IliPiOiU Hi: I I HI I II ;:: 111! I HI I it 111 I illlliiillll iiliiiili: jjj iiliirij III! ;,!l||!!!l!lllil!i:i!!l I I ■PIWIP I ■ ,, ■ | ■ ,,,,, I lilii 1 IISP IP!!' ; ! Si! Ii p ill mi I it llliiUHlli Milii i l • 'iii ■JifXm II ill I WMii III! Iii Whm ■■■■■■:■.■■, ■■,,;,: } ^siH!!!ilii!!:!i |l jjlliijijij fill' " ; 1 'Ii « ! m wammm ■ Il! l, 'iii BERKELEY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF ,CAU#ORNIA tit ■)■ &\\r f.^i N. HARDY WALLIS; vhv-i t/U Ck HALL. 193, KOCA 1 H I 1851. LOAN STACK LONDON : BRADBIIP.Y AXD EVAXS, PRINTKRS, WHITKFttlARS PRELIMINARY DEDICATION. I with no human name this book inscribe, But, in my secret soul, I dedicate Aught that of earthly praise its course may wait To one — who scorn'd of ease th* inglorious bribe And would, methinks, have scorn'd all scorn and gibe To seek me in a crisis of my fate : — One, who of Faithfulness did emulate The choicest deeds. Unlike the specious tribe Who seek us in our sorrow but to feed Some low self-end— who quench returning joy Willi jealous fear — and, when the rude decoy hi out bctray'tl, desert us at our on To such, Forgiveness— but, sweet friend, to t ! A gentle homage render'd silontly ! kq 532 CONTENTS. Pp.jce THE MONTHS '1 THE NEW TEAR 19 SERMONS IN SONNETS 39 THE TWO MANSIONS 151 THE BREEZE 177 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS — LINES WRITTEN NEAR INNSPRUCK . . . 193 SATURDAY EVENINd 195 ROMAN8 XIV 197 PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA .199 TO THE DEPARTED ONE -1» RAIN AND SUNSHINK 1 1 5 STANZAS 216 LINES WRITTEN AT AN8PACH J IS vi CONTENTS. Page MISCELLANEOUS POEMS — LINES WRITTEN AT HUNSTANTON, NORFOLK . . 219 TO 221 TO MY MAKER 222 DESPONDENCY. WRITTEN AT COMO . . . 223 FRAGMENT 225 FRAGMENT 226 ON POETRY 227 WRITTEN ON THE SUMMIT OF CADER EDRIS . . 228 AUTUMN, AND MEMORY 231 SONG 235 STANZAS ON FIRST SEEING WAST- WATER . . . 237 SPIRIT SONG . . 239 LINES SUBSTITUTED FOR A SATIRE . . . . 241 TO THE LAKE OF WINDERMERE . . ... 242 SONG OF EMILY . 246 LIGHT 250 THE WANT 257 THE SUPPLY 258 LINES . . . 259 A BAD MOOD 260 A GOOD MOOD 262 CONTENTS. vii Page MLSCELLANEOUS POEMS — MY CREED 264 WAIT . . . 265 TO A POET 267 LINES . . . 269 AN ANSWER 270 REPRINTS— THE LONELY TEAR 272 SEPARATION 274 AN EVENING THOUGHT 277 SUMMER EVENING BY THE SEA .... 278 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS . 281 THE MONTHS. THE MONTHS. JANUAKY. Our mortal year begins not with the Spring, Or any touch of Nature's blandishment. Look forth ! — with snow the forest-branch is bent ; Nor lay of birds, nor brook's sweet murmuring, Through the chill' d air their sounds of gladness bring. Yet hath the heart of man its own content From no material source of gladness sent, For now the birthday of the year doth wing Its airy course anew ; and Hope and Fear Seem freshly born for all. Even souls that grieve, In some more golden future yet believe And friendly greetings meet the pensive ear. So doth some gladness to the spirit cling, Although Man's year begins not with the Spring, b2 THE MONTHS. FEBRUARY. Joy is the child of Sorrow : Life, of Death. Even while we mourn the coldness and the gloom Of Winter's reign, see February come — The twilight dawn of Spring. O'er field and heath A sweet gale wafts as if it stole a breath From some far region of eternal bloom. Stirr'd are the senses by that faint perfume, Than summer-breeze more potent to unsheathe Mysterious sympathies. In thought we go Through some fair garden, childhood's first delight, Where from the dark mould and thin-crusted snow, Yet folded, breaks the yellow aconite ; Where the box-hedge a gentle fragrance yields, Blown back to us from Youth's delicious fields. T1IE MONTHS. MARCH. Clouds of cold grey are from the East upstraying : The distant forest, with its tracery Of leafless boughs, is seen against the sky Distinct ; but scarce one beam of light is playing The forest pools unto the sight betraying. Thin flakes of sleet, at times, are wandering bv In the still air, or all confusedly fly, The impulse of a sudden blast obeying. For 'tis a season when to Nature coy, After the breeze that fans, the warmth that cheers, Winter returns ; like new despairs and ban To a sad heart that caught a gleam of joy. Hi it patience, ye whom lingering griefs annoy, .March winds arc rite before the Spring appears. THE MONTHS. APEIL. April ! thy very name hath images Of sparkling showers, and larks in blue air singing, And rainbows to the hill their bright hues bringing, And transient storms that move along the leas Ear off, in purple gloom, as if to please The eye by contrast more ; for sunbeams still Do with delight the middle landscape fill. But thou hast claims to love more dear than these : How youthful thou ! How full of all reminding Of our sweet youth ! Nor vain those memories, Joy unto Innocence for ever binding, In one deep thought that guards and purifies ; Beloved through all the stains of manhood's years — If lost, to be resought with careful tears. THE MONTHS. MAY. O darling of the year — delicious May, If poet-love have painted thee too bright, 'Tis that men gaze on thee with dazzled sight, Brimfull of ecstasy ! Thy true array Lies beyond language ! Who would wish away The few soft tears that in thine eyes of light Tremble ; or waving shades indefinite Which o'er thy green and lustrous mantle play ? Who, that e'er wander' d in thy hawthorn glades, Or stood beneath thy orchard's bloomy shades, But felt how blest the bosom which thou greetest ? For thou art Spring indeed ! to thee belong The earliest rose, the nightingale's first Bang, All first fruits of sweet things ; — and first :w THE MONTHS. JUNE. Month of redundant beauty, — month of power, Of full delight, and large-leaved luxury ! When forest-clouds do hang against the sky, Darkling — as if their womb contain' d the shower- And gather over farm, and old low tower, Rich, moist, and heavy ! — June, the very eye Of the whole year ; how dost thou typify Man, when he enters on the full sweet dower Of life ; when blossoms yield to budding fruit ; When the broad meadows of existence bring Already their first joyous harvesting, And what is mown still leaves a living root ; When all accomplishment with hope is blended, And new joys come ere yet the old are ended ! THE MONTHS. JULY. The summer-noon, than midnight's self more still, Lies like a weight of sleep upon the world. The standards of the clouds are droop' d and furl'd Unmoving, and the sunbeam hath no will With stream or grove to play ! Deep musings fill His soul, who all alone in some vast wood Looks out upon the beaming solitude, Listening for any sound of bird or rill, In vain ! Come, Evening, with thy blest alloy Of freshness, and day's dazzling wrongs ivpair! Come, like contentment after too much joy ; ) Image of all our state can safely bear, Peace, and the finer forms of pleasure coy — Oh come, with dew, with moonlight, and sweet air ! 10 THE MONTHS. AUGUST. The waterfalls are low ! With leaf or bough The winds converse but seldom ; thy true voice, August, is the thunder ! So rejoice Rich powerful spirits, and of these art thou ! "With passion deep thou dost the earth endow, Bringing to temperate climes an India near, Making the meadows pale — golden the ear Of rustling corn ; and capable to bow The inmost spirit with an awful fear, When, lightning-charged, thy lofty turret-clouds Stand out with edges white against the blue And breathless heaven ! Oh, far from towns and crowds 1 would thy bounty and thy anger view, Temper' d by mountain breezes, cool and clear! THE MONTHS. 11 SEPTEMBEE. The landscape mellowing into tints of brown, The stubble-land, the wide heath's purple bloom, The yellow gorse with fruit-like rich perfume, Long rolling clouds, that cast a gentle frown Over the hamlet far, or distant down, Might yield for meditation ample room ; Telling that Autumn doth her reign resume Once more in our brief life. But now the town Pours forth her sons — no meditative band — With Nature's tribes a sylvan war to make. And yet perhaps beside some mountain lake, Or where the portals of some glen expand, Thoughtful shall oft the lonely sportsman stain!. And Nature's spirit to his bosom take. 12 THE MONTHS. OCTOBER October comes with hues magnificent, The sunset of the year. This gorgeous ray, Brightest at parting, call it not decay, But nature's sum and full accomplishment ! Swift let thy fancy to those climes be sent, Where glows the vintage, — where a riper day Doth on the gold and purple clusters play, Into the wine-vat toss'd ! Then, homeward bent, Let thy glad glances find a happy goal Where lustrous mosses gild the forest-floor, Or where rich farms their garner' d harvests store, Till sink the season's wealth into thy soul. On present joy to seize — the crime of folly — In Nature's children is a wisdom holy. THE MONTHS. 13 NOVEMBER Though thoughtful shadows rest upon thy brow, November, still I love thy pensive face ! Mild gleams surround thee, and a tender grace. And, if a gentle sunbeam cleave, as now, The calm grey vapours, that, all day, below The green hill rested ; if, but for a space, The west with gold thy severing clouds should lace Almost thou smilest, and how fair art thou ! What mourning heart with grief invested thee, And of thy gentle breeze a requiem made ? Tis in ourselves the sorrow and the shade : Nothing is sad in Nature ! Therefore be Dear to my soul, mild month, — to me no tomb, Hu1 cradle of sweet thoughts that love a holy gloom. 14 THE MONTHS. I <) DECEMBER Swelling and falling through the distant woods The Winds mock Ocean in his roaring might ; Only one streak of red and sullen light Is in the West, while early Evening broods O'er the wide moors, and scarcely-gleaming floods, Soon closing all things from the pensive sight. Yet 'tis a time when many a fireside bright Cheers old December and his ireful moods. To darkest seasons sweetest thoughts belong. Nor be it now forgot that He, who came To visit us in great humility, Clothed not his G-odhead in this mortal frame When joyous summer-time was on the lea, But when the earth from Winter suffer' d wrong. THE MONTHS. 15 CONCLUDING SONNET. Man — the external world — the changeful year — Together make a perfect harmony. To all the soul's great wards a mighty key The Seasons are, and apt in their career To stir and modulate our Hope and Fear, And ever lift our dim humanity Nearer to Heaven ! At seed-time anxiously Dull lips are moved in prayer, and harvest cheer Breeds even in churls thanksgiving ! "Winter bare That shuts the earth, doth open wide the haiul And heart of man ! The tempests of the air Have spiritual missions, over sea and land Moulding events ! Beneath the meanest clod, Stirs will and wisdom : — everywhere is God ! THE NEW YEAR. A POET'S TEXT. THE NEW YEAR. Who knocks at my door ? It is I — the New Year ! Eadiant and smiling to thee I draw near ! Though the snow is lying on wold and lea, My spirit is warm, and my step is free. Freshly I come from my home in the skies, With my sun-colour' d hair, and my heav'n-tinted eyes, And my robe made out of the years that were, Half shadow, half brightness, — yet lovely and fair. Thy heart I would gladden, thy love I would win ; For an hour I have knock' d : — now let me come in ! New Year — New Year — what bringest thou me ? Full of gifts is my hand ! — Speak ! — What 's deareM to thee ? Shall I murmur the story thy fancy has sought, Wherein to embody thy long-hoarded thought ; o 2 20 THE NEW TEAR. To whose depths all thy secrets of soul to confide, And speak at last what it kills thee to hide ? Or, rather, for thee shall I call to birth The poesy hid by the veil of earth ; In many a sunset bathe thy soul, Or talk to thee in the winds as they roll ; Till thy spirit seize the lofty lay, The dream of thy night, the despair of thy day, Which haunted thy youth like a prophecy That unknown, unhonour'd, thou should' st not die ? Or, in deeper accents, low and stern, Shall I bid thee the Drama's secrets learn, Till to thy thrilling wish shall start A lyre from the chords of the human heart, Whose tones, awaken' d by thee, shall stir That voice of the thundering theatre Which gathers around the living head A fame that makes other fame seem dead ? New Year, such gifts to my thoughtful state Too tardily come, in an age too late. My Fancy hath folded her weary wings. Who listens now when the poet sings ? Could I rhyme forth a treatise on Railway Shares, THE NEW YEAH. 21 I should seem to warble diviner airs, Than if I could tell of the glories dim That float o'er adoring Seraphim ; Could I boldly proclaim how a dinner were done By managing merely the heat of the sun, Or treat the deep battle of surplice and gown, Methinks that indeed I might move the town ; — But, as I have nothing in truth to impart Except certain trifles concerning the heart, Some few secrets I learnt from the forests and streams, From the voice of the soul, or the whispers of dreams, Hopeless am I, for the present at least, For the world to set forth a fitting feast. As to Drama — small comfort thy proffer yields Of fame to be reap'd on her barren fields, When the last great Boscius of modern days Cannot her drooping form upraise ! Where is high story's old renown ? Where is Tragedy's glorious crown ? The pomp and the majesty melt away At the voice of the syren — Opera ! Oh ! dv.iv to mc is the birds' sweet sinning. Unto joyous May their tribute bringin Dear is the voice we have known for yean, 22 THE NEW TEAR. "Which with song our household hearth endears. Few, few have melted or melt as I To the sound of every harmony, Yet cannot I deem that mankind's great throng Came into the world but to hear a song ! No ! — everywhere now must the lofty give place To a throb of excitement — a soul of grimace ! A spirit that titters at every turn, While life itself looks grim and stern ! Oh ! there lives only one who can wield by the pen The serious heart of his fellow-men ; By humour make thoughtful, and out of a laugh Bid mortals the deepest wisdom quaff; . While at his right hand a spirit appears, To unlock, at his bidding, the fountain of tears ! Not for me, under leaden Saturn born, Who, if I am laughing, must laugh in scorn, To do more than rejoice, that, grave or gay, Still he and I are but walking one way, And to one goal together press, In a true and tender earnestness. And I know, besides, that a thoughtful few Look "onward in spirit, to scenes rich and new ! Progress there is ; and though, strength to win, THE NEW TEAR. 23 The wave sweeps back, yet the tide comes in ! Quarrels on masses and blessing of bells But mask the great struggle of principles ; And Truth wi]l triumph — but in the meantime, We must hear a good deal of a babbling chime. Oh, blest is the man who his fancy employs Upon railways, and spruce philosophic toys ; Who, leaving gay visions round others to dance, His thought fixes mainly upon the main chance ; For, though some may be weeping by Babylon's river, The golden calf is as worshipp'd as ever. Thou say'st that the world doth honour gold ! Shall I to thee rich spells unfold, Whereby around thy path thou may'st shower That wealth, which o'er mankind is power ? Or, to thy eager grasp, convey Other gifts, that make slaves of the creatures of cl:iv : Shall I bring thee to honours high and bright, And steep thy ambit ion in full delight *: I 'rase, cense, New Year! Thy llatterin^ voice Doth promise too largely to bid me rejoice ! If my spirit were panting for wealth or sway, 24 THE NEW YEAR. Ill-omen' d would seem thy syren lay — Eor the joy that 's announced is the farthest away ; And Fortune comes never in boastful guise, But steals to our hearth like a sweet surprise ! I am better than Fortune ; — Experience am I, I am Wisdom, and calm Reality ; And from former years the stores I can borrow, To make thee rich with a wealth void of sorrow ; I will teach thee to love without suffering ; I will sweep away with my airy wing Thy long regrets. Oh, men have given Their own dark thoughts, to the gifts of Heaven ! No stern decrepit old man is Time, But a maiden fresh in immortal prime ; A maiden, with low harmonious song, That can lull the heart, yet make it strong ! Brighter she grows in celestial grace, The longer we look her in the face, — , And the spirit floats more rapturous and free The more we hearken her melody. What ? Still thy door doth closed remain ? Have I offer' d thee all my stores in vain ? THE NEW TEAE. 25 Time was, thou didst sigh my presence to greet, And chide the slow pace of my tardy feet. " Come, come !" thou hast said, " O promised Year ! And bring what is lovely, — restore what was dear ! Call back to my bosom the friends that are flown, Breathe upon others' hearts and my own ! Come, — and perhaps, though deaden' d now, My spirit may waken freshly as thou ! Come, — and unfinish'd tasks of thought May be from thy blessed moments wrought : And Toil — which is truest Best divine — And Love and Hope may again be mine !" So saidst thou, while yet I was far away. — I am here ; and thy lips no welcome say. Like a guest once bidden, but now forgot, I stand at thy door, and thou openest not ! Forgive me, New Tear, while thou earnest fast I heard the low- warning voice of the Past Whispering, " Each year that comes to thy door Has a smile the less, and a tear the more ; For so must it bo when youth is o'er ! " Ah, then I fear'd, if I only sought From thee the dreams of my former thought, 26 THE NEW TEAR. Beautiful visions, which, even when possest, FiR'd not the measureless void in my breast, Then did I fear I should prize thee less Than the year whose last sands downward press ; And the year next to thee — still a fruitless bough- Less fair, would be treasured even less than thou. Therefore it is that thy steps I hear, Yet gather myself in my thoughts, New Year ! And pause ere I make my request to thee, Lest I ask for worse than vanity. Cold is thy greeting ; but when we part, Thou shalt feel I have crept around thy heart. Ah ; vainly then would' st thou bid me stay, And sigh to recall me when I am away. Not so ; — of all the years that yet Have swept o'er my path, one alone I regret : When, boyhood scarce over, nor manhood begun, For me both united their treasures in one, And Innocence shone on my soul like a sun ; "When the Universe was as a mighty book Before my eyes, and its mysteries shook My soul with passion and poet-love, THE NEW TEAE. 27 And my steps were on earth, but my spirit above ; "When to all that is lofty my bosom heaved, "When all was enjoy' d, and, oh, believed! — When onward, still onward, my glances were cast, For youth has the future while age has the past ; When the glittering world, like a distant sea, Before me lay bright and quiveringly, And I long'd my bark on its waves to buoy, And bid them bear me to fame and joy. ' Twas the year of my youth — my eighteenth year ; — Ah, not alone, I held it dear, But I deem'd it had passion and rapture divine, To know and to answer that love of mine ; And, when at last it fleeted from me, Methought that it left me mournfully ; For well it knew that beneath the sky Not one could love it as well as I. What other, indeed, of the sons of men, Had rejoiced like me in its angel-ken ? So sweetly familiar with none it had walk'* I. With none other so fondly, caressingly talk'd ; With all my being 'twas interlaced, And all its meanings I read and embraced ; Therefore, ev'n now, that year will seem 28 THE NEW TEAK. To turn, and be with me in more than a dream ! In the first gale of spring it breathes on me soft, To me, from the brook, it murmurs oft ; — "When the joy of Creation is felt as a truth, And all things breathe of eternal youth, Prom the emerald grass, from the budding tree, Its sweet face looks out, and welcomes me ! When night and rest to the world are given, And the sleep of the earth is the waking of Heaven, "When the stars look earnest in the skies, It steals on the silence that round me lies : I know its step, so timid and light, And I welcome it, and my heart grows bright. Can I then nothing on thee bestow ? Bethink thee again, ere yet I go, With my wealth of dreams, and my gifts of pleasure, Elsewhere to proffer my slighted treasure ; To some young heart turn my airy wing, And pour out my joyous carolling ! Nay, nay, JSTew Tear ! may Grod avert I should see thee with cold or careless heart : Or, that thou from me unblest should' st depart. THE NEW TEAB. 29 But I feel thy right true guerdon to win, The light of joy with myself must begin ! Bitter is felt the mockery, when A festival cometh to grieving men : And the voice of welcoming soundeth drear To the heavy heart, and the weary ear. Oh ! what are seasons unmark'd that roll, Or what is change, to a changeless soul, Or what is the profit that time can unfold, When a New Tear comes to a heart that is old ? Why should' st thou bring to my future lot, What the present moment yieldeth not ? Little it boots that thou give me a dower, Unless to receive it my soul have power ; Or the seed of gladness be sown anew, If the soil be made not fertile too ! I must listen unto a wiser voice, Than thine or mine, ere in thee I rejoice ; And the welcome I gladly on thee would bestow, First my own bosom from Heaven must know. But fear not, New Year ! 'tis no sullen spirit That is seeking now thy gifts to inherit ; With hopeful eye our being I scan, And have tutor'd my heart as best I can 30 THE NEW YEAR. Though I deck thee not in the joy of a dream, And look on thee by a daylight beam ; Though thy form to mine eyes has no fairy glance, JNo glittering veil of old romance ; Yet on thee I fix a dearer hope, Than thy words yet have promised in all their scope ! If I seem to have turn'd an ear so dull To thy songs of the bright and beautiful- It is not because I slight thy store, But my spirit is pining for somewhat more ! "With glory and fame, would' st thou purchase my love ? My own ambition doth reach above AJ1 that the worldly soul can move ! If thou teach me to soar to the farthest star, The flight of my spirit is loftier far. If thou tempt me with jewels, in heaps untold, Or pour out before me unmeasured gold ; I see a light through a lifted veil "Which makes their glory and lustre pale ! With love would' st thou win me ? Ah ! spare that word Which once with all music my soul would have stirr'd, But striketh now on a broken chord ! The stores of affection which, unconfest And baffled, swell in my boundless breast, THE NEW TEAE. 31 Too precious a freight are they, to trust To changeful beings, and children of dust ! Why should I drink of a failing rill, When of living streams I may quaff my fill ? 'Tis not from the treasures of earth thou must seek To bring back the smile to my heart or my cheek ; Far other — far higher thy offerings must be ; — Listen ! and know what I ask of thee ! I ask for a Lyre with heavenly strings, That may ever discourse of diviner things. I ask for a Power to plead with men, With a might like that of an angel's pen ; To bid them turn to their only rest, And, in their blessing, to make me blest ! The plaudits I want are a silent voice, Which shall bid my inner soul rejoice ! I ask in my bosom a Wealth to secure That shall make the whole world's riches poor. I ask for a Wisdom that brings to nought The hoarded years of experience and thought ! — I ask tor a Love, which with rapture and light Shall fill up my being's infinite ; Which cannot change with a changing lot, Which endureth — and, oh ! — disappointeth not ! — 32 THE KEW YEAK. Loveliest and brightest, when all earth can borrow Is dark, and touch' d by the gloom of sorrow ; Which soothes with unfailing sympathy, "When all human founts of feeling are dry ; Which wipeth a tear in secret shed, And cradleth the sick and weary head ; True — where all else is but shadow and dream — Perfect, immortal, celestial, supreme ! I ask for an Innocence, more divine Than even in my eighteenth year was mine ; That spotless robe of a snowy whiteness, Of which time only brightens the beautiful brightness ; That robe, which no mortal hands have spun, Which a Father gave to a penitent son, When, his wanderings o'er, and his faults confest, Weeping he fell on his Father's breast. I ask for a Happiness, fairer in flower Even than the joy of the glowing hour, When I gazed on all earth with a poet's eye, And awoke to a poet's ecstasy ; A happiness bright as the early ray Which beameth from hope, on our opening day ; But, ah ! not fading, like that away ! — 'Tis the joy, which the chasten' d spirit can bless, THE NEW TEAE. 33 Though it walk in the midst of dreariness : A joy that comes never, till, kissing the rod Of sorrow, — Man is re-born of God ! Then the spirit, in love celestial nurst, Has a childhood fairer than its first ! And, in love celestial taking wing, Has a second youth and a fairer spring. Then on the vision doth rise and appear The golden dawn of a blessed year, Bathed in a day-beam transcendantly bright, Pour'd fresh from the source of Living Light ; And freer soars, and nearer to Heaven Than the soul that is sinless — the soul forgiven. But though, New Tear! all gifts from the urn Of an earthly joy, as too lowly T spurn ; Thy lowliest boon will I dearly claim, If it bear for its impress a Saviour's name. Gladly will I at thy hand receive The simplest joy that Nature can give ! I will drink from out the meanest flower Long draughts of the Godhead's boundless power ; And the smallest tendril of shining moss My soul with a wonder sublime shall engross t Thou shalt bind mo with Nature, in faster Orion D 34 THE NEW TEAE. Than the spirit can know without God's communion. Thou shalt give to all voices of Nature a tone And a meaning far beyond their own. Tor who but diviner bliss must share, When the very lark seems an angel in air ; Repeating the strain that on silence did flow Nearly two thousand years ago, freshly now as it murmur' d then — " Peace upon earth, good- will to men !" Then, the weariness falls from the loosen' d soul, Which bound it so long in unblest control. The loathing of things on the senses that pall — The heavy chain of an earthly thrall — The pack-horse round of the world's dull sphere, Where life is none, for Grod is not there — The woe that is farthest from earthly relief — * The fatigue of existence — the grief of grief — All, all the dark burthen melteth away, As a dismal dream at the dawn of day. And the universe wears such an orient hue, That whate'er we behold seems created anew ; And the beauty of light, and the freshness of dew (Oh, marvel !) hangs on all worn-out things, So that even from these a glory springs. [I THE NEW TEAE. 85 For not in itself can aught be old That G-od has call'd forth, and doth ever uphold : 'Tis in us lies the deadness, the chilling curse, That encrusts the living Universe. It is not of things the outer face, Nor events that pass onward in endless race, Which give sweet motion and inward grace ; — But the vital glow and the spirit-strife Is that which maketh existence life. The pleasure that varies each passing minute Is a burthen dull, if no life be within it ; But the dullest round man ever trod Varies ever when touch' d by God. 'Tis as the flow of a changing river Which, idly beheld, seems changing never ; But, embark' d on its surface, we feel its motion, And float by its beautiful shores to the Ocean. Come with such life, and be erer dear, Nor bring disappointment, thou fair New Year ! By none shall a warmer welcome be ^iven. Than by him who calls thee the handmaid of Heaven. So shall that welcome, enduring and true, When thou art old, still bo joyous and new ; Not like the falsehood of earthly greet i - d 2 36 THE NEW YEAR. Which almost says " Farewell! " in the meeting ; Not dying with one brief day's decline, But, while thou art with me, abidingly thine ! Nay, if it please the Almighty Will To uphold my days and my spirit still, Then thou to other years shalt bequeath Thy starry mantle and beautiful wreath ; In thy successors divinely restored, Thou yet shalt be with me at bed and board ; For a heart from its own sad burthen set free Shall make of each day New Year's Day for me. SEBMONS IN SONNETS. M Sermons in stones and good in everything." Shnktspcare. SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 39 "UNTO HIM SHALL BE GIVEN." Psalm lxxii. 15. Saviour ! I lay this verse upon Thy shrine, Writ 'neath Thine eye ! I do not feel a shame Thus to inscribe it with Thy gentle name. Oh, I would lead unto Thy love divine All men, and bid them taste a joy like mine ! Sure am I that mistake hath caused the blame Which some great minds, of intellectual aim, Have cast upon Thy Gospel's glorious shrine! Wrongly presented, they have view'd Thee wrong, O Lord of Love ! What marvel they should turn From sad confusion, and untruth should spurn — Yet more — half-truth, that is in weakness strong To do mankind irrevocable wrong. Let Truth shine clear, we cannot choose but team 40 SERMONS IN SONNETS. II. "ALL THINGS SERVE THEE." Thee all things serve. Then even the spirits bad Which, felt or feign' d, are round us. They too serve Thy high behests, and work on brain or nerve, Only as Thou decreest. Tidings how glad To those whom unseen influences make mad With ignorance ! Whom images of fear, And terrors whisper' d into childhood's ear, Distract with gloom that Nature ne'er had had Unspoil'd by man. Oh, blest it is to hear ] That there is purpose in our every pain ; / That we are not a sport and mockery, Whereon an evil host their skill may try For base experiment ; but children dear Of a wise God, whose very frowns are gain. SEBMONS IN SOITOETS. 41 HI. "CONTINUE IN THE THINGS WHICH THOU HAST LEARNED." 2 Timothy, iii. 14. Religion of my country ! sacred mould Into which first my childish thoughts were cast, While communing with Heaven. Unto the Past, Sweetest association. Thou, of old, Lisp'd at a mother's knee ; or, in the fold Of God's great temple, heard with gentle awe ; If any force could now my heart withdraw From thee, methinks to ruin I were roll'd Before a tempest's sweep. . . And now, the more, "When cold desertion shows a dark to-morrow, I cling to thee, and love thee best in sorrow ; And trust, if, ev'n within some cave's dark core, I join'd a faithful few with peril round Thy rites to celebrate, I still were faithful found. 42 SERMONS IN SONNETS. IT. ON THE CONSECRATION OF THE NEW CHURCH OF ST. STEPHEN, WESTMINSTER, JUNE 24, 1850. "AND he taught daily in the temple." St. Luke, xix. 47. Though the free circuit of the silent air Oft saw the worship of the Son of God, Some rock His pulpit ; yet His steps, too, trod The temple's pavement. Daily His repair Was to the shrine where dwelt God's honour fair ; Arid there He taught ; and, from that dread abode Driving unhallow'd things with scourge and rod, Call'd it His Father's House — a House of Prayer. Accept both lessons, Man ! God's love is free, Is universal as pervading Heaven ; Yet be fair temples to His worship given, The best our hands can offer. — And trust, ye Who turn His gifts unto the Giver's praise, His smile hath prompted and will bless your ways. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 43 V. "WHO IS HE THAT CONDEMXETH? IT IS CHRIST THAT DIED." Romans, viii. 34. Perchance I whisper to my happy soul, " Thought of past sin should burthens on thee lay, And send thee weeping on a dreary way, And self-abased." . . But then, beyond control Of such mistrust, new pleasures still unroll Their calm sweet glories to the visual ray Of inward faith ; and heavenly voices say Unto my spirit, " Joy is the great pole Of thy existence. Not as mortals do The Saviour doth : He raiseth from the ground The crush' d one, and restores from every wound The self-respect of man. No friend untrue Is He, with past offence to make thee sad. Smiles He ? Thou canst not choose but to be glad." 44 SERMONS IN SONNETS. VI. "THE POOR SHALL NEVER CEASE OUT OF THE LAND. Had all a joy within, what outward ill Could touch ? This, this alone, the cure Of all the pangs that mortals must endure ; Not in the dreams of bliss impossible To our condition. 'Tis the evil Will That forms an inward hideous portraiture Of Grod. And while our darken' d breasts immure This falsehood, all the riches, that could fill The world with blessings equal as the day, Were vain to clear one discontented brow, Or dignify one sorrow. Grive away Thy very cloak — 'tis well ! — but think not thou Aught less than Christ acknowledged can absorb The wants, the tears, of this distracted orb. sermons nr SONNETS. 45 VII. n JUDGE RIGHTEOUS JUDGMENT." St. John, vii. 24. Our thoughts of God are taken from our own ; Oh, that from God we rather would take ours ! Then would our justice rule with kindlier powers, And the deep debt would not aside be thrown States owe unto their children ! not alone Unto the good — but to the very worst By whom the writhing social flame is curst. Then, till we could past negligence atone — Till we could say we had done all for all, To teach and to reclaim — we should, in ruth, Suppress the gibbet, and with milder thrall Bind hearts ; win back to self-respect and truth The dark abandon' d Pariahs of mankind, And learn — true justice is not cold, or blind. 46 SERMONS TN SOCKETS. "A NEW COMMANDMENT I GIVE UNTO YOU, THAT YE LOVE ONE ANOTHER." St. John, xiii. 34. Mek do indeed paint Human Justice blind, Through bandaged sight ; and truly. But the day Is coming, when the fillet snatch' d away Shall give her eyes with equitable mind On her own scales to gaze, and for mankind To poise them rightly. Then by clearer ray Will she her study-book — man's soul — survey ; And Christ's great law upon her frontlet bind. Now, ignorant of Nature as of Grod, Not yet we learn that terrors ne'er deter, But harden and attract. That the brute rod Makes rebels, but not children. That all fear Instruction mars. That mortals to amend, First we must show ourselves indeed their friend. SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 47 IX. "upholding all things by the word of his power." Hebrew 8, Since all things are, O Glod, upheld by Thee, And Thou canst never quite withdraw Thyself From any work of Thine, else o'er the shelf Of being it would fall, and nothing be ; Canst Thou uphold an endless misery ? Canst Thou for ever feed the ravening wolf, Eemorse ; gaze ever on Hell's boiling gulf? That were indeed a dread eternity ! But, no ! Even we, who over judgment-halls Riot, and hold unfeeling festivals, Would crush an insect writhing at our feet To put it out of pain. Oh, then, 'tis sure If Thou, to make some mighty scheme complete, Permittest 111 to live — Thou know'st the euro. 48 SERMONS IN SONNETS. " CAN A WOMAN FORGET HER SUCKING CHILD, THAT SHE SHOULD NOT HAVE COMPASSION ON THE SON OF HER WOMB? YEA, THEY MAY FORGET, YET WILL I NOT FORGET THEE." Isaiah, xlix. 15. The thought that any should have endless woe "Would cast a shadow on the throne of God, And darken Heaven. . . From the scarce-warm clod To Seraphs, all Him as a Father know ; He, all as children. Even with us below The one rebellious son more thought and love Than all the rest will in a parent move, God stirring in us. Then how strong the glow Of God's great heart our sorrows to relieve ! Could He be blest, beholding sufferings, And not their end ? His tenderness would grieve If even the least of His created things Should miss of joy. In its serenity G-od's present happiness proves ours to be. SERMONS IX SONNETS. 49 XI. "GOD GAVE SOLOMON LARGENESS OF HEART. 1 Kings, iv. 29. Largeness of heart ! Inestimable gift ! Sure all that trust in Christ — Creation's Morn — Must unto thee expand and be reborn, However stinted by their nature's thrift. For God's great Spirit doth exalt, and lift The soul out of itself; far from forlorn And personal narrowness, and all weak scorn Of any who along life's current drift. Thus much is sure. — He, who conceived the thought, For angels — men — ay, even worms — to die That all Creation might be raised and bought Out of its own inherent frailty, Dwells not in bosoms that would Heaven repress Unto their own exclusive narrowness. 50 SEKMONS IN SONNETS. "JUDGE NOT, THAT YE BE NOT JUDGED. St. Matthew, vii. 1. Judge not, because thou canst not judge aright. Not much thou know'st thyself; yet better far Than thou know'st others ! — Language is at war With purposes : appearances must fight 'G-ainst real inward feelings. All is slight To give a picture of the things that are. Feel'st thou not, friends who blame thee ever jar With truth, nor on thy soul's true ulcer bite ? Feel'st thou not, utterly that nothing can Convey thy being to another's breast ? Then how shalt thou explore thy fellow-man ? Rather let Christ's great wisdom be confest, Who tax'd rash judgment as this world's worst leaven, And the worst temper for the courts of Heaven. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 51 XIII. • WHAT GOD HATH CLEANSED, THAT CALL THOU NOT COMMON.'' Acts, X. 15. Behold men's judgments ! Common and unclean We call whatever with our pride doth jar, Though from one God and Father all things we. Behold men's judgments ! The deep truth unseen, Eash we decide what mere externals mean. Know'st thou, while thy proud eye is closed afar, In what mean worm Grod may illume a star ? Know'st thou where His great Spirit dwells serene ? Thou dost not. What thy pride may worthless deem , Ay, tainted with pollution, may become, (I from the dust, the fairest, loveliest home Where radiant Deity can shrine its beam ; May be redeem' d from Nature's common blot, \\, though perhaps thy wvy self be not! 52 SEKMONS IN SONNETS. " HIS HAND WILL BE AGAINST EVERY MAN, AND EVERY MAN'S HAND AGAINST HIM." Genesis, xvi. 12. Oh, woe for those, and pity more than woe, "Who in the gnlf of men's opinion sink ! — Ever j man's hand against them, as they think, What marvel their own hand, nor slack nor slow, Should against every man remorseless go ? Oh, could one snatch them from the dreary brink Of the true hell — to feel themselves no link In (rod's great scheme — that were a joy to know. Ye who can find no shelter, homeless poor ! Ye wicked, who were never taught to pray ! Ay, even ye who from the better way Turn wilful (therefore to be pitied more) ! Sure ye are men, for you still Christ did die, And Hope were your divinest remedy ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 53 " BUT THOU SAIDST THERE IS NO HOPE." Jeremiah, ii. 25. Without a hope is no activity, No motive that exalts to bettering, No life. There is no other breeze to fling One ripple over Being's stagnant sea ! If life be precious, then should hope too be ! And if to make a soul with conscious wing Of thought and will, a heart where love may cling, Be Heaven's first work, then Man's first villainy Must be to murder hope ! Yet 'tis a crime Acted in awful silence every day When we from sin or sorrow turn away, Or tell our bosoms 'tis no longer time Eor penitence. Yet hear this truth, o'eraw'd, To say there is no hope, expunges God ! 54 SERMONS IN SONNETS. " THE WRATH OF MAN WORKETH NOT THE RIGHTEOUSNESS OF GOD." St. James's Epistle, i. 20. Man, though thou makest this world dark and rude, By blotting out sweet hope, life's vital part, Thou canst not reach the river's bounteons heart, That pulses in the mountain solitude ! With life, hope, love, Heaven is not less imbued Because thou play'st the churl with niggard art, Hiding th' Almighty ! He to view will start When least thou deem'st His mercy will intrude. No measure art thou of th' Eternal Mind ! Yet sad it is we should let any die Despairing, or blaspheming ! — Oh, be kind As Christ ! His new law bars that any lie Death-doom'd. Didst thou observe His generous rule, Then were each prison-house a noble school ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 55 "CONFORMED TO THE IMAGE OF HIS SON." Romans, viii. 29. Christ came not to condemn. Put up the sword. He said : Love one another ! — Must not we In all things unto Him conformed be ? But are we so, while the old law is scored Upon our tablets ? redeeming Lord, Have we told out the waning century Nearly two thousand times since taught of Thee, Yet are so distant from Thy truth adored ? Still do we take the life we cannot give F Still punish where we only should convn [ St ill cherish dearly every old defect In all our plans? How long shall we thus Yet Time is nothing, and a thousand years A dav. when once Thy gloriom truth apju . oG SERMOFS IN SONNETS. XVIII. " NONE THAT TRUST IN HIM SHALL BE DESOLATE." Psalm xxxiv. 22. Distrust is that which makes the curse of life. Oh, if we trusted G-od, what ills were spared ! The feeling of the outcast makes us hard, And fierce — and places in our hand the knife ! Did man trust man, what desolating strife Of fiery thought we back from us should ward ! Sweet Faith would be our fortress and our guard From every anguish with which souls are rife. And so the Book of Grod makes all sin light "Weigh' d with distrust — the giant ill of man : Our happiness commanding — under ban Placing whatever dims the soul with blight ; It whispers still unto our troubled sense, Heaven would' st thou know ? Heaven's charm is con- fidence ! SEEMONS IN SONNETS. 57 XIX. " UNTIL THE DAY DAWN." Second Epistle of St. Ptter, i. 19. Yes, I conceive that even thinking men Have deem'd the Gospel would one day give place To larger dispensation of God's grace. That is — the Gospel drawn by mortal pen, And all obscured by mists from error's fen — No more — for Truth and Nature have one face Changeless ; nor have we moved one little pace From our position, since the moment when Man to existence sprang, and springing fell. Evil — the child of the non-absolute — The cry to be absolved from the heart's hell, Which feels its sad communion with the brute, Vet yearns towards God, and would its lot dispute All these were ours and are — and of them Christ doth tell. 58 SERMONS IN SONNETS. THERE IS NONE OTHER NAME UNDER HEAVEN GIVEN AMONG MEN, WHEREBY WE MUST BE SAVED." Acts, IV. 12. Nature's defect, the ground- work of our woe, Shadow' d in all religions grandly forth, We find — from the rude Sagas of the north, To the high visions bright with India's glow. This, then, as knowledge which ourselves do know Too sadly — this is not the boon to earth Which makes the Bible so divinely worth, Or Thou didst come, Saviour, to bestow ! 'Tis the dear love, that, pointing the disease, Doth also whisper of the remedy ; 'Tis the high gift of all that best agrees With our soil'd nature and its sovereign cry, Forgiveness — restoration — means to rise Out of ourselves. — And these Christ's Word alone supplies. SEKMONS IN SONNETS. 59 XXI. "the dispensation of the fulness of times." Ephesians, i 10. Oh, for the Gospel of the social mind, Fresh, yet the same, but in adornment new ; With bloom of } r outh, and eye of liquid dew, Fit for a glorious marriage with mankind ! Virgin, descend ! Eound thee thy garments bind All glorious within — and to our view Show what thou art, when beautiful and true Thy glories have unseal' d our vision blind ! Blest be the very mists that, shrouding thee, Hope dearer than enjoyment still have left ! Accordant to our Nature's subtlety, That hates ev'n bliss, when promise is bereft , Promised thou art, and in no doubtful seeming O day of joy that shall surpass our dreaming ! 60 SERMONS IN SONNETS. XXII. " THE SABBATH WAS MADE FOR MAN, NOT MAN FOR THE SABBATH." St. Mark, ii. 27. I love thee, Day of God ! If rather not "We christen thee, with Christ, the Day of Man ! And thee as offspring of onr nature scan, The very need and yearning of our lot — That, once in seven days, our toil forgot, We rest ; not only the tired artisan, Eut all who keep our being's healthful plan, Lest mind or body overstrain'd we blot. When shall we learn that God for His own sake Nothing commands ? that arbitrary powers Dwell not in Him ? that all the gain is ours When He an ordinance for man doth make : Chief when He tells us that, one day in seven, We need a foretaste of our rest in Heaven ? SEEMONS IN SONNETS. 61 XXIII. "STAND FAST IN THE LIBERTY WnEREVVITH CHRIST HAS MADE US FREE." Gatotians, v. 1. Abe we beneath the Law of Liberty, Or old Judean bondage ? Has the Son Of God in vain for us the chains undone That bound us to our nature's slavery ? To pant and strive, yet never once be free ; To labour, as in dreams, at deeds begun But never ended ; all that fancy won To see dissolved in airy vacancy — Is this to last for ever ? Shame, oh shame ! So much of beauty that we will not B6J Upbraids us. When, as now, our thwarted aim Turns back G-od's remedies to our disease Again — when broken is the loveliest charm Of all our toiling days — when Sabbaths harm ! 62 SERMONS IN SONNETS. ' WHICH OP YOU SHALL HAVE AN ASS, OR AN OX, FALLEN INTO A PIT, AND WILL NOT STRAIGHTWAY PULL HIM OUT ON THE SABBATH DAY?" St. Luke, xiv. 5. Wisdom profound ! But do we know it yet ? Alas, beneath our dread of Sabbath- works Of love and need, a dread deception lurks, And makes a mischief of a benefit ! What would Christ say, if now His feet were set Again on earth ? He, who from mercy's debt, Ev'n to an ox or ass, absolved not man By Sabbath-law ? How would He clear His plan Unto our eyes ! now, when our hearts forget AH that we owe our fellow -beings — Love, And care for all ; — Love, that all care bestows That none shall suffer by a day's repose, And setteth human welfare far above The pre-conceived notions we can bring To force Grod's Book to our interpreting. SERMONS IN SONNETS. ' PROVE WHAT 18 THAT GOOD AND ACCEPTABLE AND PERFECT WILL OF GOD. Hoinans, xii. 2. Man, in thy very faults thou still art grand ! Led by some great idea, even though Blindly, and unto goals of pain and woe ! Yes ! there is something great that a whole land Should say, " "We will conform to God's command, Happen what will !" — Yet pause, and ask to know What God's Will really is, ere rash ye go Tighter to draw the Sabbath's gentle band ! Be sure whate'er one human woe can bid Is not of God ! Under all reasoning place His goodness first, as fix'd essential base, Then raise of thought a glorious pyramid ! Whene'er the Bible seems some narrow scheme | For man to make, bo sure it doth but seem ! 64 SERMONS IN SONNETS. XXYI. "ON THE SEVENTH DAY SHALT THOU REST." Exodus, xxxiv. 21. " How keep the Sabbath best ?" This question I Meet with another, How we best repose From all our weight of week-day cares and woes, And turn our thought's rude current peacefully Into some bay where it the quiet sky May mirror, scarce betraying that it flows. Heavenly our rest should be, for this world knows Only the semblance of tranquillity: Inward, for 'tis the soul we want to steep In the dear homefelt consciousness of peace : Free, for from burthens it must give release, Not bind them on us. Learn, then, how to keep The Sabbath in all love and pureness best ! 'Tis truly hallow' d when we truly rest ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 60 X.YVJJ. " SPEAK GOOD OF HIS NAME." Oh no, great God ! We feel Thou canst not be Spectator or upholder of distress, So long, indeed, as it is objectless. No ! if Thou look'st on sorrow, 'tis to see Its benefit and end. If before Thee One hopeless ill could spread the smallest shroud, Oh, would' st Thou not dissolve it as a cloud In the mere fervors of Thy radiancy ? 'Tis so ! And Thou Thy dearest Son didst send That message of a boundless love to make ; Not as a mockery — more the heart to rend, If all were offer' d what but few could take ! Not as a thing of words — but as a meed, Which, like Thyself, is Truth and Love indeed. 66 SEKMONS IN SONNETS. "THE TIMES OF RESTITUTION OF ALL THINGS. Acts, iii. 21. Give evil but an end — and all is clear ! Make it eternal — all things are obscured ! And all that we have thought, felt, wept, endured, Worthless. We feel that ev'n if our own tear Were wiped away for ever, no true cheer Could to our yearning bosoms be secured While we believed that sorrow clung uncured To any being we on earth held dear. Oh, much doth life the sweet solution want Of all made blest in far futurity! Heaven needs it too. Our bosoms yearn and pant Kather indeed our Grod to justify Than our own selves. Oh, why then drop the key That tunes discordant worlds to harmony ? SERMONS IN SONNETS. 67 XXIX. " HE THAT SPARED NOT HIS OWN SON, BUT DELIVERED HIM UP FOR US ALL, HOW SHALL HE NOT WITH HIM ALSO FREELY GIVE US ALL THINGS ? " Romans, viii. 32. Oh, not Thyself, great God, to satisfy (Who in Thyself dost hold a full content), Was Thy dear Son unto our being lent To walk on earth, to suffer, and to die ! But 'twas to still the heart's own piercing cry For Expiation. 'Twas divinely meant To show which way Thy tender mercy went When Thou createdst man — the remedy For a disease which did thy pity move, None 'scaping it — for none are good but Thou ! Oh, 'twas the crowning act of Thy dear love. Supreme assurance, sent us from above, That Thou would'st save, and with all joy endow Thy children, trembling in their human senfl6 With dim mysterious warnings of offence. rS 68 SERMONS JK SONNETS. XXX. " THE WORD WAS MADE FLESH, AND DWELT AMONG US." St. John, i. 14. And so Thou wert made man ! A visible sign That Thou for ever didst by man mean well. Made man Thou wert ; else how, Lord, could' st Thou tell How feels the human moulded from divine ? What wars of being call for aid benign, And dear indulgence ? What sad fears to quell,' Which make Thee — Thee ! Creator of a hell Forged by our sinful selves when fears condign Have blotted out Thy light. All this to know By sad experience, Thou to man wert made ; And in this word — of man — the whole is said, All pain, all want, all fear, all forms of woe. In thought eternal these now rest with Thee, Thou took'st them on Thyself — but man is free ! SERMONS IX SONNETS. " WE ARE CHASTENED THAT WE BE NOT CONDEMNED." 1 Corinthians, ii. 32. Yes, chastisement must be ! — only, instead Of bitter vengeance, read corrective love. Methinks tbis thought would more impress and move, And realising influence o'er us shed, Than all fantastic terrors, bigot-bred. Souls by the just and true alone improve ; And true it is, that ill acts from above Draw down a retribution on the head ; But stripes of vengeful wrath no bettering bring. Only, when smitten by a Father's hand, We kiss the rod of heavenly chastening, That blossoms into joy like Aaron's wand. Oh, then 'twere wise weak mortals to protect From threats too horrible to take effect. 70 SEEMONS IN SONNETS. ° BEHOLD, THEREFORE, THE GOODNESS AND SEVERITY OF GOD." Romans, ii. 22. Seveeity indeed true kindness is, Inspired by love and wisdom. Never we, Like the wrong' d child of a false charity, Shall, in the next world, blame the Judge of this, Biting the hand which we pretend to kiss. No ; for we feel that we are beings free, Not fetter' d by weak love, nor tyranny ; — Nor can we say that Grod hath dealt amiss, When sufferings reach us from the depths of sin. Mortals we may suspect, who frown on us For their own pleasure, or who mine within Our sterner soul by flatteries dangerous. But Grod, we know, hath not a selfish end. Smiling, or frowning, still He must befriend. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 71 XXXIII. "HE 8HALL SEND THEM A SAVIOII:.'* Isaiah, xlx. 20. Saviour ! There is a beauty in the name ! Who wants not saving from some ill of life ? Who has not felt the torture and the strife Of guilt or sorrow bounding through the frame V Who has not seen some cloud of fear or shame Hang in his atmosphere, with threatenings rife ? Or of keen Death the ready- whetted knife Towards his heart trembling? — Then, in woes the same. Men should be one in faith. O brotherhood Of sorrow, wherefore darken by a ban Of bigot cruelty, or cry for blood, II it word which should be sorrow's talisman ? Let me at least feel tlik deep, deep within, If from naught else, Thou, Saviour, sav'st from sin ! 72 SERMONS IN SONNETS. XXXIV. AND HIS SOUL WAS GRIEVED FOR THE MISERY OF ISRAEL.' Art Thou a cold Abstraction, Thou Source Of sweet affections, human tenderness ; "When we are yearning with a deep distress, FeePst Thou not ? Can no sorrow, no remorse, Touch Thee with somewhat of a kindred force ? Oh, dost Thou never grieve that we are less — Less perfect than Thyself, by the mere stress Of a rude nature, which, with devious course, Must run from Thee, that it may duly keep An individual will, and learn to choose The good way of itself ? Canst Thou refuse Thy sympathy for needs so sad and deep ? Thou canst not, dost not ! — Sure our hearts may be That, when we harm ourselves, we sorrow Thee. SEEMOXS IX SOXNETS. U O, SPEAK GOOD OF THE LORD, ALL YE WORKS OF HIS, IN ALL PLACES OF HIS DOMINIONS." Psalm ciii. 22. Answee, with all thy pulses, throb and speak, Thou tender, palpitating heart of God ! Through earth, through air, and caves of ocean broad, All throng' d with myriad beings, strong or weak In terror, or deep love ! Flush on the cheek Of morn, breathe sweet from evening's dewy sod ! Tremble in music, 'mid the choral ode That from the soft vale to the mountain peak Whispers or thunders ! — Art Thou cold, or dead, ( >r vengeful ? — Hush ! A holy silence reigns : That our own heart, stilling our throbbing wins. And only with its own assurance fed, May be itself Thy answer and abode, O tender, palpitating heart of God ! 74 SEEMONS IN SONNETS. XXXVI. "in my father's house are many mansions." St. John, xiv. 2. Ye orbs that tremble through infinity, And are ye, then, link'd only with our eyes, Dissever' d from our thoughts, our smiles, our sighs Our hopes and dreams of being, yet to be ? Oh, if all nature be a harmony (As sure it is), why in those solemn skies Should ye our vision mock, like glittering lies To man all unrelated ? Must I see Tour glories only as a tinsell'd waste ? If so, I half despise your spectacle ! But, if I deem that ye form seras vast, And do, by mighty revolution, tell Time to intelligent existences ; Awe-struck, I do assist at your solemnities ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 75 XXX VII. "THE WOLF ALSO 8HALL DWELL WITH THE LAMB." Isaiah, xi. 6. In the progressive spiral, up whose line We move, at moments seeming to descend, Yet ever rising to one mighty end, All things whate'er shall brighten and refine. Then shall not, too, the animal world combine In the great scheme, its sad estate to mend In temper and in joy ? Must it not tend Godward, as springing, too, from love divine ? It must ! However humble in their sphere- God's minor creatures, those small sparks of thought, Which yet complete, and make our home more tar, Cannot from our existence quite die out ; Nor, having 'herited God's bounty kind, Be razed for ever from th' Eternal Mind. 76 SERMONS IN SONNETS. XXXVIII. " IT PLEASED THE FATHER BY HIM TO RECONCILE ALL THINGS UNTO HIMSELF, WHETHER THINGS ON EARTH OR THINGS IN HEAVEN." Colossians, i. 19, 20. "Where spreads not Thy dominion, Saviour dear ? "Where is not Thy salvation's glory thrown ? In heaven Thou wert — to earth Thou earnest down — Hell was dissolved before Thee. The vast tear Of all creation Thou away didst clear, And turn to music the tremendous groan And travail of the birth that 's laid upon Wliatever is not G-od ! . . Thrill' d out of fear, The air by JChee was touch' d with rapture's glow ! At the brightness of Thy presence Earth did move Her burthens to cast off — and put on love ! The sea saw that, and fled from her deep woe. Heaven laugh' d, and glitter' d, as if fresh with morn ; God gave a glorious smile — and Hope was born ! SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 77 u If ANY MAN SIX, WE HAVE AN ADVOCATE WITH THE FATHER, JESUS CHRIST, THK RIGHTEOUS." First Epistle of St. John, ii. 1. Turn, man of pleasure, from thy sickening round Of bosom-piercing joys ! One moment scan Another life than thine — led too by man — His who, though frail, to God the way has found ! Thou sinn'st ; he too (for but by Death unbound Is Sin's great chain). But thou, beneath the ban Of God, dost seem the fires of hell to fan Within thy bosom's solitary bound, Each day more wretched. He, when faint and dim. Through errors manifold, his path hath grown, Still knows what blessed way he toileth on, And sees new light on the horizon's rim ; For there is One, who 'twixt despair and him For ever stands, pleading before (Jod's throne! 78 SERMONS IN SONNETS. " GRIEVE NOT THE HOLY SPIRIT OF GOD." Ephesians, iv. 30. Earth's giants, to be strong, must touch the Earth, — Heaven's children must grasp Heaven ! Forfeit not The high prerogative of thy great lot, Thou soul, that once hast ta'en from Christ thy birth ! Sensual delights not only will make dearth Within thee ; but thy tender Glod forgot Will grieve, because thou form'st a thoughtless plot To mar creation's end — thy joy and mirth. Oh, say, what threatening of a wrath to come Can move thee like thy own upbraiding heart Whispering — thou hast return' d upon thy doom To pierce thy Saviour with a newer dart. Ingratitude ! that word Heaven's self might dim ! G-od means thee well — wilt thou mean ill to Him ? SERMONS IN SONNETS. 79 " IN THE DAY OF THY POWER SHALL THE PEOPLE OFFER THEE FREE-WILL OFFERINGS WITH AN HOLY WORSHIP." Psalm ex. 3. Oh, specially, of those who love Thee now, Art Thou the Saviour in this world of ours, Just Son of God ! If with resistless powers Thou didst all hearts unto Thy meek yoke bow, Thou would' st no freedom to our choice allow ; * And Man, deprived of individual dowers, Void of self-conscious soul as trees or flowers, Would lose his birthright. But our thoughts will grow Beyond this narrow time, and seras view When all instruction unto all shall be By sorrow perfected harmoniously ; # When wisdom, as in dreams, though dim yet true, Shall have distill' d before the heart, and move In now unwilling minds a Saviour's love. • iEsch. Agamemnon, 1st Cho. 168, rr{«f . fi. 80 SERMONS IN SONNETS. XLII. " MARVEL NOT THAT I SAID, YE MUST BE BORN AGAIN." St. John, iii. 7. Born out of Grod, with pain and bitter tears, Back unto GTod we must be born again, Also with struggle and reluctant pain ! Our mortal days are types of greater years ; And all that to our body's eye appears In this great universe of loss and gain Shadows our inner life, and is a chain That ever linketh us by hopes and fears — By Terror and by Trust — by Life and Death — With grandeur. All this world is but a womb Unto another. As we draw our breath, "We weep as infants do when first they come Into this orb. So strive we in our thirst To drink Heaven's air, which pains us at the first. SEBMONS nr SONNETS. 81 XLITI. " NOT FORSAKING THE ASSEMBLING OF OURSELVES TOGETHER." Hebrews, x. 25. O house of prayer ! Ee-union fond and blest Of those whose paths do all the week diverge Far from each other ! — some unto the surge That beats the world's vext shore ; some to the load Of labour ; others to the weary road Of servitude ; some war's parade to urge. Thou, that from vain distinctions bidd'st emerge All, telling only " Here is Man and God ! " Image of social love ! Sure the heart says That to forsake thee is to half abjure Our being, and the brotherhood erase Of man to man ' II ave we not felt full suiv The holy bell that tolls to church to be Of all sounds fraught with most humaiiin : 82 SEEMOKS IS SONNETS. XLIT. "both low and high, rich and poor, together." Psalm xlix. 2 But, are our churches equal ? Can the poor Beside the rich bow down the suppliant knee In human nature's sad equality ? Do we reception free to all secure ? Or rather not so bolt the churlish door Against whate'er in rags comes drearily, That force is laid on wretched poverty In vicious haunts a welcome to secure ? This is a fountain of enormous woe, Which wants a branch of healing thrown therein To cleanse the very well-head of our sin ! Reformers, men of love, to causes go ! Tears, alms, of eloquence the silver call Will profit not like this— Give God to aU ! SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 83 XLV. " IF WE WALK IN LIGHT, WE HAVE FELLOWSHIP ONE WITH ANOTHER." First Epistle of St. John, i. 7. How touching is it when in prayer's abode A thought comes o'er us with a sudden power, That some dear friend does at the self-same hour, In the same words and worship, bow to God ? Perhaps our weary feet long time have trod A foreign land, and on a foreign shore, After privation long, we Heaven adore In our own ritual. Then our native sod Seems dearest ; and for those we cherish there "We tremble with a thrilling interest, And breathe to God our very tenderest prayer, Thinking 'tis echoed by a kindred breast. Oh, blest the bond — all other bonds above — Which binds the near, the far, in one vast love ! a 9 84 SERMONS IN SONNETS. XLYI. " I WILL DECLARE WHAT HE HATH DONE FOR MY SOUL." Psalm lxvi. 16. I commune with thee in my tenderest thought, Thou, who my strain mayst read. Oh, also give To me one gentle feeling ! I but live By one deep pulse, a hope from Heaven caught, That my existence be to others fraught With love and use. Such hope will not deceive ! Of all things here the sweet prerogative — Even if it be from depths of sorrow brought — Is to teach something ! Oh, could I explain Redemption's mystery ! Perhaps thy breast Quivers, as once did mine, for something blest To quench thy burning thoughts with gracious rain, And still Doubt's blasphemy. Is such thy pain ? Christ was made man for thee. — He gave me rest ! SEKMONS IN SONNETS. 85 XLVII. . "his banneb oveb me was love." y* ^ l^ Cant. ii. 4. He who loves best knows most. Then why should I Let my tired thoughts so far, so restless run, In quest of knowledge underneath the sun, Or round about the wide-encircling sky ? Nor earth nor heaven are read by scrutiny ! But touch me with a Saviour's love divine, I pierce at once to wisdom's inner shrine, And my soul seeth all things like an eye. Then have I treasures, which to fence and heed Makes weakness bold and folly wisdom-strung, As doves are valorous to guard their young, And larks are wary from their nests to lead. Is there a riddle, and resolved you need it ? Love — only love — and you are sure to read it ! 86 SERMONS IN SOCKETS. "perfect love casteth out fear." 1 John, iv. 18. See st thou with dread creation's mystery ? Dost thou life's drear enigma beat in vain ? Hast thou a cloud upon thy heart and brain ? Love — only love — and all resolved shall be ! Art thou a fool in this world's subtlety ? Must thou thy fond belief still rue with pain In all thy fancy deem'd was joy and gain ? Love — only love — and wisdom comes to thee ! But, mind, thy love must be a heavenly fire : For flames, from any earthly shrine ascending, Kindled in vanity, in woe expire, And leave experience o'er but ashes bending. Then, too, the fear of God's avenging rod Can only be escaped by loving Grod ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 87 XLIX. " I WILL PURELY PURGE AWAY THY DROSS." Isaiah, i. 25. Our sins from fire a dreadful emblem make Of punishment, and woes that never tire : — And yet how friendly — beautiful is fire ! Truth, dress' d in fable, tells us it did wake Man from brute sleep, Heaven's bounty to partake, And arts, and love, and rapture of the lyre. The cottage hearth, the taper's friendly spire, Have images to soften hearts that ache. Virtuous is fire. The stars give thoughts of love, And the sun chaseth ill desires away. Fire cleanses too ; by it wo gold do prove, And precious silver hath its bright assay. Why then not deem the Bible's fires moan tins — Evil all melted, to make way for bliss ? 88 SEBMOSTS Lff SONNETS. L. "what is truth?" St. John, xviii. c Oh, how we pine for truth ! for something more Than husks of learning ! How did ancient Greece Hang on the virtuous lips of Socrates, Turning from words more sounding to adore The wisdom that sent souls to their own store For knowledge. So let us our hearts release ! 'Tis time the jargon of the schools should cease — Errors that rot Theology's deep core, 'Lying at the base of things. Down, down must fall The glittering edifice, cemented much With blood, yet baseless. At Truth's simple touch All the vain fabric will be shatter' d — all ! But not the Bible ! Nature there is stored, And Grod ! Eternal is the Saviour's Word ! SEKMONS IN SONNETS. 89 LI. "BLINDNESS in part has happened to isbael." Romans, xi. 25. Yes ! We a new revealing glad shall see, When the Old Revelation shines restored Unto the beauty of its simple word : There is a Reformation yet to be ! Our Church, indeed, hath a deep purity ; — But is she understood ? The fountains, stored Within her breast, are they in clearness pour'd Down to where men may drink them peacefully ? Not so ! Her glory and her holy awe To send all mortals to the living stream, Placing herself beneath the Bible's law Subordinate — of this we scarcely deem Enough. This is her rock — no shifting sand — On this foundation shall she ever stand ! 90 SEEMOSS IN SONNETS. "the perfect law of liberty. First Epistle of St. James, i. 25. perfect Law of Liberty Divine, Where all is choice — for ever Force annull'd ! How can we gaze on thee with spirits dull'd, And apprehensions doing wrong to thine ! How dost thou with all Nature's love combine On her wide fields ; where sweetest things are cull'd, And flowers from off their stalks by children pull'd "Without reproval from her smile benign ! Why quick to tremble, to enjoy so slow ? Why not ask simply of our happy heart, Lured by a pleasure : " Does it harm or no ? Leads it from Grod, or to him ?" . . So the smart Of pain would be prevented, or depart Ere it had ripen' d into too much woe. SEBMONS EST SONNETS. 91 LIII. 11 LORD, TO WHOM SHALL WE GO ? " St. John, vi. 68. To whom, or whither, should we go from Thee, Christ ? Beyond ourselves, beyond all law Of hope, and being ; beyond love and awe ; Beyond creation — to some shoreless sea, — To one huge blot of dreary vacancy ? 1 look around, above, below ; I draw On stores that sensual vision never saw — I ransack piles of old philosophy ! Nothing I find, except the self-same thing, One deep expression of tremendous want, Nothing that even pretends to seal the grant That to the heart's great void shall fulness bring ! Thou, Saviour, 1 sink back before Thy knvv, And all things find in Thee, and only Thee ! 92 SERMONS IN SONNETS. "ALL HIS TRANSGRESSIONS THAT HE HATH COMMITTED, THEY SHALL NOT BE MENTIONED UNTO HIM." Ezekiel, xviii. 22. O waters of Oblivion, Fable fair ! When back across the Past with throbbing brain In thought we journey, thou dost mock our pain, Like the false fountains on a desert's glare ! Our fancy grasps thee, though thou be but air, And bitter the heart's cry, " In vain ! in vain ! " Oh then, if Heaven should whisper, " Seek again ! And thou may'st yet to real brooks repair ; Stretch thy faint limbs, and wander or repose By the green pasture and the cooling stream, Dissolving quite the memory of thy woes In present ecstasy." The hope and dream Of such delight might make the desert bloom ! What then, if it be true, this side the tomb ? SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 93 LY. "THE sting of death is sin." 1 Corinthians, xv. 56. " Oh, Death will be so beautiful ! " one said Tome; a child he was by sickness worn ; — I look'd at him. His face was like the morn When from its beauty the dull vapours glide ! The dusky curtains that the next world hide Seem'd for a moment's space asunder torn ! " My Saviour loves me!" Yet again he sigh'd, And upward gazed with eye beatified ; — That look with him unto the grave was borne ! Oh, could we smile into the next world too ! Why not ? O bounteous Nature, bounteous Grace, If Death be dread, 'tis we who make it so, Straying alike from God and Nature's face. Two lovely roads lead to our common rest — Forgiveness, Innocence — and both are best ! 94 SEEMONS Itf SOCKETS. u WHOSOEVER SHALL NOT RECEIVE THE KINGDOM OF GOD AS A LITTLE CHILD SHALL IN NO WISE ENTER THEREIN." St. Luke, xviii. 17. The sting of death doth neither fright the worm That spins itself in peace a silken tomb, ]N"or the forgiven child. Death is life's womb. O'er life, o'er death, alike we spread the storm, By straying from onr being's simple form. Bright are our natural faculties in bloom Of childhood ; free from terror and from gloom Is our life's year when in its tender germ. ] The little child hath never doubt of Grod ! j Ay, even the ploughman is more near to Heaven "Who feels our nature's want to be forgiven (As childlike more) than he who with a load Of sin and learning, Pride's rebellious son, Hating old age and death, unto the grave toils on ! SEEMOXS IN S02TNETS. 95 lvii. "in returning and rest shall ye be saved." Isaiah, xxx. 15. Yes ! There are hearts that, when I am no more, Will love my verse ! It to their hearts will creep Like music they have long'd for, still and deep, Loosing those chains that brain and bosom o'er Are wove by Terrors haunting death's dread shore, And Doubts that ask why here we toil and weep, Scarce knowing why we came into this sleep Call'd Life. A spirit from my strain will pour, Whispering, that God is good and Nature kind, And that our struggles make our agony : And that to rest beneath the steadfast eye Of God, and sit in holy stillness shrined, Turns all things into calm reality, And taketh all the burthen from the mind. 96 SERMONS IN SONNETS. LVIII. ' EVERY SCRIBE WHICH IS INSTRUCTED UNTO THE KINGDOM OP HEAVEN IS LIKE UNTO A MAN THAT IS AN HOUSEHOLDER, WHICH BRINGETH FORTH OUT OF HIS TREASURE THINGS NEW AND OLD." St. Matthew, xiii. 52. Out of the treasures of His boundless soul Christ brought things new and old, or rather both. For Truth is not susceptible of growth, Being, like God, Nature's unchanging pole. Yet sweet varieties about it roll Erom one great centre, as from north to south The climates run, with moisture or with drouth, Or cold, or heat. But when the world doth dole Prom out its own small store what seemeth new, But is old error, small is our content ; For from the false comes no development, And never is the common-place the true. G-o, learn of Him whose word has changeless truth, Like air, or water, or the sky's fresh youth. SEBMONS IIS* SONNETS. 97 LIX. " CAN YE NOT DISCERN THE SIGNS OF THE TIMES ? " St. Matthew, xvi. 3. Is the earth Christian ? Not till States are so ! Not till the leaven in the heart of kings Works ; not till principles are one with things ; Not till all fellow-men shall own no foe But error ; not till war-blood stops to flow ; Not till man's sacred life, with holy awe, Is saved, but never taken by the law ! Not till in Judgment's place Correction sliow Her sacred countenance. "When these things are, They will proclaim Evangelism more Than missions sent to India's furthest shore, Or Judah's city, rising like a star. But faint not, hoping soul, for in the >k\ \iv signs that night is spent and da\ is nigh. 98 SEKMONS IN SONNETS. LX. THE LAW IS HOLY, AND THE COMMANDMENT HOLY AND JUST AND GOOD." Bomans, vii. 12. "What are the laws of God ? Our being they, The true expression of our health and joy. No arbitrary phrases they employ ; No prohibitions fertile to betray. 'Tis true that, if transgress' d, they bring alway A penalty ; but pleasure's broken toy Yields wisdom wrought from sorrow and annoy, Warning us back to nature's happy way ; And pain is not so much a punishment, As a great lesson we must learn or die ! Thou hast no tortures in thy treasury, O G-od, but medicines kind and prevalent To soothe or heal, when we ungenerous Have sinn'd against ourselves and Thee in us. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 99 LXI. " WHEN MV SPIRIT WAS OVERWHELMED WITHIN ME, THEN THOU KNEWEST MY PATH." Psalm cxlii. 3. I wanted Thee, my God, yet knew not how To seize Thy beauty in my being's gulf! Unable was I even to find myself, How much less Thee ! And so I do avow Tangled I was in this world's treacherous now, 'Till, waking from a dream of petty pelf, I found myself upon the trembling shelf Of a great rock — waves gushing deep below — And cliff above my head. 'Twas horrible ! My brain reel'd round ; my foot no more could cling To any spot of earth. Dizzy, I fell ! — But where, indeed, God of comforting, Except into Thy arms ? Though blind to Tim, I found Thou, all along, hadst look'd on inc. I I 100 SERMONS IN SONNETS. LXII. ' NOW IS THE ACCEPTED TIME. 2 Corinthians, vi. 2. Press on our foreheads Thy salvation-seal JN"ow, now, O dear Redeemer of the world ! Lest, when Thy glorious standard be unfurl' d, In Thy great day, we should but anguish feel And shame ; lest light should all our sins reveal To all creation ; and, by anguish whirl' d, We from Thy glorious presence should be hurl'd To lower grades of being ! "With glad zeal, Oh, let us now ourselves by Thee restore ; Accept Thy covenant and Thy marriage dress, Lest deep ingratitude should sink us more Even than our sins, to sorrows measureless ! Which shall we do — be human or divine ? Stand by our merits, or accept of Thine ? SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 101 LXIII. u IT DOTH NOT YET APPEAR WHAT WE SHALL BE." First Epistle of St. John, iii. 2. We cannot know, indeed, how much were lost By present negligence ; but this we know, That in our exit from this world of woe, It is the next step that concerns us most ! The dream of torture and the wailing ghost Are nothing ; but to fall ourselves below, To be more exiled from our God than now, "Were horrible ! Oh, what a fearful coast It were to land on, peopled by dark souls ; Many, yet lonely, — by communion worse, — Stranded upon creation's outcast shoals, The dregs and refuse of the universe ! Whose pain were to behold, both near and far, God as he is, ourselves too as we are ! 102 SEKMONS IN SOCKETS. LXIV. "with destruction from the presence of the lord." 2 Thessalonians, i. 9. Sat, dost thou know what one sad moment were, That were of Grod deprived utterly ? Hast thou been sick in spirit, bound, yet free, To let thy fancies riot in despair ? Hast thou so breathed an unsubstantial air, As, like a ghastly dream, the world to see, To lose the sense of great reality ; Unto the land of madness to repair, Keeping thy consciousness ? Then hence divine, What were whole cycles of such banishment ; And think each moment worse than idly spent, That does not draw thee nearer to the shrine "Whence only pleasure flows, where dwelleth He Who only makes Life, Love, Eeality ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 103 LXV. "thy mercy is greater than the heavens." Psalm cviii. 4. O greater than the heavens Thy mercy is, God, for it doth include the universe ! There is with Thee no anger and no curse ! Nor was — even then when man first did amiss ! Even then Thy love and truth did meet and kiss. Thy boundless love no boon imperfect gave, Nor did create till it decreed to save, And wrap existence in eternal bliss ! But we, who take a portion for the whole Of Thy great plan ; who, in our narrow range, Scarce our conceptions bring to the next change Of being ; how shall we Thy scheme unroll, Which goes through cycles, working endlessly Back from sin's dreary nothing unto Thee ! 104 SEBMONS IN SONNETS. "all things work together for good to them that love god." Romans, viii. 28. Oh, what a load of struggle and distress Falls off before the Cross ! The feverish care ; The wish that we were other than we are ; The sick regrets ; the yearnings numberless ; The thought, " this might have been," so apt to press On the reluctant soul ; even past despair, Past sin itself, — all — all is turn'd to fair, Ay, to a scheme of order' d happiness, So soon as we love Grod, or rather know That G-od loves us ! . . Accepting the great pledge Of His concern for all our wants and woe, We cease to tremble upon danger's edge ; "While varying troubles form and burst anew, Safe in a Father's arms, we smile as infants do ! SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 105 LXVII. " JESUS CHRIST THE SAME YESTERDAY, AND TO-DAY, AND FOR EVER." Hebrews, xiii. 8. 1 know that Thou wilt love me without end, k Is t** Saviour ; that nought Thy fixed Truth can shake ; That Thou my woes wilt soften and partake, Though every love were far and every friend ; That Thou through every danger wilt defend, And of my heart a fenced garden make, Where evil scarce may enter, for Thy sake. So on Thy changeless Word do I depend, As on a mother the most trusting child ; — And thus in Thee my being I ensphere, Beyond the reach of earthly tempests wild. I only rest, while round me all doth move, And pillow all my heart upon Thy love. 106 SERMONS IN SONNETS. ' A LAW UNTO THEMSELVES. Romans, ii. 14. Oh ; who can doubt with man Thy Spirit strove, Out of the pale even of Thy chosen race ; Wherever struggling from the vile and base There shone a spark of beauty and bright love ? But most where thirst of knowledge deep did move- Knowledge of what we are, whither we pace Along life's darkling road — how best to brace Our nature to a height itself above ! And so, by souls half-touch' d with prophet-fire (Not wholly — to make known what faults remain "Where Thou didst not bestow Thyself entire — ), The path for Thy great Advent was made plain ; And mortals, who on Plato's words had hung, Were thus prepared to hear a wiser tongue. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 107 LX1X. ' NEVERTHELESS, THOUGH I AM SOMETIME AFRAID, YET PUT I MY TRUST in thee." ffcrfmlvi.3. Forsake me not ! Oh, if Thou could' st indeed, For me were blotted out earth, sea, and sky ! Give me Thyself, what canst Thou then deny ? Thyself, if Thou deny me, all is need ! Without Thee, I am but a worthless weed Fit to be thrown away. But Thou be nigh, And flowers, and fruit, and festal luxury, Unto my drooping and my dearth succeed. My God, forgive these seeming doubts of Thee ! I play with language, but I feel no fears ! To me Thy faithfulness so true appears, My very sins have no alarm for me. Not like the world, disheriting its child, Dost Thou prove fickle, where Thou once hast nnOed. 108 SEKMO^S IN SOCKETS. ' AND HE SAID, LET ME GO, FOR THE DAY BREAKETH. AND HE SAID, I WILL NOT LET THEE GO, EXCEPT THOU BLESS ME." Genesis, xxxii. 26. Oh, go-not from me till the morning break, And daylight, struggling in my heart's dark east, Be from night's dusky bondage all released ! Not yet, not yet, my panting soul forsake ! Thy light withdrawn would now within me make Worse darkness than of yore, and pain increased By the sharp agony of hope deceased ! What do I say ? Of Thee such hold I '11 take, To wrestle with Thee task such powers of life, That Thou shalt leave me not, till by full day Thou bless me, and. Thy face to me display Brighter than dawn ! If through the fiery strife I to the world should henceforth halting go, Methinks I 'd bless the touch that made me so. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 109 "CHRIST HATH REDEEMED US FROM THE CURSE OF THE LAW.*' GaXatians, iii. 13 How slavish is the fear that ties the tongue, "When we would sing of free-redeeming grace, Lest men should deem we leave the law no place, And should be reckon' d libertines among ! Yes ! Libertines are we ! The weight that hung Upon our souls, a bondage dull and base, Now leaves no blush upon our cleared face. What matters us men's judgments ? We have flung Away all thought but this — that sin we hate Because it bars us from our only joy — From Thee, dear Lord ! What Thou cam'st to dest pi v Thai we rebuild not ; whether the dull state Of old tyrannic law, or tyrant sin : We east all from us, only Thee to win. 110 SERMONS IN SONNETS. LXX1I. " THY KINGDOM COME. St. Matthew, vi. 10. My Grod, whene'er a cry for earthly fame Thrills from the deep recesses of my soul, Do Thou th' unchasten'd energy control, And turn it into zeal for Thy dear name ; Recal to me what ought to be my aim, What thoughts should clothe me in the meek grey stole Of sweet humility, and backward roll Visions of glory that would end in shame TJnblest by Thee ! Tell me that I am Thine, Purchased by ties of costly gratitude ; Bid me remember all my struggles rude And Thy deliverance. From my heart's low shrine Call but one humble prayer, " Thy kingdom come, And may I forward it through every doom." SERMONS IN SONNETS. Ill ■ IN THY PRESENCE IS FULNESS OF JOY. P&alm xvi. 11. Each day, Lord, in this poor mode of mine, I strive to paint Thee better to my heart, That it may love Thee more. What if I start Sometimes at shadows that obscure Thy shrine, Dim earthly vapours breathed o'er light divine, Wrought into spectral shapes by Fear's bad art, Even to the acting of so dread a part As that of Hindoo deities which twine Into one form of horror. . . Yet not long I mar Thy goodness by a dream like this. I see Thee in all beauty, in all bliss ; In light, and loveliness, and poet's song. Tims much at least I know: from out Tin store ( tf joy, the more I take, I find the more. 112 SEKMONS TN SONNETS. " LOVE IS THE FULFILLING OF THE LAW. 1/* l*^ Romans, xiii. 10. Duty, thou man-made word ! In what sad hour Didst thou usurp Love's liberal revenue ? Say, doth the honey-bee its Duty do "When it in bliss is clinging to the flower ? Do breezes creep into a woodbine bower Through Duty's hedge ? Or do the billows blue, When G-od with peace their restless couch doth strew, Eor Duty's sake die on the golden shore ? Where art thou, Duty, in all nature, where ? Where, in the Book of Grod ? Oh, where indeed, Save in the hypocrite's dull calendar, Or in the tyrant's blood-imprinted creed ? In Heaven's true language, teach me from above, Thou art but Order, that doth work by Love. SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 113 u WE CANNOT ORDER OUR SPEECH BY REASON OF DARKNESS." Job, xxxvii. 19. The name, what matters, if we have the thing p True ! But how have the thing without the name ? Words are most potent sorcerers to tame The spirit, and from shuddering depths to bring False ugly phantoms upon bat-like wing. Potent are words for honour, love, or shame, Or dread. Be heedful how you use the same ! For 'tis the letter killeth — ravelling The twine of thought into a tangled skein. Words grow to principles, and these again With life arc fraught, or have a deathlike barb; And age must rue the poison' d lore of youth. For anything so beautiful as Truth, lis lit we make the most transparent garb. 114 SEKMONS IN SOCKETS. ' IF YE SHALL SAY UNTO THIS MOUNTAIN, BE THOU REMOVED AND BE THOU CAST INTO THE SEA, IT SHALL BE DONE." St. Matthew, xxi. 21. Mountains of sin from off my panting breast "Were at Thy word removed. There came a faith, Into my soul, more strong than woe or death ; Yet lay I weaker than an infant's rest Beneath thine eye. The agony, that prest Erewhile my brain, I felt had been the breath That even in its torture quiekeneth, And of my sorrow I had gain'd the west To rise on other worlds. . . Oh miracle ! What were Olympus, crumbled in the sea, Unto the heaps of anguish moved from me ; And in Thy love, O Lord, made soluble ? — Thy love, an ocean, whose abyss profound The plummet-line of thought did never sound. SERMONS IX SONNETS. 115 LXXVII. 'and he gave them their request; but sekt leanness into their SOULS." Psalm cvi. 15. Oh, give me not, dear Lord, my heart's desire, If to my spirit it must hunger bring ! Rather would I be steep' d in suffering Than of Thy bounty and Thy presence tire ! Fill'd with earth's benefits, to mount no higher Than earth — that were, indeed, a dreadful thing For spiritual essence, that should mount and sing Even till some faint notes of the heavenly quire Should with its own be blended. . . But the crime Of Israel was to doubt — a sin no less Than to ask wrongly — doubt Thy power sublime To spread a table in the wilderness. So will not I ! — but deem that I shall taste The food of angels through the world's w ide w.-istr. i2 116 SEKMONS IN SONNETS. " THEREFORE WILL HE BE EXALTED, THAT HE MAY HAVE MERCY UPON YOU. " Isaiah, xxx. 18. Why through the scheme of God doth vengeance roll ? Because, alas, men know too well the word ! — Because it like a trumpet's note is heard, Waking no doubtful echo in the soul ! — Because we are, in truth, most apt to stroll In doubtful ways : — and to the common herd The scourge is needful ! — Nor, indeed, were stirr'd Longings within us for a heavenly goal, Without opposing shades of pain and fear. Yet in the Bible are there sayings dear, Where God's great love, as if to make a path Direct unto our apprehensions dull, Dropping the garment of a dusky wrath, . Stands forth in naked mercy beautiful. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 117 LXXIX. GOOD FRIDAY IN COLOGNE. " AND THERE WAS DARKNES8 OVER ALL THE EARTH UNTIL THE NINTH HOUR." St. Luke, xxiii. 44. Through the hush'd air not even a bird is winging : O'er the dead city broods mysterious rest ; As if a Sabbath morning did invest The air with stillness. But no bells are ringing, Such as to Sabbath morns their joy are bringing ; k And if, with pausing step, we linger near Some sacred fane, there comes upon the ear No sound of organ or of holy singing. It is the silence of a world ashamed ! The pause that marks the dread mysterious day When lie, who dcign'd to share our mortal day, Bought all creation with a life unblamed. Such silence seems our sorrow's mute confession, Of speechless gratitude the best expression. MM, 118 SEKMONS IN SONNETS. LXXX. 'WHY SEEK YE THE LIVING AMONG THE DEAD? HE IS NOT HERE, BUT I RISEN ! " St. Luke, xxiv. 56. Seldom is sorrow to the bosom near Without a joy in prospect. "While we brood Upon the Friday, which we well call Good, Our thoughts flow onward to a day as dear, But fraught with demonstration of a cheer That suiteth less a penitential mood Than gushings of an open gratitude — The day which raised the Saviour from his bier Unto immortal life ; when sorrowing came Two faithful women to Christ's sepulchre, And heavenly voices said, " He is not here, But risen! " — the glad day when, without blame, Grlad bells shall ring. — Our Sabbath, ours so blest, Which changed God's resting-day into our rest ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 119 LXXXI. "who shall roll us away the stone from the door ok the sepulchre ? "and when they looked, they saw that the stone iccis rolled AWAY;— for it was very great." St. Mark, xvi. 3, 4. Theee where my sins, O Lord, had buried Thee, Was placed the stone of my remorseful heart, Forbidding Thee again to life to start, Sealing Thee in with my captivity. Oh, who from this dread load Thy love should free ? For it was very great — a rock of Fear, That seem'd to guard Thy gracious sepulchre, And make a tomb for Hope. As slain by me, Ay, even as if Thou wert a lifeless frame, I sought Thee in Thy grave, scarce deeming so, As to embalm Thee with a costly woe. Hut, lo, when to the sepulchre 1 came. I saw the heavy stone was ml I'd awa\ . And on it sate an Angel bright as day ! 120 SERMONS IN SONNETS. LXXXII. "AND SAW JESUS STANDING, AND KNEW NOT THAT IT WAS JESUS." St. John, xx. 14. Even from the grave, where He had lain inurn'd, My Christ was gone. Angels indeed were there, Yet saw I but the empty sepulchre, In my great longing Him to have discern' d, Towards whom alone my panting spirit yearn' d. If ask'd " "Why weepest thou ?" I said — " They have Taken my Lord away from out His grave, Nor know I where they have laid Him." Then I turn' d, And saw a form in twilight dimness standing, And knew not it was He for whom I wept ; — Yet o'er my frame foreboding tremors crept, A sweet commotion, like to grief's disbanding ! — I felt my heart grow big, my cheek turn hot. Yes ; He was near me — though I knew it not ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 121 LXXXIII. "if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him." St. John, xx. 15. What marvel if the whole wide world about (No longer wide to me, but narrow made As if 'twere all one tomb) I mourning stray'd, Seeking my only Good, wrongly devout ? So many mists, by mortal creeds breathed out, Made twilight everywhere and dreary shade, I could not tell where men my Christ had laid. So, though He stood beside me, my rash doubt Buried His nearness in a dim eclipse ; And, like to Mary when her trembling lips Even to Himself did the inquiry frame, " Where lies He now ?" — so did I syllable Vain words. But when He gently breathed my namo I knew His voice, and at His feet I fell. 122 SEKMONS IN SONNETS. TOUCH ME NOT, FOE I AM NOT YET ASCENDED TO MY FATHER. St. John, xx. 17. " Touch Me not yet," the risen Saviour said, Meaning (if thought pass onward in free range) " Touch Me not yet ! Because not void of change Has Death his wondrous hand upon Me laid. No more must earthly love My rest invade ; To thee, as bodily form, I must be strange, Lest unsufficing thoughts of Me avenge Within thy bosom Passion's very shade. Touch Me not yet ! but when I am ascended Unto My Grod and yours, then clasp Me round Until in Me thy every thought be blended By heavenly love and sympathy profound. Too near Me, then, thou canst not, canst not be, I dwelling in thee, thou transfused in Me ! " SEEMONS IN SONNETS. 123 "j'HKN CAME JE8U8, THE DOORS BEING SHUT, AND STOOD IX THE MID8T, AND SAID, PEACE BE UNTO YOU." St. John, xx. 26. Peace, peace be unto you, were the dear words The Saviour breathed to the assembled few, "Who, infidel towards Heaven, yet earthly true, Grieved when they should have struck joy's loftiest chords For Sacrifice accomplish' d. But the Lord's Compassion fail'd not. . . "Peace be unto you!" Again He said, as if on them the dew Which sweet assurance to the heart affords Doubly to shed. Even so, dear Lord, to me How soon did Thy sweet graciousness o'erlay Needful upbraiding for distrust in Thee. Thy power and promise had stood true alway, And so I now beheld, while love breathed out, " thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt P" 124 SERMONS IN SONNETS. "for he is our PEACE.'' Ephesians, ii. 14. Peace, of immortal life both root and seed, Joy's quintessence, thou remedy and balm For every ill ; thou soft thanksgiving psalm Of lips that tremble and of hearts that bleed ; Thou true Activity — for none, indeed, Are truly active but the inly calm. Thou, the more prest, more springing, like the palm That grows by weights. . . I ask'd thee, in my need, And said, " Oh, if I live, or if I die, Give me but calmness, God ! " I did not know The meaning of my prayer ! My heart was slow, Saviour, for Thy dear self alone to sigh, Or find, amidst my drear captivity, To give me calmness, was to give me Thee. SERMONS IK SONNETS. 125 "IX THIS PLACE I WILL OIVE PEACE, SAITH THE LORD." Haggai, ii. 9. Peace ! Yes, I sought thee in the summer skies, Deep in the fragrance of the violet, And of all earliest blooms, with spring-dew wet, By brook, and bank ; amidst all melodies That do from universal nature rise ; Then, in the languish, fire, and fond regret Of human hearts. But never thee I met. Glimpses I had that gleam' d before my eyes Of somewhat like to thee ; but I forgot That light like thine must issue from a gloom. And so in sorrow's shade I sought thee not ! So much the dearer thou towards me to come Thyself, and out of woe to make me blest — Thou didst it all, my Saviour, Thou, m\ K 126 SEKMONS IK SONNETS. LXXXYIII. " PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU, MY PEACE I GIVE UNTO YOU." St. John, xiv. 27. Peace, worthy gift to be the Saviour's last, l^J. I Because thou art Himself. . . be Thou my state Not less than good supreme ! Oh, gently mate "With all my acts ! — and into nothing cast The stormy agitations of the past, For they, indeed, were nothing ! Early and late Possess my soul, to make me truly great, Thou only being greatness ! . . No dull waste Art thou ; no dream of stagnant solitude, But one with Order. Storms in bridles go, Out of the general rest do earthquakes grow, And G-od strives never, though the world seem rude. Oh, could I lie upon His breathing breast, And catch a portion of His active rest ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 127 LXXXTX. " NOT AS THE WORLD GIVETH, GIVE I UNTO YOU." St. John, xiv. 27. Not as the world gives, givest Thou, indeed, Blest Lord of peace ! Pleasures that end in sighs — Tears of dull sorrow — bitter agonies — A hollow love that fails us in our need — Wrong judgments — mockery when our bosoms bleed — These are the presents which the world supplies Out of its poison-caves, and treasuries : Unto our vassalage and slavish heed. O Lord of love and life, and inner joy, Thy gifts are different, sure — a gentle ray That makes the heart more lightsome every day, A faithfulness no wrongs of ours destroy, — A thousand pleasures, innocent and coy, Forgiveness when we err, and i^uidaiuv when we stray. 128 SEEMONS IN SONNETS. XC. " WHERE THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD IS— THERE IS LIBERTY. 2 Corinthians, iii. 17. I heaed a child, on a fair summer day, Its mother ask — " "Who made these flowers — this sod?" The mother answer' d gently — " The good Grod "Who gave His Son that you might freely play, And happy be." Then joyfully did stray The child ; and Pleasure follow' d where he trod. Nature was glad. Obeying zephyr's nod The green leaves twinkled ; and the brooklet gay Danced to the sound of its own melody. Light clouds roved free o'er Heaven's fields of blue ; The sweet birds sang as if their song was new. And leaves, and brooks, and clouds, and birds for me Said but these happy words — " Be free, be free, Christ has given all things joy and liberty ! " SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 129 XCI. ''EYES TO THE BLIND." Job, xxix. 15. Oh, joy it is when we our mission find, Even if it be to wipe the humblest tear, Or still the very faintest human fear. But something it must be for human kind ! How else appease the thirst of soul and mind — Remorse — which most doth wait on wasted powers The rankling nothingness of trifled hours And thwarted aims ? Feel'st thou that thou art blind ? Go unto Nature. Beauty, Joy, and Use, Are sever' d but in man's philosophy. The rose does more than feed the honey bee ; Nothing dies in itself. Only unloose In Christ — Creation's eye — thy filmy sight, And thou on earth shalt choose thy place aright. 130 SERMONS IN SONNETS. XCII. "i WILL GLORY OF THE THINGS "WHICH CONCERN MINE INFIRMITIES." 2 Corinthians, xi. 30. He, who did boast Lis own infirmities As his best right, in this my rule shall be ; Lord, in Thy sight, I have no other plea Save that I want Thy precious sacrifice ! Behold me ! dust and ashes in Thine eyes ; Yet has the blood of Christ been shed for me, Therefore I needs must have a dignity ; Nor dare I even my wretched self despise Eor whom Thou didst Thy Father's bosom leave, To live and die in sorrow. Let me, then, The more my depths lie open to my ken, Eise but the more in Thee ! "When most I grieve, Most let me triumph in a joy divine, Pelt to be dearest because wholly Thine. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 133 XCV. "they grope in the dark without light."* Job, xii. 25. Say not Earth yields no knowledge because thou Standest in clouds upon a mountain's peak ; It was thy choice the baffling mist to seek Which had not wrapt thee hadst thou stood below. Somewhere 'tis always light. The sun even now Doth in the vale bring smiles to Nature's cheek : The peasant walks and stumbles not. The meek, Though sorrow-tried, lift up a cheerful brow ; But they go darkling who too high will climb With error's mist about their too-proud soul. Choose a clear day, then seek a lofty goal, And thou shalt see things distant and sublime ; But, when the vapours lie upon the height, Content thyself with Earth's most humble sight. Suggested by a Sonnet of Keats, beginning " Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it ImI ' L\fe and Litters 0/ Keats, edited by R. Moxcktox Milxks, vol. 1. p. 189. 134 SEBMONS IN SONNETS. XCYI, " SHE SAW THE CHILD, AND BEHOLD THE BABE WEPT." Exodus, ii. 6. "When in a dream of spirit I behold Egypt's great river as it lapsed of yore, "With pomp of Pharaohs on its mighty shore And nothing of its antique glory cold ; Sudden I leave those splendours manifold, Because my inward vision only sees A simple ark of woven bulrushes 'Midst the green river-flags. What pomp of old Hath that frail cradle's great sublimity, Where in the form of a weak infant lies The whole vast freight of human destinies, The eye of the blind world — past history And future law, all that in union binds At once a nation's welfare and mankind's ? SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 135 XCVII. ' FIRE AND HAIL, SNOW AND VAPOURS — STORMY WIND FULFILLING HIS WORD." Psalm cxlviii. 8. Theee are who deem the earthquake and the storm Fulfilments of that dread mysterious curse, Which Gk>d inflicted on the universe When man from angel droop' d into a worm : But, come with me, and view sweet Nature's form After the tempest, which was loud and fierce The livelong night. Now, all things do rehearse The praises of that strife which was the germ Of future peace. Bright is the boundless air, Earth joyous with her dewy coronal : And hark ! a festive voice is everywhere Murmuring in Faith's glad ear, " God blesses all, Even His judgments. Cheer thee, drooping soul ; Doubt not all sorrow hath a happy goal." 136 SEBMONS IN SONNETS. XCVIII. "UNTIL CHRIST BE FORMED IN YOU." Galatians, iv. 19. My inner happiness, my inner love, How sad am I when I depart from Thee ! From Thee, my centre, if I moved be Ever so little, I from joy remove. Ah why, then, silly heart, so prone to rove Out of thy calm contented purity ? Art thou enamour' d so of vagrancy, That thou must wish in woe a change to prove ? Alas, my Gk>d, a greater fault I fear ! Frail is my soul, because it is not Thou ; Not all to Thee my will doth always bow, Striving ascension in its own bad sphere ; Yet sometimes doth it pierce the mystery To be itself, and yet exist in Thee. SERMONS IN SONNETS. 137 XCIX. " IP YE FULFIL THE ROYAL LAW ACCORDING TO THE SCRIPTURE, THOU SHALT LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR AS THYSELF, YE DO WELL." / Epistle of St. James, ii. 8. Oh that the Boyal Law were Law indeed ! " Do unto others as ye would that they Should do to you I n If this bore sovereign sway, If this we over council-halls could read As motto — then we should not, as a weed, Snatch the dear gift of human life away Even from the guiltiest partners of our clay For whom the Saviour — as for us — did bleed ; — Nor send a human soul — improvable By love and hope — with all its dread amount Of thought, where anguish and distrust rebel, To other worlds ! — So long as Judah's fount Is Law's great well-spring (Gospel-precept braved) Christ is not ruler of the world He saved ! 138 SERMONS IN SONNETS. c. " YE OBSERVE DAYS AND ONTHS, AND TIMES AND YEARS | I AM AFRAID OF YOU." Galatians, iv. 10, 11. Deep danger is there to the Christian scheme "While we thus live beneath Judaic Law ! "While we the Sabbath band so strictly draw, Nor man and man judge by one Law Supreme, The common mind thinks Christ a very dream, And loses for all Faith the needful awe ! Acting below herself, a form of straw Religion is. Then let her be, not seem ! Nor fear we timorous that by love we lose. Somewhat the world hath seen the bettering Eemitted penalties do ever bring, And how self-government and power to choose Can turn away Man's nature from abuse Of its own gifts. The human Mind will be Best shamed from doing ill by being free ! SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 139 CI. ' EXCEPT YE EAT THE FLESH OF THE SON OF MAN, AND DRINK HIS BLOOD, YE HAVE NO LIFE IN YOU." St. John, vi. 53. Unto Christ's Body, in the eye of Faith, Transmuted is the glorious Universe ! His blood hath flow'd o'er all Creation's curse, Flooding the very realms of "Woe and Death ! Love drinks His spirit in the morning's breath ; Love sees the beauty of His eye-beam pierce Through cruel storms and lightning raging fierce. Love sees Him pass wherever sorrow hath — 'Tis a perpetual Sacrament of Love ; A transubstantiation permanent, High above types, provisionally lent ; Yet gladly we unto God's altar move, Memorial love— obedience — social union — There shadowing forth by visible communion. 140 SERMONS IN SONNETS. C1I. "it pleased the fathee that in him should all fulness dwell." Colossians, i. 19. I lote Thee, Saviour, for my soul craves joy ! I want Thee, without hope I cannot live ! I look for Thee ; my nature pants to give Its every power a rapture and employ ; And there are things which I would fain destroy 'Within my bosom, things that make me grieve ; Sin, and her child, Distrust, that often weave About my spirit darkness and annoy : And none but Thou canst these dissolve in light ; And so I long for Thee, as those who stay In the deep waters long for dawning day ! Nor would I only have my being bright, But peaceful too : so ask I if I might My head on Thy dear bosom lean alway. SEBMONS IN SONNETS. 141 cm. "FEAB GOD— HONOUR THE KING." 1 Peter, ii. 17. Legitimacy ! Name which now we spurn, "Whose mention to men's lips but laughter brings, Thou very mockery cast on crownless kings, Still, thy dethroned supremacy I mourn ; For, 'mid the tempests of our brief sojourn, Something thou wert beyond vain reasonings, To set a seal of steadiness on things : Depart from principles, and whither turn ? The loveliest Virtue is Fidelity ! And she was thine : and what if she be blind ? Still hath she eyes for weeping, and can find Her fond way after sorrow lovingly ; And, if she cease our spirits to befriend, Where findeth mutability an end ? 142 SERMONS IN SONNETS. CIV. 'WEEP not. St. Luke, xxiii. 2 Weep not ! Oh, earth is nothing worth a tear. "Weep not ! Thy sorrow far too precious is To be pour'd out on worldly vanities ! If Disappointment frown on thee severe, Weep not ! Be sure a heavenly good is near, And thy wish gain'd had teem'd with miseries. Hast thou been martyr' d by the agonies Of a heart broken o'er a loved one's bier ? Weep not ! Oh, less than ever weep thou then, Deeming thy treasure gone beyond earth's woe. Weep not ! for G-od doth love thee ! — Only when Him thou hast grieved, allow thy grief to flow ; Like some fond cruse of tears a tomb within, Bury thy shrined sorrow with thy sin. SEBMOtfS DV SONKETS. 143 cv. "he taught them as one having authority." St. Matthew, vii. 29. The written "Word is needful ! What were man "Without Authority ? Little, I wist, More than a coil of sand that billows twist, Leaving brief chronicle where last they ran. Authority is of Life's darkling span The need. . . By more than eloquence enticed, Plato had hung upon the words of Christ ; Plato, who laid himself beneath the ban Of human ignorance, nor taught as one Having authority. Even Mahomet Nations with Holy Books o'er others set Who had from heaven no written record won.* And this was wisdom : for, to man the worm, Truth's essence breathes away without Truth's brat * See Layard's iVinweA. 144 SERMONS IN SONNETS. CYI. " AS GODS, KNOWING GOOD AND EVIL." Genesis, iii. 5. Eyil ! thou art a necessary good — Fountain of Individualities, Great tenure, thou, of all existences That are not Grod. . . If rightly understood Thou art the lesson-book, and holy rood Whereby, ascending up sublime degrees, "We know, and reconcile, and difference seize, And change our earthly for a heavenly mood. Ah, who can grieve that man has pluck' d the fruit Of knowledge ? . . Scarcely name we Innocence The Virtue that is not Experience. No ! We our souls divinely must transmute Out of the Grod-led instincts of the brute, Into the loftier ways of Providence ! SERMONS IN SONNETS. 145 CVII. "all these worketh that one and THE SAME 8PIBIT." 1 Corinthians, xii. 11. Tnou, whom the world deems but contemplative, Fear not. Thy influence stirs the world of thought, Beyond its knowledge. . . Silent and unsought Mysterious motions through all nature live ; And even the common spirit back must give Deep motions from the spiritual centre caught. Then how must thou, framed, and with impulse fraught, More to originate than to derive : Thou, who in quiet feel'st the sovereign sway Of the one great originator, God, And keep'st thy pulses ready to obey The lightest breath that creeps and thrills abroad, How must thou stir and lic;i\r t Ik- mighty 86ft Of intellect and gteal humanity! i 146 SERMONS IN SONNETS. CTIII. " BUT, LO, THOU REQUIREST TRUTH IN THE INWARD PARTS, AND SHALT MAKE ME TO UNDERSTAND WISDOM SECRETLY." Psalm li. 6. Open to Thee is all my being, Grod : I would not man should what Thou seest behold, Because his judgments are both rash and cold, Because he spurns the path he never trod. He sees the bad, and with the ready rod Hangs o'er it. But the feelings manifold "Which, like that shell the Argonaut, are bold In fragile beauty, and will come abroad 'Midst rocks and tempests — these Man cannot view ! For Thine eye only, purest Grod, are they ; Nor do I shrink that Thou dost me survey In every part. So is Thy judgment true : And, when I feel my vileness, as I do Most thrillingly, I turn to Christ straightway. SEEMOXS IN SONNETS. 147 CIX. The seraphs veil their faces with their wings Before Thy throne, O God ! Then how should I, Who tremble in a frail mortality, Beach Thee in reverential visitings ? Forgive me, if my soul too boldly flings Conjecture forth to bridge and bring me nigh To Thee. I only do in truth reply To my own doubts, my heart's sad murmurings. 1 do but put away all thoughts that bar My love of Thee, and clear Thy lovely name From thinga that with Thj high perfection jar, By the soul's noblest instincts inark'd with blame ; Yet in 1 1 1 x ignorance I veil im face Before the throne of Tin adored grace. bfl THE TWO MANSIONS. THE TWO MANSIONS. Hebe, Arthur, let us rest ! This mount aiu- stream, This glen, enliven' d by one graceful tree, This rocky stone, moss-cushion* d, please me well ; — Not for their beauty, but because unlike To spots, which Wisdom bids me not recal, Lest idle sorrow, shunn'd with greater ease Than vanquish' d, play the tyrant with my soul, And make me negligent of present joy. Far I have lost two homes — both beautiful — Both loved — one how supremely! — and I fear To trifle with familiar images; Yet will this holy abstinence of eye Not always starve rebellious passion down. ( tf late, methought, I triumph'd o'er the past: A new home smiled for me, and round my hearth Were gather*d things to make existence dear: And then, when all was done, and happiness 152 THE TWO MANSIONS. Should have come smiling like a long-sought bride, A vision rose betwixt me and my joy — Th' eternal sunshine on my native hills, And, through all sounds of gladness, murmur' d still The hushing cadence of my native streams. Even now my senses have betray' d their trust : These barren forms are gone, and I behold The mansions of my youth and middle age. Since, then, unbidden they appear before me, I '11 pluck a medicine from the bane itself; Call the mind outward, give the vision words, And, yielding to thy oft-express' d desire, Paint thee the vivid models of my brain. First, let us view the mansion of my birth ! It was a fair, and noble dwelling-place, Of ancient origin — yet not impress' d With hoar antiquity, save where, apart From rooms more gorgeous, one old chamber frown' d, Dim-lighted, and with fading arras hung. Its stately presence had grown up with time, And lavish gifts of each inheritor, Till its last lord beneath Italian skies THE TWO MANSIONS. 153 Matured his glowing fancy to achieve The perfect work, and knit each jarring part In exquisite and regal symmetry. Eound it was pour'd the beauty of a dream, A loveliness too precious for the food Of every-day existence — rocks, lawns, streams, Woods of all foliage and Columbian growth ; All evergreens to keep perpetual spring, All trees deciduous to make spring more fair, And autumn wealthier : — and these charms were clasp'd In the small compass of one winding vale, With but one narrow outlet. As you came Descending down the long, long avenue, You seem'd to leave not only the gay throng, ]$ut human kind ; and. as you issued forth Into the grassy cirque that made free space liound the white mansion,— as yon stood and gazed, Nat nro said Hush! with all her falling streams. And winds symphonious, that, with billowy sound, Kan round the tops of the proteeting lr.v>. And died. There might you rove a summer's day. 154 THE TWO MANSIONS. Yet see no trace of man, or mortal toil ; For fairy hands, it seem'd, alone conld deck "With such perpetual bloom and ravishment A spot so folded from the breathing world. There might you rove unseeing, and unseen : The very landscape, in its space complete, Was all your own. No way-side traveller Ever beheld that mansion ; — crowds might pass "Within a mile, and know not of its site. You think the spot too lonely and too sad ? No ! It was peopled, and it fill'd the heart ! For there were birds, a joyous company, Whose voices pierced the thundering waterfall. There flash' d the Halcyon o'er the darkling stream, Sudden and beauteous as a thought from Heaven. There oft the wild- duck, hovering for awhile, Elew down to meet her shadow on the lake, And marr'd it in the meeting. O'er the groves The trooping pigeons wheel' d and veer'd and glanced ; Now, in full columns, sailing towards the eye, Now, with a sudden turn, lessen' d to specks ; Anon, diverging in long line, and then Dropping at once upon the clanging boughs With voice-like music of their winnowing wings. THE TWO MANSIONS. 155 And there were caves of legendary note ; Echoes, that mock'd you from the distant hill, As though yourself had flown there on the breeze ; Grottos, that held the wave from the sun's kiss, To tempt the bather in the sultry noon ; And where, beneath the plane-tree's vaulted shade, Slept the deep waters in their crystal green, The slumbering pike defied the angler's snare. But how express, in words of mortal mould, The full enchantment that prevail' d around ? Oh, more than fair ! I will not do thee wrong By common types from Vallombrosa drawn, Hesperian gardens, or Armida's bowers, For thou art hidden in my fondest heart, In truth's most sacred, warm reality ; And I have wander' d far, yet never found More than a scatter' d gleaning of thy charms, Gleams of thy glory, billows of thy Bea ! Oli, beautiful in sun, in shade, in shower. By moonlight's magic, or l>\ daylight's truth, When Morning gladdenM all thy glades with .1 Or Evening trembled on tin silver lake. 156 THE TWO MAKSIOFS. Or Night brought down her canopy of stars Upon the edges of thy dusky groves ! Oh, beautiful through all the changing year — In spring — in lavish spring — when violets rich Made every bank a fragrant resting-place ! What time the chestnut-trees magnificent Kindled their gorgeous pyramids of bloom Like cluster' d lights on some high festival ! Oh, fresh in beauty through the summer day, Cool in thy multitude of streams and woods, When the full trees, that crown' d the rocky height, Bathed their green branches in the blue of heaven, And the tall cedar slumber' d on the lawn Beneath the calm intensity of noon ! In autumn beautiful, when golden woods, Tar-closing down the steep-encircled vale, Shed mimic sunshine on the darkest day ! Most beautiful, when tree and lawn and lake, Seem'd purely sculptured from the dazzling snow, And spangled network, from the loom of Frost, In lonely hollows, and entangled glens, Vied with, and near surpass' d, the work of Spring ! How I did love thee ! In what season most THE TWO MANSIONS. 157 I know not ; — for it was not thy attire, But 'twas thyself I loved ! — That mystic tie, "Which knits the peasant to his native field, Bare though it be ; which grasps the exile's heart, When music, heard in childhood, meets his ear ; That strong home-passion, which, in zones remote, Becomes the sailor's frenzy, cheats his eye With emerald meadows in the glassy sea, And bids him plunge to seek them, fathoms deep ; This tie — this instinct — far beyond thy charms — Though raised by them to more ideal love — Bound up my being with thy mother-soil ; How can it be that we are parted thus ? Oh, my own home ! Strangers are round thy hearth, Strange steps are in thy wood- walks, and strange hands Gather thy fragrant flowers ! Oh, fate severe ! Birds to their native stream or copse can fly, Beasts graze in freedom on their native plain. The peasant labours in his native field, But I must dwell and die apart from thee! Yet can it be ? — or is it all a dream ? Tis out of nature! Who can know tin haunts 158 THE TWO MANSIONS. As I have known them — who with tears, like me, Pay thee the duteous homage of a child ? How oft, of yore, the thought that we might part Just swept the surface of my happy soul, Only to tremble into deeper joy, — In very luxury of bliss recall' d, And rich caprice of o'erabundant youth, That dares to dally with the form of pain, And heightens love by visionary fear ! Then thus my tide of passion gush'd in words : — " Oh, noon-day caverns — deep and dewy glades — That keep the secret of my wayward thoughts ! Turf which I kiss — blest flowers whose soul I drink, All things around me — dear, as if ye lived ! How could I take an everlasting leave Of your delights ? how breathe in grosser air, Or look upon a paler heaven than yours ? The hour, that severs us, must break my heart." Yet, Arthur, I have left that dear abode, And still I live ! More patient is the heart, And needs more killing than in youth we deem. THE TWO MANSIONS. 159 Therefore, take courage thou, should hopeless love Or woe unmeasured speedy death presage ! I live ; — yet scarr'd with many a wound within, Eecords of pain, inflicted by a hand That errs not in its chastisements of love. The stroke that rent me from my early home Laid bare my heart to human charities, And pierced the film, which from my sight, too long, Hid the true substance of this rugged world. For, in that blissful nook, nor grief nor pain, The natural teachers of our mortal state, Nor humble things, that link us to our kind, Unsphered the spirit from her ecstasy. No sounds of labour said, Thou art a man ; No church bell, Thou art for eternity ; No knell, Prepare for death. 'Twas all around So much like Kden, the delighted soul Forgot the forfeit of that blissful i The very changes of the sky and air — Almost of seasons — in those happy shades, Were hut as hearsay. What was summer-heat To him who wander' d through t hose green arcades, Where coolness sported on the taoant wave? 160 THE TWO MANSIONS. Or what the winter-cold to him who roam'd The line old garden, held up to the sun, With all its terraces ; where grapy wreaths Elush'd keen December's brow; where vernal birds Mistook the time, and warbled low and sweet 'Midst lingering leaves and flowers ? Oh, never here That blight from Erebus, which men call fog, Loaded the soul with poisonous melancholy. All grosser vapours fled upon the breath Of thy pure streams ; and if, at morn or eve, A gentle mist upon thy groves and hills Shed purple bloom, 'twas but as beauty's veil, Enriching what it shrouded ! Yet perchance This absence of all sad and noxious things Is but the trick of early memory — The light of boyhood — not of this world's sun ! So, even in wisdom would my soul believe And feel, that, had those shades remain' d my home, Grief even there had found me ; found me, too, Unfenced with armour 'gainst her rude assault. Then had that vision of exceeding joy Lost half its heaven, and from myself received THE TWO MANSIONS. 161 Tints of strange sadness and discordant pain, So that, with memory and itself at strife, It had perplex' d my soul, and grieved my love. Ah no, fair spot, the light of youth and thou Were for each other made, and later years Had ill assorted with thy fairy hues. Thy woods were suited to no harsher sighs Than childhood breathe — thy meditative walks Were all too calm for passion's hurried steps — Thy waters too unruffled to reflect Faces despoil' d of childhood's careless smile ! Therefore 'tis well that we were sunder' d soon, Before my heart began to stir to pain, While yet we were companions true and meet As Youth and Innocence, that part like streams To end in knowledge, and repentant care. Nor am I thankless to the Power supreme, Who moulds the spirit by external things, That mine was fashion' d in thy silent shades, And not thence banish' d, till it had received. Unknowingly, a precious boon from thee — A heart that beats to Nature, and a soul, That, having once been touch' d with poesy 162 THE TWO MAKSIOKS. Costly as thine, can find it scatter' d still Through all the corners of the common earth. Thus did'st thou give me all thy safer wealth, And more, perchance, had been the blight of all ! Now, nothing mortal thy remembrance mars With sad association. Thou to me Art as a long-lost friend, in boyhood dear, So good — so fair as those who early die, From his young comrades snatch' d away so soon ; His gentle image is unspoil'd by strife, And his young face, pure as an Angel's, gleams Tenderly through the gathering mist of years. Even thus to me thou canst not alter now More than the dead ! — Thy very form may change (And yet that thought will torture me in dreams), But, far beyond all accident or time, For me thy golden treasures are seal'd up In ever-during beauty and bright joy ! What, though thy fair domain be mine no more In actual presence, I possess thee still, By the more true inheritance of thought, As even myself in less reflective years Possess' d thee not — as none beside possess, THE TWO MANSIONS. 163 Although thy seeming lords. Where shall be found The subtle chemistry to steal thee out From all my being ? — Where the word of charm To render thee, who mad'st me all I am, An airy syllable in Fancy's ear ? No ! I have lost thee but to gain thee more ! Thou shalt go with me, while one thought endures, Even to the grave : — a gracious influence, No more to soften the too-yielding boy, But soothe and temper the fast-hardening man ; To purify, and win from baser things, By the strong memory of a virgin love ! Forgive me, Arthur, if on this dear theme Too long I dwell. Who does not linger o'er Thoughts that revisit their primeval fount, • And years the nearest to the blue of heaven ? But wake we now ! — Behold stern Manhood's type— The Second Mansion ! An old pile it was, Rich in the hues of gather'd centuries, Mocking the backward and the forward time With timbers iron-hard and storm-proof walk From pointed roof and pendant oriel, M 2 164 THE TWO MAISTSIO^S. Swept its vast lines, irregular, yet knit In noblest harmony. So proudly (light. Yet firm in massive strength, it imaged well The era of its birth, when England join'd Bold thought and manners uneffeminate With the mind's wealth and lavish poesy ; When the true home replaced the feudal hold, And, in its absence of defence, proclaim' d Security more deep, and dearer far Than tower or keep could yield. Alone and free, And open to the natural face of heaven, On a green knoll the breezy fabric stood, Possessing, for its lordly heritage, A large horizon, and an ample round Fill'd with all human, yet not worldly things. Farms, ancient as itself — so lichen-clad, They seem'd the work of nature — not of man — Sent up their gray smoke curling from the woods, Which clasp' d on every side the circling meads, Far as the heath-topp'd hills. And fair were they- Those hills — and beautiful with many a change, And trickful unresemblance to themselves, THE TWO MANSIONS. 165 Like love that feigneth to be love no more, Yet still is love. The sunbeam and the cloud For them had magic. Darkly now they rose In frowning height, and mountain majesty, — Now sunk to smiling slopes. Now, miles away, They melted to aerial outlines blue ; And, now, the eye could count upon their sides The dappling shadows, and the hedgerows small. A time-worn tower hung on the loftiest ridge, Oft islanded amidst the azure heaven, When, like a sea, the vapours of the morn Drown' d every meaner summit. Thus, both worlds ( )f man and nature in that landscape met. 'Twas God's own country, for the use of man Created, and by man's abuse unstain'd : Dower' d, in its plainness, with a wealth beyond The pomp and luxury of Indian realms — Pastures, and fields of corn, and vigorous woods — Forests of oak, such as erewhile supplied Our floating bulwarks, when the Spaniard's force Was dashM from them like loam - a peasantry Of iron sinew, and primeval heart, Free ehihlivu of the soil from a«;o to age, 166 THE TWO MANSIONS. How kindred and inseparable seem'd That antique region, and that old abode, — Each giving each its passion and its charm With constant interchange ! Blot out the one And straightway you destroy the landscape's soul : Transform the other, and the noble pile Stands perish' d from its stern propriety. But, as it was, a pure congenial strain Of feeling ran, like music, through the land. 'Twas thus all lovely — yet familiar things Made an existence beautiful, yet true, About that land's serene inhabiters. Far was the shepherd's Arcady, with all Its fancied pains — far too all cravings false, The town's infected present, when she sends Her fickle children, for a change of spleen, To country shades. Man with his real wants Was here. The rural shows of household life Pass'd visibly before the eyes and heart. The flocks their fold — the herds their pasture changed ; The cows, full-udder' d, form'd their loitering line At morn and eve, along the well-worn path, That peer'd by snatches through the belted trees ; THE TWO MANSIONS. 167 The colt frisk' d round its quiet dam ; the sheep Went to the washing, where the deep'ning brook Above the curb-stone slept ; the team, at plough, "With bending heads, obedient to the whip, Moved to and fro along the upland field. Nor less the sounds of life — sweet country life, Eecall'd the heart to sympathy with man : At morn, the tinkle of the mower's scythe, Heard betwixt sleep and 'wake, a summer sound: The clown's wild whistle from the distant field, Or waggon rustling in the bowery lane : The evening murmur, made of many tones Indefinite ; hush'd voices from afar ; An echoed laugh ; the clapping of a gate ; A stream now loud, now low ; all suiting well The dusk composure of the yellow sky. Nor mute, nor unreven d, the Sabbath came With sweet admonishment of holy bells Krom the white spire, just gleaming o'er the woods — A simple chime, yet varied by the breeze. Seasons there were of more intense repose. Whose breathing was the hum of summer woods. 168 THE TWO MANSIONS. What time the cricket's chirp, from meads remote, Made silence audible, and seem'd to dwell More in the ear itself than in the stir Of outward nature. How serenely there Spread winter's snowy calm ! How softly fell The misty stillness of an autumn day, When the faint cock-crow, from the scatter' d farms, Came with a distant and a dreamy sound. Even now, if that peculiar note I hear, I sink unconscious through the twilight past, And weave a 'chain of old familiar thought. The sportsman's gun — the riot of the chase — Vex'd not that land of tillage. Bird and beast, Those living links 'twixt nature and the heart, Told, in their fearlessness, how long and deep The blessings of their glad immunity. The hare, at play in morning-freshen' d meads, Stopp'd not its gambols for the sheep-dog's bark : The glorious pheasant knew the copse his own : The fern-owl, as he skimm'd the dewy lawn For evening insects, almost with his wing Hath touch' d the 'lated reaper. Duly, still, The rooks, on their hereditary elms, THE TWO MANSIONS. 169 Clamour' d hoarse welcomes to the opening year — Harsh notes — yet full of spring and rural joy. Bound the old mansion all house-loving birds Hung their glad nests. And, where the reedy lake, Whose silver glisten' d on the forest's edge, Won to its breast the timid water-fowl, The tempest-ruffled sea-bird, inland driven, Hath linger' d — tempted by new haunts of peace. With gentle lapse the universal calm Flow'd round, and sunk into the heart of man. Though not from crowded ways I thither came, Methought 'twas long since I had bathed my soul In such a deep, full-thoughted solitude ; Though stricken, then, with no peculiar grief, — Not more of sorrow than time brings to all — I felt it was a spirit-healing land. Thus was my second home, in sooth, to me No churlish step-mother ; — and if, at times, It sinn'il she would by humble means create A heart content with Nature's common fare, At others, she would open wide her hand, And pour enchantments of diviner growth. 170 THE TWO MANSIONS. Ne'er beard I such a quire of nightingales, As hail'd the rising of the vernal moon ! Not one poor pensive solitary bird, "With interrupted strain, but thousands sang — Tea, tens of thousands — an unceasing song ! All notes were heard at once — of every tone — At every distance — from the nearest oak To th' horizon's verge — 'till heaven's whole cope Was but the dome to one resounding strain. All notes were heard at once : — the quick sharp beat — The double thrill — the liquid gurgling shake ; And that one lowest, richest note of all Its under-murmur of delicious sound Perpetual kept, to harmonise the whole. While thus the ear was pleased, in that sweet time Of Nature's ecstasy, the eye no less Found its peculiar banquet — countless flowers, Flowers such as suit an ancient country well. The hardy snow-drop heralded their tribes On river-banks, in orchards old and grey, Or meadow-nooks, once gardens. Then would peep The hedge-row primrose from her robes of green, Timid, till softer airs and richer sun THE TWO MANSIONS. 17 1 Awoke her glad companions of the spring. Then burst the daffodil by woodland streams Thick as the warbling nightingales o'erhead. In every copse the blue-bell fondly bent To look upon the pale anemone : On every bank the azure speedwell smiled, That turns its bright eye ever to the sun : The wild narcissus, cowslip, cuckoo-flower, And lady-smock, gay-painted every mead, 'Till not a hue the butterflies could boast But what 'twas mock'd below. Thus, sober joy, Kare-kindling into bliss at golden hours, Won, by degrees, the wiser heart away From Fancy's cloud-land to the region clear Where Love, in guise of Duty, walks supremo. The farm, the cottage, and the labour' d field Express'd relation betwixt man and man. All home endearments, household sympathies, Order, degree, dependanee mutual, Were imaged there, as in a smaller world. There, too, employment could Bran lime's great debt Strike off the long arrears, and grain by grain Uuild up her structure lor Ktornit\ . 172 THE TWO MANSIONS. Something, I see, your asking eye demands To feed with nutriment more costly still Imagination — man's divinest dower — ■ The Realiser, arching Death and Time. Such was not wanting ; — even that mansion's self- Proud centre, where all scatter' d feelings met, The manifest lord of all it look'd upon, Frowning away all mean and modern things From out its large pervading atmosphere. — How like a land-mark of the past it stood, A giant fragment of a nobler world, Dim-garmented with passion and deep thought Even in the lustre of the cheerful day ! Then how profoundly through the silent night Holding communion with departed years, Darkling, or made more solemn by the moon With blackest shadows on the silver' d grass ! Who but must dream, when evening suns lit up Its casement-panes, like sheets of sullen fire, How oft the levell'd ray had kindled thus That beacon, glowing on the country round, As if to guide, admonish, or protect ? Who could behold those grey and solemn walls, Nor think how many mortal hopes and fears THE TWO MANSIONS. 173 Had sprung and perish' d there — what ecstacies Of heart — what silent tragedies of soul — Beyond the fancy or the poet's skill — What holy comfort springing out of tears — What fierce temptations, struggles, crimes perchance, Made glorious by immortal penitence ? Who but must there, from the low present wean'd — Alike our portion and the dower of brutes — Converse with memory ; whose voice within With mystic echoes fill'd th' ancestral hall, Or swept the lofty chambers, whispering oft Historic names, — each in itself a spell To bid men dream, and pause with head declined To drink the deep religion of the place, Thence bearing back into the fever'd world Fresh waters in the well of purer thought ? Arthur! The task which I had set my soul Is done. Not vainly have I striven thus With the substantial records of my brain ; They melt into the perspective of time. I look upon these mountains, and am soothed ! No more I murmur that with painful steps I \e left my sunny birth-place for the land 174 THE TWO MAIN'SIOFS. Of clouds and torrents, where each rocky cleft Is channel to a silver waterfall ; Glad that my lot hath fallen within the lines Of such a fair and bounteous heritage. Crags faintly gleaming from soft-shadow'd gloom, With trees sun-tinted underneath the mist, The solemn distance, and the changeful lake, Or green light cradled in a dusky vale — These sights are fancy's food. I look on them, And my soul resteth. I will thank Thee, then, Author of Grood, for all the seeming ills, Which were but portals to more certain joy. Seen from the heights of a contented mind All things are clear. What if to this low dell The sun be set ? Come, let us climb the steep, And we shall yet behold him high in heaven ! THE BREEZE. THE BEEEZE. Whence comest thou, balmy Breeze, and where Hast thou stolen all sweets of the earth and air ? I was born on a mountain far away — A giant mountain of Africa : Where, girdled about with unmelting snows, An island of freshest verdure rose, Embroider' d with flowers, as azure-bright As the deep, deep hue of a starry night — Flowers, that the butterfly hover' d o'er, Soaring where bird never dared to soar! I play'd with the blossoms — I bath'd in the dew I shook my wings, and away I flew, A nd, in the warmth of the plain below, Temper'd the cold of my native snow. The desart rejoiced in my caress ; — Uut 1 hurried across the w ildernes>. 178 THE 3BBEEZE. For I heard a voice, that whisper' d to me— ' Come ; and inherit the cool fresh Sea I ' Then all my spirit was gladden' d anew By the Mediterranean's boundless blue ! I made the waves my heaving pillow, And chased the diamond drops from the billow. But a dearer bliss was yet before, So I murmur' d and crept to the sunny shore, To nit with the bee through the orange grove ; — And I enter' d a land of beauty and love. Oh Italy — sweet Italy — For ever could I have dwelt with thee ! To its inmost depths my being's power Was enrich' d by thee with an endless dower Of fragrance, and music, and gushing light ; Of rapture by day, and freshness by night ! I kiss'd the cheek of the coyest maids, From their brow I lifted the dusky braids, When, after the dance, they panted and sank, Opening their vest on some flowery bank ; And, though I was woo'd to the fair one's breast, And alike in bower and hall carest, The lover was not jealous of me, For I wafted his sighs and his melody. THE BEEEZE. 179 But the vernal freshness began to fail, So I hied away to a mountain vale, And there, in a grot, the long summer through, Such rest as a breeze can know — I knew ; Hovering and trembling in blissful dream O'er the gentle lapse of a loving stream. But, tell me, Breeze, why is it that thou Not only coolest my aching brow, But comest like dew to my fever 1 d brain, And bearest away my bosom's pain. Why art thou like a feeling of youth ? — Why dost thou whisper of love and truth ? — Why do I seem, as thou play'st with my hair. To forget a whole life of sorrow and care — To exult, like a guilty thing forgiven, And, as a child, look up to Heaven ? I'll tell thee ! — while I in the grot was tranced, A fearful curse o'er the earth advan. « I There had been sin, and God lookM down ( )n tli*- crimes of men with ;i scathing trow n ! In that dark -hadow pale Pestilence wilkM. And the Spectre Death behind him stalk'd— s 2 180 THE BREEZE. So near — you the interval scarce could note ; As the first breath' d, the second smote ! And, as they past on — that awful Pair ! — There was a wailing in the air. The child fell dead from its mother's breast, And the mother lay down to her long, long rest : The poor from their care and labour ceased — The rich was hurl'd from his sumptuous feast. Vain were the miser's bolts and bars, Or the warrior's front all stern with scars, Or the maiden's face, as fair as day, To frown or to smile the Pest away ! All love seem'd wrung from the human heart — Men cursed each other, and died apart ! Like madmen they fly — they roll on the ground, In nooks and corners, with gasping sound ; And 'twas horrid to see the cheek's clear hue Withering away to a ghastly blue ! And none there were — nor time allow' d — To toll the bell, or prepare the shroud. But, in the pit, lay the corpses bare — The hoary locks by the young bright hair ; And the deadliest foes, w 7 hom hate could sever, Like brothers were blended there for ever 1 THE BEEEZE. 181 Then up to God rose a humble prayer From a man despised as the poorest are — Yea, self-despised and abased was he Before the dear Cross of Calvary ! Never he deem'd that he good had wrought, Or had power to think one holy thought, And ever he mourn' d that he gladden' d none By his kindness and love, but must dwell alone. Yet some did bless him, and never forgot Fair deeds which himself remember' d not. Lowly he knelt, — and could only say 1 My heart is weak — I am sinful clay ! Father of mercy, thy will be done ; Yet look on the face of thy blessed Son, And for His dear sake, who died for all, Arrest earth's dreadful funeral ! ' Then went he to smoothe the bed of death, Praying, as fled the sufferer's breath. Thai parting breath, with a grave-like chill, Through his own bosom did creep and thrill ; And the lowly one felt that his hour was nigh, And he only return'd to his home — to die ! Vet, to the last, on (iml did he rail— 182 THE BEEEZE. ' For his dear sake, who died for all, Arrest earth's dreadful funeral ! ' That humble soul, and that humble prayer Up to G-od's throne did an Angel bear. Then, oh, what joy ! when a whisper came Through the depths of the new-born spiritual frame : The Lord hath rejected the prayer that rose With music, and incense, and costly vows, From lighted altar, and gilded shrine, And purple stole — to listen to thine ! And this hath arrested the wrathful day, Which, lasting, would melt all flesh away. Then I — the poor breeze — yet humbler still Than that meek servant of Grod's great Will — Was call'd to a blessed ministry — Mankind from the fearful Pest to free. In that dread time, was no dew nor rain, — Heat brooded alone over forest and plain ! Nature was fainting ; — the very streams Wither' d amidst the sultry gleams. Dead still was the air, and, always the same, THE BBEEZE. 183 It glow'd intense as a furnace-flame ; Still was the ocean — still were the trees — Oh, for a breeze — a healthful breeze ! The heavens were darken' d ; — up-gathering slow The clouds stood in heaps o'er that world of woe. There was a pause — like a shuddering fear That some new horror to earth was near ; If aught of fear indeed could be left In bosoms so long of hope bereft, Or if a thought of worse could be To mortals in that extremity. But that seeming frown was a smile more mild Than father e'er beam'd on a suffering child. Who that then heard but must dream again That first faint rustle of welcome rain ! More than when tempests are raging abroad In that still small sound was the voice of God ! Plashing the big drops fell at first, Then thicker, faster, down down they burst ; Low thunder mutter'd, and far away Was the misty path of the lightning's play. Till the whole of the sleeping firmament T>\ :i might \ storm was shaken ami rent ; 184 THE BREEZE. And the air was cool'd and purified, And I stole forth from the mountain's side. Then — then it was my sweet task began, And a new delight through my spirit ran — A rapture deeper than once I knew From breathing blossoms, or morning dew ! More fondly than through the marble hall Ever refresh' d by fountain's fall, I glided in through the cottage-door, — For G-od had decreed me to the poor — And hope and life came on my breath, Where late had been only despair and death ! How many a father I rais'd again From the dreary struggle of weakness and pain, As he look'd, with a sick and questioning heart On those who made it hard to depart, And thought that for them his arm was dead — That arm, wherein dwelt their daily bread ! How oft, when the mother sate on the ground, Tearless, with wild — wild hair unbound, Clasping her infant — so near to die — THE BREEZE. 185 She stirr'd not — prayed not — for agony, I gave her back, ere the spirit had past, Of all her children the dearest and last ! How oft, when the bridegroom, with frantic groan, Hung o'er his own affianced one, Daring to ask, in the madness of youth, 1 Where is G-od's goodness — where is His ruth ? My God, what had I done to thee, That thou, in Thy wrath, hast created me ? ' I came like Remorse to his soul — soft-stealing O'er the maiden's breast with the balm of healing, And bore back a trembling prayer to Heaven That the blasphemy might be forgiven ! How oft have I calm'd and for ever dispers'd The doubts of the righteous — of doubts the worst ! How oft, when the sinner look'd in dread For the justice and doom ho had merited. I surpris'd him with pardon from above, And melted his heart with mercy and tore! But that season of sorrow and joy past on, The Pest was assuaged, and my office done ; And I mourn'd that now I should useless be. 186 THE BREEZE. When a solemn voice thus said to me ; — ' God, from whose goodness all good deeds come, And return to Him, as their proper home, Throws not away, when its worth is spent, His glorious will's weak instrument. To all, who their own rash will discard, Is a season of service — an hour of reward. Created to gladden those who mourn With thee was a solemn blessing born ; — Thou hast not annull'd it, nor turn'd it to scorn ! And therefore, wherever thy breath is felt, On the sons of men a blessing shall melt. An Angel 's spirit is given to thee, And blent with thy being eternally ! ' At that strange moment, a gentle shock Seem'd all my substance to thrill and unlock. I was dead ! — I lived ! — and from that hour I am full of gladness, and gentle power, And the Highest hath granted unto me A sweet and undying ministry ! It is mine, when the lonely shepherd-boy Is holy in his innocent joy, THE BBEEZE. 187 And from his bible and thymy sod Lifts up his tender thoughts to God, To murmur — as Angels were haunting there — Songs that the lark never pour'd in the air When the mist is on the heavy sea, And the fisherman doubts where his bark may be, I open a path to the beacon's light, And he knows he shall see his babes that night ; And he feels as if, through the vapours dim, The eye of a Father had look'd on him ! 'Tis I who delight with my wing to fan The pale worn cheek of the artisan, When, for fresher air, at the close of day, Without the city his footsteps stray. For him I uncurtain the glowing wot. And a brighter Heaven within his breast ; And 1 whisper how Christ has made seeure The dear reward of the faithful poor, Till envy of the rich man's lot Is lost in pity, and all forgot. Nor marvel if I to man rehearse 188 THE BREEZE. Things to which vision cannot pierce ; — No lifeless dust is the Universe. All nature is full of heavenly thought, And every leaf with a soul is fraught — A spirit that ever converseth with man, And ends with God, as with G-od it began : Yet its language none but the heart can hear That keepeth itself in love and fear. The breeze is my body, — but who can tell What thoughtful motion therein may dwell ? When my music stirs in the forest-leaves ; More sweetly I talk with the bosom that grieves : When the frame of the weary with joy I fill, I creep to the heart more balmily still, And to the fainting spirit I bring Eefreshment unborn of the breathing Spring. Happy he, o'er the ocean foam After long years returning home, To whom I waft, from the distant strand, The odours of land — his own dear land ! Happy he, round whom I shower All sounds that he loved in his childhood's hour, THE BEEEZE. 189 "When the village bells, and the warble of birds, Speak to his bosom like household words, Or recall a memory sweeter than they — His mother's voice when she taught him to pray. Happy he, from a sick bed risen, Freed from his chamber's dusky prison, Who first on a May-day walks abroad, And feels my breath as the breath of God ! Happy the captive who quaffs in me His first dear draught of liberty ! But happier than all, the weary breast Where Eemorse hath been a troubled guest, O'er whose heaving depths and aching sense I steal, as the balm of penitence ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 193 LINES WRITTEN NEAR INN8PRUCK, JULY, 1847. The long, tempestuous day to close, Evening comes with sweet repose. From behind the mountain's rim Long-levelled rays are streaming dim, Upward — far into the mist — "With tints of gold and amethyst. Resting on the rocky height, Earth-born clouds catch heavenly light, As if below those summits sent To form another firmament, And our misgiving hearts to show What beauty out of storms may grow. And now, while back the shadows sail, A rainbow spans tin- dusk\ vale. With joy I turn my glance above To hail tin- typo of pardoning love, 194 LINES WRITTEN NEAR 1NNSPRUCK. As if for me were meant that sign Of covenant and grace divine ; As if that arch, impressed on showers, Were as a pledge of happier honrs ; Of life, most calm in its decay, Of tranqnil eve to stormy day : A promise, that as Thon, God, After Thy wrath had been abroad, "Wouldst not with Thy floods and rain Drown the guilty world again, So would thy billows spare to roll Twice across my wearied souL 195 SATUEDAT EVENING. Gently fall ! Evening best beloved of all ! Thou the week's long labour closing Ere the day of God's reposing, Bind the world in thy sweet thrall ! Gently fall! Brightly come ! Lure the tired one from his home ! On the road gay groups are greeting, Lover the beloved one meeting, There is joy before the toi Brightly come ! Bring sweet rest ! Dew like hat ho the weary breast ! Toil awaits us not to morrow, o2 196 SATUEDAT EVENING. But the prayer that chaseth sorrow :- Sabbath-eve is not so blest ! Bring sweet rest ! Steal the breath Of the wretch who sighs for death ! ' Tis a lovely time for leaving This bad world, and all its grieving ! Ere the night-wind whispereth, Steal the breath ! 197 ROMANS XIV. • II AST THoU FAITH t HAVE IT TO THYSELF BEFOKE GOD ! If to my lips my soul's great joy, O gracious Lord, refuse to spring ; If, like a secret, sweet and coy, It seeks my breast and folds its wing : If before mortals trembling shrink My low to thee — deep, deep within ; Thriv silent flood* of bliflfl to drink As if to breathe it were a sin : i bat a tender mystery Suits best with feelings so profound, As fountains that are never dry Lie deepest still beneath the groun>l. 198 "hast thou faith?" ' Tis that those feelings droop and fade If I their gentle joy betray, Like fragrant flowers that seek the shade And lose their sweets if smote by day. 199 PEOEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. WRITTEN AT AN EARLY AGE. O thou, whose love is dearer to my soul Than all the transports passion can create, (Misguiding fires, which rage without control) To thee this warning lay I dedicate ; That thou may'st learn and shun the batter fifa Of those, who once from Reason's train depart. Oh hear my warning voice! and, ere too late, (Juard eaeh lirst impulse of thy youthful heart. So shall Remorse for thee ue'er point his doadh dart 200 PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DEAMA. Not the warm coinage of my brain could love More fondly, more devotedly than thou. Ah, know I not thy tenderness, who prove Its fervor ev'n from infancy — till now ? But, oh, beware of Passion's fiercer glow, For, in a soul like thine, from Love mulb rise, From Love alone, all future weal or woe. Once kindled there, altho' its brightness flies, Its embers must retain a fire that never dies. My own, and only Sister ! At that name, "What countless thoughts within my bosom swell ! What countless images arise, which claim Undying memory ! As within the shell, Snatched from its parent waves, for ever dwell The mourning echoes of its native sea, So in my soul, which bids a long farewell To the dear scenes of joyous infancy, The voice of other days still speaks of them and thee. PROEM TO AN" UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. 201 Imagination o'er our childish plays And early haunts, her quaint embroidery threw. Our life was poetry ; and Fancy's rays Glitter' d in Youth's delicious morning dew "With fresher light, and more celestial hue : Joy was our banquet, Liberty our guest : The Sun, in all his circle, ne'er did view Than we and our compeers, a band more blest With all that Peace approves, and Innocence loves best. Dost thou remember how each little Knight Kode forth the wrongs of mortals to redress, Each with his Amoret, his ladye bright, Whose wondrous worth to all ho might profess, And vindicate her peerless loveliness ; Bidding the plough-boy to our prowess yield. And duteous homage to her charms express, While clownish wonder his mute stare revealed ? Then how we scoured the heath with mimic lance and shield ? 202 PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. Dost thou remember too what vague delight Around our childish secrets ever played, The whispered mystery, the magic rite, The cabalistic leaf on pillow laid, Which, duly plucked beneath the midnight shade, To slumber's eye would paint the nymph adored, (Ah well I ween, I plucked it half-afraid !) The twilight foray, and the slender hoard Of chesnuts, in the rock with wondrous caution stored? Around our home was food to nurse the heart, And bid the faculties of mind unclose ; Our native valley might have soothed the smart That keepeth troubled Sorrow from repose. Sacred it seem'd to Nature's guiltless shows, Sacred to Nature's heav'n-taught melodies — Trees, brooks, and birds — and, if a murmur rose, 'Twas but the stock-dove's plaint. The very skies Had colours, that elsewhere have never met my eyes. PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DBAMA. 203 Two tree-clad hills embraced that treasured vale Closely their intermingling arms between ; A third against the surly Eastern gale Transversely stretched its hospitable screen. More glorious woods, of every shaded green, Ne'er circled Solitude's majestic seat : The world beyond was as a thing unseen, Yet in itself it was a world so sweet, That few could wish to stray beyond its deep retreat. But if the wanton sight desire to rove, Ascend the slope, and reach its breezy brow ; "While hill o'er hill, and grove succeeding grove, At every step, unfolding beauties show. Gaze, till, all dazzled with the boundless glow, Fatigued with wandering, and witli space opprest, lliino eye, with pausing fondness, turn below, And the heart shrink to its accustomed nest ; Then, w il h fresh joy, rot race the greenwood path of rest . 204 PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. Delightful spot ! For thee dew-spangled Morn, Cloud-scattering Noon, and Eve on perfumed wing, And every season, in its grateful turn, New gifts, and livelier graces vied to bring. How fresh the tender hues of lawny Spring ! How cool in Summer the Cathedral shade ! What varied tints did wayward Autumn fling O'er hill, and vale, and yellow grassy glade ! How Winter beautified the rock, and dumb cascade ! When April wept from eyes of laughing blue, What joy it was to dress our elfin bower, And stock our tiny plots with treasures new ! Ah, then in quest of many a vernal flower, With chesnut-fans to guard us from the shower, We roamed adventurous to the distant lane, Or climbed for rarer sweets the ruined tower ; Yet much we feared to vex the fairy train, And perils wild and strange did frolic Fancy feign. PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DBAMA. 205 Yet, yet our summer haunts before me smile ! On a hill-side apart the beeches stand, And, like the chapter-house of gothic pile, Their solemn arches loftily expand. The sportive ivy twines its darker band Around the silvery trunks ; while deep below Young sprouting shoots o'er all the wavy land Of liveliest green a living carpet throw, Unsmote by fiery star, or noontide's fiercest glow. Thence oft we wandered to the mossy seat, Where closed the vale in deeper solitude ; And waters fell to quench the restless heat : In straggling rays the day could scarce intrude Through the close awning of entangled wood. That overarched tho little lake beneath j Scarce might tho wind, in its most boisterous mood, On tho clear surface stir one lily wreath \ Yet through tho boughs above you heard ev'n Zephyr breathe. 206 PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. Dark twisted roots of fir, whose dusky screen Eose high beyond, o'ergrew the waters' source, And nodding laurel with a fresher green Eringed the white flash, that marked their hasty course. Prom crag to crag they leapt exulting hoarse, Yet ne'er disturbed the Lake's unsullied brow : The prisoned waves lost all their chafing force 'Mongst channelled rocks : while in the depths below The fall reflected gleams, and trees inverted grow. There, on the lofty plane-trees' mottled bark, The stately pillars of the vaulted glade, A painter's or a poet's eye might mark The restless interchange of light and shade. Reflected from the dashing waters, played The sunbeam there in shadows shifting bright (Like gliding snake in glossy mail arrayed), And spiral lines of undulating light Seemed still to re-appear, when fleeting from the sight. PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DEAMA. 207 'Twas there we paused to con some wondrous tale, Of fairy land, or days of chivalry, Of fierce enchanter, and of damsel pale, Of antique love, and old fidelity. And, as we read, we vowed to live and die Keeping our plighted faith. Not vain such lore Which fills the heart with feelings pure and high : The "World will claim enough, when youth is o'er, Howe'er with noble thoughts our souls we store. And when enthusiast Autumn's thrilling air "Wrought in our bosoms, then, in merry race, We thought it rapture, hand in hand, to dare Bush from the hill's steep summit to its base ; Or down the glen the eddying leaves to chase. Ah! still when dark November strews them round. Their dying fragrance prompts me to retrace Those early joys : again I seem to bound A light, yet thou- h i ful 6hiM «.Yi that enchanted ground. 208 PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DEAMA. Yes, Autumn, thou to Memory's longing sight Hast brought these dearest visions of my soul ! Parent of passion, Nurse of strange delight, All living things confess thy wild control ! Now, while thy billowy clouds tumultuous roll, More pensively resounds the plover's wail, The rooks cry hoarser from the elmy knoll : On bolder wing the shrieking curlews sail ; And nocks dart o'er the field, and cattle scour the vale. Nor less does man thy mystic influence own : But chief the Poet : he, whose frame replies To Nature's touch with prompter, finer tone, Peels most the magic of thy sympathies. The diapason of thy harmonies Wakes his full soul. Thy pale and stormy gleams, The fading pageants of thy vesper skies Give colouring best befitting Pancy's dreams ! Return, my roving song, to Childhood's lowlier themes. PROEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DBAMA. 209 Where the full sheaves stood rich in golden grain, We loved the motley field to wander o'er, Or join the gleaners' busy-stooping train, And add our handful to their little store : Or to some cot our merry load we bore, Well-pleased with draught of milk our thirst to slake, And every nook and dark recess explore, While the good dame, for our repast, would bake, Upon her embers bright, the tempting harvest-cnk.v Even Winter its peculiar joys awoke ; Where burning weeds sent high their crackling bla/v. We loved to dart athwart the wavering smoke, Which round the beeches hung its silver haze. Little we reck'd of fair or rainy days, Which <•(.>! poor full-grown mortals many a moan All, all is beautiful to childhood Fine weather in our hearts eternal shone, No (hilling damps relax'd the h.uU's healthful tone. 210 PKOEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. Our father's dwelling was an ancient pile ; Huge armour hung the old baronial hall, Where Lady Annes were dimly seen to smile, Or bold King Harries frown' d, big, bluff, and tall. But most we loved the gallery's length of wall, With Scripture's holy records pictured o'er. Ah, happy spot for rocking-horse or ball, Or sportive race along its echoing floor, When deep-embattled clouds their ceaseless torrents pour. But Night, oh, Night, how awful was thy reign ! Lo, on the mind terrific legends crowd ! The dreadful closet's uneffaced stain, The Nun still pointing to her gory shroud ! The mystic door, which no access allow' d, Yet on its sullen hinge at midnight swung ; (Stern monitors of murder unavow'd !) The shriek, the thrilling shriek, which once had rung, When all was still, the vaults and corridors among. PEOEM TO AN UNPUBLISHED DEAMA. 211 What strange unearthly voices too were thine ! The raven's croak, the watch-dog's bark profound, Blent with the creaking of the wind-swung pine, The owl's wild sob, that quivering echo'd round ; With many an unimaginable sound From the old walls and crazy galleries ! How darkly then the fading arras frown' d, Inwrought with shadowy forms of giant size, Which in the pale light seem'd to move their ghastly eyes. Far from the thoughts, ye Ghosts and Demons, fly ! What sounds are those beneath the frosty moon ? With rival force the village minstrels ply The shrieking hautboy and the loud bassoon. Nor you, ye proud, our simple tasto impugn, If more delightful to our childish ear Those rustic measures, harsh and out of tune, Than all thai Taste and Harmony revere : Ay still, though critics smile, t<» 1110111017 mm I l 212 PEOEM TO AN ^PUBLISHED DEAMA. For, oh, they bring of thoughts a cherish' d throng, The merry dance, the minstrel's song of woe, Which told an uncle's crime, an orphan's wrong, And check' d our smiles, and bade the soft tears flow ; The forfeits gay — the lanthorn's magic show, The Twelfth-night cake in all its pomp display' d, The pleasant mysteries of the mistletoe ; The mimic play, the childish masquerade, The glee, when tittering laugh the quaint disguise betray' d. Farewell, ye visions of the past, farewell. "What fearful tidings shock my startled ear ? Dead — oh, my sister — is not this the knell Of all that 's bright to hope — to memory dear ? Ah ! little deem'd I, when I shed the tear O'er woes which Eancy whisper' d might be thine, How soon more bitter drops would wet thy bier, That garlands, meant about thy brow to shine, Would, mix'd with cypress now, thy early grave entwine. PROEM 10 AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA. 213 Now on my lonely way mnst I depart, And shut my sorrow in my bosom's core ; Whatever ties Time brings unto my heart Cannot to me a sister's love restore ! That sweetest bond shall bind my soul no more ! What said my grief ? No force that bond can sever ; With thee, beloved, beyond the tomb I soar. Farewell to thee — but to thy memory never ! Farewell — until we meet for ever and for ever ! 214 TO THE DEPAETED ONE. I feel thee nigh, — and yet to thee I cannot soar above ! How near to me — how far from me Art thou — my buried love ! Oh, more than seas and rocks are hurl'd To part thee from my view ! The walls of an invisible world Are raised between us two ! And so I must go on alone In my great misery ; And nothing but my dying groan Can give thee back to me. 215 EAIN AND SUNSHINE. The sound of the breeze In the poplar trees, As it shakes the pattering leaves, Is like the rain, When it pours amain In winter upon the eaves. But the setting Sun Is shining on Those quivering poplars tall. And ' tis sweet I ween To sec thai slicnc. Yet hear as if rain did fail. i; mi-ion, July, 1847. 216 STANZAS. Methottght, in following Love I could not go astray, — So like to lights above Appear' d his guiding ray ! How did I then take wings, By fatal impulse driven, Forgetting heavenly things Are only found in heaven. Nor had it ever been Presented to my thought What mists might intervene To change the thing I sought. STANZAS. 217 O God, if I have err'd, This my excuse must be ; Excuse ! Away the word !— Silent, I trust in Thee. 218 LINES WBITTEN AT ANSPACH, 1847. "When the passion of woods comes o'er me, When towns to fields restore me, Then, in May-morning hours, Sunbeams, green leaves, and flowers, Great Heaven, how fresh they seem ! I mark as in a dream Twinkling shadows o'er the ground, Speckled with light, 'twixt tints embrown' d, And my free unreasoning pleasure Neither words nor thought can measure. 219 LINES WRITTEN AT HUNSTANTON, NORFOLK, 1848. I. Theee is a dazzle in the air ; The sea slopes up unto the sky So wondrously, we know not where The heavens into the waters die. Long lines of dark — long lines of light Are o'er the glittering convex spread, And many vessels take their flight Along those lines of shadow led — in. Scarce-moving ; — for a calm doth reign, A summer-calm o'er sky and sea, And o'er the sloping ocean-plain \ 1 1 moveth hush'd and sleepingly — 220 LINES WRITTEN AT HUNSTANTON. IV. Yet bright. — As in a beauteous dream, Splendour and peace together meet, A union of each blest extreme Which ne'er on earth each other greet. v. For, in our mortal world, our rest Is dull, our motion full of pain, And in our highest pleasure's zest The tired heart pants for peace again. Then, oh, to pour into my soul This Infinite of peace and joy, Which, like an unapproached goal, Now mocks mine eyes, and doth decoy My spirit to a fond belief That, ere Death cloud my mortal view, I might be blest, nor know the grief Of being glad yet restless too. 221 TO . Thy smiles are few as gleams in showers, When pale November walks the plain, And through all seasons and all hours Thy being hath a touch of pain. Yet is thy troubled face more dear Than beaming joy unto my soul, — It suits my fate of grief and fear, Nor mocks the clouds that round me roll. I am not happy at thy side, Vet would not change my place near tlu. . For all that might my lot betide, Were Pleasure's self enthroned by me. 222 TO MY MAKBE. Thou, who alone canst bid be still The wild wave or the restless heart, Oh, calm the throbbing of my will, And teach me only what Thou art ! 223 DESPONDENCY. WRITTEN AT COMO, OCTOBER, 1847. Oh, cease, thou music too divinely sweet Or madly thrilling, speak to me uo more Of sorrows springing up from too much joy, Of love and tears, and longings infinite, Things that exist no more in my sad life ; Call me not back unto the world again Of sweet, but dangerous humanity. And in this scone thou art more perilous : Thy echoes come from hills of misty blue Koll over waves of silver tipp'd with gold, And die 'midst orange-groves and citron-bowers. This is a land where life is far too full lor him whose heart is empty — made to feel It has capacities for happiness Which never can bo satisfied. 224 LIKES WRITTEN AT COMO. For me Fitter the silence of some dreary heath, The dullness of some desert solitude ; For joy is such a stranger to my soul, Its touch alarms me more than that of grief. 225 FRAGMENT. The influence of external Nature comes to me, Vivid as Truth. The union seems restored 'Twixt me and Nature — interrupted long By inward bitterness. How soothing sweet The old familiar feeling ! This cannot Be felt in cities ; — no — nor many miles Eemoved from cities, if too much of man Be round us. Haply, 'tis but mountain-born, And here 'midst deep and everlasting woods, Cradling soft meadows on the mountain-side, It comes to me. 226 FRAGMENT. Oh hours of bliss — of rare, of heartfelt bliss When God's own universe sufficeth us ; When any touch of highest earthly passion Would be discomfort — out of harmony ; When any Love, but wide diffusive Love, Would be too little for the boundless heart. Oh independent — God-given happiness ! But if not rare, then valued not enough. We must to bliss through much of sorrow struggle- Is it not worth th' apprenticeship, though hard ? And how it placeth us in union — In commerce — instant — intimate — with God ! 227 ON POETEY. With thine compared, O sovran Poesy, Thy sister Arts' divided powers how faint ! For each combines her attributes in thee, Whose yoice is music, and whose words can paint. <*2 228 WRITTEN ON THE SUMMIT OE CADEE IDBIS. August, 1832. Beautiful clouds, ah, whither — whither — Spirit-like, do ye stray ? Beautiful clouds, come hither — hither — And waft me on your way. Beautiful clouds, I see you flitting, As, on the mountain's brow, Alone with the glory of nature sitting, I gaze on the world below ! White as the fleecy snow ye hover 'Twixt the azure of sky and sea ; And scarce can the dazzled eye discover If clouds or sails ye be. WRITTEN ON CADEK IDBIS. 229 But, over earth as over ocean, Te are bound with a kindred link ; One will seems to guide your airy motion, And together ye soar and sink ! Oh what is the bond of your blessed union — What glad behest from above ? What is your speechless, yet free communion ? Oh what is your mission of love ? Is it to freshen deserts dreary, Where the pilgrim faints on the sand ? Or is it to waft the soul of the weary Away to some starry land ? Beautiful clouds, late three appearing, Into one ye gather now ; And now, as if my summons hearing, Rise towards the mountain's brow. Up the ravine, along the torrent, Past the blue lake in the cove, Ye glide to the peak o'er the glistening curivnt . The child of the dews above. 230 WRITTEN ON CADEE, IDKIS. There, like a silvery chaplet wreathing, Ye drink of the sunbeams bright, The dark rude summit tenderly sheathing In a glory of soften' d light. Beautiful clouds ! Again ye sever Away, and away, ye fly, And rest at length, as if for ever, On the edge of the eastern sky. There, half in light, dissolved and hidden, Ye melt, yet your own forms keep, As if by very bliss ye were bidden To hang in a golden sleep ! Are ye not tranced in a dream of heaven In some upper air of the blest ? Is not to you a bright home given Where the spirits of infants rest ? Oh, fair is the world beneath me lying, And lovely the ocean blue ; — Yet far from these I would fain be flying To wander, and rest with you ! 231 AUTUMN, AND MEMOEY. Winter hath set his feet Upon the mountain's brow, But Autumn, golden-sweet, Is lingering yet below. Haste then — Memory — haste ! Ere all that 's dear to thee Be buried in the waste, Come to me ! Come to me ! Come ; and the clouds shall flush Around thy shadowy throne ; Come ; — and the torrent's hush Shall speak to thee alone ! 232 AUTUMN, AND MEMORY. The sere leaves, when they yield Unto the tempest's wrath, Shall troop from flood and field, Like spirits, ronnd thy path ! And I, more true to thee Than winds, or dews, or showers, O Memory, will be Thy vassal at all hours ! "Who said — thou canst deceive ? Thou art no fond Ideal, Like Hope, that makes us grieve, Even when her dreams turn real ! Bright blossoms fade and fall, Light wings are swiftly flown ! — Thy chasten' d stores are all That we can call our own. That portion of old Time, "We fondly name our Now, Is as an idle chime ! — Wisdom's sole Spirit, thou ! AUTUMN, AND MEMOBY. 233 Eepentance is thy child ; Thou art the source of tears, By which are reconciled Our past and present years. As, from his journey's maze, Some hill the pilgrim gains, And learns his devious ways Along the tangled plains, Lifted by thee, we trace Life's labyrinthine road, And Pleasure's erring chase Ends in the arms of God ! Oh, lovely are thy hues, And fair thy golden fruit, All sweetly that confuse Earth in one gorgeous suit. • Why quarrel, then, with Time, Because lie Hies |0 fast ? Though all our steps sublime More sanctify the Past ! 234 AUTUMN, AND MEMOEY. I bless his gentle touch — Not that it steals from me The pang of grief so much As that it leaves me thee ! 235 SOKG. There were two hearts, that ask'd More than the world could give, And each in silence mask'd What in its depths did live ! They met — and sorrow fled — The chilling spell was broken ! And each the other read, Before a word was spoken ! They spoke! — and every tone ThrillM rapture as it fell; — A language each had heard, — But where, it could not tell ! 236 song. They blended ; — Death came soon ! But, oh, he could not sever Hearts, thus twined in one ; — So made them one for ever ! 237 STANZAS, ON FIRST SEEING WAST-WATER. Yes ! I shall carry to my grave Th' effulgence of that heavenly light, "Which shone on "Wasdale's steely wave, And turn'd it golden-bright ! Dark had the day's drear jonrney been O'er moor, and crag, and frowning fell, And, all around a wintry scene Of snow, and icicle ! Then what a lightning Hash of wonder My spirit's life ran thrilling through, When elitls, that seeinM to rend asunder, (Jave that deep vale to view f 238 STANZAS. A summer sun — a summer's sky — Hills of Italian blue were there ; And such a mist as Claude had wish'd To make fair things more fair ! And I, o'erwhelm'd with speechless awe, An atom on the mountain's brow, Yet the sole thought of all I saw, Grazed steeply down below ! Far off, gleam' d one faint streak of sea ; — And thus that view, so dark — so bright- Seem'd of man's life a type to be — Bounded — yet infinite ! Oh may I, in Life's wintry sky, Perceive a kindred ray of bliss ; — One glimpse of glad Eternity, As pure, and vast as this ! SPIEIT SONG. Darkness and storm are met together Over the mountain's head — On the night- wind hastening hither "We have sought thy bed : Though thou slumber in seeming, Thou canst not all sleep, To the depths of thy dreaming Our whispers shall creep. Though the crash of the thunder Should reach not thy oar, Yet our scarce- whisper* d voices Thy spirit shall hear. 240 SPIEIT SONG. Though the glare of the lightning Should pierce not thine eye — Yet the gleam of our visions Thy soul shall descry. Above and about — And above and beneath — We the traveller misguided Have left on the heath. And now we will wilder Thy heart and thy brain With a dream and a riddle Thou shalt not explain. 241 LINES SUBSTITUTED FOR A SATIRE. Once, I was hurt by a hard word ; — Relief my bosom needing, From verse did borrow a sharp sword To set another bleeding. But soon I found that my rash will A remedy had gain'd not, But that I nourish' d a worse ill Than that which conscience pain'd not. So I, with ruth, that caustic verse From out my page have riven, And, in its stead, with joy rehearse My joy — to have forgiven ! 242 TO THE LAKE OF WINDEEMEKE. SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF HARTLEY COLERIDGE. " As erst thy mountains shelter thee, Thy name is as of yore ; — And yet, fair lake, thou art to me The lake, I loved, no more ! ii. " Alas ! can streams or mountains make A dwelling for the heart ? When friends familiar haunts forsake, 'Tis time we too depart ! u I know thee not — thy soul is fled, Thou livest to other men : Restore the lost — awake the dead — And I shall know thee then ! " TO THE LAKE OF WINDERMERE. 243 O Windermere ! thus I to thee Pour'd out my pensive strain, When I from lands beyond the sea Had sought thee once again ! It was the hour of evening grey : The lake, like molten glass, Gave not a ripple to betray Where truths to shadows pass. VI. The uir was still — and more intense Did Silence bind her thrall, By sending on the Listening sense A distant waterfall. But, on the pausing and the thrill Mv wovtU when hiish'd did mukr. These oainc a murmur from the hill A whisper from the lake 244 TO THE LAKE OF WINDERMERE. More audible and yet more clear It grew in swelling chords, Until it trembled on my ear Like voices uttering words. " Mourn not ! " (they murmur' d sweet and low) " We do not hence depart ; — We whom you loved — our voices now Are breathing on your heart ! " Eecal thy faith ! — O man, be strong, ISTor sadden this fair shore, For ever hallow' d by our song, And by our sufferings more ! " Blest are the spots which Genius loved, Whose sunset and whose airs To joy the Poet's heart have moved, And sooth' d his human cares. TO TIIE LAKE OF WINDEBMERE. 245 " And blest are they in such abode Who pour'd their latest breath Harmonious with the plan of God ; For such there is no death ! " Know, then, thy own loved lake again, Nor be the dead deplored ; For thee awake the mourn' d in vain ; The lost are now restored ! " 246 SONG OE EMILY. " Oh Emily ! Unhappy beauty ! What a picture rose before me of her sitting on the far-off shore, among the children like herself when she was innocent, listening to little voices, such as might have called her mother had she been a poor man's wife ; and to the great voice of the Sea, with its eternal ' Never more !'" David Copperfield, No. xv., page 475. I. Nevermore, Nevermore ! Say the billows by the shore, Unto me, Unto me — Nevermore, eternally ! Nevermore shalt thou be blest ! Weary one, whose sins have bound thee, Trembling one, whose shame is round thee. Nevermore shalt thou have rest ! SONG OF EMILY. 247 II. Nevermore, Nevermore Shalt thou wander by the shore To behold Skies of gold In thy heart their hues unfold ! Thou hast darken' d earth and sky ! He, the trusted, has betray' d thee. Who shall love thee ? who shall aid thee ? Who be near when thou shalt die ? in. Nevermore, Nevermore Shalt thou listen, as of yore, For our sound Gushing round Thy loved home by ocean's bound ! In thy l)ed, when wild winds rave, Nevermore we joy shall bring thee, Or sweet lullabies shall sing thee, Though we yet may he I 248 song or emtly. IV. Nevermore Sea nor shore Can thy innocence restore ! Children stray Eound thy way, Gay, as thou too once wert gay ! Art thou glad amongst them — now ? Ah ! thou might' st have been a mother, Happy, making blest another ; But thou brakest heart and vow ! v. Nevermore, Nevermore ! But the billows hush their roar ! Dying sweet At my feet, They another strain repeat, Soothing to my brain so wild ! God forgiveth, — God forgiveth, Ever, as He ever liveth ! God was made a little child ! SONG OF EMILY. 2 V.) Evermore, Evermore, God to thee will peace restore ! Only meek With pale cheek Thy forsaken home re-seek ! Hasten o'er the ocean foam ! We, thy comrades old, will bear thee : Lo, a bark we now prepare thee ! Yes, ye waves, I come, I come ! 250 LIGHT. (a companion to lord byron's "darkness.") I had a vision, in that dreamy mood Which is not sleep, when the soul's inmost eyes Are open'd on the world unknown. Methought That in the aspect of this mortal earth, And in the seasons that around it roll, There was a change. Winter was fled for ever, And Spring and Autumn, blent in the embrace Of fervid Summer, melted into one : — 'Twas bright, unchanging, cloudless Summer all. Old men, whose blood had lost its natural heat, All day were prattling of the pleasant change, As they sat basking in the sun, and felt A genial thaw loosening their frozen veins. The sick look'd up. The very blind had joy, And felt the sunshine through their sightless orbs. LIGHT. 251 The poor were happy — poor, indeed, no more, Tor food and warmth — life's great necessities — Spontaneous came to all. The air itself Was clothing, and the universal earth A free and lavish banquet. Thou hast seen, Upon the first spring-day, how human life Is stirr'd abroad, quicken' d, and made intense Around some populous city's pleasant skirts ; How the discordant and habitual sounds Of labour, are to song and laughter turn'd, And hum of busy happiness. 'Twas so, Even in my dream, — a vivid flush of life, — Light steps, and merry voices. How the young Throng' d in the bright green meadows, as even they "Were stung to fresh existence ! With what joy They sprang into the wave, and there, surprised With a new sense of pleasure, languidly Hung floating on the tepid element, As if the waters were another air. More bless'd than that of heaven; then rush'd again To active sports, and in a thousand feats Tried their glad strength ! Apart the graver Bate £52 LIGHT. In the deep shelter of some aged grove, And held discourse, that match' d the happy time, Of holy love, and sweet expectancy. Some said, the world was on its golden eve Of jubilee, by prophet voice foretold, The radiant sabbath of a thousand years ; That War should break his sword, and Pain and Grief Be as a gossip's tale. Still more to raise Aspiring Fancy in her skyward flight, The glory of a comet hung in heaven, In whose bright beams the kindling eye beheld Immortal shapes ! And if a wandering breeze Made all the forest like one sounding lyre, The gifted ear heard songs of angels borne, From some fair region earthward. Yet there were Some, who denounced Earth's mighty festival As but the prelude to a fearful woe ; Admonishers, who cried, from time to time, " Beware, beware ! Once was the world destroy' d By water ! Now the doom of fire is nigh ! Repent, repent !" But the foreboding voice Was drown' d in acclamations of more joy, LIGHT. 253 And the dark-omen' d messengers of ill Were shouted forth into the wilderness "With execration. But their words had left A growing trouble in the souls of men ; And, as the day -beam ever brightening shone, Pleasure grew languid, languor turn'd to pain. Gradual the breezes sicken' d, and the showers And dews — ay, even the sweet familiar clouds — Came rarer, till they only had a being In Memory, and Desire. Low murmurs pass'd From lip to lip, while now intenser heat Parch'd Nature's shrinking form ! Dim tidings osme From realms, that on Earth's beaming girdle glow . Of conflagrations strange, — of blazing reeds, And forests, feeding with their resinous gum The Crackling flame, — of rivers vast as seas Gaping like summer brooks, — and Ocean's self, With all its naked rocks, a horrid gulf, That almost bared the centre of the globe. And men ran to and fro, each whispering each, " Can it bo so ? Hast thou observed it too— The Sun's enlargement r" Imping each to : Denial of his fears — hut none denied ! 254 LIGHT. Then wild empyrics rose, with glozing lies, The children of the terror of the time, Who sold out comfort to the multitude, And talk'd, in babbling terms, of cause, effect, And optical illusion. For a while This, and the banquet lull'd the fears of men ; Or torturing labour (for the poor again Were servants to the rich) crush' d out all thought In agony of body ! Thousands toil'd To shield the few from day's distracting glare By all devices Luxury could dream, Or subtle Art create. Yast noble halls Were scoop' d beneath the ground, and the tired eye Reposed within, on cool and chasten' d light ; While waters, fresh from yet unwither'd depths, Went bubbling ever by, and ample fans Mimick'd the wings of Zephyr. Idle all ! The steps of Eate were on their silent way, And men confest them in their secret hearts, Although they own'd it not ! The very caves Ceased to be shelter, and with stifling air LIGHT. 255 Drove forth their pale inhabitants, to seek Relief in any change . Desperate, at length, As with one impulse, all look'd up to heaven ! There glared the Sun — enormous — terrible — Dilated from its fair habitual round To tenfold size ! Then burst one mighty cry, That gather' d all the voice of all mankind, As rush'd the truth upon them, and they knew That, like a rudderless ship, the world was driven Towards that tremendous continent of fire ! And larger — larger grew the dreadful orb, And nearer still, and swifter as more near, The earth sped onward to its flaming doom ! Oh for one shade of night — one twilight gleam — One passing touch of Winter's icy hand ! Impossible ! Light — Light is everywhere ! Man sees it, feels it, breathes it. Though he close His lids, the glare is with him, — though he prea His hand upon his eves, no darknoss comes! All barriors betwixt him and the fierce day Are but the veil of summer's gauzy mist. If he look down, the Earth is the Sun's glass; If be look op, the Sun is all his heaven — 256 LIGHT. A cope of fire — a circle widening still — And blotting out the azure universe ! Yet mortals could not die ! "With this wild change Of Nature's course, their natures too were changed ; And still they burn'd and burn'd ; yet unconsumed They seem'd like wandering shadows scarce less bright Than the surrounding brightness. Every pore Was interfused with fire, till all their frames Became the element that was the world — The sole survivor of the primal four — The grave and shroud of all created things. This change was only rapture to the Blest, Soon as the first strange agony had pass'd, And clear' d their spirits from the dross of earth ; But ever-during torture to the Bad. And so they went to meet their awful Judge, "Whirling through space — already their own Hell. The mighty shock of a demolish' d world Declared their dread arrival ! Nought remain'd Of this fair orb. As melts a drop of dew That falls on ocean, it had pass'd away Into the sea of everlasting fire ! 257 THE WANT. In vain for me, in vain for me The sun, the sun doth shine At evening's hour so winningly — Joy cannot be mine, be mine ! I am not happy, I am not happy ; There is, there is a want For which, for which unceasingly My bosom doth pant, doth pant ! That want it is — a kind, kind breast Whereon, whereon to lay My head when it aches, my heart when it beats, My spirit and soul alway ! 258 THE SUPPLY. I now am happy, I now am happy : I feel that for me 'twas good That I should not rest on an earthly breast, Nor by mortal be understood. And the sun is bright, and the valleys are green, And the clouds look fair in the sky, Because I see, wherever I go, The light of a Saviour's eye. I pant no longer, I pant no longer — I lean on the Holy Eood ; If I wish for aught, I look up and say — " He will give it me, if it be good." 259 LINES. It is more joy to pray for thee Even than to see thy face, Until the day that I be free Thy spirit to embrace. It is more joy at midnight's hour For thee a tear to shed, Than gather with thee Pleasure's flower, Whoso leaves so soon are shed. It is more joy to think that we In heaven one day shall meet, Than to divide :i crown with tluv. With kingdoms at our feet. 260 A BAD MOOD. Aching heart, busy brain, Be still, be still! "Why are ye both so restless Against my will ? Why turn ye so and tremble Towards the pale Past ? "Why on the Future ever Sad glances cast ? Why do ye whisper me That Love's bright beam, Youth's fondest dreaming, Was but a dream ? A BAD MOOD. 261 That a true heart existing Only to twine Links of delight around me Cannot be mine ? Why say ye how sweet were Life's bitter draught, If with some plant of healing It might be quaff 'd ? That all my stores of knowing And feeling are vain, As to the desert The sun and the rain ? How all my good ever Turns into ill ? Why tell mo this, and all Against my will? Oh, cease ! nor tangle more Life's dreary net ; Hope no more, dream no more- Only forget! 262 A GOOD MOOD. No ! I would not forget, Saviour dear, Woe that with tears I wet, Or tearless fear. No ! from my memory Never be riven All Thou hast done for me, All thou 'st forgiven. Love from the darkness springs Brighter than bliss, And shakes his dewy wings Lovelier for this. A GOOD MOOD. 263 Now all Thy gracious plan, Perfect through pain, With eye abased I scan : Dared I complain ? Nought in my fate would I Change or destroy : Costly my agony — Costlier my joy ! 264 MY CEEED. I DO not bind my thoughts to earth, Let me be wrong or right ; I have no joy in worldly mirth, Yet is my spirit light. I do believe in one great Grod, As good as He is great, Who for us men the earth has trod, And felt our being's weight. A TTniversalist am I, Who think God doth befriend All, and will make eternally All equal in the end. 265 WAIT. "Wait ! for the day is breaking, Though the dull night be long ; Wait ! G-od is not forsaking Thy heart. Be strong — be strong ! Wait ! and the clouds of sorrow Shall melt in gentle showers, And hues from heaven shall borrow, As they fall amidst the flowers. Wait ! 'tis the koy to pleasure And to the plan of God ; Oh, tarry thou His leisure — Thy soul shall bear no load ! 266 wait. "Wait ! for the time is hasting When life shall be made clear, And all who know heart-wasting Shall feel that God is dear. 267 TO A POET. Soil not thy wings ! Thou of th' ethereal race "Whom Genius hallows. Lofty sufferings Match with thy destiny — but nothing base. Soil not thy wings ! Eemain above — As doth the summit-snow — Nor like the idle glacier downward move, Only to gather stains of earth below. Eemain above ! Even if thou droop, Thou, in a moment's time, Mayst soar again above the vulgar group, By Fancy's aid. Keep, then, thy flight sublime, And never stoop ! 268 TO A POET. Let others tread The grosser paths of life ! Enough there are ignoble joys to wed, Whom Poesy ne'er woke to lofty strife. Soil not thy wings ! Take thou the lyre, Or pencil — gifts bestow' d On thee by Heav'n's high bounty. Thus aspire To cast off vile temptation's heavy load ! Look to thy Grod ! Soil not thy wings, Or they no more will bear thee, Oh, never more, to Joy's diviner springs ; Sullen Remorse and keen Despair will tear thee. Soil not thy wings ! 269 LINES. Canst thou melt another's heart ? Never — never — never ! Unless Heaven a touch impart, Vain thy wild endeavour. Canst thou make another love ? Never — never — never ! Unless Heaven the bosom more, Nurse despair for ever ! 270 AN ANSWEE. Rapture increasing, Joy never-ceasing, All is delight and forgiveness of sin ; Strife and contending Now have fonnd ending — Mocking withont and madness within. Onward, and onward, and onward for ever, Wearily, drearily, once did I toil. Joy was I seeking — but joy found I never — Only more anguish and deadlier turmoil. Death, losing terror, makes welcome the grave, Yet life is lovely with all its enjoying ! Nothing is lost — Grod himself comes to save — Nothing destroy' d, and no one destroying. AN ANSWEB. 271 At my elbow are smiling Beautiful eyes ; In my ear is a strain Out of Paradise. In quiet Through all riot My soul is sleeping — Out of its horrid curse Springs all the universe, Smiling and weeping ! Where is damnation ? — Man- woven sadness ! — Hark ! all creation Answers in gladness ! " Sin shall dissolve In goodness supernal ! — Beauty and Joy Alone are eternal!" 272 EEPEINTS. The following poems are reprinted that I may retain in them a vested title, as they have heen frequently copied into collections, or newspapers— as the productions of other persons. THE LONELY TEAK, These is a joy, — a lonely tear, By none beheld, to none reveal' d, To every feeling heart more dear Than all that wealth or power can yield. Is other's happiness o'ercast ? It mingles soft with Pity's sigh ; O'er the fond records of the Past It slowly streams from Memory's eye. THE LONELY TEAK. 273 And, when the silent bosom swells With feelings that we cannot speak, By murmuring brooks, in moonlight dells, Oh, then, it trembles on the cheek ! It is the sacred tear that flows, Devotion's humble tribute given, When every passion finds repose, And every thought is lost in Heaven. 274 SEPAKATION. Oh, 'tis one scene of parting here ! Love's watchword is — " Farewell ! " And almost starts the following tear Ere dried the last that fell ! 'Tis bnt to feel that one most dear Grows needful to the heart, And, straight, a voice is muttering near, Imperious, " Ye must part ! " Oft, too, we doom ourselves to grieve, Eor wealth or glory rove ; But, say, can wealth or glory give Aught that can equal Love ? SEPARATION. 275 Life is too short thus to bereave Existence of its spring, Or even for one short hour to leave Those, to whose hearts we cling. Count o'er the hours, whose happy flight Is shared with those we love ; Like stars amid a stormy night, Alas, how few they prove ! Yet they concentre all the light That cheers our lot below, And thither turns the weary sight From this dark world of woe. And could we live, if we believed The future like the past ? Ah, still we hope, though still deceiwtl. The hour will come at last, When all the visions Fancy weaved Shall bo by Truth impress' d, And they who long asunder grieved Shall bo together blest. . a 276 SEPAEATIOtf. But happiest they whose gifted eye Above this world can see, And those diviner realms descry Where partings cannot be ! "Who, with One changeless Friend on high, Life's varied path have trod, And soar to meet, beyond the sky, The ransom' d and their Godl 277 AN EVENING THOUGHT. Reflected in the lake I love To mark the star of evening glow, So tranquil in the heaven above, So restless on the wave below ! Thus heavenly hope is all serene ; But earthly hope — how bright soe'er— Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene, As false and fleeting as 'tis fair! 278 SITMMEE EVENING, BY THE SEA. Amid the west, the light decaying, Like Joy, looks loveliest ere it dies ; On Ocean's breast the small waves playing Catch the last lustre as they rise. Scarce the blue-curling tide displaces One pebble in its gentle ebb ; Scarce on the smooth sand leaves its traces In meshes fine as fairy's web. From many a stone the sea- weed streaming Now floats, now falls, the waves between, Its yellow berries brighter seeming Amid the wreaths of dusky greer», SUMMER EVENING. 279 This is the hour the loved are dearest, This is the hour the sever' d meet ; The dead, the distant, now are nearest, And joy is soft, and sorrow sweet ! MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. SONNETS ON THE POLAR EXPEDITION, CONDUCTED BY SIB EDWARD PARRY. I. " What forms of darkness in this world of snow Appear?" the spirits of the frozen zone Might ask each other, when — a sight unknown To their regards — two ships, with motion slow, Through the white waste and solid billows go : — And now they rest, and, as deep night comes on, All signs of life from their huge bulk are gone ! The stars above — the steadfast plains below — Are not more silent ! Has the breath of frost, Which whitens o'er them in a stiffen' d show< r. Congeal' d them into trophies of its might ? Pierce the mysterious calm, ye spiritual host ! This stillness is the energy of power. This darkness but the womb of mental light. 284 SOCKETS. II. Daek ship, fast fetter' d in the polar sea, O'er whom a half-year's night doth grimly lower, The noblest monument of human power Fades and is nothing, when compared with thee ! What veil the pyramids ? — Mortality In its most loathsome aspect ! — Dome and tower Oft are but records of some blood-stain' d hour, — Some triumph of ignoble tyranny ! Thy treasures are the living and the brave — Hearts that keep watch o'er Hope's pure trembling flame, And warmly beat, where Nature's pulse stands still. Thou shalt decay ; — yet on the glassy wave Thy path shall write imperishable fame, A nation's wisdom and majestic will. SONNETS. 285 III. Men prate of solitude in gentle phrase — But 'tis an awful power ! — Behold her throne 'Midst ever-during ice, — where even a stone The sense of utter loneliness allays, As having once been seen in human ways. How horrible to wander here alone ! Instead of mortal voice to hear the groan Of parting icebergs ! All around to gaze, And see for Nature's sweet familiar shows, Only her wild illusions— boreal light — Mock suns, and spectral shapes ! — Yea. here to dwell With an associate band, and here repose Through the long darkness of one polar night — Is fame — is wonder — and a deed of fear! 286 What if they fail'd ? 'Twas glory even to dare The proud achievement ! Tens of millions brood O'er human life in one penurious mood Of paltry thought, and miserable care. Then shall not these the palms of triumph wear, A guiltless wreath, in slaughter unembrued ? For not by their own minds were they subdued, But by the banded troops of sea and air. Who yield to Nature are true conquerors ; — The loftiest war not with the will of God ! What, if th' Almighty from our baffled eyes Closed winter's realm with adamantine doors, That, being ignorant of our own abode, We might revere the secrets of the skies ? SONNETS. 287 ON THE CHASM OF SCALE FORCE, CUMBERLAND. What force terrific could have rent the rock Into this awful cleft ? — I see no more Yon slender cataract its waters pour ; But the triumphant deluge, shock on shock, Burst its rejoicing way through granite block, And mountain buttress. Lightning goes before- Dread pioneer ! — Now dies the wild uproar, And lo, a wonder, framed as if to mock Man's puny deeds — an avenue of stone. God's workmanship — o'er which the MNnfM Have wrought a mossy vesture beautiful. Leads the grand aisle to yonder fall done f Sure there are beings who can pierce beyond, And find the temple to this vestibule ! 288 SONNETS. FAITH AND PATIENCE. " Oh, had I wings to reach yon sunny spot !" I cried, as o'er the gloomy plain I pass'd : Then spurr'd my steed, and eagerly and fast Sped to the glory. — Over grove and cot It linger' d as before, and heeded not The gathering cloud or monitory blast, Till I had reach' d it ; then it fled at last And found a home upon the very plot Of ground, whence first its golden lure I saw — That gloomy plain. Then came a voice from Heaven — " Poor child of sin, by Hope's rash impulse driven, To whom thy wish is light — thy will is law, Learn that to humble Patience joys will come, "Which headlong Passion follows to the tomb ! " SONNETS. 289 THE LANGDALE PIKES, ON LAKE WINDERMERE, CUMBERLAND. I call'd ye clouds, ye twin-born mountains, — ye Who hold communion both with earth and heaven : The airy mists, that o'er your tops are driven, Are not, in form, more fancifully free ! But, with those mists as now ye seem to flee, My changing thought to you new names hath given,— Steeds of etherial race, that, at rich Even, With bent and arched neck stand quiveringly By the Sun's golden gates. Now melting quite Into thin air, — now lifting up again Your shadowy crests above the silver plain Of sea-like clouds, and touch'd by pale moon-li^ht. Ships might ye be, to waft the weary spirit Unto the calm that it would fain inherit. 290 SONNETS. WRITTEN AFTER SEEING FANNY KEMBLE'S BELVIDERA. I saw thine eye grow dim with agony, I heard thy voice, so musically deep, Wake thought and passion from their tranced sleep, And breathe a soul of living poesy ! I felt the pulses of my heart reply To thy command, nor could I choose but weep When thou hadst touch' d the silent spring of tears. Thou art no actress, but a human soul, That by its own emotion can controul All others. Joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, Are both thy power and element. Thou art A very poet with a woman's heart, And this strong truth from weakness thou canst borrow, That loftiest happiness is born of sorrow. SONNETS. 291 RUGBY. INSCRIBED TO TUE LATE DR. ARNOLD. A nation's hope is centre'd in the young ; Corrupt the source, forth flows a taiuted flood ! Yet where the nurseries of the wise and good, Such as of old in vigorous Athens hung Upon the lips of sages ? "We, unstrung By luxury, raise a weak and selfish brood. Yet, in one spot, pure intellectual food Prepares the noble heart, the patriot tongue For Britain. Lofty honour, stainless truth, High friendship, warmest in unsullied youth, In one fair classic shade may jtA be found For this, and not ibne tor happy hours Of choicest converse, in thy pleasant bowers, Rugby, to me thou art as holy ground ' . -j 292 SOCKETS. TO A MUSICIAN ON HEARING A PIECE CALLED "MELANCHOLY." A sea dark-heaving, after tempests past, About a stranded ship ; — a lingering light In a cathedral aisle ; — voices of night, That mix their murmurs with an ebbing blast ; A still black lake 'midst old decaying woods ; A startling death-knell, soon absorb' d again In faltering echoes ; — these are in thy strain ! But thy skill' d hand leads on to deeper moods, "Which things material cannot typify ; And, all thy full sad music to express, We must explore our own humanity, The spiritual pangs that on existence press, Sorrows to which long years have brought redress, And a bereaved heart's whole history. SONNETS. 293 TO THE AUTHOR OF OLIVER TWIST, NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, &c. Man of the genial mind ! to thee a debt No usurer records I largely owe ! Thy portraitures of life so warmly glow, They clear the spirit of its old regret, And, from the very heart that 's smarting yet, At human baseness, bid kind feelings now. 'Tis thine our nature's lights and shades to show, Eedeeming these by those, till we forget The evil in the good. Thy vigorous hand Smites but to heal, and turns with master-ease The mighty engine of the popular mind To indignation, which shall purge the laud Of sanction' d sins. For such high services I thank I lice in the name of human land I 294 " That light is loveliest which doth least decay, Small though it be, and common to the sight." This thought came o'er me on a troublous night, A care-toss' d wanderer, as, amidst the play Of the red lightning and the tempest's sway, I mark'd a glow-worm's soft confiding light, JSTot blown out by the winds, nor suffering blight, Serene amidst confusion's holiday. Then was I gladden' d, for methought I saw, Made visible, the lamp of some pure soul, Fed by the oil of calm continual prayer, Humble, yet steadfast in religious awe, Which wavers not, though tempests round it roll, Though earth be shaken, and the powers of air. SONNETS. 295 THE VETERAN TREES. I FOUR PARTS. I. Tiiet were the last — those trees — the very last Two veterans of a stern primeval race, That fill'd with life a melancholy space ; Skirting an old pine-forest, dim and vast. Nothing had they to bend before the blast, But frown' d as fix'd as Desolation's face : They were a superstition of the place, Say — a religion rather ; — for the Past Look'd out so solemnly from all their mien, That the axe fell from his uplifted hand, Who came to lay them prostrato : — so they stand, Communing ever with the great " Has-been ! \nd I beheld them gladly, and I said — ° All awe of awful things not yet is dead ! M 29(5 SONNETS. What are thy dreams, old tree, who hast beheld The great pine-forest shrink from thee away, Till round thee spreads a desert bleak and grey, Where only one of all thy troops of Eld May meet thy ken, hoary and age-compell'd Almost as thou ? Dost thou recal thy play With the green earth — thy dalliance with warm May- All thy fresh joy, ere Time thy pride had quell' d ? Why dost thou writhe thy gnarled branches bare, Like bony fingers twisted by mute woe ? Peel' at thou the mystery, and the burthen dread Of thy long years ; — and wouldst thou on thy head Invoke the storm, that lays the young grove low, But passes thee — as Death will pass Despair ? 297 Do they converse across the midnight waste — Those solitary trees ? Methought I heard The misty air around them faintly stirr'd, As though a voice were on the silence cast, Which murmur' d low — " Where is our glory past ? Where are the heroes, who were glad to gird Their strength near ours, or give the battle-word Beneath us ? Now our clarion is the blast — And our sole banner the autumnal cloud ! We are the last — and we are all alone ! The very birds flit by us, and are gone Without a greeting; — save when, hoarse and loud. The raven cries above us, and delays, Seeming to chide our weary length of days." 208 SONNETS. IT. But then a graver voice was borne along : — " Yes ! We are weak ! — but for our crown of power Something we have more fair than fruit or flower ! Time brings sweet recompense for every wrong He doth us. What, if once the battle-throng Was swept from us, as each had been a tower, Ourselves are conquerors now ! — We have for dower The very heart of man ! — Our rule is strong In love, and fear, and holiest memory ! Prayer garments us around ! — The aged serf, Who sees our lofty struggle with the storm, Claims kindred with us ; — and our bordering turf And solemn boughs for him a temple form, Where unto G-od he kneeleth reverentlv !" SONNETS. Ii09 THE NEW MOUNTAIN CEMETERY, IX THREE SOXXETS. I. THE FEAR. There was a village — lonely as a sleep — Whose burial-ground was fill'd with many a race Of by-gone men ; — and so another space Was clear' d amidst primeval forests deep, In stirless rest the future dead to keep. Great Heaven, how still and awful was the place ! Death's dreary shadow dwelt upon its face More than on churchyards, festering, heap on heap, With some great city's rank funereal spoil ! The four bare walls — the pale and clodded ground, Soon to be cumber'd with a ghastlier soil, — The pines that stood like solemn mourners round — Gtamg on these, men felt a secret fear, And murmur' d to themselves — "Who first shall dum- ber here?" 300 SONNETS. II. THE CONSOLATION. Mild is the will of G-od, and free from scorn Of human weakness ! — Tenderly began The mountain churchyard's offices to man. Twin-babies first — then one with age outworn — Thither to hallow' d sepulture were borne. Extremes met kindly there — years that o'er-ran Enjoyment — and the small, but precious span Fraught with existence, yet untaught to mourn. And so the earth, unfetter' d from its dread, By those three graves with gentle thoughts was crown' d, And, when sweet Spring her turf and flowers had spread, And woke the birds' glad music, all around, Then, from a terror, did that spot become Sorrow's great joy — a fond desired home ! SONNETS. 301 III. THE BEATIFICATION. Beyond that churchyard's walled boundary, One golden vista open'd to the west : There saw I once the setting sun invest Heaven with a glory, which, methought, must be Permanent somewhere, and not made to flee With flying clouds — one of God's thoughts that rest Eternally with spirits of the blest. What tracks of wonder open'd endlessly Into the sky ! — Earth, too, in lustre shone, And the dark pines were girt with solemn fire. Thru did these words upon my lip expire — " The grave hath glorious vistas of her own!" And that lone churchyard seem'd onto mint 6] W Bright as the very gate of Ptaradi 302 TWO SONNETS IN REMEMBRANCE OF A VISIT TO FURNESS ABBEY, 1843. I. INSCRIBED TO DERWENT COLERIDGE. Days have I known, whose happy memory I wonld not lose for mines of endless gold ; Days, which, nnlook'd for, cast not in the mould Of our intent, come to us bright and free As G-od's own bounty. Such was that to me "When, in the ruin'd aisles of Furness old, Derwent, we met ; — and those grey walls did hold A chance-composed, harmonious company. There, even as the great majestic fane Was reconstructed by thy antique lore, Old friendships for the heart were built again Out of the crumbling years of heretofore ! And one was there — grand as those walls to see — A sample of sublime humanity ! SONNETS. 303 II. PROFESSOR WILSON. He sate amidst that vast and solemn pile, In all so like it, save in its decay, — Call back the glories of its mellowest day, When Time had soften'd, yet enrich'd the while, Pillar and pinnacle and cluster' d aisle, — Then gain an image of his mind's array ! The seasons that had touch' d his hair with g Had but matured his spirit's lofty smile, And sorrow had exceeding beauty wrought Within his soul. The shadow and the gleam Of his rich words came restful on the thought* As on those ruins day's reposing In am. Ami, when he went, a Presence had departed from out the place, and I was lonely-hearted. 304 ON THE PLAYING OF HENRY VIEUXTEMPS. With music great as glorious poesy, Vieuxtemps, thou dost exalt material things ; It is not sound that trembles from thy strings, But light, and love, and summer fragrancy ! How was my spirit fill'd in listening thee ! I dreamt of rustling leaves, and gushing springs, Of murmuring bees, and birds on happy wings, Lulling the forest with their minstrelsy. That mood is past ! — Madness divine hath taken Thy poet-soul. The world of rushing sound Is moved before thee, and the air is shaken "With storms of harmony. Then, more profound, Thy strains, shed dew upon the weary brain, And give the aching heart its youth again. The Hague, July 7, 1845. SONNETS. 305 ON SEEING THE WINGED BULLS IN THE LOUVRE. Calm with the might of Godhead do they seem, Those lofty forms of ancient Nineveh ! Emblems of Thought Eternal, and the sway Of great Idea — they the Past redeem Erom the benighted umbrage of a dream, "Which feigns that God not always on our clay, Nor everywhere, did shed a glorious ray, Filling Creation with one solemn theme. Yet cold are ye, impassive Deities : There is no pity in your gaze of stone, No sweet regard for human joy or moan ; Unto yourselves ye aro so strong and wise ! Nothing Uhtc is in you that looks on Qfl With those dear eyes that wept o*er Ltianu ' 306 SONNETS. ON SEEING LIBERTE1, fiGALITE, FRATERNITE), EVERYWHERE WRITTEN IN FRANCE. GrEEAT Nation, wherefore lead by futile words ? Liberty — 'tis but the result of Law — No principle — no fountain of deep awe ! Equality — God made not ! He affords Throughout Creation low and lofty chords, And minds doth of a million patterns draw. Fraternity ! — That word indeed might thaw Our hearts to warm approval. Yet base hordes May join to barbarous ends. Ere we admire, Eix in what sense we speak of brotherhood. There is fraternity of ill and good ! Are watchwords wanting ? Let us seek them higher ! Cheer on the world with Order — Love — Degree- But not with sounds that echo doubtfully. SONNETS. 307 AFTER VISITING THE MUSfiE HISTORIQUE, VERSAILLES, 1850. My Country ! I am proud that not in show But with the grasp of warm reality Thou hold'st the records and high memory Of deeds that o'er the Past sublimely glow ! Thy history is written on thy brow More than on marbles ranged sumptuously. Thou makest no parade of being free, But art so — and thy Liberty doth grow From Order. Other lands may glitter more. Plainness and Substance suit thee! Pleasure! presa More warmly bright round many a brighter. shore ; But Pleasure is not Peace — and Heaven I bless, Who hath not placed thee radiantly down-trod Beneath the baleful fret of this world's god! 308 SOCKETS. RAILWAYS. Electric Line of thought connecting Man Each unto each in wondrous brotherhood ! Chain of fraternal Love — as strong as blood Which through all nations in one current ran When first the mighty stream of life began, — How canst thou then be anything but good ? I hail ye, Railways ! — If not understood As poetry, ye leave us in the van Of truth ! — Ay, even the laying bare the steps And foot-prints of the Almighty as we cleave Through strata deep — is an Apocalypse Of wonder, that the spirit doth upheave Sky-ward. At once ye link us with the Past, And with some Social Mm coming fast ! SONNETS. 300 SOCIALISM. A lovely name is Socialism — I Would wish a mighty Socialism of the mind ! A wide embrace and blending of mankind Into intense and boundless charity ! But others' goods to look on with an eye Of coveting — is not a bond to bind ! — Order — Degree to break is but a blind For selfish ends, and love of Anarchy. No ! If the rich must strip them of their store, Let it be of free-will ! We hate the hand That plunders us perforce — only a band Of Love can make the world an equal shore. He in whom Order hath with freedom kies'd Expansive — il I righteOfll Socialist. 310 SONNETS. THE NILE.* i. A thousand dreams are in thy very name, O Nile ! — Its sound alone unto the soul Unwinds the book of ages like a scroll — Strange structures greet us of a cloudy fame And a strange nature no- where else the same. Thy broad sun sets behind some statued sphinx ; If stir the reeds about thy river-brinks The crocodile hath moved its monstrous frame — Or thou canst lift the orbed Fancy's lid To view the vast sand-pillars take their birth From the fire-red Simoon — Or thou shalt bid The long-long caravan its slow way thrid Across the desert : led through toil and dearth By human longing after more than earth. * In the "Life and Letters of Keats" (edited by R. Monckton Milnes), three sonnets are given — by Keats, Shelley, and Leigh Hunt — to the river Nile. I was induced to add two more on the same subject. SONNETS. 311 SAME SUBJECT. ii. All thoughts are great, O Nile ! concerning thee, Thou pulse of life amidst a desert land ! Thou, with thy stem and monumental strand Thyself a monument — more durably Wedding past ages to the things that be — By thy soft wave — than even the sternest band Of great memorials battling with the sand Heap'd from six thousand years. Deep mystery Is round thy birth-place. Danger is its guard. Yet he who reach'd thy source sa\v nothing more Than a turf altar and | peaceful sward — "Whence, in eternal youth, thy waters pour A nation to create and to befriend — simplest beginnings have the mightiest ( -ml. 312 SOKtfETS. ON HEARING POETS CALLED DREAMERS. Not active— gracious Heaven ! — His life a dream The Poet's ! — He could well repay your scorn If in his heart a feeling so forlorn As scorn could be. It is to him do seem Your doings flimsy as the pale moon-beam — Tour object what ? — The ant doth store her corn For Winter's need — the worm, to be reborn, Spins tombs of gold. — But with the little gleam Of a brief summer all your works are spent. Oh, could you know unto the poet-soul How poor is all that is not permanent, Ye on yourselves your own contempt would roll. It is a doom too weary — thinketh he — To toil for less than an eternity ! SONNETS. 313 THE RIGHT OF POETS. "Why pardon we the thought in poetry. That jars against our own ? "We say indeed — " Tis but a poet speaks. Then why take heed ?" And yet methinks that, while we thus deny The poet's voice, his words sink thrillingly. We pardon him — 'tis much — and we concede Prescriptive right to him all themes to plead, And speak aloud in tameless liberty — This is in truth a charter precious ! Is our fear mute ? — 'Tis verse unties the frmgWft. " 'Tis but a poet ! We '11 be generous ! " And so men listen with their pride unwriing! But all the time there is a fibre stirr'd : — The voice of inspiration must be hoard I 314 SONNETS. TO Thou art not beautiful. Thy cheek is pale, And calm and sad — and humble is thy mien ! JNo state sits throned upon thy brow serene. Thou art not eloquent. Thy lips avail Only to utter the heart's simplest tale, Such as from old memorial Time hath been, And so thou art unheard — unknown — unseen — A peaceful dweller in Life's lowly vale. 'Tis well. Be beautiful for me alone ! Only for me exhale thy soul's rich dower In mystic shade, — like that unboastful flower Which,- through all hours the sun doth look upon, Breathes out no fragrance : — but, when night is come, Sheds balmy odours and makes glad the gloom. SONNETS. 315 With feelings so composed of old and new As his — some mourning child of wild unthrift — "Who, from an antique drawer, or darkling rift, Should bring a long-forgotten gem to view "Worth all his lost and scatter* d revenue ; So I my heart and hands to Heaven uplift For thy great love's inestimable gift Set by for my great need. Bright soul and true, How hast thou brought my deep indebted life Into large room and happy solvency, From what enslaving bondage set me free, How i-i concilod old feelings long at strife! How blest am I, who, through thy Love's delight, Kegain my trust in all things fair and bright ' 316 SONNETS. Men say that Love is blind. Oh, much mistaken ! He is clear-sighted as the crystal eyes That watch at midnight in unclouded skies ! Is he not quick to note when faith is shaken ! Are there not chords which Love alone can waken In any breast ? Are there not mysteries Eead only by Love's light ? The wealth that lies In humble hearts would be a mine forsaken, Without his guiding lamp. But thus it is. What men call Love is but Love's counterfeit. Oh, how unlike to him ! — yet apt to cheat The spirit with a false-presented bliss, That, centring not in the immutable mind, Is darkness all. Not Love, but Lust is blind. SONNETS. 317 Nor is Love vanity ! Oh, rather say That all beside is vanity on earth ! Tell me huge Glory hath a narrow girth, Call Wisdom idle — Pleasure, Wealth, and Sway, 111 beds whereon an aching heart to lay, And I will own them valued to the worth. But the sweet comrade of our household hearth Takes not his stand with attributes of clay, Or the dull shows of circumstance and lime. He is a substance 'midst the shadowy strife Of outward form — a life within our life, Enduring ever in eternal prime. Have I wrii false ? Beloved, my witness be I — I have but written what 1 read in thee. 318 SONNETS. Not stately is my Muse. And yet I ween That she to many a heart will softly creep More than a goddess, who, with, lofty sweep, And all accompaniments of awful mien, Fears in an undress garment to be seen. And, lest she in pedestrian measures creep, Strains up the mount of language rude and steep, High above green vales and the twinkling shene Of little humble brooks. Oh, my loved song, Be warbled to my own heart, it to cheer, And haply it may be, Inspirer dear, Thou may'st glad others. Thus much doth belong, At least, to thee — thou dost not pant and strain Lest thou shoulds't fall into a common vein. SONNETS. 319 TO HER MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA. Who plucks out reverence from the hearts of men Bohs them of Heaven ! — Ah, then, when monarchs err, Sadly to human wants they minister ! And just as ill the bad disloyal pen, That clouds the kingly crown to mortal ken ! No ! — Let us rather weakest love prefer That clings to Faith as drowning mariner To his frail bark ! — But, oh ! how happy, when Reason, and Love, and Honour, reverently, Have crown' d a ruler on the bosom's throne, Victoria, as worthily as thee ! — Not thy dominion dost thou bless alone, 1 1 1 1 1 sendest a .ssage o'er the sea Onto nil lands — "Dead is not sovereignty ! " 320 • SOKKETS. TO THE MEMORY OF LOUIS PHILIPPE. King, who would' st not cement thy throne with blood, Far nobler wert thou, in my soul's esteem, In thy pale exile and thy clouded beam, Than when thy glories spread from flood to flood Of either ocean, and thy wisdom stood The Atlas of the world ! — Many may stream A fitful splendour on life's little dream : — The grandeur and the courage to be good Belongs to few. — And what if in a mind, Greater than one in many millions, crept Some weaknesses ? — Do we not ever find Such paradox in man ? — True hearts have wept Over thy bier ; and History doth guard For thee her future and her rich reward. SONNETS. 321 SUMMER. The year's fresh youth becomes its manhood soon. Pull foliage of a deepening green, yet new, Warm-breathing grass — flowers of all scent and hue — These are thy attributes, O vigorous June I If yet no storms obey the rising Moon — If thy fair path by no disgrace be cross' d, Heat premature or late unnatural frost, Then art thou to the Earth a precious boon. And so indeed is Man's estate to Man, When Youth has been from blight and canker free, When passions, mighty both to bless and ban. More serve than rale,— when roses manifold (And who would wish tlinn t hornless ?) deck the tree I tf joy, — and all Life's hues are free and hold ! 322 sockets. AUTUMN. Season of richest skies, I love thee best, Eull-thoughted Autumn ! and at shut of day Thy solemn gates subdue me to thy sway ! I see thee in the myriad-tinted "West Mirror' d upon the lake's expansive breast, As Heaven in spiritual bosoms that array Life's parting hours in Grod ! — Thou ebb'st away, Not fading — but enkindling into rest ! Winter, 'tis true, behind thy dress doth lour : — But 'tis that very thought doth give thee might. Who would not rather choose one glowing hour, Than thousands colour' d by a common light ? Even meanest things are loved when near to die, Then how much more thy bounteous sovereignty ! Lausanne. 1850. SONNETS. 323 SONNET TO M From stormy passions that have vex'd my life, Like whirlwinds sweeping o'er a tropic sea, — From vain affections — misplaced sympathy, With nothing but unbounded mischief rife, Foul disappointment, and heart-humbling strife, Sweet friend, my wounded spirit turns to thee ! To thee — who, in my great calamity, When Fate hung over me with whetted knife, Didst draw unto my side with holy love, The lone one comforting ! To thee I turn For the best joy that in its welling urn Tli is life can hold — for gentle thoughts that move \V it liin two breasts a sympathy onitriven A human interest — looking on to Heaven ! LONDON : BRADBURI AND liVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.