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EXERCISES 
 
 A RECUMBENT VACATION, 
 
 1860—61: 
 
 WITH A FEW OF EAELIER DATE. 
 
 m 
 
 IN REMOTIS CARMIXA BUPIBU* 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED, FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION, BY 
 
 MANN NEPHEWS, 39, CORNHILL: 
 
 MDCCCLXR 
 

 205449 
 
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OFFERED, WITH THE WRITER S <U^+ 
 ^^ o^^y A^U^& *ZG-jtt/i__<£t/ 
 
 to /0 r 7^Uu^^^^/ A^^^rr^ \ 
 
 16, Lansdowne Circus, 
 
 South Lambeth, 
 
 /^^W^^iC?80«BS, 1861, 
 
 (The title implies confinement to an invalid-couch at Hastings, from May, 1SG0, 
 to September, 1861.) 
 

1860—61. 
 
 DIED AT THE STATION-HOUSE. 
 
 See Southward Police Report, December Ibth, 1860. (Appendix, p. 40.) 
 
 ' Died at the station-house.' Ah, Mr. Combe, 
 You' ve marked off many a sorrowful doom, 
 But that dark record of sin and woe 
 Can hardly a sadder entry show. 
 
 'Drunk and incapable' — so it ran — 
 Shunned of woman and scorned of man ; 
 Outcast hawker from bar to bar, 
 Where the poison-fire and the gas-lights are': 
 
 Thrust forth, ' insensible,' into the night, 
 When the time was come to put out the light; 
 Nameless and homeless — her last abode, 
 Save one, the pavement of Cornwall Eoad. 
 
 ' Turned out drunk.' Only think, Mr. Combe, 
 There's something worse than an ' inn's worst room'— 
 The bleak outside of the closed inn-door, 
 And never a bench but the stony floor. 
 
(j DIED AT THE STATION-HOUSE. 
 
 There she was found, alone with Death 
 Listening close to the struggling breath: 
 4 Her face was downwards ' — so they say 
 Who gently raised and bore her away — 
 
 And, yet, we can fancy that face, Mr. Combe, 
 With an upward eye, and an innocent bloom 
 Of maiden pride and gladsome health, 
 Prodigal outlay of Nature's wealth. 
 
 So, taken off to the station, she 
 
 Was charged with due formality — 
 
 But the vaulted cell was tenanted too 
 
 By her grim friend Death, the sole and true, 
 
 Who disposed of the case, without delay, 
 In his own so merciful, summary way; 
 And, in place of hard labour, gave the boon 
 Of a rest which could hardly come too soon. 
 
 ' Fitful fever' of life o'ercast! 
 Poor downward face! Upturned at last, 
 Let us hope, to the dawn of a nightless day- 
 Even your hot tears may be wiped away. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 God bless you, good and loyal friends. 
 
 So trusty and so tried: 
 The absentee his greeting sends 
 
 To you, this Christmas tide, 
 When Christians should no other 
 
 Than Christian names employ 
 In wishing one another 
 
 All comfort and all joy. 
 
 6 Comfort and joy ' — as testifies 
 
 The carol's homely line — 
 Fell, in an age of mysteries, 
 
 From messengers divine, 
 At this so sweet and solemn time, 
 
 In tidings from on high: 
 Theme all too lofty for a rhyme 
 
 Slipshod as mine to try. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 And though good Angels talk no more 
 
 To wonder-stricken men, 
 The heavenly messages they bore 
 
 Are sent and felt as then: 
 Comfort and joy, on every hand, 
 
 For hearts and homes reserved 
 Where thankfulness has softened, and 
 
 Where hope and trust have nerved. 
 
 But chiefly do these visitants 
 
 To their firesides repair 
 Who feel for others' woes and wants 
 
 And alien troubles share. 
 Most sure of such rich guerdon be 
 
 The steadfast friends in need, 
 Who never tire of ministry 
 
 To lonely invalid. 
 
 To you, then, shall they come to-night. 
 
 My ' friends indeed,' and bring, 
 (To chase the sense of summer's flight,) 
 
 A foretaste of the spring 
 In that fair promise clustering round 
 
 Your knees — the flowers you've reared 1 
 With just one thought for him, still bound, 
 
 Whose heavy hours you' ve cheered. 
 
CONJUGAL DIALOGUE 
 
 ON THE EARLY CLOSING MOVEMENT. 
 
 Scene. — Lower Norwood. 
 Time.— Saturday, 11.30 P.M. 
 
 ' If you 're waking, don't disturb me ; call me later, 
 
 there's a dear ; 
 For though I can't account for it, I feel a little 
 
 queer : 
 To morrow, you know, is Sunday, so I think at home 
 
 I '11 stay, 
 Instead of going to church, and have a nice long 
 
 quiet day.' 
 
 'If I'm waking! — precious chance of sleeping / 
 
 shall get, 
 What with tossing and with snoring ! Don't tell 
 
 me, I'm not your pet — 
 It's that good-for-nothing friend of yours who's 
 
 welcome to the term : 
 Ah, you may well look scared to find you've roused 
 
 the trodden worm !' 
 
10 CONJUGAL DIALOGUE. 
 
 4 Well really, now, its hard upon a fellow — just for 
 
 what ? 
 I caught the last but one, and here's a wigging I 
 
 have got ! 
 It's the only day for comfort, and I'm sure we never 
 
 wish 
 For more than a plain joint, and, p'rhaps, a little bit 
 
 of fish.' 
 
 * Plainer joints than / see daily I defy you, Sir, 
 
 to find, 
 And a bit of fish in matting packed you never used 
 
 to mind, 
 When the Five o'clock you rarely missed on Saturday 
 
 from town, 
 And at Six, or so, we constantly sate comfortably down.' 
 
 ' At Six, my treasure ! obsolete, unscientific hour, 
 Quite exploded since the glorious recent Movement's 
 
 moral power, 
 (Early closing, shutters hoisting, locking desks,) has 
 
 set us free 
 For a healthy promenade, love, and a sober meal 
 
 at three.' 
 
 'Promenade, love ! gallivanting, you had better say 
 
 at once ; 
 But be good enough to notice that I'm not quite 
 
 such a dunce 
 
CONJUGAL DIALOGUE. 11 
 
 As not to know that four from ten are six, my Lord, 
 
 so pray, 
 What healthy pastime filled up the remainder of the 
 
 day?' 
 
 ' Six hours, my little clar — well, Jemima, if preferred; 
 But to reckon time in that way is so palpably absurd ! 
 Why, digestion and the topics of the current week 
 
 require 
 Two hours at least, and then a little chat before the 
 
 fire' — 
 
 ' Before the fire ! domestic scene ! Behind the fire, 
 
 you mean, 
 Of your cigars, which cannot help revealing where 
 
 you've been. 
 A real blessing, I'll be bound, their ashes can't 
 
 disclose 
 The anecdotes so relished under what men call 
 
 The Rose/ 
 
 ' Stuff and nonsense, now, Jemi — well, I only touched 
 
 your arm, 
 And spasmodic jerks like that betoken simply false 
 
 alarm. 
 I certainly smoked one — there, you needn 't look 
 
 so stern — 
 And I meant to catch the half-past six, but Fred 
 
 proposed a turn.' 
 
12 CONJUGAL DIALOGUE. 
 
 ' Much obliged, I 'm sure, to Fred' rick — as I'll men- 
 tion when we meet — 
 
 Fresh cigars, of course, were lighted when we got 
 into the street. 
 
 A sad, long walk you must have had, inseparable 
 pair ! 
 
 Pray, was anybody kind enough to offer you a 
 chair ?' 
 
 * Now, upon my soul, Jemima, you are getting quite 
 
 too bad, 
 And I do believe an angel's tongue may drive a 
 
 mortal mad. 
 Yes, I had a chair — in Wych Street — which I paid 
 
 for, and, no doubt, 
 Mr. Robson's got the money, and so now the murder's 
 
 out.' 
 
 ' Well, don't sit blinking there, you goose, for 
 
 Sunday's all but here — 
 Early Closing's late reposing for the wives, that's 
 
 very clear ; 
 And the only testimonial Mr. Lilwall gets from me 
 Is the gift to Mrs. L., poor thing ! of a silver 
 
 (chased) latch-key.' 
 
J3 
 
 A RECOLLECTION OF GALLEY HILL. 
 
 September 21, 1860. Galley Hill is the site of the fourth Martello Tower, 
 westward, from St. Leonards. 
 
 A pleasant goal for ride or walk 
 
 We found it, and I find it still 
 A pleasant theme for after-talk, 
 
 The tower-crowned headland, Galley Hill. 
 
 For those fast friends in time of need, 
 Kind Sympathy and prompt Good- will, 
 
 Best solace of the invalid, 
 Escorted me to Galley Hill. 
 
 The west wind breathed a welcome bland, 
 As, steered with super-boyish skill, 
 
 My pony (from the Holy land) 
 Toiled patiently up Galley Hill. 
 
 All rural sights and sounds, save one, 
 
 (The songster's friend, * the murmuring rill/) 
 
 Up-gathered seemed, an open boon 
 For eye and ear, on Galley Hill : 
 
14 A RECOLLECTION OF GALLEY HILL. 
 
 All peace, as on that day befel — 
 No moaning gust, no sea-bird shrill, 
 
 No hollow laugh of languid swell, 
 Broke the repose of Galley Hill. 
 
 Blithe exile from the gay parade, 
 
 Where Time oft seems so hard to kill, 
 
 I felt/twere shame to he afraid 
 To cope with him on Galley Hill. 
 
 ' And here/ I mused, - how sweet to stay, 
 ' Remote from drug, exempt from pill, 
 
 ' To wile the heavy hours away, 
 ' Inhaling strength on Galley Hill, 
 
 ' Supremely indolent ; and yet ' 
 
 (A thought to disenchant and chili !) 
 
 4 How shall the convalescent get 
 ' His Times at ten on Galley Hill ? 
 
 ' Abiding place it may not be.' 
 
 With that I turned, and gazed my fill 
 
 Of the fair space of land and sea 
 Within the ken of Galley Hill; 
 
 Last, marking — as the evening wore — 
 The eastward star, high Fairiight's mill, 
 
 And the soft curve of lowly shore, 
 The foam-girt foot of Galley Hill. 
 
A RECOLLECTION OF GALLEY HILL. 15 
 
 And round our homeward slow return 
 
 The hues of sunset deepened, till 
 Arrested fancy might discern 
 A glory upon Galley Hill ! 
 
 So back, ere yet the splendour waned, 
 Not dreaming, we, of change or ill : 
 
 Alas ! that very night it rained, 
 Like — Midsummer, on Galley Hill. 
 
16 
 
 A TRACT FOR BAYSWATER. 
 
 {House of Lords, April 30, 1861. Hall v. Warren. This was an appeal 
 from the Court of Chancery, respecting the will of William .Hall, deceased, 
 formerly of Bayswater. It was a very peculiar document, written in such 
 utter defiance of the rules of grammar and orthography, that it could scarcely 
 be understood. However, his intention was to leave certain real property 
 to found a lying-in-institution at Bayswater, for the use of the unmarried 
 ladies in that locality. The Court of Chancery had decided that the 
 charitable bequest was bad under the Mortmain Act, and their Lordships 
 confirmed the decree.) 
 
 Frailty suburban, addicted to roam 
 
 In the shadow of Kensington's Garden-wall, 
 
 You have lost a friend, and an extra home — 
 Rest to the soul of William Hall ! 
 
 Far from that promenade, rhymer remote — 
 (I might almost as well be at Port Natal) — 
 
 I long for more than the scrap I quote 
 Reveals of the life of William Hall. 
 
 What was the hue of his eyes and hair, 
 Whether his stature was short or tall, 
 
 I know not ; nor if, in the flesh, he e'er 
 Chatted and whispered along that wall. 
 
 But he felt for you, daughters of Eve, who well 
 May rue the blight of the primal fall ; 
 
 He 'd an ear for the tale you 've too oft to tell — 
 For your sorrows and straits — this Mr. Hall. 
 
A TRACT FOR BAYSWATER. 17 
 
 An asylum meet he designed for you ; 
 
 For unwed mothers a house of call, 
 (Where the visitors stay a month or two,) 
 
 Was the kindly project of William Hall. 
 
 Thus a will declared which he drew himself, 
 
 Embittered with anti-legal gall, 
 And over cunning to save his pelf — 
 
 ' A fool for his client' had William Hall ; 
 
 And his grammar and spelling were such as might 
 
 A national schoolboy well appal : 
 As for commas and stops, he ignored them quite — 
 
 They were all the same to William Hall. 
 
 So legal wit, with discretion wide, 
 (Amateur work ever glad to maul,) 
 
 Upsets the bequest, and has nullified 
 The pitiful purpose of William Hall. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Pause, heedless votaries, pause, and mend 
 Your wandering ways ere worse befal: 
 
 Beware, lest yours be the sorry end 
 Of this poor blundering Mr. Hall — 
 
 To be ' set aside' when youth has flown, 
 And the once bright eye no more enthrals: 
 
 You 've each of you, surely, a will of your own — 
 Think of the fate of William Hall's. 
 
18 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 AT THE FUNERAL OF A FRIEND. 
 
 (FROM COUNT ZINZENDORF'S MORAVIAN HYMIJS.) 
 
 O Thou, our day-spring from on high, 
 Whom this our brother felt so nigh 
 That Grace seemed beckoning him to die, 
 Whose mercies so abound! 
 
 Amazing goodness, Lord, we see 
 In all Thy acts ; but chiefly we 
 Now thank Thee for the peace which he 
 In the dark valley found — 
 
 For hope assured, in hearts opprest, 
 That our lost comrade with the Blest 
 Was numbered, ere his lasting rest 
 Within this hallowed ground. 
 
19 
 
 THE EXILE'S HYMN AT DEPARTURE. 
 
 (FROM THE SAME.) 
 
 Welcome, in God's hallowed name, 
 Persecution, be her aim 
 Covert shaft, or open shame. 
 
 Dark the road and sore to tread, 
 Yet shall light and balm be shed : 
 Martyrs He hath ever led. 
 
 On! I follow willingly: 
 Who would Thy disciple be 
 From his cross must never flee. 
 
 Like Thy chosen Jacob, come 
 Staff in hand, I turn from home, 
 Over alien plains to roam. 
 
 Poor and broken, here I stand: 
 Father, let me feel Thy hand, 
 Like him, in a better land. 
 
20 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE JEROME. 
 
 (FROM A FRENCH PRIZE POEM.) 
 
 August, I860. (Appendix, p. 41.) 
 
 Blind pedants, cannot ye perceive 
 ' Twere better policy to leave 
 
 A grave like this alone? 
 Would ye wake Clio to illume 
 The legend of so base a tomb, 
 
 Such memories to enthrone? 
 
 Our sages silenced, how can we 
 But sigh for fair Democracy, 
 
 And from the Purple turn? 
 Be sure a fettered student shall 
 Of Lucan, and of Juvenal, 
 
 And of our Hugo learn. 
 
 Yes, we await the stroke of doom, 
 The hour so sure, though slow, to come 
 
 For burning hearts at last — 
 The hour retributive, when France, 
 Up- springing from a shameful trance, 
 
 Shall dare recall her Past. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE JEROME. 21 
 
 Know, that for brighter, happier days 
 We jealously reserve our lays, 
 
 To old traditions true: 
 Haply we count among us those 
 Whose sires by unforgotten foes 
 
 Were sacrificed to you. 
 
 So^ while this tottering roof we mourn, 
 And to a drift-weed seaward borne 
 
 Recite a forced adieu, 
 While garlanding a cipher's head, 
 We must disturb the mighty dead 
 
 Who fell at Waterloo. 
 
 We cannot choose, brave shades — we must 
 With songs approach your sacred dust 
 
 To honour a Jerome! 
 For that impure old phantom we 
 Perforce invade reluctantly 
 
 The quiet of your tomb. 
 
 Sleep, dead of Waterloo, nor raise 
 Those lifeless lids, which at such praise 
 
 Could open but to weep: 
 For your grand fellowship unmeet 
 The touch of this foul winding-sheet — 
 
 Sleep, vanquished heroes, sleep! 
 
ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE JEROME. 
 
 You served a hated tyrant — true; 
 But History records that you 
 
 Rushed joyously to die: 
 We, wretched yoke-fellows, to shame/ 
 March tamely on, and dare not claim 
 
 That stainless memory. 
 
 Peace to the dead, and to their graves 
 Still preaching to the hearts of slaves 
 
 From out their mother Earth: 
 Watch we, obscure and separate, 
 The throes of Liberty, and wait 
 
 The long-expected birth. 
 
 And if this old ex-regal fool, 
 
 Who cowered beneath a leman's rule 
 
 But yesterday, must sleep 
 Minus a few extolling strains ; 
 The glory which the bard disdains 
 
 Belmontet's free to reap. 
 
23 
 
 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 A lady's reply to the advertisement of the Perpetual Commissioner, at 
 St. Leonard's, " for taking acknowledgments of Deeds of Married Women." 
 
 Obliging solicitor, kindly alert 
 
 With the deeds of poor women to meddle, pray 
 Have you no London agent sufficiently pert 
 Of their husbands to ask how they revel and flirt 
 
 (The wretches !) from Monday to Saturday ? 
 
 At the annnal meeting of the Genealogical and Historical Society, Lord 
 Ebury/ stated that, when called to the Upper House, he had thought of 
 adopting for his motto Mure (!) quid nitidius. (Times, July, 18, 1860.) 
 
 Sadly green, my Lord, even in thought, 
 To ask, of one's self, quid nitidius ; 
 
 But the man who could mention it ought 
 To be ticketed quid viridius. 
 
24 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 On the committal of a gentleman accused of intermarrying with a lady 
 named Annie, his first wife, Hannah, being still alive. 
 
 A shocking disease is a conjugal huff, 
 
 But the remedy's worse, (or, at least, very rough, 
 
 And what cockneys denominate vi'lent), 
 To change — having sounded your H long enough — 
 From Hannah to Annie, and then, wretched muff, 
 
 To find that your H wont be silent ! 
 
 On the presentation to Lord Elgin, on landing at Dover, April 11, 1861; of an 
 address from the Mayor and Corporation, read by their Town Clerk, 
 Mr. Knocker. 
 
 Take, Corporate Dover, a bit of my mind, 
 
 Nor deem me a trivial mocker : 
 When your guest has just been in a cabin confined, 
 
 You 'd much better tie up your Knocker. 
 
EPIGRAMS. 25 
 
 * Take, oh, take those lips away ! ' 
 
 A foul-mouthed Scotch publican, of Peckham, who was convicted (to the tune 
 of forty shillings) ' of abusive and insulting language,' assured the sitting 
 magistrate that, 'if he had to be born again, he would choose Scotland as 
 his birthplace.' (Times, May 23, 1861.) 
 
 Rejoice, land of Knox! here's a son of 'yer am' — 
 
 A Scot in invective excelling — 
 Of his birthplace so proud, you can have him again 
 For re-parturition! Meanwhile, would you deign 
 
 To coax him to make it his dwelling ? 
 
 'The pangs of his crucifixion may have been finally felt.' 
 {Cardinal Wiseman's Pastoral, on the position of the Pope. April 28, 1861.) 
 
 Very well — if your Eminence think it discreet — 
 Though the Vicar contrives to outlive them ; 
 
 But the parallel, Cardinal, isn't complete — 
 We're waiting for ' Father, forgive them!' 
 
26 
 
 SCRAPS OF BURLESQUE. 
 
 Air.— The King shall enjoy his own again. 
 
 Who could predict, when last we met 
 At Christmas time, such a deal of wet ? 
 I believe I've got the use of my eyes, 
 And, to some extent, can read the skies ; 
 
 But I certainly was floored — 
 
 All accustomed signs ignored— 
 And attempting to be weatherwise was all in vain: 
 
 G-ood Gracious, how it poured! 
 
 And the thunder, how it roared ! 
 May we never see the like of that rain again ! 
 
 Yet it wasn't a time to do Blackwall, 
 Or, in fact, to go out anywhere at all ; 
 And no end of gold and silver was saved, 
 In the shape of dinner excursions waived; 
 And the sweet perfume 
 Of the sewers didn 't come, 
 And the scent of Father Thames, too, wasn 't quite 
 so plain — 
 And very likely we, 
 Next August, may agree 
 That London would be sweeter with the rain again ! 
 
DIDACTIC. 
 
 The precept we ourselves of value find 
 
 Should be imparted freely to mankind: 
 
 The man whose steeds plump sides and sleeky coats get 
 
 Can' t ask too often, Do you bruise your oats yet? 
 
 ON THE FAILURES IN THE LEATHER 
 TRADE. 
 
 "Nothing like leather" — so the fable read, 
 
 Till pliant paper volunteered instead: 
 
 Now, leather's so like nothing in its gains, 
 
 The maxim sore in Bermondsey obtains, 
 
 That he who goes — though seemingly through clover — 
 
 Too oft to Overend ends in going over. 
 
 SOLILOQUY OF A BAFFLED TYRANT. 
 
 Ah me! we princes have been lately taught 
 To pause, when doing what we didn't ought: 
 There is a way to make a tyrant meeker — 
 The Red Shirt's proved The Genuine Eureka. 
 
28 
 
 1835—44. 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAY, 1835, AT ELSTREE, HERTS. 
 
 Full pleasant was the jocund talk, 
 Which, yestereve, that lonely walk 
 
 So shortened and beguiled; 
 And pleasant was the ample trace 
 Of welcome at our resting-place, 
 Where ruddy fire and cordial face 
 
 Both hospitably smiled. 
 
 But fairer sight and deeper joy 
 The senses and the heart employ, 
 
 This bright and beauteous morn! 
 To him " in populous city pent, 
 Forth issuing" on enjoyment bent, 
 ' Twould seem miraculously sent, 
 
 And of enchantment born. 
 
 No snow has fallen since our eyes 
 Were closed last night, nor thickly lies 
 
 On hill and plain and tree — 
 Yet is Dame Nature clad in white, 
 (As if prepared for festive rite,) 
 Which shows, in heaven's unclouded light, 
 
 Most clear and silvery. 
 
CHRISTMAS DAT, 1835, AT ELSTREE, HERTS. 29 
 
 Frost-wrought reality! how pale, 
 How poor to thee Arabian tale, 
 
 Or dream of fairy land ! 
 From loftiest elm to lowliest blade, 
 The landscape is in gems arrayed 
 Of matchless lustre, and inlaid 
 
 With " sweet and cunning hand." 
 
 Meet aspect for the earth to wear 
 On this the high day of the year, 
 
 This solemn holy-day — 
 Fit garb wherein to celebrate 
 The birth of the Immaculate, 
 Of Him who, greatest of the great, 
 
 In humblest cradle lay. 
 
 I would that all who see this hour 
 The goodness of Almighty power 
 
 In this fair scene displayed, 
 Might feel its influence, and know 
 That peace which cities ne'er bestow: 
 So may His kingdom come, and so 
 His law of love be here below 
 Known, honoured, and obeyed. 
 
30 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON THE ANNIVERSAEY OF CHARLES'S 
 
 MARTYRDOM: 
 
 January BOth, 1835. 
 
 Flag of my country! emblem of her power — 
 Her wide, hard- won dominion o'er the sea — 
 I better love to mark thee streaming free 
 
 From high mast-head, or floating from proud tower, 
 
 Than, as I now behold thee — in this hour 
 
 Of glad remembrance — to yon house of prayer 
 Discordant ornament. What dost thou there? 
 
 What but denounce the hirelings who deflower 
 
 Religion of her purity, and wed 
 
 Her spotless truth to foul hypocrisy, 
 
 In honour of his name who justly bled, 
 The martyred saint of baffled bigotry. 
 t Vain fraud! they cannot English hearts ensnare: 
 
 Milton and Hampden still are cherished there. 
 
31 
 
 PARAPHRASE OF ST. JOHN, XX. 1—17. 
 
 Easter, 1836. 
 
 Ere the grey dawn had touched Judsea's hills, 
 
 (The first day of the week, and third from that 
 
 Which saw the Man of Sorrows crucified,) 
 
 The tearful Magdalen arose, and came 
 
 Unto the Saviour's lonely sepulchre, 
 
 And saw, with sad amaze, the grave- stone rolled 
 
 Back from the door. So tremblingly she ran 
 
 To Peter, and the young disciple — him 
 
 Whom Jesus loved — and cried, ' Our woe is full, 
 
 The Lord is taken from the sepulchre, 
 
 Nor know we where his body has been laid.' 
 
 Then went they forth, and, with the eager haste 
 
 Of anxious love, together quickly ran. 
 
 And he whom Jesus, living, loved so well 
 
 Did outrun Peter, and first reached the grave. 
 
 He, stooping down, beheld the grave-clothes there, 
 
 Yet entered not ; but Peter, following, came, 
 
 And went into the sepulchre, where lay 
 
 The linen clothes in decent order spread, 
 
 The head-cloth separate : then he who first 
 
 Reached the tomb entered it, and sadly saw 
 
 That it was tenantless, and he believed ; 
 
32 PARAPHRASE OF ST. JOHN, XX. 1 — 17. 
 
 For yet they knew not Christ must rise again, 
 And, in that resurrection, prophecy 
 Be from the first fulfilled. Then went away 
 Those two disciples sadly to their home. 
 
 But Mary left not with them : she, whose love 
 And steadfast gratitude had overcome 
 Her woman's weakness and cast out all fear, 
 Who shrank not from the horrors of the Cross, 
 And braved the scoffs and taunts of Calvary — 
 She, weeping, stood without, yet not as one 
 Of hope deserted utterly, but, strong 
 In her true heart's defiance of despair, 
 Still lingered at the grave of him she loved. 
 So, as she wept, she stooped to gaze once more 
 Into the sepulchre, when, seated there 
 At either end, two angel-forms appeared 
 In heavenly raiment clad, which questioned her, 
 6 Woman, why weepest thou ? ' And Mary said, 
 (Angelic radiance glistening through her tears,) 
 ' Because my Lord is taken from his grave, 
 Nor know I where the body has been laid.' 
 Here, breaking off in sobs, she turned and saw 
 Jesus regarding her, but knew him not. 
 He saith unto her, ' Woman, lone and sad, 
 Why weepest thou? Whom seek'st thou here?' 
 To him thus Mary, pensively, ' If thou 
 Have borne him hence, oh, tell me, Sir, that I 
 May take him from the place where he is laid.' 
 
PARAPHRASE OF ST. JOHN, XX. 1—17. 33 
 
 And Jesus answered, 'Mary!' Then, amazed, 
 
 With beating heart and quivering lip, she cried, 
 
 * Rabboni ! ' but he answered, ' Touch me not, 
 
 For I am not as yet ascended hence 
 
 Unto my Father : to my brethren go, 
 
 And say that to my Father I ascend 
 
 And yours — to Heaven, and the God of alL' 
 
 FOR THE FIRST LEAF OF A SCRAP BOOK. 
 
 November, 1835. 
 
 The Fairest flowers, on which the eye 
 Delighted gazes, fade and die, 
 Meet emblems of mortality — 
 
 Types of all fair material things, 
 To which affection vainly clings — 
 Admonitory offerings. 
 
 From other, lighter hearts than mine 
 Springs the glad impulse to entwine 
 So transient wreaths for Beauty's shrine : 
 
 I rather chose to cull for thee — 
 Sweet food for thought and memory — 
 The undying flowers of Poesy. 
 
34 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Bravely the lone old forest tree 
 
 Survives his leafy prime — 
 A relic of England's past is he, 
 
 A tale of her olden time : 
 He has seen her sons, for a thousand years, 
 
 Around him rise and fall, 
 But well a green old age he wears, 
 
 And still survives them all. 
 
 For a thousand years around that tree 
 
 The careless child has played ; 
 And the lover's voice sweet melody 
 
 Beneath his branches made ; 
 And many an old grey head found there 
 
 A balm for the care-worn brow: 
 They played, they wooed, they toiled — they share 
 
 The same cold slumber now. 
 
 The Norman Baron his steed has reined, 
 And the pilgrim his journey stayed, 
 
 And the toil-worn serf brief respite gained 
 In his broad and pleasant shade. 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 The friar and forester loved it well, 
 
 And hither the jocund horn 
 And the solemn peal of the vesper bell 
 
 On the evening breeze were borne. 
 
 Friar and forester, lord and slave, 
 
 Lie mouldering, side by side, 
 In the dreamless sleep of a nameless grave 
 
 Where revelling earth-worms hide ; 
 And echo no longer wakes at sound 
 
 Of bugle or vesper chime, 
 For the keep and the belfry are ivy-bound 
 
 By the ruthless hand of Time. 
 
 But gentle and few with the stout old tree 
 
 Have the Spoiler's dealings been. 
 And the brook, as of old, is clear and free. 
 
 And the turf around as green. 
 Thus Nature has scattered on every hand 
 
 Her lessons since earth began, 
 And long may her sylvan teacher stand, 
 
 A check to the pride of man. 
 
36 
 
 SONG OF A RETURNED WANDERER, 
 
 1838. 
 
 Home of the early, -careless years 
 
 Which once your wanderer knew, 
 No face a smile of welcome wears 
 
 So tender and so true. 
 Familiar voices seem to sing 
 
 From wood and murmuring rill; 
 The sunshine of life's cloudless spring 
 
 Is resting on you still. 
 
 Old times and scenes before me glide, 
 
 To pensive memory dear ; 
 My sister's form is at my side, 
 
 My mother's voice I hear. 
 Old sights and sounds with starting tears 
 
 Rough manhood's eyes can fill: 
 Ah! ye long-vanished, happy years, 
 
 Your spell is on me still! 
 
37 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF A CAT. 
 
 (Elegiaco-didactic.) 1839. 
 
 Cats, like mankind, have differing lots in store; 
 Some Beauty's lap, and some the kitchen floor. 
 
 She, who below this rude memorial lies, 
 
 Ne'er felt the warmth of parlour sympathies. 
 
 To humbler sphere, from kittenhood, confined, 
 
 To the chance care of humbler hands resigned, 
 
 She meekly bore the unheeded exile's doom, 
 
 Nor deemed that earth contained a drawing-room. 
 
 Yet costly couch her place might fitly be, 
 
 For Puss, though scorned, was very fair to see; 
 
 Perfect her form, and clad in glossiest fur, 
 
 Graceful her mien, 'most musical' her purr; 
 
 Of temper tractable and aspect mild, 
 
 To her dull home serenely reconciled. 
 
 But lived she not unseen, unknown, nor there 
 
 Wasted her sweetness on a desert air: 
 
 Little recked she of luxury or show — 
 
 Upstairs neglected, she was prized below, 
 
 And ever welcomed there with fond caress, 
 
 And prideful looks, and words of tenderness. 
 
 And when, as evening closed, the guardian pair, 
 
 The kind providers of her daily fare, 
 
 Drew to the fire, from household duties free, 
 
 Italia's greyhound not more blest than she. 
 
 
38 INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF A CAT. 
 
 But Fate decreed her an untimely end — 
 Sad as feline biographer e 'er penned — 
 From miscreant hand unknown, fell poison's power 
 Smote and o'ercame her in a single hour. 
 (So the lorn gossips murmur o'er their tea, 
 Though no post-mortem solved the mystery.) 
 Thus closed poor Puss her blameless, brief career, 
 Without a will, yet not without a tear. 
 
 Slight not the sorrow in that tear confessed, 
 Deem not the memory of a brute unblessed. 
 No selfish interest its influence aids, 
 No self-reproach its quietude invades. 
 And a yet holier link should still remain, 
 Though Reason triumph, and Affection wane: 
 Creatures of God, oh, let us not disclaim 
 A common origin and kindred name; 
 The meanest creature still His hand declares, 
 Fulfils His purpose, and His bounty shares; 
 Object and portion of Almighty plan, 
 Which heeds the sparrow, as it cares for Man. 
 
39 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A SUN DIAL. 
 
 1844. 
 
 Creature of God, I whisper not alone 
 The sunny hour thou fondly deem'st thy own. 
 List : in this shadowed line the boundary lies 
 Of Past and Future — two Eternities. 
 
40 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Page 5. 
 
 From the Times, December 15, 1860. 
 
 Southwark Police Office.— Mr. Combe said that he 
 perceived an entry of a woman, name unknown, charged 
 with being drunk and incapable. He asked the reason 
 why she had not been brought before him in the usual 
 way. 
 
 Sergeant Kackstraw said, that unfortunately the poor 
 woman died shortly after her arrival at the Station-house. 
 Prior to that, she was insensible, and consequently they 
 were unable to ascertain her name and address. 
 
 Constable Perrin said he saw the woman lying on the 
 pavement, in the Cornwall Road, Lambeth, shortly after 
 one o'clock that morning. Her face was downwards and she 
 was quite insensible. He removed her to the step of a door, 
 and, finding her in a very bad state, conveyed her to the 
 Station-house, when the Divisional Surgeon attended, and 
 pronounced life to be extinct. 
 
 Mr. Combe asked if anything was known of her. 
 
 The constable replied that he believed she gained a 
 precarious subsistence by selling pencils from public-house 
 to public-house. He heard that she had been turned out 
 of one, quite drunk, at twelve o'clock, near the spot. 
 
 Mr. Combe marked the sheet off, " Died at the Station- 
 house." 
 
APPENDIX. 41 
 
 Page 20. 
 
 From the Athekzeum, August 25, 1860. 
 It is now stated that those pupils of the Palais Sorbonne, 
 who most energetically protested against the task of 
 writing a prize-poem in praise of the late Prince Jerome 
 have been expelled. To no purpose, we are inclined to 
 think ; for the compositions of this pliant minority are, if 
 possible, even more hostile to the Second of December 
 than the decided refusal of the expelled. The following 
 fragment of one of the prize-poems signalizes, in a 
 characteristic way, the spirit of the present youth of 
 France : — 
 
 Vous ne comprenez pas qu'il eut 6te plus sage 
 De laisser reposer cet homme en son tombeau ! 
 Vous voulez que prenant cette vie au passage, 
 La muse de l'histoire y porte son flambeau ! 
 
 Vous ne comprenez pas que nos veilles muettes 
 Ont de chacun de nous fait un republicain, 
 Que nous supportons mal nos fers, que nos poetes 
 Ce sont les Juvenal, les Hugo, les Lucain. 
 
 Oui, nous attendons tous, le cceur plein d'esperance, 
 L'heure si desiree et si lente a venir, 
 L'heure du grand re veil, l'heure sainte oii la France 
 Elle aussi du passe voudra se souvenir. 
 
 Vous ne comprenez pas que pour les jours prosperes 
 Nous reservons nos chants avec un soin jaloux ; 
 Qu'il en est parmi nous peut-etre dont les peres 
 Furent sacrifies par vos maitres, a vous ! 
 
42 APPENDIX. 
 
 Done h, propos d'un toit effondre" qui s'ecroule, 
 D'un debris surnageant qui tombe au fond de Feau, 
 A propos d'un z6ro disparu de la foule, 
 II faut parler de vous, 6 morts de Waterloo ! 
 
 II faut parler de vous parce qu'un vieux fant6me 
 Vivant h, peine hier, pourrit, sinistre et seul : 
 II faut aller troubler & propos d'un J6r6me 
 La paix de votre gloire et de votre linceul ! 
 
 O morts de Waterloo ! dormez dans la pou/ssi&re \ 
 Heros ne rouvrez pas vos yeux inanimes, 
 II n'est rien de commun entre votre ame alti&re 
 Et ce vieillard impur. O grands vaincus, dormez ! 
 
 Yous serviez un tyran, l'histoire en tiendra compte ; 
 Mais h, la mort, joyeux, vous courriez a grands pas ! 
 Nous qui, portant le joug, marchons droit a la honte, 
 A votre souvenir nous n'insulterons pas ! 
 
 Paix aux cadavres ! paix aux tombeau qu'on nous laisse, 
 Nous recueillant dans 1 'ombre et dans l'aust£rite* 
 Preparer h, l'eeart, sans peur et sans faiblesse, 
 Le long enfantement de notre liberte ! 
 
 Et s 'il faut au vieux roi qui dort aux Invalides, 
 Vieux fou qu'hier encore sa maitresse battait, 
 Quelques vers bien frapp6s, quelques hymnes splendides, 
 Nous en laissons la gloire a Monsieur Belmontet ? 
 
APPENDIX. 43 
 
 From the Athenaeum, September 8, 1860. 
 
 A French Correspondent wishes to make the following 
 statement on the subject of the recent prize poem — the 
 circumstances connected with which have caused so much 
 emotion in Paris, and surprise elsewhere : — 
 
 "Paris, September 1, 1860." 
 
 " Allow me to give you a few details respecting the prize 
 'poem on Prince Jerome, which was published in the Athe- 
 naeum of the 25th of August. The Eector and Professors 
 of the Paris University are the functionaries whose busi- 
 ness it is to choose the subjects for several prizes annually 
 competed for by the heaql pupils of the different colleges. 
 These gentlemen, anxious to show their zeal in behalf of 
 a Government to which they owe their situations, very 
 injudiciously selected the ' Death of Prince Jerome ' as 
 the theme for the compositions in Latin versification. 
 As might have been expected from a concourse of lads 
 whose fathers belong to any of the half-dozen political 
 parties at present existing in France, a certain number of 
 pupils refused to compete. One of them, however, (the 
 son of a Pole, whose political tendencies have brought 
 about his banishment both from his native country and 
 from France), instead of writing a copy of Latin verses, 
 sent up a poem in French, part of which was published in 
 the number of the Athenceitm above referred to. It is 
 much to be regretted that the Government thought fit to 
 inflict very severe punishment on this misguided, perhaps, 
 but certainly most talented youth. He has not only been 
 expelled from the College to which he belongs, but he 
 can no longer be admitted to any other college or to any of 
 the ' Special Schools,' such as the Ecole de Droit, the Ecole 
 de Medecine, the Ecole Polytechnique, &c. This practically 
 precludes the possibility of his following any of the 
 
44 APPENDIX. 
 
 i liberal ' professions in France. The pupils who refused to 
 compete were not expelled from their respective colleges ; 
 they were simply denied the privilege of competing for 
 any other prize. The Minister of Public Instruction and 
 Worship is, probably, responsible for this unmerited 
 severity. The Emperor cannot personally have authorised 
 a measure so calculated to diminish what popularity 
 he may have. Here is a fact, which happened a few years 
 ago, analogous to the above ; but which was attended with 
 far different results. A pupil of the College de Saint e- • 
 Barbe, now a rising and well-known author, was com- 
 petitor for the prize in French composition. The subject 
 chosen was ' Napoleon III.' As in the present instance, 
 many pupils refused to compete. He, however, wrote an 
 essay, remarkable both for its style and spirit, but quite 
 the reverse of laudatory. A few days afterwards, the 
 first prize was awarded to him. Having the honour to be 
 personally acquainted with the gentleman in question, 
 I can vouch for the authenticity of the above. Every one : 
 is at liberty to extract from it the moral he pleases." 
 
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