/ / *< , yjQL FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY THOUGHT!^ N0V 6 1933 ^ IN PAST YEARS, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE CATHEDRAL. WiliUM-ft Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, he alway acceptable in Thy sight, Lord, my Strength, and my Redeemer. Psalm xix. 14, 15. OXFORD, JOHN HENRY PARKER; J. G. AND F. RIVINGTON, LONDON. 1838. BAXTER, PRINTER, OXFORD. ADVERTISEMENT. The pieces contained in this volume have been written at various periods during the last twelve years. It has not been found convenient to arrange them altogether accord- ing to their dates, but they are classed for the most part under a designation of the place where they were severally composed. The writer is fully aware of their many imperfections, which have in some degree arisen from the fact of their having been written rather to give vent to the passing feelings of his own mind, than with any idea of publication. And since this latter intention has been in his mind, he has spared no pains in endeavouring to amend them, but he has found the task impossible ; what- ever improvements he may have made in sense or rhyme had the effect of taking IV ADVERTISEMENT. away so much from the freshness, and, con- sequently, from the genuineness of the first thought, that he has been induced again to adopt the former expression in most instances, and perhaps it would have been better if he had done so in all. With regard to the private or domestic nature of some of the subjects, it is a satisfaction to the Writer's own mind, that in all doubtful instances of the kind he is submitting to the judgment and washes of others in making them public. St. Luke's Day, 1838. CONTENTS. ®&e Soften ^allcp. Page Dedication 3 The Vale in Adversity 4 The Deaf and Dumb Boy 6 Sweet Dweller of the Valleys 6 The Solitary 7 The Brook 8 The same 9 Heed not a world 10 The good, they drop around us 11 Poverty .... 12 Affluence 13 Consumption 14 The same 15 Oh, talk not of her eye's ethereal blue 16 Angels of peace be o'er you 17 I stood between the dying and the dead 18 His spirit hath gone forth to regions blest 19 How beautiful the host 20 These are but gleams 21 VI CONTENTS. Children of Cain and Abel 22 Children of Cain and Abel 23 Absent Friends 24 The same 25 The Brothers 26 The same 27 Absence 28 Discontented Thoughts 29 Pity hath deeply touched th *e 30 Would that my hands 31 Resolution 32 Resignation 33 The Fellow-labourers 34 The little Mariner 35 Autumnal Seed-vessels 36 The inner Woild 37 The Birth 38 The Baptism 39 The sleeping Infant 40 The Infant's Death 41 The Mother 42 To a lost Child 43 Bereavement 44 Consolation 45 The September Noon 46 The October Night 47 The Thunder Storm 48 The Winter's Night 49 The Evening after a Snow Storm 50 The same 51 CONTENTS. VII The Seasons 52 Nature and Grace 53 A dream was o'er me 54 Evening 55 The Comet 56 Methought there was around 57 There is a wound within me 58 Oh I have done those things 59 I have been straying in the paths of night 60 The Crucifixion 61 Self-detection 62 If I in golden idol 63 The Glow Worm 64 Ask me no more 65 1&i>t ©ounttg pastor. The Return 69 The Retrospect . 70 Sacred Reserve of the Church 71 Village Music . . . . 72 The Recovery . 73 The Pastor's difficulty 74 Second Childhood 75 The same . 76 The same 77 The passing Beggar 78 Signs of Mortality 79 Vlll CONTENTS. National Apprehensions 80 Friends abroad 81 Domestic Trials 82 Hoping against Hope 83 Partial Affections 84 The true Friend 85 The Secret of Cheerfulness 86 The False Light 87 Return of Spring 88 The Complaint 89 Religious Emotions 90 Reproof 91 St. Paul 92 cruel Charity 93 Christian Reserve 94 The same 95 The Divine Presence 96 Buoy thou us up 97 The true Patriot 98 The Unsheathing of the Sword 99 The Ancient and Modern Town 100 Oh for the rod of ancient discipline! 101 Neglect of Fast Days 102 The same 103 The same 104 The same 105 The Church's Lament for neglected Fast Days 106 The Irresolute Churchman's Answei 107 Thoughts of Death 108 Parting . 109 CONTENTS. IX Wbi ifttountam ?^ome. Day and Night strange sentinels on Time's watch 1 13 The Mountain Stream 125 Thoughts of Home 126 The Sea and Mountains at Night 127 Irregular Thoughts in Rhyme 134 Life and Death 149 The Witness to all Nations 150 A Fragment on the death of Eve 154 Spirit of Gentleness 158 Recollections of Childhood 160 Sadness 166 Recovery 167 Consolation 170 Repose .... 172 The still Night 175 Sickness 176 Walk to the Sea 179 An Evening Scene 181 Expressions of a little Girl 182 Farewell to the Waterfall 184 Departing .... 186 Evening Bells 188 Returning .... 190 Death of the Bishop of Moray 191 The bereaved Church in Scotland . 192 St. David's .... 193 The same ..... 194 CONTENTS. Wbt HUbw's 33anfe. A Youthful Wish . 197 The Banks in Summer 198 The Banks in Autumn 200 A November Scene . 202 Absence .... 205 Thoughts against Weariness 207 The Analogy 209 The Presence of God 212 A Waking Thought 214 An Orphan Child 216 A Child two years old 217 The Cure for Regret 220 Heavenly Signs 222 Written in a Church Yard . 226 When thou on bended knees thy soul dost p Dur 227 Self-denial .... 229 Christmas .... 231 The Penitent 232 Faith .... 234 Rejoicing in Hope . 235 Lead us not into Temptation 236 Remorse alleviated 238 Illness of Absent Friends 240 The Retrospect . 241 A Summer Evening 243 Another . 244 The Omnipresent Friend 246 CONTENTS. XI Evil out of Good 248 Holy Communion . 251 Thoughts of Heaven 252 The Banks revisited 256" ®j)e Sbatrrtj eTttg. The Sacred City 261 The Church in England 262 Lift up thy voice, and cry aloud 263 Ecclesia Migratura 265 The Ark of Christ's Church 267 Fear and Love 269 Ideal Anticipations . 274 Spring and Autumn 279 The Advent 285 Vanity .... 289 Time .... 292 The Respite 293 Methought that there appear'd the Judge's Throne 295 Dies irae, Dies ilia . 297 Mercy .... 302 The Complaint 304 There was one whom I made my stay 309 I would I had some lowly lot 311 The Approach of the Cholera 312 The Solitary Christmas 314 Discontent and the Solitary Pastor 320 The Hymns of Nature 325 Xll CONTENTS. The Spirit's Progress • . . 32^ Science and Revelation . ■ . 333 A Summer's Night . . . 337 The Nightingale at the Bridge . . 339 Long years have pass'd since we together met 343 If among lost mankind love is thus sweet . 344 But see where Eve, riding on cloudy seas . 345 The Voluntary .... 346 Amavit nos quoque Daphnis . . 347 The Natural and Spiritual Man . . 349 Wroxton Abbey .... 354 Written after the preceding . . 360 The Musical Box .... 362 Dreams ..... ^65 In Imitation of Lucretius . . 368 The Recognition of Ulysses . . 375 Sacrilege ..... 376 The Coronation on a Fast-day of the Church 385 The days of the Royal Martyr . . 386 Notes ..... 387 Cfje (Soften ©alltp. Cftf 6oRitn ftallep* DEDICATION. I ask no fabled one of Castaly, Who in some haunted cave doth fondly feed On phantoms, that 'tween light and darkness breed : Thou to all founts of good that art the sea, Thou that in breast of meek-eyed charity Dost build Thy temple, unto Thee 1 plead, Oh, let me from these vain high thoughts be freed ; That unreproved I may devote to Thee, Whate'er of healing herb, or weedy flower, By rural church, meek nook, or mouldering tower, Thou giv'st to gather, far from rude turmoil : Come with serener thoughts, a golden shower, Freshening the weary spirit after toil, Nor let the serpent Pride around Thine altar coil ! b 2 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. II. THE VALE IN ADVERSITY No mine of gold along the winding vale Unfolds its glittering treasures to the moon; No golden urn the beechen steep to crown; But crouching from the dark December gale Sits window'd Raggedness, and blows her nail With empty wallet. Yet, if ought be known Fruitful of golden thoughts in penury sown, Thine urn may flow with gold and never fail ; A hidden well no wintry chains can marr. E'en now if there some spirit's shadowy car Were lingering, thou to him thy summer mirth, And lovelier hues may'st wear ; for toys of earth Fortune may gild, but night to worlds afar Openeth thine eye, and things of heav'nly birth. a The Golden Valley was mostly written about the year 1829, in a place of that name. THE GOLDEN VALLE1 • III. THE DEAF AND DUMB BOY. 'Neath yon straw cot below the sheltering wood, Where the slant sun-beam sleeps so placidly, Is one whose tongue and ear nature doth tie, With her to walk in sweetest solitude; And oft a finger, in his pensive mood, Is on the chord of his soul's harmony, Waking meek thankfulness, when none are nigh, Save spirits that are aye around the good. To him nor sings the summer nightingale, Nor thrush her wintry matin; but yon vale Ne'er wakes to morn, nor sounds of evening cease, But he with upturn'd eye, and thoughts that move Lowliness inexpressive, and deep love, Holds commune with bright hope, and spirits of peace. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. IV. Homely scenes and simple views Lowly thoughts may best infuse. Sweet dweller of the valleys, with Heav'n's key And mirror, wherein Wisdom aye doth look, Where shall I build thy shrine, Humility ? Beside that lonely moor, the valley's nook, And porch of rural Church, such as the book Of memory glasseth ever ; from on high Where seen, with that calm footway tending nigh, Which with its many feet hath spann'd the brook, A bridgeway rude, a stony centipede. Where all is still around thee, lonely spot, Save stilly heard o'er ever- waving weed, And the meek eye of blue Forget-me-not, The sound of waters, and, by ivy cot, The red-breast chaunts at noon his wintry need. THE GOLDEN VALLKV. V. THE SOLITARY. More sweet to me the note of lonely bird That sits and sings to the autumnal eve, Than all the bowers of Spring, when Love doth heave The stirring ravishment. Oh, 'tis a chord Too high for this poor world, and still is heard The key of Sadness, — unions to bereave, And meetings but to part. Still Hope doth weave A sable hue 'neath all she can afford, Or hath to lend. But sweet that cheering tone, To him whom God hath hedg'd round with the thrall Of pensive solitude — a sacred call, Bidding to lean on Him, and Him alone, Keeping calm watch o'er frail humanity, And at the fountains drink of Love that cannot die. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. VI. THE BROOK. Meek Brook, that from the haunts of men dost creep, Still ever and anon loving to steal To thine own sweet retirement, and reveal Unseen thy gentle bosom, calm and deep, Unto the azure Heavens, that fairer sleep Beneath thy tranquil mirror. 'Neath thy bower Ministering freshness to the little flower, And roots of grateful willow, taught to steep In thy sweet stream its summer canopy; Many regard thee not, but turn from thee To where the meeting waves rage beauteously, Where down wild steeps some silvery Naiad runs, Or watery Bacchanal sports in sylvan suns; Thou calm and deep art ever moving by. THK GOLDEN VALLEY. VII. THE SAME. Art stilly moving by the unseen vale, To thy bright ocean! Spirit calm and clear, Thankful thy cross in tranquil love to bear : Meek soul, thy deeds are not upon the gale, Or tongues of men, that with thine own shall fail, But written in Heav'n's adamant. Still fear And walk with lowliness ; nor think that here Lost are thy tears, which doors of Heav'n assail, To fall in dews of blessing. Not for loss Thou tend' st the lamp within ; for it shall be A light around thee thro' the caves of death. And at thy side, when thou lay est down thy cross, Shall thy good Angel stand, with suppliant wreath, Faith's golden fruits and deeds of charity. 10 THE GOLDEN VALLEY, VIII. Heed not a world that neither thee can keep, Nor vestige of thee, whatsoe'er thy lot, Of thee or thine, nor mark when thou art not. No more ! engulph'd within the sounding deep ! Faint and more faint the billowy circles sweep, And trembling own the shock, then 'tis forgot ; The leaf's still image anchors on the spot ; The wave is in its noon-day couch asleep. We mark'd the eddying whirlpools close around Where he hath been ; but who the path profound, What thought can follow 'neath the watery floor, 'Mid sights of strangeness and untravell'd caves, Ocean's wild deeps of ever-moving waves, A boundless new horizon spreading round ? THE (iOI.DJN V U.IJ;Y. 11 IX. The good — they drop around us, one by one, Like stars when morning breaks; though lost to sight, Around us are they still in Heaven's own light, Building their mansions in the purer zone Of the Invisible : when round are thrown Shadows of sorrow, still serenely bright, To faith they gleam; and blest be sorrow's night That brings the o'er-arching Heav'ns in silence down, A mantle set with orbs unearthly fair ! Alas ! to us they are not, though they dwell, Divinely dwell in memory ; while life's sun, Declining, bids us for the night prepare, That we, with urns of light, and our task done, May stand with them in lot unchangeable. 12 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. X. POVERTY. Fear not, thy cruise of oil, it shall not cease; One greater than Elijah sitteth here, Though Poverty's grim stare and iron fear Hedgeth thee round. Thy cruise shall not decrease, Nor barrel waste : the sun is then most near When hid in winter ; and the bow of peace Binds the dark cloud. For all to Him are dear — The king who sits in golden palaces, The bird that sings to winter's hoary tress : He is all- Infinite ! greater and less In Him are not ; but, as the helpless child Doth to the yearning mother dearer prove, Them to Himself He hath the nearest styled, Who have on earth no blessing, but His love. r H r. GOLDEN VALLEY. 13 XL AFFLUENCE. Lazarus is at the gate,, thou know si it not, Or ah, too well I know thy heart would bleed, Howbeit used on gentle thoughts to feed ; But waird about with blessings is thy lot, While dark winds prowl without, and are forgot ; Nor ever dost thou see, nor hear, nor heed Penury's stern family, from clouds of need Cowering and huddling 'neath the wintry cot. Thou knorv'st it not, thy Saviour is on earth ! And thou may'st find Him in affliction's smile By the lorn widow's side, and the cold hearth Of earth-bow'd Eld, and clothe him in His poor. Oh, haste, for time is on the wing, and while Thou know'st it not, thy Judge is at the door ! 14 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XII. CONSUMPTION. Her ways were ways of innocence and glee, But pain is all her dower and stern disease, While darkness shrouds the shore where sorrows cease; At Death's dim portal, wed with agony, She sits, 'mid sights of fever'd phantasy ; While ever and anon Ocean's wild roar, And that dark shadowy boat, is at the door ; And earth-born vapours veil that star on high That lights eternity : but yet to Heav'n, At each calm interval to anguish giv'n, She lifted her full eye, and thankful smile : Meek soul, to sorrow reconcil'd, awhile, And each dark hour, with thorns of sorrow strewn, Shall add a gem to thine eternal crown. I III. GOLDEN \AI,I,I.V. 15 XIII. THE SAME. It was a bud upon a cottage door " That hung its head in dying languishment" Pensively drooping, nor in glass-roof d store E'er blossom'd ought more fair. A blast was sent From out the House of Pain, that built its tent And made its lodging in her bosom's core To suffer is our dowry, but the more Touch not the pining chord of discontent In the great anthem, till the mighty scroll Of mystery all the vision doth unroll. And what tho 5 dark the gate, and gloomy be The vestibule of immortality ? Pass on — e'en now shall burst upon thy soul The temple of Eternal Deity ! lb* THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XIV. Oh, talk not of her eye's ethereal blue, Instinct with soul and the heart's eloquence, The spirit's music thro' the veil of sense, So langui shingly fair ! ah, it is true There was a nameless sweetness 'neath that hue Where on her cheek the rose so smilingly O'er the envious lily sat in mastery ; And that strange worldly gentleness that threw A spell around her : such are hues of gold That paint the unsightly cloud, for what are these, If wed with unbaptized vanities, To those meek ornaments that grow not old, Which are to God and His good angels dear, And might win them on thee to minister? i hi: golden valley. 17 XV. Angels of peace be o'er you, and that Dove That dips her wing in the ambrosial well Which heals life's sorrows, ever a sweet spell Haunting your silent path- way, tranquil love ; Such as may spring on earth and bloom above ! Spirits affectionate, safe may ye dwell In Hope and Faith's heav'n-climbing citadel. There are sustaining and sustain'd will prove A crown of beauty, tho' they droop alone. Sweet honey-suckle, she in some airy bower With clustering tubes of sweetness, and meek crown Steals up unseen, then from her leafy tower Looks forth, and smiles ■ the elm 'neath many a flower, Is wondering at a sweetness not his own. 18 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XVI. " The heart knoweth his own bitterness." 1 stood between the dying and the dead, The cloek still told the minutes, and for spring A housed flower prepared its blossoming; Without were busy sounds, of gladness bred, Creation's hum, Childhood's light voice and tread; And heard at interval o'er muttering reel, And muffled undersounds of thundering wheel, The anvil musical. As torch- gleams shed On ebony more deeply shew within The bed of darkness, came that jocund din. We creep 'mid creeping things and then are not ; That heaven-born thing within, its mighty lot Glassing in shadows, heavenward strives, and then Bursting the gilded bubble — is forgot. THE (iOI.DEN VALLEY. 1!) XVI T. " But the righteous hath hope in his death." His spirit hath gone forth to regions blest ; But o'er his hoary head, serenely bright, Coldly linger 'd a smile, then sunk in night. When day hath gone, thus on the snowy crest Of the white Alpine monarch, sun-beams rest, Wreathing a roseate diadem ef light, Seen like some star upon the crystal height Glorious abiding. On lake Leman's breast Sits one in stedfast gaze, with pensive oar Stilly suspended, till night's sabler dress Descending, veils the solemn loveliness. Strange hour of holy thought, when the great door Seems half-unbarr'd, and where night's shades oppress, Darkly disclosed gleams the eternal shore ! c 2 20 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XVIII. " He hath made every thing beautiful in his time." How beautiful the host of darkness born, That walk the Heavens, and golden sentry keep Around the cloud-roof 'd hall where mortals sleep ! How beautiful the veil by evening worn! How beautiful the rosy-mantled morn! And ether blue her crystal robes between ; And echo in her moon-lit cave unseen, Mocking from far the torrent's voice forlorn! And, oh, more beautiful than shadowy light By evening won, or morning's rosy hue, More beautiful than echo heard at night, The deep blue eye where spirit sits enthron'd! As, 'tween her crystal robes, when ether blue Appearing tells of something deep beyond. I III GOLDEN VALLEY. 21 XIX. 11 Whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever." These are but gleams that from the palace break Of Him, whose Name is Wonderful., that bring Glad tidings, we are still beneath His wing ; In Nature's beauteous temple lurks the snake, And darker gleams in Nature's crystal lake Fall'n man's deformity, whose heart doth fling O'er earth and Heav'n its dark o'ershadowing. That torrent's voice of desolation spake, Night's raven crew, and shades of darkness crowd On Eve's bright skirts, Morn's mantle veils the cloud ; And wan Decay, 'neath light of beauty's eye, In mockery sits, and builds her silent shroud. And is this all that bids us cling to thee, Poor widow'd wreck of fall'n humanity? 22 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XX. THE TARES AND THE WHEAT. Children of Cain and Abel, blended flock ! No more, ye sons of Heav'n, ye sit alone, A spot of sunshine o'er the mountains thrown, 'Mid a dark world. Thus where the echoes mock The Arve's deep sounding step with rended rock, And tawny host of waters, hurrying down Breathless to battle : far the indignant Rhone Bridles his horned front from the rude shock, And deeply rolls in walls of crystal pent, And uncommingling majesty along, Nor from their ranks his troops of sapphire break ; But soon that watery king, his isles among, With miry crown, and robes all rudely rent, Sits mourning, wash'd in vain in Leman's lake. THE CiOLDKN VALLEY. 2.> XXI. " Let both grow together until the harvest." Children of Cain and Abel, in one fold ! Day and Night, blending on one battle ground, As 'neath the Arctic, where, in gloom and gold, The midnight Sun lowers on the horizon's bound, Contending with the Moon ; o'er the profound Twilight doth of the strife the balance hold. Dread scene, where the good Shepherd far around Seeketh His own amid the stormy wold. All sit beneath the canopy of wrath ; All 'neath the cloud, which o'er the Judge's path Shall ope in thunder ; tho' the Covenant bow Lightens the gathering gloom : upon the brow The brand is now no more, but in the heart ; And He who reads the heart alone can know, 24 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXII. ABSENT FRIENDS. It was a voice from where, all drear and dun, They dwell so sweetly 'neath the canopy Of aye enduring smoke, save when the Sun Hath climb'd behind Heav'n's cloud-hung tapestry, And from his Alp of clouds looks gloomily With big red orb : it was a voice that told Of angular- visag'd crowds seeking for gold, And the vex'd usurer's brow all-hurrying by, And Pleasure's gilded mask, making night day, Warring with nature. Yes, and they are there, Children of Duty, who, from noisy care And late-earnd slumber, steal in thought to stray O'er some rude spot hem'd in by mountains rude, And drink fresh thoughts from nature's solitude. THE GOLDEN VALU.\ ■ 25 XXII 1. THE SAME. Yes, those are there nor wealth nor pleasure own, But Duty sternly binds, curbing the will, Sternly — then softly — and then sweetly — till They find the chain o'er their affections thrown All gold, and leading to a golden crown. Generous and noble spirits, envy not Me pensive and the peaceful valley's lot ; E'en now for Duty's rod your souls shall own Love's Sibyl wand, which sways the earth and sea And spirits of Heav'n. She, when the fiery hoof Of red Destruction rends yon grove of towers, And charnel of corruption, she, aloof, Shall lead to where the Eternal City soars, And your free souls shall breathe in liberty. 26 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXIV. THE BROTHERS. My brother ! one long-cherish'd thought hath been At my heart's fountain, that we might have trod, Link'd in one destiny, along life's road, E'en as in heart ; sweet fellowship ! but 'tween Our shadowings and their ends doth intervene One that doth love us, shaping all for good. His hand around me in my solitude In syllables of mercy, have I seen Visibly character'd. I read and bless The high behest with heart-felt thankfulness. My brother ! there is that which sweet to me Whispereth, if I attain that heavenly shore, That I shall be with thee, nor seas no more, Nor mountains part us everlastingly. i Hi GOLDEN VALLEY. 27 XXV. THE SAME. And since that I have arm'd my heart to yield All that my heart held dear ; methinks that He, Who is the spirit's golden panoply, With a strange heedlessness my soul hath steel'd To ought of earth's betiding. Heaven's blue field Shines, the birds sing as they were wont to me In my heart's holiday ; but this world's glee, The crosses and the gladdenings it may wield, They are to me, as to some cabin boy, Who yearns for home, the wild winds that on high, Mid clamorous shrouds sing their deep melody ; Alike, so that I tack me to the gale ; Still onward to the haven I would be, And breath of the Eternal fill the sail 28 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXVI. ABSENCE. On the dark trees the glancing moonlight lies, A Cross is gleaming in the silver calm, Shedding o'er hearts found meet a holier balm. Night's viewless piper, in the casement plies His busy task, into wild melodies, Moulding the air, now like the whispering palm, Moved by the wind, now mounting to a Psalm Of solemn and strange sound the music dies. And thou that holy Cross shalt see again, And hear those melodies made through the ears Of silence. What is this that makes me sad ? My brother, thoughts of thee should make me glad, Not sorrowful — I know not how — but when I think of thee my eye is wet with tears. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 29 XXVII. DISCONTENTED THOUGHTS. Give me not what I ask, but what is good, Merciful Saviour, unto Thee I look, Oh, teach me these repining thoughts to brook. I know I were not happier, tho' endued With all on which my unbridled longings brood , For joy to me hath ever been a gale, Which, like some demon filling the glad sail, Wanton'd awhile on summer seas, and woo'd To tempt o'er hidden shoals. Make me Thine own, And take me : of myself I am afraid, Oh, take me from myself; oh, take away Whate'er of self is in me, and, I pray, Give me on what my spirit may be stayed. And that I know full well is but Thyself alone. 30 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXVIII. Pity hath deeply touched thee, do not weep, For there is One doth love her with such love That man ne'er dream'd of, wheresoe'er she move Mysteriously around her ; 'tis a deep Man hath no thought to fathom; 'neath this sleep This curtain' d sleep of sense, we dimly rove, And, knowing, know not that all fostering Dove, That ocean of His goodness, as the sweep Of air around the path and in the breast, As light around the blind man, tho' unknown: E'en now more close His arms are round her thrown, Leading her gently onward to His rest, And in her languid eye, and failing breath, Hath kindled a sweet light that smiles at death. THE GOLDEN VALLEY : * I XXIX. Would that my hands were washed in innocence, That I unblamed could lift them up for thee, My own, own sister ! good 'twere then to see, Upon the clouds that wrap thy goings hence, Rainbows of promise : we should gather thence Sweet thoughts, and listen till we heard the stir Of ministering angels come to welcome her, Let us in silence sit ; the calmer sense Of better things shall lift a quiet eye, And open on us like an evening sky, With its blue haven in a sea of cloud, Speaking a better morn ; if thus allowed, In sober awe to wait the opening bars Of night, which brings to view the solemn stars, 32 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXX. RESOLUTION. To love thee were to love the meek and good ; But if so, why these thoughts importunate Come 'tween my soul and Heaven ? earliest and late, What are these images that thus obtrude, And bear my prayers, on wandering wings so rude, Away from Diseipline, that sweetest mate Of all that's patient, peaceful, pure ? O state Full of disastrous shoals, and dangers-strew'd, That every gale should bear us thus afar From our true haven, and our guiding star. If our affections be not fixed above, We wrong our God, ourselves, and those we love; Then take each idol from me, leave me free, That I may nothing love but what I love in Thee. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 33 XXXI. RESIGNATION. It is enough a little, friend most dear, After long interval and far between ; It is enough a little to have seen, And have been with thee, thence the weary year, Like a fresh wreath, doth the remembrance wear, For longer absence which must intervene, And longer solitude. Spots fresh and green Whose breath doth long with recollection cheer, And cheer with hope, with hope which thence hath won New thoughts, — more gladly on my race to run, That we may surer meet to part no more, With Him who was to them of Bethany As more than Brother : to His feet may flee The o'er-flowing heart, and silent there adore. 34 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXXII. THE FELLOW-LABOURERS. My little mole, two callings have we two, One master : where old earth is hardest bound, And shrub stretching his limbs with much ado, There art thou, with thy mattock, and thy hoe, And many finger'd shovel ; yet no sound Speaks of thy whereabout, nor heard nor found Save in thy mountain monuments ; kind to you, Should we be, fellow-labourers of the ground. My little miner with the velvet coat, We are 'mid things we deem not, did'st e'er note Blue sky, and flower, and field, or the sweet throat Of birds around thee? to our work again, Round us too tents are spread unseen by men, And companies too bright for human ken. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 35 XXXIII. THE LITTLE MARINER. I watch'd the caddis b , from his slimy lair Just rising, on his little ocean wheel. And poise his straw canoe, on pebble keel And ballast : 'mid spring flowers, and waters fair, He sunn'd himself, a joyous mariner. Nor knew of ought beyond his oaten raft And watery world ; but airy cars soon waft To leafy destinies, creation's heir, And sylvan colonnades on silken wing. What are these aspirations, 'neath the blight Of lost mortality, that coil and swell, Restless resolve, and high imagining, In worms of a spring hour, but wings of light Peering through the dark shroudswhereintheydwell ? b " The may-fly, which is bred of the caddis." Walton's Angler. D 2 36 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXXIV. AUTUMNAL SEED-VESSELS. Beautiful urns,, that neither spun nor sowed, Bearing your laden vessels to Heaven's eye, Like manhood goodly deeds; 'neath Autumn's sky Dropping your purple youth, and glittering hood. What sunbeams build you in your quietude, So far beyond art's labour'd mimickry, Each varied, each their wild variety, In union blend, a sylvan sisterhood! The hand that spann'd and painted yon blue dome, Is in the autumnal urn and vernal bell, Shrining strange beauty in a flow'ret's cell. Oh, how much more, flower of immortal bloom, Within thee, and around thee, doth He dwell, Tempering that shadowy world whose keystone is the tomb ! THE GOLDKN VALLEY. 37 XXXV. THE INNER WORLD. We bear a world about us — aye on wing, And with us, and to which this sky-roof'd cell, This strange material ball, is but a thing Of walking shadows ; with us doth it dwell, The undying spirit's world invisible. Still travelling onward, onward travelling, Its own horizon round it gathering; It climbs the stair to Heaven's high citadel, It hath its clouds, it hath its dews from high, It hath its moon and darkness : a wild world Mounting to join the chain of harmony, Around the sun that lights eternity. Or breaks away, self piloted, self hurl'd, To death and darkness — all its sails unfurl'd. 38 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXXVI. THE BIRTH. Yes, thou art launch'd on the great sea of being ; Nor ought of things that are, or things to be, Can wrest thy birth-right, — Immortality! Onward, and ever onward, shalt thou fling Eternity around thee, feeble thing, Nor comet's course, nor rolling century, Number thine years ! The earth shall fold her wing, And make her nest in darkness ; from the sky Shall pass away yon fiery sentinel, And she, thy childhood's monthly chronicler ; When from this womb of nature thou shalt climb The mighty stair of being, borne sublime The stars among, thyself a glorious star; Or like a smouldering brand in ruin dwell. THE GOLDEN VALLEY . 39 XXXVII. THE BAPTISM. How strange and sweet the wakening of the Spring From Winter's mantling cowl, with ice-drops hung And darkness ; or, from couch of Twilight sprung, Morn putting on her wild apparelling ! How strange and sweet the unfolding of thy wing, Ethereal stranger, when around thee flung The mystery of being, wild and young, Thro' swaddling of Hope's dark imagining, Thou break'st thine icy fetters, and to sense Awakening, day by day, from dawning eye Lookest around thee. 'Tis a dark rough sea, But there is One hath made a bark for thee, And sitteth at the helm, to guide thee hence, Unto a shore where all is innocence. 40 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XXXVIII. THE SLEEPING INFANT. Bird upon branch, housed 'neath a folded wing; Snowdrop, which seems its mantling cowl to dip In slumber ; butterfly on flowery tip Couch' d, on child's lap some woodland fosterling; — None fair as thee, sweet baby slumbering, With clasped hand and finger on thy lip ; Yet nought hast thou that sleep should fear let slip, And watch the ruby door : meek, tranquil thing, Would that thy mother's pillow were as calm, Beside thee ; her e'en Sleep doth sternly rock, And rudely o'er her shakes his rod of balm. Haply the more, angels, who break the shock Of suffering, may around her sleeping flock, And lay on waking lip some soothing Psalm. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 41 XXXIX. THE INFANT'S DEATH. It is so ; thou again more truly born Hast burst the bars unsullied, from the womb Of earthly things, loosing thine angel plume Wet with baptismal dews, and in new morn Art singing : we thine earthly robe, forlorn, See on the ground and weep, — in this thy doom Of thy sweet ways too mindful ; while the gloom O'er us unbidden creeps, too feebly borne Beyond the veil to take with thee our part, And joy in thy home gladness. Steadier now May both our hearts and hands to where thou art, By earth less weighed, be lifted. Haply thou, Where angels gladden at man's better choice, Hearest our prayers, and hearing dost rejoice. j 42 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XL. THE MOTHER. 'Mid sounds of Morn that gentle voice is not, But in his mother's heart its echo dwells, In her dark spirit's silent citadels His image sits alone. Man's varied lot Of ills were prowling round his cradle cot ; But the all-pitying One hath snatched him hence, To shield from harm his guileless innocence, In His own sheltering breast. Morn hath forgot Her looks of love ; and 'mid the sounds of Even That gentle voice is not : dun hues of care Come on, and liveries of wintry Heaven. He on his little orb sits smilingly, And sings, and sighs that all on earth so dear, Were but as happy and as safe as he c . c This last thought is, I think, from Bp. Taylor. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 43 XLI. TO A LOST CHILD. Can we still love thee on this poor, bad earth, And love thou bear'st to us decay in Heav'n ? It cannot be : when once the sky was riv'n, And One from thence in our sad world had birth, His was a love, which, in the very dearth Of all celestial gentleness, was driv'n By angry blasts, that His dear life was giv'n To sweeten our bad air, till in His worth Our vileness was forgotten ; and He chose Innocent children such as thee to be Most like Himself, whose angels might behold Nearest His face in Heav'n ; then while for thee We pine on this bad earth, and love still hold, Surely thy love in Heav'n thou dost not lose. 44 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XLII. BEREAVEMENT. And blest are they — although the heart new-riv'n By the keen stroke of suffering, unreliev'd, Turns to its wonted stay, and is bereav'd, — Yet blest are they below, to whom 'tis given, The dearest pledge which they from Heaven receiv'd, Fresh in baptismal drops, to yield to Heaven, Ere soird by thoughts of crime, or sin deceiv'd, Or knowing evil. Thus to be forgiv'n, And die, this is the best we know on earth : It is not death to toil in failing breath And go away ; but in this world beneath, To wander on from sin to sin, in dearth Of all true peace, still travelling from our birth, Further from God and Heav'n — this, this is death. i THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 45 XLllI. CONSOLATION. But the faint soul must bear up its own weight, And pitying love and kind officiousness Cannot assuage, nor make the burden less, Probing the unbarbed spirit, that too late Its overstrained pinion doth abate, And from each gale, unstrung and motionless, Catcheth a tone of deeper loneliness, And desolation makes more desolate. Then darkly gleams the mighty mystery, That He who bore our sorrows, yea, that He Alone, the soul can bear, the spirit fill, Fleeing from the dark phantom of unrest Into the arms of mercy, calmly blest, " Do with me what Thou wilt, I will lie still." J 46 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XLIV. THE SEPTEMBER NOON. Far o'er the aerial roof dark curtains crowd, The groves in greener freshness, far and near, Like souls with sorrow stricken, lovelier wear The darkness, 'neath the dank and watery shroud, Save here askance and there, on ruin'd wall, Or knotted trunk grotesque, stray gleamings fall, And stilly heard, from out the neighbouring wood, The lonely bird singing to solitude, Singing of silvery lights with Autumn blending, And rays that cheer the Winter ; naught to wake The trees all motionless on leaden lake ! Then the arch'd Heav'ns came down in shades descending, And all was twilight, save, beyond the gloom, A yellow gleam slumbering upon a tomb. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 47 XLV. THE OCTOBER NIGHT. The winds are up in their wild bacchanal, And rout to-night ; now hush'd the airy throng, And stilly sounds the solemn undersong, More deeply labouring w T ith the imprison'd gale, Like distant ocean. Wast a spirit's wail That woke that chord so wild, so mournfully, Or was it Winter's herald that rode by, Bearing the last leaf from the widowed vale? Now, crash on crash, innocent mimickry Of elements in arms, and thunderous war, The Genius of the wood on sounding car! Now their deep bass the Eolian anthems ply ; Still nought I see, save white-troop'd clouds on high, And steps of the pale moon in groves afar. I 48 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XL VI. THE THUNDER STORM. More and more near the iron chariots bound, Falling and falling from the clouds ; anon, As from Heav'n's door the water-floods came down, His howling horn the hurricano wound To the lorn night. O Thou, in calm profound, Who in us and about us hast Thy throne, Pity the houseless traveller, dark and lone, While the forked flash leaves tenfold night around. Pity the seaman in an hour so rude, Who, toss'd on the wave's neck to Heav'n's dark hall From th' yawning Erebus, thinks of his cot, And bright fire- side. Pity him most of all, Who in the nook of housed quietude Hears the big chainless winds, and thanks Thee not. I III GOLDEN VALLE1 49 XLVII. THE WINTER S NIGHT. Calm and still hour, how coldly beautiful ! Above — the Moon in the most dark serene, With all her stars; below — one varied scene Of wild resplendency, gentle as wool, Or kingly ermine; storied pine-trees, full Loaded with hanging beauty, towers of green Ere while, now snowy pyramids are seen, With stars that peep between. Nature's soft rule, Dropping the shadow-like and noiseless shower Of shelter, on the night and wintry hour, Making them lovely ! 'Tis the same doth swage Sorrow's keen edge, and builds for silvery age A snow-embower'd and hoary hermitage, The covering of an unseen holy Power. 50 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. XLVIII. THE EVENING AFTER A SNOW-STORM. The wind and snow, which on the hedge-row clings, Have been at play, and shapes of beauteous mould, Their tricks of vagrant fantasy unfold ; Haply in semblance of celestial things. Where now the Sun his parting lustre flings, Careful to spare, innocuous and cold ; He sees below all silvery pure, and brings The skies in gentle rivalry to gold, Staining the clouds that tend his ev'ning bow 'r. O Lord, if thus so marvellously fair, The things Thou doest for one passing hour, So delicately gentle, soft, and pure, Then what must be those scenes which shall endure, And those Thy mansions which eternal are? the: g olden valley. 51 XLIX. THE SAME. Thus wonderfully fashion'd, soft and still, Whatever takes the impress of Thy hand ; All things to Thee are yielding as the sand : Obediently Thy summons they fulfil, And take the forms of Thy creative will. Whether the Wind is loud at Thy command, Or the dread Lightnings traverse sea and land, They bear Thy gentle rein. When bent on ill, Passions of men are fierce and turbulent, They but perform Thy good and sweet intent, Knowing it not. Whether in vernal sky Thou walkest forth, or the loud-pealing storm Makest Thy chariot, when Thou art gone by, Thy mantle's skirts are seen in fairest form, e 2 &2 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. L. THE SEASONS d . The trees stand patiently in wintry mood, Death's shadow, their lost glories round them thrown, And with dank creaking arms, and leafless crown, Bow to the moaning spirit of the wood. Thus through this strange and mute vicissitude, Summer and Winter, Day and Night, at length They gather storied height, beauty and strength, Green comeliness and glory. What, though strew'd Our path with joys decayed, no gleam above Upon our sorrow's winter ! Blessed Lord, 'Tis thus through joy and woe, Time's varied scroll, Bright beams, and the withholdings of Thy love, Thou buildest up Thy children, till the soul Gather the stature of Thy living Word. d This thought is from Mr. James Bonnel. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 53 LI. NATURE AND GRACE. From the Unseen's abode there have gone forth Two voices ; one all nature heaves, the crowd Of mortal throes, and death-cries deep and loud Of lorn Creation ; earthquakes, which have birth In fabled Acheron ; Ocean's dread mirth, Shaking his sides to Heav'n ; Heav'n's blackening shroud, Blasting and burst, bellowing from cloud to cloud. Dark auguries in terror walking earth ! The other, Heav'n-reveal'd, doth bear alone The mighty key of Love : when sabler dress Of Nature, and the shades of Night oppress, Through the low wicket-gate are dimly shewn, Rivers of bliss, gardens of pleasantness, And bowers all tranquil as the summer Moon. 54 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. LII. A dream was o'er me ; when there did alight, A pall-like darkness on the summer Noon, And through it look'd the stars, deeming it night, And then it pass'd : still, with its silent Moon, This scene of Day and Night roll'd calmly on, Thus beautiful in ruin, moving bright, And beating step to Time's deep orison, Still varying, still returning. Lord of Might, Who round Thy secret place rollesjt dark Time, And wheeFst of things this order'd harmony, Lulling our senses to the even chime Of ever-moving Wonder, dim we see, And hear not, borne amid the chaunt sublime, And cloud of all-involving Deity ! THE GOLDLN VALLEY. .V> LIII. EVENING. And Thou beneath Thy footstool thron'd on high May'st see this world's last Evening, e'er we deem ; Time, like yon sun, behind Eternity Go down, and stars come forth to shine for aye. Thou art around us in empyreal gleam, But we in darkness walk, so dread the sky Of glory which enshrouds us, like a dream. Mysterious magnificence, we seem Treading on skirts of other worlds ! how strange Of day and night this silent interchange, And intertwining death with life; dark sleep With halls by Fancy lit, and the wild deep Of shadowy worlds of which she holds the key r , Led by the torch of fitful fantasy. 56 Tin: golden valley, THE COMET. O thou far thron d on thine ethereal tent, That on thy fiery ottoman sublime, Sitt'st mocking at the thing that men call Time; Thee have I watch'd, thou crested visitant, Sitting upon the golden firmament, Awful in beauty, till I seem'd like thee, A being of the elements, all fearfully Looking from out Heaven's crystal battlement, Of passing worlds the mighty chronicler. And thou again, thou strange and shadowy guest, May'st look upon this world; the gale may spring From out his odorous cove; the lark may sing Again his vernal matin ; but oh, where Shall he be who now gazes on thy crest ? THE GOLDEN \ AI.LI.N . 57 LV. Methought there was around me a strange light, And Earth and Time were not: methought I shook At feet of One to whom I durst not look: I seem'd as one from a wild infinite Of multitudinous waters, and dim night Scarce saved ; nor dares the pitying eye to brook Of Day thatwalksthe Heavens; such deep trance took My whole of being. Still from some dim height, That all strange hurrying by is on my ear, Of things I saw not, and T knew not how Deeply wailing ! Where am I ? still 1 hear Deep to deep calling afar ! O Thou That hast redeem'd me from the howling flood, What have I done? Thy garments are all blood! 58 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. LVI. There is a wound within me, 'tis a wound That lies too deep for tears, and many awhile, When all that is around me seems to smile, Within my heart of hearts a knell doth sound, Not of this world ; a cloud dark and profound Is o'er me, and though brighter thoughts beguile, And, like the Sun behind a cloudy pile, Bright gleams from One beyond that cloud have bound, Yet 'tis a cloud, for I have pierced deep The side of One that must be All in All. In this dread calm, if unto Thee I call, 'Tis not that Thou my wounded soul would'st steep With ought of gladness ; but that I through Thee, May daily put me on more deep humility. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 51) LVI1. Oh, I have done those things that my soul fears, And my whole heart is sick. My youth hath flown, The talents Thou hast given me are all gone, And I have nought to pay Thee, but my tears. Oh, Thou that hast awaken'd, calm my cares, Bind up my wounds ! Thou who didst never spurn The wounded and the captive, ne'er didst turn From him that called Thee, hear Thou my prayers ! Oh, wash me in Thy blood, the leper Thou Didst cleanse ; Health of the maimed, make me whole ; Thou that didst wake the dead, burst my soul's sleep ! Low at Thy feet I throw me, and I know Thou spurnest none that seek Thee, but my soul Is sick with sorrow, and I can but weep. GO THE GOLDEN VALLEY. LVIII " If the light that is ia thee be darkness, how great is that darkness !" I have been straying in the paths of Night, Until the lamp within, lit from the urn Of the Eternal One, did dimly burn, And darkly, while methought I walkd in light ; Until a gleam from some serener height, Came down, and shew'd the while in me did dwell All hideous forms, and darkness visible ; Feigning that eye of pureness infinite, Such as myself, while Feeling held the room Of Holiness. O Light and sacred Fear, Shew me unto myself, and reillume My darkened spirit, that, more calm and clear, Conscience may shake her from the gath'ring gloom, And fill her urn with light ere Thou be here. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. i>\ LIX. THE CRUCIFIXION. Still dost Thou, day and night, silent abide, Hanging upon the tree ; and there in vain, Pleading Thy bleeding hands and wounded side, With upturn' d eye of agony, while pain Rendeth each tender heart- string. Yet remain Pride in my heart and foolishness, preside O'er me at morn, with me at even- tide Sinking to rest. Oh, o'er my spirit reign, Teach me each day to bear my cross with Thee ; And when Night's curtains close, be ever near. Be Thou my pilot through Night's cloudy sea ! Be Thou the silent chariot's charioteer ! And when I sink upon the couch of death, May I within Thine arms resign my breath ! e An expression of Mr. James Bonnel. 62 THE GOLDEN VALLEY. LX. SELF-DETECTION. What is this subtle spright, ever in wait Around my path, and in such seeming guise Whispering sweet thoughts and honied vanities. That the melodious poison steeleth straight To the heart's avenues ? Self gathering state Listens, well pleas'd. Meanwhile all Heav'n hath eyes, A 11- seeing, yet unseen ; but onward hies, Seen at each turn, equipp'd for Heav'n gate, The elfin fantasy, all-glittering dight, And gaining golden wings ; till, dim conceal'd Within the cloud-pavilion of her might, With pure ethereal mirror, and bright shield, Truth darkly gleams ; the fiend is seen to night Hurrying afar, all hideously reveal'd. THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 63 LXI. If I in golden idol build my trust, Or reedy palaces of earth-born fame, By enchanted streams, therein to glass my name, Do Thou, Great God, do Thou the gilded bust To shivers rend, and scatter, turn'd to dust, To waters of oblivion. If I frame Ought earthly wish, wherein Thou hast no claim, Let darkness be upon it ! If 1 lust To build a stair, that I on high may walk, Or frame me a frail mirror in the talk Of other men, my shadow there to dress ; And, stretch'd beyond my nature's littleness, And the low door of life, therein to stalk, Rend Thou that stair and glass to nothingness ! 6 i THE GOLDEN VALLEY. LXII. THE GLOW-WORM. Oft as 1 contemplate the glorious skies, Studded so thick with many a crystal spar, And each a mighty world that shines afar, Struck with deep awe my spirit in me dies : For what am I in the A 11- seeing eyes, In which of worlds and men such myriads are ? But now, as I behold that living star Lighting the o'er-hanging hedge wherein it lies, I feel that ne'er a poet's boldest flight Hath furnish' d Angel wings with glowing rays, So bright and lustrous as that emerald blaze ; Thus I, though but a creeping worm of night, May have within me my Creator's light, On which the highest Angel stops to gaze. nil: GOLDEN VALLEY. 0> LX1I1. Ask me no more. I am a luckless wight, Wedded to pale After- thought, who makes me rue, With her cold frown, whate'er I say or do ; Oft gathering wings I seem, and that sly spright, Imagination, bears me on all dight With painted plumes; buoyant and blithe, I bound Over all obstacles, nor touch the ground ; Then following from behind in sullen plight Comes Common-sense, shouldering her crutch, and on My sides belabour'd, and my brow doth pour Dizzy amazement, then the spell is o'er : My ingots are all leaves, my glass ware gone, My Aladdin's lamp is out, and I alone. I sit upon the ground, silent and sore. CIk Country fastor* F 2 Wi)t Countrp $asstor. i. THE RETURN. What, though the evil days be on the wind, We must not be unwed, companion meet, Heart-easing Poesy, th' embodying sweet Of feelings which else load th' o'er charged mind: Ye yearnings of a holier nature, twin'd With all the past and future, whose pure seat Is deeper than where deepest heart doth beat ! If I to things of sense might be more blind ; If He who sways the rolling stars at will, And hearts of men, would but my bosom fill With thoughts which might be better than the past ; That so, howe'er the gushing fount flows, still All may be pure and peaceful, though o'ercast Not faithless, innocent though not to last. 70 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. II. THE RETROSPECT. Visions of fancy, that your halo shed O'er untried pastoral watchings, where are ye ? I find you not, but stern reality Hath lifted up her voice, and ye are fled Amid the dreams of youth. And in your stead, Toilings as in a dream, where all to be, And nought seems done. Yet sober certainty Hath better things than ought of fancy bred; Self-discipline, which shews God's heavenly seal In peaceful thoughts when His commands are done; And that deep consciousness, that there is One Risen from the grave, and on our troubled zone Walking in calm, though storms His form conceal, Seeking to whom He may His love reveal. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 71 III. SACRED RESERVE OF THE CHURCH. On the rough seas He seemed passing by, But they constrain' d Him ; and at Emmaus one Bent on a journey onward, but they won His Presence, for their souls were beating high With nameless worship : oft from heedless eye, With type and shadowy word, He veil'd the Sun Of Righteousness, nor ever fully shone, On doubting hearts His healing Deity. Mysterious wisdom, which man's spirit knew ! Then blame not, if the Church from the world's view, In treasures of her grace, doth set apart, Needing enquiring eye and faithful heart, For ever watchful, but to careless glance, Ne'er full unveils her blissful countenance. 72 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. IV. VILLAGE MUSIC. Beneath the calm of an autumnal Moon, I saw a troop of rustic boys let loose Forget their weariness, caught in the noose Of air-borne music, moving in the tune Of stirring flageolet and dun bassoon. What, hast thou drunk of that old Arethuse, In buoyant ring such magic to infuse, And hold with chain electric all thine own ! Art thou th* Arcadian Pan, or Orpheus shod With magic ? Oh, no, sympathies there are Of holier things bound to that airy car : Howbeit all by an enchanter's rod Are touch'd, the village oak it seems to nod, And th' owl at interval hoots from afar. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 73 THE RECOVERY. I saw one, who had been in wanderings drear From Reason's light, w T hich hid her chastening glow Behind a cloud ; but she, returning now, Lit up an aspect as the noon-day clear, E'en such as holy Ken or Herbert dear ; One scarce could see, but secretly to bless, So was he bowed in lowly placidness : " Sweet/' said he, " to the weary mariner " To see the shore ; and haply battle o'er " Sweet to the soldier : sweet when all doth seem " Saddening, I know, to find it but a dream. " But sweeter must it be, when all is o'er, " As first the soul awakens to the gleam, " Which tells her she is safe, and on the happy " shore." 74 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. VI. THE PASTORS DIFFICULTY. Love cannot reach him, arrows of Despair, And Hope, and Fear, fall from him, hedged in scale Of wild obduracy, like iron mail ; But, Pastor, hast thou left no weapon there, In thy Heav'n-furnish'd quiver? It is Prayer; Wing'd by Faith's pure resolve — Prayer shall prevail ; It hath the promise. Into Life's dim vale, Prayer doth of help the golden gates unbar ; To good of purpose stern that rugged brow May turn ; Love o'er the rock his tendrils throw : As when upon the world's first wakening morn The Spirit came descending, on the thorn, Woke by that sacred touch, the Flower was born, And bird new-made sung on the new-made bough. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 75 VII. SECOND CHILDHOOD. On looks he used to love gazing he stood With eyes all strangeness ; but a walking dream, E'en like a fabled shade at Lethe's stream. While in her temple's ruin fancies brood, The out- worn spirit sleeps in solitude, Knowing nought earthly ; save the fitful gleam Of twilight images, whose broken beam Peering amid the wreck, more darkly shew'd, The desolation and his bosom's night. Yet haply forms of peace may there alight, As 'mid stern Winter's icy citadels, Deep 'neath the mirror of dark Ocean s cells, The Moon, with all her flock, celestial bright, Shines darkling, where no earthly image dwells. 76 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. VIII. THE SAME. And see in that strange twilight of the mind, How link'd associations yet live on, And waken ! talk of Prayer, and he anon Recounts his beads ; thrice happy, should'st thou find A chord that doth the better soul unwind Of thankful sufferance, and love begun On earth. For thus sweet intercourses, won From the great Spirit, secretly behind This screen of things abide, and dearly bought, Have grown at length into the inner man, Tho' power be not, and will hath lost controul Of action. Thus betimes within us wrought Fill with Thyself, and form th' undying soul, Our Saviour, ere be run this mortal span. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 77 IX. THE SAME. So momentous our work, for every hour May characters engrave, which long unseen Come forth again and live ; th oughts which have been, Returning whence they rose in a soft shower Of unmark'd influence, renew a power Which slumber'd : and on each new page of life, Associations pour with feelings rife, (Like long- forgotten gales on vernal flower,) And work for good or evil. Sounds again Which waken all that old melodious chain That held the spirit ; habit thus imbues The soul with more than with ethereal hues, Weaving that bridal robe, which to attain From Heav'n she Heav'n-ward bound and Heav'n- born sues. 78 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. THE PASSING BEGGAR. Oft have I wond'ring seen strange characters Of beauty lodged within an insect's wing, Or 'neath a spurn' d weed's close enveloping * Hid within modest Nature's secret bars, (Like a blue night with all its silver stars,) A bright wild world of order, and whole spring Of colourings. Such to sight God's presence bring : In the least thing which Nature makes and mars, He builds a temple ! But that thankful word, That in a boon which passing hands afford Acknowledg'd God the giver, touch'd the ear Like voice from Nature's shrine, that spoke Him near In all things said or done, received or given : How dreadful is this place ! — it is the gate of Heav'ni THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 79 XI. SIGNS OF MORTALITY Should make us thoughtful surely, - but not sad ; Thoughtful, that we are nearer our last home ; That we must love Him more, no longer roam, But set the steadier eye. The promise glad, Wherewith fresh youth our poverty once clad, Falls from us more and more, as first the bloom, Then petals, from the rose ; and in its room Stand thorny monitors, if we have had Our hopes in fading flowers ; else, shades of gloom, They creep from coming Night, bright hues to wind, From lights our Sun hath left, fair Evening's crown Of promise. That calm star, that watches down The Sun, soon tells his coming from behind, Like love that left the last, and earliest found the tomb. 80 THE COUNTRY- PASTOK. XII. NATIONAL APPREHENSIONS. The scene is darken'd but to bring more near, Thro' dim'd perspective, calm and happy skies, And everlasting hills, where our home lies; These clouds above (O gloom than joy more dear !) Make the clear light of that blest home appear. 'Tis like a scene I cannot rightly prize, Which clouds and light had made for wondering eyes Within a hilly amphitheatre. Afar there was a pale and liquid light, Where, in the opening north, a mountain band Seem'd brought so wildly near, they seem'd to stand Looking upon us, brought upon our sight Strangely distinct in distance, and between The Sea was like a bright blue river seen. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 81 XIII. FRIENDS ABROAD. Behind are Ocean's gates, where Calpe's nest Looks from her rock-built eyrie, sails unfurl 'd From out the caverns of the dull cold west, Advancing into that old golden world ! A thousand tales she from her teeming breast Unbosoms, as ye pass upon the curl'd Dark wave ! 'mid moulds of matter, random hurl'd, Ye look some creeping thing on Ocean's vest; Ye with your worlds of thought and sea-borne house, Like some poor beetle on great ^Etna's side. Thus ye the sense of your own littleness (Not baubles of free thought home-cells to dress) May gather, thoughts that may to duty rouse, All that we here can gain which shall abide. 82 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XIV. DOMESTIC TRIALS. No rest — no hope — yoked in thy gentle mood To stern annoyances of petty strife, Which weary the worn spirit out of life. Yet let it be, for it must be for good, Or it would be not, and, if understood, 'Tis food for daily joy : that Heav'n-sent woe, May tune a string that shall reverberate through The boundless great Hereafter, if but woo'd Sweet influences to set their jarring chord, Which in the Heavenly concert shall have part. Sufferings a suffering Master's children prove And we too, tranquil mourner, have a word In thy dear lesson, while for thee our heart Bleeds silently, and looks to One above. ill! COUNTRY PASTOR. 83 XV. HOPING AGAINST HOPE. In guise of love ambition lurks within, And pants for some great sacrifice ; but He, Whose eye hath been on Heav'n-born purity, And watch'd the spots, which on the leopard skin Come forth with years, and speak the evil kin, He looks not for a crown of earthly rest, If he may gain forgiveness, but too blest. Tho' often bow'd to earth, with thoughts of sin His heart be desolate, and fancy cold, Seeing no light, he ceases not to bless, And lift an eye to Heav'n ; not loved the less Tho* wounded, but in resignation bold, Tho' doubt's barb'd shafts come thick, detei mined still To trust, and do, whate'er betide, the will. g 2 84 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XVI. PARTIAL AFFECTIONS. Blest tree of Calvary, do thou abide In fountain of our feelings, which oft prove Marahs " of bitterness, till thy dear love Doth sweeten. Hence the unschool'd breast divide Fond likings, and fond hatings, that abide In selfishness, discordant mates, or rove Where fancy leads. Liking doth liking move, And love return d but holds the glass to pride. The love that leans on a celestial urn, Scattereth a thousand streams, nor seeks return, For she doth draw from her own hidden well, That flows for ever; and would flow unseen, But that the freshening flower, and livelier green Betray her, hastening with her God to dwell. a Exodus xv. 23. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 85 XVII. THE TRUE FRIEND. Shall we the mother love, who bore to earth, And cherish'd our unheeding infancy ; And love not Thee, by whose sore agony We have been born unto a better birth ? Shall we the father love, whom our rude will Hath grieved so often, yet doth love us still ; Shall we the sister love, who evermore, Still present e'en in absence, watcheth o'er Our weariness ; loved friend, or brother dear ; And all of good and lovely dwelling here ; And love not Thee, from whom all to our need, In parent, sister, friend, or brotherhood, All that is good or lovely doth proceed, Faint emanations from the only Good ? 86 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XVIII. THE SECRET OF CHEERFULNESS. Cleanse Thou the fount whence our affections flow, That we may joy to speak of what is good, And to see good in all things ; in sad mood Or buoyant, that sweet secret aye to know Of cheerfulness, from sights of sin and woe, To turn our chequer'd talk to healthier food. Yea, blest self- discipline, though sternly woo'd, Hath smiles, and gladsome is her pipe though low, Her tuned pipe, sounding 'mid scenes forlorn. For discipline is love, whose light hath made All like herself: with love fresh hues are born, Which, wheresoe'er we stand, present a shade Lovely and new, on bough or twinkling blade, A thousand rainbows 'mid the tears of morn. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 87 XIX. THE FALSE LIGHT. Have heed thou take no meteor's lantern wild, For light of the calm Moon, serenely pure, In th' image of the Eternal; this is sure, That leads to Death's grim cavern, Fancy's child, And there 'twill take the Comet's shape to gild The door of desolation. Hour to hour, From out the bleeding tree, th' all-saving Power Hath call'd, unheard, unheeded ; pleading mild From day to day from out the bleeding tree, And looking Heav'n-ward in His agony, From year to year : but in Death's twilight porch, Imagination lit her fever'd torch, And wings of light gleam'd on long-cherish'd pride, Then he with triumph look'd to Him that died ! i 88 THE COUNTRY FASTOR. XX. RETURN OF SPRING. Break Thou the bars on our obedience thrown, That we may learn to love Thee, and to fly To Thine all-harbouring love, Thy blessings own ! All things are singing of Thee, earth and sky Are vocal with a glad philosophy. And vernal sweet thanksgiving. Man alone, Nature's high-priest, is silent at Thy throne, And ever broods, with cold averted eye, On consciousness of evil, nor for good Can ought believe. Thou bidd'st the desert sing, And we may love Thee, if but understood That blest baptismal washing of Thy Blood, From whose eternal fount, for ever spring Hope still renewed, and Love on healing wing. . THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 89 XXI. THE COMPLAINT. The fragrant flower, bright insect, and sweet bird, And beasts, and trees, and brooks, with happy voice, Speak of Thy love, and all around are heard. But when that we would make Thee all our choice, And joining universal Nature's joys, Would magnify with them our common Lord, For all the gifts He doth to us afford ; Yet pride and selfishness, with jarring noise, Will mar the holiest accents we can raise. Were I a flower, with pure and blameless breath, I might give back Thy praises at my death ; Were I a bird, Thy bounties I might sing ; But now, whatever offering I would bring, The thoughts of self come in to taint Thy praise. 90 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXII. RELIGIOUS EMOTIONS. Yet pride or sloth beset us at each turn, Feeding on better feelings — empty air ! Or better knowledge, emptier still, tho' fair, If Charity within doth feebly burn For lack of fuel : she doth fill her urn From hourly discipline, and love, and prayer, Self-sacrifice. Right onward must we bear Thro' varying feelings ; let Faith hold the stern, And they to haven urge the flagging sail. As petals from the flower, thus feelings born Of outward things, as we to death proceed, Drop from us one by one, and leave the seed, A power for good or evil, not to fail When from the soul its earthly shell is torn. Till, COUNTRY PASTOR. 91 XXIII. REPROOF. Blessed reproach, and blessed sting of shame, A Father's hand and chastenings all divine ; Better than all self- torturing discipline, The risings of the rebel soul to tame ! Ye come but to recal some deed of blame, Or blameless deed undone. They who are Thine, And every branch in Thee, Thou chosen Vine, Must bear the pruning steel. Whate'er the name, Sin and Correction travel side by side, Till man shall have unlearn' d himself to please. Hence Melancholy yok'd with unbought ease, And Shame's uplifted scourge pursuing Pride, And they, the sent of Heav'n, Want and Disease, Angels of love which in a cloud abide. 92 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXIV. ST. PAUL. " Therefore T take pleasure in distresses for Christ's sake." Suffering — it was bequeathed by one ador'd — A precious mantle dropp'd from His dear cross,, He took it up, counting all else for loss, And often when the arrows round him pour'd Of cold affliction, or as when he soar'd To Heav'n, and his meek soul proud visions woo'd, He wrapt around in sterner hardihood The recollection of his suffering Lord, And deeper tenderness for those allied In that dear Passion, till he lov'd the chain, And suffering had forgot the sense of pain. The cup of self-abasement was his pride, It was the cup his Master had to drain, And bless'd it ere He drank, and drinking died. I III. COUNTRY PASTOR. 9$ XXV " Mark them which cause divisions, contrary to the doctrine which ye have learned ; and avoid them.'' O cruel Charity, soul- killing Love, Or blindness, false of heart, with speeches fair And plausive gloss, to fan the popular air Of Schism and Heresy ! yet gently prove, Nor scorn a wandering brother ; while her dove, Heav'n sends to watch around thee with sweet care. Her soft parental tendings doth not spare ; And moon to light thee, if thou fail'st to prove All Christ-like ways of gentleness and peace, Holding Truth's hand, and giving no release To lying Spirits ; if Love leave undone, What Love might offer, thou art no true Son Of our dear ancient Mother, who doth pray, Though mourning, for her children gone astray. i>4 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXVI. CHRISTIAN RESERVE. Things which abide nearest the fountain spring Of our affections, cannot bear the light Of common day, but shrink at ruder sight, And so decay. Love is a heav'n-born thing, To live on earth it needs home- cherishing, Secret and shade. There is a subtle blight In popular talk, and freer glare of light : Soil'd is the bloom that was on Virtue's wing, It cannot be restored. No sooner seen, Than vanity, with silver fingers cold, Watches the door, and lets the spoiler in, To rifle all her treasury. She hath sold Her diamond arms, and tinsel wears instead, Shorn the charmed lock when once the charm is read. THK COUNTRY PASTOR. 95 XXVII. THE SAME. 'Tis so on earth ; they who have entrance found Into Kings' presence-chambers,, are withdrawn From sight of them without ; and if there dawn Ought of their fame beyond that sacred bound, 'Tis at their issuing, with high mandates crown'd, In order from their Sovereign. If their train Sow blessing, yet how oft for them in vain ! Who first found out, and in what cave profound, The arts which feed us ? who taught praise to own Melodious wings, and fill'd the breathing gold With a sweet soul ? who were the good of old a ? Most like good angels, sure, they whose sweet lot It is to bless us, though we know it not ; Like Him in whom we live, Himself unseen, un- known. a See Mr. Newman's Sermon for St. Andrew's Day. 96 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXVIII. THE DIVINE PRESENCE. Yes, He is here, as in Heav'n's highest throne, But darkly we perceive. The wandering beast, The wild bird finds its unhous'd, unsown feast, And knoweth not the Giver. Man hath known, But knowing often thank'd not. He all one About us dwells, Fountain of joy and rest. And all that worketh in the good man's breast, Is but the struggle more and more to own, And feel that Presence, dimly here allow'd, E'en to the eye of Heav'n-cleans'd purity: So dense the mist this mortal heart doth shroud. And what but the withdrawing of the cloud Is death, when, lo, that Presence ever nigh, And in the heart of hearts the Eternal's eye ! THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 97 i XXIX. " He saw them toiling in rowing, for the wind was contrary." Buoy Thou us up, feeble and faint we toil, And fain would reach the shrine wherein doth dwell Holiness and Thyself invisible ; Yet, ever and anon, the widening coil Of refluent waves doth all our efforts foil, And bear us backward. If we mount the swell, Another and another yet more fell Laughs at our struggling, while the dark turmoil Of ocean is beneath us. Gracious Lord, Stretch forth Thy hand to hold us, or we sink ; Oh, teach us Thy commandments to adore, That we may better love Thee, on the brink Of that o'erwhelming Future, more and more Learning to lean on Thine Eternal Word ! 98 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXX. THE TRUE PATRIOT. No, I have guilt enough, I wash me clear From all the press, reckless of sacred things, Daily pours forth, as from Avernian springs, To load the poison' d air ; henceforth, whate'er Of evil falls on my unwilling ear, In public things or men, shall urge me on, A voice which calls to something left undone, A spur in Duty's sides. Behold, and fear, From earth, sick with our varied crimes, ascend Those vapours, which now throng Heav'n's lowering roof, And hang in thunder ; still, meek mercy, still Pleads, and the uplifted vial is aloof: Dread pause ! and now he is his country's friend, Who cleanses his own heart from secret ill. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 99 .XXXI. THE UNSHEATHING OF THE SWORD. What seest thou, holy watchman ? one that said*, My bow is bent, my hand upon the string, And there an arrow ready forth to spring ; It is the unsheathing of the sword of wrath ; That sword are the ungodly, — they His path Shall clear before Him, and around their King, In fear and meekness, shall His chosen bring ; Taught by that chastening which the blessing hath. The ungodly in their lusts let loose to slay, His hated sword He then shall cast away. Therefore, when thou behold'st the clamorous throng, Leagu'd against God's vicegerents, stand and fear, Not man, but God ! Keep thou thy conscience clear, It is the sword which doth to God belong. h 2 100 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXXII. THE ANCIENT AND MODERN TOWN. Where shall we find that widow's treasur'd mite, Saved for the temple's service, heavenly wise ? Or where blest Mary's costlier sacrifice ? As down Time's stream we sail, first rise to sight, The shrines of ancient faith ; with ample might, 'Mid humbler homes of men, they pierce the skies. Then thick the domes of human pride arise, Rich-peopled hives, and numerous, large, and bright, While few, and far between, decayed and old, While Avarice gathers up what Time impairs, Or mark'd with tasteless art and thrifty cares, Lest they o'er man's possessions stretch too bold, 'Mid growing flocks, which seek another fold, Stand houses of our God, while Mammon spares. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 101 XXXIII. " Lawlessness shall abound." Oh, for the rod of ancient discipline ! Unheeded and unheeding o'er the plain They wander shepherdless, are caught and slain, With none to help ! Oh, for the sacred sign Of pastoral severity benign ! Spirit of noble Ambrose, wake again ! Where Aaron's rod, silencing mouths profane, The living emblem prov'd indeed divine ? Yea, the whole land is sick, the troubled State Can neither cure her ills, nor bear their weight: And in the Church's bosom the fount springs, Novel opinions, bold and wild, and hate Of Church authority, and hate of kings, All filial disobedience spreading wings. 102 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXXIV. NEGLECT OF FAST-DAYS. Poor gain I deem it, that from public stage, And rural nook, the Cross hath disappear'd, If it no more in heart of man is rear'd : Bent to please all in this self-pleasing age, Nor own that sign of Sorrow's heritage. Witness, ye nominal Fasts, no more rever'd ! The Church, ye say, is to your love endear'd, And sadly ye her coming ills presage : But yet unheeding her small voice ye flee, \Vhile Friday F eastings drown the gentle call, Which calls you to her sad Gethseraane, Unmark'd alike or Fast or Festival ; Sabbaths ye straiten, but ye take no part In arts that train the penitential heart. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 103 XXXV. THE SAME. That sabbath of the soul doth ever rise At Jesus' grave, to them in ways of prayer Who watch the world, like Evening fading there. O gentle spirit of self-sacrifice, Springing 'mid ordered fastings, pearl of price Beyond the Indies, when, with heavenly air And peaceful thoughts, which feeble frame repair, Thou comest down, a soul of harmonies, Like the pure Heav'ns in their tranquillity, Quietly imaged in a wintry sea, With all their calm blue stars. From sense conceal'd Within the hidden soul a fount doth stand, Where God's life-giving Presence is reveal'd b , With Jesus Christ sitting at His right hand. b St. John xiv. 21. 104 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXXVI. THE SAME. Nor only reverend thoughts of God within, And Jesus Christ, there sitting in dread light, Are found in fasting : but thence burns more bright The lamp of Intercession, freed from sin, In the right hand of Love ; o'er friends, and kin, Brethren in Christ, and Kings of Heav'n-born right, From the deep bosom of the Infinite, The dews of every blessing taught to win. Thus Love her sheltering wing spreads more and more, Then on that out-stretch'd wing doth upward soar, Into the fount of Godhead far above. Ah me, if thus thou train' st to fast and pray, Ancient of mothers, such thy school of love, Why are thy portals clos'd from day to day? Till COUNTRY PASTOR. 105 XXXVII. THE SAME. No more thy Vigils and thy Litanies, Like watchful virgins at Heav n-gate appear, But oil-less lamps, which painted statues wear ; Lifeless, if still' d the breath which Faith supplies, And dim'd the light that lit those heav'nward eyes: First life which fill'd those forms, then forms, which bear That life, decay. Oh, the strong breath of Prayer, E'en now may fan the ember ere it dies. O knit by all which high-born Faith hath found, Where are your old affections, where the breath Which sweeten' d earth and Heav'n, while yet the ground Was fresh with incense of that holy death ; Ye of the narrow path, and short-lived days, Where are ye gone in unbaptized ways ? 106 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XXXVIII. THE CHURCH'S LAMENT FOR NEGLECTED FAST-DAYS. What is it nought to you, ye that pass by, Where 'mid these caves of sorrow all forlorn, Over my murder'd Lord I sit and mourn ! For it was I that wounded Him, 'twas I, Not those who fled Him, or stood mocking nigh ; And ye — see where His bleeding brow is torn, And these pale hands, ne'er lifted, till this morn, Save in a prayer or blessing. Here descry Not death, but last night's sorrow ! It was He Gave all ye have, He made the evening star, The flower, in amber palace set the Sun ; But in the bosom of Blessedness afar, He could not leave us, but came down, and see — Ah, is it nought to you, ye that pass on ? THK COUNTRY PASTOR. 107 XXXIX. THE IRRESOLUTE CHURCHMAN'S ANSWER. Yea, 'tis blest woe blest gladness cherisheth, Both join to weave Love's robe ; to strengths unseen Leading the child that on His Church will lean, Who on the day her Lord resigned His breath, Takes him to deeper shades and caves of death, That he may see, withdrawn from the world's ken, The stars, how o'er Heaven's exiled citizen, They come from high to form a deathless wreath. I know — resolve — and do not — and, anon, The wheel of human custom bears me on, Stretching mine empty hands to healthful springs. Once more, then, oh, once more, before my heart Be cold — O Time, 1 seize thee by thy wings, And wrestle with thee, — bless me ere we part ! 108 THE COUNTRY PASTOR. XL. THOUGHTS OF DEATH. The objects we have lov'd are quite gone by, The infinite reality comes on, Nothing remains but that which I have done ; Things in my being wrought internally, And second nature, every dearest tie, Loved faces, and loved scenes, youth's friendships, gone Everlastingly ; there remains but one, And he must be encounter' d presently, And that is Death. This is the truth of things, As he, who to his present spirit brings The fathomless Hereafter, must confess. I would not wind me in strain d thoughtfulness Too high, but ever thus the truth would see, Most deeply, rightly, and most tranquilly. THE COUNTRY PASTOR. 109 XLI. PARTING. Parting to meet no more ! hard to the ear, But warm'd 'neath Meditation's brooding wing, Disclosing sweet and solemn thoughts, that here We are but strangers, homeward journeying : And whatsoe'er of good a gleam may fling On the receding bank, our course to cheer, As down the stream we sail, in some new sphere May wake again, like some forgotten thing, Seen in a dream. Yet, howsoe'er it seem, Sure it were well to leave it all to Him. Him if we seek in all things, in all things Him shall we find, and nearer than we deem; If but the eye be single, Love the wings Shall find, and soar to hymns of Seraphim. J Cf)e fountain $ome. Wbt iWotmtain Jtomr. Oh, what great troubles and adversities hast Thou shewed me t and yet didst Thou turn and refresh me : yea, and broughtest me from the deep of the earth again. Psa/ra lxxi. 18. Day and Night, strange centinels on Time's watch, Winter and Summer, that arch'd vault above Still varying, still the same, and hum of men, Piling dwarf citadels in sand ; ye seem A dream departing to my languid eye, Wearied with watchfulness ! All but the cloud, Which round its hermit being the spirit wrought, Peopled with fond inquietudes. I strove To steal beneath the wing of pitiless sleep, Till o'er my heart there came a spell, and rous'd To keenest life those subtle ministers, a These extracts are taken from some reflections in an illness, written in the year 1826, the whole of which it has been con- sidered advisable not to publish, as not conducing to Christian quietness of mind, an objection which it is hoped these passage? are not so liable to. 114 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Which, from the spirit's viewless citadel, Hold commune with the outer world ; and then The bodiless creations of the brain Seem'd to assume a strange reality, Figure, and life, and this material ball A visionary shadow, seeming fair. I seem'd to living consciousness awak'd From the short dream of life, where, as we thought To ply our busy schemes, an unseen hand Hurried us on from scene to scene, and weigh'd In scales of stern probation ; we the while From fear to hope, from hope to fear, ranged on, Unconscious. All was stillness — then from far The thrilling chain of Recollections woke, Like long-forgotten strains in distance heard : And all again was stillness — Memory seem'd To lift the curtain from her shadowy world, Like a bright isle beyond the o'er-darken'd seas, Pictur'd upon a watery cloud, and brought To a strange nearness : there a thousand shapes In moonlight shadows seem'd to gleam ; fair Hope, Eye-bright before, and lost in gloom behind, Embryo Resolve, and Warning, lightning- clear, And heav'n-ward Instincts, on the infant soul Dawnings of Immortality ; nor least THE MOUNTAIN HOME 115 That deep mysterious gloom in mortal joy Speaking of Eden lost. A dream-like light Was o'er me, and as when th' unfetter'd soul All eye, all ear, careless of space and time, Sports darkling, and around the slumberous woof Weaves in one image distant scenes : and then Around me came the scenes of infancy, Wearing unearthly freshness Strange hectic bloom, as if the glow of youth, Like in that fabled City of the Dead, Dwelt in cold marble. While in vain I sought The pulse of life, it seem'd so shadowy still, As if that Lethe, and the shapes that brood On her black mirror, were upon the world, And Nature's wheel were still ; so motionless Stood the bright scene, like a mute waterfall, Hanging in ice-bound stillness 'neath the Moon. The Sun was resting on the ocean wave, Where, 'tween two winding hills that closed the vale, The watery landscape lay, and seem'd to join The bending sky : from far around, the clouds Hasten'd to hang their golden canopy, Lit by his parting smile. It was a scene That seem'd to mock reality, so still In viewless struggle between light and shade, i 2 110* THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Unchanging — yet each moment chang'd ! The sails Which on the burnish'd mirror seem'd asleep, So motionless, like summer butterflies With pennons couch'd upon some honied blade, Behind yon crag have vanish'd, one by one ; A sail-less speck is lingering yet — and yet — On the red orb — that orb, which seem'd at rest — Is lessen'd to a curve : beautiful scene, Seeming in still and pictured loveliness, Unearthly semblance, framed to cheat awhile The eye of poor mortality ! Time was When I could look on thee ; and I would watch Those bright dyes streaming from some other world, As if to tell that there were brighter scenes, Than ever on the spiritual eye of man Have gleam' d ; that all so seeming fair on earth Were but a painted cloud, and all that gilds The path of life a frail unreal guest, A ray from the imperishable Heavens. Beautiful illusion, in Childhood's hour Time was when I could look on thee — but now Thou wakest thoughts too deep ! The stars of night Were mingling with my dreams, and where e'en now The purple imagery of Eve, there glowed Thro' the deep vault, what seem'd the silvery track THE MOUNTAIN Uo.ML. 1 17 Of some ethereal visitant, a cloud Of living lustre; or, as deem'd of old, An isle Elysian 'mid the seas of light, Sailing among th' eternal lamps of Heaven : Solemn assemblage of mysterious worlds, Speaking of immortality to man, Of houses in eternity ! Dread thought, If it be true that on the heav'n-searching glass Worlds have familiar gleam' d, and pass'd away ! Where have those voices slept so long, that now They break upon the midnight of the mind So stilly clear ? Where have those warning sounds Lurk'dthro' Hope's summer day, that now they wake To rouse the mountain echoes of the night, And shake the feverish soul ? and haply thus, When Life's brief sun sinks to yon shadowy vale, Waking no more around the path of man Flowers rainbow-hued, and insect revelries, Myriads of sights and sounds shall burst to view, Myriads of worlds, and thro' the ancient Heavns, Crystalline paths, chain within chain, that move On links of golden harmony, with song Circling the throne of the Invisible. While still I strove to sleep, from the dark world Stray twilight images, and broken gleams 118 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Came fitfully, to blend with dreamy shapes, And Slumber's wild domain, and now I seem'd Falling in sweet forgetfulness, and now J started from Oblivion's dark abode. I call'd up happy scenes and childhood's wiles, And then before me came that elfin sprite, With form grotesque and guileless fantasies, Mocking at woe. From Memory's silent realm Came living portraitures and Nature's haunts, Like gleams on the dark mountains, and around, Withdrawing from corporeal sense, I brought Green spots, the mountain rock, the wood, the glen, And noise of rushing waters ; till, awhile, From her own stores my feverish fancy drunk A dewy freshness. Now I seem'd above The torrent chasm, beside that sunless rock That used to haunt my childhood, where within A sound was heard, as of a fabled sprite To durance doom'd : now from an aged tree, Leaning o'er a lone fountain I had seen, A watery grotto, 'neath its crystal deeps Enfolding hoary palaces and caves ; Fantastic realms, where the dwarf lichen seem'd Like pine-trees waving 'neath the glassy floor; Sweet fountain cradle, where the great world sleeps In miniature, with all its rocks and caves, THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 1 U> Its Alpine caves and rocks in crystal blue, Serenely beautiful ! meet fairy haunt Of water spirit, such as poets feign. But neither sunless rock, nor mount, nor glen, Nor water spirit in her crystal cave, Could cheat the feverish footsteps of despair. I turn'd to Nature's face, till Nature's face, And her fantastic mood, in cave, and fount, Were wearisome. For e'en the scenes that slept 'Neath Memory's glassy mirror, fair as scenes Pourtrayed in summer lake, had caught the gloom From the o'er-hanging cloud. And then there woke, O'er the dark hour the thought of guiltiness, In dread clear vision, like that fabled ship, Homeless and havenless, which, seen afar, Hurries portentous 'mid the tempest's gloom, With spectral crew, and phantom sail outspread, Fearfully visible. Then seem'd the soul Ebbing into a vast and wandering void, And dark disquietings, a dismal troop, Hung on the rear of life. And when methought To sink in arms of sleep, long woo'd in vain, Ah, not in Lethe's dews her opiate wand, But dipp'd in Stygian flames ! 120 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. At length arose A radiant arch, and on it sat a form With eyes upturn* d to Heav'n. Breathless I sat, Upon that holy hill of Calvary, In a deep death-like calm. The earthquake voice, The cry of agony, the scoff, the dread, Had sunk in dismal solitude. Around Was a mysterious gloom, unearthly still, And here, and there, a shrouded form drew near, Gazing in silence. Thro' the thunder-cloud There came a gleam upon that bleeding frame, Where, darkly wrestling with keen agony, The soul's last struggle on the clay-cold brow Was fixed in death, blending ineffably Pity, and prayer, and pardon Sweetness past utterance, and gentle peace, Sorrow's soft nurse, sweet as, amid the rocks, The hollow footsteps of the parting storm, When tranquil Eve comes on ! Thou who didst sit Hungry and weary on the Syrian well — Thou who did'st wander thro* the howling wild Houseless and friendless — Thou by Kedron's brook, In that dark hour that man can never know, Dropping Thine heart's own blood — meek, suffering Lord, TIM: MOUNTAIN HOME. 121 Thou know'st too well the weight that bows the soul, And throb of keenest agony ! Dear Lord, Teach me with Thee to climb the hill of woe, Teach me with Thee to walk the waves, nor dread The roar of dark Eternity beneath, For Thou hast set us on that fearful gulf, That we may learn to lean on Thee alone. And Thou wilt not forget my trembling soul 'Mid millions — Thou wilt dwell alone with me, Father and Friend, as on the twinkling main Sleep countless moons in pictur'd miniature, Each in unbroken semblance: or the Sun Spangles the dew-drops on each pearly blade, Each drop reflects his perfect beam, each blade Drinks life, as if for him alone it glow'd. And Thou didst walk the earth, a Being of clay, Thine heart, Thine eye, was in the Heav'n of Heav'ns, Reading th' Eternal Mind. Day without end, And all that dread immensity of being, Was with Thee and about Thy path, and still Brooding around Thee, not like Sabbath robes, And Sabbath thoughts, but as the noonday Sun, " An ever-during presence not put by." Familiar as the o'er-arching vaidt of Heav'n, And like the day about Thy paths, wherein Was seen the nothingness of earthly toys, 122 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. While we in misty twilight fain would fling Magnificence around them. Oh, no more Let me forsake Thine unseen guiding hand ! Oh, lead me to Thy sweet and peaceful home, Beside the streams of comfort, That I no more with seven worse spirits turn To the world's wilderness ! Spirit of Peace, Long lost — long fled— where have I strayed from Thee, Fountain of healthful thoughts and gentle hope, Where have I strayed from Thee ? when, if awhile There came upon my soul that still small voice, Dwelling 'mid Nature's solitudes, it came But like the gale upon the harp, that woke A momentary thought, and died away. O lead me to Thy sweet and peaceful home ; Thee have I sought amid the pathless woods, Thee mid th' untrodden mountains and dark glen, Unconscious, while I fled Thee. Thou it was In the calm summer noon, when Nature stood Awfully beautiful, and from the steep Hung listening to the solemn harmony Of woods and waters : Thou it was, dread Power, Walking in stillness thro' the peopled scene, 'Mid calm of earth and Heaven ! and Thou it was In mid-day twilight, when the torrent's voice THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 1*23 Hurrying his mountain multitudes from far, Caird to the echoing woods, and the dark Heaven, In gloom descended on the shrouded heights. I stood amid those mountain solitudes, On a rude plank that cross' d the torrent chasm, Roaring eternally, till on the eye Hung the cold tear unconscious, and I turn'd Unworthy with those shadowy forms to blend, Nature's unsullied children : then came on Feelings of solemn loneliness, and thought Amid the silence of creation s works, Waking the echoes of the past ; until The veil of things, and this mysterious being, And the dark world, and falFn humanity, Hung like a weight upon the soul ; then woke Stirrings of deep Divinity within, And, like the flickerings of a smouldering flame, Yearnings of an hereafter : Thou it was, When the world's din and Passion's voice was still, Calling Thy wanderer home. Spirit of Peace, O let me rest beneath Thy palmy shade, And trace in Thy clear fountain, calm and deep, Shadows of happier things, and the pure Heav'n ; Mirror of deep tranquillity, beyond The sweep of scorching winds and wintry cold ! 124 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Or if not to that haven of Thy rest, Yet let Thy cheering beam, thro' the dark wild, Fall gently on my lonely path ! and, oh, When all around is dreariness and night, Let me not call it solitude, if Thou, b Light of the soul, be near ! and if the storms Gather around me, and the waterfloods Roll o'er my soul, oh, let no envious clouds Hide from mine eyes that solitary star, Rising in loveliness beyond the storm. Oh, o'er the howling wilderness of waves, Let not Faith fail to bear me up ! be Thou My guardian, Thou my guide ; Thee may I see When earth is fading from my dying eyes, Thee c may I hold with faltering hand ! A while, And all this strange terraqueous scene of things Shall be but like a sick man's dream, or gleams That came upon the dawn of infancy, And all our tears but like the dews of night, Lost in the presence of eternal sun. b Tu mihi curarum requies, tu, nocte vel atra, Lumen, et in solis tu mihi tuiba locis. Tibullus. c Te spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora, Te teneam moriens deficiente raauu. Ibid. Till. MOUNTAIN IIOMI \ % 2o THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. Poor murmurer, cease to fret and roar, With hurried step and ruffled breast, Thy pebbled path will soon be o'er, And thou on Ocean's bosom rest. And what to yon vast endless home Each little rock that checks thy way, To where yon mountain billows roam, To where yon worlds of water stray? 126 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. THOUGHTS OF HOME. I stood within a vale with hills girt round, Save where its opening portals did disclose A sapphire shield of deep o'er-arching blue, Bright Ocean, with his glistening wilderness, Wedded to the blue Heav'ns. And then, anon, With a strange inland winding, seen again Amid the mountains, with his watery arch Just gleaming, and his mail-like winding back Shew'd like a river, for the hills beyond Came and stood near, a giant multitude, Like some wild vision looking on the vale In clear and distinct neighbourhood from far. Those hills are still the same — and those calm woods, And that dear eminence, still looking down Upon its own bright valley, as of old. Somehow methought an age had pass'd away, And Memory's dim visions walk'd the glades, Speaking mysterious with strange eloquence. But where are they who made that scene so dear ? Where are they ? They methought were not ! THE MOUNTAIN DOME 127 THE SEA AND MOUNTAINS AT NIGHT. I. Strange stillness,, and strange solitude ! the world With all its vanities in glowing sheen, Its busy hopes full-set, its sails unfurl'd, Moves stilly onward to its closing scene. Beneath us, and around us, tho' unseen, An Ocean heaves his thunders ; but we grown Familiar sport his foaming locks between, While ope his marble jaws, and one by one We are not, — he rolls on all midnight and alone. II. Shall the soul rest upon Life's stormy pillow, To slumber lull'd by Nature's solemn bass ; And anchor like a sea-bird on the billow, W r hile darkness sits beneath the watery glass ? Lo, silvery gleams on the tempestuous mass Break sternly beautiful, from worlds serene Fall moonlight rays ; and home-bound spirits pass, Rejoicing in the light, by all unseen, Save Him alone who sits behind the eternal screen. 128 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. III. Thus, 'mid her calm and azure palaces, Sits gentle Hope, speaking of Heav'nly rest, Shedding her mantle sweet o'er Life's rude seas: Like her, that with unchang'd, tho' changing crest, Walks forth her monthly round from out the west; She fills her faded horn with borrowed gleam, And clouds, that would enshroud her, doth invest With her own brightness ; O, lift up thy beam, Light on Night's brow thy darkly-gleaming diadem I IV. Earth's peers, the sun and moon, are aged grown ; It is the torrent's stillness, ere it fall ! Torches of Heav'n, lit at the Eternal's throne, Thro' this dim scene of things, Time's twilight hall, They lead her to the tomb's o'er-hanging pall. On Earth the torrent's stillness ! now, e'en now, The rush, the roar of waves, a watery wall Hath sprung aloof, and arch'd the gulf below, Where Faith with upturn'd eyes sits on the illu- min'd bow. V. Ere while she made her cradle in Night's womb, Rock'dby the chainless elements, 'neaththe throne THE MOUNTAIN HOME. [29 Of darkness, with light warring thro' the gloom : F/en Order rose with measured orison Waking the desolation, and anon From cowl of mantling Chaos, o'er him hung, Gradual unveiling his uplifted crown, On wheels of harmony, divinely sprung, — While all the morning stars around her cradle rung. VI. Lift up thy fallen and sin-wither' d head, For Time is old, and shakes his glass at thee With palsied hand, — thy dust is numbered ! O Time, I see his mighty shadow flee O'er earth, to join the past eternity ; Like some wing'd messenger on towering height, Girded with speed, with stature on the sky, Folds not his wing, but doth on earth alight, And shrouds himself again in the vast infinite. VII. In ruin, yet in ruin beautiful, Thou prison-house of Hope, with belt of stars, Thy glorious sea, and arch'd aerial hall ; Still Beauty on thee waits, thy lightning scars To clothe with flowers, — 'tween darksome clouds appears, — - 130 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. And throws o'er stern decay her gleaming pall, — Wakes ever tones of mercy ; and uprears Her glittering head o'er Nature's funeral ; O Messenger most sweet from Him that loveth all! VIII. From Him who ever watches, if at length, Beneath the wings of His all-fostering Dove, He may but gain one wanderer ; and His strength Holds back in pleadings of eternal Love. Yea, and that Messenger is from above, That rends thy pearl-deck' d mantle of blue light, To invest thee with the thunder; and that strove Darkly to tell, that, 'neath the flowery height, The Avernian whirlwind's wing doth fold itself in Night. IX. But see, where far the radiant Twilight flies, And oft at fits, lifting Night's jetty pall, Unbars the mountain dread sublimities, That clothe themselves with darkness, 'neath light's fall More palpable ; and bursts at interval The mountain amphitheatre reveal'd, And wild Orion, from the ethereal wall THE MOUNTAIN HOME. LSI Watching bright Hesper on the adverse field, Leaning on Ocean's verge his redly-glooming shield. X. Dark Ocean heaves amid the gloom profound His solemn diapason to the Moon, With that strange falling — falling undersound, Like thunder ; she, from out her cloudy noon, Look'd forth upon his deep-toned benison ; There gleam'd a boat, in light shower'd thro' a cloud, 'Mid multitudinous billows all alone, With busy forms of life, a shadowy crowd, A silver spot amidst dark Ocean's leaden shroud. XI. That boat is seen no more, — but a lone beam, And far from out the horizon on the west, In gloomy indistinctness, like a dream, A gleaming islet lifts its rocky nest ; As if the parting Day, sinking to rest, There left his glowing mantle ; sweet repose Beyond Night's confines ! brighter shapes confest The twilight walk, as if that gale that rose Blew the vast skirt aside, and darkly did disclose k 2 132 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. XII. Beauty's immortal lineaments. On high The Moon is in her watch-tower, 'mid dark clouds Attendant rolling on her pageantry ; Herself unseen, afar her glory broods On the bright waters ; now troop sable shrouds Of winged darkness o'er Heav'n's moving roof, And 'neath the blackening waves, like shadowy crowds, Or Stygian coursers upon soundless hoof; Now o'er the watery dome the curtains hang aloof. XIII. Now brighter and more bright bursts forth the tress Of the white Queen of Night; lo, from her shield, In palpable and massy hoariness, A cloud-born image flies, now dim reveal'd Strange sights of elemental war they wield, And battle in Heav'n. She, thro' the welkin riven, Mounts up the watery arch, far o'er the field, O'er scatter'd hosts and shapes of blackness driven, Unveils her solemn state, and reigns serene in Heaven. XIV. And thou again, thou lost and ruin'd earth, That strugglest with the mystery dimly thrown THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 133 Around thee, and the clouds that mar thy birth, Shalt burst the bars of darkness, purer grown, And walk in glory round thy Maker's throne; Rising from out the dust, and o'er thee flung A mantle of bright lustre not thine own, Shalt climb the ancient Heav'ns, the stars among, To hymn the Crucified, and join the eternal song, June, 1829. 134 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. IRREGULAR THOUGHTS IN RHYME. I. O voice come forth from Truth's eternal hall, That we shall endless be for weal or woe ; How dost thou, in the silence of dead night, The listening heart appal ! Still nearer and still nearer ever brought By ever- deepening thought, As stars grow on the telescope's clear light: Till mightiest things below Seem wither'd leaves, whose shadows pass Beneath some watery glass. O vast above us of unmeasured sky, With but a shell between ! O deep of deep immensity, And thought-unfathomed sea, Beneath us, though unseen ! Rous' d at the view around her house of clay, The ethereal spirit feels for some sure stay : Then turns to watch the hues that o'er her mansion play. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 135 II. Far stretching forth beyond her earthly bond, The straining sight searches the horizon round, And finds no bound, Another and another yet beyond, In deepening thought profound ! Woke by the touch of Contemplation's wand, The soul takes wing, Yet higher and yet higher doth she spring, And yet she finds no bound; Then sinks in that dread thought's wild fa- thoming, Nor ever feels the ground. III. Let wild creeds come and go — Beneath the weight of that ne'er-dying Now, Beneath the weight of that o'erwhelming throe, On naught but One in Godhead infinite, And infinite in might, Can deathless being lay its fever'd brow. Go count the diamond drops that fill Night's urn : Those mighty multitudes, which from her cells Come forth, are lamps which round the palace burn, Where the Eternal dwells. 186 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Could He put off that robe of Heav'nly light, Deck'd with those gems which baffle sight, To put on weeds of creeping man ? Would'st know ? then learn Eternity to scan, And weigh it well, And put it in the scale with him that fell. When thou hastmark'd that Ocean's furthest tides, Then may'st thou take thy compass, and bring down The everlasting heights where God abides To measurings of thine own ; And count the attributes which gem His crown. Then may'st thou take the Ocean in thy hand, And number his sun-glittering sand, And measure HeavVs eternal love By that which in thy breast doth move. Ah, no, the little flower, Which by some mountain streamlet hath its home, Drinks of the Sun's bright shower, And wraps its head from the Storm's passing gloom, But knoweth not his cradle or his tomb. IV. The Sun and Moon just now were on the main, In union of strange majesty, While solemn Evening wove her fairest chain, They all must die ! THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 137 And now the multitudinous mountains sleep around, They all shall flee away, The eye shall seek for them, but they Shall not be found. Night o'er the sky her banner hath unfurl'd, And marshals for her army many a world; They all shall fall, like faded leaves When disheveird Autumn grieves : The soul this day lit by celestial fire, Cannot expire ; But, when the blazing universe is flown, Shall in Judgment stand alone : Then what to me is Honour, Love, or Hate, To-morrow launch'd upon that shoreless state ? Yea, ere this night hath morning met, The Judgment may be set, The time for Prayer will then be gone, And to undo what then is done ; Dread thought ! like lightning passing o'er, Searching the heart, — then leaves it as before. V. The Moon's white footsteps scour the mountains hoar, Then leave them, cold and darken'd as of yore. The Sun's fleet shafts speed o'er the watery main, 138 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Opening the wild deeps as they go. Then leave them to their solitudes again. The kite on high his passing shadow flings, And all the forest birds are cowering low, Then tune their songs anew and plume their wings ; The deepening earth and sky, Pictur'd in miniature in glancing eye, One moment there are glass'd, and then are not; Thus the dread thoughts of our eternal lot Fleet o'er the unstable soul, and are forgot. VI. But ever as we oftener thither turn, To those vast worlds Life's sunshine hides from sight, They in our thoughts do steadier burn, And ever grow upon the growing sprite. Thus from that sea of never-ending light, Our spirits drink of an enduring life, With forms diverse and colours rife : As to the deeps of Love who oft repair, In never ceasing prayer, Do gather thence the love that they would learn. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 139 VII. 'Mid scenes of these our destinies manifold, Ever advancing to be old, Still on and on we climb Upon the back of time ; Like some huge rock whose sides we mount on high, Like some poor creeping fly. But borne aloft upon that towering height, Standing upon the Infinite, Man seems to an unwonted greatness grown, And stature not his own. O dangerous sight, if Love and Fear be gone ! O Truth far better left to us untold! For in the giant rock we contemplate, In grasp of our conceptions we seem great, Seeing our shadows lengthen on the mountain side, And we forget that we must there abide, And in that silent dwelling have our part, Stript of our pride, When we have laid this towering form, To say — Corruption, thou my mother art, My sister, thou the worm. VIII. Her prison-house around The soul is searching still for knowledge fair ; But bars of ignorance are there, i 140 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. And the thunder's lair, To warn her of forbidden ground. There Heresy in darkness sleeps profound, And Error there, and Doubt are wandering still, Upon that mist-enshrouded hill. Still Duty's wicket-gate stands ope below, Calm as the Moon's pale brow. Then sets the soul her restless sail, To catch each passing gale To bear her to some golden shore, Which misery and disquiet guard for evermore, Stretching their arms around dim phantoms pale. Then would she make herself some airy car, Above her earthly clog to soar, And claim her kindred with the star ; Wooing vain Honour to her side, Like a spangled phantom bride, With her and wan Corruption to abide. And still below the narrow gate stands ope, Leading to ways of lowly Poverty, And moon-lit paths of duty, calm and free ; But ever-busy earth-born Hope Is filling her with projects evermore, Too high for that low door. Then fever'd Fancy lifts enthusiasm's torch, And kindles up this darkling porch, THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 141 With shadows bold, Turning the clouds which guilty spirits hold Into celestial figures manifold. Still Duty's narrow wicket open stands, And Love in vain stretches her eager hands : We one by one are not, But still the sky is fair ; And sunbeams sleeping there, Where the white-gleaming cot Sits on its mountain shelf, 'mid hanging fields of gold, IX. I saw a jutting rock amidst the sea, And on it things in a strange revelry. Not sporting, but contending all about, For ampler room and mastery. And fast on each, within that maddening rout, The Sea put forth his hand, — they were no more: The rest still strove as they had strove before, The Sun shone on that rock as it had shone of yore. It makes me sad to think of that contentious reef. An insect brood then saw I on a leaf, Which every wind that passed shook withal, Stern admonition that it soon would bear away ; And on it were dark creepings of decay : "We heed not," said they, " tho' our lives be brief, 142 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. This but our cradle is, and not our home ; And tho' Decay builds 'neath our verdant hall, Wings have we gathering, and we shall be gone." Then said I, this is better, — I would own This thought — 'tis sweet, — such thoughts come at our call, Forbidding the weak soul on visions wild to roam. X. I to that boundless Love would ever turn, From that, as from some hidden urn, Drawing the peaceful thoughts of Charity, And bid the world good bye. For that calm grove, wherein our Mother dwells Beside those living wells, Wherein the face of Heav'n is ever clear, And looks out from the azure deeps Rather in love than fear ; And on its tranquil margin sleeps Some aged hoary pile, which on its breast Is calmly in its rest. So may 1 turn from turbid rills Which fever'd Fancy fills, And from pale Superstition's brood That dwell in solitude. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 143 Oh, take me, tranquil Mother, 'neath thy wing, That I may dare look out on that dread sea, While in calm watchfulness I learn of thee, And to thy hopes of mercy cling. XL Those that have been before us we displace, Only that we may give our space, To them who are behind us in the race. Before, on dim eventful pilgrimage, Prophets and aged patriarchs to the tomb, Like travellers girded for a distant home, Are hurrying, as the shadows of a cloud. And from the heights of age, O'er gathered bounds of many-number'd years, They look out from Life's evening hermitage ; And as they pass one voice they lift aloud, We are but strangers in this vale of tears ; Yea, as we spoke, our life it hurried by, Like the swift post that passes speedily ; — Or the wing'd ship upon the summer sea ; — Like the keen eagle on its prey that flew ; — Or the fleet shuttle which the weaver threw ; — ■ Like the quick arrow parting the thin air, Which clos'd again, and left no vestige there ; — Like smoke which, as we watch'd, was vanished ; — A flower of morn at evening withered : 144 THE MOUNTAIN HOMK. Yea, like a leaf with which the waters play, Yea, like a flood Thou bearest us away; A dream, which on the morning eyelid lies, And in the twinkling of a sunbeam flies. Thus upon fleetest wings did our life flee, And while it w r as it was but vanity. We nothing knew, nor whence, nor where, nor why; But that our God was good, and we w r ere born to die. XII. This place is not our home, — O thought most vain ! As well the wandering crane, Might seek his home upon the stormy sky ; Or the wing'd butterfly In faded leaves on which the worm w T as lain. We are lost children in an unknown wood, Who nothing know but their own solitude ; Ah, them no zeal of gathering flowers, Nor gleam of light that comes upon those bowers, Nor pebble-piled tower, nor gleaned wreath Shall tempt to rest those baleful shades beneath. But we, alas ! or sleep, or random roam, Till all forgotten is our Father and our home. XIII Where shall the aching mourner find relief, Whose bosom is with fresh bereavement torn, THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 145 Where Love was born and cherish'd, for that grief What balm hath breath of eve, or summer morn? Come forth, and see how these long foster'd flowers Are trailing 'neath the trees, — how sweet the sun Goes down upon the wave, from woodland bowers There comes a dewy freshness, — his work done, See, Labour homeward hies ! The eye hath roved, And is 'mid other scenes, where parting life Lit up the eyes which most on earth it loved, And all these scenes with other tales are rife, While Nature's harmonies, like discord fall On the untuned ear. Then seek the roof Of sweet Philosophy ; I hear her call, From her charm' d lute sure grief doth stand aloof ! Alas ! why should I seek her witching cave, Unless it were to bring back those we love, And that she cannot ; nor would Sorrow have The grave give up its owner. Care hath strove And Friendship with her watchful tending eye, If haply she fond memory yet might steal From straying round the tomb to life's bright sky, But He who gave the wound alone can heal. L 146 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. It is alone the thought that we are here But strangers from our Father, with no rest, No home, no peace, nought lasting, nothing dear, Till we are gather' d to a Father's breast. Tho' pain and grief prevail, that God is good, That nothing can be evil on this earth, Wherein His sacred Spirit hath abode, Save what from man, and evil will hath birth. XIV. No, sad indeed it were if this were all, And we were not by the glad Hope sustain'd, That there are better things for us laid up, Than all the gilded toys which 'neath the thrall Of Passion lead us onward, no drop gain'd To fill the slakeless spirit in life's cup. Else it were sad to find each cherish'd thing With falling and grey hairs upon the wing, And hurrying from us ; and at every turn Upon life's road amid the landscape fair To see a sepulchre a , And drop our natural tears : O lesson stern, But for the hope that better things are won For us, to the Soul's haven travelling on, a et nunc, ecce, sepulcrum Tncipit apparere Bianoris. Virgil. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. I 17 Which freed from clouds of passion may discern, A mighty Helper who with us doth dwell, Strengthening herself to see the Invisible. XV. Then let us gather boldness in that hope, With the world's sternest phantoms calmly cope, And set our sail right onward, while the day Is ours, and Love doth marshal us the way. Let others sleep, or sport on summer sea, Forgetful of the storm behind ; Set we the sail right onward, homeward flee, E'en now I hear the distant wind Muster his forces 'mid the thunder hills, The little hand e'en now the whole horizon fills. XVI. When Prophecy of old had birth On fallen earth, In singlenes it sprung, Feeble and young ; Then forth it put a gladdening leaf, Beneath earth's cloud of grief. Then branch on branch to sorrowing man's relief Its sheltering shadow flung. 148 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. And in each branch there was a budding gem, And in each gem there was a hidden stem, And in each stem a leafy diadem. And every branch on that prophetic tree, Was emblem of some mightier mystery, Like boughs of trees, on which they climb, Which are both counterpart and limb : Till to a mighty whole upgrown, It stood on earth, its stature touch'd the sky, Filling the Church invisible ; And 'neath its shade the saints they came to dwell, And on its head their was a heavenly crown. For Earth itself is but the secret womb, Or embryo form of something yet to come ; And every deed in virtue sown Shall blossom when the world is overthrown, And not a vestige known. Each gleam that now plays on the skyey roof Hath strayed from mansions which are hid on high, And all the darksome colours in life's woof Are from the house where grief can never die. Each wind and gushing storm, Which nature doth deform, Are heralds of the time, when shall be borne Upon their sounding wheels the dreadful Judgment Morn. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 14!) LIFE AND DEATH. The wind will bear us soon away Like wither'd leaves ; And our hopes like brilliant spray, Which Ocean heaves, Which it bears unto the light To catch the ray, then vanish quite. And we then shall ever be In a house most sad to see ; Or of joy as of a river Drink, and drink on for ever. All our joys like rivers be, Swallowed in Joy's deathless sea : All our woes like rivers be, Swallowed in Woe's deathless sea. Then what is all this world within, Ere the brittle shell be broken • Or of life the dizzy din, Ere the word of death be spoken ? 150 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. THE WITNESS TO ALL NATIONS. I. Knowledge wave after wave the world doth fill. Like Ocean in his might, The Gospel trump is blown from hill to hill; — A glorious city standing on each height. A witness dread with beacon-light, Maketh around the darkness visible. Unto our dungeon dim, Deep avenues are ope around, Unto abodes of golden Cherubim, And scenes of Heav'n that wax not old ; — Within the wild hath Christ unwound His treasures manifold , — But what is this if Love grow cold, And Faith be no where found, While lust and pride and wrong throughout the world abound ? II. From land to land that kingdom shall be spread, From heaven which cometh down, THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 151 Wherein the lamb shall with the lion play, And both shall by a child be led, — The kingdom of the day ; A wondrous net shall o'er the earth be thrown, Of golden meshes made ; And in the wilderness a table laid; Man seen with God along the darkling way, In lowly fear made bold, Shall as with brother converse hold ; But what, alas, if 'mid the heavenly ray, Fancy still stores on earth her treasured hoard, And few the secret learn of them that fear the Lord . III. O Word divine of wondrous energy, That converse with poor fishermen, (By the lone shore of Galilee, Or Tabor rising on the distant ken,) That One from the dark grave there shall be born W T ith such a glorious light, That all earth's shades shall in that beam be bright ; But they who walk in that celestial morn, Shall unto their own darkness turn, And proffer'd love shall spurn, — 152 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. That so in that dread summoning again, When the deep silent vault for aye is riven, They to their earthly cares and pleasures shall be given, And Noah and just Lot to them shall call in vain. IV. Yea, that vast world where deathless things have birth, Like the horizon girding earth, Is spread around us, — but we lowly bow'd To scenes of little love or little strife, Creep amid creeping things, an insect crowd, Unto a silent cave. Thus are they, spirits form'd for endless life, Like seeds by vagabond winds o'er moor, mount, wave, Borne frustrate, or beneath some shady wood Left to the heat and cold of parching skies, Till the true germ of life within them dies, — Embryos abortive of high destinies ! What though mid Angels' hosts we draw our breath, If while we walk in our own solitude. Broad be the way to death. THE MOUNTAIN BOMB. 153 V. Like Heav'n encircling earth the boundless view Is spread around, peopled with forms of light, Angels which joy o'er mortals true, But the world's sun is on our sight, That knowing it we know not, nor behold. Look out and see, e'en now as then of old, The world with cries of Freedom rings, Doth not the earth her ancient revel hold ? Tho* sternly mindful of serener things Striving to gain each wanderer 'neath her wings, From place to place the dove of mercy flits. Meanwhile the Lord in His own temple sits, And the Refiner tries the gold. 154 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. A FRAGMENT ON THE DEATH OF EVE. Eve sat, her wintry tresses falling o'er Sorrow's wan visage, like the snowy wreaths O'er the dismantled birch on Oby's bank, Hanging a soft and pensive loveliness. Serene as Lapland winter, calm and fair As dewy night, that o'er the azure arch Walks stilly forth, the days wild fever o'er, Studded with stars and coldly beautiful. And she sat gazing on the silent moon With eyes suffused with tears, that silent spoke Peaceful communion, as when 'neath the lake The fountain deeps are stirring, but scarce move The glassy surface calm. " The little flower Sleeps placidly beneath thy silvery gleam, The crown-bent palm stands stirless ; tranquil Moon, I love thee more than that bright orb of day, For thou art more like gentle hope, and joy That stood so fair on his meridian tower, THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 155 To me shall rise no more. But often thus When it is all like night around my soul, Methinks I see those rocks that sleep in light Beyond yon sylvan avenue ; yet still Along the lengthening vista of dark years I travel on and on, at each remove Dropping whate'er was left of Paradise. Winter is on my brow, and in my heart ; Still nearer yet, methinks, and nearer still I hear that unseen Thing that dwells in night His coming in the wailing wind I hear ; I hear him in the thunder ; with dark tread Shaking the mountains, shuddering, breathless, cold His icy hand 1 feel upon my heart; In sheeted lightning his form I see, Glaring upon me. Nature then walks forth Mournfully smiling thro' her shattered robes, And puts on hues of Paradise ; the Moon Is in the noonday heavens, serenely fair, Looking upon the sunny earth, but yet I see that dismal shape lurking behind, Lifting the curtains from some silent realm, The bodiless hand put forth from out the cloud. Or art thou but a shadowy thing of night, Leagued with the elements and Nature's ills To pray unseen on being? Still I drag 156 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. The weary chain of life, like some wild weed That lives and blooms around the wither'd trunk Its own embrace hath blasted. Could but aught, Long Prayer, and long Repentance* bitter tear, Recall what once hath mounted on the wing Of the fast fleeting hour ! Yet all in vain E'en could time's ceaseless footsteps wear away One stain, yet dark Corruption darker grows, And round the Holy Altar wreaths its weeds With subtle snaky wiles. But Thou wilt still Receive our offerings, and from out Thy shrine And all enfolding cloud Thy flame breaks forth, Telling us Thou art near, in pity near. 1 see Thee not, I hear Thee not, around I feel for Thee, and find Thee not ; but wrapt Within Thy cloud of wonders, as a veil, Move darkling ; surely Thou art with us still, Within us and around us, surely Thou Art in these gleams that visit my sad heart, When evil things of youth have o'er me come Blending with dreams of age. I seem'd to rove In happy groves o'erhung with golden fruits, I ate, and found all ashy bitterness. I dream'd of struggling in a mortal fray. To save one from a deadly grasp, when, lo, We seem'd all suddenlv within the coil THE MOUNTAIN HOME 157 Of a strange serpent, horrible, and huge, We and our children. Then came sweet relief, Methought I sat beside a silent tomb, When the grave oped, and from the rending rock There came One clad in an unearthly light, And all behind was full of glorious forms. Thus on the clouds that hid me gleams have come From far, beyond the chambers of the Moon, Beyond the dwelling of the Western wind So beautiful at even. I have stood Listening, at fall of night, and heard afar Strains as in Eden bowers, till o'er me woke A world of recollections, link by link, Most melancholy ; then methought they sung Of Him who comes to drive that fiery throng, Where darkly gleams yon midnight dawn afar, Unearthly sweetness ! then my heart o'errun And Eden in the desert seem'd to bloom." She ended, as one w T aken'd by the touch Of soft heart-moving Pity : as what time In veils of Heav'n- wrought woof Iris descends, Fair messenger of mercy : fallen earth Acknowledging the token with bright dew r s And fragrant-breathing incense, greenly dight, Looks tearfully to Heav'n, and grateful smiles. 158 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. WRITTEN IN 1826. Spirit of gentleness, Still would thy blameless soul in pity bleed For those that wound thee! Peace be with thy steps, And earthly wrongs but wings that bear to Heav'n ! Spirit of gentleness, thou wast not made To wrestle with an evil world, 'mid clash Of Passion's steely mail, and the loud din Of spirits framed in iron mould ; but He Who bid thee sojourn here, hath haply sent To shew awhile in live reality, The loveliness of natures trained for Heav'n, And fit thee by thine earthly pilgrimage For thine enduring home. Spirits of Heav'n Be with thee and around, while from the gall Of this world's bitterness thy gentle soul Shall gather sweetness. Still on Him that died Thine eye shall dwell ; thy feet may totter 'neath Thy daily cross of sufferings, yet on Him, — On that calm brow with death's cold damps be- dew'd, — That peaceful eye glazed with keen agony — THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 159 Thy soul shall feed ; till from the gate of death Upon thy drooping soul it seem to smile Unearthly peace and pardon ; then thy knees Shall gather firmness, and thy gentle soul Shall smile 'neath earthly wrongs. While year and year Roll o'er thee and roll from thee, each still wave That hurries on the noiseless bark of life, But bears thee onward to thy place of rest, To be on Abraham's bosom with thy God, 160 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. A little child The morn of being round me breaking, Like a glad vision fair and wild ! And I in a bright world awaking, With trees and flowers all greenly dight, And arch'd with roof of deep blue light, Where to a golden cave remote There rode a fiery Charioteer, And then anon his pale compeer Had launch' d her crescent boat ! Light as that arch's mantle blue, The curtains from my soul withdrew, E'en now as back my view I bear, That dream — it seems strange hues to wear, Like that unearthly sea displayed In microscopes, as light and shade Fleet through the mirror gathering rays, And lighting all with silvery rays, E'en now as in enchanter's glass, To life's sweet orison The darkly gleaming shadows pass, While memory lifts her twilight Moon In caves of dim Oblivion. THE MOl NTA1N Iln.M! . 1 (> 1 A- o'er me woke that shadowy scene, A little Spirit came to me, And told me of a great Unseen, That walked o'er that blue canopy. Oh, 'twas a fearful mystery, Around me, but unknown to sight, Like light around the blind ! And should the blind man wake, and find All he had done he did in light! That great Unseen, all- seeing Eye, Where'er I turn'd it seemed on me! A cloud was o'er my childhood's dream, I sat in solitude, I know not how, I know not why, But round my soul all drearily, There was a silent shroud, For w r ith my sleep such terrors came, Of rolling on a rolling billow, With a wild storm for my pillow. That Sun seemed hurrying to his tomb, From which the Moon, in silent gloom, Gliding in stole of ghastly light, Came forth, and sat on throne of Night. Then in my childish agony, That little Spirit came to me, M 1G2 THE MOUNTAIN HOME, And bade me rest on Him above, That He unseen, Did o'er me lean, With far more than a parent's love. Tho' tempests may the soul o'erwhelm, Asleep or wake, through toil or trouble, Tho' wild winds howl and waves redouble, Day or night o'er ocean's breast, That He would sit, and hold the helm, To the Pavilion of His Rest ! Fled were the hues that were adorning, The dews that hung upon Life's morning ; Another scene was on my dream, Around my path there was a gleam ; A laughing boy, And full of joy ! It was a joy that flush'd the cheek, But not the joy, so mild and meek, Which erst my earlier childhood knew, In leaning thoughts of One above, When even sorrow caught a hue From plumes of the o'ershadowing Dove. 'Twas not the soul's serene moonlight, But a meteor lamp down the arch of Night. That little Spirit came no more, Knocking at my heart's low door ; TIFF MOUNTAIN TrOME. 1()':3 Save when came pensive Solitude, And wove around her peopled cloud; Thro* the dim lengthening avenue, 'Twas He — in distance seen — and low Bending His averted brow. I struggled with a crowd, and play'd, 'Twas chang'd — I sat on a hill's side 5 , Crown'd with an avenue of ancient shade, A leafy colonnade ; Methought some shadowing rock was nigh, Its shade did on my soul abide ; Till I had climb* d and sat on high, Upon that n Rock of Pride." The world it seem'd to wear bright eyes, And cast them on me ; from my side Wings seemed to spring, and I to rise ; Oh, then my spirit sat apart, And I was sick at heart, Sick of a world with nought to win To fill that urn within. Then musing came, and care unholy ; And pensive pining melancholy, That listened to the distant lute, When all around was mute : b TJarrow on the hill. M 2 164 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Touch' d by her wand life's scenes to view. Arose, but wore a Stygian hue. I sat beside a ruined tower, The bird had fled the leafless bower - T I sought a home to memory dear, The Ivy and the Owl were there : The Rose was brushed by wintry wind, But fading left a thorn behind. Tho' love without his tendrils wound, And built a flowery arbour round, Within that little Spirit could not dwel^ For Pride was in his cell ! Around my soul there was a chain, It passed, and I was free again. A cup was at my lips, it pass'd, As passes the wild desart blast. Around me rose a wilderness, And long I hung in deep distress, I look'd around, I looked in vain, That little Sprite came not again, To the heart's lonely cell : But as I gazed, oh then, instead There rose Remorse, a shadow dread,. And in his arms I fell ! THE MOUNTAIN HOME. L65 I woke, around me was a gloom, And silence of the tomb. But in that awful solitude, That little Spirit by me stood, But oh, how changed ! I raised my eye, And saw One bleeding on a Tree ; Oh, that sad sight I dare not brook, That Eye — it seemed on me to look ! It was that great all-seeing Eye, So meekly, so forgivingly, From Death's dark gate in agony, That Eye it seemed to look on Me i 166 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. SADNESS. I could sit, and sit and weep, O'er my heart's sorrow ; My wounds in blood Thou bidd'st steep, Thy mantle borrow. If most forgiv'n could most love, Sweet were my sadness, I should be a wing'd dove, And drink wells of gladness. But thoughts sin hath bosom'd long, Chains by mercy riven ; They like birds of darkness throng, They load thoughts of Heaven. I could sit, and sit and weep O'er my heart's sorrow; But on Thine arm Thou bidd'st sleep, And wait Thy Morrow. [•HE MOUNTAIN HOME. I<>7 RECOVERY. Oh, there be some into this rude world sent With gentle spirits woven delicate, And ever leaning in weak languishment On some poor stay, that withers 'neath their weight ; Or 'mid grey enamels, ruins desolate, Hanging their purple summer, Heav'n's own dower To grace corruption, wed their high-born fate To weeds, vile weeds. Oh, bear us, blessed Power, OnThy sustaining arm, and sweetly sheltering bower! We cannot bear ourselves, cannot bear fruit, Unless Thou bear us, when the soul on Thee, On Thee doth stay herself, in Thee takes root, Then gently borne to Heavens forgiving eye, She puts on golden fruits of Charity, Wondering strange sweetness not her own to borrow. A fairer Earth succeeds, a fairer sky, Nature with rainbow promise of the morrow, Puts on her sabbath hues and smile* of sacred sorrow , 168 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. And then the meek affections borne on high Drink of ethereal air, and healthful grown Put forth their blossom in a purer sky ; Nature anew doth light her faded crown ; And the poor soul not lonely, tho' alone, Beneath her feels an all- sustaining hand, All tenderly sustaining: chastenings own A Father, and dark clouds that seem'd to stand, In dews of freshness fall, and glad the weary land. Is there aught sweet in gleams 'tween wintry cloud Lightning the storm's rent mantle? or in chord Of gentle Music when the winds are loud ? Is there aught sweet in Friendship's parting word; Or fall of Summer showers in stillness heard ; In moonlight beams with stormy seas that blend? Is there aught sweet in song of lonely bird, Singing 'tween showers, while Autumn gleams descend ? 'Tis that it speaks of Thee, our Father and our Friend. Thou art in the least flower that looks to heaven, And art Thou not in that heart's inmost scroll That leans on Thee, forgiving as forgiven, Despised but not despising, while the soul THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 169 Doth man herself in growing self-controul, From weakness felt in dungeons of dim Night (fathering immortal sinew, to unroll And nerve her wing to bear the mighty flight, And cleanse her eye to stand the blaze of Heaven's light ? Oh then, from the dark world, and worldly wile, From many- worded strife, and tempest's wing, Gently to steal 'neath Thy Parental Aisle! Meek suffering Spouse of thine anointed King, Pillaring strength, and fill'd with thoughts that spring In golden sweetness; while the monarch swain, Thine own anointed Psalmist, wakes the string ; And ages back reecho to the strain, Like rocks which hold the voice of their own sounding main. 170 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. CONSOLATION. Blest Author of our better birth, Methinks I have no wish on earth, But Thee to love, and do Thy will, Yet sin is with me still, In action prone to seek the feebler part, As streams the fountain speak, so action speaks the heart. 'Mid w r ounded friends when yesternight I seem'd to see, in streaming light, Thy Hand 'mid clouds and shades between, In showers of blessing seen, Remorse behind was telling o'er her fears, And 'neath a smiling eye the soul was full of tears. Thus have I seen the mountain Wye Steal from his alder canopy, To bask awhile in sunny vales His silver-glittering scales, The dimpled surface caught the living gleam, Then sought the shades again a cold and sombre stream. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 171 The bark all- wing to harbour hies ; The beast to woodland covert flies ; The dove to home by summer sea; But where shall sinner flee ? The wayward child with shame and grief opprest, — His head where shall he hide, but in a Parent's breast ? " Ye heavy-laden, come to me!" Ne'er voice that set a captive free, — Ne'er watery breeze on Arab sand, — Ne'er Sun on Arctic strand, — Ne'er native strain to heart of exile stole, So sweet as those blest words to heavy-laden soul. Dear words! still let me read you o'er, And on each Heav'nly accent pore ; " Come unto me," ye grief-opprest ! Dear words on you I rest, Henceforth I bow unto Thy chastening rod, And turn toThy dread Cross, my Saviour and my God ! 17*2 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. REPOSE. Oh, let me not distrust Thee more ! While wearily we onward press, Still Thy Love flies our Fears before, And meets us at each turn to bless: Sad fancies cower with boding wing Before, or clouds their shadow fling, But at each turn 'tis Thou art there, In azure sky and landscape fair. The rose-bud trusts the zephyr's wing, And doth unfold her tender bloom ; The painted insect trusts the spring, And doth unfurl her pictured plume. The lark doth not do morning wrong, But doth unbosom all her song ; Thy love like light around us glows, But we 'gainst Thee our bosoms close. The star doth climb Heav'n's crystal stair, To fill his grateful lamp with light; Earth feeds in fields of lucid air, And giveth back in verdure bright; THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 173 The Sun at fountain of Thy beams Doth draw, and with life-giving streams ; We live in th' ocean of Thy love, But Thee distrusting barren prove. Still thro' our prison-house dark Fear Looks, mocking at our destinies ; And whispers in the sea-boy's ear Of howling winds, and shipwreck cries ; He opes his eyes on summer sky, The water-whirlwind passes by ; His home expands her quiet shore, He smiles at what he fear'd before. Distrustful Fear, the child of guilt, He brings to fancy's brooding eye, The year's full urn in waters spilt, Or clos'd by dewless iron sky ; Thou op'st Thine hand with promis'd store, And the full year is flowing o'er With glad and golden plenteousness ; — We drink, the Fount forget to bless. The shades are varying while time's chain Unravels, and life's day-light sinks, Thy Love doth still unchanged remain; I have a home where Memory drinks 174 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. Fresh thoughts, thro' fever'd scenes 1 range, And find on all there is a change, Still Ocean's bow is bended there, Between the hills so blue and fair. There is a change upon that home, But there doth Memory still repair ■ Time's footsteps as they go and come, A balmy freshness seem to wear ; Each bird which there is fleeting by, Seems moving in a fairer sky, And the rude mountains which stand around, They seem to me enchanted ground. The Spirit's home is Thy dear love, And all our changeful destiny, In that Thy love doth sweetly move, In th' house where Thou hast deign'd to be. 'Tis Love that makes the valley bright, Love turns to pearls of silver light Those sails on Ocean's mantle blue, Love sheds o'er all a heavenly hue. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. I7fi THE STILL NIGHT. The sounds of distant Ocean Which come upon the night; And scarce perceived emotion Of fir- trees bathed in light. The fitful dropping fountain, From dingle deep below, With the listening mountain That seems the soul to know. The peacock's wild wood-holla, Woke by the owl from far, And dog that seems to follow The moon with clouds at war. These sounds for joy or sadness No longer are their own, Rut as remorse or gladness Is speaking in their tone. For Conscience's deep choices, Do unto them belong, And Memory's hundred voices I lave learnt a spirit's tongue. 176 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. SICKNESS. Blest sickness, with thy silent chain, And intervals of pain, Sitting in thy still corridor, We seem to Heaven's calm shore Brought near ; and your sweet thoughts of peace Seem gales from lands where sorrows cease, And Hope hath nought to crave. And pains that shake this shed of clay — Stern searchers of decay ! Full welcome are the thoughts ye bring, To seek a sheltering wing, Until be past life's tyranny ; And of a frame from suffering free, Whose cradle is the grave. And deep heart-crossings, sternly kind, Like leaves on Autumn* s wind, My hopes have gone to make their bed, By your keen breathing shed. I watch them die, and not unblest Turn to the winter of my rest, Beside Death's silent cave. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 177 Then what if I no love ean own To mark my going down, If I may sit by sun of light, Bidding the world good night ; And while calm thoughts my soul engage, Look from my evening hermitage, Upon the stormy wave — Like the pale star of evening mild ; What if nor friend, nor child, To watch my bed? less intervene To hide that Friend unseen, 'Neath whose enfolding wing at last The shadowy valley must be past, In pity strong to save. Most favour' d they beneath the Heav'n To whom Christ's pledge is given — " Blest are the mourners ; whom I love With sorrow I reprove." High heritage, to share the pain With Thee, with Thee the blessing gain, Steel'd the rude world to brave ! Teach me to know no worldly choice, Save in Thee to rejoice, N 178 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. And in Thy beams on others shewn ; They so become mine own, Till joying in Thy love's sweet shower, I make their gladness mine own dower, In all Thy goodness gave. So evil shall to me be good, And my heart's solitude Best company; my music meet Shall be the winds that beat My crazy hut, and the rude storm, The robe that wraps my Saviour's form, Walking upon the wave. THE MOUNTAIN HOMK. 17ii WALK TO THE SEA. The flowers upon the mountain's side Like lonely spirits dwell, Where beauty finds a place to hide In many a secret cell. And now the wild variety Of sea-weeds on the shore, And shells of glorious ancestry, Old Ocean's beauteous floor. There came in these a healing sense, To thoughts of my despair ; A living and felt evidence Of sweet protecting care. If thus His presence stands confest In shell, and flower, and stone. To Him each want within my breast, And every pain is known. And now I feel me strong again, To join your living songs; All animate, thou vocal main, With never resting tongues. N 2 180 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. And ye that stand in gloom profound., Like sentry of the strand, Ye everlasting hills around, A bold fraternal band. And she that from her silver boat Leans oer the summer sea, The moon, takes up the glorious note In quiet majesty. The moon, the mountains, and the sea, Are in Thy sheltering hand; But they are all no more to Thee Than pebbles on the strand. And though a sea of voices rise Throughout the boundless sky, Thou hear'st the inexpressed cries Of one as mean as I. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 181 AN EVENING SCENE. A gleam breaks on the mountains here and there ; The sea is one dark mass of molten lead,, But o'er it in the clouds a bar of red ; In whose wild distance opes a silver sphere Of skies and waters, where in vision clear A vessel seems on fairy-land to tread ; The valley 'neath our feet in evening spread Dark-green and dewy freshness seems to wear, Thick- set with golden fields, and hanging woods Stretch' d to the hills. Thus would I life pourtray When Evening shall go forth in solemn weeds ; — East- ward on childhood's mountains sleeps the ray ; Sea-ward are fancy's silver solitudes ; Below times measured out in fruitful deeds ; These are the harvests of eternal seeds ; All else are things of God to cheer our stay. 182 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. EXPRESSIONS OF A LITTLE GIRL. Oh, now 'tis many many a day, Since when my brother went away, And I'm expecting him alway ; Why comes he not, oh, tell me why ? His little chair, 'twas yesterday, I put beside me in my play, I love him so with me to stay, And then 1 think he's sitting by. When I'm asleep and dreams do see, Then little boys do play with me, Oh, do not ask me who they be, I wake, and all alone am I. I this bright morning have been out, And seen the lambs play all about, But I do cry at their glad rout, Once with them played dear and I. Be kind to little they said, Because that his poor father's dead, Does that mean where dear is fled ? If so, then I should like to die. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 183 You say that I have still a brother, And I do love him, but, O mother, My mother, is it not another ? That is the reason why I cry. 184 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. FAREWELL TO THE WATERFALL. Roar again, thou sounding waterfall, Ever moving, yet the same ! By thee on the mountain side Echo sits, a ghostly bride ; And below in glassy calm Her sister Shadow hath her hall ; Where the skies 'tw r een rocks are seen, Bosom' d in the waters green, The restless Naiad at thy feet, Finds her out a cradle meet. Haste along, thou sounding waterfall, In dread nature bear thy part ! Thus a voice in holier mood Sounds to us in solitude ; And its echo in the heart The listening spirit doth appal ; And the calm and deepening sky On the secret bosom lie : When on the rude world we are thrown, The image and the voice are gone. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 185 Speed away, thou sounding waterfall, May thy voice on me abide, Gladdening the stern mountain throng, And the woodlands with thy song. In thy twilight shades aside To me a beckoning hand doth call, I have many a field to cherish, Little flower that else may perish, The drooping herb and dying willow, Ere I reach my ocean pillow. 186 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. DEPARTING. When first between me and my home The mountain barriers come, And Evening sets her gloomy bars, And lights her house of stars ; Then those I love are doubly dear, And ills Fve done are doubly sad, I seem in silent sphere, 'Mid faces darkness-clad — And life a mist of hurrying years, Regrets and sighs and tears. I seem all waken' d from the stream Of an empassion'd dream, Wherein we wrought our destinies 'Mid clouds of rolling seas : It seems th' unravelling of life's scroll ; What thoughts within that chain are bound ? If ought doth wound the soul 'Tis that we others wound, — Where shall I flee, and hide, and weep ? 'Tis but on Calv'ry's steep ! THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 187 Sighs there become the wings of Prayer, Till Gilead all is there : Heart- searching Lord, did we but know Weight of each other's woe, We fain would make that burden less ! Tho' gleams upon the surface lie, Each hath his bitterness, A dark and hidden sea, Which thought of man could ne'er illume, But there walks Thy deep moon. Thy light alone can search the deeps Where silent sorrow weeps, (A Nereid in her watery lair, With sea-weed-braided hair,) 'Mid ruin'd hopes, wreck'd by the wind She woo'd, when on glad waters borne, Sailing for some bright Ind. — Each day that hath not worn The robe which fell from Thee of yore, Adds to Repentance' store. 188 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. EVENING BELLS. Ye joys of my youth Where are ye gone ? For those falling sweet bells Seem to sing your farewells. By some antique pile Visitings sweet, Like a dream have ye flown, Left me sitting alone ! Lonely and weary What shall I do? I will make me my bed, And go sleep with you dead. Little ones gone, Happy are ye, For your sleep is so still, While sin's cup we but fill. THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 189 With a dying fall Thoughts o'er me come, Yet in better hope clad, In my sadness I'm glad. Streaks of the morning Gone all away ! I love evening's soft light More than all ye so bright. For gleamings that come, Thro' th' evening door, From a far better place, Fall on sorrow's meek face. Then signs of decay Welcome to you If ye bind to Love's shore, Whence I wander no more. Then joys of my youth Well are ye gone, And those falling sweet bells They may ring out your knells ! 190 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. RETURNING. Ye rocky desolations, and dark heights, And voice of watery solitudes afar That break on Nature's stillness, where she sits Girt with her mountain battlements, or sports Unseen your winding haunts and caves among, Flinging beneath the steep her robe of green ! Here, where amid her unstirr'd sabbath sits Grim Loneliness, and silence sternly woos, Ye seem like relics of some other world, In your forlorn and naked majesty Darkly reposing ; and the kindly shrub Struggles in vain to clothe your jagged sides, Save where scarce seen upon yon jutting brow, Proud of its towering solitudes, a tree Gathering its hold on perpendicular crags Stands in the moonlight, looking down from high. Ye solemn mountains, where old memories dwell, And Childhood's thoughts, again to you I come, And in your tranquil bosom seek repose, But unto me ye bear no longer mine ! — They in their quiet sleep their sacred sleep, Where never sound shall ever reach them more, — Save that at which we all again shall meet ! THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 191 DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF MORAY, ST. PETER S DAY, 1838. Nothing of earthly mould must linger here, Lest it should mar the comings on of sleep, And break that solemn stillness, grave and deep, Where God and His good Angels draw more near, And that small Voice is heard, which mortal ear Cannot discern. Slumber the hour doth steep, And Heav'n is opening. Let no eye to weep, Nor fleshly tongue be there, nor ear to hear Divine Communions ! Spirits of the good, Come round him on the Heav'n-descended stair ! Martyrs and Fathers old, and Saints be there ! He of the ancient wisdom, good and true, From th' Eucharistic springs hath drunk with you c : But here on earth it is but solitude. c There is an extract from his work on the Eucharist in the Tracts for the Times, No. 81. 192 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. THE BEREAVED CHURCH IN SCOTLAND. Is there no remnant left? hath the cold wind Of pitiless Persecution left you bare ? Oft from the passing storm the aspen spare His whitening mantle doth around him bind, The silvery birch hath his meek arms reclined ; But when calm eve returns again are fair, Lifting their green heads to the mountain air. Is there no holy remnant yet behind? Ancient of Mothers, thou, when yet a child, Didst shun proud walls and Pharisaic pride, For Nazareth's lone moors and mountains wild, Making thy home with humble fishermen, And hadst not where thy holy head to hide ; On Caledonia's mountains wake again ! THE MOUNTAIN HOMK. 198 ST. DAVID S. Our own Menevia now deserted lies, Of those forsaken whom her bounty fed ; No longer now the pilgrim thither led, Drinks heart-ennobling thoughts, but there descries Her falling walls forlorn, until his eyes Gush out with water, where her form half-dead Forth from her mountains stands, as if to plead Her sacred cause unto the sea and skies. Her brows they bind with weeds of heresy, And my lone spirit fain would hope of thee, Thou wear* st unblam'd thy Master's crown of thorns, Good Caledonian Angel ; but again The yearning feels of her parental chain, Turns to her country, and in secret mourns. 194 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. THE SAME. Dear are her mountains wild, and stern, and free ; And dear the sound of their descending streams ; And dear on them the summer's glittering beams; And dear the woods on which the shadows flee ; And dear her valleys opening to the sea ; And dear those seas where parting Evening gleams ; In absence dear your image haunts my dreams, And after absence dearer still to see. But where are now your pure Baptismal springs, Whence flows the stream which all our freedom brings ? Where is the Altar prized in holy eyes, And waited on by white-robed Sanctities ? Where low-bow'd Reverence tending sacred things ? These thoughts of you to me in sadness rise. Cfje fttber's a&anfe. o2 €f)t liter's Bank. A YOUTHFUL WISH. If I could sing of Thee alone,, And be a poet all Thine own, Then I would wish to have a lyre, Thence wake celestial fire, That might make me to be all Thine, Turning my earth-bow'd heart to musings all Divine. Then I in thoughts of things above, Of Goodness, Mercy, Truth, and Love, Would bask in th' Ocean of bright beams Which from Thy Godhead streams, Till I should fill my little urn With a Seraphic light, and in Thee feebly burn. And then o'er all things here below, That little urn of light would throw A halo of celestial rays, Till we in sounds of praise Should hear o'er the rude noise of earth, A rising Seraph voice, and calm Cherubic mirth. 198 the river's bank. THE BANKS IN SUMMER. Thou who hast lovely built o'er all This bright and blue o'er-arching hall, And spread abroad beneath our feet This verdant carpet sweet, Studded with leafy tuft and hill, And threaded with the beads of many a purly rill. Thou on the soul, which Thou hast made, Who hast a bright expansion laid, Eternity shed o'er its birth, Like Heav'n encircling earth; Set wild flowers o'er our ruin'd seat, And many a home-found joy for weary pilgrims meet- Sure Thou would'st have us gather thence The holier mirth of innocence, And soar on these Thy works so fair, As on a golden stair, To Thee, and where Thy dwelling lies, O'er yon deep molten glass, and crystal canopies. the river's hank. 1 99 Thy Sun with glowing beams cloth spread The azure dome above our head, And gives around our feet to be A verdant tapestry, In him they all do live and move, In him the fresh'ning fount and sparkling waters rove. Sun of the soul, 'tis Thou alone, And beams encircling Thy dread throne, That lights the spirit's sky and earth, That lights his home and hearth ; The palace of eternity Thou walk'st, — Thyself the life of all that cannotdie. •200 THE RIVER'S BANK. THE BANKS IN AUTUMN. Oh, now I see what beauties lay O'er Summer's close, And Autumn's calm betrothing with Decay, With her last dying rose, Sweeter than Spring. 'Tis that upon Consumption's cheek, Blooming, though pale, Out of some brighter world doth gently break, And whisper a sweet tale Of better things. A calm awaiting seems to be O'er leaf and wave ; A calm undressing, all so silently, For calmness of the grave, Unrepining. 'Tis thus when, all its wanderings past, On the still tide The bark doth hang its idle sail at last 3 And. like a shadow, glide Into its rest. THE RIVER'S BANK. 201 The noiseless brook its banks along Winds like a lake, Save stilly heard a rippling under-song, Whose passing eddies make Silence more still. If haply o'er the listening trees Wanders a sound, It seems a voice come from the distant seas, Upon a message bound Inland and far. Upon the dread and dim serene, Each thought that breaks, And every breath that stirs the quiet scene, A mighty Being speaks, Whom we await. Such is the awful calm they learn Beneath Thy cross Who fain would sit, looking for Thy return, And count the world but loss Thy love to gain. 202 THE RIVER'S BANK. A NOVEMBER SCENE. O'er the bleak wold the dun autumnal sky Hangs darkling ; far where Eve's ethereal clime With showering darkness streams, the soul and eye Get wings, and parley with the dread sublime. It must not be — such thoughts but tempt the soul To dizzy crags that look on vacancy, And tamper with the Infinite, Control Dropping the rein of her blest mastery. But rather let me look where yonder breaks The fragment of a rainbow — o'er yon hill Eastward, 'mid the wild troop of shadows, flakes Of glory, where the storm doth darkly fill, Sleep calmly. All the Heav'ns are moving on, And Earth doth need each lighter gleam to borrow, To dress her calm awaiting, and anon Count the bright pearls on th' Ethiop brow of sorrow. the river's bank. 203 For our true Sun behind yon vapoury screen Hath gone to build his chambers, in a light Which ever and anon, the clouds between, Breaks forth upon the face of coming night. The lark is lowly housed, and, from beyond Yon whitening willow, sounds at interval The solitary sheep-bell ; while their wand Sunshine and Shadow seem to wave o'er all Heedless below ; yet not so, One e'en now Doth both in sun and shadow sweetly move, And from these chequer'd scenes builds a bright bow For holy hope, a prison-house of love. 'Tis Thou who tunest all things, if the soul Be but subdued unto its lowly prison, (Gathering from fitful changes self-control,) Till she discerns that gentle orison That bindeth all things in the solemn swell Of mystic union, then the wandering breeze O'er the lone pine, (like that deep-echoing shell, Which learns the voice of its own parent seas,) . •204 the river's bank. Shall be her music ; Autumns manlier throat, Shadow and Storm, bluff Winter's harbingers, Sweetly shall blend with Summer's milder note, Until the chasten d heart serenely hears Within that lowly chaunt a strain divine, Which echoes back th' angelic harps on high, Singing the great High- Priest, who at his shrine Hath wedded all in holiest harmony. For there is that within us, heavenly sown, That gladdeneth in afflictions, and doth find Sweetness in sorrow, and when Summer's crown Turns to the yellow leaf, and the rude wind Takes up its annual tale of stern decay, Turns inward, and there finds that sleepless eye, And secret deep beholding, 'mid the day Forgotten, yet albeit ever nigh. That Presence which to feel alone is life, And harmony, and peace, and holy joy, A fount within the soul with healing rife, Turning to love each weary sad employ. the river's bank. 205 ABSENCE. Busy Fear, unbidden guest, To the eye of solitude, Holding thy discolour'd glass, Where the loved and absent pass, Pale and wan, in sickly mood, Black enchanter, let me rest ! Shall we then distrust our God, And thus sit and sigh forlorn, While about, beneath, unseen, Comes Thy mighty hand between, Bearing us from morn to morn, — And with healing in Thy rod ? Oft when Sorrow did appear Up Life's glade, like some dark cell, Lit within with precious things, Shedding peaceful welcomings, Was calm Peace's hidden well, It was good to linger there. 206 THE river's bank. At our side, the sad to own, Art Thou still ! there doth prolong Thro' Thy works to sorrow's ear, If the soul be tuned to hear, A sweet solemn undersong That doth speak of Thee alone. What is all the world counts loss, Sickness, want, or widowhood? Dark ways leading to the cell Where Thy heav'nly comforts dwell, And her arms meek Quietude Folds, beneath Thy beaming Cross. THE RIVER'S BANK. 207 THOUGHTS AGAINST WEARINESS. A chain is on my weary heart, And I cannot look to Thee ; But in each effort still To do Thy holy will, Thy strength and mercy hath a part, And Thy right hand of victory. We stand upon a mighty stair Still day by day unfolded, From darkness and the cloud, From mortal eye that shroud The eternal palaces so fair, In gold and beauty moulded. Through a twilight cave before A Form His cross is bearing, Each day that from us steals For us a step reveals, Where He the bleeding burden bore To morrow disappearing. •208 THE RIVER S BANK. A golden scale is hung aloof, Here pride of earth declining, Sinks, like the day from Heav'n, To darksome gates of Even. This mounts upon the Eternal roof With stars of glory shining. The Spirit, that with Wisdom's child Dwells in each faint endeavour, (Though spurn d returning still, Like that fabled Sybil,) That house not made with hands must build, Where dwells the soul for ever. THE RIVER'S BANK. 4 209 THE ANALOGY. 94 Though but a partial answer to the question, * How we came to be placed in this state V yet it is a more satisfactory answer to another, which is of real and of the utmost importance to us to have answered — the inquiry, ' What is our business here?' " Part I. ch. v. Butler, in lowliness divinely strong, To whom the mighty key of Faith was given, And Wisdom took behind the struggling throng, And shew'd afar the golden stair of Heaven, Muffled with clouds ! with thee, methinks, I see The mists recede, and, 'tween the darkness riven, Uplifted Nature, wed with Piety, Looking to Him that died. With dark unrest A fiend came on my tongue, ff And can it be? " And is this all for slippery steps to rest ?" " Who talks of rest where all around is motion?" Replied an angel voice within the breast. •210 THE RIV£R 9 S BANK.