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BUBBLES FROM THE DEEP, 
 
 lOimeta and otlur \\mn, 
 
 s 
 
 DRAMATIC AND PERSONAL. 
 
 i;v 
 
 ^ 
 
 AR T HU R G R EA~ V1 l-S .f/t&ttr-c^Y^'^J 
 
 T^RlNTKr> V(JJl TIlTi: AttTliDli. 
 
 1 H 7 ;i. 
 
 SOLD BY M. A. BUCKLEY, 
 
 Halifax, Nova Scotia. 
 
Ill ilic otTiix' of 1. ^ Librarian of ( .igress. 
 
 shi' 
 
 % _ 
 
 
IltTIDEX. 
 
 8<>NNKT. \'\i,V.. 
 
 Dedication — <1() forth, my life, n\u\ thy dear kiiidird si-rk ;'. 
 
 I. 'I'hy hand, iny younycr, tho' not yoiinj;;'>t brother ."■. 
 
 II. Thou'st nouglit of mine — I covet nou-^lit of tliin • c 
 
 1. Tlic sun makes bright ajjjain that hour in May 7 
 
 l». Heh'ntU'ss Time has stoh'ii another year .s 
 
 a. My Sprinj,' has past, I've met my ^ unimer sun !t 
 
 4. Tiiis vague, unresting sentiment I feel •• 
 
 5. Some envious power, steering my wanch'ring hark, k lo 
 
 «). List! music's voice, compound of lieavenly chords 1') 
 
 7. Ah! hH me hear again that melody 1! 
 
 8. Mo/.art's sweet thought, last night my favorite sung IJ 
 
 9. So does mere trembling motion of the air IJ 
 
 10. I breathe the music of the poet's line , 1:5 
 
 11. With him I rise to that empyn-an sphere 14 
 
 r_'. I'd know what does my .secret soul contain 14 
 
 13. Mind craving beauty natiire beauty gives l,"» 
 
 14. Come forth, sweet god, and bring thy fire from heaviMi 1(5 
 
 1."). rnresting nature ever seeks to gain 1(5 
 
 10. See how with beauty clothe these fragile llo'Acrs 17 
 
 17. When I look on these! wondrous forms of earth is 
 
 IH. Allbeautytosomesen.se is ever good 1h 
 
 10. Now in the stillness of thissuunner day li» 
 
 20. Last night that gracious privilege was mine 20 
 
 '21. In those rare scenes that from her genius grow L'o 
 
 '22. Those scenes of love — of life's reality L'l 
 
 '2^.^. She looks with art, with art she speaks and moves JL' 
 
 24. Tho.se passions luiture to the heart has lent 22 
 
 25. If in my lines, perchance, you find offence 2.". 
 
 2(5. Those witching dreams tliat haunt my rural house Jl 
 
 27, Forgotten lines again she has recited Jl 
 
ii 
 
 INIHOX. 
 
 SON 
 
 •Jn. 
 ;t(i. 
 
 •< >. 
 ill . 
 
 ;!;>. 
 
 •10. 
 
 n. 
 4.;. 
 
 44. 
 
 4.-.. 
 4(1. 
 47. 
 4S. 
 4'.». 
 
 r.o. 
 r.i. 
 r.L'. 
 :.;{. 
 
 -.4. 
 
 at). 
 
 r>7. 
 
 r.s. 
 
 (io. 
 
 (52. 
 ().•?. 
 (54. 
 
 ()."i. 
 (>(■>. 
 
 (57. 
 
 cs. 
 f.it. 
 
 M'T. «v\(;K. 
 
 .\ll \vrap|K'(| ill tlin»l)biti[,' silciirc sit the rrowd « 'J:r> 
 
 !-< yoii a <ln';iiii -I'oriii 'iiioiifjjst llic trees l)efore me 2(5 
 
 I l(»ve May UKirniiij^'s tender, dewy, ii;,'lil l'i; 
 
 Ifaiii^iiiy tin* woods and painted iiieodows llin»iitjli i,'7 
 
 111 dewy morn of soft and balmy Sprinj,' i.'8 
 
 I'.iit li(»w I love, love yives no leave to say L'H 
 
 i'lie some thin.u lirr's 1 iiiiisl so much admire 2J» 
 
 How weak my soul till I did worship thee .".() 
 
 fion;; ha> my heart, from hope to fear bi-en tost ;\0 
 
 My hurnini,' i»assi(tii still I must ('(meeal 31 
 
 I, ill I'll' crowd, have seen her once aLjaiii .'52 
 
 The jtrayer-bell tolls, the sun now se«'ks his bed .",2 
 
 ■'I'was thy blest power that showed me what I am :J.'5 
 
 Why not my soul with thine forever blend ;54 
 
 Von will not wed? then is your life ji sin ;{4 
 
 Wiiit r retreats, and c.imes the blessed Siiriii^ 'Mi 
 
 ( ) fairest forui that nature ever made ;i(; 
 
 I've crosseil the sea — seen soiuethini; of a storm ;j(i 
 
 Ah I now >he sinks I Deatli stands within the hour ;{7 
 
 Uut now she rests a monu'nt on her side .'Js 
 
 The sun is ui> ; the wind has spent his force ;{S 
 
 I saw his look as he was rushinj;' by ;{;) 
 
 The poor reluctant soul has burst the siereen 40 
 
 IJut should that death that must to life succcvd 40 
 
 IVM f;'arin^ deatli, do I spend fear in vain 41 
 
 l\'\\ hungeriim years wc wan<ler here on earth 42 
 
 Vou hale your life, and crave an endli'ss sleep 42 
 
 < )ur co:isci,ms Kfc is but the spirit's action 4.1 
 
 We lliid not life what we would life should be 44 
 
 A|.^\iii tlii^ Sun (Muiies from the loyous south 44 
 
 When with fr(>sh youth we breast the hill of litV 45 
 
 Hut i!in 1 true life be not, then held a boon 4(5 
 
 I hale: and yet 1 may not state the cause 4(5 
 
 IJut when I love, I know that I am blest 47 
 
 I love; thou'^h I may not my love reveal 4H 
 
 liove smiles on Nature from <:;lad Summer's source 4H 
 
 These wondrous .shows that on our vision rise 4!> 
 
 Th' day is brij^ht, the Sun is soarinj; hifjh no 
 
 An lu)ur a;;o, h(> bore that form upri,!4ht '>() 
 
 His darkliiifx soul on fates' dark stream has tost ."it 
 
 Su,!i wrecks ini^ht sland as beacons to our viev.- o2 
 
 Did he bear leave from Nature's source of life ■.2 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Vn 
 
 PON 
 
 7(t. 
 71. 
 72. 
 7.'i. 
 74. 
 75. 
 7('.. 
 77. 
 7.S. 
 7!t. 
 8(». 
 Ml. 
 HL'. 
 
 8:5. 
 
 K4. 
 8.-). 
 8ti. 
 87. 
 88. 
 8!t. 
 *tl). 
 ••1. 
 
 !•;!. 
 
 !t4. 
 
 jr.. 
 «ti;. 
 
 1)7. 
 
 98. 
 
 ;»!•. 
 
 101). 
 101. 
 lOU. 
 103. 
 104. 
 
 lor.. 
 
 10(i. 
 107. 
 108. 
 10<). 
 110. 
 
 111. 
 
 NKTS. VXOV. 
 
 Hf's now, the poor misdoomiiiH soul al r«'sl .%:{ 
 
 When lew mon'i years with nitlilcss 'rime have Mown r»4 
 
 Few years ajjo, this spirit Imd nobeiii;^ .H 
 
 Wlience, earth-sojourning spirit liast thou come .">5 
 
 I»ut (h)es the .soul tiiat moves tiiis sentient dust .">(; 
 
 Wlien winter flies helore ull-glad(h'ning sprint; "•«» 
 
 To me, then, tart thou now forever d^'ad '>7 
 
 And she, few niontiis ago, that saitl good hy(> ."i8 
 
 Time drifts me once more from my wonted phie;- .*>« 
 
 Wiiere loves the heart, there would it ever live ."><) 
 
 To-day, my heart its best of life would kn(»w tJO 
 
 The good I ehase is ever on the wing *»0 
 
 Where may be found, that full content of life >\l 
 
 But i.s the guerdon of my life's endeavour (»2 
 
 liut still conlnied within this sunless sphere *\2 
 
 Vet, would we live not in this summer day <13 
 
 You ask why I so dearly love the jtast <>4 
 
 My memory still l)rings back my childhood's time <>4 
 
 When in dear spring, while daisies yet were young (1.5 
 
 1 sought the poppies hiding in tlu! c(n-n ^ •>♦> 
 
 Those childish joys will still to memory come (HJ 
 
 Life then flowed on in sweet expectancy <)7 
 
 Again the trees put on their autumn glory (>« 
 
 Dear autumn! though thou churlish winter lead OS 
 
 Ah! oft 1 stood in childish ecstasy (>t) 
 
 If thy dear song, sweet friend declare thy heart 70 
 
 Tli(»u tak'.st to-day, all that to-day can give 70 
 
 Thy song can still recharm my memory back 71 
 
 I love th(!e .still; but what is that to tlu-e 72 
 
 Those speeding years, that swept my youth away 72 
 
 Each day we would somc^ novel pleasure prove 73 
 
 Xow, now an(^ now, melt still into the past 74 
 
 I gain to-day some oliject of pursuit 74 
 
 What pleasures can I ever more expect 7."> 
 
 Should comuu)n joys not keep us from despair 7*! 
 
 IJut raging lust.s our life's true wealth destroy 7(J 
 
 Xay, tempt me not, swtet angel of the fiend 77 
 
 Again in sin! again wish groans repenting 78 
 
 Two .souls I have, or one divi(h^d .soul 7H 
 
 Ilage on, base Wrong the hour thy fate alTords 7l> 
 
 Whence, baleful evil, did'st thou gain tliy place 80 
 
 Grant the, Dread Power! to know what ill I've done 80 
 
IV 
 
 INDKX. 
 
 nil. 
 n:{. 
 
 114. 
 
 n.-,. 
 lie. 
 
 117. 
 118. 
 11<». 
 120. 
 ILM. 
 \2-2. 
 12.1. 
 124. 
 12.-.. 
 12('.. 
 127. 
 12H. 
 120. 
 130. 
 
 i;u. 
 
 i:V2. 
 
 i;i;5. 
 i;u. 
 i;c.. 
 
 Uil 
 137. 
 138. 
 13!». 
 140. 
 141. 
 142. 
 143. 
 144. 
 145. 
 140. 
 147. 
 14S. 
 140. 
 l.-)0. 
 
 ir.i. 
 ir.2. 
 
 153. 
 
 NKTS. T.\«iK. 
 
 All lH)uiit«'«)ns power! in whom all souls nbi<1<' Hi 
 
 Wliil'.' still I am, In mt-mory must rt'niiiin 82 
 
 This conscious now, infraujrlit with all tlic j.asl 82 
 
 Still though past life have made th«' present foul 8.3 
 
 Then let my soul a well dressed garden Im> 84 
 
 I'd leave some sure memorial of my life 84 
 
 As sun-dyed drops that paint the falling slu>wer 85 
 
 <iood day, my frietul, how do? wells what's the news 86 
 
 At dea;l of night, T am startled from my sleep h6 
 
 How fared thy grandsires, whilo tliy beak was growing.... 87 
 Thou'st proved thou wretch ! thy tool thou hast perfected.. 88 
 
 Still reading what you think it wi.se to read 88 
 
 You leave the crowd, to muse in field and wood h{) 
 
 (Jive me the trutli, w«! often hear expressed 00 
 
 Asking for truth, what is it that wo ask? 00 
 
 To lies di.sgui.sed in forms to phrase the mind 01 
 
 I liv(> a slave, in bondage to the many 02 
 
 But wholesome thought, still brings souu; satisfaction 02 
 
 Who is my judge? and how .shall I be measured O.'J 
 
 This man is rich, but I he knows am poor 04 
 
 Still in l)as«M()il, I t(»il that I may live 04 
 
 Youth's life we .sj)en(l, to purchase means to live O.j 
 
 What bliss might in true st)ul.s be wrought 06 
 
 Unblest by friends, I wade thnmgli lonely life 06 
 
 Here glowed with life onco dear familliar forms 07 
 
 I stand alone, in thi.s wide universe 08 
 
 Ever in silence mu.st I bear the load 08 
 
 Still looms the doubt that overclouds my soul 09 
 
 The worm, whose world lies on .some trembling leaf loo 
 
 I)Ut wherefore should my heart its moaning keep loO 
 
 Foul-fronted, hated, old, adversity 101 
 
 l>ut as the winter, or death-frost in s))ring 102 
 
 Thou god of luck, that deem'st all merit cheap 102 
 
 My body's powers now fail beneath their work 103 
 
 I saw, to day, a man without a home 104 
 
 A king discrowned, bereft of regal might 104 
 
 Tint how shall I my craving soul appea.se 105 
 
 We say man's life is imaged by the seasons 106 
 
 Man's life is but a day unwisely .spent H>6 
 
 But when I stand upon the river's brink 107 
 
 Whence flow the richest streams of human life 108 
 
 The lark, day's herald, on aspiring wing 109 
 
INDKX. 
 
 SONNI/rS. I'VOK. 
 
 ir»4. IJiit on wf Ko. still fi»ll<»\vin;j throiiyh thf Wdild Kill 
 
 l.M. Hut, " Li«l»ttlmt lod astniy was liu'lit fn.iii llcuvi'ii:" I U) 
 
 l.v;. Voii sjv the t'Uuul yon, liaiiu'iiit,' <»ii tlif sky HO 
 
 1.'7. Tht! boom of Kuns aj^aiii rolls on the air Ill 
 
 l.'»H. .Vci'urstMl war a,i:ain wars, srlf Is rij^ht 112 
 
 l.'.;i. IJnt war is o'er, an<l now ycui coniit tli«' rost 112 
 
 HH». All niastt'rin<r Sun, that W-nd'st thy lir«'an<l lijiht 113 
 
 nil. JWit when, ah! wlu'n will that latr day appoar 114 
 
 1(»L'. ('lianK»'<l wiTt' the world, wt-rc self's wliolc uothui just 114 
 
 lii:{. Von truant wife her W('(Uit'd honic has llrd 115 
 
 nil, Wi; intM't ayaln across those storniful y»'ars IKJ 
 
 1(M. AVc on the stn-ani of tinit», incri' hnhhics fl(»at im 
 
 nil!. This hul)l)l»* lift' st'cniinw all chance directed 1 17 
 
 Hi". What is that power that, seizing lifeless earth UK 
 
 Ids. You SCO nonivsterv round vonr earthly home 118 
 
 H»!». My eye m«'re niovinj; ether turns to light 119 
 
 170. From rank, foul, earth. .lune roses draw perfunu' TJO 
 
 171. 'Mon>^ outward tlnnys, my eye decerns a <luty I'JO 
 
 17l'. Yoii see the thinj^ now hurled across the distance I'Jl 
 
 17.'{. Yon shi)), that see\ns now haiifiinj^ in the clouds .^. 122 
 
 174. We n>ect ai)palled, the lit,ditnin.i,''s lilindin<,' Hash 122 
 
 17.'.. Still from his bed yon mighty IJivcr falls 123 
 
 17<i. Yon rullnj; (»rl) jtours <h)wn a masterinj; force 124 
 
 177. All things of sense, sense brings, to stor*^ the mind 124 
 
 17H. This figured earth must mingle with the dust 125 
 
 17{». Still does tlie mystery wait for man to solve 126 
 
 180. The Sun has turned away his burning fac«' 126 
 
 IHl. What is being? then what can si'cming be? 127 
 
 1H2. Hut with this show shall mind be satisti(>d 128 
 
 1h;?. Then must I <iuesti(»n still great Nature's source 128 
 
 1H4. What is man's final station here on earth 129 
 
 IH.". Did there in time a iturjxise once exist 130 
 
 1H(). All life, it seems, begins in ]>rotoplasm 130 
 
 1H7. On this dead ball, 1 hang in barren space 131 
 
 188. We'll think yon cloud that o'er the sun now i)ass«'s 1,32 
 
 189. Still mindless force built \\\) this sentient frame 1.32 
 
 190. So did this soul that knows the univt'rse 1.33 
 
 191. An<l then this particle that says, T know 1.34 
 
 192. This soul that gives the world its ba<l and good 1.34 
 
 193. And chance, wise chance ! conferred this soul on me 135 
 
 '4. All force with force, we say, is correlated 1.36 
 
 ..9.'). But pardon me for speaking of the mind 136 
 
VI 
 
 INDKX. 
 
 SOVNKTH. r.VOK. 
 
 VM. Ill s<»nii(linj» words wo may socm wondrous wiso 1^7 
 
 107. W»' soiiH'tliiuj^ kiKtw, and iiiiicli I'naii iiifcn-iict' draw l.*{8 
 
 V.)H. Once on a time, as story honks l)»'<,dii l.'tH 
 
 11)!). lUit mass wltluuass will siuvly aj;yn'j,'att' l.'t!) 
 
 LMM). As natnrt' was, still must she over be 140 
 
 U(»l. Staiidinn here on this point in houndlcsa space L'lO 
 
 L'()2. I am ; what other wonder may he stated Ill 
 
 HO.'l. () wondrous soid ! wlu're all things mirrored lie 142 
 
 '20[ l)«'eree, dear soul, all thou hast seope to he 142 
 
 2or). At,Min farewell to one more yrar now lied 14.'} 
 
 MTSCF-LLAXKOT'S PKICES. 
 
 Mother ^fonkford's Meetinjis 147 
 
 Old Time 1(52 
 
 liUey the Deserted lO.'l 
 
 The IJejeeted Lover K>n 
 
 My Fourfooted Friend 1(!8 
 
 Death of My F<mr-Foote(l Friend 170 
 
 Son},'— Smilin}^ ever near 172 
 
 An Unspoken Address 173 
 
 An KpiIo<jue 17G 
 
 Epitaphs 179 
 
 Sonnet ISO 
 
 Si'renade 181 
 
 Hymn 182 
 
 Johnty and Dinah ; IB-". 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Go forth, my Life, and thy dear kindred seek; 
 
 Mourn with the sad, and witli the ghid rejoice; 
 For wondering houIs, tlieir sweet emotion npeak; 
 
 For voiceless passion, he thou lience a voice. 
 And would'st thou well thy various task fulfil, 
 
 AVith various minds, show thou a various mood; 
 "Where thou find rapture, rapture leave thou still; 
 
 In hearts that languish, sweetl}'' stir the hlood. 
 Seek him that loves, and join his frenzied hour; 
 
 Seek him that hates, and blend hishate with love; 
 Seek him that loves and seeks that heavenly power 
 
 That clothes old objects with new power to move: 
 All thou hast been in )iours thou wast the best, 
 Be thou to all who claim thee for their guest. 
 
11 
 
 (I 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 BRITANNIA TO COLUMBIA, 
 
 Tliy hand, iny younger, though not youngest brotlier ; 
 
 Peaee let it be between us hence forever; 
 Thy cause be mine — l)e witness for eacli other; 
 
 Stilled be the heart that wonld our union sever. 
 I struck thy youth — well thou returned'st the blow — 
 
 I gave thee right to feel I struck in hate; 
 I would not say, God speed, when thou would'st go 
 
 To fill the place assigned ])y matchless fate. 
 The blow was blind, but came not from the heart; 
 
 Still mine the fault, an<l mine to be forgiven: 
 In blood, in tongue, in faith, we have one part ; 
 
 He braves God's wrath, by whom such ties are 
 riven. 
 
 Let that sole strife iiave power to move our blood. 
 
 That victory gives to greatest power for good. 
 
n- 
 
 6 SONNETS. 
 
 n. 
 
 TliouVt nought of mine ; I covet nought of thine ; 
 
 Still may not justice somofimes tiiint one's honor? 
 Shouhl I yield ought, though none might say *t\vas 
 mine, 
 
 jMight not my name, then, hear some stain upon 
 her ? 
 Wliat deeds are done — ])ut none may I accuse — 
 
 For name and fame, and lust of hrute dominion ; 
 IIow have — how still do men their power ahuse, 
 
 To win base gain, and gain men's base opinion! 
 But witli the time my fate must cliange her scope, 
 
 And huild right future o'er a wrongful past; 
 The Avorld's great heart I wouhl inspire with hope 
 
 Xought sinks tliaton the stream of right is cast. 
 Would'st thou, from hence, plight mc thy brother's 
 
 hand. 
 The world's best hope, our union might command. 
 
 it 
 
SOIsTlsrETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 The sun makes briglit a^aiu that hour in MAy, 
 
 Wherein these eyes this wondrous world did greet; 
 And as swift Time repeats my natal day. 
 
 More wondrous grow the wondrous shows I meet. 
 We've passed by April with her smile and frown, 
 
 And, though in tears, May comes witli hopeful 
 mien ; 
 Tlie birds and flowers their nuptial trust liave shown 
 
 Life will be crowned in gracious summer's reign. 
 Birds, flowers, and I, are liere; we know not why; 
 
 But that we're here, shall we not deem it well? 
 All fi^ladly live, why not as gladly die ? 
 
 Thouii'h whither hence, no tongue has leave to tell. 
 Ah I in that power that raised us from the dust, 
 
 In death, as life, we have no [)<)wer to trust. 
 
 (7) 
 
li 
 
 8 SONNETS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Kuleiitlt'ss Time has stolen anotlier year; 
 
 And still, I own, lie proves ii gentle thief; 
 lie steals my ycars^, still hringi!5g death more near; 
 
 But for liis wrongs, I steal from him relief. 
 What passions in my younger moments grew, 
 
 Sueh as oft leave but ashes in their place, 
 Bear still the strength and glow they ever knew, 
 
 Or else from Time they steal a softer grace. 
 With years, Time steals no feeling from my heart, 
 
 Kor with new limits bounds my ranging mind ; 
 lie steals the forms that glowing thoughts impart. 
 
 But with new life, he leaves their soul behind. 
 L(.'t Time then steal, while life may thus remain ; 
 AVhile heart and brain their vigor thus retain. 
 
 in. 
 
 :M 
 
 My spring has passed ; I've met my summer sun, 
 
 Yet little fruit or bloom mv life has shown; 
 My noon has come; my work has scarce begun ; 
 
 The W(3rk to do, the morn lias scarce made known. 
 But shall my soul still sleep in fruitless rest. 
 
 And with my spring, all fruitful life decay ? 
 Or shall my summer, autumn life invest 
 
 With fruit, to grace some early winter day? 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 9 
 
 The snowdrop blooms wliile snow is on tlio aground ; 
 
 The daisy smiles ere vet the fields arc iirreen ; 
 The rose is later in Lis u'lorv foiiiid, 
 
 And still his fruit is ere the winter seen : 
 Thus some bloom bite, yet fruit ])t.'fore they fall , 
 Shall 1 do so, or bear no fruit at all? 
 
 IV. 
 
 This vague, unresting sentiment I feel — 
 
 As when dim boding o'er my heart portends — 
 
 Seems to my soul its destiny's appeal 
 
 That life serve not, alone, this body's ends. 
 
 Eating, drinking — new, ill fangled, modes of dress- 
 Making of house and equipage a show — 
 
 The wealth and power, life wasted to possess, 
 Feed not, alone, all life the soul would know. 
 
 The brute can eat wdiat docs his want suffice; 
 His mode of dress is nature's wise concern ; 
 
 To place supreme, like man, he seeks to rise — 
 All instinct claims, he wisely can discern : 
 
 Still, nature bounds his needs by brutely aims; 
 
 But on this life my soul has human claims. 
 
f 
 
 f!i 
 
 10 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 V. 
 
 Some envious power^ steering my waiulering Lark, 
 
 Still turns its driic iiguinst my wish and will — 
 Aims winged with hope, turns from their glimmer- 
 
 uiir 
 
 mark, 
 
 Changing their course, some unseen end to fill. 
 Ever hungering fancy sees some distant joy — 
 
 In trustful mood, sees how its prize to gain ; 
 Then heart and hrain their willing strength employ; 
 
 But ever distant does the joy remain. 
 Still may the dreams that spelled my youthful mind, 
 
 That took all hues that magic fancy gave , 
 In later years, perhaps, some fulfilment find. 
 
 Though never such as fancy wished to have : 
 My dreams of youth might future life presage. 
 Though youthful dreams he not fulfilled with age. 
 
 VI. 
 
 List ! Afusic's voice, compound of heavenly chords, 
 Breathes through this stillness from the distant 
 dale ; 
 
 Its melting tones we hear, hut still no words : 
 Nor words it needs, to tell its tender tale. 
 
 The heart can s[)eak with mute, un worded voice, 
 And float its burden on the lifeless air; 
 
PO\NETS. 
 
 In joy can bid the d'Mtant heart rojoice, 
 And cluiiii its synipatliy in grief and care. 
 
 Of music, love must ever be the soul, 
 
 Still varying; with love's ever varying form ; 
 
 It can the heart's most various moods control 
 Bv toiu's that bear a universal charm : 
 
 All kindred love, concealed in kindred hearts, 
 
 Takes life and form, from lire its voice Mr.;;art3. 
 
 11 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ah, let me lioar again that melody ! 
 
 AVhile music pleases, that must still be dear! 
 It brings me back the precious memory 
 
 Of that sweet hour when first it thrilled my ear. 
 'Twaa night, and still — all but the dreaming trees, 
 
 Which seemed to tremble with my own delight; 
 Or, perhaps, the bird that chnrms the sleeping breeze 
 
 When summer moons Hood earth with shimmering 
 lii^dit. 
 Tlio world, that rapturous hour, was all my own, 
 
 Fragrant witli incense from the summer bloom, — 
 
 ^fy heart in solitude, tlie past unknown, 
 
 AVhile those dear tones woke in the heavenly 
 Lrloom. 
 
 AVith that rich hour wise memory will not part; 
 
 Too t'l'w such hours can memorv trive the hcai-t. 
 
1^ 
 
 sonni:ts. 
 
 VI I r. 
 
 ^fo/art's sweet thought tliat nijj^lit inv fiivorito Pun?, 
 
 And ill such tones! how could my h'.'iirt forget I 
 Delicious frenzy o'er my soul she flung, 
 
 And rapture's tears within my eyes were sot. 
 Slie hore an angel's power from bounteous heaven ! 
 
 Theliushed throng proclaimed her heav'nly might ; 
 To her the hoon and precious right were given, 
 
 To fill their trembling hearts with heaven's delight. 
 I know not earth when I such music hear; 
 
 My soul flies heavenward on ecstatic wings ; 
 Such moments, brightest gleams of heaven appear; 
 
 From heaven to earth, heaven's purest joy it 
 brings. 
 Heaven favored child ! what sacred wealth wag 
 
 thine ! 
 Poor me, how rich ! when thy dear song was mine ! 
 
 ■ • I 
 
 ii 
 
 IX. 
 
 So does mere tremlding motion of the air 
 
 Set up this sweet commotion in my soul — 
 Awake a sense no other sense may share, 
 
 But which may still, each other sense control. 
 When brain is sleeping in its stagnant thought, 
 
 Tlie heart deaf, too, to fancy's upward call. 
 Thus sweetly are the}' from their torp<^r brought, 
 
 If on the car this thrilling motion fall. 
 
SONNEXg. 
 
 la 
 
 Then cartli-bouiul joys, no longer bound to earth, 
 All wildly with sweet heavenward passion glow ; 
 
 Passion now aiding struggling thought to birth, 
 Clothing, anew, old thoughts in beauteous show. 
 
 wondrous is that power of wondrous mind, 
 
 That forms such swcetuesa from mere quivering 
 wind. 
 
 X. 
 
 I breathe the music of the poet's line, 
 
 Then does my soul become poetical ; 
 In his sweet frenzy, being made divine. 
 
 Then on the earth fresh light and beanty fall. 
 We see the magnet, charged with mystic power, 
 
 Bull metal with a kindred force endue; 
 So am I in the poet's ruling hour. 
 
 Illumed to see the hoavenlv cfood and true. 
 As suns to satellites, their stuff the same, 
 
 By less and more, changing to (hu'k and light, 
 Mere magnitude, in suns, creating flame 
 
 That saves the lesser world from frozen night : 
 So does his soul, our thoughts and passions one. 
 Give living flame to light and warm my own. 
 
" 
 
 14 
 
 sox\f:ts. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Witli liiiii T rise to that onipyrcan s[»1km'0 
 
 Wlit'retli(ni!^lits,aH flowers, arc elotlu-d in ladeless 
 beauty ; 
 Tlierc, in sure tones, my inwanl setiscs liear 
 
 Eternal voices teaeii the soul's best dut}'. 
 He calls Die up with soft yet sure connnand 
 
 To realms where does my soul its home descry; 
 His power compels, and in his charmed land 
 
 r know a bliss all baser hoars deny, 
 ^fy spirit in his reiz:ion breathes an air 
 
 That fires its passion for its needful truth; 
 Feeliui^ no more its sordid earth-born care, 
 
 It dreams its dream of wished for heaveid^^vouth. 
 This iHensuous world grows bleak from day to day; 
 Its bloom returns when 1 his power obey. 
 
 xri. 
 
 I'd know what does my secret soul contain — 
 
 What love and hate are in mv heart concealed — ■ 
 What thrill or tone each passion may attain — 
 
 All secrets of my soul, I'd have revealed: 
 I woukl each source of joy or sorrow learn — 
 
 Open the sweet and bitter founts of life; 
 V>y heart and eye, experience I would earn, 
 
 Of life's full yield, inbreathing peace and strife : 
 
SONNKTd. 15 
 
 I'd know what wakes the music of my soul — 
 ItH lii«^hest, lowest, sweetest, tones can sound — 
 
 What all its richest concords can control: 
 All needful help, I in liis genius found. 
 
 His soul l)reathes fortli wliat I desire to know, 
 
 But gives, as well, desire a fiercer glow. 
 
 XITI. 
 
 Mmd craving beauty, nature beauty gives, 
 
 In form and hue, and soul's soft lineament: 
 Or mind makes beauty, where no beauty lives, 
 
 At nature's will, framing its own content. 
 But that fair whole, from present eyes concealed. 
 
 Nature may for the waiting future crown, 
 In scattered parts is only now revealed — 
 
 Parts that in union nowhere yet have grown. 
 We dream of forms the eye bnt rarely finds, 
 
 Aglow with beauty, flushing from the soul — 
 With thinking music clothe ideal minds; 
 
 But heaven-born genius makes these parts a 
 whole. 
 Onward the soul ! sweet genius for its guide ; 
 Its hope and help, in genius still abide. 
 
IG 
 
 yONNKTS. 
 
 Come forth, swoot god, and bring thy fire from 
 heaven ; 
 
 Thy mother faints, Htill knowing not her state ; 
 To tlicc the holy mission lias been given, 
 
 To lead her up to meet her glimmering fate. 
 Kaise up her torpid soul to that bright realm 
 
 Which, in thy presence only, she may see ; ' 
 
 Guide her still gently, ruling thou the helm; 
 
 She sinks past hope if she lose help of thee. 
 "What more wouldst thou, from gracious Nature ask, 
 
 Than be the saviour of thy earth-bound race? 
 Accept thy own, and heaven will bless ihy task, 
 
 If with true heart thou fill thy glorious place. 
 She lies benumbed by earth's o'ershadowing might; 
 Through thee must come celestial fire and light. 
 
 § 
 
 XV. 
 
 Unresting nature ever seeks to gain 
 
 Iler full perfection in all things she makes ; 
 But full success she rarelv can attain, 
 
 Conflicting powers barring the course she takes. 
 One flow*er has beauty, wanting still perfume ; 
 
 One rich in scent, is poor in form and hue; 
 Some, poor in all, their humble lives consume ; 
 
 Some, rich in worth, leave seeming for the true. 
 
 V 
 
SONNKTS. 
 
 17 
 
 Through hmaaji life, she still piirsuos lier v\u\ — 
 NVith tUuhk'ss forui toc'h)llir the hoaiitcoiis soul; 
 
 AH vital powers to this she seeks to heud, 
 Ihit still sueeess obevs not lier eoutrol. 
 
 Wit, wisdom, worth, and beauty's jtotent charm, 
 
 '■''oo rarely meet to grace the faultiest Ibrm. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Sec how with beauty, clothe tliesc fragile flowi^ra, 
 
 As for themselves, they wore their beauteous 
 show ; 
 And yet, what heart, owning their gentle powers, 
 
 Grows not the richer as their beauties grow? 
 Their vesture serves, 'twere sure, some private end, 
 
 Aiding to shape the course their lives pursue ; 
 To glad all hearts, still smiling power they lend, 
 
 Their lives, a pleasure bringing, ever new. 
 I love them, though no love may l)e returned ; 
 
 Yet unreturned, my love, O how sincere ! 
 Their forms then, softly in my memory urued. 
 
 From winter lied, are still in memory dear : 
 
 Teaching us love, they show the heart its wealth ; 
 
 And loving them, sick hearts regain their health. 
 2 
 
18 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "VVhon T look on these wondrous foniirt of earth, 
 
 Tliiiiking how soon their loveliness must lade, — 
 That death foredooms all thini^s of'earthlv hirth, 
 
 I ask whv all those chani::in<i; forms were made. 
 Does life take form to furnish sport for death ? — 
 
 Assume these heauteous shows that death mav 
 kill ? 
 Or do the lives that end in eeasini]^ hreath. 
 
 Beyond their own, some unknown end I'ulfd ? 
 Are we hut links, lenu'thenin*^ a leniitheninij^ chain 
 
 Bearing some purpose to its distant i^oal ? 
 Or does each life some final purpose gain. 
 
 Though serving still the purpose of the whole ? 
 Or may life's love, feeding life's blissful flame, 
 Prove love, itself, is nature's final aim? 
 
 XVITT. 
 
 All heanty, to some sense, is ever good ; 
 
 All g(^od is in some heauty ever drest; 
 AVlien nature seeks to show her highest mood, 
 
 Her truth, with heautv, does she then invest. 
 "What is not beautiful, we deem untrue. 
 
 Awaiting sure destruction's gnawing tooth ; 
 The soul, from beauty, ever seeks its due, 
 
 And seeks it ever in the garl) of truth. 
 
SONNK'iS. 
 
 10 
 
 Is truth, with beauty, not identical ? 
 
 Or seems not so, to our dull sense of seeing? 
 Where beauty lives, there truth must be withal ; 
 
 Wliere truth is absent, beauty has no being. 
 Forms, thoughts, or acts, to sense or sense of duty, 
 The soul deems true but as they're things of beauty. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Now in the stillness of this summer day, 
 
 By this glad stream, or in yon saddening wood. 
 Thoughts come that will not, when in crowds I stay. 
 
 Where feed the hearts, tliat feed on hungering 
 food. 
 Here wake now joys, dead in life's battling field — 
 
 Wake by soft touches on the car and eye ; 
 Here comes that sweet that thought and fancy yield — 
 
 Those hidden joys, in hidden heart that lie. 
 In revery's dream the past returns to view. 
 
 The was, and wished for, blending in the stream; 
 What might, but will not, mingling with the true ; 
 
 Life, fancy-blest, flows on a wandering dream: 
 Now craves my soul, the best that nature gives, 
 And sees the best that in its nature lives. 
 
ZT 
 
 £0 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Lant night, tluit graeiou:^ privilege was mine, 
 
 (Such sure deliglit poor fortune seldom gives,) 
 To see, again, that heaven-nursed genius sliine 
 
 "With light wherein truth's beauty ever lives. 
 Dull, plodding Time hears heavy hours away. 
 
 Ah painful toil creeps on to weary night ; 
 AVith sullen care we drudge through tedious day 
 
 Led on hy distant hope's dim, fitful, light. 
 But hope's fair prom .e lends but poor relief; 
 
 The hungering heart still makes its constant cry ; 
 The joys of sense it finds are all too brief; 
 
 No sensual feast, the heart can satisfy. 
 But genius, with its heavenly light, appears, 
 And lifts the heart above its groveling fears. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 In those rare scenes that from her genius grow 
 
 By mimic art, that fancy so bewitches. 
 Fond nature deigns, with open hand to throw. 
 
 Around her favorite, all her love-sought riches. 
 The beauties we in isolation find. 
 
 That with their single force, the heart inspire, 
 Here in sweet harmonv are all combined, 
 
 And melt the heart with their united fire: 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Tlien nature's boon we take from uatiirc's liand, 
 And from her bounty, learn her full intent; 
 
 O'er all her children's heart she seeks command, 
 By truth and beauty's fair embodiment: 
 
 Of i)itying grief — of smiles and tears beguiled, 
 
 In wondering love, we bless her favorite child. 
 
 21 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Those scenes of love, of life's reality. 
 
 Illumined bv imairination's e:low. 
 Raise high above our poor mortality 
 
 The deathless hope the heart exults to know. 
 The latent love that sleeps in smouldering hearts, 
 
 Whoso heat is quenched by uncongenial strife. 
 But feels the force that nature's tire imi)arts, 
 
 Then s[)rings, at once, to pure celestial life. 
 love! thou boundless power! o'er all ()miii[)otent ! 
 
 All nature's source — thou universal soul ! 
 Still, unconfincd bv natures wide extent — 
 
 From thee, life, and its sweets, we claim the whole : 
 And still thine all-resistless power to prove, 
 Here comes thy child, to tune all hearts to love 
 

 oo 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 xxni. 
 
 She looks with art — with art she speaks and moves — 
 
 And yet liow artless is her artfulness ; 
 Nature, in her, shows what she dearly loves; 
 
 Through her, she smiles on those she deigns tohless. 
 We see the mirthful truth of giilisli life — 
 
 The love and tenderness of woman shown ; 
 Faith and affection grace the wedded wife ; 
 
 AVe see the heart, love's fancy makes its own. 
 All tender moods that melt the heart to tears, 
 
 And airy joys that mix those tears with smiles, 
 And wistful hopes that wait <:xv trembling fears, 
 
 Attend her call, through nature's simple guiles. 
 Her beauty, wit, and heait-born sentiment 
 Give form and voice to nature's full intent. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Those passions nature to the heart has lent. 
 
 Pictured in outward form, we seek to view — 
 Their height and depth — each tone and lineament- 
 
 We seek the counterfeit and find the true. 
 All those that in the heart of woman glow — 
 
 Love, jealous doubt, and tearful injured ]>ride — 
 A murmured tone, or look, or gesture show 
 
 How deep their homes within her breast abide. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 m 
 
 A tone give^^ Tnojiiiini2f to soiiio tcndortalo ; 
 
 A siinplo look bIiovvs aroli simplicity ; 
 A word and gesture o'er our hearts avail 
 
 To prove, with nature, deep complicity: 
 All ieelings hid in nature's deep recess, 
 With nature's grace,through lier,their forms express. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 If in my lines, perchance, you find offence, 
 
 And I, in vain, your favor seek to win, 
 I may, most justly, urge in my defence, 
 
 That you alone were prompter of my sin. 
 My guiltless pen safe in ohlivion lay, 
 
 And there woidd still have lain throui^h endless 
 night, 
 ITiid not your genius tempted it to stray, 
 
 TTopijii^ it !night s()m<5 thiiu; of worth indite. 
 When strikes the quickening flame that g<'nius gives, 
 
 With kindred fire it stirs the torpid soul; 
 The fire yours gave, still in my nature lives; 
 
 And still y(^ur genius does my pen control: 
 But if too holdly I 3'our smile demand, 
 Such sins, in future, cease at your command. 
 
JL9L ^ 
 
 \ 
 
 ■ ' 
 
 24 
 
 PON^^ETS. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Tliosu '\vit(*liiiii»: (Irojiiiis that haunt m}" rural hours, 
 
 Oft c'hiiin they ought in outward form appear; 
 But still to clothe them, douh (lenie<l all powers, 
 
 Till jour sweet fire had killed my deadening fear. 
 With unsought fancies tlirona-in,!* on mv mind. 
 
 Feigned persons come, making my thoughcs their 
 own ; 
 Then suited actions in fit scenes cond)ined, 
 
 Are wildly on imagination thrown. 
 Daritig presumption then assays the task 
 
 To give my wild and formless fancies shape — 
 Flattering I might e'en your approval ask, 
 
 Till whispers doubt, " Can you hor scorn escape?" 
 Ah, should your favor such a grace concede, 
 Then has my labor earned its dearest meed ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I' I 
 I 
 
 Forgotten lines, again she has recited, 
 
 In tones that made my startled spirit thrill ; 
 Words, bare of beautv, still mv soul delighted; 
 
 Though dead before, they charm my memory still. 
 Till toned l)y her, they slei)t all unregarded; 
 
 Or as tuneless ballads coldly were perused: 
 Their barren thoughts, being by her reworded, 
 
 A soul not theirs is through their form transfused. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 25 
 
 I gave thorn form, Hhegave them life and spirit; 
 
 I gave the organ, she the music brought; 
 Henceforth, what worth, for me, they may inherit, 
 
 They knew not till her tongue had tuned my 
 thought: 
 Their charm, though fading from their natal hour, 
 They now resume, with tenfold native power. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 All wrapped in throbbing silence, sit the crowd; 
 
 Keen expectation peers from every eye ; 
 Xo sound is heard, but hearts that speak aloud; 
 
 Or as they ease their burden with a sigh : 
 A beauteous form moves on the mimic scene ; 
 
 Tier voice comes melting on the stilled air; 
 All hearts are hushed, as 'twere a fairy seen ; 
 
 But mine drinks in delight none else can share. 
 My thoughts return, as memory'd gained a voice, 
 
 But with anew delicious music frauirht: 
 My words returning make my heart rejoice 
 
 As if an angel's tongue respoke my thought. 
 Feeling and thought, that fired my heart and brain, 
 With doubled joy, her voice sends home again. 
 
 I' 
 
2G 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I 
 
 \ i !• 
 
 I i 
 
 
 xxtx. 
 
 Is yon a dream-form 'mongst the trees before me ? 
 
 Or does her music thrill my waking ear ? 
 What sweet enchantment can it be, thrown o'er mo ? 
 
 And this sweet trembling, comes it all from fear ? 
 All objects near me hold their wonted formsi ; 
 
 These sounds are truly answered in my mind ; 
 Their tlireatening discords, too, my heart alarms; 
 
 In dreams all senses are not so combined. 
 No; 'tis no dream that's rushing through my heart, 
 
 A dream could not so swell it with delight; 
 To dreams, what power such rapture could impart, 
 
 Or move ni}" heart so with love's heavenly might ? 
 'Tis love that puts enchantment in my eyes, 
 Showing a bliss a mocking fate denies. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 I love May morning's tender, dewy light. 
 
 Still evening's ruddy flame upon the hill ; 
 I love the gentle, silent, queen of night. 
 
 Whose pale, sad, smiles, night-haunted valleys fill; 
 I love the birds when warbling in the wood. 
 
 That lone one most, that char'ns night with her 
 voice ; 
 Sweet breathing flowers, glassed in the rippling flood, 
 
 Add nature's smile, to make my heart rejoice. 
 
 M 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 27 
 
 All natnrc's harmony enchants my houI, 
 
 And Hots lovo'a thonght upon my spirit's wingfl; 
 
 But now my passion she does so control, 
 That, loving her, I love all baser things : 
 
 Yet in her love there lives such fatal might, 
 
 Its smile or frown makes nature's day or night. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Ranging the woods and painted meadows through, 
 
 I gather flowers that spangle summer's green ; 
 But when I would their differing beautie:? view, 
 
 One constant image does their beauties screen. 
 I would be studious in wise nature's book. 
 
 And strive to scan some deei)ly worded page ; 
 But memory turns my eye, with inward look, 
 
 To what does solely memory's love engage. 
 I hear the birds sing in their leafy home ; 
 
 I smell the flowers that breathe around my feet ; 
 But from their presence still does fancy roam, 
 
 And brins; new sweetness to their sweetest sweet. 
 AVhon she's awav, her imacre seals mv siiclit ; 
 "Wlicn she is near, I see with lieavenlv liirlit. 
 
 i 
 
 ill 
 
iJh^^^- 
 
 t 
 
 28 
 
 BONNETS. 
 
 XXXI I. 
 
 Til (lowy morn of Koft and balmy Biiriiif;^, 
 
 When joyons yonlli makes jocnnd, early day — 
 When flowers glad incense toyonng morning bring, 
 
 How sweetly glide joy-laden hours away! 
 All beauties strewn o'er Xature's wide domain, 
 
 That feed the eye and ear with pure delight. 
 With gentle force o'er our affections reign, 
 
 Or quell the lieart, with awe-inspiring might. 
 In Nature's home, I still hear memory's voice. 
 
 Rewording thoughts — recalling every tone — 
 Her looks recalled, then, make my lieart rejoice. 
 And make all Nature's beauties seem her own: 
 No beaut}'. Nature to the world can give, 
 But those my heart sees in her being live. 
 
 ^1 I 
 
 f! 
 
 r! 
 
 I! 
 
 !l 
 
 xxxin. 
 
 But how I love, love gives no leave to say, 
 
 Nor trusts its secret to a babbling pen; 
 And should my love fall on the ear of day, 
 
 'Twould hear but niock'rv from all envious men. 
 My love brooks not the hard promiscuous gaze 
 
 That scathes not love, of hard, promiscuous life; 
 Though Giivy 'ro sweet, her name in vulgar praise. 
 
 From vulgar tongues, but fills my heart with strife. 
 
 (i 
 
kunm;t.<. 
 
 '2d 
 
 With joaloiiH care I tlieti my lovo conceal — 
 Its treasure hide deep in my secret l»reast; 
 
 llcnv sweet its store, still could no ton^i^ue I'cveal, 
 Even could my heart betray its cherished ^nicst. 
 
 Her smile assured, nought else my heart would crave; 
 
 But waiting fear, alone, my heart must have. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The something hcr's, I must so much admire, 
 
 That ever makes my heart leap from its seat, 
 Still turns my soul to one fierce sad desire, — 
 
 To feverish hope, then doubting- shivering heat. 
 All tongues attest that she's of lovely form; 
 
 Of others, perhaps, some tongues attest the same; 
 Some hearts mav find elsewhere a fr''«iee as warm : 
 
 In mine none else can raise so sweet a flame. 
 My love feeds not on favors she has shown, 
 
 Xor on the hope of favors she may show; 
 Xo smile of kindness has my passion known; 
 
 Stdl does my passion keep its constant glow. 
 In all but her, some thing appears amiss ; 
 In her, has nature crowned each sovereign bliss. 
 
 ti 
 
i 1 1 
 
 so 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 How weak my soul till I did worsliip tliec! 
 
 Still vainly Htriii^gliiii^ for an iii»v\'ard tliglit; 
 Nor till my eye did thy i)erfec;tion see, 
 
 Ere knew my heart the force of beauty's might. 
 "When sun-beams warm to life the opening flower, 
 
 It breathes its perfume on the evening air; 
 When to my soul thy spirit yields its power, 
 
 It thinks in forms, its thought exults to wear. 
 What once were passions fouled witli earthy mire — 
 
 Thoughts winged, still elinging to their native 
 clay— 
 Now strengthened by thy beauty's heavenly fire, 
 
 Raise up my soul to meet a heavenly day. 
 All! wilt thou smile on earth perennial bloom? 
 Or, frowning, shut me in perpetual gloom? 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 Long lias my heart from hope to fear been tost; 
 
 Had I her love? I hoped, yet feared to know: 
 But by a look, to-day, all fear I lost — 
 
 A look that set love's hopeless fire aglow. 
 I saw her smile as she was passing near — 
 
 A dreaming smile, brightening her wandering eye ; 
 And ill her smile there hung a trembling tear; 
 
 And with the tear, there came a struggling sigh. 
 

 
 SUNMITS. 
 
 
 31 
 
 Aro 
 
 ^ontl 
 
 siglis, {(lone the Bii^ns o 
 
 r grief? 
 
 
 Grior-biirtlieiic'd lioarts, tlioti,«l()tl 
 
 ley ahvjiys prove? 
 
 No; 
 
 tears 
 
 may briiii^ love-laden liei 
 
 irts relief, 
 
 
 A 
 
 nd gontlc si^lis oft ease excess 
 
 of love. 
 
 
 ITor 
 
 q)iiv( 
 
 riiiLC lip 1111(1 tcar-dewed t 
 
 yv j)r()('laiiu 
 
 
 That in her heart, there lives a love-lnn-ii flame. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 My l)iiniiiig passion still I must ooneeid ; 
 
 Kv'ii from lier prepenee must I still refrain; 
 More and more hopeless is tlie love T feel, 
 
 Yet with love's ho])e, dies not my hopeless pain. 
 I seek bv dav a niij^htlv solitude, 
 
 To nourish thoughts that nurture most the soul ; 
 But thoughts of her, all other tlxMights exclude; 
 
 Not T, hut slie, my thinking does control. 
 And sleepless fancy, in the drenmfnl night, 
 
 Still shows her image set i!i airy bliss; 
 Then in sleejt's world T taste love dream's delight, 
 
 r>ut with the dav comes back the world that is: 
 In crowd or solitude, by night or day, 
 A hopeless love, my joyless heart must sway. 
 
 iii 
 
 m 
 

 i i 
 
 82 
 
 eONNKTS. 
 
 xxxviri. 
 
 I, in llio crowd, have soon lior onoo again ! 
 
 Oil, wore she to all rival eves unknown ! 
 I froczo, joining the gaze of lickerish men ; 
 
 ^fy lieart would liave her beauty all its own. 
 Still must I look, and yet to look is pain ; 
 
 I turn away ; to turn away is grief; 
 Once more I force my eyes to look again ; 
 
 Onoo more I shift my eyes to find relief. 
 Wore hut her beauty to my heart confined, 
 
 All other treasure would it gladly give; 
 In her, my lieart its only heaven would find. 
 
 And there would pray, eternally to live. 
 So does her gentle power my soul enthrall. 
 That hi her smile, my soul secures its all! 
 
 xxxrx. 
 
 The prayer hell tolls; the sun now seeks his hod; 
 
 The crimson clouds shut out retiriiii!^ dav ; 
 Venus, jiwako, smiles through the lilmy red 
 
 Dyed in the dying sun's last wandering ray. 
 And while the morn's full flood of saddenine^ lic-ht 
 
 Flows in still silence o'er the shadowy plain, 
 Tlie timid stars peep from the cave of night. 
 
 And gem, the dome that spans the heavenly main 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 
 The drowsy cuckoo's Inisky, falterin£^, voice. 
 
 Sleepily comes now tliron<^li the (larkeiiiiiu!; air, 
 Uiddiiiij me in mv twili^cht hour reioice, 
 
 Thouijh none 1)0 near mv twili'^it hour to share. 
 A hliss liow lieavenly! might this hour im[)art, 
 Were it but shared by lier glad trembling heart I 
 
 XL. 
 
 •ji 
 
 'Twas tliy blest power tliat showed me wliat I am — 
 
 Called forth a sense that else had been concealed; 
 This blissful passion still were sleeping ilanie, 
 
 Ilad'st thou, my soul not to itself revealed. 
 As lifeless strings that skilful hands control. 
 
 To make soft tremblings in a lifeless air, 
 A new emotion wake within my soul, 
 
 And plant a joy that else had ne'er been there: 
 So dost thou, by thy being's beauteous show, 
 
 An unknown power within my spirit prove. 
 And make my heart that tender suffering know, 
 
 That slept, till thou didst prove my power to love. 
 From this dear pain my heart was still secure, 
 'Till taught by thee what thrill it might endure. 
 
 |[ 
 
•asrr 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 34 
 
 Wh}'' not rny soul with lliinc forever Llend, 
 
 As music's sweet concordant sounds unite ? 
 Or why, my heart, 'gainst thy sweet power defend? 
 
 Or thine withhold its love in my despite ? 
 I love thee for that pitiless loveliness, 
 
 That, while thou art, compels mo still to love ; 
 Thy loving owns all power my life to bless. 
 
 And will till death my love of love remove. 
 As rose and woodhine, hlending their perfume, 
 
 Ureathe in delicious union through their day, 
 In quenchless love, so might our lives consume, 
 
 Nor fear, in time, our love would e'er decay. 
 My heart loves not, obedient to my will ; 
 "While thou art thou, my heart must love thee still. 
 
 XLTT. 
 
 You will not wed ? then is your life a sin, 
 
 Robbing the world of its most rare perfection — 
 
 Ending a race where one you might begin, 
 If nature's will you gave the true direction. 
 
 All human souls, would nature clothe with beauty, 
 Though from her purpose, oft constrained to 
 
 swerve ; 
 
 To serve her aim, all then should deem a duty, 
 And her best gifts should duteously preserve. 
 
35 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 See nature now, gracing unsparing Time 
 
 AVitl' one true master-work of lier production ! 
 
 And you, then, guilty of tlie wasteful crime 
 Of leaving Time to work its sure destruction. 
 
 Let present eyes enjoy it while they may, 
 
 But let its copies grace a future day 
 
 LXIIL 
 
 I' 
 
 'i 
 
 it 
 
 
 Winter retreats, and comes the blessed spring, * 
 
 Robing anew with Time's most fragrant glory- 
 Beckoning with smiles each dear consenting thing 
 
 To glad her hours with mute or tuneful story. 
 The gentle primrose bares her modest face; 
 
 The air enriched, decla.os the violet near; 
 The daisy smiles up from his humble place, 
 
 To greet tlie rose, the best-loved of the year. 
 The welcome black-bird, from the echoing grove. 
 
 Sings mated love is sweetener of his song; 
 The mateless cuckoo shouts. Even vagrant love 
 
 Proves life for life, to nature does belong: 
 All living things would Nature's wish obey, 
 And leave their heirs, when thoy by time (h'oay. 
 
 !^p! 
 
 :*1-^ 
 
36 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 fairest form that nature yet has made ! 
 Thou richest vesture of her richest soul ! 
 
 Alas ! that Time has power to make thee fade, 
 And none may Time's relentless hand control ! 
 
 How weakly does that merely pictured face 
 Express those features pictured on my heart ! 
 
 Their sweetness there, no angel-hand could trace ; 
 How hopeless, then, all merely human art ! 
 
 1 still in love and tremhling worship gaze 
 
 On that sweet, lifeless, product of man's Hkill ; 
 But if my love, art's faltering hand might raise. 
 
 Then might that hand, my heart's sweet dream 
 fulfill . 
 But as those features in my memory live, 
 'Tis past all hope, an outward form to give. 
 
 > ^ I 
 
 III i 
 
 XLV. 
 
 I've crossed the sea — seen something of a storm, 
 
 Perhaps not the worst, and yet we thought it rough ; 
 The weak ones drowned their tears in their alarm; 
 
 The stoutest owned its rage was quite enough. 
 The huge ship, where a thousand souls were freighted, 
 
 A helpless thing in hlazing gnlphs now liung; 
 She then rolled o'er, as if she'd ne'er be righted, 
 
 ^Vhile maddening waves against her sides were 
 flung. 
 
SONNETS. 87 
 
 The night was dark, the tumbling ocean black — 
 Still blacker for the lightning's blinding flash; 
 
 We now stood on a bursting mountain's back, 
 Anon down rushincr with a shriverinsr crash. 
 
 The wind and ocean drowned the thunder's roar ; 
 
 Those prayed for help, who seldom prayed before. 
 
 XLVT. 
 
 Ah! now she sinks! Death stands within the hour! 
 
 There goes jib-boom, and tears away the mas't! 
 The wind and ocean blend their utmost power : 
 
 She sinks! O Ileaven! Of earth we've seen the 
 last. 
 Beneath the hissing foam, the vessel rushes 
 
 Like some mad creature seeking instant death; 
 The sea sweeps o'er, and boat and cabin crushes-— 
 
 "All now is o'er!" is gasped in quivering ]»realh. 
 The moments swell; but none of hope dare think; 
 
 And death's sure cominf]C seems to all an aije; 
 She lifts her head; but she will backward sink ! 
 
 IIow weak man's miglitto cope with nature's rage! 
 Ill moments, now, each counts his flickering life; 
 Kven hope is numbed, beneath this deadening strife. 
 
r^^b^ 
 
 ,L^UtUMUa. 
 
 88 
 
 BONNETS. 
 
 XLVIl. 
 
 But now hIic rests a moment on her side, 
 
 As pondering wluit lier foes have power to do; 
 But with fierce roar, still comes the heaven-kiss'd 
 tide, 
 
 AVhirling a crest frinc^cd with a fiery hluo. 
 She iM'avely once more lifts her struggling liead; 
 
 The sinews cut, she (h'Ops a shattered wing; 
 Though rolling wildly on lier treacherons hed. 
 
 She still defies all power lier foes can hring. 
 Our straining hearts, nnhoping, pray for life. 
 
 And pray the brave thing's foes their war may 
 cease ; 
 But still nnpitying, roars death-threatening strife; 
 
 And still white lips pray heaven for quick release. 
 But time still moves, and darkness creeps away; 
 'Tis some relief to meet our fate by day. 
 
 XLVITL 
 
 The sun is uj^; tlie wind has spent his force; 
 
 But the still angry sea is rolling high; 
 All sail is set; we're speeding on onr course, 
 
 When "overboard,'' "man overboard," they cry. 
 All hear the cry; the rnsh to help is brisk; 
 
 All fly at once to where the cry is heard ; 
 To save this life, the men are wild to risk 
 
 Those livea the forespent storm 'till now had spared, 
 
SONNKTS. 
 
 89 
 
 A i»icr(;in£^ cry comes up above tlio din ; 
 
 AVitli desperate hope the i^Kiii Ptill rides the wi.ve ; 
 "Tlie hoat !" The bout, alas . is found stove in ; 
 
 Ko means are left the stiuij-ii^lini: man to save. 
 All lives are safe the storm liad doomed to death ; 
 This death lias doomed, though tstill wc hear his 
 breath. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 
 I saw his look as he was rushin<2: bv, 
 
 llis 'wildered soul, death-startled, in his face; 
 I heard his frantic, fierce, imploring cry : 
 
 Time will not soon the saddeniui^ sic-ht efface. 
 lie sunk a moment, then he rose once more; 
 
 His harrowinu; crv, as^ain still'd wave and wind; 
 lie suidc and rose, but we s])ed on before ; 
 
 The flvinjj: ship soon left liim far behind. 
 All eyes were strained, to catch a final glance; 
 
 Some saw him still, when he had surelv crone ; 
 That death, that seemed last night our only chance 
 
 Had passed the rest, and seized on him alone. 
 Those hearts Death's threats, so late, had sliook with 
 
 fear. 
 Forgot the past, now Death had struck so near 
 
-^HSS 
 
 4a 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 
 A;i 
 
 Tlic poor, reluctant soul had burst the screen 
 
 That stands between what must he and what is; 
 IIo clung, with frenzy, to this transient scene, 
 
 As if to woe he went, from scenes of bliss. 
 Not ho alone betrays such frantic fear 
 
 To meet a fate no breathing thing may shun; 
 But few say, truly, when snch fate comes near, 
 
 *^Not mi: , Dread Power, but thy good will be 
 done." 
 "We may not wonder such untimely fate 
 
 Should RO this unprepared soul affright ; 
 lie knew his present — not his future state; 
 
 He left the day, to plunge in seeming night. 
 He trusted solely in the life now ending; 
 No faith had ho, a future life was pending. 
 
 LI. 
 
 But h^ould that death that must to life succeed, 
 
 As sleepful night succeeds the wakeful day — 
 That death thac is with life itself decreed, 
 
 Have that dark power that shakes us with dismay ? 
 To shun sure death, the saddest will endeavor; 
 
 While life has hope, death ever comes too soon ; 
 Though all would live, yet ^vho would live forever, 
 
 And. deem unending earthly life, a boon? 
 
SONNETS. 41 
 
 May wo not make thiH life a tiling of beauty 
 To bo perfocted in tbis frame of dust, 
 
 And graft a future joy on present duty, 
 
 Tbon on life's ending look witliout distrust? 
 
 Tbougb deatb we view as nature's angry frown, 
 
 Had deatb been wrong, tbis life bad ne'er known 
 
 Lir. 
 
 But, fearing deatb, do I spend fear in vain ? 
 
 And is death staj'od till some set task be done ? 
 And,tbougb dcatb-doomed, must I still bore remain 
 
 Till all peculiar in m^ life is sbown ? 
 Tbougb weigbty tasks to strong bands arc assigned, 
 Great issues oft tbrougb weak ones may descend ; 
 Fate's purpose being not to tbc great confined, 
 
 Even such as I may serve some jturposed end. 
 Yet wbat fit purpose can my life fulfil. 
 
 For wbicb evor-nearing Deatb tbat life must spare ? 
 And, as Death's hand, does fate control my will, 
 
 To make some special end my special care ? 
 The bee sips honey, and the beetle gnaws ; 
 I serve a general, perhaps a special cause. 
 
42 
 
 SONNKTS. 
 
 LIIT. 
 
 Ft3\v ]inii_L(oring years wc wander here on earth, 
 
 Tliougli on wliat errand sent we are not told; 
 Mild liopes and passions hurl us on from l)irth, 
 
 Till witliering time has left us drear and cold. 
 Yet in life's storm-vexed dream a summering lies, 
 
 Wherein that fruitage of time's seasoning grows, 
 That sweetly stores our hope-sought paradise, 
 
 Or turns to poison, feeding future woes. 
 ^lie past, to future does its coloring give; 
 
 All actions dying, die to live again ; 
 And sin must hurn, yet hurning still must live, 
 
 While sin's foul dross does in the soul remain ; 
 As future plant, in sleeping seed ahidcs, 
 lu buried life our living future hides. 
 
 
 LIV. 
 
 You hate your life, and crave an endless sleep ; 
 
 To force you into life, you deem unjust ; 
 In this vile world you Avould no longer creep ; 
 
 But sink all conscious life in lifeless dust. 
 "Why should wc death with such fierce passion crave, 
 
 As if death could some want of life supply ? 
 No healthy heart seeks physic from the grave ; 
 
 AYe're sick, indeed, when we can wish to die. 
 
SONXETS. 
 
 4^ 
 
 But you arraign the power that gave you life ; 
 
 Why not condemn wliat turnn that Hfe to ill ? 
 Those untamed, unfud wants that hreed your strife, 
 
 And take their power from your untem[)ered will. 
 Peace leavers us when we seek a lawless aim : 
 To win her back, wild passion we must tame. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Our conscious life is but the spirit's action, 
 
 The soul's fierce conflict with opposing forces — 
 A conflict yielding still its satisfaction 
 
 But as the spirit draim its life's resources. 
 Yet varying action does the spirit need; 
 
 Unchanging sameness does the spirit weary; 
 If on one dish alone the soul must feed, 
 
 Then may its home, indeed, become most dreary. 
 Life is action ; still life's calls arc ever changing; 
 
 We sufFer as its calls we disregard; 
 With fixed heart, and fancy widely ranging, 
 
 The spirit ever seeks its just award. 
 Life stiil has joys, if we would seek aright; 
 But joy we find not in stalled appetite. 
 
 m 
 
 ! * 
 
I 
 
 I, 
 
 :l 
 
 44 
 
 FONNETS. 
 
 Lvr. 
 
 "Wo find not lifo what wc would life slioiild 1)0, 
 . Xor make wo 11 fo what wo have power to make it; 
 We ])oast of eyes, rcfusiiii:; ])()wor to soo, 
 
 And starve in plenty, wanting will io take it. 
 "We vaunt the hour wlien Pum[)tuoUHly we dine, 
 
 Despising g()<ls, that must fori'go their dinner; 
 If, trieked ii\ state, to envious eyes we sliine, 
 
 "Wc moek ull difForent life, of saint or siimer. 
 So ranked and stalled, with such gross feeding fed, 
 
 The world ean serve our souls no higlier uses; 
 Or to all higher use, our souls are dead — 
 
 Dead hy long fast, or by past foul abuses: 
 The soul's best needs, we flout from day to day, 
 Then murmur when life's later joys decay. 
 
 Lvn. 
 
 Again the sun comes from the joyous South, 
 
 Bringing glad Spring from under Winter's shade; 
 lie smiling comes, to kill some joy of youth: 
 
 Each visit now some bloom of life must fade. 
 The poet's tuned for me his most harmonious verse; 
 
 The sweetest singer's sung his sweetest song; 
 I've heard the sajje his grandest theme rehearse — 
 
 Seen fairest forms that painter's fancy throng. 
 
SONNKTS. 
 
 46 
 
 I've Nature's cnnTiinii^ tracod from form to form ; 
 
 Shc'rt shown inc wliat slic (Uhmiih lior true and ijood ; 
 For mo bIic'h wr;ip|)('(l tlie world in ilory storruM; 
 
 Witli smiles hIh! l)U'ssed me in lier blandest mood. 
 But man and nature less and less surprise; 
 
 With eaeli new thrill, some expeetation dies. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 When with fresh youth we breast the hill of life, 
 
 The lieart l)Ounds np with energy and hope; 
 To gain some distant prize we wade through strife, 
 
 As if 'twere sport, with ol)staeles to cope. 
 AVe win the prize that fancy sought, ])ercl»ancc; 
 
 An liour exult, then, o'er mad youth's success; 
 But youth departs ; hope can no more advance ; 
 
 Even victory does hope's future scope repress. 
 AVe now descend, hut with reverted view ; 
 
 The joy we sought, lies lifeless in the past; 
 AVith faltering heart, we distant aims pursue, 
 
 Kuowini^: each sun falls still more near the last: 
 But still the heart is ])y illusion fed ; 
 And thus through life, we're by delusion led. 
 
 > !1| 
 
 
:i 
 
 
 1 1 ti 
 
 46 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 But must true life be not, then, held a boon? 
 We knovv^ its worth when we know how to live; 
 
 Its needs change not with changes of the moon, 
 Yet each new day should have new joy to give. 
 
 In love alone we find our source of bliss; 
 
 And as we love, we do life's blessings know; 
 
 Those who love not, life's true enjoyment miss, 
 And so life's dearest object must forego. 
 
 Those things we love — that feed the craving heart- 
 When we their needed presence may possess, 
 
 If wholesome joy alone they do impart. 
 
 Bring all we need, to make life's happiness. 
 
 In boundless love, there lives a boundless joy; 
 
 But this poor life does not such love supply. 
 
 LX. 
 
 I hate, and 3'ct I may not state the cause; 
 
 I hate, and j'et my hate I may not vent; 
 A hate unceasingly within me gnaws, 
 
 And still it must within my heart be pent. 
 I know my hate a curse, and yet I hate; 
 
 I hate, and yet I know the bliss of love; 
 If thinking might my gnawing curse abate, 
 
 Then thinking might, in time, my curse remove. 
 
 fl 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 47 
 
 But hate, with thought, comes like a lieated knife, 
 Air], like a flame, strikes through my poisoned 
 heart; 
 
 My reason holds with hate a hootless strife ; 
 In vain, my reason bids my hate depart. 
 
 Of hatred's folly, I can reason well ; 
 
 And yet my hatred makes my heart a hell. 
 
 If 
 
 LXI. 
 
 '0. 
 
 But when I love, I know that I am hlest — 
 
 That with my hate there ever comes a curse ; 
 In love alone mv heart would ever rest, 
 
 Yet will my heart its cause of hatred nurse. 
 A snake, I madly in my bosom cherish, 
 
 Knowiuij: full well the dumxer of its fane's — 
 Nurse it again to life, knowing must perish 
 
 All inward peace, with hatred's deadly pangs. 
 I'm mad, I know, to cherish hatred so. 
 
 While what I love this hatred will destroy — ■ 
 To quench the thought that makes affection glow, 
 
 And seize a curse where I might have a joy. 
 But such is rooted passion's peevish course. 
 It seeks a blessint*: from a cursed source. 
 
 

 48 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 'l love : tlioui^h I may not my love reveal, 
 
 I know the joy 'twould hring to make it known; 
 Like scent, that roses in their hearts conceal. 
 
 In secret sweet, 'twere sweeter hcing shown. 
 "With love there comes a peace that feeds the spirit; 
 
 Love ever hrings the heart its sweetest health; 
 IIow blest are those who do the power inherit 
 
 To force the world to yield such heavenly wealth. 
 Love comes with thought, and with a thought will go; 
 
 By fancy's light, my heart does treasure find; 
 Kot by mere reason's, but imagination's glow. 
 
 My heart's best fruits are ripened in the mind. 
 If, then, in love the heart finds surest rest, 
 Might reason ask, *'Why not be always blest?" 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Love smiles on nature, from glad summer's source, 
 
 And straight she clothes herself in tender green — 
 With dearest music, joys the summer's course, 
 
 Leaving her flowers wdiere her soft touch has been. 
 And still exulting in the smile of love. 
 
 Though passing now the summer's fervid glow, 
 ITcr flowery bounty would she now improve. 
 
 And leave rich fruits where she but set their show. 
 
SU^'NUTrf. 
 
 41) 
 
 But winter meets her, with his hideous frown, 
 Antl o'er hiT hciirt breatliing his deiidoning breath, 
 
 Straight are love's gifts of joy and bounty flown, 
 And nature, naked, sinks in shivering death: 
 
 So joy we know, as love smiles on the heart; 
 
 At hate's fierce touch, from life all joys depart. 
 
 LXIV, 
 
 These wondrous shows that on our vision rise 
 
 We view as children faded baubles view ; 
 And hourly see with dull uuwondering eyes 
 
 Life's boundless source pour forth life ever new. 
 Yon flaming orb that floods the heavens with light, 
 
 And rescues nature from eternal sleep — 
 The moon that with soft silver bathes the niirht — 
 
 The stars that float across yon boundless deep— 
 The flash that wraps the rolling clouds in flame — 
 
 The radiant bow that spans the parting shower — 
 We in dead, cold, familiar accents name. 
 
 As things unnoted in each passing hour. 
 As nature serv^es us, nature we respect; 
 We sec no gods where we no gain detect. 
 
 i '■ ■ ' 
 
 1 ■ , , 
 
 hpi 
 
 1 ; ." 
 
 1 ■' ■ 
 
 ! . 
 
 P ■' 
 
 
 / ^.^.ii^V 
 
1 
 
 60 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 The day is bright; the sun ia soaring high; 
 
 The leaves are gently inlaying in the air; 
 At every step, rejoieing meets the eye , 
 
 As if the day eould find no room for care. 
 Life, like the day, appears now at its noon, 
 
 The birds and flowers proclaiming general gladness; 
 To live, now seems to all a joyous boon ; 
 
 No heart now deems there mav be future sadness. 
 But stop! what's that, that does life's current freeze? 
 
 Stark death, and in bis most appalling shape ! 
 A suicide, who sought beneath these trees, 
 
 From hopeless life, in hopeless death escape. 
 lie, though no felon, as a felon dies; 
 To kill his woe, the hang man's rope he tries. 
 
 LXri. 
 
 An hour ago he bore that form upright 
 
 That sets man proudly at creation's head ; 
 Now there he lies, that horrid, sickening sight: 
 
 To such an end, has vaunted reason led. 
 Should reason so set man below the beast ? 
 
 While instinct's sure, should reason lead astray ? 
 Should reason curse creation's plenteous feast. 
 
 While instinct makes its life a festal day? 
 
SONNETS. L 
 
 'Tis even so — 'tis sad it sliouUl bo so — 
 
 That tlui.s IHo's conflict eboiild so often end ; 
 
 Men who vvitli aiii^els might aspire to go, 
 IIow often thus below the brute descend. 
 
 That ghastly wreck, where dwelt one of my race, 
 
 Now bcems a fiend's deserted dwelling place. 
 
 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 ffu ' * 
 
 Thts darkling soul, on fate's wild stream has tost 
 
 O'er shallow joys, deep grief, and turpid care; 
 "Now hope gave ligbt: anon all ligbt is lost, 
 
 Till madly ending liere, in fierce despair. 
 Drifting witli cbance, unwitting of life's chart, 
 
 lie sought tlie boon tbatall in life would find; 
 Impelled by gustful passion from the heart. 
 
 His way unseen, in twiliglit of tlie mind. 
 Now wild, uncbastened, hopes his fancy fill; 
 
 TJntempered lusts then scorcb him in their deeds; 
 But now bis fierce desires liave had their will, 
 
 IIow cold and joyless are bis wintry needs. 
 He proved tbe cbance that fate to man bus given, 
 To find a bell where be expected heaven. 
 
i 
 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 LXYIII. 
 
 Siicli wrecks nii^lit Htuiid as Loacons to our view, 
 
 And show the tem[»ters on life's common way — 
 Signal the coarse we recklessly pursue, 
 
 Whose ending, here we look on with dismay. 
 The light that led him, loadstars every soul ; 
 
 Through mental fog, he sought what all would 
 gain; 
 lie failed; and here before this desperate goal, 
 
 Hope died ; death now seemed death to endless 
 pain. 
 lie took for guide, his untamed appetite; 
 
 He gave to passion all he had to give; 
 He heeded not that nature does requite 
 
 With curses, all who for mere passion live. 
 lie fiercely seized all joys that he could borrow; 
 But with the joys he seized a deadly sorrow. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Did ha bear leave from nature's source of life 
 
 To end his course by rash felonious hand? 
 Might he, still blameless, quit his post of strife, 
 
 Still unfulfilled his sovereign's full command ? 
 We hang in time like fruit on forest trees, 
 
 And into time by sovereign power are sent. 
 To bear all sunmier smis and wintry breeze. 
 
 Till we have drained all seasons' nutriment. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Untimely <leatli defeats life's destiny 
 
 til 
 
 that d< 
 
 1 timely 
 
 Lives miss 
 Nor fruit nor flowers their full perfection see, 
 
 That on untimely chances do depend. 
 Even this poor life, we see untimely ended, 
 Had surely been by timely sufferuuce mended. 
 
 6;5 
 
 LXX. 
 
 lie's now, the poor misdeeming soul, at rest; 
 
 He's found, too sure, how vain is vanity; 
 AVith all who trust mere noise can bring the best, 
 
 He's found, at last, his hope's inanity. 
 All toil was cheap, that brought him noisy fame. 
 
 And set his name afloat on vulgar breath ; 
 If but a foolish few might shout his name. 
 
 Peace had no price — no terror hastening death. 
 Not "It is well," but "That men deemed it-sJ"/'^^ 
 
 A moment slaked his thirsting heart's desire; 
 All sense of just and true, that rage could quell. 
 
 That fed his peaceless heart with quenchless fire. 
 But blame for praise ! how worthless life was then ! 
 Such worthless worth he ffave to breath of men. 
 
54 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 "When few more years witli rutliless Time Lave flown, 
 
 And swept tlieir due from nnresistin^ space, 
 This all I now ho liercely call my own, 
 
 In Time's sad ruin then must have its place : 
 When those dead years that in my memory lie, 
 
 In future's wonih concealed their chan«^eful, 
 There, too, was hid this self-regarding I, 
 
 That loves and hates now in a conscious life. 
 I am that was not ; soon I shall not he — 
 
 A life enduring while some god might wink — 
 A dewdrop, hanging in immensity, 
 
 Wresting from sunheams power to feel and think. 
 Soon must the force that could insphero a soul. 
 Again remerge into a lifeless whole. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 Few years ago this 8[)irit had no heing, 
 
 Or as now clothed it then had ne'er heen seen; 
 To realms unknown, again 'tis ever fleeing. 
 
 To he or not, as it had never heen. 
 But for earth's turmoil must it come and go — 
 
 Be tossed an hour in storms of thought and feeling ? 
 A conscious actor he, to feel and knov* , 
 
 Its hody'a end, its heing then repealing? 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Or (Iocs sonic unseen power tliis dust control, 
 To start a lil'c not on this dust depending? — 
 
 From lifeless matter, form a deathless soul, 
 With hodv i^rowim?, not with hody endinir? 
 
 But as it should, so will it surely be; 
 
 Who gave this life, its future can decree. 
 
 hi 
 
 LXXriT. 
 
 Whence, earth-sojourning spirit, hast thou come? 
 
 Thy sojourn ended, whither art thou going? 
 Wilt thou, as weeds, thy cradle make thy tondj? 
 
 Or elsewhere reap what mortal hours are sowing? 
 Thou'rt blest in time — or curst — with consciousness; 
 
 Thou'st power to say, "In time and space I am;" 
 Knowing, per force, that power thou dost possess, 
 
 Thou know'st no whence or why that power be- 
 came. 
 Of nature's powers, thou say'st thou art compact, 
 
 C'onycnjinLT forces blcndinii; in thy hcinir; 
 But so inferring nature's power to act, 
 
 Leaves still unknown the prior power decreeing. 
 Thy whence or why, all nature's power conceals; 
 Thy hence or how, what greater power reveals? 
 
!ii I 
 
 
 66 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But does the soul that moves this sentient dust, 
 
 In this brief hour its destined end attain? 
 Or may we ask if such a fate wore just, 
 
 "While threatening death stings life with tremhling 
 pain? • 
 All living things bear nature's fatal hand, 
 
 And ever upward is their vital law; 
 All yield obedience to the stern command. 
 
 Or feed destruction's ever hungry maw. 
 The law swerves not at man's humanity; 
 
 The power supreme o'er all he must obey ; 
 Yet, does this round of earth's inanity 
 
 Inclose man's final hour of conscious day? 
 Unaided sense no other fate can see; 
 Hope cries, "Xo, no, such fate can never be." 
 
 LXXY. 
 
 When winter flies before all-gladdening spring. 
 
 And May's sweet smile again on earth is thrown, 
 Warming to life and joy each sleeping thing, 
 
 With what full heart we make spring's joy our 
 own. 
 But thou, brief life, by thy dear advent brought 
 
 Joy, else unknown, and life-long promised bliss — 
 Dear hope unhoped for, and before unsought, 
 
 Now hope no more, killed by death's freezing kiss. 
 
BIS 
 
 PONNF.TS. 
 
 r.7 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 My staiiil(^:^s siunvdroj), lilooniiiiij; one l»ri<j;]it liour, 
 Witli suininer'rt hope l)le!^8iii<^ tlie Hweat of toil, 
 
 Now breiitliod on l»y dread death's ali-mastering 
 ])o\ver, 
 Its fadin.i( does life'.s fruitful hours despoil : 
 
 In tliee death <loes my life's new hope dt'stroy, 
 
 And plant a grief wlicre thou hadst planted Joy. 
 
 LXXVJ. 
 
 
 To me, then, art thoa now forever dead, 
 
 If all thou wert, death had the power to kill — 
 Forever, now, that budding hope is fled, 
 
 That thou life's future sweetest hours would'st fill. 
 The quiekoning love, woke hy thy opening smile — 
 
 The pitying tears, touched by thy tearless wail — 
 AVith fruitless hope, do now my heart beguile. 
 
 If nought of thee niiglit o'er death's power prevail. 
 Though thou art dead, love sprung from Ihee still 
 lives. 
 
 And as life fades, still does the stronger grow; 
 Fed by — feeding — the liope the future gives, 
 
 AVhat death forbade I in the past should know : 
 A hope still sings that death lias been defeated — 
 That where death reigns not thou wilt be completed. 
 
58 
 
 HON NETS. 
 
 Ii< 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 And site, fow tnontlis n^i^o, tliat Haid good-bye, 
 
 With liUi;;^liiiii^ beurt of Idootnin^, buoyant youth, 
 Sayinii;, in jest, " No more slieM glad my eyo," 
 
 Si»eaking, bow mirtlitully, tbe waddost trutb. 
 In random i>bnwe, of life and deatli vvc Kpokc ; 
 
 Life seemed stteure ; we deemed not deatli was 
 near ; 
 But now, in ^ief, sad memory liears tbe joke; 
 
 Where we could laugh I now must droji a tear. 
 Tho.se liearts now mourn, her presence once made 
 glad ; 
 
 And all were glad that in her presence came ; 
 But death has killed the joy her presence bad ; 
 
 Cxrief comes alone, whene'er we speak her name. 
 But heavenly peace go witli thee ever more ! 
 We come thy way ; thou art but gone before. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Time drifts me once more from my wonted place, 
 
 Hending tbe ties by which my licart \n bound, 
 Proving once more that in life's^ changing ])baso, 
 
 For me, in change, not joy, but gric;f is found. 
 Where grows tbe tree, there would it ever grow; 
 
 There can its rootlets find life's nutriment ; 
 To tear it whence life's needful succors flow, 
 
 Still brings its life injurious detriment. 
 
PONNKTS. 
 
 r.n 
 
 ^fy lio.M't from tliiiijj^a fiimiliar fi^athcrs lilo ; 
 
 O'er Hcciu's it lovca, it would forever raiii^e ; 
 All cliuiii^o it owns, innst come from outward strife ; 
 
 AViiere still it loves, it ne'er would seek for chauii^e. 
 T)iit time moves on, and outward (onfliet l»rini2:s, 
 TeariuLT the lieart i'rom loved familiar tliin<j:H. 
 
 
 LXXTX. 
 
 "Where loves the heart, there would it ever live, 
 
 Tliouii^h chani2;e, alone, may satisfy the minU; 
 "What gives new thoufi^ht, the mind new life ean give; 
 
 But in time's change, no life the heart can find. 
 "We see, to-day, what we have seen hefore; 
 
 "We heed it not, hut ask for something new; 
 Anon we find what adds to memory's store, 
 
 The craving mind then claims its needful duo. 
 Xew ohjccts only, hring the mind new thought; 
 
 Old ohjccts oidy, hring the heart new life; 
 Mind's ceaseli'ss growth, from ceaseless change is 
 wrought; 
 
 The heart finds only death, in ceaseless strife: 
 The mind through houndless nature seeks to range; 
 Through houndless time, the heart would never 
 chanire. 
 
60 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 To-day, my heart its best of life would know, 
 
 Though deeraing, still, life's best in future lies ; 
 But in each hour, still does tliis craving grow; 
 
 And yet each hour this craving still denies: 
 Thus mocking hours life's crowning hours postpone, 
 
 But with sweet ilattory still persuade the mind 
 That each poor best that with past hours has gone, 
 
 Leaves some untasted better best behind. 
 In life's best hour, though sunned in nature's smile, 
 
 P^'inding life less than all it still oxpects, 
 My heart must yield to liope-fed fancy's guile. 
 
 Though fancy's guile, it in that hours detects. 
 That good, the heart in future hours descries, 
 From present touch, to hours still future Hies. 
 
 LXXXL 
 
 The good I chase is ever on the wing; 
 
 When r. would sei;^e it, onward it has flown ; 
 St'.ll is my best that ever-lleeing thing, 
 
 That, rainbow-like, is ever distant shown. 
 Each day finds fancy's scope still more contracted, 
 
 Hope's failures leaving hope's range newly 
 bounded ; 
 
V 
 
 < 
 
 SONNKTP. 
 
 (U 
 
 Each (lay my lieart finds some new cheat enacted, 
 
 Still is its trust on fancy's })romise founded. 
 Yet hope can still sing to a listening ear — 
 
 ITer suasivc smile draw on my endless chase; 
 As from my grasp ho[)e's phantoms disa})pear, 
 
 False fancy still sets new ones in their place : 
 Dead with to-day, hope still lives witli to-morrow; 
 
 Or death were hope, and life a hopeless sorrow. 
 
 LXXXTT. 
 
 "Where mavhe found that full content of life — • 
 
 Tliat life's content which true life should alford? 
 Each passing hour seems witli enjoyments rife, 
 
 Tot not with those that with my mood accord. 
 The joys we have, are turned to discontent 
 
 In craving those that swell another's share; 
 Content we lose, which wanting we lament, 
 
 When v»ith our own, wo h:ip[)ior l(^ls oomonre. 
 And, still, should rankling envy be my choice, 
 
 Though I may liave not what my noighhor has? 
 May I not in my poorer joy rojoice, 
 
 Although anothor^s joy my own surpass? 
 To win such joys as nature has to give, 
 On wliat it has, the heart must learn to live. 
 
f^ 
 
 02 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 LXXXIIL 
 
 But is the ij^nerdoii of mv life's endeavor 
 
 SiuiiiiU'd ill tliose fruits tluit f.ide eiich fadin<^ day ? 
 That feed, yet starve, leaving life hungry over — 
 
 More huugry still as life's fleet hours decay? 
 Must life's best hours but tantalize the mind — 
 
 Still bring noJ(>y the heart does not remember? 
 And, flattering life's true worth is still to find, 
 
 But paint sweet May beyond each day's December ? 
 A spring to have, in having proves a winter; 
 
 The whole possessed, the heart is still defeated; 
 Still docs the heart give hope glad leave to enter. 
 
 Then finds ho[)e's mocking still onee more re- 
 peated. 
 But death would nature's living power defeat, 
 If thou, bland hope, forego thy power to cheat. 
 
 Lxxxr\^ 
 
 Jbit still confined within a sunh^ss si>here, 
 
 Where still there comes a wintry discontent, 
 Dreaming of joys that bloom to '^uns elsewhere, 
 
 Still hun<i:rv vearninii; in mv heart is pent! 
 And as a hi id, love's prisonrr in his cage, 
 
 Beating his pris( i walls to set him free, 
 l>eaf to all voices but that instinct's rage 
 
 That pants for unknown joj's beyond the Gi'a: 
 
S0NNIJT8. 
 
 03 
 
 So would inv heart no where that summer lives, 
 FIvino; this winter of a lite-Ions; date — 
 
 "Where hlooming hope its promised rrnitai!;e gives, 
 Chann-inc; the mockerv of this harren state. 
 
 This gloom makes winter of the snnimiir's glow, 
 
 And joyless waste where joyous tlowors should grow. 
 
 LXKXY, 
 
 Yet, would we live not in such hours as this? 
 
 Nor deem the power to know their joy a treasure ? 
 Joy that might tunc the soul to pressnt hliss, 
 
 And memory s^ore, too, with a future pleasure. 
 The sun's smile o-laddens everv leaf and tlower; 
 
 The air shakes perfume from his gentle wings; 
 Heaven's music starts to life in every hower, 
 
 Calling to peaee, through every hird that sings: 
 Unnoted flowers, hestained with every dye, 
 
 From grassy ivert, hreathe their soft ai)peal ; 
 Soul-soothins: touches come from earth and skv, 
 
 That would all heart distempering discord heal: 
 But whih' hlack discontent heclouds the sight. 
 Nature mav charm, but charm to sour deliii-ht. 
 
04 
 
 BONNETS. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 You ask why I ro dearly love the past, 
 
 Althouirh its memories touch me with reajrct? 
 What joys once o'er my fresh young heart were cast 
 
 My lieart, lit'e-poverisheJ, will not now forget. 
 Lil\3 once was new — no appetite was cloyed ; 
 
 Hope told her tale ; her tale seemed ever true ; 
 The joys now spent, had once to be enjoyed, 
 
 And hopes now dead had once life ever new. 
 'Tis not in having, we all pleasure find ; 
 
 The hunter finds his pleasure in the chase ; 
 Though tales retold lose power to please the mind, 
 
 The heart may look with love in memory's face ; 
 And more and more, as we a[)proach the end, 
 Do present joys upon the past depend. 
 
 Lxxxrii. 
 
 Afy niemor; still hrings hack my chihlhood's time, 
 
 And with it comes an old man and his ass, 
 AVho, when the days were in their sunny prime. 
 
 Murmuring low songs, the silent laties would pass. 
 To Pairy4and the old man seemed to go. 
 
 Where slept soft echoes of the cuckoo's song ; 
 AVhcre rose and hlue-hcll sweeter still should grow, 
 
 Than those that «lid to nature's world belouu\ 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Oh! what Boft ycan.inj:^ filled my chiUliHli breast. 
 That I the old man's fairy world might see; 
 
 Ilim and his asa my fancy did invest 
 
 With gentle charms, unseen by all but me: 
 
 He lived, and still lives, in thjit summer da^', 
 
 Which now remembered, winter turns to May. 
 
 ()5 
 
 LXXXYIIL 
 
 When in dear spring while daisies still wcro voting, 
 
 And hawthorns hung their mantles on the hedges; 
 When thrush and ousel thrilled the wood with song 
 
 And warblers hailed the moon among the sedges; 
 When joyous life, now freed from winter's arms, 
 
 Had roused her children from his deadening spell ; 
 When flowers threw on the air their fragrant charms, 
 
 And feathered throats with amorous notes would 
 swell; 
 When nature's heart throbbed with connubial love, 
 
 And single hearts with kindred hearts could pair — • 
 I Icarn't how sweet 'twas with the brook to rove, 
 
 Ere time had dulled young fancy's world with care j 
 'Twas in that time, when nature could surprise, 
 With nature's heart, I learn 't to sympathize. 
 
66 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 LXXXTX. 
 
 I sought the poppies liidiiig in the corn, 
 
 Alone on many a silent au. tmer day; 
 When on the wings of childish fancy home, 
 
 My soul would with the hirds floe far iiway: 
 Then would the lark soar singing o'er my head — 
 
 The cuckoo's voice come from some distatit tree,— 
 The minnows frisk around their rippling hcd — 
 
 The breathing clover call the wandering hee: 
 And while this music still would charm my ear, 
 
 Some gentle pair, perhaps, huilding in the bush, 
 "Would doubt awliile, then lay aside all fear. 
 
 And twitter love, to break the heavenly hush. 
 sweet, how sweet, the memory of that season! 
 Such joj's come not now with the flow of reason. 
 
 XC. 
 
 Those childish joys will still to memory come, 
 
 A.nd throw their sunshine o'er this dreary now; 
 Erom now to then, still will nn' memory roam — 
 
 With that sweet know not, glad tliis sad to know. 
 For memory, bees rob breathing beds of clover, 
 
 Then wing their riches to their distant hoard; 
 Still, gentle birds hop round the leafy cover 
 
 That hides the dearest joys their lives afford. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 07 
 
 The fiiiry world, T lived in then alone, 
 Still fane}' fruines in summer solitude; 
 
 In memory still, it sweetly is my own. 
 
 And now as then, no strauijer may intrude. 
 
 Those simple joys that tilled my heart with pleasure, 
 
 111 after years, have proved a precious treasure. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Life then flowed on in sweet expeetaney, 
 
 As purling streams wind througli the purple mea- 
 dows; 
 Hope's revery shaping joys that were to he, 
 
 My world, the while, a world of moving shadows 
 Alone — in heart and fancy still alone — 
 
 My silent haunts, all feet hut mine forsook — 
 For me the wren ^vould pipe his tcn<h'rcst tone, 
 
 AVhile cowslips softly kissed the loitering hrook. 
 Then memory i)lucked youiiii; fancy's fadeless flower;', 
 
 Which still she cherishes in rich [trofusion; 
 Though care may now o'er shade these riper hours, 
 
 Kipe years hut nudcemore dear the t-hild's illusion. 
 To joys then horn, the lieart still fondly clings, 
 While those fall dead, that late experience ^ii. js. 
 
C3 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XCIT. 
 
 Again the trees put on tlieir autumn glory, 
 
 So changed from that h)ved garh they douned in 
 Rl»ring! 
 But changing hues hefit life's changing Btory, 
 
 And these grace well wliat autumn hours "will 
 hring. 
 Some still their mantles wear of natal green, 
 
 Like hearts still youthful in the hreast of age; 
 Some gray and withered, as if life had seen 
 
 Some hlight, that might untimely death presage. 
 All lines we see, that nature's limners know, 
 
 As yellow, hrown, and every tint of red; 
 While some in all the tones of purple glow, 
 
 As if to vaunt the glorious life now fled. 
 So rich is nature in her hues and forms. 
 Even touched hy death, she does but change her 
 cliarnis. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Bear Autumn! though thou churlish Winter lead, 
 Thy mien more tender, as thou mayst not tarry. 
 
 Less loved is S[)ring, that Winter does succeed, 
 Teacliinir the hirds and flowers to woo and niarrv 
 
 Well does thy sadly sweet, benignant, smile 
 Denote those riches all so freely borrow; 
 
suNxrrrs. 
 
 0!) 
 
 But, aa a friend that UUssed and clioorod awliilo, 
 Thou ft(^ou wilt Icavo u.-< t<^ our winter sorrow. 
 
 Gay hopet'u^ Sprinjj;, old "Winter's (h-adly toe, 
 At Winter's deatli, proclaims all lite is pleasure; 
 
 Then fervid Summer hrinLjs liis sumptuous show; 
 J3ut thou artlieirto Spring and Summer's treasure. 
 
 May I, enriched hy Summer iiours decease, 
 
 But smile lilcc tliee, to see my hours decrease. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Ah! oft I stood in childish ecstacy, 
 
 To liear lone Robin's song of mournful ghuhiess ! 
 AVhen 3'ellow leaves hung drooi)ing from the tree, 
 
 Xo voice but his, moving sweet Autumn's sadness. 
 Spring's clioristers, tlien silent and forlorn, 
 
 AVould eye me mutely in my i»ensive ramble, 
 Ami watch me pluck the haw still on the thorn, 
 
 Or some belated berry from the bramble. 
 In Robin's pause, the dreaming world was still — 
 
 All but a leaf, perhaps, falling in the bushes; 
 The Sun, stooping to kiss the distant hill, 
 
 AVould flush heaven's face with purple blushes. 
 I've passed from child to nnm — from clime to clime; 
 But autumn still is sweeter for that time. 
 
70 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 If thy dear ponp;, sweet friend, dechire thy licart, 
 Tveioiee thou art hv kiiidlv fate a I>ird — 
 
 That with my own sad fate, thou liast no part 
 To hwe those joys thy aununer hours aifonh 
 
 Tlion, instinet l)lest, sits singinic time away; 
 I, reason eurst, stop time witli hodin<^ sorrow; 
 
 No woes affliet tlice from an unborn day; 
 
 1 m sad to-day, lest 1 he sad to-morrow. 
 Thou let'st kind nature for thy wants provide, 
 
 And usest well what nature docs supply; 
 I madly seek what ne'er may he enjoyed, 
 
 And blindly pass the joys that near me lie: 
 Thou, instinct led, art wise by nature's rule; 
 I, reason vaunting, am but nature's fool. 
 
 XCVL 
 
 Thou tak '!^t, to-dav, all that to-dav can ii'lvo 
 Of those sweet joys that to tby lifr bcioiig; 
 
 To-morrow, if to-morrow thou may'st live, 
 
 Thou'lt feed thv heart, then, on to-morrow's soiv,^ 
 
 But my wise lieart is on some pleasure set, 
 That comes, if ever, with some distant day. 
 
FoXNKTS. 
 
 Tlio i>{iflsin<^ li(>ur, pacUini,^ witli sour ri'tz;ret, 
 
 Still Loarcliuu; li()[u's tli;it must ciich liour tlociiy 
 
 Now's li()[)i's, tliou liop'st nt)t Cuturr liouivs to virw 
 As (louUliui^ Jt>ys that future hours provhlc ; 
 
 But tals 
 
 that (1( 
 
 •h h 
 
 [alviM''- lovs that do cacu hour accrui', 
 Thou t'ear'st uo lack that future hours may hide. 
 Wliile heart-wrung {lt)ul)t, my life makes liourly pain, 
 Thy trustirg heart mukod life an hourly gain. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 Thy flons: can still rceharm mv luomory hack 
 
 To tho;-je ghid hours when we were young to- 
 gether — 
 And memory charm, too, from that arid track 
 
 That fate han forced me o'er to hrinic me hither. 
 But now I meet not that enchanting hue, 
 
 Then o'er life's future thrown hy fancy's youth; 
 No rainhow-light now meets my backward view; 
 
 Xow all is truth, how seldom welcome truth ! 
 Thou'rt joyous still, as when at first we met; 
 
 Thy dearest hopes, thou'st found nothlank illusion ; 
 But those once in my flatterinii; fancy set, 
 
 Have one by one shown me their sad conclusion: 
 Thou mov'st me yet, though with a saddening thrill ; 
 So once could men; how^ few thy power have still. 
 
7-2 
 
 soNNirrs. 
 
 'it 
 
 1 
 
 l!i 
 
 xcviir. 
 
 I love thoc still ; but wliat is thai to tlioc? 
 
 ^fy love or luito yivcs thcc; nor joy nor sadness; 
 But loving thee! liow niuch is that to me! 
 
 Xot thine, Init my love gives my heart its gladness. 
 Yet tliec I knew not, hut alone a voice, 
 
 As 'twere an angel's, (juiring in the bushes, 
 Where thou wilt still to moons of ^^av rcioicc 
 
 Long after death my joy and sorrow hushes. 
 There did'st thou sin<^ sweet summer nii^hts awav 
 
 Long ere proud man proclaimed this isle his own ; 
 There wilt thou still sing songs to dearest May 
 
 When my sad race is here no longer known. 
 Thy youth is constant, while my life is tleeting ; 
 Jiut deachless is the memory of our meeting. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 Those speeding years that swept my youth away, 
 
 And bore me lience, in distant lands to roam, 
 Have left thee still the darliuLr child of Mav — 
 
 Still in this dear secluded spot at home. 
 Canst thou, sweet friend, recall one heavenly night, 
 
 A boy thou'dst charmed, and thou were liere alone ? 
 And wliile the moon shed down her sacred liuht, 
 
 Thou strained'st thy voice, to reach her heavenly 
 throne ? 
 
 '. 
 
PONNET^. 
 
 73 
 
 lliou iniiid'st il not, Imt I n'liiciiilM'r it well, 
 And of that nijilit, tliis still niv nu'in»»rv nursc^s: 
 
 AVhile Wordless thaidvs to lieavcn, tliy heart could 
 
 Hwell, 
 One speech-endowed, sent lieavenward direst 
 
 curses. 
 Man's voice, profaning night with hlaspherny, 
 
 rp 
 
 Thou would'rit have drowned in thankful harnn)nv. 
 
 C. 
 
 Each day wc wouhl some novel [>U'asurc prove, 
 
 Or some old pleasure newly drest would meet; 
 We seek no pleasure where no more we love; 
 
 But where we love, we jdeasure would repeat. 
 But love dies quickly, if not truly fed ; 
 
 Love over fed, yet still more <{uiekly dies ; 
 Time kills the loves that in hot youth were hred ; 
 
 But ah ! how poorly Time their place supplies. 
 Kow dead, forever dead, that dreaming tima 
 
 That made of childhood's day, a summer Idiss: 
 Kow dying, too, the hope of passion's prime ; 
 
 Xow eaeh new day some source of joy I miss. 
 Life kills the Joys that life itself had given ; 
 Then dies the heart, when all life's joys are riven. 
 

 74 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Kow, now, inn] now, still melt into tlic past, 
 
 Now, lic'ir (>(' now, thrusling now ironi it8 place; 
 Now with a tlionL;'lit, now, too, is onward east: 
 
 Thus moments rim theij' never endin^r race. 
 A thing of now, lil'e so, from stage to stage, 
 
 Each moment adds new distance from its source ; 
 The first of vouth leadinj' the last of a^e, 
 
 Life keeps with time its nnrelenting course. 
 Thou^iit goes with time, and still in memory stays, 
 
 Or memory builds of dead time's thought con- 
 gealed ; 
 As mcmieiits die, each moment's thought decays ; 
 
 Yet ill new moments, are old thoughts revealed.. 
 Thought, l)orn of time, does all time's power dispute ; 
 Yet thought gives time its one sole attribute. 
 
 CII. 
 
 I gain, to-day, some object of pursuit, 
 
 Wliich once I thought my heart might satisfy; 
 
 But now that my success has borne its fruit, 
 Some further '»eed, does still my heart descry. 
 
 Can no success e'er bring full happiues? 
 Or doey not victory always gain the ))rizc ? 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 75 
 
 Or when the [)rlze Isc^uu'lit T may posses;^, 
 Must some Dew Imuger evor tlieiiee uiis.-? 
 
 The end now gained Init sliows some furthei- goal 
 ^ly still aspirinij^ heart now seeks to gain ; 
 
 It jiehls some joy, perchanee, hut not the whole 
 Tliat liope's aml)ition cries itmnst ohtain. 
 
 I may not rest, hut onward still must go; 
 
 Joys I'rom new eoncjuest, c ill my heart would know 
 
 cm. 
 
 Whi'*^ pleasures can I ever more expect 
 
 Beyond such as I liave already tasted? 
 Can future hours hring pleasures more peril'ct 
 
 Than those that on the huried past were wasted? 
 To-d -y does hut some previous day repeat — 
 
 Some story tell, to })e re-told to-morrow; 
 I ii! new days no novel joys now meet, 
 
 But su< h as I irom hankrupt hope would horrow. 
 Bv satd sense our dailv jovs ai'e hounded: 
 
 In custom's weh our feehle lives are fettered; 
 By rarer joys that on poor hope are founded, 
 
 Our l)arren days, we find too seldom hettered. 
 Though hope defraud us still each day we live, 
 Faith still, f'l.ch day, to iaithless hope we give. 
 
76 
 
 ii; i 
 
 SuNNIiTS. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 Should common joys not keep ua from (k'sjuiir? 
 
 With common wants, tlicse ever must recur; 
 All nircr joys lire joys hecause they're nire: 
 
 To life of common joys, why then denmr? 
 Those fierce clulii^hts that can but seldom come, 
 
 Grow cold and stale, being too often sought ; 
 Our dull delights a brighter glow assume, 
 
 If by due fast they be but duly bought. 
 Our daily needs, our life's true worth increase, 
 
 If well-timed answers meet their hourly call; 
 With life itself, life's joys can only cease, 
 
 If surfeit do not nature's craving pall. 
 But wasteful passions bankrupt passion's treasure; 
 Well-measured loves, life's true enjoyment measure. 
 
 ^ 
 
 BiH raging lusts our life's true wealth destroy, 
 Then mock us for our joyless poverty; 
 
 AVith gross excess, we nature's craving cloy. 
 Then seek deliii-ht where no deliujht mav be : 
 
 We waste our pleasure's means, with spendthrift 
 hand, 
 Without such waste our purposed end forwarding; 
 
 I 
 
 if 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 77 
 
 As oft we mi.ss the iovs wo iiiiiirlit connnand, 
 
 By wasteful thrift, too much joy's means iv^^anling. 
 
 The end we seek, our means but seldom measure; 
 We starve to-day for yesterday's excess; 
 
 To-day untimely phu-k an unripe pleasure 
 Which ripely we to-morrow might possess: 
 
 AVe seek our pleasures alwa^'s out of season; 
 
 When passion calls, our souls are deaf to reason. 
 
 i 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Nay, tempt me not, sweet angel of the fiend! 
 
 I know thy power, know tliou that I am weak; 
 Be not my foe, now seeming so my friend ! 
 
 If thou must slay, some willing victim seek. 
 Thy painted pleasure I must fain forego; 
 
 Thee and my baser self I must resist; 
 Forbear! work not my nobler self a woe 
 
 That kills me where, alone, I would exist. 
 My better must ni}' baser self control. 
 
 Or must, itself, of baseness be attainted; 
 Assail not tlien, sweet foo, my wavering soul, 
 
 That with sweet sin is but too well ac(piainted: 
 'Twixt sense and soul, let me so equipoise. 
 That future hours may deem the present wise. 
 
78 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Again in Bin, ngain with groans repenting! 
 
 Agiiin wliirk'd from my course l)y |»a.ssion'.s miglit ! 
 One moment raging, in the next relenting; 
 
 Tiien fiercely wrong, now doing more than right. 
 But passion blusters; conscience must be still; 
 
 And sleeping conscience, appetite assails; 
 The brute and beast, one moment have their will; 
 
 The next, roused conscience o'er their power pre- 
 vails. 
 
 Can this poor soul live out no ])etter plan 
 
 Than this vile hourly change from gi^od to evil ? 
 
 One moment be all that becomes a mati. 
 
 And in the next take promptings from the Devil! 
 
 Poor soul indeed! that is in all things double, 
 
 rroiu heaven and good tlying to sin and trouble. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 Two souls I have, or one divided soul; 
 
 One heavenward breathed; one rioting in the 
 blood ; 
 'Mongst farthest stars, one would its life enscroll ; 
 
 This festering (bist gives one its dearest good. 
 Quo wings me where true life, indeed, may be, 
 
 And would all memory of my baser blot; 
 
 
SOXNKTS. 
 
 ■•J 
 
 No nionioiit oiiwnrd, would tliat baser roc, 
 
 Still gluttouing- hero 'laoiigst j(\vs that seethe and 
 rot. 
 
 0, some sweet power !iiy Laser self secure, 
 And turn its lire to i'wd iiiv !iobU'r lil'el 
 
 ft. 
 
 Or must this war 'twixt high and base e!idure, 
 Me still the victim of their torturiui:: strife? 
 But prayrrful hope, on this, at least, ma}' lie: 
 This tlesb being dead, my baser self nuiy die. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 Rage on, l)asc AVrong, the hour thy fate affords; 
 
 Though ncnv su[)reme, thou'rt surely docTmed to 
 die : 
 Nought hel[)s thee, that with Nature's will accords ; 
 
 Thou warr'st with Time, Time not endures a lie. 
 Thou graspcst all that tempts thy gluttonous maw, 
 
 O'er riding ought that bars thy tyrannous will, 
 But thv fell tooth can not cut throu<:;h the law, 
 
 ft/ O ' 
 
 That thy fierce life, thy life will surely kill, 
 llight and thysi'lf against thyself t'onspire : 
 
 If Uight shall live, then die thou surely must; , ^^ 
 
 Rij:ht must consume in her (iiiiekeninir lire; / /^ "" 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ' ■ / 
 
 Ov killing Right, thou bend* to meet the dust. / ^ ' 
 Brute, beast and man, can !iot in U!iion dwell; 
 Their deathless feud makes their communion hell. 
 
80 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 ex. 
 
 Wlicnco, huloful Evil, dids't tliou j^^a'in tliy jilace, 
 To niai- iiiair.s lot, which else had been ho fair? 
 
 From age to age, thou kceji'st an even pace 
 
 AVith <::ood, that fosters man with heaveiilv care. 
 
 Though fiercely banned, still dost thou fiercely 
 
 fl 
 
 ourisl 
 
 Or diest but that tli 
 
 lay li 
 
 . progeny 
 Hearts that hate thee, tliou compel Tst to nonrish, 
 
 And give thee life, when death they seek to give. 
 Whence, protean curse, was thy dark soul derived ? 
 
 Has thy fell l)rood, from man, a separate source? 
 Or nature's good art thou, of light deprived — 
 
 Essential virtue on an errinji* course ? 
 Then, [)artial good sums np man's total evil, 
 And rifted hearts send forth man's ruthless devil. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 Grant me. Dread Power ! to know what ill I've done ; 
 
 Grant [ may truly of all ill rejtent; 
 Grant me true lii'ht where I astrav have tjone, 
 
 And light mv heart when on dark thoui::hts intent. 
 Let me for<i;et all wronj? r\v heart has known ; 
 
 If not forget, then let my heart forgive ; 
 O'er all my acts, the light of law thrown ; 
 
 Grant I may see what life I ought to live. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Thy will, in all things, let mc iiudcrstiind ; 
 
 The glory of thy kingdom let me nee; 
 Where truth and heaiitygiow at thy commnnd. 
 
 Grant Thou, tluit there my sole atleetion be. 
 In aet and thought, how me to Thy control; 
 In loving duty, fix my wandering soul. 
 
 81 
 
 CXII. 
 
 All bounteous Power! in whom all souls abide, 
 
 How veiled art Thou, from my pondering gaze ! 
 All but Thy law, Thou dost in darkness hid<e; 
 
 My wondering search, but ends in wondering 
 maze. 
 My link with Thee, no sense of mine can see; 
 
 Yet must my life some end of Thine fulfil ; 
 How weak my pur})ose, reft of trust in Thee ! 
 
 IIow poor my heart, when wandering from Thy 
 will. 
 But wherefore should so poor a thing as I 
 
 Be less or more in Thy all-seeing sight? 
 Why on me should Thy dread injunction lie, 
 
 To see my duty in a Heavenly light ? 
 
 But ever in wise ignorance let me trust 
 
 That, with the needful, Thou hast given the just. 
 6 
 
82 
 
 PON NETS. 
 
 CXllI. 
 
 Wliilo still I am, in memory niii.st remain 
 
 Those noisome weeds my wasting moments nour- 
 ish ; 
 
 Ifi^ood or ill drop seed of joy or pain, 
 
 Thonuli Iiidden jjow, it will in future flourish : 
 Wiiilc still r am, must live this passiiii^ hour. 
 
 To i^raei; or blot the hours that build mv life — 
 Kei p fresh the seent of rose or carrion llower — 
 
 Keep green the root of future peace or strife : 
 While still 1 am, no thought or act is lost: 
 
 TIkj future from the present ever grows ; 
 A [)resent sin, a future grief must cost; 
 
 From righteous past, all present pleasure flows : 
 Not death itself, can past and future sever ; 
 While still I am, I am myself forever. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 This conscious now, infraught with all the past, 
 Nfust with all future conscious moments blend; 
 
 What cloud or sunshine o'er this now is cast 
 Must live until all conscious moments aixd. 
 
 Wh}', then, not make this now a beauteous now, 
 If now, in future, I would have look fair? 
 
sonm;ts. 
 
 y.i 
 
 p- 
 
 \Yli;it pnb.-itancc I would have tlic futuiH' sliow, 
 Must 1)0 tlio substance of this uow's allair. 
 
 But learn we not, till learninf^ is too lale, 
 
 That present act and thouii^ht make future bein 
 
 We doll a garment we must wear with hate — 
 Befoul a face the eve is ever sei'iiiir: 
 
 Too late we learn this tcaehin<i;, ever true: 
 
 A thievish present steals the future's due. 
 
 D » 
 
 CXY. 
 
 Still, though past life have made the present foul, 
 
 So foul with vsin it fouler might not he, 
 If future days may still enlarge the soul, 
 
 Time's achlings may from sin's foul dregs he fre(\ 
 When rock-horn streams relresh ibul, tui-bid, lakes, 
 
 Their settling mud still falling more from siijjht, 
 A hue more clear and clear their substance takes — 
 
 More free and freely takes the heaven-shed light : 
 So, may foul memory not be so replaced — 
 
 IMack stains grow dim, and more and more from 
 view — 
 O'er U athesorae scars, l)c graceful figures traced — 
 
 Dead, old and false, o'crgrown by sweet and true? 
 While time endures, what time may we despair 
 That Time liimself, may Time's foul wrongs repair? 
 
w 
 
 84 
 
 SONNKTS. 
 
 ik' 
 
 Tlion It't my fionl a well drcHsod ijarden ])C, 
 
 Wlicro loutlisorno weeds may liavc no room to 
 live — 
 Wlicreiii reverted eye may hourly sen 
 
 Some beautooiia tlou'ei' that sure delii^ht may give. 
 Or as a well-played, rieh-loned, instrument, 
 
 The richer as it richer music makes, 
 Which, f^iviiifi^, does its power to give afiij^ment, 
 
 Enriched hy ij^ifts more tlian hy what it takes. 
 As nature's self, in unseen time and place, 
 
 Where heauty was not, hoauty multiplies; 
 So may sweet thoui>;ht, enriching memory's place, 
 
 From huried past, inake j»resent heauty rise. 
 From restless change, in time for ev^'r fh'eing, 
 J would with beauty clothe my spirit's being. 
 
 r 
 
 cxrii. 
 
 I'd leave some sure memorial of mv life — 
 Show how this universe has moulded me — • 
 
 Show scar or trophy of this mundane strife, 
 If future e^'e a thing so small may see. 
 
 I would, though weak, he nature's instrument^ 
 And serve her purpose in my time and place ; 
 
SoNN'RT:^. 
 
 85 
 
 I would presume I on life's course am sent, 
 To bear some messan'e henee to future days. 
 
 Poor T, that breathed not when this tree was planted, 
 Stand lorth in time as fruitaLce of the past; 
 
 And if throuich me some needfid ^ood be ixranled, 
 Then be my will with nature's purpose cast. 
 
 Small nature's need of aught so weak and brief; 
 
 liut small's tlie thinu: that builds the coral reef. 
 
 cxvTir. 
 
 As sun-dyed (b'ops that paint the cvcniui]^ sliower 
 
 Charm witli their radiant liujht tlie wondcrini^eye ; 
 As those soft pearls that crown the mornini!; ih)wcr 
 
 Most sweetly soothe the hearts whereon tJiey lie » 
 As those foul l)ells tliat lumg from festering w^eds 
 
 Bestain all contact, with contagious mire; 
 As venomous tears, the envious nettle breeds, 
 
 Set burning blisters, like pale, liquid tire : 
 So charms, with gladdening Ijcams, this bounteous 
 soul ; 
 
 To joylul peace, that sootlies eacli neighboring 
 heart ; 
 Yon by their leprous lives the air befoul. 
 
 Or baleful poison to all near im}>art: 
 Sweet, wholesome life, some souls ha.ve power to 
 
 give ; 
 Some, upas-lil\e, no good can near them lis'e. 
 

 
 ^ 
 
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 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
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 (716) 872-4503 
 
 
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86 
 
 SaNNETS. 
 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 Good tla}^ my friend; liow do? AVoll, what's the 
 news ? 
 
 You've heard, of course, how Gruhh his ofRce won? 
 Yes; wliy do people Gruhb so much abuse? 
 
 No douht, some dirty deed tlie fellow's done. 
 I've got a cold. how the weather changes ! 
 
 Ilow're all at home ? Brown's wife has got a cough. 
 From hot to cold, so quick the weather ranges, 
 
 That colds and coughs are plentiful enongli. 
 But how is trade? I find it rather dull. 
 
 I met with Jones : the fellow's scarcely civil. * " 
 Our rash friend, Brooks, has had a heavy pull ; 
 
 And Grimshaw's son is rushiniir to the Devil. 
 Thus time and temper we consume together. 
 On coughs and colds and changes of the weather. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 At dead of night, I'm startled from my sleep : 
 A curst musquito's piping in my ear; 
 
 lie scents my blood; his scent I know lie'll keep; 
 I'm mad, and not without a touch of fear. 
 
 I wait, to find where he intends to pierce ; 
 
 His touch is soft; he knows his life is sought; 
 

 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 ! 
 87 
 
 Atl 
 
 erin^th I strike, 
 
 and with a 
 
 l)lovv most fierce ! 
 
 I 
 
 miss, of 
 
 course 
 
 — I swear— 
 
 -at least in thought. 
 
 IIc'^ 
 
 I got my 
 
 blood. 
 
 and I liavc 
 
 got my blow ; 
 
 
 I lose my sleep, and lose my temper too ; 
 Should I but wink, he'll come again I know. 
 
 To drain more blood, and [»ierce my veins anew, 
 "Why were such puny vampires ever made? 
 Is curse provoking their internal trade ? 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 How fared thy grandsires, while thy beak was grow- 
 
 
 That suction-pipe, sheathing thy flexile knife? 
 "Which bores my flesh, and sets my blood aflowing, 
 
 Then pumps it up, to feed thy cursed life. 
 Once had they teeth, or mandibles, to gnaw. 
 
 Which by disuse, may now have long been lost? 
 Or did they always bore, to feed their maw ? 
 
 Finding their tube and lance the smallest cost. 
 But if, by bit and bit, these grew complete, 
 
 A shorter way they once must draw their food ; 
 And, though they always needed drink and meat, 
 
 Not always could they steal our lordly blood : 
 Or if, on us, thy race did always feed, 
 "With budding lance, how could you make us bleed? 
 
88 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Thou'st proved, thou wretch, thy tool thou hast per- 
 fected, 
 
 To suit thy trade — to filch the hlood of men; 
 Most fitly for thy trade thou art selected, 
 
 And fitly crawls to life from stagnant fen. 
 What wast at first ? hlood-thirsty cunning thief! 
 
 "Who taught thee how, on other's blood to feed ? 
 Could one so small, and in a life so brief. 
 
 Learn how to make this earth's proud lord to bleed ? 
 Or perhaps some grandsire, tasting blood by chance, 
 
 Learnt, in our veins life's nectar he could find? 
 He having, somehow, gained that budding lance, 
 
 "Which now full grown, serves well thy knavish 
 mind. 
 If oaths must damn us, thou art twice an evil — 
 A torment here, goading us to the devil. 
 
 CXXIIL 
 
 Still reading books 'tis scarcely wise to read, 
 And seeking still what you so long have sought — 
 
 To follow dumbly to another's lead, 
 
 And feed your mind on other thinker's thought. 
 
 Good books, at worst, may some new thoughts sug- 
 gest; 
 
 . Bad books, at best, but serve all thought to scatter ; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 89 
 
 Minds nurtured by good books, their thought digest; 
 
 Mind starves, though crammed, on bad books* 
 worthless matter. 
 That book's a friend, that does a guide supply — 
 
 Serve as a ghiss where nature is reflected ; 
 But if not true, it turns my thought awry 
 
 From that true course where thought should bo 
 directed. 
 Books show us what in nature we may find ; 
 What do not so, do luit mislead the mind. 
 
 cxxiy. 
 
 You leave the crowd, to muse in field and wood — 
 
 Seek so to tunc your soul to nature's voice, 
 The song of birds making your solitude, 
 
 Then in your heart you look for nature's choice ? 
 You would regard yourself as nature's tongue — 
 
 Hope she through you some secret may reveal, 
 Or from your heart call forth some simple song, 
 
 Answering the pressure of your soft ai)peal ? 
 All thjngs we meet, some secret have to show ; 
 
 If we but charm them with the proper spell, 
 They gladly tell us all that we may know, 
 
 Reserving that they have no leave to tell : 
 "When nature's open secrets w^e have read, 
 The heart still hungry, is by wondering fed. 
 
90 
 
 BONNETS. 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Give me the truth, we often hear expressed : 
 
 But do we always know the speaker's meaning? 
 We guess his wish, when we are so addressed, 
 
 Not hy his words, hut hy his special leaning. 
 I say, perchance, I think there is a God: 
 
 The atheist thinks, the love of truth I'm mocking — 
 Or that all mind is in this thinking clod: 
 
 The theist thinks my love of truth most shocking. 
 Perchance T doubt, to neither side inclined, 
 
 But all of easy faith detest a skeptic; 
 Should I no merit in the question find, 
 
 All sides agree I'm morally dyspeptic. 
 Give me the light, one in the dark might say — 
 Even love the night, if with the hope of day. 
 % • ' . 
 
 CXXYl. 
 
 Asking for truth, what is it that we ask ? 
 
 Truth's but a word ; is knowledge what we want? 
 To feed the mind is life's imperious task ; 
 
 Our call for truth is oft but serious cant. 
 "When partial views our coward minds enslave, 
 
 "With colored eye, tinting all mental light. 
 The truth we seek must flatter that we have ; 
 
 What truth we love, must say we're in the right. 
 
 
SONNIiTS. 
 
 VI 
 
 To briiifi: the heart beneath stern truth's (lominioii — 
 Let truth our pleasing prejudi-je subdue — 
 
 To change wliat truth condemns in ohl opinion, 
 Are feats, our love of truth can seldom do : 
 
 Thouirh fear of trrth in others we contemn. 
 
 All truth but ours, as freely we condemn. 
 
 cxxvn. 
 
 To lies disguised in forms to please the mind, 
 
 Though lies we ban, the heart still fondly clings; 
 If lies gain welcome, when with truth condnned, 
 
 Truth oft is welcome for the lie it brings. 
 If truth, alone, can give vitality 
 
 To what enduring lie would else decay ; ' 
 
 Then falsehood is but truth's mortality, 
 
 And truth itself can never pass away. 
 In i)leasing blindness, pleasing error dwells ; 
 
 False eye sees truth where true no truth can see; 
 "While plausive lie a flattering story tells, 
 
 Truth-seeing eye looks not where truth may be. 
 While lies keep power to give us pleasure. 
 Unwonted truth must wait a tardy leisure. 
 
92 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 I live a sliive, in bondage to the many, 
 
 Workiiii^ in silence, still withont reward; 
 I meet with frowns, hut not the smile of any ; 
 
 My work is scorned, or passed withont regard. 
 Why then in ceaseless toil my life consume, 
 
 Crowding with care a life of weary days? 
 Wiiat final shape can my reward assume. 
 
 If kindred liearts my work may ne'er appraise? 
 This question, to my heart no tongue will answer; 
 
 And still I work, though still unsatisfied; 
 From day to day some lingering hope I transfer 
 
 That all meed will not ever be denied. 
 But such I find the terms on which I live, 
 That ill or well, this labour I must give. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 But wholesome thought still brings some satisfaction ; 
 
 Peace crowns the wish to leave the world my 
 debtor ; 
 Some pleasure ever comes from fruitful action. 
 
 If by such action I the world may better. 
 Like pigmy suns, each centred in his sphere. 
 
 We bend our fellow mortals in their course; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Loving or hating, giving joy or fear> 
 
 'Mongst human atoms, each cxerta a force. 
 
 I find each lionr that what I liate repels; 
 To what I love, I'm moved l)y soft desire ; 
 
 Though what I loathe oft in my memory dwells, 
 I would he only as I moat admire: 
 
 Who would hy living, then, the world improve, 
 
 Must be, iu living, what the world can love. 
 
 93 
 
 CXXX. 
 
 Who is my judge? and how shall I be measured ? 
 
 Of worth, or worthless, is my life's effect ? 
 AVill this be banned? or by the future treasured, 
 
 With time's addition, claiming time's respect ? 
 If from myself my eye could stand aloof. 
 
 Appraising justly what my soul gives forth, 
 And see as others might in my behoof, 
 
 I might then know m}'^ labor's proper worth. 
 But so my labor I may never test; 
 
 And so its value I may never know; 
 I might condemn what now I deem my best, 
 
 If an}' best my labor has to 8how\ 
 Life may in fruitless effort run to nought ; 
 Yet partial judgment still must rule my thought. 
 
04 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXXXL 
 
 Tliis man in rich ; but T, lie knows, am poor; 
 
 Such wealth as his, 'tis sure must ne'er he mine; 
 I'm still repulsed from Fortune's guarded door; 
 
 {Still F(3rtune's sun disdains, on me to shino. 
 His lands are broad; no spot I call my own ; 
 
 His house is large ; I in cold sufferance sleep ; 
 Earth groans to feed him ; I a crust am thrown ; 
 
 I lackall tilings ; he holds nature's treasure cheap ; 
 He eyes my bareness with a scornful scowl, 
 
 As if it did his pampered heart offend ; 
 lie bends his brows as if he thought my soul 
 
 Should feel its fate must on his frown depend. 
 I pity his scorn, and scorn his poor opinion ; 
 My soul Uvea not within his frown's dominion. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 Still in base toil I toil that I may live ; 
 
 Unbottomed wants their hourly tribute ask ; 
 Still would I work,yetdifferent work would give; 
 
 But others, not myself, dictate my task. 
 Heart wearying years my heart is barred all choico 
 
 What labor I within these years mitj;ht do; 
 "When I might in congenial work rejoice, 
 
 Mere jin-horse-toil, Fate bids me then pur 'C. 
 
ShNNKTS. 
 
 95 
 
 My aoul, my body's bidding must obey ; 
 
 Hard Fah', (U's[>ite my will, ba.s willed it so ; 
 Its base regards bold mo, from day to day, 
 
 From tbat sweet toil witb wbieb my lieart would 
 go. 
 But nougbt it boots tbat still my beart rebels 
 Agaiubt a doom u kiudlcss fate compels. 
 
 cxxxni. 
 
 Youtb's life we spend, to purcbase moatis to live, 
 
 And beggared youtb is of youtb's right bereft;. 
 AVben life lias cbarms, life's all we tbcn must give, 
 
 To feed wbat worthless remnant youth has left. 
 We fast, that we may with full pleasure feed; 
 
 But fast until we lose all appetite ; 
 Then smothered joys, that youth alone can breed, 
 
 We find will not return to breed delight. 
 What youth could love, youth must in youth forego, 
 
 Content with liope youth's charm may still endure ; 
 A-ud when youth's passions still no longer glow, 
 
 Youtli's now dead hopes perchance we might 
 secure. 
 Ah ! happy those who find this course reversed ; 
 Whose youth is not, with tbodless hunger cursed. 
 
09 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I I 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 What 1)1*183 might in true soiil^, by wealth, ho 
 wrought ! 
 
 Though woo to uU who know hut its uhuso ! 
 All own itrf need, yet 'tin too dearly honght, 
 
 When hought hy all for whieh we Bcek its U8C. 
 On tireless wing, through Summer's honeyed hours, 
 
 By nature's guide, unerring instinct, led, 
 The provident bee despoils the ncctared flowers 
 
 Of sweets hy which his winter life is fed : 
 As bees, so man, instinct, too, for his guide, 
 
 Seeks wealth ho tastes not in youth's hurrying 
 strife ; 
 His hopes of youth, in joys of age confide ; 
 
 lie then despairs with youth's decaying life : 
 Unfed in youth, all nobler in.stincts die ; 
 From frost of age, all youthful pleasures fly. 
 
 CXXXY. 
 
 ITnblestby friends, I travel still through life: 
 
 Though thronging crowds move on my daily 
 course, 
 
 "No voice I hear above the babbling strife, 
 
 Tliat touches love with sweet congenial force. 
 
 Thoughts roll on thoughts, and silently assume 
 The forms deemed meet to stir congenial mind; 
 
PON NETS. 
 
 07 
 
 But dumbly must my thought, itself consume ; 
 
 Nowlioro my love and thought, their echo find. 
 O'er pregnant themes, my soul may inly l)i'ood — 
 
 Ita own inception, growth, and destiny — 
 Its rulinfj law — its instinct for the «jood — 
 
 Its life in time, or in eternity : 
 Fraught with such thought, itsvoicemaystillbeclear; 
 Ita voice, still nowhere linda a kindred ear. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 iiiere glowed with life, once dear fahiiliar forms! 
 
 But one by one, they with fleet hours have gone, 
 Swept from time's place, by time's unpitying storms, 
 
 Leaving me here, to stranger hearts alone. 
 1, one lone tree, in ruined fore3t stand. 
 
 Where blooming friends rejoiced once in their 
 pride. 
 Waiting the axe, ringing in deadly hand. 
 
 Knelling some doomed, stray, lingerer from my 
 side. 
 Vanquished or victor in time's battling life, 
 
 So diiFerent once, my heart now deems the same; 
 Those who smiled hope upon my entering strife, 
 
 Xow at its goal leave but a memoried name : 
 Hearts that with mine once beat in flattering trust, 
 
 In earth, again, have laid their wearied dust. 
 
 • 7 
 
98 
 
 SONJJETS. 
 
 CXXXYII. 
 
 I stand alone in this wide universe, 
 
 'Reft of all hearts youth's pleasures might en- 
 hance — 
 Of all who could with youth's dead hopes converse, 
 
 And sliare my then-that-wus-to-be romance. 
 With fading time, hopes still retire from view, 
 
 Yet few or none, to fill their place arise ; 
 And day by day life's hopes I must renew, 
 
 Yet with new hopes, stay not old sympathies. 
 Now from old objects as my heart removes, 
 
 And in new fields of gladness seeks to range, 
 It finds it must, alone, now change its loves : 
 
 It changes not as other hearts would change. 
 Old friends are dead, though some are breathing still ; 
 New friends come not, their empty place to fill. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 Ever in silence must I bear the load 
 
 That lays such painful pressure on my heart ; 
 And, though despair strike deep his barbed goad. 
 
 No friendly hand may soothe the festering smart. 
 Why was my heart ere made so sensitive. 
 
 Finding such torture in such common ill? 
 The heart that in coarse strife is doomed to live 
 
 Should have its sense obedient to its will. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 My heart finds grief where others feel no pain ; 
 
 Others find bliss where mine can find no joy ; 
 What pains or pleasures o'er my heart obtain, 
 
 O'er other hearts, no kindred power employ. 
 Its craving is what my poor life denies ; 
 It holds that cheap, which my poor life supplies. 
 
 99 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 Still looms the doubt that overclouds my soul, 
 
 Making its gloom a burden to my life. 
 Light making dark, and fairest day look foul, 
 
 Where peace should reign, still making direst 
 strife. 
 Yet smiles the sun, his smile, as ever bright, 
 
 Lighting my eye, but cheering not my heart ; 
 An<^ in his smile all living things delight ; 
 
 Yet in their joy for me there is no part. 
 In present life my heart can find no rest, 
 
 Xor can it on the future's hope repose ; 
 In life now past, deeming it knew its best, 
 
 A weary sameness, now, it only knows. 
 My future's hope, my past experience kills ; 
 Though hope be dead, my fear sees future ills. 
 
iMaM 
 
 100 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 The worm, whoso world lies on some trembling leaf, 
 
 The insect, reptile, bird, and servile beast — 
 All lives that nature gives, however brief, 
 
 Their humblest owners make a life-long feast. 
 Their present joy they take without alloy; 
 
 Their future life they see not in the past; 
 Remembered grief chills not their present joy; 
 
 Their hearts are not with bodi>ig ills o'ercast. 
 Joy turns to grief, when I the future doubt; 
 
 I need hope's light, to see a present bliss ; 
 When present pleasures are to memory brought, 
 
 All freshness I in their enjoyment miss. 
 For life's true joy, on hope I still must wait; 
 Hope's promise, still my memory will abate. 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 But wherefore should my heart its moaning keep. 
 And gracious Fate a future boon intending? 
 
 Why groan awake, foul dreams dream in my sleep. 
 While joy, not grief, is o'er my heartimpeuding? 
 
 From veiled future, bodings undefined 
 
 Threatened my heart in whisperings of some sad- 
 ness; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 101 
 
 But when the tlireat should he fulfilk^d, I find 
 Not grief, but unexpected cause of glachiesri. 
 
 Does some good demon, near, hut still unseen, 
 Burthen my heart that ease may seem tlie lighter? 
 
 Give grief, that sense of joy may he more keen, 
 As after eclipse, sun nuikes day seem brighter ? 
 
 Poor heart! that can life's worth no better measure, 
 
 Thau place a grief where stands a coming pleasure. 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 Foul fronted, hated, old, adversity ! 
 
 Fierce pain and fear, gaunt hunger and disease ! 
 Dumb toil, disgrace, all-craving poverty ! 
 
 What may thy dateless enmity appease ? 
 Offspring of passion, error, hankering sin. 
 
 Of whirlwind, storm, insatiate fire and flood ! 
 From reckless chance or vencreful crime beo-in 
 
 Thy ills, that curse, alike, the vile and good. 
 Of other's sin, on mc the fruit must fall; 
 
 On me, another's crime must ruin bring; 
 Another's sufllering must my heart appal, 
 
 And malice wound it with its venomed sting. 
 Still may thy hate, perhaps, do the work of love, 
 If from my heart, some dross, thy fires remove. 
 
102 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 But as the winter, or death-frost in spring, 
 
 Or foul distemper, riding on the wind, 
 Try with their deadly power, each living thing. 
 
 Killing the weak, leaving the strong behind — 
 The whirlwind sweeps ioose herbage from the field; 
 
 Frost kills the fungus, born of summer breath ; 
 All summer's strength to winter's power must yield, 
 
 Or buy its life, by braving powers of death: 
 So thou, stern god, may'st, perhaps, obscurely serve 
 
 Some needful end, as does all wintry strife — 
 Curb vain excess — strain muscle, brain and nerve — 
 
 By hunger's goad, spurring to nobler life. 
 ^Ye prosper now, by past adversity, 
 As fasting-i)reseut feeds futurity. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 Thou god of luck, that deem'st all merit cheap, 
 Unseen in creatures of thy fond caprice, 
 
 Each good would'st thou, upon thy favorites heap- 
 Gifts giving till thy giving grows to vice. 
 
 Thy petted few may take all thanklessly — 
 
 Fume when self-measured wages are withheld — 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 103 
 
 Carp at their betters' havings, enviously : 
 Still to their cravings dost thou fondly yield. 
 
 But we, base helots, missing thy regard. 
 
 Doomed to base toil that life alone can measure, 
 
 Must with all thanks acee[)t thy foul award, 
 
 I3eii;<»;inii:base le.A'e to serve thvfondlintc'f^ pleasure. 
 
 Ah ! liope to life, links with so sure a tic! 
 
 Or who would live, beneath tny rule to lie? 
 
 4^ 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 M3' body's powers now fail beneath their work; 
 
 Not for sweet sleep's renewal do they pause; 
 Invading foes in tiieir dominion lurk. 
 
 And come in question of an ancient cause. 
 My pleasures, too, I find now drugged with pain; 
 
 A lodged poison, I of old inherit; 
 O'er-mastering thoughts give action to the brain, 
 
 And leave a taint still deeper on my spirit. 
 My nature's blest or baleful heritage 
 
 Is ever potent in m^' good or ill ; 
 Good would I foster, and my ill assuage, 
 
 But changeless past, its mission must fulfil. 
 Heaven's friend, that man we may most rightly deem, 
 "Who kills past poison in life's present stream. 
 
104 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 I saw, to-day, a man without a liome : 
 
 No wonder, then, he was without a friend ; 
 To feed life's want, a heggar lie must roam ; 
 
 Yet shrunk he liereely from his nearing end. 
 His health was sore, and he had lost a limb ; 
 
 His clothes were thin, and with the cold he shook; 
 His hair was white; liis sight was growing dim ; 
 
 Ho looked his case ; alas ! how sad a look. 
 With age and want, and with his body maimed, 
 
 No home, no friend, no health, and nearly blind — 
 With all the ills by Fortune's malice framed, 
 
 He still in living, pleasure hoped to find. 
 The world's best gifts, some deem too poor a guer- 
 don ; 
 He stript of all, still deemed not life a burden. 
 
 CXLVH. 
 
 A king discrowned — bereft of regal might, 
 Breathing no longer honor-breathing breath, 
 
 Tiuling men's wills no more, by sovereign right. 
 Though still he lives, lifc deems he living death: 
 
 A merchant, falling from his haughty state 
 To that his clerk contentedly could fill, 
 
BONNETS. 
 
 lOi 
 
 Now men no longer on his pleasnrc wait, 
 To him all worth of future life is killed. 
 
 The kin^^ is poor, thoui^h iu the merchant's itlaeo ; 
 The merchant groans where once his clerk could 
 fimile ; 
 
 The beggared clerk, hungering in poor disgrace, 
 Now ju:jtly does his abject fate revile : 
 
 'Tis good or ill as we look up or down ; 
 
 Want craves a crust, a king demands a crown. 
 
 CXT^YTTI. 
 
 But how shall I my craving soul appease? 
 
 AVhere find the food its want to satisfy ? , 
 Can dumb, unacted thought, its torture ease ? 
 
 Or thought in deeds, its hunger gratify? 
 To meet the hourly call of clamorous life — 
 
 Do vulgar duty for some sordid end — 
 Leaves still unsoothed that fretful, eager strife 
 
 That does not on life's potty ills depend. 
 Dumb passions, dying daily in my breast — 
 
 Iniaiijined deeds that on the mind intrude — 
 The crowding thoughts that throng to be expressed — 
 
 But keener make the want they should preclude. 
 To quench the pain its hungry ilre imparts. 
 My heart must lend its fire to kindred hearts. 
 
I <i 
 
 106 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 Wo say nian^H lifo is imaged Dy the seasons, 
 
 Summer, autumn, winter, led by hopeful spring; 
 But how few hearts hold memory's imaged reasons 
 
 To deem all seascms do their fruitage bring. 
 We find, indeed, the spring witli promise briglit, 
 
 And find, indeed, spring's promise often blasted — 
 Find sunless summers missing, in their flight, 
 
 Those summer fruits, liope had in spring fore- 
 tasted : 
 And tranquil pleasures, autumn should possess, 
 
 Where hope of spring and summer fruits should 
 centre, 
 Are swallowed in a wintry wilderness, 
 
 AVhile life itself goes out in early winter. 
 With hopeful aims, man's earlier hours are rife. 
 In hopeless gloom, mau creeps through later life. 
 
 CL. 
 
 I 
 
 Man's life is but a day unwisely spent; 
 
 lie aims at bliss that he would reap from folly; 
 Late wisdom, early folly may repent, 
 
 Though yields he still, his fate to blindness wholly. 
 With eager heart, life's journey he pursues, 
 
 A treacherous fancy ever for his guide ; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 107 
 
 Wlijit fruit lie finds, liid ai)petitos iibuao : / -^ 
 
 They please a moment, tVien arc cast aside. 
 
 Bat Joys that pleased, he finds please not ai!:ain, 
 And new ones grow not, as his Journey grows; 
 
 Seeking now novel Joys, he seeks in vain, 
 
 But finds old Joys may now bring novel woes. 
 
 Were this, life's all, how vain were life indeed — 
 
 If age find misery, life's sole cartlily meed. 
 
 CLT. 
 
 But when I stand upon the river's brink, 
 
 AVatching its turbid body as its flows, 
 I contemplate its origin, and think 
 
 How like a human soul its body grows. 
 The streams it gathers in its wandering course, 
 
 Gather in turn, the various streams tluy find; 
 Each rill is various from its various source ; 
 
 So is the stream, of various streams combined ; 
 So does man's life, from various sources grow ; 
 
 Each day gives what no other day can give; 
 So does man's life its various substance show, 
 
 Past life decidincT how to-dav I live : 
 Foul life, to-day, makes life to-morrow, foul; 
 Foul streams of life luust still pollute the soul. 
 
I 
 
 108 
 
 SONNKTS. 
 
 CLIL 
 
 Wlicncc flow tlic ricliost stroanis of liuninii life ? 
 
 AV'hcnc'c does the soul its dearest tribute i^-iiiii ? 
 Life, from the heart, wlien purified by strife, 
 
 Its richest treasure, ever must obtain. 
 And yet the heart does but tlic ore supply, 
 
 Merc earthy dross, till tempered in the mind ; 
 Not on crude passion must true life rely, 
 
 But passion which cold reason has refined. 
 Wild passion's but a flame in maniac hands ; 
 
 What might be bliss, its recklessness destroys ; 
 But passion where sure reason's L'lw commands. 
 
 Is nature's fount of life's perennial joys. 
 To nature's will, the willing heart must bow; 
 Then through the heart, will nature's music flow. 
 
 CLm. 
 
 The lark, day's herald, on aspiring wing, 
 My spirit calls once more from mimic death, 
 
 Heaven's smile rewaking joy in every thing, 
 
 While feathered throats give thanks in hurrying 
 breath. 
 
 Would we but nature's gentle wish obey, 
 
 And cloth our life, from sun to sun, with jtk'asure, 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 100 
 
 "NVliat 1100(1 nc but tli'iH j)ertoct snmnior day, 
 
 Trees, birds and flowers, sweet health and leisure? 
 
 But vainly nature's sweetest angels strive 
 
 To touch our hearts from sun or bird or flower, 
 
 AVliile those fierce pjissions in our bosom live 
 That live to strive for baleful wealth and power : 
 
 For basest appetites, we fiercely carve, 
 
 While life's best wants, we basely leave to starve. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 But on wc go, still following through the world 
 
 Some beckoning pleasure we in vain would clasp; 
 Or, tasting, from our lips the cup is hurlc 1, 
 
 To leave, for fruit, but ashes in our grasp. 
 "We try those pleasures sense and passion give, 
 
 Which gleam a moment in their lurid fire; 
 Proving what joys in love and friendship live. 
 
 We prove how oft hope mocks our fond desire. 
 Where does enduring pleasure then id)ide ? 
 
 Such as the pas' , such will the future have ? 
 Or must we still pursue our mocking guide, 
 
 Expecting joys, such as the past ne'er gave ? 
 Those memoried pleasures seen in retrospect, 
 In falling years, wc may no more expect. 
 
no 
 
 SONNi;Trf. 
 
 CLV. 
 
 But, *' Liii-lit tliiit led nstrav was liLflit from TToiivcii?'* 
 
 If tli'iM wa.s HO, T know not wlicji MwaH so : 
 If wrong \V(» go wlion IT«'avonly light i.^ giv*'n, 
 
 AVhon ]iell Hliall hlind us, tlion how shall wo go? 
 Vty ]»ijssion's light, not Tfc'avj'n'H, wo arc misled, 
 
 And jH'idt'-lL'd oft, when wu seem < cioncc- 
 movcd ; 
 Wrong acts, on which no riiy from ITcavon is shed, 
 
 Of Heavenly birth are deemed hecauso they're 
 loved. 
 AVe think aright oft when wo act awrong, 
 
 And wroiiij^lv think oft when wo act ariirht ; 
 To mind nor heart, alone, our acts belong; 
 
 If heart give fire, from mind should come the light. 
 ]"?y heaveidy light, no 8oul can miss its way ; 
 'Tis passion, blind, that leads the soul astray. 
 
 CL\'I. • 
 
 You ficc the cloud yon, hanging on the sky? 
 
 In seeming bulk not larger than a crow? 
 Observe awhile, and you may, by and by. 
 
 Sec momentlv, its dark dimensions jjrow : 
 AVithin, or near, some power there does obtain 
 
 To <lraw new matter from surrounding space; 
 
 N -4' 
 
BONNirrs. 
 
 Ill 
 
 AVidi l)iilk it (loos Honio iu-ry Hpirit drain 
 
 Tlisit niloa with ruthlciid force each neighboring 
 lilaco. 
 
 This man, we hero in history oontoniplatc 
 As Htrewinu^ weal and woo uloiiij his course, 
 
 Grew to liis present, from so h>w a state, 
 
 l>v sjfatheriiiir substance from each nei;jhborin<' 
 source. 
 
 The cloud, indeed, a mindless power displays; 
 
 liut he, a mind 'gainst heaven itself arrays. 
 
 CLVir. 
 
 The boom of ijuna, again roils on the air! 
 
 Once more ])roclaiming direful victory; 
 More havoc, still, is done, beyond repair — • 
 
 More deeds to stain the ',>au;e of historv — 
 More blood of foe, bv friend or brother slied, — 
 
 More lives of friends, bv friends are cut awav; 
 More hearts must bleed, with those that erst have 
 bled, 
 
 Or seethe in hatred, time can ne'er allay. 
 Ilelentless lust of empire still must rage; 
 
 In freedom's name, self-rule must be destroved : 
 
 ^y 
 
 To rii»:ht a wron£:,WTon*j war must work his ra<re 
 
 And iu God's name, wrong war bo justified. 
 Those equal rights men oft so fiercely claim, 
 They now as fiercely crush, in freedom's name. 
 
ii; 
 
 I 
 
 112 
 
 BONNKTS. 
 
 CLVIII. 
 
 Accursed war again roars, self is ri<i^lit; 
 
 Self answering roars, all self, but self, is wrong; 
 And paltering conscience trims lier blear-eyed sight, 
 
 To find all rights, to conquering might belong. 
 Destruction laughs; gaunt Famine sweeps his rear, 
 
 Havoc, uncurbed, taking all hideous forms ; 
 Hell reigns on earth, till, terror conquering fear, 
 
 Black death grows fair, and now no more alarms. 
 Self's rightful claims, self rightly may disown; 
 
 Self doubts fair acts may hide some foul intent; 
 Be then no heed to self s self-favoring shown. 
 
 Self claims, to self, Heaven's 'venging power is 
 lent. 
 " Vengeance is mine," once breathed from Heavenly 
 
 dust; 
 Small faith has self, Heaven's patient power is just, 
 
 CLIX. 
 
 But war is o'er, and now you count the cost; 
 
 In counting cost, may you not count yours gains? 
 Thougb A'ictory, of glorious victory you boast, 
 
 The better fruit, your beaten foe retains. 
 But peace— again hosannas welcome peace, 
 
 From tongues that pteans sung for vengeful war; 
 
SONNKTS. 
 
 113 
 
 t, 
 
 And now destruction's reddened hand must cease, 
 His hand, still red, liis havoc would repair. 
 
 Not so the tiger, in his angry mood; 
 
 lie's doomed to kill, or doomed himself to die; 
 
 Though war wo not on liuman foes for food, 
 With tiger's hate, we liuman foes destroy. 
 
 TIow long shall it continue nature's plan. 
 
 That tiger's law shall guard the rights of man. 
 
 IS 
 3t. 
 
 i*; 
 
 CLx: 
 
 All-mastering sun ! that l?nd'st thy fire and light, 
 
 To fit this earth for man's first breathing place; 
 Since man came forth from blank, eternal night, 
 
 What changes hast thou seen come o'er his race ! 
 Thou saw'f-t man ere he might be called man — 
 
 Alas ! how often niay'st thou do so still — 
 AVhile still enfolded in some forcformed plan, 
 
 Which he, by upward striving, might fulfil. 
 Thou'st seen — what sin-spawned suffering hast thou 
 seen! 
 
 To-day, what well earned suffering may'st thou 
 see ! 
 Still passion rules, as if no pain had been ; 
 
 Still reason scarce asserts her right to be: 
 
 Thou saw'st man come — wilt look on when he goes. 
 
 But not when cease, man's self-inflicted woes. 
 8 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 M ! 
 
 114 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CLXT. 
 
 But when, ah! when will that late day appear, 
 
 When Truth shall rule where Error ruled so long, 
 And Kight have might to stay dissemhling Fear, 
 
 And kill the hrood of foul prolific AVrong! 
 Wlien will truth-nurtured Might have power to chain 
 
 That lust-horn thing, still fed with earth and gore, 
 And fix on earth his heaven-appointed reign. 
 
 And hid man lie for crouching Fear no more! 
 When will man sec in his most sacred claim, 
 
 A sacred duty, sacredly respected; 
 '^Hien will man's heart seek as its sovereign aim, 
 
 A hliss, in hliss from other hearts reflected ! — 
 Then will man's struggling pain he surely earning 
 That hour, for which, man's soul is hourly yearning. 
 
 CLXTI. 
 
 Changed were the world, were self's whole action just; 
 
 Were selfish hearts, on sacred honor set; 
 Could all hearts wisely selfish honor trust— 
 
 In other's due, could self its claim forget; 
 Could self its own, see in another's right, 
 
 True good discerning from the seeming true, 
 
SONXKTS. 
 
 11;1 
 
 Findinii:, or aoeking, nowhoro solf-doHght, 
 Wliile iinsclf be defrauded of its duo: 
 
 Could Hclf l)ut nature's cliaugeles.s purpose see, 
 And nowhere read her ehancreless will amiss, — 
 
 Did self discern her Hovereiirn will to he. 
 
 Till rii2:ht he done, self knows no sovereign hliss: 
 
 Were self such self, changed were the world indeed! 
 
 But ere such change, self-love must change his creed. 
 
 CLxm. 
 
 Yon truant wnfe, her wedded homo has fled — 
 
 Her sin-struck home, now worse than death- 
 hereaved ; 
 This one, so true! pines on a death-struck bed, 
 
 Condemned past hope, if for few hours reprieved; 
 That greening mound conceals a murderer's prey, 
 
 Murdered to glut the murderer's maw with food; 
 Yon stands the gihbet, glooming summer's day, 
 
 Preaching to heedless hearers, blood for l)lood. 
 Gross surfeit palls; want curses hunger's goad; 
 
 Self, self destroys, that self alone would save. 
 Or sinks, bearing a self-imposed load. 
 
 Through virtuous sin, seeking a self-made grave: 
 Vice runs with vice, till vice outruns disgrace; 
 Virtue 'gainst vice, still runs a losing race. 
 
trf 
 
 !! 
 
 IIG 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CLXIV. 
 
 AVe moot ac^ain, across those stormful years 
 
 That kIiow Time's office in this sea of life; 
 Tlic i)nling child, now lordly man appears; 
 
 The haughty youth, a trembling wreck of strife. 
 Still, seem these years but as a hurrying dream, 
 
 Linking blank past with blank futurity? 
 Yet life itself is but a conscious gleam 
 
 That flashes from a dark eternity. 
 We're each to-day, still looking for to-morrow; 
 
 To-morrow brings not what to-day expected; 
 And though each day we sound a deeper sorrow, 
 
 To each new day our hearts are hope-directed: 
 Somethi.ig unfound we seek, from stage to stage; 
 Ever summer flowers, seek in fierce winter's rage. 
 
 CLXV. 
 
 We, on the stream of time, mere l^ubbles, float, 
 Instinct a moment with a conscious life. 
 
 And but some passing gleams and shadows note. 
 Of joy and grief that cross our course of strife. 
 
 Our place in time, and hours of joy or pain. 
 Seem but the sport of ever varying forces; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 117 
 
 Our thought and will, tlic ohjocts wc wuuhl gain, 
 Are ever changing with life's cliangiug sources. 
 
 Knowing; not liow to-morrow we niav Ijc — 
 Whether in joy or gi'ief — in love or hate — 
 
 Or if ere then, life's ending we may see — 
 In lielpless trust, we're drifting on our fate. 
 
 Thoi.gh on to-day, to-morrow's life is pending, 
 
 We live as if, to-day, all life was ending. 
 
 CLXVI. 
 
 This bubble life, seeming all chanco directed, 
 
 Comes and returns, obedient to its cause; 
 Its cause with cause, through time must be con- 
 nected. 
 
 And man, through time, moves on a stream of lav/s. 
 We see not whence this stream of causes springs; 
 
 Its source is lost within the viewless past; 
 We see each hour some new effect it brlnirs* 
 
 But time-bound vision sees no first or last. 
 That stream of power that ends in forming man, 
 
 Flows ever from that uiiconceived abvss. 
 Where fate or puri)Ose framed the primal plan 
 
 Of all that was, will be, and all that is. 
 I stop and ask, with wonder ever new. 
 How man and nature, into being grew. 
 
rr 
 
 ".■jliis!»i«^T'-Ji 
 
 118 
 
 BONNETS. 
 
 CLXVII. 
 
 Wliat 13 that power, wliieli soiziiig lifuless earll) — 
 
 Mere units, dift'eriiig sis their iiiotiotiH differ — 
 Through ages struggling, hriugs that soul to l)irt]i, 
 
 AVhich liere, in time, hegins to know and suffer? — 
 Temp 'ring haac clay through eyclonean storms 
 
 Of tor *id heat, and zones of wintry strife — 
 Casting, recasting, mind through lowliest forms, 
 
 From stage to stage, to terms of nohler life — 
 Then in that gathering sea of life in death, 
 
 Maturing stores to fill that mastering plan 
 That strains a thinking fire from dust and breath — 
 
 A life for Heaven, perhaps, starting here in man? 
 May mind, yet, in some mindless substance fitid 
 Some mindless power with power to form a mind? 
 
 CLXVin. 
 
 You see no mystery, round your earthly home ? — 
 i^onc tliat mere changing force may not explain; 
 
 Dead force framing live souls that go and conio, 
 And, spring and offspring, but an hour remain. 
 
 A viewless speck, viewless to naked sight, 
 Conceals an all-sufficient power to be 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 113 
 
 Formed forth a moss or oak, a man or mite, 
 But which, you own no prescient power to see. 
 
 This mindless power, working in mindless earth. 
 Sends forth, and clothes with form, a conscioud 
 spirit; 
 
 And soul from soul, thus from the dust has birth, 
 By soul projecting power, each does inherit. 
 
 This cliange you see, that issues forth in mind, 
 
 But see no plan, hiding a thought behind. 
 
 n; 
 
 If, 
 
 CLXIX. 
 
 My eye, mere moving ether turns ta light; 
 
 My touch, some kindred motion turns to heat; 
 From moving air, my ear invents delight; 
 
 From motion, too, my tongue makes sour and 
 sweet : 
 The radiant hues that paint the falling shower, 
 
 The blending tones that charm my trembling ear, 
 The scent that greets me from the opening flower, 
 
 Are not without, as they without appear. 
 My senses are soul-catering instruments. 
 
 And by their action, on the world I feed; 
 My soul, through them, that wondrous show invents, 
 
 That solely serves my soul's perpetual needs: 
 Though inward are, what shows appear without. 
 That they are outward, none have power to doubt. 
 
120 
 
 fc NETS. 
 
 CLXX. 
 
 From foul, rank earth, June roses driiw perfume; 
 
 From honeyed roses, liornets venom <h'aw; 
 Fruits melt to song, that singing hird.i eonsume, 
 
 And leaves to silk, that painted spinners gnaw. 
 The corn and poppy drain the self same earth. 
 
 One feeding life, one hiding treacherous death; 
 Our pains and pleasures have a kindred hirth: 
 
 What gives a hlessing may a curse bequeath. 
 To conquering life, dissolves the lifeless clod : 
 
 From earth-fed blood, does life that substance 
 drain, 
 That turns to thought of brute or demi-god, 
 
 By life's transmuting power within the brain. 
 Life-tempered dust kissed by the wandering wind, 
 Then courses forth the time's self-questioning mind. 
 
 1| 
 II 
 
 CLXXI. 
 
 'Mong outward things, my eye discerns a duty, 
 Or duty o'er them, from my eye is thrown ; 
 
 From outward things my eye receives a beauty. 
 Or outwiird things give back my eye its own. 
 
 A pain seen outward, gives me inward pity; 
 Another's moan will fill my eye with tears; 
 
SONNETS. , 
 
 121 
 
 Tliat wliicli my eye sees as grotesque and witty, 
 To witless eyes, a thing of course appears. 
 
 Some mystic power, that in man's spirit lies, 
 Creates that spirit which his s[)irit (piafls; 
 
 The grosser world, his grosser need supplies; 
 
 That world he makes, in whicli he weeps and 
 laughs. 
 
 TTow may this godlike wonder, then, he stated? 
 
 Is man's best world, hy man himself created** 
 
 id. 
 
 CLXXII. 
 
 You see the thing now hurled across the distance, 
 
 Giving the rock-ribbed earth this trembling jar, 
 Its force — such mockery of man's poor resistance — 
 
 The breath of nature's fierce intestine war. 
 Imprisoned sunbeams, from yon burning light, 
 
 Long ages buried in cold, lightless earth, 
 Awakened in their concentrated might, 
 
 Xow from their prison, yon aie rushing forth; 
 And that wild contest, tire with water wages, 
 
 Which no created hand could e'er subdue, 
 Man's mind controls where yon it fiercely rages, 
 
 And bends its force to ends he would pursue. 
 Yon thundering mass, whose flight outspeeds the 
 
 wind. 
 Flies screaming triumidi to man's conquering mind. 
 
122 
 
 BONNETS. 
 
 cLXxni. 
 
 Yon ship, that seems now hanging in the cloudn, 
 
 Or as 'twere mirrowed in this sea of glass, 
 Obeys the speck yon moving in the shrouds, 
 
 As if his soul informed its mindless mass. 
 The wind may rage, and hourly change his course. 
 
 And bend his might to make yon frame a wreck; 
 Man's feeble arm still guides his ruthless force, 
 
 And holds his wild and ruffian power in check. 
 The wind may rage, the ocean roar and swell. 
 
 As if they viewed man's daring will with scorn; 
 Man still defies the power he could not quell, 
 
 And by their fury, on his course is borne. 
 Though from their rage, man often meets disaster; 
 lie by his wit, their masterly power can master. 
 
 il 
 
 CLXXIY. 
 
 "We meet appalled, the lightning's blinding flash, 
 That strikes or spares ere we can think of care; 
 
 In crouching dread, we 'wait the thunder's crash, 
 Tliat comes now crushing through the rifted air. 
 
 The flaming mass, by which the air is rent. 
 That strews destruction o'er its flery way, 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 K>:5 
 
 
 Is l)y man's wit, on peaceful missions sent : 
 Its flash now fixed, turns darkest night to day. 
 
 In ])atient work, its mit^ht oheys man's will, — 
 ('onveys man's thought, or nnui, from i>laco to 
 plaee, — 
 
 Builds up, tears down, and sliames the artist's skill — 
 Kills time, and turns to nought the widest s[)ace : 
 
 The ruthless flame that from tlie lieavens is hurled, 
 
 Will write man's thought, and flash it round the 
 world. 
 
 r; 
 
 ; CLXXV. 
 
 Still from his hed, yon mighty liiverfalls! 
 
 And still his fall, the tremhling earth confounds! 
 His 'wildered terror, still the heart appals ; 
 
 His endless, houndless roar, the hrain astounds. 
 -Ahove his huge, upheaving, struggling hreast, 
 
 In foaming clouds his hreath forever lies, 
 And radiant bows, see! on his hosom rest! 
 
 And with all hues, stain moonlight as it flies. 
 Kesounding through his countless ages past. 
 
 His one-toned anthem swells on ftmey's ear; 
 And 'while sweet awe is o'er all feeling cast, 
 
 I in his presence, still rejoice and fear: 
 No feeling hut of him, my heart retains; 
 His music, o'er all sound and silence reigns. 
 
 

 W7T 
 
 124 
 
 BOWDTS. 
 
 CLXX\7. 
 
 Yon sovereign orl) poni^H down a sovereign force, 
 
 Wliieli in my soul-rulLMl eye is turned to light; 
 Aud llicre those lines of bojiuty Inive their source, 
 
 Which move my s[)irit with Hueh pleasing might — 
 Those grateful sounds that make my spirit thrill, 
 
 Or grating noise that makes my body shiver, 
 To being spring forth from that sensuous skill 
 
 Thjit changes feeling with air's ehanging quiver — 
 In me, by motion of that vital earth, 
 
 Whieh formed me, or is framed itself by me. 
 Brought forth from death, those living thoughts havo 
 birth, 
 
 Whieli through my spirit, gain their power to be: 
 A mystic force, I into spaee can cast, 
 To bring forth life aud love from desert waste. 
 
 l\l 
 
 CLxxvir. 
 
 All things of sense, sense brings to store the mind, 
 
 By sense are formed, or say, by sense revealed; 
 Tlic rainbow shines not when the eye is blind; 
 
 An<l from deaf ears, all music is concealed. 
 The air we breathe, the solid ground we tread. 
 
 The varying light l)y whieli the world is shown. 
 The thunder cloud that bursts above my head. 
 
 Till known to sense, are not to reason known. 
 
avG 
 
 be: 
 
 iitl, 
 
 I, 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 125 
 
 No rojvsonin2j could divine tliose woiKiroin sliapos 
 Tliat lire eac-li lioiir l>v IVuitftil lite i'iMi»»\ved; 
 
 And life itself, both sense and thoui^lit escapes, 
 Thoni^li lile is witli both sense and tlionirbt endued. 
 
 AV^hence thought may be, thought may most litly 
 ponder; 
 
 But thought will still be thought's euduring wonder. 
 
 CLXXVIII. 
 
 This figured earth must mingle with the dust — 
 
 Xo vestige of its life-fed form remain; 
 But mav I nurse the still abidini' trust, 
 
 Its soul claims not enduring life in vain? 
 Its life's a stream, feeding a L;tanding lake; 
 
 Or wasting fuel, serving constant flame; 
 Unrestiuir atoms do this figure make, 
 
 Which ever seems, but never is the same. 
 But as this change still feeds a growing spirit, 
 
 And s[iirit builds from body's fleet decay, 
 Some sentient substance, may this soul inherit, 
 
 That with this body may not turn to clay. 
 But could man's reasoning prove this reasoning so, 
 Then, for itself, might reasoning, reason sliow. 
 
fpr 
 
 126 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 ;»ii|| 
 
 K U 
 
 il 
 
 CLXXIX. 
 
 Still (loos the mystery wait for man to solve, 
 
 Braving the present as it braved the past; 
 Satl, pondering minds, the mystery- still revolve, 
 
 Yet o'er its night, no ray of light have east. 
 Do I exist? What fool am I to ask? 
 
 It seems I do; on seems I may not rest; 
 I reason eall; bnt she declines the task; 
 
 She's dumb, except when seeming does suggest. 
 Yet, will the stubl)orn query still persist, 
 
 AYlth how, or why, or whence, this seeming show? 
 I know that I and all things do exist; 
 
 Anon 'tis whispered, I but seem to know: 
 From all that sense and reason then can give, 
 In sense and reason, I but seem to live. 
 
 CLXXX. 
 
 The sun has turned awav liis bi.rning face, 
 
 Leaving us wandering darkly in the night; 
 His sister sits not in her heavenly place. 
 
 And nature mourns her sweet and saddening light. 
 But in yon dome that l)0unds my wondering gaze. 
 
 Are clouds of suns firing tlie heavenly main; 
 Their numbers, all mind's feeble powers amaze, 
 
 Thinkiui^ their vastness stuns the struji'dini:: brain. 
 
t. 
 
 w? 
 
 ■lit. 
 
 0, 
 
 iin. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 127 
 
 Their n.y.s wln.h strike the eye with twinklincr li.],t, 
 Tliat throuo-li ]o„u. agon past were on tne win^^^, 
 
 Tell not wluit now is in the home of ni-ht; 
 Of time, as phiee, remote they tidino^ h.-in-: 
 
 But are there suns wliere suns there seem to be? 
 
 Or arc there not, but only seem to be? 
 
 CLXXXI. ' 
 
 AVhat is being? Then, wliat ean seemin- be? 
 
 We seeming see, but how is being shown? 
 We seeming know, beeause we seeming see, 
 
 But can wliat is, be by this seeming known? 
 That being is, from seeming we conclude; 
 
 But what seems not, the mind can never know; 
 All tilings th.Jt seem not, then, tlie mind elude, 
 
 And for the real, we must take the show. 
 Beneath this show is something more concealed? 
 When senses sleep, are worlds no longer here? 
 How can the truth to us ere be revealed ? 
 All sense is dund), nor reason can wc hear. 
 
 we can never know: 
 
 But still we seek what 
 
 We being seek, but merely find the si 
 
 low 
 
; I 
 
 128 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 i 
 
 CLXXXII. 
 
 But with tliis show, shall luhid l)e satisfied, 
 
 Cruviiiir no more the sonietliinij: uiidcr show? — 
 Or cniving still, its craving still denied, 
 
 Still wonder if true l)eing it may know? 
 Sense s<^izes matter; matter reason flies; 
 
 Matter dwells in space, of space what can w^e find? 
 Changes pass in time; what's time then reason 
 cries? 
 Thus matter, time, and space, elude the mind. 
 Must reason ask how matter is composed? 
 
 AV^hat attrihutes, blank time and space possess? 
 Must reason seek what ne'er may he supposed? 
 
 Its impotence, must reason ne'er confess? 
 The universe dissolves in glowing thought; 
 And thought itself, in thinking, comes to nought. 
 
 CLXXXIII. 
 
 Then must I question still, great nature's source, 
 
 Though nothing of lier source I e'er may know? 
 M.ay I not rest in viewing nature's course. 
 
 But must still ask whence nature's changes flow? 
 She shows her power in every form I meet — 
 
 Yon in the worlds glowing in distant space, 
 Here in the flower now smiling at my feet, 
 
 With wondering eye, her protean power I trace. 
 
S02s\\ETrf. 
 
 But Still from me, her secret she coiicojils; 
 
 My why, or whence, or wherefore, she denies; 
 Of plan or purpose, she no more reveals. 
 
 Than what within my dark experience lies. 
 But silence does not give my passion rest; 
 Her silence gives lier mystery double zest. 
 
 129 
 
 CLxxxiy. * 
 
 "Wliat is man's final station here on earth? 
 
 Is he the full-grown fruit of nature's past ? 
 Or does she promise by his earthly birth, 
 
 Though latest born, he yet is not the Last? 
 She's rich in means, and ever holds them cheap; 
 
 Leaving one favorite, thousands pass away; 
 Sowing profusely, she will sparccly reap; 
 
 But what she seals, slie holds above decay. 
 Making mankind, she would perfect the man; 
 
 The man, in turn, she makes her instrument; 
 His aim she bends to aid her future plan, 
 
 And serving her, lie finds his sole content. 
 Still man's best efforts blindly seek their mark; 
 They seek her end, but seek it in the dark 
 9 
 
*»r 
 
 130 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CLXXXY. 
 
 Did there in time a purpose once exist 
 
 That man should be, and therefore is man hcre?- 
 A will, moving the power that does persist 
 
 In forming man — guiding his blind career? 
 From purpose, if this stream of changes flows, 
 
 Still bringing thence no tidings of its source, 
 Where shall it end? if end we may suppose: 
 
 But end nor source, we see of nature's course. 
 Man springs from earth — again returns to earth; 
 
 Worlds do, 'tis said, from thinnest vapor spring- 
 In vapor end, to find a second birth: 
 
 Thus nature moves in one eternal ring. 
 Unpurposed this, what mind can e'er believe! 
 Its purpose, yet, what mind can e'er conceive! 
 
 CLXXXVI. 
 
 All life, it seems, begins in protoplasm; 
 
 The chick is l)ut albumaii in the shell; 
 But here does nature bridge her deepest chasm. 
 
 And hide that secret which she liides so well. 
 This substance, too, that bears this novel name, 
 
 Being itself life's substance and its cause, 
 By complex and more complex mixture came, 
 
 As atoms wed and wed l)y chemic laws. 
 
SONNETS. 131 
 
 Here looms, acjaiii, our scicntifie notion, 
 
 That mind is but transformc<l material force; 
 
 And as all force is Ijut atomic motion, 
 
 Tlioui^lit grows as atoms do each otlun- conrsc. 
 
 Wq cat, or die: why arL,niment, tlien, bandy? 
 
 We know all Nature's modus operandi. 
 
 CLxxxvn. 
 
 On this dead ball, I hang in barren space, 
 
 In thought and substance, bound to parent earth; 
 And this you deem my final resting place, 
 
 ^^y being claimed l)y that which gave it liirth. 
 But had earth power to will that I should l)c? 
 
 Or, witbout will, yet soul producing force? 
 Or must I deem these atoms forminir me, 
 
 Dorive their thinking from the thunder's source? 
 Is thought inherent in the ground I tread? 
 
 Or in the viewless air that ij-ives me Ijreath? 
 Or from that sun by which the; world is led, 
 
 Is that derived which drew this life froiu death? 
 
 O 
 
 r can e 
 
 arth 
 
 1, air, and yon sun's fire, combined 
 
 From thouij-htless matter, brino- forth tbouirhtfiil 
 
 mi IK 
 
 1? 
 
(•r 
 
 I:| 
 
 1 n.) 
 
 BONNKTS. 
 
 cLxxxviir. 
 
 Wcrll tlilnk yoii cloud lliiit o'er the sun now passes, 
 
 Tliat winds 111113' ^'^'''* '^'"^ innihle as they list, 
 Is then a congeries of h 11 man gasses, 
 
 Xot as it seems, a mass of fleecy mist. 
 In fancy's eye, too, let it taicc that figure 
 
 AV^hic'lv Innnan atoms take on here below. 
 Their motion driving o(t' death's freezing rigour, 
 
 Motion transmuted, giving power to know. 
 These atoms, then, their motion so control. 
 
 And in their mass such f^hanges shall bo wroiitirht. 
 That those interior shall be turned to soul. 
 
 And those without shall all be ruled by thoujrht. 
 Souls formed of cloud, we'd deem a wond'rous birth; 
 A thing of course, we deem them formed of earth. 
 
 jit 
 
 CLXXXIX. 
 
 Still, mindless force built up this sentient I'nimo, 
 
 AVhich, by and by, ])ccame mind's ii Lrumcnt, 
 To turn dead matter into conscious flame. 
 
 Or drain mind-substance from dead forces spent: 
 Then looks the soul forth from its dwelling place — 
 
 This house it built, as thunder Wuilds the cloud — 
 Bids shows of beauty glow in lightless space — 
 
 Bids music from dea'^ silence speak aloud. 
 
SONXKTS. 
 
 laa 
 
 Birds sing l,„t l.^ :ny soul in niUHicul ; 
 
 'Tis coloring 03 that paints their pluiiiage bri-lit ; 
 Mind makes its thought from gross material— " 
 
 From silent darkness, calls forth sound and lio-ht. 
 How gli],ly may these sounding words he said; "^ 
 How faint the light they ou life's mystery shed. 
 
 cxc. 
 
 So did tliis soul, which knows the universe, 
 Live as mere vapour in that primal mist, 
 
 AVhose primal power, its substance did disperse 
 Through that great whole whose part it did exist; 
 
 And^that which judges, now, of right and wrong, 
 A7as, then, but moving atoms spread through 
 space ; 
 
 And those that now I deem to me belong, 
 
 Some chance has brought to fill thi's' conscious 
 place. 
 
 I am, in soul as body, then, a part 
 
 Of atoms which some force through space did 
 scatter, 
 
 And which, from death to life one moment start; 
 ^ The next go forth again as lifeless matter ; 
 Such change, it seems, to matter is assigned, 
 That mud to-day, to-morrow may be mind. ' 
 
 Klj 
 
 hi 
 
If 
 
 rf 
 
 ; 1^ 
 
 104 
 
 SONNKTS. 
 
 CXCT. 
 
 / .Km this particle tliat Huyn, I know, 
 
 Jul mvcs tlio universe ii aensnon.s heinir, 
 .nonii^li spirit culled, in but utomie flow — 
 
 Mere piiJC'iiy l>:ills, hi'fore oaeli oilier iieeini^. 
 'Tis HO, you think, or else liow can it be? 
 
 Irt not tills body led with lifeless matter? 
 If not so fed, then dies life's eneriX.V, 
 
 And with the \nn]y, must the spirit scatter. 
 Those atoms, perhaps, say, "Let us change to 
 thou«i-ht;" 
 Or, perhaps, their little neii^hhors hid thein think; 
 Perhaps mind is thus from mindless matter hroui^ht, 
 Then mind niay, perhaps, to mindless matter sink : 
 I then, perhaps, see through nature's deei> disguise ; 
 And ignorant once, your words, perhaps, nudce mo 
 wise. 
 
 CXCIL 
 
 This soul, that gives the world its bad and good — 
 
 This dear unknown that speaks of I and me — 
 All thought and mind are more transmuted mud, 
 
 Which in its change, gains i s\er to hear and see. 
 The stutf, then, too, here changed to ruling thought, 
 
 Was atoms, not as now, at neighboring distance ; 
 But from far rei2;ions were toij-ether broui^ht, 
 
 Their miiou bringing sense of their existence. 
 
►SONNETS. 
 
 l::.j 
 
 Or was oiicli iitmii, tlion, a conociourt elf, 
 
 Kac'li sockiiii^ each, to lonii tliis soul conininnion ? 
 
 Or, as you lliiuk, tliis tliiui:; I call myself 
 
 Was uiiudless stuff, ere nioetiu!^ in this union ? 
 
 r>lin(l atoms, tlien, hy wandering chance eonihincd, 
 
 From distant realms have come, to form this miiuK 
 
 Isec. 
 fht, 
 
 Ice 
 
 CXCIII. 
 
 And cliance, wise chance ! conferred'this soul on nie — 
 
 Me on myself, Ijy chance-constructed law ; 
 No mind, you're sure, decreed that I should he; 
 
 From mindless force, wise chance this mind could 
 draw. 
 God slejtt till T, through chance, ohtained my heing ; 
 
 If waking now, his waking had no choice; 
 God saw his work first through my power of seeing ; 
 
 Heaven heard no music till I tuned my voice. 
 In me, you think, God first possessed a nuud? 
 
 If I should doie, God's mind would then grow dull; /■?' 
 But when my soid puts forth its powers cond^ined, C- 
 
 Then, as God's soul, I am most worshi[>ful. 
 I dreamt not, thougli I deemed myself a wonder, 
 God learnt through me, how wisely he could hi under. 
 
,:f 
 
 1U6 
 
 SONNKTS. 
 
 - CXCIV. 
 
 All force with force, we say, U correlated — 
 
 That heat and li^lit arc hut converted motion ; 
 But when this force, in terms of sense is stated, 
 
 Then force, 'twould seem, is changed into a notion. 
 A motion's hut a hody changing places, 
 
 If not on curves, on lines that then are straight — 
 That onward moves, or, perhaps, its course retraces, 
 
 And hy mere speed, perhaps, forming light and 
 heat. 
 But hy and hy, such motion finds the hrain, 
 
 In contact there, with other motion hrought; 
 As motions still, these motions must remain, 
 
 Or hy their contact, are they changed to thought? 
 
 Granted; hut then what 
 That motion in the h 
 
 can we find, 
 
 reason 
 ram should turn to mind? 
 
 cxcv. 
 
 But pardon me for speaking of the mind ; 
 
 The thing, I own, is now quite out of fashion ; 
 We've consciousness, in various modes comhined. 
 
 But not a thing producing thouglit and passion : 
 We've streaming thought, each single thought a 
 ripple. 
 
 Each, as they pass, saying, I feel and know; 
 And then, if nought this course of motion cripple. 
 
 They through their channels p swith even flow: 
 
KONNKTS. 
 
 la? 
 
 Tlicy pass, and do not tarry in the l)raiM, 
 
 But give tlieir i»lacc to tlujse that may succeed ; 
 
 And strange, tlieso ripples will return again, 
 When 'I' some portion of them chance to need. 
 
 But ' I' is fixed, and bids the past return ? 
 
 Of that, this * I' would something gladly learn. 
 
 In : 
 it a 
 
 low 
 
 CXCVI. 
 
 In sounding words, we may he wondrous wise ; 
 
 And sounding words, perhaps, do the work of 
 things; 
 Then, liunting thought's a bootless etiterprise, 
 
 Where words brinf? that content which meaniuiX 
 brings. 
 Why should wo ask with such unbending rigor, 
 
 That words shall always ])e the sij^ns of thouirht? 
 When thoughts will come not, why not take a figure, 
 
 Bv which some obvious thinjjr to mind is broujj'ht? 
 "We'll figure mind, then, as a river flowing, 
 
 Continuous thought, the river's constant flow; 
 Though strearns show not how mind has power of 
 knowing, 
 
 We've streaming mind, minus the power to know. 
 Pray, let's seem wise, if only wise in words; 
 A[uch wordy wisdom, can our i^uides afford. 
 
i.;8 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 »• 
 
 CXCVIT. 
 
 Wo soniotliiiii^ know, and nimli from InfLTrnco 
 draw, 
 
 Of nature's metliod, and of nature's work; 
 SIk! liides her puri>ose, l)iit reveals lier law, 
 
 Jiy which we cliinh to where some secrets lurk. 
 We know, for instance, matter seeks a centre — 
 
 That worlds on centres some times do revolve ; 
 Here one of nature's secrets do W(^ cuter — 
 
 How suns and satelites, she mii^ht evolve. 
 But worlds, we think, grow des ^e and ever denser; 
 
 So must their suhstancii once he very thin ; 
 AVith pressure, heat grows still and still intenser, 
 
 Then in cold vapor, i)crhaps, did worlds begin: 
 As clocks run down, worlds seek a falling plain; 
 But being down, who winds them up again? 
 
 CXCVIII. 
 
 Once on a time, as story books begin. 
 
 This universe was into mist resolved; 
 Whicli oil its centre then was forced to spin : 
 
 Ilence were all worlds and living things evolved. 
 We must infer, then, ])y all laws mechanic, 
 
 This mist must break up into divers rings; 
 And though, at first, their motions were Titanic, 
 
 T^'heir law would cut its way to sinaUer things — 
 

 
 SON.NKTS. 
 
 
 131) 
 
 To worlds liko tliis- 
 
 —of s'aryinv; 
 
 raiii^e, in fine, 
 
 Tliis whirliiiii: mi' 
 
 «t, ill time, was sure 
 
 to eomo. 
 
 SoilK! 
 
 dark, while 
 Bliine, 
 
 Home with 
 
 native 
 
 liii'lit would 
 
 Ant 
 
 1 by Home tie, 
 
 at birth for 
 
 hid to roam. 
 
 r>ut Ht 
 
 ill we seek that power th: 
 
 it forme 
 
 d the mist — 
 
 And s 
 
 till the power 
 
 that did th; 
 
 it power 
 
 resist. 
 
 CXCIX. 
 
 T>nt mass with mass will surely aggregate, 
 
 As sure as atom will to atom draw; 
 And mass from mass, perhaps, too, will segregate, 
 
 If we may keep our faith in nature's law. 
 The foree now locked within this whirling mass, 
 
 Is still the force that lield it in division ; 
 And into mist this world again woidtl pass. 
 
 Should but its c(pial meet it in collision. 
 How need we, then, an adventitious force. 
 
 To melt a world again to thinnest air? 
 This universe, stopt whirling in its course, 
 
 AVould to its pristine form again repair: 
 This world so stopt, were sure a changed thing; 
 Rut whence the world, to countermarch its ring? 
 
\(r 
 
 140 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 cc. 
 
 As nature was, still must she ever he ? 
 
 No cliange, by mortal mind may be supposed; 
 No course but hers, can humnn fancy see ; 
 
 And faith, compelled, in her must be reposed. 
 The light that surges o'er the field of day, 
 
 The force that moves this world along its course, 
 The lieat that turns the winter's blast av;ay, 
 
 Do all grow weaker as they leave their source. 
 The stream and streamlet make the swellins: river; 
 
 Cause brings effect, effect must follow cause; 
 While pound still weighs a pound, as it must ever, 
 
 So men and worlds nmst yield to changeless laws. 
 But man, an insect in a water drop, 
 Sees but a point ; there does his vision stop. 
 
 
 11 
 
 ■ Hi 
 
 
 i :m. 
 
 
 CCI. 
 
 Standing here on this point in boundless space, 
 
 All things around excluding from my thought, 
 Whence can I, then, my sole existence trace; 
 
 Or liow was I into existence brought? 
 I blend my being with all things around. 
 
 Or add it to an ever lengthening chain, 
 Then ask how all things their existence found ? 
 
 An echo only, does my question gain. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 Was there a time wlien nothincr ail exist? 
 
 In time, fmjn nothing, did existence grow? 
 Bid that of all being does consist, 
 
 ^o birth into existence ever know ? 
 In reverent awe, my trend)ling soul is dumh, 
 To endless silence, must my soul succumb. 
 
 1^1, 
 
 / U/M.j4t 
 
 ecu. 
 
 I am; what other wonder may he stated, 
 
 Though I all seeming wonders should rehearse ? 
 These gorgeous shows, my spirit lias created, 
 And hung as raiment round the universe. ' 
 I am ; and therefore does the world exist ; 
 
 It takes all hue and heauty from my seeing; 
 These glowing forms that do in space persist, ' 
 
 Have in my spirits act, alone, their being. ' 
 These shows, tben, which my spirit has compounded, 
 
 As ruling powers now do my spirit enter ; 
 And in their realm my spirit is impounded,' 
 
 Though all their power does in my si,irit' centre : 
 iNo wonder lives within this wondrous show, 
 That lives not in my wondrous power to know. 
 
 ■1|- 
 
 % 
 
142 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CCITL 
 
 O wondrous sonl, wliero all things mirrored lie, 
 That firmly sets l>right worlds in outward state, 
 
 Then nimbly ehanging, deems an inward eye 
 All outward visions solely does create — 
 
 And inwardly, as outward, all things measures. 
 Making them hear an outward ill or good. 
 
 From things indifferent, framing pain and pleasures, 
 
 deeming unjust, what contravenes its mood — 
 Selt'-huilt, or huilt up by some mystic force, 
 
 Which centred in thy mystic self must dwell, 
 Drawing soul-substance from a soulless source. 
 
 Thou fram'st in time a place of ill or w^ell. 
 But were thy l)eing's force all centred in thy will, 
 Then might thyself decree thy good or ill. 
 
 CCIV. 
 
 Decree, dear soul, what thou hast scope to be. 
 
 In realms tliat own thy will as sovereign power; 
 Though all thou wouldst, thy power may not decree. 
 
 What now thou will'st, may bless some unlived 
 hour. 
 Thy being now, with past shall future link. 
 
 And breathe forth life that still returns again; 
 What good or ill thou now shalt act or think. 
 
 Thy good or ill forever shall remain : 
 
\ 
 
 SOXNETS. 143 
 
 A disconl now, a d )r(l must ho still ; 
 
 This nioinciit's nuisi(3 ever imist l)e Mvcct ; 
 A strife lunv qnellod by thy triuinplKiut will', 
 
 A strife the less thy future has to meet. 
 While thou art 8overei.ir„ of thy 8overei.<rn mood, 
 Thou still art sovereign of thy sovereign good. 
 
 ccy. 
 
 Again farewell to one more year now fled, 
 
 Leaving its hlest or baleful fruit with me; 
 Life's task is now one year the nearer sped ; 
 
 One year's more change now was, that wiis to be. 
 Farewell, thou past-thou mighty thing that was— 
 
 Dead nothing— parent of the living n •■'_ 
 Guli»h of each present— fount of all to pass— 
 
 Thou now doad sea, whenee all lilb's waters flow. 
 Thou'rt gone forever, yet thou rul'st me still ; 
 
 Though nursed by thee, from thee T ever fly; 
 Eaeh moment I some end of thine fuHill— 
 
 Eaeh moment end what still may never die. 
 Flying, T still stand on thy briukless shore, 
 From deep behind, rushing on deep b(>fore. 
 
 
■ 
 
 pi 
 
 
 
 - i 
 
 1 
 
 ■ i 
 
 1 
 
MOTHER MONKFORD'S, MEETING, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 * 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
" #■ 
 
 ' 
 
 
 m v 
 
 r 'A\ 
 
MOTHER MOXKFORD'S MEETI^^G. 
 
 The heavens are hlack: wliere stars sliould be, 
 
 Earth's fire-rent pall, alone, I Rce! 
 
 Tlie rain roars clown ! the lightnings flash ! 
 
 While through the din, the thunders crash ! 
 
 And still the winds are gathering plight, 
 
 To throw new terrors o'er the niirht! 
 
 The houses rock, in this mad weather, 
 
 While ni<2^ht's dark rulers come together ! 
 
 Ah! oft I've seen such hideous storms. 
 
 When we have tried our secret cliarms! 
 
 But when weird rites we met to pay. 
 
 We met such storms without disma}'. 
 
 Dread, fearful signs, I've seen juhI heard — 
 
 Sure, fatal, signs, that all have feared: 
 
 At night, I've heard the cock at twelve, 
 
 Thrice warn the sexton he must delve — 
 
 That ere the morrow's clock struck one. 
 
 One more would from the earth he ijone— 
 
 That death must still pursue his trade, 
 
 (147) 
 
 ''.it 
 
 m 
 
m 
 
 148 
 
 MOTHER MONKPORd'S MEETING. 
 
 And one more in the earth be laid. 
 
 I've heard tlie death-watch, on the wall, 
 Tick out his midnight, deadly call, 
 While listeners shook with shivering fear, 
 Feeling cold, grisly death was near: 
 New graves, they felt, must soon be made. 
 And death once more must prove his trade. 
 
 At midnight, oft, I've heard the sounds 
 Of Gabriel hunting with his houndw ; 
 Their fearful gabbling in the air. 
 Bade some doomed wretch for death prepare- 
 Some doomed one, perhaps not yet afraid 
 lie in the earth must soon be laid. 
 
 I've seen, too, at the depth of night, 
 Pale, ghastly, things appear in white. 
 Showing by looks, some withering heart 
 Then quivered on Death's relentless dart: 
 Though voiceless, still they clearly said 
 A corpse must in the earth be laid. 
 
 One night the wind moaned in the clouds; 
 The restless dead walked in their shrouds; 
 The watch dog howled, the raven cried; 
 The while a blood-stained murderer died: 
 Death robbed the murderer of his trade: 
 The murderer in the earth is laid. 
 
 But ere this fearful night be done, 
 Com'~ ?ach tell how she's lost and won, 
 
MOTHER MONKFORD'S MEETING. 
 
 And tell wliat cliarm she's used to prove 
 How slie must prosper in her love. 
 
 You, Elspatli, first your case relate; 
 Say how you've tried to learu from Fate 
 If you, from love, will gain your due, 
 And if fate's promise still seems true. 
 
 ELSPATII. 
 
 When Friday night met Saturday morn, 
 Sowimr as sowers sow their corn, 
 I hempseed o'er my shoulder threw, 
 And softly called a name I knew; 
 Then, as the liempseed I should sow, 
 I bade him bring his scythe, and mow; 
 And, if he e'er would be my own, 
 I begged his image might be shown. 
 But ere the words I could repeat, 
 His scythe was glistening at my feet; 
 The form I called now met my view; 
 But from it, I in terror flew. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 That night you led his ghost a dance, 
 And laid his body in a trance: 
 He felt a stupor o'er him creep, 
 Then sunk into a deathlike sleep. 
 His friends around all dumb with fear: 
 That moment did his ghost appear, 
 To show that through his future life, 
 
 141) 
 
i:>Q 
 
 MOTHER MONKFOKD'S MEETINQ. 
 
 You mast moat surely be liis wife. 
 
 *Twas well you fletl from him in fright, 
 Or you liad proved, too sure, tluit niglit, 
 That, fast as you your Iiernp mii:;fit sow, 
 lie faster still, your liemp could inow. 
 
 T?ut come now, Meg, your story tell: 
 Ts still your lover wooing well ? 
 Have you 3'our lover forced to pray 
 That you will name the blissful day? 
 Or is he still the ro\'ing l>lado, 
 Not sparing either wife or maid? 
 IIow does be woo? come let ns hear 
 If you've yet bought your wedding gear. 
 
 MKG. 
 
 The charm I use, my love to serve, 
 Requires, you'll say, unshrinking nerve. 
 But then, in love, all means are good, 
 E'en though they bear some stains of blood. 
 If we cold lovers hearts would gain, 
 We must not shrink from giving pain. 
 Kor must ^VQ fear some trifling sin, 
 AVhcn lover's hands we strive to win. 
 If bl*^od I need, to mix my charm, 
 I look on blood without alarm: 
 But not my lover is't hat bleeds ; 
 ""Tis toads blood that my mixture needs; 
 Which 
 
 dropt 
 
 my 
 
 I 
 
MOTHER MONKTON's MEETING. 
 
 Gives me the power, M-lien o'er I tliiiik 
 His heart from iiie iiiclintMl to rove, 
 
 To brin^ him back and own liis love. 
 
 Then, while tlit toad I atill confine, 
 
 I know his heart must still be mine. 
 
 But when his love, I've cause to doubt, 
 
 I gently turn the toad about; 
 
 And be it day, or be it night, 
 
 And be it dark, or be it Hirht, 
 
 And though lie then be far away, 
 
 He rushes home without delay; 
 
 And through the fields and through the wood, 
 
 And through the bog, and through the flood, ' 
 
 And through the brake, and through the brier, 
 
 He conies all mad with fierce desire; 
 
 And nothing stops him, till he stands 
 
 Begging for mercy at my uands. 
 
 Thus I a truant lover rule; 
 
 I thus a truant lover cool. 
 
 151 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Ah ! well I know your charm is stron 
 I proved it oft when I was vouno-- 
 Its power, I then had oft to try, 
 When he I wed grew cold and shy; 
 AVhen from my toils he tried to break. 
 And in some rival's arms would seek 
 To taste the sweets of love's delight. 
 
 a* 
 
1 ">•> 
 
 MOTIIKll M().\Kr(JlU> S MEETING. 
 
 i! 
 
 And rol) mo of inv dearest ri<dit: 
 
 AVitli it I made tlie wanderer feel, 
 
 From mo, no foe, lii.s licart could steal ; 
 
 And though for ehanu^e, his lieurt would burn, 
 
 lie ever himihler would return: 
 
 I plaL^ucMl him so with love and spite, 
 
 That he became obedient quite: 
 
 Through peace and strife, liis lieart I led, 
 
 Till lie, at last, was fain to wed. 
 
 But come, now, Christy, must we know 
 How love with you is like to go? 
 
 CHRISTY. 
 
 Well, if I must, I must relate 
 How I eompell my sulky fate 
 To show my future good or ill — 
 If I in love may have my will. 
 I'm still unwed, and wish to know 
 If I to church am soon to go; — — .. 
 
 And if I am, I wish to see 
 AVho must my life companion be. 
 Xow, if my fate obeys me well. 
 If you will list, I now will tell : 
 
 At midnight, when the world's asleep, 
 chamber c 
 
 )ftly 
 
 my 
 
 'P» 
 
 And, while the winds the sleepers rock, 
 In haste, I wash and wring my smock; 
 Before the fire with flutterinir heart. 
 

 
 MOTIIKR MONIvTON'rf MEKTING. 
 
 I iKin^r it quick, and then depart. 
 
 r,nt tliou-li my limbs may shake with fear, 
 
 I hide where I can see and Iiere, 
 
 And mutter low, my -h,.stly cluirm, 
 
 To bring to view, some ghostly form, 
 
 AVhieh ere my smock begins to burn' 
 
 With gliostly hands, my smock may 'turn; 
 
 And ere he does my presence leave, 
 
 I ask I may, his face perceive. 
 
 That I may know, when next we meet, 
 
 I then my future husl)aiid greet. 
 
 But scarce I could my words recite 
 
 Before a spectre met my sight, 
 
 And turned my smock before the fjre; 
 
 Then further granted my desire. 
 
 By turning on my shuddering view, 
 
 A leering face, my heart ne'er knew— 
 
 He told me by his flasliiiur eve 
 
 My heart must at his mercy lie ; 
 
 And as I'd seek my mate for life, 
 
 He'd seek me for his future wife. 
 
 The form then fiided from my sight, 
 
 And in a swoon, I sank with fright: 
 
 I know not yet hoAv long I lay, 
 
 But when I woke 'twas breaking day. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 I wonder not you swooned with fear 
 With such a ghostly stranger near: 
 
 153 
 
 ^M 
 
r 
 
 r. 
 
 
 (11 
 
 i 
 
 
 :l 31 
 
 ii> 
 
 154 
 
 MOTHER monkford's meeting. 
 
 You soiiglit a form your fancy knew, 
 AVlieii one you know not, met your view. 
 But to your fate, you must submit; 
 What must be, must be made to fit. 
 
 'Tis your turn, El[»hie, now to tell 
 What heart you've brought beneath your spell, 
 And if you've asked your fate to show 
 What all our sex desire to know. 
 
 But by 3'our smile, I see you've tried 
 To learn when you must be a bride, 
 And who he is, and what he has. 
 That through the church, with you must pass; 
 And whether he be rich or poor; 
 Kot if a true man or a boor : 
 Such questions, we but seldom ask; 
 To promise wealth, is fortune's task. 
 
 ELPiriE, 
 
 'Tis true, I called on fate to say 
 AVhat for me in the future lay: 
 No woman's heart, my heart would be, 
 Had bridal hopes no charm for me ; 
 And as years grow, my yearnings grow, 
 To see what future years will show — 
 If he that claims me for his wife. 
 With wealth will bless my wedded life. 
 And fate has shown me in his glass. 
 What must, in future, come to pass; 
 
MOTHER MOXKFOIID'S MEETINa. 
 
 He in his glass has let me see 
 
 The man that must my hushand be. 
 
 I saw him near the alter stand, 
 
 The ring to wed me in liis hand, 
 
 And I, poor fool, stood trcmhlinir near— 
 
 Trembling with joy, death-pale with tear. 
 
 I saw, too, what 'twas bliss to see, 
 
 Three darling daughters cling to me; 
 
 And what made still, my |)liss more sweet, 
 
 My eager eyes, a son did greet : 
 
 Sweet light, a moment round them lay; 
 
 Then darkness swept them all away. 
 
 One daughter faded, then another; 
 
 Then with the third, death seized t^ieir brother. 
 
 I wept to see this must be so — 
 
 That such sweet joys so soon must go. 
 
 They were but as dream-pictures shown; 
 
 Yet still I loved them as my own; 
 
 And though 'twas foolish, perhaps, to \veep, 
 
 That night I wept myself to sleep. 
 
 I saw my future lot in life; 
 
 I saw I soon must be a wife, 
 
 And soon a mother's joy must know. 
 
 Then feel a mother's greatest woo. 
 
 I though^ no more of sordid gold 
 
 Of wedded love o'er growiiig cold, 
 
 But wept that I so soon must lose 
 
 The dearest joy the molher knows. 
 
 ir,n 
 
 Ob 
 
i 
 
 m 
 
 til 
 
 156 
 
 MOTHER MONKFORD S MEETINa, 
 
 I prayed I might the future view , 
 I prayed my answers might be true ; 
 But now, the lot my fate has shown, 
 T pray may on me ne'er be thrown. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Tlie lot decreed you ai your birth, 
 Would find you hid within the earth. 
 'Tis useless, then, your fate to grieve; 
 'Tis useless, now, to disbelieve, 
 And do as most incline to do — 
 Believe the good, alone, is true. 
 You say you in the glass descried 
 That soon you were to be a bride — 
 That soon you must a mother be — 
 Two joys, your heart rejoiced to see : 
 A wife you must be, then a mother; 
 Your three sweet girls must have a brother- 
 Three darling daughters, then a boy 
 Must crown your wedded life with joy. 
 Content, I trow, your heart had been, 
 Had that been all your eye had seen. 
 But after joy there comes a sorrow ; 
 ^is fair to-day, then foul to-morrow. 
 But still let joy possess its day ; 
 Though sorrows come, they will not stay. 
 Your promised joys, you must forego, 
 If past 3^our joy, j-ou look for woe. 
 
MOTHER MONKFORD's MEETIXO. 
 
 Tliink of tlie hiishand you must wed— 
 AVhat must spring from your marriage bed; 
 For tliough your childreu may not tarry, 
 You'll keep the husband you shall marry. 
 Fate we should meet without distrust; 
 All fates, alike, end in the dust. 
 
 To you, sweet True, we turn at last, 
 To hear if fate, your lot has east— 
 If ill the day or in the night, 
 What future hides, has come to light— 
 What charm or spell, you most esteem. 
 Have you by sign, or morning dream, 
 Learnt what you must in future find ? 
 Does what you're told content your mind? 
 
 PRUE. 
 
 I've tried to learn, by various ways, 
 My weal or woe of future days. 
 I've often prayed, while in my bed. 
 For dreams^of him I am to wed ; 
 And oft when day has sunk in night, 
 And some new moon has met my sight. 
 O'er stile or gate, I've softly prayed 
 That in my sleep, she'd give me aid- 
 That if she'd power, she'd let me see 
 If I a wife was soon to be. 
 And let me know, while wrapped in sleep, 
 If he I loved, his faith would keep. 
 
 157 
 
 
158 
 
 MOTHER MONKFORD S MEETING. 
 
 
 a 
 
 Then counting pin^^, too, from a row, 
 
 While muttering Pater Fosters k)\v, 
 
 I've prayed hefore I've gone to rest, 
 
 Tliat in mv dreams I mi^jht be blest 
 
 AVith visions of that blissful life 
 
 That must await the new made wife : 
 
 I've prayed on sweet St. Agnes Eve 
 
 That in my dreams I might receive 
 
 My future husband's soft caresses, 
 
 And taste the bliss the bride possesses — 
 
 Those joj's that must remain untried, 
 
 Till I, myself, am made a bride. 
 
 I've prayed the fays would o'er me fling 
 
 Some spell that in my sleep would bring 
 
 My future woe and future bliss — 
 
 What must be well, and wliat a miss. 
 
 But spells and charms are viiin 'twould seem, 
 
 For nouijrht I see, thouj^h oft I dream. 
 
 Whatever future o'er me hovers, 
 
 Fate nouufht reveals of future lovers. 
 
 I dream of swelling clouds and mountains; 
 
 Of muddy streams, and crystal fountains; 
 
 Of churches, temples, new and old ; 
 
 Of summer's heat, and winter's cold; 
 
 Of joys and sorrows, long since fled ; 
 
 Of absent friends, acquaintance dead; 
 
 Of mourninor hearts in merrv meetinc;; 
 
 Of spiteful foes in friendly greeting ; 
 
MOTHER MONKFORD'S MEETING. 
 
 159 
 
 Of silcMit birds, unseasoned flowers ; 
 
 Of snakes concealed in blissful bowers; 
 
 Of singing swans, on river sailing ; 
 
 Of happy brides, their fate bewailing; 
 
 I see the dead, dead, and still living — 
 
 The spendthrift saving, miser giving : 
 
 I dream of all things, in a jumble. 
 
 Except of him my heart would humble. 
 
 What is not, in my dreams I see ; 
 
 But not what is, or is to be. 
 
 But now, no more to dreams I look ; 
 
 ^ly prophet now's the sacred book — 
 
 The Bible, with a key inside, 
 
 And round it, then, my garter tied ; 
 
 The key placed where sweet Ruth avows 
 
 She'll go where e'er her lover goes. 
 
 Some fi'iend and I then h(dd the rimx 
 
 While I to mind, mv lover brinsj^; 
 
 And as the book a nK^ment lingers. 
 
 While hanging on our pointed fingers, 
 
 Buth's speech I softly then repeat. 
 
 Though with alarm, my heart should beat; 
 
 And if I am to win my love. 
 
 The bible soon begins to move ; 
 
 And if it off mv iino-er turn, 
 
 I learn the fate I wish to learn. 
 
 We tried this on a winter night ; 
 
 But when it turned we fled with fric^ht: 
 
IGO 
 
 MOTHER MONKFORD'S MEETING. 
 
 I scarce got through the speech of Ruth 
 Before we learned the fearful truth, 
 That spirits hovering in the air, 
 Unseen, had heard my muttering prayer : 
 An answer came, from good or evil : 
 We fled, as if 'twere from the devil. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 "Whether good or ill, they've power to show 
 "What all our sex desire to know. 
 But when you've lived as long as I, 
 You'll need no more, your fortune try : 
 Love, that now works so sure a charm. 
 Will work you, then, no good or harm : 
 That life that yet you have to meet. 
 You'll find a mixture, sour and sweet; 
 But now, like all, you wish to see 
 IIow large a part the sweet must he ? 
 That you must learn in growing older. 
 While head and heart are growing colder: 
 You know not, in your youthful fire, 
 The worth of all 3'ou now desire. 
 But still 'tis wise, while youth may last, 
 To taste youth's joys ere youth is past: 
 Cold age, no warmth, from youth would borrow, 
 If youth quenched all its heat in sorrow. 
 Be glad, then, while your hearts are young ; 
 Sad youth makes short life seeming long : 
 
MOTHER WONKFORL'S MEETING. 
 
 And lightly trust, from day to day, 
 Those secrets, fate will not hotray,' 
 Are better as they are, concealed, ' 
 Till in your lives they are revealed: 
 Did we know all we wish to learn, 
 The course of fate we'd strive to turn, 
 And miss those checks that cool the blood 
 And seeming ill, make certain good. 
 
 IGl 
 
162 
 
 OLD TIME. 
 
 OLD TIME. 
 
 In Summer days, and blossomed youth, 
 
 OldTimc'a a pleasant fellow ; 
 Then fruit and wifelin^s have their ficrowth 
 
 Ere Autumn makes them mellow. 
 Then hun<.i^onng girls and wanton boyg 
 
 Bid halti!igTi)ne come faster; 
 He in his poke brings nuptial joys, 
 
 And each would be a taster. 
 "With lingering pace, Time brings the boon 
 
 That each has been expecting; 
 Then nimbly skips the honey-moon, 
 
 And leaves his friends reflecting. 
 Ilis stealthy step, from stage to stage, 
 
 Is now but seldom noted, 
 Till, green youth turned to withering ago, 
 
 'Tis seen how he's devoted : 
 Then stop, cries age, thy quickening speed, 
 
 Or let thy pace be slower ; 
 This once help me in my need ; 
 
 Too soon I meet the mower. 
 
LUCY, Tllli DKSEUTED. 
 
 103 
 
 O" 
 
 LUCY, THE DESEKTED. 
 
 Slowly lire the shadows stealiu 
 
 Up the breast of yonder hill ; 
 Still is ijentle Luey kneeling; 
 
 Wearily she's kneeling still. 
 
 Silently the dews are falling 
 
 In the steps of fleeing day; 
 Still is Lucy faintly calling 
 
 On a name now far away. 
 
 On the hill the day is dying ; 
 
 Shadows o'er the valley hover; 
 Deeply still is Lucj' sighing — 
 
 SiirhiniT for a faithless lover. 
 
 In the west, the day is sleeping ; 
 
 O'er us, night has thrown his veil ; 
 Still with sobs, is Lucy w^eeping — 
 
 AVeeping still wdth tearless wail. 
 
 "Wlien the morning comes to-morrow, 
 Making all hearts once more glad, 
 
 Lucy still will be in sorrow ; 
 Evermore she will be sad. 
 
 Who could wound a heart so tender ? 
 
 AVho could blight so sweet a form ? 
 AVho w^ould pray not heaven may send her 
 
 Vcnireance for her cruel harm ? 
 

 I 
 
 IG-i LUCY, TilH DESEUTKD. 
 
 "WTio can see lior killing trouLlc 
 
 Eat mvay a 11 io so sweet, 
 And not wish lier wronger (lonl)lo 
 
 Those fierce woes tli' ueeursed meet ? 
 
 : 
 
 k\\ 
 
 i! 
 
 Sadly must we now remendjer 
 llow she sung her hours away — 
 
 IIow she left her peaceful sluniher 
 When the lark awoke the day. 
 
 When the thrush, hiii:h mounted, sini2:in2r. 
 Lulled the day to sweet repose, 
 
 Then her voice would, softly ringing, 
 Bless the summer evening's close. 
 
 All who knew her, knew her gladly ; 
 
 All who saw her, sought her smile ; 
 All hence forth must know her sadly — 
 
 Victim sad of fiendish guile. 
 
 Speechless he their tongues forever. 
 Who such trusting ones deceive ; 
 
 May they truth helieve in never ; 
 May they lies alone believe. 
 
 Be their hearts with torture riven ; 
 
 May they know hell's pain and live; 
 May no help to them he given, 
 
 Till they curse the woes they give. 
 
THE KliJECTED LOVER. 
 
 1G5 
 
 THE REJECTED LOVER. 
 
 The wan moon has now sot, 
 
 And Vm still wancU'rinu; yet, 
 As I've v.'iiiidered, alone, through the night ; 
 
 I still feel her hard scorn, 
 
 "While this heautiful morn 
 Fills, again, the sad heavens with his light. 
 
 To my plea, she said no ; 
 
 And she then hade me <2;o — 
 Go and leave her, she'd see me no more ; 
 
 I then spoke not a word ; 
 
 I no more then implored; 
 But sueli anguish, I ne'er felt before. 
 
 O how hitter her scorn, 
 
 On this beautiful morn! 
 Sweet peace will return to me never ! 
 
 How different now this light 
 
 Had appeared to my sight, 
 Had she said she would love me forever. 
 
 O why should my fate be 
 That so she should hate me, 
 And make me so poor and forlorn ? 
 
 !| 
 
 <; 
 
h 
 
 1G6 
 
 TlIK REJECTED LOVER. 
 
 
 I ifl 
 
 IIiul she owned tliiit slic loved, 
 My glad lioiirt, now lijid proved 
 The lull blids of this beautiful morn. 
 
 She knows how I love her ; 
 
 But that will not move her; 
 She turned from my tears with a frown ; 
 
 While she still heard me pray, 
 
 She turned eoldly away : 
 If she felt, she no feeling would own. 
 
 In tlie world, I'm obscure ; 
 
 And in gold, too, I'm poor ; 
 "With my gold, I can ne'er buy her heart ; 
 
 If for station and gold, 
 
 She her sw^eet self has sold, 
 'Tis hard, though 'tis best that we part. 
 
 Still, with gold I should try her, 
 
 If with gold I could by her, 
 Though 'twould grieve me to know she was bought; 
 
 But to me she's so dear, 
 
 That should hope but come near, 
 Her heart would seem pure as my thought. 
 
 But I ne'er now must see 
 
 Iler sweet smile rest on me ; 
 Her dark frown, now, must haunt me forever ; 
 
 ^fy hot words winged with love. 
 
 Her cold heart ne'er could move : 
 Now all hope, from my heart I must sever. 
 
TIIR REJKCTKD LOVFfl. 1(17 
 
 TliroMi;*li (lark woods I may wamler, 
 
 Or wlicro sad streams meander, 
 And watc'li tlic ^Had bird woo its mate; 
 
 But my sad heart, alone, 
 
 Or with sad hearts that moan, 
 May bewail the hard dealings of lute. 
 
 When sad niMit's airuin set 
 
 AVitli its rich golden fret, 
 And the heavens have extinguished their flame, 
 
 I again, fortli may wander, 
 
 On my sad fate to ponder; 
 But pondering and wandering leave my heart still 
 the same. 
 
 Night and dixy now are one ; 
 
 Life's sweet hope now is gone ; 
 All my life's joy in hope is now blighted; 
 
 Through each night till the morn, 
 
 I must still nurse her scorn — 
 The cold scorn which my warm love so slighted. 
 
 But I'm still wanderinir v«'t. 
 
 Though the cold moon has set, 
 AVith no feeling of ought but her scorn ; 
 
 Though my tears ne'er could move her. 
 
 My heart still must love her: 
 how hard is my fate to be born ! 
 
1G8 
 
 MY FOUR-FOOTED FRIEND. 
 
 li't! 
 
 ['■ I 
 
 MY FOUR-FOOTED FRIEND. 
 
 Wo liear vows of friondsbip, 
 
 And some vows scoiu sincere ; 
 Men ol't deeply swcur, 
 
 To tlieir vows tboy'll adhere ; 
 But though men deeply sweiir 
 
 They'll be true to the end, 
 The^-'re ne'er half so true as 
 
 My four-footed fiiend. 
 
 In seeking for friendship, 
 
 Man sometimes seeks pleasure; 
 Though often he seeks but 
 
 For fortune and treasure ; 
 But true unbought friendship, 
 
 Who would e'er comprehend, 
 Must study the heart of 
 
 iMy four-footed friend. 
 
 The treasure he seeks is 
 
 Wrapped np in his dinner ; 
 Ills fortune, he finds in 
 
 The smiles of a sinner; 
 TiiOU2:h kin(hiess delic^ht him, 
 
 Yet frowns went offended .: 
 Through all moods tlierc's faith in 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
MY FOUR-FOOTED FRIEND, 
 
 In Ij'Mglit (lays of sumnicr, 
 
 Wlion liglit gentle breeze 
 Makes soft \vliisperin<jj music 
 
 Amoii'i; the j^reeii trees, 
 In iiiv lonuf rami raiiiMes, 
 
 Xo one else will attend, 
 I've a faitliful eompanion in 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
 Though words are denied him, 
 
 I still know liis mind; 
 In his largo speaking 030, 
 
 His true meaning I iind ; 
 From the shake of hi.! tail, 
 
 I his wish comprehend : 
 My friend is not dumb, though 
 
 A four-footed friend. 
 
 loa 
 
 Let me, then, kindly treat 
 
 The affectionate creature. 
 And meet with good faith. 
 
 The good faith of his nature; 
 If from liungcr and harm, 
 
 I poor Jack wont defend. 
 Where may kindness he found hy 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
170 
 
 DEATH OF MY FOUR-FoOTED FRIEND. 
 
 II 
 
 !l 
 
 |i (il! 
 
 DEATH OF MY FOUR-FOOTED FRIEND. 
 
 Farewell! dear companion ; 
 
 Death now l/uls us part ; 
 lie rends the dear ties 
 
 Tlioii hast wound round my heart : 
 I dreamt not thy life 
 
 Drew so near to its end, 
 Or I still more had loved thee, 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
 Now in bright days of summer, 
 
 The soft whispering breeze 
 Makes no more cheerful music 
 
 Among the green trees : 
 In my lone rural rambles, 
 
 Thou no more must attend, 
 I shall heave many a sigh for 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
 I sliall miss thy lar2:e eves, 
 
 ^\"liich oft dwelt on my face, 
 "When I plucked some fresh flower, 
 
 Or some new thouixht would trace. 
 And the hint thou wouldst gambol, 
 
 When 'twas time I should spend 
 A word or a look on 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
 
DKATII OF MY FOUIl-FOOTED FRIKND. 
 
 When, alone, I shall ranihle, 
 
 In tlio fine summer weather, 
 Thron^rh the acene.s where so oft 
 
 CD 
 
 We've been lonely together^ 
 I s'lall pause In my thought. 
 
 When the mind would unhend, 
 And look throuich a tear for 
 
 My Ibur-iboted friend. 
 
 All those dearly loved spots. 
 
 We hoth hied to with gladness, 
 Arc now left alone in 
 
 The cold shade of sadness ; 
 Joy's thrill, through the heart, 
 
 They no more now can send ; 
 They cliill now with grief for 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
 171 
 
 I lov^ed thee — thou knew'st it, 
 
 And my love did'st return ; 
 ^Vhen it seemed lost in coldness, 
 
 Thou its loss then would'st mourn ; 
 But coldness, or harshness, 
 
 Thy true faith ne'er could bend : 
 None ^an e'er fill thy place, 
 
 My four-footed friend. 
 
172 
 
 SMILlNc; EVEK NEAR. 
 
 It* 
 
 ! ^^ 
 
 AIR:— FLOATING ON THE WIND. 
 
 Sinilhig over near, 
 
 Unseen friends abide, 
 Wardini^ dcjulit and fear, 
 
 Ever from my side — 
 Smiling on the heart ; 
 
 Breatliing holy thoughts — 
 Thoughts that love impart — 
 
 Love that never doubts : 
 Love wings the soul away 
 
 To joys bright summer day — 
 
 ii 
 
 I 
 
 ill 
 
 Smiling ever near — 
 
 Whispering to the heart 
 Change it need not fear, 
 
 Joy will ne'er depart — 
 Hope's bright radiant light, 
 
 Beaming through the soul — 
 Love forever bright, 
 
 Time can ne'er controll : 
 Joy ne'er shall know decay, 
 
 Through love's bright summer day 
 
AN UNSi'OKEN ADDKESS. 
 
 17a 
 
 AN UNSPOKEN ADDRESS. 
 
 I come, good friends, oLedieut t(^ your call ; 
 And most sincerely, would I thank you uU, 
 Not for the kindness of to-night, alone, 
 But that, as well you in the past have shown. 
 I well remendjer — can I e'er forget, 
 AVhile still unpaid, is nature's final deht ? 
 I still renieniher well, that trendding day, 
 When with your heartfelt cheer, I went away — 
 When, winged with hope, young aspiration flew 
 To scenes untried, and bade old friends adieu. 
 
 My course, since then, through light and shade haa 
 lain; 
 
 But with glad heart, I've met you here again ; 
 
 And still your kindness greets me as of yore : 
 
 Still once more I must leave you, as before. 
 When duty calls, her call \vq must obey ; 
 
 For duty rules even our poor actor's day ; 
 
 Though some deem, perhaps, w^e know not duty's 
 rule ; 
 
 But such deem not the theatre a school — 
 
 A school where human nature we may see, 
 
 Oft as it is, oft as it ought to be 
 
!;■ 
 
 fiiu 
 
 
 It'' 
 
 ri:' 
 
 Si ! "*■ 
 
 174 
 
 AN rNSi'uKI::N ADDULSS. 
 
 AVo sec rash youtli, 1)1*111(1 pa^^.sion'H wasteful slave — 
 Weak fretful age ntaiid cluifteriiig near the grave : 
 When passions burn, hot youth counts not the cost; 
 Cold age seeks most to save, when all is lost. 
 As nature's page, keen-eyed experience reads, 
 The fool of age, the fool of youth succeeds. 
 Both fools and knaves we see, and both dispise ; 
 AV(5 see, and loath, the man of pious lies. 
 We see the scoundrel, whom at once we hate, 
 And gladly watch the villian seek his fate. 
 But these are failures, dropt from nature's plan ; 
 In nature's noblest work, we see the man. 
 I^ot him whose choice at nature's bounteous feast, 
 Is that which makes the man subserve the beast ; 
 Nor that void thing made by convention's law, 
 And ruled then by some solemn, selfish, saw; 
 Who brags perfection in each human part, 
 Though destitute where should be head and heart; 
 But him 'twas nature's highest aim to make, 
 Content to work long ages for his sake ; 
 Whose life, from head and heart, is alwavs one — 
 Brave, generous, just, and truthful as the sun ; 
 Who scans the heavens, with eye and mien erect, 
 Melts worlds to light, to feed his intellect ; 
 Whose heart and eye oft glow with passions' fire, 
 Yet still ne'er severs duly from desire : 
 We with delight, see such upon the stage ; 
 AVith fruitful love, such must our hearts engnge. 
 
AN IINSPOKKN ADDKKSS. 
 
 (0 
 
 Tims (loc'ilo pnpil.-i loiirii at Thospiu's scIk^oI 
 To lovu tlio luaii, and scorn tlie knave and fool. 
 
 Some words, to tboso, I frar I niiglit annex, 
 That sliii:litly touch some tVaiUics ol' my sex; 
 T>nt tlieso, the censors of our sex will name: 
 AVe may not praise ourselves, iind will not hlame; 
 Xot tliat we'er (himh, no, not hy any means; 
 Our tongues can trot, when once they take the reins; 
 But that's not oft, as you must all allow: 
 But waiving that, my tongue is silent now. 
 The main of what I've said, vou know is true; 
 Believe this, too, my lieart now says adieu. 
 
 
f 
 
 176 
 
 AN EPILO(iUE. 
 
 AN EPILOGUE. 
 
 >': i 
 
 t 
 
 m 
 
 
 :?t 
 
 !ii 
 
 Ml 
 
 i 
 
 
 f 
 
 III 
 
 M. 
 
 You SCO, good frieii(l;=?, our play is done ; 
 Aud if we've your ap}»roval won, 
 "We've Grained tlie end we all intended : 
 If not, we wish the thinij; were mended. 
 The matter's old; but that you know — 
 As old as hunuxn weal and woe; 
 Yet thouii:h 'tis old, it is not trite ; 
 'Tis ever fresh as day and night. 
 Ere plays were played, or words were writ, 
 It charmed the tongue of human wit ; 
 And ere it cease, man's heart to move — 
 Ere man turn cold from woman's love, 
 The sun shall fly through boundless space ; 
 Each little star shall lose its place ; 
 And night no longer twain with day, 
 Shall hold o'er all, eternal sway. 
 
 L. 
 
 li if 
 
 "i il 
 
 If with our play you're interested, 
 You'll perhaps allow that I'm invested 
 With right, before you go away, 
 To tell what woman's slanderers say 
 
AN EriLO(;UE. 
 
 They nay onr love Is inorcly tra(](>, 
 By wliit'h our social rank is made ; 
 That tlion<;h with nioii we (jladlv voke. 
 Our flame, they say, is only smoke. 
 'Twere pity sucli sliouM lind us true : 
 To such, is true love ever due ? 
 You'll answer that as well as I: 
 To those, then, let us say i^ood bye. 
 But let our hearts once know their own, 
 Then judge us by the love that's shown; 
 Let native worth, our hearts subdue. 
 Then ask us if our hearts are true. 
 
 177 
 
 B. 
 
 If I miglit here but make so bold, 
 I'd say, man's love's not always cold; 
 Some times it feels as hot as bricks: 
 But then, the girls, tliey play such tricks ! 
 There's Jenny, here, the other day. 
 She boxed my ear, then ran away. 
 I doubt she wanted me to follow. 
 And catcli lier in the primrose hollow, 
 __And there, for all her Jibes and teczing. 
 She thought she'd get an honest squeezing. 
 If she were pleased with what befel, 
 I leave her pouting lips to tell. 
 
1^^: 
 
 178 
 
 AN EI'ILO<SUli. 
 
 But HOW WO leave (liis playtul Ktrife; 
 Slif'rt |tn)iuirfe(l soon !(► I»(^ mv wite : 
 Of wrdded life he speaks to soon, 
 WMio speaks before the honeymoon. 
 
 J. 
 
 '^''on've heard his way of speakinii: holdly ; 
 
 You've lieard him boast of wooini^ coldly: 
 
 I thonght his manner quite provoking ; 
 
 1 ne'er eouhl tell if ho wore iokinic. 
 
 JIo said he loved ; I wished to know it; 
 
 I ])oxed his ear, to make him show it: 
 
 Now my poor lips, ho dares to say 
 
 How rude he was in that affray ; 
 
 As if he'd done some great exploit: 
 
 They view it in a difieront light. 
 
 IIow nnieh so e'er they felt their wrong, 
 
 Tiiey'ro able still to hold their tongue. 
 
 'Tis prudence, not to speak too soon : 
 
 AVe've not yet reached the honeymoon. 
 
 His moon of sweets will [>ass no doubt ; 
 
 He'll then, perhaps, hear my tongue speak out. 
 
 F. 
 
 I'll just say, ere the curtain fall, 
 
 Good night, my friends, God bless you all. 
 
KI'IT.M'IIS. 
 
 17*J 
 
 i:iTrA141S. 
 
 I. 
 
 A frioiid liore sleeps, alas ! beneatli this stone ! 
 
 A IVieiid wliom time, to mo will not restore ! 
 Her silent lieart ])ut now is truly known 
 
 To liini wlio mourns its silence ever lnorl^ 
 No sell-reL!:ar(l could move lier constant mind; 
 
 Xo voice but tender duty's could she hear: 
 In otlicr's good, life's joy her heart could find; 
 
 Xo peace she knew, with wrong and misery near: 
 One word sums \\\) the the virtues of her life, 
 One tearful word: She was, indeed, my wile ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Tills mortal me, that served my mortal hour. 
 Now melts to clay heneatii death's mortal jtower; 
 The sins it sinned, I pray pass unregarded ; 
 What worth it had, with worth was well rewarded. 
 
 ITT. 
 
 Our rose l)ud bloomed an hour, then passed awjiy ; 
 
 Death-nipt, it blooms for ns on earth no more;' 
 Yet in hope's realm it blooms in niu-hth'ss day, 
 
 And blooms in sweeter beauty than before. 
 
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 SONNET. 
 
 A SONXET. 
 
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 Slio's (k'ud! God liow lonely am I now! 
 
 WliJit now on eartli mav cheer tins dreary life! 
 No rest, again on earth, my lieart can know, 
 
 But with fierce i,n'ief mnst Avage unending strife. 
 Alone I wander through the silent woods, 
 
 Where oft, rejoicing, she has heeu with me ! 
 J stand alone! my tears hurst forth in floods I 
 
 My streaming eyes, nowhere her form can sec. 
 At night, heart-weary night! I homo return — 
 
 The home she made, ]mt now no longer home I — 
 Now hut a place where sleepless nights I mourn, 
 
 Or pray, with morn, an endless night may come. 
 But night nor day can hri ng again rejiose. 
 Till pitying death my term of suffering close. 
 
 I 
 
1^ L O R E IV C E. 
 
 Hymn and Tune for a Friend. 
 
 
 O, blest im - 
 
 mor . tal an - gels, come, 
 
 Ami 
 
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 aid my..oul to rise; Make sure my heart, ox-alt my mind, My 
 
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 hopes turn to the skies, My hopesturu to tho sk 
 
 2. Wliile still sojourning hero bolow, 
 
 Keep nie from sin iuul fear; 
 Whene'er temptation eross my j)uth, 
 Some saving help be near. 
 
 3. The ritrhteons law, l.y Heaven ordained, 
 
 Ineline me to ol»ev ; 
 My faltering step, make firm and sure; 
 Let wisdom light my way. 
 
 4. With grateful love my heart endue, 
 
 To (iod for blessings given ; 
 More worthy make me, still to see 
 The loving smile of Heaven. 
 
 5. When death's d.irk shadows round mc grow, 
 
 And mortal toil must cease, 
 May r, with joy, the hour approach, 
 In hopes of hlissl'id peace. 
 
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S E I«, 1^ :V A. 13 E, 
 
 
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 From an unpublished Play. 
 
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 tho eaat the day is boru, 
 
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 gladness swells each tuue-ful voice ; I'low'rs breathe sweet welcoino to the 
 
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 moru, And Na-ture bids all hearts rejoice. 
 
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 Nat tire's home. 
 
 come, give new de-light to Nature's home. 
 
 
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 2. The (laipy, pemmod wi' pearls o' dow, 
 
 Has smiled farewell (o parting night; 
 The lark Koars in the heavenly hlue, 
 
 To greet the morning with delight. 
 O eome, come Nature's fairest angel, come; 
 O come, give new delight to Nature's home. 
 
 3. The unseen guardians of her sleep, 
 
 That fancy feed with rosy dreams, 
 Ilavc gone their matin hour to keep, 
 
 And hathe in morning's radiant heams. 
 O come, come Nature's fairest angel, come ; 
 O come, give new delight to Nature's home. 
 
And 
 
 the 
 
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 JOHNTY AND DIKAi 
 
 to 
 
 BY 
 
 PHINEAS PHILGRO, 
 
 ue. 
 
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 ■!i. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 LETTERS FROM AXU TO THE Al'TIIOU. 
 
 My Deau (Ifikaves: 
 
 I write to Ixji ii favor ; or ratht'r, I writo to borr yon will allow mo 
 to confer a favor npon yon ; for, to s]M'ak with a friend's candour, 
 I nuist tell you plainly that yon onsht, thoujih 1 dare . ly you wdl 
 not, consider it a great privilege to aid, in any nieasure, the inii)ort- 
 ant work I am engaged upon. Ihit let that matter adjust itself as 
 it may : 1 will couii; to the i»oint at once. 
 
 You know, of course, how deeply concerned 1 am for the welfare 
 of humanity ; and how terribly I feel my share of responsibility for 
 for its well-l>eing i)i the future — for (he well-being, most especially, of 
 that branch of it to whii-h 1 have the misfortune to belong. You 
 know how sad and hopeless are my forebodings with regard to the 
 (lestiny of this great American family, nidess some check be applied 
 to its manifest degenera<'y, and, I fear, ultimate decay. Consider 
 the nnimentous (iu(\stion calndy, n»y dear friend ; and if yon cannot 
 adopt my views (alas I it is not t>very one that can see a manifest 
 truth) — I say if you cannot adopt my views, I am sure you will — 
 you must sympathise with me in my sorrow and anxiety. Let me 
 state the case: There an; here, npon this continent, some thirty or 
 forty million individuals of our own particular branch of the human 
 family, brought liere by hard necessity from a distant quarter of th(5 
 old world; and as you ari' well aware, every year add>. to their num- 
 bers; and, alas! every year adds some new sign of their degeneracy— 
 I say there are here these thirty or forty millions of white, or rather 
 pale-very pale, emaciated peoitle ujxm this continent, shivering 
 down their rapid descent to their inevitable doom; while there are, 
 mingling amongst th<>m, some four million dusky individuals of a 
 younger, and more vigorous brancliof our species, brought h'jre loi 
 
 (is:.) 
 
I 
 w 
 
 II i 
 
 I i 
 
 1 ! 
 
 18G 
 
 iNTimiircTiox. 
 
 our salvation, a^^ 1 tliiiik, Ity a farsocin.cj Prnvi(l(^nro, from anntlii-r 
 distant (luarttT (if liic old wdrid. Aiil ('(Mild the ricli, luscious 1»1<mmI 
 of tlu'sc four inillidii be )>(iiirc(l into tin- vi'ius, mikI iiiiiiij'cd with 
 the (.'orru])! and iiupdvrri.iht'il blood of tlic unrort'iiiatf forty mil- 
 lionsl— Hut 1 will not repeat myself: I liave already sliown tlin 
 world — at least the small portion (»f it that would listen to me — I 
 say I have, already, shown the world what blessed fruit mii,'lit sprinj^ 
 fiom mini^linji tlu^ blood of tho two races! 
 
 Here, tlien, is my request: You oontem]»lat" publishiii<4. I, too 
 would attain stand forth before the world; l)ut my jxxtr, desiecated 
 brain (due entirely to the unmixed condition of my blool.) can 
 atford me notliin.i^ but a few feei)le lines — too few and feel)le to 
 stand alone; I am, therefore, reduce:! to tlu; necessity of b 'gLjinij 
 you will let my poor trille have a small sjiace besides your own 
 more ample 1h(»u'4lits when you send tlieui forth to t.ike tiie air. I 
 do not for;;et that w 'ditT'r as d;iy an I ni;;lit o:i tlie ([uestion of mix- 
 ing the races; but then, 1, also, do not f<u'L:et that you iiossess that 
 broad catliolicity of sentiment, whiili, with fairplay, fears neither 
 lies, nor tlie fath"r of lies. Siiould you refuse me. however, I shall 
 fear I am mistaken as to th(' liberality of your sp'rit; and I shall 
 tell yo\i, frankly, that I think you ar(! afraid— that I suspect you 
 do not feel (piite certain of your ability to jirove that white is not 
 the whiter for the addition of a little black. 
 (,'onfidently awaitini,' your reply 
 1 am, now as ever, 
 
 Willing to obligo or be oblir;ed, 
 Your true friei\<i, 
 
 rJIlNK.VS I'HlUiliO. 
 
 I»1y Dkak I'lrti.r.nrt, 
 
 From the m;uiy hints you have let fall in our late disjiutes, I 
 anti(^ipated some thint^ of your present very aj^ieable reijuest. 1 
 felt (luite certain you w«>uld, in some way, endeavour to confer 
 upon me tlu' inestimable " priveletje " of becomin;^ a partner in 
 your " momiMitous philaniropie duties." 1 felt <iuit(^ (!erlain of 
 this; but I felt (piite as certain I should decline the honour; yea, 
 though we should beconu' eternal stranj^ers in conse([uence. What 
 the— r>ut 1 will not use strong lanirua<];(>. I will be calm. But what 
 1 say, have I to do with (he diltercnt races of mankind? Did I 
 ]»laee them upon the earth? and now that they are here, am I 
 ai'connlable for their wi-akness ;iiul imperfection? Am I changed 
 w itii the duty of opposing fate, and with nuiking aiiy, or all of them 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1; 
 
 > » 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 |r in 
 II of 
 
 i.l I 
 
 In I 
 
 .4.-. I 
 
 lir'.il 
 
 a fi K turf 11 pnn th^parlli? Am I to ('(»nsi(l»>r nuNcIf a criininiil if f 
 do not try to turn tlic r-oursi' (»f tliat i):irtiiuiar nice, wliicli, as you 
 say, is ruiliitv^ down it; rapi.l dc-ic'iit to its iii.'vitabic dooiu'.' 
 Prcacli till you arc si)(m'i'1i1( ss, my friciiil, if yon will; hut you 
 preach to till' (leaf. ^Vl' pilialtlc atrl, mucli-hi'iiilii'd individuals of 
 the doomed rare, h ive a stroii'X fancy f.ir followiuLr the hcut of our 
 own sweet inclination and iiistinets, re<(ardless of c(Mise(|ueiices; and 
 I can as'-uT" you. my friend, it w ill reiiiiire a louder and sweeter voice 
 then yours, to persuade us to forego our present pleasures, in order to 
 ])roci!re some very (|ue.^tional)le advantai^c foi' some, perhajis, very 
 (pu , .ionahle ]teoi»|e in the far »fT future. N'o, no, my dear UKiunier; 
 we are atteiidii)'.^ to our own imm"diat" atl'airs. We arc too husv 
 eudcavourin-Jt to provide for the many present, urijeut wants of our 
 own, to concern ourselves al)out the troubles of those that may follow 
 us. Hut thisdoomcd and decayin-j; race, which you are so mu h con- 
 cerned al)>ut, and to which you havo tht; misfortune to h loiin;'.' 
 Has it )iot already existed for thousands, some .say hundreds of 
 thousaiuls of years, — nay sonn^ say even for millions of years it has 
 existed ujk)!! the earth; and w(Uild it have hecoiue totally extinci if 
 you had not apjieared, to teach it how its exi*!tence may he perpe- 
 tuated.' Tt will last my time at all events; and if it cannot keep its 
 nose ahovt! the clover when I am sjjoiie, that is n(.t my alTair. [ 
 say acjain, 1 am not tlu^ author of my race; nor shall 1 consider my- 
 self rcspoiisihle for its weakness and imperfection.s. 
 
 liut have yi)U, indeeil. the itrcsumptioii to sui>posp, (I speak with 
 a friend's candor), — I say, have you the ]iresumption to sui)]m)S(< 
 the continuance of your race depends on any tiun.14 that may llow 
 from your "p )')r desiccated brain;" — that if it will not recup'rat*^ 
 itself accordin,;]r to your delectable th'ory, it mu-t melt fro;a tie; 
 face of the earth like snow in a i^reaf Ihaw? au<l that this cdiitiueiit 
 will ai^ain beconie a wilderness, ai,'ain L.iven up to the red man aiul 
 the butralo? Once more I say it will last my time; and for the 
 rest, what is that to me? Xay, 1 firmly believe it will continue ■(ill 
 it has used up its limited sloidc of coal aiul timber; and when it \i 
 compelled to seek some new melluxl of bottlin'4 the sumuu-r's sun- 
 shine to keep Itself from freezing in the winter, p(>rhaps it mii,dit 
 not matter much if the reil man should resume .jiossessioii for an 
 aireortwo. But your re(piest— the favour you would confer upon 
 me'.' I have vowed— almost sworn— 1 would have notiuiij,' whatever 
 to do with your rubbish— 1 mean your lines. IJut you know my 
 weakness, you cunninjf man. Vou talk of my catholicity of senti- 
 ment— of my readiness, at all times, to i)it truth auain-.t :i lie, with- 
 out fear of the result. You know 1 never could ^tand that kind of 
 
i 
 
 I i; 
 
 SI 
 
 ii! 
 
 
 188 
 
 INTUODrCTIOX. 
 
 fl!i1t<«ry. Yoii liavo roiviuorcil. Voiir-\vlint-(lo-y<>n-nall-it sliall 
 
 li;ivi' im iiiriiiu, llir <'uii>t'([in'nc»( W, what it iiiny. Uiit 1 iiiakc tliis 
 
 sfipiilatioii, and iiii Icr ii(» oirfUiiHtaiU'cH will I huilj^c lioiii it. I 
 
 stipiilalt', t'i>r:iially and solemnly, tiiat my sliari' in this business 
 
 shall not hind nie to earry your princiiil •-. into elTert. In whatever 
 
 contracts I may, in future, liml it exin-vllent to I'orm with the (jtlier 
 
 sex, I shall liriuly assert iny full rii^lit anil liberty to choose nccord- 
 
 in-,' to my own inclination. Thonyh I may assist in uiviny your 
 
 abominable doctrine to th'- world, I solemnly protest that I will v.>t 
 
 f luce it to i)ractice in my own person. A few shades one miidit 
 
 not object to, p"rhaps, but a full dip! I will not think of it. With 
 
 this condition fairly un(h.'rstuod, I submit to your favour and con- 
 
 xent to be — 
 
 Your nuic'li obliged friend, 
 
 A. (;kk.vves. 
 
 ^\\ Deau CiiKWF.s: 
 
 You have consented to givo my " aboniitiablo doctrine" an "air- 
 in.;. " 1 knew you would. Call it what you please, so that you 
 giv(^ It a fair chance. You i)rotest you will not reduce my "abom- 
 inable doctrine" to practice? 15ut you solemnly i)r(»tested, you 
 know, you would have nothiu'^ to «h» with its ]>ublication. One 
 Ihint^at a time. I know you my friend, Onethinu at a timel say. 
 1 have hoi)es. I eiiclos^e you the '•rnbbidi" with this. Look it 
 over and let me know what you think of It. IJut, of cinirse, I 
 know what you will say. I am, as l)efore, 
 
 Your obliged and obli;t!;ing friend, 
 
 rillNEA> VI11L(^.]K). 
 
 ^Iv Df.au Phii.ouo, 
 
 I have read your— I will not give it a name— T am eommitted. 
 Had the stulT l)een ten timi's more distasteful, I am pledge<I to pub- 
 lish it. Ihit can you say, with any pretention to oonscienee, that 
 you have not taken an unfair and dishonorable advantage of me? 
 Have you not m(»st outragiously abused the condfience I placed in 
 you? However, 1 am committed; and I cannot retreat. If you are 
 not ashamed to tell the world you an; ready to pm away your own 
 lawfully wedded wife, and take ten others In her i)lace, the very 
 least I can say, (for 1 am determined to be mod-rate,) you ouglit 
 to be asluuneil to set yourself np as a teacher of anything. Still 
 I must keep my word, My only lioi)e is, the world will see how 
 very reluctantly I have come into tliis very disagreable business 
 
 Yours, much mortified, 
 
 A. GKEAVES. 
 
JOHNTY AND DINAH. 
 
 ITowI O how I worship tlico, 
 Goddess of my destiny ! 
 how thy dusky tyranny 
 
 lias bound my heart in shivery ! 
 
 Break, break, my galling chain ! 
 (Quench, O quench my burning pajn I 
 Let mo taste sweet peace again, 
 And ever in thy heart remain. 
 
 [U). 
 
 Ease, O ease my bitter smart ! 
 
 Let mo still bo where thou art! 
 
 Bid mo not from thee depart; 
 
 Or break, O break my doomed heart ! 
 
 Some days ago, no matter where, 
 In strolling forth to take tho air, 
 As carelessly T on was walking, 
 I chanced to hear a couple talking: 
 I heeded not their conversation, 
 'Till 1 heard 'twas on miscegenation. 
 Bless me, thought I, but that 's a subject, 
 To hear discussed, I must not neglect : 
 
 (189) 
 
190 
 
 JOIIXTY AND DINAH. 
 
 l>por'lally as liero the roxcs 
 
 Arc an nature noods tlioni wlion nho mixes. 
 
 It may not, pt'rlia])^, bo thoiii^lit polito 
 
 To linten first, and then to write 
 
 What l)oys and ^irlH Hay when they woo— 
 
 How foolishly tlioy hill and coo; 
 
 Jiut tliis, I thii»U, my case excuses: 
 
 My tale has philantrophic uses, 
 
 And must bo hoard in j)ublic j)laccH, 
 
 Uy all who wish to mix the races. 
 
 ]Jut lot's no more our tale preface. 
 But let the woosters take their [dace; 
 And l)i nail's voice, we'll first give ear to; 
 13ut slight her, let us not appear to; 
 For though she's black, she's worth attention, 
 . As 3'ou'll perceive by what 1 mention. 
 
 Johnty, (her lover's name was Johnty, 
 The woe-worn nephew of his Aunty), 
 Good Gracious, Johnty, don't you flatter? 
 You used to curse mo like a hatter, 
 And call me names, for instance skunk j 
 You seemed to think a body stunk ; 
 You would not work with me, nor pray, 
 Nor ride with me, at least by day; 
 You would not join me in my creed ; 
 And now you'd join with mo to breed. 
 IJut goodness Johnty, this is strange ; 
 Who'd e'er have thought of such a change ? 
 liut let mo see ; miscegenation ? 
 That's mixing for a generation ? 
 
JoIIXTV AND DINAH. 
 
 101 
 
 I own ll»o matter's quite provokin*^: 
 But then, (leur Johnty, uint you joking ? 
 
 Jokin„', dear Dituili, did you Hxy'( 
 I never joke: 'tis not wsiy : 
 I ne'er indui;re in sinful nonsense : 
 Jokinjx airrees not with my eonseiencc. 
 1 tliink of nolliini; but my «luty, 
 Kxeept my Dimili's precious brauly — 
 A beauty so I'at, rich and hiscious! 
 "NVhieh makes me feel this moment just aa 
 If I'd <lrunk divine elixt r — 
 Some re«;ular youtli-aiul-beauty fixer: 
 Kay e'en the smell of her sweet body 
 llevives me like the fumes o' tod<ly. 
 
 O golly, Johnty, thin is bully ; 
 IJut don't you sec my head is woolly? 
 And tliat I'm black as Aunty's stove? 
 But nothiiii; is so blind as love. 
 
 Your doul)ts, dear Dinah, how tliey shock mo! 
 I ho])e you don't intend to mock me? 
 Or think, with you 1 fear to pair, 
 Because you're black with woolly hair? 
 These arc but signs that you're the creature, 
 From sunny south, designed by nature 
 To renovate my shriveling form 
 With tropic juice, thick, rich and warm, 
 And save mo from my pending doom. 
 And bear me past a threatening tomb. 
 
 0, Johnty dear, you are so ])ressing; 
 I can't refuse some slight caressing. 
 
; I 1 I 
 
 11.12 JOII.NTV AND DlNAJl. 
 
 Kut tlicn, dear Johnty, l»ow '11 ^ve do it ? 
 
 If you should wed, you perhaps might rue it; 
 
 The other way, we've often tried it ; 
 
 But preachers say we should avoid it. 
 
 To either way, I've no ohjection ; 
 
 Yet sin, you know, meets such correction 
 
 That, though I own my blood is warm, 
 
 I must say nay, if but for form. 
 
 O Dinah, dear, my jetty jewel. 
 
 Pray hear me S])ealc, and don't be cruel : 
 
 My piteous case, I lay before you j 
 
 Look on 't, dear Dinah, I implore you. 
 
 Though young in years, I'm old and battered ; 
 
 My bloodless frame is worn and shattered. 
 
 My pate, too, Dinah, 's bare and cold ; 
 
 The people sware I'm growing old : 
 
 "What hair I have is harsh and scanty, 
 
 And turning gray before I'm twenty. 
 
 O spare me from that poll of thino 
 
 A little wool to plant on mine. 
 
 O save me from my piteous fate ! 
 
 Or still more sufferings must I state ? 
 
 My eyes are bleared ; my teeth arc rotten ; 
 
 My body's lank — my belly shotten ; 
 
 While you 're as plump as purple peaches, 
 I'm skin and bone in boots and brooches. 
 
 Dinah, dear, pray have compassion; 
 
 Don't leave me shriveling in this fashion, 
 
 But give me from thy juicy nature 
 
 Some pulp, to till my shrunken feature; 
 
JullMY AND DINAH. 
 
 lua 
 
 And do not mind the parson's racket, 
 But hIuIT my pants and pad my jacket. 
 But I'm exhausted with my feeling, 
 Wliile trembling at your feet I'm kneelin 
 BeiTixiniT vou '11 hear my sa<l confession, 
 
 o» 
 
 And irrant mo sure and swift 
 
 pos 
 
 session 
 
 Of means to save ray dwindling breed — 
 Your own sweet self, my nature's need — 
 
 But here I heard a hasty hustle; 
 I thou<dit it miixht bo Dinah's bustle, 
 'Till Johnty cried, as out he rushes : 
 A riviil 's sneaking round the bushes ! 
 I heard his low infernal hissing; 
 It sounded just like Dinah's kissing. 
 Mv curses on him and his race ! 
 lie's crawling round in every place; 
 Ouo can't perform the meanest duty, 
 Not oven taste of Dinah's beauty, 
 But he's at hand, to strike with dread, 
 And knock one's courage on the head. 
 But come, my Dinah, let's bo goin', 
 And seek some other place to woo in. 
 The best of folks may make mistakes ; 
 We'll mix it yet, in spite of snakes ; 
 Our blood we'll yet amalgamate, 
 And such a brood we'll procreate 
 As o'er tho world shall reign supreme. 
 And change the whole of nature's scheme: 
 I then can cry to all creation, 
 M}' Dinah's brought me sweet salvation. 
 
K- 
 ;} 
 
 S3 
 
 'I 
 
 l< ,!.■ 
 
 194 .lOIlNTV AND DI\A1[. 
 
 This talo T tell willi ^ric^f profound, 
 For I'm iti wedlock firmly bound. 
 And Hadder still, (1 Hpealc with Hhamc), 
 My partner's svhit^', and I'm the name. 
 IJut duty's stern imperious f'oreo 
 ]iids me at onco to seek divorce — 
 Put ott' my wife, and in her ]tlaco, 
 Take on(! of Diiuih's luscious raeo. 
 Tlie task is hard, hut I can (h) it: 
 I can, I vow, as I'm a j)oet; 
 Nay, were there ten put in her piaco, 
 I'd take them all, to mix my race. 
 
 Now hoys and <^irls take my advice, 
 And weigh it well before you splice ; 
 Hear duty's call while still you're single, 
 And let white blood, with black blood mingle ; 
 Don't mix and wed with one another ; 
 Let each white girl choose some black brother- 
 Each boy look out, before he wed, 
 Some sable partner for his IahI. 
 And thus we'll make that glorious mixture 
 Which on the earth, shall })i'ove a fixture j 
 And for those ills of blood that's pure, 
 We'll work au everlasting cure. 
 
 THE EXD.