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THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
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 i. 
 
 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, AND FOREVER. A 
 Poem in Twelve Books. 12mo. $200. 
 
 ii wMiirtnlnfl ramaifcabta In these latter -lavs to find the world 
 stirred with a new poem. It is tiwmtthrng wonderful to find ordinary 
 readers perusing for hours the form <>t rene which has not the charm of 
 <>f themes of death ami lift and immortality, the upper 
 and nether worlds, and enchained through the whole perusal. Yet all 
 this is declared of 'Yesterday, To-day, and Forever;' and the fame of 
 this great sacred poem is assured. Milton has many admirers — and so 
 has Dante — who would not deem their book collections complete without 
 them, and yet who never have read four consecutive pages of either. But 
 the new claimant for the la ml these wear unchallenged has produced a 
 work that will do more than live : it will be read, and that, too, by many 
 who, without accepting the scheme or the creed, will be charmed with its 
 marvellous imagination, its wonderful diction, the perfect pictures of its 
 poetical visions." — Chicago Republican, 
 
 II. 
 
 HADES AND HEAVEN; or, What does Scrip- 
 tube Reveal of the Estate and Employments op the 
 Blessed Dead and the Risen Saints. 24mo, gilt. Price 
 $1.00. 
 
 nr. 
 
 WATER FROM THE WELL-SPRING FOR THE 
 Sabbath Hours op Afflicted Believers. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 IV. 
 UN: SPIRIT OF LIFE; or, Scripture Testi- 
 
 MONT TO THE DlVINE PERSON AND WORK OF THE HOLT 
 
 Ghost. 12mo. $1.26. 
 
^Qg^jAHRitti^ 
 
 15 C<U^(r^ /fj 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS, 
 
 &utj ©tijer poems* 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD HENRY BICKERSTETH, M.A., 
 
 AUTHOR OF M YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, AND FOREVER." 
 
 4S 
 
 ^wU\ 
 
 
 , , 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 
 
 630 Broadway. 
 
 1871. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
 
 ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 i « < 
 
 . v ::•*: •..• 
 
 .•• • • •• • 2 • • • 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 PRE88 OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 
 
This volume of Poems is published first in Amer- 
 ica, that a copyright may be secured to the author 
 on all the American sales. 
 
 A few hours before Mr. Bickersteth sailed for 
 England, on his return from his brief visit to this 
 country in October last, an excellent photograph 
 was taken by Bogardus, from which Ritchie has 
 engraved the lifelike portrait prefixed. 
 
 ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS. 
 New York, Jan. 18, 1871. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 My very grateful sense of the acceptance which 
 my work, " Yesterday, To-day, and Forever," has 
 found in America, — a gratitude deepened by many 
 personal assurances during my only too brief visit 
 to that noble land in the autumn of last year, — 
 induces me to offer the following Poems to the kind 
 perusal of my friends there. They have been writ- 
 ten from time to time during the last twenty-seven 
 years, and have many of them appeared in print 
 before ; but, being for the most part now inaccessible 
 to friends who kindly continue to ask for them, I 
 have ventured to group them in this volume. Some 
 of them are here published for the first time. The 
 dates, which are affixed to most of the Poems, will 
 enable the reader to assign the lighter pieces to my 
 early home and college days. May He who directs 
 the wind-borne seed to the genial soil only plant a 
 few winged words in some hearts, where they shall 
 not be wholly unfruitful, and my hopes will be 
 
 abundantly fulfilled. 
 
 E. H. B. 
 
 Christ Church Vicarage, 
 
 Hampstead, 1871. 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 rriHE name of Edward Henry Bickersteth is 
 as a household word in a great number of 
 American families. Within a comparatively brief 
 period, it has come to be widely known and sin- 
 cerely loved and honored. He has touched the 
 deeper chords of many hearts, of those too that are 
 most in sympathy with what is good and true ; and 
 he is reaping the sure reward. 
 
 His father, the Rev. Edward Bickersteth, has 
 been long and favorably known to the religious 
 public, on this side of the ocean, as one of the most 
 evangelical preachers and authors of the Church of 
 England. He was one of that constellation which 
 included such lights of the Christian firmament as 
 Newton, Scott, Venn, Cecil, and others, whose writ- 
 ings have been read and highly esteemed, not only 
 within their own communion, but even more ex- 
 tensively, it is probable, by the Church Catholic 
 beyond its pale. Would that men of like spirit 
 might be multiplied in all branches of the Christian 
 
 family ! 
 
 1* 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 Edward Henry Bickersteth exhibits the broad 
 sympathies and deeply religious spirit of his excel- 
 lent father, with richer gifts of genius. He was 
 educated at the University of Cambridge, where he 
 was distinguished for scholarship and taste, and 
 repeatedly bore off the first prize for poetic merit. 
 He now holds the living of Hampstead, London, 
 and the Chaplaincy to the Bishop of Ripon. He 
 is just in the full vigor of manhood, of polished yet 
 simple manners, frank and genial in spirit, with a 
 face that seems to glow with active thought while 
 suffused with the serenity of goodness. Its expres- 
 sion is well presented in the engraving which is 
 contained in this volume. In his late transient visit 
 to the United States, he charmed all, we believe, 
 who had the pleasure of meeting him in private 
 intercourse. 
 
 Mr. Bickersteth became somewhat known to 
 American readers, several years since, by a well- 
 written volume exhibiting the teaching of the Scrip- 
 tures in respect to the person and work of Christ. 
 Recently, a volume similar in style and spirit, on 
 the person and work of the Holy Ghost, has been 
 
 ned here. Both these are carefully prepared and 
 valuable treatises on the important subjects they 
 <li>cuss. A small volume, entitled "Water from 
 the Well-Spring," has also been published; consist- 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. xi 
 
 ing of pure and excellent thoughts founded on texts 
 of Scripture, and arranged in portions for every 
 Sabbath in the year. A still smaller book, entitled 
 " Hades and Heaven," and relating to the state and 
 employments of the blessed dead, has likewise been 
 reproduced. These prose works are all able and 
 instructive, and worthy of a place in any Christian 
 library. Other works, including something in the 
 form of a commentary, have come from the same 
 prolific pen. 
 
 But it is chiefly by his great epic poem, "Yester- 
 day, To-day, and Forever," that Mr. Bickersteth has 
 become known to the world, and has won so warm 
 a place in many hearts, both in England and America. 
 This work, when first published in this country, 
 attracted but little notice and sold but very slowly. 
 Its author had not before been heard of among us as 
 a poet. It has become so much the fashion, in this 
 hurrying age, to be best pleased with what is short, 
 that an epic in twelve books, and on a sacred sub- 
 ject too, stood little chance of being attended to, 
 even to the extent necessary for the discovery of its 
 real character. When by mere accident it had 
 fallen into the hands of the present writer, and he 
 had read it through attentively, he was deeply im- 
 pressed by its freshness, power, and beauty. He 
 at that time expressed a favorable opinion of it, 
 
Xll INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 in a brief notice published in the " Independent," 
 from which he will venture to quote the follow- 
 ing : _ 
 
 " Mr. Bickersteth states in the preface that 'the 
 design of this poem has been laid up in his heart 
 for more than twenty years.' The execution of it, 
 however, at last, occupied two years only ; and it 
 comes forth with all the freshness of a new creation. 
 In common with a large number in the Church of 
 England, he understands prophecy as indicating a 
 personal reign of Christ on earth, to commence at 
 a day now not distant ; and his poem is constructed 
 in accordance with this theory. But it is by no 
 means necessary to adopt his views on this partic- 
 ular topic in order to enjoy his fine poetical con- 
 ceptions. Apart from its interpretations of the 
 prophetic symbols, the volume is eminently worthy 
 to be read. 
 
 " One of the questions in relation to the c Paradise 
 Lost' — often discussed, but never quite decided 
 by the critics — has been whether or not that can 
 properly be called an epic poem. The same ques- 
 tion, on precisely the same grounds, may be raised 
 in respect to the 'Yesterday, To-day, and Forever.' 
 Both poems abound in epic narrative ; yet both 
 lack the unity of plan and action that characterize 
 the Iliad, which proposes, at the outset, Achilles's 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. X1U 
 
 wrath and its consequences as the subject to be 
 treated. Both are pervaded by the epic spirit, 
 although in neither are the different acts bound 
 together by their relation to the fortunes of one 
 hero. In common with the sublime work of Dante, 
 both are, in fact, magnificent visions, richly diversi- 
 fied, and exhibiting all the essential elements of 
 heroic poetry, but not limited to the range allowed 
 in the evolution of the deeds and fortunes of a chief 
 central actor. These three visions are, indeed, but 
 different views of the same grand objects of human 
 thought and interest, — sin, redemption, and salva- 
 tion. But, as Milton, because he wrote out of the 
 depths of his own intellect and heart, and from the 
 inspiration of his own genius, neither copied nor 
 imitated Dante, so Bickersteth has shown himself a 
 great and original poet, by treating substantially 
 the same themes as Milton, without the least ap- 
 pearance of treading in his steps, and in a style 
 singularly original and fresh. He has conceived 
 his subject for himself, has handled it after a fashion 
 of his own ; and, while embodying in it the type of 
 religious thought and feeling which belongs dis- 
 tinctively to his time, has impressed on the whole 
 work his own intellectual and moral image, as 
 completely as either of his illustrious predecessors 
 did on his. 
 
Xiv INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 " Beginning with the death of the Seer, and his 
 entrance into Paradise, the poem recounts the whole 
 drama of earth's moral history, in the form of a 
 narrative from the lips of Oriel, his guardian angel. 
 Our limits will hot allow us to go into any analysis 
 of the action represented. We can only say that 
 it exhibits a rich and creative imagination, an ex- 
 quisite purity of taste, and a power of delineation 
 that leaves little to be desired. Nothing is vague 
 and half-conceived, or indistinctly told. The lan- 
 guage is simple and precise, rarely turgid or 
 strained, or marred with affectations of any sort. 
 In the mode of conceiving and describing the scenery 
 and life of the invisible world, there is a felicitous 
 medium between the grossness of sheer materialism 
 on the one hand, and the shadowy tenuity of an 
 unreal spiritualism on the other. Aside from the 
 brief and simple statements of the Scriptures them- 
 selves, we have read nothing, to our thought, at all 
 comparable to these pictures of the intermediate 
 state of departed souls. In the progress of the 
 dramatic development of the plan, the interest is 
 well sustained, and holds the unflagging attention 
 of the reader to the last. If, along with a power to 
 appreciate charming language and the harmonies 
 of verse, one has also a heart warm with devout 
 affection and in quick sympathy with what is truly 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. XV 
 
 spiritual and divine, he cannot but find pleasure, 
 absorbing and intense, yet altogether healthful, in 
 this noble contribution to English sacred literature. 
 No Christian heart, it would seem, can fail to be 
 refreshed and made permanently better by finding 
 itself borne up, as on mighty wings, into the highest 
 regions of religious thought, and enabled to study, 
 in one comprehensive view, the great scheme of 
 Eternal Providence for the recovery of the human 
 race to holiness and life. We have felt, on laying 
 down this volume, as if we had been for some time 
 wandering through the bewildering loveliness of 
 Paradise ; breathing its vital air, communing with 
 angels and the spirits of the just made perfect, and 
 beholding the face and hearing the voice of the 
 Blessed One whom the holy in all worlds adore. 
 Such, we can hardly doubt, will be the experience 
 of many who will read and re-read its quickening 
 and inspiring pages." 
 
 Our maturer judgment has confirmed these first 
 impressions. The popular heart, too, has responded 
 at last to the touching power of this great poem. 
 Although so far removed from the materialistic and 
 sceptical spirit which extensively pervades the cur- 
 rent literature, it has attracted even the worldly to 
 its pages. Though as full of Christian truth and 
 feeling as that enchanting dream, the " Pilgrim's 
 
XVI INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 
 
 Progress," like that inimitable book, it has arrested 
 and held the attention of widely different classes. 
 More than twenty thousand copies have been sold 
 in this country. Many lovers of heavenly things 
 have found themselves spiritually refreshed and 
 quickened, while feasting both intellect and imagi- 
 nation amidst its magnificent visions. In one 
 instance within our knowledge, an intelligent scep- 
 tic, who had retired from business to enjoy his 
 wealth, was indebted to the reading of it for a ren- 
 ovated faith and a Christian hope that brightened 
 as he entered, soon after, within the vale to behold 
 for himself the invisible realities. If the captious 
 critic should maintain that it is no certain proof of 
 high artistic merit in a poem, that it has produced 
 practical results that might have been reached by 
 means of words in simple prose as well, we grant 
 it. But when you have an original and splendid 
 poem that artistically satisfies the critical intellect 
 and the discriminating taste, it is higli praise to be 
 able to say that, in addition to all this, it speaks 
 effectively to that which is divinest in the human 
 soul, — its moral and religious nature. We are, 
 indeed, fully of the opinion that poetry, to be of 
 the highest order, must always be subservient to 
 an end, or ends, beyond that of merely affording a 
 transient pleasure. As one of the noblest of the 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. XV11 
 
 Fine Arts, its legitimate function is to refine and 
 elevate those who feel its power. It ought espe- 
 cially to be made the instrument of lifting the soul 
 to the loftiest regions of thought, and of kindling 
 in it the emotions and sentiments that are most 
 worthy of its origin and its eternal relations. It 
 has too often been degraded by being made the 
 vehicle of what was fitted only to defile the hidden 
 fountains of the heart ; and it is an achievement 
 deserving no common measure of praise to restore 
 it to its exalted office, and to employ its magic spell, 
 — in the words of Dr. SamuelJohnson, — "to give 
 ardor to virtue and confidence to truth." Since it 
 is acknowledged to have wondrous power over all 
 the finer susceptibilities of our nature, why should 
 it not, to a much greater extent than it hitherto has 
 been, be made to contribute to the highest and best 
 culture of mankind ? 
 
 We have referred to Mr. Bickersteth personally, 
 and to the work on which chiefly his reputation as 
 a poet rests, because this has seemed the most nat- 
 ural way of introducing the present volume. In 
 this collection, the author offers us some of his minor 
 poems, — leaves that have been scattered by the 
 wayside of life and are now first brought together. 
 Some of them are the prize pieces written in his 
 University days : others are occasional bubblings 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Two Brothers 25 
 
 The Things that are 50 
 
 Samson 65 
 
 Nineveh 86 
 
 Ezektel (Seatonian Prize Poem) 114 
 
 John Baptist 133 
 
 The Favoritisms of Heaven 154 
 
 To my Sister, on the Eve of her Marriage . . 160 
 
 Der Ausruf 164 
 
 WlEGENLIED 168 
 
 In Imitation of Korner's "Das warst Du" . . . 170 
 
 On Seeing a Leaf fall by Moonlight 174 
 
 Fragments 176 
 
 Lines on a Suffering Sister: — 
 
 I. Suffering for thee 178 
 
 II. Oh tread lightly 180 
 
 III. Yes, Billow after Billow 182 
 
 A Night at Sandgate 185 
 
 On an Air of Novello's, — "Ave Verum" . . . 189 
 
 Undine in Music 191 
 
 Tears in Music 197 
 
 Commemoration Ode 202 
 
 Sonnet 211 
 
 Not Luck, but Love 212 
 
XX11 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Lord, save me" 213 
 
 The World's Peace and Christ's 217 
 
 The Threshold of Things Unseen: — 
 
 I. The Babe's First Journey 219 
 
 II. The Child's Home Call 222 
 
 III. Translated, not Confirmed 224 
 
 IV. The Penitent's Death-Bed 226 
 
 V. Is it Well? 229 
 
 VI. The Unknown To-morrow 230 
 
 VII. The Thfee Birthdays 231 
 
 Death and Victory 234 
 
 The Trouble of Jesus' Soul . 239 
 
 No More Crying 242 
 
 HYMNS : — 
 
 I. The Prince of Peace 245 
 
 IT. The Rock of Ages 247 
 
 III. The Hiding-Place 249 
 
 IV. Abide in Me 251 
 
 V. Hymn to the Holy Trinity 253 
 
 VI. The Trumpet of Jubilee 255 
 
 VII. "He shall gather the Lambs with his 
 
 Arm" 257 
 
 Vin. Baptism of such as are of Riper Years 259 
 
 IX. Confirmation Hymn 261 
 
 X. Rest in the Lord: Marriage Hymn . . 263 
 
 XI. The Marriage Benediction 265 
 
 XII. The Village Evening Hymn 268 
 
 XIII. Hymn to be used at Sea 270 
 
 XIV. The Institution of the Lord's Supper . 272 
 XV. Communion of the Sick 274 
 
contents. xxiii 
 
 HYMNS (continued). PAOE 
 
 XVI. Till He come 276 
 
 XVII. IIakikks harping with their Harps . . 278 
 XVIII. He cometii 280 
 
 The Walk to Emmaus 282 
 
 CHANCELLOR'S PRIZE POEMS: — 
 
 The Tower of London 287 
 
 Caubiil 299 
 
 CjEsar\s Invasion of Britain 313 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Evdovoa yup <f>pqv dfifiamv hafnrpvverai. 
 
 JEscu. Eum. 
 
 4re the embers smouldering, brother ? Think not to re- 
 vive their light. 
 
 Brother, I've a tale to tell thee I can better tell at night : 
 
 And their faint dun glow will glimmer till, perchance, my 
 tale is done. 
 
 List! — that dull and heavy sound — it is the church-bell 
 pealing "one." 
 
 Strangely through the sere elm forests come the fitful gusts 
 of wind, 
 
 Strangely on the casement beats the hollow drifting rain 
 behind ; 
 
 Night broods round, a wall of darkness, such as moon- 
 beams cannot scale, 
 
 And the blessed stars are blunted like a shaft from coat of 
 mail. 
 
 2 
 

 26 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Thirteen summers have waved round us, thirteen winters 
 
 shower'd their snows, 
 Thirteen springs danced by, and thirteen autumns pass'd 
 
 like music's close, 
 Since I witness'd gloom like this, wherein the stoutest 
 
 heart would melt : 
 Thick close darkness on our eyelids weighing — darkness 
 
 that is felt. 
 Oh, the memory of that midnight, spectre-like, within me 
 
 sleeps ; 
 If I only gaze, it rises dimly from my spirit's deeps — 
 Rises with the sere elm forests struck by fitful gusts of 
 
 wind, 
 And the hollow drifting raindrops on the casement close 
 
 behind : 
 Every wind-moan finds an echo in my moaning heart within, 
 And the rain is not as dewdrops to a soul once scarr'd with 
 
 sin. 
 
 Brother, thou wert ever to me as a young and golden mist 
 Floating through blue liquid heavens, with the morning 
 
 sunlight kiss'd ; 
 Which the eye looks up and blesses, lingering on its track 
 
 above, 
 
THE TWO BROTHER*. 27 
 
 With an old familiar fondness and an earnestness of love. 
 Brother, I to thee was ever as a storm-cloud on the hills, 
 Lowering o'er the rocks and caverns and the laughter of 
 
 the rills : 
 Yet I've thought at times, my brother, from the sunshine 
 
 of thy life, 
 Passing rainbow gleams have fallen on my spirit-world of 
 
 strife : 
 For when every fount was wormwood, every star had ceased 
 
 to shine, 
 It was bliss in dreams to ponder how unlike thy lot to mine. 
 Yet, in childhood, I remember how our sainted mother 
 
 said — 
 Often on bright Sabbath eves, and thrice upon her dying 
 
 bed — 
 That far scenes would crowd upon her, when she look'd on 
 
 me and thee, 
 In the distance, dream-like dawning, from the glorious 
 
 dream-countree. 
 She was kneeling, as she told us, at her Saviour's blessed 
 
 feet — 
 Leaning on her harp, which warbled (as she knelt) heaven's 
 
 music sweet — 
 
28 THB TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 But the thrill of that communion, and the smiles that on 
 
 her fell, 
 And the melody of worship, words, she said, might never 
 
 tell. 
 Still the dream grew clear and clearer, softer still that 
 
 music's tone, 
 And she saw she was not kneeling in that glorious light 
 
 alone : 
 For beside her were two spirits (well she knew them), I 
 
 and thou ; 
 Life and light and love, all blended, like soft rainbows, on 
 
 our brow. 
 And like us in blest communion kneeling, singing as we 
 
 sung, 
 On the hand of each of us a gentler lovelier angel hung. 
 
 Often since I've mused, my brother, when my heart was 
 
 rent, if this 
 Were a heaven-sent dream, prophetic of a far-off home of 
 
 bliss, 
 Or a beautiful life-picture by affection's fingers drawn, 
 But which, like my earthly joys, should fade, fade, fade 
 
 away at dawn. 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 29 
 
 Weep not, brother ! thou hast found that angel of the far-off 
 
 land, 
 Whom our mother saw there kneeling, gently clinging to 
 
 thy hand. 
 I, too, have a tale to tell thee (would that it may end in 
 
 light), 
 Though a tale of sin and sorrow, I can better tell at night. 
 Who could speak of sad hearts broken by himself, of tear- 
 
 drown'd eyes, 
 And of wither'd hopes and feelings, underneath blue laugh- 
 ing skies ? 
 Sorrow clings to sorrow's raiment — grief must have her 
 
 twilight wan — 
 Moan, ye winds and woods and waves, and let the embers 
 
 smoulder on. 
 
 Gaze with me a moment down the billowy ocean of our life, 
 Which with tears and fitful radiance seems mysteriously 
 
 rife: 
 In the distance, like the earliest flush of morning o'er the 
 
 hills, 
 Even here, through cloud and gloom, a dewy mellow light 
 
 distils. 
 
30 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Still it grows upon my sight intensely beautiful and grand, 
 
 From the land of childhood streaming, childhood's golden 
 faery-land : 
 
 When Time went on sunshine wheels, on wings of breezy 
 joyaunce by, 
 
 Every feeling, like the sky-lark, from the earth and to the 
 sky. 
 
 Then, perchance, no human seer that look'd upon our reck- 
 less brow, 
 
 Could have prophesied the diverse pathway we are travel- 
 ling now. 
 
 But the first black cloud that shadow'd childhood's blue 
 pellucid years, 
 
 Gloom'd, rose, cover'd, broke upon us with a sudden dash 
 of tears — 
 
 Gloom'd upon the morn, the tidings of our father's victory 
 came, 
 
 Earn'd with precious drops of blood — the dew, an' if ye 
 will, of fame ; 
 
 Broke — the next sad post a letter, edged with black, too 
 surely told 
 
 That his heart was still for ever, and his lips for ever cold. 
 
 Then our mother — day by day she struggled with her 
 choking grief — 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 31 
 
 Oh, she could not — but beside us withered, like a dying leaf: 
 And, when leaves should die, in autumn, her the first of all 
 
 the year, 
 Laid we down, with sighs and weeping, on her cold sepul- 
 chral bier ; 
 And with faltering listless footsteps slowly sought, when all 
 
 was o'er, 
 Hand in hand our desolate home; though desolate, ours, 
 
 alas, no more. 
 We were parted — each alone, 'mid stranger hearts and 
 
 faces strange : 
 Dreary seem'd the waste of lifetime, like a barren shore, to 
 
 range. 
 But a gentle eye fell on thee — seem'd it but a sister's love ? 
 Pity's tears, that wept thy sorrows, from one tenderer than 
 
 the dove ? 
 Oh, ye grew for five brief summers there together, side by 
 
 side, 
 Till she stood in beauty by thee, thine own loving lovely 
 
 bride ; 
 Blushing, trembling, till the vow to love thee — then her 
 
 face grew bright, 
 And intense affection o'er her threw a beauty like the light. 
 
32 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Ah ! how beautiful life's ocean seem'd that gentle cloudless 
 
 noon, 
 Like a moonlight sea that slumbers underneath the summer 
 
 moon, 
 When the stars steal hearts responsive to their own wild 
 
 eloquence, 
 And a strange sweet music o'er us comes, we know not, 
 
 heed not, whence, — 
 From the skies, or from the falling of melodious drops of 
 
 foam, 
 Or from deeper spirit-fountains welling in our spirit-home. 
 Few, methinks, are such blest havens on the shores of time 
 
 and earth ; 
 Seldom broods there peace so tranquil over life's exuberant 
 
 mirth. 
 
 But I must not linger, brother, on the brightness of thy 
 track, 
 
 When dark spectres round mine own with spells are whis- 
 pering me back. 
 
 List ! I do not wish that others should partake my sinful 
 load, 
 
 Yet I sometimes think the streamlet from that bitter foun- 
 tain fiow'd : 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 33 
 
 For when harsh unkindness pruned and stunted all affec- 
 tion's shoots, 
 Then perhaps the canker enter'd, festering at my being's 
 
 roots : 
 For with sickening heart I turn'd from human faces, as 
 
 from blight, 
 Since they never lit with love, and never read my feelings 
 
 right, 
 To the world of thought and fancy — that, my country — 
 
 books, my friends ; 
 Fool, fool! deeming heartless things for gushing hearts 
 
 would make amends. 
 Yet at first how strangely lovely seem'd that icy crystal air, 
 To a lonely nestless bird upon its first wild entrance there. 
 Day by day the spirit finding eagle strength within its 
 
 wings, 
 Proudly tracking truth and beauty there 'mid everlasting 
 
 things ; 
 Never pausing, resting never on its flight intensely keen, 
 Deeming it would touch the boundary of that dark-blue 
 
 vault serene. 
 If I gazed below, the mists were wrapping all in vaporous 
 
 fold, 
 
 2* 
 
34 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Mists of selfishness and meanness, chilling blight, and 
 
 sordid gold : 
 All along whose cloudy skirts base ignis-fatuus lights would 
 
 flame, 
 Luxury, and ease, and riches, and perhaps some petty 
 
 fame. 
 u Let them flame and flare," I shouted, " round those spirits' 
 
 prison bars, 
 Mine are the free boundless heavens, mine the lightnings, 
 
 mine the stars : " 
 And aloft I clapp'd my pinions, soaring on for days and 
 
 weeks, 
 After some fresh burning hope still kindling o'er fresh 
 
 mountain-peaks. 
 Ah, I knew not that, though earthborn lamps might never 
 
 mount so high, 
 There are meteors that deceive, and stars * that wander in 
 
 the sky. 
 Ah, I saw not that the pole-star, Faith, was waning fast 
 
 and dim, 
 And of God — fool, fool! — I thought not in my madden'd 
 
 heart of Him ; 
 
 1 uaripeg nXavrjTcu. — Jude 13. 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 35 
 
 But from far I heard a whisper of the fontal light divine, 
 Reason, human earthly Reason, sheds within the spirit's 
 
 shrine. 
 Syren-like that music falling, like a gush of holy tears 
 On deep waves, flow'd on and whisper'd 'twas the music of 
 
 the spheres, 
 Bidding me come up and follow to its own dear home on 
 
 high, 
 Maddening while it tranced my soul, and blinding while it 
 
 lured mine eye ; 
 Till I rear'd my adoration higher than God's eternal throne : 
 Reason was the God I worshipp'd — trusting, clinging there 
 
 alone. 
 And I folio w'd — poor fond climber — leaving faith and 
 
 trust above 
 To low grovelling minds of earth, or fond enthusiasts' 
 
 frantic love, 
 Till I stood in naked horror on the sceptic's precipice, 
 All my darling visions staring on me there, like things of 
 
 ice. 
 Oh, the solitude that crush'd me! oh, that dreary word 
 
 "alone"! 
 Not a kindred heart to lean on, not an anchor for mine 
 
 own — 
 
36 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Without truth and love and beauty, human love or love of 
 
 God — 
 Not a gleam to point the pathway of return the way 1 
 
 trode : — 
 But the meteors, I had follow'd, sicken'd one by one and 
 
 died, 
 And the dark 1 of darkness o'er them closed for ever far and 
 
 wide, 
 Woe was me ! for in that midnight I could neither pray 
 
 nor weep — 
 Had I pray'd an Ear was open, and an Eye that could not 
 
 sleep. 
 But when all without was desert, and wild desert all within, 
 Plunged I with a maniac's madness, down the treacherous 
 
 gulf of sin. 
 Whilome I had often sneer'd at others from the height of 
 
 fame, 
 Finding what they deem'd enjoyment in the haunts of sin 
 
 and shame ; — 
 Now — but no — I will not drag thee to the gloomy dens 
 
 of guilt — 
 List ! their spectral voices haunt me — go and ask them if 
 
 thou wilt : 
 1 dig b $<f>og tov okotovc elg aluva TerijpTjTcu. — Jude 13 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 37 
 
 Broken hearts and gentle bosoms, once serene and pure as 
 
 thine — 
 Woe, woe ! broken now and withering soon to fall and die 
 
 like mine — 
 But I reck'd not, for my spirit seem'd alternate fire and 
 
 night, 
 Like a cloud-robed sky at midnight riven and kindled into 
 
 light. 
 
 Hush ! speak low : how shall I tell thee after this of inno- 
 cence ? 
 
 Thou wilt mock me — brother, brother — I can never tell 
 thee — hence ! 
 
 See! the embers all have smoulder'd — see their faint 
 light dying wanes: 
 
 Brother, look, a star is trembling through the tearful win- 
 dow-panes. 
 
 I can tell thee now, — for blessed are to me the thoughts 
 that rise 
 
 With those silent pilgrims yonder wending through the 
 silent skies. 
 
 Even thus amid the darkness, and the winds, the waves, the 
 storm, 
 
38 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 Of my sin-sick soul, I pass'd one evening by an angel form. 
 She had seen me sadly smile upon some children sporting 
 
 by, 
 
 And her heart was touch'd with pity — and a tear came in 
 
 her eye : 
 And she look'd upon me — spell-bound, I stood still and 
 
 lookM on her, 
 And a gleam of light fell glancing down the mists of things 
 
 that were. 
 
 Surely ne'er o'er human bosom came love in such tempest- 
 kind; 
 
 All my spirit's dark foundations heaved like waves beneath 
 the wind. 
 
 Often did I wrench the thought from out my bosom's core 
 and cry, 
 
 Never should my cloud-tost being cross that blue trans- 
 parent sky. 
 
 But again she pass'd, and sighing — Jesus, it was all she said. 
 
 Yet down, down into her heart-depths through bewildering 
 tears I read — 
 
 u Thou art weary, way-worn, storm-tost — darker spots are 
 on thy soul : 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 39 
 
 Jesus died — fear not, dear wanderer — storms must bend 
 
 to His control." 
 Oh, that word ! I scarce had heard it since in music erst it 
 
 fell 
 From our sainted mother's lips, who breathed it as her last 
 
 farewell. 
 The dark thunder-clouds that long had risen with every 
 
 rising day, 
 Heard it, and were troubled — heard it, and began to break 
 
 away. 
 Bitter was the shame, and bitter were the first tears that I 
 
 wept ; — 
 Frequent still wild nightmare visions broke upon the sleep 
 
 I slept : — 
 But at length the spring was heaPd, and gentle tears began 
 
 to flow, 
 And One whisper'd, "I have suffered — I have borne thy 
 
 load of woe ! " 
 All the fabled lights of Reason seem'd like torch-flames tost 
 
 and driven — 
 All its music was as discord to the melody of heaven. 
 As I knelt and gazed (esteeming all the world beside but 
 
 loss) 
 
40 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 On the one lone star that glimmer'd o'er my Saviour's 
 
 silent cross. 
 Brother, brother, canst thou wonder that, when peace began 
 
 to brood 
 Over those wild troubled waters of my spirit's solitude, 
 I should turn and bless the angel who had shewn that light 
 
 divine ? 
 Blessing, see her — seeing, love her — win and bind her 
 
 heart to mine ? 
 
 Shall I tell thee of the beauty of her sylph-like form and 
 
 face, 
 Such as sculptor's hands, entranced all the while, might 
 
 love to trace ? 
 Of her soft dark tresses shading the swift blushes of her 
 
 cheek ? 
 Of her clear and thoughtful forehead, sunlit like a cloud- 
 land peak ? 
 Of her gentle heaving bosom, heaving o'er her passionate 
 
 heart ? 
 Of her soft blue eye that bound thee without thinking, 
 
 without art — 
 But within whose cool deep fountain slept a thousand sunny 
 
 rays ? — 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 41 
 
 Tush ! the world saw that, and often spoke thereof in 
 
 heartless praise. 
 No, I will not tell thee, brother, if I could for grief and 
 
 tears — 
 Love is silent as the stars that love us in their voiceless 
 
 spheres, 
 Thus far only — she was ever, as she wander'd by my 
 
 side, 
 Like a rill of spirit-music flowing with ethereal tide 
 Through my heart of hearts, and chasing all the discords 
 
 lingering yet 
 On the ruffled waves of life that could not in an hour 
 
 forget 
 What, if on my holiest moments burst detested thoughts 
 
 and vile, 
 Like a breath the cloud was scatter'd with the magic of 
 
 her smile. 
 Soon we parted — but that radiance pass'd not into mist 
 
 or dreams, 
 Haunting still deep mystic caverns with the light of moon- 
 light streams : 
 Yes, we parted — but that music did not die upon mine 
 
 ears, 
 
42 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 For its cycle hath no boundary, and its 1 lordliness no 
 
 peers. 
 Thrice we met and thrice were sever'd, this the last sad 
 
 farewell sound 
 Ere earth's links should bind, we whisper'd, those Heaven 
 
 had already bound. 
 
 'Twas a night of clouds and tempests sweeping through 
 
 the void of black, 
 Every sad blast through the forest given in sadder echoes 
 
 back, 
 Till they died among the cloisters with a melancholy cry 
 As of restless moaning waters or dark spectres hurrying 
 
 by- 
 
 And dear thoughts would rise within me with their weep- 
 ing train of woes, 
 
 But I shut my heart upon them, chased them ever as they 
 rose, 
 
 Rambled on through fancy labyrinths, dreaming o'er my 
 Adeline, 
 
 Threw me on my couch, and sleeping still dreamt on that 
 dream divine. 
 
 1 "Listening the lordly music flowing on 
 
 The illimitable years." — Tennyson's Ode to Memory. 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 43 
 
 And I thought she look'd upon me with her own un- 
 troubled gaze, 
 Blushing while my silent rapture praised as language 
 
 could not praise : 
 But beneath my eye her beauty grew to deepness more 
 
 intense, 
 All that could be earthly melting into heavenlier innocence. 
 Brother, — Sleep hath eyes — and ' silence hears strange 
 
 sounds at midnight hours, 
 Wonder then unbars the caverns of her phantom-haunted 
 
 towers, 
 And we see prophetic visions — but, oh ! never till that 
 
 time 
 Saw I with my earnest eyes the secrets of night's lonely 
 
 chime. 
 At her beauty I was troubled, so unearthly bright, and 
 
 deep, 
 And I felt a cold misgiving stealing through my feverish 
 
 sleep. 
 Brother, list! my dreams were startled; in my couch I 
 
 sate upright ; 
 And I wildly gazed around me — not a star was in the 
 
 night, 
 
44 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 But a mild and chasten'd radiance softly streaming fill'd 
 
 my room, 
 Centring round her angel figure — even in death my light 
 
 in gloom. 
 Yes, she stood there — from her eye the tears fell silently 
 
 and fast ; 
 If ye will, fond human frailty still victorious to the last : 
 Tears — aye well she knew the iron soon would rive this 
 
 quivering heart : 
 Tears — her home was far away, and I an exile, we must 
 
 part. 
 But methinks I could have borne far easier bosom-rending 
 
 groans 
 Than that mournful boding silence, and I cried in passion- 
 ate tones, 
 " Am I dreaming ? oh, beloved, gaze I on thee there 
 
 awake ? 
 Wherefore weepest thou ? Speak — speak, for soon this 
 
 bursting heart will break ! 
 Hast thou left me then for ever, here upon this desolate 
 
 shore ? 
 Thou my only fellow-pilgrim — speak, speak, art thou 
 
 mine no more?" 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 45 
 
 And she spoke — her voice was music, music over waters 
 
 heard, 
 The deep waters of that grief that in her bosom's depths 
 
 was stirr'd. 
 " Yes, mine own one, we are parted, such as time and space 
 
 can part — 
 But for ever and for ever we are one in soul and heart : 
 This shall seal me thine" — and speaking nearer to my 
 
 side she press'd, 
 Till the bright apparel brush'd me flowing o'er her angel 
 
 breast. 
 Words may never tell my rapture, blent with awe serenely 
 
 proud, 
 As I felt her presence bending o'er me like a golden 
 
 cloud, 
 As a moment on my bosom beat responsively her own, 
 As her lips touch'd mine — and in a moment I was there 
 
 — alone. 
 Nothing saw I but the midnight's funeral blackness in my 
 
 room, 
 Nothing heard I but the wind and raindrops driving through 
 
 the gloom : 
 All my being, that had lately bloom'd with flowers and 
 
 teem'd with springs, 
 
46 THE TWO BBOTH&B& 
 
 Seem'd one dreary vast " alone," a barren wilderness of 
 
 things. 
 Aye alone — the spell of sunshine that had fallen on my 
 
 track, 
 Now was far beyond the clouds, its native sky had calFd it 
 
 back: 
 I was left o'er moor and mountain still to wander wearily, 
 And the dead leaves round me telling, Autumn had come 
 
 soon for me. 
 
 Endless seem'd the hours of darkness, yet they wore at 
 
 last away, 
 And the morning dawn'd, though morning, still to me a 
 
 midnight day. 
 She was dead, I knew more surely than if I had seen her 
 
 die, 
 But grief clings to fragile anchors when the storms are 
 
 hurtling by. 
 So at morning set I forth my heartless hopeless way to 
 
 wend, 
 Sorrow clinging round my journey, sorrow brooding at the 
 
 end. 
 
 But one met me, and he wept — I knew his tale ere he 
 begun — 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 47 
 
 She had died at yester-midnight, dying as the bell peaTd 
 
 "one"! 
 Heavy-hearted I return'd — I could not bear her corse to 
 
 see 
 Whom I just had seen apparelTd like one of the far 
 
 countree. 
 Yes, I felt my heart was broken ! though for years it did 
 
 not die, 
 But it must be with its treasure up in yon eternal sky, 
 God, my Father, He was there — my blessed Saviour, 'twas 
 
 His home, 
 Adeline, and she who bore me, harbor'd there, no more to 
 
 roam. 
 And my earthly path was clouded, all its lingering gleams 
 
 had fled, 
 Save the memories of communion with the living and the 
 
 dead. 
 Oh, they sicken'd not, nor faded into fond imaginings, 
 For true joys, if only true, immortal are 'mid mortal 
 
 things : 
 Whilome they were golden lamps that o'er our pilgrim 
 
 pathway shone, 
 Whose dear light we fondly bless'd, and wended unrepining 
 
 on: 
 
48 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 And when number'd with the past they sank not in the 
 misty sea 
 
 With the foul and base-born glimmer of the world's false- 
 hearted glee, 
 
 But majestically rose, an apotheosis of light, 
 
 Till they clomb the dark-blue heavens, stars for ever 'mid 
 the night ; 
 
 And thence shining on our pathway from their glorious 
 home afar, 
 
 Tell us of the things that have been, that they shall be, and 
 they are. 
 
 Brother, I have told thee all my gloomy tale of fear and 
 
 sin; 
 Ah, forgive me, for I could not die and keep it pent 
 
 within — 
 Since she went, this heart's beloved, thirteen dreary years 
 
 have pass'd, 
 Something tells me in my bosom, this — joy, joy! — shall 
 
 be my last. 
 Brother, I have lived and roam'd in tracking those I once 
 
 beguiled, 
 To essay with me sin's fearful dark interminable wild ; 
 
THE TWO BROTHERS. 49 
 
 Days and nights of supplication I have agonized for them, 
 Till to all, 'mid storm and shipwreck, beam'd the Star of 
 Bethlehem. 
 
 Nothing now remains for lifetime — take my last, my fond 
 
 farewell ; 
 If a heart like mine can bless, Heaven bless thee more 
 
 than heart can tell ! 
 Grant that all my dark experience may be imaged back in 
 
 light, 
 "When reflected from the sunny waters of thy spirit bright ; 
 Till thy race on earth is finish'd, and ye hasten to complete 
 Those our mother's vision saw, a blessed band at Jesus' 
 
 feet. 
 And when I am dead, dear brother, lay me by the sacred 
 
 yew 
 That o'ershades this heart's beloved. Fare thee well — 
 
 adieu — adieu. 
 
 Trinity College, 1845. 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE. 
 
 * O kOTLV OV OVTG)£. 
 
 The closing of a stormy night : — the wrecks 
 
 Of many tempests stranded on the shore 
 
 Of Time's mysterious sea : — and yet no break, 
 
 No far blue vista in the storm-tost drifts 
 
 Of clouds, that gather blackness ever and aye 
 
 Close round the wild horizon. If a star 
 
 With trembling light, and that the light of tears, 
 
 Gleams for a moment through the vault of gloom, 
 
 The swift clouds, envying Hope's sweet messenger, 
 
 Quick shifting dim its radiance, and the void 
 
 Of darkness reigns supreme. Perchance, anon, 
 
 A meteor with its dazzling train shoots by, 
 
 And hurries into nothingness — a dream 
 
 Of dying human glory — a bright torch 
 
 To light ambition to its starless tomb. 
 
THE THIK68 THAT ARE. 51 
 
 Once more the eye looks up, as if in fear 
 
 Of that which shall be, for the lightnings now 
 
 Are all abroad upon the winds of night, 
 
 Writing in vivid characters of flame, 
 
 Truths words might never utter, truths intense, 
 
 Of man's strange destiny and future worlds 
 
 Prophetic : brief their tale, as it is bright; 
 
 And after them, dim thunder sounds far off, 
 
 Like waters, or the wail of nations, come 
 
 From the lone caverns of chill shadowy mountains, 
 
 In fitful bursts upon the startled ear. 
 
 All speak of woes and tempests past and coming. . . . 
 
 Is such the sky that stretches o'er the world ? 
 Fool, fool, — it cannot be — just close thine eye 
 And open it anew, and o'er its sweep 
 Will rise, in faery pageantries of joy, 
 Life-pictures diverse far : young pleasure's train, 
 Dances, and revelries, and reckless smiles, 
 All cluster'd there beneath a cloudless sky : — 
 None know it is but painted o'er their heads, 
 And that the true dread heavens roll rife with storms. 
 Tush, tush, bend down thine ear and list again : 
 
52 THE THINGS THAT ARE. 
 
 I listen'd, and the dulcet voice of song, 
 And music manifold of various spells, 
 And the yet sweeter tones of flattering hope, 
 Whispering of peace and pleasures without fail, 
 Smiled at my fears, and ask'd me tauntingly, 
 If I too smiled not. But a deeper voice 
 Like that of thunder, utter'd answer — Peace! 
 There is no peace, and echoed still — no peace : 
 And all the after sounds of mirth, that came 
 Upon the moaning breezes, ever seem'd 
 To sicken on my weary soul, like things 
 Of little moment to a dying man. 
 
 Hast thou not often at lone hours of midnight, 
 When the vain troublous world is still, and thou 
 Art there amidst the universe alone, 
 Alone with visions of the vast unseen, 
 In the stern grandeur of eternal truth 
 Looming around thee, turn'd thy spirit's eye 
 Inward upon itself, and in a tone 
 Tremulous for fear of answer unforeseen, 
 Ask'd thyself what thy being's being is ? 
 Aye, what that strange mysterious thing self is ? 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE. 53 
 
 And all things seem to fall from off thee, like 
 The leaves of autumn, and the earth to sink, 
 The stars to fade, and all tilings be as dreams. 
 Oh ! then the solitude of solitudes, 
 The feeling of unutter'd weariness, 
 Like shipwreck'd mariner cast far adrift 
 Upon a desert ocean, with its void 
 Crushes the heart: the spirit faints: till soon 
 The stern conviction that thou canst not stay 
 
 Heartless, and homeless, and companionless, 
 That struggle unto death thou must for life, 
 Floods all thy soul ; and with a sudden spring 
 Of blended fear, and hope, and confidence, 
 Thou castest all that storm-tost thing, thyself, 
 Upon the blessed certainty of God : 
 And clingest unto Him, with energies 
 Lent by despair — the only anchor left; 
 If that could fail, all others were but straws. 
 Yet, clinging there, a voice within thee tells, 
 That cannot fail thee : 'tis thy Father's hand. 
 Poor child, He loves thee : love can never fail. 
 And then all grows serene like light, and Peace 
 Comes stealing o'er the waters, and aloft 
 Faith rises, Phoenix-like, amid the wreck. 
 
54 THE THINGS THAT ARE. 
 
 So when that mystic undertone, no peace, 
 Like the dull clangor of a muffled bell 
 Rousing the sleep of a beleaguer'd town, 
 First mingled with those revelries of song, 
 Louder and louder pealing (whether they 
 Wax'd fainter, or its tone the clearer grew), 
 Until I seem'd to hear nor lyre nor dance, 
 But only that prophetic wailing ; then 
 My spirit lost all consciousness of earth, 
 And listlessly I counted as they fell 
 The beatings of the heavy clock of Time. 
 I saw and slept, and sleeping still I heard ; 
 And in my sleep my lips re-echoed ever 
 After that mighty pendulum of Fate 
 Words that it utter'd palpably, — now — then : 
 And then still follow'd now, and still the now 
 Preceded then, eternally the same. 
 Save when at intervals of mystic length, 
 The hours of those illimitable ages, 
 I heard a hammer strike some viewless sphere ; 
 And straightway through the universe of worlds, 
 In varying number but in tone the same, 
 Peal'd forth the everlasting answer, " gone? 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE. 55 
 
 And is there nothing then that fleets not thus ? 
 
 Unconsciously I murmur'd. At the words, 
 
 Came crowding on my spirit's inward eye 
 
 A thousand sunny visions — mine heart leapt 
 
 To welcome them — for there were cloudless scenes 
 
 Of childhood's happy rambles ; there were thoughts 
 
 That blended with the burning dreams of youth, 
 
 And like the sunbeams to the sun flew back 
 
 As to their early home, where gushes ever 
 
 That fount within a fountain, human love ; 
 
 When music held her calm unruffled spell, 
 
 Or trembled into sorrow, or did wail 
 
 With deepest spirit storms, and these again 
 
 Did soothe to rest in wondrous magic wise. 
 
 Childhood and youth rose thus, and thus laid out 
 Their rosy landscapes at my feet : I look'd 
 Once more, — once more, — a moment they were 
 
 gone. 
 I could have wept their sojourn was so brief; 
 But ere the tear fell from my eye, behold 
 New thoughts, new burning feelings, new desires 
 Came rushing o'er me : all the streams of love 
 
56 THE THINGS THAT ARK. 
 
 From that young crystal fountain, music-like, 
 
 Flow'd a majestic river through the vale 
 
 Of life ; and I was wandering by its banks, 
 
 And often paused my footstep, often gazed 
 
 Into what seem'd a nether sky, where heaven 
 
 With its unfathomable mysteries, 
 
 In characters of soften'd loveliness, 
 
 Was imaged in the watery mirror. Oh 
 
 I could have linger'd by that stream, methought, 
 
 For ever and for ever, but its flow 
 
 Grew faint and fainter still, till all was air, 
 
 And viewless winds, and unremaining dreams. 
 
 Yes, I might tell for hours what there and then 
 
 Arose and vanish'd, till my bosom ached 
 
 And all my heart was pain'd within me : friends 
 
 They were and brothers, those light spirit-scenes, 
 
 For a few passing moments ; but oh, when 
 
 My heart was going out towards them, when 
 
 Like bright homes nestling in a vale they seem'd 
 
 Where I long while might linger, as I mused, 
 
 Their cloud foundations sway'd before the wind ; 
 
 For they were built upon the mists and winds, 
 
 And perishable were, and brief as they. 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE. 57 
 
 As one, awaking from a glorious train 
 Of dreams and phantasies at dead of night, 
 Looks forth upon the darkness for a while, 
 Musing aghast ; as if he thought straightway 
 Another image, beautiful as those 
 That have pass'd by him in their loveliness, 
 Would rise and fill the void of gasping thought : 
 But when the listless moments steal away 
 Unvision'd all and dreamless, doth start up 
 And question of himself what forms they were ? 
 And what he is, and where, and whence, and how ? 
 So I, as panting to lay hold on that 
 Which would not vanish at my touch like snow, 
 Struggled to cast myself from out myself 
 In secret prayer and agony of soul ; 
 And though in darkness, onward felt my way, 
 If haply I might find a rock whereon 
 To stay my weary foot ; for all that once 
 I deem'd substantial had proved light as air, 
 And fragile as the foam on slippery waves. 
 The fashions of this world, its feasts and songs, 
 To my incredulous gaze seem'd planted now 
 Upon the words — no peace. The course of Time, 
 
 3* 
 
58 THE THINGS THAT ARE. 
 
 Its seeming endless cycles, its vast spans, 
 
 Stretching like new horizons day by day 
 
 Before a journeying traveller, reaching far 
 
 Athwart the clouded Past and clouded Future, 
 
 In countless maze of circles, as I gazed, 
 
 All rested on one shifting sliding point, 
 
 Which men call Present, which was ever gone 
 
 Though still renewVl like shower drops in a stream. 
 
 And when with sickening soul I turn'd away 
 
 From all tlie unrealities of earth, 
 
 And the brief phantoms of historic worlds, 
 
 To what I deem'd were everlasting things, 
 
 And truths that borrow'd immortality 
 
 Of deeper things than mortal hand might touch 
 
 And mortal foot explore : lo, these likewise 
 
 Had vanish'd : darkness wrapt my steps in gloom. 
 
 Yet there are things that in the darkness live 
 
 A life intense and vivid as in light. 
 
 Prayer then can wrestle on victoriously, 
 
 And Faith without suspicion lean her hand 
 
 Upon a viewless anchor : there is One 
 
 To whom the night translucent seems as day, 
 
 And though unseen, I felt His presence filling 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE. 59 
 
 The vast and vacant chambers of my soul. 
 
 And one by one, as wrapt in silvery mist 
 
 That caught their diamond brightness, like the stars 
 
 Of twilight visiting a lonely vale, 
 
 The words of promise beauteously brake forth 
 
 And kindled into radiance. For a while 
 
 Wonder and rapture reft my soul of thought, 
 
 And left me tranced as a child who first 
 
 Stands on the shore of blue phosphoric waves 
 
 At midnight : but ere long the dews of heaven 
 
 Shed balm upon my fever'd spirit: all 
 
 Was peace : and the pure atmosphere of truth 
 
 Around me, like an infant's holy dream, 
 
 Diffused a light and beauty all its own. 
 
 Ah ! words can never tell my bliss, for I 
 
 Had found what my soul long'd for ; I had found 
 
 My spirit's home, my Father's presence, found 
 
 Wherewith to sate my bosom's infinite; 
 
 And He was smiling on me, and His peace 
 
 Was in my heart of hearts, that peace divine 
 
 Which passes understanding. I did weep, 
 
 But they were tears of joy : I sigh'd, but 'twas 
 
 The fulness of a heart that overflow'd, 
 
60 THE THINGS THAT ARE. 
 
 Nor otherwise could utter what within 
 Was hidden. Long my musing lasted : long 
 I held intense communion with my God. 
 
 Oh, hast thou known the yearnings of delight 
 
 It is to commune with a tender father, 
 
 To cast the burden of a host of cares 
 
 Upon his father-heart, to feel thyself 
 
 His child, and in that blessed privilege 
 
 To ask his sympathy, his care, his love, 
 
 And with a deep familiar earnestness 
 
 Blend all thy thoughts with his, with filial fear 
 
 Yet fearless in affection ? If thou hast 
 
 Thou knowest an emblem, faint indeed and dim, 
 
 But yet the brightest, loveliest earth affords 
 
 Of the joy-fountains gushing in the heart 
 
 Of one, who, from the world a fugitive, 
 
 And from despair, and darkness, and thick doubt, 
 
 Finds there is yet one bosom where to cast 
 
 His sorrows, and a Father's heart that glows 
 
 For him, and yearns to greet him as a child. 
 
 Entranced, imparadised in joy, I knelt 
 
 There at the footstool of my Father's throne, 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE. 61 
 
 My Father's and my God's, and from His smile 
 Drank life, drank beauty, drank intensest love, 
 From love, and life, and beauty's fountain-head. 
 I may not tell ye more ; but when that dream 
 Of glory (if ye reckon those things dreams 
 That have a deep and vast reality 
 Beyond all certainties of sight and sense, 
 As reaching the unseen eternal world) 
 Had pass'd me, like a golden sunset cloud, 
 My soul was as a sea of light, whereon 
 No grief did cast a shadow; such as oft 
 Thou mayst have seen within a summer sky, 
 Sleeping untroubled in calm mellow light, 
 Above the spot where the sun's chariot wheels 
 Sank slowly into ocean. Yes, it pass'd, 
 But yet I felt it was my own for ever, 
 A wealth, a rapture, an inheritance. 
 And quickly I bethought me once again 
 Of all those airy scenes of young delight, 
 That whilome, as I gazed, had pass'd away, 
 Or seem'd to pass, like phantom soulless things. 
 And a voice spake within me, " Thou hast found, 
 By finding out thy spirit's home in God, 
 
62 THE THINGS THAT ARE. 
 
 A master key of truth that shall unlock 
 
 The thousand wards of earthly mysteries ; 
 
 And shew thee unto whom alone, the good, 
 
 The true, the noble, pure, and beautiful, 
 
 Whatever seems to mortals loveliest, 
 
 Can have or claim an immortality 
 
 Of goodness, truth, or beauty — 'tis to those 
 
 Whose hearts are right, whose beings one with God, 
 
 Who in Him find their all : to other men, 
 
 The beauteous things that pass them by on earth, 
 
 Oh, yes, they are immortal, but it is 
 
 An immortality of deathless woe, 
 
 That haunts them with the sting of lost delight." 
 
 And once again, retracing all my steps, 
 
 I gazed upon those lovely scenes of life ; 
 
 Those passion fountains of unfathom'd depth, 
 
 Those springs of human love, those beautiful homes 
 
 Of friendship and affection, which the dove 
 
 Of Peace broods over evermore, and there 
 
 Doth shelter underneath her sacred wing 
 
 A father's heart, a mother's, or a child's, 
 
 Those dearest types of heaven ; and lo, they rose 
 
THE THINGS THAT ARE. 63 
 
 In tenfold loveliness before me, rose 
 
 More passionately beautiful than ever ; 
 
 And oh, the blessed change ! — they vanish'd not. 
 
 At first my faithless heart grew chill with fear, 
 
 And trembled as the moments swift flew by, 
 
 And the far beatings of the clock of time 
 
 Again struck dimly on mine ear, but soon 
 
 Faith whisper'd, " They are amaranthine now, 
 
 Thou livest now 'mid everlasting things — 
 
 Fear not : what once was of the present, soon 
 
 Is number'd with the past : what once was now, 
 
 Let one brief moment pass away, is then : 
 
 And Time may count these hours and cycles, gone, 
 
 But Faith hath vanquish'd Time : and she beholds 
 
 The things that have been, being, and to be." 
 
 In peace, my spirit linger'd on the scenes 
 Of her eternal Past : — in peace I mused 
 On those delicious spots of earth, those fair 
 Oases in the wilderness of life, 
 Those isles too often few and far between, 
 Emblems of home upon the homeless sea, 
 Those Edens blooming in a ruin'd world, 
 
64 THE THINGS THAT ARE. 
 
 Those sunbeams 'mid the storm-clouds all astray, 
 Those gushing springs within a thirsty land, 
 Those stars that startle us like friends at night, 
 Those blessed things so inexpressibly dear, 
 There, there I mused — there wander'd like a child 
 Through flowerets all his own ; and when at length 
 The cycle was complete, and through the heavens 
 Thrice peal'd the everlasting answer, Gone, 
 I look'd upon those scenes of far delight, 
 And there unfading and unchanged they lay 
 In the clear cloudless region of the Past, 
 Imperishably shrined in love and light. 
 
 Trinity College, 1845. 
 
SAMSON. 
 
 [The story of Samson is put into the mouth of Manoah, who relates it to 
 his attendant shortly be/ore his death.] 
 
 " Ibi demum niorte quievit." 
 
 Virgil. JEneid, ix. 446. 
 
 Give me thy hand, brave stripling, for mine eyes 
 Are dim with age and many sorrows : rise 
 And lead me to that rocky seat, whereon 
 Beams the full radiance of the summer sun ; 
 And basking in his glory, ere he laves 
 His chariot wheels in yonder western waves, — 
 Again my frozen life-streams onward flowing, 
 Again my heart with manhood's pulses glowing, — 
 I'll grant thy eager and long-sought request, 
 Before I sink to silence and to rest. 
 Yes, thou hast urged me oftentimes to tell 
 How my child Samson lived and fought and fell ; 
 
66 SAMSON. 
 
 By all the silent pleading of those years 
 
 Spent with an old man in this vale of tears, 
 
 By all the brooding thunder-clouds of war 
 
 Skirting the confines of our land afar, 
 
 And by thy hopes to light the latent fire 
 
 Of thy young heart at Samson's funeral pyre ; 
 
 I felt thy silent longings ; but my heart, 
 
 Though school'd in grief, refused the mourner's part 
 
 I could not tell thee without tears his story — 
 
 I could not weep o'er Samson's tomb of glory : — 
 
 But now I feel, I know my hour is nigh. 
 
 Who weeps with heaven before him ? fix thine eye 
 
 On mine : the sun shines cloudless : it is well : 
 
 Now listen to an old man's tale, and tell 
 
 The after centuries when I am gone, 
 
 So spake Manoah of his only son. 
 
 Yes, the dark clouds are breaking from my sight, 
 
 My childhood floats before me : bathed in light 
 
 Again T see my fond parental home 
 
 Smiling in beauty, and again I roam 
 
 Its green and quiet pastures. Like a dream 
 
 Flow'd on apace with me life's early stream, 
 
SAMSON. 67 
 
 And roughen'd as it flow'd : for vengeance fell 
 On guilty and apostate Israel. 1 
 And we, who sate beneath our household vine, 
 Fled for long years before the Philistine, 
 And groan'd to see the spoiler's ruthless hand 
 Crush the fair promise of our holy land. 
 
 Then was it, in that dark and cloudy day 
 
 When Israel wander'd shepherdless astray, 
 
 That first I saw the partner of my life, 
 
 And sought her hand, and she became my wife. 
 
 No festal banquet graced our nuptial eve, 
 
 No virgins, chaplet-crown'd, came forth to weave 
 
 The dance before us, or with sacred hymn 
 
 Tended us home : — but on the mountains dim, 
 
 In silence and in solitude at night, 
 
 Our parents ratified the solemn rite. 
 
 They calPd the stars to witness, and the rills 
 
 Made answer to the everlasting hills — 
 
 Espousals meet for Samson's parents ! years 
 
 Of brief tranquillity, and many tears 
 
 1 " The children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the Lord; and 
 the Lord delivered them into the hands of the Philistines forty years." — 
 Judg. xiii. 1. 
 
68 SAMSON. 
 
 Pass'd silently. But Heaven who gave the bride 
 The pledge of bridal blessedness denied ; 
 My wife was barren and bare not : 1 alas, 
 Too oft I saw the cloud of anguish pass 
 Across her lovely brow, and often read, 
 Albeit not a whisper'd word she said, 
 The passionate prayer of Rachel in her eye, 
 " My husband, give me children, or I die/' 2 
 
 The foe was seeking other fields of prey ; 
 Our home began to smile anew ; the day 
 Was wearing into twilight ; when I heard 
 My wife's quick footstep on the verdant sward. 
 " Manoah," with excited joy she spake, 
 " At thy command by yonder wooded brake 
 I watch'd the flock, and on the fountain's stone 
 Was seated, musing as I deem'd alone, 
 When on a sudden I was made aware 
 That some one stood beside me ; — without care, 
 Deeming thou needest me, my eyes I raised, 
 And on the messenger unconscious gazed : 
 
 1 "And his wife was barren, and bare not." — Judg. xiii. 2. 
 
 2 Gen. xxx. 1. 
 
SAMSON. 69 
 
 But when I saw hiin I was troubled : — white 
 Was his apparel as transparent light, 
 And, like the visions of prophetic trance, 
 The awful beauty of his countenance. 
 My heart misgave me : — was he from above ? — 
 But fear and wonder both were lost in love 
 When from his lips the blessed tidings fell 
 Of bliss to me, and hope to Israel : — 
 i Lo, thou art barren, and thou bearest not ; 
 Woman, bewail no more thy childless lot : 
 Behold thou shalt conceive and bear a child, 
 A Nazarite devoted, undefined, 
 Who while his holy hair unrazor'd grows 
 Shall save his people from their taunting foes/ " 
 And as in thought she drank the promised cup 
 Of motherly endearment, love lit up 
 Her face with pure delight ; she could not weep 
 Though tears were in her eyes, but all the deep 
 Expressions of a wife's, a woman's soul 
 Over her face in crimson blushes stole. 
 
 Faith wrestled in my heart, and won. I felt 
 That God had spoken to her, and we knelt 
 
70 SAMSON. 
 
 Together suppliant before His throne 
 
 And made our souls' harmonious longings known. 
 
 So ever used we, and though often cast 
 
 As exiles on the desert's howling waste, 
 
 Or nightly lurking where the secret wave 
 
 Murmur'd but shone not in the starless cave, 
 
 Or kneeling on our fathers' burial sod, 
 
 One utterance told our yearning thoughts to God. 
 
 We pray'd, " O Lord, parental wisdom, grant." 
 He heard us ; and the heavenly visitant 
 As she was seated in the lonely field 
 Again his glory and his grace reveal'd. 
 Straightway she ran and call'd me ; love divine 
 Shone calmly in his human eye benign, 
 And when I ask'd him of our promised child 
 How we should train him for the Lord, he smiled 
 And spake so graciously that I began 
 To feel towards him as a brother man. 
 He only veil'd his brightness — when I pray'd 
 That he would tarry where the grateful shade 
 Fell on the glebe from some o'erhanging rock, 
 The while I brought a firstling from my flock. 
 
SAMSON. 71 
 
 He answer'd, " If a firstling thou wilt bring, 
 Then offer to the Lord thine offering." 
 And when astonish'd I besought his name, 
 He still repress'd my boldness. 1 Soon the flame 
 Is kindled, and the victim's life-blood flows, 
 And sweet perfumes of sacrifice arose ; 
 But as they wreath'd towards the azure sky, 
 Behold the angel of the Lord drew nigh, 
 And slowly rising with the incense-cloud 
 Flame-like ascended up to heaven. We bow'd 
 Our faces to the earth on bended knee, 
 And trembled at the sight exceedingly ; 
 For when I saw the fiery track he trod, 
 This is, methought, none other than that God 
 Who spake to Noah and to Abraham, 
 And said to Moses, " I am that lam;" 
 Who led our fathers through the ocean deeps, 
 Which stood at His command in rock-like heaps ; 2 
 Who, wrapt in clouds of darkness and of storm, 
 Rent Sinai's cliffs before His viewless form ; — 
 And could He oar presumptive eye forgive, 
 
 1 Judg. xiii. 18: u Seeing it is secret; " margin, "wonderful." 
 Cf. Isa. ix. 6. 
 
 2 " The floods stood upright as an heap." — Exod xv. 8. 
 
72 SAMSON. 
 
 Who l threaten'd, " None shall see My face and live " ? 
 
 But then my wife's unwavering faith subdued 
 
 My struggling spirit's dark disquietude : 
 
 I could not tremble, when I look'd on her, 
 
 The mother of our land's deliverer : 
 
 And still I see in memory's vista now 
 
 The calm affiance of her cloudless brow. 
 
 And dost thou ask me who it was that came, 
 
 And rose celestial in that altar flame ? 
 
 I shall behold Him, but not now — the Seed 
 
 Who, woman-born, shall bruise the serpent's head ; 
 
 He whom the dying patriarch divine 
 
 Foretold should come of Judah's royal line ; 
 
 Whom Balaam saw in vision from afar, 
 
 Israel's bright sceptre, Jacob's morning star : 
 
 Who dawning on this world of wreck and crime 
 
 In the ripe fulness of predestined time, 
 
 Not with such transitory beams of light 
 
 As only greet some favor'd prophet's sight, 
 
 But born albeit of no mortal birth, 
 
 Shall stand incarnate God upon the earth. 
 
 1 Exod. xxxiii. 20. 
 
SAMSON. 73 
 
 The old man paused awhile — his silent gaze 
 
 Seem'd rapt in far hopes of the latter days, 
 
 And mute his ear, as though the evening breeze 
 
 Grew vocal with angelic melodies, 
 
 The echo of that everlasting song 
 
 Which swells through all creation. But ere long 
 
 Back, as athirst for sympathy, he brought 
 
 His spirit from that glowing world of thought, 
 
 And with a deeper mellowness of tone, 
 
 As though communing with himself, spake on. 
 
 My child, my child, my loved and only son ! 
 I weep not for thee, Samson : thou art one 
 Of that great army of the living God, 
 Who militant by faith to glory trod ; 
 Who out of weakness valiant wax'd in fight, 
 And singly turn'd the alien camps to flight : 
 Still march they on, a mighty victor host 
 Whose foremost ranks the stream of death have cross'd, 
 And calmly resting, where the wicked cease 
 From troubling and the weary are at peace, 
 Await in bliss expectant, till the last 
 Lone band of faithful ones hath safely pass'd. 
 
 4 
 
74 SAMSON. 
 
 Enough for me, my Samson in his day- 
 Bare a bright standard 'mid that vast array, 
 And heard, I doubt not, when his race was run, 
 " Servant and soldier of the Lord, well done ! " 
 I weep not for my child — I knew his star 
 Had mark'd him for the stormy ranks of war, 
 And read his future, when he lay at rest 
 A folded blossom on his mother's breast ; 
 Who often bade me note his strength of limb, 
 And fondly ask'd, " Was ever babe like him ? " 
 And when in after years upon my knee 
 He sate in childhood's playful prattling glee, 
 Still would he ask with beaming eye and face, 
 " Tell me some story of our fathers' race." 
 But chief my words his mute attention caught, 
 What time I told how God for Israel fought, 
 When underneath the silent strokes of prayer 
 Proud Amalek was smitten with despair ; 
 When Canaan's banded armies fled amain 
 Routed and ruin'd on Megiddo's plain ; 
 When Deborah awoke her prcan song, 
 And Barak captive led captivity along. 
 But when I told how mighty Gideon rose 
 And saved our bleeding country from her foes, 
 
SAMSON. 75 
 
 Fronting the hosts of darkness and of death, 
 Clad in the panoply of prayer and faith 
 Invincible — it seem'd as though my child 
 Had found a kindred spirit — sternly he smiled, 
 And shook, as shakes the storm dark ocean's froth, 
 His unshorn locks in sign of kindling wrath, 
 And ask'd impatient if the hour drew nigh 
 When he might likewise rush to strife and victory. 
 
 The Lord Jehovah bless'd him : and he grew, 
 As grows the lordly cedar, fed with dew 
 From heaven, and nourish'd by the early sun, 
 Upon the snowy peaks of Lebanon : 
 Soon swept the wild blasts o'er him, and the cloud 
 Of thunder and of storm his branches bow'd ; 
 In vain — for, laughing at their idle shocks, 
 His strength was in the everlasting rocks : 
 And when bereft, beleaguer'd, and betray'd, 
 At length he fell, his vast and ruining 1 shade 
 Its crushing devastation scatter'd wide 
 On Philistina in her hour of pride. 
 
 1 "Heaven ruining from heaven." 
 
 Par. Lost, vi. 868. 
 
76 SAMSON. 
 
 The Lord Jehovah bless'd him : few could brook, 
 
 Of friends or foes, his calm defiant look, 
 
 And, though to us all grace and gentleness, 
 
 Few the high conflicts of his soul could guess. 
 
 Oh, how his mother loved him, how he loved 
 
 His an^el mother ! — I have seen him moved 
 
 To tears, whenever by our lonely hearth 
 
 She told the awful secret of his birth, 
 
 And with her folded hands besought that he 
 
 Might never shame his glorious destiny, 
 
 But without lingering thought of home or her 
 
 Be unto death our land's deliverer. 
 
 Years glided on apace ; — with holy awe 
 His ripening strength we noted, and we saw 
 At times a lofty grandeur in his mien 
 Of high emprize, so tranquilly serene, 
 That told no human impulse moved his soul 
 Obedient. 1 Under that divine control, 
 Upon the mountain heights companionless, 
 Or in the waste and howling wilderness, 
 
 1 "The Spirit of the Lord began to move him at times in the camp of 
 Dan." — Judg. xiii. 25. 
 
SAMSON. 77 
 
 Far off he wander'd, meditative, lone, 
 Musing stern deeds of vengeance all his own, 
 Or, burning with impatient hopes, began 
 To join his comrades in the camp of Dan. 
 
 Alas, he found no breast amid his peers 
 
 That shared his thoughts of glory. Crush'd by years 
 
 Of craven flight, or grinding servitude, 
 
 The lion heart of Israel was subdued, 
 
 All save his own unconquerable will, 
 
 That wrestled on in prayer and trusted still. 
 
 Alone he went to Timnath, inly driven — 
 But mark how fathomless the ways of Heaven ! 
 There, as he lurk'd amid the laden vines, 
 He saw a daughter of the Philistines, 
 A virgin fair as light to look upon, 
 Who wander'd in the careless evening. One 
 She was, who, born of that accursed stock, 
 Grew as a heath-flower on the barren rock. 
 
 And Samson's spirit clave to hers ; — but when 
 He sought impetuously our home again, 
 And told us of her alien race and name, 
 
78 SAMSON. 
 
 The full heart of his mother glow'd with shame, 
 And sternly spake she : — "Is there never one 
 Of all the daughters of our kin, my son, 
 Not one with whom in wedlock thou couldst dwell 
 Of all the far-famed maids of Israel, 
 That thou hast chosen out a stranger bride 
 From our uncircumcised foes ? " He sigh'd, 
 " And look'd to heaven in silence ; not a shade 
 Of earthly passion on his dark cheek play'd, 
 But hopes of battle and of victory 
 Wrought in his soul and kindled in his eye, 
 Till, as he turn'd and look'd on us and smiled, 
 The parents' spirit quail'd before their child ; 
 Or rather in that Presence he adored, 
 Though then we knew not, all was of the Lord. 
 
 I know it now, I know it : thou hast seen 
 The planets glide along their paths serene, 
 Diffusing softly their benignant light 
 Over the stillness of the summer night, 
 While steals from every pendant orb of gold 
 The music of their silence, — when behold 
 A meteor, with its dark forebodings blent, 
 Flames far athwart the troubled firmament, 
 
SAMSON. 79 
 
 And to the feeble ken of mortals mars 
 The changeless march and order of the stars ; 
 But both, methinks, to His omniscient eye, 
 Who scans the cycles of eternity, 
 Pursue their destined path, and both fulfil 
 The fiat of His everlasting will. 
 
 And such was Samson's mission, as I deem'd, 
 Which then so dark and so mysterious seem'd, 
 For God was with him ; wheresoe'er he press'd, 
 His spirit moved him, and His presence bless'd. 
 Bear witness, Timnath, when on love intent 
 A lion like a kid unarm'd he rent, 
 And from its swarming carcase subtly wrought 
 That deadly and disastrous riddle, fraught 
 With woe. Bear witness, widow'd Askelon, 
 Reft of thy children, God was with my son. 
 Bear witness, Etham's cloud-engirdled crest, 
 Where eagle-like he built his rocky nest 
 Aloft, alone, with God communing there 
 In solitary thought and secret prayer. 
 Bear witness of that hour, Philistia, when 
 Besieged by foes and faithless countrymen, 
 
80 SAMSON. 
 
 Arm'd only with the jaw-bone of an ass, 
 
 He felFd thy choicest warriors like the grass, 
 
 And smote through brazen helms and plated mail 
 
 A thousand men in Ramath-Lehi's vale : 
 
 And when his spirit fail'd at eventide 
 
 Drank from the heaven-sent " well of him that cried." 1 
 
 Yes, God the Lord was with him. His the might 
 That braced his soul and nerved his arm in fight ; 
 And His the fountain of exhaustless thought 
 That flow'd from Samson's rugged lips untaught, 
 When, at his bidding, with obedient feet, 
 All Israel throng'd around his judgment seat. 
 
 Then all men call'd us blessed : peace again 
 Shed its rich plenty over hill and plain ; 
 The fields were white with flocks ; and, loved of God, 
 Again our land with milk and honey flow'd ; 
 Age in his presence bow'd, and virgins young 
 With tabrets and with dance his triumphs sung, 
 And parents taught their infants' lips to frame 
 Their first fond blessings on our Samson's name. 
 
 1 "He called the name thereof Enhakkore ; " margin, "the well of 
 him that cried." — Judg. xv. 19. 
 
SAMSON. 81 
 
 A few short years of mirth and minstrelsy, 
 
 And, oh, the harrowing change to mine and me ! 
 
 Our foes again victorious ; and our child 
 
 Begirt by hatred, and by love beguiled, 
 
 Shorn of his Godlike strength, bereaved of sight 
 
 And freedom, in the dungeon's loathsome night, 
 
 The slave of slaves who mock'd his every sigh, 
 
 And sported with his only prayer — to die. 
 
 Woe for his mother, woe ! the tidings crush'd 
 
 Her heart : — when forth companionless he rush'd 
 
 Singly a thousand warriors to assail, 
 
 I never saw her glowing cheek turn pale ; 
 
 But when she heard upon that awful night, 
 
 " Thy Samson is no more a Nazarite," 
 
 Long while she sate in speechless anguish there, 
 
 A mute and marble likeness of despair, 
 
 Till from her breaking heart these words found way : 
 
 " My God. ..." she struggled, but she could not pray — 
 
 "My husband " — and she shook in every limb, 
 
 " He hath abandon'd God, and God abandon'd him. ,, 
 
 But why retrace the story of his fall, — 
 Alas, too well, too widely known by all ? 
 
 4* 
 
82 SA3IS0N. 
 
 Delilah's arts ; — his weakness warn'd in vain, 
 Thrice warn'd, thrice yielding to the slavish chain 
 Of venal Beauty's lying blandishment, 
 And still entangled when the snare was rent ; — 
 That fatal couch ; — that dark perfidious hour 
 When he betray'd his citadel of power : 
 The quenching of those eyes in endless night 
 No foe had ever dared to meet in fight ; 
 The fetters forged his free-born limbs around ; 
 The fetid prison where with slaves he ground ; 
 And, worst of all, the shouts of high acclaim 
 Before him raised to Dagon's cursed name. — 
 Enough : I bless the Hand that smote him now, 
 And taught him though with bitter tears to bow, 
 Until he learnt beneath the chastening rod 
 That he was only strong, while strong in God. 
 
 Hark ! there are sounds of revelry and mirth. 
 
 There is a feast to Dagon ; and the earth 
 
 Rings with the shout exultingly again 
 
 Of that far-echoing sacrificial strain : 
 
 See, Gaza's eager population waits 
 
 The opening of those massive temple gates. 
 
SAMSON. 83 
 
 He comes ! he comes ! on his triumphal car, 
 Deck'd with the gorgeous pageantries of war, 
 Is rear'd the hideous idol ; one and all 
 Before their god in low prostration fall. 
 And hark again, those wild and dissonant cries 
 In proud defiance swelling to the skies — 
 " Hail, Dagon ! thou hast fought for us and won ! 
 Hail, Dagon, hail ! Where lies Manoah's son ? 
 Where is the God of Israel ? let Him now 
 Avenge His cause ; and be our champion thou ! " 
 Again the gates are closed, again the din 
 Rings through the joyous city. But within 
 Dispersed through courts and crowded galleries, 
 Whose spacious roof receives the welcome breeze, 
 Behold, the choicest of Philistia's peers, 
 The bloom of all her beauty : echoing cheers 
 Peal through the temple of the idol god, 
 And wine and jesting fill the vast abode, 
 Till in their impious merriment they call 
 For Samson's feats to crown their festival. 
 
 Hark yet again, one universal cry, 
 A ruin'd nation's groan of agony, 
 
84 SAMSON. 
 
 With wailing, fills the vast of heaven : — again, 
 The dying shrieks of thousands from that fane : 
 Again — and Gaza holds her fearful breath, — 
 And all is mute as sleep, the sleep of death. 
 
 To Zorah's vale full soon the tidings sped, 
 Where lone I watch'd his mother's dying-bed ; 
 For, ever since he fell Delilah's prey, 
 She like a flower had wither'd day by day, 
 Calm, tearless, uncomplaining, yet I knew 
 Her broken heart had found no healing dew. 
 But when her ear the hurried message caught 
 That God deliverance by his death had wrought ; 
 The banquet, and the shouts that rend the air, 
 His deeds of might, his last victorious prayer, 
 The pillars grasp'd and shaken to and fro, 
 The helples« agonizing cries of woe, 
 Until the temple's shatter'd roof and dome 
 Wrapt him and all in one terrific tomb ; — 
 Then first a smile of glory on her cheek 
 Spoke of such bliss as language could not speak : 
 She raised her overflowing eyes to heaven, 
 And wept for joy, " My Samson is forgiven." 
 
SAMSON. 85 
 
 My tale is told — too soon the sepulchre 
 
 That closed o'er Samson was unseal'd for her ; 
 
 And I was left my nation's peace to see — 
 
 Peace which my child had won, though not for me : 
 
 Farewell ! our circle gathers in the sky, 
 
 And as they died in faith, so would I die. 
 
 Bannhigham, 1850. 
 
NINEVEH. 
 
 " Opinionum coramenta dies delet ; naturae judicia confirmat." 
 
 Cic. de Nat. Deor, 
 
 I. 
 
 Woe for the land of Asshur ! she who sate 
 
 Queen of the nations, princess of the peers ; 
 How sits she as a widow desolate, 
 
 In bitterness of soul and silent tears ! 
 
 Great Nineveh is fallen ! Pale with fears 
 She sits in her sepulchral greatness, hoary 
 
 With lapse of unknown centuries of years ; 
 And strangers roam her haunts of sometime glory, 
 Deciphering with pain her once transparent story. 
 
NINEVEH. 87 
 
 II. 
 
 Woe for the land of Asshur ! she who nursed 
 
 The world's forefathers in her golden plains, 
 And cradled by her mighty streams the first 
 
 Primeval race of heroes ! What remains 
 
 Of all her trophies and colossal fanes ? 
 Stern, shapeless heaps of ruin, mouldering slow 
 
 Beneath the fiery sun and torrent rains : — 
 Wild heedless hordes about her come and go : — 
 An unloved spectacle of unlamented woe. 
 
 in. 
 
 Woe for the land of Asshur ! Greece hath bow'd 
 Her head beneath the chariot-wheels of Time ; 
 
 But sorrow, like a distant mountain-cloud, 
 Hath hung its lucid veil above her clime, 
 And only made her virtues more sublime. 
 
 All centuries have wept her fall, and sung 
 
 Her greatness and her grief in loftiest rhyme ; 
 
 And, lingering still her haunted fanes among, 
 Repictured, from her age, her loveliness when young. 
 
88 NINEYEH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Woe for the land of Asshur ! Salem lies, — 
 Salem, her former captive, lies in gloom ; 
 
 And Zion, twice a widow, mourns and sighs, 
 And lingers, spectre-like, beside the tomb 
 Of her first bridal blessedness and bloom. 
 
 She mourns, but mourns in hope ; for God hath spoken 
 The mystic number of her years of doom ; 
 
 She waits the beacon-light, the Gospel token, 
 When stanch'd shall be her wounds, and all her chains be 
 broken. 
 
 v. 
 
 But woe for thee, Asshur ! Few bemoan 
 
 Thy giant desolations, void and vast ; 
 No beauty smiles on thy sepulchral stone. 
 
 The solitary stranger stands aghast 
 
 At thee, but weeps not ; and the fitful blast 
 Sighs in thy palaces. Nor canst thou borrow 
 
 Far hopes to cheer the present and the past ; 
 No dawn shall glimmer on thy night of sorrow, 
 Its silence and its sadness hath no bright to-morrow. 
 
NINEVEH. 89 
 
 VI. 
 
 What though above thy solitudes the Spring 
 
 Her fairy mantle ever throws anew ; 
 Though smiles the early Summer, carpeting 
 
 Thy wastes with flowers of scarlet and of blue, 
 
 And tangled labyrinths of every hue ? 
 To one who knew thee in thy prime it seems 
 
 A sad heart's laughter, to itself untrue ; 
 A captive's reverie, — a widow's dreams, — 
 The bubbles breaking fast on dark and troubled streams. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Where are thy frowning towers and scornful walls, 
 And spacious parks, by hanging gardens spann'd ? 
 
 Where are thy regal palaces, whose halls 
 Of sculptured alabaster proudly stand, 
 The envy and the fame of every land, 
 
 Dyed purple and vermilion ; echoing 
 
 With bursts of song, by gales of fragrance fann'd; 
 
 Enrich'd with every great and gorgeous thing, — 
 Meet dwelling-place for thee, supreme Assyrian King ?. 
 
90 NINEVEH. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Where is thy stern array of warrior sons, — 
 The peerless maidens of Chaldea's bloom, — 
 
 The laughter of her myriad little ones ; — 
 
 The voice of merchandise, — the mingled hum 
 Of citizens, and pilgrims who have come 
 
 From far to view her greatness ; — the low sighs 
 Of love, — the strains of music never dumb, — 
 
 The banquetings beneath her azure skies, 
 Or long luxurious dance of torch-light revelries ? 
 
 IX. 
 
 Where is the idol faith that once was hers, — 
 The victims on her altars wont to bleed ? 
 
 Her temples, throng'd with prostrate worshippers, 
 And guarded by that winged-lion breed — 
 The awful symbols of a perish'd creed, 
 
 Whose forms of might their portals still defend ; 
 Whose wings betoken omnipresent speed ; 
 
 And brows of lofty human mould portend 
 The knowledge of the gods and wisdom without end ? 
 
NINEVEH. 91 
 
 X. 
 
 Oh, weep for Nineveh ! — the scorn or pity, 
 
 From age to age, of every passer by. 
 " Is this," they ask, 1 " the glad, rejoicing city, 
 
 Who said, — ' I am, and none beside me ? ' Why 
 
 Doth she in wreck and desolation lie ? " 
 Great Nineveh is fallen ! Transitory 
 
 As slopes a meteor through the midnight sky; — 
 Who shall repaint her vani-liM scenes of glory, 
 Or weave her shatter'd woof of fragmentary story ? 
 
 XT. 
 
 Though gorgeous fictions have been pass'd along 
 
 The half-incredulous ages down to this, — 
 What boots it to relate, in idle song, 
 
 How Ninus and divine Semiramis 2 
 
 First founded yonder vast metropolis ; 
 And left a lineage of kings, whose names 
 
 Stand tomb-like o'er oblivion's dark abyss, 
 Until, to hide his everlasting shames, 
 Sardanapalus lit his country's funeral flames ? 
 
 1 "This is the rejoicing city that dwelt carelessly, that said in her 
 heart, I am, and there is none beside me : how is she become a desola- 
 tion." — Zeph. ii. 15. 
 
 2 See Dictionary of Biography, under Ninus. 
 
92 NINEVEH. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus, o'er the keen blue night of northern climes 
 A rose-blush, as of morning, seems to glow ; 
 
 With waves of undulating light at times, 
 And ruddy jets of flame that come and go, 
 And fitful meteors flashing to and fro, — 
 
 A dome of living splendors ; but anon 
 
 Gloom settles on those silent wastes of snow ; 
 
 The colors fade like dreams, and all is wan, 
 Save intermittent starlight, dimly glimmering on. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus rose and sank those myths of by-gone ages : 
 Swiftly they sank, and darkness block'd my sight ; 
 
 Till suddenly, from Inspiration's pages, 
 
 There flash'd a few and flickering beams of light 
 On distant fragments of Assyria's night. 
 
 So have I wander'd in some giant cave, 
 Whose sides of rock and pendent stalactite 
 
 Caught radiance from my torch, at times, and gave 
 A momentary brightness to some gushing wave. 
 
NINEVEH. 93 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And first, far looming in the mist of years, 
 
 Stood Nimrod, 1 mighty in the sight of God, — 
 
 Lord of the chase ; before him earth appears 
 Strewn with the desolations of the flood, 
 But limitless and lordless. Forth he stood, 
 
 First King of men, and, ranging in the free 
 Far forests with his teeming multitude, 
 
 Where Tigris rolls to Persia's emerald sea, 
 Builded, for his great name, the infant Nineveh. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Thus clothed his form in brightness, and then fail'd 
 The beam reflected from the sacred page ; 
 
 And close, impenetrable darkness veil'd 
 The long succeeding ages. Age on age, 
 Basking in peace, or tost with warfare's rage, 
 
 They pass'd before my musing sight once more ; 
 Their voices did my lingering ear engage ; 
 
 The hum of teeming myriads, like the roar 
 Of mighty waters chafing on an unseen shore. 
 
 1 Gen. x. 8-11. 
 
94 NINEVEH. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Long while I mused her story, how she grew 
 
 Alone in greatness, and in guilt alone ; 
 Until they left the God their fathers knew, 
 
 And shadow'd forth the unseen Eternal One 
 
 In idol images of brass and stone ; 
 (Fools ! though the earth too mean a footstool were, 
 
 The starry heavens for Him too base a throne) 
 Till God, at length, in wrath abandon'd her, 
 Of her own lusts to be the slave and worshipper. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 In greatness and in wickedness she grew : 
 
 Ambition's lurid and deceptive star 
 To distant lands her conquering armies drew, 
 
 And filPd her streets with sights and sounds of war, 
 
 The chariot and the glancing scimitar : 
 Debasing lust her native homes defiled 
 
 With tears of hapless virgins brought from far: 
 Her heaps of gold insatiate avarice piled ; 
 And Pleasure, with young hopes, her votaries beguiled. 
 
NINEVEH. 95 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Thus great in glory, and too great in crime, 
 The upland slope of fame she seem'd to tread ; 
 
 And on from height to giddy height did climb, 
 And fix'd her dwelling 'mid the stars, and said, 
 " No thunders there could scathe her lofty head." 
 
 Was there no voice her peril to proclaim, 
 
 Ere her proud sons were number'd with the dead ? 
 
 Hark ! as I ponder'd o'er her shatter'd fame, 
 In rugged uncouth verse, the mystic answer came. 
 
 Calmly glow'd the setting sun 
 Upon the dark of Lebanon ; 
 TiJl, ere it sank, each cedar spire 
 Was clad in a robe of golden fire, 
 And a smile of light broke gloriously 
 On the sullen waves of the Western sea. 
 Far off, on Camel's rocky fell, 
 There sate the seer of Israel ; 
 He watch'd the dying gleams of day 
 From tide and turret fade away, 
 
9f> NINEVEH. 
 
 And deeply he sigh'd for the land of God, 
 
 And inly murmur'd, " Ichabod." 
 
 He look'd again, a flash of light 
 
 On the far horizon's deepening night ! 
 
 Loath to quit so fair a clime, 
 
 Hath the sun reversed the march of time ? 
 
 Or is it the reflex glory cast 
 
 From mighty meteors streaming past ? 
 
 His prophetic eye divine 
 
 More truly read that sacred sign : 
 He felt that a message from God was near, 
 And he bow'd his head in silent prayer. 
 " Go forth, go forth, thou prophet of the Lord 
 (Thus thrill'd his soul the penetrating word) : 
 Against that great and guilty city cry, 
 Whose wickedness hath reach'd to heaven ; for I, 
 The Lord Jehovah, have commission'd thee 
 A herald of my wrath to Nineveh." 
 
 A tempest shook the prophet's soul, 
 And trembling seized him past control. 
 Not the march through far-off lands, 
 Not the blasts of desert sands, 
 
NINEVEH. 97 
 
 Not the taunts and proud despite 
 
 Of the godless Ninevite, 
 
 Not the wrathful threatenings 
 
 Of the Assyrian king of kings, 
 
 Not the leagued hosts of hell, 
 
 Moved the seer of Israel. 
 Yet shook he like a wind-tost oak to go 
 
 Proclaiming wrath and woe ; 
 For well he knew how mercy dwelt above, 
 And deeply had experienced " God is love." 1 
 
 Dark tempest on the waters : see, they rise 
 
 Faster and fiercer round that little bark ! 
 
 Her mariners with agonizing cries 
 
 Betake them to their gods for aid, but dark 
 
 Still lay the tempest on the waters : dark 
 
 Grew every face, and darker grew the skies : 
 
 They strew'd the billows with their Tyrian wares, 
 
 Redoubling their wild prayers. 
 Till lo, quoth one, " Yon strange and fearful man 
 Calmly hath slumber'd since the storm began. — 
 What meanest thou, O sleeper ! rise and call 
 1 Jonah iv. 2. 
 5 
 
98 NINEVEH. 
 
 Upon thy God to bend His gracious ear, 
 And think on us in pity, ere we all 
 Together perish here." 
 
 Then rose the prophet Jonah — calm his mien, 
 
 In its stern sadness awfully serene — 
 
 One glance he took upon the raging main, 
 
 Then slowly scann'd that trembling crew again. 
 
 His steady eye disturb'd them ; for the change 
 
 Wrought in his slumber seem'd unearthly strange. 
 
 Surely in that profound mysterious dream 
 
 The Lord his God hath spoken unto him, 
 
 Who hitherto had ever seem'd to live 
 
 In terror, like a guilty fugitive, 
 
 But now, amid the storm, stood forth alone, 
 
 The only fearless one. 
 " Who art thou ? " tremblingly they ask'd, " and what 
 Thy country and thy race ? " — He trembled not, 
 
 But prophet-like replied : 
 " I am a Hebrew, and I bow the knee 
 To Him who made the heaven and earth and sea : 
 Fear not, but cast me in the raging tide, 
 Because for me yon raging billows roar, — 
 And peace shall tend you to your distant shore." 
 
NINEVEH. 99 
 
 Oh, unexampled faith, unequall'd trust 
 Placed in his God by a frail child of dust ! 
 Hosanna ! from the caverns of the grave, 
 
 Beneath the ocean wave, 
 Climbs to the throne of God through sea and air, 
 The voice of confidence and praise and prayer. 1 
 Hell, who had gloried in the prophet's fall, 
 And gloated o'er her coming carnival, 
 Heard it and trembled — dark, mysterious sign 2 
 Of that predicted Conqueror Divine, 
 Whose advent was the token 
 Of chains and fetters broken, 
 Who, buried like that seer beneath the earth, 
 Should mar the triumph of her fiendish mirth, 
 And wrest the ponderous keys of death away, 
 And lead captivity his captive prey. 
 
 It was the glow of eventide — behold 
 
 Upon his throne of ivory and gold, 
 
 Assyria's monarch proudly gazed around, 
 
 While prostrate kings before him kiss'd the ground. 
 
 1 Jonah's prayer, rising at its close to a song of praise, was uttered 
 before his deliverance. — Jonah ii. 1-9. 
 
 2 Matt xii. 39-41. 
 
100 NINEVEH. 
 
 When lo ! a messenger in haste is brought, 
 His blanch'd cheeks with a tale of danger fraught 
 " This livelong day," he falter 'd, " there hath been 
 A prophet such as earth hath never seen, 
 From street to street who wanders sad and slow, 
 With one stern message of impending woe — 
 ' Ere forty suns have risen on Nineveh, 
 ' Her guilt and glory shall have ceased to be/ " 
 
 Straightway a smile of proud derision curl'd 
 The lip of that proud monarch of the world ; 
 But, ere he spake, his courtiers crowded near, 
 
 And pour'd into his ear, 
 What busy fame had spread from lip to lip, — 
 The story of that tempest-shatter'd ship, 
 And that unheard-of miracle, that bore 
 The Prophet Jonah to his destined shore. 
 Long while he grappled with his fears, and then 
 Look'd round his court in marvel ; and again 
 He gazed upon those floods of radiance bright 
 Which bathed his palace in their golden light, 
 And shed fresh lustre on the vivid story, 
 Which glow'd in sculpture, of his deeds of glory. 
 
NINEVEH. 101 
 
 What storms could gather in these cloudless skies ? 
 Who dared to call themselves his enemies ? 
 He would have spoken ; but again lie hears 
 That death-knell in his ears — 
 " Ere forty suns have risen on Nineveh, 
 Her guilt and glory shall have ceased to be ! " 
 And Conscience whisper'd, Tis Jehovah saith, 
 Till dread conviction ripenVl into faith. 
 He rose from off his kingly throne of state ; 
 He laid aside his purple robe ; he sate 
 In sackcloth and in ashes : his decree 
 Sped with wild speed through guilty Nineveh : 
 And all men trembled, and obey'd the word — 
 " Let neither man, nor cattle, flock, nor herd, 
 Or food or water taste by night or day ; 
 But turn ye from the evil of your way, 
 And mightily implore the God of heaven, 
 If it may be our crimes can be forgiven." 
 • ••«••••• 
 Though the stern struggle of his mission o'er, 
 The fainting prophet is himself no more ; 
 Though seeing Nineveh is spared, he prays 
 To finish here his days : 
 
102 NINEVEH. 
 
 Scorn not the weakness of his faithless fear, 
 But bend with him a reverential ear, 
 And catch those gracious accents from above, 
 Which filFd his soul with tenderness and love : — 
 " Thou hast had pity on thy gourd's delight, 
 Which came, and grew, and wither'd in a night ; 
 Shall I not pity Nineveh, wherein 
 
 Are numberless and guiltless herds and sheep, 
 And infants weeping while their mothers weep, 
 But knowing nothing of their mothers' sin ? " 
 
 Ah, silence here is eloquent — he heard — 
 
 His heart was touch'd — he answer'd not a word. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Thus lower'd the storm of vengeance, drear and dark : 
 Its folds of ruin wrapp'd the noon-day sky : 
 
 Heaven's thunders murmur'd coming wrath. But hark ! 
 From that great city one repentant cry 
 Rose like a fragrant incense-cloud on high. 
 
 And mercy pleaded and prevail'd : it pass'd, 
 And left her in her scatheless majesty : 
 
 The blue heavens smiled, so lately overcast, 
 Of her unclouded skies the loveliest and the last 
 
NINEVEH. 103 
 
 XX. 
 
 Woe to the land of Asshur ! — after-years 
 
 Too soon format the warning voice of Heaven : 
 And mock'd derisively their fathers* fears, 
 
 And proudly strove with God as they had striven, 
 
 Unheeding, unrepentant, unforgiven. 
 Ah, woe for Nineveh — the tempest lay 
 
 From off the skirts of her horizon driven, 
 But ready to descend with baleful sway 
 The moment God announced her fatal judgment-day. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Have ye exhausted all the mines of Ind ? 
 
 Have Egypt's dark-brow'd captives all been sold ? 
 Or doth the idle unproductive wind 
 
 No more from Tarshish waft her stores untold 
 
 Of spices and of purple and of gold ? 
 Why grasp ye at the solitary gem, 
 
 Which, from all jewels of the earth, of old 
 The Lord hath chosen for his diadem — 
 The favorite land of heaven — beloved Jerusalem ? 
 
104 NINEVEH. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Oh weep wifeh weeping Israel ! Broken-hearted, 
 
 Far off she mourns, the Gentile's prisoner : 
 Her beauty and her bloom hath all departed, 
 
 For her transgressions great and grievous were ; 
 
 And therefore hath the Lord afflicted her. 1 
 Like some wild vision of the night it seems — 
 
 Her old men crave a speedy sepulchre ; 
 Her sons in fetters foster hopeless dreams ; 
 Her daughters hang their harps by far ungenial streams. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet half the tempest fell not : Jordan still 
 Fenced Carcnel's forest and Siloah's spring. 
 
 But lo, a darker tempest-cloud of ill ! 
 Innumerable hosts were marshalling 
 Beneath the banners of Assyria's king — 
 
 Wilt thou not manifest thy glory there ? 
 
 Wilt thou not spread, O Lord, thy guardian wing ? 
 
 Wilt thou not listen to that piercing prayer ? 
 u Spare us, O Lord our God — spare us, Jehovah, spare." 
 1 Lamentations i. 5. 
 
NINEVEH. 105 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 On like a vulture to the field of doom 
 
 Sennacherib came hasting through the land ; 
 
 He march'd in vengeance, like the fierce Simoom 
 With clouds and pillars of hot burning sand, 
 That sweeps o'er Afric's desolated strand. 
 
 Proudly he taunted Heaven, and ask'd in wrath, 
 What God or man his armies could withstand ? 
 
 Fool, fool, who never in his blood-stain'd path 
 Had wrestled with the calm omnipotence of faith. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 'Twas midnight, when the angel of the Lord 
 
 Went forth and look'd upon that teeming glen, 
 And waved above that host his silent sword ; 
 Nor sheathed the fearful blade of death again 
 Till more than eighteen myriads of men 
 Slept their last slumber on the blasted heath. 
 In fear the scanty remnant fled, and when 
 The morning rose, no living man drew breath 
 In that vast host of slain — that silent camp of death. 1 
 
 1 Isa. xxxviii. 
 6* 
 
106 NINEVEH. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But woe to thee, Assyria, who hast striven 
 To mock Jehovah with thine impious tongue ; 
 
 Guard thine own city from the bolts of heaven ! 
 Thy hour is coming. Zion's virgin young 
 Already hath thy funeral dirges sung : 
 
 Already Israel's bard has seized the lyre, 1 
 The awful lyre of prophecy, and flung 
 
 These scathing words of Heaven's avenging ire, 
 To brand thy withering pride with everlasting fire. 
 
 'Tis the Lord — 'tis the Lord — 'tis the glorious God, 
 He hath smitten the earth with the curse of His rod, 
 
 And the nations stand at His judgment-seat : 
 The lightnings and thunders His mission perform, 
 The Lord hath His way in the whirlwind and storm, 
 
 And the clouds are the dust of His feet. 
 He rebuketh the sea, and a desert is made, 
 
 And the rivers are dust at His word, 
 
 l Nahum ; he appears to have uttered his burden of Nineveh, which 
 the writer has attempted to paraphrase in the following lines, the very- 
 year, B.C. 713, in which Sennacherib invaded Judaea. 
 
NINEVEH. 107 
 
 And Bashan, and Carmel, and Lebanon fade, 
 
 And the earth is consumed, and the hills are dismay'd, 
 
 The depths of the mountains are stirr'd. 
 Say, who can stand in His anger's path 
 
 When his fury descends like fire? 
 Say, who can abide the heat of His wrath, 
 
 For the rocks are rent by His ire ? 
 
 The Lord is good, and a hiding-place 
 For those who in trouble seek His face; 
 Behold, on the mountains are those who tell 
 Of peace and salvation to Israel. 
 
 Proud Nineveh ! are thy watchers dumb ? 
 
 The hosts that shall dash thee in pieces are come. 
 
 Ho ! man the ramparts, watch the way, 
 
 And set thy battle's fierce array : 
 
 The shields of thy mighty men are red, 
 
 And thy valiant men are in scarlet clad ; 
 
 Like flaming torches thy chariots seem, 
 
 And run like the lightning's vivid gleam, 
 
 And the cry resounds through those dense alarms, 
 
 Stand, Asshur, stand — To arms ! To arms ! 
 
108 NINEVEH. 
 
 Huzzab is fallen : void and vast, 
 
 All at her death-pangs stand aghast ; 
 
 And the loins are loosed with pain at her doom, 
 
 And the faces of all men gather gloom. 
 
 Where is the lions' rifled lair ? 
 
 The dens of prey and of ravine, where ? 
 
 Woe to the bloody city, woe ! 
 
 The Lord hath smitten her, and lo ! 
 
 Drunken she staggers to and fro. 
 
 Who lately sate a princess seeming, 
 
 With witcheries and whoredoms teeming ; 
 
 And far her proud defiance hurl'd, 
 
 The harlot empress of the world ; — 
 
 How is she dragg'd in chains along ! 
 
 Why beats she her breast at the victor's song ? 
 
 How lies she friendless, shelterless, 
 
 In guilt, and shame, and nakedness ! 
 
 The gazing-stock of those who were 
 
 Once slaves and sycophants of her ! 
 
 The sharp fire burns like the cankerworm, 
 
 And the sword has defiled thy alluring form; 
 
 But never hath a balm been found 
 
 To heal thy everlasting wound. 
 
NINEVEH. 109 
 
 Earth waves exultingly its hand 
 O'er thee, the scourge of every land. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 These harpings ceased, and when I look'd again, 
 Fire, sword, and famine their fell work had done. 
 
 The city lay in ruin on the plain : 
 
 Her shrines, her palaces, her monarch's throne, 
 One mingled mass of crumbling earth and stone. 
 
 Time digg'd thy grave, and heap'd the dust on thee ; 
 Soon died the echo of thy dying groan ; 
 
 And travellers, who came thy wreck to see, 
 Ask'd, and received no answer — Where is Nineveh ? 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 ... It is the evening of the world. The sun 
 Casts level shadows o'er its restless tide ; 
 And though dense clouds, before his race be run, 
 Betoken coming tempest, in their pride 
 The nations still all signs of night deride, 
 And to and fro are hurrying through the earth 
 
 By ancient tracks or pathways yet untried 
 To satisfy their souls' insatiate dearth 
 With riches or with fame, or pleasure's idiot-mirth. 
 
110 NINEVEH. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Men throng all paths of knowledge, urging still 
 Into the vast unknown their perilous way ; 
 
 Wielding all powers of nature to their will, 
 To-day they spurn the speed of yesterday, 
 And travel with the storms, nor brook delay. 
 
 And swifter than the eagle's swiftest wing 
 
 They bind their words upon the lightning's ray, 
 
 And from the elements new virtues wring, 
 To sound the lowest depths of truth's exhaustless spring. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Men throng all paths of knowledge. Science dives 
 Below the ocean's bed, the mountain's base, 
 
 And from the bowels of creation rives 
 
 Those monumental stones which dimly trace 
 Earth's primal story : then she soars apace 
 
 Above our little orb, and speeds afar 
 
 'Mid distant planets her unwearied chase, 
 
 Skirting their track as in a seraph's car 
 From luminous world to world, from gorgeous star to star. 
 
NINEVEH. Ill 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Men throng all paths of knowledge. It might seem 
 Earth was now launch'd upon the early source 
 
 Of time's inimitably -flowing stream ; 
 
 But trace the windings of her backward course, 
 Her centuries of crime and dark remorse, 
 
 And learn these struggles ne'er can be renew'd ; — 
 The feverish efforts of exhausted force, — 
 
 The latest ebb of strength almost subdued, — 
 The sure and fearful signs of near decrepitude. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 See how upon those ancient haunts she dwells, 
 Where first her prowess and her power began ; 
 
 And lingers there instinctively, and tells 
 Her antique story like an aged man, 
 Telling what races in his youth he ran, 
 
 And all the trophies of his early prime ; 
 
 Too conscious that his brief remaining span 
 
 Waits only for the solemn passing chime, 
 To warn us he hath done with all the things of time. 
 
112 NINEVEH. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 She treads again the wastes of Babylon, 
 And roams amid Etrurian tombs once more, 
 
 And fondly lingers where the setting sun 
 Gilds ancient Carthage, or the fabled shore, 
 Where Greece and Troy were lock'd in fight of yore, 
 
 And listens to their story as the last 
 Faint halo of a day too quickly o'er ; 
 
 For soon her bright futurity shall cast 
 Into deep twilight shade the glory of the past. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And what although this latest age hath riven 
 The veil which hides thy shames, O Nineveh, 
 
 From all the taunts of earth and frowns of heaven ; 
 Though distant nations crave admiringly 
 Some relic or some monument of thee ; 
 
 Though from far lands the lonely traveller 
 Wanders thy ruin and thy wreck to see ; — 
 
 Who shall recall to life the things that were? 
 Or wake the spectral forms of thy vast sepulchre ? 
 
NINEVEH. 113 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 No, while the ages of this shatter'd world 
 Roll slowly to the final term of time, 
 
 There shalt thou lie in desolation, hurl'd 
 By vengeance from that pinnacle sublime 
 Whereon thou satest in thy glory's prime — •- 
 
 By travellers of every nation trod, 
 Jehovah's warning unto every clime, 
 
 Scathed with His anger, smitten with His rod, 
 And witnessing to man the eternal truth of God. 
 
 Banningham, 1851. 
 
EZEKIEL. 
 
 A SEATONIAN PRIZE POEM. 
 
 "0 navis, referent in mare te novi 
 Fluctus ? quid agis ? fortiter occupa 
 Portum." 
 
 A day of many clouds, and sudden showers, 
 And breaks of golden sunshine ! — calmly now 
 On yonder cottage of the valley, lying 
 Embosom'd in the guardian hills and woods, 
 Rests, like a father's smile, the parting flush 
 Of evening : and of all the frequent storms 
 But few have broken on the peasant's roof 
 In that sequester'd glen ; and, having shed 
 Their quick tears almost ere they woke alarm, 
 Pass'd as a dream in lucid light away. 
 But he whose watch is builded on the ridge 
 Of the snow-crested Apennines, awe-struck 
 Has mark'd the rising storm-clouds one by one, 
 
EZEKIEL. 115 
 
 The which have cast their shadow on his soul, 
 Though most have parted to the right or left, 
 And fall'n on other lands. Such was thy life, 
 Ezekiel, prophet of the Lord of Hosts, 
 And sentinel of Israel's destinies. 
 Let others nestling in secluded homes, 
 The narrow circle of themselves and theirs, 
 Ask of the present hour its joy or grief: — 
 Thy eagle soul was nursed and nerved to climb 
 Through winds and tempests sun-ward, or to stand 
 Alone upon the everlasting hills, 
 And with a patriot's and a prophet's eye 
 Read the vex'd future, and the calm beyond. 
 
 Dark are the landscapes of a fallen world, 
 And dark must be the thunder-clouds that roll 
 Above them ; aid no eye but His who dwells 
 Pavilion'd in eternity, and sees 
 The everlasting Sabbath imaged there, 
 Might dare to scan in comprehensive view 
 The desolations of six thousand years. 1 
 
 1 "No eye but His might ever bear 
 
 To gaze all down that drear abyss, 
 Because none ever saw so clear 
 
 The shore bevond of endless bliss." — The Christian Year. 
 
116 EZEKIEL. 
 
 His hand was on thee, holy seer : * His voice 
 
 Commission'd thee as His ambassador 
 
 To Israel and the nations : but or ever 
 
 He bared the secrets of futurity, 
 
 In mystic vision He unveil'd Himself, 
 
 The brightness of His glory, the express 
 
 Image of His eternal Godhead. 2 Else, 
 
 Ezekiel, had thy soul unequal proved 
 
 To grasp the awful counsels of His will, 
 
 Or haply had been lifted up, like his 
 
 Who, first and noblest of created beings, 
 
 Son of the morning, peerless Lucifer, 
 
 Fell ruinous from heaven, and with him dragg'd 
 
 Bright myriads into outer darkness down. 
 
 But never minstrel uninspired may catch 
 
 The stern unearthly music of thy harp 
 
 Prophetic, nor with imitative notes 
 
 Tell what thou saw'st, where Chebar's crystal waves 
 
 Refresh'd thy solitary exile : when 
 
 There came dense cloud and whirlwind from the north, 
 
 And fiery wreaths of flame, fold within fold, 
 
 1 Ezek. i. 3. 2 Heb. i. 3. 
 
EZEKIEL. 117 
 
 And brightness as of glowing amber, round 
 
 Those living creatures inexpressible. 1 
 
 Of human likeness seem'd they, clad with wings 
 
 Of Cherubim, like burning coals of fire 
 
 Or lamps that flash'd as lightnings to and fro ; 
 
 Straight moving, where the Spirit will'd. Beneath 
 
 Wheels rush'd, set with innumerable eyes, 
 
 Wheel within Wheel of beryl, and instinct 
 
 With one pervading Spirit : over-head 
 
 The firmament of crystal, terrible 
 
 In its transparent brightness stretch'd. They rose, 
 
 And lo, the rushing of their wings appear'd 
 
 The roll of mighty waters, or the shout 
 
 Of countless multitudes : until, the voice 
 
 Of God above them sounding eminent, 
 
 Straightway they stood and droop'd their awful wings. 
 
 And far above the firmament behold 
 
 The likeness of a sapphire throne : and there, 
 
 Mysterious presage of the Incarnate, shone 
 
 The likeness of a man ; human He was 
 
 In every lineament, yet likest God, 
 
 Clad with the glory of amber and of fire: 
 
 * See Ezek. i. and x- 
 
118 EZEKIEL. 
 
 Pure light amid the impenetrable dark, 
 Insufferably radiant, till it wrote 
 The arch of mercy on the clouds of wrath, 
 And with its zone of soften'd rainbow hues, 
 Gold, emerald, 1 and vermilion, spann'd the throne. 
 
 His hand was on thee, prophet, in that hour : 
 Prostrate in adoration at His feet 
 His voice revived thee, or thy soul had sunk 
 Unstrengthen'd to endure such massive weight 
 Of glory. But enough — thine eyes have seen 
 The King, the Lord of Hosts, Emmanuel ; 
 And henceforth in the panoply of God 
 Arm'd, thou canst front the lowering looks of man, 
 The powers of hell discomfit, and athwart 
 The troublous ocean-floods of time look forth 
 Firm as the rooted rocks. Such hidden springs 
 Of strength the vision of the Almighty gives. 
 So he who bow'd before the burning bush 
 Quail'd not in Pharaoh's presence. He who led 
 The hosts of Israel forth victoriously, 
 First stood before their Captain and his own 
 
 1 "In sight like unto an emerald." — Rev iv. 3. 
 
EZEKIEL. 119 
 
 And worshipp'd. 1 But the time would fail to tell 
 
 Of Mamre's plain, and Peniel's midnight hour, 
 
 Of warriors, and the goodly fellowship 
 
 Of prophets, and apostles, who beheld 
 
 In vision or in blest society 
 
 Jehovah's glory, ere they turn'd to flight 
 
 The armies of the aliens, or proclaim'd 
 
 His adv£nt, or in faith impregnable 
 
 Storm'd the proud ramparts of a rebel world, 
 
 And on the crumbling citadel of Rome 
 
 Raised gloriously the standard of the Cross. 
 
 Nor needless was the strength of heaven : for bleak 
 
 And bitter were the wintry storms that swept 
 
 Thy destined path, Ezekiel : unto grief 
 
 No stranger thou. Softly thy childhood smiled 
 
 Around thee in thy far-off fatherland : 
 
 A mother's tears of joy upon thy cheeks 
 
 Had fallen, brief as dewdrops, which the Spring 
 
 Sips from the waking flowers ; and through thy soul 
 
 A father's benediction had diffused 
 
 Its life-long balm : and soon the priesthood claim'd 
 
 1 " As Captain of the host of the Lord am I now come." — Josh. v. 14. 
 
120 EZEKIEL. 
 
 In Salem's courts thy white-robed ministries. 
 
 How dear the memories of that holy shrine 
 
 Amid unrest and exile ! Israel's sins 
 
 Had drain'd the last of heaven's long suffering, 
 
 And vengeance might not slumber more. The storm, 
 
 Whose skirts enfolded Palestina, fell 
 
 Upon thy guilty walls, Jerusalem, 
 
 With fiercest bolts of ruin and of wreck. 1 
 
 Before its path the land of Eden bloom'd, 
 
 Behind there lay one desolate wilderness. 
 
 Nor now avails it from a thousand homes 
 
 Blacken'd with blood and flames, to single thine : 
 
 One of the darkest pictures which the Past 
 
 Hides trembling. Fatherless and motherless, 
 
 Reft of thy brethren, home, and native land, 
 
 Torn from the bleeding altars of thy God, 
 
 They spared thee to adorn the purple pride 
 
 Of Asshur's triumph, and then cast thee forth 
 
 To hang thy exiled harp by Chebar's streams. 
 
 Little they dream'd in their delirious mirth 
 
 The might that slumber'd in those shatter'd chords. 
 
 1 Ezekiel apparently began his prophecy about five years after the 
 second captivity. 
 
EZEKIEL. 121 
 
 Thy spirit was bruised, not broken : time has lost 
 
 Its spell — eternity has fill'd thy heart : 
 
 Thy early home is drench'd with tears and blood, 
 
 And, lo, before thee rises dimly grand 
 
 Thy mansion in the heavens. What if the dews 
 
 And summer rivulets of life, its fresh 
 
 And first affections, have been wither'd up 
 
 Untimely, in thy spirit's inmost depths 
 
 Unseen the springs of heavenly love gush forth, 
 
 And make low music in the ear of God. 
 
 His hand was on thee, and His Spirit breathed 
 In thy stern oracles, what time alone 
 Thou wentest forth in bitterness of soul, 
 Unbending, unattracted, undismay'd, 
 With adamantine forehead to confront 
 Faces of adamant and hearts of stone : 1 
 Seven days a voiceless witness, communing 
 With God in silence. But the Sabbath came, 2 
 
 1 Ezek. iii. 8, 9. 
 
 2 "I . . . remained there astonished seven days . . . and it came to 
 pass at the end of seven days that the word of the Lord came to me." — 
 Ch. iii. 15, 16. This has been thought to allude to the Sabbath. 
 
 6 
 
122 EZEKIEL. 
 
 And with it all its holy memories, 
 
 And thoughts of Zion and Jerusalem ; 
 
 And, breeze-like from the hills of heaven, again 
 
 The echo of angelic harmonies, 
 
 And rushing of the wings of cherubim 
 
 Swept o'er thy spirit. Then thy tongue was loosed ; 
 
 Nor longer mute, the harp of prophecy 
 
 Woke to thy raptured touch its strains of fire. 
 
 " "Woe to the wicked ! he shall surely die ; 
 
 Woe to the iron heart, and right hand clench'd 
 
 Against the widow and the fatherless ! 
 
 Woe to the murderer, the rebellious son, 
 
 The daughter revelling in harlotry, 
 
 The faithless wife, the dark adulterer, 
 
 The sin-polluted homes of Israel ! 
 
 Woe unto him who leaves the living God, 
 
 Insensate, to adore upon the hills 
 
 His idol deities of lust and blood ! " 
 
 Woe to the land that hath abandon'd God; 
 
 God hath abandon'd her : His glittering sword 
 
 Is whetted, and His winged arrow lies 
 
 Upon the string. The sentence is gone forth. 
 
EZEK1EL. 123 
 
 The messengers of death are on their way, 
 The sword of noon, the pestilence that walks 
 In darkness, and the ravening beasts of prey. 
 Behold the fury of Omnipotence, 
 The wrath of the Eternal ! who shall stand 
 His vengeance ? for the roll of fate is fill'd 
 With mourning and lament and wrath and woe. 
 
 It ceased awhile, that wail of prophecy ; 
 
 But fraught with darker mysteries ere long 
 
 Swell'd, like the moanings of the wintry wind 
 
 Again and yet again around the stones 
 
 Of crumbling sepulchres. Thine eyes have seen, 
 
 O Lord, the chambers of dark imagery, 
 
 The women weeping at the idol shrine 
 
 Of Tammuz, and those worshippers who kneel 
 
 In vile prostration to the rising sun. 1 
 
 Woe for the bloody city ! seeing not 
 
 Those awful watchers standing at her gates 
 
 White-robed, and girt with weapons keen as death : 2 
 
 Nor hearing in her giddy mirth the words 
 
 That fell, Ezekiel, on thy anguish'd soul — 
 
 i Ezek. viii. 5-18. 2 Ezek. ix. 1-7. 
 
124 EZEKIEL. 
 
 " Go through the gates, go through the streets, and 
 
 slay — 
 Slay old and young, virgin and suckling child, 
 Spare not, but slay ye every thing that breathes ; 
 Save those few sealed ones who sigh and cry 
 In secret bitterly before their God." 
 
 Woe for apostate Salem ! she forsakes 
 
 Her glory, and the glory of the Lord 
 
 Forsakes His temple. Lingering and slow * 
 
 As loath to leave His chosen heritage, 
 
 From court to court the cloud of brightness swept, 
 
 And on the threshold brooded, awfully 
 
 Reluctant; but anon the cherubim 
 
 And wheels, and sapphire throne, and firmament 
 
 Of crystal, moving silently, forsook 
 
 Thy gates, O Zion : and a little space 
 
 Resting upon the brow of Olivet, 
 
 When the last sands of mercy had run out, 
 
 Rose like a golden sunset-cloud, impress'd 
 
 With living light, and as it vanish'd left 
 
 A track of glory in the desolate heaven. 
 
 i SeeEzek. x. 18; xi. 22, 23. 
 
EZEKIEL. 125 
 
 Joy once for beautiful Jerusalem ! 
 
 Hers was the time of love, 1 when cast abroad 
 
 A helpless infant in her blood, she wept 
 
 And soon had wept her last : but lo ! the Lord 
 
 Passed by, and o'er her His wide mantle threw, 
 
 And chose her, and embraced her with the arms 
 
 Of mercy. And she grew in loveliness 
 
 And love : her breasts like sculptured ivory 
 
 Or roes that feed among the lilies : 2 grace 
 
 Flow'd in her movements ; and her golden hair 
 
 About her like a veil transparent waved. 
 
 Her raiment was of broider'd needlework, 
 
 And silks of richest dyes ; and Ophir hung 
 
 Her hands with bracelets, and her neck with chains; 
 
 And jewels, sparkling as the dew-drops, lit 
 
 Her coronet of gold. But none may tell 
 
 Her trancing and unearthly comeliness, 
 
 For Heaven apparell'd her in robes divine, 3 
 
 Hers was the perfect beauty of her God. 
 
 1 Ezek. xvi. 1-14. 
 
 2 Song iv. 5. 
 
 8 " It was perfect through My comeliness which I had put upon thee." 
 Ezek. xvi. 14. 
 
126 EZEKIEL. 
 
 Ah, woe for faithless Salem ! where is now 
 
 The love of her espousals ? guilt and grief 
 
 Have written on her brow their frequent tale. 
 
 It was a picture too unstain'd for earth, 
 
 And sin has marr'd a second Paradise, 
 
 When she the loveliest, most beloved of brides, 
 
 Sank harlot-like in base adulterous arms. 
 
 The curse has fallen on thee : bitter tears 
 
 Of blood and anguish have been wept : thy bloom 
 
 Is trampled in the dust, thy charms exposed 
 
 To every gazer's ridicule ; and none 
 
 But God could pardon thee. But hark ! He speaks 1 
 
 Of pardon, and of early covenants 
 
 Of free forgiveness, and a happier home 
 
 Of silent love and humble trustfulness. 
 
 But Israel was not lonely in her guilt, 
 
 Nor lonely was her chastisement. Beside 
 
 The flowing waves of Chebar rose the strains 
 
 Of prophecy which after years have sung 
 
 As dirges of the fall of many lands. 
 
 Proud Moab sunk before those prescient words, 
 
 More terrible than thunder, or the shout 
 
 i Ezek. xvi. 60-63. 
 
EZEKIEL. 127 
 
 Of conquering foes : and scoffing Idumaea 
 Grew pale : and haughty Philistina fell, 
 And Egypt with her hoary honors sank 
 Debased. 1 But chiefly she, who on the rocks 
 Sate moated by the ocean waves, and seem'd 
 A God unto the nations, peerless Tyre, 
 Wither'd beneath the unsuspected notes, 
 Lone prophet, of thy awful harp. Long years 
 In beauty had she walk'd the waters : pride 
 Had deck'd her prow, and perfected her shape. 
 Her masts were cedars hewn on Lebanon, 
 Her oars were oaks of Bashan, and her boards 
 Of pine : her sails were of Egyptian woof, 
 Twined blue and purple, and her mariners 
 From Zidon, Tyrian pilots at the helm. 
 Her merchants were the nations of the earth, 
 Tarshish and Tubal and the tents of Cush, 
 Damascus, Sheba, Araby the blest, 
 Asshur, and Dan, and Javan. And her freights 
 Were treasures bought or won from every land : 
 Horses and mules, silver and gold, and brass, 
 Ebon and ivory and emeralds, 
 
 1 Ezek. xxv. ; xxix. 14. 
 
128 EZEKIEL. 
 
 Coral and agate, finest flour of wheat. 
 Honey and oil and balm, and luscious wines, 
 And spices, cassia, nard, and frankincense, 
 And lambs and snowy fleeces, and the rams 
 Of Kedar, and embroider'd robes of blue, 
 And every rich, and every gorgeous thing. 
 Who might compare with thee, unrivall'd Queen ? 
 Alas, alas ! thy rowers in their pride 
 Have brought thee into perilous waters — vain 
 Their skill and numbers — for the Eastern blast 
 Through rent sails and through riven bulwarks sweeps 
 And thy rich merchandise, the gather 'd wealth 
 Of ages, cast into the boiling surge 
 Perfumes the storm with spices, robes the waves 
 With purple and with scarlet, and with pearls 
 And gold enriches the insatiate deep. 
 Nothing can save thee now. A bitter cry 
 Of lamentation from thy sinking crew, 
 Echo'd by wailing ships and weeping shores, 
 Rises to heaven ; and on the billows float 
 Huge fragments scatter'd by the winds adrift, 
 Or cast by after tempests on the rocks, 
 Thy former throne, and now thy sepulchre. 1 
 1 See Ezek. xxvi.-xxviii. 
 
EZEKIEL. 129 
 
 And shall the wrathful lightnings that have scathed 
 
 All nations, and the chosen land of heaven 
 
 Leave thee unhumbled, Asshur ? Thou hast grown 
 
 As grows the stately cedar fed with dews, 
 
 And nourish'd by the snows and rivulets, 
 
 Upon the peaks of Lebanon, until 
 
 It rises terribly pre-eminent, 
 
 And o'er the forest casts its haughty shade. 
 
 But soon the storm fell on thee. Vainly now 
 
 Thy iron roots are wrapt about the rocks, 
 
 For thou art scorch'd and blasted by the bolts 
 
 Of heaven, and hewn by many a ruthless arm 
 
 Of those who underneath thy branches slept 
 
 Ungrateful : now the lair of prowling beasts, 
 
 Or resting-place of cruel birds of prey. 1 
 
 Cease thy dark harpings, prophet of the Lord, 
 Cease, for thy voice and stormy visions cast 
 Their desolations on the soul of him 
 AVI 10 hears entranced, yet cannot choose the while 
 But listen. Hark ! the prophet lays his hand 
 Once more upon the trembling chords, and lo, 
 
 1 See Ezek. xxxi. 
 6* 
 
130 EZEKIEL. 
 
 A valley, 1 desolate as Tophet, fill'd 
 
 With bones innumerable, sere and bleach'd, 
 
 As though the sudden pestilence of God 
 
 Had fallen on some mighty host, and men 
 
 Had left them in the sun and winds to rot. 
 
 Death brooded o'er them. But a voice from heaven 
 
 Startles the awful silence : and behold 
 
 A shaking, and the bones, bone to his bone, 
 
 Together framed the perfect skeleton ; 
 
 And sinews cover'd them, and flesh and skin, 
 
 The very lineaments of life. Again 
 
 The prophet's voice falls on them : and the winds 
 
 Breathed like the quickening Spirit of the Lord 
 
 Above the lifeless slain : and lo, they rose 
 
 An army numberless, equipp'd for fight. 
 
 Hope rises from despair, and life from death. 
 
 Ha ! the dense clouds are breaking : mighty winds 
 
 Have rent a pathway through their gloom, and far 
 
 Across the everlasting mountains gleam 
 
 The faint streaks of the morning. What if soon 
 
 One. more prophetic vision scatters woe 
 
 1 Ezek. xxxvii. 1-14. 
 
EZEKIEL. 131 
 
 On Meshech and the prince of Tubal's host, 1 
 The last stupendous sacrifice of war 
 Reeking to heaven from Armageddon's vale : — 
 It passes like a haggard dream away, 
 And in the far horizon (joy for thee, 
 Ezekiel, lonely watchman of the night) 
 Grow clearer and more clear the roseate hues 
 Of morning-land : and here and there peep forth 
 The stars in dewy paleness, soon to fade 
 Before the glory of the rising Sun, 
 Eising with healing in Hifl wings. He comes, 
 And in the mellow light which ushers in 
 His advent, to thy searching ken, O seer, 
 Stand forth the turrets of His temple, 2 built 
 Of goodlier stones, and bright with fairer light 
 Than Solomon in all his glory saw : 
 With holy courts, and incense clouds of praise, 
 And deep memorial rites. He comes, He comes, 
 With rushing wings, and calm crystalline throne : 
 The same who came to thee by Chebar's banks 
 And lighten'd thy lone exile : now the earth 
 Shines with the beauty of His countenance, 
 
 1 Ezek. xxxviii. xxxix. 2 Ezek. xl. 
 
132 EZEKIEL. 
 
 And heaven rings forth its welcome jubilee. 
 The hills have caught the tidings from the sky, 
 Which o'er them bends in brightness ; and the glens 
 Repeat the promise to re-echoing glens ; 
 The ocean with its music, myriad-voiced, 
 Bears on its heaving breast the rapturous sound 
 Of Hallelujah, and the morning stars 
 Sing welcome, and the sons of God again 
 Shout in their everlasting homes for joy. 
 
 Enough for thee, Ezekiel, to have caught 
 The echo of that music : when the harp 
 Of all creation, jarr'd too long by sin 
 And grating discords manifold, at last 
 Eetuned and temper'd by the hand of God, 
 Shall yield to every breath of heaven, that sweeps 
 Across its countless and melodious strings, 
 Eternal songs of gratitude and love. 
 
 Hinton Martell, 1854. 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 aoTrjp izpiv fiev Zlafineg hi ^doLaiv kCxx, 
 
 vvv 6e Oavdv Xduneig ionepoc tv ^dLfdvovg. 
 
 Soft the summer sun is sinking through the saffron sky to 
 
 9 
 
 rest : 
 Soft the veil of sultry vapor trembles on the desert's 
 
 breast ; 
 Golden, crimson, purple, opal lights and shadows, warp and 
 
 woof, 
 Wrap the sands in change, and flush Machaerus' battle- 
 
 mented roof. 
 Saying, " 'Tis my last," a captive rose from the cold dun- 
 geon floor, 
 Clank'd the fetters with his rising, lean'd the grated lattice 
 
 o'er, — 
 Gaunt albeit in manhood's prime, as he through bitter toils 
 
 had pass'd, 
 
134 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 " One look more on earthly sunsets ; my heart tells me, 
 'tis the last/' 
 
 In his eye the fading sunlight linger'd on as loath to go, 
 Light to light akin and kindling, brother-like ; and to and 
 
 fro, 
 As the winds crept o'er the desert from the hills of Abarim, 
 From his brow his unshorn tresses flutter'd in the twilight 
 
 dim. 
 Now and then a passing glory from the castle's banquet 
 
 hall, 
 Where a thousand lamps bade thousand guests to royal 
 
 festival, 
 Smote the topmost turret's ridges with a gleam of fitful 
 
 light, 
 As the woven purple hangings, sail-like, caught the gales 
 
 of night: 
 Now and then a gush of laughter ; now and then a snatch 
 
 of song, 
 Seem'd to mock the prisoner's vigil, and to do his silence 
 
 wrong. 
 Never a word spake he ; but, gazing on the hills and skies 
 
 and stars, 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 135 
 
 Free in thought, as Arab ranger, maugre manacles and 
 bars, 
 
 Lived again his life, its daybreak with no childish pastimes 
 boon, 
 
 Morning, mid-day, and now evening, ere it well was after- 
 noon. 
 
 Meet his early homestead : westward of that sea where 
 
 plies no skiff, 
 On the bare bleak upland, nestling only to the rugged cliff, 
 Far from all the noise of cities, far from all their idle mirth, 
 Where God's voice was heard in whispers, and the heavens 
 
 were near to earth, 
 There he grew, as grows the lonely pine upon the fore- 
 land's crest, 
 Fronting tempests, northward, southward, sweep they east 
 
 or sweep they west, 
 Wrapping round the rocks her roots like iron bands in 
 
 breadth and length, 
 Here and there a moss or lichen shedding tenderness on 
 
 strength. 
 Thus he grew : the child of age, no brother clasp'd in 
 
 equal arms, 
 
136 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 No sweet sister throwing o'er him the pure magic of her 
 
 charms'; 
 Heir of all his father's ripe experience both of things and 
 
 men, 
 Ripen'd by the mellow suns that shine on threescore years 
 
 and ten ; 
 Heir of all his saintly mother's burning concentrated love, 
 Pent for decades and now loosen'd by a mandate from 
 
 above. 
 For the rest, no human friendship shared his fellowship 
 
 with God, 
 Lonely like the lonely Enoch was the path his spirit trod : 
 Meet for him whose fearless banner was ere-long aloft 
 
 unfurl'd, 
 God's ambassador, Christ's herald, in a lapsed and guilty 
 
 world. 
 
 Gliding years pass'd on ; and childhood grew to youth, and 
 
 youth to prime : 
 Bodings fill'd the land, and rulers call'd the age a troublous 
 
 time. 
 Let it be — all time is troublous ; and there is no crystal 
 
 sea 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 137 
 
 Betwixt EdeD and the trumpet ushering in the great To 
 be. 
 
 Nathless storms were rife, and rumors each the other 
 chased from Rome, 
 
 Though their echo knock'd but feebly at the porch of that 
 far home ; 
 
 And they scarcely stirr'd the pulses in the old man's lan- 
 guid heart, 
 
 As he pled the prayer of Simeon, " Let me now in peace 
 depart ; " 
 
 Scarcely jarr'd the heavenly foretastes of the rapt Eliza- 
 beth, 
 
 Oft as was her wont repeating, "Welcome life, thrice 
 welcome death." 
 
 Droop'd they both with drooping autumn, with the dying 
 year they died, 
 
 And in one deep stony chamber slumber sweetly side by 
 side ; 
 
 But before they slept confided to the Baptist's ear a story, 
 
 Richer heirloom, loftier honor than the wide world's 
 wealth and glory : — 
 
 From his sire he heard the marvel of his own predestined 
 birth, 
 
138 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 From his mother's lips a mystery which transcends all 
 things of earth. 
 
 Now the lonely home was lonelier, now the silence more 
 
 unmarr'd, 
 Now his rough-spun dress was rougher, and his hardy fare 
 
 more hard. 
 Yet he moved not. God who guided Israel o'er the track- 
 less waste, 
 When his hour was come, would call him ; and with God 
 
 there is no haste. 
 Meanwhile of all sacred stories, which his bosom fired and 
 
 fill'd, 
 One, the Tishbite, more intensely through and through his 
 
 bosom thriird. 
 O that sacrifice on Carmel ; — O that fire that fell from 
 
 heaven ; — 
 O that nation's shout " Jehovah ; " — O that bloody stormy 
 
 even ; — 
 O that solitary cavern ; — that strong and dreadful wind ; 
 Rocking earthquake, flames of vengeance; O that still 
 
 small Voice behind: 
 Those long years of patient witness, crown'd by victory at 
 
 last : 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 139 
 
 Israel's chariot, Israel's horsemen ! like a dream the vision 
 
 pass'd. 
 " Would to God the prophet's mantle might but fall upon 
 
 my soul ! 
 Would to God a seraph touch me with Esaias' living coal ! " 
 
 As he pray'd, his soul was troubled with a sudden storm of 
 
 thought, 
 And again was hush'd in silence with profounder feeling 
 
 fraught : 
 And the Spirit's accents, — whether on his mortal ear they 
 
 fell, 
 Or without such audience trembled on his spirit, none 
 
 might tell, 
 But they came to him. The altar had been built and piled 
 
 and laid : 
 God himself alone must kindle that which He alone had 
 
 made. 
 Through the crowded streets of Salem, see, they whisper 
 
 man to man, 
 Like a flash of summer lightning through the heavens, 
 
 the tidings ran : 
 " In the wilderness by Jordan unto us a Voice is sent, 
 
140 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 God is on His way. His herald cries before He comes, 
 Repent." 
 
 On the mart of busy traffic, on the merchant's growing 
 
 hoard, 
 On the bridegroom's perfumed chamber, on the banquet's 
 
 festive board, 
 On the halls where pleasure squander'd all the heaps of 
 
 avarice, 
 On the dreams of blind devotion, on the loathsome haunts 
 
 of vice, 
 Like a thunder-roll the tidings fell, and lo ! the sudden 
 
 gloom 
 Then and there gave fearful presage of the coming day of 
 
 doom. 
 But the workman left his workshop, and the merchant left 
 
 his wares, 
 And the miser left his coffers, and the Pharisee his prayers : 
 From Jerusalem to Jordan, see they pour a motley group, 
 Young men, maidens, old men, children, priests and people, 
 
 troop on troop : 
 Neighbor thought not now of neighbor, parent scarcely 
 
 thought of child : 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 141 
 
 There were few who spoke or answer'd, there were none 
 
 who jeer'd or smiled : 
 No one wept : tyrannic conscience seal'd their eyes and ears 
 
 and lips, 
 And Eternity was shadowing Time with terrible eclipse. 
 
 There it wound that ancient river: there he stood, that 
 lonely man. 
 
 Is it yet too late ? to rearmost some shrank back, some for- 
 ward ran : 
 
 Brave men quaiTd, and timid women bolder seem'd beneath 
 his eye: 
 
 Age grew flush'd, and youth grew paler, and the voice was 
 heard to cry, 
 
 " God is on His way. The Judge already stands before 
 the gate. 
 
 Make the lofty low before Him, rugged smooth, and crooked 
 straight." 
 
 As the multitudes in thousands round him throng'd, a 
 timorous flock, 
 
 Fell his words like hail in harvest, like the hammer on the 
 rock, 
 
 Breaking stony hearts to shivers, cloaking, sparing, soften- 
 ing nought, 
 
142 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 But with lightning flash revealing midnight mysteries of 
 
 thought. 
 God was Master, man was servant ; right was right, and 
 
 wrong was wrong : 
 Sinners might dream on a little, but the respite was not 
 
 long. 
 Good or evil fruit-trees — whether of the twain? no test 
 
 but fruit : 
 Cut it down ; the fire is kindled, and the axe lies at the 
 
 root. 
 Wherefore call themselves the children of the God-like 
 
 Abraham ? 
 Things that are alone are precious unto the supreme 
 
 I AM. 
 Generation bred of vipers, wherefore are they pale and 
 
 dumb? 
 Will they flee ? oh, who hath warn'd them of the dreadful 
 
 wrath to come ? 
 Are the dry bones stirring, breathing? God can raise up 
 
 men from stones. 
 See the Lamb, the dying Victim ! only life for life atones : 
 And the deep red current, flowing from the firstlings Abel 
 
 vow'd, 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 143 
 
 Cries from age to age for mercy, louder yet, and yet more 
 
 loud, 
 Till the sacrifice be offer'd for the world's stupendous guilt, 
 And the Lamb of God is smitten on the altar God has 
 
 built. 
 Is the hard heart bruised and contrite ? Do they weep and 
 
 vow and pray ? 
 It is well ; let Jordan's waters wash their loathed stains 
 
 away. 
 But the coming One, whose coming now was every mo- 
 ment nigher, 
 He, the Son of God, baptizes with the Holy Ghost and 
 
 fire: 
 In His hand the fan that winnows ; at His feet the harvest 
 
 floor; 
 Chaff the food for quenchless burnings ; garner'd wheat for 
 
 evermore. 
 
 So it was from dawn to sunset, so it was from day to day, 
 Thousands coming, thousands going, till the summer wore 
 
 away : 
 Ever seem'd the voice more solemn, and the message more 
 
 sublime : 
 
14.4 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 Jordan's lonesome fords were crowded like God's hill at 
 
 Paschal time. 
 When one eve, — the roseate West was watching for the 
 
 tardy sun, — 
 Mingling with that throng of sinners came the Only Sinless 
 
 One; 
 And the Master knelt a suppliant, and abash'd the servant 
 
 stood, 
 While the holy Christ demanded baptism in that cleansing 
 
 flood. 
 It is done : Messiah rises from the parted waves ; and lo, 
 The blue heavens are rent asunder, and a Dove, more white 
 
 than snow, 
 From the gates of light descending like a crown of glory 
 
 glow'd, 
 Moving towards Him, hovering o'er Him, brooding on His 
 
 head, abode : 
 And a Voice more deep than thunder from the everlasting 
 
 Throne, 
 " Thou, my Son, my well Beloved, Thou art my delight 
 
 alone." 
 This the Baptist heard. And straightway Love Divine 
 
 his soul possess'd. 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 145 
 
 Henceforth all his yearning spirit found its centre, knew 
 
 its rest. 
 Solitudes no more were lonely, wildernesses were not wild : 
 He had seen the Word Incarnate, seen the Father's Holy 
 
 Child. 
 And the pure ideal imaged in his heart of hearts was such 
 That no earthly joys could dim it, and no human sorrows 
 
 touch. 
 Let the vex'd waves surge around him ! Welcome, weari- 
 ness and strife ! 
 Christ was now his peace, his passion — the one passion of 
 
 his life. 
 He must decrease, Christ must increase, and His kingdom 
 
 know no end. 
 He had heard the Bridegroom's accents, he was calTd the 
 
 Bridegroom's friend. 
 Be it that his days were number'd ; this was joy enough 
 
 for him ; 
 And his cup of life was mantling to the overflowing brim. 
 Let his lamp grow pale and paler ; only let the Sun be 
 
 bright, 
 And the day-star hide its radiance in that perfect Light of 
 
 Light. 
 
 7 
 
146 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 So his breast grew calm and calmer, less of self and selfish 
 
 leaven ; 
 So the fire burn'd pure and purer, less of earth and more 
 
 of heaven; 
 And a loftier hope sustain'd him, as his destined path he 
 
 trod, 
 Preaching a world-wide salvation, heralding the Lamb of 
 
 God! 
 And the voice rang in the palace, as in hovel and in tent, 
 " Lo the coming One is come : His kingdom is at hand : 
 
 repent." 
 
 Herod heard him, and Herodias, seated on their ivory 
 throne. 
 
 Something in them craved an audience, and he spake to 
 them alone ; 
 
 Spake of sin and death and judgment, things done wrong 
 and undone things. 
 
 What to him a royal sinner ? He had seen the King of 
 kings ! 
 
 Herod trembled : deeds of rapine cluster'd round his by- 
 gone path, 
 
 Spectres of departed passions, harbingers of coming wrath. 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 147 
 
 Bid them all avaunt for ever ! Blot them from his feverish 
 
 view! 
 Still forgotten crimes are rising, and his tortured soul 
 
 pursue. 
 He will doff his purple robes, in sackcloth and in ashes 
 
 He. 
 What is time ? A day dream. Oh, that burning word, 
 
 eternity ! 
 Not enough ? Why looks the Baptist with that fix'd and 
 
 solemn gaze ? 
 Gold and silver, pearls and rubies, on the temple gate shall 
 
 blaze. 
 Not enough ? Why looks the Baptist piercing through his 
 
 soul and life ? 
 Ha ! the queen, his royal consort ! nay, his brother Philip's 
 
 wife. 
 Herod shrank, but smiled Herodias, though the gathering 
 
 vengeance drain'd 
 Lip of blood, and cheek of blushes. Further answer she 
 
 disdain'd, 
 But arose, drew forth the monarch, said their royal tryst 
 
 was o'er ; 
 And that night in chains the Baptist press'd Machaerus' 
 
 dungeon floor. 
 
148 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 Thrice since then had Spring and Summer carpeted the 
 
 earth with flowers ; 
 But those dreary walls unchanging fenced his slow and 
 
 changeless hours, 
 Save there grew 'twixt blocks of granite from some chance- 
 sown seed a fern ; 
 And the captive watch'd it ever with the daylight's first 
 
 return, 
 Drinking in the earliest sunbeam, beaded with its dewy 
 
 tears, 
 All its tender leaflets laden and emboss'd for future years. 
 And it spake to him. It chanced there visited his lonely 
 
 cell, 
 Chuza, seneschal of Herod ; and a word of power that fell 
 From the Baptist's lips found lodgement in the deep repose 
 
 of thought 
 Hidden in a kindred nature, truthful, generous, nobly 
 
 wrought. 
 So it was, an unknown friendship unsuspected entrance 
 
 gains 
 For a love that loved their master better, dearer for his 
 
 chains ; 
 Whence he knew One name was wafted now on every 
 
 passing breath, 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 149 
 
 Filling Judea's hills and valleys with the fame of Naza- 
 reth. 
 
 Joy for thee ! no weak reed shaken by the fickle fitful 
 wind: 
 
 No soft courtier clothed in raiment woven in the looms of 
 Ind: 
 
 O true prophet, more than prophet ! voice of God ! Mes- 
 siah's friend ! 
 
 Burning, shining, let thy beacon blaze unwavering to the 
 end ! 
 
 Musing thus his past, the captive on his watch nor slept 
 
 nor stirr'd, 
 And the hours slid by unheeded, and the cock crew twice 
 
 unheard : 
 And the dewy stars more faintly glimmer'd in the doubtful 
 
 gloom, 
 And the bursts of mirth were fewer from the royal banquet 
 
 room. 
 Thither Galilee had summon'd all her loveliness and state, 
 And her loveliest there seem'd lovelier, and her greatness 
 
 there more great : 
 Flow'd the purple wine like water : Eden's perfumes 
 
 fill'd the hall; 
 
150 JOHN EAPTIST. 
 
 And the lamps through roseate colors shed a soften'd light 
 
 on all. 
 Mirth and Music hand in hand were floating through the 
 
 fairy scene ; 
 All were praising Herod's glory, all were lauding Herod's 
 
 queen ; 
 When at given sign was silence, and the guests reclined 
 
 around, 
 And a lonely harper, waking from the chords a dreamlike 
 
 sound, 
 Breathed delight and soft enchantment over ear and heart 
 
 and soul : 
 None could choose but list, and listening, none their ten- 
 
 derest thoughts control : 
 When the young, the fair Salome, from her chamber gently 
 
 slid, 
 Nor loose veil, nor golden tresses half her mantling blushes 
 
 hid: 
 Young Salome, sixteen summers scarcely on her bloom had 
 
 smiled ; 
 Art was none, but artless beauty ; Nature's simplest, fond- 
 est child. 
 At the banquet's edge she linger'd, to her mother's side 
 
 she press'd, 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 151 
 
 / 
 
 And assay'd to dance, and falter'd trembling ; but again 
 
 caress'd, 
 As those wild notes with a stronger witchery on her spirit 
 
 fell, 
 Stole into the midst, and startled, timid as a young gazelle, 
 Trod the air with printless footsteps, as the breezes tread 
 
 the sea, 
 Moved to every tone responsive, like embodied melody : 
 Till embolden'd, as she floated like a cloud of light along, 
 Mingled with melodious music gentler cadences of song, 
 And when every ear was ravish'd, every heart subdued 
 
 with love, 
 Dropp'd at length, as drops the skylark from its azure 
 
 home above, 
 Swiftly with an angel's swiftness, with a mortal's sweetness 
 
 sweet, 
 Glowing, trembling, trusting, loving — dropp'd at length at 
 
 Herod's feet 
 
 Heaven be witness, Herod grants her the petition she 
 
 prefers : 
 Half his kingdom were mean dowry for a loveliness like 
 
 hers. 
 
152 JOHN BAPTIST. 
 
 To Herodias young Salome fondly turns, with grateful 
 
 smiles : 
 Gold of Ophir, pearls of ocean, nard and spice of happier 
 
 isles, — 
 What of choice and costly treasures, choicest, costliest, 
 
 shall she claim? 
 Then a glare of fiendish triumph in that cruel cold eye 
 
 came ; 
 And the queen's heart heaved with vengeance; and she 
 
 gasp'd with quicken'd breath 
 Brief words of envenom'd malice, warrant of the prophet's 
 
 death. 
 Why that sudden ashy pallor ? why that passionate caress ? 
 Bends the sapling in the tempest: weakness yields to 
 
 wickedness. 
 
 Musing still his past, the captive on his watch nor slept nor 
 
 stirr'd, 
 And the dawn drew on unheeded, and the cock crew thrice 
 
 unheard. 
 Of the sentinels of morning, shining over Abarim, 
 Only one was left, the day-star ; and its lamp was growing 
 
 dim. 
 
JOHN BAPTIST. 153 
 
 Hark ! the bolt is drawn, how slowly : see ! the dungeon 
 door flung wide : 
 
 Weapons gleam along the passage : armed men are by his 
 side. 
 
 In their looks he read his sentence, and he knew his hour 
 was come, 
 
 And his proud neck meekly oflfer'd to the stroke of mar- 
 tyrdom : 
 
 And, as flash'd the headsman's broadsword, rose the sun on 
 Pisgah's height ; 
 
 And the morning star was hidden in the flood of golden 
 light. 
 
 186a 
 
 7* 
 
THE FAVORITISMS OF HEAVEN. 
 
 In the evening we can longest tarry by the twilight shore, 
 For at even dreams float on for ever and for evermore : 
 In the evening stars that glimmer one by one from out the 
 
 sky 
 Tell in tones that touch us nearly how in silence time fleets 
 
 by: 
 And a voice like none beside them have the winds of fall- 
 ing night, 
 Hurrying on our spirits with them up to Memory's cloudy 
 
 height. 
 In the evening, too, ariseth Hope with all her faery train, 
 Turning from the roseate Past to tell us such shall come 
 
 again. 
 And at chiming of the vespers, as it chanced, my thoughts 
 I cast, 
 
THE FAVORITISMS OF HEAVEN. 155 
 
 Half awake and half in dreamings, over my far-crowded 
 
 Past. 
 And is't mine then ? — Some one answers, " How or what 
 
 is it to thee ? 
 Nothing but a train of memories like a silver mist at sea : 
 Here and therje a glory scatter'd from the starlight or the 
 
 moon, 
 Rising like all things of time, — enthusiast! vanishing as 
 
 soon. 
 Thine the present is — go, grasp it ; thine the future may 
 
 be said ; 
 But the Past is nothing, nothing but the shadow of a 
 
 shade." 
 
 Ceased the voice, and much I wonder'd, but I scarcely 
 
 dared to doubt. 
 When another spirit answer'd from the silence speaking 
 
 out, — 
 " Brother, nay — the Past seems vanish'd save to Memory's 
 
 listless eye: 
 No — no — no — the Past is deathless and its record is on 
 
 high.- 
 
 List ! it rose a heaving landscape, scarce defined yet won- 
 drous strange, 
 
156 THE FAV0R1TISMS OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Gloom and glory like a moon-trance flitting o'er in cease- 
 less change. 
 There were springs of crystal rapture, rivulets of sorrow 
 
 too, 
 Passion with her storm-tost surges, Peace a lake of softest 
 
 blue. 
 Long my musings like a wanderer wandering o'er the 
 
 haunts of youth, 
 Slow retraced each by-gone feeling in their lucid depths of 
 
 truth, 
 Till upon love's fount they centred, purest of all waves that 
 
 flow, 
 Fed itself of heaven, yet feeding all the myriad flowers 
 
 below. 
 
 Lean thy heart on mine, beloved, — listen — I have heard 
 
 men say 
 That the fondnesses of earth will pass with earthly things 
 
 away; 
 All the silent eloquence of clasped hands and falling tears, 
 All the musical low whispers like the music of the spheres, 
 All the thrilling strange entrancement fluttering over cheek 
 
 and eye, 
 
THE FAVORITISMS OF HEAVEN. 157 
 
 Like the purple lightning playing with the stars in yon blue 
 
 sky; — 
 Things we love, because they tell us of the loving heart 
 
 within, 
 Feelings of the inmost fountain far beyond the touch of 
 
 sin ; — 
 These, they say, are human frailties, frailties born of sense 
 
 and time, 
 But will be no more remember'd when we reach our native 
 
 clime. 
 There, they say, we all are one, and none can love thee 
 
 least or best, 
 But as brethren all are equal through the myriads of the 
 
 blest. 
 
 It may be an idle question — be my wayward heart for- 
 given — 
 
 How earth's love shall wear the gorgeous bright apparelling 
 of heaven. 
 
 It may be we are too venturous, for the light is faint and 
 dim, 
 
 And but little knows the pilgrim of the life of seraphim. 
 
 Yet I love to think, mine own one, I shall love thee there 
 as here, 
 
158 THE FAVORITISM? OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Best of all created beings, best of all that angel sphere. 
 Read we not of earth the seed-time for the glorious world 
 
 to come ? 
 Faith receiving there her guerdon, sin her saddest dreariest 
 
 doom? 
 Have not all the things of lifetime issues infinite above ? 
 And shall love reap there no harvest of the scatter'd seeds 
 
 of love? 
 What if now we steep affection oft in weeping, oft in 
 
 sighs,— 
 They who sow in tears, beloved, reap the rapture of the 
 
 skies. 
 
 True that we can tell but little how the full flood-tide of 
 love 
 
 Swells from out a thousand rivulets in a thousand hearts 
 above ; 
 
 True we know not now the rapture, nor a thousandth thou- 
 sandth part, 
 
 Seeing Him we loved unseen, and face to face and heart to 
 heart, 
 
 Not a cloud to dim that sunshine, there no sorrow, no alarms, 
 
 But around thee and beneath thee spread the Everlasting 
 arms. 
 
THE FAVORITISMS OF HEAVEN. 159 
 
 There untravell'd worlds of beauty slow unfolding on our 
 
 sight, 
 Spann'd by heaven's eternal rainbow, interwoven love and 
 
 light. 
 But those glories none may utter : how should I then tell it 
 
 thee? 
 For how faint and far the glimmerings of the waves of 
 
 heaven's Light-sea ! 
 Yet, mine own one, tell me truly, think'st thou we shall love 
 
 the less ? 
 Will that ocean whelm the fountains of thine own true- 
 
 heartedness ? 
 Hark, thy beating heart makes answer in its old familiar 
 
 tone, 
 " All thine own on earth, beloved, and in glory all thine 
 
 own." 
 
 Watton, 1844. 
 
TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 Thou art leaving the home of thy childhood. 
 
 Sweet sister mine : 
 Is the song of the bird of the wild wood 
 
 Faint and far as thine ? 
 Listless stray thy fingers through the chords, 
 Thy voice falters in the old familiar words ; 
 What wilt thou for the young glad voices 
 Wherewith our earliest home rejoices ? 
 A father's smile benign, 
 A mother's love divine, 
 Sweet sister mine ? 
 
TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER MARRIAGE. 161 
 
 II. 
 
 Lay thy hand upon thy mouth, brother, 
 
 Lay thy hand upon thy mouth ; 
 One word thou hast spoken, — but another 
 
 Were perhaps too much for truth. 
 Home is left — oh ! yes, if leaving 
 
 Be when home is in our heart : 
 Grieving — yes, 'tis grief, if grieving 
 
 Be for those who cannot part 
 We are one, brother, we are one, — 
 Since first the golden cord was spun : 
 It may lengthen, but it cannot sever, 
 For, brother, it was twined — and twined for ever. 
 
 in. 
 Sister, touch again thy passionate lute — 
 
 Chide no more — chide no more : 
 Sooner far my voice were ever mute, 
 
 Than to whisper our fond love were o'er. 
 But I grieve for hours gone by, 
 Of heart to heart, and eye to eye ; 
 Oh, we cannot have the joy of meeting 
 Day by day thy sunny, smiling greeting ; 
 
162 TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 Nor canst thou a brother's fond caress, 
 Or a sister's searching tenderness ; 
 Grieve I too for summer flowers, 
 
 In calm weather 1 
 
 Cull'd together, 
 And the merriment of fireside hours. 
 Something whispers, though our heartstrings cannot sever, 
 These are gone, sister, — gone for ever. 
 And for these I must repine, — 
 
 Sweet sister mine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And my tears shall flow with thine, brother, 
 At the sound of those quick chimes ; 
 And the thought of home — my father and my mother — 
 Overfloods my heart at times ; 
 And my grief will have its way : 
 And though to-morrow 
 Joy chaseth sorrow, 
 Sorrow chaseth joy to-day. 
 Tell me, wherefore should I lull myself asleep ? 
 Let me weep, brother, — let me weep. 
 
 1 " In a season of calm weather." — Wordsworth. 
 
TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER MARRIAGE. 163 
 
 V. 
 
 Nay, I will not, cannot, sister, see them flow : 
 
 Weep no more, weep no more. 
 There is solace from the deepest of our woe, 
 
 That our partings will ere long be o'er. 
 We are one in joys undying, 
 In the family of Heaven, 
 And we mourn not, like the Pleiads ever sighing, 
 
 "We have lost our sister — we were seven." 
 Still, however wide our pilgrim footsteps roam, 
 Bright and glorious 
 Lie before us 
 Mansions in an everlasting home. 
 Trust me, sister ; wherefore dost thou weep so sore ? 
 Weep no more, sister, — weep no more. 
 For my spirit catches all the bloom of thine, 
 Nor can I in thy prime of bliss repine, 
 Sweet sister mine. 
 
DER AUSRUF. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM KORNER. 
 
 Horror-boding, wild and ruddy, 
 
 Looms the morning, strange as night, 
 And the sunbeams, cold and bloody, 
 Track our bloody path with light : 
 In the coming hour's bosom 
 
 Clasp'd the fates of nations lie, 
 And the lot already trembles, 
 And there falls the iron die ! 
 There's a claim on thee, brother, of holiest power, 
 And a pledge to redeem in this dawning hour ; 
 
 True in life, true in death, when life has pass'd by. 
 
DER AUSRUF. 165 
 
 II. 
 
 In the gloom of night behind us 
 
 Lie the haunts our foemen spoke, 
 And the wrecks that still remind us 
 
 Strangers cleft Germania's oak : 
 Spurn'd is the tongue we lisp'd in childhood, 
 
 Ruin'd lie our shrines and low, 
 But our faith is pledged, brethren, 
 Haste — redeem that pledge of woe. 
 There are flames in our laud, — up, brethren ! and slay, 
 That the vengeance of Heaven may turn away — 
 The Palladium lost redeem from the foe. 
 
 in. 
 
 Blissful visions lie before us, — 
 
 Lie the future's golden years, — 
 Stretch blue heavens their curtains o'er us, 
 
 Freedom smiles amid her tears ; 
 German art and German music, 
 
 Beauty, love's entrancing chain, — 
 All that's noble, all that's lovely, 
 
 Float in prospect back again. 
 
166 DER AUS11UF. 
 
 But a death-bearing venture is yet to be pass'd 
 On the chance must our life and our life-blood be cast, 
 And Joy only blooms o'er the victim slain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Death — now with our God we'll dare it, 
 
 Hand in hand our fate defy, 
 And our frail heart, sternly bear it 
 
 To the altar, there to die. 
 Fatherland ! at thy great bidding 
 Here we yield our life for thee, 
 That our loved ones may inherit 
 
 What our blood bequeaths them free. 
 May thy free oaks, my fatherland, proudly wave 
 O'er thy children's corse and their silent grave. 
 And hear thou the oath, and the covenant see. 
 
 Give ye yet one blessed token 
 
 Of a glance towards beauty's bowers, 
 
 Though the poisonous South hath broken 
 All the bliss of spring-tide flowers ; 
 
DER AUSRUF. 167 
 
 Let your eyes be dim with teardrops, 
 
 Teardrops cannot bring you shame ; 
 Throw ye one last kiss towards them, 
 Then to God breathe low their name. 
 The lips that pray for us at night and at morn, 
 The hearts that have loved us, the hearts we have torn, 
 For them, O our Father, Thy solace we claim. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On ! now to the battle gory ! 
 
 Eye and heart towards yonder light ! 
 Earth is done with, and heaven's glory 
 
 Rises dimly, grandly bright. 
 Cheer ye, German brethren ! cheer ye, — 
 
 Every nerve in conflict swell ; 
 True hearts shall be reunited, 
 Only for this world farewell. 
 Hark ! the thunders are rolling, the battle is warm, — 
 On, brethren, on to the lightning storm ! 
 Till we meet in a happier world, farewell. 
 
 Walton, 1845. 
 
WIEGENLIED. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM KORNER. 
 
 Oh, slumber softly — on thy mother sleeping 
 Thou feelest not life's anguish and unrest ; 
 
 Thy light dreams know not grief, and fear not weeping, 
 And thy whole world is now thy mother's breast 
 
 For, ah ! how sweetly in early hours one dreameth 
 When in a mother's love life's dews distil, 
 
 Though the dim memory unabiding seemeth 
 But a far hope that trembles through me still. 
 
 Thrice may this glow pass o'er us sweetly shining ; 
 
 Thrice to the happy spirit is it given, 
 Awhile in Love's celestial arms reclining, 
 
 On earth to picture life's ideal heaven. 
 
WIEGENLIKP. 169 
 
 For it is she who first the nurseling blesses, 
 When in bright joys he takes his infant part, 
 
 All to his young glance seem to shower caresses, 
 Love holds him to his mother's beating heart 
 
 And when the clear blue heavens are clouded over, 
 And now his pathway lies through strange alarms, 
 
 When first his soul is trembling as a lover, 
 A second time Love clasps him in her arms. 
 
 Ah, still in storms the floweret's stem is broken, 
 And breaks the fluttering heart by tempests riven ; 
 
 Then Love ariseth with her choicest token, * 
 
 And as Death's angel bears him home to heaven. 
 
 Watton, 1845. 
 
 1 1 / 
 
IN IMITATION OF KORNER'S 
 "DAS WARST DU." 
 
 For long o'er life's calm waves I wended, 
 
 Beloved, far from thee alone ; 
 
 And many stars my path attended, 
 
 And each their tale of music ended 
 
 With warblings of their own. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Strange were the dreams that round me floated, 
 
 And beautiful their various tone, 
 But like a child on each I doted, 
 To each my frail heart seem'd devoted, 
 
 For all were then mine own. 
 
IN IMITATION OF KORNER's " DAS WARST DU." 171 
 
 III. 
 
 And, like a young unpractised singer, 
 
 Who hath nor tears nor sorrow known, 
 Stray'd through the strings my heedless finger, 
 If only passing dreams would linger, 
 A moment for mine own. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then, as a nymph of fabling story, 
 
 Or spirit seen in dreams alone, 
 Thou passedst by me — a far glory, 
 Glancing through dim clouds transitory, 
 In beauty all thine own. 
 
 An hour, and all was still around me : 
 
 But, oh ! that vision's magic zone, 
 It left me not as erst it found me, 
 But like a strange wild witchery bound me, 
 A witchery of its own. 
 
172 IN IMITATION OF KORNER's " DAS WARST DU. M 
 
 VI. 
 
 At last I went, my sail unfurling, 
 
 On life's first billowy waves alone, 
 Light breezes were the waters curling, 
 And sunlight every drop empearling, 
 With radiance like its own. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh, still that form my spirit haunted, 
 
 Though its deep semblance scarce was known, 
 Thy steps were on the light clouds planted, 
 And what of sweetness music chanted 
 Seem'd borrow'd from thine own. 
 
 Vin. 
 
 Beloved, that was blest, but sadness 
 
 Broods alway o'er the heart's unknown : 
 Now dreams have pass'd, and springs of gladness, 
 But I may not tell — to tell were madness — 
 What joy-springs are mine own. 
 
IN IMITATION OF KORNER'S " DAS WARST DU." 173 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ah ! life's rough billows swell for ever, 
 
 And years will fly as years have flown, 
 And youth fleets on, — yet never, never, 
 Can time or distance thee dissever, 
 Beloved, from thine own. 
 
 x. 
 
 And still thy form in light arises, 
 
 Like trancing music round me thrown, 
 And though the voice thyself surprises, 
 Thy fond love breaks through all disguises, 
 And whispers, " All thine own." 
 
 Walton, 1844. 
 
ON SEEING A LEAF FALL BY MOON- 
 LIGHT. 
 
 Oh, bright was the hour when thou wast born, 
 And the winds sang peace to the blushing morn 
 
 Who stepp'd o'er the clouds at their matin call : 
 But ne'er may the memory of days gone by 
 Save the victim of death when his hour is nigh ; 
 And vain was the warmth of thy natal sky ; 
 The moonlight saw thee fall. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Thy youth it was spent in dance and glee, 
 With thy leaflet brothers embowering thee, 
 
ON SEEING A LEAP FALL BY MOONLIGHT. 175 
 
 Happiness trembling o'er one and all : 
 But the loveliest dreams must fade away, 
 And our comrades, ah, tell me, where are they ? 
 Links are broken to-morrow, though twined to-day ; 
 The moonlight saw thee fall. 
 
 hi. 
 Thou hast stood the cloud and the dashing rain, 
 Over thee the chill blast hath swept in vain, 
 
 And the night vainly spread her funeral pall : 
 But a word may crush when the heart doth ache, 
 And it needs not then a storm ere it break ; 
 Thou hast stood the tempest, when strong hearts quake, 
 But the moonlight saw thee fall. 
 
 Watton, 1844. 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 For though the skirts of the far tempest oft 
 
 Have fallen on my path, though I have proved, 
 
 At times, the bitterness of grief, — yet, when 
 
 The heart is all alone in suffering, 
 
 We scarce can say that we have suffer'd ; — all 
 
 Seems centred so within us, and the waves 
 
 Swell in so narrow and so small a world, 
 
 That what hath moved us scarce can ask the name 
 
 Of suffering. 
 
 Sunny hath been my home of childhood — strong 
 The links of love that bind our happy circle, — 
 No jarring note hath broken the sweet stream 
 Of music that hath linger'd, like the dove 
 
FRAGMENTS. 177 
 
 Of peace, among us : — father, mother, children — 
 " Hearts of each other sure," souls knit as one — 
 All wending in glad fellowship towards heaven. 
 Heaven is our bourne, and its far hope hath lighted 
 Upon our ocean-pathway, beacon-like, 
 And caught the summits of the smallest waves 
 That rise and sink around us, telling still 
 Each bears us onward on its tremulous breast 
 To the still haven of eternal love. 
 Sometimes the distant clouds have threaten'd woe, 
 Their shadow fallen near us, but when we 
 Were striving to win over our sad hearts, 
 Unmurmuring to resign what Heaven hath given, 
 Perchance some floweret from our wreath of love, 
 Some emerald dew-drop from a cup o'erflowing, — 
 Then hath our God, our Father, with a smile 
 That told how He rejoiced in all our joy, 
 Return'd it to us lovelier, more beloved, 
 Because, for one sad voiceless moment, fear 
 Had chill'd our hearts lest it should fade or fall. 
 
 Walton, 1844. 
 
 8* 
 
LINES ON A SUFFERING SISTER. 
 
 I. 
 
 •'if needs be." 
 
 I. 
 Suffering for thee, sweet sister — and sharp pain- 
 
 For thee, the gentlest of earth's gentle ones ? 
 Does the cloud gather o'er thy heart and brain 
 
 So darkly, and yet no repining tones ? 
 Oh, hush ! my own sad heart, thy faithless fears, 
 And quell or dry thy quick, rebellious tears. 
 
 ii. 
 She, as a babe upon a mother's breast, 
 
 A child within a father's sheltering arms, 
 Unconsciously is lying ; — the unrest, 
 
 Brother, is thine — thine all those rude alarms. 
 Still thy heart's beatings where she hers hath still'd, 
 Relieving all is best that He hath will'd. 
 
LINES ON A SUFFERING SISTER. 179 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet was our home so bright, so passing fair, 
 Some faint, dim semblance of a home above ; 
 
 And she the tenderest loveliest angel there, 
 
 Around whom cluster'd all our dreams of love : 
 
 We thought that grief might never shadow long 
 
 What seem'd the fittest haunt for praise and song. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And was it but a dream ? and has the cloud 
 Once and again pass'd by us, threatening woe 
 
 And shedding tears ? and has its darkness bow'd 
 Our hearts once more in struggling sorrow low ? 
 
 And has the sunshine of affection's mirth 
 
 Pass'd ever, sleep-like, from this beautiful earth ? 
 
 v. 
 
 Nay, check your tears, sad sisters, pause and linger, 
 And check, sad brother, thy wild wayward words ; 
 
 Grief takes thy lyret from thee, and her finger 
 
 Sweeps somewhat rudely o'er the trembling chords. 
 
 Ye must not, when beneath the cloud, forget 
 
 That He, whose love is sunshine, loves ye yet. 
 
180 LINES ON A SUFFERING SISTER. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Methinks I hear His voice of pity saying, — 
 " Ye clung too closely to your lovely home ; 
 
 Your sister's spirit, dear children, is delaying, 
 To teach ye of a better rest to come : 
 
 Where grief is not nor sighing, pain nor tears, 
 
 But ]ife, light, love, for everlasting years." 
 
 Walton, 1846. 
 
 II. 
 
 "HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP." 
 
 Oh, tread lightly — she is weary, 
 
 She hath suffer'd all day through, 
 And the night is somewhat dreary 
 
 If she wake and suffer too : 
 Silently the stars are keeping 
 
 Their sweet vigils o'er her, 
 And she dreams not in her sleeping 
 
 That to-morrow is before her. 
 
LINES ON A SUFFERING SISTER. 181 
 
 II. 
 
 Break it not, that spell of slumber, 
 
 Waveless, beautiful as heaven, 
 'Mid the sharp gusts without number, 
 
 And the clouds, of tempests driven. 
 Weep not, sister ; sister, cheer thee ; 
 
 Yet she will not hear thee weep : 
 She is weary, very weary, 
 
 Only let her sleep. 
 
 in. 
 I could fancy, gazing on her, 
 
 She had pass'd her night of sighs ; 
 And that heaven's own light upon her, 
 
 Waits to greet her opening eyes. 
 Silence on each word of sorrow, 
 
 On a thought that would repine ; 
 For there shall be such a morrow, 
 
 And for thee, sweet sister mine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah ! I know it, that reposing — 
 'Tis her Father bade it come — 
 
182 LINES ON A SUFFERING SISTER. 
 
 Emblem, when life's day is closing 
 Of the deep repose of home ; 
 
 Storms the joy of calm redoubling 
 In the mansions of the blest ; 
 
 Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
 And the weary are at rest. 
 
 Walton, 1847. 
 
 III. 
 
 "AND SO HE BRINGETH THEM TO THE HAVEN WHERE 
 
 Yes, billow after billow — see they come 
 Faster and rougher, as her little boat 
 Nears evermore the haven. Oftentimes 
 It seems to sink and fall adown the wave, 
 As if borne backward by the struggling tide : 
 Yet mounting billow after billow, wave 
 On wave o'er-riding, tempest-tost and shatter'd, 
 Still, still it nears the haven evermore. 
 
LINES ON A SUFFERING SISTER. 183 
 
 " Poor mariner, art thou not sadly weary ? " 
 
 Dear brother, rest is sweeter after toil. 
 
 " Grows not thine eye confused and dim with sight 
 
 Of nothing but the wintry waters ? " True, 
 
 But then my pole-star, constant and serene, 
 
 Above the changing waters changes not. 
 
 " But what if clouds, as often, veil the sky ? " 
 
 Oh, then, an unseen hand hath ever ta'en 
 
 The rudder from my feeble hands the while — 
 
 And I cling to it. " Answer me once more, 
 
 Mariner, what think'st thou when the waters bear 
 
 Thy frail boat backward from the long'd-for harbor ? " 
 
 Oh, brother, though innumerable waves 
 
 Still seem to rise betwixt me and my home — 
 
 Still billow after billow, wave on wave — 
 
 I know that they are number'd : not one less 
 
 Should bear me homeward if I had my will ; 
 
 For One who knows what tempests are to weather, 
 
 O'er whom there broke the wildest billows once, 
 
 He bids these waters swell. In His good time 
 
 The last rough wave shall bear me on its bosom 
 
 Into the haven of eternal peace. 
 
184 LINES ON A SUFFERING SISTER. 
 
 No billows after — they are number'd, brother. 
 " Oh, gentle mariner, steer on, steer on : 
 My tears shall flow for thee, but they are tears 
 In which faith strives with grief, and overcomes. 
 
 Watton, 1847. 
 
A NIGHT AT SANDGATE. 
 
 It was a strange and fearful night that same : 
 We had been talking of the troublous days 
 That seem'd to lie before us, and the clouds 
 Of gloom and tempest that were brooding round 
 The militant church of God : wherein we thought 
 Not one there gather'd would pass on unscathed. 
 And yet all hearts beat high, and glistening eyes 
 Burnt brightly as with coming triumph: — none 
 Hung back, none trembled, none were sore afraid. 
 He, whom unknown we knew, unseen we loved, 
 Was Pilot of our vessel, and He held 
 At beck the whirlwinds and the storms and clouds ; 
 And He seem'd with us, saying, — " Fear ye not, 
 Lo ! I am with you alway : in the world 
 
186 A NIGHT AT SAND GATE. 
 
 Ye shall have tribulation ; let your hearts 
 
 Be of good cheer, O ye of little faith, 
 
 For I, your Lord, have overcome the world." 
 
 So in to one another's eyes we look'd, 
 
 And found there — sorrow and dismay ? nay, found 
 
 Such high enthusiast hopes as burn, like stars 
 
 'Mid drifting clouds, the brighter at near view 
 
 Of sufferings to be suffer'd and for Him, 
 
 Of high deeds to be ventured and for Him, 
 
 Of peril clasping our affection closer. 
 
 Amid that company were two who long 
 
 Had held bright standards in the warrior host 
 
 Of God — brave hearts — and as we heard them tell 
 
 Of conflicts deepening ever on the skirts 
 
 Of Christendom's blood-sprinkled battle-field, 
 
 The fire and light of love spontaneous rush'd 
 
 From heart to heart, and lit their altar-flame. 
 
 The evening wore away : and one by one 
 At length we parted lingering and loath, 
 For golden are such hours and brief and few : 
 But drawn, as I divine, by kindred thoughts, 
 
A NIGHT AT SANDGATE. 187 
 
 I and one other with me loiter'd yet 
 
 By a lone staircase window, that o'erlook'd 
 
 The deep blue billows of the midnight sea, 
 
 And the swift moonlight on those waters swift ; 
 
 And overhead the everlasting stars. 
 
 But chief three planets look'd into our souls 
 
 With their large spirit-eyes. Long while we gazed 
 
 In silent rapture on that world of night, 
 
 And ponder'd silently, and to the winds 
 
 And roar of distant waters listen'd long. 
 
 It seem'd a picture of the dread " to be." 
 
 There were the waters in their ceaseless changes 
 
 And wild eternal heavings, white with spray, 
 
 Wave chasing wave ; but over them the moon 
 
 Rode in her silver sphere serene, and chid 
 
 Their wildness, and the glancing stars aloft 
 
 Fell on them with their sudden tears of light. 
 
 A strange and dream-like scene. Yes, soon we spake ; 
 
 The same thought rush'd upon us — let the world 
 
 Change like those changing waters evermore, 
 
 And spend itself in moans or reckless smiles, — 
 
 Let us be cast upon its fretful waves ; 
 
188 A NIGHT AT SANDGATE. 
 
 Still stretches o'er us the blue sky, and thence 
 Lightens the piercing glory of the stars, 
 The silver beauty of true heart affection. 
 
 . And like clear village bells at eventide 
 Each young heart echo'd to the other back, 
 And ere we parted were there many thoughts 
 That only could find utterance in prayer. 
 
 1845. 
 
ON AN AIR OF NOVELLO'S,— AVE VERUM. 
 
 Comes it to thee with a sound of joy, 
 
 Glad-hearted sister mine ? 
 Like the reckless bound of the mountain boy, 
 
 Or his mirthsome eye divine ? 
 
 Oh, list again — it has sorrowful deeps 
 
 Thou hast not fathom'd yet ; 
 'Tis a loving passionate heart that weeps 
 
 Tears, none who shed forget. 
 
 It speaketh of life, — of beautiful life, 
 
 A tissue strange and fair, 
 Yet enwoven with threads of tenderest grief, 
 
 And dark shades here and there. 
 
190 ON AN AIR OF NOVELLO'S, AVE VERUM. 
 
 It leads the soul to the twilight sky, 
 And the stars peep forth in turn, 
 
 But a weeping train of clouds is by 
 To dim them as they burn. 
 
 Speaks it of hope ? yes, hope in tears, 
 From some far distant shore ; 
 
 Music that steals from the nightly spheres, 
 Yet sounding, sounds no more. 
 
 Watton, 1845. 
 
UNDINE IN MUSIC. 
 
 ON THE QUICK MOVEMENT OF MOZART'S SYMPHONY IN 
 
 E FLAT. 
 
 'Twas the twilight dawn at break of day, 
 And the mists swept over the mountains gray. 
 Away, away, on thin blue wings, 
 They flitted across like living things, 
 
 Reckless wanderers they. 
 Is there a path on those towers of air ? — 
 'Mid ice and cloud a pathway there ? 
 Wild are the rocks and interwoven, 
 But betwixt them a path is dimly cloven. 
 Ha ! see'st thou aught ? — 'tis a waving plume, 
 And a spear that glances like light through gloom. 
 'Tis a dashing steed of taintless white : 
 'Tis a rider's cry — an armed knight. 
 Now high on the crag ; now deep in the mist, 
 
192 UNDINE IN MUSIC. 
 
 That at fits the plume of his helmet kiss'd : 
 
 As when a light-wing'd bark doth ride 
 
 At random o'er the foaming tide : 
 
 Now perch'd on the top of the mountain wave, 
 
 Daring the stars for very glee ; 
 Now hid half-way in the arching cave 
 
 Of the glad exultant sea. 
 Like to the waves are the wild crags strown, 
 Like to the bark doth the knight ride on. 
 
 Is he in chase of the tumbling rills ? 
 What seeketh he on the far-off hills ? 
 There are waves of a rivulet there that stray 
 
 At morning o'er the mountains blue ; 
 But when the sun rides high, men say, 
 
 It melts like the veriest morning-dew. 
 Perchance he hath come by that stream to ride 
 He reins his steed by a glacier's side. 
 Was it music ? was it a spell ? 
 What on the horse and his rider fell ? 
 For, lo ! by the side of a silver rill 
 The rider and his horse stood still. 
 
UNDINE IN MUSIC. 193 
 
 Tis nought but the sound of gushing waves 
 
 Like crystal music in hidden caves, 
 
 Tinkling so soft and so clear around, 
 
 An angel's whisper, a spirit-sound : 
 
 Yet it woke the dreams of by-gone years, 
 
 And won from out his eyes the tears : 
 
 For in fitful beauty all unabiding 
 
 Were the scenes of his childhood before him gliding. 
 
 The spell is broken. He starts away, 
 
 The wilder now for the brief delay : 
 
 Swift hurries the steed, as one might list, 
 
 Yet he lashes him on through storm and mist — 
 
 And away ! away ! with might and main, 
 
 A playmate of the clouds again. 
 
 He curb'd his steed, for he thought he spied 
 A maiden's robe at his right side. 
 Is it a maiden beside him lying, 
 On the far lone mountains in silence dying ? 
 Ah, no, sir knight — 'tis the trembling rill, 
 That having loved thee, loves thee still, 
 
 9 
 
194 UNDINE IN MUSIC. 
 
 And follows thee ever through wind and cloud 
 
 With whispers loving but not loud. 
 
 List ! rein thy steed — oh ! listen well, 
 
 For strange is the music of that soft spell. 
 
 " Whither away, dear knight, so fast ? 
 
 My tale is not told, my dream is not pass'd : 
 
 I melt not away till nigh mid-day : 
 
 Gentle knight, whither away ? " 
 
 And a shrouded form of silvery mist 
 
 Seem'd to float and blend with the waves she kiss'd, 
 
 That whether it were a maiden's dress 
 
 Or the flow of the streamlet, none might guess. 
 
 And the knight stood still. 
 
 But a stormy sound 
 Echo'd from forth the caverns round — 
 'Twas the spirit of the mists who spake. 
 " No moonlight dreams, Sir Knight, awake ! 
 Away to the reckless chase with me ! 
 I came not in vain from the fetterless sea. 
 With the blast, as my courser, I'm rushing on high 
 To join in the sport of the stormy sky." 
 And the knight forgot the lovely stream, 
 Her music and half-finish'd dream. 
 
UNDINE IN MUSIC. 195 
 
 And while clatter'd the hoofs like a brazen drum 
 He shouted afar, " I come ! I come ! " 
 
 To him the streamlet spake not on : 
 
 Her harp strings quiver'd ; their tones were gone. 
 
 But to the little waves turn'd she, 
 
 And thus spake on right cheerily. 
 
 " What can tame the spirit proud 
 
 Of the knight, who revels in storm and cloud ? 
 
 Nothing but tears — and smiles through tears, 
 
 And music too sweet for mortal ears. 
 
 But I will smile, and I will weep, 
 
 And my silver lyre shall wake from sleep. 
 
 Flow, sisters, flow in our tuneful stream, 
 
 My tale must be told, and finish'd my dream. 
 
 Flow merrily, sisters : and track him well. 
 
 He hears, he knows, he feels my spell." 
 
 The waves flow'd on with their tuneful sound ; 
 They cross'd the knight in his maddest bound ; 
 And, like one who sees a spirit-form, 
 He check'd his course through the cloudy storm : 
 
196 UNDINE IN MUSIC. 
 
 And bow'd his head, and listens still, 
 Tranced with the music of the rill. — 
 And long together side by side 
 The waves did flow, the knight did ride ; 
 Till the spirit of the streamlet stole 
 The heart from out his inmost soul. 
 
 Oh ! stay the hours : the sun rides high : 
 The tale is told, and the stream must die : 
 The last few notes, the sweetest far, 
 Like a trembling voice from a nightly star, 
 Rich as the tones of a dying swan, 
 The last few silvery notes are gone. 
 
 Watton, 1844. 
 
TEARS IN MUSIC. 
 
 ON THE SLOW MOVEMENT OF MOZART'S SYMPHONY IN 
 
 E FLAT. 
 
 Oh, hush ! my soul, be silent, 
 For the chords sweep on again ; 
 
 Though it take thy heart from out thee, 
 Still listen to the strain. 
 
 
 II. 
 
 It flows along, like waters, 
 
 To a tuneful "dying fall," 
 And tells of griefs, and tears, and love 
 
 That smiles amid them all. 
 
198 TEARS IN MUSIC. 
 
 III. 
 
 In deep waves of affection 
 Flows on the mournful river, 
 
 Persuasively, persuasively, 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 IV 
 
 Methinks a sad beloved one 
 
 Is by her lover kneeling, 
 And blent with their own echoes still 
 
 Her tender strains are stealing. 
 
 v. 
 
 With her soft blue eye she asketh 
 
 The secret of his woe, 
 For a burning grief hath seal'd his heart 
 
 And his tears will not flow. 
 
 VI. 
 
 She asketh with the music 
 
 That tells of things that were ; 
 
 She asks to grieve, for grief with him 
 Were a solace unto her. 
 
TEARS IN MUSIC. 199 
 
 VII. 
 
 Like clouds a bright star circling, 
 
 Like soft winds round a rose, 
 Like waters round a lily's brim, 
 
 That wondrous music flows. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ah, woe for that sweet singer ! 
 
 Woe for that loving heart ! 
 Her pulse beats quick, her words fall fast ; 
 
 But he turns unmoved to part. 
 
 IX. 
 
 One lingering note recalls him ; 
 
 Thus, thus, he cannot sever : 
 And on and on persuasively 
 
 The music flows for ever. 
 
 Persuasively, persuasively, 
 
 She ever seems to plead, 
 That he would pour his grief to her 
 
 The saddest, grief could need. 
 
200 TEARS IN MUSIC. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Her soft blue eye is filling 
 With tears for his and him, 
 
 And her low sad strain swept on again, 
 Until his own were dim. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Enough, enough — he weepeth, 
 His heart no more is cold, 
 
 And tears can tell a passionate world 
 That in language is untold. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Refreshingly as breezes 
 Blow o'er the sultry sands, 
 
 Refreshingly as gushing showers 
 Rain life on thirsty lands ; 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Delicious as when sunshine 
 Streams o'er a wintry sky, 
 
 Delicious as the soft air's breath 
 When the thunder hath pass'd by ; 
 
TEARS IN MUSIC. 201 
 
 XV. 
 
 In trustful calm affection, 
 
 Like some smooth southern river, 
 Persuasively, resistlessly, 
 
 The music flows for ever. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But it takes the heart from out me, 
 
 That deep confiding strain, 
 And I must beguile a little while 
 
 Till it come back again. 
 
 Walton, 1844. 
 
 9* 
 
ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY OF THE 
 
 ANNUAL COMMEMORATION IN 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE. 
 
 How sweep they by so fast, 
 Those chariot-wheels of Time ! 
 On, onward, swifter than the wintry blast 
 Athwart a wintry clime : 
 On, on — another hundred years 
 Pass'd, like a dream o' the night. 
 There is no space for mirth, no time for tears, 
 
 The swift hours sleep not in their flight, 
 The rivers pause not, and the mighty spheres 
 Still track their course of everlasting light. 
 Yet touch thy harp-strings, minstrel : let the throng 
 Sweep heedlessly along : 
 
ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY, ETC. 203 
 
 Pause, and with thoughtful spirits cast thine eye 
 Across the mighty regions left behind ; 
 For spots lie there eternally enshrined, 
 And hours that will not die. 
 
 Another hundred years, 
 From yonder sacred pile ; 
 The chime this day hath fallen on our ears 
 
 To bid us gather in that holy aisle, 
 Where once our fathers gather'd : they have gone 
 
 To their long home : and we, a little while, 
 Forth issuing from the cloud, speed on 
 Across the narrow twilight bridge, that lies 
 Betwixt two vast eternities, 
 Then hasten underneath 
 The second cloud of death, 
 That skirts the confines where our fathers are, 
 A land that is so nigh, and seems so far. 
 They must not pass without a tear away, 
 
 We must not live without deep thoughts of them ; 
 The mists are transient as the summer day, 
 But stars live on in Heaven's great diadem. 
 
204 ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY OF THE 
 
 Thrice have a hundred years pass'd by 
 These sacred walls, deepens the echoing cry. 
 And countless visions sweep 
 O'er fancy's startled sleep, 
 Of fields of glory, wreaths of fame, 
 And victories won on stormy seas, 
 And many a warrior's spotless name — 
 Ay, nobler deeds than these. 
 Heroes, who fought, but for no earthly crown ; 
 Who fell, but ask'd of mortals no renown ; 
 Who dared to combat for their country's God, 
 And for their God and country dared to die : 
 Their blood sank deep into the country's sod, 
 Who weeps too late their martyr'd memory. 
 And still is seen the holy mien 
 Of England's great free-hearted Queen ; 
 And still is heard the waves' exuberant roar 
 Casting the Armada's wrecks in sport upon the shore. 
 
 How sweep they by so fast, 
 Those chariot-wheels of Time ! 
 The echoes of the centuries are pass'd, 
 Like a faint vesper chime. 
 
ANNUAL COMMEMORATION OF TRINITY COLLEGE. 205 
 
 Yet stormful was the cry, 
 And loud the thunder as they grated by : 
 The "crash of arms, the battle's groan ; 
 And shattered fell the sacred monarch's throne ; 
 And from her limbs imprison'd Freedom tore 
 Her fetters with a maniac's rage and roar : 
 Till listening to the voice of truth 
 She taught her proud heart gentler rutli : 
 Till o'er a free-born race of faithful kings 
 Heaven waved triumphantly its guardian wings. 
 
 The scene is changed once more : 
 Beneath a midnight lamp a student sits, 1 
 And muses oft long while, or reads by fits 
 Pages of human lore : 
 Then turns his ardent reverent look 
 To Nature's greater, nobler book, 
 Where from their deep blue homes on high 
 The stars greet meekly his meek eye, 
 Interpreting the lines 
 Of those mysterious signs, 
 All dimly traced upon the awful sky. 
 
 1 Sir Isaac Newton. 
 
206 ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY OF THE 
 
 New visions still crowd on, and memory tells 
 Of glorious deeds of old, 
 And many a patriot's name, 
 But bound by mightier spells 
 We see them glide beneath the vaporous fold 
 Of the great past, nor linger o'er their fame: 
 Though oft, in evening's twilight dews, 
 
 We fondly love to muse, 
 That whilome those high sages' feet 
 Here humbly trode this still retreat, 
 And learn'd to bend a childlike ear 
 To the low voice of heavenly wisdom here. 
 
 How sweep they by so fast, 
 Those chariot-wheels of Time ! 
 Leaving so brief a track of glories past, 
 And hurrying on to crime. 
 Have orphan'd children cried ? * 
 Have captive daughters pined ? 
 Have groans, ere now, been cast aside 
 Unto the pitiless wind ? 
 
 l The Revolution of 1789. 
 
ANNUAL COMMEMORATION OF TRINITY COLLEGE. 207 
 
 Have dark clouds pass'd on the stormy blast ? 
 
 Darker are behind. 
 They gather'd long, they lower'd low ; 
 
 All men trembling stood : 
 They shed a few first drops of woe, 
 
 At length they burst in blood ! 
 
 On smiling France at first, 
 
 On guilty France they burst, 
 Her sainted monarch fell, her princess fled, 
 Her noblest, best, were number'd with the dead. 
 In dungeon gloom her maidens' bloom 
 
 Was counted cheap as dust ; 
 And the innocent child there only smiled 
 
 In its young unguarded trust. 
 
 Wealth, beauty, talent died, 
 
 And the rivers ran with gore ; 
 Thou hast drunk the blood of thy choicest pride, 
 
 Proud France ! — and wilt have more ? 
 The tempest hath not pass'd : the clouds of wrath 
 Sweep on enfolding in their awful gloom 
 All lands, Despair before their path ; 
 Behind, the silence of the tomb. 
 
208 ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY OF THE 
 
 I see them form ; I see them rise ; 
 
 Fainter grows the light ; 
 Till they enshroud the glorious skies, 
 And liken day to night. 
 And beneath are the dusty plains of war, 
 The steed, and the warrior's brazen car, 
 The lightning sword, and the cannon's shock, 
 And the rifle's rattle on rifted rock. 
 And ever and anon 
 A lull in the storm steals on ; 
 We listen — it is gone. 
 See yonder man with the eagle-eye, 
 And the soul that dares to do or die ! 
 And his armies sweep from sea to sea, 
 And he tramples the proud, and enchains the free, 
 Till the earth at his fury stood aghast, 
 And the nations shook at his tread as he pass'd. 
 Desolate — desolate — the wild flood 
 Hath torn from the forest branch and leaf: 
 And Europe is weeping tears of blood : — 
 He sheds no tear of grief. 
 But there is love in heaven : and angels weep 
 If men forbear o'er human sufferings : 
 
ANNUAL COMMEMORATION OF TRINITY COLLEGE. 209 
 
 And freedom's cry, awaking from her sleep, 
 
 In the proud conqueror's ear a death-knell rings. 
 He fell : and, moated by the chafing waves, 
 For whom all earth had seem'd too small a throne, 
 For whom unnumber'd myraids had sunk down 
 
 Into untimely graves, 
 Slept in his narrow bed full tranquilly 
 Long silent years beneath the willow-tree. 
 
 Touch, minstrel, touch thy lyre again 
 
 To livelier music, for thy lay 
 Hath been in somewhat mournful solemn strain 
 
 For a bright festal day. 
 What if the world's arena hath been rife 
 With sounds of discord, and fell deeds of strife, — 
 Here they have been as echoes faint and far ; 
 
 Here glide unruffled on the silent hours ; 
 Peace dwells with Wisdom ; and the evening star 
 
 Shines ever cloudless o'er these sacred towers. 
 
 What, though the tempest often sweep 
 
 Recklessly o'er the billowy deep, — 
 This quiet crystal fountain hath flow'd on, 
 Shelter'd from every storm that raves anon, 
 
210 ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY, ETC. 
 
 And sent its copious floods 
 To gladden and renew on every hand 
 The valleys, and the wild banks, and the woods 
 
 Of our great Fatherland. 
 
 And might I twine one parting wreath for thee, 
 Dear college home, by thousand memories dear, 
 Ere I forsake thy tranquil shores, and steer 
 
 To the bleak pathways of the trackless sea ? 
 
 'Twere only adding to the debt I owe 
 Of thanks, and gratitude, and filial love ; 
 
 And faint my strains, and feeble were, and low, 
 To tell thy worth, all praise of mine above. 
 
 Nay, rather, grateful prayers shall rise, that He, 
 Beneath whose favoring smile 
 
 Thou art the glory of our native isle, 
 
 May ever shield, and guard, and prosper thee. 
 Ours only be the joy to know, 
 When in the world tost to and fro, 
 
 We once were shelter'd underneath thy walls, 
 
 O fairest, noblest, best of Granta's glorious halls. 
 
 Trinity College, 1846. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 There's music on the winds : and far aloft 
 It sinks and rises as they rise and sink. 
 And evermore, like waters from the brink 
 Of over-joyful springs, in tones most soft 
 And most melodious, came quick bursts of song, 
 Like harpers harping on their harps ; and oft 
 They fill'd my soul with worship ; till amoug 
 The caverns of the clouds they seem'd to lose 
 The magic of their music : none might choose 
 But hear : the fount was rapture ; and to drink, 
 A joy past utterance : and the morning dews 
 Chased mist-like the blue ocean waves along, 
 Till clouds, winds, waters, music-built did seem, 
 The shadows of an everlasting dream. 
 
NOT LUCK, BUT LOVE. 
 
 ON HEARING ANOTHER SPEAK OF LUCK. 
 
 Not luck : though drifting to and fro 
 Chances and changes come and go ; 
 Though joys are broken lights empearl'd 
 On wild waves of this troublous world ; 
 Though unsuspected griefs and woes 
 Rise, ere a whisper whence they rose ; 
 Though oft the crystal morning-light 
 Is dark with tempest long ere night ; 
 Though smiles and tears are driven away; 
 Like sun and cloud some April day ; 
 Though hopes elate, or fears appall, — 
 Not luck, but Love is over all. 
 1870. 
 
"LORD, SAVE ME." 
 
 " A ruin'd sinner, lost, undone, — Lord Jesu, hear my cry : 
 
 The brand of guilt is on my soul ; Lord, save me, or I 
 die." 
 
 " I will, thou wreck'd and ruin'd one : before thee, lo, I 
 stand; 
 
 Upon my bosom throw thyself, and grasp my pierced 
 hand. 
 
 I will not spurn thee from my side for all thy rags and 
 chains, 
 
 I love thee ; — come to me, and wash thy dark and crim- 
 son stains." 
 
 " Ten thousand talents, Lord, I owe, — nothing have I to 
 
 pay; 
 
 I dare not come, whose nakedness would shame the light 
 of day." 
 
214 "lord, save me." 
 
 " Come unto me, thou bankrupt soul ; why dost thou linger 
 
 yet? 
 
 With my own life-blood I have paid the last mite of thy 
 
 debt. 
 My wealth, my goodness, give I thee, and, for thy royal 
 
 dress, 
 Will clothe thee with a seamless robe, my perfect right- 
 
 "I fain would come, I fain would pray, my tears alone 
 
 must speak ; 
 I come; — yet seems my strengthless heart too wayward 
 
 and too weak." 
 " I come to thee, come thou to me, thou weary one, and 
 
 rest; 
 And my meek Spirit shall abide within thy troubled 
 
 breast 
 His life and love, His power and peace, His majesty and 
 
 might, 
 Are with thee ; listen to His voice ; He speaks, and there 
 
 is light." 
 
 " I come, He draws me ; I am thine, Lord Jesu, Thou art 
 mine. 
 
215 
 
 I ask no more, if only thus upon me Thou wilt shine." 
 " My Father loves thee, and I love ; my Spirit dwells in 
 
 thee: 
 Herein is life, and joy, and heaven, and immortality. 
 But haply clouds will come, and hide thy Saviour from 
 
 thine eyes ; 
 Say, wilt thou love me on beneath those future wintry 
 
 skies?" 
 
 u I only cast me on Thee, Lord ; I love Thee, though 
 
 unseen ; 
 But when shall this dividing veil be raised that hangs 
 
 between ? " 
 • Press onward, ransom'd one, press on to that celestial 
 
 realm : 
 The voyage may be rough and long, but I am at the helm : 
 The wilderness is void and vast ; but, see, I go before 
 
 thee: 
 The battle may be fierce ; but I lead on before to glory." 
 
 " And shall I never leave Thy side upon that blissful shore. 
 But see Thee in Thy glorious home, and love Thee ever- 
 more ? " 
 
216 
 
 "LORD, save me." 
 
 " For ever — thou shalt share my throne, my Father's 
 
 face behold, 
 And swell the rapturous melodies of thousand harps of 
 
 gold; 
 Fear not, for I will greet thee with my well-reinember'd 
 
 smile: 
 Press on, be faithful unto death — 'tis but a little while." 
 
 Einton Martett, 1853. 
 
THE WORLD'S PEACE, AND CHRIST'S. 
 
 TWO REAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 " Peace I leave you, my peace I give unto you ; not as the 
 world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, 
 neither let it be afraid." — John xiv. *J7. 
 
 A cloudless sky — a laughing summer day — 
 
 A river gliding noiselessly and deep — 
 Moor'd by whose brink a little shallop lay ; 
 
 Within, two weary travellers asleep. 
 
 Ha ! the boat loosens, and begins to sweep 
 With those strong waters to their headlong fall : 
 
 The slumberers waken not, nor cry, nor weep ; 
 It strikes — they start astonied — one wild call, 
 One struggle, and the tide rolls onward burying all. 
 
 10 
 
218 
 
 THE WORLDS PEACE, AND CHRIST'S. 
 
 A wintry ocean — a dark, rock-bound coast, 
 
 And breakers whitening near — a shatter'd sail — 
 
 A vessel battling onward, tempest-toss'd : 
 
 Aboard, — quick, hurrying footsteps, and the wail 
 Of women, and brave men in silence pale. 
 
 One only, with a calm, untroubled eye, 
 
 Watch'd the wild waters and the wilder gale — 
 
 The pilot's playful child ; and, question'd why, 
 * My father's at the helm," was her untaught reply. 
 
 Hinton Martell, 1853. 
 
THE THEESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 THE BABE'S FIRST JOURNEY. 
 
 [Baby sleeps while the angel soars heavetiward, singing.] 
 
 " My treasure, my blossom, 
 
 My blessing twice bless'd, 
 Folded close to my bosom, 
 
 Be still and at rest. 
 - Winds and waters were rougher 
 
 Than wonted at last, 
 But no more shalt thou suffer, 
 
 No more — it is pass'd. 
 Not a sigh, not a sorrow 
 
 Shall grieve thee to-night, 
 And the dawn of to-morrow 
 
 Is cloudless delight." 
 
220 THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 [Baby, half -waking, half -sleeping, lisps its first words in the language 
 of heaven. ,] 
 
 " O mother, dear mother, 
 
 Who is this ? where am I ? " 
 
 [ The angel continues singhig.] 
 
 " Thy guardian, thy brother : 
 
 Fear not, I am nigh. 
 See the star-lamps adorning 
 
 This beautiful dome ; 
 See the smile of the morning ; 
 
 I am bearing thee home. 
 Mansions there without number 
 
 For infants are built ; 
 Awake from thy slumber, 
 
 Awake, if thou wilt." 
 
 [Baby catches the first glimpse of heaven, and asks, — ] 
 
 " Oh, what is that glory 
 That shines on thy wings ? 
 
 Brother, tell me a story 
 Of heavenly things." 
 
THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 221 
 
 [The angel sings on.] 
 
 " There joy without measure, 
 
 There day without night, 
 And rivers of pleasure 
 
 Shall break on thy sight. 
 There are gold paths transparent 
 
 And gateways of pearl ; 
 There the babe and the parent, 
 
 The boy and the girl, 
 With angels, are walking 
 
 And plucking the fruit, 
 And singing or talking 
 
 To sound of the lute. 
 No shadows can darken 
 
 Their blessed employ : 
 Hush, baby, and hearken 
 
 The sound of their joy. 
 See, the Lord of the garden 
 
 Our coming awaits." 
 
 So the babe and its warden 
 Pass'd in at the gates, 
 
222 THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 And stronger and stronger 
 
 The glory became ; 
 And I saw them no longer : 
 
 I woke from my dream. 
 
 1864. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE CHILD'S HOME-CALL. 
 
 A FACT. 
 
 " And was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom." 
 Luke xvi. 22. 
 
 My eyes are very dim, mother, 
 I cannot see you right ; 
 Sit near, and read my favorite hymn, 
 For I shall die to-night. 
 
 " Jesus who lived," — yes, that, mother, 
 I learn'd it on your knee ; 
 Well I remember where you sate, 
 When first you taught it me. 
 
THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 223 
 
 Oh, yes, read on and on, mother, 
 The words that Jesus said : 
 And think, long after I am gone, 
 He bore our sins instead. 
 
 Is the rush-candle out, mother ? 
 For all is midnight dark ; 
 Oh, take my hand — I will not doubt : 
 See, mother — mother, hark ! 
 
 Oh, bright and blessed things, mother, 
 My soul it is that sees ; 
 Yet feel you not the rush of wings 
 Makes musical the breeze ? 
 
 Kind faces throng the room, mother, 
 And gentle loving eyes : 
 Do you not hear, " Come, sister, come," 
 My welcome to the skies ? 
 
 Is this the happy land, mother ? 
 My heart is almost still. — 
 The childless mother felt her hand 
 All in a moment chill. 
 
 Banningham, 1851. 
 
224 THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 III. 
 
 TRANSLATED, NOT CONFIRMED. 
 
 TO ONE WHO WITH ME WATCHED THE PASTING HOURS OP A 
 CANDIDATE FOR CONFIRMATION. 
 
 Together we leant 
 O'er her fragile form, 
 
 As her head she bent 
 To the long last storm. 
 
 There was nothing of fear 
 In that dying room, 
 
 For Jesus was near 
 And chased its gloom. 
 
 We ask'd if she felt 
 His presence was nigh, 
 
 And the deep answer dwelt 
 In her up-lighted eye. 
 
 " Have you cast on His cross 
 The weight of your sin ? 
 
THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 225 
 
 Is the world but loss ? 
 Is there peace within ? " 
 
 On the calm of that hour, 
 
 Why further press, 
 When we knew the power 
 
 Of her gentle "Yes"? 
 
 She is gone — as a child 
 
 On its mother's breast; 
 She look'd up, and smiled, 
 
 And sank to rest. 
 
 The waves are all pass'd, 
 
 The word has been given, 
 Though roughest at last, 
 
 They have borne her to heaven. 
 
 But "a little while," 
 
 And our summons will come — 
 
 Oh, then with her smile 
 To ascend to her home ! 
 
 Tunbridge Wells, 1852. 
 
 10* 
 
226 THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE PENITENT'S DEATH-BED. 
 
 " As many as touched the hem of His garment were made perfectly 
 
 whole." 
 
 A cold and wild autumnal sky : the sun was sinking fast, 
 And bleakly blew o'er wood and wold the wintry northern 
 
 blast ; 
 The chill rain fell in sudden gusts, still drifting on and on, 
 The day had pass'd in storms, and night would now be here 
 
 anon. 
 Aground the far horizon's skirts despairing roved the eye, 
 When lo ! a rainbow-fragment stamp'd upon that stormy 
 
 sky. 
 Broken and quivering it lay, one little fragment given 
 From some few flickering beams of light far in the western 
 
 heaven : 
 The trembling colors came and went, and fainter, brighter 
 
 grew 
 Amid that wild untender sky, so tender and so true. 
 
THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 227 
 
 I just had left the dying-bed of one who once had been 
 A wanderer from the Saviour's fold in the gloomy paths of 
 
 sin — 
 A wreck of sweetness and of grace, a shade of beauty 
 
 now, 
 Though Death had set its awful seal too plainly on her 
 
 brow. 
 Oh, surely life to her had been a life of guilt and tears, 
 Of blighted hopes and shatter'd dreams, and storms of 
 
 guilty fears ! 
 But, on a sudden, in the midst of youth and pleasure's 
 
 prime, 
 The icy blast of death blew keen athwart that summer 
 
 clime. 
 The world's allurements shrivell'd then, like leaves in wind 
 
 and frost, 
 And all its lying blandishments their sometime glory lost. 
 Earth trembled, and the sky was gloom, and all within 
 
 was wild, 
 And Death full quickly now would claim its own unhappy 
 
 child. 
 Stay, list! — a sudden ray from heaven gleam'd in upon 
 
 her cell : 
 
228 THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 " The Saviour " — eagerly she caught the accents as they 
 fell — 
 
 " The Saviour came to save the lost — Jesus for sinners 
 died." 
 
 " For sinners ? — Oh, the worst am I of sinners," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "• Then cast on Him thy load of guilt — He bids thee come 
 and live." 
 
 " I cannot, yet I would," she cried ; " Lord, hear me, Lord, 
 forgive ! " 
 
 It was not peace, it was not light, nor was it all despair, 
 And pointing her to Jesus still, I left her after prayer. 
 It was not sunshine, nor the joy of heaven's own glorious 
 
 bow 
 Yet surely one true little gleam of mercy amid woe, — 
 One fragmentary rainbow-spot that might grow brighter 
 
 yet, 
 
 And faintly promised better things before the sun was set. 
 Banningham, 1848. 
 
THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 229 
 
 IS IT WELL t 
 
 Never man spake like Him. His words of power 
 Fell like the healing dews of heaven. His looks 
 Breathed love : and round Him eagerly there press'd 
 The sick in body and the sick at heart. 
 Some clung in painful anguish to His hand ; 
 Some cast themselves before His sacred feet ; 
 Some cried aloud for mercy ; and His grace 
 Was free to all. He cast out none who came. 
 But some there were of timid trembling faith, 
 Who stole behind Him in the press, and touch'd 
 The border of His garment ; and there went 
 Such virtue from Him, all who touch'd were healM. 
 The feeblest touch was life. And He is still 
 Unchangeably, eternally the same. 
 
 Then weep not for thy well-beloved, nor ask 
 Mistrustful, " Is it well with him I mourn ? " 
 Was he not clinging to the Saviour's hand ? 
 Was he not holding to the Saviour's feet ? 
 
230 THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 Was he not hanging on the Saviour's grace ? 
 Is love still anxious ? Laid he not his finger 
 Upon the border of the Saviour's robe ? 
 That trembling touch was everlasting life. 
 
 1863. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN TO-MORROW. 
 
 So he is gone : it was but yesterday 
 
 He spent in piloting his cumbrous car 
 
 Through crowds of men and tangled thoroughfares 
 
 Of this great city. Evening came, and night ; 
 
 And having done his duty he return'd, 
 
 Worn out and weary, to his quiet home. 
 
 There the sweet love of wife, a daughter's care, 
 
 The soft low breath of younger children, sleeping, 
 
 And thoughts, that wander'd to his absent boy, 
 
 Refresh'd him. On his knees he sank in prayer, 
 
 Short, earnest, true, — and laid him down to rest. 
 
 It was his last day's work. Where is he now ? 
 Where is he ? Suddenly the message came ; 
 
THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 231 
 
 And angels bare him on their wings of love 
 Into his Saviour's presence. No more toil ; 
 No more the din and discord of the world ; 
 No more the weary warfare of the heart. 
 He sleeps in Jesus : on his head a crown 
 Of glory ; in his hand a harp of praise ; 
 And music of the blessed spirits, who walk 
 The golden streets, about him echoing joy 
 And welcoming another traveller home. 
 
 1863. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE THREE BIRTHDAYS. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF ONE WHO, IN BLINDNESS AND SUFFERING, 
 BUT IN THE FULL ASSURANCE OF FAITH, SAID, A FEW 
 HOURS BEFORE HER DEATH, THAT SHE HAD ALWAYS HEARD 
 THAT THREE BIRTHDAYS WERE OURS: — OUR NATURAL BIRTH- 
 DAY, OUR SPIRITUAL BIRTHDAY, AND OUR BIRTHDAY INTO 
 GLORY! AND THAT SHE WAS SURE THE LAST WAS THE 
 BRIGHTEST AND THE BEST. 
 
 Joy for thee, new-born child of heaven ! once there was 
 
 joy on earth, 
 What time from eager lip to lip ran tidings of thy birth, 
 
232 THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 
 
 And glad hearts beat more gladly, and quick steps more 
 
 quickly trod 
 To tell that home was richer with another gift from God. 
 
 Years fleeted by ; until beneath the brooding of the Dove, 
 
 Thy heart was warm'd and waken'd to the voice of heav- 
 enly love ; 
 
 Then deeper waves of joy across their golden harp-strings 
 stole, 
 
 As angels sang before the throne the birthday of thy soul. 
 
 Years fleeted by ; and still thy path grew brighter and 
 
 more bright, 
 And stars from daylight hidden, gemm'd the clear sky of 
 
 thy night. 
 Thy spirit drank of rivulets, that never could run dry ; 
 And suffering never seem'd to cloud the summer of thy 
 
 sky. 
 
 And all who knew thee, loved thee ; and they loved thee 
 
 most of all, 
 Who mark'd thy patient waiting For thy Master's long'd- 
 
 for call : 
 
THE THRESHOLD OF THINGS UNSEEN. 233 
 
 It came, at last, that joy of joys, the latest and the best, 
 The birthday of a child of heaven, — the dawn of perfect 
 rest. 
 
 Dear sainted sister, we rejoice, the more we weep our loss ; 
 And while we think upon thy crown, more humbly bear our 
 
 cross. 
 For in our heart of hearts is heard the calm prophetic 
 
 warning, 
 The bridal of the Church is near, her glory's natal morning. 
 
 1861. 
 
DEATH AND VICTORY. 
 
 Thou speakest of the fear of death, its ghastliness and 
 gloom, 
 
 And dreary shadows flung across the portals of the tomb ; 
 
 Thou sayest that the best of men must tremble like the 
 grass, 
 
 When from the loved and lovely earth to unknown worlds 
 they pass : 
 
 Thou picturest the love of home, the light of childhood's 
 sky, 
 
 And askest, Who could leave such things with no heart- 
 breaking sigh ? 
 
 My heart was pain'd ; and oft I thought, Can this be true 
 
 of those 
 Who have on Jesus cast the guilt and burden of their 
 
 woes ? — 
 
DEATH AND VICTORY. 235 
 
 Till, as I mused, the truths of God, like beacon-fires at 
 
 night, 
 Gleam'd forth from Scripture's vivid page upon my aching 
 
 sight : — 
 " I know that my Redeemer lives ; and, though my flesh 
 
 must die, 
 By dying He shall swallow up the grave in victory. 
 Ay, in the shadowy vale of death no evil will I fear, 
 For Thou art with me, Thou, my God, to animate and 
 
 cheer." 
 
 So sang the patriarchs of old, before the veil was riven. 
 Which from the pilgrim fathers hid the open gate of 
 
 heaven : 
 But hark, what clearer tidings now our songs of triumph 
 
 swell ! 
 " Christ Jesus hath abolish'd death, and holds the keys of 
 
 hell; 
 He lives, and whoso trusts in Him shall never, never die ; 
 He lives, — this mortal shall be clothed with immortality. 
 The portals of the tomb are burst ; ye ransom'd captives, 
 
 sing, 
 Where is thy victory, O Grave ? where, darksome Death, 
 
 thy sting?" 
 
236 DEATH AND VICTORY. 
 
 No wild dreams these, — I speak of things that oftentimes 
 
 have been ; 
 Of parting words that I have heard, and death-beds I have 
 
 seen; 
 Of a long-loved father, circled by his children and his wife, 
 With every joy to gladden earth, and bind him unto life, 
 Who calmly said, " My children must not stay me from my 
 
 rest; 
 My work is finish'd, and I long to sleep on Jesus' breast ; 
 Death cannot part me from His love — Lord Jesu, it is 
 
 Thou — 
 I have no fear, my children ; for my Lord is with me now." 
 
 And gentle girls, too, have I seen, who seem'd for earth too 
 
 frail, 
 Tread with a firm confiding step, adown that lonesome 
 
 vale ; 
 Ay, and on childhood's pallid lip have words of triumph 
 
 play'd, 
 And tiny fingers, clasp'd in death, told, " I am not afraid." 
 But why speak on of scenes like these, when every heart 
 
 must know 
 Some parent, partner, brother, child, who trembled not to go 
 
DEATH AND VICTORY. 237 
 
 Where Jesus' steps had gone before, and He himself is 
 
 nigh, 
 Whispering above those boisterous waves, " Fear nothing, 
 
 it is I?" 
 
 Ours is the grief, who still are left in this far wilderness, 
 Which will at times, now they are gone, seem blank and 
 
 comfortless. 
 For moments spent with loving hearts are breezes from the 
 
 hills, 
 And the balm of Christian brotherhood like Eden's dew 
 
 distils : 
 And we whose footsteps and whose hearts so often fail and 
 
 faint, 
 Seem ill to spare the cheering voice of one departed saint. 
 
 But oh, we sorrow not like those whom no bright hopes 
 sustain, 
 
 For them who sleep in Jesus, God will with Him bring 
 again. 
 
 Love craves the presence and the sight of all its well- 
 beloved, 
 
 And therefore weep we in the homes whence they are far 
 removed ; 
 
238 DEATH AND VICTORY. 
 
 Love craves the presence and the sight of each beloved 
 
 one, 
 And therefore Jesus spake the word which caught them to 
 
 His throne : — 
 " Father, I will that all my own, which Thou hast granted 
 
 Me, 
 Be with Me where I am to share my glory's bliss with 
 
 Thee." 
 
 Thus heaven is gathering, one by one, in its capacious 
 breast, 
 
 All that is pure and permanent, and beautiful and blest ; 
 
 The family is scatter'd yet, though of one home and heart. 
 
 Part militant in earthly gloom, in heavenly glory part. 
 
 But who can speak the rapture, when the circle is com- 
 plete, 
 
 And all the children sunder'd now around one Father 
 meet? 
 
 One fold, one Shepherd, one employ, one everlasting home : 
 
 " Lo ! I come quickly." " Even so, Amen ! Lord Jesu, 
 come ! " 
 
 1851. 
 
u { J" 
 
 THE TROUBLE OF JESUS' SOUL. 
 
 John xii. 27. 
 
 " And now is my soul troubled/' Can it be ? 
 
 O speak the word again, and yet again. 
 
 Thy soul, O holy Saviour, troubled ? Peace, 
 
 Be comforted, my weak and weary heart : 
 
 There is a deep unfathomable rest 
 
 In that low moan of anguish. Was Thy soul, 
 
 O Jesu, troubled, tempest-tost, like mine ? — 
 
 Troubled ? — Thy faith held fast her anchor-hold 
 
 Upon the Rock of everlasting strength : 
 
 For Thee the light of coming glory shone 
 
 Beyond all clouds, that wrapp'd the vale of death 
 
 It was Thy daily meat and drink to do 
 
 Thy Father's will, which in Thy secret breast 
 
240 THE TROUBLE OF JESUS' SOUL. 
 
 Was ever springing up a well of life, 
 
 The world knew nothing of. And yet Thy soul 
 
 Was troubled. 
 
 Trouble then was uppermost, 
 Not joy, not peace, but trouble and unrest, 
 What time these holy words dropp'd from Thy lips ; 
 There was no stain of sin in them, no film 
 Of evil ; only grief, deep sinless grief, 
 As when a tempest scourges into waves 
 A calm and crystal lake. 
 
 Oh, peace, my heart : 
 It is not sin to feel the bitterness 
 Of sorrow, nor to tremble, as the storm 
 Rocks the foundations of our little all : 
 It is not sin to weep, and make our moan. 
 Nay, for this human suffering Jesus felt, 
 And wept, and shudder'd, and confess'd His woe ; 
 Though almost in the self-same breath of prayer 
 He pleaded, " Father, glorify Thy name," 
 And meekly bow'd His head to bear the cross. 
 
THB TROUBLE OF JESUS' SOUL. 241 
 
 I thank Thee, Lord, for these Thy words of grief; 
 
 I thank Thee more for Thy victorious love : 
 
 So teach me at Thy feet to kneel and learn, 
 
 Until my feeble prayer re-echoes Thine, 
 
 " Father, Thy will, not mine, Thy will be done." 
 
 1862. 
 
 11 
 
NO MOKE CRYING. 
 
 Key. xxi. 4. 
 
 I lay upon my bed, and dream'd a dream. 
 Time and its conflicts had, methought, long since 
 Been number'd with the past. Nothing was heard 
 But Hallelujahs from the universe : 
 Our Father's will was done, His kingdom come : 
 Earth was a nursery for heaven. When, lo ! 
 Among the mingled ranks of saints and seraphs 
 Who stood before the throne, a short, sharp cry — 
 A short, sharp, passionate cry — suddenly rose : 
 One cry, and from the humblest of that throng ; 
 One little cry, and in a moment hush'd. 
 But instantly the glorious tide of praise, 
 Which for long ages had flowed on and on 
 
NO MORE CRYING. 243 
 
 In ever-deepening waves of crystal joy, 
 
 Was troubled. Angel on archangel look'd 
 
 Amazed, abash'd, appall'd : saint gazed on saint 
 
 Incredulous : and quickly through all worlds 
 
 The sympathetic tidings spread dismay. 
 
 Wherefore ? Was heaven's felicity so frail ? 
 
 Whence had that cry such terrors ? Sin, sin, sin : 
 
 Faint, feeble, fugitive ; but real sin. 
 
 Had Satan broken loose ? Should evil cast 
 
 Again its dismal shadow over good ? 
 
 Angels grew pale ; all faces gather'd gloom ; 
 
 Thunders began to roll. And with the shock 
 
 I woke ; and waking knew it was a dream, 
 
 A feverish nightmare-dream, earth-born, earth-bred, 
 
 And one of heaven's impossibilities. 
 
 1867. 
 
^ V m n 
 
 i. 
 
 THE PRINCE OF PEACE. 
 
 i. 
 Hark, hark ! the advent cry again : 
 
 The angels sing His birth, 
 " Glory to God, good-will to men, 
 And peace on earth." 
 
 ii. 
 
 He comes ; and eager listeners throng 
 
 The lowly path He trod ; 
 For peace is ever on His tongue, — 
 The peace of God. 
 
246 THE PRINCE OF PEACE. 
 
 III. 
 
 See, His frail bark the waters fill : 
 
 Yet why that faithless dread ? 
 Before His mighty " Peace, be still," 
 The storm is fled. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A weeping sinner dares to touch 
 And bathe His feet with tears : 
 And " Go in peace : thou lovest much," 
 Is all she hears. 
 
 v. 
 
 His hour is come : sad bosoms heave 
 
 With bodings unexpress'd : 
 Peace — grief itself forgets to grieve 
 At His bequest. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O never, never, gentle Dove, 
 
 Let Thy soft pleadings cease, 
 Until we bask in light, and love, 
 And perfect peace. 
 
 1869. 
 
II. 
 
 THE ROCK OF AGES. 
 
 Thou art the same, and Thy years shall have no end. 
 Ps. cii. 27. 
 
 O God, the Rock of Ages, 
 
 Who evermore hast been, 
 What time the tempest rages, 
 
 Our dwelling-place serene : 
 Before Thy first creations, 
 
 O Lord, the same as now, 
 To endless generations 
 
 The Everlasting Thou ! 
 
 Our years are like the shadows 
 On sunny hills that lie, 
 
 Or grasses in the meadows 
 That blossom but to die : 
 
248 THE ROCK OF AGES. 
 
 A sleep, a dream, a story 
 By strangers quickly told, 
 
 An unremaining glory 
 
 Of things that soon are old. 
 
 O Thou, who canst not slumber, 
 
 Whose light grows never pale, 
 Teach us aright to number 
 
 Our years before they fail. 
 On us Thy mercy lighten, 
 
 On us Thy goodness rest, 
 And let Thy Spirit brighten 
 
 The hearts Thyself hast bless'd. 
 
 Lord, crown our faith's endeavor 
 
 With beauty and with grace, 
 Till, clothed in light for ever, 
 
 We see Thee face to face : 
 A joy no language measures ; 
 
 A fountain brimming o'er ; 
 An endless flow of pleasures ; 
 
 An ocean without shore. 
 
 1862. 
 
III. 
 
 THE HIDING-PLACE. 
 
 " A man shall be as an hiding-place from the wind and a covert 
 from the tempest, as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow 
 of a great rock in a weary land." - Isa. xxxii. 2. 
 
 O Jesu, Saviour of the lost, 
 My rock and hiding-place ; 
 
 By storms of sin and sorrow tost 
 I seek Thy sheltering grace. 
 
 Guilty, forgive me, Lord, I cry ; 
 
 Pursued by foes I come ; 
 A sinner, save me, or I die ; 
 
 An outcast, — take me home. 
 
 Once safe in Thine Almighty arms, 
 Let storms come on amain ; 
 
 There danger never, never harms, 
 There death itself is gain. 
 11* 
 
250 THE HIDING-PLACE. 
 
 And when I stand before Thy throne, 
 And all Thy glory see ; 
 
 Still be my righteousness alone, 
 To hide myself in Thee. 
 
 1850. 
 
IV. 
 
 "ABIDE IN ME." 
 John xv. 4. 
 
 " Abide in Me, and I in you : " 
 Ah, blessed, sweet commands ; 
 Soft as the fall of early dew, 
 On parched, thirsty lands. 
 
 Abide in Thee, my Lord, my God, 
 
 Omnipotent to save 
 From all the dangers of my road, 
 
 From Satan and the grave. 
 
 In thee, whose wisdom none can tell, 
 Whose grace no limit knows ; 
 
 Whose love divine, unsearchable, 
 A boundless ocean flows. 
 
252 
 
 1849. 
 
 Then welcome joy, and farewell fear, 
 And calm, ye wild waves, be ; 
 
 If only, Lord, Thy voice I hear, 
 " My child, abide in Me." 
 
V. 
 
 HYMN TO THE HOLY TRINITY. 
 
 * Who shall not fear Thee, O Lord, and glorify Thy name 1 " 
 Rev. xv. 4. 
 
 Father of heaven above, 
 Dwelling in light and love, 
 
 Ancient of days, 
 Light unapproachable, 
 Love inexpressible, 
 Thee, the Invisible, 
 
 Laud we and praise. 
 
 Christ, the eternal Word, 
 Christ, the incarnate Lord, 
 
 Saviour of all, 
 High throned above all height, 
 God of God, Light of Light, 
 Increate, infinite, 
 
 On Thee we call. 
 
254 HYMN TO THE HOLY TRINITY. 
 
 O God, the Holy Ghost, 
 Whose fires of Pentecost 
 
 Burn evermore, 
 In this far wilderness 
 Leave us not comfortless : 
 Thee we love, Thee we bless, 
 
 Thee we adore. 
 
 Strike your harps, heavenly powers ; 
 With your glad chants shall ours 
 
 Trembling ascend : 
 All praise, O God, to Thee, 
 Three in One, One in Three, 
 Praise everlastingly, 
 
 World without end. 
 
 1870. 
 
VI. 
 
 THE TRUMPET OF JUBILEE. 
 
 "Trumpets of silver." — Numb. x. 2. 
 
 brothers, lift your voices, 
 
 Triumphant songs to raise ; 
 Till heaven on high rejoices, 
 
 And earth is fill'd with praise. 
 Ten thousand hearts are bounding 
 
 With holy hopes, and free ; 
 The Gospel trump is sounding, 
 
 The trump of Jubilee, 
 
 O Christian brothers ! glorious 
 Shall be the conflict's close : 
 
 The cross hath been victorious, 
 And shall be o'er its foes. 
 
256 THE TRUMPET OF JUBILEE. 
 
 Faith is our battle-token ; 
 
 Our Leader all controls ; 
 Our trophies, fetters broken ; 
 
 Our captives, ransom'd souls. 
 
 Not unto us — Lord Jesus, 
 
 To Thee all praise be due ! 
 Whose blood-bought mercy frees us, 
 
 Has freed our brethren too. 
 Not unto us — in glory 
 
 The angels catch the strain, 
 And cast their crowns before Thee 
 
 Exultingly again. 
 
 Captain of our salvation, 
 
 Thy presence we adore : 
 Praise, glory, adoration 
 
 Be Thine for evermore ! 
 Still on in conflict pressing 
 
 On Thee Thy people call, 
 Thee, King of kings, confessing, 
 
 Thee crowning Lord of all. 
 
 1849. 
 
VII. 
 
 "HE SHALL GATHER THE LAMBS WITH 
 HIS ARM." 
 
 I8AIAH Xl. 11. 
 
 Poor shepherdless lambs, amid darkness and dangers, 
 We sported in paths of temptation and sin ; 
 
 We had heedlessly followed the bidding of strangers, 
 None guided us out, and none folded us in. 
 
 But Jesus heard tell of our pitiful story, 
 
 And love fill'd His bosom with grief for our loss, 
 
 For us He forsook the bright mansions of glory 
 And came to the manger, the garden, the cross. 
 
 He sought and He found : in His bosom He laid us, 
 And shew'd us the marks in His hands and His feet, 
 
 And gently, meanwhile, to His sheep-fold convey'd us, 
 A shelter from tempest, a shadow from heat. 
 
258 " HE SHALL GATHER THE LAMBS WITH HIS ARM." 
 
 With His crook and His staff He doth govern and guide 
 us: 
 
 How green are the pastures, the waters how clear ! 
 While Jesus is with us, what harm shall betide us ? 
 
 While He is our shepherd, what foe shall we fear ? 
 
 'Tis true that in places the path may be thorny ; 
 
 And of the dark valley He us has foretold ; 
 But He promises He will go all the long journey, 
 
 And bring us safe through to His heavenly fold. 
 
 He says, be the path thither longer or shorter, 
 No cloud ever darkens our home in the skies ; 
 
 For He'll lead us beside living fountains of water, 
 And God shall wipe off every tear from our eyes. 
 
 1850. 
 
VIII. 
 
 BAPTISM OF SUCH AS ARE OF RIPER 
 YEARS. 
 
 " And now, why tamest thou ? Arise, and be baptized, and 
 wash away thy sins, calling on the name of the Lord." — Acts 
 xxii. 16. 
 
 Stand, soldier of the cross, 
 Thy high allegiance claim, 
 And vow to hold the world but loss 
 For thy Redeemer's name. 
 
 Arise, and be baptized, 
 And wash thy sins away : 
 Thy faith and hope be realized, 
 Thy love avouch'd to-day. 
 
 Our heavenly country now, 
 Our Lord and Master, thine, 
 Receive imprinted on thy brow 
 His Passion's awful sign. 
 
260 BAPTISM OF SUCH AS ARE OF RIPER YEARS. 
 
 No more thine own, but Christ's; 
 With all the saints of old, 
 Apostles, seers, evangelists, 
 
 And martyr throngs enroll'd, — 
 
 In God's whole armor strong, 
 Front hell's embattled powers : 
 The warfare may be sharp and long, 
 The victory must be ours. 
 
 O bright the conqueror's crown, 
 The song of triumph sweet, 
 When faith casts every trophy down 
 At our Great Captain's feet. 
 
 1870. 
 
IX. 
 
 CONFIRMATION HYMN. 
 
 [ To be sung after the benedictory prayer, " Defend, Lord, this Thy 
 servant with Thy heavenly grace, that he may continue Thine for 
 ever," #-c] 
 
 " I am Thine, save me." — Ps. cxix. 94. 
 
 " Thine, Thine for ever " — blessed bond 
 
 That knits ns, Lord, to Thee : 
 May voice, and heart, and soul respond 
 
 Amen, so let it be. 
 
 When this world strikes its dulcet harp, 
 
 And earth our heaven appears, 
 Be " Thine for ever," clear and sharp, 
 
 God's trumpet in our ears. 
 
 When sin in pleasure's soft disguise 
 
 Would work us deadliest harm, 
 May " Thine for ever " from the skies 
 
 Steal down, and break the charm. 
 
262 CONFIRMATION HYMN. 
 
 When Satan flings his fiery darts 
 Against our weary shield, 
 
 May " Thine for ever " in our hearts 
 Forbid us faint or yield. 
 
 Thine all along the flowery spring, 
 Along che summer prime, 
 
 Till autumn fades in welcoming 
 The silver frost of time. 
 
 " Thine, Thine for ever " — body, soul, 
 Henceforth devote to thee, 
 
 While everlasting ages roll : 
 Amen, so let it be. 
 
 1870. 
 
X. 
 
 REST IN THE LORD: MARRIAGE HYMN. 
 
 " Rest in the Lord."— Ps. xxxvii. 7. 
 
 Rest in the Lord — from harps above 
 
 The music seems to thrill — 
 Rest in His everlasting love, 
 Rest and be still. 
 
 Rest thou, who claimest for thine own 
 
 Thy chosen bride to-day, 
 Affianced in His faith alone 
 Thy bride for aye. 
 
 And thou, whose trustful hand is given 
 
 Avouching here thy spouse, 
 Rest, for a Father seals in heaven 
 His children's vows. 
 
264 REST IN THE LORD: MARRIAGE HYMN. 
 
 Rest ye, who cluster round them both 
 
 To mingle praise and prayers ; 
 Your God affirms the plighted troth, 
 Your God and theirs. 
 
 Rest, for the Heavenly Bridegroom here 
 
 Is standing by your side, 
 And in this union draws more near 
 His mystic bride. 
 
 Rest in the Lord — thrice Holy Dove, 
 
 In us Thy word fulfil — 
 Rest in His everlasting love, 
 Rest and be still. 
 
 1869. 
 
XL 
 
 THE MARRIAGE BENEDICTION. 
 
 "Being heirs together of the grace of life." — 1 Pet. iii. 7. 
 
 [To be sung after the blessing, "Almighty God, who at the beginning did 
 create our first parents" frc.] 
 
 Ere the words of peace and love, 
 Breathed on earth, are borne above, 
 While their echo, soft and clear, 
 Lingers on the tranced ear, — 
 Catch upon your lips the strain, 
 Swell the notes of prayer again, 
 Prayer with benedictions fraught, 
 Passing words and passing thought : 
 
 Co-eternal Three in One, 
 
 Seal the nuptial benison. 
 
 Blessings from the earth beneath, 
 Fruits and flowers in woven wreath ; 
 12 
 
266 THE MARRIAGE BENEDICTION. 
 
 Balmy dews that heaven distils 
 On the everlasting hills ; 
 Angel wings, a guard of light 
 O'er the peaceful home by night ; 
 Angel steps to tend the way 
 Onward, heavenward, day by day : 
 Co-eternal Three in One, 
 Seal the nuptial benison. 
 
 Hear our prayer : this union be 
 Ratified, O God, by Thee ; 
 This another link entwined 
 Hearts and homes and heaven to bind 
 In that mystic chain of love, 
 Holding us, but held above ; 
 Knitting all that world to this, 
 Eden's bloom to glory's bliss : 
 Co-Eternal Three in One, 
 Seal the nuptial benison. 
 
 Three in One, and One in Three, 
 Blessedness is blessing Thee ; 
 
THK MA.BRIAGE BLNKDICTION. 267 
 
 While we pour in chant and hymn 
 
 Full hearts, flowing o'er the brim, — 
 
 Water by Thy power benign 
 
 Blushing as celestial wine, — 
 
 Till within the golden gates, 
 
 Where the Lamb His bridal waits, 
 
 We with all the white-robed throngs 
 Sing the heavenly Song of Songs. 
 
 *** This Hymn may be most appropriately sung to the first tune (Air 
 by Mendelssohn) assigned to No. 43, " Hark! the herald angels sing," in 
 "Hymns Ancient and Modern." 
 
 1869. 
 
XII. 
 
 THE VILLAGE EVENING HYMN. 
 
 Strangers and pilgrims on the earth." — Heb. xi. 13. 
 
 Hark, the nightly church-bell numbers 
 One day more with by-gone things ; 
 
 Saviour, o'er our peaceful slumbers 
 Spread Thy everlasting wings. 
 
 One day less of sin and sadness, 
 One day nearer heaven and home : 
 
 Travellers to light and gladness, 
 Qnward stage by stage we roam. 
 
 One day less of toil and labor, 
 One day nearer rest, and Thee. 
 
 Child and parent, friend and neighbor, 
 Lift your voice, and bend your knee. 
 
THE VILLAGE EVENING-HYMN. 269 
 
 Blessed Spirit, hover o'er us, 
 
 Sleeping, waking, be Thou near ; 
 Comrades, there is joy before us, 
 
 Rest in peace, and rise in prayer. 
 
 1853. 
 
XIII. 
 
 HYMN TO BE USED AT SEA. 
 
 " O God of our salvation, who art the confidence of them that are 
 afar off upon the sea." — Ps. lxv. 5. 
 
 Lord of the ocean, hear our cry, 
 As o'er the trackless deep we roam ; 
 Be Thou, our haven, always nigh ; 
 On homeless waters Thou our home. 
 
 O Jesu, Saviour, at whose voice 
 The tempest sank to perfect rest, 
 Bid Thou the mourner's heart rejoice, 
 And cleanse and calm the troubled breast. 
 
 O Holy Ghost, beneath whose power 
 
 Creation woke to life and light, 
 
 Command Thy blessing in this hour, 
 
 Thy fostering warmth, Thy quickening might. 
 
HYMN TO BE USED AT SEA. 271 
 
 Great God, Triune Jehovah, Thee 
 We love, we worship, we adore ; 
 Our refuge on time's changeful sea, 
 Our joy on heaven's eternal shore. 
 
 1869. 
 
XIV. 
 
 THE INSTITUTION OF THE LORD'S 
 SUPPER. 
 
 "I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until 
 I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom." — Matt. 
 xxvi. 29. 
 
 The hour is come ; the feast is spread : 
 
 Behold My body given ; 
 Behold My life-blood freely shed 
 
 To ransom souls for heaven. 
 
 When of this cup I drink again, 
 
 In glory and with you, 
 No tears its perfect joy shall stain, 
 
 A joy for ever new. 
 
 Ere then ten thousand thousand times 
 
 My table shall be spread, 
 And countless souls in distant climes 
 
 Be comforted and fed. 
 
THE INSTITUTION OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 273 
 
 Grace, mercy, peace be multiplied 
 
 To those who commune there ; 
 While seated by My Father's side 
 
 Their mansion I prepare. 
 
 But now these lips a different cup 
 
 For you must taste and drain, 
 And unrepiningly drink up 
 
 The dregs of bitter pain. 
 
 The griefs ye know not that are Mine, 
 
 Nor yet My glories see ; 
 But break the bread, and drink the wine, 
 
 And thus remember Me. 
 
 1850. 
 
 12* 
 
XV. 
 
 COMMUNION OF THE SICK. 
 
 " I sleep, but my heart waketh : it is the voice of my beloved 
 that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, 
 my undefiled : for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with 
 the drops of the night." — Song v. 2. 
 
 "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear 
 my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup 
 with him, and he with me." — Rev. iii. 20. 
 
 The sun is set, the twilight's o'er, 
 The night dews fall like rain : 
 
 A Prince stands at a suppliant's door, 
 And knocks, and knocks again. 
 
 " J slumber ; but my heart is moved 
 
 With joy and holy fear : 
 Is it thy footstep, O beloved, 
 
 Thy hand, Thy voice I hear?" 
 
COMMUNION OF THE SICK. 275 
 
 " 'Tis I, thy Lord, who stand and wait 
 
 Beneath the darkening sky : 
 Arise, unbar, unclose the gate, 
 
 Fear nothing ; it is I. 
 
 " The bread of life is in My hand ; 
 
 The wine of heaven I bring : 
 Fulfil My tenderest last command : 
 
 Thy Bridegroom is thy King. 
 
 " Eat, drink ; and muse in loving trust, 
 
 The while I sup with thee, 
 If this be heaven on earth, what must 
 
 My Bridal banquet be." 
 
 1869. 
 
XVI. 
 
 TILL HE COME. 
 
 " As often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do show 
 forth the Lord's death till He come." — 1 Cor. xi. 26. 
 
 " Till He come — " Oh, let the words 
 
 Linger on the trembling chords ; 
 
 Let the little while between 
 
 In their golden light be seen ; 
 
 Let us think how heaven and home 
 
 Lie beyond that " Till He come." 
 
 When the weary ones we love 
 Enter on their rest above, 
 Seems the earth so poor and vast, 
 All our life-joy overcast : 
 Hush, be every murmur dumb, 
 It is only — till He come. 
 
TILL HE COME. 277 
 
 Clouds and conflicts round us press : 
 Would we have one sorrow less ? 
 All the sharpness of the cross, 
 All that tells the world is loss, 
 Death, and darkness, and the tomb, 
 Only whisper, " Till He come." 
 
 See, the feast of love is spread, 
 Drink the wine, and break the bread, — 
 Sweet memorials, — till the Lord 
 Call us round His heavenly board ; 
 Some from earth, from glory some, 
 Sever'd only — till He come. 
 
 1861. 
 
XVII. 
 
 "HARPERS HARPING WITH THEIR HARPS." 
 
 Revelation xiv. 2. 
 
 On the hill of Zion standing, 
 Lo ! the Lamb of God appears : 
 
 Scenes of glory far expanding, 
 Far above this vale of tears ; 
 Songs of rapture, falling sweet on mortal ears. 
 
 Lo ! He comes ! with awful wonder : 
 Hark, those strains of joy untold ; 
 
 Deepening on and on like thunder 
 Never learnt or sung of old : 
 Blissful harpers, harping on their harps of gold. 
 
 Lo ! He comes ! in heaven appearing, 
 
 Mark yon herald angel's flight, 
 Glad eternal tidings bearing 
 
 To the lands of heathen night. 
 O'er the nations breaks a flood of Gospel light. 
 
"harpers harping with their harps." 279 
 
 Lo ! He comes ! the heavens unfold Him ; 
 
 King of Kings, He comes to reign ; 
 Crown'd, enthroned, ye saints, behold Him, 
 Once for you baptized in pain. 
 Come, Lord Jesus ! Even so, Amen, Amen. 
 
 1849. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 HE COMETH. 
 
 "Hallelujah : for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.' 
 Rev. xix. 6. 
 
 Hallelujah! He cometh with clouds and with light, 
 And the trumpet of God, in the silence of night : 
 Heaven's armies before Him adoringly bend, 
 And thousands of thousands His bidding attend. 
 
 Hallelujah ! He cometh : and every eye 
 Beholds Him with anguish or rapturous joy ; 
 A wailing is heard from the kindreds of earth, 
 It is drown'd in Hosannas of heavenly mirth. 
 
 Hallelujah ! He cometh : the judgment is set, 
 And the nations are gather'd in crowds to His feet ; 
 The earth and the ocean have yielded their dead, 
 And the records of time are unfolded and read. 
 
HE COMETH. 281 
 
 Hallelujah ! earth crumbles in ashes and dust, 
 While calmly He severs the wicked and just, 
 The shadows of darkness are driven away, 
 And the morning has dawn'd of eternal day. 
 
 1850. 
 
THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 
 
 Slowly along the rugged pathway walk'd 
 
 Two sadden'd wayfarers, bent on one quest ; — 
 
 With them Another who had ask'd to share 
 
 Their travel, since they left the city walls ; — 
 
 Their converse too intent for speed : and oft, 
 
 Where linger'd on the rocks the sunset tints, 
 
 They check'd their footsteps, careless of the hour 
 
 And waning light and heavy falling dews. 
 
 For from the Stranger's lips came words, that burn'd 
 
 And lit the altar fuel on their hearts, 
 
 Consuming fear, and quickening faith at once. 
 
 God's oracles grew luminous as He spake ; 
 
 And all along the ages Good from 111 
 
 And light from darkness sprang, as day from night. 
 
THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 283 
 
 The first faint dawn from ruin'd Eden rose, 
 
 And glimmer'd round the solitary ark. 
 
 And lighted up Moriah's sacrifice, 
 
 And shed its warmth on Jacob's dying couch, 
 
 And bathed the blood-stained mercy-seat with love ; 
 
 The Eastern heavens were flush'd with rosier gleams ; 
 
 It woke the minstrel shepherd, and his hand, 
 
 Obedient to the gladness, struck his harp, 
 
 " Joy cometh in the morning ; " and the words 
 
 Thereafter lived in song. Isaiah's soul 
 
 Glow'd with the coming glory, and hi j page 
 
 Caught the far splendors of the orient clouds ; 
 
 And plaintive Jeremy look'd up and smiled ; 
 
 And rapt Ezekiel breathed his hopes in fire. 
 
 A deeper shade is glooming on the hills : 
 
 A livelier amber brightens in the sky 
 
 And broadens, till the Sun of Righteousness 
 
 Rises at last with healing in His wings. 
 
 Thus on their path they communed, till they reach'd 
 The lowly wicket, and their urgent plea, 
 " D:iy is far spent, abide with us," prevail'd. 
 The lamp is lighted o'er the simple board ; 
 
284 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 And there is silence for a space : but lo, 
 The Stranger takes the bread and blesses it 
 And breaks : and like a dream the veil is rent 
 Which hid their Lord and Master from their gaze. 
 It is His eye, His hand, His voice, Himself. 
 Fain had they fallen at His feet, and fain 
 Clung to Him as of old : it may not be ; 
 His place is empty, but His love is there, 
 A calm abiding Presence in their hearts. 
 
 O Jesu, Saviour, hear our cry. We too 
 Are weary travellers on life's rough path. 
 And Thou art still unchangeably the same. 
 Come, Lord, to us, and let us walk with Thee : 
 Come and unfold the words of heavenly life, 
 Till our souls burn within us, and the day 
 Breaks, and the Day-star rises in our hearts. 
 Yea, Lord, abide with us, rending the veil 
 Which hides Thee from the loving eye of faith, 
 Dwell with us to the world's end evermore, 
 Until thou callest us to dwell with Thee. 
 
 1870. 
 
-^*®5 
 
 THE THREE FOLLOWING POEMS 
 
 OBTAINED 
 
 THE CHANCELLOR'S MEDAL 
 
 at the cambridge commencement, in 
 the years 1844, 1845, 1846. 
 
THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 cuTuvov, alTuvov elnh, rd d' ev vlkcltw. 
 
 I stood beside the waters — and at night — 
 
 The voice of thousands now at last was still ; 
 Silent the streets, and the wan moon's pale light 
 
 Fell silently upon the waters chill. 
 
 Ah ! silence there — strange visions seem to fill 
 My desolate spirit — for I stood the last, 
 
 I, the lone lingerer by the lonely hill : 
 The stars wept night-dews, and the fitful blast, 
 Whispering of other years, beside me moan'd and pass'd. 
 
288 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 II. 
 
 I leant and mused. Beneath the midnight sky, 
 Stretch'd in dim outline, rose those turrets gray : 
 
 Like wave-worn monuments, where passers by 
 Linger, and dream of ages pass'd away, 
 They stood in silence. Strangely wild were they ; 
 
 For Silence hath unto herself a spell : 
 She hath a siren voice ; and like the play 
 
 Of winds on crystal waters, she can tell 
 Of regions all her own, where dream-like fancies dwell. 
 
 in. 
 
 And led by her I dreamt, and saw, methought, 
 The time when yonder waters rolFd between 
 
 No walls and granite turrets, but, untaught, 
 
 Through the oak forest and the woodland green 
 Flow'd, kissing every floweret. Wild the scene : 
 
 For Britons roam'd along the tangled shore 
 With happy hearts, and bold unfearing mien ; 
 
 Their war-songs sang they the blue waters o'er, 
 In all things Freedom's children, hers erelong no more. 
 
THE TOWER OF LONDON. 289 
 
 IV. 
 
 Heard ye the eagle swooping ? Nursed in pride, 
 
 Rome's blood-stain'd armies sought these shores, and 
 flung 
 
 Her tyrant banners o'er the reckless tide : 
 
 The waves dash'd on, but bitter chains were hung 
 Round freemen's necks : a nation's heart was wrung ! 
 
 Few, few, and weary, see them wending slow, 
 Fair girls and hoary warriors, old and young, 
 
 To brave an exile's lot, and exile's woe, 
 Far from their native hearths on Cambria's wilds of snow. 
 
 v. 
 
 Then rose, as legends tell, yon turrets, piled 
 By the proud victor to enchain the free ; 
 
 Swiftly they rose, — but oh ! when morning smiled 
 First on those towers from out the golden sea, 
 Where Rome's proud eagle, Britain, mock'd at thee, 
 
 Who could have guess'd the dark and wondrous story 
 Of things that have been there and yet shall be ? 
 
 Written too oft in letters deeply gory — 
 A captive's tale of tears, yet bright with deeds of glory. 
 
 13 
 
290 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Like one who bending o'er the waves that sleep 
 'Mid Tyre's old fabled battlements descries 
 
 Their faint dim outline in the silent deep, 1 
 Till in the shadowy light before his eyes 
 Dome after dome begins erelong to rise ; — 
 
 Thus the far landscape of the past we scan, 
 And wondrous seem and dark its mysteries, 
 
 Till truth hath lit Time's strangely-pictured plan, 
 And ah ! yet stranger still, the passionate heart of man. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And when I stood beside that hoary pile 
 Its legends rose like phantoms of the tomb : 
 
 Spell-bound I linger'd there, and mused awhile 
 On every tower and spirit-haunted room ; 
 Mused o'er the cells of Hope's untimely doom, 
 
 1 The ruins of Tyre are said to be seen under the waves. 
 
THE TOWER OF LONDON. 291 
 
 And the yet drearier vaulted caves below, 
 
 Where heaven's pure light ne'er trembled through the 
 gloom ; 
 Some with their tale of wonder, some of woe — 
 Here where the heart might throb, and there where tears 
 mijrht flow. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Methought I saw two happy children lying, 
 Lock'd in each other's arms, at dead of night, 
 
 Peace smiled beside, but Love stood o'er them sighing : — 
 And I heard stealthy footsteps treading light — 
 List ! — steps of murderers ? — never ! for that sight 
 
 Must break a heart of marble : yet 'tis done, — 
 Low smother 'd groans too truly told aright 
 
 As one they lived and loved, they died as one — 
 None there to save them ? weeping Echo answers, " None." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yet childhood is a sunny dream, and we 
 
 Can scarcely mourn when it doth pass away 
 
292 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 Unclouded to heaven's sunshine ; and to me 
 Those towers where winged spirits day by day 
 Have lived unmurmuring on to life's decay 
 
 Seem yet more strangely sad : — and such was thine, 
 O thou whose far keen eyesight won its way 
 
 O'er Time's drear ages, till there seem'd to shine 
 Across the starless gulf Truth's glorious arch divine. 1 
 
 x. 
 
 Man scales the mountain-tops, but o'er the mist 
 The eagle hovering seeks its native sky, 
 
 And the free clouds still wander where they list, 
 And still the waves are tameless. Thus on high 
 Thy thoughts at pleasure could take wing and fly, 
 
 Though fetter'd were thy limbs, and thus didst thou 
 Visit each clime and age with wandering eye, 
 
 And win a fadeless garland for thy brow, 
 And free with wisdom's freedom, deign to her to bow. 
 
 1 Sir Walter Raleigh, who during his long imprisonment wrote his 
 immortal "History of the World." 
 
THE TOWER OF LONDON. 293 
 
 XI. 
 
 A sadder turret, minstrel, bids thee linger, 
 
 And weave a sadder strain for her that's gone ; * 
 O gently touch thy chords with sorrow's finger, 
 
 Nor let thy music without tears flow on. 
 
 Low from that tower she lean'd, while yet there shone 
 The rosy blush of evening in her cell ; 
 
 Her eye was raised to heaven, her look was wan, 
 And on her bosom tears full quickly fell, — 
 Sad tribute to her land, its dying child's farewell. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Oh ! other were the dreams," she weeping cried, 
 " That rose and smiled upon mine infant years ! 
 
 Bright were they in their freshness — all have died — 
 My fancied garlands were but gemm'd with tears, 
 My starry guide a meteor, and mine ears 
 
 Caught but false siren strains ; yet, frail and young, 
 I deem'd that star a light of other spheres, 
 
 Snatch'd at the wreath, drank in the illusive song, 
 And now, to-morrow . . . hush ! my throbs will cease erelong. 
 
 1 Lady Jane Grey. 
 
294 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "To-morrow — 'tis a strange and fearful call — 
 To-morrow's eve and I shall be no more. 
 
 Yet why so fearful unto me ? We all 
 Are voyaging towards a distant shore, 
 Toss'd on life's fitful billows, whose wild roar 
 
 Drowns the far music of our heavenly home : 
 A few more surging waves to traverse o'er, 
 
 Some little stormy wind, some billowy foam, 
 And I have gain'd my bourn — oh ! ne'er again to roam." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 That morrow came ; the young and lovely one 
 
 Was led where soon her mangled corse should lie : 
 There, breaking hearts and stifled sighs — and none 
 
 Look'd without tears on her blue tearless eye. 
 
 Yet seem'd she all too beautiful to die, 
 Ere love and gladness from her cheek had flown : — 
 
 Fond dreamer ! knowest thou not the happy sky 
 Claims first the loveliest flowerets for its own ? 
 Heaven's nurslings, lent to earth as exiled plants alone. 
 
THE TOWER OF LONDON. 295 
 
 XV. 
 
 I mused in sadness, for methought there fell 
 
 Her smile on me, her loveliest, her last. 
 But hark ! the watchword of the sentinel. 
 
 Changed were my dreams — yon nightly turrets cast 
 
 Upon my soul the image of the past ; 
 And many were the thoughts, and wild and wide, 
 
 Echoing of thee, my country, 'mid the blast — 
 There have thy monarchs fought, thy chieftains died, 
 And queenly hearts for thee throbb'd high with hero pride. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Time-honored Towers ! whence ever floated free 
 Old England's banners over hearts as bold ! 
 
 Within whose walls the sceptre of the sea 
 Lies by the sword of mercy — where is told 
 The thrilling tale o'er many a trophy old, 
 
 AY here diadems rest, and helm and spear are piled, 
 And standards in a thousand fights unrolPd, 
 
 Oh there the heart must lose itself, and wild 
 Will be its wandering-song — of vision'd dreams the child. 
 
296 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 I look'd upon thy walls when day was closing, 
 Mighty and vast they rose upon the sight, 
 
 In massive grandeur silently reposing : 
 
 List ! 'tis the hush of evening — dimly bright 
 The moon just glimmer'd, and the listless night 
 
 Was brooding over wave and tower sublime, 
 When suddenly there gleam'd a fatal light 
 
 Amid those frowning ramparts — 'twas the time 
 When all things slumber on, and nigh the midnight chime. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But hark ! the crash of timbers — then the hush 
 Of breathless whispering rose, and the red glow 
 
 Grew momently more vivid, and the rush 
 Of hurrying footsteps echoed to and fro — 
 And like a dream it pass'd of flames and woe. 
 
 I look'd upon thy walls when morn was riding 
 In sunshine o'er the rosy hills, and lo ! 
 
 Amid the wreck, like spectres unabiding, 
 Glory and Desolation hand in hand were gliding. 
 
THE TOWER OF LONDON. 297 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The heart must catch at omens, and must weave 
 From passing meteors dreams of hope or fear ! 
 
 And some, my country, speak a mournful eve 
 Of thy long day of glory. Far and near 
 The storm-clouds, brooding round thy skirts appear ; 
 
 And waitings, as of winds through woods, are heard: 
 And hangs, like death, the heavy atmosphere : 
 
 And smitten as with some prophetic word 
 The strong foundations of the earth are moved and stirr'd. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The- nations are disquieted, the heart 
 Of princes ill at ease : the fearful bow 
 
 Their heads and tremble : with hush'd voice apart 
 The mighty stand, with pale though dauntless brow, 
 Asking of every hour — " What bringest thou ? " 
 
 And if a murmur whisper through the sky 
 
 They hush their breath, and cry, " It cometh now." 
 
 What cometh ? Stay — it heeds thee not to fly, 
 Unknown, though on its way — unseen, yet surely nigh. 
 
 13* 
 
208 THE TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But who shall dare, though storms are round thy way, 
 To write upon thy banners, Ichabod ? * 
 
 Thv strength is Dot in ramparts built of clay, 
 Nor in thy fearless children, who have trod 
 The waves as proudly as their native sod ; 
 
 But heavenly watchers aye have guarded thee — 
 God is thy refuge, and thy rampart God. 
 
 Here lies thy might, His arm thy trust shall be 
 Amid the wildest storms of Time's untravell'd sea. 
 
 Trinity College, 1844. 
 
 1 "The glory is departed." 
 
CAUBUL. 
 
 . . . tnel ovn fioi aiTiol elolv 
 ov )<ip Tiuttot* Eftug (3ovg rfkaaav, Me fisv Ittitovc, 
 ov6e izoT y kv $Oiri kpifiulfouu, puTiavEipy, 
 Kapirbv idijlijoavT* '. ekeuj fiuAa noTOiu fisra^i) 
 ovpsa te (jKLOEvra Qakaoou te 7jX*l eaGa ' — Mad, i. 153. 
 
 I. 
 u Sweep o'er thy strings, and hymn the gorgeous East, 
 
 Clime of the sun, and of the roseate morning." 
 Dim voices whisper'd thus my soul, and ceased. 
 And straightway at the echo of their warning 
 Came visions many a one in bright adorning, 
 Clustering like clouds instinct with light around me : 
 
 And music, as of winds and waters, scorning 
 The slumber of the twilight hills, spell-bound me, 
 Till where the stars had left the dew-bright sunshine found 
 me. 
 
300 CAUBUL. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh land of dreams and legendary song, 
 
 Strange are the wonders they of fabling story 
 
 Tell of thy haunted scenery ! Far along 
 
 The maze of thousand years through gloom and glory, 
 Like some wild landscape wrapt in vapors hoary, 
 
 The eye must wander, ere it reach the time, 
 
 Ye Eastern shores, where mystery hung not o'er ye : 
 
 Dim forms sweep looming through the mists of crime, 
 Or stand in light apparell'd on those hills sublime. 
 
 in. 
 
 And ever as I pondered, empires vast 
 
 Rose on my view, and vanish'd as they came; 
 And heroes meteor-like before me pass'd, 
 
 Their pathway dimm'd with blood and track'd by 
 flame: 
 
 Yet fell they all in darkness. Haply Fame 
 Shed transient tears for them ; but soon there shone 
 
 Another star far flashing — and the same 
 Brief tale was told — and ever and anon 
 Though gleaming high as heaven, I look'd, and they were 
 
CAUBUL. 301 
 
 IV. 
 
 But one 1 there was, whose dazzling train of fire 
 Startled the sleeping night in her repose ; 
 
 The blue heavens kindled as he pass'd — the choir 
 Of stars was troubled. From afar he rose, 
 Where in the evening light there faintly glows 
 
 Mild radiance o'er the hills of Macedon ; 
 And rushing forth, despite a nation's throes, 
 
 Through blood and breaking hearts and sorrows wan, 
 To Persia's confines drove his stormy chariot on. 
 
 v. 
 
 2 Thy rugged passes, Caubul, saw that host, 
 As with glad banners to the breezes flung, 
 
 Slow winding, o'er thy mountain range it cross'd : 
 And thy wild air heard victor paeans sung, 
 And strange sweet accents of entrancing tongue. 
 
 1 Alexander the Great. 
 
 2 "From this point (Herat), starting in the end of October, Alexander 
 marched to the Kabool valley, through a country occupied by Indians, 
 and bordering on Aracliotia." — Pkixsep's Affglianistan. 
 
302 CAUBUL. 
 
 He linger'd not : the far-off fabulous sea 
 
 He saw, and smiled : but Fate above him hung : 
 He fetter'd all the earth, yet was not free : 
 All nations bow'd to him — he bow'd, O Death, to thee. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And ages pass'd away like dreams : till soon 
 A victor footstep trod those hills once more. 
 
 'Twas night ; and lit up by the silver moon, 
 
 As streams a torrent from the hills, stream'd o'er 
 Wild children of the barren Scythian shore. 
 
 Ah ! woe for those who on the vine-clad plain 
 Sleep on unconscious as they slept of yore ! 
 
 Death wakes ; and echoing to the skies amain 
 Is heard the shout of nations — " Hail, great Tamerlane ! " 
 
 VIT. 
 
 Yes ! such have been the tempests that have pass'd, 
 Ye Affghan heights, across your crests of snow, 
 
 Or like the rushing of the nightly blast 
 Swept by in wildness and in wrath below ; 
 
CAUBUL. 303 
 
 Yet there unchanged amid the troubled flow 
 Of time's wild waters, silently ye rise, 
 
 And reckless of the whirlwind march of woe, 
 With that strange spirit-voice that in ye lies 
 Hold mystic communings with yonder starry skies. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 1 Perchance ye are whispering how in Caubul's vale, 
 Erst bloom'd the flowers of Eden pure and wild, 
 
 How waters gush'd from springs that could not fail, 
 And earth, in one bright infant dream beguiled, 
 Beneath the smile of heaven look'd up and smiled. 
 
 Oh, why o'er time's dear ocean rise to view 
 The monuments in crime and bloodshed piled ? 
 
 Why seem the waters with oblivious dew 
 Too oft to hide from sight the beautiful and true? 
 
 1 u Hindoo and Persian traditions go so far as to state that the 
 progenitors of mankind lived in that mountainous tract which extends 
 from Balkh and Affghanistan to the Ganges. . . . And the river Pison of 
 Scripture is said to compass the whole country of Havilah, and Havilah 
 is supposed to be Caubul." — Atkinson's Preface. 
 
304 CAUBUL. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The curtains of the past are round me closing ; 
 
 I may not lift them more : all silently 
 Behind its vaporous folds, in death reposing, 
 
 The by -gone ages slumber. But for me 
 
 An island, loveliest of the deep-blue sea, 
 In beauty smiles far o'er the ocean foam : 
 
 Mine heart goes out towards that fair countree, 
 Thoughts o'er a thousand long-loved landscapes roam, 
 A thousand spots are dear ... it is my island-home. 
 
 x. 
 
 And can it be her wondrous destinies 
 
 With yours, ye Eastern regions, are inwove ? 
 
 Lo ! cradled in the storms, and under skies 
 Cloud-robed and starless ever forced to rove, 
 Her infant empire with the tempests strove : — 
 
 Heaven had not will'd its shipwreck — for the shroud 
 Of Superstition o'er that land above 
 
 Hung shadowing ; so the East in silence bow'd. 
 And Britain's banners waved triumphant through the cloud. 
 
CAUBUL. 305 
 
 XI. 
 
 1 Chill sweeps the night-blast o'er the Affghan hills : 
 No eye that sleeps in CaubuPs walls to-night ! 
 
 None talked of home : a strange foreboding fills 
 The hearts of all, and many an anxious sight 
 Looks forth upon the darkness, where the bright 
 
 Far-flickering watch-fires blazed ; some trembling lay 
 All night within around the camp-fire's light, 
 
 Some on the rampart wait in dark dismay 
 The morrow's blood-stain'd march — the awful break of day. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The mother look'd upon her babe, and sobb'd ; 
 
 The husband clasp'd his wife, his breast was torn 
 With anguish, and with grief past utterance throbb'd, — 
 
 He knew what horrors she must pass at morn ; 
 
 Youth wept there, with her sister Beauty, born 
 
 l The night before the British troops left Caubul on their retreat has 
 been selected. 
 
306 CAUBUL. 
 
 Like her for sunshine, now like her in gloom ; 
 And innocent childhood, as in playful scorn, 
 Smiled on them both, but all its rosy bloom 
 Chased not from heavy hearts the morrow and the tomb. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Slowly morn flush'd the mountains. Hurriedly 
 The mingled host of women, children, men, 
 
 Those ramparts left, and left them but to die. 
 Oh ! bear the gentle gently. Hark ! again 
 The war-cry of the treacherous foe — and then 
 
 Death in its countless forms beset their road, 
 Till corses throng'd each deep and rocky glen ; 
 
 And where the wilds of snow with slaughter glow'd, 
 All crimson'd oh its path the icy torrent flow'd. 
 
 xiy. 
 
 'Twas scenery, too, where Horror sat sublime : 
 The bleak hills rose precipitous to heaven ; 
 
 And up their snow-clad sides the mists did climb, 
 Sole wanderers there, and by the wild winds driven 
 Ilover'd like spectres ; through the rocks were riven 
 
CAUBUL. 307 
 
 Dark chasms, that echo'd to the torrent's voice, 
 
 Where never pierced the stars of morn or even ; 
 No life, no light the wanderer to rejoice, 
 But gloom, and doubt, and death, the region of their choice. 
 
 xv. 
 
 And through these gorges, that in darkness frown'd 
 When o'er them stretch'd the deep-blue summer-sky, 
 
 'Mid snows and wintry storms their pathway wound, 
 The dying and the dead — and none pass'd by 
 To fold their mantle or to close their eye. 
 
 Foes lurk'd by every secret cleft and cave, 
 
 And to their fire the sharp rocks made reply — 
 
 One short stern death-knell o'er the fallen brave 
 There in that awful pass, their battle-field and grave. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And deeds were done of pure and high devotion, 
 Deeds of heroic fame — but where are they 
 
 To tell their story ? — like the gloomy ocean 
 Strewn with the wrecks of nations, far away 
 On stranger hills their mouldering corses lay ; 
 
308 CAUBUL. 
 
 One only struggled through, exhausted, pale, 
 
 The sole survivor of that proud array, 
 And death and fear, at his most ghastly tale, 
 Cast slowly over all their shadowy silent veil. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Chains for the brave, and solitude and sorrow ! 
 
 Ay, prison-hours for gentler beings too ! 
 Oh ! they were faint for freedom, and the morrow 
 
 Never seem'd dawning on their night of woe : 
 
 Young hearts were there, and tears would sometimes 
 flow, 
 When faery home-scenes crowded on their view, 
 
 Clad in unearthly beauty, for the glow 
 Of love still seem'd to light up all anew, 
 And faith that leant on God in suffering proved most true. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Love 1 is a lamp on tossing billows cast, 
 Yet many waters cannot quench its flame ; 
 
 1 " Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods 
 drown it." — Solomon's Song, viii. 7. 
 
CAUBUL. 309 
 
 Love is a bark adrift before the blast, 
 
 Which still rides struggling on through taunts or fame, 
 Amid the floods unchanging and the same ; 
 For love hath music, music of its own, 
 
 (Though none have whisper'd whence those harpings 
 came,) 
 Which vibrates with a strange mysterious tone 
 Upon the ear of him who weepeth all alone. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 On, brothers, to the rescue ! See, they come 
 With floating pennons and undaunted pride, 
 
 And victor-shouts and roll of martial drum ! 
 Alas ! within those defiles scatter'd wide 
 Their brethren's whitening bones are now their guide : 
 
 Woe for the sod beneath their chargers' feet ! 
 
 For Spring with trembling hand hath drawn aside 
 
 (Wont to disclose a thousand flowerets sweet) 
 The fearful veil of death ! a shroud ! a winding-sheet ! 
 
 xx. 
 
 Their camp-fires, in the dark of night's repose, 
 Far glimmering in the pass below did gleam 
 
310 CAUBUL. 
 
 Like the stars burning o'er them, till to those 
 Lone watchers on the mountains war might seem 
 But the dim splendors of a phantom dream. 
 
 On, brothers, on ! nor pause, nor rest, nor sleep 
 By cavern, pine, or rock, or torrent-stream, 
 
 Nor linger o'er your comrades' bones and weep, 
 Till victors yet once more through Caubul's gates ye sweep ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And what of those who pined in gloom the while ? 
 
 No victor armies their deliverers were ; 
 But God, who heard from their far native isle 
 
 The mourner's sobbings, and the Sabbath prayer * 
 
 Flow for the captive and the prisoner, 
 Threw open wide their prison-gates ; 2 and she 
 
 Who, angel-like, stood weeping by them there, 
 
 1 The Sabbath, prayer : " That it may please Thee to preserve all that 
 travel by land or by water . . . and to show Thy pity upon all prisoners and 
 captives." — The Litany. 
 
 2 " Fortunately discontent prevailed among the soldiers of our guard, 
 and their commandant began to intrigue with Major Pottinger for our 
 release. A large reward was held out to him, and he swallowed the 
 bait. The Huzarah chiefs were gained over, and we commenced our 
 return towards Cabul." — Eyre, p. 316. 
 
CAUBUI.. 311 
 
 Immortal Love, sprang o'er the billowy sea, 
 And stole into our homes, and whisper'd, " They are free." 
 
 xxir. 
 
312 CAUBUL. 
 
 Dawn in far prospect on my tearful eyes, 
 And from on high come trembling through my soul 
 
 Waves of sphere-music, dream-like melodies, 
 Chasing life's myriad discords : earth's control 
 Is passing from me now : celestial scenes unroll. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Yes ! o'er those wilds shall flow pure crystal fountains — 
 Fountains of life divine, and love and light : 
 
 How beautiful upon thy morning mountains 
 
 Stand messengers of peace ! The shades of night 
 Are passing, and disclose on every height 
 
 The standard of the Cross ; for God hath spoken, 
 And gleaming through the storm-clouds softly bright, 
 
 Far o'er the hills, in beauty all unbroken 
 The Gospel rainbow writes its own transparent token. 
 
 Trinity College, 1845. 
 
OESAR'S INVASION OF BRITAIN. 
 
 " His ego nee metas rerum, nee tempora pono : 
 Imperium sine fine dedi." 
 
 Hail, solitary Rome : amid the tombs 
 Of ages, and the monuments that lie 
 Strewn far o'er the wild howling waste of time, 
 Thyself by cloud and tempest not unscathed, 
 Thou risest proudly eminent : of gods 
 And godlike heroes thou the haunt and home : 
 Nurse thou of kingliest spirits : who vouchsafed 
 Few words but deathless deeds ; who scofTd to write 
 Their records on the perishable scrolls 
 Of man, fast fading, likest to the beams 
 The sun imprints upon the transient clouds 
 Of evening ; but with conquest's iron pen, 
 The world their tablet, carved that history out 
 
 14 
 
314 c^esar's invasion of Britain. 
 
 On Eastern coasts and Western, South and North, 
 On trackless seas, and lands long lost in night, 
 On wrecks of empires and on hearts of men. 
 Strange, awful characters ! which dark decay- 
 Hath not as yet effaced, nor chance, nor change, 
 Nor storm, nor ruin, nor the tide of years, 
 Though ever chafing o'er them. Ne'er before 
 Saw earth such gloomy strength, nor ever since 
 Its like hath witness'd : — the last awful form 
 1 Of human might, in dimmest lineaments 
 By God foreshadow'd : warriors they, who reck'd 
 Of nothing, or of God or man, save strength. 
 And they were strong, strong-hearted, strong in arms. 
 Earth stood astonied at the sight. No lapse, 
 No break, no faltering in the dreadful march 
 Of those stern iron conquerors. On they strode, 
 Like men of fate, trampling beneath their feet 
 All other names, all other destinies, 
 
 1 "After this I saw in the night visions, and behold a fourth beast, 
 dreadful and terrible, and strong exceedingly ; and it had great iron 
 teeth : it devoured and brake in pieces, and stamped the residue with the 
 feet of it." — Dan. vii. 7. 
 
CjESAR's INVASION OF BRITAIN. 315 
 
 Like dust before them. Throned on her seven hills 
 Rome, inaccessible herself, beheld 
 Pier sons go forth to battle, and her glory- 
 Quenching all meaner lights, and scattering far 
 The darkness of unnumber'd years : as when 
 The sun, at his Almighty Maker's word, 
 First in the everlasting vault of heaven 
 Hung pendulous, and from before him drove 
 The waves of Chaos, and tempestuous night, 
 Rolling in billowy surges ever back, 
 Back to their own abysmal shoreless void, 
 From his celestial presence. Time roll'd on, 
 And still with time thy glory brighten'd, still 
 Thine empire grew with time. The nations saw, 
 And trembled ; and the silence of thy might 
 Seem'd to their ears oppressive eloquence 
 That none might interrupt : when thou didst speak 
 Thy voice of thunder shook the startled world, 
 With lightning gleams of steel accompanied, 
 And flashes of swift vengeance. Awfully 
 Peace brooded once more over weary lands, 
 And weary hearts too smiled. But round thy skirts, 
 Clinging like night, dark masses of dark clouds 
 
316 
 
 Hung yet, and mantled in their giant folds 
 
 The vast Unknown beyond, though voices thence 
 
 Came sometime, dimly muttering wars and woe. 
 
 Such was the gloom that hung around thy shores, 
 Albion, and shrouded from the spoiler's eye 
 Thy forests, and far mountains, and green vales, 
 And rocky fells, and rivers fleet and free : — 
 They knew thee not how beautiful : when known, 
 Dark desolation, like a haggard dream, 
 Stole o'er the sunshine of thy countenance, 
 And scared thy smiles, and left thee pale and wan, 
 A widow and a captive. Ah, not thus 
 Whilom thy children chased their forest prey, 
 Or roam'd the morning hills, by streams that spake 
 Of light and freedom, to the fetterless winds 
 Responsive : or at eventide not thus 
 Were wont to linger on thy cliffs, where last 
 The golden sunshine slumber'd, till the stars 
 Came forth, upon their vigils dawning : bright 
 They seem'd as spirit-eyes and pure, wherewith 
 Thy Druid bards enlink'd all earthly things 
 Aforetime, by wild legendary lore : 
 
Caesar's invasion of Britain. 317 
 
 Not thus the reckless warrior grasp'd his spear, 
 
 Or freeman spake to freeman. But when thou 
 
 Didst tremble, it was not beneath the eye 
 
 Of tyrant man ; but at those awful powers, 
 
 Who ever, as thy fabling prophets sung, 
 
 Dwelt, mystery-clad, in mountain, vale, or cloud, 
 
 Or ocean pathway, tabernacling there 
 
 As in meet home, whose voices might be heard, 
 
 Whose foot-prints traced by wrecks o'er sea and land, 
 
 What time the thunders roll'd, or lightnings gleam'd. 
 
 Those mystic days were number'd. There was one 
 Who long had trodden on the earth, as treads 
 The eagle on the gory plain it spurns, 
 Whose kingly heart was gasping for great deeds, 
 Deeds that his right hand taught him, and whose eye 
 Drank from the nightly stars heroic thoughts, 
 And dreams of high achievement. Warrior king ! 
 Thy mother city knew thee when a child, 
 And proudly knew thee, nursing up thy soul 
 For glory : the snow-crested Apennines, 
 The Alps far mingling with the clouds and skies, 
 With their clear glaciers gleaming to the moon, 
 
318 (LES All's INVASION OF BRITAIN. 
 
 Knew thee : Germania's forests knew thee : Gaul, 
 Vine-clad, and water'd by a thousand streams, 
 Maugre her fierce defenders, knew thee well, 
 Great Caesar, weeping that she could not find 
 Thy peer : and now upon her vanquish'd shores 
 Deep musing, having march'd with lion springs 
 From conquest on to conquest, thou dost cast 
 Long glances o'er the twilight ocean waves 
 Upon that land of mystery, that lies 
 Far in the blue horizon dimly seen. 
 
 Some talk'd of merchandise, and pearls, and wealth ; 
 Of trophies and of triumphs some; and some 
 Of battle spoils and blue-eyed maidens fair 
 To grace their homes far-distant, thoughts whereof 
 Clung to their rugged hearts ; a new strange world, 
 Some whisper'd, lay before their path, whose sky 
 At dead of night was flush'd with gorgeous flames 
 And rushing meteors, and whose only bound 
 Was everlasting ice ; — enough for thee, 
 It knew not Rome's eternal name or thine ; 
 And it shall know them straightway, though it learn 
 'Mid dying throes, and though thou teach thyself. 
 
Cesar's invasion of Britain. 319 
 
 Morn's silver twilight hung above the waves : 
 Seaward the gales blew freshly : far aloft 
 Clouds swiftly track'd the sky : one single star 
 Still linger'd in the dawning east, as if 
 To steal a glance at day, but soon withdrew ; 
 The lordly sun came forth ; and all was life 
 And in the harbor tumult : crowded there 
 Twice forty gallant ships, and on their decks 
 Brave hearts, that burn'd to vie with Britain's sons 
 In battle. Over them their streamers waved 
 That way themselves would go ; nor long they paused 
 Expectant: thrice the brazen trumpet blown, 
 Each galley loosed her moorings : one by one 
 Stately they weigh'd beneath the freshening wind, 
 And the free waters bare them swiftly on 
 To sound of martial notes, and aching eyes 
 Gazed after that brave fleet the livelong day. 
 
 And deem ye that an easy booty lies 
 Before your bloodless arms ? or they that throng 
 Their isle's rock-ramparts, think ye they have come 
 With open arms to greet ye ? But their chief, 
 
320 c.esar's invasion of Britain. 
 
 First on the foremost galley, saw their ranks, 
 Death boding, and beheld the white cliffs crown'd 
 With shields and bristling spears, and steeds of 
 
 war, 
 And chariots numberless. Along the coast 
 Swiftly they sail'd, if haply crags less stern 
 Might yield them fairer landing, swift the while 
 The Britons streaming o'er the rocks and hills 
 Kept pace beside, and vaunted death should greet 
 The tyrant and his legions, ere their foot 
 Polluted freedom's soil. Then rose the din 
 Of battle : in the waves midway they met 
 Rome's proudest warriors, and the foaming surge 
 Dash'd crimson-dyed : and scythe-arm'd chariots swept 
 The shore in unresisted might, and darts 
 Fell ever in swift tempest : once again 
 In proud derision Britain shook her spear, 
 And bade them take, an if it liked them well, 
 Such iron welcome to her free-born hills. 1 
 And Rome a moment quail'd ; but 2 one who grasp'd 
 
 1 See Macaulay's "Lays of Rome," Horatius, stan. xlvii. 
 
 2 "Atque nostris niilitibus cunctantibus ... qui x. legionis aquilam 
 
CESAR'S INVASION OF BRITAIN. 321 
 
 An eagle in his left hand, in his right 
 
 A sword, cried, " Romans, down into the waves : 
 
 On ! or betray our eagle to the foe ; 
 
 I'll on for Rome and Caesar ! M Scarce he spoke, 
 
 And from the prow leapt fearless, and straightway 
 
 His comrades round him throng'd, and the fierce fight 
 
 Grew fiercer 'mid the angry tide : but still 
 
 The star of Rome rode prevalent in heaven, 
 
 And Britain's sons, borne backward by the host 
 
 Of spears, and gnashing with remorse and pride, 
 
 Fell from that iron phalanx, and Rome's chief 
 
 Stood conqueror on Britannia's beetling cliffs. 
 
 Not thus shall Albion yield thee her fair fields, 
 Great Julius, and not thus beneath thy rod 
 Affrighted bow and tremble ; nor is hers 
 The arena thou must tread to bind the crown 
 Around thy warrior temples, and ascend 
 Thine envious throne : a few brief hours, and lo ! 
 Heaven's tempests, wild and baleful, thy frail fleet 
 
 ferebat . . . 'Desilite,' inquit, 'milites, nisi vultis aquilam hostibus pro- 
 dere; ego certe meum Reipublicas et Imperatori officium praestitero.' " 
 — CjESAR, de Bell. Gall, liber iv. Cf. hie et passim. 
 
322 c^esar's invasion of Britain. 
 
 Have shatter'd, and in haste across the sea 
 
 Thine armies seek repose. What though ere long 
 
 With happier omen, and with prouder host, 
 
 The subject waters bare thee hitherwards 
 
 Once more ? What though, through battle and through 
 
 storm, 
 And rivers running blood, and harvest fields 
 Stain'd with the gore of thousands, thou didst press 
 On to the heart of Britain ? what if there 
 Her chieftains bow'd a moment to thy rod, 
 And freedom taught their free hearts slavish ways ? 
 'Twas but a moment : Heaven had other deeds 
 For thee to do, and other destinies 
 Loom'd dimly on the future's clouded skirts 
 Before thine eagle eye. Nor didst thou prove 
 A recreant. Fare thee, kingly warrior, well. 
 Go grasp thy regal sceptre, go ascend 
 Thy world-wide throne ! to other hands than thine, 
 And years yet laboring in the future's womb, 
 'Tis given to bow beneath a Roman yoke 
 Free Albion's neck, and lead her captive kings 
 In fetters, and pollute her smiling homes 
 
C^SARS INVASION OF BRITAIN. 323 
 
 With foulest wrong and insult : bitterness 
 All hearts possessing : till her warrior chiefs 
 Weep tears of blood, her maidens tears of shame, 
 And Britain writhes beneath the iron scourge 
 Of conquest. 
 
 So in after days there rush'd 
 Rude whirlwind storms of war and death and woe 
 O'er that fair isle, and shatter'd into dust 
 The blood-built fabrics of an idol faith, 
 Whereat dark centuries had labor'd : soon 
 They fell before those fierce avenging storms, 
 Yet storms, that in their dark and gloomy folds 
 Bare germs of happier days, and dawning lights 
 Of love and mercy ; as the lightning-gleams 
 Course not along the star-paved vault of heaven, 
 But from the earth-born thunder-clouds flash forth 
 In beauty and resplendence. Soon from thee, 
 My native isle, their stern behest fulfhTd 
 The clouds of wrath and tempest roll'd away 
 Dream-like ; and following on their wasted track 
 Pure healing sunshine, bountiful in good, 
 
324 
 
 C^ESAli S INVASION OF BRITAIN. 
 
 Stole o'er thy sorrowing landscapes ; and ere long 
 A Christian Church on Albion's shores arose, 
 And pointed to the skies, and call'd the stars 
 To witness, that in tempest, as in calm, 
 Heaven works its own eternal destiny. 
 
 Trinity College, 1846. 
 
 Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and Son. 
 
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