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 Ernest, the Pilgrim: 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. W. KING. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PARTRIDGE AND CO., 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 1859.
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 TO MY VALUED FRIEND 
 
 AND 
 
 INSTRUCTOR, 
 
 ALESSANDRO GAVAZZI. 
 
 8538S
 
 \
 
 ERNEST, 
 
 THE PILGRIM: 
 & ^Dramatic J[Doem. 
 
 YOUTH'S OPENING DAY. 
 
 T TAIL happy Dawn ! Come blue-eyed May ! 
 A A 'T is a royal Saxon holiday ; 
 The fun 's i' th' east with his orient fteeds, 
 A thoufand hills, a thouiand meads, 
 Regions of beauty and wild delight 
 Burit from the fwarthy fhades of Night : 
 Spring unbosoms her brighter! blush, 
 Anthemned from many a fnowy bush ; 
 Meadows all laugh with wakening flowers, 
 The merry bee hies to the daily bowers ; 
 Right over head the fweet lark fings, 
 Down in the village the anvil rings ; 
 On the old barn the pigeons balk, 
 In the dark pond the duckiings flask ;
 
 Ef /'./grim: 
 
 Up the broad lane where the bramble blows 
 Hearty and happy the hcrdfman goes, — 
 Leading his flock with a quaintly lay 
 Echoed in many a pleafant way ; 
 Gadding goi'siping Weather-so-wise 
 Opens her u indow and rubs her eyes, 
 Looks for her figns fo odd and olden, — 
 " O but the morning's bright and golden ;" 
 Daws circle over the caille walls, 
 The guardians of its filent halls ; 
 Wildly as an unmeafured theme, 
 Dafhes and foams the forelt ftream, 
 And ripples along the boflcy glade, 
 Silverly leaping the old cafcade ; 
 The milkmaid calls her lowing cows 
 Under the nodding bcechen bows, 
 And as (he merrily fills her pail, 
 Young Roger comes whittling down the vale. 
 Lifts her fweet burthen over the ftile, 
 Squeezing her willing hand the while ; 
 The fmoke from many a croft up-curls 
 Into the deep empyrean worlds ; 
 Stretched like old Titans at their ease 
 I . lolitudcs of hoary trees, 
 Whose myfteries haunt our childifh dreams, 
 While throned in great Hyperion's beams, — . 
 Mountains in glorious grandeur rife, 
 The monarchs of all the centuries ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 The vales awake, the uplands ring 
 With the rich minftrelsy of Spring ; 
 And not a flower that fcents the fod 
 But fmiles its morning prayer to God ! 
 A fairer world, a brighter day 
 Ne'er hailed thy coming Beautiful May 
 
 (Gathering Chorus.) 
 
 Awake with the morning, arife with the sun, 
 
 The cufhat is cooing, the bells have begun, 
 
 Away to the meadows, the crofts, and the bowers, 
 
 And gather the dew from the hedges and flowers ; 
 
 From her gold-glinting trefses young garlanded Spring 
 
 Sheds Edens of joy over everything ; — 
 
 Come, come from the uplands and vallies away, 
 
 To welcome our lady the Queen of the May. 
 
 Bring flowers from the funny-lands, leaves from the trees, 
 And braid the bright hair floating wild in the breeze ; 
 Swains hie to the dwellings where wait the fweet fair, 
 Wreathe their brows with white hawthorn and with 
 
 them repair 
 To join merry hearts round the May-pole fo green, 
 Where fun-beam and beauty fhall gladden the scene ; 
 The fhepherds are piping their gathering lay, 
 To welcome our lady the Queen of the May. 
 
 B2
 
 4 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 She comes in the (pring-dawn of beauty and joy, 
 With health on her cheek and a finile in her eye ; 
 She 's fair as the morning, while light as a fawn 
 She trips o'er the meads from the goldcning lawn ; 
 It echoes from village, and mountain, and vale, — 
 Young Jcflie 's the bonnicft flower of the Dale ; 
 So come, and come all, the glad fummons obey, 
 To welcome our lady the Queen of the May. 
 
 Peal out tumultuous bells, the welkin rings 
 
 With thoufand-throatcd laughter ; Gladnefs firings 
 
 Her pearly (miles about the brow of Morn, 
 
 And claps her hands as tho' a god were born. 
 
 Luity and jubilant with mirthful fong 
 
 They leave the merry woods and bear along 
 
 The Saxon May-pole. Comes the jaunty train, 
 
 Garlanded oxen, and the feftooncd wain, 
 
 With greeting youth from many a mile away, 
 
 Mingling rich pleafance with the dawn of day. 
 
 Up buiy villagers, fling wide your doors, 
 
 O'er Langley Dale the jauncing pageant pours ; 
 
 They come brim full of mirth, thro' meadows ftreaming, 
 
 Beauty and love from many a bright eye beaming ; 
 
 Dance to the merry pipe and round.! , 
 
 And hail fweet Jeflie queen of roleate May : 
 
 Out from your fmithy, bare your brawny arm 
 
 Thor's bronzed Ion, rear up the tapering charm 
 
 High i' th' fongfu] air, with hawthorn crown 
 
 And wreathes of dewy blofsojiii circling down ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem : 
 
 Gather ye maidens round the ruftic throne 
 Whofe future honours yet may be your own ; 
 Lead lovely Jeffie to her regal ieat, 
 And ftrew your gathered favours at her feet ; 
 Let glee and gladnefs, dance and lufty long, 
 Till golden eve this funny day prolong. 
 
 Befide bleak Rowdon's haunted mill 
 Are feated two age-ltricken men, — 
 Old fhepherds of a neighbouring glen, 
 Keeping their fheep upon the hill. 
 At early dawn they long have met, 
 Nor parted till the fun has fet ; 
 For many years have ftrolled together, 
 Over the hills and through the heather ; 
 Diiculfed the daily circling news 
 Gathered from Gofsip's general mews, — 
 Old Dapples of the " Good Intent," 
 Where meets the Village Parliament ; 
 Recite old legends in rude rhymes, 
 And praife the glorious by-gone times 
 When wrongs were few, and forrows lefs, 
 When fcarce a haunt of wretchednefs, 
 Or pauper home, or pauper band 
 Call their dark fhadows o'er the land. 
 The fermon at the church on Sunday, 
 Claims their graveft ipeech on Monday ;
 
 Erntft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Then, what good gentlefolk were there, 
 Neighbours, and buxom village fair. 
 
 Noav if it be the firlt of May, 
 
 Or weal or woe, 'tis hard to say, 
 
 But as he reached the 'tuitomed place, 
 
 News might be pictured in the face 
 
 Of one — a rullet-hearted foul 
 
 Who never itudies to controul 
 
 One impulfe of the village art ; 
 
 And earneitly does he impart 
 
 All he has heard, and fomewhat more, 
 
 At many a gadding Granny's door: — 
 
 Robert. 
 
 Well Jofeph, we have met again, 
 
 Tho' older, ftill we're hale ; 
 I fancy there'll be glorious fun 
 
 To day in Langley Dale ! 
 Lord, love ye, at the peep o' dawn, 
 
 Our place was all alive, — 
 Lads running here, girls buzzing there, 
 
 Like bees about a hive: 
 The May-pole 's decked fo trig and trim, 
 
 'T would glad your eyes to fee 't ; 
 The lafs who wears the crown to-day 
 
 Mull nimbly move her feet
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 They 've cleared the caftles lonely halls, 
 
 And hung 'em round wi' green, 
 And there the lord of Avondell 
 
 Invites the young May Queen : 
 Lafles and lads the country round, 
 
 Are all expe&ed there ; 
 And many a merry heart there '11 be, 
 
 And many a winfome fair. 
 'T is like the days when we were young, 
 
 And fpite of aches and pains, 
 I feel the old blood warm again, 
 
 And dance along my veins : 
 What fay ye Jofeph ? Shall we go, 
 
 And take the dear old dames ? 
 Young Avondell of courfe mull fee 
 
 The Burnams and the Grames ! 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Well, p'raps I may ; but I've no faith 
 
 In all this great to-do, 
 'T will turn the country-fide all crazed 
 
 If half the ftory's true. 
 I like the young folk to enjoy 
 
 Their Saxon holiday, 
 And cheerfully I welcome in 
 
 Thefe dawnings of fair May :
 
 Ernejl, the Pilgrim : 
 
 But, Robert, kings are only men, 
 
 Bc-praife them as we will ; — 
 Though purple clothe the regal form, 
 
 The heart is human full. 
 This proud young lord of Avondcll 
 
 Is Pleafure'a darling child, 
 Born in the lap of-haughty Wealth, 
 
 Tutored in precepts wild ; 
 Scarce had he thrown his boyhood off 
 
 When home was caft behind, 
 And fortune, freak, and folly dew 
 
 Like chaff before the wind : 
 He feoffs at want and wretchednefs, 
 
 And fpurns the needy poor ; 
 'T is only recklefs gaiety 
 
 Finds favour at his door. 
 The lad is not fo much to blame, 
 
 He (aw it in his fire, 
 And no good mother lives to quench 
 
 The diffipating fire. 
 Could yonder gloomy callle tell, 
 
 The deeds committed there 
 In bygone days, when armoured Might 
 
 Went forth from many a lair, — 
 The ftoutcft heart would quake with awe, 
 
 And fiSun the jocund k 
 Where m;n have groaned in life-long chains, 
 
 And fearful death has been.
 
 A Dramatic Poem 
 
 But let me not foretoken ill 
 
 "When good may be in flore ; 
 Some future day we '11 talk about 
 
 The Avondells of yore. 
 Ay, truly there 's the merry bells, 
 
 The frolic has begun ; 
 We ; 11 leave our fheep awhile, belike, 
 
 And peep among the fun. 
 Eut flay, — a ftranger comes this way, 
 
 A foldier from the wars ; 
 And Slaughtering work they Ve had of it, 
 
 Grim death and battle-fears : 
 Pie flops — and looks — and fmiles — and weep?, 
 
 As though fome joy was near ; 
 He liftens — and right well he may, 
 
 The bells ring mortal clear. 
 No palling fcene, however fair, 
 
 Should move a foldier's tears ; — 
 'T is fome heart-picfure of the paft, 
 
 Some promifed bliis of years. 
 A good May morning to you friend, 
 
 What news of diflant lands ? 
 Has England crulhed the deipot down, 
 
 And gyved his fcourging hands ?
 
 io Erne ft, the Pilgrim 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 A good May morning friends to you, 
 
 And many many more ; 
 Ay, England is as brave to- 
 
 As in the days of) "re. 
 W ith a fummcr's fun, 
 
 Thro' many a winter's i 
 Where Want, Difeafe, and Nakcdncfs 
 
 Swept ftalwart hoils away. 
 I 've feen the braveft of" the brave 
 
 Lay down their hcro-li\ cs 
 Before a deadlier foe than War, 
 
 Or curfed Siberian gyv . 
 S' death, how we fought the northern hordes 
 
 In every fatal d n ; 
 And for their famined citac: 
 
 ■in precious men : 
 Each battle brought us \ 
 
 Peace glory-crowned hath come ; 
 And the foldicr hails with bounding heart 
 
 His country and his home. — 
 Dear fcenes of infancy and youth, 
 
 And many an oft-told I 
 Once more, once more, I look upon 
 
 My own fwect Langley D
 
 A Dramatic Poem, j i 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Is Langley Dale your native home? 
 
 Well, we can fay the fame ! 
 Why I have known both old and young ! 
 
 Pray foldier, — what 's your name ? 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 In yonder cottage I was born 
 That Hands beneath the elms ; — 
 
 Shepherds ! — I left, — but ah, the dread 
 My gladnefs overwhelms. 
 
 Robert. 
 
 You left a wife and daughter, man, 
 
 Jofeph, you '11 mind it well ; 
 They took him from the " Good Intent ;" 
 
 Your name is — Andrew Bell. 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 It is — oh does my dear wife live ? 
 
 My daughter, where is fhe ? 
 Has Langley Dale one kindred tie, 
 
 One heart to welcome me ? 
 
 C2
 
 Eriu-JK tic Pilgrim i 
 
 |,)-.l I'M. 
 
 \ ii wife's aflecp beneath the flow 
 
 But God has (pared your child, — 
 As fweet a flower as ever bloomed 
 
 Upon a daified wild ; 
 That child will welcome yon I 'm fure 
 
 With all a daughter's love, 
 
 foothe your heart's deep (brrov 
 
 For h.-r who lives above. 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 Alas, that I fhould thus have braved 
 
 The battle's deadly roar, 
 Only to hear the bitter words — 
 
 " Your Mary is no more." 
 Sweet be your reft poor widowed one, 
 
 'T was hard to part us fo, — 
 Tearing me from life's happy hearth 
 
 To fill our cup with woe : 
 Come Death in all your griroeft fliapes, 
 
 With dircft horrors rife, 
 I '11 brave them all a hundred times, 
 
 But give me back my wife. 
 Dear Alary dead? — Oh, what on earth 
 
 Can cheer my failing years ?
 
 4 Dramatic Poem. 
 Joseph. 
 
 Vour child my friend, your only child, 
 
 Left with a mother's tears, 
 To Him who heard her dying words, 
 
 And bleft her lateft prayer, 
 Keeping for this aufpicious day 
 
 A joy you foon may mare. 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 Good fhepherds take me to my child, 
 
 1 long to fee her face, 
 With all the friends whom death has fpared 
 
 About our native place. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Ay, that we will right cheerfully, 
 
 We '11 crofs the village green, 
 The May-pole 's deckt, and rumour goes— = 
 
 Your Jeffie 's to be Queen ! 
 Young Avondell is coming too 
 
 The revelries to keep : 
 Robert — your crook and let 's away, 
 
 The dogs will mind the fheep.
 
 , 4 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 There 's Beauty and Gladnefs in Avondell's Halls ; 
 Where Ruin and Silence have reigfai d ; 
 
 Proud forms call their (hadows around the old walls 
 
 Where the night-haunting owl hath domained. 
 From the heather-clad hills, from the braes far away, 
 
 The noble, and gallant, and fair, 
 Come flu Ait with the mirthful adornings of May, 
 
 And welcome old Avondell's heir. 
 Throw open the portals, found trumpets and drums, 
 
 Let the banners of yore be unfurled ! 
 For the lord to the Home of his Anceftors comes 
 
 To revel in Future's bright world. 
 There are England's fair daughters of queenlieft mould, 
 
 All radiant with royaleft mirth ; 
 There are darning chevaliers, and gallants fo bold, 
 
 Of proudeft and haughtieA birth. 
 Give welcome, fair Sirs, let it ring out on high, 
 
 To the daughter of Vcrulam's Knight, — 
 Like an April beam from a goldening fky 
 
 She comes in a flood of delight: 
 And Joy Aiall be fweetcft enchantrefs to-day, 
 
 The Airinc of Devotion and Love ; 
 Come every maiden, come gentles away, 
 
 The fun's in the welkin above : 
 Hie, hie ye a-Maving true revellers all, 
 
 Give clamorous Pleafure the rein ; 
 'T is Jcflie invites you, refpond to her call 
 
 Till Langlcy Dale echoes again.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. i 5 
 
 Who comes in hot hafte by the old ruined mill. 
 
 Skimming earth like an arrow a-flight ? 
 He fords the broad river — he breails the iteep hill, — 
 
 Say, what is thine errand, Sir Knight ? 
 'T is a meflage of moment, a royal command, 
 
 Give him audience Avondell's lord ; 
 Behold loyal hearts a gay pageant at hand, 
 
 Proclaim it with luity accord. 
 The Warder's ftrong fummons re-echoes again, 
 
 They gather, a noble array ; 
 And England's fair Queen failles out with her train 
 
 To grace the young dawning of May. 
 
 (A Chorus of Voices.) 
 
 They have wreathed her fair brow, they have ftrewed at 
 
 A banquet of garlands her bright eyes to greet ; [her feet, 
 
 The welkin is ringing with mirthfuleft fong, 
 
 Which the gladfomeft (miles, and fweet voices prolong ; 
 
 From Caflle and Cottage full many a pair 
 
 Are linked happy-hearted the frolic to fhare ; 
 
 The dance has begun, and they foot it away, 
 
 To welcome our lady the Queen of the May. 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 No change, my nacive village, none, 
 To me thou art the fame
 
 1 6 Erric'l, the Pi/grim: 
 
 As yefterday ; — but friends ! — they 're gone, 
 
 I (carcely know a n.imc. 
 That gate! I 've fv.ung upon it oft 
 
 When truanting from Ichool, 
 And fhunned in that old ilablc-loft 
 
 The matter's heavy rule. 
 Where yonder garland waves around 
 
 The little cottage door, 
 My Mary and her love I found, 
 
 Which none had found before ; 
 And in that dear Old Church me gave 
 
 Me all flae had to give ; — 
 My wife ! — but thou art in the grave ; 
 
 Dear Lord, did fhe but live, 
 The earth were full of human blifs, 
 
 And I a very child, 
 Seeing a heaven of happinefs 
 
 In every dawn that fmil d. 
 Ay, now 'tis all remembered well, 
 
 Even Shepherd thy good face, 
 With many a legend thou didft tell 
 
 About our native place. 
 Are all thy heart's dear treafures dead? 
 
 Or do fomc linger ilill ?
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 17 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Gone like the rainbow's beauty, fled 
 
 Behind Death's darkling hill, 
 With here and there a lingering ray, 
 
 To cheer the lefiening road, 
 Ere life's pale fun fhall fet for aye, 
 
 And Man go up to God ! 
 And you have ftill a charm on earth, — 
 
 Gladnefs with mournful forrow ; 
 Dark Yefterday has led you forth 
 
 To welcome bright To-morrow. 
 Look round about you, what a joy 
 
 Beams over all the village : — 
 Each paffer, to the chubby boy, 
 
 Seems bent on pleafure-pillage. 
 And foon you '11 find fome kindred fouls 
 
 Whofe love hath known no change ; — 
 Hark ! — how the wildering trumpet rolls, 
 
 Why Robert, — this is ftrange ! 
 You have not gathered all the news, 
 
 Since round the " Good Intent," 
 And underneath the dark old yews, — ■ 
 
 'T is like a joufterment : 
 Such yeomen, knights, and archers bold, 
 
 And gleemen famed in ftory, 
 Fair maids like ftars above the wold 
 
 When Night hath all her glory.
 
 iS Erneft, the P 
 
 It might a Royal Rcvd be, 
 A rcgalmcnt of" State : — 
 
 Robert. 
 
 By golcs it is ! — Why don't you fee, 
 
 There 's lords and ladies great 
 A-dancing with the villagers 
 
 Right kedgy on the green ! 
 I wouldn 't a-loft this blefled fight 
 
 For all the fights 1 \c l'een. 
 Be hanged if I didn't dream lalt night 
 
 About fomc wonderous fcencs, — 
 'T were golden halls, and maidens bright, 
 
 And lots of kings and queens, 
 And here they are ! — 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Stay, not fo fart 
 Good Robert ; lords will do 
 For Langley Dale, though kings have part 
 Our loyal village through ; 
 
 . and the fcourge of kings. Strange talcs 
 Are told of iron men 
 Thundering like torrents through the vralea 
 Till cowards (hook again.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 19 
 
 The Queen ! — as I 'm a Burnam ; well 
 
 I know her royal face ; — 
 It once my fhepherd's lot befell 
 
 To fee that mighty place, 
 The living Babylon. 'T was then 
 
 I faw that glittering mow, — 
 The monarch and the citizen 
 
 In regal fplendour flow. 
 How gracious thus to leave her ftate 
 
 And fee our May-day fun: 
 Soldier ! your queen ! — fo good and great, 
 
 Whofe victories you have won: 
 I give you joy this hopeful hour, 
 
 Since greater blifs is near ; 
 In yonder blue-bell (mothered bower 
 
 Is all your heart holds dear ; 
 See where fne comes in beauty's pride, 
 
 To lead the merry dance ; 
 And Avondell is by her fide, 
 
 You '11 know them at a glance. 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 My child ! — my daughter ! Can it be ? 
 
 My Jeflie, art thou there ? 
 It cannot — yet it muft be thee ? 
 
 How comely, O how fair; 
 
 D2
 
 20 Erne /I, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Thy mother's form, thy mother's fmile, 
 
 Thy mother's opening charms; — 
 Flow on ve grateful tears awhile, 
 
 Ere with thefe eager arms 
 I clafp her fondly to my breaft, 
 
 With all the love me brings : — 
 I would not give this hour Co bleft 
 
 For all the wealth of kings. 
 
 There is a beauty palling portraiture, 
 
 There is a love, a pure and holy love, 
 
 The utmoft eloquence can never reach, 
 
 Though flaming from the fpirit of a god : — 
 
 The infant laughing with its finlefs eyes 
 
 Upon the cradling knee ; the happy mother, 
 
 Singing foft lullabys, or bending o'er 
 
 Her nellling with a heaven-confiding prayer ; 
 
 The maiden — culling from each grace a flower 
 
 T' adorn the precious garden of the foul ; 
 
 Hearts, forrow-wrung, bewedded unto death ; 
 
 Virtue and Truth midit Wrctchcdnels and Want ; 
 
 Bright eyes that weep with human tendernefs ; 
 
 Charity mafkt ; and Love that dieth not, 
 
 Nor changeth, but flows fweetly on for ever. 
 
 Rear your etherial pyramids of Thought 
 
 Ye herculean thundercrs of the Mufe ; 
 
 Enthrone your laureate thereon, and he 
 
 Shall fail to touch that heaven of welling love,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. zl 
 
 Flooding two kindred bofoms — loft and found, 
 Time-mourned, yet memory-bleft, and rhefe— 
 The foldier and his child ! 
 
 There 's a torrent of joy in the veteran's heart 
 
 As he kifFes the brow of his daughter, 
 And feels that he never again (hall depart 
 
 From the home where a ftranger he fought her ; 
 Heart-welcomes come warm from the old and the young, 
 
 Sweet fmiles from the fountains of Beauty, 
 Loud paeans of paftoral gladnefs are fung 
 
 To Jeffie — the Soldier — and duty : 
 And Royalty leans from its fceptre to-day, 
 
 And joins in the rapturous greeting, 
 Huzzas for our lady the Queen of the May 
 
 The blifs of the foldier completing. 
 Dance cheerily fwains, trip merrily maids, 
 
 Give life to the vigorous meafure ; 
 Ere Philomel hallows the deepening fhades 
 
 Drink in frefheft heartfuls of pleafure. 
 'T is the banquet of Flora, the robing of Spring, 
 
 Ye archers, with ftrong-bow and quiver, 
 Make the jolly old woods with your jubilant ring, 
 
 As the challanging target ye fliiver : 
 Free lords of the foreft, Maid Marian's heart 
 
 Beats high at your revel fo daring, 
 And bright eyes are winging Love's gentleft dart, 
 
 Enhheath it in bofoms unerring.
 
 2 2 Erne/?, the Pi/grim : 
 
 Grim Avoiulcll yet fhall be glad with delight, 
 With beauty the proudeft anil (aireft ; 
 
 And Memory treafure the day and the night, 
 Sweet Lan.'I v Dale's brighter! and rarcll. 
 
 There is no day without its darkling cloud; 
 
 There is no hearth without its mournful fhroud ; 
 
 There is no joy that brings not in its wake 
 
 Or light or burdened forrow ; and we make 
 
 A forceful mockery of human life 
 
 Bv picturing Araby where fnows are rife. 
 
 It ferns but yefterday when, hand in hand, 
 
 Young Walter and his Nanny graced the fcene — 
 
 Mav's happy mingling on the village green, 
 
 Bv gentleft winds of heart affection fanned. 
 
 Hard by the brawling Gade their cottage fmiles 
 
 Jn lowly garniture: O'er meads and itiles 
 
 You iiroll along, and pafs the ivied church, 
 
 When by a fhady nook its nodding porch — 
 
 With honeyfuckles and white roles hung, 
 
 Peeps from a bower of olden trees among. 
 
 The fong of marriage joy has echoed there ; 
 
 And the deep forrow-fob, the wail of care. 
 
 O, they were very happy : Round their knees 
 
 Sprung like young oaklings by their parent trees, 
 
 Fair girls and boys to blefs their little home: 
 
 But dark Death hung Joy's funny halls with gloom.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 23 
 
 Mary and Herbert they are with them ftill ; 
 
 Eliza and her brother Johnny died — 
 
 Died ere the dairies bloomed : But 't was God's will. 
 
 And they are fleeping in their little grave 
 
 Upon the facred hill, where wild-flowers wave 
 
 O'er many a mother's joy and father's pride. 
 
 Dear Nanny weeps, for fhe did love them fo, 
 
 And Walter bows beneath the heavy woe ; 
 
 But 't is the firft of May, and he will bring 
 
 His gentle wife a May-day offering, 
 
 And breathe unto her fobbing foul a fong 
 
 Of hope that Peace will come again ere long : — 
 
 " Here are fwceteftwili-flowers, Nanny, 
 " Wild-flowers from the world's parterre, 
 " Jewelled with morning dew-drops, Nanny, 
 " O, but 't is a nofegay rare ! 
 
 " See what cluftering houfehold bloflbms ! 
 " Each a funny fylvan gem ; — 
 " But for the dear love I bear thee, 
 " They had ftill been on the ftem. 
 
 " Birds are ringing, fliepherds piping, 
 " Rivers dancing in the fun ; 
 "Uplands laughing with the treafures 
 " Autumn piles for every one.
 
 24 Erne Jl, tbt Pilgrim: 
 
 " From the green-lane's hazlc alley 
 " Comea the bl.ick-bird's golden lay ; 
 " All the Dale is hill ofmufic, 
 " Soon, too loon to pafs away. 
 
 " Gladnefs like a gleeful maiden, 
 " Hies the blue-bell woods among, 
 " Skips acrofs the breezy meadows 
 " To the village mirth and fong. 
 
 " Gathered round the wreathed May-pole 
 " Are the happicft, merrieft hearts, 
 " Throbbing with the lufty pleafure 
 " This fweet day to youth imparts. 
 
 " Thus we ftrollcd and thus we mingled, 
 " In that happy time gone by, 
 " When the young and ardent fpirit 
 " Knew nor forrow nor a figh. 
 
 "Now life's cares furround us, Nanny, 
 " Yet there 's joy for every ill ; 
 " Heaven hath frowned upon us, Nanny, 
 " But we '11 trust in Heaven Hill. 
 
 " Death came to our happy ingle, 
 " Stole away two pretty flowers ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 25 
 
 : Weep we muft, and yet remember — 
 Two dear Nanny ftill are ours. 
 
 " What is life however golden, 
 
 " If the fount of love be dry ? 
 
 " What is love but fweet contentment, 
 
 " Hoping, trufting till we die ? 
 
 " Cheer thee then, be ever trufting, 
 " Smile and greet the Saxon day 
 " Nature, as a very lover, 
 « Welcomes merry-hearted May." 
 
 Noon's burning beams are fheathed i' th' whifpering fea, 
 Th: liftlefs birds are piping in the woods, 
 The panting Hours unburden to the breeze, 
 And wanton o'er the meads like girls a-play ; 
 From briftling crags and mountains wreathed with light, 
 Mighty Hyperion holds his weltering courfe, 
 Gathers his robe of congregated fires, 
 And, couched upon a throne of gorgeous clouds, 
 Sinks into glory like a weary god : — 
 While Evening — gentle harbinger of Night, 
 Comes queenly forth where whiteft hawthorns bloom, 
 And wanders through a fhower of melodies 
 To breezy uplands and wild-blollbmed knolls 
 Where young May walkt to greet the ruddy Dawn. 
 
 E
 
 2 6 Ernefl, the Pi/grim : 
 
 All earth melts into Eden as fhe looks 
 On gleaming ruins, filvan-crefted woods, 
 And dells of dewy flowers, till Hefperus, 
 With foft entrcatment, leads her by the hand 
 To grace May's clofing banquet with her fmilcs. 
 
 Up from their village revelry come all 
 The youth and manhood, mingled with fair maids, 
 Old men and matrons, joyous as the hour, 
 To join the bright and pleafure-beaming throng 
 Which fills the hoary halls and avenues, 
 And ftern old towers, ivy-mailed, and courts 
 Time-wintered, whence hath pealed the thunder-throes 
 Of battle, the wild clarion of the chafe, 
 Defiant Power flafhing in ponderous fteel, 
 The vule-tide revel and the minftxelsy 
 Of ancient bards, rehearfing Avondcll's 
 High prowefs, chaunting lays to lovclincfs 
 Beneath the cntrancement of her Saxon charms. 
 Morning has welcomed Jeflie young May-Queen, 
 Noon her long-lofl: father : and Evening now 
 Calls forth her filvan train to give the maid 
 A gracious efcort to the broad old lawns, 
 Laughing with viands from the lap of Wealth, 
 And gemmed with lovely women whofe bright eyes 
 Make conqueft where puiflant chivalry, 
 With martial front defies the world of arms.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 27 
 
 Clear piping fhepherds lead the ruftic hoft 
 
 In ever circling bands, while anfwering notes 
 
 Ring merrily the deepening woods among ; 
 
 And burfting like a fea from Druid fhades, 
 
 The flood of mirth and mufic floats along 
 
 Like Pleafure fummering on a funny bay. 
 
 The broad-browed trees clap their great hands with joy, 
 
 The minftrel breeze difcourfes fweeteft airs, 
 
 And murmuring leas a mingling chorus raife, 
 
 Till aery Sapphos iterate the theme, 
 
 And bear it buoyant through the boundlefs fpheres. 
 
 Mirth thou art regal : Worthy now to wed 
 Two human ftreams in kindred harmony ; 
 To hide behind the golden clouds of May 
 The ftormy fhadows of contentious birth. 
 How all the revellers revel to the full, 
 Brim up each other's cup with recklefs heed, 
 And fpeak with earneft eyes and genial fouls, — 
 A right good-heartednefs that knows no rank 
 But Pleafure. Hoary men, beneath old trees, 
 Watch with a jocund fmile the twinkling feet 
 Threading the mofiy floor, and wander back 
 To days of Eld when they were juft as young ; 
 Call many a pafling fair by name, and greet 
 With lufty jauntinefs their rural queen, 
 Panting with joy and whirling thro' the dance, 
 
 E2
 
 2 ^ Erne ft, tin Pilgrim: 
 
 Her hand within her lover's !— O, he loves, 
 Ami Erncft loves the maid. Old Jofeph knew 
 h l^ng: Has met them oft upon the hills, 
 And bldt the orphans for their kindred worth : 
 
 •' May this fair night 
 "Leave no dark blight 
 " Upon their opening path, 
 " Nor joyous Avondell 
 " Have yet a tale to tell 
 " Of Ruin, Wretchednefs, and Wrath." 
 
 The bronzed foldier leans upon his ftaff, 
 Parental fondnefs radiant in his face : 
 Another day mult render his account 
 Of wars and victories ; this new-born blifs 
 Hath overflowed the flufh-gates of his foul ; 
 Death's grim array hath changed to beauteous life ; 
 The full-horned moon, which erft with dewy beam 
 Robed ghaftly fields of dying and the dead, 
 Now opes the portals of fcreneft night, 
 Afcends her azure throne and pours out floods 
 Of glory to the lowing meads, — higher, 
 Yet brighter, gemmed, and wreathed, and crowned with 
 Come chivalry, and love, and lowly worth, [ftars. 
 
 Give every bounding pulfe to this great hour : 
 The bale-fires blaze along the guardian hills, 
 Ten thoufand ftars are glittering through the trees,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 29 
 
 Ten thoufand worlds look down upon the fcene, 
 
 And village minftrels gleefully fhall fing 
 
 The May-Queen's gathering by the murmuring' Gade, 
 
 Where ancient Avondell in feudal pride 
 
 Holds hoary wardenfhip of Langley Dale.
 
 ,o Erne ft, the Pilgrim , 
 
 SWEET ALFORD. 
 
 THERE is a heaven which myriads know not of, 
 A focial world, confiding and replete 
 With ever-beaming fympathy ; — the love 
 Of kindred fouls, clinging with yearnings fwect 
 Around a happy hearth. O home moll meet 
 For faithful fhepherds, pallors for the Lord, — 
 His high and holy calling whom we greet 
 As friend and father, — teacher of the Word 
 Of Life, inltindt with bleflings whercfo'er 'tis heard. 
 
 Sweet Alford ! oft returning Memory dwells 
 On thy dear pleafances ; repiflures all 
 Thy beauties; liilcns to the village bells, 
 And the wild mufic of the waterfall ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 31 
 
 Lingers around our boyhood's home to call 
 The bright days back again when forth we ftrayed 
 In merry troupes and in fuch glee withal — 
 The woodland world did feem as if 't were made [fade. 
 Of youth that could not die and flowers that would not 
 
 Fair is the fcene without. Within, 'tis calm 
 Yet full of gladfomenefs. Bright eyes are there, 
 And lovely forms, and bofoms ever warm : 
 The poor and needy are the pallor's care, 
 And all the bloflbms of his rude parterre 
 He nourifhes with kindly hand, and found 
 Amidft its greenery a fapling rare, — 
 A homelefs little boy ; yet not disowned, 
 For Erneft's father lived and died upon the ground. 
 
 And his good mafter promifed he would be 
 A parent to the boy, — and kept his word : 
 And Erneil wanders down the willow lea 
 With Jeffie Bell when the fweet thrufh is heard 
 Upon the fnowy thorn, and woods are ftirred 
 By mmmer winds. — They both were parendess 
 Ere Andrew found his memory-neftled bird ; 
 But Langley Dale oped many a door to Jefs, 
 She is fo loveable, fo full of gentlenefs. 
 
 Laft New Year's Eve — that univerfal time 
 When every home is beakering with mirth,
 
 32 Erntft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 When the old bells ring out their mcrricft chime, 
 And Winter banquets to the Coming Birth: — 
 Lalt New Year's Eve the Reftor's rural hearth 
 Was glad with love and laughter; and amid 
 The favoured ones fwect Jeflie Bell ftood forth 
 And gave her little heart away, yet hid 
 The fecret from young Erndt — or fhe thought (he did. 
 
 How bright the pifture. All the ftars are out, 
 The cold clear moon mines on the white, white hills ; 
 Young hearts feck Alford's threshold with a fhout, 
 Where Parfon Frank full many a fmiJc diftils 
 From mellow Age ; where madam dons her frills, 
 Her cozy coif and gown of filken fheen ; 
 Where three fair daughters come, like gufhing rills, 
 With half-enbofomed beauty ; — and the green, 
 Glad Chriftmas circles round the little feftive fcene. 
 
 For forty New Year's Eves the good, good man 
 Has gathered round him all his ruftic flock, 
 Their heartlefs joys and dawning hopes to fan 
 With charity and love. No creed-reared rock 
 Is he to crufh the throne of Truth, and mock 
 The univcrfal fovercignty of God. 
 His heart flows unto men ; his golden ftock 
 Of lore — long-gathered on the bufy road 
 Of life, is free to all who enter his abode.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 33 
 
 And many a villager can now recall 
 His heart's beneficence ; the talcs he told 
 To move their youthful fympathies for all 
 Whom naked Penury and Winter cold 
 Had thrown upon the world without a fold 
 To herd them from the blaft. Such was the tale 
 The plighted lovers heard ; and as it rolled 
 In meafured numbers from his lips, the wail 
 Of woe rung in their ears ; — they faw the vifion pale : — 
 
 " O'er the brow of dark Rowdon dim fhadows fell fail:, 
 *' The voice of the Storm-Fiend awakened the blaft ; 
 " The rain fell in torrents fo bitterly cold, 
 '* It froze as it fwept over mountain and wold. 
 
 " As the hoarfe howling wind fhook the woods with its 
 
 might, 
 " A cry long and harrowing ftartled grim Night, — 
 " ' T was the cry of a mother who yefterday fmiled 
 " On affection's last treafure — her fatherlefs child. 
 
 " From a cavern it echoed fo difmal and chill, 
 " Where lhepherds feek fhelter when on the bleak hill ; 
 " But they were all houfed by the bright ingle-fide, 
 " And felt not the pangs which the homelefs betide. 
 
 " Crouched down at her fide was an age-ftricken man, 
 " The widow's old father, blind, feeble, and wan ; 
 
 F
 
 34 Erne/?, the Pilgrim : 
 
 " Driven out to the world from their dear mountain filed, 
 " All lmulelefs and homelcfs to wander for bread. 
 
 " Benumbed and benighted, they fought fheltcr there, 
 "Their hearts wrung with wrctchednvfs, (orrow, and 
 
 care ; 
 " Death's icy-cold hand pierced the youm* mother's \ eft, 
 " And fmote the fweet babe as it clung to her breait. 
 
 w The hollow wind murmured a fad folcmn prayer, 
 " Which mingled its wail with the widow's defpair ; 
 " The aged man held his lone child to his heart, 
 " Bade her take the dead infant and they would depart. 
 
 " Dead ? — dead — cold and fpeechlefs? — It cannot be fo ! 
 " She will rufh out for help — but ah, whither to go ? 
 " Her poor broken heart, once fo happy and free, 
 " Is bereft of its all Heavenly Father but Thee ! 
 
 " O, leave your warm ingles by mountain and moor, 
 "And feek the wild path to the bleak cavern floor; 
 " Snatch the living from Death ere his fhaft wings again, 
 " They are calling for aid which to-morrow were vain. 
 
 " No footfall is heard, no voice anfwers near, 
 "In their dark hour of anguifh to comfort and cheer; 
 " From home, in bleak Winter, remorfelefsly driven, 
 " It is bitterelt anguifh where once it was heaven.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 35 
 
 ft c 
 
 ' God guard you dear father, you '11 foon be at reft, 
 And we fhall unite in the Lands of the Bleft ; 
 " * I go with my boy — 't is life's deareft reward ; — 
 " < Let us fleep with dear George in our village church- 
 yard.' 
 
 " There is tempeft without, and deep anguifh within, 
 " A rufhing of torrents, a wreck-howling din, 
 " The fobbings of forrow, a ftruggle for breath 
 " A bleffing — a prayer — the hufht filence of death. 
 
 " The morning beams brightly as no ftorm had been, 
 " But the fhepherds returning behold a fad fcene — 
 " A man old and blind moaning vacantly wild 
 " O'er the heart-neftled corfe of a mother and child." 
 
 Tempeft — alone — woe's wail — defpair — and death, 
 The blind old man — his daughter and her child : 
 A hundred times, with clofe and bated breath, 
 Remembrance haunts that fcene fo fad and wild, 
 Though Spring hath come with rofy garlands piled, 
 And billing birds have filled the merry woods 
 With piping love, and Parfon Frank hath ffniled, 
 Shook his white hair in laughter-loving moods, 
 Pitied and bleft the poor with all his worldly goods. 
 
 F2
 
 36 Err;,- 'I, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Hail early Summer ! Welcome lulling day ! 
 The breath of" flowers comes panting on the brow, 
 Child-haunted meadows fmell of" new-mown hay, 
 The blackbird Gnga upon the tonmoft bough; 
 Old orchards in their fruitful beauty glo 
 The evening lark mounts goldcning into fong, 
 Wh'lc lufty laughter echoes down below 
 Amid the ancient elms, where nightly throng 
 The hamlet's fober feers in difputation ftrong. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Come, my fweet love — 't is tryft-hour by the chart, 
 
 Twilight is ftcaling o'er the hills afar, 
 
 And Hefper greets us from her evening car : 
 
 Come with thy foul of joy. I 'd be a part 
 
 Of thy dear felf ; fhrincd in thy funny heart, — 
 
 Made one and all-cxiftent with my own, 
 
 Since light, and life, and love arc where thou art, 
 
 world of beauty in an arid zone. 
 
 1 was alone upon Life's furging fea, 
 
 When like a beaconing ftar thou beam'ft upon 
 My drifting foul, which now doth cling to thee 
 For all its hopes and joys. Come gentle one ; 
 Night's filvan Sappho charms her fecret bower, 
 It needs but thee to blefs this peaceful hour.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 37 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Bat me, dear Erneft ? You have waited long ; 
 I read it in your eyes, but not your heart : 
 The fhorteil moment feems a heavy hour 
 When our foul's mate is tardy, and we come 
 Brim full of treafures from the lap of Love. 
 Here let me greet you with thcfe fimple flowers — 
 But now the guardians of our mothers' graves. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Our mothers' graves ? O, from our mothers' graves ? 
 Then have you been to Memory's hallowed fhrine, 
 And now returned to fhare its gifts with me : 
 And from our mothers' graves ! 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Your honoured friend, 
 Your more than father, worthy Parfon Frank, 
 Came to our cot to-day, and tarried long. 
 He loves to fit within the cozy porch, 
 And liften to the glorious deeds of war: 
 And where 's the foldier does not love to fight 
 His battles o'er again, and feel the hero ftill? 
 You will not be a foldier, Erneft ? No : 
 Be anything becomes an honeft man, 
 But not a foldier — 't was my mother's woe.
 
 38 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 The rtrcam of ftrife and viclory flowed on ; 
 
 The hours passed fwiftly by; the curfew rung; 
 
 The gofllps parted with — Good evening friend, 
 
 And flowly from our little garden gate 
 
 My father fauntcrcd mufingly, and all 
 
 Alone. Yet few the moments : 'T is not long 
 
 I 'vc known a father, and it is not oft 
 
 F m abfent from his fide. He took my hand : — 
 
 " We' 11 to thy mother's grave, my child," he faid ; 
 
 " But now I' ve fought my country's foes again, 
 
 " And 't is the day they tore me from my home, 
 
 " Thy mother's arms and thy unconfeious heart. 
 
 " Thou waft a tiny, blue-eyed prattler then ; — 
 
 " A daify glinting from a world of flowers ; 
 
 " A new-born ftar filling two kindred spheres 
 
 " With heavenly light, till o'er their little joys 
 
 " The pall of forrow fell and left them dark, 
 
 " Life-fevered on the threfhold of their love. 
 
 " It is a calm and quiet hour ; there's peace 
 
 " F th' balmy wind. — We '11 to her grave my child.' 
 
 And as we walkt he pictured all the feencs 
 
 Of youth, and how he won my mother's love ; 
 
 And in the fulnefs of his widowed heart 
 
 He knelt befide the afhes of the dead, 
 
 And with a deep calm voice did pray for peace 
 
 To her departed foul till we fliould all 
 
 Unite in evcrlailing joy. — I pluckt 
 
 Some daifies from the hallowed turf, then knelt
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 39 
 
 Me at the grave where your dear parents fleep 
 And gathered more ; and as I wandered here, 
 I bound them all about with threads of love, 
 And to your care I give them, deareft heart ; 
 Can you forgive my tardy coming now ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Even as you will my feeming hafte. I did 
 
 But wifh you with me here. O, to have gueffed 
 
 The caufe of your late coming — I had bleft 
 
 The tardy hour. Flowers from our mothers' graves ! 
 
 The unity of thofe dear names with thefe 
 
 Love-fought memorials makes doubly dear 
 
 The heart-prefented gift. At this time too ! 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 At this time, Erneft ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Ay, this fpecial time. 
 There is an undifcovered Power that moves 
 Us unto adts which erft ne'er flayed our thoughts. 
 We chat of fome dear diftant friend, when lo ! 
 In mortal guife they make us by the hand. 
 'T is an old proverb, and 't is fomething more.
 
 40 Ertit/1, //.\ Pi/grim: 
 
 But now, while through the Evening-curtained Dale 
 
 The wonted curfew Colled the hour of peace, 
 
 My foul took cognizance of all the pall ; — 
 
 My boyhood's orphanage, my youthful hopes, 
 
 What 1 have been, and what I am, and w..at 
 
 There is in ltorc. Sunny was every fcene 
 
 Till that fad hour when trembling all alone 
 
 I Hood upon the earth. Then came the voice 
 
 Of Heaven-born Charity — my father's good 
 
 Old mafter blefling me with heart and home. 
 
 For that large love he bears to fellow men 
 
 May the Eternal mete him blifs in heaven. 
 
 The curfew ceafed and Silence led my foul 
 
 Communing to the grave where you did weave 
 
 Sweet thoughts of me, and where your gentle hand 
 
 Even pluckt thefe flowers. Yea, by your very words 
 
 We both have worshipped there and knew it not, 
 
 Though at the felf-famc moment ; — you in form, 
 
 In fpirit I. Your love allured you there, 
 
 But why to-night ? This foincthing 't is that takes 
 
 Us by the fkirts and wliifpers to the fenfe : — 
 
 " There 's a myfterious chord links foul to foul, 
 
 " And ftretching to the earth's far verge, mingles 
 
 " Our fympathies and, in a way unknown, 
 
 " Moves kindred minds to afts coincident." 
 
 I '11 not difpute the caufe fo you have brought 
 
 The precious offering. And 1 will prize 
 
 It fondly, with the love that prompted all ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 41 
 
 The night, the fcene, the filver-throated breeze, 
 And your laft words fhall haunt my memory 
 When time and diftance have removed me hence, 
 Amid the mazy moilers of the world. 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Removed you hence ? What, leave dear Langley Dale, 
 Its birds and meadows, peafant-homes and hearts, 
 Its runnels of fweet melody and love, 
 And rob your Jeffie of her youthful blifs ? 
 Are we not happy ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Happy, fweet one, yes ! 
 But duty to myfelf, and more, to you, 
 And to that good, great-hearted man who loves 
 Me as his own, and all the gentle ones 
 Who cling about him with their precious joys — 
 All thefe, and more than thefe, now boldly knock 
 Againft my heart and tell me, — if the fire 
 Of noble felf-dependence kindles there, 
 I mull be up and doing. — I have won 
 Your love — your fir ft and only love ; — I '11 win 
 Your hand dear Jeffie too ! — A few rude years, 
 And by the aid of firm Refolve, a true 
 And trufty will, I hope to be a man. 
 
 G
 
 42 Erne [I, the Pilgrim ; 
 
 You would not have mc, adolcfccnt grow n, 
 An aimlels unconcerned dependant? 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 No. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Then be not fad. The living Babylon 
 Has room enough for all who itrive, and in 
 The ltriving feek till they have found. That goal 
 Is mine fome few days hence ; and I had toli 
 You my refolve ere now, but could not pain 
 Your gentle heart fo foon. You will confent ! 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Ay, as the lamb torn bleating from its dam : 
 I fain could bid you linger yet awhile, 
 Purfue fome object here, and 'twixt high aim 
 And toil, find cheering fmiles and that repofe 
 The arduous ftudent craves fo wearily. 
 T is a rude world : And yet 't were best to go. 
 You '11 not go far ? — Ah, wherefore go at all ?
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 43 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 What ! fit with longing lips beneath the vine, 
 
 While other hands pluck ropes of ruddy fruit. 
 
 Sweet one I go : And with thy aiding love, 
 
 A purpofe ftrong, and future blifs in view — 
 
 Time fhall not brand Defeated on my brow. 
 
 'T will not be very long. And as I ftrive 
 
 Amid the eager throng, Excehior 
 
 My inner faith fhall be ; infpiring Hope 
 
 Shall picture happy days to come, a home 
 
 Amid our native dells, a quiet nook 
 
 Of trees and flowers, an ever-babbling* rill, 
 
 The light of marriage-mated love, the earth, 
 
 The cheerful fun, the melody of birds, 
 
 Deep hazle lanes, — the tawny gypsy's haunt, 
 
 Corn-kirtled uplands, clover-crefted leas, 
 
 The village and its church, where joyfully 
 
 We lifted up our infant praife to heaven — 
 
 A bleffed little Eden, fpeaking peace 
 
 Through gloom and gladnefs to the worlds of Light. 
 
 Lo ! Night's fair queen unmantles all her beauty, 
 
 And holts of minftrel ftars are in her train, 
 
 Harping fweet mufic to the Silent Hours. 
 
 The breeze difporting with thy unkempt hair 
 
 Comes like the breath of angels ; gentle Jefs, 
 
 There 's harmony in every found, and peace, 
 
 In every foul. 
 
 G2
 
 4+ Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 O, let mc hear again 
 The burden of that happy lay (hall bring 
 My wandering (pint back in truitful hope 
 To the dear ark where all its treasures dwell. 
 You know the fong I love fo well — the firft 
 You wooed me with. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 I do remember it 
 As 't were this very hour. (Sings.) 
 
 'T was evening in the fummer-time, 
 
 When hedges hung with May, 
 And woods and welkin rung again 
 
 With many a pleafant lay ; 
 I wandered o'er the bonny braes, 
 
 And through the golden corn, 
 And faw a maiden fit i' th' fun 
 
 Beneath a fnowy thorn. 
 
 She was fo fair to look upon, 
 
 No fairer have I known 
 Of all the bright and beautiful 
 
 On whom the fun hath fhone ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 45 
 
 Her fmilc was like a morning beam, 
 
 Her voice was like a brook 
 That lings its dimpling melodies 
 
 Along the mazy nook. 
 
 Methought it was an angel-world, 
 
 The birds fung fweeter far, 
 There was a pearl in every flower, 
 
 A heaven in every liar ; 
 Peace through the Shades of Silence walkt, 
 
 Yet left me not alone, 
 For I had found my foul's delight, 
 
 And wooed her for my own. 
 
 And all the love could ne'er be told 
 
 By filver-luting June 
 Which murmured near that lhady thorn 
 
 For many a welcome moon : 
 Bright fummer went and came again, 
 
 O'er dale and mountain wide, 
 To fmile with cheerful beams upon 
 
 My Cottage and my Bride. 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 'T is the untutored wooing of a heart 
 
 As fruitful as your own. Do all lands breathe 
 
 The fame emotions ; fing their plighting vows
 
 46 ErneJI, the Pilgrim : 
 
 In happy melodies acrofs the leas ; 
 
 Entwining palloral fecnes with ruraJ love 
 
 In fimplcil numbers, warbling of the woods, 
 
 And dales, and dells, and laughter-gufhing brooks, 
 
 Filling our being with a living joy 
 
 Which ever tunes the throbbing itrings of life ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 As in our native Dale it echoes elfe 
 
 Where love hath beating hearts to woo and win. 
 
 All human hopes, all pure and focial joys, [Heaven I 
 
 Spring from one fount whofe fourcc is bounteous 
 
 And whofe eternal ftreams through Nature flow 
 
 To all the thirfty ifles — watering the vales, 
 
 The arid fields, the tarned and pathlefs wolds; 
 
 Clothing the barren hills with quickening dews, 
 
 Till flowers, and fruits, and youth, and beauty burft 
 
 To lufty life, and hearts, and homes are glad 
 
 With hope, and peace, and love emotional. 
 
 But little of the great world's deeds I know, 
 
 Much lefs have feen ; yet this I know, dear heart ; 
 
 It is not always love that weds ; too oft 
 
 'T is youth and beauty bartered to old age ; — 
 
 An outward pageant trigged for glittering fhow 
 
 To mock the life-long facrifice within. 
 
 Such is the mode and fafliion of the times ; 
 
 And more in this our day than in the days
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 47 
 
 Of Eld when love was married unto love, 
 And not untitled lands to bankrupt names ; 
 When Mammon fent no victims to the fhrines 
 Where plighted troth its facred compacl feals 
 I' th' fight of man and fanctuary of God. 
 O, there are fweet love-lays in every land, 
 Each breathing of its native home and foil — 
 This as the flowers that perfume the Fair South, 
 This as the winds that wanton o'er the hills : 
 And here, and there, and everywhere on earth, 
 The hufbandman who tills his matter's fields, 
 Plodding in rugged hopefulnefs — his poor 
 And homely cottage ringing with the laugh 
 Of rofy girls and boys, taftes more of blifs 
 Than half the rulers of the world. 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Then would 
 I be what now I am. O, let content 
 Go with you wherefoe'er you go. And now 
 We '11 to our happy homes. My father waits 
 My coming at our cottage door ; and fee, 
 The weary villagers go up to reft ; 
 Through the all filent trees, like gliftening ftars, 
 Their little cafement's gleam ; and 't is the hour 
 Of evening prayer : Good Parfon Frank 
 Awaits his little houiehold.
 
 48 Erneji, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Even Co, 
 And I obey. But now I feel the leflening hours 
 Enchain me with their ever-beating fpells. 
 Fain could I (lay and tell you all my heart, 
 Ending the full confeflion with — Adieu; 
 And when your voice no longer cheers my foul, 
 Catch the laft wave of thefe entwining hands, 
 And hoping, trufting in our plighted troth, 
 Leave Langley Dale and all its loves behind. 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Words do but faintly breathe the foul's ftrong faith, 
 And truth is in our deeds that fpeak untongued ; 
 Yet, if the yearnings of a fimple maid 
 Could give you paflport to your fpirit's aim, 
 How would I vigil with unwearied foul : 
 Good night. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Stay Jeflie ; give me yet your ear. 
 The moon will fcarce have journeyed ere the bells 
 Ring out their lufticft peal to ufher in 
 A marriage morn. To-morrow makes a bride 
 The youngeft daughter of the Reclor's heart.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 How merrily the happy birds will fing, 
 How ruftic eyes will glow and ftrong hearts blefs 
 The gentle maid. You know her virtues well : 
 No brother had fhe for her fifter-love, 
 No lifter I to lean upon my own ; 
 She gave the unapportioned prize to me, 
 And like her own fweet felf, fhe has befought 
 This early day that I may fhare her full 
 Delight. And you will fhare it too, dear heart : 
 Go, dream upon 't — awake at dawn — look blithe 
 And beautiful as when our young May-Queen, 
 And as the fun doth kifs the laughing hills 
 We '11 hie us to the bridal. 
 
 49 
 
 Sweet heaven ! The murmurings of two young hearts 
 Have ceafed, and Silence like an angel treads 
 The drowfy halls of Night. Nor man alone 
 Lays down his jaded ftrength ; the fweet charm runs 
 Through bound lefs life and all the flowers that fhone 
 So golden by the fhimmering brook at Noon, 
 Have clofed their halo-fringed eyes to dream 
 Of bright To-morrow ; while the gentle moon 
 Sings her foft vigil to the anfwering ftream, 
 And drowfy catde in the willow meads, 
 Or by the homeftead lounge. Comes the foft low 
 Of bleating kine, wild notes among the reeds, 
 
 H
 
 jo Err: eft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 The deep-toned mufic of the ftormy pine — 
 
 Great pfalmifl: of the foreft, and the flow 
 
 Of rural rdbnance — fuch peace is thine 
 
 Young Saxon pilgrim ; wilt thou flill refign 
 
 It, with thy happy home, and plighted one, 
 
 To launch upon Life's furging fea alone ? 
 
 Ay, linger yet awhile and look around 
 
 Thee. How the warm pulle throbs as with quick eye 
 
 He fcans the dewy meadows to efpy 
 
 The lateft glimpfe of his fweet love. Nor found, 
 
 Nor fight abforbs the loul but fhall be made 
 
 A part of this life-hour when other fecnes, 
 
 And crowds and forms of lovelinefs parade 
 
 The City ftreets, with every art that weans 
 
 Us from the funny memories of the Pali. 
 
 Yet not for aye. We tread the world's highways, 
 
 And in the multitudinous hubbub call 
 
 Full many a fhoulder-glance to thole bright days 
 
 We fain would live again and be the child 
 
 On whole young hours fweet Love and Nature failed.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 5 1 
 
 WEDDING-BELLS. 
 
 LIKE a fair lily at awakening morn 
 She fmiles, while chime the merry wedding-bells 
 Which fill her fnowy bofom with the fpells 
 Of that fweet joy which was of Eden born. 
 Maidens are hardening through the laughing corn 
 To give full welcomes to the bluihing bride, 
 And him, her chofen one, her future guide 
 Through all life's ways — the happy or forlorn. 
 Come love's Evangel, bleft with kindred prayers, 
 And warmed; gratitude of lowly hearts ; 
 'T will foothe thee in thy little world of cares, 
 Which time fhall hallow with its fondeft arts : 
 Nature hath put her marriage garments on, 
 And gives thee bridal greeting lovely one. 
 
 H2
 
 52 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Ernest. (Pajfftng a Cottage). 
 
 A blythe good-morrow, Widow Ware, 
 
 What, Itirring at early dawn? 
 In prim-lace cap and boddice too, 
 
 As in the days agone ! 
 You 're going to grace the green to-day, 
 
 To join the wedding g! ; 
 'Shrew not my prying, get your ftaff 
 
 And jog along with me. 
 
 Widow. 
 
 You 've pryed right il-emlv Erneft, boy, — 
 
 IF life and Itrength betide, 
 Belike I '11 join the happy band, 
 
 And bids the bonny bride. 
 God guide her 'long her coming path 
 
 For all the young bright years 
 She 's fpent in doing daily good, 
 
 With fmiles for haughty fneers. 
 Since Age and Care have borne me down 
 
 She 's been a friend to me ; 
 'T will be my lull— I '11 get my ftaft' 
 
 And up the Dale wi' thee ; 
 I '11 put my belt foot firft, my fon, 
 
 And hurtle up wi' thee. 
 You '11 lofe the blefled fifter-love 
 
 Of many a happy year : — 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 53 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 A precious friend, a true, fweet friend, 
 A friend for ever dear. 
 
 Widow. 
 
 I would from England's prideful halls 
 
 Her daughters might defcend 
 And fee this day what 't is to be 
 
 The fimple peafant's friend. 
 Blefs the dear foul — I 'd furely ftarved 
 
 But for her angel-hand ; 
 Starved in the midft of plenty, boy, 
 
 Starved through that devil's brand — 
 
 Ernest. 
 Nay, hold good Widow, prythe hold. 
 Widow. 
 
 And wherefore hold ? — Yet lift, 
 Liften though ftones had ears and tongues, 
 
 And every daify hift : 
 My mother nurfed an Avondell, 
 
 Firft learned his feet to walk,
 
 54 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Firfi Ihewed him what was right and w-ong, 
 
 Firft ruled his tongue to talk : 
 And Manhood came — he knew her not, 
 
 Frowned on his faithful nurfe, 
 PatTcd heedlefs by the pauper's grave, 
 
 And died — her daughter's curfe. 
 The raven croaks on the caftlc tower, 
 
 The fcreech owl haunts the keep, 
 The fwcet robin feeks the peafant's grave, 
 
 And fings his mate to deep. 
 Die the foul deed — 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Nay, let me hear 
 From thee that bitter tale 
 Crooned o'er at many an ingle-fide 
 With Winter's ftormy wail. 
 
 Widow. 
 
 Bitter indeed : — In yonder cot 
 I 'vc lived for forty years ; 
 
 And woe began with want, my fon, 
 And grief with widow's tears. 
 
 Starvation fwept our country fide, 
 The fpectrc, grim and pale,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 Hunted its famifht victims down 
 
 By mountain, wood, and vale : 
 With want and misery how they died ! 
 
 But while men barked for bread, 
 Their matter's dogs were at his door, 
 
 Both better houfed and fed. 
 One Winter's night — dark unked hour, 
 
 Goaded to hunger-wrong, 
 Some twenty haplefs villagers 
 
 Foregathered in a throng; 
 And through the woods of Avondell 
 
 They prowled in fearch of food ; — 
 And few returned to Langley Dale 
 
 To tell the tale of blood. 
 My gafFer, like a hunted dog, 
 
 Fell by a fatal hand ; 
 My poor boy fled I knew not where 
 
 To fhun the lord's fierce brand. 
 O, there was many a wailing heart, 
 
 And many a wretched home ; 
 He fwore he 'd pull the village down, 
 
 And hunt us to our doom. 
 'T was like him and his hellifh hate, 
 
 Which nothing could appal ; 
 He 'd hang poor folk on every tree 
 
 Like onions on a wall. 
 But the lord fleeps in his marble tomb, 
 
 The peafant in the wood, 
 
 55
 
 56 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Old Avondel] in ruin lies 
 
 With all its haughty brood. 
 One only viper haunts the lair, — 
 
 And for your dear life's fake, 
 Fail not to guard the heart you love 
 
 Againft that gilded fnake. 
 Truth never dwelt in kith or kin, 
 
 Contention was their mother, 
 Kindred has warred with kindred blood, 
 
 And brother murdered brother. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Another warning ? — furcly Crime 
 Wears a moll motley face, 
 
 While men can plot out wicked ends 
 With fuch a feemly grace ! 
 
 Widow. 
 
 Villany 's weak where Love is ftrong ; 
 You have a heart — a hand ! 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Ay truly, and in Virtue's need 
 They mall not fail to brand.
 
 A Dramatic Poem, 57 
 
 A courtier, gallant, gartered knight, 
 I' faith, I know not what ! 
 
 Widow. 
 
 A fpendthrift knight, a gartered rake, 
 
 A gilded, fenfual fot : 
 Courtier indeed ! — But let it pafs ; 
 
 We '11 talk of that no more. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Poor Widow Ware : may Heaven itill fend 
 Good angels to your door. 
 
 Widow. 
 
 Kind thanks my ion, fo let us ceafe 
 
 This bygone tale of forrow j 
 The day is bright, and we '11 be blythe 
 
 Whate'er betide to-morrow. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 To-morrow will be the lateft day 
 
 That I may linger here ; — 
 My home is hence the battle-world, 
 
 With all its motley gear : 
 1
 
 58 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 And many a friend I leave behind, 
 
 With her my foul loves beft, 
 But Hope, the heart's Iweet fyren, fings — 
 
 " To ltrive is to be bleft." 
 Give me your kindly benifon, 
 
 And I will o'er the lea ; 
 The merry bells call forth the bride, 
 
 And Jeflie waits for me. 
 
 Widow. 
 
 Succefs lies in a honeft will, 
 
 Keep that rare treafure bright; 
 Truth be your guide, the world your friend, 
 
 And heaven your lleadfalt light : 
 My poor old glafs has nearly run, 
 
 Soon Time and I mult part ; 
 God blefs you for your parent's fake, 
 
 And for your own good heart. 
 
 (The Widow alone.) 
 
 The raven croaks on the caftle tower, 
 The fcreech owl haunts the keep, 
 
 The fweet robin feeks the peafant's grave 
 And fings his mate to flecp ; 
 
 The wolf has fawned upon the lamb, 
 The worm has fcotched the flower,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 59 
 
 The hawk is fluttering o'er his prey, 
 And waits the guardlefs hour. 
 
 Forth flies a city's crowd like bees a-wing, 
 All buzzing here and there, amazement led ; 
 It might have been the nuptials of a king — 
 So cruflit is every ftreet ; and as they fpread 
 Broader and deeper, furging overhead, 
 Lo, flip-fhod Goffip opens all her ears, 
 And fwells the murmur — " Mammon's to be wed ! " 
 But there is nothing earneft in the cheers, 
 No hearty prayers went up, nor gliflen joyful tears : 
 
 Whilft Alford's gentle maid comes forth to meet 
 The chofen of her life, and welcome all 
 The loving hearts and fpeaking eyes that greet 
 Her on the threfhold of her blifs, and call 
 Her by that name lb dear and loved withal. 
 A mother's conftant prayer goes with thee child, 
 A father's bleffing like fweet dew doth fall 
 Upon thy throbbing heart, and Heaven hath mailed 
 Upon thy angel deeds midft forrow fad and wild. 
 
 O, fhe hath vigiled through the live-long night — 
 On happy maiden-hood to look her kit, 
 Her pale brow haloed in the moon's foft light ; 
 And as fhe gazed upon the eternal vaft, 
 The future fhimmered into life and call: 
 
 12
 
 60 Erneft, ike Pilgrim • 
 
 [| hopes and cares about her, till the long 
 Of latcft Philomel with mi Inight pill 
 Away and Dawn awoke the minflrel throng 
 To pipe their myriad melodies the who'c day long. 
 
 And they are piping now ; whil : from the hills 
 The merry breeze comes panting o'er the flowers, 
 Or wantons by the lichen-braided rills ; 
 The rooks fweep high above the hoary towers, 
 Joy is on tiptoe, and the laughing Hours 
 Take Labour by the hand and flaunt away, 
 By lordlcfs cailks and through olden bowers, 
 Till Alford, buflling as an hoilel gay, 
 Gives broad and lufty welcome to this holiday. 
 
 The fwart-browed threfher flays his conftant flail, 
 The herdlefs cows are lowing down the ftream, 
 The milk-maid leaves her dairy and her pail, 
 The hardy ploughman flails his fturdy team ; 
 And Langlcy Dale awakes as from a dream, 
 While o'er the fields the village bells ring out 
 A wildering lay, and Morn, with boundlefs beam, 
 Shadows the brook where fports the fpotted trout ;- 
 There 's revel in the broad-faced laughter of the lout. 
 
 And Parfon Frank comes from his ancient door, 
 The fair bride leaning on his arm. — What ftrong
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 61 
 
 Plebian fhouts ring through the trees of yore, 
 What filent bleffings gufh all hearts among, 
 As with love-greeting eyes fhe fp;aks along 
 The gathering crowd, and fain would prefs each hand 
 Strewing her path with flowers, and join the fong 
 Of rural joy, by ruftic beauty fanned, 
 Such as ne'er fills the heart of any other land. 
 
 They love her for her virtues and her worth — 
 Thofe precious amulets to maiden grace : 
 For fhe is of the gentleft of the earth, 
 And there quiefcent beams in that fweet face 
 A heavenly foul which ever lives to chafe 
 The woe from Sorrow's heart. The great world's fame 
 May know her not ; but Time will ne'er efface 
 The houfehold charm which clings about her name, 
 And lights the lowlieft ingle with its warmthful flame. 
 
 " Go mother, blefs the bonny bride for me, 
 " And take this garland, wove with feeble hand ; 
 " To-day a happy brides-maid I fhould be ; 
 " And fo I fhall — but in a heavenly land ; 
 " The bright flowers fmile above me mother, and 
 " I foon fhall wander there with Fred and Kate ; 
 " And you will come and join the blifsful band \ 
 " Go, blefs the bride fweet mother ; fhe will wait 
 My coming, and will think I linger long and late.
 
 62 Erneft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 " Draw back the curtains, ope the window wide, 
 " And let the honcy-fucldcs fan my brow ; 
 '• Hark how the birds are welcoming the bride ! 
 " I think thej aever lung fo fweet as now : 
 " Lay me, dear mother, where the daifics grow, 
 " And do not weep fince all are happy There ; 
 " Good Parfon Frank has often told us fo : 
 " Go, blcfs the bride, go, bids the happy pair, 
 " And while I linger here their joy (hall be my prayer." 
 
 Yes, (he will leave her dying one to lay 
 The bridal offering at the hallowed fhrinc ; 
 Devotion can no holier homage pay 
 Than this ; and O, it is moft truly thine 
 Fair girl, with blefled words from lips divine 
 Which ere to-morrow may not blefs again. 
 In after-time this fimple gift (hall (hine 
 In life's dear record like the ftarry wain- 
 Tear gemmed and memory-wreathed where coftlier gifts 
 were vain. 
 
 Full forty years agone— old Jofeph fays, 
 Young Parfon Frank brought home his bonny bride ; 
 And Langley Dale has feen fome ftormy days 
 Sftifvne ; yet now, with fond maternal pride, 
 The dame is happy by her daughter's fide ; 
 While kindred hearts— young Erneft and his love,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 63 
 
 The village fair, with neighbours far and wide, 
 Join all the pomplefs pageant, and they move 
 To merry mufic, tripping it through glebe and grove. 
 
 Gallant young yeomen hold their rendezvous 
 With lufty glee around the " Good Intent," 
 Or lounge along the facred avenue, 
 All wreathed with garlands in wild beauty blent ; 
 Love-glancing eyes on blufhing maids are bent, 
 Heart beats to heart, fmile anfwers " Yes " to fmile ; 
 And in the gufh of Joy's fweet ravifhment, 
 They hail the bride, piping clear throats the while, 
 Till rings the marriage fong o'er many a mead and ftile. 
 
 Linked hand in hand, thro' Morning's dewy fhades, 
 With dappled dells, and fongful nooks between 
 They lead the happy pair, with chofen maids 
 To grace her plighting as 't were Beauty's queen : 
 There 's hearty greetings on the village green, 
 Bleffings and prophecies on many a tongue ; 
 The limple Saxon church in quaintly sheen 
 Invites them to the altar-wreathed and hung 
 With brighter!, garlands waving all the aifles among. 
 
 A virgin blush fteals o'er her cheek ; the throb 
 Of facred awe her bofom ftirs as round 
 She cafts her timid eye and lees the robe 
 Of Nature fmiling at her feet, and bound
 
 64 Erne/!, the Pilgrim ; 
 
 With fuch endearments, that even Pride ne'er found 
 With all its tiniel pomp ; while by her fide, 
 And by heroic tombs, is heard the found 
 Of prayerful hope that care will no'cr betide 
 While truftfully she leans upon her future guide. 
 
 O, there is fomething more in that great tie 
 Which weds two hearts for ever than is made 
 The jocund theme of half the world who fly 
 To its enchantments : blazon with parade — 
 'T is flimfy show, a pageant that will lade ; 
 If pureft love and virtue be not there, 
 Sever the troth, and let its curfc be ftayed, 
 Ere life is robbed of beauty and laid ba 
 To all the bitter woes which faithlefs mortals share. 
 
 Bleft is the love that dieth not, and blcft 
 The humblcft home that fmiles in love's embrace : 
 The foul aweary with the world's unrcft, 
 Yearns for its happy hearth, and that dear face, 
 And thofe fweet prattling tongues that ever chalc 
 Life's darkling clouds away. — Be fuch the love 
 And fuch the home, where'er the dwelling-place, 
 Ye trufting hearts who now Hand forth to prove 
 Your vow's devotcdnefs before the throne above. 
 
 Peal out ye babbling bells, and let it fly 
 O'er hill and dale to every heart and home ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 65 
 
 Sun-foaring fkylark bear it up on high — 
 Down from the plighting of their troth they come 
 With hearty jubilance that tops the dome, 
 And makes the jocund woods with gladnefs ring : 
 Old Avondell makes oft" its wonted gloom, 
 The foreft-haunting warblers fairly ling 
 Their little hearts away with wildeft welcoming. 
 
 Parental love yields up its household claim 
 To him who wooed and won his bonny bride — 
 Greet:d by FrLndihip now with dearer name : 
 O, there are funny fmiles on every fide, 
 And round the porch fhe fees with blufhing pride 
 A troup of merry girls yclad in white, 
 Flowers in their hands from many a cot supplied; 
 She takes the proffered gifts with fad delight, 
 And hears with throbbing joy the fong their hearts indite. 
 
 (The Children Sing.) 
 
 Gentle bride, O, gentle bride — ■ 
 Alford's joy and Alford's pride, 
 Prayers and bleffings go with thee 
 Wherefoe'r thy home may be ; 
 Be it far, or be it near, 
 May fweet (miles its ingle cheer, 
 Smiles like moonlight foftly pale 
 Mid the flowers in Langley Dale. 
 
 K
 
 66 Erne/}, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Gentle bride, O, gentle bride, 
 Who will be the orphan's guide ? 
 Who will teach the poor man's child 
 Holy truths with precepts mild ? 
 Who will be the widow's friend 
 Cheering life unto its end ? 
 Who will lilt to Sorrow's tale 
 Like to thee in Langley Dale ? 
 
 Gentle bride, O, gentle bride, 
 Calmly as a wavclcfs tide 
 Flow the ftrcam of wedded life — 
 Daughter, filler, lover, wife ; 
 Hand in hand, and heart in heart, 
 Striving for the better part ; 
 Thee and thine we gladly hail, 
 Won and wed in Langley Dale. 
 
 Gentle bride, O, gentle bride, 
 Love is waiting at thy fide ; 
 Speed thee fair, and fpeed thee well, 
 Peace around thy altar dwell ; 
 Life be one long happy day, 
 As it beams and fades away ; 
 While the lark and nightingale 
 Cheer the braes of Langley Dale.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 67 
 
 Down in the fhade of broad-browed elms 
 Jolly old Dapple brews good ale, 
 And it foams with a fpirit that overwhelms 
 The drouthieft bibber in all the Dale. 
 
 'T is the goldenmoft time of the golden day, 
 
 And Boniface Hands in his door, 
 
 All rubicund, fmiling, and doffing to pay 
 
 Obeifance due as the villagers pour 
 
 From the church co the merrily buttling scene, 
 
 On nuptial largefs heartily bent ; 
 
 And Dapple's mine hoft, fmce the eyes of a queen 
 
 Have looked on the lord of the " Good Intent." 
 
 Gather ye, gather ye, happy and hale, 
 
 Gather ye ftalwart andftrong; 
 
 The tapfter is broaching the brown wedding ale 
 
 'Mid morrice and revel and fong : 
 
 Come from the valleys and bofky blue hills, 
 
 Come all with a laugh and a leap — 
 
 The maiden ye honour fo lovingly wills 
 
 That to-day her young bridal ye keep. 
 
 To be memory-loved is a right regal dower, 
 God's light i' th' furrows of Time — 
 It armours the foul, and it goldens the hour 
 As up to the Endlefs we climb. 
 
 KZ
 
 68 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Young Laughter cornea rolicking over the green, 
 
 And Joy is at leap-frog with Mirth ; 
 
 Love gambols with Youth, and in buxomeft fhecn 
 
 The Maid and the Matron come forth : 
 
 By the boles of old trees glance a group of bright eyes, 
 
 With fingers bewitchingly mocking ; 
 
 From the swift foot of Frolic the whizzing ball flics, 
 
 While Rompus is throwing the flocking: 
 
 In motley commotion they mingle and throng, 
 
 To catch every gambol by chance ; 
 
 Some thread Granny's needle, fome chorus the fong, 
 
 Some call for the pipe and the dance ; 
 
 With " Hafte to the Wedding " they couple away, 
 
 Through huftlc, and buflle, and laughter : 
 
 Then " Roger de Covcrly " gallant and gay, 
 
 The " Haymakers " fleckering after. 
 
 And who could fay nay ? — there's a charm in the glee 
 
 Which roufes the gaffer and dame ; 
 
 Age, Ague, and Harfhdip come limping to see, 
 
 And itch for a hand in the game. [maid, 
 
 " One wedding makes more," fays a full-blofsomcd 
 
 Says Dapple — " There's nothing fo plain," 
 
 And they link it beneath the old elm's fpacious fhade, 
 
 And Hafle to the Wedding again. 
 
 " Long life to the bride," cries a merry old man, 
 Long life to the bride echoes round ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 6 9 
 
 And bleffings flow hearty from pitcher and can, 
 
 Where many a blefling is found. 
 
 Sweet magic of Mufic, sweet mufic of Mirth, 
 
 Ye gladden the gloomings of Sorrow ; 
 
 The ftars fung Creation's awaking to Earth, 
 
 And Mirth fallied forth on the morrow : 
 
 And now blythe and bufky fhe laughs with the tide, 
 
 Rekindles the fmoldering fun, 
 
 Till Revel fits down with a flitch in the fide, 
 
 And welcomes the weltering fun. 
 
 Round the broad Saxon window that looks up the Dale 
 
 A knot of old cronies are feated, 
 
 Potationed with bickers of logical ale, 
 
 With ditto and ditto repeated; 
 
 There 's Wifdom in highlows, fedate and fincere, 
 
 Keen Law holding forth with hard knuckles, 
 
 Stern Politics noting with vifage fevere, 
 
 And Subftance in broad fhining buckles. 
 
 " Give laughter to lads, and your weddings to lafses," 
 
 Cries Politics, loudly and ftrong ; 
 
 " 'Mid the circle of mirth and the brimming of glafles, 
 
 " Let Right fhake her thunders at Wrong :" 
 
 " A wedding has bounds," says the Sage with a smile, 
 
 Says Law — ■" They '11 be broken to-night," — 
 
 And they gather around all a-imirking the while, 
 
 And put every " motion " to flight.
 
 jo Erjif/J, the Pi 'I grim : 
 
 But the ale it flows faft, and the logic grows ftrongcr, 
 
 And many a point is debated, 
 
 Till liftening Reafon will liften no longer, 
 
 Nor Laughter by Logic be rated. 
 
 For who would be learned on a bridal's bright eve ? 
 
 Who meafure out blifs by the yard ? — 
 
 Not a murmur fhall fall, not a fadnefs fhall grieve, 
 
 Nor the tendered heart-firing be jarred. 
 
 Sweet tales of the village, and legends of years, 
 The loves, and the joys, and the forrows ; 
 Hopes budding in gladncfs, and buried in tears, 
 Dark To-days bringing funny To-morrows ; — 
 These come with the lay of the evening lark, 
 And mellow the leflening mirth, 
 Till whifpering wooers ftroll out in the dark, 
 And make fweeteit heaven of earth. 
 
 And let the fun ceafe as the fun goeth down, 
 Let the cronies re-bottle their fpceches ; 
 While brave Andrew Bell, with a hero's renown, 
 Re-ltorms the death-harrowing breaches. 
 
 Grouped round the old foldier, all silence and cars, 
 Are faces of long, long ago ; 
 
 The bright eye of youth, the deep furrow of years, 
 The dame and her doughtable Jo :
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 71 
 
 And mufterings, pipings, fond vows, and farewells, 
 
 Long marchings, grim battle, and death — 
 
 On thefe with the dafh of a soldier he dwells, 
 
 Nor bates even a jot or a breath 
 
 Till the foe bites the duft, and the citadel falls, 
 
 And the fierce foughten victory's won ; 
 
 And the flag of Old England waves high o'er the walls, 
 
 Flafhing out the brave deeds that are done. 
 
 And like the lullings of the drowfy fea, 
 The marriage murmur floats away : 
 Day finks to gentle flumber till the laugh 
 Of homeward mirth feems out of tune — 
 So peaceful is the hour, fo voicelefs now 
 That green glad corner of the earth. 
 The panting song, 
 
 The " Cup o' kindnefs yet for Auld Langsyne," 
 The grafping hand, 
 The melting kifs of throbbing youth, 
 The hearty, old " Good Night," 
 The bleflings and the prayers — 
 Have clofed this happy day in joy and peace. 
 Two hearts alone remain, entwining all their love 
 Beneath the broad old tryfting-elm, 
 Where Childhood gambolled and the Nightingale 
 Doth carol her fweet fadnefs to the itars. 
 And as the moon glints through the boughs
 
 jz Erneft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 The bride becomes a child again ; 
 
 And many a pleafant (bene revives 
 
 Within that olden bower. 
 
 " O let us live again the youthful part, 
 
 For one fweet hour recall the dear old times 
 
 Begirt with little worlds of joy. 
 
 Dear Edward, all is home and happinefs with thee ; 
 
 And I do lean upon thy low, 
 
 And give my all to thy whole keeping ; 
 
 For this the joy bells rung so merrily, 
 
 For this the gleemen fung lb cheerily, 
 
 For this a mother's and a father's prayer 
 
 Is breathed for us to Heaven : 
 
 I feel its holy influence like the breath 
 
 Of early Summer wafting o'er the flowers. 
 
 O, how I hope our future may be happy ; 
 
 That thefe firft moments of our wedded blifi 
 
 May crown us one for ever ; 
 
 That fweet Contentment's ruddy fruit 
 
 May ripen round our home, 
 
 Till mellow Age, with kindly hand, 
 
 Shall gather the golden vintage in."
 
 A Drum a tic Poem. 73 
 
 GOING AWAY. 
 
 TyrORNING— faireft born of Light, 
 
 -*-*-*- Leaves the fhades of dark-haired Night, 
 
 Wakes the woods to cluttering lays, 
 
 Hails the fun upon the braes, 
 
 And the rivers as they go 
 
 Leaping, laughing merrily O ; 
 
 Bids fweet Hope and Nature fmile, 
 
 Man and Moil to reconcile ; 
 
 Calls the fhepherd from his bed, 
 
 And the ploughman to his ftead ; 
 
 Leads the threfher to the barn, 
 
 And the cattle to the tarn ; 
 
 Peeps the cottage window in, 
 
 Ringing with its rofy din ; 
 
 L
 
 74 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Gathers dew from briar and rofe 
 Where the honcyfuckle bio 
 Welcomes Roger with his wain 
 Swagging down the broad green lane — 
 Where the market-mongers throng. 
 Gadding all the road along ; 
 Trips with Beauty to the rills 
 Dancing down the dewy hUls ; 
 While the lark on pearly wings 
 With the merry ploughboy fings : 
 Through the meadow, croft, and dell, 
 Over the uplands breezy fwell — 
 KifTes each flower and flaunts away 
 Far in the blaze of bufy day. 
 
 To the loved ones round the board 
 Of Alford's gentle-hearted lord, 
 Erneft bids a long Good-Bye; 
 Lingers ftill, yet reafons why ! 
 Duty prompts, the hour has come — 
 Farewell loves, and farewell home ; 
 All the world is full of joy 
 Man is moulding from the boy 
 Life is fair, the heart is ilrong, 
 Feels no forrow, fears no wrong; 
 Bleffings cheer him from the door 
 Where he came an orphan poor ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 75 
 
 Parfon Frank and dear old dame, 
 Daughters — fweetheart — every name, 
 Oft he murmurs as he ftrays 
 Down the olden fhady ways ; 
 Through the village, o'er the green — 
 Shaking many a hand between ; 
 Hears dear Jeffie's fad farewell 
 Throbbing like a lonely knell ; 
 While the clicking cottage gate 
 Echoes like the voice of Fate. 
 To the church-yard laft he fteals, 
 All his orphan love reveals ; 
 Bows his heart and bows his head 
 At the altar of the dead ; 
 Plucks a daify from the fod, 
 Hopes in Truth and trufts in God ; 
 Wipes the courfmg tears away — 
 Leaps into the broad bright Day. 
 Speed thee youth — the world 's before ; 
 Onward ! — upward ! — 
 
 And the door 
 Of Life's young Spring hath clofed for ever ! 
 Linger — it will open never. 
 Gird thee for the diftant hill, 
 High and fteep and deeper ftill ; 
 Speed thee youth, nor look behind, 
 Seek the Right and you fhall find 
 
 L2
 
 ~0 Erm-fty the Pilgrim: 
 
 What is life and what is fame, 
 And dearer il ill — a honeft name ; 
 Take the Wrong, and every hour 
 Chains you to a daemon power ; 
 Sweeps you to the maddening fea 
 Of everlafting infamy. 
 
 Upland, meadow, wood and dell, 
 Echo, echo — Fare-vou-wcll ; 
 Sweetcft Alford no more fcen ; 
 Cot, nor croft, nor village-green; 
 Dale, and glittering fpire are gone — 
 In the battle-world — alone. 
 
 Thus we leave the parent ingle and go out to meet the 
 ftrife, 
 
 On the highways, down the bye-ways, round the gufty 
 
 ifles of life ; 
 Hopeful fome, their path befprended with the chivalry 
 
 of birth ; 
 Others tolerated human — paupers to their Mother Earth. 
 This went forth with blazing birthright — plunged, and 
 
 fell, and loft his road ; 
 This had nothing but his nature — wrought it out and 
 
 ftalwart flood ; 
 This was fair as morning lily — blighted ere the fun 
 
 went down ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 77 
 
 This had purpofe — all her fortune, — won and wears the 
 
 woman's crown ; 
 This afpired to hero-trappings — donned the plume for 
 
 conquefts gay ; 
 This but fought a mother's bleffing — grafped the falchion, 
 
 cleaved his way ; 
 This went o'er the buoyant waters, prowing many a 
 
 golden fhore ; 
 This but hailed the land of promife, funk at fea and 
 
 was no more. 
 O, to rid me of this being, whines the aimlefs, pampered 
 
 foul ; 
 Up and onward, cries the worker — dive, and delve, and 
 
 touch the goal. 
 Spring laughs through the wooing meadows ; Childhood 
 
 budding beauty weaves ; 
 Summer goldens all the harveft ; Manhood piles the lufty 
 
 fheaves ; 
 Autumn heaps the empty garners ; Age enjoys the 
 
 gathered bread ; 
 Winter fleeps in icy filence ; Death lays down the hoary 
 
 head. 
 Our dear land fo hero-lloried — England, queenlieft of 
 
 the ifles, 
 Leans upon her Saxon fceptre, crowned with love, and 
 
 wreathed with fmiles : 
 O, but file's a noble mother, parent of a valiant race; 
 Heaven defend her from difhonour in her higheft, low- 
 heft place.
 
 7 8 Ervr/1, the Pi/grim : 
 
 Ay, the morn is oft remembered, and the hot and 
 
 dully day — 
 Leaving home and happy childhood for the wide world 
 
 far away : 
 Still the green lane glints with daifies where we took 
 
 the lall Avcct meal 
 A mother's kindly hand provided ; and we fee that 
 
 mother Ileal 
 Willful to the garden wicket, waving llill that kindly 
 
 hand, 
 While we reach the human highway, thronged with 
 
 many a motley band. 
 And the Exodus flows ever in a world of wandering 
 
 flreams — 
 Dafht with wild and flormy tempefts, funned with 
 
 bafking fummcr dreams : 
 Every morning brings fond partings, every night pater- 
 nal prayers ; 
 Victory's trump makes many a heart ache, Fame is 
 
 wreathed with upas-cares ; 
 Gone the juft yet gentle chidings, gone the kindred loves 
 
 of home, 
 And thy voice devoted mother anfwers from its early 
 
 tomb ; 
 Gone the llrong hand's lufty preflurc, gone the full heart's 
 
 tearful joy, 
 But there clings about us ever — " Fare-ye-well, God 
 
 blefs vou bo v."
 
 A Dramatic Poem. jg 
 
 UNDER THE ELMS. 
 
 y f I v IS a fongfiil, funny afternoon, 
 
 ■*■ Dear Earth is wreathed from the lap of June, 
 The cuckoo wings with its happy tune 
 
 Over the waving greenery ; 
 The goodwives chat o'er their cozy tea, 
 The haymakers laugh right lufty and free, 
 While Evening, tripping o'er meadow and lea, 
 
 Goldens the deepening fcenery. 
 
 Bright children revel in merry bands, 
 And run to the bolky fylvan lands, 
 To chafe the bee and fill their hands 
 
 Brimming right over with pofies ;
 
 80 Erntft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Blue-bells bright as a maiden's eye, 
 Violets peeping up wooinglv, 
 Woodbines flaunting the hedges fo high, 
 
 Whiteil and wilddt roles. 
 
 Stern rude life comes jaunty amain, 
 
 Haunts the cool wood and the deep green lane — 
 
 The world behind with its rufh for gain, 
 
 Beauty around for poflllfing ; 
 Down in their little cottage bower, 
 Now, at this fongful funny hour, 
 JefTie, forlorn for her young h-.art's dower, 
 
 Welcomes a father's carefling. 
 
 « 
 
 Andrew chats, his ftafFin his hand, 
 
 Jeflie fmiles over her needle and band, 
 
 Flowers by the grafs-waving breezes are fanned, 
 
 Melody rings from the bulhes ; 
 Hard by the wicket a proud ftep goes, 
 Hard by the bower a proud head bows, 
 A proud man's fmile, with his thwarted vows, 
 
 Crimfons the maiden with blufhes. 
 
 'T is as though the guft of a whirlwind palled, 
 With a beautiful rofe bent down by the blaft, 
 While the old parent tree ftands firm and faft, 
 Shielding the ncftling flower; 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 81 
 
 Not every rofe by its native rills, 
 
 In manor, or market, efcapes the rude ills 
 
 Of the blafr. that blanches and blights and chills, 
 
 Scathing its charms in an hour. 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 Nay child, droop not your head. I fee it all, 
 And I have feared it long — not you my child, 
 I doubt not you, your duty, nor your love. 
 God grant the fon a better heart, a nobler life, 
 A worthier death and memory — than his fire. 
 O, there 's an ominous and ill-ftarred change 
 Come over Langley Dale of late. And why ? 
 Since that fair day which gave you to my heart, 
 The halls of Avondell have blazed and rung 
 With boifterous merriment : Where bats and owls 
 Have feafted through the long lone years, Revel 
 Now holds wild court, with midnight orgies deep, 
 As 't were the old dark days came back again. 
 Our little village — happy once in rude 
 And ruftic peace, now peals with recklefs mirth, 
 Till faithful watch-dogs howl from dark to dawn, 
 And break the wonted filence of the night. 
 T was a bright bringing in of rofy May; 
 'T was a glad fcene — the queening of my child; 
 And I would fain not cloud so fair a fky. 
 
 M
 
 Si 2 ■rim: 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Then wherefore dearcit father ? Let the lord 
 
 Enjoy his own according to his heart : 
 
 Large wealth, broad lands, and all our homes arc his; 
 
 And let him ufe them as he wills — 'tis power 
 
 He holds by birth-right. But he can no more. 
 
 He cannot make a flirinking bofom love ; 
 
 He cannot win devotion with a fraud ; 
 
 He cannot buy affe&ion with a nod, 
 
 And peniion it with fmilcs ! 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 He can do all, 
 And more, my child, and who (hall fiy him nay ? 
 There 's little gear that money cannot get, 
 And little truft a traitor cannot buy. 
 Ah, every home is his : Good Fortune grant 
 He may not filch the jewels they pofiefs. 
 I am an old man now, furrowed with years 
 And battlc-fcars : Thefe honours fternlv won, 
 The honcft pride thev bring, my Jeffie's love 
 And happinefs, a quiet pilgrimage 
 Towards the lands of Everlafting Light — 
 I pray no care may dim. For 't is my all ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 83 
 
 And lofing thefe ! — I 'm like a wintered tree 
 Bowing its naked fhoulders to the blait. 
 He feeks your love my child ! 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 And wins it not. 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 He '11 wrench it from you. 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Never ! 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 Say you fo ? 
 Canft brave an Avondcll my child? 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 With pure and plighted virtue — nothing more. 
 One heart, one love, are all that I poffefs, 
 And thefe are yours, and his who kept them bright 
 And hopeful for your coming. Happy me 
 Can I but cheer you till the fun of life 
 
 M2
 
 K.j Erntjl, the Pilgrim: 
 
 golden o'er the weary foldicr's grave, 
 v . dear father, trult your child to Heaven, 
 
 Brood not o'er forrows which may never come, 
 And live, and hope for that no diltant day 
 When Erneft fliall return and claim his own. 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 The ftorm-cloud drops a pearl on every flower 
 And floats away : Thus pais this threatening woe, 
 Whib Love and Virtue cheer our little home 
 And fill the meafure of the foldicr's joy. 
 Flow on ye gufliing rivers of the foul ; 
 The lowering fky looks bright again. Enough 
 Dear Jeffie. Let the proud lord fmile or frown, 
 And let the wild caroufal wilder rage ; 
 Let gallants drink fall bumpers to their hoft 
 Till roof and rafter <ribe the chorus out : 
 
 ■-■ 
 
 We '11 be happy now and aye, 
 In our little cot and bower ; 
 Joyful meet the failing day, 
 Trust beyond the darkling hour. 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 No darkling hours. ( Afide. Alas how many cloud 
 My anxious heart). Now fmooth your troubled brow,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 Recall fome happy moments of the paft, 
 
 And be yourfelf again. — There's Parfon Frank ! 
 
 Look at his genial face, all fun and peace : 
 
 His coming, like the fummer-time, brings joy 
 
 And gladnefs everywhere. — He '11 not pass by ; 
 
 O no, he '11 never pafs us by. I '11 go 
 
 And meet him at the gate : — I hope ' t is news ! — 
 
 A word — a flower — a leaf — I care not what ; 
 
 'T will be a precious talifman. 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 Medals 
 And memory — ' t is a fighting day ; the firir. 
 We smelt the powder — 
 
 Parson Frank. 
 
 Say you fo ? Certes, 
 Then fmell it once again, while Jefs and I 
 Give willing ear to that triumphant roll 
 Of victories which thrilled the nations heart ; 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 And fpilt a nation's blood, its precious blood ; 
 Brought many a wife's and many a mother's woe. 
 
 85
 
 86 Erneft, the Mgrim : 
 
 Parson Frank. 
 
 'T was ever thus, and bates no fingle jot. 
 While armed powers are clafhing foot to foot, 
 The people lift their hands and cry — Alas ! 
 Seek every fcrap of news with eager eyes ; 
 Take filence for defeat ; cheer victories 
 Not half achieved ; and ever (well the tide 
 Of that great agony which heaves and howls 
 Like wrathful ocean to the ftormy winds. 
 War is the proudeft deftiny of man, 
 The conquering hero cries ; the prophet holds 
 It frightful carnage — direft scourge of hell. 
 I would not tolerate one hour of war 
 For conquefts fake ; — nor yet a pandering peace 
 For regal rogues to tilt at as they lift. 
 To arm your hofts, invade and subjugate 
 The wildeft haunt of man— is not the Right 
 Of Justice, 'tis the Might of vaunting Power; 
 The force of Strength to conquer and command. 
 And wherefore feek to grafp the hand of mail, 
 Or hope for univerfal peace with half 
 The nations ruled and governed by the Sword ? 
 Difarm the world— make every foul a faint- 
 Give holincfs for fin— let juftice reign 
 For fordid law— truth for diplomacy, 
 And honefty for fraud— then welcome peace 
 From every fhore. If not, we hug the fnake,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 87 
 
 And make a playmate of the hungry wolf. 
 
 But marfhal up your brave invincibles, 
 
 WLh all the glorious deeds which they have done. 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 That day the trumpets' roufing blaft 
 Called England's fons from homely toil, 
 I little thought my lot was caft 
 I' th' ranks of war with its deadly moil ! 
 
 Tyranny itormed and ftalked abroad, 
 Threatening ftrife to a fruity foe, 
 And Britain drew her lawful fword, 
 The Right of fuch a threat to know. 
 
 £>* 
 
 We croffed the fea to the bridling fhore. 
 And muitered twenty thoufand ftrong — 
 Full of the finew and foul of yore, 
 Ready to brave the hordes of Wrong. 
 
 But Peace was piping her paftoral lute, 
 And old men telling their focial tales, 
 And dark-haired maidens gathering fruit 
 From cluttering vines in balmy vales. 
 
 The tiller went with his team a-field, 
 The herdfman lounged beneath the trees,
 
 88 Ernejf, the Pilgrim: 
 
 The village bells fwcet mufic pealed, 
 And Summer laught across the leas. 
 
 In daify dells glad children played, 
 In orchard homes old matrons (pun, 
 The cattle plunged in the limped (hade, 
 The bees flalht golden in the fun. 
 
 N i on, panting like a weary deed, 
 
 Lay liftlefs by the breezy brook, 
 
 Till Evening perfumed every mead, 
 
 And merry birds carolled from every nook. 
 
 We piled our arms by a pleafant ftream 
 Which fung the lay of a thoufand years, 
 And law the fwarming helots gleam 
 High on the hills with their flalhing Ipears. 
 
 'T is greyell Dawn — our lines and fquares 
 Roll forth like waves of filvery fheen, 
 The cried Vulture croaks and glares, 
 And the trump of battle peals between. 
 
 The morning lark with early fong 
 Shakes Night's rich jewels from her wing, 
 As stalwart columns throb along, 
 And ftartled vales with war-notes ring.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 89 
 
 And on, and on the life-tide flows, 
 And up the twenty thoufand go, 
 And down rufh avalanching foes 
 To cruih old England at a blow. 
 
 Charge — and may God defend the right, 
 Charge — for the land of old renown, 
 Charge — in the teeth of vauntful Might, 
 Charge — the aggreflbr's minions down. 
 
 An awful paufe o'er the war-hofl: comes, 
 And throbbing acrofs the folemn deep — 
 Hearts rum to hearts in their kindred homes, 
 And pray dear Heaven their all to keep. 
 
 ' T is but a moment ! — now the flafh 
 Of bellowing guns and blazing fteel, 
 The flaughtcring fire, the ferried crafh, 
 Making the great earth quake and reel. 
 
 Steady, unblcnching, right onward they go, 
 Sinewed with iron — and folid as rock ; — 
 Heaves the firm phalanx right up to the foe, 
 Havoc leaps into the whelming fhock. 
 
 Terrible fhot, and murderous fhell, 
 Galh out great lanes of ruining men, 
 
 N
 
 go Eriicft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 And heaping corfes grimly tell 
 Of a tyrant grappled in his den. 
 
 On — and they gain the deadly height ; 
 Hark ! to the bugle's rallying notes ; 
 Lo, in the day's war-clouded light, 
 Our conquering banner proudly floats. 
 
 And this the gain, and this the cofl — 
 Three thoufand heroes in the duft, 
 A raging, routed, rebel hoft, 
 Flying like cattle from their truft. 
 
 The viftory dear Land is ours, 
 The virgin fteel has cleft the ftrife ; 
 And the ftern old Saxon bulwark towers 
 Above the rufh and wreck of life. 
 
 Again comes throbbing through the gloom 
 The tramp of charging cavalry, 
 Like muffled knell of awful Doom 
 Over the fhades of revelry. 
 
 Cleaving the mill like a flam of light, 
 Six hundred fabres fweep the vale, 
 While crouching focmen, dim to fight, 
 Conjure up fpectres lightning-pale.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 91 
 
 Hofls from the heights peer down below, 
 And fee that valiant defperate band 
 Hew their grim paflage through the foe — 
 Dafhing, flaming fplendidly grand. 
 
 One to a hundred full in the teeth, 
 
 Buried their fabres up to the hilt ; 
 
 Rolls the death-torrenting florin beneath, — 
 
 Halt ! — or each drop of brave blood will be fpilt ! 
 
 'T is clofed like midnight round the moon, 
 With fwarthes of flain to mark the track; 
 Courage — 't was but a cloud at noon — 
 See how they cut their life-way back ! 
 
 Through flanks of dragoonading flame 
 A dripping remnant hold their way, 
 Giving a wreath to Britifh Fame 
 Which makes the flrong heart leap to-day. 
 
 But who fhall wear the honour won ? 
 And who fhall tell the tale at home ? 
 Who fay he fet the heroes on ? 
 Who face the wrathful florm to come ! 
 
 Six hundred braves torn all to fhreds, 
 For what ? — no living foul can tell : — 
 
 N2
 
 92 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 I . her the dead from their bloody beds, 
 Bury them where they fought and fell. 
 
 'T was on November-morn the fifth, 
 When horfe and foot went ferried forth, 
 The Mill defiant glaive to lift 
 Of him who menaced half the earth. 
 
 A mighty hoft (till itood at bay, — 
 Our foemen four for every one : — 
 We met them at the break of day, 
 And conquered with the letting fun. 
 
 Cannon, and fword, and mufketry 
 Waged in the battle's awful brunt ; 
 S'death — 't was a glorious fight to fee 
 The reareft ruihing to the front ! 
 
 Vain all the vaunts of blatant Power, 
 Vain imprecations, defperate deeds — 
 We fwept down acres by the hour, 
 Like fwamps of towering Autumn reeds. 
 
 Crefly of old, nor Agincourt, 
 Famed Marathon, nor Salamis ; — 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 93 
 
 No field of yefterday or yore, 
 
 Could boaft of braver deeds than this. 
 
 And then that lull, that famine-wreath, 
 That winter gaunt with hideous woe, 
 That nakednefs and gorgon death, 
 Whose grimeft horrors none can know. 
 
 Look, Perfidy and all thy Slaves, 
 The heroes go by thoufands down, 
 Down to their unrecorded graves, 
 Stript of their glory and renown. 
 
 Gaze on each litter lhuddering by — 
 The dying with the ghaftly dead ; 
 Harken to that unanfwered cry — 
 " Cover our nakednefs, give us bread." 
 
 See how they rot in oozy mire — 
 Hearts in dear England, eyes to Heaven ! 
 Quenched the bright flame of that defire 
 Which gallant deeds but now had given. 
 
 O God, they ftarve and freeze in (warms, 
 With food and raiment piled around ;
 
 94 Erne ft, the Pi/grim: 
 
 Through long lone months of bitter ftorms, 
 No Ihcltcr but the naked ground. 
 
 Thcv fall before the Scourger's breath, 
 Each corfe Routine's anathema; 
 Every vale is choked with death, 
 And every hill a Golgotha. 
 
 Yet Valour fcatters the gathered clouds ; 
 The bated tyrant ftieathes his fl 
 From mattered holts and hero-shrouds 
 The trumpet-notes of triumph peal. 
 
 Parson Frank. 
 
 Have all thefe horrors reached thy charnel-houfe 
 Since God's great mercy {truck thee ftraightway down 
 I' th' face of all the tyrants of the world — 
 Thou sceptred duft, thou poor imperial worm ? 
 
 Let the ftormful battle-fwell, 
 Let the flaughter, deadly fell, 
 Let our weeping houfcholds tell, 
 All the deeds of thy red hand. 
 
 Let the prayers for heroes dead, 
 Let the tears for heroes shed,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 95 
 
 Let the curfes on thy head, 
 
 Stay the reigning Ruler's brand. 
 
 Peace to the brave who fleep befide their deeds, 
 Hallowed their names, their memories ever green, 
 With all the champions of Light, and Truth, 
 And God's great Liberty to freeborn man ! 
 Age has long laid his hand upon my brow, 
 Yet aye the heart beats warm and willing ftill ; 
 And I did wish thefe old limbs lithe again 
 To aid thee in the univerfal caufe. 
 Green be the turf that wraps the foldier's clay, 
 And Heaven the bourne that welcomes him to reft ; 
 And may OpprefTion's lofs be Freedom's gain, 
 And Happinefs shake hands with all the world. 
 We yet may live to fee that broad bright day 
 When Peace shall harveft the red fields of War ; 
 When this fair Earth shall rife again as fresh 
 And free, as pure and beautiful as God 
 Did give it to our firft-created fire. 
 
 And now my child, what news of thee and thine ? 
 When fmiled the man of letters on thee laft ? — 
 That rural monarch, bearing in his hand 
 The hopes and fears, the forrows and the joys 
 Of all the fubjects in his wide domain! 
 How quick eyes brighten, and how young hearts throb, 
 When up the Dale and o'er the green he flumps
 
 96 Errujl, thi Pilgrim: 
 
 Along, braving all weathers luftily. 
 When lifted he the old latch laft and gave 
 Thee happy tidings ? 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 'T is the joy my heart 
 Now fought of thee. I thought I read good news 
 In thy dear face, and faw its purport there ! 
 'T were precious new, O, very precious now ; 
 Precious as love, and life, and that great world 
 Which holds the fovcreign jewel of my heart. 
 For him, our morning friend, he long as read 
 My afking eyes, and having only — No, 
 For pity's fake he goes another way: 
 And this is more than higher heads will do. 
 
 Parson Frank. 
 Than higher heads will do ? 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 Ay, higher heads ! 
 Much higher heads ; with aims as bafe as hell.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 Parson Frank. 
 
 What barbed heart could wound fo fweet a life ? 
 What hand fo rafh as pluck a gentle flower 
 From out the flickering bofom where the winds 
 Of love blow ever foft and tenderly ? 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 Nor heart, nor hand, nor power good Parfon Frank 
 'T is but a pafling cloud which hides the fun, 
 And fhrouds us with a momentary gloom. 
 'T is gone. Now tell me all I 'm fain to know. 
 
 Parson Frank. 
 
 In truth, as yet no word has reached our ears : 
 But patience child ; the expecled ever come, 
 And greet us often as the wicket goes. 
 And Erneil is a good and faithful fon, 
 Of noble nature, and whate'er the path 
 Marked out for him, he '11 walk along it flraight, 
 And bravely toil the ilerneft mifiion out. 
 His generous heart, his manly love for truth, 
 His trull in God, and hope in man, have made 
 Him kindred with our own. 
 
 97
 
 98 Ernejl, the Pilgrim 
 
 Jessie. 
 
 O, is he not 
 As precious as your own ? But while I afk 
 The lather fpeaks in thee, thou belt of men, 
 Thou deareit. kindelt friend. Forgive mc then 
 This eager haftinefs ; but — 
 
 Parson Frank. 
 
 I know 't will come ; 
 Joy fpeed it on the way. Pillow thy heart 
 On Hope's calm bofom till fome funny hour 
 Shall bring thee all thy longing love defires. 
 The day is waning and the fun goes down 
 Behind the purple woods : Silence and Peace, 
 On tip-toe, Ileal acrofs the lulling world, 
 And weary Nature bows her head in prayer. 
 I' 11 to the parfonage and that rcpole 
 Which makes the humbleft home a paradile. 
 O Thou the univcrfal Giver, blefs 
 Us with the fulnefs of thy love and fmile 
 Upon our doings. For we live but in 
 Thy great beneficence ; and 't is Thy care 
 Which keeps us day by day. To Thee we bow, 
 Our God and Father now and evermore.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 99 
 
 Andrew. 
 
 Amen. 
 Jessie. 
 
 Amen, amen. 
 
 02
 
 ioo ErntJ}, the Pilgrim. 
 
 BABYLON. 
 
 FAR up the leas like a happy child, 
 A rivulet p:eps from its cradle fo wild ; 
 Trips through the meadows and fings thro' the groves, 
 And kifles the flowers as it revels and roves ; 
 The fummer winds play with its wavy trcflcs, 
 And Morning and Evening return its carefles ; 
 And lightly it hies and diftant it ftrays 
 By hamlet, old croft, and deep murmuring maze. 
 A merry boy eyes the young joy with delight, 
 And launches his boat on its bofom fo bright ; 
 Nor dreams that the fleets of all nations fhall ride 
 Where his tiny bark floats out its moment of pride. 
 Threading the vale like a heavenly beam, 
 The lea-cradled rivulet laughs to a ftream ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 101 
 
 And broader, and bolder, and brighter it flows, 
 
 As down to the deeps of the ocean it goes. 
 
 Ambition and Manhood come treafured and ftrong, 
 
 To delve where the river fweeps ftately along — 
 
 A dark rolling flood, with old minftrel trees 
 
 Harping the lays of the wantoning breeze. 
 
 Dear fcenes, and ye haunts of anceitral lore, 
 
 You will echo with Nature's wild gladnefs no more ; 
 
 The voice of the Spoiler is heard in your bowers, 
 
 And the plough- fliare is crufhing the homes of the flowers. 
 
 Silence and Solitude wander away, 
 
 Lingering, looking, and longing to flay ; 
 
 Love twines a laft wreath from the giant oak 
 
 Ere he yields his great heart to the fatal ftroke ; 
 
 And the cottager leaves the laft croft with a tear 
 
 As the war-ftrokes of Havoc ring fad in his ear. 
 
 The axe to the foreft — the wall to the ground — 
 The fort to the upland — the foffe to the mound — 
 The dock to the river — the port to the fhore — 
 The fhip to the ocean — the helm to the oar — 
 The mart to the meadow — the ftreet to the lane — 
 The arch to the chafm — the bridge to the plain — 
 The citadel, temple— the palace and throne — 
 The city of cities — a kingdom alone. 
 
 As toils the bee from flower to flower, 
 The Years toil on from hour to hour.
 
 1 02 Erne ft, tht Pilgrim : 
 
 Time and ages roll along, 
 And pregnant generations throng 
 The Avarming marts of men. The grafs 
 Seemed growing yeltcrday where thoufands pafs, 
 And pageants fwecp through Lud and Cheap to-day- 
 Cheered by the May-pole and the morrice gay. 
 Now rippling Fleet joins merry-voiced Old Bourne, 
 And Thames is gladdened from lwcct Clcrken's urn- 
 Whence famous knights of Paleftinc 
 Go forth to win the Holy Shrine : 
 Long may they keep the hoary gate 
 Which holds their ancient name and Hate. 
 Over Saint Giles the fky-lark fings, 
 And the wind-mill flaps its breezy wings ; 
 Burnhill a luitv harveit yields, 
 And gleaners glean in Lincoln Fields ; 
 Citizens guard the city walls, 
 And loungers throng round old Saint Pauls ; 
 While hunting band and courtly train 
 Gladden Old Bow and Drury Lane. 
 
 Live in the cverlafting pai^e 
 The glory of England's every age ; 
 The great God-light and the Spirit-fire 
 Which lit the deep Dark and fcattered the Pyre : 
 Live the old haunt and the facrcd fhade 
 Where the bones of our crownlcfs kings are laid —
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 The prophets immortal of Mind and Light, 
 
 Who ftarred the dome of" Reafon's night : 
 
 Live every deed and every name 
 
 To halo the hallowed Halls of Fame. 
 
 Live glorious Seer of Saxon Song, 
 
 The Tabard gay, and the pilgrim throng ; 
 
 The glittering coach and the pageant meet, 
 
 The quaintly houfe and nodding itreet ; 
 
 The terrace-court, the gothie hall, 
 
 The creaking-fign, the pent-houfe wall, 
 
 The citadel ftern, the girdling fofle, 
 
 The pulpit by the anciente crofle ; 
 
 The hoary Bar and the ponderous Gate 
 
 That mark the bounds of regal ftate ; 
 
 The barbed war-hofts which invoke 
 
 The king in haughty Bolingbroke ; 
 
 The morricers gay in their full array, 
 
 The goffiping nook and the ihady way ; 
 
 Beauty the rareft and gallants in gold, 
 
 The fchrivener lean and the yeoman bold ; 
 
 The joufting green and the hoftel fnug — 
 
 Where Eloquence beams from a big-bellied jug ; 
 
 The jolly old knight and his roiftering pack, 
 
 Burly with feafting and rofy with fack ; 
 
 The citizen free, and the 'Prentice band ; — 
 
 The name and fame of our Fatherland. 
 
 103
 
 104 EmtjJ, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Cycles of years and centuries roll, 
 And nations evolve from pole to pole ; 
 Time Avceps acrofs the untrodden lands ; 
 Ambition goes forth with her myriad hands ; 
 Power rears the ftcrn battlement, mans the flrong fleet, 
 Wealth pours out vaft riches through market and ftrcct ; 
 Art revels in beauty; and Science dives deep 
 Where regions of trcaiurc all fathomlcfs fleep ; 
 And Glory and Commerce go ftalwartly forth, 
 To conquer and traffic the ends of the earth. 
 
 Rcftlefs, myriad-moiling din, 
 Rolling out and throbbing in ; 
 Day and Night, for ever and aye, 
 Roaring, rufhing every way : 
 Life, and Death, and Weal, and Woe, 
 Over, and on, and eager they go ; — 
 Over and on, and ever, 
 Like a ftormful, furging river. 
 Thoufands and millions lavifhly fed, 
 Thoufands and millions ftarving for bread ; 
 Boiftcrous bubble and fwcltcring work, 
 Brooklets of pleafure and oceans of mirk ; 
 Sunny they glide and fuelden they crafh, 
 The golden prow o'er the fhuddcring plafh. 
 A morning of beauty, a noontide of blight, 
 Pale Mifcry fhivering acrofs the cold night;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 105 
 
 Bright little Edens of jubilant life, 
 
 Myriadom reeking with peflilent flrife ; 
 
 Charity doling with half-aided hands, 
 
 Villainy plotting in motlieft bands ; — 
 
 Ever and on, and crufhing away, 
 
 Bartering, bantering, night and day. 
 
 Dragged from the gutter, a bundle of rags, 
 
 A mifer, with pelf-gripping hand on his bags ; 
 
 The firft on the 'Change, the lafl at the Mart, — 
 
 Huge Mammon, with bargains of vice at his heart ; 
 
 Launched on the world with a blinding mow — 
 
 Dabbled and dared — and what is he now ? 
 
 A felon in gyves for breach of fair trull — 
 
 The poor man's life and the rich man's dull. 
 
 Life, and body, and foul on the rack, 
 
 Moments are millions, there 's no looking back ; 
 
 Over, and on, and breathlefs they go, 
 
 Sweeps the proud pageant and rattles the fhow. 
 
 The banqueting prince of to-day, 
 
 Herds down with the beggar to-morrow, 
 
 And the maiden, now merry as May, 
 
 Yields beauty and virtue to forrow. 
 
 Bright in the hall, and dark in the den, 
 
 The daughter of Nature and filler of men, 
 
 Gilding the park and fweeping the made, 
 
 Flaunting her charms on the gayeft parade ; 
 
 Down the dark ftreet at midnight fhe fleals, 
 
 A fire in her brain, and a fiend at her heels ;
 
 1 06 ErrifJ}, the Pilgrim : 
 
 I nzied one flop ! — there 's a hell in your path ! — 
 She crofles the threfhhold, defying its wrath : 
 Love and fwect friendfhip bought and fold, 
 Choked the pure fountains of life for gold ; 
 Tolled in the bubbles and furged in the weeds, 
 Scorned by the crccdlefs, and doomed by the Creeds ; 
 Lip-ftccped in pleafurc, and lounging at cafe, 
 Yawning for fomcthing, yet nothing will plcafe ; 
 Over, and on, and whirling away, 
 Curfing and praying as hard as they may. 
 Through the vaft myriadom rufhes the cry — 
 "Famine and Pellilence ravaging by !" 
 
 Terrors of hell ! how they hurde and fquall, 
 
 As Death lays a threatening hand on them all ! 
 
 Compamon fweeps out of the woe, 
 
 Yet pities poor beggarly men ; 
 
 While thoufands are chained to the foe, 
 
 And die in his horrible den : 
 
 The braggart flinks into his corner, 
 
 The harlot howls off to her hole, 
 
 The drunkard befots, and the fcorner 
 
 Hugs impotent Chance to his foul. 
 
 Life, and Death, and Weal and Woe, 
 
 Dazzling blaze and gilded mow ; 
 
 Heads in the air, and hands in the dirt, 
 
 A pennylefs heart and a gold-buttoned (hilt : 
 
 On, and over, and ever, 
 
 A-dovvn the Eternal River. —
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 107 
 
 Fathers on whom delight never fmiled ; 
 
 Mothers bewailing a wandering child ; 
 
 Brothers agaunt in their ftarving lair ; 
 
 Sifters, as Eden once blifsful and fair, 
 
 Crawling by ftealth to a human fty, 
 
 To tear their famifht hearts and die. 
 
 Up from the leas where the Junes are bright, 
 
 Filling the crofts with their full delight ; 
 
 Out in the ftreets, and the wild wild rain ; 
 
 A-bed on the fteps in the dreary lane ; — 
 
 Fear not for your carcafe, nor yet for your bags, 
 
 5 T is only a bundle of human rags ! 
 
 Terrible toiling, fwelter, and din, 
 
 Lives for all markets — money to win. 
 
 Out of the moil rings a rallying name ! 
 
 Smother it, or it will kindle a flame ; 
 
 Crufh it to death in defiance of laws, 
 
 Grind it to atoms with loyal applaule. 
 
 Thunders the alarum acrofs the land — ■ 
 
 " Buckle your harnefs on — War is at hand !" 
 
 The proud fleet fails for the vauntful fliore, 
 
 And the half of its heroes return no more ; 
 
 Flafhes the bayonet — glitters the plume, 
 
 A brave-hearted phalanx goes forth in its bloom ; — 
 
 The foe bites the duft, and the glory is bought 
 
 With thoufands fwept down where they valiantly 
 
 Ever, and on, and roaring away, [fought. 
 
 Day and night, and night and day ; 
 
 P2
 
 io8 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Ever — and ever — and ever — 
 The huge roar ccafes never : — 
 But Death has his throne, 
 And the grafs has grown 
 O'er many a buried Babylon. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Out of fweet heaven — deep in the furging moil 
 Of Man ! The firlt fair page of life has palled ; 
 The next lies open here before our eyes : 
 And what a page ! and what a world ! and what 
 The motley fluff that moulds and fafhions it ! 
 Stay— May old Time ! — not yet awhile. Turn back 
 That golden leaf of pleafantnefs and peace, 
 Which, like the hammering of the rofy fields, 
 Makes a bright Eden of the deepeft made. 
 Again — and yet again. O, thou young Life, 
 Sparkling and buoyant as a July morn, 
 Lift up thy chubby hands and happy eyes, 
 And laugh to madnefs o'er the ruddy leas ; 
 Youth vigorous and bold, with the free winds 
 Singing wild mufic through thy truant hair ; 
 Yc wooing hearts and holidays of love — 
 Pafs not away for ever, but return 
 Like Spring to earth, like warblers to the woods, 
 And veil this boundlefs Babeldom of wealth, 
 This rufhing roar of fplcndor, want, and woe.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 109 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 You lofe your time, and what is worfe, your breath 
 Good Erneft. We have looked behind too long ; 
 Have wafted precious days with empty mows ; 
 Waited for what will never come ; and loft 
 What cannot be regained. The world moves on, 
 While we ftand chaffering in the way. Our work 's 
 Undone : Nay, not begun. Refign the paft, 
 Its tawdry toys and boyilh luxuries, 
 And live in the battling Now ! — I had a home — 
 As fweet a heaven as you fhall find on earth ; 
 Had all the love which home and hearts can give ; 
 Revelled in mirth and beauty like a god, 
 Till Joy was throned within our happy midft. 
 A fair young bride came blufhing with the Spring, 
 And goldened all the Summer-time, and walkt 
 Amid the Autumn fheaves, gleaning bright ears 
 Of hope to wreathe old Winter's brow and fill 
 His foul with blifs whom she did love fo well. 
 Woe, woe to me : — The pale-faced Spoiler came, 
 And twice he fent his arrow to my heart — 
 For there was neftling, O, fo fair a flower, 
 And at its lips a bud, a pretty bud 
 Juft peeping into day. — My wife ! — my child ! 
 He flew them both and ftript me like an oak.
 
 I I o Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Ernest. 
 And now r 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 I have no wife, no child, no home : 
 My altar 's crufht, my idol 's in the duft. 
 I fled the wildernefs and fought the world, 
 And drank the cup of frenzy to the dregs. 
 Go, afk each fixond paflcr-by how (lands 
 The account of life with them ! — the tale oft told. 
 We carry happinefs upon our clothes, 
 While all beneath is raging with the fires 
 Of Hope — Ambition — Ruin — and Defpair. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 And ftill the world goes ftreaming to and fro, 
 Crowding by millions every flair and ftreet, 
 Eager, intent, and hot with thirfty aim : 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 With thirfty aim, with eager, hot intent 
 
 To ftrangle one another — friend or foe, 
 
 It boots not who, or what, or where, or when, 
 
 So it but brings good grift to Mammon's mill.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. \ \ \ 
 
 Ernest. 
 The univerfal ftrife is — how to live ! — 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 And how to pile the human fabric up 
 Until it tops the tower it leaned upon. 
 This man turns off his barrow for an afs, 
 Then drives it to his neighbour's croft to feed : 
 Your hail-friend tugs you tightly by the Reeve, 
 Bids you good day, afks blandly for your health, 
 And ends the fufs with — " Is their nothing now 
 You need ? — I 've a rare bargain ; juft look in, 
 And by my faith I '11 make it worth your while ;" 
 Your magnate has his carriage, hall, and church, 
 His city mart — with call-birds at the door, 
 Worships in gold and crimfon, kneels to Heaven 
 On Sabbath day, and fchemes the other fix. 
 Your bishop — meek fucceffor of the Twelve, 
 Barters his facred sheepfolds, puts them up 
 For fale, or auction, as the market goes, 
 And gets his office done for wages fuch 
 As foot-pads would refufe, though preachers can't. 
 The whole land fwarms alive with honeft men, 
 And every foul you meet is ripe for heaven ; 
 Yet Crime lays murderous hand upon your throat, 
 And Fraud its jewelled clutch upon your purfe ;
 
 1 1 2 Erne/?, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Whilft brawling Cant (hakes hell about your ears, 
 And Babylon's great harlot ftalks the ftrccts 
 To make a gilded play-thing of your Church. 
 O, righteous Earth, O, holy happy world ; 
 Above 't is very fair, and brightens every hour ; 
 Beneath 'tis peftilcnt, and black as Doom. 
 Nay be not blind : We fpc&acle our eyes 
 For shame or fashion's fake, and shun the light 
 Which God has given us for all righteous means. 
 A candid open heart, a truthful tongue, 
 A noble purpofe and a generous will — 
 In all thy wanderings through this human hive 
 How many fuch have croffed thy daily path ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Not all I fought ; nor even half the few 
 
 I would have found. Yet are they here and there 
 
 Like beacons on the ftormy beach : Brightly 
 
 They beam on human wrecks, and light the path 
 
 Of chartlcfs wanderers o'er the wilds of life. 
 
 I know a little corner of the earth 
 
 Where Happinefs fings all the glad year round ; 
 
 Where Love and Charity, like April noons, 
 
 Fill rural homes with rays of warmthful joy : 
 
 I know a man, a good and holy man, 
 
 Who walks with Heaven's great mercy in his heart, 
 
 Which he doth pour from that profluent fount
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 1 1 3 
 
 Like a bright ftream its gladnefs through the vales. 
 It is not all a mockery then, though not 
 The world our adolefcence conjures up 
 In airy caftles couched with eider-down. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 'T is not the world it might be ; not the world 
 
 Our maudlin milkfops verfe it by the yard, 
 
 Piping fweet frenzy to the moon and ftars 
 
 To gild their tinfel paradife below. 
 
 For me ! — I 've torn the flimfy mafk away, 
 
 And fee the hollow bauble as it is : 
 
 I 've lived it all from dawn to blackeft night, 
 
 From beggar's den to fafhion's gay boudoir ; 
 
 Lived all the utter mam — and now I fwear 
 
 To hold no man my friend, who, knowing this, 
 
 Will not give life and limb to better it. 
 
 Your praters in fine linen fplitting ftraws ; 
 
 Your noble fenators — ignoble pack, 
 
 Cutting for places at the public board ; 
 
 Your pigmy fatraps aping little kings ; 
 
 Your platform plaufibles with fmooth-gloved hands, 
 
 Drawling low platitudes in high cravats ; 
 
 Your platform patriots whofe valiant hearts 
 
 Beat to the found of feftive knives and forks — 
 
 While exiled heroes, banifht unto death, 
 
 Starve to their graves and die without a home ;
 
 I 1 4 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Your fmock-faced brawlers of prolific Rant ; 
 Your bubble jobbers in philanthropy ; 
 Your princely felons for the public weal ; 
 Your blafe loungers, yawning out the life 
 That is and mocking that to come ; — and lad, 
 Tho' not the very leaft, your bofom friend, 
 So like brother, fworn to coufin you : — 
 Call your quick eye along this motley crowd ; 
 'T is like a ftall of glittering gingcr-brcad — 
 Subftancc to fight and rotten to the touch. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Take heed unbridled choler move thee not : 
 Thy words are hatchct-blows, and not the fmooth. 
 Keen glancings of the polifhed knife that probes 
 The malady yet fcarcely feems to wound. 
 Granted, there 's earned work to do : And now 
 To feek fome million where the gifts we hold 
 May find their rightful fervicc. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha : — 
 Nay not in jeft. 'T is madnefs moves the laugh. 
 What fervice think'ee in this tinfel State 
 Could give good oflicc to an honcft man ? 
 The leaky hulk yields to the (lately fhip: 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 This luffs or fails according to the wind ; 
 This fvveeps all weathers like a giant bird. 
 You do not mend a fort with hollow reeds ; 
 A patcht houfe ever lets the water in ; 
 You do not prop a tottering tower with land, 
 But raze the gaping ruin to the ground, 
 And lay a new foundation firm and itrong. 
 Deilroy and build again is my lole aim ; 
 And 'tis my felf-appointed million — mine ! 
 And that it mould be yours, and that your heart 
 May prompt your will — 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 It mail not to do wrong. 
 What ! matter down the houfe our fathers reared 
 Through centuries of tenfold gloom ? Dafh out 
 The glorious light of Liberty and Truth 
 Which heroes fought and martyrs died to win ? 
 Preach fierce annihilation of the ftate ? 
 Of kith ? — of kin ?— of inftitutions ?— laws ? 
 And fee the land a weeping holocauft ? 
 Forbid fuch bitter day may ever dawn. 
 'T is eafy to deltroy ; but to create 
 Needs wifdom rarely born and feldom found, 
 Though mouthed abroad like other precious warts, 
 And cheap as cabbage in the market-place. 
 Children as large as men play wondrous games, 
 
 0^2 
 
 '15
 
 1 1 6 Brneft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Setting up calllea to knock down again. 
 
 I cannot hold your miflion jull even though 
 
 The courfe feem clear as fun and moon. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 And fo, 
 Like all the compromising herd, you leave 
 Your own good work for future hands to do : 
 You hold the law that Love fhould fpare the few 
 Who eat the many up, and Peace cry — hold ! 
 While civil ffaughtcr heaps huge dens of woe, 
 And banquets o'er the ruins of the dead ! 
 O, fhame upon our heads. We are not men, 
 But pigmies ftrutting in a genial fun. 
 The land of gods is the land of gods no more ; 
 We crawl where our great fathers flood erect ; 
 We live from hand to mouth, and let the day 
 Suffice for whatfoever it may bring. 
 Our rulers hold the dice and fet the game, — 
 The people pay the rub yet play it not ; 
 While toadying fycophants bow — Yes, or No, 
 Vow that it is, or fwear it is not fo. 
 O, there are fcenes within this gilded mirk 
 Should move the world's great heart of human love; 
 Yet daftards wall them off from fympathy, 
 As too unfeemly for thefe gentle times. 
 ' T is vain to plead where pleading is in vain ; 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 117 
 
 But 't is not vain to walk with pitying foul 
 Through gibing catacombs, where wretches fwarm 
 Like hungry wolves and tear each other's throats 
 In famifhing defpair ; where fifter-fouls 
 Work out their bitter days of flawing toil, 
 And living, pray to die ; where myriads cry 
 For bleffed light while darknefs hems them in. 
 Come, look thefe human horrors in the face, 
 Behold them in their abject nakednefs, 
 Read every fentence of the open book 
 Till the great woe is damped upon your foul, 
 And fires you with a high and Item refolve. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Down to the loweft deep with patient heed ; 
 Who would not read mult be a flave indeed. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Firft mark that glimpfe of funfhine through the mift— 
 A fair young mother Love's firil pledge hath kifft :— 
 
 " Little ftranger, merry ranger, 
 
 " Thro' Life's happy budding bowers,
 
 1 1 8 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 " Glad we meet you, joyful greet you 
 " In your funny, finlefs hours. 
 
 " What your blifs is — crowned with kiifes, 
 " All the guardian angels know ; 
 " What you may be, fmiling baby, 
 " Is not writ upon your brow. 
 
 " Bonny Mary, little fairy, 
 " Parent hearts do welcome ye 
 " As a blefling whofe poffefiing 
 " Will a fourcc of pleafure be. 
 
 " Baby Mary, bright and airv, 
 " Future hope and prelcnt pride ; 
 " Polly Poppit, foon to hop it 
 " From your gentle mother's fide. 
 
 " Firft the rattle, then the prattle, 
 " Then the toddling up and down ; 
 "Lots of playthings, O, fuch gay things — 
 " Boxes full at half-a-crown. 
 
 " Come the fchool-days, rod-and-rule days, 
 " Muft be up and there at nine ; 
 "Merry faces in their places, 
 " Clean and neat but njver fine. 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. \ \ g 
 
 " A. B. C— thofe letters three, 
 
 " Every learner muft begin with ; 
 
 " Then to pore o'er twenty more 
 
 " Which we talk, and fing, and fin with. 
 
 " From the fairy to Mifs Mary, 
 " Seems but juft a fummer's day ; 
 " Then white drelfes, and bright trelTes, 
 " Out in the meadows, away, away. 
 
 " Youthful eyeing, fweetheart trying 
 " How to win the gentle one ; 
 " And the time comes, as a chime comes, 
 " Ringing * Yes ' for love alone. 
 
 " Fond confentment, fweet contentment, 
 " Looking for the days to come : 
 " Tearful going — prayer bellowing — 
 " Willful fighs for Childhood's Home. 
 
 " Thus dear Nature, blefied creature, 
 " Marks our baby-journies out ; 
 " And we ftill go, and we will go, 
 " Up and down and round about. 
 
 " May your coming, like the humming 
 "Of the early fummer bee, 
 " Bring fuch gladnefs that all fadnefs 
 " Shall b; loft in loving ye."
 
 1 20 Erne fly the Pilgrim : 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 The infant burfting of a rofy Morn : 
 
 May Noon be cloudlcis, and the diftant Eve 
 
 Fade foftly into pure and perfect heaven. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Amen. Such love, fuch young fpontaneous joy, 
 Tunes the harfh ftrings of life and fets 
 The pulfes all a-glow. 'T is time — yet ftay ; 
 Turn but your head and dole your eyes ; unlid 
 Them to their wont — fay, where 's the heaven now ? 
 Hear'ft the low wail that wrings a mother's heart ? — 
 
 " Gone, gone my beautiful boy, 
 " Gone in his bonnie young bloom ; 
 "The light of the day fwept fwiftlv away, 
 '• Life's paradife buried in gloom. 
 
 "Joy, joy of my worfhipping heart, 
 
 " Joy of my pillowing breaft ; 
 
 " He 's pafled from my fight, and the full delight 
 
 " Of my love is for ever unbleft. 
 
 " Still, ftill the prattling tongue, 
 " Still in the fdence of death ; 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. \z\ 
 
 " The forehead fo fair, with its bright Saxon hair, 
 " Bedewed with the Spoiler's breath. 
 
 " Life, life was in every limb, 
 
 " Life in the roof-ringing laugh ; 
 
 " They faid he would grow ruddy Manhood to know, 
 
 " And the ftrength of the ftrongeft quaff. 
 
 " Dead, dead, and he hears not my voice, 
 
 " Dead in the morning of joy ; 
 
 " I call him by name, yet he {lumbers the fame — 
 
 " My Alec, my beautiful boy. 
 
 " Stay, ftay, don't take him away ; 
 
 " Stay — and in pitying forrow, 
 
 " The Difpofer may give, and the pallid one live 
 
 "To blefs me again ere to-morrow. 
 
 " Peace, peace, and Thy will be done ; 
 
 " Peace to the life that was given ; 
 
 " His reft is the grave, where the wild-flowers wave, 
 
 " Till I clafp my fweet boy in heaven. 
 
 " No, no, not a favorite toy, 
 
 " No, not his whip nor his ball, 
 
 " But I '11 ftore with my love for the angel above, 
 
 " And tenderly treafure them all.
 
 1 2 2 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 " Tears, tears, I cannot but weep, 
 
 "Tears at each voice in the facet ; 
 
 " Not a found went by, but my blue-eyed boy 
 
 " Would echo it clear and fweet ; 
 
 " Sleep, fleep my unfolded bud, 
 
 " Sleep from the florin and the ftrife ; 
 
 " And Memory's harp, o'er my forrow fo fliarp, 
 
 " Shall breathe the fweet fong of thy life." 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 A mother's wail indeed, and forrow deep ; 
 Yet not fo deep but hope may fmile again, 
 And faith make peace withal — 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Why clutch me thus ? 
 What look your deadfall eyes upon ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Grim, gaunt and hungry men ; 
 Women in filthy rags ; 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 123 
 
 Children in tatters fwarming like ants 
 
 In gutters ftagnant, flenched, 
 
 And reeking peftilence; 
 
 Cellars that seethe with wretchednefs ; 
 
 Dark dens that lean on rotten props, 
 
 And know no glimpfe of day; 
 
 Herd- wallowing mifery and lhades of death ; 
 
 Shoelefs ftriplings daubing their fellow's face 
 
 With mire, and fharr.elefs girls who look 
 
 On lewdly, urging the vile fport ; 
 
 A workhoufe grim with gloom ; 
 
 A crowded jail, and fcaffold thronged by thieves ; 
 
 Toilers a-weary, Having, flaving on, 
 
 Through day and night, 
 
 Awake and in their dreams ; 
 
 Want-wafted hands held up for bread 
 
 To Him who feeds the poor ; 
 
 Pale, parched lips moving in filent prayer 
 
 For that fweet peace which death alone can bring ; 
 
 Sly baby rogues, 
 
 And rogues with hoary hair ; 
 
 A fiend, debauched with villainy, 
 
 Clutching the throat of her he vowed to love ; 
 
 A dark aiTaffin fkulking from his lair, 
 
 To plunge his guardlefs viclim down to death ; 
 
 A wild defpairing man, {tabbing 
 
 His life out in a naked room ; — 
 
 Hold, hold, poor vidlim. — 
 
 R2
 
 i :4 Erne/i, (be Pilgrim : 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Ay, victim indeed. 
 And thus pale fpirits pafs us every hour, 
 Shrieking and fhuddcring to the filent Gloom. 
 Thefc for your note, and million too. — And now ! 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 We might have dreamed — or this might be a dream ! 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 And 't is a dream — a Day-mare out of doors ; 
 
 Falhion abroad to air itfelf an hour. 
 
 Mark the prolific elegance ; Proud men 
 
 And gorgeous women in the pomp and pride 
 
 Of high eftate ; the roue and the rake ; 
 
 A park of flaunting butterflies and firings 
 
 Of coaches glittering with fair dames who breathe 
 
 Voluptuous odours to the languid air ; 
 
 A banquet drunk with braggodocian brawl ; 
 
 A fcaft of Civic toafting with Young Day 
 
 Laughing at Revel reeling off to bed ; 
 
 A Senate of wife men who lounge and jeft 
 
 According to their tafte and pals the year 
 
 With promifes of fomething for the next; 
 
 A feat of learning piled with mines of thought,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 125 
 
 And ftudents training for the pliant oar, 
 
 The race, the revel, and the wild debauch ; 
 
 A firing of lacqueys with the Word of God 
 
 For worlhippers devout who walk before ; 
 
 A Paul of parafites — a pulpit pet, 
 
 Gloved like a lady toileted for fale ; 
 
 Huge ftalls hung round with trappings fuch as He, 
 
 Who had not where to lay his facred head, 
 
 Had bleft the needy with ; while thefe good men, 
 
 Like pampered oxen feeding for the fhow, 
 
 Grow fat with having nothing elfe to do. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 And yet — with all this lavifh life, this wafte 
 Of wealth, from him who holds the keys of earth, 
 To him who fain would hold the keys of heaven — 
 Each paffer-by with quick unquiet fhrug, 
 Avoids the haunts where vice and mifery dwell, 
 Kerchiefs his nofe and turns another way. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Thefe are not tutored in the vulgar faith 
 Of charity which doeth daily good ; 
 Nor in that inner grace which feeds the fouls 
 Of thofe who hunger after Light and Truth. 
 Like partial drops of fummer rain upon
 
 1 26 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 A hot and thirfty rnad, a fpirit here 
 And there, laden with bleflcd manna, comes, 
 And with a very bounteoufnefs of foul, 
 Gives all its wealth of love and fympathy 
 To lighten ills, and better what is bad. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 The filvery glintings of the rivulet 
 
 Down the broad channel of the furging tide. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 The illuftration 's apt ; fo pafs along, 
 And let your vifion fweep the human fea 
 Which now and ever carts revealings up, 
 And heaves its ghaftly wrecks on either fhore. 
 The day is waning ; night comes robed with ftars ; 
 The city 's all ablaze with gorgeous fires ; 
 And liltlefs life awakes as from a dream. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 What courfe wilt fleer ? 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 The courfe the tide fhall go.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 127 
 
 How pours the ftream of gilded mirth along 
 
 To gaudy palaces and tinfel fhades, 
 
 Where mafked throngs — the beauty of the land, 
 
 Waltz out the feverilh hours ! — Mark yonder form — 
 
 You 've known it well and long ; the lord that led 
 
 Fair Jeffie from her May-day bower now leads 
 
 A haughty Juno, floating through the maze 
 
 With peerlefs pride. See how his wild eye gloats 
 
 Upon her fnowy charms — but not with love ; 
 
 Pafhon, unbridled, holds him at its beck, 
 
 He nothing loth to follow to the end. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 And in fo queltionable a place ? 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Why not? 
 But look ye, they have left the giddy dance ; 
 She leans upon his arm, her very lips 
 Breathing upon his own ; — they boldly dare 
 The fecret avenue — unmafk, and lo ! — 
 The wedded angel of his faithful friend. 
 We ape great follies, and are feldom flow 
 To make them impious. Thus thoufands fall 
 From blufhing virtue to unbufhing vice. 
 They lift the curtains of yon midnight den —
 
 I28 Erntft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 No fhame, no bafhful beauty meets your eye, 
 But flimfy, torn, and tattered wrecks of men 
 And women roiftcring o'er the mouth of hell; 
 Do you not hear that defperation laugh 
 Ringing above the revel of the night ? — 
 '* 'T is the laft flake ! " — a gamefler flics to drink 
 The dregs of Frenzy's deadly cup and blaft 
 Dear life for ever. Hope, and peace, and joy 
 Return no more. The dream of hazard-wealth 
 Has fled, and nothing flays but woe untold, 
 And hag-browed Confcicnce which will never die. 
 Along the city's night parade a girl — 
 Once fair to look upon, with nature warm 
 And pure, and virtues fragrant as the breath 
 Of flowers, a loll and lonely creature prowls 
 In fearch of vile exiflencc — her fad wreck 
 Of young and faded life. O, fhe had loves, 
 And joys and daify -dreams before her fall — 
 
 Eknest. 
 
 See ! how fhe looks yet fhuns me with her pale 
 Familiar face ! Mcthinks I knew her once — 
 A bonny rofe that grew befide the Gadc, 
 Now crufht and blighted in its winfome bloom. 
 Ye gentle meflengcrs 'twixt heaven and earth, 
 Shield with your fpotlefs wings this poor forlorn, 
 And blot her errors from the Book of Life. 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 1 29 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 I faw a pauper funeral to-day, 
 
 With but one folitary foul to mourn: 
 
 And by the mourner well I knew the dead. 
 
 When firft I faw her, beautiful and pure, 
 
 Her face was like an angels — full of joy, 
 
 And love, and fympathy. So fair fhe was, 
 
 I fought her daily path to look upon 
 
 Such lovelinefs as won ere it had wooed. 
 
 I faw her once again — a gaudy, gay, 
 
 And flaunting thing, pale fiiadow of the pail ; 
 
 Beauty in ruins. And the ruins fell 
 
 In graceful atoms ; but no hand was there 
 
 To gather up the wreck. Haggard and wild, 
 
 And loft to peace and joy, the frail one fled 
 
 From bartered life ere fhe had fairly lived. 
 
 Poor Helen ; once fhe looked from out the gloom, 
 
 And panted for the fun. 'T was all a-cold. 
 
 Rude tongues fhot arrows, eyes fent fhafts of fcorn, 
 
 And heads that bowed now turned to gibe and feoff: 
 
 The pitying world poured poifon in her foul 
 
 And caft her back to die. She had a child — 
 
 The dowry now of one fo fchooled in craft, 
 
 Its orphanhood will yield her fruitful gain : 
 
 'T will be the dolorous widow's wretched plaint 
 
 Through ftormy days and ever dreary nights ; 
 
 Prattle in infant oaths ; rob i' th' fun ;
 
 130 Ernejl, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Grow deft at cunning, and learn every fin 
 As ardently as old men learn their prayers. 
 There 's little charity for dawning vice, 
 Yet pity for the felon with the gyves 
 Upon his limbs ; or when the fcafFold looms 
 Portentous, waiting for the murderer's life, 
 Who lived by virtue of the right to wrong. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 And thefc are they who need the willing heart, 
 And ready hand to lift them from the mire. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Truly ; but ere they fall, not after it. 
 Nurture the bud, nor wait the faded bloom 
 To ftore your homes with beauty and delight. 
 And 't will be nurtured hence — but let that pafs ; 
 And let us leave yon ribbald mirth behind, 
 To glance at fomcthing nearer to our hearts. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Which fomething meets you in the face. Tell me, 
 If ought you know — and much you ftore in thought 
 Of every palling incident in life, 
 What youth is he who greets you with a fmile
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 1 3 1 
 
 So gravely fad, and yet Co full of foul ? 
 
 He touched your fkirts but now ; and 't was as though 
 
 Some fainted fpirit fanned my flufhing cheek : 
 
 I feel that prefence like a power that draws 
 
 Me to itfelf by kindred fympathy. 
 
 He 's furely young in years ! 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Yet old in thought. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Scarce thirty hammers ! 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Nay, not twenty-five ! 
 Yet fixty winters might have fwept their ltorms 
 Acrofs his brow and withered up his life. 
 In the afpiring buoyancy of youth 
 He thought to reach the myriad-heart of man, 
 And fill the world's vaft temple with a fong 
 Should echo to the fhores of Evermore. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 A noble aim. 
 
 S2
 
 132 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Moft ignobly contemned. 
 The youth was fren/.v-ltruck ; fomc mother's Ton 
 Who muied on infant pap; confpircd with myths 
 To ltartle all the world ; and by fome Height 
 Of hand, did hope at no far diftant day, 
 To fit enthroned on high Olympus' top. 
 Thus damning cenfors crufhed his lyre ; and now 
 The ftricken poet, in his narrow room, 
 Toils out the long night hours with throbbing brain, 
 'Midft hope and doubt, 'midit doubt and hope — the far- 
 Of unapportioned Thought ; the martyr-wreath 
 Of Genius whole deep fpirit quarries out 
 The hidden diamond it may not hold 
 With life. 
 
 Ernest. 
 Tell me what madnefs he hath lung. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Here are fome facred heart-throbs which I ftore 
 With precious care. I gathered them as flowers 
 That perfume when the Summer 's paft away.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 133 
 
 " The bright flowers mingle in the glade, 
 
 " The wild bee wooes the heather, 
 
 " The fong-birds warble through the fhade, 
 
 " And live and love together ; 
 
 " All nature joy and pleafance flngs 
 
 " In full harmonious ftory, 
 
 " Spring pipes iEolian murmurings, 
 
 " And Winter anthems hoary ; 
 
 " In every chord of Beauty's harp 
 
 " There 's melody and gladnefs — 
 
 " 'T is only man feels forrow fharp, 
 
 " And drinks the cup of fadnefs ; 
 
 " Nor might of mind, nor genius rare, 
 
 " Efcape the fatal potion ; 
 
 " The loftleft foul has drunk defpair 
 
 " From Life's deep, darkling ocean. 
 
 " We revel in the poet's theme, 
 
 " The painter's great creation, 
 
 " Too oft to follow in the ftream 
 
 "Of empty adulation. 
 
 " Time lays his hand on rich and poor, 
 
 " But Poverty feels keeneft ; 
 
 " And Want has barred the ftudent's door 
 
 " When life and thought were greeneft : 
 
 " The mind's hard toil, the midnight lamp, 
 
 " The world's uncertain favours, 
 
 " Hopes which a hoft of ills will damp, 
 
 " And fame that ever wavers ; —
 
 • 34 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 " Thefc have proftratcd many a heart 
 
 "Endowed with noblefl feelings, 
 
 " Winged haggard forrow's deadly dart, 
 
 " And crufhed the foul's rcvcalings. 
 
 " Gaunt Age floops on with wrinkled brow, 
 
 " Each leflening day dclightlefs — 
 
 " No gleam of joy, no bright dreams now, 
 
 " To make one dark day nightlefs: 
 
 "Defpair, with wild and frenzied eye, 
 
 " Clouds every dawn with forrow ; — 
 
 " 'T is death to live, 't is doubt to die, 
 
 " Hope ever cries — * To-morrow,' 
 
 " O, for a loyal brotherhood 
 
 " Of Nature's great and gifted, 
 
 " To favc from Lethe's ltormful flood 
 
 " The ltruggling and the drifted : 
 
 " Then fhall the Triune Arts ftand forth, 
 
 " With goodly honours gleaming, 
 
 " And fend this million through the earth: — 
 
 " ' The Sun of mind is beaming ! 
 
 " ' Hail wreck of Genius ceafe to pine, 
 
 " ' A bright heaven fmilcs above thee ; 
 
 " ' A home for weary Worth is thine 
 
 " ' From hearts who prize and love thee.' " 
 
 Pale, pallid thinker, ere the brotherhood 
 
 Which haunts his dreams (hall hail or hold him fuch, 
 
 A brotherhood of fterncr purpofe will 
 
 A rife to hail the world and all the great
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 135 
 
 And noble who have life and hopes to fave. 
 
 Let every defpot die ; and let the falfe 
 
 And faithlefs pay the forfeit of their frauds. 
 
 'T is murmuring in the winds fome few leagues off, 
 
 And will be here ere wickednefs mail ftain 
 
 Another year with bad, unrighteous crimes. 
 
 Wrong laughs at Juftice ; Heaven is puc to fhame ; 
 
 Great God is mocked, and Mammon deified ; 
 
 The air we breathe is foul with fecret deeds ; 
 
 Corruption taints our orifons ; while faints 
 
 Are canonized for molt, unholy gain, 
 
 And every temple fets its idol up. 
 
 'T is coming, Erneft, and will foon be here. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Will foon be here ? Pray what will foon be here ? 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 The day of Juftice and of Judgement too. 
 'T is whifpering now had we but ears to hear : 
 But fuch the boundlefs confidence, no harm 
 Can come to England, none, fome wife men fay ! 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Nor do you pray for harm to England ! —
 
 136 Erne ft, tbi Pilgrim: 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 No; 
 I pray for retributive War, that Right 
 May reign for evermore. — Nay, itart not thus; 
 There are no bayonets beneath our feet ! 
 No fecret trains are laid to blow us up ! 
 We walk on feathers, fleep on fofteft down, 
 And every man 's a cattle in himi 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Nay then, you mock me as I were a flave, 
 Having nor eyes to fee, nor heart to feel. 
 Give me to know, and knowing, I will dare 
 And do the ftcrnelt duty of a man. 
 In the dear home which gave my rooflels head 
 A parent flicker, I was daily taught 
 To love my neighbour as myfelf ; to aid 
 The needy ; foothe the lick with carnelt care ; 
 Be to all men a helper and a friend ; 
 ijvek good and hallow it; nor harbour wrong 
 'Gainft any living thing in this wide world. 
 Thcfe precepts will I hold — but not to fee 
 The bitter woes, which now I look upon, 
 Pafled by. I only pray for light to fhine 
 Upon the path in which I ought to go : 
 That found, I am not worthy of my name
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 137 
 
 If fear call any fhadow on the way. 
 
 Whence comes the warning ? — As I afk 
 
 The anfwer comes. Say, is it fo ? — from France ! 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 From France, or nowhere, as you well divine. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 There was a France which had a chofen king, 
 
 And fent him headlefs to his regal grave ; 
 
 Laid murderous hands upon his precious loves, 
 
 And crufht them with its fierce and bloody heel. 
 
 Thronelefs, fhe fwarmed with facrilegious hordes, 
 
 Who reeled with drunken daughter through her ftreets ; 
 
 Tore up the old foundations of her Laws ; 
 
 Made barriers of her glories ; ftript her bare 
 
 As naked beggar ; curled her royal name ; 
 
 Dungeoned her weeping Beauty and her Love ; 
 
 And in the name of fhrieking Liberty, 
 
 Unroofed her towering citadels of Thought 
 
 By thoufands, till the glutted channels choked 
 
 With human blood, and Terror reigned fupreme. 
 
 Fraternal maflacre, begorged with flaughter — paufed : 
 
 And Retribution, with remorfeleis ire, 
 
 And fiery Wrath, and terrible Revenge, 
 
 Sought blood for blood, and tracked the banded ghouls
 
 I 3 8 Erntft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 To direful death and moil abhorcnt woe ; 
 
 While he, tlv.ir prieft incarnate, dragged to doom, 
 
 Immortalized his day of infamy 
 
 By dying like a dog. And at whofe hands? 
 
 Waft not, perchance, that gibing, fcofling crowd, 
 
 Which yeftc-day did kifs his bloody fkirts 
 
 As more than man, and little lefs than God ? 
 
 Arthur, 
 
 What then ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Why paradox tumultuous. 
 Upon the ruins of that kinglefs wreck 
 An empire towers : and from its frowning creft 
 A blazing meteor hurls his furious bolts 
 Of war, till Europe trembles with the fhock. 
 With ruthlefs fword he lays the nations wafte ; 
 Grafps at the world ! — when lo, the bubble breaks, 
 Breaks in his hand. Ambition plays him falfe. 
 Armies of heroes have gone down to death, 
 And yet the Imperial fabric falls, and France, 
 Poor immolated France, weeps in her weeds. 
 But 't were not well to forrow thus too long : — 
 She gives her empire for a king — and he !
 
 A Dramatic Poem. I 39 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Will fall as faithlefs rulers mould ; as fell 
 Our royal martyr gone before ; and France, 
 With the long erring pall before her eyes, 
 Will wake to glorious liberty, and make 
 The world's enflavers know that God is juft; 
 That vengeance is at hand ; that now the day 
 Of wrath has come. And fo, to France I go. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 And I will with you. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Wherefore fay you fo ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 To mark the courfe the ftormy torrent takes, 
 What good it purpofes, or ill it makes ; 
 To read and learn, to garner up and blot, 
 Hold what is juft and cancel what is not. 
 
 T2
 
 140 Ernefi, I be Pi/grim. 
 
 TO JESSIE. 
 
 LIKE a meadow in the Spring-time, 
 Like a croft of blooming trees, 
 Like the bride of day at midnight, 
 Like a June of melodies, 
 Like a lute among the willows, 
 Like a fummer-piping lea — 
 Smiles the beauty of my lover, 
 Echoes her dear voice to me. 
 Wherefore art thou gentle Jeflie, 
 Lonely in our native Dale ; 
 Looking for the joy that comes not, 
 Wailing till thy cheek grows pale ? 
 Thou art leaning o'er the wicket. 
 Sadnefs is upon thv biow ; 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 141 
 
 Anxious eyes fay — He is coming, 
 But the full heart anfwers — 
 
 No; 
 'T is his dear foul in a letter — 
 Looked for, longed for, prayed for to. 
 He is coming ! 'T will be fhortly, 
 And our joy will be complete : 
 O, the blefTed flowers are laughing'. 
 Laughing all about our feet. 
 'T is his dear foul in a letter, 
 Shall I, dare I break the kal ? 
 Fruit fo rich and wine lb precious, 
 Life and foul for many a meal. 
 I will read it all to tatters, 
 Trace it like a precious chart, 
 Keep the verieft of its fragments 
 In the cafket of my heart. 
 'T is his dear foul in a letter, 
 Now to know my joys or fears ! — 
 Give me thy ilrong foul dear Erneft, 
 Mine is gufhing out in tears. 
 
 Dear devoted, long I 've waited 
 For fome happy news to tell, 
 But there come no El Dorados 
 Where the Eternal Pleafures dwelL 
 Dark it is, and dreary, dreary, 
 Millions fought, but never found ;
 
 I 42 Errtffl, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Ah, fwcct life, and when I know not, 
 
 Since to fetters man is bound, 
 
 Which nor love with plaintive wooings 
 
 Can their ftubborn purpofe break. 
 
 Ere our lips may meet again love 
 
 Many a coward's heart will quake ; 
 
 Many a bridal will be blighted, 
 
 Many a promifed tryfting parted, 
 
 Many a cheerful home a-loncly, 
 
 Many a widow broken-hearted. 
 
 Silrnce is a weary forrow ; 
 
 Sorrow is a grief to tell ; 
 
 You would know the promifed Wherefore, 
 
 Haunting memorv like a fpell : 
 
 O to cafe thy heart's deep afking, 
 
 O to fpeak in gentleft words, 
 
 Like the brooklet's wildering mufic, 
 
 Like the minftrelfy of birds. 
 
 Dear companion of my childhood, 
 
 Rofv with the kifs of Morn, — 
 
 How I love thee, how I blefs thee 
 
 From my heart's intenfe forlorn. 
 
 And that heart is ever with thee, 
 
 Pouring out its fondeft woes, 
 
 Seeking welcomes to thy bolom. 
 
 And Eternals of repofe. 
 
 Hold me in thy angcl-kceping, 
 
 Lead mc to the hills above.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 143 
 
 Light the vales of doubt and darknefs 
 
 With the funbeams of thy love. 
 
 Every word which thou haft fpoken, 
 
 Every joy which thou haft given, 
 
 Every fweet — Good night dear Erneft, 
 
 Fills me with bright hope and heaven. 
 
 Gloomy is the way before me — 
 
 Yet it fhould be bravely trod; 
 
 He who would be nature-noble, 
 
 Muft himfelf find out the road. 
 
 Bear my love and facred duty 
 
 To my boyhood's orphan home ; 
 
 Tell the precious ones who love me — 
 
 " If he lives he 's fure to come." 
 
 Not a kind word is forgotten, 
 
 Not a meadow, dell, or tree ; 
 
 Home, and loves, and fcenes grow brighter 
 
 As I look through them to thee : 
 
 And I look to thee dear Jeffie 
 
 As the haven of my life ; 
 
 And I ever live to blefs thee 
 
 As my gentle fpirit wife.
 
 , 44 Erneji, the Pilgrim, 
 
 OUR VILLAGE. 
 
 UP with the lark in the morning, 
 Over the hills betimes, 
 Out in your fummer adorning, 
 Come with the welcoming chimes ; 
 Faces as freih as the meadows, 
 Voices as clear as the ftreams, 
 Graces that call their fair fhadows 
 O'er the leas of our hopefuleft dreams. 
 Aye for the fweet little village, 
 Aye for the bonnie and rare, 
 Aye for the harveft nnd tillage 
 That bring us our old Siatty Fair.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 145 
 
 Mother fhe buftles fo featly, 
 
 And fands down the clean cottage floor, 
 
 Trigs out in her gayeft as neatly 
 
 As in the bright fummers afore ; 
 
 Such lots of old friends will be coming, 
 
 And laffes and lads all a-gig ; 
 
 Such fiddling, piping, and drumming, 
 
 With many a fong and a jig. 
 
 She faid flic 'd be here as we parted 
 
 Laft night at the old Wifhing-Gate — 
 
 If there 's aught in the world that 's true-hearted 
 
 I know 't is my dear little Kate ; 
 
 Over the green flie is hieing, 
 
 Bright as a beam of the fun ; 
 
 And Laughter with Mirth will be vieing 
 
 Like mad ere the day fliall be done. 
 
 Heartieft, happieft greeting, 
 Pleafure in every face : — 
 D' ye mind ? — We 'd juft fuch a meeting 
 Laft year in this very fame place ! 
 Betfy and Tom have got married, 
 Willie went over the fea ; 
 My letter was fomehow mifcarried, 
 But Willie 's aye written to me. 
 v
 
 146 Ertiffl, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Bartering, chopping, and changing, 
 Turning the brightcft fide out, 
 Labour and wages arranging 
 ( )' r fmirking good ale and brown ftout 
 Farmer and Roger can't hit it, 
 Gaffer looks after his bier; 
 Doll\ will try hard to get it — 
 'T is only juft fix pounds a-vear. 
 
 Stalls fmothcred over with treafure, 
 
 Gingerbread nobles in gold, 
 
 Jokes cut and dried without meafure, 
 
 Fortunes mvflcrioufly told : 
 
 Juvenile banks are all broken, 
 
 Or cleared at the point of the knife — 
 
 For every fairing befpoken, 
 
 Refign your whole purfe or your life ! 
 
 Good Parfon Frank all furrounded 
 With troops of foliciting hands; 
 They know that his love is unbounded, 
 And how his good nature expands ; 
 Not one of the fmiling young faces 
 But fills his whole being with joy — 
 In each palm a kind prcfent he places 
 With " Blefs you " my girl or my boy. 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 147 
 
 Long on this day have we counted— 
 Dear Mary and Johnny and I, 
 To fee all the fine people mounted 
 On ftages fo grand and fo high : 
 The dwarf and the monftrous giant, 
 The pig learned in mufic and law, 
 Great lions and tigers defiant, 
 With wonders the world never faw. 
 
 Bears from the regions of Polar, 
 Donkeys trigged out for the race, 
 Fools pulling grins through a collar, 
 Swift men ftript for the chafe : 
 Climbing the pole for mutton, 
 Jumping in facks for cheer, 
 Throwing the quoit o'er the button, 
 Heaving the hammer for beer. 
 
 Cheap John with a faw is haranguing 
 A crowd at the tail of his cart, 
 The deafening gong is a-clanging 
 Wild chorus to every art ; 
 The Clown pulls his broadeft grimaces, 
 The Harlequin quivers his wand, 
 Fair Columbine meafures her paces 
 Infpired by a clafhing brafs-band. 
 
 V2
 
 i i -' Erne/1, the Pilgrim : 
 
 " Walk up " through a hoarfc trump?t bellows, 
 To itark flaring mouths and great eyes — 
 " All in to begin my fine fellows, 
 Walk up and walk in if you 're wife :" 
 And the bandit rifles and plunders, 
 Young Momus wags mifchicvous jaws, 
 Stern Tragedy rages and thunders 
 'Midft florins of uproarious applaufe. 
 
 Out of the merry commotion 
 
 The old folks faunter away, 
 
 And talk o'er the joy with devotion 
 
 As Evening curtains the day : 
 
 Happy looks every creature, 
 
 Cheerful the fun goes down, 
 
 And the bright fwarthy brow of Dame Nature 
 
 Is wreathed with her Autumn crown. 
 Aye for the fwect little village, 
 Aye for the bonnie and rare, 
 Aye for the harvest and tillage 
 Which brings us our old Statty Fair. 
 
 Artist. 
 
 'T is a rude fketch — and yet there 's fomcthing in 't ; 
 
 Touches of fun, of character, and face, 
 
 A lufly, laughing, mcrrv-hcartcd glint 
 
 Of what a cunning-hand would bolder trace.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 149 
 
 Great Nature ! with thy unfathomable flore 
 
 Of precious, pricelefs treafures, the whole earth 
 
 Is full, and rich, and royal as of yore, 
 
 When Dawn and Day firft lung thy rofy birth. 
 
 Thou art the fource of Beauty for all Time — 
 
 Joy of the valley — Gladnefs of the lea, 
 
 Voice of the mountains — boundlefs and fublime. 
 
 The painter is a wooing child to thee ; 
 
 With willful heed he traces every form 
 
 Of thy divinity — his faith as pure, 
 
 The worfhip of his heart as true and warm 
 
 As fondell lovers. 
 
 I wonder if this worthy fhepherd can 
 
 Find any touch of rultic nature here, 
 
 Or of himfelf as now he flood, good man, 
 
 Watching the feflive mirth ! — He 's coming near. 
 
 The countenance ferene with reverend age, 
 
 And Hooping moulders wreathed with filvery hair, 
 
 Befpeak the village patriarch and fage. 
 
 He has the goodly bearing and the air 
 
 Of one who well could grace that palloral crook 
 
 So coveted by preachers now-a-days. 
 
 Methinks I read his heart in that true book, 
 
 The eyes divine, fo fteadfafl in their gaze. 
 
 Good evening fhepherd : I am fain to know, 
 
 From one of ruflic life and rural birth, 
 
 If this rough fketch in any wife doth mow
 
 i 5 o Braeft, the Pi/grim: 
 
 The hearty humour of that village mirth 
 Which won your car anJ genial i'mile juft now ? 
 
 I 'm not a painter ! 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Artist. 
 
 Yet may be a judge, 
 Of what i$ good or bad in painter's art. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 He will have truer taftc, though but a fmudge, 
 Who judges by tuition, not his heart. 
 
 Artist. 
 
 How often have you looked acrofs the leas 
 In rofy Spring and fruitful Summer-time, 
 And felt the beauty of the flowers and trees 
 Tune your whole being to a heavenly chime ? 
 You had the inward art and truly read, 
 The lines upon the canvas as they came, 
 With their fair forms and blending colours fpread 
 Before your eyes — even beautiful to name.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. i 5 1 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Yet ftill I do but read — you read and paint, 
 And therefore aflc yourfelf if wrong or right 
 The humour is. The fun's laft beams grow faint, 
 And I mult fold my fheep ere it be night. 
 
 Artist. 
 
 I '11 with you flraight ; yet yield your judgement friend ! 
 I aflc from pure defire. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Well, be it fo. — 
 'T is not amifs — 't would take a mort to mend 
 It I mould fay, that is if I may know. 
 And yet I only fee ; I cannot hear. 
 The canvas does not breathe, and laugh, and ling ! 
 There is no voice of birds to charm the ear, 
 No echo of the brooklet's merry ring ! 
 I would not give the prattle of a child, 
 The rofy laughter of a village maid, 
 For all Arts' great creations, ftored and piled 
 With high importance and fupreme parade.
 
 I Si Erneft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Artist. 
 
 I love the laughter and the prattle too, 
 
 And yet the painter's art no wit the lefs : — ■ 
 
 See in my wanderings beauties ever new, 
 
 And fair as this fair earth can well pofiefs. 
 
 Laughter, and mirth, and bickers full of fong 
 
 Gladden the wildeft defert — heard, and felt, 
 
 And loved, and revelled in the Ages long. 
 
 I 'vc fat within a nook whofe joy would melt 
 
 A city cynic's heart, — a nook that fung 
 
 And fouled all round and over head, 
 
 With wild notes the bright rippling boughs among ; 
 
 The honcyfuckle and the white rofe wed 
 
 In graceful filterhood ; beneath my feet 
 
 A carpet of foft mofs ; around me flowers 
 
 That lookt into my eyes with love as fweet 
 
 As Beauty to the faireft maiden dowers. 
 
 And as the picture grew upon my fight, 
 
 I made it all my own ; became a child 
 
 Of Nature, wooed her with intenfe delight, 
 
 And felt as Fame had touched me when flic fmiled. 
 
 Too little of our own fair fatherland 
 
 Finds favour with the ftudent now-a-days; 
 
 And yet the fpirit of a maftcr-hand 
 
 Could fill the world with fcencs whofe every phafe 
 
 Hath native character, and ftands alone 
 
 In fweet rufticity and rural worth :
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 153 
 
 But thefe touch not the tafte ; and Art has fhown 
 As many tricks as kittens on the hearth, 
 To catch the tone and temper of the age — 
 Painter and poet in one great defpair 
 To make their antic fantafies the rage, 
 Regioned in mift and caitled in the air. 
 O, brave old Saxon England, bold and free, 
 Set in the world of waters like a itar 
 In heaven. — What other land is like to thee, 
 Thou glorious beacon hailed from mores afar ? 
 The funny dales of Devon with their rills, 
 And laughing lanes, and primrofe-fmothered meads, 
 And crofts of apple-bloom ; the dark-browed hills 
 Of Cornwall, rich with treafure and brave deeds 
 Anent old Caitle Dinas and the king, 
 Good Arthur and his gay and gallant knights, 
 And grand old minftrels — making Albion ring 
 With royal revel and victorious fights ; 
 The crumbling monuments of barbed yore — 
 From the white bulwarks of the Southern fea, 
 To thofe Hern itrongholds by the Northern fhore, 
 Pealing eternal anthems ftormfully. 
 I 've looked upon thefe glories as they fhone 
 Refplendent in the fun, or when the ftorms 
 Shrieked wildering up the hills : Nor thus alone, 
 But Merrie Englande in a thoufand forms. — 
 Day-breaks upon th; mountains crowned with light — 
 Skiddaw their queen, and Snowdon royal fire ; 
 
 w
 
 1 94 Erneft, tic Pilgrim: 
 
 Sunlets in rallies ringing with delight 
 Amid that Eden of the tuneful quire 
 Whole lateit minftrcl by the Rothay fle-ps, 
 In the fair temple of his goodly fame ; 
 Twilights where Kenilworth her glory keeps, 
 Or fairer Tintern holds a peerlefs name; 
 Midnights a-thro' the fliades of moonlit piles, 
 When leafy /eas and gently rippling winds 
 Sing fweeteft mufic o'er the (lumbering Ifles, 
 And balmy Silence her foft pillow finds. 
 And laft — and lovely too, this pleafant Dale ! 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 'T is fuited for the pencil, not the pen : 
 Yonder old caftle memories many a tale 
 Of deeds that fhudder from the fight of men. 
 See how it frowns while all around is gay ! 
 It hath not fmiled for many a mortal year, 
 Save a bright glint of funfhine one May-day,' 
 Which yet may cofl: poor bodies fomething dear. 
 'T is oft in rural as in city life — 
 The faircft fcene fo peaceful to the fight, 
 Within its deeper haunts is marred with ftrife ; 
 And what fecmed all a beauty and delight, 
 Is cankered and difeafed in many a place. 
 And thus our neighbour ; as he goes abroad, 
 With fatisfaclion beaming in his face,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 155 
 
 We marvel that kind Fortune don't afford 
 
 To deal her favours equally to all : 
 
 Anon he hails us ; makes us by the hand ; 
 
 Invites us to his ingle — if we call, — 
 
 That fmiling face is only for the crowd; 
 
 His inward happinefs is lefs than ours ; 
 
 Beneath a blighting Upas he is bowed 
 
 Which taints the folace of his filent hours. 
 
 High in the towering Peak of Derbyshire 
 
 A bright and breezy little village itands — 
 
 Pleafant as any mortal could defire, 
 
 Queen of fair flreams and palaces and lands : 
 
 'T is fuch a place as fafhion-feaiters feek 
 
 To brace the body pampered overmuch, 
 
 To get frefh colour to the fickly cheek, 
 
 And caft away the weary drug and crutch : — 
 
 Lo, grim-eyed Plague, with frightful horror, fwept 
 
 The mountain city, blafting with its breath, 
 
 Till fathers, mothers, kith and kindred flept 
 
 In one great fhade of heaped and hideous death. 
 
 'T was fuch a woe as makes the heart a-cold, 
 
 Frowning for ages, echoed fad and oft : — 
 
 And if my prophecy be not too bold, 
 
 Some evil overhangs us here. — 
 
 But foft ; 
 Up yonder broad and ftately avenue 
 Rides in wild glee the lord of Avondell, 
 
 W2
 
 1 5 6 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 With bacchanals of mod fraternal hue, 
 
 Who aid his devilries by far too well. 
 
 'T is many a year fincc any living foul 
 
 Had being in thofe gloomy halls ; but now ! 
 
 They nightly ring with revel and the bowl, 
 
 As 't were all Bedlam in a feitive row. 
 
 Our little village is turned upfidc down, 
 
 The peaceful fabbath marred with noifv mirth, 
 
 The pallor made to feel the patron's frown, 
 
 And virtue menaced for its virgin worth. 
 
 I lark, how they rufh along with boilterous yell ! 
 
 There 's fomething in the wind. — 'T is Statute night. 
 
 They '11 have an orgie that will cope with hell ; 
 
 Befhrive me, 1 '11 not picture half the fight : 
 
 Pafs on my friend. 
 
 Artist. 
 
 With all my heart. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 This road 
 Will lead us round the hill, and pail the pile 
 Of Druid Hones, hard by the Hoping wood, 
 Which brings its paflimr pilgrims many a mile. 
 Sec ! there it Hands, dim record of the pall ; 
 Look at its rude and rugged flrcngth and fay
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 157 
 
 From whence it came, defiant of the blaft 
 And wreck of Time. 
 
 Artist. 
 
 Nations have paled away, 
 Thrones have been buried in their own deep dull ; 
 Man, that was lion-limbed and kingly-browed, 
 Now walks a fickly fhadow, with the fuft 
 Of wrinkled fovereignty upon his proud 
 But puny foul ; yet thefe remain for Times 
 And Ages yet unwombed, when this old land 
 May be the helplefs prey of banded mimes — 
 Her glory wreited from her palfied hand. 
 As light o'er elder Chaos, thefe have beamed 
 Upon the homes and hearts of Briton when 
 Her queens were warriors, and the wild hills gleamed 
 With barbarous warfare and unconquered men. 
 Stand in the midit and meafure all your height, 
 Or itride the mofly cromlech's awful pile ; — 
 Thefe Druid Seers where men of rugged might, 
 And not the windy froth of boaft and bile. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 But furely greater men have lived fince then I 
 Are living now ; and why not fo for aye ? 
 And is not God's great Word, writ by the pen
 
 I 58 Erne ft, the Til grim : 
 
 Of Holy Infpiration, mightier pray 
 Than Druid lire or Pagan lacrifice ? 
 
 Artist. 
 
 Go, mcafure thews with Ironfidc — your fwords 
 
 With Lion Richard's — minds with Alfred — vice 
 
 With Arthur's times — Valour, 'gainft conquering hordes, 
 
 With old Caraftacus — the Truth of now 
 
 With that of ages paft — our modern faints 
 
 With thofe ftcrn preachers who with blanchlefs brow 
 
 Scorned, midft the flaming faggot, all the taints 
 
 And mawkifh mummeries of feniuaJ creeds, 
 
 Which peft the land where God's great martyrs fell. 
 
 'T was not with Forms, but high and chriftian Deeds 
 
 Our fathers won the fight they fought fo well ! 
 
 To thofe old Druid anceftors I lean 
 
 With ftrangeft awe: — their rude divining rite 
 
 To that all-potent Sun whole power had been 
 
 Ere yet his burning beams gave life and light : 
 
 Their myl'tic altars and gigantic piles, 
 
 High beaconed on the mountains far and lone ; 
 
 Their folemn feftivals, when all the iflcs 
 
 Lit up their anfwering fires, which flafht and fhonc 
 
 O'er awful folitudcs, while the fweet lark 
 
 Went eafhvard with her fong, and up the fca, 
 
 And o'er the hills, and thro' the forefts dark, 
 
 The god of day proclaimed his fovereignty. 
 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 *59 
 
 See how they bow before his blazing wing, 
 And yield him high and holy honours due; 
 Their Spirit all Supreme, their kinglieft king — 
 Throned where his (hafts their bright pre-efTcence drew ! 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 All man muft worfhip : Happy he who finds 
 That worfliip which doth lead to Him alone 
 Who called all funs and fyftems, worlds and winds 
 From primal darknefs — God the only One ! 
 And here we part : But ere you crofs the ftile, 
 I 'm fain to ftay you with a Sabbath chime, 
 Which may in fomewife help to reconcile 
 Your Druid leanings to the prefent time : — 
 
 " O'er yonder village in the Dale 
 
 " The facred fabbath fweetly dawns ; 
 
 " The cotter leaves his quiet vale, 
 
 " The worthy Squire his fragrant lawns : 
 
 " There 's kindred peace in every home, 
 
 " In every heart a focial calm ; 
 
 " The fun burfts thro' the fading gloom, 
 
 " And Nature fings her holy Pfalm : 
 
 " And up the leas, and thro' the corn, 
 
 " Along the plcafant fhady way, 
 
 " Full many a fmile befpeaks the morn, 
 
 " Full many a tongue the toilefs day :
 
 160 Erne/}, tit Pi/grim: 
 
 " The cheerful bells from Saxon lower 
 
 " Call old and young, and rich and poor, 
 
 " To join at the appointed hour, 
 
 " God's grace and mercy to implore: 
 
 " And from his quiet parfonagc 
 
 " The faithful paftor calmly comes — 
 
 " His heart a pure and fpotlefs page, 
 
 " His life the very be ft of tomes : 
 
 "And there bows many a hoary head, 
 
 " With ruddy youth and beauty fair ; 
 
 " The praife is fung, the page is read, 
 
 "And homely truths arc fpoken there: 
 
 " Goodnefs and love the Word reveals, 
 
 " The fix days weary work to leaven ; 
 
 " And every carneft hearer feels 
 
 " Further from earth and nearer heaven : 
 
 " And he who holds a goodly weal, 
 
 " And he who long and late doth plod, 
 
 " Before one holy altar kneel 
 
 " In humble truft to worfhip God ! 
 
 " And many a tongue with gladnefs tells 
 
 " Of Sabbaths goldening all the foul ; 
 
 " A heavenly ray the cloud dilpels, 
 
 " And life is brighteft at the goal : 
 
 " Young Joy juft burfting into Spring, 
 
 " Young hearts that never throbbed before, 
 
 " Voting Love in wiftful worfliipping — 
 
 " All cling around that old church door.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 161 
 
 '* And thus the Rural Sabbath's flow, 
 " Midft humble homes and fweet content ; 
 " And lowlieft hearts with reverence bow 
 " To touch the facred facrament. 
 " And not a bird that rings or foars, 
 " And not a flower that fcents the air, 
 " O, not a ftream that babbling pours, 
 " But fwells the Univerfal Prayer." 
 
 While the merry birds warble the world to fleep, 
 And Jofeph the fhepherd is folding his fheep, 
 A maiden Hands lone at her cottage door, 
 Awaiting the gladnefs which comes no more ; 
 While a lord and his bevy caroufe in the hall, 
 To jell out the night amid rolick and brawl. 
 And who is the maiden, and who is the lord, 
 That Hands at the door and fits at the board ? 
 
 She lives but in the joy that was ; 
 Sweet life hath loft its gladnefs ; 
 The conftant liar that like a heaven 
 Gave every morn its hope and eve its blifs, 
 Hath paled away, and days are fad, 
 And nights are lone, for O, he does not come. 
 She was as happy as a fummer bird, 
 As cheerful as the Dawn ; 
 x
 
 i 6z t '.'..- '.\ tbi !'.//rim : 
 
 I i iving muftc, 
 
 liiing to the hopeful hours. 
 She was beloved : 
 Did love : 
 
 Loves ftill Co deep and tenderly, 
 And loving — looks, and yearns 
 For him who does not come. 
 Spring-time hath come and gone, 
 And May-day with its flicen ; 
 Summer hath gladdened the fruitful leas, 
 And hilly Autumn piled the wain — 
 Singing the grateful Harvefl Hymn ; 
 Old Winter at the Chriftmas fire, 
 Shook his white hair and laught ; 
 But — Erneft does not come. 
 The Univerfe hath but one heart. 
 The world but one dear love : 
 With thefe ! — 'tis all a blefled heaven ; 
 But wanting thefe — a dim and flarlefs night. 
 O, fhe is bafely wooed, 
 And fad is her foul with weeping ; 
 For fhe hath kept her virgin love. 
 And her young life for him ; 
 But ah, he does not come. 
 And if he lives, or if the ^rave 
 Hath clofrd upon her hopes, 
 And he will come no more, no more. 
 She knows not ; but her heart
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 163 
 
 Beats on his being, and her eyes 
 
 Have traced the farewell path along 
 
 Till every tree, and flower, and blade of grafs, 
 
 Is painfully familiar, bringing back 
 
 A world of memories whofe every joy 
 
 Intenfifies the burden of the foul. 
 
 Willful (he feeks the olden way again, 
 
 To fee if there be any glimpfe of hope 
 
 Before the fetting of the fun. — 
 
 (Jejjiefings.) 
 
 " I am a-lonely, I am fad, 
 " Sad with a filent forrow ; 
 "Longing out the weary day, 
 " Yearning for To-morrow. 
 
 " Sing no more ye mated birds, 
 " It fets my heart a-weeping ; 
 " Clofe your eyes ye happy flowers, 
 " For mournful days I 'm keeping." 
 
 (The Voice of the Daij'y.J 
 
 " Maiden fweet your heart is fad, 
 " Sorrow is on your bonnie brow ; 
 " O, while the breezy hills are glad, 
 " Why lonely in the vales below ? 
 
 X2
 
 164 Erneft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 " T is Cummer, and the blooming leas, 
 
 " The mazy nook, 
 
 " The prattling brook, 
 " The beechen grove where the cufhat coos, 
 " The hawthorn hedge where the blackbird wooes- 
 
 " Are wild with merrier! melodies. 
 
 " A (mile ? — a figh ? — ah, well-a-day, 
 " What is your forrow maiden, fay ? 
 
 " Perhaps I recall 
 
 " The joys that fall 
 " Like heaven upon the foul ; recall the days 
 " When Childhood and the daify-world 
 " Their happy little Edens all unfurled 
 
 " Before your laughing eyes ; 
 " When Gladnefs haloed all your ways 
 " With love-infpiring revelries ; 
 
 " And the noblcft part 
 
 " Of a noble heart 
 " Was ever with your own to cull 
 " The brighteft of all the Beautiful. 
 
 " But yerter-eve a fair girl came this way 
 " To gather flowers, and culled a pofie gay ; 
 " And as flic culled fhe fung — fo fweetly fung, 
 " Our airy halls with filvan muflc rung. 
 
 " She bent her deep blue eyes on me, — 
 " The Ample daify of the lea ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 165 
 
 " A tear was on her cheek, 
 
 " Her glowing, gladfome cheek ; 
 
 " And bending low her head, 
 
 " In melody fhe faid : — 
 
 " ' Modeft daify live and fmile 
 " ' Thy longeft lateft hour ; 
 " ' I will not pluck thee bonnie flower, 
 'But woo thee by the ruftic ftile, 
 " ' While the rippling rill 
 " ' Sings down to the Mill, 
 ' And the lark fings overhead.' 
 
 " That Ample fong, 
 
 " Our aifles along, 
 " Was anfwered by a thoufand throats, 
 " All piping out the frefhefl notes, 
 
 " Till hedge and tree, 
 
 " Rang merrily, 
 " And Evening walkt in heavenly light, 
 " While Hefperus as an angel bright, 
 " Night's dewy incenfe foftly fhowered 
 " O'er filent Nature eider-bowered ; 
 " And I, in virtue of my birth, 
 " Was left to live my hour on earth. 
 
 " To me 't is given to whifper peace 
 " To love forfaken. Maiden, ceafe
 
 1 66 Errifft, the Pi/grim : 
 
 " To cloud To-morrow 
 " With To-day's forrow. 
 " The meadows lofe their fun and flowers, 
 " The cattle lofe their leafy bowers, 
 " Autumn fwceps over the dufky moor, 
 " Winter wraps Earth in his mantle hoar ; 
 " But Spring refrefhed comes back again, 
 " Over the upland, thro' the deep lane, 
 
 " Down by the ftream 
 
 " Where young lovers dream ; 
 
 " And the ftorms pafs by, 
 
 " And Summer all joy 
 " Brings kirtled meads and funny homes: — 
 *' Maiden look forth for the blifs that comes.' 
 
 In the grey-grim halls of yore, 
 
 Rings the bacchanalian roar ; 
 
 Who will fay the revellers nay ? 
 
 Gods have revelled in their day ; 
 
 Princes made a nation groan 
 
 With the deeds which they have done : 
 
 'T is the right of rights divine, 
 
 As often in our cups to fhine 
 
 As humour prompts the jovial mood ; 
 
 And by Our Lady's merry rood — 
 
 Who dares to hint of lordly fot, 
 
 Had better in oblivion rot,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 167 
 
 Or like the May-fly pafs away, 
 The tiny atom of a day. 
 Where 's the power and pride of blood 
 If pleafures are to be withftood, 
 Which the vile herd can never reach ? 
 Pleafures which are mode to teach, 
 The wifely foolifh that there mull 
 Be mighty differences in duff ! 
 Throw the dice, the billiard roll, 
 Stake the body and the foul ; 
 Thefe are they who ought to know 
 Whence libidinous follies flow; 
 Thefe are they whofe lives are given 
 To every paffion under heaven ; 
 Favoured Sons of Mother Earth, 
 Bafking on the flopes of Mirth ; 
 Ringing changes day and night 
 'Twixt the Darknefs and the Light ; 
 Ruffling down the whirling ffream — 
 Gilded like a gorgeous dream ; 
 Here and there a glimpfe of hope, 
 Loft ere hands can clutch a rope ; 
 Down — and down — and down for aye, 
 Dafhing, crafhing all the way ; 
 Like a whirlwind fwept along, 
 Caff the ftormy fhoals among, 
 Maddening laughter, roillering glee 
 Mock the bodings of the fea :
 
 1 68 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Friendly beacons, bright-eyed Day, 
 Land, and Haven Jade away ; 
 P .ice hath fled, but Riot lives, — 
 Revel in all that riot gives. 
 
 (The Or git.) 
 
 Harken, harken — 't is the hoft 
 Rules the revel and the roail. 
 
 " Bats flap up your leather wings, 
 " Owls put out your blazing rings ; 
 " Croak no more ye midnight hags, 
 " Gibing o'er your befom-nags ; 
 " Confcience, Care and Filligree, 
 "Roufe ye all and drink wi' me; 
 " Pledge ye long, and pledge it deep, 
 " Drown old Night in muddling fleep : 
 " Full bumpers round good gentlemen, 
 " And this the toaft again and again : — 
 " * Merry May and pretty maid, 
 " ' Sunny green and amorous ftiade.' 
 
 " Often wooed, and never won, 
 
 " Drink — by heavens it mull be done; 
 
 " Lovely maid and melting May, 
 
 " Wealth and Power the world obey !
 
 <( 
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 169 
 
 " Often wooed, and never won, 
 Moping in your bower alone ; 
 " Shrinking from the love that lives 
 " Upon the charms which Beauty gives : — 
 " Pleafure waits your pretty beck, 
 " Treafure waits your pretty neck. — 
 " See ! — fhe fpurns me with her frown ! 
 " Another glafs — and quaff it down ; 
 " Scorn for fcorn, and hate for hate, 
 " Turn, fair fcorner, ere too late." 
 
 (Sings.) 
 
 "Jolly Bacchus went a-wooing, 
 
 " Wooing on a Summer's Morn, 
 " When the dew was on the meadows, 
 
 " And the lark fung o'er the corn ; 
 "Jolly Bacchus fued a maiden, 
 
 " But the maiden faid him — Nay ; 
 " And his heart it was a-lonely, 
 
 " As he fighed and went away. 
 
 " Jolly Bacchus went a-wooing, 
 
 " Wooing on a Summer's Eve, 
 " When the birds from bufh and bower, 
 
 " Threads of fweeteft mufic weave ; 
 "Jolly Bacchus fued a maiden, 
 
 " And the maiden faid him — Yes ; 
 " And his heart was like a garden, 
 
 " Smothered o'er with lovelinefs." 
 
 Y
 
 170 Ernefi . ' /grim: 
 
 " Often wooed, and never won, 
 " Another glafs — it (hall be done ; 
 " Shuffle cards, and rattle dice — 
 " Bow thou Scornful Sacrifice ; 
 " Rattle dice, and blazon lights, 
 " Blufh a-days, and flame a-nights ; 
 " Sing, yc royittcring gallants, fing, 
 " Bumpers, bicker, din and ding, 
 " Merrily, O, the rafters ring. 
 
 " Fawners cringe to noble birth — 
 " Lord and Law of all the earth ; 
 " Down, ye crawling fycophants ; 
 " Levellers, ceafe your Muttering rants ; 
 " What are ye, ferf-bawling mob ? 
 " Born for beggars, made to rob ! 
 " Vaflal and lout, 
 " I'll fmoke yc out. 
 " Another glafs, good gentlemen, 
 " And this the toaft again and again : — 
 " ' Merry May and pretty maid, 
 " Sunny green and amorous shade.' 
 
 " Often wooed, and never won, 
 
 " Wine, and revel, and lufty fun ; 
 
 " Ring old halls with maddening mirth ; 
 
 " Bacchus, drown this rabble earth ; 
 
 " Ho, ye knightly anceftors,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 171 
 
 " Avondell has won your fpurs ; — 
 
 " Ye who (huffed the Roundheads out, 
 
 " And fcattered Noll's rank bones about : 
 
 " Laugh, ye feudal effigies, 
 
 " Down upon your courtly knees, 
 
 " Each a goblet — drink like lords, 
 
 " Pledge us by your facred fwords. 
 
 " Often wooed, and never won, 
 
 " Time and truft, it shall be done ; 
 
 " What's the world ; — and who are we ? 
 
 " Jolly, jovial company. 
 
 " Up, on your feet — and, by the gods, 
 
 " Who firft before his goblet nods, 
 
 " Shall pay the forfeit, and be driven 
 
 " From women's eyes — man's highefr. heaven. 
 
 (Sings.) 
 
 " My love is a fweet, fweet maid, 
 " With fliowers of golden hair ; 
 " My love is a fweet, fweet maid, 
 " And I am her gallant fo rare : 
 " But, my love Ihe returns all my paffion with fcorn, 
 " As I woo her by night, and entreat her each morn, 
 " So I'm a poor gentleman hieing forlorn ; 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! but I '11 never defpair ; 
 (Chorus) " But I'll never defpair, no never defpair ; 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! but I'll never defpair. 
 
 Y2
 
 \J2 Erne I}, the Pilgrim: 
 
 " My love is a fweet, fweet maid, 
 
 " With eyes of the brighteft blue ; 
 " My love is a fweet, fweet maid, 
 "And I am her gallant fo true ; 
 " But my love fhe doth fhun me again and again, 
 • \nd (purns my devotion with haughty difdain, 
 " So I 'm a poor gentleman fucing in vain ; 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! but my love muft come too ; 
 (Chorus.) " But my love mull come too, my love muft 
 come too, 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! but my love muft come too. 
 
 " Often wooed, and fhall be won, 
 
 " Night is glowering at the Sun ; 
 
 " The Sun is laughing rofy red ; 
 
 "Jolly Morning's drunk a-bed; 
 
 " Father Time has loft his way ; 
 
 " Pledge to the full, 't will never be day ; 
 
 " Stars go in and moons come out, — 
 
 " Merrily pafs the wine about. 
 
 " Another glafs — and let it go round ; 
 
 " Bacchanals up from the reeling ground ; — 
 
 " Drink to the maid, and May-day jo j . 
 
 " And roiftering, rollicking, revelling boys. 
 
 " Steady, fteady — up proud head, 
 " Dancing halls, to-bed, to-bed ; 
 " By our ancient crcft, 
 " The Star upon our brealt,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 173 
 
 " We are a lord ! 
 
 "Our knightly fword, 
 
 " Molt facred word ; 
 
 " Gallants arife, 
 
 " Be fober and wife ; 
 
 " Steady, fteady, 
 
 " Always ready 
 
 " To live and die — 
 
 " I-i-its all my eye ; 
 
 "I'll never refign; 
 
 " She mult be mine j 
 
 " We are a lord; 
 
 " Our facred word ; 
 
 " Another glafs ; 
 
 " You mail not pafs ; 
 
 '•' My charmer — Its — i-i-ts — " 
 
 (A Servant enters in alarm.) 
 
 " Fire !"- 
 
 " Vafsal and lout" — 
 " Fire !"— 
 
 "I'll fmoke you out." 
 " Up, up, good matters, or you've drunk your laft. 
 " The Caflle is in flames !" 
 
 " Steady, fteady—" 
 " Hafte, gendemen, I pray you hafte ; " 
 
 " Scornful lafs" —
 
 174 ''" r ■ 
 
 " Wake up, and fave yourfelves, or Avondcll 
 •• Will be a heap of ruins all. 
 " My lord, my lord, your faithful fcrvant calls, 
 " Your old and trufty fervant : 
 
 "By our Star"— 
 " Deitruction waits your home — no help is nigh, 
 " And every Villager is faft afleep: 
 " Sec how the dark old rafters crack and blaze ! 
 " My lord, my lord, lofe not a moment, pray ; 
 " Call forth thefe gentlemen, and fave yourfelves, 
 " And fomc long-treafured relics of your houfe : 
 " O, that I've lived to fee this bitter night. 
 " Fire ! — fire ! — and when no inftant aid can come ; 
 " My mafter, O awake." 
 
 " Out, blazing Sun"— 
 " Ring an alarm, bring all the village up ; 
 " S' death how it howls and leaps along the roof, 
 " Sweeping through every crannie furiously ! 
 " My lord, your revelling has done this deed, 
 "And yet you lend no fingle hand to fave : 
 " Old Avondell, you're Avondcll no more. 
 " Fire !" 
 
 "Who talks of fire?" 
 " O, i;ood my lord, 'tis I, 
 
 " Your trufty fervant, who too oft hath mourned 
 " The evils which have brought this hour. 
 " Do you not Ice your ancient hall in flames ?" 
 
 " In flames, man ? — ha, ha, ha ; —
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 
 
 l 7S 
 
 " 'Tis flames of love ! — Perdition — 
 
 " Am I mad ? — or, do I dream ? 
 
 "Where! what! who hath done this dreadful thing ? 
 
 " Avondell in flames ! — and I ! — 
 
 " I'll fhake it off. 
 
 " By heavens, I've done it all ! — roufe ye, roufe ye, 
 
 " Friends, to your feet, and put your courage on ; 
 
 " I'll be your leader in this hot affray : 
 
 " The houfe of all my fathers needs our aid, 
 
 " Our finews, life, and limb — Come, follow me. 
 
 " O moft unworthy of the name I bear ; 
 
 " Fierce flafhing Fury laughs with fiendifh glee, 
 
 " Anceftral faces mock me through the flames 
 
 " That lap my craven blood. 
 
 " Ply, ply your powers, 
 
 " With every arm a giant's ; 
 
 " By my life, it gains upon us, 
 
 " Raging like a hell. 
 
 " Cut off" the fury, 
 
 " Breach the blazing walls, 
 
 " Save but fome portion of my blighted name." 
 
 And in that burning havoc there are deeds 
 Of daring fuch as hearts of trueft mould 
 Alone would venture on. In one wild hour 
 Of a whole wafted life, the laft of all 
 His race throws off the reveller and the rake, 
 And in the very teeth of gibing death
 
 Erne ft, tbi ] t :lgiim : 
 
 Does prodigies to awe the ftrongdt man. 
 
 The great veins lay like cords upon his brow, 
 
 His eyes ffafh shafts of fire, and at his voice 
 
 Men fly as if by magic ; and the halls 
 
 Which echoed with the midnight brawl, now ring 
 
 With trumpet-notes of courage and command: 
 
 Where danger frowns, with fcarce a gleam of hope, 
 
 He ftands within its midft a Hercules, 
 
 Scatters the blazing brands, and madly faves 
 
 Some precious fragment from the hungry flames. 
 
 A brave heart has been loft and toyed away 
 
 Which never felt its manlinefs till now. 
 
 O, Opportunity ! you come too late, 
 
 With life, estate, and good name all a-wrcck. 
 
 Yet does he ftrive, defiant of the worft : — 
 
 But, 'tis in vain — Old Avondcll muft fall. 
 
 Up through the roof the flaming trcafurcs leap 
 
 Into the deep, denfe darknefs of the night ; 
 
 The ftartlcd Village rings with wild alarm ; 
 
 Men leap from out their beds, as 'twere the dawn, 
 
 And women with a choking terror cry — 
 
 " Look up, look out — 'tis Avondell in flames !" 
 
 And others gravely shake their heads and fay — 
 
 "The widow's prophecy come true at laft ;" 
 
 While children, huddled up with young affright, 
 
 Bury their faces down amid the clothes, 
 
 Stop up their ftartled ears, and breathe by ftealth. 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. iyn 
 
 Rings the old market-bell, 
 Swift the fire-engines fly, 
 Buckets to the pond and well. 
 No hand or aid deny : 
 Ye ftrong men and ye weak, 
 Ye youthful, maimed, and old, 
 Some helpful duty feek, 
 Nor gaze with arms a-fold. 
 From the far hills and vales 
 They crowd to the fcene, 
 Telling their difmal tales, 
 With dread a-tween. 
 
 (A voice.) 
 
 " This comes of the proud man's fcorn 
 
 " To the hungry poor ; 
 " See how he Hands forlorn, 
 
 " And has no door." 
 
 (Another.) 
 
 " We fhould live for each other, 
 
 " Not for ourfelves ; 
 " The lord fhould be the brother 
 
 " Of him who delves."
 
 En;,-}, the Pi/grim : 
 (Another. I 
 
 " None with a human heart, 
 " Would Ibikc the blow ; 
 
 " Yet many have felt his Imart 
 " Too well we know." 
 
 (Another.) 
 
 " Mortal, the woe has come, 
 " And ilript you bare, 
 
 " And you have loft your home, 
 " Like Widow Ware." 
 
 (Another.) 
 
 " In this conflicting hour 
 
 " You have no fpell ; 
 " Your name has loft its power, 
 
 " Lord Avondcll." 
 
 Daws from the flaming towers 
 Dive into the darkfome night ; 
 The weird owl wildly glowers, 
 And flaps the lurid light : 
 No living thing can bide 
 Within the fiery walls ; 
 The foe, with tearful llride.
 
 A Dramatic Poetn. 1 79 
 
 Sweeps the vail halls : 
 Pictures and tapeflry 
 Of the olden days, — 
 Things on which we eagerly 
 And willfully gaze ; 
 Books buried in hoary dull, 
 Armour llernly grim, 
 And garniture of rult, 
 And dungeons dim, 
 And ftatued corridor, 
 And tower of crime, 
 Groinings, and oaken floor 
 Of a by-gone time : — 
 With all of Then and Now, 
 The fury fports, — 
 Ere morning it will plough 
 The very courts. 
 All's done that can be done, 
 Pale Wonder's mute ; 
 Havoc in the morning Sun 
 Gathers its fruit. 
 
 Lop down the monarchs ol the wood, 
 Or ftrip their brawny Ihoulders bare; 
 Send your pet lamb or feathered brood 
 Where huckfters pile their ware ; 
 Watch the laft going of a cherilhed one 
 To fome far land, long leagues away ; 
 
 Z2
 
 'grim : 
 
 Stand in the great, gaunt World alom 
 With Night, and hail no Day ; 
 See the beft friend you have on earth, 
 Embattled by the ftormy wave; 
 Lend him your life — and bring him forth 
 To lay him in the grave ; 
 Hear of a great good man ("truck daw n 
 In the ftrength and inajelty of life; — 
 How dark the void ; with what a frown 
 Thefe haunt us through the ft rife ! 
 And Langley Dale awakes in gloom, 
 With no glad fmile to greet the morn ; 
 It fcems as though the hand of Doom 
 Had writ on every tree — Forlorn. 
 A fad, and ftrange, and vague diftrefs 
 Has clouded all that funny fecne, 
 Which rippled with fuch pleafantnefs 
 But ycfterday upon the green : 
 The tower of ages darkly dim, 
 The ftronghold of war-wLlding Might, 
 Now lies in ames charred and grim, 
 A -lonely as a ftarlefs night. 
 And like a barren, leaflefs tree, 
 On a black and wintry wold, 
 The lord looks on his hostel rie 
 Silent, yet pafsion-foulcd : 
 Hecdlefs he faced the ficrv glsu 
 (UlXt 'lie coft ;
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 18 
 
 'Tis difmal ruin everywhere, 
 
 And all for ever loft. 
 
 Crowded within a moment's time 
 
 Are all the memoried years, 
 
 Laden with chivalry and crime, 
 
 And love, and hate, and tears : 
 
 And things forgotten come again, 
 
 And fcenes he would not know, 
 
 Of feudal days, and feudal men, 
 
 And tenfold feudal woe. 
 
 Now buried lies the Saxon tower, 
 
 Buried fo dark and deep ; 
 
 And from this day, and from this hour 
 
 Fades Avondell's high keep. 
 
 " Farewell, old home of all my fires, 
 " Now home for me no more, — 
 
 '•' Sad holocaust of fierce defires, 
 " Scattered and caft ashore. 
 
 " Thou hoary cradle of my birth, 
 
 " And boyhood wildly free ; 
 " Times future records of the earth 
 
 " Will bear no trace of thee. 
 
 " Beneath thy fmoldering afhes lie 
 " The memories of my name — 
 
 " Its war-renown, its chivalry, 
 " Its glory, and its fame.
 
 Erm //, tb, Pilgt ■ 
 
 " So lei it be: 'Tis the great price 
 
 " Swift Juftice could demand ; 
 " I fought a virgin facrifice, 
 
 " And found the avenging brand. 
 
 " Now, like a tempeft-driven hark, 
 " Scudding before the wind, 
 
 " i fade into the diitant dark, 
 '' And leave the wreck behind."
 
 A Dramatic Poem, 183 
 
 GLITTER AND GLAMOUR. 
 
 ■j^GALITE'S over the water, 
 J - J * Egalite's over the fea ; 
 Murder's abroad for great {laughter- 
 Slaughter fraternal and free. 
 Citizens clafh with the forces, 
 Butcher their hundreds an hour ; 
 Unity wildly difcourfes 
 The guillotine's gofpeling power. 
 Away with the King in a hurry ; 
 Room for a myriad of Kings ; 
 Barricades — grapefhot — and fury ! 
 Strike ! as the tocfin rings!
 
 i Erne J}, tb, Pilgrim: 
 
 I ' . fian glory to-morrow ; 
 
 Victor) a banner unfurled ; 
 
 Freedom, beweltered with horror, 
 
 Shall gladden three-parts of the world : 
 
 Millenium reigns for a day — 
 
 A day in the myriads of time ; 
 
 Flapt is the flutter fo gay ; — 
 
 Vive la the motley fublime. 
 
 The many mull yield to the few, 
 
 The few have their clutch on the crown 
 
 Convention is bafe and untrue, — 
 
 Hurl the Conventional down : 
 
 Up with an unroyal master, 
 
 Peopledom Majesty, all ! 
 
 Empire ! — infernal difafter ! 
 
 Empiring braggarts fhall fall. 
 
 Citizen Sovereigns afleep ; 
 
 Coup D'tat grafting the Avord ; — 
 
 A dash — and a clafh — and a leap — 
 
 Empire the Law and the Word. 
 
 Laugh o'er your murdered bro-l. 
 
 Orgie the horrible fight ; 
 
 Succcfs the huge infamy fmoth. 
 
 Rafcaldom mad with wild delight. 
 
 A baftard — a roue — a ghoul — 
 
 A traitor — a knave — and a ("camp ; — 
 
 A Jupiter worthy to rule ; 
 
 A Jove in the Senate and Camp. 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 185 
 
 Open your gates and your arms, 
 Welcome the Emperor high ; 
 Smother your burning alarms, 
 Let the new Casfar pafs by. 
 Empire is over the water, 
 Empire is over the fea, 
 Where reigns fair Liberty's daughter, 
 Queen of Old England the free. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 What's i' th' wind ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Surely our loyal guns 
 Welcoming the emperor and his queen 
 To London — or to England, if you will ! 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 I will it all ; but let broad diftance come 
 
 'Twixt it and me, that thele fame ears which heard 
 
 Confufion's favours heaped upon his head, 
 
 May not be tickled by the a-la-mode 
 
 Which rages like a fury now-a-days. 
 
 O, world of man, where is thy paradise ? 
 
 AA
 
 i 86 Erneft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 A fill red lv in Heaven, and not on Earth. 
 How fares your El Dorado now ? we've seen 
 A tragedy played out, where Farce and Fun 
 Arc ftaplc food, with Fashion for deflert. 
 Carnage was around us : the 1 ell of ftrife 
 Belching its horrors through the fhuddcring ftreets ; 
 Homes torn and wreckt and riddled ; confeript all, 
 And maffacre molt terrible. And you, 
 With your great true heart and fiery zeal, 
 Dafht to the ftrife, and ftormed it to the teeth, 
 And joyed to madnefs at the victory-fhout 
 Of reeling Revolution. — Ay, and then 
 We faw the Bloody Hand (hoot bodeful up, 
 And on Fraternity's loft Citadel 
 Unfurl the flag of Empire to the world. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 O falfe Fraternity, and daftard flaves, 
 
 Even baser than the mafter they have bought: 
 
 'S Death, I renounce them one and all, and now 
 
 Shake hands with Conftitution, any Creed 
 
 That's uppcrmoft. I'll be a wizard King, — 
 
 Quick— change— and fnap my thumb; pile trinkets up 
 
 In hug:- difordcr ; batter them to drols ; 
 
 Then yield them good as new ; turn feather beds
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 187 
 
 To puddings piping hot ; cry Humbug down, 
 And, presto fumo, humbug all the world. 
 If this is bafe, I'll flaunt acrofs the ftage, 
 And tear Great Nature's painter all to fhreds ; 
 Read of perfections which I never held, 
 And beat them deafening on the public drum : 
 Or dance — if dancing be the lucky rage ; 
 Or fing — y e foft Italian melodies 
 With jargon that fhall make a native grin 
 As he were in the ftocks, and yet fhall bring 
 More money than your eyes have lookt upon. 
 I'll lit at all the Boards, and dabble, deep 
 In every fcheme that gets afloat ; buy ftock 
 With nothing, and get rich upon the gains ; 
 Direct a hoft of Companies, or Banks, 
 Or anything that's limited to pelf: 
 I'll play on every pipe that blows ; i ake up 
 Ten thoufand fhares with cafh for only one : 
 I'll have my villa, park, and Stock Exchange ; 
 I'll be a member of the People's Houfe ! — 
 The People ! the poor benighted People ! — 
 And when the bubble burfts — as burft it will 
 And may, I '11 face the fwindling folly out, 
 And cry peccavi ! — Ruin 's all the rage. 
 There goes the Saxon's booming feu-de-joie ; 
 Come, let us to fome quiet fpot where we 
 Can fit and talk this hateful hour away : 
 
 AA2
 
 Erne ft, the Pilgrim : 
 
 'Twill foon be night, and the unholy sham 
 
 Be houfed let's hope — no matter how or where. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 My friend, be fure there's purpose in all this, 
 And all that we have watched the doing of. 
 'Tis writ in great Creation thro' all time, — 
 From the firfl dew-drop gliftcning in the Sun, 
 To raging Ocean rufhing up the ftars ; 
 From the minuteft infect at our feet, 
 To faireft Cherubim at Eden's gates ; 
 From the wee daify on the pauper's grave, 
 To Lebanon's tall Cedar, wreathed with winds, 
 And robed with Sacred Majefty ; — from Earth 
 To Heaven 'tis writ that, God is love and truth, 
 Ruler Supreme, and Sovereign of all worlds ; 
 Father of good, and Judge of evil men : 
 And whatsoever wages we have earned, 
 So furely fliall we have unto the full, — 
 Not here alone, but in the Aftertime ! 
 If this poor fitful life were Now and Then, 
 With nothing nobler than the foullefs brute, 
 It were not worth the ftriving to the end ! 
 For 'tis a pafsing day of fun and cloud ; 
 A going out and coming in ; a pilgrimage, 
 With death upon the road ; a rocket fwift 
 Sent flashing up, and burfting in the dark ; 
 A beam — a fmile — a hope — and we are gone.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 189 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 And then ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 The Spirit-world begins; — that world 
 Of human effences beatified, 
 Where everlafting Light fhall clothe the hills, 
 And Darknefs fweep the dreary waftes of woe. 
 In Time we are but for a little day ; 
 In vaft Eternity we are for ever ! 
 These pairing pageants — all this might and wealth, 
 And power, and pride, and boaft, and vanity, — 
 Are like the fportful bubbles on the fea, 
 Which the firft tempeft heaps in frothy foam, 
 And the fwift whirlpool buries out of light. 
 We 've done fome ftubborn fervice well you know ; 
 Have lived a ftern and ftormy paffion out; 
 Are bronzed and linewed, ftrong of heart and limb ; 
 One hope has failed ; yet other hopes remain : 
 Then wherefore halt upon the threihold-stone ? 
 The rather let us work our duty out, 
 Caft up accounts, and ftrike the balance ftraight. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Let it be lingle and double entry,
 
 190 Erne ft, the P.tgrim: 
 
 And I am your friend, — providing it (hall bring 
 Me wealth — I care not how obtained. 
 O, ftupid mules, we chaffer on our feet, 
 While millions fall before the Brazen Calf, 
 And worfhip every god that brings them gain, 
 Rcgardlefs of that God ! who gives them life. 
 What is the great foul-purpofe of all this ? 
 Tell mc who will, for I'm a-thirft to know. 
 Truly we've wrought fome little labour out, 
 And in the firft fresh glow of ftalwart truft, 
 Gave all our finews, with our lives — for what ? 
 A great caufe ftrangled by the very hands 
 It fought to free from bitter, burdening chains ; 
 A caufe whofe craven helots hurled a King 
 To infamy, and fet a Defpot up ! 
 In that great hour of univerfal Hope, 
 When thrones were vacant and their tyrants fkd ; 
 When earth recked like a fea, and the ftartled winds 
 Came charged with warnings fwift and ominous; 
 When high on every hill the Avenger flood, 
 Hurling his fiery lhafts acrofs the world ; 
 Empircd Fraternity marched into Rome, 
 And coupled with a well-beloved Ally, 
 Murdered her youthful Freedom in the streets ; 
 Riddled her ancient Monuments ; laid bare 
 Her Beauty ; chained her in the dull ; 
 And triumphed in the name of Liberty.
 
 A Dram otic Poem. 191 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 All which will truely bring its own reward, 
 
 And cannot be averted : For fo fure 
 
 As you have echoed now the fentiments 
 
 I ventured on to your diftafte, ere yet 
 
 This revolution, in moft hideous fhape, 
 
 Confirmed them to the letter — juft fo fure 
 
 Will wrong of every caft have its deferts. 
 
 We 've feen the {pilling of fraternal blood 
 
 Till cities quelched with horror. And its end ! 
 
 Deep, deepeft degradation, with a chief 
 
 Who dares not claim infurance for an hour. 
 
 The thing abhorred becomes all abfolute, 
 
 Till wife men look each other in the face, 
 
 And afk if fuch anomalies can be ? 
 
 O, 'tis as clear as Stars at Chriftmas-time, 
 
 That force of arms may seize the higheft power ; 
 
 But noblenefs of heart and worthy deeds 
 
 Alone can hope to keep it to the end ; 
 
 While Violence, tho' cafed in vauntful fteel, 
 
 Rebounds upon itfelf. Full well we know 
 
 That this, our own dear Fatherland, holds not 
 
 Its greatnefs by the fword, but by its love 
 
 Of justice ; its obedience to the law ; 
 
 Its mighty progrefs, and its mightier toil ; 
 
 Its moral equity ; its liberty of thought, 
 
 And truft in God. Sweep all thefe towers away,
 
 Erne//, the Pilgrit, 
 
 Forget the heroes who gave patriot hearts 
 And precious lives to rear them in our midft, 
 And England's glory flickers from that hour. 
 For wanting theft ! — the Rule is yours, or mine, 
 Or anybody's ; while the braggart tongue, 
 The querulous fword, the aflaflin's dagger-thruft, 
 The frothy mouthings, and the bilious freaks 
 Of every fitful blaft, mull be the Law — 
 Since every man's a fclf-elccted King. 
 As we do read the daily deeds of men, 
 So fhould we mark and duly underftand. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 And if we will not read and underftand ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Then our divinity is out of us ; 
 We are but shadows, the mere outer-crufts 
 Of once great men, and like the Dead Sea fruit, 
 All afhes to the touch. Too feldom now 
 The fimplc truth gets full and fairly told. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 You 've rightly faid. For by my honeft foul, 
 'Twixt Creeds, Contentions, and the war and Itrifc
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 193 
 
 Of idol-worfhip raving in the name 
 
 Of Truth, the temples of the Holy One 
 
 Are made the perfect fcorn of honeft men. 
 
 For that Great Faith which made us what we are, 
 
 We 've got another with this daily text : — 
 
 " Mind not the inward, fo the outward fhine ; 
 
 " Be everything to all the faithlefs world ; 
 
 " And fawn and filch according to the times." 
 
 You fee it in the faces which you meet ; 
 
 You feel it in the bargains which you make ; 
 
 You hear it in the ftreet, and on the mart. 
 
 Look at that faithful index of man's heart, 
 
 The face ! — where find you now the noble type 
 
 Of generations paft — not here and there, 
 
 But everywhere ? The large and lofty dome, 
 
 The bofsy forehead, eyebrow arched and frank, 
 
 The clear cut mouth, with purpofe in its form, 
 
 The full bold nofe, the eye's nobility, 
 
 The grace and carriage of the man divine ? 
 
 They are fo rare that we may queftion well 
 
 If they will ere come back again. They 're now 
 
 The fame of hiitory — they lived, but live no more: 
 
 And Art has fallen from its higheft heaven, 
 
 Where ftately Titian reigned, and Rubens wrought 
 
 His kindred glories out ; where Rembrant's foul 
 
 Revealed its power, and Vandyke's all its truth. 
 
 O, for one beauty fuch as Lely had 
 
 Prolific to his hand ; one living glimpfe 
 
 BB
 
 194 E> n : 
 
 Of that quiescent grace which Reynolds traced, 
 
 With native majefty, in all its forms. 
 
 Thcfe arc the written poems of men's lives ; 
 
 The nation's hiftory in the human face. 
 
 Where would you have us look to find them now ? 
 
 Above ? — 'tis fcented ficklincfs worn out ; 
 
 Below? — thanks to the frenzy of the age, 
 
 We have a motley caft twixt ape and man, 
 
 As feen in thofe huge hives of Mammondom, 
 
 Where fwarming thoufands daily toil and fwcat — 
 
 Machines with inftincts buried at their birth : 
 
 And thele our Englifh Sifters, formed for love, 
 
 And all the gentler duties of the heart ; 
 
 Our brothers, from whofe loins, for good or ill 
 
 Of whatfoever kind, muft fpring the fons 
 
 Of England who fhall hold her glory up, 
 
 Or caft it withered to the Ages down. 
 
 It brings the blufh of honeft fhame to fee, 
 
 And worfe, to hear, above the lower crowd, 
 
 The infipidities delectable, 
 
 The perfumed jargon and the buttered talk 
 
 Now made the exotic fashion of the times : 
 
 Our English Maiden's Saxon laugh is gone — 
 
 That laugh which, rippling from her funny heart 
 
 Thro' the bright windows of her funnier face, 
 
 Filled all our homes with fuch a heavenly joy, 
 
 Love feemed to look on Eden come again. 
 
 But now ! we meet her in the dazzling throng,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 195 
 
 Or at the play, or at the family board, 
 
 And watch for fome fweet glancings of the light, 
 
 Yet watch in vain ; for when ihe fain would laugh, 
 
 And gush out tears of paffionate delight, 
 
 'T is fmothered, crufhed as 't were a deadly fin, 
 
 The verieft rudenefs of a vulgar paft. 
 
 She lives — talks — walks — marries — is a mother, 
 
 And all by art, by tinfelled, tawdry art. 
 
 'T is thus that Fafhion paints our Native Rofe, 
 
 Till fcentlefs, beautilefs, it droops to earth, 
 
 A flaunting bloflbm ftunted in the bud. 
 
 This is rank herefy — 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 And yet as juft 
 As I have read and marked it for myfelf. 
 But it will right itfelf ; nay, hath done much 
 To that good end. For Truth is in our midit, 
 Tho' tofsed and buffeted by all the florins 
 That lafh Life's heaving ocean into wrath. 
 As 'tis in Nature, fo in man — for man 
 Divine is Nature deified. The Spring 
 Of Childhood, rofy with young flowers ; 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 And truant brambles edged about with thorns ; 
 
 BBZ
 
 1 96 Erne ft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Ernest. 
 The Summer of itrong Manhood rich with corn ; 
 
 Arthur. 
 And choking tares that fap the vigorous blood ; 
 
 Ernest. 
 Brown Autumn laden with the fruits of life ; 
 
 Arthur. 
 And foul Corruptions to be call away ; 
 
 Ernest. 
 And well-houfed Winter, hale with filvcry age ; 
 
 Arthur. 
 Asking for alms and where to lay his head. 
 Ernest. 
 
 Well, be it even fo. Grant that the world 
 Is wickednefs and fraud from end to end : —
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 197 
 
 You would uphold extermination fwift, 
 
 Forgetful that you carry with the fwoop, 
 
 Not Bad alone, but Good and Bac 1 ; the Juft 
 
 And Unjuft— hurling Wrong and Right away 
 
 For new Perfectors who, ere well begun, 
 
 Rufh in the heavy harnefs of the State, 
 
 As the young horfe, hot foaming in his break, 
 
 Darts from the traces, plunging on to death. 
 
 Erratic Rule, like pale, fpafmodic Thought, 
 
 Gives us the Will-o'-Wifp for ftars, fury 
 
 For fruitful rain, and tinfellings for gold ; — 
 
 A flam — a fplutter — and the blinding Dark. 
 
 Since firft we left this hive of fwarming life 
 
 To lift a gauntlet for Enfranchifement — 
 
 The light has beamed thro' many a darkfome place ; 
 
 Vice-haunts are fwept away, and marts and ftores, 
 
 And pleafure-fpots for recreative eafe, 
 
 Give promife of the brighter coming-time. 
 
 How many churches ! — 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Ay, and palaces 
 Of hell that, blazoning, corner every ftreet, 
 Piled from the meagre earnings of the poor, 
 Who rob exiftence down to beggar's rags, 
 And end their wretched lives as though no Church, 
 Or Word of Truth had reverence in the land.
 
 Etneftt tbi Pilgrim : 
 
 The Church! — heaven lend it newer, ftronger life, 
 And greater ufefulncfs ; and may its power 
 Cleanfe out thole damning brothels of the mind 
 Whence flow the poifon-ftrcams of vicious Thought 
 To homes of Childhood and the bufy hives 
 Of lluntcd Youth and toiling Maidenhood ; 
 And all forfooth i' th' broadefl; light of day. 
 O, I will truft with but one glimpfc of Hope, 
 And feel the gentlcft touch of Faith's fair hand ; 
 But in this fweeping up, this clcanfing out, 
 The fame unfightly ornaments remain. 
 I fee no outward form of inward grace, 
 No marble recognitions of the men 
 Whofe pioneering dances on the tongue, 
 Yet touches not the treafure of the heart ! 
 Away with fuch adornments if you will ; 
 But fince we fet the Sword and Sceptre up, 
 Let's have the warriors of the Mind, the Kings 
 Of Song, the princes of eternal Truth : 
 Then Alfred would Hand proudeft in our midll ; 
 With Caxton and great Chaucer — nobleft they 
 Of that right noble hoft which fill the land 
 With light ; then Bacon's mind, and Shakfpeare's 
 
 mufe, 
 Would greet us in our ftrects ; and Cromwell's 
 
 ftrcngth, 
 With Milton's power, ftrike faithlcfs rulers dumb ; 
 Then Newton's foul would lead us to the ftars,
 
 J Dramatu Poem. 199 
 
 And Howard's to the cells of guilty men. 
 Inftead of thefe ! — but let the pigmies pafs. 
 How will you better what is bad, and end 
 The rampant evils of the day ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 I'd teach 
 The Univerfal State ; take every child 
 From Ignorance, regardlefs of their creed ; 
 Meafure their capabilities of mind ; 
 Have them to know the wherefore they were born ; 
 Learn every duty which can make them men, 
 Till knowing not mould be fo great a crime 
 That dunces would be fcarce. And high amid 
 The luftrious beacons of this inner world, 
 The Sifter Arts fhould hold moft worthy place : — 
 Mufic to move the fympathies of thought, 
 And Poetry to mark its onward courfe ; 
 With Raphael's beauty, Angelo's grand form 
 Achieving their true minion in the mind. 
 Hence of all tyrannies I would avoid 
 The tyranny of ignorance ; and such 
 As fought for Say or Subftance in the Laws, 
 Should prove their title indifputable 
 By knowing firft — themfelves. That man is great 
 Of foul who, through a hoft of ills, holds on 
 His way, however humble it may be,
 
 200 Eriifft ', the Pilgrim : 
 
 And with one ufeful talent in his hand, 
 Makes glad the fruitful vineyard of the State ; 
 While he who rants of evils by the hour, 
 Then drowns his forrows at the bicker's brim, 
 Robs cheerful Labour of its honelt joys, 
 Holds back the good which Rcafon battles for, 
 Makes Hope a blank, and beggars every caufe 
 Which man or faint might plead for betterment. 
 'Tis firft .o know, and then to teach. To teach, 
 And knowing not, is juft to find, too late, 
 That ignorance, fo blind and crooked-fouled, 
 Adds fetters to the chains it need not wear. 
 Let but the ftrong United Voice go forth, 
 And if the caufe be juft, no power can thwart 
 The Nation's ftern beheft. The People rule ; 
 And if true greatnefs leavens in themfelves, 
 All righteoufnefs and freedom muft abound. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 There's reafon in all this ; but 'tis too flow 
 
 For that enfranchifement I hunger for, 
 
 And have done much, and would do more, to win. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Alas, the fruit that bloomed fo promifing 
 
 Fell ere 't was ripe ; while many a field of corn
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 201 
 
 Lies rotting in the (heaves to feed the worms, 
 And give rich largefs to the fhades of Death. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 And fo, twixt doubt and difappointment tofTed, 
 Man flounders in the Deeps of dark defpair. 
 I would have happinefs for all the world, 
 Yet cannot find it for myfelf. I flrive, 
 And trui't, and pray, with no petition heard. 
 Even as yourfelf, I judge from what I fee, 
 And that is — Power, and Wrong, and Wickednefs 
 High fummering on the hills, where Puniihment 
 Seems not to reach, and Pleafure laughs at Woe. 
 Stay ! — What's that ? 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Why furely a prftol-crack : 
 Some harmlefs fportfman mapping noify caps. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 He's fnapping fomewhat late. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 The better fun. 
 cc
 
 202 E' pi/grim: 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Or tolly, if he's taken unawares, 
 
 Or hits, perchance, a bat upon the wing. 
 
 heavens 't is more than cither ; yonder flies 
 An urgent meflenger, and at his heels 
 A gentleman of that untarnifhed cloth 
 Which turns man-flaying into Honour's right ! 
 Look thro' the trees : — beneath yon funny beech 
 Which fcents the evening air, two friends have met 
 In mortal ftrife, and at their paflion's height, 
 Sought fatisfaction with the fhafts of death. 
 They cry for help : you have fome little flcill 
 In furgery ! 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 I'll render what I can 
 With all my heart. They fee us, — let us hafte. 
 
 (They run to render assistance.) 
 
 " O pain of heart and foul. — 'Tis come 
 
 " At laft ; — the ftory is all told ; — 
 
 " Lift — lift me up ; 
 
 "I'll die as I have lived — 
 
 " Upon my feet — and looking on the fun. 
 
 " To-day — To-morrow,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 203 
 
 "Is the Turn of all; 
 
 " How fhort ! — and yet how-long ! 
 
 " O, fatal wound — thy torture chokes me ; 
 
 " Hold me — hold me up : 
 
 " Let not the lait. of all his name 
 
 " Suffer a coward's end 'T is done, 
 
 " And mould be fo. — No — I will itand alone, 
 " And have no aid. — Perdizione. — 
 
 " Ha !— 
 " A ftranger ! — Yet not ftrange ! 
 " I knew you when a boy ; 
 " I did you wrong ; 
 " I would have robbed your heart ; 
 " But Virtue keeps her crown for you ; 
 " Go — wear what is your own. 
 " You fcorn me not — yet better fcorn 
 " Than pity to an Avondell. 
 " Give me your ear. 
 " My home 's a hopelefs wreck ; 
 " Of that proud Keep there's fcarce a ftone remains ; 
 " You '11 foon return — lofe not an hour ; 
 " But afk no tear of forrow — 'tis not mine ; — 
 " Yet fay to her — the punifhment was juft, 
 " And Pride and Pafiion found their fwift reward ; 
 " Say that the beauty of that memoried day 
 " Lit up a fire which death alone could quench. 
 " The flanderous echo of her fpotlefs name 
 " Brought this fad deed ; and 'tis fome peace 
 ccz
 
 zo\ Erneft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 " To know that you have found it tli, 
 " Give me your hand — flill on mv feet ; 
 " So Heaven depofeth us : — 
 
 " You take the jewel which I fought to wear; 
 
 " I pay the forfeit with my life. — 
 
 " And we were boys together ; 
 
 " 1 the ambitious youth, the lord; 
 
 " And you the gardener's lbn — noble, 
 
 "The pride of all thy fellows — S' death; — 
 
 " Your foftcr-fathcr, i, r ood old Parfon Frank. 
 
 " Hath fuffered wrong from me ; 
 
 " 1 've made all reparation in my power ; 
 
 " This other bonds will teitify : 
 
 " O God ! — 'tis ftubborn work — 
 
 "This coming out — to die. — You'll foon return. 
 
 " Tell — tell her — hold me up — 
 
 " Tell her— I— ha— " 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 Heaven take thee, Avondell. 
 There lies the fad and ftartling fact, dear friend, 
 Which you had queftioncd not an hour ago. 
 We do no wrong which Justice does not reach — 
 As it will reach yon coward fled away. 
 Ay, well I knew him both as boy and man : 
 He was o' th' fluff of heroes ; but his tide 
 Took fitful courfe, and fwept him to the
 
 A Drarnatu Poem. 205 
 
 Of" Pleafure, where the paflions of the hour 
 Hold recklefs way, heedlefs of rocks a-head, 
 Till with a crafh the quivering wreck goes down 
 In the vaft ocean of eternal night. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 I read the lefibn from the Book of Death, 
 As it lies open here before my eyes, 
 Remembering all Sweet Friendfhip hath divulged 
 Of this fad matter. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 'T is as though fome hand 
 Unfeen had led us from the crowd, 
 That we might learn how lefs than nothing is 
 This little life which we are patching up 
 With gaudy fhows and empty pageantry, 
 As there could never be an ending on't. 
 " You'll foon return," he faid ; ay, at the dawn. 
 Too long perhaps I 've lingered ! — yet not fo : 
 This hour was needed, and has fternly come. 
 And we fhall part — to-morrow ! When to meet 
 Again we cannot tell. 
 
 Cold caft of clay, 
 For thee no more the halls of mirth will ring, 
 Nor Fortune play thee falfe. Alike all moods
 
 206 Errn/l, tbi Pilgrim: 
 
 And paifions now. Whatever here bet 
 Thy foul is in His hands who gave thec life, 
 And to His prcfencc thou art fwiftly gone. 
 Ye who have fliare in this — look to him well. 
 He was of high degree ; and had his youth 
 Been governed as it ought, he had not been 
 What now we look upon in forrow, all. 
 Come, let's away, fince we can do no more. 
 To-morrow we 're blazon all the world ; — 
 To-day we die, and vanifh in the dark.
 
 A Dramatic Pve?/i. 207 
 
 PARTING WORDS. 
 
 TO ERNEST. 
 
 ' l/IAREWELL, yet not for ever. There will come 
 
 -*- The brighter Dawn. For this fhortleafe of days 
 
 We part, perchance, and take our feparate ways, 
 
 Which at the Harveft-Time mail bring us Home ! 
 
 I feek the New World for a little room 
 
 To gather up the fragments of a life 
 
 Which elfe were fcattered in oblivious gloom ; 
 
 While thou remain'st amid the nobler ftrife. 
 
 O, miffion of the higher! aim : Go, roll 
 
 The Stone of Darknefs from the tomb, and let 
 
 The Light come forth to gladden every foul 
 
 Whofe fun had otherwife in chaos fet.
 
 2o8 Err:,;!, the Pilgn- 
 
 Thy way is Itraight — no other may'st thou 
 I [eaven's great philanthropy hath (liown th 
 
 TO ARTHUR. 
 
 No — not for ever : There 's a world of blifs 
 In that. Awhile, and I am back again 
 To do the work in humble truitfulnefs, 
 Which fiern Experience hath made mod plain. 
 And fhall I feek thy helpful aid in vain? 
 There s earned work for all in Fatherland, 
 If each would take their tafk. Go not away ; 
 But take the Patriot's falchion in your hand, 
 And be the firit to cheer, the lafl; to ftay — 
 Fair Freedom's honeft Soldier come what may : 
 For we fhould feck our life's appointed place 
 Amid the ranks of ftalwart-ftaturcd Mind; 
 In Truth's ftrong armour fally forth, and chafe 
 The world of Pafllons fwecping down the wind. 
 
 THE WAY HOME. 
 
 A 
 
 Bultlc, hurtle, hurry away, 
 
 Up — and out — and on for the day ; 

 
 A Dramatic Poem. 209 
 
 All the world to toil and fpin, 
 Wake, ye myriad marts of din : 
 Bring the fiery courfers out, 
 Buftle, buftle, crowd and fhout : — 
 Here for Land's End, John o' Groats, 
 Quick — the winged meteor fnorts ; 
 Dover, Dublin, Milford, Perth, 
 Over the fea and through the earth ; 
 Years in a month, and months in an hour, 
 Stay not a moment to wonder and glower ; 
 'Tis the only way ! — Good Granny ftep in it, 
 Money for time — they're off in a minute. 
 Puff, puff", rumble, and fmoke ; 
 Quicker, thicker at every ftroke ; 
 Whiz, dart, rattle, and fly, 
 Laugh at old Time, all fpace defy : 
 Meafure the Ocean, compafs the World, 
 Tunnel the hills by the Titans hurled : 
 To-day we (hake dear friends by the hand, 
 To-morrow far off" in a funny land : 
 Dafhing, flafhing with hideous fcreams, 
 Threading the vallies and fweeping the ftreams ; 
 Halt at the city— a moment's breath ; 
 Off" and away, 'tis for life and death : 
 Over your eyes the myfteries creep, 
 Quiet them down in a whirling flecp : 
 Give the fwift thought to the fwifter wire, 
 A thoufand miles off they have your defire :
 
 2 I o Erne ft, the l^iigrim : 
 
 A bargain in Liverpool offered at feven, 
 Settled in London, and chequed ere eleven : 
 
 that a murderer flies from his deed, 
 The meffengcr laughs at his drivelling fpeed : 
 A -hty advancement — where will it end ? — 
 Swim with the tide, or be drowned my friend. 
 Towns to the villages, buflle for eafe, 
 Cities pulfating o'er meadows and leas. 
 Towns of commerce, ftores of granite, 
 Dropt from fome prolific planet : — 
 You mind it well — a few years ago 
 We pafl'ed on a coach, and it was not fo. 
 The murmur of Myriadom rifting the air ; 
 Many a crefcent and many a fquare ; 
 Millions of toilers in endlefs fmoke, 
 Seething from blazing, blinding coke: 
 Spinners at their whirling reels, 
 Grinders at their ponderous wheels, 
 Miners delving deep in the earth, 
 Heaving aloft its pregnant worth : 
 Gather it all and fecure it faft, 
 Stand a-one fide — let the Train go part : 
 Way for the cotton, and iron and coals, 
 Fabulous merchandize, cattle in fhoals ; 
 Tram it, and truck it, and bale it away ; 
 The beggar of ycflcrday princely to-day : 
 Glitter and grandeur floating along, 
 Crash — 'tis all tinfcl, not worth an old fong :
 
 A Drumatu Poem 21 1 
 
 Yet onward — onward — onward 's the cry; 
 Barter and bargain — what will you buy ? 
 Here's a whole nation's worth — paper for cash, 
 Out with it — on with it, Failure will wafh : 
 Now is the time for our glory, or never, 
 Kingdoms of Commerce — then Commerce for ever. 
 
 From yonder little brook 
 
 That dances by a nook, 
 A gentle breeze comes thro' the fteaming carriage 
 
 'Tis as though the bleffed flowers, 
 
 And the balmy summer bowers, 
 Had confented to be wholly one in marriage. 
 
 As it fans the burning cheek, 
 
 It feems as it could fpeak 
 Of the happy daify-days gone long ago ; — 
 
 The feeling is the fame, 
 
 Calls Childhood by its name ; 
 We weep, and really wonder how it can be fo ! 
 
 Pray shut us not within 
 
 This hot and thirfty din, 
 But let the dingy window rattle fwiftly down ; 
 
 Ay, there it comes again, 
 
 Refreshing as the rain, 
 And we could clafp it as it were our precious own, 
 
 DD2
 
 1 1 Z l-./c/fi, tbt Pilgrim : 
 
 Away all mufty joke, 
 Put out the fecnted (moke 
 
 Puftld blinding forth in evcr-fickening volumes : 
 Yon funny upland fpots, 
 And pleafant crofts and cots, 
 
 Are piling memory up in ftarry columns. 
 
 The city 's far behind. 
 
 Its throbbings out of mind, 
 
 Or as diftant as fomc fcarce-remembcrcd dream ; 
 While the hills and vales are here, 
 With the azure deep and clear, 
 
 Where the lark pours merry mufic like a ftream. 
 
 Could we but hear the fong 
 As we fvveep the fields along, 
 
 It would fill the Pilgrim's heart with fresheft joy ; 
 A few more whirling miles, 
 And the meadows and the ftiles 
 
 Will greet us as remembered when a boy ! 
 
 Gone — gone the noife and rush, 
 And there comes a memory-gush 
 
 As the porter takes our ticket — looking hard; — 
 He drove a coach-and-four, 
 In the old time, now no more, 
 
 And the coach lies up a ruin in the yard.
 
 A Drama tit Poem. 
 
 And the glory is all fled, 
 
 The old Sign hangs its head, 
 There's fcarce a lorry "whip" upon the road 
 
 And life has come to this ; 
 
 O fadly doth it mifs 
 The hearty English gufto of a London load. 
 
 He drove a 'Bus or fo 
 From Paddington to Bow ; 
 
 'T vvas a wretched jaded shadow of the Paft ; 
 The box-coat got worn out, 
 And beat and basht about — 
 
 He had to give the Jarvie up at laft. 
 
 Ah, wherefore should it be ? — 
 As we gladden with the glee 
 
 Of fome long-expected pleafure juft at hand, 
 A fomething feems to mar, 
 A cloud shuts out the ftar, 
 
 And we walk as we were ftrangers in the land ! 
 
 But there comes a village chime 
 Like a good old Saxon rhyme, 
 
 Making mufic with the blackbird's mellow lay :- 
 Or haply 'tis the knell 
 Of a friend remembered well, 
 
 Or fome bright and bonnie maiden paft away. 
 
 213
 
 214 Erneft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Not thee ! thou fairer one, 
 Or light and hope are gone, 
 
 And the very gall of forrow in my heart ; 
 The long-expected blifs, 
 For this, fweet Mercy, this, 
 
 O fay not that ere meeting we shall part. 
 
 Good (hepherd of the hill, 
 
 Come by the laughing rill, 
 And welcome back the wanderer in the plain 
 
 Your legends quaintly told 
 
 Of the forray days of old, 
 Start into life and battle-raid again. 
 
 Home ! — and the world is glad, 
 No living thing is fad ; 
 Dear Earth is jewelled for a Feftival, 
 Or Flora's bridal day, 
 And this the chofen way 
 To gather dainty wreathes to crown her brow withal 
 
 / 
 
 O thou bright age of Childhood ! fweet 
 With flowers and laughter, joy-entwined ; 
 Beauty and love, twin filters, greet 
 The hearthlings of the humbleft hind. 
 Lo, toddling from bis mother's fide,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. z \ 5 
 
 A bonnie blue-eyed Saxon boy, 
 The lowly cotter's hopeful pride — 
 Dear earneft. of heart-wedded joy : 
 His little feet have paced the floor, 
 He bravely gains the open door, 
 Where fields of flowers and funny fkies, 
 Gladden his heart and brighten his eyes ; 
 A firmer foot, a ftronger hand, 
 A dawning fancy leads him forth, 
 He walks abroad upon the earth, 
 And gambols in a fairy land : 
 His mufic is the ftreams and birds, 
 The merry bees and plaintive herds ; 
 At even-time, with heart elate, 
 He meets his father at the gate, 
 Springs to his arms and claims the kifs 
 Which crowns his little day of blifs. 
 Happy boy, drink in that blifs, 
 'Tis the pureft thou may'st know 
 In a battle-world like this — 
 Piled with wealth and throed with woe : 
 Life to thee is all a heaven, 
 Care no rapture yet hath riven ; 
 Merrily laugh and bound away, 
 Revel in Childhood while you may. 
 
 (TJie Pilgrim meets a Strange Shepherd.)
 
 216 Erntjl, the Pilgrim: 
 
 " Tell me, Ihephcrd, tell me true, 
 
 " I am fain to know from you, 
 
 " If it be right good ami W( 11 
 
 " With all the brotherhood who dwell 
 
 " Amid thefc pleafant paiturc-fpots, 
 
 " Thefe primrofe crofts and orchard plots : 
 
 " Who is living, who is dead, 
 
 " Since the long, long months have fped ?" 
 
 " Stranger, or whate'er you be, 
 
 " Reft awhile and lift to me. — 
 
 " One day about laft New-year time, 
 
 " When trees and hedges hung wi' rime, 
 
 " An aged Shepherd might be feen 
 
 " Toiling up yonder hills a-tween — 
 
 " His long white hair and bending form 
 
 " Wintered with many and many a ftorm. 
 
 " His ftep was firm, his eye was clear — 
 
 " He faid a bluftsrous night was near, 
 
 " For he heard the cry of his bleating fheep, 
 
 " And laboured up the pathlefs fteep 
 
 " To bring them from the bleak-browed hill, 
 
 " And fold them where the winds were ftill. 
 
 " This is no tale, fo mind me well, — 
 
 " Such a mort o' mow has never fell 
 
 " As all that day and all that night, 
 
 " When Jofcph loft his flock outright. 
 
 " Mercy o' me, the 'wildered man
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 217 
 
 *'But faved his life by half a fpan: 
 
 " The ftorm it raged, fo deep the fnow, 
 
 " The Shepherd knew not whither to go, 
 
 " While haplefs bodings filled his ear — 
 
 " A diftance off, then feeming near : 
 
 " He called his dog — the dog was gone, 
 
 " He had not feen him fince the dawn, 
 
 " And feared that with the forry fheep 
 
 " Old Rover faithful watch did keep. 
 
 " The drift beat high as our cottage door j 
 
 " We traced the wild hills o'er and o'er — 
 
 " Sought every old familiar nook 
 
 " With weary feet and helpful crook ; 
 
 " But there was found no living thing 
 
 " The joy to Jofeph's heart to bring. 
 
 '• Such a fad and fudden blow 
 
 " Struck him down in filent woe ; 
 
 " He looked for Spring-time like a child, 
 
 " And when the firft green hill-top fmiled, 
 
 " He took his crook with a wiftful eye, 
 
 " Searched hill and valley, low and high ; 
 
 " And in the ihelter of a rock 
 
 " There lay his tempeft-folded flock ; 
 
 " And there his trufty dog did keep 
 
 " Death-watch o'er twice a hundred fheep. 
 
 " The Shepherd took it fore to heart — 
 
 " For the dog and he were never apart : 
 
 " He buried the body, but foon we fpied 
 
 EE
 
 ; i s - the Pilgrim : 
 
 " Old Rover's fkull hang down at his fide. 
 
 " And thus he wandered as of old, 
 
 " Seeking his ftraying flieep to fold ; 
 
 " Roaming the hills and talking alone, 
 
 " Until his mind was well-nigh gone. 
 
 " And foon he died — juft t' other day — 
 
 " I '11 mind it well, as well I may ; 
 
 " No Shepherd all the country round 
 
 " Such love had gained, fuch fame had found 
 
 " And forrow far and near was fprcad 
 
 " To think the good old man was dead. 
 
 " His crook was on his coffin laid, 
 
 " And many a bonnie village maid 
 
 " Scattered his lowly grave with flowers, — 
 
 " Where he has lain but two short hours. 
 
 " Stranger, you're fad : but had you known 
 
 " Old Jofeph Burnam, you would own, 
 
 " A worthier man ne'er carried crook 
 
 " Since David o' the Holy Book. 
 
 " He 's gone, as you and I mull go, 
 
 " And foon the flowers will o'er us grow, 
 
 " As they are growing frefh and fair 
 
 " O'er Robert Grame and Widow Ware; 
 
 " With many a neighbour gone befide, 
 
 " In tottering age or youthful pride. 
 
 " Stranger, even-tide is nigh, 
 
 " 'T will be well for you and I 
 
 " To keep our ways in goodly fort, 
 
 " Since death is furc and life is fliort."
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 219 
 
 Jessie. 
 (Seated at a window of the Parsonage Mouse.) 
 
 At laft : 
 
 The wanderer is coming home. The Noon 
 
 Has pair : 
 
 To-day he's coming — and it will be foon ; 
 
 Dear Day : 
 
 And yet how long, how very long it feems 
 
 To ftay. 
 
 The lengthening fhadows ilretch acrofs the ftreams : 
 
 O come, 
 
 Thou fweeteft Evening come, and in thy train 
 
 Bring home 
 
 Dear Erneft to his waiting love again ; 
 
 come. 
 
 'Tis many months — the weary months are gone; 
 
 Unbounded joy : 
 
 At eventide he faid, and that is near, 
 
 My plighted boy. 
 
 1 will away and welcome thee alone ! 
 Yet wherefore Co ? 
 
 Since unto others thou art very dear, 
 
 Full well I know : 
 
 Such hearty greeting is in ftore for thee, 
 
 Such full delight !— 
 
 Linger no moment on your weary way 
 
 To bring the night : 
 
 EE 2
 
 2 20 Erne ft , the Pilgrim: 
 
 Come while the fwect birds fing with dainty gjfee 
 
 Their melodies ; 
 
 While the filverv leaves are dancing to the lay 
 
 Of the balmy breeze. 
 
 I wonder if he's looking as of old, 
 
 Ere Care had made his buoyant heart a-cold ? 
 
 When every Morning had its brighter fun, 
 
 And Evening came ere half the joy was done ? 
 
 He was fo like a brother that I gave 
 
 Him freely of my love, nor thought to fave 
 
 One moment's gladnefs that he might not fhare — 
 
 Since he was my heart's pleafure everywhere ! 
 
 Like a fair cedar on a funny hill 
 
 He grew, hard by a merry little rill, 
 
 Whofe mufic murmured all about his heart. 
 
 And hufhed what wildering Sadnefs would impart. 
 
 O bitternefs of parting from fuch love ! 
 
 happy meeting — worthier now to prove 
 The heart's unutterable devotion : Come, 
 Come to thefe aflcing arms, and be at Home. 
 
 Ernest. 
 
 (Entering LnngJcy Dale.) 
 
 1 ftand upon thy threfhold once again, 
 Dear Native Dale : my hand is on the latch 
 Of that inviting door which Memory lifts
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 221 
 
 With eager hand to tread the olden path 
 
 Which leads the Pilgrim home ! I am a boy 
 
 Again, a merry-hearted boy : I might 
 
 Have flept upon fome mofly-crefted bank, 
 
 Deep down among the flowers ; or by a ftream 
 
 Sat mufing all the hours away, thro' light 
 
 And gloom, and fhade, from Morning's rofy dawn, 
 
 To mirky Night with all the ftars (hut out. 
 
 I feel thy arms about me as a child 
 
 Its mother's love ; and I could weep for joy, 
 
 For very joy, and hold thee to my heart, 
 
 Till thou had'ft. bleft me into paradife : 
 
 For thou art very fair to look upon, 
 
 Fairer to me than all the earth befide. 
 
 No nook but has its halo of the paft, 
 
 No fhade but has its memory-haunting fong, 
 
 All refonant of bees and buttercups, 
 
 Of kite, and ball, and youthful merriments ; 
 
 No home of cheerful cotter but is wreathed 
 
 With ruddy laughter and contented fmiles. 
 
 The Village Smithy echoes as of old, 
 
 When gleefully we flitted round its glow 
 
 I' th' darknefs of the long, lone Winter nights : 
 
 The Saxon Church its hallowed glory keeps 
 
 Amid co-eval trees, which plaintive breathe 
 
 Eternal requiems o'er the filent dead ; 
 
 The fame old wooden bridge ftill fpans the brook 
 
 As, when a child, I watched my paper boat
 
 2:: Erne ft, I 
 
 Dance o'er the rippling eddies out of fight : 
 The Gipfics' Lane ; the children on the green ; 
 The crazy horfe-trough at the hoftel door ; 
 The finger-poft that, like a fceptre, points 
 The way a-vvinter nights ; the ancient crofs, 
 Where Martyrs for the truth went down to death 
 When England blazed with facrilegious fires — 
 Thefe are the kindred links of that vaft chain 
 Which circles the wide earth to guide us Home. 
 And there were twenty poplars by the flream ; 
 They 're two the lefs ! and like yon ruined Keep, 
 Tell us the human talc; — 'tis fo with thee, 
 And thee, and thee, and mud be fo with all. 
 
 Ye welcome fhades 
 Of arching trees, I greet you once again ; 
 For deeply nettled in your peaceful bowers 
 1 fee the fwceteft home in Chrittendom, 
 And feel the full emotions of its hearts 
 As they were throbbing on my bofom now. 
 Dear Man of God — my more than father ftill, 
 Thou gentle-hearted matron, and ye loves 
 Who minifter your angel duties there — 
 Time has but made you dearer to my foul, 
 And dillance hallowed all that you have hoped, 
 And prayed, and truited for of him who now, 
 With tears of joy and afpirations deep, 
 Beliccheth Heaven to blefs you evermore. 
 
 They fee me not, yet I can fee them there,
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 223 
 
 Seated about the pleafant lawn ; — not all 
 My heart is afking for ; — but flay. They know 
 He's coming, and 'tis now upon the hour : 
 A broad oak table filled with fruit and flowers, 
 And kindred chairs, invite the weary one. 
 Beneath his favourite elm fits Parfon Frank, 
 Where he fo oft hath cheered the orphan-boy. 
 White is his hair, and Time hath touched his brow ; 
 Yet his dear face wears not a fmile the lefs. 
 Two rofy children cling about his knees, 
 Their little feet in fcattered daifies hid ; 
 And by his fide my mother's fecond felf 
 Rattles her playful bobbins with good heed, 
 The well-worn pillow feated on her lap : — 
 She's peering o'er her fpectacles to fee 
 If yet he comes. The old dog lifts his head 
 And faintly growls. — A happy-hearted group 
 Are coming from the door, whofe quaintly porch 
 Is fmothered o'er with ivy, and wild tufts 
 Of eglantine, and honey-fuckle blooms : — 
 Two wedded ones ; three fillers — gentle fouls ; 
 And Andrew Bell, the foldier as of old, 
 His clafps and medals glittering on his breast : — 
 
 O, thou fair form ! — 
 For it is thine, or Eden had no love ! 
 At laft I look upon thee, precious one, 
 And eager trace thy every feature out 
 As thou wert fome bright ftar new-found in heaven.
 
 224 Ertitft, the Pilgrim: 
 
 Ay, come yet nearer, fwect, that I may kifs 
 Thy funny fhadow beaming to my lips; 
 Yet clofer ftill, and thou art lovelier ftill : 
 Another ftep, and I do live again 
 In that bright joy of rofy Childhood born : 
 How do I blefs this blcfTed hour and thee ! 
 Trueil and deareft, plighted of my heart, 
 'Tis thee alone — and thou art all the world. 
 Jeffic !—
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 22 q 
 
 THE MISSION. 
 
 5 miS faid— A lord remorfefully 
 
 -*- Made teftament and will 
 That he had done fome hurtful wrong, 
 And juftice would fulfil. 
 
 What of his fquandered wealth remained 
 
 Was to the injured given, 
 Whofe ufeful life had all been fpent 
 
 In leading fouls to heaven. 
 
 FF
 
 226 EmeJI, the Pilgrim: 
 
 The good man plied the treafure well, 
 
 And went unto his reft, 
 His memory hallowed, and his name 
 
 By Love and Virtue bleft. 
 
 He had no fon, but loved a boy 
 
 As fondly as his own ; 
 And he mould lead the little flock, 
 
 And do as he had done. 
 
 The chofen took the burden up, 
 
 United to a heart 
 Which earneftly, yet modeftly, 
 
 Fulfilled the woman's part. 
 
 And he was faithful to his truft, 
 Till duty called him forth 
 
 To hives of vice and ignorance 
 That loom acrofs the earth. 
 
 There doth he labour manfully, 
 And knows nor caft nor creed : 
 
 But renders whatfoe'er he hath 
 To all who are in need. 
 
 He gathers but to give again, 
 And fows the barren field, 
 
 Trufting that at the fruitful rime 
 'Twill goodly harveft yield.
 
 A Dramatic Poem. 227 
 
 He takes the felon by the hand, 
 
 And teaches him to die ; 
 He walks the dens of peftilence, 
 
 And heeds the famifht cry: 
 
 Not for a flitting fummer's day, 
 
 But thro' a ftalwart life ; 
 Each morning opens fome new path, 
 
 To the world of moiling itrife. 
 
 His name is fragrant of his deeds, 
 
 Yet none the half can know — 
 For filently as falls the dew 
 
 He labours to and fro. 
 
 And this is Life's great million, Man ! 
 
 Go : do your work aright, 
 Till Truth ihall drive the Darknefs out, 
 
 And Love bring in the Light. 
 
 J. BURTON, PRINTER, LEICESTER.
 
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