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 THE VILLAGE 
 
 ETC.
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 THE VILLAGE, 
 
 '■'A 
 
 /^/- ^'^^''''- ^^^^ 
 AND ^;~-^-,^ 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. PEE-RY 
 
 ' NATUKE, ENCHA^•TING NATtJEE, IN -WHOSE TOEM 
 
 AND LINEAMENTS DHTNE I TRACE A HAND 
 
 THAT ERRS NOT." 
 
 CO"WPER. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.
 
 cheltenham : 
 
 printed by maey hadley, journ^vl office, 
 
 queen's buildings. 
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.
 
 
 TO 
 
 THE REV. J. F. S. GABB, M.A. 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 - IS 
 
 (BY PERCUSSION) 
 
 INSCRIBED, 
 
 WITH GRATITUDE AND RESPECT, 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS OBLIGED SERVANT, 
 
 FREDERIC J. PERRY. 
 
 922016
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The Author of the following pages feels some timidity 
 in submitting them to a discerning Public. 
 
 An education, frequently interrupted by long periods 
 of physical suffering, and abruptly terminated by adverse 
 circumstances, may perhaps be an excuse for the absence, 
 from his work, of that elegance and finish which happily 
 appears in much of our Literature ; and when to this is 
 added his present arduous position as Master of a School, 
 he trusts his production will not be severely criticized.
 
 VI 
 
 The principal Poem (The Village) was written, at 
 intervals, amidst the beautiful scenery it attempts to de- 
 scribe : the shorter pieces are a selection from manu- 
 scripts, written from his fifteenth year to the present 
 time. 
 
 Chaelton Kings, 
 
 A^ml, 1853.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Village 
 
 9 
 
 Notes 
 
 43 
 
 The Old Stone Bridge ... 
 
 45 
 
 Sunset by the Sea 
 
 54 
 
 The Two Swords 
 
 56 
 
 To-Morrow 
 
 59 
 
 The Slave Mother 
 
 61 
 
 The Farewell ... 
 
 65 
 
 ■\Vhat is Wealth 
 
 67 
 
 A Harvest Scene 
 
 69 
 
 To the Skylark 
 
 75
 
 vm 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Child's Question ... 
 
 78 
 
 Glad news from the Emerald Isle 
 
 81 
 
 Why sleeps the Harp of Erin ? ... 
 
 83 
 
 The Ocean of Life 
 
 85 
 
 Persevere 
 
 87 
 
 More Light 
 
 89 
 
 Why do we mourn ? 
 
 91 
 
 List of Subscribers 
 
 93
 
 THE VILLAGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hail to thee, sea-girt Isle, -where beauty reigns ! 
 Thou happy land, where peace and plenty blend 
 In joyous harmony ! where right maintains 
 O'er might the mastery, when conflicts end. 
 Long may thy wooden walls thy shores defend ! 
 Long may thy towers unmolested be 
 By ruthless stranger ! Long raaj justice lend — 
 With innate love of glorious Hberty — 
 Its wrong-avenging arm to keep thy people free !
 
 10 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes, hail dear England ! But I -svould not dwell 
 On what has made, or will preserve thee free ; 
 To abler hands that task ; — nor need I tell 
 Why thou art Empress of the mighty sea. 
 Ambitious pens have soared, but mine would flee 
 Such lofty heights, and be content to write 
 Of humbler things. The bush, the brake, the tree ; — 
 Green hill, and valley ! — Sweetly all unite 
 To form a pleasant theme, — a theme, if humble, bright ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Bright, because taken from the book of Nature ; 
 That volume — ancient as Creation's birth ; 
 Its first page stamped by Him who formed the creature 
 With eyes to see, and hearts to feel its worth. 
 From Chaos by Omnipotence call'd forth. 
 It stands the test of all-destroying Time ; 
 For though the Autumn passes, and the Earth 
 In Winter garb appears, the Spring's sweet prime 
 Returns again, to re-commence its reign sublime.
 
 11 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, Nature ! lovely still, althougli the fall 
 Of thy great masterpiece beclouded thee ! 
 Still is the heart held captive at thy call ! — 
 Still thou art lovely — soul-entliralling — free — 
 And all but changeless ! Gaze upon the sea ! 
 Is it the same as when the Deluged land 
 Bore its wild waters in their revelry. 
 And groan'd beneath them, till th' Almighty hand 
 Eecall'd, and they roll'd back at the Divine command ? 
 
 V. 
 
 It is ; — and so is Earth ; — its towering mountains — 
 Its craggy steeps — endure from age to age. 
 Its running brooks — its rolling streams — its fountains — 
 Are still the same, save where volcanic rage 
 Uptm-ns its surface, rends, and stains the page 
 Which erst was calm and clear — serenely bright ! 
 
 But this is not my theme ; much to engage 
 
 The mind, and fill the bosom with delight, 
 I find in things around me, and of these would wTite.
 
 12 
 
 VI. 
 
 Who has not seen a village 'midst the trees, 
 Embower'd in pleasant green, and played upon 
 Alike by tempest's wrath, and gentler breeze. 
 Or faintest zephyr, when the glowing sun 
 Rides high in heaven, and from his azure throne 
 Pours his refulgent rays on all below ? 
 — The white, or ivied wall ; — the moss-grown stone ; — 
 The old church tower : — all revel in his glow ; 
 Nor shrink, or languish, as his hot beams fiercer grow. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Who has not gazed with pleasure on the scene, 
 Enrich'd with fields of waving, golden grain ; 
 Diversified with trees, and pastures green. 
 And flocks that crop the herbage off the plain ? 
 Who once has gazed, and would not gaze again. 
 On such a landscape, with its trees and flowers ? 
 Who would not linger where such beauties reign, 
 Regardless of Time's quickly fleeting hours ; — 
 Unheeding all but Nature, and her pleasing powers ?
 
 13 
 
 Till. 
 
 The humble dwelling, and the peasant's cot ; 
 The modest villa, and the stately hall ; 
 In time and place the wide view sweetly dot, 
 Kising from earth with low or lofty wall. 
 The latter, with their sculptured pillars tall. 
 Bespeak the hand of taste — the home of Art : 
 The former, unassuming, yet not all 
 Devoid of beauty, gently win the heart 
 By that simpKcity which no7ie would have depart. 
 
 IX, 
 
 Such is '' Our Village." Sure a sweeter one 
 Cannot be found on Albion's fruitful isle ! 
 Nature and Art both glitter in the sun ; 
 Content, in rivalry, to share its smile. 
 Oft will its pleasant scenes the heart beguile 
 From keen anxiety, and make it glow 
 "With love to all around. Full oft 'twill wile 
 When friends are few, and distant ; and below 
 None seem to heed, or cheer us, as we onward go.
 
 14 
 
 All places have some spots of greater beauty 
 Than those which meet the hasty, careless gaze. 
 And here are some — so rich, they make it duty 
 In us to give for them superior praise. 
 We think, with gratitude, and rapt amaze. 
 Of Him who clothes with green the liumhler sod ; 
 We think " How good ! how wondrous are His ways ! 
 What gorgeous gems surround us at His nod ! " 
 Yet praise not Nature's self, but Nature's bounteous God. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Who in " Our Village " has escaped the feeling 
 Which I would fain describe ? Who has not felt. 
 Under its influence, a softness stealing 
 Over the heart where harsh thoughts may have dwelt ? 
 — Here God has richly with his creatures dealt ! 
 Richly — that smiles may supersede the froAvn 
 With which care cloud's the brow. Care's frost must melt 
 'Neath Nature's genial sunshine. I have known 
 The time when grief has press'd ; — I've gazed and it has 
 flown.
 
 15 
 
 XII. 
 
 Ravensgate, gentle Battledowx, Glen fall. 
 
 Are ouis — or in " Our Village " — and we see 
 Their many beauties. Beauty shines in all ; 
 And all their beauties have a charm for me. 
 I love each one : — but first a word for thee. 
 Sweet Battledown ! I wonder that no song. 
 In measured notes, or ruder minstrelsy, 
 
 ■^ Has told the praises that to thee belong ! 
 
 Surely — in passing thee — the Muse has done thee wrong !* 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I oft have stood upon a towering cliff. 
 And gazed, enraptured, o'er the sunlit sea ; 
 (A boundless view, save where some fairy skiff 
 Upon the heaving waves rode cheerily) 
 Its dancing waters — unconstrain'd and free — 
 Lashing with gentle force the pebbly beach. 
 Have always, in their music, seemed to me 
 To breathe a language, though devoid of speech. 
 And chant with ceaseless voice the lays they cannot teach.
 
 16 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And I have ponder'd by the moonlit ocean. 
 Each time with kindlier feelings than before ; 
 For its gem'd waters call for soft emotion. 
 And stir within the breast a gentle awe. 
 And as its waves have broke upon the shore. 
 And glitter'd 'neath the silv'ry orb of night ; 
 I've thought — " Sweet sea ! I may behold no more 
 Thy broad, blue, heaving bosom ; yet no sight 
 On earth beside can fill me with such cahn dehght." 
 
 XV. 
 
 But when, sweet Battledown, from thy fair brow 
 I gaze — as oft I've gazed — I'm lost in love. 
 My thoughts will fly to where earth's waters flow. 
 And try if, by calm contrast, they may prove 
 Which is the sweetest scene. Kow the eyes rove 
 O'er emerald hills ; — now fancy paints the sea ; — 
 It vanishes ; — and, lo ! the pleasing grove. 
 Tree, shrub, and flower, in sweet reality 
 Appear, and to decide would be a task to me.
 
 17 
 
 XYI. 
 
 The ocean may be more sublime, and yet 
 Not bear the pahn for beauty. Were my lot 
 NoTV on its broad breast cast, could I forget 
 The scenes which once I loved ? Oh, no ! each spot 
 Would haunt my slumbers ; — none would be forgot : 
 Though lost to sight, my memory would dwell 
 Familiarly on each ; and I would not 
 Forbid it, though such retrospect might tell — 
 "The sea is more sublime, yet not more beautiful.''' 
 
 XVII. 
 
 This is no paradox, if one it seems ; 
 Beauty exists without sublimity : 
 The last with grandeur dwells ; the former beams 
 In all God's glorious works beneath the sky. 
 The snow-topped mountain ranges, towering high ; 
 The foaming torrent : these things are sublime : — 
 Whilst every pencil'd petal, which the sigh 
 Of the soft breeze scatters at even-time. 
 Claims beatcty for its own, nor vainly claims its prime. 
 
 B
 
 18 
 
 XVIIT. 
 
 But I digress ; the task I have begun 
 Must be continued till it reach its end. 
 And not an irksome, but a grateful one 
 It is ; for, as my willing steps I wend 
 Along the sloping path, all objects tend 
 To make me love it more. On, on I go : 
 Anxious to reach its summit, I ascend 
 The path which leads to Battledown : and now 
 The pleasing toil is past ; once more I gain its brow. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 I stand alone : a valley lies beneath 
 By Nature's generous hand supremely blest. 
 The rosy year has donned her summer wreath. 
 And all around in beauty's garb is drest. 
 Far spreads the vale, and bears upon its breast 
 A luscious load of flower-gem'd, fruitful green : 
 From Cotswold's barrier — stretching to the west — 
 It gains the loftier Malvern's ; and, between, 
 God's works appear in Nature : Man's in Art are seen.
 
 19 
 
 XX. 
 
 Art ! glorious offspring of the eye and mind ! 
 Thou too art here ; for, lo ! beneath my feet. 
 Thy works with Nature's beauties are combin'd ; 
 A pleasing sight ; a combination meet 
 For such a lovely spot. 'Tis truly sweet 
 To contemplate thy triumphs. The mind's eye — 
 In yonder Town — depicts its busy street ; 
 Its many piles of noble masonry ; 
 Raised, by the hand of Art, beneath a smiling sky. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But let us glance into the stream of years : 
 A century ago — was it the same ? 
 No ; for where yon white, gHttering town appears, 
 A few dark, straggling streets, unknown, to fame. 
 Alone were seen. But England's Moxarch came ; (') 
 Improvements followed Royalty ; and now 
 It stands, the proud possessor of a name. 
 Which even envious rivals must allow — ■ 
 The " Queen of Watering Places" — all before it bow. 
 
 R ^ 
 
 X> <v
 
 20 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Oh, Cheltenham ! much thou owest to Royalty ! 
 But more to Enterprise ! If things that were (') 
 Had been, unaltered, such a name for thee 
 Were but a mockery ! But some were near 
 To feel thy mean appearance, and to rear 
 Pile after pile ; and soon the straggling street 
 Wore a new aspect : thy salubrious air 
 Aided to make thee worthy to compete 
 With all, and now thou art of all the choice retreat. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And long may'st thou be such ; but now farewell ! 
 Keluctantly I turn my eyes away ; 
 But upon other objects they must dwell. 
 And warning Time forbids my longer stay. 
 Above — below — around ! all things are gay ; 
 For it is summer-time : the gentle gale 
 Is scented with the fragrant flowers of May ; 
 Each song-bii'd chants its oft-repeated tale ; 
 Charming the listener's ear — filling with life the vale.
 
 21 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 To climb the hill, to stand where now I stand. 
 And gaze where now I gaze, is ecstacy. 
 More with each glance I love my native land ! 
 Dear to my heart its scenes wiU ever be. 
 Let others talk of lands beyond the sea ; 
 But give to 7ne the calmer joys of Jiome, 
 And I will taste as rich delight as he 
 Who loves in far and foreign climes to roam. 
 And climb the lofty steep ; and stir the ocean's foam. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 My Native Land ! — Oh ! can there be a heart 
 That does not glow enraptured at the words ? 
 There's music in each tone, and all impart 
 Life to the breast, and wake its slumbering chords. 
 No earthly thing a purer joy affords. 
 Than the deep, voiceless music of the soul : 
 Strike but the note, and richly it rewards 
 With floods of heartfelt melody, that roll 
 In mute, yet magic strains, which nothing can control.
 
 22 
 
 XXTl. 
 
 But now farewell, sweet hill ! Amidst the grass 
 A beaten track slopes gently from thy brow. 
 I follow it, and as I slowly pass 
 Along its trodden course, fresh beauties grow 
 With each fresh turning. Wonder not, if now 
 I distance Battledown with less regret 
 Than erst I felt ; for as I onward go 
 By many a pleasant spot my gaze is met. 
 Well worthy of record, although unnoticed yet. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 With many a landscape, clothed in rich array. 
 The rural stroller cannot fail to meet. 
 Some basking fully in the sun's bright ray ; 
 Some — shrined in woods — more shelter'd from his heat. 
 Varied with shades — invite his wandering feet. 
 Where cooling zephyrs gently play, to tread. 
 And there he finds a more superb retreat : 
 Perchance a glen, with Nature's treasures spread — 
 Soft moss beneath the feet^ and boughs above the head.
 
 23 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 I love a quiet, deep, secluded gleu, 
 Where waving foliage fans the balmy air, 
 Where — distant from the busy hum of men — 
 Its noise comes not. Who would not wander there ? 
 Such haunts are sweet, and such an one is near : 
 E'en now its shaded entrance meets my eye : 
 Hail, Glenfall ! let me to thy shades repair, 
 Rich as thou art beneath a summer sky. 
 And seek, with a fresh view, new beauties to descry. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The shaded lane is passed, and now I gain 
 The bridge which spans the mimic ravine o'er : 
 Still doth the Glen its pleasing traits retain. 
 And others seem to rise, unseen before^ 
 Hark to the tumbling cascade's gentle roar ! 
 Let us descend, and view the falling stream. 
 See, the translucent, crystal streamlets pour ! 
 See, how the globules on the waters gleam 
 With momentary flash ! Like scatter'd pearls they seem.
 
 24 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And here the busy stream is ever flowing, — 
 Gliding like some huge serpent through the glade ; 
 While on its banks such sweet wild-flowers are growing 
 As shun the sun's fierce glow to seek the shade : 
 And some peculiar charm in each display'd. 
 Makes it a task to mark the favourite ; — 
 The harebell, in its garb of blue array'd ; 
 The trembling lily, robed in spotless white ; 
 Or smiHng pimpernel, in scarlet colors bright. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 "Wild flowers ! sweet wild flowers ! to my heart 
 How many happy, glowing thoughts ye bring 
 Of early days, before the busier part 
 Of my existence came ! Then was life's spring ; 
 In which — uncheck'd — a free and careless thing — 
 With blithe companions I was prone to rove. 
 Then oft the loud, applauding shouts would ring, 
 When — with the flowrets of the mead or grove — 
 The unartistic wreath by childhood's hand was wove.
 
 25 
 xxxn. 
 
 Wild flowers ! sweet wild flowers ! novo, as then, 
 Ye are beloved by me ; and as I tread 
 Along this picturesque, romantic glen. 
 Wild floral gems on every side are spread. 
 The fragrant wild-rose rears its blushing head ; 
 The wax-like star-flower, with its eye of gold ; 
 The spotted orchis, and the campion red ; 
 The meek blue bird's-eye, cast in delicate mould : 
 All, to the light of day, their varied charms unfold. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 And with the waving grass the cuckoo flower 
 To kiss the babbling brooklet often bends. 
 Here, too, the honeysuckle-scented bower — 
 Formed by some friendly, sheltering tree, which lends 
 Its grateful shadow — o'er the path extends. 
 Laden with perfumed bloom ; from which the song 
 Of many a happy, warbling bird ascends. 
 Awaking answering carols, loud and long ; 
 As if each leafy spray had found a thrilling tongue.
 
 26 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The mouldering trunk to which the ivy clings ; 
 The moss-grown stone beneath the ivy's shade ; 
 The varied foliage which the summer brings ; 
 The rustic seat beneath the branches made ; 
 The glen's steep sides with shaggy plants o'erlaid ; 
 The shrubs that rise in tangled mass to meet ; 
 The naked roots of trees to view display'd ; 
 The sturdy stems, with rugged knots replete : 
 Combine their many charms in this superb retreat. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 To be in such a favour'd spot as this. 
 And more — to tread its winding paths alotie / 
 To be surrounded by realities. 
 And yet no human echo save my own 
 Salute my ear : — to hear the gentle moan 
 Of the soft breeze, in melancholy mood ; — 
 To hear it broken by a livelier tone. 
 When busy birds their welcome notes intrude — 
 Make me almost in love with Nature's solitude.
 
 27 
 
 XXXTI. 
 
 Mistake me not ; — the mossy, rnsh-stre"WTi cell. 
 Alone and lonely, has no charms for me. 
 I would not be an anchorite, to dwell 
 From social intercourse estranged and free ; 
 For man to fellow man a prop should be. 
 Nor seek to fly when sorrow's shadows lower : 
 I from companionship would never flee — 
 Mine be that solitude, which for an hour 
 Sees undisturb'd God's works, andyee/sHis glorious power 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And such is here enjoyed : but, hark ! a sound 
 Disturbs its loneliness. Louder it swells. 
 Now sinking lower — now re-echoing round — 
 Sweetly its undulating music tells 
 What are its notes. They are the village bells ; 
 O'er hill and dale their measured numbers sweep ; 
 Each on the ear a fleeting moment dwells, — 
 "Wakes in the breast an echo, mute, yet deep, — 
 Then flics, as if in haste, from spot to spot to leap.
 
 2S 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Bells, village bells ! how many a heart ye gladden. 
 When gaily from your ancient tower ye peal : 
 And yet your voices have the power to sadden 
 When singly through the air their echoes steal. 
 The iron tongues that joyously reveal 
 A birth, or bridal, also speak of death ; 
 Waking emotions, which we can but feel. 
 When man — ^by God's decree — bereft of breath. 
 Falls, like the mellow corn, the reaper's hand beneath. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 I will away to where these chimes are playing. 
 Farewell, sweet Glen ! thy canopy of green. 
 Beneath the shade of which I have been straying, 
 I leave behind. The azure sky, serene. 
 Smiles on the pleasant path which lies between : 
 The birds still bear me welcome company ; 
 Still the wild flowers on either side are seen ; 
 Still the brook babbles onward, clear and free, 
 Filling the air around with liquid melody.
 
 29 
 
 XL. 
 
 Ye flowery banks and limpid stream, adieu ! 
 Let me retrace my steps without delay, 
 'Tis done. And now I will the path pursue 
 Which leads to yon old tower, tall and grey. 
 Boldly it stands ; the golden sun's bright ray 
 Disclosing every touch of light and shade. 
 Rendered conspicuous by the glare of day. 
 Each mark — by Time or other ravage made — 
 Appears ; — each moss-filled crevice is to view display'd. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 I gain the waU that skirts the grave-yard round — 
 Pass through the open gate — and now my tread 
 Falls, step by step, on consecrated ground. 
 Wherein repose the ashes of the dead. 
 Yes ; here, when the swift shaft of Death hath sped. 
 The coffin'd form is brought, and placed below : 
 To be with those that have been, numbered ; — 
 No more an earthly joy, or grief, to know ; — 
 No fear can chill its breast ! no hope can make it glow !
 
 30 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And, hark ! a dull and heavy sound I hear : 
 E'en now the sexton plies his gloomy trade. 
 The noise of falling pickaxe meets my ear ; 
 And, see ! a mound of fresh, damp earth is made 
 Upon the grass. There works the busy spade 
 Urged by a sinewy arm. The rich brown mould 
 By the grave's side with rapid hand is laid ; 
 And more, — for as I thoughtfully behold — 
 Start not ! — a tootliless skull close to my feet is roU'd ! 
 
 XLHI. 
 
 Poor remnant of mortality ! and thou 
 Hast lain corrupting in thy narrow bed ; 
 Perhaps forgotten, as Time's ebb and flow 
 Noted days, weeks, months, years ! since the soul sped 
 From its frail tenement, and left it — dead ! — 
 A thing inanimate ! — a mass of clay 
 Bereft of motion ! Inspiration fled 
 When Death's stern finger beckon'd it away. 
 To re-unite no more until the Judgment Dav.
 
 31 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Those eyeless sockets held the orbs of sight. 
 And living flesh once clothed that toothless jaw. 
 The glowing lips express'd the heart's delight ; 
 But hush'd in death could breathe its thoughts no more. 
 Sad wreck of Nature ! — But did Ave deplore 
 That 'neath the grassy sod thou had'st been lain, 
 'Twere wrong : for, though life's reign with thee is o'er. 
 And earth-worms fill the chamber of the brain, 
 God gave thee life and breath : — He took them back again, 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Poor crumbling relic of an age gone by. 
 We do not mourn that thou from earth art gone. 
 The all-wise God has willed it so. But why 
 From this — thy native earth — art thou upthrown ? 
 Why should the hairless, brainless head be shewn 
 Again above the soil ? Is not the tomb 
 An unmolested spot, when life has flown ? 
 Would that it were ! — we would not have its gloom 
 Disturbed, till all the dead shall rise to hear their doom.
 
 32 
 
 XLTI. 
 
 I am not superstitious, yet should shrink 
 Even to contemplate my last home — made 
 In any croivded spot. If on the brink 
 Of death, my wish would be — " Let me be laid 
 In some sequestered corner, where the spade 
 Will not upturn the turf, nor seek beneath 
 To place another form, till — qtiite decay'd — 
 Mine leaves no token of the hand of death, 
 And naught but dust survives destruction's icy breath." 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 I love a spacious, quiet burial place — 
 Serenely tranquil. One may linger there : 
 And the 'reft heart, in silence, may retrace 
 Loved forms, and gentle words, to memory dear. 
 In such a spot, the tributary tear — 
 Unseen by mortal — falls upon the mound 
 E-aised o'er the dead ; and many a moui-ner's care 
 Is softened, as he casts his eyes around 
 An^ feels that none intrude ; — each grave is sacred ground.
 
 33 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 But turn we from such thoughts, to gaze awhile 
 Upon the village Church ; let us di'aw near. 
 It is an ancient, venerable pile : 
 How massive does its masonry appear ! 
 What calm repose its grey walls seem to wear ! 
 Time-worn memorials of human skill. 
 Raised in past ages for a house of prayer. 
 Such it remains ; while — freed from human ill — 
 The hands that builded it have ages past been still. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Pass through yon Norman arch — the oaken door 
 Yields to the touch. Now, with uncovered head. 
 Pace reverently and slowly its stone floor. 
 Hark ! how the echoes mock the measured tread ! 
 Seeming like hollow voices from the dead : 
 And as they fall wpon the listener's ear. 
 Such thoughts as fill'd the Patriarch with dread 
 Creep to his heart ; — he feels that God is near : — 
 He thinks — " This is Heaven's gate ; — the Lord is surely 
 here ! " c
 
 34 
 
 L. 
 
 Through the stain'd windows streams the soften'd light ; 
 The spotless marble tablets deck the wall ; 
 The carved and polish'd oakwork meets the sight ; 
 The concave roof, sustain'd by pillars tall, 
 Unique and pleasing. Still, if this were all, 
 'Twere worthy nothing save artistic fame ; 
 But more is here ; — come when the soft chimes call 
 To sabbath worship ; then — in Jesus' name — 
 The doctrines of the Cross His ministers proclaim. 
 
 LI. 
 
 That, Cross, which eighteen hundred years ago. 
 Was hated, and pursued with fire and sword : 
 — Its persecutors anxious for the flow 
 Of Martyrs' blood, because themselves abhor'd 
 The holy doctrines of the Martyrs' Lord — 
 Is boldly here set forth. And this alone 
 Can gladness to the heavy heart afford ; — 
 This, and this only, hallows walls of stone. 
 And honors Him, to whom each heart is truly Jinown.
 
 35 
 
 XII. 
 
 The altar may be rear'd, but if the heart 
 Withhold the sacrifice, 'tis all in vain ; 
 The eyes may be uprais'd, the lips may part. 
 And breathe from earth to sky a prayerful strain ; 
 But in the heart must Godly sorrow reign. 
 Before 'tis pleasing to Jehovah's ear : 
 Then sacred is the space that walls contain, 
 When floats throughout it penetential prayer ; — 
 God's House is hallow'd then ; — His Spirit hovers there. 
 
 i-iii. 
 
 Thus may these walls for ever honor 'd be 
 
 Till days are past, and years shall be no more ; 
 
 Till Time is blended with Eternity, 
 
 And all are landed on that distant shore. 
 
 From which — though myriads have gone before — 
 
 None have returned — none ever can return ! — 
 
 There to exult with joy, or to deplore 
 
 Time, precious, wasted Time ! for ever gone — 
 
 To dwell in endless bliss, or ceaselessly to mourn. 
 
 (' "
 
 36 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And now I leave tliee, liallow'd^ favor'd pile ; 
 Once more to roam beneath a sky of blue. 
 Again I bask 'neath Nature's cheering smile ; 
 Again my search for village sweets renew, 
 Xor search in vain ; — what yonder meets my view — 
 Seemingly barren, yet with verdure crown'd ? 
 'Tis E.AVENSGATE ; — let me the path pursue 
 That gains its summit ; doubtlessly, around 
 Its lofty, grass-clothed tojj, much to admire is found. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Again the hill's steep, winding path I climb ; 
 Pausing anon, with quick and panting breath. 
 To turn and gaze upon the scene sublime. 
 That fills the spacious, spreading vale beneath. 
 Whilst, far above my head, an aqueous wreath 
 Of fleecy clouds forms chaplets for the brow 
 Of many a hill ; the pleasured vision seeth 
 Unclouded beauty in the vale below ; — 
 Wild wood, and daisied mead, in sunlit splendour glow.
 
 37 
 
 XVI, 
 
 Higher and higher still ; and now I gain 
 The top of Kavensgate. I look around : 
 As I surmised, unnumber'd beauties reign 
 Far as the eye can reach — to which the sound 
 Of Nature's music added, echoes round 
 In choicest harmony. If now I feel 
 A love for Nature's works — almost profound, — 
 It is no wonder ! Who would such conceal 
 That knows God gives her power such beauties to reveal ? 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The lowing cattle graze upon the hill ; 
 Tlie sheep-bell tinldes from the distant field ; 
 The nightingale sends forth her choicest trill ; 
 The thrush and linnet the same tribute yield ; 
 And all the feathered choristers, conceal'd 
 In yonder grove, pour forth their evensong ; 
 As if some melody but half reveal'd 
 Housed their best energies : for every tongue 
 Seems to outrival each in echoes loud and long.
 
 38 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The open fields are strewn witli fragrant hay 
 And the haymakers ply each sunburnt arm. 
 With good-will working cheerily away. 
 To load the wagons from the neighbouring farm. 
 See ! how, in haste, is raised the busy palm 
 To wipe the honest sweat from labour's brow : 
 And, hark ! a merry laugh ! — a potent charm. 
 Brought with its hearty mirth, comes o'er me now ; 
 Its very gladness seems to make my own heart glow. 
 
 xix. 
 
 But Time has rapid wings, and it is even. 
 The task is done ; the toilers homeward wend. 
 The bii'ds no longer cleave the air of heaven. 
 Nor their sweet songs to charm the listener lend. 
 The sun has reached liis daily joiu-ney's end. 
 And now is sinking in the glowing west ; 
 The sombre hues of night with daylight blend ; 
 The very breeze itself is hush'd to rest. 
 And sleeps, with all around, upon Earth's shaded breast.
 
 39 
 
 XX. 
 
 The evening cloud haK hides the sea of gold 
 In which old Cambria's summits brightly glow ; 0) 
 "While from its horizontal form is roll'd 
 The creeping mist that fills the vale below. 
 More indistinct familiar objects grow, 
 As fly the fleeting moments, one by one. 
 Slowly the gold-dyed west is changed. And now 
 Has night o'er half the world her reign begun. 
 And only memory tells where sank the dazzling sun. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Yet, though the sun has disappear'd, there reigns 
 An Empress — radiant from his borrowed beams : 
 Up in the sky his brightness still remains. 
 Although with softer, gentler light it gleams. 
 Sweet orb of night ! thy silv'ry radiance seems 
 To silence all things animate in sleep ; 
 And then to guard them in their noiseless dreams, 
 "While — from the azure vault of heaven — there peep 
 The tmy, twinkling stars, that with thee vigil keep.
 
 40 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yes, day is past — tlic moon is up — 'tis night ! 
 Where is the subject of my humble lay ? 
 — Half hid by misty shadows from the sight — 
 Till morning's glory melt night's shades away 
 " Our Village " must remain. And here would stay 
 This humble effort of a trembling hand. 
 If it has failed with justice to pourtray 
 These rural pictures of our native land. 
 Still, smile on the attempt, and its best thanks command. 
 
 I/XIII. 
 
 " Go little book from this my solitude," 
 Writes Southey, and I humbly quote his line. 
 My muse may be uncouth, — my rhythm rude, — 
 My verse unlettered ! — But the task was mine 
 To write, — and, reader, let the task be thine 
 To gently criticize, remembering 
 That kindly words will round the heart entwine 
 In sunny wreaths, while harsh ones often bring 
 Dark clouds, which o'er the mind their baneful shadows 
 fling.
 
 41 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Go little book," and should tliy faulty page 
 Meet the approval of one friendly eye ; — 
 If but one simple thought of thine engage 
 A kindred heart in kindly sympathy ; — 
 Or if a friend of happy days gone by — 
 Thinking with pleasure of those happy days — 
 Breathe o'er departed joys a friendly sigh 
 In memory of him who penned thy lays, 
 He asks no more reward — no loftier earthly praise.
 
 NOTES 
 
 (1.) George the Third visited Cheltenham in July, 1788. 
 
 (2.) A hundred years ago, water ran through the principal 
 stree't; and, in hot, dry -weather, frequently stagnated, andbecame 
 very offensive. The houses were inconvenient, their doors unnum- 
 bered, and the accommodation for visitors extremely mean. 
 
 (3.) The Welsh Mountains are distinguishable from Ravens- 
 gate.
 
 THE OLD STONE BRIDGE. 
 
 [Crowland, or Croyland, in Lincolnshire, is a small market town 
 celebrated for the magnificent ruins of its once splendid Abbey, 
 and for the oldest bridge in England. 
 
 The Abbey was founded by Ethelbald, King of Mercia, in 
 716, for the reception of Black Monks. It was burnt by 
 the Danes in 870, refounded by King Edred in 948, and again 
 destroyed by Are in 1091. It was rebuilt in the year 1112, 
 and again burnt about thirty years afterwards. Notwithstand- 
 ing its having been thrice destroyed by fire, it was again 
 rebuilt between 1142 and 1170, and continued in great splen- 
 dour till the general dissolution of such places in the reign 
 of Henry VIII. The ruins arc highly interesting. A portion 
 . is roofed, pewed, and used as the Parish Church.
 
 46 THE OLD SIONE BKIDGE. 
 
 The Bridge is a great curiosity, supposed to have been built 
 in 860. It consists of three semi-arches, -whose bases stand 
 on the circumference of a circle, equidistant from each other. 
 These arches, uniting at the top, form a singular Bridge of 
 triangular form, upon which is a specimen of Saxon sculpture, 
 believed to have been intended for Ethelbald. As it js 
 but a short distance from the Abbey, I have connected them 
 in the following little poem, in which the accuracy or in- 
 accuracy of so trifling a thing is immaterial. I name this, 
 because I have been informed that the bridge was built to 
 connect those parts of the town divided by the stream over 
 which it is thrown : the fact, however, of the statue of the 
 founder of the Abbey being placed upon the old bridge renders 
 my idea not an improbable one. 
 
 The bridge is only used for foot passengers, being too steep 
 and narrow for carriages.] 
 
 Day had fled, and evening's shadows cast o'er earth 
 
 their gloom again : 
 Naught but dun and dusky outlines saw I from the 
 
 window pane.
 
 THE OLD STONE BRIDGE. 47 
 
 On the hearth a few Mnt embers, flickering ever and 
 
 anon, 
 Only made all objects darker Avhich their light had 
 
 shone upon. 
 
 ]Many a fancied form came starting with their distant, 
 
 fitful gleams. 
 Such as grace a retrospection, or appear in midnight 
 
 di-eams. 
 
 All was still ! The night grew older, yet not darker ; 
 
 for I saw 
 Light — ^in long, illumined pencils — glow upon the oaken 
 
 floor. 
 
 'Twas the silver of night's beacon, which had risen 
 
 round and bright. 
 And in place of sombre twilight gave a less uncertain 
 
 light.
 
 48 THE OLD STONE BRIDGE. 
 
 Sweet it is alone to ramble when the moon is full 
 
 and clear ! 
 Therefore forth at once I wandered through the silent 
 
 evening air. 
 
 Musing on, with measured footstep ;— onward still, till 
 
 in the way 
 Stood the Old Stone Bridge of Crowland with its 
 
 triune arches grey ; 
 
 And upon it — where the moonbeams had not yet their 
 
 silver thrown — 
 Was its rudely sculptured figure, seated on a block of 
 
 stone. 
 
 Moonlight often brings strange fancies, and I felt them 
 
 stealing fast, 
 As I lingered for a moment by this relic of the 
 past.
 
 THE OLD STONE BKIDGE. 49 
 
 " What art thou, thou strange memorial ? when placed 
 
 here ? and why ? " I said, 
 But I started ; — for the moonbeams now their light 
 
 upon it shed. 
 
 And uprose that old stone figiirc, seeming to my 
 startled sight. 
 
 Some resuscitated vampire, standing in the pale moon- 
 light. 
 
 Every time-worn, battered feature wore its pristine 
 form anew ; 
 
 Stony eyes in stony sockets strangely bright and life- 
 like grew ; 
 
 Lip from lip appeared to sever, and upon the silent 
 
 air 
 Thus to breathe the strange narration, which I felt 
 
 constrained to hear : — 
 
 D
 
 50 THE OLD STONE BRIDGE. 
 
 " Years have rolled with ceaseless motion — even cen- 
 turies have flown 
 
 Since the Sculptor's ready chisel formed me from a 
 block of stone. 
 
 " Ere the petty Saxon Monarchs stained with blood 
 
 the groaning land. 
 When the old Heptarchial system fell 'neath Egbert's 
 
 conquering hand, 
 
 " Yonder ruin — which thou seest crumbling, desolate, 
 
 and old — 
 Was a tall and stately Abbey, rich in costly gems and 
 
 gold. 
 
 " Founded by a Mercian Monarch, soon it rose to 
 
 wealth and fame : 
 Palmers, Monks, and portly Abbots, wondering at its 
 
 greatness, came.
 
 THE OLD STONE BEIDGE. 51 
 
 " Lands, by wealthy donors added, grew in number 
 
 year by year. 
 Till the story of its riches caused amazement far and 
 
 near. 
 
 " Then — ^to join such vast possessions — o'er the stream 
 
 this bridge was cast. 
 And myself — a stony guardian — by its massive wall 
 
 was placed. 
 
 " Dost thou ask for whom intended ? — I will tell thee : 
 
 I was called 
 By all tongues, the Abbey's founder. King of Mercia, 
 
 Ethelbald ! 
 
 " Thrice did fearful conflagrations rase that Abbey to 
 to the ground -, 
 
 Thrice rebuilt with greater splendour — stiU for count- 
 less wealth renowned — 
 
 D 2
 
 52 THE OLD STONE BEIDGE. 
 
 " Till — amidst the dissolution under Harry's iron 
 
 reign — 
 Fell its long-established greatness never more to rise 
 
 again. 
 
 " But this ancient Bridge has never been molested 
 
 save by Time ! 
 Naught beside its strength has weakened ! — naught 
 
 beside has marred its prime ! 
 
 " Time will one day quite destroy it ! — Time, that 
 
 laid yon Abbey low ! 
 
 'Neath its finger all must crumble — all things, mortal, 
 
 even thou ! " 
 
 Thus it ceased — that old stone figure ! Mist around 
 
 it seemed to rise ; 
 And a sudden tremor seized me, for — ^before my 
 
 startled eyes —
 
 THE OLD STOKE BKIDGE. 53 
 
 Figure, Bridge, and crumbling ruin, fled, as flies the 
 
 cloud of night. 
 When the sun — in morning's splendour rising — bids it 
 
 take its flight. 
 
 Was it real ? Up I started. No ! 'twas surely all a 
 
 dream ! 
 All was fancy but the moonlight, which continued still 
 
 to stream 
 
 Through the window : — for I found me resting in my 
 
 sleeping room : 
 I had slept, and in my slumbers this fantastic dream 
 
 had come.
 
 SUNSET BY THE SEA. 
 
 Did fabled Halcyons their offspring rear 
 In the vast meadows of the pathless deep, 
 
 'Twere surely now ; for scarcely doth the air 
 Ripple its glassy breast. The breezes sleep ; 
 And crestless o'er the beach the sluggish waters creep. 
 
 The sea seems like a mirror, and its face 
 Retains, with exquisite effect, the hue 
 
 It borrows from the sky. 'Tis hard to trace 
 
 The point, precisely, where bright blue meets blue 
 They join, and joining form one vast expansive view. 
 
 And now the sun descends, and as he lowers 
 Clouds rise to welcome him, and not in vain, 
 
 For as his glory he profusely showers 
 
 In dazzling, gem-like light, iipon the main. 
 Themselves are edged with gold in honor of his reign.
 
 SUNSET BY THE SEA. 55 
 
 Lower lie stoops, and stooping seems to kiss 
 
 The lips of ocean ; nor does she refuse 
 This parting token of his gentleness. 
 
 But welcomes it : blushes her face suffuse, 
 And sea and sky are dyed with gold and crimson hues. 
 
 And thus he sinks, yet sinks to rise again ; 
 
 For ere the blush his kiss has caused is gone. 
 O'er other lands begins his ceaseless reign. 
 
 And other seas his glory plays upon. 
 Till Time their evenmg brings and gives us back our morn. 
 
 And thus, as gently, does the Christian sink ; 
 
 Life fades for him, nor more on earth may rove 
 His feet ; yet calmly rests he on the brink 
 
 Of death, beheving he shall reign above — 
 Throned in that better land of Light, and Life, and Love,
 
 THE TWO SWORDS. 
 
 On the wooded bank of a winding stream 
 
 A red-skin'd warrior stood ; 
 Bright was his eye with a savage gleam. 
 
 And his knit brow wore a cloud : 
 A reeking scalp his fingers clasp'd 
 
 And the red drops — one by one — 
 On the tomahawk fell, which by strong hand grasp'd 
 
 A terrible deed had done.
 
 THE TWO SWORDS. 57 
 
 '' Oh why," he said, " did the white man come 
 
 To the trackless forest wild ? 
 Why envy the simple wigwam-home 
 
 Of the red-skin'd forest child ? 
 His words were fierce to a red man's ear. 
 
 And fiercer his deed than word ; 
 But the chief will never a white man fear. 
 
 Nor yield to his glittering sword !" 
 
 Years fled, and again by that flowing stream 
 
 The self-same warrior stood ; 
 No longer his eye bore a savage gleam. 
 
 Nor his brow an angry cloud ; 
 But a placid smile o'er his features ran 
 
 As a form met his anxious sight ; 
 And he eagerly welcomed an aged man. 
 
 Though the skin of that man was white.
 
 58 THE TWO SWORDS. 
 
 " There's joy," he said, " to the red man's breast 
 
 In the glance of the white man's eye. 
 Come, tell him again of that peaceful rest 
 
 In the land beyond the sky. 
 Read of the white, and the red man's Lord, 
 
 AVhen this sinful earth he trod." 
 — He had yielded at length to the white man's sword, 
 
 But that sword was the "Word of God !
 
 TO-MORROW. 
 
 To-morrow ! Speak not of to-morrow 
 When work may be finished to-day. 
 To-morrow ! Why wait till to-morow ? 
 What good ever sprang from delay ? 
 'Tis well to have due hesitation 
 
 When inducements to action appear ; 
 But away with the procrastination 
 
 That shrinks because trouble is near. 
 
 To-morrow ! Speak not of to-morrow ! 
 How weak is the solace they borrow 
 Who think they alleviate sorrow 
 By shrinking when troubles appear.
 
 60 TO-MOEEOW. 
 
 To-morrow ! — Beware of to-morrow, 
 
 Though brilliant its promise may be. 
 To-morrow ! — delusive to-morrow ! 
 
 There may be no morrow for thee ! 
 Then idler, arise, and endeavour 
 
 To work wliile the day is thy own ; 
 Remembering that soon — and for ever — 
 To add to the past 'twill have flown. 
 
 To-morrow ! Beware of to-morrow ! 
 If thou wouldst alleviate sorrow. 
 Meet it boldly, nor vain excuse borrow. 
 But work while to-day is thy own.
 
 THE SLAVE MOTHER. 
 
 Calm was the Mississippi's stream 
 
 As, upon its tranquil breast, 
 A foaming farrow a vessel plough'd ; 
 
 And the drops from its feathery crest 
 "Were scattered, and sank, like pearls that sought 
 
 In its hidden caves a rest. 
 
 "Water lilies in gorgeous fields 
 
 "Were over its bosom spread ; 
 Palmettoes graced its banks, and there 
 
 The lotus reared its head ; 
 "While blossoms of tall magnolia trees 
 
 A grateful fragrance shed.
 
 62 THE SLAVE MOTHER. 
 
 Curtains of vine from Nature's loom 
 
 "Were stretched from bough to bough ; 
 
 Clusters of fruit hung down to meet 
 The flowers that grew below ; — 
 
 Quiver'd they all as the zephyr crept 
 The leafy barrier through. 
 
 Yet by all this beauty that vessel swept, : 
 
 Itself — an accursed thing ! 
 For it carried a cargo of shackled slaves : 
 
 And a curse must ever cling 
 Where gyve, and chain, and torturing lash 
 
 Men for their fellows bring. 
 
 Transcendently beautiful all things were. 
 But they drew from the slaves no smile. 
 
 For the cedar seemed pointing with outstretch'd arm 
 To a land of ceaseless toil, 
 
 "Where the scourge would cut, and their anguish'd tears 
 Like rain would wet the soil.
 
 THE SLAVE MOXHEB. 63 
 
 A mother "was there, whose infant boy 
 
 Was sold ; they would meet no more ! 
 
 She had seen his stretch'd-out hands, and heard 
 His cry, as they left the shore : 
 
 Those fingers seemed clutching her heart, and that cry 
 Had entered its inmost core. 
 
 She sullenly sat on the slaver's deck : 
 
 Never a word she said ; 
 Her eyes were fixed ; — from her rigid lips 
 
 The power of speech seemed fled : — 
 Dull were the throes of her aching heart — 
 
 'Twas heavy and cold as lead. 
 
 Night came, and its thousand stars looked out 
 
 On river, and bank, and wood ; 
 Voices were hushed ; — the wiuds were still ; — 
 
 'Twas midnight solitude ! 
 But that mother slept not — with manacled hands 
 
 Upon the deck she stood.
 
 64 THE SLAVE MOTHEE. 
 
 And now like lightning glanced her eye 
 O'er sky, and stream, and shore : 
 
 A fearful thought — a hurried prayer — 
 She would be a slave no more ! 
 
 A rush — a plunge — a bubbling groan ; — 
 And the waves her corse rolled o'er ! 
 
 No mortal saw that fearful plunge ; 
 
 God only heard that groan ! 
 
 * * * * * * . 
 
 Beautiful still were the twinkling stars. 
 And calmly rode the moon ; 
 
 But where was she when the vessel swept 
 Into the calm lagoon ?
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 The last words of a celebrated Minister of the Gospel were 
 " Farewell !— Farewell ! " 
 
 Farewell ! 
 My soul is yearning for eternal glory — 
 For heavenly joys, tintolcl in worldly story ; — 
 
 And none can tell 
 The hopes whicli now my panting heart can cherish. 
 Before the faint flames of my life's lamp perish ; 
 
 Life — prized too well ! 
 
 Farewell ! 
 My fluttering spirit in my bosom hovers 
 As if it fain would linger, but discovers 
 
 It must not stay ; 
 But swiftly fly — to purer realms proceeding ! 
 There to enjoy (no intermission needing) 
 
 Eternal day.
 
 66 THE FAKEWELL. 
 
 " Farewell ! 
 Serapliic music seems around me stealing, 
 And mission'd Death will soon — my eyelids sealing — 
 
 Bid me appear 
 Before that awful God, whose word is power. 
 And through whose grace in tliis, my dying hour, 
 
 I do not fear. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 Weep not ! for as I leave this world of mourning, 
 My crumbling bones, to native dust returning, 
 
 A tale will tell 
 Of life's weak thread on which hangs earthly pleasure. 
 And point to Heaven for its consoling treasure ; — 
 
 Farewell ! — Farewell ! "
 
 WHAT IS WEALTH ? 
 
 What is wealth ? Go watch the miser 
 Poring o'er his darling gold : 
 
 See his fingers clutch the treasure 
 Counting it, though often told. 
 
 Is this wealth ? — does he possess it ? 
 Can it brmg him lasting bliss ? 
 
 No ; it does not make him happy. 
 
 Therefore wealth is more than this. 
 E 2
 
 68 WHAT IS WEALTH ? 
 
 What is wealth ? To have broad acres ? 
 
 To be proudly housed and fed ? 
 No ; the mansion may be stately. 
 
 And the acres widely spread ; 
 Yet their owner's heart may sadden — 
 
 Even envy — as he sees 
 Fancied peace with vaster riches ; 
 
 Therefore loealth is more than these. 
 
 "What is wealth ? Where shall we seek it 
 
 If not found in golden hoards ? — 
 Wealth is that which brings contentment 
 
 Greater far than gold affords : — 
 Plenteous Grace, which God, its giver. 
 
 Pours with ceaseless mercy down. 
 Sought by constant supplication — 
 
 This is wealth ! and this alone.
 
 A HAEVEST SCENE. 
 
 The clear unbroken roof of spotless blue 
 
 Stretch'd over earth its giobe-like form sublime. 
 
 No mists to hide its brightness lent their hue ; 
 No straggling cloud assayed its arch to climb ; 
 
 Naught to obstruct the wide-extending view 
 
 Appear'd ; — and sweet that view, for Harvest time 
 
 Had bountifully come. The fruitful plain 
 
 Seemed groaning with ripe fruit and golden grain.
 
 VO A HARVEST SCENE. 
 
 The sturdy reapers 'neatli the burning sun. 
 
 Swept down the yellow corn with sickles keen. 
 
 The busy binders following, one by one 
 
 Were bound the heavy sheaves, which soon were seen 
 
 Uprising where the reapers' work was done. 
 Many together stood ; nor far between 
 
 Each group the space ; for standing stubble told 
 
 How thick had waved the miniic rods of gold. 
 
 Still worked each busy hand, despite the heat 
 
 Which caused the sweat in bead-like drops to flow : 
 
 Each anxious seemed to see his task complete. 
 
 Nor cared for burning cheek, or moistened brow ; 
 
 But, willing with each rival to compete 
 For mastery in toil, such honest glow 
 
 Fresh impulse gave : in haste the toil-bought rain 
 
 Was swept away, and work resumed again.
 
 A HARTEST SCENE. 71 
 
 But, hark ! a hollow moan (a warning sound 
 
 When Sol has fiercely reign'd, and all been calm) 
 
 Swept o'er the plain. The reapers looked around ; 
 Motionless now, and stilled the sturdiest arm. 
 
 They heard the breeze in fitful gusts resound ; 
 They heard the birds, with unconcealed alarm. 
 
 Warn with their cry each mate to seek its home, 
 
 And court its shelter ere a storm should come. 
 
 Moan after moan ; — and now the waken'd gale 
 
 From the horizon's verge thick vapours brought : 
 
 Soon o'er the sky it spread a darker veil, 
 Excluding all the blue, as if it sought 
 
 To hide all brightness : then ysitli angry wail 
 
 It piled dark cloud on cloud with lightnings fraught ; 
 
 Till, where bright sky and smiling sun had been. 
 
 Their pall of clouds and mist alone was seen.
 
 72 A HARVEST SCENE. 
 
 Then gleam'd the steel — yet not in solar ray ! 
 
 Then bowed the corn — yet not 'neath reaper's stroke ! 
 But flashed the sickles with the lightning's play. 
 
 And the corn stooped when deafening thunders broke. 
 Down came the rain : — the reapers sped away 
 
 To find them shelter 'neath a neighbouring oak. 
 Forgetting that, if they from danger fled, 
 A greater lurked where they for shelter sped. 
 
 But as the lurid flame with fiercer glare 
 
 Burst through the gloom, each one remembered well 
 
 A naked trunk and withered branches bare — 
 By lightning blasted — in a neighbouring dell. 
 
 The picture of its body, black and sear, — 
 In language painted — acted as a spell ; 
 
 Each felt him insecure, nor would remain. 
 
 But rather chose to brave the drenching rain
 
 A HARVEST SCENE. 73 
 
 Well was tliat choice : for soon a zisfzagr flash 
 Struck with its fiery dart the forest king : 
 
 Down did the stroke its splinter'd branches dash ; — 
 It stood — a stricken, barkless, blighted tiling ! 
 
 Then quickly came the thunder's deafening crash ! 
 One startled glance the reapers round did fling, 
 
 Then cast themselves to earth in wild afiright. 
 
 Closing their eyes to hide the fearful sight. 
 
 Oh, God ! how terrible in wrath art Thou ! 
 
 Who that has watched such elemental might. 
 And seen the forest's pride before it bow 
 
 As bends the slender reed, has let the sight 
 Pass, without feeling that o'er aU below 
 
 Thy power's Omnipotent to bless or blight ; 
 And felt — when these Thy wonders were display'd — 
 How puny man ! — how weak his boasted aid ! 
 
 *******
 
 74 A HAKVEST SCENE. 
 
 The storm was husli'd ! Unclouded and serene 
 
 Rode the bright sun, and with its brightness brought 
 
 Such beauty, that to tell a storm had been 
 
 One must have known the ravage it had wrought ; 
 
 For — save the stricken tree — could naught be seen 
 But stood with all the sweets of Autumn fraught ; 
 
 And all that had withstood the sweeping blast 
 
 But smiled more sweetly when its rage was past.
 
 TO THE SKYLARK. 
 
 Up with thee, up ! in the morning air. 
 
 When the rising sun — the shades dispelling — 
 From the horizon begins to peer. 
 
 And fills with brightness thy boundless dwelling. 
 When the pearly dew 
 
 Fills the daisy's cup. 
 And spangles the grass. 
 
 Then up with thee up ! 
 I love thee then. 
 
 When thy music flows ; 
 A morning thanks 
 
 For a night's repose.
 
 76 TO THE SKTLAKK. 
 
 Up with thee, up ! when the heat of noon 
 
 In cloudless rays to the earth is streaming ; 
 Pour from thy throat a melodious tune, 
 
 "While thy fluttering form in the sun is gleaming : 
 When firuitful boughs 
 
 'Neath their burdens bend. 
 And blushing blossoms 
 
 Their fragrance lend ; 
 I love thee then, 
 
 For thy stirring lays 
 Appear to my heart 
 Like songs of praise. 
 
 Up with thee, up ! when the distant west 
 Waits for the sun which is fast descending : 
 
 Hover and sing till he's sinkmg to rest. 
 
 An d the lengthened shades are with darkness blending.
 
 TO THE SKYLARK. 77 
 
 I love tliee tlacn, 
 
 For thy music seems 
 A warble d prelude 
 
 To placid dreams. 
 Tlien hover and sing 
 
 Till the day is past. 
 And sink to thy nest 
 
 In the waving grass.
 
 THE CHILD'S QUESTION. 
 
 *' Mother, dear motlier," a fair child said, 
 " "Why are those grey hairs on your head ? 
 Will mine be so when I am old ? " 
 And, smiling, she shook her locks of gold. 
 The mother looked sad ; then breathed a sigh ; 
 And a tear for a moment dimmed her eye 
 As she softly answered — " Sorrow and Care, 
 My child, will whiten the darkest hair."
 
 THE child's question. 79 
 
 " SorroAV and Care ! " said the thoughtful child ; 
 And that face was sad which before had smiled 
 As she saw on her mother's cheek the tear 
 Her artless question had summon'd there : — 
 " Mother, weep not ! I should like to know — 
 Yet would not be told if it pain you so — 
 "What are Sorrow and Care ? — and if anything 
 Can soften the troubles they seem to bring ? " 
 
 " My child," said the mother, " too soon you will knoAV — 
 For all upon earth have their share of woe — 
 That Sorrow and Care — like a dreary cloud 
 Excluding the sun — the heart's joy's enshroud. 
 Deep, deep, is their gloom ! — But you ask, is there none 
 To soften its shadows ? — Yes, child, there is One — 
 Even God ! — who can soothe the most heart-stirring care ; 
 With Him to console there is nothing to fear.
 
 80 THE child's question. 
 
 Years fled, and tlie promising bud had blown, — 
 The golden-hair'd child a woman had grown. 
 Her face still smiled, but a graver shade 
 Declared her acquaintance with sorrow made. 
 No longer she wondered that anxious care 
 Should furrow the features or whiten the hair ; 
 And — with joy I tell — she had learned to fly 
 To her God for relief when such care was nigh.
 
 GLAD NEWS FROM THE EMERALD ISLE. 
 
 Written upon reading an article in the " Churchman's Penny Magazine" 
 
 for June, 1852. 
 
 Have you heard the glad news from the Emerald Isle ? 
 
 The banner of Truth is unfmd'd ; 
 All flock to the standard, and soon will the smile 
 
 Of Erin be seen by the World ! 
 Too long has she groan'd beneath tyranny's hand. 
 
 And fast have her fetters been bound ; 
 But a glorious light has sprung up in the land, ' 
 
 And 'tis shedding its brightness around.
 
 82 GLAD NEWS TKOM THE EMERALD ISLE. 
 
 Sweet Erin ! thy children at altar and shrine 
 
 Have long bowed with idolatrous fear ; 
 But we trust that the glorious Gospel, divine. 
 
 Has commenced a victorious career. 
 No more shall the dark mist of ignorance shroud. 
 
 Nor the curses of priestcraft appal : 
 Superstition will fly, like a storm-driven cloud. 
 
 When the Bible is offered to all. 
 
 Ye children of Erin, arise and be glad. 
 
 For that Bible is offered you now ! 
 And over the hearts, which in darkness were sad. 
 
 The light of its Gospel shall glow. 
 Be thankful, be prayerful, and then will your land 
 
 In happy prosperity smile ; 
 And again shall a voice to our sea-beaten strand 
 
 Bring — " Glad news from the Emerald Isle ! "
 
 WHY SLEEPS THE HARP OF ERIX -? 
 
 Suggested by the Rev. A. Boyd's sermon upon the Irish Missions, 
 
 November 14, 1852. 
 
 Why sleeps the Harp of Erin now ? 
 
 Arise, ye Bards ! attune its strings. 
 And bid its magic numbers flow 
 
 In sweetly grateful murmurings. 
 Awake the chords that long have slept. 
 
 Nor more let falsehood to them cling. 
 
 The gloom has fled which o'er them crept. 
 
 And Tkuth and Peace ye now may sing. 
 
 F 2
 
 84 WHY SLEEPS THE HAKP OF ERIN. 
 
 From north to south, — from east to west, — 
 
 O'er grass-clad plains, — through tangled brakes ;- 
 Floating on Shannon's rolling breast. 
 
 And spreading o'er Killarney's Lakes : 
 From fruitful vale to seeming sky — 
 
 E'en from Carn Tual's lofty brow. 
 Let the momentous question fly : — 
 
 " Why sleeps the Harp of Erin now ? '* 
 
 It must not, shall not, longer sleep, 
 
 For Light appears, and Error flies. 
 Strike, strike, ye Bards ! — its tones are deep 
 
 And God-like Truth a theme supplies. 
 Let but the language of the lyre 
 
 Be truth and love, and hope and peace. 
 Will come, till all the heart inspire. 
 
 And Erin's bitter woes will cease.
 
 THE OCEAN OF LIFE. 
 
 I STOOD upon the beacli at even ; 
 
 Darker the clouds above me grew. 
 Till sable was the vault of heaven, 
 
 And lightnings o'er the waters flew. 
 On shore the forest trees were bending ; 
 
 Upon the sea, the billows' crest — 
 With fierce tempestuous wrath extending — 
 
 Covered with foam its heaving breast.
 
 86 THE OCEAN OF LIFE. 
 
 I saw a bark by -vyild waves shatter'd. 
 
 Its cordage flying with the gale ; 
 Its broken masts in fragments scatter'd. 
 
 And rudely rent each quivering sail. 
 Hope came — for fast the shore 'twas gaining : 
 
 Hope fled — for rocks appear'd between : 
 It struck ! — a stranded wreck remaining 
 
 Alone declared what once had been. 
 
 And what is life ? — A stormy ocean ! 
 
 Plan's the frail bark, and Heaven the shore 
 Which — after many a fierce commotion — 
 
 That bark may reach, to leave no more ! 
 But if, by guilt and error driven, 
 
 On sin's dark rocks it strike at last, 
 A fearful wreck — ^in sight of Heaven — 
 
 It sinks ! and hope is ever past.
 
 PERSEVERE. 
 
 Persevere ! Persevere ! 
 
 Though, no human hand befriend ye. 
 Persevere ! Persevere ! 
 
 E'en if ill success attend ye. 
 
 Scorned and scouted, with his child 
 Columbus travelled many a mile. 
 Till fickle fortune deign'd to smile ; 
 Then with joy he left Cordova, 
 
 Hoping all things, — fearing naught ; — 
 Trackless wastes to voyage over 
 
 Ere he Avon the fame he sought. 
 When the heart objections raise. 
 
 Think of this, and do not fear ; 
 Surely his example says : — 
 
 " Persevere ! Persevere ! "
 
 88 PEESEVEKE. 
 
 Persevere ! Persevere ! 
 
 " In a day Rome was not builded ! " 
 Persevere ! Persevere ! 
 
 Perseverance much has gilded. 
 
 Clouds will sometimes hide the sun ; 
 But much brighter when they're gone 
 Seem all objects shone upon : 
 Thus sometimes the persevering 
 
 Dimly see, nor can restrain 
 Doubts, till welcome Hope appearing 
 
 Sets their fears at rest again. 
 So — shoTild naught appear to bless — 
 
 Battle on, and do not fear ! 
 Perseverance gains success. 
 
 Persevere ! Persevere !
 
 MORE LIGHT ! 
 
 Goethe, upon his death bed, was heard to exclaim : — 
 " More light ! More light ! " 
 
 O"" 5 
 
 *' More light ! only more light ! 
 My heartstrings crack. 
 Life's day is past, and now I near its night 
 A pathless track ! 
 
 " More light ! only more light ! 
 A little beam 
 Would be to me a cheering ray, more bright 
 Than poet's dream.
 
 90 MOEE LIGHT. 
 
 " More light ! only more light ! 
 What visions drear 
 Flit o'er my brain ! — nor thoughts of past delight 
 My soul can cheer. 
 
 " More light ! only more light ! 
 I'm dying now : 
 Death's dew is gathering round me, and its blight 
 Falls on my brow. 
 
 "' More light ! only more light ! 
 Of what avail 
 Is worldly fame, or joy, or human might ? — 
 Alas ! all fail ! 
 
 " More light ! only more light ! " 
 A gasping sob 
 Burst from his breast ; — his soul had wing'd its flight !
 
 WHY DO WE MOURN ? 
 
 ]. Thess. iv. 12, 13. 
 
 IVhy do we mourn, when around us are falling — 
 Like the sear'd leaves, when the autumn winds blow — 
 
 Friends, whom in haste life's destroyer is calling 
 Far from the scenes that engaged them below ? 
 
 Why do we mourn ? Know we not 'tis in kindness ? 
 
 Man is but mortal, — earth is not his home, — 
 Life's path is rugged ! — then surely 'tis blindness 
 
 To wish him, in sorrow, upon it to roam.
 
 U:i WHY DO "WE MOUKN ? 
 
 Then why do we mourn ? — Because earthly affections 
 Grow with our growth, and take root in the heart. 
 
 Youth, manhood, age, — all have sweet recollections. 
 And we mourn that from those we have loved we must 
 part. 
 
 And yet we mourn not with immoderate sorrow 
 Since One who was sinless for sinners was slain ! 
 
 Glorious hope from this knowledge we borrow — 
 Jesus hath died, and is risen again. 
 
 Then let us not mourn ! Because they that are sleeping 
 In Him shall with Him in glory return ! 
 
 Lord ! we commend them in faith to thy keeping, 
 Therefore 'tis not without hope that we mourn.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 Arnott, Mr. R, 
 
 Byrch, Mrs. 
 BayUs, W. Esq. (2) 
 Buckle, Mr. B. 
 Buckle, Mr. W. 
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 Brown, Miss 
 Brough, Mr. J. 
 Burrows, Mr. E. 
 
 Colmore, F. C. C. Esq. (4) 
 Curry, R. Esq. 
 Coxwell, Rev. W. R. 
 Cobley, Mr. J.
 
 94 
 
 XISX OF SUBSCKIBEES. 
 
 Clare, Mr. C. 
 Chapman, Mr. J. 
 
 Davenay, Mrs. 
 Dobell, J. Esq. 
 
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 Estridge, Captain 
 
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 Foy, Rev. — 
 
 Francillon, J. Esq. 
 
 Friend, a 
 
 Ditto 
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 H. J. 
 
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 XISI OF SUBSCKIBEKS. 
 
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 Lee Warner, Rev. — . Walsing- 
 ham 
 
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 Maher, Mrs. (2) 
 Meal, Mrs. 
 Mercer, H. S. Esq. 
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 Turk, Mr. C. 
 
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 Wormald, J, Esq. 
 Whitcomb, H. Esq.
 
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