THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 OF 
 
 LOS 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 ANGELES
 
 VOICES OF THE THAMES 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS
 
 VOICES OF THE THAMES 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN CODD A.R.i.B.A 
 
 Author of " A Legend q/ the Middle Ages" etc 
 
 FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 PRINTED BY BUTLER & TANNER 
 
 FROME AND LONDON 
 
 1897
 
 liUTLER & Tanner. 
 The Sp.lwood trinting Works, 
 
 FROME, ANU LONDON.
 
 
 TO J\IY DEAR WIFE 
 
 THE FRIEND AND COMPANION OF EARLY 
 AND OF LATER YEARS 
 
 I DEDICATE THESE VERSES
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Voices of the Thames . 
 The Snowdrop . 
 An Evening Reverie 
 A Wayside Ballad . 
 "Betwixt Two Worlds" 
 
 May 
 
 The Summer of 1892 
 A Day's Excursion to London 
 Waiting .... 
 Songs of Life : 
 
 The Craving 
 
 The Lament 
 
 The Awakening. 
 A Lengthening Vista . 
 Public Worship 
 A Dream . . . • 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 84 
 
 87 
 
 92 
 
 129 
 
 137 
 144 
 
 146 
 
 158 
 164 
 
 182
 
 VOICES OF THE THAMES 
 
 Looking Back 
 
 I LOVE thy wooded slopes, delightsome Thames, 
 
 I love to stand upon thy grassy brink. 
 To watch thy waters ever flowing on, 
 
 To gaze into thy liquid depths and think. 
 
 My spirit wanders down the glade which leads 
 From past to present thro' the wilds of Time; 
 
 Unfettered fancy hovers o'er the past, 
 
 And far away Life's bells so faintly chime. 
 
 A scene all dim, a tiny speck that fades 
 Into infinity. An avenue whose lines 
 
 B
 
 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Converging, meet, and close with leafy bounds 
 The pathway o'er which flickering lure light shines 
 
 Till misty ether clouds the straining sight. 
 
 What was commingles with what scarce had been ; 
 
 The picture blurred until the Restorer's hand 
 Retouching paints anew the uncertain scene. 
 
 Those long gone ages, when a mightier growth 
 Of fern and forest stemmed the sluggish way, 
 
 As thro' the spreading ooze it struggling, forced 
 Thick mud-stained waters laden with decay. 
 
 Through vast untrodden swamps, 
 Dark Mammoth-haunted woods, 
 Deep caverned depths 
 Unlit by sun, or moon, or star, 
 
 An endless twilight : 
 Where never scorching sunbeam gilds the gloom, 
 Nor dries sad Nature's tears ; 
 Where rainbow tints were powerless to unloose
 
 Voices of the Thames 
 
 The bands of Hope, 
 And with forgiveness conquer misery ; 
 When man, unconscious, slept in nothingness, 
 Nor yet had — waking — roused him to 
 The dream of Life. 
 Myth 
 
 Those lowly mounds 
 Which break the softly undulating plain, 
 Once honoured graves of heroes 
 Who, in far-off days. 
 When Time was yet a child, 
 (We know not when, 
 
 So many cycles round and round have whirled) 
 Untaught, unlearned in Art's mysteries. 
 Those children of past ages strung 
 The tinsel beads of Life. 
 Mysterious links which bind our flickering day 
 In fancy to the ever-fading past. 
 Green turf-clad barrows 
 Hide their crumbling bones.
 
 Voices of tJtc Tliauies 
 
 Frail pigmy pyramids ; 
 And yet scarce less enduring than 
 
 Those statelier piles 
 Which after ages in another land 
 Upreared in massive stone 
 
 To shroud from ill 
 "The hollow-sounding chambers of the dead." 
 
 The past ! 
 
 What myriad moons 
 
 Have circled round since, robed in flesh, 
 
 Those relics of an age unknown 
 
 Lived out their little span and slept again — 
 
 Slept undisturbed, 
 Their trinkets and their weapons close at hand 
 To serve their waking needs as in the past ; 
 Slept undisturbed, while base cupidity 
 Shrunk cowering 'neath the spectre eye of Fear, 
 While awe and reverence held 
 
 United counsel.
 
 Voices of the Thames 
 
 To-day the thirst for knowing reigns, 
 And awe and reverence are 
 As moonbeams in the noonday. 
 To-day the " Scientist " is king ; 
 With prying finger he will point at what 
 
 Was once a Pliaraoh ; 
 Toy with his household gods, 
 The riflings of his tomb, 
 Nor deem it sacrilege. 
 Time dulls the flash of Memory's mirror, 
 
 Blunts her pencil point. 
 With the dead Time too is dead, 
 
 And is not. 
 
 How lived our Father Man in those dim days ? 
 
 Did he, too, toil 
 For golden day-dreams as his sons do now. 
 And spend his life in the attempt to live ? 
 Perchance a hunter. 
 With his skin-strung bow or flint-tipped spear,
 
 Voices of tJic TJiaincs 
 
 Amidst the forest wilds or reed-bound swamps, 
 
 He tracked the huge colossus to its lair, 
 
 Half clothed in undyed skins ; 
 
 His body decked with lines and pictures which 
 
 An infant art would joy to stencil, 
 
 In ochreous tints of yellow, black and red. 
 
 The far-off ancestor 
 
 Of many a cultured Dame of yesterday, 
 
 Whose beauty grew more beautiful when decked 
 
 With transient bloom. 
 
 Fair Nature diffident, 
 
 Distrustful of her charms, 
 
 Bowed down to Art. 
 
 He, too, perchance, from out the swollen stream 
 With line of wiry gut and hook of bone 
 
 Drew scaly prey. 
 The huge progenitors of those, 
 The tiny perch or dace, 
 Whose 'minished numbers scantily reward
 
 Voices of the Thames 
 
 The angler's patient skill to-day. 
 
 A gruesome era, when the race of life 
 
 Was for the swift of foot, 
 
 And victory for the strong of arm, 
 
 And he who fainted died. 
 
 He lived, our Father Man, perchance he loved, 
 
 For man is man, and man was man, 
 
 And will be man throughout all time. 
 
 And she, the loved one, 
 
 Sang perchance for him her sweetest songs 
 
 And decked herself with borrowed graces, as 'tis now 
 
 And as it ever shall be till the end. 
 
 History 
 
 The Past is past. Fling open wide the door, 
 Time links the present to the never more. 
 He turns his glass, the hurrying sand runs on, 
 The spectres of an unknown age are gone.
 
 8 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Th' historic book lies open, and a scene 
 
 Of threatened conflict crowds the sloping green. 
 
 'I'wo gathered hosts. The flash of rival spears, 
 
 The shout, the tumult, fall on memory's ears; 
 
 A king, unwilling, signs his will away. 
 
 And dreams defiance on some hapi)icr day. 
 
 The victor nobles force the reluctant hand. 
 
 And Freedom's name is whispered thro' the land ; 
 
 A cherished name in days of Saxon power, 
 
 When manhood claimed as man his manhood's dower ; 
 
 A name scarce heard since, massed on Senlac's plain. 
 
 The power of England fought and fought in vain. 
 
 A Nation now re-frames its ancient creed 
 
 Of equal right on world-famed Runnymede. 
 
 Again Time hurries on, war's echoes thrill 
 
 Thro' copse and meadow, swamp and gorse-clad hill ; 
 
 No sacred struggle now for ancient right, 
 
 No lightning flash out-bursting thro' the night 
 
 Of fierce oppression ; not his country's weal,
 
 Voices of the Thames 
 
 For which the Patriot needs must draw the steel. 
 Ignoble strife, a land in blood to drown, 
 From brow to brow, to shift a tottering crown. 
 The old, old story. What does England gain 
 If other Tibnis die and Omris reign ? ^ 
 
 Echoes 
 
 Dim scenes awake, wild fancy roams afar, 
 
 As idly flits the willow wren from tree to tree. 
 Or soaring upward thro' the wandering air, 
 
 A tethered spirit, struggles to be free. 
 
 Old longings gather as the sunlight fills 
 
 Each shadowy nook with soft reflected glow, 
 
 New vistas open in the azure depths 
 
 Through which a maze of fleecy cloudlets flow. 
 
 The thrill of light, and life, and joy, and power, 
 Th' immutable, unchangeable, the ceaseless song, 
 
 ' I Kings xvi. 22.
 
 10 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Tlie binding up into the sheaf of Life 
 Of all the pure, the true, the fair, the strong. 
 
 Onwards 
 
 Swift moments pass away, 
 Brief minutes may not stay, 
 To-morrow is to-day. 
 
 Short weeks on wings have flown, 
 The months are not our own. 
 Years pass and make no moan. 
 
 Chill mists of morning rise. 
 The mid-day glory flies. 
 Day's vestals close their eyes. 
 
 Life wakes with plaintive cry, 
 Man waves his banner high. 
 Spent hopes can only die.
 
 Voices of the Thajnes 1 1 
 
 Enchantment droops her veil, 
 Glad pleasure spreads her sail, 
 Smiles freeze and fall as hail. 
 
 Hushed is the voice of song, 
 The cry of pain is strong, 
 Time ever beats his gong. 
 
 Song, outbursting, overflowing. 
 
 Torrents gushing from the soul ; 
 Now with transient sunshine glowing, 
 
 Now the crashing thunder roll. 
 
 Pain, the shrunk from, outward token 
 
 Of some lurking grief within ; 
 Fairest promise rudely broken, 
 
 Gold transmuted into tin. 
 
 Toil, the burden, thankless labour, 
 Chain that rebel Will entwines,
 
 1 - Voices of the Thames 
 
 Until it ascends its Tabor, 
 And with love transfigured shines. 
 
 Crime, a festering foam scum, seething 
 On sin's cauldron as it boils, 
 
 Pestilential vapours breathing. 
 Folly's guerdon, passion's spoils. 
 
 Joys, the welcomed, meteors flashing 
 O'er a dark tumultuous sky ; 
 
 Silver-crested billows splashing, 
 
 Flowers that wither, friends that die. 
 
 Dull remorse, a bitter longing 
 For some pleasure passed away, 
 
 Surfeit on a dreary morrow 
 Of the sweets of yesterday. 
 
 Life, the mystic, mazy tangle. 
 Scented blossom, clustering thorn,
 
 Voices of the Thames 13 
 
 Sombre cloud with golden spangle, 
 Rose and nettle, tares and corn. 
 
 Growth 
 
 Adown its pebbly bed the gentle stream 
 
 In tiny ripples lisps its life away : 
 A prattling infant singing as it leaps 
 
 O'er bough and boulder on its heedless way, 
 
 From trickling fount to all-engulfing sea, 
 A suckling struggling in its mother's arms, 
 
 A truant speeding full of wanton glee, 
 A maiden decked in ever-growing charms. 
 
 A mighty force, resistless, uncontrolled, 
 
 A mine, a wealth, a flood of nerve and power, 
 
 A heritage to hoard, to squander, to enjoy, 
 One vast outpouring of glad Nature's dower.
 
 14 Voict's of the TJiaines 
 
 Low, tender, trembling notes, half dirge, half song, 
 Upon the rustling breeze are borne away, 
 
 While baby wavelets lap the i)ebbly brink 
 In restless play. 
 
 A mighty voiceless stillness gathering floats 
 Upon the pinions of the listening air ; 
 
 The stifled breath of silence mingling with 
 A thrill of care. 
 
 Dawn 
 
 The stars look down from their bed of blue. 
 And liglit up the earth-stars of sparkling dew, 
 O'er the slumbering night fling a garment of snow, 
 And bathe it in light of long ages ago. 
 They glance into the waters so cold and fair, 
 And each one imprints its reflection there. 
 Till the concave above shuts its myriad eyes, 
 Growing dim in the light of the morning skies.
 
 Voices of the Thames 1 5 
 
 Aivakenitig 
 
 Exultant Nature from the chill embrace of Night 
 
 Uprising, hides 
 
 Her radiant blushes 'neath a veil of mist, 
 
 Until the golden sun — 
 
 High father of her loveliness — 
 
 Dissolves the modest robe. 
 
 And to the eager eyes of worshippers entranced, 
 
 Who revel in her charms, 
 
 Unsought, unbidden, as with lightning flash. 
 
 Displays her changing graces. 
 
 E'en so the dusky moth or painted butterfly. 
 
 The child of darkness or of sunshine, each 
 
 Disdains the helplessness of babyhood, 
 
 The growth of youth. 
 
 And from its transient sleep, 
 
 At once imbued with all the instincts of maturity. 
 
 Bursts forth transformed 
 
 Into the fulness of a perfect life.
 
 1 6 Voices of the Thames 
 
 And now the sunlit air 
 
 Is filled with music, 
 
 And as with light its unseen atoms glow, 
 
 Wild melodies, 
 
 Now soft, now shrill, 
 
 Yet ever changing, mingling, blend 
 
 Into one gladsome song of joy; 
 
 Of ceaseless bustle, happy toil, unconscious life ; 
 
 A life that teems witli the exuberance 
 
 Of strength and motion, Nature's child. 
 
 Which lives, and knows not that it lives. 
 
 Daybreak 
 
 At early dawn the skylark shakes the hoar-frost from 
 
 its wings. 
 And soaring thro' the blue expanse in exultation sings; 
 And as it upward, upward mounts yet softer falls the 
 
 strain. 
 Then sudden ceases, with no song, it droops to earth 
 
 again.
 
 Voices of the Thames ly 
 
 Luxuriant trees are decked with tiny crystals, 
 
 The soft caressing breeze allures 
 
 Alike the forest king and lowly shrub 
 
 To gentle laughter, and dissolves in showers 
 
 The glittering spangles. 
 
 And one, and all, in sweet unconscious rivalry — 
 
 Glad children of the sunshine — beauteous flowers. 
 
 Refreshed by silent sleep, and fed 
 
 With heavenly nectar, 
 
 Unfold their gorgeous petals. 
 
 Clamber now, o'er briery hedgerows. 
 
 Nestle 'neath 
 
 The tufted verdure, 
 
 Hide amidst 
 
 Impenetrable thickets. 
 
 Or bestrew the glowing meadows. 
 
 All ablaze, 
 
 With gold or purple. 
 
 Vest the lonely heath 
 
 In deep-dyed beauty. 
 
 c
 
 l8 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Over stagnant pools outspread 
 
 A snowy carpet. 
 
 Burst in silvery blossoms from 
 
 The long green mermaid tresses as they sway 
 
 And surge and heave upon th' incessant stream. 
 
 New clothe the time-stained walls of cottage homes 
 
 AVith green and scarlet. 
 
 Mantle o'er broad level lawns, 
 
 With Nature's heraldry of azure, gules, and or. 
 
 In mingling blazonry. 
 
 Dear Spring, kind fairy godmother, 
 
 Whose magic wands. 
 
 Like Aaron's rod again are budding, blossoming. 
 
 Whose robes unfolding overspread 
 
 The earth with glory. 
 
 Till she whispers all unconscious of her ever-growing 
 
 charms, 
 As the tender light of morning dances 'midst each 
 
 opening spray.
 
 Voices of the Thames 19 
 
 Clothing with bewitching glamour Nature's bare and 
 
 brawny arms. 
 O how lovely is the sunshine, O how beautiful is day. 
 Yes ! Nature, thou art beautiful, 
 Th' enraptured spirit trembles 'neath thy power, 
 And humbly kneels in silent reverence. 
 
 Floating 
 
 The gentle current slowly drifts along, 
 
 With here an eddy, there a flake of foam, 
 Its wavelets kiss the gay o'er-hanging flowers 
 
 And softly whisper: "We are going home." 
 
 Home to that ocean where, forgotten, sleep 
 The longings of so many mighty streams, 
 
 So many lives lived out, the grave of thought, 
 The silent quenching of a nation's dreams. 
 
 The mingling ghosts of wandering echoes thrill 
 The startled ear with hollow plaintive moan,
 
 20 J^oices of {he Thames 
 
 Delusive spirits, dead, yet lingering still. 
 Weird i)hantoms of a life now all alone. 
 
 The flowing future ever hurrying on, 
 The ebbing past, too brief, too quickly gone; 
 Swift thoughts scarce live before they blend in one 
 Unconscious aim. 
 
 New life awakes, develops, grows, displays. 
 Its gathering prowess, courts the wondering gaze 
 Of fear, love, adoration. — Passing days 
 Leave but a name. 
 
 Motion 
 
 The humble-bee sweeps by on noisy wing. 
 
 Caressing one by one the scented flowers, 
 He sucks the sweet, and revels in the fair. 
 Exulting in the Summer's sunny hours. 
 
 The gaudy dragon-fly, its body twined 
 
 Around as with a silken cord of green or blue,
 
 Voices of I he Thames 2 1 
 
 Now here! now there! now poising motionless, 
 Reflects light sparkles in each melting hue. 
 
 In je. veiled robe the lustrous butterfly, 
 A radiant spangle, gently ripples by, 
 Its tints out-vieing e'en the wayside flower, 
 And like it living out its too brief hour. 
 
 The golden-hued Edusa gently floats. 
 
 In tender dalliance o'er each flowery mead, 
 
 A gorgeous lo idly sits and suns 
 
 Its plumage on the yellow-eyed hawk weed. 
 
 The dusky Atalanta, swift of wing, 
 
 Sails by, or fastens on some favoured spray, 
 
 The tints of sunset deck its opening wings. 
 
 The ruddy glow of Winter's snow-wreathed day. 
 
 And many another flitting, fluttering gem, 
 Of deepest azure or of burnished gold.
 
 22 Voices of the 1 Jiames 
 
 Rejoicing in llie glory of its day, 
 
 For Beauty ever lives, and grows not old. 
 
 O Beauty ! lovelier than the glancing ray which ope's 
 
 The shining gates of dawn, 
 
 For ever worshipped in thy mortal robe. 
 
 The treasured garment which alternately 
 
 Allures, destroys, 
 The gods' own gift, 
 A glory to be worn and revelled in, 
 A fairy dream of love and trembling joy. 
 
 Ifistind 
 
 The tiny fledgling of a year ago 
 
 Builds up its Summer home with all the practised care 
 
 Of skilled artificer ; 
 
 Weaves for itself such fabrics as its race have twined 
 
 Throughout the ages; 
 
 Selects a kindred spot 
 
 In hedgerow, bank, or tree, or grassy nook ;
 
 Voices of the Thames 23 
 
 Gathers up the withered bent, the feathers, moss, or 
 
 wool, 
 As did primeval builders; 
 A style of architecture which knows naught 
 Of fickle fashion's changes. 
 
 The noisy blackbird lines his nest 
 
 With withered grass or hay ; 
 The sweet-voiced mavis rests content 
 
 With finely tempered clay. 
 
 The blue-winged tit on feathered bed. 
 
 Her many nestlings rears ; 
 The rook re-forms with broken twigs 
 
 Its home of bygone years. 
 
 The robin chooses softest hair, 
 
 For its connubial shrine ; 
 The linnet gathers moss and wool, 
 
 Its Summer lodge to twine.
 
 24 Voices of the Thames 
 
 A few crossed sticks will scarce suffice, 
 The stock-dove's twins to hide ; 
 
 Blind dunnocks for the cuckoo's egg, 
 Unwittingly provide. 
 
 With rushes interlaced, the swan 
 Her shallow cradle weaves ; 
 
 The finches deck their villas with 
 Grey moss and withered leaves. 
 
 A hollow tree is shelter sought, 
 By jackdaw, starling, owl; 
 
 The tiny wren, to nurse her brood, 
 Erects a feathered cowl. 
 
 And each and every with a wondrous beauty, 
 The purpose one, the method manifold ; 
 As varied as the pointed blades of grass 
 Which crowd the growing meadows in the spring;
 
 Voices of iJie Thames 25 
 
 Or as the mingling strains 
 
 Of these, the swift-winged choristers, 
 
 Whose joyous carols fill the air with harmony. 
 
 Or as the changing thoughts 
 
 Wliich vibrate on the listening brain 
 
 Unbidden, numberless, 
 
 While Space and Time 
 
 The slaves of the material, 
 
 Fade, melt, and are not. 
 
 Or as the towering pinnacles which trace 
 
 The jagged cresting of some distant mountain range, 
 
 Arrayed in moonlight. 
 
 Glister and reflect 
 
 Each other's radiance. 
 
 Conwimglmg 
 A fickle skiff untended floats 
 
 Adown the placid stream the while, 
 As Fancy decks with witching lure 
 
 The lover's vow, the maiden's smile.
 
 26 J^oices of the Thames 
 
 And wlien the molten silver tide 
 
 Basks in the mid day's quivering glow, 
 
 Pale green o'erhanging osier beds, 
 Their welcome shade reflect below. 
 
 A peace'"ul scene whose gentle charms 
 The hurrying launch would fain invade, 
 
 As on with headlong haste it sweeps 
 Thro' sunny heat, thro' cloud-lent shade. 
 
 The rush of life, an endless race 
 
 Of mingling atoms surging by ; 
 E'en pleasure's wings must flap apace, 
 
 Or j>leasure's self will droop and die. 
 
 The ceaseless rushing of a being which knows 
 No more the holy restfulness of peace. 
 
 When turmoil, labour, care, are far away. 
 And even Love's untutored longings cease.
 
 Voices of the TJianies 27 
 
 Unbroken silence clinging all around, 
 
 Or broken only by the ever-rippling song 
 
 Of tiny wavelets bursting into sheen, 
 
 As o'er their pebbly bed they leap along. 
 
 A chaunt of restful life so sweetly sung, 
 
 Low carols echoing back from shore to shore, 
 
 A story flashed in mazy beams of light, 
 A trembling echo of the nevermore. 
 
 O ! happy hours, absorbing all 
 
 That hope, the Syren, dares portray ; 
 
 An Eden, 'midst whose leafy bowers 
 No tempter steals the soul away. 
 
 Where hawthorn blossoms drooping overhang 
 The rushing stream, he plucks a snowy spray; 
 
 " 'Tis fitting that a flowery wreath so fair 
 Should rest upon the brow of lovely May."
 
 28 Voices of the Thames 
 
 With artless coquetry the maiden twines 
 Arountl her dainty turban's narrow brim 
 
 The scented bough, and then she softly smiles 
 A wealth of happy memories to him. 
 
 But soon the fiery glancings of the sunny ray 
 Have withered what but now was fresh and fair, 
 
 They idly fling the worn-out toy away, 
 
 'Tis not the withered branch that love would share. 
 
 The Idol 
 
 A lovely idol lured me once. 
 
 When days were young, and life was gay, 
 High on a pinnacle it stood, 
 And seemed so very far away. 
 
 It had a gentle dreamy face, 
 
 With wavy tresses long and fair. 
 And just the shadow of a smile, 
 
 A tender smile half hiding there.
 
 Voices of the Thames 
 
 And all day long anci every day, 
 I knelt in spirit at the shrine, 
 
 Wherein my treasured idol stood, 
 For I had learned to call it mine. 
 
 Embroidered robes of costly stuff, 
 With gold and jewels spangled o'er, 
 
 A panoply of untold wealth, 
 ]\Iy idol all unconscious v.'ore. 
 
 And as with timid, reverent awe, 
 I humbly worshipped day by day, 
 
 ]\ry darling idol scarcely seemed 
 To be so very far away. 
 
 And sometimes as I'd stand and gaze, 
 A gentle murmur rustled by. 
 
 And I could almost dream I heard 
 The echo of a trembling sigh.
 
 30 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Thus day by day mgre closely still 
 My iilul round my soul would twine, 
 
 As still with placid smile it stood 
 A jewel in a jewelled shrine. 
 
 I longing gazed, and gazing mused. 
 
 And musing slept, and sleeping dreamed ; 
 
 A wild, ecstatic sense of joy 
 
 Above, around, within me beamed. 
 
 The idol I adoring dared 
 
 To worship in its golden shrine. 
 
 Now clung around me, and I knew 
 That it at last indeed was mine. 
 
 With eager hand and beating heart 
 
 I tore its costly robe away. 
 Then with an anguished shriek I woke. 
 
 My worshipped idol was but clay.
 
 Voices of the TJiames 3 1 
 
 Opening Blossoms 
 Joyously, heedlessly, over the shallows creep 
 
 Tiny skiffs laden with seekers of pleasure, 
 Toilers who labour and joy in their toiling, 
 
 Singing in chorus the songs of to-day. 
 
 Slowly meandering, happy day-dreamers 
 
 Listlessly paddle, or float idly by; 
 Moments are treasures but scantily treasured, 
 
 Moments which wake neither laughter nor sigh. 
 
 Flow on ! upon thy bosom lightly borne 
 
 The shallow punt which one fair maiden guides 
 
 With balanced motion, winning health's best dower, 
 Breeze-painted blushes, and a world besides. 
 
 The sparkling wavelet's dancing sheen, 
 The modest garb, th' unconscious mien, 
 
 Th' unstudied charms, the supple grace. 
 And Nature brooks no second place.
 
 32 Voices of the Thames 
 
 The art of pleasing lives in seeming pleased, 
 
 Ami Love, the gourmand, must on love be fed ; 
 
 Each giving gladly— each receiving all, 
 For self must die ere self can truly wed. 
 
 Drifting 
 
 Drifting down 'neath the silent trees. 
 Never a billow and never a breeze : 
 Down ! down ! where the waters sink 
 Fathoms deep by the sedgy brink. 
 
 Creeping along where the beeches lave 
 Drooping boughs in the limpid wave ; 
 O'er shingly shallows hurrying by, 
 In ripples reflecting a quivering sky. 
 
 Down the rough stony weir hel2)lessly falling. 
 Into the foaming pool noisily splashing ; 
 Deep in whose liquid depths, lost in the daylight. 
 Tremble the silver stars.
 
 Voices of the Thames 33 
 
 Forsaken Cluinnels 
 
 On its way surging, 
 Lonely, deserted ; 
 Now by no iron-trod 
 Towing path skirted. 
 
 Where the green osier beds 
 
 Drink in its nectar, 
 Skirting the circling arc, 
 
 Scorning its sector. 
 
 Haunt of no pleasure boat, 
 
 No noisy steamer, 
 No tug or laden barge. 
 
 Sought by the dreamer 
 
 AVho in his lonely punt, 
 Glides o'er its shingle, 
 
 Sport, leisure, death and life. 
 Join, intermingle. 
 
 D
 
 34 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Life in its endless flow, 
 
 Fiercely defiant ; 
 Now clear as sparkling wine, 
 
 Calm, self-reliant. 
 
 Now but a turgid stream, 
 Mist wrapped in sorrow, 
 
 Now bright with hopes of a 
 Brighter to-morrow. 
 
 Now thro' the murky night 
 Trouble encumbered : 
 
 Restless care pillowed where 
 Love might have slumbered. 
 
 Now the night's starry lamps, 
 Radiant with glory, 
 
 Shine in unceasing glow. 
 Life's endless story.
 
 Voices of the Thames 35 
 
 Rest to the weary ones, 
 
 Peace to the sad, 
 Health to the sick at heart, 
 
 Sorrow made glad. 
 
 The Passing of Spring 
 
 Spring with unbound tresses coyly, 
 Streaming in the dazzling sheen. 
 Spring, the lovely blue-eyed fairy. 
 Wears her garb of dainty green. 
 
 Spring, whose joyous tears awaken 
 Sleeping beauties day by day ; 
 
 Spring, whose smiles of gladness garnish. 
 Rocky steep and weary way. 
 
 Now with love-locks closely snooded, 
 Now with mien of queenly power ; 
 
 All the pride of conscious beauty 
 Beaming in her golden dower.
 
 36 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Life's elixir, onwards, upwards, 
 Fiercely thro' each fibre flows ; 
 
 Minghng 'neath the molten glory, 
 Bloom the nightshade and the rose. 
 
 Scented sweets that grow and scatter, 
 Lovely petals poison-steeped : 
 
 Budding, blooming, fading, falling, 
 Fruit of harvests sown and reaped. 
 
 T/ie Tempting Lure 
 
 There in a shady nook, hidden amongst the 
 O'erhanging branches which shadow the silent pool, 
 Warily, noiselessly, sits in his lazy punt. 
 Watching and waiting still, eagerly, anxiously, 
 Sits the keen angler, with patience exhaustless. 
 Is it the silly chub, darting in careless haste 
 Forth from his hidden lair, eager to gorge his full 
 On the deceitful lure, fatally ravening ?
 
 Voices of the Thames 37 
 
 Is it the belted perch, deep in the crystal depths, 
 Thirsting to feast upon dainties deceptive ? 
 Is it the savage pike rushing with lightning speed 
 'Midst the young fishlings, which swifter still scatter? 
 
 True as the bullet flies, 
 
 Fiercely he grips the prize. 
 
 Is it a phantom ? 
 
 The scaly roach, the shining dace. 
 
 The barbel strong of will, 
 Dull, sluggish bream and fiery carp 
 
 The angler's basket fill. 
 
 And king o'er all, the mighty trout, 
 
 The prize of days of eager watch and wile, 
 
 A trophy to be won and treasured up. 
 
 If but perchance art can his ware beguile. 
 
 The voice of Summer rings thro' copse and glade, 
 The Summer gladness carols in the breeze,
 
 38 Voices of tJic TJiamcs 
 
 Soft Summer whispers fill the scented air, 
 
 Dense Summer verdure clothes the waving trees. 
 
 Sunshhie and Tempest. 
 
 On restless wing the swallow hurrying flits 
 
 O'er copse and meadow, brake and dimpled dell ; 
 Now high in ether, now in voiceless speed 
 Low circling skims the wavelets as they swell, 
 And in the molten silver dips 
 Its pinion tips, 
 
 A broad expanse of saffron grain, wliich sways 
 
 In gentle billows 'neath the fluttering breeze ; 
 Afar, the busy reaper's whirring song — 
 A ceaseless murmur as of myriad bees — 
 Ripe ears the harvest toil forestall, 
 IJpgarnered fall. 
 
 A\'ith fury plumed the angry swan repels 
 Intrusion in his realms, or proudly leads
 
 Voices of the Thames 39 
 
 His growing brood where low with craning necks 
 They dive deep down amidst the bending weeds, 
 And from their lengthening tresses steal 
 A dainty meal. 
 
 With loitering step the lazy kine troop down 
 
 To seek a tempting shoal which buried lies 
 Knee deep in silent waters ; there they stand 
 And whisk with tufted tail the teasing flies, 
 
 As on the mysteries of fate 
 
 They ruminate. 
 
 Expectant stillness creeps unseen around, 
 
 A lurid glow lights up the murky air, 
 A gathering wind in rising tumult shrieks, 
 Then sudden lulls in motionless despair 
 As from the gathering sombre pall 
 Huge rain-drops fall.
 
 40 Voices of ilie Tluxuics 
 
 An instant rift divides the murky clouds, 
 
 An instant flash illumes with dazzling glow 
 Each startled nook, and loudly roars aloft 
 The furious din of battle. Blinding flow 
 Heaven's cataracts. Is there on high 
 No azure sky? 
 
 A growing brightness tips the melting mists, 
 
 Soft raindrops fall in streaks of silver sheen, 
 Pale sunbeams mingle with the dust-strewn haze, 
 And greener glows earth's robe of tender green ; 
 Commingling tints o'erarching glow, 
 A perfect bow. 
 
 Securely moored the crowded house-boat lies 
 
 'Midst furious blast, still heat, and [Jtlling showers ; 
 
 A canopy of drooping trees o'erhead, 
 
 And decked with clustering galaxies of flowers.
 
 Voices of the Thames 41 
 
 The river-seeker's joy when skies are blue, 
 And snowy <:loudlets veil the mid-day sun. 
 
 Or when the clustering stars exultant shout, 
 " We triumph now, the garish day is done." 
 
 The grimy tug, with short, spasmodic snort, 
 Against the sluggish current plods along j 
 
 Deep-laden barges follow in its wake, 
 
 The river demon shriek?, his breath is strong. 
 
 Thirst 
 
 Fierce beat the sunbeams down on the withered turf, 
 
 Hot ! hot ! never a cloud ; 
 Earth to the children of fruitful Spring offers now- 
 Only a shroud. 
 
 Glossy leaves fallen, struck by the glance of death. 
 
 Carpet the dusty plain ; 
 Nowhere to hide from the sultry air's scorching breath ! 
 
 Come, gentle rain.
 
 42 Voices of the Thmnes 
 
 Trickling streams offer but scanty refreshment to 
 
 Thy waning waters, O Thames ! 
 Gravel shoals bask where they were not wont to do, 
 
 Rain-drops were gems. 
 
 Weeds check the listless stream, deep eddies welling 
 
 Up from the clear depths arise ; 
 Eddies whose sombre shades whirling retlect not the 
 
 Azure-steeped skies. 
 
 Warblers are silent in thicket and tangled brake, 
 Love notes could wake no refrain ; 
 
 Trembling leaves sigh as they sway on their slender 
 stems, 
 Thirsting for rain. 
 
 Flowers whose mingling tints gladdened their Mother 
 Earth, 
 Hierarchs of valley and glade,
 
 Voices of the Thames 43 
 
 Breathing no perfumed breath, hopeless their petals 
 close, 
 Wither and fade. 
 
 The Elixir 
 The South wind blows sofdy, the warm breath of love; 
 
 It ripples the stream, it caresses the flowers. 
 
 And forth from the white clouds which mantle the 
 
 blue 
 Descend in bright pearl -drops the life-giving 
 
 showers. 
 
 The thirsting drink deep, and the parched-up no more 
 Despondently drooping are ready to die ; 
 
 The birds shake their plumes, and from thicket and 
 brake 
 Their glad notes of welcome are wafted on high. 
 
 The sun which had glared on a withering world 
 So stolid and sullen, with fierce torrid mien, 
 
 Now lurks 'neath the cloudlets, now smilingly decks 
 With spangles of silver the languishing scene.
 
 44 Voices of t/ic Thames 
 
 As the crimson-tipped bud of the opening rose, 
 Or as vision outvieing the fulness of sight, 
 
 Or a beauty half hid, and affection that glows 
 Full of tenderness melting in shadow and light. 
 
 Existence all joy were a wearisome toil. 
 
 Sweet pleasure soon drowns in a sea of delight, 
 
 And day with its dower of glory and spoil 
 Fades silently into the stillness of nighL 
 
 D/i/fing Clouds 
 
 The clouds of the daybreak are fleecy and fair, 
 
 The light of the daybreak is silvery ; 
 My Love trips so gaily her garden around, 
 The birds and the flowers awake at the sound. 
 
 As she carols a sonnet of Spring. 
 
 The clouds of the morning are spangles of light, 
 The air of the morning is still ;
 
 Voices of the Thames 45 
 
 My Love guides our skiflf as we toil up the stream, 
 I bask in her sunshine and labour and dream 
 That beyond is the haven of rest. 
 
 The clouds of the mid-day are dusky and grey, 
 
 The light of the mid- day grows dim ; 
 My Love is my I'ght amidst shadow and shower, 
 Her smile is my beacon, her heart is my bower, 
 I dwell in my bower alone. 
 
 The clouds of the evening are purple and gold. 
 
 And ruddy the fast-setting sun ; 
 In spirit my Love round my spirit entwines. 
 Clinging closer as day in its glory declines, 
 
 And the twilight creeps silently on. 
 
 The clouds of the gloaming are misty and red, 
 The light of the gloaming is fading ;
 
 46 Voices of the Thaines 
 
 I silently sit in the shadow. Afar 
 'I'hro' the vista of years shines my youth's pilot star, 
 As I wait for the gathering night. 
 
 ]Va>ii/ig Fancies 
 Now the russet and gold of the Autumn are blending, 
 
 Lit up by the flash of the kingfisher's wing ; 
 Aloft from the stubble of harvest up-soaring, 
 
 The lark still re echoes its carols of Spring. 
 
 And now and again the wild outcry of struggle 
 Is wafted along thro' the resonant air, 
 
 As athletes for laurels of victory striving 
 In tumult commingle to do and to tlare. 
 
 Resurgam 
 
 Where the (juivering ripples flow stealthily down 
 
 And lingeringly cling to the skirts of her gown. 
 
 Which the meadow-land trails in the deep.
 
 Voices of the Thames 47 
 
 Embroidered with tangle of rushes and reeds, 
 With gem-spangled petals, with light downy seeds. 
 A rich harvest the soft zephyrs reap. 
 
 Breathe thou tenderly. Wind ! o'er the slumbering life, 
 Weep, O Dew ! joyous tears o'er the germ that is rife ; 
 
 With the vigour of ages gone by. 
 Enfold in thy mantle of darkness, O Night ! 
 Emblazon, O Sun, with thy life-laden light 
 
 The dry husks which Time's garners supply. 
 
 The dark waters surge up with a tremulous whirl, 
 And around in wild eddyings circle and curl. 
 
 Ere they noisily hasten away. 
 Mystic thoughts treasured up in the storehouse below, 
 The dry grain, ages buried, now scattered to grow 
 
 Into plentiful harvests to-day. 
 
 Ere the chill mists of winter spread over the scene, 
 While the hawthorn still mingles vermilion and green, 
 Ere the voice of the nightingale's dumb,
 
 48 Voices of the Tharnes 
 
 There are flow'rets still blooming in dingle and dell. 
 Wild rivulets pent up, which bubble and well 
 From the fountain of Summers to come. 
 
 The dim, fast-fading light of the lingering day 
 In a glory of golden haze hastens away. 
 
 Broad-belted with purple between. 
 O ye light-suffused shadows ! O promise of bliss ! 
 The eager hand clutches, the longing lips kiss. 
 
 For the grave of enchantment is green, 
 
 Down from their airy home flutter the withered leaves, 
 Hither and thither borne, slowly descending 
 
 Till earth offers rest. 
 Softly the tender breeze whispers caressingly, 
 \Vhisi>ers like sounding wings, 
 
 What is is best. 
 Come ! 'tis my mission to waft thee away ; 
 Life, fruitful life, is the child of decay.
 
 Voices of the Thames 49 
 
 Life ! Not the same life. 
 
 No more shall the tender shoot 
 Bask in the sunbeam, or shrink, from the hail ; 
 Over the past, its growth, strength, and decadence, 
 Time, the relentless, withdraws not the veil. 
 
 Cold as a snow-cloud the white mist is swathing 
 Dew-spangled meadows in mantle of sheen, 
 
 Slowly is fading the purple of sunset, 
 Golden tints melt into palest of green. 
 
 Scarce opened blossoms fade away, and are not ; 
 The fruit, when fully ripe, bestrews the ground ; 
 Gay flowers, rejoicing in each gorgeous hue, 
 Their transient petals scatter and disclose 
 The seed cells of the future. 
 
 Tall hedgerows glow witli ruddy pearls, and 'midst the 
 
 naked trees 
 Pale clustered tufts of mistletoe sway in the gathering 
 
 breeze. 
 
 E
 
 50 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Assembling troops of birds i)rcpare to wend their 
 
 homeward way 
 To regions where a warmer sun illumes a longer 
 
 day. 
 
 The blackbird with startled cry hurries along, 
 The plover on circling wing echoes its call, 
 
 The dove softly breathes a low, tremulous sigh, 
 As slowly and gently huge snow feathers fall. 
 
 Retrospect 
 
 With a clamorous glee I ran down to the sea, 
 
 When the summer sun was bright. 
 With a low rippling song, for the day-dream was 
 long, 
 And brief the unconscious night, 
 And I joyously bore to the far-ofT shore 
 My burden of laughing light. 
 
 The gay flow'rets drink at my simpering brink. 
 And look down thro' my depths below,
 
 Voices of the Thames 5 1 
 
 And I trill them a song as I hurry along, 
 
 What is Life but a ceaseless flow, 
 And the golden light of the gathering night 
 
 But the herald of morning's glow. 
 
 The bright trickling stream, like a silvery gleam, 
 Dances down the steep mountain side ; 
 
 The pale, placid brook, a dazed wandering spook, 
 Meandering far and wide; 
 
 And the river that grows as it ripples and flows. 
 In my gathering waters hide. 
 
 My dimples caught the sunny ray ; 
 
 I kissed the drooping flowers ; 
 I bore their scattered seeds away, 
 For life was love, and love was play 
 
 'Neath springtide's shine and showers.
 
 52 Voices of the Tlinmes 
 
 But now the liny streamlet flows a torrent fierce and 
 
 wild, 
 The gentle brook that in the light of summer sun- 
 shine smiled, 
 Now rushes on in headlong haste, with muddy teincture 
 
 stained ; 
 The widening river seeks its goal, e'er strived for, yet 
 
 ne'er gained ; 
 Still-swelling streams on either hand, new-born of 
 
 yesterday, 
 "With eager, gushing hurry haste their tribute floods to 
 
 pay. 
 I rush tumultuous thro' the plain, my placid surface now 
 Is clouded as I dash the foam from off my seething 
 
 brow. 
 The supple osiers, terror struck, before my fury shrink, 
 I chafe against my crumbling banks, I top their grassy 
 
 brink. 
 The music of my voice is lost in discords wild and harsh ; 
 My teeming waters steal away to flood the rushy marsh ;
 
 Voices of the Thauies 53 
 
 No more is life a simple song, whose cadence dies 
 away 
 
 In strains which mingle with the past the longings 
 of to-day ; 
 
 But fierce and set, white-foam tipped waves, a pur- 
 pose fixed and firm, 
 
 A gathering of life's atoms up into one endless term. 
 
 I hurry on with conscious might beneath a hope- 
 reft sky, [they fly. 
 
 The pelting raindrops mingling with my torrents as 
 
 I rush between a gathering sea which spreads on 
 either hand ; 
 
 No prayer can check my onward course, no strength 
 my might withstand, 
 
 Till sullenly and wearily (one fate awaiteth all) 
 
 Into the everlasting deep, absorbed, engulfed I fall. 
 
 Gathering Care 
 
 Hoar spangles cling to the drooping shrubs — 
 The lilies are dead ;
 
 54- Voices of tJic TJiantes 
 
 A storm blast sweeps o'er the gathering stream — 
 The swallows have (led. 
 
 No dragon-fly flits o'er the cowering meads, 
 
 Or basks in the ruddy sun; 
 The wealth of the passing year is spent, 
 
 Its pleasure days are done. 
 
 A daisy blossoming here and tlicrc, 
 
 A buttercup hid in a shady nook ; 
 Weary Nature has no other flowers to share, 
 
 She has folded the leaves and has closed her book, 
 And the cold blast shrieks a discordant knell, 
 
 Thro' the husks of the lesser-clustered-bell. 
 
 The strength of th.e sunlight has melted away 
 
 'Neath the grip of the gathering cold, 
 And the keen chilly breath of the frost-laden wind. 
 
 For the tale of the summer is told.
 
 Voices of the Thames 5 5 
 
 Coming Night 
 
 In fan-like streams the sunbeams play, 
 
 A pall of light half veils the day ; 
 
 Unwearied birds in ceaseless strain 
 
 Their morning sonnets sing again, 
 
 Or flitting swift from bough to bough. 
 
 Forestall the springtide's tender vow ; 
 
 The listening air drinks in each sound, 
 
 And strews the lingering notes around. 
 
 Awake ! thou Queen of Ether, shine ! 
 
 I love that tender light of thine, 
 
 A stream so gentle at its brink. 
 
 E'en lisping love may stoop to drink ; 
 
 Thy wild fantastic shadows fright 
 
 The silent loneliness of night, 
 
 And now the failing breath of day 
 
 In rainbow glories melts away ; 
 
 Dim haze its cold chill spreads around, 
 
 A veil whose fringe o'ertrails the ground.
 
 $6 Voices of the Thames 
 
 While high amidst the liquid blue 
 White foam-flakes half obscure the view, 
 And soon the stars awake, and light 
 Their torches at thy shrine, O Night, 
 And glitter timidly till day 
 Shall chase their trembling light away, 
 O mystery of day and night, 
 O mystery of wrong and right, 
 O mystery of love and strife, 
 O mystery of death and life. 
 Sing, gentle strain, soft echoes thrill. 
 Awake thy potent power, O Will ! 
 Thy halo o'er the future cast. 
 Smooth out the wrinkles of the past. 
 And thus the evening of to-day. 
 In joy and hope sliall melt away ; 
 The busy strain of life shall cease, 
 And twilight wear its robe of peace.
 
 Voices of the Thames 57 
 
 In hasty tumult feathery sprites commingh'ng, fluttering 
 
 fall, 
 And spread o'er Nature's fading life a dazzling snowy 
 
 pall; 
 With serpent hiss the quivering waves shrink 'neath a 
 
 pelting hail, 
 Wild gusts of freezing vapour fill the keen relentless 
 
 gale; 
 Broad slabs of silvery whiteness gleam beneath a pallid 
 
 moon, 
 And crashing, lurching, tumbling thrill the grim Night's 
 
 dusky noon ; 
 The frost-fiend storms each sheltered nook, and grips 
 
 the clustering reeds. 
 In tiny islands hurry down huge crags of tangled 
 
 weeds ; 
 On surging floes the crusted snow in rugged heaps is 
 
 piled, 
 Pale frozen ghosts of summer days gleam thro' the 
 
 naked wild ;
 
 SS J\>urs of the Thames 
 
 Cold, grey-winged wanderers from the shores of dis- 
 tant ocean sweep 
 
 In circlings round the dreary waste of whiteness. 
 Slowly creep 
 
 The feeble tottering steps of age. Dim is the length- 
 ening sight, 
 
 While far-off childish laughter mocks the gathering 
 gloom of night. 
 
 The fury of the storm let loose, the evil of to-day ; 
 
 Flow on, O river ! tempest torn, and bear thy load 
 away. 
 
 Waning Winter 
 
 The icy breath of Winter blows from o'er the Polar 
 seas, 
 
 Half-frozen drops of chilly rain drift on the hurry- 
 ing breeze ; 
 
 Green leaflets cower beneath the blast, unopened 
 petals fall, 
 
 A cloudless gloom pervades the air, a sullen, dusky pall.
 
 Voices of the TJianies 59- 
 
 The sun, a spattered light-splash, gleams amidst th' un- 
 certain haze, 
 Its glowing strength of heat and light now but a feeble 
 
 blaze, — 
 The selfsame sun which yesterday in kingly glory 
 
 shone, 
 And scattered wide a radiant glow from midst his golden 
 
 throne ; 
 The selfsame sun— a sickly mist — a darkness dank and 
 
 drear — 
 A dull miasma stealing thro' the cavern gates of fear. 
 Remorse, arrayed in sable garb, broods o'er the wreck 
 
 of Time, 
 While Faith an ever-budding spring sees in a far-off 
 
 clime : 
 Low, tender, summer voices melt in muttering sad and 
 
 wild, 
 As tottering age re-echoes back the longings of the 
 
 child. 
 Across the undulating meads pale flitting shadows steal,
 
 6o Voices of the Thames 
 
 Dim phantoms of a promised bliss scarce hide and 
 scarce reveal ; 
 
 A listless silence fills the air, no strain of joy uptends, 
 
 Suspense sits cowed in leafless bower, a chilly mist 
 descends ; 
 
 The lingering ghosts of pleasures spent, fantastic outlines 
 trace, 
 
 And for their shadowy footsteps find no certain resting- 
 place. 
 
 Fair Hope, in weary longings, hides amidst the thicken- 
 ing shade, 
 
 The dove's low mournful cooings fill the air-spent 
 breathless glade ; 
 
 In sullen gloom the swollen stream pursues its ceaseless 
 way, 
 
 No gladsome rii)ples, laughing sheen, no song, no 
 sportive play ; 
 
 The weary whirl of busy life, the wheels' incessant round, 
 
 Joy's scanty waters poured on dry and unreceptive 
 ground;
 
 Voices of the Thames 6i 
 
 No blinding hail, no thunder crash, no tempest black 
 
 as night. 
 But just a dull and listless gloom, no shadow and 
 
 no light. 
 
 Optitnism 
 
 Hope lights her fairie lamp, and deems 
 She sees amidst th' impenetrable darkness 
 
 Sure promise of a coming dawn ; 
 She spreads her wings intangible. 
 And self-sustained, unaided soars 
 
 Thro' space illimitable. 
 Deems every noisy chime a marriage bell; 
 Sees in the lightning flash a transient glimpse 
 
 Of light ineffable ; 
 Hears in the thunder peal but the refrain 
 
 Of angel music, 
 And when the furious tempest howls and shriek?. 
 Erects huge barricades across the path of Fear, 
 And waits unmoved the coming calm.
 
 62 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Hoi)e is its own remembrancer, it writes 
 In flickering sunbeams stories of the future ; 
 It imprints its sterling stamp on every base alloy, 
 And unabashed repeats again the hackneyed tale 
 
 Which flutters on the uncertain wind. 
 Unstable Hope ! whose syren smile too oft has lured 
 The victim to his doom, and fed the vampire mouths 
 
 Of dull despair, 
 Her brow is ever garlanded with flowers. 
 And to the victor's laurel wreath she ever points 
 exultingly, 
 
 But grasps it not ; 
 She raises high the shout ot triumph 
 
 Ere the fight begins ; 
 A very Berserker, she scorns impenetrable armour. 
 And rushes to the fray as though invulnerable; 
 She scorns defeat, to death impervious. 
 Hope grasps the shadowless impalpable, 
 And space and time to her alike are phantoms, 
 Deceivers, or deceived, or both.
 
 Voices of the Thames 6^ 
 
 Parables 
 
 The robin hops on my window-sill, 
 And chirps for his daily dole ; 
 The sparrows squabble and scold and fight 
 From early dawn till the close of niglit, 
 And whether in play or whether in spite, 
 They over and over roll. 
 
 Two rocky banks bound the riven way, 
 
 A torrent foams between ; 
 Dull sheep on the sun-browned hillside graze, 
 And look at me still with their stolid gaze, 
 As they did in those early far-off days 
 
 When the pastures of life were green. 
 
 The bells ring out from the ivied tower 
 
 Their stories of joy or woe, 
 The moon looks down on the spreading plain. 
 The nightingales warble the old sweet strain,
 
 64 Voices of the Thames 
 
 And after the sunshine that follows the rain, 
 The purple-robed clouds hurry back again 
 And shadow the amber glow, 
 
 A blue tit climbs on the leafless twig, 
 
 The morning sky is grey; 
 The silvery brightness of April rays, 
 The midsummer sun with its scorching blaze, 
 The golden glory of autumn days 
 
 Have melted in turn away. 
 
 The mountain slojjes are with snow-wraiths white, 
 
 The rainbow tints them still, 
 The heart with its longings unfed grows cold, 
 The fancy has little of wealth to unfold, 
 The pictures of life are no longer of gold, 
 But hopes, wishes, fears in one purpose are rolk-d, 
 The purpose of steadfast Will. 
 
 Rook-heralds encircling the elm-tree tops 
 Proclaim the o'erspreading dawn ;
 
 Voices of the Thames 65 
 
 Tho' gathering earth-clouds prevent the light 
 And mists, the pale children of dusky night, 
 The spirit of life in its ceaseless flight 
 Speeds on to the endless morn. 
 
 Fair Promises 
 
 Again the tufted blossom-buds their opening tints 
 
 display, 
 The sallow's lengthening tresses droop in streams 
 
 of feathery spray ; 
 The banners of the tarJy spring are one by one 
 
 unfurled, 
 As loving sunshine melts the chains which bound 
 
 a frozen world ; 
 Huge snow-wraiths float in middle air, with golden 
 
 glory crowned. 
 And earth and air re-echo life in life's unceasing 
 
 sound ; 
 Marshmallows fringe the lazy stream with clustered 
 
 orbs of gold, 
 
 F
 
 66 Voices of the Thames 
 
 The leafless fruit-trees vie in haste their treasures to 
 
 unfold ; 
 Mauve cuckoo flowers stud the grass, the cuckoo's 
 
 voice is clear, 
 And Hope, the king of coming days, shakes high his 
 
 glittering spear. 
 
 Reverie 
 
 Silently, dreamily, with eyes bent on the ground. 
 
 Unthinkingly, yet full of thought, 
 
 I wander on, with no set purpose filled, 
 
 As when a lazy boat unguided drifts 
 
 Adown the stream unheedingly. 
 
 Now whirling slowly in an eddy, now 
 
 A moment tangled in some sedgy bank, 
 
 And turning hither, thither, as a Will unseen impels. 
 
 Then hurried on in headlong race, 
 
 On some swift current borne resistless. 
 
 Vague, wandering thoughts, which flit
 
 Voices of the TJiames 6y 
 
 As martins o'er the silver-burnished stream 
 In ceaseless circlings, 
 
 And instant change from sunlight into shade, 
 From doubt to gladness. 
 
 Now lingering o'er 
 The softened outlines of a present past 
 In all its tenderness of melting hues, 
 Now wafted effortless thro' th' illimitable 
 While Will and Mind in soft oblivion sleep. 
 And Fancy, unrestrained. 
 Luxuriant revels in 
 The misty indistinct which guards 
 The threshold of the Future. 
 
 Tke Song of the Leaf 
 
 In the early springtide, 
 Shaking off the snow, 
 
 Big with future greatness, 
 I began to grow.
 
 68 l^'oices of the Tluivies 
 
 I'\iiry visions of Life seemed to gladden my view 
 As I basked in tlie sunshine and drank in the dew. 
 
 Clad in virgin beauty, 
 
 Flowers spread all around, 
 ^Vith disdain I scorned them, 
 •Grovellers on the ground ; 
 For I deemed that — a dweller in visionless air — 
 I should burst into blossoms more precious, more rare. 
 
 Swelling with the longings 
 
 Of a life untried. 
 Glad I rend the trammels 
 Which my glories hide. 
 'Midst a forest of leaves I perceive with dismay 
 That I too am a leaf quite as common as they. 
 
 Waiting all impatient 
 
 'i'hro' the lingering night, 
 In the early daybreak 
 
 Reaching to the light,
 
 Voices of the Thames 69 
 
 To imbibe in its essence the life from on high, 
 Crushed by crowds of keen rivals as eager as I. 
 
 Whispering to the breezes 
 
 As they loiter on, 
 Sighing as the moonlight 
 Tells of daydreams gone ; 
 Whilst the thrush floods with harmony forest and glade. 
 It is mine but to scatter one spangle of shade. 
 
 Burnt with noontide kisses, 
 
 Trembling 'neath the blast, 
 Bruised by pelting hail-drops, 
 Holding, clinging fast 
 For dear life to my home on the storm-riven bough, 
 'Tis existence, not light, that is all to me now. 
 
 Wet with clinging hoar frost, 
 
 Bright delusive sheen, 
 Russet tints replace my 
 
 Summer garb of green.
 
 "JO Voices of the TJiavics 
 
 On the wings of tlie rushing wind wafted on high, 
 'Midst my fallen companions I nestle to die. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 The echoes of passing days bear along 
 The lingering notes of forgotten song, 
 
 The life of the loved and lost, 
 
 The life of the borne away, 
 The cold clinging breath of the shadow of death. 
 
 The idol with feet of clay. 
 
 The Glory Defarfitig 
 
 From the horizon a mellow glow, spreading, expand- 
 ing, creeps silently upwards ; 
 
 Night's purple canopy, lifting and paling, melts, and 
 is lost in the soft haze of daybreak ; 
 
 Light, the Awakener, drinks up the dewdrops around 
 morning's eyelashes clinging ;
 
 Voices of the TJiaiues 7 1 
 
 Icy the ground, iron-fettered, resounds with the mingling 
 clamour of hurrying horse-hoofs ; 
 
 Forest trees, shivering, scatter around them the chilly 
 night's glistering spangles. 
 
 Day in its glowing life thro' the dim ether thrills, melt- 
 ing in softest blue ; 
 
 Clustering cloud-wreaths float o'er the azure, embroid- 
 ered with edging of silver, 
 
 'Neath which the sunny rays hide from the soul-chilling 
 breath of the north wind. 
 
 Fleecy mists, light-laden, hover and cling round the 
 skirts of the desolate marshland ; 
 
 Fiercely the turgid stream sweeps on its headlong way, 
 fatefuUy swollen ; 
 
 Down by the frozen brook, stately and lonely, the heron 
 stands watchfully resting ; 
 
 Soaring aloft thro' the keen air, the song of the skylark 
 exultant is pealing ; 
 
 Shadows of sombre night melting are lost in a radiance 
 reflecting the glory ineffable.
 
 72 Voices of the T /mines 
 
 Life 
 
 There is a mystery above, around, within, 
 
 A power which permeates and fills 
 
 Infinity. 
 
 Th' unfathomed mystery of ceaseless being ; 
 
 Whicli is, and passes, which for evermore 
 
 Is reproduced, and perishes, 
 
 For ever waning and for ever new. 
 
 The flower that seeds, and withers, and decays; 
 
 The forest tree, which year by year renews 
 
 The wild luxuriance of youth. 
 
 The tiny atoms which, innumerable, crowd 
 
 Into one fleeting day their all of consciousness. 
 
 The myriad denizens of land, and sea, and air, 
 
 For ever preying on the weaker, and themselves 
 
 In turn the prey of other — stronger, swifter, mightier ;- 
 
 These, and a myriad more 
 
 Of untold organisms, 
 
 Each in its own degree imbued
 
 Voices of the Thames 73 
 
 With what in all its infinite variety 
 
 Of growth, of conscious and unconsciousness, 
 
 Bears but one title — Life — 
 
 All in their tiny, weakly helplessness 
 
 Enter upon their constant journey; and, 
 
 Be this their span a passing hour, 
 
 Or be it lengthening ages, 
 
 All, like the sun, attain their zenith, 
 
 And, like it, together wane, decline, and are not. 
 
 In these volition, instinct, purpose, will ; 
 
 In those but growth. 
 
 And one and all 
 
 Are lost in seeming nothingness, and yield 
 
 No hostage to the future. 
 
 And e'en their ruler, Man, 
 
 With all his bootless strivings for 
 
 The unattainable, 
 
 His ever-restless clutchings at 
 
 Illusive phantasies, 
 
 His wild, unstable dreams of good and evil.
 
 74 Voices of the TJiatncs 
 
 Ends but in silence, 
 
 Even as the beasts that are^ and perish. 
 
 Is it peace ? 
 
 Forgetfulness of pain, and care, and ill, 
 
 A happy longing that for ever grows, 
 
 And evermore 
 
 With newly-opening flowers of bliss, 
 
 Is ever satisfied ; 
 
 ^Vhich sips at will the crystal cup of joy, 
 
 A cup which fails not. 
 
 Or is it but a waiting nothingness? 
 
 Not e'en a fading dream, to link 
 
 The yesterday with what may be hereafter? 
 
 And that hereafter ! 
 
 Who shall unfold the riddle of eternity ? 
 
 Unseen to vulture's eye, outlying far 
 
 The mystic bounds of wisdom's searching ken, 
 
 The spirit's pathway to its essence, or 
 
 The way which leads the finite atom to the Infinite. 
 
 It but remains to gather up and hoard
 
 Voices of tlie Thames 75 
 
 The grains of dust which cling 
 
 Around the trailing skirts of the Illimitable. 
 
 Flow on, purling stream ! Flow on, 
 And bear me gently on thy placid tide, 
 While yet I dream the flitting dreams of time. 
 And struggle, helpless, in the web of destiny, 
 Whose tender gossamers of liquid light, 
 Intangible, elude, yet ever bind. 
 
 The Awakeni7ig 
 
 Wild spirit voices in mingling lay 
 Welcome the birth of the coming day. 
 
 Hurricane shattered, 
 
 Tempest torn 
 
 Scattered cloud-flakes 
 
 Greet the morn, 
 Ruby tinted, hurrying by, 
 Weeping in a sunlit sky.
 
 ^6 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Streaks of purple, 
 Dense and cold, 
 Bar the sunset's 
 Field of gold. 
 Transient glory, 
 Fading light, 
 Melting into 
 Gathering night. 
 The Woof 
 
 The shout of the laughing river, 
 
 The rush of the pent-up breeze, 
 The voice of unbroken silence, 
 The whisper of clustering trees, 
 
 The flash of the mellow sunbeam, 
 The splash of the pattering rain, 
 
 Each tells in its turn a story 
 Of joy, of regret, of pain. 
 
 The song of the Summer sunshine, 
 The wail of cold wintry days,
 
 Voices of the Thames yj 
 
 The fulness of Autumn's bounty, 
 The Spruigtide's unceasing lays. 
 
 The hopes of the cloudless morning, 
 
 The noontide's meridian light. 
 The evening's lengthening shadows, 
 
 The chill of the deepening night. 
 
 The track of the quivering moonbeams, 
 
 The glance of the planet's ray, 
 The depths of the purple stillness 
 
 Which heralds the coming day. 
 
 The pride of unlooked-for triumphs. 
 
 The torture of hopeless pain. 
 The storm of unfettered passion, 
 
 A lullaby's low refrain. 
 
 The whirl of the rushing tempest, 
 The moan of the dying day,
 
 2$ Voices of the Thames 
 
 The sob of the ebbing wavelets, 
 The dew of the scattered spray. 
 
 The thrill of a new-found feeling, 
 A longing but half expressed, 
 
 A dream of unconscious beauty. 
 The moan of a soul unblest. 
 
 A flash of the sunlit ether, 
 A flood of unceasing rain, 
 
 A veil of fast-falling snowflakes, 
 A dream never dreamt again. 
 
 The roll of a mighty organ, 
 The mirth of a bridal throng, 
 
 Wild strains as in trembling cadence 
 They melt into silent song. 
 
 Thro' all in their changing changes, 
 Its life one unending day,
 
 Voices of the TJiavics yg 
 
 The breath of the foaming river 
 Ebbs ever and ever away. 
 
 Thro' all in its hurrying tumult, 
 
 Its cravings which never cease, 
 It flows on its way for ever 
 
 To the haven of promised Peace. 
 
 JVew Life 
 
 With ceaseless whirl the stream of Life pursues its 
 restless way, 
 
 And once again the flowers of Spring bedeck the 
 lengthening day ; 
 
 E'er varying tints of tenderest green the opening 
 leaves unfold. 
 
 And rival in their lusty life the Autumn's garb of gold. 
 
 The leafless blackthorn first assays to put its gar- 
 ment on ; 
 
 Then plum, pear, cherry, each in turn, their snowy 
 raiment don ;
 
 8o Voices of the Tluvnes 
 
 With timid blush the apple blossom bursts its ruddy 
 
 sheath, 
 The gorse with spangled wealth of gold bedecks the 
 
 lonesome heath, 
 The chestnuts' petaled pyramids their waxen sweets 
 
 display, 
 And all day long the robin sings its welcome to the 
 
 May ; 
 The gentle primrose nestles in its bed of dewy 
 
 green, 
 The widely spreading meadows wear their robe of 
 
 golden sheen ; 
 The lily decks the shady wood with petals frail as 
 
 fair, 
 And purple-streaked anemones the welcome shelter 
 
 share ; 
 l'"air Spring disj^lays her mingled charms, her shadows 
 
 and her showers, 
 And with the growing strength of youth adorns her 
 
 transient bowers.
 
 Voices of the Thames 8 1 
 
 Flow on, O River ! on thine endless way, 
 
 Thro' field and meadow, copse and tangled dell, 
 
 Thro' scenes of deeds on history's page engraved. 
 Thro' scenes where history's strain again shall swell 
 In mingling song. 
 
 Flow on ! Flow on thro' all the changing years, 
 And bear new treasures to the far-off sea ; 
 
 Rejoice, exult, the glories of to-day 
 
 Are but the dawnings of the power to be 
 When Life is strong. 
 
 Circling Ages 
 
 Round and round in endless cycle 
 Summer sunshine. Winter cold, 
 
 Spring and Autumn, germ, fruition, 
 Time the hoary grows not old. 
 
 G
 
 82 Voices of the Thames 
 
 Billows of the tideless ocean 
 Splashing, foaming evermore, 
 
 Melting into lisping wavelets 
 On the calm eternal shore. 
 
 Years that bristle o'er with i)assion, 
 Love and sorrow, toil and rest, 
 
 Eager, ardent, worshi[) of the 
 
 Sunbeams on the mountain's crest. 
 
 Days that know no waning twilight, 
 Ages that are ever young. 
 
 Mantle of the Great Eternal 
 Over past and future tlung. 
 
 Years speed on and leave no ripple 
 
 On eternity's vast sea. 
 Myriad ages past and passing 
 
 Limit not what is to be.
 
 Voices of the Thames 83 
 
 Flow on, O River ! on thine endless way, 
 Proclaim thy mission with unwearied voice ; 
 
 The gloomy night of nameless fear is past, 
 
 The watched-for morn awakes. Exult ! rejoice !
 
 THE SNOWDROP 
 
 I SAW a pale bud springing 
 
 From the womb of its mother, Earth, 
 
 Clear sparkling dewdrops around it clinging. 
 Glad morning's tears of mirth. 
 
 Thro' the frozen turf upbursting 
 
 It shakes off its mantle of snow, 
 For life's eager visions of pleasure thirsting. 
 
 And Spring's exultant glow. 
 
 I watched each leaf unfolding 
 
 'Neath the smile of the fostering sun, 
 Skilled Nature's hand with chaste beauty moulding 
 
 The leafy web she spun. 
 
 84
 
 The Snowdrop 85 
 
 The gentle showers descending 
 
 With new vigour endue each vein, 
 Till the snowy blossoms, their green sheath rending, 
 
 Drink in the welcome rain. 
 
 I beheld her in beauty blooming 
 
 With a modest, retiring grace, 
 As the shadows of clouds in the distance looming. 
 
 Stole over her gentle face. 
 
 The storm blast round her sweeping. 
 
 Close she clings to her mossy bed ; 
 And silently cold rain drops weeping, 
 
 IMourn over the scattered dead. 
 
 The dusky cloud vail fleeting, 
 
 Her clear gaze greets the azure sky. 
 
 Outpourings of mellow light lovingly meeting 
 Her pensive, glistering eye.
 
 S6 The Snowdrop 
 
 The Springtide's keen frosts blighting 
 
 O'ermantle the tender flower; 
 No more shall she bloom in the sunbeams delighting, 
 
 Or greet the refreshing shower. 
 
 Death's chill grasp round her twining, 
 Her fair petals has tinged with decay, 
 
 And calmly her head on the greensward reclining. 
 She pines her life away.
 
 AN EVENING REVERIE 
 
 "Tis evening, and the round hill tops 
 Of Malvern pierce th' unclouded sky ; 
 
 Their verdant summits and the blue 
 Ether appear in rivalry. 
 
 The narrow path winds far above 
 The varied surface of the plain, 
 
 And hazy distance shrouds the view 
 As distance veils the unruffled main. 
 
 The straggling village lies below. 
 
 Its storm-worn abbey seems to be 
 
 A tiny model of itself 
 
 In an unknown infinity. 
 
 87
 
 88 An Evening Reverie 
 
 Beyond, cloud shadows lengthening creep 
 Across the distant wide expanse, 
 
 While favoured spots more briL,'htly glow. 
 Lit up by Day's expiring glance. 
 
 Behind, sheep idly stand and graze 
 Upon the gorse-clad, steep hill sides ; 
 
 And on the breeze of evening borne. 
 The gathering darkness softly glides. 
 
 The daylight glories pale and fade 
 
 Like hopes ungathered, nursed in vain. 
 Or kiss from lips of dear one loved, 
 Or distant musick's echoing strain. 
 
 And now the first of those bright gems 
 Which nightly spangle o'er the skies. 
 
 With ever-growing lustre lights 
 The lamp of gathering memories.
 
 An Evetiing Reverie 89 
 
 Fair visions silently steal by, 
 
 Of love light, clear as brightening star, 
 In streams of glory floating round, 
 
 A beacon answering from afar. 
 
 Soft blows the evening's fading breeze, 
 Low whispering round th' untending ear ; 
 
 O little man ! a dust speck borne 
 On Time's swift pinions year by year. 
 
 But yet man's restless strivings bear 
 The impress of unconquered Will, 
 
 The boastings of a soul which dares 
 To bid the rebel floods be stiU. 
 
 And now the golden sunlight fades, 
 Grey twilight hardly intervenes ; 
 
 r 
 
 Already eve's blue misty vail 
 
 Has fallen o'er the distant scenes.
 
 90 An Evening Reverie 
 
 Now myriad tiny spangles deck 
 Til' empurpled canopy above, 
 
 Their (quivering rays but dimly light 
 The footprints of the God of Love. 
 
 Grim darkness wheels its hosts around, 
 Proclaiming silently, " 'Tis night"; 
 
 The breeze on which they seemed to float 
 Lies buried in the grave of light. 
 
 Chill deathlike silence reigns alone, 
 It thrills the soul with startled awe, 
 
 O'ercrowds the sense with forms of fear. 
 Pervades each luirricd breath we draw. 
 
 But hark ! a tender, soothing strain. 
 The wandering rill skips o'er its bed, 
 
 And softly to the silent car 
 
 Sings requiem for the daylight dead.
 
 Aji Evening Reverie 9^ 
 
 Melodious strains, so sweet, so full, 
 
 Low echoes trembling on the ear. 
 Half sad, half full of gathering hope, 
 
 Comminglings of a smile and tear. 
 
 Its notes dispel the fearsome awe, 
 
 And soothe th' oppressive sense of care ; 
 
 Low whispers full of tenderest trust. 
 
 Of treasured thoughts we read and share. 
 
 Now rising moonbeams quivering flood 
 The dusky caverned gloom of night. 
 
 The distant Severn winding glows 
 A silver trail of molten light. 
 
 The placid radiance spreads and drives 
 
 Each shadowy form of fear away ; 
 Life's dark, uncertain storm-drifts melt. 
 
 And night reflects the light of day.
 
 A WAYSIDE BALLAD 
 
 PART I 
 
 A slight Sketch of the Life and Thought of a Country 
 Village in the Earlier Years of the Century. 
 
 Whilst one with Earth's uncultured flowers 
 
 A priceless garland weaves, 
 Another opens Nature's book 
 
 And idly turns the leaves. 
 
 Whilst one on Fancy's wings will soar 
 
 In wild exultant strain, 
 Another like the swan to rise 
 
 From earth attempts in vain, 
 
 9i
 
 A Wayside Ballad 93 
 
 And many fritter life away 
 
 In an unceasing round 
 Of business, pleasure, toil or play. 
 
 Time's bell gives but one sound. 
 
 A little village maiden lived 
 In days now long since flown ; 
 
 Around her life a story clings, 
 A story scarce her own. 
 
 The village, quite a rural one, 
 
 A laggard in the race. 
 Its scattered homes unconscious of 
 
 The luxury of space 
 
 Yet rich in charms but little known 
 To toilers cooped in towns, 
 
 Its scented fields, its grassy lanes 
 And undulating downs.
 
 94 -^ Wayside Ballad 
 
 Wide spreading woods, where pheasants roost, 
 
 Broad cultivated leas, 
 And here and there a scattered farm 
 
 Half hid amongst the trees. 
 
 The Hall, a square built modern house, 
 
 With ugliness pourtrayed 
 Upon its many-windowed front 
 
 Its stuccoed balustrade, 
 
 Surrounded by a wealth of lawns 
 
 And gardens gay with flowers. 
 With winding pathways, terraced shrubs, 
 
 Quaint nooks and shady bowers. 
 
 Below it groups a gabled pile. 
 
 Outliving time and change, 
 The manor house of years gone by 
 
 But now the manor grange ;
 
 A Wayside Ballad 95 
 
 Its long, low rooms, its massive walls, 
 
 And muUioned windows quite 
 Absurd appear in days when art 
 
 Must yield to space and light. 
 
 The ancient smithy by the green, 
 
 The village stocks hard by, 
 Used only when some saucy rogue 
 
 The luxury would try. 
 
 Beyond, the one old-fashioned Inn — 
 The Squire would brook no more — 
 
 His crest, a beehive, as a sign 
 Hangs creaking o'er the door. 
 
 The church, half hid 'midst dusky yews, 
 
 With ancient roofs and screen, 
 And crumbling carvings which reveal 
 
 What it must once have been.
 
 96 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 And still o'er many a grassy mound 
 
 Its lengthening shadows fall, 
 The loved, and mourned, the lone, unwept. 
 
 The shadow ^ rests on all. 
 
 The priest, a tall ascetic man. 
 
 Of slow and stooping gait, 
 \\"\\\\ Naboth's accusation bans,^ 
 
 Each foe of Church and State. 
 
 A pathway from the village green 
 
 To Jessie's dwelling led. 
 Close by the pound, across the stile, 
 
 A walnut tree o'erhead, 
 
 Sweet woodbine decks the rustic porch, 
 
 Around it roses twine ; 
 Fair Peris by their fragrant breath, 
 
 Allured might stay and dine. 
 
 ' Symbol of God's rrovidcnce. 
 
 ■^ " Naboth did blaspheme God and llic King" (l Kings xxi. 
 
 13).
 
 A Wayside Ballad 97 
 
 A wild old-fashioned garden rich 
 
 In bright-hued perfumed flowers, 
 Where countless bees hold revel in 
 
 The Summer's sunny hours. 
 
 Here little Jessie's early years 
 
 Passed unobserved away, 
 The father made her quite a pet 
 
 And never said her " Nay." 
 
 The mother, too, with cords of love 
 
 And maxims neat and kind, 
 Would constant strive life's straying twigs 
 
 Round duty's stem to bind. 
 
 Thus Jessie grew as daisies grow, 
 
 A lively, loving sprite ; 
 Her mother called her noisy romp. 
 
 And she, no doubt, was right. 
 
 H
 
 98 A Wnyside Ballad 
 
 She'd tear her frock, and scratch her hands, 
 
 As country children will, 
 But then for this she made amends, 
 
 For she was never ill. 
 
 With dimpled, round, and rosy cheeks, 
 
 A pleasant sight to see, 
 And pale grey eyes which sparkling shone 
 
 In merry happy glee. 
 
 A lilac pinafore and hood 
 
 On " work-a-days " she wore, 
 Short skirts, and warm grey worsted hose, 
 
 And boots laced up before. 
 
 But on a Sunday she'd appear 
 
 In hat of russet brown, 
 With marguerites and corn flowers wreathed 
 
 Around its low flat crown.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 99 
 
 And mom and afternoon alike 
 
 To church she'd always go, 
 And sit as children used to sit 
 
 On benches in a row. 
 
 The school, a long low room, o'er which 
 
 The broad-leaved ivy climbs, 
 Stands sheltered from the Western gales 
 
 Beneath a row of limes. 
 
 The mistress, short, and sharp, and thin, 
 
 With curls of chestnut dye. 
 Sits prim, and levity repels, 
 
 For naught escapes her eye. 
 
 Here Jessie learned to knit and spell, 
 
 To sew, and write, and read. 
 And "do addition" — that was all 
 
 Girls then were thought to need.
 
 100 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 Once every year in Summer time 
 The Squire was wont to make 
 
 A luscious feast to all the school 
 Of firmity and cake. 
 
 At times like these his children, too, 
 Would join the party there, 
 
 And in the noisy rustic games 
 Delight to have a share. 
 
 So Jessie grew, and Time sped on 
 With steady, careless stride, 
 
 Until a first deep shadow fell, 
 Her mother drooped and died. 
 
 And now, bereft of all beside, 
 Her father needs her care 
 
 To scatter sunshine o'er his home. 
 His lonely lot to share.
 
 A Wayside Ballad loi 
 
 So Jessie went no more to school, 
 
 Tho' she was only ten ; 
 She kept her father's house at home, 
 
 There were no " standards " then. 
 
 Five happy, busy, growing years 
 
 On hurrying wings have flown ; 
 A deeper shadow crossed her path, 
 
 And Jessie was alone. 
 
 O'erwhelmed with grief and heedless of 
 
 Aught that could now befall, 
 With passive acquiescence she 
 
 Was sheltered at the Hall. 
 
 And there she learned unnumbered things 
 Which she had thought she knew, 
 
 For all the maids were very glad 
 To give her work to do.
 
 I02 A ]Vayside Ballad 
 
 And quickly Jessie found a friend 
 
 Amongst the maidens there, 
 W'iih whom she spent the careless hours 
 
 \\'hich duty left to spare. 
 
 Together, 'midst the fields and woods. 
 
 On Sunday evenings they 
 Would often wander and enjoy 
 
 A sylvan holiday. 
 
 And sometimes James, the youthful Squire, 
 Would meet them in their walk ; 
 
 They could not but be flattered by 
 His merry, lively " talk." ^ 
 
 Now this, in Mrs. Grundy's eyes, 
 
 With utter flagrance shone ; 
 But Jane and Jessie never thought 
 
 To put her glasses on. 
 
 ' Conversation, a provincialism, now nearly obsolete.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 103 
 
 And James himself was quite a boy, 
 
 Brimful of saucy fun ; 
 And loving, more than all beside, 
 
 His beagles and his gun. 
 
 His lady mother quickly heard. 
 
 With undisguised dismay. 
 How Jane and Jessie and her son 
 
 Met every "Sabbath" day. 
 
 Twas spiteful Rumour told the tale, 
 
 And she, as usual, knew 
 A great deal more about them all 
 
 Than was exacdy true. 
 
 So Jane, the elder of the two, 
 
 At once was sent away; 
 But Jessie begged, with timid tears, 
 
 To be allowed to stay.
 
 I04 ^ Wayside Ballad 
 
 To Litwick James was hurried off — 
 
 The school in fashion then 
 As much or more than it is now 
 
 Amongst the upper Ten. 
 
 And Jessie, grown quite stout and strong, 
 
 Was to the laundry sent ; 
 It might not be her fancy, but 
 
 She strove to feel content. 
 
 And time f^ew by, and day by day 
 The daily work was done — 
 
 A life that told its passing years 
 But by the circling sun. 
 
 But Sunday was a gala day 
 
 And, in her best arrayed, 
 Would Jessie go to church and then 
 
 Came sunshine 'midst the shade.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 105 
 
 For Jane an elder brother had, 
 
 And he would sometimes call 
 To see his sister when she lived 
 
 With Jessie at the Hall. 
 
 And even after Jane had "left" 
 
 He'd often come to say 
 That Jane was well, and sent her love, 
 
 And then he'd talk and stay. 
 
 Now Thomas was a joiner, he 
 
 Was quick and clever too ; 
 The Squire employed his master for 
 
 What work he had to do. 
 
 So Thomas to the Hall was sent 
 
 Whenever things went wrong; 
 He did not mind the tedious walk, 
 
 Nor deem it lone or long.
 
 io6 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 And tho' the laundry might not need 
 
 Any especial care, 
 Yet Thomas, when liis work was done, 
 
 Was sure to linger there. 
 
 For Jane a place was quickly found 
 
 At the adjoining town, 
 And, as the doctor's parlour maid, 
 
 On Jessie she looked down. 
 
 And Jane increased in beauty as 
 The laggard months passed by; 
 
 She wore a fashionable dress 
 And bonnet on the sly. 
 
 For in those days the maidens were 
 
 Expected to be neat, 
 And not to ape the costume of 
 
 Their "betters"^ in the street. 
 
 ' A very common provincialism at that time.
 
 A Wayside Ballad loy 
 
 And James, just grown to man's estate 
 
 (He was at Oxford now), 
 Aspired to stroke his college eight — 
 
 At present he was bow. 
 
 But when term ending brought him home 
 
 He'd find, almost each day, 
 Important business at the town 
 
 Which would not brook delay. 
 
 On farrier or on gunsmith he 
 
 Would be compelled to call, 
 And, anxious for his health, he sought 
 
 The doctor most of all. 
 
 The time passed on more slowly now 
 
 For Time will often stay 
 His headlong course, and linger o'er 
 
 An uneventful day.
 
 io8 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 And Jessie, nearly twenty-two, 
 
 Had grown sedate and staid ; 
 Her wages too were raised, for she 
 
 Was second laundry maid. 
 
 And she and Thomas seemed to grow 
 
 Into each other's ways, 
 And in their evening walks they'd scheme 
 
 Their plans for future days. 
 
 Tom's master at one time had had 
 
 A comfortable trade, 
 And he had taken care of all 
 
 The money he had made. 
 
 But as for " going with the times," 
 
 Of that he never dreamt, 
 And that *' new-fangled contract work " 
 
 He viewed with much contempt.* 
 
 ' A general feeling at that time amongst tradesmen of the old 
 school.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 109 
 
 So more and more each passing year 
 
 His business went astray, 
 And rivals gathered what he seemed 
 
 Resolved to fling away. 
 
 And now, when Thomas felt that soon 
 
 He'd have no work to do, 
 The Squire one morning sent for hrm 
 
 And said, " I've plans for you. 
 
 " I want a handy, useful man 
 To live on the estate ; 
 I much respect your master, but 
 He's getting out of date." 
 
 "And here's a house just empty, and 
 Your earliest work shall be 
 To build yourself a joiner's shop, 
 Built as it ought to be."
 
 no A Wayside Ballad 
 
 " Amongst the farmers all around 
 You'll find employment too ; 
 In fact, I've very little doubt 
 There's work enough for two." 
 
 " And should you think of married life 
 You possibly may find " — 
 He said this with a genial smile — 
 " A damsel to your mind." 
 
 So Jessie found a happy home, 
 
 And Tom a gentle wife, 
 As peacefully she floated down 
 
 The placid stream of life. 
 
 For Thomas had by sheer hard work 
 
 An honest penny turned, 
 And careful Jessie had not quite 
 
 Expended all she'd earned.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 1 1 1 
 
 Old Time had smiled on Jessie, too, 
 
 And smoothed her tangled hair, 
 And sprinkled freckles o'er her cheeks, 
 
 For health was blooming there. 
 
 And Jessie made a prudent wife. 
 
 Her every thought was bent 
 On spreading o'er their modest home 
 
 A halo of content. 
 
 And now a letter came from Jane, 
 
 The first since long ago 
 She'd left the doctor, and was gone 
 
 Where, no one seemed to know. 
 
 She wrote of care, of failing health, 
 Her husband dead, her boy 
 
 Just twelve months old, her longing for 
 Her home, its restful joy.
 
 112 A Waysick Ba/l(ui 
 
 She wanted not for this world's goods, 
 She'd plenty and to spare ; 
 
 But for her child the mother's heart 
 Was full of anxious care. 
 
 She was alone, her weary life 
 
 Drew very near tlie end, 
 And she would like once more to see 
 
 Her brother and her friend. 
 
 To Jane a hearty welcome came. 
 And for her boy a home, 
 
 And life's dull waves were bright again 
 With flakes of sunlit foam. 
 
 But all in vain, the waning life 
 Passed with the waning year, 
 
 And Nature decked the wintry grave 
 With many a frozen tear.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 1 13 
 
 And when the early Spring was gay 
 
 With resurrection life, 
 A marble tomb was reared, inscribed, 
 
 " To Jane, my loving wife." 
 
 And on that smoothly polished stone 
 
 So cold, and white, and bare, 
 Were graven words of burning love, 
 
 Half sorrow, half despair.^ 
 
 With many voices " Wonder " spoke, 
 
 " Surprise " was present, too. 
 And " Idle Gossip," ever quick 
 
 To say a word or two. 
 
 But Jessie, while her tears fell fast 
 
 Upon the grassy mound. 
 Clasped in her arms the orphan child, 
 
 And love its guerdon found. 
 
 ' There is such a tomb and inscription in a Church not very many 
 miles from London.
 
 114 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 For very soon the little one 
 Around their hearts had twined 
 
 His thread of life, and they'd no will 
 The tangle to unwind. 
 
 Now passing seasons hurry on, 
 And Tom has prosperous grown ; 
 
 The tall, fair boy is all his pride, 
 As tho' he were his own. 
 
 And work brought wealth, and wealth of wealth 
 
 Would multiply the store, 
 For he who has, the scripture says, 
 
 Shall, having, have the more. * 
 
 PART II. 
 
 And can it be that thirty years 
 
 Have passed as one away? 
 And what was youthful vigour then 
 
 Is middle life to-day ? 
 
 » S. Matt. XXV. 28, 29.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 1 1 5 
 
 That passing years old age have led 
 
 Unto its silent home ? 
 That raven locks are now as white 
 
 As sea-waves' crests of foam? 
 
 The Squire has passed away, and James, 
 
 His son, the Squire is now ; 
 A man of business, somewhat keen, 
 
 Frank eyes and open brow. 
 
 And James, I should have said " Sir James," 
 
 This is his title, he 
 Has three times for his county stood, 
 
 And now he is M.P. 
 
 Such claims a grateful country has 
 
 At all times well repaid ; 
 And he, the meed of triumph won, 
 
 A Baronet was made.
 
 11 6 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 My lady, first in gentle care 
 
 For every rustic ill, 
 A\'iih quite a troop of daughters, who 
 
 Well emulate her skill. 
 
 Louise, a beauty, laden with 
 
 The budding cares of life ; 
 For she'd a year ago become 
 
 A neighbouring rector's wife. 
 
 Then two whose ages differ but 
 
 A twelvemonth and a day, 
 And dubbed by witty friends "the twins," 
 
 So much alike are they. 
 
 And Dora nex-*^ a fair-haired maid, 
 
 Who, eighteen years ago, 
 Was but a tiny helpless mite 
 
 That scarce had learned to crow.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 1 1 7 
 
 But now her father's darling, who 
 
 Is ever at his side, 
 Companion of his evening stroll 
 
 Or of his morning ride. 
 
 So full of wondering love for all 
 The beauties round her spread, — 
 
 The golden meads, the waving trees, 
 The changing skies o'erhead. 
 
 Amidst the fields and glades she loves 
 
 To spend life's early hours, 
 With no companions save her friends — 
 
 The trees, the birds, the flowers. 
 
 To wander thro' the thick pine woods, 
 
 Whose branches arching o'er 
 Break up the sunny rays, and strow 
 
 Their fragments on the floor.
 
 lis A Wayside Ballad 
 
 Here startled rabbit hurries on 
 
 Across the narrow " ride," 
 And stock-doves wake the echoes of 
 
 The quiet eventide. 
 
 Nor unexplored the (juarry depths, 
 A\'ith hush and briar o'ergrown, 
 
 Where ages past to build the church 
 Was dug the hard grey stone. 
 
 'Twas here the choicest flowers would bloom, 
 
 Tall ferns and grasses wild, 
 She'd pass the spot with creeping awe 
 
 When yet a timid child. 
 
 A tragedy long years ago 
 
 Had made it haunted ground ; 
 
 And even now weird shadows seemed 
 To tremble at each sound.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 119 
 
 Fair Dora dreamt a fearsome dream ; 
 
 Wild terror and dismay 
 Clung round her, till an angel dashed 
 
 The shapeless fear away. 
 
 A horror, what, she knew not, 'twas 
 
 So indistinct and dim, 
 And yet so mighty that it seemed 
 
 Help could but come from him. 
 
 Now Tom and Jessie both had lived 
 
 Their unobtrusive day. 
 And comforts gathered round them as 
 
 Life's summer passed away. 
 
 And Thomas had, so common then, 
 
 Though rarely met with now. 
 His pigs and sheep, his geese and fowls, 
 
 His pony, cart, and cow.
 
 120 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 The babe had grown into the boy, 
 
 The boy into the man ; 
 At school and college, work and play, 
 
 He struggled to the van. 
 
 A scholarship he'd early gained 
 Inspired to something more, 
 
 And then success upon success 
 To Oxford ope'd the door. 
 
 At thirty-one his earnest work 
 Was not unknown to fame, 
 
 And honour's fitful halo seemed 
 To hover round his name. 
 
 The quiet, dreary, dull old town 
 With life is thrilling now. 
 
 And simulates the smile of youth 
 Upon its furrowed brow.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 121 
 
 The village, too, no longer sleeps 
 
 The sleep of other days ; 
 A railway floods with bustling haste 
 
 Its rustic winding ways. 
 
 The ancient church has put away 
 
 Each passing age's whim ; 
 Its " thorough restoration " leaves 
 
 It new, and neat, and trim. 
 
 Its ceilings, galleries, green baize pews 
 
 Alike have given way 
 To open benches, timber roofs — 
 The fashion of to-day. 
 
 The Hall, in its old lavish style. 
 
 No longer ope's its doors ; 
 And neighbouring tradesmen much resent 
 
 Its dealings with the stores.
 
 122 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 For times are not what times have been, 
 And rents have fallen low ; 
 
 The farmers scarce a profit reap 
 On anything they sow. 
 
 Sir James has much ado to make 
 His lessened means provide 
 
 For growing needs ; impatiently 
 He waits the turning tide. 
 
 A hearty welcome at the Hall 
 The young Professor found ; 
 
 His novel, socialistic views 
 Were sown on fertile ground. 
 
 For time had hurried by since he 
 Had sought his early home, 
 
 And in another name he'd sought 
 To rear Ambition's dome.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 123 
 
 And who could recognise the babe 
 
 Who, thirty years before, 
 Unconsciously a suppliant came 
 
 To Tom's and Jessie's door, 
 
 As now, o'er wearied with his work, 
 
 He seeks a quiet rest ? 
 The childless joiner's vacant rooms 
 
 Oft welcomed such a guest. 
 
 And he, too, in the fields and woods 
 
 Would often idly stray, 
 To gather lichens, mosses, ferns — 
 
 His hobbies of to-day. 
 
 Fair Dora's heart reached out to one 
 
 Who seemed so far above. 
 And yet, whose accents thrilled with all 
 
 The tenderness of love.
 
 124 -^^ Waysiiie Ballad 
 
 To teach and learn, when each delights 
 In what is learnt and taught, 
 
 Unconsciously the listener thinks 
 The sympathetic thought. 
 
 And Dora fancied she could trace, 
 
 In outline faint and dim, 
 That mighty angel of her dream, 
 
 So like, yet unlike him. 
 
 The happy days and weeks flew by. 
 
 And ere the parting came, 
 He offered her his heart, his all. 
 
 His prospects, and — his name. 
 
 His name — a name that sounded strange, 
 
 And yet not all unknown, 
 'Twas graven thirty years before 
 
 Upon that cold white stone.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 125 
 
 And then — some other pen than mine 
 
 The story must unfold ; 
 For tears are but a fickle stream, 
 
 And love is never old, 
 
 A broken heart, the one farewell, 
 
 So tender and so true 
 And then — the wild and dreary waste, 
 
 And life begun anew. 
 
 While idle songs are gaily sung, 
 
 One saddened soft refrain, 
 The cooing of the widowed dove, 
 
 The ne'er to be again. 
 
 The shadow of a simple cross 
 
 Falls on a grassy mound, 
 Another young and ardent heart 
 
 Its silent rest has found.
 
 126 A Wayside Inillad 
 
 With Tom and Jessie now life's tide 
 
 Flows sluggishly along ; 
 Its laughing ripple hushed, it sings 
 
 A hollow, plaintive song. 
 
 Nor is Sir James at all the man 
 
 He was a year ago, 
 He stoops a little in his gait. 
 
 His hair is flecked with snow. 
 
 The car of Time unceasingly 
 Pursues its noiseless way ; 
 
 The strong may love, the fair may die, 
 The striver win the day. 
 
 The fly lives out its little life. 
 The student can no more, 
 
 His dearest aspirations float. 
 Mere wreckage to the shore.
 
 A Wayside Ballad 127 
 
 In far-ofif lands where England's sons, 
 
 A growing empire raise, 
 The once Professor sadly lights 
 
 The lamp of other days. 
 
 To be, to do, to live, to toil, 
 
 As in the long ago ; 
 To sow the seeds of future weal. 
 
 Let others watch them grow. 
 
 Success or loss, above, below. 
 
 But finite words which tell 
 What transient shadows flitting by 
 
 Have dreamed of ill or well. 
 
 And tho' the passing breeze's breath. 
 
 The chaff may whirl on high, 
 Yet many a grain of wheat is left 
 
 To die and fructify.
 
 128 A Wayside Ballad 
 
 The bat which aimless flutters round, 
 Half dazzled by the light, 
 
 Amidst the deepening twilight breaks 
 The shadowy gloom of night. 
 
 The glories of the rising sun 
 
 Illume a well-run race. 
 But daylight's early hours are torn 
 
 From midnight's chill embrace. 
 
 The craving heart so cold and dead, 
 Alike to praise or blame. 
 
 Alone in silence kneels before 
 The memory of a name. 
 
 Life, waning life, can offer but 
 
 A valueless renown ; 
 The shadows of the past have reft 
 
 The idol of its crown.
 
 ''BETWIXT TWO WORLDS LIFE 
 HOVERS LIKE A STAR 'TWIXT 
 NIGHT AND MORN" 
 
 Sunshine and pleasure, 
 
 Sorrow and cloud, 
 Gaily decked cradle, 
 
 Flower strown shroud ; 
 And 'twixt the one and 
 
 Other outspread, 
 Lives of the living. 
 
 Deeds of the dead. 
 
 Byron 
 
 ^ Star of the morning, 
 
 o> 
 
 Paling away, 
 
 ^ Job xxxviii. 7. 
 
 129
 
 130 Betwixt Two Worlds 
 
 At thine uprising, 
 
 Ruler of day ; 
 Star of the evening, 
 
 Shining more bright, 
 Thro' thy blue panoply, ■ 
 
 * Beautiful night. 
 
 ^ Sing, star of morning. 
 
 Thro' endless days, 
 Anthems of glory, 
 
 Worship and praise. 
 Sing, star of beauty. 
 
 Sing, star of light, 
 Sing, as thy radiance 
 
 Gladdens the night. 
 
 ^ Not through thine own being, 
 Not by thy jiowcr. 
 Trembling intensity, 
 
 ' Southcy. * Job xxxviii. 7. * Zecli. iv. 6.
 
 Betzvixt Two Worlds 131 
 
 Hour by hour. 
 Thro' years and ages, 
 
 Stedfast alone, 
 Like and yet unHke 
 
 Life on its throne. 
 
 Life as it might be, 
 
 Light from above, 
 Shedding around it an 
 
 Infinite love. 
 O, happy hfe lived, 
 
 Life yet to be. 
 Light that may shine thro' 
 
 Eternity.
 
 MA Y 
 
 I DREAMED a dream of lovely Mny, 
 Of sunshine all the livelong day, 
 Of quivering heat, of shady bowers. 
 Of meadows spangled o'er with flowers ; 
 The laik on quivering wing on high 
 Its carols thrilling through the sky ; 
 The sylvan stream with ripples bright 
 Reflecting back the sunny light ; 
 'i'he liawtliorn's robe of scented snow, 
 Tlie coy laburnum's golden glow; 
 'J'iie gentle breeze whose timid sigh 
 In soft caresses rustled by ; 
 The throstle's joyous song, which made 
 Sweet music in each leafy glade ; 
 The cuckoo, whose incessant voice
 
 May 133 
 
 Sang gaily, " It is spring, rejoice," 
 And then to my delighted eyes 
 The fair Hyale was my prize. 
 
 I shivering woke, my noisy sneeze 
 Scarce heard amidst the rushins; breeze, 
 And, oh ! the sharp rheumatic pain, 
 I wish to — ^never sneeze again. 
 The surging trees, swept by the blast, 
 Their scarce unfolded verdure cast ; 
 The frozen and unfrozen rain 
 Beats loud against each window pane, 
 And o'er their moisture-reeking beds, 
 Pale flowerets hang their drooping heads ; 
 Cold dusky storm-clouds hurrying fly 
 Tumultuous o'er the murky sky ; 
 A gleam of suishine, and again 
 Falls thick and fast the pent-up rain. 
 The torn wind howls ; I turn away, 
 And feel that it indeed is May.
 
 SUMMER, 1892 
 
 'I'm: passing summer melts away, 
 To-morrow glides into to-day, 
 Its waves have broken into spray, 
 And drifted over. 
 
 I've quaffed dame Nature's richest wine, 
 The breeze whicli blows across tlie brine, 
 And felt its essence gladden mine, 
 But now 'tis over. 
 
 I visited in turn each spot 
 Where Earth has drawn her loveliest lot. 
 Where irksome business cares are not ; 
 Alas ! 'tis over. 
 
 >5t
 
 Slimmer, 1892 135 
 
 The sunny South allured me first, 
 When Springtide with deceitful burst 
 Of sunshine hopes of brightness nursed, 
 Too quickly over. 
 
 I wandered by the Western shore, 
 Where wild Atlantic billows roar 
 And spend themselves, and are no more, 
 Their fury over. 
 
 I turned my steps to hilly Wales, 
 And there amidst her crags and vales 
 I drank ozone : but what avails, 
 For it is over. 
 
 I sought the North where heather grows. 
 Its mountains capped with Summer snows. 
 Where time and money quickly goes. 
 Till all is over.
 
 1^6 Siiviuier, 1893 
 
 O Dying Summer : We whose lays 
 Denounced thy cold and rainy days, 
 Look back on thee with lon^iniz c.ize 
 Now thou art over.
 
 A DAY'S EXCURSION TO LONDON 
 
 For a long Summer's day we were wending our way 
 
 to Town on that morning early ; 
 Those not up too late had their hair combed straight, 
 
 the rest had to wear it "curly." 
 Some who claimed to be wise had not closed their 
 
 eyes for fear that they might not be waking. 
 And one — said a friend — ere her slumbers would end, 
 
 had required a merciless shaking. 
 The grim shadows of night seemed to circle us quite, 
 
 an impalpable indigo awning, 
 And the clock striking one, that it's time to be gone, 
 
 sounds a hollow and lingering warning ; 
 All our party close packed, for we space rather lacked, 
 
 we drive on with steady persistence, 
 
 137
 
 138 A Bays Exaifsioti to London 
 
 And on looking around, 'twas the first time we found 
 
 that we'd heard of eacli other's existence. 
 Two old farmers whose size was almost a surprise, 
 
 a slim damsel with cheeks pale and sallow ; 
 In a corner tight squeezed a young couple quite pleased 
 
 to lay down life's plough land to fallow ; 
 Then a good-humoured dame, rosy cheeks, rather lame, 
 
 with a bird cage and parcels in plenty, 
 And a lovely young thing, quite a bee on the wing, 
 
 whose age was — she told us — just twenty ; 
 A young man and his wife, who are drifting thro' life, 
 
 she his duck, he, her darling old gaby, 
 With no moment to spare as with boisterous care, 
 
 they hush the unhushable baby. 
 Rural hamlet and town, meadow, coppice, and down, 
 
 each in turn as we pass are receding, 
 Thro' a tunnel we rush, up a steep incline push, and 
 
 anon o'er the level are speeding : 
 That weird spectre of night, the while o.vl in its llight, 
 
 its defiance indignantly screeches,
 
 A Days Excursion to London 139 
 
 And we start at the cry of a peacock close by, at roost 
 
 in some wide-spreading beeches. 
 We scarce try to think out a thought or to hnk our 
 
 ideas, we all are so sleepy, 
 And the night's chilly breath like the cold dew of death 
 
 clings around us, damp, chilly, and creepy. 
 AVith an effort some strive to keep small talk alive, 
 
 but the most are dull, heavy, and weary. 
 And remarkably slow comes the "Yes," " Eh," or " No," 
 
 the reward of attempts to be cheery : 
 Each fair lady her smile hides away for a while, as 
 
 she sits with drooped eyelashes dozing. 
 And in turn one by one or in half unison, all our 
 
 mouths we are opening and closing. 
 The old joke and the tale are of little avail, to wake 
 
 up our slumbering party, 
 E'en the jocular man, let him try all he can, soon 
 
 subsides with his laugh loud and hearty. 
 All our wan faces seemed as tho' each one had deemed 
 
 that to wash was too great an exertion,
 
 140 A Days Excursion to Loudon 
 
 Or 'twas rather a seeming that we were still dreaming 
 
 of trains and our joyous excursion. 
 No one cared to complain tho' it spattered with rain, 
 
 for we had not the spirit to grumble, 
 But we took what befell, be our lot ill or well, we 
 
 were all so subdued, meek, and humble. 
 In a comatose state thus we slumber and wait, till the 
 
 sun finds its time for arising. 
 And then we too awake, off our drowsiness shake 
 
 in a way that is really surprising ; 
 Just a yawn of surprise, then a rubbing of eyes, soon 
 
 the ladies their toilets are making, 
 And they quickly display in their own charming way, 
 
 an appearance bewitchingly taking. 
 1'hen a craving within prompts us all to begin, what 
 
 at least is a jileasant diversion, 
 For to eat and to drink most excursionists think, is the 
 
 charm of a charming excursion. 
 Quite a small husk of chaff now awakens a laugh, 
 
 and we all have a repartee handy,
 
 A Days Excursion to London 141 
 
 Almost every remark as it falls strikes a spark, as we 
 
 quizzical compliments bandy ; 
 As the train speeds along one commences a song, 
 
 with a long-drawn mellifluous chorus, 
 But our voices fall flat as we realise that, there's a 
 
 toil of sight-seeing before us. 
 We grow silent once more, a long journey's a bore, 
 
 that at least seemed the general feeling, 
 And hot, hasty, and short, passed the quip and retort, 
 
 " on their sleeve " each one's true self revealing. 
 As the sun rises higher, some feel they require fresh 
 
 air, the compartment's so stuffy. 
 One complains of the cold, others angrily fold around 
 
 them their wraps soft and fluffy. 
 All at once the train slows and we ratlier suppose 
 
 we shall stop at the town we are nearing. 
 And the ladies with glee, talk of hot cups of tea ; 
 
 but, alas ! there's no station appearing, — 
 Just a small country town, narrow streets up and down, 
 
 busy men to their da}'s work are wending;
 
 142 A Day's Excursion to London 
 
 With its station they say a good lialf mile away, 
 
 Noisy chaff with their grain of wheat blending. 
 Now we're getting up speed very quickly indeed, and 
 
 past station by station we hurry, 
 For our train, somewhat late, has got into a state of 
 
 bustle, excitement, and flurry. 
 The two stout farmers say they shall finish the day 
 
 at the " Palace," that garden of pleasure, 
 They have tossed for a dinner, and he who's the winner, 
 
 exults in his luck without measure. 
 Streets and houses appear, and it's perfectly clear 
 
 that we've almost completed our journey. 
 The funny man sighs and with woe-begone eyes, says 
 
 he's come up to see his altcjrney ; 
 The old dame did intend to arrange with a friend 
 
 to come to the station to meet her. 
 But she's lost the address and is bound to confess 
 
 she's afraid that her memory '11 cheat her. 
 Every one has a plan the brief hours to span with a 
 
 bridge of unceasing enjoyment,
 
 A Days Excursion to London 143 
 
 All assured of a feast for a day at the least, 
 
 undisturbed by the ties of employment. 
 Now we trundle along midst a newly-built throng of 
 
 trim villas, pert streets, anon stopping ; 
 Then we move on once more, and soon stop as before, 
 
 like a lady whose mind's bent on shopping, 
 And at length we arrive as the clock's striking five, 
 
 and with spirits as light as a feather, 
 We all promise to meet when we've finished our treat, 
 
 and to make our way homeward together.
 
 WAITING 
 
 Chilly breathes the breath of Even, 
 
 Faintly shines the moon, 
 Chilly blows the breath of Even ; 
 
 He will be with me soon. 
 
 Lengthening shadows on the greensward 
 
 Slowly fade away, 
 Lengthening shadows dim the greensward ; 
 
 A\'hy docs my own one stay ? 
 
 Rosy hues of sunset linger, 
 
 Timid stars appear, 
 Rosy tints of sunset linger ; 
 
 My Love, I feel he's near.
 
 Waiting 145 
 
 Twilight grows more dark and sombre, 
 
 Night dews round me fall, 
 Twilight looms more dark and sombre ; 
 
 My Love comes not at all. 
 
 Shadows glide across the moonbeams. 
 
 Thrills my heart with fear, 
 Shadows mingle with the moonbeams ; 
 
 My Love, my Love is here.
 
 SONGS OF LIFE 
 
 THE CRAVING 
 
 "The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with 
 hearing." — Eccles. i. 8. 
 
 O WHY not ever thus? The longing cry 
 
 For bliss just tasted as it flashes by ; 
 
 Th' insatiate thirst, which drinks, and drinks in vain, 
 
 Its craving unallayed, it thirsts again. 
 
 O why not ever thus? Th' enchanting thrill 
 
 Which brain and soul and spirit seems to fill. 
 
 As heap on heap are piled the golden toys, 
 
 And trembling fingers clutch at fancied joys. 
 
 146
 
 Songs of Life 147 
 
 O why not ever thus? The sheltered glade 
 Reflecting life in sunshine and in shade ; 
 The tender murmuring of the clustered leaves, 
 The blue above ; around the golden sheaves. 
 
 O why not ever thus ? Th' o'ershadowing night, 
 The silver moonbeam's gentle quivering light, 
 The o'erflowing heart, sweet words, whose tender tone 
 The loved one hears, and feels them all her own. 
 
 O why not ever thus? The present seems 
 More blest than fancy in her wildest dreams 
 Had dared to picture. Heart and heart made one, 
 And, for a moment, Paradise re-won. 
 
 O why not ever thus? Th' exultant song 
 Of him who triumphs 'midst the motley throng 
 Of toilers fainting, struggling to attain 
 The glory he has won ? Toil all in vain.
 
 148 So7tgs of Life 
 
 O why not ever tlius ? 'i'he weary one, 
 His strivings o'er ; the day's work nobly done, 
 Its voices hush, its anxious cravings cease, 
 And rest is joy, and bliss unbroken peace. 
 
 O why not ever tiuis? Scarce conscious being, 
 Past, Present, Future, one vast boundless scene, 
 A subtle essence linking heart and brain, 
 A dream that — waking— sleeps and dreams again. 
 
 O why not ever thus ? The spirit fraught 
 With wildest dreams of wild, unfettered thought, 
 To stem, unaided, Life's untrammelled stream, 
 Regenerate man the thesis of his theme. 
 
 () why not ever thus? Th' o'erwearied brain 
 Kxultant teems with glowing thoughts again, 
 Quaffs breezy nectar as it ripples by. 
 And feels again Life's essence fructify.
 
 Songs of Life 149 
 
 O why not ever thus ? No care or toil, 
 No weary striving for precarious spoil ; 
 To eat, to sleep, the flowers untended grow, 
 But touch the sterile rock and waters flow. 
 
 O why not ever thus ? The mystic goal 
 Absorbing all the longings of the soul ; 
 Commingling life, in dual union twined. 
 The soft, low breathings of a summer wind ! 
 
 O why not ever thus? The soul's one dream — 
 Ambition, Knowledge, Love ; the cherished scheme, 
 Whate'er it be, the sought, the craved, the prized. 
 Life would be Life, were it but realized. 
 
 " O why not ever thus ? " The saddened voice 
 Of longings mingling with the cry, "Rejoice!" 
 The ceaseless echoings of a far-off song; 
 Glad joy-bells muffled by the wail, " How long ? "
 
 1 50 So/i^'-s of Life 
 
 U why not ever thus ? Again, again, 
 The transient bliss, the all-absorbing strain. 
 Alluring phantom ! Bride, whose bridal dress 
 Is but a shroud — to have and not possess. 
 
 O why not ever thus ? The cry of Life 
 In all its eager toil, its ceaseless strife; 
 A lingering echo from a far-off shore, 
 A fickle glamour luring evermore.
 
 Songs of Life 1 5 1 
 
 THE LAMENT 
 "The strong shall be as tow." — Isa. i. 31. 
 
 O WILDERNESS of acliing hearts ! 
 
 O wail of passing day ! 
 Unuttered longings twining round 
 
 The life that wanes away. 
 
 O memories of th' unfinished toil, 
 Of scattered pearls unstrung; 
 
 Electric meteors quenched in night ; 
 High preans left unsung. 
 
 Of work which lacks the master-touch, 
 The mystic charms which thrill 
 
 Thro' all, when ready heart and hand 
 Obey the guiding Will.
 
 152 SoNgs of Life 
 
 O cheering word ! O strong right hand ! 
 
 O voice of days gone by ! 
 Fond memories of a living past ; 
 
 A pent-up stream run dry. 
 
 Across the unseen spirit-land 
 
 Life's breezes gently blow ; 
 A passing breath alone divides 
 
 " To long for " from " To know." 
 
 O weight of sadness gathering o'er 
 
 The ne'er-forgotten past, 
 As sorrow-laden tempest clouds 
 
 Their deepening shadows cast. 
 
 To watch the weary tide of life 
 
 Ebb silently away, 
 The vision of to-morrow but 
 
 A picture of to-day.
 
 Songs of Life 153 
 
 The nerve-racked brain whose listening ear 
 Shrinks, tortured, from each sound, 
 
 The merry chirping of the bird. 
 The baying of the hound. 
 
 Dim quivering flame whose flicker lights 
 
 The outreaching mind alone, 
 A bell untuned, its low sad toll 
 
 A hollow, nerveless tone. 
 
 Awake ! awake ! O sleeping life ; 
 
 Frail weakness, be thou strong ; 
 Wild dirge ! thy saddened wailings cease ; 
 
 Raise, Hope, thy joyous song. 
 
 Ye pictures fair of summer days, 
 
 Why will ye rise again ? 
 Pale, soulless phantoms mingling with 
 
 The cold, unceasing rain.
 
 154 So/i£-s of Life 
 
 The rainbow, born of Nature's tears, 
 And sunshine's transient glow, 
 
 A glory melting as those tears 
 Of gladness cease to flow. 
 
 O stifled cry of riven hearts, 
 
 Sad voices of the night, 
 When shall the forest gloom roll back? 
 
 The morning stream with light ? 
 
 Dead joy-notes pealing from the lost. 
 
 Faint echoes from afar ; 
 The fickle, intermittent ray 
 
 Of some dim, distant star. 
 
 The withered flower, the fallen leaf, 
 The twilight's lingering gleam. 
 
 The hollow moaning of the wind, 
 The phantom of a dream.
 
 Songs of Life 155 
 
 THE AWAKENING 
 
 Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt find it after 
 many days." — Ecclcs. ii. i. 
 
 Where the acorn fell on its peaty bed, 
 
 But the toy of the blustering gale, 
 There the forest king holds his leafy court, 
 
 'And exults in the tempest's wail. 
 
 Mighty chaos reigned o'er a world submerged 
 'Neath the waves of despairing Night ; 
 
 At the voice of the Mighty transformed it glows 
 With a flood of pervading light. 
 
 Where the giant elk in the days long past 
 Roamed at will o'er the tangled wild
 
 156 Songs of Life 
 
 Mighty cities teem with a growing wealth, 
 And the mart is the desert's child. 
 
 O'er the scattered atoms of mouldering dust, 
 
 And of bones that are very dry, 
 There is moving again the renewing breath 
 
 Of the Spirit which cannot die. 
 
 Midst the mingling tissues of good and ill. 
 
 Of regret, of delight, of care, 
 Which the weary seekers have gathered up, 
 
 Which they worship, and grudge to share ; 
 
 In the time-chained garb of a living death. 
 In the growth that precedes decay, 
 
 As a flickering lamp in a cavern's depths 
 Shines the light which we call " to-day." 
 
 Uut the morrow dawns, and the nerveless hand 
 Feels the breath of the mountain air,
 
 Songs of Life 157 
 
 And the weak is strong with unfaiHng strength, 
 For the promise of life is there. 
 
 While the rivulet joyously bounds and leaps 
 
 On its way to its far-off goal, 
 But a tangle of light in its mountain home, 
 
 Into ocean vast billows roll. 
 
 The bewildered brain in vain strivings lost, 
 
 Now exults in a fadeless glow ; 
 For the shadowy dreamland of Time is past 
 
 And " to be " is to love and know.
 
 A LENG THE AUNG VISTA 
 
 O GIVE nie back my early youth, 
 The hours which flew unheeded by, 
 
 The fulness of a virgin Hope, 
 
 The light of Faith's unclouded eye. 
 
 O happy, merry, gladsome days. 
 
 So free from toil, and care, and thought, 
 With rippling laughter brimming o'er. 
 
 The joyousness of joy unsought. 
 
 The vision of a fairy scene ; 
 
 The world a wealth of joy for me, 
 A butterfly's unclouded life ; 
 
 Weird moonbeams shimmering on the sea. 
 
 »58
 
 A Lengthening Vista 159 
 
 So near, and yet so long ago ; 
 
 A dream that can be dreamt no more, 
 An anchor buried in the sand, 
 
 A phantom ship which finds no shore. 
 
 O give me back the home I loved ! 
 
 When life was strong, and brave, and young ; 
 When o'er the future's promised bliss 
 
 No requiem had as yet been sung. 
 
 The modest dwelling, on whose hearth 
 
 Life's mouldering memories grow not cold, 
 
 But, fanned by love's undying breath, 
 Glow brighter as the days grow old. 
 
 The narrow-bordered gravel path, 
 
 With daffodils and lilies gay, 
 And tufts of many an old-world flower 
 
 Whose names have almost passed away.
 
 i6o A LeiigtJmiing Vista 
 
 Green waving meads antl scattered woods, 
 Where many a wild bird — rarer now — 
 
 Had yearly built its springtide bower, 
 'Midst tangled brake, on leafy bough. 
 
 O forge again those broken links 
 
 Which bound me to the unfading past. 
 
 Again around those cherished scenes 
 The glamour of affection cast. 
 
 Fast friends, whose lives were part of mine, 
 Like shadowy dreams have passed away ; 
 
 The fair, the strong, in youth, in age. 
 With raven locks, with tresses grey. 
 
 And you, dear loved ones, most of all, 
 Around wliom brightest memories twine. 
 
 Within whose hearts I dwelt alone. 
 Whose all of love and life was mine.
 
 A Lengthening Vista i6i 
 
 The old grey church, beneath whose shade 
 
 The hopes of generations sleep, 
 The joyous clang of marriage bells, 
 
 The turf-clad grave where loved ones weep. 
 
 Huge spreading elms, amongst whose heights 
 The sweet-voiced mavis loved to sing. 
 
 Their cavern depths, whence nightly swept 
 The harsh-voiced owl on labouring wing. 
 
 Low grassy slopes, round tree-clad knolls, 
 
 Vast cornfield crests of ruddy gold. 
 Green shady lanes, wild gardens where 
 
 Dear Nature's loveliest flowers unfold. 
 
 The fruitful autumn's teeming wealth. 
 The summer evening's golden glow, 
 The budding loveliness of spring. 
 
 The winter's veil of dazzling snow. 
 
 M
 
 1 62 A Lengthening Vista 
 
 Siill through its level marshy plain 
 
 Tlic mighty river Iiurries by, 
 'Midst changing scenes alone unchanged, 
 
 It sings its own soft lullaby. 
 
 The soaring lark in gladness pours 
 
 Its wild exuberance of song ; 
 While, tempest-tost, life's banners wave 
 
 O'er buried hopes a countless throng. 
 
 Amidst the mist-enshroucied maze, 
 
 Where gloom and sunshine mingling reign, 
 
 Scarce can the practised eye discern 
 
 'Twixt growing wheat and worthless grain. 
 
 O opening life, so bright and fair, 
 Adorned witli all to charm and woo; 
 
 O crumbling life, a hoary wreck! 
 
 The sought-for false, the shrunk-from true.
 
 A Lengthening Vista 163 
 
 Ye glories of the moonlit sky, 
 
 Star-spangled canopy of night, 
 What mean ye to the wearied eye 
 
 Which scarce reflects one gleam of light? 
 
 O loved and passed ! a living dream 
 
 Too sweet, too dear to melt away. 
 Time-hoarded relics treasured up, 
 
 Soft echoings of a far-off day.
 
 PUBLIC WORSHIP 
 
 Enrobed in majesty, the Saviour reigns ; 
 His glorious presence fills the heavenly plains 
 With golden radiance.^ An unnumbered ^ band 
 Of holy Seraphim adoring stand 
 Before His throne, and in exultant song 
 Proclaim His praise.^ A myriad spirits throng 
 The heavenly courts, rejoicing in His sway. 
 And at His feet their happy homage pay ; 
 Themselves His ministers,'* who e'er fulfil 
 With joy the dictates of His loving will, 
 While all their radiant panoply is bright, 
 But with the beams of His pervading light ;^ 
 
 ' Rev. xxi. 23. 2 Rev. v. 11. ^ Rev. v. 12-14. * I^cv. .\.\ii. 
 9, and Heb. i. 14. * Rev. .\xi. 23. 
 
 164
 
 Public Worship 165 
 
 And e'en the strains of harmony divine, 
 Which fill the lustrous air when angels twine 
 Their wreaths of praise, imperfect, but express 
 Some faint reflection of His holiness.^ 
 
 How then shall fallen man, sin's vanquished slave,^ 
 Whose life is but a journey to the grave. 
 The chief who rules, the monarch of a day. 
 The humbler serf who tills his kindred clay,^ 
 How shall he kneel before the eternal throne. 
 Where angels' worship mingles with his own ? 
 How shall his trembling lips assay to plead 
 His Saviour's merits for his constant need? 
 How shall he pray? How can he hope to raise 
 On earth the echoes of angelic praise ? 
 
 At first the banner of the frozen world 
 Amidst chaotic darkness was unfurled.* 
 As changing eras slowly sped away 
 
 ' Job XV. 15. 2 Rom. vi. 16-23. ^ Rom. ii. 11. ^ Gen. 1. 2.
 
 1 66 Public Worship 
 
 Their countless ages, but a passing day 
 
 In the Creator's sight, earth grew more fair, 
 
 Till man, in God's own image, worshipped there ; 
 
 His work was fmished, the All-Wise surveyed, 
 
 And sealed approval on the world He made; 
 
 Six heavenly days sufficed Him to fulfil 
 
 Creation's work by His all-potent Will ; ' 
 
 The seventh day He set apart and blessed, 
 
 That it should be a day of holy rest,^ 
 
 For man ordained,^ beneath this eartlily sun 
 
 Type of his endless rest when life is done. 
 
 In after ages Adam's offspring reared 
 
 Their household altars to the Cod they feared ; 
 
 And, taught by Him, a sinless victim bled,"* 
 
 An offering He accepted in the stead 
 
 Of all who in the sacrifice descried 
 
 The Saviour's one atonement typified. 
 
 • 2 S. Pet. iii. 5. * Gen. ii. 2-3. 
 
 ■ St. Mark ii. 27. ■* Lev. and Num.
 
 Public Worship 167 
 
 As years rolled on, and man, to evil prone. 
 
 Sought not his Maker's glory but his own, 
 
 The Highest chose one favoured tribe ^ among 
 
 Earth's many citizens (now but a throng 
 
 Of idol worshippers) and deigned to give 
 
 The precepts which, observing, they should live ; "^ 
 
 With trembling hearts affrighted Israel saw 
 
 The terrors heralding the moral law, 
 
 When from the mountain's burning crest they heard 
 
 The awful voice of the Eternal Word. 
 
 His Law proclaimed. He taught the statutes they 
 
 Should keep, believe, and reverence and obey, — 
 
 All types in which unclouded faith could see 
 
 Foreshadowings of a bright futurity. 
 
 In holy jealousy ^ the Lord ordained 
 
 His worthy worship. By His Word explained 
 
 • Gen. xvii. * Exod. xx. 
 
 2 Ezek. xxxix. 25.
 
 l68 Public Worship 
 
 « 
 
 Tlie sacerdotal rites, the yearly Feasts, 
 The daily sacrifice, His chosen Priests; 
 The Sabbalh rest; the year of Jubilee; 
 The great atonement made to cleanse and free 
 The nation from transgression's hidden stain, 
 And all tiie rites whereby they should retain 
 PI is favour, and from the exhaustless store 
 Of heavenly Love draw blessings evermore.' 
 
 Inspired by God, 'twas Israel's joy to frame 
 
 A dwelling worthy the All-Holy name — 
 
 Worthy ! for all with willing hearts and hands 
 
 Vied in fulfilling the Divine commands; 
 
 Wise, heaven-taught men with skill and ardour wrought 
 
 Rare costly offerings, offered all unsought. 
 
 To deck the hallowed courts, perchance to leaven 
 
 The dross of earth with rainbow tints of heaven. 
 
 The outer court with hangings fenced around 
 
 * Lev., Num., Deut. xxviii. I-I5-
 
 Public Worship 169 
 
 To screen from foot profane the hallowed ground ; 
 The brazen altar on which daily dies 
 The morning and the evening sacrifice ; 
 The brazen laver, symbol that from sin 
 All must be pure who'd dare to enter in. 
 
 Within — the Holy Place, one glorious blaze 
 
 Of varying, intermingling tints, displays 
 
 Its hangings, rich with many a gorgeous hue. 
 
 Bright scarlet, purple, and deep Tyrian blue ; 
 
 Its walls with gold and silver overlaid, 
 
 Its holy altar gorgeously arrayed 
 
 In golden vesture. Every vessel told 
 
 Of wealth outpoured — a story writ in gold, — 
 
 A wealth which Egypt, terror-stricken, pressed 
 
 Profusely upon each departing guest. ^ 
 
 In fear 2 the smiter kissed the mightier rod, 
 
 And Egypt's spoils adorned the House of God. 
 
 ^ Exod. xii. 35, 36. 2 Exod. xii. 33.
 
 I/O Public Worship 
 
 A thick embroidered vail droops and divides 
 
 The Holy and Most Holy Place, and hides 
 
 The Presence. For what eye can live and meet 
 
 The glory floating o'er the Mercy Seat ; 
 
 And it, the ark, the cherubim all glow 
 
 With finest gold, man only can bestow 
 
 His best, his all, to honour the abode 
 
 Of an All- Holy, ever-present God. 
 
 And every part, its hues, proportions, all, 
 
 The priestly robes, the hangings, naught too small 
 
 For His creative hand, but all reflect 
 
 The wisdom of the Heavenly Architect.^ 
 
 As Israel prospered and an eaithly king 
 Ruled o'er their destinies, God deigned to fling 
 His wondrous wisdom as a mantle o'er 
 The suppliant monarch, and in holy love 
 Instructed well he reared a sacred shrine 
 
 ' Exod. xxix.
 
 Public Worship ' 171 
 
 More glorious for the Majesty Divine 
 Than the embroidered tent pitched by the band 
 Of shepherds, wandering to their promised land ; 
 A nobler offering which might well express 
 The land's prosperity and thankfulness.^ 
 
 The treasure stores of earth were opened wide, 
 Far distant lands their choicest wares supplied ; 
 The temple rose, adorned with all the skill 
 Of earth's most noted artisans, until 
 The work in gorgeous splendour shone complete, 
 And clouds of glory o'er the mercy seat 
 Descending rolled, as God, accepting, blest 
 With heavenly fire His place of earthly rest.^ 
 
 The Saviour died. The rage of envious man 
 Wrought in completing the predestined plan 
 Of man's salvation , all as was foretold 
 By seers and prophets in the days of old, 
 
 ' 2 Chron. i. ^ i Kings v., vi. ; 2 Chron. ii.-vii.
 
 17- Public Worship 
 
 Each scene prefigured all the law urdained, 
 Fulfilled in Him and man's redemption gained; 
 No more for sin a sinless victim dies — 
 Jesus has made a perfect sacrifice.' 
 
 Our God is Love.- We live beneath His sway; 
 His wisdom guides our footsteps day by day; 
 Each breath we breathe, each longing of the soul, 
 Each holy thought, which, bursting the control 
 Of sensuous earth, rejoices to be free. 
 Each hope of bliss throughout eternity, 
 Each act of love, the words of truth Uiat fall 
 From man's frail lips, 'tis He inspires them all.^ 
 Man hath no strength, but it from Jesus flows, 
 No love,* no life,^ save that which He bestows; 
 Dumb, weak, and helpless, he might strive in vain 
 In his own strength to chaunt the feeblest strain. 
 
 • Ileb. ix., X. 14. » I Gen. Kp. St. John iv. 8. 
 
 ^ Acts xvii. 28 ; I's. xxiii., xxviii. 7, 8. 
 
 ^ I Gen. Ep. St. Jolin iv. 12. * St. John xiv. 6.
 
 Public I VorsJiip 173 
 
 But, taught of God, e'en he may hope to raise 
 On earth the echoes of angehc praise. 
 
 Wherewith shall man assay to rear a fame 
 Worthy the Holy God ? It were in vain 
 To rend the Earth, its cavern depths explore 
 To grasp its priceless gems, its glittering ore ; 
 The fairest spot that greets a mortal's eyes, 
 The rarest treasures bounteous earth supplies, 
 The artist's noblest skill, must even fall, 
 Unworthy Him, whose word created all ; ^ 
 The costliest gift for grace may vainly sue. 
 The lowly mite may find acceptance due.^ 
 
 To Him who taught the Israelites to raise 
 
 A noble temple in those ancient days, 
 
 And who is, too, our Lawgiver and King, 
 
 It well befits that we should freely bring 
 
 From 'midst the store of blessings He has blessed 
 
 ' Acts vii. 48-50. 2 Sf, Luke xxi. 4.
 
 174 Public Worship 
 
 Whate'er we value most, tlie choicest, best, 
 
 And with no stinted, half-grudged tithes to twine 
 
 The decorations of His sacred shrine, 
 
 And tho' no human offering e'er can be 
 
 Worthy th' acceptance of tlie Deity 
 
 The earnest, thankful heart, with love imbued. 
 
 Yearns to outpour its fervent gratitude. 
 
 Shall we, whom God delights each day to bless 
 With some new theme for joy and thankfulness, 
 Shall this our land which bears from every shore 
 Its treasured spoils, an ever-growing store, 
 ?2xceeding far the proudest realms of old 
 In wealth of mortal and immortal gold, — 
 Shall each one haste to make his dwelling fair, 
 And leave God's temple naked, cold and bare? 
 Shall hall and palace with each other vie. 
 And castles rear their battlements on high, 
 And shall no beauty glisten in the shrine 
 Where God is worshipped? Shall His love divine
 
 Public Worship ly. 
 
 Awake no echoes? Shall His house express 
 Neglected, but a cold forgetfulness ? ^ 
 
 Let all unite to stud the wide world o'er 
 
 With temples worthy of the days of yore. 
 
 Let human skill in noblest efforts vie, 
 
 And fancy soar in wildest flights on high. 
 
 Let minds imbued with heavenly wisdom still 
 
 To God, the Giver,^ consecrate their skill. 
 
 Nor shall the soul, inspired, create in vain, 
 
 Skilled hands shall work with willing hearts again ; 
 
 Embroidered hangings, bright with many a dye, 
 
 Which all the tints of ancient days outvie, 
 
 Rich painted windows, whose deep mellow tone 
 
 Is rivalled by the hand of Time alone, 
 
 The costliest metals, marbles rich and rare, 
 
 The granite rock, each stone, each beam shall bear 
 
 The glowing impress of a living art, 
 
 And speak the language of an ardent heart. 
 
 ' I Chron. xvii. 2 ^^.^g xvii. 24, 25.
 
 176 Public Worship 
 
 Let symbols still, as in the days of old, 
 The wonders of creative love unfold. 
 The eye shall lead the memory to recall 
 The mighty God whose word created all, — 
 His wondrous attributes of love and power, 
 His ever-present care, man's glorious dower. 
 The vast infinitudes which e'er fulfil 
 His wise decrees, the doers of His will, 
 The gracious sacrifice which love Divine 
 Alone could offer at the sacred shrine, 
 Which reared upon the rock that sin had riven 
 A ladder reaching to the gate of heaven.* 
 The Spirit, too, from sculptured stone shall cry. 
 And breathe again the strains of proi)hecy, 
 I5y works which He in wisdom has inspired 
 Shall distant generations' souls be fired. 
 The graven word for evermore proclaim 
 In emblematic guise Clod's endless fame. 
 
 ' Gen. xxviii. 12.
 
 Public Worship 177 
 
 Though earthly wealth and human skill combine 
 
 In noblest efforts to adorn His shrine, 
 
 And while thus fair the temple where we meet 
 
 To sue for mercy at the mercy-seat, 
 
 However glorious these, not these alone ; 
 
 (This costly setting with no precious stone. 
 
 This is not worship ;) unto Him must rise 
 
 The heart in suppliant and adoring sacrifice: 
 
 In vain the graceful spire up-points on high 
 
 If it directs no wanderer where to fly ; 
 
 In vain the altar's beauty if unblest 
 
 With earnest worshippers, with love and zest ', 
 
 In vain the daily ritual echoed there 
 
 If but the lips repeat the well-known prayer ; 
 
 In vain the posture, vain the sacrifice, 
 
 Which nought save only custom sanctifies.^ 
 
 Away with all that narrow-minded zeal 
 Which scorns a fervour 'tis not its to feel, 
 
 1 Isa. i. 11-17 ; Ps. 1. 7-14. 
 
 N
 
 178 Public Worship 
 
 Which sees in hallowed forms but the display 
 
 Of soulless myths, or superstition's sway ; 
 
 Which deems mere outward show all rites divine, 
 
 And digs hut dross in worship's golden mine ; 
 
 Which cavils even at the priestly dress. 
 
 Not that it lacketh faith or righteousness,^ 
 
 But outer vestures, colours, black or white, — 
 
 O'er trifles such as these God's champions fight, 
 
 And deem it sin in costly robe to stand 
 
 Before His altar, whose divine command 
 
 Ordained the garments of His priests of old 
 
 Of varying colours, decked with gems and gold.^ 
 
 Nor ceremonies, forms, and dress alone ; 
 
 An altar's lawless if it be of stone ; •' 
 
 Its covering must be unembroidered, white. 
 
 No daylit candle shed an useless light. 
 
 And e'en the cross, which man would raise on high 
 
 As witness of his Saviour's victory, 
 
 ' Exod. xxviii. ; Isa. xi. 5, lix. 17 ; Ts. cxxxii. 9, 16. 
 * Exod. xxviii. * BcnneU judgment.
 
 Public Worship 1 79 
 
 As once the altar stood in Gilead's coasts 
 
 In token that they served the Lord of Hosts/ 
 
 This, too, awakes a superstitious dread 
 
 Lest it be worshipped in the Saviour's stead. 
 
 O draw the curtain o'er each vain pretence, 
 
 And mark the teachings of Omnipotence, 
 
 Ne'er stir up strife where all disputes should cease, 
 
 Nor strike wild discords on the harp of peace. 
 
 Why to the Eastward turn expectant eyes? 
 
 Why do we stand when strains of praise arise? 
 
 Why bow at Jesus' name ? Why kneel to pray ? 
 
 Why vest our priests in one prescribed array ? 
 
 What are all forms? Vain, cold, and valueless; 
 
 An empty casket save when they express 
 
 The warm o'erflowings of a heart imbued 
 
 With love and awe, with faith and gratitude : 
 
 By these made holy, outward forms may be 
 
 A worthy offering to the Deity.^ 
 
 * Josh. xxii. 
 
 ^ Mosaic Law — Exodus, Leviticus, Deuteronomy.
 
 i8o Public Worship 
 
 Let God be worshipped, let His praise be sung 
 
 With heart and voice ; let cliildren's joyous tongue 
 
 Swell the glad strains, until their echoes rise 
 
 Up to the Holy One, meet sacrifice.' 
 
 No paid performance of accustomed song, 
 
 No melody poured forth to lure the throng, 
 
 \\\\o else perchance might scarce have entered there 
 
 Tiie stately music, one long bidding prayer — 
 
 l>iit one full chorus, as from every soul 
 
 The joyous strains of adoration roll, 
 
 Heartfelt devotion, free from earthly leaven. 
 
 And meet to mingle with the praise of heaven. 
 
 Thus in one brotherhood,'^ with one accord 
 Let all unite to magnify the Lord; 
 Let worthy offerings beautify His shrine, 
 And humlMe worship glow with life divine. 
 So shall the Highest from His throne above 
 
 ' I's. cxlviii.-cl. * Ileb. iii. i.
 
 Public Worihip i8i 
 
 Accept the sacrifice of faith and love. 
 
 As o'er the mercy-seat in diys of old 
 
 The glory of the Lord in fulness rolled, 
 
 So all unseen His glorious presence still 
 
 As in the days of old His courts shall fill; 
 
 Bid earthly longing, earthly tumult cease. 
 
 And o'er His people shed His heavenly Peace. ^ 
 
 1861. 
 
 * S. Luke xxiv. 36.
 
 A DREAM 
 
 Chill blows the breath of the evening 
 After the heat of the day. 
 
 Toil on its vaunting wings, 
 
 Severs its leading strings, 
 
 Old aspirations flings 
 Far away. 
 
 Wild howls the gathering tempest, 
 
 Storm clouds are hovering nigh. 
 Circled in molten light. 
 High on Truth's topmost height, 
 Sits Justice, throned on right. 
 Shall Justice die ? 
 
 l83
 
 A Dream 183 
 
 Solemn the notes of her requiem 
 
 Float o'er the graves of the dead. 
 
 Light of the ruddy morn, 
 
 Rose of the tangled thorn, 
 
 Oath of the falsely sworn. 
 Blood idly shed. 
 
 'I'remble, O star of ill-omen ! 
 
 Hide 'neath the lightning's blue glare. 
 Law of the years to be, 
 Chains of the seeming free, 
 Crown of true honesty. 
 
 Falsehood stripped bare. 
 
 Butler & Tanner, The Sehvood Printing Works. Frome, and London.
 
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