THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 

 
 € 
 
 >:C
 
 "^/^^/^tz.
 
 TALES, 
 
 SONGS AND SONNETS, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. W. DALBY. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 LONGMAN, GKEEN, LONGMAN AND GREEN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW.
 
 PRINTED BV H, S PRAIT, SL'DBUIir,
 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF 
 
 LEIGH HUNT 
 
 THESE VERSES 
 
 ARE 
 
 INSCRIBED. 
 
 .j»j ^^^<'
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 DAU 
 
 fanchon and dubois 
 zuleika in the forbidden garden 
 the archduke and the postmaster 
 Fairfax's march to naseby 
 
 HVDER ALi's choice 
 
 HELEN IRVING 
 
 the return of admiral BLAKE 
 
 OVER THE WAY 
 
 garibaldi's second MARRIAGE 
 
 THE exhibition UNVISITED 
 
 shakspere's birthday . 
 
 at ulcomb .... 
 
 THE GOLDEN ORGAN OF EUSSERTHAL 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN THE CEMETERY, KENSAL 
 
 THE BIRTHDAY OF ROBERT BURNS 
 
 WILLIA.M MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
 
 ROSETTE .... 
 
 DOLCE FAR NIENTE . 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON 
 
 SONNETS ON THE CRIMEAN WAR . 
 
 THE WAYSIDE SAILOR 
 
 GARIBALDI AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE 
 
 RETROSPECTION 
 
 GHTER 
 
 GREEN 
 
 1 
 
 8 
 12 
 16 
 20 
 22 
 26 
 30 
 33 
 37 
 39 
 41 
 42 
 44 
 46 
 48 
 50 
 52 
 55 
 57 
 59 
 60 
 
 65
 
 VI. 
 
 CHALMERS .... 
 
 ON THE ABSENT 
 
 SONNET .... 
 
 DEATH IN THE BALL-ROOM 
 
 THE BOY AND BOOK 
 
 MARY STUART's FAREWELL TO FRANCE 
 
 THE TINY STREAMLET 
 
 PAX, GLORIA ? NON LIBERTAS . 
 
 RAIN COMING 
 
 I WISH THE CUCKOO WOULD COME 
 
 TO LOUIS NAPOLEON 
 
 ON THE STORM, ETC. 
 
 SONNET .... 
 
 SPRING, AND LOST SPRING-MATES 
 
 SONNETS TO ONE WHO MISLIKETH THEM 
 
 ON RECEIVING A POT OF LILIES OF THE VALLEY 
 
 SONNETS, WRITTEN IN 1849 
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT, OCT. 19, 1854 
 
 WRITTEN IN LANDOR's " PERICLES AND ASP ASIA ' 
 
 ON SOME LILIES FROM THE WYE 
 
 THE LONGEST DAY . 
 
 LINES ..... 
 
 LANT)OR .... 
 
 ENJOY ENCOUNTER AND ENDURE 
 
 SONG ..... 
 
 a winter night 
 
 macready reading hamlet at rugby 
 
 garibaldi .... 
 
 to a skylark in december 
 
 milton's watch 
 
 on the death of w. s. landor 
 
 SONNETS .... 
 
 THE UNWELCOME SPRING . 
 SONNET .... 
 
 I KNEW THAT PRETTY VILLAGER 
 SONNET ....
 
 vu. 
 
 SONG . . . . • 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF LEIOH HUNT . 
 
 SONNET .... 
 
 SONNET .... 
 
 MALIBEAN .... 
 
 CAVOUR .... 
 
 ON RECEIVING A SKETCH . 
 
 MARY STUART IN CAPTIVITY 
 
 SONNET .... 
 
 MEMORY .... 
 
 THE EMPRESS ELIZABETH OF RUSSIA 
 
 SONG , . . . . 
 
 LINES ..... 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER READING THE "DEATH OF MARLOWe' 
 
 SONNET . . . . •. 
 
 STANZAS .... 
 
 BABY LUCY .... 
 
 HENRI DE LAROCHEJAQUELEIN . 
 
 AN EVENING STROLL 
 
 SONG ..... 
 
 Joshua's triumph at the waters of merom 
 a november day and night . 
 
 SONG . . . . • 
 
 SONNET .... 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY . 
 
 LIFE ANTE-NATAL . 
 
 ON READING "PAUL FERROLl" . 
 
 MINE EYES AND HEART HAVE SORROWED LONG 
 
 WILLIAM JOHNSON FOX 
 
 LIGHT AND DARKNESS 
 
 A DREAM AND AN AWAKING 
 
 HYMN ..... 
 
 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER 
 
 A MARCH MORNING . 
 
 TO . 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN IN VICTORIA PARK 
 
 103 
 104 
 
 105 
 
 106 
 
 107 
 
 108 
 
 109 
 
 110 
 
 111 
 
 112 
 
 113 
 
 114 
 
 116 
 
 117 
 
 118 
 
 119 
 
 121 
 
 122 
 
 123 
 
 124 
 
 125 
 
 126 
 
 127 
 
 128 
 
 129 
 
 130 
 
 131 
 
 132 
 
 OO 
 
 , 134 
 , 135 
 . 136 
 , 137 
 . 138 
 . 138 
 . 139
 
 VIU. 
 
 THE ROSE AND THE BEE .. 
 
 
 140 
 
 SONXET ...... 
 
 
 141 
 
 SUUTHWOOD SMITH, M.D .... 
 
 
 142 
 
 THE FLOWER-CROWNED CANNON 
 
 
 143 
 
 PROGRESS AND A PHANTOM 
 
 
 144 
 
 OUR prince's PEARL .... 
 
 
 145 
 
 SONNETS TO E. J. W. 
 
 
 146 
 
 AT DULWICH 
 
 
 147 
 
 THE RIVALS ...... 
 
 
 148 
 
 TO HENRY CORT SMITH 
 
 
 149 
 
 TO MY SOLITARY SNOWDROP 
 
 
 151 
 
 JOHN CLARE ...... 
 
 
 152 
 
 ON A VIEW OF CLEVEDON 
 
 
 153 
 
 SONNETS ...... 
 
 
 154 
 
 TO . . . . . 
 
 
 155 
 
 A BIRTHDAY SONG ..... 
 
 
 156 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. FLETCHER . 
 
 
 157 
 
 RUIN BEAUTIFIED, AND POWER REBUKED . 
 
 
 158 
 
 FATHER GAVAZZI AT NORTHAMPTON . 
 
 
 159 
 
 ADA ....... 
 
 
 160 
 
 ELEGIAC STANZAS ..... 
 
 
 161 
 
 A LEAF FROM A GRA\^ IN HIGHGATE CEMETREY 
 
 
 168 
 
 TO PSYCHE ...... 
 
 
 169 
 
 ON RECEIVING A PORTRAIT 
 
 
 170 
 
 TO T. C D. . . . . . • 
 
 
 171 
 
 TO EDWIN ARNOLD, ESQ. .... 
 
 
 172 
 
 TO E. F. 
 
 
 173 
 
 TO EMILY ...... 
 
 
 175 
 
 EMILY, THIS DAY OF DAYS 
 
 
 177 
 
 TO C. T. . . . 
 
 
 178 
 
 ON A PORTRAIT ..... 
 
 
 179 
 
 NINA ....... 
 
 
 181 
 
 TO MINNIE ...... 
 
 
 182 
 
 ON VISITING THE STUDIO OF ALEXANDER GLASGOW 
 
 184
 
 FANCUON AND DUBOIS. 
 
 " Come for a change," exclaimed a friend one day, 
 " A country dinner, and back to the play." 
 AVe left the city of the light and vain. 
 And rattled gaily by the banks of Seine, 
 Througii environs which, pictnresqnely blest, 
 Lacked one charm more, and that, indeed, the best, 
 The sunshine that makes beauty everywhere, 
 Clothing with loveliness what else were bare. 
 Decking more brightly all the bright and fair ; 
 By unhedged fields, but o'er good toll-less roads, 
 Past scattered farms, rude huts, and quaint abodes, 
 AVhen, seated on the grass, beneath a tree. 
 In garb that time had treated scurvily, 
 In soldier's well-worn garb, we saAV one sit 
 Fiddle in hand, and well he humoured it, 
 With eye, and smile, and almost tender hug. 
 He looked up at us with a playful shrug 
 And courteous Ijut still deprecating eyes 
 That said " Excuse me, but I cannot rise." 
 
 B
 
 2 FANCIiON AND DUBOIS. 
 
 A paradox we tlioiiglit his pahifiil plight, 
 And self-possession bnoyed by spirits light ; 
 And looks that were compassionately bent, 
 His seemed to doubt — at tirst almost resent — 
 A nearer glance assured the wanderer, while 
 O'er his bronzed features stole a pleasant smile. 
 "A soldier," said my friend, and closely prest 
 My arm ; 'twas easy to divine the rest : 
 That gallant heart could pass no sufferer by. 
 But owiied with such a more than connnon tie. 
 " JJrothers-in-aniis " he still as brothers met, 
 And kindliest when woe their path beset. 
 When raged the fight he was a Bayard there, 
 Nor with the battle ceased his generous care. 
 
 As we drew near the stranger, we espied 
 A wooden leg in fragments by his side. 
 "Comrade, what do you there?" inquired my friend, 
 " To my own village home my way 1 wend," 
 He answered. " 'Twill be long ere you amve, 
 If you no better carriage can contrive 
 Than those poor splints." — " I wait my equipage 
 And all my suite, who have gone on a stage, 
 But will be here anon." — Led by his eye, 
 To a not distant hill, we could descry. 
 Slowly descending, a small one-horse cart 
 On which that eye was fixed, and all his heart. 
 There sat a woman, and a peasant drove 
 The charioteer of a true-hearted love. 
 As they came on, he turned to us, to say 
 How he had lost his leg in Corsica, 
 And how, before he to the Avars had gone, 
 They were betrothed, and friends looked smiling on, 
 But when months fled, and, the wars being o'er. 
 He came back maimed, her friends would smile no more. 
 But she was still unchanged, and they wcve. now
 
 FANCIION AND DUBOIS. 6 
 
 Made one by foml irrevocable vow — 
 
 Bound for his father's house, henceforth their own. 
 
 " 'Tis not the worst disaster I have knoAvn, 
 
 (Althougli enough provoking,) and will 1)0 
 
 Kepaired, I doubt not, soon and easily." 
 
 " And here," his voice grew tender, yet as liold, 
 
 And prouder than before, — " ]My friend, behold 
 
 My Fanchon ! no girl firmer, truer-hearted. 
 
 Faithful and foud as when we first were parted." 
 
 The girl sprang from the cart gloAving all over ; 
 Grasping the outstretched hand of her poor lover, 
 She told him that a carpenter was found 
 Whose " legs " were warranted for any ground 
 As quickly made as lasting firm and sound ; 
 To-raon-ow thus would see them on their way, 
 Desijite the misadventure of to-day. 
 The soldier looked his thanks to her, and told 
 So looking, more than words could well unfold. 
 AVe, whom his story, honestly addrest 
 To willing ears, kindled to interest 
 In both, looked on admiringly, as yet 
 Unheeded by the love-absorbed brunette ; 
 A winsome girl, ^nth a wild sparkling grace. 
 Some twenty summers had embrownetl a face 
 "Whence looked bright eyes, which, wheresoe'er they 
 
 went, 
 TJays of good feeling, sense, and spirit sent. 
 The girl had rijjened into woman ; still, 
 Though blended with unconquerable will, 
 (The strength that made her changeless,) unbereft 
 IJy years, her girlhood's spriglitliness was left. 
 Yet love and loving care had made mature 
 A spirit fonned to strive and to endure, — 
 To share or soothe all danger or distress, 
 Aiid double every chance-tbund happiness.
 
 4 FANCHOX .\ND DUBOIS. 
 
 "Fatigued, my dear?" tlie gallant ^laninis said. 
 
 Gravely towards my fiieiid she turned her head, 
 
 And gi-avely too he marked those sweet lips mo\ e, — 
 
 " They never tire ^^ho work for those they love." 
 
 The grateful impulse could Dubois resist ? 
 
 Was ever fair hand with more fervour kissed ? 
 
 " You see," the Marquis said, " when girls of sense 
 
 Once fix their hearts as Fanchon's has been fixed, 
 
 A leg or so will make no difl^erence ; 
 
 As little all the ' friends ' who come betwixt." 
 
 " 'Twas not his legs," said Fanchon, " Avon my heart, 
 
 Though legs have sometimes got in love the start 
 
 Of nobler things, and I have seen the dav 
 
 His might haA'e done some mischief in that way." 
 
 "Come," said the Marquis briskly, "she has channed me, 
 
 And this brave fellow's patient courage warmed me ; 
 
 We have four legs, and they can count but three. 
 
 Our carriage they shall have if you agree ; 
 
 We to the village following, to see . 
 
 How we may add to their felicity. 
 
 Something we may do, and it shall be done, 
 
 If it be but to help the weary on. 
 
 And give our friends a parting benison." 
 
 I gave quick assent ; but in diffidence 
 
 The soldier paused. Then she, with subtler sense, 
 
 "Enter, Dubois, the lionour done is gi-eat, 
 
 But less so than the kindness." — " Both w^e rate 
 
 Done to ourselves," the IMarquis kindly said, 
 
 "And," with a smile, '■'■Colonels nuist be obeyed." 
 
 Dubois saluted him, and, gently raised. 
 
 Leant on her arm on whom he fondly gazed. 
 
 My friend, whose stout arm needful aid supplied, 
 
 Said, " Not a coach in P^-auce, ^ith you inside, 
 
 But would have cause for honourable i»ride, 
 
 And proud were I to make you happy." — " Well, 
 
 " Leave that to me," said Dubois, " Colonel."
 
 FANCHOX AND DUBOIS. O 
 
 " I am as hi\\)])y as a qnoon," said she ; 
 And quickly moved away the vis-d-vis. 
 
 "Now," said my fnend, "you may obseiTo to-day, 
 HoAv Frenchmen gatlier pleasures on tlieir way, 
 Like cliildren gathering hemes, and as gay." 
 I acquiesced ; and, laughingly, he said, 
 " Rut how, in England, do they woo and wed ? 
 There happiness, 1 hear, costs something more." 
 " How long will these poor people count their store ;" 
 I intei^wsed, — " brief pleasure, dearly bought!" 
 "Ha! ha!"' he cried, "a truly English thought! 
 I OAm myself not prone to prophecy, 
 Or o'er the present cast forestalling eye, 
 Looking for ills that in the future lie. 
 Don't meet, you English tell us, giiefs half-way, 
 And I am for the pleasures of to-day." 
 The Village reached, we found the Milage Inn, 
 Dubois and Fanchon waiting us within. 
 They hailed our entrance gladly, and with eyes 
 Whose glance exceeded all amenities 
 Of studied eti(iuette and courtesy, 
 jMasks oft of tlie cold heart '.s inanity. 
 The fruit and wine discussed with easy flow 
 Of chat, which makes the moments smoothly go, 
 1 asked Dubois how since they two wei-e one, 
 liread (for e'en Love gets hungry) would be won? 
 " He who has learned to live on Soldiers' pay," 
 He answered, " has but little fear that way. 
 My Fiddle is my fortune, and in France 
 Ko Village like my own for song and dance. 
 And frequent weddings, and I trust to these 
 To win enough for our necessities." 
 She said, " I weave silk-purses, and hair nets, 
 And can mend stockings — though that last work fleets. 
 Two hundred livres too mv uncle has
 
 6 F^VNCHON AXD DUBOIS. 
 
 Of mine, and tlic^c shall from his coffers pass ; 
 
 And though the l^jailiff is his kinsman, and 
 
 Volontiers brutal, I -will both withstand ; 
 
 He shall ^\-ithhold no longer what is due ; 
 
 I'll make him yjay the money, every sous!"^ 
 
 " I," said the soldier, " in my pocket hold" 
 
 (He touched it proudly,) " fifteen coins in gold, 
 
 liesidcs two louis to a poor farmer lent 
 
 That he might meet the taxes and his rent. 
 
 And these he will repay when he is able." 
 
 " Ah, then," I said, " we'll not suspect your table.' 
 
 '' Sir," said Fanchon, a glow on either cheek, 
 
 "We court no aid, and no compassion seek, 
 
 But have true thanks for those to whom we speak 
 
 Then with a look of exquisite tenderness 
 
 She to her lover turned, and added, " Yes, 
 
 We shall be happy with but bread and salt. 
 
 We vuist be happy, save through our own fault 
 
 "If //OH are not," he said, " /»a douce amie, 
 
 How insupportable my giief v^iW be !" 
 
 Emotion shook me, and my comrade's eye 
 
 AVas turned upon me not untearfully. 
 
 " Faith ! 'tis a mournful comedy," he sighed, 
 
 And gcntlv beckoned Fanchon to his side, 
 
 " For just' one little favour I must pray ; 
 
 Too small, too fairly sought, to have your Nay ; 
 
 Till you get paid your livres, and my friend 
 
 His louis, I must be your creditor ; 
 
 But think not that you borrow, or I lend ; 
 
 Some newer words this deed is waituig for, 
 
 And you shall coin them." 
 
 Fanchon's tearful eye 
 Thanked him ; her trembling lips made no reply. 
 He took the baud she offered, — "]May you hve 
 Happy as now ! ^\nh. few things to forgive, 
 
 ]•'
 
 FANCHON AND DUBOIS. 
 
 And all to love nnd trust in I — Let me kno-w, 
 
 From time to time, how mattern Anth you go ; 
 
 But, Fanclion, a\ hen y(iu call on me, be sure 
 
 You do not leave your husband at the door." 
 
 " I shall not fear to trust her," said Dubois, 
 
 ''Alone, and Avhen she pleases." — " J/a/s, mafuis" 
 
 Fanclion said gravely, "■ you were always bold, 
 
 And too confiding, that 1 knew of old. 
 
 Your Serjeant told me when I questioned him, 
 
 'Twas too much venturing cost you that linil) ;" 
 
 Then added, smiHng, " though I like your faith, 
 
 'Twere well to guard it from all risk or scathe. 
 
 I take the Marquis at his word ; his deeds 
 
 Show from hoAv good a heart tluit A\ord proceeds ; 
 
 But when in Paris i u])(in him wait, 
 
 My friend, you shall not linger at the gate."
 
 ZULEIKA IN THE FOI^BIDDEX GARDEN. 
 
 " Think how often'clemeiicy has succeeded where severity ^yolllrt 
 have failed Wliat did that discreet Eastern emir, when he found 
 his fair young wife sleeping in a garden where she had no earthly 
 business to be ? "—Sword aiul Gown, 
 
 Who sees the wall and bolted gate 
 
 Enclosing fragrant scenes and fail", 
 Nor turns dismayed and unelatc, 
 
 With baffled Avish to enter there ? 
 Who would not ope the Book of Fate, 
 
 Though blackest doom should from it glare ? 
 Deny, and we desiderate ; 
 
 Bestow, we cease to care. 
 
 We fondly people every star, 
 
 And long those distant worlds to know, 
 That shine so brightly, so afar, 
 
 Too far we deem for change or woe, — 
 So deemed because the things they are, 
 
 With all our thirst, we cannot know ; 
 AVho Avould not overleap the bar 
 
 Of eartli, and thither go ? 
 
 Aught to our frail imaginings 
 
 Becomes most precious if denied ; 
 Of unrevealed and mystic things 
 
 The charms and worth are m.agiiified ; 
 To joys withheld the fancy clings, 
 
 The heart exalts a boon denied, — 
 Yet oft away the treasure flings, 
 
 By uuthought chance supplied.
 
 Zri,7;iKA IN THE FORBIDDEN GARDEN. 
 
 ^Mlat lias tills coimiion-i)Iaco to do 
 
 'With the SAveet stoiy 1 \\onl(l tell, 
 Or moral which tlio writer drew 
 
 So wisely, scarchingly, and Avell ? 
 The rhyme I turn the passage to, 
 
 Cannot his graceful prose excel, 
 'Tis done but a\ ith the thrifty vieAV 
 
 Both may in memory dwell. 
 
 An Emir rich in all that throAA^s 
 
 A grace on indolent luxury, 
 Richest in her — his Queen — his TJosc — ■ 
 
 Zuleika of the dark bright eye, — 
 Her Avhom he from a thousand chose 
 
 Could he one gift, one joy deny, 
 And a fair Garden's beauties close 
 
 From Beauty's pleading sigh ? 
 
 Deep AA'as her AA-onder — A'ain her prayer, 
 
 I)enial quickened her desire. 
 And niA'sterA' seemed lurking there, 
 
 More fcA'ered longing to inspire. 
 One day she AAandered forth, — bcAvare, 
 
 Zuleika ! think upon his ire. 
 Ah me ! she had one only care 
 
 For Avhich her heart beats higher. 
 
 Escaping eyes of AAatchful bands, 
 
 EiiA-elopcd Avell in robe and Aeil, 
 The gate is gained — aAA'hilc she stands 
 
 Trembling, irresolute, and pale. 
 An echo of those stem commands 
 
 Seems borne upon the passing gale ; 
 It sinks, — and 'gainst those gentle hands 
 
 JS'o barriers aMiil.
 
 10 ZULEIKA IN THE FOF.BIPDEN GARDEN. 
 
 The interdicted Eden found 
 
 Its curious, rash, enjoying Eve, 
 The flowery paths she wandered round, 
 
 So sweet to win, so hard to leave. 
 Anil)rosial airs and scents abound, 
 
 She could not pause to fear or gi-ievc, 
 Or auiiht from odour, sip;ht or sound, 
 
 But fall delight receive. 
 
 The sun was warm, the shade was sweet. 
 
 Luscious the fruits around her spread. 
 But somewhat worn, and flushed ^v\th heat, 
 
 More languid grew the lady's tread. 
 Exhausted by her stolen treat, 
 
 She sank doAvn on a mossy bed, 
 Where twining rose and jasmine meet 
 
 Above her drooping head. 
 
 In happy dreamless sleep she lay. 
 
 The breeze about her temples playing. 
 The Emir chanced to stroll that way, 
 
 In sooth without a thouglit of slaying. 
 But Avoe to those w\\o disobey ! 
 
 An Emir's will there's no gainsaying. 
 Sweet Sleeper ! now awake and pray, 
 
 If life may be pi-eserved by praying ! 
 But has he heart to slay ? 
 
 A moment's pause — relenting while 
 
 His thoughts the path of love retrace, 
 IMemories that soften and beguile, 
 
 Of hasty anger take the ])lace, 
 Eecalling each infantine Avile, 
 
 Her truth, her gentleness, her grace — ■ 
 And then — too seldom there — a smile 
 
 Stole o'er his thoughtful face.
 
 ZULEIKA IX THE FORBIDDEN GARDEN. 11 
 
 A kiss, he tlionc'lit, Avcrc jiardon's seal 
 
 On tliose mute lijxs ; — he .sliniis the snare ; 
 At least she must be made to feel 
 
 Her fault, and tauuht an after-care. 
 He sently laid the sliiuing sleel 
 
 Upon her neck so soft and tair, 
 At once what awful visions steal 
 
 Upon the sleeper there! 
 
 The snn is darkened — and the air 
 
 Is filled Avith many a ghastly sprite, 
 And shrieks as of a wild des])aii-, 
 
 A death-cry, on her ear alight. 
 Close to her own with vengeful glare 
 
 A face is bendiug, stern and A\liite, — 
 The glitter of the scimitar 
 
 Dazzles her failing sight. 
 
 She starts in terror — tremliling hands 
 
 A little while the sabre hold. 
 The message then she understands. 
 
 And all its master aaouUI unfold. 
 (Sacred henceforth are his comuiaiids, 
 
 And, every happiest moment told, 
 This in the Emir's memory stands 
 
 The happiest enrolled. 
 
 Thrice to her lips she pressed the blade, 
 
 And humble tears upon it fell, 
 With vows no saint has freelier made, 
 
 And fcAv have ever kept so Avell. 
 And Hussein Jiey the trembler laid 
 
 On his broad breast, Avhose fervid SAVclI 
 Told all his grave lips left unsaid, 
 
 And all he cared to tell.
 
 THE ARCHDUKE AXD THE POSTMASTER'S 
 DAUGHTER. 
 
 (rhymed version of a story told in chambers 
 
 JOURNAL.) 
 
 I. 
 
 The Tvrol lioiglits bphold him day by flay 
 
 "\\\iiTiiig Avith one wlio made the world his prey, 
 
 And rustic followers to the chieftain gave 
 
 The hope and heart stronger than l)ow or glaive ; 
 
 For with a nature tuned to sympathize 
 
 (And thei-e the secret of all influence lies) 
 
 He touched their hearts, his warm and joyous tone 
 
 ]n war or sport the echo of their own, 
 
 Till thev and he in wants and ways were one. 
 
 When conflict ceased the Vorarlberg to rend. 
 
 Their chief no more, but, as of old, their friend, 
 
 'Mong simple frugal homes a home he found, 
 
 Peace in his heart and Nature's smiles around. 
 
 IL 
 
 One winter's night, the day's fierce riding done, 
 And each tired hunter to his homestead gone, 
 SaAV him, among the mountains at x\nssee, 
 Stand at the Postmaster's imploringly. ^ 
 Herr Plochell is from home ; man, can-iage, horse — 
 The country has monopolized his force. 
 The Duke can trust no more his weary legs, 
 And vainly he for one stage onward begs ;
 
 THE ARCHDUKE .lOIIX. 
 
 But wliILst lie urges uuavailiug prayers, 
 
 A girl is gazing on him unawai'es, 
 
 And, moved to pity the poor pilgrim, says 
 
 Herself will drive him o'er the mountain w ays. 
 
 HI. 
 
 The little carriage starts, and breezes frore 
 Meet them as they the desolate heights pass o'ei', 
 But neither found the journey dull or long. 
 He full of gravest thoughts as she of song — 
 Of Alpine ditties from her childliood heard, 
 The music of the heart in every word, — 
 Or chatting gaily till the Duke is stirred 
 From reverie, and finds strange charm in all 
 Her careless talk, so gay and natural. 
 
 rv. 
 
 And how felt Anna ? In her lifted eyes 
 Could aught be seen except a sweet surprise, 
 Kext day, when with his eager outstretched hands, 
 The Pilgrim of the night before her staiuls ? 
 HoniQ courtly words her pleased attention win. 
 And the Duke hies him to the Milage Inn. 
 There for three days the lagging hours beguiled 
 Iti chat and play with the innkeeper's child. 
 The little Clara, who had learned to prate 
 To him of Anna, as a kind plannate, 
 And Anna Plochell, Anna all day long 
 The burthen was of tlieu* uuited song. 
 
 And now the Duke must drop the pilgrim mask; 
 " Herr Plochell, I have seen, I love, I ask 
 Yoiu' daughter's hand."
 
 14 THE AKCIIDUKE JOHN. 
 
 Hcvr PlochcU met the look 
 Of tlic bold wooer with a cold reljiike ; 
 But softened by the honour in hi.s eye, 
 And won, despite hun.sclf, to courtesy, 
 iJcniands his name and his profession. " I," 
 Answers the lover, "am the Archduke John, 
 Boldier of latt', but now that Avork is done." 
 Herr riochell was a man who loved no joke, 
 And waxing angry as the Archduke spuke, 
 Ik waved away his unsought visitor, 
 Pointed signiticantly to the door, 
 And sternly bade him enter it no more. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Amazed, and yet amused, as on he hies, 
 Away to Griitz the foiled i'rince Johann Hies, 
 And quick returns with neighbourly allies ; 
 Whereat Herr Plochell opens wide his eyes, 
 I'.c'lieves the vouchers he before him sees, 
 lint blenches not, nor bends his rigid knees. 
 " Archduke," he says, " good testunouies these ; 
 Yet Archduke as you are, Avere you not more 
 A genuine man, in vain would you implore. 
 But behig such, if Anna, as I guess ^ ^ 
 
 By the girl's blush, says with her father ' Yes, 
 Why, take my daughter from this huml)le door — 
 A wile that would not shame an Emperor 1" 
 
 VII. 
 
 Nor was the Emperor ashamed when she 
 Was led in Ijridal pomp and pageantry, 
 Some three weeks after Johann lost his heart 
 To the sweet singer of the two-wheeled cart. 
 The Empress stormed with fury wild and weak ; 
 The Hoffburg was all flutter, fume, and piciue ;
 
 THE ARCHDUKE JOHN. 1. 
 
 The Kaiser laughetl, kissed Anna's rosy clicck, 
 
 Cautioned his courtiers not at niglit to be 
 
 Belated near the vilhi<i,e of Aussee, 
 
 Bade Anna keep by faith what kindness won, 
 
 And prove true helpmeet of trustworthy son. 
 
 And such she was — alike in bower and hall, 
 
 In spirit, mien, and .urace, surjtassinn' all 
 
 The born Court beauties who beheld her reiji,n. 
 
 And OAvned her worth, at Frankfort-on-the-Maiue ; 
 
 And still she lives (lamenting her good man, 
 
 An honest and heroic course who ran,) 
 
 Lady of lirandof — Countess of Meran.
 
 FAlltFAX'S MAIKJII TO NASEliY, 
 
 AND TFIE NIGHT OF JUNE 11, 1G45, IN WOOTTON FIELD. 
 
 " The army [Fairfax's] being come to Wootton from Stotiy Strat- 
 ford, they t'oiind there none of the best accommodation forquarters; 
 only what was wanting that way. was kindly and respectfully en- 
 deavoured to be supplied by the Mayor and Magistrates of North- 
 ampton, who, the same night, came to the General at the Head 
 QuMriers upon the errand of a congratulatory visit and present." — 
 Joshua Siyfifj/je's " Aiiglia Jieiliviva." 
 
 The next day the army proceeded to Kislingbury. and thence to 
 Guilsborough and Naseby, where the battle so fatal to the fortunes 
 of King Charles I. was tbught. 
 
 Western glory tinted Heaven, and silence lulled the 
 
 plain, 
 A low sweet .song the stream.s gave out, and birds their 
 
 vesjier strain ; 
 ^^^len there arose, as yet remote, a strange and 
 
 measiu'ed sound — 
 The tramp of thousand martial feet upou the startled 
 
 groimd. 
 
 Slow and regular it came as the roll of waters deep, 
 But it gathered on the ear as when stormy breezes 
 
 sweep 
 The earth v,\\\\ whisper distant, but at length in fierce 
 
 array 
 Tliat briugetli horror unto night, and darkness unto day.
 
 Fairfax's jurch to naseby. 17 
 
 The song is mute among the leaves, the rivulet is 
 dumb, — 
 
 Only a muttering voice is heard that asks — "^^^lO 
 hither come V " 
 
 Checked in mid-song the nightingale Is leaning 'gainst 
 the thorn. 
 
 For the measured tramp comes nearer, upon the night- 
 wind bonie. 
 
 'Tis the tread of men who move for theii* God and 
 
 Fatherland, 
 Who would win their rights and keep them with un- 
 
 vanquishable hand, 
 "Whom gi-eat-hearted Hampden summoned, whom 
 
 gallant Fairfax leads. 
 And whom aspiring Cromwell fires to high thoughts 
 
 and daiing deeds. 
 
 They have passed old Salcey's oaks and the gi'oves of 
 Courteenhall — 
 
 And bowery Quintou trembled as it felt the stern foot- 
 fall. 
 
 They come — above them gentle skies, around them 
 springing grain, 
 
 'Mid velvet lawns, and foliaged nests, and many a 
 calm green lane ; 
 
 And the people of the meadows, the hedge-rows, and 
 
 the streams. 
 The winged, the finned, the ruminant, start from their 
 
 quiet di-eams, — 
 And they shrink as through them wendeth the dark 
 
 embattled band 
 That moves along the proud and strong, the flower of 
 
 all the land. 
 
 c
 
 18 FAIRF^VX'S MARCH TO NASEBY. 
 
 But the liearts that stoutly beat, they are borue by 
 
 weary feet — 
 Toilsome the long day's march to mailed men in 
 
 Summer's heat. 
 Cry "halt," and pitch the teut, and seek whatever 
 
 scanty cheer 
 A village may afford, for lo ! Wootton field is here. 
 
 To the church's fine old tower if they turn no reverent 
 
 eyes, 
 They are thankful for the rest that withm its shadow 
 
 lies ; 
 But 'tis scanty cheer in sooth that the villager supplies, 
 And of warriors lacking food, fast and far the story 
 
 flies. 
 
 And it flieth not in vain, for the willing aid is near, 
 
 And " the Good Old Cause " sends friends to its sol- 
 diers fainting here ; 
 
 And they come from fair Northampton, the Mayor 
 and foremost men, 
 
 To welcome Fairfax, and to cry — "For England, 
 strike agen ! " 
 
 And strike they did, the Iron Hearts ! the morrow's 
 rising sun 
 
 Fell cheerfully and grantUy their buniished anns upon. 
 
 So they passed the famous cross that a kingly love had 
 reared, 
 
 And in morning's roseate flush Ivislingbury's bowers ap- 
 peared. 
 
 On to fields unstoried yet, but full soon to fill a page 
 With a glory ne'er to set, and a light for every age ; 
 
 <
 
 FAirUAx's ilAIICll TO NASi:BV. 19 
 
 By Saint Ethdreda's tower ami through Ostorius' 
 
 burrow — 
 Whore tliey pause to breathe awhile iu beautiful 
 
 Guilsboro'. 
 
 Brief pause ! for scarce a day shall iutermit the fatefid 
 
 fray, ^ 
 Ere Monarch's aims and People's claims will know 
 
 which holdeth sway. 
 And Naseby opens on them, and Heaven is with the 
 
 cause, 
 Whose only holy Avatch-word Mas — " Our Liberties 
 
 and Laws ! "
 
 IIYDER ALl'S CHOICE. 
 
 [The occurrence which suggested those lines is quoted from the 
 narrative of Col. Wilks, in " Thornton's Gazetteer of the Territories 
 under the Government of the East India Company," vol. 3. p 621. 
 The child who was attracted by the brilliant little dagger, was of 
 the same name as his i)redecessor, Cham Raj, and was the father 
 of the Raja ruling in 18.54, who was placed by the English at the 
 head of the Hindoo house of Myaoor, on the subversion of the 
 Mahommedau dynasty in 1799.] 
 
 " Call forth the royal children — let them all 
 Be brought together in the audience hall. 
 Let fate decide who shall be fittest found 
 To build anew our house, ' the golden round ' 
 To wear, and scatter glory, as of yore. 
 Over the hills and rivers of Mysore." 
 
 Thus the stern chieftain, wily and alert, 
 To lure with pageantry and so divert, 
 The land gro\\'n weary, disappointed, sore ; — 
 An art his ]iolicy had tried of yore, 
 The regal trickster's game ; — nor lacked the hour 
 All splendour olfers at the shrine of Power. 
 
 With buoyant gestures and with eyes serene, 
 Bounded the laughing infants to the scene. 
 No dream of kingdoms, no ambitious thought, 
 On gentle brows the ill-timed furrows wrought. 
 The hall Avas a new playgroiuid, grandly stro\Mi 
 With all the young heart seeks to make its own. 
 Fruits ripe and juicy, sweetmeats, heaps of flowers 
 The fragrant offerings of Hindustan bowers ;
 
 HTDF.R AU'S CHOICE. 21 
 
 Playtliings to suit the ever-ch.anging Avhini, 
 The languid mood or the elastic liml) ; 
 Arms for tlie embryo warrior, aud in nonlcs 
 The unfledged philosopher might pore on hooks. 
 Around chains, rings, and jewelletl gewgaws lay, 
 Of either sex the coveted array ; 
 And money bags ! 
 
 All things in short, that woo 
 The young or old to sigh for and pursue. 
 But these were young, and sought sufficing joys 
 In mellow fruits, rich cates, and novel toys. 
 Which eagerly were clutched by all but one, 
 Before whose eyes a glittering weapon shone, 
 Near it a citron. 
 
 H(i a moment gazed ; 
 Then in his hands the fruit and steel he raised. 
 The action seemed significant — sublime ! 
 His right the dagger grasped — his left the lime. 
 
 "That is the Kaja!" Hyder cried, — "He cares, 
 First to protect the land whose crown he wears. 
 And next, to bless the toil that makes it blest. 
 Biing him to my embrace !" 
 
 And thus caressed — 
 The fabric trembling to the mj-riad shout — 
 The boy, ilysore's next prince, was carried out.
 
 HELEN IRVING. 
 
 A TALE OF THE KIIiTLE BANKS. 
 
 [Towards tho close of tlie last century migJit be seen, in the mined 
 chapel of Kirkconnel, a monumental inscription reconiing the 
 events on which this ballad is founded ; and authentic family docu- 
 ments then in the possession of a worthy baronet residing near the 
 spot, corroborated their actual occurrence. Adam Fleming was 
 the son of a small farmer in Scotland, tevip. Mary, Queen of Scots ; 
 his education, manners, and personal attractions, won for him the 
 affection of a lovely heiress in Dumfriesshire. There were other 
 suitors, and one of these, infuriated by disappointed hopes and 
 thwarted passion, tracked the lovers to a favourite rendezvous, and 
 levelled a carbine at his unconscious rival. Helen heard the rust- 
 ling of the leaves, and, turning quickly, saw the deadly purpofie of 
 their pursuer, threw herself before her lover, and sank lifeless into 
 his arras. To lay the bleeding corse on the ground, chase the 
 ruffian, and plant a dagger in his heart, was the work of a few 
 moments ; but the horror of the two events was a lifelong agony to 
 Fleming. He fled to the sea-coast, found a vessel outward bound, 
 and sailed to Lisbon. He entered into the service of the King of 
 Tortugal, and distinguished himself in the Brazils. Amply and 
 honourably rewarded, and reluctantly dismissed by his royal 
 master, he, in the spirit of the times, made a pilgrimage to the 
 Holy Land. Haunted even there by the memory of Helen, he re- 
 solved on returning to Scotland and visiting the place of her inter- 
 ment. He did .SO; but his debilitated frame was unequal to the 
 toil of travel and the emotions e.xcited by the scene ; and soon after 
 liis arrival, he died on the earth which covered the remains of his 
 lost love J 
 
 I. 
 
 The Kirtle banks are fjiir to A-iew, 
 
 And none may coldk eye them ; 
 Tliey have their flowers of varying hue, 
 
 And bi-iglit the stream runs by them. 
 And they've a tale too sad and true, 
 
 For all who linger nigh them.
 
 HKLEN IRVING. 23 
 
 II. 
 
 Tlipy heard ricli Helen Irving pliglit 
 
 Her troth to Adam Fleming, 
 Though suitors strong in mammon-might, 
 
 Stood fuming and condemning ; 
 Richer than they in true love's sight 
 
 Was humble Adam Fleming. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Kirtle banks, how oft they saw, 
 
 When daylight Avas declining, 
 Two hearts that owned one gentle law, 
 
 Their every thought entAvining. 
 Alas ! another scene they saw — 
 
 Beyond those hearts' divining. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Kirtle banks — they saw a deed 
 Whose memory darkens o'er them ; 
 
 They saAv the jealous maniac speed 
 Where bafHed passion bore him, — 
 
 Tliey saw the helpless maiden bleed, — 
 Self-sacrificed before him. 
 
 V. 
 
 The Kirtle banks beheld the scathe — 
 
 They saw the fleet pursuer 
 Winged by revenge, and love, and death, 
 
 O'ertake the evil-doer, 
 Alas, he speedy A'engeance hath, — 
 
 Bereft, heart-maddened wooer ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 And Fleming leaves the Kirtle banks, 
 Where love no more may lure him,
 
 24 HELEN IRVING, 
 
 And wins in foreign lands and ranks 
 
 All courage can ensure him : 
 But Avhat of peace may kingly thauLs, 
 
 Or fame, or wealth, procure him ? 
 
 VIl. 
 
 The Krtle banks filled every dream 
 With phantom-shapes beside them ; 
 
 Red were the shrubs and stained the stream, 
 'Twas Helen's blood had dyed them ! 
 
 But ah ! with what a ghastlier gleam 
 His own rash deed supplied them ! 
 
 vni. 
 
 How heavily he drew the breath 
 Of life, — wan and waj^aring, — 
 
 His every feeling withereth. 
 Remorseful and despairing. 
 
 How fei'vently he pi'ayed for death, 
 Where death oft meets the daring ! 
 
 IX, 
 
 A chain there is that ever clanks, 
 
 Corroding in his bosom ; 
 His heart it chills, his life it blanks — 
 
 Nor hope nor comfort woos him. 
 The memory of the Ivirtle banks 
 
 Through every scene pursues him. 
 
 He wends him to the Holv Land, 
 A pilgiim pale and weary ; 
 
 With scallop-shell and staff in hand. 
 And bosom worn and dreary. 
 
 To find that every sea or strand 
 Becomes more lone and eerie.
 
 HELEN IRVING. 25 ! 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 XI. ; 
 
 And Fleming's pilgrimage is o'er — 
 The Kirtle banks are near him, 
 
 He tliought to gaze on them once more 
 Might soothe — it could not cheer him. 
 
 Nought shall that stricken fonn restore — 
 To Helen's gi"ave they bear him. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Kirkconnel chapel held her tomb — 
 And thitherward they bore him 
 
 With hasty steps — the murky gloom 
 Of death was gathering o'er him 5 
 
 And Fleming found his long-songlit doom 
 With Helen's grave before hun.
 
 THE RETURN OF ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 SEE THE " LIFE OF BLAKE," BY W. HErWORTH DIXON. 
 
 I fjahe toon tfie fame 5 eougl^t for— tj&at I etootr mg 
 
 country's fritn'O ; 
 1 tooulii sec ttie lantr I fougfit for, ere tfie strife of being 
 
 entr; 
 1©, one last glimpse of tf)e meatiotos tg t^e feet of to8= 
 
 f)ooIr prest, 
 Cf)oug^ tf)C8 gleam f&roug!) gathering sfiatJotos forerun^ 
 
 ning trreamless rest ! 
 
 Thus exclaimed the hero, weary, as he left Lisboa's 
 
 shore, 
 And the tempest wild and dreary shook the old St. 
 
 George once more. 
 And his pennant proudly floated as it did in days gone 
 
 by, 
 
 When the brave and the devoted forward went to do 
 or die. 
 
 As they fade — the spires and cupolas, the gigantic 
 
 towers and mast — 
 His unsleeping watch expires, and he homeward tums 
 
 at last. 
 Then anew in Cascae's road was heard the patriot sigh, 
 " that my native sod may glad my closing eye !"
 
 THE RETURN OF ADMIRAL BLAKE. 27 
 
 AikI many a (Ico]) })r;iyer muttered as pale faces o'er 
 
 him bent, 
 J^choed the prayer he uttered, and heav'mvard was 
 
 sent. 
 May the sea that knows his master fiiil that last behest 
 
 to do ? 
 Speed, gallant shii) ! speed faster, till the white cliffs 
 
 come in view. 
 
 And bring him Cromwell's letter, and, -nith the Senate's 
 
 thanks. 
 The jewelled ring that better may tell what thrills all 
 
 ranks. 
 The ring, the thanks, the letter, together found him 
 
 where 
 He burst each senale fetter, doing all that heroes dare. 
 
 But loves that proudly gi'cet him, the homage of his 
 
 peers, 
 Fain would he have them meet him on the dear land 
 
 he noars. 
 To that land he had given single heart and stainless 
 
 steel, 
 As ever yet had striven to uphold the common weal. 
 
 Through stormy waters speeding, as on the good ship 
 
 went. 
 Past glories little heeding, his thoughts on home were 
 
 bent. 
 "God strengthen him to see it !" was the seamen's 
 
 hourl}- i)rayer, 
 *'A lengthened bies.sing be it when his country hails 
 
 liini lliere."
 
 28 THK rtETUKN OF ADMIRAL BLAKK. 
 
 And though his frame was shattered the old spirit 
 
 would break out, 
 Till friendly care was flattered in its apjony of doul>t. 
 But the eyes which now are brightening too soon will 
 
 look then- last ; 
 'Tis but the fevered lightning of a spirit fleeting fast. 
 
 The white cliffs that he sighed for, and the enfranchised 
 towns 
 
 Whose rights he would have died for, and the green- 
 swelling downs, 
 
 And the goodly churches standing in reverent beauty 
 fair. 
 
 His own beloved land in — ^what wanted he else- 
 where ? 
 
 And in accents low and broken he would ask if they 
 
 drew near, 
 And ere the words were spoken he was answered with 
 
 a tear ; 
 For in mournful silence near him his cherished brethren 
 
 stand, 
 Nor words can speak to cheer him that soiTow-stricken 
 
 band. 
 
 Though the ship is homeward flying, nor far the happy 
 
 shore, 
 They know that he is dying, nor may behold it 
 
 more. 
 Their own eyes have grown dimmer in straining weaiy 
 
 whiles, 
 Wliere speck or line might glimmer of those expecting 
 
 isles.
 
 THE RETURN OF ADMIRAL BLAKE. 29 
 
 And the gloiy Avliicli surrouuds tliem <i,s on their way 
 
 they go, 
 Is a glory that confounds them, and which death is 
 
 laying low ; 
 Not a heart that trembles sadly, not a sailor strong 
 
 and brave. 
 But would give his own life gladly his heroic chief to 
 
 save. 
 
 Now they closely round him gather the latest words to 
 
 hear. 
 Of their captain and their father — and lo ! England's 
 
 coasts appear, 
 Thronged with thousands who would meet him on his 
 
 own rejoicing sod, 
 And ■v\ho A\ildly rush to greet him, whilst his spirit 
 
 seeks its God.
 
 OVER THE WAY: 
 
 "sensational" but strictly truthful. 
 
 " Kougli-hewD, but dug from the quarry of actual fact." 
 
 The Angels have borne up INIarguerite,* 
 The crowds are hurrpng through the street, — 
 The midnight street of tlie niiglity city, 
 With its sad strange scenes of Pain and Pity, 
 The last too oft but a passing stare, 
 A shrug, a sigh, or quick-breathed — " Beware ! " 
 Leave Love to plead, and the wise to plan 
 What can be done for peiishhig man. 
 We've homes — let's pass the wretch who has none ; 
 They are so many — I am but one. 
 Pass the young wreck with her bosom bare, 
 Her kindled cheeks, and her streaming hair. 
 And her fierce cry " I'll have my five pomid 
 These fellows have stol'n, and say they've found" — 
 Her drunken oaths, and her glances wild, 
 "I'll have^' — again are coarse threats piled — 
 " My five pounds — for my rent — and imj child! " 
 Past the saloons whence issue flushed throngs 
 With leer, sneer, slang, and bits of bad songs ; 
 » Last scene of the Opera of " Faust."
 
 OYER THE WAY. 31 
 
 Pass the Gin Palaces shining bright 
 
 As flames of the realm to which they invite ; 
 
 Pass curtained windows, well-secured doors, — 
 
 Whilst bedless and starving huddle by scores, 
 
 East and West, in the Square, in the Park, 
 
 Or in dank and loathsome alley dark, 
 
 Life's scarce-living outcasts squalid and stark ! 
 
 What sudden stoppage of slippery breath ! 
 What undreamed-of leaps from life to death ! 
 The reckless and loud, last eve so gay. 
 The young, and the strong, are mute to-day. 
 Here there's a Farce, and there a dull Play, 
 It is a Tragedy — over the way. 
 Young still, and sometimes loving, no doubt, 
 Love's ling'ring fires 'tis hard to put out ; 
 She was gay — but light smiles are not crimes ; 
 He Avas grave — but impulsive at times ; 
 And the course of his life led him on 
 Where or traffic impelled, or mLrth shone, 
 Yet if doomed to a quieter nook, 
 He perchance had been wed to a book, 
 For not yet quite forgotten, the lore, 
 That exalted his spirit before 
 Trade enthralled him. The lay that of yore 
 Won his heart, was a pure solace yet. 
 And could teach the worn mind to forget 
 For awhile all the strife and the din. 
 And the struggle of men who would win. 
 At the price of their souls' health and peace, 
 Of this world's worthless di'oss an increase. 
 Thus he lost for a moment the real 
 (Or what seemed such) in pictures ideal.
 
 32 OVER THE WAY. 
 
 But one, week since, none dreamt that the tide, 
 Darkly rushing, of Time would divide 
 Those two, who but lived as the li\iug 
 Do mainly, assailed and forgiving, 
 Now as demons, now angels, as spite 
 And as Love for the mastery fight, 
 But we still to the eye of the world 
 Keep the iiag of antipathy fmied. 
 
 There's a stir in the dead of the night. 
 
 Knockers plied v/ildly, gathering feet 
 
 "Waken weird echoes — startle the street — 
 
 Hoarse shouts of alarm, shrieks of affright ! 
 
 Dreamers bewildered say "What ails the night? " 
 
 From open windows glaring with light. 
 
 Faces are thi-ust forth eager and Mdiite — 
 
 Stars shining o'er the scene placidly bright, 
 
 Ah those unmoved and pitiless stars 1 
 
 AVith the same cold gaze on our petty jars 
 
 That they bend o'er mad and murderous wars ! — 
 
 Fly, fly for the leech ! the life blood flows ! 
 
 " Was"^it meant? " cry crowds — alas, who knows? 
 
 But there in that red and fatal flow 
 
 Lies the hale and strong of an hour ago ! 
 
 And rings in our ears the outcry wild 
 
 Of frantic widow with fatherless child !
 
 GARIBxVLDFS SECOND MARRIAGE.* 
 
 If you have been to Italy, you saw 
 
 The Lake of Coiiio — custom 'tis and law ; 
 
 If but a traveller by your own fireside, 
 
 How oft has picture or a book supplied 
 
 That lovely scene, till every feature gi-ew 
 
 Familiar as the spot that best you knew. 
 
 Queen of the northern lakes ! in beauty strong 
 
 And swift, yet placid, glide her Avaves along, 
 
 Wliilst in her waters mirrored faithfully 
 
 Her guardian banks and their proud villas be. 
 
 If that of Este to the English mind 
 
 Bring shame and sorrow, let no thought unkind 
 
 Visit the memory of poor Caroline, 
 
 Who suffered if she sinned. 
 
 But here tlivine 
 And purifjang Nature seems to cleanse 
 And cast away the noisome stuff that men's 
 Follies and crimes engender. Here alights 
 Adda, from Lepontine and Rhctian heights, 
 Blending with Como's lake her loveliness, 
 Till Lecco woos her with a bland caress. 
 
 • A writer in the J'lcloria Marjar.iitc. calling liimself " The Par- 
 son," gave the version of Garibaldi's second marriage, which sug- 
 gested this poein. The statement current at tlie time of the event, 
 was that the signora luid eloped with one of her husband's lieu- 
 tenants. Accepting the " Parson's " narrative, it is reasonable to 
 infer that the escort of an olUcer of Garibaldi, having the unfortu- 
 nate lady in hia charge, was construed by the public into an elope- 
 ment. 
 
 D
 
 34 garibaldi's second makhiage. 
 
 Stories she tells as on her way she goes, 
 Of Alphie hills, thou* wonders and theu* Avoes, 
 Of wrongs that linger, wasting, withering — 
 Mean as momentous — such their double sting — 
 For priest and brigand mean the same vile tiling. 
 
 But back to Como, — her first villa claims 
 Your eye, and the indigiiant song that shames 
 To mingle, as it must, th' ungenial names 
 Of Garibaldi and another ; one 
 That rises daily on men's minds — a sun 
 Of spotless glory — and the other dun 
 As Erebus — stained with unnatm-al crimes 
 Akin to those of Rome in other times, 
 But startling ours. 
 
 There the Marchesa lives 
 Who to these lines then- gloomiest hon-or gives. 
 A 'mother, with her own \ice so in love. 
 So doting in disgraces, that she strove 
 To make her daughters as herself sin-stained, 
 And over 07ie the de\ilish mastery gained. 
 
 Young Italy had stai-t«d from the sloth, 
 The deathlike sleep, of centuries the growth. 
 Dashed from her limbs dishonouring chains at last, 
 And ivas what her own Dante had forecast 
 In his prophetic song of love and wrath. 
 His stem sad spirit hovered o'er her path 
 When she the consecrated weapon drew 
 '(ilainst her oppressors, and her A\-an-iors flew 
 To aid the sacred cause, and mountains knew, 
 And lakes, the red shuts of guerillas, who 
 Clothed them with new wild life. 
 
 But hill or lake 
 Ne'er saw such charaas as now upon them break : 
 NaJad or Nymph — what form the water skims 
 That seems enamoured of those lovely limbs 
 And locks of glossy beauty, ample veil
 
 garibaldi's second marriage. 35 
 
 For charms they cover, but can scarce conceal ? 
 Eyes whose blue beauty makes Heav'n's owu seem 
 
 pale, 
 Are lifted from the water's fond embrace, 
 And to one gazer seem devouring space, 
 Till, heedless of the rude and Avondering bands, 
 Panting and pale before the chief she stands, 
 A statue sprung to life ! and living grace 
 luforais each gesture, whilst upon her face 
 And her broad forehead dwells the fei-\'id light 
 Of passionate strength and intellectual might. 
 She swam the lake that she might bring the chief 
 News it may be of warning or relief, 
 And this alone would touch the tenderest part 
 Of Garibaldi's great and loA-ing heart, 
 But when her ruby lips gTew eloquent 
 (And, sooth to say, they breathed but what she 
 
 meant,) 
 On his dear countrj^'s ^n-ongs and woes, and all 
 Which had befallen, or might yet befall 
 Her and her struggling sons, tlie Hero felt 
 All lonely shadows from his spirit melt ; 
 Anita's* spirit halloAved sure the thought, 
 Though ne'er before was found, and never sought 
 Another who could fill Anita's place, — 
 But even she would smile on such a face, 
 And answer to such words. 
 
 And so he Avooed 
 Tlie woman won already ; and he stood 
 On pleasure's brink, to plunge in the abyss 
 Of miseiy, and hear the seqient-hiss 
 Of shame, which ne'er before assailed the ears 
 That tingle now -with the world's grateful cheers. 
 The wediling morn was come, the wedding bread 
 
 * The devoted and glorious first wife of Garibaldi, whose affect- 
 ing history every true heart knows, and lias wept over.
 
 36 garibaldi's second marriage. 
 
 AVas scarcely broken, when a letter read, 
 Disclosed the life that his young bride had led. 
 
 The shaft had pierced the hero's lofty soul ; 
 But calmly folding up the a^vful scroll. 
 The breakfast Avas resumed, and, at its close, 
 Heart-stricken, but still calm, nay, kind, he rose, 
 And led his silent, not unconscious, bride. 
 To an adjouiing chamber. By his side 
 She stood, while he to the IMarchese penned 
 Words such as high hearts AATouged to the deceiver 
 
 send. 
 Then handed her the letter, "which," he said, 
 " Would tell her sh'e why two, so newly wed, 
 Were parted ere united." 
 
 Eolls away 
 The bridal carriage, on whose cushion lay, 
 Alone, astounded, — shame her only dower, 
 A mother's victim, wife of one dark hour. 
 
 The " Parson " tells us this — not I ; 'tis he 
 AVho vouches for the tale's veracitv. 
 He saw the General at Saint Angelo, 
 And fancied that the Hues of this great woe, 
 Were written on his face. 
 
 We, ton, have seen 
 That face, as seraph's rapt, and as serene.
 
 THE EXHIBITION UNVISITED. 
 
 'Tis an heroic story 
 
 Wherewith the mde world rings, 
 The triumph and the glory 
 
 Each good and glad heart sings. 
 All honour to strong labour, 
 
 Whose products hither floAV, 
 Honour to every neighbour ! 
 
 No stranger now, nor foe. 
 
 The heart of earth and ocean, 
 
 Its very inmost core, 
 Is stirred by an emotion 
 
 It felt not heretofore ; 
 It had been stung and shattered 
 
 By many a blow of yore, 
 AVhen demon-War was flattered 
 
 And his hell-cup Ijrimmcd with gore ; 
 
 But now 'tis lea])ing, leaping ! 
 
 With newer lii'c emhiu'd, 
 That braces souls long sleeping 
 
 In loveless hebetude.
 
 38 THE EXHIBITION U!C\aSITED. 
 
 And Heaven bending o'er it 
 
 Smiles with benigner light, ' 
 
 As anxions to restore it 
 
 The sense of Truth and Right. 
 
 In my garden's leafy quiet, 
 
 From the marvel far away, | 
 
 AVingcd Fancy runneth riot — j 
 
 Let it have its wanton play ! I 
 
 The rush of iron horses j 
 
 Falling hourly on mine ear, • ! 
 
 Linked with their fiery courses, i 
 
 I seem borne on their career ; ' 
 
 And they bear me uith their thunder 
 
 To the Fairy-bnilded Dome, — 
 To the Love, and Peace, and Wonder, 
 
 Where the world has a found a home, — 
 Where the tongues of millions mingle, 
 
 And the tone is understood, 
 With a feeling pure and single, ^ 
 
 Jmd a purpose deep and good. 1 
 
 I 
 
 The Sage's cherished vision, j 
 
 The Patriot's life-pledged aim, 
 
 The Christian's hopes elysian ] 
 
 Make here a common claim. 
 
 Peal joy-bells louder, faster ! \ 
 
 Be peaceful flags unf lu-led ! j 
 
 Plere toil is crowned the Master, — ] 
 
 The maiustav of the world ! '
 
 SHAKSPERE'S BIRTHDAY. 
 (an epistle.) 
 
 " On the 5th of May was born SHAKSPERE. according to the 
 necess.ary allowance made for the change from old to new style. 
 We write his name large that we may sound it with what trumpet 
 we can, being unable to indulge ourselves with saying more We 
 only wish we could lift it in flame and beauty upon every house in 
 England, the most universal of illuminations, as he was of poets." 
 
 Leigh Hdnt. 
 
 Up, ei-e the lark, that near my window sings 
 
 A lusty carol as he heavenward springs ; 
 
 Up, while night's sable pall enshrouds the morn. 
 
 And not a single day-tinged cloud is born. 
 
 Yet envy not, my friend, this dear-bought boon, 
 
 This joyless power of being up too soon ! 
 
 I pray for blessed slumber many a time. 
 
 Though not as Wordsworth does, in lovely rhyme. 
 
 Sweet verse ! that makes us half forget the want — 
 
 The grief — whose murmured sorrows so enchant, 
 
 And almost wish, so well the pain is spoken. 
 
 The Poet's nightly rest were oftencr broken " 
 
 I 
 
 Ungeuial mom ! if (mfiht ungenial be, 
 
 Shakspcre, immortal humanist ! to thee. 
 
 In whom the storm we shrink from only woke 
 
 Thoughts that in loving lessons gravely spoke, 
 
 (As when that weird, wild, ma.ldoiiod, poor old fonn 
 
 Of kingly woe and wrong, bewailed the storm
 
 40 shakspere's birthday. 
 
 For other Avrotches' sakes,) piercing the shroud 
 Of Night aud Tempest, showing every cloud 
 To have its sunsliine somewhere — what though now 
 No Ijird is tvnttering on the shaken bough — 
 "What though the skies one straggling beam deny, 
 They cannot shut thy volumes from the eye ; 
 They cannot bar from us the splendour there 
 Shedding a sunlight glory everywhere. 
 
 To-day Ave cannot have him in the fields, 
 
 Where truest taste of joy his teaching yields. 
 
 Wiiat then ? the voyage surely suits as well — 
 
 He wafts us o'er the earth with Ariel ; 
 
 Or leads us with a light invisible hand, 
 
 On to the gentle haunts of Fairy Land | 
 
 Where floateth Puck along in tricksome joy, | 
 
 And where Titauia keeps her Indian boy ; j 
 
 And then once more our feet on earth he sets j 
 
 Where Perdita is gathering violets. I 
 
 Wine we have none — but what the need of wiue ' 
 
 Near Fountain so exhaustless, so divine? \ 
 
 So, let us have a th-aught of Shakspere song — | 
 
 A Shakspere air — the pleasure to jn'olong — • 
 
 A Shakspere drama — where the fair, the free, 
 
 The bright, the noble, make the company — ! 
 
 And who are truer worshippers than we ? 
 
 Your Warwick neighbours held this Festival i 
 
 Last month ; the love and not the date is all. j 
 
 'Tis Avell to keep it then — now — ever, ever ! ' 
 
 But heavy shame to those that keep it never. 
 Shame to then' hearts that have no warmth \ 
 
 within them ! 
 Shame to their spirits ! no great thought can wm 
 
 them.
 
 shakspere's birthday. 41 
 
 Who may not keep it ? Simply as they please, 
 AVitli plajful love, or prond solemnities, 
 (For his large spirit comprehends all these,) 
 With laurel leaves about his portrait or 
 His bust, to greet one in the corridor. 
 Part of the day abroad, where brisk air.s come, 
 And part, the closer part, with him at home. _ 
 Something about him sung, and something said. 
 Then with mmd widened, heart improved, clear 
 
 head, 
 'Tis wise to say — " To bed, to bed, to bed ! " 
 
 AT ULCOMB. 
 
 Fields of bright eye-refreshing green, 
 Trees that afford an ample shade. 
 
 Streams on whose banks 'tis sweet to lean, 
 And list their murmuring through the glade. 
 
 Woods, dark, majestic, mazy, wild. 
 Where contemplation loves to roam, 
 
 Fit haunts for Fancy's wayward child, 
 Thought's chosen realm— the Poet's home ! 
 
 Silence, that hath a holy tongue. 
 
 Songs, that have music dec]) and true. 
 
 The kindly old, the taintless young, 
 Tlie.-e till i feci and hcai' and view.
 
 THE GOLDEN ORG.\^ OF EUSSERTHAL. 
 
 One hour from Alberssweiler, and vou see 
 The vale of Eusserthal in beauty rai'e, 
 So named from a once-famous Convent there, 
 Famous, but now departed utterly. 
 Resplendent shrine and sacred effigy, 
 Magnificent, they say, beyond compare, 
 Dazzling the gazer, and distracting prayer. 
 All passed ; no shred of that proud pageantry 
 Survives. But for the Convent chm'ch's choir, 
 No stones were left to mark its ancient place, 
 
 No relic of the treasures there amassed, 
 To talk of which the peasants never tu'e. 
 The gi-andeur, and the gloiy, and the grace. 
 And of one marvel never yet sm-passed. 
 
 The foe is on the wall ! in mad affright 
 
 Hurry the monks ^\-ith many a precious load. 
 But this, the chicfcst, where shall this be stowed, 
 
 This, vowed to God, and holy in man's sight ? 
 
 " The Marsh ! " they wliisper, and borne through the 
 night, 
 Whose darkness as they went a moment glowed, 
 The Golden Organ sank, and o'er it flowed
 
 THE GOLDEN ORGAN OF EUSSERTIIAL. 43 
 
 Waters impure as souls who forced its fliglit. 
 Now breathe, ye saintly men 1 a last farewell 
 To the loved voice that bore your hearts above ; 
 
 And quell your agony for hidden dross — 
 And hie to other lands the tale to tell, 
 Whilst ruin wears the home wherein ye strove 
 
 To shun the world, and fitly bear your cross. 
 
 Once in seven years the buried gloiy wakes, 
 Filling the lowland vvith its solemn tone. 
 And 3-eaching the far hills. Nor may earth own 
 
 Aught like to its entrancement when it breaks 
 
 On Night's still ear, and a weird music shakes 
 From golden pipes, until, to thunder gi-own. 
 It rushes through the vale, then with Avild moan, 
 
 And echo light, the forest it forsakes. 
 
 And thus the peasants of sweet Eusserthal 
 
 Mysteriously their Golden Organ hold. 
 Or rather, it holds them, in happy thrall, 
 
 Telling of beauty, deathless, manifold ; 
 
 And though no oi'ganist their eyes behold. 
 In strong and simple faith they cherish all.
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN THE CEMETERY AT 
 KENSAL GKEEN. 
 
 " I feel the daisies growing over me."— Keats. 
 
 Were it not sweet reposing here, 
 Life's fret and fever passed away, 
 
 To feel nor Hate, nor Hope, nor Fear, 
 Discomfort om* unconscious clajV 
 
 The flowers beneath — ^bhie skies above — 
 The soft gi-een stretching wide around — 
 
 Oh, fittest burial place of Love, 
 
 Here God's great guerdon, Peace, is found ! 
 
 Here "earth to earth," and "dust to dust" 
 Are deep and pregnant words indeed, 
 
 That breathe a feeling and a trust 
 For the yet fettered — from the freed. 
 
 Oh, happy things ! reposing thus. 
 
 What is the one bliss left behind, 
 For which ye would return to us. 
 
 And quit the quiet rest ye find ? 
 
 For Wealth ? — the very idiot laughs 
 
 At the long toil and sordid strife. 
 And knows that Mammon's follower quaffs 
 
 The bitterest poison-cup of life. 
 
 Wliat Avins he here ? the cringing knee, 
 The lying look, the fawning smile — 
 
 Great golden calf! thus worshipped be, 
 
 AYhile AYorth looks on, and laughs the while.
 
 LINES WIUTTEN AT KENSAL GIIEEN CEJIETErwY. 45 
 
 For Freedom ? — glorious were tlie choice, 
 But that her strength is sternly crushed. 
 
 For Truth ? — alas, her holy voice 
 Is feebly heard, or foully hushed. 
 
 For Virtue ? — better from the grave 
 Her uever-dying truths ye preach, — 
 
 Truths which the sceptic aud the slave 
 In Life's fierce turmoil ftvil to reach — 
 
 Wliich the proud Eoman's word could slur* 
 With more thau a despahiug doubt ; 
 
 Though A\'ho can meanly do Avith her, 
 And who can greatly dare without ? 
 
 For Fame ? — a boy and bubble dream, 
 A shadow from no substance thrown, 
 
 A fleeting i[/m's-f(ituHs gleam 
 
 That lures, misleads us, and is gone ! 
 
 For Love ? — and have ye then forgot 
 With what false lights that Angel shone ? 
 
 Far more he vexed than blest your lot, — 
 Oh, enviable dead ! s^e<?/) on. 
 
 * I find myself corrected and Brutus vindicated in Godwin's 
 " Enquirer."— Dion Cassius hud falsely represented Brutus as say- 
 ing, " Oil, virtue! I followed thee as a substantial good, but I find 
 tliee to be no more than a delusive shadow."— The death-bed words 
 of Brutus were :— " I do not complain of my fortune, but only for 
 my country's sake. For, as for me, I think myself happier thau 
 they tliat have overcome, considering that I have a perpetual fame 
 of our courage and rnanliood, the which our enemies, the conquerors, 
 shall never attain uuti)."— Piularch, by biu. Thomas ISoutu.
 
 THE BIRTHDAY OF ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Man of Labour, Child of Song, 
 
 Lift the glass, and weave the sonnet, 
 
 Since he did to l)Oth belong, 
 
 Let his day have honour done it. 
 
 By that sterling soul were so'vati 
 Seeds of which the fruit is ours, 
 
 In the myriad hearts that own 
 Holier aims and finer powers. 
 
 Dunnest clouds had he to pierce 
 With undimned, imbaffled vision ; 
 
 Struggle hard and battle fierce, 
 Braved he on his lofty mission. 
 
 But, his hand upon the plough, 
 He could cast no look behind ; 
 
 And the clods he wrought in, now 
 Glow with golden sheaves of mind. 
 
 He, the Muse's gifted son, 
 
 Raised men to their lightful stature ; 
 And he taught them to be one 
 
 With themselves, with God, and Nature. 
 
 Brief his life, and low his sphere, 
 Yet of all our Bards and Sages, 
 
 Whose more sad or bright career ? 
 Whose more true or touching pages ?
 
 THE BIRTHDAY OF ROBERT BURNS. 47 
 
 Wlio SO real, thoughtful, tender ? 
 
 Who with such a trumpet-swell 
 Fills his lyrics ? Who iu splendour 
 
 Mates our Ayrshke miracle V 
 
 "Jesting, praying, ploughing, sowing, 
 Eeading Shakspere," casting gauges ! 
 
 Such the soil for him to. groAV in, 
 Marvel and delight of ages. 
 
 Shrink the Giants of the Schools, 
 
 Puzzled and abashed before him ; 
 Apes of forms, and slaves of rules, 
 
 They stared at him, we adore him ! 
 
 Man of Labour, Child of Song, 
 
 Lift the glass and weave the sonnet ; 
 
 Since he did to both belong, 
 
 Let his day have huuour done it.
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY, 
 
 Let fall the wreaths, ami quench the lamp whose beams 
 Mock with their ghastly glare oiu- stricken hearts ; 
 
 Friend of our happiest hours, our brightest di-eams, 
 Teacher and trusted, Thackeray departs ! 
 
 Leaves us amid the revels and the songs. 
 
 Himself had furnished forth a thousand times, 
 
 Filling the memory with undying throngs 
 Of richest fancies clothed in riotous rh}Tnes. 
 
 He tore the mask from meanness, and stnick down 
 Unholy strength that wantons in its might ; 
 
 Yet blind were they wlio saw not 'neath the frown, 
 The soiTO-ning awe wherewith he rose to smite. 
 
 Life opened in its every phase for him ; 
 
 How beautiful his pencil made the good ! 
 The praise he gave them seemed a spirit's h;ynnn 
 
 In homage of some great beatitude. 
 
 Look ! scarce a week since, and he stands upon 
 The ground so hallowed by his matchless pen. 
 
 Within those walls of which henceforth each stone 
 Shall speak of a true Man to unborn men. 
 
 Lost when we least could spare him ! when we gazed 
 On our heaped stores less as result than promise ; 
 
 At the o'erwhchning blow we stand amazed — 
 Could he be ours, and thus be wrested from us !
 
 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE TIIACKEUAY. 49 
 
 Lingering o'er recollections of a spot, 
 
 A time, a season, that from out the maze 
 
 Of Life's confusion coineth unforgot, 
 
 Shining the summer-most of summer days ; 
 
 Let me re-picture how, yet in the thrall 
 Of Clifton's many charms, I entered in 
 
 The crowded, eager, and expectant hall. 
 And joined in the enthusiastic din. 
 
 Hailing the stately Lecturer, who came 
 With modest step, but frank uiilifted face-. 
 
 Strength in the nobly-built, well-knitted frame, 
 In every gesture intellectual gi"ace. 
 
 How shook our spirits in that thoughtful hour, 
 
 Swayed by the spell that Heav'n-taught Genius owns! 
 
 How thrilled the hearts that now may thrill no more ; 
 No more may hear those deep and varyhig tones. 
 
 Yet in the hour that severs us, 'tis well, 
 
 And not unAvise it may be to rejoice. 
 That those loved features mav in memory dwell. 
 
 That once we heard that now departed voice.
 
 ROSETTE. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF BERANGEK. 
 
 Eegardless of your own spring time, 
 
 You woo me with love's smiles and tears ; 
 Even me, whose fast departing prime 
 
 Bows 'ueath the weight of forty years. 
 Ah, erst my walling heart caught fire 
 
 At one poor maiden's glance of light. 
 Why can you not the flame inspire, 
 
 That made my boyhood's hom's so bright V 
 
 You ride amidst the glittering throng. 
 
 Day after day, in jewelled dresses 5 
 Eosette tripped laughinglv along 
 
 \A^ith no adornment but her tresses. 
 Her watching glance the wanton threw 
 
 In spite of me, at all she met ; 
 Alas, why cannot I love you, 
 
 As once I loved the wild Rosette? 
 
 Your splendid mirrors well reflect 
 
 Your smiles, and they are fair to see ; 
 One splintered glass her cabin decked — 
 
 It mirrored every grace for me ! 
 No curtain had her little bed, 
 
 On which Aurora earliest smiled. 
 Oh, wliither hath the passion fled 
 
 ^Miich then so well my heart beguiled?
 
 ROSETTE. 51 
 
 The brilliant liglituiug of your wit 
 
 Might well the poet's lyre awake. 
 Why blush to own it ? Poor Rosette 
 
 Coiild hardly read the songs they make ! 
 Untaught in language to excel, 
 
 Love sei-ved her as intei-preter ; — 
 Why can my heart not love as well 
 
 You, fairest, as I once loved her ? 
 
 Rosette had fewer channs than you. 
 
 Nor was her fickle heart so soft ; 
 And her eyes turned less fomlly, too, 
 
 On him who listened to her oft. 
 But then — all others to excel — 
 
 She had Life's spring, from me departed ; 
 And so thou art not loved so well, 
 
 Though thou art fonder — truer-hearted.
 
 ''DOLCE FAR NIENTE:' 
 
 Suggested by a Portrait painted by Miss Lucr Adams. 
 I, 
 
 How shall we name the picture ? 'tis a child 
 With watchful dog and unregarded book, 
 
 And feet crossed carelessly, and tresses wild, 
 Glossy and rich, that no confinement brook. 
 
 " Into what dream hath she been thus beguiled ?" 
 Poor Pompey seems to ask, with wistful look, 
 
 Wooing the wonted pat and fond caress. 
 
 And plainly wondering at the long forgetfuluess. 
 
 II. 
 
 But though she sitteth in a listless mood. 
 Profuse locks flowing o'er the rounded arm 
 
 Whereon her head reclines, it were not good 
 To deem her indolent ; perchance some charm 
 
 Of memory or of hope, — scarce understood 
 
 By her sweet self, — hath wrought this gentle hann. 
 
 Hath lured her thoughts thus from the down turned 
 book, 
 
 And given that dreamy calm and brightness to her 
 look. 
 
 III. 
 
 Or hath the page itself, profound or gay, 
 
 Caught and abstracted its fair reader's mind ?
 
 " DOLCE FAR NIEXTE." 53 
 
 Is volant fiuiry at creative play, 
 
 Luxurious — auiiclst summer flowers reclined? 
 Or hath it reached some mountain top to-day ; 
 
 And gazing thence in wonder, doth it find 
 How small are things familiar in the vale ? 
 Well may the moral teach, though thousand lessons 
 tkU. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As dwindle the tall poplars on the plain, 
 
 If seen afar, from some cloud-reaching height, 
 
 So if our reason soar with Heav'nward straui 
 
 DAvindles and shrinks the sum of Earth's delight ; 
 
 And vain seem things that erst engrossed us — vain 
 Seems Love itself — a lure too false and light. 
 
 Ah ! be it thine to find that love no lure, 
 
 Linking its passing joys to joys that aye endure. 
 
 V. 
 
 Dream on, then, if thou dreamcst. Faiiyland 
 
 Is truer and more <lurable than ours, 
 And Fancy has its si)lendours at command, 
 
 And fills and beautifies its many hours, 
 AMth an unsi)aring and a fostering hand 
 
 Colouring its skies, and chei'isliing its floAvers. 
 Dream on ! enough v>\\\ come of real and dull, 
 Kow let young Hope explore the bright and beautiful. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But what thou hast of real be ever thine ! 
 
 A home where Art brings her exalting skill, 
 And Harmony still comes with breathings fine. 
 
 And the duniestic graces finger still ; 
 And the Historian's page — the Poet's line 
 
 Thy mind illnniine, and thy bosom thrill. 
 So shall the Future but reflect the Past, 
 And truthful, peaceful thoughts be with thee to the last.
 
 54 " DOLCE FAR NIENTE." 
 
 VII. 
 
 No, no, it is not idleness ; — the eyes 
 Soft, dewy, beautiful, give meaning out. 
 
 Some speculation or some arch surmise. 
 
 Some pla}'ful project or some girlish doubt. 
 
 The smile speaks quiet mu-th, with no disguise, — 
 And ne'er such language be those lips without ; 
 
 Still may they wear this frank and joyous light. 
 
 When time hath written woman on that forehead white. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh wondi-ous ait ! what skill and power are thine 
 To chain the passing — fix the fleeting — tie 
 
 To the mute canvas by a spell tlivine, 
 
 Loved faces and prized scenes, else gliding by 
 
 And vanishing ; and leaving us to pine. 
 
 But thou — kind hoarder for the heart and eye — 
 
 The dead, the past, the absent canst recal, 
 
 And dost restore, preserve, illume, and hallow all.
 
 JOHX ANDERSON. 
 
 " John .\ni)ERSON !" a holy song 
 
 Embalmed by trath and tears, 
 AMiose melody has hngered long 
 
 'Mid all that home endears. 
 Henceforth the name, with echo strong 
 
 And fierce, shall startle ears 
 Closed to the cries of bitter wrong — 
 
 The unavenged of years ! 
 
 No more a soft domestic lay, 
 
 It comes — a thunder-tone 
 To men who weep — to men who pray — 
 
 To slaves who gasp and groan ; 
 To mothers, mourning on their way, 
 
 Babes answering the moan ; 
 To wretches taught to goad and slay 
 
 God's image in their own ! 
 
 Freemen ! the shallow lie is borne 
 
 O'er mountain, lake, and sea, 
 To be hurled back A^ith utter scorn 
 
 Where'er true Freemen be ! 
 Thev own no IMonarch — yet are shorn 
 
 Of worth that marks the free — 
 Worse slaves than they enslave, slave-born 
 
 In selfs worst slavery !
 
 r)G JOHN ANDEIiSOX. 
 
 And dare they ask the victim back 
 
 Who 'scaped the bloody lair ? 
 As well recal the fleeting rack 
 
 That traverses the air ! 
 Bloodhounds may follow in his track, 
 
 With bloodier hounds behind them ; 
 But England trees the slaves she sees 
 
 And breaks the chains that bind them.
 
 SONNETS ON THE CRDIEAN WAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 THERE AND HERE. 
 
 Toil — endless toil — the toil of night and day — 
 Toil in the trenches — struggle in the swamp — 
 Pause short and sleepless, racked with chill and 
 cramp ; 
 
 Slow agonies that wear the life away. 
 
 The life ! their country's safeguard and its stay. 
 Wearisome hours ! and lacking even the lamp, 
 Shining albeit amidst dirt and damp. 
 
 That poorest cottages at home dis])lay. 
 An<l, overlooking martyi'dom like this, 
 Sleek, well-fed English eulogists proclaim 
 
 His " greatness," Bible-gifts, and goodness, — his ! 
 Wiiom honest hearts sAvell madly but to name. 
 
 The miscreant followed by the Avide world's hiss, 
 And damned by dastard deeds to deathless shame. 
 
 11. 
 
 THE PRESS. 
 
 Then spake the voice which with its trumpet-tone. 
 Startles the soid as it enchains the ear — 
 Sliall th(!se things be, and we sit moveless here? 
 
 And be they p]nglisli sjiirits that ye own? 
 
 First, doiilit, next marvel, then unmanly moan ; 
 Sluiuued duty giving jilace to siirdid fear. 
 Or withering "neatli a fool's complacent sneer. —
 
 58 SONNETS ON THE CRIMEAN WAR. 
 
 Is this the stutf" that shook a Stuart's throne ? 
 The stuff of Cromwell ? making England stand 
 
 The pride — the glory — terror of the world — 
 Lifting above the weak a godlike hand — 
 
 Bidding the meteor-flag be aye unfurled ; 
 Striking for truth and right in every land 
 
 To which the bark or waving sword was whirled. 
 
 III. 
 
 DEATH AND PEACE. 
 
 Meanwhile, the PoAver that stirs, howe'er supine 
 
 Its creature, strikes the master-mischief down ; 
 
 Stark, rigid, lies the thing that wore a crown. 
 Drawled, droned, and (bivelled eulogy and whine, 
 Kot one recanting whisper shall be mine ; 
 
 No curse I uttered dare I now disown — 
 No flowers o'er Nero's grave by me be strown — 
 
 Still lives the -wi'ong he did to mine or thine. 
 But Falkland's gentle prayer I hourly breathe, 
 
 The prayer that in no generous breast can cease ; 
 That war's red knife we safely may ensheath, 
 
 And hymn to heaven its oavu strain — Love and 
 Peace. 
 Far better these than Glory's dubious wr'eath, 
 
 Or foul breath of triumphant enmities.
 
 THE WAYSIDE SAILOK. 
 
 Gravely that old wayfaring tar 
 
 Upon the gi'oen bank bent j 
 
 And tnmniod his little bark, whilst far I 
 
 His busy thoughts were sent. 
 Far back those aged messengers I 
 
 Were bonie with s^vift consent : i 
 
 Of earth and sea the traversers, 
 
 A Mcary way they went. 
 
 Kow they were parched on Egypt's sand — ; 
 
 Kow buoyant on the Nile, I 
 
 Where Lion-Nelson and his band -| 
 
 Fought in good English style. 
 That recollection nerves his hand — 
 
 That memory wakes his smile — 
 INIark how the veteran kindles, and 
 
 Forgets his woes the Avhile. j 
 
 And now they pause at Trafalgar — j 
 
 France frowns — Spain pales with fear 
 At yell and shout of maddening war, 
 
 And dreary death-ciies near: i 
 
 But Fate strikes England's loftiest star j 
 
 And ends his bright career: — 
 Gallant and unforgctful Tar, ' 
 
 1 understand thy tear. i
 
 GARIBALDI AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 
 
 Victoria had lior weather, 
 
 And, among; hearts elated. 
 Till " Queen's weather " grew a proverb, 
 
 The sun upon her waited. 
 Onr Hero-guest has also /»'s 
 
 And when folks tlock together, 
 The ]ileasant word is often heard 
 
 '"Tis Garibaldi-weather!" 
 Yet on Saturday, I grant ye, 
 
 'Twas w(>t, and rather cool, 
 But exceptio^ ef cetera — 
 
 Yon know all about " the rule." 
 Yet e'en then, though late, Apollo 
 
 From idle slumber woke, 
 And as they sang " all' alba,'''' 
 
 O'er all in splendour broke. 
 To-day he will not sleep at all, 
 
 But, an untiring star. 
 He rushes o'er the realms of space 
 
 In his emp}'real car. 
 Blue are the skies as Italy's, 
 
 And the piled fleeces roll, 
 Gentle as Garibaldi's smile. 
 
 White as the hero's soul. 
 But I get before my story — 
 
 Out^trip my rambling song ; 
 In the first flush of the morning
 
 GARIHALDI AT THE CliYSTAL PALACE. Gl 
 
 We were liurryiiig' along : 
 Halloa ! a crowd already met 
 
 E'en in these busy haunts, 
 O'er Avhoni the hope-insjjiring flag 
 
 Its brave tri-colour tlaunts ; 
 And eager horses paw the ground, 
 
 And eager eyes look out. 
 And now the lookers-on have raised 
 
 The hearty farewell shout ; 
 And the expectant thousands 
 
 Are dashing on their way; 
 Has Sydenham — has England 
 
 Before seen such a day ? 
 Yes, one — that ^\ill be calendared 
 
 In every English heart 
 Which at that glorious welcoming 
 
 Played but a gazer's part, 
 When London sent its myriads, 
 
 With but one voice and mind. 
 To hail the Hero's entrance, 
 
 In the name of all mankind ! 
 
 " Be no laggard at the Station, 
 
 Or your struggle will bo vain," 
 Is the frequent exclamation 
 
 Of folks l)ound to " catch the train." 
 And the light of expectation 
 
 Is on all eyes and cheeks. 
 And the glow of inspiration 
 
 On every tongue that speaks : 
 For there is pleasant meethig 
 
 For those who meet no more, 
 Aiul for those a cordial greeting 
 
 Wlio m^ver met before : 
 One name breaks down the barriers 
 
 That keep us oft apart,
 
 62 GARIBALDI AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 
 
 One sunny name has melted 
 
 The icy Northern heart. 
 0, hours that wear out patience, 
 
 A^''here hours Avere wont to fly ! 
 Has Time, that hasty traveller, 
 
 Become Eteniity? 
 And looks he on the straggle 
 
 AVith an indifferent eye, 
 Whilst still increasing thousands 
 
 The coil intensify ? 
 No gazing on heaped treasures, — 
 
 These are for common days, — 
 No lingering by foimtaius. 
 
 For Art no pause or praise. 
 Squeeze — ^jostle of the concourse, 
 
 The fainting frame benumbs. 
 Whilst the false ciy arises. 
 
 And cheers us, of — " He comes 
 At length the head which Freedom 
 
 And Victory have cro^^nied, 
 Is seen ! and benedictions 
 
 Through all the place resound, 
 'Till bray of martial music 
 
 Is in the clamour di'owned; 
 And children are uplifted. 
 
 With eyes of wondering awe, 
 That they may boast hereaftei", 
 
 The gi'eat good man they saw ! 
 Youth its vigorous shout prolongs, 
 
 Pipes the shrill voice of age ; 
 Each emulates the other 
 
 In strife of generous rage 
 To catch but transient glimpses 
 
 Of that ennol)led stage 
 Where, pale and unimpassioned. 
 
 Sits the hero of the hour, 
 
 I"
 
 G.\niBAIJ>I AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE. G3 
 
 With smile of childlilce sweetness, 
 
 And brow of godlike power ; 
 Placid and almost wan, mitd 
 
 He started fi'om his seat, 
 Of Kosciusko's martyred land 
 
 The mouniful sons to meet. 
 And then his voice came sadly 
 
 And dirge-like on the ear, 
 " Poland ! forget not Poland ! " 
 
 God ! were there none to hear ? 
 And English soldiers shouting,* 
 
 Stalwart figtu'es in the van, 
 " Viva Italia ! Polonia ! " 
 
 And " God bless the great good man ! " 
 Tall men, strong and self-denying. 
 
 With an impulsive gTace, 
 Lift smaller ones to snatch a look 
 
 At that worn saintly face. 
 For pale and worn it is, alas. 
 
 Though the soul, brave and true, 
 Illumes with transient flashes 
 
 The wan pervatling hue. 
 Love has wrought the fearful work 
 
 No bitter hate could do. 
 Save that Italian bullet 
 
 "WTiich at Aspromonte flew ! 
 Brand on the fame of Italy 
 
 No ages shall efface ! 
 Shame ! that with thousand kingly shames 
 
 Shall run a deathless race ! 
 But the final rapture waits us 
 
 Beneath the open sky : 
 Where the hero maimed and gloiious 
 
 Leans from the balconv, — 
 Looks on that sea of faces 
 Not of " the Legion," but the Line,— a fact, and significant.
 
 64 GARIBALDI AT THE CRYSTAL TALACE. 
 
 Upturned with ardent gaze, 
 Lists the more than ocean's roar 
 
 Which, as he comes, they raise. 
 0, tale for England's history ! 
 
 Hope-spreading through all climes ! 
 0, warning to all tyrants ! 
 0, lesson for all times ! 
 This Kizzard peasant standing now 
 
 In simple greatness here, 
 Is the Apostle of a creed 
 
 To banish hate and fear. 
 Slow marches Right, and Justice halts, 
 
 But Truth and Right must be 
 Resistless in such times as these. 
 
 Wielded by such as he. 
 Monarchs he braved ! King, whom he saved! 
 
 All ye he soars above. 
 King in a People's Palace, 
 
 Crowned with a People's love !
 
 TALES, SONCiS AXD SONNETS. 65 
 
 IJETKOSPECTIOX. 
 
 Lie by some idle stream linjiering o'er youthful dream, 
 
 Worn heart of mine ! 
 Hie to some sullen shade sunbeams may not invade — 
 
 There droop and pine. 
 What in this glorious earth, teeuring with light and 
 mirth, 
 
 A^Hiat canst thou see ? 
 Not the kind hearts and leal bound to thy woe or weal, 
 
 Once all to thee. 
 Ko ! o'er the finn and true, Death his cold mantle threw. 
 
 Silent they lie : 
 Others — the proud and cold, things of earth's meanest 
 mould — 
 
 How they stalk by ! 
 Yet be thou unforlorn, fling back the scorn with scorn, 
 
 Deep as their o-\\ii : 
 Bid thy fond fancies go — though tears and blood may 
 flow- 
 Bid them begone !
 
 GG TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 CHALMERS. 
 
 Threescore and ten, and not a day mis-spent ; 
 
 A giant has departed, one Avho planned 
 
 Gigantic things, and built them ; and they stand 
 His own sufficing deathless monument. 
 Devote to loftiest aims, and yet content 
 
 (Nay, giving them more eager heart and hand 
 
 Knowing who highest soars must humblest stand) 
 With lowliest duties — on the Teacher went. 
 
 So, whom the great admired, the small adored ; 
 This be his memory's distinguished praise, 
 
 The world he worked for gives the high awai'd, 
 Party or sect no narrow oft'erings raise 
 To that great spirit labouring always ; 
 
 Not lost to us, though to his God restored.
 
 TALES, SONGS AKD SONNETS. 07 
 
 ON THE ABSENT. 
 
 'TWAS a luirried day, for thought unfit, 
 
 Yet the thought of thee came often ; 
 And care's most gloomy recess it lit, 
 
 And her sharpest pangs did soften ; 
 'Twas the fleeting sunshine of the past 
 
 That brightened away all sorrows, 
 And which, were its brightness born to last, 
 
 Would make heavens of oiu- morrows. 
 
 'Twas a fevered day — the busy crowd 
 
 With their heartless noise, were near me ; 
 Yet a voice Mas at my heart more loud, 
 
 And well did its accents cheer me ! 
 Fondly did I respond to the tone 
 
 With its accents of past pleasure, — 
 I raised the cup, 'mid many alone. 
 
 And pledged one I dearly treasm-e. 
 
 Strong are the ties binding generous hearts 
 That meet and are mingled daily ; 
 
 O'er a bright smooth sea their vessel darts, 
 
 ' And the breeze plays round it gaily ; 
 
 A stronger tie hath the fate that parts — 
 Sure bond that no chance may sever ; 
 
 And closer are drawn divided hearts 
 Than those that seemed blended ever.
 
 68 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET : 
 
 BY MRS. COWDEN 
 CLARKE, 
 
 Over the sea there came, how still and "vvise ! | 
 
 A voice well kll0^v^l, and never vainly heard. | 
 
 'Mid the rough winds I listened, and it stirred j 
 
 Some buried thoughts, and slumbering sympathies. ! 
 
 And if it keenly probed what often lies 
 
 Couched 'neath the hollow smile and mocking word, ; 
 
 If it tore off the mask, and showed the blurred , 
 
 And broken spirit all its sacrifice — 
 With what a gentle and sufficing hand I 
 
 It raised the shattered thing, and taught it how ! 
 
 With resolute taith and tenderness, to stand 
 
 And say — / am at one ivlth Heaven noxv. 
 And the mute angel, Deatli, removes the brand I 
 
 From the repentant soid and placid broAv. i
 
 DEATH IN THE BALL-ROOM. 
 
 (At a ball sriven at Port Louis, near I'OrieTit, while a young lady- 
 was waltzing, slie felt the liand by which she was supported be- 
 come stone cold, and on lookinjr into the face of her partner, found 
 his features deadly pule and horribly contracted. She fainted at 
 the sight, and fell to the ground, while her cavalier dropped by her 
 side. The lady was taken up and recovered, but the life of the 
 gentleman was extinct. She maintains that he was dead several 
 seconds before she knew it. and that " she made one turn round the 
 room with hira after he was a corpse. "— Journal de Maine et Loire.) 
 
 " In the midst of life we are in death." 
 
 Summon the cunning in magic sounds, 
 
 And bring tlie flowers, and wreathe them ; 
 
 Let lights be higli in the k)rdiy hall. 
 And gay be the hearts beiteath them ! 
 
 The music came, and the flowers were wreatlied, 
 The lights were profuse and splendid, 
 
 And, oh, I w'een, 'twas a radiant scene 
 "Where wild joy and grace were blended 
 
 Ne'er was more eloquent melody 
 
 Than through the proud hall resounded, 
 
 AVhilst full hearts spoke in the beaming eye. 
 As on in the dance they bounded. 
 
 Has life a care ? — it Avas now forgot — 
 
 Has love a hope ? — it ^as now redoubled , 
 
 Brightly the stream of being rolled on, 
 As if ne'er to be darkened or troubled. 
 
 A stifled cry, and a sudden pause. 
 The chain of delight is broken : — 
 
 Even here where life was loveliest, 
 The deep voice of death lias spoken.
 
 70 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 Prone lie two forms that a moment since 
 In the dance were bounding fleetly, 
 
 But a moment since excited blood 
 In their bosoms circled sweetly. 
 
 And slowly to sense awakens one, 
 
 But one shall no more awaken, 
 Till the universal sepulchre 
 
 By the last dread trump is shaken. 
 
 Icy cold gi-ew the hand that circled 
 That form now so faint and sunken ; 
 
 Sudden she looked in his glazing eyes, 
 And life from those orbs had shrunken. 
 
 All unbidden came Death to the dance, 
 Ghastly he smiled on the meeting ; 
 
 " Friends, I greet ye !" the grim shadow cried, 
 Joy changed to gloom at the greeting. 
 
 The harp became dumb at his entrance, 
 The flowers felt the blight of his breath, 
 
 Away with the music and garlands ! 
 They fit not the Chamber of Death !
 
 TALES, SONaS AND SOXNKTS. 71 
 
 tup: boy and book. 
 
 -0- 
 
 '"Tistrue as Fiction ; 
 Ay. true as tears or smiles that fiction makes 
 Waking the ready heav'ii in men's eyes." 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 y oi'NG Voyager ! thy bark is on strange seas, 
 And soon will leave thee on a stranger shore, 
 Ont-wondering every wonder dreamed before, 
 
 And filling thee with rongh perplexities ; 
 
 Then shalt thou dig, build, hunt, fish, shoot, and seize 
 Thy needs from out untiring Nature's store ; 
 Till loneliness awhile seem pain no more, 
 
 But lordly strength — calm, self-dependent ease. 
 
 Thou ask'st with quiet wonder, " Is it true ? " 
 Lifting thy dark and lustrous eyes the while, 
 
 And thy deep earnest brow. The tale pursue — 
 And at the question e'en thyself wilt smile ; 
 
 For that phenomenon the world ne'er knew, 
 That Avanted faith in Crusoe and his Isle.
 
 MARY STUAET'S FAREWELL TO FRANCE. 
 
 FROM BERANGER. 
 
 " Adien, cliarniant pays de France, 
 
 Que je dois taut clierir ! 
 Bcrceau de mon heiireuse enfance, 
 
 Adieu ! te quitter c'est mourir." 
 
 Beautiful France ! adieu, adieu ! 
 
 First claimant of my heait ; 
 Where happy childhood's breath I drew, 
 
 'Tis deatli from tliee to part, — 
 From thee, mine own adopted laud, 
 
 To feel mj'self exiled ! — 
 France ! take my jiarting blessing, and 
 
 Forget not thine own child. 
 Avail me nothing, tears, nor prayers 
 
 P^or storms to bind me to thy shore ; 
 With favouring winds the vessel l)ears 
 
 Away — thy coast I see no more. 
 
 When crowned 'midst those I idolized, 
 
 The lilied diadem I wore, 
 My lofty state they little prized, 
 
 j\rv budding spring they valued more; 
 That lofty state may still be mine 
 
 Partaken with the gloomy Scot, — 
 But, France ! — I wish no throne l>ut thine— 
 
 No love bnt thine to soothe mv lot.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 73 
 
 Love, and genius aiul glory, 
 
 Lighted all my siunmer days ; 
 But tiie clouds will gather o'er me, 
 
 Treading Scotia's sterile ways. 
 By omen sad — foreboding drear, 
 
 Alas, e'en now my soul is bowed ; 
 Li dreams the scattbld gloometh near — 
 
 The hfted axe — the bloody shroud ! 
 
 Let fate bring what alarms it may — 
 
 Danger to dread, or loss to mouni — 
 As in this tearful parting day, 
 
 To thee will Mary Stuart turn. 
 But, Heav'n ! the vessel onward wends 
 
 Sailing 'neath new, ungenial skies ! 
 And now the night's dark veil descends 
 
 'Jo steal thee wholly from mine eyes. 
 Beautiful France ! adieu, adieu ! 
 
 First claimant of my heait ; 
 Whore hajipy childhoofrs breath I drew, 
 
 'Tis death from thee to part !
 
 74 TALES, SOXGS AND SONXETS. 
 
 THE TIXY STREAMLET. 
 
 "When Time hath dulled the spii-it in thine own, 
 
 Take thou a young heart to the sunny meads, 
 And hear it echo Nature's every tone, 
 
 And mark thou on what honied things it feeds. 
 
 How rich its banquetings ! how small its needs ! 
 How rare yet rife the treasures round it strown ! 
 
 And lo ! to what its sportive fancy leads : — 
 
 A quivering line of light 'neath cliffs obscure, 
 
 Seen but by skies, or Childhood's eye as pure, 
 Yet to its ceaseless song moss and wild flowers 
 Grow and get beautiful through summer-hours. 
 
 So passes peaceful life from day to day, 
 
 Its sweetness felt beyond its own small bowers, 
 
 Making etenial music on its v.ay. 
 
 ^
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. iO 
 
 Px\X, GLORIA? NON LIBERTAS. 
 
 Boomed the glad tidings over hill and plain — 
 One blessing more on a blest season piled ; 
 
 And langhing Paris shook her gilded chain, 
 And London's sombre sabbath grimly smiled. 
 
 The thundering fiat pealed above the Seine, 
 And o'er the croA\ded Thames re-echoed wild. 
 The silvery Bosphorns m beanty mild, 
 
 Returned with softened sound the welcome strain, 
 
 "Whilst Neva mnrmnred, but in humble vein. 
 The Avorld was for a little space beguiled, 
 And poor Humanity rose half-reconcile<l, — 
 Then looked around, and .sighed in doubt and pain; 
 
 For Peace is mockery, so^A'ing discontent, 
 
 That leaves ascendant Wrong, and lands in thral- 
 dom bent. 
 
 And let Historian or Bard descant 
 
 On Glory in each hj'perbolic tome, — 
 Shaken, but shameless, still is dominant 
 
 The hoary Falsehood that o'ershadows Rome ; 
 And fettered France breathes meanly servile vows ; 
 And shattered Poland groans with her great want, 
 As o'er her bleeding heart the Trampler goes. 
 And Germany ^Arithes in her dreamy doze ; 
 
 And Hungary is still the Tyrant's home, 
 And still must Italy for Freedom ]iant : 
 
 But Peace, Earth's exiled Angel, back is come, 
 And therefore are the people jubilant. 
 
 And we — the strong, the conquering — we carouse. 
 And " o'er one ballled despot '"* proudly vaunt. 
 
 • " O'er one fallen despot boast no more."— Bvron.
 
 76 TALES, SONGS AXD SONNETS. 
 
 RAIN COMING. 
 
 Dusty atoms ! they whirl about, 
 
 A bhickenhig, bUnding, insolout rout ! 
 
 No asking them in, no shutting them out — - 
 
 They roll, leap, and dance to the winterly shout. 
 
 One bird flutters by with its half-baffled wings, 
 One song wild and high the eastern wind sings. 
 One cloud o'er the landscape its misty veil flings. 
 One promise the whole to the panting earth brings. 
 
 Trees, looking glad in the sunshiny hour, 
 "W^xve a welcome as glad to the skies now they lour; 
 There is hope in the blossom and joy in the flower, 
 For all are athirst for the imminent sh(jwer. 
 
 Thanks for the boon so ardently pi'ayed, 
 
 Thanks for the blessing so long delayed. 
 
 In hou^e and by altar the tribute be paid, 
 
 God smiles, and the future looms bright thro' the 
 
 s 
 
 hade.
 
 •rALES, SONCS AND SONNETS. li 
 
 "I WISH THE CUCKOO WOULD CO]\JE!" 
 
 SUDDEN EXCLAMATION OF A CHILD FOUR YEARS OF AGE. 
 
 Thine have been onlv lialmiest hours, 
 The songs of bh-ds and breath of flowers, 
 And thine all beauty -giving powers, 
 
 Heaven's gentle blue, and Earth's recurring bloom. 
 And yet the passing winter-cloud, 
 And the wild breezes piping loud 
 Thus make the natural wish avowed. 
 
 For softer hours that with the Cuckoo come. 
 
 Grave moral here, unconscious boy, 
 Thou teachest, in thy pause of joy : 
 Life's battle fierce and stern eniplov. 
 
 Have still at times a plaintive wish like thee. 
 And baffled hopes and weary cares 
 Are ever seeking unawares 
 The Cuckoo's note and summer-airs — 
 
 It is the sigh of poor humanity.
 
 78 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 TO LOUIS NAPOLEON. 
 
 Not for the sanction of foul wTong to Rome, 
 
 When hands that freed themselves assaulted her ; 
 Not for the bloody stairs by which you clomb 
 
 To regal power, through mire and massacre ; 
 Nor yet that to make safe a footing there, 
 
 The wise and brave were banished from the land; 
 Nor yet that Poets sang your praises, where 
 
 As yet your sa\nng, self-rei)aying hand 
 Had not been felt, — men shudderhig the while. 
 
 And hurrying from the scene with saddened heart, 
 As runs the lapping dog by banks of Nile, 
 
 Fearing some horrid monster may upstait : 
 Not for thy P«s^— with its grim mask and guile, 
 
 Its mystical and all-portentous part : 
 
 But for thy Future .'—On the flood that drifted 
 
 Thy Csesar's bark to haven so secure. 
 Be Freedom's flag at length in glory Hfted, 
 
 So shall thy sway potential be as pure ; 
 
 " Man of the Age " they deem thee — make them 
 sure! 
 
 So shalt thou soar while time-worn Anarchs stoop. 
 Yes ! for thy Future are men's eyes uplifted, 
 
 111 hope — strange, sudden, and unlooked for — hope 
 That Fortune's darling, so supremely gifted 
 
 With armour for the world that is— to cope 
 With mightiest thrones and nations— he who shifted 
 
 The Adventm-er's tattered cloak for Emperor's robe, 
 May wear it yet, first of a Patriot group, 
 
 And Avin the willing homage of the globe.
 
 TALKS, SONGS AND SON^NETS. 79 
 
 ON XHE STOl^M OF THE XIGHT OF 
 FEB. 20—21, 18G1. 
 
 Sleep 1 when the house above and the bed under 
 Shook with a sympathetic natural fear, 
 When the wild winds careering tar and near, 
 
 With maniac shriek, roar of redoubled thunder — ■ 
 'Midst agonising moans 'twas sad to hoar — 
 Stoi-med as if perishing Earth to demon air, 
 
 Pra\nng its last prayer ere 'twas rent asunder, 
 (jave up the ghost in uttermost despair. 
 
 Sleep ! — I arose to look into the Night — 
 
 The weird Night that could no more sleep than I, 
 
 And peering through the casement wet and white, 
 Saw but the boundless and untroubled sky. 
 
 And thought, thus, on the things that man affright, 
 Falls God's all-provident and loving eye.
 
 8(_) TALES, SOX(;S JVNI) SOXXKTS. 
 
 SONNET : ON A PORTRAIT (S. R. T. M.). 
 
 We fancy it like Keats ; but not the Keats 
 That balks one in the Portrait Gallery, 
 So cunningly disposed that none can see 
 
 What the young bard is like. Tlie "hanger" treats 
 
 The Poet as the world does, which gives seats 
 In "pride of place" to dull Prosperity, 
 Letting poor Genius in dark corners lie. 
 
 No matter — still the heavenly light it meets. 
 
 Here we have Intellect, combating shaip cares — 
 Grand forehead, intense eye that looks afar — 
 
 Face in which thought and suffering equal shares 
 Hold, — but their contests all unequal are, 
 
 For Mind the indisputaljle mastery bears. 
 And turns to sijiritual peace corporeal war.
 
 TALES, S()N(;S AND SONNETS. 81 
 
 SPKING, AND LOST SPRING-MATES. 
 
 Spring, with her angel face and robe of green, 
 (Greener, more genial never has she worn,) 
 Maturing now to summer, and upborne 
 
 In her bright car by Western airs serene, 
 
 Has blest and blesses us, and yet, I ween, 
 Looks graver than of yore, and lialf forlorn, 
 Of the old buoyant pride and archness shorn ; 
 
 For eyes that mirrored both are now unseen. 
 
 I have been di'eaming through the sunny hours 
 (And was it not likewise a winter dream?) 
 
 Of those dear eyes and their deserted bowers — 
 And what did I amid my visions seem ? 
 
 Alas, a Clenmun, looking on the flowers 
 That float upon the unretuniing stream.* 
 
 » " When he had walked on the river's brink in the peaceful 
 moonlight, for some half-an-hour, he put his hand in his breast, 
 and tenderly took out the handful of roses. Perhaps he put 
 them to his heart, perhaps he put them to his lips, but cer- 
 tainly he bent down on the shore, and gently launched them on 
 the flowing river. Pale and unreal iu the moonlight, the river 
 floated them away. • • • » Thus 
 
 do greater things that once were in our breasts and near our hearts, 
 flow I'roni us to the eternal seas."— ' Littie Dorrit," p, 200.
 
 SONNETS TO ONE WHO MISLIKETH THEM. 
 
 I. 
 
 Nay gentle Critic, do not spoil thy brow — 
 
 For thine own sake and mine unknit that frown ! 
 A man may rhyme whose quest is not renown ; 
 
 Heedless of even the fame thou cans't bestow. 
 
 As flowers crowd common paths, as waters flow, 
 
 Si)arkling and glad, and careless where they go, — 
 As on the air floateth the thistledown 
 
 One of the fairy veils of Summer's dazzling crown. 
 
 As western clouds lighted by lambent fires 
 Take many a shape that Painter most desires 
 
 ^\'hen he Avould proudly cope with phantasy — 
 Temples and towers and simple village spires, 
 Whereto the road winds, and you almost see 
 The meek gi'oups walking thither quietly. 
 
 II. 
 
 As ]ierfume that from thymy hillocks thrown, 
 Wooeth the winds and with their being blends — 
 
 Careless as hum of bees, or dove's soft moan, 
 Sigh of a love or joy that never ends — 
 
 As Avhen the drowsy noon is insect sown, 
 And myriad dancers their fantastic show 
 Weave for the traveller aaIio onward wends — 
 
 The dreaming rhymer's faaeies chase each other so.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNICTS. 83 
 
 A cordial voice like one our village knows — 
 
 A girl's frank smile, flowers round a casement 
 twined — 
 
 Ladies Avith books seated 'neatli summer boughs — 
 Sunshine and stars — awake the answering mind. 
 
 Stirring it into poetry, as we find 
 
 Pictures made by the Sun, and music by the Wind. 
 
 ON RECEIVING A POT OF LILIES OF THE 
 VALLEY. 
 
 Beautiful present — brought by loAcly hands 
 
 Whose nati\e dower is grace and gentleness, 
 And on whose forehead fair the proud impress, 
 
 The hereditary mark of genius stands — 
 Beautiful cluster of white trembling bells 
 
 Reposing amidst ample leaves of green, 
 Bright are the tales your modest beauty tells 
 
 Of gentle things,— r-the pure and the serene. 
 
 How exquisite a heap of natural beauty — 
 
 What charms of shape — what ecstacy of scent ! 
 
 These are the boons that make enjoyment duty. 
 The untoiled-for blessings that bring rich content ; 
 
 Oh Nature — kindliest mother ! — who can see 
 
 Thy prodigal care, and turn untaught from thee?
 
 84 TALES, SOXGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SONNETS, WRITTEN IN 1849. 
 
 Stars rise, but rise to tell us it is night — 
 
 Sun after sun departs, and worlds wax cold. 
 We miss, oh Elia, thy plaj^ul light ; 
 
 Gone are the rays of Coleridge manifold ; 
 The luminous soul that rose with gentle might 
 
 In Goethe, may no more its rays unfold ; 
 Extinct is Schiller's grandeur : bleeding right 
 
 ]\Iourns Hazlitt's sturdy war-crv, brief and bold. 
 
 ^ ..7 
 
 The thimders of false France have vainly pealed 
 Over the gi'aves of England's sons in Rome ;* 
 
 Not one indignant tone those Lyrists yield. 
 
 Whose shattered hearts found there a fitting home ; 
 
 But ONE — a host — yet keeps the battle-field. 
 Prophet and Poet ! sealing Tp'ants' doom."]" 
 
 II. 
 
 Another^ lives, to whom so many owe 
 
 And I, the meanest, much of truthful life ; 
 AYho taught us where serenest virtues grow, 
 
 Di^'inely nurtured even by storm and strife — 
 Yet lives, to see what troops of loved ones go, 
 
 As grass swept by th' mevitable knife ; 
 But gathers from the dust he valued so 
 
 Hopes that are with immortal harvests life. 
 Great Healer ! fall with thy exhaustless dew 
 
 On parched hearts shrinking from that sudden knell. 
 To the worn mortals let the Angel new 
 
 Her tale of undiAaded sweetness tell — 
 That Death but hallowed her whom he withdrew — 
 
 That Heaven and Earth hold Marjf Florimel. 
 » Koats and Shelley, f Walter Savage Landor. % Leigh Huut.
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT, OCTOBER 11), 1854.* 
 
 Through Availing winds and falling leaves 
 
 A little streak of sunshine stiired — 
 Blush he who munnurs, he who grieves, 
 
 Was our first thought, our earliest word. 
 
 'Midst plans destroyed, and hopes deferred, 
 Once to have held in om-s his hand, 
 
 But once his accents to have heard, 
 Should make us strong and smiling stand. 
 
 Years that have made us gi'ey, leave gi'een 
 
 The memory of him — we find 
 Nor lapse of time, nor change of scene, 
 
 Though these have many ties untwined, 
 
 Lessen the sympathies that bind — 
 That bound us long, that bound us first 
 
 To Genius struggling for its kind. 
 And loving, most when most aspersed. 
 
 Go, Verse ! and ask him how he fares ; 
 
 Thou need'st not fear a churlish gate ; 
 'Twill ope for thee, whatever cares 
 
 Or clouds upon the Master wait. 
 
 In other days thou went'st elate, 
 The messenger of peace and love ; 
 
 What meancth now thy tardy gait ? 
 Move as of old, and hopeful move. 
 
 • The birthday of Leigh Hunt.
 
 86 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 And when benoatli those kindly eyes, 
 
 So sevaph-suft, so searchino; keen, 
 Tell him, and look for no surprise, 
 
 How hallowed all the day has been. 
 
 Nor was the evening less serene 
 If, unrestrained, the tear Avould start 
 
 As two (one missing) fondly lean 
 O'er his " Helidon of the Heart." 
 
 WRITTEN IN LANDOR'S "PERICLES ANT) 
 ASPASIA." 
 
 The honeysuckle breathes o'er words as SAveet, — ■ 
 The passing storm broods over thoughts as stern, - 
 Birds pause o'er verse, more liquid songs to learn, - 
 
 Fragrance from hayfields comes the book to greet, 
 That does an odour finer still return. 
 Streams that refresh us, and the rays that burn, 
 
 The hurried city and the lone retreat. 
 
 Glow with its soul whichever way we tura. 
 
 indolent noon, and lireezy mom and eve. 
 How can ye from the great magician sever? 
 
 Can ve this scorn and exquisite tenderness leave 
 For fevered aims, and sordid, vain endeavour, 
 
 Nor ask of fate perdurable reprieve. 
 
 That Greece and Glory may be with ye ever !
 
 ox SOME LILIES FROM THE WYE. 
 
 " Lilies from the Wye ! " 
 The words make music to the ear, 
 
 And seem to murmur audibly 
 Of Avaters pure, and balmy skies, 
 Of hallowed haunts for lovers' sighs, 
 
 And shades befitting sorrow's tear. 
 
 " Lilies from the Wye ! " 
 The whole sweet story there is read : 
 Or, lacking aught for ear or eye, 
 Let beauty and the scent supply — 
 ('haste beauty, tremulous fragrancy ! — 
 All that they may have left unsaid. 
 
 " Lilies from the Wye ! " 
 Bome by kind hands, a sister brood. 
 
 Though reared 'neath less resplendent sky. 
 Once in a lone small cottage stood ; 
 
 In light revived of memory 
 Your far-come loveliness is viewed. 
 
 Sweet " Lilies from the Wye ! " 
 
 " Lilies from the Wye ! " 
 
 Too near that light are shadowings 
 All lovely loving things supply 
 
 For Love and Life, alas, have wings ; 
 When we would closely clasp, they fly, 
 Like ye, pale " Lilies from tl>e Wye ! "
 
 88 TALES, SONGS AXD SONXETS. 
 
 " Lilies from tlie Wye ! " 
 On your sheltering sheaths of green, 
 
 Like love on truth confidingly, 
 Or hope on perfect faith, ye lean. 
 Perfume my lares, that serene 
 
 Their visions may be, when ye die 
 And they have caught yom- latest sigh, 
 
 Dear " Lilies from the Wye ! " 
 
 THE LONGEST DAY. 
 
 The longest day ! not long enough for all 
 
 The sweet sad thoughts that crowd into its span : 
 How the mild winter to spring's brisk arms ran, 
 
 And birds and flowers came at her joyous call, 
 
 And field, and tree, and streamlet musical, 
 Joined in the general joy ; till, pale and wan, 
 Averting tearful eyes from haunts of man, 
 
 It was her turn on summer's breast to fall. 
 
 The longest day ! we fill it ^ylth fond dreams 
 Of days gone by, and of beloved friends 
 
 Who made the long hours short — whose memory gleams 
 O'er Time's abyss, like rays that Heaven sends 
 
 On day Uke this — so balmy that it seems 
 The 5plrit of the dearest o'er us bends.
 
 LINES 
 
 ON READING " LIFE, LETTERS AND LITERARY REMAINS OF 
 
 JOHN KEATS, EDITED BY RICHARD MONCKTON 
 
 MILNES " [lord HOUGHTOn]. 
 
 The aAve of other years was in my heart. 
 
 The tears of other years were in my eyes, — 
 More, and the last of Keats, before me Hes, 
 
 I said, and held th' unopened tome ajiart. 
 
 My pleasant friends were left beneath the moon, 
 And I must listen now another tune. 
 
 And it arose, gi-and as the billows' cry 
 
 When, storm-imprecfnate, they affront the sky, 
 And reeling worlds see love and life depart. 
 
 II. 
 
 Loved ever, but ne'er known till now, Keats, 
 
 Great heart and bursting, M^hat a fate was thine ! 
 The cup o'erbrimmed with agonising sweets, 
 
 The poisoned shaft empurpling every line, 
 The glory that looks high o'er low defeats. 
 The sympathy embracing all it meets, 
 
 Quaffing, though it be poison, all the wine 
 
 That shines in marvellous cups for thirsting lips, 
 
 The struggle 'twixt demoniac and divine. 
 
 World-lighting sun-bursts, ghastly cold eclipse.
 
 90 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Take ye the holiest nook upon our shelves, 
 
 For genial is the heart that sends ye there, 
 'Midst Shakspere's godlike things and Spenser's elves, 
 
 Near Hunt's large heart, and breathing Shelley's air, 
 Where fancy soars, or insight boldly delves, 
 
 Or daring wrestles with a gaunt despair, 
 Noblest, most vital portion of ourselves, 
 
 Best blood of our hearts ! be with us everywhere. 
 
 LANDOR. 
 
 Angf.ls, they say, are with us unawares. 
 
 Earth's noljlest elbow those who know them not ; 
 
 I went — a pilgrim to no nameless spot — 
 And amidst up-piled terraces and squares, 
 And wood-clad hills and pleasantest parterres, 
 
 Held in ray soul but one pervading thought — • 
 
 Even here has England's greatest cast his lot. 
 Eyeing the world for which he thinks and cares. 
 
 The Sage — Avhence flows the wisdom that exalts ? 
 
 The Poet — whence the splendours that illume ? 
 The Man — who cheers the virtues, chides the faults, 
 
 Where's "the old garden" which his thoughts 
 perfume? 
 His path who in his proud course never halts ? 
 
 None know — and humbled, I my way resume.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 91 
 
 ENJOY— ENCOUNTE R— AND ENDURE. 
 
 Why clvoop and change we thus, as years 
 Their heavy ])all throw o'er ns — 
 
 Why quench our smiles and shed our tears 
 For things no tears restore us? 
 
 True tliat our barlv the haven nears, 
 
 Yet raise the welcome chorus 
 
 That fed the hopes and quelled the fears 
 
 Of those A\'ho've gone before us : 
 
 Life is fleeting, and Death is sure — 
 
 Enjoy — Encounter — and Endure. 
 
 11, 
 
 Enjoy — existence else were given 
 
 As God gives nothing to us, 
 In mockery of earth and heaven, 
 
 And all delights that woo us ; 
 Encounter — be the huge rocks riven 
 
 That rise and froAvn unto us ; 
 Endure — and vainly storms are driven 
 
 Whose roar and gloom pursue us : 
 Life is fleeting, and Death is sure — 
 Enjoy, Encounter, and endure !
 
 SONG. 
 
 Spring came in her glory 
 
 All sunshine and shower 
 But did not restore me 
 
 The pride of my bower ; 
 And sadness came o'er me 
 
 Alone — and apart- — 
 I turned to deplore thee — 
 
 Lost love of my heart ! 
 
 The skies in their splendour, 
 
 The streams in theii* light, 
 To others may render 
 
 Eich stores of delight ; 
 A feeling more tender 
 
 Enthralleth my heart, 
 One it ne'er may surrender — 
 
 Loved, lost as thou art ! 
 
 Where sweet winds were blowing:. 
 
 And meadows were green. 
 Where fair streams were flowing, 
 
 My footsteps have been ; 
 Though these were about me 
 
 I turned to depart — 
 All joyless without thee — 
 
 Lost love of my heart ! 
 
 &>
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 93 
 
 And so the spring found me, 
 
 So summer ■will find. 
 The chain that thus bound me 
 
 No time may unbind. 
 Though absence be lengthened 
 
 And long years depart ; 
 Thy power is but strengthened — 
 
 Lost love of my heart ! 
 
 A WINTER NIGHT. 
 
 The sheep-bell lured me to my cottage door, 
 
 For there is music in that pastoral sound. 
 
 And listening I stood and gazed around ; 
 Slumbered the leafless trees mine eyes before, 
 Or stirred at intervals their branches frore ; 
 
 The stars were out in glittering multitude, 
 
 And night's pale traveller her course pursued 
 In crescent splendom- ; such as erst she wore. 
 
 When to Endymion's brow she stooped with lips 
 Of lingering love: — what saw I else, or heard? 
 
 Nought that could mar that sweet scene, or eclipse ; 
 The roll of distant car, the dim hedge stirred 
 
 By intermittent breeze wdth icy nips, 
 For Winter now is here, though lung deferred.
 
 94 TALES, SUXUS AND SONNETS. 
 
 MACREADY HEADING HAMLET AT 
 RUGBY. 
 
 There came into that thronged and eager room, 
 The noble vohiine underneath his arm, 
 The Actor it had well inspired to charm 
 
 And teach the world's wide beating heart. No plume, 
 No sable mantle marked him, — but the head 
 Loftilv borne, the firm and stately tread 
 
 Told the quick-breathing crowd what Man had come 
 To show how Shakspere might be felt and read. 
 
 And Avhile both Man and AVoman thrilled to hear 
 The story of the Dane so grandly told, 
 
 Responding with the irrepressible cheer, 
 
 Or tears more eloquent that unbidden rolled, 
 
 His eye fell like a Father's on the Boys, 
 
 His heart was with his Boyhood's cares and joys. 
 
 GARIBALDI. 
 
 Grateful illusion ! but of vision dim ! 
 Ask you what Italy should do for him ? 
 A guerdon bright as that he Avon for her, 
 'Tis not in kings or nations to confer. 
 In solitary grandeur let him go — 
 The world's gaze following — 'tis better so. 
 So Kosciusko Avent — so ^Vashington — 
 So Cincinnatus, Avith their great Avork done.
 
 TALES, SONUS ANlJ SONNETS. 95 
 
 TO A SKYLARK IN DECEMBER. 
 
 Poor biixl ! the mouth, though mild, is uot for thee, 
 Nor are its fitful suubursts like the Spring ; 
 Heavily flaggeth thy December -wing ; 
 
 Though through the mi.st thy loftiest flight we see, 
 
 More bouuded yet thy lessening circles be ; 
 Feeble and feAv thy notes, aud breathing all 
 Not the proud challenge, but the dying fall, — 
 
 Spiritless flight and soulless minstrelsy. 
 
 o 
 
 And now thou droppest into dumb despair, 
 Even as the beaten straggler of the world 
 
 Whose bark sailed bravely when the skies were fair, 
 Sinks 'neath the storm, his tattered colours furled ; 
 
 So dies thy song, lost in ungenial air. 
 
 To dull earth and unwilling silence hurled. 
 
 MILTON'S WATCH: AT THE BRITISH 
 MUSEUM. 
 
 Silent, it gives no note of passing time, 
 
 r>ut ill its silent eloquence sublime, 
 
 For what has time to do with such as he ? 
 
 Heaven-boni inheritors of Eternity ! 
 
 Handless — it points not to the fleeting hour — 
 
 Yet tills all memories with a mystic ])o^\er. 
 
 His eyes once looked upon it; his fine hand 
 
 M'hen eyes were sightless, the smooth circle ^juinnod.
 
 96 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF W. S. LAXDOR, 
 
 AT FLORENCE, SEPTEMBER 17, 1864. 
 
 " I know not whether your kind letter or your noble poetry gave 
 me most pleasure." 
 
 Thus wrote the man who, I had fondly thought, 
 Would bend the old induliijent eyes on verse 
 
 That once or twice his kindly glances songht. 
 And won approval which the heart prefers 
 To the world's praise. Florence, that sees his hearse 
 
 Darken her fair streets, pronrEy weeps, while we 
 
 Lament the Exile's loss more bitterly. 
 
 And with a throe more unrelieved than hers. 
 
 But, " It is common.'''' "Words of dubiotis balm ! 
 
 So Shakspere wrote, and Goethe echoed him. 
 The common lot ! — Is that a thought to calm 
 
 The spirit, or dry eyes vni\\ soiTow dim ? 
 In hope of after-union only lies 
 Comfort for those who mourn earth's broken ties.
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 ON RECEIVING THE PAINTING OF A COTTAGE AT RUISLIP. 
 
 I. 
 
 It is a book of Memory and Emotion ! — 
 And as I turn each precious leaf, I read 
 Of matters that might make the worn lieart bleed 
 
 To think how many a shrine at which devotion, 
 The warm, full, fresh devotion of pure mind 
 Was paid, hath passed away, and left behind 
 
 But spectral thoughts that on the spirit feed 
 
 Till it grows faint and weak with then- corrosion. 
 But quickly turn those saddened pages over — 
 
 Hide with impetuous hand those dark blurred pages ; 
 And seek for some where Poet, Friend, or Lover 
 
 Brightens the leaf, and Memory's pang assuages ; 
 And dream as then, in those green lanes a rover, 
 Heart-Hnked with deathless bards and truth-taught 
 sages. 
 
 II. 
 
 'Tis an Enchanter ; and its welcome wand 
 Hath conjured up the scenes of other years : 
 And even though I look on them through tears, 
 
 They still are beautiful as Fairyland, 
 
 And peopled with a lovely fairy band — 
 
 C'hildren whose laughter rings in gladdened ears ; 
 And one, soft voiced, straw-hatted, now appears, 
 
 H
 
 98 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 The green lane echoing with his joyous shout ; 
 
 Or 'mid the orchard grass you see him staud, 
 
 The rosy fruit o'eiiiowing tiny hand — 
 Ah, still that elfin boy shall rove about 
 
 The spirit of this well-beloved retreat ; 
 (liild stUl, and still unchanged beyond a doubt, 
 
 As when the artist saw him at his feet. 
 
 III. 
 
 But hold the magic mirror' yet awhile ; 
 
 Let it reflect those soft calm moonlight nights, 
 
 Those lengthened strolls, those innocent delights — 
 O'er whose sweet recollection gi-ief may smile. 
 
 The rustic one-planked bridge, the sparkling stream, 
 
 The bowery nook so fit for poet's di-eam — 
 The sweet companionship that made a stile 
 
 So dear a resting place — 
 
 Doth it not seem 
 That Time for ten long years hath stood stock-still, 
 
 That death and startling change are mockeries 
 Which for a night made prisoner of the will. 
 
 That hearts are close-lmked yet, and tenderest ties 
 Unriven ? — 
 
 Oh, then let us gaze our fill ! 
 Iho, pictured past spell-binds both heart and eyes.
 
 THE UNWELCOME SPlilNG. 
 
 FROM BERANGER. 
 
 I SAW her from my window, seated 
 
 Before her own all winter through ; 
 We loved — yet each knew not the other, 
 
 Across the ah' oui- kisses flew. 
 Between those leafless boughs to gaze 
 AYas all the task that filled our days ; 
 Thou bring'st the trees theu* bowery reign — 
 Unwelcome Sprmg ! thou wilt come back again. 
 
 I've lost her in your arching shadow — 
 The dazzling girl whose ready hand 
 
 Scattered then- food before the robins 
 When frost had whitened all the land : 
 
 Those wily birds ! their tricks became 
 
 Unconscious helpers of our flame. 
 
 No ! nought like winter's snowy reign ! — 
 
 Unwelcome Spring ! thou wilt come back again. 
 
 Wer't not for thee, fresh from her slumbers, 
 I should behold her when she wakes ; 
 
 F'resh as the painters tint Aurora, 
 Day's curtains when aside she takes. 
 
 At evening too I still might say 
 
 My star has sped her radiant way ; 
 
 She sleeps ! her lamp is out ! in vain — 
 
 UuM clcniMP S])ring ! thou li'ilt come back again.
 
 100 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 'Tis winter that my heart imploreth, 
 
 Ah, would that I again might hear 
 Bomiding against the pane sonorous 
 
 That welcome season's frozen tear ! 
 What is tWne empire old to me, 
 Thy flowers, long days, and breezes free ? 
 Her smile for me is sweet in vain — 
 Unwelcome Spring ! thou wilt come back again. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE SITE OF THE BUCKINGHAMSHIRE 
 HORTICULTURAL AND FLORAL EXHIBITION. 
 
 Near this same spot, how brief a while ago, 
 Two revellers, in no iiTeverent mood. 
 Beneath the starred and silent heavens stood, 
 
 Listening the nightingale's exuberant flow ; 
 
 That passing joy comes o'er the memory now, 
 
 As to the present scene a fit prelude ; 
 
 As if the glorious triller were endued 
 
 Not more with song than with prophetic glow ; 
 
 For that harmonious spirit seems upon 
 
 Flower, fruit and tree, and woman's lighted face ; 
 
 Which never with more radiant beauty shone, 
 Lending this paradise a crowaiing gTace. 
 
 Oh, day of natural jjleasure, stand alone — 
 Or only to the peerless night give place !
 
 I KNEW THAT PRETTY VILLAGER. 
 
 I KNEW that pretty villager 
 
 AVhen she Avas but a child, 
 And often paused to look upon 
 
 Her gambols arch and wild. 
 
 She had an air of the warm south— 
 Her eye was darkly bright — 
 
 And proiuse locks of sable line 
 Fell on her shoulders white. 
 
 It was a charaiing pictm*e — once, 
 
 "When gazing on the sky, 
 She stood enwrapt, and unaware 
 
 Of any passer-by. 
 
 The moment made her fenent glance, 
 Though sweet, seem sadly bright, 
 
 As it had caught from heayen itself 
 A portion of its light : 
 
 And mingling with its ligb.t there seemed 
 The grandeur antl the gloom 
 
 Of eve's gorgeous clouds attending 
 Their ]\louarch to his tomb. 
 
 Years have rolled on — that peasant girl 
 
 Is almost woman now. 
 And Time's stem hand has written care 
 
 And thought on her young brow.
 
 102 TALES, SOXGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 Her look is unassured — her step 
 
 Not buoyant as of yore — 
 Her proud, wild spirit seems subdued — 
 Her laugh is heard no more. 
 
 1 marvel what hath wrought this change 
 
 In inten^al so brief — 
 Oh, learned in the human heart, 
 
 Sav, is it love or giief ? 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Old haunts and loved ones ! Oh how many a day 
 
 I sought ye, or in glad or gloomy mood, 
 Gathering bright fancies when my heart was gay. 
 
 From sparkling streams by Avhich euwi-apt I stood ; 
 Or findhig in green covert far away 
 
 From human turmoil, a fit solitude, 
 "Where I might sound my spirit's depth, and weigh, 
 
 Stern question ! — what, if aught, of it were good. 
 Death makes no vacuum in your rich array. 
 
 Old haunts and loved ones ! Bright as when first 
 viewed, 
 Nought of yom- beauty goeth to decay ; 
 
 Or, if it doth, 'tis but to be renewed. 
 Oh, ever with ye let yom* wanderer stay, 
 
 Nor mark change write hei' admonitions rude!
 
 SONG. 
 
 Bakks where the Fairies 
 
 \"er<lant nests choose ; 
 Meadow and green hme 
 
 Bathed in the hues 
 Gorgeous and golden 
 
 Painter would use 
 O'er deathless canvas 
 
 Grace to diffuse : 
 These formed the Temple 
 
 At whose fair shrhie 
 Worshipped the young hearts 
 
 Love made divine. 
 
 Time with his plough-share 
 
 Furrowed their brows ; 
 "Winter bi-ought frowning 
 
 Tempests and snows. 
 Worldlings around them — 
 
 Sorrows within — 
 Strange was the Temple 
 
 Then worshipped in ! 
 Oh, for the Temple ! 
 
 Oh, for the shrine ! 
 Oh, for the young heaits 
 
 Love made divine.
 
 104 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 Other thoughts woo tliem. 
 
 Sadly they glide 
 On tlie dark journey 
 
 Still side by side. 
 Hope may come to them 
 
 But 'tis supplied 
 From sources holier — 
 
 Struggle and pride 
 Sink in the Temple 
 
 Fade at the shrine 
 Love, the Immortal, 
 
 Still makes Divine. 
 
 OX THE DEATH OF LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 I HEARD ; and sudden clouds came o'er the day : 
 And, in communion with the weeping skies, 
 "\^'"ere heavy hearts and tear-sufFused eyes, 
 
 Unwont to let external signs betray 
 
 The secret pangs that on their spirits prey. 
 And mine was hovering Avhere in silence lies 
 The tongue that onh* spoke to humanise — 
 
 Pulseless the heart, no lord but Love could sway. 
 
 No more for me the grasp of that kind hand 
 I thought to hold again within my own — 
 
 The eye soft -searching, and the aspect bland. 
 The cordial frankness breathed in every tone, 
 
 These shall we sadly miss, and mourn for, and 
 The world lament a gifted spirit flown.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 105 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER READING THE LETTERS OF KATE, DUCHESS 
 
 OF BUCKINGHAM, TO HER HUSBAND AT THE SIEGE OF 
 
 ROCHELLE. 
 
 Away, ye heavy thunder-clouds of Avar, 
 
 With the red streak of past or coming storms. 
 Give place to gentler, more endearing forms. 
 
 Let the hearts s])eak that, crushed beneath the car 
 
 Of carnage, shoAv us what they feel and are. 
 The clash and clangour of conflicting arms, 
 Glory and guilt ! What are they to the charms 
 
 Of one soft pleading voice heard from afar ? 
 
 I'ond Kate ! a million sorrows groaned in thine. 
 
 Wives, sisters, mothers, echo the sad moan 
 Of wringing fear for victims at the shrine 
 
 Of Moloch sacrificed. Not earth alone — 
 May heaven to these sad cries its ear incline, 
 
 And make the peoples wiser than the throne !* 
 
 * " War is a ^anie whicl), were their subjects wise, 
 Kings would not play at." 
 
 COWPEB.
 
 lOi; TALKS, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 ON HEARING THE REV. W. H. BROOKITELD, M.A., AT 
 WHITEHALL CHAPEL, SUNDAY, JUNE 14, 1863. 
 
 Brookfield ! — a pleasant name that fills the ear 
 
 And takes the fancy, with its two-fold charm ; 
 
 Air, gi'ass, and water gathering round some farm 
 Or peaceful cottage, are suggested here ; 
 The very brook ('tis June) rippling and clear. 
 
 Sings of the long bright day and all it yields 
 
 Of balm to hearts, and beauty to the fields ; — 
 A name to love, a preacher to revere : 
 
 Painting "Man's Life" — that thing of flowers and 
 weeds, 
 
 And shoAving all its purpori, all its needs ; 
 Its duties, and the Faith by which to steer : 
 
 Painting " Man's Death," whei-e mingled flowers and 
 weeds 
 Are mowed — and, climax wakening awful fear, 
 
 "God's Judgment" on the mortal and his deeds.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 107 
 
 MxVLIBRAN. 
 
 Genius beams round thee, thing of passionate art ; 
 
 Music breaks from thee, augel of sweet sounds ; 
 Gleams of wild fancy — tones from the warm heart, 
 
 Soothing the tortured spirit's deepest wounds ; 
 Consummate artist, playing well thy part, 
 
 Thou ne'er outsteppest truth's so delicate bounds. 
 
 Feeling — that in thy veriest depths art stin-ed — 
 Coin some expression eloquent of her worth ; 
 
 Gather thy stores into one burning word, 
 Emotion, and so pour thy ti'easures forth : 
 
 Speak all that painting — all that poetry can — 
 
 'Tis but this magic word — 'tis Malibran ! 
 
 Regal enchantress ! who resists her sway ? 
 
 Let speaking tears — let speechless wonder say !
 
 108 TALKS, SONGS AXD SOKNETS^. 
 
 CAVOUR. 
 
 Dead ! And we mourn with Italy ; we mourn 
 
 With all who love the right and hail the tree I 
 
 And with a bitter lamentation see 
 High intellect committed to that bourn. 
 But no desponding lesson therefore learn — 
 
 No fears, to fill despotic hearts with glee ; 
 No nation's destinies can wholly turn 
 
 On one man's life or death ; — not thine, oh Italy I 
 
 He dies : but his example lives, and fills 
 
 A million hearts with emulative fire ; 
 From emptied cell to love-built throne yet thrills 
 
 The strain sublime of Dante's prophet-lyre ; 
 And faith that trusts, and energy that wills. 
 
 Guide grief to purpose strong and soarings higher !
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. lOO 
 
 ON RECEIVING A SKETCH OF A RUSTIC 
 BRIDCE, RLTSLIP, 
 
 " Close by, from bank to bank, 
 A little bridfte there is- a one-rail'd plank, 
 And all is woody, mossy, watery." 
 
 Leigh Hdnt. 
 
 Did these beloved meadows want a charm ? 
 
 Thronged as they are Avith rich remembrances 
 
 Of poesy, lovely shapes, and sunny ease — 
 Of eyes glad sparkling— and the emphatic arm 
 Whose pressure said in language dear and warm. 
 
 That sky how glorious, and these fields how fair! 
 
 Stately these trees, that rustic bridge how rare ! 
 The scene how blessed from rudeness or alarm. 
 
 Aye, even a spot like this could be more graced ! 
 
 That little bridge become more beautiful, — 
 The ficldpath find a charm not knoAvn before ; 
 
 Supplied by friendship, feeling, skill and taste, 
 That in one instant wreaths for memory cull 
 
 Prized by the heart, and fresh for evermore.
 
 110 TALES, SONCiS AND SONNETS. 
 
 MAEY STUART IN CAPTIVITY. j 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A PICTUKE. | 
 
 Oh, straining eve and unavailing clasp ! 
 
 Oh, fruitless warfare with a dire mischance ! 
 
 Beneath wide Heaven's blue and w^hite expanse 
 
 I stand — my prison wall I feebly grasp, ^ 
 
 And with a fevered longing groan and gasp. { 
 
 And through day's torpor, and night's hideous trance, '' 
 
 I feel a poison through each pulse advance — i 
 
 Slower — but sure as Cleopatra's asp. > 
 
 When earth grows glad the more my spirit giieves ; i 
 
 Flowers trail in mockery o'er that bhnding wall, | 
 
 In mockery the trees put forth their leaves ; — 
 I hear the free birds to each other call, 
 
 And from the summer whids sad Fancy weaves I 
 
 With their wild songs a chant funereal. j
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. HI 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Lean on tliyself — the only truthful staff! 
 
 The strongest bonds of earth are brittle ties. 
 
 Light thy way \^•ith thine own, not others' eyes ; 
 Yet, if thou giv'st thy heart give all, not half, 
 Heedless of crafty sneer or worldling laugh, 
 
 That smite life's faith and scathe its charities. 
 
 But squander no affections — timely wise 
 Pause for the golden grahi — fling off" the chaff. 
 
 Dote not at all — nor yet too much demand — 
 So shalt thou still sustain thy soul's content ; 
 For change or circumstance shall cu-cumvent 
 
 The closest union Friendship ever planned. 
 Be thyself; and whatever love thou'st lent 
 
 Shall be repaid thee in a better land !
 
 112 TALF.S, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 Hourly I turn an aching eye 
 
 Where dearest treasures buried be 
 More precious far than gems that he 
 
 In the unfathomable sea. 
 Long cherished hopes that now are dead 
 
 And joys that wooed me but to flee — 
 And dazzling dreams for ever fled, 
 
 Are thine, oh Memory ! 
 
 And therefore am I dowered above 
 
 All heart can wish or eye can see ; 
 For all the ecstasy of love, 
 
 The burning glow of social glee, 
 The panting struggle for the good. 
 
 The aspiration to be free — 
 All that vi-as rich in breath or blood 
 
 Are thine, oh Memory !
 
 TAtES, SOXGS AND SONNETS. 1 1 3 
 
 THE EMPRESS ELIZABETH OF RUSSIA. 
 
 -0- 
 
 [The Empress Elizabeth met the children of her rival, the mis- 
 tress of Alexander I., at the Vienna Congress. She kissed them, 
 and bade them " tell their mother that she envied her."] 
 
 His children ! — let me with one holy kiss 
 
 Bind them with other tics, and make them mine: 
 Their mother's breast glows not with more divine 
 
 And eager love than burns and bleeds in tills : 
 
 I envy her that she has all I miss. 
 
 Perchance she envies much I w^ould resign — 
 The mocking crown, the desecrated shrine — 
 
 The hollow gauds that gleam o'er life's abyss. 
 
 Thus thought the childless woman, as she gave 
 To infant brows that angcl-like salute ; 
 
 Then turned aside to bury in the grave 
 
 Of her wrung heart all hopes save such as suit 
 The desolate on earth, who, woni and mute, 
 
 Wait the oblivious tomb, whose peace they crave.
 
 SONG. 
 
 Eternity hath not in store 
 
 Days like the past for me ; 
 I know that spiing will come once more 
 
 In beauty and in glee, 
 And bear the gifts she ever bore, 
 
 And bright and glorious be ; 
 But happy smiles, the smiles of yore— 
 
 These eyes shall never see. 
 
 No willing augurer of ill, 
 
 Which more than death I dread — 
 My heart feels a prophetic chill 
 
 That seals what I have said. 
 The hopes that led it forward still 
 
 Lie trampled on and dead ; 
 What di'eams can Fancy re-instil ? 
 
 Even Fancy's self is fled. 
 
 The eyes that dinmied the rays of spring 
 When most these did abound ; 
 
 The voice whose shghtest murmming 
 Had music in the sound ; 
 
 The glossy curls that used to fling 
 Their golden gleams around ; 
 
 The sparkling looks none else could bring- 
 Where, Aviaerc, shall t^ese be found ?
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 115 
 
 The spirit, the simplicity, 
 
 The tenderness, the thougiit — 
 The dear approval prized by me 
 
 Above all earthly lot ; 
 The manner lightsome, salient, free, 
 
 With graces equalled not — 
 (Oh, beautiful variety — 
 
 How loved — how unforgot !) 
 
 The ready but umvounding wt, 
 
 That ne'er made others rue it — 
 The lips for music's language fit — 
 
 Dear lips ! how well they do it I* 
 The song by none exceeded yet, 
 
 Poured from the heart and to it, 
 "With spell so strong and exquisite — 
 
 Alas, that e'er I knew it ! 
 
 Or in the fields — or by the brook — 
 
 Or in the wood or lea — 
 In vain for these my heart shall look — 
 
 They never more may be ! 
 And how may I their absence brook — 
 
 What springtime shall I see ? 
 Or how in sun, stream, flower, or book, 
 
 Find love and harmony ! 
 
 "Rubies unparagoned, 
 How dearly they do't."—Cymbeline.
 
 116 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 LIXES 
 
 "WRITTEN AFTER A NIGHT OF VIVID DREAMS OF LEIGH 
 
 HUNT. 
 
 It was a cherished thought of his 
 
 That loved ones gone before us, 
 May bend from homes of peace and bliss 
 
 And tenderly watch o'er us ; 
 That Love hi other realms sl^r\^ves, 
 
 The son clings to the father, 
 And husbands round their weeping -ndves, 
 
 Unseen, yet fondly, gather. 
 
 And sisters, holy spirits, watch 
 
 And waiTi their struggling brothers, 
 Children to shadowy bosoms catch 
 
 Their loni, worn, tearful mothers. 
 A happy di-eam ! that still unites 
 
 The blest, whose days are numbered. 
 With those, through weary days and nights, 
 
 Who toil on, clay-encumbered. 
 
 To miue, last night, his spirit came, 
 
 Perchance on such a mission : 
 Presumptuous ? No, he would not blame 
 
 That thus I read the vision. 
 A " Ministering Angel " here. 
 
 Our wants he still discovers, 
 Ami prninjit tn \hA\), as prone to cheer, 
 
 Anniud kwv iiillow hovers.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 1 1 7 
 
 AVRITTEN AFTER READING "THE DEATH 
 OF MARLOWE," BY R. H. HORNE. 
 
 A DREAM of Life and Death — a passionate dream ! 
 Genius, self-borne in fierce and wild career, 
 Unconscious of the gulf that yawneth near, 
 
 Black, rayless, save with life's last flickenng gleam ; 
 
 Lost child of pride and power ! May none redeem ? 
 With straining eye and Avith outstretching hands, 
 Lo, on the lightning-rifted rock he stands 
 
 That sternly shadows Lethe's sluggard stream. 
 
 A moment ! and strange sorrow fills the air — 
 Grief hath no sadder voice — a woman's wail ! 
 And in that cry there is no vulgar tale ; 
 
 'Tis not the outburst of a passing care ; 
 He dies who lifted from her soul its veil, 
 
 And life to her henceforth is fathomless despair. 
 
 "A brevity" — Ay, but the tragic soul 
 
 Is here : here the entire soul in its fiery strength ! 
 
 What need of many lines — of breadth and length ? 
 Truth stamps tliese scenes a nobly moulded Avhole. 
 Here burning genius rusheth to his goal : 
 
 And here wrecked l»eauty, touched by earnest passion, 
 
 Feeleth pollution yield to inspiration. 
 And from her nature clouds of darkness roll. 
 
 Proud may Ave be of beauty and of power 
 And thankful for each fine delineation 
 
 Of forms that fill the closet and the bower. 
 And haunt us with their life-like anhnation. 
 
 Prouder that he who boasts this glorious dower 
 Hath heart to match his spirit's elevation.
 
 118 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " So complete an absence as mine from my earlier haunts and 
 acquaintances is a trying business after all ; at my age one ceases 
 to contract new attachments, whether to persons or places." 
 
 If, Avitli Rome's tasteful Consul,* we could say 
 
 To Time, ■\\'hose ravages are so severe. 
 When the heart's precious things are borne away, 
 
 " If thou tak'st these thou shalt bring some as dear," 
 Perhaps more calm endurance might be ours, 
 
 AVhen chance bids friends we fondly prize, remove 
 To other lands or to remoter bowers, — 
 
 And death makes phantoms of the forms we love. 
 
 But young affection's ties once disentwined, 
 Rarely the feelings wear a later chain ; 
 
 The sympathies Mhich once could bless and bind, 
 Were youth's proud dower, which manhood seeks 
 in vain. 
 
 Fancy nmy paint the hill — we cannot mount; 
 
 AVe have the deep thirst still — but Avhere the fount ? 
 
 * L. Mummius, who, removing the most celebrated remains of 
 Grecian antiquity to Rome, assured the persons charged witli con- 
 veying tliem, tliutif they injured any they should make others to 
 replace them.
 
 STANZAS ON THE FUNERAL OF THE DUKE 
 OF BEDFORD, AT CHENIES, 1839. 
 
 Again the year was mellow 
 And falling leaves were yellow, 
 And trees, though rich in colours, 
 Had voices breathing dolours, — 
 And not the happy rustle 
 Of nestlings, or the hustle 
 Of squirrel, nut-pursuing ; 
 Woods were disrobed Kings, vieAving 
 Wrecks of then- vanished pomp, yet glorious amid 
 ruin. 
 
 And Death once more had spoken — 
 Life's golden bowl was broken — 
 What Heaven had dealt with kindly 
 His summons took not blindly ; 
 If time for Heaven mature us, 
 And truth its joys assure us. 
 Then is the blessing granted 
 For which that spirit panted — 
 Whose toils are over now, of earth's spell disenchanted. 
 
 His was the worth that giveth 
 To rank its work, and liveth 
 Green in the hoart for ever ; 
 His was the wise endeavour
 
 120 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 To show how titles splendid 
 Are by the man transcended: 
 And therefore hearts deplore him 
 That never bent before him, 
 And eyes his greatness dazzled not do now weep o'er 
 him. 
 
 • The chamber, where Art gathers 
 Of this high line the fathers, 
 Wherein mute reverence bound us. 
 Calm silence broodhig round ns. 
 And round the sculptured story 
 Of by-gone heirs of glory. 
 We pastied from, and descended 
 The vault, wherein lay blended 
 The dust of a proud house m history untranscended. 
 
 Here rests the brave and gifted,* 
 Whom true desert uplifted, 
 His honours nobly earning 
 By chivalry and learning ; 
 Monarclis were proud to grace him, 
 Pride prouder grows to trace him, 
 Glory and valour leading 
 His onward course firm speeding. 
 First Baron of his race, aye in the same path treading. 
 
 Here, noiv scarce disunited. 
 Two hearts a tyrant blighted 
 Lie in the peace so holy 
 Death yields the great and lo-ttly.f 
 But who with knee unkneeling. 
 Who with unkindled feeling 
 
 » John Kussell, first Earl of Bedford, one of the most accom- 
 plished gentlemen and most eminent scholars of his time. 
 
 t The cotfins of the patriot William, Lord Kussell, and of his 
 heroic wife, Rachel, are now close together.
 
 ( 
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONTSiETS. 121 J 
 
 Shall bend o'er Freedom's martvr i 
 
 •J I 
 
 Whose blood is on her charter? j 
 
 The feeling that now thrills me, for worlds I would | 
 
 not barter. \ 
 
 And she, that heart of sweetness, 
 And truth's own calm completeness, 
 Firm woman, loving, servuig. 
 And from no duty swerving — 
 Whose name the Avhole world prizes, 
 And Love immortalises — 
 Well may the pilgrim feel in 
 Such ijresenec, as if kneeling 
 Before the hallowed shrine of glory past revealing ! 
 
 BABY LUCY. 
 
 0, FOR Baby Lucy's eyes, 
 Strangest heart-nets to devise, 
 Beaming with blue mysteries ! 
 
 0, for Baby Lucy's smile ! 
 That can bless and not beguile, 
 Innocent of trick or wile. 
 
 AVere our bosoms pure as hers, 
 Eyes less cold and less perverse. 
 Smiles that no false part rehearse — 
 
 These and chaster holier powers 
 'J'han now chequer Life's drear hours- 
 Such as hers are, would be ours.
 
 122 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 HENRI DE LAROCHEJAQUELEIN. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A PORTRAIT IN M. A. THIERS' " HISTORY 
 OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION." 
 
 I PAUSE amid the terrors of a tale 
 
 Of unimaginable strife and blood — 
 
 Of massacre of beautiful and good — 
 (Beauty and goodness ! what could these avail 
 'Gainst reasonless rage, and universal bale ?) 
 
 I pause to look upon a face that blends 
 
 All beauties profuse favouring Nature lends, 
 Reflecting which, Art triumphs, words grow pale. 
 
 Fair flowing locks that woman's might beseem, 
 
 Arched brows that crown a line, full, dauntless eye, 
 Lips where all resolute calmness seems to lie, 
 
 A face of oval sweetness, which we deem 
 Was meant for quiet scenes, for reverie, 
 
 For Lover's rapture, or for Poet's di-eam. 
 
 Rather for these than for the clash of arais. 
 The cannon's roar, and the tumidtuous cry 
 That heralds or defeat or victory, — 
 
 Days full of horrors, midnights of alarms, 
 
 And all the hardening misery that disarms, 
 At times, best natures of humanity, 
 Even when fighting 'gainst such t^Tanny 
 
 As glory gilds not with its treacherous charms. 
 
 But these were' destined for him, — like our own 
 Pure Falkland, struggling for but dubious ends, 
 Liibecile Princes, and uncertain friends ; 
 
 With gallant hope to raise a fallen throne. 
 
 When not a throne that then dishonoured earth 
 The sacrifice of one great heart was worth.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 123 
 
 AN EVENING STROLL. 
 
 The stars — the moon — the cottages — the trees — 
 We gazed at all, — more with the heart than eye, 
 And felt a kindling of deep sympathy 
 
 With Nature and her bright eternities. 
 
 The stars were pale as world-free purities ; 
 
 The moon — large lamp of love that filled the sky — 
 Shone mirrored in the stream — or from on high 
 
 Poured through bewildered hearts brief dreams of ease. 
 
 Lights glimmered from embowered cottages ; 
 
 And one atar, like Avatch-light of some tOAver, 
 Showed us the distant hills. What phantasies 
 
 Won our charmed spirits ! — heightened by the power 
 Of Fays which Fancy in the foliage sees, — 
 
 yVM, pranksome revellers of the moonlight hour.
 
 124 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 When the stream runs less swiftly life's channel along, 
 When the clouds gather dark and the sunshine de- 
 parts — 
 When the votaries through life of that sorceress, song, 
 Find the springs of her ocean get dry at their 
 
 hearts — 
 When we feel the world's turmoil, its stings and its 
 smarts. 
 We shall know, as we turn from the bickering throng 
 " "lis only fair friendship, good humour, and truth, 
 " Can charm us in age as they charmed us in youth." 
 
 When the cup has been dashed from the answering lip. 
 When years, labour, and care leave us where we 
 began — • 
 AVhen for honey we look and but gall-drops we sip — • 
 When the vigorous boy becomes Avitliering man — 
 AVhen we gaze back fatigued on the race that we 
 ran, 
 And see winter approach hope's last leaflet to nip — 
 AVe shall find that but " friendship, good humour 
 
 and truth 
 " Can charm us in age as they channed us in youth." 
 
 And these still let us cherish — by these let us bound 
 Our desires and our hopes as life's evening comes on, 
 
 Then though much may be lost and but little be found, 
 AVe shall feel that the truest and best is not gone ; 
 If we still keep beside us firm hearts we have won, 
 
 At false idols we'll smile that lie broken around ; 
 " 'Tis only fair friendship, good humour and truth, 
 "That can charai us in age as they channed us in 
 youth."
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 125 
 
 JOSHUA'S TRIUMPH AT THE WATERS OF 
 ME ROM. 
 
 The raonarchs were many and mighty 
 
 Who had leagued at King Hazor's command ; 
 The North saw them rush from his mountains, 
 
 The South felt them trample her land ; 
 They thronged in the valleys, — the borders 
 
 Were compassed with hosts on the West, 
 As sands on the sea-shore in numbers, 
 
 On with chariots and horses they prest. 
 
 They met at the Waters of IMei'om : 
 
 And all proud in their battle-array, 
 Deemed Joshua conquered and captive, 
 
 And Israel a scorn and a prey ; 
 For they knew not the Lord was with Israel, 
 
 And they di-eamt not the mori'ow would see 
 How Warriors, and Monarchs, and Nations, 
 
 At the breath of the Lord cease to be. 
 
 They fought by the Waters of Merom, 
 
 Which ran red with the blood of the foe ; 
 Israel followed the flying to Zidon, 
 
 And her sword laid the fugitives low : 
 For the Lord was with Joshua and Israel, 
 
 And 'twas well that the godless should see 
 How Warriors, and Monarchs, and Nations, 
 
 At the breath of the Lord cease to be.
 
 12G TALES, SONGS jVND SONNETS. 
 
 A NOVEMBER DAY AND NIGHT. 
 
 Akt thou November ? With no mist or cloud, \ 
 
 No skies of darkness, and no dreary days — ; 
 
 No choking fog nor even miry ways — ' 
 
 Nought that did erst the shrinking frame enshroud ; j 
 
 The bright sun fills the air — songsters are loud — 
 Meadows still gi-een, though thin their verdure be — 
 
 The air, if sharp at times, breathes genially, | 
 
 And trees, if lacking green, are gold-endoAved. ■ ' 
 
 No Autumn moon sails through serener skies — 
 No summer stars shed more benignant light 
 
 Than those which greet us now with loving eyes, ! 
 
 Whilst we with reverence mark their glory bright. j 
 
 And humbly ask that we may deeply prize, ' 
 
 All-gracious Nature, this November night. ]
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. Ti? 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Though sorrow and care 
 
 May darken the hearth, 
 There are songs in the air 
 
 And sunshine on earth ; 
 While meadows are fair 
 
 And flowers have birth, 
 With sighs of despair 
 
 Mix carols of nmth. 
 
 Though soiTOw with years, 
 
 As night follows day, 
 Brings trials and tears, 
 
 They all pass away. 
 With rolling of spheres 
 
 In starry array, 
 Pass fancies and fears 
 
 And hopes fraU as they. 
 
 This Dreamland is ours. 
 
 And Love is the light 
 
 Turns deserts to bowers 
 
 Fay-fashioned and bright. 
 Through tempest that lours, 
 
 Through wrongs that affright, 
 The sun of all hours 
 
 UufoUowed by night.
 
 128 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SON^^ET TO A BEAUTIFUL SUPPORTER OF 
 TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES. 
 
 If Temperance yield that grace and glow 
 
 To thy suipassing beauty, 
 Give but one glance, and all must know 
 
 That Temperance is duty. 
 
 How sweetly truth upon that fair brow sate, 
 And ne'er before took such triumphant shape ! 
 
 For would we from the argument escape, 
 Who could forget or fly the advocate ? 
 Henceforth bright eyes alone shall make elate 
 The subject hearts they so intoxicate ; 
 
 And, from proud claret down to humble cape, 
 All — all shaU shun the cups that dissipate ! 
 
 Brandy, heroic drink ! a long adieu ! 
 
 And thou, too tempting home-brewed, fare-thee-well! 
 Burns I must take without his " mountain-dew " — 
 
 Phillips must bring no cyder from his cell ;* 
 Anacreon Moore must be forgotten too, — 
 
 Truth, as of old, is found within a tvell ! 
 • Author of " Cyder, a Poem."
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 
 
 PREACHING AT THE CHAPEL ROYAL, WHITEHALL. 
 
 Two of US who loved his books 
 
 Went with eager feet, 
 To dwell upon his words and looks. 
 
 And himself to gi'eet. 
 Struggling through a dark dense crowd, 
 
 Hurriedly we went. 
 Of our very struggle proud, 
 
 With our toil content. 
 This, we thought, is true renown. 
 
 This is earnest ftime — 
 Deep heart of our cold vast town 
 
 Stirred thus by a name ! 
 Gleams that dark eye in its lustre 
 
 'Neath a thouglitfid brow ; 
 And he pauses, as to muster 
 
 Words that calmly flow. 
 Then he tells hoAv Jesus came 
 
 Both to save the soul. 
 And to make the bUnd and lame 
 
 And the leper whole. 
 Rugged the unstudied style. 
 
 Very plain the speech. 
 Not to flatter or beguile, 
 
 But to move and teach. 
 Generous war with wealth he wages, 
 
 For the sufferer pleads ; 
 Paints the succour that assuages, 
 
 Taints the avoc that needs.
 
 130 
 
 Bright eyes that tear-stained his pages, 
 
 Wonder as they gaze, 
 What can this man care for praises ? 
 
 All he looks and says 
 In onr hearts the feeling raises, 
 
 That through his there only ran 
 
 Fervent love of God and Man. 
 AVhat marvel that we followed, 
 
 Blessing the path he trod. 
 And thought his footsteps hallowed 
 
 Even the senseless sod : 
 This good Priest — faithful Pastor — 
 True sei-vant of his ]\Iaster, 
 
 Friend of Man and God ! 
 
 LIFE ANTE-NATAL. 
 
 Amid the perturbations of the hours 
 
 That startle us from sleep, seem there not breaking. 
 
 In misty sense that stirs through sleep and wakuig, 
 Gleams of another life that once was ours, 
 
 More glorious than gilds Earth's prose or rhyme, 
 
 When Bard or Rhapsodist grows most subhme ? 
 Even so we see upon a summer night, 
 As we stand gazing from some mountain height, 
 The fore and after of a day's sun-light, 
 
 Our own no more, but briglit on other shores. 
 Sleep-walkers ! Dreamers in a life of dreams ! 
 
 How wild, how weak, our struggles and our cai-es ! 
 The whence — the whither — those bewildering themes 
 
 Give to the winds, with all unwise despah-s.
 
 TALES, SONGS .\KD SONNETS. lijl 
 
 ON READING "PAUL FEIIKOLL." 
 
 Though with the startUng frankness of the Moor, 
 He says " 1 did it " — was it Avith his hand ? 
 The crime was his, if his the mind that planned, 
 
 And his the retribution stern and sore. 
 
 Strong passion sowed the seed ; the fruit it bore, 
 
 Was poison to a sonl that coirld adore, 
 
 And, whilst it reverenced, every ill withstand, 
 
 But fled when it might reverence no more. 
 
 Grand lessons hath the book ! Few gi-ander e'er 
 Hath Genius scattered in Life's devious path ; 
 
 The last the noblest, bidding man beware 
 
 " Rash judgments." Since small poAver to judge he 
 hath, 
 
 Even his fellow-men, how shall he dare 
 Measure his Maker's mercy or His wrath '?* 
 
 * " Some men, Janet, will say I can be forgiven— some will say 
 I cannot. I have thoiiglit much— There is a Uod. and He knows." 
 
 I'AUL Fekuoll.
 
 132 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 " MINE EYES AND HEART HAVE SORROWED 
 
 LONG." 
 
 " So I returned and considered all the oppressions that are done 
 under the sun." Ecdesiasies, chap. 4, v. 1, 2, 3. 
 
 Mine eyes and heart bave soiTowed long, 
 
 To mark, beneath the sun. 
 Success awaiting still the strong. 
 
 And woe the vanquished one. 
 Tb' oppressed in vain shed bitter tears 
 
 In gi-ief s nnsolaced hour ; 
 Tb' oppressor stands amidst his peers 
 
 Girt mth unholy power. 
 
 No comforter the feeble finds, 
 
 No hour aught joyous brings ; 
 For liim no balmy summer winds 
 
 Bear healing on their -^^-ings ; 
 Whilst pomp, and luxuiy, and state, 
 
 Earth's mighty one attend 5 
 His menials are at his gate, 
 
 His hall hath many a friend. 
 
 Heart-sickened by the sight, I said. 
 
 How much more blest are thoy 
 Who sleep with the unconscious dead 
 
 Than our surviving clay ! 
 Yea, happier than either, he, 
 
 More blest, who hath not been ; 
 Fndoomed those evil works to see, 
 
 Our \^ earv eves have seen.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONT^ETS. 133 
 
 WILLIA:\I JOHNSON FOX. 
 
 Well for us that lie lived, and well for him 
 
 To leave a world he struggled for in vain, 
 AV^atching with wearied brain and eyes gi-owu dim 
 
 Its sad slow progi'ess, and its thriftless gain. 
 True, he impelled it onward, but it falls 
 
 Back to its cherished, old, coiTupted ways. 
 Vainly the Sage forewarns, the Poet calls. 
 
 The Hero strives, — the Saint as vainly prays. 
 "Shams" gather round us, cunning circumvents, 
 
 The blood of brothers makes one awful river ; 
 There is no courage save with Ioav intents, 
 
 No honest hope,, no generous endeavour ; 
 And were not Earth at times by such men trode, 
 As Fox, no light would gild Life's drear abode.
 
 I;j4 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 LIGHT AND DARKNESS. 
 
 (JoD said "Let there be light" — and there was light, 
 
 .\nd the CJreator's works stood all revealed : 
 Sun, moon, and stars, — waters in sleeping might, 
 
 And rolling worlds as that great fiat pealed. 
 And gorgeous day succeeded jewelled night. 
 
 External ATision ! glorious boon ! but sealed 
 From sn])tlest apprehension, sense, and sight. 
 
 The all man pants and gasps to see unveiled. 
 
 Blind gropers we at best, in our gi-eat need — 
 
 Cyclopean gropers in a twilight dark. 
 I ask, is there such difference, indeed, 
 
 'Twixt Light and Darkness ? having failed to mark, 
 Though Light (too dazzling) may sometimes mislead, 
 
 Alwdijs we sadly stumble in the dark. 
 
 MORE LIGHT. 
 
 " MouE light " — Colenso, with your glasses on, 
 With gauging rod in hand, and hi your hea<l 
 Keen calculation, noting, as you read 
 
 The miles and multitudes, the pro and con, — 
 
 You got more light, and gave it us. Anon 
 iiose the Church-militant, with anger red. 
 Too angry to confute the things you said, 
 
 Too silly to be silent thereupon. 
 
 In vnii 'twas brave, who could not fail to count 
 The mighty cost — l)ut they are nndcted too. 
 
 " I\Ioie ligiit " — perchance more truth — but what th' 
 amount ? 
 What gain, what loss that souls shonld greet or rae? 
 
 You leave us still the ImjK'rishable Fount — 
 
 The Lord Christ — and His Sermon on the Mount.
 
 TALES, SONGS .\ND SONNETS. 135 
 
 A DREA^I AND AN xUVAKING. 
 
 Two fonns -were in mj last night's pillowed sleep, 
 Friends of an early day were with me there, 
 One lustrous dark, the other passing fair, 
 
 And to each gentle breast a child did creep. 
 
 Bright were their eyes as yet untaught to weep. 
 With smile and song they filled the channed air, 
 
 And did the spirit of the Listener steep 
 In luxury of a music now too rare. 
 
 I woke ; and found a mother and a child, 
 
 Both dear as heart's blood, and one passing foir ; 
 
 But they who had my dreaming thoughts beguiled. 
 And mirrored the sweet past, lingered not there. 
 
 Both gone — (0 Patience ! bring thy aspect mild !) 
 One in the quiet grave — the other — where !
 
 136 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " There is no fear in love ; but perfect love casteth out fear," 
 
 1. JOHN, IV. 18. 
 
 Great Mystery of Infinitude 
 
 Whose space the aching vision tires — 
 Ahnighty Giver of all good ! 
 
 Maker of worlds Thy love inspu'cs ! 
 We come in awe, but not in fear, 
 To the high Throne which we revere. 
 
 The Earth — with her unfaihng seeds — 
 
 The Heavens — with their appointed stars — 
 
 Our soaring dreams — our servile needs — 
 The very doubt that often wars 
 
 With Faith — all help to draw us near 
 
 To the high thi-oue which we revere. 
 
 Thy countless worlds, through countless years, 
 In order's glorious course have roUed ; 
 
 Oh, Supreme Ruler of the Spheres, 
 Whom we may worship, not behold ! 
 
 We come in hope, and not in fear 
 
 To the high Throne which we rcvci'e. 
 
 Our Father, in that holiest name 
 
 We invocate, we supplicate — 
 Pi'efeiTing no self-righteous claim 
 
 And conscious of our erring state. 
 Father ! In love, and not in fear, 
 We seek the Throne which we revere.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 137 
 
 ADELAIDE AXN'E PROCTER. 
 
 Calmly from earth she turned those gentle eyes 
 That were a light and gladness while they shone, 
 Mirthful or saddened, the thrilled earth upon, — 
 
 Calmly she turned to those effulgent skies 
 
 Wherewith she commerced hourly in sighs 
 
 And songs, which still of the sweet Lyi'ist gone 
 Speak to the world, but most to those who moan 
 
 Beside the hearth where none her place supplies. 
 Deepest they speak to him, — the Bard and Sire, — ■ 
 
 From whom she caught the too etherial sjiark, 
 That shone awhile, still soaring high and higher 
 
 To leave the sphere it brightened doubly dark. 
 Oh watchful loves, round the bereft one gather ! 
 Heav'n, that hath ta'en the child, sustain the father!
 
 138 TALES, SOXGS AND SOXNETS. 
 
 A MARCH :SIOi:XDvG. 
 
 White-frosted morning woke in the moonlight, 
 
 And fell a listening to a diverse throng- 
 To larks whose spirits spurn the heavy night, 
 
 And greet young day with quick continuous song ; 
 To redbreasts chirping from the oaken bough 
 
 Whose Avithered leaves are waiting for the uew ; 
 To whirr of startled partridge, hurrying now 
 
 To safer covert : to sounds neither few, 
 Nor faint, nor scarce definable ; the rush 
 
 Of the swoll'u stream;— the crash of huri-jnng wheel, 
 And now, o'ertopping all, the sudden gush 
 
 Of horn from coach or barrack ;— yet these steal, 
 Even whilst bright morning listens, all away- 
 Lost in the one loud voice of universal day. 
 
 TO 
 
 You said this little plot 
 
 Of ground 'twas well to till ; 
 You said tliis rugged knot 
 
 Of flowers had fragrance still. 
 Take the " Forget-me-Xot," 
 
 Or any flower you -nill, 
 With your smile on the lot. 
 
 No frost has power to kill.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 13 'J 
 
 THE FOUIS^TAIN IN VICTORIA PARK. 
 
 The name wliich rang through Englaml, in tlic days 
 
 When Freedom's friends were few, is honom'ed yet. 
 
 Nor, near this princely gift, can we forget 
 Whose generous blood warms in a thousand ways — 
 All high and good, and none mere baits for praise — 
 
 Our daily course — the daughter of Burdett ! 
 
 Who, mindful of the meanest, here has set 
 A temple, whereon reverent eyes shall gaze 
 In after years ; and grateful lips proclaim 
 
 Goodness is oft an heir-loom of the great ; 
 That Wealth may have its virtues. Rank its claim ; 
 
 And that on acts which bless the lowly, wait 
 Meeds Courts cannot bestow, transcendmg Fame — 
 
 The immortal loves Love only can create.
 
 140 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 THE ROSE AND THE BEE. 
 
 Deep into her bosom 
 
 Plunging, amorous bee, 
 How the lady Rose thrills ' 
 
 Thus embraced by thee. 
 Summer winds would woo her^ 
 
 Suns their glory shed, 
 All fair things that knew her, i 
 
 Sought to win and wed — ! 
 
 Ne'er till thou cam'st to her, 
 
 Blushed she all her red ! 
 
 Gone the Western splendour, ■ 
 
 Winds their whispers cease, 
 Stars are in the Heavens, i 
 
 And on Earth is peace. 
 But her dreams are glowing, ] 
 
 Aud her heart beats high — ; 
 
 Perfumed sighs are flowing, I 
 
 For thou art not nigh. ; 
 
 Winged Amorist ! come to her, ^ 
 
 Lest she fade and die. 1
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 141 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. 
 
 So shook the Nation's heart with sudden throe 
 Of wondering grief, two years ere he w^as born ; 
 Wlien the fair '' Daughter of the Isles " was torn 
 
 From happy dreams and cherished hopes that grow 
 
 Kouud untried Princes : England's tears now flow 
 For one who, on the world's high currents borne, 
 Sailed well and wisely : if for him we mourn, 
 
 Oh mourn for Her, who yet survives the blow ! 
 
 If this sad desolation wore the garb 
 Of lowher life, it were not so unblest ; 
 
 Mourn for the regal splendoiu's that but barb 
 The arrow entering that faithful breast, 
 
 Piercing Her jet green wound of recent days, 
 
 A Husband by a Mother's side \\\w lays !
 
 14:2 TALES, SOXGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 SOUTHWOOD SMITH. 
 
 How bright the years, yet of what olden date. 
 When hfe was in its earhest buoyant spring, 
 Ere yet had fallen the cold shadowing 
 Of Time and Change o'er spirits too elate, — ■ 
 Ere yet had deepened the depressing weight 
 Of Death — that conies to scathe and separate — 
 
 Did earnest lips that name before me bring, 
 And teach me what to love and venerate ! 
 
 The Factory children bless that honoured name, 
 Suifering embalms it with a grateful tear. 
 
 Famous — what cared the grand old man for Fame ? 
 Write on the gi'ave of him Avhom all revere — 
 
 " The friend " (comes a higher praise from mortal pen?) 
 
 " Of Bentham, of Leigh Hunt, of all good men."
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 14i 
 
 THE FLOWER-CROWNED C.\>sKON. 
 
 " The taking of Palermo, and the withdrawal of the Neapolitan 
 column, aftain gave courage to the natives ; the guns were dug out, 
 and new carriages made. • * * This morning 
 
 they made their public entry, croumed mthflotvers, and amid deaf- 
 ening cheers."— Times' Correspondent, June, 18G0. 
 
 Embleji of thy great heart, heroic chief! 
 
 "The caniiou crowned with flowers" — the deadly 
 gun 
 Made softly fragrant, sweet to look upon, 
 
 Glory and Freedom written on each leaf; 
 
 Its death-bolts dealt for the downfall and grief 
 
 Of blood-stained tyrants only — the rehef 
 And the upraising of the trodden-on. 
 Eudjlem of thy great heart — whose duty done 
 
 Lets Mercy follow, with her blessed oil 
 And hallowed wine ! — Bayard of Italy ! 
 
 Sans i^eur et sans reproche ! No slur, no soil, 
 Rests on thy laurel-wreath. God of the Free ! 
 Guard it from meddling hands, from treachery, 
 
 111 strife and struggle of this grand turmoil !
 
 144 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 PROGRESS AND A PH^iXTOM.* 
 
 A VIGOROUS world — to its o^vn music tuniing, 
 Flowers wi-eatliing it, and golden lamps aye burning, 
 And ever fresher airs and brighter flowers, 
 And kindlier hojies than filled its earlier bowers, 
 With godlike-food to man no more forbidden, 
 And aspirations for all good unchiddeu — 
 Saw a black shadow on its noon-tide rising, 
 And heard strange soimds less awful than surprishig. 
 " Stand still ! " " Go back ! " the sombre phantom 
 
 muttered : 
 And men waxed wroth with what the nothing uttered. 
 And strong anns smote the air with lusty cleavings, 
 And scorn could not keep down its bosom-heavings. 
 Whereat the angels smiled. The wrath was glorious, 
 And the shade fled before the frown victorious. 
 
 * This title was suggested by Mr. Leigh Hunt, who inserted the 
 lines in " Leigh Hunt's Journal," Feb. 8, I85l.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 145 
 
 OUR PRINCE'S PEARL. 
 
 There came from the land of the Dane, 
 
 A light that illumined oiu- own, 
 It scattered the shadows of pain 
 
 From the lowliest cot to the throne. 
 Of the past it softened the sting, 
 
 Hope's banner it taught to unfurl. 
 In fullness of joy let us sing 
 
 Hail, all hail to oiu* Prince's Pearl. 
 
 We gaze on that beautiful face, 
 
 Where feeling and firmness unite ; 
 In that regal forehead we trace 
 
 To high regal station the right. 
 All womanhood's loveUest gi-ace 
 
 We see in each clustering curl ; 
 All hail to the pride of her race ! 
 
 Hail ! all hail to our Prince's Pearl. 
 
 Our old rule is pledge for the new. 
 
 The blessings 'twill bring we forecast : 
 The future unfolds to our view 
 
 The glory that brightens the past. 
 Then let Britons, with true hearts and strong. 
 
 Wherever the wild winds may whu-1, 
 Respond to the prayer of our song — 
 
 Heav'n prosper our Prince and his Pearl.
 
 SONNETS TO E. J. W. 
 
 I. 
 
 We talked of yoi; on Sunday in such style 
 As made your cheek burn, if the saying's true, 
 That cheeks assume that sudden roseate hue, 
 
 When friendly hearts, severed by many a mile, 
 
 With balm of memory their cares beguile. 
 And burnish up old accidents anew. 
 And conjure faces of the kind and true, 
 
 Until one almost sees the sunny smUe. 
 
 And but the night before your letter found me, 
 I dreamed of Gill Mee, who in fervent mood 
 Was throwing his poetic spells around me. 
 Were our thoughts blended then ? it came unwooed. 
 
 Prevision oft has tended to confound me, 
 This once I hold the fancy true and good. 
 
 II. 
 
 Was it in that Cathedral* shadow gi'and, 
 
 'Neath which in a snug garden once I smoked 
 A pleasant pipe, Avhilst those around me joked, 
 
 You penned your missive \\ith frank hasty hand ? 
 
 Next day, most fugitive Edward, did you stand 
 
 * Gloucester Cathedral.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 147 
 
 'Midst hoaiy walls,* to olden memories yoked, 
 
 (The ghost of the stern Regicide invoked — ) 
 And greet me thence again with message bland ? 
 
 Most welcome message, but more welcome still, 
 Will be the wiiter, if he hold his mind. 
 
 And let no tempting of his fitful will, 
 Make promise see performance lag behind. 
 " The road that leads to Nowhere," he may find, 
 
 But somewhere hopeful hearts await hun still. 
 
 • Those of Chepstow Castle. 
 
 AT DULWICH. 
 
 " Lustre the tree receives 
 
 From settuig sun, behold ! " 
 For gleams stole through the leaves 
 
 That turned them all to gold. 
 Smiling my friend replied, 
 
 " For once you're cheated, as 
 Those gleams that golden glide, 
 
 Are gleams of earthly gas ! " 
 'Twas welcome to the full 
 
 As by Apollo given ; 
 Beauty is beautiful. 
 
 Come it from Earth or Heaven.
 
 148 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 THE EIVALS. 
 
 A PAINTING BY WATTEAU. 
 
 His hand laid on the heart he offers her 
 
 With her large and wide-open soulless eyes, 
 Expressive only of a cold surprise, 
 
 Though from that clasping pressure we infer, 
 
 Her hand may be more warm interpreter 
 Of answering passion. Is the lover wise 
 (What lover is ?) who leaves that richer prize. 
 
 Standing, heart-struck, behind the wanderer? 
 
 He seems about to lavish all life's wealth 
 On one poor pretty plaything, who has torn 
 
 His fickle fancy by some trick of stealth. 
 
 From worth and glorious beauty, now forlorn. 
 
 Whose lifted arms, and wild distracted aii". 
 
 Show us not rage or scorn but wonder and despair.
 
 TO HENRY CORT SMITH, 
 
 ON HIS PAINTING OF " HUBERT AND ARTHUR." 
 
 Hubert.— If I talk to him, with his innocent prate ] 
 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead, \ 
 
 Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. 
 
 Aethuh.— Are you sick. Hubert? You look pale to-day: 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick : 
 That 1 luight sit all night and watch with you : j 
 
 I warrant I love you more than you do me." ] 
 
 King John, Act. iv. s. I. '■ 
 
 I HAVE seen living pictures, grandly done, j 
 
 To Nature faithful and to Shakespeare just, ■ 
 
 Of Hubert's struggle, Arthur's child-like trust, — ■ 
 
 And these are stamped on memory ; never one ! 
 
 More truly typical of Constance son, | 
 
 Smiling unconscious, while the passionate gust j 
 
 Shakes the strong gaoler — playful fingers thrust 
 
 Into his hair, — with words of anxious tone ; 
 And eyes — those eyes so full of life and love, 
 
 Brighter, more beautiful, because thereon 
 The shadow of eternal darkness drove. 
 
 And even while they looked their light was gone ! 
 And imminent Death did in that darkness move. 
 
 And the gi'eat wronged proud mother stood alone. 
 
 Artist ! restime the story ; if no strain 
 
 Of Poet hath restored it — if no line 
 
 Of Painter hath embodiod the divine, 
 And chronicled the 'i'ragic Muse's reign,
 
 150 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 When Kings' "wnbidden bo-wed to her" — be't thine, 
 Siddouian splendour flashing on thy brain — 
 
 To make of that huge gnef a holy shrine, 
 And turn that queenly scorn to the world's gain, 
 
 'Tis a good school for all ; but most for him 
 Who feels the stin-ings of " creative art ;" 
 
 Not that Earth's glories can be ever dim 
 
 To such ; if earth hath fields, man hath a heart. 
 Dive into both ; and treading paths lilve this, 
 The soal that Genius seeks thou shalt not miss. 
 
 b'- 
 
 (WRITTEN IN THE STUDIO OF THE ABOVE.) 
 
 Ogni fatica vuol premio. 
 
 " Excelsior ! " exclaims Columbia's bard, 
 
 Onward and upward ! be the motto thine ; 
 
 Euggedest paths but lead to the Divine, 
 And high the guerdon if the strife be hard. 
 Brave lowly labour guarantees reward, 
 
 If heart and soul and hand and hope combine ; 
 
 If day by day be piled the line on line ; 
 If duty toil, and self-respect keep guard. 
 
 Nor, as I look upon these classic walls 
 
 ^Vhich art ennobles, and which beauty decks, 
 
 Dai'e I have prescience that the shadow falls. 
 Foreboding thine amid doomed talent's wrecks. 
 No ! by the eye's dehght, the muid's emotion, 
 I see success — handmaid of deep devotion.
 
 TALES, SONGS .VND SONNETS. 151 
 
 TO MY SOLITARY SNOWDROP. 
 
 Pale maiden flower, my rugged garden's gem, 
 
 Emblem of patient hope — safe innocence ; 
 Drooping thy fair head o'er thy fragile stem 
 
 In yielding weakness — thy most sure defence : 
 Amidst mild airs, beneath illusive skies, 
 
 Promise of the young year ! thou had'st thy bii'th, 
 And thy first days were gentle : but there rise 
 
 Fierce winds, and kingly storms sweep o'er the eai-th. 
 They shake thee, but cannot subdue : thy port 
 
 Is brave as meek ; and still thy snowy crest 
 (\\Tience gains its thin green stem such fixed support?) 
 
 Sheds soft light o'er thy gladdened mother's breast. 
 Oh, let me win, whilst thus I gaze on thee, 
 Some glimpse of peace, truth, and simplicity !
 
 JOHN CLARE, 
 
 THE NORTHAMPTONSHTRE PEASANT POET. 
 
 A LIFE of dreams ! the first and the most real 
 Begim in boyhood, when his spirit went, 
 INIate of birds, trees, and flowers, glad and content, 
 
 'Mong sylvan haunts, embracing the ideal 
 
 Which is the Poet's worship, who would see all 
 God gives of true, and good, and lovely blent 
 In Nature and Man's heart. Then Fame was sent, 
 
 The dream of dreams ! the towering hope to be all 
 Man can be of supreme in worlds of thought. 
 
 Then came the last dream, in our sight how sad ! 
 And yet, perchance, unfettered Fancy caught 
 
 From that more joy than when cool Reason liad 
 Its reign, and ranged o'er realms too darkly fraught 
 
 With cloud and change to keep such spuit glad. 
 
 Let me recal him when kind Inskip led 
 
 The unconscious Poet to your home, De Wilde, 
 And we sat listening, as to some fond child, 
 
 The wa}Tvard unconnected words he said, — 
 
 Prattle, by confused recollections fed, 
 
 Of famous times gone by, — how BjTon piled 
 Praise on him in the Quarterli/^* and styled 
 
 * This was one of Clare's pleasant delusions. He told us that 
 Lord Byron reviewed liira in the Qiuirterhj Review, devoting no 
 less than five and twenty pages to praises of his poetry. The in- 
 genuity of insanity " could no farther go." The Impres-sion had its 
 origin, doubtless, in a vague remembrance of Byron's intimacy with 
 GifFard, the editor of the Qiiarfcrit/ Jteview.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 153 
 
 Him of all Poets as the very head ! 
 
 Still dreaming ! — Happy dreamer ! all is o'er — 
 
 All this world's visions, sober or insane. 
 Discord shall mar the hannony no more. 
 
 That poured upon i;s, and, like summer rain 
 To the parched earth, oft filled the bosom frore 
 
 With sunshine, as it di-ank the flowing strain. 
 
 ON A VIEW OF CLEVEDON. 
 
 The mighty sea before me — the glad hills — 
 
 The bowery nooks — the woodland's gorgeous clasp, 
 And, best of all, a dear friend's cordial grasp, 
 
 With all of these the little picture fills 
 
 A bosom that, escaping present ills. 
 Drinks in the sea-air with a lusty gasp. 
 
 We rove once more as then " at our ivild wills," 
 
 Which know no intennitting pause, until 
 
 The cottage Coleridge hallowed chains our feet, 
 
 Or we have reached the brow of that calm hill 
 Where Hall am rests, — a rest made sacred-sweet, 
 By verse to rule all hearts, and rush for ever 
 On its bright course like yon unchanging river 
 Whose murmur seems liis requiem to repeat.
 
 SONNETS 
 
 TO THE SOLITARY ROSEBUD THAT LOOKS IN AT MY W^NDOW. 
 
 Eve after eve, and as mora foUo-ws mora, 
 Even as the earliest ray on thee alights, 
 Or a chance splendour falls from Westera heights, 
 
 I watch thy embryo beauty, frail, forlora ; 
 
 Yet swells thy breast with tiny leaf untora. 
 
 Serene, through stonny days and chilling nights ; 
 So patient virtue with disaster fights, 
 
 And so calm com'age is to conquest borae. 
 
 Lonely, and yet unshrinking from the cloud, 
 And smiling, gi-ateful in the rare sunshine. 
 
 The keen north-easter finds thee still unbowed. 
 Oh thou small straggler, make thy wisdom mine ! 
 
 I too have lost the sunshine and the crowd — 
 Teach me a self-sustaining power like thine ! 
 
 ir. 
 
 " Slow swelled thy breast," but it is opening now, — 
 And slow beside thee sister -buds are swelling, — 
 Their blood in May's fair influence up-weUiug, 
 
 Till every petal is with life a-glow. 
 
 How bright the wreaths that round the ■window bow,
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 155 
 
 Late least adonied of all that lit the dwelling. 
 
 Now has it breath and beauty, and is telling 
 Sweet tales of what long summer days will show. 
 Long Slammer days ! with book agauist the pane. 
 
 The great Elme's shadow o'er the rustling leaves, — ■ 
 The welcome rush of wind, — the " great good rain,"* 
 
 The dewy mornings, — the cahn moon-lit eves — 
 The balm of hope renewed, — the pause from pain, — 
 
 And all pm-e joy the chastened heart conceives. 
 
 • Leigh Hunt. 
 
 TO 
 
 Some words of mine have won your praise, 
 
 But love, already won, 
 Measured the value of the lays, 
 
 Wliich, but for love, had none. 
 
 And now that I would fondly wake 
 
 An unaccustomed lyre, 
 And be a poet, for yoitr sake, 
 
 AVho might the best inspu-e, 
 
 The idle strings no more vibrate, 
 
 And every wish and prayer 
 Falls on my heart — a wordless weight — • 
 
 To sink and struggle there.
 
 156 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY SONG, 
 
 TO G. J. DE W. 
 
 Here's a health to thee, bright heahh to thee ! 
 
 Though not with -svine our cup is flowing ; 
 We pledge thee in the healthful breeze. 
 
 The mspu-iug breeze around us blowing. 
 
 Here's a health to thee, bright health to thee ! 
 
 For wine, I cried, shall now do duty, 
 The stream 'neath yonder rustic bridge, 
 
 By fond hearts called " the Brook of Beauty." 
 
 Here's a health to thee, bright health to thee 1 
 I said, the crystal streamlet quaffing : 
 
 Sweet voices to the pledge replied — 
 
 'Twas the Naiads, glad and cordial, laughing. 
 
 " Here's a health to him, bright health to him !" 
 They all exclaimed, "For well we know him; 
 
 And as he nature loves, and us, 
 
 Let breezes bear our blessing to him." 
 
 Here's a health to thee, bright health to thee ! 
 
 Without it life is scarcely living ; 
 And every fair boon else be thine 
 
 For aye, of God's and Nature's giving.
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. FLETCHER 
 (M. J. JEWSBURY.) 
 
 She brought to her laud's music 
 
 A pure and gentle song, 
 Such as the heart must utter 
 
 When its love is deep and strong. 
 
 She filled her home with beauty, 
 
 AVhose memory ne'er departs ; 
 Kind Heaven ! what now shall solace 
 
 Those lonely aching hearts ? 
 
 T\niilst gliding o'er the waters, 
 
 Sad lays she oft would pom* 
 To loved ones and the country 
 
 She might behold no more.* 
 
 And then a livelier measure, 
 
 A light and hopeful lay, 
 She sent us o'er the ocean 
 
 From her new home far away : 
 
 For the Eastern clime of wonder 
 
 Now burst upon her sight ; 
 And the unaccustomed glory 
 
 Turned regret into delight. 
 
 • Some of Mr8. Fletcher's sweetest poems were written on her 
 passage to India, whether she had accompanied her husband, and 
 where she died. The brilliance of her talents was exceeded by the 
 goodness of her heart.
 
 158 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 Lilie strains from unseen spirits 
 Fell her songs upon the ear — 
 
 Such was their spell of sweetness 
 And such their holy cheer. 
 
 Alas, for song and beauty ! 
 
 Alas, for truth and worth ! 
 What bitter lessons teach us, 
 
 " Then- home is not on earth." 
 
 RUm BEAUTIFIED, AND PO^\T:Ft REBUKED. 
 
 A MASSIVE wreck ! Time or fierce strength had rent 
 The knitted walls, yet mouldering ruins told 
 That fabric had been stately to behold. 
 
 Gorgeous in hall, and proud in battlement. 
 
 Now peacefid as the sky above it bent, 
 Nature had cast her beauties manifold 
 O'er the gray fragments, and her gi-een and gold, 
 
 Her hues and sweets to every nook were lent. 
 
 Power ! see a lesson of this mysteiy born, 
 Ruthless disturber of the pure and free ; 
 
 Raze to the earth, submerge it in the sea, 
 Deface, disgrace, overwhelm it with all scorn, 
 
 Beauty in some shape reigns eternally, — 
 
 Most potent o'er men's hearts when most forloni.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 159 
 
 FATHER GAVAZZI AT NORTHAMPTON, 
 
 Strange scene ! how few of the excited throng, 
 
 Chained to an eager and impassioned priest, 
 And as by a tornado borne along, 
 
 His Southern sorcery could half invest 
 With English meaning! Thus Italian song 
 
 Thrills, through the untaught ear, the vulgar breast, 
 Feeling its quick interpreter, as strong 
 
 And qmck as when by native tones addrest. 
 
 Man-ellous artist ! — there Rienzi stood 
 
 The pride of Rome, or sank, its prostrate prey ; 
 There x4.ntony, as o'er Imperial blood 
 
 He breathed his artful eloquence. Away 
 With Tribune and Triumvir ! See renewed 
 
 Cato's calm aspect, feel the kingly sway 
 Of Socrates, when to the death pursued, 
 
 I or seeking what Gavazzi seeks to-day !
 
 160 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 ADA. 
 
 [died SEPT. 8th, 1860, aged 22.] 
 
 " All angel now, yet little less than all," 
 While uouud to earth by very fragile ties, 
 Pale, statuesque, what was our Ada lies. 
 
 And yet the change leaves little to recall. 
 
 Rarely more slow or silently the footfall 
 
 Of the inevitable has been heard. Our eyes 
 Deem the still loveliness an arch disguise, 
 
 The dear old smile seems to await om- call. 
 
 Brief was her life, but one of utter tnath. 
 And blessed are the tears we shed for her, 
 
 The early doomed though not the prey of ruth, 
 Sinless, though hiunan and a sufferer. 
 
 Her life and death to teach us both unite — 
 
 Patience and Faith on her yoimg grave we wiite.
 
 ELEGIAC STANZAS, 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MARY CAROLINE DE W., WHO DIED 
 MAY 26, 1841. 
 
 " Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the just, 
 
 Sliininj? nowhere but in the dark ; 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 
 
 Could man outlook that mark." 
 
 The season came to wliich she looked 
 
 With longing heart and eyes, 
 The season of the opening leaf, 
 
 And of the genial skies, — 
 
 The season Fancy paints so bright 
 
 Through Wintei-'s dreary honrs, 
 Tliat brings us weahh of warmth and light, 
 
 And balmy airs and flowers, — 
 
 That bringeth riches to the hedge, 
 
 And glory to the tree. 
 And to the charmed day and night 
 
 A ceaseless minstrelsy ; 
 
 That makes each wood a Temple, 
 
 Each little mound a shrine, 
 "WTiere loving hearts and humble, 
 
 May worship the Divine, — 
 
 That makes us all forgetful 
 
 Of cloud and tempest gone. 
 In the luxury and lustre 
 
 Of a new world beguu- 
 
 M
 
 162 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 A world of life and loveliness, 
 
 A world of sparkling cheer, 
 Throngh which the cuckoo's song is sent 
 
 To tell us " Summer's here ! " 
 
 And hers who poureth day and night 
 
 Her wild and vinous strain, 
 Telling of love renewed on earth, 
 
 And music bom again. 
 
 Oh, gentle friend ! how dear to her 
 
 That season soft and mild ! 
 Dear as the mother's bosom 
 
 To sometime severed child. 
 
 And now among the flowers she loved, 
 
 A bright and gi-ateful race, 
 The minor children of her care — 
 
 Was seen her happy face. 
 
 Alas, how suddenly withdra-\\Ti 
 
 Into that curtained gloom ! 
 The splendour of the opening spring 
 
 Changed to the darken'd room. 
 
 Yet still, amid the graver thoughts 
 
 That to the sufferer came — 
 The thoughts that test and purify, 
 
 That search us and reclaim, — 
 
 Would come the sweet one of her flowers ;- 
 
 And he who by her side, 
 Watched with a lover's eagerness, 
 
 And every want supplied, — 
 
 Oft brought the choicest of the tribes 
 
 Nursed with so fond a care, 
 In all their pride of scent and hue, 
 
 To smile upon her there.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 1G3 
 
 And smiles of hope came with the flowers, 
 
 And love's low anxious tone, — 
 And smiles of hope and tones of love 
 
 Were answered by her own. 
 
 And never, never while he lives 
 
 WUl smile or tone depart, 
 Or cease to fill with holy power 
 
 An else despairing heart. 
 
 The memory wiU be to him. 
 
 When care his bosom bows, 
 And lonely soitows pierce his soul, 
 
 "An angel in the house." 
 
 And most because no bitter sting 
 
 Of late remorse is his, — 
 No thought of undeserved wrong, 
 
 Wrought Avith a heart amiss, — 
 
 No memory of heavy hours 
 
 His presence might have lightened, — 
 No memory of darkened days 
 
 His kindness might have brightened — 
 
 No sting — no thought — no memory 
 
 Save of a ceaseless care. 
 That through life's course upheld her heart, 
 
 And at its close was there. 
 
 And this and Heaven's supporting aim 
 
 Shall solace and sustain. 
 And strengthen him for duty's tasks, 
 
 And loved ones that remain.
 
 164 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 The future has grown dim for us — 
 'Tis blighted and o'ercast ; 
 
 And we have neither eye nor heart, 
 Nor hope — save for the past. 
 
 A shadow has been flung upon 
 Creation's brightest spot ; 
 
 And in its fairest page we read 
 The glory that is not. 
 
 The lamp lies broken at our feet — 
 Its guiding light gone out ; 
 
 Blind gropers we in all this maze 
 Of agony and doubt. 
 
 For ever and anon we feel 
 
 Repellent of the blow, 
 And lift our foreheads from the dust, 
 
 And ask, can this be so ? 
 
 Alas, the momentary doubt 
 But deepens our despair, — 
 
 The grave has awful tones for us. 
 That tell us — she is there ! 
 
 And it would seem but yester-mom 
 That to our home she bore 
 
 The maiden-smile of hope and faith, 
 The true heart's loving store. 
 
 Not that her life had then no cloud, 
 Nor without care her brow ; 
 
 But faith that bade her look above. 
 Armed her for all below. 
 
 And thus to strugglers less resigned. 
 She brought the joyous look, ^ 
 
 And casting her worst cares behind. 
 Taught them their own to brook.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 165 
 
 Then, changed into the happy wife, 
 
 We saw her onward move, 
 The star and blessing of her house — 
 
 A very nest of love. 
 
 And stiU a spirit good and fair. 
 
 In every scene we found her, 
 When years had brought her holier tasks, 
 
 And dearer ties were round her. 
 
 That mother 'mid her children bright, 
 
 Caressed and caressing — 
 The coldest gazer looking on, 
 
 Was moved to prayer and blessing. 
 
 God help them hi this trying hour ! 
 
 He strikes, but vn\\ sustain. 
 And fit the broken-hearted 
 
 For strife and toil again. 
 
 This lovely spot* — where life might dream 
 
 How beautiful were death ! 
 Sleeping within its peaceful shades, 
 
 Lulled by its perfumed breath. 
 
 Feeling the very airs that blow 
 
 Discourse of lasting rest, — 
 Feeling the very daisiesf grow 
 
 Above the stUled breast, — 
 
 And far as wearied hearts should be 
 
 From toil and coil of life — 
 And calm as hearts would wish to be, 
 
 Long worn with din of strife — 
 
 • I'lie Cemetery at Highgate. 
 t "I feel the daisies growing over me."— John Keats.
 
 166 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 This lovely spot when last I saw, 
 
 'Twas Ungering by her side, 
 And thanks were in her glowing eye, 
 
 For health no more denied. 
 
 And now 'mid those beloved scenes 
 
 Her fancy hallowed well. 
 And poetry made bright and pure, 
 
 Her mouldering form shall dwell ; 
 
 And thoughts of her be sweet as flowers, 
 To mourners left behind her — 
 
 As flowers that o'er the grave shall spring, 
 To which we have resigned her. 
 
 It was a glorious union, 
 
 That intellect and heart 
 Where power and perfect gentleness 
 
 Were never seen apart. 
 
 And where sincerity and truth 
 
 In simple beauty shone, 
 Gi\ing a lustre to the eye, 
 
 A magic to the tone — 
 
 A charm to every change of life, 
 
 A grace ev'n to its cares. 
 And to her mien the majesty 
 
 That genuine Woman wears. 
 
 The pen and pencil were her dower, 
 
 Hers was creative art, — 
 She gave me proofs of both — I hold 
 
 Those grateful to my heart. 
 
 I gave her but a rhjiner's thanks, 
 She did not scorn the rhyme ; 
 
 The smile that welcomed that poor vei-se 
 Lives with mc through all time.
 
 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 1G7 
 
 All harsh things and ungentle 
 
 Felt in her sight reproved, 
 The ear that heard her blessed her, 
 
 The eye that saw her loved. 
 
 Fiiends ! who above her grave 
 
 Have sadly bent to-day, 
 'Tis but a little of herself 
 
 That death has borne away. 
 
 Be patient ! still vnth ye remains 
 
 Her bright, her better part. 
 The memory of her noble mind, 
 
 And of her matchless heart. 
 
 A solemn lesson thine, Death ! 
 
 And over hard to learn, 
 Yet bring'st thou sweet and kindly thoughts, 
 
 Uuchastened spu-its spurn : 
 
 Thou teachest us at times to look 
 
 Beyond the dim To-day, 
 That what the Present fails to teach 
 
 The certam Future may — 
 
 The brittleness of earthly ties, 
 
 HoAv loved so e'er the chain, — 
 And 0, more precious, and less stem, 
 
 The worth of what remain, — 
 
 Thou teachest us through all life's course 
 
 To love and to forbear ; 
 For who the dreary retrospect, 
 
 The vain remorse would dare, 
 
 That comes when all is past and o'er, 
 
 And nought can be redrest, 
 To tell of kindness left midone, 
 
 Of passion uureprest ?
 
 1G8 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 On me this bitter day bestows 
 A lesson wrung from pain, 
 
 And vowed to virtne on lier dust, 
 I mix with life again. 
 
 A LEAF FROxAI A GHAYE IN HIGHGATE 
 CEMETEllY. 
 
 There the laburnum's yellow glories are, 
 
 Half mournful, half protecting, — for its leaves 
 Hide the heart's record over which it grieves ; 
 
 And at the foot, 'mid other flowerets fair. 
 
 Things that love quiet, and make sweet the tomb, 
 Eepelling thence stern or repining gloom, 
 
 The bland geranium, wooed by grateful air. 
 Hath beauty, and " a leaf for all that come." 
 
 And one I bear away — for other eyes 
 
 And other hearts — for here with thee are mine ; 
 
 And dear, with all its bitterness, the prize, 
 For its sad silence hath a voice divine, 
 
 That says a thousand things, gentle and wise, 
 Of thy "dear memory," Mary-Caroline.
 
 TO PSYCHE. 
 
 Other friends and dearer claim thee, — 
 Still it may be mine to name thee 
 In a verse which I would render 
 Gentle as thy name, and tender : 
 Bright as ho})es that thou Greatest, 
 S-\\eet as dreams that thou elatest, 
 Were my heart, not pen, the sjieaker — 
 Reflection weak, and echo weaker. 
 
 Psyche ! Psyche let us call thee ! 
 So, though joy or grief befal thee, 
 Though or gloom or gladness greet thee, 
 In thy name a light shall meet thee. 
 Caught from hopes that perish never, 
 And from Faith exulting ever. 
 Leading through earth's changing story 
 Up to climes of changeless glory. 
 
 Tells it not of Plato's dreaming. 
 
 The ethereal, the redeeming? 
 
 What didl sordid thought can free us 
 
 From its spell in Apuleius ? 
 
 Where we see poor Love and Beauty 
 
 Sternly lessoned into Duty. 
 
 Till the Gods reverse the measure. 
 
 Crowning it with deathless Pleasure. 
 
 Thou'rt to me a shadow only, 
 Shining afar off, and lonely; 
 But a half discovered vision 
 Though til}' daAvning be elysian ;
 
 170 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 I may see thee not nor hold thee 
 Nor in arms of kindness fold thee ; 
 Therefore shall I better like thee — 
 Unseen sweetness, if called Psyche. 
 
 Psyche ! breathes it not of flowers, 
 Balmy au's in summer bowers, 
 Morning with its ruddy flushing, 
 Evening with its western blushing, 
 Waters with their freshest gushuig — 
 Pioses only just disclosing 
 All the riches they repose in ? 
 Psyche let the stanza close in. 
 
 ON RECEIVING A PORTRAIT. | 
 
 0, sonnet-pa}Tnent ! what is now thy quest ? 
 
 How poor the oftering for this long-sought prize ! 
 But what the guerdon amply to attest 
 
 My sense of all this portraiture supplies ? 
 
 It is not that it offers to the ei/es 
 Faithful presentment of the earliest 
 Almost of living friends, and surely, best, — 
 
 It gives the heart what most beside denies. 
 
 It speaks (does it not speak ?) with that calm brow 
 And that kind look, of long-departed years. 
 
 Whose cherished memory is with us now, — 
 
 Cherished, tliough dashed with gravest thoughts 
 and tears; 
 
 Yet all the future seems of cares beguiled, 
 
 Thus looking on thy cordial face, De Wilde.
 
 TO T. C. D. 
 
 And have we lost thee all ? — 
 
 Light heart and infant glee ! 
 No more to hear thy singing, 
 
 No more thy smiles to see ? 
 Ay, in the moon-lit moniing. 
 
 We kissed and said farewell 
 On the threshold of the home 
 
 Where thou no more might'st dwell. 
 
 That home is joyless now : 
 
 A light is from it gone ; 
 We miss the happy music 
 
 That filled each merry tone. 
 Yet thy quick step at times 
 
 Still seems to greet mine ear ; 
 Thy laugh and sparkling voice 
 
 At times I surely hear ! 
 
 Alas, the cheating fancy 
 
 That will nor fly nor stay ! 
 It gives me but the shadow 
 
 Of my bright boy far away. 
 I miss thy pouting lip, 
 
 But more thy joyous eyes : 
 I miss thy fri'(i\iont questions, 
 
 1 miss thine arch replies.
 
 172 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS, 
 
 I miss thee morn and even, — 
 
 I miss thee all the while ! 
 I miss thy kisses nightly, 
 
 I miss thy morning smile. 
 I miss thy eager foot 
 
 Amid the woodlands free — 
 Dear child, how mnch I miss 
 
 Of nature, missing thee ! 
 
 TO EDWIN ARNOLD, ESQ., 
 
 ON HIS SPEECH AT THE POLYGRAPHIC HALL, 
 JUNE 13, 1865. 
 
 My spirit will be restless till you hear 
 
 One thankful word — you'll not impeach its claun 
 To seek you with an utterance sincere : 
 
 Report ei's know you not — miscall your name, — 
 
 One journal worketh up elaborate sneer, 
 Frothy and feeble as its patrons' beer, — 
 
 But they who knew and heard you, will not shame, 
 To say they hold the recollection dear. 
 
 No voucher needed for the Thinker's worth, 
 But teachers thus expounded by the taught. 
 
 Their free and glorious lineaments come forth, 
 And in the mirror of an Arnold's thought, — ■ 
 
 Whilst 'neath his varied eloquence we thrill — 
 
 GloAvs, and grows grander, even the mind of Mill.
 
 To E. F., 
 
 AT SYDNEY, IN AUSTRALIA. 
 
 Go thou to that far distant world, I 
 
 Adventurous verse ! and prove ! 
 
 That those who may be thither whirled 
 
 Lose not our care or love. 
 The waves that round their vessel curled 
 
 No deeper law may stir, — ' 
 
 Or planets in the heavens impearled, 
 
 Than Love, the Wanderer. j 
 
 The Wanderer — who folloAvs still 
 
 Those she once makes her own, 
 Partaking all their good or ill, 
 
 Sharing their mirth or moan, 
 Eejoicing in their strength and skill 
 
 And ardent effort shoA\n, — 
 Proud when success, and come it will, 
 
 Comes patient toil to crown. 
 
 So, EdAvard, have we watched the com'se ' 
 
 Your Avayward fortunes took, ' 
 
 Silent for years, but mute perforce, 
 For whither could we look, 
 
 And say, " Our friend has reached the source 
 In search of which he broke 
 
 The old world's chains." j 
 
 With no remorse ^ 
 
 Those fetters ofl" he shook. ]
 
 174 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 Aud wandered forth — and wandered far, 
 
 But let us hope, at last 
 Beneath some prosperous fostermg star 
 
 His happy lot is cast. 
 And that the fever and the war 
 
 Of chance and change are past, 
 Leaving but little scathe or scar, 
 
 Or cloud to overcast. 
 
 The hopeful future in which oiie 
 
 Has now a saci'ed share. 
 Whom yet we know not, but unknown, 
 
 Believe her fit to share 
 The name of him she made her own ; 
 
 And hi^ will be the care 
 That guise by Son and Brother sho^vn, 
 
 The Husband too will wear. 
 
 Go to that rising Colony, 
 
 Ye simple lines, and say 
 Our hearts are with them, and that we 
 
 Still for their welfare pray. 
 Welcome, we know, the words will be 
 
 That find them, grave or gay, 
 Aud tell of the fidelity 
 
 Of three heails far away.
 
 TO EMILY. 
 
 Little antic Emily, 
 Let me have a word with thee ; 
 Stay those feet that patter roimd, 
 Droi) those arch eyes to the gTouud ; 
 But preserve the accustomed smile, 
 Though I know 'tis but a wile. 
 Much more wily would'st thou be 
 Wert thou to look grave at me ! 
 
 Standing now beside my knee, 
 Listen while I lecture thee : 
 Though to thee no word I say, 
 Shall a gleam of sense convey, 
 ('Tis the fate of rhyming bores 
 Oft to have such auditors) 
 N'importe, I shall still continue 
 And a " song or sermon " spin you. 
 
 Now m smiles and now in tears, 
 You shall pass a few brief years ; 
 To infant hearts in life's first spring, 
 Sensation is a glorious thing 
 Transient pain or tniant bliss, 
 Not unwelcome either is. 
 This shall woo and that appal thee. 
 But no apathy enthral thee. 
 
 Suddenly before thine eyes 
 A world, till now uudrcamt-of, lies. 
 'W^ondors yet nnhoard, untold, 
 Such as (Ircaniiiig bards behold: 
 
 »>
 
 17G TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 These shall, Avith a sudden spell, 
 Strange and indesciibable, 
 With a proud and wild control. 
 Seize, shake, fix, or free thy soul. 
 
 Is the fairy vision flown — 
 Girlhood's dream no more thine own ? 
 Are life's sterner features shown, 
 And its dull cold shadows known ? 
 
 God forbid, my Emily ! 
 Fairer fortune fall to thee ! 
 Be thou of the happy throng. 
 If such live, to whom belong 
 Hearts opening to pleasure's ray, 
 But closing against passion's sway ; 
 Minds self-controlhng — self-relying — 
 Self-sustaining — self-denying ! 
 
 May the faith that fills thy soul 
 See God compassing the -whole : 
 In the earth on which we tread, 
 As in stars above our head. 
 Be thy faith the love which holds 
 In the bosom's inmost folds 
 All human things, and o'er the ill 
 Sheds tears of human pity still. 
 
 Little antic Emily, 
 Has my "sermon" wearied thee? 
 Now to child-like games away. 
 Hie thee to thy ceaseless play. 
 Saying, " Thank you for the dose, Sir,- 
 You're a most provoking proser! — 
 When again a call you make, Sir, 
 Bring no sermon — bring a cahe, Sir ! "
 
 « EMILY, THIS DAY OF DAYS." 
 
 Emily, this days of days 
 
 Better things than fill sweet books, — 
 Pretty things as " Cosey " says, 
 
 Loving things as Sylvan looks, — 
 "Would that I could whisper to you ! 
 But at distance I must woo you. 
 
 Woo you for a willing ear, 
 Woo you for a pleasant smile. 
 
 Such as charms those " near and dear," 
 Such as charmed myself erewhile. 
 
 Smiles which light that face of yours 
 
 As the sunshine lights the flowers. 
 
 I am on the " wood-cro-wTied height" 
 "Wliere I hoped, ere this, to see 
 
 You and yours, with spirits light, 
 Underneath the beechen tree ; 
 
 Whence, through green and golden screen 
 
 Our low-lying town is seen. 
 
 Where are you ? I see you stand 
 By the sweet-voiced instrument, 
 
 That beneath the skilful hand 
 
 Breathes calm concord, soft content ; 
 
 Or gazing, full of glad surprise, 
 
 Whilst graces from the pencil rise. 
 
 Or else practising your own ; 
 
 Sylvan, with his wondering eyes, 
 Scrawling too, or looking on, 
 
 Whilst his hand, too, Coscy tries,
 
 178 TALES, SONGS AND SONNETS. 
 
 And <iuiokly covers all your desk 
 With fancies droll and funns grotesque. 
 
 Are you in your garden new, 
 
 Wherein such flowers shall be growing ; 
 Each with gardener's work to do, 
 
 Digging, weeding, planting, sowing? 
 'Twill be a garilen rich and rare, 
 If it produce us aught as fair. 
 
 Fairy ! be you where you may, 
 May no thing of evil flout you ; 
 
 Lusty Winter, smiling May, 
 
 Kindest Heaven bring about you ! 
 
 With no more taste of sori-ow's spring 
 
 Than just makes life a sweeter thing. 
 
 TO C. T. 
 
 TiiE aura popularis is a breath 
 
 Prized for its passing fragrance, and no more ; 
 
 The true good man, both after and before, 
 AVins better than the best it sings or saith. 
 
 He whose life enters by the quiet door 
 
 Of duty, feels that if he sink or soar, 
 Safety his forthright path encompasseth, 
 
 And honour, which outlives the hireling roar. 
 
 Go, thou of earnest heart and open hand, 
 
 Back from the tangled path with thorns bestrown. 
 
 Love, and the kind and lovely by thee stand. 
 
 And that pale thoughtful brow thy household's crown. 
 
 Work for the day — books, music, pictures, and 
 
 Smiles for the night, — what more need mortal own?
 
 ON A PORTRAIT. 
 
 (inscribed to m. c. e. v.) 
 
 By others deemed a courtly dame 
 Of haughty mien and lofty name, 
 Becoronetted and bedecked, 
 Golden-zoned and jewel-necked. 
 Diamonds gleaming, bright and rare 
 Amid the darkness of her hair,— 
 Although the lustre of her eyes 
 The meaner ornament outvies — 
 Of ancient lineage and grand, 
 A gentle magnate of the land — 
 And fit in right of birth and pride 
 To stand her Sovereign's self beside. 
 
 But unto me another thing ; 
 
 Thrown by all rich apparelling — 
 
 Silk, velvet, jewel, gaud thrown by 
 
 I see with more revering eye 
 
 My playmate in her infancy ; 
 
 "Who knows not — heeds not — gem or pearl 
 
 The laughing, lovely, English girl ! 
 
 Yes, even here the searching gaze 
 
 Brings back the unforgotten traits 
 
 Of childhood, and its busy ways ; 
 
 And I can see the arch one stand 
 
 "V\'ith her tiniest brush in hand. 
 
 Or tripping o'er the carpet sly 
 
 ^Mth backward tnnied and watchful eye, 
 
 Brimful of fun and frolic fear 
 
 That asks '' Is the pursuer near ? "
 
 180 TALES, SONGS AND S(JNNETS. 
 
 Tlien childhood's aspect half-demure 
 (To make its rogueish shafts hit sure) 
 Shifts to expression more mature, 
 Such as we saw her girlhood wear, 
 Among our woods and meadows fair 
 Where for awhile her buoyant sjjrite 
 Gave even these a new delight — 
 A morning beam — a spell at night — 
 That made our hearts a very nest 
 Of changeful fancies blythe and blest. 
 
 And now yet deeper feeling lies 
 Within those dark and lustrous eyes ; 
 Intenser thought seems on that brow, 
 (I look in Fancy's mirror now — 
 For that which memory supplies 
 Is lovelier still, but not so wise !) 
 A richer mischief wreathes those smiles 
 Than sparkled in her infant wiles, 
 And rounded Beauty everywhere, 
 ■ Emphatically cries — " Beware ! "
 
 Talks, songs and sonnkts. L^l 
 
 NINA. 
 
 Gertrude would have me pen a delicate line : 
 
 " Somewhat de trap those mouniful strains of thine — 
 
 Here is a theme well fitted to awake 
 
 Pure thoughts and bright — do thou the subject take." 
 
 And her words gave but utterance to the thought 
 
 That came right pleasantly, and came unsought, 
 
 When first I gazed ui)on that gentle face, 
 
 Trying, as all of us are wont, to ti-ace 
 
 Familiar features, likeness that is dear 
 
 For memory's sake, and hope's. 
 
 I find it here : 
 Faintly, perchance, but yet in clear outline 
 Of rounded cheek, full eye, and forehead fine. 
 Or fancy that I find — the aspect mild, 
 But gay and arch, her mother's when a child. 
 
 "What the heart wishes for the fancy feigns, 
 They say ; but here the living truth remains. 
 Prnclainuiig, as it gilds Love's early path 
 Proclaiming, as it smiles upon their hearth, 
 A piece of Heaven come down to gladden earth — 
 " Here shall there be of happiness no dearth !" 
 
 For who that looks upon those scarce closed eyes, 
 Love's half scaled fountain, augnrs otherwise? 
 The SAveet, soft mouth, ^itii its curve<l ii])per lip — 
 Ex])ressly formed her mother's own to clip — 
 And the recnn\b('iit arm, now strong to press 
 'i'tiat mother's neck with infant tenderness. 
 All prtjphesy of bliss ; nor can we deem 
 Of aught to dissipate life's opening dream.
 
 TO MINNIE. 
 
 Minnie ! could thy father see 
 (Who shall say he sees not ?) 
 
 Ail thme arch infantile glee 
 Would the sight appease not 
 
 Memory of many a woe, 
 
 Many a wrong he would not show. 
 
 Link thou art of gentlest mirth, 
 Link 'twixt Earth and Heaven ; 
 
 Giving bloom to barren earth, 
 And a foretaste even 
 
 Of that bliss beyond the skies 
 
 To Avhich such as thou art rise. 
 
 From that eye of azure hue 
 jNIother's love is gleaning 
 
 Thoughts all beautiful and true, 
 Full of subtlest meaning : 
 
 Thne ! turn these imaginings 
 
 Into life-long happy things. 
 
 As that placid face is bent, 
 Bent with mother's loving, 
 
 O'er the cherub, heaven-sent, 
 Be no shadow moving — 
 
 Not a cloud of fear or doubt, 
 
 To shut gladsome visions out.
 
 TALES, SOXGS AND SONNETS. 183 
 
 Little sf Hinds already breathe 
 
 (Jf soiiu; thoiiglitfiil matter ; 
 Little fingers fondly wreathe, 
 
 Little feet go patter. 
 Each day, from life's mystic fount, 
 Swells the embryo mind's amount. 
 
 Bird, and clock, and tree, and flowers, 
 
 In their bright unwindings. 
 Marvels of earth's earliest hours, 
 
 Are familiar findings : 
 Pretty pointed finger shows 
 How much little Minnie knows. 
 
 See her Avhere you may, you meet 
 Pleasant crowing, baby-laughter, 
 
 If you pass her in the street, 
 Her sweet glances follow after. 
 
 Recognitions dearer far 
 
 Than those of older proud ones are ! 
 
 !May I hope, in other years. 
 
 Those poor verses bending over, 
 
 She will say, with smiles and tears, 
 " Well, I had an early lover ! 
 
 Jlay the lovers I now see 
 
 As true and un-selfsecking be I ''
 
 1H4 TALES, S()\(;s AND SONNETS. 
 
 ON VISITING THE STUDIO OF ALEXANDER 
 GLASGOW, ESQ., APRIL 4, 1865. 
 
 These are the men to mingle with, and h>arn i 
 Great thoughts and true (Laurence, I thinlv of thine!) 
 
 Enter their silent chambers, and divine : 
 
 What feelings bear them up to toil and earn j 
 
 Sweet bread with serious joy, — and inly spurn, \ 
 
 The sordid outer Avorld that has no shrine i 
 For All's pure worship. One brief hour Avas mine, 
 
 Of such communion — may such hours return ! 
 
 i 
 
 But if they come not, still these storied Avails, 
 
 Are Memory's treasures, not to pass aAvay ; ; 
 
 And one shall answer to my spirit's calls, 1 
 
 Whilst Truth attracts or Loveliness has sway — ' 
 
 Nature's chaste freedom and patrician grace | 
 
 Circle that form, glow on that peerless face. i 
 
 H. t-. PKAl'T, rui.vrtu, 5UUUUHY.
 
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