:/.. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES LEAVES FKOM OUR CYPRESS AND OUR OAK M ACM ILL AN AND CO. ITonbon irnb (Titmbnbgf. I.DNDUN : PlilVTKD BY R. tl.AV, ^uN, AND TAVIHi: BHKAU STKKRT HII.I . fyz^ IN LOYAL MEf^ORY AND IN LOYAL HOPE- CONTENTS. LEAVES EEOj\[ OUR CYPEESS. PAGE The (Jky .13 The Silent Good 19 The Closer Ties 1^3 Sympathy 27 Amongst the Shadows 31 The Burial 37 LEAVES FE0:M OUE OAK. rp The Better Gold 45 The Sunbeam .51 The Thought 57 The Widow and iieu Mitk 01 The Love of Loves 71 The Albert Oak 77 Under the Oak ^5 Song of the Bells 9-5 rI^ rp LEAVES FROM OUR CYPRESS. L THE OUT. LEAVES FROM OUll CYPRESS. WM 1?- ii X THE CEY. CRY went up before the Lord — a cry Suddeu and sharp, as when the mother's eA'e Turns back on flames where still her babe's a-bed : — "O God— the Prince is dead!" It spake upon the lightning's wings, And spread ; It brake upon the sleep of kings With dread ; Tlie Arab l\eard it, wliore he leant Over liis des(^rt-])red ; IX LEAVES FROM OUK CYPRESS. The Indian, where his how was hent — • Each howecl. One said : "Behold! a star is shed! " The other : " The AVhite Chief's heart was red — "VYail for our hrother ! " The ends of Earth were moved : The lovins^ — the heloved, Witli whom the Isles did daily share Their warmest, holiest pray'r — Thev looked, and he was there — Again — and he had fled ! A Voice, as if of many waves, AA'here Life strikes hard, but no one saves, Hose, surged, and swelled on every gale, Till all was one long wail, Through whose dark-woven tale LEAVES FROM OUR CYPRESS. 15 There ran, like a scarlet thread, The wild, hrief, dead — dead — dead I That smote the hearer pale ; Adding, but now and then, As the quick, sharp " AYhen ? " From hearts that l^led, Arose abroad — " The Prince is dead — O God 1 " II. THE SILE^^T GOOD. II. THE SILEXT GOOD. IIO moves our grief must first our love have won : He oped our liearts, yet witli no master key. His modest youth the "Open sesame;" His after charm, the Hoic his good was done; For, like a star that hides heyond the sun, Behind his deed of radiance mute he lay. And l)ut in colours spake, like purpling day — In deeds alone ! Applause he seemed to shun, And rather chose our thanks to win than wear Their rightful meed — to his love-labours due — 20 LEAVES FROM OUR CYPRESS. A silent good, lie met us here and there, And light and beauty 'mongst the peoples threw ! Oil, for his loss, that plucks our hopes so hare. How meet tlie Nation's grief — yea, her despair ! III. THE CLOSER TIES. III. THE CLOSEE TIES. pjUR grief — alas! Oh! if so deep the wound His leaving* left within the general breast, AYhat may be theirs who loved — who knew him best, Whose gentler spirits oftener were attuned By his home-voice ! How vain our grief to test How far — how deep their souls have been distrest ! Enough to know, all hearts, below, are flesh ; Their chords of feeling somewhat one in tone ; But, ah ! that somewhat ! God can tell, alone, How wildly tender through her sorrows fresh The finer soul may melt, without a moan, AVhere others howl with hearts of pulsing stone ! 21 LEAVES FROM OUU CYPRESS. Enough to know that, by the royal hearth, In deep, deep shadow there's a vacant chair ; To know their wedded loves were love so rare, And feel that now there is no voice, on earth. May shape an answer, when she looketh there, And, in her heart's hushed anguish, crieth — '^ Where?" Too much to know that while all souls are bowed Beneath this shadow of the " Common Pate," For all, at some, or near or distant, date, Hope draws a sun-streak somewhere o'er the cloud — For all save one ! JVe hope, and trust, and wait ; Our Queen's— our mother's heart is desolate I IV. SYMPATHY. I) IV. SYMPATHY. H, Royal Lady, mother of our kings To come, not more than of our hopes, even here Thy mournful presence seems, at times, so near, We feel each soh thine own true heart that wrings ; Till, losing self in that which sorrow brings. We glide on tip-toe, even as though from fear Some uttered sound should wound thy timid ear — Staying the thoughtless joy of dearest things With glance and beckon — yea, with dreaming hands. 28 LEAVES FROM OUK CYPRESS. That wander through the cunning- of their signs Till some choked breath to full-drawn sigh ex- pands, And, sweej)ing through the mystic trance, defines How sympathy, with sterner sense at war, May dim the near, Avdiile making clear the far ! V. AMONGST THE SHADOAVS. V. AMONGST THE SHADOWS. HERE is a Power that from eacli blinclling' chance Mav rear a errand necessity — a Power Tliat notes the sparrow as it falls — that scans The number of our hairs — beneath whose eye The boug-h that's laslicd by every breeze may not Be lashed in vain ! O Thou who didst the first And last, and all that lies l)etween, in one o2 LEAVES FROM OUR CYPRESS. Brief glance conceive — without whom nothing is — Wlio doest nouglit without a purpose — hear And pity, when we cry and grope and wound Our souls against the dark ! A great man dies, — An insect lives, — cover us with Thy strength I We know that good may come witli front most drear, — = That from the far, far future may some germ Of still unshapen loveliness shoot forth Wherewith to stain the ail-too tender hlue Of our young Present — working us much woe; But wherefore grief should herald, thus, our joy. How may we know or dream ! Our hearts, alas ! Are riddles to our hearts. Our souls look on As though tliey took no note : we do — undo. And ask the wherefore, — 1)ut — there is no voice! LEAVES FROM Om CYPRESS. 33 Grant us to rest, alone, upon Thy love ! And, when the deeper deep shall wail throughout Its kindred dark, to say — Thy will he done ! — To feel our greatest good is knowing still How strangely little, here, is known! — to feel That Thou art Lord of weal and woe, and, hence, The worst must wait where Thou hast willed,— to feel, Whereas a mightiest Wisdom works within Our clear, 'twere weak to doubt it in our dark — To know that when the radiant germ of fruit Most noble leaves its parent bough, and all The royal summer's purpling light, to flee Along the giddy gale, and thence to dark Corruption, in its flower — its blessed breath Of health-bestowing fragrance changed to airs That utter poison — even, then, to feel, Though death be change, that change implies not loss — That fallen flowers may rise in fairest fruit — £ 34 LEAVES EKOM OUR CYPRESS. That, as what life may loathe the hungry glebe Revives, and clothes the ridge with lusty grain, So may a moral ill produce a weal — • A present dark — however dark — subsoil A glorious future. Be it ours to wait, And hope, and trust — as he who tills and sows- Till from the unseemly chrysalis of ill — Or grief, upsoar tlie radiant good ! Amen ! YI. THE BUKIAL. VI. THE BURIAL. O us and fro — Solemn and slow — Utter the bells their notes of woe, Over the Good that's borne below ! Highest of birth, — Meekest of mien, — Lamp of his hearth, Stay of our Queen — Here is his rest, — Yonder, his home ! — Day's in the west. But morn will come ! His were, an hour, Station and power — 38 LEAVES FROM OUR CYPRESS. Yonder, in fruit — here, l)iit in flower Noblv he used the heavenly dower ! Banner and pall, Trumpet and drum, Dirges from " Saul," AYith him, thev come ! Life was so brief — Sj)irit so pure — Parting is grief, Meeting though sure ! Crimson and gold Ah, ye're so cold !— Hush — there are sobs away on the wold Is it a halo dropt on his mould ? — Peerless its power — Simple its tale, — Only a flower. Striking us pale ! LEAVES FROM OUR CYPRESS. 89 Presli from the sod, Warm, from a tear — Blessed be God — Eeeling was here ! Pillars mav rise, Crowding the skies, Tablets inscribed by sages wise, — Sweeter its tale, in simpler guise. Speaks it aloud : — Look ye within. Under the cloud Souls are a-kin ! Points it to youth, — Holier liours, — Innocence — Truth — Beauty and flowers ! Hither and fro — Solemn and slow — 40 LEAVES FROM OUR CYPRESS. Utter the bells their notes of woe, Over the Good that sleeps below ! Wept and caressed Lieth he down, — That's but his crest — Yonder, his crown ! Waned hath the light. Leaving no streak ; Long is the night, But day will break ! LEAVES FROM OOB OAK I. THE BETTER GOLD. LEAVES FROM OUll OAK. THE BETTER GOLD. MOST abidiiio: beauty often breaks Erom briefest glimpses of the darkest things, — As fleeing cloudlets show the golden streaks, By morn inlaid, l)eneath their ebon wings ! Ah ! oft within the burnished lamp of Joy, A darksome acid springs, and seethes, and rolls, 80011 — soon revealing all the base alloy, Throuiili which were dazzled dimly-seeing souls ! i6 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. While grief, a holier power, not only tests, But brings to beam upon the common air, Erom out the spirit's calmer, deeper rests, The better gold that else had hidden there. How fair is gold, that light and life of marts ! But, oh, be ours yon better, of the mind, AYhich, mingling with the currency of hearts, A living glory beams through all our kind ! But, while Ave bless the bright, alas ! for grief — That tvrant tester of our souls and creeds — Oh, be his richest labours few and brief Where, in the ^niue, some holier feeling bleeds ! That one should suffer for the many's good Is old, perhaps as Virtue — if less rare; Too oft some sower of the spirit's food Must glean his fragments o'er a large despair ! LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. 47 We walk the shores of Life, while, to the Deep, "Cast up thy treasure!" saith the inner voice; " And ye, our souls, be merry ; whoso weep. Do ye in every new-found g'ood rejoice ! " Ah, grant us hearts, sweet Heaven, to feel for them Whose woes e'er waked o)w flower along* our years — Yea, souls to reverence, when they wear one gem That hath its lustre from another's tears. Perish the wish — cold, selfish wish, that wars Too oft, to-day, with all of love and light — The wish to give more beauty to our stars By adding darkness to a brother's night ! And, while this better gold goes radiant forth AVith heart and soul and healing in its shine, God grant that, prizing, well, its sacred worth, We ne'er forget the still more sacred mine ! TT. THE SUNBEAM. G 11. THE SUXBEAM. 8 an angel oped the gate, Whence, sun or snow, The seasons go, Lo! the isles looked up elate, For a sunbeam dropt below ! " Is it well so long to weep AYherc all's so fair ? — Sister, forbear I " Said a fiowret fresh from sleep To a gentler flowret there. LEAVES PROM OUR OAK. Spake the qneenlier sister, " Hark ! Sweet love of mine, My light's not thine; Por, behold, my soul is dark, And mine eye seems dew'd with brine " Know'st thou where the beauty lies, The eye perceives Upon the leaves Or over the jewelled skies ? — 'Tis not in the soul that srrieves ! D-' " ' Ah ! ' crieth the Night to Day, ' There is no light ! '— ' Yea, all is bright — Creation a milky way ! ' Replieth the Day to Night. " My spirit is w^orn and weak, Eor snows still rest Upon my breast LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. 63 Though the beam hath tipt my cheek : Yea, I'm laden and distrest ! " " Ah ! sister, remembering so Where snows have pressed Or still may rest, May nourish a worse than snow In even the firmest breast ! " " Nay, suffer me, love, to weep, Eor thus must pass This cold, cold mass That maketh my dark so deep — 3Iy beauty of earth; — Alas!" "But groweth the earth so green! While, ah, that tear. Sweet sister, dear — Now, more than ever our Queen — Is death to each sister near ! " 54 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. Then the sunheam, where it fell, AVhispered the snow AMiat few may know ; But centuries hence shall tell Of the light it left below! III. THE THOUGHT. III. THE THOUGHT. BEAM fell down from heaven— a ])eam of light, AYhich, straying through the sad earth's countless glooms, Met, and embraced a shadow from the tombs. That wrapt the darkness of its long, long night. Around a soul of most exceeding white. Till, lo ! a softer shade — like what illumes That modest wayside mother of perfumes, The violet — was born. This darkly bright — This sweet-and-sad, became a living thought II 58 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. And dwelt witliin the mourner's soul, and said : — " Were all the earth with preaching marbles fraught, Thy hand should rear some tribute to the dead! — Behold, where, last, he sat, — rise — Avalk abroad, — The earth is filled with beauty — yea, with God! " TV. THE AYIDOAV AND HEE MITE. IV. THE AVIDOW AND HEE MITE. EPt soul, obedient to the missioned light. Arose, and, brightening' through her veil of night, Beheld the crowds her power was given to bless, Till grief for theirs consumed her own distress — Till love for them awaked those secret powers That don their strength but in our darkest hours; And shut her heart upon its deeper pain, And led her forth to Hojie and them again ! 62 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. With all tlie woman welling' tlironi>'li the Queen, The mourner moves o'er manv a hallowed scene ! Nor weeps she now, thouo-h on her cheek appears The light of sorrow, far surpassing tears ! Eut, ah, how changed — how lonely — dark — is all : O'er every brightness hangs a spectre-pall, — A dying hope, by every tree and tower — A waning halo flits o'er every flower. There is no beauty, now, on sky or lawn, Por he who gilt the finest gold is gone 1 At every step, a something starts to say 'Twas thus, or thus, when last ye looked this way ; At every step, a something starts to tell What might — what w^ould have been, had all been well ; At every step, she starts, as if to hear Those mellow notes that ne'er may leave her ear; At every step, she starts ! — But — no ! That voice Shall never — never make thy heart rejoice ! — LEAVES FROM OUR OxVK. 63 All, who may tell what every step revealed, Or whence the power that kept her anguish sealed! Enough to know, though soul tints all around, AVhere last he leant 's her spirit's holiest ground. Lo, pondering there yon voiceful thought she hears. And shapes its music for her people's ears ! She knows that tall and deftlv chiselled stone Shall rise to make his modest greatness known ; But, ah — our hearts ! Dear Heaven, how much, much more Would soul hestow, where soul doth so adore ! The stone may soar, hut not 'neath her commands, — Its sculptures speak, hut not from out her hands ! A thousand spires ? Alas ! ten thousand more Might cleave the clouds, those royal eyes, hefore ; But lo ! a shruh — a flower — one living leaf — Bright with one holier jeAvel of her grief, And, from her own warm hand, in tliat dear spot, AVliere last in God's free light the lost one sat. 64 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. Given to the soil and to the seasons' care, Were more than all tliose marbles in the air ! 'Twas done ! The infant oak, with gentle toil. The royal widow gave the virgin soil. No dread maG^nifieence the rite surveved, But as, when some pure-hearted village maid Her flowery offering brings to bloom above The last of one she early learned to love. So came the Queen of many mighty lands, Her love's sad tribute in her tear-wet hands ; Her up-thrown glance half-speaking hope that he. Though changed, might mark how all unchanged was she. No grand oration charged the passing hours ; No trumpet told it to the silent towers ; No organ-peal disturbed the solemn air, No measured chant; the only music there "Was that low breath which swept from sky to sod. Pure, through the blue cathedral of her God ! LEAVES FROM OVU OAK. 65 Oh, blessed love, and truth, and constancy ! Oh, blessed woman, blest with all the three I Like some sweet melody of simple rhyme. Outliving, oft, the grander strains of time, This deed of thine shall hold the holier ear — Deepening in music, through each rolling year — Till, mingled with the Nation's soul, it grow A household hymn — a song of Heaven, below — A guiding song to shape our truth and love Por one eternal melody above ! Oh, queenliest Queen, whose womanhood has pierced The stoniest thing e'er heard its tale rehearsed I Dream not some reconstructing spirit, here. Vaunts "common kinship" where she finds a tear; Or shapes her sympathy from this, alone. That flesh and blood must fill our highest throne ; Or seeks to prove, from thy most human woe, That all are — should be, equal, here belo^\ . I 6G LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. That grand impossible of dreamier song, If even possible, would still be wrong ! Nature hath sworn it, in her clearest tongue. And heaven itself the burning truth hath sung : Gradation speaks from flower to shrub — to tree — From sweet-voiced stream to sounding lake and sea ; Prom vale to hill — from atom even to clod; Prom insect up to man — from man to God ! SAveet Heaven, protect Thine own eternal plan — Including still the cUgtiity of man ! Eorbid our rulers — queens be they, or kings — The bane of subjects dwindled down to tilings ! Guard all true greatness from all mean annoy ; Eorbid Thy meanest e'er be made a toy ; Grant each to know his right — his neighbour's, too, That each to each award the justly due ; Grant all to know that all true power is Thine — The sovereign still its sacred shield and sign ; And that, although our mightiest be but dust, LEAVES EllOM OUR OAK. 67 'Tis ours to reverence, where so large Thy trust! — ■ 'Tis Nature's mandate, writ on sea and land. And Reason signs it, in her steadiest hand. God, guard Thy truth o'er every sea and sward ! Yea, righteous Heaven ! for ever guide and guard The sanctity of every rightful power, And grant it strength in every weaker hour ! Nay, royal Lady, from thy widow's cheeks How much — much more than common kinship speaks ! A common kinship ! AYould to heaven it were — Would God such well of feeling were less rare ! Kinship in common ! kinship with the skies, Hath any heart that feeling simplifies, Or snatches thus from such exalted rest, To fling it bleeding back, on Nature's breast ! Custom may swerve — estrange it, now-and-then ; But, touch that heart, and soul is lord again ! Give heaven the praise ! Lo ! where we find it so 68 LEAVES FROM OTJR OAK. The still, small voice of God is heard below, Whispering our souls — wherever sorrow kneels The heart most royal is the heart most feels ; Forcing the simple truth to every core; — Our being human makes not less but more ! Ah, not the lustre of thine honoured throne Were worth that wealth of love thy soul hath shown ! THE LOVE OE LOVES. V. THE LOVE OF LOVES. HERE is a love that loss may not make less — Whose constant lamp draws light from loneliness — Whose heart of fire and cheek of snow remain, Brightening and whitening through each dark of pain — Not even that angel, whose cold finger tip Imparts his own dread silence to tlie lip, Can shut its beauty from the widow's night. Or veil the mourned one from its searching sight ! /2 LEAVES FROM OUU OAK. Se comes — thei/re gone ! but, lo, their way appears Ever before her — ever lamped with tears, Tlu'o' whose wikl light the lost one still doth rise Looking on her who looks with prayerful eyes. Now, by her side, with shy mysterious air, As though he felt half wrong in being there — As though he nursed some fragment of the past — Some thought — some whisper, broken in his last, — Now, starting with her start, he stands afar — So pale — so silent ! — like a waning star, Or some sweet sufferer, fresh from soothing sleep, Too sad to smile — too blissful, far, to weep ! So lives he — looks he; oft beyond her "Hark!" A little way ; made dimmer, but — not dark ! Such was the love that from Death's quickening stroke Spake through its tears — " I'll plant me here an oak! " Such was the love that o'er yon royal tree Sighed — "Come, sAveet spirit, look on this with me! LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. 73 Beliold, 'tis thine ! I've called it by thy name ; 'Tis thine — 'tis ours ! are we not still the same ? And this shall rise, and spread its arms abroad, And we shall nurse it, dearest, — so shall God ! The golden years shall clothe it in their best ; Tlie wild dove in its boughs shall build her nest ; Within its leaves the thrush shall comb his wings, And hide his eye of rapture while he sings ; And, through the nights, shall lay him here to sleep — While over all the tender moon shall weep ; And, in the morns — betwixt the dawn and dark — That little, quivering flake of song, the lark, Shall pant above it ; and beneath its shade The lamb shall rest, nipping the soft, green blade! And I, in these, shall see thee, though removed — See thee! — I ever see thee — O, beloved!" VI THE ALBERT OAK. VI. THE ALBERT OAK. E strong, O Tree ! Branch forth and rise I The isles give thee their holiest sym- pathies ! May fostering soil and kindly air Attend thv cradle, with a mother's care. How know we Avhat besides may wait upon thee there ! AVlien, like an Ethiopian queen, the Night Puts on her jewels, and looks down, till white, 78 LEAVES FROM Om OAK. Between her silvery palms, the tender green Of every all but holy leaf is seen, How know w^e what — how manv, or hoAV brio-ht — The things may nurse thee till return of light — Folding thy limbs with care from all less kindly sight ! And when the child of Night is fully born, And, like an Indian bride, the painted Morn Smiles through her ebon pinnies, to see that thou Art still a goodly Tree in leaf and bough, How know we who — how many, or how fair — Of those who loved — still love us mav be there. To train thy Avelling juices — turn away Unhealthy vigours ! — haply, through the day To look on some who look, — yea, sigh, as we, " We meet ! alas ! she may nor touch nor see ! "^ — To search each holier source of new^-found power JFor light to mingle with that mournful hour — Kissing, with fine aerial lips, some leaf LEAVES FROM OTTR OAK. 79 Still trembling from her touch, and with her grief Bedropt ! Ah ! how know we what sighs may heave In secret souls, beholding when we grieve — And, all the more, that they may not declare How sadly, deeply all our woes they share. Seeing, in silence, every tear that stealeth, AYitli more than every pang the weeper feeleth — Yea, kneeling, while within the mourner's spirit kneeleth ! Our eyes are dim with flesh — we 7nust believe In many things our eyes may not perceive ! Who knoweth, here, how immaterial thought To deed material may elsewhere be wrought — What other medium 'twixt the soul and sense Our loss of this elsewhere may recompense? We tread on marvels, — yet we close our eyes And doubt of others ! Babes, we won't be wise ! Wherefore should Reason seek to force a chain On Eancy — Reason vowing that in vain 80 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. Is nought that is ? The wind puts forth his hands, And, lo, yon pencil-pointed yew, that stands Darking the dreamer's pane, is, from its place, Driven hither — thither, o'er some span of space ; It cometh — goeth — cometh, yet again, AVith most unmeaning motion past his pane. Unmeaning ? Yea — to him ! But, hark ! how much Of clearer meaning melts beneath his touch ! He may not see the wind ; how knoweth he "What other hand besides the wind's may be Guiding that sombre pencil to and fro. Or what, from its unmeaning come-and-go, May grow for other eyes — may w'ander through The worlds, on worlds, of yon eternal blue, For ever and for ever ! Knoweth he, AYhose locks are stirred by powers he may not see, AYherewith to silence Fancy, when she saith — " There stand the angels of thy life and death ; And thus, and there, they write, and through the spheres LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. 81 Record thine all, to yield thee joy or tears, When flesh and this fair globe sleep with the perished years ! " To these — and whate'er else of love there be — We trust thy future, O most royal tree ! May thy young limbs, beneath Victoria's eye, Branch through the days, in converse with her sky, Till royally all her hopes of thee be crowned, And not one wish without full fruita2:e found ! And when her sun hath passed its western blue, And dreamless night hath shed its sad, sad dew On that warm heart — brave tree, in boll and bough, Through blessed centuries of her line, do thou Be strong, — put forth thy brawny arms — embrace The blushing seasons, till a noble race Start from thy seed, to fill the far, far years With leaves as many as have been our tears ; And till, from many a stately grove of thine, The thunder-palace booms along the brine — L 82 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. Freeing the slave on every sea and shore, Till love has turned each cutlass to an oar — Till Right be truly king, and blood be shed no more ! YII. UNDER THE OAK. VII. UNDER THE OAK. (< BENEATH the Oak, the Royal Albert Oak, A bright -faced sph-it to the minstrel spoke : — Tlie Earth is but a prison, — flesh a yoke ! " The vales are dark, — rugged the hills and steep ; The tears are many, and the groans are deep ; Eorget them, brother ; — sleep — sleep — dream and sleep ! " 86 LEAVES TROM OUR OAK. The minstrel slept, — and lo I a rush of win^s That seemed the voices of a thousand springs Nursing their summers, — then, low whisperings : — *' Sleej), brother, sleep — the centuries go by ! — Behold, there comes a time wherein no cry Shall smite the circling heavens in agony ! — " A time of milk and wine, honey and bread, — When man shall marvel that e'er blood was shed For human weal ; or why the wiser dead, " A¥ho knew the springs of Good and 111 — their flow, At first, so far apart — could never know To keep unmingled one small good below ! " The minstrel slept, Avhile through each dreaming lid A silent glory, like a rainbow, slid — Brightening the cell, wherein his soul lay hid ! LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. 87 The spirit spoke again — " Turn in thine eyes — Behold and ponder — ponder and he wise ! The veil is rent from many centuries ! " The minstrel looked, — and, lo, a sudden stream Of light and heauty rushed along his dream — Smiting his vision, like a noon-day beam ! The vales were vocal as a festive morn ; The mountains smiled through beards of golden corn ; Tossing his long grey mane, the Furnace-born — Whose iron limbs, and heart of panting flame, A higher art had taught each hand to tame. Till lo ! steam dragons household aids became — Or here, or there, like spaniel meek, he flew. And, while uphill a thousand bales he drew, His unused power flung o'er the distant blue. 88 LEAVES FEOM OUR OAK. And other iron steeds, that knew no steam, Swept through the labours of the harnessed team, As fleet and graceful as a summer beam. In streams electric some their powers had found, And some in that which erst in fire and sound Made Empires reel, — God's image fat the ground. And high o'er-head — what pales the dreamer there ? Cleaving the thin, grey currents of the air — Their broad wings whitening in the high sun's glare — Were boat and barge, with banner floating free, Flinging down streams of heavenly melody. Like gala day over some inland sea ! No tattered Want, with Want's unhuman whine. Distressed the eye or ear ; for wool and wine Seemed plenteous, as the toilers seemed divine. LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. 89 Even lower life, that cropped tlie mantled sod, That holier heart, which gleamed through all abroad, Had caught from man, as man had caught from God! 'Mid all, a cloud of oaks, by years made strong. Rent heaven's etherial gold with woodland song, As though each leaf had been a fiery tongue ! And, from their midst, and on the dreamer's eye. Like wintry Alps that summer beams defy, Rose dome and spire — far whitening, in the sky ! Some seat of learning seemed that radiant pile; Whose more than Eastern beauties — dazzling aisle And tower — begirt with dusky oaks, the while. To Eancy's eye some captive sylphs might seem, Lulling their guard asleep with stream on stream Of glory, wildering as a magic dream ! M 90 LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. Aud lo ! the dreamer heard, while o'er the wold, A. peal of sweet loquacious metal told The hour when classes met. Then, straightway, rolled Along the air the clash and clang of doors, By Echo hurled through marble chinks and pores, AVhile swept thro' aisles and over granite floors The hurricane of feet ! Then all was still, Till throueneath the mellow thunder ! — Oh, through all her million voices. Hark how the green old land rejoices ! 96 LEAVES mOM OUR OAK. Tell the story, tongue and tower — England's Hope and Denmark's Flower- Tell the tale ; their vows are plighted ; Hearts and hands, and souls united ! Joy to all our new relations ! Peace and love amongst the nations ! Tell it — tell it, bells and voices ! Oh, how the green old land rejoices! Hark ! the bells, &c. British people, — soul and sinew — Up, and shout the joy within you ! Up, in one — a soul- communion — Pour your blessing on the union ! Be its day a fairy story ! Be its eve a summer glory ! Albert's name, departing never ! — Star of the Sea-kings, shine for ever ! Hark ! the bells, &c. LEAVES FROM OUR OAK. 97 Isles of Britain — British Islands- Cities — hamlets — lowlands — highlands — Pict or Norman, Celt or Saxon, May our souls, like figures waxen, Fused in one, a common power, Hound the throne, a bulwark, tower. Till the wrong, wherever w^ritten. Pale, in the righteous might of Britain ! Hark ! the hells, &c. Ancient kings, of many a water, From Valhalla bless your daughter ! British worth, of davs the olden — Iron nerve, and precept golden — Arthur, Alfred, Caur de Lion, Smile upon your royal scion ! May your virtues, paling never, Hallow his line of kings for ever ! N 98 LEAVES PROM OUR OAK. Hark I the bells — the bells are ringing- Swinging — ringing — ringing — swinging — From each tower an anthem flinging ! Springing — welling — Sinking — swelling ! — Gently stealing — Grandly tollim? ! Briskly pealing — - Hark, the rolling ! Pealing — pealing ! Ptolling — ^rolling ! While the citv rocks in wonder. And the blue air, cleft asunder, Paints beneath the mellow thunder ! Oh, through all her million voices. Hark how the green old land rejoices ! THE END. MACMILLAN AND CO.'S NEW WORKS. THE BOOK OF PRAISE: FROM THE BEST ENGLISH HYMN WRITERS. Selected and Arranged by ROUNDELL PALMER. With Vignette l)y WooLNER. i8mo. Eighth Thousand, handsomely printed and bound in extra cloth, 4i'. dd. ; morocco, "^s. 6d. ; extra, los. Qd. " Comprehending nearly all that is of highest excellence in the Hymnologj' of the Language . . . by far the finest existing book of English Hymns ; the Hymns are unquestionably the most beautiful in the language, and in the detail of editorial labour the most exquisite finish is manifest. " — Freeman. " There is not room for two opinions as to the value of the ' Book of Praise.' " — Guardian. " Throughout the whole volume we see little to criticise and much to admire. . . . It is a book which ought to find a place in every Christian library." — Record. A PAINTER'S CAMP in the HIGHLANDS ; AND THOUGHTS ABOUT ART. By P. G. HAMERTON. 2 vols. crowTi 8vo. ■zij. " We are not exaggerating the charm of these volumes . . . written with infinite spirit and humour, and abounding in those touches of minute and faithful detail which transport the reader with the sense of reality." — Nonconformist. V I T I: AN ACCOUNT OF A GOVERNMENT MISSION TO THE VITIAN OR FIJIAN GROUP OF ISLANDS. By BERTHOLD SEEM ANN, Ph.D. F.L.S. With Map and Illustrations. 8vo. cloth. I4J-. "We can warmly recommend this 'Account of a Government Mission' to our rc.-iders." — A theneemn. " It contains a mass of curious information. . . . Dr. Seemann's book may be warmly com- mended to public perusal. It treats of a curious people, of whom, although presenting some faint lineaments of civilization, very little is known ; while the facts, collected as they are from personal investigation, made under circumstances of peculiar opportunity, are as interesting as they are informatory." — Observer. " Dr. Seemann's opinions as to the political and commercial importance of the Fijian Islands, his account of their inhabitants and natural peculiarities, has interest." — Exatniner. " The high reputation of Dr. Seemann as a botanist will secure a cordial reception of this volume from those who are interested in the science." — Parthenon. LONDON AND CAMBRIDGE. THE CAMBRIDGE EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE. To be completed in Eight Volumes, price \os. 6 J. each, published at intervals of Four Months. On March 25, 1863, will appear Vohime I. of THE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Edited by WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK, M.A. Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, and Public Orator in the University of Cambridge ; and JOHN GLOVER, M.A. Librarian of Trinity College, Cambridge. In announcing the First Volume of this edition of Shakespeare's Works, the Publishers desire to call attention to certain features which will distinguish it from previous editions : 1. A Text based on a thorough collation of the Four Folios, and of all the Quarto editions of the separate plays, and of subsequent editions and commentaries. 2. All the results of this collation will be given in notes at the foot of the page, and to these will be added conjectural emendations collected and suggested by the editors, and furnished to them by their correspondents. The reader will thus have in a compact form a complete view of the critical materials out of which the text of Shakespeare is formed. 3- In the cases where a Quarto edition exists, differing from the received text to such a degree that the variations cannot be shown in notes, the text of the Quarto will be printed litontim in a smaller type after the received text. 4. The lines of each Scene will be numbered separately. 5. At the end of each play will be added a few critical notes upon such pas- sages as require discussion. 6. The Poems, edited on a similar plan, will follow the Dramatic works. The Work will be handsomely printed in demy 8vo. at the Cambridge University Press, and it will be the aim of the Publishers to make this edition distinguished for its typographical beauty. Also in Preparation, uniform with the above, A GLOSSARIAL INDEX TO THE PLAYS AND POEMS OF SHAKESPEARE, By W. ALOIS WRIGHT, M.A. Trinity College, Cambridge. This Volume, which, it is hoped, will to a great extent serve as a commentary to Shakespeare, is adapted especially to the CAMBRIDGE EDITION, but may be used for any other. It will comprise explanations of the Archaic Words and usages of Words, as well as of obscure allusions and constructions. It is hoped that this Volume will be ready for publication M'ith the last volume of the Works. MACMILLAN AND CO. CAMBRIDGE AND LONDON. LONDON : R. CLAY, SON, AND TAVLOiR, PRINTERS. y UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50>/i-7,'54( 5990) 444 JVA 000 3690617 . < i . ■ ■ '•'/'.--rr„... I <'