taea A A == A = o ^m o ^m o =| 3 = X 1 ZD 1 z 1 JO 1 m 1 O 1 o 1 .2 1 3> 1 r~ CD 1 ^ 1 > 1 ID 1 -< 1 3> 1 O 1 i — 1 — * | -< 1 8 E M S M ! <\ JORDAN THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS SOCIAL, MILITAEY, AND DOMESTIC. BY AGNES C. JORDAN. [ Let labour have its due! my cot shall be From chilling want and guilty murmurs free : Let labour have its due ;— then peace is mine, And never, never shall my heart repine." Bloom Hell. LONDON : HOULSTON & "WRIGHT, PATERNOSTER ROW. LEICESTER: T. CHAPMAN BROWNE. 1862. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY BLANCHE BALFOUR, THE PRODUCTION OF A SOLDIER S DAUGHTER, ARE, BY PERMISSION, MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY HER LADYSHIP'S MOST GRATEFUL AND MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT, THE AUTHOEESS. 865182 PREFACE. A peeface is not always a necessary appen- dage to a book, but the authoress of the follow- ing- pages feels too diffident of her poetical powers to entrust her little work to the rough ocean without saying one word to ensure it a favouring gale. As a soldier's daughter, wife, and mother, she has naturally harped much on military themes ; more, perhaps, than on the feminine feelings, affections, and duties which have formed a large portion of her happiness. Her " gentle readers " will make allowance for this pre- ponderance of battle subjects; and will also, ii r i \< i . she trusts, pardon the many imperfections "f bei es from the circumstances under which they were written. Criticism Bhe hardly ventures to deprecate, for sin- can scarcely expect thai her ■ 'Hussions will be tin mizlit worthy of it. Such as thc\ arc. ahe commits them to the public in the .hope that they may not be found un- (lcst'rvin<^ of a liumble place amongst the many Leal works of higher pretensions. To the numerous subscribers who hare been pleased to patronize her little volume, Bhe begs to make her mosl grateful acknowledgments. Leicester. May 25, 1 - LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Allen, The Right Hon. Lady H., 1, Wilton Terrace, Belgrave Square, London , 2 Adam, B., Esq., Oakham, Rutland 1 Anderson, Mr. James, East Linton, N.B 2 Balfour, The Right Hon. Lady Blanche, Whittinghame, N.B. ... 20 Balfour, the Right Hon. Lady Eleanor 14 Broughton, Mr., Leicester 1 Bouskell, James, Esq. dp 1 Bembridge, Mr. do 1 Barlow, Mr. W. K. do .-. 1 Brown, Mr. P., Aylestone, do 1 Bellairs, G. C, Esq., Leicester 1 Bush, Miss A., Bickley Park, Kent 6 Barradale, Mr. Isaac, Leicester 2 Buswell, Miss do 1 Barber, Rev. W. do 1 Bennie, Rev. J. N. do 3 Boyer, Mr. Arthur do 2 Brooksby, Miss do 1 Bush, Miss, Whittingh a.me House , N.B »A Blair, Mr., Edinburgh. 2 Berridge, R. 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Mrs. do 1 Spooner, Thos., Esq , Oadby, Lei- cester 2 Stretton, C, Esq., Leicester 2 e, Samuel, Esq. do 3 Scott, Tlie Rev. W., Dalkeith, K.B. 4 in, George, Esq., Leicester 2 1 Spittal, Hot. John do. 6 1 Simpson, Mr. J. do. 3 I Bheen, Mr. do. l I Smith, C, Fsq.,Wbit'.inghame,N.B. 1 do. C do. 2 C Spears, Mr, Haddington, N.B I Msrston, Mr. W.. Leicester 1 Trundell, Mr., Leicester 1 Messenger. Mr. W. do ] Toller, R., Esq. do 2 Macaulay.W. EL, Esq. do 1 Toller, George, Esq. do 2 Mercer,Mr.A.,Whittii]{:hame,N.B. 12 Tirrell, Mrs. S , Egleton, Oakham 2 Moore, Mrs., Leicester 2 Thornton, Miss, Leicester 1 Millican, Mr. \\'., Leicester ] Thomson, Mr. W., Whittinghame, Morris, Charles, Esq. do. .. 6 N.B Marris, Mr. H. do ] Taylor, Miss, Dumfries, N.B No. of Copies. Ingram, Thomas, Esq., Leicester ... 2 Ikln, Mr. Henry do. ... 1 Jackson, Mr. do. ... 2 Kirk, Mr. S. do. ... 2 Kershaw, Mr. do. ... 1 Knox, Mr. George, East Linton, N.B 10 Kendall, W. A., K.«q.,Humberstone, Leicester 4 Kemp, Mrs. Robert, Dumfries, N.B. 3 Luck, Richard, Esq., Leicester 2 Lawson, Mrs. A., Preston- K irk, X.B. 6 Lane, Miss Eliza, Penge, Surrey ... 2 Lister, Rev. B., Leicester 1 Mitchell, Mr. do. Murdin, Mr. J. do. Moore, W., Esq. do. Mitchell, Mr. do. Moore, Rev. \\*. B., Evington, Lei- cester 1 ! Sterling. Mr , John Macaulay, C. A., Esq., Leicester ... 1 Sneyd, Miss C. M iGbie, Mi-.. D tmfi ■ -, N.B. ... Harlow, Mr. do 1 Newell, Mr. B. do 1 Nevinson, Thomas, Esq. do ■'< Owston, H. A., Esq. do 2 Poynor, Mr. A. .Bourn, Lincolnshire 1 Pratt, Mr. James, Leicester 1 Wood, Mr. Ro *rl Pywell. Mr. do 1 Paget, E. H., Esq do 1 Parsons, Mrs., Thurnby, Leicester 2 Purves, Miss, Slenton, Preston- Kirk, N.B S Underwood, Joseph, Esq., Leicester Wordsworth, J. T., Esq. do. Willare, Mr. do. Wright, Mr. Adam, Whittinghame, \.Ji. do. Watt, Mr. Walter do. Win;:, Miss A , Ambleside, West- moreland Woodburn, Mr. James, Leicester... Yates, Mrs. do. ON THE BATTLE OE THE ALMA. Britannia weeps ! her sons are slain ! They he on Alma's grassy plain ; They sleep — ah ! never more to wake ! No bugle shall their slumbers break. A trumpet with a louder blast Must break that leaden sleep at last. Oh, on the eve of that great day How wearied ! yet their hearts were gay ; And 'neath the morrow's dawning sun Their faith and fondest hopes were one. A marshal' d host, with varied mien, It was a wondrous sight, I ween ; But, ah ! in undisturbed repose, Long, long before that day's dark close, They slept, who with the sun arose — Their life-blood mingling with their foes'. Tin: l;.\! I I I. OF THE AI.MA. Soon as tin- combafe strife began, Down Alma's heights in streams it ran ; Ami thr\ bo late theii eountry'e pride Lav cold amid the purple tide. M ithers, ye have not long to wait ; Too soon you'll know your darlings' Pate. In sorrow weep, for never more Will they grace hall or cottage door; When, clasp'd in your embracing arms, ?e raptured viewed their infant charms. Say, did ye with the first fond kj Dream they would die a death like tliis? Oh, Love Immortal — anguish deep — To think of their unhroken sleep ! Unbroken? No! that sleep shall break- Thai dust to endless being 1 wake; For though no mother watched the bed, To smooth the pillow, raise the head, (Jod sent His angels there instead. And though dark fury raged around, And dying warriors strewed the ground. Unseen by mortal eye, descendi Softly, thestany pathway wending, tfy around those heroes bending, THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. 3 Angels displayed the palm — the crown — Till that rough bed felt soft as down. Ah ! many a one that day was shriven, Mercy was sought, and pardon given, And many a soid took flight to heaven. For God our Saviour's ever nigh To mark the pray erf id upturn' d eye— The breathing of the last-drawn sigh. Ye veterans, mourn your offspring gone, For when your swords they buckled on — Those treasured swords ye strongly prized — Your fondest hopes were realized, While longing for the dreadful day When they their courage might display ; And their gay laugh so loudly rang, As light they to their saddles sprang, While mothers, sisters, turned to hide The tears they knew the brave woidd chide. Say, did no dark forebodings tell That ye had ta'en a long farewell ? They ford the river, mount the steep, 'Mid the mad tumult loud and deep. Upwards, ye gallant clansmen — on — Your chieftain follow — all is won ! B 2 THE BATTLE OF I Hi: ALMA. Despite of sabre, shot, and shell, They fought and conquered ere they fell. Oh, hardy sons of Scotia's Isle On her green sward no more ye'll smile — No more your manly forma lie seen Sporting upon the village green. Your tartans, but so late your pride, With your own noble blood are dyed. And brave Sir Colin ! well might'st thou Sheathe thy worn sword and rest it now ; But 'tis not done, for thou wilt get A laurel' d wreath to crown thee yet. Nor is the meed less due to you, Ye brave ones, with the blood-stained blur, Who joined the fiery combat too. Britain ! in the mighty fray How were thy laurels won that day ! Won by thy valour, thirst, and toil, Byruin'd homesteads' blood and spoil. Tli en did those conquerors, bold and true, All 'twas in mortal power to do ; They flinched not, for they knew 'twas theirs To claim a nation's holies! prayi re. But, ah! how vain the minstrel's lay, THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. Nor can the painter's art portray The scenes of that eventful day. Then fill the wine-cup to the brave Who dared the battle and the grave ; And, soldiers, your gay banners wave ; But on the soil lightly tread Where soundly sleep the honoured dead ; And thou sweet Alma, softly lave The cemetery of the brave Who died their father-land to- save ! G THE STBICKEN VILLAGE. Weeping for the N A HKLOVED SISTER. Mi 'thinks 1 hear her voice so sweet Ki^lit i;irl\ in tin- morn, Calling her petted chickens round The basket full of corn. And oft I see her throwing back From off her brow so fair, Her light and silken fcres "Which floated on the air. Yet I would never wish her back In this dark world of care; In heaven I trust to meet again, And be companions there. She's gone! and much hath pass'd away Which we shall see no more; Bnt that bud I will remember still That blossomed at our door. 11 ODE TO SCOTLAND. Laistd of my forefathers, loved Caledonia, Pure are the crystal- drops dimpling thy rills ; "Where are there flowers like thy hawthorn and heather-bell, And the gay yellow broom on thy bleak rugged hills? Brave are thy sons as the heroes of Bannock- burn, Proud are thy daughters to call them their own ; Brave Caledonia ! gem of the ocean ! In beauty and grandeur thou standest alone. Still, then, may Scottish lads, deck'd in their tartan plaids, Ever with heroes of England combine, Heaven will avert the blow, nought shall lay Britain low, "While the Eose, Thistle, and Shamrock entwine. VI ON TIIE LATE DUCHESS OF KENT. Pride lays her gaudy plumes aside, E'en Mirth forgets to smile ; And Koyalty, with measur'd step, Treads o'er the vaulted aisle. Warriors and nohles stand in awe Amid the general gloom ; The highborn and the beautiful Are weeping o'er the tomb. And why ?— the mother of our Queen Hath passed away from earth, To wear an everlasting crown Of dazzling, matchless worth. THE LATE DUCHESS OF KENT. 13 And shall a nation's sympathy In funeral pomp be seen ? Such mockery ill befits our love For our right royal Queen. Britannia pours her sorrow forth In gushing tears for thee, For she who is our country's pride Was fondled on thy knee. The precepts thou hast given shall live In thy fair progeny, And lands remote shall bless the day That gave our Queen to thee. Fond mothers, too, shall bless that day ; Babes yet unborn shall smile ; For thou a mighty charm hast thrown Around our native Isle. Long lov'd, regretted, good Frincess ! Thou' It live in Britain's fame While time shall last or language tell Thy own Victoria's name. 14 CHUECH BELLS. IIakk! delightful bells axe r in g i ng , Thoughts of.bygone days are bringing, Days of innocence and pleasures — Gone for aye, ye heaven-born treasui Oh! the melancholy feeling O'er my soul comes while they're pealing, For lov'd friends who, far aw Spend a ceaseless Sabbath day. Bui why mourn ? Their toils are past, Safe in Jesu's arms at Lasl ; There, 'mid glories past revealing, Eeavenly hells are ever pealing. 15 THE CHILD TO ITS MOTHER. " Say, dearest mother, will you and I Live far above yon starry sky ? Say, may I wander through flowery fields Where the breath of the morning rich fra- grance yields ? Will rivers and brooks be in yonder land, And there may I sport with a joyous band ? Will birds with their melody fill the air, And all in that country be sweet and fair, And all that I love now so dearly be there ?" " Dear boy, thy great and unchangeable Sire Will bestow all thine innocent heart can desire, When thy spirit doth from this bleak world retire. There the winds of adversity never shall blow, But streams from pure fountains for ever shall flow ; Yet ' through great tribulation,' my darling boy, We alone can arrive in yon land of joy." 16 CHILDHOOD. I love to think on childhood, When so careless I would roam Where violets sweet were springing Far from my cottage home. To sit and watch the water Rippling o'er each pebbly stone, Or to cull the flower I fancied, All blight and newly blown. Each bud, each flower, each blade of grass Had beauty then for me ; My playmates, too, were beautiful, So full of love and glee. CHILDHOOD. 17 And I the leader often was Of all that merry band ; We looked like some bright beings then Come forth from fairy land. Some of us had raven locks, Dark eyes, and dimpled chin ; Some eyes of blue, and bosoms fair, And hearts as pure within. The grass it was our carpet, Our ceding the blue sky : 0, we were happy creatures then, No care had they or I. With hats thrown back from off our heads, Now scampering down a hill, Now stopping at a bramble bush Our baskets there to fill. 0, these were days of gipsying, For we often berries took For our noontide meal, and quench' d our thirst From out the purling brook. 18 I OLDHOOD. And when Fve gone on bended knee, There to allay my (hirst, A sportive elf my head would duek, Then into laughter burst. Ah ! we had merry faces then, And we had sunny ej This weary world was nought to us, Its sorrows or Its sighs. And one there was, a lovely girl, Who for my gipsy brow "Would sit and weave a floVry wreath ; But she's an angel now. She was a fair and gentle thing, Her spirit not like ours, The pride, the treasure of us all — Th" heauty of our flowers. Alas ' for they've been scatter'd long, That young and goodly band — Some struggling with the world, like me, Some in a " better land." 19 TO THE CITY OF BATH. Home of my early days, can I forget thee, Thou nioiuitain-bound city, thou sweet valley, Bath ? No, for thy lovely scenes oft pass before me, Those scenes which illumin'd my then thorn- less path. How oft my young feet on thy green sward have gambol' d While panting for breath up thy hills I woidd climb ; My heart then as light as the cool breeze which fann'd me, Dreaming not of the web wove by old "Fa- ther Time." c 2 20 TO THE i II V OF BATTT. Full oft have I stood and gaz'd at " Sham Castlo," " Dig Bigg's" monument tragically rais'd ; Many a castlo I've built of mine own since, Pine airy structures, foundations all craz'd. Oh, Low I love thee still, home of my childhood, Toss'd as I've been on the ocean of life ; All the sweet hopes of my youth well-nigh shipwreck' d, Still God keeps my soul 'mid the tumult and strife. Turn to Him, then, ye wayworn and weary; Look with the eye of faith up tliro' the gloom ; There sits your Maker and loving Refiner, Your Saviour who triumjih'd o'er death and the tomb. "Where's " Gaffer Vowels," the sturdy old farmer, Trudging about with his cudgel in hand, — A terror to all the young urchins around him Who thoughtlessly trespassed or strolled on his land ? TO THE CITY OF BATH. 21 Where is the news-vendor, punctual to time — aye, Whose voice sounds so musically still in mine ears ? Gone with the rest of life's early companions, Never more to be seen in this valley of tears. ye lost lov'd ones, could I behold you ! You who on me so endearingly smil'd ! Why will ye haunt me, sweet visions of beauty ? Intervening years vanish, and I'm but a child. Lost, did I say ? no, not for ever, 'Twere blasphemy sure such vain language as this ; 'Twas a glorious transition, death open'd the portal, That led you right on to the regions of bbss. In fancy once more we climb stiles through the greenwood, Tossing our locks on the breast of the breeze, No care before us, time flies swiftly o'er us ; Riper years never bring pleasures like these. 22 K) . BCE 01 I V 0] BATH. Thou'rt changed, Lovely Bath, but not chai in thy grandeur, Thine own craggy cliff its bold crest yet may rear, Time may touch m it 1 l rough hand all beneath, all around it ; But its base La a nick which time never may sere. Just so Ls the Christian : tho' tern] unround him, He heeds not the danger — he fears not its Pi >rm ; irely he's ii.vd «>n the great Rock of And with grandest composure he smiles at the storm. Come, then, Resignation, thou angel of bright- nee And teach me to bear what in love hath been given : Faith, Eope, and Charity, all y< Be my companions up onward to heaven. 23 THE SAILOE BOY. Oh, sweet be thy slumbers, boy, down in the deep! The waves of old ocean have rock'd thee to sleep : Thy lullaby how much more potent its charms Then when thou wert hush'd in thy young mother's arms ! Nor shall sheep-bell's gay tinkle, or cooing of dove, Or sweet song of thrush break thy visions of love : Wild billows may roll, and mad tempests may rave, Chanting requiem hoarse o'er thy watery grave, But they'll never disturb the sweet sleep of the brave. •_' 1 THE s.Ul.oi: BOY. The maiden who lov'd thee from childhood's gay hours, For thee is preparing a chaplet of flowers ; Bui tliou'lt never return, they'll wither and die, Whilst thon 'mong the weeds of the ocean must lie. Ere the love of the marvellous taught thee to roam Prom the land of thy birth — from thy dear cottage home — Thy parents, so true to the trust that was given, Had nurtur'd thy soul for a mansion in heaven. O'er all gems in the niighty deep peerless tliou'lt >hine, Unapproachable still like a kingthou'lt recline, take a prince thou wilt rest on thy gay coral bed, Till the sea shall be sximmon'd to " give up her dead." Butfrrr and nnaWTrVd tliy -pint will stray, Wnisparing peace to thy mother who kneeleth to pray. 25 COUSIN KATE. Oh, don't you remember the stream, cousin Kate, The stream by the side of the mill ? And the sweet gurgling brook where our pitchers we took — Our little brown pitchers — to fill ? Our mothers, sweet Kate, and our dear sainted sires, Ah ! where, cousin, where are they now ? Gone away to their home through the valley of death, Where care never wrinkles the brow. Do you mind, too, the shady green wood, cousin Kate, Where we oft heard the nightingale's song ? Ah! those were sweet moments to you and to me, Far away from the gay giddy throng. COUSIN KATE. J >u you mind, too, tike ploughboy, the merry young wag — Willi his heari ever brimful of j Who cared Less fox the world than the world cared for him, And counted ambition a toy ? Do you remember the old dusty miller, dear Kate? So heavy at moving along, Who liv'd on and Laugh'd o'er the good things of life, And, if right, never car'd who was wrong? Ah ! well I remember the day, con-in Elate, When I twin'd orange-wreaths round your brow, That your lover in pride gaz'd entranced on his bride, For you were bewitching, I trow. But, ah ! I remember best of all my dear Kate, When ( lolin, the brave and the true, One sweet summer eve came to our garden - The first time your cousin to woo. COUSIN KATE. 27 All ! those were the sunny bright clays, dearest Kate, When all seem'd so fair and so good ; But nought now remains of those once fairy scenes Save the mill , and the stream, and the wood. For low in the churchyard they He fast asleep, The dearest, the fondest, and best : Time is wearing away, we shall soon be as they, 'Neath the clods of the valley at rest. But, ah ! on the grand rising day, cousin Kate, When our dust shall awake from the tomb, We'll meet those lov'd friends where the day never ends, And night never comes with its gloom. Then away with all sorrow and tears, dearest Kate, Which cloud and bedim these poor eyes ; There's joy in yon land, at our Father's right hand, Then let us press on for the prize. 28 ON THE EEV. JOHN WING, LATE VlCAlt OF ST. MAin's, LEICE8TEB Pakewbh, lamented pastor of thy flock ! IImw can our stricken spirits Lear the shock ! Call'd from thy labour and thy deeds of love T< i j< >\ 's "' . n fulness in thy home above ! Thy blameless life, thy peaceful death, shall tell How in thy people's hearts ihy name shall dwell. Never, ah ! never nmre, thy rich-ton'd voice Shall hid the sinner fear, the saint rejoice, Nor of the mourner's future bliss foretell In that fair country where thou'lt over dwell. Mai-kM as the gentleman, the Bcholar, thou In the e'er kindly word, the graceful how. Thy silvery lock-, the patriarchal grace, THE REV. JOHN WING. 29 The sweet composure of thy saint-like face, Seem'd ever to " adorn the holy place." Now with the innumerable angelic hand Thou' It live securely in the spirit land — Far from this world, its endless vain turmoil And disappointment. Varied grief and toil, At our Redeemer's beck, have pass'd away For purest joys, for scenes of brighter day ; United to those worthies of renown — Thy palm like theirs — like theirs thy glorious crown. Forgive, then, ah ! forgive the tears we shed — Affection's tribute o'er thy narrow bed. Not "without hope " we sorrow o'er the sod : We know thy spirit dwelleth with thy God. 30 THE DEAD TBUMFETER. Awake, my fair-hair'd boy! why Bleepest thou? Why are thy cheeks so pale? so pale thy brow? }\'\iy are thy locks into disorder flui Thy sword unsheath'd — thy bugle all unslung? Thy war-horse waits, so true to battle bred, Tossing with pride L! ool le neck and head ; But vuinh wail - for thee, for thou art (had ! Whose hand like thine will smooth his gl mane? Whose hand like thine will gaily guide the reiu, To check or cheer him o'er the battle-plain ? Not one, fair boj ! thou w< ri too gentL To hide the brunt, to Learn the art of war. THE DEAD TET71IPETEE. 31 Wake, sleeper, wake ! thy bed is cold and damp, Thy comrades wait thee in yon noisy camp. No, ne'er again reveille shalt thou sound — Thy happy spirit treads more peaceful ground ; No trump of discord in that land is found. Hush! softly! come not near with martial tread — Come, ye fair spirits, your soft pinions spread O'er him, a widow's son ; — shield his young head. Thy mother ! — ah, thou wert her only joy ! How will she long to see her darling boy ! Fondly for thee shall her sad spirit yearn ; But vain her hopes — thou never canst return. Thy father died ; ah, sad alternative ! Thee they enroll' d, to let thy mother live. Full oft in dreams has she beheld her child, G-az'd on her brave young soldier-boy, and smiled, Pleas'd with the martial airs thou didst assume, When full equipp'd with bugle, sword, and plume, Then wake to weep — fond hearts alone can tell What grief is hidden in that word "farewell." 32 THE DEAD TKUMPETEK. Ofl do her thoughts reverl to bygone years, When thou, the child of many hopes, and fears, Sat'sl on hex knee, Bmiling amid thy tears. Then she lias been of half her cares beguil'd By the sweel cherub glances of her child, While parting hack from off thy forehead fair The curly tresses of thy flaxen hair. Thy faithful clog, -worthy his master's trust. From off thy marble forehead licks the dust Nigh to this place was thy last bivouac, There Lasl he shared thy supper and thy sack. Perchance he yet may reach thy mother's cot, And tell the tale which now thou heodest not. Then sleep on now, thou fair-hair'd soldier- boy, Nought can come near thy lasting bliss to cloy. And as of thee each sorrowing comrade speaks, Tears shall run down his weather-beaten cheeks ; Till, half asham'd, he wipes those tears away, And, tho' he fuels not, strives to look more gay- He'll fancy still he hears thee in thy glee Beside the camp-lire whistling News for Me ;" ODE TO UNITY. 33 Good news, indeed ! with angels thou shalt roam O'er plains of glory in thy heavenly home. Thy trusting mother yet shall see her boy In those bright regions of immortal joy, Shall bless the day when, safe from war's alarms, Bright angels bore thee to thy Saviour's arms. ODE TO UNITY. All hail to the Eose of old England ! Long, long may it flourish and smile ; Hail to the Thistle of Scotland, And Shamrock of Erin's green isle ! Gracefully twining together, Let each to sweet friendship respond ; Never let bitter dissension Break sweet fraternity's bond. Then shall no foreign invader Dare set a foot on our strand, Whilst we are true to each other, Joining with heart and with hand. D 84 ON ROTITKSAY CASTLE, ISLE OF Br 1 B. A.v old man sal by the castle so grey, And aye, as his hand touch'd the strings of his lute, Hi- spirit pour'd forth ;i plaintive lay O'er the stately ruin- of abarming Bute. Thy glory's gone, no merrimenl Is heard within thy halls ; T'poii the oar no vesper hymn With holy music falls. No longer here the tartan' d • liief To martial duty calls ; FlfTf are no courtly maidens now, Or men of chivalry, HOTHESAY CASTLE. 35 "Who used to pay their homage Upon the bended knee. They've pass'd away — they've pass'd away Like other earthly things, And ivy clings in sadness To the once gay home of kings. Here 'twas the broken-hearted sire In sullen sorrow died, And here the English monarch came To heal his wounded pride. But now here sits the gloomy bird. And spectres, it may be, Dance to the howbng winds, And hold their midnight revelry. How chang'd it is ! how chang'd it is ! Time with a wondrous stride Hath pass'd, and left grim ruin here, Enthron'd in regal pride. Here, on this spot, our hardy sires Oft met their daring foes, Tib 1 fiVd by coward hands at last, Then did its glory close. And now again how sad the strain Flow'd from the minstrel's lute, D 2 36 :I - K - ' O'er him who ki pi this high domain — Late nohle Lord of But'-. where is he, the once beloVd, The generous, and the good, Who in the cause of suffering worth The great supporter stood? 'Twas his delighl to visit oft The poor man's sad abode, Where want, disease, and sad despair, Make up his galling load. Long shall this lovely isle weep o'er Her honour'd chieftain's dust ; The mighty spirit hath resign'd To God her sacred trust. "My days are nearly number' d," The aged minstrel said, "For winti\ frosts and summer suns Save bleach'd this hoary head. But on this .harming, happy isle My youthful feel of'1 trod ; Then of her beauties Lei me sing, While wandering o'er the sod." 37 THE GIPSY MAID. Away in the woods there, Down deep in the shade, Lives the pride of the gipsies, The merry brown maid. She is firm to her trust ; Think you aught can e'er bribe This flower of the forest, This gem of her tribe ? Child of our nature, Then why shoidd not she Be as faithful and loving And joyous as we ? 38 i in: OHM? MAID. How oft, when a child, Eave I run from my play If I heard of the gipe A.-coming thai way '. Tho' I l"v\l their wild nature, I dar'd nol to face Those whom 1 despis'd A- a fugitive race. But tho' wild !)«■ our nature, Our hearts may prove good ; "lis bo with the girl In the shady green wood. 39 A PEAYEE FOE THE EETUEN OF PEACE IN 1854. Go forth, Lord of Hosts, go forth, And guard our gallant band ; Go forth, Lord of battles, go, And stay war's slaughtering hand. Look down with pitying eye, and see Our homes left desolate ; And on the blood-red field again Let peace and mercy wait. Say to the raging storm, " Be still," Bid man his foe forgive ; Let those who bravely went to die, Eetum in joy to live. 40 PBAYEB FOB THE BETTOR 01 PEACE. Wo are, Lord, by Bin defiled — A froward, guilty race ; teach us by thy judgments >till To seek thy proffer'd grace. Our vows we make to Thee, Lord, Thy blessings we invoke, Yet worship other gods than Thee, And thy just wrath provoke. We, as our fathers did of old, Bow down to wood and stone, Unmindful of our Saviour's love, His cross and dying groan. But spare us, Lord of mercy, spare, And guard our gallant hand; Go forth, Lord of armies, go, And stay war's slaughtering hand. 41 ODE TO LIBEETY. Sweet Liberty ! who -would not be free ? The birds of the air, and the fish in the sea — Ay, nature itself, is gladden'd by thee. The clear little brook, as it sends with a song Its waters away with such glee, Tells the lone passer-by, as he travels along, That its health all belongs unto thee. The flowers of the field, as they gracefully bend To let the breeze pass overhead, Tell the iu-chins who pluck them so careless that they Would much rather bloom in their bed, With fragrance to scent the low vale, To gladden the heart and the eye, 12 ODE I" I.iiii.iiiv. Than th.ua 1"' upturn by the roots — Alas ! soon to \\ Ither and die. The worm just upturn' d by the Bpade I >oth in silence for liberty sue, l)dt]i so meekly for liberty plead, Telling man it hath business to do. Yes, noughi was created in vain — Not the meanest thing under the sun ; (jod ninth' all tilings after their kind, And commaiuletl their work to be done. The hee hums its son-' of delight As from flowerel to flowerel it skips Tenacious of liberty still, See how cautious the nectar she sips, Lest the school-boy, with satchel in hand, So joyous with liberty too, Bent on mischief, should put her to flight, Little caring the folly to rue. The butterfly spreads her gay wing And gracefully flutters with glee; Whilst the thrush sweetly sings, oear the case- ment encaged, STel anxiously longs to be fri ODE TO LIBERTY. 43 Sweet butterfly ! emblem of man's heavenly state When he breaks from his mortal control — A worm yesterday, now an angel of light — ' With liberty stamp'd on his soul. Britain, thou land of the brave and the free ! A magnet, a star, and a gem ! Attractive to strangers from nations afar, A home and a refuge for them. The slave, to the galley once chain' d, Sets his foot on thy shore and is free, While in accents best known to himself He chants a loud paean to Thee ! II o.N Illi; DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. Departed Prince, of peerless worth ! Gem of a mighty shore ! Lamented Consort of our Queen, Tliou'lt grace her throne no more ! Star of our Isle, so brightly set In thy meridian lighl ; Transcendent was the brilliant path That mark'd thy heavenward flight. Tear,, was thy motto, nobles! Prince, No deeds <>i' carnage thine : Now ever with the Prince of Pea Thine angel form shall ehine ; Whilsl love, and liberty, and pea e Still wecj. anmnd thy shrine. DEATH OF THE PRINCE CONSORT. 45 Patron of arts ! the poor man's friend ! Submissively we bow To Him who laid death's chilling hand Upon thy manly brow. For thee, loved Sovereign, countless tears In sympathy are shed ; Thy faithful subjects long shall mourn O'er the illustrious dead. Tho' thy lov'd offspring are no more By a fond sire caress'd, Yet may we hope that they may rise To call their mother bless' d. What virtues graced his honour' d name ! May such be found in them — Living the bright unsullied life That mark'd the parent stem. Then shall Religion hold her sway O'er this our happy Isle ; And prince, and peer, and cottager Bound Britain's throne shall smile. It-. LUCY; OE, THE COTTAcK CHILD Rosy child, with sunburnt face, Eyes of such bewitching grace, Locks 'tween fair and glossy jet — Methinks thou arl a real brunette. Then thou hasl a faiiy tread — Wild flowers, Laughing, lift their head When thou trippesl o'er theii bed ;* Bu1 while thy lap is filled with flower-. Dosl thou dream of coming hours — Future hours all fraught with woe In t li , pilgrimage below ? • "E'en the slight harebell raised its head Elastic from her airy trend." — Scott. LUCY; OR, THE COTTAGE CHILD. 47 No ! thou little gipsy queen, Thiue's a life of joy, I ween. Now thou'rt swinging on the gate, Heedless of the farmer's hate ; Now, on rope between the trees, Thou art toss'd upon the breeze, Whilst thy locks, as playful too, Seem the very breeze to woo. Of all urchins wildest weed, Thou'rt a very romp indeed — Yet a fairy queen, I trow, Little maid with sunburnt brow. Here thou art to girlhood grown, Like a floweret but half blown : Still thy life is but a trance. Dost thou join in merry dance ? Dream not, maiden, of true bliss, In a faithless world like this. Mark me, trusting one, 'tis true, Earthly joys are not for you. Do I see thee yet again ? Wert thou made a bride — and when ? # Thought hath settled on thy brow — ( Ypress wreath entwines it now. .18 l.n V ; OB, mi: I 01 rAOB I EOLD. Thou, the once Bweel Laughing maid, ( last unheeded In tin' shade, Dosl thou Bee gay childhood's hour-. When thine hands were fill'd with flowers? When thy sweet face beam'd with bright- ness, And thy Btep was joy and lightness : Dost thou see confiding youth, When thy fancy painted truth? Yet another scene thou'lt view — Walk thou on — the good pursue. God hath all these trials given To prepare thy soul for heaven. Like pure gold, thou hast "been tried — In the furnace purified. Still hope on— thy pilgrimage God will l.lrss with silvery .■■. 49 ON CAPTAIN HEDLEY YICAKS. In sunny childhood, careless, gay, and free, A generous, leal, light, loving heart had he ; His Christian parents' hope and future joy Was this true-hearted, noble soldier-boy. And tho', in after years, 'mid pleasure's maze, He pass'd some few and hapless " evil days," His guardian angels round him fondly spread Their sheltering wings to shield his youthful head. Onward they watch' d him — mark'd the sigh sincere Which e'er must follow on our wild career ; Nor rested till his contrite heart was laid Low at His feet who hath our ransom paid. Yet that kind heart, e'er ready to forgive, That foot which turn'd to " let the reptile live," E 50 CATTAIX IIKI'LKY 7I0AE8. With dauntless courage join'd our country's cause, Defying those wh<> trampled on her laws. And, 'inid the horrors of thai dread campaign, With zeal he labour'd on the battle-plain ; Like our Great Teacher, ever doing good. Fearless of death the young believer stood. " This way, ye ( J7th '." he cried — and fell, While leading those brave few he lov'd so well : His dying words their mighty import tell. may the path illustrious Vicars trod Lead our brave army to " the Christ of God !' While in the conili<-t at the great Redan, With numbers far exceeding man to man, His soul, so eager for her sweel repose, Clapp'd her glad wings, and in full splendour r< >se. Blest Hedley A'icar^: nam- for ever dear! Our hearts Bend forth the tributary tear; We mourn in spiril o'er thy distant grave, Thou ( hiistian patriot— nobl< Bt of the brave ! 51 THE VILLAGE TEEASUEE. See yon sweet village maid, whose nut-brown hair In bright luxuriance shades her forehead fair, Whose dimpled cheeks bear health' sunblemish'd hue, With mild soul-speaking eyes to virtue true. Artless her manner — humble, lacking pelf, She's unadorned simplicity itself. happy peasant ! enviable lot ! Her love concentred in her native cot. Early inured to toil the livelong day, She whiles the pleasing hours of life away. Unselfish she, and frugal still her fare, Her aged helpless mother's all her care — Still for the wretched has a mite to spare. e 2 52 nil: \n. lack ] BEASUBE. ( > happy being ! clad in mortal clay, Bless'd with the power to chase life's gloom away. Early she learn' d the maxim of the wise — To have enough is to economize. By nature frank, no wish lies nnnvealed ; She little keeps, save her good deed-, concealed. This unaffected, girl, "the proud one's scorn," Is doubly noble though but lowly born ; Predestin'd heir of immortality. Trained for those glorious realms from infancy. happy peasant ! from the crowd retired, Seen but by few, and by as few admired. Would many a one could Bhare thy blissful Lot, For true-born pleasures glad thy lowly i G-o seek this Christian in declining life, Ask her how she hath borne the world's stern strife, — How wrinkled age, with hand so sure and sly, Hath passed her thus so long unnotie'd by, Nor furrowed yet her brow, nor dimmed her eye? She'll say, with finger pointing to the sky, "He who came down our fallen race to save Taught me how I the storms of life might brave, ST. MARY'S CHURCH, LEICESTER. 53 Taught me to be submissive to the rod Which draws us nearer to a gracious God." happy pilgrim ! smiling 'mid thy tears, Thou see'st with eye of faith, through yonder spheres, Thy future home by ransom' d spirits trod — The grand, refulgent city of our God. DECOEATION OF ST. MAEY'S CHUECH, LEICESTEE. Bring hither flowers all wet with dew, Love's sweetest offering ; Bring rose-buds, lilies, violets blue, Fresh from the lap of spring. And weave ye garlands rich and rare, To deck this ancient pile ; And ring ye bells a merry peal, That youth and age may smile. 54 ST. .MAKv's ilIl'Ki'll, LEICESTI.l;. All, many a bud pluck'd by the hand Of Him whose name is Love, Adorns those courts of Christ our Lord — Gems of the church above. There, thro' the gardens of our God. They shed their odours sweel ; "With sweet Hosannas chant His name, And worship at His feet. But say, what mean these weeds of woe, Amid the festive scene ? These sombre vestments seem to mock All but the evergreen. And this in grandeur seems to smile Upon his gay compeers — Meet emblem of immortal joy Beyoml this vale of tears. There, in those realms of pure delight, i Irown'd kings and conquerors bow ; There wreaths of never-fading bloom Adorn each radiant brow. THE WOODCUTTER'S DAUGHTER. 55 Then bring ye flowers — Spring's choicest flowers, To grace this funeral gloom : Around our late loved vicar's urn Scatter a sweet perfume, And swell the choral anthem high In this time-hallowed dome. THE WOODCUTTERS DAUGHTEE. In a neatly thatched cot, round which flowers are blooming, My father, the woodcutter, lives ; He hath little to spare, for his comforts are rare, Yet he cheerfully gives what he gives. When the poor houseless wanderer comes to his door, A morsel he gives, and woidd gladly do more : 56 THE WOODCUTTKu's DAUGHTER. Oh, there's aoughl in this wide world such joy to me gives A- our sweet little col where the woodcutter lives. I live at the hall, and T love them all there, I'.ut they've nought 1 admire like my father's arm-chair; Or the neat garden-gate, where of the sun He whistles a tune when his labour is .lone ; Or the rose-tree poor Bessy set with her own hand, Ere she left us to go to that beautiful land. Ah! she look'd so divine as she wlii-p.r'd tome, "When I'm gone, sister Jane, will you mind my rose-tree?" I promis'd, and lciss'd her, and bade her fare- well, And she went in her bloom with the angels to dwell. Oh! T love out dear cot, 'tis more lovely by far Than the palace where glitter the diamond and IT. THE WOODCUTTER'S DAUGHTER. 57 My mother plies hard with her needle, and sings, And sunshine around our dear cottage she flings ; She gossips with none, hut is kindly to all — A friend ever near at necessity's call. But think you that grief never enter'd our home? Ah, yes ! and we've often had much to hemoan ; But we've learn' d to be patient, whatever betide, For the Father of Mercies in mercy doth chide ; And if want shoidd assail us, why then He'll provide. ( )h, there never on earth was a lovelier spot Than the home of my childhood — the wood- cutter's cot ! THE HERMIT. Beneath a lofty mountain's awful brow, Far in a dreary solitary wood, With nought save owls to break the midnight gloom, A hermitage o'ergrown with ivy -rood. Forth from the mountain welled a crystal stream, Which murmuring flowed adowu it- rugged side; And fruits and herbage grew around the spot, Where worth and wisdom did in peace abide. Surely, methought, when first it met my view, Mortal ne'er can in this lone place reside : THE HEKMIT. 59 I scarce had spoken, when, with anxious sight, A reverend father bent with age I spied. I started — for his snow-white flowing locks, His furrow' d cheeks, his staff, his saintly air, His peaceful smile, his soft but beaming eye, Bespoke him one of earthly beings rare. "Young stranger," thus began the hoary sage, "Welcome, thrice welcome to this blest re- treat, For though I'm by the giddy world forgot, I with my Saviour hold communion sweet. "Then come," said he, "thy weary limbs shall rest On my rude couch ; and soon I will prepare The best that my lone humble cell affords : What bounteous heaven bestows, with thee I'll share." Then bent his trembling step towards his cell, Round which sweet flowers in wildest beauty grew : 60 THE HI RM1 l. "Ah, Bure," said I. "true happiness dwells here, Which long I'v Bought, which worldli never knew." We entered : on his rustic table streVd Were holy books — hie only treasures there ; A thrush Bang sweetly at the gothic door ; Rio faithful dog lay sleeping in the chair. Suspended on his aged breast he wore A golden crucifix, which oft he'd ki keel his reason, " Oh, my son," said he, "This is the passporl to eternal bli "Then say, good father, is it mine to know What caused thee to forsake life's bustling nois* — To leave the pleasures and the haunts of men, And seek alone these solitary joys ? " '• Alas! my son, I've proved the world's deceit ; Its joys are worthless— trifling all are they : Here sweet religion is my dearest friend ; My God, my Saviour, is my only stay. THE HERMIT. 61 " I lov'd a maiden, but in vain I lov'd ; A wealthy rival gained her father's heart ; And when I sought the lovely maiden's hand, With scorn her father bade me soon depart. " Ah, she was graceful as an angel bright, No ill suspected, for no ill she knew ; Her tender heart would melt at tale of woe, Her tears were precious as the heavenly dew. "We wept — embraced — we parted — met no more ! This sacred crucifix to me she gave : 'Dear youth,' said she, 'oh, wear this for my sake ; With this in view, thou wilt life's sorrows brave.' " Vainly she wept upon her bridal morn — Unheeded were her words, lost were her tears : They were united, but her sordid sire Soon had no child to cheer his drooping years. " She found her partner proud and faithless too ; His riches had not power to bless the mind : 62 I 1 1 1 : EEEMTT. In glittering halle a wretched wife was she — In splendid misery for me she pin< d. " She is no more ! but, with her parting breath. She bade them tell me that she Lov'd me still, And that she would my guardian angel be To shield my future life from every ill. "Sweet one! she long hath dwelt in happier chmes ; Full oft she'll look in pity down on me, Till gracious heaven shall Bend the mandate forth To set my weary, willing spirit free." This tale he told, and then the hermit wept, But, turning, quickly bruah'd his tears away : " You see, my son, how fondly I have loved Since I the weakness of a child display." With herbs and fruits his table then he spread, And press'd me kindly to partake his fare; To rest my weary limbs prepar'd the couch; Then offered up to heaven his eveningpray< c THE IDIOT. 63 Years passed, and oft I visited his cell, And from his lips have learn' d life's bliss to scan : He's gone ; but oft I've bless' d the happy day When first I met that aged, pious man. THE IDIOT, COMPOSED ON READING A TALE. When the sickle gleams bright thro' the ripe yellow corn, And beauty is strewed o'er the sod ; When nature is humming glad music and nought, But man is ungrateful to God ; When the gleaners, all radiant with roses and smiles, To the village are wending their way, nii: idiot. Bending 'neath tin- rich burden of beautiful grain — No monarch inure happy than they; Tis then, with her baby-doll press'd to her heart, Poor Mary, the idiot, will hie To an old haunted ruin, with Hector, her dog, To chant there her wild lullaby. Indiscreet, hut not criminal, Man had heen, For she secretly wedded, and then She roused the proud blood of the Stuarts which ran Through the veins of the Laird of the glen. He stamp' d, and he swore, her cold-hearted sire, As he strode from his " But to his Ben ;" Then axpell'd from his presence forever and aye This beautiful child of the glen. The hushand, whom Mary had urged to depart "Till her father's tierce anger was o'er," THE IDIOT. 65 Flew back to the rescue, but destined was be To see bis lov'd Mary no more ! Young Eoderic was drowned ; bis cold corpse was found ; Too soon tbe sad tidings were spread : Now Mary oft chides tbe worms on his grave As they trespass upon his cold bed. - And oh, very oft, on a bright summer's day She wanders beside a lone stream ; On a bed of sweet violets her baby she lays, And of angels will tell it to dream. Then she'll stoop down and wash its white robes in tbe brook, Fbnging back tbe wild locks of her hair, Tell you spirits so gentle are waiting for them, And that she must the raiment prepare. Poor Mary's beloved by the villagers round ; And when her day's wandering is o'er, Her steps she'll bend homeward ; right welcome is she At every poor cottager's door. 66 THE IDIOT. Blithe orchiiis returning from Bchool <>r from play Will flock round poor Mary, and then, When she utters her ravings, w ill loudly applaud This poor harmless child of the glen. Sweet Mary! that merciful God who saw fit Thy soid and thy reason to sever, Will temper the wind to thee, thou shorn lamb, And bind up thy spirit for ever. 67 THE MINISTEATION OF ANGELS. Yes ! angels may look on man's folly and weep, View his crimes with a pitying eye, Give his pride and his passions a check in their course, And the legions of darkness defy. They fly o'er the faithless and fathomless deep, Are wrapp'd in the thunder-cloud dreary and dark ; And whilst the poor mariner calls on his God, They solace his spirit, and guard his frail bark. Then swift as the lightning the dying to cheer, Whisper peace to the contrite whose sins are forgiven ; And when the last pangs of fond nature are o'er, Strike their harps and away with the spirit to heaven. f2 G8 THE EMIGRANT'S LAMENT. give me back my Eighland hills, O'er which I used to roam, Give me the broom and heather-bell Which blossom round my home! Mary dear, I hear thy voice Sigh o'er the raging foam, Thou'rl whispering, " Donald, haste thee back To bless our Highland home." No, never! for in distanl lands Life's sorrow I will brave, since thou, my lighl and only joy, Art deeping Ln the --rave. Then farewell, bonny Scotland dear. I'm hastening o'er the - Farewell to broom and heather-bell, But, Mary, not to thee! MARY MAGDALENE. 69 For tho' no more o'er hill and dale With thee I gladly roam, We yet shall meet, to part no more, In yon bright, better home. ON MAET MAGDALENE. Not gold nor rubies didst thou bring As offerings to heaven's mighty king ; No ! 'twas not trifles such as these That coidd thy Father's wrath appease ; But, filled with guilt's embitter' d smart, Thou didst present thy contrite heart, And wash thy Saviour's sacred feet With tears of penitence so sweet ; Wiped them with thy dishevell'd hair, Nor precious ointment didst thou spare. He watch' d thy tears, and took a part In the wild throbbings of thy heart — Forgave thy sins — bade anguish cease, And bade thee, Mary, " Gro in peace." To ON DEPARTED FRIENDS. Friends of my youth, ye're departed, And left me all mleni and Bad ; Still o'er life's troubles brave-hearted, Tho' mourning for joys I once had. How saered is friendship's devotion Your fond hearts and mine once could tell ; But ye've sailed life's tempestuous ocean. And bade me for ever farewell. I returned, and I thought to have found ye, As I left you, all healthy and gay ; But broken's the BpeU which then bound me, Since, beloved ones, ye're far, far away. At i-v«- as I pensively view- Yon lovely brighl 3tar in the sky. 'Tis then that my tear- How anew, When none save cay Maker is by. THE TOMB OF BURNS. 71 Why grieve ? a few more fleeting years May bring us together, and then, Beloved ones, ye'll dry all my tears, And we'll never be parted again. COMPOSED ON VISITING: THE TOMB OF BUENS AT DUMFEIES. Behold, the lovely Muse descends, Through breezes soft her way she wends, To hail the rustic swain. The all-inspiring mantle she Around him throws right can ni lie On Ayrshire's rural plain. " Go bid fair Scotia's nobles now Wreathe round her bard's poetic brow The poet's deathless bays. 72 THE TOMB OF BTTJ "All bards for wit thou shall transcend, E'en princes a1 thy shrine shall bend — Thai shrine a peasant's plough." This said, she quickly disappears, Leaving our bard 'mid joyous tears, Poetic-raptur'd now. Then rest in peace, fair Scotia's son, A brighter wreath I trust thou'st won Than fabling Fancy gives. May'st thou be singing sweeter strain-. Where everlasting music reigns, And fame for ever liv> - 73 THE LITTLE EBUIT SELLER. FROM A PICTURE AT ERROL PARK. Sweet child, I feel for tliee ! the passer-by Will cast on thee a cold unpitying eye ; Thy supplicating looks will meet disdain — Contempt that must thy tender bosom pain. 'Tis hard, for something noble I can trace In the fine features of thy thoughtful face. Genius is stamp'd upon thy brow so fair, Half hidden by the tresses of thy hair — Bright golden locks that need a mother's care ; And mild the lustre of thy soft blue eye, Whilst thy complexion might with lilies vie. Yet want, pale want, sits on thy cheeks so fair, And mocks the tint that fain would mantle there. Those fingers, cast in nature's finest moidd, With silken string thy trusty favourite hold — A treasure dearer far to thee than gold. Fair child, I pity thee ! — that faithful brute, Crouch' d at thy feet to guard thy summer fruit, Perchance is all the friend thou well canst own : He too, like thee, a better state hath known. 71 TO A COUSIN. "When I am far away from thee, And 'tween as rolls the faithless sea, And I hear ao more thy social idee, Wilt thou remember me, Mary '? Should fortune's luim. is o'er me wave, Or misery's winds around me rave. ( )ne hist request — no more — I crave ; Then, then remember me, Mary! When far from my own native isle, And solac'd by a stranger's >mile, While llatt. •liu-- hopes mine hours beguile, Oh, still remember me, Mary '. Then, if in after years we meet, In friendship true each other gri All, then will come the memory sweet That thou'sl remembered m . Mary ! 75 THE PELDE OF THE VILLAGE Her work is hurried o'er, and Kate's away With braided hair and dress so clean and neat ; The old folks she has promised not to stay, And told them she is going a friend to meet. 'Tis strange, but so it is when old we're growing, The younger generation think we're dull, And sometimes think themselves a little knowing When the suspicions of old age they lull. Kate did not mind the tale her grannie told Of stolen meetings oft in ruin ending, Wondering how maidens now could be so bold, Flirting when they might be their stockings mending. *&• But poor old grannie she might scold in vain, For Kate had better notions of her lover ; In him who sought her youthful hand to gain, She never yet one blemish could discover. 7>; Till'. PRIDE OP THE VILLAGE. So grannie she was wrong thus to be Bcolding, For William he was honest, kind, and brave; Ami while these lovers were communion holding, Approving heaven smiled <>n the joys it gave. Bui hark, thai sound ! it is the village bells, And Kate, true to her time, is home returning; Then, in a gentle voice, to Will sin- tells, To introduce him to her sire she's y. arning. The Lad is " nothing Loth ;" so near the cot He Lingers till young happy Kate ran in, Ami 1" gged her mother to forbid it not, As 8he was sure the Lad would favour win. There, by a nice clean hearth and cheerful fire, Sat Kate's fond father in his old arm-chair ; 'Twas there you might behold the Christian sire Wiih his lovM Bible and his Book of Prayer. The favour'- ask'd— 'tis given? away Kate flies, ( Jonducts him where she'd Love him aye to be : And now what pleasure's beaming in their A scene like this e'en angels Love to see. THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE. 77 Keen was the sire to see the much-loved swain, So lifts his spectacles from off his nose — There stood the pride of all the rural plain, With hat in hand, right trim from top to toes. And then he had a bold and manly air, A countenance where beani'd love, peace, and truth, By nature taught alone to win the fair, A simple rustic, yet a gallant youth. And Katie she was artless, fair, and mild, With dark blue eyes bright as the azure sky ; In truth she was dame Nature's fairest child ; With any goddess this fair maid might vie. No gay attire, no ornaments had she ; He* beauty shone most when most humbly drest; And she had virtue and simplicity — With these you'll say she was supremely blest. Tray barks a welcome, glad young Kate to see ; And she, as playful, pats her favourite's pate ; But Tray now wonders who this lad can be That has this evening ventur'd home with Kate. 78 tin: PEEDE 01 Tin; VILLAGE. Now set Will Beated by the maiden's side; Her parents, too, converse with friendly chat, And with their simple honest country pride Thev firsl discourse on this, and flten <>n thai. Awhile he si k then rises to depart, And beckons charming Kate's fond father out, Then tells him with n fearful, fluttering hear! All lie that evening had come there about. Few were his words — " Will dame and you consent To give me your sweet daughter Kate to wife? To live without her I'll ne'er be content — With her, I'm sure I'd happy be thro' life." The old man eyed him, gave a hem or two, And then he shook his head, and then he smil'd, Then said, " My lad, I scarce know what to do In giving thee my only darling child. "No doubtyou mean well, hut our youthful Kate Is but a meek and very tender flower; She ill could hide the storm- of cruel fate — And ah ! how many feel its lawless power! THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE. 79 " Believe me, lad, that all will never pass Unruffled with thee in a married life ; Experience tells me there are cares and toils "Which must and will attend on man and wife. " Think well, my lad, before you wedlock try ; Should fortune frown, and poverty pop in, How love would cpiickly thro' the window fly At sight of one so ghastly, grim, and thin." " Well," said the noble youth, "all this, dear sir, I have considered many a day ago ; But still I trust, with industry to stir, And scare away the miserable foe. " God ever was and is the good man's Friend, The honest man's endeavours He will bless ; He may have grief, but angels will attend To shield, to soothe, and help him in distress." Pleased with such words, the old man turn'd aside To hide the tear that dimm'd his heavenward eye; 80 l BE PBIDE OP THE VILLA He Pelt, if Kate became young William's bride, His generous heart would ne'er cause her to sigh : Then said, "My lad, I will your plea attend, So --o you with it cheerful spirit home, And you may take my honest word, my friend, That you our minds shall know next time you come." And then, reminding him that it was late, But asking thai he would return and sup, •■ Now see you don't look Bad before dear Elate, As I would have you keep your spirits up." And there, on doth as white as driven snow, With willing hands Kate hath the supper spread, And then, with prayerful voice distinct and slow, The humble and the heartfelt grace is said. The frugal meal being ended with delight, The maiden opes for him the cottage door ; Hi- press'd her hand, and kindly hade good night, Whispering, "Dear Kate, I wish our marriage o'er." THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE. 81 He comes again — they fix the wedding- day, And soon all is prepar'd both neat and new The banns are cried, and bridesmaids now so gay Are chosen — two whom Kate from childhood knew. Not far off stood the church, of Gothic style, The path which happy Kate had often trod : 'Twas there to heaven she gave her earliest smile, 'Twas there her parents offer' d her to God. And then its Pastor was so good and mild, Who view'd his flock with shepherd's anxious care : In wisdom man, in vice but yet a child ; A saint on earth, and heaven's immortal heir. He taught the precepts of our blessed Lord, And by his own life set example too By rich and poor, by young and old adored — So generous, just, and kind to all he knew. G 82 THE I'UIDE OF THE VI 1.1 The <'ll of wretchedness would vi-it of! — Point <>ut and teach redemption's glorious plan ; And then in accents so divinely Bofl 1 declare the Saviour's love to contrite man. Old Time had left lii-> spacious forehead bare, But he had left a reverence in hi- face, That tho' 'twas bleach'd, his once bright auburn hair, Those silvery locks did still his temples grace. And then so firm and dignified his walk, And yet no pride, save conscious worth, had he : For he would with the worst, the vilest talk, And of his hearers the adviser be. Such was the Priest. Now comes 11 1 • - bridal day : Behold young Kate in all her beauty now ; Her cousins see — how busy too are they Twining a wreath around her lily brow. The wished-for hour's arrived, and they're away With joyful hearts unto the house of prayer ; E'en poor Tray barks ami frisks about quite gay, And really seems the wedding joy to share. THE PRIDE OF THE VELLAGE. 83 Now at the altar see the reverend sire, Smiling upon the scene with parent's pride, Offering to bounteous heaven a fervent prayer For blessings on the youthful, blushing bride. Hark ! now the solemn service has begun ; The pious man, taught by God's holy book, Proclaims this happy couple join'd in one : Meek were his accents, mild his heavenly look, As with authority he bade them dwell In love together, till death's fatal dart Should break the grand and the mysterious spell Which binds together many a loving heart. He tells young William to be kind and true, To love and cherish still his new-made wife, As God who join'd them would his actions view, And mark the course of all his wedded life. He bade young Kate be dutiful and kind — A faithful, fond, and ever-loving wife ; Each duty of the marriage state to mind, To be a bright and guiding star thro' Life. G 2 s I Tin; j'i.ii.,: 0] THE vii.i. Saluting her then with u holy Id I !<• pray'd that God would speed them to life's end; Eloped heaven might crown their mutual love with bli Ami fair Religion all their steps attend. Now, hark ! within the cottage joy's resounding, And none more happy or more blest than they; Jokes they are cracking, merry hearts are bounding — And why not ? for 'tis Katie's bridal day. The merry magpie, too, with friendly chat, Who long ago had archly learn'd to prate, Eopp'd gaily to the chair where Williarn sat, And said, "Be kind to my sweet pretty Kate." The bridal day lias flown — and they're away, Blest with the prayers of all the village round ■ And many a one Baid on thai wedding day That William had a matchless treasure found. Now in a snug neat col this blooming pair Are happier fur than princes of the land : THE PEIDE OF THE VILLAGE. 85 A few years passed, and Katie, good and fair, Was the fond mother of a "beauteous band. The cot had lattic'd windows, red-brick floor, O'er it the foliage of wide-spreading trees ; Six sunburnt children gambol'd round the door, Whose bright locks sported with the playful breeze. Three hardy, clever lads, whose eyes so bright Flash'd forth the genius of the future men ; And three sweet girls, pure as the lily white, In whom the mother's beauty bloom'd again. si; the farewell; Fabeweel, my friends! I fear oa mail I'll sec your hones! fiaa . For ye maun gang, and sa maun I, To widely-sunder'd places. But listen, ere I breathe again Wh 3 me sair in gr< And tells nic thai on earth again We never mair shall meet. Ye've sax braw sturdy sons, I ken, As e'er wore Highland bonm t : Ye train them wed, and muckle guid Ye may e.\ [i»'it upon it. 'linn's George — he's wedded, and has noo Ane that maun ea' ye grannie ; Butye're no a Ml the aulder for't — It gars ye look mair cannie. THE FAKEWELL. 87 And Martin, the young druniiner lad, The sonsy, weel-far'd chiel, may he, like his daddie, serve His Queen and country weel. But Alec, he's a wag, I ween, No like the ane in Dover ; And gin I read the callan right, He'll be a wee bit rover. There's independence in his ee — He winna be a slave ; But that's the spunk, ye ken, that maks The bravest o' the brave. And "Willie — he's the mither's bairn — He'll ever be the same ; The kindly glances o' his ee Tell me ye'll love his name. The twa wee things, just toddling yet About their minnie's knee, may they be, in health and grace, A' ye wou'd hae them be. 88 TlTE EABEWXLL. Noo when ye're in a caulder clime, And snug and oannilie Y( 're settled doun na mair to roam Until the day ye dee ; "When seated by your ingle-aide, Where hamelyjoya combine, To gar ye think and crack about The days o' auld lang syne ; Then will ye send a passing thought Across tbe stormy sea, "Wondering what the world'a about Wi' a' my bairns and me. And noo again I breathe the word "Which gars me sairto greet — Fareweel, my friends, a long farero "We never mair shall meet ! 89 KING DAVID'S LAMENT FOE HIS SON. Absalom, my son! my son! would I had died for thee — Would that thy sire this woful day had never liv'd to see ! Ah ! was it well of thee, great chief of all my armed men ? Did I not strictly charge ye to bring my son again ? Did I not say, when from the field in triumph back ye come, Be sure ye bring to me unhurt the young man Absalom ? How well the mandate ye've obeyed his death alone can tell. Absalom, my princely boy, my beauteous one, farewell ! 90 KIM; DAT m's l-A.v Vain's this mock fealty to me, foul the dark deed ye've N THE RETURN OF BETTISH TROOPS FROM INDIA. Welcome ! welcome ! gallant band, Homeward from a foreign strand — Thrice welcome to your native land ! •Neath proud India"- burning sun, Battles ye have fought and won. Delhi and Cawnpore can tell Eow their fancied glory fell, By the brave we love so well. Scarce bad clos'd the Russian contest 'Mill htunger, thirst, and discontent, war's bugle loudly sounded, And to burning climes ye went. <;, RETURN OF TEOOrS FROM EVDIA. 97 There 'mid slaughter foul, inhuman, Ye held on your weary way, Marching by the cheerless moonbeam, Resting 'neath the sun's fierce ray : There those cowards, murderers, foemen, Crouch' d before your dreaded guns ; Kings and chieftains knelt before ye — Homage paid to Britain's sons. May that One who goes before ye Fight your battles, plead your cause, Still defend old England's glory, Still protect her honour' d laws. And shall we, whose homes ye shelter From dishonour, grief, and shame, Shall we fail to crown with honour Brave defenders of our fame ? Think, when far from home and strangers, Sever' d from each holy tie, How they've bravely fac'd all dangers Rather than dishonour'd die. We hail you then, ye brave, ye dear ones ! Homeward from a foreign strand, — Maidens, mothers long to give you Welcome to your fatherland. RETURN 01 l R00P8 I ROW l\I>IA. Hail, "D troop," among the bravest, Ye have foughl for England's weal, Through the toilsome dread campaigning Central India knew your zeal it was a weary watching, S< eking tiger in his lair ! "Mid tin' jungle, by the torchlight, Worn-out sentinels ye were. Drizzly ruin amy thickly falling On your brave devoted heads, — Chargers' necks your only pillows, Chargers' backs your barrack beds. Weary eyes that knew no sleeping, Drooping on your saddle-bow, Thro' tip- hours of midnight keeping Keenest vigils o'er the foe. Noblest, bravest British soldiers, Scorning respite e'er so brief, So that ye might wave your banners O'er each haughty rebel chief. Nana Sahib, Tantia Topee — Demons i" a human form — bl^b fail'd them — nought to lean on — Flew before your dreadful storm. RETUKK OF TROOPS FROM INDIA. 99 But the day is fast approaching When that poor benighted land Shall proclaim that ye've been brothers — Join with Christians hand in hand. Stern Britannia greets her soldiers, Wield they gun or battle-blade ; And she greets above all others England's Royal Horse Brigade. h 2 100 THE OPENING OF ST. AKDREWfi CHURCH, LEICESTEE. 'Tis right to build gay palai Adorn'd a\ itli costly tilings ; Eight to give rulers honour due, And homage pay to kings. But better fax than all the rest, Upon this sacred sod, To rear a tabernacle fair, A temple to our God. Here shall the gentle Nazarene, Who doth our sorrows bear, Descend, a mighty God, to hear And bless our humble pr;i\ Oh ! may it- pastor here be bless'd In thi^ his arduous task, And homeward bring a wayward flock, Of thee, Lord, we ask. 101 ON THE DEATH OF A MUCH LAMENTED CHILD » OP CAPTAIN AND LADY H. ALLEJS". Come, bring ye floorers of fairest hue, And deck the tomb where Eobert sleeps; That they may shed their fragrant sweets Where a fond mother weeps. How good, how meet the offering is, That mother's heart alone can tell ; 'Tis sweet affection's gift, ere yet Earth breathes the last farewell. Ere yet the sombre coffin-lid Hath hid for ever from her sight All that death's withering hand coidd touch, All that the cankering worm can blight. 102 OABSE OT Q0WBIE. Then scatter flowers, all wei with tears, Winn- Love -till lingering weepev — Meet emblems of thai p'ntlo boy \\'lni-« dust in silence sleeps. CAESE OF GOWEIE. • I love thee, bonny < 'arse of Gowrie, Thy crystal streams and meadows flowerj Adown thee flows the lovely Tay It- sinuous COUrSi — its silvery wav Rich nature spreads her gay attire Round the LoVd home of many a squire ; Thy Lads and lasses, blythe and gay, Bo happy pass Life's early day ; For beauty far and near thou'rf famed, And Scoti Len well thou'rl named. I still shall love thee, bonny Gowrie, Thy crystal streams and meadows flow< 103 HE'S FAK, FAE AWAY. He's far, far away O'er the wild raging sea, The lad who once sang Soft and sweetly to me. Ah ! why, cruel fates, Why did ye decree That he shmdd be parted, My laddie, frae me ? How my heart oft rejoic'd At a smile frae his ee ; And he spoke aye sae kindly, The laddie, to me. Altho', ye rude billows, I canna trust you To bring again safely My laddie so true ; 1(1 I THE BLAKE tBLE. Yit angels shall watch him, And 1 shall yr ( 'anaan's blisafu] shore, "When- iniw with the assembled jusl She dwells for evermore. And though in spirit still we weep Upon thy aarrow bed, Yet, ah! forgive, blest shade, the tears Which we in sorrow shed. ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. An! could ye have traced your lost 1 (light Upward and onward to realms of light, Array'd in a robe such as angels wear, 3 axing aloft thro' the balmy air; Had you seen the commission'd angel-band 1 < uiiling him home to their Father's land — EPITAPH ON A CANARY. 109 Heard as he enter' d their harps sweetly sound, While the seraph inhabitants gathered around : "All hail, happy spirit! bless' d change thou hast made ; Here our trees ever blossom, our flowers never fade ; And more than we wish for before us now lies, For Emmanuel hath wip'd all our tears from our eyes." EPITAPH ON A CANAEY. Oh, reader ! drop a tear Eor the songster who lies here ; Eor low beside this dairy Tuneless lies our sweet canary. 110 ( >N THE DEATH OF A 5TOHNG LAJ >Y. All bright be the gems which encircle tin brow, My Lov'd benefactress, for ever! Our Father hath call'd thee away to that land Where sorrow and pain can come never. Tho' thy sweet form in death's chilly arms Lb now lying, And thy loving friends weeping around, Yet thou art rejoicing in bliss never-dying, With bright Immortality crown' d. And tho' we shall hear thy sweet voice never more In this dark, dreary valley of tears, Vi it thou thy sweet harp 'mong the seraphs art tuning, Far away thro' yon bright, glittering spheres. DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. Ill Fare thee well, fare thee well, then, thou lov'd one, for ever ! Tho' on earth we shall see thee no more, We shall meet thee again, where death cannot sever, When our own toilsome journey is o'er. Printed by T. Chapman Browne, Bible and Crown, Leicester. "Jiis book is DUE on the last date stamped Jjelow. iUUN2 21977 10M-11-50'2^5 470 remington rand inc. 20 LIBRA RY LOS ANGELES ninnniiin nii^n REGI0WL LIBRARY facility AA 000 373 878 t Ss - i — OS s s it £1 a a a a PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARD ' ^i-ubraIy^ ^ University Research Librr-y i i c z PI at £ < o