ym THE LAST POEMS THOMAS CAMBRIA JONES MiiAmM*H*j^^ THE LIBRARY OF THE OF LOS UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA ANGELES THE LAST POEMS OP THOMAS CAMBRIA JONES, AUTHOR OP "MORT^UJTY: A POEM SUNG IN SOLITUDE." ETC., ETC., ETC. ^caDleD m tfte ;$itoim. EDINBURGH : PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, ROBERTS, 6i CO. 18G5. TO MY ILLUSTRIOUS COUNTRYMAN, J i^l^ j\ JOHN GIBSON, OF ROME. ' ^ ^CULPTOR who sittest in Art's highest seat, Crown'd with the Laurel of undying Fame, Let me adorn this page with thy bright Name, And place my lowly Book beneath thy feet : Deal with it as thy judgment deemeth meet. It humbly greets thee thus : — From Wales I came, The Mother-Land of men whose earnest aim Was to advance in glory pure and great — The Mother- Land of Wilson and of thee. Read me, O Sculptor, read and ponder o'er The thoughts my bardic Master sends by me ; And should they tingle through thy quick heart's core, And claim some nook within thy memory, Right pleased to hear, indeed, would my old Master be. CONTENTS. TO MY ILLUSTRIOUS COUNTRYMAN, JOHN GIBSON, THE SCULPTOR. PROEM, SERMONS IN SONNETS, ROBERT BURNS, TO QUEEN VICTORIA, TO THE PRINCE OF WALES, . BRIDAL SONG, KINMEL BIRTHDAY SONG, . A BABE SMILING IN SLEEP, FUNERAL SONNET : SIR JOHN HAY WILLIAMS, BART., FUNERAL SONNET : THE PRINCE CONSORT, MARY'S FOUNT, SAINT ASAPH, A BIRTHDAY FESTIVAL, .... BIRTHDAY SONNET : TO ffHE BISHOP OF SAINT ASAPH, TO SAMUEL SEBASTIAN WESLEY, THE MUSICIAN, OPENING OP RUTHIN RAILWAY, THE GOOD OLD TOWN, .... SHAKESPEARE, ..... IN REMEMBRANCE, ..... A SONG FOR THE TOILING MAN, AN EPITAPH THAT HAS NOT APPEARED ON A TOMBSTONE, VANITY AND REALITY, .... JOHN martin's GRAVE, .... THE LAST VISIONS OF JOHN MARTIN, rA(iE 7 11 16 19 21 23 24 25 •26 26 27 27 28 29 29 30 :U 32 ' 33 34 35 36 NOTES, 41 PROEM. [Something personal about the Author : how he wrestled with the Evil- power, and how he was called to write " Sermons in Sonnets."] HILE I lay in morning slumber, Lonely on my quiet bed, Various thoughts, a crowding number, Took possession of my head : Took possession — forced possession — Vainly strove I 'gainst th' oppression Of their riot through my head, While that morning I lay slumb'ring Lonely on my quiet bed. Grief, endured in years early, Hemm'd me as of old around ; And the Power which most unfairly Had pursued me like a hound, — Had pursued — because I would not Think what my heai't's feelings could not Without treating Truth as dead, — Shadow'd me while I lay dreaming On my now unquiet bed. 8 Proem. Long I -wrestled witli the False One, That had ever work'd me strife ; Loud it threaten'd — " One must master — Eye for eye, and life for life !" " One will master, — but thy servant I'd scorn, as thee I scorn !" most fervent From my heart those words were said ; liO, the False One, threat'ning, vanish'd, And a light beam'd o'er my bed. Midst the light a wondrous Creature Dawn'd, right palpably to view, Heavenly — yet of earthly nature, With the heavenly shining through : Shining through the wondrous Creature, That, as a friend of human nature. Smiled on me — but nothing said : Perhaps the morning Sun was shining Brightly o'er my quiet bed. . While I gazed on this fair vision, — If no more than vision 'twere, I could trace with clear decision A Man in the shining air : Just where erst the wondrous Creature, That, as a friend of human nature. Had smiled on me. The Man then said, " Why liest thou so long in slumber On a dull inglorious bed ?" I replied, "Oh, I am weary — Worn and weary with Art-toil ; See, there, on my Study's table Lies a Palette wet with oil : Proem. Wet with oil, that till 'twas morning, I bent over — comforts scorning. To win independeiit bread, Till I sank, oppressed with languor, Lonely on my quiet bed. " And my scanted rest was broken By a rude and ruthless Power ; Like a hound it hath pursued me From my childhood to this hour : Hath pursued — because I would not Think what my heart's feelings could not "Without treating Truth as dead." Then the Man of God-like nature Spake in Song, and thus he said : " Heed not thou the Power unholy, Breaking rudely on thy rest ; All it loves is sin or folly. All that it abhors is blest ! " Heed it not — the Arm is o'er thee. Still protecting, as of yore, When upon the hills which bore thee Thou didst wandei*, lone and poor, " Thinking not about the morrow, But on one melodious Theme, Weaving o'er thy early sorrow All th' enchantment of a dream. " I was with thee then. Now hear me : In the language of the Eld Let that Theme be woven. Cheer thee ! Error shall by Truth be quell'd. lo- Proem. " Withering grass and fading flower Are but types of earthly things, — Treasured by the World their hour, Then departing, as on wings. "Lo, THE Prayer, that shall not perish! Take it as thy guiding-star, And the Good thy Song shall cherish, And the Evil shall not mar." SERMONS IN SONNETS ON TEXTS TAKEN FROM THE LORD'S PRAYER. "*0ur Jfatfitr, 'aalo art in K!?ea\jEn." OUNTAIN OF Life, wlio wast and will be ever; ^ From whom proceeds, to whom returns, all being ; Who lookest down on man — unseen — all seeing ;' Of every fair and goodly thing the Giver — Of Light, and Air, and Earth, and freshening River ; Agents of Thine, supporting, cheering nature, Man, and each beast, bird, fish, and creeping creature, Form'd by Thy will, and therefore form'd not vainly. But for an End. O End divine and glorious, For which all things are made — when Truth victorious, Shall vanquish Sin and Death — of Mercy telling, And showing man the ways of wisdom plainly. Till cleansed from taint, in Truth and Love excelling, He ripens meet for Thee, Father in Heaven dwelling. 1 2 Sermons in Sonnets. Father in Heaven, whose Spirit is on earth, For ever hallow'd be Thy Holy Name ! Kneeling on dust, from which Thou gavest me birth, Humbly I bow — accept my frail acclaim ! Renew this heart that it unblamed may speak ! Oh, from the Rock Salvation, let gush forth The healing stream, for I am sore and weak — Athirst, within life's wilderness, I ache, And wait the promised aid, which Thou haist said Shall comfort those who mourn. Within me, make The new birth unto Righteousness complete, That I may live with Thee — to all else dead — And Avalk rejoicing to the radiant Seat, Prepared for those by whom Thy Name is hallowed. " (artp "C^inobom come." Day hath its dawn, and Earth her infancy. The clouds, — which have for ages overhung The world with darkness, whilst the nations rung With violence, and war, and misery, — Are breaking — passing from the eastern sky ! For unto us, who mourn'd 'neath night, hath risen A Light that shall o'erspread the quicken'd land, And sanctify mankind. As from a prison, There shall come forth a freed and cleansed Band, A family of God in thought and deed, O'er whom pleased Heaven shall smile, and Angels stand Delighted to behold ! By God's right hand. The serpent's head is crush'd through Woman's seed : Oh, hasten, Lord, Thy cause ! Thy Kingdom, Jesus, speed ! Sermons in Soitnets. 1 3 "(fl&P i©in 6e bone on «iEattb a£f it i^ in ^Sfcaten." Thy Will is not men's will. They are perverse And disobedient children to Thy love ; They fashion idols of their lusts, and move And bow to them — deeming Thy rod a curse When Thou wouldst call their thoughts to Thee, above. The will of men still strives, as erst it strove, 'Gainst Thee and Thine — to all that 's Good averse : For it is not Thy Will that gaudy weeds Should ever crush aside Thy fairest flowers, — That worthless men, scarr'd with unholy deeds, Should ever revel in proud halls and towers, Whilst Worth neglected pines where Want devours, And the heart utters, as it beats and bleeds. Would that Thy Will were done in this rude world of ours ! " 4Bitje \xi tbi? trap oitv Daitp "^Sreati." Things but abide their season. Sin and Wrong Have been permitted to molest the Earth, From which life's various sufferings have birth ; But we must war against them with a strong And never-fainting Faith, that they ere long Shall be as weeds uprooted and cast forth. Amidst the battle let this prayer and song Be alway with our heart, and duly said : O God ! O Father ! in the needful hour, For mind and body send our daily bread, And ever shield us from the Evil-powex\ Elijah by the brook was timely fed ; The Lions' rage was tamed and made to cower : Behold, the Angel 's near ! The Ravens are not dead ! 14 Scrmojis in Sojinets. " JFovgilJC \xi our trc5pa^^E£f, atf toe forgitoe t!)em to!)Ci tre^pas? against wf" And hast thou pray'd unheeded and unheard % And hast thou knock'd at an unopening door % The fault is thine — it poisons thy heart's core ; Thy praj^er was not in spirit, but in loord : And vainly didst thou take the name of Lord ; And thou didst knock not lowly like the Poor. Cleanse, cleanse thy heart from all that is impure ! Cleanse it from lust that kindles deeds abhorr'd, — From pride that doth engender deadliest Sin ; Forgive thy erring brother — love him more-^— To cast a stone how canst thou first begin ? Wrench from the Earth, and place in Heaven, thy store ; Now ask forgiveness in the Name adored ; Knock ! knock ! it opens : lo, the Saviour hails thee in ! "Seali u0 not into (temptation." Thou art now of the freed and cleansed Band, The family of God in tliought and deed, Whose City 's built upon a Hill, and freed From this world's bondage ; her foundations stand Firm on the Rock of Truth— and not on sand ; Her thoughts are in her holy deeds display'd ; Yet slumber not — of self, frail self, take heed. Should chaff appear, the wheat must be refann'd ; Should dross be found, the gold repass'd through fire ; "Tis therefore that Temptation hand in hand With mortal Life doth wend. Not, not in ire. But in Thy love and righteous mercy bland, Lead us to Thee, most holy Lord and Sire, For we are Thine, and fain would live 'neath Thy command. Sermons m Sonnets. 1 5 « ©clibci- 11;^ from «J2toiK." Without lurks Evil. Whatsoever tends To lure tlie heart from God is of her brood ; She erst made Paradise a solitude, And discord belch'd to earth's remotest ends ; And separated hearts of loving friends ; With hatred burning 'gainst the Pure and Good She reach'd the brand that stream'd a brother's blood. To her Cain bent — the seed of Cain still bends — And blood appeals to God. Flee, Child of Wrath, Flee to the City on the Hill that 's freed From this world's bondage — faint not on thy path ; There is a Shelter free to all who need : Time or Eternity none other hath — There tears shall cease to flow, and hearts to ache and bleed. "€f;ine \^ tit iliiinobom, tfte Povocv, anti tht 45(orp, for I'bcr." Thine is the Kingdom, JESUS, glorified, In which the will of Heaven is done on earth ; And Thou didst visit us of lowly birth ! Wert born of Woman, — wept — taught — bless'd — and died ! When the dark 'grave by Thee was sanctified, From Death's cold womb undying Life came forth — Thou didst uprise 'midst arch-angelic mirth. And to a banish'd World threw open wide Thy Father's house, that all might enter there. Welcome ! throughout the Heaven of heavens resounded ; And through the eternal Universe of prayer — . Thine is the Kingdom ! Glory hails the Heir ! All hail, Pure God the Son — of Power unbounded — The Whole, the Whole is Thine : on THEE for ever founded. 1 6 Robert Burns. 25th of JANUARY, A.D. 1859. Gaze back a century ago, As yesterday it seems in Time, To where yon mountains clad with snow. Watch o'er stern Scotia's stormy clime. Recalling deeds which brightly throw Their lustre on the vales below. ^ Beneath yon mountains bleak and wild, Which murmur many a wintry tune, A straw-thatch'd cottage stands up-piled. Close to the banks of river Doon, And there a peasant clasps his child — A fix"st-born son — his undefiled. What blessings hath the mother won. While from her couch of straw she sees The tender father clasp her son In fond parental ecstasies ; And, though a peasant, deem the boon The best that Heaven could send him down. And so it was. A hundred years Has measured out its days since then, And lo ! that peasant's son appears A Chief among the chief of men ; Whose name each way-worn brother cheers, And man to man exalts — endears. Robert Burns. r 7 Breathe but the name of Robert Burns, High feelings vibrate at the sound, — The wanderer to his country turns, And home and kindred gather round, — For Auld Lang Syne his bosom yearns, And gross or selfish joy he spurns. Breathe but his name — the Songs uprise, Familiar now through every land ; From Land of Cakes to where the skies Pour down their glare o'er burning sand, The human heart responsive sighs, Or gladdens with his melodies. O' The lady sings them in her bower, The baron in his castle proud, The beggar in his jollier hour. The ballad-monger in the crowd, — The Poet glories in their power, And tyrants feel their truth, and— cower. Pale students on them musing pore ; Fresh offerings grace the Poet's brow ; Gray sages marvel at the lore Of one who whistled at the plough, And from their schools the laurel tore, And wreath'd it his own temples o'er. 'Twas nobly taken, justly won : Bright be that Laurel evermore ! All honour to the peasant's Son, Whose Fame has dawn'd o'er sea and shore, Whose free and truthful thoughts are sown Wherever Heaven's blest light shines on. B 1 8 Robert Bitrns. Whose Fame has dawri'd o'er shore and sea, Pi'ophetic of a day at hand, When, from those triithful thoughts which he Broadcast o'er an unheeding land, Harvest is ripe — how great will be The day that gen'rous Fame will see ! Th' Ilhistrioim of his native soil Were blind, or idly closed their eyes ; Choice fare was theirs — bread, wine, and oil — All, all that selfish natures prize — Whilst he, the glory of their Isle, Was famishing. Does Scotland smile ? "O" Alas ! 'twas ever thus, and we Must pity aiid forgive — forget We dare not — cannot : every tree Yields its own fruit ; nor can we yet Find grapes on thistles. Let it be A lesson to futurity. The worldly love the world. His love Is sun-like — blesses all around — Brings down a glory from above, And makes earth consecrated ground ; It shines where'er his fancies rove — Therein his feelings breathe and move. He came not for one class of men, Nor for one land, nor for one age — His mission was to all. Within Glow'd Heaven, and sanctified the rage Wherewith he strove to rend the chain That link'd his brother man to Pain. To Queen Victoria. 19 Song found liim musing at the plough ; The humble hinds fii'st hail'd his voice ; Next Learning sought him ; then, as now, He made the best of hearts rejoice ; And titled crowds, having seen the show, To Genius made their farewell bow.^ Dumfries contains the Poet's dust ; Men hold the treasures of his mind ; He needs no monumental bust To rank him from the common kind ; Heaven shields his soul among her Just ; Men will preserve their sacred trust. From Land of Cakes to Snowdon's brow, From Snowdon's brow to Famma's cone. From Famma's cone to Lapland's snow, From Lapland to the burning Zone, Honour to Robert Burns will flow : Mind is the Image of God below. ^0 €iueeii Fictocia;- ON THE ROYAL VISIT TO THE PRINCIPALITV. Hail ! mighty Sovereign of the brave. Whose flag on every sea Proclaims sweet freedom to the slave, Wliate'er his colour be ; And to the oppress'd — no matter whom- Holds out protection and a home. 20 To Queen Victoria. Thou art a Yict'ry over War, Blest sunshine after storm ; In thy calm time the heavenly Star Of Peace displays her form, And showers below the golden seeds Of glorious thoughts and righteous deeds. High Art, Philosoj^hy, and Song, Which sanctify the sod, Are honour'd now thy Isles among As Blessings sent from God : For thou dost love them — and to Ihee Mind is the true Nobility. ^ And this, true Lady, spreads thy name From clime to clime afar, And lightens thi'ough all hearts a flame Time cannot dim or mar ; To others slaves may bend their knee. But the heart bounds to bow to thee. We therefore hail thee, gracious Queen, To this ne'er-conquer'd Strand, Where Health and Beauty, most serene. And Toil, dance hand in hand ; Where erst the noblest men had birth Who e'er adorn'd the peopled earth. Gaze on our Vales — by virtue charm' d — Renown'd in Song and Art ; Where glides the Clwyd 'tween banks well farm'd, Skill'd Agriculture's mart ; There Inigo to science sprung — ^ There lovely Hemans lived and sung.* To thp Prince of Wales. 2 1 Gaze on our Hills, from Famma's cone, 'Neath which lies Wilson's grave,-'' To Snowdon's brow, and say, fair One, 'Mongst all the bright and brave Where flourishes the favour'd strand That supersedes this ancient land. Think o'er our Past — nay, startle not, Mild Lady, 'tis the shout Of loyal hearts which crowd each spot, And what they feel spi'ings out : Think on our Sires — what once they were Their Children are who hail thee here. €)De foe tljc lOtlj Sl^acclj, ^.2D* 1863. TO THE PRINCE OF WALES. Prince of the loyal Isle, Where Valour, nursed 'neath Freedom's smile, Invincible and bold, Shielded from hostile band The homes of our dear mountain Land In rudest times of old ; Where Bards breathed forth the deathless voice Of patriotic Song, And made the public heart rejoice In all that did belong To Wales the Blest, whose noblest choice We rank thee now among ! 2 2 To the Prince of ^a/es. Our royal Harp is heard, Fresh founts of hope and joy have stirr'd On this thy bridal-day ! We hail the peerless Bride Thou hast brought home to be our pride — To elevate and sway ; She leaves the charms of northern skies, And braves a heaving sea — An Angel, in fair woman's guise, She comes with love to thee ; And, in the heaven of her eyes, ^ Our future Queen we see. ^ War's savage reign is o'er ; Peace pours around her golden store, And wreathes the throne with Flowei's ! Upward to thee we gaze : Love Wales in act that love displays, — Arouse her slurab'ring powers ! To Song, Philosophy, and Art, From which true glory springs. Thy princely smile and aid impart ! Wales to the noble clings — Tliou wilt be shrined within her heart, Descendant of our Kings. BiHdal Song. 23 Bcitial ^ong. Awake, Harp of Wales, from the night of thy shimbevs, And pour through our valleys the warm soul of Song, 'Till Suowdou resound with the spell of thy numbers, And Echo repeats it her hoar rocks among. A good time awaits thee, ancient Harp of the free-born, Thy night shall disperse like the mist from the hill, As thy woods become vocal, and Morn is in glee born, While Nature rejoices and throws off her chill. A blue April sky expands o'er the Mansion Of Kinmel the princely, the pride of the land ; And that glorious Arch of ethereal expansion By the bow of our Hope in the future is spann'd. The sky has no gloom, and the blithe Sun shines brightly O'er garlands which blossom in perfume around. And the frolicking breeze, as in breathing by lightly, Brings merrily onward the bridal-peal's sound. And warm loving hearts in the village are meeting. Thy name, Abergele,*' they '11 treasure henceforth ; Oh, long will they think of the bliss in thus greeting The \inion of Beauty, Love, Virtue, and Worth. And here 's to the Bride — may her morning of beauty Glide cloudless in joy to the heavenly strand ! . And here 's to the Bridegroom — our affection and duty — And Kinmel the princely, the pride of the laud. 24 Kinmel Birikday Song. A SoxG for the day that to Kinmel has given An Heir to her house and her kingly domains ; O Child of the Mother-Land, favour'd of Heaven, A prayer for thee rises from mountains and plains ; Sweet be thy slumbers — may the nurse-songs sung o'er thee Ever nurture thy love to the Land of thy birth, And picture the Good and Heroic before th,ee. Who beam'd, as from heaven, a sunshine ojj earth. Blest be thy young dreams — and when manhood awakes thee To the calls of thy rank, and high duties of life, In the morn of thy days, ere Night overtakes thee, May Truth be thy brave banner through warfare and strife. And deej) in thy heart be this wise motto treasured, The words which our famed Druid-Bards sung of yore, Heb Dduw, Heb Ddim : Duw a Digon !' the unmeasured Abundance of heaven shall then be thy store. The Sun shines on Kinmel, bright garlands surround her, As she stands in her beauty of place by the sea ; The hearts of the people out-speak what they've found her — All noble in feeling — good, gracious, and free. . Hurrah for the day that to Kinmel has given An Heir to her house and her kingly domains ! And Health to the Child, with the blessing of Heaven ! Is the jDrayer that now rises from mountains and plains. A Bade Smilmg in Sleep. 25 a Babe »)miU'nn: in »)leep/ "Of such is the Kingdom of God."— St Luke. That smile of thine is not of earth, Of this world's evil or its worth, Or of its sori-ow or its mirth, — Thou hast no thought. Fair Babe, from heaven so newly come, Its glorj, purity, and bloom Cling to thee in the lowly home Which thou hast sought. Thanks ever for the lore divine, Reveal'd by that bland smile of thine ! Thou seest !— alas, these eyes of mine But blindly see. Thou hearest ! — but in part I hear, A grosser world disturbs my ear — The hymn of Truth's melodious sphere Is heard by thee. The Kingdom 's briglit and clear before thee ; And a voice says — 7 will restore thee ! Thou seest fair Angels watching o'er thee, And know'st no fear. Oh, ever may that smile of thine, Enshrined within this heart of mine. Remind me of the lore divine, — That Heaven is near. 26 Sonnets. SONNETS. jfuneral »»onnet: SIR JOHN HAY WILLIAMS, BART., A.D. 1859. We do not mourn like those whose Hope has perish' cl ; The sinking Sun that sets will I'ise again : Though clouds obscure its light, it knows no stain ; And the blest Faith that in our heart is cherish'd Extends beyond the mists of Death's domain. Refined and purified by fleshly pain, The Christian ripens meet to join the Just; His Faith is strength in weakness, — Life in Death ! And the great Song of triumph, — Dust to Dust — An Angel is released from bonds and breath ! Seek ye the Record of his days % 'tis here, A LIFfi WELL SPENT IN DEEDS OF LoVE AND WORTH ; The grateful Poor proclaim it with a tear : Can all thy wealth bestow a purer tribute. Earth ? jfuneral »)onnet: THE PRINCE CONSORT, A.D. 1861. Throughout the land men's inner thoughts are stirr'd, As though a star had fallen from on high, Leaving in heaven a dreary vacancy ; Forth from the nation's heaving heart is heard A sigh of earnest mourning, and the cry — Death ! Death ! is echoed to the furthest sky. Death pass'd the cottage door without a word, Knock'd at the ])alace gate, and said : " I wait, Albert, I wait : the Night hath come — the gate Sounds. 2 7 Of life is closing : Joys whick flesh holds dear Thine eyes I seal from : all that 's goodly great Will ever live where I shall not appear." God shield our widow'd Queen ! hearts heave and beat : We Sin, and Death is nigh ; we Pray, and God is near. ^aup'0 fount, SAINT ASAPH. It was a goodly thought thus to up-bring. Into ovir little City on the hill, The treasure of fair Elwy's generous rill. Henceforth of thanks a grateful offering Will duly flow, as freely as the Fount Pours its piire stream the well-pleased City througli. To him, who, mindful of a public want, Gave a substantial form that thought unto. A future age to Mary's Fount will come And drink its water, (when we thii'st no more,) Blessing the Memory of her whose Tomb, That lies net^r Isaac Barx'ow's burial-bed, Is daily deck'd with flowers from Love's rich stoi-e, Revealing more than words may utter of the Dead. a Bictljtiaj? jfCiStttaU Scene, . The Bishop's Palace, Saint Asaph. Time, . The 16th of September, a.d. 18G0. A Blessed Sun smiles on the loving earth : Threescore and ten of ancient People meet. 28 Sonnets. With joyous hearts, to celebrate and greet The clay that gave their Host and Guardian bix'th Just seventy years ago. Oh, act of worth, To call together thus the aged poor As children of one Father — thus to brighten. As with a wreath of flowers, their cottage door, Those loving lowly hearts which beat and lighten, In grateful gladness blithely flowing o'ei', And in true prayer, which dies not with the breath, But will brinoj down a Blessing that henceforth Shall charm the path of him, through life and death, Who fed those helpless Lambs, and shared their child- like mirth. BirtljDap »)Otxnet: TO THE BISHOP OP SAINT ASAPH. A WHILE I mused near Isaac Barrow's grave ; Reading the pious epitaph thereon, How many years, thought I, have come and gone. Since those respected stones were rear'd, which save The dust of him whose Christian virtues have Beam'd o'er our Church a light that, like the Sun, Gladdens all hearts. Servant of Christ, \yell done ! Not to the proud but to the Poor he gave : He lent unto the Lord and is repaid. Vain monuments, once here, have sculk'd away, But Barrow's modest grave is sacred made By wisely gracious' deeds. May many a day Smile over thee as now ere thou art laid, In a like- honour'd grave, near thy 'loved Barrow's clay.^ Sonnets. 29 THE MUSICIAN. If, Wesley, with the Masters of pux'C Song, Tliy name is to exist iu after-years, Thou wilt not grieve beneath the simple sneers, Which now assail thee from a scribbling throng Of men, who cannot owe thee grudge or wrong ; Unless beyond their cramp'd and petty spheres Thou hast aspired to soai", and nobly sought That sacred Mount to which the great belong : Handel, Beethoven, Spohr, thy loved compeers Hymn'd freely there the melodies of thought Which now enchant Mankind. Heed not vain jeers, Nor meet infuriated rage with ire ; Be true to thy high Art — proceed — dread nought : 'Tis dross, not gold, that perishes in tire. ST DAVID'S DAY, A.D. 1860. (iZTo 3'vimcs .iHlaiiiicc, ^tT'sq. Joy to thy heart, my friend, and to thy town, Ruthin, whom thou hast toil'd for long and well ; Of whose heroic yore War's records tell ; Whose prosperous /t<^«re this crown'd day makes know n. She now will reap the harvest wisely sown By thee and thy compeers. The happy Vale Shouts forth with joy — proud Famma's stately cone Resounds ten thousand voices blent in one. 30 The Good Old Town. And Clwyd, rejoicing through each mead and dale. Where Beauty seats herself as on a throne, Seems thus with Song to charm the passing gale : The work of War is ovei", the hireling's paid and gone, — Hang out the banner of holy Peace with these words in- scribed thereon : Art, Science, True Labour, Free Commerce, and every Man his own. ^ije d^OOlJ €'ID I^OtDIi: 9th of NOVEMBER, A.D. IS619. Joy to the good old Town ! The Bells peal out aloud, From their Tower of renown, O'er a rejoicing crowd ; And zealous hearts exclaim, As that merry peal rings down,— " Hurrah for the coming time ! Joy to the good old Town ! " O Wrexham, far renown'd ! Fair Queen of all the North ! Of yore thy brow was crown'd For Beavity, Truth, and Worth ; Well have thy Sons this day, Their Sires' stanch spirit shown ; Hark ! far-off voices say, " Well done the good old Town !' Shakespeare. 31 Twas not for red or xoldte The battle has been won, But to protect the Riglit Of Cottage, Hall, and Throne. Honour to whom 'tis due ; Let each man have his own : Wrexham, thou hast been true — Joy to the good old Town ! God speed thy coming time ! Greatly uphold thy brow, And beautify our clime With thoughts and deeds which glow. Learning and Science fair Be thine ; cast Evil down ; This is the Poet's prayer — Joy to the dear old Town ! »>l)a(\e0pcacc: THE 23d of APRIL, A.D, 1864. Prolotjue : sjjoken in Wrexham Tlieati'e. There needs no trumpet to proclaim the name Of him whom Milton hails, Great Ileir of Fame; The Bard, who on the banks of Avon breathed His first and last of human life, and there Buried, for favoui-'d Stratford has enwreath'd Endearment and renown, a garhxnd rare ; And to mankind of every grade and clan. Bequeathed a treasure that ennobles man : Strength to the weak, true guidance to the strong, - The wisdom of all time embalm'd in Song. 32 III Re7nenibrance. Ye sons and daughters of the dear old Town, Wrexham, the Pride of Wales, for worth well known. Assembled here, on this day set apart In Memory of him whose Throne 's the heart, Shakespeare, for evermore a deathless voice — Shakespeare, in whom the Nations now rejoice, — Your kind indulgence let me humbly ask For those who undertake the arduous task To picture forth the scenes his Genius drew, And bring his bright creations to your view. This favour ask'd 'tis needless more to- say. So bowing grateful thanks I go my way^ For Wrexham hearts are generous to the core, And when the best is done, expect no more. 3It^ Eememlirance: JOHN ROBERTS, ESQ., OF RHUDDLAN ABBEr, A.D. 18G:i. Who claim the tears of Song, the embalming tears of Song, When man is laid in the Churchyard-bed, where night and sleep are long, ITntil the bright Morn of Judgment breaks o'er Christ's victorious Throng % Not they whose selfish days were spent in feast and i*evelry ; Not they who hoarded up rich store whilst the starved were fainting by ; Not they whose titles were the sole pledge of their nobility. For thee — rare man of humble birth, untitled, and unknown. Save by the Crown thy gracious deeds unvauntingly have won — Widow and Orphan record the tale of Christian duties done. A Song for the Toiling Man. 33 For thee tlie tears of Song will flow, the embalmiug tears of Song, And refresh the flowers strewn on thy grave, where night and sleep are long, Until the bright Morn of Judgment breaks o'er Christ's victorious Throng. ^ »)Oixg: for tlje 'cEoiliuff 9l^an» A Song for the toiling Man, Who labours while he can, For a little needful bread. And a shelter for his head : Be patient — persevere. Grieve not the Wine 's denied ; There 's a well on every side, Whose water 's ever free. Even Man of Toil for thee : And thou hast naught to fear. There quench thy thirst in peace ; Let fleshly passion cease To torture Truth astray — In Truth and Spirit pray : Earnestly pray and crave. Pray for the Truth that flows From heaven to earth, and goes From earth to heaven again With unprison'd souls from pain : Ask — and thou shalt receive. 34 ^^2 Epitaph. There is a wondrous Spring For Sinners perishing With spiritual thirst, and those Who drink thereof repose, And never thirst again. And Christ, thy God, and Friend, Will on thee there attend : Oh, haste and drink, and Life, Victor o'er Death and Strife, And cleansed from sinly stain, Will evermore be thine. ^ Be this Life thine and mine ; Then though we toil for bread, And a shelter for the head, We live not here in vain. ^n Cpitapl) THAT HAS XOT APPEARED ON A TOMBSTONE. He eat — he drank — he slept. What then % He awoke, eat, drank, and slept again : Such was his life for threescore years and ten. Vanity and Reality. 35 Fanitp antJ llXcalitp^ " Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities ; all is vanity." — EcCLEsnvSTES. Vanity of vanities ! so spake the Preaclier-King, Surrounded by the pomp of wealth and every precious thing; Whate'er the heart desired was his, and his this solemn cry : "Vanity of vanities — all, all is vanity ! In kingly guise he sat amidst the splendour of his throne, The beauty of the Beautiful he fed his eyes upon ; He call'd around him all the Wise, the Cunning, and the Strong : Yet vanity of vanities, was the burthen of his Song. He gazed beyond the ken of kings — Earth's Beautiful and Fair He found were frail and perishing — all fleshly joys were care; The Wise, the Cunning, and the Strong, but made his heart to ache : Their lore, their handicraft, and feats, seem'd hollow, vain, and weak. He felt a poiver beyond afar the strength of earthly arm ; He saw a craft compared with which all others ceased to charm ; He heard a voice, a higher voice than this world's boasted lore : Reality, Reality surrounds him evermore. 1 6 ' yohn Martin s Grave. 31ol)n Sl^artiiV0 (Braise.^'' ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND AT SAINT ASAPH. From Mona's Isle, where lately I liave wander'd, Accept tliis verse, my heart's harmonious Mend, Not as a theme that has been overponder'd. But on the roadside rudely thought and penn'd. Little I deem'd when last we sat together Within thy tasteful room, and spoke of Art And her great Masters, whilst ^e wintry weather Bellowed out-doors with many a fitful start ; And Martin's grand creations hanging 'round us, Threw their poetic light throughout the room, Till, as a wizai'd's spell, his Genius bound us, — That I should write to thee on Martin's tomb ! A few weeks ere I sought this peaceful Island, He died near Douglas, to which place he came In hopes a lingering sickness to beguile, and Bi'addan now holds his dust and shares his fame. 'Tis a most pleasant spot where he lies sleeping. Upon a gentle hill, around it heave The Mountains which he loved, most meetly keeping A solemn Wake above his lowly grave : And at his head two little trees are springing, And on those trees two little Birds I see. And those sweet Birds unitedly are singing. And thus I give their Song, my friend, to thee : The Last Visions of John Martiii. 37 " higbly-favour'cl Braddan, keep thy treasure ! The dust of Princes is but common dust, — Fame unto them is measured as they measure : The Sculptor claims the praise, the Prince the bust ! " The honour'd dust that here with thee 's reposed Was of a loftier order, — it contain'd A Soul that glanced through nature, and disclosed To marvelling men the simple and the train'd, " Scenes of surpassing grandeur, which for ever Will haunt their memories ; and there will come. From far-off lands, the Gifted and the Clever, To gaze in silent thought upon this tomb." %\)t ?Ca0t FisSion^ of loljn Sl^artim [Through the kindness of a friend, an opportunity was afforded me for leisurely inspecting tjie three final efforts of Martin's genius — " The Last Judgment" " The Great Day of His Wrath,'" and " The Plains of Heaven." The sentiment witli which those Paintings impressed my mind gave buth to the present Poem.] 3InViocation. Brother in spirit, though hajopily not in fate, Of exiled Dante, who with solemn lays Lifted his voice against the guilty days 'Midst which he lived ; lest I of aught misstate, Whilst from thy hieroglyphics I translate The vast Design that fills mo with amaze, Stream'd fi-om thy mind with skill most consummate, 38 The Last Visions of John Martin, I crave the aid of tliose pure Plains of Light, Wliicli unto thee are no more dimly seen, "Where now thou dwell'st 'neath thy Eedeemer's sight. True Fame has crown'd thee with her evergreen, And placed thy name among the Wise and Bright : Prophet, and Bard, and Sage, who fought the fight of Ptight. FIRST PICTURE. The Trumpet has been heard : from far and near Both Qiiick and Dead assemble at the call ; ^^ Before Christ's throne th' adoring Elders fall ; ^^ Two Books within two Angels' hands appear : The Book of Life is opened wide, and there The names endure that Hell cannot appal ; The Book of Death is closed, and therein all Whose eod was Antichrist recorded are — Gross worshippers of Earth and fleshly power, "Who against Truth have warr'd, and blindly stroven To kill man's inner Life. The final hour Of Time has toll'd. In twain the World is cloven : Cleansed from Sin's taint the Good receive their dower, And th' Evil wailing rage while Conscience does devour. SECOND PICTURE. (ar^e 45reat ©ag of ^t^ iDratJ. Lo, the Sun darkens o'er Jerusalem,"^^ Henceforth another light is hers. The Moon " 'Midst blood wanes in the trembling horizon : She saw the vain attempts (and weeps for them) Made by Earth-worshippers the diadem Of ancient Faith in sport to trample on. The Last Visions of yohn Martin. 3 Where has the pride of Gog and Magog gone % ^^ An Earthquake's arm did its frail fury stem, On the four winds the Trumpet loud resounded ; And cleansing Wrath from Heaven has swept forth In lightnings fierce and thunders, which rebounded Where'er the Accursed sought refuge. Mother Earth, Protect thy worshippers ! The Earth, astounded. Convulsive gasps, and dies with all upon her founded. " In Mount Zian and in Jerusalem there shall be deliverance." — Joel ii. 32. And Zion rises crown'd with holy light Beam'd from the City glorified above ; There Christ's asseml^led People reign in love : Of every age the Just, the Wise, and Bright : There, in the Hymn commenced on Earth, unite Angelo — Milton — Socrates, who strove Against corruption ; Dante, who could move, By living verse, the persecuting spite Of men who play 'd Religion as a game ; There Rafiaelle, Diirer, Wilson, and Lorraine, Who lit Art's altar with ethereal flame ; Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, whose rapt strain Tingled through savage hearts and made them tame ; And thousands more were there, known and unknown to Fame. THIRD PICTURE. (Slfce plainjJ of Cjealicn. Thanks to thee, Painter- Poet, for the treasure That thou i*evcalest here to mortal eyes, Which John, enrapt with holy ecstasies, At Patmos saw — beyond all human measure — 40 The Last Visions of John Martin. The new Jerusalem adorn'd with leisure, Even as a Bride to meet her husband sighs, Descending from on high amidst the cries Of that great voice he heard announce with pleasure : The Tabernacle of God shall be henceforth With men — its final, sure, and blest abode ; And He shall dwell with them on a new Earth ; And they shall be His people ; He their God ! Sorrow and Death are lost in heavenly mirth : The former things are changed — this is the latter Birth. Thanks to thee, Painter- Poet, — evermore Of this high lesson thou remindest me. Life over Death triumphant is to be ! And hark, the Harp resounds 'long yonder shore The Song of Heaven is heard. Faith's fight is o'er ! Behold, HE reigns, whom, erst on Calvary, Men smote and pierced, and crown'd in mockery ! Now Jew and Gentile, of all times, adore The CHRIST that rescued man from Death and Hell. O Christian Reader, o'er these solemn lays Inwardly ponder — self and passion quell ; And till we meet befoi-e the Throne of Praise, Where holy Love and Song for ever dwell. Till then, whoe'er thou art, Peace to thee, and Farewell. NOTES. Note 1, Page 19. And titled crowds, having seen the show. To Genius made their farewell boio. I have met two persons who had been personally acquainted with Robert Burns, and lived at Dumfries during the Poet's time. One Avas Mr Allan Cunningham, to whom, in 1823, I was introduced at Sir Francis Chantrey's, the Sculptor ;. the other, an old gentleman named Clark, for whose acquaintance, in 1834, I was indebted to Mr Egertou Smith of Liverpool. Both Cunningham and Clark united in stating that Burns was coldly received by fair-weather friends on his second visit to Edinburgh, and utterly deserted by them towards the close of his life. 49i)E to Ouccn iDictoiia. Note 2, Page 19. Should this Ode to our gracious Queen, and the following one to His Royal Highness Albert Edward, Prince of AYales, be honoured some auspicious morning by the perusal of those exalted personages to whom they are right loyally addressed, they may probably be a humble means of awaking influential consideration to the expediency of fitting- up Carnarvon Castle, wherein our first Prince of English parents was born, as a royal residence for our present Prince, and for all future Heirs-apparent of England's throne. 42 Notes. Note 3, Page 20. Tliere Inigo to science sprunr/. In my boyhood I have heard it frequently stated, by aged people of Wrexham and neighbourhood, that Inigo Jones, the famous architect, and wit-rival of rare Ben Jonson, was born at old Brymbo Hall, and that the Hall now standing was built from his design. But it is more generally believed in the Principality that Inigo was a native of the vale of Clwyd. The Ptcgister reported to have been lately discovered is only evidence that he was christened — not born — in London. Men- tion has been made of an Altar-piece, painted by him when a youth, preserved in a Church not far from the Yale. He lived much of his time in London, where he died and was buried. Note 4, Page 20. There lovely Hemans lived and sung. Felicia Hemans, the poetess, of whom Byron, William Wordsworth, and Walter Scott make honourable mention, lived the brightest years of her life near Saint Asaph, on the banks of the River Clwyd. The Cathedral Church here holds a few modest inches of marble erected to her memorj'. She died in Dublin, and was buried there, a.d. 1835. Note 5, Page 21. Gaze on our Hills, from Famma's cone, 'Neath which lies Wilson's fjrave. Pilchard Wilson, the most illustrious landscape-painter of ancient or modern times, on whose Genius public opinion, at home and abroad> has been long since unequivocally pronounced, was born at Penegoes, Machynlleth, of which place his father was Pvector. The present Penegoes Eector informs me that the father's signature as John Will- Son, Rector, occurs in the Church-PvCgister there from 1722 to 1729. Wilson died at Colomendy Hall, and lies buried in Mold, a town at the foot of Moel Famma. When I visited the Hall in 1825, the treasured bed of this Apostle of Art was shown to me— the bed on which Wilson breathed his last of human life. Notes. 43 ^riDat .§>ong. Note 6, Page 23. Anil warm lovin(i hearts in the rillage are meeting, Th;i name Abergele they'll treasure henceforth. This Song was sung at the marriage - festivals of Hugh Robert Hughes, Esq., of Kinmcl Park, held in Abergele and other places, on the 18th of April, a.d. 1853. ftinmct]^