THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 *&. 
 
 -t * 
 
 /. 
 
 •/
 
 THE SABBATH 
 
 SABBATH WALKS AND OTHEE POEMS 
 
 BY JAMES GEAHAME 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY BIRKET FOSTER 
 
 LONDON 
 JAMES NISBET AND CO. BERNERS STEEET 
 
 MDCCCLVIT.
 
 riUNTED BY R. & R. CLARK, EDINBURGH.
 
 ?K 
 
 ^ 1 ip A^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Sabbath 9 
 
 Sabbath Walks. 
 
 A Spring Sabbath Walk 55 
 
 A Summer Sabbath Walk 57 
 
 An Autumn Sabbath Walk 61 
 
 A Winter Sabbath Walk 03 
 
 Biblical Pictures. 
 
 The First Sabbath 69 
 
 The Finding of Moses 71 
 
 Jacob and Pharaoh 72 
 
 Jephtha's Vow 73 
 
 Saul and David 74 
 
 Elijah Fed by Ravens 75 
 
 The Birth of Jesus announced 75 
 
 Behold my Mother and my Brethren 77 
 
 Bartimeus Restored to Sight 78 
 
 Little Children brought to Jesus 78 
 
 Jesus Calms the Tempest 79 
 
 Jesus Walks on the Sea and Calms the Storm 80 
 
 The Dumb Cured 81 
 
 The Death of Jesus . . ■ 81 
 
 The Resurrection 82 
 
 . :
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Biblical Pictures. 
 
 page 
 
 Jesus Appears to the Disciples 83 
 
 Paul Accused before the Tribunal of the Areopagus 84 
 
 Paul Accused before the Roman Governor of Judea 85 
 
 The Rural Calendar 87 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 The Wild Duck and her Brood 115 
 
 Epitaph on a Blackbird Killed by a Hawk 116 
 
 The Poor Man's Funeral 116 
 
 To England, on the Slave Trade 118 
 
 The Thanksgiving off Cape Trafalgar 119 
 
 To my Son 120 
 
 To a Redbreast that flew in at my Window 121
 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 
 
 DESIGNED BY BIRKET FOSTEK, 
 
 
 
 ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY EDMUND EVANS, AND PRINTED BY R. &. 
 
 R. CLARK. 
 
 
 %\n j^abbatl). 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 How still the morning of the hallowed day ! 
 
 9 
 
 
 But now his steps a welcome sound recals : 
 
 
 
 Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile. 
 
 12 
 
 
 There is a temple, one not made with hands, — 
 
 
 
 The vaulted firmament : Far in the woods, 
 
 
 * 
 
 Almost beyond the sound of city chime. 
 Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne, 
 
 15 
 
 
 The Sabbath-service of the shepherd-boy. 
 
 17 
 
 
 In solitudes like these 
 
 
 
 Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foil'd 
 
 
 
 A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws. 
 
 19 
 
 
 Oft at the close of evening prayer, the toll, 
 
 
 
 The solemn funeral-toll, pausing, proclaims 
 
 
 
 The service of the tomb. 
 
 20 
 
 
 Tin' summit gained, throbs hard his heart with joy 
 
 
 
 And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more. 
 
 29 
 
 
 More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit, 
 
 
 
 So like a withered leaflet, than the glare 
 
 
 
 Of gaudy wings, that make the [ris dim. 
 
 :::;
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Thus, all night long 
 
 He watches, while the rising moon describes 
 The progress of the day in happier lands. 
 
 He strikes the flint, — a blaze 
 
 Mounts from the ready heap of withered leaves : 
 The mnsic ceases. 
 
 Thy mountains, that confessed no other chains 
 Than what the wintry elements had forged. 
 
 Or, when the simple service ends, to hear 
 
 The lifted latch, and mark the grey-hair'd man, 
 
 The father and the priest, walk forth alone. 
 
 But, as the sun ascends, another springs, 
 And still another soars on loftier wing. 
 
 35 
 
 37 
 
 42 
 
 45 
 
 51 
 
 Sabhtlj clcilnlks. 
 
 o 
 
 0, how I love, with melted soul, to leave 
 The house of prayer, and wander in the fields. 
 
 Delightful is this loneliness ; it calms 
 
 My heart : pleasant the cool beneath these elms, 
 
 That throw across the stream a moveless shade. 
 
 In kindly circle seated on the ground 
 Before their wicker door : Behold the man ! 
 
 When homeward bands their several ways disperse, 
 
 I love to linger in the narrow field 
 
 Of rest, to wander round from tomb to tomb. 
 
 Mute hangs the hooded-bell ; the tombs lie buried ; 
 No step approaches to the house of prayer. 
 
 Your helpless charge drive from the tempting spot, 
 And keep them on the bleak hill's stormy side. 
 
 57 
 
 60 
 
 61 
 
 63 
 
 65
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATION'S. 
 
 pkl f itturcs. 
 
 Mildly the sun, upon the loftiest trees, 
 
 Shed mellowly a sloping beam. Peace reigned. 
 
 -Shedding bright, 
 
 Upon the folded flocks, a heavenly radiance. 
 Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, 
 
 G9 
 
 76 
 
 
 " Peace, be thou still ! " and straight there was a calm. 
 
 79 
 
 
 CIjc ilunil (l;ilcnu;ir. 
 
 
 
 O ye that shiver by your blazing fires, 
 
 
 
 Think of the inmates of yon hut, half sunk 
 
 
 
 Beneath the drift. 
 
 89 
 
 
 While, warily, behind the half-leaved bush, 
 
 
 
 The angler screened, with keenest eye intent, 
 
 
 » 
 
 Awaits the sudden rising of the trout. 
 
 Slow move the sultry hours. 0, for the shield 
 
 95 
 
 
 Of darkening boughs, or hollow rock grotesque ! 
 
 101 
 
 
 At close of shortened day, the reaper, tired, 
 
 
 
 With sickle on his shoulder, homeward hies. 
 
 107 
 
 
 Miscellaneous |]icicms. 
 
 
 
 Yon little fleet, the wild duck and her brood ! 
 
 
 
 Fearless of harm, they row their easy way. 
 
 II.-) 
 
 
 From snowy plains, and icy sprays, 
 
 
 
 From moonless nights, and sunless days, 
 
 
 
 Welcome, poor bird ! 
 
 123
 
 
 Mt Mhtik 
 
 How still the morning of the hallowed day ! 
 Mule is the voice nf rural labour, hushed 
 The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's son,--. 
 The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath 
 Of tedded grass, mingled with fading (lowers, 
 That yester-morn bloomed waving in the breeze. 
 Sounds the most faint attract the ear. — the hum
 
 10 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, 
 The distant bleating, midway up the hill. 
 Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud. 
 To him who wanders o'er the upland leas, 
 The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale ; 
 And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark 
 Warbles his heaven-tuned song ; the lulling brook 
 Murmurs more gently down the deep- worn glen ; 
 While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke 
 O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals, 
 The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise. 
 
 With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village broods 
 The dizzying mill-wheel rests ; the anvil's din 
 Hatli ceased; all, all around is quietness. 
 Less fearful on this day, the limping hare 
 Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, 
 Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, 
 Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ; 
 And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls, 
 His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray. 
 
 But chiefly Man the clay of rest enjoys. 
 Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day. 
 On other days, the man of toil is doomed 
 To eat his joyless bread, lonely ; the ground 
 Both seat and board; screened from the winter's cold 
 And summer's heat by neighbouring hedge or tree ; 
 But on this day, embosomed in his home, 
 He shares the frugal meal with those he loves ;
 
 THE SABBATH. 11 
 
 With those he loves he shares the heart-felt joy 
 Of giving thanks to God, — not thanks of form, 
 A word and a grimace, but reverently, 
 With covered face and upward earnest eye. 
 
 Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day : 
 The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe 
 The morning air, pure from the city's smoke. 
 While, wandering slowly up the river side, 
 He meditates on Him, whose power he marks 
 In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, 
 As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom 
 Around its roots ; and while he thus surveys, 
 With elevated joy, each rural charm, 
 He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, 
 That Heaven may be one Sabbath without end. 
 
 But now his steps a welcome sound recals : 
 Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile, 
 Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe : 
 Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved ground : 
 The aged man, the bowed down, the blind 
 Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes 
 With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well pleased 
 These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach 
 The house of God ; these, spite of all their ills. 
 A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise 
 They enter in. A placid stillness reigns, 
 Until the man of God, worthy the name, 
 Arise, ami read the anointed shepherd's lays.
 
 12 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 I i&H*$? 
 
 His locks di' snow, his brow serene, — his look 
 Of love, it speaks, ;t Ye are my children all, 
 The gray-haired man, stooping upon his staff, 
 As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye 
 Pursues the swallow flitting thwart the dome." 
 Loud swells the song : 0, how that simple song, 
 Though rudely chaunted, how it melts the heart, 
 ( 'oniiningling soul with soul in one full tide 
 Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble trust ! 
 Next comes the unpremeditated prayer.
 
 THE SABBATH. 13 
 
 Breathed from the inmost heart, in accents low, 
 
 But earnest. — Altered is the tone; to man 
 
 Are now addressed the sacred speaker's words. 
 
 Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace, 
 
 Flow from his tongue : chief let comfort flow ! 
 
 It is most wanted in this vale of tears : 
 
 Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for joy ; 
 
 The stranger to discern the Almighty's shield 
 
 Held o'er his friendless head ; the orphan child 
 
 Feel, mid his tears, I have a Father still ! 
 
 'Tis done. But hark that infant querulous voice ! 
 
 Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear : 
 
 And see the father raise the white-rohed bahe 
 
 In solemn dedication to the Lord : 
 
 The holy man sprinkles with forth-stretched hand 
 
 The face of innocence ; then earnest turns. 
 
 And prays a blessing in the name of Him, 
 
 Who said, " Let little children come to me : 
 
 Forbid them not : " The infant is replaced 
 
 Among the happy band : they, smilingly, 
 
 In gay attire, wend to the house of mirth, 
 
 The poor man's festival, a jubilee day, 
 
 Remembered long. — 
 
 Nor would I leave unsung 
 The lofty ritual of our sister land : 
 In vestment white, the minister of God 
 Opens the hook, and reverentially 
 
 The Stated portion reads. A pause ensues. 
 The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes. 
 Then swells into a diapason lull :
 
 14 THE SABBATH. 
 
 The people rising, sing, " With harp, with harp, 
 And voice of psalms;" harmoniously attuned 
 The various voices blend ; the long-drawn aisles, 
 At every close, the lingering strain prolong. 
 And now the tubes a mellowed stop controls, 
 In softer harmony the people join, 
 While liquid whispers from yon orphan band 
 Kecal the soul from adoration's trance, 
 And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears. 
 Again the organ-peal, loud-rolling, meets 
 The hallelujahs of the choir: Sublime, 
 A thousand notes symphcfniously ascend, 
 As if the whole were one, suspended high 
 In air, soaring heavenward : afar they float, 
 Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch : 
 Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close, 
 Yet thinks he hears it still : his heart is cheered ; 
 He smiles on death ; but, ah ! a wish will rise, — 
 " — Would I were now beneath that echoing roof! 
 No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow ; 
 My heart would sing ; and many a Sabbath-day 
 My steps should thither turn ; or, wandering far 
 In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow, 
 There would I bless His name who led me forth 
 From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets ; 
 Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow 
 Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye." 
 
 It is not only in the sacred fane 
 That homage should be paid to the Most High ;
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 15 
 
 
 §4! 
 
 
 There is u temple, one noi made with hands, - 
 The vaulted liniiaiiu'iil : Far in the woods. 
 Almost beyond the sound of city chime,
 
 Ill THE SABBATH. 
 
 At intervals heard through the hreezeless air ; 
 
 When not the limberest leaf is seen to move, 
 
 Save where the linnet lights upon the spray ; 
 
 When not a floweret bends its little stalk, 
 
 Save where the bee alights upon the bloom ; — 
 
 There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love, 
 
 The man of God Avill pass the Sabbath-noon ; 
 
 Silence his praise: his disembodied thoughts, 
 
 Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend 
 
 Beyond the empyrean. — 
 
 Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne, 
 
 The Sabbath-service of the shepherd-boy. 
 
 In some lone glen, where every sound is lulled 
 
 To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill, 
 
 Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry, 
 
 Stretched on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ; 
 
 Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold, 
 
 And wonders why he weeps ; the volume closed, 
 
 With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings 
 
 The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conned 
 
 With meikle care beneath the lowly roof, 
 
 Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth 
 
 Pines unrewarded by a thankless state. 
 
 Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen, 
 
 The shepherd boy the Sabbath holy keeps, 
 
 Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands 
 
 Returning homeward from the house of prayer. 
 
 In peace they home resort. blissful day ! 
 
 When all men worship God as conscience wills. 
 
 Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew,
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 17 
 
 A virtuous race, to godliness devote. 
 
 What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared l<> soil 
 
 The record of their fame! What though the men 
 
 Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatize 
 
 The sister-cause, Religion and the Law, 
 
 With Superstition's name! — yet, yel their deeds, 
 
 Their constancy in torture and in death, — 
 
 These on tradition's tongue siill live, these shall
 
 18 THE SABBATH. 
 
 On history's honest page he pictured bright 
 
 To latest times. Perhaps some hard, whose muse 
 
 Disdains the servile strain of Fashion's quire, 
 
 May celebrate their unambitious names. 
 
 With them each day was holy, every hour 
 
 They stood prepared to die, a people doomed 
 
 To death: — old men, and youths, and simple maids. 
 
 With them each day was holy ; but that morn 
 
 On which the angel said, " See where the Lord 
 
 Was laid," joyous arose ; to die that day 
 
 Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways, 
 
 O'er hills, through woods, o'er dreary wastes, they sought 
 
 The upland moors, where rivers, there but brooks, 
 
 Dispart to different seas : Fast by such brooks, 
 
 A little glen is sometimes scooped, a plat 
 
 With green sward g*ay, and flowers that strangers seem 
 
 Amid the heathery wild, that all around 
 
 Fatigues the eye : in solitudes like these 
 
 Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foiled 
 
 A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws ; 
 
 There, leaning on his spear, (one of the array, 
 
 Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the rose 
 
 On England's banner, and had powerless struck 
 
 The infatuate monarch and his wavering host,) 
 
 The lyart veteran heard the word of God 
 
 By Cameron thundered, or by Eenwick poured 
 
 In gentle stream : then rose the song, the loud 
 
 Acclaim of praise ; the wheeling plover ceased 
 
 Her plaint ; the solitary place was glad, 
 
 And on the distant cairns, the watcher's ear
 
 Caughl doubtfully ;it times the breeze-borne note. 1 
 
 Bui years more gloomy followed; and no more 
 
 The assembled people dared, in face of day, 
 
 To worship God, or even a1 the dead 
 
 Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce, 
 
 And thunder-peals compelled the men of blood 
 
 1 Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills, to give warning of the 
 approach of the militarj .
 
 To couch within their dens ; then dauntlessly 
 The scattered few would meet, in some deep dell 
 By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice, 
 Their faithful pastor's voice : He by the gleam 
 Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred hook, 
 And words of comfort spake : Over their souls 
 His accents soothing came, — as to her young 
 The heathfowl's plumes, when, at the close of eve, 
 She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed 
 By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads 
 Fondly her wings ; close nestling 'neath her breast. 
 They, cherished, cower amid the purple blooms. 
 
 But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale, 
 The house of prayer itself, — no place inspires 
 Emotions more accordant with the day, 
 Than does the field of graves, the land of rest. — 
 Oft at the close of evening prayer, the toll,
 
 THE SABBATH. 21 
 
 The solemn funeral-toll, pausing, pro< l;tims 
 The service of the tomb ; the homeward crowds 
 Divide on either hand ; the pomp draws near ; 
 The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing, 
 " I am the resurrection and the life." 
 Ah me! these youthful hearers robed in white, 
 They tell a mournful tale ; some blooming friend 
 Is gone, dead in her prime of years : — 'twas she, 
 The poor man's friend, who, when she could not give, 
 With angel- tongue pleaded to those who could; 
 With angel-tongue and mild heseeching eye, 
 That ne'er besought in vain, save when she prayed 
 For longer life, with heart resigned to die, — 
 Kejoiced to die; for happy visions blessed 
 Her voyage's last days, 1 and, hovering round, 
 Alighted on her soul, giving presage 
 
 That heaven was nigh : what a hurst 
 
 Of rapture from her lips ! what tears of joy 
 
 Her heavenward eves suffused ! Those eves are closed ! 
 
 But all her loveliness is not yet flown : 
 
 She smiled in death, and still her cold pale face 
 
 Retains that smile ; as when a wavclcss lake. 
 
 In which the wintry stars all bright appear, 
 
 Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice, 
 
 Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged, 
 
 1 Towards tli<- end of Columbus's voyage t<i tin' m-u world, when he was 
 already near, but nut in sight of land, the drooping h< >]><s of liis mariners (for 
 his own confidence seems to have remained unmoved) were revived by the 
 appearance of birds, at firsl hovering round the ship, and then lightin 
 the rigging.
 
 22 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast. 
 Again that knell ! The slow procession stops : 
 The pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick embossed 
 With melancholy ornaments, — (the name, 
 The record of her blossoming age) appears 
 Unveiled, and on it dust to dust is thrown — 
 The final right. Oh ! hark that sullen sound ! 
 Upon the lowered bier the shovelled clay 
 Falls fast, and fills the void. — 
 
 But who is he, 
 That stands aloof, with haggard wistful eye, 
 As if he coveted the closing grave ? 
 And he does covet it — his wish is death : 
 The dread resolve is fixed ; his own right hand 
 Is sworn to do the deed : The day of rest 
 No peace, no comfort, brings his woe-worn spirit; 
 Self-cursed, the hallowed dome he dreads to enter ; 
 He dares not pray ; he dares not sigh a hope ; 
 Annihilation is his only heaven. 
 Loathsome the converse of his friends ! he shuns 
 The human face ; in every careless eye 
 Suspicion of his purpose seems to lurk. 
 Deep piny shades he loves, where no sweet note 
 Is warbled, where the rook unceasing caws : 
 Or far in moors, remote from house or hut, 
 Where animated nature seems extinct, 
 Where even the hum of wandering bee ne'er breaks 
 The quiet slumber of the level waste ; 
 Where vegetation's traces almost fail, 
 Save where the leafless cannachs wave their tufts
 
 THE SABBATH. 23 
 
 Of silky white, or massy oaken trunks 
 
 Half buried lie, and tell where greenwoods grew, — 
 
 There, on the heathless moss outstretched, he broods 
 
 O'er all his ever-changing plans of death : 
 
 The time, place, means, sweep, like a stormy rack, 
 
 In fleet succession, o'er his clouded soul, — 
 
 The poniard, — and the opium draught, that brings 
 
 Death by degrees, but leaves an awful chasm 
 
 Between the act and consequence, — the flash 
 
 Sulphureous, fraught witli instantaneous death; — 
 
 The ruined tower perched on some jutting rock, 
 
 So high that, 'tween the leap and dash below, 
 
 The breath might take its flight in midway air, — 
 
 This pleases for a time ; but on the brink, 
 
 Back from the toppling edge his fancy shrinks 
 
 In horror; sleep at last his breast becalms, — 
 
 He dreams 'tis done ; but starting wild awakes, 
 
 Resigning to despair his dream of joy. 
 
 Then hope, faint hope, revives — hope, that Despair 
 
 May to his aid let loose the Demon Frenzy, 
 
 To lead scared conscience blindfold o'er the brink 
 
 Of self-destruction's cataract of blood. 
 
 Most miserable, most incongruous wretch ! 
 
 Dar'st thou to spurn thy life, the boon of God, 
 
 Yet dreadest to approach his holy place! 
 
 dare to enter in ! may he some word, 
 
 Or sweetly chaunted strain, will in thy heart 
 
 Awake a chord in unison with life. 
 
 What are thy fancied woes t<> his. whose fate 
 
 is (sentence dire!) incurable disease, —
 
 2-4 THE SABBATH. 
 
 The outcast of a lazar house, homeless, 
 
 Or with a home where eyes do scowl on him ! 
 
 Yet he, even he, with feeble step draws near, 
 
 With trembling voice joins in the song of praise. 
 
 Patient he waits the hour of his release ; 
 
 He knows he has a home beyond the grave. 
 
 Or turn thee to that house, with studded doors, 
 And iron- visor' d windows; — even there 
 The Sabbath sheds a beam of bliss, though faint ; 
 The debtor's friends (for still he has some friends) 
 Have time to visit him ; the blossoming pea, 
 That climbs the rust-worn bars, seems fresher tinged ; 
 And on the little turf, this day renewed, 
 The lark, his prison mate, quivers the wing 
 With more than wonted joy. See, through the bars, 
 That pallid face retreating from the view, 
 That glittering eye following, with hopeless look, 
 The friends of former years, now passing by 
 In peaceful fellowship to worship God : 
 With them, in days of youthful years, he roamed 
 O'er hill and dale, o'er broomy knowe ; and wist 
 As little as the blythest of the band 
 Of this his lot ; condemned, condemned unheard, 
 The party for his judge : — among the throng, 
 The Pharisaical hard-hearted man 
 He sees pass on, to join the heaven-taught prayer, 
 " Forgive our debts, as we forgive our debtors :' 7 
 From unforgiving lips most impious prayer ! 
 happier far the victim, than the hand
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 That deals the legal Btab ! The injured man 
 
 Enjoys internal, settled calm ; to him 
 
 The Sabbath bell sounds peace; he loves to meet 
 
 His fellow- sufferers, to pray and praise : 
 
 And many a prayer, as pure as e'er was breathed 
 
 In holy fanes, is sighed in prison balls. 
 
 Ah me ! that clank of chains, as kneel and rise 
 
 The death-doomed row. But see, a smile illumes 
 
 The face of some : perhaps they're guiltless : < Mi ! 
 
 And must high-minded honesty endure 
 
 The ignominy of a felon's fate ! 
 
 No, 'tis not ignominious to be wronged ; 
 
 No; — conscious exultation swells their hearts, 
 
 To think the day draws nigh, when in the view 
 
 Of angels, and of just men perfect made. 
 
 The mark which rashness branded on their names 
 
 Shall be effaced : — when, wafted on life's storm, 
 
 Their souls shall reach the Sabbath of the skies; — 
 
 As birds, from bleak Nbrwegia's wintry coast 
 
 Blown out to sea, strive to regain the shore, 
 
 But, vainly striving, yield them to the blast, — 
 
 Swept o'er the deep to Aliuon's genial isle, 
 
 Amazed they light amid the bloomy sprays 
 
 Of some green vale, there to enjoy new loves. 
 
 And join in harmony unheard before. 
 
 The land is groaning 'neath the guilt of blood 
 Spilt wantonly: for every death-doomed man. 
 Who, in his boyhood, has been lefl untaught 
 That •• Wisdom's ways are ways "l" pleasantness,
 
 26 THE SABBATH. 
 
 And all her paths are peace," unjustly dies. 
 But ah ! how many are thus left untaught, — 
 How many would he left, but for the hand 
 United to keep holy to the Lord 
 A portion of His day, by teaching those 
 Whom Jesus loved with forth-stretched hand 
 
 to bless. 
 Behold yon motly train, by two and two, 
 Each with a Bible 'neath its little arm. 
 Approach, well-pleased as if they went to play, 
 The dome where simple lore is learnt unbought : 
 And mark the father 'mid the sideway throng ; — 
 Well do I know him by his glistening eye 
 That follows stedfastly one of the line. 
 A dark sea-faring man he looks to be ; 
 And much it glads his boding heart to think, 
 That when once more he sails the vallied deep, 
 His child shall still receive Instruction's boon. 
 But hark, — a noise, — -a cry, — a gleam of swords !- 
 Resistance is in vain, — he's borne away, 
 Nor is allowed to clasp his weeping child. 
 
 My innocent, so helpless, yet so gay ! 
 How could I bear to be thus rudely torn 
 From thee ; — to see thee lift thy little arm 
 And impotently strike the ruffian man, — 
 To hear thee bid him chidingly, — -begone ! 
 
 ye, who live at home, and kiss each eve 
 Your sleeping infants ere ye go to rest,
 
 And, 'wakened by their call, lift up your eyes 
 
 Upon their morning smile, — think, think of those 
 
 Who, turn away without one farewell word 
 
 To wife, or children, sigh the day of life 
 
 In banishment from all that's dear to man, — 
 
 ( ) raise your voices, in one general peal 
 
 Remonstrant, for the opprest. And ye, who sit 
 
 Month after month devising impost-laws, 
 
 (iivc some small portion of your midnight vigils. 
 
 To mitigate, if not remove the wrong. 
 
 Relentless justice ! with fate-furrowed brow! 
 Wherefore to various crimes of various guilt, 
 One penalty, the most severe, allot ! 
 Why, palled in state, and mitred with a wreath 
 Of nightshade, dost thou sit portentously. 
 Beneath a cloudy canopy of sighs. 
 Of fears, of trembling hopes, of boding doubts ! 
 Death's dart thy mace ! — Why are the laws of God, 
 Statutes promulged in characters of tire, 1 
 Despised in deep concerns, where heavenly guidance 
 Is most required ! The murderer — let him die, 
 And him who lifts his arm against his parent, 
 His country, — or his voice against his God. 
 
 Let crimes less heinous dooms less dreadful i t. 
 
 Than loss of life! so said the law divine, 
 
 '"And it came to pass on the third day in the morning, thai there were 
 thunders ami lightnings, ami a thick cloud upon tin- mount, ami the voice of the 
 trumpet exceeding Ion. I ; bo thai all the people thai was in the camp trembled " 
 — Exod. xix. 16
 
 Thai law beneficent, which mildly stretched 
 
 To men forgotten and forlorn, the hand 
 
 Of restitution : Yes, the trumpet's voire 
 
 The Sabbath of the jubilee 1 announced : 
 
 The freedom-freighted blast, through all the land 
 
 At once, in every city, echoing rings, 
 
 From Lebanon to Carmel's woody cliffs, 
 
 So loud, that far within the desert's verge 
 
 The couching lion starts, and glares around. 
 
 Free is the bondman now, each one returns 
 
 To his inheritance : The man, grown old 
 
 In servitude far from his native fields, 
 
 Hastes joyous on his way; no hills are steep, 
 
 Smooth is each rugged path ; his little ones 
 
 Sport as they go, while ofi the mother chides 
 
 The lingering step, lured by tin- way-side flowers; 
 
 At length the hill, from which a farewell look, 
 
 And still another parting look, he casl 
 
 On his paternal vale, appears in view: 
 
 The summit gained, throbs hard his heart with joy 
 
 And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more : 
 
 Instant his eager eye darts to the roof 
 
 '"And thou shalt number seven Sabbaths of years unto thee, seven times 
 seven years; ami the space of the seven Sabbaths of years shall he unto thee 
 lorly and nine years. Then slialt thou cause the trumpet of the jubilee to sound 
 on the tenth day of the seventh month, in the day of atonement shall ye make 
 the trumpet sound throughout all your land. And ye shall hallow the fiftieth 
 year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants there- 
 of : it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his pos- 
 session, and ye shall return every man unto his family." — Lev. xxv. 8, 9, 10.
 
 TIIK SABBATH. 
 
 29 
 
 -:-- 
 
 
 Where first he saw llie lighl : his youngest bom 
 
 He lifts, and, pointing to the much-loved spot, 
 
 Says, — "There thy fathers lived, and there they sleep."
 
 30 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Onward he wends ; near and more near he draws : 
 How sweet the tinkle of the palm-bowered brook ! 
 The sun-beam slanting thro' the cedar grove 
 How lovely, and how mild ! but lovelier still 
 The welcome in the eye of ancient friends, 
 Scarce known at first ! and dear the fig-tree shade, 
 'Neath which on Sabbath eve his father told 1 
 Of Israel from the house of bondage freed, 
 Led through the desert to the promised land ; — 
 With eager arms the aged stem he clasps, 
 And with his tears the furrowed bark bedews : 
 And still, at midnight-hour, he thinks he hears 
 The blissful sonnd that brake the bondman's chains, 
 The glorious peal of freedom and of joy ! 
 
 Did ever law of man a power like this 
 Display ? power marvellous as merciful, 
 Which, though in other ordinances still 
 Most plainly seen, is yet but little marked 
 For what it truly is, — a miracle ! 
 Stupendous, ever new, performed at once 
 In every region, — yea, on every sea 
 Which Europe's navies plough ; — yes, in all lands 
 From pole to pole, or civilized or rude, 
 People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn 
 
 1 "And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart : 
 And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them 
 when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when 
 
 thou liest down, and when thou risest up. Thou shalt say unto thy son, We 
 
 were Pharaoh's bondmen in Egypt ; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with 
 a mighty hand." — Deut. vi. 6, 7, 21.
 
 THE SABBATH. 31 
 
 Dawns, shedding dews into their drooping hearts : 
 
 Yes, far beyond the high-heaved western wave, 
 
 Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast, 
 
 The words which Grod in thunder from the mounl 
 
 Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obeyed. 
 
 Thy children, Scotia, in the desert land, 
 
 Driven from their homes by fell Monopoly, 
 
 Keep holy to the Lord the seventh day. 
 
 Assembled under loftiest canopy 
 
 Of trees primeval, soon to be laid low, 
 
 They sing, " By Babel's streams we sat and wept." 
 
 What strong mysterious links enchain the heart 
 To regions where the morn of life was spent ! 
 In foreign lands, though happier be the clime, 
 Though round our board smile all the friends we love, 
 The face of nature wears a stranger's look. 
 Yea, though the valley which we loved be swept 
 Of its inhabitants, none left behind, 
 Not even the poor blind man who sought his bread 
 From door to door, still, still there is a want ; 
 Yes, even he, round whom a night that knows 
 No dawn is ever spread, whose native vale 
 Presented to li is closed eyes a blank, — 
 Deplores its distance now. There well he knew 
 Each object, though unseen ; there could he wend 
 His way, guidelcss, through wilds and mazy woods; 
 Each aged tree, spared when the forest fell, 
 Was his familiar friend, from the smooth birch, 
 With rind of silken touch, to the rough elm :
 
 The three gray stones, that marked where heroes lay, 
 
 Mourned by the harp, mourned by the melting voice 
 
 Of Cona, oft his resting place had been ; 
 
 Oft had they told him that his home was near : 
 
 The tinkle of the rill, the murmuring 
 
 So gentle of the brook, the torrent's rush, 
 
 The cataract's din, the ocean's distant roar. 
 
 The echo's answer to his foot or voice. : 
 
 All spoke a language which he understood, 
 
 All warned him of Ins way. But most he feels 
 
 Upon the hallowed morn, the saddening change : 
 
 No more he hears the gladsome village bell 
 
 Ring the blest summons to the house of God : 
 
 And, — for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, grand. 
 
 That cheered his darkling path, as, with slow st<-M 
 
 And feeble, he toiled up the spire-topt hill, — 
 
 A few faint notes ascend among the trees. 
 
 What though the clustered vine there hardly tempts 
 The traveller's hand; though birds of dazzling plume 
 Perch on the loaded boughs; — "Give me thy woods, 
 (Exclaims the banished man) thy barren woods, 
 Poor Scotland ! sweeter there the reddening: haw. 
 The sloe, or rowan's 1 bitter bunch, than here 
 The purple grape ; dearer the re llireast's note. 
 That mourns the failing year in Scotia's vales. 
 Than Philomel's, where spring is ever new : 
 More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit, 
 
 1 Mountain-ash.
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 So like a withered leaflet, than the glare 
 Of gaudy wings, that make the Iris dim." 
 
 Nor is regret exclusive to the old : 
 The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main. 
 A ship his cradle, by the billows rocked, — 
 "The nursling of the storm," — -although he claims 
 No native land, yet does he wistful hear 
 Of some far distant country, still called home, 
 Where lambs of whitest fleece sporl on the hills; 
 Where gold-specked lishes wanton in the streams; 
 Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air. 
 Light on the floor, and peak the table crumbs, 
 And with their singing cheer the winter day. 
 
 But what the loss of country to the woes 
 < M' banishment and solitude combined !
 
 34 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Oh ! my heart bleeds to think there now may live 
 
 One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck, 
 
 ( last on some desert island of that main 
 
 Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore 
 
 To Acapulco. Motionless he sits, 
 
 As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days, 
 
 With wandering eye, o'er all the watery waste ; 
 
 Now striving to believe the albatross 
 
 A sail appearing on the horizon's verge ; 
 
 Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope 
 
 Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hours, 
 
 Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time 
 
 Upon the shell-notched calendar to mark 
 
 Another day, another dreary day, — 
 
 ( Ihangeless, — for in these regions of the sun, 
 
 The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil. 
 
 Bestowing grateful interchange of rest 
 
 And labour, is annulled ; for there the trees. 
 
 Adorned at once with bud, and flower, and fruit, 
 
 Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread 
 
 And blossoms on the ground : But yet by him, 
 
 The Hermit of the deep, not unobserved 
 
 The Sabbath passes. — 'Tis his great delight. 
 
 Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray, 
 
 And loves, and sighs to think, — that setting sun 
 
 Is now empurpling Scotland's mountain-tops, 
 
 Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales, 
 
 Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat 
 
 Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below 
 
 ('haunt in the dewy shade. Thus, all night long
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 .;-, 
 
 He watches, while the rising moon describes 
 
 The progress of the day in happier lands. 
 
 And now he almost fancies that he hears 
 
 The chiming from his native village church : 
 
 And now he sings, and loudly hopes the strain 
 
 May be the same, that sweel ascends at home 
 
 In congregation full, — -where, not without a tear. 
 
 They arc Remembered who in ships behold 
 
 The wonders of the deep:' he sees the hand, 
 
 The widowed hand, thai veils the eye suffused ; 
 
 He sees his orphan'd hoy look up, and strive 
 
 The widowed heart to soothe. His spirit leans 
 
 Od God. Nor dees he leave his weekly vigil, 
 
 Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves 
 
 On winds of cloudless wing; 2 though lightnings burst 
 
 ' " They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in -real wains ; 
 these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep." — Psal cvii. 
 2 In the tropical regions, the sk\ during storms i^ often withoul a cloud.
 
 3*3 THE SABBATH. 
 
 So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen 
 
 In awful alternation : Calm he views 
 
 The far-exploding firmament, and dares 
 
 To hope — one bolt in mercy is reserved 
 
 For his release ; and yet he is resigned 
 
 To live : because full well he is assured, 
 
 Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds. 1 
 
 And thy right hand does lead him. Lo ! at last, 
 One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep, 
 Music remote, swelling at intervals, 
 As if the embodied spirit of sweet sounds 
 Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave : 
 The cadence well he knows, — a hymn of old, 
 Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state 
 Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced, 
 In midnight music, by an angel choir, 
 To Bethlehem's shepherds, 2 as they watched their flocks. 
 Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks 
 
 1 " If I take the wings of the morning, ami dwell in the uttermost parts of 
 the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me." — 
 Psal. exxxix. 
 
 2 " And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the held, keep- 
 ing watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon 
 them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them ; and they were sore 
 afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not : for, behold, 1 bring you good 
 tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is bom this day, 
 in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a 
 sign unto you ; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a 
 manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly 
 host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, 
 good will toward men." — Luke ii. 8-14.
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell. 
 He looks, and starts to sec, moving along, 
 A fiery wave, 1 (so seems ill crescenl forme 
 
 
 A.pproaching to the land; straightway be sees 
 A towering whiteness; 'tis the heaven-filled sails 
 Thai wafl the missioned men, who have renounce 
 
 1 •■ In some seas, as particularly about the coasl of Malabar, as a Bhijp floats 
 along, it seems during the night to be surrounded with fire, and to leave a long 
 track of light behind it. Whenever the sea is gently agitated, it seems converted 
 into little stars: even drop as it breaks emits light, like bodies electrified in the 
 dark."— Daewin.
 
 38 THE SABP.ATII. 
 
 Their homes, their country, nay, almost the world, 
 
 Bearing' glad tidings to the furthest isles 
 
 Of ocean, that "the dead shall rise again." 
 
 Forward the gleam-girt castle coastwise glides. 
 
 It seems as it would pass away. To cry 
 
 The wretched man in vain attempts, in vain. 
 
 Powerless his voice as in a fearful dream : 
 
 Not so his hand ; he strikes the flint, — a blaze 
 
 Mounts from the ready heap of withered leaves: 
 
 The mnsic ceases; accents harsh succeed, 
 
 Harsh, but most grateful: downward drop the sails; 
 
 Ingulphed the anchor sinks; the boat is launched ; 
 
 But cautious lies aloof till morning dawn : 
 
 then the transport of the man, unused 
 
 To other human voice beside his own, — 
 
 His native tongue to hear! he breathes at home. 
 
 Though earth's diameter is interposed. 
 
 Of perils of the sea he has no dread, 
 
 Full well assured the missioned bark is safe. 
 
 Held in the hollow of the Almighty's hand. 
 
 (And signal thy deliverances have heen 
 
 Of these thy messengers of peace and joy.) 
 
 From storms that loudly threaten to unfix 
 
 Islands rock-rooted in the ocean's bed, 
 
 Thou dost deliver them, — and from the calm, 
 
 More dreadful than the storm, when motionless 
 
 Upon the purple deep the vessel lies 
 
 For days, for nights, illumed by phosphor lamps; 
 
 When sea-birds seem in nests of flame to float; 
 
 When backward starts the boldest mariner
 
 To see, while o' er the side he leans, his face 
 As if deep-tinged with blood. — 
 
 Let worldly men 
 The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn, 
 And call fanatics them, who hazard health 
 And life, in testifying of the truth, 
 Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ ! 
 What were the Galilean fishermen 
 But messengers, commissioned to announce 
 The resurrection, and the life to come ! 
 They too, though clothed with power of might}' works 
 Miraculous, were oft received with scorn ; 
 Oft did their words fall powerless, though enforced 
 By deeds that marked Omnipotence their friend : 
 But, when their efforts failed, unweariedly 
 They onward went, rejoicing in their course 
 Like helianthus, ! borne on downy wings 
 To distant realms, they frequent fell on soils 
 Barren and thankless; yet oft-times they saw 
 Their labours clowned with fruit an hundred fold, 
 Saw the new converts testify their faith 
 By works of love, — the slave set free, the sick 
 Attended, prisoners visited, the poor 
 Received as brothers at the rich man's board. 
 Alas ! how different now the deeds of men 
 Nursed in the faith of Christ ! — the i'wr made slaves! 
 Stolen from their country, home across the deep. 
 
 1 Sun flower. "The seeds of many plants of this kind are furnished with a 
 plume, by which admirable mechanism they are disseminated tar from their 
 parent stem." — Darwin.
 
 4ii THE SABBATH. 
 
 Enchained, endungeoned, forced by stripes to live, 
 
 Doomed to behold their wives, their little ones, 
 
 Tremble beneath the white man's fiend-like frown ! 
 
 Vet even to scenes like these, the SABBATH brings 
 
 Alleviation of the enormous woe : — 
 
 The oft-reiterated stroke is still ; 
 
 The clotted scourge hangs hardening in the shrouds. 
 
 But see, the demon man, whose trade is blood, 
 
 With dauntless front, convene his ruffian crew. 
 
 To hear the sacred service read. Accursed, 
 
 The wretch's bile-tinged lips profane the word 
 
 Of God : Accursed, he ventures to pronounce 
 
 The decalogue, nor faulters at that law, 
 
 Wherein 'tis written, "Thou shalt do no murder;" 
 
 Perhaps, while yet the words are on his lips. 
 
 He hears a dying mother's parting groan ; 
 
 He hears her orphan'd child, with lisping plaint. 
 
 Attempt to rouse her from the sleep of death. 
 
 England! England! wash thy purpled hands 
 Of this foul sin, and never dip them more 
 In guilt so damnable ! then lift them up 
 In supplication to that God, whose name 
 Is mercy; then thou may'st, without the risk 
 ( If drawing vengeance from the surcharged clouds. 
 Implore protection to thy menace;! shores ; 
 Then, God will blast the tyrant's arm that grasps 
 The thunderbolt of ruin o'er thy head ; 
 Then, will he turn the wolvish race to pre}' 
 Upon each othei ; then, will he arrest
 
 THE s \r.]'.ATH. II 
 
 The lava torrent, causing it regorge 
 Back to its source with fiery desolation. 
 
 Of all the murderous trades by mortals plied, 
 'Tis war alone that never violates 
 The hallowed day by simulate respect, — 
 By hypocritic rest : No, no, the work proceeds. 
 From sacred pinnacles are hung the flags, 1 
 That give the sign to slip the leash from slaughter. 
 The hells, whose knoll a holy calmness poured 
 Into the good man's breast, — whose sound solaced 
 The sick, the poor, the old — perversion dire — 
 Pealing with sulphurous tongue, speak death-fraught words: 
 From morn to eve Destruction revels frenzied, 
 Till at the hour when peaceful vesper-chimes 
 Were wont to soothe the ear, the trumpet sounds 
 Pursuit and flight altera ; and for the song 
 Of larks, descending to their grass-bowered homes, 
 The croak of flesh-gorged ravens, as they slake 
 Their thirst in hoof-prints filled with gore, disturbs 
 The stupor of the dying man : while Death 
 Triumphantly sails down the ensanguined stream, 
 On corses throned, and crowned with shivered boughs. 
 That erst hung imaged in the crystal tide. 2 
 
 And what the harvest of these bloody fields? 
 A double weight of fetters to the slave, 
 
 'Church steeples are frequently used as signal-posts. 
 
 2 Ati.]' a heavy cannonade, the shivered branchi a of trees, ami tin o>r|ises of 
 (In' killed, arc seen floating together down the rivers.
 
 42 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 
 And chains cm arms that wielded Freedom's sword. 
 Spirit of Tell! and art thou doomed to see 
 Thy mountains, that confessed no other chains 
 
 Than what the wintry elements had forged, — 
 Thy vales, where Freedom, and her stern compeer, 
 Proud virtuous Poverty, their noble state 
 Maintained, amid surrounding threats of wealth, 
 
 Of superstition and tyrannic sway- 
 
 Spirit of Tell! and art thou doomed to see 
 That land subdued by Slavery's basest slaves; 
 By men. whose lips pronounce the sacred name 
 Of Liberty, then kiss the despot's foot? 
 Helvetia! hadst thou to thyself been true. 
 Thy dying sons had triumphed as they fell : 
 Put 'twas a glorious effort, though in vain. 
 Aloft thy Genius, 'mid the sweeping clouds,
 
 The flag offreedom spread; bright in the storm 
 
 The streaming meteor waved, and far it gleamed; 
 
 But. ah ! 'twas transient as the Iris' arch, 
 
 Glanced from Leviathan's ascending shower, 
 
 When mid the mountain waves heaving his head. 
 
 Already had the friendly-seeming foe 
 
 Possess, I the snow-piled ramparts of the land; 
 
 Down like an avalanche they rolled, they crushed 
 
 The temple, palace, cottage, every work 
 
 < >f art and nature, in one common ruin. 
 
 The dreadful crush is o'er, and peace ensues, — 
 
 The peace of desolation, gloomy, still : 
 
 Each day is hushed as Sabbath; but, alas! 
 
 No Sabbath- service glads the seventh day ! 
 
 Xo more the happy villagers are seen, 
 
 Winding adown the rock-hewn paths, that won! 
 
 To lead their footsteps to the house of prayer; 
 
 But, far apart, assembled in the depth 
 
 Of solitudes, perhaps a little group 
 
 Of aged men, and orphan boys, and maids 
 
 Bereft, lisi to the breathings of the holy man. 
 
 Who spurns an oath of fealty to the power 
 
 Of rulers chosen by a tyrant's nod. 
 
 No more, as dies the rustling of the breeze 
 
 Is hoard the distant vesper hymn ; no more 
 
 Ai gloamin hour, the plaintive strain, that links 
 
 His country to the Switzer's heart, delights 
 
 The Loosening team; or if some shepherd boy 
 
 Attempt the strain, Ins voice soon faltering stops; 
 
 I [e feels his country now a foreign laud.
 
 0, Scotland! canst thou for a moment brook 
 The mere imagination, that a fate 
 Like this should e'er be thine ! that o'er those hills, 
 And dear-bought vales, whence Wallace, Douglas, 
 
 Bruce, 
 Repelled proud Edward's multitudinous hordes, 
 A Gallic foe, that abject race, should rule! 
 No, no! let never hostile standard touch 
 Thy shore : rush, rush into the dashing brine, 
 And crest each wave with steel; and should the stamp 
 Of Slavery's footstep violate the strand, 
 Let not the tardy tide efface the mark ; 
 Sweep off the stigma with a sea of blood ! 
 
 Thrice happy he who, far in Scottish glen 
 Retired (yet ready at his country's call,) 
 lias left the restless emmet-hill of man ! 
 He never longs to read the saddening tale 
 Of endless wars; and seldom does he hear 
 The tale of woe ; and ere it reaches him, 
 Rumour, so loud when new, has died away 
 Into a whisper, on the memory borne 
 Of casual traveller; — As on the deep, 
 Far from the sight of land, when all around 
 Is waveless calm, the sudden tremulous swell. 
 That gently heaves the ship, tells, as it rolls, 
 Of earthquakes dread, and cities overthrown, 
 
 0, Scotland! much I love thy tranquil dales; 
 But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 i:» 
 
 Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight. 
 Wandering - , and stopping oft, to hear the song 
 Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs; 
 Or, when the simple service ends, to hear 
 The lifted latch, and mark the grey-haired man. 
 
 The father and the priest, walk forth alone 
 Into his garden-plat, or little Held, 
 To commune with his God in secret prayer, — 
 To bless the Lord, that in his downward years 
 His children are aboul him : Sweet, meantime, 
 The thrush, that sings upon the aged thorn, 
 Brings to his view Lhe days of youthful years. 
 When that same aged thorn was bul a hush. 
 Nor is the contrast between youth and age 
 To him a painful thoughl ; be joys to think 
 His journey near a close, — heaven is his home.
 
 46 THE SABBATH. 
 
 More happy far that man, though bowed clown, 
 Though feel ile be his gait, and dim his eye, 
 Than they, the favourites of youth and health, 
 Of riches, and of fame, who have renounced 
 The glorious promise of the life to come, — 
 ( Hinging to death. 
 
 Or mark that female face, 
 The faded picture of its former self, — 
 The garments coarse, but clean ; — frequent at church 
 I've noted such a one, feeble and pale, 
 Yet standing, with a look of mild content, 
 Till beckoned by some kindly hand to sit. 
 She has seen better days; there was a time, 
 Her hands could earn her bread, and freely give 
 To those who were in want ; but now old age, 
 And lingering disease, have made her helpless. 
 Vet is she happy, aye, and she is wise, 
 (Philosophers may sneer, and pedants frown,) 
 Although her Bible is her only book ; 
 And she is rich, although her only wealth 
 Is recollection of a well-spent life — 
 Is expectation of the life to come. 
 Examine here, explore the narrow path 
 In which she walks; look not for virtuous deeds 
 In history's arena, where the prize 
 Of fame, or power, prompts to heroic acts. 
 Peruse the lives themselves of men obscure : — 
 There charity, that robs itself to give ; 
 There fortitude in sickness, nursed by want ; 
 There courage, that expects no tongue to praise ;
 
 There virtue lurks, like purest gold deep hid, 
 
 With no alloy of selfish motive mixed. 
 
 The poor man's boon, thai stints him of his bread, 
 
 Is prized more highly in the sight of Him, 
 
 W'Iki sees the heart, than golden gifts from hands 
 
 That scarce can know their countless treasures less :' 
 
 Yea, the deep sigh thai heaves the poor man's breasl 
 
 To see distress, and feel his willing arm 
 
 Palsied by penury, ascends to heaven ; 
 
 While ponderous bequests of lands and goods 
 
 Ne'er rise above their earthly origin. 
 
 And should all bounty that is clothed with power, 
 Be deemed unworthy? — Far be such a thought ! 
 Even when the rich bestow, there arc sure tests 
 Of genuine charity: Yes, yes, lei wealth 
 Give other alms than silver or than gold, — 
 Time, trouble, toil, attendance, watchfulness, 
 Exposure to disease; — yes, let the rich 
 Be often seen beneath the sick man's roof; 
 Or cheering, with inquiries from the heart. 
 And hopes of health, the melancholy range 
 < >f couches in the public wards of woe : 
 There lei them often Mess the sick man's bed, 
 
 1 "And Jesus sal over against the treasury, and beheld how the people 
 money into the treasury; and many thai were rich cast in mucb. Ami there 
 i ame a certain poor widow, ami Bhe threw in two mites, which make a Farthing, 
 Ami lie called unto him liis disciples, ami saith unto ill' ui Verilj I say unto 
 
 you, thai this | r widow liath casl more in. than all they which have casl into 
 
 ill' treasurj . Foi all the} 'li-l < asl in o hut she of her want 
 
 i in ! H thai Bhe had, evi u all her 1 \l ii&x \ii. II M
 
 With kind assurances that all is well 
 
 At home; that plenty smiles upon the board, — 
 
 The while the hand, that earned the frugal meal. 
 
 Can hardly raise itself in sign of thanks. 
 
 Above all duties, let the rich man search 
 
 Into the cause he knoweth not, nor spurn 
 
 The suppliant wretch as guilty of a crime. 
 
 Ye blessed with wealth I (another name for power 
 Of doing good) would ye but devote 
 A little portion of each seventh day. 
 To acts of justice to your fellow men ! 
 The house of mourning silently invites : 
 Shun not the crowded alley ; prompt descend 
 Into the half-sunk cell, darksome and damp; 
 Nor seem impatient to begone : Impure, 
 Console, instruct, encourage, soothe, assisl : 
 Read, pray, and sing a new song to the Lord ; 
 Make tears of joy down grief- worn furrows flow. 
 
 Health ! thou sun of life, without whose beam 
 The fairest scenes of nature seem involved 
 In darkness, shine upon my dreary path 
 Once more ; or, with thy faintest dawn, give hope, 
 That I may yet enjoy thy vital ray! 
 Though transient be the hope, 'twill be most sweet, 
 Like midnight music, stealing on the ear, 
 Then gliding past, and dying slow away. 
 Music ! thou soothing power, thy charm is proved 
 Most vividly when clouds o'ercast the soul ; —
 
 THE SABBATH. 40 
 
 So light its loveliest effect displays 
 
 In lowering skies, when through the murky rack 
 
 A slanting sun-beam shoots, and instant limns 
 
 The etherial curve of seven harmonious dyes, 
 
 Eliciting a splendour from the gloom : 
 
 Music ! still vouchsafe to tranquillize 
 
 This breast perturbed ; thy voice, though mournful, 
 
 soothes ; 
 And mournful ay are thy most beauteous lays, 
 Like fall of blossoms from the orchard boughs, — 
 The autumn of the spring. Enchanting power! 
 Who, by thy airy spell, canst whirl the mind 
 Far from the busy haunts of men to vales 
 Where Tweed or Yarrow flows ; or, spurning time, 
 Recal red Flodden field ; or suddenly 
 Transport, with altered strain, the deafened ear 
 To Linden's plain ! — But what the pastoral lay, 
 The melting dirge, the battle's trumpet-peal. 
 Compared to notes with sacred numbers linked 
 In union, solemn, grand ! then the spirit, 
 Upborne on pinions of celestial sound, 
 Soars to the throne of God, and ravished hears 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand voices rise 
 In hallelujas, — voices, thai erewhile 
 Were feebly tuned perhaps to low-breathed hymns 
 Of solace in the char I the poor, — 
 
 The Sabbath worship of the friendless sick. 
 
 Blest be the female votaries, whose days 
 No Sabbath of their pious labours prove, 
 
 ii
 
 50 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Whose lives are consecrated to the toil 
 
 Of ministering around the uncurtained couch 
 
 Of pain and poverty ! Blest be the hands, 
 
 The lovely hands, (for beauty, youth, and grace, 
 
 Are oft concealed by Pity's closest veil,) 
 
 That mix the cup medicinal, that bind 
 
 The wounds, which ruthless warfare and disease 
 
 Have to the loathsome lazar-house consigned. 
 
 Fierce Superstition of the mitred king! 
 Almost I could forget thy torch and stake, 
 When I this blessed sisterhood survey, — 
 Compassion's priestesses, disciples true 
 Of Him, whose touch was health, whose single word 
 Electrified with life the palsied arm, — 
 Of him who said, "Take up thy bed, and walk," — 
 Of him, who cried to Lazarus, " Come forth.'' 
 
 And he who cried to Lazarus, "Come forth," 
 Will, when the Sabbath of the tomb is past. 
 Call forth the dead, and re-unite the dust 
 (Transformed and purified) to angel souls. 
 Ecstatic hope ! belief! conviction firm ! 
 How grateful 'tis to recollect the time 
 When hope arose to faith ! Faintly, at first, 
 The heavenly voice is heard : Then, by degrees, 
 Its music sounds perpetual in the heart. 
 Thus he, who all the gloomy winter long 
 Has dwelt in city-crowds, wandering afield 
 Betimes on Sabbath morn, ere yet the spring
 
 Unfold the daisy's bud, delighted hears 
 The first lark's note, faint yet, and short the son< 
 Cheeked by the chill ungenial northern breeze ; 
 But, as the sun ascends, another springs, 
 And still another soars on loftier wing, 
 Till all o'erhead, the joyous choir, unseen, 
 Poised welkin high, harmonious fills the air, 
 As if it were a link 'tween earth and heaven.
 
 SABBATH WALKS.
 
 
 A SPRING SABBATH WALK. 
 
 Most earnest was his voice! most mild bis look, 
 As with raised hands he blessed his parting Hock. 
 He is a faithful pastor of the poor; — 
 lie thinks not of himself; his Master's words, 
 "Feed, feed my sheep," 1 are ever at his heart, 
 The cross of Christ is aye before his eyes. 
 
 1 " So. when they had 'lined. Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon son of Jonas, 
 lovesi tli- 'ii mi' more than these? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord : thou knowesl 
 
 that 1 love thee. He saitl to him, Feed mj Iamhs. lie saith t" him again 
 
 the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He sat t li unto him, Yea, 
 Lord : tli. hi knowesl thai I love thee. Ho saith unto him, Feed my Bheep. He 
 saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was 
 erieved because he said unto him the third time. Lovest thou me? And he 
 said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things ; thou knowest thai I love thee. 
 Jesus saith unto him, Feed my Bheep."— John xxi. 15-17.
 
 56 SABBATH WALKS. 
 
 0, how I love, with melted soul, to leave 
 
 The house of prayer, and wander in the fields 
 
 Alone ! What though the opening- spring he chill ! 
 
 Although the lark, checked in his airy path, 
 
 Eke out his song, perched on the fallow clod, 
 
 That still o'ertops the blade ! Although no branch 
 
 Have spread its foliage, save the willow wand, 
 
 That dips its pale leaves in the swollen stream ! 
 
 What though the clouds oft lower ! Their threats hut end 
 
 In sunny showers, that scarcely fill the folds 
 
 Of moss-couched violet, or interrupt 
 
 The merle's dulcet pipe, — melodious bird! 
 
 He, hid behind the milk-white sloe-thorn spray, 
 
 (Whose early flowers anticipate the leaf,) 
 
 Welcomes the time of buds, the infant year. 
 
 Sweet is the sunny nook, to which my steps 
 Have brought me, hardly conscious Avhere I roamed. 
 Unheeding where, — so lovely all around, 
 The works of Goo, arrayed in vernal smile ! 
 
 Oft at this season, musing, I prolong 
 My devious range, till, sunk from view, the sun 
 Emblaze, with upward-slanting ray, the breast, 
 And wing unquivering of the wheeling lark, 
 Descending, vocal, from her latest flight, 
 While, disregarded of yon lonely star, — 
 The harbinger of chill night's glittering host, — 
 Sweet Redbreast, Scotia's Philomela, chaunts, 
 Tn desultory strains, his evening hymn.
 
 SABBATH WALKS. 
 
 57 
 
 - 
 
 A SUMMER SABBATH WALK. 
 
 Delightful is this loneliness; il calms 
 My heart : pleasant the cool beneath these elms, 
 Thai throw across the Btream a moveless shade. 
 Eere nature in ber midnoon whisper >]ie.iks:
 
 58 SABBATH WALKS. 
 
 How peaceful every sound! — the ring-dove's plaint, 
 
 Moaned from the twilight centre of the grove, 
 
 While every other woodland lay is mute, 
 
 Save when the wren Hits from her down-ooved nest, 
 
 And from the root-sprigs trills her ditty clear, — 
 
 The grasshopper's oft-pausing chirp, — the buzz, 
 
 Angrily shrill, of moss-entangled bee, 
 
 That, soon as loosed, booms with full twang away, — 
 
 The sudden rushing of the minnow shoal, 
 
 Scared from the shallows by my passing tread. 
 
 Dimpling the water glides, with here and there 
 
 A glossy fly, skimming in circlets gay 
 
 The treacherous surface, while the quick-eyed trout 
 
 Watches his time to spring ; or, from above, 
 
 Some feathered dam, purveying 'mong the boughs, 
 
 Darts from her perch, and to her plumeless brood 
 
 Bears off the prize : — Sad emblem of man's lot ! 
 
 He, giddy insect, from his native leaf, 
 
 (Where safe and happily he might have lurked) 
 
 Elate upon ambition's gaudy wings, 
 
 Forgetful of his origin, and, worse, 
 
 Unthinking of his end, flies to the stream ; 
 
 And if from hostile vigilance he 'scape, 
 
 Buoyant he flutters but a little while, 
 
 Mistakes the inverted imae'e of the skv 
 
 For heaven itself, and, sinking, meets his fate. 
 
 Now, let me trace the stream up to its source 
 Among the hills ; its runnel by degrees 
 Diminishing, the murmur turns a tinkle.
 
 SABBATH WALKS. 59 
 
 I loser and closer still the banks approach, 
 
 Tangled so thick with pleaching bramble-shoots, 
 
 With brier, and hazel branch, and hawthorn spray. 
 
 That, fain to quit the dingle, glad I mount 
 
 Into the open air: Grateful the breeze 
 
 That fans my throbbing temples! smiles the plain 
 
 Spread wide below: how sweet the placid view! 
 
 But, ! more sweet the thought, heart-soothing thought, 
 
 That thousands, and ten thousands of the sous 
 
 I H' toil, partake this day the common joy 
 
 ( >f rest, of peace, of viewing hill and dale, 
 
 ( >f breathing in the silence of the woods. 
 
 And Messing Him, who gave the Sabbath day. 
 
 Yes, my heart flutters with a freer throb, 
 
 To think that now the townsman wanders forth 
 
 Among the fields and meadows, to enjoy 
 
 The coolness of the day's decline; to see 
 
 His children sport around, and simply pull 
 
 The flower and weed promiscuous, as a boon, 
 
 Which proudly in his In-east they smiling iix. 
 
 Again I turn me to the hill, and trace 
 The wizard stream, now scarce to be discerned : 
 Woodless ils hanks, but green with ferny leaves, 
 And thinly strewed with heath hells up and down. 
 
 Now, when the downward sun has left the glens, 
 Each mountain's rugged lineaments are traced 
 Upon the adverse slope, where stalks gigantic 
 The shepherd's shadow tin-own athwart the ehasin. 
 As on the topmosl ridge he homeward hies.
 
 60 
 
 SABBATH WALKS. 
 
 How deep the hush ! the torrent's channel, dry, 
 Presents a stony steep, the echo's haunt. 
 But hark, a plaintive sound floating along- ! 
 'Tis from yon heath-roofed shielin ; now it dies 
 Away, now rises full ; it is the song 
 Which He, — who listens to the hallelujahs 
 Of choiring Seraphim — delights to hear; 
 It is the music of the heart, the voice 
 Of venerable age, — of guileless youth, 
 Tn kindly circle seated on the ground 
 Before their wicker door : Behold the man ! 
 The grandsire and the saint ; his silvery locks 
 Beam in the parting ray ; before him lies, 
 Upon the smooth-cropt sward, the open hook, 
 His comfort, stay, and ever new-delight; 
 While, heedless, at a side, the lisping hoy 
 Fondles the lamb that nightly shares his couch.
 
 SAP.BATII WALKS. 
 
 CI 
 
 . 
 
 - -1%.: 
 
 ■' ;:/ " .^jP^g - 
 
 . AN AUTUMN SABBATH WALK. 
 
 When homeward bands their several ways disperse, 
 
 I love to linger in the narrow field 
 
 Of rest, to wander round from tomb to tomb, 
 
 And think of smiie who silent sleep below. 
 
 Sad sighs the wind, thai from these ancient elms 
 
 Shakes showers of leaves upon the withered grass: 
 
 The sere and yellow wreaths, with eddying sweep. 
 
 Fill up the furrows 'tween the hillocked graves. 
 
 Bui lisi thai moan! lis the poor blind man's dog, 
 
 His guide for many a day, now come to mourn
 
 02 SABBATH WALKS. 
 
 The master and the friend — conjunction rare ! 
 
 A man, indeed, he was of gentle soul, 
 
 Though bred to brave the deep : the lightning's flash 
 
 Had dimmed, not closed, his mild, but sightless eyes. 
 
 He was a welcome guest through all his range ; 
 
 (It was not wide :) no dog would hay at him : 
 
 Children would run to meet him on his way. 
 
 And lead him to a sunny seat, and climb 
 
 His knee, and wonder at his oft-told tales. 
 
 Then would he teach the elfins how to plait 
 
 The rushy cap and crown, or sedgy ship : 
 
 And I have seen him lay his tremulous hand 
 
 Upon their heads, while silent moved his lips. 
 
 Peace to thy spirit ! that now looks on me, 
 
 Perhaps with greater pity than I felt 
 
 To see thee wandering darkling on thy way. 
 
 But let me quit this melancholy spot, 
 And roam where nature gives a parting smile. 
 As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod 
 That copes the sheepfold ring; and in the woods 
 A second blow of many flowers appears, 
 Flowers faintly tinged, and breathing no perfume. 
 Put fruits, not blossoms, form the woodland wreath. 
 That circles Autumn's brow : The ruddy haws 
 Now clothe the half-leaved thorn; the bramble bends 
 Beneath its jetty load ; the hazel hangs 
 With auburn bunches, dipping in the stream 
 That sweeps along, and threatens to o'erflow 
 The leaf-strewn banks: Oft, statue-like, I gaze,
 
 In vacancy of thought, upon that stream. 
 And chace, with dreaming eye. the eddying foam, 
 Or rowan's clustered branch, or harvest sheaf, 
 Borne rapidly adown the dizzying flood. 
 
 
 A WINTEE SABBATH WALK. 
 
 |[o\v dazzling white the snowy scene! deep, deep 
 
 The stillness of the winter Sabbath day, — 
 
 Not even a foot-fall beard. Smooth are the fields, 
 
 Each hollow pathway level with the plain : 
 Hid are the bushes, save that here and there 
 Are seen th< topmost shoots of brier or broom. 
 High-ridged, the whirled drift has almost reached 
 The powdered key-stone of the church-yard porch. 
 .Mule bangs the booded-bell; the tombs lie buried; 
 No step approaches to the house of prayer.
 
 64 SABBATH WALKS. 
 
 The flickering- fall is o'er : the clouds disperse, 
 And shew the sun, hung o'er the welkin's verge, 
 Shooting a bright but ineffectual beam 
 On all the sparkling waste. Now is the time 
 To visit nature in her grand attire ; 
 Though perilous the mountainous ascent, 
 A noble recompense the danger brings. 
 How beautiful the plain stretched far below ! 
 Unvaried though it be, save by yon stream 
 With azure windings, or the leafless wood. 
 But what the beauty of the plain, compared 
 To that sublimity which reigns enthroned, 
 Holding joint rule with solitude divine, 
 Among yon rocky fells, that bid defiance 
 To steps the most adventurously bold ! 
 There silence dwells profound ; or if the cry 
 Of high-poised eagle break at times the hush, 
 The mantled echoes no response return . 
 
 But let me now explore the deep sunk dell. 
 No foot-print, save the covey's or the flock's, 
 Is seen along the rill, where marshy springs 
 Still rear the grassy blade of vivid green. 
 Beware, ye shepherds, of these treacherous hattnts, 
 Nor linger there too long : the wintry day 
 Soon closes; and full oft a heavier fall, 
 Heaped by the blast, fills up the sheltered glen, 
 While, gurgling deep below, the buried rill 
 Mines for itself a snow-coved way. 0, then, 
 Your helpless charge drive from the tempting spot,
 
 SABBATH WALKS. 
 
 65 
 
 And keep them on the bleak hill's stormy side. 
 Where night winds sweep the gathering drift away:— 
 — So the greal Shepherd leads the heavenly flock 
 From faithless pleasures, full into the storms 
 Of life, where long they hear the bitter blast, 
 Until at length the venial sun looks forth, 
 Bedimmed with showers: Then to the pastures green 
 He brings them, where the quiet waters glide. 
 The streams of life, the Siloah of the soul. 

 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES.
 
 THE FIRST SABBATH. 
 
 Six days tin- heavenly host, in circle vast, 
 Like thai untouching cincture which enzones 
 The globe of Saturn, compassed wide this orb, 
 And w ill) the forming mass floated along, 
 
 K !
 
 70 BIBLICAL PICTUBKS. 
 
 In vapid course, through yet untravelled space, 
 
 Beholding- God's stupendous power, — a world 
 
 Bursting from Chaos at the omnilic will, 
 
 And perfect ere the sixth day's evening star 
 
 On Paradise arose. Blessed that eve ! 
 
 The Sahbath's harbinger, when, all complete, 
 
 In freshest beauty from Jehovah's hand. 
 
 Creation bloomed; when Eden's twilight face 
 
 Smiled like a sleeping babe : The voice divine 
 
 A holy calm breathed o'er the goodly work : 
 
 Mildly the sun, upon the loftiest trees, 
 
 Shed mellowly a sloping beam. Peace reigned. 
 
 And love, and gratitude : The human pair 
 
 Their orisons poured forth: love, concord, reigned : 
 
 The falcon, perched upon the blooming bough 
 
 With Philomela, listened to her lay ; 
 
 Among the antlered herd the tiger couched, 
 
 Harmless; the lion's main no terror spread 
 
 Among the careless ruminating flock. 
 
 Silence was o'er the deep ; the noiseless surge, 
 
 The last subsiding wave, — of that dread tumult 
 
 Which raged, when Ocean, a.t the mute command. 
 
 Bushed furiously into his new-cleft bed, — 
 
 Was gently rippling on the pebbled shore ; 
 
 While, on the swell, the sea-bird, with her head 
 
 Wing-veiled, slept tranquilly. The host of heaven, 
 
 Entranced in new delight, speechless adored; 
 
 Nor stopped their fleet career, nor changed their form 
 
 Encircular, till on that hemisphere, — 
 
 In which the blissful garden sweet exhaled
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 71 
 
 Its incense, odorous clouds, — the Sabbath dawn 
 
 Arose ; then wide the flying circle oped, 
 
 And soared, in semblance of a mighty rainbow: 
 
 Silent ascend the choirs of Seraphim; 
 
 No harp resounds, mute is each voice; the burs! 
 
 Of joy, and praise, reluctant they repress, — 
 
 For love and concord all things so attuned 
 
 To harmony, that Earth must have received 
 
 The grand vibration, and to the centre shook : 
 
 Bui soon as to the starry altitudes 
 
 They reached, then what a storm of sound, tremendous, 
 
 Swelled through the realms of space ! The morning stars 
 
 Together sang, and all the sons of God 
 
 Shouted for joy ! Loud was the peal ; so loud, 
 
 As would have quite o'erwhelmed the human sense ; 
 
 But to the Earth it came a gentle strain, 
 
 Like softest fall breathed from /Eolian lute, 
 
 When 'mid the chords the evening gale expires. 
 
 Day of the Lord ! creation's hallowed close ! 
 
 Day of the Lord! (prophetical they sang) 
 
 Benignant mitigation of that doom, 
 
 Which must, ere long, consign the fallen race. 
 
 Dwellers in yonder star, to toil and woe! 
 
 THE FINDING OF MOSES. 
 
 Slow glides the Nile: amid the margin Hags, 
 ( !losed in a Lulrush ark, tin- babe is left, 
 I .fit by a mother's hand. His sisler waits 
 far off; and pale, 'tween hope and fear, beholds
 
 72 BIBLICAL PICTUEES. 
 
 The royal maid, surrounded l>y her train, 
 Approach the river bank ; approach the spot 
 Where sleeps the innocent : She sees them stoop 
 With meeting plumes; the rushy lid is oped. 
 And wakes the infant, smiling in his tears, — 
 As when along a little mountain lake, 
 The summer south-wind breathes with gentle sigh, 
 And parts the reeds, unveiling, as they bend, 
 A water-lily floating on the wave. 
 
 JACOB AND PHAKAOH. 
 
 Pharaoh, upon a gorgeous throne of state 
 
 Was seated : while around him stood submiss 
 
 His servants, watchful of bis lofty looks. 
 
 The Patriarch enters, leaning on the arm 
 
 Of Benjamin. Unmoved by all the glare 
 
 Of royalty, he scarcely throws a glance 
 
 Upon tin- pageant show; for from his youth 
 
 A shepherd's life he led, and viewed each night 
 
 The starry host; and still where'er he went 
 
 He felt himself in presence of the Lord. 
 
 His eye is bent on Joseph, him pursues. 
 
 Sudden the king descends ; and, 1 lending, kneels 
 
 Before the aged man, and supplicates 
 
 A 1 tlessing from his lips : the aged man 
 
 Lays on the ground his staff, and, stretching forth 
 
 His tremulous hand o'er Pharaoh's uncrowned head, 
 
 Trays that the Lord would bless him and his land.
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 73 
 
 JEPHTHA'S VOW. 
 
 Prom Conquest Jepiitiia came, with faltering step, 
 And troubled eye : His home appears in view ; 
 He trembles at the sight. Sad he forebodes, — 
 His vow will meet a victim in his child : 
 For well he knows, that, from her earliest years. 
 She still was first to meet his homeward steps : 
 Well he remembers, how, with tottering gait, 
 She ran, and clasped his knees, and lisped, and looked 
 Her joy ; and how, when garlanding with flowers 
 His helm, fearful, her infant hand would shrink 
 Back from the lion couched heneath the crest. 
 What sound is that, which, from the palm-tree grove, 
 Floats now with coral swell, now fainter falls 
 Upon the ear? It is, it is the song- 
 He loved to hear, — a soul;' of thanks and praise. 
 Sung by the patriarch for liis ransomed sou. 
 Hope from the omen springs : 0, Messed hope ! 
 It may not he her voice! — Fain would he think 
 'Twas not his daughter's voice, that still approached, 
 Blent with the timbrel's note. Forth from the grove 
 She foremost glides of all the minstrel band : 
 Moveless he stands; then grasps his hilt, still led 
 Witli hostile gore, but, shuddering, <piits the hold ; 
 And clasps, in agony, his hands, and cries, 
 ui Alas, n i y daughter! thou hast brought nie low." — 
 The timbrel at her rooted feel resounds.
 
 74 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
 SAUL AND DAVID. 
 
 Deep was the furrow in the royal brow, 
 
 When David's hand, lightly as vernal gales 
 
 Rippling the brook of Kedron, skimmed the lyre : 
 
 He sung of Jacob's youngest horn, — the child 
 
 Of his old age, — sold to the Ishmaelite ; 
 
 His exaltation to the second power 
 
 In Pharaoh's realm ; his brethren thither sent; 
 
 Suppliant they stood before his face, well-known, 
 
 Unknowing, — till Joseph fell upon the neck 
 
 Of Benjamin, his mother's son, and wept. 
 
 Unconsciously the warlike shepherd paused ; 
 
 But when he saw, down the yet quivering string, 
 
 The tear-drop trembling glide, abashed, he checked, 
 
 Indignant at himself, the bursting flood, 
 
 And, with a sweep impetuous, struck the chords : 
 
 From side to side his hands transversely glance, 
 
 Like lightning thwart a stormy sea ; his voice 
 
 Arises 'mid the clang, and straightway calms 
 
 The harmonious tempest, to a solemn swell 
 
 Majestical, triumphant ; for he sings 
 
 Of Arad's mighty host by Israel's arm 
 
 Subdued; of Israel through the desert led, 
 
 He sings ; of him who was their leader, called. 
 
 By God himself, from keeping Jethro's Hock, 
 
 To be a ruler o'er the chosen race. 
 
 Kindles the eye of Saul ; his arm is poised ; — 
 
 Harmless the javelin quivers in the wall.
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 75 
 
 ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS. 
 
 Sore was the famine throughout all the hounds 
 
 Of Israel, when Elijah, by command 
 
 Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook. 
 
 No rain-drops fall, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn. 
 
 Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale ; 
 
 The withering heritage dies ; among the palms, 
 
 The shrivelled leaves send to the summer gale 
 
 An Autumn rustle ; no sweet songster's lay 
 
 Is warbled from the branches ; scarce is heard 
 
 The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around, 
 
 And trusts in Goo, and lays his silvered head 
 
 Upon the flowerless bank ; serene he sleeps, 
 
 Nor wakes till dawning : Then, with hands enclasped, 
 
 And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays 
 
 To him who manna on the desert showered, 
 
 To him who from the rock made fountains gush : 
 
 Entranced the man of (lod remains; till roused 
 
 By sound of wheeling wings with grateful heart, 
 
 He sees the ravens fearless by his side 
 
 Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF JESUS ANNOUNCED. 
 
 DEEP was the midnighl silence ill the fields 
 
 Of Bethlehem ; hushed the folds; save that, at limes 
 
 Was heard the lamb's lain! Meat : the shepherds, stretched
 
 76 
 
 BIBLICAL PICTUBES. 
 
 On the green sward, surveyed the starry vault : 
 
 " The beavens declare the glory of the Lord, 
 
 The firmament shews forth thy handy work;'' 
 
 Thus they, their hearts attuned to the Most High ; — 
 
 When, suddenly, a splendid cloud appeared. 
 
 As if a portion of the milky way 
 
 Descended slowly in a spiral course. 
 
 Near, and more near it draws ; then, hovering, floats. 
 
 High as the soar of eagle, shedding bright, 
 
 Upon the folded flocks, a heavenly radiance, 
 
 From whence was uttered loud, yet sweet, a voice, — 
 
 k " Fear not, I bring good tidings of great joy ; 
 
 For unto you is born this day a Saviour ! 
 
 And this shall be a sign to you, — the babe, 
 
 Laid lowly in a manger, ye shall find." 
 
 The angel spake ; when, lo ! upon the cloud,
 
 A multitude of Seraphim, enthroned. 
 
 Sang praises, saying, — "Glory to the Lord 
 
 On high; on earth he peace, good will to men." 
 
 With sweet response harmoniously they choired. 
 
 And while, with heavenly harmony, the song 
 
 Arose to God, more bright the buoyani throne 
 
 Illumed the hind: The prowling lion stops, 
 
 Awe-struck, with mane tipreared, and flattened head; 
 
 And, without turning, backward on his steps 
 
 Recoils, aghast, into the desert gloom. 
 
 A trembling joy the astonished shepherds prove. 
 
 As heavenward re-ascends the vocal blaze 
 
 Triumphantly; while, by degrees, the strain 
 
 Mies on the ear, that self-deluded listens, — 
 
 As if a sound so sweet could never die. 
 
 BEHOLD MY MOTHER AND MY BRETHREN. 
 
 •• Who is my mother, or my brethren?" — 
 
 lie spake, and looked on them who sat around. 
 
 With a meek smile, of pity blenl with love, 
 
 .More melting than e'er gleamed from human face, — 
 
 As when a sunbeam, through a summer shower. 
 
 Shines mildly on a little bill-side flock : 
 
 And with thai look of love, he said, " Behold 
 
 My mother, and my brethren : for I say. 
 
 That whosoe'er shall do tin- will of God, 
 
 lb- is my brother, sister, mother, all.''
 
 »78 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
 BARTIMEUS RESTORED TO SIGHT. 
 
 Blind, poor, and helpless, Bartimeus sate, 
 
 Listening the foot of the wayfaring man. 
 
 Still hoping that the next, and still the next. 
 
 Would put an alms into his trembling hand. 
 
 He thinks he hears the coming breeze faint rustle 
 
 Among the sycamores; it is the tread 
 
 Of thousand steps ; it is the hum of tongues 
 
 Innumerable : But when the sightless man 
 
 Heard that the Nazarene was passing by, 
 
 He cried, and said, — "Jesus, thou son of David, 
 
 Have mercy upon me!" and, when rebuked. 
 
 He cried the more, "Have mercy upon me." — 
 
 " Thy faith hath made thee whole ;" so Jesus spake,- 
 
 And straight the blind beheld the face of God. 
 
 LITTLE CHILDREN BROUGHT TO JESUS. 
 
 '• Si ffiu; that little children come to me, 
 
 Forbid them not." Emboldened by his words, 
 
 The mothers onward press ; but, finding vain 
 
 The attempt to reach the Lord, they trust their hales 
 
 To strangers' hands : The innocents, alarmed 
 
 Amid the throng of faces all unknown, 
 
 Shrink, trembling, — till their wandering eyes discern 
 
 The countenance of Jesus, beaming love 
 
 And pity ; eager then they stretch their arms, 
 
 And, cowering, lay their heads upon his breast.
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
 79 
 
 ! 
 
 *v 
 
 
 JESUS CALMS THE TEMPEST. 
 
 The roaring tumult of the billowed sea 
 Awakes him not : high on the crested surge,
 
 80 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
 Now heaved, his locks flow streaming in the blast ; 
 
 And, now descending, 'tween the sheltering waves, 
 
 The falling tresses veil the face divine : 
 
 Meek through that veil a momentary gleam, 
 
 Benignant, shines; he dreams that he beholds 
 
 The opening eyes, — that long hopeless had rolled 
 
 In darkness, — look around bedim mod with tears 
 
 Of joy; but, suddenly, the voice of fear 
 
 Dispelled the happy vision : Awful he rose. 
 
 Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, 
 
 "Peace, be thou still !" and straight there was a calm. 
 
 With terror-mingled gladness in their looks, 
 
 The mariners exclaim, — " What man is this, 
 
 That even the wind and sea obey his voice ! " 
 
 JESUS WALKS ON THE SEA, AND 
 CALMS THE STORM. 
 
 Loud blew the storm of night ; the thwarting surge 
 Dashed, boiling on the labouring bark : Dismay, 
 From face to face reflected, spread around : — 
 When, lo ! upon a towering wave is seen 
 The semblance of a foamy wreath, upright, 
 Move onward to the ship : The helmsman starts. 
 And quits his hold ; the voyagers, appalled, 
 Shrink from the fancied Spirit of the Flood : 
 But when the voice of Jesus, with the storm 
 Soft mingled, " It is I, be not afraid," 
 Fear fled, and joy lightened from eye to eye.
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 81 
 
 Up he ascends, and, from the rolling side, 
 Surveys the tumult of the sea and sky 
 With transient look severe : The tempest, awed. 
 Sinks to a sudden calm ; the clouds disperse ; 
 The moon-heam trembles on the face divine, 
 Reflected mildly in the unruffled deep. 
 
 THE DUMB CURED. 
 
 If is eyes uplifted, and his hands close clasped. 
 The dumb man, with a supplicating look, 
 Turned, as the Lord passed by: Jesus beheld, 
 And on him Lent a pitying look, and spake : 
 His moving lips are by the suppliant seen, 
 And the last accents of the healing sentence 
 Ring in that ear which never heard before. 
 Prostrate the man restored falls to the earth, 
 And uses first the gift, the gift sublime, 
 Of speech, in giving thanks to him, whose voice 
 Was never uttered but in doing good. 
 
 THE DEATH OF JESUS. 
 
 'Tts finished : he spake the words, and bowed 
 His head, and died. — Beholding him far off, 
 They, who bad ministered unto bim, hope, — 
 'Tis his last agony : The Temple's vail 
 
 M
 
 82 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
 Is rent ; revealing the most holy place, 
 Wherein the cherubims their wings extend, 
 O'ershadowing the mercy-seat of God. 
 Appalled, the leaning soldier feels the spear 
 Shake in his grasp ; the planted standard falls 
 Upon the heaving ground : The snn is dimmed, 
 Ami darkness shrouds the body of the Lord. 
 
 THE RESURRECTION. 
 
 The setting orb of night her level ray 
 Shed o'er the land, and, on the dewy sward, 
 The lengthened shadows of the triple cross 
 Were laid far-stretched, — when in the east arose. 
 Last of the stars, day's harbinger : No sound 
 Was heard, save of the watching soldier's foot : 
 Within the rock-barred sepulchre, the gloom 
 Of deepest midnight brooded o'er the dead, 
 The holy one ; but, lo ! a radiance faint 
 Began to dawn around his sacred brow : 
 The linen vesture seemed a snowy wreath, 
 Drifted by storms into a mountain cave : 
 Bright, and more bright, the circling halo 
 
 beamed 
 Upon that face, clothed in a smile benign, 
 Though yet exanimate. Nor long the reign 
 ( )f death ; the eyes, that wept for human griefs, 
 Unclose, and look around with conscious joy : 
 Yes ; with returning life, the first emotion
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 83 
 
 That glowed in Jesus' breast of love, was joy 
 At man's redemption, now complete: at death 
 Disarmed ; the grave transformed into the couch 
 Of faith ; the resurrection and the life. 
 Majestical he rose ; trembled the earth ; 
 The ponderous gate of stone was rolled away ; 
 The keepers fell ; the angel, awe-struck, shrunk 
 Into invisibility, while forth 
 The Saviour of the World walked, and stood 
 Before the sepulchre, and viewed the clouds 
 Empurpled glorious by the rising sun. 
 
 JESUS APPEARS TO THE DISCIPLES. 
 
 The evening of that day, which saw the Lord 
 
 Rise from the chambers of the dead, was come. 
 
 His faithful followers, assembled, sang 
 
 A hymn, low-breathed ; a hymn of sorrow, blent 
 
 With hope; — when, in the midst, sudden he stood. 
 
 The awe-struck circle backward shrink; lie looks 
 
 Around with a benignant smile of love, 
 
 And says, "Peace be unto yon :" faith and joy 
 
 Spread o'er each face, amazed: — as when the moon. 
 
 Pavilioned in dark clouds, mildly comes forth, 
 
 Silvering a circlet in l lie fleecy rack.
 
 8-1 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 
 
 PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF 
 THE AREOPAGUS. 
 
 Listen, that voice ! upon the hill of Mars, 
 Rolling in holder thunders, than e'er pealed 
 From lips that shook the Macedonian throne ; 
 Behold his dauntless outstretched arm, his face 
 Illumed of heaven : — he knoweth not the fear 
 Of man, of principalities, of powers. 
 The Stoic's moveless frown ; the vacant stare 
 Of Epicurus' herd ; the scowl and gnash malign 
 Of Superstition, stopping hoth her ears ; 
 The Areopagite tribunal dread, 
 From whence the doom of Sockates was uttered ; — 
 This hostile throng dismays him not ; he seems, 
 As if no worldly object could inspire 
 A terror in his soul ; — as if the vision, 
 Which, when he journeyed to Damascus, shone 
 From heaven, still swam before his eyes, 
 Out-dazzling all things earthly; as if the voice, 
 That spake from out the effulgence, ever rang 
 Within his ear, inspiring him with words, 
 limning, majestic, lofty, as his theme, — 
 The resurrection, and the life to come.
 
 BIBLICAL PICTURES. 85 
 
 PAUL ACCUSED BEFOKE THE ROMAN 
 GOVERNOR OF JUDEA. 
 
 The Judge ascended to the judgment-seat. 
 
 Amid a gleam of spears the Apostle stood. 
 
 Dauntless, he forward came ; and looked around, 
 
 And raised his voice, at first, in accents low, 
 
 Yet clear ; a whisper spread among the throng : — 
 
 So when the thunder mutters, still the breeze 
 
 Is heard, at times, to sigh ; hut when the peal, 
 
 Tremendous, louder rolls, a silence dead 
 
 Succeeds each pause, — moveless the aspen leaf. 
 
 Thus fixed, and motionless, the listening band 
 
 Of soldiers forward leaned, as from the man, 
 
 Inspired of God, truth's awful thunders rolled. 
 
 No more he feels, upon his high raised arm, 
 
 The ponderous chain, than does the playful child 
 
 The bracelet, formed of many a flowery link. 
 
 Heedless of self, forgetful that his life 
 
 Is now to lie defended by his words, 
 
 He only thinks of doing good to them 
 
 Who seek his life; ami, while he reasons high 
 
 Of justice, temperance, and the life to come. 
 
 The Judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's voice.
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR.
 
 
 JANUARY, 
 
 Long ere the snow-veiled dawn, the bird <>!' morn 
 I lis wings quick chips, and sounds liis cheering call : 
 The cottage hinds the glimmering Lantern trim, 
 And t" the barn wade, sinking, in the drift ; 
 The alternate Ihiils bounce from the loosened sheaf. 
 Pleasanl these sounds! they sleep to slumber change; 
 Pleasanl to him, whom no laborious tusk 
 Whispers, arise! — whom neither love of gain, 
 Nor love of power, nor hopes, nor fears, disturb.
 
 90 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 Late daylight comes at last, and the strained eye 
 Shrinks from the dazzling brightness of the scene, — 
 One wide expanse of whiteness uniform. 
 As yet no wandering footstep has defaced 
 The spotless plain, save where some wounded hare, 
 Wrenched from the springe, has left a blood-stained track. 
 How smooth are all the tields ! sunk every fence; 
 The furrow, here and there, heaped to a ridge, 
 O'er which the sidelong plough-shaft scarcely peers. 
 
 Cold blows the north-wind o'er the dreary waste. — 
 () ye that shiver by your blazing tires, 
 Think of the inmates of yon hut, half sunk 
 Beneath the drift : from it no smoke ascends ; 
 The broken straw-tilled pane excludes the light, 
 But ill excludes the blast : The redbreast there 
 For shelter seeks, but short, ah! very short 
 His stay; no crumbs, strewn careless on the floor, 
 Attract his wistful glance ; — to warmer roofs 
 He flies ; a welcome, — soon a fearless guest, 
 He cheers the winter day with summer songs. 
 
 Short is the reign of day, tedious the night. 
 The city's distant lights arrest my view, 
 And magic fancy whirls me to the scene. 
 There vice and folly run their giddy rounds ; 
 There eager crowds are hurrying to the sight 
 Of feigned distress, yet have not time to hear 
 The shivering orphan's prayer. The flaring lamps 
 Of gilded chariots, like the meteor eyes
 
 THE l;l BAL CALENDAR. 91 
 
 Of mighty giants, famed in legends old, 
 [Hume the snowy streel : the silent wheels 
 On heedless passenger steal unperceived, 
 Bearing the splendid fair to flutter round 
 Amid the flowery labyrinths of the dance. 
 But, hark! the merry catch: good social souls 
 Sing on, and drown dull care in Lumpers deep; 
 The bell, snow-muffled, warns not of the hour; 
 For scarce the sentenced felon's watchful ear 
 Can catch the softened knell, by which he sums 
 The hours he has to live. Poor hopeless wretch ! 
 His thoughts are horror, and his dreams despair; 
 And ever as he, on his strawy couch, 
 Turns heavily, his chains and fetters, grating, 
 Awake the inmates of some neighbouring cell. 
 Who hlc^s their lot. that <l<ht is all their crime. 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 The treacherous fowler, in the drifted wreath, 
 The snare conceals, and strews the husky lure, 
 Tempting tin' famished fowls of heaven to light : 
 They lighl : the captive strives in vain to ily. 
 Scattering around, with fluttering wing, the snow 
 Amid the untrod snows, ofl let me roam 
 
 Far up the lonely glen, and mark its chan;j 
 The frozen rill's hoarse murmur scarce is heard ; 
 The rocky cleft, the fair) bourne smoothed up, 
 Repeal no more my solitary voice.
 
 92 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 Now to the icy plain the city swarms. 
 In giddy circles, whirling variously, 
 The skater fleetly thrids the mazy throng, 
 While smaller wights the sliding pastime ply. 
 Unhappy he, of poverty the child! 
 Who, barefoot, standing, eyes his merry mates, 
 And, shivering, weeps, not for the biting cold, 
 But that he cannot join their slippery sport. 
 
 Trust not incautiously the smooth expanse ; 
 For oft a treacherous thaw, ere yet perceived, 
 Saps by degrees the solid-seeming mass : 
 At last the long piled mountain snows dissolve, 
 Bursting the roaring river's brittle bonds; 
 The shattered fragments down the cataract shoot, 
 And, sinking in the boiling deep below, 
 At distance re-appear, then sweep along, 
 Marking their height upon the half-sunk trees. 
 
 No more the ploughman hurls the sounding quoit ; 
 The loosened glebe demands the rusted share, 
 And slow the toiling team plods o'er the field. 
 But oft, ere half the winding task be done. 
 Returning frost again usurps the year, 
 Fixing the ploughshare in the unfinished fur ; 
 And still, at times, the flaky shower descends. 
 Whitening the plain, save where the wheaten blade 
 Peering, uplifts its green and hardy head. 
 As if just springing from a soil of snow.
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 93 
 
 While yet the aighl is Long, and drear, and chill, 
 Soon as the slanting sun has sunk from view. 
 The sounding anvil cheerily invites 
 The weary bind to leave his twinkling fire, 
 And hash himself before the furnace glare; 
 Where, blest with unhought mirth, the rustic ring, 
 Their faces tinted by the yellow Maze, 
 Beguile the hours, nor envy rooms of slate 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 The ravaged fields, waste, colourless, and bleak, 
 Retreating Winter leaves, with angry frown, 
 And lingering on the distant snow-streaked hills, 
 Displays the motley remnants of his reign. 
 
 With shouldered spade, the labourer to the field 
 
 Hies, joyful that the sot'tein- 1 glebe gives leave 
 
 To toil ; no more his children cry for bread, 
 
 Or, shivering, crowd around the scant}' lire; 
 
 Nb more he's doomed, reluctant, to receive 
 
 The pittance, which the rich man proudly gives, 
 
 Who, when he gives, thinks heaven itself obliged. 
 
 Vain man! think not there's merit in the boon, 
 
 If, quitting not one comfort, not one joy, 
 
 The sparkling wine still circles round thy board, 
 
 Thy hearth still blazes, and the sounding strings, 
 
 Blenl with the voice symphonious, charm thine car.
 
 94 
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 The redbreast now, at morn, resumes his song, 
 And larks, high soaring, wing their spiral flight, 
 While the light-hearted ploughboy singing, blythe, 
 "The broom, the bonny broom of Cowdenknowes," 
 Fills with delight the wandering townsman's ear ; 
 May be, though carolled rude in artless guise, 
 Sad Floclden field, of Scotia's lays most sweet, 
 Most mournful, dims, with starting tear, his eye. 
 Nor silent are the upland leas ; cheerily 
 The partridge now her tuneless call repeats. 
 Or, bursting unexpected from the brake, 
 Startles the milkmaid singing o'er the ridge. 
 Nor silent are the chilly leafless woods ; 
 The thrush's note is heard amid the grove, 
 Soon as the primrose, from the withered leaves 
 Smiling, looks out : Rash floweret ! oft betrayed, 
 By summer-seeming days, to venture forth 
 Thy tender form, — the killing northern blast, 
 Will wrap thee lifeless in a hoar-frost shroud.
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 95 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 an; 1 1.. 
 
 I »; .-■ i. mi, sweel April, from yon watery bow, 
 
 Ami. liberal, strew the ground with budding flowers, 
 
 Willi leafless crocus, leaf-veiled violet, 
 
 Auricula, with powdered cup, primrose 
 
 Thai loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade. 
 
 Ai thy approach health re-illumes the eye: 
 
 Even pale Consumption, from thy balmy breath, 
 
 [nhales delusive hope; and, dreaming still
 
 Of length of days, basks in some sunny plat, 
 
 And decks her half-foreboding breast with flowers, — 
 
 Willi flowers, which else would have survived the hand 
 
 By which they're pulled. But they will bloom again : 
 
 The daisy, spreading on the greensward grave, 
 
 Fades, dies, and seems to perish, yet revives. 
 
 Shall man for ever sleep? Cruel the tongue, 
 
 That, with sophistic art, snatches from pain, 
 
 Disease, and grief, and want, that antidote, 
 
 Which makes the wretched smile, the hopeless hope. 
 
 Light now the western gale sweeps o'er the plain : 
 ( rently it waves the rivulet's cascade ; 
 Gently it parts the lock on beauty's brow. 
 And lifts the tresses from the snowy neck, 
 And bends the flowers, and makes the lily stoop, 
 As if to kiss its image in the wave ; 
 Or curls, with softesl breath, the glassy pool, 
 Aiding the treachery of the mimic fly; 
 While, warily, behind the half-leaved hush. 
 The angler screened, with keenest eye intent, 
 Awaits the sudden rising of the trout : 
 Down dips the feathery lure; the quivering rod 
 Bends low; in vain the cheated captive strives 
 To break the yielding line; exhausted soon, 
 Ashore he's drawn, and, on the mossy bank 
 Weltering, he dyes the primrose with his blood.
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 97 
 
 -MAY. 
 
 On blythe May morning, when the lark's first note 
 Ascends, on viewless wing, veiled in the mist, 
 The village maids then hie them to the woods, 
 To kiss the fresh dew from the daisy's brim ; 
 Wandering in misty glades they lose their way, 
 And, ere aware, meet in their lovers' arms, 
 Like joining dew-drops on the hlnshing rose. 
 
 Sweet month ! thy locks with bursting buds bedecked, 
 With opening hyacinths, and hawthorn blooms, 
 Fair still thon art, though showers bedim thine eye ; 
 The cloud soon quits thy brow, and, mild, the sun 
 Looks out with watery beam, looks out, and smiles. 
 
 Now, from the wild flower bank, the little bird 
 Picks the soft moss, and to the thicket flies ; 
 And oft returns, and oft the work renews, 
 Till all the curious fabric hangs complete : 
 Alas! but ill concealed from schoolboy's eye, 
 Who, heedless of the warbler's saddesl plaint, 
 Tears from the bush the toil of many an hour; 
 Then, thoughtless wretch! pursues the devious lice, 
 Buzzing from flower to flower: She wings her flight, 
 Far from his following eve, to walled partem 5, 
 Where, undisturbed, she revels 'mid the beds 
 
 Of full-blown lilies, doomed io die lulled, 
 
 Save when the stooping fair (more beauteous flower!) 
 
 o
 
 98 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 The bosom's rival brightness half betrays, 
 While chusing 'mong the gently bending stalks, 
 The snowy hand a sister blossom seems. 
 
 More sweet to me the lily's meekened grace 
 Than gaudy hues, brilliant as summer clouds 
 Around the sinking sun : to me more sweet 
 Than garish day, the twilight's softened grace, 
 When deepening shades obscure the dusky woods ; 
 Then comes the silence of the dewy hour, 
 With songs of noontide birds, thrilling in fancy's ear, 
 While from yon elm, with water-kissing boughs, 
 Along the moveless winding of the brook, 
 The smooth expanse is calmness, stillness all, 
 Unless the springing trout, with quick replunge, 
 Arousing meditation's downward look, 
 Euffle, with many a gently circling wave 
 On wave, the glassy surface undulating far. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 Short is the reign of night, and almost blends 
 The evening twilight with the morning dawn. 
 Mild hour of dawn ! thy wide-spread solitude, 
 And placid stillness, sooth even misery's sigh : 
 Deep the distress that cannot feel thy charm ! — 
 As yet the thrush roosts on the bloomy spray, 
 With head beneath his dew-besprinkled wing, 
 When, roused by my lone tread, he lightly shakes
 
 TIFF. RUE M. CALENDAR. 99 
 
 His ruffling plumes, and chaunts the untaughl note, 
 
 Soon followed by the woodland choir, warbling 
 
 Melodiously the oft-repeated son--. 
 
 Till noon-tide pour the torpor-shedding ray. 
 
 Then is the hour to seek the sylvan bank 
 
 Of lonely stream, remote from human haunt ; 
 
 To mark the wild bee voyaging, deep-toned, 
 
 Low weighing clown each floweret's tender stalk; 
 
 To lisi> the grasshopper's hoarse creaking chirp; 
 
 And then to lei excursive fancy fly 
 
 To scenes, where roaring cannon drown the straining 
 
 voice, 
 And fierce gesticulation takes the place 
 Of useless words. May be some Alpine brook, 
 That served to part two neighbouring shepherds' flocks, 
 Is now the limit of two hostile camps. 
 Weak limit ! to be fill'd, me evening star, 
 With heaps of slain : Far down thy rocky course. 
 The midnight wolf, Lapping the gore-stained flood, 
 < i 1 ut s his keen thirst, and oft, and oft returns. 
 I rnsated, to the purple, tepid stream. 
 
 Bui lei me fly such scenes, which, even when feigned, 
 Distress. To Scotia's peaceful glens 1 turn. 
 And resl my eyes upon her waving fields, 
 Where now the scythe lays low the mingled flowers. 
 Ah. spare, thou pitying swain ! a ridge-breadth round 
 
 The partridge nesl : so shall no new-co lord — 
 
 To ope a vista i" some distant spire — 
 
 Thy cottage raze; but, when the toilsoi lay
 
 KM) 
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 Is done, still shall the turf-laitl seal invite 
 Thy weary limits; there peace and health shall bless 
 Thy frugal fore, served by the unhired hand, 
 That seeks no wages save a parent's smile. 
 Thus glides the eve, while round the strawy roof 
 Is heard the hat's wing in the deep hushed air, 
 And from the little field the corncraik's harsh, 
 Yet not unpleasing note, the stillness breaks, 
 All the night long, till day-spring wake the lark. 
 
 
 l$affi(< - 
 
 ■ -■■
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 mi 
 
 JULY. 
 
 Slow move the sultry hours. 0, for the shield 
 Of darkening boughs, or hollow rock grotesque! 
 
 The pool transparenl to its pebbly bed, 
 Willi here and there a slowly gliding trout, 
 [nvites the throbbing, half reluctant, breasl 
 
 To plunge : The dash re-echoes fr the rocks, 
 
 Ami smooth, in sinuous course, the swimmer \\iml>. 
 Now, with extended arms, rowing his way;
 
 And now, with sunward face, lie floating lies ; 
 Till, Minded by the dazzling beam, he turns, 
 Then to the bottom dives, emerging soon 
 With stone, as trophy, in his waving hand : 
 Blythe days of jocund youth, now almost flown! 
 Meantime, far up the windings of the stream, 
 Where birken witehknots o'er the channel meet, 
 The sportive shriek, shrill, mingled with the laugh, 
 The bushes hung with beauty's white attire, 
 Tempt, yet forbid, the intrusive eye's approach. 
 
 Unhappy he, who, in this season, pent 
 Within the darksome gloom of city lane, 
 Pines for the flowery paths, and woody shades, 
 From which the love of lucre, or of power, 
 Enticed his youthful steps. In vain he turns 
 'Idie rich descriptive page of Thomson's muse. 
 And strives to fancy that the lovely scenes 
 Are present: 80 the hand of childhood tries 
 To grasp the pictured bunch of fruit, or flowers, 
 But, disappointed, feels the canvas smooth : 
 So the caged lark, upon a withering turf, 
 Flutters from side to side, with quivering wings, 
 As if in act of mounting to the skies. 
 
 At noontide hour, from school, the little throng 
 Rush gaily, sporting o'er the enamelled mead. 
 Some strive to catch the bloom-perched butterfly ; 
 And if they miss his mealy wings, the flower 1 , 
 From which he flies, the disappointment soothes. 
 Others, so pale in look, in tattered garb,
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 1".; 
 
 Motley, with half-spun threads and cotton flakes, 
 
 Trudge, dr< to the many-storied pile. 
 
 Where thousand spindles whirling stun the ear. 
 
 Confused: There, prisoned close, they wretched moil. 
 
 Sweet age, perverted from its proper end! 
 
 When childhood toils, the field should be thi . — 
 
 To lend the sheep, or homeward drive the herd; 
 
 Or, from the corn-ridge, scare the pilfering rooks, 
 
 Or to the mowers bear the milky pail. 
 
 But, Commerce, Commerce, Manufactures, still 
 
 Weary the ear; health, morals, all must yield 
 
 To pamper the monopolising few, 
 
 To make a wealthy, but a wretched stale. 
 
 Blest be the generous hand, thai would restore 
 
 To honour due the Ion 1 plough ! 
 
 From it expect peace, plenty, virtue, health: 
 
 Compare with it, Britannia, all thine is! 
 
 Beyond the Atlantic wave! thy trade! thy ships 
 
 I >eep-fraught with Mood ! 
 
 But let me quit such themes! and. peaceful, roam 
 The trinding glen, where uow the wild-rose pah' 
 And garish strew with their fading flowers, 
 
 Tie' narrow greenwood path. To me more sweei 
 'Idie greenwood path, hall' hid, 'neath brake and briar, 
 Than pebbled walks so trim; more dear to me 
 'The daisied plat, before the cottage dour. 
 Than waveles of widely spreading lawn. 
 
 'Mid which nsulated mansion towers, 
 
 Spurning the humble dwellings from il proud domain.
 
 104 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 Farewell, sweet summer, and thy fading flowers! 
 
 Farewell, sweet summer, and thy woodland songs ! 
 
 No woodland note is heard, save where the hawk, 
 
 High from her eyry, skims in circling flight, 
 
 With all her clamorous young, first venturing forth 
 
 On untried wing : At distance far, the sound 
 
 Alarms the barn-door flock ; the fearful dam 
 
 Calls in her brood beneath her ruffling plumes ; 
 
 With crowding feet they stand, and frequent peep 
 
 Through the half-opened wing. The partridge quakes 
 
 Among the rustling corn. Ye gentle tribes, 
 
 Think not your deadliest foe is now at hand. 
 
 To man, bird, beast, man is the deadliest foe ; 
 
 ' Tis he who wages universal war. 
 
 Soon as his murderous law gives leave to wound 
 
 The heathfowl, dweller on the mountain wild, 
 
 The sportsman, anxious, watching for the dawn, 
 
 Lies turning, while his dog, in happy dreams, 
 
 With feeble bark anticipates the day. 
 
 Some, ere the dawn steals o'er the deep blue lake. 
 
 The hill ascend : vain is their eager haste, — 
 
 The clog's quick breath is heard panting around, 
 
 But neither dog, nor springing game, is seen 
 
 Amid the floating mist ; short interval 
 
 Of respite to the trembling dewy wing. 
 
 Ah, many a bleeding wing, ere mid-day hour, 
 
 Shall vainly flap the purple bending heath. —
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 105 
 
 Fatigued, at noon, the spoiler seeks the shade 
 Of some lone oak, fast by the rocky stream, — 
 The hunter's vest, in days of other years, 
 When sad the voice of Cona, in the gale, 
 Lamentingly the song of Selma sung. 
 
 How changeful, Caledonia, is thy clime ! 
 Where is the sun-beam that but now so bright 
 Played on the dimpling brook? Dark o'er the heath 
 A deepening gloom is hung ; from clouds, high piled 
 On clouds, glances the sudden flash ; the thunder. 
 Reverberated 'mong the cliffs, rolls far ; 
 Nor pause ; but ere the echo of one peal 
 Has ceased, another, louder still, the ear appals. 
 The sporting lamb hastes to its mother's side ; 
 The shepherd stoops into the mountain-cav<\ 
 At every momentary flash illumed 
 Back to its innermost recess, where gleams 
 The vaulted spar; the eagle, sudden smote. 
 Falls to the ground lifeless; beneath the wave 
 The sea-fowl plunges; fast the rain descends; 
 The whitened streams, from every mountain side, 
 Rush to the valley, tinging far the lake. 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 < rE \Dt ai. the woods their varied tints assume ; 
 The hawthorn reddens, and the rowan-tree 
 Displays its ruby clusters, seeming sweet, 
 Vet harsh, disfiguring the fairest face.
 
 10G THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 At sultry hour of noon, the reaper hand 
 Rest from their toil, and in the lusty stook 
 Their sickles hang. Around their simple fare, 
 Upon the stuhhle spread, hlythesome they form 
 A circling- group, while humbly waits behind 
 The wistful clog, and with expressive look, 
 And pawing foot, implores his little share. 
 
 The short repast, seasoned with simple mirth, 
 And not without the song, gives place to sleep. 
 With sheaf beneath his head, the rustic youth 
 Enjoys sweet slumbers, while the maid he loves 
 Steals to his side, and screens him from the sun. 
 
 But not by day alone the reapers toil : 
 Oft in the moon's pale ray the sickle gleams, 
 And heaps the dewy sheaf; — thy changeful sky, 
 Poor Scotland, warns to seize the hour serene. 
 
 The gleaners, wandering with the morning ray, 
 Spread o'er the new-reaped field. Tottering old age. 
 And lisping infancy, are there, and she 
 Who better days has seen. — 
 
 No shelter now 
 The covey finds ; but, hark ! the murderous tube. 
 Exultingly the deep mouthed spaniel bears 
 The fluttering victim to his master's foot : 
 Perhaps another, wounded, flying far, 
 Eludes the eager following eye, and drops 
 Among the lonely furze, to pine and die.
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 107 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 Wiiii bound and horn, o'er moor, and hill, and dal< 
 The chace sweeps on ; no obstacle they heed, 
 Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor wood, nor river wide. 
 The clamorous pack rush rapid down the vale, 
 
 Whilst o'er yon brush w I tops, al times, arc seen 
 
 The moving branches of the victim stag: 
 Soon far beyond he stretches o'er the plain. 
 I K may he safe elude the sa\ age rout, 
 And may the woods be lefl to peace again !
 
 108 
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 Hushed are the faded woods ; no song is heard 
 Save where the redbreast mourns the falling leaf. 
 At close of shortened day, the reaper, tired, 
 With sickle on his shoulder, homeward hies. 
 Night comes with threatening storm, first whispering low, 
 Sighing amid the boughs ; then, by degrees, 
 With violence redoubled at each pause, 
 Furious it rages, scaring startled sleep. 
 The river roars. Long-wished, at last, the dawn, 
 Doubtful, peeps forth ; the winds are hushed, and sleep 
 Lights on the eyes unsullied with a tear ; 
 Nor flies, but at the plough-boy's whistle gay, 
 Or hunter's horn, or sound of hedger's bill. 
 Placid the sun shouts through the half-stript grove ; 
 The grove's sere leaves float down the dusky flood. 
 
 The happy schoolboy, whom the swollen streams, 
 Perilous to wight so small, give holiday, 
 Forth roaming, now wild berries pulls, now paints. 
 Artless, his rosy cheek with purple hue ; 
 Now wonders that the nest, hung in the leafless thorn. 
 So full in view, escaped erewhile his search; 
 On tiptoe raised, — ah, disappointment dire ! 
 His eager hand finds nought but withered leaves. 
 
 Night comes again; the cloudless canopy 
 Is one bright arch, — myriads, myriads of stars. 
 To him who wanders 'niong the silent woods, 
 The twinkling orbs beam through the leafless boughs, 
 Which erst excluded the meridian ray.
 
 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 1"'.' 
 
 NOV KM BEE. 
 
 Lani.i in the morning beam slants o'er the lea : 
 The hoary grass, crisp, crackles 'neath the tread. 
 
 I »n the haw-clustered thorns, a motley flock 
 Of birds, of various plume, and various note, 
 Discordant chirp; the linnet, and the thrush 
 With speckled breast, the blackbird yellow-beaked, 
 The goldfinch, fieldfare, with the sparrow, perl 
 And clamorous above his shivering mates, 
 While, on the house-top, faint the redbreast plains. 
 
 Where do ye lurk, ye houseless commoners, 
 When bleak November's sun is overcast ; 
 When sweeps the Mast fierce through the deepest groves, 
 Driving the fallen leaves in whirling wreaths; 
 When scarce the raven keeps her bending perch; 
 When dashing cataracts are backward blown? 
 
 A deluge pours; loud comes the river down : 
 The margin trees now insulated seem, 
 As if they in the midway current grew. 
 Oft let me stand upon the giddy brink, 
 And chace, with following gaze, the whirling foam, 
 Or woodland wreck: Ah me, that broken branch, 
 Sweeping along, may tempi some heedless hoy. 
 Sen! by his needy parents to the woods 
 for brushwood gleanings for their evening lire. 
 To stretch too far his little arm ! — he falls,
 
 1 10 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 
 
 He sinks. Long is he looked for, oft lie's called ; 
 His homeward whistle oft is fancied near : 
 His playmates find him on the oozy bank, 
 And, in his stiffened grasp, the fatal branch. 
 
 Short is the day ; dreary the boisterous night : 
 At intervals the moon gleams through the clouds, 
 And, now and then, a star is dimly seen. 
 
 When daylight breaks, the woodman leaves his hut, 
 And oft the axe's echoing stroke is heard ; 
 At last the yielding oak's loud crash resounds. 
 Crushing the humble hawthorn in its fall. 
 The husbandman slow plods from ridge to ridge, 
 Disheartened, and relmilds his prostrate sheaves. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 Where late the wild flower bloomed, the brown leaf lies ; 
 Not even the snow-drop cheers the dreary plain : 
 The famished birds forsake each leafless spray, 
 And flock around the barn-yard's winnowing store. 
 
 Season of social mirth ! of fireside joys ! 
 I love thy shortened day, when, at its close, 
 The blazing tapers, on the jovial board, 
 Dispense o'er every care-forgetting face 
 Their cheering light, and harmless mirth abounds. 
 Now far be banished, from our social ring, 
 The party wrangle fierce, the argument 
 Deep, learned, metaphysical, and dull,
 
 Oft dropt, as ofl again renewed, endless : 
 Rather I'd hear stories twice ten times told, 
 Or vapid joke, filched from due Miller's page, 
 Or tale of ghost, hobgoblin dire, or witch; 
 Nor would I, with a proud fastidious frown, 
 Proscribe the laugh-provoking pun ; absurd 
 Although it be, and hard to be discerned, 
 It serves the purpose, if it shake our sides. 
 Xow let the temperate cup inspire the soul;-, 
 The catch, the glee ; or list ! the melting lays 
 Of Scotia's pastoral vales, — they ever please. 
 
 Loud blows the blast; while, sheltered from its rage, 
 The soeial circle feel their joys enhanced. 
 Ah, little think they of the storm-tosse 1 ship, 
 Amid the uproar of the winds and waves, 
 The waves unseen, save by the lightning's glare, 
 Or cannon's flash, sad signal of distress. 
 The trembling crew each moment think they feel 
 The shock of sunken rock : — at last they strike: 
 Borne on the Mast, their dying voices reach. 
 Faintly, the sea-girt hamlet ; help is vain : 
 The morning ligbl discloses to the view 
 The mast alternate seen and hid, as sinks 
 Or heaves the surge. The early village maid 
 Turns pale, like < louds when o'er the moon they glide ; 
 She thinks of her true l.>vc, far, far at sea ; 
 Mournful, the Live long day she turns her wheel. 
 And ever ami anon her head she bends. 
 While with the llax she dries the trickling leai'.
 
 ■"?^vr 
 
 THE WILD DUCK AND HE]} BKOOD. 
 
 How calm that little lake ! no breath of wind 
 Sighs through the reeds; a clear abyss it seems 
 Held in the concave of the inverted sky, — 
 In which is seen the rook's dull flagging wing 
 Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails 
 Yon little fleet, the wild duck and her brood! 
 Fearless of harm, they row their easy way; 
 The water-lily, nealli the plumy prows. 
 Dips, re-appearing in I heir dimpled track. 
 Yet, even amid thai scene of peace, the noise 
 Of war, unequal, dastard war, intrudes. 
 Von revel rout of men, and boys, and dogs,
 
 Boisterous approach ; the spaniel dashes in ; 
 Quick he descries the prey, and faster swims, 
 And eager barks : the harmless flock, dismayed, 
 Hasten to gain the thickest grove of reeds, 
 All hut the parent pair; they, floating, wait 
 To lure the foe, and lead him from their young ; 
 But soon themselves are forced to seek the shore. 
 Vain then the buoyant wing; the leaden storm 
 Arrests their flight ; they, fluttering, bleeding fall. 
 And tinge the troubled bosom of the lake. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A BLACKBIRD KILLED 
 BY A HAWK. 
 
 Winter was o'er, and spring-flowers decked the glade ; 
 
 The Blackbird's note among the wild woods rung : 
 Ah, short-lived note ! the songster now is laid 
 
 Beneath the bush, on which so sweet he sung. 
 
 Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent, 
 
 Are now all soiled among the mouldering clay ; 
 
 A primrosed turf is all thy monument, 
 
 And, for thy dirge, the Redbreast lends his lay. 
 
 THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL. 
 
 Yon motley, sable-suited throng, that wait 
 Around the poor man's door, announce a tab'
 
 Of woe ; tlic husband, parent, is no more. 
 
 Contending with disease, he laboured long, 
 
 By penury compelled ; yielding at last, 
 
 He laid him clown to die ; but, lingering on 
 
 From day to day, he, from his sickbed, saw. 
 
 Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want 
 
 Veiled in a clouded smile ; alas ! he heard 
 
 The elder, lispingly, attempt to still 
 
 The yonnger's plaint, — languid he raised his head, 
 
 And thought he yet could toil, but sunk 
 
 Into the arms of death, the poor man's friend. 
 
 The coffin is borne out ; the humble pomp 
 Moves slowly on ; the orphan mourner's hand 
 (Poor helpless child !) just reaches to the pall. 
 And now they pass into the field of graves, 
 And now around the narrow house they stand, 
 And view the plain black board sink from the sight. 
 Hollow the mansion of the dead resounds. 
 As falls each spadeful of the bone-mixed mould. 
 The turf is spread ; uncovered is each head, — 
 A last farewell : All turn their several ways. 
 Woes me! those tear-dimmed eyes, that sobbing 
 
 breast ! 
 Poor child! thou thinkest of the kindly hand 
 That wont to lead thee home : no more that hand 
 Shall aid thy feeble gait, or gently stroke 
 Thy sun-bleached head, and downy check. 
 But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps; 
 In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page, —
 
 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Her thoughts are in the grave ; 'tis thou alone, 
 Her first-horn child, canst rouse that statue gaze 
 Of woe profound. Haste to the widowed anus; 
 Look with thy lather's look, speak with his voice, 
 And melt a heart that else will break with grief. 
 
 TO ENGLAND, ON THE SLAVE TRADE. 
 
 Of all thy foreign crimes, from pole to pole. 
 None moves such indignation in my soul, 
 Such hate, such deep abhorrence, as thy trade 
 In human beings ! 
 
 Thy ignorance thou dar'sl to plead no more; 
 The proofs have thundered from the Afric shore. 
 Behold, behold, yon rows ranged over rows. 
 Of dead with dying linked in death's last throes. 
 Behold a single victim of despair, 
 Dragged upon deck to gasp the ocean air; 
 Devoid of fear, he hears the tempest rise, — 
 The ship descending 'tween the waves, he eves 
 With eager hope ; he thinks his woes shall end : 
 Sunk in despair he sees her still ascend. 
 
 What barbarous race are authors of his woe? 
 With freights of fetters, who the vessel stow? 
 Who forge the torture -irons, who plait the scourge? 
 Whose navies shield the pirates o'er the surge? 
 Who, from the mother's arms, the clinging child
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 119 
 
 Tears'? it is England, — merciful and mild ! 
 
 Most impious race, who brave the watery realm 
 
 In blood-fraught barks, with Murder at the helm ! 
 
 Who trade in tortures, profit draw from pain. 
 
 And even whose mercy is but love of gain ! 
 
 Whose human cargoes carefully are packt, 
 
 By rule and square, "according to the Act!" — 
 
 And is that gore-drenched flag by you unfurled, 
 
 ( hampions of right, knights-errant of the world ? 
 
 "Yes, yes," your Commons said, "Let such things lie, 
 
 "If OTHERS rob and murder, why not we?" 
 
 In the smoothed speech, and in the upraised hand. 
 
 I hear the lash, I hear the fierce command ; 
 
 Each guilty nay ten thousand crimes decreed. 
 
 And English mercy said, Let millions bleed ! 
 
 THE THANKSGIVING OFF CAPE TRAFALGAR. 
 
 Upon the high, yet gently rolling wave, 
 The floating tomb that heaves above the brave, 
 Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roared. 
 Whelming the wretched remnants of the sword. 
 And now the cannon's peaceful summons calls 
 The victor bands, to mount their wooden walls. 
 And from the ramparts, where their comrades fell, 
 The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell : 
 Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread, 
 And crowd the engines whence the lightnings sped :
 
 120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The white-robed Priest his upraised hands extends ; 
 Hushed is each voice, attention leaning Lends ; 
 Then from each prow the grand hosannas rise, 
 Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies. 
 Heaven fills each heart ; yet home will oft intrude. 
 And tears of love celestial joys exclude. 
 The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain, 
 Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain ; 
 While parting spirits, mingling with the lay, 
 On halleluiahs wing their heavenward way. 
 
 TO MY SON. 
 
 Twice has the sun commenced his annual round, 
 Since first thy footsteps tottered o'er the ground ; 
 Since first thy tongue was tuned to bless mine ear, 
 By faultering out the name to fathers dear. 
 ! nature's language, with her looks combined, 
 More precious far than periods thrice refined ! 
 
 ! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile, 
 
 1 prize you more than beauty's magic smile ; 
 Yes, in that face, unconscious of its charm, 
 
 I gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm. 
 Ah, no ! full oft a boding horror flies 
 Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries. 
 Almighty Power ! his harmless life defend, 
 And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send. 
 And yet a wish will rise, — would I might live, 
 Till added years his memory firmness give !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 121 
 
 For 0! it woul 1 a joy in death impart, 
 
 To think, I still survived within his heart : 
 
 To think, he'll cast, midway the vale of years, 
 
 A retrospective look, bedimme 1 with tears ; 
 
 And tell, regretful, how I looked and spoke; 
 
 What walks I loved; where grew my favourite oak ; 
 
 How gently I would lead him by the hand ; 
 
 How gently use the accent of command ; 
 
 What lore I taught him, roaming wood and wild, 
 
 And how the mail descended to the child ; 
 
 How well I loved with him, on Sabbath morn. 
 
 To hear the anthem of the vocal thorn ; 
 
 To teach religion, unallied to strife, 
 
 Ami trace to him, the way, the truth, the life. 
 
 But, far and farther still my view I bend, — 
 And now I see a child thy steps attend ; — 
 To yonder churchyard-wall thou tak'st thy way, 
 While round thee, pleased, thou see'st the infant play ; 
 Then lifting him, while tears suffuse thine eves. 
 Pointing, thou tell'st him, there thy grandsire lies. 
 
 TO A REDBREAST, THAT FLEW IX AT 
 .MY WINDOW. 
 
 From snowy plains, and icy sprays, 
 From moonless nights, and sunless days. 
 Welcome, pool' bird ! I'll cherish thee;
 
 122 .MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 I love thee, for thou trustest me. 
 Thrice welcome, helpless, [uniting guest! 
 Fondly I"ll warm thee in my breast: — 
 How quick thy little heart is heating! 
 As if its brother flutterer greeting. 
 Thou need'sl not dread a captive's doom : 
 No! freely flutter round my room: 
 Perch on my lute's remaining string. 
 And sweetly of sweet summer sing. 
 That note, that summer note, I know- 
 It wakes, at once, and soothes my woe, — 
 I see those woods, I see that stream. 
 I see, — all, still prolong the dream! 
 Still, with thy song, those scenes renew. 
 Though through my tears they reach my view. 
 
 No more now. at my lonely meal. 
 While thou art by, alone I'll feel ; 
 For soon, devoid of all distrust. 
 Thou 'It, nibbling, share my humble erust; 
 Or on my finger, pert and spruce, 
 Thou 'It learn to sip the sparkling juice ; 
 And when (our short collation o'er) 
 Some favourite volume I explore. 
 Be't work of poet or of sage, 
 Safe thou shalt hop across the page; 
 Unchecked, shalt flit o'er Virgil's groves, 
 Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves. 
 Thus, heedless of the raving blast, 
 Thou 'It dwell with me till winter's past ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 123 
 
 And when the primrose tells 'tis spring-, 
 And when the thrush begins to sing, 
 Soon as I hear the woodland song, 
 Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng. 
 
 ii. i
 
 %\t jjiocts fltetrdA 
 
 THE 
 
 POEMS OF GEORGE HERBERT. 
 
 Illustrate in the burliest style of Wiooii (l-nor;ibing, 
 
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 Price, handsomely bound in cloth by Leighton, 18s ; or in call' antique, :Ms., and 
 
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 ■• A more beautiful Gift-book could not be desired. The paper and typography 
 are of a first-class character; the illustrations very beautiful, and conceived in an 
 exquisite taste." — Record. 
 
 THE TASK. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM COWPEE. 
 
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 elphKiVLis of tiftii Illustrations from ilraroinqs bir V.irkct poster. 
 
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 Illustrated Edition of Cowper's 'Task.' ... It is altogether a beautiful work, 
 and one of perennial value." — Literary Ga 
 
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