his softest tones with bated breath 
 He told the precious secret of his love. 
 
 SCTWS never shone more brightly neath the wave, 
 Than shone sweet Lizzie's eyes behind her tears, 
 When he, for whom her heart had yearned so long 
 Confessed her mistress of his life and love. 
 The secret which her modesty forbade 
 To cross her lips, — now by his tongue released, 
 Blushed on her cheek, and her fond heart's sorrow 
 Vanished in a sigh. 
 
 ©frisf of earth's joys, 
 (In youthful days, when Hope shoots forth her beam, 
 And decks with tints deceitful every cloud ; — 
 When the eye, glancing o'er the past, can find 
 Naught for regret, save that which future days 
 Give promise to amend ;) to feel the soft, 
 Increasing pressure of the hand, when words 
 Are powerless to convey Love's language ; — 
 To see the tear which joy has made to flow, 
 Steal softly, as the dew upon the peach,
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 59 
 
 Down the fair face ; — to see the bosom heave 
 
 With lengthened swell, and feel the perfumed breath 
 
 Set free, and ladened with her tender woes. 
 
 To press the lips upon the spotless brow, 
 
 Nor fear rebuke ; — and then in trembling tones 
 
 To breathe the words, "My love," "My own," "My 
 
 life!" 
 Such is youth's bliss, — a bliss which comes but once; — 
 When past, — nor time, nor place can e'er recall : — 
 A spurious 'semblance may sometimes be feigned, 
 But once, once only, is that bliss enjoyed. 
 
 ]§W££t Lizzie, — how thy trembling lip betrays 
 The turmoil of thy breast ! Why look on earth 
 With eyes that e'er before followed the track 
 Of him who folds thee now in loving clasp ? 
 Is earthly joy so near akin to grief ? 
 It seemeth so ;— the flower that droops and longs 
 For morning's sun, withers beneath his beam. 
 Weep fair one if thou must, and may those tears 
 Clear from thy future lot each gloomy shade, 
 As rain, the sky of gloomy clouds disrobes. 
 
 JuUS sat they with their arms together twined, 
 
 Till Harry broke the silence and began : — 
 
 " Darling, last night I had a painful dream ; — 
 
 A dream that wrung my heart ; — robbed me of sleep ; — 
 
 And thus it was I early came to pay 
 
 My visit to thee, to convince these eyes
 
 6o 
 
 eliza; — 
 
 Thou still wert in the flesh, and let these ears 
 The message from thy lips drink in, the which 
 Should seal my fate for joy or misery, 
 Setting my heart at rest.— Be not alarmed, 
 And I will tell thee what my vision was. — 
 Methought that I was in a distant land, 
 A land of sun, of mountains and of streams ; 
 Where trees with foliage most strangely rich, 
 Towered up to heights bewildering, and lost 
 Their summits in the variegated mists 
 That rolled like painted barges through the air. 
 And then, from tree to tree hung rich festoons, 
 Loaded with bunches of the purple grape ; 
 And from each point of vantage on the trunks, 
 Grew gorgeous flowers that seemed like minor suns, 
 And birds, (such birds as never we beheld, — 
 Their plumage was so rich and dazzling bright,) 
 On branches perched or hovered in the air, 
 Pouring forth strains of such sweet melody 
 That one were fain to seek the shade and rest, 
 Listening, until the soothing sounds were lost 
 In grateful slumbering. The streams that rolled 
 Through banks of golden sand, inlaid with pearl, 
 Were like a summer's sky when setting sun 
 Makes the heaven glorious with all the blaze 
 Of gold and crimson fire ; — and each cascade 
 Was over-arched with rainbows, fading not ; — 
 And as they fell into their rocky bed, 
 The spray was rubies, saphires, emeralds. 
 'Twas there I wandered, yet my heart was sad,
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 6 J 
 
 I knew not why, — but all at once a change 
 
 Crept over me, — a change I questioned not, 
 
 But a vague thought that 'twas enchanted ground 
 
 Stole o'er my brain, and then I 'gan to rise, 
 
 And floating, floating onward dreamily, 
 
 I saw myself reflected in the stream, 
 
 And lo ! my form was changed, — I was a bird, 
 
 With feather's gay as any I had seen ; 
 
 And in my pride I soared and soared away 
 
 Until the highest hills were but as mounds 
 
 Of earth, such as we raised in days gone by. 
 
 But soon my flight aerial I stayed, 
 
 And with extended wings sailed slowly down, 
 
 Until I reached the charming grove again 
 
 Where first the change came o'er me. Thou wilt smile, — 
 
 I know thou wilt, — when I shall tell thee all ; — 
 
 For then I saw another bird more gay, 
 
 More gorgeous than them all, with sweeter voice 
 
 Than mortal can conceive ; — the rest were harsh 
 
 That I had thought so sweet, compared to this ; — 
 
 I gazed and saw that it was thee, my love ! 
 
 Swift as an arrow I was by thy side, 
 
 When, with a look that stung me to the quick, 
 
 Thou ceased thy song and proudly sailed away, 
 
 Another mate bearing thee company. 
 
 I know no more saving my eyes grew dim, 
 
 And that I fluttered helpless to the earth, 
 
 And as the death -pang shot athwart my heart, 
 
 I woke, and found I lived, and breathed, and wept.
 
 62 ELIZA; — 
 
 jTutlU answerest nothing, darling, is it then 
 So trivial, not e'en worthy a reply ?" 
 
 "% know not what to answer, 'tis so strange, — 
 So much unlike what e'er could come to pass, 
 That I must own I seek in vain for words 
 To frame an answer. This I know full well, 
 (And 'tis a truth that thine own heart should know,) 
 That were my plumage brighter than thy dream, 
 And were my song more sweet a thousand times 
 Than that which thou deemed sweetest, it would all, 
 All be for thee ! Did'st thou e'er doubt it love ?" 
 
 " 39tlttut it ? he said, and drew her closer still, 
 " To doubt thy truth were to doubt heaven itself ! 
 For sure no casket half so lovely formed, 
 Could hide within its matchless purity, 
 A thing less pure than purest love itself." 
 
 " if too have had a dream, Harry, most strange, — 
 
 Not like to thine, — for 'twas most horrible. 
 
 A vision of wild men, with wilder mates, 
 
 (If I may call them men whose only claim 
 
 To such a title was they stood upright ;) 
 
 And how it was that I amongst them came 
 
 I cannot trace, but there I found myself; — 
 
 And yet though now the thought fills me with dread, 
 
 When dreaming, I was not so much afraid 
 
 As filled with wonderment at what I saw.
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 63 
 
 Around me lay these creatures coiled amongst 
 
 Long withered reeds that reeked with rottenness ;— 
 
 Their limbs were formed much as our own, but slime 
 
 Seemed oozing from each pore, and made them shine, 
 
 As toads or snails shine in the early morn. 
 
 Their nails were long and curled like eagles' claws, 
 
 And from their faces hung long matted beards ; — 
 
 Their mouths, more like the mouths of savage beasts, 
 
 Had long white tusks that curled upon their cheeks ;— 
 
 Their eyes I only saw as through a veil, 
 
 For over them their shaggy eyebrows hung ; — 
 
 Foreheads they had not, else they must be hid 
 
 Beneath their locks, which like a lion's mane, 
 
 Rested upon their shoulders in a heap. 
 
 I fancied I had sought their company, 
 
 And as they smiled, (a smile more horrible 
 
 Than ever frown upon a human face,) 
 
 My heart felt warmed towards them, and one beast, 
 
 With features more repulsive than the rest, — 
 
 Came and embraced me, and I felt his breath 
 
 Play on my cheek, like winter's icy breath, 
 
 Freighted with vapours from a sepulchre. 
 
 Still I was free, yet strove I not to go,— 
 
 A fascination seemed to hold me fast ; — 
 
 At length his hand, cold as of solid ice, 
 
 Lay on my bosom, and my heart stood still. 
 
 Then unresisting I bore his embrace, 
 
 Nor strove to free me from his loathsome arms ; 
 
 Then I bethought myself, and woke as 'twere 
 
 From out this dream within my other dream,
 
 64 eliza; — 
 
 And saw my danger, — cried to thee for help, — 
 And thou arose, far off, and saw me thus, 
 And gave a look of pity blent with scorn, 
 Then vanished leaving me. with such a mate. 
 Then felt I that the claws were bit by bit, 
 Tearing the flesh that shielded my poor heart; 
 The smile grew still more frightful on his face ; 
 I saw other grim creatures standing round, 
 Grinning approval at his fearful deed ; 
 And then I felt his fingers grasp my heart 
 And tear it out, — when such a hellish shriek 
 Burst from the lips of every horrid fiend, 
 The very air seemed cut in twain, and I 
 In terror 'woke and found myself in bed. 
 That was a horrid dream, say, was it not? 
 Canst frame a guess what such a dream portends ?" 
 
 " I would not dare to frame a guess at that 
 Which is so full of horror that it chills 
 The marrow in my bones at its recital. 
 'Twas doubtless like my own, a foolish dream, 
 Which should not occupy the waking thoughts. 
 Let's saunter on and talk on other themes, 
 For I confess my heart feels somewhat sad." 
 
 " W £S> so we will,— dost blame me that I told 
 How that my brain wrought fancies as I slept ? 
 Methought our dreams so opposite and wild,—
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 65 
 
 Thine full of grandeur, — mine so full of dread, 
 That each might prove the others antidote." 
 
 " W3U, well,— then be it so,— let's talk of birds, 
 Of flow'rs, of happy days that we have spent, 
 And of those happier that are yet to come." 
 
 &i$hti$ they talked, but still a cloud o'erspread 
 
 The face of each ; — their steps were not so light, 
 
 Nor did her silvery laugh so oft break forth 
 
 As was its wont, for she was ever gay, — 
 
 And when they reached her home again they felt 
 
 Sadder, and older by more years than hours 
 
 That they had spent away. The board was spread, 
 
 But spread in vain for them ; — new feelings held 
 
 Possession of their hearts, of joy, hope, fear; — 
 
 As 'twere a little life within an hour. 
 
 ;J*h# time sped on and soon the hour arrived 
 
 When Harry had to bid his love adieu ; 
 
 She hung upon his arm, and as he gazed 
 
 Upon her sylph-like form arrayed in white, 
 
 Pure as a snowflake, — emblem of herself, — 
 
 And saw her deep brown eyes peer 'neath the brim 
 
 Of her straw hat that wild flowers twined around ;— 
 
 She seemed to him like some bright being, clad 
 
 In vap'ry cloud of pure etherial mist, 
 
 Through which a ray of light breathed life and soul, 
 
 E
 
 66 eliza; — 
 
 And which the first rude blast would blight and scare, 
 And leave him lonely, dreaming of her charms. 
 Was't strange that he should clasp her once again, 
 Close to his bosom, that her heart's beating 
 Should prove indeed she was no phantasy ? 
 Long did they cling, — and oh, that parting sweet! 
 That first adieu of two young plighted loves ! 
 What would they not in after years have given 
 Could they have lived that moment o'er again? 
 But time stays not, — the last adieu was said, 
 And love's long lingering kiss at last is o'er ;.— 
 The distance widens as each homeward hies, 
 But in the heart is 'shrined an image dear. 
 Nurse it, fond youth, — nurse it fond maiden fair, — 
 And may the hour ne'er find you when the thought 
 Of such sweet joy shall be your bitt'rest grief. 
 
 TtS well we cannot tear aside the veil 
 That shrouds the future from our anxious gaze, — 
 Elsewise, Despair would swamp Hope's fairest craft, 
 Leaving life wrecked beneath the dead'ning wave. 
 
 TO their love promises hopefully clung 
 
 Harry and Lizzie for the first few days, 
 
 And weeks passed on, and months followed in train, 
 
 And still they dreamed of naught but stedfastness, 
 
 And looked for what they longed should quickly come. 
 
 Yet was the longing milder by degrees. 
 
 In her young heart she let not wilfully
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 67 
 
 The image fade, nor purposely flung down 
 
 Her idol from its seat ; but times were hot, — 
 
 Men's passions cast their rein, and all uncurbed 
 
 Dashed like a heedless horse, against their fate. 
 
 Her heart was moved by sympathy for them 
 
 Who, bosom-bare, confronted those in power, 
 
 And braved contumely, famine, prison dire, — 
 
 Not for self-gain, — but for their fellows' good. 
 
 She heard them oft recount their griefs and wrongs, 
 
 And brooded o'er them, till her heart's best blood 
 
 Curdled, and responsive sighs commingled 
 
 With their groans ; and their aims, crudely expressed, 
 
 Her heart would dwell upon, fretting itself 
 
 That it must beat in a weak woman's breast. 
 
 She never thought that from her plighted troth 
 
 She thus withdrew its essence, spirit, soul ! 
 
 The loving trust, that in her heart's lord's hands 
 
 All would, — nay, must be well, herself all safe, 
 
 Secure behind the shield which his brave arm 
 
 Ever upheld, to guard her from all ill. 
 
 Had he been near to counsel and advise, 
 
 Perchance her thoughts had followed in the track 
 
 Marked out by him, absorbed, or blind in love ; 
 
 (For 'neath the spell of the beguiling god 
 
 What numbers of brave souls dream life away ?) 
 
 She knew the spot where 'neath the silent moon, 
 
 At dead of night, grim, stalwart men did meet, 
 
 And in hoarse whispers tales of wrongs recount, 
 
 And uttering vows of vengeance, low but deep, 
 
 Swear never more to rest until their heel
 
 68 eliza; — 
 
 Was firmly fixed on the oppressor's neck. 
 And as they stood, their hands held high aloft, 
 Each one his fingers with his comrade's laced, 
 Their earnest faces heavenward turned as though 
 Mutely entreating help from that high source, — 
 Her heart o'erleaped her sex's gentleness, 
 And in its strength of noblest womanhood, 
 (What mightier power has God left on earth ?) 
 It nerved her to declare herself. 
 
 They start ! 
 They knew not that an eye or ear had caught 
 A sign or sound of what amongst them passed ; 
 And rough hands seize her, whilst with threat' ning looks 
 They gathered round, denouncing her a spy. 
 " Unhand me friends !" her voice was calm and clear, 
 " 'Tis but a woman, wherefore should you fear? 
 Let me but speak and then you can decide 
 Whether you deem me worthy trust or death ! 
 I know the burdens under which you groan ! 
 I know the tyrants that keep you enslaved ! 
 Who for their needless luxury and gain 
 Grind out your lives and scorn you for your pains ! 
 I know your hearts bleed when your children's cries 
 Assail your ears, for bread you cannot give ; 
 And wives worn out with labour all unfit, 
 Fade like a flower nipped by untimely frost. 
 I would be one with you to overthrow 
 Oppression, and reseat upon her throne 
 Justice, with Mercy and fair Charity 
 As handmaidens at either side of her.
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 69 
 
 My will is strong although my limbs be weak ; 
 
 And with all strength that nature's God has given, 
 
 I would do battle with the tyrant few, 
 
 Who preaching Freedom would enslave the world. 
 
 Say, are you strong enough you dare despise 
 
 The offer of another willing heart, 
 
 To join your ranks and grapple with the foe ?" 
 
 Then as she stood, so beautiful and fair, — 
 
 The moonbeams gilding her dark flowing locks, — 
 
 With eyes aflame and hands outstretched to plead, 
 
 And on her lips determination set, — 
 
 A silence reigned as though beneath the spell 
 
 Of some enchantress, they were held in thrall. 
 
 Then a low murmur, like the distant waves 
 
 Growling amongst the pebbles of the beach, 
 
 Crept round, and gaining power increased until 
 
 It burst forth in a mighty roar, that scared 
 
 The sleeping birds who shrieking clove the gloom 
 
 " We will ! We will ! Our leader she shall be ? 
 
 Heaven-sent we deem her in this hour of need ! 
 
 A guiding spirit to point out the path 
 
 That we must tread to march to victory !" 
 
 Then 'frighted by their own rash recklessness, 
 
 They held their breath, whilst she in whispered words, 
 
 Bade them disperse, to meet again next night. 
 
 |[l0Jtt£W3#& she fled, noiseless as midnight sprit* 
 Gained her own room and on her couch reclined, 
 Panting like a spent hare whose race was run.
 
 70 eliza; — 
 
 A painful picture of pure helplessness. 
 
 Then tears, — the strong man's weakness, — woman's 
 
 strength, 
 Flowed freely, and her heart-beat calmer grew, 
 Her eyelids drooped, her set lips fell apart, 
 The anxious look was vanquished by a smile, 
 And sleep restored her maidenhood again. 
 
 $$&#$ the meetings, many the deep schemes 
 
 Her mind evolved to gain the wished for end ;— 
 
 Anon Hope flared with such a dazzling light 
 
 Their souls beheld the goal within their reach, — 
 
 But it was transient, — black clouds still hung round ; 
 
 There was a power with which they could not cope : 
 
 They had but muscle, brains, and honest hearts, 
 
 Faith in their cause, and desperation's sting, 
 
 To front their foes entrenched behind their gold ; — 
 
 And though with subtlety and skill they strove, 
 
 And hurled with frantic force their waning strength 
 
 Against the barrier which they must o'erleap 
 
 Ere they could plant their ensign on the wreck 
 
 Of avarice, — injustice, — tyranny ! 
 
 Heartsick at times they grew, — then did the tones 
 
 Of her clear voice ring out with words of cheer ; 
 
 Bade them to look to all they had to gain, 
 
 And shrill as clarion's note poured out the tale 
 
 Of sufferings endured and yet to come ; 
 
 Until the brave grew braver, and the weak 
 
 Drank in fresh strength, and wav'ring hearts waxed firm.
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 7 1 
 
 But 'twas a useless struggle, — day by day 
 Their chances waned, their numbers fewer were ; 
 Some worn with the unequal strife retired ; 
 Some re-embraced the slavery abhorred, 
 To save from Hunger's pang their suff 'ring ones. 
 The sight of gold to some worked like a charm, 
 And they knelt down before their foe's great god, 
 And licked the jewelled hand oppressing them. — 
 A few kept true unto the righteous cause, 
 Uncrushed by failure, unimpressed by gold, — 
 Rich in their sense of right, — prepared to die, 
 If by their death, their cause could be enhanced ; — > 
 But all was futile, — might o'erpowered the right, 
 Wealth was triumphant — naught was left at last 
 But slavery or flight, and then they fled. 
 
 Tfol3$ were strange comrades for a fragile maid, — 
 
 Hard featured men, unwashed, unshaved, unkempt,— 
 
 Brawny of limb, — with minds in infancy, — 
 
 Led on by passion, — reason's sway unknown, — 
 
 Meaning no ill, yet powerless to contrive 
 
 A remedy save what from passion sprung. 
 
 Oppression made them mad ; — they kicked the pricks 
 
 But found 'twas hard ; — striving for what they deemed 
 
 Their just inheritance ; they added pains 
 
 To what before had made them grin and writhe. 
 
 But she saw naught of this, to her each one 
 
 Was as a hero or a martyred saint ; 
 
 Blind to their ignorance, — their natures coarse,
 
 72 eliza; — 
 
 She only saw the end for which they strove; 
 And as misfortunes daily grew more dire, 
 Her sympathies increased, until her soul 
 Became entranced, bewildered and o'erwrought. 
 To dream of early love was selfishness, — 
 There was no room within her o'ercharged heart 
 For tender memories of loving vows. 
 Fate pointed out her destiny, — she saw 
 One purpose only, and she held her life 
 As but a means to aid her to that end. 
 
 •T "UJ&S in a hut, half ruined, on the moor,— 
 The rain, persistent, streaming through the roof,— 
 Winds howling round, shaking the crazy door, 
 And not a gleam of light to break the gloom, 
 She sat, — with dripping locks and weary limbs, 
 Chilled with the cold, and hunger gnawing keen, 
 Her brain on fire, a fever in her veins, — 
 Listening to one whose language, though uncouth, 
 Was full of rugged force, and well attuned 
 Itself to the wild beating of her heart. 
 They were alone, he held her hand in his, 
 Spoke of their cruel sufferings and wrongs, 
 Fed her wild brain with wilder fantasies, 
 And roused within her a thirst for revenge. 
 Delirium of hate coursed through each vein, 
 Her eyes shot fire e'en in that darksome hut,— 
 He drew her closer, whispered in her ear, — 
 Painted a picture of the world, so black,
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 73 
 
 So horrifying that she clung to him ; 
 
 And then they swore in hoarse and solemn tones, 
 
 Henceforth to treat the world as their worst foe, 
 
 And cling together for one aim and end. 
 
 Then on their knees they called for God of Heaven 
 
 To witness and to register their vow. 
 
 strength was spent, the earth appeared to reel, 
 She felt his arm about her waist, then sank, 
 And knew no more until the death-like trance 
 Of many days left her, and she awoke 
 With body weak and brain confused, yet cool, 
 And with a longing for those homely joys 
 That erstwhile were her own; and then, alas ! 
 Mem'ry returned; — she looked around and saw 
 A man stood there, — a man she knew full well. 
 She closed her eyes, a tremor shook her frame, 
 Her heart sent up the prayer, " O, God, send death I" 
 
 y$f5V frenzied dream was o'er, — delirium past, 
 The passions that had urged her on were dead ;— 
 (As a brave warrior, who amid the strife 
 Palsied his foes with terror, and his cause upheld, 
 By nerving others with his reckless strength ; — 
 Wounded at length, — the crimson stream of life 
 Ebbing away ; — he feels his nature change. 
 The cannons roar no longer strikes his ear 
 As the deep bass of battles bloody pean;
 
 74 eliza; — 
 
 Nor can the bugle's call re-animate 
 The fire that filled his heart, and through his eyes 
 Blazed forth defiance ! No,— as supervenes 
 The weakness of exhausted nature, — then 
 His thoughts revert to home. He sees the cot,— 
 Humble may be,— but where his ear first caught 
 The soothing sound of mother's lullaby. 
 His dream of glory, and the hero's wreath, 
 Possess no charms compared to the soft touch 
 Of that dear hand that soothed his youthful head ; 
 His eyelids droop,— the horrors lying round,— 
 His comrades groans grow faint and indistinct, — 
 His vision is of home,— of peace, and love, 
 And thus he dies.) 
 
 Ah could she only die ! 
 With the sweet vision of her early days, 
 How blessed she ! But Death forbore to strike, 
 She must return to life again, and own 
 As master of her heart a thing she loathed ! 
 Nought can avail to free her soul enslaved ; — 
 Galling howe'er the fetters,— 'twas herself 
 That donned them, and so rivetted the links, 
 That no man's power could set her free again ! 
 
 $.#d Harry,— could it be that his life's track 
 Could e'er diverge so far from that she trod 
 And still keep in the world ? Fortune his friend,— 
 Bright sunlight on his path ; from step to step, 
 He clomb to eminence. The beacon light
 
 TWO DREAMS AND AN AWAKENING. 75 
 
 That lured him on was the fond memory 
 
 Of two bright eyes ; — and all he strove to do,— 
 
 And all he did, — 'twas his hearts' offering 
 
 On the shrine at which his being worshipped. 
 
 He knew not that the fragile, dainty maid, 
 
 Whose ears had drank the essence of his soul, 
 
 Could ever be other than as she was ! 
 
 Some wealth was his, — some honours he had won, 
 
 The sun had slightly tanned his boyish cheek, — 
 
 His frame expanded and his muscles knit, 
 
 Made him so like Apollo, 'twere no sin 
 
 Had chaste Diana cast her bow aside, 
 
 Forgot the chase, and on his manly breast 
 
 Laid her hot head and become a woman. 
 
 •IPtf&tJ who can tell what a man's heart can bear? 
 Oh, God ! Hast Thou a punishment reserved, 
 For those who have neglected Thy behest, 
 More terrible ! — more agonizing still ! 
 Than love long nursed, hopeless to die at last ? 
 I deem Thee kind, — O, Providence ! too kind ! 
 To visit the poor creatures of Thy breath 
 With ought so cruel as we are ourselves ! 
 
 3ffr£ sky was clear, — the sun strewed light and warmth, 
 
 Across the moorland, till the heather brown 
 
 Seemed tipped with gold and silver, as its spikes 
 
 In gentle undulations caught the ray. 
 
 The ruined hut looked far less lone and sad,
 
 76 eliza; — 
 
 Each rotting beam bedecked with emerald moss, 
 And tender fungi springing from the wreck 
 It strove to hide. But at the doorway sat 
 A figure, melancholy, — beautiful ! — 
 No song of bird, — no rustling of the heath, — 
 No sun's ray could disperse her heavy gloom. 
 The outside fair, but withered at the core. 
 A presence nears her, and she lifts her eyes, 
 'Tis he ! To her the loved, for ever lost ! 
 A piercing shriek ! A soul entreating look ! 
 She waves him off, and sinks upon the earth. 
 He would have caught her, and close to his breast 
 Have held her, but another came between ; 
 " Stand back ! Touch not my wife !" said he, 
 
 " Stand back !" 
 
 'TWftS but an instant and the veil was rent ! 
 He knew enough ! too much ! alas ! too much ! 
 His hopes died out, — his future was a blank, — 
 Life's sun had set, — and oh ! in what a night ! 
 His mind reverted to their strange wild dreams, 
 He woke, and found them stern realities.
 
 
 MEDITATIONS AT THE FOOT OF 
 THE BEACON. 
 
 "DLEST be the heart that feels a kindred throb 
 ,L ' Of love and sympathy for those in need ! 
 Blest may he ever be, whose eyes and ears 
 Serve as heart-portals, where another's want 
 May confidently come, nor fear disdain, 
 But through them plead and never plead in vain. 
 
 To the stranger visiting Halifax, the first object likely to attract his 
 attention as the train draws near the station, is the bare, blasted heap of 
 mud and dust that rears aloft, and stretches far its furrowed and 
 unseemly face, and is known as " Beacon Hill." A few vulgar looking 
 cottages are scattered here and there over its front, whose appearance 
 suggests, that having attempted flight from the smoke and noxious 
 vapours of the vale below, they have stuck fast in the dirt above, and 
 there perforce remain disconsolate. Their appearance is most woe-be- 
 gone and forlorn. On its summit stood the ' ' Beacon " — an object devoid 
 of use or ornament, which was placed there by a few loyal antiquarians 
 after the close of the Crimean War, for the two-fold purpose of celebrat- 
 ing the success of our arms and perpetuating the memory of the ancient 
 uses to which the lofty eminence is said to owe its name. It will sound
 
 80 MEDITATIONS AT THE 
 
 W8 joyless souls whose every aim is wealth ; 
 Who set your heel, remorseless, on the neck 
 Of some unfortunate, and by his fall 
 Raise up yourselves nearer your idol, gold ; — 
 (Feeling no pity for afflicted ones, 
 Who perhaps more nobly strove, but missed the mark ; 
 Not wanting talents, will, or honest aim, 
 But short of strength to hold on in the race.) 
 To you, — ye heartless ones, I would appeal : — 
 Show me the joy, (if joy is ever found,) 
 That is derived by piling heap on heap 
 Of glitt'ring gold, the only end of which 
 Is the bare knowledge of possession held ? 
 
 strange to the visitor who, shuddering, turns his back upon it to-day, to 
 be told that even I, who have but just passed the fortieth milestone on 
 life's highway, can remember having climbed its verdant slopes, assist- 
 ing my ascent by grasping handfuls of wild flowers that besprinkled it ; 
 and after pausing on the summit for breath, and to take in the grand 
 panorama of Nature that lay before me, have plunged into the wood 
 which stretched from its crest to its foot, and slowly descending, have 
 gathered the wild hyacinthe in the spring time and the blackberry in the 
 autumn. Or in the summer have formed one of a crowd who from its 
 heights have gazed into the noble quadrangle beneath, where were con- 
 gregated near upon 100,000 human beings, and from which a volume of 
 melodious praise has arisen, and rolled over us as if impetuous to storm 
 the very gates of Heaven ! And when that has ceased, in merry parties 
 we have sat and held our pic-nic under the shady trees. Yet, so it is. 
 
 The above " Meditations" were written some twenty years ago, and 
 at the present day (1880) are calculated to give pleasure only to those 
 who are proud to know that such things were.
 
 FOOT OF THE BEACON. 8l 
 
 To live, to gain a mass of earthly wealth, 
 And dying, leave the worshipped dross behind, 
 Powerless to add one feather to the wing 
 That weakly strives to bear your soul above. 
 
 Oh ! mighty gold ! thou powerful aid to bless ! 
 Oh ! mighty gold ! thou oft-times heaviest curse ! 
 The miser's bane, — the poor man's ardent wish ;— 
 How are thy benefits abused and crossed ! 
 But could each avaricious soul be taught, 
 To know the joys that spring from thy good use ; 
 To love the ray, which from benevolence 
 Is shed across man's pathway through the world ; 
 And to contrast it with the selfish joy, 
 Which fitful gleams amid the settled gloom 
 That veils their hearts, and serves to show how dark, 
 How lonely, and how void, is all within ; — 
 Then would they hold thee slighted by their love, 
 And living, make thee serve to nobler aims ! 
 
 Wfo&t monument can man erect and leave, 
 
 That will not bow at last to the stern will 
 
 Of all effacing Time ? But ye who know 
 
 The ancient spot which fondly I deem home, 
 
 (The spot round which my heart-strings closest twine ;— 
 
 For which my muse would fain a garland weave ;) 
 
 Know, it has monuments which shall endure 
 
 E'en when the ground on which they proudly rise 
 
 Shall cease to show a single crumbling stone 
 
 To point where once they stood ; — for in the hearts 
 
 F
 
 82 MEDITATIONS AT THE 
 
 Of generations yet unborn, shall live 
 
 The record of munificence and love 
 
 Which reared each stately pile.— That church,* 
 
 Whose glittering vane aspiring high, (as tho' 
 
 To kiss the morning's beams as a first welcome 
 
 To the sleepy earth,) will, by decay or chance, 
 
 Lie shapeless in a mound of kindred dust, 
 
 On which may sit old men and tell the tale, 
 
 That once a house of prayer and praise stood there ; 
 
 The offering of a grateful heart to God. 
 
 And little children wondering shall stand ; 
 
 Striving to comprehend the mighty change; 
 
 And with their hungry ears devour the strain, 
 
 And fix it in their hearts, to be again 
 
 Rehearsed ; — until at last it shall become 
 
 As some old legend, fraught with lessons rich, 
 
 Which shall be cited as a stimulant, 
 
 To those who in that day possess the power 
 
 To do such kindly deed. Thus shall it live, 
 
 And still a blessing prove, — and as the sea 
 
 Of Time rolls onward, shall be borne along, 
 
 Until the weary waves shall sob it out, 
 
 Or fling it as a snow-flake from their crest 
 
 Upon the shores of inconceivable 
 
 Eternity. ■ 
 
 3Fft$SB sheltering hills spread 'round, 
 (Which as the daylight fades appear to lie 
 Like some huge beasts guarding the favour'd vale ;- 
 
 • All Soula.
 
 FOOT OF THE BEACON. 83 
 
 With breast exposed to bear the brunt of strife 
 
 When elements contend ; — whose frowning front 
 
 Speaks safety ; — or in the early morning, 
 
 When the sun chases the clouds of mist 
 
 That slowly roll, they smile upon their charge ;) 
 
 Oft from their side have I enraptured gazed, 
 
 And watched the silent town awake to life. 
 
 Those mighty hives of industry and skill, 
 
 Which like huge window' d cliffs, on every hand, 
 
 Rear their hard outline, void of grace, yet rich 
 
 In fund for contemplation ; as the hum 
 
 Of whirling wheels fell on the list'ning ear, 
 
 By distance softened, — it has seemed as though 
 
 It was the cadence of some mighty song, 
 
 Of industry and joy, of wealth and peace. 
 
 Where once on every overlooking hill, 
 
 Engines of death and warlike hosts have stood ; 
 
 Reigns perfect peace, — and wild flowers deck the sward, 
 
 Which once ensanguined reek'd with human blood. 
 
 Wtoftt5£ spring those lines of quaintly gabled roofs,* 
 
 Whose pinnacles and towers attract the eye, 
 
 And carry back the mind to days of old, 
 
 And cherished tales of hospitality, 
 
 When at the mansions porch the poor were fed ? 
 
 Are they a remnant of that bye-gone time 
 
 That has survived, to silently convey 
 
 The lessons of their love and charity ? 
 
 Not such, — more heart-expanding still than they ;— 
 
 ■ Crossley Almshouses.
 
 84 MEDITATIONS AT THE 
 
 More cause for present pride : — not bleared and blotched 
 
 By wasting years, — nor owe they to decay 
 
 The veneration which their forms inspire. 
 
 Beneath those high pitched roofs repose the poor, 
 
 Secure from want, there to enjoy in peace 
 
 The bounty of the rich benevolent. 
 
 One, nobler still, on far off rising ground,* 
 
 (Raised in a style, fit palace for the queen 
 
 Whose name it bears) the Orphanage towers high ! 
 
 A mighty parent for the parentless. 
 
 (Oh ! how the admiration sinks to naught,— 
 
 How droops the contemplative pride we feel, 
 
 When gazing on the halls whose only use 
 
 Is luxury affording to the few 
 
 Of favour'd fortune ; when compared with those 
 
 Around which the air seems thick with blessings, 
 
 As holy incense, from o'er burdened hearts, 
 
 That breathe their gratitude in thankful sighs 
 
 Of fervent wordless prayers, for God to bless 
 
 The benefactors of the fatherless ! — 
 
 And one green spot like an oasis set,* 
 Amidst the wilderness of parched streets, 
 Where Art and Nature wedded, blend in one, 
 And offer jointly of their charms to all. — 
 Nor was it the accumulated mass 
 Of some great city's wealth, that there bestowed, 
 In lavish beauty such a costly gift ! 
 No ! Halifax, it was a son of thine ! 
 Who blessed with fortune, shared ungrudgingly, 
 With rich and poor from out his private store ! 
 
 • The Orphanage. * Peoples' Park.
 
 FOOT OF THE BEACON. 85 
 
 These are but few old Town of what thou hast 
 Which offer charms, and bind me closer still; — 
 Thy skirting woods, and little babbling brooks, 
 The rustic lanes, whose homely flowering weeds 
 Gladden the sight of the observing eye : — 
 All, all have charms, which make me bless the fate 
 That cast my lot amongst thy noble sons ; 
 And tho' the untutored bard they may despise, 
 They cannot rob me of the privilege, 
 To walk thy fields, and muse amidst thy woods ; — 
 To lave my throbbing temples in thy streams ; — 
 To gaze upon the monuments they raise ; — 
 Or blind me to the soul-solacing truth, 
 That though the distance 'twixt themselves and me 
 
 Be e'er so great, — still I am one of them.
 
 86 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 The River. 
 
 /^UT in the silent night watching the river, 
 
 As in the moon beams each ripple shone bright ; 
 Rolling along as it rolls on for ever ; 
 
 Oh, how I wish it would pause for to-night. 
 " Here on thy banks whilst I sit down to listen ; 
 
 Pour forth the knowledge pick'c up on thy way, 
 Why do some wavelets so laughingly glisten, 
 
 Whilst some flow in shadows ? oh, tell me I pray ! 
 What is the message thou bears to the ocean ? 
 
 What is the motive impels thee along ? 
 Longest thou more for the wild waves' commotion ? 
 
 Or weariest thou of thine own liquid song ? 
 
 A mist 'gan to rise from the golden streaked pavement, 
 
 And the vapoury form of a female drew nigh : 
 'Twas the river's bright spirit prest into enslavement, 
 
 And she came like a roseate cloud from the sky. 
 Her voice, a soft sigh, to my ear brought the story, 
 
 ' That she had her duties on earth to fulfil ; 
 And she pressed on to join in the great ocean's glory, 
 
 A creature of God, mutely working his will." 
 I spoke, but she paused not to answer my wonder, 
 
 But swift down the river she passed out of sight ; 
 And the waters rolled on as she left me to ponder, 
 
 O'er the lesson the river had taught me that night.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 87 
 
 > Y A 
 
 L ENT I N E. 
 
 ~\ /TAID whose hyacinthine eyes 
 J Yester eve above me shone, 
 
 Like Italia' s cloudless skies ; 
 
 Thou art fled, and I'm alone. 
 Oh come back, come back to me, 
 Naught can cheer my heart but thee. 
 
 Not alone — nay, not alone, 
 For I feel thy spirit floats 
 
 On each zephyr ; and the tone, 
 Sweetly warbled from the throats 
 
 Of the songsters in the grove, 
 
 Speaks of thee, my love, my love. 
 
 Oh ! that I had wealth and store ! 
 
 Oh ! that I were nobly born ! 
 But alas ! I am too poor 
 
 Even to resent their scorn ; — 
 They to whom my name must be 
 Hated still, for loving thee. 
 
 Maid, why should I thus repine ? 
 
 Why deplore my hapless lot ? 
 Whilst I know thy heart is mine, 
 
 Let life's troubles be forgot. 
 Sweetest maiden, wilt thou come 
 Light, and bless my cottage home ?
 
 88 TWINS. 
 
 I will love thee when the birds 
 Welcome morning's earliest ray; 
 
 I will love thee when the flowers 
 Ope their eyes to sunny day ; 
 
 And at night when Phoebe beams, 
 
 Sleeping, bless thee in my dreams. 
 
 T 
 
 WINS. 
 
 'PO and fro the cradle swings, 
 
 Rocking you two helpless things, 
 Guarded o'er by angels' wings, 
 
 Tho' we see them never ; 
 Yet we feel their presence near, 
 And our joy gives place to fear, 
 Lest they whisper in your ear, 
 
 " Dwell with us for ever." 
 
 Rock-a-babies, rock-a-bee, 
 Hush-a-darlings, hush till we 
 Sing a favourite lullaby ; 
 
 Close those weary peepers : 
 Put that little dimpled arm 
 'Neath the clothes to keep it warm, 
 None would fright, and none would harm 
 
 Two such lovely sleepers.
 
 TWINS. 89 
 
 We are watching over you, 
 
 Doing all that we can do, 
 
 Thus to smooth your passage through 
 
 This rough world of sorrow ; 
 Many a battle we have fought, 
 Many a hope has come to naught, 
 Many a bright to-day has brought 
 
 Many a sad to-morrow. 
 
 And as o'er your head we bend, 
 Anxious every aid to lend, 
 We ourselves must still depend 
 
 On a Friend above us ; 
 He on whose strong arm we bears 
 With our weight of grief and care, 
 He, whose eye is everywhere, 
 
 He will ever love us. 
 
 And as over you the tide 
 
 Of resistless years shall glide, 
 
 May He ever be your guide, 
 
 Through all earthly duties •, 
 So that when stern death shall call, 
 It shall not your hearts appal ; 
 May He be your all-in-all. — 
 
 Good night ! little beauties ! 
 
 <^r^
 
 90 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 P 
 
 AFFYDOWNDILLY. 
 
 SHALL never forget the first day that we met, 
 In a sweet little cot on the hill ; 
 It was one day in June, when the birds sang in tune, 
 
 To the sound of the murmuring rill. 
 She was bashful yet free, and as blithe as a bee, 
 
 And her beauty none e'er could surpass, 
 She was fair as a lilly ; gay Daffydowndilly, 
 Was the name of this sweet Yorkshire lass. 
 
 I asked, " who's your father ?" she said " I had rathei 
 
 Not answer, I think you so bold;'' 
 Then I asked, " who's your mother ?" she answered, " don't 
 bother, 
 
 You'd not know them supposing I told." 
 Then I said, " Pretty darling, it's no use you snarling, 
 
 Your face cannot put on a frown." 
 " Pray don't talk so silly," said Daffydowndilly, 
 
 And her eyes she cast modestly down. 
 
 Then I ventured to clasp her small hand in my grasp, 
 
 And she poutingly struggled to free it ; 
 And she cried, " Go along ! I'm sure it is wrong !" 
 
 But I told her I quite failed to see it. 
 Then soon after that down together we sat, 
 
 My arm round her waist gently stealing ; — 
 " Behave yourself, Willie !" said Daffydowndilly, 
 
 But I told her 'twas all in good feeling.
 
 THE POET. 9! 
 
 *' Tho' father and mother and sister and brother, 
 
 May love you sweet maiden, most dearly, 
 I vow and declare, nay I almost could swear, 
 
 They don't love you like I do nor nearly. 
 For my heart's all your own, you're the queen on its throne, 
 
 I'm your slave, your devoted one, Willie !" 
 Said she, " You're soon struck, I admire your pluck, 
 
 But you can't have this Daffydowndilly." 
 
 " Then with sorrow," said I, " brokenhearted I die, 
 
 For I cannot live longer without you." 
 She answered, " Oh ! fie ! you can live if you try, 
 
 Though my heart's half inclined not to doubt you." 
 So I clung to her still, and she called me " her Will," 
 
 To my bosom I gathered my lily ; 
 
 And I now pass my life, with a dear little wife 
 
 My beautiful Daffydowndilly. 
 
 The Poet. 
 
 " *4c)oOR as a poet !" Poor enough God knows ! 
 In fancies rich, but fancies pay no debts ; 
 Tossed in commotion by each wind that blows ; 
 He dines on hopes, and sups upon regrets. 
 
 He blows his reed with heaven-directed breath ; 
 
 Its tender notes die in harmonious sighs ; 
 He drops a tear upon the wild flower's death ; 
 
 He gives, but vainly seeks fond sympathies.
 
 92 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 The world despise him as a simple fool, 
 
 And on his unsuspecting nature prey ; 
 Enough for them if he become their tool, 
 
 Their every whim and pleasure to obey. 
 
 They boast the gold, which buys the good report 
 Of those who crowd round mammon's gilded throne; 
 
 The poet's cares and troubles are as nought, 
 They leave the helpless to their fate alone. 
 
 When will the heart, the true, the feeling heart, 
 Be held as equal to the weighty purse ? 
 
 And when will merit form at least a part 
 Shall help to mitigate the poet's curse? 
 
 " Yet why repine ? The noblest sons of song, 
 Have felt the grip of want as keen as thou ! 
 
 Still through the crowd of woes have pressed along, 
 And won at last the laurel for their brow." 
 
 Thus could I wish that it may be at last,— 
 No costly tomb to tell where I recline, — 
 
 But when my weary pilgrimage is past, 
 May just one leaf of laurel then be mine. 
 
 Henceforth will I employ each passing day, 
 So that when from this clay the soul departs, 
 
 That I can leave without regrets ; — and may 
 My mem'ry have a home in some good hearts. 
 
 -^H^^^V-
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 93 
 
 An ^ngel's Mission. 
 
 'N angel was once sent on earth, 
 (So it's been told to me,) 
 To seek for men of honest worth, 
 
 Wherever they might be. 
 He held within his hand, a lump 
 Of chalk both hard and black, 
 With which to give to worthless men, 
 A cross upon the back. 
 
 In a small town he first began, 
 
 And found he'd work enough ; 
 He saw the heart of every man, 
 
 And some were shocking stuff. 
 With lightning speed he left his mark, 
 
 His arm was swift and strong : 
 But even angels when on earth, 
 
 Can't bear to work too long 
 
 Unseen the mark by mortal eye, 
 
 And well such was the case, 
 For very few without the sign, 
 
 Were left within the place. 
 He took no heed, tho' finest cloth 
 
 The body might enfold ; 
 He was not blinded by their cant, 
 
 Nor dazzled with their gold.
 
 94 an angel's mission. 
 
 But once he paused, — a beggar man 
 
 Was shivering in the cold, 
 He'd led a hard yet honest life, 
 
 And now was poor and old. 
 He might have been as rich and great 
 
 As many folk we know ; 
 But he held an upright principle 
 
 And would not let it go. 
 
 At length the angel furled his wings, 
 
 And sought a church for rest ; 
 He knew within its sacred walls 
 
 Few would his sleep molest. 
 But soon a voice rang through the pile, 
 
 He knew the dread sound well ; 
 " Idler !" it cried, " Why loiterest thou r 
 
 Thy reason quickly tell !" 
 
 The sweat adown his polished brow 
 
 In streams began to run ; 
 His answer was, "I'm forced to stay 
 
 For all my chalk is done. 
 Let me cross but the honest men, 
 
 And speedily I'll flit, 
 And mark through the whole universe, 
 
 With a very little bit. 
 
 C X^^^ >
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 95 
 
 U ntold Love. 
 
 SAW her once — once only years ago ; 
 
 'Twas little more than as the golden ray 
 Of setting sun, kissing the green wave's crest; — 
 A momentary brightness, then a void ; — 
 A something seen — scarce seen before 'tis lost, 
 Yet leaving an impression on the mind 
 Whereon to ponder when the vision's fled. 
 Her cheeks could boast not of the rose's tint, 
 Nor was the lily's whiteness rivalled there ; 
 Her eyes were not the black, nor yet the blue 
 That poets rave on, and her hair hung not 
 In those bewildering tresses, in which lurk 
 The wanton spirits of young Love's desires. 
 Her form was not a form of classic grace, 
 Nor was her voice of that rich, mellow tone 
 That love-sick swains drink in with ravished ears. 
 No glowing robes with costly jewels deck'd, 
 Lent their attractions to her modest mien ; 
 Nor did she flit with sylph-like lightness by. 
 
 Then tell me, Heart — what was it in the face, 
 The form, the voice, that gained the victory, 
 And struck in thee the chord that still vibrates 
 And must for ever vibrate, till the hand 
 Of cold, stern Death shall freeze thy latest throb ? 
 
 I know it not, nor do I care to know; — 
 Enough it is for me, that in the night,
 
 96 ROYAL OAK DAY. 
 
 When waking, pondering on the dreary past, 
 That ray of sunlight still illumes the years, 
 And the uncertain future seems to gild 
 With pleasure and a sweet vague joyousness. 
 
 I dare not think that we shall meet again 
 Saving in converse which our spirits hold, 
 Until these spirits, freed from mortal thrall, 
 Shall reach the bourne where fruitless longings cease ; 
 Then in an endless day in love commune, 
 (Time like a scroll consumed and past away, 
 And vast eternity stretched out beyond ;) 
 Then shall the love that ne'er was breathed on earth, 
 Be hidden deep in throbbing hearts no more. 
 Then shall each soul its meet companion find, 
 And in a purer sphere, bask in the light 
 Of peace and joy; and think of this life's cares 
 But as a barrier overstepp'd by Death ; 
 And view earth's short probation as the mist 
 That veiled the brightness of the coming bliss. 
 Yet, oh ! 'tis sad — 'tis sad through life to love, 
 And nurse the passion, but reveal it not. 
 
 pAK pj 
 
 Loyal uak jay. 
 
 , OW blest the English oak must be, 
 To be the emblem chosen, 
 And worn as badge of loyalty, 
 On English beauties' bosom.
 
 GOOD FOR EVIL. 97 
 
 To rise and fall with every sigh 
 
 Upon its heaving whiteness, 
 And bask beneath the beaming eye, 
 
 And revel in its brightness. 
 
 Or twining 'midst the flowing tress, 
 
 Their emerald tints displaying, 
 Half hid amidst the wilderness 
 
 Of locks in wildness straying. 
 
 Oh, could I melt away in air, 
 
 My spirit would endeavour 
 To find some oak to hide in where 
 
 Some fingers fair might sever. 
 
 Then in the leaves laid on the brow, 
 
 Or on the breast to cherish, 
 In couch as pure as falling snow, 
 
 I'd deem it joy to perish. 
 
 And should I droop, I could not die 
 
 If they would give in duty, 
 For dew, — the tears of sympathy, 
 
 For sun, — a smile of beauty. 
 
 rOOD FOR 
 
 pVIL. 
 
 '"PHE hours were growing late, 
 
 I thought I was alone ; 
 When near the workhouse gate, 
 I heard a stifled groan. 
 
 G
 
 0,8 GOOD FOR EVIL. 
 
 There crouching with terror and stiff with the cold, 
 Sat a daughter of Eve, with her form closely roll'd 
 
 In a few tattered garments, 
 
 To keep out the elements, 
 Which spitefully pierced through each closely strained 
 fold. 
 
 But why at the gateway 
 
 Should she thus be lying ? 
 I questioned her straightway, 
 But heard no replying ; 
 Had she sunk weak, and exhausted, and fearing ? 
 Or had they denied her petition a hearing ? 
 And refused her a shelter, 
 Unminding the pelter 
 Of the merciless storm which around her was tearing ? 
 
 I rang the bell loudly, 
 
 Perhaps rudely, — I cared not ; 
 The porter came proudly 
 To blame, but he dared not. 
 I bore her in shivering, half dead with exposure, 
 He read the rules over, with cruel composure, 
 Whilst with pitiful features 
 She turned to beseech us 
 " To help a poor pilgrim when nobody knows her." 
 
 In accents unfeeling 
 
 He bade her be going ; 
 Her heavy tears stealing, 
 
 Unheeded were flowing;
 
 A KEEPSAKE. 99 
 
 Too late she had come, and must battle again 
 
 With the wind and the sleet, with the cold and the rain ; 
 
 In strong indignation 
 
 I asked explanation. — 
 " 'Twas the rule," and to question him further was vain. 
 
 Then forcibly seizing 
 
 The half-frozen mortal 
 (In spite of her pleading), 
 He thrust from the portal. 
 Her hands o'er her forehead in agony clasping, 
 She sank on the ground, and for life's last breath gasping, 
 Her prayer rose to heaven, 
 " That he be forgiven ;" 
 Then her spirit took flight to its rest everlasting. 
 
 A KEE PSA KE. 
 
 |"T was only a simple wild flower, 
 As modest as modest could be ; 
 Yet I've gazed on it, many's the hour, 
 
 Though it whispers sad mem'ries to me. 
 I've kept it for many long years, 
 
 Till the beauties it had have all fled ; 
 And I've watered it oft with my tears, 
 Though it's withered, and scentless, and dead. 
 
 Ah ! Polly thy heart never knew 
 What it is to be hopelessly sad ;
 
 166 TWO LORDS 
 
 Yet that flower thou thoughtlessly threw, 
 Wrecked the life of a brave trusting lad. 
 
 It filled me with hopes and desires 
 That were fated my peace to destroy ; 
 
 And it lighted within me those fires, 
 That dried up every fountain of joy. 
 
 I beheld thee when clad as a bride, 
 
 When another had made thee his own ; 
 And I joined with the friends at thy side, 
 
 And with gaiety stifled a groan. 
 Of thy goodness my heart is assured ; 
 
 Nor would I thou ever shouldst see, 
 The anguish my breast has endured, 
 
 Since thou threw this wild flower to me. 
 
 T 
 
 WO LOF^DS, 
 
 ORD John and John Lord were both born on a day, 
 "\ But their fortunes were different quite ; 
 Lord John was decked out in most gorgeous array, 
 
 As soon as he first saw the light. 
 But poor Johnny Lord, it's true on my word, 
 
 He'd no clothes to step into at all ; 
 He'd no flannel to wrap, he'd no nightgown or cap, 
 
 But was rolled in his poor mother's shawl.
 
 TWO LORDS. IOI 
 
 The nurse took Lord John, and the doctors stood round, 
 
 And examined the child and his clothes ; 
 Whilst a fussy physician, with looks most profound, 
 
 Wiped his aristocratical nose. 
 " It is, I declare, most uncommonly fair, 
 
 And its voice, oh ! how sweet when it cries ; 
 It really would seem like the child of a dream, 
 
 Or an angel just dropt from the skies." 
 
 Now, poor Johnny Lord and his mother were laid, 
 
 Both fainting and cold on the straw ; 
 No doctors would come there unless they were paid, 
 
 Or compelled to be there by the law. 
 No comforting word heard poor Mistress Lord, 
 
 As o'er her babe bending she sat, 
 And each one who saw it cried with one accord, 
 
 "What a little detestable brat l" 
 
 The two babes became men as the years rolled away, 
 
 And Lord John sported carriage and pair, 
 Whilst poor Johnny Lord working hard for poor pay, 
 
 Was content with what fell to his share. 
 Lord John went to races, to balls, and to routs, 
 
 And squandered his wealth with the gay, 
 Till at last came the reaper, and sought them both out, 
 
 And took Lord John and John Lord away. 
 
 Very soon a grand monument stood o'er Lord John, 
 
 To show where the great man was laid, 
 But over John Lord was no mark and no stone, 
 
 It was left as when left by the spade.
 
 f02 HENRIETTA. 
 
 But the time yet shall come when John Lord and Lord 
 John, 
 
 Shall meet in the realms far away, 
 When the riches and titles of earth are all gone, 
 
 Then which will be greatest, friends, say ? 
 
 f 
 
 ENRIETTA. 
 
 <&i 
 
 ENRIETTA, Henrietta- 
 Six years past since last I met her : 
 Slim and graceful as a fawn, 
 Fair as morning's early dawn ; 
 Two large eyes whose liquid ray, 
 Seemed to have so much to say ; 
 Ah ! once seen none could forget her : 
 Henrietta ! Henrietta ! 
 
 Henrietta, Henrietta, 
 How her playmates loved to pet her ; 
 Gently stroke the velvet skin, 
 Softly kiss her dimpled chin, 
 Hold her tiny hand a minute, 
 Wondering who at length should win it ; 
 Who should hold her in Love's fetter : — 
 Henrietta, — Henrietta. 
 
 Henrietta, Henrietta, — 
 
 Were those days or these the better ?
 
 THE SAD HEART. 103 
 
 Then a fairy, fleetly flitting, 
 Now a mother, stately sitting ; 
 Childhood's playful fancies banished ; 
 All ethereal beauties vanished ; 
 Lucky man was he to get her ; — 
 Henrietta, — Henrietta. 
 
 Henrietta, Henrietta, — 
 
 May she meet no griefs to fret her ; 
 
 On life's river calmly gliding, 
 
 Still in loving trust abiding ; 
 
 Happy in the little blossom, 
 
 That's now nestling on her bosom ; 
 
 Things have changed since last I met her 
 
 Henrietta.— Henrietta. 
 
 The Sad Heaf^t. 
 
 "Y^THEN the heart is sad, 
 
 " Vainly shines the sun, 
 
 Striving to make glad, 
 Moments as they run. 
 
 Birds may sing with glee, 
 Flowers in beauty bloom ; 
 
 But their gaiety 
 Cannot cheer the tomb.
 
 104 THE SAD HEART. 
 
 Cannot cheer the heart, 
 Cannot bring relief, 
 
 Cannot joys impart, 
 To the soul in grief. 
 
 Ocean's tumbling waves, 
 Whirlwind's hurricane, 
 
 Heard not, pass the graves, 
 Where the dead are lain. 
 
 Thus the busy world 
 With its moil and strife, 
 
 Fruitlessly is hurled 
 'Gainst the hopeless life. 
 
 Yet a still small voice, 
 Echoes from within, 
 
 Bids the heart rejoice, 
 Rest it yet may win. 
 
 And the listening soul, 
 Hears the promise given ; 
 
 And finds the peaceful goal, 
 Far above in heaven. 
 
 And a gleam of light, 
 
 Through the mist appears, 
 
 Waxing ever bright, 
 With the waning years. 
 
 Fixed the eye can gaze, 
 On that cheering ray,
 
 TWENTY YEARS AGO. 105 
 
 Till the steadfast blaze, 
 Leads it on to day. 
 
 Then the clouds of care, 
 
 Far below may roll ; 
 But they cease to scare, 
 
 The ascending soul. 
 
 And at last it gains, 
 The long sought abode, 
 
 Where bliss seraphic reigns, 
 And rests at peace with God. 
 
 Twenty Years ^go. 
 
 SENT my love a letter, 
 'Tis some twenty years ago : — 
 For I thought my state of feeling 
 
 Was a thing she ought to know. 
 I had never popp'd the question, 
 
 Though I'd often thought I would, 
 But my tongue had always failed me 
 And I really never could. 
 
 I had helpt her gather flowers, 
 I had sauntered by her side, 
 
 I had met her in the early morn, 
 And at dewy eventide ;
 
 106 TWENTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 I had borne her little basket, 
 Lest it soiled her dainty glove, 
 
 I had talked on many subjects. 
 But had never mentioned love. 
 
 But one day as out I wandered, 
 
 In the distance I descried, 
 The object of my heart's true love, 
 
 With a gallant by her side ; 
 My breath came short, my heart stood still, 
 
 My limbs refused to go ; 
 I thought her vain and cruel, — 
 
 But of course she didn't know. 
 
 Then I gathered up my courage, 
 
 And away I ran with speed, 
 Determined I would be revenged, 
 
 And do some dreadful deed ; 
 In haste I seized on pen and ink, 
 
 To write to her farewell ; 
 And how it was I didn't, 
 
 Is a thing I cannot tell. 
 
 But 'twas then I wrote the letter, 
 
 It was very short and sweet, 
 Then I dropped it in the letter box, 
 
 At the corner of the street ; 
 'Twas the eve of good St. Valentine, 
 
 When I sent my message true, 
 It was really very lucky, 
 
 For of course I never knew.
 
 DEATH OF JET. I07 
 
 Next day I met her in the park, 
 
 And I felt so very shy, 
 For I fancied she looked cunning, 
 
 Though I really can't tell why ; 
 And when she drew the letter, 
 
 From her bosom, you may guess, 
 I begged her for an answer, 
 
 And she sweetly whispered "yes." 
 
 Soon after we were married, 
 
 And we've never had a care, 
 Or a pleasure come to either 
 
 That the other didn't share ; 
 We ne'er forget the happy day, 
 
 Some twenty years ago, 
 But how it chanced to come about, 
 
 I really hardly know. 
 
 Death of J et, 
 
 (THE AUTHOR'S FAVOURITE DOG.) 
 
 )LAS ! poor Jet ! 'Twas in my arms thou died, 
 'Tis but a moment since ! The pressure still 
 Feels scarce removed. Dear, faithful, loving friend, 
 How oft thy honest bark has welcomed me : 
 But now no more. Stiff grow those agile limbs, 
 And glassy is the eye which seems to gaze,
 
 108 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 But sight, alas ! is fled. Oh could' st thou tell 
 
 Whose ruthless hand, guided by fiendish hate, 
 
 Had taen thy useful life and thus robbed me 
 
 Of such a friend, — methinks my heart would burst 
 
 With fury, — I should curse him ! But farewell ! — 
 
 Yet how farewell ? There stiff and lifeless lies 
 
 The clay that when 'twas animate I prized ! 
 
 But where's the life ? May I not call it soul ? 
 
 Where's that, — no matter what, — that gave those eyes 
 
 The power to divine my ev'ry thought ? 
 
 Where is that spirit of sweet kindness now ? 
 
 Of true affection and of watchful care ? 
 
 'Tis true there lies thine image but not thee ; 
 
 No ! thou art gone ! Ere long the cold damp ground 
 
 Will hide from view all that was tangible ; 
 
 But still, thou canst not die ! That useful life 
 
 Which thou hast spent with me shall be lived o'er, 
 
 For in the chambers of my heart, there shall 
 
 Thy memory hold a sacred place ; and when 
 
 The world shall teach me the sad bitter truth, 
 
 That friends prove false, and turn to enemies, 
 
 (A truth, alas ! already learned too well ;) 
 
 And when with sceptic tone and doubting mien 
 
 They ask me if I yet had ever found, 
 
 Love, — honour, — faithfulness and truth combined ? 
 
 I'll answer "yes, — I found them in a dog."
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. IO9 
 
 B I F^D I E 
 
 £t)lRDIE, wilt thou come and cheer me, 
 
 With another of thy lays ; 
 Wilt thou once more nestle near me, 
 
 Making joyous all my days? 
 I've a cage all snug and cosy, 
 
 Fitted purposely for thee ; 
 But I miss thy smile so rosy, 
 
 And thy 'witching melody. 
 
 When I had my birdie near me, 
 
 And no cage was mine to boast ; 
 Though thy beauty did endear thee, 
 
 Then the cage I longed for most. 
 But the cage with all its treasures, 
 
 Only serves to give me pain, 
 And I ne'er shall know life's pleasures, 
 
 Till my birdie comes again. 
 
 Fly then, darling ! quickly flutter 
 
 To thy love whose heart is sore ; 
 Then no more complaints I'll utter, 
 
 But I'll prize thee more and more. 
 And thy nestlings, I'll defend them, 
 
 And our constant care shall be, 
 Lovingly to nurse and tend them, 
 
 Till they smile and sing like thee.
 
 JIO MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 A Sti\ay Lamb. 
 
 'P RY to forget her or speak of her kindly, 
 
 Wilful and sinful, although she may be ; 
 On to destruction's brink hurrying blindly, 
 
 Still is she dearest of dear ones to me. 
 O, for an eye that could watch o'er her ever ! 
 
 O, for a hand that could lead her aright ! 
 Alas ! woe is me ! I may meet her perhaps never ; 
 
 But her mem'ry dwells with me by day and by night. 
 
 Sad, sad it seems for the bud to be blighted, 
 
 Just as its leaves are displaying its charm ; 
 Beauties now worshipped, how soon to be slighted, 
 
 Blossoms of hope, bearing fruits of alarm, 
 Could she but know the sad fate she is seeking, — 
 
 Could she but know half the anguish I feel, — 
 Could she but see the fond heart she is breaking, — 
 
 She could not be deaf to a mother's appeal. 
 
 Try to forget her, or lovingly name her, 
 
 Wound not a heart that is bursting with woe ; 
 Though she forsakes me, yet will I not blame her, 
 
 My sufferings, none but a mother can know. 
 Mine was the voice that oft lulled her to slumber,— 
 
 Mine were the arms that encradled her rest, — 
 Mine were the eyes that watched hours without number, 
 
 As she drew forth her life from the font of my breast.
 
 A SICK MAN. Ill 
 
 Try to forget her, or try to forgive her, 
 
 God in his mercy may yet call her back ; 
 Fate's poisoned arrows may rest in their quiver, 
 
 And her feet once more tread in a virtuous track. 
 All, all have sinned, temptations beset us, 
 
 Blame not the hapless young maiden who falls ; 
 One is on high who does not forget us, 
 
 But listens with joy when the penitent calls. 
 
 Ji. jSick JVLan. 
 
 vtXERE am I sitting with feet to the fire, 
 
 My head covered over with flannel and pins ; 
 For eating and drinking, I've lost all desire, 
 
 And my back feels half frozen whilst roasting my shins. 
 My throat, too, is swollen ; my teeth feel uneasy ; 
 
 And threaten each moment a smatch of the " tic ;" 
 My lungs work so sluggish, my breathing is wheezy, 
 
 And my stomach's inclined to revolt and turn sick. 
 I've a cough that prevents me from sleeping when lying ; 
 
 I've a pain in my back makes it fearful to sit ; 
 I'm too weak for much walking, although I keep trying, 
 
 And for comfort in standing, I can't find a bit. 
 I've a fine little lad, and I know that he loves me, 
 
 Yet he laughs when he tries to put on a long phiz ;
 
 ill A SICK MAN. 
 
 And then comes my wife in a bustle and shoves me, 
 
 And tells me " I know naught what suffering is." 
 There's a table all covered with bottles and glasses, 
 
 Cups, basins, and spoons, all in dreadful array : 
 And I think every time, that my glance that way passes, 
 
 Of a nice little bill I shall soon have to pay. 
 I've read all my books, and I've read some twice over ; 
 
 Any newspaper lasts scarce an hour at the most ; 
 Then I fidget and fume some fresh scheme to discover, 
 
 Till relieved by that knock, which I know is the "post." 
 I clutch at my letters in hopes they'll be bulky, 
 
 I open them slowly, each one proves a dun ; 
 I feel nettled, of course, and a trifle more sulky, 
 
 And wish that my father had ne'er had a son. 
 Now a twinge seems to fly through each joint in my body, 
 
 And I tell to my wife that I feel I get old ; 
 She laughs in my face, and says, " Don't be a noddy, 
 
 It's nothing man, — bless me ! it's only a cold." 
 I say nothing more, but I swallow my gruel, 
 
 And I bear my affliction as well as I may ; 
 And although such remarks I can't help thinking cruel, 
 
 I'm consoled with the thought, " every dog has his day." 
 This wisdom I've gathered and freely disperse it, 
 
 To benefit either the young or the old ; 
 If your head's out of order, be careful and nurse it, 
 
 But never complain, if it's only a cold. 
 Don't sigh or look sad, for it will not relieve it, 
 
 And don't let your wives hear you whimper or bawl; 
 For they'll say, and I'm almost inclined to believe it, 
 " Men are rather soft when they're sick after all."
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 1 1 3 
 
 To a False Oni 
 
 vlX EARTS are not toys with which to while away 
 
 The idle hours, and then be cast aside ; 
 Love, when first breathed into man's soulless clay, 
 Filled it with noble thoughts, with honest pride. 
 All that had been, — thoughts, passions, and desires- 
 Bowed to his will, and clustered round his seat ; 
 All purest longings, passions fiercest fires, 
 Paid willing homage at his royal feet. 
 
 Love fights not with a gleaming sword or spear, 
 
 But with soft glances from bright angel eyes, 
 
 A loving look, a smile, a sigh, a tear, 
 
 And thousand things that word-painting defies. 
 
 It fills the world with fancy's choicest flowers, — 
 
 It bathes in beauty every loved conceit, — 
 
 It turns the weeks to days, the days to hours ; — 
 
 E'en bitter fruits from out Love's hand are sweet. 
 
 It may for long, long years dwell in the breast 
 
 Unnoticed, till a fragrant breath shall call, 
 
 And fan the spark that long has laid at rest, 
 
 Until its brilliancy eclipses all 
 
 That once was wont to hold the mind in thrall, 
 
 But oh ! when that pure fire, intensely bright, 
 Is by Despair's dark cloud enwrapped, until 
 No longer it can shed its joyous light, 
 But wanes and dies, tho' sore against it's will : 
 
 H
 
 i i4 gold's the thing. 
 
 Tis then the past seems thrust so far behind, 
 That all its joys are like the vaguest dream ; 
 The present like a sepulchre imbues the mind 
 With dread of future days, wherein no beam 
 FromHope'sbright star is there to lure us on. 
 Death, only death can give that heart relief 
 That mourns the loss of what was dearly won. 
 Farewell, false flame, there is no deeper grief. 
 
 iolds the Thing. 
 
 /pHEY may talk of pure love but it's fleeting at best; 
 * Let them ridicule gold if they will ; 
 But money's the thing that has long stood the test, 
 
 And is longed for and sought after still. 
 Love must kick the balance against a full purse, 
 
 And you'll find if you live to four score, 
 That whatever your troubles, the heaviest curse, 
 
 Is to drag on your life and be poor. 
 
 If you sigh after titles, or long for high rank, 
 
 Let this be your aim night and day, 
 To increase the small balance you have at your bank, 
 
 And to honours 'twill soon point the way. 
 For you'll find that men bow to the glittering dross, 
 
 Whate'er its possessor may be ; 
 And if obstacles rise they will help you across, 
 
 If you only can boast £. s. d.
 
 COMFORTER. 115 
 
 See that poor man in rags, bending under his load, 
 
 He passes unnoticed along ; 
 No one lends him a hand as he goes on his road, 
 
 He must toil as he can through the throng. 
 But if he was wealthy, how many would fly 
 
 To assist him and offer the hand ; 
 But he's poor, so they leave him to toil or to die, 
 
 That's the rule in this Christian land. 
 
 fi. Comforter. 
 
 ^fc-JRAY, what shall I give to my darling ? 
 
 Say, shall it be something to wear ? 
 Or a pet-bird, a bullfinch or starling, 
 
 Or a garland to twine in her hair ? 
 A jewel to wear on her bosom ? 
 
 Or a bracelet to 'circle her wrist ? 
 Or a bunch of some fragrant white blossom, 
 
 Gathered fresh in the morn's early mist? 
 
 Oh, what shall I give her to cherish, 
 
 To remember me by when away ? 
 Pet-birds in confinement may perish, 
 
 And the flowers soon fall to decay. 
 And there's something so cold in the glitter 
 
 Of jewels, though costly and grand; 
 That I long for some souvenir fitter, 
 
 To place in her little white hand.
 
 Il6 SNOW IN MAY. 
 
 It troubles me sorely to leave her, 
 
 Yet the call I dare not disobey ; 
 Though I know that my absence will grieve her, 
 
 If it only extends for a day. 
 Then what shall I give her or bring her ? 
 
 (Why longer continue the quest, — ) 
 A gold wedding ring for her finger, 
 
 That will comfort my darling the best. 
 
 Snow in M.ay. 
 
 cD^EATHERLY snowfiakes, softly falling, 
 
 In the month of May ; 
 Thoughts of wintry days recalling, 
 
 Haste, pray haste away ! 
 You should come when trees are roaring 
 
 To the howling blast ; 
 Not when tuneful birds are soaring, 
 
 And cold winter's past. 
 
 Long have you o'erspread our mountains, 
 
 With a robe of white ; 
 Clothing all the ice-bound fountains 
 
 With your crystals bright. 
 Now the flowers long to awaken 
 
 From their silent beds : 
 But your face their trust hath shaken, 
 
 And they droop their heads.
 
 SNOW IN MAY. 117 
 
 You have reigned a long, long season, 
 
 With despotic sway ; 
 We are weary — list to reason, 
 
 Take yourselves away. 
 We will welcome you with gladness, 
 
 Winter's joys to grace ; 
 But your visit now is madness, 
 
 You are out of place. 
 
 What is that I hear you saying, 
 
 As you sail along ? 
 " Mortals the same game are playing :" 
 
 Nay, — you must be wrong — 
 Surely men of wit and knowledge, 
 
 Who hold learning dear ; 
 And have spent long years in college, 
 
 Know their proper sphere ? 
 
 Sighed the snow-flakes as they drifted, 
 
 " Turn your eyes around, 
 And when all you boast is sifted 
 
 Tell us what you've found." 
 Then I looked, lest they should doubt me, 
 
 And I grieve to say, 
 That I found worse things about me, 
 
 Than snowflakes in May. 
 
 Honest hearts 'neath rags were beating, 
 Rogues were decked with gold ; 
 
 Willing hands for work entreating ; 
 Sloths in plenty rolled.
 
 Il8 WAITING FOR ME. 
 
 Far and near, my sight appalling, 
 Right oppressed by wrong, 
 
 Still the snowflakes kept on falling,- 
 And I held my tongue. 
 
 Waiting foi\_ M.e. 
 
 /T^HEY say when I grieve that my sorrow is wasted, 
 
 They tell me he's gone and will ne'er come again, 
 And the pleasures that with him so briefly I tasted, 
 Have left but their mem'ry to soften my pain. 
 He was my playmate and he was my lover, 
 No sunshine e'er gladdened if he was not there, 
 And now the bright meadows we once wandered over, 
 Without him seem barren, deserted, and bare ; 
 O'er the wild heather 
 We've rambled together, 
 But now he's in heaven and waits for me there. 
 
 At night when the stars shine so softly above me, 
 
 I fancy his eyes through them beam on me now; 
 
 And his voice in the wind whispers forth " still I love thee," 
 
 And strange shadows beckon me with them to go. 
 
 The wild flowers we loved with dew-drops are weeping, 
 
 As though in my sorrow they too had a share,
 
 CITY AND COUNTRY. 1 19 
 
 And the song-birds that flit o'er the grave where he's 
 
 sleeping, 
 All hush their glad music whilst hovering there ; — 
 And faint voices whisper, 
 "Weep not troubled sister 
 For now he's in heaven and waits for thee there." 
 
 But why should these visions come crowding before me ? 
 
 And why should my friends look so sadly and weep ? 
 
 And whose is that voice that now comes to implore me 
 
 In sorrowing accents to shake off this sleep ? 
 
 Ah ! mother weep not, should I sleep and ne'er waken, 
 
 Kind angels are waiting my spirit to bear, 
 
 And thou my loved parent will not be forsaken, 
 
 For God in his mercy will soften thy care. 
 
 Let this promise cheer thee 
 Though I am not near thee, 
 
 I shall meet him in Heaven and wait for thee there. 
 
 City and Counti^y. 
 
 "VATHO does not love a quiet stroll, 
 
 * Along the sandy beach, 
 
 To watch the crested waters roll, 
 
 Far as the eye can reach ? 
 Who does not love to tramp the moor, 
 
 Knee deep in purple heath ?
 
 120 CITY AND COUNTRY. 
 
 Or press the springy emerald floor 
 
 That decks the dale beneath ? 
 Who does not love the mountain peak, 
 
 Its awful solitude ; 
 Where not a murmur dares to break, 
 
 Upon its quietude ? 
 Who does not love God's wondrous works, — 
 
 His earth on which we tread : 
 The sea, the air, the countless worlds, 
 
 That shine above our head ? 
 But still I find my greatest joy, — 
 
 My strongest interest ; — 
 Not in the mountain, sea, or sky; — 
 
 I love the city best. 
 I love to see the busy throng, 
 
 That hurry through the street ; 
 Mixing the bustling crowd among, 
 
 Noting the things I meet. 
 I love to see man's power impressed 
 
 On the hard rocks that rise, 
 In tower and spire, hewn, shaped, and dressed, 
 
 Springing towards the skies 
 To see the product of the ore, 
 
 Subservient to his will, 
 And treasures brought from every shore 
 
 Re-fashioned by his skill. 
 The palaces, the marts of trade, 
 
 The dwellings of the poor, 
 The stately ships man's hands have made 
 
 To bridge the o'cean o'er.
 
 THE BELLS. 121 
 
 The horse trained humbly to obey,— 
 
 Steam made his work to do, — 
 The very lightning from the sky, 
 
 Pressed into service too. 
 Earth, air, fire, water, all contained 
 
 In nature's varied plan, 
 Grasped by superior power, enchained, 
 
 And made the slaves of man. 
 And oh, the thought, that this vast power, 
 
 Is held by man on trust ! 
 And for its service every hour, 
 
 Yield an account he must. 
 This thought, man's wondrous works conjure, 
 
 And nerves me for the fight, 
 Gives me the courage to endure, 
 
 And labour for the right. 
 That every talent may be brought 
 
 T'obey his high behest, 
 And for this soul inspiring thought, 
 
 I love the city best. 
 
 The Bells 
 
 ¥ 
 
 WO young in life, and young in love, 
 With joyful steps the meadows rove, 
 And as they wend their flowery way, 
 The church bells ringing seem to say 
 " List, list, list,
 
 122 THE BELLS. 
 
 O, happy they who wedded be, 
 And dwell in love and harmony, 
 With children dancing round the knee, 
 O, happy love and harmony, 
 Sweet love and harmony." 
 
 But quickly following their track 
 Comes one with heavy burdened back ; 
 His life has been of rougher kind, 
 To him the bells ring on the wind, 
 
 " List, list, list, 
 Oh ! happy they who favoured dwell, 
 Whose bosoms ne'er had cause to swell, 
 When cherished hopes stern fates dispel, 
 And joys have bid farewell ! farewell ! 
 When joys have bid farewell !" 
 
 Now one who tottering 'neath his years, 
 Comes labouring on, the bitter tears 
 Roll down his cheeks ; he bends his ear, 
 And hears the bells in accents clear, 
 
 " List, list, list, 
 O, vain is life with all its joys, 
 Swift pleasures bring us long annoys, 
 Wealth, beauty, fame, are simple toys, 
 Which Time to hide Death's form employs 
 To blind young girls and boys." 
 
 Each hears the tone and gains relief 
 For tender love or heavy grief;
 
 BONNY NELLIE. 123 
 
 And floating goes the peal along, 
 
 In measured time, with ding, ding, dong 
 
 "List, list, list," 
 And thus they tell their varied tale, 
 O'er rugged hill and fertile vale, 
 Until the ringers' muscles fail ; 
 They leave their ropes to quaff their ale, 
 And silence steeps the vale. 
 
 Bonny Nellie. 
 
 ©ONNY NELLIE,— pray thee tell me 
 
 How to win thy little heart ; 
 For thy beauty does compel m 
 Still to sue, tho' bid depart. 
 
 Lovely tyrant, show compassion ; 
 
 Cruel despots sometimes melt : 
 Backs can better bear the lash on, 
 
 Than true hearts the pangs I've felt. 
 
 Yet that twinkling eye assures me, 
 Even when thou'rt frowning most; 
 
 And its azure depth allures me 
 Still to hope, tho' not to boast. 
 
 Breathe into mine ear the tidings, 
 Thou wilt be my bonny bride ; 
 
 Cease thy frownings and thy chidings, 
 Bid me welcome to thy side.
 
 124 WATCHING. 
 
 Rest upon my heaving bosom, 
 All thy weary load of care ; 
 
 Let me claim the heart I've chosen, 
 Happy, — only happy there. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 A TC H I N G. 
 
 "VATATCHING lonely, with the dead ; 
 
 Silently the stars are peeping, 
 And the mild, soft light they shed, 
 Dimly shows where she is sleeping, 
 For whose loss I still am weeping, 
 By her side. 
 
 And the clock with solemn warning, 
 Tells of every second past, 
 
 Whilst I'm waiting for the dawning 
 Of the day, — to be the last, 
 Of the few short days I've past 
 With my bride. 
 
 She, than whom I loved naught dearer, 
 Whom in early youth I wed ; 
 
 O, 'tis pleasure to be near her, 
 Though I know that she is dead ; 
 And no more her little head, 
 
 On my breast
 
 WATCHING. T2S 
 
 Shall again seek for a pillow, 
 And look up into mine eyes 
 
 With her own so rich and mellow, 
 For all cold and stiff she lies ; 
 Yet I know beyond the skies 
 She's at rest. 
 
 But I'm hoping, hoping, yearning, 
 Once again to see her face ; 
 
 And I'm longing for the morning 
 That shall come to take the place 
 Of the starlight, whose mild grace 
 Soothes my heart. 
 
 And I'm waiting, hoping, yearning, 
 For that whisper low and sweet, 
 
 For that everlasting morning, 
 When again we both shall meet, 
 And with joys unsullied greet, 
 Ne'er to part.
 
 126 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 >EASONABLE LOMPLAINT. 
 
 P 
 
 COULD like to be with thee, my darling, 
 But I cannot tell when that shall be ; 
 And I'm grumbling, scolding and snarling, 
 
 Because I'm deprived, love, of thee. 
 My dinner's a pattern of cooking, 
 
 No epicure need find a fault ; 
 But I can't for my life keep off looking 
 For the hand that should pass me the salt. 
 
 It's nonsense, no doubt; I remember 
 
 The time of my bachelor's days, 
 When the grate shed no soul-cheering ember, 
 
 To gladden my eyes with its rays ; 
 And I thought of the sweet days to follow, 
 
 When I'd revel in times sweet as custard; 
 But alas ! now I sit and I hollo, — 
 
 " Good gracious me ! make me some mustard!" 
 
 Though I own I was never thought cool, 
 
 And when angry was shunned as a leper, 
 Yet now I'm considered a fool, 
 
 If I grumble because there's no pepper. 
 When I did ask for vinegar once, 
 
 The girl laughed— I could almost have cursed her- 
 As she answered, " the vinegar's out, 
 
 And we haven't no catsup nor Worster."
 
 A SHOWER. 127 
 
 Then do come again, darling mine ! 
 
 Whatever' s my fault I'll undo it ; 
 For I'm weary of waiting, and pine 
 
 For the darling who fills me my cruet 
 Old time may jog on as he will, 
 
 And he does, for most obvious reasons ; 
 But he fails my desires to fill, 
 
 Unless you supply me with seasons. 
 
 fi Shower 
 
 & EAVILY, heavily, falls the rain, 
 ^""^ Hissing through the darkened air ; 
 Sheep and kine forsake the plain, 
 
 And to sheltering groves repair ; 
 And the laughing pimpernel, 
 
 Stained and sorrowful appears, 
 And the foxglove's purple bell, 
 
 Hangs dejected in its tears. 
 All looks sorrowful and sad, 
 
 But beneath to-morrow's sun, 
 Nature will again be glad, 
 
 And its joyous courses run. 
 Showers may trouble and depress, 
 
 But fresh life and strength impart; 
 Troubles all are sent to bless, 
 
 Not to crush the trusting heart.
 
 128 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 Too Good to Live. 
 
 WHE was a noble lady, and she walked along the street, 
 A - ' Giving a cheerful look or word to all she chanced to 
 
 meet; 
 And by her side a little girl was smiling as she ran, 
 Diffusing cheerfulness around, as children only can. 
 "Mamma," she cried, "pray tell me why it is the people 
 
 bow 
 And touch their hats as we go past, I should so like to know ? 
 Is it because we own the Hall, and so much land about ? 
 Or is it we wear better clothes ? I cannot make it out. 
 There are so many boys and girls that every day I see, 
 But people never smile on them as people smile on me. 
 Do tell me how it is, mamma, is it they have no toys ? 
 For if it is, I'll freely share with all the girls and boys. 
 It seems so very strange, mamma, to smile on me, I'm sure; 
 Is it that others are not good, or is it they are poor ? 
 See, here there comes a little boy with such a heavy load, 
 And he's stepping off the pavement on the rough and dirty 
 
 road; 
 I know he does it just because he saw us passing by, 
 Why should he leave the pavement any more thznyou or //" 
 
 " I cannot answer you, my child, I could not if I tried. 
 It partly springs from custom, and's partly due to pride."
 
 TOO GOOD TO LIVE. 120, 
 
 "Are they so proud, those boys and girls?— oh no, that 
 
 cannot be ! 
 The pride then must belong to us, as far as I can see ; 
 But when I'm a great lady, ma, like you are now, I'll try 
 To have a pleasant look and word for every passer by. 
 And if I'm rich and they are poor, I'll help them all I can, 
 If God will give me health and strength to carry out my 
 
 plan. 
 I've often heard it when at church read from God's holy 
 
 word, 
 That when you're giving to the poor, you're lending to the 
 
 Lord." 
 
 An old man heard her prattling tongue, and wiped his tear- 
 dimmed eyes, 
 
 And lifting up his hoary head gazed upward to the skies. 
 
 "She'll soon be there," he said, " they'll come, her golden 
 crown to give, 
 
 She is not fit for this vile earth,— she's far too good to live." 
 
 And strange it seems, yet true it is, before the summer fled, 
 The Lord sent down his messenger and Eva, she was dead. 
 The old man stood beside the grave, and cried, " God help 
 
 the poor ! 
 This world has lost an angel, and Heaven has gained one 
 
 more." 
 
 I
 
 I30 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 ASHING JAY. 
 
 "VATHAT is it makes my wife to rise, 
 
 When early dawn creeps o'er the skies, 
 
 And smack the baby when it cries ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 What is it makes the voice that I 
 Once deem sweet music from the sky, 
 Ring out in tones so shrill and high ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 How is it Bob's face wears a frown, 
 And Johnny's going fretful down ; 
 Whilst Sissy wets with tears her gown ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 What makes my loving wife declare 
 That I no longer for her care ? 
 Why calls she me a lazy bear ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 Why is the morning meal so glum ? 
 Why are the children all struck dumb ? 
 What means that tell-tale smell of rum ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 What's given baby such a scare ? 
 What makes him sit up in his chair, 
 And at his feeding bottle stare ? 
 It's washing day.
 
 TO AN OLD FAMILY BIBLE. I31 
 
 Why is it that a sudden thought, 
 Reminds me that I really ought, 
 The very earliest ' buss' have caught ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 Why is it if I meet a friend 
 Who has an hour or two to spend, 
 To some snug ' pub' we slowly wend ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 What is it when love's powers enthrall, 
 And men their wives sweet angels call, 
 Proves angels women after all ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 What, when it's over, most gives rise, 
 To dreams of heavenly Paradise, 
 As thankfully we close our eyes ? 
 It's washing day. 
 
 To an Old Family Bible. 
 
 tj) I EAR book, what comfort, joy and peace 
 
 Within thy leaves are stored ; 
 What aching hearts have gained relief 
 
 From thy inspired word. 
 How oft, when overwhelmed with woe 
 
 Thy light has shone out clear,
 
 i$i TO AN OLD FAMILY BIBLE. 
 
 And filled my heart with joyousness, 
 And bade me not to fear. 
 
 How oft in sickness hast thou been 
 
 My constant, truest friend, 
 Holding Faith's beacon as a star, 
 
 To guide me to the end. 
 How oft when foul revenge and rage, 
 
 Have o'er me held their sway, 
 The kindly teachings of thy page 
 
 Have banished them away. 
 
 When of my mother dear I think, 
 
 Who long has left life's shore, 
 I see her with thee on her knee, 
 
 As she was wont of yore ; 
 And when her voice falls on my ear, 
 
 As even yet it will, 
 Her gentle admonitions breathe 
 
 Nought but thy teachings still. 
 
 My father too, his aged head 
 
 Methinks, still bends o'er thee, 
 And oft his fait' ring voice I hear, 
 
 Unheard by all save me ; 
 And as I con thy sacred page, 
 
 (A duty oft undone,) 
 I feel as tho' they hovered near 
 
 To cheer and bless their son. 
 
 And all those precepts learn' d by heart, 
 When life was in its spring,
 
 THE IDIOT'S GRAVE. t$$ 
 
 Still rustle round my mem'ry, 
 
 Like the sound of angel's wing. 
 And when temptations crowd my path, 
 
 And poor weak flesh would fall ; 
 Thy warnings oft have check'd the fault, 
 
 And triumphed over all. 
 
 Let others scoff and strive to prove 
 
 Thee false and full of guile, 
 My heart still whispers thou art true, 
 
 And closer clings the while ; 
 And whilst on earth I'm spared to dwell, 
 
 I'll build my faith on thee ; 
 Nought but thyself shall ever come, 
 
 Between my God and me. 
 
 The Idiot's Gi^ave. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 HE trees wave sadly o'er the mound, 
 Where little crippled Harry lies ; 
 A few bright flowers bedeck the ground, 
 Where sleeps a widow's only prize. 
 
 A simple cross of varied beads, 
 A symbol sweet, rests o'er his head, 
 
 The work of one whose lone heart bleeds — 
 Of her, whose love lies with the dead.
 
 »34 
 
 THE IDIOT'S GRAVE 
 
 Her husband sank beneath the wave, 
 
 Since then no other joy she had 
 Save him, who now lies in the grave, 
 
 Her loved, her lost, half-witted lad. 
 
 He never joined the boys at play, 
 
 For their rough frolics made him fear ; 
 
 Nor ventured from her side to stray, 
 For he felt safe with mother near. 
 
 From morn till night he'd sit content, 
 To watch her busy purring wheel ; 
 
 And where she'd go poor Harry went, 
 And where she stayed, he'd near her kneel. 
 
 Ten years ago, his father sailed 
 On voyage to some distant coast ; 
 
 His wife her absent spouse bewailed ; — 
 Then came the news that he was lost. 
 
 'Twas scarce a year since they were wed, 
 And she was widowed and forlorn ; 
 
 Her only stay on earth was dead, 
 For little Harry was not born. 
 
 But as she lay, 'twixt life and death, 
 Good neighbours, pale-faced with affright, 
 
 Stood near, and 'neath their bated breath, 
 Welcomed poor Harry to the light. 
 
 And when returning reason came, 
 She prayed for death in accents wild ; 

 
 THE IDIOT'S GRAVE. 135 
 
 Then sobbed, and prayed for life again, 
 That she might tend her crippled child, 
 
 And as she held him to her breast, 
 Her heart o'erflowed with grateful joy, 
 
 That though of husband dispossessed, 
 Kind Providence had spared her boy. 
 
 Toiler, that frame, deformed, had charms, 
 
 Unseen by any other eyes ; 
 As nestling in her 'circling arms, 
 
 She sang to him to still his cries. 
 
 Her friends in whispers would aver, 
 
 " Please God to take it 'twould be well ;" 
 
 But not for her, no, not for her ! 
 Its worth was more than they could tell. 
 
 His little eyes' unmeaning look, 
 To her appeared instinct with thought ; 
 
 She read his features like a book, 
 And ever found the thing she sought. 
 
 As time rolled on, and even she, 
 With all a mother's partial pride, 
 
 Must own he would a cripple be, 
 And of his reason be denied. 
 
 She loved him not one jot the less, 
 But rather held him still more dear ; 
 
 And pitying his helplessness, 
 
 She gladly strove his share to bear
 
 136 A LONGING. 
 
 For near ten years her greatest joy, 
 
 Was having Harry by her knee, 
 And dreaming what her darling boy 
 
 In after years perchance might be. 
 
 But Death came silently one night, 
 
 And laid his cold hand on the bed 
 And when she rose at morning light, 
 
 She found her darling Harry dead. 
 
 Her grief was truly sad to see — 
 
 The neighbours thought her heart would break ; 
 And none withheld their sympathy, 
 
 And words of comfort each one spake. 
 
 When at the grave just newly made, 
 
 They saw him laid to rest therein ; 
 His mother dried her tears, and said, 
 
 " Thank God he died devoid of sin." 
 
 And oft she comes and finds relief, 
 
 Beneath the trees that sadly wave ; 
 And tears of love and tears of grief, 
 
 Oft blend upon the idiot's grave.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 137 
 
 > V 
 
 ONGING, 
 
 /^.IVE me my liberty ! — Bind me no longer ! 
 
 ^A. Let me be free as a bird of the air ; 
 
 Then shall the chords of my rude harp swell stronger, 
 
 To join in your gladness, or solace your care. 
 O'er the brown moor with its health breathing heather, 
 
 Let me roam now as in days long gone by ; 
 My soul and sweet nature communing together, 
 
 Giving smile back for smile, or a sigh for a sigh. 
 
 Then shall my heart (like the brook that meanders 
 
 O'er the bright pebbles and through the soft shade, 
 Warbling sweet music as onward it wanders,) 
 
 Join in the joy that its melody's made. 
 Give me my freedom to cull the wild flowers, 
 
 To loll 'neath the shade of the whispering trees, 
 With fancy untrammelled to people the bowers, 
 
 With lovers of innocent joys such as these. 
 
 Take all your pomp, all your gold, all your glitter, 
 
 Take all the homage the world can bestow ! 
 Follow ambition, your lives to embitter ! 
 
 Barter your souls for a false fleeting show ! 
 Win the world's prizes, — not one will I covet, 
 
 E'en though you find the philosopher's stone ; 
 Let me but have what I value above it — 
 
 My freedom unfettered — and leave me alone.
 
 138 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 M.Y Silver Wedding. 
 
 ff< ING the bells, — wedding bells, — till the steeples shake ! 
 \ Ring the bells, — joyous bells, — till the timbers quake ! 
 Make the air with music gay, 
 In mem'ry of that happy day, 
 
 Twenty-five years ago. 
 
 Peal on peal, chime on chime, let your clanging notes 
 Swell the tidings far and near, from your brazen throats, 
 
 For the theme your tongues employ, 
 
 Is the sweet echo of a joy, 
 
 Twenty-five years ago. 
 
 Friends are gone, hearts are still, that were once our pride, 
 Once fond friends, for ever lost, moulder side by side, 
 
 Many dear ones are removed, 
 
 Who were then so dearly loved, 
 
 Twenty-five years ago. 
 
 Yet ring on, but as you ring in a merry tone 
 Let one note of sorrow float for those dear ones gone, 
 Dear in days of " Auld lang syne," 
 When we bowed at Hymen's shrine, 
 Twenty-five years ago. 
 
 Like a stream, running on o'er its changeful bed, 
 Sunshine here, shadow there, — mingled joy and dread, — 
 Oft the prospect has been dark, 
 Since we launched our trusting bark, 
 Twenty-five years ago.
 
 MY SILVER WEDDING. 1 39 
 
 Yet, with faith, hope and love, through the blackest day, 
 Tempest toss'd, sorely press'd, we have held our way; 
 
 For the helm by One was held, 
 
 Who our plighted troth beheld, 
 
 Twenty-five years ago. 
 
 And to Him, all resigned, quest' ning not His will, 
 List'ning for that soothing voice, whisp'ring " Peace be 
 still," 
 Now we breathe the word " Amen," 
 With more faith than we did then — 
 Twenty-five years ago. 
 
 Happier hearts, holier joys, year by year we find, 
 
 Time has passed us lightly by, leaving small trace behind ; 
 
 Now we view fond hopes o'erthrown, 
 
 With a calmness all unknown 
 
 Twenty- five years ago. 
 
 Ring the bells ! Chime on chime ! Though the days to come 
 May be few, why repine, drawing nearer home ? 
 
 Did we hope for more than this, 
 
 When we first sought married bliss, 
 Twenty-five years ago. 
 
 Ring it out ! make them shout with a four-fold power, 
 No alloy mars the joy of this festive hour; 
 
 For the silver wedding chime, 
 
 Bears us back to that sweet time, 
 Twenty-five years ago.
 
 140 ONLY A SINGER. 
 
 And our hearts are as young as they were that day, 
 Let Old Time shake his beard as he glides away ; 
 
 May we hear the loud ding dong, 
 
 When the burden of the song 
 Is fifty years ago. 
 
 P 
 
 NLY A blNGER. 
 
 "VHE'S only a singer ! What less can she be ? 
 
 ^ For the public she's merely a toy ; 
 Don't speak of her feelings ! What feelings has she ? 
 Why, you talk like a simpleton, boy." 
 
 " She wants no one's sympathy ; — isn't she paid ? 
 
 And paid well for the little she does ? 
 You won't break her heart, so don't be afraid, 
 
 She's secure, for she's nothing to lose." 
 
 " Do you say she's a widow ? Well, what if it's true ? 
 
 Do you think that affects her the least ? 
 Her husband a drunkard, no doubt, if we knew, 
 
 And she's glad to get rid of the beast." 
 
 " Yes, — they say that's her child with the bright curly hair ; 
 
 She's a beauty, that none will gainsay; 
 It's a pity to think one so artless and fair 
 
 Should be brought up in any such way.
 
 ONLY A SINGER. H* 
 
 " Just take my advice, boy, I'm older than you, 
 
 And I've not lived for nothing, you bet ; 
 Don't trust such as her, you're a fool if you do, 
 
 For you'll find them a false-hearted set." 
 
 " If you're on for a spree, they're all right enough then,- 
 
 A flirtation is just in their line, — 
 But you'll find it's the money they want, not the men, 
 
 But they'll never get any of mine." 
 
 " Did you ask about virtue ? Why who ever heard 
 Of a virtuous singer ? You're wrong ; — 
 
 I wouldn't believe it, — the notion's absurd, 
 The temptations they meet are too strong." 
 
 " Well, comrade, — your head may be older than mine, 
 And you've mixed in the world more than I ; 
 
 Yet I doubt what you say, — many reasons incline 
 Me to side with the class you decry." 
 
 " That singer whose voice has scarce yet died away, — 
 
 I have known her since I was a child ; 
 I knew her a maiden, light-hearted and gay, 
 
 And I knew her a bride, undefiled." 
 
 " I knew her when first made a mother, and saw 
 The deep love-light that shone in her eye ; 
 
 And I saw her a widow, o'erwhelmed with her woe, 
 With no friend, save the one Friend on high." 
 
 " I knew her when poverty pinched her pale cheek, 
 And I watched her brave struggles for food ;
 
 \\Z ONLY A SINGER. 
 
 And I knew how she suffered, yet dared not to speak, 
 Lest my motives were misunderstood." 
 
 " And I saw her when first time she stood in the glare 
 Of the footlights, and heard the sweet song ; 
 
 And I knew that her heart bore a load of despair, 
 Tho' she smiled on the critical throng." 
 
 " If she's ' only a singer? her life has been pure, 
 
 When her path with temptation was set ; 
 And she learned what it was the world's slights to endure, 
 
 Yet forgives, tho' she cannot forget." 
 
 " 'Tis well we should think when such pictures are shown, 
 
 As a man of the world often paints, 
 That in spite of the calumnies recklessly strewn, 
 
 There are singers who yet may be saints." 
 
 " A good word to speak, is a trouble but small, — 
 
 A kind word it fails seldom to bless ; 
 If we cannot give either, — best speak not at all, — 
 
 For, than silence, there's nothing costs less."
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 143 
 
 Sing M.e that Lullaby. 
 
 "ABUSING on days that will never return, 
 
 J My mind fondly dwells on the image of thee ; 
 
 And mem'ry clings to the joys that are gone, 
 
 When my hopes knew no doubts, and my fancy was free. 
 
 In shadowy visions thy dear smile so cheering, 
 
 I seem to see still, and to hear the sweet strain 
 
 That arose from thy lips in Love's music endearing; 
 
 Oh ! sing that sweet lullaby, sister, again. 
 
 When sickness or trouble my young spirit saddened, 
 
 I have flown to thy arms as a haven of rest ; 
 
 And my griefs have been soothed, and my heart has been 
 
 gladdened, 
 When I pillowed my head to repose on thy breast. 
 But now when weighed down with my cares sorely pressing, 
 I long for that solacing music in vain, 
 And miss the loved clasp of thy kindly caressing, — 
 And sigh for that lullaby, sister, again. 
 
 Time that is past will return, alas, never ; — 
 Life's pathway is rough, and has forced us apart; 
 But the love that I bear thee no distance can sever, 
 Nor ought e'er usurp thine own place in my heart. 
 And when my world's journey is near to its closing, 
 And the last spark of life is beginning to wane, 
 Let me breathe my last sigh on thy bosom reposing, 
 And sing me that lullaby, sister, again.
 
 144 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 y 
 
 I B E R T Y. 
 
 "VATHO'D be a slave, when Freedom smiling stands, 
 To strike the gyves from off his fettered hands ? 
 Who'd be a slave, and cringe, and bow the knee, 
 And kiss the hand that steals his liberty ? 
 
 Behold the bird that flits from bough to bough ; 
 What though at times the wintry blasts may blow,— 
 Happier it feels, half frozen in its nest, 
 Than caged, though fed and fondled and caressed. 
 
 'Tis said, 'on Briton's shore no slave shall dwell,' 
 
 But have you heard not the harsh clanging bell, 
 
 Or the discordant whistles' yelling voice, 
 
 That says, 'Work slave, or starve ! That is your choice !' 
 
 And have you never seen the aged and grey, 
 Panting along its summons to obey ; 
 Whilst little children run scarce half awake, 
 Sobbing as tho' their little hearts would break ? 
 
 And stalwart men, with features stern and grave, 
 That seem to say, " I scorn to be a slave ?" 
 He is no slave ; — he is a Briton free, 
 A noble sample of humanity. 
 
 This may be liberty, — the ass, the horse, 
 Wear out their lives in routine none the worse, 
 They only toil all day — then eat and sleep, 
 They have no wife or children, dear, to keep.
 
 LINES ON A LADY'S BIRTHDAY. 1 45 
 
 Better, far better, is the tattered lout, 
 Who, tho' all so-called luxuries without, 
 Can stand upon the hill side in the morn, 
 And watch the shadows flee as day is born 
 
 Tho' with a frugal meal his fast he breaks, 
 And from the spring his crystal draught he takes, 
 Better, far better, seems that man to me, 
 For he owns Heaven's best gift, — his liberty. 
 
 L I N 
 
 ES 
 ON A LADY'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 /~\LD Time has surely lost his tricks 
 
 Of leaving on mankind his traces ; 
 When we find thee at fifty-six, 
 
 Still buoyant, youthful, full of graces. 
 
 Some bloom has vanished we allow, 
 Whilst some defy him to undo 'em ; 
 
 For still the eyes beam 'neath the brow, 
 And show a good kind soul shines through 'em. 
 
 Long may he pass with lightest touch, 
 And with his wings but soothe and cheer thee, 
 
 And in his flight assure thee, much 
 Of future happiness is near thee. 
 
 J
 
 146 BYGONES, 
 
 And when the end comes, as it must, 
 May it be rich in tranquil pleasure ; 
 
 When shaking off this earthly dust, 
 
 Thou goes to claim a Heavenly treasure. 
 
 Deem not these lines an empty form, 
 Nor word nor thought is false unto thee, 
 
 They spring from out a heart that's warm 
 With love, increasing since I knew thee. 
 
 f 
 
 YG O N E S, 
 
 £( WEET days of my first love ye now flit before me, 
 A-' And cheer my lone heart with your gladdening rays ; 
 Hopes that are blighted ye cannot restore me, 
 
 Nor bring back the joys of those innocent days. 
 Down in the meadow, oft dreaming together, 
 
 We sang of that love which was free from alloy ; 
 But death claimed my Norah, yet still I adore her, 
 
 And cherish the image I loved when a boy. 
 
 Long years have roll'd by, since as children we sported, 
 Where the summer sun shone and the sweet zephyr 
 played ; 
 
 And when wearied by rambles we anxiously courted, 
 Sweet rest for our limbs 'neath the sycamore's shade.
 
 WINTER S COME. 147 
 
 And there did we vow we would never be parted ; 
 
 And I wreathed her a chaplet of wild flowers gay ; 
 Now I brood o'er the time when almost broken hearted, 
 
 I found that the angels had borne her away. 
 
 'Tis sinful repining, when Norah is shining, 
 
 But my heart has a void which the world cannot fill ; 
 And I still keep on dreaming her bright eyes are beaming 
 
 With fond looks of love for the lonely one still. 
 And though midst the thoughtless and gay ones I wander, 
 
 My heart will be true to its cherished first love ; 
 And I ever midst bustle or solitude ponder, 
 
 On my sweet little Norah, who's watching above. 
 
 f 
 
 inter's Come, 
 
 /T\HE sun looks sickly wan and pale, 
 -*- The wind goes moaning by, 
 The mountain's mist drifts through the vale, 
 
 Thick clouds obscure the sky ; 
 The song bird twitters on the bough, 
 That leafless rocks it to and fro, 
 For Winter's come. 
 
 The cattle 'neath the hedges cower, 
 Their looks impressed with woe, 
 
 And greet the mists that round them lower 
 With a despairing low ;
 
 148 winter's come. 
 
 The farmer stands besides his door, 
 His listless eyes fixed on the floor ; 
 For Winter's come. 
 
 The fields look desolate and bare, 
 The trees are wild and weird ; 
 
 The withered leaves whirl through the air, 
 With colours pale and seared ; 
 
 And if the sun a ray should shed, 
 
 'Tis like a smile on faces dead ; 
 For Winter's come. 
 
 The hand of Death hangs over all, 
 The wind but wails or raves, 
 
 The swollen streams in anger roll 
 Over the wild flowers' graves ; 
 
 Uprooting with revengeful force, 
 
 The ferns that smiled upon their course, 
 For Winter's come. 
 
 Thus year by year the things we prize, 
 
 In spite of all our care, 
 Wither and die before our eyes ; 
 
 And we at last must share 
 In that decay, — for life at best 
 Is but a Summer ; — we shall rest, 
 When Winter comes. 
 
 What matters, though above us howl 
 The worldly storm and strife ?
 
 LONELY WITHOUT THEE. 149 
 
 There is a sun shall raise the soul, 
 
 To new and purer life ; 
 Where through eternal years shall shine, 
 An everlasting Spring, divine, 
 No Winters come. 
 
 Lonely Without Thee. 
 
 (FOR MUSIC.) 
 
 ONELY now without thee, darling, 
 ~\ All in vain the sun may shine ; 
 Sunlight, flowers, and song birds darling, 
 
 Fail to cheer this heart of mine. 
 Lonely in the busy city, 
 
 Sad where'er my footsteps roam, 
 None to love and none to pity, 
 Grief abroad and gloom at home. 
 Lonely without thee, 
 I'm wearing away; 
 Come back to cheer me, 
 And stay, darling, stay. 
 
 Come, then, with thy bright eyes' lovelight, 
 
 And my dreary path illume, 
 Then I'll revel in the sunlight, 
 
 And the wild flowers' sweet perfume.
 
 ISO A THOUGHT. 
 
 Then the birds shall cheer me darling, 
 
 And all nature shall be gay, 
 Now, I'm lonely, lonely, darling, 
 Sad and lone when thou'rt away. 
 Lonely without thee, 
 I'm wearing away; 
 Come back to cheer me, 
 And stay, darling, stay. 
 
 ft Thought, 
 
 /~\NCE a lily and a rose 
 
 Disagreed, and came to blows ; 
 When fair Flora passed, and she 
 Asked, what could their quarrel be ? 
 Each besought her as a friend, 
 That she would her cause defend. 
 She chided them in accents meek, 
 And laid the rose upon her cheek, 
 There sweetly blooming bade it rest, 
 And placed the lily on her breast. 
 Thus each contented lent a grace, 
 Nor envied one it's comrade's place. 
 So would man's lot be happy here, 
 If each one filled his proper sphere.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 151 
 
 / ? 
 
 AMPLE OF THE SEX. 
 
 T KNEW her in my sunny days, 
 
 When fortune smiled most fair ; 
 My life was very full of bliss, 
 
 Her lot hemmed round with care. 
 Tears swam before her hazel eyes, 
 
 Smiles seemed for ever fled ; 
 Her bosom often heaved with sighs, 
 
 As all her hopes were dead. 
 
 She was so young, I could not see 
 
 Her pining day by day, 
 And never try to soothe her grief, 
 
 Nor wipe her tears away. 
 She seemed so grateful for each word 
 
 I spoke in kindly tone ; 
 My every act seemed to afford 
 
 Her joy, till then unknown. 
 
 Within my heart a vacant place, 
 
 For tenant long had pined ; 
 But none could ever boast the grace, 
 
 Just suited to my mind ; 
 Until one day those hazel eyes, 
 
 Looked deeply through mine own, 
 She took me captive by surprise, 
 
 I gave her up the throne.
 
 152 A SAMPLE OF THE SEX. 
 
 She laid her head upon my breast, 
 
 I saw her dark eyes gleam ; 
 I do not care to tell the rest, 
 
 'Tis past — 'twas like a dream. 
 We breathed eternal vows of truth, 
 
 Each sealed with kiss on kiss ; 
 My foolish heart will ne'er forget, 
 
 That one fleet hour of bliss. 
 
 For weal or woe we pledged our troth, 
 
 When, lo ! as if to try 
 The love and steadfastness of both, 
 
 A dark cloud gathered nigh. 
 First failing health, then loss of wealth, 
 
 Unmurmuring I withstood ; 
 Some sneered and said she soon would change, 
 
 I did not think she would. 
 
 She grew more dear as day by day 
 
 Of things once prized bereft ; 
 And I repined not, for I had 
 
 My greatest treasure left. 
 I sought her, and my trusting heart 
 
 Feared no unkind rebuff ; 
 A loving word would cheer me on, — 
 
 One smile would be enough. 
 
 I met her, but my hopes died out, 
 Her glance was icy cold,
 
 SO IT IS. 153 
 
 She offered not her cheek or hand, 
 
 As in the days of old. 
 "I come to claim my bride," I cried, 
 
 Her answer pierced me through : 
 " You go and try to keep yourself, 
 
 You'll have enough to do." 
 
 O IT IS. 
 
 (~jlO fading day, — I do not wish thee gone, 
 ^A. But go thou must and we must follow thee ; 
 Another waits to take thy vacant throne, 
 To blot thee out e'en from our memory. 
 Thus shall we, when our little race is run 
 Be laid aside, and o'er our lifeless clay, 
 Perchance a few wild flowers may greet the sun, 
 And deck the sod where we forgotten lay. 
 We may be missed, and for a moment mourned, 
 But soon another will fill up the void, 
 Our mem'ry may be blest, or may be scorned, 
 We shall sleep on unconscious, unannoyed. 
 The past is past, nor can we from the heap 
 Of bygone deeds, the smallest mite regain ; 
 In that vast storehouse, all past actions sleep, 
 Till the last trump shall rouse them up again.
 
 154 HIDDEN POWER. 
 
 The future shows us Hope with outspread wings, 
 Radiant with smiles, inviting us to share 
 Her joyous life ; but a dark object flings 
 Its shadow : — 'tis her handmaid, wild Despair. 
 The gilded apple held before our eyes 
 Allures us on, — we break its shining crust, 
 The vision fades ! — The false enchantress flies ! 
 Our treasure proves a mere handful of dust. 
 
 Hidden Power^ 
 
 "VA7"HAT is it gives a woman so much power 
 " Over a man that others fail to move ? 
 
 It is not wealth 1 Had she a queenly dower 
 It could not fan to flame the spark of love. 
 
 It is not in the beauty of her form, 
 Nor in her face, angelic tho' it be ; 
 
 It is not in her voice, though breathing warm 
 And tender thoughts that court our sympathy. 
 
 No ! It is none of these — tho' each may fill 
 Some little void within his anxious heart ! 
 
 No ! It is something holier, deeper still, 
 Uniting hearts and hopes, tho' bodies dwell apart.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 155 
 
 One Thing Lasting. 
 
 'PALK no more of love unceasing 
 
 Tell me not hearts never change ; 
 For each day brings doubts increasing, 
 
 Hearts are fickle, fancies range. 
 What to-day we court or search for, 
 
 Perhaps to-morrow we despise ; 
 What we cherish, love, and nurture, 
 
 Won and slighted, pines and dies. 
 
 Hearts o'erwhelmed with heavy sorrow, 
 
 Hope no more fresh joys to find ; 
 But the swift advancing morrow 
 
 Sees our griefs fly with the wind. 
 Prospects blasted, hearts half-broken, 
 
 Sacred trust that's been betrayed, 
 Cruel slanders, basely spoken, 
 
 Throw o'er sunniest paths a shade. 
 
 But the gloom hangs not for ever, 
 
 Sunny rays the cloud dispels, 
 Change on change unceasing never, — 
 
 Happy meetings, sad farewells. 
 Then let not our griefs oppress us, 
 
 Joys await us as of yore, 
 And when fortune smiles to bless us, 
 
 Be prepared for woe in store.
 
 156 SECOND LOVE. 
 
 Nought is lasting, Time is fleeting, 
 
 Castles crumble to decay ; 
 Hearts are cold that late were beating, 
 
 E'en the mountains wear away. 
 Yet we have one hope to cheer us, 
 
 If each one will do his best, 
 That when Death's cold hand ifl near us, 
 
 We may find a lasting rest. 
 
 Glorious promise to the weary, 
 
 Who by faith can see aright ; 
 Far beyond life's pathway dreary, 
 
 Beams Hope's beacon, streaming bright. 
 Luring Heavenward, clear and steady, 
 
 To the home where changes cease, 
 Bidding suffering souls make ready, 
 
 To enjoy that lasting peace. 
 
 Second J-^ove. 
 
 P 
 
 TS it true that a heart can love twice ? 
 Can a passion unselfish and pure, 
 Arise from the grave of past bliss ? 
 Or will the first passion endure ? 
 
 Is it true that the heart can forget, 
 That power which once held it in thrall, 
 
 And with homage as perfect and true, 
 At the feet of another king fall ?
 
 SECOND LOVE. 15*/ 
 
 Is allegiance so quickly transferred ? 
 
 Do hearts with love merely coquet ? 
 Dismissing one lately loved lord, 
 
 Be resigned to the next love they get ? 
 
 Experience tells me that hearts, 
 Whilst they vary as flowers of the field, — 
 
 In one trait are uniform still, 
 For their fealty, once owned, they ne'er yield. 
 
 There are some, so icy and cold, 
 That they thaw not to love's gentle flame, 
 
 That like rocks, bleak and bare, unimpressed, 
 Are in sunshine or stormcloud the same. 
 
 But the heart that has ever once felt, 
 The love, hot, o'erpowering, yet pure ; 
 
 Should its object of reverence be lost, 
 No fresh rival could ever allure. 
 
 The mem'ry of joys that are dead, 
 
 Shall remain inexpressibly sweet ; 
 And their fragrance shall fill up the break, 
 
 Till the time when once more they may meet. 
 No—the heart has its freaks and its whims, 
 
 That like flocks of wild birds hurry past : 
 But they leave there no lasting impress, 
 
 Each fresh passing effaces the last. 
 But the love,— firm, abiding and sure, 
 
 Tho' unheard and deep hid from all eyes, 
 From its birth in the heart shall endure ; 
 
 And shall blend with the soul when it flies.
 
 158 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 L L A 
 
 'PHE old clock tick tacks in its nook, 
 
 The canary's asleep on its perch, 
 The mouse from it's hole steals a look, 
 
 For its supper preparing to search ; 
 The last spark of fire is dead, 
 
 And blackbeetles come out for a spree, 
 And I am preparing for bed, 
 
 To dream, my sweet Ella, of thee. 
 
 Some may say, what a sorrowful life 
 
 It must be to live thus all alone, 
 Neither cat, dog, nor children, nor wife 1 
 
 And it's not to my fancy, I own. 
 But still I've the past to survey, 
 
 And fresh joys in the future I see, . 
 And one vision still makes my heart gay, 
 
 And that vision, dear Ella, is thee. 
 
 Tho' it's hard to sit moping alone, 
 
 And deprived of that heart- cheering face, 
 Yet it's grand to feel certain there's one 
 
 That no other can ever replace, 
 Do you puzzle your brains to divine 
 
 Whose beautiful face that can be ? 
 It belongs to the lass I call mine, 
 
 And Ella, my darling, that's thee.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 159 
 
 JHK Y 
 
 AGABOND. 
 
 'T^URN not from me because in distress, 
 
 I've a story I wish you to hear; 
 And I ask not relief, or redress, 
 
 If you grant a kind word or a tear. 
 I've been courted, sought for, and caressed, 
 
 When my star of prosperity shone ; 
 But my heart now lies cold in my breast, 
 
 For I'm left with my sorrow alone. 
 
 I struggle with trouble and care, 
 Life's blessings no longer I share, 
 All my hopes have been turned to despair, 
 For nobody knows me now. 
 
 In the hall where I once was a guest, 
 
 If I venture to pass near the door, 
 I'm hustled away like a pest, 
 
 And my crime is because I am poor. 
 Bright eyes that have once shone with love, 
 
 And gazed into mine at the ball, 
 Are now fixed so intently above, 
 
 That they cannot discern me at all. 
 I struggle with trouble, etc. 
 
 I have squandered my substance and gains, 
 Little dreaming of poverty's ban ; 
 
 And I find in return for my pains, 
 They now leave me to live as I can.
 
 l6o THE VAGABOND. 
 
 To live, did I say ? Nay, to die ; 
 
 For their pity it's useless to crave; 
 And they've no gift for wretches like I, 
 
 But a share in a vagabond's grave. 
 I struggle with trouble, etc. 
 
 Could time but reverse his past flight, 
 
 And restore me to what I have been ; 
 With the mem'ry of this my sad plight, 
 
 And the knowledge of things I have seen 
 How I'd scorn all their glitter and show, 
 
 And with honest worth rest me content ; 
 How I'd succour the needy and low, 
 
 But alas ! it's too late to repent. 
 
 I struggle with trouble, etc. 
 
 Let my fate be a warning to you, 
 
 Who believe all that glitters is gold ; 
 Be determined whatever you do, 
 
 To lay by for the time when you're old. 
 For believe me you'll find it the best, 
 
 Would you 'scape from cold poverty's curse ; 
 To keep a true heart in your breast, 
 
 And still keep a true friend in your purse. 
 I've struggled with trouble, etc.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. l6l 
 
 J Never Shall Forget. 
 
 1"N all the years I've struggled through 
 
 Of mingled rise and fall, 
 One single moment there has been 
 
 More precious than them all. 
 Its value on my heart outweighs 
 
 A lifetime of regret, 
 And should I live a thousand years 
 
 I never shall forget. 
 
 The cherished dream of boyhood, 
 
 The hope of manhood's prime, 
 Was centred in that moment, 
 
 That little speck of time. 
 I won the yearned for treasure, 
 
 On which my heart was set, 
 And, oh ! that blissful moment, 
 
 I never shall forget. 
 
 Dark fates may gather round me 
 
 To wrap my life in gloom, 
 But nought can blot the mem'ry out, 
 
 On this side of the tomb. 
 For through the blackest cloud of grief 
 
 One star will shine out yet, 
 And though my heart at last may break 
 
 I shall not once forget. 
 
 K
 
 162 DESPONDENCY. 
 
 The world may deem me thoughtless, 
 
 Perhaps frivolous, and gay; 
 And if they do it matters not, 
 
 I heed not what they say. 
 For if my face be clad in smiles, 
 
 Or cheeks with tears be wet, 
 In joy or grief, that moment still, 
 
 I never shall forget. 
 
 It was that happy moment when 
 
 My lips first pressed thy cheek, 
 When one sweet lingering kiss told all 
 
 I'd tried in vain to speak : 
 And now when forced so far apart, 
 
 I feel its influence yet, 
 Come weal, come woe, my beating heart 
 
 Still bids me not forget. 
 
 JESPONDENCY. 
 
 /^J_RIEF wraps my soul in gloom; 
 ^A. Fears cloud my fading hopes, 
 My heart is as a tomb, 
 Where joy in darkness gropes, 
 Longing in vain for light, 
 To cheer the charnel house, 
 Whose darkness blackens night, 
 Where dry bones I arouse,
 
 HOPE ON. 163 
 
 Of gaunt unearthly things, 
 Wrecks of some cherished dream, 
 Fostered beneath the wings 
 Of Hope, whose transient gleam 
 Fills all the heart with joy, 
 As sun expands the flowers, 
 The better to destroy 
 Their beauty, with the showers. 
 Death stalks on every side 
 Guarded by shield of Fate 
 In vain the weapons tried ; 
 He stands, content to wait ; 
 And o'er his awful form, 
 Wander my eyes in dread ;— 
 A helpless, writhing worm, 
 Till he pronounce me dead. 
 
 tOPE 
 
 pN. 
 
 M^HE sun shines brightly on the open flowers, 
 
 That 'neath his gaze their lovely charms display, 
 Decking with gorgeous tints this earth of ours, 
 Gladd'ning man's sight, and making nature gay. 
 
 The night creeps on and mantles all the sky 
 
 With sombre curtains, and the song bird sleeps ; 
 
 Whilst fragrant zephyrs pass with lengthened sigh, 
 And the night's goddess o'er the landscape weeps.
 
 164 SUSAN. 
 
 Her tear-drops glitter on the floral gem, 
 That sorrow-laden bows its weary head, 
 
 Until the morn puts on his diadem, 
 And kisses off the tears dull night has shed. 
 
 Then does each little cup unfold its charm, 
 Wantonly smiling, — trembling with delight ; 
 
 And flitting songsters pour forth Nature's psalm, 
 All troubles vanished — all fears put to flight. 
 
 Thus man, from sorrow's darkest night may gain 
 Strength to support him as he plods his away ; 
 
 And from a life of trouble and of pain, 
 Win joy enduring through an endless day. 
 
 P U 
 
 S A J* . 
 
 OUSAN, Susan, thou art chosen 
 ^ As the idol of my heart, 
 Every other longing frozen, 
 
 Thou alone canst joy impart. 
 Turn not from me,tho' unworthy, 
 
 Let me at Love's altar kneel, 
 \nd if worship true can stir thee 
 
 Pity or remorse to feel, 
 Then despair and heartfelt anguish, 
 
 Shall instruct my tongue to plead,
 
 SUSAN. »65 
 
 To the heart for which I languish, 
 
 In such tones as it must heed. 
 Little birds are sweetly singing, 
 
 To each new selected bride ; 
 Whilst the laden gales are bringing 
 
 Odours robbed from every side. 
 Happy, happy warbling minstrels, 
 
 What could for their loves atone ? 
 Joys which now each little breast fills, 
 
 Were not joys if felt alone. 
 Would I were a feathered songster, — 
 
 Would that I might trill my lay, 
 Would I were a summer zephyr, 
 
 Ever o'er thy brow to play, 
 Drinking from thy lips Love's language, 
 
 Ravished by thy heaving sighs,— 
 Happy even though in anguish, 
 
 Seeing heaven within thine eyes. 
 If stern fate these joys deny me, 
 
 Doomed apart from thee to rove, 
 Though all other pleasures fly me, 
 
 Naught can change my ardent love. 
 And if in thy breast no feelings, 
 
 Of a kindly nature dwell, 
 Pardon me for thus revealing, 
 
 Secrets loved alas too well.
 
 166 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 Christmas, 
 
 CANNOT let this season pass, 
 Without rhyme ; 
 Fill your pipe and fill your glass, 
 
 One more time ; 
 For if older year by year, 
 Still we can enjoy the cheer, 
 And in truthfulness can pray, 
 For a merry Christmas day. 
 
 Let us toast each absent friend, 
 
 Far and near ; 
 Perhaps their spirits unseen blend 
 
 With souls here, 
 And if any lamb astray, 
 Wandering from the fold to-day, 
 Gives a thought back to his home, 
 Bear this message — bid him come. 
 
 Hark the bells ring out the chime, 
 
 Once again : 
 To the merry Christmas time, 
 
 And the strain 
 Floats along the murky street, 
 Mingling with the driving sleet ; 
 'Peace on earth' their burden still, 
 And to men assured good-will.
 
 LONG AGO. 167 
 
 There are many homes to-day 
 
 Where they miss 
 Some loved one called hence away, 
 
 To that bliss 
 Which at least we hope to share, 
 And meet all our loved ones there ; 
 Then to join hosannahs loud, 
 With the ransomed, spotless crowd. 
 
 Let us each whilst here below 
 
 Do our part : 
 Giving pleasure, soothing woe, 
 
 To each heart. 
 So as each year makes its round, 
 We may with more peace be found. 
 Readers, — each one, — great and small 1 
 A merry Christmas to you all 1 
 
 Long Ago. 
 
 1~'M thinking of days that are gone, 
 
 And of dear ones no more I shall see ; 
 And I'm living the life o'er alone, 
 
 That I lived darling Lizzie with thee. 
 Beside me, in fancy, you stand, 
 
 As you stood in that time long ago, 
 And I feel now the clasp of your hand, 
 
 And I gaze on that brow fair as snow.
 
 i68 
 
 LONG AGO. 
 
 On my lips is the last parting kiss, 
 
 That thine own there so lovingly prest ; 
 And my heart bounds again with the bliss, 
 
 That was planted that day in my breast. 
 Oh ! could memory cease with that time, 
 
 What a happy relief it would prove ; 
 Could I banish thy falsehood and crime, 
 
 And know only thy beauty and love. 
 
 Ah ! Lizzy ! but few friends remain, 
 
 Who then shared our pleasure or woe ; 
 And we two shall no more meet again, 
 
 As we met in that time long ago. 
 I forget not the games that we played, 
 
 Nor the walks through the fields and the wood, 
 Nor how we talked love neath the shade, 
 
 As Maid Marion and bold Robin Hood. 
 
 But my heart must acquit thee of guile, 
 
 For thy vows then were vows made in truth : 
 And we were both happy the while, 
 
 But that happiness fled with our youth. 
 Now we're both nearing life's journey's end, 
 
 But the grave has no terrors for me ; 
 And in Death I shall welcome a friend, 
 
 If he brings but oblivion to me.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 169 
 
 JSwAY the Cot Gently. 
 
 UWAY the cot gently for baby's asleep, 
 *~^ Veil'd is his blue eyes' soft gleam ; 
 Let no rude sound mar his slumbers so deep, 
 
 See how he smiles in his dream. 
 Far from this cold world his thoughts are astray, 
 
 Mingling with angels above ; 
 Bright are the visions he meets on his way, 
 
 Roaming through regions of love. 
 
 Sway the cot gently for baby's asleep, 
 Veil'd is his blue eyes' soft gleam ; 
 
 Let no rude sound mar his slumbers so deep. 
 See how he smiles in his dream. 
 
 Parents bend over that slumbering boy, 
 
 Watching his flickering breath ; 
 Centered in him is their pride and their joy, 
 
 Nor dream they of visit from Death. 
 Slowly and surely that dread guest appears, 
 
 And lays his cold hand on his breast ; 
 Leaving those fond ones no solace but tears, 
 
 To weep o'er their babe gone to rest. 
 
 Sway the cot gently for baby's asleep, 
 Veil'd is his blue eyes' soft gleam ; 
 
 Let no rude sound mar his slumbers so deep, 
 See how he smiles in his dream.
 
 170 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 J- 
 
 ICENSED TO bELL. 
 
 'T^HE devil sat crouched in hot hell's hottest nook, 
 With a grin on his face, and self-satisfied look ; 
 And the sulphurous fumes like thick curtains hung near, 
 And the shrieks of tormented souls feasted his ear. 
 Then he counted the list of his daily supplies, 
 And he chuckled till boiling hot tears filled his eyes ; 
 " Ha, ha ! this last move serves my purpose right well, 
 I shall ne'er want for slaves, while they're "licensed to 
 sell." 
 
 All over the world may ;ny agents be found, 
 
 And the poorer the city, the more they abound ; 
 
 And they serve me so well that all day I can sit, 
 
 Enjoying my ease without leaving the pit ; 
 
 A stream never ceasing comes in at the door, 
 
 Of princes and peasants, — the rich and the poor ; 
 
 Would you learn what it is that the crowd serves to swell ? 
 
 'Tis the harvest of those who are ' licensed to sell.' 
 
 I have bishops, and parsons, and poets a host, 
 And fat country squires, who once ruled the roast ; 
 And parents, whose passion for drink was so strong, • 
 They neglected all duties to join in the throng ; 
 Youths, maidens, and children, have followed their track, 
 Passed all danger signals and cannot turn back ; 
 And landlords galore, how they shriek and they yell, 
 Those are some who on earth were once ' licensed to sell.'
 
 LICENSED TO SELL. 171 
 
 I've no reason to labour, to scheme, or to think, 
 
 Whilst nations their revenues raise from the drink; 
 
 Gin palaces dight with gold, glitter, and glare, 
 
 Entice the weak-minded to enter the snare. 
 
 Whilst the great and the learned, by example they set, 
 
 Lead the rest, unsuspicious, to fall in the net ; 
 
 The road most direct and most easy to Hell, 
 
 Is straight through the portals of ' licensed to sell/ 
 
 But once in the region there's nothing to slake 
 
 Their thirst, but the fire that roars in the lake ; 
 
 For a drop of cold water they beg and they pray 
 
 Whilst their torment increases for ever and aye. 
 
 Could one even return to his once earthly sphere, 
 
 To tell what's in store for his comrades here ; 
 
 They would laugh as they quaff the bright liquor, "Ah, 
 
 well ! 
 We will drink just as long as they're ' licensed to sell.' "
 
 172 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 fi Clevef^ Fool. 
 
 )T it again, with eyes heavy and dim, 
 
 With an aching head, and a cramping wrist, 
 All others at rest, but no rest for him, 
 
 Though heartsick, and weary, he dare not desist. 
 No sound, save the scratching sound of his pen, 
 
 As he traces the thoughts of his brain on the sheet ; 
 And it's at it again, and at it again, 
 
 For his work must be finished before they can eat. 
 
 And he grinds aways at his mental mill, 
 
 That his toil of the night may bring food for the day ; 
 And he sighs, but his pen must keep running on still, 
 
 That others shall laugh at his jokes and be gay. 
 And he taxes his brain for things witty and wise, 
 
 As the wind blows cold, and the snow falls deep ; 
 And he shivers, but still his pen he plies, 
 
 Oh ! what would he give dare he pause to weep ! 
 
 His heart is cold, and his limbs grow numb, 
 
 And the lamp burns dim, for the oil is spent ; 
 The pen falls from 'twixt his finger and thumb, 
 
 Though unfinished his jest or his sentiment. 
 The bow so long bent, it has snapt at last, 
 
 There is rest for the heart, and rest for the brain ; 
 His labours and dreaming alike are past, 
 
 The world hears, then it jogs on, and laughs again.
 
 A CLEVER FOOL. 
 
 »73 
 
 The songs he once sang, and the stories he writ, 
 
 Are criticised now in a kinder tone ; 
 His jokes at last get some credit for wit, 
 
 And that he had talent, his enemies own. 
 His widow and orphans are crying for bread, 
 
 But they have to learn in adversity's school ; 
 That the loving husband, and kind father, dead ; 
 
 Was, alas ! only this, — a poor clever fool.
 
 174 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 
 
 JR. A 
 
 C H E L. 
 
 ^/ ACHEL ! — that name much dearer than all others,- 
 
 V Breathing to me pure love and Heavenly bliss ; 
 That name, so reverenced, was once my Mother's, 
 
 And clasps the chain that links yond world to this. 
 If ransomed souls bear earthly names in Heaven, 
 
 The angels know none sweeter than her own ; 
 For none, than her, when in this world, have striven 
 
 Braver, to bear one spotless to His throne. 
 
 My soul, appalled, shrinks when I contemplate, 
 My own, contrasted with her pure estate. 
 
 I am her son, degenerate though I be ! 
 
 She is my mother, though she dwells in light ! 
 The love maternal, erstwhile shed on me, 
 
 Is quenchless still, more strong, more purely bright. 
 I know it ! — for I feel it, daily, nightly ! 
 
 Hovering round me, warning, shielding, cheering ; 
 Causing all troubles to pass by me lightly, 
 
 And strengthening my heart when weak and fearing. 
 
 The knowledge that an angel, pure and holy, 
 Owns me her son, forbids my melancholy; 
 Fills me with joy, when else I should despair, — 
 'Lures me to live so I may meet her there.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 175 
 
 Petef\ the Pieman. 
 
 /jLD Peter was a pieman, 
 
 Who used to stand the street ; 
 His pies had very little crust, 
 And very little meat : 
 
 If his gravy, of the water 
 And the pepper was bereft, 
 
 You'd have to buy your pie quite dry, 
 For he'd have no gravy left. 
 
 The times were hard with Peter, 
 As with other trades as well, 
 
 And his customers they dwindled 
 Like the pies he had to sell. 
 
 Till at last in his exchequer, 
 Peter could not find a " meg," 
 
 And he told his chum, when weeping, 
 He must either starve or beg. 
 
 For he owed a little butcher's bill 
 He knew he could not pay, 
 
 An when he'd ask'd for " tick " again, 
 They ordered him away. 
 
 And now if any customers 
 
 Were ^zV-ously inclined, 
 They'd have to pass his corner, 
 
 And some other pieman find.
 
 176 PETER THE PIEMAN. 
 
 His chum gave words of sympathy, 
 
 He could not give relief ; 
 And sympathy will not make pies, 
 
 Like mutton, veal, or beef. 
 
 And he left him in sad grief to think, 
 Such troubles should betide ; 
 
 For its hard to bear a can sir, 
 When you've nothing left inside. 
 
 That night the chum drew near the place 
 
 Where Peter used to stand, 
 And started, for the cry " all 'ot !" 
 
 Attention did demand. 
 
 And there he saw friend Peter, 
 
 With his face all in a glow, 
 A-serving of six little boys, 
 
 A-standing in a row. 
 
 " Why, how is this, pray tell me ? 
 
 How can such wonders be ? 
 Sure Providence has raised a friend 
 
 In thy adversity ?" 
 
 " I've found a friend," said Peter, 
 
 " Beats -all other into fits ; 
 The pies I now am selling 
 
 Have been made out of my wits. 
 
 Just try one out of friendship, 
 And have some gravy, too,
 
 PETER THE PIEMAN. 177 
 
 I've got a famous stock to-night, 
 I shan't miss one or two !" 
 
 His chum when thus invited, 
 
 Took the pie, why should he not ? 
 And if it had no merit else, 
 
 It was most pte-jnng hot. 
 
 Off home he went, and found his wife 
 
 In heavy trouble sat ; 
 "What's happened, tell me ?"— " Oh !" said she, 
 
 " We've lost our pussy cat ! 
 
 It's been enticed away, maybe, 
 
 Because it's such a size! 
 Perhaps its turned to sausages, 
 
 Or else to penny pies !" 
 
 But seeing her good man look ill, 
 
 No more complaints she made ; 
 But urged him off to bed, where soon 
 
 She had him snugly laid. 
 
 And then he thought of Peter, 
 
 And he felt his supper rise, 
 And he knew his spell of sickness 
 
 Could be traced to Peter's pies. 
 
 Inside he felt strange rumblings, 
 
 And sounds to him quite new, 
 And once or twice he could have sworn 
 
 He heard a stifled mew !
 
 178 PETER THE PIEMAN. 
 
 All night he turned and tossed about, 
 
 Next morn to work he went ; 
 And on his way met Peter, 
 
 Just the picture of content. 
 
 Says he, " When next thou makest pies 
 
 Out of thy scanty wits, 
 Don't take a neighbour's pussy cat, 
 
 That's going to have some ' kits !' " 
 And Peter stamped, and raved, and swore, 
 
 Until his face grew black ; 
 But his chum's still unbelieving, 
 
 For their pussy ne'er came back !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. 179 
 
 jVLusic op the Shell. 
 
 'TpHOSE days have gone for ever, — 
 
 Those happy days of youth, 
 When every sight was lovely, 
 
 And every sound was truth ; 
 When fairy diamonds glistened, 
 
 On every flowery bell ; 
 When I wondered as I listened 
 
 To the music of the shell. 
 
 To me it was the music 
 
 It had learned when far at sea, 
 The melody of early days, 
 
 It softly sang to me. 
 That mother's face, no longer here. 
 
 Ah ! I remember well ; 
 And the voice that sounded sweeter, 
 
 Than the music of the shell. 
 
 It was my first sad sorrow, 
 
 When that mother passed away. 
 And I looked at each to-morrow, 
 
 Through the grief-cloud of to-day , 
 When I knew that she had left me, 
 
 And I heard the passing bell ; 
 Then solemn was the music 
 
 That I heard within the shell.
 
 l8o MUSIC OF THE SHELL. 
 
 Though science taught me reasons, 
 
 For the shell's ne'er failing song; 
 And dispelled the pleasing fancies 
 
 That my heart had cherished long ; 
 Yet still I feel a pleasure, 
 
 And o'er the memories dwell, 
 That come crowding as I listen 
 
 To the music of the shell. 
 
 How have my dreams departed ? 
 
 How have my pleasures flown ? 
 How have fond fancies faded 
 
 With the mysteries of that tone ? 
 How gladly would I once again, 
 
 Return with them to dwell ; 
 But alas ! they all have vanished, 
 
 With the music of the shell.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS EFFUSIONS. I 8 I 
 
 When the End Comes. 
 
 AY me not down in the busy town, 
 "\ Where the clouds of smoke float high ; 
 Where saving at dawn of the early morn 
 You catch not a glimpse of the sky. 
 
 Lay me not down with a sculptured stone, 
 
 To heavily press on my breast ; 
 Let my coverlet be the yielding loam, 
 
 In Nature's green mantle drest. 
 
 Lay me not down where the willow's tears, 
 
 Shall gloomily fall on my bed ; 
 But put me to sleep where the wild flow'rs creep, 
 
 Making bright the dark home of the dead.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 -oCa^MJ/^o* 
 
 
 PAOF. 
 
 Annie Linn, the Moorland Flower 
 
 9 
 
 An Angel's Mission 
 
 93 
 
 A Sample of the Sex ... 
 
 151 
 
 Bells, The 
 
 121 
 
 Birdie ... 
 
 IO9 
 
 Bonny Nellie ... 
 
 123 
 
 Bygones 
 
 I46 
 
 City and Country 
 
 119 
 
 Christmas 
 
 166 
 
 Clever Fool, A 
 
 172 
 
 Comforter, A ... 
 
 «5 
 
 Daffydowndilly . . . 
 
 90 
 
 Death of Jet ... 
 
 IO7 
 
 Despondency ... 
 
 162 
 
 Eliza, Two Dreams and an Awakening ... 
 
 51 
 
 i— '113. «#• «•• ««» «(._ ,11 , 
 
 158 
 
 False One, To A 
 
 113 
 
 Good for Evil ... 
 
 97 
 
 Gold's the Thing 
 
 114
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 '83 
 
 Heririetta ... ... ,„ 
 
 Hidden Power... 
 
 Hope on ... ... ... 
 
 Idiot's Grave, The 
 Keepsake A ... 
 
 Liberty 
 
 Licensed to Sell 
 
 Lines on a Lady's Birthday 
 
 Lonely without Thee ... 
 
 Longing, A 
 
 Long Ago 
 
 Meditations at the foot of the Beacon 
 Music of the Shell 
 My Silver Wedding 
 
 Never Shall Forget 
 
 Only a Singer ... 
 One thing lasting 
 
 Poet, The 
 Peter the Pieman 
 
 Rachel ... ... ... 
 
 River, The 
 Royal Oak Day 
 
 Sad Heart, The 
 
 Seasonable Complaint, A 
 
 Second Love ... 
 
 Shower, A 
 
 Sick Man, A ... 
 
 Sing me that Lullaby ... 
 
 Snow in May ... 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 102 
 
 154 
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 99 
 
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 149 
 
 137 
 
 167 
 
 79 
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 in 
 
 143 
 
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 I»4 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 So it is ... ... 
 
 ••• ••• 
 
 ♦•• 
 
 •»• 
 
 «53 
 
 Stray Lamb, A 
 
 ••• ••• 
 
 • •• 
 
 ... 
 
 zto 
 
 Susan ... ... ... 
 
 •*• ••• 
 
 ••• 
 
 ... 
 
 164 
 
 Sway the Cot Gently ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ••• 
 
 ... 
 
 169 
 
 Thought, A ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ••• - 
 
 ... 
 
 ISO 
 
 To an old Family Bible 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 '3» 
 
 Too Good to Live 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 128 
 
 Twins ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 88 
 
 Twenty Years Ago 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 X05 
 
 Two Lords 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 100 
 
 Untold Love ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 95 
 
 Vagabond, The 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 159 
 
 Valentine, A ... 
 
 ... ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 87 
 
 Waiting for Me 
 
 ... ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 zi8 
 
 Washing Day ... 
 
 ... ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 130 
 
 Watching 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 124 
 
 When the End Comes ... 
 
 ••• ••• 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 181 
 
 Winter's Come... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 ... 
 
 147 
 
 
 W. NICHOLSON & SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, WAKEFIELD.
 
 JUST OUT. 
 
 The Choicest of John Hartley's Works. 
 
 MALLY AN' ME: 
 
 A VERY CHOICE SELECTION OF 
 HUMOROUS AND PATHETIC INCIDENTS 
 
 FROM THE LIFE OF 
 
 Sammywell Grimes and his Wife Mally. 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT, 
 By JOHN HARTLEY, 
 
 Author of "Yorkshire Lyrics," "Yorksher Puddin," 
 "Yorkshire Ditties," &c, &c. 
 
 Crown 8vo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Bevelled Boards. 
 
 Price 2s. Post Free 2s. 4d. 
 
 Published by W. NICHOLSON ft SONS, limited, 
 26, Paternoster Square, LONDON, E.G. and Albion Works, Wakefield.
 
 John Hartley's Newest Book, 
 
 YORKSHIRE LYRICS. 
 
 A Complete Collection of his Poems in the Yorkshire 
 Dialect. Collected and Compiled by the Author. 
 
 Crown 8vo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Bevelled Boards. 
 
 Price 2s. 6d. 
 
 No Book has ever been published in the Dialect equal to " York- 
 shire Lyrics." 
 
 A Reviewer says "'Yorkshire Lyrics' is the crowning effort 
 of our Dialect." 
 
 The most popular of Mr. Hartley's Dialect Poems are to be 
 found in "Yorkshire Lyrics." 
 
 "Yorkshire Lyrics" is a suitable book for presentation to all 
 lovers of "Our native twang." 
 
 The public reading of " Yorkshire Lyrics" will give rich enter- 
 tainment to any audience. 
 
 You may spend many happy moments by reading " Yorkshire 
 Lyrics." 
 
 No Yorkshireman's Library is complete without a copy of 
 "Yorkshire Lyrics." 
 
 The best Christmas gift to a friend will be a copy of " York- 
 shire Lyrics." 
 
 SEETS I' YORKSHIRE 
 
 AND LANCASHIRE: 
 
 Or, Grimes's Comical Trip from Leeds to 
 Liverpool on a Canal Boat. 
 
 PRICE ONE SHILLING. Post Free, la 2d. 
 
 SEETS I* LUNDUN : A Yorkshireman's Ten 
 
 Days Trip, or Sammy well Grimes's Adventures with 
 his friend John Jones Smith. Price is. 
 
 GRIMES'S VISIT TO TH' QUEEN. 
 
 A Royal Time amang Royalties. Price is. 
 
 This is one of the most amusing and Interesting of all 
 John Hartley's Writings. 
 
 Published by W. NICHOLSON & SONS. limited, 
 26, Paternoster Square, LONDON, E.C., and Albion Works, Wakefield.
 
 jfohn Hartley 's Unrivalled Works. 
 
 Mr. Hartley's "Works still maintain their popularity, not only 
 in Yorkshire, but it extends to many parts of the Kingdom and 
 the Colonies. His books have been highly reviewed, unasked, 
 by the Press in Australia. 
 
 Price One Shilling. 
 
 SEETS T PARIS. 
 
 SAMMYWELL GRIMES'S TRIP TO PARIS WITH HIS 
 
 OLD FRIEND BILLY BACCUS ; HIS OPINION 
 
 OTH' FRENCH AND TH' FRENCH OPINION O'T'H 
 
 EXHIBITION HE MADE OF HISSEN. 
 
 By JOHN HARTLEY. 
 
 Grimes and his Friend in their efforts to see the sights 
 of Paris meet with a many comical adventures, and make 
 the most laughable mistakes, which are described to 
 perfection in Mr. Hartley's inimitable way. 
 
 " Mr. Hartley is the most successful of Yorkshire humorists : he 
 is the Yorkshire Burns, the Edwin Waugh of Yorkshire, the man 
 whose literary star is in the ascendant, whose writings stand in relief 
 from all others of the same class." — Wakefield Free Press. 
 
 Elegantly Bound With Coloured Frontispiece. 
 Price Two Shillings. 
 
 A ROLLING STONE 
 
 A TALE OF 
 
 WRONGS AND REVENGE. 
 
 BY JOHN HARTLEY. 
 
 LONDON : Published by W. NICHOLSON & SONS, Ltd., 
 86, Paternoster Square, E.C., and Albion Works, Wakefield.
 
 YORKSHER PUDDIN': 
 
 A COLLECTION OF THE 
 
 MOST POPULAR DIALECT STORIES, 
 From the Pen of JOHN HARTLEY. 
 
 (TBS TOBKSniEB BURNS.) 
 
 Cloth, Price 28. 6d. By Post 4<i. Extra. 
 
 "A collection of the most popular dialect stories, from the pen of John 
 Hartley, author of " Yorkshire Ditties," " Beets i* London," &o,— Some 
 of these racy sketches hating been for many years oot of print, the 
 poblishers have done well in issuing them in the present handy and, indeed, 
 handsome form, prefaced with a portrait of the author — a handsome, intel- 
 lectual face, with the lips apparently in the act of whistling or hamming a 
 favourite air. The tales and poems, some forty in number, are varied in 
 interest, bat exceedingly characteristic, pathos and merriment impartially 
 mingling with rustic simplicity and Yorkshire cleverness. Th? dialect, by no 
 means difficult to read, is certainly less uncouth in southern eyes than the rich 
 Doric of Edinburgh and the Scottish Lowlands."— Bookseller, April, 1877. 
 
 GRIMES'S 
 TRIP TO AMERICA: 
 
 Being Ten Comical Letters from Sammy well 
 Grimes to John Jones Smith. 
 
 BY JOHN HARTLEY. Price la. By Post 2d. Extra. 
 
 A Series of the most Comical Sketches ever written, cannot be 
 read without having a laughing fit. 
 
 Grimes's adventures with a genuine Yankee (Ananias) on the 
 voyage out and his wanderings in the various cities of the States 
 with him, together with Ananias's wonderfully feitile resources 
 of gaining a livelihood, make the book one of the most comical 
 published, it is full of really good Fun. 
 
 LONDON: Published by W. NICHOLSON & SONS, Ltd. 
 6, Paternoster Square, E.C., and Albion Works, Wakefield.
 
 SEETS T LUNDUN: 
 
 A Yorshireman's Ten Day's Trip, 
 
 Or Sammywell Grimes's Adventures with his friend John 
 Jones Smith. 
 
 BY JOHN HARTLEY. Price Is. By Post 2d. Extra. 
 
 If ye've a fancy for a spree ; Come up to Lundun same as me, 
 Yo'll find ther's lots o' things to see, To pleas yo' weeL 
 
 " It is brimful of fun from beginning to end, and would form an ad- 
 mirable pocket companion on a railway journey, although the greater part 
 of it has such a racy smack about it that one feels a desire to have some- 
 body at one's elbow to whom to read it aloud. Sammywell Grimes, a native 
 of Bradford, tells the story of his ten days trip in the Yorkshire dialect, but 
 in so natural and humorous a vein as to make it plain and pleasant read- 
 ing to all English speaking people. This is Grimes's first Trip to "Lundun," 
 and the sights he sees and the adventures he meets with are described in 
 such a manner as to bring tears of merriment into the eyes of Londoner and 
 north countryman alike. For the beauty of it is that Sam has not the 
 smallest idea that people are laughing at himself and his native drollery. 
 He stays in London with a friend of the name of Smith, who takes him 
 round to see the lions ; and the reader, especially if he knows the big place 
 pretty well, feels that he is carried from spot to spot in company with the 
 pair of them. Sights and sounds and characters familiar in their endless 
 variety, arise about one, and London is revisited in companionship with a 
 thoroughly jovial, good-hearted, and innocent-minded man. And, mind you, 
 as he gets along with his story you find out that Sam is far from being such 
 a fool as he looks. Sharpers do, indeed, under very peculiar circumstances, 
 manage to get over him a little, but all the time he shows himself to be 
 " Yorksher " to the backbone, and while compelled to submit to their ex- 
 tortion he protests against it vehemently. It is only, however, when he 
 gets accidentally separated from Smith, who is a capital cicerone, that he 
 falls into the hands of the Philis tines Now, when Sunday comes, you see 
 fully what the heart of the seeming yokel is made of. It is full of reverence. 
 And very often when evening comes, or when Sam is left alone to his 
 meditations, he breaks out in original verse, displaying a degree of benevo- 
 lence and christian charity, which would do honour to a mind, of far greater 
 cultivation and higher pretension than that of our honest friend Sam 
 Grimes. We advise any of our readers who love the company of a truly 
 good, and, at the same time, most amusing fellow, to get introduced to 
 Sam immediately."— Bendigo Advertiser. 
 
 LONDON : Published by W. NICHOLSON k SONS, Ltd. 
 , Paternoster Square, E.C.. and Albion Works, Wakefield.
 
 A SHEAF FROM THE MOORLAND. 
 
 A COLLECTION OF ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 BY JOHN HARTLEY. Crown 8vo. Price as. 
 
 In this Book will be found some Sparkling Gems from the Pen 
 
 of this talented Author. 
 
 NEW AND ORIGINAL 
 HUMOROUS DIALOGUES. 
 
 PRICE TWOPENCE EACH. Any 3 Post Free for 7d. 
 
 No. 1. THE SPIRIT RAPPER. 
 
 A Humorous Dialogue for Seven 
 Male characters. 
 No. 2. THE MATRIMONIAL HOAX. 
 
 A Humorous Dialogue for five 
 Male characters. 
 No. 3. THE FEAST OF PANCAKES. 
 
 A Humorous Dialogue for Four 
 characters 
 No. 4. The SALTERHEBBLE RECRUIT. 
 A Humorous Dialogue for Four 
 Male characters. 
 No. 5. THREE TO ONE. 
 
 A Humorous Dialogue for Five 
 Male characters. 
 No. 6. THE MESMERIC TEA PARTY. 
 A Humorous Dialogue for Sis 
 Male characters. 
 No. 7. PEACE ON EARTH. 
 
 A Humorous Dialogue for 6 Male 
 characters, 3 of whom must be able 
 to sing. 
 No. 8. YE RTTE MERRLE MASQUE OF 
 OLLE FATHER CHRISTMASSE. 
 A Humorous Dialogue for Five 
 Male characters. 
 
 These Dialogues are admirably adapted for Entertainments of all kinds. 
 
 "LONDON HUMOROUS READINGS. 
 
 By H. LLO YD, the well-known London Reciter. One Penny Each. 
 
 The 13 Nos. Bound in Cloth, Crown 8vo. Price Is. 
 
 No. 1. A CHEAP LEG OF MUTTON. 
 No. 2. A ROMANTIC YOUNG MAN. 
 No. 3. THE THIRSTY BARBER. 
 No. 4. BUBB'S REVENGE. 
 No. 5. A NICE aUIET NIGHT'S REST. 
 No. 6. HOW MR JOHNSON CAUGHT 
 
 THE EXPRESS. 
 No. 7. DICK TUFF'S UNCLE SAM. 
 No. 8. A RAFFLE FOR A PIG. 
 No. 9. THE POSTMAN'S GHOST. 
 No. 10. THE BOYS AT THE BACK. 
 No. U. A LITTLE COMEDY OF LYING. 
 No. 12. THE LOVING LINEN DRAPER. 
 No. 18. Mr. JOBLEY'S FIRST READING 
 
 Any 6 sent Post Free for jd. in Stamp. 
 
 Published by W. NICHOLSON & SONS, Limited, 
 20, Paternoster Square, LONDON, E.C., and Albion Works, Wakefield.
 
 NOW READY. 
 
 YORFCSJilRE TJILES. 
 
 AMUSING SKETCHES OP YOBKSHIRE LIFE. 
 
 IN THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 
 
 BY JOHN HARTLEY. 
 
 FIRST AND SECOND SERIES. 
 Price One Shilling Each. Each Volume Complete. 
 
 CONTAINS: 
 
 FIRST SERIES. 
 
 Gooin in Trade. 
 
 Meddlin' Mary. 
 
 Our Granny. 
 
 Sweep ! oh ! Sweep 1 
 
 A Neet at "th' Model." 
 
 Septimus's Breach o" Promise. 
 
 A Disgraceful Case. 
 
 Doycake an' Spectre. 
 
 Backsliding. 
 
 Sam's Supper. 
 
 Thowt's worth Re-thinkin.' 
 
 Nicodemus an' Obadiah. 
 
 Nan for Another Start. 
 
 " Love, Love, Beautiful Love.' 
 
 Puttin' th' Best Fooit Forrad. 
 
 Th' Goblin Guide. 
 
 Th' Weddin* Neet. 
 
 Summat to be Praad On. 
 
 Owd Sticker. 
 
 A Pic-Nlc. 
 
 Oh these V/idden. 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 Born Soa. 
 Weddin' a Widdy. 
 Halifax Races. 
 Raand abaat th' Taan. 
 Trip to Scarbro.' 
 Gladstone's Visit to Leeds. 
 A Tift 
 Hard up. 
 Dorothy Dismal. 
 A Leeds I /miner's Lessoa. 
 Strikes. 
 
 Tommy Wilkin's Flittia.* 
 Dick's Mistak.' 
 A Suit for a Clooas Prop. 
 
 Published by W. NICHOLSON & SONS, Limited, 
 B, Paternoster Square, LONDON, E.C., and Albion Works, Wakeaeld.
 
 THE BOOK THAT EVERY FAMILY NEEDS. 
 
 ENTIRELY NEW EDITION, 
 
 Prefaced and Improved with Numerous Additions, 
 Br the Author of "ENQUIRE WITHIN." 
 
 Handsomely Bound. Price 2s. 6d. Crown 8vo. 
 
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 HOW TO COOK Meats, Poultry, Fish, Game, Vegetables, Soups, 
 
 Gravies, Sauces, Meat Pies, Puddings, Food for the Sick, &c. 
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 Cakes, Pies, Tarts, Creams, Cheesecakes, Jellies, &c, — and the Art of 
 
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 CONSULT ME, and I will teach you how to Brew, to make Wines, 
 
 Cordials, Tinctures, to Pickle, &c. 
 CONSULT ME ON HOUSEHOLD MANAGEMENT* ECONOMY; 
 
 I will tell you how to Wash, Get up Linen and Lace, Polish Furniture 
 
 — to keep the House Clean and Sweet — to Beautify the Person, &c. 
 CONSULT ME ON DISEASES AND THEIR REMEDIES, and I 
 
 will point out their Symptoms, their Causes, and their Cure; Based 
 
 chiefly on the Medico-Botanical System, so Safe, Effectual, Cheap and 
 
 Rational. 
 How to Cure Colds, Coughs, Asthma, Consumption, Aches, Pains, 
 
 Bruises, Burns, &c, &c. To make Bitters, Decoctions, Extracts, 
 
 Electuaries, Fomentations, Gargles, Infusions, Injections, Lotions, 
 
 Ointments, Pills, Plasters, Salves, Sec. 
 CONSULT ME on the Games of Cards, Solo Whist, Draughts, Billiards, 
 
 Backgammon, Chess, Cricket, Bicycling, Law, Gardening, &c. Also 
 
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 CONSULT ME HOW TO DYE in Modern Style, & the Newest Colours. 
 CONSULT ME on the Married Women's Property Act, Landlord and 
 
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 CONSULT ME on how to make things used in various Trades. 
 CONSULT ME on the Cold Water Cure, & on a Thousand Other Things. 
 
 Many of the Receipts are more Valuable than Gold. 
 
 THE GOLDEN RECEIPT BOOK, 
 
 OR INFORMATION FOR ALL CLASSES OF PERSONS; 
 
 And Indispensable especially for the Sick, the Receipts for such being 
 most Valuable, better than Silver or Gold. Various useful Directions 
 for Farmers, Tradesmen, Shopkeepers, Housewives, &c. Arranged 
 Alphabetically. 
 
 By A. W. CHASE, M. D„ of America, and H. S. Lincoln Hows, 
 of England, Cloth, i8mo. 320 Pages. Price is. 6d. 
 
 Published by W. NICHOLSON ft SONS, Limited, 
 £6, Paternoster Square, LONDON, E.O., and Albion Works, Wakefield.
 
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