THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES m Jjl^ * ■ff /L e POEMS THE DREAMING GIRL, AND e-< ilVt 6tniplc itiaxi'i pcrmittcD be, ^u^ ucatl) tl)i) Uuiu\, ICibr unli^ lnr^ mt the fiUT^t tiYi\ 75S7S3 PREFACE, It is proper for the Author to observe, that he had, primarily, no mtention of pubHshing this small vo- lume. Having been often gratified by the penisal of some of those inimitable tales in " Lights and Sha- " dows of Scottish Life," he was induced, simply for his own amusement, to commence these Poems ; sometimes stei)ping ui)on, and stre'sving the hne of occm'rence in that work, with diversified, and i)oelical thought, supplied by the muse as he passed along ; and, at other times conducted to such unbeaten, and fanciful paths, that some will say, they " Scarcely beai* similitude the while." Nevertheless, if they have any tendency to amuse the reader, but more especially to elevate the moral sentiment, his best wishes accompany them. Manchesteb, December, 1840. CONTENTS PAGE The Dreaming Girl I The Maiden of the Snow 37 Ellen and Blind Arthur 6-5 The Martyr's Child 93 The Soldier's Family 121 THE DREAMING GIRL. THE DREAMING GIRL. I. Thrice welcome thou, my homely lyre, liight up thhie almost-smothered fire, Sweep off the rust from every wire, Ajid tuneful be, Aiid simplest muistrelsy inspire, Melodiously. II. Come with me to the silent dell. And wake the soul-inspirmg spell, While cowslips and the blue harebell In concert meet. Around the lowly daisy pale. Thy tones to greet. THE DREAMING GIRL. III. Or shouklst thou choose a wiklor sweep. To skim or dive the brmy deep. Or in the whirli)oors cradle sleep, I'll follow thee. Though chambered where the crab-fish creep. So couileouslv ! IV. First let poetic song resound, In banquet-hall, for Allan found, Where laird jocund and gentles roimd. Are boon to meet The bravest seaman sea-ward bound. With gallant fleet. V. No braver Scottish youth apjicarcd, More worthy of the honest laird, ( \j i W * j[ Or of the daughter's fond regard. Than Allan Day ; Or to his co-mates more endeared, When far at sea. THE DREAMING GIRL. VI. His pulse of love that night beat high, The youthful current seemed to fly, And Fanny caught the leermg eye. Full often turned ; But when from her's a gleam shot by, He blinked and burned. VII. True love, with every changing freak, Fair as the rainbow's various streak. And couching in the diinj^lcd cheek. Is never mute ; But will in silence sweetly speak. Soft as a lute. VIII. 'Tis like the pure poetic fire, Upkindling with mtense desire. And on progressmg, rising higher, Its every thought. Is sooth, and soft as angel-lyre Of gentlest note. THE DREAMING GIRL. IX. And gi-oups of speaking eyes that time, Like brilliants from some fairy clime. In sweetest concord seemed to chime, With liveliest glee ; While musmg Fanny was the prime. The loveUest, she ! X. The maid was fair as maid could be, And aye she smiled benignantly. While rays of truth and chastity Aromid her pom'cd. As from a source of purity With sweetness stored. XI. Her ringlets were the auburn hue. Her eyes the tint of heavenly blue. The blushuig rose and lily too Bloomed on the cheek. While rubies the twin lips imbue With graces meek. THE DREAMING GIRL. XII. Oh, she was bland, and sightly she, As eye could wish, or beauty be ; And glowed with virgin radiancy. Soft as the moon. And sweet as dew-cuj) on the lea, Sipped by the sun. XIII. Unnoticed by the lively board. When cups of joy brim-full were poured, And songs on songs were still encored. The maid withdrew; For Oh, to purer bliss she soared. Bliss ever new ! XIV. At vesper-hour she left the hall. The merriments and festive ball ; And Ah, her heart was sad withal. And pined in pain. As gliding by the poplars tall. In pensive strain. 8 THE DREAMING GIRL. XV. The lowlands lill the hazy shroud. Round floating like a fleecy cloud ; The warblhig stream is heard aloud, Moandermg by ; Wliile stars gleen round, a countless crowd, With sparkling joy. XVI. The rising moon with smiling mien. The vaulted heavens and earth between, Peers like a crescent-line serene, Or curve of gold, While lovely maiden sweeps unseen The green-clad mould. XVII. And Fanny, Oh, how comely she. As skimming o'er the dewy lea. And jjausing soon, from guile as free As cherubim. She warbled with simplicity. This vesjier hymn : — THE DREAMING GIRL. 9 XVIII. May He who holds the winds iii hand. Nor lets them breathe without command, Who bids the waters know the land. Then bounds to sweep, The mariner so brave and bland. Defend and keep. XIX. " Should vivid forked lightnings flash. And thunders bui'st with roarmg crash. Or mountain-waves the welkin dash. Preserve him then ; The ' still small voice' the whole can hush To peace again. XX. Its softest whisper will suffice To quell the thundering cannon-voice ; It stays the red ball as it flies Its unseen flight. Or booms it through the iiitrenchaiit skies. As fleet as light. 10 THE DREAMING GIRL. XXI. " The brave protect where'er he go. And sliickl him from the deadly blow ; Below, on deck, or at the prow. Still let him be Encii'cled with the sweet halo Of clemency." XXII. That dulcet mo\'ing melody. Was heard by Allan wondering by. For soon he missed her wistful eye While at the feast. And smft as mated bird could fly. He fled in haste. XXIII. She scarce had brushed the pearly blade, Nathless the devry spu'es betrayed The lovely feet of angel maid. With deeper green ; And thus conducted by the shade. He heard unseen. THE DREAMING GIRL. 11 XXIV. And while she sang, the listening youth Seemed, as he drank those streams so sooth. Those welling notes of maiden ruth, Delectable, Upcaught by echo's fau-y mouth, Ineffable ! XXV. And now she turns the sweetest face. Suffused with sudden rosiness ; When to the goal of purest peace They fly and meet. Like twin-doves in their nestling place. The bosom sweet. XXVI. And breathing thus a transient space. Sweet tears trilled down the vii-gin's face, Which soon, like coursers in the chase. So fleet and warm, Depaint behind a chastened trace Of softest charm. 12 THE DREAMING GIRL. XXVII. The glistening pearls in azure eye. Seemed \nth the violet dews to vie. As round dissolving orb they lie. With silveiy tinge. Till Uly eyelid swept them by, * With silken fi-ingc. XXVIII. Light love-beams soon the hours beguile. With maiden's woiming, sweetest smile. Soft zephp-s placing round the while ; Yet blushed the maid. And sweetly meshed in lo\ing coil. This dream she said : — XXIX. ' Methought, when on my pillow laid. One eve around my do^\'ny bed, A billow reached my SAvimming head, And dashing spray, A mermaid of the foam was made. In wondrous way. THE DREAMING GIRL. 13 XXX. " Methought it bore me out to sea. To sultry, buniiiig clinies away ; No word articulate did it say. But made a moan, * And splashing in the waving spray. It plunged me do^\ll. XXXI. " At first I deemed the billows cool, ^ Wliile vergmg to a whirling pool, \ When soon the gurge, vath. wild control. And circling force, Roimd whirred me with teriific roll, A downward com'se. XXXII. In wild confusion, while asleep. When midway down the watery steep, Methought the whii'ling outer sweep Cast me away. Like tangent of the cii'cling deep. To quiet sea. 14 THE DREAMING GIRL. XXXIII. " I turned me then, to view the sky, The briny sea filled up mine eye. But still I saw the wonders by. With gaze intense ; A shark gorged down the mmion fry. With gulp immense. XXXIV. " No sun I saw, nor moon-beam there, Nor lamp, in all the watery sphere. But Ughts phosphoric eveiy where, Like milky-way Of s\\imming stars, as sheen and fair As summer dav. XXXV. " I saw a thousand gems so bright. Their fulgour dimmed me with delight ; The ruby, emerald, chrysolite. Embedded low. The opal and the diamond white. As pure as snow. THE DREAMING GIRL. 15 XXXVI. " The sea-floor seemed as paved with gold. And treasures which may not be told. Unnumbered heaps, so manifold, Of shming ore, On blank oblivion's page enrolled, ' A sumless store.' XXXVII. " I saw a lummous apex. The shell-fish scale the lubric peaks. The storehouse of a thousand wrecks. Destruction's home ; The masts, the hulls, the shattered decks. Confusion's tomb. XXXVIII. " I saw the myiiads dead below. Which fiimy shoals may never know, A multitudmous out-throw. From every land ; The monk, the christian, and the jew, A motley band. 16 THE DREAMING GIRL. XXXIX. " I saw an object through the tide, Which dejiths unfathomcd coukl not hide A corse enfolding hfcless bride, On ledge of rock, More moved me than the sights beside. And I awoke. XL. " And with the vision thus received. Thoughts full of wonder to me cleaved. And as I mused my bosom heaved, With m} steiy clad ; Such musings scarce may be believed. So strange and sad. XLI. " Meseemed the sea-nymph meant the sea. Which bore thee, dearest, far away. Where shining gems below portray. As I construe. Thyself, and fleet in bright array. And glowing crew. THE DREAMING GIRL. 17 XLII. ' Aiid then methought the whirlpool meant, The van-most ship with circling bent, Impelled around, mth bold intent. The foe to pierce ; And with continuous veering, blent In conflict fierce. XLIII. " The throat of shark, was gorging war. The mmion fry, the myriads there. Phosphoric lights the battle glare. And then, the dead. The bravest tars ' beyond compare,' Who fought and bled. XLIV. " I gleaned the do^vnward course was death, Where mid-way down I lacked breath. And thei-e perchance, the vision saith. Thy fate may be, Where I was whiiied around beneath, A-down the sea. D 18 THE DREAMING GIRL. XLV. " The other visioned scenery, I nothing ween what that may be, But, Ah, the foldmg twam are we. Who breathe of love, While rolling waves of jeopardy, Around us move. XLVI. " Now, dearest, gi-ant me simple boon, Oh, may it prove a blessed one. To-morrow at the earUest dawn, In happy hour. Meet we, and let a stem be drawn. From rosy bower. XLVII. " This plant we in salubrious site. Which first receives the orient light. And if it blossom fair and bright. Sweet omen be ; I'll water it by day and night. And think of thee. THE DREAMING GIRL. 19 XLVIII. But should it droop, and wither there, I'll still bedew it with a tear. And offer up a maiden's prayer. To Him above. Who clothes the lily flowers so fau% In robes of love." XLIX. So spake the meekest, loveliest thing, Lovely as seraphim on wing. Or heavenly birdling chirruping Its thoughts of bliss ; While Allan's arms around her cling, With fond embrace. L. The morn arose with blushmg light. The lovely stem with dew bedight. By slender hand of Uly white. Was drawn and set ; And then their loves agaui they plight, With " Don't forget." 20 THE DREAMING GIRL. LI. Like onward current, calm and clear, Sweet converse now glides roimd the year. When sailor brave to maiden dear. Should nought betide. Would in triumphant guise appear. To claim his bride. The anchors weigh, the canvas swells. The au-s, impellent, kiss the sails. The shores recede, and joy prevails The fleet among ; While buoyant hopes, like rising gales, Bear them along. LIII. The farewell group surround the strand— The matron, and the maiden band ; While Fanny, with her snow-white hand. The 'kerchief moves. Responding pennant, waving bland, To him she loves. THE DREAMING GIRL. 21 LIV. Like specks upon the ocean's rim. The gallant ships majestic swim, And in the distance fading dim. No form retain ; When from the beach, the lengthened beam Was snapped in twain. LV. And often to this point by day. Or with departing evening ray, The lovely maid would stretch away Her line of sight, In mystic sweetness, like a fay, So fair and bright. LVI. The wheels of time, while onward borne. Or tides which ebb, and then return. Were not more constant eve or morn. Than virgin feet, Upon the open beachy bourn. Her loved retreat. 22 TPIE DREAMING GIRL. LVII. Oft times she sat, auon would pace The bleaky strand with wistful face, And sometimes send a mental gaze To climes afar, As through a moistened, wildered maze, Wet with a tear. LVIH. Sometimes her strain of melody, Would fall with dymg cadency Upon the bosom of the sea. In sweetest tone. Like note of night-bird, plaintively, In forest lone. LIX. Her thoughts were like the wizard's wand, Uj)-conjming feai's on eveiy hand ; As, if a wave splashed on the strand, A ship went down ; Or, if a s^jar was dashed a-land. The fleet was gone. v>' THE DREAMING GIRL. 23 LX. A gale would with a breath arise. She heard the thunders m her sighs, And dangers thick in eveiy guise Sprang with the breeze ; But with a gale, a tempest flies Athwart the seas. LXI. Oh ! she was tender as the dove. When thinking of her mated love ; Her thoughts, like this loved bird, would rove The watery round ; Her fears the troubled deluge prove. No rest she found ; LXII. Till summer day, past noon-tide hour. As seated in the shady bower. And sheltered from a passmg shower, A sudden glance Towards beauteous stem of rosy flower, Induced a trance. 24 THE DREAMING GIRL. LXIII. Embarked upon a sea of love. Light wavelets soon like billows prove ; What marvel if o'er maid they move With whelming sway, \\niile love-bud lifts the head above The omen spray ? LXIV. The bloommg stem, so fair and slim. In emerald radiance seemed to beam Before the maid, as in a dream, A boon complete ! An opening flower on either hmb Of omen sweet ! LXV. But brief the pause which, passing, sent A lovely, softened, mmgled tint Of gentlest flush, with faintness blent, And then a smile. Like orient sunbeam permeant. And bland the while. THE DREAMING GIRL. 25 LXVI. Soon, like a sweet reviving flower, Uprising with refreshing shower. Her head she raises in the bower. With gentleness ; Inhaling sweets, in balmy hour Of blessedness. LXVII. And, waking from her fairy dream, " Frail weakling," said she, " I must seem. Unworthy of the Great Supreme ; See, where I trace. The omen buddings shoot their beam. Of loveliness. LXVIII. " A changeling ever I must be," Said she, in soft feminity ; " Erewhile upon the wide blue sea, I dreamt of death. But now behold the omen tree, Fair as a wreath. £ 26 THE DREAMING GIRL. LXIX. " Ah me, ingrate, to doubt His cai-e, WTio clothes the rose so sweet and fair. Whoso praise the valley-flowers declare. So siiilessly ! With all the songsters of the air, In liquid glee. LXX. " The loveliest rose may fade away. The lily in the vale decay. The feathered warbler lose its lay, WTiile One above, Preserves His children day by day. With ceaseless love. LXXI. " Sti'ong be His arm for Allan Day ; Methinks I see his winsome way. Bending o'er me the tenderer spray. And bud below. To shield me from the scorching ray. Or winds that blow. THE DREAMING GIRL. 27 LXXII. 'Tis meet I breathe for him a prayer, 'Tis meet my tenderest thoughts he share ; He towers above so proudly there. More fond of me Than of his ship, which takes the aii" So gallantly. LXXIII. ' Soft be his pillow on the sea, In hammock cradled tenderly. And sweet his dreams of love and me, Wherever driven ; From battle-foe, and shipwreck, free, Preserve him. Heaven !" LXXIV. The maiden now was seldom seen, Till messenger, like go-between. Arrived post-haste, with fairest mien, And silent spread His message, with a sign serene, To trembling maid- 28 THE DREAMING GIRL, LXXV. As placid as the cloudless sky. Before the maid of searching eye. These words unfolds he silently, — "All, all is well!" The message bore her Allan's die. And manual. LXXV I - The tidings thiilled her mth delight ; There seemed to swim before her sight. Soft quivering beams of flickering light, Defineless flame ! And, in a sweet extatic flight. She kissed the name. LXXVII. The wheels of time now roll ajiace. Diurnal in their even race, WliUe maiden, in her loveliness. Full oft is seen. Like mated bii'd in loneliness. With wistllil mieji. THE DREAMING GIRL. 29 LXXVIII. The circling year in " May of life," Sends forth its blossoms fair and rife, Whose sweetest fragrance, ever brief. Soon dies away ; Wlien autumn days of " yellow leaf," Sweet fruits display. LXXIX. The earth her swelling bosom heaves. The corn-fields sweep their flowing waves. And teem then stores of golden sheaves, With plenty cromied ; The empty granaiy receives The shocks around. LXXX. And now the halesome harvest-men. With all their kin, a blithesome traui, Peal forth the rural grateful strain Of Harvest-home, Like incense rismg for the gi-ain, A sweet perfume. 30 THE DREAMING GIRL. LXXXI. The harvost-raoon, all liiigci-mg she, Her orbit wheels so tardily, As if a guest she wished to be, As sheen as noon ; Beaming her smiles with grateful glee. So fair and boon. LXXXI I. The choral done, light sports commence. The tale, and song altcru, and dance, And then a countiy salliance, Of rural joy ; No challenge here for vigilance. Of matron eye. LXXXI 1 1. A groui) select, assembled were. In kitchen-hall, like spacious square, The laird, the matron, maiden fan*. And gentle-folk; Where for a treat they all prepare, Of glee and joke. THE DREAMING GIRL. 31 LXXXIV- A Spectacled all-domiiiant, Unmeet for voices jubilant. Profound, pedantic sycophant. Sat by the laird. In coin of gaping chimney vent, Whence he was heard. LXXXV. With nasal twang, and ferret eyes. The page of news he turns and plies. And reads what quack-men advertise. With eager zest ; Then swallows pills of every size, A medley feast. LXXXV I. The poet's corner caught his eye. But this he passes heedless by. Bombastic, frenzied rhapsody. Unnatural ; Unmeanmg, silly progeny. The poets all 1 32 THE DREAMING GIRL. LXXXVII. The sliippiiig, aiid the shipwTccks too. Successive pass before his view ; And pomi)Ously proceeding through, — A death-knell falls ! " The Rosamond, and all her crew, Lost in the squalls !" LXXXVIII. The sentence fell like bolt of death. Or angry lightning's flashing scath ! — 'Twas like a pestilential breath. To slender maid ; She faded like a blasted wTeath, Or tender blade ! LXXXIX. Did ever floweret fail", sustain A blast so sti'ong, and bloom agam ? The stem is bent, and fibrous vein Grows cold and still. While all the ^ital saps remam To flow and heal. THE DREAMING GIRL. 33 xc. The lovely maid begins to move, Collects her thoughts, which wildly rove, — " The Rosamond !" said she, and strove The whole to say ; But, silent as the breathless grove. She fades away. xci. They bore her to the bay recess. Removed the sash, which fi-onts the place. Where omen-plant, ia floridness. Its fragTance gives ; She breathes the odours as they pass. And then she Uves. XCII. Plunge after plunge, and swoon on swoon, Was ever maid so wobegone ? She now beheld, by glimpse of moon, A shadow glide ; With shrill and renovated tone, " 'Tis he !" she cried. 34 THE DREAMING GIRL. XCIII. " Methought ho turned, and glanced at me. As gliding by the holly tree ; Ah no, his cold grave is the sea, The crew are lost; His noble form I ne'er may see ; "Twas Allan's ghost!" XCIV. The portal swings upon the post, A figure o'er the thi-cshold crossed. Not like a jellied, wateiy ghost. From depths afar ; But in the guise of maiden's boast, A British tar I xcv. Towards the sylph-like foim he flies. The maiden shrieks with wild sui-prise. Then sinks, as if no more to rise. From sailor-breast; Like loveliest bird of Paradise, In sweetest nest. THE DREAMING GIRL. 35 XCVI. Twas sweet for ever thus to see. The twm-buds of the omen-tree, Blooming then loves so fragrantly ; Oh ! it was bhss. To see them twine, so tenderly In chaste embrace. xcvii. In streams of love and purity. The maid her soiTOWs laves away, And then discourse they artlessly ; So boon they seem. Of days gone by, and days to be. Then- happy theme. XCVIII. The maiden's fears sank, like a wreck. When of the Rosamond he spake ; It was the Rosa sprang a leak. And then went down, Which well unravels the mistake Read, by the clown. 36 THE DREAMING GIRL. XCIX. As well beseemed those happy days. The twain unite then- grateful lays. To Him who quells the wildest seas, Tempestuous ; And leaves a calm behind of peace. Propitious ! Soft is His hand who keeps his own. His eye is love, though it may frown ; And where the seeds of love be sown. He'll water them, And crown them with the benison Of all His name ! THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. I. The bird of heaven, the laverock sweet. Has left his mountain domicile ; The linnet's warblings cease to gi*eet. The watchful shepherd of the hilL II. The verdant smile of summer gone. With honeysuckled cot's perfume ; Bleak winter on his shivering throne. Surrounds with frost his ample room 40 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. III. No springing herbage for the herd. No sheltering form for timid hare ; Nor bud, nor berry, for the bird. But desolation chiU and bare. IV. The moorland hills of nature sleep. With virgin snow enrobed around ; The stars in silent motion creep. Like fairy gems o'er crusted ground. V. Far in the wild of Highland moor, One solitaiy hut is seen. With flaky mantle covered o'er, And warm content, and peace within. VI. The peat-fire shone, on neatness round. On table spread *dth humble fare ; On Holy Bible open found, — Assurance God himself was there. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 41 VII. On either side the cheerful fii'e. Contemplative affection, proved How much the mother, and the sii'e. Of maiden thought, so well beloved. VIII. The clean, and homely board prepared. Was for a lovely, only child ; ^Vho, distant o'er the mountains, shared The service of a farm-stead wild. IX. And this the looked-for, welcome night. When she "her saer-won peimy fee," With angel-hand, and sweet dehght. Should fondly place on parent-knee. X. The moments come, and pass away, No gentle touch on latch, is found ; The moon, and stars, in bright array, J Hume the concave sky around. G 42 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. XI. Protracted silence, like a charm, Held them in mute anxiety ; At length parental love, too warm. Brake forth in soft maternity : — XII. " Blooms not our lassie fair as rose. And sweet as any flower of May ? And shoots she not as fast, and gi'ows. And beams as bright, as summer-day ?" XIII. The years roll on," the sire replies, " And soon the number will be told. When we shall see our child arise. More precious than a mine of gold. XIV. " Oft has the mmister declared. How well she reads her Bible through And, loud as lark, in kirk she's heard, Warbling her hymn, as sweetly too. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 43 XV. " Could aught below such goodness harm. While stars of heaven shine on her path, As gUding fi-om our neighbour-farm. On snow-white pavement, o'er the heath ?" XVI. A sudden gust blew round the hut, ^Vhich gave the naked tree a gi*oan, A moving anguish at its root. And all the wild a dismal moan. XVII. The su'e upstarted on his feet. His dog he called, and took his stave ; Away he went his child to meet. And save her from a mountain grave. XVIII. The mother gazed, in wild dismay Ai'ound, upon the darkened scene, So lately shining bright as day, But now, nor moon, nor stars, are seen. 44 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. XIX. She looked upon the fitful sky. With elemental strife replete ; And now, she turns her frightened eye. Where winds in boommg currents meet. XX. Aloft, the blasting trumpets blow Theii' blarmg note, as nature groaned ! While flying flakes of fleecy snow, Ai-e diifted, thickening, whMing round. XXI. Soon as the evening moon arose. Watched by the eye of Mary Lee, This maid the night-chills did oppose, And scaled the mountains cheerily. XXII. She sang a strain, as blithe as bird ; It was a song of sanctity ; Far in the heavens her voice was heard — That hymn was sweet, and pure as she. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 45 XXIII. The rippled stream had ceased to flow, Aiid chimed not with the melody ; Its course was overlaid with suow. And nothing heard save Mary Lee. XXIV. She glinted upwards to a star. With eyes of love, and lovely face ; She thought of Him, who sees afar. And of her home, and hapj)iness. XXV. She thought of cheerful peat-fireside. And of her parents anxiously, — Of Holy Bible, open wide, Of worship, most religiously. XXVI. She thought she saw her narrow room — The mirror on the white-washed wall ; She thought of all the sweet perfume Of calm content, which sweetens all. 46 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. XXVII. So thought this child of innocence. As lightly gliding o'er the snow; The air was eager, and intense. And pearls were frozen, roiuid her brow. XXVIII. When on the verge of bleaky moss. Her eyes she cast on wildered way. And heard the roar of \\iads across. Which hushed at once her tuneful lay. XXIX. She knew no fear, but bolder seemed, As neai'ing home with quickened j)ace ; For still the stars ai'ound her beamed. And hope shone brighter in her face. XXX. Too soon the sky began to scowl — A snow-flake wafted to her eye ; She heard again the booming howl. And now she knew a stonn was nigh. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 47 XXXI. She heard the distant whirl come on. With maddened fury, 'cross the moor ; A shade upon her path was thrown — 'Twas dark behmd, and dark before. XXXII. The sky, so lately bright and clear. And garnished round with life and love. Was clothed with tempest, wild and drear. And winds, with gusty frenzy, drove. XXXIII. No eye, save One, this storm could see. Or pierce the blackness round the hill ; 'Twas not the eye of Maiy Lee, But His, who bade the waves be still. XXXIV. " The change is frightful," stammered she ; " Alas, for all the lonely sheep ; Poor lambkins, what can shelter ye !" And then the maiden 'gan to weep. 48 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. XXXV. Her tender feet a numbness felt — The cold as keen, as cold could be ; Aroimd her head, the snow-flakes pelt. And, breathless, down sank, Mary Lee. XXXVI. " Oh, Heaven !" said she, "must I die here ? The snow my only winding-sheet ? Nor father's love, nor mother's tear. To warm the freezing death I meet ? XXXVII. " And must I see the sky no more ? Nor hear the warbling lark agam ? No more behold a lovely flower. Or evergreen, of nu*al glen ? XXXVIII. " Must I then perish in this wild, 'Neath yonder awful, darkened dome ? And buried be, in drifts up-piled. Until the weeping thaw be come ? THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 49 XXXIX. " Almighty Father, Holiest Name ! The rismg murmur low be laid ; Oh, make my will, and Thine, the same. And shelter my defenceless head. XL. Dost Thou not hold the stormy wind. Within the hollow of Thine hand ? Thou speakest to the murmuring mind. And all is calm, at Thy command." XLI. She said that prayer, she said no more, But cold she lay, to sleep and die ; It pierced exhaustless Mercy's store, Wliich feedeth ravens, when they cry. XLII. Not far from stem, nipped off with frost. Behind a drift of jailing snow. The aged trunk, all tempest-tossed, Was felled, and lay to perish too ! H 50 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. XLIII. Omniscient Heaven, did well llro^^de, A rescue for this maiden bland. In one who sought her for his bride. And sharer of his father-land. XLIV. The virgin girl he oft beheld. And rural meal did oft receive. From her, whose softer looks repelled. The searchmg glance of Walter Reeve. XLV. This bravest youth of pastoral scene. His flock had sheltered nigh the linn. And bounded, like the roe unseen. And fleet as arrow, home to win. XLVI. For well he knew a storm would come. Since o'er his head a snow-cloud hung : He knew his Maiy wended home. Her home-jiath, mighty hills among. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 51 XLYII. The moon was high, and soon he found, His flower removed to mountain brow, The sweetest bud the wild around, Ai'rayed in bloom of fairest blow. XLVIII. The charms of home, around her came. One only Power could force her stay, That Power did homewards fan the flame. Which hied her lovely feet away. XLIX. The youth sped off, with dogs, which knew The form, and voice of Mary Lee, Since oft, from her fair hands, they drew Their food, and kindness 2>lenteously. L. He knew her track, where oft afore. In innocence, and sweet delight, The twain had crossed the lonely moor. Beneath the smile of summer-iiight. 52 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. LI. No tracing i)athway now is seen, But one broad sheet of mantling snow, Spread o'er the face of nature's green. And blanched with hoai* of winter's brow. m. The looked-for tempest gan, and roared. And love waxed stronger, as it raged. As through the fallmg flakes he gloared, And Mary Lee his thoughts engaged. LIII. He called her name mcessantly. As if some spell enwheeled the word ; Again he called on ISIary Lee, 'Mid mighty tempest, louder heard. LIV. fStill pressing on, renewing cry. The dogs began to understand. And, glancing upwards to his eye. Away they scoured without command. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 53 LV. He floundered on, through piHng snow. Till hope, and courage 'gan to sink ; And flounced his way, in blindness too. With whirling flakes on every blink. LVI. Ere long, one worn-out dog returned. And gasping, fell down wearily ; His blearing, swimming eyes, ui^turned. No tidings told of Mary Lee. LVII. His mate was mute, and lingered long. Unseen, unheard by all below ; The youth, a j^rey to shari)est pang, Despau'ing, sank upon the snow. LVIII. With grief o'ercharged, he lay a space, Assured his Mary Lee was dead ; A stillness gathered round the place, And lo, his shcidierd dog was fled ! 54 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. LIX. He brushed the snow-flakes from his eye, And, listenmg, caught a distant bark, A note of recognismg joy ! And off he sprang, as light as lark. LX. Redoubled strength is rendered now. He, fearless, rushed impetuously ; He bounded through, and o'er the snow, And prostrate fell by Mary Lee. LXI. Her snow-white, frozen hand, in his He took, and raised her helpless form. And then her pallid face did kiss. Where still he saw the lingering charm. LXI I. Domi fell her head, upon his breast, A deep, and shivering sob, she gave ; ' Kind Heaven," he cried, " give thy behest, And raise this maiden from the grave. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 55 LXIII. " Dispel the turmoil iii the sky. Command the fitful scene up-break, Light up again this maiden's eye. And bid the crimson current wake." LXIV. That prayer was heard, the winds were laid, A sudden calm came o'er the hiU, As though the heavenly voice had said, " Ye whirUng drifts, and winds, be still." LXV. The storm retned all-cheeringly. The dogs again barked out with joy. They frisked around with burrowing glee. The snow among, afar, and nigh. LXVI. The lily folds, o'er azAire eye, Were parted, and a beam was seen. More cheering than the deep blue sky. Which peeped the opening clouds between. 56 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. LXVII. She 'gan to move the stiffened limb. He gently raised her drooping head ; She throbbed again, and looked on him, And then, in faltering accents, said : — LXVIII. " One rmglet, of my frozen haii", To Walter my last token be." " Alas, she thinks she's dying here. And dymg, thus remembers me. LXIX. " I'll bear thee, Mary, to thuie home, As fleet of foot, as fleetest roe ; I'll lodge thee, in thy little room. And save thee, or I'll perish too." LXX. His mantling plaid, the maid upon. He bore her angel-fonn away, ^V^lich seemed as light, as thistle-dowai ; And then the moon shone out, like dav. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 57 LXXI. Returning wai-mth came to their aid, As maiden, in his arms, was pi*essed She now herself, uplifts the head. Reclining on the anxious breast. LXXII. " Oh, Walter!" said she, "little need. To care for hapless Mary Lee, While there is one, with father's speed. Lone, wandering o'er this wild for me. LXXIII. " Ah me ! he must be round this place. And perishing upon the snow !" The father reeled before her face. And frozen tears, began to thaw. LXXIV. The loud alarms of living breath. Had roused the parent's cold repose. Upraised him from that sleeping death, When God alone could interpose. 58 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. LXXV. His was the hand which formed the ear, 'Twas His own voice which struck thereon ; He works unseen, and everj' where. And saves the helpless when alone. LXXV I. The maiden's look, and father's gaze. Each spake a language understood, As eloquent as Gabriel's jiraise. The look, the gaze, were gratitude. LXXVII. Til at language sweet, could not reveal, Each sum of suflFeiings while alone. Those sufferings unreciprocal. Recorded all, at yonder Throne ! LXXVIII. The white rose, and the red, resume Their wonted bloom, on maiden face ; The spangled Heavens agam illimie. This httle band of happiness. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 69 LXXIX. The rescue, like a genial fire. Warm influence shed, and lively glee ; The youth assists, and now the sire. The failing steps of Mary Lee. LXXX. If pleasure pure did ever dwell. In angel-bosom here below. Like heavenly showez-s, 'twas here it fell, Upon The Maiden of the Snow. LXXXI. She felt a flow of thankfulness. To Him who worketh all things well : And Oh ! she felt assuredness. His care is more than song can tell. LXXXI I. She poured soft beams of lovingness. Upon blest faces over her. And raised a tide of happiness, Upspriuging from a sparklhig tear. 60 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. LXXXIII. A twinkling star, of cottage light, Arose, across the lonely moor, A chann, like magnet of the night. Attracting all with silent power. LXXXIV. And nearmg thus the snow-clad cot. They laughed, and talked, with meriy glee. As though the storm were all forgot, Aiid all were well, with Maiy Lee. LXXXV. Alas, the feint was vain and wild. They sought to warn a mother's fear. No ill had fallen unto her child : Their joy fell not ujDon her ear. LXXXV I. The booming blast, and whirling snow. Retreat had caused from cottage door, And wrought the mother's overthrow. Who long had swooned on chiUing floor THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 61 LXXXVII. The husband raised her to a chaii-. Her face was pale, her i^ulse beat not ; 'Twas more than slender form could bear. And down sank maiden of the cot. LXXXVIII. They bore them both to lowly room. And placed them on the narrow bed ; O'erwhelming fears, and thickening gloom, SmTomided, where the twain were laid. LXXXIX. Long time they strove to waken them. In mingled hoj^e and fear, they tried ; They deemed God had forsaken them, As kneeling down the bed beside. xc. And lowly, on then bended knees, In solemn worship, Him before, They called to mind One on the seas, Who stilled the maddening tempest's roar 62 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. XCI. The father clasped a clay-cold hand, Aiid cried aloud on Holy Power ; " Oh, God !" he said, " give Thy command, And save us from this e\il hour." XCII. One silent pulse began to speak. The maid arose, with icy brow. And throbbed, as every link would break. Which bound her to that scene of woe. xcni. She called her mother, o'er and o'er. The pillo^ving arm beneath her laid ; She plied each art, her every power, To raise her from the dying bed. xciv. She gently warmed her frigid feet, And bathed with tears the pallid cheek ; The torpid heart began to beat. And life's fair dawn, began to break. THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. 63 xcv. The wondering mother gazed on all. As recollection faint, returned ; No scene, save one, could she recall. When from the door the husband turned. XCVI. Nor thought, nor motion, did remain. While on the floor she lay at length ; The pityuig Heavens take all the pain. If all the pain sui-pass the strength. XCVII. The lengthened storm seemed like a thought. Or moment, to her wakened eye ; And nothing now, save smiles, she caught. From happy, loving, angel nigh. XCVIII. And now they speak of what had passed. Of bravest youth, and sweetest maid ; Of all adventures, first to last. While wakening hght, beams round her head. 64 THE MAIDEN OF THE SNOW. XCIX. She cast a look at Walter Reeve, And Oh ! she blessed him thankfully. And bade him, as from Heaven, receive. The beauteous hand of Mary Lee. They led the mother 'fore the fire, The group surround the waiting meal ; Sweet thanks they offer, through the sire. And all the angry storm is still. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR, K ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR, Arthur Kean, hale and Hthe, was the pride Of his own native hamlet around ; And encircling the place, rolled the tide Of his hopes, to the wild mountain bound. II. While the wakening streaks in the east. O'er the mantle of night shed theii- grey, And the twilight sailed round to the west, Arthur hied to the Highlands away. d8 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. III. On a summit, his shepherd dog yare. Had encompassed his flock in the night. With a cii'cle, as true as the bear Wlieels the pole, in the firmament's height. IV. The full tale of his ewes, he found right. As he numbered them o'er one by one. And disjDersed them, to new morning light, Or to frolick, or graze, at their lone. Faithful Wolf, frisked around with his bark. And his gambols, caresses besjioke ; Wliile his matins he joined with the lark. As the fair, dappled day-light awoke. VI. Soon the sun, in his fiery car, flew Up the steep, of his high mounting road ; And he sipped up the sweets, with the dew, As he scaled the bright chambers of God. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. GO VII. Arthur couched, and reclined by the broom. And the heath's odoriferous flower ; With his tartan up-spread hke a dome, . As a shade, from the sun's sultry power. VIII. But in Ai'thur's own bosom, there dwelt A sweet flame, of empyreal spark. Which would kindle a glow, to be felt Should the orbs in the heavens become dark. IX. EUen Cave was a fair scented flower. And her bosom the new drifted snow. And her chai-ms were as fresh, every hour. As the sweet bud, of spring's early blow. X. Not a maiden more comely to greet, Moved the \allagers' circle among ; And her cumberless thoughts were as sweet. As the notes of the laverock's loud song. 70 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. XI. O'er the pure damask vest of her miiid. Was portrayed with the radiance of youth, Au assembhvge of virtues combined, And around, was the halo of tnith. XII. And her soft, changmg bkishes revealed. As thev flushed through then- thm lilv fold, Every charm, which might not be concealed. In a fonn of such dehcate mould. XIII. They disclosed the soft magic of love, AVith a pathos, as jnire as might be. Unto one whom the Heavens aj^prove. For young Ai-thur, the shepherd, was he. XIV. But, the minstrel while harping their loves. Must be charmed by theii- earHest song. As they traversed the greenwood, and groves. And rejoiced the sweet warblers among. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 71 XV. Soft and winsome, their every smile. And as mild as a moonbeam were they ; All their childhood was light as their toil, Or at school, or their innocent play. XVI. In their clean lowly cots they both learnt, To be thankful for little received ; And to feast at the board of content, Is a banquet, too rarely conceived. XVII. Neither Arthur, nor Ellen, aught knew. Whence their current of love took its source. Lovely flowerets together they grew. And, like streamlets, they blended their course^ XVIII. As their young, rolling years, jmssed away, And their light flexile forms were all boon, Ellen's smile, was the mildness of Mav, Arthur's love, was the summer's warm .Tune. 72 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. XIX. In the morn, with the glimmer of day, They would waken the hills, with their hymn. Ere the savage bird sought for the prey. Or the sun shewed the top of his rim. XX. And while Ai-thur, o'er flocks on the hUl, Kept his watch, as his wont was to do ; The sweet maiden would sew by the rill. As she thought of the oft-plighted vow. XXI. And at night, in the lone shady dell. With their hearts overjoyed to the brim. Distant echo would rise with a swell. As they chanted their evening hymn. XXII. All then- youthful days fleetingly run. While they patiently wait for the hour, Wlien themselves, and their joys, may be one, To commingle together their store. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 73 XXIII. And their nuptial-day, soon was declared. And the plighted, a low dwelling took ; A mud cottage, with garden prepared. Sloping down to the silveiy brook. XXIV. But the counsels of God, who may scan ? And His secret designs, who can know ? Nor the soaring archangel, nor man. May presume to say, " What doest Thou ?" XXV. He vouchsafes in the Heavens to dwell, And He governs the nations below ; And He stays the proud waves m their swell, With His fiat, " Thus far shall ye go." XXVI. Decked around, with the sunbeams of truth, And effulgence, repellent to sight. Every ray is benignant and sooth. To the trembler. He brings to the light. 74 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. XXVII. He \vill suffer no rival to share. In the bosom. He claims as His owii ; No usuqier with Him may comi)are, Or may venture to sit on His throne. XXVIII. Eveiy atom awaits the control. Of His boundless, omnipotent sway ; And the innermost cell of the soul, Lies as naked, and bare, as the dav. XXIX. Ai'thur's love, unrestrained as the wind. Breathed the tale, that his idol prevailed ; Wlien 'twas said, " Let the lover be blmd. Till his unhallowed passion be quelled." XXX. The commandment went forth, and his eyes Became dim, as the candle by day ; And he staggered around with surprise. Without sunbeam, or moonshining ray. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 75 XXXI. And as darker, and darker, he grew. With submission, he bowed to the blow Of the Power, which can all things subdue, And exalts, and anon brmgeth low. XXXII. By degrees, every glimmer withdrew, TUl the foimtain of vision was sealed. On his dim, rolling eye-balls of blue. While the purpose of Heaven was revealed. XXXIII. And his heart became softer, and pure, When the light of the sun was withdrawn ; And the beams of the Brightest his lure. When the smiles of his Ellen were gone. XXXIV. Through a clear, flowing river of light, He was led by ineffable ray, To a world more effulgently bright, With the sun of celestial day. 76 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. XXXV. And he bathed iii a flood of new light. And he drank at the fountain divine, While do^^^l-plunged in the dark guljih of night. And the day-beam refused to shine. XXXVI. Clothed -with darkness, the midnight to him Shone as bright, as meridian day. While a pure, and a pei-meant gleam. Chased the black cloud of eiTor awav. XXXVII. Oh ! how blest eveiy thought, and refined, When the Highest ascended his throne. In the bosom's pm'e region enshiined. Like a ray of Elysian noon. XXXVIII. It was then the sweet maid would apjiear, On the altar of ti'uth to recline ; And would beam with a fervour more dear. And in beautv, the blandest would shine. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 77 XXXIX. Every chord of his soiil was well toned, And harmoniously chimed, to fulfil The behests of the Deity throned. As He touched every chord at His will. XL. In humility's garment aiTayed, Arthur clung to the right hand of God, And he tasted the sweets as conveyed. By the stroke of His sovereign rod. XLI. Wrapt m gloom, 'mid the sunshining round. Of the gambols which passed o'er the green. He would jiace round his own darkling bound. To survey the closed world him within. XLII. He could glance at the flocks on the hill, WhUe exposed to the storm's vivid gleam, Undismayed, as serenely, and still. As the face of an unrippled stream. 78 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. XLIII. For -he knew that no ill could assault, Unpermitted, unnoticed by God, Who dii-ecteth the red flashmg bolt. Or to shiver, or spai'c at His nod. XLIV. And the lily flower sheweth no bloom. Nor the soft, silken hau*, changeth hue. Nor the chii^phig bird meeteth its doom. Without Him, who createth things new. XLV. He could picture his own lonely lot. From the glow of creation exiled. While, contented, he moved round the cot. As he sent a thought upward, and smiled. XLV I. On the retina of " the mind's eye," Watchful Wolf, he depicted with glee, x^nd, while patting, would fancy him shy, None so lightsome in daakness as he. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 79 XLVII. But alas ! in the back-gi-ouiid of shade,^ He discovered the fair form of one. O'er whose features the shadows were sjiread. And the bright smiles of hope were all gone. XLVIII, And the semblance was true to the life. For his Ellen would weep by his side, Like a fountam of sorrow, all rife. As a mourner, but not as his bride. XLIX. For the prudent, would counsel bestow. And dissuade from the union of hands, AVhen, a sea of distress would o'erflow, Every thought of connubial bands. Overwhelmed with the waters of grief, And inheriting many a care, To the strong would she look for relief. Till subsided the storm of despair. 80 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. LI. And anon, a sweet calm would ensue, And her hoijes would uj^kindle again. And would shine, with the soft chastened hue. Of the jDliosphorus lights in the main. LII. She would gaze on the face so beloved. With a pathos of pit}^, so deej?. Till she deemed the fair Heavens were moved. That their troth -plighted vows they should keep. iiii. And, while pondering his balls of pale hue, As they rolled in their sockets so dim. All her pondermgs tenderer gi'ew. Till her own melting orbs would o'er-swim. iiv. And, in soft, plaintive voice, would she cry. To the Heavens, for guidance di\ine. Every comfort, and want, to supply. And around the lone sufferer to shine. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 81 LV. And her accents were sweeter to him. Than the nightingale's note, or the lark ; And as dear as the line of a gleam. Or the glow of ethereous spark. LVI. She would pass her slim hand his within, And would walk by the clear-gliding stream, As it moved round the brae, and the whin. But withholding its clearness from him. LVII. And the pipings of birds, through the breeze. And the clear purling water-note near. With the wild fl>ing hum of the bees. Seemed a chorus, for Heaven to hear. Lvm. Oh ! how lovely the twain to behold. As they passed through the deep shady doll, As they listened with raptures untold, To the bird-song, as warbling it fell. u 82 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. LIX. Arthur hearkened, and forth peered his soul, Ijiglit and j)hiyful, as sunbeam of joy, \\liile diffusing \\-ith Hvely control. The sweet smile roiuid the visionless eye. LX. Ellen hung, round his neck, with delight. And her portals, of ruby, would press. On his delicate ruins of sight, A beloved and fervent embrace. LXI. And her tears would bedew Arthm*'s face. With a pure, and imsj^eakable bhss ; Though he saw not the crjstal drops chase. He could feel the warm glow of the kiss. XXII. As the ocean tides flow their full swell, AVheu the moon-shade ecUpses the sun. So the tears, of the maid, as they fell. Laved around the dim orbs, trilling down. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 83 LXIII. And to Arthiu", at night, on his bed, The bright image of Ellen would shine. With a beauty, that may not be said. And a sweetness, no pen may define. LXIY. And his dreams, when to memoiy brought, Told the tale, that his Ellen had been. Like the honey, of eveiy thought. And the spirit, of sleep's foiry scene. LXV. But a cloud would by day intervene, And would pass between him and the maid, When he thought of the toil, and the teen. Which on Ellen too soon would be laid. I.XVI. .\nd sometimes, he would point to this cloud, Till the Framcr of Suns shot a beam. And the cloud, curling round, would then scud, And disperse, like the wreck of a dream. 84 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. LXVII. And the twain, wlien it vanished away, Bloomed as fair, as tlie blossoming thorn ; And fresh joys would up-spring all the day, And theii' brows with new splendours adorn. LXVIII. For they deemed they had heaid a voice say, " Let your every care be on Me, It is I, bade the cloud pass away. That the lowly. My goodness might see. LXIX. Not the weak, bruised reed, may be broke. If it yield to My purpose, and bend ; And the flax may not quench, if it smoke. But shall bui-n, and like incense ascend. LXX. " It is I, who uplit the first beam. And the flax with new fire I supply. Till it blaze an ethereous flame. And translucentlv clear from alloy. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 85 LXXI. " Though the die, imto Mammon may give, Ou the perishing metal, his form. The fair image My jewels receive, ShaU 2)revail through the uttermost storm. LXXI I. As secure, as the light floating cork. When up-tossed, on the white surging wave, See them now sail away in their bark. Both the winds, and the billows, to brave. LXXI 1 1, For the nuptial-day now we behold. And the villagers press to the scene, Smce the bride had the \'illagers told. That a dance would be held on the green. LXXIV. Blithe, and gladsome, the hamlet that day. Soft, and mellow the music, and sweet, AR the country-kirk band was at play, Both the loved, and the loving to greet. 86 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. LXXV. Aiid the bride, and the bridegroom, ajipeared. As the innocent time passed away ; To the light, joyous gi'oup, more endeared. None so comely, and winsome, as they. LXXV I. Boon and buoyant, the bride moved, and Ught As the gossamer down ever flew ; And her go\\ii, was the moming-snow white. And her ribbons, the canopy blue. LXXVII. For this child of pure nature, well knew, That her Arthur would love such attire ; Though the world was shut out from his view. Yet to please him, m thought, she'd asjine. LXXVIII. And the comely, blind youth, would oft smile. At the praise of his wife, whispered round, While the music, and dancmgs beguile. And the riual enjoyments abound. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 87 LXXIX. Aiid the scene, neither boisterous, nor gi-ave. Was all happily blended between ; Since a garland of virtue would wave. O'er the festival dance, on the green. LXXX. Such the mandate, bUnd Arthur had given. That their pastime should spotless be seen ; Not a wrmlde offensive to Heaven, Or unseemlv their circle withui. LXXXI. And the harmless light play, would now cease. As the gloammg was spreading around ; And the villagers left not a trace. Of a blemish, or stain, to be found. LXXXI I. And a compact among them was made. To the new-married pair to concede. Then- support, and their every aid. In the hour of adversity's need. 88 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. LXXXIII. When the wedded withdrew from the green, Between grave, between gay, they both shone ; Summer cloudlets, with sunshine between, And then sailing together in one. LXXXIV. As the current of time passed away, All serenely their moments would roll. Daily matins, and vespers they say. While the cup of enjoyment fills full. LXXXV. On the Sabbath their melodies join. The full peal of the kirk choral hymn ; And a bHss, round their hearts, would ent^vine, While a soft tinge of sweetness would beam. LXXXV I. In theii* basket, and store, God would bless. For blind Arthur had baskets to braid, And the twain, in their own loveliness. Would, together, both ply at the trade. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 89 LXXXVII. But at riches, more precious than pelf. They would smile, as they danced on the knee, Happy emblems of self, and of self. When, in childhood, they sported in glee. LXXXVIII. And these loves made their bliss overflow. Little rivulets, swelling the sea ; And theii' coffers all hea\'ier grow. Like the honey-hive, filled by the bee. LXXXIX. Ere the sun, of fan- Providence, shone, Arthur thought how his heart would oft sink, But, with Ellen, he smiles at this smi. And he smiles without blenching, or blink. xc. Now the curious were oft seen to watch. And to wonder, as Arthur would ply. At the door of his own lowly thatch. While the breezes swept cheeringly by. N 90 ELLEN AND BLTND ARTHUR. XCI. Twas the morn, of a mild springing day. Ere the laverock had dropped from the sky, When a jounieyer pursuing his way, Was arrested, to mark the dim eye. XCII. Like a visitant, he, from above. So benignly proposed he his aid. The dark curtains, away to remove. And the delicate regions invade. XCIII. It was done, and the vision danced round. Like a prisoner, let loose from his cell. Free as sunlight, o'ertopping the bound Of the hills, with illimited sail. xciv. Ai-thur's clear-raptured eye, would then gaze. With soft beams of ineffable love. On the group of his cot, with amaze. While the Heavens were smiling above. ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. 91 xcv. He then flew to his mate's lovmg arms, Which were open as day-light, to him. While embracing her matronly charms. With a gushing of bliss, to the brim. xcvi. And the children, like radiance, apjjear, And uprise to forestal the embrace, And bedew, with the infantile tear. The loved orbs, of the father's loved face. XCVII. Then the yomigHngs, like tendrils, would clhig To the parent-stocks, bearing them round The gay hamlet, where lightsomely spring. Wells of song, with a sweet gladsome sound. XCVIII. How sincere was the joy of the place. Pure as dew, falling down from the sky ; Not the shade of a cloud on a face. But a gladness, which never may cloy. 92 ELLEN AND BLIND ARTHUR. XCIX. Now the pui'pose of Heaven is fulfilled, Aiid the unruly passion is quelled ; Not a motive of error concealed. But its every approach is repelled. And the "Father of Lights" rules supreme, With a gentle, beneficent sway ; As to-day, on the morrow the same. And He shineth for ever, and aye ! THE MARTYR'S CHILD THE MARTYR'S CHILD 'Twas calm, and the loch Of Saiiit Mary, serene, Unrippled and still, Like a mirror was seen. II. The mountains were hushed. And the desolate glen ; And cotters around. Had forsaken the plain. 96 THE martyr's child. III. Blithe sunbeams were seen, Dancing light in the air, 'Mid season of gloom. And dark day of despair : IV. And Heaven's best boon, In her sweetness an-ayed. Too pure for the wild. Or the dell's hallowed shade Or shepherd's low shiel, Whence, forlornly she fled. And, hunted from home. Had " not where for her head VI. Save cavern, or cleft. Or the kennel of fox ; Sole dweller is she. In the heart of the rocks. THE martyr's child. 97 VII. 'Mid solitude vast. And ill silence profound. She shews her lone head. To the desert around. VIII. Though weak as the reed, She's the child of all might ; If darkness suiTound, She's adorned with light. IX. The more she's down-jiressed. So much more doth she gi-ow ; Her comeliness, clear As a river doth flow. Cast down, not destroyed, She again lifts her eyes. Up-glancing to Heaven, As her orisons rise. 98 THE martyr's child. XI. Uncage her on earth. And above she \vill fly. On pinions of love, Through the dome of the sky. XII. All dwellings forloni. Save a lone smiling cot, Where home was still home. And desertion was not : XIII. ^Vhere matron and sii'e. With their care-furrowed brow. And hail' silvered o'er. And as blanched as the snow ; XIV- With maiden so fair. And so lambent and light. The Martp's sole child, And then' earthly deUght ; THE martyr's child. 99 XV. Together were cast, On the waves of rough seas, All cheered with the balm. Of celestial breeze. XVI. One short link removed, From their own loins, was she ; Light stem of the branch. Lopped away from the tree. xvii. Oh ! lovely the maid. As she tended her flock, Fair Amy, like sylph Of the silent blue loch. xviii. While lambkins hi play. Frisk around the green graves Of Mary's lone church. Her long tresses she weaves ; 100 THE martyr's child. XIX. With \vi-eath of sweet flowers. Deeply dipjied iii the dew. And eidled from the moor, AVhere they bloomingly grew. XX. Aiid mellow her notes Ride aloft on the gale. Where echoing hills. The wild warblings empale. XXI. And mounting, they lise. To the heavenly land. And blend with the hymn Of the cherubim band. XXII. The straiu welled so sweet, And so plaintive and loud, It compassed on high, The pavilion of God : — THE martyr's child. 101 2ri)f Song. XXIII. " My father is missing. And cold is his bed ; He spake me a blessing, Wlien forth he was led. XXIV. " The hunters they found him In cave of the glen. And straightway they bound him, Like lamb of the pen. XXV. " They say, he was praying A prayer for his wean ; But what he was sayuig, I never could glean. XXVI. I ween the words fashioned, Were ardent and strong, When Amy he mentioned. His fervours among. 102 THE martyr's child. XXVII. " He gave no resistance, Out-stretching his hands, Submissive, in silence Receiving the bands. XXVIII. "The shackles which bound him, Were screwed to the bone ; The savage men round him, Had hearts like a stone. XXIX. " The cloud of then tortures. Waxed denser and dark, But cowards the vultures. Which pounce a wee lark. XXX. " His soft speech of mildness. Up-kindled a fire. Fierce flaming with wilcbiess. And deacUiest ire. THE martyr's child. 103 XXXI. " They led him o'er mountain. And down the deep dell, Wliile waiin from the fountain, The trickling blood fell. XXXII. " The windows of Heaven Were closed from the sight. As if they had striven To screen it from light. XXXIII. But soon they were open, A glory did gleam ; It fell not on madmen. But beamed upon him. XXXIV. " His eyes, they said, glistened, With heavenly ray. And halting, he listened. And heard a sweet lay. 104 THE martyr's child. XXXV. ' The strain, soft as dew-falls. Distilled as it feU, Suffusing the eye-balls, So liquid the swell. XXXVI. Blest hai-ps were heard joining The loud chembim. Blest voices combining, And this was the hvmn : — XXXVII. " * The cup may be bitter, • And thorns strew the way, ' While all yoiu* crowns gUtter, ' With fadeless array. XXXVIII. " ' The soldier must conquer, ' The coronal to gain ; ' Transcendent its splendour, ' Triumphant the reign !' THE martyr's child. 105 XXXIX. " The music was silent, The strain died away ; The eai-s of the violent Were deaf to the lay. XL. " No soft pity feelmg, Their tortures renew ; More cruelty dealmg, More cruel they grew. XLI. " They took him to piison, A dungeon they found. Closed up from all vision, Encaved under ground. xm. " My father is missing, And cold is his bed. As dungeon damps, piercing The place of the dead." p 106 THE martyr's child. XLIII. The ditty so soft, And so artless the child. It floated on light. O'er the dell of the wild ; XLIV. And fell on the ears Of a mflSan band, Whose leader, in haste. Aimed the weapon in hand ; XLV. Exclaiming — " A shot ! And a Cameron bird !" And, sudden as thought. The fell filing was heard. XLVI. The Hand which moves all, Quickly caught the red ball. And whiiTed it past maid. With a whizzing appal. THE martyr's child. 107 XLVII. While covering her form, With the wings of His care, The fieiy ball boomed, Swift as light, past her ear. XLVIII. It buzzed, as it brushed By her rmglets of gold. And pierced the soft coat Of the velvet-clad mould. XLIX. Up-starting she sprang, And fled off" like a roe. And vanished like fay. Round the emerald kiiowe. Fierce wrangUngs ensued With the cowardly aim. And round flew the sparks Of a mutinous flame. 108 THE martyr's child. II. Loud yelliugs and oaths, Were fast hurled at the hand, So nithlessly armed, Agamst damsel so bland. LII. Then- leader then said, " It would sweeten the flood, Such streamlet to pour Of the Cameron blood." LIII. The argument, framed To the taste of the crew. Like oil on the waves. Did their rising subdue. LIV. They form into Ime, And, theii- passions imbound. They loosen their rage. To the wilderness round ; THE martyr's child. 109 LV. And, moving in file, To the right, and then left, The caves they explore. And invest eveiT cleft : LVI. When far in the wild, They descried lonely cot. Where home was still home. And desertion was not. LVH. The curling smoke rose To the welkin's embrace. Inviting their feet To the lone, silent place. IVIII. They circled the hut With tumultuous din ; And trembled the sire, The wild troop rushing in. 110 THE martyr's child. LIX. The matron, her meats Soon arranged, them before Her cupboard she gave. The amount of her store. LX. The twain, from their hearts, A prayer wafted to God, The blood-men, feared they, Were athirst for theii' blood. LXI. A note of pure thanks Fluttered over then- tongue. For Amy away. And the mountains among. LXII. Afraid her light feet ^Slight be playfully fomid, Like msect which sports The devourmg flame round THE martyr's child. Ill LXIII. They up-breathed her name, With a ti'emulous fear, Then glint to the door. As if maiden were near. LXIV. The revel was o'er. And the banquet was past ; The impious ajiproach The infernal repast. LXV. They called on their host A thanksgiving to say. Too murky the words For the beam of the day. LXVI. " Oh ! spare me," cried he ; " Be the universe mute, And deafened each ear. Ere the Heavens I pollute." 112 THE martyr's child. LXVII. The fervent appeal, Seemed to strike and rebound, As falling on chill. And impervious ground. LXVIII. " Be silent," said they, "Eveiy plaining control, Ere edge of the sword Cleaveth through to thy soul.' LXIX. A weapon of blood Swiftly di-ew forth a tide, ^Miich gushed with a l^lush. For the fell homicide ; LXX. ^Vhen meek as a lamb. While sujipressing a bleat. The suiferer keeled At the murderer's feet. THE martyr's child. 113 LXXI. ' Commence," said the fiend, ' " And thy peace-ofFering make ; The sentence repeat. Ere the sleepmg ball wake." LXXI I. Then seizing the saint By the nape of the neck. Whose feelings so chafed. And outraged to the quick ; LXXIII. Uplifted his arm. And with sinews still strong, The monster felled he, . Fellest trooijers aniong. . LXXIV. Thus sealing his fate. The fierce mountain-men pressed The victim around. With a horrible zest. Q 114 THE martyr's child. LXXV. Said they, " he should feed. Since the thanks he declined. On feast of fat things, And on wine well refined." LXXV I. Then tearing the words. Softly glowing with fire. From harpings sublime. Of Isaiah's sweet l\Te ; LXXVII. They gagged him therewith, Which submissive he bore. His forehead of snow. Turned to furrows of gore. LXXVIII. Blasphemous, they swore, That his life-blood should flow. As weeping and red As the stream from his brow. THE martyr's child. 115 LXXIX. And forth from the cot, They compelled him amain, When lowly his knees PCissed the daisied plain. LXXX. Up-sending a glance To the innermost skies, A dirl at his heai't. He relentingly cries : — LXXXI. " May He, whose rebukes Have for evermore been. The winnowing fan. And the fine sifting screen, LXXXI I. " Forgive and efface The rebellious blow. And Jordan allav As the swellings o'erflow." 116 THE martyr's child. LXXXIII. All pure was the peace. And dhiiie was the joy, O'ersp reading his face. Soft as light from on high : LXXXIV. And mild aiid serene. As the harvest-moon ray. Which beams with a smile O'er the toil of the day : LXXXV. And clear as a stream, And as bloomijig and rife. As blossoms of love On the fair tree of life. LXXXV I. 'Twas peace sealed above. Which sui-passeth all thought, Which man may not give. And the world knoweth not. THE martyr's child. 117 LXXXVII. As Heaven, in a storm, . Throws a veil roimcl the sky, So he, from his doom. Calmly cm'tains the eye. LXXXVIII. His partner in weal, And his partner in woe, Constrained with the flood Of affectionate flow, IXXXIX. Exclaims at his side, " The bright goal is at hand, And radiant the arc Of celestial land ! xc. " Whom Heaven miites, Let not mortal divide. In life, and iji death, I remain by your side. 118 THE martyr's child. XCI. " My Amy I leave To the thrice Holy Nanie^ Who softens His Hand To the tenderest lamb. XCII. " And now may the Judge, The oppressor forgive ; Forgive the oppressed. And our spirits receive." XCIII. The cbead time arrives, And they level the aim ; A vision api^ears. And their passions are tame. xciv. Theii' muskets fall down, With amazement they stare. On sylph of the glen, As she flew through the air. THE martyr's child. 119 xcv. Oh ! swiftly she came, As an angel she stood, Between bloody men. And the martyi's of God. xcvi. 'Twas Amy herself. Like the seraphim clad, A circlet of light Round about her was shed. XCVI I. Her cumberless form. Was as lovely and sheen, As something of earth And the Heavens, between. XCVIII. Her marble-white arms. As they waved as they fell. With eyes glancing thought. Which the muse may not tell : 120 THE martyr's child. xcix. Were weaj^ons too strong For the monsters of blood ; The lamb overcame. And the wolves were subdued. Away they were marched. And the trio retire. Their hearts overjoyed, In then* nest to expire. THE SOLDIER'S FAMILY. THE SOLDIERS FAMILY. The morn, in gloomy grey arrayed, With clouds interminably spread, Ai-ose ui^on the battle-bed Of myriads, slumbering wearily ; The bugle notes, and drums were heard, As starting n\) from dewy sward. And swaniiing to their post, prepared. Brave thousands ! or to " do or die." 124 THE soldier's family. II. I saw the embattliiig cavaln'. The glowmg, bold artiller)', And brave embodying infantiy. In gathering crowds arranguig all ; And lengthened Imes on either side. Which ^vith the whirlwind's fury glide. Impetuous as the rolUng tide, Borne on to meet the venging ball. III. The dense, dun, cannon-cloud up-rose, And cm-led between, and round the foes, A murky screen to interpose. And fold the scene imijerAiously ; Red lightnmgs flash o'er all the plain. The grumblmg thunders roai- amain. And di-own the piercing shriek of pain, The conflict ragmg furiously. THE soldier's FAMILY. 125 IV. Foul demon of the nether world, First warrior thou, and downwards hurled. Fierce wolf among the human fold. When will thy fangs be satiate ? Not when the sun his course has run. And longest thread of time is sjiun, Nor till the Highest thou unthrone, Or canst thyself annihilate. The thunders ceased, and silence then, I gazed uj)on the battle-plain, On heaps, piled over heaps, of slain, And saw the glazing eye wax dim, Of many a soldier, brave and yoimg, To perish doomed, his mates among. Or with the fated foemen's throng. The draught to drink of death's cold stream. 126 THE SOLDIERS FAMILY. VI. I saw the mighty, prostrate low, The deep-red current, gush and flow. The victor's foemen's overthrow, And heard the dire calamity. Of widow-wailuigs, orphan-cries, Around the slain, no more to rise, Till the last trumpet rend the skies, And usher in eternity. VII. I tinned my steps aside, to see, A group of weepers, lonesomely. Couched underneath a sj^readiug tree, Fair Laura, with her infant band ; One suckling to her bosom pressed, And two sweet guis, the loveliest, Theii" slim white arms around her waist, While tears embalmed her Edwin's hand. THE soldier's FAMILY. 127 vm. That hand no tender pressure felt. Unconscious of the tears which melt, And cold, as on the turf was spilt. The vital tide of crimson dye ; The throbbing pulse was quiet there. And hushed, his eveiy grief and care, And mute to him the cannon's blare. The heart at rest, no more to sigh. IX. Might tears of blood reanimate. The pupil dim, irradiate. Turn back the mighty wheel of fate. And ease the bleeding heart of pain ; Those tears would drop from every pore, liike balm upon the mortal sore. The widowed heart would ache no more. And life and peace would smile again. 128 THE soldier's family. X. The victor counts the sumless cost, And dead the flower of all the host. The bravest of the brave are lost ; No conquest bought with dearer blood, Save when the Furies \«ld, from hell. With earth, upon One Victim fell. Who conquered more than bard may tell. And conquering, poured The Precious Flood. XI. And now the soldier comrades come. With mournful pipe, and muffled di'um. The corse to house in final home. In solemn pace, and dolesomely : And soon beneath the sod 'tis placed. In dark concealment, there to rest. The cold clay, on the colder breast, A banquet for the w'orms to be. THE soldier's FAMILY. 129 XII. The spark immortal, lo, it flies, Aiid quits the crumbHiig clay, to rise To jiurer, and to cloudless skies, And float Elysian light upon ; The orbs below are dark to him. All quenched in one absorbmg beam, Emitted from the Eye Supreme, Around His own Pavilion. XIII. Let chilling sorrow melt in joy. And rillmg bliss swim round the eye, The germ divine may never die. But to its mate will soon return ; The mouldered dust shall vivify. Its every atom, live for aye. In amaranthine radiancy, While worlds around consume and burn, s 130 THE soldier's FAMILY. XIV. Then mounis the fail- one without hope. And drinks she only sorrow's cup ? Must lovely woman ever dioop. And bend hke weeping willow tree ? In Gilead, there is Balsam left. For stricken heart, asimder cleft. Though tossed Hke bark of anchor reft. Dismasted on the sweeping sea. XV. The widow wends her lonely way. Soft as the gentlest limar ray. With fears and hopes alternately. As on she toils with tender feet : The youngling at her bosom plays, A trilling tear falls on its face. And at her side with infant pace. Two cherubs gUde with prattlmgs sweet. THE soldier's FAMILY. 131 XVI. With rosy vest, and ivy coat, In vale secluded and remote. By puiiing stream of lulling note, O'erclad with bloom, a cottage stood ; As smiling with a welcome fair. To Laura and her tender care. Who sought within its walls to share. With solitude, her widowhood. XVII. Ah ! few, and fleet, the wheeling years. All laden with their stormy cares. And various as the glitteiing stars, Wliich mark their birth, and exit too ; Since she, as lovely as the day. Assumed her gentle bridal sway, And cheered the cottage round with ray. Of purest love and sweetest glow. 132 THE soldier's family. XVIII. Now, like the bunted, wouiicled hare. Escaped from tangling, bloody snare. Retracing all her wanderings far. And limping to her form to die : — So she, with smitten heait, returns. From labyrinths of brakes and thorns. And lonely in her cot she mourns. While infant eye asks, wondermg, why ? XIX. In early morn, her matins rise. And blend the worship of the skies, While faltering voice, and suppliant eyes. Prefer her moving, mournful tale : Response descends, with soothing strain,- " The broken heai-t, I'll bind again, The widow's barrelled meal maintain. Nor shall her cruise of oil once fail." THE soldier's FAMILY. 133 XX. 'Neath noou-day sky of smiling love, Her steps in widowed softness move, To seek the delling greenwood grove. And fan anew devotion's flame ; A grateful spark Ut up the ray. And Heaven approving, heard her say, " The Highest gave, and took away. Come weal, come woe, exalt His name." XXI. Like lonely flower in forest wUd, Serene her aspect now, and mild. As gazing on the chei*ub-chUd, Which dandling, sports on careful knee ; While sister sylphids play around. The blossomed cot, and velvet mound, With lovely glance, and merry bound. Like fairy forms, with lightsome glee. 134 THE soldier's family. XXII. From morn to eve, so boon the play. It charmed and vdled the heavy day. The gloomy hours it chased away. And cahnly smoothed the troubled brow ; And mild as angel smiles have been. Her moistened orbs would beam serene, As fell the tear of jjeaii between. Like drop of bliss from radiant bow. XXIII. The gloaming falls the cot upon. Distilling dews di'op gently down. And night, upon her sable throne. Lights up her storied lamps above ; The flexile forms for rest prepare, And having lisped theii- little prayer. Light breezes of somnific air. Surround theii' infant bed of love. THE soldier's FAMILY. 135 XXIV. And sweet as breath from holier sphere, Maternal soothings, lull and cheer, Tlie babe of many a care and teai", "While tenderest thoughts in crowds abound; Her evening orison ascends. As o'er her charge the suppliant bends, 'Till sleep, with bahny spell, extends Her nursing amis, the group around. XXV. Their pillows seemed the softest down. Which lovely cheek e'er jiressed upon, And slumbering odours sweet were strewn. By angel-watchers hovering nigh ; Soft music o'er the senses stole. As liquid as the waters roll. And swelled the raptures of the soul. As if some seraph warbled by. 13C THE soldier's FAMILY. XXVI. A di'eam of truth and mystery. Revealed tlieii- future histoiy. Disclosing scenes which were to be, Before the wadow's sightless gaze : She thought she felt her couch remove. Or some attraction from above. As up she rose, a mould of love. To skim the de^\T, cloudy haze. XXVII. Oh ! i)ure the breath the fair one drew. While free as lightnings, sweeping through. The skies below, and regions new. As severed from mortality ; And upwards, upwards, fast she ploughs The sailing clouds, which soon inclose. The cottage, and the cottage rose. And all the world's rotmidity. THE soldier's FAMILY. 137 XXVIII. Above the lift, she soared and flew. Beyond the stretch of mortal view, Till sun, and moon, and stars, withdrew. And all was space and vacancy : Her being now seemed motionless, Herself the only centre-place. The circle round all limitless. Up-floating still on buoyancy. XXIX. Again, she cleaves the vacant view. As fleet as motion ever knew, TiU on the verge of heaven she drew. And saw the skies ethereal gleen : The air was blithe, and bland, to strew. And waft an odoriferous flow. As redolent as breeze may blow. The deep below, and heaven, between. 138 THE soldier's family. XXX. She saw a portal glistering white. It ojiened, and a flood of light. Burst forth ujion her rajitured sight. And dovm. sank she in ecstacy : In undefined lines it spread. Like lucid glory round her head. And light as thought she seemed to tread. The surface of auroral sea. XXXI. A touch, as gentle as a glance. Awoke her from the blissful trance. And in the dazzling effluence, A dimness sailed before her eyes : By soft degrees, with sight refined. She saw herself with light enshiined. Upon a ray of heaven inclined. Resplendent as a blink of ice ! THE soldier's FAMILY. 139 XXXII. She faintly moved delirious head, When glowdng fomi renewed his aid. Whose pre\ious touch, when tranced as dead. New powers infused, capacious : His robe was the celestial white, His crown the splendrous chrysohte. And soft his smile as morning light. His 'haviour sooth and gracious. XXXIII. Fair guest," said he, " thy weeds displace. And be thou clothed with righteousness. No garments but of freest gi'ace. May enter where thou fain wouldst be : Cast off each trace of earthly mould. And robe thee with the finest gold. And splendours which may not be told, The wardrobe here, is rich and free. 140 THE soldier's FAMILY. XXXIV. " All cliiDped, and cleansed, iu blood divine. The raiment will eternal shine. Translucent as the crystal mine. And spotless as a robe may be." Her lily trembling hand he pressed, Her lovely form the robes invest. And now she k}i;hed as pure and blest. And incoi-poreal as he. XXXV. Majestic as the rolling sea. Their flowing vestments waving free. More light than dow7iy feathers be. They skimmed the vaulted Heavens above ; And now within that heavenly bourn, "Whence happy journeyers ne'er return. And where the flaming seraphs burn. They touched an emerald field of love. THE soldier's FAMILY. 141 XXXVI. And couching there, a breathing space. While aii's of holy odours pass. Her Edwin shews his glowing face, Aud, Oh ! the fervent bliss she proves ! What strain may minstrel harp prepare. To chime the recognition there, And the amount of joy declare. Which thrilled their reunited loves I xxxvii. Though wedded bonds be loosened there. Their mutual loves, may not impau*. Sweet helpmates, they together shai'e, The man-iage supper of the Lamb : And with a golden, closer link, The welling fires of love they driiik. And bathed in rapturous floods they sink. And drown not, but augment the stream. 142 THE soldier's family. XXXVIII. She saw transpai-cnt dome of gold, And fadeless visions fast imfold. So fleetly they remain untold, They flashed ai'omid so variously : The sights she saw, the songs she heard, Of all the heavenly joys prepared, Sui-pass the puny pen of bard. Or harp of high sublimity. xxxix. A great white Throne was aix-hed above, Jehovah's Throne, the God of Love ! Which powers rebellious ne'er may move. Himself and Son of Man thereon ! And thousands, thousands, bowed before, INIeet posture, while they all adore. In hymn of love, for evermore. The Saviour, God ! and Him alone. THE soldier's FAailLY. 143 XL. Wliat earthly lyre may sweep that song, Which rolled with opening peal along. From mjiiads of a countless throng. Before that high emj)yTeal bow ? The harmonies of earth are dumb. Her every chord of love is numb, Unhke that rapt preludium. Which burst ^dth overwhelming flow. XLI. Celestial mountains caught the song, As o'er a sea of glass it rung. From every ravished, tranced tongue. While flame ethereal fired the strain : And as it waved its liquid way. The sweetest cadence closed the lay. In gentlest falHng symphony. Which lingered o'er the heavenly plain. 144 THE soldier's family. XLH. Again it rose, and jiealiiig loud, It seemed to shake the Throne of God ! While Cherubim, in blest abode. And tongues Seraphic, swell the strain " O God, Most Mighty ! Holiest One ! Thou King Immortal on Thy Throne ! From Everlasting ! Thou alone. Lord God Omnipotent dost reign !" XLIII. And crowds contmuous came and flew, With daj)pled wings, athwart the blue. Of every tribe, of eveiy hue. Their crowns down-casting reverently And Laura sought her babes, among The circle of an infant throng. With A-ision rarified and strong. And heavenly yearnmgs fenently ! THE soldier's FAMILY. 145 XLIV. Aiid, one by one, with fleetest plume. The silvery-winged sisters come. On breeze of sweets from fragi'ant bloom, AiTayed in morning lovingness ! First rose the youngest nestling, fast. Like early ray in. rosy east. And bloomed the flower ere bud was past. Precocious fniit of ripening gi-ace. XLV. The first-born last, the younghng first, And so reversing turns, they burst The chains of time, to quench their thii'st. In waters round the deathless ti'ee : For death is dead in realms above. And time unknown by those who love, iVud through eternal ages rove. The fields of immortality, u 14C THE soldier's FAMILY. XLVI. The airs blew blandly as they came. To cast their coronals of flame. Before the infinite I Am ! As sheen as plume of Holy Dove ! And they were she^ii to banquet room. Inhaling gales of sweet perfume, From mountain myrrh, and aloe bloom. Beneath the Royal Flag of Love ! xLVir. The feast was sweet, divinely sweet, Such infant cherub-loves to riieet. And more than mother's thought could weety It seemed a mental ravishment ! 'Twas too supreme for mortal heart, Beyond what angels may impart ; The widow woke with quivering start. To vacant, blank astonishment ! THE soldier's FAMILY. 147 XLVIII. # • Kiiid Heavens," said she " what sounds I hear ! Soft cadence of some purer sphere, AVhich dies as gently on the ear. As moonlight wanes on fading wave : Oh ! might I hear that hymn again, Methmks 'twere bliss to meet the pain Of d}dng, for that closing strain. And in its liquid numbers lave." XLIX. And thou shalt hst that hymn again. And bathe thee in its waving strain. For this the \ision doth ordain. To flower and blooming flowerets too Sweet emanations from above. Shall mollify maternal love. Those fields of light again to rove, And wade, and sip, the heavenly dew. 148 THE soldier's family. L. Let every lamiJ be trimmed, and shiiie, Aiid fed with oil of love divine. In moni of life, and the decline. The note is heard, "The Bridegroom comes !" And may each earthly plant prepai-e. Celestial husbandry to share. Transplanted from teirestrial sphere. It fades for ever, or it blooms ! CAVE AND SEVKII, PRINTERS, MANCHESTER. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFOR Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last dat Form L9-lC0m-9,'52(A3105)444 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY CF CALIF&^N. LOS ANGELES i -iiHb Hii 3 1158 01 '684 9130 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY EACILITY AA 000 376 484 2 PR T219d irketSt. S.K.