^000 AISZA17 mnj:' r jr m ' j T . ' i - oi : u rnr xra Bo ra rT jgtm i TxiJJ-ij.LM ^J^J-UJl^K»JL*l.«JUjnjJJULJLUtlJ Tng»Bgq u^ POEMS HV JOHN ACKROYD, m ^ JL ' llAllilill!, ' ' ^^ [" ■' "■ ' ' U 11 1 U I 1,1 r,UJ.U,l L" if M ■ 1 . 1. r i J , I ■ I . . . ■ I ■ . ■ ,-r. att«i3amtf nniTl l ITffrCITW»Wri^.rtor.r^«r»>r.vw^..^.^^,,,^ I^Siig THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES m m. ' ^ ' "" 1 . ' ■ >■ ' s- P O E M S BV JOHN ACKROYD. OF IHORX'l'OX. ED/TFJ) nv u'.)r. ci'n]]'OR'n[. ■\ HORXTO.X : ALBERT MITCHF-r.L, DOOKSll.l.l.K. ,M. HYI.KS AND SONS, PRINTEKS UKAUl OK... DEJJICATKD BY FKR.MISSION JOSEPH CRAVEN, Esq., M.P., ASH FIELD, IHORNION. 881885 I Preface. The collected poems of John Ackroyd, of Thornton, are published at the expressed desire of his two sons, who, with filial pride in the memory of a good parent, arc anxious that his literary remains should be preserved. In this laudable desire the sons will have the sympathy of all who knew the father ; and it will doubtless be shared in liy a much larger number, whose appreciation of true poesy is not bounded l)y personal ties. In undertaking the work of collecting and preparing the poems for publication, the Editor has had a self-imposed and pleasurable task. With very slight alteration, tlie poems are published as they were written. Unfortunately the collection does not contain many poems known to have been penned by John .Ackkovd, and which it is feared are now irrecoverable. This admission the Editor makes with sincere regret, and it is also due to the memory of the deceased poet. As to the literary merit of the poems which have been preserved, they speak in tlieir oun eloquence. (lenerally, tlie themes selected betray the author's intense love of nature, and a heart susceptible of the loftiest aspirations. Several of them have a local application, which is no demerit. They are printed almost in tlic order in wliich tlic\ were written. For tlie ])articulars in the biographical notice which precedes the literary remains, the Editor is mainly indel)ted to Mr. James Leach, of Thornton, a near neighbour and attached friend of JoilX ACKROVD. To Mr. Abraham Holroyd, of Shipley, the Editor also tenders his thanks for tlie loan of the jiocms which have been prexiously published, and also for several valualjle suggestions. l)RAI)iOKl), Dec, 1886. ^ _^- Biographical Sketch. John Ackrovd was born at Greenclough, Alder- scholes, Thornton, in the year i8ig. He was one of a family of nine children, his parents being handloom weavers, and honest and industrious persons. Even with these excellent qualities-, they were none too well endowed with this world's gear, the wages paid for handloom weaving needing to be carefully husbanded in order to the bringing up of so large a family. As was the custom of the period, however, the children were early set to work to assist the parents ; and accordingly John Ackroyd was put to the process of bobbin winding when he was six or seven years of age, and so continued for several years. In due course, he was promoted to the loom — the ambition of the youth of the period circum- stanced as JOHX Ackrovd was. During this period of his life, the gift with which he was endowed began to develope itself, and would not be repressed, for it found expression in occasional attempts at versifying. These crude efforts, howe\er, it has not been deemed desirable to place on record, although several of them are pre- served in the memory of those who knew the youthful poet. What was more to his credit, however, he was indefatigable in storing up knowledge u|)on various subjects, and this he had to do under difficulties of which the present generation have little if any experience. His 8 parents were too jjoor to give him schoolinj^' diirini^ workinj,^ (l.i_\ s, l)ut, there was the Kippini,^ Sunday School at hand, whicli has been the ali)ia iiia/cr of many a Thornton lad, ami to which many who have succeeded better in life than it was John Ackroyd's lot to achieve owe much of their prosperous career. The only instruc- tit)n in readin.L; John Ac'K.RO\l) ever had he received at this school, and in order to gratify the desire for knowledge thus stimulated, he made a little bookstand and fixed it on his loom. By this contrivance he was able to gratify his taste for reading while weaving at the loom, and it was while throwing the shuttle backwards and forwards that he acquired much information which served him materially in after life. In this manner, loo, he studied the rudiments of music, and became so proficient that, while yet young, he became a singer in the choir of Kipping Chapel. He possessed a nice alto voice, and |)ut much feeling and pathos into his vocal efforts. In the homes of the poor, when John Ackrovd was a boy, many parents were unable to either read or write, but his father and mother were able to assist him in learning the alpliabet, and with the assistance he got at Kipping .School they also taught him from the Bible, which, with Watts's Hymns, were the only books he had access to. John Ackroyd's surroundings, therefore, were anything but poetical, so that in his case the gift of poesy might be said to have been born with him. When he was about eighteen years of age, John AckrOYD and a few other young men of kindred tastes met in the chamber of his brother-in-law, Thomas Hardcastle, for the purpose of reading such books as could be borrowed, and also to recite poetry. One of their favourite books for this purpose was the " Enfield Speaker," which was much prized, and was duly handed round from one to the other. This little society existed for many years, and it w as the means of its members indulging in mental recreation of an elevating character. In some of the members it developed a desire to become amateur play actors, but we are not aware that any of them ever rose to eminence in the Thespian art. About the year 1838, the period to which we are referring, handloom weaving began to decline, and great disti'css and privation prevailed among those engaged in that occupation. The agitation for the People's Charter also set~ln about this time, and was eagerly engaged in by working people, many of whom expected to tind in it a panacea for "all the ills that flesh is heir to." It was scarcely to be wondered at that the subject of this ]\lemoir should imbibe some of the principles embodied in the Chartist creed, and to some extent he was led away by the impassioned eloquence of its advocates. JOHX ACKROVD, however, had no sympathy with physical force Chartism. Violence, even in the cause of right, was opposed to his nature and temperament, and nothing could have induced him to join the ranks of men deluded into the belief that they were helping on a good cause by midnight drills and an imposing array of pike- heads. Handloom wca\ing went from bad to worse, and at Thornton the change from comparative comfort to desti- tution by holding on to a declining industry was severely felt. Many were obliged to leave the village and seek emplo\ment as they could, among them being John ACKROVD, who went to Wilsden to work a powerloom. At length, the handloom manufacturers of Thornton took room and power in Bradford, Messrs. Joshua Craven and Sons putting powerlooms into (}lobe Mill, Thornton Road, until the erection of Prospect Mill at Thornton. John Ackrovd entered Messrs. Craven's employment at Globe Mill, afterwards working for them at Thornton, for a time at the powerloom, and afterwards at looming lO and twisting. In Messrs. Craven's emplo\mcnt lie rnn- tinucd until a short time before his death, and was hij^hly respected by the firm as an industrious and conscientious workman. John ACKROvn married in 1855 Miss Rachel Horsfall, and had a family of two sons and two daughters. After his marriage he joined the church at Kipping Chapel, which he had attended from his Nouth, and he continued a member until his death. At the latter part of his life he was a teacher in the Sunday School where he himself first learned to read, and also undertook the training of the scholars for the annual Christmas festivals, teaching them how to recite their pieces and sing their melodies. All through life he was fond of music, and was a valuable help in setting tunes, although he never learnt to play an instrument. In his devotional exercises there was much originality of thought. His prayers were true heart utterances, and not the well-worn platitudes too frequently heard. In short, he was a truly religious man. During his married life, JOHN ACKRO^T) was some- times in that cheerless den which he has so vividly described in his poem on " Poverty " ; but amid all his privations he still cultivated the muse, and ofttimes deprived himself of sleep in order to indulge the passion. He was never a rolnist man, and in 1875 his health began to visibly fail. In February, 1876, he went to reside with his brother-in-law, Mr. Phineas Craven, at Pudsey, in the hope that change of air might improve his health. Here he received the kind attentions of his youngest sister, but they were in vain. He calml)' passed away on March 26, 1876, "surrounded," as he said, "by friends and by all that could make life pleasant." He was interred in Kipping Cemetery, where a headstone has been erected to his memory by his oldest son. His wife and two daughters had died before him — a loss which 1 1 he felt deeply. The two sons survive, one being in America and tlje other in Bradford. From his boyhood upwards JOHX ACKRO^ D was fond of books, and was conversant with the writings of most of the Enghsh poets. He was a critical reader, too, and could detect beauty either in rhyme or prose. He had his favourite authors, but revelled most in those whose sympathy was with Nature and humanity. Like most poets, he was an ardent lover of Nature, and was consciou^^of its beauties. He revelled with delight among green fields, and woods, and shady groves. A ramble in the woods, the songs of the birds, and the sight of wild flowers inspired him, and several of his poems were written under this inspiration, as, for instance, his " Love of Nature."' His poems generally breathe the spirit of their author, and although they may not be distinguished by lofty flights of imagery, there is running through most of them a touch of SNinpatliy, and an evenness of style and composition which will at least commend them to those who were acquainted with the author. In his maturer years John Ackkovd was a truly large-hearted man, and his kindh disposition found expression in his writings. Of a modest, retiring nature, he did not mix mCich with his neighbours, and he took little part in the affairs of the village. Nor had he much acquaintance with the literary men of his day, although he occasionally received communications addressed " John Ackroyd. l-",sq.. Bali Street. Thornton," which created amusement between him and the postman. He was an interesting com- panion, and could both hear and tell a stoiy, and also relate an anecdote in a pointed manner. During his lifetime JOHN AcK.RO^ D printed two small collections of his poems, the first probably about the year 1850, and the latter in 1856. It is doubtful, however, whether they realised any profit to the w ritci". il POEMS. The Sabbat Ji Mom. 'Tis Sabbath morn : how alter'd all Creation doth appear ! No sights or sounds licentious fall Upon the eye or ear. The birds, gay followers of the sun, Less wantonness display, And seem their voices to attune Unto a purer lay. Slowly advances day's bright oib. Above the eastern hill. As if half fearful to disturb A world so calm and still. The wreathing clouds of smoke, which blot The city from our eyes. This day are banish'd, and forgot The ends for which thev rise. in sweet companionship the fields By rural .groups are trod, Tasting' the balm that nature yields, From flower and verdant sod. And to yon antiquated fane The rural folks repair ; The biushin*; maid, the ruddy swain, And sire with hoary hair. The gray, decay'd, and sinkini; walls, The rudely sculptured stone, To busy memory recalls The ages long since gone. And trees extend their aged boughs And solemn shadows there, O'er the still mansions, where repose The once admir'd and fair. And high and low, and rich and poor. Unite in praise and pray r. And sing Jehovah's deeds of yore, When Israel was His care : And how the Virgin did conceive Incarnate Deity, The sons of Adam to retrieve From death and misery : How in distress and humble guise Christ wander'd here below ; The lo\ e that drew Him from the skies Into this world of woe. 1=; A sweet primeval sanctity Breathes tlirough the solemn air ; Devotion and simpHcity (~)n ever)- face appear. How sweet the feehng they inspire ! How full of pleasing awe ! The pomp to which the vain aspire Such bliss can ne'er bestow. And thus the Sabbath is cmploy'd, From year to )ear away ; Blest season 1 ne'er too oft enjoy'd, Nor ne'er too long thy stay. ki^S^ i^^Siffi The Lovclorii Maid. I saw her in the festive hour, Amid the festal throng, And every heart beat joyfully To music and to song. Each eye was bri.^ht, and every check With vernal youth did glow ; And all felt that exquisite bliss Which love can e'er bestow. Her bosom was contending hard With hope and with despair ; And in that agony of mind She sought her lover there. Too soon she saw what most she fcar"d, Her grief she could not smother ; Tlie only lad she e'er could lo\ e, And he was with another ! .She painfully withdrew her eye, The colour left her cheek ; And sighs burst forth, such killing sighs, As when the heart doth break. Her miser)' seemed more intense. And keener e\-ery pain, Contrasted \\ith the merry laugh That pealed from merry train. 17 With bursting heart, and trembhng step. She left the scene so gay. All lovelorn and forsaken, Pursued her homeward way ; Thinking with tenderness of him That she had left behind ; How constant and how faithful once, But now, oh how unkind I The chill descending gloom of night Had hid the fires of heaven ; • And she was there a lonely maid, Her heart with anguish riven. She'd lost her bosom's choicest gem, Nought could that loss supply ; Weaiy of life she wished that she Could lay her down and die. She felt no coldness from the blast. No terror from the night ; And though her heart was tender too. She now felt no affright. And tears flow'd down her cheeks as bright As th' eyes which they forsook, And mingled with the evening dew At every step she took. And now she reach'd her cheerless home, For cheerless now it seem'd, The little light that burn'd within Across the pathway gleam'd ; That little light awaken'd thoughts That spoke of pleasures o'er. And told sweet tales of happiness, To be re-told no more. i8 With feelinj^s and with thoughts like these, She yain'd the rude-built stile, No lover's soothing voice was there, To beg her stay awhile. Instinctively she look'd around, As if by hope inspired ; 'Twas all in vain, her grief was o'er — She fainted and expired. The hours flew on, no daughter came, The night was dark and wild : The fond, affectionate old pair Grew anxious for their child ; They sought her with distracted steps, And found her, where she lay, A faded corpse, a wither'd flower, Cut down in life's sweet May. They sorely wept, and vainly tried To bring life back again : Coldly she lay, no more to feel Her own or others' pain — Martyr to man's inconstancy, J'"ntombcd, she now doth sleep In the churchyard, where youth repairs To pity and to weep. ^ ^ ^r^^ ^^^J}^ s 3 ""^*hou ever-cheering source of light, How splendid is thy rise ! When summer decks the fields with green. And flowers of thousand dyes. The clouds at thy divine approach, Put on their liveries gay, - And float sublimely through the air. Or softly melt away. With bounding energy thou climb'st The sombre mountain's height, And shoot'st thy thousand rays across, That fill the vale with light ; Like a young plighted anxious maid, The green earth smiles in tears, Wlien thou, like her sweet love, again In loveliness appears. Sweet hour, when all that meets the eye A pleasure doth impart, And every sound that meets the car Is music to the heart ; When rapture thrills each leafy bush. And herds serenely stray. And smokeless lies the rural cot, And c|uict the unpeopled way. 20 Thou glorious sun ! old Time bequeaths No dimness to thy years, Thou'rt fresh this glowing morn, as when Thou first illum'd the spheres ; No diminution or decay Thy source has ever known, l)Ut with unmitigated blaze I'or ever streaming on. Elegy "T5fr THE DEATH OF A YOUNG WOMAN. Bleak are the woods, and joyless is the vale, Loud sighs the wind along the prospect hoar, Hush'd is the song-bird in the leafless dell, And all things mourn, for Celia is no more. The wintry months fly on, on Time's swift w ing ! In vain they fly, for what can joy restore ? Cheerless and dull will Ije tlic face of spring, F'or Cclia, gentle Celia, is no more. In vain the earth will suck the moist'ning rain. In vain the clouds distil the vernal shower. Affection's tears and friendship's sighs are vain. Fair Celia 's faded ne'er to flourish more. The sun may cheer and vivify the plain, And shoot kind warmth through every o]:)cning pore ; But ah ! he ne'er can reach thy cold domain, Xor sun nor shower can e'er revive tliec more. Yes, thou art gone, and sunk beneath thy doom, Who promised long life's gloomy path to cheer, Faded 's thy beauty, and thy youthful bloom Lies pale and witiicr'd t.)X\ tlie mournful bier. 22 So the swccl flo\v"ret in the openinj,^ spring, That sweetly bloomed beneath the spreadini,^ shade, r>\ some rude blast, lies pale and withering, i'.re half its fragrance and its sweets are shed. Oh, cruel death ! to wreak on one so young Thy stern resentment and relentless rage. ID |)icr(e a breast on which its parents hung, Tlie joy and comfort of their drooping age. The sweetest flowers fall foremost in the blast, The softest tints do soonest fade away, 'I'he life most virtuous is the soonest past. Our dearest objects make the shortest stay. Oh ! dearly loved, and now sincerely mourn'd, Long will thy memory and thy virtues live, 'Till every breast that oer thy fate hath yearn'd l!e laid in earth, where pain no more can grieve. :^■^^i The Teetotaller s Song. Let bacchanals sing their loud praises of wine, And call it heart-cheering, soul-stirring, divine : Let them tell of the rapture the bowl can inspire, Of the force and the sweetness it gives to the lyre ! l>ut instead of sweet rapture, how oft deadly rage And demon-like fury its votaries engage ! And how oft has the lyre had to wail mournfully O'er its strings swept by hands dedicated to thee. Oh : let me not sing of the bright flaming bowl, 'Tis a rapid and dark whirling gulph to the soul, And crowds, who had thought to play round it in bliss, Have been "whelmed in its cursed lewd-smiling abyss. But let me not thirst, for the valley has rills As clear as the dew which the summer distils, Rills, rills of bright nectar, whose worth I will sing, Above all the fam'd juices which Bacchus can bring : It is to man's heart what it is to the flower, A fair, harmless thing, full of virtue and power, Tis the drink which the wisdom of God did prepare For all that liave being on earth or in air. 24 Come, let us be gay ; come, my friends, to my board ; The feast shall be serv'd, and the glass shall be stored, Sweet mirth shall divert, and the song shall be sung, And reason and sense exercise cv'ry tongue. No frenzied excitement shall tear up the brain, And give to wild lawless passions the rein ; lUil our sun of delight through the evening shall glow, .\nd lea\e us at last with a smile on the brow. No sot shall break in on our rational tide, To extol his vile self and abuse all beside ; From svich entertainment each guest shall depart l^iscreeter in head and humaner in heart. Song. THe golden time of youth is o'er, To be recalled in vain, And Hope's celestial raptures, ne'er To be renewed again. Those things which unto life imparted Their vernal hues, are gone, 'On unreturning feet departed. And I am all alone. The meanest things around us living Some sweet regards enjoy. The little insect's fate is giving Some kindred heart employ. The exile sees, through years of mourning, His joy-day coming on : But it beholds no joy returning — The heart that's all alone. The fields, when summer streams are trilling, No wintry scar display ; The widow'd birds, when buds are swelling, No former grief betray. The snowdrop, sinking in the furrow, Trusts to a milder dawn ; But darkly views each hopeless morrow The heart that's all alone. TJic Hour of Love. The silvery moonl^eams gild the trees, And summer decks the grove ; Soft voices whisper on the breeze — This is the hour of love. The dew that glitters on the spray, in pearl-like gems above. In trembling rapture seems to say — This is the hour of love. The glorious orbs along the sky, As hand in hand they niove, In sweet celestial concert cry — This is the hour of love. The calm and tranquil breast, where high Opposing passions strove, Confesses, with ecstatic sigh — This is the hour of love. .Sweet roses wildly blooming, with Each other interwove, .Say with flush'd cheek and fragrant breath- This is the hour of love. The nightingale upon the bougli Bids us our youth improve, Lhaunting, this is the time to woo, And this the hour of love. Come, my Love. AlK — " Merry Swiss Boy." Come, my love, come, my love, to the vulley with me. The sun is gone down o'er the hill, And the twilight is spreading o'er mountain and sea. And the voice of the evening is still. Chorus. The stars are shedding their softest light. The leaves are hung with dewdrops bright, And all lovely things join with me to invite Thy feet down the valley away. Come, my love, come, my love, for the sweet flowers shed Their richest fragrance now, And the stream softly sleeps on its flower-fringed bed. And the leaf lies at rest on the bough. Chorus — The stars are shedding, &c. Come, my love, come, my love, for the evening is warm, And the tempest is far, far away. There is nought in this hour that will injure a charm That blooms on thy features so gay. Chorus — The stars are shedding, «S:c. 28 Come, my love, come, my love, come, my Jenny, oh come ! I ha\ c words of deliijht for thee. 1 will tell thee sweet talcs of that dear future home. Which liiou shalt enjoy with me. (JiORUs- Tlie stars are shedding, &c. ■Come, my love, come, my love, why so long^ dost thou stay P""rom this longing bosom of mine ? Come away, come away, and no longer delaj' My hea\en of enjoyment and thine. Chorus — The stars are shedding, &c. A Maidens Wooiuf^. One sweet summer morning, fair nature admiring-, ThrougK the meadows, enraptur'd, I earl)- did ro\-e. The landscape around me was fresh and inspiring, And all things were smiling in youth and in love ; The lark had uprisen, his song gaily singing, With sweet vernal concerts the woodlands were ringing, His first rays, so cheering, bright Phcebus was flinging, And giving sweet birth to the bud and the flower. B\- the brook whose soft stream seem'd to murmur and languish, I saw a fair maiden indulging her woe ; I tenderly asked her the cause of her anguish, And why her bright tears did so painfully flow ? I weep not, she said, o'er a parent's affliction. Nor mourn I the losses of friendly connexion, But oh : 'tis the misery of hopeless affection That bids the bright teardrop to painfully flow. Oh : base is the creature that e'er could deceive thee, And make that soft bosom with sorrow to heave ; When torture and anguish upon him lies hea\y, May sympathy soothe not, nor pity relieve. .She then rais'd her eye, still bedimm'd with lier weeping. While a deep crimson blush o'er her features was creeping. And said, ah ! you know not of whom you are speaking, 'Tis you that I weep for, 'tis you that I love. 30 Miiiapuirc'd I pressed the clear ^irl to my l)osoin, Tliat t,do\\'d with a transport of pleasure and pain, Thy woos in my arms, my dear angel, oh. lose them I Through life we will never be parted again ; The seasons, that change from the cold to the glow ing, Sliall \ iew our affections and happiness growing, While down the calm current of life we arc flowinreathing here a gladsome tone, Utt'ring there a joyless moan. As they wind in shade and sun, On their journey to the sea. And those flowers and leafy plumes, Thou tlie muse dost fondly cherish, Though they die in autumn glooms, From the walks around our homes. Yet their tender hues and blooms Never in thy memory perish. And this world unto thine eyes Is a wondrous thing and strange, Every thing that lives and dies Fills thee full of joys and sighs, And thy yearning sympathies Follow all things in their change. Z7 Woods and fields through all the year Give to thee delight and joy, Where a thousand objects are Smiling in the light and air. Birds and flowers so free and fair, Things whose presence cannot cloy : And the chequer'd sum of things That make up our human life Stir thy nature's hidden springs To their deepest fathoniings, "Fraught with joys and sufferings, And with ceaseless toil and strife. Sweetest of truth's agencies, Thou, bright muse, art glowing still. With her deathless impulses. Spurning frauds and forgeries. Battling with old tyrannies, And each form of social ill. Thou dost love the grand and fair — All that Art progressive brings, Nature's warmest worshipper, And her best interpreter, And the gentle homager Of all good and lovely things. A Summer NigJifs Musing. 'Tis ev'ening — and her shadowy train Are slowly gathering o'er the plain ; And dying sounds and falling dews Summon Nature to rei:)osc : The sun has set, and o'er the west The lingering light, behind him cast, Fades calm and silently away, And night resumes her gradual sway. Those light clouds— that looked so gay In the light of closing day, That when summer eve draws on Wait on the descending sun, O'er the confines of the west, All in robes of glory drest, Till with fair reclining head He regains his rosy bed — Have put off their liveries fair, And dissolved into the air. Leaving all the wide expanse Of the heaven's circumference Deep and clear, without a rack — Without shadow, cloud, or speck : 39 Where the moon, with queenly grace, Takes her high accustom'd place, Holding calm, divided sway With the might)' king of day, And looks down with chasten'd eye, From her throne in aerial sky ; While on her, in lesser state. Many faired-eyed vestals wait. And we feel their gentle gaze Well exchanged for noon's hot blaze. As we gladly walk abroad, Sooth'd in mind, in strength renewed ; And the still remoter stars Twinkle in their lonely spheres, While a ceaseless watch they keep < )'er the realms of night and sleep. And through far outlying space Shoot their ever-shining rays, Whose far-off, weird-like radiance gleams Far along the sih-er streams, loathes the still meadows, and distils Their dewy light around the hills. Tlie valley, with its heavy bloom. Wears an awe-inspiring gloom ; And the moonbeams o'er them cast On the silvery tree tops rest, And the forms of things reveal. On the sides of either hill, Shading all the vale below, Where unseen the waters flow. The woods as solemn seem as they Ne'er had heard the voice of play. While a feeling which dismays Comes upon us as we gaze, And our trembling feet would dread 40 To explore each well-known shade, That full many a time hath rung With the music of our song. In the sober, shadowy light Things look different to the sight : Seen but indistinctly, they Seem less real than by day, And more like those objects seem Which are imag'd in a dream. The meadows breathe a voiceless tone. To the thoughtless all unknown : The pathway seems as though it had Ne'er been stained by mortal tread ; And the shade of the tall tree Stretches out across the lea ; And the hedgerows dimly glide Down the darken'd meadow-side ; And the old secluded cot Seems a sacred, hallow'd spot ; While a deep, calm, breathless hush Reigns intense o'er tree and bush ; Save when leaves make soft reply To the low winds whisp'ring nigh. Or the streamlet that doth trill Its liquid music, all is still. In presence of a scene so fair As nature hath unfolded here, The dissolute would stand aghast. While memory beckon'd up the past ; For naught is here that can betray, Or turn the tide of thought away. That rushes on the heart severe. And will be felt and ansvver'd there. 41 Looking up with eager eye From the mountains to the sky In aerial flight afar, On we glance from star to star, Wond'ring much, as we survey, What those shining orbs may be, That so long their course endure, Rolling on for evermore. Far along the heaven's clear space. Lies all calm and motionless ; —Lrke a sea in some mild zone, 'Neath a cloudless horizon ; Or like that the seer of eld In the apocalypse beheld : It stands forth unto the eye Like a thing that could not die, — ' Like a world of purity, Rob'cl in immortality ; Beautiful, august, sublime, Like a glimpse of that fair clime Which our thoughts imagine high. In another, purer sky ; And a glory that allies Earth with heaven this night supplies While to these our skies are given Beauty that seems part of heaven ; Making them so still and fair That the soul may hope to share, And there find a place of rest, Never more to be distress'd. Thus transported with the view. Every faculty anew Melts and glows alternately With tenderness and ecstacy ; 42 And deep tides of feeling roll Through the channels of tlie soid ; And the heart is tlirillcd with lays Of unutter'd harmonies ! Soft as music o'er the deep, When the winds and waters sleep ; Or as stirring as when power Bids its loudest thunders roar ; Then the soul exults, admires, And flows out in high desires. And would fain inscribe her name In the rolls of deathless fame ; While aloft she spreads her wings, And would circumscribe all things, And her burning thoughts endorse On the spreading universe ; And with fiery syllable, Paint the indescribable ; And those deeper thoughts unft)ld, Always felt, but never told ; Till men's countenances awed With amaze and wonder, should Pass from rapid change to change, With transition new and strange ; And their rising raptures flow, And with ours their bosoms glow, And with kindred feeling own All that we have felt and known. Turning from this glowing scene, We descend, and look within ; In its light, through smiles and tears, All the chequer'd past appears : And we see our varied life. In its quiet and its strife ; Days of sorrow and distress, 43 Seasons of delight and bliss ; While we something feel again Of their former joy and pain. And thus from the world withdrawn, We recall what we have known, And discourse with things unseen, Things that are, or once have been ; Raise the curtain that explores Memory's deeply treasur'd stores : And recall our early days, When we trod youth's flow'ry maze "With a young and joyous troop, P\ill of life, and mirth, and hope. That went forth, at each new morn. To a new world, of pleasure born. Of gay sports and sunny dreams, In summer haunts by woods and streams ; ' When brief sorrow from our eyes Pass'd like clouds of summer skies, Leaving us all bright again. As green woods refresh'd with rain ; When we sigh'd, but not as those Who lament life's growing woes ; But for pleasures held more dear Than our boyish pastimes were ; That belong to youth's sweet time, And to manhood's nobler prime, Which, in hope's bright hues array'd, Seem'd brighter than the bright days fled ; — And remember love's soft dream, That in youth's sweet season came, How it came to us, as comes The dew and light to summer blooms, With sense of quietest reverie. And thrill of sweetest ecstacy ; And recall each youth and maid. 44 Cliildrcn once, with whom we pla\ "d : Mark the courses they have run, Now to men and women grown, Viewing, in their household train, All that they themselves have been ; And those others bring to mind That in life we left behind. Worn and weary, treading slow The lone way we all must go ; And recall that solemn place Where we laid them down in peace, And the bitter tears that fell Ere we tiu-n'd and said farewell. Ye sun and moon, and stars and sky, Keeping glorious state on high ; Ever present, in each spot, To our vision, or our thought. And ye rivers, sweeping slow To the ocean plains below, Scatt'ring beauty and increase. O'er wide realms and provinces. And ye little streams and rills, Singing through the woods and vales ; Ever cherish'd, ever dear, Lov'd and welcom'd everywhere. And thou sea, on every shore. Heard with loud, resounding roar. And ye continents and isles. Where eternal beauty smiles ; Still developing new charms Of unnumbered hues and forms ; Hill and dale, that with sweet change Alternate through earth's wide range, Giving grateful sun and shade To repay the unequal tread, 45 And disclosing to the view Of the trav'ller something new — Opening to his eye a world In every httle vale enfurl'd ; Yielding to the dwellers there Homely joy and homely fare ; Where they live as 'twere alone, To the busy world unknown, In the same close circle bound, With the same old hills around ; And the wood and murmuring stream, .-Saily seen and heard by them ; — Still they love that ancient wood — P'ading oft, and oft renew'd — Reproducing every May Oarlands for the young and gay, — And its wither'd autumn leaves, . Shedding yearly o'er their graves ; And beside that gentle stream Lovers oft in twilight gleam Have pursued their evening tour. Or prolonged the rapturous hour, While its tones, to whispers lull'd. Mingled with the tales they told. And those old ancestral hills That defend our quiet vales, A homely influence impart — And each true and generous heart That beneath the shade hath grown P'eels that they are all its own. Hounteous Nature, fair and free. Thus thy children cling to thee, And delight to view thy face, Rob'd in grandeur or in grace, In the fruitful fields of peace, 46 Or the savage wilJerness. Ye green woods, tliat downward slope Kroni the mountain's misty top, Or embosom'd in tlie vale. Waving gently in the gale ; — With your leafy draperies, Spread like banners to the breeze ; — Ye, and all in her domain, With dark moorland, hill, and jjlain, Nature gives to you a charm Unimpair'd by age or storm ; E'en those scenes around our door, Though so often seen before, Grow not old, but still retain Their sweet power to please again. And ye hues, that deck the sky When the morning lifts her eye, Of the dew and sunlight born, Heralding the day's return ; Bright'ning on, from cloud to cloud. Far along the ethereal road, Hues of purple, green, and gold, In a flood of glory roll'd, From the verge of early dawn. O'er the eastern horizon. Till the sun shines forth, and they Melt into the light of day. And ye scenes that lie so calm. O'er the evening hills of balm — Scenes that nature still renews As the summer comes and goes — Scenes to which we turn and gaze While imagination strays. And her winged course doth keep. Downward o'er the western steep. 47 With the sun to watch the morn Other lands and seas adorn. And the heavens, from north to soutli, Lie all calm, serene, and smooth, Clouds, in fairest colours shown, And with arrowy straightness drawn : While above, and far beyond. Like an ocean, without bound, Vast and deep, where thought can see \'isions of infinity — The outstretching^ west afar Glows with rosy-tinted air. And ye seasons, sweeping on, \\'ithout stay, from zone to zone ; Cloth'd in shadow and in light, And alternate day and night ; _(iiving to the circling year Gloom and gladness, joy and care : Summer, scattering leaves and flowers ; Autumn, pouring forth her stores ; Winter hoar, and Spring all gay, Grafting growth on dull decay. And ye mountain forms sublime, Rising o'er the wrecks of time. That with wide, remote survey. Reaching back to earliest day, From your peaks of stainless snow, Have beheld vain man below. Lost in dreams of pride and power. Rule and reign his little hour ; Fleeting on in toil and pain, (Grasping at unhallou'd gain, Then forgotten, pass away, To oblivion and dccav : — 48 Race after race in crowds amass'd, Through the long hipse of ages past ; While their spoils of toil and war, And the power that aw'd afar, And the grandeur and renown, Reap'd from great achievements done ; With the rich and busy mart, And their works of strength and art ; Thrones august, and shrines revei-'d, With their lords have disappear'd, Leaving scarcely, o'er the scene. Aught to tell that they have been. While Thy power itself reveals In the everlasting hills ; And the river, and the sea, In their vastness speak of Thee ; And in forests, fields, and vales Thy reflected beauty dwells ; And the hues of eve and morn Praise Thee oft, as these return ; While the seasons that advance, And recede in measur'd dance, By Thy power and prescience roll Round the fix'd and starry pole ; — Lord, may I those glories see. With an eye still fixed on Thee — With a heart in reverence bent — Rapture, with true worship blent : Nor let me the Godhead great. In His wonder-works forget, And assist my thoughts to soar To Thyself, and Thee adore ; And in all Thy works descry More of Thee than meets the eye , 49 And to that high wisdom reach That from age to age they teach ; And this world, Thine outer shrine. Walk with musings more divine ; And everywhere Thy presence feel, By eveiything made visible, Till faith and hope, in Thee secure, Relapse to doubt and fear no more. D Lines On hearing a sermon preached by tlie Rev. JamIvS Gri:g(1Hv from ilic words, "A good name is ratlier to be chosen than great riches." I'KOViiuns x.xii. I. When the earth has ceased to run Its vast circle round the sun ; When the sun no more shall rise To illume his native skies ; When those starry urns of light Gild no more the vault of night — A good name all bright and pure Shall live on and still endure. A good name its savour keeps When in death the body sleeps. Yes ! the memory of the just Sanctifies their very dust, And a " sacred shadow " throws O'er the place of their repose, Such as rests on ruins gray And old temples in decay. A good name has naught to fear, Naught o'er which to shed a tear ; Everything that comes to light Is its witness for the right ; Heaven above and earth below, If explored, would nothing show That could sully the fair fame Of a good and virtuous name. 51 Happy man whose works proclaim Thee the heir of a good name. Bright the course thy feet have run, Blest the works thy hands have done ; All the glory of renown, By the arm of conquest won, Are as poor as dross compared To thy labours and reward. Riches are unstable things, Streams that flow from desert springs^ "That betray the traveller's hope, In hot sands soon swallow'd up ; Gourds like that the prophet knew, Which, when solely trusted to. Quickly fade, and scorched and bare Leave the wretch who sheltered tlicre. And by some with whom they stay Riches are worse than thrown away — Spent in vanity and pride, Or set up and deified. They who hold them thus have got Nothing which the poor have not. Who heaven's common bounty share — Food to eat and clothes to wear. Everything that's true and loyal, That can help in time of trial, Cheers us on o'er life's rough path, Shields us in the hour of death, — Palms and crowns to conquerors given, Such the happy hosts of heaven Shout with jubilant acclaim, — Are posscss'd in a good name. Sonnet To Miss Dorothy Town. Dear girl, wlien last I saw thy lovely face, "Twas pale and thoug^htful, yet serenely fair ; For recent sorrow there had left its trace — A soft, refining pensiveness and care ; Who cannot tell of sorrow ? Thou, dear maid, Cans't tell, like me, a tale of bitter grief ; But time, thougli it can ne'er bring back the dead. Will bring at least a distant, sad relief : But thou hast one, a brother with thee still ; Trust in his sense, and in his worth confide, His love will shelter thee from every ill. And thou art worthy of his love and pride ; And thy poor mother's widowhood shall be Sustain'd and cheer'd while blest with him and thee. Alflersclioles, May 29, 1852. Oh, Neer Rest. Oh, ne'er rest in mere good feeling, Flattered with a good intent ; ficr and help the old and ailing, Feed and clothe the indigent ; Go and comfort the despairing, Cheer lone poverty's abode, And give strength to the wayfaring Wanderers on life's thorny road. Words are idle and unheeded When they lack the generous deed. We must give, when gifts are needed. To our brother in his need. Though our words be few and nuniber'd. If our deeds be good and true ; These good deeds will be remember'd, And our words of kindness, too. Oh, my brother, there are many Bound to us by human ties ; Crying still, but without any That will listen to their cries ; -Sad to-day with present sorrow, Dark the future, for they know— If it come for them — the morrow Will but lengthen out their woe. 54 Then arouse thcc, my good brother. From thy listless apathy ; Le.arn to labour for another With a true philanthropy. Mere profcss'd, inert good feeling Is a despicable thing, That withholds the balm of healing, While the wound is festering. Still, we would go on increasing, In our lo\c for every one ; Striving to secure the blessing W^hich rewardeth deeds well done. Brother, bring thy mite and give it With a wish that it were more ; Glad that thou canst thus contribute To the comfort of the poor. Reflections on New Years Day. Another year is past, this day Begins another stage, ■That leads us up to manhood's prime, Or downward to old age : The soul in contemplation sits. And mentally inquires What changes may come o'er it ere Another year expires. What joyous expectations And dreams of bliss have flown, Or, like its summer brightness, gone In storm and darkness down : Its buds and blossoms, leaves and flowers. All, all, have pass'd away ; And many a thing of human mould As sweet and fair as they. Unseen, Time's pendulum beats on, Like the heart's unconscious stroke ; The minutes chase each other on. Like wavelets in the brook ; Another hour unto the past Succeedeth evermore ; The present one still differing From that which went before. 56 And life — as on a dancing sea Of frcsli and varying scene ; When tempests alternate with gleam, All sunny and serene — Is borne along, 'mid toil and change, O'er the untried expanse ; To smile or sicken o'er events Of fate and providence. Time-honour'd seasons, coming round, Belov'd for mirth and cheer, Awake up old remembrances, And thoughts of things that were. Old friends and kindred meet again, As in the days of yore ; While memory, with a sigh, reviews The distance travers'd o'er. For every good Time takes away, Another he bestows ; Youth hath raptures, age enjoys Reflection and repose : And even with us hope and joy Blest ministrants shall stay, To gladden and sustain us through Each coming New Year's Day. Love Thy Neighbour as Thyself. Oh! let us always cherish respect towards one another. And strive to look on every one as on a friend and brother ; And by kind words and actions, and every good endeavour, Remove those cold antipathies which man from man do sever. Our pride must be restrain'd, for it tends to alienate. And makes us foes and strangers as much as scorn or hate. And opens many a bitter source of misery and strife, And aggravates those common ills that darken human life. Let us not seek alone in skill and power to excel, Hut for the higher good to live, and serve each other well ; And in true deeds and right good-will with one another vie, For in living and loving well our truest interests lie. Let us practise more humility, to each it will impart A more endearing confidence, and trustfulness of heart ; And make us more forgiving in our daily toil and strife, And give a real charm to all the courtesies of life. 58 'l"hc ricli need thy forbearance, and the poor thy sym- pathy, And every one, whate'er his lot, is something kin to thee ; Whate\er is most felt and real in human joy and fear, The rich and great, in common with the indigent, must share. And treat the wretched kindl)-, whom vice hath left forlorn. To home and slighted duty their thoughts may yet return ; i'"or promptings high and holy at times are felt within, Which cherish'd into growth might lead the soul from sin. And they that are more dutiful and loving than the rest Will find in duty full reward, and be more truly blest ; The truly good shall ne'er have cause their goodness to deplore, For though their deeds of love shall fail, their recom- pense is sure. To my IVifc. I would not cloud those beaming eyes, That with such lustre shine, 'Nor give to grief those gentle sighs. Which now are love's and mine : Nor would I seek to wound with care Thy young heart's tender joy, Nor cherish aught, however fair, That could thy peace destroy. But may the winged moments breathe Their sweetness on thy breast, And scatter o'er thy sunny path The freshness of the past : For I would have thee still live on, From care and sorrow free, And brightly as the past hath flown, I'd have thy future flee. And when thy youthful days are o'er, May nothing then remain That could induce thee to restore Or bring them back again : But may thy joys still bright and high Shine o'er each future scene, And leave thee naught for which to sigh. In days that once have been. The Strca7nlct. Oh, gentle stream, thy song Hath something in it ever sweet ; Listening thy voice, along Thy banks we've often stray'd, with softly lingVing feet. Whate'er is fierce or rude May hold, sweet stream, no fellowship with thee ; Only the wise and good, Whose breasts are pure as thine, may thy companions be. The birds and flowers may look On thee, and woo thy gentle imagings ; For they, in Nature's book. Are writ with thee, her fairest, sweetest things. We love the old footpath That runs with thee along the vale and wood ; Hallow'd by lovers' breath. And musings holy of the pure and good. Amid thy shady ranks Of shrubs and trees, summer delighted lives, And garlands thy sweet banks, Through all her sunny reign, with sweetest, freshest leaves. 6i Often at close of day, And in the cheerful light of dewy morn, We've loiter'd on thy way, That led through meadows green and fields of yellow corn. And we have watch'd thee down, With longing eye and with enraptur'd car Have heard thy silvery tone, Up through the leafy arch, come ringing sweet and clear. While thoughts of lovely spots Throng'd on the mind — of little floral caves, And soft reposing grots. That fancy pictur'd there, beside thy tiny waves. Rural Pleasures. When the spring her first-fruits bringeth, When the first sweet violets blow, When the early primrose springeth, We will ramble where they grow. When the summer brings its splendour, To adorn our native glen, With the tinkling stream we'll wander Through its lovely scenes again. I When mild autumn, tir'd of gladness, Mushes Nature's minstrelsy, Deep'ning silence into sadness, Then I'll walk the fields with thee. And when wintry winds are raving. There will be a joy for me, Sweet and tender, e'en in grieving O'er the lonely scene with thee. To a Lock of Hair. This lock of hair, I love it well, But love a sweeter tale can tell, For it delights to talk of her, Who gave to me this lock of hair. Thou art mine own, sweet lock of hair, And she is mine, who still doth wear, Braided o'er her forehead fair. Such tresses of bright auburn hair. 1 look on thee, dear lock of hair, And when I look, I think of her. And breathe to heaven a tender prayer For her, the maid with auburn hair. Her image on my heart I bear, And it shall still be cherish' d there. When Time, with added year on year, Has turn'd to grey her auburn hair. May heaven be kind, and angels near. To guard her feet from every snare. And give to her their kindest care, Who gave to me this lock of hair. Lines of Love. Oh, the human heart's a fountain, Ciushhig o'er with streams of love- A deep treasury of fcehng, Where all blest emotions move : Soon as boyish pleasures leave us. Youthful love takes up the place, And to years of latest manhood Throws its soft and lingering rays. This sweet guest into our bosoms At all times and seasons comes. With a warm and kindly radiance, Like the sunshine to our homes : Rich or poor, it is no matter, All alike have her regard — And in love's embrace, the peasant Is as happy as his lord. Youth, so full of joy and pleasure, Can no joy or pleasure know, Like those sweet and simple raptures. Which young love has to bestow : Everywhere, in town and country, Love has Edens bright and blest. Where each true and faithful lover Clasps an angel to his breast. 65 And when heaven removes the lov'd one, Takmg back the hght it gave, Leaving our sad bosoms shrouded In the darkness of the grave : Yet the heart, to Nature cHnging, Grieves awhile, then bids adieu, And bestows upon another Love as holy and as true. Love illumes our days of trouble, Sweetens life's returning calm, And upon our cares and sorrows Sheds its soft and healing balm : And while men have worth and virtue, Maidens loveliness and grace, Love shall live, and joy together Find on earth a dwelling-place. E Field Pleasures. 'Tis sweet to wander out alone, Into some quiet ,^lade, Beneath the cheerful glow of noon, Or evening's calmer shade : When oNsr the earth and sky is shed The lingour of repose, And thought, by airy fancy led, Its random flight pursues. And there upon the green hill side, In vacant mood reclin'd, To listen unto thoughts that glide Across the yielding mind : And in a peaceful reverie Look up with shaded eyes. Into the spreading canopy Of the o'erhanging skies. To hear the voice of stirring leaves The wind has breath'd upon. Soothing the bosom as it heaves Unto its quiet tone : And render passive audience Under tlie flitting sound Of insect voices, as they dance In rapid flight around. 67 And then the httle streams and rills Chant to our inner sense Of harmony, chaste madrigals, And songs of innocence : And the gay birds flit to and fro, And charm us with their theme, And melody of song, into A pleasant waking dream. While winds, with softest utterance, Come whisp'ring through the trees, All fragrant with their dalliance In woods and grassy leas : And flowers in gay profusion blow. And spangle all the ground With their resplendent hues, and throw Their balmy sweets around. 'Tis thus, in Nature's fields and woods, Revolving for a while. We learn to love her various moods, Her passing frown or smile : And often as we seek the vale, Or tread the spreading plain, Returning we shall always feel The time not spent in vain. Hope. Deep in the bosom fair Hope ever dwelleth, A light ever shining, when other lights faileth ; — A fountain that sends forth its glad streams straying, With music and joy, through the depths of our being. A joyful companion, attending us ever. E'en scorn cannot part us, nor poverty sever ; It brightens at evening the dreams of the pillow. And wakes in the morning our footsteps to follow. On every occasion of sadness and grief, Hope points to a season of peace and relief ; And those that in sorrow and wretchedness roam, Some happiness borrow from days yet to come. 'Twas given to cheer us, when warring with ill. And still to be near us, new strength to instil ; For our trust e'en in virtue is ofttimes so frail, That unless Hope assur'd us our comforts would fail. Oh, joy to the mourner, that ne'er shall betray, If f^aith be sojourner with Hope on the way ; Together they'll lead us from earth's darken'd zone, To where clouds and shadows are ever unknown. To Beaufy. Nature Is full of fair and lovely things And joyous essences— heard, felt, and seen — Charming existence with their blessed mien, Sweet'ning the change that every season brings : Beauty is gushing from a thousand springs, Upon the earth and in the air and sl