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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 icillabs M)i f gritnl |poems.
 
 BAILADS & LYRICAL POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES MACKAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE LUMP OF GOLD," " SONGS FOR MUSIC," 
 "EGERIA," ETC. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 G. ROUTLEDGE & CO. FARRINGDON STREET; 
 
 NEW YORK 18, BEEKMAN STREET. 
 1856.
 
 PR 
 
 ^bbtriistmtnt. 
 
 Ekcouraged by the success wliich lias attended the 
 issue of the Shilling Edition of " Songs for Music," 
 and "The Salamandrine," by Charles Mackay, the 
 Publishers present a third volume, uniform with the 
 foregoing, by the same author. The following Col- 
 lection formed the second part of a volume originally 
 published under the title of " Legends of the Isles, and 
 other Poems," of which a very limited edition was 
 issued. A few additional pieces have been included, 
 which now appear for the first time. " The Legends 
 of the Isles," now in the press, will form a fourth 
 volume, uniform with this and the two preceding. 
 
 Farringdon Street, 
 Aufjust, 1856. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW . . . . . . • • Page 1 
 
 13 
 
 THE COMING TIME 
 
 TUBAL CAIN 
 
 THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL 
 
 life's COMPANIONS 
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR 
 
 A CANDID WOOING 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE TIME 
 
 A LOVER S LOGIC 
 
 REAL AND IDEAL 
 
 HEAD AND HEART 
 
 LITTLE FOOLS AND GREAT ONES 
 
 LOST AND WON . . 
 
 THE DEATH OF PAN 
 
 LOVE AWEARY OF THE WORLD 
 
 YOUNG GENIUS . . 
 
 THE VISION OF D ANTON 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT 
 
 GOOD-MORROW . . 
 
 A SONG AFTER A TOAST 
 
 MY PLAYFELLOW 
 
 14 
 IG 
 20 
 23 
 
 26 
 27 
 
 THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE — 1845 .. .. .. ..30 
 
 Sit 
 
 35 
 
 44 
 47 
 49 
 52 
 55 
 
 THE lover's SECOND THOUGHTS ON WORLD-WEARINESS . 57 
 
 59 
 
 THE DROP OF WATER . . 
 
 THE DIONYSIA, OR FESTIVALS OP BACCHUS . . . . . . Qo 
 
 69 
 
 75 
 
 79 
 
 80 
 81 
 82
 
 VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 LOVE IN HATE . . 
 
 
 
 . Page 84 
 
 LADY JANE 
 
 
 
 
 . 85 
 
 THE PEAISE OF WOMEN 
 
 
 
 
 . 89 
 
 SEKENITT 
 
 
 
 
 . 90 
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE 
 
 
 
 
 . 91 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A PAIR OF EYES . 
 
 
 
 
 . 95 
 
 NINETTE 
 
 
 
 
 . 99 
 
 THE QUARREL . . 
 
 
 
 
 . 101 
 
 THE BRIDGE 
 
 
 
 
 . 104 
 
 THE TWO NIGHTINGALES 
 
 
 
 
 . 105 
 
 THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA 
 
 
 
 
 . 109 
 
 A traveller's TALE 
 
 
 
 
 . 113 
 
 3j«iO«-
 
 uilliibs aiiir f jrital ^0^1110. 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 I, 
 
 Methought on the ^gean sand 
 
 I saw a mighty Spirit stand, 
 
 Clad in his majesty alone ; — 
 
 His large fair brow seem'd Wisdom's throne, 
 
 And from his face a glory shone. 
 
 II. 
 
 Another Spirit, great as he. 
 Stood by the far-off Northern Sea; 
 Erect his port, sublime his air ; 
 Restless he seem'd, and full of care, 
 But godlike, and divinely fair, 
 
 III. 
 And though between them, as they stood, 
 All Europe stretch'd its plenitude 
 Of populous lands ; and mountains cold 
 Raised their bare peaks, and oceans roU'd, 
 Each could the other's face behold. 
 
 B 
 1
 
 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Each could with each hold converse high, 
 And mingle voices in the sky ; 
 Sounding far off, not loud, but clear, 
 Upon my senses — fill'd with fear — 
 As from some interlunar sphere. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Men," said the first, " inspired by thee. 
 
 Talk of their high philosophy ; 
 
 Their skill, their science, and their laws ; 
 
 Their tracing of effect to cause ; 
 
 Their arts that win the world's applause ; 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Their happy progress evermore, 
 
 Fi-om good to better than before ; 
 
 Their new discoveries sublime ; 
 
 Their knowledge spread from clime to clime ; 
 
 Their triumphs over space and time. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " They vaunt their manners pure and mild, 
 And their religion vmdefiled ; 
 While all the good that I have wrought 
 Is banish'd from their daily thought. 
 Or, if remember'd, set at nought.
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Vain of their progress, they contemn 
 All arts that have not sprung from them ; 
 And, swoU'n with pride, they cannot see, 
 If I were not, thou couldst not be. 
 And that the fruit proclaims the tree." 
 
 IX. 
 
 "Nay!" said the second! "'tis not so; 
 They give the reverence which they owe : 
 Thy memories ai-e the theme of schools — 
 Thy maxims are their daily rules ; 
 And none despise thee but the fools. 
 
 "They own with wonder and -svith awe 
 Thine ancient wisdom as their law ; 
 And that thy glories still inspire 
 The sweetest music of the lyre. 
 And steep its chords in heavenly fire ;— 
 
 XI. 
 
 " That all the arts which most refine, 
 And make humanity divine. 
 Were caught from thee ; and that the page 
 Which tells thy deeds from age to age, 
 Is of itself an heritage. 
 B 2
 
 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " That an immortal beauty girds 
 Thy form, aiid sanctifies thy woi'ds ; 
 And that thy very name can raise 
 Visions that fill us with amaze, 
 From the abyss of former days ; — 
 
 XIIL 
 
 " That mighty glimpses of the truth 
 Flash'd in the fancies of thy youth ; 
 And that thy errors, dai'kly bright, 
 Were not all error, even in sight 
 Of those who know a purer light. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " All this they see, but cannot own 
 Thou weii; perfection overthrown ; 
 Or that as Time, with onwai'd pace, 
 Removed old systems from their place, 
 Thou wert the best for every race. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "They will not own that for the few 
 The toil of millions should be due — 
 Or that the multitudes of man. 
 Mere serfs and helots in thy plan, 
 Should groan for ever under ban ; —
 
 THE OLD ANB THE NEW. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "That thou shoiildst grind them at thy will, 
 
 And at thy pleasure maim or kill ; 
 
 Or make them build thy columns high, 
 
 Or pyramids to dare the sky ; 
 
 Or force them in thy broils to die. 
 
 xvir. 
 
 " They know, though beauteous and refined. 
 Thou wert a scourge to human kind ; 
 And they rejoice thy power has pass'd, 
 And that the time has come at last 
 When chains must fall, however fast; 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " And when the many, wearied long. 
 Borne down by tp-anny and wrong, 
 May lift their heads and look around. 
 Proud of the knowledge lately found. 
 They are not serfs upon the gi-ound ; 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " But freemen, heritors by birth 
 Of the enjoyments of the earth ; 
 Free not alone to till the soil. 
 But to partake the fruits of toil — 
 The corn, the vintage, and the oil ;
 
 BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEMS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Fi-ee not alone, as Nature meant, 
 To live their life, and die content ; 
 But free to teach, and to be taught, 
 To read the Book with wisdom fraught, 
 To think — and interchange their thought." 
 
 XXL 
 
 " Ay," said the iSrst, " 'tis brightly drawn- 
 
 Thou'st made a noontide of the dawn ; 
 
 For wheresoe'er I turn mine eyes 
 
 I see a crowd of agonies — 
 
 I hear the murmurs that arise. 
 
 XXIL 
 
 "Though great thy triumphs, greater still 
 The aggregate of human ill ; — 
 And narrow, narrow is the span 
 On which, to bless the sons of man, 
 The tide of effort ever ran. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Look round the nations and compare — 
 Examine that thou mayst declare 
 What vast imiirovement has begun, 
 And what two thousand years have done 
 For those that toil beiieath the sun.
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "The people grovell'd in my prime — 
 They grovel in thy happier time ; 
 And suff'i'ing then — they suffer now : 
 And if I left them slaves, hast thou 
 Imprinted freedom on their brow 1 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Hast thou giv'n virtue to the base, 
 Or flash'd thy knowledge in their face ? 
 Hast thou convey'd to every shore 
 The tidings thy IMessiah bore. 
 That Peace should reign for evermore 1 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 "Hast thou, in lands supremely bless'd 
 With thy refinements, done thy best 
 To ease the ills thou canst not cure, 
 To teach the wretched to endure. 
 And shower thy blessings on the poor ?" 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " I am but young," the Spirit said ; 
 " But yesterday 1 raised my head, 
 And late began to understand — 
 A mere new-comer in the land — 
 What was expected at my hand.
 
 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " The mission unfulfili'd by thee 
 Has gaia'd some impetus from me ; 
 And every triumph of thy mind, 
 Not unforgotten for mankind, 
 Has been led further and refined. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 "Though narrow yet the sphei'e of thought, 
 It has been wideu'd since I wrought ; 
 And every seed which thou hast sown 
 For human benefit, has gi'own, 
 And larger leaves and branches thrown. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Beneath my care. And though dark night 
 
 May spread a veil o'er human sight, 
 
 I see far off the dawning ray: 
 
 I labour to prepare the way, 
 
 And watch the coming of the day." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And as the Spirit spoke, his eyes 
 Flash'd heavenly fii'e — and to the skies 
 Pointing his hand he tui-n'd to me. 
 And said — " Thou dreamer, wake and see 
 The Paradise that earth might be !"
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 As one upon a mountain-top 
 Standing alone, whom mists enwrap 
 So densely, that he seeks in vain 
 Amid the cloud of sleet and rain 
 To see the wonders of the plain, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Shouts when he sees the cloud dispersed, 
 And in full glory at one burst, 
 A world disclosed — hill, valley, town. 
 Glittering in sunlight miles adown — 
 River and lake and highlands brown ; — 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 So I, in ecstasy and awe, 
 
 Look'd up believing, and I saw 
 
 That from mine eyes a mist was roU'd, 
 
 That heaven was bright as buruish'd gold, 
 
 And earth had visions to unfold. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 I saw the world before me pass ; — 
 As in some great magician's glass 
 The adept sees phantasmas, dim 
 To all men else, but clear to him. 
 As ill the light and shade they swim •-
 
 10 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 So I beheld tlie mighty Earth 
 Rolling through ether ; all its girth 
 Exhaling glory. O'er my sight 
 Flow'd the full tide of heavenly light, 
 Until the Adew seem'd infinite. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 All happy were its populous lands ; 
 Therein no man with willing hands 
 Needed to pine for want of bread ; 
 For the full banquet that was spread 
 Allow'd all creatures to be fed. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And toil, a burden borne by man 
 In sorrow since the world began. 
 No more his tender bones oppress'd 
 Until supremest joy was rest, 
 Or bow'd his head upon his breast. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But iron servants wrought his will, — 
 Great engines fashion'd by his skill 
 For every art — to spin — to coil — 
 To delve the mine, to till the soil, — 
 And free the human race from toil.
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And not alone by vapour driven, 
 
 But by the storms and calms of heaven — 
 
 By winds, however they might blow, 
 
 And by the tides in ebb or flow. 
 
 The mighty wheels went to and fro. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The nearest and remotest lands 
 
 "Were foes no more, but join'd their hands 
 
 For mutual happiness and peace ; 
 
 And bade their old dissensions cease. 
 
 That they might flourish and increase. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Too wise for bloodshed, "War no more 
 Made demons of them as before ; 
 Religion sow'd no poison-seed — 
 None wish'd his neighbour evil speed. 
 Or bore him malice for his creed. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 But as I look'd with tearful eyes — 
 Tears sprung of joys and sympathies- 
 The colours of my vision grew 
 Many in one ; and hue with hue 
 Was blent, and faded from my view. 
 
 11
 
 12 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 And a still voice said to my heart — 
 " Though but a dream thou seest depart, 
 And great the load of actual ill, 
 Hope in thy waking — labour still — 
 Deeds are fruition of the will. 
 
 i 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " The smallest effort is not lost ; — 
 Each wavelet on the ocean toss'd 
 Aids in the ebb-tide or the flow ; 
 Each rain-drop makes some flow'ret blow , 
 
 Each struggle lessens human woe."
 
 13 
 
 THE COMING TIME. 
 
 "What shall I do to be for ever known, 
 And make the age to come mine own ? " 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 What thou shalt do to be for ever known 1 
 Poet or statesman — look with steadfast gaze, 
 
 And see yon giant Shadow 'mid the haze, 
 Far off, but coming. Listen to the moan 
 That sinks and swells in fitful under -tone, 
 
 And lend it words, and give the shadow fomn ; — 
 And see the Light, now pale and dimly shown 
 
 That yet shall beam resplendent after storm. 
 Preach thou their coming, if thy sonl aspire 
 
 To be the foremost in the ranks of fame ; — 
 Prepare the way, with hand that will not tire, 
 
 And tongue unfaltering, and o'er earth proclaim 
 The Shadow, the Roused Multitude ;— the Crij, 
 "Justice for all!" — the Light, True Liberty.
 
 14 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 TUBAL CAIN. 
 
 Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 
 
 In the days when earth was young ; 
 By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 
 
 The strokes of his hammer rung ; 
 And he lifted high his brawny hand 
 
 On the iron glowing clear, 
 Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers, 
 
 As he fashion'd the sword and si^ear. 
 And he sang — " Hurra for my handiwork ! 
 
 Hurra for the Spear and Sword ! 
 Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, 
 
 For he shall be king and lord !" 
 
 II. 
 
 To Tubal Cain came many a one, 
 
 As he wrought by his roaring fire. 
 And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade 
 
 As the ci'own of his desire; 
 And he made them weapons sharp and strong, 
 
 Till they shouted loud for glee, 
 And gave him gifts of pearls and gold. 
 
 And spoils of the forest free. 
 And they sang — " Hurra for Tubal Cain, 
 
 Who hath given us strength anew ! 
 Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire, 
 
 And hurra for the metal true !"
 
 TUBAL CAIN. 15 
 
 III. 
 
 But a sudden change came o'er liis heart 
 
 Ere the setting of the sun, 
 And Tubal Cain was fill'd with pain 
 
 For the evil he had done ; 
 He saw that men, with rage and hate, 
 
 Made war upon their kind. 
 That the land was red with the blood they shed 
 
 In their lust for carnage, blind. 
 And he said — " Alas ! that ever I made, 
 
 Or that skill of mine shoidd plan, 
 The spear and the sword for men whose joy 
 
 Is to slay their fellow-man !" 
 
 IV. 
 
 And for many a day old Tubal Cain 
 
 Sat brooding o'er his woe ; 
 And his hand forbore to smite the ore. 
 
 And his furnace smouldei^'d low. 
 But he rose at last with a cheerful face, 
 
 And a bright courageous eye, 
 And bared his strong right arm for work, 
 
 While the quick flames mounted high. 
 And he sang — " Hurra for my handiwork !" 
 
 And the red sparks lit the air ; 
 " Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made ;' 
 And he fashion'd the First Ploughshai-e !
 
 16 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 V, 
 
 And men, taught wisdom from tlie Past, 
 
 In friendship join'd their hands, 
 Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, 
 
 And plough'd the willing lands ; 
 And sang — " Huri-a for Tubal Cain ! 
 
 Our stanch good friend is he ; 
 And for the ploughshare and the plough 
 
 To him our jjraise shall be. 
 But while Oppression lifts its head, 
 
 Or a tyrant would be lord, 
 Though we may thank him for the Plough, 
 
 We'll not forget the Sword !" 
 
 THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL.* 
 
 Hakk ! how the furnace pants and roars. 
 Hark ! how the molten metal pours. 
 As, bursting from its iron doors, 
 
 It glitters in the sun. 
 Now through the ready mould it flows, 
 Seething and hissing as it goes, 
 And filling every crevice \ip 
 As the red vintage fills the cup : 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 * When this Eallad was written, the author had not read 
 Schiller's poem on the same subject ; or it is possible — and most 
 probable — that he would not have incurred the formidable risk 
 of a comparison.
 
 THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL. 17 
 
 IL 
 
 Unswatlie liim now. Take off each stay- 
 That binds him. to his couch of clay, 
 And let him struggle into day : 
 
 Let chain and pulley run, 
 "With yielding crank and steady rope, 
 Until he rise from rim to cope, 
 In rounded beauty, ribb'd in strength, 
 Without a flaw in all his length : 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 III. 
 The clapper on his giant side 
 Shall ring no peal for blushing bride. 
 For bu'th, or death, or new-year tide, 
 
 Or festival begun ! 
 A nation's joy alone shall be 
 The signal for his revelry ; 
 And for a nation's woes alone 
 His melancholy tongue shall moan : 
 
 Hurra ' the work is done ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Borne on the gale, deep-toned and clear. 
 His long loud summons shall we hear, 
 "When statesmen ■ to their country dear 
 
 Their mortal race have run ; 
 "When mighty monarchs yield their breath, 
 And patriots sleep the sleep of death. 
 Then shall he raise his voice of gloom, 
 And peal a requiem o'er their tomb : 
 
 Hurra ! the icork is done I 
 
 Q
 
 18 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 V. 
 
 Should foemen lift their haughty hand, 
 And dare invade us where we stand, 
 Fast by the altars of our land 
 
 We'll gather every one : 
 And he shall ring the loud alarm. 
 To call the multitudes to arm, 
 ' From distant field and forest brown, 
 And teeming alleys of the town : 
 
 Hurra ! the ivork is done ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 And as the solemn boom they hear. 
 Old men shall grasp the idle spear. 
 Laid by to rust for many a year, 
 
 And to the struggle run ; 
 Young men shall leave their toils or books. 
 Or turn to swords their pruning-hooks ; 
 And maids have sweetest smiles for those 
 Who battle with their country's foes : 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 And when the cannon's iron throat 
 Shall bear the news to dells remote, 
 And trumpet-blast resound the note. 
 
 That victory is won : 
 When down the wind the banner drops, 
 And bonfires blaze on mountain-tops, 
 His sides shall glow with tierce delight. 
 And ring glad peals from morn to night : 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done !
 
 THE FOUNDING OP THE BELL. 19 
 
 VIIL 
 
 But of such scenes forbear to tell — 
 May never War awake this bell 
 To sound the tocsin or the knell ; — 
 
 Hush'd be the alarum gun ; — 
 Sheath'd be the sword ! and may his voice 
 But call the nations to rejoice 
 That War his tatter'd flag has furl'd, 
 And vanish'd from a wiser world. 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Still may he ring when struggles cease, 
 Still may he ring for joy's increase, 
 For progress in the arts of peace. 
 
 And friendly trophies won. 
 When rival nations join their hands. 
 When plenty crowns the bappy lands, 
 When knowledge gives new blessings birth, 
 And freedom reigns o'er all the earth. 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 c 2
 
 20 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 LIFE'S COMPANIONS. 
 I. 
 When I set sail on Life's young voyage, 
 
 'Twas upon a stormy sea : 
 But to cheei' me niglit and day, 
 Througli the perils of the way, 
 
 With me went companions three — 
 Three companions kind and faithful. 
 
 True as friend and dear as bride ; 
 Heedless of the stormy weather, 
 Hand in hand they came together, 
 
 Ever smiling at my side. 
 
 II. 
 
 One was Health, my lusty comrade, 
 
 Cherry-cheek'd and stout of limb ; 
 Though my board was scant of cheer. 
 And my drink but water clear, 
 
 I was thankful, bless'd with him : 
 One was mild-eyed Peace of Spirit, 
 
 Who, though storms the welkin swept, 
 Waking gave me calm reliance, 
 And though tempests howl'd defiance, 
 
 Smooth'd my pillow when I slept. 
 
 III. 
 
 One was Hope, my dearest comrade, 
 Never absent from my breast. 
 
 Brightest in the dai-kest days, 
 
 Kindest in the roughest Avays, 
 Dearer far than all the rest.
 
 life's compamons. 21 
 
 And tliougli AVealtb, nor Fame, nor Station, 
 
 Journey'cl with me o'ei* tlie sea. 
 Stout of lieart, all clanger scorning, 
 Nouglit cared I in Life's young morning 
 
 For their lordly company. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But, alas ! ere night has darken' d, 
 
 I have lost companions twain ; 
 And the third, with tearful eyes. 
 Worn and wasted, often flies, 
 
 But as oft returns again. 
 And, instead of those departed, 
 
 Spectres twain around me flit ; 
 Pointing each, with shadowy fiuger, 
 Nightly at my couch they linger ; 
 
 Daily at my board they sit. 
 
 Oh, that I so blindly follow'd 
 
 In the hot pursuit of "Wealth ! 
 Though I've gain'd the prize of gold, 
 Eyes are dim, and blood is cold — 
 
 I have lost my comrade. Health. 
 Care instead, the wither'd beldam, 
 
 Steals th' enjoyment from my cup : 
 Hugs me, that I cannot quit her ; 
 Makes my choicest morsels bitter ; 
 
 Seals the founts of pleasure up.
 
 22 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Woe is me that Fame allured me — 
 
 She so false, and I so blind ! 
 Sweet her smiles, but in the chase 
 I have lost the happy face 
 
 Of my comrade Peace op Mind ; 
 And instead, Remorse, pale phantom, 
 
 Tracks mv feet where'er I so : 
 All the day I see her scowling, 
 In my sleep I hear her howling, 
 
 Wildly flitting to and fro. 
 
 Vll. 
 
 Last of all my dear companions, 
 
 Hope ! sweet Hope ! befriend me yet. 
 Do not from my side depai't. 
 Do not leave my lonely heart 
 
 All to darkness and regret. 
 Short and sad is now my voyage 
 
 O'er this gloom-encompass'd sea, 
 But not cheerless altogether, 
 Whatsoe'er the wind and weather, 
 
 Will it seem, if bless'd with thee. 
 
 vin. 
 
 Dim thine eyes are, turning earthwards. 
 Shadowy pale, and thin thy form : — 
 Turn'd to Heaven thine eyes grow bright, 
 All thy form expands in light. 
 Soft and beautiful and warm.
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 23 
 
 Look then upwards ! lead me heavenwards ! 
 
 Guide me o'er this dark'ning sea ! 
 Pale Eemorse shall fade before me, 
 And the gloom shall brighten o'er me, 
 
 If I have a friend in Thee. 
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIE. 
 
 I LOVE to lie in leafy woods. 
 When summer days grow long, 
 To hear the fall 
 Of brooklets small, 
 Or blackbirds' mellow song : 
 To watch the dapple clouds afloat, 
 And ti-ace upon the sky, 
 In hues of light. 
 All golden bright, 
 A thousand castles high. 
 Stay, O Truth ! thy hand relentless. 
 
 And, I prithee, spare 
 My bowers of Bliss — so beautiful — 
 My castles in the air. 
 
 II. 
 
 In one abides unchanging Love ; — 
 No guile is on his tongue. 
 
 His heart is clear, 
 
 His vow sincere. 
 His passion ever young :
 
 24 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 And Care and Penuiy and Pain 
 Ai'e powerless to destroy 
 His early beat, 
 Communion s\veet, 
 And still recurring joy. 
 Smootli, O Truth ! tliy brow majestic, 
 
 And in pity spare 
 My bower of Love so beautiful — 
 My castle in the air. 
 
 IIL 
 
 True Friendsliip, in my sky-built lialls, 
 Her presence has bestow'd ; 
 Each airy dome 
 Is Virtue's home, 
 And Honour's own abode ; 
 And there they flourish evermore, 
 And twine together still, 
 
 Though fortune l)lind, 
 And men unkind, 
 Conspire to work them ill. 
 Prithee, Truth, look down ausj)icious, 
 
 Stay thine hand, and spare 
 My bower, for Faith and Friendship built- 
 INIy castle in the air. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The statesmen, governors, and kings. 
 That in my mansions dwell. 
 
 Desire not pelf, 
 
 Nor think of self, 
 But love their country well.
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 25 
 
 They give to Merit just reward, 
 To Guilt befitting shame, 
 
 And shower on worth, 
 And not on birth. 
 The dignities of fame. 
 Truth, I prithee, stay thine anger, 
 
 And my buildings spare, 
 My bowers for Public Virtue built — 
 My castles in the air. 
 
 Smile on them, Truth ! behold how bright 
 They glitter in the skies. 
 Behold how proud. 
 O'er mist and cloud. 
 Their golden turrets rise. 
 But no ! thou frownest, and in vain 
 Thine angry looks I shun : 
 My castles tall 
 Down crumbling fall. 
 Like ice-drops in the sun. 
 Thou hast destroy'd my visions lovely, 
 
 All my mansions fair. 
 My bowers of Bliss — so beautiful — 
 My castles in the air.
 
 26 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 A CANDID WOOING. 
 
 I CAXNOT give thee all my lieart, 
 
 Lady, lady — 
 My faith and country claim a part, 
 
 My sweet lady : 
 But yet I'll pledge thee word of mine 
 That all the rest is truly thine. 
 The raving passion of a boy, 
 Warm though it be, will quickly cloy — 
 Confide thou rather, in the man 
 Who vows to love thee all he can, 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 
 IL 
 
 Affection, founded on respect. 
 
 Lady, lady, 
 Can never dwindle to neglect. 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 And while thy gentle virtues live. 
 Such is the love that I will give. 
 The torrent leaves its channel dry ; 
 The brook runs on incessantly : 
 The storm of passion lasts a day. 
 But deep true love endures alway, 
 
 My sweet lady.
 
 THE VOICE OF THE TIME. 27 
 
 III. 
 
 Accept then a divided heart, 
 
 Lady, lady. 
 Faith, Friendship, Honour — each have part, 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 While at one altar we adore, 
 Faith shall but make us love the more ; 
 And Friendship, true to all beside, 
 Will ne'er be fickle to a bride ; 
 And Honour, based on manly truth. 
 Shall love in age as well as youth, 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE TIME. 
 
 Day unto day utters speech — 
 Be wise, O ye nations ! and hear 
 What yesterday telleth to-day. 
 What to-day to the morrow will preach. 
 A change cometh over our sj^here, 
 And the old goeth down to decay. 
 A new light hath dawn'd on the darkness of yore. 
 And men shall be slaves and oppressors no moi-e.
 
 28 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Hark to tlie throbbing of tliouglit, 
 
 In the breast of the wakening world : — 
 Over hind, over sea, it hath come. 
 The serf that was yesterday bought. 
 To-day his defiance hath hurl'd, 
 No more in his slaveiy dumb ; 
 And to-morrow will break from the fetters that bind. 
 And lift a bold arm for the rights of mankind. 
 
 III. 
 
 Hark to the voice of the time ! 
 
 The multitude think for themselves, 
 And weigh their condition, each one. 
 The drudge has a spirit sublime, 
 
 And whether he hammers or delves, 
 He reads when his labour is done ; 
 And learns, though he groan under penury's ban, 
 That freedom to think is the birthright of man. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But yesterday thought was confined ; 
 To breathe it was peril or death, 
 
 And it sank in the breast where it rose ; — 
 Now, free as the midsummer wind, 
 It sports its adventurous breath. 
 And round the wide universe goes ; 
 The mist and the cloud from its pat li way are curl'd, 
 And glimpses of glory illumine the world.
 
 THE VOICE OF THE TIME. 29 
 
 V. 
 
 The voice of opinion lias grown : 
 
 'Twas yesterday changeful and weak, 
 Like the voice of a boy ere his prime ; 
 To-day it has taken the tone 
 Of an orator worthy to speak, 
 
 Who knows the demands of the time ; 
 And to-morrow 'twill sound in Oppression's cold ear 
 Like the trump of the seraph to startle our sphere. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Be wise, O ye rulers of earth ! 
 
 And shut not your ears to the voice, 
 Nor allow it to warn you in vain; 
 True freedom, of yesterday's birth. 
 Will march on its way and rejoice, 
 And never be conquer'd again. 
 The day has a tongue— ay, the hours utter speech — 
 Wise, wise will ye be, if ye learn what they teach !
 
 30 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE — 1845. 
 
 (before the repeal op the corn laws.) 
 
 OuK backs are bow'd witli the exceeding weight 
 
 Of toil and sorrow ; and our pallid faces 
 Shrivel before their time. Early and late 
 
 We labour in our old accustom' d places, 
 Beside our close and melancholy looms, 
 
 Or wither in the coal-seams dark and dreary, 
 Or breathe sick vapours in o'ercrowded rooms. 
 
 Or ia the healthier fields dig till we weary, 
 And grow old men ere we Jiave reach'd our prime, 
 Witli scarce a wish, but death, to ask of Time. 
 
 II. 
 
 For it is hard to labour night and day, 
 
 Witli sleep-defrauded eyes and temples aching. 
 To earn the scanty crust, which fails to stay 
 
 The hunger of our little ones, that waking 
 Weep for their daily bread. 'Tis hard to see 
 
 The flow'rets of our household fade in sadness, 
 In the dank shadow of our misery. 
 
 'Tis liard to have no thought of human gladness, 
 But one engrossing agony for bread, 
 To haunt us at our toil, and in our bed.
 
 THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE. 31 
 
 III. 
 
 And many of us, worn with age and pain — 
 
 Old wither'd leaves of men, who, fading, cumber, 
 Long for that pleasant fosse, six feet by twain, 
 
 Impervious to all grief, whei'e we may slumber. 
 And others of us, more unhappy still, 
 
 Youthful, warm-blooded, with a life to cherish, 
 Offer in vain our sinews and our skill 
 
 For starving recompense, and yet must perish 
 In our young days, and on a fruitful soil. 
 Because our food is dearer than our toil. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Tis hard to know that the increase of wealth 
 
 Makes us no richer, gives us no reliance ; 
 And that while ease, and luxury, and health 
 
 Follow the footsteps of advancing science, 
 They shower no benefits on us, cast out 
 
 From the fair highways of the world, to wander 
 In dark paths darkly groping still about. 
 
 And at each turn condemn'd to rest, and ponder 
 If living be the only aim of life — 
 Mere living, purchased by 'perpetual strife. 
 
 V. 
 
 We rise in grief — in grief lie down again ; 
 
 And whither to turn for aid in oiu: deep anguish 
 "We know not — yet we feel that we are men, 
 
 Born to live out our days — and not to languish
 
 32 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 As if we liad no souls ; as if, stone-blind, 
 
 We knew not spring was fair; and that the summer 
 
 Ripen'd the fruits of eai'th with influence kind ; 
 That harvest ought to be a welcome comer 
 
 To us and ours ; and that in Nature's face, 
 
 Were smiles of joy for all the human race. 
 
 VI. 
 
 We ask not much. We have no dread of toil ; — 
 
 Too happy we, if labour could provide us. 
 Even though we doubled all our sweat and moil, 
 
 Eaiment and food — and shelt'ring roofs to hide us 
 From the damp air, and from the winter's cold; — 
 
 If we could see our wives contented round us, 
 And to our arms our little children fold, 
 
 Nor fear that next day's hunger should confound us. 
 With joys like these, and one sweet day of rest, 
 We would complain no more, but labour, bless'd. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But these we sigh for all our days in vain, 
 
 And find no remedy where'er we seek it ; — 
 Some of us, reckless, and grown mad with pain 
 
 And hungiy vengeance, have broke loose to 
 wreak it : — 
 Have made huge bonfires of the hoarded corn. 
 
 And died despairing. Some to foreign regions, 
 Hoj^eless of this, have sail'd away forlorn. 
 
 To find new homes and swear a new allegiance. 
 But we that stay'd behind had no relief. 
 No added com, and no diminish'd grief.
 
 THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE. 33 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And ricli men kindly urge us to endure, 
 
 And tliey will send us clergymen to bless us ; 
 And lords wlio play at cricket with the poor, 
 
 Think they have cured all evils that oppress us. 
 And then we think endui-ance is a ci'ime ; 
 
 That those who wait for justice never gain it ; 
 And that the multitudes are most sublime 
 
 When, rising arm'd, they combat to obtain it, 
 And dabbling in thick gore, as if 'twere dew. 
 Seek not alone their rights, but vengeance too. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But these are ev'il thoughts ; for well we know, 
 
 From the sad history of all times and jilaces, 
 That fire, and blood, and social overthrow, 
 
 Lead but to harder grinding of our faces 
 When all is over : so, from strife withdra-uni, 
 
 We wait in patience through the night of sorrow, 
 And watch the far-off glimpses of the dawn 
 
 That shall assure us of a brighter morrow. 
 And meanwhile, from the overburden'd sod, 
 Our cry of anguish rises up to God.
 
 34 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 A LOVER'S LOGIC. 
 
 I AM skill'cl in magic lore, 
 
 And can tell thee, dearest maiden, 
 What the winds at evening say, 
 As amid the boughs they play ; — 
 What the river to its shore. 
 Softly whispers evermore 
 
 From its heart o'erladen. 
 
 II. 
 
 I can tell thee how the moon 
 
 Breathes persuasion to the billows ; 
 
 What discourse the mountain makes 
 
 To its shadow-loving lakes ; 
 
 And conceal'd in lonely nooks 
 
 What the little devious brooks 
 Murmur to the willows. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Love thou me — for I love thee," 
 Is the song they sing for ever. 
 
 At this moment I can hear 
 
 The responses ringing clear; 
 
 And the very stars repeat 
 
 To the moon an answer sweet — 
 " Love shall pei'ish never."
 
 REAL AND IDEAL. oO 
 
 IV. 
 
 And if thus Earth, Sea, and Sky 
 
 Find a voice to sing their passion, 
 
 Should we fail, my dearest maid. 
 
 Wandering in this greenwood shade, 
 
 To repeat the same sweet song, 
 
 We should do their music wrong, 
 And be out of fashion. 
 
 EEAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Two friends were sittinof in a chamber fair. 
 Hung round with pictures, and in every nook 
 
 Fill'd with choice tomes and busts and marbles rare. 
 One sat apart — and one with listless look 
 Turn'd o'er, unread, the pages of a book ; 
 
 Both young — and one who seem'd with sadness 
 fraught. 
 
 Thus to the other breathed his secret thought. 
 
 II. 
 
 " I'm weary, Basil, of this ceaseless din : — 
 
 The world hath beat against my heart, and worn, 
 
 By the rude contact of its vice and sin, 
 The purity and freshness of its mom ; — 
 Tutor'd in callousness, adept in scorn, 
 
 Virtue and Friendship, Honoui', Love, and Fame, 
 
 Are things to me no more, each dwindled to a name. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 in. 
 
 " I'm weaiy of tlie world, and daily sigh 
 
 For some green resting-place — some forest cave, 
 
 Guarded by distance from the intruding eye 
 Of civil fool and sycophantic knave — 
 With none to flatter me, and cringe and crave 
 
 For driblets of the gold which I despise, 
 
 And all who ask it with their fawning eyes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " I'm weary of this pomp and ceaseless thrall, 
 And pine for peace in wild woods far away; 
 
 Though gold the fetters, still they chafe and gall ; 
 Though jewel-hilted, still the sword will slay ; 
 Though set with diamonds of the richest ray. 
 
 The glittering cup that held the poison-draught 
 
 Provides no antidote to him who quaff'd. 
 
 " I will away, and hide me in a bower ; — 
 Or roam the forest, climb the mountain-peak, 
 
 Or muse by waterfalls at evening's hour, 
 
 Or count the blushes on the morning's cheek, 
 Or in deep silence of the midnight, seek 
 
 Communion with the stars, that I may know 
 
 How petty is this ball on which we come and go.
 
 REAL AXD IDEAL. 37 
 
 VI- 
 
 '•' That I may leavn what maggots on a crust 
 Are men on earth ; and then, perchance, I may 
 
 Find some revival of forgotten trust. 
 
 Some flower of faith fast fading to decay. — 
 Here in these hollow crowds, heart-sick I stray, 
 
 And find a void — and all my days I grieve 
 
 That nothing more is left me to believe. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Love ? — It is bought for miserable gold. 
 
 The fairest creature that the earth e'er saw, — 
 
 Fashion'd in beauty's most delicious mould, 
 Modest, accomplish'd, pure without a flaw. 
 Would sell herself, with proper form of law. 
 
 For half my wealth ; or ogle to trepan 
 
 A Negro Croesus, or a Mussulman. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Friendship 1 — Like midges on a beam, the horde 
 Throng numberless ; and every man pretends 
 
 My virtues only lure him to my board — 
 He hath no selfish interest, no ends 
 To serve but mine. Oh kind, oh generous friends ! 
 
 What would ye do should all the ducats fail 1 — 
 
 Fail too — dissolving like the summer hail.
 
 38 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Fame 1 — It is pleasant — but alas ! not worth 
 The panting and the toiling to acquire. 
 
 Is any object on this paltry earth 
 
 So great, that man should waste his soul of fire, 
 And carry in his heart the fierce desire 
 
 For threescoi-e years, then die without the prize, 
 
 "Which fools, meantime, have snatched befoi'e his eyes ? 
 
 " What is there left 1 Long studied in the schools 
 Of doubt and disbelief, my faith is dead : 
 
 I've measured God by algebraic rules. 
 And in a maze of logic long misled. 
 Having no faith, have set up Chance instead ; 
 
 Sought refuge in denial, to revolve 
 
 No more the problem which I cannot solve. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " I'm wearyj weary, and would be alone, 
 Away from cities and their stifling crowd. 
 
 Far fi'om the scenes where folly on her thi'one, 
 For rich and poor, for sim[)le and for proud, 
 Utters her laws and proclamations loud. 
 
 I'm weary — and will hence, and hide in woods, 
 
 And feed on quiet in their solitudes."
 
 KEAL AND IDEAL. 39 
 
 XII. 
 
 "Wliati" said his friend— " Thou, Julian! steep'd 
 in wealth, 
 The young, the handsome, and the nobly born, 
 
 Endow'd with choicest gifts of strength and health — 
 Dost thou indulge this misanthropic scorn. 
 And rail at Fortune in thy youth's fair morn? 
 
 And turn disgusted from enjoyment's cup, 
 
 With its rich liquor bubbling ever up 1 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Arouse thee from this lethargy of soul — 
 
 Shake off the weight that bears thy spirit down — 
 
 'Tis but the offspring of the extra bowl 
 
 We drain'd last night. Smooth from thy brow 
 
 the frown. 
 There hangs a gloom on the expectant town 
 
 When thou art sad : — Come, be thyself again, 
 
 Nor with the lore of fools bedull thy brain. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 "Hear my philosophy, and weigh with thine 
 
 The truer wisdom that my tongue shall teach : — 
 
 Not ever shall our noon of manhood shine. 
 Nor pleasure woo us with entrancing speech ; 
 Not ever shall our arms have power to reach 
 
 The golden fruit, that hangs on every bough, 
 
 In the fair garden where we wander now.
 
 40 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Short on tlie eartli is our allotted time, 
 And sliort our leisure to lament and weep ; 
 
 Nature, all bounteous, deems denial crime, 
 And sows a harvest for the wise to reap. 
 So fill the goblet high — but drain not deeji j 
 
 And if at morn you toil, at evening rest — 
 
 To-day's denial is to-morrow's zest. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Be temperate only to enjoy the more — 
 So shall no dainty on thy palate pall ; 
 
 And cease with fools and bigots to deplore 
 
 That earth's no heaven, and man not perfect all; 
 Still make the best of whatsoe'r befall. 
 
 Nor rail at fortune, though the jade is blind, 
 
 Nor launch thy bitter scoru on human kind. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Hope little — thou wilt be the less deceived — 
 In Love and Friendship be thy rule the same : 
 
 And if by Julia's cruelty aggrieved. 
 
 At Laura's altar light another flame, — 
 
 And if she scorn thee, swear by Dora's name ; — 
 
 Nor clinjr to either with so fond a heart 
 
 That it would cause thee half a pang to part.
 
 REAL AND IDEAL. 41 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 " For passion is the bane of mortal bliss, 
 
 The flame that scorches — not the ray that cheers ; 
 
 And every tragedy but teaches this — 
 
 "Who sows in passion, reaps in blood and tears ; 
 And he who to his soul too much endears 
 
 The sweetest, best, and fairest of her kind, 
 
 But makes a despot to enthral his mind. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Nor let thy savage virtue take offence 
 
 If friends should love thee better rich than poor ; — 
 
 It may be feeling, but it is not sense — 
 
 Ripeness of heart, but judgment immature — 
 To look for friendship that shall aye endure ; 
 
 Or think the lamp woiJd show the same bright ray 
 
 Should the oil fail, and riches melt away. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Nor let desire of Fame perplex thy thought — 
 Poor are the objects that Ambition seeks. 
 
 The applause of dunces is too dearly bought 
 
 By nerveless limbs, care-deaden'd eyes, and cheeks 
 Furrow'd before their time by aged streaks ; 
 
 And the true wisdom never stops to weigh 
 
 A shadowy Morrow with a real To-day.
 
 42 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Enjoy the present — gild the passing hour — 
 Nor drain the cup ; — nor fill it to the brim ; — 
 
 For us shall Beauty open wide her bower, 
 And sparkling eyes in tender languor swim ; 
 For us shall joy awake the jubilant hymn ; 
 
 And round us gather every young delight 
 
 That wealth can buy, for taste, or touch, or sight." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " No, Basil, no — I pine for a belief ; 
 
 I'm wearied with my doubts, and fain would rest. 
 Long have I clutch' d, in bitterness and gi'ief, 
 At all these phantoms, beautifully drest 
 In colours brighter than the rainbow's vest- 
 No, my friend Basil — not in these I trust, 
 Begun in folly, ending in disgust. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " My soul, long darken'd, languishes for light — 
 And with an utterance labours night and day. 
 
 I see a vision dawning on my sight, 
 I hear a music faint and far away — 
 I hear a voice which says, ' Not all of clay 
 
 Thy mortal being — raise thyself, O clod ! 
 
 Look up, O finite, infinite in God.'
 
 REAL AND IDEAL. 43 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Oh, that I could believe ! oh, that my soul 
 Could trust in something, and my weary mind 
 
 Burst all unfetter'd from the dull control 
 
 Of doubt, that thinks it sees, but still is blind ! 
 That I could cling to some one of my kind — 
 Some gentle soul whose love might be the ray 
 
 To lead me to belief, and brighten all the way. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Faith shall be born of Love — oh, happy pair ! 
 "Would ye but smile upon my darkening road, 
 
 No more my heart, imprison'd by despair. 
 Should' find its sympathies too great a load, 
 Doubtful alike of self, of kind, of God. — 
 
 I will away froan all this pomp and jar. 
 
 And commune with my soul in solitudes afar."
 
 44 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 HEAD AND HEAKT. 
 
 AN UNDECIDED DISPUTE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Said Head to Heart, "You lead me wrong 
 The pulse of passion beats too strong. 
 You are the dupe of tears and sighs ; 
 You take the Judgment by surprise ; 
 
 IL 
 
 " You melt at every sorro-^dng tale, 
 Let Feeling over Will prevail ; 
 And still, by impulse led astray, 
 You draw me from the prudent way. 
 
 III. 
 
 " When I would walk a steady pace ; 
 Impetuous, you would run a race ; 
 And ere a doubtful case I've tried, 
 You've prompted Pity to decide. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " By bounds of Keason unconfined. 
 No space your sympathies can bind ; 
 For, wayward as a petted child, 
 You scorn restraint, and wander wild.
 
 HEAD AND HEART. 
 
 i5 
 
 V. 
 
 "I pray you, Heart, these freaks forbear; 
 They cause rae shame, they breed me care ; 
 And I am blamed for going wrong, 
 And counted weak that you are strong." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Said Heart to Head, " You're cold and slow ; 
 You cast a damp on Feeling's glow; 
 You are like water on the fire ; 
 You are a clog on my desire. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "You measure Passion by a rule, 
 You send the sympathies to school, 
 And, slave to logic and its laws, 
 You weigh, you ponder, and you pause. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "When I would prompt the pitying tear, 
 You purse the lip and look severe. 
 And quick to doubt and slow to grieve, 
 You lecture when you should relieve. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Oh ! it is galling to be tied 
 
 To one so sluggish to decide. 
 
 Who chills me when I glow'd before. 
 
 And clings to earth when I would soar." 
 
 -"o"-
 
 46 BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEMS. 
 
 X. 
 
 The silent contest lasted long, 
 
 For both were right ; — yet both were wrong. 
 
 " Strive," to my secret soul I said, 
 
 " To reconcile the Heart and Head. 
 
 XI. 
 
 "And let the Heart too warm and free, 
 Too sudden in its energy. 
 Pause for the advice of cooler Tact, 
 And learn to think before it act. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Let Head, too prone to reason still, 
 Even in extremity of ill, 
 Consent to play a warmer part. 
 Led by the dictates of the Heart."
 
 47 
 
 LITTLE FOOLS AND GREAT ONES. 
 
 I. 
 
 When at tlie social board you sit, 
 
 And pass around the wine, 
 Remember, though abuse is vile, 
 
 That use may be divine : 
 That Heaven, in kindness, gave the grape 
 
 To cheer both great and small — 
 That little fools will drink too much, 
 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
 II. 
 
 And when in youth's too fleeting hours 
 
 You roam the earth alone, 
 And have not sought some loving heart 
 
 That you may make your own : — 
 Remember woman's priceless worth, 
 
 And think, when pleasui'es pall — 
 That little fools will love too much, 
 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
 III. 
 
 And if a friend deceived you once, 
 Absolve poor human kind, 
 
 Nor rail against your fellow-man 
 With malice in your mind ;
 
 48 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 But in your daily intercourse, 
 Remember, lest you fall — 
 
 That little fools confide too mucli, 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In weal or woe be trustful still ; 
 
 And in the deepest care 
 Be bold and resolute, and shun 
 
 The coward foe Despair. 
 Let work and hope go hand in hand ; 
 
 And know, whate'er befall — 
 That little fools may hope too much, 
 
 But sreat ones not at all. 
 
 V. 
 
 In work or pleasure, love or drink. 
 
 Your rule be still the same — 
 Your work not toil, your pleasure pure, 
 
 Your love a steady flame ; 
 Your drink not maddening, but to cheer ;- 
 
 So shall your bliss not pall, 
 For little fools enjoy too much. 
 
 But great ones not at all.
 
 49 
 
 LOST AND WON. 
 
 An idler, on the shady sward extended, 
 
 Lay listless on a summer's afternoon : 
 Thick boughs and numerous leaves above him 
 blended 
 
 Into an arch, through which the beams were 
 strewn 
 Upon the grass, like ripjDles on a river ; 
 
 There was a sleepy loveliness around. 
 The quiet winds scarce caused the leaves to quiver. 
 
 And vagrant bees flew by with drowsy sound. 
 
 II. 
 
 Too full of life for sleep — too calm for waking, 
 
 The place seem'd fit for dreamer such as he, 
 Who, worldly thoughts and haunts of men forsaking, 
 
 Eesign'd himself to lazy luxury. 
 His thoughts were shapeless as the winds, and 
 wander'd 
 
 Afar in cloud-land, void of all intent ; 
 His eyes now closed, as if on self he ponder'd, 
 
 Now open to the leaves and firmament. 
 
 III. 
 
 Waking or sleeping, or if day or morrow, 
 He knew not — but he saw seven ladies fair 
 
 Beside him, with pale cheeks and looks of sorrow. 
 And tearful eyes and long dishevell'd hair : 
 
 E
 
 50 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 He knew them, and a deep remorse came o'er Lim, 
 A shame of self that he had done them wrong ; 
 
 While with reproachful looks they stood before him, 
 And one broke forth into this mournful song : — 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Listen," she said, " and hear the wrong thou'st 
 done us. 
 And the false deeds thou'st wrought against thy 
 soul ; 
 The summer winds shall breathe no moi-e upon us, 
 We're gone — our place is fill'd — we've reach'd 
 the goal. 
 Our melancholy faces look not sunward, 
 
 But back in shadow ; and, oh ! never more 
 Can we return to thee to help thee onward. 
 And bring thee gladness as we brought before. 
 
 " We stay'd with thee long time, with power to aid 
 thee, 
 
 Hadst thou but struggled with an earnest mind. 
 To do such noble deeds as might have made thee 
 
 Stand in the foremost ranks of human kind. 
 We could have fill'd thy cup to overflowing, 
 
 If worldly Wealth found favour in thy sight ; 
 If Fame inspired, we could have led thee glowing 
 
 Up the steep summit, to her topmost height.
 
 LOST AND WON. 51 
 
 VI. 
 
 " If Love of Knowledge fired thee to pursue her, 
 
 "We could have help'd- thee to her courts to 
 climb — 
 Smooth'd the rough pathway — lent thee words to 
 woo her, 
 
 And turn'd the pages of her book sublime. 
 If to be virtuous were thy sole ambition, 
 
 We, day by day, had taught thee to excel ; 
 Led thee to raise the wretched from perdition, 
 
 And brought their blessings to reward thee well. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " All this, and more, if thou hadst duly prized us. 
 
 For thee, life-waster, could our aid have done ; 
 But thou hast scorn'd, neglected, and despised us, 
 
 And we are powerless, and our course is run. 
 We are but shadows, pallid and regretful. 
 
 To whom no future can a form restore ; 
 And bearing with us, from thy soul forgetful, 
 
 The fair occasions that return no mox-e." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thus as she spake, his face in shame he cover'd ; 
 
 And when he look'd again, he was alone. 
 " Departed years, whose memory round me hover'd, 
 
 For all the Past the Future shall atone," 
 He said — and rising, cast away for ever 
 
 The philosophic slotli that bound his soid ; 
 Mix'd with mankind, and, strong with wise endeavour, 
 
 Toil'd up the hill of Fame, and reach'd the goal. 
 
 E 2
 
 52 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 / THE DEATH OF PAN. 
 
 Behold the vision of the death of Pan. — 
 I saw a shadow on the mountain-side, 
 As of a Titan wandering on the cliffs ; 
 Godlike his stature, but his head was bent 
 Upon his breast, in agony of woe ; 
 And a voice rose upon the wintry wind, 
 "Wailing and moaning — " Weep, ye nations, weep ! 
 Great Pan is dying : — mourn nie, and lament ! 
 My steps shall echo on the hills no more ; 
 Dumb are mine oracles — my fires are quench'd. 
 My doom is spoken, and I die — I die !" 
 
 The full moon shone upon the heaving sea,, 
 And in the light, with tresses all unbound. 
 Their loose robes dripping, and with eyes downcast, 
 The nymphs arose, a pallid multitude. 
 Lovely but most forlorn ; and thus they sang, 
 With voice of sorrow — " Never — never more. 
 In these cool waters shall we lave our limbs ; — 
 Never, oh never more ! in sportive dance 
 Upon these crested billows shall we ])lay ; — 
 Nor at the call of prayer-o'erburden'd men 
 Ayjpear in answer ; for our hour is come ; 
 Great Pan has fallen, and wc die ! we die !" 
 
 Emerging slowly from the trackless woods, 
 And from the umbrageous caverns of the hills,
 
 THE DEATH OF PAN, 53 
 
 Their long hair floating on the rough cold winds, 
 Their faces pale, their eyes suffused with tears, 
 The Dryads and the Oreads made their moan : — 
 "Never, oh never more!" distraught, they cried, 
 '■' Upon the mossy banks of these green woods 
 ♦Shall we make music all the summer's day ; — 
 .Never again, at morn or noon or night. 
 Upon the flowery sward, by fount or stream, 
 Shall our light footsteps mingle in the dance ; — 
 Never again, discoursing from the leaves 
 And twisted branches of these sacred oaks. 
 Shall we make answer at a mortal's call ! 
 Our hour is come, our fire of life is quench 'd ; 
 Our voices fade ; our oracles are mute ; 
 Behold our agony ; — we die ! we die !" 
 And as they sang, their unsubstantial forms 
 Grew pale and lineless, and dispersed in air ; 
 While from the innermost and darkest nooks. 
 Deepest embower'd amid those woods antique, 
 A voice most mournful echo'd back their plaint. 
 And cried — "C/i 2Hsery ! they die I they die I" 
 
 Then pass'd a shadow o'er the moon's pale disc ; 
 
 And to the dust, in ecstasy of awe, 
 
 1 bent adoring. On the mountain-tops 
 
 Thick darkness crept, and silence deep as death's 
 
 Pervaded Nature : the wind sank — the leaves 
 
 Foi'bore to flutter on the bending boughs, 
 
 And breathing things Avere motionless as stones, 
 
 As earth, revolving on her mighty wheel. 
 
 Eclipsed in utter dark the lamj) of Heaven ;
 
 54 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 And a loud voice, amid that gloom sublime, 
 
 Was heard from shore to sea, from sea to shore, 
 
 Startling the nations at the unwonted sound, 
 
 And swelling on the ear of mariners 
 
 Far tossing on their solitary barks, 
 
 A month's long voyage from the nearest land — 
 
 " Great Pan has fallen, for ever, ever more /" 
 
 The shadow pass'd — light broke upon the world ; 
 And Nature smiled, rejoicing in the beam 
 Of a new morning blushing from the East ; 
 And sounds of music seera'd to fill the air, 
 And angel voices to exclaim on high, 
 " Great Pan has fallen ! and never more his creed 
 Shall chain the free intelligence of man. 
 The Christ is born, to purify the earth ; 
 To raise the lowly, to make rich the poor. 
 To teach a faith of charity and love. 
 Rejoice ! rejoice ! an error has expii'ed ; 
 And the new Truth shall reign for evermore !"
 
 55 
 
 LOVE AWEARY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh ! my love is very lovely, 
 
 In her mind all beauties dwell ; 
 She is robed in living splendour, 
 Grace and modesty attend her. 
 
 And I love her more than well. 
 But I'm weary, weary, weary, 
 
 To despair my soul is hurl'd ; 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 
 I am weary of the world ! 
 
 II. 
 
 She is kind to all about her. 
 
 For her heart is pity's throne ; 
 She has smiles for all men's gladness, 
 She has tears for every sadness, 
 
 She is hard to me alone. 
 And I'm weaiy, weary, weary. 
 
 From a love-lit summit hurl'd ; 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 
 I am weary of the world ! 
 
 III. 
 When my words are words of wisdom. 
 
 All her spirit I can move; 
 At ray wit her eyes will glisten, 
 But she flies, and will not listen. 
 
 If I dare to speak of love.
 
 56 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! I'm weary, weary, weary, 
 By a storm of passions wliirl'd ; 
 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 I am weary of the world ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 True, that there are others fairer — 
 
 Fairer 1 — No, that cannot be — 
 Yet some maids of equal beauty, 
 High in soul and firm in duty, 
 
 May have kinder hearts than she. 
 Why, my heart, so weary, weary. 
 
 To and fro by passion whirl'd? — 
 Why so weary, weary, weary. 
 
 Why so weary of the world ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Were my love but passing fancy, 
 
 To another I might turn ; 
 But I'm doom'd to love unduly 
 One who will not answer truly. 
 
 And who freezes when I burn ; 
 And I'm weary, weary, weary, 
 
 To despair my soul is hurl'd j 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 
 I am weary of the world !
 
 57 
 
 THE LOVER'S SECOND THOUGHTS ON WORLD- 
 WEARINESS. 
 
 Heakt ! take courage ! 'tis not worthy 
 
 For a woman's scorn to pine : 
 If lier cold indifference wound thee, 
 There are remedies around thee 
 
 For such malady as thine. 
 Be no longer weaiy, weary, 
 
 From thy love-lit summits hurl'd ; 
 Be no longer weary, weary. 
 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
 II. 
 
 If thou must be loved by woman, 
 Seek again — the world is wide ; 
 
 It is full of loving creatures, 
 
 Fair in form, and mind, and features- 
 Choose among them for thy bride. 
 
 Be no longer weary, weary. 
 
 To and fro by passion whirl'd : 
 
 Be no longer weary, weary. 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
 III. 
 Or if Love should lose thy favour, 
 
 Try the paths of honest fame. 
 Climb Parnassus' summit hoary, 
 Carve thy way by deeds of glory. 
 
 Write on History's page thy name.
 
 58 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 To the depths of sorrow hurl'd ; 
 
 Be no longer weary, weary. 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Or if these shall fail to move thee. 
 
 Be the phantoms nnpursued, 
 Try a charm that will not fail thee 
 When old age and grief assail thee — 
 
 Try the charm of doing good. 
 Be no longer weak and weary. 
 
 By the storms of passion whirl'd ; 
 Be no longer weary, weary. 
 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
 Love is fleeting and uncertain, 
 
 And can hate where it adored; 
 Chase of glory wears the sjiirit. 
 Fame not always follows merit, 
 
 Goodness is its own I'eward. 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 From thine happy summits hurl'd ■, 
 Be no longer weary, weaiy. 
 
 Weary, weary of the world !
 
 THE DEOP OF WATER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Alone, amid a million souls, 
 Round him tlie tide of people rolls ; 
 But lorn and desolate is he. 
 None heeding what his lot may be — 
 A drop of water in the sea. 
 
 II. 
 
 'Mid all the crowds that round him swarm. 
 He feels for him no heart will warm ; 
 There is not one that knows liis name, 
 Or cares to ask him whence he came j 
 His life or death to them the same. 
 
 III. 
 
 The rich man's chariot passes by, 
 And lackeys with a saucy eye. 
 From outside plush and inward meals, 
 Grin at him, as the rattling wheels 
 Splash him all o'er, from head to heels. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He walketh on, a friendless boy, 
 "With much of hope, with little joy ; 
 Elbow'd for ever by the proud, 
 As if they grudged the room allow'd 
 To this mean mortal in the crowd.
 
 60 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 On tliroiigh the busy mass he goes, 
 But whither bent he scarcely knows ; 
 Through lane and street, and park and square, 
 And looks at wealth he may not share, 
 Though he is hungry and half-bare. 
 
 VL 
 
 For him amid these houses small — 
 For him amid these mansions tall. 
 There is not one, where he could go, 
 And say, " I am a child of woe ; 
 To cheer me, let the wine-cup flow." 
 
 VII. 
 
 No ; he is friendless and alone — 
 To no one are his sorrows known — 
 His hope, or joy, or grief, or fear, 
 There is not one would care to hear, 
 Or say the word, " Be thou of cheer 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And evil thoughts will sometimes rise, 
 When flaunting wealth aff'routs his eyes ; 
 Envy, perchance, and discontent. 
 That he into this world was sent — 
 No good with all his evils blent.
 
 THE DROP OF WATER. 61 
 
 IX. 
 
 "No good'?" saith he. "All, surely wrong! 
 
 Fresh health and youth to me belong ; 
 
 And from endurance I can learn 
 
 Still to endure, and never turn 
 
 From the high thoughts with which I burn." 
 
 And still within himself he says, 
 "Each man must pass his e\T-l days — 
 Each man should suffer ere his prime, 
 If up the world's high steeps he'd climb, 
 Some grief to fit him for his time. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " I am not all alone nor sad ; 
 
 The face of Nature makes me glad, 
 
 The breath of morn, the evening's sigh. 
 
 The contemplation of the sky, 
 
 That fills my soul with yearnings high ;- 
 
 XII. 
 
 " The leafy glory of the woods. 
 The rushing of the mountain floods, 
 The wind that bends the lofty tree, 
 The roaring of the eternal sea, — 
 All yield an inward joy to me.
 
 62 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 \ I find a pleasure iu the sight 
 
 Of meadows green and corn-fields bright ; 
 I I find a pleasure in the lay 
 ] Of birds that hail the breaking day, 
 I Or warble to the moonlight gray. 
 
 J 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " If no man loves me, Nature's voice 
 Is kind, and bids my heart rejoice : 
 The path I go, true souls have trod; 
 I will look upwards from the clod. 
 With a firm heart, and trust in God." 
 
 XV. 
 
 And thus he walks from hour to hour, 
 From day to day, and gains new power 
 Over himself; and undismay'd, 
 In conscious rectitude array'd, 
 He labours as his impulse bade. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He looks on hardship, and it sinks ; 
 He measures ])eril, and it shrinks ; 
 Before him difficulties fly, 
 Scared by that quietude of eye, 
 Serene to suffer or defy.
 
 THE DROP OF WATER, 63 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And still, 'mid the perennial strife 
 "With worldly things, that makes his life, 
 He never plays the worldliug's part, 
 Or ever from his gi-ateful heart 
 Allows the freshness to depart. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Amid the city's ceaseless hum, 
 Still to his sold the visions come 
 Of the green woodlands far away. 
 Where, in communion all the day 
 With Nature, he was wont to stray. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And mixing with his fellows, still 
 
 He finds some good amid the ill ; 
 
 And pitying those whose souls are blind, 
 
 Nor hating those of evil mind. 
 
 He learns to love all human kind. 
 
 XX. 
 
 To him all errors of the past 
 Teach wisdom where his lot is cast ; 
 And after struggles hard and long. 
 With self, and with temptation strong, 
 And pride that sought to lead him wrong,-
 
 64 BALLADS AKD LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 He learns this truth ; that nought below 
 
 Can lasting recompense bestow 
 
 But Virtue ; — that the Love of Fame 
 
 Is something better than a name, 
 
 If Love of Virtue feed its flame ; — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 That to the mind not mured in self, 
 Nor toiling for the love of pelf, 
 Wealth may be worth its cost of brain, 
 That gives the power to solace pain, 
 And lift the fallen up again. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Take courage, ye who wander here, 
 Lonely and sad, and be of cheer ! 
 This man, who had no aids to climb. 
 But his true heart and soul sublime, 
 Lives in the annals of his time. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 So, by an ever wise decree. 
 The drop of water in the sea 
 Awakens to a glorious birth, 
 Becomes a pearl of matchless worth, 
 And shines resplendent in the earth. 
 
 ;
 
 65 
 
 THE DIONYSIA ; OR, FESTIVALS OF BACCHUS. 
 
 My fancy travell'd back three thousand years 
 
 To find the meaning of the ancient days, 
 
 And disencumber their simplicity 
 
 From the corruptions of a later time. 
 
 I fashion'd in my mind the god-like shape 
 
 Of Dionysius, mighty conqueroi-, 
 
 Who taught the early nations how to live : 
 
 No vulgar Bacchus straddling on a cask, 
 
 Drunken and bestial, but a kins: of men : 
 
 Noble in intellect, and fair in form, 
 
 With ivy and with budding violets crown'd, 
 
 And bearing on his cheerful face the glow 
 
 Of kindly wisdom and perpetual youth. 
 
 So to my thought appear'd the demi-god ; 
 
 The same that taught the ignorant hinds of Greece 
 
 To plough the soil, and reap the annual corn; 
 
 That taught the grateful A-illages to press 
 
 The grape and apple for refreshing drink, 
 
 To clip the goat, and shear the sheep for wool, 
 
 To draw from willing Earth its constant stores 
 
 Of blessings, and be thankful for the gifts. 
 
 Proving their thankfulness by temperate use : 
 
 The same that swept his armies o'er the East, 
 
 And conquer'd India — mightiest name malign'd — 
 
 Philosopher and Hero. Once his praise 
 
 Resounded o'er the smiling vales of Greece, 
 
 And youths and maidens came from all the bowers 
 
 To chant loud hymns in honour of his name ; 
 
 And Athens— ere she rotted to her foil 
 
 F
 
 66 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS, 
 
 With luxury, lascMousness, and slotli — 
 Vied with all Greece to celebrate his feasts 
 With greatest pomp of high solemnity. 
 
 Come from your graves, ideas of the past ! 
 
 And live again in song. The Athenian streets 
 
 Teem with a multitude of young and old : 
 
 The Archons, and the people, and the priests, 
 
 To celebrate the Dionysian rites, 
 
 With dance, and song, and joyous revelry. 
 
 A troop of youths come first, who hold aloft 
 
 Two sacred vessels. One is filled with wine. 
 
 And one with water : holiest the last. 
 
 For water is the mother of the vine, 
 
 The nurse and fountain of fecundity, 
 
 The adorner and refresher of the world. 
 
 Then come a hundred virgins — flower of Greece — 
 
 Clad in white robes, with ivy in their hair, 
 
 Who carry baskets fiU'd with choicest fruits, 
 
 With apples and pomegranates, figs and grapes, 
 
 Amid which twine and slide small silvery snakes, 
 
 To teach the people, by a parable, 
 
 There dwells a poisonous serpent in excess. 
 
 The thyrsus-bearers follow in a rout. 
 
 With drums, and pastoral pipes, and mellow flutes : 
 
 Amid the cx'owd they scatter cones of pine, 
 
 As emblems of the fruitfulness of Earth ; 
 
 And sing, full-voiced, the Dionysian hymn. 
 
 lo I lo I Evoke ! 
 Let the dance and song abound : 
 The corn is springing from the ground,
 
 THE DIONYSIA. 67 
 
 The vine puts forth its tender leaves, 
 The swallow builds in barns and eaves — 
 
 lo ! Bacche ! Evohe ! 
 There shall be bread for all the year, 
 And wine the heart of man to cheer — - 
 lo ! lo ! Evohe ! 
 
 lo ! lo ! Evohe ! 
 For these bounties — ever free — 
 Ever grateful let us be, 
 And use them wisely, day and night. 
 For health, and sti-ength, and pure delight. 
 
 lo ! Bacche ! Evohe ! 
 God of the water and the wine, 
 The blessing 's ours, the praise is thine. 
 
 lo ! lo ! Evohe ! 
 
 The chorus passes ; and another crowd 
 Follow with other rites, and other songs. 
 Lo ! mounted on an ass, Silenus rides. 
 Obese and drunken, crown'd with poppy-flowers, 
 And reeling as he sits. Around him throng 
 The crowd of men and women, shoutins: forth 
 Their gibes and jests, their laughter and their scorn. 
 Wise are the people, even in rites like these ; 
 Each ceremony, frantic or grotesque, 
 Has its own. meaning, and subserves an end. 
 Great Dionysius teaches evermore 
 The principles of use, and temperate joy. 
 But as the will is weak when pleasure goads 
 To overstep the wholesome boundaries 
 That separate enjoyment from aljuse, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Silenus ever follows in his train, 
 
 The type of gluttony, excess, and lust. 
 
 Him, all the people point at as he goes. 
 
 Half-falling from his ass with idiot stare ; 
 
 And mock him with their fingers and their songs. 
 
 Dirty Silenus ! god of swine. 
 Drunken on the lees of wine ; 
 Mad Silenus ! old and fat. 
 Round and pond'rous as a vat : 
 Youth and Beauty gaze on thee, 
 Wai'n'd by thy deformity. 
 
 Foolish god ! that hast grown old 
 Ere thy middle life is told ; 
 Bald and blear, and weak and dull. 
 Ere thy growth has reacli'd its full ; 
 Mad Silenus ! god of SNvine, 
 Drunken on the lees of wine.
 
 69 
 
 YOUNG GENIUS. 
 
 Imbued with the seraphic fire 
 
 To wake the music of the lyre, 
 
 To love — to know — and to aspire : — 
 
 Thou seest in thy youthful dream 
 All Nature robed in light supreme, 
 And thou wouldst carol in the beam ; 
 
 Happy — yet most unhappy still ! 
 I dread to tliiuk what good and ill, 
 What joy and grief, thy heart shall fill ! 
 
 Great shall thy pleasures be — thy soul 
 Shall chant with planets as they roll. 
 Made one with Nature — part and whole. 
 
 The clouds that flush the morning sky, 
 The wind that wooes the branches high, 
 The leaves that whisper and reply ; 
 
 The heart of every living thing, 
 
 The flowei's that gem the breast of spring, 
 
 The russet birds that soar and sing ; 
 
 The pendulous click of night and day, 
 The change of seasons as they play 
 In heavenly unison alway ;
 
 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 The stimmer's sigli, the winter's roar, 
 The beat of billows on the shore, 
 Making deep music evermore ; 
 
 All sight, all sound, all sense shall be 
 The fountains of thine ecstasy, 
 And daily minister to thee. 
 
 To thee the past shall disengage 
 The wisdom of its darkest page. 
 And give it for thy heritage ; 
 
 The present, with its hopes and fears, 
 Its struggles, triumphs, smiles, and tears, 
 And glory of the coming years ; 
 
 All shall be given to feed thy mind 
 "With Love and Pity for thy kind, 
 And every sympathy refined. 
 
 All these, and more, shall be thine own, 
 And round thine intellectual throne 
 The applause of millions shall be blown. 
 
 Thy words shall fill the mouths of men. 
 The written lightnings of thy pen 
 Shall flash upon their wondering ken. 
 
 Oh Fate — oh Privilege sublime ! 
 
 And ai't thou tempted '? Wilt thou climb T 
 
 Young genius ! budding to thy prime 1
 
 YOUNG GENIUS. 
 
 Reflect : — and weigli the loss and gain ; 
 All joy is counterpoised by pain : — 
 And nothing charms which we attain. 
 
 ■"& 
 
 Who loves the music of the spheres 
 And lives on Earth, must close his ears 
 To many voices which he hears. 
 
 'Tis evermore the finest sense 
 That feels the anguish most intensi 
 At daily outrage, gross and dense. 
 
 The greater joy the keener grief, 
 Of Nature's balances, the chief. 
 She grants nor favour, nor relief. 
 
 And vain, most vain, is youthful trust. 
 For men are evermore unjust 
 To their superior fellow-dust, — 
 
 And ever turn malicious eyes 
 On those whom most they idolize, 
 And break their hearts with calumnies. 
 
 Their slanders, like the tempest-stroke, 
 May leave the cowslip's stem unbroke, 
 But rend the branches of the oak. 
 
 If Genius live, 'tis made a slave ; 
 And if it die — the true and brave — 
 Men pluck its heart out on its grave,
 
 72 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 And then dissect it for the throng, 
 
 And saj, " 'Twas this, — so weak, or strong, 
 
 That pour'd such living floods of song." 
 
 Each fault of Genius is a crime, 
 For Cant or Folly to beslime — 
 Sent drifting on the stream of Time. 
 
 Wouldst thou escape such cruel fate, 
 Live in the valley, — watch and wait, — 
 But climb not — seek not to be great. 
 
 Yet if thou lovest song so well, 
 
 That thou must sing, though this befell 
 
 And worse than this, ineffable ; 
 
 If thou wovddst win a lasting fame ; 
 
 If thou the immortal wreath wouldst claim, 
 
 And make the Future bless thy name ; 
 
 Begin thy perilous career ; — 
 
 Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear ; — 
 
 And walk thy way witliout a fear. 
 
 And if thou hast a voice within, 
 That ever whispers — "Work and win," 
 And keeps thy soul from sloth and sin : 
 
 If thou canst plan a noble deed. 
 
 And never flag till it succeed. 
 
 Though in the strife thy heart should bleed :
 
 YOUNG GENIUS. 73 
 
 If thou canst struggle clay and night, 
 And in the envious world's despite, 
 Still keep thy cynosure in sight : 
 
 If thou canst bear the rich man's scorn, 
 Nor curse the day that thou wert born, 
 To feed on husks, and he on corn : 
 
 If thou canst dine upon a crust, 
 And still hold on with patient trust, 
 Nor pine that Fortune is unjust : 
 
 If thou canst see, with tranquil breast, 
 The knave or fool in purple dress'd, 
 Whilst thou must walk in tatter'd vest : 
 
 If thou canst rise ere break of day. 
 And toil and moil till evening gray. 
 At thankless work, for scanty pay : 
 
 If, in thy progress to renown, 
 
 Thou canst endure the scoff and frown 
 
 Of those who strive to pull thee down : 
 
 If thou canst bear the averted face. 
 The gibe, or treacherous embrace, 
 Of those who run the selfsame race : 
 
 If thou in darkest days canst find 
 An inner brightness in thy mind, 
 To reconcile thee to thy kind : —
 
 74 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Whatever obstacles control, 
 
 Thine hour will come — go on, true soul ! 
 
 Thou'lt win the prize, thou'lt reach the goal. 
 
 If not — what matters ? tried by fire, 
 
 And purified from low desire. 
 
 Thy spirit shall but soar the higher. 
 
 Content and hope thy heart shall buoy, 
 And men's neglect shall ne'er destroy 
 Thy secret peace, thy inwai'd joy ; 
 
 And when thou sittest on the height, 
 Thy song shall be its own delight, 
 And cheer thee in the world's despite.
 
 75 
 
 THE VISION OF DANTON. 
 
 The Hotel de Ville and tbe Place de Gifeve of Paris are cele- 
 brated as having been the scene of most of the late and preceding 
 Revolutions. The pavement of the Grhve has been stained with 
 the blood of the victims of all the Revolutions, and with that of 
 criminals executed by the hand of justice, till within the last 
 few years. This fabulous dream of Danton, in the chambers of 
 this historical mansion, — the very Palace of Revolution, — was 
 written in October, 1847, in anticipation of the Revolution which 
 broke out in February, ISiS. 
 
 Weary of strife renew'd from day to day, 
 
 Th' inveterate war of parties brought to bay, 
 
 With clash of hatreds jarring on his sense, 
 
 And poison'd darts of hostile eloqvience, 
 
 With all the excitement of the brain and heart, 
 
 That forms the life of men, who play their part 
 
 In mighty dramas, — Danton lay at rest, 
 
 His face to Heaven, his hands upon his breast, 
 
 And said within himself, ^ — "It must not be — 
 
 Surely this grief shall end, and France be free." 
 
 II. 
 
 He closed his eyes, and saw a vision pass 
 Clear as a show in a magician's glass ; 
 He saw a figure, massive like his own, 
 Headless and quivering, from a scaffold thrown ;
 
 76 BALLADS AXD LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 He saw the pavement running red with blood, 
 
 And crowds insatiate dabbling in the flood. 
 
 He saw Despaii' at every threshold stand 
 
 And rufiian Terror stalking o'er the land, 
 
 And sigh'd remorseful — " Mine the guilt," said he, 
 
 "But siu'ely it shall pass, and France be free." 
 
 III. 
 
 The vision changed : he saw the embattled world, 
 
 And Fi'ance defiant with her flag uufurl'd : 
 
 He heard her trumpets peal ; her cannons roar ; 
 
 Her captains shout and wave her tricolor. 
 
 He saw their leader fattening the sod 
 
 With bones of myriads ; heard the cry to God 
 
 Raised by the ravaged lands ; he heai'd and saw 
 
 That Might was murder, and that Force was law; 
 
 And sigh'd for pity — " Heaven is just," said he, 
 
 " And this new plague shall pass, and France be free." 
 
 IV. 
 
 The vision darken'd : Paris the superb. 
 
 The beautiful, impatient of a curb, 
 
 Received the law from strangers at her gate, 
 
 And gave for insults nothing but her hate. 
 
 She who with trumpet-voice had roused the lands. 
 
 Felt on her prostrate neck the Cossack's hands ; 
 
 Heard in her panting streets the invadei"'s drum, 
 
 And groan'd for worse indignities to come : 
 
 And e'en in slumber Danton blush'd to see — 
 
 " Surely this shame shall pass, and France be free !"
 
 THE VISION OF DANTON. 77 
 
 V. 
 
 It changed again : and lo ! a royal drone, 
 Untaught by suffering, dozed upon the throne; 
 Or waking, fancied that his hands could bind 
 The tide of Thought, the Reason of mankind. 
 Another follow'd bigoted, but strong, 
 "Who, deeming Time had gone a centmy wrong, 
 Strove with a desperate force to turn the hand, 
 And bring the darkness back upon the land ; 
 And Danton groan'd — "Oli, that these eyes might see 
 This folly brought to shame, and France made free." 
 
 VI. 
 
 The vision brighteu'd : Paris as of old 
 Aroused her faubourgs as the tocsin toU'd ; 
 Placed in each hand a weapon for the Right, 
 And fought its battle in the world's despite ; 
 Dragg'd the degraded purple through the town, 
 Roll'd in the dust the sceptre and the crown ; 
 And read the nations listening far and near 
 A mighty lesson full of hope and fear ; 
 And Danton shouted in his sleep to see — 
 "Now has the sorrow pass'd, and France is free." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Another change and shifting of the parts — 
 The fool was foil'd— the knave essay'd his arts ; 
 He hated Freedom and her priests and scribes. 
 And swore to crush her, not with force, but bribes.
 
 78 BALLADS AND LYKICAL POEjrS. 
 
 The ignoble plan succeeded for a while — 
 
 The halcyon days of Mammon and of guile ; 
 
 The dense corruption spread from high to low, 
 
 Till virtue perish'd in its overflow ; 
 
 And Danton groan' d — " Oh, worst of infamy ! 
 
 When shall this sorrow pass, and France be free ? " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 What more he saw was dim before his eyes, 
 Shapes undefined and huge unsymmetries — 
 Darkness and storm and thunder-clouds afar, 
 And forms gigantic panoplied for war ; 
 But still a radiance glimmei-'d through the cloud, — 
 And a voice seem'd to speak to him aloud : — 
 " Not all in vain the struggles thou hast seen, 
 Truth bides her time and keeps her brow serene : 
 Each seed she scatters bears its destined tree — 
 The grief shall pass, and France shall yet be free."
 
 79 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 Hush, Nature ! let no jarring sound 
 
 The drowsy air encumber, 
 While she, the fairest of thy works, 
 
 Is sinking into slumber. 
 Be silent, earth ! ye winds, be still — 
 
 Let nought from sleep alarm her; 
 Nor midnight storm, nor sudden fire, 
 
 Nor prowling robber harm her. 
 
 II. 
 
 Good-night ! and be her pleasant rest 
 
 Unbroken till the morrow ; 
 May all her visions, like herself, 
 
 Be sweet, and void of sorrow. 
 Good-night ! and o'er her silent couch 
 
 While darkness spreads her cover. 
 May guardian angels watch and pray. 
 
 And bless her as they hover.
 
 80 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 GOOD-MOEROW. 
 [Music by Frank Mori.] 
 
 Shine brightly throiigli her casement, sun ; 
 
 Thou gale, soft odours bring her ; 
 Ye birds that hail the dawning day, 
 
 Your sweetest music sing her ; 
 Smile, Nature, on her, as she wakes, 
 
 And hide all sights of sorrow ; 
 And have no sounds but those of joy 
 
 To bid my love — good-moiTow ! 
 
 IL 
 
 Good-morrow to those lustrous eyes, 
 
 With bright good-humour beaming ; 
 Good-morx'ow to those ruddy lips. 
 
 Where smiles are ever teeming. 
 Good-morrow to that happy face, 
 
 Undimm'd by cloud of sorrow. 
 Good-morrow, heart that clings to mine — 
 
 Good-morrow, love, good-morrow !
 
 81 
 
 A SONG, AFTER A TOAST. 
 
 I. 
 
 If he to whom this toast we drink 
 
 Has brought the needy to his door, 
 Or raised the wretch from ruin's brink 
 
 From the abundance of his store : 
 If he has sooth'd the mourner's woe, 
 
 Or help'd young merit into fame. 
 This night our cups shall overflow 
 
 In honour of his name. 
 
 II. 
 
 If he be poor, and yet has striven 
 
 To ease the load of human care ; 
 If to the famish'd he has given 
 
 One loaf that it was hard to spare ; 
 If in his poverty ex'ect, 
 
 He never did one deed of shame, 
 Fill high ! we'll drain in deep respect 
 
 A bumper to his name. 
 
 III. 
 But rich or poor — if still his plan 
 
 Has been to play an honest part, 
 If he ne'er fail'd his word to man, 
 
 Or broke a trusting woman's heart ; 
 If Emulation fire his soul 
 
 To snatch the meed of virtuous fame, 
 Fill high ! we'll drain a flowing bowl 
 
 In honour of his name. 
 G
 
 ,82 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 MY PLAYFELLOW. 
 
 I. 
 
 What tliougli you're only five years old, 
 
 A little roguisli, romping fairy, 
 And. I'm a man of care and toil — 
 
 "We're comrades true, my little Mary ! 
 "We're friends and i^laymafes, close and fond, 
 
 And heedless of the wind or weather ; 
 Out-doors or in, 'tis all the same, 
 
 We leap, and laugh, and run together. 
 
 IL 
 
 We love to sit upon the grass 
 
 In summer days, in shady valleys. 
 Or play at merry " hide and seek " 
 
 Behind the trees in garden alleys. 
 And don't we wander forth alone, 
 
 To gather crops of meadow daisies ] 
 Or hunt the noisy grasshopper 
 
 In all his green and secret places 1 
 
 III. 
 
 And don't we catch the butterfly. 
 With mealy pinions, sailing lightly ? 
 
 And don't you, when I let him free, 
 Gravely decide, I acted rightly 1
 
 MY PLAYFELLOW. 83 
 
 And don't we teach the dog to beg, 
 And httle puss to frisk and caper ? 
 
 And dou't I paint you birds and fish, 
 And cut you jiurses out of paper ? 
 
 IV, 
 
 And don't we spin our humming-top 
 
 Together on the parlour table 1 
 And don't your father call me fool, 
 
 And smile to utter such a fable ? 
 And don't I tell you fairy tales, 
 
 At intercession of your mother 1 
 And don't you kiss me when I've done, 
 
 And ask me to begin another 1 
 
 And don't vou oft. with hands outstretch'd, 
 
 And eyes that shine like sun-lit fountains. 
 Protest you love me " big as trees," 
 
 " Big as the world — and all its mountains?" 
 And don't you sometimes fall asleep, 
 
 Lock'd in my arms, quite worn and weary 1 
 And don't I carry yo\i to bed, 
 
 Too drowsy for your prayers, my deary ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, yes ! we're friends and comrades true. 
 There's not a bit of guile about you ; 
 
 You shed such light around your path, 
 I'd think the world was dark without you. 
 G 2
 
 84 BALLADS AJv^D LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 And if to fourscore years I live, 
 However Time and Fate may vary, 
 
 I'll wisli no better friend than you, 
 My little laughing, romping Mary. 
 
 LOVE IN HATE. 
 
 Once I thought I could adore him, 
 Rich or poor, beloved the same ; 
 
 Now I hate him and abhor him, 
 Now I loathe his very name ; 
 
 Spurn'd at when I sued for pity, 
 Robb'd of peace and virgin fame. 
 
 II. 
 
 If my hatred could consume him. 
 Soul and body, heart and brain ; 
 
 If my will had power to doom him 
 To eternity of pain ; 
 
 I would strike — and die, confessing 
 That I had not lived in vain.
 
 LOVE IN HATE. 85 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, if in my bosom lying, 
 
 I could work him deadly scathe ! 
 Oh, if I could clasp him, dying, 
 
 And receive his parting breath — 
 In one burst of burning passion 
 
 I would kiss him into death ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I would cover with embraces 
 
 Lips that once his love confess'd, 
 
 And that falsest of false faces, 
 Mad, enraptured, unrepress'd ; 
 
 Then in agony of pity 
 
 I would die ujjon his breast.
 
 86 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 LADY JANE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, Lady Jane, clear Lady Jane, 
 
 Those beautiful and earnest eyes 
 Have shot their beams through many a brain, 
 
 And prompted many a world of sighs. 
 No AYonder ! — stony-hard and cold 
 
 Were he, who gazing on their light — 
 Ay, were he eighty winters old — 
 
 Felt no pulsation of delight. 
 
 II. 
 
 But tell us, dearest Lady Jane, 
 
 What secret witchery and spell 
 Hast thou to rule the hearts of men, 
 
 That not the hardest can rebel 1 
 The hearts of men 1 Not theirs alone ; 
 
 For women do not love thee less 1 
 Thou hast some secret of thine own, 
 
 Thou saucy little sorceress ! 
 
 III. 
 
 The blind old beggar on the road, 
 Fed by thy bounty, loves thee more 
 
 For gentle sympatliy bestow'd, 
 
 Than for the tribute from thy stoi'e.
 
 LADY JANE. 87 
 
 The peevish beldame, sour'd by -want, 
 And teased by urchins far and near, 
 
 Selects thee for her confidant, 
 
 And breathes her sorrows in thine ear. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The kittens on the hearth prefer 
 
 Thy soft caress, than ours more sweet ; 
 And jealous hound, and snarling cur. 
 
 Frolic with pleasure at thy feet. 
 The parrot swinging to and fro. 
 
 That sulks at others, talks to thee ; 
 And tearful babes forget their woe. 
 
 And cuddle, happy, round thy knee. 
 
 In fact, there's something, lady dear. 
 
 In thee, and on thee, and about — 
 A power — a charm — an atmosphere — 
 
 A fascination in and out. 
 That makes all creatures, high and low, 
 
 Love thee and trust thee. Tell us, then, 
 The reason why we love thee so — 
 
 Thou little fairy, Lady Jane ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 What can it be 1 for I confess 
 I know of beauty great as thine ; 
 
 Yet if it be not loveliness, 
 
 'Tis somethins: in thee more divine.
 
 88 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 'Tis not thy wit, or eloquence, 
 
 And thou hast both in ample store ; 
 
 'Tis not thy birth, or wealth, or sense, 
 That makes us captive evermore. 
 
 VII. 
 
 What is it then ? Thou canst not say — 
 
 Then let me tell thee, Lady Jane : 
 'Tis bi'ight good-humour, warm as day ; 
 
 'Tis symi)athy for others' pain ; 
 'Tis heart, and mind, and patience rich ; 
 
 'Tis loving kindness, failing never ; 
 These are thy spells, thou potent witch : 
 
 We can't resist — we're thine for ever !
 
 89 
 
 THE PRAISE OF WOMEN. 
 
 " My curse on those of women ill who speke — 
 I praye to God that their neckys doe breke."' 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 Woman may err — "Woman may give her mind 
 
 To evil thoughts, and lose her pure estate ; 
 But for one woman who affronts her kind 
 
 By wicked passions and remorseless hate, 
 A thousand make amends in age and youth, 
 
 By heavenly Pity, by sweet Sympathy, 
 By patient Kindness, by enduring Truth, 
 
 By Love, supremest in adversity. 
 Theirs is the task to succour the distress' d. 
 
 To feed the hungry, to console the sad, 
 To pour the balm upon the wounded breast. 
 
 And find dear Pity, even for the bad. 
 Blessings on "Women ! In the darkest day 
 
 Their love shines brightest ; in the perilous hour 
 Their weak hands glow with strength our feuds to stay. 
 
 Blessings upon them ! and if Man would show'r 
 His condemnation on the few that err, 
 
 Let him be calm, and cease his soul to vex ; 
 Think of his mother, and for sake of her 
 
 Forgive them all, and bless their gentler sex.
 
 00 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 SERENITY. 
 
 Standing alone, in vale or mountain -top, 
 
 Upon tlie grassy plain or ocean shore. 
 
 Or far away njion a ship at sea, 
 
 We are the middle of the Univei'se. 
 
 Around us as a centi'e, Earth and Heaven 
 
 Describe their mystic circles evermore. 
 
 We move; and all the radii shape themselves 
 
 To the one point and focus of our eyes. 
 
 But in our mental life we disobey 
 
 The law of circles : on the outer verge 
 
 We stand for ever, sometimes looking down 
 
 Upon extraneous evil fixr removed 
 
 Beyond the bound of Fate's circumference, 
 
 Adown dark tangents infinitely stretch'd 
 
 Through gloomy Chaos, troubled by Despair. 
 
 At other times we seek the sunniest verge, 
 
 The amber and the purple blooms of Heaven, 
 
 And strive with yearning eyes, made dim by tears, 
 
 To pierce the secrets of a happier state. 
 
 Exulting are we now, — and now forlorn. 
 
 Lord, grant us wisdom ! grant that we may stand 
 
 In the fair middle of the spiritual world, 
 
 Undai'ken'd by the glooms of utter night, 
 
 Undazzled by the noontide glow of day. 
 
 True wisdom and serenity of soul 
 
 Dwell in the centi-e, and avoid extremes.
 
 91 
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 I HAVE a wondrous house to build, 
 
 A dwelling, humble yet divine ; 
 A lowly cottage to be till'd 
 
 With all the jewels of the mine. 
 How shall I build it strong and fair? 
 This noble house, this lodging I'are, 
 
 So small and modest, yet so great? 
 How shall I fill its chambers bare 
 
 With use — with ornament — with state? 
 
 II. 
 My God hath given the stone and clay ; 
 
 'Tis I must fashion them aright ; 
 'Tis I must mould them day by day, 
 
 And make my labour my delight ; 
 This cot, this palace, this fair home, 
 This pleasure-house, this holy dome, 
 
 Must be in all proportions fit. 
 That heavenly messengers may come 
 
 To lodge with him who tenants it. 
 
 III. 
 
 No fairy bower this house must be, 
 To totter at each gale that starts, 
 
 But of substantial masonry, 
 Symmetrical in all its parts :
 
 92 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Fit in its strength to stand sublime, 
 For seventy years of mortal time, 
 
 Defiant of tlie storm and rain, 
 And well attemper'd to the clime 
 
 In every cranny, nook, and pane. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I'll build it so, that if the blast 
 
 Around it whistle loud and long, 
 The tempest when its rage has pass'd 
 
 Shall leave its rafters doubly strong. 
 I'll build it so that travellers by 
 Shall view it with admiring eye, 
 
 For its commodiousness and grace : 
 Firm on the ground — straight to the sky- 
 
 A meek, but goodly dwelling-place. 
 
 Thus noble in its outward form, 
 
 Within I'll build it clean and white ; 
 Not cheerless cold, but happy warm, 
 
 And ever open to the light. 
 No tortuous passages or stair. 
 No chamber foul, or dungeon lair, 
 
 No gloomy attic shall there be, 
 But wide apartments order'd fair 
 
 And redolent of purity.
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 93 
 
 VI. 
 
 With three compai'tmeuts furnish'd well, 
 
 The house shall be a home complete ; 
 Wherein, should circumstance rebel. 
 
 The humble tenant may retreat. 
 The first a room wherein to deal 
 With men for human nature's weal, 
 
 A room where he may work or play. 
 And all his social life reveal 
 
 In its pure texture day by day. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The second, for his wisdom sought, 
 
 Where, with his chosen book or friend, 
 He may employ his active thought 
 
 To vii'tuous and exalted end. 
 A chamber lofty and serene, 
 With a door-window to the green 
 
 Smooth-shaven sward, and arching bowers. 
 Where lore or talk or song between, 
 
 May gild his intellectual hours. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The third an oratory dim, 
 
 But beautiful, where he may raise, 
 Unheard of men, his daily hymn. 
 
 Of love and gratitude and praise.
 
 94 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Where lie may revel in the light 
 Of things unseen and infinite, 
 
 And learn how little he may be, 
 And yet how awful in thy sight, 
 
 Ineifable Eternity! 
 
 IX. . 
 
 Such is the house that I must build — 
 
 This is the cottage — this the dome, — 
 And this the palace, treasure-fill'd 
 
 For an immortal's earthly home. 
 Oh noble work of toil and care ! 
 Oh task most difficult and rare! 
 
 Oh simple but most arduous plan ! 
 To raise a dwelling-place so fair, — 
 
 The sanctuary of a Man.
 
 Oo 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A PAIR OF EYES. 
 
 "You? — tell the history of mine eyes? 
 
 "Well — some men's fancies are unruly ! 
 'Twould take three volumes at the least — 
 
 Ay — twenty, — if you told it truly." 
 " No matter : let me tiy the task, 
 
 Though possibly my heart may rue it, 
 If, gazing on their light meanwhile, 
 
 I strive to render justice to it. 
 
 II. 
 
 " One morn — 'twas twenty Mays ago — 
 
 The meadows gleam'd with fiowexy whiteness. 
 When on the world those eyelids oped, 
 
 And showed their inner orbs of brightness ; 
 Two little gem-like spheres they were, 
 
 That knew no change of day or morrow j 
 Yet shone 'mid tears, as if to prove 
 
 The joy that had been born in sorrow. 
 
 III. 
 
 "Ere May a second time retui'n'd. 
 
 Those little worlds were worlds of graces ; 
 
 They look'd upon the earth and sky 
 And knew the light of loving faces.
 
 96 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 They wept — they glitter'd — wept again — 
 And friends from strangers could remember, 
 
 And garner'd smiles beneath their lids, 
 To dart like meteors of November. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Seven springs and summers cheer'd the earth- 
 Seven winters howl'd with stormy bluster, 
 
 And every season as it pass'd, 
 
 Left on those eyes increasing lustre. 
 
 They glow'd with many a baby -joy, 
 
 Suffused with tears of childlike gladness, 
 
 And sparkled with affection pure — 
 
 With hope, and sympathy, and sadness. 
 
 " Ten years : and then on Nature's face, 
 
 Their long and silken lashes under, 
 At sunlight, starlight, or the moon. 
 
 They gazed with pleasure or with wondei". 
 They loved all lovely things of earth — 
 
 They beam'd with every sweet emotion — 
 Turn'd to the ground with modest grace, 
 
 Or look'd to Heaven with young devotion. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "But sixteen seasons wrought a change- 
 Thcy learn'd a secret — by this token 
 
 That they could read in others' eyes 
 The admiration never spoken.
 
 THE HISTORY OF A PAIR OF EYES. 97 
 
 They learn'd -what tell-tale mirrors show'd — 
 That whosoe'er might flout their bearer, 
 
 There might be maids as fair, perchance, 
 But not a living maiden fairer. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " The knowledge brought its natural fruit, 
 
 But being link'd with gentle feeling ; 
 With sense, and modesty, and truth. 
 
 And virtue, past my wit's revealing ; 
 Men's hearts were overthrown at once, 
 
 And through the world, you bright enslaver, 
 You walk'd — a thing of life and light — 
 
 On whom to look was joy and favour. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " The hearts you wounded, who shall count ? 
 
 Talk of three volumes of romances ! 
 A hundred could not chronicle 
 
 The hurts, fatalities, mischances! 
 I cannot tell such endless tales 
 
 Half through, or quarter ; who could read 'em ? 
 Then, oh, be spiteful — heartless — vain — 
 
 And leave, oh, leave us to our freedom ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " But Avhile, as now, you win our hearts 
 By sense and virtue, wit and kindness, 
 
 We gaze — we doat — we kneel — we pray — 
 The wisest worst, for utter blindness. 
 
 H
 
 98 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 " Take pity, Clara, — make your clioice — 
 The story of your eyes I've told you ; 
 
 The sooner wed, the better fate 
 
 For those who hope as they behold you." 
 
 So sang a kniglit of olden time ; 
 
 The eyes he pi"aised, with pleasure shining ; 
 And Clara tripping from the porch, 
 
 Unloosed his arms around her twining. 
 " I've made my choice, for love is blind, 
 
 And it has proved my wit's undoing ; 
 So fix the day, you foolish knight — 
 
 I'll marry you, and stop your wooing !"
 
 99 
 
 NINETTE. 
 
 Thou borrowest from that heaven of bhie, 
 
 Oh, maiden deal' ! 
 The depth of that cerulean hue 
 
 In which thine eyes appear. 
 
 "Within their orbs the sunshine lies 
 
 Without ecli^jse ; 
 And smiles, like meteors of the skies, 
 
 Run races on thy lips. 
 
 Thou borrowest from the rising morn 
 
 The colour fair, 
 In which, thy temples to adorn, 
 
 Streams thy o'erflowing hair ; — 
 
 And from the summer evening's glow. 
 
 On Alpine peaks. 
 The mingling roses strewn on snow 
 
 That decorate thy cheeks. 
 
 Thou boiTowest from all Nature's store 
 
 Some charm or grace ; 
 And hill and plain, — the sea and shore, — 
 
 Yield tribute to thy face. 
 H 2
 
 100 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 IL 
 
 Pay, pay them back witli usury, 
 
 Oh, maiden clear ! 
 "With heaven-bkie eyes look piously 
 
 On Heaven's o'erarching sphere. 
 
 Nature has lent thee smiles of light,— 
 
 Repay in kind, 
 "With fair Contentment ever bright. 
 
 And sunshine of the mind. 
 
 If she have lent thy cheeks a hue, — 
 
 The fairest wrought, — 
 Oh, pay her back with feeling true, 
 
 AYith love, and happy thought. 
 
 For every gift, a gift impart ; 
 
 Eor face and form, 
 Give her a soul serene, — a heart 
 
 Pure, sympathetic, warm. 
 
 So shall thy debt be overpaid 
 
 With tribute free ; 
 And Man, and Nature,— happy maid ! 
 
 Be both in debt to thee.
 
 101 
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 " Hush, Joanna ! 'tis quite certain 
 That the coffee was not strong ; 
 
 Own your error, I'll forgive you, — 
 Why so stubborn in the wrong?" 
 
 II. 
 
 "You'll forgive me ! Sir, I hate you ! 
 
 You have used me like a churl ; 
 Have my senses ceased to guide me ? 
 
 Do vou think I am a "iv\ ? " 
 
 III, 
 
 " Oh, no ! you're a girl no longer, 
 But a woman form'd to ])lease ; 
 
 And it's time you should abandon 
 Childish follies such as these." 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Oh, I hate you ! but why vex me 1 
 If I'm old, you're older still ; 
 
 I'll no longer be your victim, 
 And the creature of your wilL"
 
 102 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 "But, Joanna, why this pother? 
 
 It might happen I was wrong ; 
 But, if common sense inspire me — 
 
 Still, that coffee was not strong." 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Common sense ! you never had it ; 
 
 Oh, that ever I was born ! 
 To be wedded to a monster 
 
 Who repays my love with scorn." 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Well, Joanna, we'll not quarrel ; 
 
 What 's the use of bitter strife ? 
 But I'm sorry I am married, — 
 
 I was mad to take a wife." 
 
 VIIL 
 
 *' Mad, indeed ! I'm glad you know it ; 
 
 But, if law can break the chain, 
 I'll be tied to you no longer 
 
 In this misery and jiain." 
 
 IX, 
 
 " Hush, Joanna ! shall the servants 
 Hear you argue ever wrong ? 
 
 Can you not have done with folly 1 — 
 Own the coffee was not strong."
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 103 
 
 "Oh ! you goad me past endurance, 
 Trifling with my woman's heart ! 
 
 But I loathe you, and detest you,— 
 Villain ! monster ! let us part ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 Long this foolish quarrel lasted, 
 Till Joanna, half afraid 
 
 That her empire was in peril, 
 Summon'd never-failing aid ; — 
 
 XII. 
 
 Summon'd tears, in copious torrents,— 
 Tears, and sobs, and piteous sighs ; 
 
 Well she knew the potent practice, 
 The artillery of the eyes. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And it chanced as she imagined, — 
 Beautiful in grief was she, — 
 
 Beautiful to best advantage. 
 And a tender heart had he. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Kneeling at her side, he soothed her, 
 " Dear Joanna ! I was wrong ; 
 
 Nevermore I'll contradict you, — 
 But, oh make my coffee strong ! "
 
 104 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 THE BEIDGE. 
 
 Upon the solitary bridge the light 
 Shone dim ; the wind swept howling on its way, 
 And tower and spire stood hidden in the gray 
 Ilalf-darkness of the raw and rainy night. 
 When one still young and fair, with eyes mad-bright, 
 Paced up and down, and with a look of woe. 
 Gazed on the waters gliding black below. 
 Or the dull houses looming on her sight, — 
 And said within herself, — " Can I endure 
 Longer this weight of misery and scorn 1 
 Ah, no ! Love-blighted — sick at heart — and poor; — 
 Deceived — undone — and utterly forlorn ! 
 Why should I live 'I — forgive me. Lord !" she cried. 
 Sprang sudden to the brink, dash'd headlong down 
 — and died !
 
 105 
 
 / 
 
 THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 AN APOLOGUE FOR POETS. 
 
 In the deep quiet of an ancient wood, 
 
 Two nightingales, that since the sun had set 
 
 Had fill'd the enraptured solitude with song. 
 
 Sat silent for awhile, and thus began. 
 
 One with the other, interchange of thoughts. 
 
 " I'm weary," said the one with weakest voice, 
 " Of singing all night long to these dull boughs, 
 With none to listen to my heavenly notes. 
 What are to me these green insensate woods. 
 Yon moon and stars, and the unheeding sky? 
 I would have lovers wander in the shade 
 At twilight hour, to listen to my voice 
 And call it beautiful. I would have youths. 
 Teeming with gentle fancies, quit their books, 
 And bend a willing ear to my sweet strains : 
 I would have sages hearken to my lay. 
 And own me poet of the pensive night. 
 Why should I waste my music on the winds, 
 Or how sing on, abandon'd to neglect 1 
 I will away, and force the callous crowd 
 To be delighted. Through some city vast 
 My voice shall sound, till busy men shall stop, 
 And to my floods of swelling melody 
 Give ear enraptured. Brother, come away ! "
 
 106 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 " No," said the other — " I am happy here ; 
 To me all needless is the world's applause. 
 Amid these oaks, surrounded by these hills, 
 LuU'd by the dash of waters down the rocks, 
 Look'd on by moon and stars, leave me to sing. 
 My breast is full — my song an utterance 
 Of joy, that gives me joy to breathe it forth ; 
 My song its owu reward. — AV^hy should I court 
 The ear of men, or pine in useless grief 
 That hither comes no audience for my lays 1 
 Mine is a hymn of Gratitude and Love, 
 An ovei'flowing from my inmost heart ; 
 And if men listen and are pleased, not less 
 My pleasure in administering to theirs. 
 But if none care to hear my melodies. 
 Not the less happy would I be to sing." 
 
 "Thou poor in spirit !" said the first ; ''Not mine 
 This dull contentment, this ignoble peace, — 
 To which I leave thee. On adventurous wing 
 I take my flight to the abodes of men, 
 And they shall honour and exalt my name : — 
 So fare thee well !" and as he said, he flew 
 From his companion, scorning his low mind ; 
 And ere the morning reach' d, on pinions free, 
 A vast, smoke-mantled, dim metroi)olis, 
 With domes and columns, spires and monuments, 
 And multitudinous chimneys tall as these, 
 Towering towards the ever hazy sky ; 
 And here alighting on a house-top, sat. 
 And look'd about him. Far on every side
 
 THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 107 
 
 Stretcli'd tlie long line of streets and thoroughfares, 
 
 Trod by a busy and impatient mass ; 
 
 Chui'ch-bells rang heavily on the morning air. 
 
 And chariots rattled o'er the dusty stones. 
 
 Loud was the roaring of the multitude, 
 
 Loud was the clink of hammers on the ear, 
 
 And loud the whirling of incessant wheels, 
 
 Pistons and ])umps, revolving cylinders, 
 
 And ever-liissing steam in factories vast. 
 
 But nothing daunted by the hubbub i-ound. 
 
 And conscious of some utterance in himself, 
 
 The ambitious nightingale began his song. 
 
 'Twas a forced effort in the eye of Day, 
 
 For bii'd like him, by Night alone inspired ; 
 
 But still he sang, and on the smoky air 
 
 Pour'd a full stream of no mean music forth. 
 
 Till sunny noon, till lamplit eve, he sang, 
 
 But no one listen'd : all men were absorb'd 
 
 In the pursuit of pleasure or of gain, 
 
 And had no time for melodies like his. 
 
 Weary at heart the nightingale became, 
 
 And disappointment rankled into hate : — 
 
 "Alas!" said he, "the age of song is past! 
 
 I'm born too late ! — Merit has no reward ; — 
 
 The cold, unfeeling, and most gi'ovelling Crowd 
 
 Forsakes dear Poesy for love of wealth, 
 
 And all forlorn and desolate am I." 
 
 So saying, he outstretch'd his wings, and fled 
 Back to his solitude, and sang no more ; 
 And living voiceless — angry with himself,
 
 108 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 And witli the world — lie died before his time, 
 And left no mourner to lament his fate. 
 
 The other nightingale, more wise than he. 
 With fuller voice and music more divine, 
 Stay'd iu the woods, and sang but when ins})ired 
 By the sweet breathing of the midnight wind — 
 By the mysterious twinkling of the stars — 
 By adoration of the Great Supreme — 
 By Beauty in all hues and forms around — 
 By Love and Hope, and Gratitude and Joy ; 
 And thus inspired, the atmosphere was I'ife 
 With the pvolong'd sweet music that he made. 
 He sought no listeners — heedless of applause — 
 But sang as the stars shone, from inward light, 
 A blessing to himself and all who heax'd. 
 
 The cotter, wending weary to his home, 
 Linger'd full oft to listen to his song. 
 And felt 'twas beautiful, and bless'd the strain ; 
 And lonely students, • wandering in the Avoods, 
 Loved nature more because this bird had sung.
 
 109 
 
 THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. 
 
 ANOTHER APOLOGUE FOE POETS. 
 
 I SAW a crowd of people on tlie shore 
 
 Of a deep, dark illimitable sea ; 
 
 Pale-faced they were, and turn'd their eyes to earth, 
 
 And stoop'd low down, and gazed npon the sands; 
 
 And ever and anon they roam'd about, 
 
 Backwards and forwards ; and whene'er they stopp'd 
 
 It was to gather on the weedy beach 
 
 The dulse and tangles, or the fruitful shells. 
 
 Whose living tenants fasten'd to the rocks 
 
 They pluck'd away, and listlessly devoured. 
 
 And when they'd eaten all their fill, they sat 
 One by the other on the placid shore. 
 And with much labour and incessant care 
 Polish'd the shells, vxntil to brightest hues, 
 Various and intermingling, they were wrought ; 
 And these they h\mg around their necks and limbs. 
 And look'd each other in the face, and smiled. 
 This done, they wander'd on the shore again, 
 And ate and ate, and drank and drank, and slept, 
 Day after day — night after night — the same. 
 
 Meanwhile the firmament was bright with stars 
 And from the clouds aerial voices came 
 Tn tones of melody, now low, now loud ; 
 Angelic forms were hovering around 
 In robes of white and azure ; heaven itself
 
 110 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Appear'd to open and invite the gaze 
 Of these poor stooping earth-enamour'd crowds. 
 But tliey ne'er look'd, nor heard. Though the deep sea 
 Flash'd phosphorescent ; though dim seen afar, 
 The white sails and the looming hulls of ships 
 Gleam'd through the darkness, and the pregnant air 
 Gave birth to visions swathed in golden fire — • 
 They look'd not. Though the heavenly voices call'd, 
 And told them of the world of life and light. 
 Of Beauty, Power, Love, Mystery, and Joy, 
 That lay beyond, and might be seen of those, 
 However lowly, that would lift their eyes — 
 They heeded not, nor heard ; but wauder'd on, 
 Plucking their weeds and gathering their shells. 
 And if they heard the murmur of the sea 
 That boi*e them tidings of the Infinite — 
 They knew it not ; but lay them idly down. 
 Thought of the morrow's food, and sank to sleep. 
 And when they woke, with their care-deaden'd eyes, 
 And pallid faces, and toil-burden'd backs. 
 Began once more their customary search 
 Upon the bare and melancholy sands ; 
 As if that search were all the end of life, 
 And all things else but nothingness and void. 
 
 But 'mid that low-brow'd multitude were some 
 Of larger faculties, and foreheads fair, 
 Laden with knowledge : and of eyes that beam'd 
 Intelligence, and quick desire to know ; — 
 Who saw the visions teeming in the air ; 
 Who heard the voices breathing in the sky ; 
 Who o'er the illimitable waters stretch'd 
 Their eager gaze, and through the gloom descried
 
 THE WA2JDEUEES BY THE SEA. Ill 
 
 I Shadows of beauty, which, but half reveal'd 
 \ Added a wonder to their loveliness ; — 
 ■ Who heard celestial music night and morn 
 j Play'd in the lap of ocean, or attuned 
 j To every motion of the ceaseless wind ; — 
 Who heard th' harmonious cadence of the stars ; 
 Who saw the angels with their azure wings ; 
 And lifted up their voices in a song 
 Of praise and joy, that not from them were hidden, 
 By blinding avarice and worldly care 
 Of shells and sea-weed, all th' immensity 
 Of nature — all th' infinitude of heaven — 
 And all the hope, bright as a certainty, 
 That here, upon this low and gloomy shore, 
 Our life is but a germ, that shall expand 
 To fruit and foliage in a brighter clime. 
 
 And all of these spake to the crowd in song 
 And bade them lift their dull earth-bending eyes, 
 And see how beautiful were Life and Time ; 
 And bade them listen to the eternal chant 
 Of Nature, overflowing with its joy, 
 And the mysterious hymn for ever sung 
 By Earth to Heaven, of which their words inspii-ed 
 Wei'e the interpreters to human kind. 
 
 And some of these were angry with the crowd, 
 Who would not listen, and whose ears were vex'd 
 With all that would distract them from their shells, 
 And weltering dulse and tangles on the shore. 
 
 But one of them with venerable hair, 
 And a large brow, and face serene as Heaven, 
 Rebuked them for their wrath with mild sad words, 
 And said — " Oh brothers, weary not your souls I
 
 112 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 If they are liappy with their weeds and shells, 
 
 Let them alone : — And if their hearts prefer 
 
 Pebbles to stars, and sound of their own feet 
 
 Plashing amid the waters, to the song 
 
 Of angels, and the music of the sphei'es — 
 
 Let them alone. "Why should ye vex yourselves? 
 
 Are ye not happy that to your keen sight 
 
 Those things are shown which they refuse to see ? 
 
 Are ye not happy that your ears can hear 
 
 The oracles of Nature, mute to them ? 
 
 That ye are priests and prophets, though contemn'd? 
 
 Brothers ! — be wise — make music to your minds ! 
 
 For he wlio singeth from his own full heart 
 
 Has his reward even in the utterance. 
 
 Brothers! — be wise — and sing your songs in peace!"
 
 113 
 
 A TRAVELLER'S TALE. 
 
 Of what shall travellers talk on rainy days 1 
 
 Of rain and snow 1 the sunshine and the storm ? 
 
 Of Politics ? Religion ? Scandal ? Shop ? 
 
 Or personal anecdote 1 The weather 1 No ; — 
 
 The topic is full stale. Of politics 1 
 
 'Tis dangerous ground. Of creed 1 more dangerous still. 
 
 Of scandal ? Heaven forefend ! Or of the shop 1 
 
 I pi'ithee let us leave the shop alone ! 
 
 Of personal anecdote 1 Why, what is that 
 
 But the old scandal in a new disguise ! 
 
 What shall we talk of, then 1 I know not well, 
 
 Unless you hear a mournful thing that chanced 
 
 Here in the Pyrenees, two years ago. 
 
 I parted from the heroes of the tale. 
 
 Two friends and comrades, in this very room, 
 
 And little thought, amid their merriment, 
 
 Their lusty health and joyous hopefulness, 
 
 How soon the end would come. This cabaret 
 
 Resounding now with laughter, jest, and talk. 
 
 Seems no fit scene to lodge a tragedy. 
 
 Yet so it was : — but let me tell the tale. 
 
 'Twas in September, just two years ago, 
 That Vere and Huntley, youths scarce twenty-one, 
 And fresh from Cambridge on their way to Spain 
 Stopp'd in the Pyrenees. They did not hunt. 
 Or shoot, or angle, or delight in sport, 
 
 I
 
 114 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 But seem'd to <T;lorv in ascendina: liills, 
 Scaling liigli rocks, and tracking waterfalls. 
 They loved the rude and dizzy mountain-top, 
 And all the splendour of its wildest scenes. 
 Vere had a poet's eye and painter's hand, 
 And Huntley, though no poet, stored his mind 
 With images of beauty : — both would walk 
 Three leagues ere breakfast to a precipice, 
 To see the sunrise in its majesty ; 
 Ever on foot, and ever full of joy. 
 Their cheeks were tann'd in the healthy open air ; 
 Their limbs wex'e vigorous, their hearts were light, 
 Their talk was cheerful as the song of birds ; 
 And when they laugh'd, the clear loud volleys rang 
 With such contagious music, that I've laugh'd 
 For very sympath}^, yet knev/ not why. 
 
 It was a lovely morning, crisp and fresh, 
 
 When they invited me to share their walk. 
 
 And trace a mountaiu-tori-ent to its source. 
 
 They had no object but the exercise. 
 
 And search for natural beauty, ever new. 
 
 But I had promised Jean Baptiste, the guide, 
 
 To hunt the chamois with him, and I long'd 
 
 For my own si)0)'t, more hazardous than theirs, 
 
 And more congenial to my ruder tastes. 
 
 And so we j)arted. " We'll be back," said Vere, 
 
 " At six, to diuner in the Cabaret : 
 
 Wilt thou dine with us, Nirarod of the hills?" — 
 
 — " With all my heart ! " and so we went our ways, 
 
 And far adown the valley I could hear 
 
 Their jocund voices singing English songs,
 
 A traveller's tale. 115 
 
 And catch amid the pauses of the tune 
 The echoes of their h\uc;hter on the wind. 
 
 I had good spoi-t upon the hills that day. 
 When I return'd, I noticed as I came 
 A crowd of peasants standing at the door ; 
 Here was a group of women, — there of men ; 
 And all discussing something that had chanced, 
 With quick gesticulation, and confused 
 And broken sentences : — some raised their hands, 
 Look'd up to heaven, and shook their heads and sigh'd. 
 While twenty voices speaking all at once, 
 Told the same story twenty diffei*ent ways. 
 " Here comes the other Englishman," said one : 
 "There's a sad sight within!" "Ay! sad indeed!" 
 Replied another. Quickly passing through, 
 I forced my way into the inner room, 
 And there beheld poor Huntley on the bed 
 With Yere beside him, kneeling on the ground, 
 Clasping his hands, and burying his face 
 Between them, and the body of his friend. 
 In all the beauty and the pride of youth, 
 Huntley went forth at morning, and ere night 
 He lay a corpse. — An awful loveliness 
 Sat on his clay-cold form ; so calm he lay 
 Amid the hurry and anxiety 
 And deep distress and pitying words and groans 
 Of those around — it seem'd as he alone 
 Of all that crowd were happy. He was dead ; — 
 But how he died, 'twas long ere I could learn 
 From the sui-vivor, who with senseless words 
 Atid sobs, and groans, and pi-ayers to Heaven for help, 
 
 I
 
 116 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 Broke off continually what lie began. 
 
 I learn'd it afterwards when he grew calm, 
 
 And loved him ever since. They'd track'd the stream 
 
 From morn till noon, discovering as they went, 
 
 New beauties, grandeurs, and sublimities 
 
 At every step. Right well in all her moods, 
 
 Those friends congenial loved dear Nature's face. 
 
 'Twas now the torrent with its burst and fall, 
 
 That charm'd their sight ; now, 'twas th' umbrageous 
 
 arch 
 Of trees, high-perch'd on the o'erhanging rock ; 
 Then 'twas the rock itself, with lichens grown. 
 And pine and larch ; — and then it was a glimpse 
 Betwixt the crags into a world beneath, 
 kStretching in loveliness of cultured plains. 
 Studded with farms and clustering villages 
 That fill'd them with delight. — And so they clomb 
 From crag to crag, and conquer'd as they went 
 More perils than they knew : lured ever on 
 By novelty of beauty and the heat 
 Of young adventure ; but they clomb too well. 
 Vere took an upward track, and scaled the crag, 
 While Huntley, travelling lower, reach'd a ledge, 
 He knew not how — whei'e — j^^^^i^^g c>n the brink 
 With scarcely room enough to lodge his heel, 
 He could not stand with safety — or descend 
 Without the risk of falling from the height, 
 Two hundred feet into a chasm below. 
 Where boil'd the angry flood o'er jutting rocks. 
 Ten feet above him in secui'ity 
 
 Stood Vere — alarm' d, — but how to reach his friend 
 Seem'd to defy all knowledge to discern,
 
 A traveller's tale. 117 
 
 Or knowTi, liis vitmost daring to attempt. 
 
 To mount seem'd easier than to clamber down ; 
 
 And he was growing dizzy where he stood. 
 
 Vere stretch'd himself upon the beetling edge 
 
 Of the tall pi-ecipice, and held his hand 
 
 Toward his friend, in hope, if hands could meet. 
 
 He might, by help of some projecting root, 
 
 Some angle of the rock, or tufted herb, 
 
 Hoist him in safety ; but the attempt was vain. 
 
 Their hands, by utmost stress of yearning grasp 
 
 Could reach no nearer than a long arm's length ; 
 
 So Yei-e bethought him of his walking-stick. 
 
 An old companion of his mountain walks. 
 
 And stretch'd the handle to his eager friend. 
 
 That he might grasp it with liis strong right hand, 
 
 And with the left spring upward to the root, 
 
 Twisted and sinuous, of a mountain ash 
 
 That nodded o'er the stream ; and by this aid 
 
 Attain the safe high platform of the rock. 
 
 He caught the friendly aid ; but as he grasp'd. 
 
 He felt it lengthening — lengthening — in his haLd ; 
 
 And his eyes swam in horror as he saw 
 
 The handle separating from the stick, 
 
 Leaving a scabbard in the hand of Ye re, 
 
 The sword in his. Vere shriek'd in agony: 
 
 He had forgotten. Huntley groan'd but once — 
 
 Cried to his God for mercy on his soul, 
 
 And lost his footing. Down amid the rocks 
 
 He fell — and fell again, and all was o'er. 
 
 When Yere descended by the usual patli 
 
 And found his friend, th.c breath of life had fled ;
 
 lliS BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 The skull was fractured, but his face unhurt, 
 
 Seem'd as he slumber'd, while his stifi" cold hand 
 
 Still held the fatal sword-stick in his grasp. 
 
 They brought the body to the Cabaret, 
 
 And on the third day laid him in his grave. 
 
 I thought, at times, two other deaths would fill 
 
 The awful measure of this tragedy. 
 
 That Vei'e's remorse, contrition, and despair. 
 
 At his unhappy, but most innocent act. 
 
 Would end his days. Yet though his grief was great, 
 
 'Twas nothing to the misery I saw 
 
 When Huntley's mother, young and beautiful. 
 
 Although her son was twenty years of age, — 
 
 Hasten'd from London to behold the grave 
 
 Where they had lain her darling. Let me close 
 
 The sad recital : — lanjruaije fails to tell 
 
 The holy madness of a grief like hers. 
 
 cox (Dl:OM.) AM) WYMAN, I'ltlNTKUS, GItEAT QU EEN-STItlKT.
 
 Price 35. Qd. foolscap 8vo. clotli, 
 
 THE LUMP OF GOLD, 
 
 By CHAPvLES MACKAT. 
 
 Mr. Mackat does not need the aid of this volume of Poems 
 to estabhsh his fame as a poet. " The Lump of Gold " is founded 
 upon an incident — imaginative, of course — of the Gold fever in 
 Australia. It is sure to be extensively read ; and the minor 
 pieces in the volume are worthy of Mr. Mackay's standing as a 
 poet. — Dublin Evening Post. 
 
 Many portions of Charles Mackay's poetry have become like 
 household idols to the people ; hence the announcement of a new 
 work by an old favourite will be hailed with satisfaction. — 
 Critic. 
 
 The admirers of Mr. Mackay's poetry will find much in the 
 vigorous language, the easy versification, the striking imagery, 
 and the manly sentiments of the volume before us, to justify 
 their high opinion of his talents. — BtU's Messenr/tr. 
 
 "The Lump of Gold " is a story of surpassing beauty and 
 interest, and well sustains the deserved popularity of the 
 author. Some of the lines are exquisitely beautiful, and remind 
 us of some of the happiest stanzas of Coleridge. — Staffordshire 
 Sentinel. 
 
 Mackat speaks for the people. Not inferior to Tennyson in 
 artistic skill ; with thoughts as deep as Massi^y's, but without 
 their bitterness ; with some of the pathetic humour of Hood ; 
 with a simplicity which reminds the reader of Longfellow ; and 
 with a sprightlines^ and elasticity which none of these posses.-^, 
 Mackay has been singing with the people, and for the people, 
 till his words have becrime the words of the household among 
 all classes. — Hastings News. 
 
 LONDON : G. EOUTLEDGE & CO., FAREINGDON ST. 
 NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.
 
 IN SHILLING VOLUMES, 
 
 UNIFOKM WITH THE 
 
 "SALAMANDRINE" AND THE "SONGS FOR MUSIC," 
 By CHAELES MACKAY. 
 
 oO^^*0-o 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Thk " Leg-eiifls of the Isles " relate, for the most part, to the romantic 
 districts of the Hebrides, and tiie wild traditions connected with them. 
 Aromid them Mr. Mackay t^as thrown the glowing light of fancy and 
 imagination, and adorned them with the graceful robe of liis rich' and 
 classical diction. — Scu/A7«rttt. 
 
 VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 To say that thcr,e " Voices from the Mountains" are worthy ot 
 Charles Mackay is s-ayin^ much, but, in some respects, we tliink he 
 has here suri;assed his former efforts.- They are distinguished by all 
 the earnest fervour and glorious aspirations of his admirable "Voices 
 from the Crowd," imited to great artistic excellence in the rhythmical 
 construction of the verse ; but tliey have besides a meanhig and moral, 
 and a good and wise purpose, whicli migtit teach lessons to this 
 Mammon-worshijipirig age, of more value than all the philosophy of 
 the scliools, or all the wealth of the railway kings. Charles Mackay's 
 muse is like a benignant spirit, warring with the powers of darkness and 
 oppression, and amid the roar and riot of these iron times, full of hope 
 and love, and boundless faith in the high destinies of the whole h\iman 
 family, singing lier beneficent songs, which are truly worthy of all accep- 
 tation and all praise. — Culeduniun Mercury. 
 
 TOWN LYRICS. 
 
 No writer of the present day has so comi)letely run away with the 
 sympathies of the people, as the author of these beauliiul poems. — 
 Midland Gazette. 
 
 BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 
 
 We have a genuine pleasure in once more welcoming the appearance of 
 this tried vindicator of the poet's dignity and mission. Cliarles Mackay is 
 one wliose works have always a purpose, — and tliat an elevated one. 
 His is a name involuntarily associated with wnat is most cheering and 
 hopeful in tlie aspects of iiuinan life and destiny, and it is one tliat the 
 present generation will not willingly let die. His lyrics have heartiness 
 and vigour about tliem which iu^tuictively inspirit. Hence the firm hold 
 which they have taken on the pul)lic mind. — Weekly News. 
 
 VOICES FROM T.HE CROWD. 
 
 Tiiu "Voices frani the Crowd" are just tlie voices for the crowd. 
 Earnestness is no small merit at any time. It is the life and soul of all 
 poetry. In Charles Mackay tliere is no cant, — no sham,- nothing made 
 up for the occasion,— and hence proceeds his undoubted success. — Atlas.
 
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