THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 VERSES 
 
 AND 
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 By A. M. W. 
 
 Btoroi' |UfX7rai yaXrivijv
 
 fK 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Now we see through a glass, darkly. 
 
 Blaib, Vol. I., Sermon 1th. 
 
 While o'er its thirteenth evening, August drew 
 Transparent night, thy voice harmonious read 
 Of shadows on this mortal being spread, 
 
 That veil the future from our anxious view 
 
 And faith perplex — the seeming with the true 
 Commingling ; but around thy youthful head 
 The glowing light of vernal life was shed, 
 
 And e'en on solemn thought its radiance threw. 
 
 Five lustres past — that day's revolving beam 
 Fell on thy clustered curls and lifeless brow, 
 
 All shades for thee dispelling — and my mind 
 With saddened tender awe attends the theme 
 
 As, the long-folded volume opening now, 
 The date, thy hand recorded there, I find. 
 
 March UK, 1860. 
 
 HURRAH
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 — per Lnvias rupes, fera per juga, 
 Clivosque praeruptos, inter aquas 
 Sonantes, nemoremque noetem. 
 
 Gba-s. 
 
 As lone I pace in twilight's quiet gloom 
 
 This lofty chamber ceiled with sculptured flowers-. 
 Memory recurs to Cintra's regal towers 
 
 Where the worn footsteps in a dreary room 
 
 Tell of dethroned Alfonso's prisoned doom — 
 But soon she turns to scenes of brilliant hours 
 By cork-trees shaded, while in fragrant showers 
 
 Cool burnished groves of citron shed their bloom. 
 
 The rocks pyramidal, the mountain glen, 
 
 The wood's deep gloom, the fountain's sparkling flow, 
 
 The fane on lofty crags of cloudy zone 
 
 I viewed in days of childhood, when the spclJ 
 
 Of Nature bade my silent spirit glow 
 
 Wrapt in a charm it had no words to own, 
 
 \£arc7i Y%th, L860
 
 S X X E T. 
 
 KTuirr/Te /iev Zeus 1 x^*' (0? — 
 p'iy7i(Tav, d»9 'tiKovaav. 
 
 Sophocles. 
 
 " They shuddered — as the subterranean roar 
 Of muffled thunder thrilled each trembling ear, 
 And in the mute suspense of awe-chilled fear 
 
 — "While hushed the wailings that his fate deplore — 
 
 A voice unearthly from the unseen shore 
 
 * Bade him depart." Alas ! that voice austere 
 I know — and yet. again, a murmur near 
 
 Foretells the summons heard, too oft ! before. 
 
 One now is called, who viewed my early bloom 
 With eyes of kindness, — then beheld it fade 
 
 And storm and shadow on its paleness fall ; 
 
 And who, where others note but wreck and gloom 
 
 Yet sees, or seems to see, the evening shade 
 
 Touched by faint rays that morning's light recall. 
 
 April 25th, 1860. 
 
 * OEMipus at Kolonos.
 
 SONNET. 
 
 "Pallas, Evauder, in ipsis 
 Omnia sunt oculia. — " 
 
 Yibgil. 
 Mensse — 
 dextrsequc datsp. 
 
 TnoUGn brightening May breathes softness on the air 
 
 Scarce half-evolved are the full blooms that lade 
 
 The chestnut-sprays ; nor yields the foliage shade, 
 But throws upon the path a tracery fair 
 Of shadows delicate — like sculpture rare 
 
 Of leaves and flowers that arched cloister braid ; 
 
 And now, my heart such feelings calm pervade 
 As solace his who finds composure there. 
 Calm, but with sadness touched ; this rapturous gush 
 
 From birds — wild-singing yet harmonious all — 
 While flush their plumes in sunset's golden grain 
 
 Seems like glad tones — heard in the cloister's hush — 
 Of distant life ; and thoughts of joy recall 
 
 Once shared, now passed, and ne'er to turn again. 
 
 May 3rd, 1860.
 
 SONN E T. 
 
 " A refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat ." 
 
 Isaiah xxv. 4. 
 
 <t>i'A\a? i'kct' ia dofiov! 
 
 Email bneprciiouaa aeipiov kukk. 
 
 Agamemnon. 
 
 Kenwyn ! thy pinnacled and lofty tower 
 
 High on the grave-clad hill well-pleased I view, 
 For there I wandered oft — when life was new 
 
 And young devotion hallowed Nature's power — 
 
 To mark the mouldering stone, the moss, the flower, 
 And gaze on the far vale of misty hue, 
 While on the winding river's current blue 
 
 Fell partial radiance at the sunset hour. 
 
 And there, my life to guard, the vow was spoken, 
 As guards the tree the woodbine round it clinging 
 
 From summer's scorching heat and winter's blast : 
 Vow sacred held ! and e'en by death unbroken — 
 
 For thence the silent hours are ever bringing 
 All that life yet can prize, though joy is past. 
 
 May 8th, 1860.
 
 SONNET. 
 
 iccipite hseo animis, lsetasque advertite meutes." 
 
 VutGir,. 
 
 I love this lofty chestnut-grove to mark 
 In luxury of blooms, that, fair, unclose 
 Petals like snow-flakes freaked by hues of rose — 
 
 And list the cuckoo, nightingale, and lark — 
 
 And watch along the mead those shadows dark 
 Swift-gliding, as the ruffling west wind blows 
 Swaying the yielding trees, and sunshine flows 
 
 In flashing splendour on their ivied bark. 
 
 After long slumber waked the vernal hours 
 A revelry of joy diffusing wide 
 
 Commingle music, fragrance, colours, light, 
 
 Till the deep charm the senses fraught o'erpowers, 
 
 And these to conscious sweet repose subside 
 In the calm presence of the moon-lit n'ght. 
 
 Mai, Ylth, 18(50.
 
 S O N N E T. 
 
 " Thou urt iuy hope, even from my youth." 
 
 Psalm lxxi. 
 
 Pleasant it is on some aerial height, 
 After long travel, at the close of day 
 With backward gaze the streamlet to survey 
 
 That tracked our journey with its waters bright, 
 
 And — though awhile it be obscured from sight 
 By hills, or gloom of woods, — in shadows gray 
 And mist when all the hues of earth decay, 
 
 To view it clear in heaven's reflected light. 
 
 So when the pilgrimage of life is closing, 
 'Tis grateful to retrace religious thought 
 
 That in pure current all our course pervaded ; 
 And, on the mind in weariness reposing, 
 
 To feel its calm and silent influence brought, 
 "When other hopes and joys are dim and faded 
 
 May \Wi. 1860.
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 Et nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbos . 
 Nunc frondent s)-lv:e, nunc formosisaimus annas. 
 
 Virgil 
 
 Spking's advent dear now earth and skies declare, 
 And as o'er wood and mead its verdure steals 
 And hour by hour a deepening tint reveals, 
 
 E'en the lone heart resigns its secret care 
 
 Nature's effusive joyaunce free to share, 
 The record of past griefs awhile conceals 
 And the sweet inexpressive rapture feels 
 
 Breathed from the earth and floating on the air. 
 
 Tis good to taste of joy — a softness new 
 Its touch imparts, and withering doubt and fear 
 
 Retire, as shades when orient light revives ; 
 And while this flush of vernal blooms I view, 
 
 And the full music of the woodland hear, 
 1 Mess the source divine whence all derives. 
 
 May 26th, 1860.
 
 SOX N E T. 
 
 O mihi prtcteritos referat si Jupiter annos." 
 
 Vriu.ii.. 
 
 The sound of bells borne on the passing wind. 
 Then, dying, lost for ever — and the sbade 
 Thrown by the cloud swift-wafted o'er the glade, 
 
 A tint of sadness brought upon thy mind 
 
 As things that were, but left no trace belynd 
 That they had been. Alas ! the traces made 
 By man himself, on earth, so quickly fade, 
 
 Pass some brief years and scarce his path we find. 
 
 Thy youth's fine feeling faded in the strife 
 Of sterner manhood by ambition fired, 
 
 For wreaths of war and gauds of wealth were thine ; 
 But vain their power to charm thy better life 
 
 That turned — when pensive tenderness inspired, — 
 To 3-outh's unselfish thought and feeling fine. 
 
 June 'loth, I860.
 
 10 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " "Where is the world into which I was born ? " 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 To regions known in youth, its silent flight 
 
 Thought frequent turns — stars long unseen to view 
 Brilliant in skies of azure's deepest hue — 
 
 And watch the Vagalume's floating light 
 
 On summer's gloom nocturnal gleaming bright, 
 When sea-horn airs sensation faint renew, 
 And accents, pleasure prompted, deep and true 
 
 Responsive, with the cithern's tones unite. 
 
 All now are gone, once of that southern tongue 
 Conscious, — and from my life one portion fair 
 
 Dissevered, and with them departed, seems : 
 And if sweet lays by Lusian poet sung 
 
 His land recall, the years remembered there 
 Are but like distant music heard in dreams. 
 
 Vagalumo— "wandering light " — the Portuguese name for the firo-fly. 
 June 30t/i, 1860.
 
 11 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Now I know in part ; but then shall I know even as I am known." 
 
 1 Cor., chap. 13. 
 
 And thou, too, art departed! once again 
 
 The grave receives a friendship proved and dear : 
 Faith, hope, and love inspired thy young career, 
 
 Brightened its progress, and preserved from stain : 
 
 Dauntless thy soul — and when the stormy main 
 — Deep to deep calling — bade the boldest fear, 
 Thy brow serene sufficed the crew to cheer, 
 
 And win them death to dare, or toil sustain. 
 
 Thine, also, were war's honours — but on themes 
 The world's impatient votaries disown, 
 
 Thy mind in lonely vigils loved to dwell ; 
 And if it wandered oft in shadowy dreams 
 
 That real seemed to thee, as thou art known, 
 Thou knowest now the truth it loved so well. 
 
 July Zrd, 1860.
 
 12 
 
 SONN E T. 
 
 Kit* it ou i wide Hi ijairoiKii 'into. 
 
 Homes. 
 
 A subtile charm in tender sadness lies 
 
 That joy owns not: the splendoitr unallayed 
 Of noontide pleases, but awhile surveyed 
 
 The glow of beauty pains our dazzled eyes ; 
 
 The richest odours that from incense rise 
 
 Oppress the sense o'er long by fragrance swayed- 
 And music's tones, in artful sequence played, 
 
 By discord brief more sweetness harmonize. 
 
 Nor seems the heart for bliss untempered made — 
 And in that world where ill shall be unknown, 
 
 Remembered grief such softening tints may yield 
 As the departed storm's yet lingering shade 
 
 — In gloom along the far horizon thrown — 
 Gives to the lustre pure around revealed. 
 
 July 27 Hi, I860.
 
 13 
 
 S T A N Z A S. 
 
 t</j£Clf »k nor oi xp"'*'"? 
 
 Somioci.ks. 
 
 "Whebe are tlie summer's brilliant days, 
 
 Her fervid noon, her evening light? 
 Lingering with scarcely faded rays 
 
 Around the brow of night ; 
 And where her moons ? whose lustre bright 
 
 On wood and lawn and valley gray 
 Poured, grateful, on my aching sight 
 
 A softer, calmer day. 
 
 The rose its fragrant incense breathes 
 
 From glossy cup of vermeil hue, 
 And garlands sweet the woodbine wreathes, 
 
 And scents the twilight dew ; 
 But faintly now, nor oft, I view 
 
 — The dark and shrouding clouds between- 
 Thosc summer skies whose fulgent blue 
 
 Should grace the summer scene.
 
 14 
 
 The scene how fair ! but still o'er all 
 
 The clouds a gloom untimely show — 
 And sadder seems the gloom to fall 
 
 On hours that joy should know : 
 Thus sad we feel, when o'er the glow, 
 
 The joyous glow, of youthful bloom 
 "We see ixntimely sickness throw 
 
 The shadow of the tomb. 
 
 August 3rd, 1860. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " Arboribus clausam circum atque horrentibus uinbris. 
 
 Vibc.ii.. 
 
 Tjie waters of the lake are dark 
 
 And hurry, ruffled, to the shore — 
 The sullen weeds impede my bark, 
 
 And tangle round the oar ; 
 No liquid strains from evening bird 
 
 Sweet on the dreary silence float, 
 Nor from the sedgy bank is heard 
 
 The moorhen's lonely note.
 
 By the high wood as slow I pass, 
 
 Yon birch, white-withered, far descried , 
 Amid the trees along the grass 
 
 A spectre seems to glide : 
 A darker shade around is thrown 
 
 Than falls at eve on hill and down, 
 And hearts that nature's beauty own 
 
 Shrink, saddened, by her frown. 
 
 The skiff I moor, and upwards take 
 
 The dusky path and winding way, 
 When lo ! the clouds with sudden break 
 
 Reveal the parting day : 
 And as the level rays illume 
 
 The shafted trunks with flushing glow, 
 The wood above is solemn gloom 
 
 And burnished gold below. 
 
 So erst, at seasons when my heart 
 
 But feebly throbbed, by grief subdued, 
 A sudden change would hope impart 
 
 And give it strength renewed : 
 Dark as the gloom by sorrow made, 
 
 So fair appeared succeeding light — 
 Fair was the light — but soon to fade 
 
 And set, like this, in night. 
 
 August Mh, 18(50.
 
 Hi 
 
 SONN E T. 
 
 "True fortitude of understanding consists iu not suffering what we 
 know to be disturbed by what we do not know." 
 
 Paley. 
 
 "S'il <?tait vrai que dans la nature des choses il se flit rencontre 
 des obstacles a la felicity parfaite que l'etre supreme auroit voulu donner 
 a ses creatures, la bonte continueroit l'intentiou de la Providence." 
 
 Madame tie Stacl. 
 
 Of evil, of its source and licensed reign 
 — The mournful mystery from age to age — 
 * Perplexed the savage questions, and the sage 
 
 To solve the raveled problem tries in vain ; 
 
 Yet though its gloomy mazes to explain 
 Discursive reason fail, doubts that engage 
 And vex the thoughtful mind it may assuage 
 
 And wavering faith and fading hope sustain. 
 
 An aim beneficent in all is shown, 
 
 Wherein design we trace, and hence we learn 
 
 That good derives from the Creator's will : 
 
 Work on His plan, then — since this truth is known, 
 
 — Whate'er beside but dimly we discern — 
 That those, who good promote, His aim fulfil. 
 
 * A Kafir, to whom a missionary was stating the doctrine of the fall 
 of man, inquired whether Adam or the serpent was made first ? 
 
 August I5tk, 1860.
 
 17 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Who tuaketh thee to differ from another ? and what hast thou 
 that thou didst not receive?" — 1 Cor., chap. 4. 
 
 If thou possess the art disease to heal, 
 
 Be not thereon elated — it was given ; 
 
 And as a branch when from the vine-stem riven 
 Can never more in leaf and fruit reveal 
 The living dews wont through its veins to steal, 
 
 So, but for strength imparted, thou hadst striven 
 
 In vain, the throngs to aid, who, terror-driven 
 Or lured by hope, now to that power appeal. 
 "While reigns this truth, acknowledged, in thy mind, 
 
 It will preserve, by pride unsoiled, the aim 
 Beneficent by which thy hand is guided, 
 
 Though sense of human pleasure, undefined, 
 Blend with thy higher thought, when men proclaim 
 
 The skill — a sacred trust — to thee confided.
 
 IS 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Procul, O procul este, profani." 
 
 YlKC.lt. 
 
 How few ! with whom in Nature's paths to roam 
 Cares the rapt mind — whether by lonely shore 
 Where pillared caves worn by the ocean hoar 
 
 Echo its thunder, and the high-whirled foam 
 
 Falls silvery on the rocks, the sea-bird's home — 
 Or in the forest, when the mute trees soar 
 In lofty gloom, or winds, like ocean's roar 
 
 Resounding, sweep the fluctuating dome : 
 
 Or -when the moon's calm splendour fills the skies, 
 As now — O if a word, ill-omened, spoken 
 
 "Was deemed, in ancient days, to render vain 
 The sacred rites of solemn sacrifice, 
 
 So the deep spell of awed delight is broken 
 If Nature's pomp discordant words profane.
 
 19 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 iSolem e muudo toliere videntur qui amicitiani a vita tolluut. 
 
 Before me lies a tranquil scene 
 
 Where lofty trees of foliage grand 
 In deep, unchanged, meridian green 
 
 Rise o'er the grassy land ; 
 And on the lawns, in circles fair 
 
 The flowers unfold their mingled dyes, 
 But drizzly mist obscures the air, 
 
 And clouds conceal the skies. 
 
 Through the dense veil no gleams appear 
 
 To flush the flowers or fire the glade ; 
 All Summer gives, profuse, is here, 
 
 But all is dimmed by shade : 
 And thus, though lonely life be fair, 
 
 And smooth its ebbing sand-stream run, 
 The mournful hue it oft will wear 
 
 Of day without the sun. 
 
 August Vdth, 1860.
 
 20 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 (FROM A PASSAGE IX "CORIXXE.") 
 
 "Whilst looking from the window on a rich meadow shaded by tall 
 elms, and sloping to a broad, shallow, clear and sparkling stream, I 
 said, " Is not this beautiful ! " " Yes," he replied ; " so beautiful as to 
 inspire regret that one must so soon leave it." — October, 1809. 
 
 When the death-angel comes our years to bound, 
 
 A secret feeling warns us lie is nigh ; 
 
 If through the woods the wind at evening sigL 
 We hear his accents in the mournful sound ; 
 And when dark shadows stretched along the grcu 
 
 On the illumined plain contrasted lie, 
 
 We seem to view his flowing drapery 
 In dusty folds wide-floating all around. 
 E'en in the brilliance of the noon-tide sties 
 
 When life's gay votaries but perceive and feel 
 The sun's glad influence and the azure light, 
 
 He, the death-angel claims, afar descries 
 The rising cloud, soon on that light lo steal. 
 
 And hide all nature from Lis fading sight.
 
 21 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Ex imbri soles et aperta serena — 
 
 — raucae palumbes — 
 Nescio qua prater solitum dulcedine— 
 Inter se foliis strepitant. 
 
 VlBGlL. 
 
 The morn of summer should be warm, 
 
 The summer eve be soft and bright ; 
 But clouds the joyless day deform, 
 
 And dreary rains, the night : 
 Yet now yon cloud of pearly white 
 
 Disparting melts, and while a stream 
 The sunset pours of golden light 
 
 Earth flushes in the gleam. 
 
 The groves in richest verdure clad— 
 
 As touched by joy's unwonted thrill 
 With murmurs deep, sonorous, glad 
 
 Responding ring-doves fill : 
 The red-breast's song yet faint and still 
 
 The sinking glory seems to hail, — 
 But evening air is damp and chill, 
 
 And fades the radiance, pale.
 
 22 
 
 I pensive turn, and lo ! the sky 
 
 Expands its arch in stainless blue — 
 The clouds are gone, and fair and high 
 
 The southern moon I view : 
 And beats my heart with hopes anew 
 
 That yet some genial days may shine 
 And shed their transient brightness too 
 
 On life so lone as mine. 
 
 August 27th, 1860. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Postera Phcebea, lustrabat lampade terras 
 Iliunentemque Aurora polo dkuoverat iimbram. 
 
 Vikgil. 
 
 With throbbing brow and aching eyes 
 
 I passed the long rain- darkened day- 
 But dawning rays from orient skies 
 
 The lingering pain allay : 
 I joy to see the leafy spray 
 
 In varying lustre wave again, 
 And light and shade in changeful sway 
 
 Sweep o'er the grassy plain.
 
 23 
 
 The summer sun so long withdrawn 
 
 And hid in veil of misty gloom, 
 Wow streaming bright o'er wood and lawn 
 
 .Restores their living bloom, 
 And e'en my weary thoughts relume 
 
 That languished in the humid shade, 
 But now the cheerful hue assume 
 
 Returning light has made. 
 
 O heavenly light ! of all we know 
 
 Or hope of good, the emblem fair ! 
 From thee I felt the influence flow 
 
 That softened cold despair : 
 And though in hours of pain and care 
 
 No voice I hear in friendship's tone, 
 Let me but still thy blessing share 
 
 And still the blessing own.
 
 2t 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Warburtou asserts that the secret of the Eleusinian mysteries was 
 
 no other thau the doctrine of the unity of the Supreme Being. It is 
 
 said that wherever they were introduced by the Athenians, a spirit of 
 
 humanity and union was diffused, and that they taught the method of 
 
 arriving at the perfection of virtue, the serene happiness of a holy life, 
 
 and the hope of future and eternal felicity. 
 
 Bakthelemi. 
 
 When at the marble fane of Proserpine 
 And Ceres, Greece assembled year by year, 
 And the grave Hierophant in words of fear 
 
 And hope, with solemn pomp and mystic sign 
 
 Taught to the pale Initiate lore divine, — 
 From altar-fire a torch enkindled clear 
 Was passed from hand to hand in swift career, 
 
 Then borne again, yet blazing, to the shrine. 
 
 Thus, in our course, hold we the torch on high 
 Of truth, its light diffusing, with the rays 
 
 Varying in glow and hue of love's pure flame : 
 Pleasures soon fade, and e'en in memory die — 
 
 But love and truth are still, while life decays, 
 Rekindled at the source from whence they came. 
 
 August 26th, 18G0.
 
 25 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Nee violse — nee hiantia lilia florent, 
 Et riget aniissu spina relicta rosa. 
 
 Otic. 
 
 As fires that in the ruby glow, 
 
 Flamed o'er the west the sunset dye, 
 And while the fervour faded, slow, 
 
 Forth shone the moon on high ; 
 Now in the rose-hued orient sky 
 
 How beautiful September's dawn ! 
 While dews in silvery grayness lie 
 
 Dimming the emerald lawn. 
 
 Along the valley's upland side 
 
 AVhere lingering sickles soon must reap, 
 Pale, in the lustre streaming wide 
 
 The quivering oat-waves sleep : 
 No shadows o'er the landscape sweep 
 
 Save when the rook dark-floats along, 
 And sweet, amid the stillness deep 
 
 Is heard the redbreast's song.
 
 26 
 
 Forgot tlie clouds of sullen hue — 
 
 Forgot the ceaseless dreary rain — 
 I watch the arch of brilliant blue 
 
 Expand, -without a stain ; 
 And, though subdued by lengthened pain, 
 
 My languid brow I prop, reclined, 
 The splendour shed o'er earth again 
 
 Falls brightening on my mind. 
 
 Beneath the sun the dews exhale, 
 
 In white transparent mist uprolled, 
 And soften by their vapourous veil 
 
 The woodland's umbrage bold ; 
 Spreads o'er the mead the fleecy fold, 
 
 Gleams, far and faint, the woodland lake, 
 And all my wandering eyes behold 
 
 To gladness seems to wake. 
 
 Blessed be the Power ! my heart that strung 
 
 Each touch of nature to obey ; 
 The trembling chords, though rudely wrung, 
 
 Acknowledge still her sway : 
 Life's summer flowers have passed away, 
 
 And thorns, where roses bloomed, are seen- 
 Yet calm she makes the silent day, 
 
 And solitude, serene. 
 
 September 1st, 1860.
 
 27 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 3pa7MUTU 6' a\Au M eT ' y^M"" fc7T>/iptMa 7Ti7rTO»' epufe. 
 ti/ ovpaiut aCTTpa — 
 
 HOMEB. 
 
 In day's departing beam 
 Fell the full sheaves along the upland side, 
 "While, in the distance, silent as a dream 
 Lay the fair scene descried. 
 
 Then gorgeous, as it passed, 
 
 The sunset streaming through the woodland glade 
 
 — Like glory hovering in a temple vast — 
 
 A solemn lustre made. 
 
 Now the cerulean height 
 Darkens — the concave high of azure gloom 
 Sparkles with stars, that burn in diamond light 
 And shine, but not illume ; 
 
 And in the eastern sky 
 
 The rising moon o'er the clear darkness dawns, 
 And dewy rays, and far-stretched shadows be 
 Alternate on the lawns.
 
 28 
 
 No quivering leaves declare 
 The living presence of niglit's freshening breath ; 
 O'er earth's deep hush, and in the waveless air 
 The stillness reigns of death. 
 
 'Tis as the course of time 
 
 In struggle, hurry, toil and tumult run, 
 
 "Were closed — and, calm as yonder arch sublime, 
 
 Eternity begun. 
 
 September 6th, 1860. 
 
 A PLEA EOE EHYME. 
 
 FBOM THE FBENCH. 
 
 By laws of rhyme, that over thought 
 
 Oppressive fetters seem to throw, 
 The energy of strength is wrought 
 
 In which its greatest power we know 
 The wave, a channel straight conveys, 
 Eeleased, with higher salience plays, 
 
 A sparkling column in the air ; 
 And rules, which seem at first austere, 
 The harmony that charms the ear 
 
 "With latent art prepare.
 
 29 
 
 STANZAS. 
 To W. B., Esq., F.K.S., 
 
 OX HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 " Nunc dicenda bono sunt bona verba die." 
 
 Ovid. 
 " Casta pudicitiam servat domus." 
 
 Viegil. 
 
 Wheee round Cornubia's rugged shore 
 
 The western ocean ceaseless raves, 
 And sweeps its foaming surges o'er 
 
 Disparted rocks and sounding caves, 
 The cliff whose grandeur rude defies 
 
 Below, the wave, above, the storm, 
 The clouded marble dark supplies 
 
 That gave this vase its graceful form. 
 
 And now, from seas and storms remote, 
 
 It bears thee lilies white as foam, 
 Of hue unsullied, to denote 
 
 The purity that guards thy home : 
 And be it thine, that home to bless, 
 
 This day revolving long to see, 
 While gladsome eyes around confess 
 
 Their guileless joy derived from thee.
 
 30 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Ecce cadunt largi resolutis nubibus imbres." 
 
 Ovid. 
 " Dulces moriens reminiscitur Arg08." 
 
 VlHGII/. 
 
 With hushing sound November's stilly rain 
 From early morn has fallen in ceaseless flow, 
 And now, in vapour veils the valley low, 
 
 Floats o'er the trees and dims the nearer plain : 
 
 Debarred the lettered page, I ask, in vain, 
 Tribute from hours reluctant, mute and slow, 
 And, wistful, gaze where Autumn's fading glow 
 
 The umbered beech and greener oak retain. 
 
 Then, as I pace the solitary room, 
 Father ! thy form, traced by my brother's hand, 
 
 Arrests my glance, and while thy look I see, 
 A tender sorrow melts the shapeless gloom, 
 
 For thee, lone dying in a stranger land, 
 
 And him, whose fettered thoughts but Death could 
 free. 
 
 November 11th, 18G0.
 
 31 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 " impulsas tentavit polliee cbordas, 
 
 Bt sensit varios quamvia diversa sonarent 
 Coucordare modos. 
 " Flebile nescio quid queritur lyra." 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 Of lutes, whose chords in harmony maintain 
 With tension due each j ust proportioned tone, 
 If sweep the hand o'er one, not that alone 
 
 Vibrates, but from the other floats again 
 
 Reverberate the clear, spontaneous strain, — 
 
 So hearts, that yet nor loss nor wrong have known, 
 Another's voice in all its compass own, 
 
 Or breathed in notes of joy, or wail of pain. 
 
 But let the diapason once be broken 
 
 By string untuned or rent, no more will waken 
 
 The full accord, that now imperfect dies : 
 
 And to how many themes in brilliance spoken 
 
 The heart outworn, by kindred thoughts forsaken, 
 Is mute — or faint and brokenly replies. 
 
 November 20th, 1860.
 
 32 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Expatiata ruunt per apertos flumina carnpos." 
 
 " stagnum lucentis ad inium 
 
 Usque solum lymphse." 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 My thoughts are not the rippling current clear 
 From gushing fountain of perennial flow, 
 TJnquenched by beaming summer's ardent glow, 
 
 Nor conscious of the winter's check austere ; 
 
 But like tho rock-hewn pool in desert sere 
 Whose waters calm the sky reflected show, 
 But, unrenewed by living springs below, 
 
 Slowly exhale, and wasted disappear. 
 
 And, from my mind while former records fade, 
 And the blank page no fresh inscriptions knows, 
 
 A trackless gloom were closing round me fast, 
 But that from memory's hand athwart the shade 
 
 The torch of love a varying radiance throws, 
 And cheers the present as it blessed the past. 
 
 Deccmher 1st, 1SC0.
 
 33 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 "However violent the storm, but one drop of rain, at a time, falls on 
 the back of the humming-bird." — St. Pierhe. 
 
 Moui/of d'emtp ~re vonai; 
 'A\\a t€ ul ftpuoaiav tc voos, \tmrj 6e tc M'lT'f* 
 
 HOMEE. 
 
 Thottgh but, of rain in wildest storm, 
 
 One drop amid liana-leaves, 
 At once, upon Lis brilliant form 
 
 The humming-bird receives, 
 Yet if that drop were still renewed, 
 
 The tints that o'er his plumage play 
 All drenched, disordered, and subdued, 
 
 Would lose each glanciDg ray. 
 
 The baud that may awhile sustain 
 
 Of tortive steel a measured length, 
 Nor to the weight of pendent chain 
 
 Unequal find its strength, 
 If day by day a single link 
 
 Be to the drooping circlets hung, 
 O'ermastered by the poize will sink 
 
 Enervate and unstrung.
 
 34 STANZAS. 
 
 The drop's perpetual fall will wear 
 
 A hollow in the hardest stone ; 
 And on the curved and polished share 
 
 Earth's pressure soft is shown : 
 Against the gnarled majestic oak 
 
 How idle seems the casual hlow — 
 And yet the small incisive stroke, 
 
 Continuous, lays it low. 
 
 And so, in solitary hours 
 
 When sympathy and love are flown, 
 The mind, awhile, maintains her powers 
 
 Unaided and alone ; 
 But if prolonged the silent void 
 
 And twilight gloom, they fade away, 
 And languidly, or scarce employed, 
 
 In torpor dull decay. 
 
 O welcome, then, the flashing beam 
 
 That thought emitting, thought inspires- 
 And wakes to life, on many a theme, 
 
 Its dim and smouldering fires ! 
 And welcome friendship's accent kind, 
 
 Evoking feelings in the breast 
 That, like the lake unstirred by wind, 
 
 Slumbered in stagnant rest. 
 
 December 10th, 1860.
 
 35 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Sola superstes." 
 — juvat metniuisse beati 
 
 Temporis." 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 Aftee long lingering hours of pain that knows 
 No solace, and that even thought can tame 
 Absorbed in suffering, o'er my weary frame 
 
 How grateful steals this languor of repose ! 
 
 And though my eye-lids drooping, idly close, 
 
 And though no friendly voice pronounce my name 
 In question kind, and but the quivering flame 
 
 Marks the deep stillness as it murmuring flows — 
 
 This crystal vase — a sister's gift — replete 
 
 With flowers gold-shaded, and the violets blue 
 
 My father loved, here breathing rich perfume, 
 Waken home-memories, as the essence sweet 
 
 Of faded flowers recalls the scene anew 
 
 Where first, with youthful joy, wemarked their bloom. 
 
 December llth. 18C0.
 
 3G 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 HOMEB. 
 
 While the lone shepherd of Chaldsea's plain 
 
 Gazed on the stars that, singly, through the night 
 Glided in splendour, or in clusters bright 
 
 O'er the deep azure swept in radiant train 
 
 Their sparkling glories, would he not, full fain, 
 — As the gray dawn with chill and doubtful light 
 The wide and level sward restored to sight,-— 
 
 Have bid the pageant turn, and shine again ? 
 
 And thus I dwell on names that star-like rose 
 And shone benignant, till they passed away — 
 
 And from my mind, when, dim, the visions fade, 
 Life present, but the dreary aspect shows 
 
 Of the first hour, whose pale and dusky ray 
 Succeeds the solemn night's illumined shade. 
 
 •o 1 
 
 December 31st, I860.
 
 61 
 
 S T A N Z A S. 
 
 Versification of an Old Fable. 
 
 Three friends, named "Genius," "Virtue," " Repu- 
 tation," 
 
 Resolved that they would travel England through, 
 And visit all things worth their observation ; 
 
 But first consulted on some rendezvous 
 Where, by misfortune or by storm of weather 
 If parted, they again might meet together. 
 
 " If I should lose you," Genius with emotion 
 
 Then said, " which Heaven forbid ! by Shakespeare's 
 tomb 
 
 You may descry me, kneeling in devotion, 
 Or in the groves of consecrated gloom 
 
 Where Milton talked with angels, or the cope, 
 
 Shell-fretted, where the Muses talked with Pope." 
 
 " My friends, I own, are few," said Virtue, sadly ; 
 
 And if my hapless fate from you divide me, 
 To domes of state I would refer you, gladly ; 
 
 But since to these access might be denied me, 
 Some lowly cottage, which content may share 
 With labour, seek — and you will find me there."
 
 MS STANZAS. 
 
 "O friends! O dear companions ! " Reputation 
 Exclaimed, in voice of deep and earnest sound, 
 
 "You, happily, may at some favourite station, 
 Even if lost awhile, again be found ; 
 
 But me, oh keep in sight ! for if we sever, 
 And once you lose me, I am lost for ever ! " 
 
 " Foi celeste '. foi consolatrice ! tu lais plus que de transporter Jes 
 montagnes; tu souleves les poids accablaus qui pesent sur le coeur de- 
 l'homme !" — Chateaubriand. 
 
 When pain and anguish sate 
 
 By the dim hearth, they came, of aspect meek, ' 
 The orphan and the widow desolate 
 
 With gentle words to seek. 
 
 And half an age has flown, 
 
 And time and chance for all have changes made ; 
 But the true friendship then begun, alone 
 
 Nor time nor change could fade. 
 
 Thrice, when the stroke of death 
 
 Fell heavy on their dwellings, I was there ; 
 
 I saw the forms, that heaved no move with breath, 
 ]n marble calmness fair :
 
 STANZAS. 3 l J 
 
 The youth of manly mien, 
 
 The maiden, beautiful as orient skies, 
 The child,* whose thoughts went forth to worlds unseen, 
 
 But clung to human ties, — 
 
 And the pale mother, bowed 
 
 By grief, yet doubting not of love divine, 
 Though, through the denseness of the shadowing cloud, 
 
 She could not feel it shine.f 
 
 And thrice again the stroke 
 
 Descended, now on the mature of years ; 
 Yet the bereaved no word impatient spoke, 
 
 Nor wept impatient tears. 
 
 Trust in the gracious will, 
 
 That life bestowed and then resumed it, gave 
 Its stillness to their sorrow — seeming ill 
 
 They deem will in the grave 
 
 Be changed, and that, beyond, 
 A higher state than earth has ever known 
 
 Awaits the pure, and where the loved and fond 
 Will live again, their own. 
 
 Might faith, its power to prove, 
 
 Bid the hrm mountain from its base depart ? 
 Oh, more ! it can the pressure stern remove 
 
 That weighs upon the heart !' 
 
 * " Thou art going to thy heavenly Father," said Mrs. T y to her 
 
 dying child; "thou lovest thy heavenly Father?" "I love many 
 persons," wa3 his reply. 
 
 t " I dare not, and I do not," said Mrs. T y, on the death of her 
 
 son at two-and-twenty, " question the love as well as the wisdom of I lib- 
 dispensation, but I cannot feel it, yet." 
 
 February 8th, 1861.
 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 "XfiAea nevrf- Stt]v, 'i'7rep<u>ii/ i'ovK &&ttjve. n 
 
 HOMEB, 
 
 O'ee all that thought contemplates, mysteries reign. 
 
 Shadow man's fleeting course, and shroud its end ; 
 
 But that beyond the grave it shall extend, 
 Perceptions exquisite of joy and pain 
 Persuade him : of the first, the cup to drain 
 
 Vainly he seeks ; its fountains oft suspend 
 
 Fitful, their streams, and drops absinthiate blend 
 With the sweet draught he, scantly, may obtain : 
 But sorrow's turbid waters ever flow — 
 
 Yet. though her chalice full he shuddering take, 
 His thirst unquenched for joy, assures him still 
 
 That <lie deep instinct shall fruition know, 
 And equal justice retribution make 
 
 Of good, to those whose share on earth was ill.
 
 41 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " In the greatest part of our concernment, He has afforded us only 
 the twilight of probability; suitable, I presume, to that state of 
 mediocrity and probation in which He has been pleased to place us, 
 wherein to check our over-forwardness and presumptiou." — Locke's 
 Essat. 
 
 When in Bethsaida's consecrated land 
 
 He whose perceptive ray was quenched in night, 
 
 First, gleams illusive, then completed sight 
 Received from touch of the heaven-gifted baud. 
 Can human reason tell, or understand, 
 
 Why power was then put forth in gradual might ? 
 
 When the same will that gave progressive light 
 Could day's full lustre by a word command. 
 And when imperfect vision saw " as trees, 
 
 Men walking," were reproach and wrath its due 
 From clearer eyes ? or, rather, gentle ruth ? 
 
 E'en thus, in doubtful twilight's slow degrees 
 Brightening to morn, may thought perceptions new 
 
 Through error gain, till shine unclouded truth
 
 42 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " Non ignara niali, miseris suecurrere disco." 
 
 VlHGIL. 
 
 " Bear ye one another's burdens." 
 
 St. Paul. 
 
 " Sweet are the uses of adversity." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 When I would bid departing years 
 
 Return, with all their train, 
 Though pallid grief at once appears, 
 
 I pleasure call, in vain. 
 Alas ! it is a fading flower 
 That lives a bright and fragrant hour, 
 
 But ne'er can bloom again ! 
 And — fragrance lost, and colour flown — 
 Its early sweetness scarce we own. 
 
 I think not now of transient woe 
 
 That woke a stainless tear — 
 The smoothest brow may sadness know 
 
 While comfort still is near ; 
 A shadow o'er the sunbeam lowers — 
 The darkening cloud descends in showers, 
 
 And skies again are clear ; 
 But, spent the storm, though lulled its roar, 
 Yet strew its wrecks the silent shore.
 
 STANZAS. 43 
 
 Why should remembrance keen of grief 
 
 Survive iu life's decay, 
 "When memories are faint and brief 
 
 Of pleasures past away, 
 Bat that the heart be prone to melt 
 When sorrows, it has deeply felt, 
 
 O'er others hold their sway, 
 And prompt the crushing weight to share 
 Its straining cords were doomed to bear. 
 
 A fountain from the smitten rock 
 
 Assuaged consuming thirst ; 
 The beaten olive, from the shock 
 
 In fuller germs will burst ; 
 The plant that droops, though watched with care, 
 By winter's cold and liberal air 
 
 To vigorous growth is nursed ; 
 And wastes, that but the heath bell know, 
 Kent by the share, with harvests glow. 
 
 February I6tk, L861.
 
 II 
 
 S O N N E '1'. 
 
 ' press* ciim jam portum tetigere cartas, 
 
 Puppibus et lieti nautse imposuere coronas." 
 
 VlBGlL. 
 
 On Roman sepulchres a ship was seen 
 
 — The storms and perils of the ocean o'er — 
 
 Furling her sails as gliding to the shore, 
 The waters placid and the skj T serene : 
 And do those quiet groves, reflected green 
 
 On the calm surface, scenes of home restore ? 
 
 And friends ? in whom no thought of parting more 
 Shadows the rapturous welcome of their mien — 
 Oh, then resolved in bliss the wildering fear 
 
 That absence, by no word in fondness traced 
 Relieved, but passed in silence blank inspires, 
 
 Lest all, or aught, in memory's records dear 
 By time or change be altered or effaced, 
 
 And quenched within the heart its former fires.
 
 45 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 The first eight Stanzas are the versification of an account in the 
 Morning Chronicle, February 12th, 1861, of a shipwreck on the 
 Wicklow Coast, Sunday, the 10th. 
 
 No living memory tells 
 
 Of a storm like that which raves, 
 And from north and eastward swells 
 
 Wicklow's dark and sounding waves, 
 While rain and sleet and snow fill the air ; 
 But in many a mourning breast 
 Will this day remembered rest. 
 By the characters imprest 
 Of despair. 
 
 A brig before the gale 
 
 Drives, at full tide, to the shore, 
 And in ribbons flies each sail 
 
 That her masts but lately bore- 
 On she comes — and broadside strikes on the strand 
 Five men of livid mien 
 O'er her gunwale, helpless, lean, 
 And by pitying crowds are seen 
 From the land.
 
 4t3 STANZAS. 
 
 An hour — or near that space — ■ 
 
 Stood those men, with stony glare, jf-ahSL' 
 
 "While the waters o'er each face 
 Threw a death-like ghastly glare, 
 
 And brave hearts to them a rope vainly stretch. 
 
 For like whipcord strains the mast, 
 
 And the hull is rocking fast, 
 
 And the drenching seas roll vast 
 
 O'er each wretch. 
 
 Now a wave receding goes — 
 
 And swift-rushing o'er the sands 
 The rope, a boatman throws 
 
 In a sailor's frozen hands 
 That bind it to a hawser on the deck ; 
 And now a man, now twain, 
 Now three the shore attain — 
 And now but two remain 
 On the wreck. 
 
 Between the remnant two 
 
 There appeared a cruel strife, 
 And the gazers thought it grew 
 
 From despairing grasp at life — 
 But one was weak, and the struggle soon was o'er- 
 For the stronger wildly leapt 
 Where the raging surges swept, 
 But the rope securely kept 
 To the shore.
 
 STANZAS 4/7 
 
 The helpless man still left 
 
 Hope and energy forsake, 
 And of warmth and power bereft, 
 
 He with ague seems to shake ; 
 When young Lacy to the ship dared to get 
 From her dark and slippery sides 
 Three times his footing slides, 
 But on deck at last, abides 
 Firmly set. 
 
 Round the man, with ready aid. 
 
 Straight a rope he fastened tight. 
 And with effort strongly made 
 
 Raised him to the gunwale-height, 
 But he fell back stiff and powerless as a corse 
 While the huge waves o'er them washed, 
 And a boat unfastened dashed 
 On the bursting timbers, crashed 
 By its force. 
 
 Lacy put forth all his strength 
 
 To uplift the man again, 
 And impelled him o'er, at length 
 
 In the fierce and boiling main, 
 But he fell on the hawser 'mid the foam ; 
 Then the gallant boatman rushed, 
 And while waves around them flushed 
 And their eyes with rapture gushed 
 
 Brought him home. 
 
 * * • *
 
 48 STANZAS. 
 
 Oh fearful is the jar 
 
 Of our terrors and our trust, 
 When the elements at war 
 
 Seem to shiver man to dust — 
 But one thought through the gloom still is mine, 
 That to those who death can brave 
 E'en a stranger's life to save, 
 Nature minds immortal gave 
 And divine. 
 
 The power we call the mind 
 
 May in calms appear to sleep, 
 But — as harps that love the wind, 
 
 If their chords its impulse sweep 
 Pour the music forth that dormant in them lies— 
 When storms our being rend 
 O'er the ruins will ascend. 
 For its origin and end 
 Arc the skies.
 
 49 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Euripides. 
 
 The changeful light from Fancy's eyes 
 
 Like that on gleaming dews, 
 Imparts to all that round it lies 
 
 The variance of its hues ; 
 So morn, when o'er the mountain shed, 
 Cliff, forest, lawn before it spread 
 "With living bloom imbues ; 
 Nor fairer aught, experience deems, 
 Than fancy's charm and morning's beams. 
 
 The fountain gushing from the rock 
 
 Falls flashing to the ground, 
 As if the lavish waters mock 
 
 The channel's narrow bound ; 
 Yet soon themselves a channel wear, 
 And grazing herds and fleeces fail- 
 Along its banks are found : 
 On all, refreshment it bestows, 
 And verdure deepens where it flows.
 
 50 STANZAS. 
 
 Yet, winding full its placid course 
 
 To fertilize and cheer, 
 Less bright, than at their sparkling source 
 
 The waters now appear ; 
 The earthy brink its bue distains 
 Tis turbid made by wintry rains 
 And foliage scattered sear ; 
 And useful though the current glide, 
 These oft deface the ruffled tide. 
 
 There is in hearts an instinct fine 
 
 That loves the fair and pure ; 
 And hues, that round its semblance shine, 
 
 With subtile charm allure ; 
 And if the light in which it glows 
 Be but what gilded vapour throws 
 And but as long endure 
 As fading cloud or melting dew, 
 The instinct it betrayed, was true. 
 
 The soul, some sages dreamed and taught, 
 
 A wandering exile here, 
 Oft backward turns bewildered thought 
 
 To seek her former sphere ; 
 And who will not the mystery own 
 That all, perhaps, at times have known, 
 The strange illusion clear 
 For some fleet moments, if no more, 
 Thai life, then lived, way lived before.
 
 STANZAS. 51 
 
 llowe'er it be, to youthful days 
 
 Still memory loves to turn— 
 The morn of life, ere yet its rays 
 
 "With noontide fervour burn — 
 And mark the lucid fountain speed 
 Unstained by earth, unchecked by weed 
 Fresh from its rocky urn : 
 And sure, this instinct of the mind 
 Must, somewhere, full fruition find.
 
 52 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 " Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and eometh dowu 
 from the Father of light." — St. James. 
 
 Light may mislead, when the imperfect sight 
 
 Inured to darkness first perceives the ray ; 
 
 And he may falter, and mistake his way 
 Who, by touch guided, safely walked in night : 
 But would you check the dawn's dilation bright 
 
 Because its first faint glimmer may betray 
 
 Dim eye and footstep rash ? nor wish for day 
 A widening splendour and perfective light. 
 And science, thus, with faint and broken gleams 
 
 The weak may wilder, and the rash mislead — 
 But like the day it must progressive grow ; 
 
 lirom the same source on man its radiance streams, 
 And who its silent effluence would impede 
 
 As well micrhi bid the sunbeams backward flow.
 
 S T A N Z A S. 
 
 ! r t -i quia violas riguoque papaver in horto 
 Liliaque iufringat, — 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 — Tovde 6dvtnov eiaopui 7t(-'Aik 
 i€p>l (ttxvomtov. 
 
 KUISIPIDES. 
 
 I watch the evening light decay 
 
 From leafless tree and lifeless mead, 
 Till every bird has hushed its lay 
 
 And mute repose succeed ; 
 The rising mist obscures the glade, 
 
 The shies a dusky hue assume, 
 Yet chilling though the twilight shade 
 
 I linger in its gloom. 
 
 Then, by my lonely hearth at eve. 
 
 If some low measure o'er the strin 
 My wandering fingers idly weave, 
 
 Scenes of the past it brings ; 
 A blooming form this calls to view, 
 
 Bright-haired as is the pictured Hour 
 That bears an urn of orient dew 
 
 To bathe earl-, opening flower.
 
 54 STANZAS. 
 
 And like an opening flower she fell — 
 
 A lily, while the dew-drops stand 
 Fresh-gleamicg on its silver bell, 
 
 Snapped by a reckless hand : 
 No bitterness with sorrow blends 
 
 For one who knew nor wrong, nor ill, 
 But tender thought the notes suspends 
 
 And silence grows more still. 
 
 Now other tones, to memory true, 
 
 Restore the days of youthful joy 
 That sadness soft — a pleasure new — 
 
 Might dim, but not alloy; 
 I see the sun's retiring glow 
 
 From walks which trelliced vines embower, 
 And, broad, the distant Tejo flow 
 
 13y palace, spire and tower. 
 
 It is as one should come again 
 
 Where once a garden flourished fair, 
 "When fountains fell in sparkling rain 
 
 On flowers of beauty rare, 
 And find the marble basins rent, 
 
 The beds enamelled sear and bare, 
 • hi not a hue or fragrant scent 
 
 To tell what erst was there.
 
 STANZAS. 55 
 
 My touch another movement tries — 
 
 And manhood's graceful strength appears — 
 The brilliance dark of flashing eyes 
 
 Suffused by unshed tears : 
 The hand that struck these chords, unstrung — ■ 
 
 The voice whose deep and mellow tone 
 Breathed words of many a foreign tongue 
 
 Now fettered in its own. 
 
 With aching heart I pause again — 
 
 Death's solemn gloom is round me cast — 
 I seem to hear in every strain 
 
 A wail of sorrow past — 
 The murmuring strings I now forsake — 
 
 They speak of joy and hope destroyed — 
 Oh ! better than such grief to wake 
 
 This blank and silent void. 
 
 March, 1861.
 
 56 
 
 SOX N E T. 
 
 Euripides. 
 
 He who slow journies from a city fair 
 Adorned with all that fancies gay desire, 
 Sees dome and pinnacle and lofty spire 
 
 Turret and fane fade, distant, into air ; 
 
 And though awhile pleasures that charmed him there 
 In memory live, thence, too, they must retire, 
 For musing thought goes forward to incpiire 
 
 Of the strange land to which his steps repair. 
 
 s. i to the past, when, sad, revert mine eyes, 
 It seems a landscape whence the sun has set 
 
 So long, e'en hues reflected cease to burn : 
 ( !i ild on the scene the mist of evening lies — 
 
 Awhile the faded colouring I regret. 
 
 Then thoughtful to the unseen future turn. 
 
 ■&' 
 
 L861.
 
 57 
 
 S N N E T. 
 
 " When interpreted like any other book, by the same rules of evidence 
 and the same canons of criticism, the Bible will still remain unlike any ' 
 other book ; its beauty will be freshly seen, as of a picture restored 
 after many ages to its original state ; it will create a new interest, and 
 make for itself a new kind of authority by the life which is in it." 
 
 B. Jowett, M.A. 
 
 He who has long believed his jewelled chain 
 
 Composed of flawless diamonds alone, 
 
 Indignant hears, if told that baser stone 
 Of lustre false shines in the brilliant train ; 
 But wiser were it, anger to restrain 
 
 And test their value, that, when this be known. 
 
 IS" or greater claimed for each, than each may own, 
 Xo wavering doubt disturb his mind again. 
 •E'en if rash hands seizing the carcanet 
 
 Sever the rings, the jewels to inspect, 
 The broken links let him not join anew ; 
 
 But let the mimic gems apart be set, 
 For these, though clear-eyed science may detect 
 
 Of priceless worth she still will deem the true. 
 
 March 27th, 1861,
 
 5S 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 — inutilesque faloe ramos arnputans 
 
 Feliciores iuserit. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 While yet of stem infirm, the cultured vine 
 By treillage rude supported round it cleaves 
 With tendrils clasped, and flexile brandies weaves 
 
 Amid the shafts transverse with many a twine : 
 
 But when mature, and purple clusters shine 
 In the green umbrage of its sheltering leaves, 
 The aid, erst wanted, it no more receives, 
 
 And the fixed bai-s expansive growth confine. 
 
 Then with slow touch release the tangled sprays, 
 For to the light of heaven and liberal air 
 
 Exposed, the vine will bear still richer fruit ; 
 And though the hand. remoA T ing sear decays, 
 
 Some branch should wound, soon will the harm repair 
 The vigorous life up-welling from the root. 
 
 March 28M, 1861
 
 59 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " For, lo ! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone : the time of 
 the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle i- heard in the 
 land." — Song of Solomon. 
 
 Fbost-fetteeed long, again the brooks 
 
 Br i glit ripple through the leas ; 
 Again, with ceaseless care, the roots 
 
 Wheel round their nest-built trees ; 
 From sheltered nook beneath the wall 
 Where first the southern sunbeams fall 
 
 Forth float the tawny bees, 
 To bear from early bloom and flower 
 A tribute to their straw-wreathed bower. 
 
 The chestnut's glistening buds unfold 
 
 Touched by the vernal ray, 
 And wrapped in down of russet gold 
 
 Their spreading leaves display : 
 The groves as yet no umbrage throw, 
 But sweet the ring-dove's murmurs low 
 
 Proclaim the lengthened day, 
 And blended, streams from every tree 
 The tide of music full and free.
 
 60 STANZAS. 
 
 O grateful ! to my heart deprest 
 
 The sun's returning beams, 
 As to the thirsty pilgrim, rest 
 
 Beside refreshing streams — 
 O grateful ! as the morning light 
 To him who through the troubled night 
 
 Is scared by ghastly dreams, 
 And blesses, glad, the dawning hour 
 When phantoms fly bereft of power. 
 
 The wind that strong in tempest came 
 
 And rent the solid rock, 
 The roar of the consuming flame, 
 
 The earthquake's awful shock, 
 — Resistless forces none can bind — 
 With dread o'erwhelm my prostrate mind 
 
 And weakness seem to mock : 
 But now the " still small voice " I hear 
 That breathes of love and cancels fear. 
 
 Though youth is gone, with all it brought, 
 
 And pleasures come no more — 
 Though memory dim and faded thought 
 
 Their conscious gloom deplore — 
 The softening skies, the genial dew 
 That life and bloom for earth renew 
 
 The wonted joy restore 
 That silent in my bosom glows, 
 
 And owns the source from whom it flows. 
 
 March 30th, 1861.
 
 01 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Stratus humi palmea viduas desiderat ulmos — ' 
 
 Three lustres hence have winged their heavy flight 
 
 Since, as this path I traced deject and slow 
 — In thought concentred and regardless woe- 
 Unmoved I viewed the sun's retiring light 
 The messy fronds to gleaming gold ignite : 
 So now it fires them, and once more I know 
 A flush of pleasure, though in fainter glow. 
 Caught from the glory e're it fade from sight. 
 Thus, from her prop first torn, the wounded vine 
 Prone on the earth with sprays dishevelled lies 
 And withering foliage ; but when vernal rain 
 
 Falls soft, and radiance beams from vernal skies, 
 Some tendrils, self-involved in idle twine, 
 
 Some leaves, though sheltering nought, puts forth 
 again. 
 
 April 2o///. 1861.
 
 62 
 STANZA S. 
 
 EUBIPIDES. 
 
 When friends a circle formed, complete, 
 
 An d thou wert in thy manhood's prime, 
 Thy voice in music full and sweet 
 
 Flowed to the cithern's chime ; 
 And while it breathed of southern clime, 
 
 Of joy and fragrance, love and light, 
 Unmarked was summer's twilight time 
 
 Or winter's sullen night. 
 
 Long years of absence intervene 
 
 And links are rent from friendship's chain- 
 Then paled, but yet with kindly mien 
 
 Some met, in love, again ; 
 But when they sought the wonted strain 
 
 That now to wake thy hand was weak, 
 Thy saddened brow revealed the pain 
 
 Thou hadst not words to speak. 
 
 Ten years have passed beside the mound 
 
 By turf embanked, with flowers o'ergrown, 
 "Where rest thy struggling spirit found, 
 
 And found it there alone : 
 Yet still when thought recalls that tone 
 
 Suffused thy brilliant eyes I see, 
 And ills that with thy life had flov\ n 
 
 Bring grief again to me. 
 
 May llh, 1861.
 
 63 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Si non aurea sunt juvenuiii simulacra per <ede3." 
 
 Lrt RETirs. 
 
 What, if no youths, in effigies of gold. 
 
 Fire-bearing lamps in right hand lifted high 
 
 Sustain, to light nocturnal revelry 
 In lofty halls, where dazzled eyes behold 
 Kefiected splendours of a wealth untold — 
 
 Nor from the fretted dome of fulgent dye 
 
 The cithern's tones in festive melody 
 By echo's fullest resonance are rolled — 
 Pleasure is theirs, less sumptuous but more true, 
 
 Who, in the leafy shade a streamlet nigh 
 On summer flowers and verdant herbage rest ; 
 
 Nor should the broidered tissue's glowing hue 
 Support thy head, will lever sooner fly 
 
 Than if thv couch be but a russet vest.
 
 fi4 
 
 S O N N E T. 
 
 " iEquoris instar 
 Quod fremit, exigua cum summum stringitur aura." 
 
 Ut letri zephyro fragiles vibrantur aristae, 
 Frigida populeas ut quatit aura comas. — Ovid. 
 
 With active thought by pain repressed, and lone, 
 While April's changeful hours in dullness close, 
 Beside the hearth where fire yet welcome glows 
 
 Reclined, through sash thrown wide I hear the tone 
 
 Of the clear merle, by strength and sweetness known 
 Amid the mingled melody that flows 
 From vernal songsters, and in calm repose 
 
 Grateful the charm of simple pleasures own. 
 
 As quivers to light air the poplar's spray 
 And ocean's placid surface rippling heaves, 
 
 And wave the golden ears in ripened field, 
 My feelings — vibrating to nature's sway — 
 
 Like water, waving corn and tremulous leaves. 
 Obsequious to her every impulse yield. 
 
 April 307//, 1861.
 
 65 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " When Artaxerxe3 IT. wa9 travelling, and people brought him a 
 variety of presents, a peasant snatching up some water from the river 
 in his hands, carried it to the king, who was so delighted that he sent 
 the man a golden cup and a thousand darics."— Plptahch. 
 
 " Ignoscis amicis ? " — Horace. 
 
 " He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down — " 
 
 " Thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be." — Job. 
 
 When water snatched from running brook 
 
 To Persia's king a peasant offered, 
 "Well-pleased the gracious monarch took 
 
 The simple tribute proffered ; 
 And though my gift should trivial seem 
 
 As water lifted from the river, 
 Methought thy heart, like his, would deem 
 
 The kindness of the giver. 
 
 And, hence, I glowed with angry pride 
 
 When seemed my offering unregarded, 
 And I, who on thy care relied, 
 
 As carelessly discarded ; 
 The doubt that, what 1 rarely yield. 
 
 Esteem complete was unrequited, 
 Provoked the words whose flash revealed 
 
 The fire of friendship plighted.
 
 66 STANZAS. 
 
 « 
 
 When friends of cold regard complain, 
 
 And tones are harsh, and words mistaken, 
 'Tis but the clanking of a chain 
 
 Whose strength is rudely shaken ; 
 A slenderer link, a silken knot, 
 
 One strain would loose, one stroke would sever, 
 And love and anger both forgot 
 
 In coldness sleep for ever. 
 
 If fancied wrongs and deep respect 
 
 In discord new and strange have striven, 
 The fervour that resents neglect 
 
 Be to thy friend forgiven : 
 Life quickly fades — the stem is weak — 
 
 To-day has to the earth declined it — 
 To-morrow shall the traveller seek 
 
 Its place, and shall not find it. 
 
 May, 1861.
 
 67 
 
 STANZA S. 
 
 " Joy flies monopolists, it calls for two."— Younb. 
 
 The rill that welling from its source 
 
 Falls but in drops of liquid light, 
 May winding on in silent course 
 
 With other rills unite ; 
 Till gathering fulness as it goes 
 At length the blended current flows 
 A stream of waters bright : 
 The drops that single, idly cpiiver, 
 Combined, expand, a shining river. 
 
 The solitary taper's beam 
 Of clear, but ineffectual ray, 
 
 Marks only by its slender gleam 
 The shadow's stronger sway : 
 
 So pleasures that when lone we find, 
 
 But slightly glance along the mind 
 
 And o'er its surface play ; 
 
 "W hile rays commingled, day impart, 
 
 And joya reflected reach the heart.
 
 68 STANZAS. 
 
 When bending o'er Iberia's page 
 Whereon my father wont to dwell, 
 
 Where mirth and wit, and maxim sage 
 Inweave a changeful spell, 
 
 The thought that what delights me now 
 
 Awoke the smile and smoothed the brow 
 
 Of him I loved so well, 
 
 A two-fold sense of pleasure gives — 
 
 For him it lived — for me it lives. 
 
 The strains that hallowed words expressed 
 And from thy lips, my mother ! came, 
 
 Enkindled in my infant breast 
 Devotion's sacred flame ; 
 
 And when on evening's shade they steal 
 
 The like emotions yet I feel, 
 
 Enhanced, but stdl the same ; 
 
 And sound the solemn notes more sweet 
 
 Because thine accents they repeat. 
 
 My lonely days ere long will end — 
 I muse like one who walks the shore 
 
 Whence from his gaze each cherished friend 
 Sailed, to return no more : 
 
 Around him lies the barren strand — 
 
 Beyond, the far and unseen land 
 
 He too, must soon explore ; 
 
 And, rapt, he seems again to hear 
 
 His name pronounced by voices dear. 
 
 June blh, 1861.
 
 GO 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " Good sense will stagnate ; thoughts shut up, want air 
 
 And spoil like bales unopened to the sun." 
 
 Youno. 
 
 They say all the yarn spun by Penelope during the absence of 
 
 Ulysses, did but fill Ithaca with moths. — Shakespeab. 
 
 Thotjgh closed for me the various page 
 "Where, once, in vivid colours shown, 
 The thoughts of poet, saint, and sage 
 
 Breathed ardour on mine own, 
 Nor vocal words instruction speak — 
 Thou say'st my mind may wisdom seek 
 
 Excursive, if alone — 
 Could Israel's sons, by Egypt tried, 
 The bricks compose — the straw denied? 
 
 The thrifty crone, of fleeces white 
 
 Left on the briars like flakes of foam 
 When through the lanes in morning light 
 
 The flocks to pasture roam, 
 Collects with care the wavelets thin 
 Her hand with busy twirl will spin 
 
 In twilight dim, at home ; 
 But as she owns no teeming flock 
 Tis chance must wreathe her simple rock.
 
 70 STANZAS. 
 
 The scattered fragments thus of thought, 
 The strong and rough, the soft and fine, 
 That chance within my reach has brought 
 
 Industrious I combine, 
 And drawn from many a random shred 
 In silent hours my motley thread 
 " A mingled yarn " I twine ; 
 Coiled, when the flimsy work is done, 
 In useless webs myself have spun. 
 
 The plume that floats on ether wide 
 Where'er the varying current flows, 
 
 If high it soar, if low subside, 
 But idle movement shows ; 
 
 So oft in solitary hours 
 
 The mind neglects its wandering powers 
 Nor aim nor motive knows ; 
 
 And like the feather on the breeze 
 
 Revolves in shapeless reveries. 
 
 But be the vagrant plume reclaimed 
 
 To wing through air the pointed reed, 
 The mark to which its flight is aimed 
 
 It gains with certain speed ; 
 E'en thus may converse with a friend 
 To thought the wanted balance lend, 
 
 And aid it to proceed 
 Until an end designed it reach 
 Determined by the poise of speech. 
 
 June 12th, 1861.
 
 71 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 Omnia sunt homiuum tenui pendentia filo. 
 Et subito casu quae valuere ruunt. 
 Ludit in humanis divina potentia rebus, 
 Et certam proesens vix babet hora fidem. 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 Wide o'er the surface of the southern field 
 Again dim violet shadows sweep away, 
 As the deep waves of grass full- flowering sway 
 
 And to the summer air's fresh impulse yield ; 
 
 Storm clouds, but now, the blue of heaven concealed 
 While pealed their thunder— till the setting day 
 Dispelled them, and o'er earth a golden ray 
 
 Intense in glory from the west revealed. 
 
 The storm gone hence, in other skies revolves 
 And other landscapes darkens— sorrow moves 
 
 Thus over life, quenching the light of joy ; 
 
 But though the denseness of the gloom dissolves, 
 
 The heart no more unanxious pleasure proves 
 Nor trusts the calm a moment may destroy. 
 
 June 27th, 1861.
 
 72 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 On a seal bearing the device of a harp, with the motto,— "Je reponds 
 a qui me touche." 
 
 He who in twilight gloom should seek 
 
 To draw sweet music from the lute, 
 And when re-echoed tones should speak 
 
 Of pleasure, find them mute, — 
 Would deem his hand, so apt before, 
 
 Reft of its cunning erred mistaken, 
 Or rent the strings, that now no more 
 
 To harmony awaken. 
 
 So, when received from absent friend 
 
 Symbols that memories kind express. 
 If thou no words responsive send 
 
 That memories like confess, 
 Quenched is the hope that thou, as such 
 
 Wouldst prize, though small, his friendship's token- 
 For chords unanswering to his touch 
 
 He deems unstrung, or broken. 
 
 Tby thanks, unuttered, he might read 
 
 By sudden gleam within thine eyes, 
 But eve and absence both mislead 
 
 As doubts and shadows rise ; 
 Then, while this graven harp thou view, 
 
 Yield, still, the pleasing tones expected- 
 Lest thoughts to thee that joyous flew 
 
 Abashed retire, neglected. 
 
 July 20th, 18G1.
 
 73 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 »1 ie /ueXaiieT' o7Ticr#ei/ aptjpojut yj; 3«= Ci^'kei. 
 
 HOIIEE. 
 
 The woods I pass, late vocal by tlie strain 
 
 Of nightingales, with early summer fled ; 
 
 Yet from this height, fair is the scene outspri 
 Below, for distant grove and harvest plain 
 Lie bathed in evening light ; o'er billowy grain 
 
 Breeze-moved, wavers the glow by sunset shed, 
 
 And the full-ripened sheaves, of plenteous bread 
 Prophetic, heap the broad expectant wain. 
 "Where the swart reapers in the tawny field 
 
 Level the corn, while others bind the sheaves. 
 As pictured on the far-famed Grecian's shield 
 
 A shining plough earth's darkening ridges heaves- 
 But now the star of twilight faint revealed 
 
 Comes on, and labour from its task relieves. 
 
 August 12th, 1801.
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OP ELIZABETH WESTCOTT, 
 
 WHO LIVED IN OUE FAMILY FOE FOETY YEABS. 
 
 The dream depictured of the Hebrew youth. 
 
 Yon sheaves recall, with memoi-y aye combined 
 
 Of her who first explained it, and my mind 
 — Albeit in phrase untutored and uncouth — 
 Impressed with sense of justice and of ruth 
 
 Due to all creatures — for, in heart refined, 
 
 Her daily acts spontaneous, undesigned, 
 Unconscious lessons gave of love and truth. 
 Still for the wants of brutes, she bade us feel, 
 
 — Since nature speech denies their wants to tell — 
 And water pure place ever in their reach ; 
 
 She shared, from youth to age, our woe and weal, 
 And they she served so long and loved so well 
 
 No fault retrace in deed, nor e'en in speech. 
 
 August 12th, 1SG1.
 
 7o 
 
 S T A N Z A S. 
 
 av, 6' uv KtStiiOov, ei Tit ijSXailev tto&i 
 ff7ei/3u>i' ui'0<ra/», 609 KaOaptrtto <p\o"ji — 
 KpoVCTOl' <3fc 9r€t'KI]l', ti/a 5itf6/\PW, 7Ti>pur. 
 — Ttc'lXtv 
 
 kipiaTLOv <p\of' t'r dozens Ko/nVeTe. 
 
 EUBIPIDES. 
 
 " Solem e raundo tollere videntur, qui aruicitiara t> vita tollunt." 
 
 Cicebo. 
 
 Talk to the deaf of music's tones, 
 
 Of colours to the blind, 
 The torpid sense no echo owns, 
 
 No glowing tint, the mind ; 
 Vain are your words, for they, to whom 
 You speak of melody and bloom, 
 
 To silence dark resigned 
 Must ne'er the strange enchantment feci 
 The voice can wake, the eye reveal. 
 
 As dark the mind, the heart as dead 
 That knows not and disdains 
 
 The home where woman's fondness shed 
 With sanctioned fervour reigns ; 
 
 In youth 'tis like the rays of mom, 
 
 In age the moonbeams that adorn 
 And brighten night's domains ; 
 
 Life's earliest throb, its final sigh. 
 
 Still find her tenderest succour nigh.
 
 76 STANZAS. 
 
 They who should human life bereave 
 Of friendship's kindly glow, 
 
 Would seem to quench the sun, and leave 
 A frozen world below ; 
 
 And he, unblest ! who never knew 
 
 The sympathy untired and true 
 That woman can bestow, 
 
 May prosperous call his life, and free — 
 
 Forlorn it is, whate'er it be. 
 
 When from the Pharian regal porch 
 
 The virgin Priestess* came, 
 Before her waved a lustral torch 
 
 Of hearth-enkindled flame ; 
 And so, from woman's glance serene 
 All, conscious turn, debased of mien, 
 
 Whom virtue would disclaim : 
 Vnd man, within her influence brought, 
 Grows calm in heart and pure in thought, 
 
 * Tliconoe. — Euripides.
 
 77 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Avia turn resonant avibus virgulta cauoris. 
 
 Vihgil. 
 
 While glowing clouds imbibe the sunset's glare 
 And freshened air noon's ardour still succeeds, 
 Spread o'er the field, in flocks commingled, feeds 
 
 "With the blue-winged jay, the spotted stare; 
 
 Then all, in curves of waving flight repair 
 
 To the high trees, whence, like a stream that leads 
 Its gurgling current through obstructing reeds, 
 
 Their slirilly notes continuous fill the air. 
 
 Wind-swept, in rippling gold the water gleams — 
 In the slant mead, green as the emerald's ray 
 
 Leaps the small grasshopper — the level beams 
 On youngling steers in reddened radiance play, 
 
 And nature mute or vocal, joyous seems 
 As fades the splendour of the summer day. 
 
 August 18th, 1861.
 
 78 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 /5('oi/ 7ron'£et rtj eaurw &vva/jL€t ir\<zvt\ Kai t^i-ota. — CeBETTS TABULA. 
 
 " He feedeth on ashes : a deceived heart hath turned hirn aside, so 
 that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is there not a lio in my right 
 hand?" — Isaiah. 
 
 Oh, earth is beautiful ! and life is fair 
 
 As by its Author given — but headlong will 
 
 And folly rash, for good mistaking ill, 
 Darken its fleeting hours by guilt and care ; 
 Sorrow and pain but transient suffering were 
 
 With those unmixed — e'en as the limpid rill 
 
 If pure its pebbly bed is limpid still 
 Though eddies oft its equal flow impair. 
 Depressed, I gaze on yonder arch sublime 
 
 Whence o'er the lawns and groves in light serene 
 Sheds the bright moon a softer, calmer day ; 
 
 And weary thought turns to some future seene /< int 
 Where, good aud ill unveiled and clearly seen. 
 
 All shall the good embrace and (urn from ill away. 
 
 August 2lsl, 1861.
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Et nunc onine tibi stratum silet requor, ct onine;. 
 (Aspice) veutosi ceciderunt niurmuris aura?. 
 
 VlKGIL. 
 
 Soothed by the calm around me, I delay 
 And mark its stillness deep, for nature seems 
 Sleeping in splendour, silent as in dreams ; 
 
 The foliage quivers, but its noiseless play 
 
 Shows but by shadows o'er the grassy way 
 Sweeping alternate with recurrent beams, 
 And silent e'en the broken water gleams 
 
 "When in its surface dips the willow-spray. 
 
 Glisten, yet unexhaled, the nightly dews — 
 
 'Mid leaves, ah ! withered ! droops the graceful fern, 
 
 And thick the arum's glowing berries shine 
 Brightening the shade, where ivies wide effuse 
 
 Their glossy texture, and around yon urn 
 Clasping its moss-stained pedestal entwine. 
 
 August 22nd, 1861.
 
 80 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 " Implora pace!" 
 Inscription on an Italian Tombstone. 
 
 These records, kept -with fond and jealous care 
 And still to be so, while within my mind 
 Memory of love and truth shall live enshrined, 
 
 Unfuld I dare not : youth is framed to bear 
 
 The rush of feeling — joy and grief, despair 
 And hope, its elements — these now resigned 
 Peace I implore — nor strength my heart can find 
 
 Emotions to retrace it once could share. 
 
 So have I seen in southern garden fair 
 The marble vase receive a fountain's course 
 
 Till brimming o'er the sculptured marge it rolled, 
 But, scathed by storm, and summer's ardent air, 
 
 Disparting break beneath the cm-rent's force 
 That, ere by time outworn, it wont to hold. 
 
 Adjust 2bth, 1861.
 
 81 
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 LlTCIAN. 
 
 Diogenes and Alexandeb. 
 
 D. " Why ! what is this ! art thou, too, Alexander, 
 
 Dead, like the rest of us ?" A. " Like any other 
 Mortal — and where's the wonder?" D. "Then 
 'twas slander 
 That Amnion predicated of thy mother, 
 And thou wast Philip's son ? " A. " Methinks 'tis 
 
 clear 
 That had I Ammon's heen, I were not here." 
 
 D. " But tell me — unto whom didst thou impart 
 
 Thy mighty empire, when thou eam'st below?" 
 
 A. " I know not — and of Death but got the start 
 My signet on Perdiccas to bestow. 
 But wherefore laughest thou, Diogenes P" 
 
 D. " Wherefore ? only that now remembrance sees 
 
 " All Greece around thy throne, but just ascended, 
 Breathing the incense of her adulation, 
 
 And all her forces to thy care commended 
 War to conduct against a barbarous nation : 
 
 Among the twelve great gods, some eyen placed thee, 
 
 And to an origin celestial traced thee.
 
 82 
 
 •' But in what sepulchre have they immured thee P" 
 A. "In none as yet — three days in Babylon 
 My corse has lain — but Ptolemy assured me 
 
 He would to Egypt carry it anon, 
 That is, at his first leisure, and then make me 
 One of its gods — soon as he there shall take me." 
 
 D. " Aud is my laugh, at hearing 'mong the Dead 
 Folly like thine, Divine one ! disrespectful ? 
 But backwards o'er the lake as none have sped, 
 
 And, by no means, is Eacus neglectful 
 Or Cerberus to be slighted, thou, I see, 
 Wilt nor Anubis nor Osiris be. 
 
 " Yet tell me — I from thee would gladly know 
 "What are thy feelings when before thy mind 
 
 Pass all the glory, dignity and show 
 
 That, hither coming, thou hast left behind : 
 
 Shield-bearers, satraps, guards around thy throne, 
 
 Worship from nations, Bactra, Babylon — 
 
 "The snow-white fillet wreathed about thy brow, 
 Thy form enclasped in purple — how appears 
 
 Thy former splendour when remembered now 
 And viewed from hence ? what ! foolish one ! in 
 tears ? 
 
 Taught thee not Aristoteles, the wise, 
 
 That fortune but unstable goods supplies?"
 
 83 
 
 A. " He, wise ! of hackneyed flatterers the most 
 fawning ! 
 All that I know of him and his tuition 
 Is, that when he perceived its early dawning 
 
 He turned to his account my young ambition ; 
 And presents gained by flattery's extortion, 
 And praised my beauty, a3 it were a portion 
 
 " Of man's chief good — in which, too, he included 
 Riches, — that heunblushing might receive them — 
 
 And all thou just hast named, of which, denuded 
 As for chief good I grieve, compelled to leave 
 them; 
 
 Diogenes, the man's a juggler, rather, 
 
 And of his wisdom, this the fruit I gather." 
 
 D. " I'll tell thee what to do— since hellebore 
 
 Grows not amongst us, haste to Lethe's tide 
 
 And from the banks, bending the water o'er 
 
 Draw it and drink, with mouth distended wide ; 
 
 So for thy sorrow thou shalt gather ease 
 
 JN" or pine for goods of Aristoteles. 
 
 " But Clitus and Callisthenes I see 
 Yonder — with many others, hither tearing. 
 
 And each and all, for every injury 
 
 Thou didst them, a requital full preparing : 
 
 "W alk t'other way— they seem intent on slaughter — 
 
 And, as I send, drink freely of the water."
 
 84 
 
 Pluto, Cecestts, Sardanapalus, Midas, and 
 Menippus. 
 C. " Pluto — we cannot bear this dog, Menippus 
 
 Near us — so lodge him somewhere else, instead, 
 Or we for other quarters must equip us." 
 P. " How can he harm you, all alike being dead?" 
 C. " With epithets derisive he reviles us, 
 
 Slaves, and offscouring of the people, styles us, 
 
 " And laughs aloud whene'er Sardanapalus 
 Laments the loss of his luxurious pleasures, 
 
 And this man, Midas, and myself, bewail us 
 He for his gold, and I, for all my treasures ; 
 
 And sings, at times, when we the change review, 
 since 
 
 Hither we came ; in short, he is a nuisance." 
 
 P. "What's this, Menippus, that they say of thee?" 
 M. " Notliing but truth — I hate them, that unsated 
 By lives on earth of sloth and luxury, 
 
 They view them, hence, with longing unabated ; 
 So will I ever worry and perplex them." 
 P. "Thou should'ist not — they have lost enough to 
 vex thorn." 
 
 M. " Art thou, then, Pluto ! doting like the rest ! 
 
 Taking their groans, too, under thy protection?" 
 P " No ; but thou must not thus their days molest, 
 
 Nor can I here permit an insurrection." 
 M. " Yet, not the less, thou ! basest of the Phrygians, 
 And of Assyrians, thou ! and thou ! of Lydians :
 
 So 
 
 " You'll find me at your heels where'er you go, 
 Beady with scoff and laugh and sneer to flout 
 you." 
 C. "What insolence!" M. "Nay — that, you wont 
 to show 
 When you claimed worship from the slaves 
 about you, 
 And freemen scorned, nor ever thought of dying — 
 But here you are — for lost possessions crying." 
 
 M. "What gold was mine!" C. "And mine, ye 
 
 gods! what treasures!" 
 S. " What luxury mine ! " M. " Well done ! the 
 theme pursue — 
 And oft as I shall hear you mourn your pleasures 
 
 So often I my singing shall renew, 
 Still ' Know thyself ' repeating, as a chorus 
 In concert with the harmony before us." 
 
 Diogenes and Matjsolus. 
 
 D. " What makes thee overbearing as thou art 
 
 Thou Carian ! as to thee we were inferior." 
 M. " Tis, Sinopensian ! that a regal part 
 
 Was mine, on earth — and that I reigned superior 
 Over all Caria, and a partial sway 
 O'er Lydia, held, — and made some isles obey
 
 86 
 
 " My rule — and to Miletus, too, advanced 
 Having Ionia to my sceptre bent ; 
 
 My prowess as a warrior, was enhanced 
 By beauty and a stature eminent ; 
 
 And then my tomb ! which in Halicarnassus 
 
 In size and marble exquisite surpasses 
 
 " That of all Dead, besides — for sculptured there 
 Are men and horses, as with breathing gifted ; 
 And scarce you'll find even a fane more fair ; 
 Am I not justly, then, with pride uplifted?" 
 D. " Mean you for beauty, empire, and your tomb ?" 
 M. "By Jove! for all of these!" D. "There is no 
 room 
 
 " Here, for thy empire, beautiful Mausolus ! 
 
 And if an arbiter we both should name 
 In beauty's nomenclature to enroll us, 
 
 Our designations would be much the same ; 
 Our sculls are bald — and each his teeth exposes, 
 Gone are the eyes of both, and flat our noses. 
 
 " True — of thy tomb by Artemisia raised 
 
 Halicarnassus may be justly vain 
 When all its splendour is by strangers praised ; 
 But thou from thence dost no advantage gain 
 But this, if such thou deem it, that of size 
 And weight unusual it above thee lies."
 
 87 
 
 M " Are these things useless, then F and must 
 Mausolus 
 Be with Diogenes, but equal, hereP" 
 D " Eximious one ! by no means ! to console us 
 As heretofore, the difference will be clear ; 
 Mausolus for possessions lost, bewails him, 
 Diogenes with ridicule assails him ; 
 
 " He thinks about his tomb — Diogenes 
 
 Nor knows nor cares if he had one, or not— 
 
 But for a manly life, despising ease 
 
 He left a name that will not be forgot — 
 
 A loftier monument — as such the case is, 
 
 Than thine, and built upon a firmer basis." 
 
 MJENIPPU9 AND TeOPHONITTS. 
 
 M. " How's this, Amphilo.chus, and thou Trophonius, 
 That although dead, ye still on earth are deemed 
 Prophets, and lodged in fanes, with rites har- 
 monious ; 
 And to some foolish men, ye gods have seemed ?" 
 A. " What then ? if worship for the Dead is claimed 
 By ignorance, on earth, must we be blamed?"
 
 88 
 
 M. " It ne'er had been so, but tbat, both, whilst living 
 By juggling tricks encouraged the opinion 
 That ye had skill to know and power of giving 
 Knowledge of things concealed in fate's 
 dominion." 
 T. " Amphilochus may for himself reply 
 To what concerns him, but a Hero, I, 
 
 " And to all comers give responses due : 
 
 But thou canst ne'er have been at Lebadea 
 Menippus, since thou deem'st these things untrue." 
 M. " What ! must I thither journey, and then be a 
 Spectacle risible in linen stole 
 With barley cake in hand, and through a hole 
 
 " Of passage straight, into a cavern struggle 
 To know that thou art dead, like one of us, 
 
 And only differing, by thy art to juggle? 
 But, by thy art prophetic ! come — discuss 
 
 What is ' a Hero ' — for 'tis past my tether — " 
 T. " 'Tis the divine and human set together." 
 
 M. " One then, who neither mortal nor divine 
 
 Is at the same time both — but where now dwells 
 
 The part of Deity that once was thine ? " 
 T. " 'Tis in Bceotia, rendering oracles." 
 M. " Nought make I out, Trophonius, of this history, 
 
 But that thou'rt wholly dead, to me's no mystery."
 
 89 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Beneath the umbrage high 
 Of the south wood I wander, while the light 
 Now in full brilliance from the azure sky, 
 Now paled by fleeces white, 
 
 Through rugged elm-trees tall 
 
 And smooth stemmed beech, broad, from the orient 
 
 flows, 
 Or through the leaves in quivering arrows small 
 A broken radiance throws. 
 
 A shower of foliage falls 
 
 Though dark in verdure is the woodland way, 
 Nor, in its gloom, some glowing branch recalls 
 The sybil's golden spray. 
 
 Remnants of trees o'erthrown, 
 And axe-dissevered, by their up-heaved roots 
 Still cling — with ivy there and fern o'ergrown, 
 Mere leaves and crisped shoots 
 
 Unfolding 'mid decay,— 
 
 As joy, at times, that crushed and withering lies, 
 Some moments in a bright and genial ray 
 Flushes, before it dies. 
 
 September 10th, 1801.
 
 90 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Though cloudless were the heavens, on morning dews 
 
 .November's dawn in vaporous dimness fell, 
 But now the woods show clear their changeful hues 
 
 As noontide hours the floating mist dispel ; 
 The lofty trees that shade the southern dell 
 
 Like pyres of topaz light successive rise, 
 And the green acorn in its circlet-cell 
 
 Thick strewn upon the scattered foliage lies 
 Whose tints recall the warmth of summer's evening 
 skies. 
 
 In human intercourse a pleasure pure 
 
 And permanent the heart in vain desires ; 
 Some stealing shadows still its bloom obscure 
 
 Or, ere its bloom be faded, it expires, 
 Or in cold ashes sink its dying fires ; 
 
 But who, devout, to Nature's shrine repair 
 Find there the calm the weary heart requires, 
 
 "While fresh delight, unblanched by fear or care, 
 Breathes on the sense and soid from earth and heaven 
 and air. 
 
 November 1st, 1881.
 
 91 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Qdvaios irpo b(}>Oa\m^v ea-ro) uoi Ka9 rjjiepai** 
 
 Kcu oudev oi'5t7TOTe rairenov z\>tiv}i.)\tir\(nj, oure ayav 
 
 tTuHutjiiicreie Tivor. 
 
 Epictetus. 
 
 The murmurs of the quivering flame 
 
 The death-like silence break, 
 And years, departed long, reclaim, 
 
 And sleeping visions wake ; 
 They show the flashes bright illume 
 As now, the flower-wreathed ceiling's gloom 
 
 And fitful radiance make ; 
 While listless hours of languid pain 
 A sister's presence cheers again. 
 
 A footstep, then, of hurried speed 
 
 Comes welcome on mine ear, 
 And looks I see where quick succeed 
 
 Alternate hope and fear ; 
 The words that anxious care express 
 In music's deepest tenderness 
 
 With fond regard I hear, 
 And held awhile by memory's spell 
 Again by love encompassed dwell.
 
 92 STANZAS. 
 
 'Tis broken soon — no step has stirred 
 
 Within these vacant halls ; 
 My name — with lnstral drops conferred — 
 
 No voice familiar calls — 
 If heard by chance — unheard so long 
 It sounds like some forgotten song 
 
 "Whose measure strangely falls 
 With echoes that unreal seem 
 As those of half remembered dream. 
 
 Alas ! full many a winter's gloom 
 
 Has found, and left me lone, 
 And o'er the summer's fragrant bloom 
 
 Its shadow death has thrown : 
 Withdrawn the hand I ever held, 
 Constrained to think, to choose compelled 
 
 In ways before unknown, 
 Unused to act, unskilled to know, 
 Perplexed I stand, and doubtful go. 
 
 Oh, dreary wa3 the path of life 
 
 Thus isolate, at first ! 
 With memory prompting sorrow's strife 
 
 My heart well nigh had burst : 
 But now, both hope and fear resigned, 
 To calmer strength I train my mind 
 
 By love to softness nurst ; 
 And bless the stars that darkness fret 
 Though day, with all its glow, is set. 
 
 November (>///, lSiiJ.
 
 93 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Dans l'automne ces bois, ces soliels palissans 
 Interressent notre anie, en attristant nos sens. 
 
 Delille. 
 
 Moee grateful than the summer's candent glare 
 Is autumn's light serene, that mellow shines 
 Kindling the woods, whose umbrage, far, defines 
 
 The landscape's sweeping boundaries ; and where 
 
 In golden surges yielding to the air 
 
 Late waved the harvest, and the hill declines 
 Fern-bordered, richly now in umbered lines 
 
 Lies the dark earth, ridged by the smooth-worn share. 
 
 Though night the fragrant flowers has withered all 
 That yester-eve in clusters on the lawn 
 
 Evolved the splendour of their crimson grain, 
 With pleasure sad I watch the leaves that fall 
 
 Bright-tinctured, round, as — greater joys withdrawn — 
 We watch the fading few that yet remain. 
 
 November Slk, 18G1.
 
 94 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of 
 feasting; for that is the end of all men, aud the living will lay it to 
 heart." — Ecclesiastes. 
 
 Life is in early youth a fountain pure 
 
 Up-welling in bright waters — 'tis a sky 
 
 Brilliant in azure — fleet some seasons by, 
 The stream is turbid and the sky obscure : 
 All feel the change in turn — and immature 
 
 And faint were kindliest wishes to apply 
 
 Balm to distress, unless its agony 
 Our shrinking hearts and throbbing nerves endure. 
 From our own pangs we know what others felt 
 
 By the same arrows pierced — and if too cold 
 Our pity seemed, ere we w ith grief had striven, 
 
 Oh then, while contrite thoughts our spirits melt, 
 We hope by sufferings silent and controlled 
 
 To expiate the past, and be forgiven.
 
 95 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Grata superveniet quae non sperabitur hora. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 In night's dark stillness fell the feathery snow, 
 A brief and silent shower, that morn revealed 
 In subtile tracery woven o'er the field 
 
 Where elms full-leaved of verdure fading slow 
 
 Wide on the glittering grass their shadow throw ; 
 The noon-tide hours yet sunny brilliance yield 
 And when it sets, the woods that eastward shield 
 
 The meads, with reddened gold deep-flushing glow. 
 
 Grateful as pleasure unforeseen, each day 
 Like this, whose genial lustre whde it shines 
 
 Recalls, in distant clime, my pleased surprise 
 When the forgotten cluster's amber ray 
 
 — Hid by the fading foliage of the vines — 
 
 Gleamed, chance-discovered, on my youthful e\ es. 
 
 November \Sth, 1861.
 
 90 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Devexo interea propior fit Vesper olympo. 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 What harmonies this hour of dusk displays 
 
 O'er heaven and earth — the zone of crimson hue 
 Mellowed and melting in the ether blue, 
 
 And Hesper, in the west, through leafless sprays 
 
 Flashing the brilliance of his broken rays 
 All tipped with emerald light ; while floating dew 
 Of violet dimness veils the distant view, 
 
 Softening the sadness of the year's decays. 
 
 Poised o'er the evening star, in darkened skies 
 A calmer softer light the crescent beams 
 
 And deepening shadows throws across the lawn, 
 Where on the oak's yet unshed foliage lies 
 
 Such colouring warm as, in the twilight, seems 
 The glow reflected of the day withdrawn. 
 
 December UJi, 1861.
 
 
 S T AHA S. 
 
 Had I ever seen a translation of this Idyl, I should not have 
 attempted it. 
 
 THE FIRST IDYL OF MOSCHUS. 
 
 LOVE— A FUGITIVE. 
 
 " He who my wandering child has seen 
 The fugitive my cries deplore, 
 A kiss shall have," said beauty's Queen, 
 Who brings him, shall have more ; 
 " Mid twenty, you the child would know — 
 Not pale, but glowing warm, his skin — 
 His eyes in ardent glances show 
 The fire that burns within. 
 
 " His voice as liquid honey sweet, 
 
 His language gentle is, and kind, 
 But wily, practised in deceit 
 
 And mischievous, his mind ; 
 His speech accords not with his thought — 
 
 Untrue the boy, whate'er he say, 
 He ruthless is, to anger wrought, 
 
 And Bavage e'en in play.
 
 98 STANZAS. 
 
 " Fair o'er his head the ringlets curl, 
 
 His look is petulant and bold ; 
 And tiny though his hands, they hurl 
 
 To Pluto's royal hold ; 
 Like winged bird around he flits, 
 
 With covert mind, but body nude, 
 And now by man, now, maiden sits 
 
 Of heart and soul subdued. 
 
 " His bow is small, but far it speeds 
 
 Sharp from the string the slender dart — 
 And of his golden quiver's reeds 
 
 Oft have I felt the smart ; 
 His arms are cruel — cruel all — 
 
 But fiercer than the rest is one — 
 The little torch whose lightning small 
 
 Scorches the very sun. 
 
 " And if he weep, and if he smile, 
 
 TJnpitying bind, nor let him slip' — 
 If he would kiss thee, shun the guile, 
 
 There's poison on his lip ; 
 And if he say, ' The arms I bear 
 
 Take thou — a gift — at my desire,' 
 Stand back — nor touch them — 'tis a snare — 
 
 They all are dipped in fire." 
 
 December.
 
 99 
 
 STANZA 5. 
 
 *E7Ti ie tnevdxovro fvvaTittr, 
 7rarpoK\ov irpotpaaiv, otpwv <5' avjwv K>iii kKdnjr\. ' 
 
 HOMEB. 
 
 The sunless day arose in gloom, 
 
 And gloom pervades its close ; 
 The shadow from the regal tomb 
 
 A wide-spread darkness throws ; 
 For many a heart the sorrow knows 
 
 That veils the lonely throne, 
 And while it weeps another's woes, 
 
 In secret mourns its oto. 
 
 The summer storms that sweep the earth 
 
 Than winter's, more appal ; 
 And tears, on days inscribed to mirth, 
 
 With bitterer anguish fall ; 
 The hand that silent on the wall 
 
 Traced words in mystic maze, 
 A chiller terror shed on all, 
 
 Seen by the festal blaze.
 
 10) STANZAS. 
 
 When kindred who disparted roam 
 
 Draw to the roof-tree near, 
 Eekindling in their youthful home 
 
 The glow of youthful cheer, 
 Pale forms beside my hearth appear 
 
 And dim the faggot's flame, 
 And voices tender, sad and dear, 
 
 Faint-uttered, speak my name. 
 
 Their voice on earth is heard no more — 
 
 Their place no more is known — 
 With moss their graves are mantled o'er, 
 
 With lichen gray the stone ; 
 But though the hours are mute and lone 
 
 That joy was wont to share, 
 These halls in festive brilliance shown 
 
 A harsher contrast were. 
 
 Oh ! as when heard the requiem's wail 
 
 In solemn midnight fane, 
 Emotions rapt and calm prevail 
 
 O'er earthly care and pain, 
 My thoughts a higher tone attain 
 
 When to the Dead I turn, 
 Nor heed life's distant tumult vain 
 
 That rolls beyond their urn. 
 
 December 23; J, 1861.
 
 ](>] 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 The midnight skies with clouds are darkly hung 
 As, lone, I watch the passing year's mute speed. 
 My Mother ! and recall bow thou wouldst read 
 
 A solemn dirge, that its depai ture rung 
 
 And bid me hearken — when my spirits young 
 Blended gay fancies with divided heed, 
 And thou wouldst with the warning lay proceed 
 
 Yet smile at levity from gladness sprung. 
 
 Ah ! fancies long have fled — and even thought 
 Has lost its hue, now pale as evening shades ; 
 
 But, as a star, love brightens through the gloom, 
 And through the changes time and grief have wrought 
 
 Sheds o'er the Dea 1 a light that never fades, 
 Like the feigned lamp still burning in the tomb. 
 
 December 'Zlst, 1861.
 
 102 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job ; and that 
 man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed 
 evil." — Jon i. 1. 
 
 I love the solemn scroll whose folds disclose 
 
 Words the sad heart re-echoes, with his cry 
 
 Who questioned Heaven's eternal equity 
 Why the fierce torrent of o'erwhelming woes 
 Hushed on the sunshine of a life's repose 
 
 To good devoted ; for the ear and eye 
 
 Blessed him, and when he passed the Ancients nigh 
 Or princes of the land, they, reverent, rose. 
 Nor gave he blame morose, when day by day 
 
 His sons their brethren feasted, each in turn, 
 But lest they might have evil said or wrought, 
 
 In youth's exuberance — sin to take away, 
 A daily sacrifice was wont to burn 
 
 With anxious tenderness and pious thought. 
 
 January 1st, 1862.
 
 103 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 "Why was light given to him that is in misery, and life to the bitter 
 in soul?"— Job. 
 
 His cry was nature's protest against grief — 
 " Why was life given to him who asked it not 
 Nor would have taken, had he known his lot — 
 To be storm-drifted like a withered leaf — 
 A flower of fragile stem and fragrance brief — 
 Fleeting and traceless as an arrow shot 
 His transient days — soon in the grave forgot, 
 Where sleep alike the hireling and the chief? " 
 Thus speaks the heart, and what can still its plaint ? 
 But One on earth has stood who mourners blessed 
 With hope of future comfort, in that day 
 
 Whose light shall chase the wildering shadows faint 
 Now on the mirror of the mind impressed, 
 And from all faces wipe the tears away. 
 
 January 2nd, 1862.
 
 104 
 
 D'un cceur qui t'aiine 
 
 Mon Dieu ! qui peut troubler la trauquille paix ? 
 
 II ckerehe en tout ta volonte supreme 
 
 Et ne se cherclie jamais : 
 
 Sur la terre, dans le ciel rueme, 
 
 Est-il d'autre bonheur que la tranquille paix 
 
 D'un cceur qui t'aime ? 
 
 Eacine. 
 
 Translation. 
 
 Of him who loves tliee, Lord! 
 
 By whom shall be the settled peace o'erthrown ? 
 
 He seeks in everything thy will adored 
 
 And never seeks his own : 
 
 Can earth, can heaven afford 
 
 More settled peace than to the heart is known 
 
 Of him who loves thee, Lord !
 
 105 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " St'U<pat r' 1)19(01 T6, T7o\l'/TXt7TO< T6 ">fpOVTfr, 
 
 Hosier. 
 
 Dwelt not our thoughts upon departed friends 
 
 Their fond affection had been ours in vain ; 
 
 On earth no traces of their steps remain — 
 As distant music that with ether blends 
 Their name has passed — but love its date extends, 
 
 And guards it free from every mortal stain 
 
 In memory's silent temple, wbere again 
 Emotions sad and soft its echo lends. 
 But, as on marble statues, colouring warm 
 
 Through tinted panes shed by the evening ray 
 Some moments rests, then leaves them dim and cold, 
 
 In memory's fane, so, on each hallowed form 
 The living hue that falls soon fades away 
 
 And their smooth brow Death's fillets pale enfold. 
 
 February 4>th, 1862. 
 
 On this day, in 1810, my mother and myself went in a post-chaise 
 from Truro to Lostwithiel (16 miles) with a young officer, who was on 
 his way to his home, in Hampshire, to die.
 
 106 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " If I beheld the sun when it shined, and the moon walking in 
 brightness, and my heart was secretly enticed " — Job xxxi. 
 
 " My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts 
 of my heart." — Job xvii. 
 
 When wintry gloom, and lonely days 
 
 The heart have chilled, the mind subdued, 
 How grateful dawn the earliest rays 
 
 That show the year renewed ! 
 For thoughts that cold and stagnant lay 
 
 Like waters of a frozen stream, 
 Again like lucid currents play 
 
 Touched by the vernal beam. 
 
 And while yon tints of crimson hue 
 
 Behind the wood, along the west 
 Paint melting in the higher blue 
 
 My lingering gaze arrest ; 
 And while the crescent's lamp I view, 
 
 Again in cloudless ether burn, 
 Glad — as the vision bright were new — 
 
 I welcome her return.
 
 STANZAS. 107 
 
 Oli ! venial was the erring creed 
 
 Of those, by purer lore untaught, 
 Who power supernal wont to read 
 
 In stars that blessings wrought — 
 Who deemed the sun the sacred source 
 
 Of all that mortal life requires, 
 And worshipped in her brilliant course 
 
 The moon's benignant fires. 
 
 My days are past — my purpose gone — 
 
 With none to please I none can frame — 
 My hours in silence hasten on 
 
 Eemote from praise or blame ; 
 My pulses slow in languor beat — 
 
 Thought tires, to weary rounds restrained — 
 And life's fair chalice, once replete, 
 
 Lies riven now, and drained. 
 
 But as I wander through the glade 
 
 Where lofty rise the dusky pines, 
 And in their dim unchanging shade 
 
 The glancing holly shines, 
 And coming night the radiance steals 
 
 That yet the vapourous summits wreathes. 
 My heart the genial pleasure feels 
 
 This softening season breathes. 
 
 February oth, 1862.
 
 108 
 SONNET. 
 
 Congestaque cremaritur 
 Thurea dona, dapes, fuso crateres olivo. 
 
 Vibgil. 
 , 'E\Xt)atv hty-rt voixos, 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 " 7rapoc %apiev." — HOMER. 
 
 Oh ! soothing were the ancient rites that gave 
 
 A season for libations to the Dead 
 
 And offerings expiatory ; thought they led 
 Beyond the pillared tomb's firm architrave, 
 And the hoarse dirge of ever-rolling wave 
 
 O'er the cold sleep of the once graceful head, 
 
 And taught that when the spirit hence has fled 
 Its human sympathies survive the grave. 
 Strange though these rites to reason calm appear, 
 
 Their truth of instinct to the heart is known 
 While — with the prayer of anguish unexprest — 
 
 From the pale form unconscious on the bier 
 Pardon it seeks, for careless word or tone 
 
 That once ungentle seemed to the now pulseless 
 breast. 
 
 February 15th, 1862. 
 
 The Feralia (or festival in honour of the Dead) occurred at Rome 
 about the middle of February ; aud during the eleven days of their 
 continuation, marriages were forbidden, and the Temples of the Gods 
 were closed.
 
 109 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 LuCIAN. 
 
 " Now I the strength of Hercules behold 
 A shadowy form I for high in Heaven's abodes 
 Himself resides, a god among the gods." 
 
 Odyssey, Bool S I 
 
 Diogenes and Alcides. 
 D. " Is this Alcides ? surely it is he ! 
 
 The statui'e, bow, the club and lion's hide 
 Show plainly that no other can it be ; 
 
 And has the son of Jupiter, then, died I 
 Liest thou, illustrious victor, 'neath the sod ? 
 Thou, whom on earth I worshipped as a god." 
 
 A. " And rightly didst so ! The Alcides true 
 With Hebe, the fair-ancled, in the sky 
 
 Xow dwells : in me, you but his phantom view." 
 D. " The phantom of a god ! and can one die 
 
 By half, as man, yet live as Deity?" 
 A. Just so ! lie lives — his shade thou seest in me." 
 
 D. "I understand — 'twas he who sent thee here 
 To pass, for him, as one of Pluto's dead." 
 
 A. " So would it seem." D. " But Eacus, so clear 
 Of judgment, how could he be so misled 
 That the deception practised failed to strike himP ' 
 
 A. " He took mc for Alcides — I'm so like him."
 
 110 
 
 D. " Like him ! the likeness reaches to identity ! 
 See if thou not Alcides art, and he 
 Who married Hebe but the shadowy entity." 
 
 A. " Thou'rt pert ! and talkative ! and soon skalt see. 
 If thou desist not from thy flippant sneer, 
 Of what a god, I am the phantom here." 
 
 D. " At hand thy bow — yet being once defunct 
 I fear not : but, by thy Alcides ! say, 
 Wast thou on earth, his ghost, too ? or conjunct 
 
 In one ? but severed when ye came away 
 And he ascended, where he now is sitting, 
 And thou to Hades earnest, as was fitting." 
 
 A. " Sarcastic questioning no answer merited, 
 Yet take this : of his being, whatsoe'er 
 Alcides from Amphitryon inherited, 
 
 Was I, and died ; from Jupiter, the share 
 Lives with the gods." D. " I see it clearly now — 
 Two sons, Alcmena bore — the mortal, thou, 
 
 " Her husband's ; Jupiter's, the deathless other : 
 
 TU1 now I knew not, since ye bore one name, 
 Alcides, ye were twins — thou and thy brother." 
 A. " Nor wore we, fool ! both was I, and the same." 
 D. " This is not clear— nor my assent enforces — 
 
 Could one be both? as centaurs, gods and horses?"
 
 Ill 
 
 A. " Why — thou thyself dost recognize iu men 
 Body and soul — in one, a dual principle ; 
 My mortal part is here — what hinders then 
 
 My soxd from being on high ? by death invincible 
 As Jove-derived?" D. " Amphitiyon's noble son 
 Wert thou a body here, thy plea were won ; 
 
 " But thou an incorporeal phantom art, — 
 Thine argument Alcides triple makes." 
 A. "How, triple?" D. "Thus: earth holds thine 
 earthly part — 
 Thy soul, the sky — thy phantom, Hades takes ; 
 And these make three — seek now, whom thou 
 
 wouldst rather 
 Assign unto thy body, as third father." 
 
 A. " And who art thou ? sophistical derider ! " 
 
 D. " The phantom of Diogenes, am I ; 
 And if with gods Olympian no abider, 
 
 Here, with the noblest souls of all that die 
 Converse I hold — and laughing too, at times, 
 At the crude notions found in Homer's rhymes." 
 
 It seems, that though treating with merited ridicule the gods of 
 Olympus, Lucian, with Socrates, held the immortality of the soul, 
 aud the future intercourse of the spirits "of just meu made perfect."
 
 112 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Geluque 
 
 Flumina eonstiterint aento. 
 
 Horace. 
 
 — obsessum glaciali frigore pectus. 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 When filmy o'er the rippling stream 
 
 A frosted tracery lies, 
 It dims, at first, tlie liquid gleam 
 
 Reflecting earth and skies : 
 And still the texture denser grows — 
 And now the stream no longer flows, 
 
 But, quenched the various dyes 
 That o'er the sparkling current shone, 
 A surface wan it shows alone. 
 
 And thus, the wintry years I find 
 
 O'er all my being steal ; 
 Thought slumbers in my stagnant mind — 
 
 My heart is slow to feel : 
 Discolouring shades are round me cast, 
 And e'en the hues of summer past, 
 
 The gathering mists conceal : 
 Life, like the brooklet frost-controlled, 
 Is wan, without, within, is cold. 
 
 February, 18G2.
 
 113 
 
 S O N K E T. 
 
 Soporem 
 . Legit, et spargit per opacas humida terras. 
 
 Ovm. 
 
 When passed away the tempest that o'erthrew 
 Mother ! thy happiness, at length a calm 
 Fell on thy evening, as, with healing balm 
 
 Falls on heat-withered flowers the twilight dew ; 
 
 Or like the rest the desert-wanderer knew 
 "When in Arabian wastes, beneath the palm 
 Cool shade he found — and with rejoicing psalm 
 
 From the pure well reviving water drew. 
 
 Yet, though from pain exempt, with placid brow 
 Thou wouldst express thy weariness, and hail 
 
 Night, that in slumber brought serene repose ; 
 And still of thee I think, whene'er, as now, 
 
 I mark long shadows darken o'er the vale 
 
 And feel that life, like day, ere long must close. 
 
 March, 1862.
 
 114 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Knii'ui xatvitw fxera/3u^\oi'(Tat 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 
 — iriaitf, £\ntr, uyunr) — nei£wi> ie toutwv, h liydnri. 
 
 St. Paul. 
 
 When pain each quivering nerve pervades 
 
 Or sinks my heart, deprest, 
 Thought draws aside the veiling shades 
 
 That time long past, invest : 
 Forms lost to earth again are near — 
 The glance I see, the sigh I hear 
 
 That pain or care confessed, — 
 And grieved for sufferings they had known 
 In pitying these, forget my own. 
 
 No cheerful tints of light and bloom 
 
 Will memory now recall ; 
 The shadows thrown from many a tomb 
 
 Still on her mirror fall : 
 Yet pictures there I once might view 
 Where hope, success and gladness threw 
 
 A living glow o'er all ; 
 l!iil slow decay the tints effaced 
 
 - 1 Left but death's pale emblems traced.
 
 STANZAS. Hi 
 
 Dark were the days that to my mind 
 
 In mournful thought return ; 
 But not one day had I resigned 
 
 Joy's brightest hours to earn : 
 All sad they passed, as sad they came - 
 All given to watch life's sacred flame 
 
 With waning lustre burn, — 
 And, as I marked its fading ra\ , 
 To wish, with that, to pass away. 
 
 Oh ! by what alchemy divine 
 
 From earth's commingling ills 
 A balm, to strengthen and refine 
 
 Affection pure distils ! 
 It tempers, bitter though in taste 
 As Marah's waters in the waste, 
 
 The cup affliction fills ; 
 And power imparts — that never quailed — 
 To stand where fainting sense had failed. 
 
 Faith may with hope and joy retire 
 
 From spirits anguish-bowed ; 
 But love enkindles clearer Gre 
 
 On hearths to sorrow vowed : 
 More deep it glows mid gloom and tears 
 Like 1he fair bow that now appears 
 
 Wide on yon storm-wet cloud, 
 On the bare wood, a glory, lies. 
 Illumes the earth aud spans the sh 
 
 March, 1SG2.
 
 116 
 
 ABSTRACT OF DIALOGUE THE 16th. 
 
 LlJCIAN. 
 
 Chaeon, Clotho, Hermes, Cvniscus, Megapenthes, 
 mlcylltts, and r.hadamanthus. 
 
 Cha. " So is it, Clotho ! everything is ready — 
 
 Emptied the hold, — the oars are all suspended 
 Each by its thong ; the mast is fixed and steady, 
 The canvas rigged and on the yards extended : 
 Nothing remains in which my cares avail, 
 But just to weigh the anchor and make sail. 
 
 " But Hermes loiters, and the boat is clear — 
 Three loads of passengers by this, I'd taken — 
 
 And now the ox-unyoking hour is near 
 
 Yet not an obolus in my palm I've shaken : 
 
 Pluto, I know ! will dilatory deem me, 
 
 And guilty of another's fault esteem me. 
 
 " Meanwhile, of all our Dead the fine conductor, 
 Perchance, has drank, like them, of Lethe's 
 river ; 
 
 Or wrestles — of gymnastics the Instructor — 
 Or trifles — singing, as his harp-strings quiver — 
 
 "l'i.s licence beyond bounds to treat us thus 
 
 When he, at least by halves, is one of us."
 
 117 
 
 Clo. " Yet his being always at the beck and call 
 
 Of Jove, may hinder him from coming faster." 
 Cha. " Tis not alone, that meant to drudge for all 
 
 Jove makes him work, as more than half his 
 master ; 
 We scarce can keep him e'en for a short season — ■ 
 Off he must go ! I clearly see the reason ! 
 
 " Sere we have only plains of asphodel, 
 And offerings made on tombs, in sacrifice, 
 
 All else is shade and gloom — but gods who dwell 
 On high Olympus, have the cheerful skies, 
 
 And Xectar poured them from exhaustless urns — 
 
 And therefore glad he goes, and slow to us 
 returns." 
 
 Clo. " Be quiet, Charon ! he is near arriving — 
 
 And what a crowd he brings us to the boat, 
 Just like a goat-herd who his flock is driving — 
 But dust and sweat o'er all his person float ! 
 How now, O Hermes ! why this breathless 
 
 hurry ? 
 Thy looks are discomposed, as by a flurry." 
 
 Her. "How should they not be, Clotho! when by 
 running 
 After this wretch, the boat I almost missed." 
 Clo. " Who is he ? and the passage wherefore 
 
 shunning P" 
 Her. " Some Tyrant, by his tears and cries I wist — 
 One who has much to lose, — but ' wherefore fly P ' 
 'Tis clear — the man would rather live than die."
 
 118 
 
 Clo. " A fool he must be, to have thought of flying 
 
 When all the thread I granted him, was 
 spun." 
 Iter. " Have thought of 'it! vain had been all my trying 
 To overtake him, but this valiant One, 
 (He with the club) ran with me till we caught 
 
 him, — 
 "When, having seized, we here in fetters brought 
 him. 
 
 " The moment Atropos consigned him to me 
 He dragged his steps, or fixed his heels in 
 earth, 
 
 And backwards struggled, striving to outdo me, 
 Or promised me rewards of mighty worth 
 
 If for a short time I would set him free ; 
 
 Of course, I did not, as it could not be. 
 
 " But when before the entrance cave we came, 
 And Eacus I told to what amounted 
 
 The number of our Dead, and he, each name 
 According to thy sister's list recounted, 
 
 The wretch, I know not how — unnoticed fled ! 
 
 And, ' One is wanting of the numbered Dead,' 
 
 " Cried Eacus, stern eyes upon me fixing — 
 ' Think not on all, thy furtive arts to show — 
 
 Amuse the gods, thy thefts and frolics mixing, 
 N ought can be hid, and all is known below : 
 
 Tor four, besides the thousand, here are three — 
 
 Did Atropos, forsooth, impose on thee?'
 
 119 
 
 "I blushed at this — then, quick, I recollected 
 
 Oar journej^ down — around I cast my sight — 
 
 He's gone ! we start ! and on the track suspected 
 
 "We catch him just before he reached the 
 
 light." 
 
 C'lo. "And Charon! Hermes we accused of loitering!" 
 
 C/ia. " Why wait we now ? for further reconnoitring?" 
 
 C'lo. " Eight — let them come on board, whilst I, 
 attending 
 With book in hand, the ladder sit beside, 
 And learn from each one in his turn ascending 
 What place he comes from and what death 
 he died ; 
 And Charon ! thou, according to their cases, 
 Eeceive, arrange, and wedge them in their 
 places." 
 
 Her. " Here are three hundred infants, in one lot." 
 Cha. " Truly ! of unripe grapes a precious freight ! " 
 Her. " Suppose I add the unwept, I have got?" [wait 
 Clo. "The old? well thought! for here I cannot 
 Inquiring into matters that were done 
 On earth, before Euclldes saw the sun." 
 
 Her. " Here are four hundred, in their ripeness ta'en." 
 Cha. "Like shrivelled grapes, that withered on the 
 
 stalk." 
 Clo. " Those who by violence or fraud were slain 
 
 Come now — and, Hermes! bid them hither 
 walk : 
 Eighty and four must yesterday have died 
 
 liting in Mysia." Her. "They are at thy 
 side."
 
 120 
 
 Clo. " As suicides, for love, here seven are noted, 
 One the philosopher Theagenes, 
 "Who on a Megarensian wanton doted." 
 Ser. " He's here." Clo. " And the ambitious ? 
 who to seize 
 The sceptre, slew each other." Her. " Nigh 
 
 they stand — 
 And one, who perished by his consort's hand." 
 
 Clo. " Now sixteen — who by robbers murdered were." 
 Her. " Here are they. Wilt thou now the women 
 view?" [they share 
 
 Clo. " Yes — and with them the shipwrecked — for 
 Perils, alike, and the same fortune rue. 
 Let those who died of fever, then appear — 
 Agathocles, their doctor, in the rear. 
 
 " Cyniscus, the philosopher, comes next." 
 Cyn. " Clotho ! here am I, whom thou left'st to 
 dwindle 
 So long on earth, (and upon what pretext P) 
 
 I ran off all the thread from off thy spindle — 
 Long have I wished to come, and to divide it, 
 But found the twine too strong whene'er I tried 
 it." 
 
 Clo. " I left thee there to try to make men better, 
 
 But mount ! and may thy voyage auspicious 
 
 be!" 
 
 Cyn. " Not till lie's safe on board who wears the fetter, 
 
 Lest his strong prayers tempt thee to set him 
 
 free [is — " 
 
 Against the law." Clo. " See, Hermes, who he 
 
 /A i: " "lis Megapenthes, son of Lacydis."
 
 121 
 
 Clo. " Mount, thou ! " Meg. " Nay, Clotlio ! spare 
 
 me yet I pray, 
 
 My house unfinished is, I would complete it." 
 
 Clo. "Thou triflest— mount ! " Meg. "Then only 
 
 for a day ! 
 
 Mine is great treasure, and where I secrete it 
 
 My wife I'd tell." Clo. "The river must be 
 
 crossed— [be lost?" 
 
 Stands the decree ! " Meg. " And must my gold 
 
 Clo. " Lost ! by no means — as for this fear, repress it — 
 
 Thy cousin Megacles has found the store." 
 Meg. " Whom I forgot to slay ! does he possess it ? " 
 Clo. " And will, for forty years, or rather more." 
 Meg. " Clotho ! thy doings most unjust I call ! 
 On my worst enemies bestow my all ! 
 
 " Yet let me go, to see what they are doing." 
 Clo. "That I can tell— thy wife and slave are 
 wedded, 
 And broken are the statues — mocked, in ruin — 
 Eaised in thy honour whilst thy power was 
 dreaded." 
 Meg. " And did no friend my interest defend ?" 
 Clo. " Didst thou deserve, or ever know a friend?" 
 
 Meg. " Many appeared such— ever swearing by me." 
 Clo. " So one of them, thy journey hither hasted, 
 And drugged thy cup last night, when sitting 
 nigh thee." 
 Meg. " Was this the bitterness methought I tasted P 
 But what could be his motive?" Clo. "Ques- 
 tions many 
 Thou askest — time is past for answering any."
 
 122 
 
 Mic. " But Clotho ! cannot I thy notice claim ? 
 
 Must I, as poor, the last, go up the ladder'-" 
 
 Clo. "And who art thou?" Mic. " Micyllus is my 
 
 name— [sadder 
 
 A cobbler." Clo. " Why, this Tyrant is far 
 
 At having to go first, and much would give, 
 
 E'en for a little space, again to live." 
 
 Mic. " The promise of the Cyclops ne'er allured me — 
 The same his teeth, bite they or first or last — 
 But he, to loose him who but now adjured thee 
 
 A life of boundless luxury has passed ; 
 And back to this, his thoughts their passage 
 
 measure, 
 As the poor lover's to his ravished treasure. 
 
 " But I had neither statues, gold, nor land — 
 And joyful marked when Atropos first 
 beckoned ; 
 
 My awl I dropped (a shoe I had in hand) 
 At her first sign, nor waited for a second : 
 
 Forward I ran — nought was there to recall me— 
 
 And think, from what I see, goodwill befall me. 
 
 " All, here, — which charms me ! — seem in station 
 equal, 
 None bear a yoke whose pressure ne'er 
 relaxes ; 
 None winter dread, nor sickness as its sequel, 
 Nor feel the weight of creditors and taxes : 
 Life seems reversed below, and we, the poor 
 Now smile— while groan the rich, who laughed 
 before."
 
 123 
 
 Clo. " Now, Charon ! weigh, the anchor ! ply the oar ! 
 All are on board — soon be our voyage com- 
 pleted ! 
 
 2j|J ^ -n* -JF "B? 
 
 Already have we gained the further shore 
 And Bhadamanthus on his throne is seated. 
 Rha. "Erinnys ! bring the passengers in order, 
 
 And Hermes of their names be the recorder." 
 
 Cyn. " Try me, O Ehadamanthus ! first, for I 
 Against one would prefer an accusation 
 Of what I've seen, — and this the laws deny 
 To all improved of blameless reputation." 
 Rha. "Who art thou?" Cj/n. " A philosopher — my 
 name 
 Cyniscus." Rha. " Stand, then, here, and 
 thou ! proclaim 
 
 " Hermes ! that any who would aught attest 
 Against him, must now speak." Cyn. "They 
 answer not." 
 Rha. " But this is not enough — put off thy vest 
 
 That I may look for blemish or for spot." 
 Cyn, "How should I spotted be?" Rha. "Upon 
 the skin 
 Each vice, once cherished, will be branded in." 
 
 Ci,n. " Look, now, for stigmata — for I am stark." 
 Rha. "And but for three or four thy skin quite 
 clean ; 
 But stay — now here and there I see a mark, 
 
 Or faint cicatrix, where some wound has been. 
 So faint the lines, at first they scarce appear — 
 Wast thou not always, as thou now art, clear P"
 
 124 
 
 Cyn. " I'll tell tkee — formerly, to good untrained, 
 
 Vices I had, of which thou seest the traces ; 
 But power from high philosophy I gained 
 That evil from the heart and mind effaces." 
 J\ha. " To islands of the blest, be thy dismission, 
 And spirits of the just — the deposition 
 
 "Against yon Tyrant when I shall have seen. 
 Who follows?" "I, Micyllus, who shall 
 give 
 But little trouble — naked, long I've been." 
 Rha. " All clean art thou — go, with Cyniscus live. 
 Call now the Tyrant." Her. " Megapenthes ! 
 
 hear ! 
 He turns away — Erinnys ! drag him near !" 
 
 Cyn. " My charges may be spoken in a trice — 
 
 His life, from first to last, was all nefarious, 
 Insatiate still of cruelty and vice 
 
 And only with atrocious men gregarious : 
 Those whom he slew would witness what I tell, 
 But see ! uncalled they come, and round him 
 yell." 
 
 Her. " Call now his lamp — and hear what that con- 
 fesses " — 
 Lamp. " Of day, I cannot speak, but oft at night 
 
 When brought by him to shine on his excesses, 
 
 Bather than be polluted thus, my light 
 Quivering, and shrinking from his noisome 
 
 rout, 
 Befused the liquid olive, and went out."
 
 125 
 
 Rha. " Enough of witnesses — his purple suit 
 
 Pull off him, that we may his body view : 
 By Jove ! 'tis scribbled o'er from head to foot ! 
 
 Livid with stigmata — all black and blue ! 
 What shall we do with him ? To Cerberus 
 
 throw him ? 
 Or let the waves of Phlegethon o'erftow him?" 
 
 Cyn. " Neither — let me a sentence new invent : 
 
 Say — do not all the Dead, of Lethe drink ?" 
 Rha. " They do." Cyn. " Then let him not ! the 
 punishment 
 Great will be, on his former life to think." 
 Rha. " 'Tis so decreed — by Tantalus now bind him, 
 Where memory torture similar will find him," 
 
 -Cur tamen hos tu 
 
 Evasisse putes, quos diri conscia facti 
 Mens habet adtonitos, et surdo verbere enpdit, 
 Occultum quatiente animo tortorc flagellum. 
 Poena autem vehemens, ac multo sa'vior illis 
 Quas et Ca;dicius^mvenit, et Khadamanthus, 
 Nocte dicque suum gestare in pectore testem. 
 
 Juvenal.
 
 12(5 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 HucrTfiiei de kcu rep — 
 l^i? kv ofl^xaffi 94a9at 
 n\<mv. PlNDAK. 
 
 Embowered in leaves of April's freshest green 
 
 The nightingales poured forth their rapturous lay 
 Through the else silent wood, whose waving screen 
 
 Shone lucid in the noontide's temperate ray 
 Then eastward slanting ; now, while fading day 
 
 Declines, a gush of music fills the air 
 Like joy's confusion, when the feelings play 
 
 In aimless pleasure, and relieved from care 
 Life a gay pageant seems, and all its progress fair. 
 
 Amid Spring's festal pomp my heart is sad — 
 Alone, I listen to the music sweet ; — 
 
 Grief shrinks from converse, but the spirit glad 
 Expanding, in another's eyes would meet 
 
 Pleasure reflected, thereby made complete : 
 
 Hope to some future world and scenes unknown 
 
 Turns, there the bliss familiar to repeal- 
 But doubt obscure on the vague prospect thrown 
 
 Dims it, as shade, the path where now I stand, aloue. 
 
 April 2S(/i, 1862.
 
 127 
 STANZAS. 
 
 While turning from the vernal day- 
 Mine eyes in willing darkness close, 
 
 I listen to the blackbird's lay 
 That clear and flute-like flows ; 
 
 His breast no anxious feeling knows 
 Of vain regret or future fear, 
 
 But, perfect in its fulness, glows 
 His sense of pleasure near. 
 
 Oh ! by what links of subtile power 
 
 Is finest sense with thought entwined 
 In quiet charm to steep the hour 
 
 To sorrow, else, resigned : 
 Be music wafted on the wind — 
 
 Let nature's beauties flush to sight — 
 The senses, o'er the troubled mind, 
 
 Diffuse their own delight. 
 
 With strength subdued and heart deprest 
 
 I listen to the liquid strain 
 Till saddened thoughts subside to rest 
 
 Or fairer tiuts obtain ; 
 So, passed the cloud that shades the plain 
 
 Where simple flowers expand their bloom, 
 Their leaves the wonted hues regain 
 
 That cloud has veiled in gloom. 
 
 May S!!,, L862.
 
 12S 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 Contemplator, item, cum se nux plurima silvis 
 Induet in florem, et ramos curvabit olentes. 
 
 Cubilibus altis 
 Nescio qua prater solitum dulcedine teti 
 Inter se foliis strepitant. 
 
 VlRGIL. 
 
 Flushed by the beauty of meridian May 
 
 O'er tbe green earth glided the morning hours ; 
 
 The air was tremulous in leafy bowers 
 To music vibrating from every spray : 
 "Where the broad chestnuts dimmed the brilliant day 
 
 Floated sweet odour from their thousand flowers, 
 
 But just evolved, and, yet, in silent showers 
 Falling, and tracking white the winding way. 
 The noontide splendour wide diffused o'er all 
 
 Shone, in itself too subtile to be viewed ; 
 But, by a mist transparent now controlled, 
 
 Its rays through limes, their tint imbibing, fall 
 On meads, and glowing, though with light subdued, 
 
 Seem tangible, like shafts of burnished gold. 
 
 May 16^, 1862.
 
 129 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " non tamen irritum 
 
 Quodcunque retro est efficiet, neque 
 Diffinget infectiunque reddet, 
 Quod fugiens semel hora vesit." 
 
 Hokacb. 
 
 The gloom that veils this vernal sky- 
 More vivid shows the green 
 Whose tints in varying denseness lie 
 
 O'er all the shaded scene ; 
 The shaded scene so calm, so fair, 
 The golden sun-light would impair 
 
 Its pensive charm serene, 
 That soothes the weary mind and breast, 
 And thought and feeling lulls to rest. 
 
 As wide its wandering pinions float 
 
 Or fold, unfearing, near, 
 Ee-echoes now the cuckoo's note 
 
 Kejoicing, full and clear ; 
 Though sweet, 'tis sad — for Spring no more 
 To me will e'er the friends restore 
 
 Who loved the sound to hear : 
 But in my life the hues yet twine 
 Inwoven there, whilst they were mine. 
 
 May, 1862.
 
 130 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 "The senses give us information of things only as they exist in the 
 
 present moment ; and this information, if it were not preserved by 
 
 memory, would vanish instantly, and leave us as ignorant of it, as if it 
 
 had never been." 
 
 Sib William Hamilton's Lectukes. 
 
 'Tis good, at times, our journey to review 
 From life's fair morning ; when our fearless glance 
 High thoughts revealed, and fancies that enhance 
 
 E'en Nature's beauties, till — like early dew 
 
 Exhaled, or soiled, as hours of toil ensue — 
 They faded — for while way-worn we advance, 
 Those thoughts recalled, the spirit can entrance 
 
 And steep in youth's fresh purity anew. 
 
 So fragrance wafted from a distant shore* 
 Comes to the exile on the desert wave, 
 
 Breathing the scent of forest, heath and fields ; 
 And, tho\igh to these he must return no more, 
 
 Remembrance of the joyous health they gave 
 A moment's sense of health and pleasure yields. 
 
 * St. Pierre says that the scent of rosemary on the shores of 
 Provence, is perceived by mariners several miles at sea. 
 
 July 27, 1862.
 
 131 
 
 TO ANNA CAROLINE STEELE. 
 
 ' Non semper idem floribus est honos 
 
 Ternis." 
 
 Horace 
 
 " — et riget amissa spina relicta rosa." 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 The summer air, whose freshened movements play, 
 
 Ruffling the petals of the new-blown rose, 
 
 Seems but its vermeil splendour to disclose, 
 And give the waving bloom a brighter ray : 
 "While the same air sweeps from its stem away 
 
 The flower that, long evolved, no longer glows, 
 
 But, still, unshaken, in its pale repose 
 Had lingered, fragrant, on the shaded spray. 
 Then marvel not, thou, who art young and fair, 
 
 If from emotions which thy mind employ 
 Mine, worn and tremulous, shrinks, and turns in fear . 
 
 And fain the remnant of a life would spare — 
 Too weak for effort and too dull for joy — 
 
 Yet not unsolaced, since to thee 'ti 
 
 August 29. 18l 2
 
 132 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ' Eripitur persona, manet res." 
 
 
 Soft summer airs no longer rustling stray 
 O'er the dense leaves, but silently subside 
 In night's deep stillness ; near, the moonbeams glide 
 
 Through graceful tracery of the ash-tree's spray, 
 
 And on the lawns a splendour silvery gray 
 Diffuse, that 'whelms in cool discolouring tide 
 All the rich tints the cultured flowers supplied, 
 
 While glowing, gorgeous, in the noon of day. 
 
 The woods, the fields their wonted forms retain, 
 And the ripe harvest floats unto the glade, 
 
 Clear, though the hues are faded light had wrought ; 
 So life's realities alone remain, 
 
 When fancy's bright illusions coldly fade 
 In the pure atmosphere of tranquil thought. 
 
 September 7, 1862. 

 
 133 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " — in ipsig 
 
 Omnia sunt oculis, mensfc, quas advena prinias 
 
 Tunc adiit, dextraequo datse." 
 
 VlCGIL. 
 
 The ether clear of summer, to the eye 
 Late viewless, as September's sun declines, 
 Like woven gossamer in golden twines 
 
 Floats visible and dewy : from the sky 
 
 Low-darted rays redden to deeper dye 
 Of umbered glow the bark of lofty pines 
 West in the grove that in the lustre shines, 
 
 And echoes with the rook's returning cry. 
 
 Fall some few leaves, pale as in eastern climes 
 The studded maize, and on the lawn are strown, 
 
 "Where linger, bright and fragrant, clustered flowers ; 
 But now the bells peal out in bridal chimes — 
 
 Thoughtful I hear them, as I walk alone, 
 And twilight darkens o'er my silent hours. 
 
 September 11, 18G2.
 
 134 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Un grain de muse semble avoir exhale toute son odeur, quand on l'a 
 conserve quelques annees, mais si on 1 echauffe, il repand de nouveaus 
 
 parfnms." 
 
 Madame Neckbb. 
 
 As the pale scroll that blank its surface shows 
 To careless glances, and aught else denies, 
 Inscriptions latent, to responsive eyes 
 
 May by the taper's light and flame disclose ; 
 
 As the aroma that no more out-throws 
 Its essence to the common air, and lies 
 Neglected, odour sweet again supplies 
 
 "When by the sparkling fire infused, it glows ; 
 
 From minds that vacant and uncoloured seem, 
 And hearts unwakened, and accounted sere 
 
 By looks unheedful and observance cold, 
 The touch of sympathy with sudden gleam 
 
 Makes faded thought in hues distinct appear, 
 And feeling, in effusive warmth, unfold.
 
 135 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " — Autumnus, posito fervore juventse 
 
 Maturus, mitisque inter juvenemque, senemque 
 
 Temperie medius." 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 I love thy groves, September ! when the day- 
 Serene, entranced in silent gladness seems, 
 Ere from their azure height the noontide beams 
 Shorten the shadows : on the chequered way- 
 Slant through the umbrage quivering now they play, 
 And o'er the sycamore's fallen leaf that gleams 
 On the green moss, while from its colouring streams 
 The ruby's splendour with the emerald's ray. 
 No music stirs the wood — the air is hushed — 
 
 And summer's softened brightness, as it fades 
 To milder light, an influence calm respires ; 
 
 Such as o'er minds by youthful visions flushed, 
 Thought, stealing, brings, aud with successive shades 
 Tempers their ardour ere it quench their fires. 
 
 September 18, L862
 
 136 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 '* Commune with thine own heart, and be still.' 
 
 Although thine aspect, Solitude ! be stern, 
 
 Strength canst thou give, and softness to the mind ; 
 
 Fancy's bright vapours that allure and blind 
 Before thy presence melt, and we discern 
 Forms in their true proportions — and then learn 
 
 To pity the bewildered, who, resigned 
 
 To error intricate, press on, to find 
 Joys permanent, but disappointment earn. 
 And many an act of gentle love, untold, 
 
 Nor marked when done — and words of kindness 
 spoken 
 Smite on the heart — when thou day's coil hast hushed— 
 
 Till from its depths, that arid seemed and cold, 
 Flows tenderness, as, when the rock was broken, 
 
 From the dark clefts refreshing waters gushed. 
 
 September, 1862.
 
 137 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Necdum etiam geminos a tergo respicet angues." 
 
 Vibgil. 
 
 " The grass withereth, the flower fadeth : but the word of the Lord 
 endureth for ever." 
 
 In distant years, this path with chestnuts strown — 
 Bright as they fall— and many a withered leaf, 
 I paced in anxious musings ; fear was chief 
 For him, the absent — lest his hopes o'erthrown, 
 Regret should shade his brow — ah ! then unknown 
 
 The triumph gained would yield but pleasure brief, 
 
 And slow decay, and death, despair and grief, 
 Quench the fair light that on my dwelling shone. 
 Cold fall the shadows while I linger here, 
 
 And gathering mist obscures the wood and plain — 
 Day's colours fade, and all her echoes die— 
 
 And as I backwards look on hope and fear 
 Past with their source and object — fleet and vain 
 
 Seems every care that in the grave must lie. 
 
 October 2, 1862.
 
 138 
 
 VENUS AND CUPID. 
 
 LUCIAN. 
 
 ' Otia si tollas, periere Cupidinis arcus, 
 Conteniptse que jacent, et sine luce faces.'' 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 V. " Whence comes it, Cupid, that though never 
 sparing 
 The other gods, nor e'en of gods the sire, 
 Before Athene, vanishes thy daring ? — 
 
 No darts thy quiver, and thy torch no fire 
 Have in her presence, where thou standest stark, 
 And still, like one who never hit a mark." 
 
 C. " Mother, I fear her, and her azure glance 
 Severely resolute ! when I assume 
 My bended bow, against her to advance, 
 
 Let her but shake her crest and waving plume, 
 And, straight-confounded, trembling, terrified, 
 I let the weapons through my fingers glide." 
 
 V. " Surely, by Mars thou shouldst have been more 
 frighted, 
 Yet him thou hast assailed, and vanquished, too." 
 C. " Yes ! but he bore my presence — nay, invited — 
 While she with eyes unswerving looks me 
 through, 
 And if, with lighted torch, too near I flutter, 
 Her lips, by Jupiter ! a menace utter
 
 139 
 
 " To take me by the heel, and hurl me down 
 To Tartarus — or rend me into pieces— 
 
 This, and the like, she says, with savage frown — 
 And, then, my fears the snaky head increases 
 
 That on her breast-plate glares with bugbear face — 
 
 Thus, when I see it, off I fly, apace." 
 
 V. " Thou, by Athene and her snakes confounded, 
 Who fearest not Jove's thunder ! is it so ? 
 But are the Muses, too, by guards surrounded ? 
 Stand they beyond the compass of thy bow ? 
 And have they crests to shake, and make thee 
 
 fear them ? 
 Or heads of Gorgon?" C. "Mother! I revere 
 them ! 
 
 " August they are — in meditative mood 
 Ever on themes of lofty song they dwell — 
 
 And even I, beside them long have stood, 
 Held by the power of their melodious spell." 
 Y. " Well — as respectable, we these omit — 
 
 But why should Artemis be never hit P" 
 
 C. " Hit her ! who ever over mountains scours ! — 
 
 But she, too, loves." F. "Whom loves she, 
 son?" C. "The chase — 
 And stags, and fawns with fleetest shafts o'cr- 
 povrers, 
 So, to this love, all other loves give place, 
 
 But for her archer brother " V. "Yes, I 
 
 know — 
 He oft has felt the arrows from thy bow."
 
 140 
 
 SONNE T. 
 
 " Nunc neinora ingenti vento, nunc litora plangunt." 
 
 " I hear the tumult of the distant throng 
 As that of seas remote and dying storms, 
 And meditate on scenes more silent still." 
 
 Youuo. 
 
 Impetuous, through, the day, autumnal gales 
 Loud sounding o'er the groves and woodlands rushed, 
 Rending the branches, and the foliage crushed 
 
 Ere the declining year its verdure pales ; 
 
 But now, the wind, subsiding, mournful wails 
 Low murmuring — the horizon faintly flushed 
 Tells of departed brightness — earth is hushed, 
 
 And quiet deepens as the daylight fails. 
 
 Glooms in the east the star of sullen fires,* 
 
 Seen through the birch-tree's spray — the birds are 
 still— 
 
 And calm, if sad and chill is evening's close ; 
 So, when the storm of grief, exhaust, expires, 
 
 Though tones of joy no more the pulses thrill, 
 Steals o'er the weary heart a cold repose. 
 
 * Mars. 
 October 23, 1862.
 
 141 
 
 MINOS AJN T D SOSTEATUS. 
 
 Ltjcian. 
 
 " — virtue is the child of liberty, 
 And happiness of virtue, nor can they 
 Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.*' 
 
 M. " Throw Sostratus, the pirate, in the river 
 Of Phlegethon— and he this tyrant borne 
 "Where Tityus feeds the vultures on his liver, 
 
 Hermes ! — to be, by them, like Tityus shorn. 
 The Temple-spoiler to Chimsera bear, 
 That she his body limb from limb may tear. 
 
 " And ye ! the good ! haste to Elysian fields 
 And islands of the blest— where ye shall dwell 
 
 In all the happiness which virtue yields." 
 
 S. "But, Minos, hear ! and if I reason well " 
 
 M. " Hear thee, again ! hast thou not been convicted 
 
 Of numerous homicides, uncontradicted?" 
 
 S. " Convicted have I been by thee, 'tis true, 
 
 But whether justly sentenced, seems a question." 
 J/. " Justly — if punishment to crime be due." 
 S. "Yet, Minos! hear! and answer the suggestion 
 
 I fain would make— it will not keep thee long." 
 .1/. "Brief, then; that I may doom the waiting 
 throng."
 
 142 
 
 S. " Sprang all my acts, in life, from my own will? 
 Or were they there entwined by Clotho's spin- 
 ning?" 
 M. " Clearly, by her." S. " Then all men, good or ill, 
 But do what she designed, from the beginning." 
 M. " Surely, to every person at bis birth 
 
 Clotho prescribes what he shall do on earth." 
 
 S. " Suppose a man, compelled, another slays, 
 As does the soldier at his chieftain's word, 
 Or public headsman, who the judge obeys— 
 To which of these should be the act referred ?" 
 M. " To judge, and chief — since theirs was the intent — 
 The agent, as the sword, their instrument." 
 
 S. " Well said ! my argument thou makest clearer — 
 Suppose, again, a slave, of treasure golden 
 Sent to me by his master, is the bearer — 
 To which, then, of the two, am I beholden?" 
 31. " To him, of course, who for thy pleasure meant it — 
 What did the servant for thee, but present it?" 
 
 S. " See now, O Minos ! whether it be just 
 
 To punish deeds performed by Fate's decree, 
 Or some men to reward, because they must 
 
 Of good, the ministers predestined be? 
 And how coiddst thou refute him who maintaius 
 He acts as strong necessity constrains?"
 
 143 
 
 M. " There's much, besides, would scarcely square 
 with reason, 
 O Sostratus ! if measured by precision — 
 But, since thy deeds thou canst with logic season, 
 
 Thou gainest of my sentence a revision ; 
 — Release him, Hermes ! — but beware ! nor spread 
 Thy dialectics, here, among the dead." 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 vraWds d'odoiis Z\66\ira <t>poviidos TrXavots. 
 
 Sophocles. 
 
 Day's tumult has subsided, 
 
 Its varied colours fade, 
 The hues by light divided 
 
 Are blended all in shade ; 
 The birds of day are sleeping, 
 
 — Their latest music still — 
 And o'er the wood slow sweeping 
 
 The autumn mist is chill.
 
 144 STANZAS. 
 
 For airs sweet fragrance flinging 
 
 Is heard the wind's cold sigh — 
 For birds in concert singing, 
 
 The owlet's lonely cry ; 
 And leaves whose floating showers 
 
 Are falling, pale and sere, 
 Foretell that winter's hours 
 
 Are coming, dim and drear. 
 
 Their aspects pleasure-lighted 
 
 In festal halls they show, 
 But o'er the worn and blighted 
 
 A deeper sadness throw ; 
 To memory, tones appealing 
 
 — Now silent, once so dear — 
 Make dissonant to feeling 
 
 The mirth that mocks the ear. 
 
 I turn — for shadows darken — 
 
 And to my hearth retire, 
 There, musing lone, to hearken 
 
 The flashes of the fire : 
 And as their light plays o'er me, 
 
 Then, sudden, sinks away, 
 Life's visions gleam before me, 
 
 And thus, in gloom, decay. 
 
 October 31, 1862.
 
 145 
 
 RULES FOR MAKING A SONNET. 
 
 " Un sonnet sans dcJfaut, vaut seul, un long poeme." 
 
 Boileatj. 
 
 .The law, obeyed, the sonnet that defines, 
 
 Evolves in beauty — although deemed severe — 
 
 Two rhymes alone it gives to meet the ear 
 In the first octave of the fourteen lines : 
 Of those, thi3 rule the first and last designs 
 
 As echoes to the central couplet, clear ; 
 
 And in reverberate unison, more near 
 Of those that intervene, the close combines. 
 The remnant six, three rhymes, or two, may close 
 
 With freer choice, but to the mind and sight 
 No clasp of fetter must the verse retain 
 
 But such as word and thought servesto compose 
 In lucid order and harmonious light, 
 
 As brightens what it binds, a golden chain.
 
 146 
 
 CLARISSA. 
 
 " Purpureus veluti cum flos suociaus aratro." 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 " The latest minstrel's lay" thy childhood fair 
 Recalls, and I behold thee, here, again, 
 — Thy fancy captive by the Poet's strain — 
 
 To memory give it, to be treasured there ; 
 
 Again I see thee, with thy flowing hair 
 
 Profuse, thy cheek warm with the rosebud's grain- 
 A flower of dewy morn, by earthly stain 
 
 Untouched, when severed by the fatal share. 
 
 No element of discord in thy frame 
 
 Disturbed the harmonies, by nature blended, 
 
 That balanced in thy mind and aspect dwelt ; 
 And hence, whate'er recalls, as now, thy name, 
 
 "With images of beauty still attended, 
 Softens the feelings that in sadness melt. 
 
 December, 1802.
 
 117 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Quelqu'un dont on se souvient tant, n'est pas absent ; ce qui Tit si 
 puissamment dans nous monies, n'est pas mort pour nous." 
 
 Lamabtijte. 
 
 Lonely, like thee, mother ! the path I tread 
 
 To the dark mountains, whose stern barriers throw 
 A deeper shadow o'er it — for the glow 
 
 Of orient day that, once, diffusive shed 
 
 Light on then 1 distant summits, now is fled — 
 Yet onwards, thee recalling still, I go, 
 Cheered by the hope again thy love to know, 
 
 Beyond the sacred portal of the Dead. 
 
 Yet, will it there be found P In wider range 
 And higher scope of being, will the mind 
 
 Retain affections of existence past ? 
 Links knit by choice, in newer choice may change, 
 
 But those of child and mother, intertwined 
 With life itself, as long as life, must last. 
 
 December, 1802.
 
 148 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Daus tout ce qui m' arrive d'heureux on de triste, ma pensoe tourne 
 involontairement vers elle." — Lamabtine. 
 
 Eve's stealing shadows dim the brilliant blue 
 Of highest ether, but from the deep zone 
 Of saffroned crimson, light reflected thrown 
 
 Falls on the meadows, steeped in frosted dew, 
 
 And on the foliage dense of tawny hue 
 
 Beneath the forest trees, wide scattered, strown, 
 While sabbath stillness reigns, to-day unknown, 
 
 As toil and care and strife with day withdrew. 
 
 Hours pass away, no moon illumes the night, 
 But all is clear as when her cresset burns, 
 
 For streams of splendour from the north arise, 
 
 Flame-tinted these, and those as snow-drifts white ; 
 
 Eurapt I gaze, to thee ! while memory turns, 
 
 Mother ! with whom I watched the glories of the 
 skies. 
 
 December 14, ] 8G2.
 
 14'.) 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Had thought been all, sweet speech had been denied, — 
 Speech, thought's canal, and thought's criterion, too." 
 
 YorNO. 
 
 When o'er neglected fire the ashes gray- 
 Quenching its glow in noiseless progress creep, 
 The glancing flames beneath the smothering heap 
 
 First, fitful, sink, then quiver to decay ; 
 
 But let a freshening air around it play 
 
 And the pale shroud from off the surface sweep, 
 At once awakened from their death-like sleep 
 
 They iiash a bright and renovated ray. 
 
 Even thus the mind, quiescent, will subside 
 
 In somnolence — yet conscious of its wane- 
 Prophetic of extinction — but if caught 
 Some kindred spirit's echoes — long denied 
 
 She starts from frigid torpor, and again 
 Joys in the fervour of reviving thought. 
 
 December, 1802.
 
 150 
 
 TEANSLATION OF A PASSAGE IN LAMAE- 
 TINE'S "VOYAGE EN ORIENT." 
 
 " C'est Siou ! c'est le tombeau de David ! c'est le premier des poetes 
 du sentiment ! c'est le roi des lyriques." 
 
 Theee Sion stands ! the tomb of him whose lyre 
 First echoed to the chords the deepest strung 
 In human hearts — whose hand its music flung 
 
 In raptures that his Maker's praise respire ; 
 
 Or bade it mourn, and troubled accents dire 
 
 Poured forth — the spirit's cry by anguish wrung, 
 While Greece and Eome of wine and warfare sunt; 
 
 Olympic triumphs, and the lover's fire. 
 
 He in whose bosom answering fervours burn, 
 Prophet, or not, the Poet-king may deem, 
 
 But feels an inspiration in his psalm 
 
 Passing all other— nor from that can turn 
 
 To the great Tbeban's, or gay Eoman's theme, 
 The vine, the myrtle, and the Elean palm.
 
 151 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " Quelqu'un dont on ae souvient taut, n'est pas absent, ee qui vii si 
 completement dans nous-niemes, n'est pas mort pour nous." 
 
 Lamabtine. 
 " Die lieb ist keinc pflicht ." 
 
 Fades the last evening of the passing year 
 In night — but calm and beautiful its close : 
 Southward and west hues of the crimson rose 
 
 Mellowed and fused in golden fire, appear, 
 
 While from the larch, studded with fruit-cones sear, 
 And from the balustrade, the moonlight throws 
 Faint shadows, deepening as the radiance flows 
 
 More bright, and marks their outlines, dark and clear. 
 
 Thought grave, but grateful, now recalls anew 
 The constant tenderness— that once was mine— 
 
 Of those who warmly felt and gave it free — 
 And on a distant shore their forms I view 
 
 Softening, as luminous their vestments shine, 
 The gloom still resting on its silent sea. 
 
 December 31, 1
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 Healings, [)t/i November, 1S34. 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 How it has happened I cannot tell, that I have so 
 long delayed thanking you for your very kind and interesting 
 Letter of (I am ashamed to note it, of) " June 9th," and for 
 your very curious and acceptable present — " The Potential 
 Chaplet." Had it been earlier in my possession or within my 
 ken, I would have endeavoured to render it subservient to 
 my antipapal objects. It is not likely that I shall venture 
 on a second volume. It is too expensive a luxury for me 
 to indulge in. I have plenty of materials, such as they are, 
 and not, I think, inferior, for another volume ; and if I had 
 seen, or could see, any chance of reimbursement of expenses, 
 would go to press again. Your kind commendations were 
 among the earliest that I received. "Was that the sole reason 
 why they were among the most acceptable, and gratifying, 
 and flattering? I say, emphatically, No. They remain so, 
 notwithstanding the very many that have succeeded them, 
 to an extent that I could not, with any degree of reason 
 or modesty, have looked for. The past little volume of 
 "Fragments" has been reviewed in, I think, fourteen or 
 fifteen critical journals. I have not seen them all ; but 
 with the exception of two — the Athenaum and Tait's
 
 2 LETTERS. 
 
 Magazine — they are all, I understand, encomiastic. It is, 
 as you will often have observed, the custom of the day for 
 booksellers to extract briefly from favouring critiques such 
 portions as suit their purpose in the way of puff, and to 
 publish them in the form of advertisements. My bibliopoles 
 have done this, and have sent me one of such advertisements 
 for insertion in the Suffolk papers. I protest that I am 
 ashamed to see the poor volume so undeservedly be-praiscd. 
 Still, if I thought that you would endeavour to forget the 
 auctorial vanity which prompts the measure, I would send 
 for your perusal the Ipswich paper, containing the accumu- 
 lated series of puffs. Should you in a week or two receive 
 such a paper, please to return it to me by post. I have not 
 an impression by me, but mean to get one, if I can. 
 
 You may marvel, after reading such a series of encomia, 
 how it is that I talk of " the expensive luxury of the press." 
 If such articles, you may ask, so multiplied, do not cause a 
 pretty little book to sell to an extent sufficient to reimburse 
 its expenses, what have a certain class of authors to expect ? 
 Few can hope to be so be-praised. But so it is. Before 
 publication, I offered the booksellers £50 if they would pay 
 for the printing, paper, and engravings, and take the edition 
 of 750 copies, giving me fifty for presents. They declined. 
 The expenses were over £200. I fear that I shall lose more 
 than £50 by the publication ; but I have not lately heard of 
 the extent of the sale. 
 
 Not only have I to thank you for the " Rosary " and its 
 explanatory promises, but also for your kind intentions 
 touching " The Virgin's Sole." I have an article or 
 "Fragment" on "Holy Footsteps," to which the im 
 of the Virgin's pretty little sandal Mould be an important
 
 LETTERS. 3 
 
 addition. Should you lay your hand on, or put your fool 
 in it, " Oh, then, pray remember me !" 
 
 The Hindoos have great reverence for the foot-prints of 
 holy persons. Many such have been left. The last made 
 on earth by the suicidal widow before cremation are among 
 them. A copy of the impress is carved in stone, and devoutly 
 preserved. In the like vein, or something akin to it, is " The 
 Virgin's Sole ;" and so is the column at Calais commemorative 
 of the first impression of the boot of the restored Louis 
 XVIII. on French soil on that spot, &c, &c. 
 
 But I must conclude. Accept and distribute our best 
 wishes and kind respects to your good mamma and husband. 
 Mrs. M — r mends slowly. "We are otherways quite well. 
 
 With great esteem and respect, 
 
 I remain, Dear. Madam, 
 
 Your obliged and faithful Servant, 
 E. M e. 
 
 Beatings, \0th October, 1835. 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 The "Sole," coupled with your earlier donation of 
 the "Croee" and its accompaniments, arc valuable documents, 
 as practically testifying the superstitions of so great a portion 
 of the human race. With such, or any other superstitions of 
 any people, I wage no war, and against them feel no hostility, 
 so long as they arose in ignorance, and arc continued in
 
 4 LETTERS. 
 
 sincerity. Nor can I believe that, so qualified, they are 
 seriously displeasing to the All-seeing. But where such 
 fooleries are manifestly the inventions of a sect for interested 
 purposes, and (as one, however charitably disposed, cannot 
 help thinking) are upheld for the purpose of keeping the 
 people in a state of mental thraldom, that the said sect may 
 thrive in their ambition and rapacity, then I confess that I 
 feel indignant, and scrapie not, as occasion serves, to express 
 such indignation. Spain and Portugal are paying the penalties 
 of such impostures. France has paid a great portion of hers. 
 The turn of India — the grand magazine of mendacity — will 
 come. Let us hope all may be paid on earth. Surely the 
 priests of those nations, — a great majority of them, at least, 
 — must know that what they teach are lies, and what they 
 practice, mummeries. Heaven forgive me if I wrong them ! 
 W. "W and his wife purpose leaving us on Tuesday- 
 She will lea-ve her mother better than she found her ; and. as 
 we hope, mending, though slowly. She and our son desire to 
 
 join us in kindest regard to you and Mr. B. W , which 
 
 please to extend to Mrs. Michcll. 
 
 "With great respect and esteem, Dear Madam, 
 
 Yours very faithfully, 
 E. M r, 
 
 Eltham Lodge, December 29<A, 1841. 
 
 Senilor e Amigo, 
 
 Mr. "W desires me to thank you lor the 
 
 v. ry line turkey you have sent him, and to say that he fears
 
 LETTERS. O 
 
 it will be long before he can produce such a specimen of good 
 farming. It arrived on Saturday afternoon, when I was 
 engaged with company, and I could not thank you before 
 this post. I am glad you did not send it to me, for though 
 I am not exactly like the man who fancied himself Jupiter, 
 till he was fed with nothing but incense, and found he could 
 not live on it, I do not like my friendship to be " entretenue" 
 by any more substantial oblations. 
 
 I thought you would like " JIadanie de Statu," and hope 
 you wish to have the work, that I may have the pleasure of 
 giving it to you. If 'tis pleasant to travel with a friend 
 through a country new to him, and witness his enjoyment of 
 its scenery, 'tis equally so to introduce him to aspects of 
 thought with which chance has made us earlier acquainted. 
 
 Twenty-six years ago, I chanced to see that work lying on a 
 sofa, and the admiration with which it inspired me has never 
 been diminished. How strange is chance ! — as far as we 
 understand it, the operation of causes without design; and 
 yet these apparently casual causes seem " linked by many a 
 hidden chain" to consequences by which oiu - characters are 
 formed, and our conduct shaped. Dr. Johnson compares the . 
 elements of happiness to the particles which compose St. 
 Paul's : resolve it into its separate parts, and you have 
 a confusion of atoms ; aggregate them, and you have St. 
 Paul's. Thus it is, perhaps, in the formation of character. 
 It would be an inteivstinir retrospect, could we review our 
 being in its original state, and discover the various elements, 
 chances, and influence which have composed and constitut> 'I 
 our present character. 
 
 What you say on our successive perceptions of the limits 
 of our knowledge, i~ one of the melancholy truths we 
 
 J hutxs ji/wUtl) /ran- /,W }uy i^ita. . / tAv-u 
 
 /if/ i„ n. *Ya,. /,.'.. "
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 are taught by experience. In youth, a haze of brightness 
 conceals the boundaries which confine our views, and which, 
 when that haze is dissolved into clear light, we perceive to be 
 surrounding us. The condition which the Author of our 
 nature has assigned us, must, doubtless, be for our good ; but 
 that it is so, is the subject of faith ; and that these boundaries 
 will be removed, is taught by religion, who 
 
 " From the palmy field 
 By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, 
 Has lifted up the veil which heaven from earth concealed." 
 
 'Tis a pity you do not like poetry, for I have read so much 
 that I talk "in numbers." It is to life what light is to the 
 landscape, and invests with the charm of colouring, objects 
 that without it might present only hard outlines. "With 
 Horace, I pray, — 
 
 " Frui paratis, et, valido nrihi, 
 Latoe, dones, et, precor, integra 
 Cum mente, nee turpem senectam 
 Degere, nee cithard earentem." — Lib. 1, Ode 31. 
 
 If Horace be of any authority with you, and you will refer to 
 the first epistle of his second book of "Epistles," you will 
 there find a beautiful eulogy on poetry, beginning, " Hie 
 error, tamen." But a taste for poetry is like an ear for 
 music, — it must be born with us. Minds are originally 
 various ; and as there is " a season for everything," there must 
 be a place for each variety. I hope so, for I am often at a 
 loss to find a use for so apparently useless a character as 
 mine ; and then I console myself by supposing that such 
 passive people may be in society what cotton or straw is 
 among closi ly packed substances, which might be injured by 
 ■ ;->i). but for such yielding intervention. I am quite
 
 LETTERS. i 
 
 aware of the inferiority of contemplation to action. I stay at 
 home, and think how a philosopher should act in the world. 
 
 Mr. "NY , without thinking at all, goes forth into the 
 
 world, and acts like a philosopher. 
 
 " Daughter of Leda," says Agamemnon to Clytemnestra, on 
 his retail from his ten years' siege of Troy, "you have 
 stretched your speech to a length corresponding to my 
 absence." You may justly tell me that I have swelled my 
 letter to the size of your turkey ; and, therefore, in offering 
 
 you and Lady II the good wishes of the season, I will 
 
 Lid you farewell. — Yours very sincerely. 
 
 p.S. — " The good wishes of the season." This, the season 
 ia which peace and good will were proclaimed for men, makes 
 me remember, -with regret, that Emma told me there was 
 estrangement between you and some of your relations. I 
 know not, and wish not to know, the demerits of the cause of 
 estrangement; doubtless, you think yourself wronged; but 
 resentment of a -wrong never softened or improved the temper, 
 or rectified the opinion that induced it. All family dissensions 
 cause a "scandal." "When Evelina complained to Guerreiro 
 of the conduct of others, he always replied, " Que l'importa o 
 que fazem os otros ? Tenha tu sempre rasaS." 
 
 We arc always partial judges in our own cause, and if the 
 sense of injury be occasioned by " a companion — a guide — a 
 familiar friend," — the agitation of our feelings will disturb 
 our perceptions, as the troubl d lake yields only " glimmering 
 fragments" of the objects that, when tranquil, it correctly 
 reflected. If the wrong you think you have received cannot 
 be repaired, may it not be forgiven ? and if previous aff i 
 and confidence cannot be restored, may not \ good will
 
 8 LETTERS. 
 
 be spoken, and the hand of reconciliation offered ? When the 
 wind has passed over those who have offended us, and they 
 are gone, then come regrets and repentings, and we accuse 
 ourselves of the harshness we before attributed to them. We 
 are never sorry that we have been placable, but often that 
 we have asserted a real or imagined right by violating that 
 charity which "suffereth long," and which "seeketh not her 
 own." I may have used too much freedom in adverting to 
 this subject, but since I have used, it, let me ask you to consider 
 whether you may not render it a season of reconciliation and 
 peace. 
 
 January 27th, 1842. 
 Senhok e Amigo, 
 
 I do not know whether you have been 
 expecting an acknowledgment of your prompt attention in 
 sending "Patient Griscl," but I feel that it was due to you. 
 I am disappointed in finding that all which interests me in 
 the book I had already seen in the Examiner. It had set the 
 pure honey before me, and left nothing but the tasteless cells 
 that contained it. 
 
 I am not surprised that the ladies of your family thought 
 the works " dry." I cannot feel that the rose imparts any 
 beauty to the meaner flowers which may have opened their 
 "quaint enamelled eyes" in its neighbourhood, and whilst I 
 can read " Shakespeare," shoidd not lay him aside for his 
 " contemporaries." The present period affords an abundance 
 of hooks superior to those of his sera ; and to require one to 
 admire them merely because they are ancient, is like the 
 "pretension" of the Sexagenaire in " La Diable Boiteux,"
 
 LETTERS. J 
 
 " qui vouloit que sa maitresse lui scut gre d'avoir ete beau 
 il y avoit quarante ans." As to what you say of a bad 
 memory, 'tis true that a good one is a great pleasure; but 
 the advantage of reading good books is considerable and 
 certain, though the memory may not retain individual 
 passages; "l'eau a mille fleurs" is not the less fragrant 
 because you cannot discriminate the thousand flowers from 
 which it has been extracted If i" quote often, it is from the 
 honest principle of rendering unto Csesar the things that are 
 Cajsar's, and of not claiming the plume "Pavonum ridenti 
 imbuta lepore " when my own feathers are of the sober hue of 
 the Daw. 
 
 Conscience upbraids me that I have relinquished the reading 
 of history, feeling that the events of time are of little 
 importance to those who are approaching the period when 
 time shall be no longer ; but philosophy and poetry are dear 
 to me as ever, as tending to strengthen and elevate the mind. 
 You may not have " Crabbe's Poems," and I will therefore 
 copy a stanza from one of them, which has cheered me in my 
 readings when I have been inclined to say, " Cui bono r" — 
 " For all that's gained from all that's good, 
 When time shall this weak frame destroy, 
 Its use then rightly understood 
 
 Shall man in happier state enjoy. 
 Oh, argument of truth divine 
 
 For study's cares, for virtue's strife. 
 To know th' enjoyment will be thine 
 In that renewed, that endless life." 
 
 With compliments a sua Senhora, 
 
 I am, very truly yours 
 
 You are right about the concert. Mr. W took tickets, 
 
 and gave them away. His wife goes nowhere.
 
 10 LETTERS. 
 
 July 8th, 1843. 
 Senhor e Amigo, 
 
 Mr. W desires I should immediately 
 
 thank you much for the valuable information you have sent 
 him. He has made great use of it, I am to tell you ; has 
 shown the letters to Lord Worsley, who has shown them to 
 the Tithe Commissioners, who have had them transcribed into 
 a great book, and if you can send him any more of the same 
 importance, it will be very acceptable, and be equally 
 honoured. The Bill, however, has been hindered in its 
 progress by Colonel Wood, and is not likely to pass this 
 session. You will not, you say, give an opinion of the 
 book I recommended until you have finished it. If you can 
 look on a countenance various " as shadows that fly over a 
 field of grass," and on eyes in which, 
 
 " With the light of thoughtful reason mixed, 
 Shine lively fancy and the feeling heart," 
 
 and yet not know what to think of it, until you have ascertained 
 whether the features are critically regular, you show that you 
 are not touched by the charm of expression ; you are in the 
 company of a person eloquent, animated, exuberant in lovely 
 thoughts and feelings, and because she now and then says 
 something that sounds like nonsense to our English ears, or 
 like extravagance to our sober feelings, you don't know what 
 to think of her, but wait till the visit be concluded, that you 
 may reflect on all you can. remember of what she uttered ! 
 
 You might as well try to reflect on the various perfumes 
 and musical sounds of a garden full of flowers and of a grove 
 fidl of birds. Besides, who that cared about a novel would 
 read it at intervals and in company ? If it awaken any
 
 LETTERS. 1 1 
 
 response in one's heart, one represses the emotion lest it 
 should he ohserved. No real sentiment chooses to he com- 
 mented on. Fantastic as is the expression of Chateauhriand, 
 I agree -with him when he says that the holy hermits seek 
 some recess in heaven in which to hide their felicity, even as 
 they hid their piety in the deserts of the earth. Is not this 
 " donner dans le suhlime" in talking of novels ? 
 
 Mr. A y, who says he can sit up till two or three in 
 
 the morning reading a novel which interests him, would under- 
 stand me, though you will not. 
 
 The visit you allude to was a very agreeable one ; it hangs 
 up in my picture-gallery as a very pretty " landscape with 
 figures;" and, according to my old habit of fearing lest the 
 future or the present should diminish the beauty of the past, 
 I could be content that no future interviews should interfere 
 with agreeable recollections. But don't repeat this. The 
 lady would hardly understand that my wish not to sec my 
 
 friends is founded on pure regard for them. Mr. W says 
 
 I would always rather think of them than see them. This is 
 a little exaggeration ; but, au fond, there is some reason in it. 
 We think of them as we like them to he; but, in bodily 
 presence, the intervention of human infirmities casts a shade 
 over the picture which we had set in the sunshine of fancy. 
 
 Adieu, Mon General, 
 
 Tours very truly.
 
 12 LETTERS. 
 
 October 30t/>, 18-43. 
 
 Autumn was in youth my favourite season. Youth has in 
 itself such a fountain of enjoyment that melancholy cannot 
 darken the scene which hope and fancy illumine. Decay and 
 death, which autumn in all its imagery presents to us, seem 
 too distant to give more than a tender shade to our thoughts ; 
 hut when we feel the one, and knoM- that the other cannot be 
 far distant, when " still drops from life some lingering grace 
 away," we prize all that remains to interest the heart and 
 to gratify the eye with a deeper feeling, from the conscious- 
 ness that they may soon he lost to us, and leave us no 
 equivalents. In spring and summer a bright day arts, and 
 we expect the morrow to be as bright. A friend is lost, we 
 console ourselves, and acquire another. But in the autumn of 
 the year each day "file d'or et de soie " may be the last of 
 softness and of brightness the distaff of the Fates will afford 
 us ; and in the autumn of life, we have lost the " liant," the 
 flexibility of tendril apt to embrace, and to adapt itself to the 
 form and flexure of the object it clasps. If you should say, 
 "Very true; but what of these reflections?" Only this, — 
 that we must value departing friends and departing autumns 
 whilst we can still do so, and whilst "le regret lui-meme 
 augmente le plaisir." 
 
 I have a long letter from the hero, " taille a coup de tache," 
 
 Sir A s S m. "When I see what virtues can stand 
 
 out, in fine proportion, despite the negligence of finish, I am 
 inclined to undervalue the polish given by the chisel. You 
 say you like to observe the resemblance between the precepts 
 of the ancient philosophers and those of the Bible. It shows 
 that they are all derived from the Being " with whom is
 
 LETTERS 13 
 
 no variableness." And I am pleased in observing how 
 exactly like is the native delicacy of a pure mind to the best 
 refinement which cultivation can effect. I see this exemplified 
 
 in instances of Sir A. S m's conduct. The book I referred 
 
 to I do not recommend to your reading. "When we meet, I 
 can tell you all you may like to know of it ; and if you should 
 never know anything on the subject, you will not be the less 
 wise. A quick glance may detect some good grains of wheat 
 in the chaff which idle fingers may be turning over ; but it 
 woiild be folly to leave the full ear on the mere chance of 
 finding them. 
 
 Mr. W agrees with you about the Asylum. "When 
 
 you are expected to light your candle, you should not put 
 it under a bushel, as no one would then know whether you 
 had lighted it or not. You might furnish " a scandal " 
 instead of an example, if your candle were burning elsewhere, 
 instead of lighting your own house. I send you, as you 
 desire, a tuft of the Jerusalem Thistle seeds, little doubting, 
 that if you sow them, you will soon wish them at Jerusalem 
 again. 
 
 "With kind regards to Lady II and your daughter, 
 
 I am, very truly yours. 
 
 October 2\st, 1848. 
 
 Deab Madam 
 
 I deserve many more rebuffs than those you give 
 me. I always receive them in gratitude, and consider you
 
 14 LETTEES. 
 
 give them in kindness, and am vexed to think I thus occupy 
 your time and trouble about me, though I should be more 
 vexed if you abstained from correcting me. 
 
 I have ever led an active life, and endeavoured to become 
 as useful as I could to my Mends and to humanity ; and for- 
 getting I have neither the power of body or mind to do what 
 I did formerly, I undertake too much, and do badly what I 
 undertake. 
 
 Your kind letter to me to Walton followed me here, and 
 from here I replied to it, re-enclosing the letter to Lord Fitz- 
 Roy Somerset from Charles, and with it ought to have been 
 the note I now find in my portfolio, and which goes with this. 
 
 I will go to town soon, and to Eltham, and see your neAV 
 wall. I know how to take off the redness and new appear- 
 ance of the bricks, and make it look old. Do not, therefore, 
 let that distress you. Some whitewash, with cinder dirt 
 added to it, should be dashed with a brush upon the wall, 
 without the brush touching the wall. I propose seeing a 
 piece done, if you approve it, when I next come. Do not 
 try it before. Exclusive of the fresh appearance, you do 
 not say how the facade is improved or otherwise. I long to 
 see it, and to have the hour's conversation you politely invite 
 me to. How could I ever go to sleep in your presence ! I 
 can scarcely believe it. It consoles me to think that sleep 
 overpowers greater people than myself at times, and that the 
 Duke, my great master, has been caught sleeping in the 
 presence of his Sovereign, and that sovereign a Queen. 
 
 I was pleased to learn that your two old friends from 
 Cornwall came to see you from so gnat a distance. But why 
 did you sny, "But they live in Cornwall"? Arc the friends 
 from the far west more constant and more true than those
 
 LETTERS. 15 
 
 from the east ? If, in ancient time, the Wise Men came from 
 the east, I must contend that faithful, good men do so now. 
 Have you never seemed to fly in your dreams, — to skim over 
 the surface of the ground, only touching it now and then, and 
 still not going fast enough to the place you are endeavouring 
 to reach ? It is thus I seem to travel when Eltham is the 
 end of my journey, and when I think to find you in the very 
 agreeable mood you appear to have been in when writing to 
 me your last note ; and so I hope to wing my way ere many 
 days, — perhaps the end of next week. But I will write 
 again first. 
 
 I shall leave the fate of the blind boy for the subject of 
 another letter. 
 
 * Deos guarda va. Senhoria. 
 
 Com o maior rispeito 
 
 De va. Senhoria, 
 
 amigo que he e que foi, 
 R. J. H. 
 
 I must not think you are ill. I need not add, you have all 
 my sympathy. 
 
 * " God guard your ladyship. I am, with the utmost respect, of your 
 ladyship the friend who was and who is.'' 
 
 January 28th, 1849. 
 Senhor e Amigo, 
 
 I am too ignorant of politics to presume to judge 
 of your opinions respecting Irish affairs ; but as your feelings
 
 1 6 LETTERS. 
 
 on the subject are in direct opposition to mine, you will not 
 wonder at my thinking them -wrong. " Dolus latet in 
 generalibus " is a maxim worth considering in other affairs as 
 well as in those of law, and I should suspect a fallacy to lurk 
 in the best general thoretical principles, if their application 
 to an extraordinary case prevented an action prompted by 
 humanity and enjoined by religion. When the ship is in the 
 breakers, and the crew struggling for life in the water, I 
 should not refuse my aid to save them from perishing, because 
 I thought they had been driven into danger and destruction 
 by the perverse or erroneous navigation of the master of the 
 vessel. The pilot may be a bad one ; but it is not he who 
 raises the storm. "Afflavit Deus, et dissipantur." The 
 scarcity of food at the present season is not produced by mis- 
 government ; yet, were it, I cannot understand how any one, 
 with human sympathies, can refuse to alleviate the sufferings 
 of those who are its helpless victims. I agree with you as to 
 the necessity of contending for such principles of action as 
 would prevent the distress arising from defective or injurious 
 legislation ; but " il faut travailler aux dignes quand lcs eaux 
 sont basses." When the inundation is carrying devastation 
 and death over the country, — when " stemit agros, sternit 
 sata laeta, boumque labores," — I would rather rescue some of 
 the sufferers than stand by idly, and criticize, however 
 judiciously, the mismanagement that may have increased the 
 calamity which the hostile forces of nature had occasioned. 
 
 It is true that we shall pay, in taxes, for the relief the 
 Government will extend to the Irish, and it is right that a 
 relief, which must be long continued, should not depend on 
 the fluctuating and evanescent sympathy of individuals ; but I 
 am sorry that on this occasion your opinions should have
 
 LETTERS. 17 
 
 mastered your feelings, which, I should have imagined, would 
 have prompted you to give, from impulse, what reflection 
 perhaps might not have approved. Notwithstanding all you 
 have said, I still expect that you will " think better of it," and 
 though you should decline to suhseribe to the general fund, 
 that you will " voluntarily " give to that which W. Forster 
 and his " friends " are endeavouring to raise. I have given, 
 however inadequately to my wishes, to both, and hope to be 
 able to do so again should the exigency for aid continue. Mr. 
 Forstcr's notes are most interesting and affecting. If you 
 have not seen them, I can lend them to you. 
 
 I am, 
 
 Yours very sincerely. 
 
 I send you a " defi" in writing, that I may not be inclined 
 to give it in winds, when I have the pleasure of seeing you 
 
 The Lodge, June 29th, 1849. 
 Senhor e Amigo, 
 
 Have you not heard of people being better 
 served than pleased? I thought of this when I received the 
 little parcel by the post, and, on opening it, found it to contain 
 " Cicero," which I had not asked you to send by post, instead 
 of the MS., which I desired you so to convey to me. There 
 is no question as to the superior intrinsic value of your envoy ; 
 but things have a relative as well as an intrinsic value, and 
 those who are disappointed in receiving what they have asked
 
 IS LETTERS. 
 
 for, are seldom properly grateful for what is proffered in its 
 place. I told you I should like to see your " Cicero " when 
 next you might come to Eltham, but had no wish that you 
 should send it me before. However, since you have sent it, 
 receive my thanks. I have read it with great pleasure. 
 Almost all the parts you have marked are extracted in the 
 book you were to have taken with you ; but it contains not 
 the beautiful conclusion, in which Scipio expresses his con- 
 viction that he shall again associate with the wise and good 
 whom he had known or venerated on earth. It reminded me 
 of a passage in the " Night Thoughts : " — 
 
 "How great, 
 To mingle interests, converse, amity, 
 With all the sons of reason, scattered wide 
 Through habitable space ! wherever born, 
 Howe'er endowed ! " 
 
 As Young was a scholar, he probably had this passage of 
 Cicero's in his mind when he wrote the "Night Thoughts." 
 In my little, reading upwards, I _ find most of the modern 
 passages which please me, in the older writers who have 
 written on the same subjects : — 
 
 "Thither, as to a fountain, lesser stars 
 Repairing, in their golden urns draw light ;** 
 
 or it may be that every person is like a complete musical 
 instrument, containing every tone, and only requiring the 
 right chord to be touched to have it elicited. 
 
 I was sitting in the shaded walk, with the rippling water 
 on one side, and the field full of haymakers on the other; and 
 reading " Cicero," when, on hearing a quick step, and looking 
 up, I saw my dear friend, Captain Money ! We sat there till 
 dinner-time conversing, and I felt that, though perhaps
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 19 
 
 nothing new be suggested, yet that like a signet to warm 
 wax, the conversation of a Mend gives to one's own thoughts 
 stability and impression. 
 
 I must tell you of a trouble I am feeling. The eight acres 
 (bounding my favourite east rookery-walk) is to be sold on 
 the 13th of July. Some tradesmen want it for building. 
 Fancy my walk dominie by a row of small houses ! I cannot 
 think of it. I must buy it ; — but what should I give for it ? 
 If it is known that I object to its being sold, Sir J. Shaw's 
 creditors will put some one to bid against me. Can you tell 
 me what it were best for me to do ? 
 
 Yours sincerely. 
 
 It is to be sold at " The Mart." 
 
 August \lth, 1819. 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 It is but a few clays since I learnt the departure 
 
 of your dear sister, Mrs. W , or I should before have 
 
 expressed my sincere sympathy for the loss you sustain. 
 Though you have been long prepared for this melancholy 
 event, and feel that she has been relieved from such bodily 
 suffering that she could not desire to remain here, yet when 
 the chord is actually broken, feelings are awakened which it 
 is in vain to attempt to conquer, and a melancholy pleasure is 
 derived from retaining and cherishing them. 
 
 Dear Mrs. "\V ! She had the same noble, generous 
 
 spirit her parents had, and which has been transmitted to all 
 their children ! Her occasional brusqueries concealed many 
 great qualities, and considerable reading and elegancies of
 
 20 LETTERS. 
 
 mind. She was brilliant at first, but this did not, in my 
 conception, last ; but a further acquaintance led me more 
 and more to esteem and respect her, and to value her 
 opinions. Her kind attention to me makes me regard her 
 memory with great partiality. 
 
 Thus parts another dear friend and contemporary, with 
 another warning to us soon to follow ! May we receive this 
 event, and that which awaits us, as God's pleasure, and as the 
 best and kindest ; knowing that every event comes from that 
 wisdom which cannot err, and from that fountain of love 
 v. liich we cannot conceive. 
 
 My wife's mother is also gone. Had she lived till 
 November, she would have attained her ninety-fifth year. 
 She preserved all her faculties to the last. The day and 
 evening preceding death she passed as usual in the house and 
 garden, walking up and down cheerfully, and expecting her 
 grandchildren to stay a few days with her. She went upstairs 
 to bed at the usual hour, a servant sleeping in an adjoining 
 room, and my wife in another. At six o'clock she coughed 
 a. little, and this brought my wife to her. She appeared 
 labouring to breathe — said she had not had a good night. 
 My wife gave her a little ether and water, which revived her, 
 and she joined her, word for word, in a prayer for the dying. 
 She then said herself aloud, " Glory be to the Father, . . ." 
 and that finished, turned on her side, arranged her pillow, and 
 said she would try to go to sleep. In half-an-hour she was a 
 corpse. "What a blessed death ! 
 
 I am, Dear Madam, 
 
 Ever most respectfully and most truly yours, 
 
 R; J. II.
 
 LETTERS. - 1 
 
 In&tow, November 30/A, 1848 
 
 I hope you will not think me troublesome, my dear friend, 
 but I am anxious to hear from you again about your poor 
 brother. I cannot be insensible to your condition under these 
 circumstances, and as you know my very sincere regard for 
 you, I am sure that you will gratify me by a few lines, that I 
 may know of the good will of God towards your brother and 
 yoivrself. 
 
 I am now at a sweet, humble, and retired spot, deserted in 
 the winter, but in the summer quite gay, I am told, by the 
 number who come to bathe. I am here with my Emma, and 
 I have great peace and joy through faith and hope in God. 
 I often think of you, my dear friend, and your want of joy, 
 because of your lack of faith. Your thoughts guide you to a 
 general power only, but not to a particular ; whereas I am 
 guided in thought to the certainty of a particular power 
 acting in myself at every moment, and that power is God. 
 If that power be universal, it must have respect imto every 
 part of the vast machine alike, or the neglected parts must 
 stand still, not being acted on. Look even at the little 
 workmanship of man, and you will perceive that it is in 
 the minutiaj of the work that the workman's skill is 
 manifested. Call to mind the machinery at Portsmouth, and 
 think what power moves the smallest wheel as well as the 
 largest. But what you now see not, you will see in His 
 times. Give my love to your dear sister. 
 
 I am, ever your affectionate Friend, 
 
 Rowland Money.
 
 21 LETTERS. 
 
 December 21s/, 185.5. 
 Deas Madam, 
 
 I owe it to your old kindness that you made so 
 great an exertion as to have -mitten so long a letter; and, 
 though I regret the exertion it has occasioned, I am sufficiently 
 selfish to he pleased at the effort you made on three separate 
 occasions to complete it. How truthful and sensible is all 
 you tell me. I intend to profit by it. But how beautifully 
 you express it! I read with delight your letters many times 
 over, and had I a good memory, would have them all 
 verbatim (such as the one before me) by heart, — but I wish to 
 make at least the sentiments my own. I thought it at the 
 time, and think so still, that it was the greatest good fortune 
 and kind dispensation of Providence to be placed in a position 
 to see, listen to, and converse with the late Duke of 
 Wellington ; but it is not less so to have been permitted to 
 converse without reserve, and to receive letters from Mrs. 
 
 "W , to be called by her " Amigo," and, in expressing my 
 
 admiration, to be permitted to subscribe myself her friend. 
 
 Ever most respectfully yours, 
 
 R. J. H. 
 
 Threadnccdle Street, May, 1860. 
 My Deah Fbebnd, 
 
 I am flattered by what you say, but my 
 vanity is kept down by the recollection that a very small 
 modicum of light will shine in the dark. You and Mrs.
 
 Lrrnnts. 23 
 
 L have many jewels laid up in your memories; mine, I 
 
 fear, are only Bristol stones. 
 
 As to the translations from " Lucian," if some appreciation 
 of the author, and much love for the donor, can render me 
 ■worthy of them, I shall be thankful to have them. 
 
 I thought I was right about the " Nossa Senhora da lapa." 
 I do believe I have more rubbish in my brain than any man, 
 woman, or child in Christendom, or in Heathendom either. 
 " Lite cleaves to like," I suppose. I am not fishing for a 
 compliment, though "laudaria laudato" — vel "alaudata," as 
 the gender may be, is sometimes very soothsome. I go to 
 St. Ives in about a fortnight, to the consecration of what they 
 call my church ; but not, I trust, till after I have settled this 
 business for you. I am glad to be employed for you in this 
 good work. Farewell, my dear friend. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 E. II s.
 
 Ma chere Maria, 
 
 Je u'ai jamais pris conge de mes 
 amis, et comme vous vous trouvez a la tete de eeux 
 que j'ai ainie le plus, vous ne voudrez pas que je fasse 
 a votre egard, une exception qui seroit en contra- 
 diction avec les sentimens de mon coeur. Recevez, 
 ici, rnes adieus, et agreez les vceux bien sinceres que 
 je fais pour votre bonheur et celui de votre excellent 
 mari — lequel vous devez regarder comme un rival 
 dans mon affection pour vous. J'espere encore, vous 
 revoir, tous les deux. Cet espoir adoucit l'amertume 
 qui accompagne toujours une separation. 
 
 Adieu, ma chere Maria ; croyez moi, pour la vie, 
 Votre veritable ami, 
 
 E. DA C. GUERREIBO. 
 
 4e Juin, 1824. 
 
 The Chevalier Gruerreiro was appointed Minister at the. 
 Court of St, Petersburg in 1824, and died there in 1813 
 or 1844.
 
 This book >s DUE on the last 
 date stamptd below. 
 
 10M-1 l-SO'2555,470 REMINGTON RAND INC. 2D 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CAIJFtWJtfii 
 
 r f±c% a xi/int t.ij.t
 
 ill Mil IN Hill Hill ML 
 AA 000 378 864" 
 
 PR 
 
 58^2 
 '■79v 
 1863