THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 >^ 
 
 .-»-*' 
 
 vx
 
 A MAN'S HEART. 
 
 % iotm. 
 
 BT 
 
 CHAELES IIACKAY, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, COENHILL. 
 
 M.DCCC.LX.
 
 /1 11 ¥ 
 
 'yv^^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 canto pa.qe 
 
 Prologue 7 
 
 I. Amoxg the Flowers 13 
 
 II. Under the Trees 35 
 
 III. Far Away 59 
 
 IV. Sorrow 83 
 
 V. Hope 107 
 
 VI. Happiness 129 
 
 VII. Love Eternal 145 
 
 SST'?^'!
 
 PROLOGUE.
 
 A MAN'S HEART. 
 
 |rol«s«i;. 
 
 TTOW oft through maze and wilderness of Ai-t- 
 Through regal and imperial galleries — 
 The traveller roams for half a summer's day, 
 Vacant and listless ; looking with strained eyes 
 At landscapes worthy of Salvator's hand, 
 At sweet Madonnas such as Guido loved. 
 Or on such eloquent portraits, spirit-eyed, 
 As great Vandyke or Rubens might have drawn. 
 Yet though he looks, he sees not, save a crowd 
 Blent as the sands on shore, or leaves in wold ;
 
 10 A man's HEAET. 
 
 Then sudden, by a flash, liis careless will 
 
 And wandering faculties are seized and fixed 
 
 By some sweet face, where Love and Sorrow strive 
 
 Which of the two shall sanctify it most; 
 
 Or by some ruder lineament of man, 
 
 With power, and purpose, and relentless Fate, 
 
 Seamed in each shaggy furroAv of the brow. 
 
 Then is he conquered — speU-bound — held in thrall- 
 
 Until he throbs Avith inward sympathy, 
 
 And knows them human, as he knows himseLf, 
 
 By the fine fascination that he feels : — 
 
 They challenge him to pass them, if he dare. 
 
 And look upon him with mute, eloquent eyes, 
 
 That seem to say, " Come, read our mystery !" 
 
 Their glances follow him where'er he goes; 
 
 And so he stands, spell-bound, to give them back 
 
 Keen inquisition, and a stare for stare. 
 
 He reads whole histories in their painted orbs.
 
 A man's HEAET, 11 
 
 And looks into the chambers of their house, 
 And saith, "This woman loved, and suffered much," 
 Or, " This man's pride was wounded to the quick 
 In the fierce hates and battles of the world ; — 
 This was pre-doomed to Misery as his dower !" 
 Or, " this died young — I see it in her eyes." 
 He holds communion with them on the wall, 
 And knows them better than his living friends. 
 Oh, wondrous Art ! more wondrous Sympathy ! 
 
 Such picture saw I in an ancient hall — 
 The portrait of a lady with dark hair. 
 And deep dark eyes, with lightnings in their depths ; 
 And lips that seemed to quiver with a grief 
 That Death itself was impotent to hide. 
 
 The picture haunted me — possessed me quite, 
 Like some sweet tune, bewildered in the brain.
 
 12 A man's UEART. 
 
 That will not pass, though we should thrust it out ; 
 
 A present spirit never to be laid 
 
 In the far oceans of forgetfulness 
 
 By any magic, or adjuring word 
 
 Until its time ; when as it came — it goes — 
 
 Strong in itself, defiant of our will. 
 
 The spirit spake to me ; the likeness breathed ; 
 I knew the lady and her inmost soul ; 
 Saw her heart's mystery clearer than my own. 
 Listen, and you shall learn it as I learned : 
 A tale of Love and Sorrow, — Sorrow and Love. 
 When shall these twain be parted ? — Nevermore !
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 AMONG THE TLOWEES.
 
 J 'TWAS May — sweet May — the jocund English May- 
 May, growing buxom in the breath of June, 
 When, 'mid the grass besprent through all its green 
 With gold and silver, — gold, the buttercups ; 
 And silver, bossed with gold, and tipped with pink, 
 The bomiteous daisies, jewels of the poor, — 
 Four sweeter blossoms of the teeming earth, 
 Flow'rets of hmnan kind, God's noblest gifts, 
 Sported iu sixnshine, iu the chequered glades 
 Of Erlwood Park — a joyous company, 
 Blithe as the birds, and fi-esh as morning dews.
 
 16 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO I. 
 
 Two of the four were twins, and nine years old — 
 Dissevered cherries from the selfsame stalk, 
 And like as cherries to a stranger's eye. 
 They chased the butterfly ; they clomb the trees ; 
 They leaped the running stream, or lay them down 
 With skyward faces, shaded by their arms, 
 "Weary and spent with frolic that had passed, 
 Eager and ripe for frohc yet to come. 
 
 Apart, their sister, seven sweet summers young, 
 Sat pleased and happy underneath a thorn, 
 That dropped its pink-eyed blossoms in her lap, 
 A cherub and a seraph both in one. 
 
 Around her forehead, twined amid her hair. 
 She wore a wreath of daisies, newly plucked. 
 And strung on rushes, by the master-hand 
 Of one three summers older than herself — 
 A black-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and pensive boy, 
 Whose greatest joy was study of her face;
 
 CANTO I.] A man's HEAKT. 17 
 
 And who had wov'n the wreath to crown her queen — 
 Queen of his heart — which felt but did not know — 
 For golden haze of youthful ignorance — 
 The soiTowful joy, and feverish bliss of love, 
 Prompting his thought, and sparkling in his eyes. 
 Dear friends they were, although they wist not why, 
 And close companions. " Sit quite still," he said, 
 " Dear Edith: do not move your head an inch 
 Till I have drawn your portrait." 
 
 And he drew. 
 With facile fingers, and a ready touch 
 For one so young, a semblance of the maid. 
 Crowned with her garland, and alight with smiles, 
 And wrote beneath it, " Edith Bellenden, 
 By Arthur Westwood, on a morn of May." 
 
 " For me ? " she asked him, with inquiring eyes ; 
 Then put the paper in her tiny breast
 
 18 A man's heart. [ca^^to I. 
 
 And thanked him with a glance, a word — a kiss ; 
 
 "Wliile he, the artist, proud of such a work, 
 
 But prouder of acceptance, and reward, 
 
 Restored the falling garland to her hair. 
 
 And led her to her brothers, where they stood, 
 
 Scaring with stones the minnows in the brook ; 
 
 And said, " Behold her ; she's the Queen of IMay, 
 
 And I 'm the King I " "Wliereat one laughed and 
 
 jeered : 
 The other, all intent upon a trout 
 Which he espied beneath a ledge of rock. 
 Took off his shoes, and paddled in the stream, 
 Heedless of brother, sister, and the world. 
 
 Ten winters passed, and once again 'twas May : 
 The boys were men, the maid was sweet seventeen ; 
 And all were friends, as in the olden time. 
 
 Rich were the Bellendens — surpassing rich :
 
 CANTO I.] A man's HEART. 19 
 
 Compared with them young Westwood was but poor, 
 Though rich enough to pass his morn of life 
 To his own fancy, and the art he loved ; 
 To show a fair exterior to the world, 
 And seem, and be — an English gentleman. 
 
 Two years, or ere his eyes beheld the morn. 
 His father, stepping from a gondola, 
 Stood in the market-place — an idle man. 
 And watched the peasant girls of Friuli 
 Bring flowers to flowerless Venice. Young and fair. 
 He roamed for pastime, master of himself. 
 To study Art and Nature in the South. 
 Here, as he loitered to refresh his soul 
 With beauty fashioned in immortal stone ; 
 Painted on canvas ; streaming from the sky ; 
 Impermeate in all shapes of earth and heaven ; 
 He saw a maiden lovelier than Art 
 Had e'er imagined in its happiest dream ; 
 
 B 2
 
 20 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO I. 
 
 Witli all Italia in her glowing face — 
 Its beauty, passion, tenderness, and hope. 
 
 He saw, admired, and fancied that he loved ; — 
 Love born of idleness and young Romance ! 
 He purchased roses and anemones. 
 And bade her come to-morrow with fresh flowers, 
 The choicest she could gather. Morrow came ; 
 And with it came the maiden and her blooms : 
 Herself a rose and lily both in one ; 
 Fairer than lily — redder than the rose, — 
 And with a warmth of summer in her smiles 
 Enough to ripen all the buds of spring. 
 
 He overpaid her with too bounteous gold, 
 Which she refused, with such a wealth of shame 
 That he was awed ; and, more enamoured still, 
 He sued for pardon like the veriest slave 
 "Who hath incensed a master that he loves. 
 And cannot rest until his peace be made.
 
 CANTO I.] A man's heart. 21 
 
 She came no more to Venice. Every day- 
 He watched the arriving gondolas and barques, 
 In hope to see the maid among her peers — 
 A queen-like rose among mere daffodils ; 
 But she, Francesca Pia, ne'er returned. 
 
 He gazed upon the blue Friulian Alps, 
 Snow-capped and sharp against the cloudless heaven, 
 And thought how blissful all his days might be, 
 Forgetting England and his ancient home, 
 If in life's noon, he might, beloved of her, 
 Dwell in the valleys, careless of the world. 
 
 He sought her — was repulsed — and sought again ; 
 Till passion, like a flame by tempest fanned, 
 Throve on obstruction, and consumed his soul. 
 
 Thus did he live and suffer ; thus in pain 
 Eefine an idle fancy into love — 
 Love golden — freed by Sorrow's fire from dross — 
 Love purified — the love of soul to soul.
 
 22 A IVIAN'S HEAllT. [cANTO I. 
 
 And she took pity ; she — the peasant girl — 
 
 Met the proud English stranger face to face, 
 
 And gave her hand, like lady to a lord. 
 
 Equal in love, and pride, and sacrifice, 
 
 Superior in her purity of heart. 
 
 Well she became her new-born dignity, 
 
 Learned English from the lessons of her heart. 
 
 And spake it with a prettiness of fault 
 
 More lovely than perfection ; learned to sing, — 
 
 And sung with such a gush of melody. 
 
 That staid approval — of the English mood — 
 
 Forgot itself in rapture. 
 
 But she died, 
 Pining for Italy ; a flower too fair 
 To brave unscathed the winds of Northern skies, 
 And harsh vicissitude of moist and cold ; — 
 And Arthur Westwood never smiled again ; 
 Or if he did, 'twas in his silent home,
 
 CANTO I.] A man's heart. 23 
 
 Where his young boy — her boy — her only child 
 
 Smiled in his face and prattled at his knee, 
 
 And brought before him vividly as life 
 
 The fond eyes — the bright cheek — the tender voice — 
 
 The breathing spirit of the sainted dead. 
 
 Great was the mutual love of sire and son. 
 To the boy's heart the father was a sage ; 
 In wisdom and in goodness chief of men ; — 
 To the sire's heart the child was love alone, 
 A love all innocence — half earth — half heaven — 
 The link uniting both. 
 
 So lived the tAvaia 
 In a fair cottage on the green hill slope. 
 Embowered 'mid clambering roses. All who passed 
 Admired the outward grace and inward calm 
 Of their secluded nest. Around it spread 
 Elm, beech, and oak, and delicate silver birch, 
 And all the stateliest trees of English growth ; —
 
 24 A man's heart. [canto I. 
 
 And in the spring, the lilac and the ash, 
 Laburnum and the bridal-vestured haw 
 Scattered their brightest blooms and richest 
 balms. 
 Few were the friends who had the privilege 
 To enter their abode : — the Vicar first. 
 The guest most welcome to the widower's hearth, 
 Of tastes congenial. Both loved Art, and books, 
 Music, and ever-dear Philosophy — 
 Such as those know it, who on mountain tops 
 Look on the little wranglers far adown — 
 And sun themselves, bare-headed, to the Truth 
 That beams upon them from the upper sky ; — 
 Philosophy — twin-born with Piety, 
 That teaches love to God with love to man. 
 And next Sir Thomas Bellenden ; though rare 
 Were his intrusions on the quiet haunt 
 Of one so different in his Avalk of thought,
 
 CANTO I.] A man's HEAKT. 25 
 
 So lost to all the warfare of the world, 
 So alien to its pride, its pomp, its care. 
 
 WitTiin a mile of Westwood's cottage stood 
 The HaU of Erlwood, with its towers antique, 
 Seen through an arching avenue of elms ; 
 The park — a thousand acres — swarmed with deer ; 
 And in its thickest groves a heronry 
 Gave life to the upper air. Within its bound 
 Rose many a hollow and rough-rinded oak. 
 That still put forth its leaflets to the spring. 
 Though mouldy leases of King Charles's day 
 Based on tradition, deemed them centuries old 
 Ere stout King Harry wedded Anne Boleyn, 
 And from fat Abbeys dispossessed the monks. 
 
 Here dwelt Sir Thomas three months in the year ; — 
 Playing the squire — or as he thought, the lord — 
 A very lord in all things but the rank. 
 
 The great Sir Thomas ! — If his name were heard
 
 26 A man's heart. [canto I. 
 
 At Lloyd's, the Exchange, in Bank, or Counting House, 
 
 In London, Paris, Hamburg, or New York, 
 
 The rich and poor all gave it reverence ; 
 
 And struggling merchants drew a longer breath, 
 
 And sighed to think Avhat tides and seas of wealth 
 
 Poured in his coffers, while to theirs, agape. 
 
 Fell but the scanty rain or vanishing dew ! 
 
 And if that name, a scarcely legible scrawl, 
 
 Promised to pay a million on demand. 
 
 The bankers of all cities in the world 
 
 Would count it freely at a million's worth, 
 
 And give or take it readily as gold. 
 
 The great Sir Thomas ! It were hard to say 
 On what far oceans never sailed his ships, 
 Laden with costly ventures, well insured ; 
 In what old channels of perennial trade 
 His profits did not run ; or in what new 
 He did not tap the founts of enterprise,
 
 CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEART. 27 
 
 And bear away the draught from thirstier lips. 
 His name was in the mouths of busy men, 
 Spoken in every language known to Trade ; 
 And never spoken but with such respect 
 As traders ever feel for those who pay, 
 And the weak strive to render to the strong. 
 
 This prosperous man was in his prime of years. 
 Had health and strength, the admiring world's ap- 
 plause ; — 
 Two sons to be partakers of his toil. 
 And raise to nobler heights his tower of wealth ; 
 A daughter, lovely, innocent, rose-ripe — 
 The joy, the charm, the jewel of his life ; 
 And though the world might sometimes pity him — 
 That Edith's birth was loss of her who bore — 
 His love, if e'er he felt it, had expired 
 When his young wife Avas taken to the grave. 
 And dwelt not even in his memory.
 
 "28 A ^la.n's heart. [canto I. 
 
 All else was his, wealth and the Avill to 
 spend, 
 Taste, education, and a liberal hand, 
 A seat in ParKament, an eloquent tongue, 
 And power to sway the councils of the realm. 
 And yet this man, so seeming fortunate, 
 Pined with a secret sorrow for a toy. 
 The potent Minister, who ruled the State 
 And moulded plastic factions to his will, 
 Scorned with a gentle, but invincible scorn, 
 The frivolous herd whose service might be bought 
 Witli ribands, garters, coronets, and stars : 
 And when Sir Thomas, as the sole reward 
 Of vote, and speech, and ready influence, 
 Asked for a peerage, gave him for reply 
 A vague half-promise and his blandest smile : 
 The promise meaningless, if 'twere not false — 
 The smile another promise, vaguer still.
 
 CANTO I.] A JIAN'S HEAET. 29 
 
 Hope was his comforter, wlaicli comforts all. 
 Should not his sons in fulness of their hour, 
 Sit by his side to vote and legislate ? 
 One for the county, ravished at a blow 
 From the Fitz-Nevilles, Earls of little wealth, 
 Who jobbed it for the pickings of the State ? 
 The other, destined for the county town, 
 To win it by his talents, if he could — 
 If not, — to buy it ; — yet not seem to buy ? 
 Then should the Premier at his peril dare 
 
 To scorn the claim, made strong by three good votes 
 
 Then should his honours glitter on his brow, 
 And the calm evening of his sunny day 
 Glow in a purple splendour to its close. 
 
 If this hope failed him, had he not his child, 
 His lovely Edith, docile as a fawn — 
 On whom Fitz-Neville, hale, though past his prime, 
 Looked with the favouring eye of sage resolve
 
 30 A man's heart. [canto I. 
 
 And deemed her paragon of all her sex — 
 Kind, good, and beautiful, his soul's true star — 
 The magnet of his fortunes and his hopes ? 
 Thus, if no peer, he might be sire of peers. 
 The Earl once scorned him as too lowly born ; — 
 But that was past ; and if his Edith chose 
 To wear the coronet, the day should come 
 "When he, the princely trader, should restore 
 The tarnished splendour of an ancient house, 
 And place it high in fortune as in rank. 
 
 ISIuch he preferred the peerage for himself — 
 Due tribute to his greatness. " "V\Tiat," he asked, 
 ** Is this proud Earl, who holds his head so high? — 
 The tenth descendant of a random boy. 
 Who studied law and ripened to a judge. 
 When good Queen Bess sought merit in the mire. 
 And set it up aloft ; and if such boy 
 Could found a peerage centuries ago,
 
 CANTO I.] A man's HEART. 31 
 
 Why not a merchant of the present time, 
 "With -wealth enough to buy a score of Earls ? " 
 Thus did he dream, and calculate, and dream, 
 And sacrifice the substance of to-day 
 For empty shadows of a day to come. 
 
 And now, 'tis morning, and the month is May ; 
 And through the sunny glades of Erlwood Park 
 Flits beauty in its fliirest human shape. 
 For Edith loves the country, and has left 
 London, the Court, the Opera, the Ball, 
 To have one month v/ith nature and the sun ; 
 And then, again, to high festivity 
 And all the weary overheated life. 
 That Fashion loves. Sir Thomas cannot come, 
 Save from a Saturday till Monday morn, 
 For the State needs him, or the Minister; — 
 And are they not the same ? — to vote and speak.
 
 32 A man's heart. [canto I. 
 
 And help to save that old and fabulous Ship 
 Which never sinks; though pohticians say 
 'Tis always sinking when the "Wliigs are in, 
 And always foundering when the "VMaigs are out. 
 
 The Westwoods are at home, as is their wont, 
 The smoke curls bluely from their sylvan bower ; 
 And Arthur angles in the Erlwood brook. 
 Or carves initials on the beechen rind, 
 Or carols to himself his own new song. 
 On " the old, old story" — old as human hearts. 
 The ancient Abbey is aflare with life 
 Of servants and retainers. Edith's aunt 
 Keeps stately house; and Edith's milk-white doe, 
 Pet of the park, and wild to all but her. 
 Follows its gentle mistress o'er the lawn. 
 And nibbles dainties from her coaxing hand. 
 The flag floats from the turret, that the world —
 
 CANTO I.] A man's HEART. 33 
 
 A little world, but large to villagers — 
 May learn that great Sir Thomas is at home ; 
 And give him — if it meet him — what he loves ; — 
 Homage, that vassals render to their lords, 
 And such as common souls, who dwell in cots, 
 Should yield to those who dwell in palaces. 
 And give them Christmas coals and good advice.
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 UNDEU THE TREES. 
 
 c 2
 
 Wiiuhr i\x^ Wxn^. 
 
 '' T^HE old face," said his father, bending low 
 Over the easel, where the picture stood — 
 Queen Berengaria, Cceur de Lion's love, 
 Girding her lord to fight the Saracen — 
 " A sweet face — well designed ; but are there none 
 But dark-haired, dark-eyed beauties in the world, 
 Mere counterfeits of Edith Bellenden, 
 Like as a rose to rose — or star to star ?" 
 
 " I strove," said Arthur, " when I planned this work- 
 My master-piece, my favourite, my best —
 
 38 A man's heart. [canto II. 
 
 To paint another face, another form ; — 
 But all in vain ; the colours would not blend 
 Obedient to my will ; the rebel hand, 
 Knowing the face I loved, broke through my law. 
 Not Richard's queen, but my queen — my sole star — 
 Lived on the canvas in my mind's despite. 
 So, when I painted, half a year ago, 
 Godiva pleading with Earl Leofric 
 To stay the plague of taxes, 'twas the same. 
 I traced fair hair ; but, lo ! the locks grew dark ; 
 The blue eyes kindled into passionate black, 
 And the old face — the dear face — best beloved — 
 The type and model of mild womanhood. 
 Looked on me smiling. Do you think it like ? " 
 " Ay," said his father; " yet it wants the soul 
 Of childhood, girlhood, womanhood — all mixed. 
 Which Edith wears, as summer wears its bloom." 
 " Alas ! " said Arthur, " it defies all Art
 
 CANTO II.] A man's HEART. 39 
 
 To paint sucli living loveliness as hers. 
 
 Not one expression, or one soul divine 
 
 Has my beloved — but a thousand souls, 
 
 All peering through the splendours of her eyes, 
 
 And each, ere you can fix it in your thought, 
 
 Sparkling away to one more lustrous still : 
 
 Pity, and Charity, and infinite Love, 
 
 Sweet Mirth and sweeter Sadness, on her lips, 
 
 Follow each other in one throb of Time. 
 
 Art would reflect them ; but its mirror, dull 
 
 As the breeze-ruffled bosom of a lake, 
 
 Unresting, insufiicient, fails to show 
 
 The evanescent multitudinous charms 
 
 That live, and change, and die, and live anew 
 
 On all the radiant landscape of her mind." 
 
 There passed a shadow on the father's face ; 
 His own warm youth and passionate impulses
 
 40 A man's HEAKT. [canto II. 
 
 And bright unreason rose before his mind, 
 Keviving in his son, -with added fires ; — 
 Italian fervour linked with English heart. 
 
 " Arthur," he said, " we '11 go to Italy ; 
 A year of travel in the balmy South 
 Will give me health and spirits which I lack, 
 And you the opportunity, long sought, 
 Of study in the paradise of Art. 
 We '11 go to Florence, Milan, Naples, Rome, 
 And end with Venice, which I love so well." 
 
 " Your will be my mine, father," said the son, 
 While sudden pallor overspread his cheek, 
 Then passed, and left it ruddy as before ; 
 " Next week — ay, or to-morrow if you will — 
 Whate'er you deem shall be the best for you, 
 That also shall be very best for me." 
 
 And the sire smiled the smile he seldom wore — 
 The silvery radiance of a mind at ease ;
 
 CANTO II.] A man's HEART. 41 
 
 And botli departed to their several tasks — 
 
 The father to his organ 'mid his books, 
 
 To form sweet harmonies on minor keys, 
 
 Breathing a heavenly joy through human pain ; — 
 
 To daily with the thronging melodies 
 
 That came unbidden to his finger-tips, 
 
 Each with a meaning, dying in its birth, 
 
 A riddle, and a mystery, and a charm ; — 
 
 The son to work upon his master-piece — 
 
 To imitate the features that he loved, 
 
 And fix the well-known heart-bewildering charm 
 
 Indelible on canvas. All in vain ! — 
 
 The mind was with the Nature, not the Art, 
 
 And gave no guidance to the listless hand. 
 
 " I cannot paint ! I cannot read ! I'll walk 
 Forth in the sunny air to Erlwood Park ; 
 And if I meet her, 'twill be well ; — if not,
 
 42 A man's heart. [canto II. 
 
 I'll sit and dream beneath the beech en tree 
 "WTiereon, three springs ago, I carved her name — 
 The twin initials intertwined with mine. 
 Happy conjunction ! Lo ! Avith moss o'ergrown, 
 Green as the leaves above, they flourish still !" 
 
 Ah, well he knew the road that she would take, 
 The road, the by-path, and the hour o' tli' day, 
 Her footfall on the grass, the flowering thorn 
 That she would stop at, and select a twig 
 To place upon her bosom, like a gem 
 Which he, who knew it, on such holy place, 
 Would gladly purchase at a ruby's price ; — 
 A mile off he descried her glancing robes ; 
 A mile ofi" saw her favourite milk-white doe 
 Bounding before, or eating from her hand 
 The tender shoots from branches she had plucked, 
 Or beech-nuts hoarded ere the winter days.
 
 CANTO II.] A man's heart. 43 
 
 And nearer as she drew he saw her hair 
 Freshly dishevelled to the western breeze, 
 That came and went amid its lucent threads, 
 As in the strings of the Eolian harp 
 Passes the night wind ; but all noiselessly 
 Making a silent music in his thought. 
 Nearer ! still nearer ! 'tis her tread he hears 
 Amid the daisies ! 'Tis her silken robe 
 Rustling the wayside grasses ! 'Tis her voice, 
 A palpable music on the morning air ! 
 And lo ! she reads ; — a book? — No 1 hush ; poor heart, 
 Thou knowest Avhat she reads, or soon shalt know ! 
 
 Love's fondest meetings have the fewest words. 
 Wer't not for silence, or the touch of hands. 
 Or glance of mingling eyes, how could the soul 
 Convey its meanings ? Language can but hint 
 Darkly and vaguely what the spirit feels. —
 
 44 A man's heart. [canto II. 
 
 These two were happy. Though no word of love 
 Came from the lips of either, love was breathed. 
 Though vows were not imagined, vows were made ; 
 And when at last the one great subject came 
 To the coy tongue, 'twas but in subterfuge. 
 Or skilful acting of a delicate play, 
 Cunningly plotted to an end foreknown. 
 
 "I've read thy verse," said Edith as they sat 
 Together on the sward beneath the tree. 
 And drew the folded paper from her breast ; 
 "But let the poet read the poet's thought ; 
 'Tis fire of soul that makes the fire of speech. 
 And songs come freshest from the lips of bards." 
 He took the paper, blushing. Happy he 
 Who had not in the moil and wear of life 
 Dulled the fine spirit in the sensitive blood 
 Which brought it gushing, flood-like, to his cheeks.
 
 CANTO II.] A man's HEART. 45 
 
 To be so praised by her, and so besought, 
 
 Was it not as sweet sunshine to the ground 
 
 When all the flowers leap up to kiss the spring ; — 
 
 Or sight of land to weary mariners 
 
 When merry bells peal welcome from the shore ? 
 
 He blushed for pride, and deeper blushed for shame ; 
 Then taking courage, read the maid the tale 
 With quivering voice — husky at times for tears ; 
 But with an emphasis, well barbed and aimed. 
 To reach the guarded fortress of her heart, 
 And win an entrance through some narrow chink 
 That guileless Pity had forgot to close.
 
 46 A MAN'S HEAllT. [cANTO II. 
 
 (S £ r a I (1 i n t 
 
 I. 
 
 She was tlie daughter of an Earl, 
 
 And I the Rector's sou ; 
 I loved her more than blessed life, 
 
 And never loved but one. 
 She took my homage as the rose 
 
 Might take the morning dew ; 
 Or a cloud ou the eastern rim of Heaven 
 
 The daylight gushing new.
 
 CANTO II.] A man's HEART. 47 
 
 n. 
 
 She took it as of right divine, 
 
 And never thought of me, 
 No more than the rose, of the morning dew 
 
 That bathes it tenderly ; 
 Or the river, of the light of God 
 
 That shines on its waters free. 
 
 m. 
 
 I loved her for herself alone, 
 
 And not for rank or gold ; — 
 I was as heedless of her wealth 
 
 As a daisy on the wold ; — 
 Or a bird that sings 'mid the hawthorn buds 
 
 When forest leaves unfold.
 
 48 A man's heart. [canto II. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I loved her for herself alone, 
 
 And dreamed in summer eves, 
 That the Earl, her sire, was a husbandman 
 
 Amid his barley sheaves ; 
 And she, a dark-eyed peasant-girl, 
 
 As ruddy as the May, 
 With a smile more rich and golden bright 
 
 Than the dawn of a summer's day. 
 With a voice like the melody of lutes, 
 
 And breath like the new-mown hay. 
 
 V. 
 
 I loved her for herself alone. 
 And wished that she were poor. 
 
 That I might guide her through the world, 
 A guardian ever sure.
 
 CANTO 11.] A man's HEAKT. ■ 49 
 
 And through all peril and distress, 
 
 Conduct her steps aright ; 
 That I might toil for her by day, 
 
 And sit in her smile at night : 
 My toil, a burden cheerily borne, 
 
 For her, my heart's delight ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 My soul burst forth in floods of song, 
 
 When I thought my love returned. 
 And proud ambitions filled my heart, 
 
 And through my pulses burned. 
 There was no glory men could snatch 
 
 Too vast for my desire. 
 And all to place upon her brow, 
 
 Higher and ever higher ; 
 Till hers was greater than mine own, 
 
 And robed her as with fire. 
 
 D
 
 50 A man's heart. [canto II. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And Avlien I thought her heart was cold, 
 
 And no response was given, 
 My mournful passion sought relief 
 
 From sympathetic Heaven. 
 And Nature's heart, more kind than hers, 
 
 Made answer all day long, 
 The wild-wind sighed, the rain-cloud wept, 
 
 The streams made plaintive song, 
 And the hoarse sea-billows chanted hymns 
 
 Condoling with uiy wrong. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I put my passion into verse, 
 
 I built it into rhyme. 
 And told my hopes, my joys, my fears, 
 
 la a tale of olden time :
 
 CANTO n.] A man's HEART. 51 
 
 And read it on the garden seat, 
 
 With green boughs overhung, 
 She by my side so beautiful, 
 
 And I so mad and young. 
 
 E. 
 
 She praised the bard : she prophesied 
 
 A glowing noon of fame, 
 To him who sang so sweet a song 
 
 Of Love's supernal flame ; 
 But could not see, perchance for tears, 
 
 And sympathies divine, 
 The living passion of the verse 
 
 That throbbed in every line. 
 The fable, but the garb of truth — 
 
 The love, the sorrow, mine. 
 
 D 2
 
 52 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO II. 
 
 I had not courage to declare, 
 
 Lest hope should be denied, 
 The pangs that wrestled with ray peace ; 
 
 " Oh, foolish heart! " I sighed, 
 " To look so high ! — But wherefore not ? 
 
 Love, like the liberal sun, 
 Takes no account of human pride. 
 
 And scorns or favours none : 
 Liook up, sad heart ! thy thoughts are pure, 
 
 Thy Heaven may yet be won !" 
 
 XI. 
 
 One morn, — oh, well-remembered time ! — 
 
 I met her on the lawn, 
 With streaming hair, and ripe red lips, 
 Blithe as Aurora, when she slips 
 
 The curtains of the dawn.
 
 CANTO II.] A man's HEAET. 53 
 
 From balmy skies of cloudless blue, 
 
 Dropped music like the rain, 
 Ten thousand merry minstrels sang 
 
 The one exulting strain : — 
 " We thank thee, Day, for all thy gifts. 
 
 And welcome thee again I " 
 
 It was the bursting of the flower ! 
 
 She could not choose but hear ; 
 I could not choose, but speak the word ; — 
 
 " My Geraldine 1 my dear !" 
 I never dared, in all I felt, 
 
 To name her thus before ; — 
 Unloosened were the founts of speech, 
 
 My tongue was mute no more : 
 And kneeling at her feet, I craved 
 
 Permission to adore.
 
 54 A MAN'S IIEAET. [CANIO II. 
 
 xm. 
 
 She blushed with pleasure and surprise, 
 
 And when I grasped her hand, 
 In dim wild fervour, born of joy. 
 
 Too rash for my command, 
 She did not slay me with a look ; — 
 
 But from her eyes she threw 
 Sweet invitations — welcomes sweet — 
 
 And greetings old and new ; — 
 I was uplifted from the false — 
 
 I soared into the true. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 In utter dark, devoid of hope, 
 ^Vhat evil passions glare, 
 
 Like lurid torches waved at night 
 In foul and misty air.
 
 CANTO II.] A MAN'S HEART. 55 
 
 But in the light of happy love 
 
 All evil passions die, 
 Or fade like tapers when the sun 
 
 Rides cloudless in the sky ; 
 They pale, they wane, they disappear — 
 
 And in that light was I ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 Till then, I never thought or knew 
 
 What charms all Nature bore, 
 How beautiful were Earth and Heaven ; 
 
 I never lived before. 
 But from that moment nobler life 
 
 Through all my senses ran; 
 
 Deep in the mysteries of Time, 
 
 I saw the inner plan, 
 The holiness of Life and Love, 
 
 The dignity of man !
 
 56 A man's heart. [canto II. 
 
 So ran the fable that his fancy drew, 
 Made for her heart, but woven from his own. 
 And when the tale was done, and silence fell 
 So palpable betwixt them, that the grass 
 Seemed rustling loudly in the startled air. 
 The green leaves babbling secrets from the boughs. 
 And the lark's song dropped on them like a weight, 
 He blushed deep blushes which her cheeks returned ; 
 And she launched meanings from her ghstening eyes. 
 Which his caught up, and flashed exulting back; — 
 And both were conscious of a new dehght, 
 And breathed the vows that once, and only once. 
 The heart can form with equal purity. 
 
 Dream on, poor children ! — dream, and never wake 
 In all your raptures — come they thick as flowers 
 That April tosses to the lap of May, 
 You '11 never find a rapture like to this !
 
 CANTO n.] A man's HEART. 57 
 
 Dream on, poor children ! dream, and fear to wake — 
 
 When sorrow looms, the memory of this hour 
 
 Shall shine like Hesper through the gathering dark, 
 
 And you shall say, — " Once in the days of youth 
 
 We had a vision and a glimpse of Heaven I 
 
 Once in the morning of our cloudy day 
 
 There gushed upon us overpowering joy, 
 
 Keen as the lightning flash, and lost as soon ! 
 
 Let us be grateful, — we have lived and loved, 
 
 Tasted ambrosia, feasted with the gods ! 
 
 Was it a dream ? — What more is Caesar's throne, 
 
 Or great Napoleon's, when the end has come ? — 
 
 Wa-s it a dream ? — Could we such dream renew, 
 
 And brush away from our enchanted land 
 
 The dust and cobwebs of reality, 
 
 We 'd sleep once more, and never ask to wake."
 
 I^AE AWAY.
 
 Jfar ^uiiUT. 
 
 O AILING in sunshine through the blue lagoons 
 Of melancholy Venice, sire and son 
 Discoursed together in the gondola. 
 Westwood had letters from his English home 
 Made dear to memory by a year's long lapse, 
 And Arthur asked the news. 
 
 " News private? — Small : 
 News public ? — Great ; though smaU to you and me. 
 The "Whigs are out, the Tories have come in, 
 And Parliament 's dissolved ; and that is all ! " 
 
 "All? Quite enough!" said Arthur. " Then farewell,
 
 62 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO III. 
 
 Thou poor Sir Thomas, to thy fondest hopes ; 
 Thou 'It never be a peer, thou 'st lost thy chance, 
 For ne'er did Tories make a Whig a Lord ! 
 And I am glad that one obstruction less 
 Stands betwixt Edith Bellenden and me. 
 Ah mc ! I would she were a poor man's child, 
 That I might win her for the love I bear, 
 Freed from the vile suspicion of the world, 
 That money — always money — money-dirt — 
 Attracts my passion, as the flame the moth. 
 And is there nothing else ? " 
 
 " But little more ; 
 The ancient land 's astir with wholesome Ufe, 
 And all the great athleta3 of the time 
 Gird on their armour. England needs her sons, 
 And were I young again, as thou art now, 
 I think I 'd mingle in the clash of arms, 
 Or clash of tongues — if that 's the better phrase.
 
 CANTO III.] A MAN'S HEART. • 63 
 
 Hast never felt such prompting in thy blood ? 
 Lo, the world throbs with mighty impulses, 
 And the great battle of the Right and Wrong 
 Calls up the nations : England ever first, 
 France second, and this Italy, the third 
 And most unhappy." 
 
 " Ay ! " replied his son, 
 " I 've had such thoughts ; and deemed it sometimes 
 
 wrong 
 That I should loiter out my morn of life, 
 When strong true hearts are needed ; yet why not ? 
 My life is in its May, and looks for flowers — 
 The harvest is not yet." 
 
 " 'Twould give me joy," 
 The sire made answer, " could I see thee fix 
 Thy heart on some great object seen afar, 
 To lead thee upwards ; — not for sake of fame, 
 Wliich thou couldst Avin, if it deserved thy thought.
 
 64 A man's heart. [canto III. 
 
 But for the sake of action which exalts 
 
 And strengthens while it purifies the soul. 
 
 My days are wasted ; in my yellow leaf 
 
 I see no fruit. I 've dreamed my life away, 
 
 And by the light or shadow of my faults 
 
 T see the nobler path which thou shouldst take. 
 
 Believe me, Art can poorly satisfy 
 
 A soul like thine. It may refine thy tastes. 
 
 And be the charm and solace of thine hours, 
 
 "N^Tien wearied for awhile with sterner work ; 
 
 But action best becomes the noble mind. 
 
 Those who have gifts owe something to the State, 
 
 And 'tis this debt, so bountifully paid 
 
 By English gentlemen, that sends the name 
 
 Of England, like a watchword, o'er the world — 
 
 Watchword of Liberty and steadfast Law." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! yet cannot all men serve the State
 
 CANTO III.] A man's HEART. 65 
 
 In the same fashion ? He who writes a book 
 Brimful of noble thoughts, doth he not serve ? 
 And he who sings a song which elevates 
 The poor man's heart, and makes it throb with joy, 
 Hath he done nothing ? He who carves a stone 
 
 Into immortal beauty, is not he 
 
 As great and noble as the man who talks 
 
 On Opposition benches half the night ? 
 
 Or on the Treasury benches drones and prates 
 
 About his Budget and his Income Tax, 
 
 And his five farthings on the pound of tea ? 
 
 'Tis well, no doubt, to be a Senator, 
 
 To make the laws of England, and direct 
 
 Great policy to rightful aims and ends. 
 
 Or thwart great policy when it is wrong : 
 
 But these things are not all. A nation's weal 
 
 Cannot be made by Acts of Parliament ; 
 
 And some must write, some sing, some dance, some paint, 
 
 £
 
 66 A man's heart. [canto III. 
 
 Some teach, some preach, or else the manners fade, 
 And all the pith of nations shrivels up, 
 And sapless realms go down to their decay. 
 My calling's Art ; and 'twill suffice my soul." 
 
 " But," said his father, *' Art is but a dream 
 To those, like thee, who love it for itself 
 And not for wealth, or as the means to rise 
 To social eminence of power and fame. 
 If thou hadst not a sixpence in the world. 
 Nor I a sixpence to divide with thee, 
 Art might absorb thee, and thou would st excel ; 
 But now 'tis but thy vision and thy toy." 
 
 " What else were politics ? " the son replied. 
 " Thou 'dst fill me with ambition ; but take care ! 
 I have it in me. If that flame be fed 
 It may burn higher than thy peace or mine
 
 CANTO III.] A MAN'S HEART. 67 
 
 Would give it room for. But the time's not yet. 
 I 'm but a boy, and hate boy senators ; 
 I 'm but a youth, and hate to see a youth 
 Mount in the pulpit, preaching to old men : 
 I 'm but a student, let me study on." 
 
 'Twas three months afterwards : they 'd gone to Rome, 
 Seen all its sights ; been saddened day by day 
 At the great spectacle of Death in Life — 
 The old Rome dead ; the new Rome dying fast. 
 And most unworthy ever to have lived 
 On such a grave, and taken such a name : 
 And they were starting for the balmier south, 
 To Capri, 'mid the olives and the vines. 
 When Westwood, sitting sadly by himself, 
 Read, and re-read a letter just received 
 From his best friend, and comrade of his heart — 
 The Vicar. 
 
 E 2
 
 68 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO III. 
 
 " My poor boy ! " the father said, 
 " How will he bear it ? — how shall I make known 
 This utter blight of his fast blossoming hopes ? 
 This desecration of the holy shrine 
 Which he ima2;iaed in a woman's heart ? 
 And she has yielded ! yielded to her aunt, 
 Her father, and her brothers — all her kin. 
 And given her hand to that superb old Earl, 
 Wlio loved so well her father's money-bags ! 
 Alas ! poor Arthur ! — hush 1 the victim comes ! " 
 
 Singing a song, exuberant with joy, 
 Arthur came bounding to his father's door. 
 His face so fresh — his eyes so bright — his smile 
 So full of happiness and inward peace. 
 That Westwood shuddered at the cruelty 
 Of vmdeceiving him, and wished some tongue,
 
 CANTO III.] A man's HEAET. . 69 
 
 Otiier than his, might tell the bitter tale, 
 Or any time but that might suit the task. 
 
 He was unskilful in concealing grief; — 
 His eyes betrayed him. " Father, what is this ? " 
 Said Arthur, tenderly. He stretched his hand, 
 And gave his son the letter. 
 
 Arthur read 
 Calmly and silently, without a start 
 Or motion, save a quivering of the lip, 
 Scarcely perceptible ; then folded up 
 The document that held such weight of woe, 
 And gave it back into his father's hands. 
 And said, with slow, precise, and measured words, 
 Calm as the motion of a cataract 
 When it flows shelving to the precipice — 
 " Had any other name been signed but that, 
 I should have called him liar to his teeth I
 
 70 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO III. 
 
 Comfort nie not. I cannot bear a word 
 
 Except in anger. Call me idiot, fool — 
 
 A credulous, gaping, green, and unripe fool — 
 
 But do not comfort me. I 'm sick at heart ! 
 
 Where is the Times ? — no doubt 'tis blazon'd there, 
 
 In the broad columns, ' Marriage in high life ; — 
 
 The Earl Fitz-Neville and his youthful bride, 
 
 The daughter of Sir Thomas Bellenden, 
 
 Left Erlwood Abbey yesterday, for France, 
 
 To pass the honey month.' Oh, fair young bride ! 
 
 Oh, ardent bridegroom — fifty years of age, 
 
 A little older — five years at the least 
 
 Than the bride's father. Happy — happy Earl 1 " 
 
 And he laughed wildly at the torturing thought, 
 
 And clenched his hand and smote it on his brow. 
 
 His father pressed his hand, but spake no word; 
 And the son leaned his head on that broad breast.
 
 CANTO III.] A man's HEAET. 71 
 
 Paternal, warm ; and, after little space. 
 Sobbed on it like a child. " Forgive," he said, 
 " This burst of grief, for never — never more 
 In any sorrow will I weep again ! 
 And let her names — her old one and her new — 
 
 Never again be breathed between us two." 
 
 They went to Naples, thence to Sicily, 
 And thence to Athens. Arthur could not rest. 
 He thought he 'd like to row upon the Nile, 
 And see the Pyramids ; and so they went, 
 And rowed upon the Nile, and thought it dull ; 
 And saw the Pyramids, and thought them small. 
 
 And next they tried the Desert — what of that ? 
 It was a desert ; — but in their degree, 
 Pall Mall, the Boulevards, and the Grand Canal, 
 Are they not deserts also, if the heart 
 Find not another heart in all their scope
 
 72 A man's HEAET. [canto III. 
 
 To change a feeling with ? So back they turned, 
 And came to Pera and the Golden Horn, 
 AVhere Arthur fumed and fretted at the Turks, 
 And mourned the fate of such a lovely land, 
 Encumbered by such people. 
 
 In one Aveek, 
 Tired of the Turks, and all that Turkey held. 
 The yielding father and the impetuous son 
 Debated to which spot of all the world 
 They next should travel. "Back to Italy?" 
 " Ay, that were well," said Arthur ; " for I fear 
 This ceaseless whirl, that whirls me out of self, 
 May do thee mischief. Let us rest awhile 
 In some decaying city of the Po, 
 In Mantua or in Padua : yet, alas I 
 I fancy in such quietude as that 
 The burning rust would eat into my heart. 
 And leave thee childless. Let us try the Alps,
 
 CANTO III.] A man's HEAKT. 73 
 
 And in the gorgeous Bernese Oberland 
 
 Dwell in the valleys, 'mid the simple folk, 
 
 Where thou canst be at rest, and I can climb 
 
 Great Monte Rosa and the Wetterhorn, 
 
 Or Jungfrau ; scale high rocks, and tread on snow 
 
 Where human footsteps never trod before. 
 
 I have a spirit in me that hard work 
 
 And vigorous exercise alone can quell. 
 
 War 't not for thee, who lovest me so much, 
 
 ■J 
 
 1 'd join some enterprize to trace the Nile, 
 Lay bare the roots of Niger, or explore 
 Australia's inner lakes of salt and sand — 
 Anything desperate ! " 
 
 " Has Art no more 
 Its ancient charm to fill thee," said his sire, 
 " With high resolve of something to be done?" 
 " I should be painting Ediths evermore ! " — 
 He answered, bitterly. " The very brush
 
 74 A MAN'S HEART. [CAKTO in. 
 
 Rebels against me ■when I take it i;p, 
 
 And plagues me with a Countess. Art grows dull, 
 
 Since she grew false. Could I invade, besiege, 
 
 And storm a borough by the dint of tongue, 
 
 I 'd be well pleased to sit in Parliament. 
 
 If Love be stale. Ambition's ever fresh I 
 
 So, if agreed, we'll turn our footsteps back 
 
 To murky London; there, perchance, I'll find 
 
 Something or other, huge or strong enough 
 
 To lay the constant devil that gnaws my heart." 
 
 " Our English politics want stirring up ; 
 They need the infusion of some younger blood;" 
 Replied his father, " Trade and trading things 
 Befit a trading nation such as ours ; 
 But Trade; — for ever Trade and dull Majnooth, 
 Where Bigot fights with Bigot ; — and sometimes 
 An episode about the Sabbath day, 
 When some men think it shame to wear a smile,
 
 CANTO III.] A MAN'S HEAKT. 75 
 
 And criminal to roam into the fields 
 
 And breathe the breath of Heaven, depress the 
 
 mind 
 Of legislation. Give us something more 
 To talk about than these ; let us become 
 More tolerant, more wise and loftier-souled, 
 That in the steady tramp and march of Time 
 Our honest England may preserve her place 
 In the great commonwealth of Christian realms, 
 The oldest, best, and bravest of them all, 
 And not to be outstripped in any race 
 Of Wealth, or Power, or Art, or Enterprize, 
 Or great Dominion, or true Liberty, 
 By friend or foe. Tore heaven, I often think, 
 I'll try, myself!" 
 
 " And why not ? " said his son, 
 " Thou'rt under fifty ; in thy manhood's prime.
 
 76 A man's heart. [canto III. 
 
 The Earl Fitz-Neville, wed the other day, 
 Is three years older. Better thou than I." 
 
 " Nay ! " said the father, " I have formed my life, 
 I 'm but a dreamer, and must live on dreams. 
 I could not tolerate the long debate ; 
 I could not sit till three o'clock at morn, 
 To hear a crass, dull, awkward Minister 
 Wear out his subject, and my patience too. 
 My youthful elasticity is gone ; — 
 No! give me books and music, and fresh air. 
 If the book tire, I '11 lay it on the shelf. 
 Or taste its beauties only. If the strain 
 That once delighted me have lost its charm, 
 I '11 close the instrument and take a walk. 
 And if all fail to while the- weary time — 
 Thanks to all-gracious and beneficent Heaven — 
 I can lie down upon my quiet bed
 
 CANTO III.] A MAN'S HEAET. 77 
 
 And go to sleep. But thoii, my son, art young, 
 And hast no habits long and fully formed ; 
 Go thou to Parliament, and thou 'It succeed." 
 
 They sailed again to westward, taking ship 
 For Syra, Malta, Naples and Leghorn — 
 To pass a month in Florence. Luckless thought ! 
 They had not been in Florence but a day, 
 When Arthur, strolling, as the tourist will, 
 Into the Duomo, met — 'twas face to face, 
 And not to be avoided, or denied — 
 The Earl Fitz-Neville, and a troop of friends ; 
 And back a pace or two — amid her maids — 
 Edith, the Countess. Through the solemn aisles, 
 Startling the organist amid his fugues, 
 There rang a cry of pain — as glance met glance ! 
 He saw the lovely face — the dark deep eyes — 
 And darted from the presence, lest its power
 
 78 A man's IIEART. [canto III. 
 
 Should smite him into Folly, with Despair, 
 And fled the place, unconscious of the cry 
 Wrung from her heart by terror of his eyes. 
 
 By the next evening he was far away, 
 At Genoa ; thence onward to Marseilles, 
 And thence to Paris, with his bursting heart, 
 And all its griefs reopened to the day. 
 
 Paris — the bright, the fair, the libertine, 
 Youthful in beauty, old in wickedness ; — 
 Paris, the ancient home of generous men. 
 And now the sink of jobbers, gamblers, knaves; — 
 Ruled by a master-hand, whose iron grip 
 Slays disobedience, but forgives all else — 
 Vice, meanness, crime, degeneracy and sloth — 
 Detained them for awhile. The city swarmed 
 With swaggering captains and their stunted men.
 
 CANTO III.] A man's HEART. 79 
 
 Eacli with liis marshal's visionary staff 
 Safe in his knapsack, and with head uplift 
 Saucily in the path ; for had they not 
 Witliin short space, strangled, against all law, 
 A young Republic ? slain it in the streets. 
 And dragged its bleeding body through the mire ; 
 And set an armed Empire in its place, 
 Groverned by beat of drum and bayonet thrust — 
 A vulgar, slavish, gross and carnal thing. 
 Without a soul ; — unless the bees have souls ? 
 These yield a blind obedience to their chief, 
 And feed and swaddle it, and make it fat, 
 And toil and moil, until th' appointed hour 
 When in hot swoop they fall upon the drones. 
 And kill the fluttering fathers of the State ; 
 Or, may be, choose another Sovereign 
 To gorge and pamper as they did the last. 
 So Arthur deemed, when musing in the streets.
 
 80 A man's heart. [canto III. 
 
 That, in like manner, act these bees of France, 
 Swarming from fauxbourgs at the tocsin's peal — 
 Ruthless and bloody while the fit is on, 
 And patient drudges Avhen the fit wears oflP. 
 
 Here Arthur strove to study humankind, 
 But made small progress ; how could lie explain 
 The tame endurance of a land like this ? 
 'Twas order ? So is death. 'Twas peace? 'Twas rest ? 
 He had seen rest in Nubia; — and in graves; — 
 And 'mid the crumbling fanes of Ephesus 
 There was a rotten and unwholesome peace. 
 But nobler peace than this, as Nature's work — 
 And not the base contrivance of a man. 
 
 He went to theatres, and there he saw 
 " Daughters of marble " — brothels on the stage. 
 He went to cafes ; — there 'twas constant smoke ; 
 And constant dominoes, and constant spies.
 
 CANTO III.] A MAN'S HEAET. 81 
 
 He went to churches, but he saw no men — 
 Or only passing strangers like himself, 
 Who came to look at pictures and stained glass. 
 Or hear the organ, and the full-voiced priests 
 Chanting Te Deums on a festal morn. 
 
 The pastime tired at last, " What 's France to me ? " 
 He said and sighed, " Let 's seek that fresher land; — 
 Our own land, where a public soul remains 
 To guide the public body ! Let us go — 
 For I am weary of the beat of drum — 
 The dust of troops — the slavery and the slaves ; — 
 And long to rush into the open air 
 Out of this fever — to the land of Health ; — 
 To tread the sward of Freedom, and inhale 
 The fresh, pure atmosphere that freemen love."
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 F 2
 
 r r UJ« 
 
 rpHE Lord Fitz-Neville had one passionate love- 
 The love of hunting ; love that nurtures hope 
 In the mild bosoms of presumptive heirs ; 
 And most intensely when in life's decline 
 The staid possessor of some good estate 
 Thinks it befitting he should wed a girl. 
 So Lord Fitz-Neville hunted ; had good sport ; 
 Bought many horses with my lady's dower ; 
 Went on the turf, and kept a racing stud j
 
 86 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO IT. 
 
 And gave the county three new packs of hounds. 
 But being vexed one day, and thinking more 
 Of his vexation and its secret cause 
 Than of the horse he rode — a quiet beast — 
 The creature stumbled, and my lord was thrown 
 Over the hedge into a stony field. 
 And lay insensible. They took him home, 
 And plied the electric wire for speedy help, 
 And brought physicians from the capital, 
 Who came express, by horses and by steam, 
 And issued bulletins from day to day. 
 Signed by ftivee magnates of the healing art, 
 To tell how much — or little — hope there was. 
 
 Three weeks he lay, nor knew the face of man, 
 Nor any kindness that was offered him. 
 Nor his wife's touch upon his fevered brow, 
 Nor any word of hope ; and then he died.
 
 CAKTO IV.] A man's HEAET. 87 
 
 Great was the sorrow, for my lord was good ; 
 
 A model magistrate, an upright man. 
 
 An English gentleman, wed but six months, 
 
 And sent untimely to his last account. 
 
 In the ripe autumn of his vigorous days. 
 
 Great was the sympathy ; and great, perchance, 
 
 The wonder of the garrulous peasantry 
 
 In hamlets, flirms, and homesteads round about, 
 
 Mouthed by old gaffers at the alehouse porch, 
 
 And chattered o'er their tea by pitying wives 
 
 And grandams skilful in such human lore ; 
 
 If my lord's brother were indeed a Lord, 
 
 And had an earldom and a fair estate 
 
 To leave the eldest of his five tall sons ; 
 
 Or, whether in the ripening growth of Time 
 
 A new-born heir would crush their nascent hopes. 
 
 And make Sir Thomas what he pined to be, 
 
 The happy grandsire of a race of peers ?
 
 88 A man's heart. [canto iv. 
 
 Time came and went ; and ere a year had passed 
 The new Fitz-Nevilles, safe and well assured, 
 Dwelt in the ancient seat ; and Edith doffed 
 The formal weeds that blazon Avidowhood, 
 And set a label on a woman's grief, 
 And robed herself in sensible attire — 
 One of the common world through which she moved ; 
 And great Sir Thomas, gathering strength anew 
 From the approaching advent of the Whigs ; 
 (The Tories having wrecked the ship of state, 
 Or maybe, saved it, as the Whigs declared, 
 By being beaten) ; looked about and saw 
 Another chance of honours long desired, 
 Intensely coveted, and well-nigh clutched. 
 He was the county member, well secured : 
 His eldest son, at sore expense, had wrenched 
 The obstinate borough from the Tory grasp, 
 And both were voters; loyal, staunch, and true,
 
 CANTO I Y.J A man's HEART. 89 
 
 Pairing for Wlaigs whenever Whigs were right, 
 
 Voting for Wliigs whenever Whigs were wrong, 
 
 The bright exemplars of all party men. 
 
 And were not such high principles and votes 
 
 Worth the small purchase of a barony ? 
 
 He thought, he dreamed, he hoped, he knew they were. 
 
 He felt the coronet upon his brow ; 
 
 Unseen of others — palpable to him — 
 
 A vision, bordering on reality. 
 
 And Edith roamed once more in Erlwood Park, 
 And read her book, and fed her milk-white fawn, 
 As if she still were Edith Bellenden ; 
 And two long years were but a morning dream. 
 Scared into nothing by the dawn of day. 
 
 Oh, she was beautiful beyond belief 1 
 More beautiful than when a thoughtless girl
 
 90 A man's heakt. [canto it. 
 
 She knew no sorrow and imagined none, 
 Save in the melting pages of Romance ; — 
 More beautiful than when beneath the boughs 
 She took the offering of a guileless heart, 
 Herself as guileless then ; — more beautiful 
 By all the added loveliness of thought. 
 And the deep sorrow hidden in her soul. 
 Which had refined and chastened her since then, 
 She seemed too fair for Earth, too sad for Heaven. 
 
 And no one knew her anguish but herself ; — 
 For she had given her hand without her heart, 
 After great struggle — after many tears — 
 Because she reckoned filial duty much ; 
 Herself, as nothing. She had sold her peace 
 For empty title, which she valued not ; 
 And, like the Patriarch's son, had lain her down. 
 Moaning and helpless, but obedient still,
 
 CANTO IV.] A SIAN'S HEAET. 91 
 
 On the grim altar wliich her sire had built 
 
 To oflfer up his human sacrifice 
 
 To his false gods of Vanity and Pride. 
 
 She told her lord the truth before she wed, 
 And afterwards, with many a blinding tear. 
 The easy Earl disliked all sentiment; 
 And he had taken her without her heart ; 
 Her, and her money ; and been good and kind. 
 And treated her with gentle courtesies. 
 Until she OAvned in silence and remorse. 
 And secret confidence, — if such it be, 
 When Conscience is the only confidant, — 
 That had he been her brother, or her sire, 
 Or any other than her wedded lord, 
 She could have weighed his kindness and respect, 
 And balanced them with friendship and esteem. 
 But he was dead ; — and 'twas a sin no more
 
 92 A man's heart. [canto IV. 
 
 To think of Arthur Westwood, so beloved, 
 
 So distant, so estranged, so lost to her ; 
 
 Far on the outer verge of the abyss 
 
 Which she had dug beneath their yearning feet; — 
 
 Hereafter doomed to walk on diflferent paths ; — 
 
 No more to tread the same — ah, never more ! 
 
 The cottage of the Westwoods was for sale, 
 With all its furniture, except the books. 
 She bought it, through her agent, in his name ; 
 And her dull sire, who never dreamed of hearts, 
 Or anything but money, rank, and power, 
 Could never fathom why she wasted gold 
 On such a purchase. Here she often went 
 And sat upon the chairs where he had sat. 
 And saw his name inscribed upon the wall, 
 Entwined in hers, with true-love knots betAveen. 
 From the same window out of which he 'd gazed
 
 CANTO IV.] A man's HEART. 93 
 
 Upon the lovely landscape spread below 
 
 She looked, and found a pleasure in the sight. 
 
 And when the blackbird in the hawthorn grove 
 
 Sang joyous, said she to herself, " That song 
 
 Pleased him in other days, and pleases me." 
 
 Amid the ivy clustering to the roof 
 
 Darted the swallows ; he had watched their 
 
 flight 
 In melancholy noons, and so would she. 
 To the green sward beneath the window-sill 
 A frequent visitor, for charity. 
 Came the bold robin ; and she gave the dole 
 To the blithe beggar with the glittering eye, 
 Because he gave it, — steward of his alms. 
 She trimmed the rose-trees in the garden-walk, 
 Because he trimmed them in the happy days 
 When he believed in her, and in himself 
 She nurtured sorrow by a thousand arts,
 
 94 A man's heart. [canto iy. 
 
 And fed it witli a thousand sympathies, 
 And was repaid, because she thought of him. 
 
 Time wore, and she had suitors at her feet. 
 The Curate fresh from Oxford, with white hands, 
 White face, white brow, white neckcloth and white teeth, 
 But with a batch of hazy principles. 
 Scarlet as Rome ; whose talk was evermore 
 Of crosses, candlesticks and papal gear; 
 Laid formal siege and battery to her heart. 
 He thundered at her gates with piety, 
 Or strove to sap the fortress with soft words, 
 And would not be denied or robbed of hope ; — 
 For he was rich in bountiful conceit 
 Aud thought no woman could resist a tongue 
 So oily, glib and specious as his own. 
 
 And a smooth cousin of the Earl deceased, 
 A captain in the Guards, with whiskers huge,
 
 CANTO lY.] A man's heart. 95 
 
 Wlio could not speak without a burst of slang, 
 
 And smoked from morn's first dawn till evening's close, 
 
 And seemed to have no aim or end of life 
 
 But to consume tobacco — thought one day. 
 
 Between two Avhiffs — while shaving — that he 'd make 
 
 Great sacrifice, and give himself away. 
 
 That Edith would accept him, could he doubt ? 
 
 But she refused him, and he answered " Haw ! " 
 
 And smoked no longer for a round half-hour. 
 
 And then recovering consciousness and peace, 
 
 He smoked again as briskly as before, 
 
 And thought, betwixt two other long-drawn whiffs, 
 
 What an escape he 'd had from slavery 
 
 To apron-strings ; and then said '* Haw ! " again, 
 
 Half vexed, half satisfied, and sore perplexed ; 
 
 But still in confidence to his sweet self. 
 
 And there were other suitors ; — human flies. 
 That ever drone and buzz at honey-pots.
 
 96 A man's heart. [canto iy. 
 
 With busy wing — lank legs — and suckers dry 
 
 For want of golden sweets — that long to light 
 
 Upon the paths of widows richly dower'd, 
 
 And settle there ; — insatiate as wasps 
 
 That dig their feelers into luscious pears, 
 
 Or burrow into peach and apricot. 
 
 But she pass'd through them, as the sunny beam 
 
 On which the midges dance, strikes through the crowd 
 
 Of little, nimble, pestilential things 
 
 That revel in its light, and knew them not. 
 
 And there came news to Arthur far away, 
 In the great whirl and Maelstrom of the town. 
 Of all that Edith suffered for his sake. 
 The life she led, the offers she refused, 
 And all the gradual blighting of her days. 
 But he was smitten with a fearful plague. 
 The love he thought she scorned, had grown to hate ; —
 
 CANTO IV.] A man's HEART. 97 
 
 The hate as bitter as the love was true. 
 And in the struggle he essayed to drown 
 The fierce remembrance both of hate and love. 
 He lived a life of lightning — not of light — 
 Rapid and briUiant, but most deadly sad : 
 A constant battle with one haunting thought 
 That stared him in the face, and all night long 
 Lay watchful on the pillow where he moaned, 
 Or through his curtains, with an angel's face, 
 Peered in the lengthening vigils of the night, 
 Stabbing him through the eyes, into the brain, 
 With thoughts empoisoned. Whither could he fly ? 
 Where was his Lethe ? Travel was too slow, 
 And poUtics too dull, and art too tame. 
 And battle — which he thought of — too unjust 
 To give him the sublime forgetfulness 
 Of self and personal sorrow that he craved. 
 Oh, whither, whither should he turn for peace ? 
 
 G
 
 98 A man's heaet. [canto iv, 
 
 In wlaat sweet fountain should lie bathe his heart, 
 
 To clear it from that black and burning drop 
 
 Of passionate gall ? His friend, and father's friend. 
 
 The Vicar, came from Erhvood's quiet groves 
 
 To give him comfort ; but he came in vain. 
 
 A kindly man, a wise philosopher, 
 
 A pastor most benign, his threefold pow'r 
 
 Fell idly on that proud and smitten heart. 
 
 Which in the waywardness of young desire 
 
 Had looked for heavenly rapture on the earth. 
 
 And could not, for its wounds, look up to Heaven. 
 
 He scorned philosophy, that could not cure 
 
 An evil deep as his. He did not scorn 
 
 Religion and its teachings ; but his soul, 
 
 Leaning on earth as youthful souls will lean. 
 
 Looked downwards, and not up, and could not see 
 
 The starlight peering through the nether gloom. 
 
 His love had been too human and too fond,
 
 CANTO IV.] A MAN'S HEART. 99 
 
 And was too closely riveted with hate, 
 Or what he deemed was hate — though 'twas but love 
 Stung into frenzy — to be linked with Heaven. 
 And so he listened to the soothing hopes 
 The pious preacher poured into his mind, 
 And was not soothed : and so, from day to day 
 Feeding fierce thoughts in fruitful solitude, 
 He grew enamoured of his own despair, 
 And played with it, and nursed it, like a toy. 
 And Arthur's father, pitying much his son, 
 Ceased to console. " Time's homoeopathy 
 Will bring him solace : lightnings cannot flash 
 On the dark skies for ever. Rains must fall 
 When clouds are heavy, but the clouds must 
 
 pass ; 
 And a new love, more mighty than the first. 
 Bursting upon him like the blooms of spring. 
 
 Shall fill his being with a new delight 
 
 G 2
 
 100 A MAN'S HE^UIT. [CANTO IT. 
 
 That shall efface remembrance of old days. 
 Let him alone. The heart that has no grief 
 Is but a dull and barren stone at best — 
 A quiet, happy, and unfeeling stone ; 
 And Sorrow ripens Life to glorious deeds 
 That might have languished in the nothingness 
 Of too much ease. The soil where grief is grown 
 Is fruitful soil for joy ; and have not I 
 Struggled with sorrow for philosophy. 
 And gained the laurel branch and victor's crown ? 
 And so shall he : I see it in his eyes. 
 And trace it in the words of his despair." 
 
 Thus Westwood argued with his anxious heart, 
 And gathered for himself the wayside flowers 
 Of comfort he could feel, but not bestow ; 
 Then hied him to his music with new zeal, 
 To work upon a cherished theory,
 
 CANTO IT.] A MIAN'S HEART. 101 
 
 And draw tlie soul of heavenly harmony 
 From the entranced body — dumb — not dead, 
 Of ancient music, such as Plato heard ; 
 Or that which charmed divine Pythagoras, 
 Lost to the moderns ; but of which, perchance, 
 He in his happiest hour had found the key. 
 
 There came one day a missive to his club 
 From Thomas Bellenden, the eldest sou 
 Of great Sir Thomas, begging liim to grant 
 Five minutes' interview on urgent need. 
 The young man came; and after little space, 
 Sufficient for the simple tale he told — 
 Both drove together fast as steeds could run 
 To high Tybumia, where Sir Thomas kept 
 State like an earl ; — oh, miserable man. 
 That could not be an earl, though richer far 
 Than any brace of earls in all the land !
 
 102 A aiAN'S HEAET. [CANTO lY. 
 
 And there they saw, in mild autumnal grace, 
 Her white hair parted on her open brow, 
 Good Mistress Bellendcn, the knight's best friend, 
 Sister — and careful matron of his home. 
 
 She, sadly smiling, without waste of words. 
 Opened her heart ; " Is it not sad," she said, 
 " That a young life, most innocent and pure, 
 Should waste, and be consumed, and fade away. 
 When one kind word might lift it into hope, 
 And hope to healing ? Edith Bellenden — 
 She loves the old name better than the new — 
 Dies without malady, save that which lurks 
 Insidious in the secret of her heart. 
 She dies for Love. There was a time, my friend. 
 When I, and you, perchance, with thoughtless smile 
 Might have denied the power of Love to kill. 
 Or talked incredulous of broken heartsj: 
 But we are wiser now ; or else, should be.
 
 CANTO IT.] A JIAN'S HEART. 103 
 
 Editli, the lovely child, so good, so true, 
 
 The docile victim of her father's pride, 
 
 Dies for the love of Arthur. Tell him so. 
 
 Tell him, moreover, that she never loved, 
 
 With the remotest shadow of a thought. 
 
 Other than him : and that, in few short weeks, 
 
 That pur«, unsullied life will bloom in Heaven 
 
 Unless he can retain it on the earth 
 
 By one kind word or look. She knows not this ; 
 
 And she might die of shame were she to learn 
 
 That I became so forward in her cause, 
 
 And bared her weakness to the gaze of one 
 
 Who might, in haughtiness of poor revenge, 
 
 Exult to see it — and respond with scorn. 
 
 Tell him the truth ; and let his heart decide 
 
 On its own action : mine hath done its part, 
 
 And yours will aid it, or I cannot read 
 
 The soul that gUstens in your sorrowing eyes."
 
 1 04 A man's heart. [canto IV. 
 
 " If Arthur be like me," the fiither said, 
 Taking the gentle speaker by both hands, 
 " This news will fill him with a grievous joy ; 
 And if her life depend upon his smile. 
 Death shall repent, and drop his pitying hand. 
 And spare the blossoming tree. But who can tell 
 How wild and wicked is a young man's heart ? 
 And this boy's heart hath hot Italian blood 
 That chafes at Reason when it braves his will. 
 But he is generous, and he loved this girl 
 With all the fervour of his mother's clime, 
 And all the truth of honourable souls. 
 And if that love remain — ay, if one spark 
 Of that great fire be smouldering in him still, 
 It may revive. I '11 find him ere an hour, 
 And learn if there be healing in his words. 
 Meantime, dear lady, comfort and console 
 The perishing flower. Breathe hope into her mind,
 
 CANTO IV.] A MAN'S HEART. 105 
 
 For Hope is life. Deceive her, if tliou wilt, 
 With hopes imfoimded — anything for life. 
 And trust to me, and God's great charity, 
 And Love, the master Spirit of the world. 
 That Hope and Love shall purify themselves, 
 And dwell together. Sister ! fare thee well ! "
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 HOPE.
 
 )M^, 
 
 fXPEN ! wide open — to the setting sun 
 
 That poured its slant beams on the chequered floor 
 
 Through tangled fretwork of the clambering vine ;- 
 
 Open — wide open to the evening breeze, 
 
 That blew balm-laden from the bomiteous West, 
 
 Stood Edith's lattice. There she loved to sit 
 
 To watch the darkness creeping on the day, 
 
 And dream sad homilies of life and love 
 
 Fading, or faded, — like the summer mom 
 
 That shone so beautiful and passed so soon.
 
 110 A ALUST'S HEART. [cANTO V. 
 
 On her white garments, and her pale white hands, 
 The rose-red lustre of the evening fell, 
 As on the marble statue of a saint 
 Falls crimson splendour through cathedral aisles, 
 And clad her with a glory caught from Heaven. 
 Beside her sat a maiden fair as she. 
 Yet not so lovely ; not a shadow of cloud 
 Dwelt on the May -day of that happy face, 
 Which had been fairer had a grief been there. 
 And left its delicate tracery in her eyes, 
 Or its faint echo on her silvery tongue. 
 
 " Sing to me, Rose — my Rose-bud," Edith said ; 
 " Sweet singers find no laliour in their song, 
 But sing for pure dehght, as lark or thrush ; 
 And thou art like them in luxurious ease 
 Of opulent melody, that from thy throat 
 Potirs, as from laden clouds the summer rain.
 
 CANTO Y.] A MAN'S HEART. Ill 
 
 Thy song nor tires thyself nor listeners : 
 
 Sing tlien, to please me, any English song 
 
 That has a heart in it — of joy or grief. 
 
 There's something in thy voice that floats my sonl 
 
 Nautilus-like upon a sunny sea, 
 
 The waves beneath me — the blue skies above. 
 
 Sing to me, Rose, and waft me from myself, 
 
 And let me travel over boundless deeps 
 
 To golden slopes and bowery isles of song." 
 
 Rose Trevor, friend and comrade of her youth, 
 The dear companion of her childish days, 
 Who left the calm seclusion of her home 
 To watch and tend her in sore malady. 
 Born of the mind, the worst that flesh can feel. 
 Pressed her pale hands in hers, and smiling sang.
 
 112 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO V 
 
 n jg. 
 
 How many thoughts I give thee ! 
 
 Come hither on the grass, 
 And if thou'lt count unfailing 
 
 The green blades as we pass: 
 Or the leaves that sigh and tremble 
 
 To the sweet wind of the west, 
 Or the ripples of the river, 
 
 Or the sunbeams on its breast, 
 I'll count the thoughts I give thee, 
 
 My beautiful, my best ! 
 
 How many joys I owe thee ! 
 
 Ck)me sit where seas run high, 
 And count the heaving billows 
 
 That break on the shore and die — 
 Or the grains of sand they fondle, 
 
 When the storms are overblown. 
 Or the pearls in the deep sea caverns, 
 
 Or the stars in the milky zone. 
 And I '11 coimt the joys I owe thee, 
 
 My beautiful, my own !
 
 CANTO v.] A man's HEART. 113 
 
 And how much love I proffer ! 
 
 Come scoop the ocean dry, 
 Or weigh in thy tiny balance 
 
 The star-ships of the sky ; 
 Or twine around thy fingers 
 
 The sunlight streaming wide, 
 Or fold it in thy bosom, 
 
 While the world is dark beside ; 
 And I '11 tell how much I love thee, 
 
 My beautiful, my bride ! 
 
 " I thought," said Edith, when the song had ceased, 
 
 " I heard a sigh, and then a stir of leaves. 
 
 As if some stranger in the garden walk 
 
 Had lurked to listen; — prithee, look and see ! " 
 
 The fair face glimmered through the clustering vine, 
 Like sunlight streaming through the woods of June, 
 And the soft voice made answer, "Fancied sigh. 
 And fancied stranger, or perchance a bird 
 Amid the ivy at the cottage door." 
 
 H
 
 114 A man's heart. [canto y, 
 
 ** Forgive the fancy then, my Rose, my love; 
 And sing again, — but sing to me no more 
 Such lilt of joy, to waken in ray soul 
 The sad remembrance of departed time, 
 Linked with the name of him whose thought it spoke, 
 When from his heart he poured it upon mine. 
 Gay music makes me sad, so, prithee, Rose, 
 Sing me a doleful, melancholy song 
 Such as Ophelia, crazed and strewing flowers, 
 Sings in the play. If pleasure make me weep. 
 Sorrow, perchance, may soothe me into smiles." 
 
 Again the singer, with her mellow voice. 
 Ripe, round, and full, and careful of the words, 
 As every singer, worthy of the name, 
 Should strive to be — sang as her friend desired.
 
 CANTO v.] A MAIL'S HEAET. 115 
 
 ^ cr n jg. 
 
 How could I tell that death was there ? 
 I shot mine arrow in the air, 
 And knew not of the bonnie bird 
 Singing aloft, unseen, unheard, 
 
 Oh, idle aim ! 
 
 Oh, sorrow and shame ! 
 
 arrow, that did my heart the wrong ! 
 It slew the bird, it hushed the song ! 
 
 How could I tell its fatal power ? 
 
 1 breathed a word in Beauty's Bower, 
 And knew not, most unhappy boy. 
 What charm was in it to destroy ; 
 
 Oh, idle breath ! 
 
 Oh, shaft of death ! 
 Oh, fatal word which I deplore, 
 It slew my peace for evermore ! 
 
 " It is not fancy, or my senses fail," 
 Said Edith, starting as the song expired 
 
 H 2
 
 116 A man's heart. [canto v. 
 
 Ill lingering whispers on the placid air ; 
 
 ** Hark to the footfall, and the crash of boughs !" 
 
 Rose Trevor looked again, and thought she saw, 
 
 A rapid shadow flash across the lawn ; 
 
 But hid the truth, as nothing in itself, 
 
 Or only potent to disturb a brain, 
 
 Made sensitive by sorrow; and sat down, 
 
 The two pale hands in hers, and calmly said, 
 
 " Edith ! 'twas but a fancy as before — 
 
 There are no listeners but thy heart, dear love : 
 
 And if there were, the song that pleases thee 
 
 Might well attract thy grooms. I'll sing no more. 
 
 For, lo ! the sun has sunk into the west 
 
 And the night air gi'ows chilly." Then she rose 
 
 And shut the lattice ; and with kiss as pure 
 
 As infant to an infant, Avent her way 
 
 To her own chamber with a fond " good night."
 
 CANTO v.] A man's HEART. 117 
 
 And Edith thanked her with beseeching eyes, 
 
 And sought the couch where wakeful dreams were 
 
 guests, 
 And sleep, the comforter, was coy to come. 
 
 That night was morning dawn of happiness 
 To one unhappy. All night long he strayed, 
 Sleepless, around the outer avenues, 
 And watched the light, to him a cynosure. 
 That glimmered from her chamber through the dark, 
 And said within himself, " "When comes the day — 
 I will confess the evil I have thought, 
 And sue for pardon ; I'll declare my love, 
 The love I strove to wrench from out my heart. 
 The love immortal that refused to die. 
 Though I decreed it daily to the death." 
 
 But when the morning came his spirit failed,
 
 118 A man's HEART. [CANTO V. 
 
 And idly dallying with his new-born hopes — 
 The later blossoms of a blighted life — 
 Deferred fruition, lest a second blight 
 Should nip them, also, ere the harvest time. 
 
 Night after night he wandered silently 
 Through the old haunts — to happy childhood dear — 
 Of his own cottage, doubly his, now hers, 
 And saw the lonely taper in her room, 
 A love-star, whose love-secret no one knew 
 Except himself ; and watched it until morn 
 With fairer radiance dispossessed its beam. 
 And sent him back again to common life, 
 Nerved for all struggles, strong again in hope. 
 With heart unburthened, and with head erect. 
 And eyes that took a pleasure in the light 
 And drooped no longer in the dark forlorn. 
 
 And there came news to Edith in her bower
 
 CANTO Y.] A man's HEAET. 119 
 
 Of him that roamed without ; of Arthur's self 
 
 Love-guided to her solitary home, 
 
 Yet lacking heart to look upon her face 
 
 And words to breathe, what he desired to speak, 
 
 And she to hear. Oh, power of blessM Hope ! 
 
 Oh, sovran balsam ! Best medicament ! 
 
 Sweet as the breath of Spring to opening flowers. 
 
 Warm as the sunshine to the bursting buds, 
 
 And potent as the moon on laggard tides ! 
 
 It brought new lustre to her eloquent eyes, 
 
 And to her cheeks the crimson they had lost. 
 
 And to her lips the smile they 'd ceased to wear 
 
 Since the dark day when at her sire's command 
 
 She gave to " duty " what was love's alone. 
 
 And laid her heart upon a funeral pyre 
 
 With filial piety and hidden tears. 
 
 But Joy and Sorrow are like Day and Night,
 
 120 A man's heart. [canto v. 
 
 Twin-born of Time, who walk together still, 
 
 Inseparable, the substance and the shade; 
 
 For if one smiles and loads the heart with gifts, 
 
 The other frowns and takes the gifts away. 
 
 One scatters glory, wealth, dominion, power. 
 
 The other, if she leave the toys intact. 
 
 Will take away a child, or blessed health, 
 
 Or heavenly reason, dearest boon of all. 
 
 Oh, traitors both, and not to be believed ! 
 
 Cheats that belie the promises they make, 
 
 And balance life with death ; yet friendly still, — 
 
 For if the heart were drunk with constant joy 
 
 Madness might crown himself anointed King, 
 
 And dispossess the old inheritor ; 
 
 And Sorrow, Avere she Queen too absolute. 
 
 Might lose her throne to one more fierce than she. 
 
 And yield her broken sceptre to Despair. 
 
 Great are the balances of Day and Night,
 
 CANTO v.] A man's HEART. 121 
 
 Of Summer and of Winter — Up and Down ; 
 Great are the balances of Joy and Grief. 
 Almighty Power decreed their twofold life ; 
 Almighty Love maintains their unison. 
 
 And so, when Edith, drinking life anew 
 From Hope's pure atmosphere that robed the world, 
 Saw through its golden haze the star of love 
 That seemed to have set and vanished from the sky. 
 But now rose clear again, and shot afar 
 Eadiance divine; — she thought that joy once more 
 Might dwell beside her as in olden days : 
 But dreamed not of the spectral balances 
 That equalize the fortunes of mankind, 
 Nor saw that Sorrow in a new disguise 
 Would steal invidious on her upward path 
 And break her flowers and dull her brightening 
 day.
 
 122 A M/VN's HEAirr. [canto y. 
 
 In the upper skies of Trade, hoarse thunders rolled. 
 The demigods of Commerce shook their beards 
 And spake their sore amaze, that one of them, 
 The Lucifer, amid their sinless choir, 
 Should fall from Credit, that imperial seat, 
 And carry with him in his downward flight 
 To the deep Hades and the hopeless dark 
 Of Bankruptcy and Ruin, such a rout 
 Of minor potentates and satellites 
 Who shared his glory once, and now his shame. 
 Through Bank, Exchange, and Bourse, the rumoiir sped 
 And gathered strength and clearness as it grew, 
 That the great House, the overshadowing House, 
 The House of Bellenden — renowned and high. 
 And never doubted for a hundred years. 
 Shook at its very basement. Envious men, 
 O'erladen with the news, relieved their souls 
 By noising it abroad. Alas, too true 1
 
 CANTO v.] A man's heart. 123 
 
 It was not built upon the solid rock 
 Of prudent Trade, but on the shifting sands, 
 The treacherous quagmires, and the rotten bogs 
 Of desperate Speculation, and must fall 
 With crash to startle and confound the world. 
 
 Even as they spake, the gaping multitude 
 Became aware that ruin was at hand. 
 High in the air rose clouds of flying dust, 
 Low through the ground a rumbling noise was heard, 
 As of convulsion in the nether depths ; 
 And, lo ! the fabric tottered — shivered — broke — 
 And lay as prostrate as Lisboa's towers 
 When earthquake smote them — shapeless, worthless, 
 
 nought ; 
 And men grew pale, and whispered each to each, 
 " Who is secure ? if House like this can fall, 
 Whom shall we trust? The world is old and sick, 
 And Trade 's a rottenness, and Truth a he."
 
 124 A man's heart. [canto v. 
 
 Of all that miglity wealth there scarce remained 
 Pittance enough to pay the labourers 
 AVho scraped the ruined heap for waifs and strays. 
 Of all that power, whose name was like the blast 
 Of martial trump and clarion in the strife, 
 To stir the hearts of enterprising men, 
 Nothing was left ; its very shadow passed, 
 And name and fame were idle as a breath 
 Spoke in a desert centuries ago ; 
 Or, ere a month had passed, became the scoff 
 Of portly men whose money Avas their god, 
 Whose own soap-bvibbles glittered to the sun, 
 Ready to burst, but had not yet collapsed, 
 And vanished into nothingness, like this. 
 
 And " great Sir Thomas " — mockery of words ! 
 To call him great whose greatness was as dead 
 As last year's blossoms, or its winter wind — 
 Endeavoured with strong heart and stronger will
 
 CANTO v.] A man's HEART. 125 
 
 To show new greatness in adversity ; 
 
 To lift his head and look upon the world 
 
 With clear eye unabashed, and say — still proud — 
 
 " Make me a beggar — do your best, or worst — 
 
 Take from me all things — money, houses, lands, 
 
 Power, station, splendour — everything you will ! 
 
 I can take nothing with me to the tomb, 
 
 Nor leave to any one who follows me 
 
 Aught but my honour. If you leave me that, 
 
 I will go down into the grave in peace, 
 
 Nor wish to live, a pauper in the land, 
 
 A crawling, pitiful, and abject thing — 
 
 A worse than Lazarus, who ne'er was rich, 
 
 And never fell from such a height as mine." 
 
 But the strong effort cost him more than life. 
 The inner conflict was too fierce to bear. 
 The wounded vanity, the trampled pride, 
 The outraged dignity, the sense of shame,
 
 126 A man's heart. [canto Y, 
 
 The keen regret for fair dominion lost 
 
 Over men's homage, and their flattering tongues ; 
 
 The love of money that survived the wreck 
 
 Of money's self, and pomp that money brings ; 
 
 All warred together, in a worldly mind 
 
 That had no trust except in worldly things, 
 
 And no belief in goodness, man's or God's ; 
 
 Till the fine tendrils of the brain were snapped, 
 
 And the mind's music and true harmony 
 
 Jarred into hopeless discord, or was dumb. 
 
 And great Sir Thomas, little to the world, 
 
 Was great as ever in his own conceit. 
 
 And fondly clutched imaginary gold, 
 
 And counted it, and hugged it to his heart ; 
 
 Harangued imaginary Parliaments, 
 
 And put upon his brow ideal crowns, 
 
 And sent to sea imaginary ships 
 
 Freighted with dreamy ventures, huge enough,
 
 CANTO Y.] A man's HEART. 127 
 
 If dreams were facts, to build his house anew, 
 "With tenfold strength to overawe mankind. 
 
 And Arthur, much amazed, reproached himself 
 For joy that came unbidden, when he heard 
 The great calamity. " Oh, wayward heart, 
 Thou treacherous, bitter, black, and guilty thing ! 
 Why art thou glad that grief like this hath come 
 On her and on her father ? Why shouldst thou 
 Take pleasure in disaster like to this ? 
 And yet thou'rt glad ; and I am glad, my heart — 
 Not for affliction — would it had not come ! 
 Not for the sorrow ; for if I could heal 
 Or lessen, or remove it, blest were I. 
 But all thy motives are mine own, dear heart, 
 And I can see thy secrets clear as noon ; 
 Thou canst not cheat me ; canst not hide one spring 
 Of all that moves thee ; and thy joys, like mine, 
 Flow from a fountain of perennial love
 
 128 A MAN'S HEAET. [cANTO V. 
 
 That never failed, altliough it seemed to fail. 
 
 For are we not made free ? And can we not 
 
 Without reproach or slander of the world — 
 
 Without suspicion that vile dross and gold 
 
 Inspire our homage, haste to Edith's bower, 
 
 And lay our fortune, life, and love, and hope, 
 
 As offerings at her feet ? We '11 go, my heart ! 
 
 For she is sick and needs a comforter ; 
 
 Weak and requires support ; distressed and sad, 
 
 While I have words of solace on my lips, 
 
 Panting for utterance ; poor, while I am rich — 
 
 Ay, doubly, trebly rich ! Oh, happy day. 
 
 When I can woo her for herself alone ! 
 
 And prove to her, as to my nobler self, 
 
 That dearer in her poverty and grief 
 
 Is Edith Bellenden to him she scorned, 
 
 Than Edith Bellenden, in blaze of wealth, 
 
 And bloom of beauty. Heart ! thine hour has come."
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 HAPPliVESS.
 
 i a ]? ^ i n ^ .^ f5 . 
 
 T rXGEE ! oh, linger ! ye delicious hours ! 
 The stormful March — the tearful April 's gone — 
 And life's fresh May, with all its buds and blooms, 
 Its balmy odours, and ambrosial skies, 
 Smiles on two loving hearts, dissevered long. 
 
 Linger, oh, linger ! ye delicious days. 
 That hopes and joys may blossom like the flowers, 
 That happy thoughts may sparkle like the stars. 
 And peace of mind, like the o'erarching sky. 
 Shine forth unclouded, dropping heavenly dews ! 
 
 I 2
 
 132 A man's heart. [canto ti. 
 
 Linger, oh, linger ! Love is in its noon ; 
 Grief is forgotten ; pain liath passed away ; 
 And Memory, if her mournful voice be heard, 
 Whispers in music ; if her shadow fall, 
 'Tis but to show how glorious is the light. 
 
 Linger, oh, linger ! Yestermorn were wed 
 Ajthur and Edith. Be it thine, O Time, 
 To pay them recompense for sorrow past. 
 Time — such as thou — is essence of all Time, 
 And one fair day may carry in its breast 
 The joy of centuries. They suffered long; — 
 Let them be happy ! And if grief must come 
 Once more upon them, as it comes to all, 
 Fill up the interval with pure delights ; 
 Make every minute fruitful ; shower them down 
 Blessings and pleasures in each tick o' th' clock 
 And balance of th}- ceaseless pendulum, 
 Dispensing grief and joy to uU who live.
 
 CANTO YI.] A M^^'S HEART. 133 
 
 Thou canst not stay tliy course ; but Love and Truth 
 Can make thy minutes bountiful as years, 
 And turn the years to ages. Love is wed ; 
 And Truth was at the bridal in both hearts, 
 And smiles from mutual eyes and mingling lips. 
 
 And Arthur's sire is in his ancient home, 
 Ne^y fitted for his ease by Edith's care ; 
 Amid his books, his music, and his plants. 
 As mildly happy as in former days ; 
 And builds new melodies, and studies hard 
 To ravish from the undivulging past 
 The buried secret of the songs of Greece, 
 That still escapes him, and still seems to come. 
 
 Quietly flows the streamlet of his life ; 
 And, having much of Love and little Hate, 
 He takes to hating something — for a change ; 
 And, with his friend, the Vicar, spends his nights
 
 134 A man's heart. [canto TI. 
 
 In loading epithets of harmless scorn 
 On false pretences, and on foolish books ; 
 And on tobacco, and on smoking boys ; 
 And working up a theory, fine-spun, 
 Of woes nicotian looming o'er the world ; — 
 Deterioration of the human race, 
 Stunting of stature, drying up of brain, 
 Shrivelling of beauty, and decrease of years. 
 All from Tobacco, and its senseless use. 
 
 And then the Vicar takes the other side 
 In a mock combat ; wondering much to learn 
 How Homer could have lived without cigars, 
 Or Socrates and Esop without pipes ; 
 And how the ancients managed to exist 
 Quidless and snufflcss, tealess, coffeeless, 
 "Without the journal and the printed book. 
 And ever and anon they change the theme 
 To higher questions of philology.
 
 CANTO YI.] A man's HExVET. 135 
 
 Philosophy, and politics, and Avar : 
 
 Or how to raise the funds to build a school, 
 
 Or add a trifle to the teacher's dole ; 
 
 Or read the letter in the morn received 
 
 From happy Arthur and his happier bride, 
 
 Sailing in Scotland through the Hebrides. 
 
 When lovers look upon the selfsame flov?-er, 
 And feel it beautiful ; upon the sky. 
 Glowing with gold and purple in the "West, 
 Or on the amber splendours of the Morn 
 Lighting the landscape, or on starry nights 
 Behold, awe-struck, the living firmament 
 Ablaze with worlds, reproachful of our pride, 
 And feel a pleasure words are poor to speak ; 
 How rapturous is the touch of clasping hands. 
 And what occult transcendent sympathies 
 Glow in the heart, and elevate the mind,
 
 136 A' man's heakt. [canto TI. 
 
 And link to God, to Nature, and to Man, 
 The spirits twain made one by happy Love ! 
 
 Such joy is Edith's, sailing in the West ; 
 Such joy is Arthur's, pensive at her side ; 
 For all the land, magnificently rude, 
 With isle, and mountain, and far-stretching sea. 
 And musical with roar of waterfalls, 
 And murmur of the waves upon the beach. 
 Appeals where'er they go, where'er they look. 
 To sympathies benign. Away 1 Away ! 
 Through changeful scenes of ever new delight ! — 
 On either side the hoary mountain-slopes 
 Rise like the Titan fathers of the clime. 
 Lovely in sunshine — beautiful in shade; 
 Or in their mantles of majestic mist, 
 Lashed by the storms that bellow through the glens, 
 Sad a,s discrown6d kings and potentates 
 When Revolution surges in the streets.
 
 CANTO VI.] A man's HEART. 137 
 
 And angry voices roar for Liberty. 
 Away ! Away ! amid the clustering isles, 
 Through lonely Mulla's melancholy Sound, 
 Where every rock, and crag, and jutting point 
 Hath its own legend and sad history 
 Of Love or Hate, Ambition or Revenge. 
 
 At every turn, what memories awake ! 
 Heroic phantoms shape themselves in cloud — 
 The spectral forms of chieftains, bards, and kings, 
 And mighty patriots of the olden time. 
 And wizard voices murmur on the shore, 
 Heard of the Fancy — silent to the ear, 
 " On these blue waves sailed Fingal and his hosts, 
 Thronging to battle with uplifted spears : 
 On these grey rocks were Haco's warrior-ships 
 Battered to fragments : in these straths and glens 
 The kilted Gael, with heather in their caps.
 
 138 A MAIL'S HEAKT. [CANTO VI. 
 
 Raised the loud slogan and ferocious yell, 
 As chief met chief in sanguinary feud. 
 And here, great "Wallace, freedom's bravest son, 
 Made Scotland famous in the ennobling war 
 Of Right against the Wrong. Here, deep con- 
 cealed 
 In wild sea caves, or gullies of the I'ock, 
 Like David, followed by revengeful Saul, 
 A desperate and a broken man he lay. 
 But never lost his confidence in God, 
 Or love for Scotland. — Here, in moorlands bleak, 
 The dauntless souls, oppressed for Conscience' sake, 
 Wiio held aloft the Bible and the Sword, 
 And fought with both, came forth on Sabbath-days, 
 'Mid storm and rain, bareheaded to the sky, 
 And sang their psalms, with daggers at their hips ; 
 Armed to resist, as if their prayers to God 
 Were treason to mankind. And here, arrayed
 
 CANTO VI.] A MAN'S HEAET. 139 
 
 By secret summons — cat tlie storm of drum 
 
 And burst of pibrochs wailing on the wind, 
 
 Issued Lochiel, and all the gallant hearts, 
 
 Who, for a name which grief had rendered great, 
 
 And vast calamity had purified 
 
 From taint of ancient Wrong, imperilled Life — 
 
 Fame, Fortune, Honour — all that men desire 
 
 To mend a broken sceptre, passed away 
 
 From hands unfit to wield it." 
 
 On, still on. 
 Amid such memories, sailed these loving two 
 Through Caledonian isles magnificent, 
 And fed their eyes on fair sublimities 
 And mingling grandeurs of the Earth and Sea. 
 Onwards ! — still on ! To StafFa's echoing cave, 
 Cathedral of the Ocean — whose high fane 
 Eesouuds with voices of the waves and winds. 
 Chanting for ever holy harmonies,
 
 140 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO YI. 
 
 Such as they chanted in Columba's ears 
 When first he preached in near lona's isle 
 The Gospel of the poor, the sufferer's hope — 
 The great new law of Charity and Love — 
 A new law still, and little understood 
 By warring sects that hate their fellow-man. 
 And there they linger'd last of all the crowd, 
 And in that solemn Temple of the Lord, 
 That vaulted Dome, with porphyry pillars luige. 
 Not made by human hands, they stood aloof, 
 Alone and iinperceived. With one accord, 
 They joined their hands in token of their truth. 
 And joined their lips in token of their love, 
 And said, without a word, in silent thought 
 Flashing from eyes more eloquent tlian tongues, 
 " Here we renew the promise of the Past, 
 And in the presence of the Invisible, 
 In Hia own Temple, dedicate cm' lives
 
 CANTO TI.] A man's HEAPtT. 141 
 
 To Him and to each other." 
 
 Onward still ! 
 Through Morven and Lochaber, — mournful lands, 
 Once the abode of brave, true-hearted men, 
 But •wildernesses now for sheep and deer, 
 The appanage of Luxury ; — scarcely trod 
 Save by the shepherd's foot, or, rarer still, 
 By Croesus with his gun, or legal drudge. 
 
 Set free frem briefs and qi;irks, and Chanceiy 
 
 fogs. 
 From August till November. On ! still on ! 
 To Ballahulisli and its hills austere, 
 And Avild Glencoe, the saddest spot of ground 
 On British soil ; where every mountain-top 
 Re-echoes " Murder" when the thunder roars ; 
 And the clear Cona, with reproachful voice, 
 Croons like a beldam that has known o'ermuch, 
 And hints of crimes too fearful to be told.
 
 1-12 A man's heart. [canto yi. 
 
 Wliere shall they turn? To shady Aviemore 
 And green Craigellachie, embowered on Spey ? 
 Or to the savage haunts and purple wilds, 
 Where great Ben Nevis wraps his waist in cloud, 
 And with his bare bald head looks up to Heaven, 
 Unitiindful of the crooked ways of men ? 
 They know not well ; but Chance determines them. 
 But is it Chance or Fate ? "Whiche'er it be, 
 They take its guidance, and resolve to rest 
 A month at Bannavie : — a little space, 
 Whence daily issuing they may thread the glens. 
 Or row upon the lake — or scale the heights 
 Up to the very crown and diadem 
 Of royal Nevis. 
 
 Pleasant were the morns 
 In those rude solitudes ; — pleasant the noons 
 When the light breeze ou Lochlin's azure breast 
 Invited them to sail ; — pleasant the eves,
 
 CANTO TI.] A IIAIJ'S HEART. 143 
 
 Witli their long twilights, lingering silvery-grey 
 To overtake and mingle -with the nioht, 
 That scarce was dark enough to know herself 
 Co-regent of the sky, but for an hour 
 Between two twilights : pleasant to them both 
 Were calm and storm, the sunshine and the shade ; 
 For in their hearts were pleasantness and peace, 
 Which thence o'erflowed and sanctified the world. 
 They found not Happiness, and sought it not, 
 But took it with them wheresoe'er they went; 
 As all must do — or know it nevermore ! 
 
 So much they loved — so deeply they enjoyed — 
 So wannly praised their northern solitude, 
 In frequent letters to the tamer south — 
 Edith to Eose, the playmate of her youth, 
 And Arthur to his sire, his heart's true friend — 
 That ere the June had ripened to July,
 
 144 A man's heaet. [canto YI. 
 
 And days had shortened, came three visitors, 
 Westwood, and Trevor, with his daughter Rose, 
 To tread the grassy slopes, to ti'ack the streams, 
 To breathe the buxom air of seaward glens ; 
 And turn a virgin page of Life's new book — 
 Heady for memory in a future Time.
 
 CANTO VII. 
 
 iOVE ETEEJVAL.
 
 lotr^t (Bt^itnal. 
 
 AH, mountain echoes ! slumbering in the clefts I 
 
 Never did blither company than this 
 
 Awake your magic voices with their own, 
 
 And fill with gladness the responsive air. 
 
 The morn is young ; the flowers, the grass, the trees, 
 
 And gossamer webs that stretch from branch to 
 
 branch 
 Of the red heather or the golden gorse, 
 Are hung with jewels of the nightly dew, 
 Which Day, new-risen upon the misty plain, 
 
 K 2
 
 148 A man's heart. [canto VII. 
 
 But old upon the hills, has lighted up, 
 
 As if each droplet were a rolling world 
 
 Set in the distant heavens to catch its beam, 
 
 A careless and a joyous company. 
 With ponies, guides, and all appliances 
 To pass the summer day upon the Ben, 
 They start, these friendly five, from Bannavie, 
 Clad for the hills, and eager to ascend 
 To those serene and barren altitudes 
 Where Nevis looks o'er Scotland and the Isles, 
 And counts in summer eves his subject hills. 
 
 Oh, pleasant morn ! and what shall be the 
 night ? 
 The darkest clouds upon the hopeful sky 
 Are white as feathers of the seagull's wing. 
 And take no light or promise from the day,
 
 CANTO vn.] A man's heart. 149 
 
 But give it both. Yet, what shall be the night ? 
 They know not — think not — ask not — and 'tis well. 
 
 " Nine by the sun, and half-way up the Ben ! 
 Let toil and hunger, and fresh exercise 
 Receive their due reward. Here let us rest : " 
 Quoth Westwood to the guides. " This oozing spring 
 Born in the mountain's breast shaU yield us drink, 
 Dashed with the mountain dew that owes no tax 
 To our liege lady on the banks of Thames. 
 Display the breakfast 1 " 
 
 On the broad bare stone 
 The guides disburthened them of thrifty store 
 Of oaten cakes, as sweet as scent of briar, 
 Of butter, fresh as mead ere mowers come. 
 Of eggs, no older than the summer day. 
 And appetite, made keen by upland air, 
 Does honour to the simple festival.
 
 150 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO TIL 
 
 Rose Trevor, merry as the lowland hvrk^ 
 Left far adown and lilting in the glens, 
 Eases her sense of superabundant joy 
 By music's voice, as natural to her 
 As light to suns, or scent to mountain thyme ; 
 And sings till honest Donald and his boys, 
 Their guides upon the Ben, in glad amaze 
 Declare to one another as they tend 
 The ponies browsing near, that never yet 
 Was mortal voice so exquisite as this. 
 
 Up ! up again 1 There 's work that must be done. 
 The knees of Nevis may be clad in flowers — 
 His waist may wear a girdle of the pine. 
 His shoulders may be robed in heath and ferfl 
 But his broad neck and high majestic head 
 Are steep and bare — and he who 'd climb, must toil. 
 
 Noon on the mountain I glowing, glorious noon I 
 And they have reached the very topmost top
 
 CANTO VII.] A man's HEART. 151 
 
 Of Britain's isle ; the crown above all crowns 
 
 Of royal Bens ! Oh, wild sublimities ! 
 
 None can imagine you but those who 've seen ; 
 
 And none can understand man's littleness 
 
 Who has not gazed from such dread altitudes — 
 
 Upon the world a thousand fathoms down — 
 
 O'er precipice of perpendicular rock, 
 
 Which but to look at makes the brain to reel, 
 
 And fills it with insane desire for wings 
 
 To imitate the eagle far below, 
 
 And free itself of earth I And here they stand, 
 
 Awe-stricken and delighted ; great, yet small ; 
 
 Great that their souls may dare aspire to God, 
 
 To whom the mountains and the universe 
 
 Are but as dust on the Eternal Shore ; 
 
 Small in the presence of those ancient hills 
 
 Which stood the same, and evermore the same, 
 
 When Abraham fed his flocks on Shinar's plain,
 
 152 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO YII. 
 
 And Job belield Axcturus and his sons ; — 
 The same — the same — and evermore the same — 
 Unweetmg of the whirl and spin of Time, 
 And heedless of the fall of states and kings 
 And mighty monarchies, that dared to blow 
 Through slavish trumpets the blaspheming boast — 
 " The seasons pass — but we endure for ever 1 " 
 Where are they now ? Let Rome and Carthage say, 
 And Babylon answer, " Dead, and pass'd away ! " 
 
 Upon that topmost height within the shade 
 Of the grey Cairn that shields them from the sun, 
 Again the board is spread with frugal fare ; 
 A banquet earned, and seasoned with delight 
 Of genial converse and the flash of minds. 
 In great new circumstance unknown before. 
 
 Meanwhile, vmnoticed, from the glens beneath 
 Uprolls a sea of mist. The wind hath changed ; 
 And the fine snow, as sharp as needle-points,
 
 CAKTO VII.] A man's heart. 153 
 
 Blows in their faces. Mist, thick mist, pours on, 
 
 And so enshrouds them where they sit or stand 
 
 That each to each looms spectral and remote — 
 
 A thing of shadows in a shadowy land ; 
 
 The mountain-top and twenty yards around, 
 
 The only visible earth ; themselves alone 
 
 The earth's inhabitants. At times a glimpse 
 
 Through di'ifting clouds that clash against the Ben, 
 
 Unveils the world below : Lochiel's blue wave ; 
 
 And far away a wilderness of hills;— 
 
 And then the pageant passes like a thought. 
 
 And they are shut in Chaos, as before — 
 
 A chaos of upsurging, streaming mist. 
 
 From which they may not stir, if they would 
 
 live. 
 For aU around are yawning pits and chasms, 
 And on one side a precipice of rock. 
 Where half-way down the eagle seems a moth,
 
 154 A MAN'S HEART. [cANTO VII. 
 
 And crags, as lofty as cathedrals, dwarf 
 
 To things scarce bigger than an urchin's toy. 
 
 Three houi's amid the mist ! The guides alarmed, 
 Betray by rapid looks, yet not by words, 
 Their growing terror, lest the night should come 
 And find them still upon the mountain-top. 
 And now the big rain and the whistling hail. 
 As large as berries shaken from the bough, 
 Bursts from the cloud as from a floating sea. 
 And on their shelterless heads and shivering forms 
 Pours in fierce torrents. Huddled close as sheep 
 When winter snows fall sudden on the fold, 
 They crowd together, -wrapping thick in plaids • 
 The tender women. But the drenching storm 
 Must work its will : and if it rage till night 
 Cannot, with all its fury, harm them more 
 Than it hath done in this one gush of Time ;
 
 CANTO VII.] A man's HEART. 155 
 
 For they are wet as sea-weeds on the rock 
 When the full tide comes plashing, roaring in, 
 And must endure the evil ; better still, 
 They turn it into merriment and joy. 
 
 Six hours amid the storm ! The mist upclears 
 And they behold again the welcome world 
 Around them and beneath ; and far adown 
 The straggling remnants of the cloudy host. 
 Foiled in the assault against the steadfast hills, 
 Lag in the valleys, broken and confused. 
 
 But gathering near on level of their sight. 
 The anxious guide descries the phalanx huge 
 Of clouds with blacker bosoms, lightning-fraught. 
 " Let us descend," he saith ; " there's danger near, 
 And greatest danger on the mountain-top. 
 There 's shelter in the glen ; and one hour's march 
 Will bring us to the ponies. Let 's away ! "
 
 156 A man's heart. [canto til 
 
 They start in resolute haste, the guides in front, 
 Arthur and Edith next, linked hand in hand ; 
 Then "Westwood, Rose, and Trevor. "Wild and bare 
 And dark around them lies the wilderness 
 Of shivered rock and gaunt mis-shapen crag. 
 Toilsome th' ascent ; but perilous and slow 
 The downward scramble o'er the slippery shale 
 That yields beneath the foot. But on they press ; 
 For, lo ! the gusty rain with fitful whirl 
 Beats in their faces, and the lightning-burst 
 lUumines heaven with glare blue-venomous. 
 And drags behind it in its fiery car 
 Th' obedient thunder. Lifting up its voice 
 It shouts to all the hills, which answer back 
 From cavernous glens and corries far away. 
 And, lo I the bolt hath fallen where they stood, 
 And with a crash as if the Ben were riven 
 To its deep heart, down falls the jutting crag
 
 CANTO Vn.] A man's HEART. 157 
 
 In nmltitudinous heaps of splintering stone. 
 
 The women shriek in terror ; and the men, 
 With fear-white faces and uplifted hair, 
 Appeal with eloquent eyes to pitying Heaven 
 To shield and save them 'mid the war of storms. 
 Then as the coiling echoes die away, 
 Press onward, downward, with redoubled haste, 
 To reach the shelter Avhere their tethered steeds 
 Await their coming. 
 
 Vainly they 'd escape 
 The region of the thick tempestuous cloud ; 
 For lower down, and filling all the glen, 
 The mists have gathered ; and once more they halt, 
 Uncei'tain where to turn, or where to rest. 
 The guide, at fault, has wandered from the way, 
 And night is looming. Edith's heart beats high 
 With hope and courage ; Eose's faints and fails. 
 The men are vigorous, as men should be ;
 
 158 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO VII. 
 
 And holding counsel with their high resolve, 
 
 Weigh all the chances of the mist and storm, 
 
 And how they best shall help their tender ones 
 
 To pass the night in safety on the Ben. 
 
 They sit, they talk, they know not what to do, 
 
 Yet fear no evil greater than the cold, 
 
 When suddenly a vista through the cloud 
 
 Unfolds the lingering splendours of the day, 
 
 Fading in twilight ; and a golden gleam 
 
 Into the darkening landscape far adown. 
 
 Mountain, and lake, and many a seaward glen. 
 
 Edith and Eose, as agile and alert 
 
 As dapple favnis that sport upon the hill. 
 
 Trip lightly forth, like playmates, hand in hand. 
 
 To gaze upon the loveliness beneath. 
 
 Upon the seas of curdling cloud and mist 
 
 In mighty masses heaving evermore. 
 
 And deem that never have their eyes beheld
 
 CA^^IO VII.] A MAN'S HEART. 159 
 
 A vision so sublime. Entranced they stand, 
 As angels might have stood on Earth's first morn 
 Upon the mountain peaks of Paradise, 
 When Chaos, disappearing, trailed his robes 
 Of shapeless mist the last time o'er the world, 
 That hailed his absence with her brightest smile, 
 And leaped to be released. 
 
 But creeping slow. 
 Unseen, unnoticed 'mid their ecstacy — 
 A cloud that might have covered half the Isle, 
 Down sailing from the far-off Northern seas, 
 O'er Grampian summits, clad them round about 
 So densely, that the ground on which they trod 
 Became invisible — and their outstretched hands 
 Faded away into the hungry space. 
 And their near faces disappeared in cloud. 
 
 They called upon the names of those they loved : 
 Louder — yet louder stiii — and heard far off
 
 160 A man's heart. [canto tii. 
 
 A faint response come shattered up the glen. 
 " Courage I " said Edith ; " Courage ! here we stand 
 Until they rescue us. To move is death." 
 The other spake no word, but grasped her hand ; 
 And ever and anon they heard far down 
 The voices calling them. "■ Oh, sister mine ! 
 Sister thou art, and more than sisterly — 
 Let us be brave. 'Tis but one dark, cold night. 
 And after night the morn. The rising day 
 Will clear the blinding mist, and help will come." 
 They sat them sadly down, but scarce had room 
 Upon that narrow ledge of shelving rock 
 To rest their trembling feet or fevered heads. 
 *' Com'age!" said Edith. " Courage !" answered Eose. 
 'Twas the last word that either of them spake 
 In that long night : for sleep, the invincible, 
 Best friend of mortals, next to friendlier Death, 
 Pressed on the eyelids of the tenderer flower,
 
 CANTO Til.] A man's HEART. 161 
 
 Unwelcome and unasked, but still benign, 
 And drowned her sorrow in unconsciousness. 
 
 Ere morn slie woke — and lo ! slie was alone ! 
 And where was Edith ? Brightly shone the sun, 
 The earth was luminous, the mountain-top 
 Stood clear and sharp against the bright blue sky. 
 And every cot and bothy in the glen, 
 Ay, every tree and boulder miles below, 
 Was palpably defined : but where was she ? 
 Had she, adventurous, braved the pathless wild. 
 Or sought the aid of shepherds from the farms 
 To save her weaker sister ? Ay ! no doubt ! 
 For she was bold and of a noble heart ! 
 Alas ! alas 1 that Fate, or Providence, 
 Or Doom, or Fitness — twin-conceived with Fate 
 Ere Earth began her orbit, or the Sim 
 Shone in the centre to compel her course. 
 Should have decreed that this most innocent life
 
 162 A MAIJ'S HEART. [cANTO VII. 
 
 Should be sixcli victim, and tliat sucli despair 
 Sliould follow on such superabundant joy ! 
 
 Ah I little did they think who all night long 
 Mourned for her houseless on that ghastly hill, 
 And hoped and prayed for coming of the morn, 
 What utter, unimagined misery 
 One little moment and one step in the dark 
 Might bring to many lives so fondly linked 
 By love, and friendship, and sweet sympathy I 
 
 Wakeful — impetuous — eager for the dawn, 
 That faintly streamed o'er blue Loch Linnhe's wave, 
 Edith had wandered from the ledge of rock. 
 To look for aid, that she imagined near, 
 Unweeting of the precipice beneath. 
 And lost her footing 1 With one wild, sharp shriek, 
 And swiftly as a bird that leaves the cliff 
 To sail the friendly air, she reel'd and fell —
 
 CANTO YII.] A man's HEART. • 163 
 
 Down, down, into the treacherous abyss — 
 Three hundred fathoms down — to certain death. 
 
 It was not till the noon — the dreadful noon — 
 Glaring and gay as if this thing were not — 
 Glaring and staring in its lusty life — 
 That they discovered, in the glen below, 
 The lovely body of the loveliest soul 
 That ever brought a comfort to the world, 
 Or took a joy away in going home 
 To that serener world whose door is Death. 
 The tender limbs, the white maternal breast, 
 Were bruised and mangled by the cruel rock ; 
 But it had spared the beautiful bi'ight face 
 Wliich seemed as if th' angelic spirit slept, 
 And might awaken yet, if Love would call. 
 And Love did call, with wild and passionate speech, 
 With frantic gestux'e and insatiate kiss 
 
 I, 2
 
 164 A man's heart. [canto tii. 
 
 Upon the clay-cold lips that kissed not back, 
 
 And on the closM eyelids of bright eyes 
 
 That looked not love again — or looked from Heaven. 
 
 For three long months lay Arthur on his bed 
 Delirious, raving of the love he 'd lost, 
 And talking to her in uneasy dreams. 
 As if she lived, and sat beside him still, 
 An angel at his pillow. But this passed, 
 And he recovered consciousness and strength. 
 And walked again into the world of men. 
 He passed among them, alien to their joys ; 
 For all his thoughts were coloured by his loss, 
 And to his mind, high-wi'ought by suffering. 
 He deemed it sacrilege that he should smile ; 
 And selfishness that any scheme of life, 
 Without her presence, should be worth his care. 
 " Men have no hearts," he said. " Alas ! not so;
 
 CANTO VII.] A MAN'S HEART. 165 
 
 'Tis heart, not head, that ravages the world — 
 'Tis heart that makes the misery of hearts. 
 And life were happy as a midge's dance, 
 If heart ne'er taught us that humanity 
 Is bom in — olives in — dies in suffering. 
 
 " Since first I lost her, oh, my love's best treasure I 
 There hath been darkness on the weary day ; 
 A throbbing anguish in the purest pleasure — 
 Pleasure ? Ah, no ! Its fair face passed away 
 With hers still fairer ; and its glancing robe, 
 Mist-woven, vanished from the globe. 
 I look upon the light of morn, 
 And wonder, utterly forlorn. 
 How it can break when she' s no longer here ; 
 And when the young buds blow, 
 Rose-tipped or white as snow. 
 There seems a want of Pity in our sphere,
 
 166 A MAIL'S HEART. [cANTO Til. 
 
 That Nature's self should not refuse 
 
 The sunshine and the dews, 
 
 When she, her sweetest child, 
 
 So young and undefiled, 
 
 No longer breathes upon the vernal air 
 
 The fragrance of her unforgotten bloom — 
 
 Lost ! lost for ever, in the tomb, 
 
 That never yet had habitant so fair. 
 
 " Come Day ! Come Night ! 
 I note your changes, heedless of them all ; 
 For evermore, betwixt you and my sight, 
 A sweet face, with a coronal 
 Of glory, heavenly bright, 
 Looks down upon me, tinting the long hours 
 With a celestial paleness. Sleeping, waking, 
 Ever I see it ; till my eyes drop showers. 
 And make the vision brighter by my weeping ;
 
 CANTO VII.] A MAN'S HEART. 167 
 
 Brighter — but still more sorrowful to see, 
 Except when Night lies gently on my brain, 
 And Sleep restores her to my soul again. 
 As Death — Sleep's brother — shall in days to be, 
 If day be word or thing, in God's Eternity. 
 
 " Where are my once high thoughts that soared 
 
 subKme, 
 My purpose brave ; 
 
 The hopeful glow and fervour of my prime ? — 
 Low in her grave. 
 
 Most little and most mean appear to me 
 All that the world can offer me again. 
 Wealth is a froth-bell on a billowy sea, 
 And power, and pride, and all the gauds of men, 
 Mere tricks and shadows. Were I Earth's sole king, 
 To rule all nations by my high behest. 
 Nor I, nor they, nor all their wealth, could bring
 
 168 A man's heart. [canto yii. 
 
 jVIy lost belovtid living to my breast. 
 
 Wliy could I not have known, ere forth she went 
 
 To that angelic land where she appears 
 
 In her full glory, that she was but lent 
 
 For brief, brief space — a halo 'mid my tears ? 
 
 That in each moment of her perished years 
 
 I might have poured upon her radiant head 
 
 More wealth of Love than ever heart of man 
 
 Poured upon mortal ? Let my tears be shed. 
 
 No one shall comfort me. And no one can. 
 
 " "Was she so like an angel in pure guise, 
 That thou shouldst take her, ere her time, O Death ! 
 To join her sisterhood in Paradise ? 
 Or was the earth too balmy with her breath, 
 Too radiant with the light 
 Drawn from the Infinite, 
 And concentrated on her innocent lips,
 
 CANTO YII.] A MAN'S HEART. 169 
 
 That tlioix shouldst pass, with this too dire eclipse, 
 And rob us of her beauty ? 'Twas unjust 
 To Earth and Heaven to lay her in the dust, 
 Ere she had shown us all her wealth of bloom, 
 Only to feed the avaricious tomb ! 
 Lo ! Misery, through long days 
 Clasps her lean hands and prays 
 That on her head may all thy shafts be hurled. 
 Lo ! Age and Pain implore ■•- 
 
 That thou wouldst ope thy door, 
 And let them ooze into the painless world ! 
 Why pass them ? They woiild bless thy power, 
 But mine own sweet and early blossoming flower 
 Adorned the forest, and made bright the place 
 Where we beheld her in her youthful grace. 
 The poison weeds grow rank, and taint the air, 
 While the sweet violets fade, and rose and lily 
 fair.
 
 170 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO VII. 
 
 " Metliinka the spirits of the sainted dead, 
 Whom in their lives we loved, are Avith us still, 
 That all around our paths their light is shed ; 
 Pervading witnesses, who at their will 
 Know all we think or do. Let us be piire. 
 Let us not give their Immortality 
 Reason for sorrow or shame. Let us endure 
 Calmly, though sadly, the all-wise decree 
 That took them from us : and instead of flowers 
 To strew upon their graves, or tombs high-piled, 
 Let us bestow on them unsullied hours, 
 And innocent thoiights, and actions undefiled." 
 
 But these were whispers — spoken to himself. 
 A deeper purpose settled on his mind, 
 A dark presentiment — that he should die 
 When he had ended an appointed task. 
 " Father,"' he said, " I feci that I sliaU live
 
 CANTO YII.] A man's HEART. 171 
 
 To finisli Edith's portrait. When 'tis done, 
 I know that I shall die. Nay, argue not ; 
 For by an inner consciousness, and voice 
 That seems like Edith's whispering in my mind, 
 I know that this shall be." 
 
 And so he wrought 
 Daily upon the portrait of his love, 
 That grew beneath his hand — a master-piece. 
 And oft he'd gaze upon it by the hour, 
 Imagining some touch — were 't but a hair — 
 To add resemblance ; dallying with the smile 
 That gleamed upon the lips, or with the glance. 
 Soul-speaking, of the pensive full dark eyes. 
 He lived but for his picture : that alone 
 Had full possession of his mind and heart, 
 And every faculty. And when at last 
 The work was done, and Art could do no more. 
 His mournful prophecy of love and grief
 
 172 A man's heart. [canto VII. 
 
 Fulfilled itself : and breathing the one name, 
 He laid his head upon his father's breast, 
 And clasped the sympathizing hand, and died. 
 
 They sleep together, in one humble grave, 
 Under the ancient yew that overlooks 
 The moss-grown portico of Erlwood Church. 
 And thither every morn a maiden comes 
 To tend the flowers; and thither every night 
 A father strays lamenting for his son. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 London: Printed by Smith, Elder and Co., Little Green Arbour Court, E.G.
 
 Lately Published, the Second Edition of 
 
 LIFE AND LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 
 
 By Dr. C. MACKAY. 
 
 In Two Volumes, post 8vo, with Ten Tinted Illustrations, 
 price 21s. cloth. 
 
 " ' Life and Liberty in America ' is a fresh, bright, and 
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 CJoming' writes as healthily as he sings, describing, as he tells 
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 Dr. Mackay gives a succession of pictures taken from society 
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 about America desire to possess." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
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 water, are vigorous and interesting. He does justice to the 
 wonders of nature, and to the almost equally wonderful social 
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 — Globe.
 
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 65, Cornhill, London, 
 March, 1860. 
 
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 Jndia ;uul i\\C (^•\\<^[— continued. 
 
 Personal Adventures 
 
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 24 
 
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 FICTION. 
 
 Cousin Stella ; 
 
 Or, Conflict. 
 By the Author of " Violet Bunk:' 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
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 power and precision of touch, «ith Ireshness of 
 interest and great merit."— Allinio inn. 
 
 "' Cousin Stella' has the merit, now beeomiui; 
 rarer an<l rarer, of a einnpartiliio novelty in its 
 stihjeet; the interest of whi<'li will secure for this 
 novel a fiiir share of popularity." — liu^HVtiH.v 
 lievieic. 
 
 Confidences. 
 
 By the Author of " ii'//a." 
 
 "This new novel, hy tlie author of ' Kita,' dis- 
 plays the same conihinatioi; of case and power in 
 the delineation of character, the samo life-like 
 diahniie, and the samo facility of constructiug an 
 illtercslln.^ story."— A'jifcfuJor. 
 
 "Decidedl.v both sjood and interestini?. Tho 
 hook has a fresh ami iileasanl air ahoiil it: it is 
 written in an excellent tone, and there aretouches 
 of pathos here and there which we must rank 
 \\\l\\ a higher ,sl.\ le of cnni|ii,^ition than thai, 
 usually attained iii HorUs of this cla^s."— A'c» 
 Qiiai lerli/ lievieir.
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO. 
 
 Z.i 
 
 YICTIO'S— continued. 
 
 Trust for Trust. 
 
 B>/ A. J. BarroK'cli/r, 
 Author of " Amberhili."' ; 
 
 Three volumes. ! 
 
 " It is seldom we And, even in this great acre of 
 novel writing, so much that is pleisani and so 
 little to object to ns in ' Trust fur Trust.' It con- 
 t?i ns much origiuid thouaht and fresh humour. 
 
 —Leader. , „, . ^ .^ i 
 
 -The story is adniiralily developed. Thcinterest 
 never flaes", the incidents are natural without i 
 being commonplace, and the men and woman t.ilk ! 
 and act like human bsin^^s."— P/ts.-. 
 
 % 
 
 &C. 
 
 Ellen Raymond ; 
 
 Or. Ups and Downs. 
 JJ>/ Mrs. Vidal, 
 Author of "Tales for the Eiish, 
 Three volumes. 
 
 " The characters are good, the style pure, cor- 
 rect, brisk, anu cv.sy. "—Presn. 
 
 "Mrs. Vidal displays resource, imagination, 
 and power in no common degree. * * * There is 
 more power and strength put forth in ' Ellen 
 Raymond' than perhaps in any lady's hook ot 
 this generation."— .Sn^Hfrioi' Kerieir. 
 
 •' "This novel will ttud a great many admirers." 
 —Leader. 
 
 THE 
 
 Dennes of Daundelyonn. 
 
 Bi/ Mrs. Charles J. Prohj. 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "This is a novel of more than average merit. 
 There is considerable knowledge of char.tcler, 
 power of description, and (luiet social s.atire, ex- 
 liibited in its paeres." — PresK. 
 
 " • The Dennes of Daundelyonn ' is a very read- 
 able hook, and will be immensely popular. . . . 
 It has many beauties wniih deservedly rccom- 
 Uicnd it to the novel reader."— Crilic. 
 
 Lost and Won. 
 
 Gcorglana 3f. Craik, 
 Author of " Eiverston." 
 One volume. Second Edition. 
 
 " Nothing superior to this mivel has appeared 
 during the present season."— iearfer. 
 
 •' Miss Craik's new story is a good one and m 
 point ot ai)ility above the average of ladies' no\ els." 
 — Doilii Xeici^. 
 
 '• The language is good, the narrative spirited, 
 the characters are lairly delineated, and the 
 diak)gue has considerable dramatic force."— 
 :Sutiirdai/ ItecKir. , 
 
 " This is an improrcmeut on Miss Oraik s tirst 
 work. The story is more compact and more 
 iuteresting.'— .l?«e)"eH»<. 
 
 An OldlDebt. 
 
 ]]>/ Florence Daivson. 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "A powerfully written novel; one of the best 
 wliich has recently proceeded from a femala 
 hand. . . . The dialogue is vigorous and 
 spirited."— JI/orniKfir Post. 
 
 "There is an energy and vitality about thiri 
 work vihicli distinguish it from the common 
 head of novels. Its terse vigour sometimes rccals 
 Miss Bronte, but in some respects 31iss Florence 
 Dawson is decidedly superior to the author of 
 'Jane Eyre.'"— iu'i(/"rfo// Kevieir. 
 
 "'I'liis' novel is written wiih great care and 
 painstaking; it evinces considerable powers of 
 retlectiou. The style is good, and the autlior 
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 AthetKeum. 
 
 "A very good seasonable novel." — Leiulcr, 
 
 By 
 
 The Two Homes. 
 
 the Author of " The Heir of 
 VciUls:' 
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 Hie evidences of much painstaking aud talent." — 
 Athenaum. 
 
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 theme fur his descriptive powers. The dialogue 
 is good: the characters all spe'ik and ;ict cou- 
 sislently with their natures."— i,f a Jer. 
 
 The Moors and the Fens. 
 
 F. G. TrajforeL 
 Three volunie.s. 
 
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 Ihat 'Jane Eyre' did. . . . 'the characters are 
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 itevieic 
 
 "It is seldom that a first tiction is entitled to 
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 essay."— C'/'iiic. 
 
 J^y 
 
 Mv Lady. 
 
 A Tale of Modern Lite. 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "'My Lad.v' is a fine specimen of an English 
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 gentleness, of common sense and romance, of 
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 ideal of womanhood." — Press. 
 
 " ■ ,'My Lady' evinces charming feeling and deli- 
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 interest."— .■^<Ac»(^^/M. 
 
 "The story is told throughout with great 
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 plot which is by no means common-place. "— 
 
 "There is some force and a good deal of fresh- 
 ness in ' Aly Lady.' The characters are distincily 
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 " It is not in every novel we can light upon 11 
 style so vigorously graceful— upon an intelligence 
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 whicli has sensibility rather tlKin poetry; but 
 wliich is also most subtly and searchingly power- 
 ful."— iJcft/iJi Vnicei-sit!/ ilauaziiie. 
 
 Gaston Bligh. 
 
 By ]j. S. Lave nil, 
 
 Author of "Erlesiaere." 
 
 Two volumt-s. 
 
 "The story is told with great po« er; the whole 
 book sparkles with esprit; and the characters 
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 able reading."— Prcsj. 
 
 " ' Gaston Bligh ' is a good story, admirably 
 told, fnU of stirring incident, sustaining to the 
 clobc the interest of a very ingenious plot, and 
 abounding in clever sketches of character. H 
 sparkles with wit. and will reward perusal."^ 
 Vrilic.
 
 20 
 
 WOUKS rUliLlSllKD BY 
 
 FICTION— (o/i^HK<'(/. 
 
 Svlvaii Tlolt's Daughter. 
 
 Ii;i Jlohne Lce.^ 
 Author of "Kathio Eraiule," &c. | 
 
 Second Edition, 'i vols. 
 
 "Tho well-pstiiblislied reputation of Holnio j 
 Lop, as a novel writer, will receive an mliiitional 
 Klory I'rom the publication of 'Sylvan Holt's | 
 Onuithtcr." It is a eharmini? tale of country life 
 and cliaractir."— G/o//f . 1 
 
 "There is much that is attractive in 'Sylvan I 
 Holt's Daughter,' much that i.s irraceful and re- 1 
 fined, much that is fresh, healthy, and natural." ' 
 —Prexs. \ 
 
 "The conception of tlie story h is a irood deal of 
 orisrinality. and the characters avoid romniou- 
 i>lace types, without beini; unnatural or improba- 
 ole. The heroine herseir is charmins;. It is a I 
 novel in which there is much to interest and 
 please."— j\>w Qjnurte"! ii Review. 
 
 "A novel that is well worth rcadins, and which 
 possesses the cmdinal virtue of beiui; extremely 
 ictercstins."— -l'A'?«ir'(j«. 
 
 •' A really sound, good book, highly llnishod. 
 true to nature, vigorous, passionate, honest, aud 
 »iucere."— Dwi/iiiJ University Magazine. 
 - — *o« 
 
 The Professor. 
 
 B// Carver Bell. 
 Two volumes. 
 
 "We think the auflior's fiiends have shown 
 sound judssraent in publishin.u the 'Professor,' 
 now that she is sjone. . . . U shows the llrst 
 serins of conception, wluch afterwards oxpauded 
 and ripened into the -^reat criMiiions of herimaiji- 
 nation. At tlio same time her advisers were 
 eiiually riaht when they counsjUed her not to 
 publish it in her lifelinie. . . . But it abouiuls 
 m merits."— &'u/«C(?(ttf Rerifw. 
 
 "Anything which throws liijlit upon the growth 
 and composition of such a mind cannot be other- 
 « iso than interestins;. In the ' Professor ' we may 
 discover the merms of ra.iuy trains of thiukinK, 
 which afterwards came to be enlarged and 
 illustritcd in subscqucjit and more perfect 
 viiiT\i.»."—Critiiy. 
 
 "There is much new insight in it. mf.cli ex- 
 tremely characterislii! genius, and one (rliaracter, 
 moreover, of fresher, lighter, and more airy 
 ^rMe."—Ecuiu>miit. 
 
 'j'he Three Clianccs. 
 
 Bii the Author of " The Fair 
 
 Careic.''^ 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 " Some of the characters and romantic situa- 
 tions are stroniily marked and peculiarly original. 
 . . . It is the irreat merit of the authoress that 
 the personages of Ler tale ai e humau and real."— 
 Lender. 
 
 " This novel is of a more solid texture than 
 most of its contemporaries. It is full of good 
 sense, good thought, aud good writing."— States- 
 vixin. 
 
 The Cruellest AVrong of 
 1 All. 
 
 Bi/ the Author of " Margaret ; or, 
 
 Prejudice at Home.'''' 
 
 One volume. 
 
 "The author has a pathetic vein, and there is a 
 tender sweetne.is in the tone of her narration."— 
 Leader. 
 
 "It has the first requisite of a work meant to 
 amii.'^e: it is amusinrr."— Gtofte. 
 
 Below the Surface. 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "The hook is un(|ucstionahly clever and enter- 
 taining. The writer develops from tlrst to last 
 his dou'ole view of human life, as coloured by the. 
 manners of our age. ... It is a tale superior 
 to ordinary novels, ill its practical application to 
 the phases of actual \\ip."—.itlieniettin. 
 
 '"riiere isaarcatdealofclcvernessin thisstory : 
 a much greiUcr knowledge of conntrj life and 
 character in its various .aspects and conditions 
 than is possessed by nine-tenths of the novelists 
 who undertake to describe, \t."—Sj,eetator. 
 
 "This is a book which possesses the rare merit 
 of being exactly v\ hat it chiims to be, a story o) 
 Ivnglish country Ufe^ and, moreover, a very well 
 told story."— /Ji'iVj/ A exes. 
 
 "A more pleasant story we have not read for 
 many a day."— B)-i7i»/l Qimrterly. 
 
 Km 
 
 Eva Desmond ; 
 
 Or, Mutation. 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "A more beautiful creation than Eva it would 
 Jh: dllTieult to imagine. The novel is undoubtedly 
 lull of tntcrest."— .l/orH!«!i/ PcHf. 
 
 "There is power, pathos, and originality iu con- 
 teption and catastrophe."- icuc/o'. 
 
 Kathic Brande. 
 
 A Fireside History of a Quiet Life. 
 Jijl Holme Lee. 
 
 Two volumes. 
 " ' Kathie Brande ' is not merely a very interest - 
 ing novel- it is a very wholesome one, lor it 
 iciicln!s virtue by example."— C>'i/ic. 
 
 "Throughout ' Kathie Brande' there is rniich 
 sweetness, and considerable powerof description. 
 —Suturdaii Review. 
 I •• 'Kathie Brande' Is intended to illustrate the 
 paramount excellence of duty as a moving pnn- 
 I ciple. It is full of beauties.'"— £>ui/// Neica. 
 
 i The NohlTTraytour : 
 
 A Chronicle. 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "Thestorvis told with a graphic and graceful 
 pen, and the chronicler has produced a romance 
 not only of great value in a historical point oi 
 new but possessing many claims upon the aMoii- 
 lion of the scholar, the antiquary, and the general 
 rt^ader."— /'oitt. , „, , 
 
 •■ \n Elizabethan masquerade. 5-hakespeare, 
 the aueen. Kssex. Kalcigh, and a hundred nobles, 
 ladies and kniahts of th(^ land, appear on the 
 staKC. The autliorhas imbued himself with the 
 spirit of the times."— i^'at/er. 
 
 Iiiverstoii. 
 
 Bij Georrjiana M. Craik. 
 Three volumes. 
 
 " Jliss Craik is a very lively writer: she has wit. 
 and she has sense, and she has made in the 
 beautiful young governess, with her strong will, 
 saucy independence, and proiuplness of rep.iriee, 
 an interesting picture."— /'/•«■.•'.•'. . 
 
 "Miss Craik writes well; she can paint cha- 
 racter, piissions, manners, with coi.siderauie 
 (■rt'ect : her dialogue flows ea.sily and expressively. 
 
 "The author shows great comnmr.d of language, 
 
 .vfonie and clearness of expression not ol ten met 
 
 1 with . We offer a welcome to Jliss OraiK, 
 
 I and wp. shall look wilh interest for her uej;L 
 
 < work."— .<^Mf«a.■«./^.
 
 feMiTir, eldi-:r and co. 
 
 27 
 
 FICTION — contin ued. 
 
 Perversion ; 
 
 Or, the Causes and Consequences of 
 
 Infidelity. 
 
 Bi) the late Rev. W. J. Comjbeare. 
 
 Three volumes. 
 
 "This storv has a toucliiiia intei-est, which 
 lingers with tlie reader after he has closed the 
 bow."—Athen<ett.m. 
 
 " It is long, very lona, sines -we have read a 
 nari-ative of more power than ibis."— British 
 Quarterlv Revietr. . .. ,- 
 
 "Tliis is a good and a noble book."— Aew 
 Quarterlt/. ,<>, 
 
 Maud Skillicorne's 
 Penance. 
 
 By Mani C. Jaclcson, 
 Author of "The Storj- of my Wardship." 
 Two Tolumes. 
 '■ The styleis natural, and displays cousideraWe 
 drnniatic power." — Critic. 
 
 "It is a well concocted tale, and will he very 
 palatable to novel readers."— Jior/ii)ii/Po*i?. 
 
 The Roua Pass. 
 
 Bi/ Ericlc Jlacleazie. 
 
 Three Tolumcs. 
 
 "It is seldom that we have to notice so good a 
 novel as the ' Koua Pass." The story is well con- 
 trived and well told; the incidents are natural and 
 varied; several of the cliaracters are skilfully 
 drawn, and that of the heroine is fresh, powerful, i 
 and oriainal. The Hizhiand scenery, in which j 
 the plotls laid, is described withtruth and feelius j 
 —with a command of lani'ua^e which leaves a j 
 vivid impression."— Aafjfrrfu^ Revietr. 
 
 " The peculiar charm of the novel is its skilfnl 
 paintina of the Hiahlands. and of life among the 
 Highlanders. Quick observation and a true sense j 
 of the poetry in nature and huinau life, the | 
 author has."— £a;a»iinei-. j 
 
 The AVhite House bv the 
 
 Farina : 
 
 A Legend of Cologne. 
 
 Bt/ George Meredith. 
 
 One volume. 
 
 "A masQue of ravishers in steel, of robber 
 knis?hts ; of water-women, more ravisiun^ than 
 lovely. It has also a brave and tender deliverer, 
 and a heroine proper for a romance of Cologne. 
 Those who love a real, Uvely, audacious piece o, 
 extravagance, by way of a change, wiU enjoy 
 ■ Farina.' "—Atlienaum. 
 
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 Poems. 
 
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