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 DOBEU COLLECTION 
 

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 a 
 
 Si. likjrolas' pHI, 
 
 <l%r Skttrljcs. 
 
 SELECTED FROM THE FOLIO OF AN ENNUYE. 
 
 BY 
 
 A NEW EDITION, CORRECTED AND ENLARGED. 
 
 precor mtegra 
 cum mente nee turpem senectam 
 Degere, nee cithara carentem. 
 
 Hor. 
 
 ^ 
 
 WARWICK : 
 
 HENRY T. COOKE AND SON, HIGH STREET. 
 
 1871. 
 
 50 COPIES PRINTED. 
 
 T? 
 
TK^ 
 ^ 
 
 205449 
 '13 
 
^*MMMM-®M 
 
 A few years ago, debarred from more active or useful 
 occupatiou, the author amused himself with making this little 
 selection from his portfolio, of trifles, written in hours of 
 idleness and absence from home; and printed a few copies 
 anonymously : but so ill-digested, and with so little care and 
 supervision, as to render the completion of it no object of 
 satisfaction to himself. 
 
 Aware of its innumerable defects, unable to preserve 
 his incognito, and unwilling to bear the discredit of so faulty 
 a performance, he destroyed the few remaining copies; and, 
 with the view of redeeming those in the hands of his friends, 
 has endeavoured, by careful revision, rejection, and addition, 
 to render a reprint less exceptionable. This he has now in 
 some measure effected; but conscious of having left blemishes 
 enough to shock the least fastidious of readers, throws him- 
 self on their indulgence. 
 
 I.ONGBRIDGE, NoVR.. 1871. 
 
Ik. tocholas' Sill, #lfra€ombe. 
 
 IGH on a craggy steep, above 
 
 The rocky inlet of a cove, 
 
 Where oft the wintry billows drove 
 
 The storrn-beleagnred bark 
 There stood, time honored in decay, 
 An oratory, hoar and grey, 
 The relic of far elder day, 
 
 Like some old patriarch. 
 
 Its infant tale in days of old, 
 Nor history nor tradition told ; 
 Some feudal lord, or baron bold, 
 
 In penitential mood; 
 Or errant friar, in holy zeal 
 For rude untutored seaman's weal, 
 There housed in rustic domicile, 
 
 The relic and the rood. 
 
St Nicholas' Hill, Ilfracombe. 
 
 For yet, on wrong and rapine bent, 
 Strong arm for truth and justice went; 
 And, in sequestered cloister pent, 
 
 The still small voice was mute: 
 Till, poor and earnest in his vow, 
 The bare-foot friar went forth to plough 
 The stony waste, and barren slough, 
 
 And graff the thorny shoot. 
 
 Could nature's loveliness inspire 
 In savage heart devotion's fire ; 
 Sure baron bold or holy friar, 
 
 Had chosen warily : 
 So passing lovely, and serene 
 In peaceful beauty, was the scene ; 
 Insensate as the rock had been 
 
 The heart, could pass it by. 
 
 For nature, fanciful as fair, 
 
 Had emptied all her casket there, 
 
 In sylvan amphitheatre 
 
 Of mountain, rocks, and caves ; 
 Of thyme-clad downs, and beechen groves, 
 Of sparkling streams, of sunny coves, 
 And shady dells that Flora loves, 
 
 And little Wilder laves. 
 
St. Nicholas' Hill, Ilfracombe. 
 
 And thence, with fertile slope, upheaves 
 Majestic Torr, and Runnacleaves, 
 Whose verdant meads and golden sheaves 
 
 Dispute their furze-clad crown ; 
 That to the seaward, scarped and steep, 
 Frowns fierce defiance to the deep, 
 And rushes with tremendous leap, 
 
 Precipitously down. 
 
 Where, reft by billow and by blast, 
 Crag, cliff and rock in ruin cast, 
 In rugged grandeur, stand aghast 
 
 To list the wild winds wail; 
 Rife death, and horrid wrecks that knell : 
 Fit psalmody for Tracy's cell — 2 
 Where birds of evil-omen dwell, 
 
 And " sing their song of bale." 
 
 So fiercely fair, so softly stern, 
 Huge Hilsbro' rears his ancient cairn, 
 His precipices fledged with fern , 
 
 Down to his watery seat : 
 Where silver-crested wavelets flow 
 O'er ocean's azure fields below, 
 Like diamonds, glittering as they go 
 
 To kiss his stony feet. 
 
St. Nicholas* Hill, Ilfracombe. 
 
 That little sanctuary stood 
 High o'er the perils of the flood, 
 By day, the pillar of the cloud, 
 
 O'er ocean wide and far ; 
 And 'mid the terrors of the night, 
 The tower Lore a beacon bright, 
 That shed an hospitable light, 
 
 Like Israel's mystic star. 
 
 When foggy darkness veiled the sky, 
 Nor star nor landmark led the eye, 
 And shrill the sea-bird's warning cry, 
 
 Amid the ocean's roar ; 
 The holy bell told loud and clear, 
 That danger and that rocks were near, 
 That 'tis the breakers that they hear, 
 
 That lash an iron shore. 
 
 There beadsman, palmer, devotee, 
 
 With many a benedicite, 
 
 Brought penance' and indulgence' fee, 4 
 
 And votive tribute gave : 
 There too, the seaman's vow was heard, 
 By winds delayed, by storm deterred, 
 And his intrepid soul demurred 
 
 To tempt the treacherous wave ; 
 
iSY. Nicholas' Hill, Ilfracombe. 
 
 E'er yet, repentant and confessed. 
 He bore a sin-absolved breast ; 
 And bad tbe saintly relics pressed 
 
 With reverential kiss ; 
 Had paid for masses, to be said 
 For souls of the nnbonseled dead, 
 Tbat in tbe battle perished, 
 
 Or in the deep abyss. 
 
 With the first blush of morn, begun 
 The matin hymn to wake the sun ; 
 And when his daily course was run, 
 
 The vesper bell of even' 
 Called the benighted to adore ; 
 And, like the Saint whose name it bore. 
 Led many a wandering bark to shore, 
 
 And erring soul to Heav'n. 
 
 For many, 'neath a starless sky, 
 Distracting winds and currents ply; 
 That, drifting hapless hopelessly — 
 
 E'er yet to ruin cast — 
 Some friendly beacon-star may warn, 
 Some holy bell, some signal horn ; s 
 Like angel-voice o'er tempest borne, 
 
 And lead to port at last. 
 
St. Nicholas' Hill, Ilfracombe. 
 
 See, sternly fearless at his post, 
 Stands the poor skipper ; compass lost ; 
 His bark by wayward torrents tost 
 
 Upon a perilous shore. 
 An ill-starred wanderer he steers : 
 And, as his rock-rung knell he hears, 
 Dashing aside the springing tears 
 
 For — home alas ! no more — 
 
 Hails the red beacon on his lee, 
 Dim looming o'er the murky sea — 
 Hauls to the wind right cheerily, 
 
 And heaves the fathom line : 
 And as he blythly springs ashore, 
 The saintly image to adore, 
 Tears from his breast the cross he wore, 
 
 And nails it on the shrine. 
 
 There, oft the midnight censer swung, 
 While holy monks the requiem sung, 
 And mournful the responses rung, 
 
 " Miserere Domine:" 
 Peace to the heroes of the wave ; 
 Softly sleep the good, the brave ; 
 And every saint shall bless their grave ; 
 
 "Requiescant animae." 
 
St Nicholas* Hill, Ilfracombe. 
 
 Heroes, doomed to know no more 
 Tli' endearments of their native shore, 
 That Britain's flag to glory bore, 
 
 But now — sleep peacefully. 
 In honor's consecrated shrine, 
 A thousand fathom in the brine, 
 In grots of pearls and coralline, 
 
 Down in the deep, deep sea. 
 
 But years have sped ; new times have come 
 Now — in the desecrated dome, 
 Some sea-worn pilot finds a home ; 
 
 A guardian yet to be : 
 For nightly, on the rocky steep, 
 He lights his beacon to the deep, 
 Where many a weary watch they keep, 
 
 That plough the deep blue sea. 
 
 And listening there, with 'bated breath, 
 Hears, o'er the surge that foams beneath, 
 The signal — harbinger of death — 
 
 - The shriek of agony : 
 Straight his intrepid spirit braves 
 The sunken rocks, and breaker waves, 
 And bounding o'er the billow, saves — 
 From out the dark dee}) sea. 
 
„JE CHIEFTAIN'S #M¥E, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 N liis tartan enshrouded, his targe on his breast, 
 In the cold gory clay have they laid him to rest ; 
 His claymore by his side, all indented and red, 
 And a bunch of wild heather to pillow his head. 
 
 Unhallowed the earth, and unblessed is his grave, 
 And his chrism, the blood and the tears of the brave ; 
 The strife-stirring trump shall his coronach blow, 
 And his dirge be the death-cry, and groans of the foe. 
 
 But he'll hear not the pibroch, he'll heed not the shawn ; 
 Nor the scream of the heath-cock, the wail of the storm ; 
 For softly he'll sleep in his dear highland glen, 
 Till the trumpet awake him to glory again. 
 
 The Coronach is the funeral music of the Scotch Highlanders- 
 
 the Pibroch their war call. 
 
Xanorbier (OR Maynorpir. 
 
 <--_'.!:>-: 
 
 (IRREGULAR. 
 
 South Wales ( saycth Gerald) is the most beautiful fart of al Wales: Pembroke 
 
 of al South Wales : &> Maynorpir is the garden, & chief plot of al Pcmbroke- 
 
 shire: and thus concludeth he, that Maynorpir is the Paradise of al Wales. 
 
 Lambarue Top. His. 218. 
 
 Stern Manorbier ! 
 Lovely Manorbier! 
 Sweet m thy frown, and in thy smile severe : 
 (For many an eye, not loved the less, 
 Can lower in its loveliness :) 
 What wondering wight thy mystic vale e'er saw, 
 But gazed with rapture, and approached with awe? 
 Some spell mysterious enchants 
 Thy fascinated visitants ; 
 That seems to realize the tale, 
 Where Beanty slept an hundred years, 
 Amid her slumbering compeers, 
 In some enchanted vale : 
 Like them — so dee}) 
 In fairy sleep — 
 
10 Manor bier. 
 
 Thou seem'st entranced in elfin rule, 
 So still — withal so beautiful. 
 Care and the busy world forgot, 
 
 Thy sweet seclusion calms, 
 And chains them to the sacred spot, 
 
 With all its magic charms. 
 In thee, the giddy laugh of folly 
 Forgets itself to melancholy ; 
 To sober reverence chid by thee, 
 Sweet sunbeam on a wintry sea ! 
 
 Still now — the charger's neigh; where clarions pealed, 
 
 And clang of arms arose — 
 Thy peaceful streamlet ripples in repose, 
 And simple peasant carols, as he goes 
 To drive the herd afield. 
 Thy mouldering turrets frown no more — 
 Thine internecine feuds are o'er — 
 Wound in their shroud of ivy green, 
 They but adorn th' romantic scene, 
 
 And gem thy robe of grey ; 
 More comely in its form and fold, 
 More fair, more lovely to behold, 
 Than Spanish steel and cloth of gold, 
 In all their dignity of old, 
 And gorgeous array. 
 
Manor bier. 11 
 
 With thee, in ruined donjon cell, 
 
 Sweet Contemplation loves to dwell, 
 
 In sober suit, and solemn mood, 
 
 With her twin sister Solitude : 
 
 Where she, meek, pensive, grave recluse, 
 
 The lore of ages may peruse ; 
 
 And brooding, in her ivy shade, 
 
 O'er desolation time hath made, 
 
 Read wisdom in each mouldering stone, 
 
 And dream o'er generations gone ; 
 
 Whose tale nor lay nor legend show, 
 
 With all their weal, and all their woe. 
 
 Yet do their relics faintly light 
 
 The gloom of medieval night ; 
 
 Exorcise from oblivion's deep 
 
 The secrets of the donjon-keep; 
 
 And tyranny in cowl of grey, 
 
 That ruled with a yet sterner sway. 
 
 Here Nature in her simplest dress, 
 
 Most comely in her artlessness ; 
 
 With merry Health, her daughter fair, 
 
 Trips o'er the strand with bosom bare; 
 
 Flings to the wind her sunny locks, 
 Free as her waves, ungarnished as her rocks ; 
 Sports on the yellow sands, with sea-flowers strown, 
 And beams in rural beauty, all her own. 
 
12 Manorbier. 
 
 The flitting daw from tree to tower, 
 
 Sole tenant of her ivy bower; 
 
 The fitful carol, from the brake, 
 
 Of the lone cuckoo to his make; 
 
 The milk-maid's song at evenfall; 
 
 The herd, responding to the call, 
 
 Slow wending home adown the hill, 
 But make thy solemn silence audible : 
 As tranquil eve's enamoured spirit woos 
 Sweet sounds, that echo loves, and loving loathes to lose. 
 
 The lazy kine — the only wealth that now 
 Thy fair hill-side, and mouldering arches show, 
 Sole living things, that break the lonely scene, 
 Browse on the braes, and pasture o'er the green ; 
 
 Drowse in the ruined cloisters round, 
 And, with unhallowed tread, 
 
 Respect not consecrated ground, 
 Nor mansions of the dead: 
 
 (No stone nor vestige now can trace 
 
 Their desecrated resting-place,) 
 
 Where Monk and Abbot, fathom deep, 
 
 In cowl and scapulary sleep ; 6 
 
 And soldiers of the Cross, that bore 
 
 Their cross to holy Acre's shore, 
 
 When Baldwin, in religion's cause, f 
 
 Led Cambria's legion to the wars. 
 
Manorbier. 13 
 
 Here once the Monastery stood: 
 
 'Mid sheltering hills, and stately wood. 
 
 The sanctuary rose; 
 Vineyards and orchard, copse and brake, 
 Trim gardens verging to the lake, 
 All that luxurious ease bespake 
 Seemed here ; by art and nature meet 
 For meditation's calm retreat, 
 
 And sanctified repose. 
 Till liberty — with iron hand, 
 That had wellnigh enslaved the land ; 
 And reason — ranting to be free, 
 As bigots strove with bigotry ; 
 All for the love of God distraught 
 What ages for his love had wrought ; 
 
 And what a wreck is here ! 
 
 Such art thou Manorbier. 
 
 Thou seem'st to sleep the sleep of centuries ; 
 
 Lulled by the linnet's song and booming bee, 
 And by the measured throbbing of the sea, 
 That clock-like marks each moment as it flies. 
 To thee unnoted all 
 The lapse of ages, and the rise, 
 The revolutions, and the fall 
 Of dynasties : 
 
14 Manorbier. 
 
 As maiden, on her lover's tomb, 
 
 With tears o'erwearied, sleeps serene ; 
 Thon slnmberest on — unwitting of thy doom — 
 Of all thou art, of all thou once hast been. 
 
 Sleep on — mysterious Maynorpir! 
 Sleep on — sleep on — thou peaceful slumberer ! 
 Sweet be thy rest, 
 
 In thy rusticity so blest; 
 
 Thy glory past in Lethe's stream, 
 
 Forgotten, as an elfin dream; 
 Peace and content for ever dwell with thee, 
 And, nature's first and fairest child, Simplicity. 
 
 But when fancy roves 
 
 Thro' her rosen groves, 
 And steeps in sweet illusion all she loves : 
 
 Historic visions track 
 
 The stream of ages back, 
 And dreamy pageants of old glory rise 
 Before her fascinated eyes : 
 As memory's distant lamps grow fainter, 
 Their rays are fairer, grander, quainter, 
 And modern littleness contrast 
 With the rude grandeur of the past. 
 Then, lovely Manorbier! 
 Then art thou doubly dear; 
 
Manorbier. 15 
 
 Thy time-spun veil aside is cast, 
 Thy lover sees thee as thou wast, 
 And hails Demetia's gem — thee, fair without compeer. 
 
 Thy meadows now so fair, and crystal rill, 
 
 That turns thy little rustic mill, 
 She sees a noble lake ; whose silver flood 
 Mirrors the noble pile, that stood 
 
 High o'er its verdant side; 
 And crowned the little knoll's extent, 
 With bastion, tower, and battlement, 
 And bartizans, that swept the dell 
 With arbalist and mangonel ; 
 And the grim-toothed cullis-grate 
 Grinned o'er the moat, in warlike state, 
 
 And stern baronial pride : 
 That told of many a bloody fray, 
 And darker deeds, of olden day, 
 When fierce and free its bulwarks on 
 Floated the dragon-gonfalon. 
 
 Then flashed on fancy's eye 
 The pomp, the pride, the circumstance, 
 Of listed field, and splintered lance ; 
 And all the splendour, the romance, 
 
 And gaud of chivalry ; 
 And damsels fair, whose beauty's blaze 
 No heart conceives in modern days : 
 
16 Manorbi 
 
 ei\ 
 
 Then stalwart arm, and high-born courage went 
 For manhood's best accomplishment; 
 And knightly spurs were pledge and prize 
 Of fearless heart, and gentle blood, 
 Of courtesy, and honor's code — 
 The goal of lustrous eyes. 
 
 Then, Manorbier, in thine halls 
 
 Rang the groined roof, and bannered walls. 
 
 With revel loud and long; 
 As groaned the board, and full and fast 
 The mead-o'erfoaming hirlas passed, 8 
 And converse bright the hours beguiled ; 
 And beauty blushed as valor smiled : 
 
 In all the pride of song — 
 With flowing beard, and robe of sky, 9 
 The minstrel bard, on dais high, 
 Poured forth full many a stirring lay 
 Of Cambria's deeds in olden day ; 
 And many a legend, ne'er forgot, 
 Of Caerleon and Camelot; 
 How in green isles and mystic bower, IO 
 Great Arthur bides his fated hour, 
 Till fairy bands shall bring their chief again, 
 And Britain hail his universal reign. 
 
 And loud their praises rung — 
 And trembled as they hung 
 
Manorbier. 17 
 
 Casque, hauberk, haketon, and dinted shield, 
 And brand and curtal axe ; 
 That helm and corslet cleft like wax. 
 On many a well-fought field. 
 
 Now Silence reigns — and owlets brood — 
 
 And Echo chides the feet, 
 That violate the solitude 
 
 Of her long-loved retreat. 
 
 And Fancy, loveliest sister of the three, 
 With her delightful grammarie, 
 O'er ruin wild and ivy-grown 
 Can shed enchantment of her own — 
 
 A sunny haze impart; 
 That veils the cruelty and crime, 
 But gilds the glow of olden time, 
 
 And stamps it on the heart. 
 
 Thus at thy teaching, Fancy fair, 
 The nobler spirit pants for purer air, 
 Chafes at her uncongenial bonds, and flies 
 To regions far, and free 
 From cramped conventionalities, 
 And fashion's foolery. 
 As some poor bird, in city cage confined, 
 'Scaped from the noious prison, Avhere she pined, 
 
18 Manorbier. 
 
 Flees to the sunny fields, and greenwood shades, 
 To pleasant streams, and hawthorn-scented giades ; 
 
 Hails the fresh breeze and woodland song, 
 
 Sweet nature's sweetest voice ; 
 
 And revels in her native joys, 
 
 For which she'd yearned so long. 
 
 Now, only to the Poet's song, 
 Lit by the spark of fancy's fire, 
 Struck from the wizard minstrel's lyre, 
 The days of chivalry belong : 
 Yet, to the soul that wisdom kens, 
 They speak with burning eloquence ; 
 The germ of all that's great unfold 
 In sterling hearts, and heads of old; 
 They never, with unblushing face, 
 Sold England's weal for power and place ; 
 In them may waning Britain see 
 The spring of her prosperity. 
 
 But truth ill-scanned, and legend lays — 
 
 Wild tales of pre-historic days, 
 
 To Fancy's fond chimeric eye 
 
 More witching in their mystery, 
 
 Can wring the reins from Reason's hand, 
 
 And lead her thrall to fairy-land. 
 
Manorbier. 19 
 
 As now — with maiden in her midnight bower, 
 Peering through lattice in the western tower, 
 She roams the sleepless Severne sea, ZI 
 For some home-bounden argosie ; 
 And seems to monrn the common lot 
 Of constancy — to be forgot : 
 Hears — the lone warder overhead, 
 Pacing his watch with measured tread ; 
 And humming some old bardic lay, 
 To while the wakeful hours away. 
 Sees — in the flitting shadows, as they sweep 
 In fitful moonbeams, o'er the misty steep, 
 Weird forms of Druids old; 
 Quaint sprites of no terrestial mould, 
 And shapes mysterious, that behove 
 The mythic age of Fancy's love : 
 That, gossips tell, yet hover round 
 The chromlech's death-devoted ground; I2 
 Where spells of magic potence erst 
 The very rocks asunder burst, 
 And horrid fissures yet can shew I3 
 What once mage Merlin's art could do. 
 She stands amazed 
 At the wild phantoms, that herself has raised; 
 And shudders, as her half-closed eyes 
 Recall their horrid mysteries. 
 
20 Manorbiei 
 
 As now — the midnight moon 
 In cloudless glory shone; 
 And o'er the bay, and quivering ocean threw 
 Her spangled canopy of blue ; 
 So fair the night, to Fancy's sight 
 The waters trembled with delight ; 
 Onward the little wavelets rolled, 
 Broke on the sands in sparks of gold, 
 And mocked the eyelets of the sky, 
 With lire's phosphoric mimicry : 
 The vine-clad hills, and headlands seem 
 Pearled with her soft mysterious beam ; 
 Tall hazel covert, and swart wood — 
 As towered each patriarchal tree 
 Tipped with her tinsel filigree — 
 Like hoary -headed giants stood : 
 Or things of frosted silver, set 
 In shadow deep, and dark as jet. 
 On abbey pinnacle and spire 
 Fell the full flood of paly fire, 
 That all in sheeny contrast show 
 From vault of deepest indigo. 
 
 A thousand colored rays 
 From the rich-storied oriels blaze — 
 As wake is kept, and mass is said 
 For souls in Palestina sped — 
 
Manorbier. 21 
 
 Imparting all their ruddy glow 
 To the cold ebon lake below; 
 Where thousand starlets ocean-deep 
 Beneath th' unruffled surface sleep ; 
 As, coote and cur lieu gone to nest, 
 The sleepy water-lilies lie, 
 Nursing to rest 
 Their half-closed chalices of ivory. 
 
 Adown the dreamy vale, 
 
 The weary nightingale 
 Had ceased her love-lorn madrigal, 
 
 And all was still ; 
 Save the faint plashing waterfall, 
 
 And distant mill ; 
 Or 'chance, the wailing requiem 
 Soft o'er the listening water stole, 
 Or the sad melting cadence of the hymn 
 Of midnight mass, for a departing soul. 
 
 So fair, so mythic all — it seemed 
 
 Some limner drew, or poet dreamed: 
 
 Tho' never pencil might express 
 
 The soft romantic loveliness, 
 
 Or poesie's supremest flight 
 
 The grand, the awful majesty of night 
 
22 Manorbier. 
 
 Yet may th' enchantress Fancy's power, 
 Bred in the weird moon's witching hour, 
 E'en fascinate the mental eye, 
 And flout cold stark reality. 
 
 Sleep on, mysterious Maynorpir! 
 Sleep on — sleep on — thou peaceful slumberer; 
 
 Sweet be thy rest, 
 
 In thy simplicity so blest : 
 
 Launched in a golden dream 
 
 Down age's tranquil stream, 
 
 While elfin oars keep time 
 
 To th' tuneful water's chime, 
 
 And health-embalmed gales 
 
 Distend thy silken sails : 
 O'er the smooth surface may'st thou calmly sweep, 
 Nor ken the rocks and wrecks, that mar the dreadful deep. 
 
!|h£ Wanderer's Return, 
 
 CENE of my childish days! tho' cold 
 My withered heart may be, 
 
 And years and oceans long have rolled 
 Between this heart and thee ; 
 
 Yet grateful memory ne'er shall prove 
 
 Inconstant to her earliest love. 
 
 Thy vision yet my soul enthrals ; 
 
 Thy health-inspiring gales, 
 Thy meadows, green as emeralds, 
 
 And harvest-laden vales, 
 Efface long years of absent pain, 
 And lead me back to youth again. 
 
 Can I forget thy peaceful shades, 
 Haunt of my happiest hours? 
 
 Or cease to love thy birchen glades, 
 And honey-suckle bowers ? 
 
 I'll ever love thee; tho' to me 
 
 Thou art not what thou used'st to be. 
 
24 The Wanderer s Return, 
 
 The nmsic of that sabbath bell 
 
 Can yet its charm impart ; 
 As some sweet soul-reviving spell 
 
 To th' weary world-worn heart 
 Recalls our earliest, dearest ties, 
 And wakes a thousand sympathies. 
 
 Thy peaceful streams as gently flow, 
 Wild flowers as sweet bestrew thee, 
 
 Thy balmy breezes softly blow, 
 As when in youth I knew thee ; 
 
 Yet now — I visit thee agen, 
 
 A stranger and an alien. 
 
 Each loved resort, and woodland path, 
 
 In solitude I roam ; 
 Where once I'd friends at every hearth, 
 
 In every cot a home : 
 But now — forgotten and alone, 
 A weary waif, I wander on. 
 
 Thy cottage bowers are as green, 
 
 Thy hearths yet blaze as free ; 
 But where are they, that blessed the scene, 
 
 And made it dear to me? 
 Like many a monarch of the wood, 
 The gap alone shews where it stood. 
 
The Wanderer' *s Return. 25 
 
 Yon mansion — where the tortured yews 
 And quaint-clipped boxes stand, 
 
 And olden linden avenues, 
 
 Have 'scaped the spoiler's hand, 
 
 And little Cupid on the lawn 
 
 Is spouting water thro' his horn — 
 
 New impulse to my soul imparts ; 
 
 That burns, as it recalls 
 Those days of dear congenial hearts, 
 
 And hospitable halls ; 
 When friendship was a purer tie 
 Than polished insincerity. 
 
 There joyous playmates oft have met, 
 
 The festive Yule to bless ; 
 And I burned to grasp the hand — if yet 
 
 A hand remained to press ; 
 But boding fancy seemed to me 
 
 To speak another dynasty. 
 
 I asked ; they said the name they'd heard 
 
 But it was years ago ; 
 The tomb is in the kirken yard ; 
 
 And that is all they know : 
 " You may the sad memorial see, 
 It stands beside the old ash tree." 
 
26 The Wanderer s Return. 
 
 Yes — it was there ; and many a stone 
 
 ISTow occupies the place, 
 With many a mound, where I had known 
 
 A plane and empty space ; 
 And every epitaph disclosed 
 The cell, wherein a friend reposed; 
 
 Revived some pleasing memory, 
 
 Long years had laid to rest; 
 Of many an eye that smiled on me, 
 
 And many a hand I'd pressed; 
 Blythe hearts, that once with mine beat high 
 Amid the village revelry. 
 
 One little cultivated spot 
 
 Seemed kept with tender care ; 
 With violets, " forget-me-not," 
 
 And roses growing there ; 
 It looked a smiling garden ground, 
 With arched withies fenced around. 
 
 Such is the simple moniment 
 
 The rustic mourner rears ; 
 That's long with fond affection tent, 
 
 And watered with her tears : 
 The sadly vacant hour may there 
 Find object for affection's care. 
 
The Wanderer's Return. 27 
 
 The dear old church, could scarce be known, 
 
 'Twas altered every feature; 
 The good old Vicar'd long been gone — 
 
 They've got a modern teacher ; 
 He's changed it all, to make more room; 
 Yet, they say, fewer people come. 
 
 His fancies and his flowers they deem 
 
 Capricious vanities : 
 And sure God's service is no theme 
 
 For him to compromise ; 
 Nor do they very clearly see 
 What he calls Catholicity. 
 
 "Ah! 'twas'nt so when you were here" — 
 
 The old man said no more, 
 But shook his head, and dropped a tear, 
 
 As he shut the chancel door: 
 " I'm eighty three come May," said he, 
 "It matters little now to me." 
 
 There, in a cottage by the gate 
 
 With roses overgrown, 
 A widow at the wicket sate, 
 
 Poor solitary one; 
 And as she plied, with patient zeal, 
 The labour of her spinning wheel — 
 
28 The Wanderer' 's Return. 
 
 Methought I conld tlie semblance trace — 
 Now care-worn, widowed, wan — 
 
 Of a once-joyous little face, 
 So bright in days agone : 
 
 From earliest infancy, she said, 
 
 That humble cot she'd tenanted ; 
 
 And rich, in all domestic joys, 
 
 The world she'd envied not; 
 The village was her Paradise, 
 
 And competence her lot; 
 But fortune frowned — and one by one, 
 
 Child, parents, husband, all were gone. 
 
 She, melancholy chronicler, 
 
 With tearful eye displayed 
 The ravages, that year by year, 
 
 The hand of time had made ; 
 How she had known, since childhood's day. 
 A generation pass away. 
 
 "It 'minds us that our day is near, 
 
 Nor do I wish reprieve ; 
 There have I all to go to — here 
 
 But less and less to leave." 
 The gentry at the hall, she said, 
 Had long been all dispersed or dead : 
 
The Wanderer s Return. . 29 
 
 She'd heard the Squire's passing bell, 
 She'd seen the feathers wave, 
 
 And the long cortege marked she well 
 That bore him to the grave : 
 
 For, " since he lost Miss Emmelen," 
 
 She said, "he never smiled agen." 
 
 She had been married eighteen years, 
 And much misfortune known ; 
 
 "He fell at sea," she said with tears, 
 "He was but forty-one: 
 
 I have his medal here, you see, 
 
 'Tis a poor recompense to me." 
 
 "At last, he sailed for Elsinore 
 
 In th' old Bellerophon ; 
 He found a bed on foreign shore, 
 
 And I a widowed one : 
 And I have striven sore sithence 
 To earn a scanty competence." 
 
 "And then my child; poor little thing- 
 She's gone ; I could not bear 
 To see her patient suffering ; 
 , I know she's better there : 
 Yet, when at night I sit alone, 
 In everv wind I hear her moan." 
 
30 The Wanderer's Return. 
 
 " Beneath yon bed of flowers she lies ; 
 
 There oft to twilight's ear, 
 I sing the simple melodies, 
 
 That once she loved to hear ; 
 For while I think she yet is near, 
 I feel less solitary here." 
 
 " I love to think my song she hears, 
 
 Child of a brighter sphere ; 
 And fain would wipe away the tears 
 
 My weakness sheds for her; 
 And soothe the half-reluctant sigh, 
 That 'wails her happier destiny." 
 
 "I see the flowers droop and close, 
 
 Nipped by the chilly night, 
 But they shall ope when morning glows, 
 
 To hail the heavenly light : 
 We ought not, with such thoughts as those, 
 To mourn because the flowers close." 
 
 Could you, I asked, no pension get? 
 
 " Oh yes, they told me so ; 
 But I must wait they said — and yet 
 
 It's seven years ago : 
 I've too much pride to beg; and they've 
 Too little gratitude to give." 
 
The Wanderer's Return. 31 
 
 And when that night I sank to rest, 
 
 And reason lost her sway ; 
 My brain, all fevered and oppressed, 
 
 In fancy's wild array 
 Swept o'er the visions of the past, 
 With gloomy shadows overcast. 
 
 Methought, each monumental stone 
 
 I had so lately read, 
 Had ta'en the living semblance on 
 
 Of those they covered; 
 And fondly seemed to welcome me, 
 With olden-time's sincerity. 
 
 His frosty footstep Time withdrew, 
 
 The intervening years 
 Had vanished, as the morning dew 
 
 When morning sun appears ; 
 And my young spirit seemed to fly, 
 With all its wonted buoyancy, 
 
 To scenes, and sounds, I'd loved so well ; 
 
 The brook that murmured by ; 
 The lowing herd; the sheep-cot bell; 
 
 The woodland minstrelsy ; 
 And, softly swelling on the breeze, 
 
 The distant bells rang symphonies : 
 
32 The Wanderer' s Return. 
 
 These, with the deep sonorous bass 
 
 Of the hoarse waterfall, 
 Made one delicious diapase, 
 
 To soothe the soul withal ; 
 Yet, was in every breeze a moan, 
 That melancholy feeds upon. 
 
 We ranged the fields ; we leaped the brook ; 
 
 We sought the dingle thro' 
 For birds' nests, in each woody nook, 
 
 As we were wont to do ; 
 And I kenned the accents of each tongue, 
 And knew the very songs they sung. 
 
 Sweet smelt the birks ; and sweet the breeze, 
 That kissed the flowering broom ; 
 
 And I heard the murmur of the bees, 
 That revelled in the bloom ; 
 
 And knew the whistle, that revealed 
 The shepherd as he went afield. 
 
 The girls were making holiday, 
 
 As they were used whilome, 
 And riding on the new-made hay, 
 
 Were chanting, " Harvest-home : " 
 And there was pathos in the strain, 
 No waking ear can know again : 
 
The Wanderer's Return. 33 
 
 Like fairy notes, that witch the ears 
 
 Amid the moonlit grove, 
 And chant, in strains of other spheres, 
 
 The dirge of those we love; 
 Those pretty voices seemed to mourn 
 For days, that never can return. 
 
 1 knew each merry eye, apart 
 
 Fond recollection kept 
 Each gentle voice, for all my heart 
 
 "Was waking, tho' I slept : 
 Yet did my dreaming fancy deed 
 Those laughing eyes in widow weed. 
 
 Once more, I met my old compeers ; 
 
 And Emmelen was there, 
 (For all amid the lapse of years 
 
 I'd ne'er forgotten her) 
 She seemed to me unearthly fair, 
 And she had cypress in her hair. 
 
 I heard once more the festive voice 
 
 Of gambols long gone by ; 
 The old hall echoed with the noise, 
 
 The Yule-log blazed on high, 
 And red light on the antlers flung, 
 Whereon the mistletoe was hung : 
 
34 The Wanderer s Return. 
 
 The merry mistletoe all hail 
 
 With universal shout; 
 The Yicar left his pipe and ale, 
 
 And chased the girls about; 
 So zealously did they resist — 
 Yet managed to be caught, and kissed. 
 
 Joy beamed in every happy face, 
 As round the dancers flew; 
 
 The good old squire led the race, 
 And laughed the loudest too ; 
 
 And yet — strange inconsistency, — 
 
 The tomb was by the old ash tree. 
 
|IhE #EATH OF ^ONLA€K, 
 
 J#c *SAj/;j' /«/&£« from the ancient Gaelic ballad of 
 Gilliecallum M' an Olave. 
 
 ex 
 
 sg|N fair Dundalgin's sunny mead, 
 ^ Cuchullin's tower beside, 
 A Herald rein'd his reeking steed. 
 And to the warder cried — 
 
 " Go haste thee, warder, tell thy lord, 
 
 That Ulster's valiant King- 
 Demands the succour of his sword: 
 For sad the news I bring:." 
 
 "From Dunscaick a warrior came, 
 
 To spy our beauteous land; 
 And vowed he'd ne'er disclose his name, 
 
 Till forced bv stronger hand." 
 
36 The Death of Conlaek. 
 
 "His stalwart arm and flashing een 
 Youth's early bloom displayed; 
 
 And dauntless is his noble mien, 
 And beauteous as a maid." 
 
 "Brave Connal went to meet him; still 
 He would not give the word; 
 
 He said his warrant was his will, 
 His pass-port was his sword." 
 
 "They fought — the stranger bound him — then 
 
 To avenge good Connal's fall, 
 To rescue came an hundred men ; 
 
 The stranger bound them all." 
 
 "Of Banva's race, of Rury's clan, 
 
 (No weaklings in the fray) 
 Of Connor's children, not a man, 
 
 His proud career can stay." 
 
 "Thy hands alone, Oh Chief, thy hands, 
 
 Can save the land's despite; 
 Thine honor calls, thy King demands 
 
 Thy falchion to the fight." 
 
The Death of Conlack. 37 
 
 " Chief of the blood-red branch! to yon 
 He looks ; nor deem the hand, 
 
 That mighty Connal overthrew, 
 Unworthy of thy brand." 
 
 Up rose the warrior Chief, and bid 
 Them reach his habergeon, 
 
 Caparison his battle steed, 
 And gird his claymore on. 
 
 In saddle sprung, all night he rode, 
 
 And e'er the morning dim 
 
 Before the stalwart yonth he stood, 
 
 To give account of him. 
 
 " Brave yonth," he said, "thy name impart. 
 
 My King demands 't of thee; 
 Thou hast no need, whoe'er thou art, 
 
 To keep't a mystery." 
 
 " An hundred men in fetters cast, 
 
 Thy noble race proclaim; 
 Such deed of valour unsurpassed 
 
 Might gild a royal name." 
 
38 The Death of Conlack. 
 
 "I ask thee, pray thee, if thou wilt; 
 
 It is no proud demand; 
 I would not thy young blood were spilt, 
 
 For half my castle land/' 
 
 " Speak but the word, my hand I tend 
 To thee, in friendship true; 
 
 Fs a foe better than a friend? 
 And one no suckling too? " 
 
 i i Oh foremost in the battle ! pride 
 
 Of Erin's favoured land; 
 Fain would I tell thee," he replied, 
 
 "The word thou dost demand." 
 
 "For love, I fain would tell it thee, 
 If mortal man might know; 
 
 There's that within that counsels me 
 But Oh! I have a vow." 
 
 " I have a vow, great Chief — a vow 
 To one on earth most dear ; 
 
 Oh no — I cannot break it now — 
 I may not fail to her." 
 
The Death of Conlack. 39 
 
 " A mother's parting word forbade, 
 
 It is a sacred cause ; 
 Else would I ne'er unsheath the blade, 
 
 This hand reluctant draws." 
 
 " Choose ye good youth," he said, "thine arm 
 
 By better deeds be known ; 
 My wrath, my friendship both are warm, 
 
 My sword a weighty one." 
 
 "I have a mother; can I shame 
 Her cheek by faith so frail? 
 
 I have a father, Sir; whose name 
 Perchance might make thee quail." 
 
 "Tell it"— "I may not"— "then prepare, 
 
 Thy luckless fate impels, 
 Thy folly urges me to war, 
 
 From which my soul rebels." 
 
 The stranger fell — Cuchullin's sword, 
 That never failed its blow, 
 
 Had cleft his target thick and broad, 
 And cut his morion thro'. 
 
40 The Death of Conlack, 
 
 "Oh tell me now," the Chieftain said, 
 " Brave boy, Oh tell me now; 
 
 Thy name, the land where thou wast bred. 
 And say, whose son art thou?" 
 
 " Conlack my name; Cuchullin's son; 
 
 Dundalgin's heir am I : 
 Would I had known my sire ; and won 
 
 His blessing, e'er I die : " 
 
 "For I was yet unborn, when he 
 Left Skiath's Isle; and there 
 
 The best of mothers nurtured me, 
 With more than mother's care." 
 
 "Seven years in other lands I passed, 
 Whence I might knowledge earn ; 
 
 And this fair land, the best, the last, 
 Was all I'd left to learn." 
 
 " I'd heard Dundalgin's fields were fair, 
 And great my father's name; 
 
 And my young bosom yearned to share, 
 And emulate his fame." 
 
The Death of Conlack. 41 
 
 ' i But piously I've kept my vow, 
 Tho' vain with fate I strove ; 
 
 And paid in blood the debt, I owe 
 To a sweet mother's love." 
 
 "My son! my son!" the Chieftain cried, 
 "My Conlack! brave and good:" 
 
 And clasped the hero to his side, 
 And staunched the crimson flood : 
 
 "Thou art my very Conlack; now 
 
 Her lineaments revive; 
 Thy mother's Conlack ; tell me — Oh ! 
 
 Thy mother — doth she live?" 
 
 But damp his brow; his lips grew pale 
 His fixed eye's fire was flown ; 
 
 His fair head on his shoulder fell, 
 And his arm dropt lifeless down. 
 
 So fled that noble spirit ; slain 
 
 By hapless father's blade ; 
 That, like the Pelian lance, would fain 
 
 Have healed the wound it made. 
 
42 The Death of Conlack. 
 
 As some young oak in Bashan's vale, 
 
 In vigour firm and fast, 
 Falls, stricken by the northern gale, 
 
 Unbending: to the blast. 
 
 So that young blooming scion drooped, 
 
 I' the wintry atmosphere; 
 That gentle blythe young leopard stooped, 
 
 Beneath the hunter's spear. 
 
 Thou hast a bootless triumph won, 
 Cuchullin ; wreathe thy brow 
 
 With rue ; for destitute and lone 
 Thou art, and childless now. 
 
 The festive hall, and ladies' bower, 
 
 The battle's wild debate, 
 No more shall cheer thy weary hour, 
 
 Bereaved and desolate. 
 
 No more, thy loved Dundalgin's shade. 
 
 Shall soothe that heart of care ; 
 Till thou at last to rest be laid. 
 
 Beside thy Conlack there. 
 
"Urou M&trarcu. 
 
 CANZONE V. 
 
 He complains that Laura ' s treatment deprives him, and him alone 
 of that rest, which night brings to all other living creatures. 
 
 I. 
 
 §|||§HEN as at twilight's hour, Sol's western ray, 
 'Fast sinking, bears the cheery light of day 
 To realms, that wait his welcome benison; 
 Far on a wild, belated and alone, 
 Behold an aged, weary, wandering crone, 
 Doubling her pace, and weakly wending on ; 
 
 Till, cheerily, at last 
 
 Her daily journey past; 
 
 Straightway adown she throws 
 Her wearied limbs, to snatch a sweet repose; 
 Nor heeds the noious way she's traversed o'er. 
 But every pang, Alas ! that day brings me, 
 
 Grows but more sadly sore, 
 As days press onward to eternity. 
 
44 From Petrarch. 
 
 II. 
 
 Soon as the parting chariot of light 
 Yields his bright empire up to murky night, 
 And mountain shadows lengthen o'er the vale ; 
 The frugal peasant, at the close of day 
 Shouldering his spade, and chasing care away 
 With rustic carol, and a merry tale, 
 
 Plods to his homely board, 
 
 With simple viands stored; 
 
 Such as in ancient years, 
 The acorn gave, and mem'ry yet reveres. 
 Let those who may unburdened hearts possess ; 
 But night or day, my wearied spirit knows — 
 
 I say not cheerfulness — 
 But ne'er one hour of undisturbed repose. 
 
 III. 
 
 Soon as the shepherd sees, with drooping head, 
 The Sun descending to his wat'ry bed, 
 And all the east a dusky twilight hold ; 
 He gets him up, and takes his faithful crook, 
 Leaving the beechen shade, and murmuring brook, 
 And gently drives his little flock to fold : 
 
From Petrarch. 45 
 
 Then in sequestered grot, 
 
 Or ivy-mantled cot, 
 
 His rushy couch he strows ; 
 And, careless-gay, he hies him to repose. 
 Ah cruel Love ! that still dost urge me on 
 Ever to follow, to my deadly bane, 
 
 This fair unfeeling one ; 
 Yet dost thou not her cruelty restrain. 
 
 IY. 
 
 The mariner, in some secluded bay, 
 Wrapped in his rough capote, at close of day, 
 Throws him to rest upon the deck's hard floor : 
 But I — when Sol has gulphed him in the main, 
 And left behind him all the coast of Spain, 
 Tli' Herculean pillars, and the tawny Moor; 
 
 Mankind, and flocks and herds, 
 
 In teeming myriads, 
 
 Compose their cares to rest — 
 I ne'er chase wakeful sorrow from my breast ; 
 Long weary sorrow, time but feeds its power ; 
 Yet has it wellnigh lingered ten long years, 
 
 Still growing every hour : 
 I can divine no respite to my tears. 
 
46 From Petrarch 
 
 V. 
 
 Why do I try to comfort me with song? 
 I see the teams return at eventide, 
 Unyoked, from furrowed field, and mountain side 
 Yet ne'er from grief unloosed is my tongue : 
 Is there no burden in the yoke I bear? 
 Whence day and night the never-ceasing tear? 
 
 Alas ! those witching days ; 
 
 When first I fixed my gaze 
 
 Upon her beauty's blaze, 
 That has so stamped her image on my heart, 
 So deep — no power may e'er obliterate; 
 Till death, that doth all mortal things await, 
 
 At length shall us dispart: 
 And even then, I'm doubtful of my fate. 
 
§he Hast Friend, 
 
 Diluit et lachrymis mcerens unguenta profit sis ; 
 
 Ossaque vidua condita texit humo. 
 Qui quoniam extinctis, quce debet, prcestat amicis; 
 
 Et nos extinctis annumerare potest. 
 
 Ov. Pont. ix. 
 
 IP WAS just — nay, more than — fifteen years ago; 
 ,^^e^ Since, acliing hearts, in sable weed arrayed, 
 Marshalled in solemn cortege, sad and slow, 
 We wound beneath that death-devoted shade. 
 
 Beneath those gnarled sentinels of death, 
 
 That guard the peaceful precincts of her tomb, 
 
 We gave to dust the dust that perisheth ; 
 And blessed her flight to an eternal home. 
 
 A little cell 'twas, made but for a pair; 
 
 Where one erewhile had made his long abode : 
 Then closed for ever — they together there 
 
 Await the final summons of their God. 
 
 G 
 
48 The Last Friend. 
 
 And friends were there — once dear, nor e'er forgot ; 
 
 Parted in greener age, on life's career ; 
 Then in sere leaf, with many a chequered lot, 
 Eejoined in common mourning o'er her bier. 
 
 It was a mournful union, and the last; 
 
 The one dear object of our care was gone: 
 Each on his several way in sadness passed, 
 
 And all was drear, deserted, and forlorn. 
 
 It was a mournful union, and the last; 
 
 Now have they paid their debt ; and torn a page 
 From memory's record of a brighter past, 
 
 That somewhat cheered this weary pilgrimage. 
 
 One goes and then another — so the eve 
 Of life grows darker — till, to consummate 
 
 The devastation, comes the last bereave — 
 The one, that seems to make us desolate. 
 
 Sublata amicitia tollitur 
 e vita jucunditas. — Cic. 
 
|?H£ fl-AINBOW, 
 
 1 1 will set my bow in the clouds. 
 
 |HAT mystic cliarm imbues 
 The dark and distant shower, 
 With every jewel's hues, 
 And tints of every flower? 
 What gives the fervid glow, 
 To th' mists that earth enshroud? 
 And stamps the radiant Bow, 
 For ever on the cloud? 
 
 A Talisman immortal, 
 
 T' avert impending wrath ; 
 
 'Tis Heaven's golden portal, 
 
 Whence mercy issues forth ; 
 
 God's pledge of grace, that shone 
 
 On nature's wreck, when erst 
 
 The eye of pity on 
 
 The world of waters burst. 
 
50 The Rainbow. 
 
 'Tis effluence divine, 
 
 Illuminates the shower, 
 
 And stamps compassion's sign 
 
 On the avenging power ; 
 
 A ray of Heav'n, that brightens 
 
 The dew that nature steeps ; 
 
 An Angel's smile, that lightens 
 
 On nature when she weeps. 
 
 'Tis like the joy of sadness, 
 That melancholy wears ; 
 'Tis like a beam of gladness, 
 Reflected in her tears ; 
 'Tis like the joyous dawn, 
 That gilds the parting shower, 
 That on the bridal morn 
 Bedews the orange flower. 
 
 As some infant orphan's smile, 
 Recalls the dear departed — 
 Can widowed woe beguile, 
 And soothe the broken hearted : 
 Some sweet maternal vision 
 The lab'ring heart t' appease; 
 Some meteor's bright ignition 
 On the dark and troubled seas. 
 
The Rainbow. 
 
 51 
 
 'Tis like the breast, that borrows 
 Consolation from a sigh ; 
 Like lips that smile at sorrows, 
 And eyes that weep for joy; 
 Like fairy Hope that cheers 
 Sick hearts, that hope resign, 
 That brightens beanty's tears, 
 And makes them quite divine. 
 
Mhe Immigrant's Lament. 
 
 >^.oXo.-< 
 
 Ante meos oculos stat tua, tita semper imago est ; 
 Et videor vultus meute videre tuos. 
 
 Ov. Pont. 
 
 *&% 
 
 OE ! to the weary heart ; woe ! to the stranger ; 
 
 From home's sweetest solace, and sympathy torn ; 
 O'er desert, o'er sea, o'er the wide earth a ranger; 
 
 Lonely, disconsolate, weary, forlorn. 
 
 Ah! where are the wild flowers, that memory cherished? 
 
 The young foot, that tripped over mountain and moor? 
 The light heart? all — all but remembrance has perished, 
 
 That lives to the exile, who lives to deplore. 
 
 They told me of liberty, prairies unending ; 
 
 They told me of sunshine, eternal and free ; 
 But they told not the pangs that this bosom are rending, 
 
 Dissevered from all that is lovely to me. 
 
The Emigrant's Lament. 53 
 
 Tho' regions in summer eternal were glowing ; 
 
 Tho' golden savannahs nn cultivate bore ; 
 Far dearer to me, thy blue rocks, Innishowen ! 
 
 And the weird, and the wind-riven crags of Ben gore. 
 
 'Twas there, with the petrel, in life's early morning, 
 I beat the wild billow, and rode on its crest ; 
 
 And the perilous steep of rude Evenach scorning, 
 I reft the young prize from the peregrine's nest. 
 
 Now, toward thee, each day, do I gaze with devotion, 
 Where morn's dewy pinions emerge from the sea; 
 
 And the rays of her rising, sweet islet of ocean ! 
 The first and the fairest, she sheds upon thee. 
 
 Now, musing I rove by these waters of sorrow; 
 
 And fancy each wave, as it rolls from afar, 
 From the land of the morning its brightness may borrow, 
 
 And have kissed the dear shingle of Ballymenah. 
 
 Too late, do we learn, all unfriended, forsaken, 
 
 How dear is the homestead, how hallowed the ground; 
 
 How sweet is the morsel by friendship partaken, 
 
 And the bright glowing peat on the dear ones around. 
 
54 
 
 The Emigrant's Lament 
 
 I have loved thee too dearly ; for fond recollections 
 Bnt cherish regret for thee ; land of my birth ! 
 
 Sweet home of my fathers, and fondest aifections ; 
 And the last one of all that were dearest on earth. 
 
 Blow on, ye sweet airs, on her heathery mountains, 
 Ye fair flowers deck her vales, tho' for others to see ; 
 
 Ye streams issue bright from your fern-shaded fountains ; 
 And the shamrock shall bloom — tho' it bloom not for me. 
 
#HE {0HARM. 
 
 Pier i ola e~ l' ape, c fa col picciol morso 
 Pur gravi, e -pur moleste le feritc. — TASSO. 
 
 A Pastoral Talc. From Tasso. 
 
 HEN I was a child, and so young 
 
 That my little hand scarcely had height 
 
 To gather the apples, that hung 
 
 On the branches, that bent with the weight ; 
 
 A youthful acquaintance I made 
 With a dear little maiden ; so fair, 
 
 That the breezes of spring never played 
 With the gold of so beautiful hair. 
 
 She was Sylvia; rich in domains 
 Was her father Montano, and wise ; 
 
 And she, the delight of the plains, 
 
 And the load-star of neighbouring eyes. 
 
56 The Char 
 
 m. 
 
 Why mention it? Ah! such a pair, 
 And so constant companions as we, 
 
 No doves of the wood ever were, 
 And I doubt if there ever will be. 
 
 Tho' our cots were in near vicinage, 
 We were nearer in heart and in will ; 
 
 And so suitable were we in age — 
 But in habit more suitable still. 
 
 Our toils, in the lake and the heather, 
 For the birds and the fishes we wrought ; 
 
 And we followed the roe-buck together, 
 And together rejoiced in the sport. 
 
 We partook of the game too ; but now 
 While making such havoc and spoil, 
 
 I felt — tho' I cannot say how — 
 
 That myself was entrapped in the toil. 
 
 By degrees, o'er my spirit there grew 
 Some strange indescribable care; 
 
 No manifest reason I knew — 
 But weeds will grow everywhere. 
 
The Charm. 57 
 
 And my heart such a longing beset. 
 For Sylvia's company — liow 
 
 I might always be with her — and yet, 
 I could never be with her enow. 
 
 From her eyes, and their exquisite ray, 
 What a marvellous pleasure I drew ! 
 
 Yet a something was left to allay — 
 Was it fancy ? or bitterly true ? 
 
 But now — thrice has the harvester wrought, 
 And thrice winter has widowed the trees ; 
 
 She avoids me — she holds me at nought ; 
 And she flies me whenever she sees. 
 
 To please her what would I not try ? 
 
 And, but death, I had everything tried ; 
 I had nothing to do but to die, 
 
 And fain would I gladly have died. 
 
 And I would even now, if I knew 
 
 That my death would afford her delight ; 
 
 Or that she, having proved me true, 
 Would my faith with her pity requite. 
 
58 The Charm, 
 
 Of the two, I can hardly say — 
 
 If she would but compassion accord- 
 
 Whether death it would better repay, 
 Or fidelity better reward. 
 
 So I sighed ; and continued to sigh ; 
 
 Tho' I knew not the cause of my sighs ; 
 Such a novice to Cupid was I, 
 
 That he deigned not to open my eyes. 
 
 But at last —what a booby ! you'll say — 
 A thing happened the matter to prove : 
 
 Just listen ; I'll tell you the way 
 I discovered the tyrant was love. 
 
 We were sitting one day in the shade 
 Of a beautiful beech, that hard by 
 
 Its umbrageous canopy spread, 
 There were Sylvia, Phyllis, and I. 
 
 When an impudent bee, that in those 
 Flowery meadows was seeking for food, 
 
 Flew at Phyllis, instead of a rose, 
 Deceived by the similitude. 
 
The Charm. 59 
 
 Perhaps he believed her a flower, 
 And he bit her, the honey to seek ; 
 
 But there was not a rose in the bower, 
 So fragrant as Phyllis's cheek. 
 
 He bit it, and bit it again ; 
 
 It was really a terrible sting ; 
 And Phyllis cried out with the pain, 
 
 It has killed me — the horrible thine: ! 
 
 But my beautiful Sylvia replied, 
 
 Don't cry, Phylly, there's nothing in it 
 
 For I know a few words, that applied, 
 Will make it all well in a minute. 
 
 Artesia taught me the line ; 
 
 And I gave for the secret she told, 
 That ivory bugle of mine, 
 
 That is fretted all over with gold. 
 
 Then she put her sweet lips to the wound, 
 And some spell she appeared to rehearse ; 
 
 I heard a soft murmuring sound, 
 
 But I could not distinguish the verse. 
 
60 The Charm. 
 
 In a moment — the pain it was gone ; 
 
 Could the words have effected so much? 
 Or the lips of so lovely a one, 
 
 That must cure every thing that they touch ? 
 
 To that hour, I had doted alone 
 
 On her eyes, and then luminous beams 
 
 On her voice, of so dulcet a tone, 
 
 It is sweet as the murmuring streams ; 
 
 As the music of waters, that seethe 
 O'er the bed of the pebbly dell? 
 
 As the evening Zephyrs, that breathe 
 To the Dryads a nightly farewell. 
 
 But now — all my heart was on fire, 
 All my native simplicity flown; 
 
 And I bmned with the novel desire, 
 To press those sweet lips to my own. 
 
 Love ! how you sharpen the wit ! 
 
 I was never addicted to art ; 
 But I now had recourse to deceit, 
 
 To obtain the desire of my heart. 
 
The Charm. 61 
 
 I know not what made me so deep, 
 
 But I too began to complain ; 
 And I put up my hand to my lip, 
 
 And pretended to writhe with the pain. 
 
 To request it I never could brook, 
 
 Or to such an idea give vent ; 
 But I gave so imploring a look, 
 
 That she never could doubt what it meant. 
 
 Poor Sylvia, all inexpert 
 
 In such artifice, offered her aid 
 
 To relieve me the pain of the hurt 
 She imagined the insect had made. 
 
 But alas ! 'twas a perilous cure ; 
 
 As she pressed those sweet corals of hers, 
 The wound, that I really endure 
 
 In my heart, grew a hundred times worse. 
 
 There is never a bee in the plain, 
 
 Tho' the thyme of Hymettus he sips ; 
 
 Could imbibe such a nectar again, 
 As I, from those beautiful lips. 
 
62 The Charm. 
 
 But prudence my ardour repressed — 
 For it seemed overpowering my sense ; 
 
 And I checked my temerity, lest 
 I should foolishly give her offence. 
 
 But tho' the delight was so great, 
 
 I had learnt that my heart was in thrall ; 
 
 The honey, believe me, was sweet, 
 But it was not unmingled with gall. 
 
 So sweet — I pretended the spell 
 Had failed, in assuaging the pain ; 
 
 And I made her believe it so well, 
 That she did it again, and again. 
 
 From that hour I could hardly endure 
 The anguish, it wore me to dust; 
 
 And my heart was so full, that I'm sure 
 If it had not a vent, it would burst. 
 
 A 771 in ta. Act i, Scene 2. 
 
•B-Y THE ^AT€H ft IRE, 
 
 Answer to "Go where Glory waits thee." — T. Moork 
 
 S|Y the watch-fire dozing, 
 HTWTien the daylight's closing, 
 
 Then I dream of thee ; 
 By the embers waking, 
 E'er the day is breaking, 
 
 Still I remember thee. 
 Memory, past and smiling, 
 Absent hours be°;iiilino- 
 Perils reconciling, 
 
 Binds my sonl to thee; 
 Heav'n itself were void, 
 But with thee enjoyed; 
 
 For thou art all to me. 
 
 When, "mid orange shades, 
 Melting serenades 
 
 Breathe sweetest harmony; 
 They recall the joys 
 Of one more witching voice ; 
 
 Then I remember thee. 
 
64 By the Watch Fire. 
 
 Beauty 'round me beaming, 
 Hearts with kindness teeming, 
 Eyes angelic gleaming — 
 
 Lovely as they he — 
 But the more remind me 
 Of those I left behind me ; 
 
 Beyond the salty sea. 
 
 When brave hearts are bounding 
 To the trumpet sounding; 
 
 Then I remember thee : 
 Smiles from those we love 
 Valour's meed shall prove ; 
 
 Then I remember thee : 
 Like an angel near me, 
 In danger's hour to cheer me, 
 In duty's path to steer me, 
 
 Thy spirit form I see ; 
 Life and hope grow dearer — 
 Death has only terror, 
 
 When I remember thee. 
 
f|EMEMBEtt, 
 
 Paste /' ag/ia I'erbette, il lupo V ague; 
 
 Ma il crudo Amor di lagrime si pascc— TASSO. 
 
 REMEMBER, Mary, years agone 
 SiThou wast a lonely orphan one ; 
 E'er yet thy childish years could spare 
 A mother's tenderness and care : 
 
 Remember 
 How, in the solitary hours, 
 I taught thee plant thy little flowers : 
 Thy garden plot was next to ours, 
 
 Remember. 
 
 Fate seemed to have ordained me 
 The solace of thine infancy ; 
 And 'twas to me a pleasing care, 
 All lorn and lovely as you were ; 
 
 Remember 
 How after school-hours every day, 
 You met me, on my homeward way; 
 It was with you I loved to play, 
 
 Remember. 
 
66 Remember. 
 
 The other boys were rude, and I 
 Preferred thy gentle company ; 
 How dear the little walks we took, 
 Down to the meadows, by the brook! 
 
 Remember 
 How oft together, by the Lynn, 
 We watched the gushing waters shine : 
 Thy little soft hand fast in mine, 
 
 Remember. 
 
 How, as we rambled o'er the lea, 
 The linnet poured her minstrelsy ; 
 And how I plucked the hare-bells blue, 
 And climbed the ring-dove's nest for you : 
 
 Remember 
 How, when the sultry noon oppressed thee, 
 In th' old oak shade we sat to rest thee : 
 And closer to my heart I pressed thee, 
 
 Remember. 
 
 Those scenes were dearer far to me, 
 
 Than Enna's flowery meads could be ; 
 
 The flowers we culled more bright and green, 
 
 Than all the growth of Hippocrene ; 
 
 Remember, 
 I wove for you a floral crown, 
 And kissed you when I put it on : 
 To me 't has proved a thorny one, 
 
 Remember. 
 
Remember. 67 
 
 Each spring the thrush renewed her lay, 
 The cuckoo came, and went away; 
 In one unvarying round, the grain 
 Was sown, was ripe, was reaped again, 
 
 Kemeniber : 
 And tho' the wintry winds invaded, 
 And nature's self grew sere and jaded; 
 There was one flower that never faded, 
 
 Remember. 
 
 There was one joy, that never cloyed, 
 One hope, sincere and unalloyed; 
 Sincere, but Ah ! we little thought 
 How dearly those sweet hours were bought 
 
 Remember, 
 We spoke no more of childish play, 
 But talked of what might be — one day ; 
 Tho' little dreamt how far away, 
 
 Remember. 
 
 Advancing years brought duties too, 
 And tore me from my home, and you; 
 O'er the wide waters cast my fate, 
 All heartless and disconsolate : 
 
 Remember 
 How many a wistful sigh we cast 
 Upon the dear enchanting past : 
 But the dread " Farewell" came at last, 
 
 Remember. 
 
68 Remember. 
 
 I would have wept a thousand years, 
 To spare but one of those sweet tears : 
 But that I lived to solace thee, 
 Life were indifferent to me : 
 
 Remember, 
 All — all our blissful dream was gone, 
 And wormwood was the star, that shone, 
 Upon our parting benison. 
 
 Remember, 
 
 Twas then we learnt affection's tie, 
 Grown with our growth, can never die; 
 'Tis some ethereal sympathy 
 Can bless — but Oh ! it can destroy. 
 
 Remember- 
 Oh ! remember, e'er the sun was set 
 That night — I never can forget — 
 But many a weary year shall yet 
 
 Remember. 
 

 %^^ 
 
 LOW on, thou gentle stream, 
 As calm as summer skies, 
 As pure as infant's dream, 
 And deep as lovers' sighs 
 
 E'er they sped : 
 Celestial stillness rest 
 
 On thy calm unruffled breast, 
 And the turtle makes her nest, 
 O'er thy bed. 
 
 How often did I stray 
 
 Down thy lotus-scented vale, 
 To hear the plaintive lay 
 
 Of th' lonely nightingale; 
 
 When the gleam 
 Of the sinking sun had dressed 
 
 In gold the burning west, 
 And the swallow dipped her breast 
 
 In the stream. 
 
70 To the Velino. 
 
 And I watched the last fair ray 
 
 On thy peaceful waters set; 
 
 As they went their joyous way, 
 
 Yet smoother, swifter yet, 
 
 As they flow 
 
 To the roaring precipice 
 
 Of the cataract's abyss, 
 Where the eddies foarn and hiss, 
 Down below. 
 
 And I said it with a sigh, 
 
 It is so with earthly joys ; 
 When sweet and swift they fly, 
 They give a warning voice : 
 As the calm, 
 By wild tornado nursed, 
 
 Precedes the dreadful burst; 
 The stagnant stillness first 
 
 Gives alarm. 
 
#£P05£. 
 
 ^w^^^ 
 
 Painted by Davby — Exhibited 1843. 
 
 HE sun had nigh set, and the gorgeous west 
 ^In her robes of vermillion and amber had dressed ; 
 And the last mellow ray of his glory had shed 
 O'er the sear-tinted forest of russet and red; 
 Had gilded the water, the woods, and the wold. 
 And the gossamers floated in liquid gold. 
 
 Not a zephyr was stirring ; the evening's breath 
 Was as fragrant an Eden, as tranquil as death ; 
 Not a sound from the neighbouring hamlet arose, 
 And nature entranced was sunk to repose ; 
 While Hesper was patiently watching the sun, 
 To scatter the dew, when his reign had begun. 
 
 K 
 
72 Repose. 
 
 And the wraith of the moon was half shining e'er yet 
 
 The last ray of the snn in the ocean had set ; 
 
 Like a prodigal child, that with impious eyes, 
 
 Is awaiting a parent's obsequies : 
 
 And the hills, far away in the evening mist, 
 
 Resemble huge masses of amethyst. 
 
 There's a mystical stillness o'er meadow and dell ; 
 There's a charm o'er the woods, and the waters as well : 
 And the silvery drops, in the solemn hush, 
 Are heard as they fall from the hawberry bush ; 
 Or a leaf now and then as it drops from a tree, 
 Like a withered joy, fall'n from mortality. 
 
 The choir is deserted; the chorus is done; 
 
 They have sung their last anthem of praise to the sun ; 
 
 The foraging rooks to the covert repair; 
 
 The watch dog has crept to his wakeful lair ; 
 
 And Echo sat watching in jealous despite, 
 
 As silence was wooing the spirit of night. 
 
 There is something unearthly, so mythic and quaint, 
 Such as Spencer would sing, or Danby would paint; 
 You would fancy that Naids would spring from the flood, 
 Or the revel of Dryads be heard in the wood; 
 That the reeds of the shepherds would waken the dells. 
 And that fairies would spring from the fox-glove bells : 
 
Repose. 73 
 
 That the days of romance had returned again 
 To Thessalian shores, and Arcadia's plain ; 
 That the dying Adonis lay bathed in gore, 
 And the Cupids were catching the truculent boar ; 
 While Venus sat wailing him all the night long. 
 Like Philomel, wailing the raid on her young. 
 
 Such a night — pretty Thisbe enraptured had hung 
 
 O'er the chink in the wall, where her Pyramus sung 
 
 Such strains, as may only by twilight be told 
 
 To blushes, too burning for day to behold; 
 
 And impressed the cold stone, at each nightly adieu, 
 
 With kisses, so warm as almost to go through. 
 
 Such a night — Hero lighted her love-leading star, 
 
 And sighed, as she watched o'er the waters afar ; 
 
 ''Ah! why does he tarry? for zephyrs to waft? 
 
 Or fears he the waters he's tempted so oft? 
 
 Is Hero less fair? or Leander less free? 
 
 Oh! the winds and the waves are less fickle than he.'' 
 
 Such a night — the pale gleam of her beacon espying, 
 On the tower, where love and his Hero were lying, 
 As his eager eye noted the signal she gave, 
 The youth of Abydos sprang into the wave : 
 Ah ! trust not, bold swimmer, that pitiless sea, 
 'Twas a grave to poor Helle; and shall be to thee. 
 
74 Repose. 
 
 Such a night — Eloise at her lattice reclined, 
 And sighed her complaint to the listening wind : 
 "All creation rejoices; all nature is peace; 
 There is joy in the echo, and balm in the breeze; 
 Grove, mountain, and valley their praises return ; 
 And is man, and man only, thus fated to mourn?" 
 
 "The coverts with evening pseans resound, 
 And hail the glad sun, as each morrow comes round: 
 But my cell's ever damp with my tears ; and my eyes 
 But awake to each morrow of penance and sighs.; 
 And the flames, that this languishing bosom consume, 
 Are but funeral fires; as the lamp in the tomb." 
 
 "Does God send His blessings for man to despise? 
 
 Or require of man only the sacrifice? 
 
 Cease not, little sylphs, ye are free as the air, 
 
 Ye are joyous as sunshine, as guiltless of care; 
 
 For you — shall the spring deed the desolate groves, 
 
 And restore ye your mates, and your innocent loves." 
 
 a But no spring can return, or no sunshine appear, 
 In the dark and damp aisles of this sepulchre here : 
 Nor rest is for thee, Eloisa ! till death 
 From this penance of earth absolution bequeathe; 
 Where his balm universal Hope never bestows, 
 Where the day has no joy ; and the night no REPOSE/* 
 
#WF.LL #rOT OiN ^fiMORY, 
 
 ^•°X°« 
 
 Pom'a dat Autumnus, gaudet sibi messibus cestas, 
 l r er prcebet flores, igitc levatur hyems. — Ov. 
 
 s&i M& 
 
 Hh 
 
 WELL not on memory, that endears 
 The tender scenes of earlier years ; 
 
 Nor yet repine, 
 That life's romance is past and gone, 
 That sob'rer days come rolling on, 
 Nor hearts the fascination own, 
 
 Of eyes like thine. 
 
 Think not, that youth alone is dear, 
 That beauty's all we live for here, 
 
 Her smiles to follow; 
 For how her heavenly mission prove, 
 If youth alone her smiles may move, 
 And woman's tenderness and love 
 
 Fly, with the swallow? 
 
76 
 
 Dwell not on Memory. 
 
 Autumn lias fruit, if spring lias flower 
 And peaceful are the social hours • 
 
 Round winter's fire. 
 Nor say; life, like the rose o'erblown, 
 Has lost all sweetness of its own, 
 And beauty, with her petals flown, 
 
 Leaves hut a briar. 
 
HORACE ANO ggYOIA 
 
 /vv;// Horace. B. Hi., Ode ix, 
 
 H. While I was dear to thee, e'er yet 
 More favoured arms than mine beset 
 That lovely neck, than snow more fair. 
 No Eastern Prince was happier. 
 
 L. E'er Lydia, foremost in thy love. 
 In vain 'gainst pretty Chloe strove ; 
 Nor Ilia's fame were dearer prize, 
 Than was thy love, in Lydia's eyes. 
 
 H. Yes — my whole soul fair Chloe claims. 
 Her harp delights, her song inflames, 
 And cheerfully my life I'd give 
 To spare the soul, in whom I live. 
 
78 Horace and Lydia. 
 
 I j. Young Calais now my heart inspires. 
 And meets my love with mutual fires ; 
 Nor twenty deaths my soul would move, 
 So Fate will spare the lad I love. 
 
 H. What if our early flame re-lighted, 
 Bind us more firmly, re-united; 
 Fair Chloe's yoke be rent amain, 
 And Lydia be installed again ? 
 
 L. Tho' lovelier than light were lie, 
 Thou, fierce and fickle as the sea ; 
 Life-long would I to thee be true. 
 And death be welcome — if with you. 
 
 Tecum vivere anient, tecum obeam It bens. 
 
H<K) LING'S ^-REAM. 
 
 Brieve pertugio, dentro da I la mttda, 
 
 M' avea mostrato, per lo suo forame, 
 Piii lume gid, quand' io feci 7 mal sonno, 
 Che del futuro mi squarcib il velame. 
 
 Dante. Inf. c. 33. 
 
 m~ 
 
 IYE long months somewhat had forespent 
 
 The horror of our prisonment, 
 
 And we learned to bear the gloom, 
 
 And tedium of our dungeon room; 
 
 And fondly watched the scanty ray, 
 
 That, thro' the window grate, 
 
 So long had made our night or day, 
 
 Or as it rose or set : 
 
 When as, upon my pallet bed, 
 
 My cold and cramped limbs I spread, 
 
 And nature, worn and wearied out, 
 
 The world and all its woes forgot; 
 
 A vision o'er my senses crept, 
 
 That racked my spirit, as I slept; 
 
 If hell-born, or of Heavenly birth, 
 
 I know not: it was not of earth. 
 
80 Ugolino's Dream. 
 
 So dreams the parting spirit, when 
 
 HeavVs first ethereal ray 
 
 Dispels the earthly mists, that screen 
 
 Futurity from mortal ken, 
 
 And tears the veil away. 
 
 He — that accursed Prelate, lie — 
 
 That forged from heart of steel, 
 
 The superhuman treachery, 
 
 He expiates in Hell — 
 
 He seemed, to my distracted brain. 
 
 The feudal lord and suzeraine, 
 
 St. Julian's solitudes among, 
 
 Hunting an old wolf, and his young : 
 
 The dogs lie had were gaunt and lean, 
 
 Crafty, and cruel, in their mien; 
 
 And I could recognise in those 
 
 The semblance of my direst foes : 
 
 The course was short; for worn and spare 
 
 As the poor wearied victims were, 
 
 They were an easy prey ; 
 
 Fiercely they rushed on them, and tore 
 
 Their unresisting limbs, with more 
 
 Than dog-like cruelty. 
 
 I seemed to feel their dying pangs, 
 
 And woke — for every limb 
 
 Felt riven by their deadly fangs ; 
 
Ugolino's Dream. 81 
 
 So vivid was the dream. 
 
 It was enough ; I slept no more, 
 
 A cold sweat broke from every pore : 
 
 And as I watched the grate for day, 
 
 My little one, that near me lay, 
 
 Moaned in his sleep ; then piteously 
 
 Cried, — "bread, Oh give me bread — 1 die." 
 
 By this time we had all awoke ; 
 
 No voice the unwonted silence broke; 
 
 For each, in sad solicitude, 
 
 Watched for the hour they brought us food 
 
 It came ; we heard them underneath — 
 
 We heard them doubly lock the door — 
 
 (It was secure enough before) 
 
 We heard our knell of death — 
 
 The grating of the bolt, that gave 
 
 At once a prison and a grave. 
 
 Oh! hast thou tears? hast' ever known 
 The pang that thrills for other's woe? 
 Woe, that should melt a heart of stone — 
 "Then shed them now.'' 
 I cast a silent furtive glance 
 On each despairing countenance, 
 But wept not ; I could yet control 
 The piercing anguish of my soul; 
 
82 Uqolino's Dream. 
 
 And e'en the intensity of grief 
 
 ^ j 
 
 Forbad the tear, that gives relief: 
 They wept aloud: and then 
 My little Auselmuccio 
 
 Sobbed out; "What ails? why look you so, 
 
 My father? you ne'er used to do:" 
 
 Still could I tears restrain. 
 
 We spoke not all that day, nor yet 
 
 All the long- night so woe-beset, 
 
 Till morn — who could that morn forget? — 
 
 Broke on the world again. 
 
 Soon as the genial dawn, that flings 
 
 Young joy o'er all created things, 
 
 Had shed one faint funereal ray, 
 
 O'er this our den of dire dismay ; 
 
 I marked the parched lip; the eye, 
 
 lied with unuttered agony; 
 
 The visage of despair ; 
 
 The heaving breast; the stifled sigh, 
 
 Me fruitless pain to spare. 
 
 Can heart of marble see, unmoved, 
 
 The anguish of a child beloved? 
 
 I could have braved the rack ; but then 
 
 Tore my own flesh for frenzy. 
 
 My poor boys, thinking I was tried 
 
 By famine pangs, arose and cried ; 
 
Ugolino's Dream. 83 
 
 "Eat us, dear father, take again 
 The flesh thou gavest us ; 
 It were a thousand times less pain 
 Than t' see thee hunger thus." 
 
 Straight I forbore ; abashed to see 
 
 Their patience a reproof to me ; 
 
 I would not aggravate their pain : 
 
 So, all that dreadful day again. 
 
 Mute and unmoved we sat. And now, 
 
 The red mist on the mountains' brow 
 
 Grave presage of the fourth sad day ; 
 
 When, from my bosom, where he lay 
 
 My little Gaddo raised his head and cried 
 
 " Canst thou not help us father?" — 
 
 Then, falling fainting from my side, 
 
 He stretched him at my feet, and died. 
 
 Why were not earth's foundations rent 
 
 To Hades' dark abyss? 
 
 How less was Koran's punishment ! 
 
 My sin was less than his. 
 
 Thus on the fifth day, one by one, 
 
 I saw them fall in deadly swoon. 
 
 And perish. — And now all distraught. 
 
 Blind-stricken, fainting, and forlore, 
 
 I called them — felt them — o'er and o'er; 
 
 They moved not — answered nought. 
 
84 Ugolino's Dream. 
 
 Oh Pisa! Pisa! thou'rt tlie shame, 
 
 The blot of fair Hesperia's fame : 
 
 Why sleeps the thirsting sword? or why 
 
 Slumber the thunders in the sky? 
 
 Oh why doth Arno's refluent wave. 
 
 With vengeful flood, forbear 
 
 To swamp thee in a traitor's grave ? 
 
 All blood-stained as you are ! 
 
 If Ugolino sinned, the price 
 
 Was Ugolino' s sacrifice, 
 
 One victim might atone ; 
 
 Surely my torture might appease 
 
 Thy deepest, deadliest enmities ; 
 
 I was the mark ; but what could these 
 
 Poor innocents have done? 
 
 Their tender age were fit defence 
 
 To vindicate their innocence, 
 
 Poor boys : Oh fiend-like butchery ! 
 
 Their blood thy foulest stain will be ; 
 
 And Thebes be fair in fame compared, with thee. 
 
%he song of Morris. 
 
 Hue ades O Galatea; quis est nam Indus in undisf 
 Hie ver ptirpureum ; varios hie flumina circum 
 Fund.it humus flores ; hie Candida populus antra 
 Imminet, et lentce texunt umbracula vites. 
 Hue ades: insani feriant sine littora flvctus. 
 
 ViR. E. ix. 
 
 OME Galatea — leave the sea — 
 What charni have winds and waves for thee? 
 Thy little feet can ill withstand 
 The cutting rocks, and rugged sand. 
 Thou wast not made for scenes like these. 
 Child of the stormy Hebrides ; 
 Hesperian suns and citron bowers 
 Thy fairy cradle strewed with flowers. 
 
 Come Galatea — nor disdain 
 
 The simple pleasures of the plain ; 
 
 Where shepherd swains beguile the day. 
 
 With all the revelry of May. 
 
 Here, on his fragrant banks we spread 
 
 Our viands, 'neath the poplar shade; 
 
 While, murmuring music, soft and slow 
 
 Glides on the reedv Mincio. 
 
86 The Song of Moeris. 
 
 Here, purple Spring, enrobed in flowers, 
 Leads on the rosy -footed Hours; 
 And Peace, with rural pleasance, reigns- 
 The soft-eyed goddess of the plains. 
 Come Galatea — leave the sea — 
 The rude waves' hoarse monotony, 
 And screaming sea-bird, ill supplies 
 The covert's vernal harmonies. 
 
 Here, will we Jist in shady grot 
 The love-lorn turtle's melting note ; 
 And drink the balmy summer breeze, 
 'Neath trellised vines, and orange trees. 
 Here, watching till the setting sun 
 Bid the cicada's song be done ; 
 From shady stream, and thymy mead, 
 Our pretty kids to fold we lead. 
 
 Then, Philomel takes up the tale, 
 Trilling her sweetly -plaintive wail, 
 Thro' myrtle shades and olive groves, 
 Where gentle shepherds own their loves. 
 Come Galatea — ocean's breeze 
 Wafts no such harmonies as these ; 
 In joys like ours thy soul engage, 
 And let the ruthless ocean rage. 
 
}BA€€HANAUAN j$ONG, 
 
 ^l,^ 
 
 RINK ; drink ; for life is too short to be 
 Wasted in care, or in trifles employed; 
 
 Drink; drink; be as drunk as men ought to be, 
 Who know life is fleeting, and should be enjoyed. 
 
 For what is the world in its rigid propriety ? 
 
 What can the joys of the anchorite be? 
 And where is the Lass that would look at sobriety, 
 
 Could she see Lads as drunk, and as jolly as we? 
 
 Drink ; drink ; for life is too short to be 
 Wasted in care, or in trifles employed; 
 
 Drink; Drink; be as drunk as men ought to be, 
 Who know life is fleeting, and should be enjoyed. 
 
 M 
 
88 Bacchanalian Sony. 
 
 Think; think; Oh! what will become of us, 
 If we fail every moment of pleasure to borrow? 
 
 Drink; drink; who can tell, but that some of us 
 May be drinking hot water with Pluto to-morrow? 
 
 For drinking can render life's billows a calm sea, 
 And meet the world's squalls with so placid a smile ; 
 
 And when we must die — let us do it in Malmsey, 
 And be toasting the merry old Clarence the while. 
 
 Drink; drink; for life is too short to be 
 Wasted in care, or in trifles employed; 
 
 Drink; drink; be as drunk as men ought to be, 
 Who know life is fleeting, and should be enjoyed. 
 
3&HE S-GLOIKR'S SftAVE. 
 
 §m<i. 
 
 H2JET him rest where he fell— he hath earnt him a grave, 
 In the land that is red with the blood of the brave ; 
 In that hallowed land, where, by Britain unfurled, 
 The banner of liberty waves o'er the world. 
 
 Let him rest where he fell — for no tomb is so blest 
 As the cairn, valor raises o'er Heroes at rest; 
 And no spot is so dear to a conn try's just pride, 
 As the field, where her bravest have battled and died. 
 
 And Britain's fair pilgrims to glory shall shed 
 Tears of pride, o'er the barrows that cover the dead; 
 And shall pluck the wild flowers that grow on his grave, 
 Fair chaplets to weave, for the brows of the brave. 
 
ito 
 
 /EPIGRAM. pROM ffuSONfUF 
 
 ( Repente-divitibus. J 
 
 GATHOCLES the king will ne'er 
 Sup, but off common earthenware, 
 And loads his buffet, and his shelf, 
 With all the cheapest kind of delf : 
 And yet eats tripe off golden dishes ; 
 Thus jumbling poverty with riches. 
 
 And when the people in surprise 
 
 Ask him the reason ; he replies ; 
 
 " Altho' a monarch, am I not a 
 
 Descendant of a Tuscan potter? 
 
 So use your fortune — when her gales 
 
 Waft vou home rich from — New South Wales/' 
 
 Fortunam reroerenier habc, quicunque repente 
 Dives ab exilii progrediere lore. 
 
tl-ROM fJ&USGNlUS. 
 
 HE Rose's bloom, how transient! 
 
 So soon its fragrance flies ; 
 E'er one short summer day be spent, 
 
 It blows, it fades, it dies. 
 
 Each rising morn beholds it blooming. 
 
 Bright in her rosy rays ; 
 But dank and drooping e'er the gloaming, 
 
 It withers and decays. 
 
 Then pluck it, maiden, as it blows 
 In youth's bright fleeting hour : 
 
 For recollect — how like the Rose 
 Thou art — a passing flower. 
 
 Colli 'ge Virgo rosas, dam flos novus, el nova pa be. 
 El mem or esto cevnm sic froparare I num. 
 
i>avii3's Lament, 
 
 And David lamented with this lamentation over Saul 
 and Jonathan his son." 2 Sam. i., 17. 
 
 fgOW are the mighty fall'n! the mighty fall'n! 
 
 ^— *In battle perished on the mountain height, 
 The beauty of Israel 
 Is fallen, and the strength. 
 
 Oh ! tell it not in G-ath ; proclaim it not, 
 Nor breathe it in the streets of Askelon ; 
 Let not the daughters of 
 Th' uncircumcised rejoice. 
 
 Ye mountains of Gilboa! ne'er again 
 The dew of Heav'n bless thy barrenness ; 
 Nor genial shower restore 
 Thy death-polluted soil. 
 
David's Lament. 93 
 
 Ne'er did the bow of Jonathan return 
 Unsated from the battle, and the spoil ; 
 Nor e'er the sword of Saul 
 Hath turned back in fight. 
 
 Oh! they were very lovely — swift were they 
 As eagles, and as lions in their strength ; 
 
 In life unsevered, they 
 
 Together sleep in death. 
 
 How are the mighty fall'n ! Oh Jonathan ! 
 
 How doth my soul lament thee! wonderful 
 Hath been thy love to me, 
 Surpassing woman's love. 
 
 Ye Maids of Israel ! weep for Jonathan ; 
 
 Weep ye aloud for Saul, who clothed you 
 In scarlet and delights, 
 With ornaments of gold. 
 
 How hast thou perished on the hills, my brother ! 
 
 Fallen, as tho' anointed not; the might 
 And glory of Israel : 
 Fall'n are the sword and spear. 
 
gMZPAH, 
 
 / Fragment. 2 Samuel xxxi., ro. 
 
 gIKE llizpah sorrowing o'er her slaughtered sons 
 Poor childless thing! upon the rock she strewed 
 Her bed of sackcloth, cold and tear bedewed ; 
 And wildly watching o'er the mouldering twain, 
 From barley-harvest to the latter rain, 
 The widowed wakeful weeper scared away 
 The wolf by night, the carrion-bird by day. 
 
#he Jeaioen Jc;artyk. 
 
 '4:'.'-- 
 
 "And it was a custom in Israel that the Daughters of Israel went up 
 yearly to lament the Daughter of Jephthah the Gileadite, four days in 
 the year. JUDGES xl., 39, 40. 
 
 v Apx^7e 2i/ceAtKal t<£ irevOeos &PX € 1 € Mourca." 
 
 |OURN ye, mourn ye, Maids of Jewry, mourn, 
 
 And strike your harps to solemn strains and slow, 
 The branch of Gilead, all untimely shorn ; 
 The pledge of triumph, but the tale of woe. 
 
 The birds sit moping on the tuneless spray, 
 
 And all the music of the air is still; 
 The clouded sun withholds his cheery ray, 
 
 And distant echoes sigh from hill to hill. 
 
 Weep Ramoth ; weep ye Maids of Gilead ; 
 
 Bestrew with rosemary her maiden bier ; 
 And bid sweet peace unto the lovely dead — 
 
 " Passed e'er her prime — and hath not left her peer." 
 
96 The Maiden Martyr. 
 
 Together oft, by fount or sacred well, 
 
 'Neath the tall palms, with song and converse sweet, 
 Ye whiled the balmy hours till evening fell ; 
 
 Or joined in dance the pretty twinkling feet. 
 
 Of the fair wreath the fairest flower is sped ; 
 
 Embalm her memory with affection's tear, 
 And bid sweet peace unto the lovely dead — 
 
 " Passed e'er her prime — and hath not left her peer.'' 
 
 Bright was the day, the youthful daughter hailed, 
 With pious joy, a victor -parent's praise; 
 
 Dark was the hour, a child's embraces veiled, 
 In sable brede, a mourning father's bays. 
 
 Was he not spurned from his paternal home, 
 A son of Gilead, and the first of birth? 
 
 Was he not driven in distant land to roam, 
 An ignominious exile from his hearth? 
 
 But there arose in Gilead war and woe ; 
 
 And th' elders sent to Jephthah, and they said 
 Come — for thou canst — avenge us on the foe ; 
 
 And thou shall be our ruler and our head. 
 
The Maiden Martyr. 97 
 
 Then Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, 
 And Jephthah prayed a prayer for Israel : 
 
 And the Lord heard him, and He blessed his sword. 
 And Gilead triumphed, and fierce Amnion fell. 
 
 And as he brought the captive spoil away, 
 
 The damsels met him with the dance and song ; 
 
 Oh wretched man ! that he survived the fray ; 
 His only child was foremost in the throng. 
 
 What is his triumph now, with none to share? 
 
 A hearth bereaved — for other hath he none : 
 His glory? but the triumph of despair — 
 
 A wreath of briar, when the rose is gone. 
 
 Mourn ye, mourn ye, Maids of Jewry, mourn, 
 And touch your harps to solemn strains and slow, 
 
 The branch of Grilead, all untimely shorn, 
 The pledge of triumph, but the tale of woe. 
 
 Loved of all hearts, and of all eyes desired, 
 Once was she blythest of your virgin band ; 
 
 Another Miriam, with a soul infired, 
 
 She touched the timbrel with a master hand. 
 
98 The Maiden Martyr. 
 
 With peerless grace she bore the olive wreath. 
 
 And led the dances, fairest of the fair : 
 Lamb of the altar now — the bride of death — 
 
 Her saintly dower a Martyr's sepulchre. 
 
 Weave ye the cypress, Maids of Giler.d, 
 Ye fair companions of her pilgrimage ; 
 
 That shared the mountain cell, the bitter bread, 
 And dried the tears that wailed her pucelage. 
 
 Mourn ye, mourn ye, oft with muffled string, 
 Your sorrowing harps shall duteous tribute bear ; 
 
 At seed time, vintage, and at sheep-shearing, 
 And hoary winter drop an icy tear. 
 
 Ye should have wove her hymeneal wreath; 
 
 With citron blossom, and fair lilies meet, 
 Yeu-should have strewn the silky sward beneath, 
 
 And led the bridal dance with joyous feet. 
 
 Ye should have tuned your harps to merrier strain; 
 
 That now, with dirge, and deep funereal air, 
 Lead on your slow unsandaled sorrowing train, 
 
 Unto your Martyr's sainted sepulchre. 
 
The Maiden Martyr. 99 
 
 When genial Msan, breathing balmy dews, 
 Wakes Flora from her trance ; then violets bring 
 
 Bring vernal tribute of a thousand hues, 
 And all the fragrant firstlings of the spring. 
 
 Bring modest snow-drops, languishing and pale, 
 Sad hyacinth, and pansy tearful-eyed; 
 
 Narcissus too, that tells a doleful tale, 
 
 How youthful beauty pined away and died. 
 
 Bring lilies meek, that mourn in maiden white 
 "And daffodils, that fill their cups with teart- 
 
 The pensive oxlip ; and that starlet bright — 
 Appointed herald of prophetic years. 
 
 Mourn for her, when the sultry lion shines, 
 And the fierce dog-star doth his vigil keep ; 
 
 And when ripe Autumn binds her brow with vines, 
 Bring poppies, emblem of eternal sleep. 
 
 With every season's tears bedew her pall, 
 With every season's sweets; old Winter too 
 
 Shall bring his amaranthine coronal, 
 
 And myrtle sprigs, and waxen -berried yew. 
 
100 The Maiden Martyr. 
 
 The rose of Sharon doth her petals cast ; 
 
 Arid all the glory of the vernal plain 
 Fall clank and drooping to the wintry blast 
 
 Till Philomela charm them forth again. 
 
 But this fair gem, nipped e'er her solstice hour, 
 Sweetest of sweets, may germinate no more; 
 
 No earthly spring reanimate the flower, 
 No suns may quicken, or no dews restore. 
 
 Sleep, lovely blossom of a noble stem ! 
 
 By blast unblighted, and by storm unstove; 
 
 Sleep, Heav'n's bright hostage ! earth may ne'er redeem- 
 First in thy kindreds' and thy country's love. 
 
 And long shall Israel's dark-eyed daughters come, 
 With many a chaplet, and with many a tear; 
 
 While memory lives, and amaranth shall bloom, 
 To deck their maiden Martyr's sepulchre. 
 
SERENADE. 
 
 -V-H^ 
 
 H ! fly with me, these vales of shade 
 For souls like ours ne'er were made ; 
 And happier isles, and nearer suns, 
 Shall greet us as their kindred ones. 
 
 Oh fly ; the inspired cuckoo flies 
 To fairer fields, and calmer skies ; 
 And Progne tells us, as she twitters, 
 Ungenial skies but ill befit us. 
 
 Last night, the glowing sunset taught us, 
 That path of gold, o'er western waters ; 
 Where spirits dwell, that sympathize 
 With melting hearts, and beaming eyes: 
 
102 Serenade. 
 
 There we'll repose in citron shades, 
 While love-birds sing thee serenades; 
 Where custard-fruits, and guavas grow, 
 And water melons trail below. 
 
 Where distant echoes, soft and clear, 
 Of syrens' songs, shall charm thine ear 
 And fire-flies light us, as we rove, 
 At night-fall, the banana grove. 
 
 Stay not — the weary moon is waning; 
 Heed not the nightingale complaining ; 
 Full twenty stalwart rowers wait 
 To waft thee o'er the briny strait. 
 
Hwen ti'ORMio Lament. 
 
 
 //?<•/- ///<- y/rf Gaelic Ballad. 
 
 N pain unceasing long I languish, 
 p'Thro' niglits of watching, days of anguish; 
 Weary, despairing, worn with care, 
 Forsa'en — as all the wretched are : 
 Oh where's the Leech can charm away 
 The pangs, I suffer day by day? 
 
 I've herds of kine, as white as milk, 
 I've flocks, with fleeces soft as silk; 
 The spoil of many a border raid, 
 That erst the churlish Saxon paid: 
 IV! give them all, once more to be 
 Restored, Oh joyous health, to thee. 
 
 o 
 
104 Ewen JbTOrmie's Lament. 
 
 Had I * Mannallan's trumpet, or 
 The horn and sword * Mc Cumlmil wore 
 Did I possess * Cuchullin's quiver, 
 Eireamon's lance, or bow of Evir : 
 All — all I'd give, once more to be 
 Restored, Oh blissful health, to thee. 
 
 Or *CurcheoiFs mystic harp, that flung 
 
 Enchantment over all he sung; 
 
 That calmed the anguish, soothed the smart 
 
 Of wounded limb, or aching heart: 
 
 I'd give them all — all — all to be 
 
 Restored, most blessed health, to thee. 
 
 Allusions to ancient traditions now lost to Celtic romance. 
 
m 
 
 !$HE SpNfi OF §JBMAH, 
 
 Jer. xlvii., 32. 
 
 jEEP for the Vine of Sibmali ; weep 
 Thou Heshbon, mourn Zoar; 
 
 Her fruits are on the briny deep, 
 And all her glory's o'er. 
 
 The spoiler came, upon a day — 
 
 The unrelenting one ; 
 Tore all her goodly grapes away, 
 
 And trod her vineyards down. 
 
 Upon a day, the spoiler came, 
 And wrecked, in ruthless hate, 
 
 Thy pleasant fields, Oh! Moronaim, 
 And left thee desolate. 
 
 Weep for the Vine of Sibmali ; weep- 
 Her vintage songs are o'er : 
 
 Her treasures all are o'er the deep, 
 And she will shout no more. 
 
tlKOM #;KTRAR€H 
 
 To Ihc Spirit of Cola de Rienzi. 
 
 HOU uoble spirit ! that dost animate 
 The limbs of One, in this his pilgrimage, 
 Who, all so prudent, valorous, and sage, 
 Hath e'en accomplished that illustrious fate, 
 That wields the sword, and destinies of Rome ; 
 And from base wandering dost recall her home. 
 Thee I adjure ! nor otherwhere I find 
 One spark of ancient virtue left behind; 
 Nor even one, that blushes for her doom. 
 What hope, what fears, her restless soul impel? 
 Since to her bane she is insensible : 
 
 Old, doting, imbecile; 
 Yet slumbers she? will none her torpor scare? 
 Oh ! that I had her grappled by the hair. 
 
From Petrarch. 107 
 
 Call as I may, I scarcely hope to see 
 
 Her rouse lier from her gross stolidity, 
 
 So sore is she, so grievously oppressed. 
 
 But fate commits our sovereign Rome to thee, 
 
 To rouse her — shake her, from her lethargy: 
 
 Grasp — firmly grasp, her venerable crest; 
 
 Grasp all her scattered tresses, as they flow, 
 
 And drag the Avail owing sluggard from the slough. 
 
 Yet, day and night, her dire disgrace I mourn; 
 
 To thee, my fairest, dearest hope I turn; 
 
 For should these sons of Mars, this noble race, 
 
 E'er fix their earnest gaze, 
 On the bright honor, once their name did grace ; 
 On thee would fall the glory — and thy days. 
 
 These walls of eld — that still the world reveres. 
 And loves for memory ; yet in memory fears 
 The sterner virtues of her olden name ; 
 These stones- — their honored ashes that entomb, 
 Whose bays shall flourish in eternal bloom. 
 Till drivelling nature totter to her fall, 
 And in one general ruin whelm them all ; 
 To thee they look to vindicate their fame. 
 Oh glorious Scipio's ! Brutus' patriot name ! 
 Some Sybil voice shall to your shades proclaim 
 
108 From Petrarch. 
 
 That power lias fall'n to honest hands at last : 
 
 Fabricius aghast 
 Will scarce his marv'ling extasy contain, 
 And cry — "my Rome shall be herself again." 
 
 If spirits in Heav'n, that erst this coil of clay 
 
 Have long foregone, bear yet solicitude 
 
 For earth, and earthly things; to thee they pray 
 
 To terminate this suicidal feud, 
 
 Whence every thing, e'en life is insecure ; 
 
 E'en access to our very homes unsure, 
 
 Their sanctity defiled by bloody raid: 
 
 And, as a bandit's den, by riot made 
 
 Inaccessible, only to the good : 
 
 Our very shrines and monuments we see 
 
 Pollute and desecrate by deeds of blood. 
 
 Ah ! other days may be, 
 And freedom's arm the tocsin yet may raise ; 
 Hung nearest Heav'n — the better Heav'n to praise. 
 
 The weeping women, and the young, unmeet 
 For toil of war, the aged and effete, 
 Lament their hateful too-protracted fate : 
 
From Petrarch. 109 
 
 The Friars of all orders and degrees, 
 
 And all their wretched confraternities, 
 
 Cry "help, great sir, help us — save the state." 
 
 And miserable down-trod poverty 
 
 Reveals her thousand thousand wounds to thee, 
 
 That Hannibal would e'en commiserate. 
 
 Mark well the holy Church ; now all aflame ; 
 
 Of those high fire-brands, that disgrace her name. 
 
 Quench thou but two or three — 
 Their mighty animosities will cease, 
 And Heaven bless thy pious services. 
 
 Bears, lions, wolves, serpents, and birds of prey 
 
 On that great column all their spite display ; 
 
 Yet does their malice oftentimes recoil : 
 
 Our noble dame, who wails her wretched fate — 
 
 Roma — adjures thee to exterminate 
 
 Those noisome weeds, ill-fruitful in her soil. 
 
 Full twice five hundred suns have rolled, sithence 
 
 Those lofty spirits from her bosom sped, 
 
 That raised her to her glory's eminence ; 
 
 And a proud race of upstarts, in their stead, 
 
 Have risen ; unworthy such a mother ! — thou 
 
 Her only father now — 
 To you she looks for succour — but to you — 
 Her holier Father's other things to do. 
 
110 From Petrarch. 
 
 It rarely chances, that malignant fate 
 Thwart not the efforts of the good and great, 
 Or Fortune smile on her illustrious sons : 
 But, since she cleared the path you entered in. 
 We'll e'en forgive her many a minor sin, 
 Be she hut inconsistent for the nonce: 
 For in the hist'ry of the world, ne'er once 
 To mortal man was given, as now to thee, 
 To reap so glorious immortality; 
 For thou'rt enabled, if we rightly ken, 
 To constitute the noblest monarchy. 
 
 How wilt thou glory then 
 To cry — "They helped her in her youth and power, 
 I saved the Dotard, in her dying hour." 
 
Italia i m-AUA i 
 
 From ?'. Filicaia. 
 
 ITALY! Italy! whom invidious fate, 
 In making thee so fair, hath laid so low ; 
 
 That deadly guerdon, giv'n. in treacherous hate, 
 Hath on thy frontlet graven endless woe. 
 
 ! hadst thou been less beautiful ! more strong ; 
 
 So had they feared thee more, or loved thee less ; 
 Who basking all luxuriously among 
 
 Thy vineyards, stabbed thee in their wantonness. 
 
 Then, hadst thou ne'er beheld barbarian swords, 
 Like torrents, rushing down thine Alpine snow. 
 
 To deluge thy fair fields ; or Gallic hordes 
 To drain the blood-stained waters of the Po. 
 
 Then, had thy sons ne'er seen thee, Italy, 
 Commit thy cause to mercenary glave ; 
 
 And girt in arms, were never made for thee, 
 Victor or victim — still to be a slave. 
 
ifeoWPEfi'S $$^SH 
 
 tnatutini rores aureeque s/ilubres / Works., v. 2. 
 
 3E dews of the morning 
 
 And health-bearing gales ! 
 Ye streamlets! adorning 
 
 Yonr grass-laden vales. 
 Ye coverts and glades ; 
 
 And ye hills ever-green ! 
 How dear are the shades 
 
 Of yonr valleys serene ! 
 
 Could fate but assent 
 
 To my fondest desires, 
 And recall the days spent 
 
 In the home of my sires ; 
 Remote from the cares 
 
 Of the world, and its ways, 
 From the fears, and the snares, 
 
 Of degenerate days. 
 
Cowpers Wish. 11, 
 
 Oh ! how cheerily there, 
 
 All unknown and forgot, 
 Could I live! happy heir 
 
 Of my own little cot — 
 My long-loved heritage ; 
 
 And content and repose 
 Bring a happy old age, 
 
 To a happier close. 
 
 And when my days lapse, 
 
 And I hail the event; 
 Tho' but few, and perhaps 
 
 Not unhappily spent : 
 No tale-telling stone - 
 
 Shall encumber my breast, 
 But a green sward alone 
 
 Shew a pilgrim at rest. 
 
SOLOMON'S §ONG, 
 
 *7^ 
 
 5LIISE, my fair one, come away, 
 
 Uncheery winter's past; 
 New flowers are springing every day. 
 
 And the rain is &-one at last. 
 
 o 
 
 Now burst the vines their ruby eyes, 
 And fragrant bloom display ; 
 
 And figs are budding forth ; arise, 
 My fair one, come away. 
 
 The turtle's cooing, soft and sweet, 
 
 Among the palmy groves ; 
 And choirs of little songsters greet 
 
 The season of their loves. 
 
 Come, let us go into the fields, 
 
 To feed the little fawn; 
 A pleasant smell the mandrake yields, 
 
 And sweet the breath of morn. 
 
Solomon's Song. 115 
 
 Behold, thou art all fair, my love! 
 
 Behold, thou art all fair ; 
 E'en as the circling moon above, 
 
 And lilies, dropping myrrh. 
 
 Thou art mine own unsullied one ; 
 
 More comely for to see, 
 Than flocks, new washed on Lebanon ; 
 
 There is no spot in thee. 
 
 Awake thee; ope thy dove-like eyes, 
 
 To bless the dawn of day ; 
 From beds of kindred lilies, rise, 
 
 My fair one, come away. 
 
 I'll set my seal upon thy heart, 
 
 Upon thy brow a wreath ; 
 Nor oceans shall our love dispart, 
 
 For love is strong as death. 
 
pHRGM fpTRAfi€H, 
 
 SON. CXVI. 
 
 Petrarch planted a laurel ( Laura J on the bank of the Sorgue, that 
 irrigated the garden of his residence, in the beautiful I 'alley of I aucluse. 
 
 Beside this stream, and in the shade of this Laurel, he found repose ; 
 where every thing recalled the memory and image of Laura. 
 
 EOT all fair Arno, Tiber, or Garonne, 
 gSj^Euplirates, Tigris, Ganges, or the Don ; 
 No, not the Danube, Indus, Po, or Rhine, 
 Nile, Ebro, Rhone, Alpheus, or the Seine : 
 
 Not all the pines, beech, firs, or junipers, 
 Can slack the flame this wretched bosom bears, 
 Like one dear stream, that murmurs to my sigh ; 
 One shrub — that e'er inspires my poesy. 
 
 This only armour, in love's savage strife, 
 
 This only succour have I, for a life 
 
 Now wending in such giant strides along : 
 
 So grow the Laurel in her cooling glade, 
 
 And the poor planter sit in her sweet shade, 
 
 And to the water's music, vent all his soul in song. 
 
#N $K)YE #IVINE. 
 
 From Vittoria Colonna. Son. xxviii. 
 
 H ! I would shut iny heart to earthly things ; 
 And concentrate my soul, to feast above 
 On Angel-voices, and sweet communings; 
 Where perfect peace consorts with perfect love. 
 
 There is a spiritual air, that plays 
 On living heart-strings, with a breath divine ; 
 That, to one end, all chord and discord sways, 
 So in eternal concord all combine. 
 
 Love, the precentor of the soul, inspires 
 The varying cadence, regulates the tone, 
 And keeps each instrument in unison; 
 And modulating on each chord and key, 
 Gives passing sweetness to the harmony : 
 'Tis this the wise composer e'er desires. 
 
Sonnet on #ante. 
 
 ^%-^HVhr 
 
 /»V Michael Angelo Buonarroti . 
 
 jf§OWN, from the world, into the dark profound 
 ^e went, and either limbus visited; 
 Thence, on the wings of genius, Heav'nward bound 
 Rose, and on earth, unearthly radiance shed. 
 
 He was a burning star ; his light indeed 
 Th' eternal mysteries of th' abyss reveal'd; 
 And of a treacherous world he reaped that meed, 
 It doth so oft its choicest spirits yield. 
 
 Ill was he understood; his patriot sighs 
 Ne'er met his graceless country's sympathies, 
 That, to the righteous only, are denied. 
 Oh ! were I such ! his lot would I prefer — 
 Spurned from his country's love, for loving her — 
 To every worldly good : nay, all the world beside. 
 
mo the Skylark, 
 
 Hark — hark — the Lark at Heaven. ' s gate sings. 
 
 e^fc-x <$f* 
 
 ^ksff^ 
 
 [F a touch of Heaven 
 
 Grace this nether sphere ; 
 Or a purer leaven 
 
 Mark one creature here ; 
 Sure minstrel's harp or poet's lay 
 May hail thee — chorister of day ! 
 
 On Parnassian mountain 
 Bred, or mystic grove; 
 Or by sacred fountain 
 Th' Aonian muses love ; 
 Didst' first thy downy wings essay, 
 To emulate the God of day. 
 Q 
 
120 To the Skylark. 
 
 Nymph of light and glory ! 
 
 Raise thine orison — 
 Tell thy joyons story 
 To the waking sun — 
 And chase the nightingale away. 
 Too sadly sweet for garish day : 
 
 Tell her ; care is folly 
 
 To a world so young ; 
 Night and melancholy 
 Suit the pensive tongue : 
 And let thy grateful matins rise, 
 Sweet denizen of Paradise! 
 
 Leave thy nest of clay, to 
 
 Commune with the skies : 
 As the soul of Plato, 
 Kapt to ecstasies, 
 Soared o'er the narrow bounds, that fence 
 The span of man's intelligence. 
 
 Oft we see thee soaring 
 
 Thro' the noon-day beam; 
 Songs of rapture pouring, 
 As a silver stream; 
 While peasants stay their toil, to see 
 Their cynosure of melody. 
 
To the Skylark. 121 
 
 Still, and still ascending, 
 
 Trilling as thou go'st, 
 Till, with ether blending, 
 Thou'rt in ether lost; 
 And every marv'ling ear's intent 
 On strains mysterious — Seraph-sent. 
 
 Loved of the Immortals ! 
 
 Thy sweet palinodes 
 Serenade the portals 
 Of the blest abodes ; 
 As wont his ancient song to pour, 
 At castle gate, the Troubadour. 
 
 As Castilian lover, 
 Or Arcadian wight, 
 'Neath the deep blue cover 
 Of the starless night, 
 Unseen, at beauty's bower appealed 
 To soft confession — blush-revealed. 
 
 Art thou sylph or sprite? 
 Handmaid of the sun? 
 Or nymph, the sons of light 
 Rapt from Helicon? 
 To fill the measure of their bliss, 
 With thine harmonious ecstasies. 
 
122 To the Skylark. 
 
 As a soul, unshrouded 
 
 From terrestrial clay, 
 'Mid the spheres unclouded, 
 Hails eternal day; 
 Say, can thy little mortal eyes 
 Unveil celestial mysteries? 
 
 Looking down undazed 
 
 On the levin flash ; 
 Hearing unamazed 
 
 Th' awful thunder crash ; 
 That seem involving all beneath 
 In one vast holocaust of death. 
 
 Hast thou heard the choirs 
 
 Of the starry pole ? 
 Or the planet fires 
 
 Chanting as they roll? 
 And sipped the dewy bow on high, 
 That spans the azure canopy? 
 
 Whence to earthward flinging 
 
 Rhapsodies of love — 
 Strains, of Angels' singing, 
 Thou hast heard above : 
 Such music thrills the welkin thro', 
 That Gods might love to listen to. 
 
To the Skylark. 123 
 
 What is man's aspiring 
 At ambition's shrine? 
 Is it worth desiring, 
 
 When compared with thine? 
 Full many a hoary votary 
 Of earth would fain exchange with thee. 
 
 Would his base, and blinded 
 
 Heart be taught by thee ; 
 Oh ! how humble-minded 
 Would the proudest be ; 
 Reviewing, thro' thy mistless eyes, 
 The world, and all its vanities. 
 
 Darksome, and uncheery, 
 
 The bourn of human ken ; 
 Earth-bound, worn and weary, 
 Three score years and ten, 
 The soul — all fettered and depressed, 
 And yearning for her tardy rest — 
 
 Hails thee — little fairy! 
 
 Type of coming things : 
 And, in spirit, airy 
 With unwonted wings, 
 Springs forth with thee, from earthly lair, 
 To meet the sun in middle air. 
 
/-v Idyl. After Gabriel RossettL 
 
 HE stars of eve grew clearer 
 fe O'er fading wood and weald, 
 As Elpin to Glycera 
 Came skipping from afield ; 
 He found a snare, and in it 
 A poor entangled linnet ; 
 So loosed the prisoner 
 And fondly brought it her. 
 
 The damsel was enchanted, 
 She pressed it to her cheek, 
 Caressed it as it panted, 
 And kissed its little beak : 
 And said, run, dear Elpin, 
 For a cage to put it in ; 
 Poor little thing! Oh go, 
 Its heart is beating so. 
 
The Linnet. 125 
 
 When presently the}^ heard 
 The melancholy note, 
 Of some poor lonely bird, 
 That was fluttering about; 
 The linnet knew the cry, 
 And responded piteously; 
 For 'twas her faithful mate, 
 Bemoaning o'er her fate. 
 
 Glycera understood 
 The purport of the ditty; 
 How she, as best she could, 
 Was moving her to pity ; 
 And hanging down her head. 
 She to her shepherd said; 
 Elpin, what would ye do 
 If I were ta'en from you? 
 
 Poor Elpin wept, forsooth, 
 And she, with tear in eye, 
 Unlocked her hand for ruth, 
 And let the captive fly : 
 And when so' Elpin heard 
 The song o' the grateful bird. 
 He envied not their bliss ; 
 But thought the more of his. 
 
'BO THE #K)B1N. 
 
 "nr 
 
 >*«C 
 
 / r ( /;'V augelctto die can tan do vat. PETR. 
 
 IgHEN winter, chill and lonely, 
 W; All summer's joy lias reft; 
 And of Autumn's treasure, only 
 
 The holly-berry 's left. 
 The birds flock to the hawthorn hedge ; 
 
 And little robin comes, 
 And sits upon the window ledge, 
 To carol for his crumbs. 
 
 His plumage ruffled ; and his lay 
 
 Has lost its merry tone, 
 And pines for summer passed away, 
 
 All mateless and alone. 
 Poor little bird ! no covert now 
 
 The leafless brake can yield thee, 
 And scarce the rime-bespangled bough 
 
 From wintry blast can shield thee. 
 
To the Robin, 127 
 
 Come, nestle in this bosom, there 
 
 Thy little woes make known; 
 They'll find a heart as full of care, 
 
 As lonesome as thine own. 
 A winter-stricken spirit, that 
 
 Can sympathize with thee, 
 Chill — homeless — and disconsolate, 
 
 As ever thou canst be. 
 
 Like thee, my earthly summer's gone, 
 
 Life's sunshine fades apace ; 
 And ruthless winter presses on 
 
 My few declining days ; 
 Like thee, my little nestlings flown, 
 
 My nest's forsa'en, and I 
 Am left deserted and alone, 
 
 In solitude to die. 
 
 Yet thou perchance, thy mate may'st see, 
 
 When winter's passed away; 
 Each summer's a new life to thee, 
 
 New youth returning May. 
 Then shalt' resume thy merry note, 
 
 And all thy woes resign ; 
 And envy not man's prouder lot, 
 
 When he should envy thine. 
 
TO ||NA€<RE0N'3 ||<QVE, 
 
 FROM ANACREON. ODE IX. 
 
 / ;/rrrr raztf anything in the Greek language I liked so well. 
 
 Saml. Johnson. 
 
 P HENCE, pretty dove, Ok whence, 
 And wliither art tliou winging? 
 Celestial incense 
 
 From airy regions flinging, 
 What art? what wonldest thon? 
 Such fragrance earthward bringing. 
 
 Anacreon sent me to 
 
 Bathyllus, bright and young, 
 He — the courtier, who 
 
 Hath praise on every tongue : 
 For Venus sold me to him, 
 
 For a little song he sung. 
 
 And I may not refuse 
 
 His messenger to be, 
 So I carry billets doux 
 
 For Anacreon, you see : 
 
To Anacreon's Dove. 129 
 
 And he tells me, if I'm faithful 
 That he'll set me free. 
 
 But tho' he grant it me, 
 I ne'er would go — not I, 
 
 What better should I be, 
 O'er hill and dale to fly? 
 
 And sit on trees to eat 
 
 Coarse stuff the woods supply? 
 
 From Anacreon's own hand, 
 
 Now, I eat his bread; 
 On his own cup I stand, 
 
 And sip his wine; and spread 
 My wings, to dance with him, 
 
 And shade his reverend head. 
 
 Then — on his lyre of gold, 
 Straightway to roost I go. 
 
 So there's my story told: 
 
 Stranger, avaunt — for know, 
 
 Thou'st even made me more 
 Loquacious than a crow. 
 
feSBIA'S v&PARROW, 
 
 i 
 
 From Catullus 
 
 mpjEP Cytharoea, weep ye little loves, 
 »And weep ye all that's amiable in man ; 
 
 For Lesbia's sparrow's dead; the sparrow Lesbia loved. 
 
 More than the apple- of her e} r e she loved it; 
 And it was well deserving of her love, 
 
 And knew his mistress, as a child its mother knows. 
 
 He never left her bosom willingly, 
 
 But here and there hopped playfully abont ; 
 
 And then he chirped for joy ; but chirped to her alone. 
 
 But now — he flits along that murky way, 
 Whence none may e'er return : Oh tie on ye ! 
 Fie on ye ! dusky shades of all-devouring death. 
 
 For ye have ta'en so sweet a sparrow from her ; 
 Poor little sparrow! 'twas a cursed deed, 
 
 And Lesbia's swollen eyes are red with weeping for't. 
 
||EA€£ TO THE g|ANO, 
 
 Peace to the souls of the Heroes. OssiAN. 
 
 EACE to the land where th' heroes rest, 
 By all their grateful country blest; 
 Light lie the earth, and the sweet shower* 
 Of Heaven deck their grave with flowers. 
 
 All meteor-lit their herse shall be, 
 Heav'n's purple arch their canopy ; 
 And every golden eyelet there 
 Weep incense on their sepulchre. 
 
 And, Memnon-like, the vocal stones 
 Chant naenian measures o'er their bones, 
 To strains, by soft iEolian airs, 
 Elf-harped on strings of gossamers. 
 
132 Peace, to the Land. 
 
 So sweet, the flowers that o'er them spring 
 
 Bear impress of their issuing; 
 
 A saintly origin they plead, 
 
 And honor claims them as her meed. 
 
 What tho' in brighter climes than ours 
 Grow greener blade, and fairer flowers ; 
 In dust of Britain's sons they're fed, 
 By blood of heroes nurtured. 
 
 And must that blood be shed in vain, 
 Where Juggernaut and Bramah reign, 
 And dark infatuation ban 
 Thy sun's own realms? oh Hindustan! 
 
 Yes, land of Ind, fell treachery 
 Hath stamped her blood-red brand on thee ; 
 The snake and tiger make their lair, 
 But not the generous lion there. 
 
 Tho' freedom's rod awhile may gem, 
 There's yet a canker in the stem — 
 In hearts, unworthy to be free, 
 By nature formed for slavery. 
 

 FROM ANACREON. 
 
 | AIR Mobe, in days of yore, 
 Stood a stark stone on Phrygian shore ; 
 The daughter of Pandion too 
 Assumed a swallow's wings, and flew. 
 Oh! that I might thy mirror be, 
 That thou should'st always look on me ; 
 I'd be thy garment, to be blest 
 By ever hanging on thy breast; 
 I'd be the water in the basin, 
 That thou dost dip thy pretty face in : 
 Some sweet cosmetic would I be, 
 Dear lady, to be used by thee; 
 Some pendant pearl, thy breast to deck, 
 My arms the chain, about thy neck : 
 Nay — but I'd be thy very shoe, 
 E'en to be trod upon by you. 
 
WE HAVE v%A10 mum TO *EST. 
 
 Her Sun has gone down while it -was yet day. JER. xv., 9. 
 
 G2gJ#z3&rs^3- 
 
 E have laid thee to rest; and the grave's o'er thee closing; 
 We have wept o'er thee, blessed thee, and silent the knell ; 
 In the home of thy peace have we left thee reposing; 
 And, with one parting look, we have sobbed a farewell. 
 
 We have laid thee with all that are dear to thee sleeping : 
 And soft be thy slumber — tho' our's be oppressed — 
 Where the pale midnight moon her lone vigil is keeping, 
 O'er the cell, where for ages thy forefathers rest. 
 
 Art thou gone? Oh ! 'tis long e'er belief shall o'ertake thee ; 
 Yet dark is the chamber, thy voice in our ears ; 
 The light step — the whisper — yet fear to awake thee, 
 And the couch of thine anguish is wet with our tears. 
 
We have Laid Thee to Best. 135 
 
 Together in joy, and together in sorrow, 
 In boyhood, in manhood, from birth to the tomb, 
 Unsevered as yet have we lived; but to-morrow 
 Shall, dawn on a dreary and desolate home. 
 
 Tho' years may allay, or oblivion soothe, 
 Tho' cares may encumber, new ties may engage ; 
 Yet mem'ry, that gilds the fair visions of youth, 
 Shall cast a long gloom o'er the shadows of age. 
 
 And the shadows will lengthen, till dark be the sun, 
 And night's sable pall o'er creation be tost, 
 But morn, from the regions of light, shall return, 
 And restore us at length to the loved, and the lost. 
 
 As, from life's pleasant valleys, the Palmer ascending, 
 From station to station, more steep and distressed; 
 On turning the cold rugged crag, at its ending, 
 Shall behold the fair mansions of sunshine and rest. 
 
 Too early, thy noon-day has set in the waters ; 
 Too early, thy star has its place in the sky; 
 Thy years yet unripe — but in living have taught us 
 To live ; and in death, thou hast taught us to die. 
 
THK SEASONS 
 
 FOUR SONNETS, BY VINCENZIO FILICAIA. 
 
 Sonnet i. — Villegiatura de Primavara. 
 
 |.?: LOVE thee, nature, wild and rude, 
 Ibpo Dell, mountain, roek, and solitude; 
 
 Unceasing gaze, and wearied eye, 
 
 My longing soul scarce satisfy. 
 
 I love thy sprouting herbs, and flowers, 
 Thy teeming woods, and budding bowers ; 
 Cool streams, that wind thro' dewy glade, 
 And mirror all the verdant shade. 
 
 There, would I life's last days possess, 
 In meditative loneliness ; 
 And weed this wicked heart of mine, 
 From the rank growth that thrives therein, 
 
 And, while my story drear and dark, 
 I'grave upon the beech-tree bark ; 
 My tears the morning dew shall be, 
 Grief, all that germinates in me. 
 
'M- 
 
 3EHE &EASGNS. 
 
 Sonnet 2. — Villegiatura dc State. 
 
 PIEX the fierce dog-star rides on high. 
 And herb and verdure parch and die ; 
 I hie me from his torrid sheen, 
 To shady groves of evergreen. 
 
 And Sol, who sheds his golden flood 
 On all, save me and solitude, 
 Cares not to look on snch an one, 
 Or looks disdain, and passes on. 
 
 Not so man's cruel destiny; 
 He marks us with unwearied eye ; 
 And groves of green frail shelter yield. 
 From his unerring shaft to shield. 
 
 A marksman so expert is he, 
 To harass poor mortality; 
 That be his aim from far or near, 
 His deadlv arrows never err. 
 
Hhk Seasons. 
 
 Sonnet •*.— Villeeiatura d' Autnnno 
 
 HE golden vine, like fruitful spouse, 
 ^Flings round tlie elm her laden boughs 
 And twining her fond tendril shoots, 
 Fills all his bosom with her fruits. 
 
 Now every tree rich produce gives. 
 No longer bloom, and barren leaves; 
 And, with a bounteous welcome, greets, 
 Inviting all to taste her sweets. 
 
 But years and seasons, rolling on, 
 Bring me one fruit, and only one — 
 Regret, for seasons spent in vain, 
 With shame and sorrow in its train. 
 
 And tho' my wounded spirit weaves 
 His wreath, with flowers enough, and leaves 
 Yet Autumn, tho' to all it come, 
 Brings not to me a harvest-home. 
 
3GHfi SEASONS. 
 
 ■o it \k ® 
 
 Sonnet 4. — Villegiatura de Verno. 
 
 ^.oXoH 
 
 HE year at last's grown grey and old, 
 His driv'ling beard is icy cold ; 
 Severe and rugged is his brow, 
 And furrowed all his cheek below. 
 
 I see him — and in wonder lost 
 Feel stricken ; while a sudden frost 
 Silvers my golden hair with rime, 
 And seems to change me, e'er my time. 
 
 And, as my last dread hour draws on, 
 I view my past acts, one by one; 
 The volume of my life unroll, 
 And sit in judgement on my soul. 
 
 No pleasures now my heart elate ; 
 But time, age, season, aggravate 
 Each fault, unseasonably done; 
 For one condemns us : tho' but one. 
 
Son«g of the Captive of Sion 
 
 />Y ///^ waters of Babylon we sat down and wept, 
 when we remembered thee, Oh Zion, IN. i^-;. 
 
 s-'T®r$^~~>- 
 
 j-)]MJY Babylon's desolate waters, 
 jpbr^In weariness, weeping and woe, 
 
 We thought upon Judah's fair daughters. 
 
 And the land where the palm-trees grow. 
 
 And we thought on thee, widow of Zion! 
 The days of thy beauty are flown ; 
 All bounden in fetters and iron, 
 Thy children are captive and gone. 
 
 "The joy of the earth" is departed, 
 They have spoiled the olive and vine ; 
 Who shall comfort thee, poor broken-hearted- 
 Was ever there sorrow like thine? 
 
Song of the Captive of Zion. 141 
 
 "Wake the song; and bring hither the lute, 
 For," they said, "ye are weary with woe/' 
 When the chords of affliction are mute, 
 Shall we wake them to bondage? Ah no. 
 
 They are hanging unstrung on the trees, 
 Upon Shinar's disconsolate sand; 
 They have sung the Lord's song — and must cease 
 The sweet strain, in an infidel land. 
 
 Oh ! Salem ! if e'er I forget 
 The bliss of thy sacred bowers ; 
 Tho' the sun of thy glory be set, 
 And the stranger exult on thy towers. 
 
 If I love thee not, Zion, o'er all 
 That the Princes of earth can decree 
 May the meed of ingratitude fall 
 On a heart, so unworthy of thee. 
 
 A curse on thy gorgeous palaces, 
 Oh Babylon! queen of the earth; 
 On thy revels, and golden chalices, 
 That o'erflow with thv measure of wrath. 
 
142 Song of the Captive of Zion, 
 
 The warrior sons of thy pride 
 Shall rot, on thy blood-sodden shore ; 
 Nor ever the voice of the bride 
 Shall be heard in thy halls any more. 
 
 For thy pomp is gone down to the grave. 
 And the noise of thy viols is past ; 
 And the standard of vengeance shall wave 
 O'er the groves of thine idols, at last. 
 
 But the Lord shall remember His fold, 
 Nor His anger for ever shall burn ; 
 And Jordan divide, as of old, 
 To welcome His people's return. 
 
 And Judah shall rise, like a lion 
 From the lair of his resting, as erst ; 
 And our harps shall be sounding in Zion, 
 When thou liest low in the dust. 
 
fkN THE f)ANH OF A §TREAM 
 &0 NO. 
 
 N the bank of a stream where the violet blows, 
 Young Beauty reposed in the shade ; 
 
 And the bees sang a lullaby, up in the boughs, 
 That were blossoming; over her head. 
 
 She marked not the blossoms, their glory how brief. 
 How they fell, but the flower of a day ; 
 
 Nor wist she the bee was a foraging thief, 
 That was stealing the honey away. 
 
 The Zephyrs were wooing the flowers, as she lay 
 In the freshness and fragrance of morn ; 
 
 But she recked not the Zephyrs were bearing away 
 The sweets, that would never return. 
 
144 Song, 
 
 The sparkling waters, deliciously clear, 
 Like pleasure's hour, merrily flow; 
 
 And the murmuring music was soothing to hear, 
 As they danced o'er the pebbles below. 
 
 But she wot not the hours fled as fast as the water, 
 Too soon to be gulphed in the seas ; 
 
 Nor giddily marked she the lesson it taught her, 
 That at sunset its brightness would cease ; 
 
 That, as blossoms will perish, so beauty will do ; 
 
 And that flowers and their fragrance decay ; 
 That the bees, and the Zephyrs no longer will woo, 
 
 When the honey they seek is away. 
 
3S0 Uphemera, 
 
 V 
 
 /" 77^ May-jly. ) 
 
 'Hiru.fj.Epoi. t'l 8e' -rts ; t'l £' o"k tis ; 
 2/aas oya|0 audpwTroi.. PlND. 
 
 Daughter of merry May ! 
 
 Nature's sweet holiday. 
 Nymphs of the river thy cradle have spun : 
 
 Iris, with golden hair, 
 
 Hails thee her sister fair, 
 Creature of ether, and child of the sun ! 
 
 Sprung of the silver stream, 
 
 Nursed in the solar beam, 
 Golden-eyed lilies attend on thy birth; 
 
 All the sweet water flowers, 
 
 Weaving thy natal bowers, 
 Lend thee their odours to waft thee to earth. 
 
146 To Eph 
 
 lemera. 
 
 Beautiful heir of spring ! 
 
 Sylph of the silken wing, 
 Light as the Zephyr thou floatest upon ; 
 
 Sure, of no mortal braid 
 
 Nature thy tissue made ; 
 E'er the earth sully thee, vanished and gone. 
 
 Born to the dawning day, 
 
 Fall'ii with his setting ray ; 
 One sun affords thee all life can delight : 
 
 Joyous indeed the lot 
 
 Age and care trouble not; 
 Sorrow that knows not, or darkness, or night. 
 
 Winging thy way on high, 
 
 Thro' the gay sunny sky, 
 In the bright precinct of glorious day : 
 
 How dost thou look on thy 
 
 Slough of mortality ! 
 Freed, as a spirit, from prison of clay. 
 
 Mark ! how the living stream 
 
 Dance in the sunny beam; 
 Made but for joy, as the children of day : 
 
 Earth, air, and sea are rife, 
 
 Teeming, with happy life ; 
 Each in its order to other a prey. 
 
To Ephemera. 147 
 
 Such is the destiny 
 
 Wisdom allots to thee ; 
 Painless, and passionless, careless withal : 
 
 God-sent to multiply 
 
 Nature's felicity; 
 Living to bliss ; to give life in thy fall. 
 
 Sporting in balmy air, 
 Scorning a world of care, 
 
 Seizing the radiant hour as it flies : 
 Till the lythe swallow come, 
 Seize thee, and bear thee home, 
 
 Swift to her nestling a delicate prize. 
 
 What were long years to thee 
 
 Emblem of purity? 
 Nearer the fountain the sweeter the stream 
 
 Where is the — what is the 
 
 Boast of humanity? 
 Shade of a shadow — the voice of a dream. 
 
 Man in his vanity 
 
 Spurns at thee, little fly : 
 Is his sun — is his day brighter than thine? 
 
 Could but his clouded sense 
 
 Span thy magnificence, 
 How would he marvel at wisdom divine ! 
 
148 To Ephemera. 
 
 Could lie but say, with, thee : 
 
 "He, that created me, 
 Gave me — what more could he? — light, life and joy 
 
 Gave me — on airy wings, 
 
 Soaring o'er earthy things, 
 Blameless to live, and unsullied to die." 
 
 Youth ! what an age to thee 
 
 Life is — eternity! 
 Hope, with all joyance unending beset : 
 
 Ask what the aged say : 
 
 Sped — as a little day — 
 Joyless and profitless, grief and regret. 
 
|k) THE f||{€ADA, 
 
 >j*s< 
 
 From Anacreon. Ode Ixiii. 
 
 %>T^s *^ 
 
 jHKICE happy thing ! that sips 
 ^The dew's ambrosial drop; 
 And merrily sing, 
 Like a sylvan king, 
 Throned on the greenwood top. 
 
 For all the world is thine, 
 Whate'er thine eyes can see; 
 Whate'er the woods, 
 And fields and floods 
 Can give, 'tis all for thee. 
 
 The swains, and rustic maids 
 Delight to hear thy call ; 
 
 No injury 
 
 They fear from thee, 
 For thou'rt the friend of all. 
 
150 
 
 To the Cicada. 
 
 Sweet chorister of spring! 
 The rural muses court thee : 
 
 And in the groves, 
 
 Apollo loves 
 To hear the lay, he taught thee. 
 
 Sweet songster! never doomed 
 In pain and age to pine ; 
 
 Bloodless and airy, 
 
 As little fairy, 
 Thou art almost divine. 
 
#EATH OF StEOOLES ANO pOEYNlOES, 
 
 FROM EURIPIDES. PH. 1456. 
 
 Jocasta, their mother, with her daughter Antigone, arrive at the moment 
 her two sons are struck down bv mutual wounds, in single combat. 
 
 HEN shrieked Jocasta — " Oil my sons ! my sons ! 
 Late have I come — too late to succour ye." 
 And falling down beside them, wept aloud — 
 Wept her vain cares, and fond anxieties, 
 For those she long had cherished at her breast : 
 And cried their sister too, Antigone ; 
 " Oh sole support of our poor mother's age ! 
 My dearest, dearest brothers ! have ye thus 
 My marriage hopes so wantonly destroyed?" 
 From his deep breast Prince Eteocles drew 
 One lab'ring breath, and heard, and knew his mother ; 
 And, laying his cold clammy hand on hers, 
 Spake not articulate words ; but in his eyes 
 The welling tears bespake his tenderness. 
 But Polynice, yet breathing, turned his eyes, 
 And seeing his fair sister at his side, 
 v 
 
152 Death of Eteocles and Poly 7 
 
 uces. 
 
 And Ms age-stricken mother, thus addressed them : 
 "We perish mother : but for thee — and this 
 My sister, deep compassion wrings my heart ; 
 And for my brother too, thus dying by me : 
 We to each other once were very dear — 
 But he became my foe — yet still I love him. 
 Bury me mother, thou that gav'st me life, 
 And thou my sister, in my native land; 
 Aud soothe the rancour of the citizens : 
 That I may yet possess some little spot 
 In this my country, tho' I've lost the crown. 
 With thine own hand, my mother, close these eyes : 
 (Then took her hand and laid it on his eyes) 
 "Farewell; e'en now the light is failing me:" 
 And both together sighed their lives away. 
 When thus Jocasta saw what had befallen ; 
 O'erborn by all the ecstacy of grief, 
 She snatched a falchion from the dead man's hand, 
 * And did a deed of horror : thro' her heart 
 She thrust the fatal steel — and, dying, fell 
 On all the world had dearest to her soul ; 
 Grasping them both, in one long last embrace. 
 
 CHORUS, Msc. s. t. 924. 
 
 Sem. 1. Ill-fated o'er all women, who the name 
 Of mother bear, was she who gave them birth : 
 She her own offspring took to be her spouse, 
 
Death of Eteocles and Polynices. 153 
 
 And to him bare these twain ; who thus have fallen 
 
 By mutual wounds of fratricidal hands. 
 Sem. 2. Brothers indeed were they, and utterly 
 
 Foredone by their unhappy differences, 
 
 In frantic contest terminate their strife. 
 Sem. 1. Now is their wrath allayed; and their hearts' blood 
 
 In the red reeking earth together flows : 
 
 Kindred in blood they are, in very sooth. 
 
 A bitter arbiter is foreign steel, 
 
 Keen-edged, and from the glowing anvil sent, 
 
 To settle differences, and to divide 
 
 Inheritance ; an umpire fierce indeed 
 
 The God of battles, bringing on their heads 
 
 The consummation of their Father's curse. 
 Sem. 2. The Gods send troubles ; and they have their share ; 
 
 Unhappy youths ! for now beneath their cairn 
 
 Lies all their territory — all their wealth. 
 
 Alas ! they cherished in their palaces 
 
 The budding bloom of woe ; and in their fall — 
 
 The last and utter ruin of their house — 
 
 Their Father's curse triumphant shrieked for joy. 
 
 Ate hath raised her trophy at the gate, 
 
 Whereat they fought and fell : and having grasped 
 
 Both in her fatal clutch — the demon sleeps. 
 
TO M me - B. 
 
 gOST blest, most fortunate of men 
 & Was Bora's spouse. — why so? 
 Is she so very lovely then? 
 Oh no. Good tempered? — no. 
 
 Was she so excellent a wife? 
 
 No — none of these. Then why? 
 Because when Fate prolonged her life, 
 
 He had the luck to die. 
 
 DO. FROM MARTIALIS. 
 Adco sanctum est vetus omne poema. Hor. 
 
 You tell me no authors will do 
 
 But the ancients, Eliza, for you; 
 
 And that nought would induce you to read 
 
 A Poet till after he's dead : 
 
 Then excuse me — it's hardly worth trying 
 
 To please you, Eliza — by dying. 
 
f-\Ar) 
 
 ^gHEN THE f^HAOOWS, 
 
 Thd dull the close of life, and far away 
 Each flower that hailed the dawning of the day ; 
 Yet o'er her lovely hopes that once were dear, 
 The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe, 
 With milder griefs, her aged eye shall fill, 
 And weep their falsehood, thd she love them still. 
 
 Campbell, P 
 
 |HEN the shadows of evening fall. 
 And the aged eye 's closing in night ; 
 
 When the shafts of infirmity gall, 
 And the world may no longer delight ; 
 
 The lorn spirit turns from the wrack 
 
 Of all, to humanity dear; 
 To the bright fields, that welcome it back 
 
 To sunshine unsmirched with a tear. 
 
 To the homes of young pleasure and peace. 
 
 Where health spread her halcyon wing ; 
 And the world was an Eden of bliss, 
 
 That smiled in perpetual spring. 
 
156 When the Shadows. 
 
 So deep and so dear the affection, 
 The scenes of our childhood impart; 
 
 That each spot has some fond recollection. 
 Each tree has its place in the heart. 
 
 And, as visions and voices that float 
 On the ocean of memory's prime, 
 
 They are heard in the wood-pigeon's note, 
 They are seen in the blossoming lime. 
 
 They are images, cherished in tears 
 Of regret, the man looks for in vain ; 
 
 A confiding affection — that years 
 And experience know not again. 
 
 But Hope, the blithe minstrel of youth, 
 Spurned the melodies infancy sung ; 
 
 And he sang his wild strains — but forsooth 
 Was his lyre by a Syren strung. 
 
 To the winds his fair tresses he flung, 
 And his beaming eyes Heavenward bent, 
 
 Such honied strains fell from his tongue, 
 That the aged e'en paused, as they went. 
 
When the Shadow*. 157 
 
 And lie sang of fields, mountains, and bowers 
 All that pleasure to manhood endears — 
 
 Of laughter, and light-hearted hours — 
 But he sang not of travail and tears. 
 
 How, incited by fancy's bright form, 
 We build on the sand, for a day ; 
 
 Till reality, stern as the storm, 
 
 Come and sweep the fair fabric away. 
 
 And fond anticipation take wing, 
 And fairy dreams perish, as fast 
 
 As the balm-breathing blossom of spring, 
 In the withering easterly blast. 
 
 And anon shall the traveller know 
 The mirage of the morning deceives ; 
 
 When he learns, in the volume of woe, 
 The sad lesson experience gives. 
 
 For the triumph of life, and its glory, 
 All the pleasure and pomp that ensnare, 
 
 But point to the moralist's story, 
 To teach us how little they are. 
 
158 When the Shadows. 
 
 How vain is eacli young aspiration, 
 
 So tardily lingering on — 
 The charm is but participation 
 
 With those that we love — they are gone. 
 
 For life, and its perishing joys, 
 Are the sport of the passing hour ; 
 
 Not a stroke of the scythe, but destroys 
 Some cherished and lovely flower — 
 
 That has fall'n, as an unwithered leaf 
 In a midsummer shower — scarce won 
 
 E'er we loose it — as bright and as brief, 
 As the flash of the funeral gun. 
 
 And feeble and faint is the spark 
 
 That illumines the close of our days ; 
 
 As the landscape is fading and dark, 
 In the setting sun's evening haze. 
 
 And the shadowy night-stars, that loom 
 Thro' the gaud and the grandeur of eve; 
 
 Betoken but darkness to come 
 
 On the wreaths, that the confident weave ; 
 
When the Shadows. 159 
 
 So the memory of those, that awaken 
 Sweet visions of love's early clay- 
 That have finished their course, and have taken 
 The life of existence away — 
 
 But teaches how frail and how fleet 
 Are the ties that the ling'rer detain : 
 
 Traitor hope — and the faltering feet 
 That are passing, but come not again. 
 
 Oh Hope ! thou'rt a goodly deceiver, 
 That cheat us of half of our pain ; 
 
 But Cassandra shall find a believer, 
 Or ever I trust thee a°ain. 
 
 Once only thou ne'er mayst belie, 
 Nor man and his destiny sever; 
 
 For humanity's boon is to die, 
 And once — find a refuge for ever. 
 
 And we hail it — the herald of peace ; 
 
 Proclaiming, a our warfare is o'er:" 
 That life's sighs and sorrows shall cease, 
 
 And that hope shall delude us no more, 
 w 
 
^-UPJG'S flpUftSE, 
 
 . / Madrigal. After Giambatista Guarini. 
 
 gJOUNG- Cupid, sporting- with the flowers 
 Amid his loved Idalian bowers, 
 And seeking honey, tree by i^^^ 
 Was wounded by an angry bee. 
 In pain and spite the flower he nips, 
 And flung the sap on rosy lips ; 
 On rosy lips — as roses red — 
 And then, to lips of roses said: 
 Avaunt ye ! all-deceptive band, 
 Go — make the circuit of the land. 
 And whosoe'er those lips shall kiss, 
 (And who will not where woman is?) 
 
 He too shall feel the smart : 
 For when the honied bane he sips 
 'T shall be, as nectar to his lips ; 
 
 A dagger to his heart. 
 
3EHE ttOSE. 
 
 A Madrigal. After Giambatista Guarini. 
 
 YCORIS gave to Corydon, 
 
 When once she met him on the lea, 
 A rose — it was a lovely one, 
 
 It scarcely seemed of earthly tree. 
 
 And giving it, the crimson hue 
 
 O'er her fair cheek so warmly glows ; 
 
 The shepherd swore he hardly knew 
 The blushing maiden, from the rose. 
 
 And answering her, in amorous sighs, 
 "Ah! I were blest indeed" — he said: 
 
 " Could I find favour in those eyes, 
 To grant the sister-flower instead" 
 
WRQM 3t£TOAR€H. 
 
 SONNET XXVIII. 
 
 
 He resolves to fly society, in the hope of concealing, or curing, his too apparent 
 love for Laura, but seems to doubt his success. 
 
 1TH melancholy step and slow, 
 O'er earth's deserted wilds I go ; 
 Resolved on solitude ; to fly 
 All vestige of humanity. 
 
 What other mode can I devise 
 To baffle scrutinizing eyes? 
 Since this dejected air of mine 
 Betrays the flames, that rage within 
 
 The wild, the mountain, and the wood 
 May learn my moody solitude, 
 
 That mortal ne'er may know : 
 Yet, where a refuge find so rude, 
 So wild, that love will ne'er intrude? 
 
 Aye and be welcome too. 
 
WROM a&ETflAfl€H 
 
 "if- 5^ 
 
 SON. XXV. 
 
 »Si 
 
 Feeling death approaching, he consoles himself, that all the vanities and troubles 
 that oppress him, will soon come to an end. 
 
 S we approach the final clay, 
 All human woe that terminates ; 
 More smoothly swift time glides away. 
 No more delusive hope elates. 
 
 Methonght; we can no longer go 
 Dreaming of love; all care-opprest 
 This weary coil of earth, like snow, 
 Is melting into peaceful rest. 
 
 Youth's wild emotions, hopes and fears. 
 That so befooled onr earlier years, 
 
 No more may agitate : 
 Bnt ripe experience reveal 
 The secret springs of good and ill 
 
 Vicissitudes of fate. 
 
flAREW-EU, 
 
 AREWELL dear — dearest mother 
 Life's one remaining tie ; 
 
 For th' world lias ne'er another. 
 That can thy love supply. 
 
 The livelong day I miss thee — 
 Dream of thee night and morn ; 
 
 And when I spring to kiss thee, 
 I wake — and thou art gone. 
 
 Thy sweet form stands before me- 
 I hear thee speak my name — 
 
 A sickly chill comes o'er me, 
 And thrills thro' all my frame. 
 
 I stray from room to room — 
 For I scarce know what I do ; 
 
 But every one hath some 
 Sad monitor of you. 
 
Farewell. 165 
 
 Thy chair — the vacant space, 
 By the silent sad fireside : 
 
 Who now can take the place 
 That thou hast sanctified? 
 
 Papa, sits lost in thought, 
 
 With his hands upon his knees ; 
 
 He seems to see me not. 
 Or care not, if he sees. 
 
 Sometimes he kisses me, 
 
 But it seems to vex him sore ; 
 
 And he starts — and looks at me, 
 As he never looked before. 
 
 They bid me not to weep, 
 But how can I refrain? 
 
 They tell me thou'rt asleep, 
 And soon will wake again. 
 
 Ah, should I wish 'twere so? 
 
 'Tis wicked that I should : 
 Thou'rt happy now I know, 
 
 For thou wast always good. 
 
166 Farewell. 
 
 Dear mother — where art thou? — 
 
 But surely, whereso'er 
 Thou art, 't would grieve thee now, 
 
 To know how sad we are. 
 
 And wilt thou ne'er return? 
 
 Art' ever gone from me? 
 The thought's so dread an one, 
 
 It cannot — cannot he. 
 
 So terrible to me 
 
 The void — I'm sick at heart; 
 Oh ! happy could I be 
 
 With thee, where'er thou art! 
 
 And I wander in the grove, 
 From morn till eventide; 
 
 For I've lost the thing I love 
 O'er all the world beside. 
 
 Then fare-thee-well — for ever? 
 
 Oh no — it may not be : 
 For never — never — never — 
 
 Can I love, as I love thee. 
 
iJONG OF THE IMMIGRANT. 
 
 AR, far have I roamed from the home of my rest, 
 To the gold-bearing torrents, and sands of the west ; 
 O'er the wide sea an exile, by poverty driven 
 A waif of the world — and a castling of heaven. 
 
 In toil never-ending the daylight is passed, 
 And the night on the sward, all exposed to the blast, 
 And the sun, at his setting, but leaves me to pain, 
 Till he rise, to awake me to labor again. 
 
 Yet the dreams of my home ever sweeten my rest, 
 And fan the bright ember of hope, in my breast ; 
 While my languishing spirit unfettered may rove 
 To the land of my youth, and the cot of my love. 
 
 Oh ! thus may they brighten each pitiless clay, 
 Till the term of my pilgrimage passes away ; 
 When all hearts shall, united in gratitude, burn, 
 And poverty flee — at the exile's return, 
 x 
 
H JlOTHftft'S f|<QN«G, 
 
 From Chiara Morroni Silorate. 
 
 P|OFTLY sleep, my Babe, where deepest 
 * Shade the tangled branches shed ; 
 While thy mother, as thou sleepest, 
 
 Watches o'er her darling's bed. 
 Balmy airs ! how sweet your murmur, 
 
 Breathing fragrance thro' the grove ! 
 With the genial kiss of summer 
 
 Soothe the angel of my love. 
 Never were rose and eglantine 
 Sweet, as those smiling lips of thine. 
 
 Softly sleep, my babe, &c, &c, &c. 
 
 All the sylvan choir rejoices, 
 Fluttering from tree to tree : 
 
 Pretty birds ! your gladsome voices 
 Join in grateful song with me ; 
 
 We'll raise the chorus of the grove 
 
 To innocence and faithful love. 
 
 Softly sleep, my babe, &c, &c, &c. 
 
A Mothers Song. 169 
 
 Little streamlet! from aloft, 
 
 Foaming down so merrily, 
 Murmuring musically soft, 
 
 Sing my baby's lullaby : 
 Casting abroad thy cooling spray, 
 To moderate the noon-tide ray. 
 
 Softly sleep, my babe, &c, &c, &c. 
 
 Lovely babe ! in thee I plight 
 
 Every hope, and every joy; 
 Drinking rapturous delight 
 
 From thy little laughing eye : 
 Truly, if life thou owest me, 
 I owe the bliss of it to thee. 
 
 Softly sleep, my babe, where deej)est 
 Shade the tangled branches shed ; 
 
 While thy mother, as thou sleepest, 
 Watches o'er her darling's bed. 
 
I s^henus %e<hna ^§nioi §|ap*hque. 
 
 Hok. 
 
 
 ENUS, queen of Isle and ocean ! 
 'Leave thy Cyprus fair, to bless 
 Homes of love and chaste devotion ; 
 Where thou alone art emperess. 
 
 Bring thine handmaids fair about thee, 
 Comely wit, and graceful ease ; 
 And youth — that's nothing worth without thee, 
 And young Love's winsome witcheries. 
 
A 
 
 ||nd <§k)st Ipnou Still. 
 
 SONG, 
 
 ^i^ND clost thou still by moonlight rove, 
 As thou wert used with me ; 
 And think on one, who bade thee love 
 Her soft solemnity? 
 
 And canst thou see without regret 
 Our pledge of 'parted joy — 
 
 Of days, so sweet to memory ; yet 
 Immirrored in her eye ? 
 
 Tho' frigid now, and spiritless 
 Those rays, that once could burn ; 
 
 They tell of times — time can't efface — 
 Tho' never to return. 
 
 E'en now perhaps some gaze on her 
 Like me, from foreign shore ; 
 
 And severed hearts find union there, 
 To meet on earth no more. 
 
! »ROM StETRAfrCH 
 
 Quel rosignuol chc 'si soave piagne. 
 
 jJOW soft, how sweetly mourns yon nightingale ! 
 For her loved mate perhaps, or her lost young; 
 And all the welkin fills with her sweet song, 
 So exquisitely plaintive is her wail. 
 
 She all night long repeats her woeful tale, 
 But to remind me of my wretched lot : 
 Perish the thought — for I believed it not — 
 
 That one so lovely death could e'er assail. 
 
 How easy to deceive the confident ! 
 Who could have deemed those eyes, that the noon-day 
 Outshone so brilliantly — mere mortal clay? 
 
 This knowledge now hath dire misfortune sent, 
 
 And, by its bitter teaching, oped my eyes 
 
 To see — that all on earth that's lovelv — fades and dies. 
 
'm 
 
 mo ikpio, 
 
 From A)iacreon. Ode xl. 
 
 gJOUNG- Cupid, once at play 
 Amid the rosen bowers, 
 Saw not a bee, that lay 
 Asleep among the flowers. 
 
 And fluttering and flying, 
 And smarting with the bane, 
 
 He ran to Venus crying, 
 
 And shook his hand for pain. 
 
 "Mama! Mama! look here, 
 My finger's sorely bit — 
 
 Oh dear ! Oh dear ! Oh dear ! 
 I shan't get over it.' 1 
 
174 To Cupid. 
 
 u One of those nasty things, 
 That Shepherds call a bee, 
 
 (Those little snakes with wings) 
 Has hurt me mortally." 
 
 Says she: u he — how can you 
 
 Be such a silly thing, 
 To make bo much ado 
 
 About a little sting?" 
 
 "What think you others feel 
 That you've been shooting at? 
 
 They'll tell you; your steel 
 Gives greater pain than that." 
 
SO N<1 OF THE JlAWlES. 
 
 j§lIE away to the grove, for the moon is on high, 
 a- <And the dog-star is setting his lamps in the sky 
 The nightingale's np, and preparing her song, 
 And Venus is weary of waiting so long. 
 
 The glow-worm and will-o'-the-wisp are alight, 
 And all are preparing for revel to-night ; 
 See Oberon coming, a fire-fly astride, 
 And legions of frolicksome fays by his side. 
 
 The crickets are tuning their fiddles, and all 
 The chorus of grasshoppers come to the call ; 
 And th' emmets are weaving a carpet to spread 
 Of butterfly-feathers, and gossamer- thread. 
 
 The trumpeter-beetle is sounding, " abroad" 
 To hunt the wild bee, and to plunder her hoard ; 
 And to dance, till the matin-bell warns us away, 
 And mortals and misery wake with the day. 
 
 Y 
 
JOVE'S #fi5PAlR 
 
 From Petrarch. Son. 104. 
 
 ^=^ 
 
 §1 would not war — yet find no peace ; 
 I fear, I hope, I burn, I freeze; 
 In spirit, o'er the spheres I fly, 
 And yet on earth dejected lie; 
 Span the whole universe — in vain — 
 Withal I nothing can obtain. 
 
 Love is so strange a warder, he 
 Nor locks me in, nor sets me free ; 
 He will not keep me for his own, 
 Nor let his prisoner begone ; 
 He'll neither kill me, nor release, 
 Nor let me live, or die in peace. 
 
 I have no eyes — and yet I see ; 
 
 No tongue — yet cry eternally ; 
 
 I'd die — and yet life's suppliant prove ; 
 
 I loathe myself — yet burn for love ; 
 
 On tears of anguish am I fed — 
 
 Yet ridicule the tears I shed; 
 
 Alike or life or death I view : 
 
 This — Madam, thou hast brought me to. 
 
vfefK>R-US IN l&NTKJONE. 
 
 FROM SOPHOCLES 
 
 IloXXd -rd Selvo., Kovotv av- 
 
 6pU)TTOV OBLVOTEpOV TTtktl. 332. 
 
 HE world has many wond'rous tilings, 
 
 Throughout its vasty span ; 
 But nothing half so wonderful 
 
 As wonder-working man : 
 When, lashed by the rude wintry winds, 
 
 The foaming billows rave ; 
 He skims along the roaring seas, » 
 
 And rides the mountain wave. 
 
 Unfailing mother earth divine 
 
 He wearies, year by year, 
 With his eternal plough, and steeds 
 
 Submissive to his gear. 
 The silly birds — the sylvan game — 
 
 The ocean's finny clan — 
 All in his meshy toils he takes ; 
 
 This all-inventive man. 
 
178 Chorus in Antigone. 
 
 Yokes the wild horse, and mountain bull — 
 
 To his devices yield 
 The monsters of the mighty hills, 
 
 And wildings of the field. 
 By sounds articulate, his thoughts 
 
 And wisdom to convey 
 He learns; and by judicious laws 
 
 His fellow men to sway. 
 
 Prepared for all — he's ne'er at loss — 
 
 Frost, rain, and storm can brave 
 One only thing he can't escape, 
 
 He cannot fly the grave. 
 Yet can he baffle dire disease ; 
 
 And crafty past belief, 
 Oft turns his cunning to his good, 
 
 As often to his grief. 
 
 When rev'rencing his country's laws, 
 
 And the Gods' just decree, 
 He is a prince — but when thro' pride 
 
 He falls — an outcast he. 
 Oh ! never one, that works such woe, 
 
 Shall sit my hearth beside 
 My guest, my friend; nor ever be 
 
 My counsellor and guide. 
 
{fJHiOSE NOT HIS #ftAY£, 
 
 ®QM. 
 
 LOSE not his grave, good Friar; Oh stay, 
 Let not the cold earth hide him ; 
 
 Oh ! leave it — leave it, but to-day — 
 And I shall rest beside him. 
 
 For grief, like mine, can ne'er endure 
 
 Another dawn to see ; 
 Then let the bier, that brought him here, 
 
 Wait but a day for me. 
 
 Heap not on him that cruel clod ; 
 
 Oh stay awhile — to-morrow, 
 One little cell shall hold, one sod 
 
 Shall cover all our sorrow. 
 
MO THE iis-AOJES, 
 
 From Anacreon. Ode ii. 
 
 To the bull and the steed 
 
 Hoof and horns are decreed ; 
 To the little birds wings ; to the timid hare speed ; 
 
 The lions have teeth ; 
 
 And the fishes, beneath 
 The blue ocean, have fins, for to swim in their need. 
 
 So wisdom by Heaven 
 
 To man has been given ; 
 But woman — poor woman! to what is she driven? 
 
 Has she naught but despair? 
 
 No : — there's beauty for her : 
 Who with beauty has ever successfully striven ? 
 
 For the sword, and the shield, 
 
 And the lance must yield; 
 And there's never a weapon on battle field, 
 
 Nor fire, nor steel, 
 
 That can ever reveal 
 Such invincible power as beauty can wield. 
 
||n JpNGUSH IfcOVfiMBfifi. 
 
 From Gabriel Rosetti. 
 
 >^c 
 
 ^p)H land of gloom ! dark, dark as night, 
 VNo star to cheer, no moon to light ; 
 The waters groan, and winds lament, 
 In doleful tones of discontent; 
 As tho' the winds and waters shewed 
 Some reason in their gloomy mood. 
 
 Hail, fair, Heav'n-favored Italy ! 
 The star Idalian smiles on thee; 
 And with thy soft Idalian sky 
 Thy landscape smiles in harmony ; 
 So bright thy suns — with power divine 
 Inspiring love where'er they shine. 
 
 But ah ! 'tis not enough for me, 
 Calm skies and flowery fields to see — 
 Thou art oppressed, dear Italy ! 
 By tyrants — aye, most cruelly : 
 What can blue skies and flowers avail 
 To those that live in endless bale ? 
 
182 An English November 
 
 Oh Britain, happy, brave, and free! 
 Majestic consort of the sea, 
 'Tis true, that sometimes clouds o'ercast; 
 But shadows they — mere shade at last ; 
 With e'en less light I'd be content, 
 To live in freedom's blandishment. 
 
 For 'mid these shades and shadows dark 
 Breaks on the soul truth's vivid spark, 
 That spark, that eyes and hearts profane 
 May seek indeed — but search in vain : 
 Yet so it captivates my sense, 
 Its love is its own recompense. 
 
 Oh liberty ! truth's loyal nurse, 
 That can'st all mortal good disburse ; 
 And 'mid thy darkness can'st impart 
 A light, that charms and fires the heart ; 
 There, shall thy loyal votary stay 
 His wayward, wav'ring, wand'ring way. 
 
!$NA€flEGNT*€A i 
 
 :-: ? 
 
 % 
 
 FROM JACOPO VITTORELLI. 
 
 ®F 'mid the wild ill-cultured lea 
 |f Jv9 The scented jasmine buds and blows, 
 And cherished by thine eyes, Mary, 
 
 Blossoms the rose : 
 
 If a sweet zephyr chance to stray, 
 And tangle it in thy golden hair ; 
 How joyously it seems to play, 
 
 And revel there ; 
 
 If flowers never fade near thee, 
 But, 'neath thy little feet, revive ; 
 And ask thee: "only tread on me, 
 
 And I shall live:" 
 
 Full well thou knowest, pretty Fay, 
 By love's unerring grammary ; 
 Those flowers — those zephyrs — what are they ? 
 Ah ! — what but I. 
 y2 
 

 m 
 
 
 FROM JACOPO VITTORELLI. 
 
 g]OW fair the night, Mary! how deep 
 The blue — the silver moon's so bright, 
 She lulls the whispering breeze to sleep, 
 And drowns the stars in light. 
 
 A solitary nightingale — 
 Hark ! in the neighbouring beechen grove- 
 Surely his careful notes bewail 
 The object of his love. 
 
 Soon as she hears his piteous lay, 
 She hastes as fondly to reply ; 
 And, fluttering toward him, seems to say : 
 "Fear not, love, here am I." 
 
 What tender passages are these ! 
 How touching too, her sympathy ! 
 Oh that thy pretty coquetries 
 
 Would make me like reply ! 
 
H gABLfi. 
 
 
 FROM A. DE' GIORGI BERTOLA. 
 
 ILACK eyes and blue ones had a quarrel ; 
 The subject — which should bear the laurel. 
 "You black are taciturn — austere," — 
 "You blue are always insincere." — 
 "Black is a melancholy hue," — 
 "But not so changeable as blue." — 
 "In us reflected Heav'n is seen." — 
 "We are so bright, we need a screen." 
 "Venus had dark eyes." — "Very true, 
 But Juno and Minerva blue." 
 Much longer had the contest been ; 
 Had Cupid stepped not in between; 
 And thus given judgement, on occasion 
 Of this important litigation : 
 As any prudent shepherd would, 
 Well learned in the Cyprian code : 
 "No colour can this doubt dispel, 
 
 For colour doth not truth impart ; 
 Those ejes,for me, will bear the bell, 
 
 That shew the tenor of the heart," 
 
j%aohk;al. 
 
 FROM A. DE' GIORGI BERTOLA. 
 
 HARK! said Chromis, with Nigel la 
 Sitting by the water ; hark ! 
 Moaning winds like these foretell a 
 Stormy night; and Oh! my hark. 
 Never mind, yon silly feller, 
 To her Chromis said Nigella, 
 What to ns are bark or weather? 
 Sitting here so snug together. 
 
 Yes, quoth he, were women truer, 
 Ever constant, ever kind ; 
 
 As perchance this moment you are, 
 I'd not care for boat or wind. 
 
 But you girls are light as spray, 
 
 Always changing; and some day, 
 
 I should find me destitute 
 
 Of boat and nets — and you to boot. 
 
^nb %tt % organ sonnbs, antr mtseen rboirs 
 Sing % olfcr |Ww frmnns of peate ant) Iota. 
 
 ILongfelloto. 
 
H Christmas {0arol 
 
 
 Aggrederc O mag/ios, cider it jam temp us, honores 
 Cora Dei soboles. Vir. Ec. iv. 
 
 ^T^r^^^ 
 
 jS o'er tlieir flocks by night, 
 
 While drowsy mortals slept, 
 By the dim watch-fire's light, 
 Their ward the shepherds kept ; 
 Such sounds their simple hearts inspired; 
 As never mortal song to rapture fired. 
 
 For clouds of burning lyres 
 
 With joyous anthems ring, 
 As all th' angelic choirs 
 Salute the new-born King. 
 " List, Oh ye Heavens ! Oh earth give ear ! 
 To-dav Messiah's born — behold His star — " 
 
188 A Christina* Carol, 
 
 That o'er the manger stayed, 
 
 Where all in lowly state 
 The Holy Babe was laid, 
 And maiden mother sate ; 
 And angels marvelled to behold 
 Such wondrous love — such merc} r manifold. 
 
 When, o'er a world benighted, 
 Pollute with man's offence — 
 O'er Eden's glory blighted, 
 And Eden's innocence — 
 The serpent triumphed in his guile ; 
 All hell's dark legions gloated on the spoil. 
 
 But there was joy in Heaven, 
 
 O'er God's all-righteous ban — 
 For sin shall be forgiven, 
 And He will ransom man — 
 Jehovah spake: the fiat sped: 
 a The woman's seed shall bruise thy cursed head. 
 
 Hail! Holy Babe! creation 
 
 Adores, as it surveys, 
 Thy wondrous incarnation, 
 Thy God's all-wondrous ways : 
 The morning stars rejoice and sing, 
 And vocal spheres with Hallelujahs ring. 
 
A Christmas Carol 189 
 
 Her sacred oriflamme 
 
 Triumphant Peace displays ; 
 The lion and the lamb 
 In peace together graze ; 
 On thorns and thistles grapes shall swell, x 
 And iron oaks for joy weep hydromel. 
 
 As feet upon the mountains 
 
 That tell glad tidings nigh ; 
 As sweet as sheeny fountains 
 To thirsting Pilgrim's eye; 
 As flowers that in the desert bloom, 
 So dearly dear Thy warning — "Lo! I come." 
 
 Tho' holy seers of old 
 
 Revealed th' inspired page, 
 Thine advent that foretold 
 To an expectant age : 
 Man turned him from the light, that showed 
 A present Deity ; and disowned his God. 
 
 Sore thy humiliation 
 
 Assuming man's estate, 
 Scorn, malice, shame, temptation, 
 And persecuting hate — 
 Nor shunning scourge, and felon's doom, 
 To bring the wayward, wandering exile home. 
 
190 A Christmas Carol. 
 
 Oh ! mortal-born to know 
 
 The depth of mortal bane, 
 How terrible Thy woe 
 
 To cleanse the deadly stain ! 
 Sin's brazen fetters to destroy, 
 And on the mourner pour the oil of joy. 
 
 The broken heart to fill 
 
 With Thine all-healing peace — 
 As dews of Heaven distil 
 Upon the arid fleece — 
 And shod, than Jordan's healing tide, 
 More healing stream, from Thy most holy side. 
 
 Shout, Oh ye Isles ! the rock 
 
 Of Hebron flows anew — 
 Cleft by a mightier stroke 
 Of mercy's arm — for you: 
 And living springs shall well on desert shore ; 
 That Hagar's fainting sons shall drink, and thirst no more. 
 
ftGNE LttCTUM skaggalena 
 
 /-Vwtf factum, Magdalena 
 
 Et serena lachrymas ; 
 Non est jam Simonis ccena, 
 
 Non cur fletiun exprimas ; 
 Causes mille sunt Icetandi, 
 Causes mille exit If audi. TESU1TENPOESIE. 
 
 gJg}|fEEP no more, Magdalene; unmeet 
 Thy sorrow now — forbear; 
 Thou canst not now anoint His feet, a 
 
 And wipe them with thine hair : 
 Weep not ; for thou hast cause to sing 
 A thousand songs of thanksgiving. 
 
 Smile, Magdalena, smile again; 
 
 Light up those eyes once more ; 
 In joy of heart forget the pain, 
 
 That wrung thee heretofore : 
 For Christ hath set his bondsmen free, 
 And triumphed o'er mortality. 
 
 A A 
 
192 Pone lucium Magdalena. 
 
 Sing — sing* for gladness, Magdalene, 
 For Christ hath burst the tomb ; 
 
 Now finished is the dreadful scene, 
 And death is overcome : 
 
 Sorely thou wept His mortal strife ; 
 
 He lives — now welcome Him to life. 
 
 Behold with wonder, Magdalene, 
 
 He lives — He lives indeed; 
 His countenance — Oh how serene ! 
 
 His wounds — Ah see, they bleed; 
 The emblems of salvation these, 
 More fair than pearls of eastern seas. 
 
 Live, Magdalene, new life's before thee; 
 
 Thy young morn breaks again ; 
 Death hath no more dominion o'er thee, 
 
 Then why thy joy restrain? 
 Past be thy pangs — recall them never ; 
 He loved thee ; love Him now — for ever. 
 
j|YMN TOR #<X)0 FRIDAY, 
 
 ->-00><foo-^ 
 
 6viitov<s o tv u'iKT<jt)7rpo6t.juLfvo<i, . . . vj]Xew\: 
 wo' appvQ/uaa-juLUL. y^lSC. P., 274. 
 
 In silent sad array, 
 
 His melancholy way 
 To Calvary, the Man of Sorrow wends : 
 
 Despised, rejected one, 
 
 Reviled, and spit upon, 
 
 Requiting, but with prayers, 
 
 The indignities He bears, 
 With all the majesty of innocence : 
 
 A King indeed, tho' King of scorn, 
 
 With sceptre reed, and crown of thorn. 
 
 Your Lord and King bewail, 
 Daughters of Israel! 
 For ye have loved and followed Him ; anon 
 Behold, He faints beneath 
 The cross, and thorny wreath ; 
 
194 Hymn for Good Friday. 
 
 Whom late th' adoring crowd, 
 Amid Hosannahs loud, 
 Hailed the blest Envoy of the Holy One : 
 Whose word rebuked the winds and seas, 
 And the tempestuous blast was peace. 
 
 His hour is come — when He, 
 
 On yon accursed tree, 
 Must drain the cup, that may not pass away ; 
 
 By those He loved denied, 
 
 When love was danger-tried; 
 
 And, 'mid a world's disdain, 
 
 Almost by God forsa'en ; 
 E'en friendship's kiss approached, but to betray 
 
 The spotless victim of that debt, 
 
 No Paschal lamb might expiate. 
 
 Weep Judah's daughters ! wail 
 
 Thy King, Oh Israel! 
 With felon band condemned to felon's fate ; 
 
 Consigned by infamy 
 
 To vengeful envy's cry, 
 
 For you — 'mid blasphemies, 
 
 And scoffer's taunts — He dies : 
 While clouds of radiant Seraphim await, 
 
 To bear the once incarnate Son, 
 
 Triumphant, to a Father's throne. 
 
Hymn for Good Friday. 195 
 
 Hear! that expiring cry, 
 
 Of mortal agony : 
 That reft the quaking rocks — the dead awoke ; 
 
 That rent the Temple's veil; 
 
 Made Hell believe and quail ; 
 
 And the darkened universe, 
 
 Yet black with Adam's curse, 
 In earth's convulsion, cast the baleful yoke : 
 
 While earth and Heav'n proclaimed aloud, 
 
 " Truly this was the Son of God." 
 
FAITH, 
 
 > *><5>o- 4r 
 
 Then Jesus said unto the twelve, will yc also go away 9 
 and Simon Peter answered : John vi., 67. 
 
 ^^^S^ 
 
 10 whom Lord? wither shall we go? 
 
 The word of life's in Thee : 
 Who but the Holy One can show 
 
 The wondrous things we see? 
 
 Thou art Messiah, that should come : 
 
 And shall we go away? 
 For were Thy words of wisdom dumb. 
 
 Thy works would Thee bewray. 
 
 Lord we believe ; yea, we are sure — 
 
 Oh give us constancy, 
 And faith shall to the end endure — 
 
 We know that Thou art He. 
 
Mymn. 
 
 FROM THE CAHORS BREVIARY. 
 
 Tu caritas, es, Conditor, 
 Et Quos areas non deserens 
 Bono rcpletos J>lurimo 
 Factus Pater, nos diligis. 
 
 HOU art the soul of love; Thine hand 
 Sustaineth all creation, Lord! 
 
 Thou showerest blessing o'er the land, 
 Father of all, by all adored! 
 
 Tho' dim and visionless our eyes, 
 And primal darkness all doth blind ; 
 
 Thy presence the true light supplies, 
 And sheds its lustre o'er the mind. 
 
 Thy laws are made for mortal's gain, 
 Thy justice e'er with grace o'erflows ; 
 
 And the same hands of love sustain 
 The labourer, that the task impose. 
 
198 Hymn. 
 
 Thou dost incite, by hope and fear, 
 The heart, to deeds of high emprise ; 
 
 And, if the ordeal seem severe, 
 
 Thy love the lacking strength supplies. 
 
 The pilgrim of the Father-land 
 Hath no continuing city here; 
 
 FTis home — is one not made by hand. 
 Save of the great Artificer. 
 
 When Thy last summons we obey, 
 
 Thro' the dread void Thy hand doth guide 
 
 Thyself the beacon, and the way, 
 
 The bourne, wherein our hopes confide. 
 
 Thy mercies, in their plentitude, 
 Engage our love, a thousand ways; 
 
 Thou art our One, our every good, 
 Our adoration, and our praise. 
 
 To Thee, Creator, Father, Lord! 
 
 With Thee Redeeming Lamb ! and Thee 
 Oh blessed Spirit ! fostering word ! 
 
 Be glory, praise and majesty. 
 
g|SALM 151 
 
 From h 
 
 W3Mk ^ T ^ ^ ie ^ eas ^ amon g W Father's sons, 
 
 \Jk> The youngest of his house, and kept his sheep 
 And with my hands I made 
 An instrument of reeds ; 
 
 And my young fingers framed a psaltery. 
 
 But who shall scan the ways of the Most High, 
 
 Or who shall dictate to 
 
 His all-directing' will? 
 
 It pleased the Lord to glorify His servant; 
 Who sent His angel from above, and took me 
 
 From out the pasture, where 
 
 I fed my Father's sheep ; 
 B a 
 
200 Psalm, ell 
 
 And with His holy oil anointed me. 
 
 Tall were my Brethren, and of comely form 
 
 And yet the Lord their God 
 
 Delighted not in them. 
 
 Then, went I forth to meet the Philistine, 
 
 Who cursed me by all his gods ; but I 
 
 His giant sword from out its scabbard drew, 
 
 Smote off his head, and took 
 
 Reproach from Israel. 
 
MSERERE, 
 
 Lai ten Hvnvi . From Ps. vi. 
 
 >>3^c 
 
 MISERERE: Miserere: 
 
 Lord rebuke me but in love ; 
 Spirit-stricken, weak and weary, 
 
 What is man if Thou reprove? 
 
 Should Thy dreadful word be spoken, 
 What can th' hapless sinner save? 
 
 If the bruised reed be broken, 
 Who can serve Thee in the grave? 
 
 Miserere : Miserere : 
 
 Waste and wan my form appears ; 
 And my heart, oppressed and dreary, 
 
 Vents its penitence in tears. 
 
 Tears of hope and consolation — 
 
 Tears, that ever flow to Thee 
 In prayer, love, faith, and adoration ; 
 
 Miserere Domine. 
 
 Miserere : Miserere : Miserere Domine. 
 
HYMN. 
 
 From the Breviaries of Noyon and Lisieux. 
 
 JORD of the universe! one thought 
 
 Can every gift dispense; 
 And worlds' creation were lmt sport 
 
 To Thine omnipotence. 
 
 Command — and e'er the word is given, 
 
 Created by Thy breath, 
 Spring all things — the high vault of Heaven. 
 
 And pendent worlds beneath. 
 
 The watery vapour, that enshrouds 
 
 The earth, compelled by Thee, 
 Now floats aloft in pensile clouds, 
 
 Now, forms the mighty sea. 
 
 Stern in Thy purpose to fulfil 
 
 Whate'er Thine hand essays : 
 Make us as constant to Thy will, 
 
 As steadfast in Thy praise. 
 

 Ecquis binas columbivas 
 
 Alas dab it animce 
 Ut in almam Cruris pa Imam 
 
 Evolet citissime f Jesuitenpoesie. 
 
 fHO will lend me the wings of a clove, 
 ^8P^ My mission of grace to fulfill; 
 
 That shall bear me, on pinions of love, 
 To the Cross upon Calvary's hill? 
 
 Oh Jesu ! to Thee would I flee — 
 In Thy bosom of mercy abide : 
 
 Ah ! where such a refuge for me, 
 
 As the cleft in Thy spear-riven side? 
 
 Oh Life of my soul! shalt Thou die 
 The death of the pitiless Cross? 
 
 And to ransom a wretch, such as I, 
 
 That have lived but to sin and remorse? 
 
204 De passione Domini. 
 
 What is man that Thou lovest him Lord? 
 
 Is ho worthy to stand in Thy sight? 
 What can life to the living accord. 
 
 But in living Thy love to requite? 
 
 Oh till us with holy desire, 
 
 The affection that faith can impart ; 
 With the love, that is stronger than lire, 
 
 And can soften the stone of the heart. 
 
 Thou hast made us Thy children, and free ; 
 
 Hast redeemed us, when Satan destroyed 
 What is life, if not living to Thee? 
 
 And death? what a desperate void! 
 
 But love — holy love is supreme 
 
 O'er the cares and affections beneath : 
 
 And, spurning its fear as a dream, 
 Shall exult in triumph of death. 
 
KVAiN FOR ffS€£NSK)N |>AV. 
 
 And it came to pass, while He blessed them, He nuts parted from them, 
 and carried up into Heaven. Luke XXIV., 51. 
 
 Hp^glFT up your crystal gates ou high, 
 ■*Y' eternal portals of the sky, 
 
 He comes, He comes, He comes : 
 He, that hath fought aucl overcome. 
 Hath vanquished death, and sinners* doom, 
 And reft its terror from the toroh ; 
 The King of Glory comes. 
 
 So late, betrayed and crucified. 
 Disowned by those for whom He died: 
 
 The Victor-victim comes 
 On Angel-wings; His warfare done, 
 Prince, Priest, and Sacrifice in one. 
 For sin the sinless to atone: 
 
 The King of Glory conies. 
 
206 Hymn for Ascension Day. 
 
 Lift your eternal gates on high, 
 Ye crystal Portals of the Sky ; 
 
 The King of Glory comes : 
 Was conquest e'er so glorious, 
 Or strife so meritorious? 
 ( )>]• sin and Hell victorious, 
 
 He comes — He comes — He come* 
 

 EVENING cMYMN. 
 
 FROM AMBROSIUS. 
 
 BORN A.D. 333. 
 
 Deus Creator omnium 
 Poliquc, rector, vestiens 
 Diem decoro lumine, 
 Noctem sopor is gratia. 
 
 ?AKER of all ! at whose command 
 Attendant Hosts of Angels stand; 
 Who clothest day in glorious light, 
 And for sweet slumber made the night, 
 
 That peaceful rest, our strength repair, 
 The morrow's needful toil to bear; 
 Restore the mind's exhausted power; 
 And soothe the mourner's lonesome hour. 
 
 With grateful hymns each day we close, 
 E'er we resign us to repose; 
 And pray, as night draws on, to keep 
 Us safe and sinless while we sleep. 
 
 c c 
 
208 Eveiiiny Hymn, 
 
 So shall our inmost souls to Thee 
 Break forth in joyous ecstasy ; 
 And chaste and loyal hearts shall bring 
 An acceptable offering. 
 
 And, when the last long night of gloom, 
 Shall quench the sun in mortal doom; 
 Faith shall beam forth with burning ray, 
 And chase night's darkling shades away. 
 
 So, ne'er may sin our sleep surprise ; 
 But watchful faith, tho' closed our eyes, 
 From Satan's wiles imperilled keep, 
 And holy visions gild our sleep. 
 
SACRAMENTAL JfYMN, 
 
 / am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger 
 and he that bclievcth on me, shall never thirst. John VI. 35. 
 
 G-tex. £&> 
 
 |URE in heart, in faith enduring 
 Come ; receive the sacred pledge ; 
 
 Everlasting bliss assuring — 
 Man's supremest privilege. 
 
 Hunger ye? 'tis bread from Heaven — 
 Manna, with full mercy rife : 
 
 From a heart, by sorrow riven, 
 
 Flows the stream, that gives ye life. 
 
 Praise Him; who for love he bore us 
 Paid the cruel, cruel price ; 
 
 Gave His blood and body for us — 
 Love's stupendous sacrifice. 
 
210 Sacramental Hymn. 
 
 Light the servitude He tasketh ; 
 
 Love the burden of command ; 
 Humble faith is all He asketh, 
 
 Guileless heart, and guiltless hand. 
 
 His this holy institution — 
 His all-healing words divine 
 
 Doom eternal dissolution, 
 To the ban and bonds of sin. 
 
 He — the Saviour, gift and giver, 
 
 Universal peace ordains ; 
 He — for all, for aye, for ever, 
 
 From His bondsmen strikes the chains. 
 
 Blessed Dove of expiation — 
 See — the olive leaf He brings : 
 
 Hail Him, Herald of salvation, 
 
 Prince of peace, and King of kings ! 
 
Sespe-h JIymn, 
 
 FROM THE LAUDUN BREVIARY. 
 
 Quanta per orbem gloria 
 Fulges, Creator Siderum ! 
 His te Deum micantibus 
 Offers legendum I Uteris. 
 
 j|OW glorious their Maker's name, 
 Oh God, Thy stars record; 
 And magnify with tongues of flame 
 Their universal Lord. 
 
 Thou wiliest — the great lights appear, 
 
 Amid chaotic night ; 
 To portion the revolving year, 
 
 And bless Thy works with light. 
 
 Impelled by Thine all-ruling force, 
 
 The circling planets burn ; 
 And devious comets know their course, 
 
 And hour of their return. 
 
212 Vesper Hymn. 
 
 Their blaze of glory all is Thine; 
 
 Thy ministers of light — 
 At Thy behest alone, they shine. 
 
 Or hide their heads in night. 
 
 Unnnmbered as the starry zone, 
 
 Cherubic voices raise, 
 And earth and angels join in one 
 
 Grand symphony of praise. 
 
 So, thro' the gush of song, may loom 
 On faith's all-hoping eye, 
 
 Some foretaste of her Father's home, 
 And its celestial joy. 
 
 Hosannah ! to th' Almighty Lord, 
 
 Hosannah ! to the Son, 
 Hosannah ! to the fostering word — 
 
 Mysterious Three in One ! 
 
■>v?p 
 
 YMN. 
 
 FROM GREGOR I US. 
 
 BORN A.D. 324. 
 
 ./?£# Christe, factor omnium, 
 Redeviptor et credenlium, 
 Placare votis supplicum 
 Te laudibus colentiitm. 
 
 |AKEE of all, Messiah, Lord! 
 Saviour of all, that trust Thy word ; 
 Thy suppliants' adoration hear, 
 Nor turn an unrelenting ear. 
 
 By Thy dear wounds upon the cross, 
 
 Thy loving care for mortals' loss ; 
 
 By Thy self-sacrificing love, 
 
 Did'st burst the bonds that Adam wove. 
 
 Thou did'st the spheres of Heaven create, 
 Yet tookest on Thee mortal state ; 
 And deigned a felon's death to die 
 Of agonizing infamy. 
 
214 Hymn. 
 
 For Thou wast bound, the slaves to free 
 Of perishing mortality ; 
 By Thine own shame did'st cleanse the sin, 
 Man daily grew more hardened in. 
 
 When on the cross Thou died'st for us, 
 Quaked all the astounded universe ; 
 And, when Thy potent spirit fled, 
 The sun of Heaven veiled his head. 
 
 Triumphant now in glory's height, 
 Resplendent in Thy Father's light; 
 Thine all-prevailing Spirit send, 
 To guard us ; Saviour, King, and Friend. 
 
c||YMN FOK ||P1PHANY. 
 
 And lol the star which they saw in the cast zvent before them, till it 
 came, and stood over where the youn? Child was. MATT. II., 
 
 IGrHT of the world! thro' every age 
 Thy brightening' beam hath dawned; 
 
 Thon wast foreknown to seer and sage— 
 Tho' at Thine advent scorned. 
 
 Thy birth by angels choristered 
 
 To shepherds on the lea; 
 Thine infancy by princes feared — 
 
 Tho' child of penury. 
 
 The stars of Heav'n Thine harbingers ; 
 
 By mystic vision led, 
 Far sages came Thy worshippers — 
 
 Tho' in a manger bed. 
 
 I) D 
 
216 Hymn for Epiphany. 
 
 Blest Scion of David's royal stem ! 
 
 Thy portion was the rood; 
 The plaited thorn Thy diadem, 
 
 Gemmed with Thy precious blood. 
 
 The purple stole Thy mockery, 
 The reed Thy sceptre rod — 
 
 Tho' Heaven and earth acknowledge Thee, 
 And angels hailed their God. 
 
 Those sorrows, and those wounds achieve 
 Such wond'rous love divine, 
 
 That myriads of myriads live 
 In every tear of thine. 
 
Hymn, 
 
 IN VIGILIA PENTECOSTES.) FROM THE NOYON BREVIARY. 
 
 Oh Christe, qui noster poll 
 Precursor intras regiam. 
 
 ESU! who first of mortal birth 
 
 The polar path hath trod; 
 Look on Thy sojourners of earth, 
 
 And lead them to their God. 
 
 With Thy supreme beatitude 
 
 Our loyal love requite ; 
 Whereon faith's eye alone may brood — 
 
 It dazzles earthly sight. 
 
 Of duty's meeds, the dearest is 
 Where Thou Thyself dost give ; 
 
 And there the fulness of all bliss, 
 Where Thou in all dost live. 
 
 Where those, that to the end endure, 
 
 Thy soul-entrancing joys 
 Shall drink, from founts of nectar pure, 
 
 No care, no pain alloys. 
 
,; 
 
 OF THE LAST J I DGfiMENT. 
 
 ^oo><oo- 
 
 Cum revolvo dlligenter 
 Quid post mortem sit seqventer; 
 Stabunt justi confidenter • 
 Jam detector incessanter. 
 
 HEN in my heart I contemplate 
 The mysteries of the future state- 
 How sure reward the just awaits 
 
 What holy joy my soul elate? 
 
 For the great day approaches fast, . 
 When, triumphing o'er sorrows past, 
 The meek shall reign ; all trials o'er, 
 And persecution vex no more. 
 
 That day — that day of life retrieved — 
 Of light — by angels unconceived : 
 When sun and moon extinguished lie, 
 And very death at last shall die. 
 
Hymn of the last Judgement. 219 
 
 Oil ! then how ravishing the sight, 
 The joy, the rapture, the delight; 
 When all, that love their Lord of Grace, 
 Shall meet their Saviour face to face. 
 
 That countenance serene to see 
 Resplendent with benignity ; 
 To hear His thrilling words of fate, 
 Before all worlds reanimate. 
 
 " Oh! ye, that put your trust in me, 
 And did my will persistently ; 
 Behold the meed, your faith hath sought 
 And tears of persecution bought :" 
 
 " Behold my promised kingdom — hence 
 Revealed to man's intelligence : 
 Now ye behold it — now possess ; 
 And rei^n in all its blessedness." 
 
 What then the world, and all its joys? — 
 How sweet then to have spurned its voice ! 
 The pang how bitter, Oh how keen, 
 To those, that had its votaries been ! 
 
220 Hymn of the last Judgement. 
 
 Oli ! then how blessed those that mourn 
 And with their Lord the Cross have borne 
 That, worldly good foregoing, have 
 Eternal homes beyond the grave. 
 
 There concord reigns ; eternal peace ; 
 No wars affray, no pleasures cease; 
 With all youth, beauty, health can give, 
 In bliss unending shall they live. 
 
 There, in celestial mansions, prove 
 What joys transport the hosts above 
 Beyond imagination's scope, 
 Man's wildest wish, or fondest hope. 
 
 Deign, righteous Judge, in mercy deign, 
 To call Thy faithful, there to reign; 
 'Tis their first hope, their warmest prayer, 
 For all their soul is centered there. 
 
||YMN, 
 
 FROM PSALM LI 
 
 The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit: a broken and contrite heart, 
 Oh, God, Thou shalt not despise, v. 17. 
 
 long, so multifold, so vast, 
 Has Thy forbearance been ; 
 
 My G-od, avenge Thee not at last, 
 And visit not my sin. 
 
 For I confess how dark it be, 
 Wert Thou extreme to note; 
 
 1 cannot hide my faults from Thee, 
 But Thou canst blot them out. 
 
 All sullied with this earthly stain 
 
 And heritage of sin, 
 For that pure faith I sigh in vain, 
 
 That Thou delightest in. 
 
222 Hymn. 
 
 But touch nie with Thine hyssop bough ; 
 
 And, with no mortal throe, 
 My soul shall cast this earthy slough, 
 
 And be as pure as snow. 
 
 Regenerate mine inward part, 
 
 And make me wise, to wot 
 The secret working of the heart, 
 
 That it betray me not. 
 
 Nor incense, nor burnt-offering 
 
 Are lovely in Thine eyes, 
 Else to Thine altar would I bring 
 
 A daily sacrifice. 
 
 The simple heart, and lowly guise, 
 
 Must Thy sweet incense be ; 
 And faith's all-willing sacrifice 
 
 Of the whole soul to Thee. 
 
;ymn 
 
 FROM THE AMIENS BREVIARY. 
 
 Cur aut amid its, aut cibi, 
 Te cura mordet anxia f 
 Homo, tibi vestem, cibi/m, 
 Rex ipse mundi providet. 
 
 ^°||S||OR food and raiment why such care? 
 Such fond anxiety? 
 The hand, that made this world so fair, 
 Will surely these supply. 
 
 Who clothes the lilies of the earth, 
 
 The sparrows nourishes. 
 Esteems thee more than lily worth, 
 
 Nor than a sparrow less. 
 
 If thine own children ask for food, 
 Would'st give them bane instead? 
 
 Think'st thou thy Heavenly Father would 
 Give thee a stone for bread? 
 
 E E 
 
224 Hymn. 
 
 Securely on his bosom rest ; 
 
 He dearly cares for thee; 
 Sure never father — nay the best — 
 
 Was ever proved as He. 
 
 Pray for those gracious gifts in store, 
 
 His love hath promised; 
 And for thy prayer, a thousand more 
 
 Shall shower upon thine head. 
 
 To Thee Oh Father! Thee Oh Son! 
 
 Blest Spirit ! and to Thee ; 
 One God — th' all-wise eternal One — 
 
 Praise, glory, majesty. 
 
JISALM X€l 
 
 / will say unto the Lord, Thou art my hope and my stronghold , 
 my God in whom will I trust. 
 
 HOSO hath, dwelt in the Most High, 
 And His bright pinions made 
 
 His all-protecting canopy, 
 And sonl-restoring shade ; 
 
 No mortal ills his sonl may scathe, 
 
 Whose panoply is hope and faith. 
 
 His God will be his sure defence, 
 And seraphs guard his way, 
 
 'Mid night's consuming pestilence, 
 And shafts that fly by day ; 
 
 For He will guide his feet, and foil 
 
 The fowler's snare and hunter's toil. 
 
226 Psalm xci. 
 
 On asp and adder shall lie tread; 
 
 And, with a charmed foot, 
 Shall bruise the cockatrice's head, 
 
 And they shall harm him not; 
 And the young lion, that he meet, 
 Shall cower, to kiss his saintly feet, 
 
 Thon, Lord, shalt set his honse on high, 
 
 And found it on a rock ; 
 That the destroyer pass it by, 
 
 And plague, and tempest-shock ; 
 For Thon shalt all his path survey, 
 And guardian-angels keep his way. 
 
 And faith-defended shall he stand 
 'Mid death's unlovely shade — 
 
 Tho' thousands fall on either hand — 
 Unscathed, and undismayed : 
 
 For he hath put his trust in Thee, 
 
 And glorious shall his guerdon be. 
 
HbYMN FOR THE fjABBATH, 
 
 FROM GREGORIUS. 
 
 BORN A.D. 324. 
 
 Primo dierum omnium, 
 Quo mundus extat conditus, 
 Vel quo resurgens Conditor 
 Nos, vwrtc victa, libcrat. 
 
 0-DAY when young creation first 
 Received her crowning wreath ; 
 
 And her triumphant Maker burst 
 The bonds of sin and death. 
 
 Let us arise betimes, and chide 
 
 The torpid hours of night; 
 And seek our God, as David did, 
 
 Before the morning light. 
 
 So, may He deign to hear our prayers, 
 
 And lend a loving hand, 
 To lead His blood-bought sojourners 
 
 To the long -promised land. 
 
228 Hymn for the Sabbath, 
 
 Nor cease His gracious gifts to pour 
 On those, whose hearts employ 
 
 The calm seclusion of that hour, 
 In hymns of grateful joy. 
 
 Paternal source of life divine ! 
 
 Grant Thine empowering grace, 
 To shun the syren- voice of sin, 
 
 And her deluding ways. 
 
 From sins presumptuous save us ; save- 
 Tho' frail this earthly frame — 
 
 From the worst terrors of the grave, 
 And hell's avenging flame. 
 
CRAMENTAL || 
 
 FROM JESUITENPOESIE. 
 
 O esca viatorum 
 O panis Angelorum. 
 
 Thou blessed angel-bread ! 
 
 That oft the wand'rer fed, 
 With Heav'n-sent manna, on life's weary road: 
 
 The hung'ring satisfy, 
 
 Nor thy delight deny 
 To those that seek thee, dearest gift of G-od! 
 
 Oh sacred fonnt of love ! 
 
 That gnshest from above 
 Holy and pure, from out the Saviour's heart: 
 
 Thy healing stream bestow, 
 
 'Tis all we ask below. 
 Who thirst for what Thou only canst impart. 
 
 Oh Jesu! grant that we, 
 
 Who now but taste of Thee, 
 In mystic bread's commemorative rite ; 
 
 May meet Thee as Thou art, 
 
 This earthy screen apart, 
 Unveiled, and glorious in Thy realms of light. 
 
f|5ALiVI €U 
 
 My days arc gone like a shadow: and 1 am withered like grass. 
 
 pjURN Lord, Oh turn a gracious ear, 
 ieife When meek and spirit-worn I cry 
 My lowly prayer in pity hear ; 
 
 In pity, help me — or I die. 
 Like parched herb in summer-day, 
 My strength is withering away ; 
 My life is fading, and its joys, 
 Like vapours, vanish as they rise. 
 
 From very weeping all the night, 
 
 I am emaciate and worn ; 
 And like the moping owl, I sit 
 
 All weary, watchful, and forlorn. 
 I've eaten ashes with my bread, 
 And mixed my drink with tears I shed, 
 For that my God should angry be : 
 So dreadful is his wrath to me. 
 
eibYMN. 
 
 >-K-^ 
 
 Integer vitcp scclerisque pvrus 
 
 Non eget Mauri jaculis neque arcu. Hor. 
 
 -mrn^- 
 
 HE guileless heart, and guiltless hand, 
 In conscience pure, in life unstained, 
 Unarmed, unaided, may defy 
 The world, and its malignity. 
 
 Tho' weal or penury thy lot, 
 Or the world's smiles bestead thee not ; 
 E'en He, that hears th' young ravens' cry, 
 Shall all thy needful wants supply. 
 
 Shall keep thee, 'mid the burning sand 
 Of lion-breeding Samarcand; 
 Or hyperborean snows, that form 
 The dreadful cradle of the storm. 
 
 p y 
 
232 Hymn. 
 
 And shepherd-like, shall gently lead 
 O'er deserts howling drearihead, 
 To cooling springs, and verdant glades, 
 And green oases' palmy shades. 
 
 Gro, where no leafy summers bless 
 Tli' inhospitable barrenness — 
 Realms that tempestuous clouds invade, 
 And wreath in a perpetual shade. 
 
 Go, traverse sol's meridian zone, 
 O'er wild savannahs drear and lone : 
 His love shall all thy woes beguile, 
 And the hoarse wilderness shall smile. 
 
n tor Master #ay. 
 
 PSALM LXXXVIII., 10-13. 
 
 Now if Christ be preached, that He rose from the dead; how say some amon^ 
 you that there is 110 resurrection of the dead? 1 COR. XV., 12. 
 
 |IfILT Thou work marvels in the tomb 
 |ps My God? and shall the dead arise? 
 Shall mercy's boon revoke the doom 
 Of man, and mortal destinies? 
 
 Shall love celestial appear, 
 
 In dark oblivion's loathsome shade ; 
 And everlasting silence hear 
 
 The glad hosannahs of the dead? 
 
 The psalmist sang — with seer's eyes 
 He peered adown the vale of years ; 
 
 In spirit, saw the Day-spring rise ; 
 In spirit, felt His woes and tears. 
 
 In spirit, heard His parting breath, 
 The prayer, the cry upon the tree ; 
 
 He saw Him burst the bonds of death, 
 And captive lead captivity. 
 
||ymn. 
 
 FROM THE SENS BREVIARY. 
 
 Deus jubes : ab arida 
 
 Aqua recedutit : ucc mora, 
 Unum feruntur in locum, 
 Et noma/ imtionis mar/. 
 
 !HOU spakest Lord: up sprung the land- 
 f^The waters fled at Thy command; 
 To one vast mass Thou bad'st them flee, 
 And call'st the mighty concourse sea. 
 
 Then flower-bedight, and fair to see, 
 Earth smiled in her fertility; 
 And with maternal bounty poured 
 Forth treasures, in her bosom stored. 
 
 Behold our hearts — a barren sand ; 
 A fruitless and uncultured strand; 
 Yet can Thy grace with verdure bless, 
 And fertilize their barrenness. 
 
3gH£ ^NNO€ENTS. 
 
 FROM PRUDENTIUS. 
 
 BORN A.D. 348. 
 
 Salvete fiores martyrum, 
 Quos, I nc is ipso in limine, 
 Christi insccutor sustulit, 
 Ceu turbo nascentes rosas. 
 
 oo*sXoo 
 
 gAIL little Martyrs, flowers of Heav'n ! 
 
 Torn from this lower world, 
 Like roses, by the tempest riven, 
 
 E'er yet the buds unfurled. 
 The tenderest, and the first were ye, 
 
 To gain a Martyr's death ; 
 Beneath the brands, 
 Your little hands 
 
 Played with the palmy wreath. 
 
 By the fell tyrant, all too well 
 The Royal Child was known, 
 
 Should reign a King in Israel, 
 And sit on David's throne. 
 
236 The Innocents. 
 
 " Search every mother's breast," he cried, 
 " Slay — let not craft connive; 
 
 Their cradles flood 
 
 With infant blood, 
 
 Nor let a male survive." 
 
 And barbarous indeed the sight — 
 
 For scarce the murderous blow 
 Had space of limb whereon to light 
 
 So tender was the foe. 
 Thy crime, Oh king, is profitless ; 
 
 What has thy frenzy wrought? 
 For one hath fled 
 'Mid heaps of dead, 
 
 That one thy fury sought. 
 
USALM X€. 
 
 So /^<?^ 7/s to number our days: that we may apply 
 our hearts unto zvisdom. v. 12. 
 
 ™R 
 
 S^JROM reason's early dawn, my heart, 
 
 ® Hath clung, Oh Lord, to Thee ; 
 
 For Thon the one sure refuge art, 
 Whereto the weak may flee. 
 
 Before the mountains were, Thou wast 
 
 Thy term eternity ; 
 A century of ages past 
 
 Are but a watch to Thee. 
 
 Thou art from everlasting : man 
 A shadow's shade — at most 
 
 Some four-score years of toil and pain 
 Are all the strong can boast. 
 
238 Psalm 
 
 xc 
 
 Green is the grass of morning — bright 
 
 As is the lusty spring; 
 At noontide faded — and e'er night 
 
 Cut down, and withering. 
 
 So man, Thine image, for a day 
 
 Parades this vale of tears ; 
 But at Thy chiding, fades away 
 
 Like grass, and disappears. 
 
 Should'st Thou, but for an hour, withhold 
 
 Thine all-sustaining care, 
 His life were as a tale that's told — 
 
 A dream of days that were. 
 
 Oh turn our hearts to wisdom's path, 
 
 And make the heedless see, 
 How brief a term the strongest hath, 
 
 That we may live to Thee. 
 
cKymn tor the Nativity. 
 
 FROM HYMNARIUM MOGUNTINUM. 
 
 Nato nobis Salvatore, 
 Celeb rem us cum hojtore 
 
 Diem Xataliti U7ii : 
 Nobis datus, nobis nat/is, 
 Et nobisciim conversatus, 
 
 Lux et sal us Gentium. 
 
 SAVIOUR'S born to us to-day, 
 Let us make joyful holiday, 
 
 And keep the festival : 
 For He was born to bear our sorrows, 
 To dwell among us, perish for us, 
 
 A burning light to all. 
 
 Eve first our death and sorrow wrought 
 Redemption of her sin He bought, 
 
 E'en with His precious gore ; 
 Mankind's first mother was our bane, 
 But Mary gave us life again 
 
 In th' Holy Child she bore. 
 
 a g 
 
240 Hymn for the Nativity. 
 
 God's love, tlio' ne'er so ill requited, 
 Shone down from Heav'n on the benighted, 
 
 And sent His only Son; 
 Who, unrevealed, tho' ever nigh, 
 Came, like a bridegroom, forth with joy, 
 
 To make His mission known. 
 
 He was a warrior strong and great, 
 
 That vanquished death from mortal state: 
 
 On Heav'nly embassage 
 He came, th' appointed course to run, 
 Foreshadowed since the world begun, 
 
 hi God's mysterious page. 
 
 Jesu! Thy glorious passion brings 
 
 Sweet peace, "with healing on her wings;" 
 
 And grateful earth shall raise 
 To Thee, whose blest humiliation 
 Has wrought Thy faithful flock's salvation, 
 
 Unending songs of praise. 
 
WMV *&AflAmSE, 
 
 . V- 
 
 T^2^s-*t2ju 
 
 \ 'uinjuaiii sercnio 
 
 unquam mm 
 
 Phoebus est visits; 
 Qitavi quando conditus, 
 Et novus co nst it us, 
 
 Est Paradisus. Jesuitenpoesii 
 
 — .,■«<* e— 
 
 E'ER was a fairer day ; 
 
 Nor with serener ray 
 Sol ever beamed; 
 
 Than when new Paradise 
 
 Shone forth in lovely guise- 
 Eden redeemed. 
 
 Where never Satan's guile, 
 Couched in his serpent's smile, 
 
 Baffles his prey; 
 Never, tho' fair to see, 
 Fruit o' forbidden tree 
 
 Charms to betray. 
 
242 New Paradise. 
 
 Ban of old Adam's sin 
 Taints not the air within. 
 
 Sav'ring of death ; 
 But the pure vital breeze 
 Gladdens her terraces — 
 
 Heav'n's own breath. 
 
 There, as fair flowers in row, 
 Virtues unfading grow; 
 
 Drinking with joy 
 Founts of love full and free, 
 Where no satiety 
 
 Ever may cloy. 
 
 There, amid groves of bliss, 
 See, the great Master is, 
 
 Life to proclaim— 
 u Come to these bowers, and eat 
 Fruits for the sinner meet — 
 
 Jesus His name." 
 
Hymn of the School ^hilorfn, 
 
 Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me; for of such is the 
 kingdom of Heaven. Matt, xix., 14. 
 
 ■-€|Qf> 
 
 Hj^^ATHEB, of Light! whose tender care 
 Igplp^Ne'er turned from hapless infant's prayer 
 
 Nor did the sage's 'quest despise, 
 
 Who asked only to be wise. 
 
 Oh ! teach our simple hearts to know 
 The blessings knowledge can bestow ; 
 And bend our souls, like sapling tree. 
 To truth, to wisdom, and to Thee. 
 
 Let not the goodly seed be sown 
 On sterile soil, or arid stone : 
 Or the great lesson truth imparts 
 Fall fruitless on unfaithful hearts. 
 
244 Hymn of the School Children. 
 
 Dispel the darkling cloud, that lowers 
 O'er budding youth's imperiled hours : 
 That, like the falcon's stoop, descends 
 On unsuspecting innocence. 
 
 Let wisdom crown our riper years 
 With hope, that conscious virtue bears: 
 That, in the world's fierce ordeal proved, 
 May, like the mountains, stand unmoved. 
 
KY-M-X FOR CHRISTMAS. 
 
 FROM THE NOYON BREVIARY. 
 
 yam radix Jesse floruit, 
 Et virga fraction genu it ; 
 O ter beatum niuitium, 
 Solnmen dulce mentium ! 
 
 JgJON scion fair, of Jesse's root, 
 *Hath borne for us a glorious fruit : 
 Thrice blessed Envoy from on high, 
 Hail! sweet Consoler! heavenly joy! 
 
 Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 
 
 The ver} r Grod, in human mould. 
 Who comes like shepherd to His fold, 
 This day to mortal sight displays 
 Incarnate God-head face to face. 
 
 Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 
 
246 Hymn fur Christmas. 
 
 Mary the holy Jesus bore, 
 Tho' mother, pure as heretofore : 
 Laud Him ye stars, and earth and sea 
 Shall clap their hands in harmony. 
 
 Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 
 
 Ye shepherds leave your flocks; and led 
 By guiding starlet, to His shed; 
 See where your infant Saviour lies, 
 And swell the chorus of the skies. 
 
 Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 
 
 Rise, from your eastern realms afar, 
 Ye princes ; mark His guiding star ; 
 And your rich tribute humbly bring, 
 Low kneeling to your new-born King. 
 Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 
 
J|ymn for the ||a€MM£NT, 
 
 ^^^^h^™ 
 
 Whom eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood hath denial life ; and I will 
 raise him up at the last day. John VI., 54. 
 
 OME, ye faithful, to the feast, 
 Lean upon your Saviour's breast ; 
 Hark! Seraphic voices call 
 To Salvation's festival. 
 
 Come, with chastened hearts, and pure. 
 Come, in wedding garniture ; 
 Bread of life He tenders you, 
 And wine — that Cana never knew. 
 
 'Twas to ransom you He came, 
 Archetype of slaughtered lamb : 
 Lord of all — for all He dies,* 
 Saviour, Priest, and Sacrifice. 
 
 H H 
 
248 Hymn for the Sacrament, 
 
 By His blood for mortals shed, 
 By the cross whereon He bled ; 
 By His pains so meekly borne, 
 Tearing scourge, and plaited thorn ; 
 
 By the spear, the sponge and reed, 
 Death is vanquished — man is freed. 
 Lord of all— for all He dies.* 
 Saviour, Priest, and Sacrifice. 
 
 Come to the marriage of the Lamb 
 'Twas to ransom sin He came ; 
 He — the sinless and the just, 
 The one, the last, great holocaust. 
 
 Pro /uiivcrs is 
 Immolatus Dovii/ias 
 Ipse Sacerdos 
 Ext it it et hostict. 
 
Altitude quid hie jaccs 
 
 In tarn vili stabulo f 
 Qui credsti cceli faces 
 
 Alges in presepiof Jesuitenpoesie. 
 
 H Height supernal ! dost Thou lie 
 
 In lowly stable sleeping? 
 Who mad'st the beacons of the sky, 
 
 Art in a manger weeping? 
 What wond'rous things, Oh Lord, and vast 
 
 Hast Thou for mortals done ! 
 What love surpassing, unsurpassed, 
 
 To Eden's exile shown! 
 
 Thy mighty strength is weak indeed, 
 
 Thy vastness, but a span ; 
 Art bound — who all mankind hast freed ; 
 
 Eternity — yet Man. 
 
250 Hymn. 
 
 What wond'rous things, Oh Lord, and vast, 
 
 Hast Thou for mortals done ! 
 What love surpassing, unsurpassed, 
 
 To Eden's exile shown! 
 
 Thy lips imbibe the virgin breast ; 
 
 The tear-drops in Thine eyes 
 Shed beams of joy from east to west, 
 
 Glad angels recognize. 
 What wond'rous things, Oh Lord, and vast 
 
 Hast Thou for mortals done ! 
 What love surpassing, unsurpassed, 
 
 To Eden's exile shown. 
 
SSALMUS #AVI0I5 LXXX, 
 
 Imitation of the ancient Leonine verse. 
 
 m*m^ 
 
 «UDI Pastor Israelis! 
 wMm 
 "IP^Semper ovibus fidelis, 
 
 Pastor audi; qui canoros 
 
 Regis Angelorum choros. 
 
 Ab seterno in asternum 
 Prsesens numen, et supernum, 
 Veni desuper; indutum 
 Vires, veni nos adjutnm. 
 
 Adsis Deus ! prresens audi ; 
 Sient oves tibi cordi; 
 Nee averte soles vultus, 
 Ut peccator sit inultus. 
 
 En! dejectos gentes vident, 
 Infideles et irrident: 
 Vae ! quousque irasceris, 
 Nee precantum misereris? 
 
252 Psalmus Davidis Ixxx. 
 
 Pane pastis lachrymarum 
 Cyathum praabes amarum : 
 Nunquam populo fulsurus 
 Vultus ille, nisi durus? 
 
 Adsis Dens! praasens audi; 
 Sient oves tibi cordi; 
 Nee averte soles vultus, 
 Ut peccator sit innltns. 
 
 Vitis uti, qua supremos 
 Ferae rapiunt racemos, 
 Perimus; heu! parce tristi, 
 Ipse Nilo quam tulisti. 
 
 Manus tende gregis duces ; 
 Lupos ab ovili truces 
 Procul arce ; quo vivamus 
 In te, neve decidamus. 
 
 Adsis Deus! prassens audi; 
 Sient oves tibi cordi; 
 Nee averte soles vultus 
 Ut peccator sit inultus. 
 
||ymn, 
 
 FROM AMBROSIU 
 
 BORN A.D. 333. 
 
 i>i 
 
 Splendor patentee glories, 
 De luce lucem proferens, 
 Lux lucis, et fons luminis, 
 Dies dierum illuminans. 
 
 IJgATEKNAL fount of glory! whence 
 ^ The beam ethereal flows ; 
 Whose spirit-kindling effluence 
 The light of life bestows ; 
 
 Shine on, thou veritable sun ! 
 
 Thy ray can ne'er decline ; 
 Oh shed thine holy radiance on 
 
 This darksome heart of mine. 
 
 Thou art our Father — hear our vows 
 
 Eternal light divine ! 
 From Thee all grace paternal flows; 
 
 Oh break the bonds of sin. 
 
254 Hymn. 
 
 Aid every good endeavour; lend 
 Thine help against the foe; 
 
 In time of trouble stand our friend, 
 And prosper all we do. 
 
 Let burning faith our hearts inspire ; 
 
 Rule all the soul within, 
 And cleanse it, as th' refiner's fire, 
 
 From every taint of sin. 
 
 Be Christ our bread, our cup of life; 
 
 And faith shall quaff the bowl ; 
 Where every holy joy is rife, 
 
 Tli at elevates the soul. 
 
 Fair pass the day — as blushing morn, 
 Let modest virtue glow ; 
 
 And faith, as the fall noonday sun, 
 That ne'er shall twilight know. 
 
Hymn, 
 
 BY 
 
 JACOPONUS OR WALTER MAPES 
 
 Cur mundus militat sub vana gloria, 
 Cujus prosperitas est trausitoria f 
 Tarn cito labitur ejus potentia, 
 Quam vasafiguli, qua sunt fragilia. 
 
 HY exults the vain world in its shadow of power? 
 
 So swiftly its benefits fade and decay : 
 Its dominion and might but endure for an hour, 
 
 As the work of the potter — so fragile are they. 
 
 Rather trust ye to characters graven on ice, 
 
 Than the treacherous voice of a world of deceits ; 
 
 With hypocrisy's garland that glorifies vice, 
 And, ever suspected, no confidence meets. 
 
 How fleeting a feast is its perishing pride ! 
 
 As the shadow of man, is his glory and gaud ; 
 Into devious ways they seduce him aside, 
 
 As they rob him of all his eternal reward, 
 i i 
 
256 
 
 Hyrm 
 
 Oli food of the worm ! Oil thou handful of dust ! 
 
 Oh vanity — wherefore in folly repose? 
 But the flower of to-day — who the morrow can trust ?- 
 
 Then in mercy employ what but mercy bestows. 
 
 These worldly delights, tho' ye prize them so high, 
 Are but grass of the field, in the oven that's cast; 
 
 As the leaves of the tempest are scattered, and die, 
 So is life — but the sport of the pitiless blast. 
 
 Why call that your own ye can never insure ? 
 
 What the world can bestow, it can surely destroy : 
 Set your heart and your hope upon things that endure, 
 
 And despise the world's threats, as ye laugh at its joy. 
 
•&SALM €XXX4X, 
 
 Vv^x*~> 
 
 Ok Lord Thou hast searched me out and known me: Thou knozvest my 
 
 down-sitti?ig and mine up-rising: Thou understandest my thoughts 
 
 long before, v. i . 
 
 : ^ 
 
 OW vast in Thy greatness Oh Lord? 
 
 Thy word all creation controls ; 
 Oh ! where can we fly from the God, 
 
 That can search out our innermost souls? 
 
 No thought of the heart, but is heard 
 E'er yet in the bosom it sprung; 
 
 And Thy wisdom weighs every word, 
 Or ever it fall from the tongue. 
 
 Thy presence all nature pervades ; 
 
 If I climb up to Heaven — Thou art there 
 Or dive to hell's nethermost shades — 
 
 For Thy spirit is everywhere. 
 
258 Psalm cxxxix. 
 
 If I fly on the wings of the morning, 
 And abide in the depths of the sea; 
 
 There even Thy presence is dawning, 
 And the water's no covert to me. 
 
 If I hide me in darkness and night, 
 
 Their shades from Thy countenance flee ; 
 
 For Thine eyes are the fountain of light, 
 And the night lias no darkness for Thee. 
 
 Thou hast formed us with marvellous art — 
 Who the depth of Thy wisdom may span ? 
 
 For Thou knewest each embryo part, 
 E'er they bloomed in the beauty of man. 
 
 May I never insensible prove — 
 So dear are Thy counsels to me ; 
 
 If we number the signs of Thy love, 
 They are more than the sand of the sea. 
 
 Oh ! prove, Lord, the ground of my heart, 
 So I never against Thee rebel ; 
 
 But may centre my soul, where Thou art ; 
 And with Thee for ever mav dwell. 
 
MYMN, 
 
 FROM THE CAHORS BREVIARY. 
 
 Si splendidis coloribus 
 Sublime ccelum pingitur, 
 Mann per it a vividos, 
 Dens, colores imprimis. 
 
 QF all so glorious, so grand, 
 
 In heaven's high concave shine, 
 Save Thine, Oh God, what master hand 
 Achieved the vast design ? 
 
 There, in triumphant majesty, 
 
 Above the starry zone, 
 Thou on the winged wings dost fly, 
 
 And make the clouds Thy throne. 
 
 Thou dost suspend the rattling rain 
 In clouds; that, on the land 
 
 In flying showers resolve again, 
 Where'er Thou dost command. 
 
260 
 
 Hymn. 
 
 Thou sendest hail, and frozen snow — 
 Thou giv'st the gentle dew : 
 
 Thou dost direct the thunder blow, 
 And arm the lightning too. 
 
 The rebel heart, with wholesome fear, 
 
 Bebuke ; Creator blest ! 
 But soothe the penitential tear, 
 
 And contrite soul's unrest. 
 
 The universal Friend of all — 
 
 Like pledges of Thy love 
 Now in refreshing showers fall, 
 
 In thunder now reprove. 
 
Hymn for Haster #a^ 
 
 Plandete Ccsli ! 
 
 Rideat (Ether J 
 
 Summits ct imus 
 
 Gaudeat Orbis! JESUITENPOESIE. 
 
 |HOUT all ye Heavens ! shout 
 
 Ye starry tongues! 
 From pole to pole ring out 
 
 Your joyous songs. 
 The darkling storm has passed, 
 
 And blessed is the calm ; 
 Our glorious hope at last 
 
 Is crowned with palm. 
 
 Ye flowers ! with every hue 
 
 And fragrance dight, 
 The drooping world renew, 
 
 With spring's delight : 
 Roses and violets sweet, 
 
 And ye, glad celandine, 
 With maiden lilies, meet 
 
 For song divine. 
 
262 Hymn for Easter Bay. 
 
 Flow the full tide of song : 
 
 And let the lyre 
 The joyous strain prolong, 
 
 In notes of fire. 
 For Christ is risen again 
 
 According to His word ; 
 Death may no more retain 
 
 The living Lord. 
 
 Ye floods and waters sing ; 
 
 Ye mountains high, 
 And echoing valleys, ring 
 
 With shouts of joy. 
 For Christ is risen again, 
 
 According to His word ; 
 Death may no more retain 
 
 The Irving' Lord. 
 
 Namque revixit 
 Slcuti dixit 
 Pius UIcbsus 
 Funere Jesus. 
 
?ti 
 
 m® SpSPEflAS. 
 
 Ad vigilia Paschce. 
 
 MITATION OF THE ANCIENT LEONINE. 
 
 
 CELERATI, scelerati, 
 Quid non raeruistis pati? 
 Infideles, furibundi, 
 Extinxistis lucem mundi. 
 
 Venit suis — noluere 
 Sui Dominion habere, 
 Angelorum qui concentu 
 Colladatus est adventu: 
 
 K K 
 
 Quo et moriente, lumen 
 Demptum confitetur Numen; 
 Ipsa tremuit et tellus, 
 Tantum ut videret scelus. 
 
264 Ad Vesperas. 
 
 Caeci, caecos ut ducentes, 
 Innocentem persequentes, 
 Ob invidias furorem, 
 Trucidare Salvatorem. 
 
 Spretus et rejectus homo, 
 Exul a caelesti domo, 
 Mutus, agnus ut tonsorem, 
 Plagas subit, et dolor em. 
 
 Ab iniquo judicatu, 
 Libens ivit cruciatu; 
 Nee invitus, agnus ara3 
 Mundum moritur servare. 
 
 Moses ut, desertis feris, 
 Attulit serpentem eeris, 
 Ut qui rnorsu vulnerentur, 
 Modo spectent, et sanentur. 
 
 Ille, — fax ardenti luce, 
 Elevatur super cruce; 
 Quo et onmes qui visuri, 
 Sient illi creclituri. 
 
Ad Vesper as. 
 
 265 
 
 Qui et freti fide pura, 
 Poenitentes salvatura, 
 Mortem ob beatam, sui 
 Possent Paradiso frui. 
 
 Gloria, honos, laus, potestas 
 Vobis, una queis niajestas, 
 Unnm Numeii — 6 salvete, 
 Pater, Fili, Paraclete! 
 
w* 
 
 IN, 
 
 Quid, Tyranne, qzqdminar-is? 
 
 Quid ii Si] nam pirn a rum est? JESUITENPOESIE 
 
 YRANT! what will threats avail thee? 
 
 Whom shall pain or terror move? 
 All thy machinations fail thee, 
 
 'Gainst the sovereign force of love. 
 Welcome power's worst infliction, 
 
 Pain has little fear for me ; 
 Better death than dereliction — 
 
 Love will lend us constancy. 
 
 Heap thy fagots; howsoever 
 
 Direful fire and scourge may prove, 
 
 Instruments of torture never 
 Can o'ercome the force of love. 
 
 Welcome power's, &c, &c. 
 
 Pains like these we lightly measure, 
 Death's but one short sigh of sighs; 
 
 Persecution's self were pleasure, 
 When its terror we despise. 
 
 Welcome power's, &c, &c. 
 
& 
 
 MYMN FOR 3iENTE€OST 
 
 FROM THE CAHORS BREVIARY. 
 
 Vent, superene Spirit us 
 Pater benigne pauper v/ iu : 
 Munus datorquc muiieram, 
 Sis cordis hospes intimus. 
 
 gOME Heavenly Spirit, Father, Friend, 
 Guide of the poor oppressed; 
 Giver and gift — the means, the end — 
 The heart's most welcome Guest. 
 
 Our souls are dark, immersed in night, 
 Thine own true light impart; 
 
 For where Thou shinest is true light, 
 True vigor where Thou art. 
 
 Confound the world's base artifice, 
 
 And all its gross deceit; 
 Lest their seductive wiles entice 
 
 Our wayward, wandering feet. 
 
268 Hymn for Pentecost. 
 
 Shine forth in unveiled majesty, 
 Thou light of every heart ! 
 
 And all will burn to he with Thee, 
 Who know how true Thou art. 
 
 Fountain of holy love ! inspire 
 Our souls ; and we shall be 
 
 Salted with Thine all holy fire, 
 Sweet sacrifice to Thee. 
 
 For we have wandered from the bourn, 
 Oh! lead Thy stray lings home; 
 
 Be Thou the path of our return, 
 And we no more shall roam. 
 
IYMN. 
 
 For God is my King of old. 
 PSALM LXXV., 13. 
 
 §Y God, my King of old! 
 
 Thy mighty hands 
 Subdued th' chaotic roar 
 Of elemental war; 
 
 And 'mid the wild expanse 
 Of seas primeval, land 
 Upsprung at Thy command; 
 And behemoth fell — banned 
 
 By Thy puissance. 
 
 Thy fiat brought forth light — 
 
 At Thy behest, 
 The wond'ring sun and moon, 
 Unveiled in glory shone 
 
 O'er earth's dark barren waste. 
 And th' seasons genial round 
 Smiled on the teeming ground ; 
 And day with joy was crowned, 
 
 And night with rest. 
 
270 Hymn. 
 
 Thou bad'st the sea divide — 
 
 And all subdued, 
 On either hand, like walls 
 Of molten emeralds, 
 
 The trembling billows stood. 
 And for Thy chosen nock, 
 Refreshing waters broke 
 From Horeb's cloven rock, 
 
 And parching sod. 
 
 Let all creation praise Thee — 
 
 King supreme! 
 And hallelujahs loud 
 Peal from the burning cloud 
 
 Of harping Cherubim: 
 While all the firmament 
 Ring out in sweet concent 
 Of men and angels blent, 
 
 In one grand theme. 
 
f|SALM €XLVMi 
 
 Oh praise the Lord of Heaven : praise Him in the height. 
 
 )RAISE ye the Lord of Heav'n, in all 
 
 ®» His glorious attire; 
 Praise Him, ye Hosts celestial, 
 Ye tuneful Seraph choir. 
 
 Praise Him, thou glorious solar ball 
 Thou moon, and starry pole ; 
 
 Praise Him, ye seas empyreal, 
 Above the stars that roll. 
 
 Praise Him, the mighty primal cause, 
 
 For He is God alone; 
 He fixed your everlasting laws, 
 
 Commanded — and ye shone. 
 
 Praise Him, fire, storms, and hurricanes, 
 Praise Him, ye winds and waves ; 
 
 Praise Him, ye vast Leviathans, 
 That sport in ocean's caves. 
 
 L L 
 
272 Psalm cxlviii. 
 
 Praise Him, ye hills, and all that on 
 Your mountain pasture roves ; 
 
 Praise Him, thou mighty Lebanon — 
 Ye regal cedar groves. 
 
 Praise Him, prince, power, and potentate, 
 Youth, age, and maidenhood; 
 
 Praise Him, His name is only great, 
 For He alone is good; 
 
 By earth, and angel-hosts adored : 
 
 All creatures of His hand, 
 Sprang into being at His word, 
 
 And live, at His command. 
 
Hymn, 
 
 FROM PRUDENTIUS. 
 
 BORN A.D. 348. 
 
 Cultor Dei memento, 
 Te /otitis et lavacri 
 Rorcm sulisse sanctum, 
 Te chrismate innovaium. 
 
 ETHINK thee Christian— who 
 Before the font hath stood; 
 
 Think on that holy dew, 
 That hath thy soul renewed. 
 
 When to thy lonely bed 
 All wearily thou hiest, 
 
 Then cross thine heart and head, 
 Or yet to rest thou liest. 
 
 The holy cross defies 
 
 Hallucinations foul; 
 And dark delusion flies 
 
 The cross-devoted soul. 
 
274 Hymn. 
 
 Away, vain shades of night — 
 Ye wiles that shim the day : 
 
 Thou demon of deceit — 
 Father of lies! away. 
 
 Oli ! serpent, child of hell ; 
 
 Whose e'er insidious wile, 
 And machinations fell, 
 
 The sleeping heart beguile, 
 
 Behold the Son of God! 
 
 Avaunt — for well ye know, 
 This sign of holy rood 
 
 Can all your power o'erthrow. 
 
 And tho' this body seems 
 By torpid sleep oppressed ; 
 
 Yet Christ, by holy dreams, 
 Will sanctify thy rest. 
 
IfYMN FOR THE ^ATIVITY. 
 
 FROM THE BOURGE BREVIARY. 
 
 Mundo tenebris obsito 
 En verus affulget dies, 
 Vance figures deshiant, 
 Ad est prop in qua Veritas. 
 
 JIJJIgEHOLD the orient Star of day 
 * On a benighted world arise, 
 And truth's bright dawning chase away 
 Its all-deluding vanities. 
 
 Let the worn weeper stay her tears ; 
 
 The mourner's lamentation cease ; 
 Behold! the Son of God appears — 
 
 The ransom, and the pledge of peace. 
 
 Poor was the Heav'n-sent Law Giver, 
 Nor had He where to lay His head; 
 
 And He, that poised each burning sphere, 
 Lay humbled in a manger bed. 
 
 Come, Holy Babe — Creator erst, 
 Now Saviour of the world, arise : 
 
 Priest — of the holiest priesthood first ; 
 Thyself, the last great sacrifice. 
 
Eymn for Master, 
 
 FROM FORTUNATUS. 
 
 A.D. 250. 
 
 Salve festa dies, toto vencrabilis cevo! 
 Qua Dens infernum vicit, ct astra tenet. 
 
 felpP?AIL ever blessed day, to festal joyance given! 
 
 ^#W^For Christ hath conquered death, and won a crown in 
 
 [Heaven. 
 See, earth revives, and her new-blooming sod 
 
 Proclaims all nature risen with her God. 
 
 Hail ever blessed day, to festal joyance given. 
 
 Now groves put forth their leaves, and earth her flowers, 
 To hail Him victor o'er th' infernal powers. 
 For Christ hath conquered death, and Avon a crown in Heaven. 
 
 Laud Him, earth, air, and sea; who wings His flight 
 O'er hell confounded, to His realms of light. 
 Hail ever blessed day, to festal joyance given ! 
 
 Behold Him ! victim once — now King of kings ; 
 And bless your Maker, all created things. 
 For Christ hath conquered death, and won a crown in Heaven. 
 
IpA™ dpYMN, 
 
 FROM HILARIUS. 
 
 FOURTH CENTURY. 
 
 Lucis largitor splendide, 
 Cujus sereno liiminc 
 Post laps a noctis tempora 
 Dies rcfusus pauditur. 
 
 H glorious source of light 
 Whose all-inspiring ray 
 Breaks on the world, when night 
 Resigns lier/way. 
 
 Thou'rt the true Lucifer — 
 No lesser orb may he 
 The frail, faint harbinger 
 
 Of light, from Thee. 
 
 Than mortal suns more bright. 
 Our very day Thou art; 
 That holiest inward light, 
 That fires the heart. 
 
278 Matin Hym 
 
 n. 
 
 Come, Light Paternal! come — 
 Thou that hast all things made 
 Fearful indeed our doom, 
 Without Thine aid. 
 
 That the full soul of grace 
 No wily frauds ensnare ; 
 Nor satan's ban deface 
 
 God's image there. 
 
 So 'mid the needful care 
 Of worldly usage, we 
 May keep a conscience fair, 
 And live to Thee. 
 
 A chastened spirit cleanse 
 The sin-polluted heart ; 
 And keep in innocence 
 This earthly part. 
 
 This be our faithful prayer ; 
 Thus each new dawn employ 
 To bless thy nightly care 
 With songs of joy. 
 
MYMN. 
 
 (-"-.. 
 
 %&l 
 
 Nan semper imbres mibibus hispidos 
 
 Majiant in agros .... 
 
 Et folils viduantur orni Hor. 
 
 RE worldly gifts so passing dear 
 To the poor transient sojourner; 
 That every ray of hope is flown, 
 When the dread Donor claim His own? 
 
 Shall wildest woe for ever moan 
 "Oil Absalom! my son, my son?" 
 The darkest sky will cease to rain, 
 And widowed forests bloom again. 
 
 Is there no balm in Gilead, 
 For breaking heart, or aching head? 
 No fount, more potent far to heal, 
 "Than all thy waters, Israel?" 
 
 He, that bade Lazarus arise, 
 Can soothe the soul's worst agonies 
 And o'er the wounded spirit shed 
 A balm ne'er grew in Gilead. 
 
 M M 
 
r^ 
 
 IpYMN FOR THE ^ATIVITY 
 
 FROM THE BOURGE BREVIARY. 
 
 Ave jfesu, Deus magnet 
 
 Ave Puer, Mitts Ague! 
 
 Ave Deus, /wmo natc! 
 
 In prcesepe reclinate. 
 O Potestas, O Egestas, 
 O Majestas Domini . 
 
 O Majestas! 
 Quid non prcestas homiiii? 
 
 IJAIL Jesu, Lord omnipotent! 
 Hail Lamb of God, in mercy sent ! 
 Hail Deity incarnate Thou! 
 Cradled in lowly manger now. 
 
 Oh might and impotence allied! 
 
 Oh power majestic deified! 
 
 What hast Thou e'er to man denied? 
 
 T' enrich us in our sore distress; 
 Friend in our utter hopelessness ; 
 Thou, babe in swaddling bands, wast sent 
 A helpless, hapless innocent. 
 
 Oh might and impotence allied ! &c. 
 
Hymn for the Nativity. 281 
 
 How wast Thou, Darling of Thy Sire ! 
 Consorted then, with beasts in byre ; 
 Creator, Arbiter of all, 
 For ns — made wretched criminal. 
 
 Oh might and impotence allied! &c. 
 
 Take this devoted soul to Thee, 
 Jesu ! in its integrity ; 
 With burning zeal for Thee inspire, 
 And brand it with Thine holy fire. 
 Oh might and impotence allied! &c. 
 
 Chase each unhallowed fancy hence, 
 The bane of saintly innocence ; 
 To Thine own spirit fashion mine, 
 And make me all and ever Thine. 
 
 Oh might and impotence allied ! 
 
 Oh power majestic deified! 
 
 What hast Thou e'er to man denied? 
 
Atabat m^m. 
 
 BY JACOPONUS 
 
 -^5»^»ce-^- 
 
 Stabat mater dolorosa 
 Juxta critccm lacryfnosa, 
 Dum pcndcbat filius, 
 Cnjus anitnam gementem 
 Contristantem ac dolentem 
 Pertransivit glad i us. 
 
 ©ORE weeping by the cruel rood 
 ^The agonized mother stood, 
 
 Whereon her offspring dies : 
 Whose racked and writhing soul was smit, 
 As tho' a sword were piercing it, 
 With mortal agonies. 
 
 How vast her pain, poor sorrowing one ! 
 Blest mother of that blessed Son — 
 
 Her only progeny : 
 How drear, and doleful was her state, 
 As trembling, at His feet she sate, 
 
 To watch His passing sigh. 
 
Stabat Mater, 283 
 
 Ah ! who could view, with tearless eye, 
 What unrelenting agony 
 
 The holy mother tried? 
 Or shut compassion from his heart, 
 To see a tender parent's smart, 
 
 Her dying Son beside? 
 
 'Twas for her nation's sins indeed, 
 She saw the Holy Jesus bleed, 
 
 The tearing scourge beneath ; 
 It was her own, her darling Son, 
 Whose dying throes she gazed upon, 
 
 Forsa'en, and pale in death. 
 
 Hail ! holy mother, fount of love ! 
 With sympathy my spirit move, 
 
 That I, with thee, may grieve : 
 That this cold earthy heart may burn 
 For Christ, my Saviour, in its turn ; 
 
 And to His glory live. 
 
 Oh holy mother ! that thou art, 
 Inflict His sorrows on my heart, 
 
 The flesh to crucify ; 
 That I may feel some little share 
 Of the sad wounds He deigned to bear 
 
 For sinners, such as I. 
 
284 Stabat Mater 
 
 Oh make me, make me weep with thee, 
 For Him they nailed upon the tree, 
 
 While yet I live to weep ; 
 And with thee, stand beside the rood — 
 Like thee, in sorrowing gratitude, 
 
 His holy vigil keep. 
 
 Purest and best of Virgins ! hence 
 Shed thy benignant influence, 
 
 To make me mourn with thee ; 
 And bear to my last parting breath, 
 Pain for His pains, aod cruel death 
 
 He suffered once, for me : 
 
 To bear the stripes He bore for us — 
 For love, to glory in His Cross, 
 
 In holy ecstasy ; 
 .That, when before Thy judgment-seat, 
 My rapture-kindled soul may meet 
 
 An advocate in Thee. 
 
 Oh! may His Cross, and parting cry, 
 Strength, peace, and constancy supply 
 
 In my last agonies : 
 And, when this dust to dust return, 
 My soul, on seraph-wings, be borne 
 
 To Him — in Paradise. 
 
jgYMN, 
 
 Parendum est, cedendum est, 
 
 Clandenda vitce scena; 
 Est j acta sors, me vocat mors, 
 
 Hcec hora est post rem a ; 
 Valcte res, ' valet e spes, 
 
 Sic finit cantilena. 
 
 Jesuitenpoesie. 
 
 We must obey, 
 We must away, 
 
 Life's curtain now must fall ; 
 The die is cast, 
 We're called at last, 
 
 Farewell hope, world and all ; 
 The hour is nigh 
 When we must die, 
 
 So ends the festival. 
 
 Oh earthly sun ! 
 Thou mighty one, 
 Now yield to fate's command 
 
286 Hymn. 
 
 Go hide thy head 
 In ocean's bed, 
 
 I'm weary of thy brand : 
 Approaching night 
 Puts out thy light, 
 
 And casts thy bark astrand. 
 
 Thou silver lyre, 
 Instarred in fire, 
 
 Ye golden planets, shine, 
 And starlets, bright 
 With twinkling light, 
 
 For other eyes than mine ; 
 While comets tell 
 Of dirge and knell, 
 
 And nought but ill divine. 
 
 Oh friends ! ye best 
 And most caressed, 
 
 My old companions too, 
 Death comes ; Oh how 
 Unwelcome now! 
 
 Our social bond t' undo : 
 We've had our share 
 Of life's welfare; 
 
 Then, world and all adieu! 
 
Hymn. 
 
 287 
 
 And last — adieu 
 Thou body too, — 
 
 Art called and thou must go 
 And whatso'er 
 Befall thee there 
 
 Of good or evil; know 
 A righteous fate 
 Will all await; 
 
 Or be it weal or woe. 
 
 N N 
 
mm 
 
 ST. NICHOLAS HILL. 
 Page 3, Lines 10 to 16. — "Its infant tale, &>c." 
 
 (1.) Nothing is known of the origin of this very ancient Chapel, so 
 romantically situated at the mouth of the little harbour of Ilfracombe ; or 
 whether it was originally intended for the double office of Oratory and Light- 
 house. But notice of the latter is found as early as 1522, in Veasey's 
 Register. 
 
 (2.) Sir William de Tracey, flying from the pious zeal of Henry 2nd, 
 after the murder of Thomas a Becket, is said to have taken refuge in the rocks 
 and caverns of the "wild and inhospitable coast, west of Ilfracombe ; so 
 notorious for their danger, and frequency of fatal wrecks, that the western ex- 
 tremity is called Morte-point : and the adjoining village Morthoe. In this 
 seclusion Tracy is said to have ended his life ; and his tomb is, at this day, to 
 be seen in Morthoe church. 
 
 (3.) Bishop Vesey in his Register gives the following account: — "In 
 Capella S. Nicholai super Portum villas de Ilfracombe fundata, luminare 
 quoddam singulis annis per totam hyemem, nocturnis temporibus, in summi- 
 tate dictas Capellae ardens, velut stella, nocte corruscans invenitur." 
 
 (4.) When the means of supporting it failed, the Bishop offered all true 
 penitents 40 days' indulgence: "Qui ad dicti luminaris sustentationem manus 
 porrexerint adjutrices." 
 
 Tradition tells us that it was the resort of Pilgrims : and that Mariners 
 made their vows and offerings there. It is called Lantern Hill, and inhabited 
 by the person who .has care of the light. 
 
(5-) At St. Lawrence, on the southern coast of the Isle of Wight, 
 there is a large horn worked by machinery, which, during the sea-fogs (so 
 frequent in the locality,) blows a loud blast about every three or four minutes; 
 as beneficial, we hope, to sea-farers, as it is annoying to land-lubbers. 
 
 MANORBIER. 
 
 (6.) The beautiful and secluded valley of Manorbier lies on the south- 
 western coast of Pembrokeshire, (called Demetia) nearly equi-distant from 
 Tenby and Pembroke ; but so far to the south of the high-road as to escape 
 the observation of travellers ; and seems to have been little known, till Tenby 
 became a favorite resort. Passing a few very ancient cottages, having, in 
 common with the castle, the large circular chimney shafts of the country, said 
 to have been introduced by the Flemings in the reign of Henry 2nd ; the 
 visitor suddenly breaks upon the valley with surprise and admiration of its 
 wild grandeur, and beautiful desolation. On his right hand is the fine ruin 
 of its ancient castle ; and on the left, the extensive remains of some ecclesias- 
 tical building, commonly supposed to be a monastery: though little more than 
 foundations, and some small portion of walls are left. Among them stands 
 the present church : which, with a more modern exterior, shews internal marks 
 of great antiquity, that seem to justify the opinion ; a monument of a soldier 
 of the crusades is preserved in it. The castle was the residence of the de 
 Barri family, who were probably settled there soon after the conquest : of this 
 family, the historian Geraldus (Cambrensis) was a younger son, in the reign 
 of Henry 2nd. He accompanied Abp. Baldwin, on his tour through Wales 
 to preach the 3rd crusade ; who, by his aid, took thence a considerable rein- 
 forcement to Palestine. 
 
 (7.) The tomb in the church is very probably that of one of the de 
 Barri's who went with him, and lived to return. Caradoc of Llancarvan 
 makes no mention of Manorbier ; and there seems to be scarcely any record 
 of this part of Wales. Altogether the effect of the church, and its position 
 with reference to the castle, and the surrounding scenery, is very striking. 
 
Geraldus tells us — "The Castle, called Msenor-Pyrr, is excellently well 
 defended by turrets, and bulwarks, and is situated on the summit of a hill 
 extending on the western side to the sea-port ; having on the northern and 
 southern sides a fine fish-pond under its walls, as conspicuous for its grand 
 appearance, as for the depth of its waters, and a beautiful orchard on the 
 same side, inclosed on one part by a vineyard, and on the other by a wood, 
 remarkable for the projection of its rocks, and the height of its hazel trees. 
 On the right hand of the promontory, between the castle and the church, near 
 the site of a very large lake, and a mill, a rivulet of never-failing water flows 
 through the valley, rendered sandy by the violence of the winds. Toward the 
 west the Severn sea, bending its course to Ireland, enters a hollow bay at 
 some distance from the castle ; from this point you may see all the ships of 
 Great Britain that the east wind drives upon the Irish coast, brave the incon- 
 stant winds and raging sea." 
 
 Leland, who visited it in 1536, seems to have found it in its present 
 deserted and ruinous state. He says "Mainopir, i.e. mansio Pirrhi, is now 
 
 commonly cawlled Manober, a Towne of Howsbondrie The ruins of 
 
 Pirrhus Castel there, many Walles yet standyng, hole, do openly appere . . . 
 but not on the Hye-Way, for yt standeth nere the Shore of the Severn Se." 
 
 (8.) —The hirlas was the drinking horn of the ancient Welsh nobles. 
 
 (9). — The Bards wore a sky-blue robe, the Druids a white one, the Ovates 
 green. 
 
 (10.)— Ancient legends say that Arthur was not killed at the battle of 
 Camlan, but was borne away by Fairies, grievously wounded, to the happy 
 Islands ; whence at a future crisis he was to reappear, and reign triumphantly 
 over all Britain. 
 
 (11.)— The part of the Irish channel, bordering on the western coast of 
 Wales, was anciently called the "Severne Se." 
 
 (12.) — Near the verge of the southern cliff stands a Cromlech: the 
 nature of these relics of Druidism is, and ever will be, a mystery: and it is 
 not the author's province to vindicate the poor aspersed Druids from the charges 
 
made by Caesar and Tacitus. But the words of the latter, "that their groves 
 were consecrated to scenes of the most barbarous superstition," is sufficient to 
 justify the wild excursions of excited fancy. 
 
 (13.) — A little beyond the Cromlech, the visitor will be struck with three 
 very remarkable fissures in the old red sand-stone : they are very deep, (upwards 
 of 100 feet) and of considerable length, and indicate some great natural con- 
 vulsion of far distant times: but the author does not pledge his troth, that it 
 was by Merlin's agencv. 
 
 THE WANDERERS RETURN. 
 
 " I see the flow 'rets \ &c." Page 30. 
 
 Quali i floret ti dal notturno gelo 
 
 Chinati e chiusi poi che '1 Sol gY imbianca, 
 Si drizzan tutti aperti in loro stelo. 
 
 Danti;, Inf., c. ii., 127. 
 
 CON LACK. 
 
 P*g* 35- 
 
 There is so strong resemblance between this Ballad and the Persian tale 
 of "Zohrab and Rustum," that they have probably a common origin ; or was 
 the Oriental or the Celtic the original? 
 
 Dunscaick was a stronghold in the Isle of Skye, of which the ruins still 
 exist. 
 
 Dundalgin is the modern Dundalk. See the original Gaelic, with ver- 
 sion, in the Dean of Lismork's Book, and also that of Ewen M'Ormie. 
 (Page 103). 
 
PETRARCH. 
 
 Canzone VI. Page 106. 
 
 This'fine Ode is generally supposed to be addressed to the spirit of Cola 
 de Rienzi, "the last of the Tribunes." Beolchi considers this an error, and 
 that it was intended by the author to address Stefano Colonna, on his 
 elevation to the Senatorship of Rome. Both were friends of Petrarch, and 
 for both he appears to have had the highest esteem. The object of it was to 
 awaken the ancient spirit of the Romans, to regenerate Italy and its Capitol, 
 prostrated and demoralized by the Guelphic civil wars, and the factions of her 
 leading families ; whose feuds, continually carried on by means of leaders of 
 mercenary bands of ruffians, called Condottieri, kept the country in a perpetual 
 state of war and misery. 
 
 " Holy Church." Page 109. 
 
 Alluding to. the pride and dissolute lives of the Hierarchy, and hinting 
 the appropriate remedy. 
 
 •'Bears, Lions, Wolves." Do. 
 
 The bearings and ensigns of the great families of Rome, whose dissen- 
 tions were desolating her, and were enemies of the Colonna family. 
 
 The great Column figures the distinguished family of Colonna, the 
 friends and patrons of Petrarch. 
 
 " Holier Father." Do. 
 
 The Pope, then resident at Avignon, and wholly engaged in disputes 
 and intrigues with the Emperors of Germany, to the total neglect of his spiritual 
 functions. A delicate, but keen piece of satire. 
 
 ITALIA! ITALIA! 
 Page in. 
 This much-admired Sonnet was written in reprobation of the then custom 
 of introducing foreigners into Italy, to fight the battles of the contending 
 factions. 
 
PEACE TO THE LAND. 
 
 "Herse shall be." Page 131. 
 
 The Herse was a framework of iron or brass, placed over ancient monu- 
 ments to carry the lights, with which they were illuminated by night; and 
 also the canopy or pall. Those of iron were generally for temporary use 
 only, and were seldom preserved. There is a very perfect one of iron in 
 Tanfield Church, a little village in Yorkshire; a fine brass one in Beauchamp's 
 Chapel, Warwick. 
 
 PONE LUCTUM. 
 
 Page 91. 
 
 In the first stanza of this beautiful hymn, the author has assumed the 
 office of expositor, rather than of a literal translator, as the third line would 
 be unintelligible to those who are not aware of the opinion of some, that 
 Mary Magdalene was identical with the sister of Lazarus; who anointed the 
 feet of Jesus at the supper of Simon the leper. Sec John xt. 2 and XII. 3; 
 also Luke vui. 36, and Matt. xxv. 6. 
 
 It is difficult to say when rhyme was first introduced into Latin verse ; 
 occasional instances of it are of great antiquity ; but it seems to have become 
 more general about the 3rd and 4th centuries, and much used in the services of 
 the Church. Though the most distinguished hymn writers of that period, viz. 
 Ambrosius, Hilarius, Prudentius, Fortunatus and others, seem but seldom to 
 have adopted it. 
 
 As language degenerated, and required the aid of false ornament, anti- 
 thesis and rhyme were adopted, and especially by hymn writers. The rules of 
 quantity and prosody were gradually neglected, and latterly entirely gave 
 place to emphasis and accent. 
 
 The name of Leonine was given to these verses from Leontius or Leo- 
 ninus, a Canon of St. Benedict at Paris, who lived about A.D. 1135, and was 
 a celebrated composer, though not the inventor, of them. 
 
In this, and the two following centuries, we find the celebrated names of 
 Bernhard, Bonaventura, Aquinas, Victor, and Jacoponus among the hymn 
 writers ; and many, and ingenious, were their productions ; though mostly ill 
 adapted to metrical translation ; being often scriptural narrative, and meta- 
 physical disquisition on doctrines, then the subject of much controversy ; to 
 this they owed their popularity ; and their charm to their clever versification. 
 
 Many of them have considerable beauty of their own-, and are venerable 
 for their antiquity. In themselves simple, pathetic, and often elevated, their 
 effect has been rendered irresistible by the beautiful music to which they 
 have been adapted. 
 
 Among the first in merit stands the "Dies irae," by Thomas A Celano, 
 and "Stabat Mater." The former has been often well translated. Of the 
 latter (so well known for its music), a humble but literal version is attempted 
 at page 282. It was written by Jacoponus, an Italian poet, and friend of 
 Dante, who died at an advanced age, a.d. 1306. 
 
 They afterwards became very numerous: the large majority are of little 
 value, either in a devotional or literary point of view. 
 
 The Author has made this little selection principally from the Hymnarium 
 Bhithen, and a few of the continental breviaries, of such hymns as best suited 
 his purpose : avoiding, as much as possible, the monotony and repetition, 
 which characterizes the mass of them. 
 
 Dr. Johnson, in his life of Watts, most judiciously observes: "His 
 devotional poetry, like that of all others, is unsatisfactory : the paucity of its 
 topics enforce perpetual repetition, and the sanctity of the matter rejects the 
 ornaments of figurative diction. It is sufficient for him to have done best, 
 what no man has done well." 
 
 O O 
 
E R RATA 
 
 PAGE 53, for stat tua read tua stat. 
 
 69, ,, last line misplaced. 
 
 72, ,, as omitted (in St. 4, /. 2). 
 
 98, ,, for you, /. 15, read ye. 
 
 134, ,, Her ,, Thy. 
 
 136, ,, primavara ,, primavera. 
 
 148, , , first line misplaced. 
 
 180, ,, naught, /. io, read nought. 
 
 241, ,, constitus read consitus. 
 
 249, ,, presepe ,, proesepe. 
 
 256, ,, of ,, by. 
 
 
 ^^^^/ 
 
IN^OEX 
 
 St. Nicholas' Hill 
 
 The Chieftain's Grave 
 
 Manorbier 
 
 The Wanderer 
 
 Conlack 
 
 Canzone V. Petrarch 
 
 The last Friend . 
 
 The Rainbow 
 
 The Emigrant's Lament 
 
 The Charm 
 
 The Watchfire 
 
 Remember 
 
 To the Velino 
 
 Repose 
 
 Dwell not 
 
 Horace and Lydia 
 
 Ugolino's Dream 
 
 Song of Mseris 
 
 Bacchanalian Song 
 
 The Soldier's Grave 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i 
 
 2 3 
 35 
 42 
 
 47 
 49 
 5 2 
 55 
 61 
 
 65 
 69 
 
 7i 
 
 75 
 77 
 79 
 85 
 37 
 89 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Epigram from Ausonius .... 90 
 
 Idyl ditto 
 
 
 
 
 9 1 
 
 David's Lament 
 
 
 
 
 92 
 
 Rizpah 
 
 
 
 
 94 
 
 The maiden Martyr 
 
 
 
 
 95 
 
 Serenade 
 
 
 
 
 IOI 
 
 Ewen McOrmie's Lament 
 
 
 
 
 103 
 
 The vine of Sibmah 
 
 
 
 
 105 
 
 Canzone VI. Petrarch 
 
 
 
 
 106 
 
 Italia, Italia 
 
 
 
 
 in 
 
 Cowper's Wish 
 
 
 
 
 112 
 
 Solomon's Song . 
 
 
 
 
 114 
 
 Sonnet. Petrarch 
 
 
 
 
 ii5 
 
 Ditto. V. Colonna 
 
 
 
 
 116 
 
 Ditto on Dante 
 
 
 
 
 118 
 
 The Skylark 
 
 
 
 
 119 
 
 The Linnet 
 
 
 
 
 124 
 
 The Robin 
 
 
 
 
 126 
 
 Anacreon's Dove . 
 
 
 
 
 128 
 
 The Sparrow 
 
 
 
 
 130 
 
 Peace to the Land 
 
 
 
 
 131 
 
 A Valentine 
 
 
 
 
 1 33 
 
 We have laid thee to rest 
 
 
 
 
 134 
 
 The four Seasons 
 
 
 
 
 136 
 
 The Captive of Zion 
 
 
 
 
 140 
 
 On the Bank 
 
 
 
 
 i43 
 
 To Ephemera 
 
 
 
 
 i45 
 
 To a Cicada 
 
 
 
 
 149 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Death of Eteocles . . . . 151 
 
 Epigram 
 
 
 
 154 
 
 When the Shadows 
 
 
 
 155 
 
 Cupid's Curse 
 
 
 
 160 
 
 The Rose 
 
 
 
 161 
 
 Sonnet XXVIII. Petrarch 
 
 
 
 162 
 
 Ditto XXV. Ditto . 
 
 
 
 163 
 
 Farewell 
 
 
 
 164 
 
 Emigrant's Song 
 
 
 
 167 
 
 A Mother's Song 
 
 
 
 168 
 
 Venus Regina 
 
 
 
 170 
 
 Song 
 
 
 
 171 
 
 Sonnet 270. Petrarch . 
 
 
 
 172 
 
 Young Cupid 
 
 
 
 173 
 
 Chorus in Antigone 
 
 
 
 175 
 
 Fairie's Song 
 
 
 
 177 
 
 Love's Despair 
 
 
 
 178 
 
 Anacreon, Od. 2. 
 
 
 
 179 
 
 Song, "Close not" 
 
 
 
 180 
 
 An English November 
 
 
 
 181 
 
 Anacreontica I. Vittorelli 
 
 
 
 183 
 
 Ditto V. Ditto . 
 
 
 
 184 
 
 A Fable. G. Bertola 
 
 
 
 185 
 
 A Madrigal, ditto 
 
 
 
 186 
 
 — — ^«k«.<^ — 
 
 A Christmas Carol . .. . 187 
 
 Hymn for Good Friday . 
 
 
 
 191 
 
INDEX. 
 
 
 Faith . . . 
 
 i 9 6 
 
 Tu caritas es . 
 
 197 
 
 Ps. 151 . 
 
 199 
 
 Lenten Hymn .... 
 
 201 
 
 Numen mundi .... 
 
 202 
 
 Ecquis binas . 
 
 203 
 
 Hymn for Ascension 
 
 205 
 
 Deus Creator 
 
 207 
 
 Sacramental Hymn 
 
 209 
 
 Quanta per orbem 
 
 211 
 
 Rex Christe .... 
 
 213 
 
 Hymn for Epiphany 
 
 215 
 
 O Christe qui .... 
 
 217 
 
 Cum revolvo .... 
 
 218 
 
 Ps. 51. .... 
 
 22T 
 
 Cur aut amictus .... 
 
 223 
 
 Ps. 91. .... 
 
 225 
 
 Primo dierum .... 
 
 227 
 
 esca viatorum .... 
 
 229 
 
 Ps. 102. .... 
 
 23O 
 
 Hymn .... 
 
 23I 
 
 Hymn for Easter 
 
 233 
 
 Deus jubes 
 
 234 
 
 Salvete flores .... 
 
 235 
 
 Ps. 90. .... 
 
 237 
 
 Nato nobis .... 
 
 239 
 
 Nunquam serenior 
 
 241 
 
 School Children's Hymn 
 
 243 
 
INDEX. 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 Jam radix Jesse . . . . 245 
 
 Sacramental Hymn 
 
 
 
 247 
 
 Altitudo quid non 
 
 
 
 249 
 
 Audi Pastor. Ps. 80. 
 
 
 
 251 
 
 Splendor paternae 
 
 
 
 253 
 
 Cur mundus militat 
 
 
 
 2 55 
 
 Ps. 139. 
 
 
 
 257 
 
 Si Splendidis 
 
 
 
 259 
 
 Plaudete coeli 
 
 
 
 261 
 
 In vigilia Pas ess . 
 
 
 
 263 
 
 Quid tyranne 
 
 
 
 266 
 
 Veni superne 
 
 
 
 267 
 
 My God my King. Hymn 
 
 
 
 269 
 
 Ps. 148. 
 
 
 
 271 
 
 Cultor Dei 
 
 
 
 273 
 
 Mundo tenebris . 
 
 
 
 275 
 
 Salve festa dies 
 
 
 
 276 
 
 Lucis largitor 
 
 
 
 277 
 
 Hymn 
 
 
 
 279 
 
 Ave Jesu 
 
 
 
 280 
 
 Stabat Mater 
 
 
 
 282 
 
 Parendum est 
 
 
 
 285