> . 
 
 Ex Libris 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 ; C. K. ogden ; 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE TALK OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
 
 The Talk of the Houfehold 
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIAN RICHARDSON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 S. STRAKER & SONS, 26, LEADENHALL STREET. 
 
 1865.
 
 6t 
 
 P 
 
 ED I CAT ION 
 
 o whom ^hall this small tribute dedicated be? 
 so many loves within my heart hold sway : 
 First thou, my other self, whose strong true heart 
 
 Has been my Pilot oyer all the way; 
 Then ye, dear honored guides of early years — 
 
 Father and Mother — thro' whose love were shed 
 The seeds which springing into light have strewn 
 
 These lowly blossoms o'er the path I tread; 
 And ye, my Children, who in after years 
 
 May dearly prize these records of our day 
 When they have sunk to silence in the Past, 
 
 And she who wrote them may have passed away. 
 
 Lancajler Houfe, 
 
 Peckham Rxr. 
 
 July, 1865. 
 
 105113?
 
 NDEX. 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 1 ».r,p. . 
 
 Heroes 
 
 1 
 
 Common Things 
 
 
 s 
 
 Woman's Duties — Woman's Million 
 
 
 S 
 
 Charing Crofs 
 
 
 1 r 
 
 Dead Flowers on a Grave 
 
 
 15 
 
 Cobden's Return 
 
 
 iS 
 
 The Sons of Toil 
 
 
 21 
 
 Lancashire 
 
 
 24 
 
 Earlfwood 
 
 
 27 
 
 Kind Words 
 
 
 30 
 
 After the Peftilence, 1849 
 
 
 *» 
 1$ 
 
 Look on the Sunny Side 
 
 
 35 
 
 The Voice of the Fallen 
 
 
 3~ 
 
 A Temperance Song 
 
 
 41 
 
 The City Millionary 
 
 
 44 
 
 The Exile's Grave 
 
 
 46 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 
 47 
 
 In Memory of the late S. Gregfon, Esq. 
 
 , M.P. 
 
 for La n- 
 
 carter 
 
 
 48 
 
 Comforted 
 
 
 51 
 
 Wrecked 
 
 
 56 
 
 The Parting Crowd 
 
 
 59 
 
 City Graves 
 
 
 61 
 
 City Trees 
 
 
 63 
 
 The Poor Man to his Richer Brother 
 
 
 66
 
 V1U 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 America in the Midft of War . . . . • ■ ■ ■ 69 
 
 Poland in 1862-3 7 2 
 
 The Cry from Circaflia 75 
 
 Italy and its Liberator . . . . . . . . . . 79 
 
 Anita . . . . . . . . . . ■ ■ • • 82 
 
 Afpromonte .. .. .. .. •• •■ 8<; 
 
 A Welcome to Garibaldi . . . . . . . . . 88 
 
 Farewell to Garibaldi . . . . . . . . . . 91 
 
 To His Royal Highnefs the Prince of Wales . . . . 94 
 
 England's Welcome to Her Royal Highnefs the Princefs 
 
 Alexandra of Denmark . . . . . . . . 97 
 
 Addrefs to our beloved Q ueen on the Marriage of the 
 
 Prince of Wales . . . . . . . . . . 99 
 
 In Memory of Mrs. Mary Wood, Chicago, America . . 10 1 
 
 "Not Dead, but Gone Before" .. .. .. .. 103 
 
 Confolation . . . . . . . . . . • • 105 
 
 To the Queen, on the Death of Her late Royal Highneis 
 
 the Duchefs of Kent . . . . . . . . 108 
 
 A Nation's Wail on the Death of Albert, the Confort of 
 
 the Queen .. .. .. .. .. .. 110 
 
 The Children's Appeal . . . . . . . . . . 112 
 
 The City Hofpital . . .. .. .. .. .. 114 
 
 A Plea for Ragged Schools . . . . . . . . 117 
 
 The Power of Small Things .. .. .. .. 119 
 
 The Fir ft Decade . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 
 
 Parting Words to a Dear Brother . . . . . . . . 124 
 
 Reminifcences . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 
 
 Richard Cobden .. .. .. .. .. .. 130 
 
 Abraham Lincoln .. .. .. .. .. .. 133
 
 imroes. 
 
 The World is proud to trace their names 
 
 Upon her itoried page, 
 They are the ftars whole glowing light 
 Illumine every age. 
 
 4 
 
 Bright from the buried pall: their deeds 
 
 In undimmed luftre fhine, 
 And fhining on, fiiall ftill endure, 
 
 Remembered thro' all Time. 
 
 Who are they ? Lo ! a iblemn crowd 
 
 Comes to the mental gaze 
 Of Mighty Ones ; from Time's young years, 
 
 E'en to thefe later days : 
 i:
 
 HEROES. 
 
 Some who have ftrode with conquering feet 
 Through a deep crimibn flood, 
 
 And worn at laft a Victor's crown 
 Bought with the price of blood. 
 
 Some who have given Youth's fair hopes, 
 
 And Manhood's golden prime, 
 And all life's lateft years to win 
 
 Some treafures for their time. 
 And fome who fearlefs dared to raife 
 
 Truth's ltandard proud and high 
 In thofe dark times, when Truth conk-fled 
 
 But led them forth to die. 
 
 Thefe on the mountain's gilded creft- 
 
 But, lo ! the vales below 
 Bear imprefs of heroic feet 
 
 The World may never know. 
 For many hidden lives of Toil, 
 
 Obfcure, unfung, unknown, 
 Shine radiant in the narrow fphere, 
 
 Content, they call their own.
 
 HEROES. 
 
 Some who have learned in darkeft hours 
 
 To work, and wait for day 
 With patient hope — tho' clouds and florins 
 
 Hung over all the way ; 
 Some who have reckoned Duty done 
 
 An all-sufficient price — 
 Some who have triumphed over Self, 
 
 Nor called it facrifice. 
 
 For needs it not a hero's heart 
 
 To chain Ambitions down 
 To the flow wheels of dull routine, 
 
 And patiently work on? 
 To fee Youth's glittering rainbow dreams 
 
 Fade filently away, 
 And yet be thankful for the gifts 
 
 Still flrewn upon the way. 
 
 To bear through weary days and nights, 
 
 A bofom's load of grief, 
 To crufh the forrow down, and find 
 
 In Work its bell: relief; 
 
 V. 2
 
 4 
 
 HEROES. 
 
 And even fpare a tender hand 
 To clear the thorny way, 
 
 For bleeding feet, and breaking hearts 
 Of wanderers gone affray. 
 
 So — tho' to Fame's bright mufter-roll 
 
 We lift a reverent eye, 
 And hope to catch fome golden gleams 
 
 To light our footfteps by ; 
 Yet humbler lives perchance fulfil 
 
 The fame divine behelt, 
 And he a Hero too may be 
 
 Who nobly does his beft.
 
 (teuton Shinjgs. 
 
 Full oft the Poet's ftar-tuned harp 
 To noble themes has fwept the firings, 
 
 But mine {hall take a lowlier ilrain, 
 
 And fing the worth of Common Things. 
 
 Yes ; common things : the daily round 
 
 Of Life's fmall duties nobly done, 
 May fhed more brightnefs o'er the path 
 
 Than ever Poet harped or lung. 
 
 Ye who mull toil, flay not to grieve 
 
 That Labour is your daily lot, 
 But know your toil-ilained hands may hold 
 
 Gifts that the rich man knoweth not. 
 
 For common toil, well done, may bring 
 Reft fweeter than might elfe be known ; 
 
 And forrow lofcs half its fling 
 
 When men mull work the heart-throbs down.
 
 COMMON THINGS. 
 
 Though far beyond our reach may rife 
 Summits we may not hope to gain ; 
 
 The common path is bright with flowers, 
 And Beauty fmiles upon the plain. 
 
 For lo ! ten thoufand glorious things 
 To hearts that feel, and eyes that fee, 
 
 Are woven in that wondrous web — 
 A Human Life's grand myftery. 
 
 For us the funlit morning hours, 
 
 The gold filed o'er the death of day, 
 
 The hufh of eve, the filent night, 
 The placid moonlight's filver ray. 
 
 And radiant ftars, whole holy eyes, 
 
 Like angel-watchers of the night, 
 Look down alike on hut and hall, 
 
 And fhed their calm and peaceful light. 
 
 And nearer yet, the lowlieft life 
 
 Some dear heart-treafures may enfold 
 
 Tho' common things ; Hearth, Home, and Love 
 More precious are than gems or gold.
 
 COMMON THINGS. 
 
 If not for all, for moll there beams 
 The brightnefs of fome baby-face ; 
 
 For moft there waits fome kindly fmiles, 
 Some loving words, fome fond embrace. 
 
 We will be thankful then for all, 
 
 And feize the bleffings each day brings, 
 
 For fure life's happinefs diftils 
 
 Its fweeteft drops from Common Things.
 
 tuiloman's lute. — Wtovxattt's Mission. 
 
 Woman ! thou needeft no glory-wreaths 
 
 To glitter o'er thy name ; 
 'Tis not for thee to hurry on 
 
 In mad puriuit of Fame ; 
 For lo ! thou haft a nobler fphere 
 
 In that bright fpot called Home, 
 Where thou may'ft reign, and hold fupreme 
 
 A Queendom all thine own. 
 
 What need Ambition be to thee, 
 
 Whole tafks, not light or few, 
 Embrace ambitions high enough 
 
 For thee to battle through ; 
 Not trifling things are Faith and Love 
 
 And felf-denying zeal, 
 And Woman's pride of lofing felf 
 
 In other's woe or weal
 
 WOMAN'S DUTIES. WOMAN S MISSION. 
 
 And not ignoble is thy lot ; 
 
 E'en in the daily round 
 Of petty cares and common things 
 
 Some glory may be found. 
 For duties met and well-fulfilled, 
 
 Bring to a loving heart 
 A iweeter fenfe of happinefs 
 
 Than aught elie can impart. 
 
 'Tis thine to cheer the weary one 
 
 When Heart and Hope caft down, 
 He turns his fainting heart away 
 
 From Life's unpitying frown. 
 And mould the ftronger fpirit fail 
 
 Of its belt inward light, 
 Thy quick perception, all in love, 
 
 Should gently point The Right. 
 
 A thoufand-ftringed harp is thine 
 To wake the firft sweet chords, 
 
 When childhood fmiles upon thy life, 
 And lifps its fnnple words;
 
 IO WOMAN S DUTIES. WOMAN S MISSION. 
 
 'Tis thine to catch the firft lit {mile, 
 To mark each baby-grace, 
 
 And gently lead the tottering fteps 
 Life's after-path to trace. 
 
 No lot fo lonely, but thou may'lt 
 
 An influence impart; 
 The pulfe of Man's more ftirring life 
 
 If not the Head — the Heart ; 
 In deeds of kindnefs, works of good, 
 
 A helper firm to Hand ; 
 For Life's fweet charities to ftretch 
 
 A ready, willing hand. 
 
 This much, and more, is thine ; fo let 
 
 The outfide world in vain 
 Allure thee from thy fheltered path 
 
 With Plea lure, or with Fame. 
 Hold faft thy filken reins aright, 
 
 Thy quiet life fhall be 
 A fource of blefling widely fpread, 
 
 A crown of light for thee.
 
 1 1 
 
 0!harinig (Cross. 
 
 JRJJTH ; ours are bufy ftirring times — 
 
 A itirring, working age — 
 Scant room there'll be for Soft Romance 
 
 Upon our Hirtorv's page. 
 So mufed I, as with lightning fpeed 
 
 I on my way was borne, 
 And through the City's mighty midll 
 
 With multitudes fwept on. 
 
 On, pall: a world of wondrous things 
 
 My curious, gazing eye 
 Looked on with wonder, almolt awe, 
 
 The fcenes that parted me by. 
 Not glories of a bygone age, 
 
 But piles of princely grace, 
 Where mighty Commerce fits enthroned 
 
 Grand monarch of the place.
 
 1 2 CHARING CROSS. 
 
 The miles of itreets, all canopied 
 
 With interlacing wire, 
 Where the trained lightning waits to work 
 
 At mortal man's delire; 
 And the broad river, bridged, and ipanned, 
 
 Begirt, and overhung, 
 With wondrous works of ftrength and fkill 
 
 Acrofs its pathway flung. 
 
 An iron age — all work and noise. 
 
 Yet does my heart not own, 
 Some glory in thefe fame great works 
 
 Which crowd our bufy Town ? 
 And feel a throb of grateful pride 
 
 For all the patient toil 
 Of head, and hand, which thus has reared 
 
 Such trophies on our foil. 
 
 But 'midit the wonders — what is this ? 
 
 The gazing eye may trace 
 A It r uft ure not ordained for use — 
 
 This croft of antique grace.
 
 CHARING CROSS. 1 3 
 
 Antique, yet frefh and fair it ftands. 
 
 In the bright iuniet glow, 
 To tell the paffing crowd a tale 
 
 Of many a year ago. 
 
 Of how in ages rough and rude 
 
 True love fo bright could ftiine, 
 That its warm glow has even reached 
 
 Unto this later time. 
 And lo ! the buiy world has paufed 
 
 Upon its ftern career, 
 To mark where wept the Soldier King 
 
 Befide the " dear Queen's " bier. 
 
 O let the fweet tradition ftill 
 
 Its pleafant fragrance fling, 
 And let us feel that faithful love 
 
 Is ftill a cherifhed thing ; 
 Not only for the paft held dear, 
 
 Is this memorial ftone, 
 Our thoughts fly to our own dear Queen 
 
 Who fits in grief alone.
 
 CHARING CROSS. 
 
 And as its filent fhadow falls 
 
 Acrofs the crowded way, 
 The ancient ftory comes again 
 
 Lit by a brighter ray ; 
 For fhrined in our heart of hearts 
 
 Is Albert's memory ; 
 And now, as then, we foftcned feel 
 
 True love can never die.
 
 •5 
 
 lead Jftottr^s mi a ^TO- 
 
 Ah! ye were bright, when loving hands 
 
 Beitowed ye on the tomb, 
 Frefh from the garden's ftarry hoil, 
 
 With fummer on your bloom ; 
 And mourning hearts and weeping eyes 
 
 With fond and gentle care, 
 Laid the lalt offering of their love 
 
 To fade, and perilh there. 
 
 They came with memories of a form, 
 
 A loved and cherifhed one ; 
 A funny fmile for ever patted, 
 
 A voice of mulic gone. 
 Methinks I fee their wiftful gaze 
 
 Bent o'er the hallowed fpot, 
 And catch the broken whifpered words- 
 
 " She ne'er fliall be forgot."
 
 l6 DEAD FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. 
 
 But now, fair flowers, in your dead bloom 
 
 I read a filent tale, 
 How deareft memories rauft fade, 
 
 And deepeft love mull fail ; 
 A bitter thought might whilper now, 
 
 It is the common lot 
 To live, to love, and then to die, 
 
 And be at laft — forgot. 
 
 But no ! tho' on the crefted waves 
 
 Of for row fome are borne, 
 A voice Divine hath fpoken it, 
 
 " Man fhall not always mourn ; " 
 Hands muft not ever folded be 
 
 In mute and paffive woe ; 
 The funfhine cometh after rain, 
 
 And God hath willed it fo. 
 
 Still muft Life's common road be trod 
 Tho' faireft things have fled, 
 
 And we muft live, and care for ftill 
 The Living, not the Dead.
 
 DEAD FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. I J 
 
 Well that 'tis fo; for One who lulled 
 
 The fleepers to their reft, 
 Has loved them more than we can love, 
 
 Therefore, it mull be heft. 
 And lo ! for us a fdver ftar 
 
 Pierces the midnight gloom ; 
 E'en Immortality which mines 
 
 Triumphant o'er the tomb.
 
 i8 
 
 dlobden's ilciurn. 
 
 (After the Ratification of the French Treaty.) 
 
 Rise, Men of Britain — ye who boaft 
 
 Your Country fair and free, — 
 The land that reigns in regal pride, 
 
 Crowned Emprefs of the Sea ! 
 Firft among nations in her power, 
 
 Her liberty, her lore, — 
 Shout welcome as her Patriot Son 
 
 Regains his native more. 
 Ye proudly count the noble names 
 
 Of England's Hero-Sons, 
 Placed high upon the mufter-roll 
 
 Of Earth's exalted ones. 
 Full oft your thoufand fpires have pealed 
 
 A Nation's glad acclaim 
 To thofe, who, on the field of blood 
 
 Have earned a victor's name :
 
 COBDEN S RETURN. I 9 
 
 We honour, too, the true and brave, 
 
 Who, fbremoft in the ftrife, 
 For Hearth, and Home, and Liberty, 
 
 Have freely ventured life ; 
 But o'er their glory comes a cloud, 
 
 Their laurels, — bathed in blood, — 
 Shine dimly, gliftening through the tears 
 
 Of ltricken Orphan-hood. 
 But now no plumed Warrior comes, 
 
 No laurels crown the brow 
 Of Him — before whofe fense of right 
 
 Have Empires deigned to bow. 
 A man of peace, yet one who dared 
 
 To hurl his gauntlet down, 
 And ftand the "Champion of Free Trade," 
 
 Fearlefs of fcorn or frown ! 
 Then welcome him, this earneft man, 
 
 Whofe powers of heart and brain, 
 Whofe life-long hope has been to this 
 
 Great triumph, to attain — 
 This "Victor" of a bloodiefs ftrife 
 
 Who aflcs no nobler gain 
 Than that his "Brother Men" fhould say, 
 
 " He has not toiled in vain." 
 c 2
 
 20 COBDEN S RETURN. 
 
 His deeds let "Trade and Commerce" tell, 
 
 Whofe flood-gates, opened wide, 
 For future years rich fpoils fhall bear 
 
 Upon their mighty tide. 
 His deeds, the League of years gone by, 
 
 Our cheapened daily food; — 
 Ah ! men unborn fhall truly say 
 
 " He worked his country's good."
 
 21 
 
 She ^om of Soil. 
 
 Ye working men, I hold your name 
 
 A title proud to bear, 
 As his who claims to be the Lord 
 
 Of acres broad and fair. 
 Your place may be in Life's dim ways, 
 
 Your work obfcure, unknown, 
 While often clouded o'er with care 
 
 The toiling years pafs on. 
 What matter tho' the world of wealth 
 
 May never hear your name, 
 Each working man may hold a place 
 
 The rich can never claim. 
 Monarchs of toil, whofe ftrength of arm 
 
 And wondrous fkill of hand, 
 Have crowned with mighty monuments 
 
 Your own beloved land.
 
 THE SONS OF TOIL. 
 
 Your hearts may glow with honeft pride, 
 
 To feel that Britifh foil 
 Owes all its glory and its wealth 
 
 To Britifh Sons of Toil. 
 Hard work, hard fare, may be your lot ; 
 
 But patience to endure 
 And courage in the hour of pain 
 
 Are learned through being poor. 
 The hard-earned cruft, the lowly roof, 
 
 Great bleffings though they be, 
 Are not enough for all your need, 
 
 Nor all that you shall see : 
 As ye have fkilful hands to work, 
 
 So ye have hearts to feel, 
 And heads to think what moft will make 
 
 Your future woe or weal. 
 Only to Him who gave you these, 
 
 And to yourfelves be true, 
 And ye (hall find what mighty things 
 
 United ftrength can do. 
 United ftriving to feek out, 
 
 For all that's pure and good, 
 Helping each other on the way 
 
 In loving brotherhood.
 
 THE SONS OF TOIL. -i S 
 
 Riiing above life's meaner things 
 
 To feek a higher goal, 
 Since ye have learned the deepeit grave 
 
 Can not entomb the foul. 
 Onlv have faith — faith in your God, 
 
 And faith in fellow-man, 
 Faith in vour own itrong earneit will 
 
 To do the belt vou can.
 
 24 
 
 Sanrasluvc. 
 
 Thou haft thy rivers broad and bright 
 
 Thy rugged, gorfe-clad fells ; 
 Thy fhady nooks, thy murmuring ftreams, 
 
 Thy fun-lit flowery dells. 
 And round thee ftand, like fentinels, 
 
 Thy mountains grand and hoar ; 
 While ocean's billows foam, and break 
 
 Upon thy pebbly fhore. 
 
 And in thy midft, like Ethiop-Queens, 
 
 Are cities, fwarth and grand ; 
 Whofe work achieves, whole wealth upholds, 
 
 The glory of the land. 
 " Time-honoured Lancafter," too, holds 
 
 Her "Gaunt's embattled pile," 
 Which, grey and grand, ftill rears its creft, 
 
 In ancient kingly ftyle.
 
 LANCASHIRE. 2^ 
 
 But thou hail more, O Lancafhirc ! 
 
 A tale can now be told, 
 Of greater glory than belongs 
 
 To memories of old. 
 The times of knightly chivalry 
 
 Have ages palled away, 
 But thou of nobler courage tell'st 
 
 In this our modern day : 
 
 A tale of brave men nerved to bear 
 
 The bitterer* weight of woe, 
 With hearts as patient to endure, 
 
 As mortal man may know. 
 God grant the clouds are palling now, 
 
 Which wrapt thee in their gloom ; 
 That never more ftrong men may ftarve 
 
 Befide the filent loom. 
 
 Thine was the pain, O Lancashire ! 
 
 Thy country's was the pride ! 
 That Faith and Hope were not o'erwhelmed 
 
 In fuch a fearful tide.
 
 26 LANCASHIRE. 
 
 The nation laid her offering down, 
 As friend beffows on friend ; 
 
 The nation thanks the patient hearts 
 Which differed to the end. 
 
 If haply, never more for us 
 
 The ihow-white crops fhall wave; 
 If peaceful fields and happy homes, 
 
 Become one mighty grave ; 
 Still o'er the fea from other lands, 
 
 We hope the welcome itore, 
 And trust that thou, brave Lancafhire, 
 
 Shall pine in want no more.
 
 Orarlstuood. 
 
 I s ! OT loft! tho' forth from thole dull eyt 
 
 No foul may feem to fhinc, 
 And though a dark myfterious veil 
 
 Obfcures the light divine; 
 We must not queftion Him who made 
 
 His creatures fo forlorn, 
 But only ufe love's power to prove 
 
 Not loft the Idiot-born. 
 
 Not loft ! but won to life and hope, 
 
 By patient, gentle care, 
 z^lthough it be but one fair flower 
 
 The poor blank life may bear. 
 One thought, that God is great and good, 
 
 One hope to gild its way, — 
 Though but a finglc ipark gleams forth, 
 
 'Twill that kind care repay.
 
 2 8 EARLSWOOD. 
 
 So thought a noble toiling man, 
 
 Whofe chofen pathway led 
 'Midft thofe dark ways where deepeft want 
 
 And darkeft woe are fpread. 
 He thought, and lo ! the princely front 
 
 Of Earlfwood towered to heaven, 
 Home of as regal charity 
 
 As e'er to woe was given. 
 
 He watched it while his life's laft fands 
 
 Were palling one by one, 
 Then gently laid him down to die 
 
 Ere yet the taik was done ; 
 A monument moll coveted, 
 
 A good man's legacy, 
 Left for his country to maintain, 
 
 And, reader, left to thee. 
 
 Man ! Handing proud in giant ftrength 
 
 Of intellect and brain, 
 O pafs not thefe poor idiots by, 
 
 In all their hclplefs pain,
 
 EARLSWOOD. 2 9 
 
 Without a thought, a paufe, a prayer, 
 
 On humble bended knees, 
 That, but for God's great gift to thee, 
 
 Thou might be fuch as thefe. 
 
 Mother ! who know'st the heart's deep thrill 
 
 Of grateful, warm delight, 
 When little eyes beam on thine own, 
 
 Intelligent and bright ; 
 O feel for thefe poor human waifs, 
 
 Caft on life's ftormy tide, 
 And help the hands which thus have fought 
 
 This fhelter to provide. 
 
 This home for which, in earneft voice, 
 
 'Tis charity that pleads, 
 Sons ! Daughters ! from your happier fpheres, 
 
 Come, help us in our needs ; 
 That Heaven will fend you recompenfe, 
 
 From whence nor flight nor fcorn, 
 Nor aught but gentleft pitying love. 
 
 Beholds the Idiot-born.
 
 3° 
 
 land fiords. 
 
 THEY arc gifts of little coil, 
 
 But yet of pricclcfs worth ! 
 Kind words — I count their tones among 
 
 The precious things of Earth. 
 Theirs is the Mufic of the Hearth ; 
 
 Mufic, whole gentle tone 
 Hath mighty power to make the charm 
 
 Of happinefs at home. 
 
 Kind, gentle words ! Who hath not felt 
 
 What balm of healing power 
 Diftils from their foft influence, 
 
 In Sorrow's darkened hour? 
 Low whifpering to the poor, crufhed heart, 
 
 Hope's precious angel-ilrain, 
 That through its tears it may look up 
 
 To Joy, and Peace, again.
 
 KIND WORDS. 3 1 
 
 Kind Words ! Oh ufe them ! Thou shah find 
 
 Them weapons, strong and true, 
 For work, which Force, and angry threats, 
 
 Perchance, have failed to do. 
 For they have melted itubborn hearts ; 
 
 And many a wandering one 
 Has turned upon the downward path, 
 
 By power of kindnefs won. 
 
 Great gifts are those of wealth and power ; 
 
 But cold and drear 'twould be, 
 Were they our only drifting ipars 
 
 Upon Life's troubled fea ; 
 For mining gold doth often fail 
 
 True comfort to impart ; 
 And burning eloquence doth fall 
 
 Coldly upon the heart. 
 
 Poor human nature ever craves 
 Its meed of human love ; 
 
 " Love one another," fpake the lips 
 Of Him who dwells above.
 
 3 2 
 
 KIND WORDS. 
 
 So let that teaching be our guide : 
 And when all elie doth fail 
 
 In woe, or sicknefs — we shall find 
 The power of Love prevail ! 
 
 ^af.c*sx
 
 33 
 
 3>pR fy gptUfut, 1849. 
 
 J H E (hade has fallen on many a hearth, 
 
 And dimm'd the funlight there ; 
 And hearts which once with joy were full, 
 
 Are breaking in defpair. 
 Voices are hufh'd which late had borne 
 
 Life's mufic on their tone ; 
 And darling ones have pafs'd away 
 
 For ever from their home. 
 
 Ye, on whofe hearts no fick'ning pang 
 
 Has come from Death's fwift hands ; 
 Around whofe hearth no vacant place 
 
 In defolation Hands ; 
 No mufic hufhed, no glad fmile pafs'd, 
 
 No love and beauty gone — 
 No tomb fprung up amid your joys 
 
 For you to weep upon. 
 
 D
 
 34- 
 
 AFTER THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 O from the homes lb richly bleffed 
 
 Let fongs of praife rife up 
 In gratitude to Him who fpares 
 
 The bitter from the cup ; 
 And 'midft your yet unwither'd joys, 
 
 Look round on thofe lefs bleft ; 
 And learn, oh, deeply learn to feel 
 
 Pity for thofe diftrefs'd. 
 
 Ye may not fill the aching void 
 
 Of for row in the heart ; 
 But gentle words of fympathy 
 
 At leaft fome joys impart. 
 Tho' myriad gifts are o'er ye flung, 
 
 The beft that Heaven beftows 
 Is that blefs'd power of fympathy 
 
 For other's joys or woes.
 
 3 5 
 
 Xoo\\ on the Sfotmn Side. 
 
 ^TAY ; yc who tread Life's chequered path 
 
 With murmuring on the lip, 
 Who graip the thorns of every flower, 
 
 Nor flop the fweets to iip, 
 Grieve not o'er trifles ; this world holds 
 
 Enough of grief befide, 
 And ye are bleft compared to fome— 
 
 Look on the Sunnv Side. 
 
 Stay; ye fo ready to believe 
 
 111 of your fellow men ; 
 Are ye then faulflefs, that ye fit 
 
 In judgment over them ? 
 None in perfection walk the Earth, 
 
 And faults oft virtues hide ; 
 Then judge them lightly, if at all, 
 
 And choofe the Sunny Side. 
 d z
 
 36 LOOK ON THE SUNNY SIDE. 
 
 The Sunny Side ; ah me ! to fome 
 
 Poor forrow-ftricken ones 
 The words feem fhadows of a time 
 
 Whofe brightnefs never comes ; 
 Or memories of years gone by, 
 
 A glad and blitheibme ftrain 
 Of mufic which has blefs'd them once, 
 
 But ne'er may wake again. 
 
 But, though 'tis fo — though o'er your path 
 
 Sorrows fall thick and fart — 
 Though love has chilled, and many joys 
 
 Are buried in your paft — 
 Though fad, and lone, and defolate, 
 
 You think e'en Hope denied ; 
 Look up for help, for every life 
 
 Muft have a Sunny Side !
 
 37 
 
 I£hc Do ire of the fallen. 
 
 Our Sisters! even ye who fweep 
 
 In lofty virtue by, 
 The curl of fcorn upon your lip, 
 
 And cold, averted eye ; 
 And Brothers, too ! whofc mocking jeft 
 
 Is all we dare to claim, 
 Tho' from your midft one firft laid out 
 
 Our wretched path of fhame. 
 
 Oh paufe, and pity ; woe is ours ! 
 
 Woe, dark, abiding, deep, 
 Though ours are hearts that may not break, 
 
 And eyes which may not weep ; 
 Think not that all our hiftory 
 
 Lies in the praftifed wile, 
 The tinfel garb, the painted cheek, 
 
 The heartleis, hollow fmile !
 
 3 8 THE VOICE OF THE FALLEN. 
 
 Ah no ! for even us there comes 
 
 Dark flooding o'er the foul, 
 A tide of mortal agonies, 
 
 Refistlefs, paft control, 
 Upon whole waves no glancing light 
 
 Of hope may kindled be, 
 Nought but the blacknefs of defpair 
 
 And untold mifery. 
 
 Yet 'twas not ever thus ! far back 
 
 The buried Paft could fhow 
 Fair budding hopes, too bright, too pure 
 
 To linger with us now ; 
 When joy and innocence, and love, 
 
 And Home's bleft houfehold fhrine, 
 Bedeck'd with faireft bloflbmings, 
 
 Were ours, as well as thine. 
 
 But now, our eyes may never meet 
 Affection's anfwering gaze — 
 
 No hallowed love may crown our life 
 Or weep upon our graves —
 
 THE VOICE OF THE FALLEN. 39 
 
 No hope, no light for fuch as wc 
 
 Sin-itaincd and forrow-crufhed — 
 The hard world's unforgiving fcorn 
 
 Will keep us in the dull. 
 
 Is there no kindly voice to plead 
 
 In Charity's blelt name, 
 No hand itretched forth in fuch a caufe 
 
 To fave, to win, reclaim ? 
 No tongue to tell that fin like this 
 
 May hope to be forgiven, 
 And whifper, " E'en for fuch as thefe 
 
 There may be Peace and Heaven ? " 
 
 For, with fome far-off memories 
 
 Of ftainlefs, happy years, 
 There comes a ftory lingering ltill 
 
 E'en in our deafened ears, 
 Of One who raifed a Magdalene, 
 
 Nor fpurned her from His door, 
 But in His holy Temple laid — 
 
 " Go forth ! and fin no more."
 
 40 THE VOICE OF THE FALLEN. 
 
 O point the path! fome hearts might turn 
 
 To feek the better way, 
 And live to blefs the hand which ftrove 
 
 To turn their night to day. 
 Faint not. tho' hopelefs feem the tafk ; 
 
 Thrice bleft fhall be that hand, 
 Whole ftrength was given to wipe away 
 
 A foul ftain from the land. 
 
 K--»^,e*^-
 
 4i 
 
 31 Sempcranqe £ong. 
 
 Shout, Britain's fons, your Britifh fong, 
 
 Ring forth the noble Haves, 
 And found the joyful promife forth, 
 
 Ye never will be flavcs. 
 For though ye fear no foreign foe, 
 
 And own no defpot's thrall, 
 Ye have a tyrant in your mid it 
 
 More cruel than them all. 
 
 'Tis Drink, that fierce rclentlefs foe, 
 
 Who, in his greed of gain, 
 Takes youth, and hope, and happinefs, 
 
 And itrength of arm and brain. 
 He robs your manhood ol its pride ; 
 
 Your childhood of it's grace ; 
 And womanhood at his command 
 
 Forgets all plcaiant trace.
 
 4 z 
 
 A TEMPERANCE SONG. 
 
 All gentle love, all tender care, 
 
 All peace of hearth and home, 
 Are trampled out, defied, forgot, 
 
 Where this fell-fiend has come, 
 The lives which elfe had fhone fo fair, 
 
 Are withered by his breath, 
 And know no other end than thcfe : 
 
 Madnefs, defpair, and death. 
 
 O, fee the ruin of his fway ! 
 
 See all the woe, and pain, 
 In places which were happy homes, 
 
 Till Drink, the tyrant, came, 
 And ftripped the hearth, once bright and warm, 
 
 The board with plenty fpread, 
 And clutched with cruel grafping handj, 
 
 The ftarving children's bread. 
 
 This is the defpot, brother men, 
 
 O fpurn his cruel chain, 
 Sure honelt brows will ("corn to bear, 
 
 His burning brand of fhame.
 
 A TEMPERANCE SONG. 4 ■} 
 
 Your fk.il! of hand, your itrength of arm, 
 
 Your need of honeft toil, 
 God gives you for a noble life, 
 
 Not for this demon's fpoil. 
 
 Then by all happy memories, 
 
 All hopes of joys to come, 
 Pledge honeft vows that ne'er again, 
 
 His brutifh fway you'll own. 
 And fing again your noble fong, 
 
 In glad and joyful Haves, 
 Happy, and Free ; God helping us, 
 
 " We never will be Slaves !"
 
 44 
 
 $hc <£it]i Iflissionarn. 
 
 To fome t'is given to tread the path, 
 
 Of Glory, and of Fame, 
 To die ere yet the viftor's wreath, 
 
 May blofiom o'er their name. 
 
 And when t'is gained, alas ! the meed 
 
 Of long, and toiling years 
 So longed for, and fo hardly won, 
 
 Is ftained with blood, and tears. 
 
 A different ftruggle thine ; the fight, 
 
 'Gainit ignorance, and fin, 
 In life's dark ways, unfung, unknown, 
 
 Is yet as hard to win. 
 
 The weary days, and anxious nights, 
 
 The efforts oft in vain, 
 When drear, and hopelefs feems the tafk, 
 
 The loft ones to reclaim,
 
 THE CITY MISSIONARY. 4> 
 
 Are nobler conqueft; and a Crown, 
 
 Whole glory fhall not die, 
 Thou, Soldier of the Crofs may'ft win, 
 
 For all Eternity.
 
 4 6 
 
 Win Chile's (Srave. 
 
 ' "Pis part, thy time of ftrife and pain, 
 
 Thy life's long agony, 
 And thou art gone where ftrife fhall ceafe, 
 
 And tears be wiped away. 
 At Reft — in peace — we leave thee here 
 
 Beneath our Englifh Ikies, 
 No longer Exile, in that Heaven, 
 
 Where thy brave foul fhall rife : 
 Son of that noble Land, for whom 
 
 Thou would'ft have died to fave, 
 Her tyrants cannot reach thee here, 
 
 Within thy quiet grave. 
 Our tears avail thee nothing now, 
 
 This fhall thy requiem be — 
 The Patriots' fpirit cannot die, 
 
 And " Poland fhall be Freer
 
 47 
 
 Sffetraas, 
 
 ^RT thou ever the fame, with the jeft on thy lip, 
 
 And the light laughter Rung on thy mirth-loving 
 brow ? 
 
 Are thy joys, and thy forrows all thofe of the furface, 
 
 Art thou ever as carelefs, as mirthful as now ? 
 
 I would not thou wert like the Summer-winged rover, 
 That lightly from bloffom to bloffom e'er flies ; 
 
 Tho' its track be the Sunbeam, its flight ever glowing, 
 There's no one to weep when the butterfly dies. 
 
 Is the light laugh of pleafure enough to entrance thee ? 
 
 Does Life yield thee no deeper bleflings than mirth? 
 
 Haft thou never yet lived thro' thofe thought-hallowed 
 moments, 
 
 Which will raife thee far higher than virions of Earth. 
 
 Pafs on in thy path ; may it ever be fhining, 
 
 For fmiles are the Heaven-fent charters of youth ; 
 
 Cut Oh ! may'ft thou too learn to feel, the deep gladncfs 
 That wells pure and fwcct from the fountain of Truth.
 
 4 8 
 
 Jit Pemonj of thi* late 
 £. (Sr^son, <8sq., $R.f). foi; Lancaster. 
 
 Toll deep, toll How, ye folemn hells ! 
 
 Grief's faddell mufic learn, 
 For one has journeyed from your midft, 
 
 To never more return. 
 
 Full oft and loud ye've welcomed him 
 
 In peals of glad acclaim, 
 But now ftrike low, and foft, and fad, 
 
 He will not come again. 
 
 What tho' he bore the honoured weight 
 
 Of man's allotted years, 
 His vacant place muft here be marked 
 
 With forrow and with tears. 
 
 Miffed in yon bufy world where late 
 
 With his compeers he flood, 
 Spoke his laft words, ufed his laft powers, 
 
 To labour on for good.
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE LATE S. GRECSON. 49 
 
 Milled there : but thou, oh Lancafter ! 
 
 Tenfold the mils will prove, 
 For, tho' afar, he may have (hone 
 Thou had'ft his heart of love. 
 
 And moft to thee was that kind voice, 
 
 That pleafant, kindling eye ; 
 That " good, grey head," which never parted 
 
 Unmarked, unhonoured, by. 
 
 How oft, when wearied with the itrife, 
 
 He came for peace and reft, 
 And found them in the quiet fcenes 
 
 He ever loved the belt. — 
 
 Thy moor, thy river, and thy hills, 
 
 Thy crag-encircled fea, 
 And far beyond, thy filent peaks 
 
 Rifing in majeily. 
 
 Thefe loved he — but not only thele, 
 
 His kind and generous heart 
 Turned to the people of the place, 
 
 And filled a brother's part. 
 
 E
 
 $0 IN MEMORY OF THE LATE S. GREGSON. 
 
 No grander monument can be 
 Than that railed by his hands, 
 
 The fane which on yon moorland-fide, 
 In facred beauty Hands. 
 
 And many another work of love 
 Will long his worth proclaim, 
 
 And wreath with greatful memories 
 His loved and honoured name.
 
 5' 
 
 o f om foiled. 
 
 /tLONE, alone, e'en in the midil, 
 J 
 
 Of yonder glittering throng ; 
 Where every lip bore Plea lure's fmile, 
 
 And every voice her fong : 
 Tho' youth was her's, and all her path 
 
 With gems, and flowers feemed bright, 
 And fhe upon the fhining way, 
 
 Shone as a peerlels light. 
 
 Young, rich, and beautiful, and yet 
 
 The world's gay thoughtlefs round 
 Of wit and mirth, bore to her heart 
 
 A weary, empty found ; 
 One voice was hufhed, one heart was cold, 
 
 One dear loved fmile was gone, 
 And all the reft feemed nothingneis — ■ 
 
 Alas ! fhe was alone. 
 
 E 1
 
 5 2 
 
 COMFORTED. 
 
 Where might fhe flee ? where find the reft 
 
 Her young heart fought in vain ? 
 Where nurfe the grief, which now muft fhroud 
 
 All future years in pain ? 
 That memory of him fo loved, 
 
 So loving, and fo brave, 
 Sleeping beneath a far-off fky, 
 
 Within a foldier's grave. 
 
 O fhould fhe, wandering 'neath the fhade 
 
 Of her anceftral trees, 
 Find comfort in the tears, and fighs 
 
 Breathed on each pafling breeze ; 
 Or loving fun, and filent ftars, 
 
 And gentle filvery moon, 
 Only becauie their light was fhed 
 
 Upon that far-off tomb ! 
 
 Not fo ! thofe fame bright fun and ftars, 
 
 Brought to her drooping heart, 
 Some thoughts of Him who bade them fhine ; 
 
 And gave to each his part
 
 COMFORTED. 53 
 
 Of light, and labour in the world, 
 
 Nor had withheld her own, 
 Henceforth fhe too would venture forth, 
 
 Nor mourn flic was alone. 
 
 And He who ruled the waters wild, 
 
 And bade the tempeft ceaie, 
 Looked down upon His weary child, 
 
 And foftly whiipercd "Peace:" 
 Taught her to find in life's dark ways, 
 
 Grief deeper than her own, 
 And learn to feel in healing it, 
 
 She need not be alone. 
 
 And fo her youthful years went by, 
 
 When o'er our ftartled land, 
 Came tales of forrow from afar, 
 
 Tales of our hero-band, 
 Who went to battle for th' oppreiTed 
 
 On the Crimean plains, 
 Dving in bitter cold, neglect, 
 
 With none to foothe their pains.
 
 r^. COMFORTED. 
 
 Thither flic went, where men's ilrong hearts 
 
 Had fickened, fhrunk, and quailed, 
 Her woman's fpirit fainted not, 
 
 Her woman's heart ne'er failed : 
 Within Scutari's 'leagured walls, 
 
 Where victims of the war 
 Lay ftretched in life's laft agony 
 
 From Home, and friends afar. 
 
 What wonder that to them fhe feemed 
 
 An angel from above, 
 Whofe white hands fmoothed their dying beds- 
 
 Whofe lips breathed words of love ; 
 Who pointed up to Heav'n their eyes 
 
 And bade them learn in death, 
 To bear their pain unmurmuring, 
 
 And peaceful yield their breath. 
 
 What wonder, too, that brighten 1 far 
 
 All other names befide, 
 We Englifh women count her name 
 
 Moll worthy of our pride ;
 
 COMFORTED. ■» ■> 
 
 And write for her — whole heart leaped up — 
 
 At fuch a noble call, 
 " Many have wifely done, and well, 
 
 But thou cxcelleft rf//."
 
 56 
 
 out re cited ! 
 
 In a lonely corner of the quiet churchyard of the once fecluded, 
 but now popular watering-place of Walton-on-the-Naze, apart from 
 other graves, may be leen a imall monumental stone — namelefs ; 
 but bearing the word " Misf.rare," with two appropriate texts. This 
 was erecled by fubfcription among fome of the vifitors who were 
 enjoying the fea-breezes in that locality during the iummer of 1856, 
 and whofe fympathies were arouied by the fad incident which the 
 following lines will tell : — 
 
 PoOF^ broken heart! above thy grave, 
 
 Unhonoured and unknown, 
 Shall no relentlefs words be breathed, 
 
 No item rebukings come ; 
 But tears of pity fhed their dew 
 
 Upon that namelefs grave, 
 Whofe only requiem has been, 
 
 The wailing of the wave. 
 
 No heart can tell the agony 
 
 Thy quivering fpirit bore, 
 Ere its fierce madnefs drove thee on 
 
 To feek th' eternal fhore,
 
 WRECKED. 57 
 
 And filenced c'cn the Mother's voice 
 
 In thy grief-ftricken breaft, 
 Or, for thy Babe thou might'ft have lived, 
 
 And left to God the reft. 
 
 Oh ! that fome voice of love had breathed, 
 
 In that laft dreadful hour, 
 And poured into thy weary heart 
 
 The balm of healing power, — 
 Had told of Hope, and Peace, and Heaven, 
 
 And matched thee from thy fate, — 
 For there was even peace for thee, 
 
 Tho' more than defolate. 
 
 We weep for thee, unhappy child 
 
 Of forrow and of fhamc, 
 Thv Beauty's fun, gone down for aye, 
 
 Behind a clouded name ; 
 But moil we weep the wafted wealth 
 
 Of Woman's faith and truft, 
 The treafure of affection poured 
 
 To mingle with the duft.
 
 5« 
 
 WRECKED. 
 
 But there is one, upon whofe heart 
 
 A weary weight will dwell, 
 And in whofe ears, through life, fliall ring 
 
 The echo of thy knell, — 
 In brightcft fcencs and happieft hours, 
 
 A gloomy fhade fliall fall, 
 (Tho' faireft flowers his path may ftrew,) 
 
 Dark as funereal pall. 
 
 The afhes of thy blafled peace 
 
 Shall rife in forms of ftrife, 
 And dafh with bittereft memories 
 
 His fweeteft cup of life. 
 Though far away may be his home 
 
 The voices of the fea 
 Shall haunt his dreams with one lad fong- 
 
 The memory of Thee. 
 
 *~ziP*
 
 59 
 
 c£he fjasshuj (Troird. 
 
 Jt furges on — fwccps paft my gazing eye, 
 
 I, but an unit on the billows borne, 
 Of this great torrent of humanity, 
 
 Amid its thoufands, friendlefs, and alone. 
 
 On with the bufy crowd, yet as I go, 
 With curious intereft I ftrive to trace, 
 
 Some glimpfes of the hidden heart and life, 
 Written upon each filent unknown face. 
 
 Here youth's bright eyes and fair unfurrowed brow, 
 Tell their own tale of Hope i and light within, 
 
 Undimmed as yet by touch of pain or care, 
 Unmarred by the yet deeper ftain of fin. 
 
 Hard faces meet me — ftern-fet, brooding brow, 
 With lines of Beauty long fince clouded o'er, 
 
 And lips comprefTed with weight of anxious care, 
 As if the fmile might never part them more.
 
 6o THE PASSING CROWD. 
 
 Here Iweeps along — kid-gloved Profperity, 
 In fpecklefs broad-cloth, or in filken fheen, 
 
 While Poverty in Rags, cold, gaunt, and pale, 
 In miferable contrail fteps between. 
 
 And fo it rolls, this mighty tide of life, 
 Each by a feparate impulfe fwept along, 
 
 Each heart's own purpofes, and cares, and joys, 
 Borne filently, and veiled from the throng. 
 
 Whither, or to what goal each footftep bends 
 In Joy, or Sorrow, that I may not know, 
 
 Some o'er Life's flowery ways of pleafant cafe, 
 Some o'er the thorny path of Want and Woe. 
 
 Nought to the Multitude ; yet each a part 
 
 Of fome loved circle where they reign lupreme, 
 
 Each dear and beautiful to fome fond heart, 
 
 Where tears, and fmiles may find their anfwering 
 gleam. 
 
 And each one guided on the bufy way, 
 Watched over by the fame unfleeping eye, 
 
 Cared for by One — The One who bade them live, 
 And traced each path beneath his own broad iky.
 
 6i 
 
 (llitn <5rau<?s. 
 
 [-ITTLE to thee — perchance thefe plots 
 
 Of homely burial ground, 
 Lefs to the bufy world of wealth, 
 
 Which circle them around, 
 Yet all to fome, within whole hearts, 
 
 Long will the memory ftay 
 Of tender love which bleft them once 
 
 For ever paft away. 
 
 No marble pomp may crown the place, 
 
 No bloffoms deck the foil, 
 Where peaceful reft 'mid London's ftriie 
 
 Her fons ol want and toil ; 
 Yet are they fpots of hallowed ground, 
 
 By every tear-drop fhed, 
 By all the anguifh which embalms, 
 
 The Memory of the Dead.
 
 6z CITY GRAVES. 
 
 Then let the fleepers reft, while yet 
 
 Affection's toot may come, 
 And willful paufe in tender love, 
 
 Befidc their laft long>home. 
 While yet thofe eyes which wept lb long, 
 
 Their yearning gaze may turn, 
 Where Tank the fun-light of their- lives 
 
 To never more return. 
 
 To ev'ry name which love has traced, 
 
 Above the burial fpot, 
 The fweep of Time and Change mall come, 
 
 And write its doom " Forgot." 
 Yet for awhile let reverent^ hands 
 
 The fpoiler's talk delay, 
 At leait till thofe who loved them once, 
 
 Shall all have paft away.
 
 63 
 
 (L f i(n Srm* 
 
 jBright Tp^ees! ye're always beautiful, 
 
 Dreffed in your living green, 
 Flinging your pleafant fliadows down, 
 
 With funlit fpots between. 
 By homes that neftle in your fhade, 
 
 O'er landfcapes imiling fair, 
 O precious gifts, ye ihine, and wave 
 
 A bleffing everywhere. 
 
 But here a tenfold charm ye have, 
 
 Here, in the throbbing heart 
 Of London ; claiming even there 
 
 For nature ftill a part, 
 And Ringing o'er the bufy way 
 
 Where rolls that mighty tide 
 Of eager, reftlefs human life, 
 
 Some pleafant thought befide.
 
 64 CITY TREES. 
 
 For though fome eyes may be too dim, 
 Some hearts too hard, or cold, 
 
 To mark your beauty where ye fhed 
 Your glorious green and gold. 
 
 To many another weary one 
 That beauty mining fair 
 
 May bring ibme hopes of happy things- 
 Some little reft from care. 
 
 T he ftranger, lonely 'midft the throng, 
 
 Afar from friends and home, 
 May catch a glimpfe of leaf and bough, 
 
 And feel not quite alone. 
 His fainting heart bowed down beneath 
 
 A weight of anxious fear, 
 May courage take, and feeing you 
 
 Feel that God too is here. 
 
 Then fpare the City Trees — ye men 
 Whole eager footfteps prefs, 
 
 To fpan with works of giant might 
 This crowded wildernefs.
 
 CITY TREES. 
 
 No voice here fpeaks to ftay the courfc 
 Of Great Improvement's plan, 
 
 But when ye fee a pleafant tree, 
 Oh! fpare it, if ye can. 
 
 — "*^»csf ?
 
 66 
 
 £The §0011 gttan Jo his Richer brother, 
 
 Sifter a long Sea/on of Di/irefs in the Winter of 1 86 1 -2. 
 
 Thank pOD ! 'tis paft — the hitter hour 
 
 Of keeneft want and woe. 
 How bitter only thofe can tell 
 
 Who the fierce cravings know 
 Of Poverty in all its pain — 
 
 Food, light, and warmth denied ; 
 When other men, more fortunate, 
 
 Enjoy their (hug firefide. 
 
 Ye felt the blaft whole icy breath 
 
 Bound as with iron bands 
 Alike the currents and the foil, 
 
 And flopped the willing hands, 
 Which elfe in honeft toil had wrought 
 
 To earn their daily bread, 
 And keep the fhelter of a roof 
 
 Above each weary head.
 
 THE POOR MAN TO HIS RICHER BROTHER. 67 
 
 Ye felt it, tho' well clad and filled, 
 
 Soft laid, and warmly houfed. 
 Pain, — almoft death it feemed to us, 
 
 Which but your flumber rouled. 
 O, did your thankful hearts then turn 
 
 To help a brother's need ? 
 And open wide a generous hand 
 
 The hclplefs ones to feed ? 
 
 Ye did, and may a bleffing reft — 
 
 The bleffing of the Poor — 
 Upon each kindly heart who gave, 
 
 From its more liberal ftorc ; 
 That charity, whole rich full ftreams, 
 
 Unchecked, have thus been poured, 
 In the dark hour of bitter need, 
 
 God furelv will reward. 
 
 If there's a bond 'twixt man and man 
 More noble and more good 
 
 Than all the reft, 'tis, when clofe linked 
 In Holv Brotherhood, 
 f 2
 
 68 THE POOR MAN TO HIS RICHER BROTHER. 
 
 They look abroad, and feck to fhcd 
 
 A little gleam of light 
 Upon the path which elfe would be 
 
 Black, piercing, ftarlefs night. 
 
 And if a recompenfe is gained 
 
 Sweeter than all the reft, 
 It waits upon that toil of love 
 
 Which, blejfing, fhall be bleft ; 
 There flows acrofs the large, warm heart 
 
 Which felt a Brother's woes — 
 A deep, full tide of happinefs 
 
 That nothing elfe beftows.
 
 69 
 
 Jlmcrica in tin* midst of lilar. 
 
 /imerica! thou Sifter-land 
 
 Bound by no common ties 
 To Britifh hearts who link thy name 
 
 With facred memories ; 
 We cannot watch with carelefs eyes 
 
 Or Hand indifferent by 
 While throbs thine heart's core in the throes 
 
 Of" War's great agony. 
 
 And yet, 'tis not for North or South 
 
 We, looking from afar, 
 Can take the part. We only pray 
 
 One iffue from this war : 
 And that, thou glorious Weltern World 
 
 So proudly called " The Free," 
 O'er all thy vaft expanlc may know 
 
 The truth of Libcrtv.
 
 70 AMERICA IN THE MIDST OK WAR. 
 
 We watch and pray, that through thy land 
 
 The ftrife oi" blood may ceafe, 
 That once again ferene mall rile 
 
 The Holy Star of Peace. 
 That, where thy fwords are laid to relt 
 
 Within a blood-ftained grave, 
 There, too, may lie as ufelefs things 
 
 The fetters of the Slave ! 
 
 For we remember 'twas thy foil 
 
 Our Pilgrim Fathers trod 
 When firft they wandered forth to find 
 
 Freedom, to worfhip God. 
 For ever muft their memory 
 
 Unite our fouls to thee, 
 And by that memory we pray 
 
 Thou may'ft again be free. 
 
 O North ! with all thy wealth and ftrengtli, 
 
 Can nothing now erafe 
 This fierce and bitter ftrife which burns 
 
 In bofoms of one race r
 
 AMERICA IN THE MIDST OF WAR. J \ 
 
 O South ! with all thine ancient love 
 
 Of noble chivalry, 
 Can'ft thou not take thy brother's hand 
 
 And fling thy weapons by ? 
 
 Not gralping take, not craven yield. 
 
 But each in forrow meet 
 To own ye've much to be forgiven, 
 
 And each much to forget. 
 Then, from thy ftormy night may rife 
 
 A brighter, clearer day, 
 And its fair dawn behold thy curse 
 
 Of Slavery fwept away.
 
 72 
 
 Roland in 1862=3. 
 
 The years which brought to other lands 
 
 New hopes, new liberty, 
 Have darkly broken on thy fhores, 
 
 And borne no joys for thee. 
 Poor Poland ! yet no falt'ring hands, 
 
 No craven hearts were thine, 
 'Midit thole who've learned to bear and wait 
 
 Until th' appointed time — 
 
 The time when all thy Ions might rife 
 
 Bound in one brotherhood, 
 To win the freedom of their foil 
 
 E'en with their heart's life-blood. 
 And lo, 'tib come! the burning wrongs 
 
 Long Hern and filent borne, 
 The pent-up pafion breaks at length — 
 
 One fierce and mighty ftorm.
 
 POLAND IN 1862-3. 73 
 
 One common vengeance fires each heart, 
 
 One hope burns in each breaft, 
 To break the Mufcovite's Item yoke, 
 
 And truft God for the reft. 
 No thirft of conqueft or of gain 
 
 Has borne them thro' this ftrife, 
 Who only afk — our human right — 
 
 Sweet Liberty ! dear lire ! 
 
 But courage, Poland ! that deep wail 
 
 Wrung from thy heart's deipair, 
 Has thrill'd earth's nations and awoke 
 
 Refponfive echoes there. 
 They watch'd thy throes with bated breath : 
 
 Oh ! could they bear to fee 
 Thee fall, when one ftrong helping arm 
 
 Had made thee bleft and free ? 
 
 But thou haft hoped and waited long, 
 And in thy night of woe — 
 
 Pale — weary-eyed thou wandereft forth 
 Thy bittereft fate to know,
 
 74 POLAND IN 1862-3. 
 
 And on the heart of Europe laid 
 Thy hand in trembling quell: — 
 
 To find it pulielefs, cold and Hill 
 For all thou loveft belt.. 
 
 Then fadly turned thee back to feek 
 
 Thy defolated throne 
 To bravely ftrive and fuffer ft ill 
 
 Unaided and alone. 
 Alas ! 'tis now a martyr's crown 
 
 That mines upon thy brow, 
 And God, who fee'ft all thy pain, 
 
 Alone can help thee now.
 
 75 
 
 $k <Tnj from (fircassia. 
 
 In the fummer of 1861, there came to our fhores two delegates 
 from CircafTia to reprefent to our Government the haplefs condition 
 of their native land, then refiiting to the utmoft the tyranny or 
 Ruflia. They were alfo the bearers of a petition to our Queen, 
 couched in the moft pathetic fimplicity, that fome meafures (not 
 warlike, but merely remonftrative) might be taken by England to 
 check that cruel aggreffion. The lbrrowful conclufion of the 
 druggie is known to all, but the following poem is a paraphrafe or 
 their touching petition, which may not be fo generally known. 
 
 P BPyOTHEPyS of the fair, free land, 
 J 
 
 On the far weftern wave, 
 
 In this our hour of fad defpair, 
 
 We afk your power to fave. 
 For o'er the diftant land and fea, 
 
 To our wild mountain home, 
 A tower of ftrength, a ftar of hope, 
 
 Your name and fame have come. 
 The ttory of your noble deeds 
 
 For liberty and right, 
 Has bade our fad defpairing hearb, 
 
 Yet look for joy's fwect light.
 
 ~() THE CRY FROM CIRCASSIAN 
 
 Long years have fped fince peace or joy 
 
 Have fmiled upon our land — 
 For many years we have fought and bled, 
 
 To ilav the oppreffor's hand— 
 The grafping power which fain would bind 
 
 Our free limbs, with her chain ; 
 And wipe from out the nations roll, 
 
 Circaffia's ltainlefs name. 
 Oh, mull it be that thus for aye, 
 
 Our out-poured blood and tears, 
 Mull fail to lave the homes we've held, 
 
 For full five thoufand years ? 
 Why mull we fee our manhood's prime, 
 
 Our fair youth's golden life, 
 For ever walled in the throes, 
 
 Of this unequal llrife? 
 While other lands rejoicing, reap 
 
 The treaiures of their foil, 
 We dare not Hay to tafte the fweets, 
 
 Of rell or honeil toil. 
 Yet from the Cafpian's filver tide, 
 
 To Euxine's flowery fhorcs, 
 The land we yet can call our own, 
 
 Is rich in golden llores;
 
 THE CRY FROM CIRCASSIA. 77 
 
 And Elbrou's mighty fteep looks down 
 
 Upon a fcene as fair, 
 As though no deeds of" bloody ftrife, 
 
 Were daily acted there. 
 O England, not your wealth, or blood, 
 
 But your all-powerful word 
 We ark, to bid our forrows ceafe, 
 
 And lheath the defpot's fword. 
 Give this, and we are free ; wiped out 
 
 Our agonies, our tears : 
 And in our joy, we may forget 
 
 The woes of fifty vears. 
 
 1S64. 
 
 Two rummers' funs have fhed their glow, 
 
 O'er Englifh hearths and homes, 
 Since, o'er the land this laft fad wail 
 
 Breathed out its mournful tones. 
 To us, two vears of hope, and peace, 
 
 But what can now be faid 
 Of thole brave, patient, fuffering hearts, 
 
 Whole laft faint hope is dead. 
 We heard — but heeded not — and thev 
 
 Far from their own loved land,
 
 / 
 
 8 THE CRY FROM CIRCASSIA. 
 
 Faint, fall, and die — crufhed out at lalt 
 
 By Raffia's ruthlefs hand. 
 Too late — O England, e'en for thee 
 
 To help, or lave them now ; 
 Yet Ruffia with her blood-ftained hands, 
 
 Is scarce more wrong than thou. 
 But haply, tho' it feem in vain 
 
 Thy late repentance comes ; 
 Though thou can'ft never build again 
 
 Thofe outraged mountain homes; 
 Some kindly fympathy of thine 
 
 May foft, and gently fall, 
 Once, it was granted thee to help, 
 
 But now, this is thy till.
 
 79 
 
 pain and its liberator. 
 
 4- 
 
 P Jtaly! beautiful Slave of" the South, 
 How long haft thou languifhed 'neath tyranny's fway, 
 
 But now may'ft thou raife thy fair neck from the duft, 
 And hail the bright dawning of Liberty's day ! 
 
 Thy olive-trees bloomed, and thy Poet-fons fang. 
 And the wealth of thy genius went forth o'er the 
 earth : 
 And the ftranger-land reaped the rich fruits of thy 
 ftore, 
 While bleeding and crufhed lay the land of their 
 birth. 
 
 Thy Beauty was afh.es ! Thy garlands were hung 
 
 O'er a charnel-houfe foul with deep wrongs, and deep 
 woe. 
 
 Where a thoufand brave hearts of thy nobleft and beft 
 Have groaned forth the anguifb no mortal may know.
 
 80 ITALY AND ITS LIBERATOR. 
 
 But the voice of thy groaning kind Heaven has heard, 
 And has nerved the brave heart of thy lowly-born Son 
 
 To fight the hard conflict of Right againft Might, 
 And he lays at thy feet the bright crown he has won ! 
 
 No dreams of Ambition have flirred that brave heart : — 
 Garibaldi ! for Freedom alone haft thou ftriven ; 
 
 And lo ! thou haft triumphed — the land thou haft faved 
 In deep gratitude lifts up a free voice to Heaven. 
 
 And we of the Ifle on the far weftern wave, 
 
 Tho' ftrangers to all but thy world-echoed Name, 
 
 Would prefs thy rough hand in a brother's warm clafp — 
 Rejoice in thy triumph and honour thy fame ! 
 
 For truly our hearts have gone forth on thy path : 
 Tho' in this our free England we never may know 
 
 The deep wrongs that have ftirred thee to do and to dare, 
 And ftrikc the foul Upas-tree down at a blow ! 
 
 Thou wert noble in triumph — O nobler far, now ! 
 
 In thine iflet of peace calmly calling afide 
 The fnares which have dazzled Rome's great ones of yore, 
 
 Till they ftumblcd and fell in the hour of their pride ;
 
 ITALY AND ITS LIBERATOR. 8 1 
 
 There was a moment of forrow and anguifh, 
 
 Thy brave heart half-broken by falfehood and wrong ; 
 
 But time hat] brought balm and hath taught us the 
 lefTon — 
 
 Bv the pain of her heroes doth freedom grow ftrong. 
 
 Yet mayft thou triumph ! thy life's noble purpofe 
 Muft fee its fruition. The work is not done, 
 
 Till the Queen of the Sea, and the Seven-hilled City — ■ 
 Fair Venice, and Rome, are for Italy won.
 
 82 
 
 Snita. 
 
 & 
 
 fi f^RiDAL JAo¥\h; but ufhered in 
 
 By no ilvperb array ; 
 No peal of bells, no fumptuous feaft 
 
 Proclaimed her wedding day. 
 No gleam of pearl, or filken fheen 
 
 Shone o'er that fair young bride, 
 Who flood in holy faith that day, 
 
 Bv Garibaldi's fide. 
 
 Yet ne'er were bridal vows breathed forth, 
 
 From heart more nobly true ; 
 No deeper love was ever won, 
 
 Than that Anita knew. 
 The ardent zeal which filled his breafl, 
 
 Flafhed in her earneft eye ; 
 Ready with him in Freedom's caufe 
 
 To conquer, or to die.
 
 ANITA. 83 
 
 Straight from the altar to the fight, 
 
 With heart that never quailed ; 
 While round her fell the rain of death, 
 
 She fainted not, nor failed. 
 This was her bridal ; fitting type 
 
 Of all her after-life; 
 Where'er the fearlefs hufband went 
 
 There went his fearlefs wife. 
 
 At laft ! the life of faithful love 
 
 Sank in a lonely grave — 
 She fleeps beneath the fouthern fky, 
 
 Befide the fouthern wave ; 
 And woe! for him to wander forth, 
 
 And tread the world alone ; 
 "Whatever time might keep in ltore, 
 
 It feemed that love was gone. 
 
 Yet 'tis not fo, — the babe whofe fmile 
 Had made their itruggles fweet, — 
 
 Drew with his life the fame true foul 
 That in her bofom beat.
 
 84 ANITA. 
 
 Menotti Hands, a living fhield 
 By his brave father's fide ; 
 
 Love had not faded from his life 
 Although Anita died.
 
 85 
 
 ^promonte. 
 
 "Rome or\ Peath!" the cry thrilled forth 
 
 Upon the ffartled air — 
 Not fhouted in defiant tones, 
 
 Bat in imploring prayer. 
 While through the Autumn's clultering vines 
 
 A Patriot-band palled by; 
 Their Southern natures all aglow, 
 
 Their boloms beating high. 
 
 For once, again, their Chieftain's voice 
 
 Had called them from alar — 
 Once more their Chieftain's flag unfurled, 
 
 Italia V n it a! 
 And "Rome or Death!" Marfala heard 
 
 And echoed forth the cry; 
 Palermo's thoufands thrilled to ice 
 
 The far-off" hope drawn nigh :
 
 86 ASPROMONTE. 
 
 " Romo-o-Morte ! " Catania's voice 
 
 The midnight filcnce broke — 
 As with one Hart, and with one voice 
 
 The fleeping City woke. 
 And oh ! for that great noble heart, 
 
 Could less than Rome suffice ? 
 The hope of all thofe patient years 
 
 Of toil and facrifice ! 
 
 O, but to free their country's hands 
 
 From odious foreign chain, 
 And fee the crown of ancient days 
 
 Upon her brow again ! 
 So through the fragrant myrtle bowers 
 
 They fped their hopeful way; 
 Their morrow brightened with the glow 
 
 That lit their yellerday. 
 
 There was a waking from that dream. 
 That funlight fank in fhade ; 
 
 They went to ftrive for Italy — 
 But Italy betrayed !
 
 ASPROMONTE. 87 
 
 So Alpromonte ! 'twas for thee 
 To hear the parting knell 
 
 Of trull in kingly gratitude 
 When Garibaldi fell ! 
 
 He fell — and long death hovered o\r 
 
 His prifon-couch of pain, 
 Bat God in mercy brought him back 
 
 To life and hope again. 
 And now, O Country, twice enriched, 
 
 He ftill exifts for thee — 
 Not "Rome or Death," but "Rome and Life," 
 
 To win for Italy. 
 
 ^.*»^
 
 88 
 
 gl ftutdiiomt* io (Saribaldi. 
 
 C FROWNED kings and mighty potentates 
 
 Have fought our ifland fhore, 
 Laden with gifts of gems and gold 
 
 To add unto our ftore. 
 To many a noble one we've given 
 
 A welcome full and free, 
 But none more earneit or more true 
 
 Than that which waits for thee. 
 Hero and Patriot, loved by all 
 
 Who only know thy name, 
 Which o'er a flowly waking world 
 
 In ftartling magic came, 
 Coupled with deeds fo great, and rare 
 
 That, when their tale was told, 
 It feemed as we had turned to read 
 
 Some wondrous page of old.
 
 A WELCOME TO GARIBALDI. 89 
 
 Uncrowned and fceptrelefs thou comcft, 
 
 Yet not the lefs a king, 
 Whole honoured name, o'er hiitory's page, 
 
 A glorious light fhall fling 
 Great as Leonidas of old, 
 
 And vet a greater one 
 Than Rienzi — Rome's patriot ion, 
 
 And laft ill-ftarred tribune. 
 Though the long years we ladly gazed 
 
 O'er thofe fair claffic plains, 
 And palace-crefted hills which lay 
 
 Crufhed in the tyrant's chains ; 
 That land of funfhine, flowers, and long, 
 
 The home of tears and gloom, 
 Beneath whole cloudlels Heaven flood 
 
 St. Elmo's living tomb. 
 We fighed and waited, 'till at length, 
 
 Triumphant o'er her foes, 
 Strong-nerved, thy Italy to lave, 
 
 Thou, Garibaldi, role. 
 And England's heart went with thee then 
 
 Upon thy conquering way — 
 The fame great heart which proudly bids 
 
 Thee welcome here to-day.
 
 9° 
 
 A WELCOME TO GARIBALDI. 
 
 It is alone that thou hail trod 
 
 Italia's flavedom down, 
 Nor that fuch ftirring memories wreath 
 
 About thy laurel crown — 
 Of royal Naples won to life, 
 
 Of Capua free once more, 
 Varefe unbound, and Freedom's fong 
 
 By Como's lovely fhore. 
 Nor lefs thofe Afpromontine plains 
 
 Stained with the martyr blood 
 Of one who only fought to work 
 
 An ingrate country's good. 
 We welcome thee, and honour thee, 
 
 Moft for that loyal heart, 
 Whofe high ambition could afford 
 
 To fet itfelf apart, 
 And let the crown and fceptre pais, 
 
 As glittering baubles by, 
 Whilit thou, unbought, content, and poor, 
 
 Still liv'ft for liberty. 
 
 mr»-jr^ £*» ■<-« -
 
 9 1 
 
 Jtawtt to (Saribnldi. 
 
 <& 
 
 f^Ai^EWELL ! We fpeak the parting words 
 
 Relu&ant, fad, and flow, 
 And feel, with bofoms ftrangely flirred, 
 
 We fcarce can let thee go. 
 We fain had held thee longer here, 
 
 Moft loved, moft honoured gueft ; 
 But, trufting thee, we ftrive to feel 
 
 E'en this is for the beft. 
 
 To welcome thee, our palace gates 
 
 Were widely open flung ! 
 To welcome thee, our teeming throngs 
 
 Thy name in rapture fung ! 
 And Garibaldi, in thy heart 
 
 We know will be enflirined 
 Fond memories of the Englifh fhores 
 
 Thou lcavell far behind.
 
 FAREWELL TO GARIBALDI. 
 
 Once, but a name upon our lips : 
 
 We hail thee Brother now : 
 We've grafped thy hand, we've gazed upon 
 
 Thy grave and kindly brow. 
 Thy pleafant prefence in our midft — 
 
 Thy fmile — thy earneft tone — • 
 Are memories that will keep their charm 
 
 For many a year to come. 
 
 Thou'rt gone ! But now new power (hall gild 
 
 The prertige of thy name : 
 A new-born ftrength of heart and arm 
 
 Shall nerve thee in thine aim 
 When on thy conquering march to win 
 
 All that is good and free ! 
 Thou knoweit — and the world, too, knows — 
 
 That England is with thee. 
 
 Then, fare-thee-well, Gueft — Brother — Friend ! 
 
 The leflening fail which bears 
 Thee to thy lone and fca-girt home 
 
 Is freighted with our prayers,
 
 FAREWELL TO GARIBALDI. 93 
 
 Our fympathy, our love, our hopes, 
 
 That thou wilt ftrength regain, 
 And in fome brighter, happier days, 
 
 Come to our land again.
 
 94 
 
 $0 gts %o\)iil Jlhiltness the fjipq 
 af ualales. 
 
 As from a ftarlefs night of gloom 
 
 Breaks forth the joyful day, 
 Whofe golden hues of new-born light 
 
 Chafe all the clouds away ; 
 So, merging from its clouds of grief, 
 
 The Nation hails the dawn, 
 And greets with joy, Young Prince of Wales, 
 
 Thy happy Wedding Morn. 
 
 Hark ! o'er the land ten thoufand fpires 
 
 Peal forth their glad acclaim, 
 And every Englifh heart invokes 
 
 A bleffing on thy name ; 
 And prays for life-long happinefs 
 
 For thee and thy fair Bride, 
 Whofe love may bring thee greater joy 
 
 Than all thy wealth befide.
 
 TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES. 95 
 
 Whole young life holds thy Truth, thy Faith., 
 
 Thine heart's-love all her own ; 
 Gems of a luftre brighter tar 
 
 Than even England's crown ; 
 And counts the privilege more dear 
 
 To fhare a happy home, 
 Than all the glitter of a Court, 
 
 Or glory of a Throne. 
 
 Born to Earth's nobleft heritage, 
 
 Our Hope, our Pride, our Heir ; 
 The " triple plume " ne'er waved above 
 
 A princely path more fair. 
 No longer 'mid the battle borne, 
 
 A Victor's flaming creit, 
 In Peace its ancient glory fhines, 
 
 With ten-fold luftre bleft. 
 
 God fend, thee ever Peace and Joy- 
 Peace in thy palace-home ; 
 
 Peace over all thy broad fair realm 
 That hails thee as her own.
 
 96 TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES. 
 
 May our lov'd Albert's wife, pure life, 
 
 In thine reflected be, 
 That Queen and People both may feel 
 
 He lives again in thee. 
 
 <*z4?2*?4^m
 
 97 
 
 (gfljglattjTs Welcome to Tier Bonal XHcjhncss 
 
 the iwttniess %UnniLw of Semuarh, 
 
 our future Queeu. 
 
 ALEXANDRA ! from thy northern home, 
 
 Acrofs the ftormy Tea, 
 To our fair Ifland of the Weft, 
 In joy, we welcome thee. 
 
 Our cannons boom, -our banners wave, 
 
 Joy-bells from fpire and dome, 
 And earneft voices, welcome thee 
 
 To thine adopted home. 
 
 Our garlands wave their wreaths of bloom, 
 Bright o'er thy fair young head ; 
 
 And maidens ftrew the path with flowers 
 Where firft thy feet fhall tread ; 
 
 And, with our glittering array 
 
 Of ancient pomp and pride, 
 We hail thee, Daughter of the Land, 
 
 Our Prince's chofen Bride !
 
 98 England's welcome to princess Alexandra. 
 
 Though ft ill perhaps thine heart may ache 
 
 With pain of parting tears, 
 Shed o'er thy Fatherland and home 
 
 Of all thv happv years. 
 
 Yet weep not. Maiden never won 
 
 A brighter deftiny 
 Of princely wealth and regal power 
 
 Than that which waits for thee ; 
 
 Cut more than thefe : a happier lot 
 Than crown or throne might prove : 
 
 Thou comeft to fhare, with Albion's heir, 
 A Home of Peace and Love ! 
 
 And, manv-voiced, the nation prays 
 
 That iky which looks fo fair, 
 Mav ne'er for thee be fhaded o'er 
 
 With clouds of grief or care. 
 
 But long, long years of happy life 
 
 To thee and thine be given ; 
 Bright earneft of a brighter one 
 
 Which waits for thee in Heaven.
 
 99 
 
 %&&rm to our brloud tyimn on the 
 Iftarriage of the prince of ftolalcs. 
 
 Dear Sovereign Lady of our Land, 
 
 So lov'd through happy years, 
 And held in deeper reverence, 
 
 In forrow and in tears ; 
 The people of thy gentle fway, 
 
 In tender filence flood ; 
 Whilfl o'er thee fwept the firft dark waves 
 
 Of thv fad Widowhood. 
 
 We wept, and ever weep with thee 
 
 By thy lov'd Albert's tomb, 
 Whofe life fo wife, fo pure, fo great, 
 
 Was quenched in Death fo loon ; 
 As we have grieved, fo in this hour 
 
 Of deep and chaftened joy, 
 We gently at thy feet would lay 
 
 A Nation's fympathy. 
 H 2
 
 IOO ADDRESS TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 O may thine heart be glad once more, 
 
 May children's loving care 
 Pierce through the clouds which fhroud its joy 
 
 And paint a rainbow there ; 
 We pray that new-born hopes and joys 
 
 Thy future years may blefs, 
 And bid that tender heart awake 
 
 Anew to happinefs. 
 
 May He who watches o'er thy path 
 
 His heavenly peace fend down, 
 And grant the current of thy life 
 
 May tranquilly glide on ; 
 And that pure fhrine of houfehold love, 
 
 Blefs'd by His gracious hand, 
 Still fhed its hallowed influence 
 
 O'er our well favor'd land !
 
 IOI 
 
 |n ftymrrrg of Jfe Parn (TOtood, 
 Cluracjcr, glmcnca. 
 
 Tn 7V5lEMOF\Y; in memory of one 
 
 Who walked Life's journey as 'tis feldom trod, 
 Bright witnefs of the Faith which ruled her life 
 
 And made it beautiful, to man and God. 
 A life of gentleft charity, and love 
 
 Shedding far round the luftre of its rays 
 Whofe calm confiftency and holy truth 
 
 Graced her fair youth, and crowned her latere, days. 
 
 In loving memory of her whofe love 
 
 Made her far home a place of peacful reft 
 Through all life's ftorms, in every grief and care, 
 
 To thofe who 'neath her influence were bleft. 
 Wife, mother, After, friend, in all 
 
 Life's fweet relationfhips, flie filled her part 
 Perfect before His fight, who only knows 
 
 The inmoft workings of His creature's heart.
 
 102 IN MEMORY OF MRS. MARY WOOD. 
 
 In ibrrowing memory of her who flecps 
 
 In her far grave, acrofs th' Atlantic fea, 
 Whofe voice and fmile may never more rejoice 
 
 The hearft who treafured her dear memory, 
 Mourning; yet not as others mourn; for fhe 
 
 In joy has entered her eternal reft, 
 In the fair land where grief may never come, 
 
 Happy for ever, and for ever bleft.
 
 IO} 
 
 "Jtot Scad, but <5one |lfforc." 
 
 Peap v |_ittle /ida: ah! how foon 
 
 The golden links were riven ; 
 How foon thou'ft winged thine angel-flight 
 
 Back to thy native heaven. 
 
 Thy parents weep ; ah, could their care 
 
 Have kept thee by their fide, 
 Or tendered love availed thee aught, 
 
 Thou, darling, had'ft not died. 
 
 They loved thee, but 'twas thine to know 
 
 An even greater love, 
 E'en His who took thee from their arms 
 
 To dwell with Him above. 
 
 Took thee in earlieft morning hours 
 
 While thy fair infant life 
 Scarce flained by fin, unknown to woe 
 
 Patted from a world of ftrife.
 
 104 "not dead, but gone before. 
 
 Dear cherifhed one ; how hard it feemed, 
 
 To lay thee down fo foon ; 
 And feel how many happy hopes 
 
 Lie broken in thy tomb. 
 
 But it is befl ; for who can tell 
 What weight of grief or care, 
 
 If to thy life long years had come, 
 Thou might'ft have had to bear ? 
 
 Thy tiny grave, beneath the trees, 
 
 May call forth bitter tears, 
 And pierce with many a forrow-pang 
 
 The joy of future years. 
 
 But thou art bleft, at reft for aye, 
 Free from ail grief and pain ; 
 
 And thou fhalt lead their hearts to where 
 Ye all fhall meet again. 
 
 ffc«*
 
 io5 
 
 Consolation. 
 
 P /VLoTHER ! e'en in this fad hour 
 
 Of deep, and bitter Grief, 
 Be comforted, for He who fmites, 
 
 Doth alio fend relief. 
 Be comforted, tho' in thy pain, 
 
 The joy Exiftence gave, 
 Seems buried where thy dear one fleeps 
 
 Within her early grave. 
 
 For many a Mother, weeping, too, 
 
 For a beloved One gone, 
 May have no anchor, fuch as thine, 
 
 In ftorms to reft upon. 
 No Faith like thine whofe eye can fee, 
 
 Beyond the filent grave, 
 The Glory of the Life He gives, 
 
 Who gave His own to lave.
 
 Io6 CONSOLATION. 
 
 And many palling through the Shade, 
 
 Like her in Life's bright Youth, 
 Have palled beneath the awful porch, 
 
 Unknowing Hope, or Truth. 
 Or Faith like hers, whofe mighty power, 
 
 Bridged o'er the gulf of Death, 
 And bade her fing of Peace, and Heaven 
 
 E'en with her lateft breath. 
 
 'Tis hard to leave her cold, and lone, 
 
 The neftling of thy breaft, 
 But fweet to think of her above, 
 
 Safe, happy, and at reit. 
 'Tis hard to feel her loving voice, 
 
 From hence has ever gone, 
 But fweet to think that voice is railed 
 
 In praife before the Throne. 
 
 She palled in brighter!: morning hours, 
 
 E're made of doubt or care 
 Had touched her heart — but who knows what 
 
 Years might have brought to bear ?
 
 CONSOLATION. IO" 
 
 'Tis well: The Hand who gave Thy child, 
 
 Sent e'en this ftroke in love, 
 The bud ye mifs fo fore at home 
 
 Is later far above.
 
 io8 
 
 STo the (fueett, on the Jpcnth of her late 
 Sonal gijgfmesa the gneiss of Sent- 
 
 Royal Lady ! while thou weepeft forth 
 
 Thine heart's great weight of grief, 
 In this fad hour when all thy itate 
 
 Can bring thee no relief — 
 The People of thy gentle rule 
 
 Stand hufhed and filent by ; 
 And foftly at thy feet would lay 
 
 A nation's fympathy. 
 
 As in thy golden hours of joy, 
 
 We, too, have gladdened been ; 
 And gloried in the happinefs 
 
 Of our Beloved Queen — 
 So do we mourn o'er that firft (hade 
 
 Which on thy path is fhed ; 
 And tenderly would weep with thee 
 
 O'er that Beloved Dead.
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE DUCHESS OF KENT. 1 09 
 
 And many-voiced, in earneft tones, 
 
 A Nation's prayers afcend, 
 That thou wilt heavenly comfort gain 
 
 From Him, the Mourner's Friend ; 
 And e'en rejoice fo fair a life 
 
 Such peace in death has won, 
 And everlafting blifs been gained 
 
 For thy departed one. 
 
 The tenderer!: memories will fling 
 
 A halo round her name, 
 Whofe gentle wifdom led thy youth, 
 
 And bleffed thy happy reign. 
 And now a brighter diadem 
 
 Than ever monarch wore, 
 Graces her brow, in that bleft Land 
 
 Where pain fhall be no more !
 
 I IO 
 
 31 Saltern's Matt on the ieath ajf Libert, 
 the Consort of the djueen. 
 
 Dark is the fhadow, and bitter the forrow, 
 
 Which wide o'er the breadth of our Country is 
 fpread : 
 
 Loud and deep is the cry of her great lamentation — 
 
 The voice of a Nation bewailing her dead ! 
 
 Death has entered the Palace — fulfilled his dread miffion ; 
 
 Defolation fits brooding in that Royal Home, 
 Where late the pure joys of domeftic affection 
 
 Eclipfed e'en the fplendour which circled the Throne. 
 
 O well may ye weep — Sons and Daughters of England ! 
 
 O'er the Prefence departed which lately did fhine 
 As the nobleft of Princes, the pride of the Nation, 
 
 PafTed away in the glory of Manhood's fair prime. 
 
 The grey Caitle Hands in its old regal grandeur, 
 Holds fiill the cold glitter of fceptre and fway — 
 
 But all that remains of its dearly loved Mailer, 
 Is a cold, fhrouded form of infenfible clay !
 
 ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE ALBERT. I I I 
 
 Mourn! — not for him — fince the God who has 
 fmitten 
 
 Knoweth beft His own time ; and " His great will 
 done;" 
 
 Since we dare to believe that the loved Prince 
 departed 
 
 Has exchanged Earth's poor ftate for a far brighter 
 home ! 
 
 But weep for our Sovereign, for her Children thus 
 ftricken ; 
 
 Overwhelmed in the anguifh of this mighty grief. 
 
 Alas for fuch forrow ! — One only can foothe it — 
 
 May He look on the Mourners, and fend them relief! 
 
 Poor Queen! — written "Widow'''' — so late bleft and 
 happy ! 
 
 Lefs our pride as a Monarch, than Mother and Wife ; 
 
 We mingle our tears o'er the Grave where has faded 
 
 For ever, the love-light which gladdened thy life. 
 
 Beloved of thy people — twice dear in thy forrow ! 
 
 Every heart fhares thy grief, every lip breathes a 
 prayer : 
 
 God comfort and blefs thee, till, in His own feafon, 
 
 He calls thee, the blifs of thy loft one to {hare.
 
 I 12 
 
 ®hi| Children's gtjjpeal. 
 
 " Only the Little Ones," you fay, 
 " Stopping us on our bufy way — 
 
 Small pleadings — pafs them by." 
 Ah ! ye the rich and well-to-do, 
 
 With Children bleft, and happy too, 
 Lift to our lowly cry. 
 
 We, Children of the fuffering Poor, 
 Your kind and generous help implore 
 
 To raife a Sunday School, 
 
 Where we may learn Truth's pleafant ways, 
 
 Be taught to know in early days 
 Religion's gentle rule. 
 
 Our lives are hard ; alas ! 'tis ours 
 
 To gather more of thorns than flowers 
 
 Along the rugged road ; 
 
 But ye may blefs our lowly lot, 
 
 Teach us to bear, and murmur not, 
 And lift our hearts to God.
 
 THE CHILDREN S APPEAL. I I 3 
 
 O tender hearts ! by all the love 
 
 Upon your own bellowed — 
 By all your bleffings given — 
 
 Let us too learn of higher life, 
 Of ilrength to meet the world's fierce ftrife, 
 
 Of peace and reft in Heaven. 
 
 ^a/}B^^
 
 1 » 4 
 
 ghc Citu Hospital 
 
 Give, Give ! how oft the hungry call 
 
 Has fallen on your ear, 
 Burthened with many a plaintive figh, 
 
 And many a falling tear ; 
 So oft, perchance, that in thy heart 
 
 The funny, loving ray 
 Of Charity— fweet Charity — 
 
 Hath almoft died away. 
 
 Yet here it comes, with greater force ; 
 
 O clofe not heart and hand, 
 But, by the nobleft impulfe led, 
 
 Bid thy whole foul expand — 
 Expand, and melt ; that fick, and fad, 
 
 And fuffering ones may find 
 By thy free, generous, gracious aid 
 
 That " Charity is kind."
 
 THE CITY HOSPITAL. I I 
 
 Though now the tide of life and health 
 
 Glides calmly through each vein, 
 Clear brains to think, itrong arms to work, 
 
 And fcarce a thought of pain ; 
 Yet think thee of thole days gone by 
 
 When life was not fo fair, 
 When pain and ficknefs made that life 
 
 A burden hard to bear. 
 
 When bv thy couch of languifhing, 
 
 The tendereif. care and love 
 Spent all their power of gentlenefs, 
 
 Yet often failed to foothe, 
 Till the Great Healer's gracious hand 
 
 Rolled back the tide of pain, 
 And gave once more the precious gifts 
 
 Of health and ftrength again. 
 
 In grateful memorv of that time 
 Your willing offerings bring 
 
 For thofe who iuffer all the pain 
 With Want's fharp, added fting, 
 1 2 
 
 3
 
 Il6 THE CITY HOSPITAL. 
 
 But who may find the help they need 
 In thefe wide-opened doors, 
 
 If only Charity will give 
 Some of her blelfed ltores.
 
 n; 
 
 3i |3tca for Sagged jfchouls. 
 
 5tay : ye who tread life's pleafant ways, 
 
 Whole path lies through the flowers ; 
 Bright Ikies o'er head, and fcarce a cloud 
 
 To fhade the rummer hours. 
 It may be, in your favored lot 
 
 Not many thoughts arile 
 Of that great mifery which lives 
 
 Beneath the fame bright fkies, 
 Which round your path, w r ithin your reach, 
 
 Drags out its weary life 
 Of craving want, and gaunt defpair, 
 
 And fin's unholy ftrife ; 
 Not many thoughts (while round your knees 
 
 Your little children prefs, 
 And warm your heart with funny finile 
 
 And innocent carefs,) 
 Of childhood in another guife, 
 
 Bereaven of its grace, 
 Shorn in the forrow of its birth 
 
 Of every pleafant trace.
 
 I I 8 A PLEA FOR RAGGED SCHOOLS. 
 
 Yet fuch there are, but o'er their fate, 
 
 There dawns a glimmering ray, 
 Which, with God's help, at length may break 
 
 Into meridian day. 
 Blemngs on thofe who've lent their zeal 
 
 To feed, to teach, reclaim, 
 And lead thefe " Arabs of the ftreet " 
 
 To win a better name. 
 To find that they may Ihare the gifts 
 
 God's gracious hands fend down — 
 For them the recompenfe of toil — 
 
 For them a heavenly crown. 
 Workers for good : O may ye find 
 
 Rich harveft for your toil, 
 Fair flowers, and fruits to fpring to life 
 
 E'en from this barren foil. 
 Still from the blacknefs of their lot 
 
 Bright gems may fparkling fhine ; 
 Still from the darknefs may break forth 
 
 The latent fpark divine, 
 Which kindling 'neath the influence 
 
 Of gentle, guiding hand, 
 May make our Ragged Schools to be 
 
 The blelling of the laud.
 
 ihc Jpoirer of ^mall Stomas. 
 
 As drop by drop, die ocean vaft 
 Swelled 'neath its Maker's hand ; 
 
 As grain by grain, the mighty hills 
 Rofe o'er the pleafant land ; 
 
 As leaf by leaf, and bud by bud, 
 And blade by blade unfurled, 
 
 A myriad tiny things make up 
 The beauty of a world. 
 
 And as the works of human fkill, 
 The pride of many a land, 
 
 The palace dome, the giant bridge 
 Have, itone by ftone, been fpanned ; 
 
 So, in the hiftory of our lives, 
 
 The law is ftill the fame 
 A thoufand trifles make the fum, 
 
 Of happinefs, or pain.
 
 120 THE POWER OF SMALL THINGS. 
 
 Small deeds of help, Imall words of love, 
 Dropped on this path of ours 
 
 May make the rugged way all bright 
 With funfhine, and with flowers.
 
 121 
 
 JThe Jjtrst decade, 186-1. 
 
 Ten Years ^go, my deareit love, 
 
 Ten years ago to-day ; 
 Since that bright morn, when hopefully 
 
 We ftarted on our way. 
 Joined heart, and hand, and pledged to walk 
 
 Life's chequered journey through, 
 In undivided Love, and Trull, 
 
 Firm, faithfully, and true. 
 
 Ten happy years ! tho' in their fweep 
 
 Some changes have been caft 
 About our path ; — yet Love and Faith 
 
 Have ne'er been overcaft. 
 Care's finger, too, fome deeper lines 
 
 Upon thy brow has traced ; 
 And the world's harfli hands, fome early dreams 
 
 May rudely have effaced.
 
 122 THE FIRST DECADE. 
 
 Yet ours has been a blefs&d lot, 
 
 Our Sorrows have but been 
 Like birds of paifage, fled away, 
 
 And left our lives ferene. 
 Men praife thee : and my proud heart beats 
 
 To know through riling Fame, 
 Beside our quiet hearth at home, 
 
 Thy love is Hill the lame. 
 
 Ten years ago, we were but two, 
 
 Now, round our lives is bound 
 Five-fold — a bright and flowery chain, 
 
 Strong, circling us around. 
 And the glad found of Childhood's voice, 
 
 Makes mufic in our home, 
 And cheers our hearts with brightelt hopes 
 
 Of happy years to come. 
 
 God grant, dear love, the brighteft ones. 
 
 May full fruition fee ; 
 And Wife, and Children ever prove 
 
 True blelfings unto thee.
 
 THE FIRST DECADE I 23 
 
 And thankfully we'll raile our hearts, 
 
 To that Almighty Friend, 
 Who thus has bleft us, and we trull 
 
 Will blefs us to the end. 
 
 - -»-».!»5f £■*•■<
 
 I2 4 
 
 parting aolonts to a JJeatf brother. 
 
 Fai\EWELL, Deaf^ Boy, if earneft. prayers, 
 
 A thoufand in an hour, 
 Breathed from the hearts who love thee well, 
 
 To Heaven's protecting power — 
 If warmeft wifh.es can avail 
 
 Thy future lot to blefs, 
 Then will thy path be bright indeed 
 
 With life-long happinefs. 
 
 Farewell! and when thou'rt far away 
 
 From thy dear childhood's home — 
 When to thy heart the tender pain 
 
 Of memory fhall come — 
 Whether beneath the ftranger fky, 
 
 Or on the deep, wild fea — 
 Believe, our fondcit memories 
 
 Will ever compafs thee;
 
 PARTING WORDS TO A DEAR BROTHER. I 25 
 
 For we lhall, oft and fadly, miis 
 
 Thy pleafant voice and fmile, 
 Whole mufic, by the hearth thou'ft left, 
 
 Would many an hour beguile ; 
 Yet tho' for many weary months 
 
 Thy vacant place we mourn, 
 We look, on fome bright future day, 
 
 To hail thy bright return. 
 
 Thine onward path looks bright and fair- 
 Thus may it ever be ; 
 
 And faireft hopes and brighteft dreams 
 Their full fruition fee ; 
 
 And may the forrow of this hour — 
 This pain of parting tears — 
 
 Be all forgotten in the fmiles 
 Of future happy years. 
 
 Remember this : when upward thou 
 Thy wondering glance fhall turn 
 
 To that great canopy of Heaven, 
 Where tropic glories burn,
 
 126 PARTING WORDS TO A DEAR BROTHER. 
 
 It is the Tame fair fky that fhines 
 Above thine own dear land, 
 
 Spread by the fame Almighty power, 
 The fame protecting hand. 
 
 And to the hand of that dear God, 
 
 We, fruiting, leave thee now ; 
 And may He lead and guide thee fafe 
 
 Thy life's whole journey through. 
 Look up to Him ! for in His love 
 
 Thou fafely may'il: depend ; 
 And then in ftorm or fhine thou'lt find 
 
 An everlafting Friend.
 
 12" 
 
 gmtntscimtrcs. 
 
 Qld f-ioUSE ! Old Home of happy years! 
 
 I cannot pafs thee by 
 With carelefs fteps of unconcern, 
 
 Or cold, indifferent eye : 
 I yet muft tread thy filent rooms 
 
 With fond and clinging heart, 
 Though cold, and bare, and defolate. 
 
 And tenantlefs thou art. 
 Strangers will hold thee for their own, 
 
 And nevermore mine ear 
 Shall catch, within thy well-known porch, 
 
 The welcome held fo dear. 
 Though grand in modern ftyle and tafte 
 
 The new abode may ftand, 
 Though thither with glad fteps I feek 
 
 The dear-loved houfehold band, — 
 Yet thy green nooks of leafy fhade, 
 
 Thy corners quaint to fee, 
 Grown out of fafhion to fome eyes. 
 
 Will Hill be dear to me.
 
 128 REMINISCENCES. 
 
 It does not feem lb long ago 
 
 When, to my childifh eyes, 
 Frefh from th' unlovely ftreets, thou wert 
 
 A very paradife ! 
 And fwift, beneath thine honoured roof, 
 
 The years have fwept away, 
 Calmly and kind, with fcarce a fhade 
 
 Flung o'er the pleafant way. 
 Changes have come : the gloffy curls 
 
 That graced our Mother's brow, 
 Once black as raven's ebon wing, 
 
 Are mixed with filver now ; — 
 And twenty years of bufy toil, 
 
 Have left their, filent trace, 
 Though writ in foft and gentle lines, 
 
 Upon our Father's face. 
 Beneath thy roof the neillings grew, 
 
 And their young wings unfurled, 
 Then from its fafe and pleafant made 
 
 Flew forth into the world. 
 Yet never, never, to forget 
 
 Their childhood's happy home, 
 And oft, befide its focial hearth, 
 
 A joyful band to come.
 
 REMINISCENCES. 1^9 
 
 Nor hail thou loft thy charm ; that now 
 
 Come children not a few, 
 Another bright-faced band who've learned 
 
 To know and love thee too. 
 This much, and more, I reverent feel 
 
 For thee, Old Houfe, Old Home, 
 Such bleffing has hung o'er thy roof 
 
 That few can call their own. 
 With deepeft thankfulnefs to God, 
 
 O let the words be laid, 
 For us thy walls have never held 
 
 The dear, the coffined dead. 
 O may the fame good, gracious power 
 
 That thus has bleffed thee fo, 
 Alike watch over " Sunnyfide," 
 
 And equal gifts beftow : 
 For there are thofe who made thee dear, 
 
 And there our hearts muft dwell, 
 Though thus I fay, with moiftened eyes, 
 Old Houfe, — Old Home, — Farewell !
 
 13° 
 
 Died April Jt/i, 1865. 
 
 Lo! England mourns her dead once more, 
 
 Another noble one 
 Has left his place, and laid him down, 
 
 Before his work feemed done. 
 Her Senate has a vacant place, 
 
 Which through the rears to come, 
 Will facred to his memory ftand, 
 
 Her latert patriot fon. 
 
 Finifhed on earth, the life twice crowned 
 
 With glorious deeds and rare — 
 Achieved through long and waiting years 
 
 Of patient toil and care. 
 And hufhed the voice, and ftill the lip, 
 
 O'er which fo oft has rolled 
 The burning eloquence of truth, 
 
 Refistlefs, uncontrolled.
 
 RICHARD COBDEN. 1 J I 
 
 Great, and above earth's empty things 
 
 Of gilded pomp and pride ; 
 Quiet he pafled along his path, 
 
 And unadorned he died. 
 Yet what will future ages tell 
 
 Of that plain patient life, 
 What triumphs gained, what battles won, 
 
 In noble bloodlefs ft rife ? 
 
 Of ancient prejudice o'ercome, 
 
 And flood-gates open hurled, 
 To let the tide of commerce free 
 
 For England and the world. 
 While poverty took from his hands 
 
 The boon of cheapened food — 
 And unborn tongues fhall echo ftill, 
 
 " He worked his country's good." 
 
 While 'neath the pleafant country trees 
 
 We fee him laid to reft, 
 And feel 'tis better he fhould fleep 
 
 With thofe he loved the belt, 
 
 K Z
 
 I32 RICHARD COB1JEN. 
 
 Yet the Royal Minfter by the Thames 
 
 Had been a fitting fhrine, 
 For one who thought, and lived, and ftrove, 
 
 The pureit of" his time. 
 
 Peace and farewell, great dead — men's ltrife 
 
 Shall never pain thee more — 
 The peace and joy of heaven are thine 
 
 To hold for evermore. 
 And humbler lives may catch from thine 
 
 Some beams of that pure light, 
 Which flings a halo round thy name, 
 
 So radiantly bright. 
 
 ^*zt£»*-*
 
 133 
 
 Abraham Sin^ln, 
 
 Atfaffmated April l^th, 1865. 
 
 A. PAUSE of quiet in the ftorm, 
 
 A dream of ibrrow pail, 
 An eager whiipering of hope 
 
 That Peace was near at lait ; 
 And then — Oh ! who can probe the depths 
 
 Of that recoil of pain, 
 When lips in horror told the tale 
 
 Of Lincoln bafely flain ? 
 
 Dead ; dead— and fwift thro' North and South 
 
 The wail of anguifh went ; 
 Dead! dead! "And who mail now avenge 
 
 The murdered Prefident ? " 
 Afked voices breaking with the pain 
 
 Of bitter tears unified, 
 As the awed millions gazed their laft 
 
 Upon the martyred dead.
 
 >34 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Laid in his laft long fleep, methinks 
 
 'Tis nothing to him now, 
 That Death came in fuch awful guife, 
 
 To fmooth his care-worn brow ; 
 And fold the wings of heavenly Peace 
 
 Around that honeft breait, 
 Which burdened with it's country's woe 
 
 Might well have longed for reft. 
 
 'Tis nothing now, what blame or praife 
 
 The voice of man bellowed, 
 He trod a ftraight and honeft path 
 
 And left the reft with God. 
 And tho' his iilent death-fealed lips 
 
 Will never fpeak again, 
 The mighty echo of his voice 
 
 For ever will remain. 
 
 That voice, which rifing 'mid the ftorm, 
 
 Calm, refolute and brave, 
 Dared to proclaim' thro' blood and fcorn 
 
 The freedom of the Slave !
 
 AliRAH-WI LINCOLN. 
 
 »35 
 
 The preient, blind, and deaf and dumb, 
 It'? beft things may not lee, 
 
 But future years will blefs his name, 
 Who {lamped that future free. 
 
 He is avenged — not by the blood 
 
 Of yon poor wailed life — 
 Avenged by purer, nobler things, 
 
 Than thefe fad {cenes of ftrife ; 
 Avenged by all the manhood won 
 
 From Slavery and Chain, 
 By all the joy that has eclipfed 
 
 The memory of pain. 
 
 Avenged by all the blifs that thrills 
 
 The mother's grateful heart, 
 Who knows that now fhe need not fear 
 
 From home and babes to part. 
 Avenged by every bright young life 
 
 To hope and gladnefs given, 
 By every foul of these redeemed 
 
 To (hare the joys of heaven.
 
 L37 
 
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