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CHRISTOPHEROS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 <^5V5S^ 
 
 BY WALTER B.'MANT 
 
 ARCHDEACON OF DOWN 
 
 LONDON 
 
 BELL AND DALDY 186 FLEET STREET 
 
 1861 
 

HE Poems in this volume have been 
 written (with some others) at 
 various periods of life, from 1825 
 to 1 86 1, and sometimes at considerable inter- 
 vals of time. They have been composed, 
 chiefly in the open air, as subjects or thoughts 
 occurred, without any intention of publica- 
 tion; and are now printed at the suggestion 
 of friends. 
 
 Hillsborough, Ireland. 
 August, 1 861. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 LEGENDARY POEMS. 
 
 Page 
 
 HRISTOPHEROS i 
 
 The Happy Island 15 
 
 The Battle of Salamis ...... 23 
 
 The Legend of O'Donohue 25 
 
 Legends of the Giants' Causeway ....... 32 
 
 A Legend of the Bells of Limerick 45 
 
 Glen-da-lough 50 
 
 Radiger • 53 
 
 A Royal Convert 64 
 
 Triumphs of Genius. 
 
 Mozart's Requiem 67 
 
 Raphael D'Urbino 70 
 
 Copernicus 73 
 
 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Hymn for Music 79 
 
 Christ Triumphant 81 
 
 A Litany to the Holy Spirit 85 
 
 The Daily Service of God's Church 89 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND IMAGINATION. 
 
 Lays of the Seasons. Page 
 
 Summer Longings 95 
 
 Summer Evening Musings . . ... . . . 97 
 
 The Fall of the Leaf 99 
 
 Dark Days . . 101 
 
 Winter Consolations 103 
 
 Spring Rejoicings 105 
 
 Consumption . • 108 
 
 Yesterday 1 10 
 
 On Mournful Music 111 
 
 Music in Sadness 113 
 
 Parting ......115 
 
 Forebodings . . 116 
 
 Retrospect 119 
 
 Despondency corrected 121 
 
 A Wish at Evening 123 
 
 The Spirit of Beauty 125 
 
 Helvellyn 127 
 
 The Rising of the Lark 130 
 
 The Fog-bells 133 
 
 Clouds and Sunshine . . . 137 
 
 " Thorns also and Thistles " ........ 141 
 
 " No more!" or Faith 145 
 
 Hope on ! Hope ever I i48 
 
 " Onward ! yet not alone 5" or, Charity ..... 1 50 
 
 Notes 153 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS, 
 
 # iAINT CHRISTOPHER is represented 
 as a man of gigantic stature, leaning on 
 to a staff, and carrying a little child, whose 
 *~ X1 ^ head is circled with a glory, through a 
 swollen torrent. The legend, which seems to 
 embody a fine allegory, and of which the following 
 is aversion, is to be found in Mrs. Jameson's " Sacred 
 and Legendary Art." 
 
 Part I. 
 
 J^fiJHE Kaiser feasted in his hall 
 The Bosphorus beside ; 
 Around him knights and nobles sate 
 In rich Byzantine pride. 
 In stalk'd the Giant Opheros, 
 
 And bended not his knee : — 
 " I seek the mightiest Prince on earth, 
 " They tell me thou art he !" 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 The Kaiser smiled, — " Wherever Rome 
 
 " Hath sent her eagles forth, 
 " From Afric's burning deserts to 
 
 " The forests of the North, — 
 " From Persia's eastern boundary 
 
 " To Britain's western land, — 
 <e We know no tribe that braves our power, 
 
 " Or questions our command ." 
 
 " Long have I sought," the Giant spoke, 
 
 " A master to obey ; 
 " But ne'er would bend except to one 
 
 " Who bears the mightiest sway. 
 " While thou doll reign on earth supreme, 
 
 " And for no foe dost quail, 
 " Thy bidding, Kaiser, will I do, 
 
 " Nor in my service fail." 
 
 Long time that giant served there 
 
 With deeds ofwond'rous might; 
 He did the Kaiser's hest by day, 
 
 He watch'd his gate at night : — 
 He scorn'd the pomp and show of courts, 
 
 He reck'd not of the cheer, — 
 His food the simplest fruits of earth, 
 
 His drink the fountain clear. 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 The Kaiser sate within his hall ; — 
 
 With verse and legend wild 
 Of combats with the Evil One 
 
 A bard the hours beguiled : 
 And ever, as the Hateful Name 
 
 Was utter'd in the lay, 
 The Kaiser cross'd himself, and cried, 
 
 " God shield .us from his sway !" 
 
 Outspake the Giant Opheros— 
 
 " And who is this," he said, 
 " At whom the mightiest Prince on earth 
 
 " Doth seem so sore dismay'd ?" 
 " The Prince of evil spirits, who 
 
 " From heaven once w r as ?hurl'd, — 
 " And now the Prince of Darkness — the 
 
 " Usurper of the world." 
 
 Outspake the Giant Opheros, 
 
 " I here renounce my vow, — 
 " I will serve the Prince of Darkness, he 
 
 " Is mightier than thou !" 
 He deign'd no further leave-taking, 
 
 He turn'd himself from all ; — 
 And the Prince of Darkness met him 
 
 As he strode from out the hall. 
 
4 CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 He traveled with a mighty train ; 
 
 All kinds of men were there, — 
 The nobles, and the peasant folk — 
 
 Strong men, and women fair : 
 The Giant met him boldly, and 
 
 He bended not his knee, — 
 " I seek the mightiest Prince on earth, — 
 
 I hear that thou art he ! " 
 
 Loud laugh'd the Fiend—" Where shines the sun, 
 
 " Where'er the waters roll, 
 " I claim the born allegiance 
 
 " Of every human soul : — 
 " Mine are the kingdoms of the earth — 
 
 " To. me they homage pay, — 
 " And neither King nor Kaiser 
 
 " Can free them from my sway!" 
 
 " Long have I sought,'' quoth Opheros, 
 
 " A master to obey, 
 " But scorn to bend except to him 
 
 " Who bears the wide'st sway. 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 cc While thou art mightiest on earth, 
 
 " And for no foe dost quail, 
 " I will serve thee, Prince of Darkness, 
 
 " Nor in my service fail ! s ' 
 
 The Giant served the Evil One 
 
 For many a weary day ; 
 Full soon he loathed the servitude, 
 
 But still he must obey. 
 He was sick of fleshly pleasure — 
 
 Was sick of deeds of blood, — 
 Sick of the fiendish laugh and sneer 
 
 That scorn'd at all things good. 
 
 One morn they met a Pilgrim grey, 
 
 Who loudly thus did sing, — 
 " Rejoice, for Christ is risen, and 
 
 " Of glory He is King!" 
 The Foul One trembled sorely, 
 
 His' proud eye 'gan to quail, 
 The sneer hath left his fallen lip, 
 
 His dusky cheek is pale ! 
 
 Outspake the Giant Opheros,- — 
 " And who is this," he said, 
 
 " At whose name the Prince of Darkness 
 Shows signs of mortal dread?" 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 The Foul one falter'd — " One who cares 
 " For neither mine nor me ; — 
 
 " He calls himself the King of kings, 
 ge My mortal enemy l" 
 
 Outspake the Giant Opheros — 
 
 " I here renounce my vow, 
 " I will serve this King of kings, for He 
 
 ic Is mightier than thou !" 
 He spat before him on the ground, 
 
 The cross in air he traced ; 
 And the Christian Pilgrim follow'd he 
 
 As slowly on he paced. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 <c God speed thee!" quoth the Giant then, 
 
 " Christ save thee, Sir !" he cried ; 
 And courteously, and brotherly, 
 
 They travelled side by side. 
 c< And tell me now," quoth Opheros, 
 
 " Where dwells the mighty King, 
 " Whose name makes Satan tremble, and 
 
 " Whose glory thou dost sing ?" 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS, 
 
 ce It is Christ, the King of glory, 
 
 " His dwelling is in Heaven : 
 " To Him all power in heaven and earth 
 
 " By God most high is given. " 
 " Him would I seek," said Opheros, 
 
 u And give Him service free ; 
 " I seek to serve the mightiest king — 
 
 I s I feel that this is He!" 
 
 u Him must thou serve," the Pilgrim said, 
 
 " With fasting and with prayer : 
 " Him must thou serve with loving heart, 
 
 " And do His will with care." 
 " I cannot fast, it suits me not, 
 
 " I never learnt to pray ; 
 " But I will serve with cheerful heart, 
 
 " With labour night and day." 
 
 The Christian Pilgrim wonder'd sore 
 
 That stalwart form to see, 
 Who never yet to God in prayer 
 
 Had learn'd to bow the knee : — 
 But he thought him of a proverb old, — 
 
 " To labour is to pray ;" 
 And he said, " If thou wilt serve the King, 
 
 " I will thee show the way." 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 They travell'd on in friendly talk 
 
 Until, across the road, 
 Down from a deep and rocky glen, 
 
 A mountain-torrent flow'd ; 
 There was no bridge across the stream, 
 
 The bank was high and steep, — 
 And the Giant bore the Pilgrim o'er 
 
 The current wide and deep, 
 
 " Be this thy task," the Pilgrim said, — 
 
 " In yonder rocky cell, 
 " In silence and in loneliness, 
 
 " A season must thou dwell ; 
 " And bear across this torrent wide 
 
 " Each traveller on his way, 
 " Until the King shall call thee, whom 
 
 " Thou wishest to obey." 
 
 In silence and in loneliness 
 
 The Giant sojourn'd there, 
 And many a way-worn traveller 
 
 Across the stream did bear : 
 Full cheerfully he bore them o'er, 
 
 Then shared his simple food, 
 And, as he served his fellow- men, 
 
 He deem'd the service good. 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 He mark'd the sun that shone aloft, 
 
 With blessing for the light ; 
 He mused with awe upon the stars 
 
 That lit the skies by night : — 
 He watch'd the beasts that roam'd the woods, 
 
 The birds that wing'd the air ; 
 And long'd to know the mighty Power 
 
 That made all things so fair ! 
 
 He ponder'd on his wasted hours 
 
 Within the Kaiser's hall, 
 He shudder'd at his deeds of sin, 
 
 The Prince of Darkness' thrall ; 
 For light and pardon in his soul 
 
 An anxious longing felt, — 
 And bow'd the heart that ne'er had pray'd, 
 
 The knee that ne'er had knelt ! 
 
 Part IV. 
 
 There came at length a stormy night, 
 And wildly blew the blast ; 
 
 The moon with clouds was hidden, 
 The rain was falling fast ; 
 
io CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 But still a light forth twinkled from 
 
 The Giant-hermit's cell, 
 And, broken by the eddies, on 
 
 The rushing torrent fell. 
 
 Out look'd the Giant Opheros 
 
 Upon the stormy sky ; 
 And hark ! his ear was startled 
 
 By a weak and distant cry. 
 He listen'd, and he thought he heard 
 
 A voice that call'd his name ; 
 Though faint and feeble, yet he deem'd 
 
 Across the stream it came. 
 
 Uptook the Giant Opheros 
 
 His staff of holly tree, 
 And across the foaming torrent 
 
 He hath waded to the knee. 
 The moon shone out amid the clouds, 
 
 And, by the waters wild, 
 He saw, upon the rocky bank, 
 
 Where sat a little Child. 
 
 " Wilt thou bear me o'er the waters 
 " For the love of Christ?" he cried. 
 
 " That will I," answer'd Opheros, 
 " Whatever may betide ! " 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. n 
 
 The Child he took upon his arm, — 
 Small child and light was he; — 
 
 And through the foaming waters 
 He waded to the knee. 
 
 But scarcely had he carried him 
 
 Three fathoms from the shore, 
 That Child became a heavier load 
 
 Than aught he ever bore : 
 A strange and wondrous burden 
 
 His mighty strength oppress'd, 
 And in mid stream the waters rose 
 
 Until they reach'd his breast. 
 
 " What art thou, little Child?" he cried; 
 
 " My burden weighs me down : 
 " And the water-floods are rising fast ; 
 
 " I fear they will us drown ! " 
 " Fear not the torrent," said the Child, 
 
 " It flows at My command ; 
 " And I measure ocean's waters 
 
 « In the hollow of My hand ! 
 
 " I bore the sins of humankind, — 
 " Thou canst not bear thine own ; — 
 
 " The Arm that governs earth and heav'n 
 " Is round thy shoulder thrown : — 
 
12 CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 " Thou walkest through the waters safe, 
 
 " For I with thee will go ; 
 " And, though thou passest through the floods, 
 
 " They shall not overflow ! " 
 
 That little Child upraised His hand, 
 
 And bade the storm to cease ; 
 Then fell the blast, the night was past, 
 
 And all was light and peace ; 
 Scarce ankle-deep the water flow'd, 
 
 Until they reach'd the land, 
 And the Giant set his burden down 
 
 Above the river strand. 
 
 Forthwith he struck into the earth 
 
 His staff of holly tree, 
 And down before that little Child 
 
 He fell on bended knee. 
 " Long have I waited Thee," he cried ; 
 
 " Thou calledst me by my name ; 
 " I worship Thee, the King of kings, — 
 
 " What service dost Thou claim ?" 
 
 " Yes ! thou hast served Me patiently, 
 
 " In silence and alone, — 
 " Hast learnt from Nature's works My power 
 
 " And providence to own ; 
 
CHRISTOPHEROS. 1 3 
 
 " Hast felt the burden of thy sins, 
 
 " And, in affliction's tide, 
 " Hast learnt to bear the cross of Christ, 
 
 " And My protection tried. 
 
 " Arise, and take thy staff!" He rose 
 
 From humbly bended knee, 
 And turn'd where in the earth he struck 
 
 The staff of holly tree ; 
 Another wonder greets his eyes, — 
 
 The holly staff was green, 
 And leaves had grown, and flow'rs had blown, 
 
 And berries ripe were seen. 
 
 Once more He spoke : " When in the heart 
 
 " I see the seeds of grace, 
 " I love to watch and nourish it, 
 
 " And make it grow apace ; 
 " And I revive the deaden'd heart, 
 
 " Again I make it shoot 
 " With signs of life, and flowers of faith, 
 
 " And love's perfected fruit. 
 
 " And I accept thy service now 
 
 " To bear a higher part ; 
 " As thou hast borne Me in thine arms 
 
 " So bear Me in thine heart ; 
 
1 4 CHRISTOPHEROS. 
 
 " Learn now unto thy fellow-men 
 " My mercies to proclaim; 
 
 " Be Christ the burden of thy speech,- 
 " Christopheros thy name! ,, 
 
THE HAPPY ISLAND, 
 
 A CLASSICAL LEGEND. 
 
 HE small Island of Leuce, in the Euxine, 
 was one of the spots fixed on by poets 
 for the habitation of heroes after death. 
 Being considered sacred, it was rarely 
 visited ; but there is a tradition that one favoured 
 seaman, having fallen asleep on the shore, was wak- 
 ened by Achilles, and conveyed to a splendid pa- 
 vilion, where a banquet was prepared. 
 
 The Symplegades, (line 2,) also called Cyaneas, or 
 Blue Rocks, were two rocks at the entrance of the 
 Euxine, which were supposed to float, and crush any 
 ship that tried to sail between them. The optical 
 illusion was broken by the passage of the Argonauts. 
 
 HE galley, with the sunset breeze, 
 Hath pass'd the blue Symplegades, 
 Those magic rocks, that float no more 
 Since Argo sought the Colchian shore, 
 Fraught with the hero-sons of Greece, 
 And bore away the wondrous fleece. 
 Behind old Hasmus' ridge of snows 
 The sun's last setting radiance glows ; 
 
1 6 THE HAPPY ISLAND. 
 
 And, 'neath the glorious summer sky, 
 
 Secure, and free from fear, 
 The bark glides on all tranquilly, 
 
 As if no storm were near. 
 
 But rougher now the wave is growing, 
 
 Fresher now the breeze is blowing, 
 
 And swiftly o'er the dark blue sea 
 
 The clouds are gathering fearfully. 
 
 Thicker grows the storm around, 
 
 Loud the thunder-peals resound, 
 
 And, through the awful face of night, 
 
 The lightning flashes red and bright ; 
 
 Two nights, two days their course they run, 
 
 Thick mists around them lay ; 
 By night no star, by day no sun 
 
 To show their dangerous way. 
 
 But, ere the second day was o'er, 
 Sudden was hush'd the tempest's roar ; 
 The wind had sunk, the storm was gone, 
 Bright through the clouds the sunbeams shone, 
 And all was tranquil, save the sea, 
 Which sweird and sunk tumultuously ; 
 Yet, heaving still its troubled breast, 
 Was sinking, by degrees, to rest. 
 And where in peace the galley lay, 
 An island rose to view, 
 
THE HAPPY ISLAND. 17 
 
 On which his loveliest lingering ray 
 The setting Day-god threw. 
 
 Now five 'have left the vessel's side 
 To seek where living waters glide ; 
 The Master, keener than the rest, 
 With bolder foot pursued his quest ; 
 He left the margin of the sea, 
 Whose waves were rippling peacefully, 
 He pass'd a mazy, pathless wood, 
 And there in silent transport stood ; 
 For scenes, not of the haunts of men, 
 
 And strange to mortal eyes, 
 Entranced his fascinated ken 
 
 With longing and surprise. 
 
 Before him lay an emerald mead, 
 With golden flow'rets overspread ; 
 Beyond, a lake of silvery sheen, 
 Its banks all clothed with myrtles green, 
 Where, glistening in the moon's full light, 
 A streamlet pour'd its waters bright. 
 He reach'd the lake ; its mossy shore 
 With sweetest flowers was spangled o'er, 
 With sweetest flowers the boughs were hung, 
 
 While, to the streamlet near, 
 The night-birds' songs harmonious rung 
 
 In music soft and clear. 
 c 
 
1 8 THE HAPPY ISLAND. 
 
 No sight but beautiful was near, 
 
 No sound but melody was here, 
 
 And every breath, with sweetness fraught, 
 
 New rapture to his senses brought. 
 
 With awful joy he gazed around : 
 
 Save his, he wist, that holy ground 
 
 No mortal foot had ever prest, — 
 
 It was the Island of the Blest ! 
 
 Too much that thought for mortal's soul ;— 
 
 For very joy he wept : — 
 A soothing languor o'er him stole, 
 
 And, as he gazed, he slept ! 
 
 A touch awakes him ! Who is near ? 
 A form to reverence, not to fear ; 
 Of stature tall, of mighty frame, 
 A step of pride, an eye of flame, 
 Yet temper'd by a smile as sweet 
 As lover's tenderest wish should meet ; 
 Above his brows and forehead fair 
 In ringlets stream'd his auburn hair, 
 Press'd lightly by a golden ring; — 
 
 The blissful soil he trod, 
 In majesty of port a king, 
 
 In form a demigod. 
 
 '* Arise," he cried, " to thee, of Heaven 
 " Most rarely- favour'd man, 'tis given 
 
THE HAPPY ISLAND. 19 
 
 " c< To view the seats to men unknown, 
 " Reserved for Virtue's sons alone. 
 •* By few this Island is beheld ; 
 c * To fewer are its joys unveiFd ; 
 " To few is given the will to dare, 
 " The heart resolved to do or bear ; — 
 " Such gifts have led thy steps aright 
 
 <c On this adventurous quest; 
 " And in the Happy Isle to-night 
 
 " Thou art Achilles' guest." 
 
 He led him through groves of myrtle fair, 
 Whose sweetness fill'd the evening air, 
 Till they enter'd together a garden's bound, 
 Where the loveliest flowers were growing round, 
 And the sweetest shrubs their odours lent, 
 And the tenderest birds their voices blent, 
 And the leaves were moved by the gentlest air, 
 And peacefully couch'd the deer and hare, 
 And the wildest beasts were tame and still, 
 
 For discord here must cease ; 
 That holy Isle could bear no ill, 
 But all was love and peace ! 
 
 Hard by the margin of the wood 
 A lordly, bright pavilion stood, 
 Whose doors of cedar, hinged with gold, 
 In courteous guise their leaves unrolPd. 
 
20 THE HAPPY ISLAND, 
 
 " Here enter ! " thus the Hero said, 
 
 " And here thy wandering steps be stay'd ! 
 
 " Immortal hands shall spread the feast 
 
 " In kindness to a mortal guest ; 
 
 " Immortal forms shall grace the board, 
 
 " And bid thee welcome here ! 
 " And strains, from lips immortal pour'd, 
 
 " Shall fill thy charmed ear." 
 
 Within the softly-lighted hall, 
 
 Where the rays from perfumed cressets fall, 
 
 The Inmates of the Happy Isle 
 
 Welcome the stranger with a smile ; 
 
 And Thetis, ocean-born, is there, 
 
 And Agamemnon's daughter fair, 
 
 Iphigenia, whom of yore 
 
 From death the pitying Goddess bore ; 
 
 And Ajax' noble form is here, 
 
 His sorrows at an end ; 
 And brave Patroclus' visage clear, 
 
 Rejoicing in his friend. 
 
 Ambrosial dainties deck the board, 
 By hero-hands is nectar pour'd ; 
 And, when the feast is o'er, his lyre, 
 Saved from the spoil of Thebse's fire, 1 
 Achilles takes, and sings the praise 
 Of heroes in such thrilling lays, 
 
THE HAPPY ISLAND. 21 
 
 That, as the strains ascend more high, 
 Mute sit that glorious company ; 
 Patroclus stands with eye intent; 
 
 The Stranger, heart and ears 
 On that entrancing music bent, 
 
 Finds sweet relief in tears ! 
 
 The song is o'er, — to needful rest 
 The Hero leads his wearied guest; 
 With softest skins the couch is spread, 
 Soft sleep descends upon his head : — 
 O wake not ! Why return again 
 To mortal toil and mortal pain ? 
 But earth demands the mortal's share 
 Of human toil and human care ; 
 And glimpses of Elysian light 
 
 May cheer the darksome way, 
 But, lest they strain the dazzled sight, 
 
 Must shine with chasten'd ray. 
 
 And so, the blissful vision o'er, 
 
 He waken'd by the lake's lone shore ; 
 
 The stream, the mead, the flow'rets bright 
 
 Were glittering in the orient light ; 
 
 He rose, bewilder'd and amazed, 
 
 Once more with transport round him gazed, 
 
 And, blessing the benignant Heaven 
 
 That had such hopes, such visions given, 
 
22 
 
 THE HAPPY ISLAND. 
 
 He sought his comrades on the shore, 
 
 His vessel on the wave, 
 The toils of life to bear once more, 
 
 The ills of life to brave. 
 
 1827. 
 
THE BATTLE OF SALAM1S. 
 
 A BALLAD OF GRECIAN HISTORY. 2 
 
 RISE ! ye sons of Greece, arise ! 
 " And free your fatherland ; 
 " And save your children and your wives ; 
 " The foe is on your strand ! 
 
 " Strike for the Temples of your Gods, 
 
 " And free their altar- fires ; 
 " The tombs of heroes famed of yore, 
 
 " The ashes of your sires ! 
 
 " Ye now must strike for all ye love, 
 
 " The foe is on your strand : 
 " Arise, ye sons of Greece, arise ! 
 
 " And save your fatherland \ n 
 
 So rung the inspiring sounds that roused 
 
 The Grecians, few, but brave, 
 When Persia's thousand galleys lay 
 
 Proud threatening on the wave. 
 
24 THE BATTLE OF SALAMIS. 
 
 Those thousand galleys lay display 'd 
 Before their Monarch's throne, 
 
 And countless armies stood around ; 
 And all that Monarch's own ! 
 
 The sun arose on Salamis, 
 
 And fell across the bay 
 On banner, turban, bow and shield, 
 
 The Persian's rich array ; 
 
 Behind, on helm and spear it glanced, 
 On mail-clad warriors shone ; 
 
 And few, but firm, in close array, 
 The Grecian fleet came on. 
 
 The Invaders deem'd that unprepared, 
 Secure they held their prize; 
 
 They heard, appall'd, the patriot shout,- 
 " Ye sons of Greece, arise!" 
 
 The sun, before he set that night, 
 Look'd down upon the bay, 
 
 And Persian wrecks and Persian dead 
 Beneath him scatter'd lay ; 
 
 And Xerxes' golden throne was gone, 
 His hosts had left the strand ; 
 
 The free-born sons of Greece had risen, 
 And saved their fatherland ! 
 
THE LEGEND OF O'DONOHUE.? 
 
 'DONOHUE comes to his secret Tower, 
 He opens the door with a word of power, 
 And he stands within the charmed 
 bound, 
 And his dark eye scans the chamber round. 
 'Tis here he holds his commune high, 
 With beings hid from unaided eye, 
 And calls the spirits of wood and rill, 
 And lake and mountain, to do his will. 
 He comes — but he comes not alone to-night, 
 For by his side was a Lady bright, 
 As fair, as slight as the jasmine flower 
 That waves at the window of her bower, — 
 Yet she looks around that chamber lone 
 With an eye as proud as the Chieftain's own. 
 
 Much of wonder, I ween, was there 
 Might daunt the heart of a lady fair; 
 With its darksome walls, and its iron door, 
 And the fretted roof, and the marble floor, 
 And the cresset that hung from the centre beam 
 Casting beneath but a fitful gleam ; — 
 
26 THE LEGEND 
 
 Whence it borrow'd that ghastly ray, 
 
 " Well may I guess, though I dare not say;"— 
 
 Traced on the floor was a magic ring, 
 
 And. she look'd thereon without shuddering, 
 
 Though the circle was form'd with the bones of the 
 
 dead, 
 And each cardinal point was a grisly head ! 
 
 The lake beneath the casement lay, 
 
 She saw the moonbeams on it play, — 
 
 She look'd aloft — the sky was bright, 
 
 No cloud obscured the face of night : 
 
 She look'd on the Chieftain's face, and smiled, — 
 
 But his brow was clouded, his eye was wild, 
 
 And she felt a thrill through her bosom spread, 
 
 And a deeper glow on her cheek was shed, 
 
 As his full deep voice the silence broke, 
 
 And thus in solemn accents spoke : — 
 
 " Thou hast sought to know my skill ; 
 " I have sworn to grant thy will ; 
 " Rashly thy request was made — 
 " Rashly was my promise said ! 
 " Knowest thou what forms of dread 
 " Soon will flit around thy head ? 
 " Knowest thou what sounds of fear 
 ** Soon will strike upon thine ear ? 
 
OF O'DONOHUE. 27 
 
 <c Sights of death, and sounds of hell — 
 " Such as tongue may never tell ! 
 " Bravest men can scarcely brook 
 " On these dismal sights to look, — 
 u Warriors, in dire dismay, 
 " At these sounds have shrunk away ; 
 " Can thy woman's spirit bear, 
 " Such to see, and such to hear ? 
 
 " Yes ! — I see thy kindling eye 
 
 " Tells thy purpose nVd and high : 
 
 " Come then to the magic ring, 
 
 " While the mighty charms I sing ; 
 
 " But beware no sight nor sound 
 
 " Tempt thee from its circling bound. 
 
 " There no evil can assail thee, — 
 
 " But beware lest courage fail thee ! 
 
 " Whatsoever meets thy sight — 
 
 " Whatsoever strikes thine ear — 
 ** Though thou faintest with affright — 
 
 " Utter not a sound of fear; 
 " Else falls the spirits' wrath on me, 
 " And sorrow must thy portion be ! " 
 
 They enter'd the circle — he open'd the book — 
 That instant with thunder the chamber shook, 
 Though a moment before the sky was fair, 
 And there was not a cloud in the moonlit air. 
 
28 THE LEGEND 
 
 He read from the volume the words of power : 
 To its base was shaken the darksome Tower ; 
 Smother'd by clouds was the full moon's beam, 
 But the lightning flash'd with a lurid gleam, 
 And the mystic circle was girt with flame, 
 Which, lightning-lit, from the pavement came ! 
 
 But the Lady still look'd on, 
 
 And her proud eye did not quail, 
 
 Though her brow was cold as stone, 
 And her cheek was deadly pale. 
 
 And louder and nearer the thunder came, 
 And higher and redder arose the flame, 
 Then sunk with a sudden, crashing sound,. 
 And all was stillness and darkness round. 
 Harder that stillness — that darkness — to bear 
 Than the thunder's crash, or the flame's red glare ; 
 For the Chieftain's voice, as his charms he read, 
 Scarce broke the depth of that silence dread ; 
 And scarcely the cresset's feeble ray 
 Reach'd to the book that beneath it lay ! 
 
 Yet she stood as still as death, 
 
 With proud, unshrinking eye, 
 Though quicker came her breath, 
 
 And her heart beat loud and high. 
 
OF O'DONOHUE. 29 
 
 The Chieftain with steady voice read on, 
 And fiery eyes through the darkness shone ; 
 And hideous faces appear'd to rise, 
 Seen by the light of their own red eyes ; 
 Birds of ill-omen, with clanging wing, 
 Flew with loud screams round the charmed ring ; 
 Serpents and scorpions were creeping about; 
 Sounds of torment and death rang out ; 
 Devilish laughter, and scornful hiss — 
 Darkness and silence were better than this ! 
 
 Yet still she dared to look, 
 
 Nor turn'd aside her head, 
 Though her eyelid quivering shook, 
 
 And her lip was blanch'd with dread. 
 
 Trembling she clung to the Chieftain's arm ; 
 
 Still he went on with his mighty charm : 
 
 Up like a curtain the darkness drew, 
 
 And a vision more horrid was now in view. 
 
 The light of the cresset was high and red, 
 
 And a human form was beneath it spread ; 
 
 And it seem'd that demons, with murderous knife, 
 
 Were sportively spilling the stream of life ! 
 
 Sudden they fled from the work of death — 
 
 Heavens ! 'twas her child that lay beneath ! 
 
 One piercing cry — no more — 
 
 From her bursting bosom came, 
 
30 THE LEGEND 
 
 As sunk on the marble floor 
 The Lady's fainting frame. 
 
 Still in that deathlike trance she lay 
 Till the sky was red with the breaking day, 
 And the sun arose, with his joyous beam, 
 And glanced on the lake and the silver stream, 
 And through the turret casement shone 
 On the forms that lay on the floor of stone. 
 Slowly the Lady shuddering woke, 
 Her frame with thrilling horror shook ; 
 She gazed with haggard look and wild, 
 
 And, pillow'd on her arm, 
 She saw her own, her only, child 
 In peaceful sleep, he sweetly smiled, 
 
 Unscathed, and free from harm ; 
 And the mother's tears of trembling joy 
 Fell on the cheek of the lovely boy. 
 
 But far, alas ! from his father's home 
 O'Donohue's infant heir must roam ; 
 For never again from that dread hour 
 Returned the Lord of the darksome Tower ; 
 And kinsmen, careless of the right, 
 Usurp'd his lands with impious might. 
 Never again on heath or green 
 O'Donohue's stately form was seen : 
 Never did he his steed bestride 
 
OF O'DONOHUE. 31 
 
 To chase the stag on Killarney's side : 
 
 Never again did the trumpet's breath 
 
 Sound to his charge on the field of death : 
 
 Never again in peaceful hall 
 
 Did minstrels rise at the Chieftain's call, 
 
 To sing their proud unfetter' d lays 
 
 With the harp's wild note to their master's praise ! 
 
 For now the spirits of lake and hill, 
 
 Whom he had bound to obey his will, 
 
 Have claim'd the forfeit of the spell, 
 
 And he is bound with them to dwell. 
 
 Yet still, at times, as peasants say, 
 
 When the dawn first breaks on the morn of May, 
 
 When the eddying winds, in their wild career, 
 
 The silvery foam from the -waves uprear ; 
 
 When the water-spirits delight to sweep 
 
 In dance uncouth o'er Killarney's deep — 
 
 Then is O'Donohue's spirit there, 
 
 His part in the shadowy troop to bear. 
 
 Proudly in front of the mystic train 
 
 His snow-white steed does the Chieftain rein, 
 
 And proudly gaze on the fairy sport, 
 
 As a king looks down on his royal court ; 
 
 For they, whose captive he still must be, 
 
 Give honour due to his ancestry, 
 
 As when, the Lord of the darksome Tower, 
 
 He bound them to awe by his magic power ! 
 
LEGENDS OF THE GIANTS' 
 CAUSEWAY.* 
 
 ^¥ IS sweet 5 when storms are raging on the 
 " main, 5 
 " The sailors' labour from the shore to 
 " see ; 
 
 " Not that thou joyest in another's pain, 
 " But that 'tis pleasant in security 
 " To view the ills from which thyself art free ; — 
 €( 'Tis sweet again, when banner'd hosts engage, 
 " To mark, the danger all unshared by thee, 
 f{ How men with men the deadly contest wage, 
 ** To note the victors' pride, the vanquish'd's bootless 
 " rage ! 
 
 " But sweeter nought, than from the calm retreat 
 " Raised by the sage's philosophic mind, 
 
 " To see the crowds of men beneath our feet, 
 " To mark them wandering tost in mazes blind, 
 " Striving the paths of life in vain to find !" 
 
 So thought the bard, whose soul's undaunted tone 
 Dared spurn the creeds received by all his kind, 
 
 Dared half unseat the Almighty from His throne, 
 
 And raise from atoms wild a chance- world of his own. 
 
THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY. 33 
 
 I envy not that sceptic's station high, 
 
 His u shrine serene " of philosophic pride, 
 From which he view'd with self-complacent eye 
 
 His brethren's errors, only to deride ; 
 
 I envy not the skill by which he tried 
 To crush the hopes on which mankind reposed, 
 
 And Heaven's preserving providence denied : — 
 Sweeter to me from Nature's book unclosed 
 To read His praise by whom the world is all disposed. 
 
 To stand among the everlafting hills, 
 
 To listen to the breeze's sweeping tone, 
 To hear the music of the mountain rills, 
 
 The lark's wild song, the plover's plaintive 
 moan, 
 
 To wander on the ocean shore alone, 
 And watch the waves roll onward to the strand, 
 
 While backward far the feathery spray is thrown ; 
 And thus, in all His works to view the Hand 
 That gave the sea his bounds, that bade the moun- 
 tain stand : — 
 
 These are delights which nought beside can give. 
 These are the joys from boyhood dear to me ; 
 
 Then with intenser life I seem to live, 
 
 My footstep feels more light, my breath more free : 
 I cannot gaze upon the boundless sea, 
 
 Or what the mountain's towering height looks o'er, 
 
 D 
 
34 LEGENDS OF 
 
 But then a feeling of eternity 
 Swells in me from my bosom's inmost core, 
 And bids from earthly thoughts heavenward my 
 spirit soar. 
 
 For who can view the extent of sea and sky 
 
 While realms more distant still escape his glance, 
 
 Then turn upon himself his scrutiny, 
 Nor tremble at his insignificance, 
 A worm — an atom — in that vast expanse ? 
 
 Yet should the thought move not thine awe alone. 
 It rather should thy gratitude enhance, 
 
 To Him w r ho from His all-o'er-ruling throne 
 
 Such proof of boundless love to thee, poor worm, 
 hath shown ! 
 
 On, then ! where Nature in her wildest forms 
 
 Presents a barrier to the Atlantic wave, 
 Which now, infuriate with the Northern storms, 
 
 That barrier's rocky strength appears to brave ; 
 
 Now, calmly rippling, loves its base to lave ; 
 Or rolls upon the strand in breakers wide ; 
 
 Or booms within the deep re-echoing cave : 
 Here let us roam awhile as chance may guide, 
 Nor sigh for fashion's haunts of pomp, and wealth, 
 and pride. 
 
 Thou, Causeway of the Giants, be my theme ; — 
 Whether, as legendary tales maintain, 
 
THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY. 35 
 
 And scarcely false, I ween, the rustics deem, 
 Great Fionn M'Coul and his gigantic train 
 Bridged thus their way across the northern main, 
 
 From Innisfail to Morven's windy shore; 6 
 And, when to Erin they return'd again, 
 
 Last of his host the Chieftain pass'd it o'er, 
 
 Then stampt it to the abyss, that none might cross 
 it more. 
 
 Yet, in despite of modern architect, 
 
 Unharm'd he left what we in wonder see, 
 
 Daring us pigmy mortals to erect 
 
 A mole of equal strength and symmetry 
 To this his masterpiece of masonry : — 
 
 Pause — pause — presumptuous strain ! — no mortal 
 hand 
 Hath based those massive pillars in the sea, 
 
 Or caused yon colonnade on high to stand 
 
 Where foot of lightest bird may scarce find space to 
 land. 
 
 Walk o'er the Causeway ! — While thy footsteps tread 
 Its wondrous pavement, downward cast thine eyes, 
 
 And as thou view'st it thus beneath thee spread, 
 Mark how in all varieties of size, 
 Angle, and form, that fancy could devise, 
 
 Without cement it hath compacted been 
 So closely knit, that it almost defies 
 
36 LEGENDS OF 
 
 The edge of keenest steel to intervene, 
 Even is dark brown Luno's blade, " the adjacent 
 stones between. 7 
 
 Or, taking here thy station by " the Loom/' 8 
 (Whose mighty frame surpassing that whereon 
 
 The €t Fatal Sisters " wrought their web of doom, 
 Seems fit for Giants' handicraft alone, 
 For every thread is of columnar stone ;) 
 
 Mark how the Power that raised the colonnade 
 In even joints divided hath each one, 
 
 And here concave above convex hath laid, 
 
 And here for rounded base an hollow'd cup hath 
 made. 
 
 Yet vainly chisel held by mortal hand 
 
 To carve that hard unyielding stone hath tried ; 9 
 Nor e'er would mortal builder dare to stand 
 
 Where, on that craggy promontory's side, 
 
 Which hangs abruptly frowning o'er the tide 
 In blue magnificence beneath it spread, 
 
 Thou see'st yon pillar'd range extending wide, 
 Which firmly based upon its ochre bed 
 Contrasts the dark basalt with tinge of liveliest red. 
 
 What then ? Did Nature in some secret throes, 
 Some sudden burst of a volcanic shower, 
 
THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY. 37 
 
 This mighty fabric to the air expose, 
 An age's wonder, in one little hour ? 
 Or aid its growth by crystallizing power ? 10 
 
 What need we thus inquire ? Enough to know 
 That He who frames the texture of a flower, 
 
 And bids the oak from smallest acorn grow, 
 
 By His creative will hath rear'd the Causeway so. 
 
 Rest we awhile upon the Giant's Chair, 11 
 
 Whence Fionn M'Coul, 'tis said, was wont to 
 view 
 His workmen's toil ; and thence up Port na Fhair 
 Let us the steep and winding path pursue : — 
 Or if thy foot be firm, thine eye be true, 
 With me thou may'st the narrow track assay, 12 
 Which, scarce distinguish'd from the cliff's dark 
 hue, 
 Sweeps round the bosom of each winding bay, 
 And round each headland's face points out a dizzy 
 way. 
 
 Yet. sooth. to say, no path is this for him 
 Who turns from danger or from toil aside, 
 
 Whose brain grows giddy, and whose senses swim. 
 To see beneath him swell the boiling tide, 
 As on yon ledge, now scarce a hand-breadth 
 wide, 
 
38 LEGENDS OF 
 
 We plant our footsteps, now with steady hand 
 
 Grasping the rock we stretch the lengthen'd stride, 
 Now climb, and now descend, while full command 
 Of breast, and limb, and eye, the varied toils demand. 
 
 But who such dangerous pathway fear, 
 
 (No carpet-knight the venturous feat may dare,) 
 
 Or who would shun the toil, may choose instead 
 The steep but safe ascent of Port na Fhair, 
 The " Shepherd's Pathway ; " child, or lady fair 
 
 May, fearless, climb it, and pursue the way 
 
 Along the Headlands ; thence what prospects fair 
 
 Greet the beholder ! Shore, and winding bay, 
 
 And cliff's fantastic form, and columns' long array ! 
 
 Pause we on Rue Ben Valla : mighty wall 
 By Nature rear'd, it hangs above the tide 
 
 Narrow and steep : a range of pillars tall 
 
 Its eastward summit crown, its westward side 
 The unform'd basaltic dyke : the bays beside 
 
 Contrasted strangely each with each appear ; 
 Here Port na Fhair, green, sloping, spacious, 
 wide, 
 
 There Port Reostan's wondrous Theatre 
 
 Contracted, narrow, steep, columnar, wild, and drear. 
 
 Our track lies round Reostan : on its verge, 
 
 Eastward, the Chimney'd Headland for a space 
 
THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY. 39 
 
 Claims a delay. — Mark, how above the surge 
 The storm-swept column rears aloft its face 
 In lonely strength : observe its dizzy place, 
 
 Then think what courage bis, what reckless mind, 
 Who up yon cliff clomb to that column's base, 
 
 And left, in vaunting championship, behind 
 
 His gage of challenge there, ne'er touch'd but by the 
 wind ! 13 
 
 Below, see Port na Spania ! Sad the hour 14 
 
 To Spain's proud king that gave the bay its name, 
 
 What time, with all his kingdom's warlike flower, 
 Towards England's coasts the fierce Armada came, 
 Threatening her peaceful homes with sword and 
 flame ; 
 
 Trusting 'neath Rome's dark tyranny again 
 The Island-heretics' free souls to tame, 
 
 And boasting England's navy sail'd in vain 
 
 To oppose the Pope-blest fleet sent forth by bigot 
 Spain ! 
 
 And vain perchance it had been ; but a Hand 
 Mightier than Spain's had deign'd to interpose ; — 
 
 For, ere that fleet could near the fated land, 
 
 The Word went forth, and straight the tempest 
 
 rose, 
 And far and wide dispersed the insulting foes ; 
 
40 LEGENDS OF 
 
 And England's navy, so despised before, 
 
 Made havoc of the Invincibles ; — of those 
 Who sail'd so gaily from Lisboa's shore 
 How few their shatter'd barks inglorious homeward 
 bore ! 
 
 The sun had set beneath the summer sea, 
 
 The shades of evening now were gathering fast, 
 
 When, o'er the dark waves sailing gallantly. 
 Hispania's enfign floating from her marl:, 
 Round dark Bengore an armed galley past, 
 
 All danger yet escaped : — and hark ! what sound 
 Breaks the deep stillness ? The loud cannon's blast 
 
 Reverberates the hollow cliffs around, 
 
 And from the unconscious rocks the harmless balls 
 rebound. 
 
 No ! not all harmless ! Heard ye not the crash 
 
 The column, rent from its foundation, gave ? 
 And heard ye not the oft-repeated splash, 
 
 As joint by joint it leapt into the wave ? 
 
 But why this havoc ? Wherefore did the brave 
 Waste on the rocks their dread artillery's might ? 
 
 Not with such senseless fury did they rave, 
 But thought, deceived by the declining light, 
 The towers of proud Dunluce were risen upon their 
 sighr. 
 
THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY. 41 
 
 Nor strange their error, for the seaman viewing 
 How wild a seat Dunseverick's ruins hold, 15 
 
 And westward thence at eve his course pursuing, 
 Might deem the pillars on this headland bold 
 To be the turrets of some fortress old ; 
 
 And thus the Spaniards deem'd, our legends say : 
 But now the mists of night around them roll'd, 
 
 And on the waters all secure they lay ; — 
 
 But where was that good ship at dawn, and where 
 were they ? 
 
 The evening-star beheld the vessel lie 
 Silent as sleep — anon a crashing shock, 
 
 Then one unanimous heart- thrilling cry 
 
 On the deep stillness of the midnight broke : 
 Again she dash'd upon the hidden rock, 
 
 There groaning split, — and on the watery bed 
 A shatter'd hull she lay : when morning woke 
 
 The bay with fragments of the wreck was spread, 
 
 The shore with broken spars, and corpses of the 
 dead ! 
 
 This was a Nation's loss ; — and thus they perish'd 
 Far distant from their homes, their fate unknown 
 
 By those who might their dead remains have che- 
 rish'd :— 
 Sister, or wife, or mother, was there none, 
 Might say of Port na Spania, with a groan, 
 
42 LEGENDS OF 
 
 " There died our friends !" — and yet, though strange 
 it be, 
 These cliffs were witness to the death of one, 
 A peasant, which hath sadder seem'd to me 
 Than that disastrous wreck of Spain's proud chi- 
 valry. 
 
 Alas, poor Adam Morning ! doom'd to feel 16 
 How keen the gnawing tooth of penury ; 
 
 He, bearing in his hand the scanty meal 
 For the loved partner of his industry, 
 Was here descending — still the spot ye see 
 
 Where, like the Organ of some Minster vast, 
 Yon columns, knit with neatest symmetry, 
 
 Stand bedded in the cliff — so far he pass'd — 
 
 And there his footstep slipp'd — that footstep was his 
 last! 
 
 Headlong he fell — and she beheld his fall, 
 As on the shore she piled the seaweed's heap, 
 
 Their humble toil ; — yet wist she not at all 
 
 What thing it was that fell, — " a mountain-sheep 
 Perchance had miss'd its footing on the steep : " — 
 
 But when at length she nearer drew, and there 
 Beheld his mangled corpse, how did she weep, 
 
 How did she beat her breast, and rend her hair, 
 
 With all the frenzy wild of comfortless despair ! 
 
Sucl 
 
 THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY. 43 
 
 Such, as the fatal cliff each stranger spies, 
 
 The tale our rustical conductors tell : 
 Yet still a dangerous trade his grandson plies, 
 
 Nor shuns the cliff from which the grandsire fell. 
 
 So the Swiss hunter from his native dell, 
 Chasing the nimble-footed chamois goes, 
 
 Where 'midst the glacier's slippery heights they 
 dwell; 
 Nor shuns the desperate leap, though well he knows 
 The death-place of his sires are those eternal snows ! 
 
 On Madh-a-ruagh's cliffs, in Spania's bay, 
 'Twere long to tell what wonders we behold, 
 
 Sublimely savage ! as we wend our way 
 
 Towards Ben Anouran's head ; nor needs be told 
 How from the summit of that headland bold 
 
 The steeps of Plaiskin first we look upon : 
 Nor how, the jointless columns past, we hold 
 
 The track across the heather to Benbawn, 
 
 The seat that bears thy name, ill-fated Hamilton ! 17 
 
 Here, till we reach'd the well-selected place, 
 With eyes averted from the edge pursue 18 
 
 The path : — we turn — and now the eastward face 
 Of Plaiskin bursts at once upon our view ! — 
 Ah me ! what words so fine, what pen so true, 
 
 As may the grandeur of that scene pourtray, 
 With every varying shadow ever new, 
 
44 THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY. 
 
 And changing with the changes of the day ? 
 
 Too hard I feel the task, and shrink from the essay ! 
 
 In gloom, in sunshine, in the calm, the storm, 
 That cliff delighted still have I survey'd : 
 
 What time the early sun hath gilt its form, 
 Or midday splendour on its features play'd, 
 Or evening thrown their outlines into shade ; 
 
 What time against its base the wave hath plash'd, 
 Serenely blue, and scarce a murmur made, 
 
 Or by the North-west wind to fury lash'd, 
 
 With billow, foam, and roar, tumultuously hath 
 dash'd. 
 
 Majestic Headland ! No such colonnade 
 As thine can Athens or Palmyra show ; 
 
 What though by skilfull'st hands their shrines were 
 made, 
 And all that science, all that taste could do 
 Combined with all that riches could bestow, 
 
 To make them glorious. But no mortal hand 
 Hath rear'd thy columns, Plaiskin ! row o'er row 
 
 On thy stupendous precipice they stand, 
 
 There built, and there sustain'd by God's alone 
 command ! 
 
 1832. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE BELLS OF 
 LIMERICK. 19 
 
 Those Evening Bells, those Evening Bells, 
 How many a tale their music tells 
 Of youth, and home, and that sweet time 
 When last I heard their soothing chime ! 
 
 Moore. 
 
 «*** saa# 
 
 jjg"] p 5 "^ HE wind had fallen,the sky was fair, 
 tf%>< ^jp4 Calm and mild the evening air ; 
 SSyiSl The glorious sun, 
 
 His day-course run, 
 Was setting in summer pride : 
 Not a murmur could be heard, 
 Not a single ripple stirr'd 
 
 Against the vessel's side, 
 As she lay at the vesper hour, 
 Opposite St. Mary's Tower, 
 Upon the Shannon's tide : 
 And the gently-dripping oar 
 Sped a stranger to the shore. 
 
 A wanderer from his home was he ; 
 Not exiled thence by tyranny, 
 
46 A LEGEND OF 
 
 But that he could not bear to be 
 
 Where all was gone that he had loved ; 
 He could not bear the wreck to see 
 
 Of all the joys he once had proved. 
 In war had fallen his only son, 
 
 His wife beloved of grief had died, 
 Brothers, kindred, he had none, — 
 What was there now beneath the sun 
 
 That he could love beside ? 
 
 Yes, there was one thing — 'twas a fond, 
 
 A foolish fancy, — yet a bond 
 
 Uniting him, by thoughts of pain, 
 
 To days he ne'er will see again. 
 
 His prime of manhood he had spent 
 
 Upon one purpose wholly bent ; 
 
 At length, the work of years complete, 
 
 To a holy convent he had given 
 A peal of bells, of tone so sweet, 
 
 So solemn, and so grand, 
 They led the thoughts perforce to heaven ; 
 Nor could the founder be denied 
 Forgiveness, if he felt some pride 
 
 In the work of his own hand. 
 
 They too were lost in the time of strife, 
 When all else was lost that he loved of life; 
 
THE BELLS OF LIMERICK. 47 
 
 The convent walls were razed to the ground, — 
 
 The bells away were borne ; 
 But he fancied if their tuneful sound 
 
 On his ear — bereft — forlorn — 
 Once, even once, again might play, 
 In peace his spirit would pass away. 
 
 The wanderer has left his own country, 
 He has parted in grief from fair Italy, 
 Many a league has he gone by sea, 
 
 Many a mile on shore ; — 
 All traces of youth have pass'd away, 
 His form is bent, his hair is grey, 
 
 His heart — wither'd and sore : 
 All Europe in vain has he travell'd round, 
 And he fears that much-loved tuneful sound 
 
 He is doom'd to hear no more ! 
 In vain has he sought : full many a time 
 
 His breast has heaved with a bitter sigh, 
 As his ear has turn'd from some tuneful chime, 
 Which struck no chord of his memory ! 
 
 At length, by chance, a traveller tells 
 Of Limerick's sweet and solemn bells, % 
 How deeply to the heart they go, 
 And, like religion tempering woe, 
 Lead up the soul from all below. 
 
48 A LEGEND OF 
 
 The wanderer listens to the tale, 
 Brightens with joy his visage pale, 
 
 A smile is in his eye : — 
 " Oh ! could I reach that distant Isle, 
 " And listen to those bells awhile, 
 
 " Contented would I die !" 
 
 And now the bark with plashing oar 
 Bears the Italian towards the shore 
 
 Across the Shannon's stream ; — 
 The calm and beauteous evening sky 
 Like his own heaven of Italy 
 
 In its sweetest time did seem : — 
 On other days and scenes intent, 
 The wanderer's thoughts were homeward bent, 
 
 As in a lovely dream : — 
 When, hark ! with sweet and solemn stroke, 
 St. Mary's bells the stillness broke ! 
 
 u Yes ! they are — they are my own !" 
 Cried the wanderer at the tone ; 
 
 No other word he said. 
 Towards the town he turn'd his face, — 
 A smile's faint glimmer you might trace ; 
 
 His hands on his breast he laid : 
 All the joys he once had proved, — 
 His home— his all that he had loved — 
 
THE BELLS OF LIMERICK. 49 
 
 All from which he had grieved to part 
 Came in those tones upon his heart. 
 
 Now the bark has reach'd the strand, 
 Now that passenger may land ; 
 Still upon his aged face, 
 
 On Saint Mary's Tower fix'd, 
 Joy's expression you may trace, 
 
 With a mellow'd sorrow mix'd. 
 But his sum of days is told, 
 His eyes are closed, his pulse is cold ; 
 
 In that one voice of Memory, 
 On that long-hoped-for day, 
 
 The spirit of that Wanderer 
 In peace hath pass'd away ! 
 
GLEN-DA-LOUGH. 20 
 
 HAT lends the scene that wondrous 
 fascination, 
 Where lie the Two Lakes in the dark- 
 some Glen ? 
 Why, once beheld in silent admiration, 
 Longs the rapt soul to see it once again ? 
 
 'Tis not alone the charm of lake and mountain, 
 Of the wild contrasts of the light and shade, 
 
 Of stream down-leaping from its hidden fountain, 
 Of frowning precipice and sunny glade. 
 
 For grander scenes live in my recollection, 
 And sweeter spots are in my heart enshrined ; 
 
 Which, sacred to the memory of affection, 
 
 Claim not such mighty influence o'er the mind. 
 
 'Tis not the charm of outward Nature only, 
 Blending the soft, the savage, the sublime ; 
 
 A spirit hovers o'er that valley lonely, 
 Borne from the ruins of far-distant time. 
 
GLEN-DA-LOUGH. 51 
 
 'Tis not that royal wealth or ostentation 
 
 In this wild scene their palaces have placed ; 
 
 Nor cultured Art, nor rich Imagination 
 The offerings of the pious soul have graced. 
 
 Rude in their structure, in appearance lowly, 
 With nothing to attract fastidious eye, 
 
 Yet bearing tokens of their purpose holy, 
 We view the relics of an age gone by. 
 
 Here Faith, and world-renouncing Veneration 
 Twelve hundred years ago a seat had found, 
 
 Built shrines and homes for pious Contemplation, 
 And made the narrow glen a holy ground. 
 
 How often on those peaceful homes alighted 
 The invader's fury, or the civil storms ; 
 
 Till, by five centuries of ruin blighted, 
 There only now remain the lifeless forms. 
 
 Grand in their long-enduring desolation, 
 Stamp'd with the character of days of yore; 
 
 No vain, unskill'd attempt at renovation 
 
 Hath marr'd the features it could not restore. 
 
 Now through the Gateway's broken arch we enter, 
 Our feet the precincts of the City tread ; 
 
 But mark ! yon Tower mysterious in the centre 
 Points heavenward from a City of the Dead! 
 
52 GLEN-DA-LOUGH. 
 
 Beside " Our Lady's" massive doorway growing, 
 
 The aged ivy o'er the ruin clings ; 
 And, where the streams of Poolanass are flowing, 
 
 The hazels flourish o'er the graves of kings ! 
 
 Their histories have perish'd — idle fables 
 Mingle with many a noble, holy name ; 
 
 And roofless walls, and rent disfigured gables 
 The honour'd title of" Cathedral'' claim. 
 
 Still, 'mid the wreck, the stone-roof'd C€ House of 
 Kevin" 
 
 Remains, with moss and lichen grey o'ergrown ; 
 Still, 'mid the tombs, suggesting hopes of Heaven, 
 
 Stands near his ruin'd church the Cross of stone. 
 
 Nations may pass, and kings and kingdoms perish,— 
 Their very names forgotten from the earth ; — 
 
 Yet pious gratitude the homes will cherish 
 Which shelter'd first Religion's holy birth. 
 
 Dear to the soul the sight and contemplation 
 Of scenes where hermits knelt, apostles trod ; 
 
 Where Faith hath rear'd the symbol of Salvation, 
 And humble men have sought to walk with God ! 
 
RADIGER, 
 
 A BALLAD OF ANGLO-SAXON HISTORY. 21 
 
 T was on the banks of the flowing Rhine, 
 When a summer day was past, 
 There sat in a tent a Ladye fair, 
 And her tears were flowing fait. 
 
 Around her stood knights and mail-clad men, 
 
 Of the high East Anglian name ; 
 Who all to avenge that Ladye's wrong 
 
 From merry England came. 
 
 For her sires had come, of Odin's line, 
 
 Across the German flood, 
 And had won their land, by strength, of hand, 
 
 From men of British blood. 
 
 And Radiger woo'd her in early youth, 
 (On Rhine's fair banks he reign'd,) 
 
 And his eagle eye, and his bearing high 
 Her heart's affection gain'd. 
 
54 RADIGER. 
 
 And he pledged his faith with oath and vow, 
 He pledged it with hand and glove ; 
 
 And he hasten'd afar to the fields of war, 
 And she grieved not — his Ladye love ; — 
 
 But ever, when tidings of Radiger's might 
 
 From fields well-foughten came, 
 Her heart beat high with joy and pride, 
 
 To hear of her true knight's fame. 
 
 But ah ! woe worth ambition's guile, 
 
 And man's inconstant mind ! 
 For Radiger sought another bride, 
 
 And his English love resign'd. 
 
 Yet he sought not that bride for her beauty's pride, 
 
 Or the witching bloom of youth; 
 But, urged by his father's stern commands, 
 For a wealthy widow's fertile lands, 
 
 He broke his plighted truth. 
 
 And his true love heard of his broken faith, 
 
 She heard of his broken vow : — 
 She breathed no sigh, she shed no tear, 
 
 But she bent an angry brow. 
 
 Ill brook'd she the slight that traitor knight 
 
 Had paid to her maiden truth; 
 But she call'd to her side her brother tried, 
 
 And the best of the Anglian youth. 
 
RADIGER. 
 
 55 
 
 M Now arm thee, now arm thee, Egfrid bold, 
 
 " And arm thy merry-men all ; 
 " For, before this year shall have an end, 
 
 " False Radiger shall fall ! 
 
 ** I will not lye on couch of down, 
 " Nor clothe me in cloke of pall, 
 
 " Till, living or dead, at my feet down laid, 
 " False Radiger shall fall!" 
 
 Up then yspake her brother bold, 
 
 He spake right brotherly ; 
 " Now away with thy care, my sister fair, 
 
 " For avenged thou shalt be !" 
 
 He arm'd at her call his warriors all, 
 
 He arm'd his merry-men ; 
 And they sail'd away at break of day, 
 
 Six gallant ships and ten. 
 
 And when they came to the Varnian shore, 
 
 Across the German Sea, 
 Young Egfrid left his sister there, 
 
 With part of his company ; 
 
 But he with the rest of his host on pressed, 
 
 False Radiger to meet ; 
 And he swore, unless himself were slain, 
 
 He would bring him to her feet. 
 
56 RADIGER. 
 
 The sun has set in the western wave, 
 
 The summer's day is past ; 
 The moon is high in the evening sky ; 
 
 The dews are falling fast. 
 
 And the Ladye sate by the flowing Rhine, 
 
 And wept right bitterly ; 
 " Oh, when will my brother return and bring 
 
 " That traitor knight to me?" 
 
 Her merry-men deem'd that Ladye wept 
 Lest her brother should fall in strife ; 
 
 But she fear'd not at all for Egfrid's fall, — 
 She fear'd for Radiger's life. 
 
 They deem'd that she wept for his broken vow, 
 That she grieved for the bitter slight ; 
 
 But her grief was all lest her brother bold 
 Should slay that faithless knight. 
 
 Yet still she call'd him a traitor false, 
 
 And bent an angry brow, 
 As when she heard, in England fair, 
 
 Of that traitor's broken vow. 
 
 And aye she strove to renounce her love, 
 
 And to look with a careless eye ; 
 But she could not restrain the falling tear, 
 
 Nor check the deep-drawn sigh. 
 
RADIGER. 57 
 
 And though Radiger now had renounced his vow, 
 
 And broken his plighted truth, 
 She could not forget the tender love 
 
 He had won in early youth. 
 
 She knew not before that painful hour 
 
 The strength of woman's love ; 
 How little the fickleness of man 
 
 Her constancy can move. 
 
 And she sat at the door of Egfrid's tent, 
 
 Oppress'd with thoughtful care, 
 And heeded not the passing hours, 
 
 Nor felt the chilling air ; 
 
 But sudden she rose with eager start, 
 
 And cast her eyes around, 
 For she heard the tread of armed men, 
 
 She heard the trumpet's sound : 
 
 And Egfrid return'd with his war-like host, 
 
 All laden with foemen's spoil ; 
 And their dinted helms, and armour stain'd, 
 
 Gave tokens of bloody toil : 
 
 And with trumpet sound and martial shout 
 
 That Ladye did they greet ; 
 And they brought the best of the spoils they'd won, 
 
 And laid them at her feet. 
 
58 RADIGER. 
 
 " Now cheer thee, my sister/' Egfrid said, 
 
 " And smooth thy ruffled brow ; 
 " For dearly, I trow, thy faithless foe 
 
 " Hath paid for his broken vow !" 
 
 That Ladye's cheek was blanched, I ween, 
 
 With the pallid hue of death ; 
 And painfully beat her swelling heart, 
 
 And hardly she drew her breath. 
 
 " We have fought all day in bloody fray, 
 
 " And many a foe is dead : 
 " The field was won ere set of sun ; 
 
 " But Radiger is fled ! 
 
 " We have scour'd his country far and near, 
 
 " And done it bitter scathe ; 
 " And long shall Radiger rue the day 
 
 " When he broke his plighted faith." 
 
 That Ladye's cheek, so deadly pale, 
 Was flush'd with a crimson stain ; 
 
 She bent on her brother an angry brow, 
 A look of high disdain. 
 
 ic And is it, then, thus thou hast kept the oath 
 
 t€ Thou hast sworn so gallantly, 
 " That thou wouldst bring that faithless knight 
 
 ie A captive to my knee ? 
 
RADIGER. 59 
 
 Cf And is this the price which Radiger 
 " For his broken faith must pay, — 
 
 " The paltry spoil of serfs and hinds, 
 iC Which thou hast won to-day ? 
 
 " Away, then ! and seek Sir Radiger, 
 
 " And bring him alive to me ! 
 " For my own right hand shall deal the blow 
 
 u To punish his treachery \ n 
 
 Sir Egfrid shrunk from her proud rebuke, 
 
 Her look of high disdain ; — 
 " Nay, calm thee, sister fair," he said, 
 
 " Thou shalt not ask in vain. 
 
 " My warriors brave and I will rest 
 
 " From warlike toil to-night ; 
 "But again will we go to seek thy foe 
 
 " With morning's early light. 
 
 " And I solemnly swear, my sister fair, 
 
 " I never more will thee greet, 
 " Until I shall bring false Radiger 
 
 u A captive to thy feet ! " 
 
 At the break of day they rode away 
 
 With eager course and fast ; 
 But they search'd in vain both wood and plain 
 
 Until high noon was past. 
 
6o RADIGER. 
 
 At length they came to a forest glade, 
 
 Where, with a chosen band, 
 All arm'd, I trow, from top to toe, 
 
 Sir Radiger did stand. 
 
 " Now yield thee," cried Egfrid, " craven knight ! 
 
 " Now yield thyself to me ! 
 " I never had thought from field of death 
 
 " That Radiger would flee!" 
 
 " I will not yield, thou vaunting knight, 
 
 " I will not yield to thee ! 
 " But one of us, ere the sun shall set, 
 
 " Slain on this field shall be. 
 
 " Stand back, stand back, my merry-men ! 
 
 " This quarrel is mine own : — 
 " And, Egfrid, keep thou back thine host; 
 
 " We two must fight alone I" 
 
 Sir Egfrid he turn'd and waved his hand, 
 
 And shouted loud and high : — 
 " Stand back, stand back, my merry-men ; 
 
 " We two this fight must try !" 
 
 He clapp'd his spurs to his courser's sides, 
 
 And charged with mortal force ; 
 Sir Radiger stood not the sudden shock, 
 
 But down went man and horse. 
 
RADIGER. 61 
 
 Sir Egfrid saw not his fallen foe, 
 
 But rapidly hurried past ; 
 Till he heard the shout his host gave out, 
 
 Then he check'd his courser's haste. 
 
 Lightly he leapt from his coursers back, 
 
 And lighted on the land ; 
 Sir Radiger raised him from the ground, 
 
 His falchion in his hand. 
 
 Now, burning with indignant shame, 
 
 He rush'd upon his foe ; 
 But Egfrid stood upon his guard, 
 
 And parried the hasty blow. 
 
 Now, foot to foot, and hand to hand, 
 
 They closed in eager strife ; 
 But Egfrid thought of his sister's wish, 
 
 Nor sought his foeman's life. 
 
 He saw him fight with desperate might, 
 
 Enraged at the shameful foil; 
 And mark'd at length his failing strength, 
 
 Oppress'd with fruitless toil. 
 
 Then closing fast, with hand and foot 
 He twined his foeman round, 
 
 And wrench'd the falchion from his grasp, 
 And bore him to the ground. 
 
62 RADIGER, 
 
 cc Now, yield thee, Radiger," he cried, 
 
 u Or certes thou must die !" 
 Sir Radiger turn'd aside his face, 
 
 And heaved a bitter sigh ; — 
 
 " Thou hast won the day, Sir Knight/' he said, 
 
 " I yield myself to thee ! 
 " Thou art the first of mortal men 
 
 " That ever conquer'd me!" 
 
 The Ladye sat in Sir Egfrid's tent, 
 
 As closed the summer's day ; 
 And she heard the trumpet's joyous note, 
 
 And saw the bright array. 
 
 First of that gallant company 
 
 She saw her brother ride, 
 And knew, but saw not, who was be 
 
 That slowly paced beside. 
 
 " Now cheer thee, my sister," Egfrid cried, 
 
 66 My task is now complete ; 
 " For I have brought Sir Radiger 
 
 " A captive to thy feet!" 
 
 Sir Radiger knelt at the Ladye's feet, 
 O'erwhelm'd with deep despair ; — 
 
 He dared not look upon her face 
 To read his sentence there. 
 
RADIGER. 6 3 
 
 But, " Oh, forgive ! " at length he said, 
 
 " Forgive my broken vow ! 
 " The greatness of that heinous fault 
 
 " I never felt till now. 
 
 " And, trust me, not for beauty's charms 
 
 " I sought another's hand ; 
 " The fault was in my haughty sire, 
 (e Who reck'd but of his vain desire 
 
 " For lordship and for land ! 
 
 " Yet, Ladye, forgive my broken vow, 
 
 " And grant thy love again ; 
 ci And let my future constancy 
 
 " Wipe out my falsehood's stain ! " 
 
 He said no more, — the Ladye sigh'd, 
 
 And did all trembling stand ; 
 Then she look'd on the knight with a lovely smile, 
 And a blush crept over her cheek the while, 
 
 As she gave her lily hand. 
 
 And Radiger left his old new bride, 
 
 He left his fatherland, 
 For the English maiden's constant faith, 
 
 And the English maiden's hand. 
 
A ROYAL CONVERT. 
 
 HERE is a Legend of a Sclavonian Prince, 
 whose name has passed from my memory, 
 converted to Christianity by the sight 
 and explanation of a picture representing 
 the Last Judgment. 
 
 HAT mean, Old Man, these dismal sights 
 of woe ? 
 ct And what the white-robed forms that 
 float above ? 
 " Say, why is pain and anguish all below ? 
 " Why all on high is harmony and love?" 
 
 " Monarch ! the time shall come when all must end, 
 fg The world, and all that now therein appears : 
 
 " The King of kings shall from His throne descend, 
 " And check the oppressor's wrong, the good 
 man's tears. 
 
 " Then shall He judge in righteousness mankind, 
 " By their own acts and words shall all be tried : 
 
 ** The bad to lasting woe shall be consign'd, — 
 c * The good in bliss for ever shall abide ! " 
 
A ROYAL CONVERT. 65 
 
 " How then, Old Man, may I escape the fire 
 " That burns unceasing in that world of pain ? 
 
 " By what achievements, say, may I aspire 
 " To join in realms of bliss yon white- robed 
 train ? " 
 
 " Monarch, the choice is thine ! The wretches cast 
 " In endless torment on yon fiery flood, 
 
 " Are they whose lives in vice and sin were past, 
 st The impious, the unjust, the men of blood. 
 
 " Those white-robed bands were merciful and just, 
 " Their feet the paths of holiness have trod ; 
 
 " And such shall rise immortal from the dust, 
 " And join eternally their King — their God ! " 
 
 " And who, Old Man, is He, of eye severe, 
 " Yet full of mercy — c full of truth and grace?' 
 
 " Fain would I strive that Being to be near — 
 " To look for aye on that majestic face !" 
 
 " Monarch ! the painter's skill in vain hath sought 
 *' That unseen full perfection to portray ; 
 
 " Seek thou the means which He himself hath 
 wrought, 
 "And thou may'st dwell with Him in bliss for aye ! 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 A ROYAL CONVERT, 
 
 Seek thou the narrow path that Christ hath fhown, 
 " Which will conduct thee to those courts above, 
 
 Where thou may'st look on God's eternal throne, 
 ". Where God Himself is Light, and Life, and 
 Love!" 
 
TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS, 
 
 MOZART'S REQUIEM. 
 
 jgfiOZART is said to have been visited by a 
 \'t \ stranger, who requested him to compose 
 | a Requiem for the funeral of a distin- 
 guished person. He engaged to complete 
 ii in a given time ; but he was in bad health : the 
 subject greatly affected his imagination, and he be- 
 came convinced that he was composing it for himself. 
 When the appointed time came, he requested a short 
 delay, which was granted by his unknown visitor. 
 Mozart died on the evening the composition was 
 completed, and the Requiem was performed at his 
 own funeral. The stranger appeared no more. 5 
 
 23 
 
 AY, cease that flattering dream of hope ! 
 " Your comfort is in vain ; 
 " I feel my life is ebbing fast, — 
 ci This is my dying strain : 
 " Then let me nerve my spirit's force 
 
 u To swell each mournful tone, 
 " I know this music is my last, — 
 " This Requiem is my own ! 
 
 
68 TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 
 
 " You say it is a fond conceit, 
 
 " You think my fears are weak ; 
 " But look upon my wasted form, 
 
 " Behold my faded cheek ! 
 " Behold my hollow-sunken eye, 
 
 " Its fire is nearly gone, 
 " Soon, soon will it be quench'd in death,- 
 
 " This Requiem is my own! 
 
 " Why, but for this, each deepest charm 
 
 " Of music have I sought? 
 (( Why, but for this, has every power 
 
 " Of heart and soul been wrought? 
 " Why, but for this, upon my work 
 
 " Have earliest sunbeams shone, 
 " And midnight found me still employ'd ? 
 
 " This Requiem is my own ! 
 
 " I knew it, from that hour when first 
 
 " The mournful Stranger came, 
 " (Even then I felt the hand of Death 
 
 " Had seized upon my frame ;) 
 " I read it in his tearful eye, 
 
 " I heard it in his tone, — 
 " He ask'd, * A Requiem for a friend/ — 
 
 " I knew it was my own. 
 
 " Again he came — I wish'd the time 
 " Prolong'd, and it was given ; 
 
MOZART'S REQUIEM. 69 
 
 " I sought not to delay the fate 
 " I knew decreed by Heaven : — 
 
 " I could not lose that favourite work 
 " Till life itself was flown ; 
 
 " Even now, in death, it shall be mine,- 
 " This Requiem is my own ! 
 
 " Oh, let me then collect my strength 
 
 " To close the solemn strain ! 
 " Recall me not to thoughts of earth; 
 
 " I ne'er shall write again. 
 i{ Oh, let me pour my spirit forth 
 
 " Before the Almighty's throne ; 
 " Be this, my last, my holiest work ! 
 
 " The Requiem is my own!" 
 
 The setting sun hath shed his beams 
 
 Around the Minstrel's bed ; 
 The Dirge of Death is ended now, — 
 
 The Author's life is fled ; 
 Yet, as he calmly pass'd away, 
 
 Without one sigh or groan, 
 He press'd the Requiem to his heart ;— 
 
 That Reauiem was his own 1 
 
JO 
 
 TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS, 
 
 RAPHAEL D'URBINO. 
 
 HE strong likeness between the death of 
 Mozart and that of Raphael, after the 
 completion of their greatest works, was 
 pointed out to me, after the composition 
 of the preceding poem, many years ago, by a friend 
 now departed, with the following quotation from 
 Lanzi's " Storia Pittorica," in reference to Raphael's 
 picture of the Transfiguration : — 
 
 cc Questo Volta in cui aduno quanto sapea far di 
 " piu. bello e di piii maestoso, fu 1' estremo, e delP 
 u Arte e dell' opere di Raffaello. Da indi innanzi 
 " non tocco piu penelli — soppraggiunto di mortale 
 " infirmita si mori cristianamente nel 1520, di 37 
 " anni, nel Venerdi santo, ch' era stato pure il giorno 
 " della sua nascita : e quella gran Tavola fu esposta 
 " insieme col suo cadavere nella Chiesa della Ro- 
 " tonda." 
 
 HE Artist's task is finish'd now, 
 His holiest and his last ; 
 With that his course of life is run, 
 His wish for life is past. 
 
RAPHAEL D'URBINO. 71 
 
 Content he lays the pencil down 
 
 He ne'er will touch again ; 
 Content awaits the closing hour, 
 
 Oppress'd by mortal pain. 
 
 What wonder ? How could he repine, 
 
 Or wish that hour delay'd, 
 Whose pencil, dipp'd in hues of heaven, 
 
 Had such a scene portray'd ; 
 Whose mind, from childhood's earliest years 
 
 To holy subjects bent, 
 On this, most beauteous, most sublime, 
 
 Its richest gifts had spent ? 
 
 He might have lived, perchance, to feel 
 
 His powers of mind decay, 
 And the rapture of triumphant Art 
 
 Fade from his heart away ; 
 'Twere worth a life of sorer toil, 
 
 A death of longer pain, 
 In prime of life, in noon of fame, 
 
 The bourne of rest to gain ! 
 
 The Artist's work is finish'd, 
 And he lays him down to die ; 
 
 But the Form Divine still fills his mind, 
 Stilt cheers his closing eye ; 
 
 And the thought is thrilling in his heart, — 
 " 'Tis goodly to be here, 
 
72 TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 
 
 " The Saviour's face of love to see, • 
 " His words of grace to hear!" 
 
 Within the fane that once enshrined 
 
 u All Gods" of heathen Rome, 
 Now by a holier name inscribed 
 
 " All Saints" of Christendom, 
 Beneath that vast Rotunda, mark ! 
 
 In Rome's approving view, 
 The Painter and his grandest work 
 
 Are brought for honour due. 
 
 Behind the lighted altar, see ! 
 
 The glorious canvas stands, 
 Last enterprise of Raphael's art, 
 
 Last work of Raphael's hands ; 
 Before the lighted altar, hark ! 
 
 The funeral rites are said, 
 Where Raphael's form extended lies, 
 
 But Raphael's soul is fled. 
 
 The Artist's work is finished, 
 
 But his fame can never die ; 
 Still glow his bright imaginings 
 
 Where cold his ashes lie ; 
 And the Faith that sanctified his Art, 
 
 And nerved his parting sign, 
 Hath left a halo round the name 
 
 Of" Raphael the Divine !" 
 
COPERNICUS. 
 
 FTER thirty years of vain effort to har- 
 monize the phenomena of the heavens 
 with the theory of Ptolemy, which 
 placed the earth in the centre, and 
 made the sun, planets, and starry heavens revolve 
 round it, Copernicus first doubted, and then dis- 
 believed. Finally, he was convinced, by a close ex- 
 amination of the motions of Venus, that the sun was 
 the centre, round which the earth and other planets 
 revolved. But, conscious of the hazard of opposing 
 a system defended by prejudice and by religion, he 
 put forth his own views with great caution, and only 
 after long delay ; and his great work, setting forth 
 his doctrines, was never read by its author in print, 
 and only reached him in time to cheer his dying 
 moments. 
 
 He died in 1543, at seventy years of age, nearly 
 an hundred years before the discoveries of Keplef 
 and Galileo confirmed and perfected those of Coper- 
 nicus. 23 
 
 OR thirty years the patient Sage has bent 
 his earnest eyes 
 To mark the wandering Orbs that make 
 the circuit of the skies, 
 
74 TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 
 
 Has sought to trace, from year to year, the orbit of 
 
 the Sun, 
 Which, since Creation, round the Earth his giant 
 
 course has run. 
 
 For so had ancient Science taught — the Earth a 
 central ball, 
 
 The Sun — the planets — moving round, on her depen- 
 dent all ; 
 
 The star-besprinkled canopy, that arches o'er the 
 night, 
 
 Round her revolving, hour by hour, in rapid cease- 
 less flight. 
 
 " It cannot be!" the mighty doubt at length hath 
 
 seized his mind ; 
 " Not thus they move in complex course, in mazes 
 
 intertwined ; — 
 " Not this the grand simplicity which early students 
 
 saw, 
 " Embracing all created orbs in one harmonious 
 
 Law!" 
 
 To one fair planet now the Sage devotes his patient 
 eyes, 
 
 In evening twilight marks her set, in morning twi- 
 light rise, 
 
COPERNICUS. 75 
 
 Notes every movement, every change ; — the glorious 
 
 truth is won, — 
 The centre of her course is found, — that centre is 
 
 the Sun ! 
 
 No more he doubts : — his ardent soul takes on the 
 Sun her place : 
 
 From thence his well-stored mind surveys th' illimit- 
 able space ; 
 
 Her central station Earth resigns — confusion dis- 
 appears — 
 
 In beauteous order round the Sun revolve the mighty 
 spheres ! 
 
 But Truth is slow, and Error strong : — and scarce 
 
 the patient Sage 
 Dares brave the persecution of a dark and bigot age : 
 With cautious words to trusted friends makes his 
 
 discoveries known, 
 With cautious hand indites the truths which future 
 
 times shall own. 
 
 There are friends around an aged man upon a humble 
 
 bed ; 
 The snows of three-score years and ten are on his 
 
 beard and head ; 
 Upon his noble brow and face have risen the dews 
 
 of death ; 
 
76 TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 
 
 Yet hath his eye not lost its fire — nor lost his soul 
 its faith ! 
 
 Beside him lies a Holy Book; — the path his soul 
 hath trod, 
 
 'Mid heavenly orbs, hath made her cling with closer 
 trust to God ; — 
 
 Beside him lies another book — unopen'd, and un- 
 read, — 
 
 " Alas ! that it too late has come to cheer his dying 
 bed!" 
 
 " Ah, no ! " the patient Sage replies, " six thousand 
 
 years have past 
 " Since God the glorious System framed, which I 
 
 declare at last : 
 " I well may wait an hundred years till men the 
 
 Truth shall own, 
 " Which He so many thousand years hath waited 
 
 to make known !" 
 
SACRED POEMS 
 
 «S2AS^ 
 
HYMN 
 
 WRITTEN FOR MUSIC. 
 
 EAR from Thine heavenly throne, 
 Father of all! 
 Most mighty Three in One, 
 Hear when we call ! 
 Thou, who for us didst die ! 
 
 Thou, who hast made ! 
 Thou, who dost sanctify ! 
 Send us Thine aid ! 
 
 Hear, from Thy glorious place, 
 
 Seated on high ! 
 Send us, O Christ, Thy grace ; 
 
 Hear, when we cry ! 
 By all the precious blood 
 
 Which Thou hast pour'd, 
 Nail'd to the accursed wood, 
 
 Save us, good Lord ! 
 
8o HYMN. 
 
 Save, from the deadly power 
 
 Of our great foe ! 
 Save, in wealth's trying hour,- 
 
 Save us in woe ! 
 Strengthen our humble faith, 
 
 Built on Thy word ; 
 And, in the hour of death, 
 
 Save us, good Lord ! 
 
CHRIST TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 ISAIAH, LXIII. 
 
 HO cometh here from Edom's rocks, 
 
 From Bozrah's haughty tower : 
 That journeyeth glorious in array, 
 Majestic in His power? 
 With garments red from fields of blood, 
 
 A Conqueror He doth seem ! 
 " I come, who speak in righteousness, 
 " The Mighty to redeem !" 
 
 And why is Thine apparel red, 
 
 Like his who treads the vine ? 
 And why, like his who treads the vat, 
 
 Do all Thy garments shine ? 
 t€ The winepress I have trodden out — 
 
 " Have trodden it alone : 
 " And in that bloody vintage-hour 
 
 " With Me there stood not one. 
 
 " In anger did I trample them, 
 " In fury did I tread ; 
 
 G 
 
82 CHRIST TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 " Their blood is sprinkled on My robe, 
 
 " My raiment all is red : 
 " The awful day is in Mine heart 
 
 " Of vengeance on My foes; 
 " The year is come when I redeem 
 
 ** My people from their foes. 
 
 " And I beheld — but none could save 
 
 " His brethren by his hand ; 
 " I wondering saw no child of man 
 
 " In that dread day could stand ; — 
 " Therefore Mine own right arm alone 
 
 " My great salvation brought ; 
 " And by my strength of zeal upheld 
 
 u The conquest I have wrought!" 
 
 Yes ! Thou hast conquer'd mightier foes 
 
 Than Edom's hostile power, 
 Hast Victor come from stronger holds 
 
 Than Bozrah's haughty tower ! 
 For Thou hast burst the gates of Death, 
 
 And laid beneath Thee low, 
 By Thy right hand and holy arm, 
 
 Thine Israel's hellish foe ! 
 
 Thou didst behold no child of man 
 His brother's soul could save, 
 
 Or make agreement unto God 
 To free him from the grave ; 
 
CHRIST TRIUMPHANT. 83 
 
 A costlier price their souls demand 
 Than man hath power to pay ; t 
 
 And therefore Thou, O Christ, wouldst die 
 That we might live for aye ! 
 
 And therefore, when the appointed year 
 
 Of Thy redeemed came, 
 Thou didst assume the flesh of man, 
 
 Didst take a mortal frame ; 
 Thou didst the bloody winepress tread 
 
 Of suffering from Thy foes, 
 To save Thy people from their sins, 
 
 From hell's eternal woes. 
 
 And therefore, when o'er Hell and Death 
 
 The conquest Thou hadst won, 
 Thou didst ascend to God's right hand, 
 
 And take Thy glorious throne ; 
 There still dost thou retain, O Lord, 
 
 The Mediator's seat, 
 Until the Lord shall make Thy foes 
 
 The footstool for Thy feet. 
 
 Gird then, O Thou most mighty One, 
 Thy sword upon Thy thigh ! 
 
 Ride forth ! Avenge Thee on Thy foes 
 Who still Thy Name defy ! 
 
84 CHRIST TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 But when that winepress of God's wrath 
 Thy conquering feet shall tread, 
 
 Help us, Thy children, Lord, for whom 
 Thy precious blood wa.s shed ! 
 
 Thou art our Father, — though not us 
 
 Hath Abraham begot ; — 
 Though Isaac, and though Israel 
 
 Our names acknowledge not ! 
 Thou art our Father still, O Christ, 
 
 And our Redeeming Lord, 
 The Righteousness of God most high, 
 
 The One Eternal Word ! 
 
A LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 (imitated from herrick.) 24 
 
 I. 
 
 OLY Spirit ! Gift of Heaven, 
 By the Saviour's promise given 
 To the heart by sorrow riven; 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 Spirit Thou of Love and Peace ! 
 Give my weary heart release, — 
 Bid its sinful struggles cease : — 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 Spirit Thou of meek enduring, 
 With Thy strength our weakness curing, 
 And with holy Hope assuring, — 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 When I go, from morn to night, 
 Toiling in the Christian fight, 
 Needing strength, and needing light, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
86 A LITANY TO THE 
 
 When the road seems steep and strait, 
 And I feel my labour great, 
 Bending with my burden's weight, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the toil my spirit paineth ; — 
 When each effort vainly straineth, 
 Nor the mark appointed gaineth : — 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 in. 
 
 When the cares of mortal life, 
 Round my pathway gathering rife, 
 Bar me in the Christian strife, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When my way is dark and drear, 
 And mine eyesight is not clear ; 
 When I need a voice to cheer ; 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When my heart within me quaileth 
 For the trouble that assaileth ; 
 When the friend I've trusted faileth, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
HOLY SPIRIT. 87 
 
 IV. 
 
 When my soul is sick with sin 
 And the taint that is within ; 
 When I fain would pardon win ; 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When I muse on Him who died 
 With His pierced hands and side ; 
 Trusting on the Crucified ; 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When I make my sad confession, 
 Through His heavenly intercession 
 Pleading still for man's transgression, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 v. 
 
 When my prayer is faint and weak ; — 
 When I know not what to seek ; — 
 In the sighs that cannot speak, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 In the time of rest and ease, 
 When the snares of wealth increase; — 
 Thou, whose chastening touch is peace, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
88 A LITANY. 
 
 In the days of tribulation, 
 In the hours of deep vexation, 
 When from sorrow comes temptation, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 When the shade is o'er me cast ; 
 When life's light is fading fast ; 
 In the hour of death, at last, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 By the blood of God's dear Son 
 Cleanse my soul from evil done ; 
 And by faith in Him alone, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 On the morn of Resurrection, 
 By His blood and Thy protection, 
 With assurance of perfection, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
THE DAILY SERVICE OF GOD'S 
 CHURCH, 
 
 HEN in the desert forty years 
 The tribes of God abode, 
 And o'er their camp His glorious cloud 
 The Almighty's presence show'd ; 
 Each morn and eve from Aaron's hands 
 
 Behold the incense rise ; 
 Each morn and eve his people bring 
 The appointed sacrifice. 
 
 Such was their service, when at length 
 
 The promised rest they gain'd, 
 In Shiloh while the curtain'd tent 
 
 The Ark of God contain'd ; 
 Each morn and eve the lamb was slain, 
 
 Type of the Lamb Divine ; 
 Each morn and eve the Type of Prayer 
 
 Burn'd in the Holy Shrine. 
 
 Such, when the house, by David plann'd, 
 
 Was built by David's son, 
 And in the Temple's holiest place 
 
 Jehovah's glory shone ; 
 
9 o THE DAILY SERVICE 
 
 Each morn and eve the Priests in course 
 
 Were wont their part to bear ; 
 Each morn and eve the people came 
 
 For daily praise and prayer. 
 
 Here Simeon, waiting for the Lord, 
 
 Devoutly would resort, 
 And aged Anna day nor night 
 
 Forsook that holy court ; 
 And here their longing eyes beheld 
 
 Salvation's dawning ray, 
 The " Glory of His Israel's race, 
 
 €i The Gentiles' opening day." 
 
 What though, when Christ had died and risen. 
 
 No lamb need sufFer there, 
 Still John and Peter sought its gates 
 
 At wonted iC Hour of Prayer :" 
 Still in those courts, " with one accord, 
 
 " The faithful daily stay'd," 
 And daily broke, " from house to house, 
 
 " The consecrated bread." 
 
 So, when at length His Church had pass ? d 
 
 Her persecution-fires, 
 When Queens her nursing-mothers were, 
 
 And Kings her nursing-sires; 
 
OF GOD'S CHURCH. 91 
 
 Where'er for worship of her Lord 
 
 The stately shrine was raised, 
 There, morn and eve, u the prayer was made, 
 
 " And daily was He praised." 
 
 So, when our Island Church was cleansed 
 
 From superstition's stain, 
 And offer'd, as in earliest times, 
 
 Unsullied rites again, 
 She fail'd not to instruct her sons 
 
 To " praise Him day by day," 
 Each morn and eve to hear His Word, 
 
 Each morn and eve to pray. 
 
 What though neglect and worldly cares 
 
 Have chill'd devotion's flame, 
 His daily mercies and our wants 
 
 A daily homage claim ; 
 Still day by day the praise is due 
 
 To Him who guards our bed, 
 Still day by day we need the prayer 
 
 That asks " our daily bread." 
 
 How good in God's own house each day 
 
 Our errors to confess ; 
 Each day to hear His Word of peace, 
 
 Of truth, of righteousness ; 
 
9 z THE DAILY SERVICE. 
 
 Each day in common Psalms and Hymns 
 
 Our grateful part to bear ; 
 And, for our own and others' wants, 
 
 To join in Common Prayer ! 
 
 And so our Zion's holiest sons 
 
 Have loved to seek the shrine, 
 When summon'd by the daily bell 
 
 To offices divine ; 
 Have joy'd to feel their praise and prayer 
 
 Like morning incense rise, 
 Their lifting up of holy hands 
 
 Like evening sacrifice ! 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND 
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 
 '^■GJ^PV 
 
LAYS OF THE SEASONS 
 
 SUMMER LONGINGS. 
 
 (for music.) 
 
 WOULD I were in the greenwood 
 bowers, 
 In the lone and lovely vale, 
 Where odours of the summer flowers 
 
 Are floating on the gale ; 
 Where fields are green, and 'mid the woods 
 
 The birds are singing free, — 
 Where murmuring flow the mountain floods, 
 For there's the home for me ! 
 
 I'd leave the city's lofty towers, 
 Its crowds and dazzling glare, 
 
 To hear the birds, to cull the flowers, 
 To breathe the mountain air ! 
 
9 6 
 
 LAYS OF THE SEASONS. 
 
 There are slaves within the halls of pride, 
 The fields — the woods are free ! 
 
 I would I were by the greenwood side, 
 For there's the home for me ! 
 
 
SUMMER EVENING MUSINGS. 
 
 " Isaac went out to meditate in the field at the eventide. 
 
 HEN eve is gently stealing on, 
 O'er mountain, wood, and hill, 
 The heart of meditative mood 
 What holy musings fill ! 
 How does each sight direct the soul 
 
 From earth to Heaven to look, 
 And read the praise of Nature's God 
 In Nature's lovely book! 
 
 Behold the lilies clothed by Him ! 
 
 Less glorious far than they 
 The greatest king that ever reign'd 
 
 In all his bright array : 
 Observe the birds ! His praise they sing, 
 
 To Him in want they flee; — 
 Will He who clothes the flower, the bird, 
 
 Deny His care to thee ? 
 
 The cattle seek their home, and claim 
 Their master's wonted care, 
 
 H 
 
98 LAYS OF THE SEASONS. 
 
 To ease them from their daily toil, 
 And needful food prepare : — 
 
 Trust thou in Him who shall thy soul 
 In heavenly pastures feed, 
 
 And to the waters of His grace 
 Thy weary spirit lead ! 
 
 The sun, who as a giant rose, 
 
 Rejoicing in his might, 
 Is yielding to the gentler moon; 
 
 The ruler of the night, 
 And, gilding with his parting rays 
 
 The chambers of the West, 
 With promise of a glorious morn 
 
 Is sinking to his rest. 
 
 So may I strive, whate'er my lot, 
 
 To do my Maker's will, 
 And still, from day to day, with joy 
 
 My duty's course fulfil ; 
 That when my sun at length shall set, 
 
 And life shall pass away, 
 The night of death may only lead 
 
 To everlasting day ! 
 
THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 
 
 (written for music.) 
 
 |AY, seek not now to check my grief, 
 " I wish not to be gay, — 
 " For tears alone can bring relief 
 " For what I feel to-day ! 
 " The wind is blowing loud and shrill, — 
 
 " The leaves are falling brown and sere,— 
 " Each flower that dies upon the hill 
 <c Tells of the dying year ! 
 
 " How many, in this year's short round, 
 
 " The lovely and the brave, 
 " Have fallen, like leaves, upon the ground,- 
 
 " Are slumbering in the grave ! 
 '* How soon may we be like the leaf 
 
 " That left its parent stem to-day ! 
 " Then let me seek in tears relief, — 
 
 " I could not now be gay !" 
 
 Nay, check thy tears ! the flower that dies 
 Will blossom yet again, 
 
ioo LAYS OF THE SEASONS. 
 
 When Winter's storms have left the skies, 
 And Spring renews the plain ; — 
 
 And so the hour that takes thy breath 
 More lasting, brighter joys shall bring ;- 
 
 A glorious Life shall rise from Death — 
 An everlasting Spring ! 
 
DARK DAYS. 
 (written for music.) 
 
 O — in vain to hide my sorrow 
 I assume a cheerful smile ; 
 And the mask of gladness borrow, 
 Though my heart is sad the while : 
 
 For the stream, in silence gliding, 
 Deepest and most darkly flows ; — 
 
 And the heart, in secret hiding, 
 Feels with sharpest pang its woes ! 
 
 Let me then indulge my sorrow, — 
 
 Vain the effort to be gay ; — 
 Brighter hopes may dawn to-morrow, — 
 
 All is dark and sad to-day ! 
 
 I have hoped, when hope was madness — 
 
 I have lived to see it vain ! 
 Yet in hours of deepest sadness 
 
 Still I cling to hope again ! 
 
102 LAYS OF THE SEASONS. 
 
 For the Spring's most lovely flowers 
 Rise from Winter's chilling night ;- 
 
 And the storm that blackest lowers 
 Yields before the sunbeam's light. 
 
 Thus perchance the clouds of sadness 
 From my brow may pass away, 
 
 And again the smile of gladness 
 Gild the brow so sad to-day ! 
 
WINTER CONSOLATIONS. 
 
 (written for music.) 
 
 EEP not, weep not for the hours 
 Of sunshine that are past ! 
 Though the wintry wind is blowing 
 cold, 
 And the leaves are falling fast ; 
 The prospect yet shall brighter grow, 
 And sweeter flowers will bloom ; — 
 Weep not, weep not ! though to-day 
 The sky is hung with gloom. 
 
 Weep not, weep not ! though the hopes, 
 
 That lately seem'd so sweet, 
 Have vanish'd like the dreams of morn, 
 
 As baseless and as fleet ; 
 For other hopes more true will rise, 
 
 And life be bright again; — 
 Weep not, weep not ! though to-day 
 
 Thy path be mark'd with pain ! 
 
 Weep not, weep not! when the clouds, 
 That now so dark appear, 
 
io4 LAYS OF THE SEASONS. 
 
 Shall melt before the bursting sun, 
 And heaven again be clear ; 
 
 How slight to memory then will seem 
 The storms that saddest lower ! 
 
 Weep not, weep not for the grief 
 That may but last an hour ! 
 
SPRING REJOICINGS. 
 
 HE Spring ! The Spring ! I dearly love 
 The happy joyous Spring ! 
 When the primrose bud is bursting forth, 
 And the lark begins to sing ; 
 When the little birds are building in 
 
 Each bank, and bush, and tree ; 
 And waken'd from its death-like sleep 
 All nature seems to be. 
 
 Oh, the Summer it is lovely, when 
 
 The rose her sweetness yields ; 
 And the Autumn time is gladsome too 
 
 When harvest crowns the fields ; 
 And happy is the Winter's hearth, 
 
 And merry is its cheer ; 
 But best of all I love the Spring, 
 
 The morning of the year ! 
 
 I love to tread the elastic sod 
 When the herbage springs again, 
 
 And o'er the furrow'd ground to see 
 The farmer sow the grain ; 
 
io6 LAYS OF THE SEASONS, 
 
 But, best of all, from the opening bud 
 
 The tender leaves to see, 
 And, best of all, to hear aloft 
 
 The lark's sweet melody ! 
 
 The Spring ! The Spring ! I dearly love 
 
 The happy joyous Spring ! 
 Then heavenward rise the buoyant thoughts 
 
 Like lark upon the wing, 
 Forgetful of the troubled scenes 
 
 That throng this world of care, 
 And fix'd upon the perfect joys 
 
 That shall be endless there. 
 
 The Heathen sorrow'd that " the flowers, 25 
 
 " Which had in Autumn died, 
 " Again reviving, court the Spring, 
 
 " And bloom in Summer pride ; 
 " But men, the great, the strong, the wise, 
 
 <c When comes our hour of doom, 
 Ci Sleep sound within the hollow'd earth 
 
 S€ In endless, wakeless gloom." 
 
 Not such the Christian's happier Hope ; — 
 
 The flower he sees revive 26 
 Reminds him of that heavenly Spring 
 
 When he again shall live ; 
 
SPRING REJOICINGS. 
 
 107 
 
 When that which, " in corruption sown," 
 
 Hath moulder'd to decay, 
 Shall rise to never-fading bloom, 
 
 In one eternal day ! 
 
CONSUMPTION, 
 
 IS sad to see when early nipp'd the bud 
 
 of childhood lies, — 
 'Tis sad when, fallen in prime of strength, 
 the flower of manhood dies, — 
 'Tis sad, when age is wearied out, when manhood's 
 
 strength is past, 
 And in cc the sere and yellow leaf" sinks down to 
 rest at last ; 
 
 But nought so sad as to behold in youth's most 
 
 blooming day 
 The wasting sickness seize the frame, and wear the 
 
 strength away; 
 When Medicine can only sigh, and own her aid is 
 
 vain ; 
 And still the victim bears the pang, yet never will 
 
 complain ! 
 
 When the hectic flush upon the cheek supplants the 
 
 bloom of health, 
 Yet nought declares the pain except the sigh escaped 
 
 by stealth ; — 
 
CONSUMPTION. 109 
 
 But saddest is the deep-drawn cough that racks the 
 
 wasted breast, 
 WJiile the languid eye too truly tells the sufferer 
 
 cannot rest ! 
 
 Yet no thought is there of self, but all of those 
 
 who're left behind ; 
 And still, the weaker grows the frame, the stronger 
 
 seems the mind : — 
 For, with each pang the body feels, new strength 
 
 from high is given, 
 And the trial of the mortal part but fits the soul for 
 
 Heaven ! 
 
YESTERDAY. 
 
 IS gone ! we never can recall 
 The moments pass'd away : 
 And memory — memory now is all 
 We have of yesterday! 
 
 Our memory sadly loves to dwell 
 
 On ills of yesterday, — 
 Our hopes are of to-morrow's good, — 
 
 We never live to-day ! 
 
 Vain hopes ! that morrow, so desired, 
 
 Is ever far away : — 
 i 
 
 Vain memory ! no regrets can change 
 One ill of yesterday ! 
 
 A few short moments more of pains 
 
 And joys must pass away ; 
 And all our morrows here on earth 
 
 Will be with yesterday ! 
 
ON MOURNFUL MUSIC. 
 
 " I am never merry when I hear sweet music." 
 
 " Perhaps," says the king Dushmanta, in the Hindu drama 
 of Sacontala, " the sadness of men, otherwise happy, on seeing 
 " beautiful forms and listening to sweet melody, arises from 
 " some faint remembrance of past joys, and the traces of con- 
 " nections in a former state of existence." 
 
 Maurice, Hindu Antiq. 
 
 |H, why are happy hearts and gay 
 
 By Music led to thoughts of sorrow ? 
 ^j Why love from pensive strain or lay 
 A chasten'd sadder tone to borrow ? 
 
 Why is it, when the day is past 
 In every change of joyous gladness, 
 
 We love the calm that breathes at last 
 From Music's thrilling tone of sadness ? 
 
 As when a stormy day is o'er, 
 
 And now the tempest's roar is dying, 
 
 'Tis sweet to wander on the shore, 
 And hear its murmurs faintly sighing ! 
 
ii2 ON MOURNFUL MUSIC. 
 
 Is it that while upon the ear 
 
 The mournful strains are softly stealing, 
 Their sound recalls some scene most dear, 
 
 And strikes some hidden chord of feeling ? 
 
 Then, while we listen to each tone, 
 
 Forgetting all the joys before us, 
 Visions of pleasure past and gone 
 
 In fancy's eye come crowding o'er us ! 
 
 Perhaps it may be that the soul, 
 
 An exile from her native heaven, 
 Feels, as the tones of music roll, 
 
 Traces of joys that there were given : — 
 
 Faint traces ! which at times return, 
 Although the brighter joys are vanish'd, 
 
 While in the bosom dimly burn 
 
 Gleams of the Heaven from which 'tis banish'd, 
 
 Thus, while the sweetest notes recall 
 
 Thoughts of that bliss surpassing measure, 
 
 The Soul, still mindful of her fall, 
 
 Feels human grief obscure her pleasure ! 
 
MUSIC IN SADNESS. 
 (written for music.) 
 
 'iSE ! rise ! Minstrel, arise ! 
 Strike thy soft harp in its mournfullest 
 strains ! 
 
 Strike ! for no balm 
 
 My spirit can calm 
 Like the deep feeling thy music contains 1 
 
 Strike ! for my breast 
 
 With grief is opprest, 
 Which must swell into madness, or melt into tears ; 
 
 Soon from my soul 
 
 The shadows will roll, 
 When the soft voice of music descends on my ears ! 
 
 Nay ! nay ! Sing not to-day 
 Aught that is merry or joyous to me ! 
 
 Useless and vain 
 
 That livelier strain ; — 
 Mournful and sad should the melody be ! 
 
 Seek not to force 
 
 My grief from its course, — 
 i 
 
ii4 
 
 MUSIC IN SADNESS, 
 
 Let the full bitter tide of my sorrow flow on ! 
 
 I may listen again 
 
 To a happier strain, 
 When my heart is relieved — when its shadows are 
 gone! 
 
PARTING. 
 (written for music.) 
 
 HY should we yield to reflections of 
 sorrow ? 
 In looks be we merry, although not 
 in heart : — 
 Time to be sad will be left us to-morrow, — 
 Why should we sadden to-day ere we part ? 
 
 Why, over future afflictions lamenting, 
 Lose the few moments we yet may enjoy ? 
 
 Why, for the ills that are now past preventing, 
 Moments so precious with sadness alloy ? 
 
 No ! let us strive to enjoy the last minute 
 
 Which Time, rolling rapidly onward, will give ; 
 
 And drain Pleasure's cup of the last drop that's in it, — 
 Memory will sweeten that drop while we live ! 
 
 No ! let us hope for a happier meeting, — 
 
 While our hearts are as warm, and our eyes are 
 as gay ! 
 
 The kind voice of welcome, the glad smile of greeting, 
 Will drown all the pain of our parting to-day ! 
 
FOREBODINGS. 
 
 " When shall we Six meet again ?" 57 
 
 LAS ! dear friends, the poet's song of 
 cheer 
 Was the faint breathing of a sadden'd 
 heart ; 
 The hour that severs us is all too near, — 
 Too deep the feeling what it is to part. 
 
 For in this world of change the word " Farewell" 
 May scarce be said without a thrill of pain: — 
 
 And, after days so happy, who can tell 
 If we, who part, shall ever meet again ? 
 
 How blithely sail'd we on the sunny wave, 
 How gaily climb'd the steep and craggy hill, 
 
 Together rested in the mountain cave, 
 
 Or sought the course of the sequester'd rill ! 
 
 Ours has been all that could an hour beguile, 
 The charms of poesy, the game of mirth ; 
 
 Ours, too, has been the merry laugh and smile, 
 To which the heart's own gaiety gave birth. 
 
FOREBODINGS. 117 
 
 And every day has been so free from care, 
 
 That, which the sweetest, scarcely can we say ; 
 
 But all must end : — and who can say if e'er 
 We meet again, so many, and so gay ? 
 
 For some may wander under distant skies, 
 Lands may divide, and seas between us roll*, 
 
 The cares and griefs of life too soon will rise, 
 And check " the genial current of the soul." 
 
 Or soon each thought and feeling may he changed, 
 Some fancied wrong our memories may blot ; 
 
 And we may meet again, with hearts estranged, 
 Each happy moment — each kind word — forgot ! 
 
 O ! thought of all most sad and full of pain ! 
 
 Better to know our lots far distant cast, 
 Yet vainly hope that we may meet again, — 
 
 Than meet, forgetful of these pleasures past! 
 
 For who, that has a soul, could bear to part 
 From hearts so kind, and eyes so joyous now. 
 
 And meet instead the worse than stranger heart, — 
 The half- averted eye — the clouded brow? 
 
 Yet such may be our lot, — for such has been, 
 Ere now, the lot of other hearts as gay, 
 
 Whose fancy, changing with each changing scene, 
 To-morrow leaves no memory of to-day. 
 
u8 FOREBODINGS. 
 
 But hence, such sad Forebodings ! and again 
 Hope we to meet, with feelings unestranged, 
 
 With cloudless memory, with no thought of pain, 
 In age, in minds advanced, in hearts unchanged ! 
 
 For me, remembrance of each happy hour 
 
 Shall each delight enhance, and soothe each ill ; 
 
 Sweet, e'en at distance, like that favourite flower, 
 Whose leaves, though faded, keep some sweetness 
 still! 
 
 1828. 
 
RETROSPECT. 
 
 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 11^ URN we, Sister, back our glances,- 
 Were the sad forebodings vain ? 
 Were they only sickly fancies? 
 No ! the Six ne'er met again ! 
 
 Of so many kindly-hearted, 
 
 Some were sever'd — once for aye; 
 
 Some have rarely met, and parted, 
 Passing on life's busy way. 
 
 No unkindness e'er estranged us ; 
 
 Friendly memories still remain ; 
 Time hath only slowly changed us ; 
 
 But the Six ne'er met again ! 
 
 Soon the cares of life have found us 
 Each within a separate sphere ; 
 
 And the friendly ties that bound us 
 Yield to bonds more close and dear. 
 
i2o RETROSPECT, 
 
 Two their hearts for life have plighted, — 
 Mine the joy, and mine the pain, — 
 
 Death that bond has disunited, — 
 Six can never meet again ! 
 
 Sweet those days of happy greetings, — 
 Dear the pleasures which they gave, — 
 
 But the partings and the meetings 
 All are now beyond the grave. 
 
 Still their memory may be cherish'd, 
 And, where souls immortal reign, 
 
 When the dreams of life have perish'd, 
 Still we all may meet again ! 
 
 1845. 
 
DESPONDENCY CORRECTED. 28 
 
 H, say not life has not a joy 
 For those it takes away, 
 Though " the glow of early thought 
 decline," 
 And passion's warmth decay ; 
 Though with the spring- tide of the soul 
 
 Its wilder joys be past, 
 And, deepening o'er the stream of life, 
 The shades of care be cast. 
 
 Though the lightsome eye and cloudless brow 
 
 Of youth be fled and gone, 
 Say, does the happiness of man 
 
 Depend on these alone ? 
 Hast thou no " magnet of thy course " 
 
 To guide thee to the shore, 
 Where tears shall from all eyes be dried, 
 
 And sorrow be no more ? 
 
 Though commerce with an evil world 
 Thine heart hath stricken cold, 
 
122 DESPONDENCY CORRECTED. 
 
 And though the fount of tears be stopp'd 
 
 That freely flow'd of old; 
 A ray from Heaven e'en yet may warm 
 
 With life that heart of stone, 
 And others' woes may force the tear 
 
 That falls not for thine own ! 
 
 In vain thou seek'st the halls of mirth 
 
 And laughter's maddening sound, 
 Can grief that inly racks the soul 
 
 By revelry be drown'd ? 
 Oh, fly for comfort to the hopes 
 
 Of brighter joys above, — 
 To the heavenly mercy of thy God, 
 
 His pity, and His love ! 
 
 And though thy sorrow here on earth 
 
 No comfort may receive, 
 Yet may thy soothing hand perchance 
 
 Another's woes relieve ; 
 As the palm-tree, in the desert, shades 
 
 The way-worn traveller's brow, 
 Though on itself unshaded falls 
 
 The sun's meridian glow. 
 
A WISH AT EVENING. 
 
 H, could I leave this dull cold earth, 
 " And reach some fairy bowers, 
 " And wander in a land unknown 
 " Of ' music, light, and flowers ;' 
 " Just such a land, methinks, might lie 
 
 " Beyond yon golden cloud, 
 " Far from the busy troubled world, 
 " The selfish, and the proud ! 
 
 " Oh, there, untouch'd by mortal cares, 
 
 " And bathed in heavenly light, 
 " The soul in freedom might enjoy 
 
 ct Her native, pure delight ; 
 " Where sweetest sounds should charm the ear ? 
 
 u And flowers eternal bloom ; 
 ** No grief should enter there — no dread 
 
 c( Of sickness and the tomb ! 
 
 " But here, alas, the soul is bound 
 
 " By ties of mortal pain ; 
 " In vain, a prisoner to the earth, 
 
 " She strives to burst her chain ! 
 
124 A WISH AT EVENING, 
 
 u Yes ! she is of immortal birth, 
 " And seeks a home divine ; 
 
 " Oh, wherefore in this troubled world 
 " Is she condemned to pine ? " 
 
 'Tis true, fair mourner, that the soul 
 
 Is not of mortal birth, 
 But wanders toward a distant home, 
 
 A pilgrim upon earth ; 
 Yet though she lingers in the land 
 
 Of fancy's fairy dreams, 
 Not such may be her place of rest, 
 
 All lovely though it seems ! 
 
 No ear of man hath ever heard, 
 
 No eye hath ever seen, 
 The heart of man may not conceive, 
 
 The glories of that scene, 
 Where she may rest at length in peace,- 
 
 Thus much to know is given, 
 She has indeed a home divine, — 
 
 Her resting-place is Heaven ! 
 
THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY, 
 
 REPRESENTED AS A LOVELY CHILD SEATED IN A ROSE. 
 
 " Beauty shines forth in all His works in symmetry and 
 order." — Lecture on Wisdom, Strength, and Beauty. 
 
 HAT beautiful form are yon rose-leaves 
 disclosing? 
 
 What sylph has made choice of so 
 lovely a bed ? 
 'Tis the Spirit of Beauty in sweetness reposing — 
 That Spirit whose power through all Nature is 
 shed ! 
 
 'Twas she, when the dawn of Creation was springing, 
 
 Attended the work of the w Ancient of days," 
 When the stars of the morning with gladness were 
 singing, 
 And the sons of the Highest were shouting His 
 praise ! 
 
 When the Sun first appear'd, his full brightness 
 revealing, 
 She illumined the sky with his orient light; 
 
z6 THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY, 
 
 When first over Nature the evening was stealing, 
 She soften'd the rays of the Planet of night. 
 
 And thus, from the Sun in his glorious station, 
 To the planets that round him unceasingly roll, 
 
 The Spirit of Beauty pervades the Creation, 
 Uniting in exquisite order the whole : 
 
 And filling each part of the System of Nature, 
 From the orb of a sun to the bell of a flower, 
 
 Still she tends to the glory of one great Creator, 
 Exalting His wisdom, adorning His power ! 
 
HELVELLYN. 
 STOOD on the top of the mighty Hel- 
 
 VELLYN ; 
 
 £*py||2£ Beneath me a Tarn in its mossy bed 
 
 lay, 
 From whose basin unruffled a streamlet, forth 
 welling, 
 Pursued through the Vale of Glenridding its way. 
 And Ulleswater's length was extended before me, 
 Begirt with its mountain-banks rugged and wild, 
 As blue as the sky that hung cloudlessly o'er me, 
 As peaceful and calm as the sleep of a child. 
 
 Around me the features of Nature were lying, 
 
 In sternest and awfullest grandeur outspread ; 
 And my eye roved enraptured, each mountain des- 
 crying 
 Which raised o'er the valley its cloud-shadow'd 
 head. 
 There Skiddaw its cone to the sky was uprearing, 
 Which proudly looks down over Derwent's clear 
 Lake ; 
 There, Borrowdale's Valley was darkly appearing ; 
 There, rose over Langdale the pass of the Stake. 
 
28 HELVELLYN. 
 
 There, Grassmoor, the prospect more distantly- 
 crowning, 
 
 O'er Crummock's deep waters hung far in the 
 west ; 
 There, the Pillar's high precipice, awfully frowning, 
 
 Exalted o'er Ennerdale's Liza his crest. 
 Here Pikes, and here Sca-Fell, his rival and brother, 
 
 Whose summits a deep rocky fissure divides, 
 Scowling grimly across it, as hating each other, 
 
 Looked scornfully down on all mountains besides. 29 
 
 And further in distance, more southward advancing, 
 
 Old Coniston's mountain his pinnacle raised ; 
 While, near me, each streamlet in sunlight was 
 glancing 
 In its deep rocky chasm, as delighted I gazed. 
 With transport I hail'd every tarn-springing fountain, 
 Which foamingly rush'd down the hill's rugged 
 side; 
 With transport I hail'd every cliff, every mountain, 
 Which the heather's rich blossom with purple 
 had dyed. 
 
 I had wander'd among them— -had noted each feature, 
 In sunshine and shadow, in smile and in tears ; 
 
 And the memory of these, the deep secrets of Nature, 
 Shall yield not to sorrow, shall fade not in years ! 
 
HELVELLYN. 129 
 
 I had wander'd among them — had felt the wild 
 pleasure 
 
 Their free-sweeping breezes can give to the heart: — 
 Had felt that wealth had not so precious a treasure, 
 
 Ambition no rapture so pure could impart ! 
 
 O ! dearer to me are the airs of the mountain, 
 
 As aloft on their health-bearing courses they blow ; 
 And sweeter, far sweeter, the gush of the fountain, 
 
 As it bursts from its rock to the streamlet below ! 
 And I would not exchange one such hour that I've 
 wander'd, 
 
 As wild as the star-grass that blooms on the ground, 
 For years that in heartless amusements are squander'd, 
 
 By the votaries whom Fashion in fetters has bound. 
 
 They know not, who live in such slavish devotion, 
 
 When vanity's schemes their best feelings alloy, — 
 They know not the deep, the heart-thrilling emotion 
 
 Which Nature's admirer alone can enjoy; 
 While thus, in the wildest retreats of Creation, 
 
 He looks up with faith to their Author above, 
 Who hath placed the round world on its solid 
 foundation, 
 
 Which He made by His power, and adorns in 
 His love ! 
 
IE RISING OF THE LARK. 30 
 
 H ! pleasant in the woodland is 
 The cooing of the Dove, 
 And the evensong of Nightingales 
 Is lovely in the grove, 
 And sweetly sings his matin song 
 The Thrush on tree- top high ; 
 But dearest far to me the Lark, 
 That singeth in the sky ! 
 
 The earth-brown bird upriseth from 
 
 His nest upon the ground, 
 And with his thrilling song of joy 
 
 Fills all the air around ; 
 It seems as Earth had sent him forth 
 
 To sound her Maker's praise, 
 To thank Him for returning Spring, 
 
 And hopes of Summer days. 
 
 High poised above the fertile field, 
 
 He warbles, clear and high, 
 And sings the charms of early dawn 
 
 When sunrise gilds the sky, 
 
THE RISING OF THE LARK. 131 
 
 And the gladsome springing of the flowers ; 
 
 And, circling yet above, 
 In softer, sweeter notes proclaims 
 
 The joys of early love ! 
 
 Still rises the unwearied bird ; 
 
 Yet, though beyond the sight, 
 The ear can catch the distant notes 
 
 Which quiver with delight, 
 Which speak the rapture of a heart 
 
 O'erflowing with its glee, 
 With fervent longings after light, 
 
 And Heaven, and liberty ! 
 
 Yet longer could I listen, for 
 
 So lovely is the strain ! 
 But, see, the Lark, exhausted now, 
 
 Drops down to earth again : — 
 For all too weak his mortal wings 
 
 That heavenward flight to bear, 
 And all too gross his earthly breast 
 
 To breathe that heavenly air ! 
 
 Yet, not in vain, — though earth recalls 
 The dust that earth hath given, — 
 
 The Lark hath spread his soaring wing, 
 And drunk the air of Heaven ; 
 
1 32 THE RISING OF THE LARK. 
 
 In search of light and liberty, 
 From earth's delights he sprung ; 
 
 And light and liberty to earth 
 His rapturous notes have sung ! 
 
 And so the high-aspiring soul, 
 
 That fain would heavenward rise, 
 Returneth oft, with strength o'ertask'd, 
 
 Recall'd by earthly ties ; 
 Returneth, but with heart refresh'd 
 
 To meet each earthly care, 
 With hopes of light and liberty, 
 
 That breathe in heavenly air ! 
 
THE FOG-BELLS. 
 
 nOS! J sr n ^ midnight ! On the margin of the wide- 
 ly extended Strand 
 
 A The tide is ebbing gently from the 
 shallow shelving sand : 
 
 The crescent moon an hour ago hath sunk beneath 
 the sky ; 
 
 There is no cloud ; and yet no light of stars hath 
 reach'd the eye. 
 
 At either horn of that wide bay its form a lighthouse 
 
 rears, 31 
 To guide the seaman in his course, as to the shore 
 
 he steers ; 
 When sets the sun each light must burn, till dawns 
 
 again the morn, 
 From rock, from breaker, and from shoal the mariner 
 
 to warn. 
 
 One, on a steep and rocky point, beneath the dark 
 hill side, 
 
 With steady ray, from dangerous cliffs the helms- 
 man's eye may guide ; 
 
i34 THE FOG-BELLS. 
 
 The other, with alternate gleam, now burns with 
 
 ruby glow, 
 Now shines with clear and argent beam the harbour's 
 
 mouth to show. 
 
 And where, beside the long sea-wall flows down the 
 
 River's course, 
 And where the broad and sandy bar provokes the 
 
 breaker's force ; 
 There, in mid centre of the Bay, a third the billow 
 
 braves, 
 A giant, with a crown of fire, upstanding in the 
 
 waves. 
 
 So, in the voyage of our life, the Lord His lights 
 doth place, 
 
 The cheering beacon of His Word, the presence of 
 His grace ; 
 
 To warn from rocks and shoals of sin, to stem 
 temptation's force, 
 
 And to the haven of His rest to guide our wander- 
 ing course. 
 
THE FOG-BELLS. 135 
 
 11, 
 
 IS midnight ! Not a cloud in heaven above 
 the silent strand ! 
 But murky fog, like funeral pall, hangs 
 over sea and land ; 
 The seaman's eye in vain may seek the cheering 
 
 beacon light, 
 Nor ruby glow, nor argent beam may pierce the 
 gloom to-night ! 
 
 But the deep stillness of the night is broken by a 
 Bell, 
 
 Which in that thick funereal gloom sounds like a 
 funeral knell ! 
 
 And hark ! the harbour watchman gives not the 
 sound alone, — 
 
 The watcher on the rocky point responds the mourn- 
 ful tone ! 
 
 And so, throughout the gloom, one bell still answereth 
 
 to the other, 
 As brother in the hour of woe responds the sigh of 
 
 brother : — 
 
136 THE FOG-BELLS, 
 
 Across the silent midnight air how solemnly they 
 
 toll, 
 As if to say, " In mercy pray for each endanger'd 
 
 soul!" 
 
 And yet, not such their meaning ; — but when mist 
 
 obscures the sight, 
 Nor through the murky fog can pierce the beacon's 
 
 wonted light, 
 From rocky point and harbour pier the deep-toned 
 
 Fog-bells toll, 
 To tell the entrance of the port, to warn from rock 
 
 and shoal. 
 
 And, when the light of God's own Word hath fail'd 
 
 to pierce the gloom, 
 Through which the sinner blindly is hurrying to his 
 
 doom; 
 The sound, of woe and death that tells, in mercy 
 
 oft is given, 
 And the soul is warn'd, by funeral knells, where lies 
 
 the course to Heaven ! 
 
CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 
 
 " The clouds which intercept the heavens, come not from 
 heaven, but from the earth." — W. S. Landor. 
 
 |OW bright this morning rose the sun, 
 The sky how clear and fair ! 
 The promise of a glorious day 
 Was in the balmy air ! 
 To soon, alas ! the promise fades, 
 The clouds obscure the skies, — 
 But the clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 The sun, that early shone so bright, 
 
 Exhaled the morning dew ; 
 From hill, and marsh, and meadow-land, 
 
 The moisture upward flew : 
 By winds in masses gather'd 
 
 The clouds o'erspread the skies ; 
 But the clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 They gather dark and darker round, 
 
 Until at length again 
 The bursting clouds discharge their load 
 
 In heavy tears of rain : 
 
38 CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE, 
 
 While lasts that storm, no cheering beam 
 
 May reach the longing eyes ; 
 But the clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 But lo ! upon that darksome veil 
 
 A wondrous light appears ! 
 The rainbow, 'mid the falling shower, 
 
 Its arch of promise rears ! 
 That bow of hope is tinted by 
 
 A glory from the skies ; — 
 But the clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 And now the clouds are breaking off, 
 
 And, where the sun should shine, 
 The shroud, that still obscures his face, 
 
 His beams with silver line : 
 That " silver lining of the cloud" 
 
 Is borrow'd from the skies, — 
 But the clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 So, in the morning of our life, 
 
 When all is bright and gay, — 
 When promise of untroubled joy 
 
 Is in the early day ; 
 
CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 139 
 
 The heavenward prospect, clear and fair, 
 
 Seems open to our eyes ; 
 Till clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 From earthly passions, fraught with sin, 
 
 Those vapours have their birth, — 
 From warm affections, roused too soon, — 
 
 From sorrows of the earth ; 
 No more the upward prospect now 
 
 Looks clear to hopeful eyes ; 
 But the clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 Nor will that view grow clear, until 
 
 The heart shall find relief; — 
 Then let the tears unchidden fall, 
 
 That flow for human grief; 
 Nor check the penitential shower, 
 
 Which God will not despise, 
 From clouds, that hiding heavenly light, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise. 
 
 For on those showers, which earth claims back 
 
 From earthly sin or woe, 
 A solemn gleam of light from heaven 
 
 Shines like the tinted bow : 
 
1 40 CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE 
 
 The clouds, that hide the view of heaven, 
 From earth, not heaven, arise ; — 
 
 But toward the earth from heaven the beam 
 Of peace and pardon flies ! 
 
 And though some clouds, not yet dispersed, 
 
 May hang around our way, 
 The Sun of Righteousness shall gild 
 
 Their skirts with cheering ray : 
 The clouds, that shroud the heavens awhile, 
 
 From earth, not heaven, arise ; 
 But the light, that dwells behind the gloom. 
 
 Is Light that never dies ! 
 
« THORNS ALSO AND THISTLES." 
 
 FTER months of weary leisure, 
 Home and toil I sought again : 
 Much I found that gave me pleasure, 
 Much I miss'd that caused me pain. 
 
 To my garden forth I wander'd, 
 
 Spot with sweetest memories fraught ; 
 
 Past delights in heart I ponder'd, 
 
 Mix'd with many an anxious thought, 
 
 There no spoiler's hand had ventured, 
 
 Of its beauties to bereave; 
 But, unwatch'd, neglect had enter'd, 
 
 And its wildness made me grieve. 
 
 • 
 For the earth, that bears the flower, 
 
 Bears the bramble and the weed ; 
 
 And each plot, and path, and bower, 
 
 Of a busy hand had need. 
 
 Now the winter storms were ended ; 
 
 Spring resumed her welcome reign ; 
 And the garden, long untended, 
 
 Claim'd each leisure hour again. 
 
1 42 " THORNS ALSO 
 
 Where the brightest shrubs were blowing, 
 Thickest there the Bramble grew ; — 
 
 And the rankest weeds were growing 
 Where the Roses ever blew ; 
 
 And the Myrtle, slowly pining, 
 
 Wither'd in its sunny place, 
 Where the serpent Bindweed twining, 
 
 Wrapt it in too close embrace ; 
 
 And the honey'd Woodbine clinging 
 O'er the Lilac rear'd its head ; 
 
 And the sweetest flowers were springing— 
 Straying wild o'er path and bed. 
 
 Then, while hand and knife applying, 
 Where each plant and flower had need,- 
 
 Pruning some, and others tying, — 
 Rooting out the baneful weed ; 
 
 In my garden as I wander 'd, 
 
 Busy with the peaceful toil, 
 Much within my heart I ponder'd 
 
 Lessons rising from the soil. 
 
 Thorns and briers are the token 
 
 Of our Sire's primeval sin, 
 Signs of God's commandments broken, 
 
 Emblems of the taint within. 
 
AND THISTLES." 143 
 
 Thorns and weeds in Eden grew not, 
 There no fitting soil they found ; 
 
 Toil like this our parents knew not, 
 Dwelling on that holy ground. 
 
 Until they, from God estranged, 
 
 Into disobedience ran ; — 
 Then all Nature's face was changed, 
 
 Changed most the heart of man. 
 
 For his sin the earth was blighted — 
 Thorns and thistles it must bear ; 
 
 On man's heart the curse alighted, 
 Bringing sorrow, toil, and care ! 
 
 " Roots of bitterness" are springing 
 Where the plants of love had place ; 
 
 Earthly passions, closely clinging, 
 
 Check the growth of heavenly Grace ; 
 
 Sweet Affections, wildly playing, 
 Take some holier Duty's room ; 
 
 Virtues, from their stations straying, 
 Waste, like idle weeds, their bloom. 
 
 Ah ! what anxious watchful training 
 Does the heart of Christian need ; 
 
 Wild luxuriance restraining, 
 
 Rooting out the intruding weed. 
 
144 "THORNS ALSO AND THISTLES." 
 
 Care of parent and of pastor 
 
 Thorn and thistle must remove ; 
 
 While the garden's heavenly Master 
 Prunes each plant with hand of love. 
 
 Thus I mused within my garden, 
 Bearing of man's fall the trace ; 
 
 Conscious of the need of pardon, 
 Longing for refreshing grace. 
 
 Oh ! might I, each power improving, 
 Training still to duty's scope, 
 
 From my heart all ill removing, 
 
 Work in Faith, and rest in Hope ; — 
 
 Hope to see that garden flourish, 
 Lovely with immortal bloom, 
 
 Where no weed the soil shall nourish, 
 Thorn nor brier shall have room. 
 
 There no sin, no care invadeth, 
 There no sorrow ever trod ; 
 
 Where the blossom never fadeth, 
 In the Paradise of God ! 
 
"NO MORE!" 
 
 OR, FAITH. 
 
 ;0 more ! Oh, saddest words that can be 
 spoken, 
 How heavy fall ye on the pained ear ! 
 Telling of cherish M hopes for ever broken, 
 
 Sounding the knell of joys we've held most dear ! 
 
 Sad, when the friends of youth have been estranged, 
 The hearts which once were warm to us grown 
 cold, 
 
 The eyes, the voices, once familiar, changed, 
 No more to greet us as they did of old. 
 
 Sad, when the hands, long link'd in ours, still pressing, 
 
 Of friends departing for some distant shore, 
 With throbbing heart we hear, we breathe the bles- 
 sing, 
 " Farewell ! God speed you ! We may meet no 
 more ! " 
 
 Oh, sadder yet, as fast the life is fleeting, 
 
 And now well-nigh some loved one's course is o'er, 
 
 L 
 
146 "NO MORE! 
 
 Watching how faint, how slow the pulse is beating, 
 To feel, to know at length, it beats no more! 
 
 Saddest, when o'er the dead the earth is closing, 
 To think, as on the dust the dust is thrown, 
 
 We can recall no more the friend we're losing, 
 We can behold no more the form that's gone ! 
 
 Such, while we linger in this earthy dwelling, 
 O'erburthen'd with our tenement of clay, 
 
 The thoughts which in our bosoms will be swelling, 
 Of hopeless loss — of unrepair'd decay. 
 
 But such may not be always ; — nor may sadness 
 Thus ever dwell in the desponding breast ; — 
 
 Far brighter hopes should cheer our hearts to gladness, 
 Hopes of eternal joys, of endless rest. 
 
 No more ! Oh, sweetest sounds which shall be 
 spoken, 
 
 How on the charmed ear shall ye descend, 
 Telling of sorrow's chain for ever broken, 
 
 Breathing of pleasures which shall never end! 
 
 Oh, words of glorious promise! for the portals 
 Of Death, which close so darkly on us here, 
 
 Shall ope, no more to close, on us immortals, 
 Heirs of the blessings of a heavenly sphere. 
 
" NO MORE!" 147 
 
 There, friend no more shall be from friend estranged, 
 Love, pure and holy, shall unite them still ; 
 
 No more affection shall be chill'd or changed, 
 Where nor deceit can be, nor thought of ill. 
 
 There, friend no more from friend shall distance sever, 
 No sad farewells shall rend the throbbing heart ; 
 
 Join'd in the service of their God for ever, 
 Nor death nor absence shall those spirits part. 
 
 There, no more shall be sorrow, no more crying, — 
 For God shall wipe all tears from every eye ; 
 
 There, no more shall be felt the fear of dying, 
 For Christ hath died, that we no more should die ! 
 
 " No more!" oh, blessed words, which shall be 
 spoken, 
 
 Telling that sin and sorrow's reign is o'er, — 
 That Hell's dominion is for ever broken, — 
 
 That we can sin, can weep, can die no more ! 
 
 f^Ȥ 
 
HOPE ON ! HOPE EVER ! 
 
 |OPE on ! Hope ever ! While the sun 
 f shines brightly, 
 
 While youth and joy have sway within 
 thy breast :— 
 While the fresh turf thy footstep presseth lightly, 
 And care hath not disturb'd thy bosom's rest : — 
 Hope on ! 
 What though the shadows of impending sorrow 
 
 Too soon shall rise, and darken round thy way : — 
 Hope on ! Hope ever on ! that each to-morrow 
 May be as bright and joyous as to-day, 
 Hope ever on ! 
 
 Hope on ! Hope ever ! When those shades shall 
 darken, 
 And man's inheritance of woe be thine; 
 Still to the cheering voice of comfort hearken, 
 And mark beneath the clouds the sunbeams shine ! 
 Hope on ! 
 What though that cheering voice may be mistaken — 
 What though the sunbeam fades in night away ; — 
 
HOPE ON! HOPE EVER! 149 
 
 Hope on ! Hope ever on ! with faith unshaken, 
 To-morrow may be brighter than to-day ! 
 Hope ever on ! 
 
 Hope on ! Hope ever ! though the road be dreary, — 
 
 Though lights that cheer'd and guided thee be 
 
 gone,— 
 
 Though thy heart sicken, and thy feet be weary,— 
 
 Cheer up, faint heart ! and weary feet, toil on ! 
 
 Hope on ! 
 
 What though the gloom more close appears to gather, 
 
 And every step appears beset with harm : — 
 Hope on ! Hope ever on ! thy loving Father 
 Will clear thy sight, and shield thee with His 
 arm ! 
 
 Hope ever on ! 
 
 Hope on ! Hope ever ! when this vale of sorrow 
 
 Shall lead thee to the vale of deeper shade ; 
 How bright the prospect gleams on that to-morrow 
 , Of deathless life, of joys that cannot fade ! 
 Hope on ! 
 What though the gloom hangs deeper o'er the portal, 
 
 Yet feet divine the darksome path have trod ; — 
 Hope on ! Hope ever on ! with love immortal, 
 And Faith all centred on the Son of God ! 
 Hope ever on ! 
 
ONWARD ! YET NOT ALONE ; 
 
 OR, CHARITY. 
 
 " How beautiful and grand is the idea of the no longer 
 " solitary ascent of the mountains of difficulty ; each climber 
 " helping up also a little company, bearing the c Banner with 
 " the strange device.'' " — Mrs. Grant. 
 
 NWARD ! yet not alone, 
 For other feet must tread the narrow way, 
 To whom, as cheerfully thou toilest on, 
 Thy hand may be a comfort and a stay. 
 
 Forward ! though rough the road, 
 And though thy burden heavy on thee lie ; 
 
 Yet each may help his brother with his load, 
 And feel his own the lighter made thereby ! 
 
 Upward ! the path is wild ! 
 But not for toil thy efforts may be stay'd ; 
 
 The gentle maiden and the tender child 
 Lean on thine hand, and look to thee for aid. 
 
ONWARD! YET NOT ALONE. 151 
 
 Onward ! though dark the day, 
 And though the storm appears to gather round ; — 
 
 Behind the clouds behold a brighter ray, 
 And cheer the weak ones with a hopeful sound ! 
 
 Forward ! be firm and bold ! 
 For weary, resting on the wayside stone, 
 
 The tender woman and the grandsire old 
 Have toird before thee ; thou must help them on ! 
 
 Upward ! the thankful smile 
 Of those who know the dangers thou hast past, 
 
 And converse sweet, shall the steep way beguile, 
 Until thou reach the home of Rest at last. 
 
 Onward ! the way is long ! 
 The weakly ones will feel their strength decay ; — 
 
 That thou may'st comfort them, thy heart is strong, 
 Thy hand is nerved, to give them needful stay ! 
 
 Forward ! thou may'st not rest ! 
 The toil thou bearest is a toil of love : — 
 
 Who helpeth others shall himself be blest 
 With peace, and light, and strengthening from above. 
 
 Then upward ! not alone ! 
 For weaker feet the rugged path have trod, 
 
 Have cheer'd each other as they journey'd on, 
 Depending on their Saviour and their God ! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 
NOTES. 
 
 1 Page 21 
 
 ^ ^.^S^ HIS poem, and the one that follows it, were 
 composed when the author was in a more 
 classical atmosphere than he has since en- 
 joyed 5 but he has no reference now to the 
 book where he met with the tradition. This stanza, 
 however, was added lately, and the idea was borrowed 
 from the description in the Iliad, B. ix. lines 1 85-191. 
 The following lines are from a translation by T. S. 
 Brandreth, printed in 1845, which is more close to the 
 original than Pope's verfion : — 
 
 " But when they reach'd the Myrmidons' fair tents, 
 " They found him his soul soothing with the lyre, 
 " Which, fair and varied, with a filver yoke, 
 " He took when he Eetion's city spoiPd. 
 11 On this he sang the glorious deeds of men 5 
 " Alone Patroclus near in silence sat, 
 " Waiting, till Peleus' son should cease from song." 
 
 Eetion, the father of Andromache, was king . of 
 Thebae in Cilicia, and was killed by Achilles. 
 
156 NOTES. 
 
 2 Page 23. 
 
 This Ballad is founded on a passage in the Persae of 
 -^Eschylus, 1. 401, &c, where the Battle of Salamis is 
 described. 
 
 3 Page 25. 
 
 The Legend of CTDonohue, on which this poem is 
 founded, is contained in T. Crofton Croker's " Fairy- 
 Legends of Ireland." 
 
 4 Page 32. 
 
 These stanzas were composed about the years 1832-3, 
 when the Author resided in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood of the Giants' Causeway. It was at first intended 
 to continue the subject, so as to embrace more of the 
 remarkable scenery belonging to the rocky coast, of 
 which some striking features and legends connected 
 with them are here noticed 5 but removal from the 
 place interrupted the intention, and other occupations 
 prevented its being resumed. The poem, as it is, 
 however, includes most of the points of interest seen by 
 ordinary visitors. 
 
 5 Page 32. 
 Lucretius, B. ii. 1-10. 
 
 6 Page 35. 
 
 Fionn M'Coul, or M'Comhal, commonly called 
 Fingal, is the great hero of Irish mythology, according 
 to which he is claimed as an Irish monarch, who inva- 
 ded and conquered the western coasts of Scotland. 
 
NOTES. 157 
 
 This tradition differs from Macphersorfs Ossian, accor- 
 ding to which he was a Scottish prince ; but many 
 places, named in the supposed poems of Ossian, can be 
 identified in the north of Ireland. " Innisfair*' is a 
 name of Ireland; " Morven," the west of Scotland - 
 The tradition of the " Causeway " having been made 
 from Ireland to Staffa, by Fingal, and afterwards des- 
 troyed by him, is one of the wild stories of the coast. 
 
 7 Page 36. 
 
 Luno, according to Macpherson's Ossian, was Fin- 
 gars smith ; whence his sword is called " the blade of 
 dark brown Luno/ 1 
 
 8 Page 36. 
 
 " The Loom " is the name given to a colonnade of 
 basaltic pillars at the south-eastern side of the Giants' 1 
 Causeway 5 the pillars are about forty feet high. It 
 is impossible to assign any reason for the name, ex- 
 cept some fancied likenefs, which has been here fanci- 
 fully adopted. 
 
 9 Page 36. 
 
 The basalt, of which the columns and many other 
 rocks at the Giants' Causeway consist, is of a flinty hard- 
 ness, and is incapable of being wrought by stonecutters 
 into shape, as it flies in all directions from the tool. 
 
 10 Page 37. 
 
 " There are two very distinct and opposite theories 
 of the formation of basalt, called the Plutonian and 
 Neptunian, the one attributing its origin to fire, the 
 
158 NOTES. 
 
 other to water."— Guide to the Giants' Causeway, by the 
 Rev. G. N. Wright, 1823, pages 101 to 109, where 
 the two theories and that of crystallization are discussed. 
 
 11 Page 37. 
 
 " The Giant's Chair" is a large rock, bearing a 
 rude resemblance to a chair, near high-water mark, 
 and a short distance from the east side of the Cause- 
 way, commanding a good prospect of this natural mole, 
 as it stretches its length of 300 yards with a gentle 
 slope into the sea. I take the opportunity here of 
 naming briefly some of the places alluded to in the fol- 
 lowing stanzas. On the east of the causeway is a wide 
 bay, called Port Nofter, properly Port na Fhair, the 
 Mans or Giant's Bay. Near its centre " the Shepherd's 
 path" winds up the slopes, and conducts to the top of 
 the cliffs. Eastward, this bay is terminated by the steep 
 headland called by guides Rovinvally, properly, Rue- 
 ben-valla, the cliff at the head of the wall; dividing it 
 from the " Giants' Theatre ," or Port Reostan (meaning 
 not known), a deep and narrow bay, with almost pre- 
 cipitous sides, and two fine ranges of columns. The 
 eastern boundary of this bay is called the " Chimney- 
 headland," from two or three insulated pillars 5 below 
 this, Port Madh-a-ruagh, the bay of the red fox ; and, 
 close adjoining, Port na Spania, or Spanish bay, sepa- 
 rated by the headland Ben-an-ouran (meaning not 
 known) from another small bay or two $ in one of which 
 are some pillars of extraordinary size, not jointed, as 
 others along these cliffs are. The other boundary of 
 these bays is Plaiskin, or the dry-headland ; the highest 
 
NOTES. 159 
 
 and most remarkable cliff of the range : but the finest 
 view of it is from Benbawn, the ^white-head, a little 
 more to the east, which commands some of the most 
 striking features of the whole coast. 
 
 m & 
 
 12 Page 37. 
 
 There is, or was, a footpath, used occasionally by 
 shepherds in search of stray sheep, or by guides in 
 search of spars, steatite, and other specimens, going 
 round all the faces of the cliffs and recesses of the bays 5 
 a course full of interest, and not without the excitement 
 of danger. 
 
 13 Page 39. 
 
 When I first visited these headlands, in 1824, there 
 was a tradition well authenticated, that, three or four 
 years before, a young gentleman, a tourist, having by 
 some accident got upon the track mentioned in. the 
 last note, came by it to the insulated columns called 
 the " chimneys/ ' and having climbed to the base of 
 them, about 300 feet above the sea, left on the lowest, 
 just within his reach, his glove, and a piece of money, 
 to be earned by whoever would fetch it. 
 
 14 Page 39. 
 
 Port na Spania is so called from the tradition that 
 one of the ships of the Armada, driven hither by the 
 storm which dispersed that fleet, was wrecked in this 
 bay, on a rock, covered at high water, still called the 
 Spanish rock. The shattered appearance of the Chimney 
 rocks is fancifully attributed to the Spaniards having 
 
i6o NOTES, 
 
 fired at and overthrown some of the range, mistaking 
 them for towers of Dunluce Castle. 
 
 15 Page 41. 
 
 Dunseverick Castle, now but a small ruin, but once 
 a place of strength, stands on a steep rock, in a narrow 
 bay, about three miles to the east of these headlands. 
 
 16 Page 42. 
 
 The story of Adam Morning is to be found in Dr. 
 Hamilton's " Letters from the Coast of Antrim." 
 It happened above seventy years ago, but was well 
 remembered, as here described, when I first knew the 
 scene of the occurrence. In Port na Spania is a re- 
 markable range of pillars, enclosed on each side by the 
 sloping of the banks, so as to look like the pipes of an 
 organ. There is another, better known, in Port Noffer. 
 From the summit of the cliff a perilous path descends ; 
 and on the very top of the Organ a long step must be 
 made, where a false step would probably be fatal. 
 Here Morning fell, and died : and here, in 1834, a P oor 
 woman, whom I knew, fell over with a burden of sea- 
 weed, and was taken up for dead, but having only a 
 rib or two broken, she recovered ; and, strange to say, 
 frequently climbed the same path afterwards. 
 
 17 Page 43. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. William Hamilton, a clergyman of 
 the diocese of Armagh, who was barbarously mur- 
 dered at his own house in 1798, was one of the first 
 persons who drew public attention to the wonders of 
 
NOTES. 161 
 
 the Giants' Causeway, by his " Letters from An- 
 trim." He had a hut erected during one summer on 
 Benbawn, from which it is still called " Hamilton's 
 seat 5 " and the fruit of his sojourn there was a model 
 in wood of the headland Plaiskin, still in the Museum 
 of Trinity College, Dublin. 
 
 18 Page 43. 
 
 It is common with guides, and it enhances the sur- 
 prising effect of the view, to bring visitors by a path at 
 a little distance from the cliffs to this point, and to keep 
 them (if possible) from looking round, till they come 
 to the spot where the whole is at once displayed before 
 them. 
 
 19 Page 45. 
 
 This poem, composed in early youth, is little more 
 than the version of a legend which appeared about 
 the year 1825 in the Literary Gazette. The same 
 story has also been printed in an Irish Magazine, about 
 twenty years ago ; and has lately formed the subject 
 of a poem called " the Bell- founder," by Mr. C. 
 McCarthy. 
 
 20 Page 50. 
 
 Glen-da-lough, the Glen of two Lakes, was chosen 
 by St. Kevin, a man of noble family, as the site of a 
 religious establishment, towards the end of the sixth 
 century. He first dwelt in the upper part of the val- 
 ley ; partly in the cave called Kevin's Bed, and partly 
 at a church, now quite ruined, called Temple na 
 Skellig, or the church in the wilderness. From this he 
 
 M 
 
1 6z NOTES, 
 
 removed to a church, near the junction of the Two 
 Lakes, and where the stream from the waterfall of 
 Poolanass flows towards the lower, which is now called 
 " the Rhefeart," or kings'' burying-place , because several 
 of the kings of that country were buried there. The 
 building, as usual with very old Irish churches, was very 
 small, and is now ruinous 5 but its doorway presents the 
 characteristics of very great antiquity, as does also that 
 of " Our Lady's Church," which attracted the peculiar 
 admiration of Sir Walter Scott. The stone-roofed 
 building, called " Kevin's kitchen,' ' is to be referred 
 to the same period, and " it may reasonably be believed," 
 says Mr. Petrie, " that it was the residence of the foun- 
 der of Glen-da-lough, when he removed from his 
 seclusion near the Upper Lake." The " Cathedral/' if 
 not built before the death of Kevin, in 618, cannot 
 have been much later ; and the round Tower, and 
 Trinity Church, are of a similar date. In the course 
 of the seventh century Glen-da-lough became a city, 
 of which only the arched gateway remains ; and a 
 seminary was founded, from which were sent forth 
 many exemplary men, who diffused the light of religion 
 around the western world. From the year 770 to 1020, 
 it was repeatedly taken and plundered by the Danes ; it 
 suffered severely in the various troubles of Ireland ; and 
 it was finally burnt and destroyed in 1398, and never 
 recovered its overthrow. 
 
 21 Page 53. 
 
 The story from which this Ballad (written in 1828) 
 is taken may be found in Sharon Turner's " History 
 
NOTES. 163 
 
 of the Anglo-Saxons," B. in, Ch. vii. It has also 
 furnished the subject for a poem in the " Lays and 
 Ballads of Early English History, 1 ' by my brother, the 
 Rev. Frederick W. Mant $ each of us having written 
 in entire ignorance of the other's having taken the same 
 subject. 
 
 22 Page 67. 
 
 A beautiful poem on the same story was published, in 
 1830, by Mrs. Hemans, in " Records of Woman, and 
 other poems." Had I seen it, these stanzas might per- 
 haps not have been written 5 but, though only in MS. 
 till now, they were composed in 1829. 
 
 23 Page 73. 
 
 This poem was suggested by the description of the 
 discovery by Copernicus of the true theory of the solar 
 system, in Professor O. M. Mitchell's " Planetary and 
 Stellar Worlds." The facts are stated as briefly as 
 possible, in the introduction to the poem ; but it is only 
 fair to acknowledge my obligations to Mr. Mitchell, by 
 quoting at more length a few sentences, of which I 
 have tried to embody the ideas. " Long did the philo- 
 sopher hesitate, perplexed with doubts, surrounded by 
 prejudice, embarrassed with difficulties 5 but finally 
 rising superior to every consideration save truth, he 
 quitted the earth, swept boldly through space, and 
 planted himself upon the sun. With an imagination 
 endowed with most extraordinary tenacity, he carried 
 with him all the phenomena of the heavens, so familiar 
 to his eye when viewed from the earth .... He com- 
 
164 NOTES. 
 
 mences with his now distant earth ; its immobility is 
 gone .... He gives his attention to the planets ; their 
 complex wanderings, their stations, their retrograde 
 motions, all disappeared, and he beheld them sweeping 
 harmoniously around him . . . all moving in the same 
 direction, their paths filling the same belt of the heavens. 
 . . . This beautiful system, far from perfect, was founded 
 in truth 5 and although improvement might and must 
 come, revolution could never shake its firm foundation/* 
 The expressions in the last stanza are similar to those 
 recorded of Kepler ,• but they are quite as agreeable to 
 the patient and pious character of his great predecessor. 
 
 24 Page 85. 
 
 In reading Herrick's " Litany to the Holy Spirit" I 
 had often felt that it was rather suited to a death-bed, 
 or a sick-bed at least, than to the ordinary wants of a 
 Christian's life. Such a sentiment led to the compo- 
 sition of the present " Litany ;" and the belief that the 
 wants and aspirations it expresses are common to man 
 may be enough to justify its publication. 
 
 25 Page 106. 
 The allusion is to Bion's " Epitaph on Moschus." 
 
 26 Page 106. 
 See Beattie's " Minstrel," Book 1. Stanza xxvii* 
 
 " Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, 
 
 " When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? 
 " ShallNature's voice, to man alone unjust, 
 
NOTES. 165 
 
 " Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live ? 
 
 " Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive 
 " With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
 
 " No : Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive, 
 " And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 
 " Bright through th' eternal year of Love's triumphant 
 reign." 
 
 27 
 
 Page 116. 
 
 This poem, and the one before it, were composed on 
 the separation of a party of six, after three weeks spent 
 happily in each other's company. While these pages 
 were preparing for the press, I met with a passage in 
 Sir E. B. Lytton's "What will he do with It?" 
 part of which I venture to quote as embodying the same 
 or similar thoughts. " There is one warning lesson in 
 life, which few of us have not received, and no book 
 that I can call to memory has noted down with an 
 adequate emphasis. It is this, ' Beware of parting !' 
 The true sadness is not in the pain of parting ; it is in 
 the When and the How you are to meet again with the 
 face about to vanish from your view .... Meet again 
 you may ; will it be in the same way ? with the same 
 sympathies ? with the same sentiments ? Will the souls 
 hurrying on in diverse paths unite once more, as if the 
 interval had been a dream ? Rarely, rarely ! . . . . Are 
 you happy in the spot on which you tarry with the 
 persons whose voices are now melodious to your ears ? 
 Beware of parting ; or, if part you must, say not, in 
 insolent defiance to Time and Destiny, 8 What matters ? 
 we shall soon meet again I.*'* 
 
i66 NOTES 
 
 28 Page 121. 
 t 
 
 These lines were composed above thirty years ago, 
 after a conversation with a friend, in which we had 
 quoted and commented on the poem of Byron beginning, 
 
 " There's not a joy the world can give, like that it 
 takes away, &C." 
 
 and several expressions will be found to allude to lines 
 in that poem. 
 
 29 
 
 Page 128, 
 
 Sea-Fell Pikes is the name of the highest mountain 
 in the lake country of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 
 It has two summits, of which the highest is called Pikes, 
 and the other, but little lower, is Sea-Fell. They are 
 separated by a wide, deep, and dark chasm, called 
 Mickle Door ; and I remember being forcibly reminded 
 of the 
 
 " Heights that appear as lovers who have parted 
 " In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, 
 
 " That they can meet no more, though broken- 
 hearted," 
 
 in " Childe Harold," Canto in. St. xciv. 
 
 The " Star grass," in page 129, is the local name of 
 the Parnassia Palustris, or Grass of Parnassus. 
 
 30 Page 130. 
 
 I am bou nd in justice to acknowledge that some of 
 the thoughts, and even some expressions in this little 
 
NOTES. 167 
 
 poem, were derived from a beautiful child's book, called, 
 " The Story without an End," translated from the 
 German by Mrs. Austin. 
 
 31 Page 133. 
 
 The scene is Sandymount Strand, in Dublin Bay, 
 where I was staying when this poem was composed. 
 The Bailey Lighthouse, under the hill of Howth, has a 
 steady light towards the sea 5 and the harbour light, at 
 Kingstown, on the south side of the Bay, shows alter- 
 nately red and white. In the centre of the bay, near 
 the channel of the Liifey, is a third lighthouse, con- 
 nected by a long wall or causeway with the Pigeon 
 House Fort, and showing a steady bright light all 
 round. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : PRINTED BY WHJTT1NGHAM AND WILKINS, 
 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. 
 

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