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 COMPLETE \* ^MR^ 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 or 
 
 MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, 
 
 A.M., F.R.S., 
 OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD. 
 
 A.TJTHORIZEID EXDITIOISr. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 LEAVITT AND ALLEN, 
 
 879 BRO A DWAT. 
 

 ^iJrfi^i 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BALLADS FOR THE TIMES: — 
 
 TO THE UNION Tt>gt IS 
 
 THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE . . . * 16 
 
 THE FAMILY GATHERIXQ 16 
 
 ENGLAND'S WELCOME TO THE WORLD 17 
 
 A HYMN FOR ALL NATIONS 19 
 
 A WORD FOR THE OREGON MISSION 20 
 
 OUR VOYAGE . . 21 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW 2-2 
 
 A WORD ON ARRIVAL 23 
 
 NEW ZEALAND 23 
 
 CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 23 
 
 SONNET 26 
 
 THE CANTERBURY SEAL 20 
 
 BRITAIN TO COLUMBIA .... 27 
 
 DIEU, ET MON DROIT 29 
 
 THE GREAT EXHIBITION, 1851 SO 
 
 THE POETS MISSION CI 
 
 GOD ELESS THE QUEEN ... 34 
 
 THE MOON AND MOONSHINE Zf, 
 
 "NOBODY FEELS OR CARES" , . . S-S 
 
 THE "CLAMEUR DE IIARO" . » 29 
 
 MONT ORGUEIL : JERSEY o^ 
 
 COME AS YOU ARE 40 
 
 MONT ST. mCIIEL 41 
 
 ST. HELIER'S HERMITAGE, JERSEY 42 
 
 8T. PAUL'S, OF ST. HELENA 43 
 
 PEEL 
 
 44 
 
 (iii) 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 WORDSWORTU 45 
 
 CAMBRIDGE 46 
 
 PRESIDENT TAYLOR 46 
 
 RAJAH BROOKE 47 
 
 AFRICA'S SELF-BLOCKADE 48 
 
 LOW SPIRITS 48 
 
 FORTITUDE. . . 49 
 
 "now MUCH worse it might have been!" 50 
 
 A night-sail in the race of ALDERNET ii 
 
 genius and friends 52 
 
 THE MANCHESTER ATHEN^UM 63 
 
 THE KINGSTON CORONATION STONE 64 
 
 A STAVE OF SYMPATHY 55 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT otJ 
 
 A MISSIONARY BALLAD 67 
 
 THE LAUREL CROWN .58 
 
 HOME 60 
 
 RICH AND POOR 62 
 
 THE SABBATH 65 
 
 "THE LAMP UPON THE RAILWAY ENGINE" 67 
 
 LABOUR 69 
 
 THE NEW HOME 71 
 
 CALUMNY .... 75 
 
 MERCY TO ANIMALS 76 
 
 THE DOG'S PETITION 70 
 
 <• ENGLAND'S HEART!" SO 
 
 MY OWN PLACTl . . 81 
 
 "WHAT IS A POET?" .S3 
 
 ENVY 85 
 
 WELCOME! 86 
 
 BALM 87 
 
 SELFISHNESS ^"^ 
 
 SELF-POSSESSION .... 90 
 
 SLANDER. . - J^l 
 
 SONNET 93 
 
 THE GOLDEN MEAN 93 
 
 TIME 94 
 
 "GOD PRESERVE THE QUEEN!" 96 
 
 A BALLAD FOR THE PRINCE ALFRED 97 
 
 A NATIONAL ANTHEM FOR LIBERIA IN AFRICA 98 
 
 THE LIBERTAN BEACON ... 99 
 
CONTENTS. V 
 
 THE LIBERIAN CHURCH 101 
 
 A NATIONAL PRAYER AGAINST THE CHOLERA 101 
 
 COURAGE! 103 
 
 A HYMN AND A CHANT 104 
 
 HARVEST HYMN FOR 1849 107 
 
 A HARVEST HYMN FOR 1860 109 
 
 HOP-PICKING 110 
 
 A SHORT REPLY . Ill 
 
 CHARITY Ill 
 
 THE MAN ABOUT TOWN 113 
 
 A PRAYER FOR THE LAND 114 
 
 PRAISE! 116 
 
 "LIBERTY — EQUALITY — FRATERNITY r 118 
 
 BIARTIN LUTHER 118 
 
 SOHO! 124 
 
 REVISITING CHARTERHOUSE ^ . . 125 
 
 THE SISTERS 127 
 
 ENERGY 128 
 
 «NON ANGLI SED ANQELI" 132 
 
 COUNTRY LIFE 134 
 
 FONS PARNASSI 137 
 
 ST. MARTHA'S 138 
 
 APPEAL, 1840 148 
 
 REBUILT, 1849 148 
 
 RECONSECRATED MAY 15, 1850 149 
 
 SONNET, FOR ST. ANN'S, ALDERNEY 160 
 
 A CONSECRATIMS^ 160 
 
 A THOUSAND LINES, &c.: — 
 
 SLOTH • 162 
 
 ACTIVITY 153 
 
 ADVENTURE I54 
 
 THE SONG OF SIXTEEN 166 
 
 FORTY 167 
 
 THE SONG OF SEVENTY 158 
 
 NATURE'S NOBLEMAN 160 
 
 NEVER GIVE UP! 161 
 
 THE SUN 162 
 
 THE MOON 162 
 
 TITE STARS 163 
 
\1 r O N T E N T S . 
 
 OUR KINGDOM .163 
 
 FOEGIVE AND FORGET 164 
 
 "MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS" . 165 
 
 TARRING CHURCH, 1844 175 
 
 THE SAME 175 
 
 THE SAME PLACE AND DAY .176 
 
 SONNET, ON A BIRTH 176 
 
 DUTY. . . . • . ■ . . . 177 
 
 COUNSEL 177 
 
 HOME 178 
 
 :BYEG0NES 179 
 
 RULE, BRITANNIA! 179 
 
 THE EMIGRANT SHIP 182 
 
 THE ASSURANCE OF HORACE 183 
 
 THE ASSURANCE OF OVID 184 
 
 POST-LETTERS 184 
 
 ADVICE 187 
 
 THANKS 187 
 
 SOCIETY 188 
 
 THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 188 
 
 ORIGINAL PROLOGUE . 189 
 
 EPILOGUE 189 
 
 riACTENUS, &c.: — 
 
 THE NEW YEAR 190 
 
 ALL'S FOR THE BEST ! 191 
 
 THE RIDDLE READ ' 192 
 
 OLD HAUNTS 194 
 
 THE BATTLE OF ROLEIA 194 
 
 RETROSPECT 197 
 
 PEACE AND QUIETNESS 199 
 
 THE EARLY GALLOP 200 
 
 ASCOT : JUNE 3, 1847 201 
 
 LIFE 201 
 
 WATERLOO 202 
 
 "ARE YOU A GREAT READER?" 209 
 
 THE VERDICT 209 
 
 GUERNSEY 
 ALL'S RIGHT 
 
 210 
 211 
 
 THE COMPLAINT OF AN ANCIENT BRITON 211 
 
 WISDOM 
 
 213 
 
CONTENTS. VII 
 
 THE HEART'S HUSBAND 214 
 
 PROPHETS 215 
 
 WHEAT-CORN AND CHAFF 215 
 
 THE TRUE EPICURE 216 
 
 THE HAPPY MAN 216 
 
 HERALDIC 217 
 
 THRENOS 218 
 
 THE DEAD .... *. . 220 
 
 THE THANKS OF PARLIAMENT TO WELLINGTON AND HIS ARMY . . 223 
 
 TO LAURA ... 226 
 
 TO AMERICA 226 
 
 PAIN 228 
 
 THE TOOTHACHE 228 
 
 NO SURRENDER ! 229 
 
 NEVER MIND 1 . . ^. 230 
 
 THE CROMLECH DU TUS, GUERNSEY 231 
 
 MY CHILDREN. 1845 233 
 
 A DEBT OP LOVE. 1838 235 
 
 TO LITTLE ELLIN. 1837 . 235 
 
 ON THE BIRTH OF LITTLE MARY. 1838 236 
 
 MARGARET. 1S40 236 
 
 TO LITTLE SELWYN. 1842 237 
 
 ON LITTLE WILLIAM. 1844 237 
 
 HENRY DE B. T. 1846 238 
 
 THE SEVENTH: WALTER F. T. 1848 238 
 
 ERRATA, AN AUTHOR'S COMPLAINT 239 
 
 TENUS 239 
 
 "THE WARM YOUNG HEART" 241 
 
 TO CIDLI, ASLEEP 241 
 
 ALFRED 242 
 
 THE DAY OF A THOUSANT) YEARS ! 245 
 
 THE ALFRED MEDALS 246 
 
 SOCRATES TO LYSIAS 243 
 
 THE MEMORIAL WINDOW 248 
 
 A CALL TO POOR SEMPSTRESSES 251 
 
 A CALL TO THE RICH . 252 
 
 OUR THANKSGIVING HYMN 253 
 
 ACCEPTABLE THANKS! 254 
 
 TO A YOUNG POET . . ' 255 
 
 TO THE POET OF MEMORY 258 
 
 A SONG .... 257 
 
\\n CONTENTS. 
 
 CHEER UP 1 267 
 
 "TOGETHER" 258 
 
 FRIENDS ." 259 
 
 M. T 259 
 
 HORACE'S PHILOSOPHY . . 260 
 
 "THE LAST TIME" 261 
 
 GERALDINE 263 
 
 SOME EARLY POEMS: — 
 
 IMAGINATION 292 
 
 THE SONG OP AN ALPINE ELF 296 
 
 DREAMS 298 
 
 INFANT CHRIST, WITH FLOWERS 299 
 
 PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE 301 
 
 A SHORT GOSPEL - ... 301 
 
 ON A BULBOUS ROOT 302 
 
 CRUELTY 3C6 
 
 MONSIEUR D'ALVERON 309 
 
 WISDOM'S WISH 311 
 
 THE JIOTHER'S LAMENT 313 
 
 TRUST 314 
 
 THE STAMMERER'S COMPLAINT 315 
 
 BENEVOLENCE 318 
 
 A CABINET OF FOSSILS 322 
 
 FIVE PSALMS 324 
 
 THE MOURNER COMFORTED 329 
 
 THE SOULS OF BRUTES 332 
 
 THE CHAMOIS HUNTER 337 
 
 REPROOF 840 
 
 THE AFRICAN DESERT 840 
 
 THE SUTTEES 347 
 
 CONTRASTED SONNETS: — 
 
 CHEERFULNESS — MALICE 353 
 
 NATURE 354 
 
 ART 355 
 
 THE HAPPY HOME ... 365 
 
 THE WRETCHED HOME ... 366 
 
 THEORY — PRACTICE 857 
 
 RICHES — POVERTY 368 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 LIGnX— DARKNESS 359 
 
 POETRY — PROSE 360 
 
 FRIENDSHIP, CONSTRAINED — ENMITY, COMPELLED 3C1 
 
 PHIL ANTUROriC — MISANTHROPIC 362 
 
 COUNTRY — TOWN 363 
 
 WORLDLY AND WEALTHY — WISE AND WORTHY 364 
 
 LIBERALITY — MEANNESS 365 
 
 ANCIENT— MODERN 366 
 
 SPIRIT — MATTER S67 
 
 UTE- DEATH SM 
 
 ELLEN GRAY 369 
 
 CHARITY 374 
 
 TO MY BOOK, "PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY" 376 
 
 TO THE SAME 376 
 
 WEDDING GIFTS 377 
 
 CHILDREN 378 
 
 THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY 380 
 
 A GREENHOUSE 381 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF PARADISE 381 
 
 TO THE SOVEREIGN 382 
 
 THE CORONATION 382 
 
 THE ABB1;Y 383 
 
 UNION 383 
 
 DAYS GONE BY. 1830 384 
 
 THE CRISIS. 1S29 385 
 
 LAMENT. 1837 386 
 
 DOWN WITH FOREIGN PRIESTCRAFT. 1851 388 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL JHND 387 
 
 POLITICS IN 1S39 388 
 
 TO A PREMIER 388 
 
 PROTESTING TRUTH 389 
 
 THE UNHOLY ALLIANCE 890 
 
 EXPEDIENCY. 1839 390 
 
 GOOD SHEPHERDS 891 
 
 AMERICAN BALLADS: — 
 
 TO BROTH r.R JONATHAN , . . 892 
 
 "YE THIRTY NOBLE NATIONS" 396 
 
 JOHN'S REJOINDER 400 
 
E CONTENTS. 
 
 A STAVE FOR THE BOUTH 404 
 
 YET ONCE AGAIN 407 
 
 ROCKS AHEAD! .' 411 
 
 A STAVE 413 
 
 NIAGARA „ . . . . *15 
 
 OUR DAY . . , . 4l6 
 
 THE MISSIONARY JUBILEE HYMLN 416 
 
 GRATITUDE 4.18 
 
 THUS lAK «i9 
 
NOTE BY THE PUBLISHERS 
 
 <R^v?^ 
 
 [The followiEg sketch of Mr. Tapper's literary career, is from the pen of 
 William Anderson, Author of " Landscape Lyrics ; " and has never been 
 printed in this country. It appeared originally in the " Church of 
 England Journal," No. LIX. May 12, 1847.] 
 
 MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, M.A., F.R.S. 
 
 The name of Martin Farquhar Tupper has become popularly 
 known, not only in this country, but in America, and on the 
 Continent, as that of an author of great original genius, a highly 
 cultivated intellect, extensive scholarship, and very superior poetic 
 powers. He is the eldest son of the late eminent surgeon, Martin 
 Tupper, Esq. F.R.S. , who, after a prosperous and successful practice, 
 of five and thirty years, died suddenly in his sleep, of angina 
 pectoris, on the 8th December, 1844, at Southill Park, the residence 
 of the Earl of Limerick, only a few hours after that nobleman 
 had himself expired in his arms. The subject of the present 
 sketch was born in London, in 1810. The family from which 
 he is descended, an ancient and honourable one, belongs originally 
 to Germany. In consequence of the persecution of the protestants 
 by Charles V., they left Hesse Cassel, in 1551, and settled ir* 
 Guernsey. They have never been below the rank of gentlemen, 
 and the circumstances of the author of "Proverbial Philosophy '' 
 are affluent. With him literature is not. a profession, but a recrea- 
 tion, and he has done high honour to it. 
 
 He received the first part of his education at the Ciiarter House, 
 and afterwards went to Christ Church, Oxford, where he took the 
 
 (xiii) 
 
Xiv MARTIN P. TUPPER. 
 
 degrees of B.A. and M.A.* He subsequently entered at Lin- 
 coln's Inn, and in due time was called to the bar, but never 
 practised as a barrister. At the age of twenty-six, he married, 
 and has a fine young family of sons and daughters. 
 
 Mr. Tapper's first publication was a little work issued in 1832, 
 entitled " Sacra Poesis/' which we have not had the good fortune 
 to see. The first series of "Proverbial Philosophy, a Book of 
 Thoughts and Arguments Originally treated," was published in 
 December, 1837, and the second series in 1842. This work at 
 once excited attention, and called forth the most favourable criti- 
 cisms. It was hailed as the production of one who, while he 
 thought and reasoned like a true sage, wrote and illustrated like 
 a true poet. The pages of " Proverbial Philosophy " are full of 
 instruction and wisdom, and breathe throughout the finest spirit 
 of genuine poetry. Well does the writer of this sketch remember 
 the pleasure with which he first read that remarkable production. 
 He was then connected editorially with the Metropolitan Con- 
 servative Journal^ in which paper the first series was reviewed 
 at length at the time of its appearance. In that review, the 
 volume was described as " a work abounding in rich thoughts and 
 delicate fancies, — in sound philosophy, and high moral resolutions, 
 and which may be read over and over again, by the young philo- 
 sopher, or poetical dreamer, with equal profit and delight." And, as 
 if writing prophetically of the proud and enviable position to which 
 Mr. Tupper was yet to attain in literature, the reviewer triumphantly 
 asked, — " Have we now not done enough to show that a poet of 
 power and promise, — a poet and philosopher both, is amongst us to 
 delight and instruct — to elevate and guide? Do we err in saying 
 that a fresh leaf is added to the laurel crown of poetry?" The 
 praises of the other reviewers were no less enthusiastic, and no 
 less just. " There is more novelty in the sentiments," said the 
 Monthly Revie2V, "a greater sweep of subjects, and a finer sense 
 
 * Since the date of this sketch (1847), Mr. Tupper has had conferred 
 upon him the degree of D. C. L. of the University of Oxford- — Americas 
 
 PrBLISHERS. 
 
M A R T I N F . T U P P E R. XV 
 
 of moral beauty displayed by Mr. Tupper, than we remember to 
 have seen in any work of its class, excepti^ig of course the Pro- 
 verbs of Solomon. We also discover in his Philosophy the storea 
 of extensive reading, and the indisputable proofs of habitual and 
 devout reflection, as well as the workings of an elegant mind." 
 The work met with unprecedented success; and six large editions 
 of it have been sold.* The author was elected a Fellow of the 
 Royal Society in consequence of it. He had already shown him- 
 self to be, in Shakspeare's phrase, " a Fellow of Infinite Wit," 
 and, we may add, of Wisdom too. The King of Prussia, in token 
 of his majesty's high approbation of "Proverbial Philosophy," 
 sent him the gold medal for science and literature. The work 
 became very popular in the United States. In New York alone, 
 we are informed, ten thousand copies were sold during last year, 
 and the work is known to be published in several other American 
 cities. Its reputation is also great in the British colonies. 
 
 Mr. Tupper's next work was "Geraldine, a sequel to Cole- 
 ridge's Christabel, with other poems," published in 1838; of 
 which an opinion has been already expressed in this paper, — see 
 No. 53, of Church of England Journal. The ideal plan of 
 the Christabel has been well brought out by Mr. Tupper, in his 
 Sequel; and it is no small praise to him to say, that the wild 
 and original spirit that pervades it, is every way akin to the 
 sublime and beautiful inspiration of the great but unfinished poem 
 of Coleridge itself. The minor poems contained in the volume 
 are singularly pleasing and graceful, and abound in touches of 
 real beauty and genuine feeling. Besides "Ellen Grey," already 
 quoted in these columns, the pieces entitled "The Alpine Elf;" 
 "Children;" "A Cabinet of Fossils;" "The African Desert;" 
 and some of the Sonnets, are our favourites, although all are 
 good. 
 
 In 1839, he published, "A modern Pyramid; to Commemorate 
 a Septuagint of Worthies;" designed to furnish illustrations and 
 
 * The tenth edition (of 6000 copies) is now selling in London ; and in 
 America nearly 200.000 have been sold. — American Pl-clishebs. 
 
XVI MARTIN F. T UPPER 
 
 descriptions of character of seventy of the most remarkable per- 
 sonages of sacred and profane history, ancient and modern. Among 
 them are some of the patriarchs, some of the ancient sages of 
 the East, some of the most noted men of Greece and Rome, 
 chiefly philosophers and authors, some of the Apostles, and some 
 of the most remarkable personages of the middle ages, and down- 
 wards, in the stream of time, to the present century. From the 
 nature of the work, and its limits not admitting of more than 
 seventy names, there are, of course, many omissions; but each 
 of "the "Worthies" introduced is the subject of a sonnet, and 
 brief biographical sketch. The work exhibits all the peculiar 
 qualities of Mr. Tupper's genius and style ; high poetic feeling, 
 fine taste, great fertility of imagination, and boldness of opinion 
 and speculation; with profound practical thought, extensive and 
 varied learning, a general knowledge of mankind and history, and 
 great command of language. In this volume, too, the author 
 appears to great advantage, as a zealous defender of the Faith, 
 as held and taught by the Ciiurch of England. 
 
 In 1840, Mr. Tupper produced a pleasant volume of odds and 
 ends, called, "An Author's Mind." Among the contents are 
 pieces entitled, " The Author's Mind, a ramble ; '' " Nero, a 
 tragedy;" "Opium, a history;" " Psycotherion, an argument;'' 
 "Heathenism, an Apology;" "Woman, a subject;" "'Toilomas- 
 trix, a title ; " " Appendix, an after-thought;" " Home, an Epic; " 
 &c. Some poems of remarkable beauty are also introduced, with 
 great effect, among the other pieces which compose this agreeable 
 collection of "gaieties and gravities." 
 
 Mr. Tupper's next work, a rural novel, entitled " The Crock 
 of Gold," designed to illustrate the commandment "Thou shalt 
 not kill," as well as to show the curse and hardening effect of 
 avarice, was published in 1844. It is a simple tale, very beautifully 
 told ; but nevertheless full of an extraordinary interest and attrac 
 tion ; one of those books indeed, which by its wit and pathos, its 
 deep insight into human passions, and its powerful delineations 
 
MARTIN F. TUPPER. Xvii 
 
 of virtue and crime, enchain the attention of the reader till he 
 has finished its perusal, and leave behind a strong but wholesome 
 and salutary impression on the mind. The plot purports to be 
 the history of a poor labourer and his family, who from a life 
 of peaceful and contented drudgery, became discontented and repining, 
 and were gradually involved in sore trials and serious troubles. 
 The principal characters of the story are honest Roger Acton, the 
 luckless finder of "the Crock of Gold," his pure and simple-hearted 
 daughter Grace, her lover Jonathan, Simon Jennings the murderer, 
 his aunt Bridget Quarles, and Ben Burke, the poacher. The murder 
 of Bridget by Jennings, is very graphically described; and tlie 
 chapter headed " Next Morning,'^ being that following the murder 
 scene, is one of the finest pieces of writing in modern literature. 
 The '^ Crock of Gold'' is very popular in America; and it has 
 been repeatedly dramatized and acted with success. In this coun- 
 try it has been extensively read. 
 
 The same year (1844) Mr. Tupper published two other works 
 of fiction, in one volume each ; namely, " Heart. A social novel; '* 
 and " The Twins. A Domestic Novel." The main design of 
 these works appears to have been, upon something better than a 
 mere sketchy foundation in each, to introduce some exciting scenes, 
 and some episodial bursts of hearty religious writing; and they, 
 more or less, illustrate, the one the commandment '^thou shalt 
 not commit adultery," and the other that of " thou shalt not 
 covet." The twofold object of the author in the two stories — 
 that is, the depicturing of virtue and vice in their appropriate 
 colours, and that as strongly as possible, and the pointing the 
 moral, of each obtaining in due course its appropriate reward — 
 is powerfully v»'orked out in both; and as one of the most dis- 
 criminating and competent critics who reviewed them said: — "In 
 every page there is something which a reader would wish to bear 
 in his memory for ever. For power of animated description, for 
 eloquent reflection upon the events of every-day life, and for soft, 
 touching, pathetic appeals to the best feelings of the heart, the 
 2 
 
xviii MARTIN F. TUPPER. 
 
 volumes are worthy of a place on every library table in the king- 
 dom/' The same reviewer says, very justly, of Mr. Tupper's 
 style : '' There is a genuine, hearty, straightforward, dowuright- 
 ness about him that brings him right on the mark at once. His 
 sentences are neither long, laboured, nor parenthetical, but they 
 are animated by a fine racy idiomatic vigorousness of style that 
 impresses their meaning on the mind and memory. He forms, 
 as it were, a sort of half-way house between Dickens and Carlyle. 
 Without the regularly sustained power of Boz, he has much of 
 his picturesqueness in description and his pathos; and, without 
 his eccentricity, he possesses no slight portion of the full-toned 
 energy and characteristic raciness of the author of ' Sartor Eesartus/ " 
 Of such works as these three novels of Mr. Tupper, we hope yet 
 to see many more specimens from his graphic pen. 
 
 His next work, published in 1845, is entitled "A Thousand 
 Lines," a little tract of but sixty pages, containing poems on 
 various subjects, written in his most captivating manner. Thought 
 vigorous and fruitful, imagery vivid and beautiful, feeling warm 
 and unaffected, clothed in language strong, hearty, and emphatic, 
 or soft, pathetic, and musical, as the theme or the rhythm required, 
 with an originality that cannot fail to be acknowledged in them 
 all, are the characteristics of the verses of this little iDOok. A 
 new version of " Rule Britannia ! ''* a stirring song for patriots in 
 the year 1860, has in it a genuine fervent English spirit and 
 tone, that make the very heart bound when perusing it. "The 
 Emigrant Ship " is indeed an exquisite little lyric, full of delicate 
 pathos, and instinct with gentle music; and a sound and high 
 souled spirit of philosophy breathes in the noble and cheering 
 stanzas entitled " Never Give Up ! " 
 
 The last published work of Mr. Tupper is called " Probabilities , 
 an Aid to Faith," issued in January last ; resembling in idea the 
 •' Analogy " of Butler, but much simpler in detail, and altogether 
 Independent and original in argument and illustration. This small 
 but valuable and instructive volume we have noticed to-day. 
 
MARTIN F. TUPPER. Xix 
 
 Besides the works mentioned, Mr. Tupper published in 1838, " A 
 Coronation Ode, and Sonnets," which, like all his poetry, display 
 much poetic genius and great power of versification.* 
 
 In appearance, Mr. Tupper is, we believe, about the middle 
 size } young-looking, and well favoured ; with black hair, cheerful 
 aspect, and cordial manner. Both in his deportment and in his 
 writings, he has all the elements of popularity. Of the former, 
 however, the writer of this sketch cannot speak from personal 
 knowledge, as he is altogether unacquainted with him. With 
 the latter he is quite familiar. His usual residenne is at Albury, 
 Surrey; but he has also a seat at Furzehill, near Brighton. 
 
 * *♦ Hactenus," and a quantity of other occasional lyrics and prose pieces, 
 with " King Alfred's own poems," translated from the Anglo-Saxon, hava 
 appeared since the publication of this sketch. — American Publishers. 
 
\ 
 
 Beiitntinn. 
 
 TO ALL FRIENDS. 
 
 Jt book of many thoughts in mingled measures : 
 Songs of my Heart, attuned through many a year 
 From time to time a silent hour to cheer; 
 
 Unguarded tell-tales of mine inner pleasures, 
 High hopes, and joys most deep, and loves most dear; 
 
 What welcojne shall we find? — JVeglect? — Reproof? 
 
 A sullen pride that coldly holds aloof f 
 
 JVb, Friends ! not such will be my welcome here : 
 
 From heart to heart I speak, from love to love. 
 With kindly words that kindliness inspire, 
 Frankly, confidingly ; no fear, no fear 
 But love shall be your greeting to my lyre ; 
 
 For, through the mercies lent me from above, 
 1 warm your hearts, O Friends ! with holy fire. 
 
 (xxl) 
 
TUPPER^S 
 POETICAL WOEKS. 
 
 PROM A UNIT. 
 
 Giant aggregate of nations, 
 
 Glorious Whole of glorious Parts, 
 Unto endless generations 
 
 Live United, hands and hearts ! 
 Be it storm, or summer-weather, 
 
 Peaceful calm, or battle-jar, 
 Stand in beauteous strength together, 
 
 Sister States, as Now ye are! 
 
 Every petty class-dissension 
 
 Heal it up, as quick as thought, 
 Every paltry place-pretension, 
 
 Crush it, as a thing of nought; 
 Let no narrow private treason 
 
 Your great onward progress bar, 
 But remain, in right and reason, 
 
 Sister States, as Now ye are ! 
 
 (18) 
 
14 TOTHE UNION. 
 
 Fling away absurd ambition ! 
 
 People, leave that toy to kings; 
 Envy, jealousy, suspicion. 
 
 Be above such grovelling things I 
 In each other's joys delighted, 
 
 All your hate be — joys of war, 
 And by all means keep United, 
 
 Sister States, as Now ye are ! 
 
 Were I but some scornful stranger, 
 
 Still my counsel would be just; 
 Break the band, and all is danger, 
 
 Mutual fear, and dark distrust : 
 But, you know me for a brother 
 
 And a friend who speak from far; 
 Be at one then with each other, 
 
 Sister States, as Now ye are ! 
 
 If it seems a thing unholy 
 
 Freedom's soil by slaves to till, 
 Yet be just ! and sagely, slowly, 
 
 Nobly, cure that ancient ill: 
 Slowly, — haste is fatal ever; 
 
 Nobly, — lest good faith ye mar; 
 Sagely, — not in wrath to sever 
 
 Sister States, as Now ye are ! 
 
 Charm 'd with your commingled beaur 
 
 England sends the signal round, 
 " Every man must do his duty " 
 
 To redeem from bonds the bound ! 
 Then indeed your banner's brightness 
 
 Shining clear from every star 
 Shall proclaim your joint uprightness, 
 
 Sister States, as Now ye are I 
 
TOTHEUNION. 15 
 
 So, a peerless constellation 
 
 May those stars for ever blaze I 
 Three-and-ten-times-threefold nation, 
 
 Go ahead in power and praise ! 
 Like the many-breasted goddess 
 
 Throned on her Ephesian car 
 Be — one heart in many bodies! 
 
 Sister States, as Now ye are. 
 
 €)}i angln-lmnn EnrL 
 
 A RHYME FOR ENGLISHMEN. 
 
 Stoetch forth ! stretch forth ! from the south to the north I 
 From the east to the west, — stretch forth 1 stretch forth ^ 
 Strengthen thy stakes, and lengthen thy cords, — 
 The world is a tent for the world's true lords ! 
 Break forth and spread over every place. 
 The world is a world for the Saxon Race ! 
 
 England sowed the glorious seed. 
 
 In her wise old laws, and her pure old creed. 
 
 And her stout old heart, and her plain old tongue, * 
 
 And her resolute energies, ever young, 
 
 And her free bold hand, and her frank fair face, 
 
 And her faith in the rule of the Saxon Race ! 
 
 Feebly dwindling day by day. 
 
 All other races are fading away; 
 
 The sensual South, and the servile East, 
 
 And the tottering throne of the treacherous priest, 
 
 And every land is in evil case 
 
 But the wide-scatter'd realm of the Saxon Race! 
 
1(5 THE ANGLO-SAXON RAOB. 
 
 Englishmen everywhere! brethren all! 
 
 By one great name on your millions I call,-« 
 
 Norman, American, Gael, and Celt, 
 
 Into this fine mixed mass ye melt, 
 
 And all the best of your best I trace 
 
 In the golden brass of the Saxon Race ! 
 
 Englishmen everywhere I faithful and free 1 
 
 Lords of the land, and kings of the sea, — 
 
 Anglo-Saxons ! honest and true. 
 
 By hundreds of millions my word is to yoii^ — 
 
 Love one another ! as brothers embrace ! 
 
 That the world may be blest in the Saxon Race I 
 
 1851. 
 
 A STAVE OF INVITATJOW- 
 
 FoR happiness, unity, plenty, and peace, 
 
 And brotherhood over the world, 
 For loves to increase, and dissensions to cease, 
 
 And war's bloody flag to be furl'd, 
 Come, gather together with hearty good will. 
 
 In the warmth of a generous mind, 
 And bring us the best of your strength and your skill » 
 
 To bless and to better mankind! 
 
 Let quicken'd invention its secret impart 
 
 The body to succour in need; 
 Let taste and high breeding, and delicate art, 
 
 The mind with their melodies feed: 
 
T H E F A M I L Y G A T 11 E R I N O . 17 
 
 Let just emulation and genius be glad 
 
 To join in the liberal strife 
 Which seals to the world all the wealth that it hiwl, 
 
 And adds to the blcssinics of life. 
 
 So, gather together ! your leader and Prince, 
 
 With many a true man beside. 
 Has set up this standard the world to convince 
 
 That commerce and love are allied : 
 For Man, of all nations and kindreds, is one, 
 
 And heartily well i.s it worth, 
 Thus kindly to cause in the sight of the sun 
 
 A Family Meeting of Earth ! 
 
 (Englnnil's Wtlxmi tn tljB %\Mh 
 
 A BALLAD FOR 1851. 
 
 A VOICE of happy greeting to the Nations of the World ! 
 A Flag of peace for every shore, on every sea, unfurl'd ! 
 A Word of brotherhood and love to each who hears the call,— 
 A Welcome to the World of Men, a Welcome, one and all ! 
 
 children of a common stock, brothers all around. 
 
 In kindliness and sympathy receive the joyful sound; 
 
 Old England bids you welcome all, and wins you to her shore, 
 
 To see how men of every clime may help each other more. 
 
 Old England greets you lovingly, as friend should greet a friend, 
 And only prays that peaceful days may never have an end; 
 And only hopes, by doing good, the good of all to gain, 
 And so Goodwill from brethren still, right gladly to attain I 
 
18 England's welcome to the world. 
 
 Come on then to this Tournament, of Peace, and skilful Art, 
 Come on, fair Europe's chivalry, and play the Bayard's part ! 
 For honour, Austria, spur away ! for honour, gentle France ! 
 For honour, Euss, and Swede, and Turk, — come on with levell'vl 
 lance ! 
 
 Come on amain, high-hearted Spain ! industrious Holland, come ! 
 Italy, Persia, Greece, and Ind, — fill up the Nations' sum ! 
 And chiefly with us, heart to heart, come on, and tilt for fame, 
 Columbia, — thou that England art in everything but name ! 
 
 Not, as long since, for deeds of death; — but deeds to gladden life* 
 Provoking each for others' good to join the generous strife ! 
 As in those games at Pytho, or in old Nemaea's grove. 
 Where Graecia's best and worthiest for honoui' only strove. 
 
 Come, wrestle thus in peace with us, and vie for glory's prize, 
 Bring out your wares of rarest work, and wealthiest merchandise ) 
 Let every Craft of every clime produce its brilliant best. 
 The dazzling zone of Venus, and Minerva's starry crest ! 
 
 Let Science add the miracles that human reason works 
 When tracking out the Mind of God that in all Nature lurks, — 
 The Wonderful, that He hath made Beneficent to man. 
 And gives us wit to fathom it, and use it as we can ! 
 
 there are secrets choice and strange, that men have not found out, 
 Though up and down the earth we range, and forage round about, 
 The hidden things of Mercy's heart, the Beautiful-Sublime, 
 That God hath meant to cheer us on adown the stream of Time: 
 
 Adown the stream of Time, until — we reach that happier shore, 
 Where sin and pain come not again, and grief is grief no more ; 
 For that, nations, wisely strive to do all good you can, 
 And, gratefully as unto God, live brotherly with Man I 
 
A HYMN FOR ALL NATIONS. 19 
 
 2 23i]inii for nil Intinni 1851. 
 
 TRAXSLATED INTO THIRTY LANGUAGES. 
 
 Glorious God I on Thee we call, 
 Father, Friend, aud Judge of all; 
 Holy Saviour, heavenly King, 
 Homage to Thy throne we bring! 
 
 In the wonders all around 
 Ever is Thy Spirit found. 
 And of each good thing we see 
 All the good is born of Thee! 
 
 Thine the beauteous skill that lurks 
 Everywhere in Nature^s works; 
 Thine is Art, with all its worth. 
 Thine each masterpiece on earth! 
 
 Yea, and foremost in the van 
 Springs from Thee the Mind of Man; 
 On its light, for this is thine, 
 Shed abroad the love divine ! 
 
 Lo, our God ! Thy children here 
 
 From all realms are gather'd near, 
 
 Wisely gather'd, — gathering still — 
 
 For peace on earth, towards men good-will I 
 
 May we, with fraternal mind. 
 Bless our brothers of mankind; 
 May we, through redeeming love, 
 Be the blest of God above! 
 
20 
 
 A WORD FOR THE OREGON MISSION. 
 
 a Wnl far tljB (Dngnu Mmm. 
 
 Push on ! to earth's extremest verge, — 
 
 And plant the Gospel there, 
 Till wide Pacific's angry surge 
 
 Is soothed by Christiai). prayer; 
 Advance the standard, conquering van, 
 
 And urge the triumph on. 
 In zeal for God and love of man, 
 
 To distant Oregon ! 
 
 Faint not, soldier of the cross, 
 
 Its standard-bearer thou! 
 All California's gold is dross 
 
 To what thou winnest now ! 
 A vast new realm, wherein to search 
 
 For truest treasure won, 
 God's jewels, — in his infant church 
 
 Of new-born Oregon. 
 
 Thou shalt not fail, thou shalt not fall! 
 
 The gracious living "Word 
 Hath said of every land, that all 
 
 Shall glorify the Lord : 
 He shall be served from East to West, 
 
 Yea — to the setting sun, — 
 And Jesu's name be loved and blest 
 
 In desert Oregon. 
 
 Then, Brothers ! help in this good deed, 
 
 And side with God to-day! ^ 
 
 Stand by His servant now, to speed 
 
 His apostolic way : 
 Bethlehem's ever-leading star 
 
 In mercy guides him on 
 To light with holy fire from far 
 
 The Star of Oregon. 
 
o "cr R V Y A a E . 21 
 
 (Bur Unrjitgr. 
 
 WRITTEN ON BOARD THE ASIA, BY REQCTtST, 
 
 Count up with me our mercies manifest 
 Mj brother voyagers; that God hath sped 
 Our wandering steps, in safety hither led, 
 
 Strong in His strength, and with His bounty blest. 
 
 0; how can half the perils be exprest 
 
 That He hath spared us on this prosperous way? 
 
 No evil hath come near us, to deform 
 One pleasant night, or one luxiu'ious day, 
 No traitor rock, no fierce tyrannic storm : 
 
 But, as, at night, bell echoing answered bell 
 
 Like neighbouring village clocks, the cheering word 
 
 Ever was wafted in response, " All ^s well !" 
 
 Thank God! that thus His ready grace hath heard 
 
 Our pray'rs, though few and feeble, truth to tell! 
 
 And, meekly think how many better men 
 
 Have gone this way in famine and in fear, 
 Yet, after all their toils, had laboured then 
 
 Vainly, — for Death hath feasted on them here! 
 O think how gulph'd away from human ken 
 
 Thousands have struggled in yon yeasty waves, 
 As gloomily, around some staggering wreck, 
 Yawn'd the black throats of those Atlantic graves! 
 
 "We the while, pacing this high-terraced deck, 
 Like proud triumphant despots of the deep, 
 
 Set our calm feet on Ocean's vassal neck; 
 
 And day or night, in pastimes or in sleep, 
 With ease and skill and mainmoth-inv.scled force 
 Speed to the goal of our victorious course l^ 
 
22 THEOLBANDTHENEW. 
 
 f.jiE 0>!li nii>! t!)t Jdrs. 
 
 Shall it be with a tear or a smile, Old World, 
 That I bid you farewell for awhile, Old World, 
 
 Shall 3'ou and I part 
 
 With a parjg at the heart. 
 Or in cold-blooded stoical style, Old World? 
 
 In truth, it must be with a tear. Old World, 
 For much that is near and is dear. Old World! 
 
 The lingeriDg mind 
 
 Looks sadly behind 
 In doubt and reluctance and fear. Old World. 
 
 Yet ever, by land and by sea. Old World, 
 God helps us wherever we be. Old Yforld; 
 
 My babes He will keep 
 
 Awake or asleep. 
 And happily travel with me. Old World! 
 
 So thus with a spirit at rest. New World, 
 
 I seek your bright shores of the West, New World 
 
 With hearty good will 
 
 My work to fuljSl, 
 And do what I do for the best, New World! 
 
 Gratefully here fo.r a space. New World, 
 ^ Shall I bask in the sun of thy face. New World, 
 
 Wherever I roam 
 
 To feel always at home. 
 With brothers in every place. New Y\W]<L 
 
 No dignified dulness to freeze, New World, 
 But cordial kindnn^i.i an 1 tAX, New World, 
 
 Invite me to stand. 
 
 With my heart in my hand. 
 To give it wherever I please, New World. 
 
AWORDONARRIVAL. 28 
 
 a Vonl u 9rriHnl. 
 
 WRITTEN IN NEW YORK HARBOUR, ON BOARD THE ASIA. 
 
 Not with cold scorn, or ill-dissembled sneer, 
 
 Ungraciously your kindly looks to gi-eet, 
 By God's good favour safely wafted here, 
 After long hope and promise many a year, 
 
 friends and brothers, face to face we meet. 
 
 Now, for a little space, my willing feet 
 
 Shall tread your happy shores; my heart and voice 
 Yoviv kindred love shall quicken and shall cheer; 
 
 While in your greatness shall my soul rejoice — 
 For you are England's nearest and most dear ! 
 
 Suffer my simple fervours to do good, 
 As one poor pilgrim haply may and can, 
 
 Who, knit to heaven and earth by gratitude, 
 Speaks from his heart, to touch his brother mao. 
 
 Mm K'UlA 
 
 A SONG FOR THE ANTIPODES. 
 
 Queen of the South ! which the mighty Pacific 
 
 Claims for its Britain in ages to be, 
 Bright with fair visions and hopes beatific, 
 
 Grlorious and happy thy future I see ! 
 Thither the children of England are thronging, 
 
 There for true riches securely to search; 
 Not for thy gold, California, long-ing. 
 
 But for sweet home, with enough, and a Church ! 
 
24 NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 There, a soft clime and a soil ever teeming, 
 
 Summer's December, and Winter's July, 
 The bright Southern Cross in the firmament gleaming. 
 
 The Dove, and the Crown, and the Altar on high,- 
 There, the broad prairies with forest and river, 
 
 There, the safe harboui"^ are bidding men search 
 For Thy best blessings, Heavenly Giver! 
 
 Home, with enough, and an Englishman's Church! 
 
 Yes; for Britannia, the Mother of Nations, 
 
 Sends out her children, as teeming old Greece, 
 Good men and great men, to stand in their stations, 
 
 Merchants of plenty, and heralds of peace : 
 Stout Anglo-Saxons ! Port Victory calls you ; 
 
 Take the glad omen, and speedily search 
 Where you shall gather, whatever befals you, 
 
 Truest of treasures, a Home and a Church ! 
 
 Fifty years hence — look forward and see it. 
 
 Realm of New Zealand, what then shalt thou see? 
 (If the world lives, at The Father's So be it,) 
 
 All shall be greatness and glory with thee ! 
 Even should Britain's decay be down-written 
 
 In the dread doom-book that no man may search, 
 Still shall an Oxford, a London, a Britain, 
 
 Gladden the South with a Home and a Chitrch ! 
 
 Cflnteliurt] :^^ilgrm 
 
 A "god speed." 
 
 Heaven speed you, noble band! 
 Link'd together, heart and hand, 
 Sworn to seek that far-off land, 
 
 Canterbury pilgrims,- 
 
CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. 25 
 
 Heaven speed you! brothers brave, 
 Waffc you well by wind and wave; 
 Heaven shield you ! Heaven save ! 
 
 Canterbury pilgrims. 
 
 Like a Queen of swarming bees, 
 England, hived amid the seas, 
 Sends you by a favouring breeze, 
 
 Canterbury pilgrims, 
 With a mother's tender care. 
 To her Southern sister there, 
 Her young sister, fresh and fair, 
 
 Canterbury pilgrims! 
 
 Fresh the soil, and fair the clime, 
 Lightly touch'd by toil or time. 
 Scarcely tinged with care or crime, 
 
 Canterbury pilgrims, — 
 Go then, cheerfully go forth I 
 Hasten to replenish earth 
 With Old England's honest worth, 
 
 Canterbury pilgrims ! 
 
 Aye — with industry — for gold. 
 Godliness — for wealth untold. 
 Go, in Christian duty bold, 
 
 CaDterbury pilgrims, — 
 Glad New Zealand bids you share 
 Each man plenty, and to spare, — 
 God be with you then and tliero, 
 
 Canterbury pilgrims 1 
 
26 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Innnrl 
 
 BY WAT or POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Go forth, in faith and patience, hope and level 
 But think not, voyagers, to leave behind 
 Ills of the flesh or passions of the mind, 
 
 Nor to anticipate the bliss above 
 
 In this new home : for evil must be there, 
 Evil, that sails alike on every wind, 
 
 In spite of all your caution, all your care: 
 
 Then be ye tolerant; let no stern soul, 
 However right his ethics or his life, 
 
 Over the weaker brothers claim control, 
 Stirring the flock to bitterness of strife : 
 
 Honour man's conscience; from all shackles loose 
 The honest mind with freedom's instinct rife : 
 
 Take the Church with you, but no church-abuse. 
 
 €^i Ciinhrbtirtj; §ul 
 
 AN ILLUSTRATIOX. 
 
 Triple blessings on the plough, 
 Triple blessings on the fleece ! 
 
 Heaven's Angol send you n^w 
 To be fruitful and increase : 
 
 *' So your country shall remain," 
 And all happiness be pour'd 
 
 Upon Canterbury plain, 
 
 From the Lord! 
 
T H E C A N T E R B U R Y S E A L . 27 
 
 Triple blessings on the fleece, 
 
 Triple ' blessings on the plough! 
 For beneath the Cross of Peace 
 
 All jour toil is hallow'd now : 
 While the Church, in sacred robe, 
 
 Is 3'our help on either hand, 
 As the pillars of the globe 
 Ye shall stand I 
 
 95ritam, tn (Cnliinitriii. 
 
 A MESSAGE OF PEACE. 
 
 Sister Empress, daughter dear, 
 Throned on yonder hemisphere, 
 With a grand career to run 
 Glorious as thy western sun, 
 Sister, Daughter — we are one! 
 
 One, in stories of the past, 
 One, in glories, still to last, 
 One in speech, and one in face, 
 One in honest pride of race. 
 One in faith, and hope, and grace ! 
 
 Sister, we have sinn'd of old, 
 Both of us, through lust of gold; 
 We, for centuries, you, for years, 
 Undismay'd by judgment fears. 
 Throve on — human woes and tears I 
 
 Yerily, our brothers' blood 
 Whelm'd us in its crimson flood! 
 Yet, at last we turn'd, and gave, 
 As a ransom from the grave. 
 Royal freedom to the slave ! 
 
28 
 
 B R I T A i iN TO C O L U .M B 1 A . 
 
 Britaiu's penitential zcmI 
 Let it work Columbia's ^yeal; 
 Wisely hasten, as thou wilt, 
 Soon to wash away this guilt — 
 Man in chains, and life-blood spilt! 
 
 We are mute, — we may not chide; 
 Only pray thee, put aside 
 That which must be bane to thee, 
 If, as Christian, Strong, and Free, 
 Thou endure it still to be. 
 
 Yet, in frankness, we confess 
 We made too much haste, to bless j 
 Not at once, be well assured. 
 But with gradual health allured. 
 Can this chronic plague be cured. 
 
 Through the wisdom of to-day 
 We bave^ learnt a better way ; 
 Sister, — it is thine own plan! 
 Take the poor degraded man, 
 Teach him kindly all you can,— 
 
 Then, with liberal hand, restore 
 To his own Liberian shore 
 This poor son of wrong and night, 
 Newly blest with hope and light. 
 And the patriot freeman's Eight ! 
 
 So shall Africa blockade 
 
 Bloodlessly that dreadful trade: 
 
 And Liberia's "open door," 
 
 School, and Church, and merchant-store, 
 
 Bless her children evermore. 
 
D 1 E U E T M () X D R O I T . 29 
 
 Biru, rt mnn Srnit 
 
 A LOYAL TEXT. 
 
 No fanciful hope, and no cowardly fear 
 
 Shall ever be lord of my breast, 
 An Englishman gathers his comfort and cheer 
 
 From Duty by Providence blest; 
 The good royal motto, from Normandy won, 
 
 Upholds him by day and by night, 
 Adversity's moon, and prosperity's sun, 
 
 Are shining in "God and my Right!" 
 
 My God! the great guard, the good ruler, and friend, 
 
 Who made me, and guides as He will; 
 My Right ! which His government helps to defend. 
 
 And bids me stand up for it still : 
 The heart that has trusted Him well does He love, 
 
 And j&lls it with heavenly light, 
 Rejoiced upon earth with all peace from above. 
 
 And resting on "God and my Right!'' 
 
 My Right — the right way, and my Right — the right arm, 
 
 And my Right — the true rights of the case, — 
 Strong, honest, deserving, the triple-tied charm 
 
 That keeps a man firm in his place; 
 "With these well about us, and God overhead, 
 
 "We fear not whatever we fight. 
 There never was mortal who fail'd or who fled, 
 
 Whose motto was, "God and my Right!" 
 
80 THE GREAT EXHIBITION OF 1851. 
 
 €\it toat (ExIjiliitinE nf 185L 
 
 A BALLAD FOR THE WORKMAN. 
 
 Hurrah ! for honest Industry, hurrali ! for handy skill, 
 Hurrah ! for all the wondrous works achieved by Wit and Will ! 
 The triumph of the Artizan has come about at length, 
 And Kings and Princes flock to praise his comeliness and strength. 
 
 Now is the time, the blessed time, for brethren to agree, 
 
 And rich and poor of every clime at unity to be ; 
 
 When Labour honour'd openly, and not alone by stealth. 
 
 With horny hand and glowing heart may greet his brother Wealth. 
 
 Aye, wealth and rank are labour's kin, twin brethren all his own, 
 For every high estate on earth, of labour it hath grown ; 
 By duty and by prudence, and by study's midnight oil, 
 The wealth of all the world is won by Grod-rewarded toil ! 
 
 Then hail ! thou goodly Grathering, thou brotherhood indeed ! 
 Where all the sons of men can meet as honest Labour's seed ; 
 The tribes of turban'd Asia, and Afric's ebon skin, 
 And Europe and America, with all their kith and kin ! 
 
 From East and West, from North and South, to England's happy 
 
 coast 
 By tens of thousands, lo ! they come, the great industrial host, — 
 By tens of thousands welcom'd for their handicraft and worth, 
 Behold they greet their brethren of the fVbrksJwp of the Earth. 
 
 Right gladly, brother workmen, will each English Artizan 
 Rejoice to make you welcome all, as honest man to man. 
 And teach, if aught he has to teach, and learn the much to learn, 
 And show to men in every land, how all the world may earn ! 
 
THE GREAT EXHIBITION OF 1851. 3] 
 
 Whatever earth, man's heritage, of every sort can yield, 
 
 From mine and mountain, sea and air, from forest and from field ; 
 
 Whatever reason, God's great gift, can add or take away, 
 
 To bring the worth of all the world beneath the human sway ; 
 
 Whatever science hath found out, and industry hath earn'd, 
 And taste hath delicately touch'd, and high-bred art hath learn'd; 
 Whatever God's good handicraft, the man He made, hath made, 
 By man, God's earnest artizan, the best shall be display'd ! 
 
 think it not an idle show, for praise, or pride, or pelf, 
 No man on earth who gains a good can hide it for himself; 
 By any thought that any thing can any how improve. 
 We help along the cause of all, and give the world a move ! 
 
 It is a great and glorious end to bless the sons of man, 
 And meet for peace and doing good, in kindness while we can ; 
 It is a greater and more blest, the Human Heart to raise 
 Up to the God who giveth all, with gratitude and praise ! 
 
 A PROTEST. 
 
 Not to fiatter kings, 
 
 Not to serve a Court, 
 Bent on nobler things 
 
 Than tc make them sport; 
 Loyal, gentle, kind. 
 
 Yet honest, frank, and free, 
 Pure in life and mind, 
 
 Must the poet be ! 
 
82 T H E r r T ' 3 M 1 S S I N . 
 
 Sleekness at bis heart, 
 
 Though triumph on his brow, 
 Well to do his part 
 
 Is his daily yow; 
 Zealous for the best 
 
 His earnest spirit can, 
 And, at God's behest, 
 
 Swift to gladden Man! 
 
 Honour thou the Gift, 
 
 Count it no man's slave; 
 To the Lord uplift 
 
 What His bounty gave ! 
 Let thy spirit spring 
 
 Up to Heaven's gate, 
 There, on quivering "wing, 
 
 Song to consecrate I 
 
 Song, — it soothes the heart, 
 
 Song, it charms the world; 
 Song, it is a dart 
 
 By a giant hurl'd; 
 Song, — a torrent's strength 
 
 In its force is found 
 When, aroused at length, 
 
 Nations hear the sound ! 
 
 Hark ! they hear, and feel. 
 
 And may sleep no more ! 
 Hark ! the patriot peal 
 
 Rings from shore to shore J 
 And, in danger's hour, 
 
 Stands the poet then, 
 Girt about with power 
 
 As a Kinir of men ! 
 
T n E P K T ' S M I S S I O N . 3$ 
 
 At his burning spell 
 
 Quakes the solid shore, 
 And with yearning swell 
 
 Rises ocean's roar, 
 Till the People's will 
 
 Like a storm is heard, 
 Conjured by the skill 
 
 Of their poet's word ! 
 
 At his gentle voice 
 
 All that storm is calm, 
 And the woods rejoice, 
 
 And the breeze is balm, 
 And Hosannas rise 
 
 From a Nation's heart, 
 Flaming to the skies 
 
 Through the Poet's art ! 
 
 Art? it is his breath, 
 
 The sighing of his soul I 
 Art? it might be Death 
 
 The fervour to control! 
 Not by such a name 
 
 Call the glorious birth 
 Of this heavenly flame 
 
 Lit to kindle earth I 
 
 As his heart may glow, 
 
 Freely must his song. 
 Like an overflow, 
 
 Gush out fresh and strong! 
 No constraint be there 
 
 His energies to tire; 
 Zeal, and love, and prayer 
 
 String the Poet's lyre ! 
 
3-1 GODBLESSTHEQUEEN. 
 
 §\ii him i^t (fimn. 
 
 < ^ lo^al outburst^ occasioiied by the cowardly attack upon her Majesty. ) 
 June 27, 1850. 
 
 God bless tbc Queen ! that echo darts 
 
 Electric through the land; 
 God save the Queen ! a million hearts 
 
 Are with its fervour fimn'd : 
 And, God be thanked ! lie saves the Queen, 
 
 He blesses her in love; 
 His Providence is ever seen 
 
 To guard her from above I 
 
 dastard ! thus to strike that brow 
 
 Anointed, and so fair; 
 brave young Queen ! that bruise is now 
 
 The brightest jewel there ! 
 In gentlest majesty sublime, 
 
 Courageous and serene, — 
 How nobly does so mean a crime 
 
 Add glories to the Queen ! 
 
 Yes : evil men and evil deeds 
 
 Are like some monster chain'd, — 
 That, when its wickedness succeeds, 
 
 Works only good constrained : 
 O Queen ! the deed a traitor dares 
 
 Is but a kindled spark 
 To set ablaze thy people's prayers 
 
 For Thee, the nation's x\rk I 
 
THE MOON AND M O N S e I N 
 
 €^t Bnnu fliiii 3}lnnn5!jiiiL 
 
 35 
 
 AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 Upon a slumbering lake at night 
 The moon looks down in love, 
 And there^ in chasten 'd beauty bright, 
 A sister sphere of silver light 
 Seems bathing from above. 
 
 Anon, an evil man comes near, 
 
 And a rude stone he flings, 
 Half in hate and half in fear, 
 To crush the calm accusing sphere 
 That looks such lovely things. 
 
 He flung, and struck; and in swift race 
 Kound ran the startled waves; 
 
 He triumphed for a little space; 
 
 But see ! how soon that same calm face 
 Again her beauty laves. 
 
 So, friend, if envy hits thy name, 
 
 Be still, it passes soon; 
 Thy lamp is burning all the same, 
 And, even for that moonshine Fame, 
 
 It must reflect its Moon. 
 
 A. LAMENTATIOX. 
 
 The world is dying, its heart is cold. 
 And well nigh frozen dead, — 
 
 A sorrowful thing it is to grow old, 
 With all the feelings fled, — 
 
36 "NOBODf FEELS OR CARES." 
 
 Dull are its eyes, and dismal its voice, 
 And a mourner's cloak it wears, 
 
 For all have forgotten to love or rejoice, — 
 Nobody feels or cares ! 
 
 Time was, when zeal and honour and joy, 
 
 And charities cheering life, 
 Mix'd grains of gold with the mass of alloy, 
 
 And starr'd this night of strife; 
 But now, it is all for a man's own self, 
 
 And not how his neighbour fares; 
 Except for pleasure, and pride, and pelf, 
 
 Nobody feels or cares I 
 
 Be wise, or a fool, — be good or be bad, 
 
 To others it's much the same; 
 They heed not a whit if you're merry or sad. 
 
 Or worthy of praise or blame : 
 The world is reaping its broadcast seed 
 
 Of briers and thorns and tares, 
 And the only word in which all are agreed 
 
 Is — Nobody feels or cares! 
 
 AN OLD NORMAN APPEAL TO THE SOVEREIGN ; 
 
 which saved Castle Cornet from demolition, in August 1850, Guernsey. 
 
 Haro, Haro ! a I'aide, mon Prince ! 
 
 A loyal people calls; 
 Bring out Duke Hollo's Norman lance 
 To stay destruction's fell advance 
 
 Against the Castle walls; — 
 
THE "CLAMEUR DE HARO." 87 
 
 Haro, tiaro I a raidc, ma Kuine ! 
 Thy duteous cbildreu not ia vain 
 Plead for old Cornet yet again 
 
 To spare it^ ere it falls ! 
 What! shall Earl Rodolph's sturdy strength 
 After six hundred years at length 
 
 Be recklessly laid low? 
 His ^rey machicolated tower 
 Torn down within one outraged hour 
 By worse than YandaFs ruthless power? 
 
 Haro ! a Taide, Haro ! 
 
 Nine years old Cornet, for the Throne, 
 Against rebellion stood alone, — 
 
 And honour'd still shall stand 
 For heroism so sublime, 
 A relic of the olden time, 
 Renown'd in Guernsey prose and rhyme, 
 
 The glory of her land! 
 Ay, — let your science scheme and plan 
 
 With better skill than so: 
 Touch not this dear old barbican, 
 
 Nor dare to lay it low ! 
 On Yazon's ill-protected bay 
 Build and blow up, as best ye may. 
 And do your worst to scare away 
 
 Some visionary foe, — 
 But, if in brute and blundering power 
 You tear down Kodolph's granite tower. 
 Defeat, and scorn, and shame, that hour 
 Shall whelm you like an arrowy shower,— 
 
 Haro ! ^ I'aide, Haro ! 
 
MONT ORG veil: JERSEY. 
 
 3}!nnt (Trgiiril: Sfrsrij, 
 
 AX HISTORICAL PK'TUKE. 
 
 Mount of Honour, Mount of rrido, 
 Throned above the storm}- tide, — 
 Feudal eyrie, built on high, 
 As to flout the common skj, 
 "Weather-beaten, i^-ied pile. 
 Glory of this Xorman isle, — 
 Thee my song would praise to-day, 
 Breaming of ages past away I 
 
 "Woe! for those old evil times. 
 
 Foul with wrong, and full of crimes, 
 
 "Woe I for those drear days of old. 
 
 Dark with horrors all untold I 
 
 Through the mist of centuries past, 
 
 Dimly cluster'd, thick and fast, 
 
 Shrouded in sepulchral gloom, 
 
 Shadowy forms of terror loom ! 
 
 See I the Cromlech on this height, 
 
 Ked with the Di'uid's bloody rite, — 
 
 The Beacon, blazing far away, 
 
 To beckon pirates to their prey, — 
 
 The Cairn, piled high above the wavo 
 
 Some rude Berserkir's gory grave, — 
 
 The rocky Fort, aloft that stood 
 
 To guard some Sea-king's briny brood, 
 
 "When off he flew, for blood to roam, 
 
 Leaving his vulture flock at home, — 
 
 All these, with Shame, and Sin, and Fear, 
 
 Dimly vision'd, cluster here ! 
 
 Then, Rome's vengeful cohorts came 
 To cleanse the nest by sword and flame; 
 
MONT orgueil: jersey. 
 
 "With foss and raouud secured the post, 
 And mann'd it with her iron host: 
 So on, so on; till Rollo's power 
 Tore down amain the Roman's tower, 
 And proudly flung against the sky 
 Old Gouray's battlements on high ! 
 This was thine hour of pride and fame ; 
 When gentle knight, and high-born dame, 
 la hall, and bower, and warder'd gate 
 Kept their high chivalric state : 
 Nor soon was this thy glory set ; — 
 De Barentin, De Carteret, 
 Stand forth ! and tell us of your might 
 Against Du Guesclin in the fight; 
 How the Great Captain lost the day. 
 And rash Maulevrier slunk away, 
 And our fifth Henry's favouring smile 
 Changed Gouray Fort to Mont Orgueil, 
 For patriot praise, and truth well tried, 
 Mount of honour, Mount of Pride ! 
 
 So on, so on : and years flew by 
 That times were changed, and words ran high 
 And fanatics stood charged with sin. 
 And foolish zeal imprison'd Prynne : 
 Then Charles, in retribution's hour, 
 Felt here a despot people's power. 
 Hiding his wanderer head awhile^ 
 Ere yet he left the loyal isle. 
 So, years flew on; by scores they past, 
 And kings and kingdoms perish'd fast; 
 Till a fair Queen, in happier days 
 Bless'd all her realm with peaceful praise, 
 And gilt, with Her benignant smile, 
 Her royal castle, IMount Orgueil ! 
 4 
 
40 M N T R G U E I L : J E R S E Y . 
 
 O, God be thaok'd, for quiet hours, 
 When nought, is known of feudal towers, 
 But the fair picture that they fill, 
 With sea, and sky, and wooded hill! 
 0, Grod be thank'd for times like these, 
 Of brother's love, and grateful ease, 
 When wai- no fiercer sight afi"ords 
 Than ivied forts, and rusty swords I 
 
 A RHYME FOR RAGGED SCHOOLS. 
 {Widely circulated.) 
 
 Come to the schools that your friends are preparing, 
 
 Poor little brothers, come over to us ! 
 Just as you stand in the clothes you are wearing. 
 
 Though they be ragged and scantj^ as thus; 
 Come from the alley, the lane, and the passage. 
 
 Come in your rags, — but as clean as you can ; 
 We have a mission to each, and a message, 
 
 Happy and true, of his rights as a Man. 
 
 Don't be downhearted, if fools for an hour 
 
 Laugh at your schooling and treat it with scorn; 
 Answer them truly, that "Knowledge is Power," 
 
 And that a blockhead were better unborn; 
 Laugh as they may, your laugh will be longest, 
 
 Your's is for ever, their's but for once; 
 Soon shall they own you both wisest and strongest; 
 
 Scholars must govern the fool and the dunce ! 
 
COME AS YOU ARE. 
 
 Yes, my boys, come ! without fear or suspicion, 
 
 All that we wish is your gain and your good 
 Body and soul to imprave your condition, 
 
 And we would better it more if we could; 
 But where we cannot, yourselves may be able. 
 
 Willingly coming to hear and to learn, 
 How, for the soul to be happy and stable. 
 
 And, for the body, your living to earn I 
 
 So then come over, young scholars, and listen, 
 
 Helping yourselves, as in honour you ought! 
 We'll tell you things that'll make your eyes glisten, 
 
 Brighten the spirit, and heighten the thought: 
 Come then, and welcome, in rags and in tatters, 
 
 Anyhow come, — but as clean as you can; 
 Come and learn gladly these glorious matters, 
 
 All the best rights in the duties of Man ! 
 
 %m\ It. Mi\tl 
 
 A CONDOLENCE ON THE SPOT. 
 
 Alas ! for thy pollutions, wondrous pile, 
 Rare pyramid of Nature and high Art, 
 Desecrate, and befoul'd in every part 
 
 By all that moderns add of mean and vile : 
 Woe, for thine ancient glories gone to waste I 
 
 These sculptured cloisters, and that lofty aisle. 
 This arch'd chivalric hall of sumptuous taste, 
 
 Those Norman turrets, (whose unconquer'd strength 
 Enclose the steep old town of gables strange) — 
 
 After a thousand years, all, all at length 
 
42 M O N T S T . M I C 11 E L . 
 
 Given up to filth and felons ! — gaol-birds range 
 Where erst devoted maids and holy men 
 
 Peal'd their full anthem : — the bitter change, 
 Heaven's gorgeous house become corruption's den ! 
 
 Thou sad Romance in stone among the s-eas, — 
 Monstrous Chimaera, saint and fiend in one, 
 Where the Archangel, soaring to the sun, 
 
 Feels the brute serpent coil'd about his knees; 
 
 pinnacles, and flying buttresses 
 
 Rear'd on a festering heap of foul and base; 
 
 O hallowed Pharos, rank with oily lees; 
 
 censer, spoil'd of all thy fragrant grace, — 
 Alas! how fair, how fearful is this place I 
 
 Round it, the garden of Hesperides 
 
 Once bloom'd, — with that "old dragon" for a guard 
 The stone Kimmerian windings of Carnac; 
 
 But now, the light that since blazed heavenward 
 Is quench'd, — and all again is utter black ! 
 
 ^l Brim's Ininitngr, Smq, 
 
 A VINDICATION. 
 
 Anchorite, whose rugged nest, 
 
 Swept by wind and wash'd by wave, 
 Perch'd on yonder rocky crest 
 
 Was thy dwelling, and thy grave, — 
 Should I mock thee, holy man? 
 
 Should I not revere thy name? 
 Nor do honour, if I can. 
 
 To St. Helier's martyr-fame? 
 
ST. HELIERS HERMITAGE, JERSEY. 43 
 
 Come, ye scoffers, and behold ! 
 
 Here is the luxurious bed 
 "Where your paraper'd monk of old 
 
 Nightly laid his aged head : 
 In this cave he wept, and pray'd,— 
 
 Till the Northman pirate came, 
 And achieved with bloody blade 
 
 Our poor hermit's martyr-fame ! 
 
 True, — in venial error still 
 
 His devotion stood aloof 
 From the world and all its ill. 
 
 Under this low vaulted roof; 
 Yet, he wrestled in his cell 
 
 For high heav'n his soul to frame,— 
 ye worldlings, it were well 
 
 Could ye win such martyr-fame ! 
 
 AN APPEAL, WRITTEN BY REQUEST. 
 
 Beautiful Isle ! where the Exile of Glory 
 
 Sank to his rest, like the sun in the sea,— ' 
 Fair St. Helena, — liis fate and his story 
 
 Are not the best that we boast of in thee; 
 No I nor is even the bloom of thy beauty 
 
 Finest and first in the glen or the height, 
 But — where thy children in love and in duty 
 
 Earnestly worship The Father aright! 
 
4A ST. PAULS, OF ST. HELENA. 
 
 Lo now ! this fruit of their pious devotion 
 
 GrowSj like a cedar on Lebanon's side; 
 Slowly, "St. Paul's," the Church of the Ocean, 
 
 Rises to brighten Atlantic's dark tide ! 
 Thither, shall soon be gladly repairing 
 
 Sons of the stranger, with sons of the soil, — 
 Thither, poor Africa's children, preparing 
 
 Thanks for their freedom from tyrannous toil. 
 
 Soon? but how soon? — Right heartily speed it, 
 
 Ye that fear Grod, and are loving to man ! 
 Haste with your aid, — they ask it and need it; 
 
 Help the good work with the best that you can : 
 What St. Helena is nobly beginning 
 
 Stand by her, England ! to finish it all, 
 And, by the souls that your zeal will be winning, 
 
 Crown with its top-stone The Church of St. Paul ! 
 
 Struck down at noon amid the startled throng, 
 
 An eagle shot while soaring to the sun; 
 A wounded gladiator dying strong 
 
 As loth to leave the glories he had won; 
 
 A life-long patriot, with his work half done, — 
 Of thee, great Statesman, shall my mourning song 
 
 Arise in due solemnity ! — of thee, 
 Whom the wide world, so lately and so long 
 
 Thine acolyte, would crowd to hear and see 
 Their intellectual Athlete, their hio-h luane 
 
 For eloquence and prudence, gifts and powers: 
 But lo ! that starry mind, a heavenly flame, 
 
 Is well enfranchised from this earth of ours, 
 Translated in the zenith of its fame ! 
 
WORDSWORTH. J5 
 
 We will not sorrow for the glorious dead, — 
 
 Death is The Life to glory's hallow'd sons ! 
 Above this body, in its prison-bed, 
 
 Soar the free spirits of those blessed ones, 
 Waiting in hope, on heavenly manna fed : 
 To such rich feast in beauteous raiment led, 
 
 Why should we wail for him, as those who wept 
 Some Lycidas or Bion of old time, 
 
 Mourning as dead the soul that only slept? 
 No ! rather, let the psean rise sublime 
 
 For nature's poet-priest from nature's voice, — 
 Let sea and sky be glad, and field, and fen. 
 And pastoral vale, and thunder-riven glen, 
 
 And dewy Rydal in her bard rejoice ! 
 
 For there, by hill or dale, in sun or shade, 
 
 He "communed with the universe" in love; 
 "The deep foundations of his mind" were laid, 
 
 Sphered in their midst, on all around, above : 
 He read God's heart, in all His hand bath made : 
 
 Then, in the majesty of simple truth. 
 To man's dim. mind he show'd the mind of God 
 
 Lustrous and lovely, "full of pity and ruth," 
 For high and low, the sunbeam — and the sod ! 
 
 So did he teach in age, as erst in youth, — 
 To turn away from passion's lurid light. 
 
 And yearn on purer things of lowlier birth, 
 Pure because lowly, — which, in God's own sight, 
 
 As in his servants', are the pearls of earth. 
 
46 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 (iJamlirftgL 
 
 Another of thj chiefs, Israel, 
 
 Gone to a good man's rest, and high reward^ 
 As full of years as honours; it is well 
 
 Thus timely to be called to meet the Lord ! 
 death, — how oft Britannia tolls the knell 
 
 For those she loves, a mother for her sons ! 
 Yet is it seldom that her tongue can tell 
 
 More truly how she mourns her mighty ones, 
 Than now in honest sorrow fills her breast; 
 For he was worthy; full of kindliness, 
 
 A man of peace, and charity, and truth; 
 For ever doing good, and feeling blest 
 
 (Though nurtured as a warrior from his youth) 
 In finding what a joy it is to bless 1 
 
 "I AM prepared to die; for I have tried 
 
 To do my Duty!" — Was it Nelson's twin 
 Who spake so like an hero when he died, 
 
 A Christian hero, with forgiven sin? 
 Yes ! — it is one, Columbia's honest pride 
 
 (And mother England's jo}'-, — we claim him too,) 
 
 Who now is gone far other spoils to win 
 Than late of Palo- Alto, — higher meed. 
 
 Trophies of nobler fame, and praise more true, 
 Than those a grateful country well decreed 
 
 To her Best Son ; her best and bravest son, 
 Rough for the fight, but Beady heart and hand 
 
 To make it up again with victory won. 
 In war — and peace — the Glor}- of his Land! 
 
RAJAHBROOKE. 41 
 
 Eajati foxukt 
 
 Noble heart, of purpose liigli, 
 
 Hasten on thy great career, 
 Heedless of the coward cry 
 
 Slander shouts in Envy's ear; 
 Even now the falsehoods die, 
 
 Half for shame and half for fear, 
 Even now the clouds go by. 
 
 And thy heaven again is clear ! 
 
 Let them whisper what they can, 
 
 Lightly scoff, or loudly blame; 
 Still, glorious friend of Man, 
 
 Such mean censure speeds thy fame: 
 Good men bless, where bad men ban; 
 
 Ever was it seen the same. 
 That the leader of the van 
 
 Won his way through foes and flame f 
 
 Rajah I throned on Indian seas. 
 
 Thou art there to bless Mankind, 
 Sent to sow by every breeze 
 
 Seeds of good for heart and mind; 
 Carrying out God's great decrees 
 
 To the Saxon race assigned, 
 Which the Right all stoutly frees. 
 
 But is stern the Wrong to bind I 
 
4S AFRICA SSELr-ELOCKADE. 
 
 Sister, we are not slow to learn of thee 
 
 How best to compass good; how best to pour 
 Freedom and health, as on Liberia's shore, 
 
 Along the skirt of Afric's Western sea; 
 Sister Columbia, wiser than of yore 
 
 We love in all things generous to agree ! 
 
 And, well content if blessing so may be 
 
 To the poor darkling slave, a slave no more. 
 Frankly we haste to fringe the sea-board thus 
 
 With homes and fields of freemen : glad to win 
 Around the standards reared by thee and us, 
 
 Body and soul, the rescued sons of sin 
 From both worlds^ doom of wretchedest and ^*orst, 
 Through us no more benighted nor accurst ! 
 
 It is not Time, — I joy to see 
 
 My children growing up; 
 It is not Sin, — remorse for me 
 
 Holds out no bitter cup; 
 Nor doth Mammon's dreary din 
 
 Add its gloom to Time or Sin. 
 
 It is not that the Past was sweet, — 
 
 Many griefs were there ! 
 It is not that the Future's feet 
 
 Are shrouded up in care; 
 Providence is wise and kind. 
 And I am strong for heart and mind. 
 
LOWSPIRITS. 49 
 
 "Why then be sad ? why thus, my heart, 
 
 Disquieted within ? 
 Great is the mercy that thou art 
 
 Unseared by care and sin; 
 That Time to Thee has small alloy, 
 And memory's thoughts are thoughts of joy. 
 
 Why then so sad ? — My friends of old 
 
 Are dead and gone, or changed; 
 My childhood's nest of home is cold, 
 
 And each old haunt estranged; 
 So that I walk a stranger there, 
 With none to feel for how I fare ! 
 
 True, — many newfound friends may throng, 
 
 And make a passing show; 
 But always as they stream along 
 
 Like dreams they come and go,— 
 And, — however kind they be, 
 They bring not back the Past to me ! 
 
 /nrtitniiL 
 
 NEW WORDS TO THE FIXE TUNE, " MYNHEER VAN DUNK." 
 
 Mine own stout heart ! 
 
 You and I must never part, 
 But bravely get on together, — 
 
 Through calm and strife, 
 
 And the ups and downs of life, 
 In winter, or summer weather ! 
 Singing, ! for a true bold heart shall be 
 Ever found in its warm old place with mo, 
 Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free, 
 Though the Mountains be drown 'd in the rolling Sea! 
 
50 F K T I T IT n E . 
 
 Troubles, well season'd, as being well sent, 
 
 No honest man dreams of scorning; 
 But be mixes them up in his cup of content, 
 And fears no foes 
 While he happily knows 
 That Night must end in Morning! 
 For a brave glad heart shall always be 
 Beating in its own warm nest with me, 
 Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free. 
 Though the Mountains be drown'd in the rolling Seal 
 
 '' 'Mm raiirti mmu it migljt ]^mt km I '' 
 
 A TEXT FOK THE DISCONTENTED. 
 
 Honest fellow, sore beset, 
 
 Text by troubles quick and keen. 
 Thankfully consider yet 
 
 "How much worse it might have beenl" 
 Worthily thj?- faults deserve 
 
 More than all thine eyes have seen. 
 Think thou then with sterner nerve, 
 
 " How much worse it might have been V 
 
 Though the night be dark and long, 
 
 Morning soon shall break serene. 
 And the burden of thy song 
 
 "How much worse it might have been!" 
 God, the Good One, calls to us 
 
 On His Providence to lean. 
 Shout then out devoutly thus, 
 
 "How much worse it might haye been I" 
 
4 NiailT-SAIL TN TdE RACE OF ALDERNEY. 
 
 51 J^iglji-snil ie tljr ilnn nf Slhmi}. 
 
 Sept. 6, 1850. 
 
 Sprinkled thick with shining studs, 
 
 Stretches wide the tent of heaven, 
 
 Blue, begemm'd with golden buds, — 
 
 Calm, and bright, and deep, and clear 
 Glory's hollow hemisphere 
 Arch'd above these frothing fl<X)ds, 
 
 Right and left asunder riven, 
 As our cutter madly scuds, 
 By the fitful breezes driven, 
 When exultingly she sweeps 
 Like a dolphin through the deeps, 
 And from wave to wave she leaps. 
 Rolling in this yeasty leaven, — 
 
 Ragingly that never sleeps, 
 Like the wicked unforgiven ! 
 
 Midnight, soft and fair above, 
 
 Midnight, fierce and dark beneath,— 
 All on high the smile of love, 
 
 All below the frown of death : 
 Waves that whirl in angry spite 
 AVith a phosphorescent light 
 Gleaming ghastly on the night, — 
 
 Like the pallid sneer of Doom, 
 So malicious, cold, and white, 
 
 Luring to this watery tomb, 
 Where in fury and in fright 
 Winds and waves together fight 
 
5? A NIOHT-PATL IN THE RACE OF ALDEilNEY 
 
 - Hideously amid the gloom, — 
 As our cutter gladly scuds, 
 
 Dipping deep her sheeted boom 
 Madly to the boiling sea, 
 Lighted in these furious floods 
 By that blaze of brilliant studs, 
 Glistening down like glory-buds 
 On the Race of Alderney! 
 
 When the star of good fortune is rising, 
 
 And seems to the zenith to soar, 
 How tenderly friends will be prizing 
 The beauties forgotten before; 
 ! Genius will look very bright 
 Tn the blaze of Prosperity's light! 
 
 But let the dimm'd planet be setting 
 
 Below the horizon in cloud, 
 Right soon will your friends be forgetting 
 The gifts they so frankly allowed; 
 Ah ! Genius will show very slight 
 In the gloom of Adversity's night ! 
 
 Yet none the less glorious and holy 
 
 Is shining that sun of the soul, 
 Let Fortune be lofty or lowly. 
 
 And Friendship rejoice or condole; 
 For Genius can claim as his right 
 True homage by day and by night! 
 
THE ri A rf •; :i E s T E it :\ t ji e n je u m . m 
 
 ( Stanzas, solicited, in aid of its Liabilities, Oct. 1850. ) 
 
 A TEMPLE of generous health, 
 
 To gladden the spirit of youth; 
 A mine of intelligent wealth, 
 
 A treasury teeming with truth, — 
 Come, help in so happy a work. 
 
 Such pleasure and gain to secure, 
 Gain, where little evil can lurk. 
 
 And pleasure can only be pure ! 
 
 How wise it must be and how blest. 
 
 After the toils of the day, 
 That body and mind be at rest, 
 
 Whiling their sorrows away; 
 Consider how grateful a thing 
 
 Such rational solace to find, 
 And Ignorance gladly to bring 
 
 To feast upon food for the Mind ! 
 
 Remember, how wise for the young 
 
 So purely their evenings to spend 
 The poets and sages among, 
 
 With every good book for a friend! 
 Remember, how well for the old 
 
 To rub the dull heart from its rust, 
 That earthly pollutions and gold 
 
 Drag it not down to the dust! 
 
 Then freely and frankly make haste 
 To help, where your help is so worth; 
 
 And let not this temple of taste, 
 So full of the treasures of earth, 
 
M THE W A N C n E 3 T E 71 A T H E N JR TJ M . 
 
 Through negligence go to decay; 
 
 But rather in truth and in deed, 
 l^Iaj Manchester glory to^ay, 
 
 That Britain has bid her God-speed ! 
 
 €^t likplm (Cnrniintinii ItniiB. 
 
 ( A Stave, solicited at its Inauguration, Oct. 1850. ) 
 
 Rejoice ! that Praise and Honour at length 
 
 Return to their ancient rest, — 
 As a wounded eagle gathers his strength 
 
 To recover his rock-built nest; 
 For of old, around yon rugged throne 
 
 Tradition tenderly clings, 
 To hail that stone, as its brother of Scone, 
 
 The Throne of the Seven Kings ! 
 
 Edward the Elder there was crown'd, 
 
 Great Alfred's glorious son, — 
 And Athelstan, thro' the wide world renown'd 
 
 For merchant-trophies won, — 
 Edmund and Ethelred, in high state, 
 
 With Eldred, and Edwy the Fair, 
 And Edward, due to a Martyr's fate, 
 
 Were throned in honour there ! 
 
 Thou then, such ancestry's Royal seed, 
 
 Britannia's Heiress-Queen ! 
 In grace consider the loyal deed 
 
 Thy Saxon children mean; 
 To the time-hallowed Past its homage due 
 
 The Present wisely brings, 
 And thus would we pour our chrism anew 
 
 On the Throne of the Seven Kings! 
 
ASTAVEOFSYMPATHY. 65 
 
 a ItacB nf Itimptliii. 
 
 {Offered, in lieu of a solicited Lecture, to the Young Men's Christian AisO" 
 
 ciaiion, Nov. 1850.) 
 
 My blessing, young brother ! an honest God-speed, 
 
 A Christian and true British cheer! 
 The best and wisest among us have need 
 
 Of hearty encouragement here : 
 And wholesome it is to be hail'd, as we go 
 
 Along the dark rapids of life, 
 By those who are weath'ring the perils, and know 
 
 The way to be steer'd in the strife ! 
 
 By diligence, brother, and quiet content; 
 
 By purity, growing from prayer; 
 By looking on all things as order'd and sent 
 
 From God, in His fatherly care; 
 By thrusting the cup of temptation aside, 
 
 And tasting it — no! not a sip! 
 By cleansing the head from the cobwebs of pride, 
 
 And banishing scorn from the lip. 
 
 By reading, and working, and doing your best 
 
 In all that is duty to do; 
 By frankness, and fairness, and kindness exprcst 
 
 To all that have dealings with j'ou; 
 By cheerfulness, hopefulness, gratitude, truth; 
 
 By shunning the thing that is mean; 
 By looking to God as the guide of your youth, 
 
 And loving your country and Queen! 
 5 
 
56 A S T A V E O F S Y ?.I P A T II y. 
 
 Steer thus, young brother ! and you will indeed 
 
 Ride safe, though the surges be vext ; 
 In this world I warrant you well to succeed, 
 
 And better than well in the next: 
 Go on, and be prosper'd ! ^'' Enough, and to spare," 
 
 To godliness ever is given; 
 By pureness and diligence, patience and prayer, 
 
 You conquer for Earth and for Heaven ! 
 
 fennrngnntni 
 
 A COMPANION BALLAD TO THE " STAVE OP SYMPATHY. 
 
 Yet one more cheer, one brotherly cheer, 
 To speed the good youth on his way! 
 There's plenty to hope, and little to fear 
 For those who have chosen the good part here, 
 While it is called to-day. 
 
 Ah ! well do I wot the perils and snares 
 
 Of this bad world and its lust; 
 Temptations and sorrows, vexations and cares. 
 Grow with the heart's young wheat like tares, 
 
 And worry it down to the dust ! 
 
 Yet, better I know, if the spirit will pray. 
 
 When trouble is near at hand, — 
 If the heart pleads hard for grace to obey, 
 Brother ! no sin shall lure thee astray, — 
 By faith thou still shalt stand! 
 
E N C U U A G E M i; N T . 57 
 
 For Heaven beuds over to help and to blesis 
 
 With all a Redeemer's power 
 The spirit that strives, when evils oppress, 
 Its Grod to servo, and its Lord to confess 
 
 In dark temptation's hour. 
 
 Thou, then, fair brother, go cheerily forth, 
 
 And manfully do your best! 
 In all sincerity's warmth and worth 
 Go forth, — be pure, be happy on earth, 
 
 And so evermore be blest! 
 
 Given, instead of a solicited Lecture, to the Church of England Young MerC% 
 Society, for aiding Missions at home and abroad. 
 
 A CALL to do good from the east to the west! 
 A call lo bless others, and so to be blest ! 
 A call from the Saviour, beside Him to stand 
 And work for His glory, with heart and with hand I 
 
 Nurtured in knowledge, and favoured and spared. 
 The best of earth's banquet for us is prepared; 
 Then well should we hasten, at home and abroad, 
 To care for the poor in the name of the Lord ! 
 
 For, always about us the poor shall be found, 
 Poor for both worlds, ever crowding around; 
 And always the battle of truth must be fought 
 In sin to be conquer'd, and good to be taught ! 
 
58 A M T 6 S I O X A R Y B A L L A D . 
 
 Heatliens abroad, and heathens at home; — 
 Not far is the need for your missions to roam; 
 Our highways and byeways, the streets and the lanes, 
 Claim the first care, and will yield the first gains : 
 
 Then, — (for the soldiers of Heaven's true host 
 Are marshall'd for conquest on every coast,) — 
 Britain's dear sons on each far-distant land 
 Ask the next blessing and help at your hand : 
 
 Then, — let the banner of grace be unfurl'd 
 Free as the winds, and wide as the world; — 
 And chiefly, help Zion, poor outcast of sin. 
 The mercies of Grod through your mercy to win ! 
 
 Sure is your work of a blessed reward, — 
 
 Ye serve a good Master in serving the Lord; 
 
 Even were others unblest by your zeal. 
 
 It is well. — ye are water'd yourselves for your weali 
 
 But, — it is better! yet more shall ye earn, — 
 Many to righteousness Now shall ye turn. 
 And like the stars Hereafter shall shine 
 For ever and ever in glory divine ! 
 
 €]}t tmxtl €xmu. 
 
 The laurel crown ! for duty done, 
 For good achieved, and honours won, 
 For all of natural gift, or art. 
 That thrills and fills an earnest heart 
 
T H E L A U R G L C R W X . bB 
 
 With generous thoughts and stirring words 
 Struck from its own electric chords, — 
 On these your modern muses frown, 
 Yet these deserve the laurel crown ! 
 
 The laurel crown ! for soaring song 
 Eagle-pinion 'd, free, and strong, 
 That, as God gives grace and power, 
 Consecrates each hallow'd hour i 
 
 Wisely, as a patriot ought, 
 By burning word and glowing thought, — 
 On this pour all your honours down, 
 To this belongs the laurel crown ! 
 
 The laurel crown ! in common eyes 
 
 A wreath of leaves, a paltry prize, 
 
 A silly, worthless, weed-like thing, 
 
 Fit coronet for folly's king: 
 
 The laurel crown ! in wisdom's ken 
 
 A call from God to waken men. 
 
 Lest in these mammon depths they drown,— 
 
 This is thy glory, laurel crown ! 
 
 Yes, laurel crown ! if seen aright, 
 A majesty of moral might 
 To lead the masses on to good. 
 And rule the surging multitude 
 By nobler and more manly songs 
 Than to some troubadour belongs. 
 Who feebly warbles for renown, — 
 Not such be thou my laurel crown! 
 
«P HOME. 
 
 A BALLAD FOR EVERYBODY. 
 
 I FORAGED all over this joy-dotted earth, 
 
 To pick its best nosegay of innocent mirth 
 
 Tied up with the bands of its wisdom and worth, — 
 
 And lo ! its chief treasure, 
 
 Its innermost pleasure, 
 
 Was always at Home ! 
 
 I went to the Palace, and there my fair Queen 
 On the arm of Her Husband did lovingly lean, 
 And all the dear babes in their beauty were seen, 
 
 In spite of the splendour. 
 
 So happy and tender, 
 
 For they were at Home ! 
 
 I turn'd to the cottage, and there my poor hind 
 
 Lay sick of a fever, — all meekly resign'd. 
 
 For ! the good wife was so cheerful and kind, 
 
 In spite of all matters, ^ 
 
 An angel in tatters. 
 
 And she was at Home ! 
 
 I ask'd a glad mother, just come from the post 
 
 With a letter she kiss'd from a far-away coast. 
 
 What heart-thrilling news had rejoiced her the most — 
 
 And — gladness for mourning! 
 
 Her boy was returning 
 
 To love her — at Home! 
 
 I spoke to the soldiers and sailors at sea. 
 
 Where best in the world would they all of them be? 
 
 And hark ! how they earnestly shouted to me, 
 
HOME. Gl 
 
 With iron hearts thmbbi ng, 
 And choking and sobbing, 
 — land us at Iloine ! 
 
 I came to the desk where old Commerce grew grey, 
 And ask'd him what help'd him this many a day 
 In his old smoky room with his ledger to stay? 
 
 And it all was the beauty, 
 
 The comfort and duty, 
 
 That cheer'd him at Home I 
 
 I ran to the court, where the sages of law 
 
 Were wrangling and jangling at quibble and flaw, — 
 
 wondrous to me was the strife that I saw ! 
 
 But all that fierce riot 
 Was calm'd by the quiet 
 
 That blest them at Home ! 
 
 1 call'd on the school-boy, poor love-stricken lad, 
 Who yearn'd iu his loneliness, silent and sad. 
 
 For the days when again he should laugh and be glad 
 With bis father and mother. 
 And sister and brother, 
 All happy at Home ! 
 
 I tapp'd at the door of the year-stricken Eld, 
 
 Where age, as" I thought, had old memories quell'd,— 
 
 But still all his garrulous fancies outwell'd 
 
 Strange old-fashion 'd stories 
 
 Of pleasures and glories 
 
 That once were at Home ! 
 
 I whisper'd the prodigal, wanton and wild, 
 
 — How changed from the heart that you had when a child, 
 
 So teachable, noble, and modest, and mild ! — 
 
62 HOME. 
 
 Thougb Sin liad undone him, 
 Thank God that I won him 
 By looking at Home ! 
 
 And then, when he wept and vowed better life, 
 I hastened to snatch him from peril and strife, 
 By finding him wisely a tender young Wife, — 
 
 Whose love should allure him, 
 
 And gently secure him 
 A convert at Home ! 
 
 So he that had raced after pleasure so fast, 
 And still as he ran had its goal overpast, 
 Found happiness, honour, and blessing at last 
 
 In all the kind dealings, 
 
 Afiections and feeling:', 
 That ripen at Home 1 
 
 Eirlj unii '^huL 
 
 A BALLAD FOR UNION. 
 
 LADIES, lords, and gentlemen, 
 Attend to what I say, 
 
 For well I wot you'll like it whca 
 
 You listen to my lay; 
 And labourers and weavers too, 
 
 Come near, whoever can, 
 
 1 want the best of all of you, 
 To build a Noble Man. 
 
RICH AND POOR. 
 
 The time is p^ist for lofty looks, 
 
 As well as vulgar deeds; 
 Keligion, common-sense, and books, 
 
 O these are magic seeds ! 
 They kill whate'er in man was proud. 
 
 And nourish what is wise. 
 And feed the humblest of the crowd 
 
 With manna from the skies. 
 
 Ay, dreary days of highbred scorn, 
 
 You've somewhile died away, — 
 And better were the fool unborn, 
 
 Who tries it on to-day : 
 Ay, wintry nights of lowbred sin. 
 
 You 've stolen out of sight. 
 And all things base, without, within, 
 
 Are scatter'd by the light. 
 
 Take copy of the small, ye great ! 
 
 In all that's free and frank; 
 Add cordial ways to courteous state, 
 
 And heartiness to rank : 
 Take copy of the great, ye small, 
 
 In all that's soft and fair. 
 Honourable to each and all, 
 
 And gentle everywhere! 
 
 The Gracious Source of all our wealth 
 
 In body, mind, or store, 
 Pours life and light and hope and health 
 
 Alike on rich and poor; 
 And though so many covet ill 
 
 Some neighbour's happier state, 
 They little heed how kind a Will 
 
 Has fixed them in their fate. 
 
 e^ 
 
^ R I C II A N D P R . 
 
 Think, justly think, what liberal aids 
 
 Invention gives to all, 
 While Truth shines out^ and Error fades, 
 
 Alike for great and small; 
 How well the rail, the post, the press, 
 
 Help universal Man, 
 The highest peer, and hardly less 
 
 The humblest artizan. 
 
 Keligion, like an angel, stands 
 
 To solace every mind; 
 And Science, with her hundred hands, 
 
 Is blessing all mankind; 
 All eyes may see a beauteous sight. 
 
 All ears may hear sweet sound, 
 And sage-desired seeds of light 
 
 Are broadcast all around. 
 
 Lo, the high places levelling down 1 
 
 The valleys filling up ! 
 Magnates, who ought to wear a crovrn. 
 
 Drain Charity's cold cup ; 
 While Industry, of humblest birth, 
 
 With Prudence well allied, 
 O'ertops the topmost peaks of earth. 
 
 The palaces of pride. 
 
 Be humble then, ye mighty men ! 
 
 Be humble, poor of earth ! 
 Be God alone exalted, when 
 
 He speaks by plague and dearth ! 
 Let each be grateful, friendly, true, — 
 
 And that will be the plan. 
 To make of peer, and peasant too, 
 
 A truly Noble Man ! 
 
THE SABBATH. 65 
 
 A BALLAD FOR THE LABOURER. 
 
 Six days in a week do I toil for my bread, 
 
 And surely should feel like a slave, 
 Except for a providence fix'd overhead 
 
 That hallowed the duties it gave; 
 I work for my mother, my babes, and my wife, 
 
 And starving and stern is my toil, — 
 For who can tell truly how hard is the life 
 
 Of a labouring son of the soil? 
 
 A debt to the doctor, a score at the shop, 
 
 And plenty of trouble and strife, — 
 While backbreaking toil makes me ready to drop, 
 
 Worn out and aweary of life ! 
 0, were there no gaps in the month or the year) 
 
 No comfort, or peace, or repose, 
 How long should I battle with miseries here, 
 
 How soon be weighed down by my woesl' 
 
 Six days in the week, then, I struggle and strive, 
 
 And ! but the seventh is blest ; 
 Then only I seem to be free and alive, 
 
 My soul and my body at rest: 
 I needn't get up in the cold and the dark, 
 
 I need n't go work in the rain, 
 On that happy morning I wait till the lark 
 
 Has trill'd to the sunshine again! 
 
 Unhurried for once, well shaven and clean, 
 With babes and the mother at meals, 
 
 I gather what home and its happiness mean, 
 And feel as a gentleman feels; 
 
($5 THE S A BBATH. 
 
 Then drest in mj best I go blithely to church, 
 
 And meet my old mates on the way, 
 To gossip awhile in the ivy'd old porch, 
 
 And hear all the news of the day. 
 
 And soon as the chimes of the merry bells cease, 
 
 — rare is the bell-ringers' din ! — 
 We calmly compose us to prayer and to peace, 
 
 As Jabez is tolling us in : 
 And then in the place where my fathers have pray'd, 
 
 I praise and I pray at my best, 
 And smile as their child when I hope to be laid 
 
 In the same bit of turf where they rest ! 
 
 For wisely his Reverence tells of the dead 
 
 As living, and waiting indeed 
 A bright Resurrection, — 'twas happily said, — 
 
 From earth and its misery freed ! 
 And then do I know that though poor I am rich, 
 
 An heir of great glories above. 
 Till it seems like a throne, — my old seat in the niche 
 
 Of the wall of the church that I love ! 
 
 So, praise the Good Lord for his sabbaths, I say, 
 
 So kindly reserved for the poor; 
 The wealthy can rest and be taught any day, 
 
 But we have but one and no more! 
 Ay, — what were the labouring man without these 
 
 His sabbaths of body and mind? 
 A workweary wretch without respite or ease, 
 
 The curse and reproach of his kind ! 
 
 And don't you be telling me, sages of trade. 
 
 The seventh's a loss in my gain; 
 I pretty well guess of what stuff you are made, 
 
 And know what you mean in the main: 
 
THESABBATH. 67 
 
 You mete out the work, and the wages you fix, 
 
 And care for the make, not the men; 
 For seven you'd pay us the same as for six, 
 
 And who would be day-winners then? 
 
 No, no, my shrewd masters, thank GoD that His law— 
 
 The Sabbath — is law of the land; 
 Thank God that his wisdom so truly foresaw 
 
 What mercy so lovingly plann'd : 
 My babes go to schoal; and ray Bible is read; 
 
 And I walk in my holiday dress; 
 And I get better fed; and my bones lie abed, — 
 
 And my wages are nothing the less. 
 
 Then Praises to God, — and all health to the Queen, — 
 
 And thanks for the Sabbath, say I ! 
 It is as it shall be, and ever has been. 
 
 The earthgrubber's glimpse at the sky; 
 The Sabbath is ours, my mates of the field, — 
 
 A holiday once in the seven; 
 The Sabbath to Mammon we never will yield, 
 
 It is Poverty's foretaste of Heaven ! 
 
 I^ tmi^ iipnu tjir Enilmntt (EngtoJ 
 
 A BALLAD OF COMPOSURE. 
 
 Shining in its silver cell, 
 
 Like a Hermit calm and quiet,— 
 Though SO near it, hot as hell, 
 
 Furious fires rave and riot, — 
 
68 "THE LAMP UPON THE RAILWAY ENGINE. 
 
 Posted as an eye ia front, 
 
 'Mid the smoke and steam and singeing, 
 Steadily bears all tlie brunt, 
 
 The Lamp upon the railway engine. 
 
 So, thou traveller of life, 
 
 In the battle round thee crashing 
 Heed no more the stormy strife 
 
 Than a rock the billows dashing: 
 Through this dark and dreary night, 
 
 Vexing fears, and cares unhingeing, 
 Shine, Mind, aloft, alight. 
 
 The Lamp upon the railway engine. 
 
 By the oil of Grace well fed. 
 
 Ever on the Future gazing, 
 Let the star within thy head 
 
 Steadily and calmly blazing 
 Hold upon its duteous way 
 
 Through each ordeal unflinching, 
 Trimm'd to burn till dawn of Day, 
 
 The Lamp upon the railway engine. 
 
 Safe behind a crystal shield, 
 
 Though the outer deluge drench us, 
 Faith forbids a soul to yield. 
 
 And no hurricane can quench us: 
 No ! though forced along by fate 
 
 At a pace so swift and swingeing, 
 Calmly shine m silver state. 
 
 Ye Lamps on evpvy railway eno-ino. 
 
LABOUR. 
 
 Inlinur ! 
 
 A BALLAD FCR OUR MINES AND MANUFACTORIES. 
 
 Fair work for fair wages ! — it 's all that we ask, 
 
 An Englishman loves what is fair, — 
 We '11 never complain of the toil or the task, 
 
 If livelihood comes with the care; 
 Fair work for fair wages! — we hope nothing else 
 
 Of the mill, or the forge, or the soil. 
 For the rich man who buys, and the poor man who sells, 
 
 Must pay and be paid for his toil ! 
 
 Fair work for fair wages! — we know that the claim 
 
 Is just between master and man; 
 If the tables were turn'd, we would serve him the same, 
 
 And promise we will when we can ! 
 We give to him industry, muscle, and thew, 
 
 And heartily work for his wealth; 
 So he will as honestly give what is due, 
 
 Fair wages for labour in health ! 
 
 Enough for the day, and a bit to put by 
 
 Against illness, and slackness, and age; 
 For change and misfortune are ever too nigh 
 
 Alike to the fool and the sage; 
 But the fool in his harvest will wanton and waste. 
 
 Forgetting the winter once more. 
 While true British wisdom will timely make haste 
 
 And save for the "■ basket and store V* 
 
 Ay ; wantonness freezes to want, be assured, 
 
 And drinking makes nothing to eat, 
 And penury's wasting by waste is secured, 
 
 And luxury starves in the street! 
 
TO 
 
 LABOUR 
 
 And many a father with little ones pale, 
 So rack'd by his cares and his pains, 
 
 Might now be all right if, when hearty and hale, 
 He never had squander'd his gains 1 
 
 We know that prosperity's glittering sun 
 
 Can shine but a little, and then. 
 The harvest is over, the summer is done, 
 
 Alike for the master and men : 
 If the factory ship with its Captain on board 
 
 Must beat in adversity's waves. 
 One lot is for all ! for the great cotton lord 
 
 And the poorest of Commerce's slaves; 
 
 One lot ! if extravagance reign'd in the home, 
 
 Then poverty's wormwood and gall; 
 If rational foresight of evils to come, 
 
 A cheerful complacence in all; 
 For sweet is the morsel that diligence earn'd, 
 
 And sweeter, that prudence put by; 
 An,d lessons of peace in affliction are learn' d. 
 
 And wisdom that comes from on high! 
 
 For God, in His providence ruling above, 
 
 And piloting all things below, 
 Es ever unchangeable justice and love, 
 
 In ordering welfare or woe : 
 He blesses the prudent for heaven and earth. 
 
 And gladdens the good at all. times, — 
 But frowns on the sinner, and darkens his mirth, 
 
 And lashes his follies and crimes! 
 
 Alas ! for the babes, and the poor pallid wife 
 Hurl'd down with the sot to despair, — 
 
 Yet, — God shall reward in a happier life 
 Their punishment, patience, and pra/r ! 
 
LABOUR. 71 
 
 But woe to the caitiff, who, starved oy his drinks, 
 
 Was starving his children as well, — 
 Man, break away from the treacherous links 
 
 Of a chain that will drag you to Hell I 
 
 Come along, come along, man ! it's nerer too late, 
 
 Though drowning, we throw you a rope ! 
 Be quick and be quit of so fearful a fate, 
 
 For while there is life there is hope ! 
 So wisely come with us, and work like the rest, 
 
 And save of your pay while you can 3 
 And Heaven will bless you for doing your best, 
 
 And helping yourself like a man! 
 
 For Labour is money, and Labour is health, 
 
 And Labour is duty on earth ; 
 And never was honour, or wisdom, or wealth, 
 
 But Labour has been at its birth ! 
 The rich, — in his father, his friend, or himself, 
 
 By head or by hand must have toil'd. 
 And the brow, that is canopied over with pelf, 
 
 By Labour's own sweat has been soil'd 1 
 
 €^t Mm Mmt 
 
 A RHYilE FOR THE MILLION. 
 
 Pent in wynds and closes narrow, 
 
 Breathing pestilential air, 
 Crush'd beneath oppression's harrow, 
 
 Faint with famine, bow'd with care,- 
 Gaunt ASiction's sons and daughters! 
 
 Why so slow to hear the call 
 Which The \''oice upon the waters 
 
 Preaches solemnly to ail? 
 6 
 
THE NEW HO M E . 
 
 Hark ! Old Ocean's tongue of thunder 
 
 Hoarsely calling bids you speed 
 To the shores he held asunder 
 
 Only for these times of need; 
 Now, upon his friendly surges 
 
 Ever ever roaring Come, 
 All the sons of hope he urges 
 
 To a new, a richer home! 
 
 England and her sea-girt sisters 
 
 Pine for want in seeming wealth; 
 Though the gaudy surface glisters, 
 
 This is not the hue of health; 
 ! the honest labour trying 
 
 Vainly here to earn its bread, — 
 ! the willing workers dying, 
 
 Unemploy'd, untaught, unfed ! 
 
 Thousand sights that melt to pity, — 
 
 Move to fear, or — tempt to scorn! 
 Wretched swarms in field and city. 
 
 Wherefore are these paupers born t — 
 Shall I tell you, heirs of pleasure ? 
 
 Shall I teach you, sons of pain? 
 Unto both, each in his measure, 
 
 Stir I now this earnest strain. 
 
 Lo ! to every human creature 
 
 Born upon this bounteous earth, 
 Speaks the God of grace and nature, 
 
 Speaks for plenty or for dearth; 
 Till the ground; if not, thou starvest; 
 
 Fear shall drive to duteous toil; 
 Till the ground ; a golden harvest 
 
 Then shall wave on every soil 1 
 
THE NEW PIOME. 
 
 And behold! the King All-glorious 
 
 Unto Britain tjthes the world, — 
 Everywhere her crown victorious, 
 
 Everywhere her cross imfarl'd ! 
 God hath giv'n her distant regions, 
 
 Broad and rich; and store of ships; 
 God hath added homeborn legions, 
 
 Steep'd in trouble to the lips! 
 
 Join then in one holy tether 
 
 Those whom Man hath put aside, 
 Those whom God would link together, 
 
 Earth and labour well-applied : 
 Ho! thou vast and wealthy nation, 
 
 Wing thy fleets to every place, 
 Fertilizing all creation 
 
 With the Anglo-Saxon race! 
 
 England's frank and sturdy bearing, 
 
 Scotland's judgment, true and tried, 
 Erin's headlong headstrong daring, 
 
 And the Welchman's honest pride; — 
 Send these forth, and tame the savage. 
 
 Sow his realms with British homes. 
 Where till now wild monsters ravage, 
 
 Or the wilder Bushman roams! 
 
 Let, as erst in Mngna Grrecia, 
 
 Nobles, sages, join the ranks; 
 And for vacaiU Austral- Asia 
 
 Leave for good these swarming banks; 
 Not as exiled, — but with honour! 
 
 Told in tale, and sung in song; 
 With the Queen,— God's blessing on her! 
 
 Speeding this good work along J 
 
 78 
 
THE N E Vr E U M E . 
 
 Then the wildcrnesi shall blossom, 
 
 And the desert, as the rose; 
 While dear Earth's maternal bosom 
 
 Yv'ith abundance oversows : 
 Then shall Britain gladly number 
 
 Crowds of children, now her dread, 
 That her onward march encumber 
 
 With the living and — the dead ! 
 
 Ay, for bitter is the contest 
 
 As a struggle, life for life, 
 Where the very meal thou wantest 
 
 Was for little ones and wife, — 
 Where they slowly pine and perish 
 
 That the father may be strong, 
 Some taskmaster's wealth to cherish, 
 
 By his labour, right or wrong! 
 
 Haste, then, all ye better natures. 
 
 Help in what must bless the World: 
 See, those cellar-crowded creatures 
 
 To despair's own dungeon hurl'd; — 
 Send — or lead them o'er the waters 
 
 To the genial shores, that give 
 Britain's sacred sons and daughters 
 
 Man's great privilege — to Live ! 
 
 There, — instead of scanty wages. 
 
 Grinding rent and parish tax, — 
 In the wood, unheard for ages, 
 
 Kings the cheerful freeman's axe; 
 Whilst in yonder cozy clearing, 
 
 Home, sweet Home, rejoices life, 
 Full of thoughts and things endearing, 
 
 Merry babes and rosy wife ! 
 
THE NEW H >I E . 
 
 There, — iasteaJ of festering alley?, 
 
 Noisome dirt, and gnawing deartli,- 
 Sunnj hills and smiling valleys 
 
 Wait to yield the wealth of Earth I 
 All She asks is — human labour, 
 
 Healthy in the open air; 
 All she gives is — every neighbour 
 
 Wealthy, halg, and happy There I 
 
 75 
 
 A BALLAD FOR THE UNLUCKY. 
 
 I CAME into trouble; and comforting friends 
 
 For charity hasten'd to find 
 The very just cause for such righteous amends 
 
 Rewarding a reprobate mind. 
 
 Some hinted, He lives upon victuals — and drink; 
 
 And so, to be honest, I do; 
 Some others,— No wonder, we cannot but thiak, 
 
 The false is unfortunate too : 
 
 One said, like a Solomon, Pride has a fall 
 Another condemned me for Sloth; 
 
 Another thought neither accounted for all; 
 Another felt sure it was both. 
 
 Meanwhile was I diligent, humble, and pure, 
 
 And patiently kissing the rod, 
 And took it all well, for my spirit was sure 
 
 It came from a covenant God. 
 
7fl CALUMNY. 
 
 Then I look'd in His Bible, and found there a man, 
 Like me, with afflictions and friends ', 
 
 And learnt that, let Satan do all that he can, 
 The Lord will make ample amends. 
 
 So, trouble went from me ; and Job was made whole 5 
 And friends slunk away in their shame : 
 
 For Heaven's rich mercy gave body and soul 
 Health, honour, good-fortune, and fame. 
 
 Mnq tn animate. 
 
 A BALLAD OF HUMANITY. 
 
 BOYS and men of British mould, 
 With mother's milk within you ! 
 
 A simple word for young and old, 
 A word to warm and win you; 
 
 You've each and all got human hearts 
 As well as human features. 
 
 So hear me, while I take the parts 
 Of all the poor dumb creatures. 
 
 1 wot your lot is sometimes rough; 
 But theirs is something rougher, — 
 
 No hopes, no loves, — but pain enough, 
 
 And only sense to suffer : 
 You, men and boys, have friends and joys, 
 
 And homes, and hopes in measure, — 
 But these poor brutes are only mutes, 
 
 And never knew a pleasure I 
 
JI E R C Y TO A N I M A L S . 
 
 A little water, chaff and hay, 
 
 And sleep, the boon of Heaven, 
 How great returns for these have thejr 
 
 To your advantage given : 
 And yet the worn-out horse, or ass, 
 
 Who makes your daily gaining, 
 Is paid with goad and thong, alas ! 
 
 Though nobly uncomplaining. 
 
 Stop, cruel boy ! you mean no ill, 
 
 But never thought about it, — 
 Why beat that patient donkey still? 
 
 He goes as well without it : 
 Here, taste and try a cut or two, — 
 
 Ha! you can shout and feel it; 
 Boy — that was Mercy's hint to you,-^ 
 
 In shorter measure deal it. 
 
 Stop, sullen man ! 'tis true to tell 
 
 How ill the world has used you; 
 The farmers did'nt treat you well, 
 
 The squire's self refused you : 
 But is that any reason why 
 
 A bad revenge you're wreaking 
 On that poor lame old horse, — whose eye 
 
 Rebukes you without speaking? 
 
 think not thou that this dumb brute 
 
 Has no strong Friend to aid him; 
 Nor hope, because his wrongs are mute, 
 
 They rouse not God who made him I 
 A little while, and you are — dead. 
 
 With all your bitter feelings; 
 How will the Judge, so just and dread, 
 
 Reward your cruel dealings ? 
 
78 MERCTTOANIMALS. 
 
 Go, do some good before you die 
 
 To those who make jour living; 
 They will not ask you reasons why, 
 
 Nor tax you for forgiving: 
 Their mouths are mute; but most acute 
 
 The woes whereby you wear them; 
 Then come with me, and only see 
 
 How easy 'tis to spare them ! 
 
 Load for'ard; neither goad, nor flog; 
 
 For rest your beast is flagging: 
 And do not let that willing dog 
 
 Tear out his heart with dragging: 
 Wait, wait awhile; those axles grease, 
 
 And shift this buckle's fretting; 
 And give that galling collar ease; — 
 
 How grateful is he getting! 
 
 So poor yourselves, and short of joys, 
 
 Unkindly used, unfairly, 
 I sometimes wonder, men and boys, 
 
 You're merciful so rarely: 
 If you have felt how hunger gripes. 
 
 Why famish and ill use 'em? 
 If you've been weal'd by sores and stnpes, 
 
 How can you beat and bruise 'em? 
 
 O, fear! lest God has taught in vain. 
 
 And so your hearts you harden; 
 Oh, hope ! for lo ! He calls again, 
 
 And now'^ the time for pardon: 
 Yes, haste to-day to put away 
 
 Your cruelties and curses, — 
 And man at least, if not his beast, 
 
 Shall bless me for my verses. 
 
T ."J E T> G C. ' 6 P L T T r 1 r, i 7;^ 
 
 AGAINST "the TRUCK SYSTEM." 
 
 Have pity, I^I aster, on me ! I scarce can drag the load, — 
 I all but pull my heartstrings out upon this stony road ; 
 Yet, with a cudgel and a curse my willing toil you pay, 
 And leap upon the truck behind, to help me on my way ! 
 
 Half-starved, and weal'd, and bruised, and galFd, in every bone 1 
 
 ache, 
 And strain beneath the crushing load, as if my back would break, 
 The while athirst I struggle on among these dusty ruts. 
 And dread the mended places where the flint so sharply cuts ! 
 
 Man, Master ! Nature's hand — (it is the hand of God !) 
 For roads like this made stubborn hoofs, — my soft foot for the sod ; 
 Built the strong frame of beasts of draught to pull your cart or van, 
 But gave me nobler sense and wish to be the friend of Man I 
 
 "With faithful zeal to watch the flock or homestead night and day, 
 To chase your game, or bravely hunt the prowling beasts of prey; 
 With joyous love to welcome you, with courage to defend; — 
 Man, art thou " the friend of God 1" — then let me be thy friend. 
 
 Yes, — learned lords and sporting men, who make or mar the laws. 
 Why hesitate such ills to cure, — for is there not a cause ? 
 The town is quit of dor-truck-scauips and cruelties like these. 
 But in our lonely countrv lanes thev *.orturo as they please. 
 
RO T 1 B D C s p i: T 1 r 1 .s , 
 
 No eye to see, no hand to help, — (but His, long-suffering r-\\]]. 
 "Who yet shall bless good's bruised heel, and crush the head of ill !) 
 No pity in the cruel heart to stay the hand that flogs, — 
 senators, consider well the case of poun try-dogs. 
 
 And for your clients, dog-truck-men, — ask all the country through 
 
 In every village, who is worst of all their roughest crew ? 
 
 They '11 tell you, one and all alike, as honestly they can, 
 
 Our model rogue and thief and sot is — yonder dog-truck-man. 
 
 "fnglanii'3 Bmt!" 
 
 A WORD OF COMFORT TO THE LOYAL. 
 
 England's heart! never fear 
 
 The stu.'sly good old stock; 
 Nothing's false or hollow here, 
 
 But solid as a rock : 
 England's heart is sound enough. 
 
 And safe in its old place, 
 Honest, loyal, blithe, and bluflj 
 
 And open as her face ! 
 
 England's heart ! With beating nerves 
 
 It rallies for the throne, — 
 And, with Luther, well preserves 
 
 The knee for God alone ! 
 England's heart is sound enough, 
 
 Unshaken and serene. 
 Like her oak-trees true and tough 
 
 And old, — but gmd ana gretu i 
 
"en GLAN d' S H E ABt!'* 81 
 
 Eugland's heart! All Europe huiTd 
 
 To ruin, strife, and dearth, 
 Sees yet one Zoar in the world, 
 
 The Goshen of the earth ! 
 England's heart is sound enough, — 
 
 And — though the skies be dark. 
 Though winds be loud, and waves be rough — 
 
 Safe, as Noah's ark ! 
 
 England's heart, — Ay, God be praised, 
 
 That thus, in patriot pride. 
 An English cheer can yet be raised 
 
 Above the stormy tide : 
 Safe enough, and sound enough, 
 
 It thrills the heart to feel 
 A man 's a bit of English stuiF, 
 
 True from head to heel! 
 
 A RHTME FOR ALL GOOD MEN AND TRUE. 
 
 Whoever I am, wherever my lot, 
 
 Whatever I happen to be, 
 Contentment and Duty shall hallow the spot 
 
 That Providence orders for me; 
 No covetous straining and striving to gain 
 
 One feverish step in advance, — 
 I know my own place, and you tempt me in vain 
 
 To hazard a change and a chance ! 
 
 I care for no riches that are not my right. 
 
 No honour that is not ray due; 
 But stand in my station by day, or by night, 
 
 The will of my blaster to do; 
 
82 B?y OWN PI. ACE. 
 
 He lent mo my lot, be it bumble or high, 
 
 And set me my business here ; 
 And whether I live in His service, or die, 
 
 My heart shall be found in my sphere ! 
 
 If wealthy, I stand as the steward of my King; 
 
 If poor, as the friend of my Lord; 
 If feeble, my prayers and my praises I bring; 
 
 If stalwarth, my pen or my sword: 
 If wisdom be mine, I will cherish His gift; 
 
 If simpleness, bask in His love; 
 If sorrow. His hope shall my spirit uplift; 
 
 If joy, I will throne it above ! 
 
 The good that it pleases my God to bestow, 
 
 I gratefully gather and prize; 
 The evil, — it can be no evil, I know, 
 
 But only a good in disguise; 
 And whether my station be lowly or great, 
 
 No duty can ever be mean. 
 The factory-cripple is fix'd in his fate 
 
 As well as a King or a Queen ! 
 
 For duty's bright livery glorifies all 
 
 With brotherhood, equal and free, 
 Obeying, as children, the heavenly call, 
 
 That places us where we should be; 
 A servant, — the badge of my servitude shines 
 
 As a jewel invested by Heaven ; 
 A monarch, — remember that justice assigns 
 
 Much service, where so much is given ! 
 
 Away then with "helpings" that humble and harm 
 Though "bettering" trips from your tongue, 
 
 Away I for your folly would scatter the charm 
 That round my proud poverty hung : 
 
MYOWNPLACE. 83 
 
 I felt that I stood like a man at my post, 
 Though peril and hardship were there, — 
 
 And all that your wisdom would counsel me most 
 Is — "Leave it; — do better elsewhere." 
 
 If "better'^ were better indeed, and not "worse," 
 
 I might go ahe&d with the rest; 
 But many a gain and a joy is a curse, 
 
 And many a grief for the best : 
 No ! — duties are all the " advantage " I use j 
 
 I pine not for praise or for pelf; 
 And as for ambition, I care not to choose 
 
 My better or worse for myself! 
 
 I will not, I dare not, I cannot ! — I stand 
 
 Where God has ordain'd me to be, 
 An honest mechanic — or lord in the land, — 
 
 He fitted my calling for me : 
 "Whatever my state, be it weak, be it strong, 
 
 With honour, or sweat, on my face. 
 This, this is my glory, my strength, and my song, 
 
 I stand, like a star, in MY place. 
 
 A RHYME FOR THE RHYMESTERS. 
 
 No jingler of rhymes, and no miugler of phrases, 
 No tuner of times, and no pruner of daisies, 
 No lullaby lyrist, with nothing to say, 
 No small sentimentalist, fainting away. 
 No Ardert of albums, no trifling Tyrtasus, 
 No bilious misanthrope loathing to see us, 
 
84 
 
 No gradus-and-prosotly maker of verses, 
 
 No Hector of tragedy vapouring curses, — 
 
 In a word — though a long one — no mere 'poetaster 
 
 The monkey that follows some troubadour master, 
 
 And filching from Byron, or Shelley, or Keats, 
 
 With cunning mosaic his coterie cheats 
 
 Into voting the poor petty-larcefiy fool 
 
 A charming disciple of Wordsworth's own school. 
 
 Not a bit of it ! — Pilferers, duncy and dreary, — 
 
 Human society's utterly weary 
 
 Of gilt insincerities, hopping in verse, 
 
 And stately hexameters plumed like a hearse, 
 
 And second-hand sentiment, sugar'd with ice, 
 
 And a third course of passion, warm'd up very nice, 
 
 And peaches of wax, and your sham wooden pine, 
 
 The fitting dessert of a feast so divine I 
 
 With musical lies and mechanical stuff 
 
 The verse-ridden world has been pester'd enough : 
 
 But yet in its heart, if unsmother'd by words. 
 
 It thrills and it throbs from its innermost chords 
 
 To generous, truthful, melodious Sense, 
 
 To beautiful language and feelings intense. 
 
 To human affection sincerely pour'd out. 
 
 To eloquence, — tagg'd with a rhyme, or without; 
 
 To anything tasteful, and hearty, and true. 
 
 Delicate, graceful, and noble, and new! 
 
 Ay; find me the man — or the woman — or child. 
 Though modest, ^^et bold; and though spirited, mild; 
 With a mind that can think, and a heart that can feel. 
 And the tongue and the pen that are skill'd to reveal. 
 And the eye that hath wept, and the hand that will aid, 
 And the brow that in peril was never afraid; 
 With courage to dare, and with keenness to plan, 
 And tact to declare what is pleasant to man 
 
ENVY. 86 
 
 rhile guiding and teaching and training his mind, 
 While spurring the laz}', and leading the blind; 
 With pureness in youth, and religion in age, 
 And cordial affections at every stage, — 
 The harp of this woman, this man, or this youth. 
 By genius well strung, and made tuneful by truth. 
 Shall charm and shall ravish the world at its will. 
 And make its old heart yet tremble and thrill, 
 While all men shall own it and feel it and know it 
 Gladly and gratefully, — Here is the Poet! 
 
 €m\\. 
 
 A WORD TO THE FEW. 
 
 Whitelipp'd sneerer, well I wot 
 
 How you loathe the great and wise,- 
 How his brightness is a blot 
 
 On your thunder-mantled skies; 
 How his fame and good men's love 
 
 Make him hateful in your eyes. 
 And when thus he soars above. 
 
 How you ache to see him rise ! 
 
 you seeming friend, found out. 
 
 In detraction is your bliss, — 
 Whispering petty blame about. 
 
 With a subtle serpent's hiss: 
 Lo, the great man scorns it all; 
 
 Lo, the wise man makes it miss; 
 Lo, the good man greets your gall 
 
 With a kind forgiving kiss ! 
 
86 WELCOME. 
 
 Brothers! who Lave noblj euni'd 
 
 Thanks and praise at least from man, 
 If your good with scf^-rn is spurn'd, 
 
 And your "blessing met by ban, 
 Brothers ! heed we not their hate 
 
 Who would harm but never can, — 
 With the wise, the good, the great, 
 
 Let us conquer in the van ! 
 
 A WORD TO THE MANY. 
 
 Yes ! welcome, right welcome — and give us your hand,— 
 
 I like not to stand in the cold ! 
 If new friends are true friends, I can't understand 
 
 Why hearts should hold back till they're old: 
 For life is so short, and there's so much to do, 
 
 And so many pleasures and cares — 
 And somewhere I've read that, though angeb are few, 
 
 They 're frequently met unawares ! 
 
 The eye of sincerity shines like a star 
 
 Through the clouds of suspicion and doubt; 
 I love its fair lustre, and lure it from far, 
 
 And wouldn't for worlds put it out : 
 Away with such wisdom, as risking the chance 
 
 Of killing young love with old fears — 
 The face that is honest is known at a glance, 
 
 And needn't be studied for years! 
 
 And when petty Prudence would put me to school 
 
 About caution, and care, and all that, 
 I trust that, like some folks, I yield to the rulo 
 
 Of wearing a head in my hat j 
 
WELCOME. 87 
 
 But more that remains is better than brains, 
 And I know not that some folks are blest 
 
 Like me, with a share in a custom more rare, 
 Of wearing; a heart in the breast ! 
 
 o 
 
 Then come with all welcome ! I fear not to fling 
 
 Reserve to the winds and the waves, 
 And never can cling to the cold-blooded thing 
 
 Society makes of its slaves : 
 Thou dignified dullard, so cloudy and cold. 
 
 Get out of the sunshine for me; 
 But, hearty good friend ! whether new one or old, 
 
 A Welcome for Ever to thee ! 
 
 56nlni. 
 
 A FEW CONSOLATORY STANZAS. 
 
 Patience yet one little hour. 
 Pale, unloved, uncourted flower, 
 
 Seeing not the sun; 
 Patience, — heart of depth and duty, 
 Yearning for the smiles of beauty, 
 
 Never catching one : 
 
 Patience, — martyr following faintly, 
 Gentle nun, serene and saintl}'', 
 
 Kneeling in the dust; 
 Oh not vain thy long-enduring ! 
 Still with meekest might securing 
 
 Triumph to thy trust 1 
 
69 BALM. 
 
 Hushing every mutter'd murmur, 
 Tranquil Fortitude the firmer 
 
 Gii'deth thee with strength ; 
 "While, no treason near her lurking, 
 Patience, in her perfect working, 
 
 Shall be Queen at length. 
 
 And, behold! thy pious daring 
 Is a glorious crown preparing 
 
 For thine own sweet brow; 
 Precious pearls of softest lustre 
 Shall with brightest jewels cluster 
 
 Where the thorns are now I 
 
 Faith and Patience ! sister, brother, — 
 Lean in love on one another. 
 
 Calm for good or ill : 
 Comforted by surely knowing 
 That the Ruler is bestowing 
 
 Strength in sitting still! 
 
 ye virgin spirits wasting, 
 
 ye hearts of thousands, hasting 
 
 Darkly to decay, 
 Through the blight of disappointment,- 
 Tenderly, with precious ointment. 
 
 Lull those cares away. 
 
 Tenderly, with wise beguilings, 
 Court sweet Patience for her smilings 
 
 On that ruin drear; 
 Soon, with other sister graces, 
 Shall she make your hearts and faces 
 
 Laugh away their fear : 
 
BALM. 8S 
 
 Soft Contentineat, bright-ejed Dutyj 
 Faith in his archangel beauty, 
 
 Joy, and Love sublime, 
 Follow, — Patience, where thy finger 
 Gently beckons Hope to linger 
 
 On the wrecks of time ! 
 
 )BlfoljttBS3. 
 
 A BALLAD FOR THE WORLDLt, 
 
 How little and how lightly 
 
 We care for one another! 
 How seldom and how slightly 
 
 Consider each a brother! 
 For all the world is every man 
 
 To his own self alone, 
 And all beside no better than 
 
 A thing he doesn't own. 
 
 And 0, the shame and sadness, 
 
 To see how insincerely 
 The heart, that in its gladness, 
 
 Went forth to love men dearly. 
 Is chilFd, and all its warmth repell'd 
 
 As just a lov/ mistake, 
 And half the cordial yeMdings quell'd 
 
 It felt for others' sah •. 
 
 The service it would render 
 Is caird intrusive boldness. 
 
 And thus, that heart so tender, 
 Now hardening to coldness, 
 
go SELFISHNESS. 
 
 Returns, returns, — a blighted tliiug ! 
 
 To scorn those early days, 
 The freshness of its green young spring, 
 
 Its beauty and its praise. 
 
 A BALLAD FOR A MAN's OWN INNER WORLD. 
 
 Whirling, eddying, ebbing Present, 
 
 Foamy tide of strife and noise, 
 Mingled-bitter, mingled-pleasant. 
 
 Loves and worries, cares and joys, — 
 O ye changing, chancing surges! 
 
 Calmly doth my Mind forecast 
 How your restless spirit merges 
 
 In the Future and the Past! 
 
 Lo, I stand your master-pilot; 
 
 Though the cataracts be near, 
 Safe I swing round rock or islet, 
 
 Strong, and still, and godlike Here ! 
 Stout I stand, and sway the tiller 
 
 Through these rapids glancing down, 
 While the very flood flows stiller, 
 
 Frozen by my monarch-frown ! 
 
 O'er the roek-entangled shallows 
 
 Staunch I steer, adown the stream; 
 
 And the Past the Present hallows 
 With its melancholy dream, — 
 
SELF-POSSESSION 91 
 
 And the Future, nearing surely 
 
 Like Niagara's cliff ahead 
 Steadily I reach, securely 
 
 As a child that feels no dread ! 
 
 Yea, though earth be torn asunder, — 
 
 Or the secret heart be vext, — 
 Though with elemental thunder 
 
 Or by petty cares j>erplext, 
 Still I stand, and rule the riot; 
 
 Still my deep calm soul is blest 
 With its own imperial quiet. 
 
 The sublimity of Eest! 
 
 For, a staunch and stalwart ti-ue man, 
 
 Fearing God, and none beside, — 
 Nothing more, nor less, than human. 
 
 Nothing human can betide 
 That may disenthrone a spirit 
 
 DoomM to reign in Time's decay, 
 Grandly fated to inherit 
 
 Endless peace in endless Day! 
 
 A BALLAD OF COMFORT. 
 
 Never you fear; but go ahead 
 
 In self-relying strength : 
 What matters it, that malice said, 
 
 "We've found it out at length!" 
 Found out? found what? — An honest man 
 
 Is open as the light. 
 So, search as keenly as you can. 
 
 You'll only find — all right. 
 
92 * SLAN DER. 
 
 Yes, blot him black with slander's ink, 
 
 He stands as white as snow ! 
 You serve him better than you think, 
 
 And kinder than you know : 
 What ? is it not some credit, then, 
 
 That he provokes your blame? 
 This merely, with all better men, 
 
 Is quite a kind of fame ! 
 
 Through good report, and ill report, 
 
 The good man goes his way, 
 Nor condescends to pay his court 
 
 To what the vile may say : — 
 Ay, be the scandal what you will 
 
 And whisper what you please. 
 You do but fan his glory still 
 
 By whistling up a breeze. 
 
 The little spark becomes a flame 
 
 If you won't hold your tongue; 
 Nobody pays you for your blame, 
 
 Nor cares to prove it wrong; 
 But if you will so kindly aid 
 
 And prop a good man's peace, 
 Why, really one is half afraid 
 
 Your ill report should cease ! 
 
 Look you ! two children playing there 
 
 With battledores in hand 
 To keep the shuttle in the air 
 
 Must strike it as they stand; 
 It flags and falls, if both should stop, 
 
 To look admiring ou, — 
 And so Fame's shuttlecock would drop 
 
 Without a Pro and Con! 
 
3 N N E I' . % 98 
 
 mnntt 
 
 Lo! ye shall take up serpents without fear, 
 
 And walk on scorpions, scatheless of their sting, 
 And, if ye drink of any deadly thing, 
 
 It shall not hurt you ! What a power is here ! 
 A sevenfold buckler to our calm strong hearts 
 Against the feeble, blunted, broken darts 
 
 Of Hate's jSerce frown, or Envy's subtle sneer. 
 
 O Christian, go straight on, — though Slander rear 
 (To freeze thy warmth) her cold Medusa head; 
 
 Go on in faith and love, at duty's call : 
 
 With naked feet on adders shalt thou tread, 
 
 Meet perils only to surmount them all. 
 And, out of bad men's blame, as good men's praise, 
 Build up God's blessing on thy words and ways! 
 
 ®llB Mhu Mm. 
 
 A BALLAD OF WISDOM. 
 "Give me neitlier poverty nor riches." 
 
 Pageants rare of splendid waste 
 Hurried on with glittering haste ; 
 Honours high, and fashions gay, — 
 Teasing pomp by night and day; 
 Luxuries that never cease 
 Rich in every zest but — peace; 
 Flattering homage, sickly sweet. 
 Pleasures — pleasures ? false and fleet, — 
 Who shall swear that rank and wealth 
 Have one bliss except by stealth. 
 When the great, the rich, the proud 
 Stoop to imitate the crowd? 
 
94 
 
 THE G r- L E N M ? A N . 
 
 Aching toil, or starving rest; 
 Disappointment's bleeding breast; 
 Hopes of better, never here; 
 Luck a laggard in the rear; 
 Cellar, children, curses, cries, 
 Furious crime, or fawning lies, — 
 Food? the foulest, scantly dealt; 
 Pain ? ay, pain, for ever felt ; 
 Who, with Francis, who can praise, 
 Poverty, thy works and ways. 
 Till they rise above despair. 
 Till content hath smother'd care? 
 
 Give me. Blessed Father! give 
 Just enough in love to live; 
 Give me what is truly good — 
 Grace, and food, and gratitude; 
 Kindly give me patience, health; 
 Anything but wasteful Wealth; 
 Wisely in Thy mercy grant 
 Anything but wasting Want; 
 That I may not through excess 
 Sin from want or wantonness, — 
 That I may be clear and clean. 
 Lucid in the Golden Mean. 
 
 A BALLAD FOR THE AGED. 
 
 Light as flakes of falling snow 
 
 Drop the silent-footed hours; 
 And the days, — they come and go, 
 And the years — we scarcely know 
 
 How their frosts, and fruits, and flowers, 
 
TIME. 
 
 Transient crops of weal and woe, 
 
 Change, and pass, and perish 8ol 
 
 While we muse upon To-day 
 
 Lo ! the dream has died away ; 
 
 And there lives what was To-morrow, 
 
 With its present joy or sorrow, 
 
 Pains and pleasures, fear and hope, 
 
 A variable kaleidoscope : 
 
 So on, so on; till years have sped 
 
 By tens and twenties over head, 
 
 And those flakes that fell unfelt 
 
 Have grown to snows — that never melt! 
 
 A LOYAL Ballad, April, 184S. 
 
 How glorious is thy calling, 
 
 My happy Fatherland, 
 While ail the thrones are falling 
 
 In righteousness to stand. 
 Amid the earthquakes heaving thus 
 
 To rest in pastures green, — 
 Then, God be praised who helpeth us, 
 
 And -— God preserve the Queen ! 
 
 How glorious is thy calling ! 
 
 In sun and moon and stars 
 To see the signs appalling 
 
 Of prodigies and wars, — 
 Yet by thy grand example still 
 
 From lies the world to wean, 
 Then, GoD be praised who guards from ill, 
 
 And • — God preserve the Queen ! 
 
96 "GOD PRESERVE THE QUEEn!" 
 
 Within thy sacred border 
 
 Amid the sounding seas, 
 Religion, Right, and Order 
 
 Securely dwell at ease; 
 And if we lift this beacon bright. 
 
 Among the nations seen, 
 We bless the Lord who loves the riglit. 
 
 And — God preserve the Queen! 
 
 Fair pastures and still waters 
 
 Are ours withal to bless 
 The thronging sons and daughters 
 
 Of exile and distress; 
 For who so free, as English hearts 
 
 Are, shall be, and have been? 
 Then, GrOD be thank' d on our parts, 
 
 And — God preserve the Queen I 
 
 Though strife and fear and madness 
 
 Are raging all around. 
 There still is peace and gladness 
 
 On Britain's holy ground; 
 But not to us the praise, — to us 
 
 Our glory is to lean 
 On Him who giveth freely thus. 
 
 And — God preserve the Queen I 
 
 nation greatly favour'd, 
 
 If ever thou shouldst bring 
 A sacrifice well savour' d 
 
 Of praise to God the King, 
 Now, now, let all thy children raise 
 
 In faith and love serene, 
 The loyal patriot hymn of praise 
 
 Of — God preserve the Queen I 
 
A BALLAD FOR THE PRINCE ALFRED. 97 
 
 a 36alliiii far tjiB frto 2\M; 
 
 On his Birthday, August 6, 1849. 
 
 A THOUSAND years ago, 
 
 A mighty spirit came 
 To earn himself through weal and woe 
 
 An everlasting name ! 
 
 'The G-reat, the Wise, the Good, 
 
 Was Alfred in his time. 
 And then before his God he stood 
 
 An heir of bliss sublime ! 
 
 And many changes since 
 
 And wondrous things have been, 
 Till in another English prince, 
 
 Again is Alfred seen. 
 
 Though never call'd to rule, 
 
 Nor ever forced to fight, 
 May he grow up in Alfred's school 
 
 A child of love and light: 
 
 In Learning and in Grace 
 
 Exceeding great and wise, 
 With goodness run his happy race, 
 
 And reign beyond the skies I 
 
98 A NATIONAL ANTHEM FOR LIBERIA IN AFRICA, 
 
 a Sutiniml 5lntljnii far jCikria m afrim. 
 
 Praise ye the Lord ! for this new-born Star, 
 On the blue firmament blazing afar, 
 Bless ye the Lord ! — our souls to cheer 
 "The love of liberty brought us here!" 
 
 Hail to Liberia's beacon bright, 
 Luring us home with its silver light. 
 Where we may sing without peril or fear 
 " The love of liberty brought us here ! " 
 
 Hail ! new home on the dear old shore 
 Where Ham's dark sons dwelt ever of yore, 
 Thou shalt be unto us doubly dear. 
 For "love of liberty brought us here!" 
 
 Come, ye children of Africa, come. 
 Bring hither the viol, the pipe, and the drum, 
 To herald this Star on its bright career. 
 For "love of liberty brought us here!" 
 
 Come, — with peace and to all good-will; 
 
 Yet ready to combat for insult or ill, — 
 
 Come, with the trumpet, the sword, and ^he spear, 
 
 For "love of liberty brought us here!" 
 
 Thanks unto GoD ! who hath broken th-f* chain 
 That bound us as slaves on the Western main; 
 Thanks, white brothers ! Oh, thanks sincere. 
 Whose "love of liberty brought us here!" 
 
A NATIONAL ANTHEM FOR LIBERIA IN AFRICA. 99 
 
 Yes, — ye have rescued us as from the grave, 
 And a freeman made of the desperate slave, 
 That ye may call him both brother and peer, 
 For "■ love of liberty brought us here I" 
 
 Thanks ! raise that shout once more, — 
 Thanks ! let it thrill Liberia's shore, — 
 Thanks I while we our standard rear, 
 "The love of liberty brought us here!" 
 
 Thine, Columbia, thine was the hand 
 That set us again on our own dear land, 
 We will remember thee far or near. 
 For "love of liberty brought us here!'* 
 
 Yes, Liberia ! freemen gave 
 Freedom and Thee to the ransom'd slave; 
 Then out with a shout both loud and clear, 
 "Love of liberty brought us here!" 
 
 €)ft tihnim 95nitnm 
 
 A THOUSAND miles of rugged shore, 
 
 And not a lighthouse seen ? 
 Alas, the thousand years of yore 
 
 That such a shame hath been ! 
 Alas, that Afric's darkling race, 
 
 The savages and slaves. 
 Never have known the gleam of grace 
 
 On their Atlantic waves! 
 
100 THE L I E E R I A N BEACON. 
 
 Never — till Now ! glorious light, 
 
 The beacon is ablaze ! 
 And half the terrors of the night 
 
 Are scattered by its rays ! 
 Forth from the starry heaven'd West 
 
 "Was lit this glowing torch, 
 For, dear Columbia's sons have blest 
 
 Liberia with — a Church ! 
 
 Yes, — young Columbia leads the way, 
 
 And shows our hard old world 
 How slavery in the sight of day 
 
 Can wisest be downhurl'd; 
 Not by the bloody hand of power 
 
 That mangles while it frees, 
 But by Religion's calmer hour, 
 
 And Freedom of the seas ! 
 
 / 
 
 Yes, brothers ! Patience is the word, — 
 
 And Prudence in your zeal : 
 "Where these sweet angels well are heard 
 
 They work the common weal : 
 The North must wait] the South le wise; 
 
 And both unite in love 
 To help the slave beneath the skies 
 
 "Who is no slave above ! 
 
THE L T B E R I A N C H U U C II . 101 
 
 ®lu^ liheriflii (i^titirtli. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 Not freedom only be Liberia's boast, — 
 
 Nor chiefly, Africa, thy sons returned 
 To those dear palmy plains and tropic coast 
 
 For which so long in alien climes they yearned 
 No ! — but a blessing, to be sought the most 
 
 Wherever men for truest treasure search. 
 Shall be thy praise, Liberia ! — lo, at length, 
 
 As in St. Cyprian's day, a Christian Church 
 With its Apostle stands in holy strength, 
 
 A newlit beacon on poor iVfric's shore; 
 And round it now the darkling heathen throng, 
 
 And Ethiopia's outstretch'd hands implore 
 Of thee. Salvation's hallow'd gospel song. 
 
 Of thee, Liberia, blest for evermore. 
 
 a JIatinnal ^k^n ngainst tjj^ (Cljnbtfl, 
 
 God ! the Good, the Gracious, and the Just, 
 Consider Thou, and hear Thy people's prayer; 
 
 In thee alone Thy trembling creatures trust. 
 And leave their sorrows to a Father's care. 
 
 Through Christ who died, we live again to Thee; 
 
 Through Christ who lives, we come before Thy throne; 
 Though all beside in us corruption be. 
 
 The good He gives we gladly claim and own. 
 9* 
 
102 A NATIONAL PRAYER AGAINST THE CHOLERA. 
 
 Now, for His sake, (Thy gift to us, our Gob,) 
 
 In mercy look on us, in mercy save; 
 Take, take away tliis sharp and chast'ning rod, 
 
 And leave us humbly to the good it gave. 
 
 "We would be kind to Thine own flock, the poor; 
 
 We would be wise, and temperate, and clean ; 
 By alms be peaceful, and by prayer secure. 
 
 Trust to Thy help, and on Thy promise lean. 
 
 Grateful, courageous, penitent, and kind, 
 
 thus let us Thy holy lesson learn; 
 Win through the body mercies on the mind. 
 
 And from this baneful plague Thy blessings earn 
 
 Yea, Father, let thy wrath be overpast, 
 
 Now bid the sunshine of Thy love appear; 
 Sweep from the land that pestilential blast, 
 
 And haste to save us from the foe we fear! 
 Who, who shall combat his mysterious might? 
 
 Who, but the "stronger than the strong man armed ?"- 
 Help the poor captives in that hideous flight, 
 
 And be their terror by Thy mercy charm'd! 
 
 Heal thou the sick; deliver Thou the whole; 
 
 Bid the fierce Angel spare, and not destroy; 
 With Thy salvation greet each parting soul, 
 
 And turn our sorrows into songs of joy. 
 
COURAGE. 103 
 
 A BALLAD FOR TROUBLOUS TIMES. 
 
 Dangers do but dare me, 
 Terrors cannot scare me, 
 God my guide, Til bear me 
 
 Manfully for ever, — 
 Trouble's darkest hour 
 Shall not make me cower 
 To the Spectre's power, — 
 
 Never, never, never! 
 
 Up, my heart, and brace thee, 
 While the perils face thee, 
 In thyself encase thee 
 
 Manfully for ever, — 
 Foes may howl around me. 
 Fears may hunt and hound me,- 
 Shall their yells confound me? 
 
 Never, never, never ! 
 
 Constant, calm, unfearing, 
 
 Boldly persevering. 
 
 In good conscience steering 
 
 Manfully for ever, — 
 Winds and waves defying, 
 And on God reljdng, 
 Shall He find me flying? 
 
 Never, never, Xevfr I 
 
 8 
 
;jQ4 AHYMNANDACHANT. 
 
 For the Harvest-home of 1847 
 
 A HYMN. 
 
 NATION, Christian nation, 
 
 Lift high the hymn of praise I 
 The God of our salvation 
 
 Is love in all his ways; 
 He blesseth us, and feedeth 
 
 Every creature of His hand, 
 To succour him that needeth 
 
 And to gladden all the land! 
 
 Rejoice, ye happy people. 
 
 And peal the changing chime 
 From every belfried steeple 
 
 In symphony sublime; 
 Let cottage and let palace 
 
 Be thankful and rejoice. 
 And woods, and hills, and valleya, 
 
 Re-echo the glad voice ! 
 
 From glen, and plain, and city 
 
 Let gracious incense rise, 
 The Lord of life in pity 
 
 Hath heard his creatures' crie.^; 
 And where in fierce oppressing 
 
 Stalk'd fever, fear, and dearth, 
 He pours a triple blessing 
 
 To mi and fatten earth! 
 
A H Y 51 N AND A C H ANT. 106 
 
 Gaze round in deep emotion : 
 
 The rich and ripen 'd grain 
 Is like a golden ocean 
 
 Becalm'd upon the plain; 
 And we, who late were weepers 
 
 Lest judgment should destroy, 
 Now sing because the reapers 
 
 Are come again with joy ! 
 
 praise the hand that giveth 
 
 — And giveth evermore, — 
 To every soul that liveth 
 
 Abundance flowing o'er ! 
 For every soul He filleth 
 
 With manna from above, 
 And over all distilleth 
 
 The unction of His love. 
 
 Then gather, Christians, gather 
 
 To praise with heart and voic« 
 The good Almighty Father, 
 
 Who biddeth you rejoice : 
 For He hath turn'd the sadness 
 
 Of His children into mirth, 
 And we will sing with gladness 
 
 The harvest-home of earth ! 
 
 A CHANT. 
 
 BLESS the God of harvest, praise Him through the land, 
 Thank Him for His precious gifts, His help, and liberal love: 
 Praise Him for the fields, that have rendered up their riches, 
 And, dress'd in sunny stubbles, take their sabbath after toil; 
 Praise Him for the close-shorn plains, and uplands lying bare, 
 
108 A HYMN AND A CHANT. 
 
 And meadows, where tlie sweet-breatli'd hay was stack'd in early 
 
 summer ; 
 Praise Him for the wheat-sheaves, gathered safely into barn, 
 And scattering now their golden drops beneath the sounding flail; 
 Praise Him for the barley-mow, a little hill of sweetness. 
 Praise Him for the clustering hop, to add its fragrant bitter; 
 Praise Him for the wholesome root, that fattened in the furrow. 
 Praise him for the mellow fruits, that bend the groaning bough : 
 For blessings on thy basket, and for blessings on thy store. 
 For skill and labour prosper' d well, by gracious suns and showers, 
 For mercies on the home, and for comforts on the hearth, 
 happy heart of this broad land, praise the God of harvest! 
 
 All ye that have no tongue to praise, we will praise Him for you, 
 And offer on our kindling souls the tribute of your thanks : 
 Trees, and shrubs, and the multitude of herbs, gladdening the 
 
 eyes with verdure. 
 For all your leaves and flowers and fruits, we praise the God of 
 
 harvest ! 
 Birds, and beetleo in the dust, and insects flitting on the air, 
 And ye that swim the waters in your scaly coats of mail, 
 And steers, resting after labour, and timorous flocks afold. 
 And generous horses, yoked in teams to draw the creaking wains, 
 For all your lives, and every pleasure solacing that lot. 
 Your sleep, and food, and animal peace, we praise the God of 
 
 harvest ! 
 And ye, some who never pray'd, and therefore cannot praise; 
 Poor darkling sons of care and toil and unillumined night, 
 Who rose betimes, but did not ask a blessing on your work. 
 Who lay down late, but render'd no thank-offering for that blessing 
 Which all unsought He sent, and all unknown ye gather'd, — 
 Alas, for you and in your stead, we praise the God of harvest! 
 
 ye famine-stricken glens, whose children shriek'd for bread, 
 And noisome alleys of the town, where fever fed on hunger, — 
 
A H Y M N A N D A C H A N T . 107 
 
 O ye children of despair, bitterly bewailing Erin, 
 Come and join my cheerful praise, for God hath answer' d prayer : 
 Praise Ilim for the better hopes, and signs of better times, 
 Unity, gratitude, contentment; industry, peace, and plenty; 
 Bless Him that His chastening rod is now the sceptre of forgiveness, 
 And in your joy remember well to praise the God of harvest ! 
 
 Come, come along with me, and swell this grateful song. 
 Ye nobler hearts, old England's own, her children of the soil: 
 All ye that sow'd the seed in faith, with those who reap'd in joy, 
 And he that drove the plough afield, with all the scatter'd gleaners, 
 And maids who milk the lowing kine, and boys that tend the 
 
 sheep, 
 And men that load the sluggish wain or neatly thatch the rick, — 
 Shout and sing for happiness of heart, nor stint your thrilling 
 
 cheers, 
 But make the merry farmer's hall resound with glad rejoicings. 
 And let him spread the hearty feast for joy at harvest-home, 
 And join this cheerful song of praise, — to bless the GoD of harvest ! 
 
 InrUtst ItjIEU 
 For 1849. 
 
 Again, through every county 
 
 Of Britain's happy shores 
 The Great Creator's bounty 
 
 Unstinted plenty pours; 
 Again to Him returning 
 
 In thankfulness we raise. 
 Our hearts within us burning, 
 
 The sacrifice of praise. 
 
108 H A R V E S T H Y M N . 
 
 great as is Thj glorj', 
 
 Thy goodness doth excel ! 
 What harp can hymn the story? 
 
 What tongue the tale can tell? 
 The boundless breadth of Nature 
 
 Is spread beneath Thy throne, 
 And every living creature 
 
 Is fed by Thee alone ! 
 
 Rejoice ! for overflowing 
 
 Is each abundant field; 
 The Lord has blest the sowing, 
 
 The Lord has blest the yield: 
 The mower has mown double, 
 
 The reaper doubly reap'd, 
 And from the shining stubble 
 
 Her head tbe gleaner beap'dl 
 
 Rejoice ! for mercy blesses. 
 
 And judgment smites no morej 
 The God of grace possesses 
 
 Araunah's threshing-floor : 
 The gains of honest labour 
 
 Are shower'd from above. 
 And neighbour looks on neighbour 
 
 In happiness and love. 
 
 men of all conditions, 
 
 The high, or humbly-born, — 
 Away with low seditions ! 
 
 Away with lofty scorn ! 
 Mix kindly with each other, — 
 
 For God has given to all 
 The common name of brother. 
 
 And gladdens great and small. 
 
HARVEST II YMxN. 109 
 
 And Eriu ! thou that starvest 
 
 So patient on thy sod, — 
 To thee, to thee, this harvest 
 
 Is come, the gift of God ! 
 Cheer up, though woes oppress thee; 
 
 Be diligent and true; 
 And, with thy Queen to bless thee, 
 
 Her King shall bless thee tooI 
 
 For 1850. 
 
 Praise ye the Lord for his bountiful favour, — 
 
 let the people be glad and rejoice ! 
 High shall the hymn, an acceptable savour. 
 
 Rise to His throne from the heart and the voice 
 For the G-reat King in His royal redundance 
 
 Fills us with blessings enough and to spare. 
 Fruits in full plenty, and bread in abundance, — 
 
 Glory to God for His fiitherly care ! 
 
 all ye nations ! from season to season 
 
 Kindly commands He the earth that it yield 
 
 Then let us render in right and in reason 
 Gratitude due for the gifts of the field; 
 
 Diligence, faith, and contentment are Duty, 
 And if He blesses them all with increase, 
 
 Thank Him, that earth in its bounty and beauty 
 
 Pours en us wealth, and abundance, and peace 
 10 
 
110 A HARVEST HYMN. 
 
 We are His children, and God our Father; 
 
 Then will we love one another the more; — 
 While He is generous, let us the rather 
 
 Thank him for blessing the basket and store ! 
 Earth is Man's heritage, granted by heaven; 
 
 If the Great Master has made us His heirs 
 Here and liereafter redeemed and forgiven, — 
 
 let us greet Him with praises and pray'rs ! 
 
 XiDp-firking. 
 
 A THYRSUS grove it secm'd, of standing spears 
 Wildly festoon'd with gadding wreaths of green ; 
 
 Yet, not as if old Bacchus and his peers 
 In tipsy rout and frolic there had been 
 To hurl them up on end with all their sheen, — 
 
 But orderly set fvJh 'n warrior rank 
 
 Giants array'd, with fighting-room at flank, 
 
 Caparison'd, and heavily plumed a-top 
 
 With clustering bells : — and, are these Dryad bands, 
 Or groups of Oreades, so blythely seen 
 
 To gather in with songs that golden crop, 
 
 Crushing its fragrance in their sportive hands? 
 
 No ! dreamer : — let Arcadian fancies drop ; 
 
 These are but hop-pickers, — and that the Hop. 
 
A SHORT REPLY. Ill 
 
 a Itinrt lltpli[. 
 
 TO OXE WHO *' DISLIKED POETRY." 
 
 Lady, thou lovest high and holy Thought 
 
 And noble Deeds, and Hopes sublime or beauteous, 
 Thou lovest charities in secret wrought, 
 
 And all things pure, and generous, and duteous; 
 What then if these be drest in robes of power, 
 
 Triumphant woi^DS, that thrill the heart of man, 
 Conquering for good beyond the flitting hour, 
 
 With stately march, and ;nusic in the van? 
 
 A WORD TO THE RICH. 
 
 Wriiien for the Liverpool Hospitals, Aug. 1849. 
 
 For Charity's sake ! to the poor of the land 
 
 Your generous blessing extend, — 
 While Need and Affliction with suppliant hand 
 
 Solicit your help as a friend; 
 Kemember, the Master of these, as of us, 
 
 On earth was a brother in need, 
 And all that ye give to the desolate thus, 
 
 To Him do ye give it indeed ! 
 
 To Him I — in his Judgment, a fiery sword 
 Hath smitten, and scatter'd, and slain : 
 
 To Him ! — in His Mercy, the sword of the Lord 
 Returns to its scabbard again : 
 
112 CnARITY. 
 
 To Him! — for tlic God who was pleased to be Man, 
 
 In reason expects of His kin 
 To strive against evil, and do what we can 
 
 To chase away sorrow and sin. 
 
 Britain ! dear home of the good and the great, 
 
 The kind, and the Mr, and the free, — 
 The nations applaud thee for strength and for state, 
 
 And marvel thy glory to see : 
 Because — through the length and the breadth of thy land 
 
 True Charity scattei-s her seedj 
 And Heaven still strengthens the heart and the hand 
 
 That blesses a brother in need! 
 
 Ay, Britain ! the destitute's refuge and rest, 
 
 O'ershadow'd with olives and palms, 
 In war thou art prosper'd, in peace thou art blest 
 
 Because of thy prayers and thine alms : 
 The soft rain of heaven makes fertile thy fields, 
 
 And so in sweet incense again 
 It rises like dew o'er the harvest it yields. 
 
 To solace the children of pain. 
 
 Then hasten, ye wealthy! to bless and be blest. 
 
 By giving to God of His own : 
 He asks you to help the diseased and distrest, 
 
 He pleads in the pang and the moan ! 
 In vain ?^ can it be? — shall the Saviour in vain 
 
 Petition His pensioners thus? 
 Oh no! with all gladness we give Him again 
 
 What He giveth gladly to usl 
 
THE MAN A"BOUT TOWN. 118 
 
 €\)i Blnn aiiniit '&mn. 
 
 EviTrEYED loiterer, pilgrim of fashion, 
 
 Sunless and hard is thy frost-bitten heart; 
 Scoffing at nature's affection and passion, 
 
 Till thou hast made the sad angels depart: 
 Sinner and fool ! to be searing and sealing 
 
 All the sweet fountains of spirit and truth — 
 Quick to be free from the freshness of feeling, 
 
 Swift to escape from the fervours of youth. 
 
 "Woe to thee — woe I for thy criminal coldness; 
 
 Oh, I could pity thee, desolate man, 
 But that those eyes, in their insolent boldness, 
 
 Tempt me to scorn such a state, if I can : 
 Wearied of hunting the shadows of pleasures, 
 
 Thou art half dead in the prime of thy days, 
 Emptied of Heaven's and Earth's better treasures, 
 
 Victim and slave to the world and its ways ! 
 
 Early and late at thy dull dissipation. 
 
 Listlessly indolent even in sin. 
 What is thy soul but a pool of stagnation. 
 
 Calmness without, and corruption within ? 
 Happiness, honour, and peace, and affection — 
 
 These were thy heritage every one, — 
 But as thou meetest them all with rejection, 
 
 They have rejected thee. Prodigal Son ! 
 
 O that humility, gracious as duteous, 
 
 Lighten'd those eyelids so heavy with scorn ! 
 that sincerity, blessed as beauteous. 
 
 Gilded thy night with the promise of morn ! 
 Frankness of mind is the best of high breeding — 
 
 Kindness of soul the true Gentleman's part; 
 And the first fashion all fashions exceeding, 
 
 Is the warm gush of a generous heart! 
 
114 A fEAYER FOR THE LAND. 
 
 a '^x^n fnr tjiB Inni 
 
 August 6, 1848. 
 
 Almighty Father I hearken, — 
 
 Forgive, and help, and bless, 
 Nor let thine anger darken 
 
 The night of our distress; 
 As sin and shame and weakness 
 
 Are ail we call our own. 
 We turn to Thee in meekness, 
 
 And trust on Thee alone. 
 
 God, remember Zion, — 
 
 And pardon all her sin! 
 Thy mercy we rely on 
 
 To rein Thy vengeance in : 
 Though dark pollution staineth 
 
 The temple Thou hast built. 
 Thy faithfulness remaineth, — 
 
 And that shall cleanse the guilt 1 
 
 To Thee, then. Friend All-seeing, 
 
 Great source of grace and love, 
 In whom we have our being, 
 
 In whom we live and move, — 
 Jerusalem, obeying 
 
 Thy tender word, "Draw near," 
 Would come securely, praying 
 
 In penitence and fear. 
 
 Thou knowest, Lord, the peril 
 Our ill deserts have wrought, 
 
 If earth for us is sterile 
 
 And all our labour nought I 
 
A PRAYER FOR THE LAND. 115 
 
 Alas. — our righteous wages 
 
 Are famine, plague, and sword, 
 Unless TIi}^ wrath assuages 
 
 In mercv, gracious Lord! 
 
 For lo ! we know Thy terrors 
 
 Throughout the world are rife, 
 Seditions, frenzies, errors, 
 
 Perplexities and strife ! 
 Thy woes are on the nations, 
 
 And Thou dost scatter them,— 
 Yet heed the supplications 
 
 Of Thy Jerusalem ! 
 
 Truth, Lord, we are unworthy, 
 
 Unwise, untrue, unjust. 
 Our souls and minds are earthy, 
 
 And cleaving to the dust: 
 But pour Thy graces o'er us, 
 
 And quicken us at heart, — 
 Make straight Thy way before us, 
 
 And let us not depart! 
 
 Turn us, that we may fear Thee, 
 
 And worship day by day, — 
 Draw us, that we draw near Thee, 
 
 To honour and obey; 
 Be with us all in trouble. 
 
 And, as our Saviour still. 
 Lord, recompense us double 
 
 With good for all our ill! ' 
 
 Though we deserve not pity. 
 
 Yet, Lord, all bounty yield, — 
 All blessings in the city. 
 
 And blessings in the field. 
 
116 
 
 A PRAYER FOR THE LAND 
 
 On folded flocks and cattle, 
 On basket and on store, 
 
 In peace, and in the battle, 
 All blessings evermore ! 
 
 All good for earth and heaven! — • 
 
 For we are bold to plead 
 As through thy Son forgiven, 
 
 And in Him sons indeed! 
 Yea, Father ! as possessing 
 
 In Thee our Father-God, 
 Give, give us every blessing, 
 
 And take away Thy rod! 
 
 l^kmt ! 
 
 A RESPONSE TO "THE PRAYER FOR THE LAND." 
 
 September 18, 1848. 
 
 We thank Thee, King of Heaven ! 
 
 We bless Thee, glorious Lord ! 
 Because Thy grace hath given 
 
 The mercies we implored; 
 Because Thy love rejoices 
 
 To smile Thy wrath away, 
 We come with hearts and voices 
 
 To praise as well as pray ! 
 
 now regard with favour 
 
 The sacrifice we bring, 
 As incense of sweet savour, 
 
 As Abel's offering; 
 As Noah's, when he raised Thee 
 
 An altar near the ark ; 
 As Jonah's, when he praised Thee 
 
 Beneath the waters dark ! 
 
praise! 117 
 
 For lo! Thy bounteous promise 
 
 Is sure to those who pray, 
 Averting evil from us 
 
 And helping us alway; 
 And though we all have wander'd 
 
 In sinfulness and shame, — 
 Yet once again our standard 
 
 We set up in thy name ! 
 
 Thy constant mercy deigneth 
 
 A covenant of peace; 
 So long as earth remaineth, 
 
 Its plenty shall not cease; 
 Still in Thy holy keeping 
 
 Our grateful eyes behold 
 The sowing and the reaping, 
 
 As in the days of old! 
 
 Yea, — though in righteous reason 
 
 Thy judgments might have frown'd. 
 The harvest in its season 
 
 Hath joyfully come round; 
 And while our sins are grievous 
 
 And make us fear the rod. 
 Thy pity doth relieve us 
 
 Because we hope in GrOD ! 
 
 Thee, Thee alone for ever 
 
 Thy children still shall praise, 
 And duteously endeavour 
 
 To walk in all Thy ways; 
 Still hoping and still asking 
 
 Thy pardon and Thy love, 
 And in the sunshine basking 
 
 Of blessings from above ! 
 
118 LIBERTY. 
 
 litertq — fpnlittt — /rntBrmti]. 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 Liberty ! — Who shall be free ? — 
 The winds of the air, and the waves of the sea, 
 And the beast in his lair, and the bird on its tree, 
 And the savage who battles with boars and with bears 
 For the root that he grubs, or the flesh that he tears,— 
 
 Liberty, these are for thee ! 
 
 Liberty? — How can it be 
 That reason, and duty, and science, and skill. 
 And order, and beauty, are lawgivers still, 
 And yet that responsible Man can be found 
 Untrammell'd by rules, and by harness unbound? — 
 
 Liberty, No man is free. 
 
 Liberty? — sadness to see 
 "Were the heart without love, or the mind without fear 
 For The Father above, and His Family here; 
 And faith and aifection, constraining or fond. 
 What are they but chains, an invincible bond, 
 
 Liberty, manacling Thee? 
 
 Liberty, look not on me 
 With a Siren's smile on thy beautiful face. 
 And a treacherous wile in thy warm embrace .• 
 No! let me feel fetter'd, — a martyr, a slave 
 To honour and duty from cradle to grave! 
 
 Liberty, I'll none of Thee. 
 
LIBERTY. 110 
 
 Liberty! — "fetter'd," yet free: 
 For the chain that we wear is of roses and balm, 
 And the badge that we bear is The Conqueror's palm, 
 And the licence we loathe is a freedom to Sin, 
 And the thraldom we love is Obedience within, 
 
 Liberty, leading to Thee I 
 
 Liberty ! — for thou shalt be 
 My glorious reward in a happier clime, 
 From the hand of my Lord, who hath bound me to Time 
 As a bonds?nan here for a year and a day 
 To reign as a King for ever and aye. 
 
 Holy, and happy, and Free! 
 
 EQUALITY. 
 
 Pining Envy's feeble hope, 
 Shipwreck's last despairing rope, 
 Idle wish from Satan sent. 
 Ruffian prize of Discontent, 
 Dull debasing sordid thing 
 Crushing down each generous spring, 
 Stern Procrustes' iron bed 
 To rack the feet or lop the head,— 
 Where in all life's social book 
 Shall your purblind statesman look, 
 Where, — Equality, to find 
 A sillier lie to cheat mankind? 
 
 Tell the truth, yea tell it out, 
 Nature, without fear or doubt; 
 Tell it out that never yet 
 Have two utter equals met: 
 Leaves and fruits on every tree, 
 Fowls and fish of air and sea, 
 9 
 
120 EQUALITY, 
 
 Stars on high with all their host, 
 Pebbles from a kingdom's coast; 
 Search them all, some difference still 
 Clings to each for good or ill ; 
 Search the world — all worlds — around, 
 Perfect twins were never found; 
 Babes of various realm and race, 
 Men of every age and place. 
 Gifts of God, or wise denials. 
 Pleasures, sorrows, triumphs, trials, 
 All things differ everywhere, — 
 Never two can start quite fair, — 
 Never two could keep the start 
 In soul or body, mind or heart, 
 While the shortest winter's day 
 To its morrow gloom 'd away ! 
 
 Would then Vanity, and Sloth, 
 And Disappointment, scorning both. 
 And Pride and Meanness, hand in hand 
 With Crime and low Ambition stand 
 To scheme and plot a wholesome plan 
 Utterly to ruin Man, — 
 Then should they level love and hate, 
 And grind to atoms all things great, 
 Corrupt all good, befoul all fair. 
 Make gladness weep, and hope despair, 
 And, impotent to raise the dead, 
 Kill the living in their stead. 
 By working out the poison'd lie 
 Your sages call Equality. 
 
 No ! thou phantom false and fair, 
 Rainbow-castle in the air, 
 
EQUALITY. 121 
 
 Fit enough for fays or elves, 
 
 But not for mortals like ourselres, 
 
 In this hive of human kind, 
 
 Where some_can see, and some are blind, 
 
 Where some will work though others play, 
 
 And many swear while many pray, 
 
 Where disease and age at length 
 
 Must bend and bow to manhood's strength, 
 
 Where every one of God's good gifts 
 
 The favour'd from his fellow lifts, — 
 
 Equal ! — equal ? — tush : the word 
 
 In truer letters spells absurd. 
 
 Equal? there is One alone 
 
 Reigns Coequal on His throne; 
 
 Nor can any creature dare 
 
 With such Essence to compare. 
 
 All things else through change and chance, 
 
 And time and place and circumstance, 
 
 And partial Providence most just, 
 
 And man's 'I will,' and God's ^you must,'— 
 
 All things, differing each from eaoli, 
 
 Vainly still their lesson teach. 
 
 If Equality be thus 
 
 Possible or wise for us, 
 
 Where with various means and powers 
 
 In a trial-world like ours 
 
 We must work as best we may. 
 
 And leave it to The Judgment Day 
 
 To declare how ill or well 
 
 Earth's advantages may tell : 
 
 Then, shall equal meed be given 
 
 By the justice of High Heavec : ^ 
 
 Then shall compensation true 
 
 Set us all in places new : 
 
122 EQUALITY. 
 
 And, — bow many counted first 
 There shall stand the worst accurst! 
 And, — how many here so pocTj 
 Lazarus laid at Dives' door, 
 There, instead of last and least, 
 First shall sit at Life's great feast 1 
 
 FRATERNITY. 
 
 Away, away. Suspicion! 
 
 And hail, thou generous heat; 
 With tears of just contrition 
 
 Let me wash my brother's feeti 
 For I have sinn'd, — how often! 
 
 "While Charity stood by 
 This stony heart to soften. 
 
 And to melt this frozen eye! 
 
 Yes, — I have err'd, like others, 
 
 By coldness and constraint, 
 Forgetting we are brothers. 
 
 The sinner as the saint, — 
 All children of one Father, 
 
 All guilty and all weak. 
 And bound by these the rather 
 
 Every wanderer to seek ! 
 
 Awake then ! holy yearning 
 
 The hearts of men to thrill, — 
 Ascend ! sweet incense burning 
 
 To warm the human will; 
 O let us dare with boldness 
 
 To burst this girdling chain 
 Of common social coldness. 
 
 And to love as babes again! 
 
FRATERNITY. 12S 
 
 In frankness, and in fairness, 
 
 Go forth and reap the earth, — 
 Its richness and its rareness, 
 
 Its more than money's-worth; 
 Go forth, and win from others 
 
 Their honour and their love, 
 By treating them as brothers 
 
 And the sons of God above! 
 
 For in that brighter Sequel 
 
 To which our beings tend 
 At last we shall be equal 
 
 In One Redeeming Friend! 
 And He, who made us brothers, 
 
 Our Lord, and brother too. 
 Hath gone before the others 
 
 To prepare for them and you! 
 
 Thus then shall heirs of heaven, 
 
 But not the slaves of sin, — 
 Forgiving and forgiven 
 
 This holy triad win; 
 Free, — equal, — and fraternal. 
 
 In God's own way and time, 
 To live the life eternal, 
 
 And to love the love sublime! 
 
 Martin ritlljw. 
 
 Luther Eleutheros! thou lion-heart, 
 
 Call'd by a name predestined to be Free, 
 
 Nobly thou didst the Christian warrior's part,— - 
 Paul and Ignatius fought again in thee : 
 My glorious namesake, what a praise to me, 
 
 By nation, name, and nature too, thou art, 
 
124 M A R T I N LUTHER. 
 
 /fartin Eleutlieros ! my Saxon chief I 
 
 I, too, would scorn to bend a slavish knee, 
 Or bate one tittle of my firm belief, 
 
 Or seem some other than I boast to be — 
 No human master's servant: in thy strength, 
 The Rock of Ages, is my spirit strong; 
 And resolutely will I lead along. 
 
 Like thee, for truth, and good, and God at length. 
 
 )ntin! 
 
 Cool and sweet is the breath of the morn, 
 And dew-beads glitter on thistle and thorn; 
 And linnets and larks are beginning to trill 
 Their psalm to the sun just over the hill. 
 And all things pleasant, and pure, and fair 
 Bathe in the balmy morning air. 
 
 Hist ! the turf is under thy feet, 
 Over it steadily, — sure and fleet! 
 Steadily, Wonder ! — quietly now ; 
 Why, what a hot little fool art thou! 
 Wild and wanton! — it's very unkind 
 To leave poor Gael so panting behind; — 
 
 Ho ! my greyhound 1 Soho ! — a hare ! 
 
 Good dog: after her! — soft and fair; 
 
 Off does she fiy, and away does he bound, — 
 
 Glorious ! how we are skimming the ground ! 
 
 Heels above head, — over she goes! 
 
 And pussy squeals at my greyhound's nose 
 
sono. 125 
 
 Home : hark back I — the games are doue, 
 Though Cf^sar's self has barely begun : 
 Look ! let him change the spur for the pen, 
 To hunt and to harry the hearts of men, — 
 Possibles do, and impossibles dare, 
 And gallop in spirit everywhere ! 
 
 EBnisitiiig (CjjiirtBrlinttSB, 
 
 '* AFTER LONG YEARS." 
 
 D^c. 12, 1848. 
 
 A SHADOW, a vapour, a tale that is told, — 
 
 Ah ! where is the figure so true 
 As justly to picture my bygones of old 
 
 Uprising in dreamy review? 
 Those dim recollections, sepulchral and cold, 
 
 The ancient obscured by the new, 
 As over these hill-tops are mistily roll'd 
 
 Those ghost-looking columns of dew ! 
 
 I went to the place that had known me of yore, 
 
 To see its familiar face; 
 And mournfully stood, — for it knew me no more 
 
 All strange did 1 stand in that place ! 
 And it seem'd as if Hades had render!d its dead 
 
 When, less by the sight than the sound. 
 At the hint of a voice, in a snow-sprinkled head 
 
 Some school-fellow's features I found.' 
 
126 REVISITING CHARTERHOUSE. 
 
 O changes in feeling, chances of life ! 
 
 mercies, and perils, and fears ! 
 What ages of trial, and travail, and strife 
 
 Have sped since those holiday years! 
 In half-drowning vision, as seen in a glass, 
 
 On a sudden the sorrows and joys 
 Of twenty long winters all hurriedly pass, 
 
 And, look for once more we are boys! 
 
 Yet here, like the remnant of some gallant crew 
 
 Just snatch'd from the deep in the dark. 
 We gaze on each other, a storm-batter' d few 
 
 Adrift on a perilous bark ! 
 And mournful as Life, and mysterious as Death, 
 
 Our commonplace converse is heard, 
 For we feel as we speak that we live in a breach, 
 
 And haply might die in a word ! 
 
 And feelings are fickle, — and riches have wings, 
 
 And nothing is steady or sure. 
 And even affections are changeable things, 
 
 And — where can a heart be secure? 
 Ah ! clouded and dreary and solemn and still. 
 
 And as by some nightmare opprest, — 
 Come, heart ! break away from this choke and this chill, 
 
 In God and thyself ever blest ! 
 
THE SISTERS. 127 
 
 A ROMAUNT, FOR MUSIC. 
 
 All-beauteous Lady Arabell 
 
 Glanced scornfully aside, — 
 Alas! for he hath loved her well, 
 
 In spite of all her pride; 
 Yet coldly to that noble heart 
 
 In all its glowing youth, 
 Away! she cried, — and spurn'd aside 
 
 Its tenderness and truth. 
 
 Away ! — and at her feet he fell 
 
 As cold and white as stone ! 
 And heartless Lady Arabell 
 
 Has left him all alone; 
 Alone, to live ? alone, to die ? 
 
 Alone ? — Yet who art thou, — 
 Some guardian angel from the sky 
 
 To bless and aid him now ? 
 
 Ah ! Florence loves young Cecil well, 
 
 And pines this many a day, — 
 For star-eyed sister Arabell 
 
 Hath won his heart away, — 
 Hath won it all by treacherous arts 
 
 To fiing it all aside. 
 And break a pair of loving hearts 
 
 For triumph and for pride ! 
 
 Fair Florence with her eyes of blue 
 And locks of golden light; 
 
 Dark Arabell's of raven hue 
 With flashing orbs of night; 
 
128 THE SISTERS. 
 
 And has 3^oung Cecil chosen well 
 Between that sister pair, 
 
 The proud and brilliant Arabell 
 Or gentle Florence fair? 
 
 bitter morn ! blessed morn ! 
 
 For lo, he turns to love 
 No more that raven queen of scorn, 
 
 But this sweet sister dove ; 
 In spite of lustrous Arabell 
 
 And all her envious pride, 
 Young Cecil loves his Florence well, 
 
 And — Florence is his bride. 
 
 Indomitable merit 
 
 Of the Anglo-Saxon mind ! 
 That makes a man inherit 
 
 The glories of his kind, 
 That scatters all around him 
 
 Until he stands sublime 
 With nothing to confound him, 
 
 The Conqueror of Time, — 
 mighty Perseverance ! 
 
 Courage stern and stout! 
 That wills and works a clearance 
 
 Of every rabble rout, — 
 That cannot brook denial 
 
 And scarce allows delay. 
 But wins from every trial 
 
 More strength for every day, — 
 
ENERGY. 129 
 
 Antagonistic Power ! 
 
 I praise, — for praise I can, — 
 The God, the place, the hour 
 
 That makes a man a Man, — 
 The God — from whom all greatness, 
 
 The place, Old England's shore. 
 The hour, an hour of lateness 
 
 (For Time shall soon be o'er) 
 The Man, — ay, every brother 
 
 Of Anglo-Saxon race 
 Who owns an English mother 
 
 And Freedom's dwelling-place ! 
 
 I feel, I feel within me 
 
 That courage self-possess 'd, — 
 The force, that yet shall win me 
 
 The brightest and the best, — 
 The stalwarth* English daring 
 
 That steadily steps on, 
 Unswerving and unsparing. 
 
 Until the world is won, — 
 The boldness and the quiet 
 
 That calmly go ahead. 
 In spite of wrath and riot, 
 
 In spite of quick and dead, — 
 Hot Energy to spur me. 
 
 Keen Enterprise to guide, 
 And Conscience to upstir me. 
 
 And Duty by my side. 
 And Hope before me singing 
 
 Assurance of success, 
 And rapid Action springing 
 
 At once to nothing less. 
 And all the mighty moving? 
 
 That wrestle in my breast, 
 
130 ENERGY. 
 
 The longings and the lovings, 
 The Spirit's glad unrest, 
 
 That scorns excuse to tender 
 Or Fortune's favour ask, 
 
 And never will surrender 
 Whatever be the task! 
 
 I cannot wait for chances, 
 
 For luck I will not look; 
 In faith my spirit glances 
 
 At Providence, God's book; 
 And there discerning truly 
 
 That right is might at length, 
 I dare go forward duly 
 
 In quietness and strength. 
 Unflinching and unfearing. 
 
 The flatterer of none. 
 And in good courage wearing 
 
 The honours I have won! 
 Let circumstance oppose me, 
 
 I beat it to my will; 
 And if the flood o'erflows mo, 
 
 I dive and stem it still; 
 No hindering dull Material 
 
 Shall conquer or control 
 My energies ethereal 
 
 My gladiator Soul! 
 I will contrive occasion. 
 
 Not tamely bide my time; 
 No Capture, but Creation 
 
 Shall make my sport sublime; 
 Let lower spirits linger 
 
 For hint and beck and nod, 
 I always see the finger 
 
 Of an onward-urging God! 
 
ENERGY. 181 
 
 Not selfish, not hard-hearted, 
 
 Not vain, nor deaf, nor blind. 
 From wisdom not departed, 
 
 But in humbleness of mind, 
 Still shall mine independence 
 
 Stand manfully alone. 
 Nor dance a dull attendance 
 
 At any mortal throne; 
 Disciple of no teacher 
 
 Except the One in Heaven, 
 And yielding to no creature 
 
 The Reason He hath given ! 
 thus, while contemplation 
 
 In faith beholds above 
 My glorious hope, Salvation, 
 
 Eternity of Love, 
 And while a Saxon spirit 
 
 Is bubbling from my heart 
 To strengthen and upstir it 
 
 To play a giant's part. 
 No hindrance, nor misfortune, 
 
 No man's neglect, nor ill, 
 Shall bend me to importune 
 
 One weak indulgence still. 
 But with my God to nerve me 
 
 My soul shall overwhelm 
 All circumstance to serve me 
 
 In my Spiritual Eealm I 
 
182 " N N A N G L I S E D A N Q E L I. 
 
 In Illustration of the Anglo-Saxon Map. 
 
 Ho I ye swift messengers out of the North, 
 Mercy's ambassadors, — haste to go forth I 
 Speedily let your broad sails be unfurl'd, 
 Winging your errand all over the world, 
 "Wafting your message of peace and goodwill, 
 Brotherhood, godliness, science, and skill! 
 
 Ye are the salt of the earth, and its health, — 
 Ye are its gladness, its wisdom, and wealth, — 
 Ye are its glory! Britain, thy sons. 
 Thy stout Anglo-Saxons, thy resolute ones. 
 Ever triumphant on every shore. 
 Are only triumphant for Good evermore ! 
 
 Ministers bright of the bounties of GoD, 
 
 Where is the land by these angels untrod ? 
 
 Tell it out, Africa, China, and Scinde, 
 
 And Isles of the Sea, and the uttermost Inde, 
 
 Tell out their zeal, and their grandeur of soul, 
 
 From the sands of the Line, to the snows of the Pole! 
 
 Tell out the goodness, the greatness, the grace, 
 
 That follow their footsteps in every place! 
 
 Tell it out, thou, the first cradle of Man, 
 
 Teeming with millions, serene Hindostan, — 
 
 Tell how fiiir commerce, and just-dealing might. 
 
 Have blest thee with peace, and adorn'd thee with light I 
 
 Boundless Australia, help of the age, 
 
 And heirloom of hope on Futurity's page, 
 
 Lo! thy vast continent, silent and sad. 
 
 With the song of the Saxon has learnt to be glad; 
 
NONANGLISEDANGELI. 188 
 
 Rejoicing to change the wila waste and the fen 
 Into wide-waving harvests and cities of men ! 
 
 Mighty Columbia, Star of the West, 
 
 See, 'tis a world by the Saxon possest! 
 
 Glorious and glad, from the North to the South, 
 
 Your millions praise God with an Englishman's mouth ! 
 
 And all love a land where at home they would be, 
 
 England, old England, the Home of the Free! 
 
 Dotted about on the width of the world, 
 Her beacon is blazing, her flag is unfurl'd; 
 Not a shore, not a sea, not a deep desert wild, 
 But pays its mute homage to Energy's child, — 
 Not a realm, not a people, or kingdom, or clan, 
 But owns him the chief of the children of Man ! 
 
 The foaming Atlantic hath render'd its isles. 
 
 And the dark Caribbean its tropical smiles, 
 
 And Southern Pacific those many-hued flowers. 
 
 And Europe's Mid-Ocean these temples and towers, — 
 
 Their tribute the seas of Old India bring, 
 
 And Borneo is proud of her new British King! 
 
 Yes! for dear Britain, the Mother of Men, 
 Rules all, under GoD, by the sword and the pen : 
 She is the Delphi, the heart of the earth, 
 The rock-rushing spring of humanity's worth; 
 And, if two hemispheres prosper, the cause 
 Lies in old England's Religion and Laws ! 
 
 Yes! for her realm is the Goshen of light; 
 
 The wings of these Angels have scattcr'd the night ! 
 
 Duteous and daring, as beauteous and strong, 
 
 They are helpers of Right, and avengers of Wrong, 
 
 Fair in their souls as their eyes and their locks. 
 
 Stout in their hearts as their oaks and their rocks ! 
 
184 COUNTRY LIFE. 
 
 CnuEfrij lift. I. 
 
 Think not thou that fields and flowers, 
 Copses and Arcadian bowers, 
 
 Grow the crop of Peace: — 
 In this model life of ours 
 
 Worries seldom cease ! 
 
 Think not Envy, Hatred, Malice 
 Seethe alone in town and palace; 
 
 For on Eden first, 
 Pour'd from evil's caldron-chalice, 
 
 Those hot geysers burst ! 
 
 Though the scene be sweet and smiling, 
 And the silence most beguiling, 
 
 And so pure the air, — 
 Man, his paradise defiling. 
 
 Pours a poison there ! 
 
 Look at yonder simple village, 
 With its church and peaceful tillage, 
 
 Seemingly so blest; — 
 Mutual hate and mutual pillage 
 
 Truly tell the rest! 
 
 With the tongue's destroying sabre, 
 Neighbour battles against neighbour, 
 
 Whilst each other's glance 
 Tyranny and servile Labour 
 
 Scowling watch askance I 
 
COUNTRY LIFE. I35 
 
 Wealth, well fawn'd on, and — weU-hated ; 
 "Want, — with brutal malice mated; 
 
 And, to teach the twain, 
 Shallow priestcraft, self-inflated, 
 
 Dreary, dull, and vain! 
 
 Ay, Charles Lamb, the wise and witty, 
 Gentle lover of the city. 
 
 Sensibly he spoke, 
 When he dealt his pungent pity 
 
 To us country folk : 
 
 All for arson insecurely, 
 All for slander little purely, 
 
 Vext with petty strife, — 
 Let no silly mortal surely 
 
 Covet country nte. 
 
 11. 
 
 Stop! — malign not country pleasure; 
 For there is unminted treasure 
 
 In its quiet calm; 
 In its garden-loving leisure 
 
 Gilead's very balm! 
 
 In its duties, peace-bestowing. 
 In its beauties, overflowino- 
 
 All the dewy ground. 
 In its mute religion, glowing 
 
 Everywhere around: 
 
 In its unobtrusive sweetness, 
 
 In its purity, and meetness 
 
 For contented minds, 
 
 And the beautiful completeness 
 
 Man in Nature finds. 
 10 
 
136 COUNTRY LIFE. 
 
 Yes, — it is no flmlt of Nature's, 
 If the vice of fallen creatures 
 
 Spots her with a curse; 
 Man in towns hath viler features, 
 
 And his guilt is worse. 
 
 Troubles, cares, and self-denials, 
 These are no such special vials 
 
 Pour'd on fields and flowers; 
 But there always must be trials 
 
 In this world of oufa. 
 
 Country life, — let us confess it, — 
 Man will little help to bless it, 
 
 Yet, for gladness there, 
 We may readily possess it 
 
 In its native air. 
 
 Kides and rambles, sports and farming, 
 Home, the heart for ever warming, 
 
 Books, and friends, and ease, — 
 Life must after all be charming. 
 
 Full of joys like these. 
 
 Yes, however little gaily, 
 
 And — for man, however frailly 
 
 Check' d with sin and strife, — 
 Wisdom rests contented daily 
 
 With a country life. 
 
FON S TARXASSr. n7 
 
 THE SOLACE OF SONG. 
 
 Ever babbling, ever bubbling, 
 
 Brigbt as light, and calmly clear, 
 Cure for every trial troubling, 
 Solace ever new and near, 
 
 Fons Parnassi ! free and flowing, 
 Fons Parnassi ! glad and glowing, 
 Rarefied creative pleasure I 
 
 they lie who say that Song 
 Is a merely graceful measure, 
 Just a luxury of leisure. 
 
 Not an anthem sweet and strong 
 Rich in spiritual treasure 
 
 That to Seraphs might belong, — 
 Not a tender consolation 
 
 All the cares of life among. 
 Not the balm of broad creation 
 
 In this maze of right and wrong, — 
 Not the secret soul's distilling. 
 Every nerve and fibre filling 
 With intense ecstatic thrilling, — 
 
 Evoe ! Fons Parnassi, 
 Fons ebrie Parnassi! 
 
 Ah ! thou fairy fount of sweetness, 
 
 Well I wot how dear thou art 
 In thy purity and meetness 
 To my hot and thirsty heart. 
 When, with sympathetic fleetness, 
 
 I have raced from thought to thought, 
 And, array 'd in maiden neatness. 
 By her natural taste well taught, 
 
138 F N S P A R N A S S I . 
 
 Thy young Naiad, thy Pieria, 
 My melodious Egeria, 
 "Winsomely finds out my fancies 
 
 Frank as Sappho, as unsought, — 
 And with innocent wife-like glances 
 Close beside my spirit dances, 
 As a sister Ariel ought, — 
 Tripping at her wanton will, 
 With unpremeditated skill. 
 Like a gushing mountain rill. 
 Or a bright Bacchante reeling 
 Through the flights of thought and feeling, 
 Half concealing, half revealing 
 . ' Whatsoe'er of Spirit's fire, 
 
 Beauty kindling with desire, 
 Can be caught in Word's attire ! 
 
 Evoe ! Fons Parnassi I 
 Fons ebrie Parnassi! 
 
 It. Jfinrtlja'B. 
 
 Near Guildford, Surrey, 1838. 
 
 Holy precinct, mount of God, 
 
 Where saints have bled, and pilgrims trod, 
 
 Martyr's hill — thy nobler name, 
 
 Mart3T's hill — thy fairer fame 
 
 Than as call'd of her, whose heart 
 
 Chose but late the better part, — 
 
 Unto thee my praise I bring. 
 
 Thee my soul delights to sing. 
 
Sr. MARTHA S. 189 
 
 Lo, the glorious landscape round ! 
 Tread we not enchanted gi'ound? 
 From this bc-ld and breezy height 
 The charm 'd eye sends its eagle flight 
 O'er the panoramic scene, 
 ^Undulating, rich, and green ; 
 And with various pleasure roves 
 From hill and dale, to fields and groves, 
 Till the prospect mingling grey 
 With the horizon fades away, 
 Shutting in the distant view 
 By fainter lines of glimmering blue. 
 
 Start we from the warm South-East; 
 Spread the fine pictorial feast: 
 There the landmark tower of Leith 
 Sentinels its purple heath; 
 Nearer, Holmbury's moated hill, 
 Highden-ball, and Ewhurst mill, 
 Dewy Hascomb's fir-fringed knoll, 
 Hind-head, and the Devil' s-Bowl, 
 With peeps of far South-downs between 
 Seaward closing up the scene. 
 
 Like a thunder-cloud, beneath 
 Stretches drear the broad Blackheath : 
 Scatter'd coins have seal'd the sod 
 A classic site that Rome has trod, 
 Field of many a desperate strife 
 For conquest, liberty, or life. 
 When the legion's sullen tramp 
 Echoed oft from Farley-camp, 
 And some Cfc^ar's ruthless sword 
 Reap'd the rude barbarian horde, 
 Britons, patriots, free brave men, 
 But unskill'd to conquer — then.- 
 
UO S T . M A R T H A S . 
 
 Turn we to this woodland shade. 
 Beyond the Hanger's hazel glade : 
 Ah I 'tis sad, though little strange, 
 That times, and things, and men should change; 
 Sad, though little strange to see 
 Albury, such sad change in thee. # 
 
 Thou wert in my infant dreams, 
 My childish pranks, my school-day schemes; 
 My heart's young home, my pride and praise; 
 Playground of my boyish days; 
 Link'd with learning, goodness, truth, 
 To the story of my youth; 
 Mixt with hope's romantic plan. 
 And loved, — now years have made me man. 
 But, the brightness of thy praise 
 Perish'd with those early days, — 
 Thy sweet prime, too fair to last. 
 Spring-like came, and smiled, and past; 
 And I note, adown the Vale, 
 Thy good-angel wandering pale, 
 "With folded wing and tearful eye 
 Mourning for the days gone by; 
 Now, like some white wounded deer 
 Hiding in the greenwood here; 
 Now, beside that old church, faint 
 Leaning, like a dying saint. 
 
 Away: regard we yet again 
 Nature's beauty, — and her bane : 
 Alas ! that man should e'er intrude 
 Where all but he are glad and good, — 
 Alas, for yonder fairy glen, 
 Nature's Eden, vext with men ! 
 Mammon, from those long white mills 
 With foggy, steam the prospect fills; 
 
S T . :M A R T II A S . 141 
 
 Chimneys red with sulphurous smoke 
 
 Blight these hanging groves of oak; 
 
 And sylvan Quiet's gpntle scenes 
 
 List — to the clatter of machines. 
 
 Yet more, in yonder rural dell, 
 
 Where sylphs and fauns might love to dwell, 
 
 Among those alders, by the stream 
 
 Stealing on with silver gleam, 
 
 Blacken'd huts, set wide apart, 
 
 Grind their dark grain for murder's mart, 
 
 Or, bursting with explosive might, 
 
 Kage, and roar, and blast, and blight. 
 
 Enough, enough of toilsome Art; 
 Fresh sweet Nature woos thy heart: 
 Gaze then on this western plain, 
 A woody, various, rich champaign; 
 Each in its hollow nestling down, 
 The farm, the village, or the town ; 
 Field on field, and grove on grove, 
 Wavelike, far as eye can rove. 
 Till intersecting lines of hill 
 The blue horizon faintly fill. 
 
 And, while thy spirit praises Earth, 
 Its precious gifts, its wealth and worth, 
 Forget not thou this glorious Sky, 
 Oh ! lift thine eyes, thy heart on high ; 
 Forget not Him, whose mercy gave 
 All the good we hope, or have; 
 Him, whose Presence, fiU' and near, 
 Man's best wisdom learns to fear 
 Where above the green glad world 
 Heaven's banners fioat unfurl'd, 
 Gorgeous in each mighty fold 
 Bathed in black, or fringed with gold; 
 
U2 S T . 31 A R T H A S . 
 
 Or, as clouds of fleecy wliite 
 Sail in seas of azure liglit; 
 Or, as streamers hurrying by 
 Tell of tempests in the Sky; 
 Or, like snow-clad mountains, stand 
 Giant wardens of the Land. 
 
 Earthward once again ; the North I 
 Draw its good, its evil forth : 
 Mile beyond mile of waving field, 
 Rare to see, and rich to yield; 
 The frequent village round its spire ; 
 The snug domain of rural squire; 
 Yon dusky track of Waste and Moss; 
 That iron road-way drawn across; 
 "Windsor, throned o'er half the land; 
 And gambling Epsom's far-famed stand; 
 While the dim distance in a shroud 
 Is wrapp'd by London's smoky cloud. 
 
 Near us, Gruildford's ancient to\vn 
 
 Between the hills is hiding down; 
 
 Decent Gruildford, clean and steep, 
 
 Ranged about its castle-keep, 
 
 Relic of departed power, 
 
 Grey and crumbling square old tower. 
 
 Like some warder at his post 
 
 Honest Booker's lofty boast, 
 
 Fine and feudal, shames outright 
 
 Puny's telegraphic height. 
 
 While it overtops with pride 
 
 All the vassal scene beside. 
 
 And, above that verdant swell, 
 
 Sainted Catherine's Gothic cell. 
 
ST. MAIITHA S. 143 
 
 Westward thence, a narrow track, 
 Stretches far the bare Hog's-back : 
 Ridging up, with hilly sides, 
 Lo, the bristling Boar divides 
 Right and left a kindred scene, 
 Purple moors and meadows green, 
 Or those seeming-vineyards wide, 
 Farnham's wealth, and Surrey's pride. 
 
 Forth from Merroe's happy plain 
 And noble Clandon's rich domain, 
 Newland's heights, and Coombe beyond, 
 And nutty Sherbourne's crystal pond. 
 Eastward to the landscape's end 
 The sloping chalky Downs extend, 
 Primal still, by man untamed, 
 Fresh, unbounded, unreclaim'd: 
 Now a lawn of herbage sweet 
 Smooth as velvet to the feet, 
 Now a jungle, matted dense, 
 A wilderness of briar-fence; 
 Here, an earthwork, fosse and mound; 
 There, a race-course curving round; 
 Hollow'd pits, where in old times 
 Bad marauders hid their crimes : 
 Sad sepulchral groves of yew 
 Solemn ranged in order due. 
 Seeming of primeval birth, 
 Solid as the ribs of earth. 
 Where white Druids, years of yore, 
 Roam'd those mystic circles o'er. 
 Or calmly kneeling on the sod 
 Wisely worshipped Nature's GoD, 
 
44 S T . M A R T H A S . 
 
 Yes, modern; would thy pride condemn, 
 
 Or shall thy wisdom pity them ? 
 
 They built no prisons for — the poor, 
 
 Freely fed from door to door; 
 
 Their foolish mercy did not strive 
 
 To give the least that keeps alive, 
 
 Their charity sought not to know 
 
 How little poor men need below. 
 
 But thou, — what means yon human pound, 
 
 Brick'd and barr'd, and well wall'd round? 
 
 But that to thy shame and scorn 
 
 Penal poverty may mourn 
 
 How ill-christen 'd liberals prove 
 
 Words by deeds, and faith by love: 
 
 For here, unpitied, spurn'd, alone. 
 
 The British slave must grind and groan, 
 
 Torn from children, friends, and wife. 
 
 And buried in the midst of life. 
 
 Man, thy love is chill and small; 
 
 Nature, thou art kind to all : 
 
 This full wide theatre of views 
 
 Bathed in Autumn's rainbow hues 
 
 Recreates my freshen 'd sight 
 
 Soft with shade, and rich with light. 
 
 And, saved from thoughts of pride and pelf, 
 
 Bestores me to ray cheerful self. 
 
 Let then a lateborn son of Time 
 Shadow forth the Past sublime. 
 And while, the greensward laid along. 
 He weaves his meditative song. 
 Tell what various tribes have trod 
 With various hopes this ancient God. 
 
ST. MARTHA S. 145 
 
 The painted Briton, long of yore, 
 
 Hunting down the wolf or boar; 
 
 The Roman watcher, posted here 
 
 Leaning on his iron spear ; 
 
 The fair-hair 'd Angle, piling high 
 
 Beacon-fires against the sky; 
 
 With vulture-eyes the hungry Bane 
 
 Gloating o'er the fertile plain; 
 
 Patriot Saxons, who withstood 
 
 The Norman, conquering for good; 
 
 Monks, to bless with book and bell; 
 
 Crusaders, bidding all farewell; 
 
 Footsore Pilgrims, hither come 
 
 Midway from St. Becket's tomb; 
 
 Bound-heads, chaunting rebel prayers; 
 
 Gray devoted Cavaliers; 
 
 Rustics, on the Sabbath-day 
 
 Duly toiling up to pray; 
 
 Mourners, weeping round the bier 
 
 Brought for humble burial here; 
 
 And thousands, more, in dresses quaint, 
 
 Than tongue can tell, or pencil paint. 
 
 Have laugh'd, or wept, or fought their fill, 
 
 Or lived, or died, on Z^Iartyrs' Hill. 
 
 Martyrs' Hill I — before my mind 
 Rise the triumphs' of Mankind ; 
 Martyrs' hill ! — and to my thought 
 Back the crimes of men are brought: 
 Yea; — for on this sacred sod 
 Doubtless perish'd saints of God, 
 And Elijah's chariot came 
 Mingling with the martyrs' flame, 
 To bear them from that awestruck crowd 
 In robes of light, on thrones of cloud. 
 
ST. MARTHAS. 
 
 Tben, the seed of holy blood 
 Gave its hundredfold of good; 
 Barbarians heard, and thought, and felt, 
 Glow'd; admired, and mourn'd, and knelt; 
 Their very murderers came in fear 
 To bless the sainted victims here; 
 Penitent, with zealous haste 
 Aloft the rustic temple placed, 
 Keyless arches, rough and round. 
 Spanning high the blood-stainM ground, 
 Of iron-sandstone rudely built. 
 Memorial of their grief — and guilt. 
 
 Thereafter, Newark's princely priest 
 
 Added all this Gothic East, — 
 
 The modest choir and transepts twain, 
 
 Fitting well the Christian fane, 
 
 Windows, deck'd in colours rich, 
 
 The pointed arch and florid niche, — 
 
 Contrast to yon Saxon nave 
 
 That simply raark'd the martyr's grave. 
 
 Swept along fate's rolling tide, 
 Generations lived, and died. 
 Thronging in succession there 
 With the sacrifice of prayer : 
 And a Martha's dubious name 
 ^ Half eclipsed that better fame. 
 Symbol of degenerate years 
 When earth usurps our hopes and feare 
 Ages came, and ages past; ^ 
 
 Till the flood of Time at last 
 Wafted on the modern race 
 Loving gain, and hating grace: 
 So we draw to thy decay 
 Silent ruin of to-day, 
 
6 T . M A R T Ti A ' S . j^- 
 
 An evil dav of evil deeds, 
 Selfisli sects and wrangling creeds, 
 When faith is dead, and zeal grown cold, 
 And churches can be bought and sold, 
 "Or left a prej to rot and rain. 
 For lack of grace, and lust of gain. 
 
 Kuin, I have loved thee long, 
 
 And owed for years this humble song; 
 
 While I pay the grateful debt, 
 
 Hear me one petition yet. 
 
 W^hen in God's good time and way 
 
 I wake upon my dying day. 
 
 Should I still beneath thee dwell, 
 
 As my spirit sighs farewell, 
 Let the shadows from thy wall 
 Be my hallow'd funeral pall; 
 Let no city's close church-yard 
 Steal from thee thy native bard; 
 But where now I careless lie 
 Make me welcome when I die: 
 On this thyme-enameird height 
 Let me bid the world good-night, 
 Sacred to my memory be 
 All the scene that circles thee; 
 And plant o'er me, in goodwill, 
 A plain stone cross on Martyrs' HilL 
 
M8 APPEAL. 
 
 1840. 
 
 Shame on thee, Christian, cold and covetous one! 
 
 The laws (I praise them not for this) declare 
 
 That ancient, loved, deserted house of prnyer 
 As money's worth a layman landlord's own. 
 
 Then use it as thine own; thy mansion there 
 Beneath the shadow of this ruinous church 
 Stands new and decorate; thine every shed 
 And barn is neat and proper; I might search 
 
 Thy comfortable farms, and well despair 
 Of finding dangerous ruin overhead, 
 And damp unwholesome mildew on the walls; 
 
 Arouse thy better self, — restore it; see. 
 Through thy neglect the holy fabric falls ! 
 
 Fear, lest that crushing guilt should fall on thee. 
 
 A. D. 1849. 
 
 RuiN-^ — Ruin now no more, 
 
 To the Lord we thus restore 
 
 Thine old glories, holy place. 
 
 Consecrate again to grace : 
 
 Thine old glories shine again. 
 
 Sculptured stone, and jewell'd pane; 
 
 As a cross upon the hill. 
 
 Nave, quire, and aisles are mapp'd out still, 
 
 And thy Norman tower on high 
 
 Boldly stands against the sky. 
 
R R V. t: I I T . 1 10 
 
 Thanks to Him vvho blesseth us 
 
 That the Body riseth thus, — 
 
 Thanks to Him! — yet more we need 
 
 A resurrection rare indeed, 
 
 In this, and us, the Spirit-part 
 
 Flaming with a martyr's heart; 
 
 In old St. Martha's, thus made new, 
 
 Religion's fervour, pure and true : 
 
 Send, send that quickening might, 
 
 God of love, and life, and light ! 
 
 May 15, 1850. 
 
 The dews of Hermon rest upon thee now, 
 Fair saint and martyr ! and yet once again 
 Faith, hope and charity, like gracious rain, 
 
 Fall on thy consecrated virgin brow: 
 
 For lo ! the Lord is with thee, as of yore. 
 
 And dwelleth in these hallow'd walls once more,— 
 
 Rather, — hath never left them; for He heard 
 
 When in thy desolate gates our earnest vow 
 
 Rose from this ruin'd altar to His throne, — 
 And resolutely were thy children stirr'd 
 
 Not in thy sad .estate, forlorn and lone. 
 
 To leave thee prayerless, — but to win The Word, 
 
 The living word and sacraments of grace 
 
 Back to the echoes of this Holy Place. 
 
160 SONNET, FOR ST. ANN'S, ALDERNET. 
 
 Innnrt, fur II Snn^H, Jllhrnnj, 
 
 Consecrated, August 21, 1850. 
 
 Arise, Lord, into thy resting-place, 
 
 Thou, and thy strength ! Be with thy servants here,- 
 To bless their work in faithfulness come near, — 
 For thine is all the glory, all the grace : 
 
 Add then Thy Presence, and in spirit appear 
 To consecrate this House! Not unto us. 
 
 But thanks be giv'n to Thee, that, (as a bride, 
 
 Apparell'd well to meet her coming Lord 
 lu virgin garments meekly purified,) 
 Waiteth for heavenly benediction thus 
 
 " St. Ann's of Alderney," to heav'n restored ; 
 may that blessing on her sacred brow 
 
 Like Aaron's holy oil of joy be pour'd 
 Down to her beauteous feet in fulness Nowl 
 
 a dbflESHratinE. 
 
 Shalford, October 29, 1847. 
 
 Like some fair Nun, the pious and the chaste, 
 Shalford, thy new-born temple stands serene, 
 
 Modestly deck'd in pure old English taste, 
 The village beauty of thy tranquil scene; 
 
 And we to-day have made religious haste 
 
A C N S F. C R A T I O N . 151 
 
 To see thee wedded to thy heavenly Spouse, 
 
 Kneeling in unison of praise and prayer 
 To help the offering of thy maiden vows : 
 
 Hark ! what a thrilling utterance is there, 
 '^Lift up your heads, ye everlastiug gates," — 
 
 As GtOd's high priest with apostolic care 
 To Him this tent of glory consecrates : 
 
 Good work ! to be reniember'd for all time, 
 
 The seed of mercies endless and sublime. 
 
 "Come in, thou King of Glory,'' yea, come in, 
 
 Rest here awhile, great Conqueror for good ! 
 Bless thou this font to cleanse from Adam's sin, 
 
 Spread thou this table with celestial food ! 
 
 And, kindled by Thy grace to gratitude. 
 May thousands here eternal treasures win. 
 
 As, hither led, from time to time with joy 
 They seek their Father : lo I before mine eyes 
 Visions and promises of good arise, — 
 
 The tender babe baptized, the stripling boy 
 Confirm 'd for godliness, the maid and youth 
 Wedded in love, the man mature made wise. 
 
 The elder taught in righteousness and truth, 
 And each an heir of life before he dies ! 
 
 11 
 
I ^[lousanb XlntB, t\i 
 
 1845. 
 
 "A LITTLE more sleep, a little more slumber, 
 
 A little more folding the hands to sleep," 
 For quick-footed dreams, without order or number, 
 
 Over my mind are beginning to creep, — 
 Rare is the happiness thus to be raptured 
 
 By your wild whispers, my Fanciful train, 
 And, like a linnet, be carelessly captured 
 
 In the soft nets of ray beautiful brain ! 
 
 Touch not these curtains! — your hand will be tearing 
 
 Delicate tissues of thoughts and of things ; — 
 Call me not! — your cruel voice will be scaring 
 
 Flocks of young visions on gossamer wings : 
 Leave me, leave me, — for in your rude presence 
 
 Nothing of all my bright world can remain, — 
 Thou art a blight to this garden of pleasauce. 
 
 Thou art a blot on my beautiful brain! 
 
 Cease your dull lecture on cares and employment, 
 Let me forget awhile trouble and strife, 
 
 Leave me to peace, — let me husband enjoyment, — 
 This is the heart and the marrow of life ! 
 
 (152) 
 
SLOTH. 153 
 
 For to my feeling the choicest of pleasures 
 
 Is to lie thus, without peril or pain, 
 Lazily listening the musical measures 
 
 Of the sweet voice in my beautiful brain ! 
 
 Hush, — for the halo of calmness is spreading 
 
 Over my spirit as mild as a dove; 
 Hush, — for the angel of comfort is shedding 
 
 Over my body his vial of love; 
 Hush, — for new slumbers are over me stealing. 
 
 Thus would I court them again and again. 
 Hush, — for my heart is intoxicate, — reeling 
 
 In the swift waltz of my beautiful brain ! 
 
 Open the casement, and up with the Sun 1 
 
 His gallant journey is just begun; 
 
 Over the hills his chariot is roll'd, 
 
 Banner'd with glory, and burnish'd with gold,— 
 
 Over the hills he comes sublime. 
 
 Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time ! 
 
 Day hath broken, joyous and fair; 
 Fragi'ant and fresh is the morning air, — 
 Beauteous and bright those orient hues. 
 Balmy and sweet these early dews; 
 0, there is health, and wealth, and bliss 
 In dawning Nature's motherly kiss! 
 
 Lo, the wondering world awakes, 
 
 With its rosy-tipp'd mountains and gleaming lakes, 
 
i:a activity. 
 
 With its fields and cities, deserts and trees, 
 Its calm old cliffs, and its sounding seas, 
 In all their gratitude blessing Hi:m 
 Who dwelleth between the Cherubim ! 
 
 Break away boldly from Sleep's leaden chain; 
 
 Seek not to forge that fetter again; 
 
 Rather with vigour and resolute nerve. 
 
 Up, up, to bless man, and thy Master to serve, 
 
 Thankful, and hopeful, and happy to raise 
 
 The offering of prayer, and the incense of praise! 
 
 Gird thee, and do thy watching well, 
 
 Duty's Christian sentinel ! 
 
 Sloth and Slumber never had part 
 
 In the warrior's will, or the patriot's heart; 
 
 Soldier of God on an enemy's shore ! 
 
 Slumber and sloth thrall the.e no more. 
 
 How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land, 
 
 The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, 
 
 A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side, 
 
 And, for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride ! 
 
 Alone, alone — yet not alone, for God is with me there. 
 The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere, 
 While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as spirits calm and mild 
 Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild ! 
 
 Without a guide, — yet guided well, — young, buoyant, fresh, and 
 
 free. 
 Without a road, — yet all the land a highway unto me, 
 Without a care, without a fear, without a grief or pain, 
 Exultingly I thread the woods, or gallop o'er the plain ! 
 
ADVENTURE. 165 
 
 Or, brushing tlirough the copse, from his leafy home I start 
 
 The stately elk, or tusky boar, the bison, or the hart, 
 
 And then, — with e.'ger spur, to scour, away, awa}'. 
 
 Nor stop, — until ray dogs have brought the glorious brute to bay! 
 
 Or, if the gang of hungry wolves come yelling on my track, 
 I make my ready rifle speak, and scare the cowards back; 
 Or, if the lurking leopard's eyes among the branches shine, 
 A touch upon the trigger — and his spotted skin is mine I 
 
 And then the hunter's savoury fare at tranquil eventide, — 
 The dappled deer I shot to-day upon the green hill-side; 
 My feasted hounds are slumbering round beside the watercourse, 
 And plenty of sweet prairie-grass for thee, my noble horse. 
 
 Hist ! hist ! I heard some prowler snarling in the wood ; 
 £ seized my knife and trusty gun, and face to face we stood ! 
 The Grizzly Bear came rushing on, — and, as he rush'd, he fell! 
 Hie at him, dogs ! my rifle has done its duty well ! 
 
 Hie at him, dogs ! one bullet cannot kill a foe so grim ; 
 The God of battles nerve a Man to grapple now with him, — 
 And straight between his hugging arms I plunge my whetted knife, 
 Ha — ha ! it splits his iron heart, and drinks the ruddy life ! 
 
 Frantic struggles — welling blood — the strife is almost o'er, — 
 The shaggy monster, feebly panting, wallows in his gore, — 
 Here, lap it hot, my gallant hounds, — the blood of foes is sweet; 
 Here, gild withal your dewlapp'd throats, and wash your brawny 
 feet ! 
 
 So, shall we beard those tyrants in their dens another day. 
 Nor tamely wait, with slavish fear, their coming in the way; 
 And pleasant thoughts of peace and home shall fill our dreams 
 
 to-night. 
 For lo, the God of battles has help'd us in the fight I 
 
156 T H E S N Q F S I X T E E N 
 
 €\)t Inng nf mitmu 
 
 Who shall guess what I may be? 
 
 Who can tell my fortune to me? 
 
 For, bravest and brightest that ever was sung 
 
 May be — and shall be — the lot of the young! 
 
 Hope, with her prizes and victories won, 
 Shines in the blaze of my morning sun, 
 Conquering Hope, with golden ray, 
 Blessing my landscape far away; 
 
 All my meadows and hills are gi-cu, 
 And rippling waters glance between, — 
 All my skies are rosy bright. 
 Laughing in triumph at yester-night : 
 
 My heart, ray heart within me swells. 
 Panting, and stirring its hundred wells; — 
 For youth is a noble seed, that springs 
 Into the flower of heroes and kings ! 
 
 Rich in the present, though poor in the past, 
 I yearn for the' future, vague and vast; 
 And lo ! what treasure of glorious things 
 Giant Futurity sheds from his wings; 
 
 ^Pleasures are there, like dropping balms, 
 And glory and honour with chaplets and palms. 
 And mind well at ease, and gladness, and health, 
 A river of peace, and a mine of wealth ! 
 
THE SONG or SIXTEEN. 
 
 Away with your counsels, and hinder me not,— 
 On, on let me press to my brilliant lot; 
 Young and strong, and sanguine and free, 
 How knowcst thou what I may be? 
 
 157 
 
 Ah, poor youth! in pitiful truth, 
 
 Thy pride must feel a fall, poor youth : 
 
 What thou shalt be well have I seen, 
 
 Thou shalt be only what others have been. 
 
 Haply, within a few swift j^ears, 
 A mind bow'd down by troubles and fears. 
 The commonest drudge of men and things, 
 Instead of your — conquering heroes and kings; 
 
 Haply, to follies an early wreck, — 
 
 For the cloud of presumption is now like a speck, 
 
 And with a whelming, sudden sweep 
 
 The storm of temptation roars over the deep; 
 
 Lower the sails of pride, rash youth, — 
 Stand to the lowly tiller of truth ; 
 Quick, or your limber bark shall be 
 The sport of the winds on a stormy sea. 
 
 Care and peril in lieu of joy, — 
 
 Guilt and dread may be thine, proud boy: 
 
 Lo, thy mantling chalice of life 
 
 Is foaming with sorrow, and sickness, and strife; 
 
158 FORTY. 
 
 Cheated by pleasure, and sated with pain, — 
 Watching for honour, and watching in vain, — 
 Aching in heart, and ailing in head, 
 Wearily earning daily breiid. 
 
 — It is well. I discern a tear on thy cheek: 
 It is well, — thou art humbled, and silent, and meek 
 Now, — courage again ! and, with peril to cope, 
 Grird thee with vigour, and helm thee with hope ! 
 
 For life, good youth, hath never an ill 
 
 Which hope cannot scatter, and faith cannot kill; 
 
 And stubborn realities never shall bind 
 
 The free-spreading wings of a cheerful mind. 
 
 I AM not old, — I cannot be old, 
 
 Though threescore years and ten 
 Have wasted away, like a tale that is told, 
 
 The lives of other men : 
 
 I am not old; though friends and foes 
 Alike have gone down to their graves. 
 
 And left me alone to my joys or my woes, 
 As a rock in the midst of the waves: 
 
 I am not old, — I cannot be old. 
 
 Though tottering, wrinkled, and grey; 
 
 Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold, 
 Call me not old to-day. 
 
THE SONG OF SEVENTY. 
 
 For, early memories round me throng, 
 Old times, and manners, and men. 
 
 As 1 look behind on my journey so long 
 Of threescore miles and ten; 
 
 I look behind, and am once more young, 
 
 Buoyant, and brave, and bold. 
 And my heart can sing, as of yore it sung, 
 
 Before they call'd me old. 
 
 I do not see her — the old wife there — 
 Shrivell'd, and haggard, and grey. 
 
 But I look on her blooming, and soft, and fair, 
 As she was on her wedding-day : 
 
 I do not see you, daughters and sons. 
 In the likeness of women and men, 
 
 But I kiss you now as I kissed you once, 
 My fond little children then: 
 
 And, as my own grandson rides on my knee. 
 
 Or plays with his hoop or kite, 
 I can well recollect I was merry as he 
 
 The bright-eyed little wight! 
 
 'Tis not long since, — it cannot be long, — 
 
 My years so soon were spent. 
 Since I was a boy, both straight and strong, 
 
 Yet now am I feeble and bent. 
 
 A dream, a dream, — it is all a dream I 
 
 A strange, sad dream, good sooth; 
 For old as I am, and old as I seem, 
 
 My heart is full of youth : 
 
 150 
 
160 T H E S O N Q O F S E V E N T Y . 
 
 Eye hath not seenj tongue hath not told, 
 
 And ear hath not heard it sung. 
 How buoyant and bold, though it seem to grow old, 
 
 Is the heart, for ever young; 
 
 For ever young, — though life's old age 
 
 Hath every nerve unstrung; 
 The heart, the heart is a heritage 
 
 That keeps the old man young ! 
 
 Away with false Fashion, so culm and so chill, 
 
 Where pleasure itself cannot please; 
 Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still 
 
 Affects to be quite at its ease; 
 For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank, 
 
 The freest is first of the band. 
 And nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, 
 
 Is a man with his heart in his hand ! 
 
 Fearless in honesty, gentle yet just. 
 
 He warmly can love, — and can hate. 
 Nor will he bow down with his face in the dust 
 
 To Fashion's intolerant state : 
 For best in good breeding, and highest in rank. 
 
 Though lowly or poor in the land, 
 Is Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, 
 
 The man with his heart in his hand ! 
 
 His fashion is passion, sincere and intense, 
 
 His impulses, simple and true. 
 Yet temper'd by judgment, and taught by good sense, 
 
 And cordial with mc, and with you : 
 
N A T U R E S N B L E M A X . 1 T,] 
 
 For tlie finest in manners, as liigliest in rank, 
 
 It is you, man ! or ])ou, man ! who .stand 
 Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,— 
 
 A man with his heart in his hand ! 
 
 mm giHB up! 
 
 Never give up ! it is wiser and better 
 
 Always to hope, than once to despair; 
 Fling off the load of Doubt's heavy fetter, 
 
 And break the dark spell of tyrannical care : 
 Never give up I or the burthen may sink you, — 
 
 Providence kindly has mingled the cup. 
 And in all trials or troubles, bethink you, 
 
 The watchword of life must be. Never give up! 
 
 Never give up ! there are chances and changes 
 
 Helping the hopeful a hundred to one, 
 And through the chaos High Wisdom arranges 
 
 Ever success, — if you '11 only hope on : 
 Never give up ! for the wisest is boldest, 
 
 Knowing that Providence mingles the cup. 
 And of all maxims the best, as the oldest, 
 
 Is the true watchword of Never give up ! 
 
 Never give up! — though the grape-shot may rattle, 
 
 Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst, 
 Stand like a rock, — and the storm or the battle 
 
 Little shall harm you, though doing their worst: 
 Never give up ! — if adversity presses, 
 
 Providence wisely has mingled the cup, 
 And the best counsel, in all your distresses, 
 
 I^ the stout watchword of Never give up 1 
 
162 THE SUN, 
 
 €^t lira. 
 
 Blame not, ye million worshippers of gold — 
 Modern idolaters — their works and ways, 
 
 When Asia's children, in the times of old, 
 
 Knelt to the sun, outpouring prayer and praise 
 As to God's central throne; for when the blaz 
 
 Of that grand eye is on me, and I stand 
 Watching its majesty with painful gaze, 
 
 I too could kneel among that Persian band, 
 Had not the Architect of yon bright sphere 
 
 Taught me Himself; bidding me look above. 
 Beneath, around, and still to find Him — here! 
 King of the heart, dwelling in no fixt globe, 
 
 But gladly throned within the spirit of love. 
 Wearing that light ethereal as a robe. 
 
 I KNOW thee not, Moon, — thou cavern'd realm, 
 
 Sad satellite, a giant ash of death. 
 
 Where cold, alternate, and the sulphurous breath 
 Of ravaging volcanoes, overwhelm 
 All chance of life like ours, — art thou not 
 
 Some fallow world, after a reaping time 
 Of creatures' judgment, resting in thy lot? 
 Or haplier must I take thee for the blot 
 
 On God's fair firmament, the home of crime, 
 The prison-house of sin, where damned souls 
 
 Feed upon punishment? — thought sublime, 
 That, amid Night's black deeds, when evil prowls 
 
 Through the broad world, then, watching sinners well. 
 
 Glares over all the wakeful eye of — Hell! 
 
THE STARS. 163 
 
 €^t Itnrs. 
 
 Far-flaming stars, ye sentinels of Space, 
 
 Patient and silent ministers around 
 Your Queen, the Moon, whose melancholy face 
 
 Seems ever pale with pity and grief profound 
 For sinful Earth, — I, a poor groveller here, 
 
 A captive Eagle chain'd to this dull ground, 
 Look up and love your light in hope and fear; 
 
 Hope, that among your myriad host is one, 
 A kingdom for my spirit, a bright place 
 
 Where I shall reign when this short race is run, 
 
 An heir of joy, and glory's mighty son ! 
 Yet, while I hope, the fear will freeze my brain -~ 
 "What if indeed for worthless me remain 
 
 No waiting sceptre, no predestined throne? 
 
 Hence, doubts of darkness ! I am not mine own, 
 
 But ransom'd by the King of that bright host: 
 
 In him my just humility shall boast, 
 And claim through him that sceptre and that throne. 
 Yes, world of light, — when by the booming sea 
 
 At eve I loiter on this shingly coast, 
 In seeming idleness, — I gaze on thee, 
 (I know not which — but one,) fated to be 
 
 My glorious heritage, my heavenly home, 
 A temple and a paradise for me. 
 
 Whence my celestial form at will may roam 
 
 To other worlds, unthought and unexplored. 
 Whose atmosphere is bliss and liberty, 
 
 The palaces and gardens of the Lord ! 
 
lfJ4 FORGIVE AND FORGET 
 
 When streams of unkindness, as bitter as gall, 
 
 Bubble up from the heart to the tongue. 
 And Meekness is writhing in torment and thrall, 
 
 By the hands of Ingratitude wrung, — 
 In the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair, 
 
 While the anguish is festering yet, 
 None, none but an angel or God can declare 
 
 "I now can forgive and forget/' 
 
 But, if the bad spirit is chased from the heart. 
 
 And the lips are in penitence steep' d. 
 With the wrong so repented the wrath will depart, 
 
 Though scorn on injustice were heap'd; 
 For the best compensation is paid for all ill. 
 
 When the cheek with contrition is wet, 
 And every one feels it is possible still 
 
 At once to forgive and forget. 
 
 To forget? It is hard for a man with a mind, 
 
 However his heart may forgive. 
 To blot out all insults and evils behind. 
 
 And but for the future to live: 
 Then how shall it be? for at every turn 
 
 Recollection the spirit will fret. 
 And the ashes of injury smoulder and burn, 
 
 Though we strive to forgive and forget. 
 
 Oh, hearken ! my tongue shall the riddle unseal, 
 And mind shall be partner with heart. 
 
 While thee to thyself I bid conscience reveal. 
 And show thee how evil thou art : 
 
F O R G I V E A N D r R(.l E T . 1(55 
 
 Remember thj follies, % sins, and — thy crimes, 
 
 How vast is that infinite debt! 
 Yet Mercy hath seven by seventy times 
 
 Been swift to forgive and foro-et! 
 
 Brood not on insults or injuries old, 
 
 For thou art injurious too, — 
 Count not their sum till the total is told^ 
 
 For thou art unkind and untrue: 
 And if all thy harms are forgotten, forgiven, 
 
 Now mercy with justice is met. 
 Oh, who would not gladly take lessons of heaven, 
 
 Nor learn to forgive and forget? 
 
 Yes, yes; let a man, when his enemy weeps, 
 
 Be quick to receive him a friend; 
 For thus on his head in kindness he heaps 
 
 Hot coals, — to refine and amend; 
 And hearts that are Christian more eagerly yearn, 
 
 As a nurse on her innocent pet. 
 Over lips that, once bitter, to penitence turn 
 
 And whisper. Forgive and forget. 
 
 Eureka ! this is truth sublime. 
 Defying change, outwrestling time — 
 Eureka! well that truth is told, 
 Wisely spake the bard of old — 
 Eui-eka! there is peace and praise 
 In this short and simple phrase, 
 A sea of comforts, wide and deep. 
 Wherein my conscious soul to steep, 
 
MY mind's kingdom. 
 
 A hoard of happy-making wealth 
 
 To doat on, miserly, by stealth, 
 
 Through Time my reason's ripest fruit, 
 
 For all eternity its root, 
 
 Earth's harvest, and the seed of heaven. 
 
 To me, to me, by mercy given! 
 
 Yes, Eureka, — I have found it, 
 And before the world will sound it; 
 This remains, and still shall stay 
 When life's gauds have past away. 
 This of old my treasure-truth. 
 The bosom joy that, warm'd my youth, 
 My happiness in manhood's prime. 
 My triumph down the stream of time, 
 Till death shall lull this heart in age, 
 And deathless glory crown my page. 
 My grace-born truth and treasure this,-«» 
 "My mind to me a kingdom is/' 
 
 Noble solace, true and strong, 
 Great reward for human wrong, 
 With an inward blessing still 
 To compensate all earthly ill. 
 To recompense for adverse fates, 
 Woes, or wants, or scorns, or hates, 
 To cherish, after man's neglect. 
 When foes deride, and friends suspect^ 
 To soothe and bless the spirit bow'd 
 Down by the selfish and the proud. 
 To lift the soul above this scene 
 Of petty troubles trite and mean, 
 O there is moral might in this, — 
 " My mind to me a kingdom is." 
 
M y M I N D ' S K I N G D M . 167 
 
 Carve it deep, with letters bold, 
 In the imperishable gold, 
 Grave it on some primal rock 
 That hath stood the earthquake shock, 
 Make that word a citizen 
 Dwelling in the hearts of men, 
 Stamp it on the printed page, 
 Sound it in the ears of age, 
 Gladden sympathising youth 
 With the soft music of this truth, 
 This echo'd note of heavenly bliss, 
 '' My mind to me a kingdom is.'* 
 
 Ay, chide or scorn, — I will be proud, — 
 I am not of the common crowd; 
 No serf is here to outward things, — 
 He rules with chiefs ! he reigns with kings I 
 Tell out thy secret joys, my mind. 
 Free and fearless as the wind. 
 And pour the triumphs of the soul 
 In words that like a river roll, 
 Foaming on with vital force 
 From their ever-gushing source. 
 Fountains of truth, that overwhelm 
 With swollen streams this royal realm, 
 And in Nilotic richness steep 
 My heart's Thebaid, rank and deep I 
 Or bolder, as my thoughts inspire, 
 Change that water into fire ! 
 From the vext bowels of my soul 
 Lava currents roar and roll. 
 Bursting out in torrent wide 
 Through my crater's ragged side, 
 Hushing on from field to field 
 Till all with boiling stone is seal'd. 
 And my hot thoughts, in language pent, 
 ^-^ Stand their own granite monument I 
 
168 M Y M I N i) ' S K I N U K O M .' 
 
 Yes! all the elements are mine, 
 To crush, create, dissolve, combine, — 
 All mine, — the confidence is just, 
 On God I ground my high-born trust 
 To stand, when pole is rent from pole, 
 Calm in my majesty of soul, 
 Watching the throes of this wreck'd world, 
 "When from their thrones the Alps are hurl'd, 
 When fire consumes earth, sea and air, 
 To stand, unharm'd, undaunted there, 
 And grateful still to boast in this, 
 "My mind to me a kingdom is." 
 
 Brother poet, dead so long. 
 
 Heed these echoes to thy song. 
 
 And love me now, where'er thou art, 
 
 Yearning with magnetic heart 
 
 From thy throne in some bright sphere 
 
 On this poor brother, grovelling here : 
 
 For I too, I, can stoutly sing 
 
 I am every inch a king ! 
 
 A king of Thought, a Potentate 
 
 Of glorious spiritual state, 
 
 A king of Thought, a king of Mind, 
 
 Realms unmapp'd and undefined, — 
 
 A King ! beneath no Man's control, 
 
 Invested with a royal soul, 
 
 Crown'd by God's imperial hand 
 
 Before Him as a King to stand. 
 
 And by His wisdom train 'd and taught 
 
 To rule my realms as King of Thought. 
 
 O thoughts, — how ill my fellow-men, 
 O thoughts, — how scantly my poor pen 
 Can guess or tell the myriad host 
 Wherewith you crowd my kingdom's coast ! 
 
MY mind's kingdom. 
 
 For I am hemm'd and throng'd about 
 With your triumphant rabble-rout, 
 Hurried along by that mad flood, 
 The joy-excited multitude, 
 A conqueror, borne upon the foam 
 Of his great people's gladness home, 
 A monarch in his grandest state. 
 On whom a thousand thousand wait ! 
 Lo, they come — my Tribes of Thought, 
 Fierce and flush'd and fever-fraught ! 
 From the horizon all around 
 I hear with pride their coming sound; 
 See 1 their banners circling near, — 
 Glittering groves of shield and spear. 
 Flying clouds of troopers gay. 
 Serried lines in dark array, 
 Veterans calm with temper'd sword, 
 And a dishevell'd frantic horde, — 
 On they come with furious force. 
 Tramping foot, and thundering horse, 
 On they come, converging loud, 
 With clanging arms, a glorious crowd, 
 Shouting impatient, fierce and free, 
 For me, their Monarch, yea, for me ! 
 
 Then, in my mnjesty and power, 
 
 I quell the madness of the hour. 
 
 Bid that tumultuous turmoil cease, 
 
 And frown my multitudes to peace. 
 
 Each to his peril and his post ! 
 
 All hush'd throughout my mighty host : 
 
 Courage clear and duty stern, — 
 
 Heads that freeze and hearts that burn; 
 
 Marshall'd straight in order due, 
 
 Legions ! pass in swift review, 
 
170 MY y.iy.Ds kingdom. 
 
 Bending to my blazon'd Will, 
 
 Loyal to that standard still, 
 
 And hailing me with homage then 
 
 King of Thoughts — and thus, of Men! 
 
 AVhat? am I powerless to control 
 
 Nations, by my single soul? 
 
 What? have I not made thousands thrill 
 
 By the mere impulse of my will, 
 
 When the strong Thought goes forth, and bijida 
 
 Captive a wondering herd of minds? 
 
 And is not this to reign alone 
 
 More than the ermine and the throne, 
 
 The jeweU'd state, the gilded rooms, 
 
 The mindless jay in peacock plumes? 
 
 Yes, — if the inmate soul outweighs 
 
 Its dull clay house in power and praise, 
 
 Yes, — if Eternity be true. 
 
 And Time both false and fleeting too, 
 
 Then, humbler kings, my boast be this, 
 
 "My mind to me a kingdom is." 
 
 And what, though weak and slow of speech, 
 
 111 to comfort, dull to teach ? 
 
 What, though hiding from the ken 
 
 Of my small prying fellow-men, — 
 
 Still within my musing mind 
 
 Wisdom's secret stores I find. 
 
 And, little noticed, sweetly feed 
 
 On hidden manna, meat indeed, 
 
 Blessed thoughts I never told 
 
 Unconsider'd, uncontroll'd, 
 
 Bushing by as thick and fast 
 
 As autumn leaves upon the blast, 
 
 Or better like the gracious rain 
 
 Dropping on some thirsty plain. 
 
M Y M I N D ' S K I N G D M . 171 
 
 And is not this to be a king, 
 
 To carry in my hearfc a spring 
 
 Of ceaseless pleasures, deep and pure, 
 
 Wealth cannot buy, nor power procure? 
 
 Yea, — by the poet's artless art. 
 
 And the sweet searchings of his heart, 
 
 By his unknown unheeded bliss, 
 
 ^^My mind to me a kingdom is." 
 
 Place me on some desert shore 
 
 Foot of man ne'er wander'd o'er; 
 
 Lock me in a lonely cell 
 
 Beneath some prison citadel; 
 
 Still, here or there, within I find 
 
 My quiet kingdom of the Mind : 
 
 Nay, — mid the tempest fierce and dark, 
 
 Float me on peril's frailest bark. 
 
 My quenchless soul could sit and think 
 
 And smile at danger's dizziest brink : 
 
 And wherefore? — GrOD, my God, is still 
 
 King of kings in good and ill. 
 
 And where He dwelleth — everywhere — 
 
 Safety supreme and peace are there; 
 
 And where He reigneth — ail around — 
 
 Wisdom, and love, and power are found, 
 
 And reconciled to Him and bliss, 
 
 " My mind to me a kingdom is." 
 
 Thus for my days; each waking hour 
 
 Grand with majesty and power. 
 
 Every minute rich in treasure, 
 
 Gems of peace and pearls of pleasure. 
 
 And for my nights — those wondrous nights I 
 
 How manifold my Mind's delights, 
 
 When the young truant, gladly caught 
 
 In its own labyrinths of thought, 
 
172 MY iMIND's kingdom. 
 
 Finds there another realm to range, 
 
 The dynasties of Chance and Change. 
 
 dreams, — what know T not of dreams? 
 
 Their name, their very essence, seems 
 
 A tender light, not dark nor clear, 
 
 A sad sweet mystery wild and dear, 
 
 A dull soft feeling unexplained, 
 
 A lie half true, a truth half feign'd; 
 
 O dreams, — what know I not. of dreams? 
 
 When Reason, with inebriate gleams. 
 
 Looses from his wise control 
 
 The prancing Fancies of the soul, 
 
 x\nd sober Judgment, slumbering still, 
 
 Sets free Caprice to guide the Will. 
 
 Within one night have I not spent 
 
 Years of adventurous banishment, 
 
 Strangely gi'oping like the blind 
 
 In the dark caverns of my mind? 
 
 Have I not dwelt, from eve till morn, 
 
 Lifetimes in length for praise or scorn, 
 
 With fancied joys, ideal woes. 
 
 And all sensation's warmest glows, 
 
 Wondrously thus expanding Life 
 
 Through seeming scenes of peace or strife, 
 
 Until I verily reign sublime, 
 
 A great creative king of Time? 
 
 And there are people, things, and places, 
 
 Usual themes, familiar faces, 
 
 A second life, that looks as real 
 
 As this dull world's own unideal. 
 
 Another life of dreams by night. 
 
 That, still forgotten, wanes in light, 
 
 Yet seems itself to wake and sleep, 
 
 And in that sleep dreams doubly deep. 
 
 While those same dreams may dream anon, 
 
 Tangled mazes wandering on ! 
 
MY MIND S KINGDOM 173 
 
 Yes, I have often^ vrerik and worn, 
 
 Feebly waked at earliest morn, 
 
 As a sliipwreck'd sailor, tost 
 
 By the wild waves on some rough coast, 
 
 Of p&rils past remembering nought 
 
 But some dim cataracts of thought, 
 
 And only roused betimes to know 
 
 That yesterday seems years ago I 
 
 And I can apprehend full well 
 
 What old Pythagoras could: tell 
 
 Of other scenes, and other climes, 
 
 And other Selfs in other times; 
 
 For, oft my consciousness has reel'd 
 
 With scores of "Richmonds in the field," 
 
 As, multiform, with no surprise, 
 
 I see myself in other guise, 
 
 And wonderless v»'alk side by side 
 
 With mine own soul, self-multiplied! 
 
 If it be royal then to reign 
 
 Over an infinite domain, 
 
 If it be more than monarch can 
 
 To lengthen out the life of man. 
 
 Yea, if a godlike thing it be 
 
 To revel in ubiquity. 
 
 Is there but empty boast in this, 
 
 " My mind to me a kingdom is V 
 
 — Peace, rash fool; be proud no more, 
 Count thy faults and follies o'er, 
 Turn aside, and note within 
 Thy secret charnel-house of Sin, 
 Thy bitter heart, thy covetous mind, 
 Evil thoughts, and words unkind : 
 Can so foul and mean a thing 
 Reign a spiritual King? 
 
MY mind's K I N G D si . 
 
 Art thou not — yea thou, myself, 
 
 In hope a slave to pride and pelf? 
 
 Art thou not, — yea thou, ray mind, 
 
 Weak and naked, poor and blind? 
 
 Yea, be humble; yea, be still; 
 
 Meekly bow that rebel Will; 
 
 Seek not selfishly for praise; 
 
 Go more softly all thy days; 
 
 For to thee belongs no power, 
 
 Wretched insect of an hour, — 
 
 And if God, in bounteous dole. 
 
 Hath grafted life upon thy soul, 
 
 Know thou, there is out of Him 
 
 Nor light in mind, nor might in limb; 
 
 And, but for One, who from the grave 
 
 Of sin and death stood forth to save, 
 
 Thy mind, that royal mind of thine, 
 
 So great, ambitious, and divine, 
 
 Would but a root of anguish be, 
 
 A madness and a misery, 
 
 A bitter fear, a hideous care 
 
 All too terrible to bear. 
 
 Kingly, — but king of pains and woes, 
 
 The sceptred slave to throbs and throes I 
 
 Justly then, my God, to Thee, 
 My royal soul shall bend the knee, 
 My royal soul, Thy glorious breath, 
 By Thee set free from guilt and death, 
 Before Thy majesty bows down. 
 Offering the homage of her crown. 
 Well pleased to sing in better bliss, 
 <'My God to me a kingdom is." 
 
TARRING CHURCH. 
 
 173 
 
 barring Cljiirrjj. 
 
 1844. 
 Mother, — beneath fair Tarring's heavenward spire, 
 
 Where in old years thy youthful vows were paid, 
 When God had granted thee thy heart's desire, 
 
 And she went forth a wife, who came a maid, 
 
 With mindful steps thus wisely have we stray'd, 
 Full of deep thoughts : for where that sacred fire 
 
 Of Love was kindled, in the self-same spot, 
 
 Thou, and the dear companion of thy lot, 
 Thy helpmate all those years, mine honour'd sire, 
 
 To-day have found fulfilled before your eyes 
 The promise of old time ; — look round and see 
 
 Your children's children! lo, these babes arise, 
 And call 3^ou blessed : Blessed both be ye ! 
 And in your blessing bless ye these, and me. 
 
 June 29, 1848. 
 For memories, and prayer, and pious thought 
 
 Of days departed, and the dear ones dead, 
 Tarring, once more thy sacred walls I sought: 
 So, to some native spot, some genial bed. 
 The botanist goes forth to seek and find 
 His curious fern or lichen; so, my mind 
 In melancholy pleasure wisely taught 
 
 Culls here its rnrest weed : with tender care 
 
 Gather it up and store it. Years ao-o 
 From this old choir a young and loving pair 
 Went out just wedded; and the glittering show 
 Of pleasure, wealth, and promise glad and gay, 
 
 Pass'd through these portals ; — God was with you there, 
 My Father and my Mother! — these were They. 
 
176 THE SAME PLACE ANDDAY 
 
 Mother ! this day, one little year agone, 
 
 Thy spirit pass'd from pain to peacefulness ; 
 Look down then in thy love, and smile upon 
 
 My duteous pilgrimage; look down and bless 
 In thine own tender love of old, thy son. 
 For in this spot, where on thy bridal-dress 
 The villagers threw flowers, now my heart, 
 To honour thee, where'er in bliss thou art, 
 Pours forth its deep libation. Many years 
 
 Have sped away, and thou, the blushing bride, 
 After long sojourn down this vale of tears 
 With him thy lover ever at thy side, 
 Didst reap the promise of that word to thee 
 FulfiU'd, — "Thy children's children thou shalt see." 
 
 At length, a dreary length of many years, 
 God's fiivour hath shone forth ! and blest thee well, 
 
 O handmaid of the Lord, for all thy tears, 
 
 For all thy prayers, and hope, and ftiith — and fears, 
 
 With that best treasure of consummate joy 
 A childless wife alone can fully tell 
 
 How sorely long withheld — her first-born boy: 
 This blessing is from heav'n; to heav'n once more, 
 Another Hannah with her Samuel, 
 
 Render thou back the talent yielding ten, 
 A spirit, train'd right early to adore, 
 
 A heart, to yearn upon its fellow-men, 
 A being, meant and made for endless heaven, 
 This, give to God : this, God to thee hath given. 
 
DOTY. 177 
 
 Pearls beforo swine : this is an old complaint ; 
 
 In very humbleness, and not in pride 
 The spirit feels it true; yet makes a feint 
 To rest with man's neglect well satisfied, 
 And have its wealth of words, its stores of thought, 
 
 Despised or unregarded : woe betide 
 The heart that lives on praise ! considering nought 
 Of Duty's royal edicts, that command 
 
 Thy talents to be lent, thy lamp to shine : 
 Soul, be not faint; nor, body, stay thy hand; 
 
 Heed only this, — not whether those be swine, 
 But whether these be pearls, precious and pure; 
 Thai bO, whatever fate the world make thine, 
 With God for Judge, thy guerdon be secure. 
 
 d^nuESBL 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 There is a time for praising, 
 
 And a better time for pray'r,- 
 The heart its anthem raising, 
 
 Or uttering its care : 
 One minute is for smiling. 
 
 Another for the tear, — 
 Hope, by turns, beguiling, 
 
 Or her haggard brother, Fear. 
 
17S COUNSEL. 
 
 But, if in joy thou praisest 
 
 The generous Hand that gave, — 
 And if in woe thou i-aisest 
 
 The praj'r tha.t ile may save; 
 Thy griefs shall seem all pleasura 
 
 As the chidings of a Friend, 
 And thy joy's ecstatic measure 
 
 A beginning without end! 
 
 IniHL 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 I NEVER left the place that knew roe, 
 
 And may never know me more, 
 Where the cords of kindness drew me, 
 
 And have gladden 'd me of yore, 
 But my secret soul has smarted 
 
 With a feeling full of gloom 
 For the days that are departed 
 
 And the place I calFd my Home. 
 
 I am not of those who wander 
 
 Unaffection'd here and there, 
 But my heart must still be fonder 
 
 Of my sites of joy or care j 
 And I point sad memory's finger 
 
 (Though my faithless foot may roam) 
 Where I've most been made to lingor 
 
 In the place I call'd my Home. 
 
B YEGONES 
 
 ' FOR MUSIC. 
 
 "Let byegones be byegones," — they foolishly say, 
 
 And bid me be wise and forget them; 
 But old recollections are active to-day, 
 
 And I can do nought but regret them : 
 Though the present be pleasant, all joyous and gay. 
 
 And promising well for the morrow, 
 I love to look back on the years past away. 
 
 Embalming my byegones in sorrow. 
 
 If the morning of life has a mantle of grey, 
 
 Its noon will be blyther and brighter; 
 If March has its storm, there is sunshine in May, 
 
 And light out of darkness is lighter : 
 Thus the present is pleasant, a cheerful to-day, 
 
 With a wiser, a soberer gladness. 
 Because it is tinged with the mellowing ray 
 
 Of a yesterday's sunset of sadness. 
 
 EuU, Uritania! 
 
 A STIRRING SONG FOR PATRIOTS, IN THE YEAR 1860. 
 To the tune of'^Wha loouldna fight for Charlie?" 
 
 Rise! ye gallant youth of Britain, 
 Gather to your country's call, 
 
 On your hearts her name is written. 
 Rise to help her, one and all I 
 
180 RULE, XIRITANNIA. 
 
 Cast away each feud and faction, 
 
 Brood not over wrong nor ill,— 
 Rouse your virtues into action, 
 
 For we love our country still, — 
 Hail, Britannia! hail, Britannia! 
 
 Baise that thrilling shout once more^ 
 Bule, Britannia! Rule, Britannia, 
 
 Conqueror over sea and shore ! 
 
 France is coming, full of bluster, 
 
 Hot to wipe away her stain, 
 Therefore, brothers, here we muster 
 
 Just to give it her again ! 
 And if foeman, blind with fury. 
 
 Dare to cross our ocean-gulf, 
 "Wait not then for judge nor jury, — 
 
 Shoot them as you would a wolf! 
 For Britannia, just Britannia, 
 
 Claims our chorus as before. 
 Rule, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia, 
 
 Conqueror over sea and shore. 
 
 They may writhe, for we have gall'd th^^m 
 
 With our guns in every clime, — 
 They may hate us, for we called them 
 
 Serfs and subjects in old time ! 
 Boasting G-aul, we calmly scorn you 
 
 As old ^sop's bull the frogs. 
 Come and welcome ! for, we warn you, 
 
 We shall fling you to our dogs ! 
 For Britannia, our Britannia, 
 
 Thunders with a lion's roar. 
 Rule, Britannia! Rule, Britannia! 
 
 Conqueror over sea and shore. 
 
R U L E , B R I T A N N I A - 181 
 
 See, uprear'd our liolj standard ! 
 
 Crowd around it, gallant hearts ! 
 What? should Britain's fame be slander'd 
 
 As by fault on ow parts? 
 Let the rabid Frenchman threaten, 
 
 Let the mad invader come, 
 We will hunt them out of Britain, 
 
 Or can die for hearth and home ! 
 For Britannia, dear Britannia 
 
 Wakes our chorus evermore, 
 Bule, Britannia ! Bule, Britannia ! 
 
 Conqueror over sea and shore. 
 
 Rise then, patriots ! name endearing, 
 
 Flock from Scotland's moors and dales, 
 From the green glad fields of Erin, 
 
 From the mountain homes of Wales, — 
 Rise ! for sister England calls you, 
 
 Rise ! our commonweal to serve, 
 Rise! while now the song enthralls you. 
 
 Thrilling every vein and nerve, 
 Hail, Britannia ! hail, Britannia ! 
 
 Conquer, as thou didst of yore ! 
 Rule, Britannia ! Rule^ Britannia ! 
 
 Over every sea and shore. 
 
THE EMIGRANT SHIP, 
 
 €^t cKmigrnnt lljip^ 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Far away, far away, 
 The emigrant ship must sail to-day: 
 
 Cruel ship, — to look so gay 
 Bearing the exiles far away. 
 
 Sad, and sore, sad and sore. 
 Many a fond heart bleeds at the core : 
 Cruel dread, — to meet no more, 
 Rioter sorrow, sad and sore. 
 
 Many years, many years, 
 At best will they battle with perils and nars: 
 
 Cruel pilot, — for he steers 
 The exiles away for many years. 
 
 Long ago, long ago! 
 For the days that are gone their tears shall flow; 
 
 Cruel hour, — to tear them so 
 From all they cherish'd long ago. 
 
 Fare ye well, fare ye well ! 
 To joy and to hope it sounds as a knell: 
 
 Cruel tale it were to tell 
 How the exile sighs farewell. 
 
 Far away, far away ! 
 Is there indeed no hope to-day? 
 
 Cruel and false it were to say 
 There are no pleasures far away. 
 
^THEEMIGRANTSHIP. 183 
 
 Far away, far away ! 
 Every night and every day 
 
 Kind and wise it were to pray, 
 God be with them far away ! 
 
 I HAVE achieved a tower of fame 
 
 More durable than gold, 
 And loftier than the royal frame 
 
 Of Pyramids of old, — 
 Which none inclemencies of clime, 
 
 Nor fiercest winds that blow. 
 Nor endless change, nor lapse of time, 
 
 Shall ever overthrow ! 
 
 I cannot perish utterly: 
 
 The brighter part of me 
 Must live — and live — and never die, 
 
 But baffle Death's decree ! 
 For I shall always grow,- and spread 
 
 My new-blown honours still, 
 Long as the priest and vestal tread 
 
 The Capitolian hill. 
 
 I shall be sung, where thy rough waves, 
 
 My native river, foam, — 
 And where old Daunus scantly laves 
 
 And rules his rustic home; 
 As chief and first I shall be suner. 
 
 Though lowly, great in might 
 To tune my country's heart and tongue, 
 
 And tune them both aright. 
 
 13 
 
184 T n E ASSURANCE T 11 O 11 A C E . 
 
 Thou then, my soul, assume thy state, 
 
 And take thine honours due ; 
 Be proud, as thy deserts are great, — 
 
 To thine own praise be true I 
 Thou too, celestial Muse, come down, 
 
 And with kind haste prepare 
 The laurel for a Delphic crown 
 
 To weave thy Poet's hair. 
 
 HoR. Od. XXX. lib. ill 
 
 Now have I done my work ! — which not Jove's ire 
 Can make undone, nor sword, nor time, nor fire. 
 Whene'er that day, whose only powers extend 
 Against this body, my brief life shall end, 
 Still in my better portion evermore 
 Above the stars undying shall I soar! 
 My name shall never die: but through all time, 
 Wherever Rome shall reach a conquer' d clime, 
 There, in that people's tongue, shall this my page 
 Be read and glorified from age to age; — 
 Yea, if the bodings of my spirit give 
 True note of inspiration, I shall live ! 
 
 Ovid. Met. subjinem. 
 
 l^nl-ttWm, 
 
 Lottery tickets every day, — 
 And ever drawn a blank : 
 
 Yet none the less we pant and pray 
 For prizes in that bank : 
 
P S T - L E T T E R S . 185 
 
 Morn by morn, and week bj week, 
 
 They cheat us, or amuse, 
 Whilst on we fondly hope, and seek 
 
 Some stirring daily news. 
 
 The heedless postman on his path 
 
 Is scattering joys and woes; 
 He bears the seeds of life and death, 
 
 And drops them as he goes! 
 I never note him trudging near 
 
 Upon his common track. 
 But all my heart is hope, or fear, 
 
 With visions bright, or black! 
 
 I hope — what hope I not? — vague things 
 
 Of wondrous possible good; 
 I dread — as vague imaginings, 
 
 A very viper's brood : 
 Fame's sunshine, fortune's golden dews 
 
 May now be hovering o'er, — 
 Or the pale shadow of ill news 
 
 Be cowering at my door! 
 
 Mystery, master-key to life, 
 Thou spring of every hour, 
 
 1 love to wrestle in thy strife. 
 And tempt thy perilous power; 
 
 I love to know that none can know 
 
 What this day may bring forth. 
 What bliss for me, for me what woe 
 
 Is travailing in birth ! 
 
 See, on my neighbour's threshold stands 
 
 Yon careless common man. 
 Bearing, perchance, in those coarse hands 
 
 — My Being's alter'd plan' 
 
186 POST -LETTERS. 
 
 My germs of pleasure, or of paiD;, 
 
 Of trouble, or of peace. 
 May there lie thick as drops of rain 
 
 Distill'd from Gideon's fleece ! 
 
 Who knoweth? may not loves be dead, — 
 
 Or those we loved laid low, — 
 Who knoweth ? may not wealth be fled, 
 
 And all the world my foe? 
 Or who can tell if Fortune's hour 
 
 (Which once on all doth shine) 
 Be not within this morning's dower, 
 
 A prosperous morn of mine 1 
 
 Ah, cold Reality ! — in spite 
 
 Of hopes, and endless chance, 
 That bitter postman, ruthless wight. 
 
 Has cheated poor Romance : 
 No letters ! the dreary phrase : 
 
 Another day forlorn : — 
 And thus I wend upon my ways 
 
 To watch another morn. 
 
 Cease, babbler! — let those doubtings cease: 
 
 What? should a son of heaven 
 With the pure manna of his Peace 
 
 Mix up this faithless leaven? 
 Not so! — for in the hands of God, 
 
 And in none earthly will. 
 Abides alike my staff", and rod. 
 
 My good, and seeming ill. 
 
ADVICE. 187 
 
 Make haste, make haste, ray prudent little friends ! 
 
 You lag behind the world, both blind and halt, — 
 * For your own credit leave off finding fault. 
 And wisely bustle up to make amends : 
 
 Look you ! time was, when even such small salt 
 As your encouragement and speaking fiiir 
 
 Would have been prized and grateful; savouring well 
 The taste of bitterness, the touch of care 
 
 The proud young spirit felt, but scorn'd to tell, 
 When, keenly sensitive of man's despite, 
 While conscious that from kinder Heav'n above 
 
 A gift had been vouchsafed of purest light, 
 That spirit coveted your looks of love. 
 
 And yearn'd around, and ye refused his Right. 
 
 Yet were there other some, the generous few 
 Kindly prophetic, helping with their praise 
 Balmy and precious as the morning dew 
 
 Or early sunshine in those anxious days: 
 All thanks, all thanks! — I now can shine on you; 
 And love you for the love that linger' d not 
 
 Till honour and success hath wreath'd my pen, 
 Till God had seal'd to me a blessed lot, — 
 
 That pleasant heritage, the hearts of men. 
 All thanks, ye noble souls ! Behold, the rill 
 Your dewy praise did graciously distil 
 
 Soon gather'd to a stream, and swelling then 
 Grew to a river, and that river wide 
 Far out to sea now rolls its ceaseless tide. 
 
SOCIETY. 
 
 Alas, we do but act; we are not free: 
 The presence of another is a chain 
 My trammell'd spirit strives to break, in vain ; 
 
 How strangely different myself from me ! 
 Thoughtful in solitude, serenely blest, 
 
 Crown'd and enthroned in mental majesty, 
 
 Equal to all things great, and daring all, 
 I muse of mysteries, and am at rest: 
 But in the midst, some dull intruded guest 
 
 Topples me from my heights, holding in thrall 
 With his hard eye the traitor in my breast, 
 That before humbler intellects is cow'd. 
 Silently shrinking from the common crowd, 
 And only with the highest self-possest. 
 
 Matter, unlit by love, unlink'd to Mind, 
 
 Never hath reached the poet's inner heart: 
 Tho' the strong magic of his plastic art 
 With Prospero's own power avails to bind 
 Caliban's husk to play its coarser part 
 Of dutiful captivity to Thought,— 
 Yet, to seek sympathy, and seeking find 
 Where'er in human or divine he ought, 
 
 Herein is found his joy! Think it not strange 
 If Nature's most sublime or beauteous form, 
 Some pastoral vale, or snowy mountain range, 
 Or cataract, or lake, or tropic storm, 
 Rouse not the soul, like actions great or kind ; 
 
 Those charm mine eyes, — but these my spirit warm. 
 
ORIQINALPROLOGUE. 189 
 
 TO ANONYMOUS POEMS. 
 
 Mr heart presents her gift : in turn, of thee 
 
 I ask a little time, an idle hour, 
 Kindly to spend with these my thoughts and me, 
 
 Wooing the fragrance of the Muses' bower : 
 Not without crest or coat, yet nameless now, 
 
 As one to earn his spurs, and prove his power, 
 A candidate unknown, with vizor 'd brow, 
 Bearing no charge upon mine argent shield, 
 Full of young hopes, I dare the tented field ! 
 
 — Not so: this is no time for measuring swords; 
 Thou art no craven, though thy spirit yield, 
 
 For yonder are fair looks, and friendly words: 
 Choose a more peaceful image : — here revealed, 
 
 Taste a small sample of my humble hoards. 
 
 Are there no sympathies, no loves between us? 
 
 Is my hope vain? — I have not vext thee long. 
 Nor lent thee thoughts from God and good that wean us; 
 
 Nor given thee words that warp from right to wrong: 
 
 And if, at times, my too triumphant song 
 Hath seem'd self-praise, — doth it indeed demean us, 
 That when a man feels hotly at his heart 
 
 The quick spontaneous fire of thoughts and words, 
 He will not play the hypocrite's ill part, 
 • Flinging aside the meed his mind affords? 
 
 No ! with all gratitude and humbleness 
 I claim mine ownj nor can afi*ect to scorn 
 A gift, of my Creator's goodness born. 
 
 His grace to give, my glory to possess. 
 
190 THENEWYEA 
 
 Barttauig, rtt, 
 
 PUBLISHED IN 1848. 
 
 €JIB Mm ^BEt 
 
 The old man he is dead, young heir, 
 
 And gone to his long account; 
 Come, stand on his hearth, and sit in his chair, 
 
 And into his saddle mount! 
 
 The old man's face was a face to be fear'd, 
 
 But thine both loving and gay; 
 who would not choose for that stern white beard, 
 
 A bright young cheek alway? 
 
 The old man he had outlived them all, 
 
 His friends, he said, were gone; 
 But hundreds are wassailing now in the hall, 
 
 And true friends every one ! 
 
 The old man moan'd both sore and long 
 
 Of pleasures past, he said; 
 But pleasures to come are the young heir's song, 
 
 The living, not the dead ! 
 
 The old man babbled of old regrets, 
 
 Alack ! how much he owed : 
 But the young heir has not a feather of debts 
 
 His heart withal to I'jad ! 
 
THE NEW YEAR. 191 
 
 The old maa used to shudder, and seem 
 
 Remembering secret sin; 
 But the happy young heir is as if in a dream, 
 
 Paradise all within ! 
 
 Alas ! for the old man, — where is he now ? 
 
 And fear for thyself, young heir; 
 For he was innocent once as thou, 
 
 As ruddy and blythe and fair : 
 
 Reap wisdom from his furrow'd face, 
 
 Cull counsel from his fear; 
 speed thee, young heir, in gifts and in graoe^ 
 
 And blessings on thee, — New Year! 
 
 all's far i^t tet! 
 
 All's for the best! be sanguine and cheei-ful, 
 
 Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise. 
 Nothing but Folly goes faithless and fearful, 
 
 Courage for ever is happy and wise : 
 All for the best, — if a man would but know it 
 
 Providence wishes us all to be blest, 
 This is no dream of the pundit or poet. 
 
 Heaven is gracious, and — All's for the best! 
 
 All for the best! set this on your standard. 
 Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love. 
 
 Who to the shores of Despair may have wandered, 
 A waywearied swallow, or heartstricken dove: 
 
192 ALLSFOBTIIEBEST. 
 
 All for the best ! — be a man but confiding, 
 Providence tenderly governs the rest, 
 
 And the frail bark of His creature is guiding 
 Wisely and warily all for the best. 
 
 All for the best ! then fling away terrors, 
 
 Meet all your fears and your foes in the van. 
 And in the midst of your dangers or errors 
 
 Trust like a child, while you strive like a man 
 All's for the best! — unbiass'd, unbounded, 
 
 Providence reigns from the East to the West; 
 And, by both wisdom and mercy surrounded, 
 
 Hope and be -happy that All 's for the best ! 
 
 World of sorrow, care, and change, 
 
 Even to myself I seem, 
 As adown thy vale I range. 
 Wandering in a dream : 
 All things are so strange. 
 
 For, the dead who died this day. 
 
 Fair and young, or great and good, 
 Though we mourn them, where are they? 
 
 — With those before 'the flood; 
 Equally past away ! 
 
 Living hearts have scantly time 
 
 To feel some other heart most dear, 
 Scarce can love the love sublime 
 
 Unselfishly sincere, — 
 Death nips it in its prime I 
 
THEiitDDLEREAD. 393 
 
 Minds have hardly power to learn 
 
 How much there is to know aright, 
 Can dimly through the mist discern 
 Some little glimpse of light, — 
 The order is, Return ! 
 
 Wiljing hands but just begin 
 
 Wisely to work for God and man, 
 And some poor wages barely win 
 
 As one who well began, — 
 The Master calls. Come in ! 
 
 Well, — this is well : for well begun 
 
 Is all the good man here may do , 
 He cannot hope to see half done; 
 
 A furlong is crept through, 
 And lo, the goal is won ! 
 
 This is the life of sight and sense. 
 And other brighter lives depend 
 On all we here can just commence; 
 
 But long before an end 
 God calls his servant hence. 
 
 Take courage, courage : not in vain 
 
 The Ruler hath appointed thus ; 
 Account it neither grief nor pain 
 
 His mercy spareth us — 
 It is the labourer's srain. 
 
 %*. 
 
 Here we begin to love and know ; 
 
 And when God's willing grace perceives 
 The plant of Heav'n hath roots to grow, 
 
 He plucks the ranker leaves. 
 And doth transplant it so I 
 
194 OLD HAUNTS 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 I LOVE to linger on my track 
 
 Wherever I have dwelt and parted, 
 In after years to loiter back, 
 
 And feel as once I felt, — young-hearted I 
 My foot falls lightly on the sward, 
 
 Yet leaves a deathless dint behind it, 
 With tenderness I still regard 
 
 Its unforgottcn print, to find it! 
 
 Old places have a charm for me 
 
 The new can ne'er possess, for ever. 
 Old faces — how I long to see 
 
 Those looks that here can bless me never! 
 Yet, these are gone : — while all around 
 
 Is changing with each changing hour, 
 I'll anchor on the solid ground 
 
 And root my memories there in power I 
 
 €^t foam Df Enltin. 
 
 A MILITARY BALLAD. 
 
 Ye children of the veterans 
 
 Who fought for faithless Spain, 
 And for ungrateful Portugal 
 
 Pour'd out their blood like rain,- 
 Come near me, and hear me, 
 
 For I would tell you well 
 How gallantly your fathers fought, 
 
 Or gloriously they fell ! 
 
THE BATTLE OP ROLEIA. 195 
 
 I sing Roleia's bloody strife, 
 
 The first of many frays, 
 When iron Wellesley led us on 
 
 Invincible always; 
 Roleia gay and evergreen, 
 
 Festoon'd with vines and flowers, 
 Roleia, scorch 'd and blood-bedew'd, — 
 
 And half that blood was ours I 
 
 The seventeenth of August 
 
 It shone out bright and clear, 
 And still we press'd the Frenchman's flank, 
 
 And hung upon his rear; 
 From Brilos and Obidos 
 
 Had we driven the bold Laborde, 
 And now among the mountain rocks 
 
 We sought him with the sword! 
 
 \/ 
 
 All golden is the plain with wheat, 
 
 All purple are the hills 
 With luscious vineyards ripe and sweet, 
 
 And laced with crystal rills; 
 Yet must the rills run down with gore, 
 
 The corn be trampled red. 
 Before Roleia's threshing-floor 
 
 Is glutted with her dead ! 
 
 cheerily the bugles spoke. 
 
 And all our hearts beat high 
 When over Monte Junto broke 
 
 The sun upon the sky; 
 Right early from Obidos 
 
 We gladly sallied then 
 A goodly host, in columns three, 
 
 Of fourteen thousand men. 
 
196 THE BATTLE F 11 L K J A . 
 
 Brave Ferguson led on the left, 
 
 And Trant the flanking right, 
 With iron Arthur in the midst, 
 
 The focus of the fight ; 
 And fast by Wellesley's gallant side 
 
 The Craufurd rode amain, 
 And Hill, the British soldier's pride, 
 
 And Nightingale, and Fane. 
 
 Crouching like a tiger, 
 
 In his high and rocky lair. 
 The Frenchman howl'd and showed his teeth, 
 
 And — wish'd he wasn't there; 
 For Craufurd, Hill, and Nightingale 
 
 Flew at him as he la}''. 
 And up our gallant fellows sprang 
 
 As bloodhounds on the prey. 
 
 And look ! we hunt the bold Laborde 
 
 To ■ Zambugeira's height, — 
 While Trant with Fane and Ferguson 
 
 Outflank him left and right; 
 And then with cheers we charge the front, 
 
 With cheers the foe reply, — 
 No child's play was that battle brunt, 
 
 We swore to win or die ! 
 
 Kattled loud the musket's roar, — 
 
 We struggled man to man, — 
 The rugged rocks were wash'd in gore. 
 
 With gore the gullies ran ! 
 Fiercely through those mountain paths 
 
 Our bloody way we force, — 
 And find in strength upon the heights 
 
 The Frenchman, foot and horse : 
 
THE BATTLE OF ROLE I A. 197 
 
 Ah, theD, my Ninth, and Twenty-ninth, 
 
 Your courage was too hot^ 
 For down on your disorder'd ranks 
 
 Secure they pour the shot; 
 But all their horse and foot and guns 
 
 Could never make you fly, — 
 The losing Frenchman fights and runs, 
 
 But Britons fight — and die ! 
 
 Up to the rescue, Ferguson! 
 
 And keep the hardrfought hill; 
 Their chiefs are pick'd off, one by one_, 
 
 And lo, they rally still; 
 They rally, and rush stoutly on, — 
 
 The bold Laborde gives way, — 
 The day is lost ! the day is won ! 
 
 And ours is the day ! 
 
 Then well retreating sage and slow 
 
 Alternately in mass 
 With charging horse, the wily foe 
 
 Grains Buna's rocky pass; 
 And left us thus Boleia's field, 
 
 With other fields in store, 
 Vimiera, Torres Vedras, 
 
 And half a hundred more ! 
 
 How many years are fled, — 
 How many friends are dead : 
 
 Alas, how fast 
 
 The past hath past, — 
 How speedily life hath sped! 
 
19f RETROSPECT. 
 
 Places, that knew me of yore, 
 
 Know me for theirs no more; 
 
 And sore at the change 
 
 Quite strange I range 
 
 Where I was at home before. 
 
 Thoughts and things each day 
 Seem to be fading away; 
 Yet this is, I wot, 
 Their lot to be not 
 Continuing in one stay. tay. 
 
 A mingled mesh it seems 
 Of facts and fiincy's gleams; 
 I scarce have power 
 From hour to hour 
 To separate things from dreams. 
 
 Darkly, as in a glass, 
 Like a vain shadow they pass; 
 Their ways they wend 
 And tend to an end, 
 The goal of life, alas ! 
 
 Alas? and wherefore so, — 
 Be glad for this passing show; 
 The world and its lust 
 Back must to their dust 
 Before the soul can grow. 
 
 Expand, my willing mind, 
 Thy nobler life to find. 
 Thy childhood leave 
 Nor grieve to bereave 
 Thine age of toys behind. 
 
PEACE AND QUIETNESS. 199 
 
 3^mn fini (Huirtes, 
 
 Peace is the precious atmosphere I breathe; 
 
 And my calm mind goes to her dewy bower, 
 A trellis rare of fragrant thoughts to wreathe, 
 
 Mingling the scents and tints of every flower : 
 For pity, vex her not; those inner joys 
 
 That bless her in this consecrated hour. 
 Start and away, like plovers, at a noise, 
 Sensitive, timorous : — do not scare 
 
 My happy fancies, lest the flock take wing, 
 Fly to the wilderness and perish there ! 
 
 For I have secret luxuries, that bring 
 Gladness and brightness to mine eyes and heart, 
 
 Memory, and Hope, and keen Imagining, 
 Sweet thoughts and peaceful, never to depart. 
 
 Then give me Silence; for my spirit is rare, 
 Of delicate edge and tender: when I think, 
 
 I rear aloft a mental fabric fair; 
 
 But soon as words come hurtling on the air, 
 Down to this dust my ruined fancies sink : 
 Look you I on yonder Alp's precipitous brink 
 
 An avalanche is tottering ; — one breath 
 Loosens an icy chain ; — it falls, — it falls, 
 
 Filling the buried glens and gludes with death ! 
 
 Or as, when on the mountain's granite walls 
 The hunter spies a chamois, — hush I be calm, 
 
 A word will scare it, — even so, my Mind 
 Creative, energizing, seeks the balm 
 
 Of Quiet: Solitude and Peace combined. 
 
 14 
 
200 THE EARLY GALLOP. 
 
 {Written in the saddle, on the croivn of my hat.) 
 
 At five on a dewy morning, 
 
 Before the blazing day, 
 To be np and off on a high-mettled horse 
 
 Over the hills away, — 
 To drink the rich sweet breath of the gorse 
 
 And bathe in the breeze of the Downs, 
 Ha ! man, if you can, match bliss like this 
 
 In all the joys of towns ! 
 
 With glad and grateful tongue to join 
 
 The lark at his matin hymn, 
 And thence on faith's own wing to spring 
 
 And sing with cherubim ! 
 To pray from a deep and tender heart. 
 
 With all things praying anew. 
 The birds and the bees, and the whispering trees, 
 
 And heather bedropt with dew, — 
 To be one with those early worshippers 
 
 And pour the carol too ! 
 
 Then, off again with a slacken 'd rein, 
 
 And a bounding heart within, 
 To dash at a gallop over the plain, 
 
 Health's golden cup to win ! 
 This, this is the race for gain and grace 
 
 Richer than vases and crowns; 
 And you that boast your pleasures the most 
 
 Amid the steam of towns. 
 Come, taste true bliss in a morning like this, 
 
 Galloping over the Downs ! 
 
ASCOT. 201 
 
 Slsrnt : 
 
 June 3, 1847 — when Hero won. 
 
 Modern Olympia! shorn of all their pride — 
 
 The patriot spirit, and unlucred praise — 
 
 Thou art a type of these degenerate days, 
 When love of simple honour all hath died; 
 Oh dusty, gay, and eager multitude. 
 
 Agape for gold — No ! do not thus condemn ; 
 For hundreds here are innocent and good. 
 
 And young, and fair, among — but not of — them; 
 And hundreds more enjoy with gratitude 
 
 This well-earn'd holiday, so bright and green : 
 
 Do not condemn ! it is a stirring scene, 
 Though vanity and folly fill it up; 
 
 Look how the mettled racers please the Queen ! 
 Ha^! brave John Day — a Hero wins the cup ! 
 
 Mi. 
 
 A BUSY dream, forgotten ere it fades, 
 
 A vapour, melting into air away. 
 Vain hopes, vain fears, a mesh of lights and shades, 
 
 A chequer'd labyrinth of night and day, 
 This is our life; a rapid surgy flood 
 
 Where each wave hunts its fellow; on they press; 
 To-day is yesterday, and hope's young bud 
 
 Has fruited a to-morrow's nothingness: 
 Still on they press, and we are borne along, 
 
 Forgetting and forgotten, trampling down 
 The living and the dead in that fierce throng, 
 
 With little heed of Heaven's smile or frown, 
 And little care for others' right or wrong, 
 So we in iron selfishness stand strong. 
 
202 
 
 WATERLOO. 
 A BALLAD FOR THE SOLDIER- 
 
 Thermopylae and Cann^ 
 
 Were glorious fields of yore, 
 Leonidas and Hannibal 
 
 Right famous evermore; 
 But we can claim a nobler name, 
 
 A field more glorious too, 
 The chief who thus achieved for us 
 
 Victorious Waterloo. 
 
 Let others boast of Caesar's host 
 
 Led on by Caesar's skill, 
 And how fierce Attila could rout, 
 
 And Alaric could kill, — 
 j5ut ^e — right well, hear me tell 
 
 What British troops can do, 
 When marshall'd by a Wellington 
 
 To win a Waterloo! 
 
 O for a Pindar's harp to tune 
 
 The triumphs of that day ! 
 O for a Homer's pictured words 
 
 To paint the fearful fray! — 
 Alas, my tongue and harp ill-strung 
 
 In feeble tones and few, 
 Hath little skill — yet right good-will 
 
 To sing of Waterloo. 
 
 Then gather round, my comrades. 
 
 And hear a soldier tell 
 How full of honour was the day 
 
 YHxen — every man did well ! 
 
WATERLOO 
 
 And though a soldier's speech be rough, 
 
 His heart is hot and true 
 While thus he tells of Wellington 
 
 At hard-fought Waterloo. 
 
 Sublimely calm, our iron Duke, 
 
 A lion in his lair, 
 Waited and watch'd with sleepless eye 
 
 To see what France would dare, 
 Nor deign'd to stir from Brussels 
 
 Until he surely knew 
 The foe was rushing on his fate 
 
 At chosen Waterloo. 
 
 What? should the hunter waste his strength 
 
 Nor hold his good hounds back 
 Before he knows they near the foes 
 
 And open on the track? 
 No: let "surprise" bHght Frenchmen's eyes, 
 
 For truly they shall rue 
 The giant skill that, stern and still, 
 
 Drew them to Waterloo. 
 
 Hotly the couriers gallop up 
 
 To Richmond's festive scene, — 
 Alone, alone the chieftain stood 
 
 Undaunted and serene : 
 Ready, ready, — staunch and steady, — 
 
 And forth the orders flew 
 That march'd us off to Quatre Bras, 
 
 And whelming Waterloo. 
 
 Begin, begin with Quatre Bras, 
 
 That twinborn field of flame, 
 Where many a gallant deed was done 
 
 By many a gallant name; 
 
WATERLOO. 
 
 That battle-field, which secm'd to yield 
 
 An earnest and review 
 Of all that British courage dared 
 
 And did at Waterloo. 
 
 We heard from far old Blucher's guus. 
 
 At Ligny's blazing street, 
 And hurried on to Weimar's aid, 
 
 Right glad the foe to meet; 
 A score of miles to Quatre Bras; 
 
 But still to arms we stood 
 And cheerly rush'd without a pause 
 
 To win the Boissy wood : 
 
 Then, just like cowards, three to one, 
 
 Before we could deploy, 
 To crush us, Ney and Excelmans 
 
 Flew down with fiendish joy; 
 But stout we stood in hollow squares, 
 
 And fought, and kept the ground, 
 While lancer spears and cuirassiers 
 
 Were charging us all round! 
 
 Ay, ay, my men, we battled then 
 
 Like wolves and bears at bay. 
 And thousands there among the dead 
 
 With sable Brunswick lay : 
 And back to back in that attack 
 
 The ninety-second fought, — 
 And "steadily'' the twenty-eighth 
 
 Behaved as Britons ought. 
 
 Then up came Maitland with the guards, 
 Hurrah ! they clear the wood ; 
 
 But still the furious Frenchman charged, 
 And still we stoutly stood. 
 
WATERLOO. 206 
 
 Till gentle night drew on, and that 
 
 Drew off the treacherous Ney, 
 For when the morning dimly broke 
 
 — The fox had stole away ! 
 
 Thus rauchj my lads, for Quatre Bras; 
 
 And now for Waterloo, 
 Where skill and courage did it all, 
 
 With God's good help in view ! 
 For we were beardless raw recruits. 
 
 And they, more numerous far^ 
 Were fierce mustachioed mighty men, 
 
 The veterans of war. 
 
 The GrOD of battles help'd us soon, 
 
 As godless France drew nigh, 
 — It was the great eighteenth of June, 
 
 The sun was getting high; — 
 And suddenly two hundred guns 
 
 At once with thundering throats 
 Peal'd out their dreadful overture 
 
 In deep volcano notes. 
 
 Then, by ten thousands, horse and foot, 
 
 Came on the foaming G-aul, 
 And still with bristling front we stood 
 
 As solid as a wall: 
 And stout Macdonnell's Hougoumonf, 
 
 The centre of the van. 
 Was storm'd and storm'd and storm'd — in vain, 
 
 — He held it like a man ! 
 
 who can count the myriad deeds 
 
 That hundreds did in fight? 
 Ponsonby falls, and Picton bleeds, 
 
 And — both are quench'd in night: 
 
206 WATERLOO. 
 
 And many a hero subaltern 
 
 And hero private too 
 Beat Ajax and Achilles both 
 
 In winning ^Vaterloo ! 
 
 What shall I say on that dread day 
 
 Of Ferrier and his band? 
 Ten times he chased the foes away, 
 
 And charged them sword in hand; 
 Six of those ten he led his men 
 
 With blood upon his brow, — 
 And in the eleventh dropp'd and died 
 
 To live in glory now I 
 
 Or, give a stave to Shaw the brave, 
 
 — In death the hero sleeps, — 
 Hemm'd by a score, he knock'd them oex-. 
 
 And hew'd them down in heaps; 
 Till, wearied out, the lion stout 
 
 Beset as by a pack 
 Of hungry hounds, fell full of wounds. 
 
 But none upon his back ! 
 
 And Halkett then before his men 
 
 Dash'd forward and made prize 
 (While both the lines for wonderment 
 
 Could scarce believe their eyes) 
 Of a gaily-plumed French general 
 
 Haranguing his array. 
 But Halkett caught him, speech and all, 
 
 And bore him right away ! 
 
 Thee too, De Lancey, generous chief, 
 For thee a niche be found, — 
 
 Wounded to death, he scorn'd relief 
 Whilst others bled around : 
 
WATERLOO. 207 
 
 And D'Oyley and Fitzgerald died, 
 
 Just as the day was won, — 
 And Gordon by his general's side — 
 
 The side of Wellington ! 
 
 And Somerset and Uxbridge then 
 
 Gave each a limb to death; 
 Curzon and Canning cheer'd their men 
 
 With their last dying breath; 
 And gallant Miller stricken sore 
 
 With fainting utterance cries, 
 " Bring me my colours ! wave them o'er 
 
 Your colonel till he dies ! " 
 
 Then furious wax'd the Emperor 
 
 That Britons wouldn't run, 
 "Les betes, pourquoi ne fuient-ils pas? 
 
 Et done, ce Vellington?" 
 But Yellington still holds his own 
 
 For eight red hours and more, 
 ''Why comes not Marshal Blucher down? 
 
 — Ha ! — there's his cannon's roar, — 
 
 " Up, guards, and at them ! charge ! " — the word 
 
 Like forked lightning passes. 
 And lance, and bayonet, and sword 
 
 Rush on in glittering masses ! 
 Back, back, the surging columns roll 
 
 In terrified dismay, 
 And onward shout against the rout 
 
 The conquerors of the day ! 
 
 O now, the tide of battle 
 
 Is turn'd to seas of blood. 
 When case and grape-shot rattle 
 
 Among the multitude. 
 
208 WATERLOO. 
 
 And Fates, led on by Furies, 
 
 Destroy tlie flying host; 
 And Chaos mated with Despair 
 
 Makes all the lost most lost I 
 
 Woe, woe ! thou caitiff-hero, 
 
 Thou Emperor — and slave, 
 Why didst not thou, too, nobly bleed 
 
 With those devoted brave? 
 No, no, — the coward's thought was self, 
 
 And "Suave qui pent" his cry, 
 And verily at Waterloo 
 
 Did great Napoleon die ! 
 
 He died to fame, while yet his name 
 
 Was on ten thousand tongues 
 That trusted him, and pray'd to him 
 
 And — cursed him for their wrongs ! 
 O noble souls ! Imperial Guard, 
 
 Had your chief been but true, 
 Ye would have stood and stopp'd the rout 
 
 At crushing Waterloo! 
 
 Still as they fled from Wellington 
 
 To Blucher's arms they flew; 
 These two made up the Quatre Bras 
 
 To clutch a Waterloo ! 
 Ha! Blucher's Prussian vengeance 
 
 Was fully sated then. 
 When hated France upon the field 
 
 Left forty thousand men. 
 
 Thus, comrades, hath a soldier told 
 What Wellington's calm skill. 
 
 When help'd by troops of British mould 
 And God's almighty will, 
 
^'ARE YOU A GREAT READER?" 
 
 Against a veteran triple force 
 
 On battle-field can do : — 
 Then, three times three for Wellington, 
 
 The Prince of Waterloo ! 
 
 i09 
 
 I HOPE to ripen into richer wine 
 
 Than mixt Falernian; those decanter'd streams 
 Pour'd from another's chalice into thine 
 
 Make less of wisdom than the scholar dreams; 
 Precept on precept, tedious line on line, 
 That never-thinking, ever-reading plan, 
 Fashion some patchwork garments for a man. 
 But starve his mind: it starves of too much meat, 
 
 An undigested surfeit; as for me, 
 I am untamed, a spirit free and fleet 
 
 That cannot brook the studious yoke, nor be 
 Like some dull grazing ox without a soul, 
 
 But feeling racer's shoes upon my feet 
 Before my teacher starts, I touch the goal. 
 
 I LEAVE all judgments to that better world 
 
 And my more righteous Judge : for He shall tell 
 
 In the dread day when from their thrones are hurl'd 
 Each human tyranny and earthly spell, 
 That which alone of all He knoweth well — 
 
210 THE VERDICT. 
 
 The heart's own secret : He shall tell it out 
 With all the feelings and the sorrows there, 
 
 The fears within, the foes that hemm'd without, 
 Neglect and wrong and calumny and care : 
 For He hath saved thine ev'ry tearful prayer 
 
 In His own lachrymal; and noted down 
 
 Each unconsider'd grief with tenderest love : 
 
 Look up ! beyond the cross behold the crown. 
 And for all wrongs below all rights above ! 
 
 Guernsey ! to me and in my partial eyes 
 Thou art a holy and enchanted isle, 
 Where I would linger long, and muse the while 
 Of ancient thoughts and solemn memories, 
 Quickening the tender tear or pensive smile : 
 
 Guernsey ! — for nearly thrice a hundred years 
 
 Home of my fathers ! refuge from their fears, 
 And haven to their hope, — when long of yore 
 
 Fleeing Imperial Charles and bloody Rome, 
 Protestant martyrs, to thy sea-girt shore 
 
 They came to seek a temple and a home, 
 
 And found thee generous, — I their son would pour 
 
 My heartlull all of praise and thanks to thee. 
 
 Island of welcomes, — friendly, frank, and free I 
 
p 
 
 all'seight. 211 
 
 all's iiigiit. 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 NEVER, despair at the troubles of life, 
 
 All's right! 
 In the midst of anxiety, peril, and strife. 
 
 All's right! 
 The cheerful philosophy never was wrong 
 That ever puts this on the tip of my tongue. 
 And makes it my glory, my strength, and my song, 
 
 Airs right! 
 
 The Pilot beside us is steering us still, 
 
 All's right! 
 The Champion above us is guarding from ill, 
 
 All's right ! 
 Let others who know neither Father nor Friend 
 Go trembling and doubting in fear to the end, — 
 For me, on this motto I gladly depend. 
 
 All's right! 
 
 fljB CnrnplEitit nf m 5inxm\ SDritDii; 
 
 DISINTERRED BY ARCH^OLOGISTS. 
 
 Two thousand years agone 
 
 They heap'd my battle-grave. 
 And each a tear and each a stone 
 
 My mourning warriors gave; 
 
212 THE COMPLAINT OF AN ANCIENT BRITON. 
 
 For I had borne me well, 
 
 And fought as patriots fight, 
 Till, like a British chief, I fell 
 
 Contending for the right. 
 Seam'd with many a wound. 
 
 All weakly did I lie; 
 My foes were dead or dying round, — 
 
 And thus I joy'd to die ! 
 For their marauding crew 
 
 Came treacherously to kill, — 
 The many came against the few 
 
 To storm our sacred hill. 
 We battled, and we bled, 
 
 We won, and paid the price, 
 For I, the chief, lay down with the dead 
 
 A willing sacrifice ! 
 My liegemen wail'd me long, ^ 
 
 And treasured up my bones. 
 And rear'd my kist secure and strong 
 
 With tributary stones: 
 High on the breezy down. 
 
 My native hill's own breast. 
 Nigh to the din of mine ancient town, 
 
 They left me to my rest. 
 I hoped for peace and calm 
 
 Until my judgment hour. 
 And then to awake for the victor's palm 
 
 And patriot's throne of power! 
 And lo! till this dark day 
 
 Did men my grave revere; 
 Two thousand years had posted away, 
 
 And still I slumber' d here : 
 But now, there broke a noise 
 
 Upon my silent home, 
 'Twas not the Resurrection voice 
 That burst my turfy tomb, — 
 
COMPLAINT OF AN ANCIENT BRITON. 213 
 
 But men of prying mind, 
 
 Alas, my fellow men, / 
 
 Ravage my grave, my bones to find, 
 
 With sacrilegious ken ! 
 Mine honour doth abjure 
 
 Your new barbarian race; 
 Restore, restore my bones secure 
 
 To some more sacred place ! 
 With mattock and with spade • 
 
 Ye dare to break my rest; I 
 
 The pious mound is all unmade 
 
 My clan had counted blest: 
 Take, take my buckler's boss, 
 
 My sword, and spear, and chain, — 
 Steal all ye can of this world's dross, 
 
 But — rest my bones again ! 
 I know your modern boast 
 
 Is light, and learning's spread, — 
 Learn of a Celt to show them most 
 
 In honour to the Dead! 
 
 It is the way we go, the way of life; 
 
 A drop of pleasure in a sea of pain, 
 A grain of peace amid a load of strife, 
 
 With toil and grief, and grief and toil agam . 
 Yea: — but for this; the firm and faithful breast, 
 
 Bolder than lions, confident and strong, 
 That never doubts its birthright to be blest. 
 
 And dreads no evil while it does no wrong: 
 
214 WISDOM. 
 
 This, this is wisdom, manful and serene, 
 
 Towards GrOD all penitence and prayer and trust, 
 
 But to the troubles of this shifting scene 
 Simply courageous and sublimely just: 
 
 Be then such wisdom thine, my heart within, — 
 There is no foe nor woe nor grief but — Sin. 
 
 ^liB Ifnrt's Mmhut, 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 GrO, leave me to weep for the years that are past, 
 
 For my youth, and its friends, and its pleasures all dead, 
 .\Iy spring and my summer are fading too fast, 
 
 And I long to live over the days that are fled; 
 It is not for sorrows or sins oii my track 
 
 That I mournfully cast my fond yearnings behind, — 
 — ^Lh no, — from affection I love to look back, 
 
 '.t is only my Heart that has wedded my Mind. 
 
 Aid still, let the Mind that has married a Heart, 
 
 Though loving, be strong as a King in his pride, 
 Anl ever command that all weakness depart 
 
 ?rom the realm that he rules in the soul of his bride; 
 Fo? what, if all time and all pleasures decay? 
 
 >Iy Mind is myself, an invincible chief, — 
 Lile a child's broken toys are the years past away, 
 
 .Vnd my Heart halfjishamed has forgotten her grief. 
 
PROPHETS. 215 
 
 Prophets at home,— I smile to note ycur wrongs; 
 
 How scantly praised at each ancestral hearth 
 Are JO, caress'd by million hearts and tongues, 
 
 And full of honours over half the earth : 
 petty jealousies and paltry strife ! 
 
 The little minds that chronicle a birth 
 
 Stood once for teachers in the task of life; 
 
 But, as the child of genius grew apace, 
 
 Dismay'd at his gigantic lineaments, 
 
 They fear'd to find his glory their disgrace, 
 
 His mind their master: so their worldly aim 
 
 Is still to vex him with discouragements, 
 
 To check the spring-tide budding of his fame, 
 
 And keep it down, to save themselves a name 
 
 My little learning ftideth fast away, 
 
 And all the host of words and forms and rules 
 Bred in my teeming youth of books and schools 
 Dwindle to less and lighter; night and day 
 I dream of tasks undone, and lore forgot, 
 
 Seeming some sailor in the " ship of fools," 
 Some debtor owing what he cannot pay. 
 Some Conner of old themes remember'd not : 
 Despise such small oblivion; ^tis the lot 
 
 Of human life, amid its chance and change. 
 To learn, and then unlearn; to seek and find 
 
 And then to lose familiars grown quite strange: 
 Store up, store wisdom's corn in heart and mind 
 But fling the chaff on every winnowing wind. 
 
216 THETRUEEPICURE 
 
 €^ trtiB (Kptrnrt 
 
 How saidst thou? — Pleasure: why, my life is pleasure; 
 My days are pleasantness, my nights are peace : 
 I drink of joys which neither cloy nor cease, 
 
 A well that gushes blessings without measure. 
 Ah, thou hast little heed how rich and glad, 
 
 How happy is my soul in her full treasure, 
 How seldom but for honest pity sad. 
 How constantly at calm ! — my very cares 
 Are sweetness in my cup, as being sent; 
 
 And country quiet, and retired leisure 
 
 Keep me from half the common fears and snares; 
 And I have learnt the wisdom of content: 
 
 Yea, and to crown the cup of peace with praise 
 
 Both GrOD and man have blest my works and ways. 
 
 A MAN of no regrets 
 
 He goes his sunny way, 
 Owing the past no load of debts 
 
 The present cannot pay: 
 He wedded his first love 
 
 Nor loved another since; 
 He sets his nobler hopes above ; 
 
 He reigns in joy a Prince! 
 
 A man of no regrets. 
 
 He hath no cares to vex. 
 
 No secret griefs, nor mental nets 
 Nor troubles to perplex: 
 
THE HAPPY MAN. 217 
 
 Forgiveness to his sin, 
 
 xind help in every need, 
 Blessings around, and peace within, 
 
 Crown him a King indeed I 
 
 A man of no regrets, 
 
 Upon his Empire free 
 The sun of gladness never sets, — 
 
 Then who so rich as he ? 
 Yea, God upon my heart 
 
 Hath pour'd all blessings down : 
 Then yield to Him, with all thou artj 
 
 The homage of thy crown ! 
 
 High in Battle's antler'd hall, 
 Ancient as its Abbey wall, 
 Hangs a helmet, brown with rust, 
 Cobweb'd o'er, and thick in dust; 
 High it hangs, 'raid pikes and bows, 
 Scowling still at spectral foes, 
 Proud and stern, with visor down, 
 And fearful in its feudal frown. 
 
 When I saw, what ail'd thee, heart. 
 Wherefore should I stop, and start ?- 
 That old helm, with that old crest, 
 Is more to me than all the rest; 
 Batter'd, broken, though it bo. 
 That old helm is all to me. 
 
218 H K K AL D IC. 
 
 Yon black greyhound know I well : 
 
 Many a tale bath it to tell 
 
 How in troublous times of old 
 
 Sires of mine, with bearing bold, 
 
 Bearing bold, but much mischance, 
 
 Sway'd the sword, or poised the lance, — 
 
 Much mischance, desponding still, 
 
 They fought and fell, foreboding ill: 
 
 And their scallop, gules with blood, 
 
 Fess'd amid the azure flood, 
 
 Show'd the pilgrim, slain afar 
 
 Over the sea in Holy War; 
 
 While that faithful greyhound black 
 
 Vainly watch'd the wild boar's track, 
 
 And the legend and the name 
 
 Proved all lost but hope and fame, — 
 
 Tmi est perdUj fors I'honneur, 
 
 Mais " VEspoir est ma force " sans peur. 
 
 Vanity, vanity! dead hopes and fears. 
 Dim flitting phantoms of departed years. 
 Unsatisfying shadows, vague and cold, 
 Of thoughts and things that made my joys of old, 
 Sad memories of the kindly words and ways 
 And looks and loves of friends in other days, — 
 Alas! all gone, — a dream, a very dream, 
 A dream is all you are, and all you seem I 
 
 life, I do forget thee: I look back, 
 
 And lo, the desert wind has swept my track: 
 
 1 stand upon this bare and solid ground, 
 .And, strangely waken'd, wonder all around, 
 
T H R E N O S . 219 
 
 How came I here? and whence? and whither tend? 
 
 Speak, friend! — if death and time have spared a friend: 
 
 Behold, the place that knew me well of yore 
 
 Kuoweth me not; and that familiar floor 
 
 Where all my kith and kin were wont to meet 
 
 Is now grown strange, and throng'd by other feet. 
 
 soul, my soul, consider thou that spot, 
 
 Root there thy gratitude, and leave it not; 
 
 Still let remembrance, with a swimming eye, 
 
 Live in those rooms, nor pass them coldly by; 
 
 Still let affection cling to those old days, 
 
 And, yearning fondly, paint them bright with praise : 
 
 once my home — with all thy blessings fled, 
 
 forms and faces — gathered to the dead, 
 
 scenes of joy and sorrow — faded fast! 
 
 — How hollow sound thy footsteps, ghostlike Past ! 
 
 An aching emptiness is all thou art, 
 
 A famine hid within the cavern'd heart. 
 
 Thou changeless One, — how blest to have no change,— 
 
 Only with Thee, my God, I feel not strange : 
 
 Thou art the same for ever and for aye, — 
 
 To-morrow and to-day as yesterday, 
 
 Thou art the same, — a tranquil Present still ; 
 
 There I can hide, and bless Thy sovereign will : 
 
 Yea, bless Thee, my Father, that Thy love 
 
 Call'd in an instant to the bliss above 
 
 From ills to come and gi'ief and care and fear 
 
 Thy type to me, most houour'd and most dear! 
 
 true and tender spirit, pure and good. 
 
 So vext on earth and little understood, 
 
 Thy gentle nature was not fit for strife, 
 
 But quail'd to meet the waking woes of life; 
 
 And therefore God Our Father kindly made 
 
 Thy sleep a death, lest thou shouldst feel afraid ! 
 
220 THEDEAD. 
 
 €IlB Brat 
 
 I LOVE the dead! 
 The precious spirits gone before, 
 And waiting on that peaceful shore 
 To meet with welcome looks 
 
 and kiss me yet once more. 
 
 I love the dead ! 
 And fondly doth my fancy paint 
 Each dear one, wash'd from earthly taint, 
 By patience and by hope 
 
 made a most gentle saint. 
 
 O glorious dead I 
 Without one spot upon the dress 
 Of your ethereal loveliness, 
 Ye linger round me still 
 
 with earnest will to bless. 
 
 Enfranchised dead ! 
 Each fault and failing left behind, 
 And nothing now to chill or bind, 
 How gloriously ye reign 
 
 in majesty of mind ! 
 
 royal dead ! 
 The resting, free, unfetter'd dead. 
 The yearning, conscious, holy dead, 
 The hoping, waiting, calm, 
 
 the happy changeless dead I 
 
THE DEAD. 
 
 I love the dead! 
 And well forget their little ill, 
 Eager to bask my memory still 
 In all their best of words 
 
 and deeds and ways and will. 
 
 I bless the dead ! 
 Their good, half choked by this world's weeds, 
 Is blooming now in heavenly meads, 
 And ripening golden fruit 
 
 of all those early seeds. 
 
 I trust the dead ! 
 They understand me frankly now, 
 There are no clouds on heart or brow, 
 But spirit, reading spirit, 
 
 answereth glow for glow. 
 
 I praise the dead! * 
 
 All their tears are wiped away, 
 Their darkness turn'd to perfect day, — 
 How blessed are the dead, 
 
 how beautiful be they! 
 
 gracious dead! 
 That watch me from your paradise 
 With happy tender starlike eyes, 
 Let your sweet influence rain 
 
 me blessings from the skies. 
 
 Yet, helpless dead, 
 Vainly my yearning nature dares 
 
 Such unpremediteted prayers, 
 
 All vain it were for them; 
 
 as even for me theirs. 
 
 ;!21 
 
222 THE DEAD. 
 
 Immortal dead ! 
 Ye in jour lot are fix'd as fate 
 And man or angel is too late 
 To beckon back by prayer 
 
 one change upon your state. 
 
 0, godlike dead, 
 Ye that do rest, like Noah's dove, 
 Fearless I leave you to the love 
 Of Him who gave you peace, 
 
 to bear with you above ! 
 
 And ye, the dead. 
 Godless on earth, and gone astray, 
 Alas, your hour is past away,— 
 The Judge is just; for you 
 
 it now were sin to pray. 
 
 Still, all ye dead. 
 First may be last and last be first, — 
 Charity counteth no man curst, 
 But hopeth still in Him 
 
 whose love would save the worst. 
 
 Therefore, ye dead, 
 I love you, be ye good or ill. 
 For God, our God, doth love me still, 
 And you He loved on earth 
 
 with love that nought could chill. 
 
 And some, just dead. 
 To me on earth most deeply dear, 
 Who loved and nursed^and blest me here, 
 I love you with a love 
 
 that casteth out all fear : 
 
THE DEAD. 
 
 228 
 
 Come near me, Dead! 
 In spirit come to me, and kiss, — 
 No! — T must wait awhile for this: 
 A few, few years or days, 
 
 And I too feed on bliss! 
 
 nni jjis arintt. 
 
 OuTSPAKE a nation's voice. 
 
 Concentred in her king, 
 While cannons roar, and hearts rejoice, 
 
 And all the steeples ring: 
 
 Outspake old England then 
 
 By prelates and by peers: 
 By all her best and wisest men. 
 
 Her sages and her seers — 
 
 Old England and her pair 
 
 Of sisters, north and west. 
 The comely graces, fresh and fair, 
 
 Wno charm the world to rest. 
 
 All honour to the brave ! 
 
 The living and the dead, 
 Who only fought to bless and save, 
 
 And crush the hydra's head : 
 
 All honour and all thanks 
 
 To every mother's son, 
 Saxon, or Celt, or Gael, or 3I:mx, 
 
 Who fought with Wellington ! 
 
224 T H A N K S T O W E L L I N G T N . 
 
 For heroes were they all, 
 
 To conquer or to die, 
 By Ahmedniiggra's bastion'd wa.-, 
 
 Or desperate Assye : 
 
 And, heroes still, they strive 
 Against the dangerous Dane, 
 
 When France stirr'd up the northern hive, 
 To sting us on the main : 
 
 All heroes, heroes still. 
 
 For Lusitania's right; 
 By red Roleia's hard-fought hill. 
 
 And Vimiera's fight: 
 
 And stout the heroes stood 
 
 On Talavera's day; 
 And wrote their conquering names m olood, 
 
 At Salamanca's fray : 
 
 Still heroes, on they went 
 
 O'er Cuidad's gory fosse. 
 And stern Sebastian's battlement, 
 
 And thundering Badajos: 
 
 And, heroes ever, taught 
 
 Old Soult to fly and yield, 
 Shouting "Victory" as they fought 
 
 On red Vittoria's field; 
 
 And, heroes ay, they flew 
 
 To Orthez, conquering yet; 
 Until, at whelming Waterloo, 
 
 The Frenchman's sun had set! 
 
 Then, thanks! thou glorious chief, 
 And thanks ! ye gallant band. 
 
 Who, under GrOD, to man's relief 
 Stretch'd out the saving hand : 
 
THANKS TO WELLINGTON 
 
 All Britain thanks you well, 
 By peasant, peer, and king; 
 
 To all who fought for us, or fell, 
 Immortal honours bring! 
 
 Peal fast the merry chime, 
 And bid the cannon roar 
 
 In praise of heroes, whom all time 
 Shall cherish evermore ! 
 
 (from PETRARCH.) 
 
 My Laura, my love, I behold in thine eyes ■ 
 Twin day-stars that Mercy has given, 
 
 To teach me on earth to be happy and wise 
 And guide me triumphant to heaven ! 
 
 Their lessons of love through a lifetime have taught 
 My bosom thy pureness and sweetness; 
 
 They have roused me to virtue, exalted ray thought, 
 And made my celestial raeetness. 
 
 They have shed on my heart a delightful repose; 
 
 All else it hath barr'd from its portal ; 
 So deeply the stream of my happiness flows, 
 
 I know that my soul is immortal. 
 
TO AMERICA 
 
 Columbia, child of Britain, — noblest child! 
 
 I praise the growing lustre of thy worth, 
 And fain would see thy great heart reconciled 
 
 To love the mother of so blest a birth : 
 For we are one, Columbia ! still the same 
 In lineage, language, laws, and ancient fame, 
 
 The natural nobility (^.t earth : 
 
 Yes, we are one; the glorious days of yore 
 When dear old England earn'd her storied name, 
 Are thine as well as ours for evermore; 
 
 And thou hast rights in Milton, ev'n as we, 
 Thou too canst claim "sweet Shakspeare's wood-notes 
 wild,"— 
 
 And chiefest, brother, we are both made free 
 Of one Religion, pure and undefiled ! 
 
 II. 
 
 I BLAME thee not, as other some have blamed, — 
 
 The highborn heir had grown to man's estate; 
 I mock thee not as some who should be shamed, 
 ■ Nor ferret out thy faults with envious hate; 
 Far otherwise, by generous love inflamed, 
 
 Patriot I praise my country's foreign Son, 
 Rejoicing in the blaze of good and great 
 
 That diadems thy head! — go on, go on, 
 Young Hercules, thus travelling in might, 
 Boy-Plato, filling all the West with light, 
 
 Thou new Themistocles for enterprise 
 Go on and prosper. Acolyte of fate ! 
 
 And, precious child, dear Ephraim, turn those eyes,- 
 For thee thy IMother's yearning heart doth wait 
 
TO AMERICA. , 227 
 
 IIL 
 
 Let aged Britain claim the classic Past, 
 
 A shining track of bright and mighty deeds, 
 For thee I prophesy the Future vast 
 
 Whereof the Present sows its giant seeds : 
 Corruption and decay come thick and fast 
 
 O'er poor old England; yet a few dark years, 
 And we must die as nations died of yore ! 
 But, in the millions of thy teeming shore — 
 
 Thy patriots, sages, warriors, saints, and seers — 
 We live again, Columbia! yea, once more 
 
 Unto a thousand generations live. 
 
 The mother in the child; to all the West 
 
 Through Thee shall We earth's choicest blessings give, 
 Even as our Orient world in Us is blest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou noble scion of an ancient rool 
 
 Born of the forest-king I spread forth, spread forth,- 
 High to the stars thy tender leaflets shoot, 
 
 Deep dig thy fibres round the ribs of earth : 
 
 From sea to sea, from South to icy North, 
 
 It must ere long be thine, through good or ill, 
 To stretch thy sinewy boughs : Go, — wondrous child ! 
 The glories of thy destiny fulfil; — 
 
 Remember then thy mother in her age, 
 Shelter her in the tempest, warring wild. 
 
 Stand thou with us when all the nations rage 
 So furiously together ! — we are one : 
 
 And, through all time, the calm historic page 
 Shall tell of Britain blest in thee her son ! 
 
228 PAIN. 
 
 Delay not, sinner, till the hour of pain 
 
 To seek repentance: pain is absolute, 
 Exacting all the body and the brain, 
 
 Humanity's stern king from head to foot: 
 
 How canst thou pray, while fever'd arrows shoot 
 Through this torn targe, — while every bone doth ache, 
 
 And the scared mind raves up and down her cell 
 Restless, and begging rest for mercy's sake? 
 
 Add not to death the bitter fears of hell; 
 
 Take pity on thy future self, poor man, 
 
 While yet in strength thy timely wisdom can, — 
 Wrestle to-day with sin ; and spare that strife 
 
 Of meeting all its terrors in the van, 
 Just at the ebbing agony of life. 
 
 €)}t ''(KnntljnrljL 
 
 A RAGING throbbing tooth, — it burns, it burns! 
 
 Darting its fiery fibres to the brain, 
 
 A stalk of fever on a root of pain, 
 A red-hot coal, a dull sore cork by turns, 
 A poison, kindred to the viper's fang, 
 
 Galling and fretting : ha I it stings again, 
 
 E/iving the sensitive nerve with keenest pang. 
 Well; from this bitter let me cull the sweet, 
 
 For Goodness never did afflict in vain. 
 But wills that Pain should sit at Wisdom's feet: 
 Serve God in pleasant health; repent, and pray, 
 
 While the frail body rests at grateful ease; 
 And, sympathise with sickness and decay, 
 
 Charitable to Man : remember these. 
 
NO SURRENDER 
 
 Jh mxnhxl 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Ever constant, ever true, 
 
 Let the word be, No surrender: 
 
 Boldly dare and greatly do ! 
 
 This shall bring us bravely through, 
 No surrender. No surrender! 
 
 And though Fortune's smiles be few, 
 
 Hope is always springing new, 
 
 Still inspiring me and you 
 
 _ With a magic — No surrender ! 
 
 229 
 
 Nail the colours to the mast, 
 
 Shouting gladly. No surrender! 
 Troubles near are all but past — 
 Serve them as you did the last, 
 No surrender, No surrender! 
 Though the skies be overcast 
 And upon the sleety blast 
 Disappointments gather fast, 
 Beat them off with No surrender ! 
 
 Constant and courageous still. 
 
 Mind, the word is No surrender; 
 Battle, though it be uphill. 
 Stagger not at seeming ill, 
 
 No surrender. No surrender! 
 Hope, — and thus your hope fulfil, — 
 There's a way where there's a will, 
 And the way all cares to kill 
 Is to give them — No surrender! 
 
230 NEVER mind! 
 
 Jlmr mini! 
 
 Soul, be strong, whatever betide, 
 God himself is guard and guide, — 
 "With my Father at my side. 
 Never mind ! 
 
 Clouds and darkness hover near, 
 Men's hearts failing them for fear, 
 But be thou of right good cheer, 
 Never mind ! 
 
 Come what may, some work is done, 
 Praise the Father through the Son, 
 Goals are gain'd and prizes won, 
 Never mind ! 
 
 And if now the skies look black, 
 All the past behind my back 
 Is a bright and blessed track ; 
 Never mind ! 
 
 Stand in patient courage still. 
 Working out thy Master's will, 
 Compass good, and conquer ill; 
 Never mind! 
 
 Fight, for all their bullying boast, 
 Dark temptation's evil host, 
 This is thy predestined post; 
 
 Never mind ! 
 Be then tranquil as a dove; 
 Through these thunder-clouds abov« 
 Shines afar the heaven of love; 
 
 Never mind! 
 
THE CROxMLECn DU TUS, GUERNSEY. 231 
 
 €)}t €xm[n\} h (KuS; (j^uotsbi}- 
 
 Hoary relic, stern and old, — 
 Heaving huge above the mould 
 Like some mammoth, lulFd to sleep 
 By the magic-murmuring deep 
 Till those grey gigantic bones 
 Gorgon-time hath frown 'd to stones, — 
 Who shall tell thine awful tale, 
 Massy Cromlech, at "The Vale?" . 
 
 Ruthless altar, hungry tomb! 
 Superstition's throne of gloom, 
 Where in black sepulchral state 
 High the hooded Spectre sate 
 Terrible and throng'd by fears 
 Brooding for a thousand years 
 As a thunder-cloud above 
 All that wretched men may love,— 
 Is there no grim witness near 
 That shall whisper words of fear, 
 Every brother's heart to thrill, 
 Every brother's blood to chill. 
 While thy records are reveal' d 
 And thy mysteries unseal'd? — 
 
 Lift, with Titan toil and pain, 
 Lift the lid by might and main, — 
 Lift the lid and look within 
 On — this charnel-house of Sin ! 
 O twin brethren, how and when 
 Dwelt ye in this rocky den ? 
 Rise, dread martyrs! for your bones 
 Chronicle these Cromlech-stones; 
 16 
 
232 THE CROMLECH D U T U S , GUERNSEY- 
 
 Rise, ye grisly, ghastly pair, 
 
 — Skeletons ! how came ye there — 
 
 Kneeling starkly side by side 
 
 More like life than those who died? 
 
 More like life? — what a spell 
 
 Of horror cowers in that cell ! 
 
 More like life ! — Alive they went 
 
 Into that stone tenement, 
 
 Bound as in religious ease 
 
 Meekly kneeling on their knees, 
 
 And the cruel thongs confined 
 
 All but the distracted mind 
 
 That with terror raved to see 
 
 Woe ! how slow such death would be • 
 
 Woe ! how slow and full of dread : 
 
 Pining, dying, but not dead, — 
 
 Pining, dying in the tomb, 
 
 Drown'd in gulfs of starving gloom, 
 
 With corruption, hideous fear, ^ 
 
 Creeping noiselessly more near, 
 
 While the victims slowly died 
 
 Link'd together side by side 
 
 Till in manacled mad strife 
 
 Both had struggled out of life ! 
 
 Yea : some idol claim' d the price 
 
 Of this living sacrifice; 
 
 Some grim demon's dark high priest 
 
 Bound these slaves for Odin's feast, 
 
 Offering up with rites of hell 
 
 Human pangs to Thor or Bel! — 
 
 Christians, ponder on these bones j 
 Kneel around the Cromlech-stones: 
 Kneel and thank our God above 
 That His name, His heart is Love: 
 
THE C R :^I L E C H D U T U S , GUERNSEY. 233 
 
 That His thirst is — not for blood 
 But, for joy and gratitude; 
 That He bids no soul be sad 
 But is glad to make us glad; 
 That He loves not man's despair, 
 But delights to bless his prayer ! 
 
 3JliI cprk 18J5. 
 
 My little ones, my darling ones, my precious things of earth, 
 How gladly do I triumph in the blessing of your birth; 
 How heartily for praises, and how earnestly for prayers, 
 I yearn upon your loveliness, my dear delightful cares ! 
 
 children, hapj^y word of peace, my jewels and my gold, 
 
 My truest friends till now, and still my truest friends when old, 
 
 1 will be everything to you, your playmate and your guide, 
 Both Mentor and Telemachus for ever at your side ! 
 
 I will be everything to you, your sympathising friend, 
 
 To teach and help and lead and bless and comfort and defend; 
 
 come to me and tell me all, and ye shall find me true, 
 A brother in adversity to fight it out for you ! 
 
 Yea, sins or follies, griefs or cares, or young affection's thrall, 
 Fear not, for I am one with you, and I have felt them all; 
 
 1 will be tender, just, and kind, unwilling to reprove, 
 I will do all to bless you all by wisdom and by love. 
 
 My little ones, delighted I review you as ye stand 
 A pretty troop of fairies and young cherubs hand in hand. 
 And tell out all your names to be a dear familiar sound 
 Wherever English hearths and hearts about the world abound. 
 
13^ MY CHILDREN. 
 
 My eldest, of the speaking eyes, my Ellin, nine years old, 
 Thou thoughtful good example of the loving little fold, 
 My Ellin, they shall hear of thee, fair spirit, holy child, 
 The truthful and the well-resolved, the liberal and the mild. 
 
 9 
 
 And thee, my 3Iary, what of thee? — the beauty of thy face 
 The coyly-pretty whims and ways that ray thee round with grace ? 
 
 — more than these; a dear warm heart that still must thrill 
 
 and glow 
 With pure affection's sunshine, and with feeling's overflow ! 
 
 Thou too, my gentle five-year old, fair Margaret the pearl, 
 A quiet sick and suffering child, sweet patient little girl, — 
 Yet gay withal and frolicsome at times wilt thou appear, 
 And like a bell thy merry voice rings musical and clear. 
 
 And next my Selwyn, precious boy, a glorious young mind, 
 
 The sensitive, the passionate, the noble, and the kind, 
 
 Whose light-brown locks bedropt with gold, and larg(^ eyes fuU 
 
 of love, 
 And generous nature mingle well the lion and the dove. 
 
 The last, an infant toothless one, now prattling on my knee, 
 Whose bland benevolent soft face is shining upon me; 
 Another silver star upon our calm domestic sky, 
 Another seed of happy hope, dropt kindly from on high. 
 
 A happy man, — be this my praise, — not riches, rank, or fame, 
 A happy man, with means enough, — no other lot or name; 
 A happy man, with you for friends, my children and my wife, 
 
 — Ambition is o'ervaulted here in all that gladdens life I 
 
A. D E B T O F L V E . 235 
 
 2 Drht nf Im, 1838. 
 
 Thou, more than all endeared to this glad heart 
 
 By gentle smiles, and patienee under pain, 
 I bless my God, and thee, for all thou art, 
 
 My crowniug ^oy, my richest earthly gain I 
 
 To thee is dae this tributary strain 
 For all the well-observed kind offices 
 
 That spring spontaneous from a heart, imbued 
 "With the sweet wish of living but to please; 
 
 Due for thy liberal hand, thy frugal mind, 
 
 Thy pitying eye, thy voice for ever kind, 
 For tenderness, truth, confidence, — all these : 
 
 My heaven-blest vine, that hast thy tendrils twined 
 Round one who loves and won thee, not unsued. 
 Accept thy best reward, — thy husband's gratitude. 
 
 (Tn littlt £llm. 1837. 
 
 My precious babe, my guileless little girl, — 
 
 The soft sweet beauty of thy cherub face 
 Is smiling on me, radiant as a pearl 
 
 With young intelligence and infant grace : 
 
 And must the wintry breath of life efface 
 Thy purity, fair snow-drop of the spring? 
 
 Must evil taint thee, — must the world enthrall 
 Thine innocent mind, poor harmless little thing ? 
 
 Ah, yes, thou too must taste the cup of woe, 
 
 Thy heart must learn to grieve, as others do, 
 Thy soul must feel life's many-pointed sting: 
 
 But fear not, darling child, for well I know 
 Whatever cares may meet thee, ills befall. 
 Thy God,— thy father's God,— shall lead thee safe through all 
 
236 ON THE BIRTH OF LITTLE MARY. 
 
 (Dn till 3Birtli nf littk Jikrii. 1838. 
 
 Lo, Thou hast crown'd me with another blessing, 
 
 Into my lot hast dropt one mercy more; — 
 All good, all kind, all wise in Thee possessing, 
 
 My cup, bounteous Giver, runneth o'er, 
 
 And still Thy princely hand doth vrithout ceasing pour ! 
 For the sweet fruit of undecaying love 
 
 Clusters in beauty round my cottage door. 
 And this new little one, like Noah's dove. 
 
 Comes to mine ark with peace, and plenty for my store. 
 happy home, light and cheerful hearth ! 
 
 Look round with me, my lover, friend, and wife, 
 
 On these fair faces we have lit with life, 
 And in the perfect blessing of their birth. 
 Help me to live our thanks for so much heaven on earth. 
 
 3ilnrgmt 184 0. 
 
 A SONG of gratitude and cheerful prayer 
 
 Still shall go forth my pretty babes to greet, 
 As on life's firmament, serenely fair, 
 
 Their little stars arise, with aspects sweet 
 Of mild successive radiance; that small pair, 
 
 Ellin and Mary, having gone before 
 In this affection's welcome, the dear debt 
 Here shall be paid to gentle Margaret : 
 
 Be thou indeed a Pearl, — in pureness, more 
 Than beauty, praise, or price; full be thy cup. 
 Mantling with grace, and truth with mercy met, 
 
 With warm and generous charities flowing o'er; 
 And when the Great King makes His jewels up, 
 Shine forth, child-angel, in His coronet! 
 
TOLITTLESELWYN. 287 
 
 €n little §t[mi\n, 1812. 
 
 Not slender is the triumph and the joy, 
 
 To know and feel that, for his father's sake, 
 The world will look with favour on my boy; 
 
 — On thee, my pretty little prattling son, — 
 On thee I — and that it shall be thine to take 
 (With whatsoever else of this world's spoil) 
 For heritage the honours I have won. 
 Speed on, my second self, speed nobly on I 
 Forget, in good men's praise, the strife and toil 
 
 Which Folly's herd shall still around theo make 
 If thou dost well; speed on in gifts and grace, 
 
 Beloved of God and man, even as now; 
 Speed, — and in both worlds win the glorious race, 
 Bearing thy father's blessing on thy brow! 
 
 (Dh littte tBillinm. 18a. 
 
 Look on this babe; and let thy pride take heed, 
 Thy pride of manhood, intellect, or fame, 
 
 That thou despise him not: for he indeed. 
 And such as he, in spirit and heart the same, 
 
 Are God's own children in that kingdom bright 
 Where purity is praise, — and where before 
 The Father's throne, triumphant evermore. 
 
 The ministering angels, sons of light, 
 
 Stand unreproved; because they oifer there, 
 Mix'd with the Mediator's hallowing prayer, 
 
 The innocence of babes in Christ like this : 
 guardian Spirit, be ray child thy care, 
 
 Lead him to God, obedience and bliss, 
 
 To God, fostering cherub, thine and his ! 
 
238 HENRY D E B. T . 
 
 iBntq h %. (K. 18i7. 
 
 Hail then a sixth ! my douhly triple joy, 
 
 Another blessing in a third-born bo}', 
 
 Another soul by generous favour sent 
 
 To teach and train for heaven through content, 
 
 Another second-self with hopes like mine 
 
 In better -worlds beyond the stars to shine, 
 
 Another little hostage from above 
 
 The pledge and promise of Our Father's love ! 
 
 God guard the babe : and cherish the young child ; 
 
 And bless the boy with nurture wise and mild; 
 
 And lead the lad; and yearn upon the youth; 
 
 And make the man a man of trust and truth; 
 
 Through life and death uphold him all his days, 
 
 And then translate him to Thyself with praise ! 
 
 '% Imntli: WtWn /. 4. \Ul 
 
 So, one by one, Thy jewels are made up 
 Ev'n to the perfect number, glorious Lord ! 
 So, one by one, ambrosially pour'd 
 These rills of happiness o'erflow my cup. 
 Add yet this grace. Contentment with Enough : 
 
 That, resting always on Thy gracious word, 
 My band of innocent babes, my beauteous band. 
 Through all the maze of life, thorny and rough, 
 To Thee in praj'er continually given, 
 Safely may pass along; and, hand in hand, 
 A lustrous company, a blessed seven, 
 Pure as the Pleiads, as the Sages wise. 
 With hearts commingled like the rainbow dyes. 
 
 May shine together, heirs of earth and heaven ! 
 
E n R A T A . 283 
 
 AN author's complaint. 
 
 FRIENDS and brothers, judge me not unheard j 
 
 Make not a man offender for a word : 
 
 For often have I noted seeming fault 
 
 That harm'd my rhymes, and made my reasons halt. 
 
 Whilst all that error was some printer's sloth. 
 
 Who scorning rhyme and reason slew them both t 
 
 Be ye then liberal to your far-off friend, 
 
 Where grarbled, guess him; and where maim'd, amend; 
 
 Trust him for wit, when types have marr'd the word, 
 
 And wisdom too, where only blockheads err'd. 
 
 A Reply to LongJsUovo' % Poem on Mars, in " Voices of the Night. 
 
 Thou lover of the blaze of Mars, 
 
 Come out with me to-night, 
 For I have found among the stars 
 
 A name of nobler light. 
 
 Thy \i^ijksi is of the unconquer'd Mind, 
 The stron|r, Ltie stern, the still; 
 
 Mine of the happier Heart, resigned 
 To Wisdom's holy will. 
 
 They call my star by beauty's name, 
 
 The gentle Queen of Love; 
 And look ! how fair its tender flame 
 
 Is flickering above : 
 
240 VENUS. 
 
 star of peace, torch of hope, 
 I hail thj precious ray 
 
 A diamond on the ebon cope 
 To shine the dark away. 
 
 Within my heart there is no light 
 But cometh from above, 
 
 1 give the first watch of the night 
 To the sweet planet, Love : 
 
 The star of Charity and Truth, 
 Of cheerful thoughts and sage, 
 
 The lamp to guide my steps in Youtii 
 And gladden mine old age I 
 
 brother, yield: thy fiery Mars 
 For all his mailed might 
 
 Is not so strong among the stars 
 As mine, the Queen of night : 
 
 A Queen to shine all nights away, 
 And make the morn more clear, 
 
 Contentment gilding every day, — 
 — There is no twilight here! 
 
 Yes; in a trial world like this 
 Where all that comes — is seot. 
 
 Learn how divine a thing it ia 
 To smile and be content 1 
 
THE WARM YOUNG HE A R T . 242 
 
 "(Etj^ raarm iinirng ^^rnrt." 
 
 rOR MUSIC. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL face, and a form of grace 
 
 Were a pleasant sight to see, 
 And gold, and gems, and diadems, 
 
 Right excellent they be : 
 But beanty and gold, though both be untold, 
 
 Are things of a worldly mart, 
 The wealth that I prize, above ingots or eyes, 
 
 Is a heart, — a warm young heart I 
 
 face most fair, shall thy beauty compare 
 With affection's glowing light? 
 
 riches and pride, how pale ye beside 
 Love's wealth, serene and bright ! 
 
 1 spurn thee away, "as a cold thing of clay, 
 Though gilded and carved thou art. 
 
 For all that I prize, in its smiles and its sighs, 
 Is a heart — a warm young heart I 
 
 (From Klopsioch.) 
 
 She slumbers. — blessed sleep, rain from thy winors 
 Thy life-giving balm on her delicate frame; 
 
 And send thou from Eden's ambrosial springs 
 
 A few flashing drops of their crystallnus flame,—? 
 
242 TO C I 1> L I, ASLEEP. 
 
 Then spread them, soft painter, upon her white cheek 
 Where sickness hath eaten the roses away; 
 
 Love's gentle refresher, Care's comforter meek, 
 
 Thou moon of sweet blessings, pour down the kind ray 
 
 To smile on my Cidli : she slumbers : be still, 
 Hush'd be thy soft-flowing notes, my lyre, 
 
 Thy laurels mine anger shall scathe and shall kill, 
 If idly thou waken my sleeping desire. 
 
 Born at Wantage, m Berkshire, Oct. 25, 849, 
 
 Come, ever}' true-born Englishman ! come Anglj-Saxons all ! 
 I wake a tune to-day to take and hold your hearts in thrall; 
 I sing The King, the Saxon king, the glorious and the great, 
 The root and spring of everything»we love in Church and State 
 
 'Tis just a thousand years to-day, — Oh ! years are swift and brief,— 
 
 Since erst uprose in majesty the day-star of our Chief, 
 
 Since "Wantage bred a wondrous child, whom GoD hath made the 
 
 Cause ' 
 Of half the best we boast in British liberties and laws. 
 
 Last-born of royal Ethelwolf, he left his island home, 
 Ulysses-like, to study men and marvels in old Rome; 
 And, thence in wrath returning, overthrew the pirate Dane, 
 And, young as Pitt, at twenty-two, began a Hero's reign. 
 
 Oh ! Guthran swore, and Hubba smote, and sturdy Hinguar storm'd, 
 And still like locusts o'er the land the red marauders swarm'd> 
 But Alfred was a David, to scatter every foe, — 
 The shepherd, psalmist, warrior, king, unbl-mied in weal and woe. 
 
ALFRED. 24^ 
 
 Ay, biding with the herdsman, or harping in the camp, 
 Or c:u-ncstly redeeming time beneath the midnight himp, 
 Or ruling on his quiet throne, or fighting in the fen, 
 Our Alfred was indeed an Agamemnon, king of Men I 
 
 Unshrinking champion of the Right, in patriot strength he stood, — 
 Dechire it, threescore fields of fight ! and mark it down in blood : 
 Ilnlliuching chief, unerring judge, he stoutly held tlie helm, — 
 Tell out those thirty years of praise, all Albion's happy realm 
 
 A Solomon for wisdom's choice, — that he loved learning well 
 Let Oxford chimes with grateful voice from all their turrets tell ; 
 A Numa, and Justinian too, let every parish sound 
 His birthday on the merry bells through all the country round I 
 
 A Nestor, while in years a youth, he taught as Plato taught, 
 A Constantino, a Washington, he fought as Scipio fought, 
 A AVellington, — his laurell'd sword with Peace was glory-gilt, 
 And Nelson's earliest wooden walls of Alfred's oaks were built I 
 
 O gallant Britons, bless the^GoD who gave you such a prince, 
 His like was never known before, nor ever hath been since, 
 The fountain of your liberties, your honours and 3'our health. 
 The mountain of your sturdy strength, the Ophir of youi- wealth. 
 
 And now, arouse thee. Royal Ghost I in majesty look round; 
 On every shore, in every clime, thy conquering sons are found ; 
 By kingdoms and dominions, by continents and isles. 
 The Anglo-Saxon realm is fifty hundred thousand miles ! 
 
 Ay, smile on us, and bless us in thy loftiness of love, — 
 The name of Anglo-Saxon is all other names above, 
 By peoples and by nations, by tribe and sept and clan, 
 Two hundred millions claim it in the farailv of Man I 
 
24 1 A L F R E D. 
 
 They claim it, and they claim thee too, their father and their king ! 
 mighty Shade ! behold the crowds who claim thy sheltering wing : 
 Thou hast o'ershadow'd, like an Alp, the half of this broad earth 
 And where thy shadow falls is Light, and Anglo-Saxon worth ! 
 
 The energy, the daring, the cheerfulness, the pride, 
 The stalwarth love of freedom, with Religion well allied, 
 The trust in God for ever, and the hope in Man for time, 
 These characters they learnt of thee, and stand like thee sublime. 
 
 Where'er thy gracious children come, a blessing there they bring, 
 The sweet securities of Home around that place they fling, 
 "Warm Comfort, and pure Charity, and Duty's bright blue eye, 
 And Enterprize, and Industry, are stars upon that sky ! 
 
 Stout Husbandry amid those fields with soft Contentment meets, 
 And honest Commerce, early up, is stirring in those streets; 
 And all the glories of the sword, and honours of the pen. 
 Make us the Wonder of the world, the Cynosure of men ! 
 
 And, hark ! upon my harp and tongue a sweeter note of praise, 
 How should a Saxon leave unsung what best he loves always? 
 dearer, deeper, nobl6r songs to thrill the heart and mind, — 
 The crown of womanhood belongs to English womankind ! 
 
 Young maiden, modest as the morn, yet glowing like the noon, 
 True wife, in placid tenderness a lustrous silver moon, 
 Dear mother, loving unto death and better loved than life. 
 Where can the wide world match me such a mother, maid, or wife ? 
 
 Fair Athelswytha, Alfred's own, is still your spirits' queen, 
 The faithful, the courageous, the tender, the serene. 
 The pious heroine of home, the solace, friend, and nurse. 
 The height of self-forgetfulness, the climax of all verse ! 
 
ALFRED. 246 
 
 And now, Great Alfred's countrymen and coimtrywomen all, — 
 Victoria ! x\lbert ! graciously regard your minstrel's call ! 
 Up, royal, gentle, simple folk ! up first, ye men of Berks ! 
 And give a nation's monument to Alfred's mighty works ! 
 
 In Anglo-Saxon majesty, simplicity and strength, 
 children, build your Father's tomb, for very shame at length : 
 The birthday of your king has dawn'd a thousand times this day. 
 It must not die before you set your seal to what I say ! 
 
 % Batj nf n (Kljniisnnll '|^Bflrs! 
 
 849. October 25, 1849. 
 
 To-day is the day of a thousand years! 
 Bless it, O brothers, with heart-thrilling cheers ! 
 Alfred for ever! — to-day was He born, 
 Day-star of England to herald her morn, 
 That, everywhere breaking and brightening soon, 
 Sheds on us now the full sunshine of noon, 
 And fills lis with blessings in Church and in State 
 Children of Alfred, the Good and the Great! 
 Chorus, — Hail to his Jubilee Day, 
 
 The Day of a thousand years ! 
 
 Anglo-Saxons ! in love are we met, 
 To honour a name we can never forget ! 
 Father, and Founder, and King of a race 
 That reigns and rejoices in every place, — 
 Root of a tree that o'ershadows the earth, 
 First of a Family blest from his birth, 
 
246 THE DAY OF A THOUSAND YEARS. 
 
 Blest in this stem of their strength and their state, 
 Alfred the Wise, and the Grood, and the Great! 
 Chorus, — Hail to his Jubilee Day, 
 
 The Day of a thousand years ! 
 
 Children of Alfred, from every clime, 
 Your glory shall live to the death-day of Time!- 
 And then in bliss shall ever expand 
 O'er measureless realms of the Heavenly Land ! 
 For you, like him, serve God and your Race, 
 And gratefully look on the birthday of Grace. — 
 Then honour to Alfred ! with heart-stirring cheers ! 
 To-day is the day of a thousand years ! 
 Chorus, — Hail to his Jubilee Day, 
 
 The Day of a thousand years 1 
 
 €tiB alto MMi. 
 
 I. (Obverse.) 
 
 In simple majesty serenely mild. 
 
 By pain well chasten' d, and made wise through grief, 
 Calm like a king, while gentle like a child, 
 
 Yet firm as may become the nation's chief, 
 Alfred ! I stand in thought before thee now, 
 And to thy throne in duteous homage bow, 
 After a thousand years! My soul is glad. 
 
 Thus to have roused to thankful thoughts of thee, 
 From this dull mist of modern base and bad. 
 
 The world of Englishmen ; that haply we. 
 United now again, as once thy will 
 
 Determined, and still mindful of thy worth, 
 Paragon of goodness, force, and skill ! 
 
 Like thee, may be a blessing upon earth. 
 
THE ALFRED MED A L S . 247 
 
 II. (Reverse 1.) 
 
 Thy children; Kiug of Men I thy faithful ones, 
 
 The boldly . cheerful, true in head and heart. 
 Salute thy crown with reverence as thy sons. 
 
 And joy to see thee honour'd as thou art. 
 By millions everywhere : behold, King ! 
 
 These, whom old England's laws, old England's tongue 
 
 And all the good that of thy sowing sprung 
 Have nourish'd up like thee in everything, 
 
 Claim thee for Father; yea, yon untold host, 
 Ever the first to conquer and control. 
 
 Ambassadors of truth to every coast. 
 And mercy's messengers from pole to pole, 
 
 Thee, mighty King, their bright example boast. 
 And date their glories from thy Saxon soul. 
 
 III. (Reverse 2.) 
 
 Then, Brothers, be at peace and love each other, 
 
 Let us contend for mastery no more, — 
 Britain ! Columbia ! let the name of brother 
 
 Echo with tenderness from shore to shore : 
 
 We dare not liope that alien wars are o'er ; 
 We fear there yet must rage the strife of tongues ; 
 
 The races and religions of mankind, 
 Mixing tumultuously their rights and wrongs, 
 
 Yet with the ilesh vn^IU battle out the mind : 
 But us, one speech unites; to us, one birth, 
 
 One altar, and one home, one Past belongs : 
 One gloj'ious Present over. all the earth; 
 
 One Future ! hai-k, t'le strain prophetic swelling, — 
 
 Brothers in unity to^rt'tUer dwelimir : 
 17 
 
248 SOCRATES TO LYSIAS 
 
 Inrrate tn tpm. 
 
 No ! Lysias ! — all that honied eloquence 
 
 May not be buttress to my righteous cause; 
 The majesty of Truth and Innocence 
 
 Deigns not to hoodwink nor to cheat the laws : 
 What, if my foe's benighted moral sense 
 
 Will not, or cannot, see my holy ends? 
 To lure the youth of Athens to all good, — 
 
 To knit mankind in one, a world of friends, — 
 To win their worship from mere stone and wood, 
 
 And preach the Unknown God ! — God of all, 
 ' Thy will be done ! let falsehood work my fall, 
 Martyr for truth I rise ! and dwell at ease j 
 
 The only Advocate on whom I call 
 Is God Himself, — to plead for Socrates! 
 
 OF THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE. AN ILLUSTRATION. 
 
 Honour and Arms ! The seals of Grace 
 
 upon this oriel glow; 
 Arms, as when brothers may embrace, 
 
 and not to fight a foe ; 
 The arms of peace, heraldic arms, 
 
 with blazon richly disht, 
 Made gorgeous with chivalrio charms, 
 
 apd gilt with glor/s light I 
 
T H E M E M R I A L W I N D W . 249 
 
 Honour and Arms ! O brethren dear, 
 
 I see your flashing eyes, 
 I feel your true hearts hurrying near 
 
 from all outlandish skies, 
 To bask one hour in one dear spot, 
 
 the kernel of your love. 
 In poor old England unforgot, 
 
 the blest of God above ! 
 
 Centre of all, Britannia's shield 
 
 in praise unsullied shines, 
 Rose, shamrock, thistle, round its field 
 
 a wreath of beauty twines; 
 Sweet Erin's harp of melody, 
 
 with Scotia's canton fair. 
 And thine own royal lions three 
 
 majestic roaming there. 
 
 Next, to thy right, a mighty son, 
 
 a stalwarth giant grown, 
 A wanton and a truant one, 
 
 and yet a child to own ! 
 The sturdy stripes, — the glittering stara, 
 
 long may they blaze above. 
 Not on the bloody helm of Mars, 
 
 but in the crown of love ! 
 
 Nearer thy heart another stands, 
 
 a twin, but one in two, 
 And bringing homage with both hands 
 
 from one wide heart most true ; 
 Stern Caledonia's thistly praise 
 
 reveals her hardy child, 
 Where Canada's mild beaver strays 
 
 to stock the western wild. 
 
260 T H E M E M O E T A L WINDOW. 
 
 Shining above, in orient light 
 
 the morning sun upsoars, — 
 Hindustan's elephantine might 
 
 is shadow'd on those shores ; 
 Their luscious fruits of tropic toil 
 
 the sea-girt Indies breed, 
 And forth from Afric's southern soil 
 
 springs Anglo-Saxon seed. 
 
 Beneath our Britain's blazon fair 
 
 Australia's emu stands, 
 And kangaroos are skipping there 
 
 on rich unpeopled lands ; 
 New Zealand's war-boat paddles fast; 
 
 and Borneo's royal ship 
 ]\Iakes many a pirate scuffling past 
 
 beware " the Badger's " grip ! 
 
 Old Egbert's cross in golden light 
 
 is shining over all, 
 And, on its right, no viper's bite 
 
 harms Malta's holy Paul; 
 While huge Gibraltar's rock outstands, 
 
 ifor bristling cannon cleft, 
 Like Hercules with Samson's hands 
 
 to pillar up the left. 
 
 Below, with praise each lesser star 
 
 in mingled lustre smiles, 
 The storm-swept Falklands seen afar 
 
 and soft Ionian Isles, 
 With soft Sierra's libell'd beach, 
 
 and Mandarin'd Hong Kong, 
 And all who speak in English speech, 
 
 or sing an English song. 
 
THE MEMORIAL WINDOW. 261 
 
 heralds ! when and where before 
 
 were Earth's true honours seen, 
 In brightness and in beauty more 
 
 than on this Gothic screen ? 
 Where Britain, like a mother hen, 
 
 is gathering to her wings 
 The world of Anglo-Saxon men, • 
 
 creation's priests and kings ! 
 
 Daughters of poverty, jaded and ill. 
 
 So vainly prolonging the strife. 
 How scarce for to-day, the day's task to fulfil, 
 And, as for to-morrow, despondingly still 
 
 In dread of the battle of life, — 
 
 Toiling in pain for a pittance of bread, 
 
 Or starving, with nothing to do. 
 Friendless, and fever'd in heart and in head, 
 And longing for rest to lie down with the dead, 
 
 — A word, my poor sisters, with you ! 
 
 There is a fiiir land in a sweet southern clime, 
 
 Another young England indeed, 
 Which God, in His providence working sublime, 
 Has kindly reserved till the fulness of time. 
 
 To succour His children in need ; 
 
 A happy new home, which He wills you to seek. 
 
 With plenty to have and to spare, 
 And hope in your bosom, and health on your cheek, 
 And human afiections all eager to speak 
 
 Of tenderness waiting you there ! 
 
252 A CALL TO POOR SEMPSTRESSES. 
 
 The valleys are rich, and the mountains are green, 
 
 And the woods in magnificent state 
 To the distant horizon o'ershadow the scene, 
 Where never till now Adam's footstep has been, 
 And Eve is delaying so late. 
 
 Then haste for your happiness, — joyfully haste 
 
 From perils and pains to be free; 
 For, Providence calls you to gladden the waste 
 And freedom, and plenty, and pleasure to taste 
 
 In homes that are over the sea. 
 
 a (Cnll to tjiE Eitli. 
 
 {In aid of Mr. Sydney Herberts exertions on behalf of distressed 
 
 Needlewomen.) 
 
 Christian patriots, men of mighty heart ! 
 
 One added word to you: the hour is ripe; 
 Thousands are thronging eager to depart 
 From this fierce 'rivalry in mammon's mart. 
 
 To happier shores, where penury's hard gripe 
 On earth's rich zone is loosen'd : hasten then. 
 
 Pour out your offerings with a liberal hand. 
 Earnest in zeal to help your fellow-men. 
 
 And from old England this reproach to wipe, 
 
 Tha,t, crowded up in corners of the laud, 
 Virtuous toil can starve in sorrow's den ! 
 Up! use your wealth aright; and prove its worth 
 
 By generous aid to yonder homeless band. 
 Who look to you to find them homes on earth. 
 
OUR THANKSGIVING HYMN. 258 
 
 (Dur (Bjjiinksgiuing itipn, 
 
 November 15, 1849. 
 
 O Father of mercies, Spirit of love, 
 
 Son of the Blessed who reiguest above, 
 
 Thou Good One, and G-reat One ! in homage to Thee, 
 
 "We bring the glad heart, and we bend the true knee. 
 
 Thy people would praise Thee, O Thou beyond praise ! 
 For won4i'ous in love are Thy works and Thy ways; 
 Thy children would pour from the heart and the voice 
 Their psalm of thanksgiving in God to rejoice ! 
 
 Because Thou hast heard us ! and answer'd the pray'r 
 "We made in the season of death and despair; 
 Because over judgment, and terror, and pain. 
 Thy mercy hath triumphed, and saved us again ! 
 
 Ah ! well we remember how dark and how dread 
 
 The pestilence brooded o'er living and dead; 
 
 And can we forget with what mercy and might 
 
 The prayer which Thou blessest hath scatter'd the blight! 
 
 Yet more ! for the fulness of plenty and peace 
 Hath made us in wealth as in health to increase, 
 And so would we thank Thee, because thou hast given 
 The fatness of earth, and the favour of heaven ! 
 
 Then, Father of mercies, accept what we bring, — 
 Our incense of praise to the Saviour and King ! 
 Hosannah ! — to Thee let us gratefully live, — 
 Hallelujah ! - — Lord, when Thou hearest, forgive. 
 
254 ACCEPTABLE THANKS. 
 
 A SEQUEL TO " OUR THANKSGIVING HVMN." 
 
 Thanksgiving 1 brothers, how pleasant a thing 
 
 It is the glad anthem to raise 
 In deep adoration of Heaven's High King, 
 
 So far above blessing and praise ! 
 
 Thanksgiving ! children of God in all ranks, 
 
 How then shall we worthily give 
 A holy oblation, acceptable thanks, 
 
 To Him in whose favour we live ? — 
 
 By penitence, patience, contentment, and prayer, 
 I By peace upon earth and goodwill, 
 By speeding the woes of affliction to share. 
 And hasting the hungry to fill :• 
 
 By making, as masters, this Thanksgiving Day 
 
 A holiday, happy and true. 
 Not meanly withholding the journeyman's pay, 
 
 But giving it all as his due ! 
 
 By bringing an Englishman's home to the poor, 
 A home of clean comfort, and peace; 
 
 By driving disease and despair from his door, 
 And making his hardships to cease : 
 
 By Water, and Air, — the free bounties of Heaven; 
 
 By wise recreation and rest; 
 By fairly earn'd wages ungrudgingly given 
 
 For Labour, — the honest man's test ! 
 
A C C E P T A B L E T II A N K S . 255 
 
 thus, if the rich for the poor man will move 
 
 To better his home and his hearth, — 
 thus, if the poor his rich brother will love, 
 
 And honour his betters on earth, — 
 
 Then God will be pleased ! and this Thanksgiving Day 
 
 Will indeed be a Summer of days, 
 For Man will be gladden'd by Man as he may, 
 
 And God by acceptable praise ! 
 
 FROM PETRARCH. 
 
 Sloth and the sensual mind have driven away 
 
 All virtues from the world : where'er I range, 
 
 I note on every side an evil change; 
 Our steps are now unlit by heavenly ray : 
 The poet, walking in his crown of bay. 
 
 Is pointed at — for scorn; the selfish herds 
 Of mammon-worshippers insulting say 
 
 **What is the worth of all these metred words? 
 Your crowns of bay and myrtle are but leaves : " 
 
 And so Philosophy goes starved and lone, 
 And Vice is glad, while widow'd Virtue grieves: 
 
 Still, be not thou dishearteu'd, generous one, 
 Follow that path, which enter'd ne'er deceives, 
 
 But leads if not to Gain, to Glory's throne. 
 
266 CONFESSION 
 
 €uimm, 
 
 Alas, bow many vain and bitter things 
 
 My zeal, and pride, and natural baste bave wrougbt; 
 
 Yea, thou my soul, by word and deed and tbougbt, 
 Tbe curse of selfisbness bath scorcb'd tby wings j 
 
 There is a fire within, I feel it now, 
 A smouldering mass of strong imaginings 
 
 That beat my heart, and burn upon my brow, 
 And vent their hissing lava on my tongue 
 
 Scathing, unsparing: — yet, my will is just. 
 My wrath is ever quickened by a wrong, 
 
 I flame — to strike oppressors to tbe dust. 
 To crush tbe cruel, and confound the base. 
 
 To welcome insolence with calm disgust. 
 
 And brand tbe scoffer's forehead with disgrace. 
 
 €n tjiB fori nf 3JlBninni. 
 
 Nothing of thee shall perish, rare old Man ! 
 
 Thou art an heirloom to the world and us; 
 
 Let even me then bring my homage thus. 
 And greet thee with such greeting as I can : 
 
 For thou art not thine own; tbe nations claim 
 Tbee for their children's children, veteran, 
 A spirit walking in immortal fame, 
 
 The friend of Memory: Death is none of thine, 
 Nor Self, tbe death of soul; thou wilt not spurn 
 An acolyte, whose venturous footsteps turn 
 
 Out of tbe track to offer at thy shrine : 
 Because, Italian suns and classic skies 
 
 Have ripen'd all tby heart blood into wine 
 Excellent, spiritual, pure and wise. 
 
A SONG 
 
 a 
 
 Ah Memory ! why reproach mc so 
 
 With shadows of the past, 
 The thrilling hopes of long ago 
 
 That came and went so fast? 
 Ye tender tones of that dear voice, 
 
 Ye looks of those loved eyes, — 
 Return, — and bid my -heart rejoice, 
 
 For true love never dies ! 
 
 Rejoice? — word of hope! I may 
 
 When those indeed return; 
 For looks and tones so past away 
 
 In solitude I yearn ! 
 Let others fancy I forget 
 
 The light of those dear eyes, — 
 I love, — how I love thee yet I 
 
 For true love never dies. 
 
 (Clim Up! 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Never go gloomily, man with a mind! 
 Hope is a better companion than fear, 
 Providence, ever benignant and kind. 
 
 Gives with a smile what you take with a tear; 
 All will be right. 
 Look to the light, — 
 Morning is ever the daughter of night, 
 All that was black will be all that is bright, 
 Cheerily, cheerily then ! cheer up ! 
 
268 C H E E R U P ! 
 
 ^Many a foe is a friend in disguise, 
 Many a sorrow a blessing most true, 
 Helping the heart to be happy and wise 
 With lore ever precious and joys ever cew; 
 Stand in the van, 
 Strive like a man ! 
 This is the bravest and cleverest plan, 
 Trusting in God, while you do what yoa can, 
 Cheerily, cheerily then ! cheer up ! 
 
 " «ngtt!iBr." 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 The elm-tree of old felt lonely and cold 
 
 When wintry winds blew high, 
 And, looking below, he saw in the snow 
 
 The ivy wandering nigh : 
 And he said, Come twine with those tendrils of thine 
 
 My scathed and frozen form, 
 For heart and hand together we'll stand 
 
 And mock at the baiSed storm. 
 
 Ha, ha ! Together. 
 
 And so when grief is withering the leaf 
 
 And checking hope's young flower, 
 And frosts do bite with their teeth so white 
 
 In disappointment's hour, 
 Tii< ugh it might overwhelm either ivy or elm 
 
 If alone each stood the strife. 
 If heart and hand together they stand 
 
 They may laugh at the troubles of life, 
 Ha, ha! Together. 
 
FRIENDS. 269 
 
 I CANNOT move a mile upon this earth, 
 
 I could not, did I walk from end to end, 
 But there I find a heart of wit and worth, 
 
 Some gracious spirit to be hail'd a friend : 
 there are frequent angels unawares. 
 
 And many have I met upon my way. 
 Kind Christian souls, to make me rich with prayers, 
 
 Whilst in like coin their mercies I repay; 
 And oft the sun of praise hath lit mine eyes, 
 
 Generous praise and just encouragement, 
 From some who say I help them to be wise. 
 
 And teach them to be happy in content: 
 Ah soul, rejoice ! for thou hast thickly sown 
 The living world with friendships all thine own. 
 
 Forgotten ! — not forgotten, kind good man. 
 
 Though seldom fully prized at thy great worth, — 
 I will embalm thy memory as I can. 
 
 And send this blessing to the ends of earth I 
 For thou wert all things kindly unto all, 
 
 Benevolent and liberal from birth. 
 Ever responsive to affection's call 
 
 And full of care for others, — full of care — 
 Weary with others' burdens, generous heart. 
 
 And yet thine own too little strong to bear: 
 Father! I owe thee all, and cannot pay 
 
 The happy debt, until I too depart; 
 Then, will I bless and love it all away 
 
 In that bright world, my Father, where thou art! 
 
S60 Horace's PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Wisely for us within night's sable veil 
 God hides the future; and, if man turn pale 
 For dread distrusting, laughs their fear to scorn. 
 
 For thee, the present calmly order well: 
 All else as on a river's tide is borne. 
 Now flowing peaceful to the Tuscan sea 
 
 Down the mid-channel on a gentle swell. 
 Now, as the hoarse fierce mandate of the flood 
 Stirs up the quiet stream, time-eaten rocks 
 Go hurrying down, with houses, herds, and flocks, 
 And echoes from the mountain and the wood. 
 He stands alone, glad, self-possess'd, and free, 
 Who grateful for to-day can say, I live; 
 To-morrow let my Father take or give; 
 
 As He may will, not I — with dark or light 
 
 Let God ordain the morrow, noon or night. 
 
 He, even He, can never render vain 
 
 The past behind me; nor bring back again 
 
 What any transient hour has once made fact. 
 
 Fortune, rejoicing in each cruel act. 
 
 And playing frowardly a saucy game. 
 
 Dispenses changeful and uncertain fame. 
 
 Now kind to me, and now to some beside. 
 
 I praise her here; but if it should betide 
 
 She spreads her wings for flight, I hold no more 
 
 The good she gave, but in mine honest worth 
 
 Clad like a man, go honourably forth 
 To seek the undowried portion of the poor. 
 
 Horace, lib. iii. 29. 
 
I'HE LAST TIME.'* 261 
 
 '' €1)1 M €mJ' 
 
 Another year ? another j^ear ! 
 
 "Who daro depend on other years? 
 The judgment of this world is near, 
 
 And all its children faint for fears : 
 Famine, pestilence, 'and war, 
 
 Mixt with praises, prayers, and tears, 
 Civil strife and social jar, 
 
 Spurr'd by pen, and stirr'd by sword, 
 Herald Him who comes from far 
 In Elijah's fiery car, 
 
 Our own returning Lord ! 
 
 Look around, — the nations quail ! 
 
 All the elements of ill 
 Crowd like locusts on the gale 
 
 And the dark horizon fill : 
 Woe to earth, and all her seed ! 
 
 "Woe they run to ruin still : — 
 He that runneth well may read 
 
 Texts of truth the times afford. 
 How, in earth's extremest need 
 Cometh, cometh soon indeed 
 
 Our own redeeming Lord I " 
 
 Lo, the marvels passing strange 
 Every teeming minute brings 3 
 
 Daily turns with sudden change 
 The kaleidoscope of things; 
 
 But the Ruler, just and wise. 
 Orders all, as King of kings, — 
 
 Hark I His thunders shake the skies. 
 
262 ^' T U E L A ST TJ.KF.. 
 
 Lo ! Ilis vials are outpour'd ! 
 Earth in bitter travail lies 
 And creation groans and eric* 
 
 For our expected Lokd 1 
 
 Stand in courage, stand in faita ! 
 
 Tremble not as others may; 
 He that conquers hell and death 
 
 Is the friend of those who pray: 
 And in this world's destined woe 
 
 He will save his own alway 
 From, the trial's furnace glow, — 
 
 Till the harvest all is stored, 
 Rescued from each earthly foe, 
 And the terrible ones below 
 
 By our avenging Lord ! 
 
 Yea, come quickly! Saviour, comei 
 
 Take us to thy glorious rest, 
 All thy children yearn for home, 
 
 Home, the heaven of thy breast I 
 Help, with instant gracious aid ! 
 
 That in just assurance blest 
 We mdy watch, — nor feel afraid, 
 
 Every warning in thy word. 
 Signs and tokens all array'd 
 In proof of that for which we prayd. 
 
 The coming of the Lord! 
 
G r n A r. D I N E . 263 
 
 A SEQUEL TO COLERIDGE'S CHRI6TABEL. 
 
 {Publishtd in 1838.) 
 
 PART L 
 
 BSINa THE THIRD OF CHRISTABEL. 
 
 It is the wolf, on stealthy prowl, 
 
 Hath startled the night with a dismal howl; 
 
 It is the raven, whose hoarse croak 
 
 Comes like a groan from the sear old oak; 
 
 It is the owl, whose curdling screech 
 
 Hath peopled with terrors the spectral beech ! 
 
 For again the clock hath toll'd out twelve, 
 
 And sent to their gambols the gnome and the elve, 
 
 And awoken the friar his beads to tell, 
 
 And taught the magician the time for his spell, 
 
 And to her caldron hath hurried the witch, 
 
 And aroused the deep bay of the mastiff-bitch. 
 
 The gibbous moon, all chilling and wan, 
 Like a sleepless eyeball looketh on. 
 Like an eyeball of sorrow behind a shroud 
 Forth looketh she from a torn grey cloud, 
 Pouring sad radiance on the black air, — 
 Sun of the night, — what sees she there? 
 
 O lonely one, lovely one, 
 What dost thou here in the forest dun, 
 18 
 
2^ G E R A L D I X E . 
 
 Fair truant, — like an angel of light 
 Hiding from heaven in deep midnight ? 
 Alas ! there is guilt in thy glittering eye 
 As fearfully dark it looks up to the sky; 
 Alas 1 a dull unearthly light 
 Like a dead star, bluely white, 
 A seal of sin, I note it now, 
 Flickers upon thy ghastly brow; 
 And about the huge old oak 
 Thickly curls a poisonous smoke, 
 And terrible shapes with evil names 
 Are leaping around a circle of flames, 
 And the tost air whirls, storm-driven, 
 And the rent earth quakes, charm -riven,— 
 And — art thou not afraid? 
 
 All dauntless stands the maid 
 In mystical robe array 'd. 
 And still with flashing eyes 
 She dares the sorrowful skies, 
 And to the moon, like one possest. 
 
 Hath shown, — dread ! that face so fair 
 Should smile above so shrunk a breast. 
 
 Haggard and brown, as hangeth there, — 
 evil sight! — wrinkled and old. 
 The dug of a witch, and clammy cold, — 
 Where in warm beauty's rarest mould 
 
 Is fashion'd nil the rest; 
 O evil sight! for, by the light 
 From those large eyes streaming bright, 
 By thy beauty's wondrous sheen. 
 Lofty gait and graceful mien. 
 By that bosom half reveal'd, 
 "VVithor'd, and as in death congeal'd, 
 By the guilt upon thy brow, 
 Ah ! Geraldine, 'tis thou 1 
 
E R A L D 1 i\ E . 266 
 
 Muttering wilJlv through her set teeth, 
 She seeketh aud stirreth the demons beneath, 
 And — hist! — the magical mandate is spoken, 
 The bonds of the spirits of evil are broken, 
 There is a rush of invisible wings 
 Amid shrieks, aud distant thunderings, 
 And now one nearer than others is heard 
 Flapping this way, as a huge sea-bird, 
 Or liker the deep-dwelling ravenous shark 
 Cleaving thorough the waters dark, — 
 
 It is the hour, the spell hath power! 
 Now haste thee, ere the tempest lour, — 
 
 Her mouth grows wide, and her face falls in, 
 
 And her beautiful brow becomes flat and thin. 
 
 And sulphurous flashes blear and singe 
 
 That sweetest of eyes with its delicate fringe, 
 
 Till, all its loveliness blasted and dead. 
 
 The eye of a snake blinks deep in her head; 
 
 For raven locks flowing loose and long 
 
 Bristles a red mane, stiff and strong, 
 
 And sea-green scales are beginning to speck 
 
 Her shrunken breasts, and lengthening neck; 
 
 The white round arms are sunk in her sides,— 
 
 As when in chrysalis canoe 
 A may-fly down the river glides. 
 
 Struggling for life and liberty too, — 
 Her body convuLrively twists and twirls. 
 This way and that it bows and curls, 
 And now her soft limbs melt into one 
 Strangely and horribly tapering down, 
 Till on the burnt grass dimly is seen 
 A serpent-monster, scaly and green. 
 Horror ! — can this be Gcraldine ? 
 
266 G E R A Ti D I N E . 
 
 Haste, haste, — ''tis almost past, 
 The sand is dripping thick and fast, 
 And distant roars the coming blast, — 
 
 Swiftly the dragon-maid unroll'd 
 The burnish'd strength of each sinewy fold, 
 And round the old oak trunk with toil 
 Hath wound and trailed each tortuous coil, 
 Then with one crush hath splitten and broke 
 To the hollow black heart of the sear old oak ! 
 
 The hour is fled, the spell hath sped; 
 And heavily dropping down as dead, 
 All in her own beauty drest, 
 Brightest, softest, loveliest. 
 Fair faint Geraldine lies on the ground, 
 Moaning sadly; 
 And forth from the oak 
 In a whirl of thick smoke 
 Grinning gladly, 
 Leaps with a hideous howl at a bound 
 A squat black dwarf of visage grim. 
 With crutches beside each twisted limb 
 Half hidden in many a flame-colour'd rag, — 
 It is Ryxa the Hag! 
 
 Ho, ho ! what wouldst thou, daughter mine, 
 Wishes three, or curses nine? 
 Wishes three to work thy will. 
 Or curses nine thy hate to fulfil? 
 
 Ryxa, spite of thy last strong charm, 
 Some pure spirit saves from harm 
 Her, who befi:>re me was loved too well, 
 Our holy hated Christabel; 
 
GERALDINE. 267 
 
 Her, who stole my heart from him 
 One of the guardian cherubim 
 Hovers around, .and cheers in dreams, 
 Thwarting from heaven my hell-bought schemes; 
 Now, — for another five hundred years, 
 
 O mother mine, will I be thine. 
 To writhe in pains, and shriek in feara, 
 And toil in chains, and waste in tears, 
 So thy might will scorch and smite 
 
 The beautiful face of Christabel, 
 And will drain by jealous pain 
 
 Love from the heart of Christabel, 
 And her own betrothed knight, 
 glad sight ! shall scorn and slight 
 
 The pale one he hath loved so well, 
 "While in my arms, by stolen charms 
 And borrow 'd mien, for Geraldine 
 He shall forget his Christabel ! 
 
 It is done, it is done, thy cause is won ! 
 
 Quoth Kyxa the Hag to Geraldine ; 
 Thus have I prest my seal on thy breast, 
 Twelve circling scales from a dragon's crest, 
 Atid still thy bosom and half thy side 
 Must shrivel and shrink at eventide, 
 And still, as every Sabbath breaks. 
 Thy large dark eyes must blink as a snake's. 
 Now, for mine aid ; — De Vaux will come 
 To lead his seeming daughter home. 
 Therefore I fit thee a shape and a face 
 Difiering, yet of twin-born grace. 
 That all who see thee may fall down 
 Heart-worshippers before thy throne, 
 Forgetting in that vision sweet 
 Thy former tale of dull deceit, 
 
268 G E R A L D I N E . 
 
 And, tranced ia deep oblivious joy, 
 
 Bask in bliss without alloy : 
 
 He too, thou iovest, in thine arms 
 
 Shall grace the triumph of thy charms, . 
 
 While the thirst of rage thou satest 
 
 In the woes of her thou hatest. 
 
 Yet, daughter, hark ! my warning mark I 
 
 Hallow'd deed, or word, or thought, 
 
 Is with deadliest peril fraught; 
 
 And if, where true lovers meet 
 
 Thou hearest hymning wild and sweet, 
 
 stop thine ears, lest all be marr'd, — 
 
 Beware, beware of holy bard ! 
 
 For that the power of hymn and harp 
 
 Thine innermost being shall wither and warp, 
 
 And the same hour they touch thine ears^ 
 
 A serpent thou art for a tliousand years. 
 
 Hush ! how heavily droops the night 
 
 In sultry silence, calm as death ! 
 Gloomy and hot, and yet no light, 
 
 Save where the glowworm wandereth; 
 For the moon hath stolen by. 
 Mantled in the stormy sky, 
 And there is a stillness strange, 
 An awful stillness, boding change," 
 As if live nature held her breath, 
 And all in agony listeneth 
 Some terror undefined to hear, 
 Coming, coming, coming near ; 
 Hush'd is the beetle's drowsy hum, 
 And the death-watch's roll on his warning drum, 
 Hush'd the raven, and screech owl, 
 And the famishing wolf on his midnight prowl, — 
 Silent as death. 
 
GERALDINE. 269 
 
 — Hark, hark ! he is here, he has come from afar, 
 
 The black-robed storm in his terrible car; 
 
 Vivid the forked lightning flashes, 
 
 Quick behind the thunder crashes. 
 
 Clattering hail, a shingly flood, 
 
 Rattles like grapeshot in the wood ; 
 
 And the whole forest is bent one way, 
 
 Bowing as slaves to a tyrant's swa}-, 
 
 While the foot of the tempest hath trampled and broke 
 
 Many a stout old elm and oak ! 
 
 And Geraldine? — who could tell 
 
 That thou who by sweet Christabel 
 
 Softly liest in innocent sleep. 
 
 Like an infant's calm and deep, 
 
 Smiling faintly, as it seems 
 
 From thy bright and rosy dreams, 
 
 Who could augur thou art she 
 
 That, around the hollow tree. 
 
 With bad charm and hellish rite 
 
 Shook the heavens and scared the night):' 
 
 Alas ! for gentle Christabel, 
 Alas ! for wasting Christabel : 
 From evil eye, and powers of hell, 
 And the strong magic of the spell, 
 Holy Mary, shield her well ! 
 
 (Cnnrlusinn tn |5art L 
 
 The murderer's knife is a fearful thing. 
 But what, were it edged with a scorpion's sting? 
 A dagger of glass hath death in its stroke. 
 But what, should venom gush out as it broke ? 
 
270 E R A L D I N E . 
 
 And hatred in a man's deep heart 
 
 Festereth there like the barb of a dart, 
 
 Maddening the fibres at every beat, 
 
 And filling its caverns with fever-heat; 
 
 But jealous rage in a woman's soul 
 
 Simmers and steams as a poison-bowl; 
 
 A drop were death, but the rival maid 
 
 Must drain all dry, e'er the passion be stay'd; 
 
 It floodeth the bosom with bitterest gall, 
 
 It drowneth the young virtues all, 
 
 And the sweet milk of the heart's own fountain, 
 
 Choked and crush'd by a heavy mountain. 
 
 All curdled, and harden'd and blacken'd, doth shrink 
 
 Into the fossil sepia's ink : 
 
 The eye of suspicion deep sunk in the head 
 
 Shrinks and blinks with malice 'and dread, 
 
 And the cheek without and the heart within 
 
 Are blister'd and blighted with searing sin, 
 
 Till charity's self no more can trace 
 
 Aught that is lovely in feature or face; 
 
 But the rose-bud is canker' d, and shall not bloom, 
 
 Corruption hath scented the rich perfume. 
 
 The angel of light is a demon of gloom. 
 
 And the bruise on his brow is the seal of his doom ! 
 
 Ah ! poor unconscious rival maid, 
 
 How drearily must thou sicken and fade 
 
 In the foul air of that Upas-shade ! 
 
 Her heart must be tried, and trampled, and torn 
 With fear, and care, and slander, and scorn; 
 Her love must look upon love estranged. 
 Her eye must meet his eye, how changed. 
 Her hand must take his hand unpressing, 
 Her hope must die, without confessing; 
 
n E Pv .\ L D I N E . 271 
 
 And still she'll strive her love to smother. 
 
 While in the triumphs of another 
 
 The shadow of her joys departed 
 
 Shall scare and haunt her broken-hearted; 
 
 And he, who once loved her, his purest, his first, 
 
 Must hate her and hold her defiled and accurst, 
 
 Till, wasted and desolate, calumny's breath 
 
 Must taint with all guilt her innocent death. 
 
 ^mi II. 
 
 BEirra the fourth op chiustabkl. 
 
 How fresh and fair is morn I 
 
 The dowbeads dropping bright 
 Each humble flower adorn, 
 
 With coronets of light, 
 And jewel the rough thorn 
 
 With sparks of chrysolite, — 
 How beautiful is morn ! 
 
 Her scatter'd gems how bright! 
 
 There is a quiet gladness ^ 
 
 In tiio waking earth, 
 Like the face of sadness 
 
 Lit with chasten'd mirth j 
 There is a mine of treasure 
 
 In those hours of health, 
 Filling up the measure 
 
 Of creation's wealth. 
 
 The eye of day hath open'd grey, 
 
 And the gallent sun 
 Hath trick'd his beams by Rydal's streams. 
 
 And waveless Coniston : 
 
272 G E R A L D I N E . 
 
 From Langdale Pikes his glory strikes, 
 
 From bejith and giant hill, 
 From many a tnirn, and stonc-built-cairn. 
 
 And many a mountain rill : 
 Helvellyn bares his forehead black, 
 And Eagle-crag and Saddleback, 
 And Skiddaw hails the dawning day 
 And rolls his robe of clouds away. 
 
 Ho, warder, ho ! in chivalrous state, 
 
 A stranger-knight to the castle gate, 
 
 With trumpet, and banner, and mailed men, 
 
 Comes this way winding up the glen : 
 
 Kis visor is down, and he will not proclaim 
 
 To the challenge within his lineage or name, 
 
 Yet by his herald, and esquires eight. 
 
 And five-score spearmen, tall and straight, 
 
 And blazon rich with bearings rare, 
 
 And highbred ease, and noble air. 
 
 And golden spurs, and sword, can he be 
 
 Nought but a knight of high degree ! 
 
 Alas! they had loved too soon, too well, 
 
 Young Amador and Christabel; 
 
 Life's dawn beheld them, blythe and bland, 
 
 Little playmates, hand in hand. 
 
 Over fell and field and heather 
 
 Wandering innocent together, 
 
 Alone in childhood's rosy hours 
 
 Straying far to find wild flowers; 
 
 Life's sun above its eastern hill 
 
 Saw them inseparable still 
 
 In the bower, or by the brook. 
 
 Or spelling out the monkish book, 
 
G E R A L D I N E . 273 
 
 Or as with songs they wont to wake 
 
 The echoes on the hill-bouud lake, 
 
 Or as with tales to while away 
 
 The winter's night, or summer's day; 
 
 Life's noon was blazing bright and fair, 
 
 To smile upon the same fond pair, 
 
 The handsome youth, the beauteous maid, 
 
 Together still in sun or shade; 
 
 Warmer, good sooth, than wont with friends, 
 
 While he supports, and she depends, 
 
 As to some dangerous craggy height 
 
 They climb with terror and delight. 
 
 Nor guess that the strange joy they feel. 
 
 The rapture making their hearts reel. 
 
 Springs from aught else than — sweet Grasmere, 
 
 Or hill and valley far and near. 
 
 Or Derwent's banks and glassy tide, 
 
 Lowdore, or hawthorn'd Ambleside : 
 
 Nor reck they what dear danger lies 
 
 In gazing on each other's eyes; 
 
 On her bright cheek, fresh and fair, 
 
 Blooming in the mountain air. 
 
 On his strong and agile limbs. 
 
 As from rock to rock he climbs, 
 
 Her unstudied natural grace, 
 
 Loosen'd vest and tresses flowing. 
 Or his fine and manly face 
 
 With delighted ardour glowing. 
 
 Thus they grew up in each other; 
 
 Till to ripen'd youth 
 They had grown up for each other; 
 
 Yet, to say but sooth, 
 She had not loved him, as other 
 
 Than a sister doth, 
 And he to her was but a brother, 
 
 With a brother's troth : 
 
274 QERALDINE. 
 
 But selfish craft, that slept so long, 
 And, if wrong were, had done the wrong, 
 Now, just awake, with dull surprise 
 
 Kead the strange truth. 
 And from their own accusing eyes 
 
 Condemn'd them both, — 
 That they, who only for each other 
 
 Gladly drew their daily breath, 
 Now must curb, and check, and smother, 
 
 Through all life, love strong as death; 
 While the dear hope they just have learnt to prze, 
 
 And fondly cherish, 
 The hope that in their hearts deep-rooted lies, 
 
 Must pine and perish ! 
 For the slow prudence of the worldly wise 
 In cruel coldness still denies 
 The foundling youth to woo and win 
 The heiress daughter of Leoline. 
 
 And yet how little had he err'd, 
 That on his ear the bitter word 
 
 Of harsh reproach should fall, — 
 "Is it then thus, ungrateful boy. 
 Thou wouldst his dearest hope destroy 
 
 Who lent thee life and all? 
 Why did I save thee, years agone, 
 Beneath the tottering Bowther-stone, 
 
 Misfortune's outcast son ? 
 Why did I warm thee on my hearth, 
 Nor crush the viper in its birth, 
 
 thou presumptuous one?" 
 
 They met once more in sweet sad fear 
 At the old oak-tree in the forest drear, 
 And, as enamour'd of bitterness, they 
 Wept the sad hour of partinc: awav : 
 
U U II A L D I N E . 276 
 
 The bursting tear, the stifled sob, 
 
 The tortured bosom's first-felt throb,. 
 
 The fervent vow, the broken gold, 
 
 Their hapless hopes too truly told; 
 
 For, alas I till now they never had known 
 
 How deep and how strong their loves had grown, 
 
 But just as they sip the full cup of the heart, 
 
 It is dash'd from the lip, — and they must part ! 
 
 Alas, they had loved, yet never before 
 
 The wealth of love had counted o'er. 
 
 And just as they find the treasure so great. 
 
 It is lost, it is sunk in the billows of fate. 
 
 Yea, it must be with a fearful shock 
 
 That the pine can be torn from its root-clasp'd rock, 
 
 Or the broad oak-stump as it stands on the farm 
 
 Be rent asunder by strength of arm; 
 
 So, when the cords of love are twined 
 
 Among the fibres of the mind, 
 
 And kindred souls by secret ties 
 
 Mingle thoughts and sympathies, 
 
 what a wrench to tear in twain 
 
 Those that are loved and love again, — 
 
 To drag the magnet from its pole, 
 
 To chain the freedom of the soul. 
 
 To freeze in ice desires that boil. 
 
 To root the mandrake from the soil. 
 
 With groans, and blood, and tears, and toil ! 
 
 He is gone to the land of the holy war, 
 The sad, the brave young Amador, 
 Not to return, — by Leoliue's oath, 
 When all in wrath he bound them both, 
 Not to return, — by that last kiss, 
 Till name, and fame, and fortune are his. 
 
276 G E R A L D I N E . 
 
 Ay, he is gODe : — and with him went, 
 
 As into chosen banishment, 
 
 The bloom of her cheek, and the light of her eye, 
 
 And the hope of her heart, so near to die : 
 
 He is gone, o'er Paynim lands to roam, 
 
 But leaves his heart, his all, at home; 
 
 And years have glided, day by day. 
 
 To watch him warring far away. 
 
 Where, upon G-ideon's hallowed banks 
 
 His prowess hath scatter'd the Saracen ranks, 
 
 And the Lion-king with his own right hand 
 
 Hath dubb'd him knight of Holy-Land : 
 
 The crescent waned wherever he came. 
 
 And Christendom rung with his deeds of fame, 
 
 And Saladin trembled at the name 
 
 Of Amador de-Ramothaim. 
 
 He hath won him in battle a goodly shield, 
 
 Three wild boars Or on an azure field. 
 
 While scallop-shells three on an argent fess 
 
 Proclaim him a pilgrim and knight no less; 
 
 Enchased in gold on his helmet of steel 
 
 A deer-hound stands on the high-plumed keel, 
 
 Hafiz his hound, who hath rescued his life 
 
 From the wily Assassin's secret knife, 
 
 Hafiz his friend, whom he loveth so well 
 
 As the last gift of Christabel : 
 
 And over his vizor, and round his arm. 
 
 And graved on his sword as a fiivourite charm, 
 
 And on his banner emblazon'd at length. 
 
 Love's motto, "Hope is all my strength." 
 
 then, with how much pride and joy, 
 And hope, which fear could scarce alloy. 
 With heart how leaping, eye how bright, 
 And fair cheek flush'd with deep delight, 
 
G K R A L I) I N K . 277 
 
 Heard Christabel the wafted story 
 Of her far-oif lover's glory; 
 
 For her inmost soul knew well 
 That he hoped and spake and thought 
 
 Only of his Christabel, 
 That he lived and loved and fought 
 
 Only for his Christabel : 
 So, she felt his honour hers, 
 His welfare hers, his being hers, 
 
 And did reward with rich largesse 
 The stray astonish'd messengers 
 
 Who brought her so much happiness! 
 
 — Behold ! it is past, — that many a year j 
 The harvest of her hope is near; 
 Behold i it is come, — behold him here I 
 Yes, in pomp and power and pride, 
 And joy and love how true, how tried, 
 He comes to claim his long-loved bride; 
 Her own true knight, bliss to tell, 
 Her Amador she loves so well 
 Keturns for his sweet Christabel ! 
 
 He leapt the moat, the portal past, 
 He flung him from his horse in haste, 
 
 And in the hall 
 He met her! ^ut how pale and wan!— " 
 He started back, as she upon 
 
 His neck would fall; 
 He started back, — for by her side 
 (0 blessed vision !) he espied 
 
 A thing divine, — 
 Poor Christabel was lean and white, 
 But oh, how soft, and fair, and bright, 
 
 Was Geraldine I 
 
278 GERALDINE. 
 
 Fairei and brighter, as he gazes 
 All celestial beauty blazes 
 
 From those glorious eyes, 
 And Amador no more can brook 
 The jealous air and peevish look 
 
 That in the other lies! 
 
 Alas, for wasting Christabel, 
 
 Alas, for stricken Christabel, — 
 
 How had she long'd to see this day, 
 
 And now her all is dash'd away! 
 
 How many slow sad years, poor maid, 
 
 Had she for this day wept and pray'd, 
 
 And now the bitterest tears destroy 
 
 That honied hope of cherish'd joy. 
 
 For he hath ceased, — withering thought. 
 
 With burning anguish fully fraught, — 
 
 To love his Christabel ! 
 Her full heart bursts, and she doth fall 
 Unheeded in her father's hall. 
 And, oh, the heaviest stroke of all, 
 By him she loves so well. 
 
 O save her, Mary Mother, save ! 
 Let not the damned sorceress have 
 
 Her evil will; 
 save thine own sweet Christabel, 
 Thy saint, thine innocent Christaoei, 
 
 And guard her still 1 
 
QERALDINE. 279 
 
 (^nnttoinn tn ]M II. 
 
 For it doth mark a godlike mind, 
 
 Prudence, and power, and truth combined, 
 
 A rare self-steering moral strength, 
 
 To over-love the dreary length 
 
 Of ten successive anxious years, 
 
 Unwarp'd by hopes, untired by fears; 
 
 Still, as every teeming hour 
 
 Glides away in sun or shower. 
 
 Though the pilgrim foot may range, 
 
 The heart at home to feel no change, 
 
 But to live and linger on. 
 
 Fond and warm and true — to one ! 
 
 O love like this, in life's young spring, 
 
 Is a rare and precious thing ; 
 
 A pledge that man hath claims above, 
 
 A sister-twin to martyrs' love, 
 
 A shooting-star of blessed light 
 
 Glancing on the world's midnight, 
 
 A drop of sweet, where all beside 
 
 Is bitterest gall in life's dull tide. 
 
 One faithful found, where all was lost, 
 
 An Abdiel in Satan's host ! 
 
 To love, unshrinking and unshaken. 
 Albeit by all but hope forsaken, 
 To love, through slander, craft, and fear, 
 And fairer faces smiling near. 
 Through absence, stirring scenes among, 
 And harrowing silence, suffering long. 
 Still to love on, — and pray and weep 
 For that dear one, while others sleep, 
 19 
 
280 G E R A L D I N E . 
 
 To dwell upou each precious word 
 
 Which the charm' d ear iu whispers heard, 
 
 To treasure up a lock of hair, 
 
 To watch the heart with jealous care, 
 
 To live on a remember'd smile. 
 
 And still the wearisome days beguile 
 
 With rosy sweet imaginings 
 
 And all the soft and sunny things 
 
 Look'd and spoken, ere they parted, 
 
 Full of hope, though broken-hearted, — 
 
 O there is very virtue here, 
 
 Ketiring, holy, deep, sincere, 
 
 A self-poised virtue, working still 
 
 To compass good, and combat ill, 
 
 Which none but worldlings count earth-born, 
 
 And they who know it not, can scorn. 
 
 Ah yes, let common sinners jeer. 
 And Mammon's slaves suspect and sneer, 
 While each idolator of pelf 
 Judging from his gross-hearted self 
 Counts Love no purer and no higher 
 Than the low plot of base desire; — 
 Jjtt worldly cunning nurse its dreams 
 Of happiness, from selfish schemes 
 By heartless hungry parents plann'd, 
 Of wedded fortune, rank, and land, — 
 There is more wisdom, and more wealth, 
 More rank in being, more soul's health, 
 In wedded love for one short hour. 
 Than lifelong wedded pelf and power ! 
 Yes, there is virtue in these things; 
 A balm to heal the scorpion-stings 
 That others' sins and sorrows make 
 In hearts that still can weep and ache; 
 
G E R A L D I N E . 281 
 
 There is a heavenly influence, 
 
 A secret spiritual fence, 
 
 Circling the soul with present power 
 
 In temptation's darkest hour, 
 
 Walling it round from outward sin, 
 
 While all is soft and pure within. 
 
 ^uxi III. 
 
 BaXG THB FIFTH AND LAST OF CHRISTABEL. 
 
 Hast thou not seen, world-weary man, 
 Life's poor pilgrim white and wan, — 
 A gentle beauty for the cheek 
 
 Which nothing gives but sorrow, 
 A sweet expression, soft and weak, 
 
 Joy can never borrow ? 
 Where lingering on the pale wet face 
 The rival tears run their slow race 
 
 Each in its wonted furrow; 
 And patience, eloquently meek, 
 
 From the threaten'd stroke unshrinking, 
 In mild boldness can but speak 
 
 The burden of its sadden 'd thinking, — 
 "Dreary as to-day has been. 
 And sad and cheerless yestereen, 
 
 'Twill dawn as dark to-mon'ow !" 
 
 Desolate hearted Christabel, 
 Hapless, hopeless Christabel, — 
 24* 
 
282 G E R A L D I x\ E . 
 
 Nightly tears have dimm'd the lustre 
 
 Of thy blue eyes, once so bright, 
 And, as when dank willows cluster 
 
 Weeping over marble rocks, 
 O'er thy forehead white 
 
 Droop thy flaxen locks : 
 Yet art thou beautiful, dear girl, 
 
 As angels in distress, 
 Yea, comforting the soul, fair pearl, 
 
 With thy loveliness; 
 For thy beauty's light subdued 
 
 Hath a soothing charm 
 In sympathy with all things good 
 
 That weep for hate and harm; 
 And none can ever see unmoved 
 
 Thy poor wet face, with sorrow white, 
 none have seen, who have not loved, 
 
 The sadly sweet religious light 
 That doth with pearly radiance shine 
 From those sainted eyes of thine. 
 
 A trampling of hoofs at the cullice-port, — - 
 A hundred horse in the castle-court! 
 From border-wastes, a weary way, 
 
 Through Halegarth wood and Knorreu moor, 
 A mingled 'numerous array 
 On panting palfreys black and grey 
 
 With foam and mud bespatter'd o'er 
 Hastily cross the flooded Irt, 
 And rich Waswater's beauty skirt, 
 And Sparkling-Tairn, and rough Scathwaite, 
 And now that day is dropping late. 
 Have passed the drawbridge and the gate. 
 
 By thy white flowing beard, and reverend mien, 
 And gilded harp, and chaplet of green, 
 
G E R A L D I N E 288 
 
 And milk-white mare in the castle-yard, 
 Welcome, glad welcome to Bracy the bard I 
 And, by thy struggle still to hide 
 This generous conquest of thy pride, 
 More than by yon princely train. 
 
 And blazon'd banner standing near, 
 And snorting steed with slacken'd rein, — 
 
 Hail, too long a stranger here. 
 Hail, to Langdale's friendly hall. 
 Thou noble spirit, most of all, 
 Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine ! 
 
 Like aspens tall beside the brook 
 The stalwart warriors stood and shook 
 And each advancing fear'd to look 
 
 Into the other's eye; 
 'Tis fifty years ago to-day 
 Since in disdain and passion they 
 Had flung each other's love away 
 
 With words of insult high: 
 How had they long'd and pray'd to meet! 
 But memories cling; and pride is sweet; 
 And — which could be the first to greet 
 
 The haply scornful other? 
 What if De Vaux were haughty still,-*— 
 Or Leoline's unbridled will 
 Consented not his rankling ill 
 
 In charity to smother? 
 
 Their knees give way, their faces are pala 
 And loudly beneath the corslets of mail 
 Their aged hearts in generous heat 
 Almost to bursting boil and beat; 
 The white lips quiver, the pulses throb, 
 They stifle and swallow the rising sob, — 
 
284 GERALDINE. 
 
 And there they stand, faint and unmann'd, 
 
 As each holds forth his bare right hand ! 
 
 Yes, the mail-clad warriors tremble, 
 
 All unable to dissemble 
 
 Penitence and love confest, 
 
 As within each aching breast 
 
 The flood of affection grows deeper and stronger 
 
 Till they can refrain no longer, 
 
 But with, — " Oh, my long-lost brother," — 
 
 To their hearts they clasp each other, 
 
 Vowing in the face of heaven 
 
 All forgotten and forgiven ! 
 
 Then, the full luxury of grief 
 
 That brings the smother'd soul relief, 
 
 Within them both so fiercely rush'd 
 
 That from their vanquish 'd eyes out-gush'd 
 
 A tide of tears, as pure and deep 
 
 As children, yea as cherubs weep ! 
 
 Quoth K-oland de Vaux to Sir Leoline; 
 "No lady lost can be daughter of mine, 
 For yestereen at this same hour 
 My Geraldine sat in her latticed bower, 
 And merrily marvell'd much to hear 
 She had been found in the forest drear: 
 Nathless, of thee, old friend^ to crave 
 Once more the love I long to have 
 Ere yet I drop into the grave, 
 
 Behold me here ! 
 I hail'd the rich offer, and hither I sped, 
 Glad to reclaim our friendship fled, 
 And see that face, — ere yet it be dead, — 
 
 I feel so dear; 
 And my old heart danced with the joy of a child 
 When out of school he leaps half-wild 
 To think we could be reconciled." 
 
GERALDINE. 28«^ 
 
 ''Thy tale is strange," quoth Leoline, 
 
 "As thy return is sweet; 
 Yet might it please thee, brother mine, 
 
 In knightly sort to greet 
 This wondrous new-found Geraldine; 
 Certes, she is a thing divine, — 
 So bright in her doth beauty shine 
 
 From head to feet, 
 A wondrous creature, most divine. 
 
 For angels meet.'^ 
 
 O glorious in thy loveliness ! 
 Victorious in thy loveliness ! 
 From what strong magnetic zone 
 Circling some strange world unknown, 
 Hast thou stoFn sweet influence 
 To lull in bliss each ravish 'd sense? 
 That thine eyes rain light and love 
 Kindlier than the heavens above, — 
 That the sunshine of thy face 
 Shows richly ripe each winning grace,— 
 That thine innocent laughing dimple, 
 And thy tresses curling simple, 
 Thy soft cheek, and rounded arm, " 
 And foot unsandall'd, white and warm, 
 And every sweet luxurious charm 
 Fair, and full, and flush'd, and bright, 
 Fascinate the dazzled sight 
 As with a halo of delight? 
 
 Her beauty hath conquer'd : a sunny smilo 
 
 Laughs into goodness her seeming guile. 
 
 Ay, was she not in mercy sent 
 
 To heal the friendships pride had rent? 
 
 Is she not here a blessed saint 
 
 To work all good by subtle feint? 
 
2Mft OERALDINE. 
 
 Yea, art thou not, mysterious dame, 
 
 Our Lady of Furness? — the same, the same! 
 
 holy one, we know thee now, 
 
 gracious one, before thee bow. 
 
 Help us, Mary, hallow'd one, 
 
 Bless us, for thy wondrous Son — 
 
 The name was half-spoken, — the spell was half-broken,- 
 And suddenly, from his bent knee 
 
 Upleapt each knight in fear! 
 All warily they look'd around. 
 Sure, they had heard a hissing sound 
 And one quick moment on the ground 
 
 Had seen a dragon here ! 
 But now before their wilder'd eyes 
 Bright Geraldine, all sweet surprise. 
 With her fair hands, in courteous guise 
 Hath touch'd them both, and bade them rise; 
 "Alas, kind sirs," she calmly said, 
 "I am but a poor hunted maid, 
 Hunted, ah me ! and sore afraid. 
 That all too far from home have strayM, 
 For love of one who flies and hates me, 
 For hate of one who loves and waits me.'* 
 
 Wonder-stricken were they then. 
 And full of love, those ancient men. 
 Full-fired with guilty love, as when 
 
 In times of old 
 To young Susannah's fairness knelt 
 Those elders twain, and fiercely felt 
 The lava-streams of passion melt 
 
 Their bosoms cold: 
 They loved, — they started from the floor,— 
 But hist! within the chamber-door 
 Softly stole Sir Amador; — 
 
G E R A L D I N E . 2?7 
 
 Nor look'd, nor wondcr'd as they past 
 (Speeding by in shame and haste, 
 Meekly thinking of each other 
 As a weak and guilty brother,) 
 For all to him in that dark room, 
 All the light to pierce its gloom, 
 All he thought of, cared for, there, 
 Was that loved one, smiling fair. 
 Wondrous in her charms serene, 
 Glad and glorious Geraldine. 
 
 The eye of a hawk is fierce and bright 
 As a facet-cut diamond scattering light, 
 Soft and ray'd with invincible love 
 As a pure pearl is the eye of a dove; 
 And so in flashes quick and keen 
 Look'd Amador on Geraldine, 
 And so, in sweet subduing rays. 
 On Amador did fondly gaze 
 In gentle power of beauty's blaze 
 Imperial Geraldine. 
 
 His head is cushioned on her breast, 
 
 Her dark eyes shed love on his, 
 And his changing cheek is prest 
 
 By her hot and thrilling kiss. 
 While again from her moist lips 
 The honeydew of joy he sips. 
 And views, with rising transport warm, 
 Her half unveil'd bewitching form — 
 
 A step on the threshold ! — the chamber is dim, 
 And gliding ghost-like up to him. 
 While entranced in conscious fear 
 He feels an injured angel near, 
 
2S8 G E R A L D I N E . 
 
 Sad Christabel with wringing hands 
 Beside her faithless lover stands, 
 Sad Christabel with streaming eyes 
 In silent anguish stands and sighs. 
 
 Ave, Maria! send her aid, 
 
 Bless, oh bless the wretched maid ! 
 
 It is done, — he is won ! — stung with remorse 
 
 He hath dropt at her feet as a clay-cold corse, 
 
 And Christabel with trembling dread 
 
 Hath raised on her knee his pale dear head, 
 
 And bathed his brow with many a tear. 
 
 And listen 'd for his breath in fear, 
 
 And when she thought that none was near 
 
 But guardian saints, and God above. 
 
 Set on his lips the seal of her love ! 
 
 But Geraldine had watch'd that kiss. 
 
 And with involuntary hiss 
 
 And malice in her snake-like stare 
 
 She gnash'd her teeth on the loving pair 
 
 And glared on them both with a deadly glare. 
 
 Softly through the sounding hall 
 
 In rich melodious notes, 
 "With many a gentle swell and fall. 
 
 Holy music floats, 
 Like gossamer in a sultry sky 
 Dropping low, or sailing high : 
 Bard Bracy, bard Bracy, that touch was thine 
 . KJn Cambria's harp with triple strings. 
 Wild and sweet is the hymn divine. 
 
 Fanning the air like unseen wings, — 
 
n V, n ,\ T- D I N E . 289 
 
 What ailetli thee, Geraldine ? 
 What horror is hunting thee, Geraldine? — 
 Thy body con\ailsed groweth lank and lean, 
 Thy smooth white neck is shrivelFd and green, 
 Thine eyes are blear'd and sunk and keen, — 
 Awdiy I — for the love, and the wild sweet harp, 
 Thine innermost being do wither and warp, 
 Away ! to the pains, and the chains, and the fears, 
 Away ! to the torments, the toils, and the tears, 
 Away I for a thousand years. 
 
 (Cnnrliisinii tn ]kt\ IIL 
 
 Sweet Christabel, ray Christabel, 
 I have riven thy heart that loved so well : 
 O weak, wicked, to rend in its home 
 The love that I cherish wherever I roam ! 
 As when with his glory the morning sun 
 
 Floods on a sudden the tropical sky, 
 And startled twilight, dim and dun. 
 
 Flies from the fear of his conquering eye, 
 So flashed across the lightened breast 
 
 Of Christabel, no more to moan, 
 A dawn of love, the happiest 
 
 Her maiden heart had ever known; 
 For yea, it was only through powers of hell, 
 And evil eye, and potent spell. 
 That Amador to Christabel 
 
 Could faithless prove, — 
 And when she saw him kneeling near. 
 Contrite, yet more in hope than fear, 
 Oh then she teit him aoubiy dear, 
 Iler rescjed love. 
 
290 GERALD1NJ2. 
 
 Ave, Maria ! unto thee 
 All the thanks and glory he, 
 For thy gracious arm and aid 
 Saved the youth, and blest the maid. 
 So falls it out, that vanquished ill 
 Breeds only good to good men still, 
 And while its poison seethes and works 
 It yields a healing antidote. 
 Which, whether mortals use or not, 
 Like a friend in ambush, lurks 
 Deepest* in the deadliest plot. 
 
 Not swift, though soon, next day at noon, — 
 
 Just at the wedding-hour 
 As hand-in-hand betroth'd they stand 
 
 Beneath the chapel tower, 
 A holy light, — a vision bright,-=— 
 
 'Twas twelve o'clock at noon, 
 A spirit good before them stood, 
 Her garments fair and flowing hair 
 
 Shone brighter than the moon. 
 And thus in musical~'voice most sweet, — 
 I "Daughter, this hour to grace and greet 
 To bless this day, as is most meet. 
 
 Thy mother stoops from heaven: 
 And, ancient men, who all so late 
 Have stopp'd at Death's half-open'd gate, 
 In tears of love to drown your hate 
 
 Forgiving and forgiven, 
 Hear, noble spirits reconciled, 
 Hear, gracious souls, now meek and mild 
 Albeit with guilt so long defiled, 
 
 Love's liu'i'^rins; boon receive; 
 
OERALDINE. 
 
 Roland de Vaux,— thj long-lost child, 
 Whom border-troopers, fierce and wild, 
 An infant from bis hcma begu'led, 
 
 Ihy boul to gall and grieve. 
 In Amador — behold ! " 
 
 The spirit said, and all in light 
 Melted away that vision bri^j^hts 
 Mj tale is told 
 
 291 
 
IMAGINATION. 
 
 SOME EARLY POEMS. 
 
 Sraagmntton. 
 
 Thou fair enchantress of my willing heart, 
 
 Who charmest it to deep and dreamy slumber, 
 
 Gilding mine evening clouds of reverie, — 
 
 Thou Siren, who, with lovelit eyes, and voic) 
 
 Most softly musical, dost lure me on 
 
 O'er the wide sea of indistinct idea . 
 
 Or quaking sands of untried theory 
 
 Or ridgy shoals of fixt experiment 
 
 That wind a dubious pathway through the deep, — 
 
 Imasination, I am thine own child : 
 
 Have I not often sat with thee retired. 
 
 Alone yet not alone, though grave most glad, 
 
 All silent outwardly, but loud within. 
 
 As from the distant hum of manj^ waters. 
 
 Weaving the tissue of some delicate thought. 
 
 And hushing every breath that might have rent 
 
 Our web of gossamer, so finely spun? 
 
 Have I not often listed thy sweet song, 
 
 (While in vague echoes and iEolian notes 
 
 The chambers of my heart have answer'd it,) 
 
 With eye as bright in joy, and fluttering pulse, 
 
 As the coy village maiden's, when her lover 
 
 Whispers his hope to her delighted ear ? 
 
 And taught by thee, angelic visitant^ 
 
I M A G I N A T ION. 293 
 
 Have I not Icarut to love the tuneful lyre, 
 
 Draining from every chord its musical soul? 
 
 Have I not learnt to find in all that is, 
 
 Somewhat to touch the hearty or raise the mind, 
 
 Somewhat of grand and beautiful to praise 
 
 Alike in small and great things? and this power, 
 
 This clearing of the eye, this path made straight 
 
 Even to the heart's own heart, its innermost core, 
 
 This keenness to perceive and seek and find 
 
 And love and prize all-present harmony. 
 
 This, more than choosing words to clothe the thought, 
 
 Makes the true poet; this thy glorious gift. 
 
 Imagination, rescues me thy sou 
 
 (Thy son, albeit least worthy,) from the lust 
 
 Of mammon, and the cares of animal life. 
 
 And the dull thraldom of this work-day world. 
 
 Indulgent lover, I am all thine own; 
 
 What art thou not to me'? — ah, little know 
 
 The worshippers of cold reality, 
 
 The grosser minds, who most sincerely think 
 
 That sense is the broad avenue to bliss. 
 
 Little know they the thrilling ecstasy 
 
 The delicate refinement in delight 
 
 That cheers the thoughtful spirit, as it soars 
 
 Far above all these petty things of life; 
 
 And strengthen'd by the flight and cordial joys 
 
 Can then come down to earth and common men 
 
 Better in motive, stronger in resolve, 
 
 Apter to use all means that compass good, 
 
 And of more charitable mind to all. 
 
 Imagination, art thou not my friend 
 
 In crowds and solitude, my comrade dear. 
 
 Brother, and sister, mine own other self, 
 
 The Hector to my soul's Andromache? 
 
294 IMAGINATION. 
 
 Triumphant beauty, bright intelligence ! 
 
 The chasten'd fire of ecstasy suppress'd 
 
 Beams from thine eye ; because thy secret heart, 
 
 Like that strange sight burning yet unconsumed, 
 
 Is all on flame a censer fiU'd with odours ; 
 
 And to my mind, who feel thy fearful power, 
 
 Suggesting passive terrors and delights, 
 
 A slumbering volcano : thy dark cheek, 
 
 Warm and transparent, by its half-form'd dimple 
 
 Reveals an under-world of wondrous things 
 
 Kipe in their richness, — as among the bays 
 
 Of blest Bermuda, through the sapphire deep 
 
 Ruddy and white fantastically branch 
 
 The coral groves; thy broad and sunny brow, 
 
 Made fertile by the genial smile of heaven. 
 
 Shoots up an hundred-fold the glorious crop 
 
 Of arabesque ideas; forth from thy curls 
 
 Half hidden in their black luxuriance 
 
 The twining sister-graces lightly spring. 
 
 The muses, and the passions, and young love, 
 
 Tritons and Naiads, Pegasus, and Sphinx, 
 
 Atlas, Briareus, Phaeton, and Cyclops, 
 
 Centaurs, and shapes uncouth and wild conceits; 
 
 And in the midst blazes the star of mind. 
 
 Illumining the classic portico 
 
 That leads to the high dome where Learning sits: 
 
 On either side of that broad sunny brow 
 
 Flame-colour'd pinions, streak'd with gold and blue, 
 
 Burst from the teeming brain; while under them 
 
 The forked lightning, and the cloud-robed thunder. 
 
 And fearful shadows, and unhallow'd eyes. 
 
 And strange foreboding forms of terrible things 
 
 Lurk in the midnight of thy raven locks ! 
 
 And thou hast been the sunshine to my landscape. 
 Imagination ; thou hast wreathed me smiles, 
 
IMAGINATION. 205 
 
 And hung them on a statue's marble lips; 
 
 Hast made earth's dullest pebbles bright like gems; 
 
 Hast lent me thine own silken clue, to rove 
 
 The ideal labyrinths of a thousand spheres; 
 
 Hast lengthen'd out my nights with life-long dreams, 
 
 And with glad seeming gilt my darkest day; 
 
 Help'd rae to scale in thought the walls of heaven, 
 
 While journeying wearily this busy world ; 
 
 Sent me to pierce the palpable clouds with eagles, 
 
 And with leviathan the silent deep; 
 
 Hast tauglit my youthful spirit to expand 
 
 Beyond himself, and live in other scenes, 
 
 And other times, and among other men; 
 
 Hast bid me cherish, silent and alone, 
 
 First feelings, and young hopes, and better aims, 
 
 And sensibilities of delicate sort. 
 
 Like timorous mimosas, which tlic breath 
 
 The cold and cautious breath of daily life 
 
 Hath not as yet had power to blight and kill 
 
 From my heart's garden; for they stand retired. 
 
 Screen 'd from the north by groves of rooted thought. 
 
 Without thine aid, how cheerless were all time, 
 But chief the short sweet hours of earliest love; 
 When the young mind, athirst for happiness, 
 And all-exulting in that new-found treasure. 
 The wealth of being loved, as well as loving, 
 Sees not, and hears not, knows not, thinks not, speaks not. 
 Except it be of her, his one desire; 
 And thy rose-colour'd glass on every scene 
 With more than earthly promise cheats the eye. 
 While the charm'd ear drinks thy melodious words. 
 And the heart reels, drunk with ideal beauty. 
 So too the memory of departed joy, 
 Walking in black with sprinkled tears of pearl, 
 Passes before the mind with look less stem 
 20 
 
206 IMAGINATION. 
 
 And foot more liglitea'd, when thine inward power. 
 Most gentle friend, upon that clouded face 
 Sheds the fair light of better joy to come, 
 And throws round Glrief the azure scarf of Hope. 
 
 As the wild chamois bounds from rock to rook, 
 
 Oft on the granite steeples nicely poised, 
 
 Unconscious that the cliff from which he hangs 
 
 Was once a fiery sea of molten stone 
 
 Shot up ten thousand feet and crystallized 
 
 When earth w^as labouring with her kraken brood; 
 
 So have I sped with thee, my bright-eyed love, 
 
 Imagination, over pathless wilds. 
 
 Bounding from thought to thought, unmindful of 
 
 The fever of my soul that shot them up 
 
 And made a ready footing for my speed, 
 
 As in a whirlwind I have flown along 
 
 Wing'd with ecstatic mind, and carried away 
 
 Like Ganymede of old, o'er cloudcapt Ida, 
 
 Or Alps, or Andes, or the ice-bound shores 
 
 Of Arctic or Antarctic, — stolen from earth 
 
 Her sister planets and the twinkling eyes 
 
 That watch her from afar, to the pure seat 
 
 Of rarest Matter's last created world. 
 
 And brilliant halls of self-existing Light ! 
 
 €^t Inng nf an SllpiuB fit 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! — My coy Jungfra 
 Is tall and robed in snow, — 
 
 Yet at a leap to the topmost steep 
 I bound from the glen below; 
 
THE SONG OF AN ALPINE ELF. 297 
 
 On her dizziest peak I sit and shriek 
 
 To the winds that around me blow, 
 And heard from afar is iny ha ! ha ! ha I 
 
 The wild laugh echoes so. 
 In the forests dun round Lauterbrunn 
 
 That line each dark ravine, 
 I hide me away from the garish day 
 
 Till the howling winter's e'en; 
 Then I jump on high through the coal-black sky, 
 
 And light on some cliff of snow 
 That nods to its fall like a tottering wall, 
 
 And I rock it to and fro ! 
 My summer home is the cataract's foam 
 
 As it floats in a frothing heap. 
 My winter's rest is the v/casel's nest, 
 
 Or deep with the mole I sleep; 
 Or I ride for a freak on tfie lightning-streak, 
 
 Or climb till I reach in the clouds 
 The terrible form of the Thunder-storm, 
 
 Wrapp'd in his sable shrouds I 
 Often I launch the huge avalanch. 
 
 And make it my milk-white sledge. 
 When unappall'd to the Grindlewald 
 
 I slide from the Shrikehorn's edge; 
 Silent and soft to the ibex oft 
 
 I have stolen, and hurried hitn o'er 
 The precipice to the bristling ice 
 
 That smokes with his scarlet gore : 
 But my greatest joy is to lure and decoy 
 
 To the snow-drift's slippery brink 
 The hunter bold, when he's weary and cold, 
 
 And there let him suddenly sink, — 
 A thousand feet — dead! ho dropp'd like lead, 
 
 Ha, he couldn't le:i;» liko me ; 
 With broken back, as a felon on rack. 
 
 He bangs in a split pine-tree I 
 
298 THE SONG OF AN ALPINE ELF. 
 
 And there mid his bones, that echoed with groans, 
 
 I make me a nest of his hair; 
 The ribs dry and white rattle loud as in spite 
 
 When I rock in my cradle there : 
 Hurrah, hurrah, and ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 I'm in a madman's mood. 
 For I'm all alone in my palace of bone 
 That's tapestried ftiir with the old man's hair 
 
 And dabbled with clots of blood; 
 And when I look out all around and about, 
 The storm shouts high to the coalblack sky, 
 And the icicle sleet falls thick and fleet. 
 And all that I hear on the mountains drear, 
 And all I behold on the valleys cold, 
 
 Is Death in Solitude ! 
 
 A DREAM — mysterious word, a dream ! 
 
 What joys and sorrows are enshrined 
 In those dark hours we fondly deem 
 
 A plaything for the truant mind : 
 
 It is a happy thing to dream. 
 
 When rosy thoughts and visions bright 
 Pour on the soul a golden stream 
 
 Of rich luxurious delight; 
 
 It is a weary thing to dream, 
 
 When from the hot and aching brain 
 
 As from a boiling cauldron steam 
 The myriad forms in fnncy's train; 
 
D R E A M S . 299 
 
 It is a curious thing to dream, 
 
 AVhen shapes grotesque of all quaint things 
 Like laughing water-witches seem 
 
 To sport in reason's turbid springs ; 
 
 It is a glorious thing to dream, 
 
 When full of wings and full of eyes 
 Borne on the whirlwind or sun-beam 
 
 We race along the startled skies ; 
 
 It is a wondrous thing to dream 
 
 Of tumbling with a fearful shock 
 From some tall cliff where eagles scream, 
 
 To light upon a feather rock; 
 
 It is a terrible thing to dream 
 
 Of strangled throats and' heart-blood spilt, 
 
 And ghosts that in the darkness gleam, 
 And horrid eyes of midnight guilt : — 
 
 Who shall tell me what I dream? 
 
 Ages lingering in a night, — 
 Thronging thoughts of things that teem 
 
 With wondc, terror, and delight ! 
 
 Yes, — I can fancy, in the spring 
 Of Childhood's sunny hours. 
 
 That Nature's infant Priest and King 
 Loved to gaze on flowers ; 
 
800 INFANT CHRIST, WITH FLOWERS, 
 
 For ligbtly, 'mid the wreck of all, 
 When torn from Eden's bowers, 
 
 Above the billows of the fall 
 Floated gentle flowers: 
 
 Unfallen, sinless, undefiled, 
 
 Fresh bathed in summer showers. 
 
 What wonder that the holy Child 
 Loved to play with flowers? 
 
 In these he saw his Father's face, 
 All Godhead's varied powers, 
 
 And joy'd each attribute to trace 
 In sweet unconscious flowers : 
 
 In these he found where Wisdom hides 
 
 And modest Beauty cowers, 
 And where Omnipotence resides, 
 
 And Tenderness, — in flowers! 
 
 Innocent Child, a little while, 
 
 Ere yet the tempest lours, 
 Bask thy young heart in Nature's smile, 
 
 Her lovely smile of flowers; 
 
 Thy young heart, — is it not array 'd 
 In feelings such as ours? — 
 
 Yes, being now of thorns afraiJ, 
 I see thee crown'd with flowers. 
 
PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE. 801 
 
 A SAD sweet gladness, full of tears, 
 And thoughts that never cloy 
 
 Of careless childhood's happier years, 
 Is Memory's tranquil joy; 
 
 A rapturous and delusive dream 
 
 Of pleasures ne'er to be. 
 That o'er life's troubled waters gleam, 
 
 Is Hope's sweet reverie : 
 
 Yet, before jMemory can look back, 
 When Hope is lost in sight. 
 
 Ah ! where is Memory's fairy track, 
 Ah ! where is Hope's delight ? 
 
 The present is a weary scene, 
 
 And always wish'd away; 
 We live on "to he" and "has been," 
 
 But never on " to-day." 
 
 a ijinrt (gnspL 
 
 Wisdom framed the wondrous plan 
 Love had hoped for fallen man; 
 Justice bade the blood be spilt; 
 Mercy bore imputed guilt; 
 Truth rejoiced, and smiled to see 
 Power had «et the captive free. 
 
802 ONABULBOUSROOT 
 
 WHICH BLOSSOMED, AFTER HAVING LAIN FOR AGES IN TU^ U&ND OF AS 
 EGYPTIAN MUMMT. 
 
 What, wide awake, sweet stranger, wide awake? 
 And laughing coyly at an English sun, 
 And blessing him with smiles for having thaw'd 
 Thine icy chain, for having woke thee gently 
 From thy long slumber of three thousand years ? 
 Methinks I see the eye of wonder peering 
 From thy tall pistil, looking strangely forth 
 As from a watch-tow'r at thy fellow-flowers, 
 Admiring much the rich variety 
 Of many a gem in nature's jewel-case 
 Unknown to thee, — the drooping hyacinth. 
 The prim ranunculus, and gay geranium, 
 And dahlias rare, and heartsease of all hues. 
 Mealy auriculas, and spotted lilies. 
 Gaudy carnations, and the modest face 
 Of the moss-rose : methinks thy wondering leaves 
 And curious petals at the long-lost sun 
 Gaze with a lingering love, bedizen'd o'er 
 With a small firmament of eyes to catch 
 The luxury of his smile ; as o'er the pool 
 Hovering midway the gorgeous dragon-fly 
 Watches his mates with thousand-facet vision; 
 Or as when underneath the waterfall 
 Floating in sunny wreaths the fretted foam 
 Mirrors blue heaven its million orbs: 
 Methinks I see thy f^ir and foreign face 
 Blush with the glowing ardour of first love, 
 (Mindful of ancient Nile, and those warm skies, 
 And tender tales of insect coquetry,) 
 
ON A BULBOUS ROOT- • 3 
 
 When some briglit butterfly descends to sip 
 
 The exotic fragi-ance of th}'- ncctarous dew : 
 
 Even so, Jubal's daughters in old time 
 
 Welcomed the sons of God, who sprang from heaven 
 
 To gaze with rapture on earth's fairest creatures, 
 
 And fan them with their rainbow-colour'd wings. 
 
 Didst ever dream of such a day as this, 
 
 A day of life and sunshine, when entranced 
 
 In the cold tomb of yonder shrivell'd hand ? 
 
 Didst ever try to shoot thy fibres forth 
 
 Through thy close prison-bars, those parchment-fingers, 
 
 And strive to blossom in a charnel-house ? 
 
 Didst ever struggle to be free, — to leap 
 
 From that forced wedlock with a clammy corpse, — 
 
 To burst thy bonds asunder, and spring up 
 
 A thing of light to commerce with the skies? 
 
 Or didst thou rather, with endurance strong, 
 
 (That might have taught a Newton passive power,) 
 
 Baffle corruption, and live on unharm'd 
 
 Amid the pestilent steams that wrapp'd thee round, 
 
 Like Mithridates, when he would not die, 
 
 But conquer'd poison by his strong resolve? 
 
 Life, thy name is mystery, — that couldst 
 Thus energize inert, be, yet not be. 
 Concentrating thy powers in one small point; 
 Couldst mail a germ, in seeming weakness strong, 
 And arm it as thy champion against Death; 
 Couldst give a weed, dug from the common field, 
 What Eg3'pt hath not. Immortality; 
 Couldst lull it off to sleep ere Carthage was. 
 And wake it up when Carthago is no more ! 
 It may be, suns and stars that walk'd the heavens 
 While thou wert in thy slumber, gentle fl«wer, 
 
804 O iN A B U L B U 6 R O T . 
 
 Have sprung from chaos, blazed their age, and burst 
 It may be, that thou seest the world worn out, 
 And look'st on meadows of a paler green, 
 Flow'rs of a duskier hue, and all creation 
 Down to degenerate man more and more dead, 
 Than in those golden hours, nearest to Eden, 
 When mother eai-th and thou and all were young. 
 
 And he that held thee, — this bituminous shape, 
 
 This fossil shell once tenanted by life, 
 
 This chrysalis husk of the poor insect man, 
 
 This leathern coat, this carcase of a soul, — 
 
 What was thy story, mine elder brother? 
 
 I note thee now, swathed like a I\Iilanese babe. 
 
 But thine are tinctured grave-clothes, fathoms long; 
 
 On thy shrunk breast the mystic beetle lies 
 
 Commending thee to Earth, and to the Sun 
 
 Regenerating tM; a curious scroll 
 
 Full of strange written lore rests at thy side; 
 
 While a quaint rosary of bestial gods. 
 
 Amnion, Bubastes, Thoth, Osiris, Apis, 
 
 And Horus with the curl, Typhon and Phthah, 
 
 Amulets ciphered with forgotten tongues. 
 
 And charm'd religious beads circle thy throat. 
 
 Greatly thy children honour'd thee in death. 
 
 And for the light vouchsafed them they did well,— 
 
 In that they hoped, and not unwisely hoped, 
 
 Again in his own flesh to see their sire; 
 
 And their affections spared not, so the form 
 
 They loved in life might rest adorn'd in death. 
 
 But this dry hand, — was it once terrible 
 When among warrior bands thou wentest forth 
 With Ramses, or Snsostris, 3'et again 
 
N A B U L B O U S R U O T . 805 
 
 To crush the i-cbel ^thiop? — wast thou set 
 
 A taskmaster to toiling Israel 
 
 When Cheops and Cephreues raised to heaven 
 
 Their giant sepulchres? — or did this hand, 
 
 That lately held a flow'r, with murderous grasp 
 
 Tear from the Hebrew mother her poor babe 
 
 To fling it to the crocodile? — Or rather 
 
 Wert thou some garden-lover, and this bulb,, 
 
 Perchance most rare and fine, prized above gold, 
 
 (As in the mad world's dotage yesterday 
 
 A tulip root could fetch a prince's ransom,) — 
 
 AVas to be buried with thee, as thy praise, 
 
 Thy Rosicrucian lamp, thine idol weed? — 
 
 Perchance, kinder thought and better hope, 
 
 Some priest of Isis shrined this root with thee 
 
 As nature's hieroglyphic, her half-guess 
 
 Of glimmering faith, that soul will never die : 
 
 What emblem liker, or more eloqiient 
 
 Of immortality, — whether the Sphinx, 
 
 Scarab, or circled snake, or wide-wing'd orb, 
 
 The azure-colour'd arch, the sleepless eye. 
 
 The pyramid four-square, or flowing river, 
 
 Or all whatever else were symbols apt 
 
 In Egypt's alphabet, — than this dry root, 
 
 So full of living promise ? — Yes, I see 
 
 Nature's " resurgam " sculptured there in wor 
 
 That all of every clime may run and read : 
 
 I see the better hope of better times, 
 
 Hope against hope, wrapp'd in the dusky coats 
 
 Of a poor leek, — 1 note glad tidings there 
 
 Of happier things; this undecaying corpse 
 
 A little longer, yet a little longer 
 
 Must slumber on, but shall awake at last; 
 
 A little longer, yet a little longer, — 
 
806 ONABULBOUSROOT. 
 
 And at the trumpet's voice, shall this dry shape 
 Start up, instinct with life, the same though changed; 
 And put on incorruptiou's glorious garb : 
 If aught of Israel's God he knew and loved, 
 Brighter than seraphs, and beyond the sun ! 
 
 Will none befriend that poor dumb brute, 
 
 Will no man rescue him ? — 
 With weaker effort, gasping, mute, 
 
 He strains in every limb; 
 
 Spare him, spare: — he feels, — he feels,- 
 
 Big tears roll from his eyes; 
 Another crushing blow ! — he reels, 
 
 Staggers, — and falls, — and dies. 
 
 Poor jaded horse, my blood runs cold 
 
 Thy guiltless wrongs to see; 
 To heav'n, starved one, lame and old, 
 
 Thy dim eye pleads for thee. 
 
 Thou too, O dog, whose faithful zeal 
 Fawns on some ruffian grim, — 
 
 He stripes thy skin with many a weal, 
 And yet, — thou lovest him. 
 
 Shame ! that of all the living chain 
 
 That links creation's plan, 
 There is but one delights in pain, 
 
 The savage monarch, — man I 
 
CRUELTY. 807 
 
 cruelty, — wlio could rehearse 
 
 Thy million dismal deeds, 
 Or track the workings of the curse 
 
 By \vhicli ail nature bleeds '( 
 
 Thou meanest crime, — thou coward sin, — 
 
 Thou base flint-hearted vice,-^ 
 Scorpion I — to sting thy heart within 
 
 Thyself shalt all suffice; 
 
 The merciless is doubly curst, 
 
 As mercy is "twice blest;'' 
 Vengeance, though slow, shall come, — but firsi 
 
 The vengeance of the breast ! 
 
 Why add another woe to life, 
 
 Man, — are there not enough? 
 Why lay thy weapon to the strife? 
 
 Why make the road more rough? 
 
 Faint, hunger-sick, old, blind, and ill. 
 
 The poor, or man or beast. 
 Can battle on with life uphill, 
 
 And bear its griefs at least; 
 
 Truly, their cup of gall o'erflows ! 
 
 But, when the spite of men 
 Adds poison to the draught of woes, 
 
 Who, who can drink it then? 
 
 Heard ye that shriek? — wretch, forbear, 
 
 Fling down thy bloody knife : 
 In fear, if not in pity, spare 
 
 A woman, and a wife ! 
 
J03 CRUELTY. 
 
 For thee she toils, uncliiding, mild, 
 
 And for thy children wan, 
 Beaten, and starved, — with famine wild, 
 
 To feast thee, monster-man : 
 
 Husband, and father, — drunkard, fiend! 
 
 Thy wife's, thy children's moan 
 Has won for innocence a Friend, 
 
 Has reach'd thy Judge's throne j 
 
 Their lives thou madest sad; but worse 
 Thy deathless doom shall be, 
 
 "No mercy!" is the withering curse 
 Thy Judge hath pass'd on thee : 
 
 Heap on, — heap on, fresh torments add,- 
 New schemes of torture plan, 
 
 No MERCY ! Mercy's self is glad 
 To damn the cruel man. 
 
 God I God I Thy whole creation groans, 
 Thy fair world writhes in pain; 
 
 Shall the dread incense of its moans 
 Arise to thee in vain ? 
 
 The hollow eye of famine pleads, 
 The face with weeping pale, 
 
 The heart that all in secret bleeds, 
 The grief that tells no tale. 
 
 Oppression's victim, weak and mild, 
 Scarce shrinking from the blow, 
 
 And the poor wearied factory child. 
 Join in the dirge of woe. 
 
CRUELTY. 309 
 
 cruel world ! sickening fear 
 Of goad, or knife, or tbong; 
 
 load of evils ill to bear! 
 
 How long, good God, how long? 
 
 31JnnBiFnr ii'ainrrnii. 
 
 An Incident, founded on Fact. 
 
 Poor Monsieur d'Alveron I I well remember 
 
 The day I visited his ruinous cot, 
 
 And heard the story of his fallen fortunes. 
 
 It was a fine May morning, and the flowers 
 
 Spread their fair faces to the laughing sun, 
 
 And look'd like small terrestrial stars, that beam'd 
 
 With life and joy; the merry lark was high 
 
 Careering in the heavens, and now and then 
 
 A throstle from the neighbouring thicket pour'd 
 
 His musical and Jiearty orisons. 
 
 The cot too truly told that poverty 
 
 Found it a home with misery and scorn: 
 
 No clambering jessamine, no well-train'd roses 
 
 There linger'd, like sweet charity, to hide 
 
 The rents unseemly of the plaster'd wall; 
 
 No tight trimm'd rows of box, or daisy prim, 
 
 Mark'd a clean pathway through the miry clay; 
 
 But all around was want and cold neglect. 
 
 With curious hand, (and heart that beat with warm 
 
 Benevolence,) — I knock'd, lifted the latch, 
 
 And in the language of his mother-land 
 
 Besought a welcome; quick with courteous phrase, 
 
 And joy unfeign'd to hear his native tongue, 
 
 He bade me enter. — 'Twas a ruin'd hovel; 
 
 Disea.«50 and penury had dnno tboir worst 
 
310 MONSIEUR D'ALVERON. 
 
 To hunt a wretched exile to despair, 
 
 But still with spirit unbroken he lived on, 
 
 And with a Frenchman's national levity 
 
 Bounded elastic from his weight of woes. 
 
 I listed long his fond garrulity, 
 
 For sympathy and confidence ai'c aye 
 
 Each other's echoes, and I won his heart 
 
 By pitying his sorrows; long he told 
 
 Of friends, and wife, and darling little ones, 
 
 Fortune, and title, and long-cherish'd hopes 
 
 By frenzied Kevolution marr'd and crush'd: 
 
 But oft my patience flicker'd, and my eye 
 
 Wander'd inquisitive round the murky room 
 
 To see wherein I best might mitigate 
 
 The misery my bosom bled to view. 
 
 I sat upon his crazy couch, and there 
 
 With many sordid rags, a roebuck^s skin 
 
 Show'd sleek and mottled; swift the clear grey eye 
 
 Of the poor sufferer had mark'd my wonder. 
 
 And as in simple guise this touching tale 
 
 He told me, in the tongue his youth had loved, 
 
 Many a tear stole down his wrinkled cheek. 
 
 "Yon glossy skin is all that now remains 
 
 To tell me that the past is not a dream ! 
 
 Oft up my chateau's avenue of limes 
 
 To be caress'd in mine ancestral hall 
 
 Poor 'Louis' bounded, (I had call'd him Louis, 
 
 Because I loved my King;) — my little ones 
 
 Have on his rounded antlers often hung 
 
 Their garlands of spring flowers, and fed him with 
 
 Sweet heads of clover from their darling hands. 
 
 But on a sorrowful day a random-shot 
 
 Of some bold thief, or well-skill'd forester, 
 
 Struck him to death, and many a tear and sob 
 
MONSIEUR d'aL VERON. 811 
 
 "Were the unwritten epitaph upon him. 
 
 The children would not lose him utterly, 
 
 But pra/d to have his mottled beautiful skin 
 
 A rug to their new pony-chaise, that they 
 
 Might oftener think of their lost favourite : 
 
 Ay — there it is ! — that precious treasury 
 
 Of fond remembrances, — that glossy skin I 
 
 thou chief solace in the wintry nights 
 
 That warms my poor old heart, and thaws my breast 
 
 With tears of — Mais, Monsieur, asseyez-vousi'' — 
 
 But I had started up, and turn'd aside 
 
 To weep in solitude. — 
 
 Ah, might I but escape to some sweet spot, 
 
 Oasis of my hopes, to fancy dear, 
 Where rural virtues are not yet forgot, 
 
 And good old customs crown the circling year; 
 Where still contented peasants love their lot, 
 
 And trade's vile din offends not nature's ear, 
 But hospitable hearths, and welcomes warm 
 To country quiet add their social charm; 
 
 Some smiling bay of Cambria's happy shore 
 A wooded dingle on a mountain-side, 
 
 Within the distant sound of ocean's roar, 
 And looking down on valley fair and wide. 
 
 Nigh to the village church, to please me more 
 Than vast cathedrals in their Gothic pride, 
 
 And blest with pious pastor, who has trod 
 
 Himself the wav, and leads his flock to God. 
 21 
 
312 WISDOM S WISH. 
 
 '* There would I dwell, for I delight therein !*' 
 
 Far from the evil ways of evil men, 
 Untainted by the soil of others' sin, 
 
 My own repbnted of, and clean again; 
 - With health and plenty crown'd, and peace within, 
 
 Choice books, and guiltless pleasures of the pen, 
 And mountain-rambles with a welcome friend. 
 And dear domestic joys that never end. 
 
 There from the flowery mead, or shingled shore. 
 To cull the gems that bounteous Nature gave, 
 
 From the rent mountain pick the brilliant ore, 
 Or seek the curious crystal in its cave; 
 
 And learning nature's Master to adore, 
 
 Know more of Him who came the lost to save; 
 
 Drink deep the pleasures contemplation gives. 
 
 And learn to love the meanest thing that lives. 
 
 No envious wish my fellows to excel, 
 No sordid money-getting cares be mine; 
 
 No low ambition in high state to dwell, 
 
 Nor meanly grand among the poor to shine : 
 
 But, sweet Benevolence, regale me well 
 
 With those cheap pleasures and light cares of thin?, 
 
 And meek-eyed Piety be always near. 
 
 With calm Content, and Gratitude sincere. 
 
 Rescued from cities, and forensic strife. 
 
 And walking well with God in nature's eye. 
 
 Blest with fair children, and a faithful wife, 
 
 Love at my board, and friendship dwelling nigh. 
 
 Oh thus to wear away my useful life, 
 
 And when I'm call'd, in rapturous hope to die, 
 
 Thus to rob heaven of all the good I can, 
 
 And challenge earth to show a happier man I 
 
THE M O T II E R .S LAMENT, 818 
 
 My own little darling — dead! 
 The dove of my happiness fled ! 
 
 Just Heaven, forgive, 
 
 But let me not live 
 N'ow my poor babe is dead: 
 
 No more to my yearning breast 
 Shall that sweet mouth be prest, 
 
 No more on my arm 
 
 Nestled up warm 
 Shall my fair darling rest: 
 
 Alas, for that dear glazed eye, 
 
 Why did it dim or die? ^ 
 
 Those lips so soft 
 
 I have kiss'd so oft 
 Why are they ice, oh why? 
 
 Alas, little frocks and toys, 
 Shadows of bygone joys, — 
 
 Have I not treasure 
 
 Of bitterest pleasure 
 In these little frocks and toys? 
 
 O harrowing sight to behold 
 That marble-like face all cold, 
 
 That small cherish' d form 
 
 Flung to the worm. 
 Deep in the charnel-mould ! 
 
 Where is each heart-winning way, 
 Thy prattle, and innocent play? 
 
 Alas, they are gone, 
 
 And left me alone 
 To weep for them night and day : 
 
^14 THE M OTHER' S LA MEN r. 
 
 Yet why should I linger behind? 
 
 Kill me too^ — death most kind; 
 Where can I go 
 To meet thy blow 
 
 And my sweet babe to find? 
 
 I know it, I rave half-wild ! 
 But who can be calm and mild 
 
 When the deep heart 
 
 Is riven apart 
 Over a dear dead child? 
 
 I know it, I should not speak 
 So boldly, I ought to be meek, 
 
 But love, it is strong; 
 
 And my spirit is wrong,— 
 Help me, my God ! I am weak ! 
 
 '€xnl 
 
 "My times are in thy hand." 
 
 Yet will I trust, in all my fears, 
 
 Thy mercy, gracious Lord, appears, 
 
 To guide me through this vale of tears, 
 
 And be my strength; 
 Thy mercy guides the ebb and flow 
 Of health and joy, or pain and woe, 
 To wean my heart from all below 
 
 To Thee at length. 
 Yes, — welcome pain, — which Thou hast sent,- 
 Yes, — farewell blessings, — Thou hast lent, 
 With Thee alone I rest content, 
 
 For Thou art Heav'n, — 
 
TRUST. 815 
 
 My trust reposes, safe and still, 
 On the wise goodness of Thy will. 
 Grateful for earthly good — or ill, 
 
 Which Thou hast giv'n. 
 O blessed friend ! blissful thought ! 
 With happiest consolation fraught, — 
 Trust Thee I may, I will, I ought, — 
 
 To doubt were sin; 
 Then let whatever storms arise. 
 Their Ruler sits above the skies, 
 And lifting unto Him mine eyes, 
 
 'Tis calm within. 
 Danger may threaten, foes molest. 
 Poverty brood, disease infest, 
 Yea, torn affections wound the breast 
 
 For one sad hour. 
 But Faith looks to her home on high, 
 Hope cases around a cheerful eye. 
 And love puts all the terrors by 
 
 With gladdening power. 
 
 Ah, think it not a light calamity 
 To be denied free converse with my kind. 
 To be debarr'd from man's true attribute. 
 The proper glorious privilege of Speech. 
 Hast thou beheld an eagle chain'd to earth? 
 A restless panther in his cage immured? 
 A swift trout by the wily fisher check'd? 
 A wild bird hopeless strain its broken wing? 
 Or ever felt, at the dark dead of night, 
 
316 THE STAMMERERS COMPLAINT. 
 
 Sorae undefined and horrid incubus 
 
 Press down the very soul, — and paralyse 
 
 The limbs in their imaginary flight 
 
 From shadowy terrors in unhallow'd sleep? 
 
 Or ever known the sudden icy chill 
 
 Of dreary disappointment, as it dashes 
 
 The sweet cup of anticipated bliss 
 
 From the pr.rch'd lips of long-enduring hope? 
 
 Then thou canst picture, — ay, ia sober truth, 
 In honest unexaggerated truth, — 
 The constant, galling, festering chain that binds 
 Captive my mute interpreter of thought; 
 The seal of lead enstamp'd upon my lips, 
 The load of iron on my labouring chest. 
 The mocking demon that at every step 
 Haunts me, — and spurs me <m — to burst with silence i 
 Oh! ^tis a sore affliction, to restrain, 
 From mere necessity, the glowing thought; 
 To feel the fluent cataract of speech 
 Check'd by some wintry spell, and frozen up, 
 Just as it leapeth from the precipice ! 
 To be the butt of wordy captious fools. 
 And see the sneering self-complacent smile 
 Of victory on their lips, when I might prove, 
 (But for some little word I dare not utter,) 
 That innate truth is not a specious lie; 
 To hear foul slander blast an honour'd name, 
 Yet breathe no fact to drive the fiend away; 
 To mark neglected virtue in the dust, 
 Yet have no word to pity or console; 
 To feel just indignation swell my breast, 
 Yet know the fountain of my wrath is seal'd; 
 To see my fellow-mortals hurrying on 
 Down the steep cliff of crime, down to perdition, 
 Yet have no voice to warn, — no voice to win! 
 
THE stammerer's COMPLAINT. 317 
 
 'Tis to be mortified in every point, 
 Baflied at every turn of life, for want 
 Of that most common privilege of man, 
 The merest drug of gorged society, 
 Words, — windy words. And is it not in truth 
 A poison'd sting in every social joy, 
 A thorn that rankles in the writhing flesh, 
 A drop of gall in each domestic sweet. 
 An irritating petty misery. 
 That I can never look on one I love 
 And speak the fulness of my burning thoughts T 
 That I can never with unmingled joy 
 Meet a long-loved and long-expected friend. 
 Because I feel, but cannot vent my feelings,—- 
 Because I know I ought, — but must not speak, 
 Because I mark his quick impatient eye 
 Striving in kindness to anticipate 
 The word of welcome, strangled in its birth ! 
 Is it not sorrow, while I truly love 
 Sweet social converse, to be forced to shun 
 The happy circle, from a nervous sense. 
 An agonizing poignant consciousness 
 That I must stand aloof, nor mingle with 
 The wise and good, in rational argument, 
 The young in brilliant quickness of reply, 
 Friendship's ingenuous interchange of mind, 
 Affection's open-hearted sympathies. 
 But feel myself an isolated being, 
 A very wilderness of widow'd thought ! 
 
 Ay, this is very bitter, — not less bitter 
 Because it is not reckoned in the ills, 
 "The thour-and natural shocks that flesh is heir to;" 
 Yet the full ocean is but countless drops. 
 And misery is an aggregate Oi tear?. 
 
f>18 THE stammerer's COMPLAINT, 
 
 And life replete with small aDnoyances 
 Is but one long protracted scene of sorrow. 
 
 T scarce would wonder, if a godless man, 
 (I name not him whose hope is heavenward,) 
 A man, whom lying vanities have scathed 
 And harden' d from all fear, — if such an one 
 By this tyrannical Argus goaded on. 
 Were to be wearied of his very life. 
 And daily, hourly foil'd in social converse, 
 By the slow simmering of disappointment 
 Become a sour'd and apathetic being. 
 Were to be glad to fling away his life, 
 And long for death to free him from his chain. 
 
 %tmn\mu. 
 
 There is indeed one crowning joy, 
 A pleasure that can never cloy, 
 
 The bliss of doing good; 
 And to it a reward is given 
 Most precious in the sight of heaven, 
 
 The tear of gratitude. 
 
 To raise the fallen from the dust. 
 To right the poor by judgment just, 
 The broken heart to heal, ^ 
 Pour on the soul a stream as bright 
 Of satisfying deep delight 
 As happy spirits feel : 
 
B E N E V O L i: X C E . 3ig 
 
 Yes, high archangels wing their way 
 Far from the golden founts of day 
 
 To scenes of earthly sadness, 
 That they may comfort the distress'd,- 
 And feel in blessing, deeply blest. 
 
 In gladd'ning, full of gladness. 
 
 The choicest happiness there is. 
 
 The glorious Godhead's perfect bliss, 
 
 Is born of doing good; 
 He looks around, and sees the eye 
 Or all creation spangled by 
 
 The tear of gratitude ! 
 
 All hail, my country's noble sons, 
 Ye Heaven-Sent unselfish ones, 
 
 Who every realm have trod 
 Smit with the love of doing good, — 
 that my portion with you stood! 
 
 For ye are like your GoD ! 
 
 And lives there one, who never felt 
 His heart with zeal or kindness moit, 
 
 Nor ever dropt a tear 
 Of sympathy for other's woe ? 
 If such a man exist below 
 
 A fiend in flesh is here. 
 
 Brethren, unsatisfied with earth. 
 Who feel how heartless is its mirih 
 
 How transient is its joy, 
 Ye may,— there only wants the will,- 
 Your dearest hope of bliss fulfil, 
 
 Of bliss without alloy : 
 
820 BENEYOLilNCE. 
 
 Most glad a thing it is and sweet. 
 To sit and learn at Wisdom's feet, 
 
 And hear her blessed voice ; 
 First in her comforts to be glad, 
 And then, to comfort other sad, 
 
 And teach them to rejoice. 
 
 How sweet it is to link again 
 Estranged affection's broken chain, 
 
 And soothe the sorrowing breast j 
 To be the favour'd one that may 
 Recall to love hearts torn away, 
 
 And thus by both be blest. 
 
 Rich men and proud, who fain would find 
 Some new indulgence for the mind, 
 
 Some scheme to gladden self, 
 If ye will feed the famish'd poor. 
 Happiness shall ye buy, far more 
 
 Than with a mint of pelf: 
 
 Ye cannot see the tearful eye, 
 Ye cannot hear the grateful sigh. 
 
 Nor feel yourselves beloved 
 By the pale children of distress 
 "Whom ye have been the gods to bless, — 
 
 With hearts unthrill'd, unmoved. 
 
 And you, who love your fellow-men, 
 And feel a sacred transport, when 
 
 Ye can that love fulfil, — 
 Go, rescue yonder tortured brute, 
 Its gratitude indeed is mute. 
 
 But, oh ! it loves you still. 
 
BENEVOLENCE. 82, 
 
 Children of science, who deh'ght 
 
 To track out wisdom's beauty bright 
 
 In earth, or sea, or sky, — 
 While nature's lovely face you scan, 
 Go, seek and save some erring man, 
 
 And set his hope on high ! 
 
 But still reflect that all the good 
 Ye do, demands your gratitude, 
 
 For 'tis a heav'nly boon. 
 That should for its own sake be sought. 
 Though to itself is kindly brought 
 
 A blessing sweet and soon : 
 
 It is reward to imitate, 
 In comforting the desolate, 
 
 That gracious one who stood 
 A ransom for a ruin'd world. 
 And still, Himself to ruin hurl'd, 
 
 Found evil for His good : 
 
 And what an argument for pray'r 
 Hath yearning Mercy written there, 
 
 For if indeed " to give 
 Is blessed rather than the gift" — 
 Go ye, to heaven the voice uplift, 
 
 And then ye must receive. 
 
322 ACABINETOFFOSSILS. 
 
 Come, and behold with curious eye 
 
 These records of a world gone by, 
 
 These tell-tales of the youth of time, — 
 
 When changes, sudden, vast, sublime, 
 
 (From Chaos, and fair Order's birth. 
 
 To the last flood that drown'd the earth, — ) 
 
 Shatter'd the crust of this young world, 
 
 Into the seas its mountains hurl'd,^ 
 
 And upon boisterous surges strong 
 
 Bore the broad ruins far along 
 
 To pave old ocean's shingly bed. 
 
 While bursting upwards in their stead 
 
 The lowest granites towering rose 
 
 To pierce the clouds with crested snows, 
 
 Where future Apennine or Alp 
 
 Bared to high heav'n its icy scalp. 
 
 Look on these coins of kingdoms old, 
 ThesG medals of a broken mould : 
 These corals in the green hill-side, 
 These fruits and flowers beneath the tide, 
 These p^ruggling flies in amber found. 
 These hup-*^ pine-forests underground. 
 These flint sea-eggs, with curious bosses, 
 These fibred ferns, and fruited mosses 
 Lying as in water spread, 
 And stone-struck by some Gorgon's head! 
 The chambers of this graceful shell. 
 So delicately form'd, — so well, 
 None can declare what years have past 
 Since life hath tenanted it last, 
 
ACABINETOFFOSSILS. 82h 
 
 What countless centuries have flown 
 Since age hath made the shell a stone : 
 Gaze with me on those jointed stems, 
 A living plant of starry gems, 
 And on that sea-flower, light and fair, 
 Which shoots its leaves in agate there: 
 Behold these giant ribs in stone 
 Of mighty monsters, long unknown, 
 That in some antemundane flood 
 Wallow'd on continents of mud, 
 A lizard race, but well for man, 
 Dead long before his day began. 
 Monsters, through Providence extinct, 
 That crocodiles to fishes link'd ; 
 And shreds of other forms beside 
 That sported in the yeasty tide. 
 Or, flapping far with dragon-wing, 
 On the slow tortoise wont to spring, 
 Or, ambush'd in the rushes rank, 
 Watch'd the dull mammoth on the bank, 
 Or loved the green and silent deep. 
 Or on the coral-reef to sleep. 
 Where many a rood, in passive strength. 
 The scaly reptiles lay at length. 
 
 For there are wonders, wondrous strange. 
 To those who will through nature range, 
 And use the mind, and clear the eye. 
 And let instruction not pass by : 
 There are deep thoughts of tranquil joy 
 For those who thus their hearts employ. 
 And trace the wise design that lurks 
 In holy nature's meanest works. 
 And by the torch of truth discern 
 The happy lessons good men learn : 
 
824 ACABINET OF FOSSILS. 
 
 there are pleasures, sweet and new, 
 To those who thus creation view, 
 And, as on this wide world they look, 
 Regard it as one mighty book, 
 Inscribed within, before, behind, 
 With workings of the Master-mind; 
 Kay'd with that Wisdom, which excels 
 In framing worlds, — or fretting shells, — 
 Fill'd with that Mercy, which delights 
 In blessing mammoths, men, or mites, — 
 With silent deep Benevolence, 
 With hidden mild Omnipotence, 
 With order's everlasting laws. 
 With seen effect, and secret cause, 
 Justice and truth in all things rife. 
 Filling the world with love and life. 
 And teaching from creation round 
 How good the God of all is found. 
 His handiwork how vast, how kind, 
 How prearranged by clearest mind. 
 How glorious in His own estate, 
 Azd in His smallest works how GREAI 
 
 fmt f snlniB. 
 
 L— PSALM I. 
 
 Blest is the man who walketh not 
 
 In sinners' evil ways; 
 Nor with the wicked joins his lot, 
 
 Nor gives the scorner praise : 
 
F I y i: r s A L M s . 325 
 
 But all his solace and delight 
 
 Is in his Father's word, — 
 His meditation day and night, 
 
 The doctrine of the Lord. 
 
 As some green tree near flowing streams 
 
 That yields its timely fruit, 
 Unblighted still his foliage seems, — 
 
 He prospers, branch and root. 
 
 Not so the ungodly; they are all 
 
 Like chaff before the blast; 
 In the dread judgment they shall fall, 
 
 And perish at the last: 
 
 For the Lord loveth, and doth keep 
 
 The good man day by day; 
 But as for sinners. He shall sweep 
 
 And scatter them away ! 
 
 IL— PSALM XIX. 
 
 Heaven declares its Maker's glory, 
 
 And the firmament His might; 
 Day to day the wondrous story 
 
 Echoes on, and night to night; 
 All is silence, yet Creation 
 
 Knows and hears that voiceless speech 
 Which to every tribe and nation 
 
 Doth their Maker's glory teach. 
 
 From his chamber bright in heaven 
 Lo, the bridegroom of the earth 
 
 Gladness by his smile hath given, 
 And awakes the morn to mirth : 
 
826 FIVE PSALMS. 
 
 Not less full of life and pleasure 
 Is God's truth nor less complete; 
 
 'Tis more precious than all treasure, 
 Than the honeycomb more sweet. 
 
 It rejoices, heals, and teaches, 
 
 Ever holy, just, and good; 
 To the inmost feeling reaches, 
 
 And leads up the heart to GrOD : 
 Warn'd by that, thy servant turnetli 
 
 To the path that tends to bliss; 
 Yet, who all his faults discerneth? 
 
 Cleanse me, if I err in this. 
 
 Let not pride be ruler in me, 
 
 But deliver, guide, forgive : 
 Thus, corruption quench'd within m), 
 
 I shall be upright and live. 
 Let my words and meditation. 
 
 Ever pleasing in Thy sight. 
 Meet with gracious acceptation, 
 
 My Kedeemer and my Might I 
 
 III. — PSALM XX. 
 
 God in time of trouble hear thee. 
 
 And the name of Jacob's Lord 
 From His sanctuary near thee. 
 
 Out of Zion help afford ; 
 Crown thy sacrifice with fire. 
 
 All thy gifts remember still. 
 Grant thee all thy heart's desire, 
 
 And thy choicest wish fulfil ! 
 
FIVE PSAL3IS. 
 
 We will joy in Thy salvation, 
 
 And will set our banners high 
 In our God! — Thy supplication 
 
 Be accomplish'd at thy cry. 
 Now I know the Lord from heaven 
 
 Saveth still His Christ from harm 
 Now to Him will strength be given 
 
 By the might of His right arm. 
 
 Some in chariots, some in horses, — 
 
 We in God Jehovah trust; 
 And while He our sure Eesource is, 
 
 They are fallen in the dust: 
 Save, Jehovah, save and hear us, 
 
 King of glory, King of might ! 
 When we call be ever near us, — 
 
 Ever for Thy servants fight! 
 
 82- 
 
 lY. — PSALM LXXXY. 
 
 Lord, Thou hast shower'd on Thy land 
 
 Thy favourable grace; 
 Thou hast brought home again the band 
 
 Of Jacob's captive race : 
 Thou hast forgiven Thy people's crimes 
 
 And wash'd away their sin. 
 From Thy fierce anger turn'd betimes, 
 
 And rein'd Thy vengeance in ! 
 
 Turn us, God that saveth us, — 
 And bid Thine auger cease : 
 
 Wilt Thou in wrath be ever thus. 
 Nor smile on us in peace? 
 
 wilt Thou not Thy work revive, 
 That we may joy in Thee? 
 
 Yea, Lord, Thy constant mercy give, 
 22 And Thy salvation free! 
 
82^ P I V E P S A L M S . 
 
 v. — PSALM CXLIV. 
 
 Blessed be the Lord my might, 
 Who hath taught my soul to fight, 
 Castle, Saviour, hope, and friend, 
 Whom I trust all help to send. 
 
 Lord, what is man, or what his son, 
 That thou regardest such an one? 
 A thing of nought : his little day 
 Passeth shadow-like away. 
 
 Bow Thy heavens, Lord! return. 
 Touch the mountains that they burn, 
 Forth Thy scathing lightnings cast, 
 With Thy shafts consume them fasti 
 
 Send Thy power from on high, 
 Rescue me, for ever nigh, 
 Save me from the drowning wave, 
 From these wicked children save ! 
 
 God, to Thee new songs I sing, 
 On my lute new praise I bring, — 
 To kings Thou givest victory, LoRB, 
 And savest David from the sword. 
 
 Help, and save me from the hand 
 Of children, strangers in the land; 
 For their mouths are lies within. 
 And their right hands red with sin. 
 
 That our sous may grow in good 
 Like young saplings of the wood, 
 And our daughters may be seen 
 As Thy temple pure and clean : 
 
F I V E P S A L M S 829 
 
 That our garners more and more 
 May be full with various store, 
 That our teeming sheep may yield 
 Thousand-fold in street and field : 
 
 That our oxen's sturdy toil 
 
 Drain the treasures of the soil; 
 
 None in bonds be led away, 
 
 No complaining, no decay. # 
 
 Happy people ! prosper 'd so, 
 Blest beyond all bliss below ; 
 Blest who have, all gods above, 
 For their God the Lord of love! 
 
 €i)t Btntimr rnmfnrtBir. 1833. 
 
 Brother, dear brother, weep no more for me I 
 
 My lot is blessedness, — an heritage 
 
 Of Praise, and Peace, and Immortality, 
 
 And Joy unspeakable ! above me smiles 
 
 The Eye of tenderest love, and underneath 
 
 Sustain me safe the Everlasting Arms ! 
 
 / am not dead, — my spirit is not dead, 
 
 But rests in eTESUS,^the dear hiding-place 
 
 Of ransom'd happy souls, — for I am His; — 
 
 My God hath wiped all sorrow from mine eye. 
 
 All sin from my fair soul ; Eternal Love 
 
 For pain hath given me Peace, — for fear, fixt hope. 
 
 For Life's deceitful cup of bitterness, 
 
 Rivers of pleasantness and seas of joy. 
 
 Ah, who can speak it, who can think it, there, — 
 
J^>0 THE M U il N E R C O 31 F R T E D . 
 
 Where the frail prison of Mortality 
 
 Holds pent the slumbering soul? Earth hath no words. 
 
 And oarthborn no ideas of infinite^ 
 
 Unutterable, overwhelming bliss. 
 
 blest exchange ! gain beyond compare ! 
 
 Glory, brighter for the foil of Time, 
 
 deepest happiness, more esquisite 
 
 For a short Life's remember'd tale of sorrow ! 
 Weep not, dear brother, — weep no more for me 
 
 Yes, — from the dream of Time I woke in peace: 
 And one fierce struggle over, all was calm. 
 Awhile I lay entranced, — in that sweet rest 
 The Sabbath of the Soul, e'er yet it speeds 
 To choirs of perfect praise, and bliss intense. 
 And soon two infant cherubs on bright wings 
 — My sainted little brothers, — flew to me, 
 Kiss'd me, and wept for py, as angels weep. 
 "For it is ours," they said, "our great reward, 
 By His dear will preferr'd before all others, 
 On either hand to lead thee to our GrOD.'' 
 Wing'd with ecstatic hope upsprung my Soul, — 
 And through the glorious hosts of happy ones. 
 From bliss to bliss, from heav'n to heav'n, upsprung, 
 Catching swift echoes of melodious praise. 
 Till at the rapturous height of highest joy 
 
 1 stood before the Throne ! and there was He, 
 He, whom a brother's counsel bade me seek, 
 He, whom at midnight's hour a mother's ear 
 Wiih tears and prayers had often heard me seek, — 
 
 there was He ! my Saviour and my Friend, — 
 My Sacrifice, my Heav'n, my All, my God ! 
 
 — Brother, in earthly words and earthly thoughts 
 
 1 cannot tell thee more : but would speak peace. 
 Peace to thy troubled soul, — where peace there is, 
 climax to my joys, — strength to your hopes, 
 
THE MOURNER COMFORTED. 821 
 
 In the bright book of Life are written fair 
 
 The names of those I loved ! Blest family, 
 
 Children of hope, and Heaven, and God ! His love 
 
 "With tears of chasten'd grief hath gemm'd your crovras, 
 
 That, by a Father's wisdom mingling well 
 
 Life's cup with sorrows, ye may deeper drink 
 
 Of grace on earth, of glory with our God. 
 
 Yes, there are crowns and mansions for you all, 
 
 Ye loved, and happy ones ! a crown for thee, 
 
 Dear mother, who so tenderly hast led 
 
 Our infant steps to paths of pleasantness; — 
 
 Crowns for you both, my sisters; — and for thee. 
 
 Whom the dark storm of unbelieving fears 
 
 Hath sorely tost, — ray brother, — even for thee 
 
 From deeper trouble rises higher bliss ! 
 
 Peace to you all, for Jesus is your peace. 
 
 Your peace and mine : be comforted with me, 
 
 For we are one, as ever, one in Him. 
 
 Though now ye see me not, I can see you; 
 Though ye hear not my praise, your groans I hear. 
 I watch'd, unwatch'd, and long'd to wipe away 
 The bitter tears that fell to weep my gain : 
 I watch'd, when on my prison-house of lead, 
 That held the alter'd form ye lately loved, 
 A mother's fondness wildly prest a kiss; 
 I watch'd the friend approved, on whom she leant j 
 And to their mournful homes in cot or hall 
 I watch'd the dark procession silent creep. 
 Then was I with you, and am with you still, 
 A free, unshackled spirit, — loving you. 
 And ministering grace to you from GoD ! 
 Think not of what I was, but what I am, — 
 Gaze not on those " dear lineaments defaced," 
 Nor brood on foul corruption's gloomy pit : 
 
3f.2 THE MOURNER COMFORTED. 
 
 Rather look up ; — I live ! — speed, blest hour, 
 When to the spirit made perfect the bright body, 
 Bursting the bars of Death, shall reunite, 
 And meet the King of Grlory in the skies ! 
 
 '(StjB mh nf forntBH. 1832. 
 
 Incertus erro per ioca devia." — Hoa. 
 
 Are these then made in vain? is man alone 
 
 Of all the marvels of creative love 
 
 Blest with a scintillation of His essence, 
 
 The heavenly spark of reasonable soul? 
 
 And hath not yon sagacious dog, that finds 
 
 A meaning iu the shepherd's idiot face, 
 
 Or the huge elephant that lends his strength 
 
 To drag the stranded galley to the shore, 
 
 And strives with emulative pride to excel 
 
 The mindless crowd of slaves that toil beside him. 
 
 Or the young generous war-horse, when he sniffs 
 
 The distant field of blood, and quick and shrill 
 
 Neighing for joy, instils a desperate courage 
 
 Into the veteran trooper's quailing heart, — 
 
 Have they not all an evidence of soul 
 
 (Of soul, the proper attribute of man,) 
 
 The same in kind, though meaner in degree? 
 
 Why should not that which hath been,— be for ever? 
 
 And death, — can it be annihilation ? 
 
 No, — though the stolid atheist fondly clings 
 
 To that last hope, how kindred to despair! 
 
 No, — 'tis the struggling spirit's hour of joy, 
 
 The glad emancipation of the soul, 
 
T II E S U L S F B R U T E S . 338 
 
 The moment when the cumbrous fetters drop, 
 And the bright spirit wings its way to heaven ! 
 To say that God annihilated aught 
 Were to declare that in an unwise hour 
 He plann'd and made somewhat superfluous: 
 Why should not the mysterious life, that dwells 
 In reptiles as in men, and shows itself 
 In memory, gratitude, love, hate, and pride, 
 Still energize, and be, though death may crush 
 Yon frugal ant, or thoughtless butterfly. 
 Or with the simoon's pestilential gale 
 Strike down the patient camel in the desert? 
 
 There is one chain of intellectual soul. 
 In many links and various grades, throughout 
 The scale of nature; from the climax bright 
 The first great Cause of all, Spirit supreme, 
 Incomprehensible and unconfined. 
 To high archangels blazing near the throne. 
 Seraphim, cherubim, virtues, aids, and powers 
 All capable of perfection in their kind ; — 
 To man, as holy from his Maker's hand 
 He stood, in possible excellence complete, 
 (Man, who is destined now to brighter glories, 
 As nearer to the present GoD, in One 
 His Lord and substitute, — than angels reach :) 
 Then man as fall'n, with every varied shade 
 Of character and capability. 
 From him who reads his title to the skies. 
 Or grasps with giant mind all nature's wonders, 
 Down to the monster shaped in human form, 
 Maniac, slavering fool, or blood-stain'd savage : 
 Then to the prudent elephant, the dog 
 Half-humanized, the docile Arab horse, 
 The social beaver, and contrivinor fox, 
 
334 THE SOULS OF BRUTES. 
 
 The parrot, quick in pertinent reply, 
 
 The kind-affection'd seal, and patriot bee. 
 
 The merchant-storing ant, and wintering swallow, 
 
 With all those other palpable emanations 
 
 And energies of one eternal Mind 
 
 Pervading and instructing all that live, 
 
 Down to the sentient grass, and shrinking clay. 
 
 In truth, I see not why the breath of life, 
 
 Thus omnipresent and upholding all, 
 
 Should not return to Him, and be immortal, 
 
 (I dare not say the same) in some glad state 
 
 Originally destined for creation, 
 
 As well from brutish bodies, as from man. 
 
 The uncertain glimmer of analogy 
 
 Suggests the thought, and reason's shrewder guess; 
 
 Yet revelation whispers nought but this, 
 
 " Our Father careth when a sparrow dies," 
 
 And that 'Hhe spirit of a brute descends" 
 
 As to some secret and preserving Hades. 
 
 But for some better life, in what strange sort 
 
 Were justice, mix'd with mercy, dealt to these? — 
 
 Innocent slaves of sordid guilty man, 
 
 Poor unthank'd drudges, toiling at his will, 
 
 Pamper' d in youth, and haply starved in age, 
 
 Obedient, faithful, gentle, — though the spur 
 
 Wantonly cruel, or unsparing thong 
 
 Weal your gall'd hides, or your strain 'd sinews crack 
 
 Beneath the crushing load, — what recompense 
 
 Can He, who gave you being, render you 
 
 If in the rank full harvest of your griefs 
 
 Ye sink annihilated, to the shame 
 
 Of government unequal? — In that day 
 
 When crime is sentenced, shall tire cruel heart 
 
 Boast uncondemn'd, because no tortured brute 
 
T n E S O U L S O F B R U T E S . 335 
 
 Stands there accusing? shall the embodied deeds 
 
 Of man not follow him, nor the rescued fly 
 
 Bear its kind witness to the saving hand? 
 
 Shall the mild Brahmin stand in equal sin 
 
 Regarding nature's menials, with the wretch 
 
 "Who flays the moaning Abyssinian ox, 
 
 Or roasts the living bird, or flogs to death 
 
 The famishing pointer? — and must these again, 
 
 These poor unguilty uncomplaining victims 
 
 Have DO reward for life with its sharp pains? — 
 
 They have my suffrage : Nineveh was spared, 
 
 Though Jonah prophesied its doom, for sake 
 
 Of six-score thousand infants, and "much cattle;" 
 
 And space is wide enough, for every grain 
 
 Of the broad sands that curb our swelling seas 
 
 Each separate in its sphere to stand apart 
 
 As far as sun from sun : there lacks not room, 
 
 Nor time, nor care, where all is infinite : 
 
 And still T doubt: it is a Gordian knot, 
 
 A dark deep riddle, rich with curious thoughts; 
 
 Yet let me tell a trivial incident, 
 
 And draw thine own conclusion from mv tale. 
 
 Paris kept holiday; a merrier sight 
 
 The crowded Champs Elysees never saw : 
 
 Loud pealing laughter, songs, and flageolets, 
 
 And giddy dances round the shadowing elms, 
 
 Green vistas tlironged with thoughtless multitudes, 
 
 Traitorous processions, frivolous pursuits, 
 
 And pleasures full of sin, — the loud "hurra!'* 
 
 And fierce enthusiastic "Vive la nation!" — 
 
 Were these thy ways and works, godlike man, 
 
 Monopolist of mind, great patentee 
 
 Of truth, and sense, and reasonable soul? — 
 
 My heart was sick with gaiety ; nor less, 
 
836 T IT E S O U L S F B R U T E 8 . 
 
 When (8:id, sad contrast to the sensual scene) 
 
 I mark'd a single hearse through the dense crowd 
 
 Move on its noiseless melancholy way: 
 
 The blazing sun half quench'd it with his beams, 
 
 And show'd it but more sorrowful : I gazed 
 
 And gazed with wonder that no feeling heart, 
 
 No solitary Man follow'd to note 
 
 The spot where poor mortality must sleep : 
 
 Alas I it was a friendless child of sorrow, 
 
 That stole unheeded to the house of Death ! 
 
 My heart beat strong with sympathy, and loathed 
 
 The noisy follies that were buzzing round me, 
 
 And I resolved to watch him to his grave, 
 
 And give a man his fellow-sinner's tear : 
 
 I left the laughing crowd, and quickly gained 
 
 That dreary hearse, and found, — he was not friendless! 
 
 Yes, there was one, one only, foithful found 
 
 To that forgotten wanderer, — his dog ! 
 
 And there, with measured step, and drooping head, 
 
 And tearful eye, paced on the stricken mourner. 
 
 Yes, I remember how my bosom ached 
 
 To see its sensible face look up to mine 
 
 As in confiding sympathy, — and howl : 
 
 Yes, I can never forget what grief unfeigu'd, 
 
 What true love, and unselfish gratitude, 
 
 That poor, bereaved, and soulless dog betray 'd. 
 
 Ah, give me, give me such a friend, I cried; 
 
 Yon myriad fools and knaves in human guise 
 
 Compared with thee, poor cur, are vain and worthless, 
 
 While man, who claims a soul exclusively. 
 
 Is shamed by yonder ''mere machine," — a dog! 
 
 "Equidem credo quia sit Divinitus illis ingeDium." — VnM». 
 
T H E C il A M 1 S H U N T E R . 837 
 
 €^t €^mm MmiiL 1829. 
 
 A LESSON OF LIFE. 
 
 The scene was bathed in beauty rare, 
 For Alpine grandeur toppled there, 
 
 With emerald spots between; 
 A summer-evening's blush of rose 
 All faintly warm'd the crested snows 
 
 And tinged the vallc3^s green; 
 
 Night gloom'd apace, and dark on high 
 The thousand banners of the sky 
 
 Their awful width unfurl'd, 
 Veiling Mont Blanc's majestic brow, 
 That seem'd among its cloud-wrapt scow, 
 
 The ghost of some dead world : 
 
 When Pierre the hunter cheerly went 
 To scale the Catton's battlement 
 
 Before tbe peep of day; 
 He took his rifle, pole, and rope, 
 His heart and eyes alight with hope, 
 
 He hasted on his way. 
 
 He cross'd the vale, he hurried on. 
 He forded the cold Arveron, 
 
 The first rough terrace gain'd, 
 Threaded the fir-wood's gloomy belt, 
 And trod the snows that never melt, 
 
 And to the summit strain'd. 
 
338 THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 
 
 Over the top, as he knew well, 
 Beyond the glacier in the dell 
 
 A herd of chamois slept, 
 So down the other dreary side, 
 With cautious tread, or careless slide, 
 
 He bounded, or he crept. 
 
 And now he nears the chasmed ice; 
 He stoops to leap, — and in a trice, 
 
 His foot hath slipp'd, — heaven I 
 He hath leapt in, and down he falls 
 Between those blue tremendous walls, 
 
 Standing asunder riven ! 
 
 But quick his clutching nervous grasp 
 Contrives a jutting crag to clasp, 
 
 And thus he hangs in air; — 
 O moment of exulting bliss ! 
 Yet hope so nearly hopeless is 
 
 Twin-brother to despair. 
 
 He look'd beneath, — a horrible doom! 
 Some thousand yards of deepening giooia. 
 
 Where he must drop to die ! 
 He look'd above, and many a rood 
 Upright the frozen ramparts stood 
 
 Around a speck of sky. 
 
 Seven long dreadful hours he hung, 
 And often by strong breezes swung 
 
 His fainting body twists; 
 Scarce can he cling one moment more, 
 His half-dead hands are ice, and sore 
 
 His burning bursting wrists j 
 
THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 3«9 
 
 His head grows dizzy, — he must drop, 
 He half resolves, — but stop, stop, 
 
 Hold on to the last spasm. 
 Never in life give up your hojDe, — 
 Behold, behold a friendly rope 
 
 Is dropping down the chasm ! 
 
 They call mee, Pierre, — see, see them here, 
 Thy gather'd neighbours far and near, 
 
 Courage! man, hold on fast: — 
 And so irom out that terrible place. 
 With death's pale paint upon his face, 
 
 They drew him up at last. 
 
 And he came home an alter'd man, 
 For many harrowing terrors ran 
 
 Through his poor heart that day; 
 He thought how all through life, though young, 
 Upon a thread, a hair, he hung. 
 
 Over a gulf midway : 
 
 He though ♦■ what fear it were to fall 
 Into the pit that swallows all, 
 
 Unwing'd with hope and love ; 
 And when the succour came at last, 
 then he learrt biw firm and l^^e* 
 
 Was his best I^'riend above. 
 
340 REPROOF. 
 
 llrprnnf. 
 
 ^' Be ashamed for your reserve, 
 Be ashamed; — 
 It is not what I deserve, 
 
 Be ashamed; — 
 By my heart, and by mind 
 Willing, warm, and well-inclined, 
 Let your greeting be more kind,— 
 Be ashamed. 
 
 Be assured it's little wise, 
 Be assured, — 
 
 So to chill your hand and eyes, 
 Be assured, — 
 
 My humility can wait. 
 
 But your love may come too late, 
 
 Pride will soon be out of date,— 
 Be assured. 
 
 €^ 51fririiii ^mrl 
 
 A Newdigate IX 1830, 
 
 Go, child of pity, watch the sullen gUre 
 That lights the haggard features of despair 
 As upon dying guilt's distracted sight 
 Rise the black clouds of everlasting night: 
 Drink in the fever'd eyeball's dismal ray. 
 And gaze again, — and turn not yet away, 
 
THE AFRICAN DESERT. 341 
 
 Drink in its anguish, till thj heart and ej'e 
 Reel with the draught of that sad lethargy : 
 Till Gloom with chilling fears thy soul congeal, 
 And on thy bosom stamp his leaden seal, 
 Till Melancholy flap her heavy wings 
 Above thy fancy's light imaginings, 
 And Sorrow wrap thee in her sable shroud, 
 And Terror in a gathering thunder-cloud ! 
 
 Go, call up Darkness from his dread abode, 
 
 Bid Desolation fling her curse abroad, 
 
 -^-Then gaze around on nature! — ah, how drear, 
 
 How widow-like she sits in sadness here : 
 
 Lost are the glowing tints, the softening shades, 
 
 Her sunny meadows, and her greenwood glades; 
 
 No grateful flower has gemm'd its mother-earth. 
 
 Rejoicing in the blessedness of birth; 
 
 No blithcseme lark has waked the drowsy day. 
 
 No sorrowing dews have wept themselves away: 
 
 Faded, — the smiles that dimpled in her vales; 
 
 Scatter'd, the fragrance of the spicy gales 
 
 That dew'd her locks with odours, as they swept 
 
 The waving groves, or in the rose-bud slept. 
 
 Is this the desert? this the blighted plain 
 Where Silence holds her melancholy reign, — 
 Where foot of daring mortal scarce hath trod, 
 But all around is solitude — and God, — 
 And where the sandy billows overwhelm 
 All but young Fancy's visionary realm. 
 In whfch, beneath the red moon's sickly glance 
 Fantastic forms prolong the midnight dance, 
 And pigmy warriors, marshall'd on the plains, 
 Shout high defiance to the invading cranes? 
 
842 T n E A F R T C A N D E S E R T . 
 
 Regions of sorrow, — darkly have ye frown'd 
 
 Amidst ,1 sunny world of smiles around : 
 
 Luxurious Persia, bower'd in rosy bloom, 
 
 Breathes the sweet air of Araby's perfume, 
 
 And where Italian suns in glory shine 
 
 To the green olive clings the tendrill'd vine; 
 
 In yon soft bosom of Iberia's vales 
 
 The orange-blossom scents the lingering gales, 
 
 That waft its sweets to where ]Madeira's plain 
 
 With emerald beauty gems the western main : 
 
 The winds that o'er the rough Mgsen sweep, 
 
 Tamed into zephyrs, on its islands sleep ; 
 
 And where rich Delta drinks the swelling Nile, 
 
 Auspicious Ceres spreads her golden smile. 
 
 But on Sahara death has set his throne. 
 
 And reigns in sullen majesty alone : 
 
 Unfurl'd on high above the desert-king 
 
 The red simoom spreads forth its fiery wingj 
 
 The spirits of the storm his bidding wait, 
 
 Gigantic shadows swell his awful state. 
 
 And circling furies hover round his head. 
 
 To crown with flames the Tyrant of the Dead! 
 
 The desert shrank beneath him, as he pass'd. 
 
 Borne on the burning pinions of the blast; 
 
 He breathed, — and solitude sat pining there; 
 
 He spake, — and silence hush'd the listening air; 
 
 He frown'd, — and blighted Nature scarce could fly 
 
 The lightning glances of her monarch's eye. 
 
 But where he look'd in withering fury down, 
 
 A dying desert knit its giant frown ! 
 
 Desolate wilds, — creation's barren grave. 
 Where dull as Lethe rolls the desert wave. 
 How sparingly with warm existence rife 
 Have ye rejoiced in love, or teem'd with life I 
 
THE -V I" !l T r A X D r] S E .'I T Oi-S 
 
 Can it then be in solitudes so drear, 
 
 Tliat utter Nothing has its dwelling here ? — 
 
 IlencO; — thought of darkness I — o'er the sandy flood 
 
 Broods the great Spirit of a present God : 
 
 He is, where other being may not be; 
 
 Space cannot bind Him, — nor infinity ! 
 
 Deeper than thought has ever dared to stray, 
 
 Higher than fancy wing'd her wondering way, 
 
 Beyond the beaming of the farthest star, 
 
 Beyond the pilgrim-comet's distant car, 
 
 Beyond all worlds, and glorious suns unseen, 
 
 He is, and will be, and has ever been ! 
 
 Nor less, — where the huge iceberg lifts its head, 
 
 Dim as a dream, from ocean's polar bed; 
 
 Or where in softer climes creation glows, 
 
 And Paphos blushes from its banks of rose, 
 
 Or where fierce suns the panting desert sear, — 
 
 Ho is, and was, and ever will be, here ! 
 
 But would thy daring spirit, child of man. 
 The secret chambers of the desert scan, 
 Curtain'd with flames, and tenanted by death, 
 Fanned by the tempest of Sirocco's breath ? 
 With crested Azrael shall a mortal strive. 
 Or breathe the gales of pestilence, and live ? 
 then, let avarice his hand refrain, 
 Nor tempt the billows of that fiery main, 
 Let patience, toil, and courage nobly dare 
 Far other deeds than fruitless labours there, 
 Let dauntless enterprise, with generous zeal, 
 Toil, not unlaurell'd, for her fellows' weal. 
 But be the howling, wilderness untrod. 
 And trackless still, Sahara's barren flood I 
 
 Lo, from the streaming east a blaze of light 
 Has swept to distant shores astonish 'd night, 
 23 
 
SAl THE AFRICAN DESERT. 
 
 Darkness has snatch' d his spangled robe away, 
 
 And in full glory shines the new-born day; 
 
 Rejoice, ye flowery vales, — ye verdant isles / 
 
 With the glad sunbeams weave your rosy smiles, 
 
 The bridegroom of the earth looks down in love, 
 
 And blooms in freshen'd beauty from above; 
 
 Ye waiting dews, leap to that warm embrace. 
 
 With fragrant incense bathe his blushing face. 
 
 Thou earth, be robed in joy! — But one sad plain 
 
 Exults not, smiles not, to the morn again: 
 
 Soon as the sun is all in glory drest 
 
 The conscious desert heaves its troubled breast, 
 
 Like one, aroused to ceaseless misery. 
 
 That, ever dying, strives once more — to die. 
 
 And can Sahara weep? with sudden blaze 
 
 Deep in her bosom pierce the cruel rays. 
 
 But never thence one tributary stream 
 
 Shall soar aloft to quench the maddening beam: 
 
 Tearless in agony, fixt in grief, alone. 
 
 Pines the sad daughter of the torrid zone, 
 
 A rocky monument of anguish deep. 
 
 The Niobe of Nature cannot weep ! 
 
 Yet from her bosom steams the sandy cloud, 
 
 And heavily waves above ; — a lurid shroud. 
 
 Dense as the wing of sorrow, flapping o'er 
 
 The wither'd heart, that may not blossom more. 
 
 Faint o'er that burning desert, faint and slow, 
 Failing of limb, and pale with looks of woe, 
 Parch'd by the hot Sirdc, and fiery ray. 
 The wearied kaffl^ winds its toilsome way. 
 'Tis long, long since the panther bounded by, 
 And howl'd, and gazed upon thera wistfully; 
 Long since the monarch lion from his lair 
 Aro?e, and tbunder'd to the stagnant air : 
 
THE AFR I CAN DESERT. 315 
 
 No wandering ostrich with extended wing 
 Flaps o'er the sands, to seek the distant spring j 
 Bounding from rock to rock, with curious scan 
 No wild gazelle surveys the stranger, man; 
 Nor does the famish'd tiger's lengthening roar 
 Speak to the winds and wake the echoes more. 
 
 But o'er these realms of sorrow, drear and vast, 
 
 In hollow dirges moans the desert blast. 
 
 Or breathing o'er the plain in smother'd wrath 
 
 Howls to the skulls, that whiten on the path. 
 
 And as with heavy tramp they toil along, 
 
 Is heard no more the cheering Arab song, — 
 
 No more the wild Bedouin's joyous shriek 
 
 With startling homage greets his wandering shriek, 
 
 Only the mutter'd curse, or whisper'd pray'r, 
 
 Or deep death-rattle wakes the sluggish air. 
 
 Behold one here, who till to-day has been 
 
 A father, and with bursting bosom seen 
 
 His last, his cherish'd one, whose waning eye 
 
 Smiled only resignation, droop and die ! 
 
 Parch'd by the heat, those lips are curl'd and pale, 
 
 As rose-leaves wither'd in the northern gale; 
 
 Her eye no more its silent love shall speak. 
 
 No flush of life shall mantle on her cheek; — 
 
 Yet witb a frenzied fondness to his child 
 
 The father clung, and thought his darling smiled; 
 
 Ah, yes! 'tis death that o'er her beauty throws 
 
 That marble smile of deep and dread repose. 
 
 What thrilling shouts are these that rend the sky, 
 Whence is the joy that lights the sunken eye? 
 On, on, they speed their burning thirst to slake 
 In the blue waters of yon rippled lake, — 
 
840 THE AFRICAN DESERT. 
 
 Or must they still those maddening pangs assuage 
 In the saud-billows of the false mirage ? 
 Lo, the fair phantom, melting to the wind, 
 Leaves but the sting of baffled bliss behind. 
 
 Hope smiles again, as with instinctive haste 
 
 The panting camels rush along the waste, 
 
 And snuff the grateful breeze, that sweeping by 
 
 Wafts its cool fragrance through the cloudless sky. 
 
 Swift as the steed that feels the slacken 'd rein 
 
 And flies impetuous o'er the sounding plain, 
 
 Eager as bursting from an Alpine source 
 
 The winter torrent in its headlong course,' 
 
 Still hasting on, the wearied band behold 
 
 — The green oase, an emerald couch 'd in gold! 
 
 And now the curving rivulet they descry. 
 
 That bow of hope upon a stormy sky. 
 
 Now ranging its luxuriant banks of green 
 
 In silent rapture gaze upon the scene : 
 
 His graceful arms the palm was waving there 
 
 Caught in the tali acacia's tangled hair. 
 
 While in festoons across his branches slung 
 
 The gay kossdm its scarlet tassels hung; 
 
 The flowering colocynth had studded round 
 
 Jewels of promise o'er the joyful ground, 
 
 And where the smile of day burst on the stream, 
 
 The trembling waters glitter'd in the beam. 
 
 It comes, the blast of death ! that sudden glare 
 Tinges with purple hues the stagnant air; 
 Fearful in silence, o'er the heaving strand 
 Sweeps the wild gale, and licks the curling sand, 
 While o'er the vast Sahara from afar 
 Rushes the tempest in his winged car : 
 Swift from their bed the flame-like billows rise, 
 Whirling and surging to the copper skies, 
 
THE AFRICAN DESERT. 347 
 
 As whea Briareus lifts his hundred arras, 
 Grasps at high heaven, and fills it with alarms; 
 In eddying chaos madly mixt on high 
 Gigantic pillars dance along the sky. 
 Or stalk in awful slowness through the gloom, 
 Or track the coursers of the dread simoom, 
 Or clashing in mid air, to ruin hurl'd. 
 Fall as the fragments of a shatter'd world ! 
 
 Hush'd is the tempest, — desolate the plain, 
 Stiird are the billows of that troublous main; 
 As if the voice of death had check'd the storm, 
 Each sandy wave retains its sculptured form : 
 And all is silence, — save the distant blast 
 That howl'd, and mock'd the desert as it pass'd; 
 And all is solitude, — for where are they. 
 That o'er Sahara wound their toilsome way ? 
 Ask of the heav'ns above, that smile serene, 
 Ask that burnt spot, no more of lovely green. 
 Ask of the whirlwind in its purple cloud, 
 The desert is their grave, the sand their shroud. 
 
 A Newdigate in 1831. 
 
 GOLDEN shores, primeval hom.e of man. 
 How glorious is thy dwelling, Hindostan ! 
 Thine are these smiling valleys, bright with bloom, 
 Wild woods, and sandal-groves, that breathe perfume, 
 Thine, these fair skies, — where morn's returning ray 
 Has swept the starry robe of night away. 
 And gilt each dome, and minaret, and tower, 
 Gemm'd every stream, and tinted every flower. 
 
;ii8 THE SUTTEES. 
 
 But dark the spirit within thee; — from old time 
 Still o'er thee rolls the whelming flood of crime, 
 Still o'er thee broods the curse of guiltless blood, 
 That shouts for vengeance from thy reeking sod : 
 Deep-flowing Ganges in his rushy bed 
 Moans a sad requiem for his children dead, 
 x\nd, wafted frequent on the passing gale, 
 Rises the orphan's sigh, — the widow's wail. 
 
 Hark, 'tis the rolling of the funeral drum, 
 
 The white-robed Brahmins see, they come, they come, 
 
 Bringing, with frantic shouts, and torch, and trump, 
 
 And mingled signs of melancholy pomp. 
 
 That livid corpse, borne solemnly on high — 
 
 And yon faint trembling victim, doom'd to die I 
 
 Still, as with measured step they move along, 
 With fiercer joy they weave the mystic song: 
 Eswara, crown'd with forests, thee they praise, 
 Birmah, to thee the full-toned chorus raise; 
 To Ocean, — where the loose sail mariners furl, 
 And seek in coral caves the virgin pearl; 
 And to the source of Ganga's sacred streams, 
 Bright with the gold of Surya's morning beams, 
 Where on her lotus-throne Yaruna sings, 
 And weeping Peris lave their azure wings: 
 They shout to Kali, of the red right hand, 
 Bid Aglys toss on high the kindled brand, 
 And far from Himalaya's frozen steep. 
 In whirl wind-cnr bid dark Pavaneh sweep: 
 They chant of one whom x\zrael waits to guide 
 O'er the black gulf of death's unfathom'd tide; 
 Of her, whose spotless life to Seeva giv'n. 
 Bursts for her lord the golden gates of heav'n. 
 Of her, — who thus in dreadful triumph led, 
 Darep the unhallow'd bridal of the dead! 
 
THE S U T T E £ S . 849 
 
 And there in siient fear she stands alone, 
 
 The desolate, unpitied, widow'd one : 
 
 Too deeply taught in life's sad tale of grief, 
 
 In the calm house of death she hopes relief, 
 
 For few the pleasures India's daughter knows, 
 
 A child of sorrow, nursed in want and woes. 
 
 Cursed from the womb, how oft a mother's fear 
 
 In silence o'er thee dropt the bitter tear, 
 
 Lest a stern sire to Ganga's holy wave 
 
 Should madly consecrate the life he gave : 
 
 Cradled on superstition's sable wing 
 
 In joyless gloom pass'd childhood's early spring. 
 
 And still, as budded fair thy youthful mind. 
 
 None bade thee seek, none taught thee, truth to find: 
 
 Poor child I that never raised the suppliant pray'r, 
 
 Nor look'd to heaven, and saw a Father there, 
 
 Untutor'd by religion's gentle sway 
 
 To love, believe, be happy, and obey. 
 
 Betroth'd in artless infmcy to one 
 
 Thy warm affections never beam'd upon, 
 
 How shouldst thou smile, when ripe in beauty's pride 
 
 The haughty Rajah claim'd his destined bride 1 
 
 A trembling slave, and not the loving wife, 
 
 Pass'd the short summer of thy hapless life; 
 
 And now to deck that bier, that pile to crown, 
 
 His fiery sepulchre becomes — thine own. 
 
 And must it be, that in a spot so fair 
 Shall rise the madden'd shriek of wild despair? 
 This lovely spot, where glows in every part 
 The smile of nature on the pomp of art; 
 The banian spreads its hnspitable shade, 
 The bright bird warbles in the leafy glade. 
 The matted palm, and wild anana's bloom, 
 The light pagoda, the majestic dome. 
 
850 THESUTTEES. 
 
 With emerald plains, and ocean's distant blue, 
 
 Cast their rich tints and shadows o'er the view. 
 
 But murder here must wash his bloody hand, 
 
 And superstition shake the flaming brand, 
 
 And terror cast around an eager eye 
 
 To look for one to save, — where none is nigh ! 
 
 Far other incense than the breath of day 
 
 From tiiat dark corpse must waft the soul away, 
 
 Far other moans than of the muffled drum 
 
 Herald the lingering spirit to its home : 
 
 Yes, — thou must perish; and that gentle frame 
 
 Must struggle frantic with the circling flame. 
 
 Constant in weal or woe, for death, for life, 
 
 The victim widow, as the victim wife. 
 
 Hoping, despairing, — friendless, and forlorn. 
 
 The death she may not fly, she strives to scora : 
 
 Lists to the tale that bright-wing'd Peris wait 
 
 To waft her to Kalaisa's crystal gate, — 
 
 Thinks how her car of fire shall speed along, 
 
 Hail'd by high praises, and Kinnura's song,' — 
 
 And upward gazing in a speechless trance, 
 
 Darts earnestly the keen ecstatic glance. 
 
 Till wrapt imagination cleaves the sky. 
 
 And hope delusive points the way, — to die. 
 
 Who hath not felt, in some celestial hour. 
 
 When fear's dark thunder-clouds have ceased to lour, 
 
 When angels beckon on the fluttering soul 
 
 To realms of bliss beyond her mortal goal. 
 
 When heavenly glories bursting on the sight. 
 
 The raptured spirit bathes in seas of light. 
 
 And soars aloft upon the seraph's wing, — 
 
 How boldly she can brave death's tyrant sting? 
 
 Thus the poor girl's enthusiastic mind 
 
 Revels in hope of blessings undefined, 
 
T H E S U T T E E S . 351 
 
 Roams o'er the flowers of earth, the joys of sense, 
 
 And frames her paradise of glory thence : 
 
 For oft as memory's retrospective eye 
 
 Glanced at the blighted joys of days gone by, 
 
 How sadly sweet appear'd those smiling hours 
 
 When hope had strew 'd life's thorny path with flowers, 
 
 How dark, and shadow'd o'er with fearful gloom, 
 
 The unimagined horrors of the tomb I 
 
 When she reraember'd all her joy and pain, 
 
 And in a moment lived her life again. 
 
 Each sorrow seem'd to smile, that frown'd before, — 
 
 Her cup of blessing then was running o'er, — 
 
 Days past in grief, beam'd now in hues of bliss, 
 
 Fancy gilt them, — but ten-or clouded this! 
 
 Yet swift her spirit, resolutely proud, 
 
 Scorn'd every hope, by mercy disallow'd : 
 
 The priests have long invoked their idol god, 
 
 The murd'rous pile, his altar, thirsts for blood, — 
 
 A horrid silence summons to the grave. 
 
 All wait for her, — and none stands forth to save, 
 
 shall she tremble now, nor die the same ; — 
 
 Shall she not fearless rush into the flame ? 
 
 From her dark eye she strikes the rising tear. 
 
 And firmly mounts the pile — a widow's bier. 
 
 Instant, with furious zeal and willing hands, 
 Attendant Brahmins ply the ready brands; 
 And as the flames are raging fierce and high, 
 And mount in rushing columns to the sky. 
 Lest those wild shrieks, or pity's soft appeal, 
 Should rouse one hand to save, one heart to feel, 
 Madly exulting in their victim's doom 
 They heap with fiendish haste her fiery tomb, — 
 Clash the loud cymbals, wake the trumpet's note, 
 Roll *;he deep drum, and raise the deafening shout, 
 
852 THE SUTTEES. 
 
 Till in dread discord through the startled air 
 Rise the mixt yells of triumph and despair! 
 
 Eritain, whose pitying hand is stretch 'd to save 
 
 From despot's iron chain the writhing slave; 
 
 Where freedom's sons, at wild oppression's shriek 
 
 Feel the hot tear bedew the manly cheek, — 
 
 Where the kind sympathies of social life 
 
 Sweeten the cup to one no more a wife, 
 
 Where misery never pray'd nor sigh'd in vain, — 
 
 Shall India's widow'd daughters bleed again? 
 
 Let wreaths more glorious deck Britannia's head 
 
 Than theirs, who fiercely fought, or nobly bled, 
 
 Wreaths such as happy spirits wear above, 
 
 Gemm d with the tears of gratitude and love, 
 
 Where palm and olive, twined with almond bloom, 
 
 Tell of triumphant peace and mercy's rich perfume. 
 
 And ye, whose young and kindling hearts can feel 
 
 The pray'r of pity fan the flame of zeal, 
 
 Trace the blest path illustrious Heber trod. 
 
 And lead the poor idolater to God ! 
 
 Thus, in that happy land, where nature's voice 
 
 Sings at her toil, and bids the world rejoice, 
 
 No guiltless blood her paradise shall stain, 
 
 No demon rites her holy courts profane. 
 
 No howl of superstition rend the air. 
 
 No widow's cry, no orphan's tear, be there,— 
 
 India shall cast her idol gods away, 
 
 And bless the promise of u -riving day. 
 
CHEERFULNESS. 858 
 
 CONTEASTED SONNETS. 
 
 AN INVOCATION. ^ 
 
 Come to my heart of hearts, thou radiant face ! 
 
 So shall I gaze for ever on thy fairness; 
 Thine eyes are smiling stars, and holy grace 
 
 Blossoms thy cheek with its exotic rareness, 
 Trellissing it with jasmin-woven lace : 
 
 Come, laughing maid, — yet in thy laughter calm, 
 Be this thy home, 
 Fair cherub, come, 
 
 Solace my days with thy luxurious balm, 
 And hover o'er my nightly couch, sweet dove, 
 So shall I live in joy, by living in thy level 
 
 A DEPRECATION. 
 
 White Devil ! turn from me thy louring eye, 
 Let thy lean lip unlearn its bitter smile, 
 
 Down thine own throat I force its still-born lie. 
 And teach thee to digest it in thy bile, — 
 But I will merrilv mock at thee the while : 
 
854 ^ MALICE. 
 
 Such venom cannot harm me; for I sit 
 
 On a fair hill of name, and power, and purse, 
 Too high for any shaft of thine to hit, 
 
 Beyond the petty reaching of thy curse, 
 Strong in good purpose, praise, and pregnant wit: 
 Husband thy hate for toads of thine own level, 
 
 I breathe an atmosphere too rare for thee : 
 Back to thy trencher at the witches' revel. 
 Too long they wait thy goodly company: 
 Yet know thou this, — I'll crush thee, sorry devil, 
 If ever again thou wag thy tongue at me. 
 
 I STRAYED at evening to a sylvan scene 
 
 Dimpling with nature's smile the stern old mountain, 
 A shady dingle, quiet, cool, and green. 
 
 Where the moss'd rock pour'd forth its natural fountain ; 
 And hazels cluster'd there, with fern between, 
 
 And feathery meadow-sweet shed perfume round, 
 
 And the pink crocus pierc'd the jewell'd ground; 
 
 Then was I calm and happy : for the voice 
 Of nightingales unseen in tremulous lays 
 
 Taught me with innocent gladness to rejoice. 
 And tuned my spirit to unformal praise : 
 So, among silver'd moths, and closing flowers. 
 
 Gambolling hares, and rooks returning home. 
 
 And strong-wing 'd chafers setting out to roam. 
 In careless peace I pass'd the soothing hours. 
 
ART. . 355 
 
 art. 
 
 The massy faue of architecture olden, 
 Or fretted minarets of marble white, 
 
 Or Moorish arabesque, begemm'd and golden, 
 Or porcelain pagoda, tipp'd with light, 
 Or high-spanned arches, — were a noble sight : 
 
 Nor less yon gallant ship, that treads the waves 
 In a triumphant silence of delight. 
 
 Like some huge swan, with her fair wings unfurl'd, 
 Whose curved sides the laughing water laves, 
 
 Bearing it buoyant o'er the liquid world: 
 Nor less yon silken monster of the sky 
 
 Around whose wicker car the clouds are curl'd, 
 Helping undaunted man to scale on high 
 Nearer the sun than eagles dare to fly; — 
 Thy trophies these, — still but a modest part 
 Of thy grand conquests, wonder-working Art I 
 
 NAME for comfort, refuge, hope, and peace, 
 spot by gratitude and memory blest ! 
 
 Where, as in brighter worlds, "the wicked cease 
 From troubling, and the weary are at rest," 
 ADd unfledged loves and graces have their nest; 
 
856 THEWRETCHEDHOME. 
 
 How brightly here the various virtues shine, 
 And nothing said or done is seen amiss; 
 
 While sweet affections every heart entwine, 
 And differing tastes and talents all unite, 
 Like hues prismatic blending into white, 
 
 In charity to man, and love divine : 
 Thou little kingdom of serene delight, 
 
 Heaven's nursery and foretaste ! what bliss 
 
 Where earth to wearied men can give a home like this ! 
 
 «|l2 Wxt^ti IniiiL 
 
 Scene of disunion, bickering, and strife, 
 
 What curse has made thy native blessings die? 
 Why do these broils embitter daily life. 
 
 And cold self-interest form the strongest tie? 
 
 Hate, ill conceal'd, is flashing from the eye, 
 And mutter'd vengeance curls the pallid lip; 
 
 What should be harmony is all at jar; — 
 Doubt and reserve love's timid blossoms nip. 
 
 And weaken nature's bends to ropes of sand; 
 
 While dull indifference takes the icy hand 
 (Oh chilling touch !) — of constrain'd fellowship : 
 
 What secret demon has such discord fann'd? 
 What ill committed stirs this penal war, — 
 Or what omitted good? — Alas! that such things are. 
 
THEORY. 867 
 
 How fair and facile seems that upland road ! 
 
 Surely the mountain air is fresh and sweet, 
 And briskly shall I bear this mortal load 
 
 With well-braced sinews, and unweary feet; 
 
 How dear my fellow-pilgrims oft to meet 
 O'ertaken, as to reach yon blest abode 
 
 We strive together, in glad hope to greet, 
 With angel friends and our approving GrOD, 
 
 All that in life we once have loved so well,- 
 So what we loved be worthy : her bright wings 
 My willing spirit plumes, and upward springs 
 
 Rejoicing, over crag, and fen, and fell. 
 And down, or up, the cliffs precipitous face, 
 
 To run or fly her buoyant happy race ! 
 
 This body, — the body of this death ! 
 
 Strive as thou wilt, do all that mortal can. 
 
 This is the sum, a man is but a man. 
 And weak in error strangely wandereth 
 
 Down flowery lanes, with pain and peril fraught. 
 
 Conscious of what he doth, and what he ought. 
 Alas, — but wherefore? — scarce my plaintive breath 
 
 Wafts its faint question to the listening sky. 
 When thus in answer some kind spirit saith : 
 
 " Man, thou art mean, although thy aim be high ; 
 All matter hath one law, concentering strong 
 
 To some attractive point, — and thy world's core 
 Is the foul seat of hell, and pain, and wrong : 
 
 Yet courage, man ! the strife shall soon be o'er. 
 And that poor leprous husk, sore travailing long, 
 
 Shall yet cast off its death in second birth, 
 And flame anew a heavenly centred earth I" 
 
868 RICHES. 
 
 Heaps upon heaps, — hillocks of yellow gold, 
 Jewels, and hanging silks, and piled-up plate, 
 
 And marble groups in beauty's choicest mould, 
 And viands rare, and odours delicate, 
 
 And art and nature, in divinest works. 
 
 Swell the full pomp of my triumphant state 
 With all that makes a mortal glad and great; 
 
 — Ah, no, not glad: within my secret heart 
 
 The dreadful knowledge, like a death-worm lurks, 
 
 That all this dream of life must soon depart; 
 And the hot curse of talents misapplied 
 
 Blisters my conscience with its burning smart, 
 So that I long to fling my wealth aside : 
 For my poor soul, when its rich mate hath died, 
 Must lie with Dives, spoil' d of all its pride. 
 
 The sun is bright and glad, but not for me, 
 
 My heart is dead to all but pain and sorrow, 
 Nor care nor hope have I in all I see. 
 
 Save from the fear that I may starve to-morrow; 
 And eagerly I seek uncertain toil. 
 
 Leaving my sinews in the thankless furrow. 
 To drain a scanty pittance from the soil, 
 While my life's lamp burns dim for lack of oil. 
 
 Alas, for you, poor famishing patient wife, 
 And pale-faced little ones! your feeble cries 
 
 Torture my soul : worse than a blank is life 
 Beggar'd of all that makes that life a prize : 
 
 Yet one thing cheers me, — is not life the door 
 
 To that rich world where no one can be poor? 
 
LIGHT. 35^ 
 
 riglit. 
 
 A GLORIOUS vision : as I walk'd at noon 
 
 The children of the sun came thronging round me, 
 In shining robes and diamond-studded shoon; 
 And they did wing me up with them, and soon, 
 
 In a bright dome of wondrous width I found me. 
 Set all with beautiful eyes, whose wizard rays, 
 
 Shed on my soul, in strong enchantment bound me; 
 And so I look'd and look'd with dazzled gaze. 
 
 Until my spirit drank in so much light 
 That I grew like the sons of that glad place. 
 
 Transparent, lovely, pure, serene, and bright; 
 Then did they call me brother: and there grew 
 
 Swift from my sides broad pinions gold and white, 
 And with that happy flock a brilliant thing I flew ! 
 
 A TERRIBLE dream : I lay at dead of night 
 
 Tortur'd by some vague fear; it seem'd at first 
 Like a small ink-spot on the ceiling white, 
 To a black bubble swelling in my sight, 
 
 And then it grew to a balloon and burst; 
 Then I was drown'd, as with an ebon stream, 
 
 And those dark waves quench'd all mine inward light, 
 That in my saturated mind no gleam 
 
 Remain 'd of beauty, peace, or love, or right: 
 I was a spirit of darkness ! — yet I knew 
 
 I could not thus be left; it was but a dream; 
 Still felt I full of horror; for a crew 
 
 Of shadowy its hemm'd in my harried mind, 
 
 And all my dread was waking mad and blind. 
 24 
 
POETRY. 
 
 fnrin|. 
 
 To touch the heart, and make its pulses thrill. 
 
 To raise and purify the grovelling soul, 
 To warm with generous heat the selfish will, 
 
 To conquer passion with a mild control, 
 And the whole man with nobler thoughts to fill, 
 
 These are thine aims, O pure unearthly power. 
 These are thine influences : and therefore those 
 
 Whose wings are clogg'd with evil, are thy foes; 
 
 And therefore these, who have thee for their dower, 
 The widow'd spirits with no portion here. 
 
 Eat angels' food, the manna thou dost shower : 
 For thine are pleasures, deep, and tried, and true. 
 
 Whether to read, or write, or think, or hear, 
 By the gross million .spurn'd, and fed on by the few. 
 
 That the fine edge of intellect is dull'd 
 
 And mortal ken with cloudy films obscure, 
 And the numb'd heart so deep in stupor lull'd 
 
 That virtue's self is weak its love to lure. 
 
 But pride and lust keep all the gates secure, 
 This is thy fall, man; and therefore those 
 Whose aims are earthly, like pedestrian prose, — 
 
 The selfish, useful, money-making plan. 
 Cold language of the desk, or quibbling bar. 
 
 Where in hard matter sinks ideal man : 
 Still, worldly teacher, be it from me far 
 
 Thy darkness to confound with yon bright band 
 Poetic all, though not so named by men. 
 Who have sway'd royally the mighty pen, 
 
 And now as kings in prose on fame's clear summit stand. 
 
FRIENDSHIP, CONSTRAINED. 36] 
 
 .l^rirnisliiii, rnnstrniari. 
 
 Gentle, but generous, modest, pure aud learnM, 
 
 Heady to hear the fool, or teach the vrise, 
 With gracious heart that all within him burnM 
 
 To wipe the tears from virtue's blessed eyes 
 
 And help again the struggling right to rise, 
 Such an one, like a god, have I discerned 
 
 A\'alking in goodness this polluted earth, 
 And cannot choose but love him : to my soul 
 Sway'd irresistibly with sweet control, 
 
 So rare and noble seems thy precious worth, 
 That the young fibres of my happier heart. 
 
 Like tendrils to the sun, are stretching forth 
 To twine around thy fragrant excellence, 
 O child of love : — so dear to me thou art. 
 
 So coveted by me thy goc^d influence ! 
 
 (gmnitit, rnniprllrir. 
 
 Coarse, vain, and vulgar, ignorant and mean, 
 Sensual and sordid in each hope and aim, 
 
 Selfish in appetite, and basely keen 
 
 In tracking out gross pleasure's guilty game 
 "With eager eye, and bad heart all on flame. 
 
 Such an one, like an Afreet, have I seen 
 
 Shedding o'er this fair world his balefire light, 
 
 And can I love him? — far be from my thought 
 
 To show not such the charities I ought, — 
 But from his converse should I reap delight? 
 
 Nor bid the tender sproutings of my mind 
 
 Shrink from his evil, as from bane and blight, 
 Nor back upon themselves my feelings roll ? 
 
 O moral monster, loveless and unkind, 
 
 Thou art as wormwood to my secret soul ! 
 
362 PHILANTHROPIC. 
 
 Come near me, friends and brothers; hem me round 
 
 With the dear faces of my fellow-men : 
 The music of your tongues with magic sound 
 
 Shall cheer my heart and make me happiest then; 
 My soul yearns over you : the sitting hen 
 
 Cowers not more fondly o'er her callow brood 
 Than, in most kind excuse of all your ill. 
 
 My heart is warm and patient for your good; 
 
 that my power were measured by my will ! 
 Then would I bless you as I love you still, 
 
 Forgiving, as I trust to be forgiven : 
 Here, vilest of my kind, take hand and heart, 
 
 1 also am a man, — 'tis all thou art. 
 
 An erring needy pensioner of heaven. 
 
 Jilisautlirnpu. 
 
 How long am I to smell this tainted air, 
 
 And in a pest-house draw my daily breath, — 
 Where nothing but the sordid fear of death 
 Restrains from grander guilt than cowards dare? 
 loathsome, despicable, petty race, 
 
 Low counterfeits of devils, villanous men, 
 Sooner than learn to love a human face, 
 
 ril make my home in the hyaena's den. 
 
 Or live with newts and bull-frogs on the fen : 
 These at the least are honest; — but for man. 
 The best will cheat and use you if he can; 
 
 The best is only varnish'd o'er with good; 
 Subtle for self, for damning mammon keen, 
 Cruel, luxurious, treacherous, proud and mean, — 
 
 Grreat Justice, haste to crush the viper's brood : 
 And I too am — a man! — wretched fate 
 To be the thing I scorn — more than I hate 
 
COUNTRY 
 
 Cntintrit. 
 
 Most tranquil, innocent, and happy life, 
 
 Full of the holy joy chaste nature yields, 
 Redeem'd from care, and sin, and the hot strife 
 That rings around the smoked unwholesome dome 
 
 Where mighty Mammon his black sceptre wields,- 
 Here let me rest in humble cottage home. 
 
 Here let me labour in the enameU'd fields : 
 How pleasant in these ancient woods to roam 
 With kind-eyed friend, or kindly-teaching book; 
 
 Or the fresh gallop on the dew-dropt heath. 
 Or at fair eventide with feather'd hook 
 To strike the swift trout in the shallow brook, 
 
 Or in the bower to twine the jasmine wreath. 
 Or at the earliest blush of summer morn 
 
 To trim the bed, or turn the new-mown hay, 
 Or pick the perfumed hop, or reap the golden com! 
 
 So should my peaceful life all smoothly glide away. 
 
 €mu. 
 
 Enough of lanes, and trees, and valleys green, 
 Enough of briary wood, and hot chalk-down, 
 
 I hate the startling quiet of the scene. 
 
 And long to hear the gay glad hum of town : 
 My garden be the garden of the Graces, 
 
 Flowers full of smiles, with fashion for their queen. 
 My pleasant fields be crowds of joyous faces. 
 
 The brilliant rout, the concert, and the ball, — 
 
 These be my joys in endless carnival ! 
 For I do loathe that sickening solitude. 
 
 That childish hunting-up of flies and weeds. 
 Or worse, the company of rustics rude. 
 
 Whose only hopes are bound in clods and seeds : 
 Out on it ! let me live in town delight, 
 And for your tedious country-mornings bright 
 Give me gay London with its noon and night. 
 
364 WORLDLY AND WEALTHY. 
 
 Idolator of gold, I love thee not, 
 
 The orbits of our hearts are sphered afar, 
 
 In lieu of tuneful sympathies, I wot, 
 
 My thoughts and thine are all at utter jar, 
 
 Because thou judgest by what men have got, 
 Heeding but lightly what they do, or are: 
 Alas, for thee ! this lust of gold shall mar, 
 
 Like leprous stains, the tissue of thy lot, 
 
 And drain the natural moisture from thy heart; 
 Alas ! thou heedest not how poor thou art, 
 
 Weigh'd in the balances of truth, how vain : 
 O wrecking mariner, fling out thy freight. 
 Or founder with the heavily sinking weight; 
 
 No longer dote upon thy treasured gain. 
 
 Or quick, and sure to come, the hour shall be, 
 When 3IENE tekel shall be sentenced thee. 
 
 Rather be thou my counsellor and friend, 
 
 Grood man though poor, whose treasure with thy heart 
 
 Is stored and set upon that better part. 
 Choice of thy wisdom, without waste or end. 
 And full of profits that to pleasures tend : 
 
 How cheerful is thy face, how glad thou art! 
 Using the world with all its bounteous store 
 
 Of richest blessings, coniforts, loves, and joys, 
 Which thine all-healthy hunger prizeth more 
 
 Than the gorged fool, whom sinful surfeit cloys; 
 Still, not forgetful of thy nobler self, 
 
 The breath divine within thee, — but with care 
 
 Cherishing the faint spark that glimmereth there, 
 Nor by Brazilian slavery to pelf 
 
 Plunging thy taper into poison'd air. 
 
LIBERALITY. 365 
 
 jCilirrnlitij. 
 
 Give while thou canst, it is a godlike thing, 
 
 Give what thou canst, thou shalt not find it loss, 
 
 Yea, sell and give, much gain such barteries bring, 
 Yea, all thou hast, and get fine gold for dross: 
 
 Still, see thou scatter wisely; for to fling 
 
 Good seed on rocks, or sands, or thorny ground, 
 Were not to copy Him, whose generous cross 
 
 Hath this poor world with rich salvation crown'd. 
 And, when thou look'st on woes and want around, 
 
 Knowing that God hath lent thee all thy wealth, 
 That better it is to give than to receive, 
 
 That riches cannot buy thee joy nor health, — 
 
 Why hinder thine own welfare? thousands grieve, 
 
 Whom if thy pitying hand will but relieve. 
 
 It shall for thine own wear the robe of gladness weave. 
 
 Where vice is virtue, thou art still despised, 
 petty loathsome love of hoarded pelf. 
 
 Even in the pit where all things vile are prized, 
 Still is there found in Lucifer himself 
 
 Spirit enough to hate thee, sordid thing : 
 
 Thank Heaven! I own in thee nor lot nor part; 
 
 And though to many a sin and folly cling 
 The worse weak fibres of my weedy heart, 
 
 Yet to thy wither'd lips and snake-like eye 
 My warmest welcome is, Depart, depart, — 
 For to my sense so f)ul and base thou art 
 
 I would not stoop to thee to reach the sky: 
 Aroint thee, filching hand, and heart of stone I 
 Be this thy doom, with conscience left alone 
 Learn how like Death thou art, unsatcd scfilsh one. 
 
366 ANCIENT 
 
 My sympatliies are all with times of old, 
 I cannot live with things of yesterday, 
 Upstart, and flippant, foolish, weak, and gay, 
 
 But spirits cast in a severer mould, 
 
 Of solid worth, like elemental gold; 
 
 I love to wander o'er the shadowy past, ^ 
 
 Dreaming of dynasties long swept away. 
 And seem to find myself almost the last 
 Of a time-honour'd race, decaying fast : 
 
 For I can dote upon the rare antique. 
 Conjuring up what story it might tell. 
 
 The bronze, or bead, or coin, or quaint relique; 
 And in a desert could delight to dwell 
 
 Among vast ruins, — Tadmor's stately halls, 
 Old Egypt's giant fanes, or Babel's mouldering walls. 
 
 Behold, I stand upon a speck of earth 
 To work the works allotted me, — and die; 
 
 Glad among toils to snatch a little mirth. 
 
 And, when I must, unmurmuring down to lie 
 
 In the same soil that gave me food and birth : 
 For all that went before me, what care I? 
 The past, the future, — these are but a dream ; 
 
 I want the tangible good of present worth. 
 
 And heed not wisps of light that dance and gleam 
 Over the marshes of the foolish past: 
 We are a race the best, because the last, 
 
 Improving all, and happier day by day 
 
 To think our chosen lot hath not been cast 
 
 In those old puerile times, discreetly swept away. 
 
SPIRIT. 
 
 Ipirit. 
 
 Throw me from this tall cliff, — my wings are stroBg, 
 
 The hurricane is raging fierce and high, 
 My spirit pants, and all in heat I long 
 
 To struggle upward to a purer sky, 
 
 And tread the clouds above me rolling by : 
 Lo, thi^ into the buoyant air I leap 
 
 Confident, and exulting, at a bound, 
 Swifter than whirlwinds, happily to sweep 
 
 On fiery wing the reeling world around : 
 Off with my fetters ! — who shall hold me back ? 
 My path lies there, — the lightning's sudden track, 
 O'er the blue concave of the fathomless deep, — 
 
 Oh, — thus to spurn matter, and space, and time, 
 
 And soar above the universe sublime ! 
 
 311atttr. 
 
 In the deep clay of yonder sluggish flood 
 The huge beliemotli makes his ancient lair, 
 And with slow caution heavily wallows there, 
 
 Moving above the stream, a mound of mud : 
 And near him stretching to the river's edge 
 
 In dense dark grandeur, stiinds the silent wood. 
 
 Whose unpierced jungles, choked with rotting sedge, 
 
 Prison the damp air from the freshening breeze : 
 Lo ! the rhinoceros comes down this way 
 
 Thundering furiously on, — and snorting sees 
 The harmless monster at his awkward play, 
 
 And rushes on him from the crashing trees, — 
 A dreadful shock : as when the Titans hurl'd 
 Against high Jove the Himalayan world ! 
 
nr.8 LIFE. 
 
 fift. 
 
 Life, glorious ! sister-twin of light, 
 Essence of Godhead, energizing love. 
 
 Hail, gentle conqueror of dead cold night. 
 Hail, on the water's kindly-brooding dove? 
 
 1 feel thee near me, in me : thy strange might 
 
 Flies through my bones like fire, — my heart beats high 
 With thy glad presence ; pain and fear and care 
 
 Hide from the lightning laughter of mine eye; 
 No dark unseasonable terrors dare 
 
 Disturb me, revelling in the luxury. 
 The new-found luxury of life and health, 
 
 This blithesome elasticity of limb. 
 
 This pleasure, in which all my senses swim, 
 This deep outpouring of a creature's wealth ! 
 
 iMttt. 
 
 Ghastly and weak, dreadful monarch Death, 
 With failing feet I near thy silent realm, 
 
 Upon my brain strikes chill thine icy breath. 
 My fluttering heart thy terrors overwhelm. 
 
 Thou sullen pilot of life's crazy bark. 
 
 How treacherously thou puttest down the helm 
 Just where smooth eddies hide the sunken rock; 
 
 While close behind follows the hungry shark 
 Snuffing his meal from far, swift with black fin 
 The foam dividing, — ha! that sudden shock 
 
 Splits my frail skiff; upon the billows dark 
 
 A drowning wretch awhile struggling I float, 
 Till, just as I had hoped the wreck to win, 
 
 I feel thy bony fingers clutch my throat. 
 
ELLEN GRAY. acy 
 
 THE EXCUSE OF AN UNFORTUNATE. 
 
 A STARLESS night, and bitter cold; 
 The low dun clouds all wildly roll'd, 
 
 Scudding before the blast, 
 And cheerlessly the frozen sleet 
 Adown the melancholy street 
 
 Swept onward thick and fast; 
 
 When, crouched at an unfriendly door, 
 Faint, sick, and miserably poor, 
 
 A, silent woman sate, 
 She might be young, and had been fair, 
 But from her eye look'd out despair. 
 
 All dim and desolate. 
 
 Was I to pass her coldly by, 
 Leaving her there to pine and die, 
 
 The live-long freezing night? 
 The secret answer of my heart 
 Told me I had not done my part 
 
 In flinging her a mite; 
 
 She look'd her thanks, — then droop'd her head; 
 " Have you no friend, no home ?" I said : 
 
 " Get up, poor creature, come, — 
 You seem unhappy, faint, and weak, 
 How can I serve or save you, — speak. 
 
 Or whither help you hoinc ?" 
 
ELLEN GRAY. 
 
 "Alas, kind sir, poor Ellen Gray 
 Has had no friend this many a day, 
 
 And, but that you seem kind, — 
 She has not found the face of late 
 That look'd on her in augl^t but hate, 
 
 And still despairs to fiud : 
 
 And for a home, — would I had none I 
 The home I have, a wicked one, 
 
 They will not let me in, 
 Till I can fee my jailor's hands 
 With the vile tribute she demands, 
 
 The wages of my sin : 
 
 I see your goodness on me frown; 
 Yet hear the veriest wretch on town. 
 
 While yet in life she may. 
 Tell the sad story of her grief, — 
 Though heaven alone can bring relief 
 
 To guilty Ellen Gray, 
 
 My mother died when I was born: 
 And I was flung, a babe forlorn, 
 
 Upon the workhouse floor ; 
 My father, — would I knew him not! 
 A squalid thief, a reckless sot, 
 
 — I dare not tell you more. 
 
 And I was bound an infant-slave, 
 With no one near to love or save 
 
 From cruel sordid men, 
 A friendless, famish'd, f^ictory child, 
 Morn, noon, and night I toil'd and tuil'd,- 
 
 Yet was I happy then. 
 
ELLEN GRAY. 
 
 My heart was pure, my face vrna fair; 
 Ah, would to God a cancer tliere 
 
 Had eaten out its way ! 
 For soon my tasker, dreaded man, 
 "With treacherous wiles and arts began 
 
 To mark me for his prey. 
 
 And month by month he vainly strove 
 To light the flame of lawless love 
 
 In my most loathing breast; 
 Oh, how I fear'd and hated him. 
 So basely kind, so smoothly grim, 
 
 My terror, and my pest! 
 
 Till one day, at that prison-mill, — 
 
 Thenceforward droop'd my stricken head; 
 I lived, — I died, a life of dread. 
 
 Lest they should guess my shame; 
 But weeks and months would pass away, 
 And all too soon the bitter day 
 
 Of wrath and ruin came; 
 
 I could not hide my alter'd form : 
 Then on my head the fearful storm 
 
 Of jibe and insult burst : 
 Men only mock'd me for my fate. 
 But women's scorn and women's hate 
 
 Me, their poor sister, curst. 
 
 woman, had thy kindless face 
 But gentler look'd on my disgrace, 
 
 And heal'd the wounds it gave ! — 
 
 1 was a drowning sinking wretch. 
 Whom no one loved enough to stretch 
 
 A finser out to save. 
 
572 ELLEN GRAY. 
 
 They tore my baby from my heart, 
 And lock'd it in some hole apart 
 
 Where L could hear its cry, 
 Such was the horrid poor-house law; — 
 Its little throes I never saw, 
 
 Although I heard it die ! 
 
 Still the stone hearts that ruled the placft 
 Let me not kiss my darling's face, 
 
 My little darling dead; 
 Oh ! I was mad with rage and hate, 
 And yet all sullenly I sate, 
 
 And not a word I said. 
 
 I would not stay, I could not bear 
 To breathe the same infected air 
 
 That kill'd my precious child; 
 I watch'd my time, and fled away 
 The livelong night, the livelong day, 
 
 With fear and anguish wild : 
 
 Till down upon a river's bank. 
 Twenty leagues off, fainting, I sank, 
 
 And only long'd to die; 
 1 had no hope, no home, no friend. 
 No God ! — I sought but for an end 
 
 To life and misery. 
 
 Ah, lightly heed the righteous few, 
 How little to themselves is due. 
 
 But all things given to them; 
 Yet the unwise, because untaught. 
 The wandering sheep, because unsought, 
 
 They heartlessly condemn : 
 
ELLEN GRAY. 373 
 
 And little can the untempted dream 
 While gliding smoothly down life's stream 
 
 They keep the letter-lawri, 
 What they would be, if, tost like me 
 Hopeless upon life's barren sea, 
 
 They knew how hunger grjaws. 
 
 I was half-starved, I tried in vain 
 To get me work my bread to gain; 
 
 Before me flew my shame; 
 Cold Charity put up her purse, 
 And none looked on me but to curse 
 
 The daughter of ill-fiime. 
 
 Alas, why need I count by links 
 
 The heavy lengthening chain that sinks 
 
 My heart, my soul, my all? 
 I still was fair, though hope was dead^ 
 And so I sold mj^self for bread, 
 
 And lived upon my fall : 
 
 Now I was reckless, bold and bad. 
 My love was hate, — I grew half-mad 
 
 With tliinking on my wrongs; 
 Disease, and pain, and giant-sin 
 Rent body and soul, and raged within! 
 
 Such meed to guilt belongs. 
 
 And what I was, — such still am I; 
 Afraid to live, unfit to die, — 
 
 And yet I haped I might 
 Meet my best friend and lover — Death 
 In the fierce frowns and frozen breath 
 
 Of this December night. 
 
374 E L L E N G R A Y . 
 
 My tale is told : m j heart grows cold ; 
 I cannot stir, — yet, — kind good sir, 
 
 1 know that you will stay, — 
 And God is kinder e'en than you, — 
 Can He not look with pity too 
 
 On wretched Ellen Gray?" 
 
 Her eye was jfix'd; she said no more, 
 But propp'd against the cold street-door 
 
 She lean'd her fainting head; 
 One moment she look'd up and smiled 
 Full of new hope, as Mercy's child, 
 
 — And Ellen Gray was dead. 
 
 Fair Charity, thou rarest, best, and brightest! 
 
 Who would not gladly hide thee in his heart. 
 With all thine angel-guests? for thou delightest 
 
 To bring such with thee, — guests that ne'er depart; 
 Cherub, with what enticement thou invitest, 
 
 Perfect in winning beauty as thou art, 
 World-wearied man to plant thee in his bosom 
 And graft upon his cares thy balmy blossom. 
 
 Fain would he be frank-hearted, generous, cheerful, 
 Forgiving, aiding, loving, trusting all, — 
 
 But knowledge of his kind has made him fearful 
 All are not friends, whom friends he longs to callj 
 
 For prudence makes men cold, and misery tearful. 
 And interest bids them rise upon his fall, 
 
 And while they seek their selfish own to cherish, 
 
 They leave the wounded stag alone to perish. 
 
CHARITY. J 
 
 Man mnj rejoice that thy sweet influence hallows 
 His intercourse with all he loves — in heaven: 
 
 But canst thou make him love his sordid fellows, 
 And mix with them untainted by their leaven? 
 
 How can he not grow cautious, cold, and callous, 
 When he forgives to seventy-times seven. 
 
 And still-repeated wrongs, unwept for, harden 
 
 The heart that's never sued nor sought to pardon ? 
 
 Reserve's cold breath has chill'd each warmer feeling, 
 
 Ingratitude has frozen up his blood, 
 Unjust neglect has pierced him, past all healing. 
 
 And scarr'd a heart that panted to do good; 
 Slowly, but surely, has distrust been steeling 
 
 His mind, much wronged, and little understood : 
 Would charity unseal affection's fountain? 
 Alas ! 'tis crush'd beneath a marble mountain. 
 
 Yet the belief that he was loved by other 
 
 Could root and hurl that mountain in the sea, 
 
 Oblivion's depth the height of ill would smother 
 And all forgiven, all forgotten be; 
 
 Man then could love his once injurious brother 
 With such a love as none can give but he; 
 
 The sun of love, and that alone has power 
 
 To bring to bright perfection love's sweet flower. 
 
 Soft rains, and zephyrs, and warm noons can vanquish 
 The stubborn tyranny of winter's frost; 
 
 Once more the smiling valleys cease to languish, 
 Brest out in fresher beauties than they lost : 
 
 So springs with gladness from its bed of anguish 
 The heart that loved not, when reviled and crost, 
 
 But, once beloved, — oh then not once but often 
 
 Love's sunny smile the rockiest heart will soften. 
 25 
 
?»7G TO MY BOOK, "PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY." 
 
 BEFORE PUBLICATION. 1837. 
 
 My soul's own son, dear image of my mind, 
 I would not without blessing send thee forth 
 
 Into the bleak wide world, whose voice unkind 
 Perchance will mock at thee as nothing worth j 
 
 For the cold critic's jealous eye may find 
 In all thy purposed good little but ill, 
 May taunt thy simple garb as quaintly wrought, 
 
 And praise thee for no more than the small skill 
 Of masking as thine own another's thought : 
 What then ? — count envious sneers as less than nought 
 
 Fair is thine aim, and, having done thy best, 
 
 Lo, thus I bless thee; yea, thou shalt be blest! 
 
 €n tljB sump, 
 
 AFTER PUBLICATION. 
 
 That they have praised thee well, and cheer'd thee on 
 
 With kinder tones that critics deign to few, 
 Child of my thoughts, my fancy's favourite sou, 
 Our courteous thanks, our heartfelt thanks are due. 
 
 Despise not thou thine equal's honest praise; 
 Yet feast not of such dainties; thou shalt rue 
 Their sweetness else; let rather generous pride 
 Those golden apples straightly spurn aside, 
 
 And gird thee all unshackled to the race , 
 On to the goal of honour, fair beginner, 
 A thousand ducats thou shalt yet be winner I 
 
TO THE SAME 
 
 €n ttjB samp; 
 
 ON THE PUBLICATION OF THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Yet once again, not after many days 
 
 Since first I dared this voyage in the dark. 
 Borne on the prosperous gale of good men's praise 
 
 To the wide waters I commit mine ark, 
 And bid God speed thy venture, gallant bark ! 
 
 For I have launched thee on a thousand prayers, 
 Freighted thee well with all my mind and heart, — 
 
 And if some contraband error unawares 
 Like Achan's wedge, lie hid in any part. 
 Stand it condemn 'd, as it most justly ought : 
 Yet be the thinker spared, if not his thought; 
 For he that with an honest purpose errs 
 Merits more kind excuse than the shrewd world confers. 
 
 WiMm] mis. 
 
 {Set to music by the Chevalier NeuJcomm^ in 183i 
 
 Young bride, — a wreath for thee I 
 Of sweet and gentle flowers; 
 
 For wedded love was pure and free 
 In Eden's happy bowers. 
 
 Young bride, — a song for thee ! 
 
 A song of joyous measure. 
 For thy cup of hope shall be 
 
 Fill'd with honied pleasure. 
 
378 W E D D I N G a I F T S . 
 
 Young bride, — a tear for thee ! 
 
 A tear in all thj gladness; 
 For thy young heart shall not see 
 
 Joy unmix 'd with sadness. 
 
 Young bride, — a smile for thee ! 
 
 To shine away thy sorrow, 
 For heaven is kind to-day, and we 
 
 Will hope as well to-morrow. 
 
 Young bride, — a prayer for thee ! 
 
 That, all thy hopes possessing, 
 Thy soul may praise her God, and He 
 
 May crown thee with His blessing. 
 
 (gpton. 1833, 
 
 Harmless, happy little treasures, 
 Full of truth, and trust, and mirth, 
 
 Richest wealth, and purest pleasures 
 In this mean and guilty earth, 
 
 How I love you, pretty creatures, 
 Lamb-like flock of little things, 
 
 Where the love that lights your features 
 From the heart in beauty springs: 
 
 On tjjese laughing rosy faces 
 There are no deep lines of sin, 
 
 None of passion's dreary traces 
 That betray the wounds within : 
 
CHILDREN. 879 
 
 But yours is the sunny dimple 
 
 Radiant with untutor'd smiles, 
 Yours the heart, sincere and simple, 
 
 Innocent of selfish wiles; 
 
 Yours the natural curling tresses. 
 
 Prattling tongues, and shyness coy. 
 Tottering steps, and kind caresses, 
 
 Pure with health, and warm with joy. 
 
 The dull slaves of gain, or passion 
 
 Cannot love you as they should, 
 The poor worldly fools of fashion 
 
 Would not love you if they could : 
 
 Write them childless, those cold-hearted, 
 
 Who can scorn Thy generous boon. 
 And whose souls with fear have smarted, 
 
 Lest — Thy blessings come too soon. 
 
 While he hath a child to love him 
 
 No man can be poor indeed. 
 While he trusts a Friend above him. 
 
 None can sorrow, fear, or need. 
 
 But for thee, whose hearth is lonely 
 
 And unwarm'd by children's mirth, 
 Spite of riches, thou art only 
 
 Desolate and poor on earth : 
 
 All unkiss'd by innocent beauty, 
 
 All unloved by guileless heart. 
 All uncheer'd by sweetest duty, 
 
 Childless one, how poor thou art I 
 
380 THE queen's birthday. 
 
 Another year, Queen of many realms, 
 
 Dawns in fair promise on my Sovereign's throne; 
 And, while the hurrying tempest overwhelms 
 
 All climes and crowns beside, — Thou, thou alone 
 
 Sittest in majesty, God's favour 'd one : 
 Yea, blessed. of the Lord, — how blest art thou! 
 
 Blest in the King of King's own secret love, 
 Blest in thy people never more than now. 
 
 Blest in the earth beneath and heaven above j 
 And, be thou blest for ever ! this glad day 
 
 That gave to us the mercy of thy birth. 
 Be full of good to thee in God's own way, 
 
 As His chief child and servant upon earth 
 For whom a thousand thousands hourly pray! 
 
 0, shielded by such panoply of saints 
 
 Forged in high heaven ! thus, most gracious Queen, 
 If ever here thy royal spirit faints 
 
 Amid the perils of a changeful scene 
 
 These prayers shall pour upon thy brow serene, 
 Unruffled radiance; shedding holy balm. 
 Like moonlight silvering a lake at calm, 
 
 Over thy many cares and many fears 
 
 So lull'd to rest; and thus, on history's page, 
 Mercies to come for many happy years 
 
 Shall be thy birthright: though the nations rage, 
 And the uprooted mountains churn the sea, 
 
 The Lord shall bless thy line from age to age, 
 And Britain thank her God for lending thee! 
 
AGREENHOUSE. 381 
 
 % §xn\i\)UM. 
 
 Fragrant and fresh, the tropical warm air 
 
 Lures into life my "bright consummate" flowers, 
 That, newly bathed in artificial showers, 
 
 Show to the sun their thousand beauties rare : 
 
 Here, in high pomp, the gorgeous Cactus flings 
 Its eastern tassel down the prickly stem, 
 
 And Fuchsias spread their tiny scarlet wings, 
 Like hovering humming-birds in emerald bowers: 
 
 There, the tall AmarylFs pink diadem 
 Above this lowlier Hyacinth queenly towers; 
 
 While Orange-blossoms, mingling in the throng 
 With blushing Roses, and Geraniums bright. 
 
 Pour forth an eloquent flood of silent song. 
 And wrap the heart "in dances and delight." 
 
 a (Blimpt nf if^nrnMst 
 
 Not many rays of heaven's unfallen sun 
 
 Reach the dull distance of this world of ours, 
 Nor oft dispel its shadows cold and dun, 
 
 Nor oft with glory tinge its faded flowers: 
 But, oh, if ever yet there wander'd owe, 
 
 Like Peri from her amaranthine bowers. 
 Or ministering angel, sent to bless, 
 'Twas to thy hearth, domestic happiness. 
 Where in the sunshine of a peaceful home 
 Love's choicest roses bud, and burst, and bloom, 
 And bleeding hearts, lull'd in a holy calm, 
 Bathe their deep wounds in Oilo.id's healing balm. 
 
•32 TO THE SOVEREIGN. 
 
 €n tjiE innBtngii. 
 
 Bold in my freedom, yet with homage meek, 
 As duty prompts and loyalty commands, 
 
 To thee, Queen of empires, would I speak : 
 Behold, the most high God hath giv'n to thee 
 Kingdoms and glories, might and majesty, 
 Setting thee ruler over many lands; 
 
 Him first to serve, Monarch, wisely seek: 
 
 And many people, nations, languages. 
 
 Have laid their welfare in thy sovereign hands; 
 
 Them next to bless, to prosper, and to please, 
 
 Nobly forget thyself, and thine own ease : 
 Rebuke ill counsel; rally round thy state 
 The scattered good, and true, and wise, and great 
 
 So Heav'n upon thee shed sweet influences ! 
 
 '^l Cnrnniitinn. 
 
 Queen of the Isles, blue ocean's choicest pearl, 
 We hail thy day of glory ! — unto thee 
 Admiring thousands bend the duteous knee, 
 And bless thee for their brightening hopes, fair girl. 
 Hark ! 'tis the thunder of a nation's voice, 
 Uttering its awful love in loj^al peals; 
 While, as thy car of triumph onward wheels. 
 The trumpets and the cannon, and the chimes 
 Bid every true-born Briton's heart rejoice, 
 Glad in the sunny light of happier times : 
 And, Maiden Monarch, if amid the whirl 
 Of majesty and greatness, — as of old, 
 A secret monitor, in duty bold. 
 To tell thee "thou art mortal," humbly dares, 
 Forgive the noble Muse, and love her for her pray'rs. 
 
THE ABBEY. ^ C83 . 
 
 June 28, 1838. 
 
 Never again, — till earth casts out her dead, 
 
 And teeming ocean yields her rescued prey, — 
 A sight so full of hope, delight, and dread, 
 
 Thrilling and grand, as met thy view this day 
 Mayst thou behold : high reaching overhead 
 The light aerial galleries were throng'd 
 Sublime with multitudes, acclaiming loud; 
 While far beneath, that coronetted crowd 
 
 Sat like a thousand kings; in yonder aisle 
 A virgin troop, azure and silver, show'd 
 As spirits, who to a fairy world belonged. 
 Or some soft nest of doves : deeply the while 
 Rolled in a deluge from the golden quire 
 The tide of musical praise,;^— hail mix'd with fire 
 While midway throned, the brightest central gem, 
 
 Fair Sun illumining that glorious scene. 
 In purple robe and glittering diadem. 
 Majestic sat Britannia's gentle Queen ! 
 
 Sliijnii. 
 
 Monarch of millions, yet a gentle maid, 
 fair and young, yet dignified and sage, 
 
 Most glorious Queen, yet in thy glory staid. 
 Bright star of promise for our golden age, 
 
884 ^ ^ ION. 
 
 All hail, the Lord's anointed I Thou art lent 
 
 In mercy, like our other blessings all ; 
 A messenger of peace, divinely sent, 
 
 That only good may rise, and evil fall; 
 Heal, then, a realm by jarring factions rent; 
 
 Take these contentious brothers by the hand, 
 Smile down their quarrels, and unite their strength; 
 
 Till, only jealous for their father-land. 
 Men of all systems, reconciled at length 
 
 To one just object, take their patriot stand 
 Around our Zion's bulwarks, hers alone 
 The archetypes of heaven, — the Altar and the Throne! 
 
 Snt|0 gnnr lit|, 1830. 
 
 Though we charge to-day with fieetness, 
 Though we dread to-morrow's sky. 
 
 There's a melancholy sweetness 
 In the name of days gone by: 
 
 Yes, though Time has laid his finger 
 On them, still with streaming eye 
 
 There are spots where I can linger 
 Sacred to the days gone by. 
 
 Oft as memory's glance is ranging 
 
 Over scenes that cannot die, 
 Then I feel that all is changing, 
 
 Then I weep the days gone by : 
 
 Sorrowful should I be, and lonely, 
 Were not all the same as T, 
 
 'Tis for all, not my lot only. 
 To lament the days gone by. 
 
DAYS GONE BY. 
 
 Cease, fond heart, — to thee are given 
 Hopes of better things on high, 
 
 There is still a coming heaven 
 Better than the days gone by; 
 
 Faith lifts off the sable curtain 
 
 Hiding huge eternity, 
 Hope accounts her prize as certain. 
 
 And forgets the days gone by; 
 
 Love, in grateful adoration 
 Bids distrust and sorrow fly, 
 
 And with glad anticipation 
 
 Calms regret for days gone by. 
 
 '% (Crm 1829. 
 
 Hush — heaven I a moment more, 
 A breath, a step, and all is o'er; 
 Hark — beneath the waters wild, 
 Save, mercy, save my child. 
 
 Swiftly from her heaving breast 
 The mother tore the snowy vest, — 
 Her little truant saw and smiled, 
 Turn'd, — and mercy saved the child. 
 
 Thus, the face of love can win 
 Where fear is weak to scare from sin; 
 Thus, when faith and conscience slept, 
 Jesus look'd, — and Peter wept. 
 
386 LAMENT. 
 
 tmmi mi. 
 
 Alas ! poor Muse, thy songs are out of time ; 
 Thy lot hath fallen on an iron age, 
 When unrelenting war the sordid wage 
 
 Against thee, — counting it no venial crime 
 
 To fling down in thy cause the champion's gage, 
 
 Aud utterly scorning him, who dares to rhyme : 
 that thy thoughts had fili'd an earlier page, 
 And won the favouring ears of holier men ! 
 
 Whose spirits might with thee have soar'd sublime 
 Far above selfish Mammon's crowded den : 
 Thou hadst been more at home, and happier then 
 
 Yet be thou of good courage; there are still 
 
 Those "left sev'n thousand,'' whose affections will 
 
 Yearn on thy little good, and pardon thy much ill. 
 
 inmu initli /nrngu :fTOttr{ifl 1851, 
 
 Christian England ! where so long 
 Freedom's trumpet, clear and strong, 
 Still has stirr'd the patriot song — 
 
 Down with foreign priestcraft! 
 England ! Truth's own island-nest. 
 Pure Religion's happy rest. 
 Ever shall thy sons protest 
 
 Down with foreign priestcraft I 
 
 What ! shall these Italian knaves 
 Dream again to make us slaves 
 From our cradles to our graves 
 
 With their foreign priestcraft f 
 
DOWN WITH FOREIGN PRIESTCRAFT. r,fi7 
 
 Out OQ every false pretence ! 
 Common right and common sense 
 Shout against such insolence, 
 
 Down with foreign priestcraft! 
 
 Aye, — insidious fawning foe, 
 Little as you thought it so, 
 England's wrath is all aglow, 
 
 Scorning foreign priestcraft — 
 Take our Jesuits, if you will, 
 England's heart rejects their ill, 
 And her mouth is thundering still, 
 
 Down with foreign priestcraft 
 
 Hark ! in ancient warmth and worth, 
 East and west and south and north, 
 Flies the loyal spirit forth. 
 
 Loathing foreign priestcraft; 
 Evermore with Rome to cope, 
 We will bate nor heart nor hope. 
 But our shout shall stun the Pope, 
 
 Down with foreign priestcraft I 
 
 Temple of truths most eloquently spoken, 
 
 Shrine of sweet thoughts veil'd-in with words of power, 
 The " Author's mind " replete with, hallow'd riches 
 Stands a Cathedral : full of precious things, — 
 Tastefully built in harmonies unbroken. 
 
 Cloister, and aisle, dark crypt, and aery tower: 
 Long-treasured relics in the fretted niches, 
 
gg^ T H E C A T H E D R A L M 1 N !) . 
 
 And secret stores, and heap'd-up oflferiags, 
 Art's noblest gems, with every fruit and flower, 
 
 Paintings and sculpture, choice imaginings. 
 Its plenitude of wealth and praise betoken : 
 
 An ever-burning lamp portrays the soul; 
 Deep music all around enchantment flings; 
 
 And God's great Presence consecrates the whole. 
 
 ^.^nlitirs in 1839. 
 
 Chill'd is the patriot's hope, the poet's prayer: 
 Alas, for I'Jngland and her tarnish' d crown, 
 Her sun of ancient glory going down, 
 Her foes triumphant in her friends' despair: 
 What wonder should the billows overwhelm 
 
 A bark so mann'd by Comus and his crew, 
 " Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ? " 
 Yet, no! — wc will not fear; the loathing realm 
 At length has burst its chains; a motley few, 
 The pseudo-saint, the boasting infidel, 
 The demagogue, and courtier, hand in hand 
 
 No more besiege our Zion's citadel : 
 But high in hope conies on this nobler band. 
 For God, the sovereign, and our father-land. 
 
 Hold thy rash hand ! — for Briton is no slave, 
 Thus to be forced against her word and will; 
 
 Her voice is terrible, her heart is brave, 
 Her lion-natnre free and fearless still : 
 
 Why make this reckless haste to compass ill? 
 
T O A r R. K M I i: R . 
 
 Be, if thou canst, deliberate and grave : 
 For, hark ! I hear upon the burdeu'd wind 
 
 From fell and field and town and dale and hill, 
 That gathering tempest of the Nation's mind. 
 No peace with Kome ! no league with crafty Eome ! 
 Down with the traitor ! w^ho would smoothly bind 
 
 Her chains around us, — and whose deed would mari 
 With the foul beast our every hearth and home, 
 
 Changing our glorious Light to utter Dark. 
 
 >;89 
 
 f rntFHting (Erntlj, 
 
 Protestant saints, is it the truth, indeed, 
 That cold negations merely, or in chief. 
 
 Make up the sorry texture of your creed — 
 A torn and flimsy robe of non-belief? 
 
 No ! freely as your fathers would ye bleed, 
 
 Positive witnesses for truth and good; 
 
 Worshipping GrOD, instead of stone and wood, 
 Pleading all merit solely in His Son, 
 
 Spurning each other fabulous help, and aid, 
 And mediation — for there is but One ! 
 
 Moreover, this : none ever stoutly stood 
 
 Against the False, but that his temper'd blade, 
 Pruning that bitter shoot, strengthen'd the bud, 
 The bud of Truth, whose bloom shall never fade. 
 
390 THE UNHOLY ALLIANCE. 
 
 'filjB tiiitinlit Mmn. 
 
 Yes, wc protest ! In just and generous strife 
 
 We combat Rome, the idolatrous and proud: 
 How should the adulteress and the married wife 
 Together walk adowu the vale of life, 
 
 In a false peace and union disallowed? 
 
 True, there be some pure Abdiels in the crowd, 
 Faithful among the faithless; here and there 
 
 A Fenelon, a Pascal, whom to love 
 
 Were joy, and privilege to meet above: — 
 Accidents all, as angels scant and rare : 
 
 Far other, carved in rock, and dyed in black. 
 Stand in the sun Rome's evil qualities — 
 
 Fraud, force, extortion, pride, the stake, the rack, 
 Blaspheming guilt, and mad idolatries! 
 
 ixjiBMrnq. 1839, 
 
 Do ill that good may come, — so Satan spoke : 
 
 Woe to the land deluded by that lie, 
 Woe to its rulers, for whose evil sake 
 
 The curse of God may now be hovering nigh: — 
 Up, England, and avert it! boldly break 
 
 The spells of sorceress Rome, and cast away 
 The cords of bad expedience : is it wise. 
 
 Or right, or safe, for some chance gains to-day, 
 To dare sure vengeance on to-morrow's skies? 
 Be wiser thou, dear land, my native home. 
 Do always good, do good that good may come; 
 The path of duty lies before thee plain. 
 
 Turn from the harlot speech of papal Rome, 
 For none who go that way return again. 
 
OOOD SHEPHERDS. 39] 
 
 (0nnir ^ijtpjitr&s. 
 
 Ye seek not praise from man, — nor fear his face ; 
 
 Then let mj words be few. Before vour Lord 
 Commended, as establish'd by His grace, 
 
 Faithful ye stand to reap a just reward : 
 True shepherds of the flock, whom power and place 
 
 Have not corrupted from that lowlier mind 
 Which dwelt in Him, — we love in you to trace 
 
 The likeness of His zeal, in you to find 
 Martyrs for truth amid these perilous times. 
 
 Thunders, with lire and hail, are threatening round, 
 And good rccn tremble at their rulers' crimes; 
 
 And Babylon must rise once more to fall : 
 Yet is there hope; whilst ye are faithful found, 
 
 Zion is safe behind her sevenfold wall. 
 26 
 
fmniran 56allnb 
 
 184Q 
 
 Ho! Brother, I'm a Britisher, 
 
 A chip of heart of oak 
 That wouldn't warp or swerve or stif 
 
 From what I thought or spoke, — 
 And you — a blunt and honest man, 
 
 Straightforward, kind, and true, 
 I tell you, Brother Jonathan, 
 
 That you're a Briton too. 
 
 I know your heart, an open heart, 
 
 I read your mind and will, 
 A greyhound ever on the start 
 
 To run for honour still j 
 And shrewd to scheme a likely plan, 
 
 And stout to see it done, 
 I tell you, Brother Jonathan, 
 
 That you and I are one I 
 
 There may be jealousies and strife. 
 For men have selfish ends. 
 
 But petty quarrels ginger life. 
 And help to season friends; 
 
 (892) 
 
T O B R O T H T: Tl J N A T H A N . ggg 
 
 And pundits who, with solemn scan, 
 
 Judge humans most aright, 
 Decide it, testy Jonathan, 
 
 That brothers always fight. 
 
 Two fledgling sparrows in one nest 
 
 Will chirp about a worm, 
 Then how should eaglets meekly rest, 
 
 The children of the storm? 
 No I while their rustled pinions fan 
 
 The eyrie^s dizzy side, 
 Like you and me, my Jonathan, 
 
 It's all for Love and Pride ! 
 
 "Grod save the Queen" delights you still, 
 
 And "British G-renadiers," 
 The good old strains your heartstrings thrill, 
 
 And catch you by both ears; 
 And we, — hate us if you can, 
 
 For we are proud of you, 
 We like you, Brother Jonathan, 
 
 And "Yankee Doodle" too! 
 
 There's nothing foreign in your face, 
 
 Nor strange upon your tongue. 
 You come not of another race 
 
 From baser lineage sprung; 
 No, brother ! though away you ran, 
 
 As truant boys will do, 
 Still true it is, young Jonathan, 
 
 lily fathers father' d you. 
 
 Time was, — it wasn't long ago. 
 
 Your grandsire went with mine 
 To battle traitors, blow for blow. 
 
 For Englfind'si royal line ; 
 
894 TOBROTHERJONATHAN. 
 
 Or tripp'd to court to kiss Queen Anne, 
 
 Or worship mighty Bess, 
 And you and I, good Jonathan, 
 
 Went with them then, I guess. 
 
 Together both, — 'twas long ago, 
 
 Among the Roses fought, 
 Or charging fierce the Paynim foe 
 
 Did all knight-errants ought : 
 As Cavalier or Puritan 
 
 Together pray'd or swore 
 For John's own Brother Jonathan 
 
 Was only John of yore I 
 
 There lived a man, a man of men, 
 
 A King on fancy's throne. 
 We ne'er shall see his like again, 
 
 The globe is all his own; 
 And, if we claim him of our clan, 
 
 He half belongs to you, 
 For Shakspeare, happy Jonathan, 
 
 Is yours and Britain ^s too ! 
 
 There was another glorious name, 
 
 A poet for all time, 
 Who gaiu'd the double-first of fame, 
 * The beautiful-sublime; 
 
 And let us hide him as we can, 
 
 More miserly than pelf. 
 Our Yankee brother Jonathan 
 
 Cries halves in Milton's self! 
 
 Well, well : and every praise of old, 
 That makes us famous still, 
 
 You would be just, and may be bold 
 To share it if you will, — 
 
TOBROTHERJONATHAN. S05 
 
 Since England's glory first began, 
 
 Till — just the other day, 
 The half is yours ! but, Jonathan, 
 
 Why did you run away? 
 
 Brother, could we both be one 
 
 In nation and in name, 
 How gladly would the very sun 
 
 Lie basking in our fame? 
 In either world to lead the van 
 
 And go ahead for good, 
 While earth to John and Jonathan 
 
 Yields tribute gratitude ! 
 
 Add but your stripes and golden stars 
 
 To brave St. George's cross, 
 And never dream of mutual wars 
 
 Two dunces' mutual loss; 
 Let us two bless where others ban, 
 
 And love when others hate, 
 And so, my cordial Jonathan, 
 
 We'll fit, I calculate. 
 
 What more? I touch not holier strings ' 
 
 A loftier strain to win. 
 Nor glance at prophets, priests, and kings, ♦ 
 
 Or heavenly kith or kin; 
 As friend with friend, and man with man, 
 
 let our hearts be thus, 
 As David's love to Jonathan, 
 
 Be Jonathan's to us! 
 
S9G 
 
 YE THIRTY N E L E NATIONS.' 
 
 Ye Thirty noble Nations 
 
 Confederate in One ! 
 That keep your starry stations 
 
 Around the Western Sun, — • 
 I have a glorious mission, 
 
 And must obey the call, — • 
 A claim ! and a Petition ! 
 
 To set before you All. 
 
 Away with party blindness, 
 
 Away with petty spite ! 
 My Claim is one of Kindness, 
 
 My Prayer is one of Right; 
 And while in grace ye listen, — 
 
 For tenderness, I know 
 Your eyes shall dim and glisten, 
 
 Your hearts shall thrill and glow 
 
 For, on those hearts is written 
 
 The spirit of my song, — 
 I claim your love for Britain, 
 
 In spite of every wrong ! 
 I claim it for — your mother. 
 
 Your sister, and your spouse, 
 Your father, friend, and brother. 
 
 The " Hector " of your vows I 
 
 In spite of all the evils 
 
 That statesmen ever brew'd, 
 
 Or busy printers'-devils, 
 Or Celtic gratitude, — 
 
YE THIRTY N O ij L E NATIONS.' 
 
 In spite of politicians 
 
 And diplomatic fuss. 
 Your feelings and traditions 
 
 Are cordially with us ! 
 
 O 3'es ! your recollections 
 
 Look back with streaming eye 
 To pour those old affections 
 
 On scenes and days gone byj 
 Your Eagle well remembers 
 
 His dear old island-nest, 
 And sorrow stirs the embers 
 
 Of love within his breast! 
 
 Ah ! need I tell of places 
 
 You dream and dwell on still? 
 Those old familiar faces 
 
 Of English vale and hill, — 
 The sites you think of, sobbing, 
 
 And seek as pilgrims seek, 
 With brows and bosoms throbbing 
 
 And tears upon your cheek ! 
 
 Or should I touch on glories 
 
 That date in ages gone. 
 Those dear historic stories 
 
 When England's fame was won, — 
 The tales your children thronging 
 
 So gladly hear you tell. 
 And note their fathers' longing 
 
 And love that longing well I 
 
 For language, follies, fashions, 
 
 Religion, honour, shame. 
 And human loves and passions, 
 
 Oh I we are just the same; 
 
 397 
 
SU8 
 
 « Y E THIRTY N li L E N A T I N S /* 
 
 You, you are England, growing 
 
 To Continental state, 
 And we Columbia, glowing 
 
 With all that makes you great! 
 
 Yes, Anglo-Saxon brother, 
 
 T see your heart is right, — 
 And we will warm each other 
 
 With all our loves alight; 
 In feeling and in reason 
 
 My Claim is stow'd away, — 
 And kissing is in season 
 
 For ever and a day ! — 
 
 And now in frank contrition, 
 
 brother mine, give heed, — 
 And hear the just Petition 
 
 My feeble tongue would plead; 
 I plead across the waters, 
 
 So deeply crimson-stain'd, 
 For Afric's sons and daughters 
 
 Whom freemen hold enchain'd I 
 
 I taunt you not unkindly 
 
 With ills you didn't make, 
 I would not wish you blindly 
 
 In haste the bond to break; 
 But tenderly and truly 
 
 To file away the chain, 
 And render justice duly 
 
 To Man's Estate again I 
 
 judge ye how degrading, — 
 A Christian bought and sold? 
 
 And human monsters trading 
 In human flesh for gold! 
 
YE THIRTY NOBLE NATIONS." ^^'9 
 
 When ruthlessly they plunder 
 
 Poor Afric's homes defiled, 
 And all to sell — asunder 1 
 
 The mother and her child. 
 
 O free and fearless Nation, 
 
 Wipe out this damning spot, 
 Earth's worst abomination, 
 
 And nature's blackest blot; 
 Begin and speed the rather 
 
 To help with hand and eye 
 The children of your Father 
 
 Beneath His tropic sky. 
 
 He — He who form'd and frees ub 
 
 And makes us white within. 
 Who knows how Holy Jesus 
 
 May love that tinted skin ! 
 For none can tell how darkly 
 
 The sun of Jewry shed 
 Its burning shadows starkly 
 
 On Jesu's homeless head! 
 
 And lo ! One great salvation 
 
 Hath burst upon the World, — 
 And God's Illumination 
 
 Like noonday shines unfurl'd; 
 Shall bonds or colour pale it? 
 
 Candace's Eunuch — say ! — 
 The first, though black, to hail it, 
 
 And love the Gospel Day ! 
 
 Columbia, well I note it, 
 
 That half your sons are strong 
 Against this ill, and vote it 
 
 A folly and a wrong; 
 
400 
 
 Yet, lurks there not a loathing, 
 Ay, with your best inclined, 
 
 Against that sable clothing 
 
 Of Man's own heart and mind? 
 
 I charge you by your power. 
 
 Your freedom and your fame, 
 To speed the blessed hour 
 
 That wipes away this Shame : 
 By all life's hopes and wishes 
 
 And fears beyond the grave, 
 Renounce these blood-bought riches, 
 
 And frankly free the slave ! 
 
 So let whatever threaten, 
 
 While Grod is on our side, 
 Columbia and Britain 
 
 The world shall well divide, — 
 Divide ? — No ! in one tether 
 
 Of Anglo-Saxon might 
 We'll hold the world together 
 
 In peace and love and right! 
 
 HuzzAH for guessing — brother mine ! 
 
 I guess'd we loved each other; 
 Huzzah ! I scarce can drop a line 
 
 Without the tag of — brother; 
 Huzzah ! for all the kind Replies 
 
 Wherewith you bless and love me,— 
 They thrill my heart and fill my eyes 
 
 With thanks to God above me ! 
 
JOHNS R K J O T N D E r. . 4f)l 
 
 From East to West, from North to South, 
 
 Through all your boundless regions, 
 The staves that tumble from uiy mouth 
 
 Have stirr'd your thousand legions; 
 Have made the hearts of women ache, 
 
 The minds of men tp flutter, 
 Because you felt before I spake 
 
 The words that I would utter! 
 
 You felt that Britain loved you still, 
 
 Your foolish fond old mother, — 
 And gave her, — not against your will, — 
 
 The love you cannot smother! 
 You felt that you, though new, are Old 
 
 As England's ancient glories, — 
 You throbb'd to feel your triumphs told 
 
 In all her strains and stories! 
 
 yes ! dear brethren o'er the sea, 
 Your verses, loves, and letters 
 
 Have been a mix'd account with me 
 Where both of us are debtors; 
 
 1 owe you gratitude and praise 
 For gratitude and praises. 
 
 And when in thanks your heai't you raise 
 His thanks my heart upraises! 
 
 Not that, good Jonathan, we try 
 
 The game of mutual scratching, — 
 You, Yankee true, and John Bull I 
 
 Breed fowls of purer hatching; 
 We tell the truth; not less nor more; 
 
 So be it kindly spoken ; 
 For thus, no heart was e'er made sore, 
 
 No head was ever broken. 
 
402 JOHN s KKJ ai >; DER. 
 
 When Pegasus I sit astride 
 
 I fill my saddle squarely, — 
 No fence so high, no ditch so wide, 
 
 But I will take it fairly; 
 I hate the nambypamby plan 
 
 Of lounging upon pillions, — 
 What I would say to one plain man 
 
 I'll sing to fifty millions ! 
 
 No truckling tricks will do for us, 
 
 The this-and-that-way swerving; 
 If John is pleased to praise you thus, 
 
 It's that you're well deserving: 
 But should he fawn your faults forsooth? 
 
 Such meanness — I abhor it, — 
 No, — since in love I speak the truth. 
 
 Come, kiss your brother for it ! 
 
 Now, lately, with a faithful hand 
 
 I touch'd, in love and lightness. 
 The one black spot upon your land. 
 
 The shadow to your brightness; 
 I know how hard it is to cure 
 
 That sore, — and how you rue it, — 
 But, Jonathan, of this I'm sure, 
 
 You'll soon and somehow — do it! 
 
 More haste less speed; so speed apace, 
 
 As prudent duty bids you; 
 'Twill be indeed a year of grace 
 
 That of this scandal rids you: 
 The land of liberty and light. 
 
 The Beacon on the Waters, 
 Shall soon be quit of blame and blight 
 
 For Afric's sons and dauo;hters I 
 
REJOINDER. 
 
 You best know how, and why, and when; 
 
 For us, we cannot teach you ; 
 But simply,— by the rights of Men 
 
 And Women, — we beseech youi 
 Take copy, brother, only here, — 
 
 By Britain's good intentions; 
 For all beside a conscience clear 
 
 We've got but bad inventions I 
 
 Our faults were haste, and wanton waste, 
 
 Disinterested ruin ! 
 Don Quixote stood to tilt for good, 
 
 And lo ! his own undoing : 
 But Jonathan, a shrewder man, 
 
 A very early riser, — 
 I credit you to find a plan 
 
 To manage matters wiser! 
 
 The wise, my Jonathan, he knows 
 
 That all things here need mending; 
 And best of friends are always those 
 
 Who never fear ofiending; 
 blind, and halt, and full of fault 
 
 Are men of every nation, 
 Then how should we, true friend, be free 
 
 From that which dims Creation? 
 
 Never again shall we two part 
 
 In hatred or rejection, — 
 Nor ever meet, but either heart 
 
 Shall beat with true aflfection; 
 Our "brothet banners" we will rear. 
 
 For Fatherland and Sonland, 
 Because, Columbia near and dear, 
 
 We twain are truly one-land! 
 
 iOi] 
 
 / 
 
404 ASTAVEFORTIIESOUTH. 
 
 Ay, Jonathan, — take Jrvhn for this, 
 
 Your brother staunch and steady, 
 The very mind and man, I wis. 
 
 To like old "Rough and Ready!'* 
 Then — cheers for Taylor, — great and wise 
 
 Because un-glory-hitten, — 
 And — yes, I see it in your eyes, 
 
 Nine more for Vic. and Britain! 
 
 a §imt fnr tlj^ ^ntitlj. 
 
 I KNEW it, I guess'd it! you do what you can; 
 
 It's hardly your fault if you can't : 
 You wish better things; but a man is but Man, 
 
 And often must wait and must want: 
 For System, and matters and things as they are 
 
 Have order'd and settled it so. 
 That we who are judging your case from afar 
 
 Know little — how little we know! 
 
 Ay, glad would ye be, (let me credit you this,) 
 
 If on your American shore 
 Slavery never had been as it is, 
 
 And never should be any more! 
 But how to get rid of so ancient an ill, 
 
 And safely and sagely to heal 
 A canker so deep, is the mystery still. 
 
 And who shall its riddle reveal? 
 
 Moreover, — and. Conscience, I give tlee this nudge, 
 
 A sinner, but yesterday shriven, 
 How dare ho set up in the seat of the judge 
 
 The culprit so lately fjrgiven ? 
 
A STAVE FOR THE SOUTH. 405 
 
 But yesterday, half Britain's colonies rung 
 
 With slavery's echoing chain, — 
 And ill it becomes us with Pharisee tongue 
 
 To mock at a planter again ! 
 
 Yet more : for that planter's own father — and cur's, 
 
 This sin as a legacy left, 
 A fly in the ointment, a snake in the flowers, 
 
 An Achan's inherited theft! 
 Britain, thy child, thy Columbian child 
 
 Received at thy step-mother hand 
 The gain — or the curse, that we hold him defiled 
 
 If he leaves, as he found, in the land ! 
 
 And well do I gather, friends in the South, 
 
 That zealots dishonestly rave 
 With bitter intent and a slanderous mouth 
 
 Of the woes that you deal to the slave; 
 Not cruel, not careless of body or mind, 
 
 Not heartless, nor heedless are ye, — 
 But good and true masters, indulgent and kind, 
 
 Ay, kinder than we to the free ! 
 
 For sadly I note that on Liberty's coast 
 
 The Briton may starve at his toil, 
 Though loud be profession, and principle's boast 
 
 That here are no serfs of the soil ! 
 Ah, tell me how freedom is freedom, if Life 
 
 Depends upon servitude stern? 
 And perishing children and famishing wife 
 
 Live only so long as you earn? 
 
 No ! words are not things : unfairly we speak 
 
 As if freedom were freedom indeed; 
 While pallid and hollow is poverty's check, 
 
 And deeply her bosom doth bleed : 
 
400 A STAVE FOR THE SOUTH. 
 
 Let Britain and Erin, and all the world o'er, 
 
 Though boasting of liberty still, 
 Be humble and dumb, when the weak and the poor 
 
 Drain Slavery's bitterest ill ! 
 
 And more : for of old a mysterious curse 
 
 Dark Canaan mark'd for its prey; 
 And Prophecy knew that their lot should be worse, 
 
 ^' The servants of servants '' are they ! 
 And if the glad Gospel has scatter'd that harm 
 
 With a Catholic message of peace, 
 It is not at once that it shatters the charm 
 
 And calls on the sorrow to cease ! 
 
 So then, loving brother I consider my speech ; 
 
 I judge not, I dare not condemn ■ 
 But let the great nations of History teach 
 
 How slavery's curse ruin'd them ! 
 Let Babylon, Persia, and Athens, and Tyre, 
 
 And Egypt, and Carthage, and Rome, 
 Declare the dark doom that they saw drawing nigher, 
 
 As slavery swarm' d in the home ! 
 
 With shame I confess that so late and so long 
 
 We, Britons and Christians and all. 
 Against our Father and brethren did wrong 
 
 By holding those brethren in thrall : 
 Yet now have we turn'd from the sin and the shame 
 
 And tenderly pray and expect 
 The child whom we love to do sagely the same 
 
 Before he be ruin'd and wreck 'd ! 
 
 Move wisely and warily; haste is but waste 
 
 Of mercy, and safety, and wealth : 
 Remember that prudence was never misplaced, 
 
 And good may be compass'd by stealth : 
 
A S T A V E F R T 11 E S U T II . 407 
 
 For Prudence is Providence all the world o'er, 
 
 And wiser than we were, be ye; 
 Teach, train, and instruct, ere you open the door 
 
 To let the born bondman go free. 
 
 In wisdom and mercy, redeem when you can; 
 
 Let good willing service be paid; 
 Remember the rights and the wrongs of a Man, 
 
 And that "of one blood we are made;" 
 Hold sacred Affections, in black as in white; 
 
 No babe from the mother divide; 
 And welcome, as friendly. Religion's true Light; 
 
 And lay the red lashes aside ! 
 
 Then, in the full season, with caution and care 
 
 Join England in freeing the slave; 
 And all the degenerate world shall not dare 
 
 Take from him the gift that we gave ! 
 If glorious Columbia with Britain unite 
 
 In killing this hydra of earth. 
 Oh ! Man shall have gain'd more of Good and of Right, 
 
 Than all California's worth ! 
 
 '''^tl uxt ngnin/' 
 
 Yet once again, my Jonathan ! 
 
 Your loving brother greets you, 
 To do you all the good he can, 
 
 Yes, every time he meets you; 
 To speak with true and tender tongue. 
 
 Not like a scolding Stentor, 
 But (though a ^Tar or so too young) 
 
 A frank and faithful Mentor. 
 
408 '' Y E T N C E A a A I N . 
 
 See! from my tassell'd wrist upsprings 
 
 No falcon with its jesses, 
 But a fair dove, whose silver wings 
 
 Were made for soft caresses; 
 Right glad the olive-branch to bear 
 
 Across the sounding ocean, j 
 
 And find a welcome everywhere > 
 
 In every heart's emotion ! \ 
 
 And here to-day my carrier dove 
 
 Is burden'd with a packet, 
 Which, well inscribed with peace and lore, 
 
 Has justice too to back it; 
 For many sterner souls there be ■ 
 
 Who nurse their wrongs intently, i 
 
 And well it were, if all, like me, ^ 
 
 Could judge and chide you gently. ; 
 
 They say, — ay, many sorts of men, 
 
 In bitterness they say it, — 
 You borrowed of the world, and then 
 
 Resolve you won't repay it; 
 That sundry of the thirty States > 
 
 Which heap your giant nation, 
 Disgrace their honourable mates 
 
 By rank "Repudiation." 
 
 They say, — and make believe you say, — 
 
 "What fools they were to lend it; 
 We calculate that everyway 
 
 They gave it us to spend it: 
 And since it's sunk in road and rail, 
 
 Canal, and dock, and clearing, — 
 Our creditors are out of hail. 
 
 And we'll be hard of hearing!'* 
 
" Y E T N C E A G A I ^' . 4(j9 
 
 I don't believe it, Jonathan; 
 
 You're wiser, truer, better: 
 1 know you'll pay us when you can, 
 
 And blush to be a debtor: 
 Not Illinois, nor Michigan, 
 
 Florida, nor Arkansas, 
 Nor Mississippi, to a man. 
 
 Would give such shabby answers: 
 
 I don't believe it; never did; 
 
 I'd buy your stocks to-morrow; 
 I only wish my purse could bid 
 
 For all that you can borrow; 
 I'd lend in faith and patience too, 
 
 But cannot quite afford it, — 
 Because in lending cash to you 
 
 I know we do but hoard it. 
 
 For, men must wait at any rate 
 
 (It stands to rhyme and reason,) 
 Till Labour in a risins: State 
 
 Produces in its season ; 
 Till banks, canals, and roads, and rails 
 
 Are well in working order, 
 And better hap and prosperous gales 
 
 Are every one's rewarder. 
 
 Now then ! — Behold that better hap ! 
 
 A mighty store of treasure 
 Is pour'd into Columbia's lap 
 
 In Californian measure ; 
 Commerce, and labour, land, and gold, 
 
 And spirited migration 
 Now bless your shores an hundred fold 
 
 And — shame Repudiation ! 
 
a-[0 " T E T N C E A G A I N. 
 
 Up, worthies all ! up, kindly stock ! 
 
 Up, all my honest hearties 1 
 And bring to shame's own whipping-block 
 
 The few defaulting parties : 
 Why should a tythe of all your States 
 
 Throw scorn upon the others, 
 And lay dishonour 'd debts as rates 
 
 Upon their better brothers? 
 
 No! ten long years is long enough 
 
 Without a longer dating: 
 And times are smooth that once were rough. 
 
 And all the world's awaiting: 
 And many sneers at Jonathan 
 
 Will no more get a hearing. 
 And spite have lived its little span 
 
 In bygone pamphleteering: 
 
 And many a widow's heart for joy 
 
 Will brighten into gladness, — 
 And many an orphan girl and boy 
 
 Forget their years of sadness, — 
 And many an honest poor old man 
 
 Shall have outlived his ruin, 
 If you, my brother Jonathan, 
 
 Be only up and doing! 
 
 Pull one, pull all ! and break away 
 
 From this reproachful halter, 
 Let not one witling have to say, 
 
 One Yankee's a defaulter : 
 Kick out the rogues, if rogues thero be; 
 
 Why should they blot your brightness? 
 And let all Europe shout to see 
 
 Your honour and uprightness! 
 
"yet once again." 
 
 children of a noble race, 
 Gro on and prosper greatly ' 
 
 1 love your Anglo-Saxon face, 
 A British face so lately; 
 
 Let Spain alone be found in fraud, 
 And scorn be found upon hev 
 
 But stand with us, and blaze abroad 
 In Anglo-Saxon honour ! 
 
 •jll 
 
 A WORD TO A GREAT NATION. 
 
 Steady, steady, gallant vessel! 
 
 Hard aport,— obey the helmj 
 Lest the breakers round thee wrestle, 
 
 Lest the billows overwhelm : 
 Though so pleasant just at present 
 
 Be the voyage thou hast sped, 
 There is peril, stark and sterile, 
 
 Look you! in the Rocks ahead! 
 
 See, that license of opinion 
 
 Stifle not zeal's holy flame, 
 Till Religion's pure dominion 
 
 Dwindle feebly to a name; 
 Greed of gain, and sordid senses 
 
 Tempt the waywardness of youth 
 And it needs the blest defences 
 
 Of the citadel of truth. 
 
412 ROOKS AHEAD! 
 
 See, that no pernicious panic 
 
 Scare the good from duty's post, 
 Lest, by power grown tyrannio^ 
 
 Liberty be but a boast ; 
 Let the greatest, best, and wisest 
 
 Calmly guide thine eagle course, 
 Or no more to heaven thou risest, 
 
 Headlong flung with downward force I 
 
 Let the Press, with truth enlighten 'd, 
 
 Nobly lead the People's mind, 
 That, while public wrongs are righten'd, 
 
 Private names go unmalign'd; 
 Let not evil spirits pander 
 
 To the passions of the mob, 
 Nor the pen be dipp'd in slander, 
 
 God and man of love to rob. 
 
 If, all clamour overriding, 
 
 Law supremely rules the land, — 
 If domestic love abiding 
 
 Guides at home with patriarch hand,— 
 If refinement chastens pleasure, — 
 
 If fair dealing hallows gain, — 
 If wise intervals of leisure 
 
 Soothe the heart, and clear the brain,- 
 
 If, both justly and discreetly 
 
 From reproach thy fame to pave, 
 Not too rudely, not too fleetly. 
 
 Soon thou settest free the slave, — 
 If United, now and ever, — 
 
 Thou shalt grow so great to be. 
 That the wondering World may never 
 
 Through all time thine Equal see I 
 
 I 
 
rocksahead! 4)'} 
 
 Yes! — as now, let Patriots steer thee, 
 
 Undismay'd by men or things, 
 Let Religion's cherub cheer thee, 
 
 As aloft she sits and sings, — 
 So an Eden, not an Edom, 
 
 Shall thy happy name be read, 
 And the glorious ship of Freedom 
 
 Weather all the rocks ahead! 
 
 51 Itnti?. 
 
 (by request,) 
 On behalf of the Floating *' Church of the Redeemer.** Fhiladeljhia, 1861. 
 
 Ark of refuge, House of pray'r. 
 
 Floating Island of the blest. 
 Church of the Redeemer, where 
 
 Jesus gives the weary rest, — 
 Where the soul may get true gain, 
 
 Richer than the spoil of kings, 
 And, set free from Satan's chain, 
 
 Find its life in Heavenly things, 
 
 Modest little floating Church, 
 
 Wisely points thy spire on high. 
 Winning every heart to search 
 
 For the treasures of the sky; 
 For all purity and peace, 
 
 Grace below, and bliss above; 
 For the storms of Sin to cease, 
 
 '^hanging to the calm of Love I 
 
414 A STAVE. 
 
 In the midst of clustering ships, 
 
 Busy wharves and Mammon's leaven, 
 Here Religion's heart and lips 
 
 Consecrate one spot to Heaven: 
 Yet, alas ! for zeal grown cold, — 
 
 Feebly burns her altar-fire. 
 And the mist of lacking gold 
 
 Overclouds this humble spire! 
 
 Wealthy city, great and fair 
 
 Prosperous child of plain old Penn, 
 Named by his paternal care 
 
 Full of Brother's-love of Men, — 
 Use thy greatness and thy wealth 
 
 For thy Brethren's weal aright, 
 That their hearts rejoice in health, 
 
 And their minds be glad with light I 
 
 Simple Children of the Sea, 
 Bred on board of ship or boat, 
 
 These desire to bend the knee, 
 ' In a Sailors' Church — afloat; 
 
 Give their natural wish success, 
 
 Seal to them this House of pray'r, 
 
 And with Christian bounty bless 
 The Floating Church of Delaware I 
 
 I 
 
NIAQARA. as 
 
 Jingnrn. 
 
 I lonq'd for Andes all around, and Alps, 
 
 Hoar kings and priests of Nature, robed in snow, 
 Throned as for judgment in a solemn row 
 "With icy mitres on their granite scalps. 
 
 Dumb giants, frowning at the strife below, 
 I long'd for the Sublime ! 
 
 Thou art too fair, 
 Too fair, Niagara, to be sublime : 
 
 In calm slow strength thy mighty floods o'erflow. 
 And stand a cliff of cataracts in the air, — 
 Yet, all too beauteous water-bride of Time, 
 
 Yeil'd in soft mists, and cinctured by the bow, 
 Thy pastoral charms may fascinate the sight. 
 
 But have not force to set my soul aglow 
 Raptured by fear, and wonder, and delight. 
 
 (Ditr Batj. 
 
 A SONNET FOR THE TIMES. 
 
 0, BUT how great a thing it is, how glad, 
 
 To live in this our day ! when plain strong sense. 
 Free knowledge, and Religion's influence. 
 
 Build up a wall against the false and bad. 
 And give the good both temple and defence: 
 To live — when ancient enmities intense 
 
 Turn to new brotherhood till now unknown ; 
 
 When science and invention bless the world, 
 Banishing half our pains and troubles hence; 
 
 When time seems lengthened, distance nearer grown; 
 W^hen tyranny from every throne is hurled; 
 
 When Right is Might, and Reason holds her own : 
 0, happy day ! for prophets, priests and kings 
 Have longed in vain to see such glorious things I 
 
.110 THE MISSIONARY JUBILEE HYMN. 
 
 €)^ MiMUU\\ MM lijniE: 
 
 For June 16, 1851. 
 by request. 
 
 (Tune, as Psalm 149,-0 praise ye the Lord, Jpc) 
 
 O COME, let us sing, 
 
 Give thanks, and rejoice, 
 To God, the great King, 
 
 With heart and with voice ! 
 All honours and praises 
 
 To JESUS belong, 
 To Him the Church raises 
 
 Her Jubilee Song. 
 
 Again, in swift race 
 
 The years have sped round, 
 And still, in His grace 
 
 Our blessings are found; 
 By seven times seven 
 
 He gives evermore 
 For earth and for heaven 
 
 A bountiful store ! 
 
 well may the world 
 
 This year spread abroad 
 The legend unfurl' d 
 
 Of "Thanks to the Lord;" 
 O well may each nation 
 
 With brotherly voice 
 For Gospel Salvation 
 
 Together rejoice ! 
 
THE MISSIONARY JUBILEE HYMN. MJ 
 
 From England the Old 
 
 To England the New, 
 From Labrador's cold 
 
 To tropic Peru, 
 From Afric's Liberia 
 
 Till China be reach'd, 
 From Scinde to Siberia 
 
 The Gospel is preach 'd I 
 
 And thrice, in the sound 
 
 Of every tongue 
 All* the world round 
 
 The trumpet hath rung; 
 Our Jubilee's warning 
 
 Proclaims from above 
 The blaze of the morning 
 
 Of Freedom and Love ! 
 
 Ye freemen of light, 
 
 Ye peace-lovers all, 
 As brethren unite 
 
 On JESUS to call J 
 One fold and one Pastor,— 
 
 now let us raise 
 To Thee, Blessed Master, 
 
 Our Jubilee praise I 
 
.118 GRATITUDE 
 
 I NUMBER you by thousands, uDseen friends, 
 
 And dearly precious is your love to me: 
 
 Yea, what a goodly company ye be ! 
 Far as the noble brotherhood extends 
 
 Of English hearts and tongues o'er land and sea 
 How rich am I in love ! — the sweet amends 
 
 For all whatever little else of pain 
 Some few unkindly cauBe; — most rich in love, 
 
 From mine own home to earth's remotest ends : 
 Let me then count my store, my glorious gain. 
 
 This wealth, that my poor merit far transcends, 
 Your loving kindness, — echoing from above 
 The Highest Blessing on my works and ways, 
 *' Eu douJe agafhe," nsy Father's praise: 
 
 Yea, let me thank you; let my heart outpour 
 
 In humbleness its earnest gratitude 
 
 To air whose yearnings follow me with good, 
 Loving my mind and all its simple store : 
 
 generous friends ! — a cordial multitude 
 Hived in the West, upon that busy shor3 
 
 Where fair Columbia, Britain's child, is throned 
 
 Imperial, yet with empire all unown'd, — 
 generous friends! — another cordial band 
 
 From far Australia to the Arctic Seas, 
 And crowds around me in mine own dear land, 
 
 What thanks to pay for mercies great as these?* 
 Felt from the heart, and by the tongue confcst, 
 Be the deep love of one so nobly blest I 
 
GRATITUDE. 410 
 
 Ay: blest indeed above the mass of men 
 
 And rich in joys that reach the true sublime I 
 
 For that the frequent droppings of my pen 
 Have comforted the Good in every clime 
 And help'd the Right, — (0 solace beyond time !) 
 
 Therefore my soul is glad : judge me, my friends, 
 Is there not happier treasure in such joys 
 Than all the world can win from all its toys? 
 
 And, as the poet's dynasty extends 
 
 To children's children, reigning in the mind, 
 Is he not crown'd a king among his kind? 
 Ah me !• not so : this thought of pride destroys : 
 
 Give God the praise : His blessing sends this store 
 
 Of unseen friends by thousands evermore ! 
 
 €lin3 /nr. 
 
 Thus far : a few of my less faulty flowers 
 
 Dropt on the highway for the passers-by; 
 In grace and charity, good world of our's. 
 
 Leave not the foundlings freezingly to die; 
 They have bluom'd thus within my fancy's bowers 
 
 Willing as weeds, perchance as little worth; 
 
 Yet have I hoped them not all things of earth; 
 For fervently beneath my flashing pen 
 
 As quicken'd sometimes by angelic powers 
 Thoughts have shot out to hit the hearts of men,— 
 
 Whilst on mine own the spirit of light and love 
 So winningly hath shed his heavenly showers, 
 That my glad songs have fiU'd no toilsome hours, 
 
 But happy moments lent me from above. 
 
 ©Ea AOHA. 
 
C 7h' 89 
 
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 ^^ INDIANA 46962 I O V