THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 *0 
 

 
 
 . 
 
 i 1 
 
 
 i 
 
 A!* 
 

 
 
 STREAMS 
 
 HUM 
 
 AN OLD FOUNTAIN. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIJAH RIDINGS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE VILLAGE MUSE." 
 
 fHancIjrstEt : 
 
 JOHN HEYWOOD, 143, DEANSGATE. 
 
 1863.
 
 PR 
 
 Co 
 
 THOMAS BAZLEY, ESQ. 
 
 gjjtmbtr of parliament 
 
 FOR IHI 
 
 CITY OF MANCHESTER, 
 
 THIS YOLTJME IS MOST RESPECTEULLY DEDICATED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOB 
 
 t>0 v LJ
 
 THE POETS DREAM 
 
 0> 
 
 A BETTEB DAI FOB THE HUMAN FAMILY.
 
 DEDICATION, 
 
 :&. REAMS of my youth revive in age, 
 V' And first impressions deeper grow ; 
 Delineations bright engage 
 
 My heart's affections fondly now : 
 Do I grow young and fresh in mind, 
 
 As now grows older, every day, 
 My perishable frame, design' d 
 
 To moidder into common clay ? 
 Bright dreams, bright scenes around me rise, 
 And lead my vision to the skies. 
 
 It is within the hours of eve, 
 
 That I am happy, heart and soul ; 
 Ah ! it is then I most believe, 
 
 No little part, but the grand whole. 
 Star of my happy hours serene, 
 
 How I have lov'd thy quiet smile, 
 That look'st o'er the evening scene, 
 
 "Without one gleam of devious guile : 
 Born but to die, yet evermore to be, 
 Does my mild mother's eye now look on me ?
 
 THE TOETS DREAM. 
 
 It was her looks of love that told 
 
 Her power o'er those she gave their birth ; 
 No rod her gontle hands could hold, 
 
 When she was here on this rude earth ; 
 With cheerful voice she would say, "Come," — 
 
 The hearts of children would obey : 
 Bound with a chain of love to home, 
 
 The while she liv'd they fain would stay. 
 Alas ! shall 1 behold her face once more, 
 Where all, who truly love, their God adore ! 
 
 Star of my thoughtful hours serene, 
 
 As thou dost shed thine evening light, 
 And brightly glows thy morning beam, 
 
 May my soul take its final flight, 
 Pass safely through the night of death, 
 
 A rise, like thee, to be new-born, 
 Bless' d with a true and living faith, 
 
 To smile on an eternal mom. 
 To all who truly live, the happy death is given ; 
 Then shine, my morning star, and glow on me 
 from Heaven.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IX the poem of the "Poet's Dream" the Author maybe under- 
 stood to have founded his hopes and aspirations on the most legiti- 
 mate prophecies of the past, and the indications of the present, 
 rather than be considered to have rushed into the prophetic temple 
 with an unpardonable presumption. On those favourite themes of 
 the author, which constitute the subjects of the present poem, the 
 reader may dwell with some degree of pleasure, in the ratio of his 
 hopes and wishes for the good of mankind. A vulgar spirit will 
 not sympathise, to any appreciating extent, with the dreams of an 
 ardent imagination, the ever-active faculty which baffles, in better 
 natures, all power of a severe control. The logical or the mathe- 
 matical mind may perceive the sequences of pre-disposing causes; 
 and though the integrity of a scientific school may not compromise 
 itself with the acknowledgement of the truth of poetical fancies, 
 the heart that does not, more or less, wish sincerely for much that 
 is herein indicated, then the mind, in such a case, must have been 
 too much cultivated exclusively, or greatly neglected, at its expense. 
 
 For the introduction of the classical story of Iamus, or Ion, in 
 the second part, although the story may be found in numerous 
 books, in prose and verse, I availed myself of that, which I have 
 always admired, being a translation by the late Hon. and Very 
 Rev. WILLIAM Herbert, Dean of Manchester, &c, of "Five Odes, 
 from the Greek of Pindar: London, 1843." Of this translation, 
 the late Dean of Manchester thought proper to write as follows : — 
 " The aim of the translation is to convey the entire meaning, with- 
 out interpolation, and to give as just an idea of Pindar's style as 
 the difference of language will permit." Guided by such an autho- 
 rity, I cannot suspect myself of any misconception of the meaning 
 of passages descriptive of one of the most beautiful of the Greek 
 mythic legends. 
 
 With reference to the general tone of the poem, I should be 
 permitted to say that men of letters, self-taught or otherwise, are 
 likely to be somewhat dissatisfied, if not disheartened, by wars of 
 a Homeric length, in these times of progressive humanization ; but 
 let us indulge the hope that the spirit of western civilization, 
 under the protection of a wise Providence, may be as much as 
 possible directed to the arts of peace and commercial enterprise.
 
 4 PREFACE. 
 
 As many of the former pieces of the Author have been well re- 
 ceived by the vast public of Manchester an I fburban town-: 
 and Tillages, he pn poem to their attention, with a slight 
 explanation of the circui composition. Hav- 
 ing, in the early part of the present year, a little before the vernal 
 equinox, determined to cultii . and indulge 
 in tin' study ni' :i tew books, not necessary to particularize, I could 
 suppress or resist a 1 .1 knew 
 not what, without pre-di i rule, or laboured common-plaoe. 
 The result is the Following simple Poem, almost unstudied, and 
 
 certainly not bearing the rii xnberant or overflowing 
 
 fancy, nor the poverty of a very studied and mediocre accuracy. 
 Whether this production will be considered the offspring of a legi- 
 timate visitation of tho Muse, the nm scholar will be the 
 best judge. B ! lay it before such without any apology. 
 Tin- plea are [ felt in its composition is expressed in one of the 
 stanzas of the Poem itself. No - [devoting his 
 leisure hours to mental improvement; and there is no particular 
 period of human life, generally speaking, when the opportunity is 
 not worth accepting with a Studies, properly 
 directed, or otherw i , like virtue and vice, their 
 own undoubted reward. 
 
 Perhaps, I have not always succeeded in the true poetic diction; 
 although I perceive, myself, an occasional freedom of syntactical 
 arrangement, I hope that all will not be found a kind of rhymed 
 prose, nor a specimen of the spasmodic school, nor an overflowing 
 cup of sugared words, to pall upon the taste, and satiate before it 
 gratifies or satisfies. A happy d bo preferred to a 
 
 fastidious care, for the Muses brook no chains but those of their 
 own selection or adoption. While writin- <m, I was not 
 
 in a paroxysm, nor had 1, to the best <'t my knowledge, lost my 
 common .-■ 
 
 After all, I know that in this atmosphere of the worldly, and 
 the practical, where mi i I v. ith the materialistic, 
 
 this poem or rhyme, with its occasional indications or scintillations 
 of the poetical, may i"- read, in,. I then thrown a ide; bul that it. 
 will be better thought of when the Ai departed from this 
 
 scene of mortality, is a truth as obvious to him, as was to the 
 Roman poet the "one-half of that round eternity" with which he 
 solaced himself in exile under the tyranny of a CaBBar. 
 
 E. R. 
 March 15, 1866.
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 
 
 53ook ifirst. 
 
 " We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of ; and our little life 
 Is rounded by a sleep." 
 
 — Shakspere. 
 
 y&Z OME, from the yawning gulph of time, 
 $$ Come, from the deep oblivion, 
 And vital breathe in this my rhyme, 
 And soften all this northern clime 
 
 With cultured fields, where work is done : 
 A providential nature shall be mine, 
 "Whose genial spirit breathes a love divine : 
 
 Come, once again those glorious years, 
 
 Those ever-glorious years of old, 
 That golden age, when sighs and tears, 
 From tyrant ills or slavish fears, 
 
 Heart never felt, nor song e'er told : 
 Come, come once more those years of happy life, 
 When man and woman knew no slavish strife. 
 
 Give me the plough-share, and all those 
 Bright implements of bloodless war ; 
 
 My rudest fallow lands dispose 
 
 To blossom with the summer rose, 
 And fill with corn my harvest car ; 
 
 Come, with the horn of plenty richly crown'd, 
 
 And feast my loving neighbours all around.
 
 TIIE TOET'S DREAM. 
 
 Come, to my final festival, 
 
 Pure men, sweet women, boys and girls ; 
 Come, at my serious earnest call, 
 Noblea and peasants, one and all ; 
 
 I will distribute choicest pearls ; — 
 Those precious pearls, of priceless worth, .shall be 
 The precious pearls of love and charity. 
 
 Let envy go to shades below, 
 
 Let malice darken not my door, 
 Nor pride, nor falsehood be my foe, 
 To plunge me in a selfish woe, 
 
 Lest I forget the suffering poor : 
 Let human kindness bring the welcome light, 
 That gives to all mankind a clearer sight. 
 
 Give me the voice that never knew 
 
 To speak unto another's shame ; 
 Give me the heart, that, always true, 
 Hath kept simplicity in view, 
 
 And never stain'd a noble name ; 
 "Where humble modesty and grace arc found, 
 Where sacred love and virtue both abound. 
 
 Revive the ashes of that urn, 
 
 The pure remains of virtue's son, 
 For whom the people fondly mourn, 
 "Whose bosoms would with ardour burn, 
 
 To see the work of virtue done : 
 Bring from the endless source of light its fire, 
 And my fond heart one moment more inspire. 
 
 A famous period give to me, 
 
 Epoch historical, made known 
 By philosophic pen, to be 
 A date when men have become free,
 
 THE POET'S DREAM, 
 
 And human woes for ever gone • 
 When ignorance and vice have lost their power, 
 And all men breathe life's uneorrupted hour. 
 
 An epoch, as a starting-time, 
 
 Continued in an era bright, 
 Unerring, to adorn each clime, 
 Immortal as old Homer's rhyme, 
 
 To pour on man a flood of light,— 
 Endless, pacific, generous, and free, 
 Until absorbed in dread eternity. 
 
 Then, who shall have the meed of song ? 
 
 Then, who shall have the poet's praise ? 
 Not he who grasps imperial wrong, 
 Pursues ambition's path alone, 
 
 And seeks for fame in war's dread blaze : 
 But he, victorious o'er the wealthy sod, 
 Who cultivates the grateful realms of God. 
 
 Weave me the well-earn'd lyric strain, 
 
 Come, weave the web of poesy ; 
 That solemn, heart-felt song again, 
 Repeat it over land and main, 
 
 That cries aloud for liberty ; 
 From every human limb let shackles fall, 
 And freedom breathe reviving breath o'er aH, 
 
 Crowns, sceptres, mitres, bring to me, 
 
 Furr'd gowns and ermin'd robes of gold, — 
 
 But gilding human misery, 
 
 Binding man fast in slavery, — 
 
 With useless coll'ers' wealth untold, 
 
 I would bequeath them to" the common good, 
 
 Nor seek my riches in my brother's blood.
 
 8 THE TOET'S DREAM. 
 
 Eternal Justico ! true to thee, 
 
 I tall no spot of ground mine own ; 
 
 Yet tyrant hands seize on the free 
 
 Inheritance of liberty ; 
 
 Deem human right for ever gono 
 
 Into the past obscurity of time, 
 
 Blotting the truth, as 'twere a worthless rhyme. 
 
 Aspiring o'er the vulgar ken, 
 
 Gaping with ignorant wonder round, 
 
 Rating above all price the pen, 
 
 That, in my age, dares onco again 
 
 Startle the car with freedom's sound ; 
 
 Nor in a sullen indolence hescems 
 
 To be content with mere dull opiate dreams. 
 
 A sweet content has been my lot, 
 
 Amid, betimes, some welcome smiles ; 
 P>y one Superior unforgot, 
 "While in obscure, or brighter spot, 
 
 Mine inward heart all care beguiles, 
 "When far away from overflowing bowl, 
 "With the o'erilowing fulness of the soul. 
 
 I weave a wreath of simple flowers, 
 To grace the arch of prophecy ; 
 
 Gems from the old poetic bowers, 
 
 When luxury's corrupted hours 
 Effeminated not the free ; 
 
 When undegenerate man could safely tell 
 
 The simple truth of wisdom's secret cell. 
 
 Unto the muse the scroll belongs, 
 The secret and unfolded scroll ; 
 When she begins to pour her songs, 
 And blcsseth right, contemning wrongs,
 
 THE POET H DREAM. 
 
 All ! then expands the human soul : 
 Her songs alone are to be bruited wide, — 
 None with the muse her empire can divide. 
 
 Me number with the willing blind, 
 
 Or deem me wrapt within the cloud 
 Of visionary thought, resigned 
 Both heart and soul, above mankind, 
 And the dull traffic of the crowd ; 
 Bearing with patience, as me best beseems, 
 Neglect, or scorn, of all my fondest dreams. 
 
 You may deprive me of life's breath, 
 You may denude me of my home, 
 You may disturb me unto death, — 
 But the true soul's undying faith 
 
 Eemains to bloom above the tomb : 
 Whatever storm may bring unnumbered ills, 
 No earthly power the truthful spirit kills. 
 
 As nature in harmonious spheres 
 
 Moves in the order of her sway, 
 Strip man of superstitious fears, 
 And he will love the law which cheers 
 
 His soul through every gloomy day : 
 A natural reciprocity will then 
 Pervade the hearts of women and of men. 
 
 A calm, benignant, happy mind 
 
 May taste the joys of perfect health ; 
 
 Then, you may revel unconfin'd, 
 
 In intellectual bowers resign d, 
 
 And need not envy richest wealth : 
 
 The purest pleasures under man's control, 
 
 Are the sweet contemplations of the soul.
 
 TO THE TOETS DREAM. 
 
 ! let mo tuno to voice of yomli, 
 
 Tlic languago of an honest pride, 
 Nor deviate from the path of truth, 
 Remembering all good ways, in sooth, 
 
 And from mean falsehood turn aside : 
 Tell them, that, to ho manly, wise, and hold, 
 Not to forget the counsel of the uld : 
 
 That moral purity 'a the gem, 
 
 Adorning all in human life, 
 More tlmn the costly diadem 
 Could honour either me, or tin m, 
 
 If hut bestain'd in worldly Btrife : 
 The physical and mental both combine 
 Ever in one all-perfect law divine. 
 
 Let good n port di light thy pride, 
 And seek for ]>uiity of fame ; 
 
 Muy'st thou in moral worth abide, 
 
 Nor from discretion turn aside, 
 
 Yet kindly treat the chill of shame : 
 
 Lei love he law, and law be love for thee, 
 
 And thou shalt never sink in misery. 
 
 Bear well within thine inmost mind, 
 
 That the rich gifts of bounteous Heaven 
 Are not alone for thee design' d : 
 The common right of all mankind 
 
 May claim a share, of whal is given : 
 lie who withholds it from his l'.l low-men 
 Is hut the selfish savage of his den. 
 
 The bravest work of virtue springs 
 
 Forth from the mighty Cod immortal ; 
 He's hut the bringez of good things, 
 Like almoner of wisost kings,
 
 TBE POET'S DREAM. H 
 
 Who enters laden virtue's portal : 
 And if he faileth in his best intent, 
 Perpetual smiles are ever on him bent. 
 
 But, if you crave a wreath for worth 
 
 And moral courage well sustained; 
 Amid sweet songs of sylvan mirth, 
 The olden groves have oft brought forth, 
 
 Give him the meed so richly gain'd, 
 The simple token of a kind regard, 
 And praise sincere from many an olden bard. 
 
 Still lives the good man's humble name : 
 Not marble tomb, nor sculptur'd form, 
 
 Nor Latin verse, can e'er proclaim 
 
 More than the empty boast of fame : 
 The feeble syllables deform, 
 
 If human kindness have not grac'd its birth, 
 
 The proudest cenotaph of all the earth. 
 
 There yet shall be a monument, 
 
 Greater than Athos would have been, 
 
 Had the proud artist his intent 
 
 Achieved, as he was fondly bent 
 
 To sculpture mountains to the mien 
 
 And form of him, in a vain, loyal pride — 
 
 The Macedonian soldier deified.* 
 
 But unto one in human shape 
 
 True glory shall not beam one ray ; 
 A 'principle shall not escape 
 From a rude thraldom, but to ape 
 
 The mockeries of an evil day : 
 A monument of justice shall arise, 
 Like Jacob's ladder, to the lofty skies. 
 
 * Vide the atory of Alexander the Great and his Artist,
 
 12 Tin: POETS DEBAM. 
 
 The Cleopatren column high — 
 
 The Herculean pillars hold — 
 The Delphic shrine of prophecy, 
 Communicating with the sky, 
 
 Shall give less fame than shall be told 
 Of hiin who rears a temple unto Truth, 
 To be the wonder of old age and youth. 
 
 Deep in the human heart is made 
 The sweet impression of a Muse, 
 
 "Who, with the olden world, shall fade 
 
 Never, but living undecay d, 
 Mankind shall fondly choose 
 
 As the expositor, to keenly scan 
 
 The great Avonian representing man. 
 
 Now, the prophetic arch erect, 
 
 A shrine, a temple shall be built, — 
 
 The greatest theatre, whose architect 
 
 May from all orders well select 
 
 The pillars, whereon shall be gilt 
 
 The name of Shakspere, in a wreath of gold, 
 
 There to remain till the new world grows old. 
 
 Kivers may fail, and lakes grow dry; 
 
 Seas may recede from well-known shores; 
 All the eternal waters fly 
 From their vast dread locality, 
 
 Quick as the thunder-torrent pours; 
 But, like the atmosphere of life we breathe, 
 His varied song shall never end in death. 
 
 He, who delights in selfish pride, 
 
 The Muse's voice for ever scares ; 
 His soul to justice unallied, 
 The truthful song he would deride,
 
 THE POET S DREAM. 13 
 
 Nor listen to celestial airs : 
 The screech-owl's voice, the croak from raven's throat, 
 He welcomes more than famous poet's note. 
 
 Unending discord him pursue, 
 
 Who frowns upon the genial Muse ; 
 Him melody may not subdue ; 
 But let the wretch for ever rue, 
 
 If cheerful music he refuse: 
 And unto fame shall he in vain aspire 
 Who frowns upon the sweet, harmonious lyre. 
 
 A blessed lot be ever thine, 
 
 Either in this or other spheres, 
 Who cherisheth a single line 
 Of the old lyric art divine 
 
 With a benignant mind, and cheers 
 The wandering bard at hospitable board, 
 And lulls to social rest the soldier's sword. 
 
 Unfailing be thy strength and health, 
 So God-like given and God-like used ; 
 
 Unfailing be thy source of wealth, 
 
 Unvisited by cunning stealth, 
 By worthless idlers unabus'd: 
 
 Thy years move calmly to a green old age, 
 
 Thy name recorded on the poet's page. 
 
 The longsome speech, and over-wrought, 
 
 Befits not mine, a simple Muse ; 
 It blunts the lively edge of thought,* 
 While e'en the unheeding ear hath caught 
 
 Nought but sounds that may confuse : 
 Obscurity and simple truth are twain, 
 My choicest rhetoric is very plain. 
 
 * Vi<le Pindar.
 
 14 THE POET'S DREAM. 
 
 Ajb iV degenerate hi 1 of man, 
 
 In citii a n aews its Btreams 
 
 From vale, and hill, and rader glen, 
 
 So words unlit for poet's pen 
 
 Are lisp'd in Bcenes where luxury beams 
 
 A fickle and alluring smile, to bo 
 
 Lost in the void of sheer inanity. 
 
 l'i, til the genius of the M 
 
 < lr philosophic Bcholar, deigns 
 To feast on what false tastes refu 
 i renins, t lie arbiter they choose 
 
 Unwillingly, soon proudly reigns: 
 All weaken'd forms of speech, all maudlin tales, 
 Fade 'neath the spirit of the hills and val 
 
 Is there not many a truthful word 
 
 Unsung from fear of falsehood's .sway '. 
 
 No more in silence Bleep the chord 
 
 That welcome music might afford, 
 Symphonious to the light of day: 
 
 To its charm'd influence the human mind 
 
 Doth ever cling, for harmony design'd. 
 
 From harmony to harmony 
 
 B -in this universal frame;* 
 Ami on the lyre the lingers ply 
 With a sweet, soothing ecstac , 
 
 A - if tli'' sacr< ■! trump of f a 
 Were sounding loud, with a full vital breath, 
 The song of life, which might not end in death. 
 
 Breathe me tie' songs of simple measure; 
 
 Give mi' the old reviving strain 
 Of rural life and harmless pleasure; 
 Enrich me with tie happy treasure; 
 
 * Dryden'a Ode.
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 1 5 
 
 Give me the oldeu song again, 
 Whose sylvan notes mine inmost bosom thrills — 
 The native music of old Albion's hills. 
 
 The books of war the epic Muse 
 
 Hath left to each succeeding age, 
 I read, and copious tears suffuse 
 The eye : the pages I would choose 
 
 Which most the human heart engage, 
 Leaving the scenes where mortal conflicts rose, 
 Are the sweet episodes of lovers' woes. 
 
 For forty years the reign of peace 
 
 I loved, and never dream'd of war, 
 Fondly believing it might cease, 
 And all the liberal arts increase ; 
 
 But still once more the vengeful car 
 Of warriors brave drives o'er the fruitful field, 
 That a sweet sustenance to life might yield. 
 
 Barbarian rage, with cunning guile, 
 
 In an ignorant, royal state, 
 Sighs for imperial power awhile, 
 Deigns on imperial seas to smile, 
 
 Nor dreams of his approaching fate : 
 A cheerful look on all mankind he cast, 
 Cold as the freezing sway of Hyperborean blast. 
 
 But Western Union* hath torn 
 
 From Russia's spangled diadem — 
 Laid her in ashes pale, to mourn 
 O'er despotism's sepulchral urn — 
 
 The stealthy and felonious gem : 
 The Western lightning her dread fort hath burn'd, 
 The fire of hell is on her demons turn'd. 
 
 * The Alliance of England, France, and Sardinia.
 
 1 6 THE POET'S DREAM. 
 
 And from the year the Russ became 
 
 Vanquish'd on land, ami from the sea 
 Frighten'd within the granite frame 
 That makes wild waters calm and tame, 
 
 This rhyme shall bear some memory of me: 
 And through his realm, unto the arctic pole, 
 Truth yet shall speak forth from her inmost soul. 
 
 Trochaic and iambic sounds 
 
 From sacred writings, — modified 
 
 Somewhat on deep, erudite grounds, — 
 
 "Wherein rich poetry abounds, 
 
 By the old Saxon tongue supplied, — 
 
 Shall even earth's remotest corners reach, 
 
 And penetrate where man hath thought or speech. 
 
 Unfold to the deep human heart, 
 
 The scrolls of some delightful age ; 
 
 Publish the tablets, and impart 
 
 To scenes obscure, or open mart, 
 The truthful, philosophic page : 
 
 Cloister no more within exclusive walls, 
 
 The mental food, for which man's nature calls. 
 
 In the strong Saxon tongue, explore 
 Mysterious learning, and lay bare 
 
 New truths, and sacred ancient lore, 
 
 Of which there is a goodly store 
 < 'ommitted unto mi i r ''are ; 
 
 B( spread the knowledge, like the light of day, 
 
 And then rule- all with a benignant sway. 
 
 Come, now, bedeck each British grove, — 
 
 For the behoof of far-off climes, — 
 With the glorious plants of ,}< 
 And the goddi ss true of love,
 
 the poet's DREAM. 1 7 
 
 The druid oaks of olden times ; 
 Shape them in architectural frames, to hold 
 Worth to be prized more than imperial gold. 
 
 Swift o'er cerulean waters hears 
 
 The barque, as wild bird over plain, 
 Laden with liberal and ingenious wares, 
 For what abundance freely spares, 
 
 Sweet fruit, and the more welcome grain : 
 Tyrannic law shall never, never sway 
 The many for the few, upon the watery way. 
 
 Cheerly the swift barque runs his race, 
 
 The aerounaut ascends the shy, 
 Soaring aloft in pride of place, 
 Smiling the while in danger's face : 
 
 Man's powers beseem to multiply, 
 And to confound the ignorant and the wise, 
 Like old Briareus' hands and Argus' eyes. 
 
 Electric sparks already beam 
 
 In lines of inter-communication, 
 And, like the fairy's girdle, seem 
 To realise the poet's dream:* 
 
 A girdle binding every nation 
 In welcome links of interchanging thought, 
 Work most magnificent that man hath wrought. 
 
 Grant, sacred Heaven ! a favouring breeze 
 
 To all the argosies that bound 
 At rapid speed through stormy seas ; 
 If it shoidd Thy best wisdom please, 
 
 Eeturn them safe to British ground : 
 Man's gratitude, before religion's shrine, 
 Shall breathe Thy name in hymnic songs divine. 
 
 * Vide Shakspere's " Midsummer Night's Dream."
 
 1 8 THE POET'S DREAM. 
 
 I love not war; but there's a time 
 
 And tide, an intermediate state, 
 When death inflicted is not crime: 
 The self-defender is sublime, 
 
 Fixed on the pedestal of fate: 
 Men bleed from the beginning to the end, 
 When each to each becomes a constant friend. 
 
 Come, plant within each British vale, 
 
 To guard with strength my sea-girt home, 
 
 The ship-seed, ready for the sail, 
 
 And mast to bear the boisterous gale : 
 Should barbarous, cruel foemen come, 
 
 The good ships mann'd, may breast old ocean's wave, 
 
 And volley'd thunder sweep them to the grave. 
 
 0, Heart of Hearts ! thou dost inspire, 
 And sluggard sleep is no more mine ; 
 
 Light of Life ! dost thou require 
 
 The secrets of each fond desire ? 
 
 1 humbly lay them on Thy shrine : 
 
 Tlir- winged words of struggling thought to be 
 
 OfTe rings most meet for Liberty and Thee. 
 
 Thy Spirit-light, that westward came 
 Forth from the ancient Magi's star, 
 
 Beaming on man a glorious flame, 
 
 Ever constant, and still the same, 
 Shall quench the ,u f l<>ry of all war, 
 
 Whose blood-stain'd banner shall be ever furl'd, 
 
 Ami peace beam brighter glories to the world. 
 
 The varied Eastern throng persuading, 
 
 With all tli<' \\'< stern sovereign Mind; 
 Rude barbarism, all-degrading, 
 
 Shall be subdued by the unfading
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 1 9 
 
 Truthful Fiat to mankind: 
 Csesar, nor Czar, nor Emperor, nor King, 
 Nor Papal Pontiff be a hideous thing, 
 
 Unworthy of the Logos given, 
 
 Breath'd forth to mitigate man's woe, 
 While priests, who have for ever striven 
 To keep obscure the Light of Heaven, 
 
 Shall torture honesty no more : 
 The Vatican shall then with light abound, 
 And old St. Peter's change her mood of sound. 
 
 As when the primal chaos reigned, 
 
 And discord held horrific sway, 
 The boundless waters were unchain'd, 
 Love soon a sovereignty maintain' d, 
 
 And gave creation to the day : 
 Then did the Fiat on the eternal throne, 
 Claim wise obedience to Him alone. 
 
 May I indulge more pleasing dream 
 
 Than Plato's dream of Virtue, poor, — 
 Whose parabolic lessons seem 
 Wisdom array' d in brighter beam, — 
 
 A wicked world drove from its door, 
 Imprisoned, scourged, and unto death soon cast, 
 On the old Roman cross to breathe its last. 
 
 A Child of Man shall yet be born, 
 A Son of Man shall yet be given, 
 
 Who shall not be from parents torn, 
 
 To be held up to public scorn, 
 
 But be beloved of earth and Heaven: 
 
 Golden opinions He shall ever win, 
 
 To save mankind from error and from sin.
 
 20 THE TOET's DREAM. 
 
 What place shall own the ehoioeel name 
 
 Of Him who is to nth ? 
 
 Whal city, town, at village, claim 
 Ilim of I isting fame, 
 
 Proud of the glory of His bii 
 Shall Camus, [si , or some Tillage-stream, 
 own the sweet birth of this Child, of my dream i 
 
 J'.tna, that hurls its lava down — 
 
 And all the dreadful burning mountains — 
 
 Old Rome, with Caesarean crown, 
 
 Greece, of republican renown, 
 
 With all her learned, classic fountains, 
 
 Shall not more famous be than that sweet place 
 
 Where my rare Boy Divine begins his race! 
 
 He yet shall sing a sweeter song, 
 The honey-tongued and musi 
 The wood-bird's voice the groves among, 
 Echoing above the feathi r"d throng, 
 
 Shall not with sweeter cadence fall 
 Upon the car of him, oft wandering seen, 
 Seeking fresh fields and pastures ever green. 
 
 Pastures which the cold winter's frost 
 Shall wither not, and where the llowers 
 
 Field a rich fragrance, never lost 
 
 To him who doth enjoy it most, 
 In their perennial bowers: 
 
 The v.a! ts of a pure delight are ever found 
 
 To freshen all within that sacred ground. 
 
 Wandering awhile it 
 
 Bi side the running, winding stream, 
 In which I bathed in youthful hours, 
 When life was sweet as vernal tlowers,
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 21 
 
 And pleasant as a summer-dream ; 
 When all was fresh and lovely as a bride, 
 With her fond partner by her happy side ; — 
 
 The Muse, like a true playmate, came, 
 Warming awhile each fond pulsation, 
 
 And quickly thrilling through my frame, 
 
 The shadowy visions burst in flame, 
 Of that superior creation, 
 
 Which the reflective spirit ever finds 
 
 In chaste communion with immortal minds. 
 
 world of man ! 1 turn mine eyes 
 
 Away from sight of human things, 
 Where luxury and squalor lies, 
 And all oppressive vanities : 
 
 World of God ! where purer springs 
 Eternally arise amongst the heavenly blest, 
 Thither I turn, and seek my needful rest. 
 
 END OF FIRST BOOK.
 
 22 
 
 THE POKI'S DREAM. 
 
 13ooIt Seronti. 
 
 Gj^js AY I, whose unreluctant hand 
 ". Wrought silken damask for the fair 
 In early years, the Muse command, 
 And now, beneath her influence bland, 
 
 Resume the Doric, artless air, 
 Like melody of the old, simple times, 
 Belov'd of all, as the sweet evening chimi 
 
 I need not dedicate this lay 
 
 To Pope, or Cardinal, or King, — 
 To one of the imperial sway 
 I I'er Russia's night or Gallia's day, 
 
 Where Liberty lies withering; — 
 But unto one old namesake give this rhyme, 
 Who hath fought freedom's battle in his time. 
 
 Awake, once more, the slumbering lyre, 
 
 Rouse into human love the heart ; 
 Attendant Genius, inspire 
 My lay with that old chaste desiro 
 
 With which the Muse can never part; 
 Bring to the 'world the bl< - <l light 
 
 That grades mankind into the path of right. 
 
 The prelude of my song is o'er; 
 The aspirations I have drawn 
 And given may be heard no more ; 
 But nought to mo can e'er restore
 
 THE POETS DREAM. 23 
 
 Those pleasing moments when the dawn 
 Of sweet conceptions beams upon the mind, 
 Bursting with free-born thought to elevate mankind. 
 
 Oh ! may'st thou, Child of Genius, guard 
 The Heaven-descended shell of sound, 
 
 Bearing high thoughts, like olden bard — 
 
 The happy mind the great reward, 
 
 And matchless fame the world around : 
 
 Let not lascivious song, or sensual scene, 
 
 Stain or destroy the glory of its sheen. 
 
 Forsake not thou thine own respect, 
 
 Be never bare unto the rude, 
 Unpitying blast of self-neglect ; 
 Thine every little fault correct, 
 
 Nor court the reckless multitude: 
 Improve thyself, by striving to improve 
 Thy brother man, wherever thou dost move. 
 
 Not form'd of gold, silver, nor stone, 
 
 Ethereal in its essence bright, 
 Nor given to man for self alone ; 
 But mission'd from the eternal throne, 
 
 To give thy grosser fellows light : 
 Then, wisely use the heaven-descended shell, 
 Or bid for aye the gentle Muse farewell. 
 
 Not marble hall, nor scholar's bower, 
 
 "With learned lore beam'd on my youth ; 
 
 Strong English, in life's early hour, 
 
 'Mid flagrant crimes of selfish power, 
 Was taught to me to speak the truth ; 
 
 "When venal elocpience was bought and sold, 
 
 And e'en the Muse's voice subdued with gold.
 
 24 THE POETS DREAM. 
 
 I hare not courted specious gain, 
 
 Nor rear'd high walls to frighten'd pride, 
 
 Deem'd whal surviveth man most vain, 
 
 (''intent should luxury maintain 
 
 Her sumptuous board, whate'er betide: 
 
 Through life's ephemeral hour been still the same, 
 
 To die, and lose my nature and my name. 
 
 What richer intellectual feast 
 
 Was ever laid before the ken 
 Of mortal man, greatest or least, 
 Aspiring high above the beast, 
 
 Or silent savage in bis den, 
 Than music married to immortal rhyme, 
 Words of the olden bards of many a clime? 
 
 The truly pious mind and heart 
 
 I would not hurt with stroke of wit 
 
 Or humour, if I had the art ; 
 
 Too much I love the Christian part, 
 To revel in destroying it ; 
 
 But from mine own dear land's most cherish'd lore, 
 
 I wander onward to old Grecia's shore. 
 
 As Iamus, in light of day, 
 
 Was in the sedgy brake deserted, 
 "Where five whole vernal days be lay, 
 From rocky Pytho came that way 
 
 The noble King, the kindest-hearted; 
 Hi- call'd, and crav'd the child Kvadne bright 
 Had boni3 unto the wooing god of light. 
 
 The blue-eyed dragons came in view, 
 
 Who brought the food the gods had given ; 
 They had performed their message true. 
 He suck'd the honey's blameless dew,
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 25 
 
 Looking upon the light of heaven: 
 His tender limits were all bedewed with rays 
 From the sweet violet's all-purple blaze. 
 
 Borrowed from that delicious flower, 
 
 He derived a favourite name; 
 And when he reached the lovely hour 
 Of golden youth, in royal bower 
 
 Quickly descending, soon he came 
 To where the stream of crystal Alpheus laves, 
 And loudly call'd to the Neptunian waves:— 
 
 " Ah ! where is my forefather — where 
 The bow-bearer, who Delos sways .'" 
 
 Asking for honour in his prayer, 
 
 As ancient oracles declare : 
 
 Soon his great sire, unseen, displays 
 
 The sage instruction, and to him replied — 
 
 ' ' Arise, and follow where my voice shall guide. " 
 
 Unto the Cronian mount they came, 
 
 Quickly sun-lighted all around ; 
 And there Apollo gave him fame, 
 Doubled in the prophetic name, 
 
 As they stood on the sacred mound, 
 Apollo bade him on Jove's altar high 
 Fix firmly there the shrine of prophecy. 
 
 ! for the coming man to prove 
 
 Unto the stubborn heart the truth, — 
 Without abortive sighs of love, 
 With which the dying martyr strove, — 
 
 To be the guide of age and youth : 
 Pure as the violet of some woodland mound, 
 Some glorious Ion, whom the Grecians found.
 
 26 THE POET'S DREAM. 
 
 Pondering on mythic legends old, 
 
 Dreams will arise in purest mind, 
 If fancy be not grown too cold 
 With this world's lures and charms of gold, 
 
 a thrifty care assign' d : 
 Visions of better worlds, where man is true, 
 Will fall upon you, sweet as heavenly dew. 
 
 Trembles the poet's gentle hands, 
 
 And silver locks play in the light ; 
 Listening the muse's mild commands, 
 As in his proper place he stands, 
 
 And looks around with keener sight : 
 Despairing men with him may vainly cope, 
 He gathers strength from ever-beaming hope. 
 
 Tell me not, worldling, that I dream 
 
 .Merely the vision of a mind 
 Lost in the lesser, duller beam, 
 That in mine own doth darkness seem, 
 
 And is too cold for that refin'd 
 And glowing faculty, that moves my soul, 
 And bears me on its wings to cither pole : 
 
 Bears me above earth's grosser scene, 
 
 To higher heavens, where spirits reign, 
 
 And men deem'd ever lost have been 
 
 With the angelic choir serene, 
 And now in seraph-song adore 
 
 Their great Creator, with the glorious band 
 
 Of martyrs to the truth, in mino own land. 
 
 Where is my ever-glorious child, 
 
 With god-like gifts, and star-like eyes, 
 With golden hair, ami features mild, 
 The innocent, the undefil'd,
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 27 
 
 As if descended from the skies ? 
 ! bring to me the poet-boy divine, 
 And I will now bequeath him all that's mine. 
 
 Ah ! should I never see once more, 
 
 One earthly hour that's free from pain, 
 
 And leave you for a happier shore, 
 
 Where angels worship and adore, 
 
 And virtue holds a sovereign reign ; — 
 
 Then, may that glorious, golden age be mine, 
 
 Whose spirit genial breathes a love divine. 
 
 ! give to those I leave behind, 
 
 Those ever-glorious years of old, 
 When man and woman of one mind, 
 In sweet contentment liv'd resigned, 
 
 With one true heart as pure as gold : 
 
 ! give to them those happy years of life, 
 When man and woman knew no painful strife. 
 
 1 crave, once more, the gifted boy, 
 
 Pure-born of virtue on the earth, 
 A world, where vice would man destroy, 
 And sheer hypocrisy annoy 
 
 All of a free and purer birth : 
 ! bring to me that rarest boy divine, 
 And I will cpiickly give him all that's mine. 
 
 And He the sacred, who laid His beams 
 In the chambers of the waters, shall, 
 
 As unto Him befitting seems, 
 
 Pour on my boy His gracious streams, 
 To save mankind from final fall : 
 
 And men shall seek him, and be not afraid, 
 
 For evil hands before him shall be stayed s
 
 28 THE rOETS DREAM. 
 
 O'er waves and mountains he shall go, 
 O'er prairies wild, and rivers vast ; 
 
 And wander earth's face to ami fro, 
 
 Through every urban scene of woe, 
 Or vain delight, too vain to last : 
 
 ! he shall visit all the old and young, 
 
 With heaven's high music on his silver tongue. 
 
 And if he find not sweetest scene, 
 
 The words of his sweot breath shall make 
 
 One, with a transcendental mien ; 
 
 Not pastoral Arcady serene, 
 
 Nor sweet-briar, nor the fragrant brake, 
 
 In English vale, with honeysuckle crown'd, 
 
 Shall sweeter be than where his words abound. 
 
 My radiant boy I now bequeath 
 
 Unto all human kind ; in gaol, 
 On cross he shall not ever breathe ; 
 Around his form truth shall enwreath 
 
 A halo brighter than a coat of mail, 
 Or morning's rays, or lucid silver streams, 
 For truth doth ever glow in brightest beams. 
 
 He shall deliver words of love 
 
 And heavenly wisdom ; no one shall 
 
 Their finger in mad anger move 
 
 To stay the Word of < iod above, 
 
 And place Truth's messenger in thrall : 
 
 The human circle round him everywhere, 
 
 Shall join with him in hymns of praise and prayer. 
 
 He shall go forth in sandal-shoon, 
 
 And a white vesture shall enfold 
 His slender frame, and the lov'd boon 
 < liven to him, shall he give soou
 
 THE TOET'S DREAM. 29 
 
 To others, cherish' d more than gold : 
 It shall be priz'd by a rude, human throng, 
 Become all mild with prayer and grateful song. 
 
 Diamond and jewell'd ornament 
 
 Shall not bedizen the fair robe 
 He wears, with a serene and calm content : 
 For wealth my child was never sent 
 
 On his true mission o'er the globe : 
 lie shall have that within, which passeth show, 
 Xor sables wear that symbolize man's woe. 
 
 Toiling with mariners ship-borne, 
 
 Upon the ocean's wave to sail, 
 ISTo word of an unheeding scorn, 
 In frowning night, or smiling morn, 
 
 Shall mock the hopeful, friendly gale : 
 "Welcome as favouring breeze my boy shall bo 
 To rugged mariners upon the sea. 
 
 Pleasant as sweet-toned lyre, my child 
 
 Shall sing the mariner's blythe hymn, 
 "With symphony all sweet and mild, 
 Although the waves be rude and wild, 
 
 Although their guiding star be dim : 
 And He, who doth control both time and tide, 
 Shall ever be their providential guide. 
 
 Sweet as the old maternal lay, 
 
 Or soothing speech to man in pain, 
 
 Or beauteous flower in rugged way, 
 
 Or sunshine on a wintry day, 
 Is the sincere and sacred strain, 
 
 On land, or sea, to the sick hearts of men, 
 
 Breathing lov'd tones they long to hear again.
 
 30 THE TOET'S DREAM. 
 
 The wind that whistles on each sail, 
 
 The voice of Neptune, hoarse or shrill, 
 When the tempestuous blasts prevail, 
 Ami lightning makes the bold turn palo, 
 
 May not subdue his stronger will : 
 The seeds of truth shall not be sown in vain, 
 As they are bounding o'er the patldess maiu. 
 
 And when beneath antarctic star, 
 And shines on him another pole, 
 
 From his own native clime afar, 
 
 All safe, mid elemental war, 
 His pilot, his immortal soul, 
 
 Shall constant be, vibrating to that Power, 
 
 That guarded him in the rough tempest's hour. 
 
 And when he doth approach some shore, 
 Some shore within the southern main, 
 
 Dark men shall through him God adore, 
 
 And his good counsel oft implore, 
 And welcome him again, again : 
 
 And beaming on him a delightful smile, 
 
 Grasp their strong ebon hands a long, long while. 
 
 And all enclosed within his arms 
 
 He shall bear four delightful books, 
 Sounding to tyranny alarms, 
 Driving from earth hell's wizard charms, 
 
 Soothing mankind with gracious looks: 
 Unlike Sibylline leaves, these books shall be 
 Plain as the open sea, without obscurity. 
 
 More valuable books to all, 
 
 Than silver spheres, or liars of gold, 
 Or diamond stones ; that simply call 
 To man — "read, read ;" whose sweet words fall
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 3 1 
 
 From lips inspired, for young and old : 
 And while the pole-star shines upon the sea, 
 Their light shall guide us to eternity. 
 
 There shall no longer need debate 
 
 On Hebrew, or on Chaldee, whether 
 
 A dialect, or the pure state 
 
 Of the original may date 
 
 The letter of the "Word for ever : 
 
 As the fine lines writ on the human hand, 
 
 All shall be plain by a Divine command. 
 
 Then, the great joys of man beginning, 
 
 Fades every lineament of gloom ; 
 Then, all on earth may cease from sinning, 
 Honour and glory purely winning, 
 
 And peaceful life beyond the tomb : 
 A sweet beatitude shall then be found, 
 x\.nd fall on man in the new world around. 
 
 Children in white vestments singing 
 
 Melodious hymns, shall round him throng, 
 "With tiny hands together clinging, 
 Taking the righteous path, and bringing 
 
 Flowers of all hues to grace their song ; — 
 Flowers of all virtues, iu one glorious wreath, 
 That shall not fade before the blast of death. 
 
 Pedestrian and equestrian men 
 
 Shall come, in haste, and him surround, 
 
 From city, and remotest glen, 
 
 To listen with a brighter ken, 
 
 To wisdom of symphonious sound, 
 
 As he doth solve the problem for mankind, 
 
 Breathing in love the Universal Mind.
 
 32 THE POET a DREAM. 
 
 Ami to this child of Albion's is] , 
 Shall come t!i'' unrelenting Jew ; 
 
 i in liars of gold mi more he ami] 
 
 .Self, multiplied, no more beguiles 
 His stubborn, reckless few : 
 
 The scatter'd ashes of a wandering ra 
 
 Revive in living fires before his 1. 
 
 That which he hated, he shall love ; 
 
 That which he worshipped and adored, 
 Ho shall abhor ; that which lie strove 
 To stifle and destroy, shall move 
 
 And melt the treasures he hath stored : 
 He shall no longer worship as a god, 
 Things of our grosser earth, or kneaded clod. 
 
 Honour in armed ranks no more, 
 
 Nor on Neptunian steeds that fly 
 O'er ocean's streams from shore to shore, 
 Swift as the sea-mew's wing, strong, hoar, 
 Or Jove's proud bird in upward sky ; — 
 No more in hollow ships, or open plain, 
 Shall man pour out his blood like falling rain. 
 
 Honour in armed ranks no more 
 
 Shall stalk like dreadful, gibbering ghost, 
 
 Within the shades of death, in human gore ; 
 
 Disbanded legions may explore 
 A bri p 'th than bat 1 1 
 
 E'er found within a long and sad campaij 
 
 In Crimean or Peninsular domain. 
 
 Deserted agricultural land 
 
 Shall own their toil, and the bright steel 
 Leave undestroyed each harmless hand 
 Employed at Ceres' mild command :
 
 THE POETS DREAM. 33 
 
 The plough and sickle may reveal 
 More wealth than Persia's lord coidd boast, 
 With Iris innumerous, embattled host. 
 
 If water is of tilings the chief, 
 
 Well may the olden bard have sung : 
 
 Assuaging thirst to give relief, 
 
 The Outcast, staying for a brief 
 
 Lone hour, to cool his parched tongue, 
 
 Sits in some sylvan scene, beside a crystal well, 
 
 Mourning aloud o'er woes he may not tell. 
 
 Ah ! dare he tell, in prose or rhymes, 
 The human frailties that have brought 
 
 Him to this wretched pass ? Betimes 
 
 He mourns o'er vices and dread crimes, 
 In tears of agonising thought ; — 
 
 Reminded by that harmless, crystal stream, 
 
 How Ion" he had been lost within a drunken dream. 
 
 ■*& 
 
 Tears falling down his sun-burnt face, 
 
 Give somewhat of relief to him, 
 As he, now, in his sad disgrace, 
 Bewailing his own piteous case, 
 
 With sorrow-sunken eyes, grown dim 
 With their suffusion, starts, he knows not where, 
 But goes his weary way, half crazed with care. 
 
 ! blessed woodland well ! Thy drink, 
 Time past, or now, hath never, never 
 
 Brought one poor soul to ruin's brink, 
 
 In speechless agony to sink, 
 
 All hope of God from man to sever ; 
 
 But unto thousands hath a lesson given, 
 
 How all should prize the precious gifts of Heaven,
 
 34 THE POETS DREAM. 
 
 But, tlio cup of poison and of crime, 
 
 The cup of Oomus and his crow 
 Of dancing satyrs, beating time, 
 With horned feet, amid gross slime, 
 
 Shall fade before all human view : 
 Shatter'd to fragments then shall be the bowl, 
 Pregnant with witchery against his soul. 
 
 The laws of Nature shall be known, 
 
 And truly be obey'd, because 
 The habits and the customs prone 
 To multiple and over-grown 
 
 Evils, wither 'neath her laws : 
 Man, in a hale old age, shall then decline, 
 Instinctively obeying laws Divine. 
 
 The rope, the dagger, and the phial 
 
 Of death shall rust in desuetude, 
 And of the truth be no denial : 
 All men submitting to the trial, 
 
 Shall be no more or mad, or rude ; 
 And whom tho "common damn' d" would shun with 
 
 pride,* 
 Shall lose his name, the hopeless suicide. 
 
 But those for whom pure fame had charms 
 In the old world, shall have renown; 
 
 And feats of honourable arms, — 
 
 That evil genius disarms, 
 
 And strippeth of its bauble-crown, — 
 
 All meritorious worth shall be made known, 
 
 And barbarous rage meet dull oblivion. 
 
 And in the glorious years to come, 
 
 Blood for man's life shall not be shed ; 
 Dread death no more shall be the doom 
 
 * Vide Blair's " Grave."
 
 THE POET S DREAM. 35 
 
 Of gentlest creatures ; there shall be room 
 
 For all on earth — none murdered: 
 
 Man, woman, child, shall breathe one wholesome 
 breath, 
 
 Familiar with sweet life, but not with death. 
 
 And in the nations of the earth 
 
 Confusion of the tongues shall cease ; 
 
 Fierce war produce nor death, nor dearth, 
 
 When man shall find the second birth 
 Subsiding to a lasting peace : 
 
 Islands and continents, from shore to shore, 
 
 Shall find no Babel-discord any more. 
 
 The languages of earth shall be 
 
 Assimilated in one mode ; 
 All shall speak plain, genial, and free, 
 With natural simplicity, 
 
 From far unto the near abode : 
 To rule the many for themselves alone, 
 The cunning of the few shall not erect a throne. 
 
 Then, every man, in garden green, 
 
 Pruning his trees and tending flowers, 
 
 Shall in the leisure hour be seen ; 
 
 While Hesperus, with look serene, 
 Smileth upon the happy bowers : 
 
 The cottage-homes shall all be iill'd with song, 
 
 And no man dare to do another wron"- 
 
 O 
 
 Old worlds, and older love, shall be 
 
 Kevived, and men shall truly know, 
 When they are numbered with the free, 
 The worth and truth of simple liberty, 
 
 That never was to man a foe : 
 Polished and specious men, for sordid gain, 
 Shall never cast on liberty a stain.
 
 36 THE POET'S DREAM. 
 
 The Btreama of peace shall nev< r end, 
 Outpoun ,] from everlasting fountains ; 
 
 In their harmonious course they tend, 
 
 Bright as the solar rays descend 
 
 On lowest vales or highest mountains : 
 
 And unto all, in kind* -t notes proclaim, 
 
 The love man bears for one Sternal Name. 
 
 Then shall a halo, brightly glowing, 
 
 Surrounding my diviner boy, 
 With rays of love he ever flow 
 The glorious light on all bestowing, — 
 
 On all, on each, without annoy : 
 Brighter than brightest star of heavenly sky, 
 Shall be that Light, which never shone to die. 
 
 And men shall give this child a word, — 
 A double synonym of sound : 
 
 Woman's and man's esteem afford 
 
 Fond names to those of their accord ; 
 And his shall be beloved around : 
 
 Not saint, nor priest, nor martyr shall it be, 
 
 But poet-prophet to eternity. 
 
 I have baptized him in the name— 
 
 The everlasting name shall crown 
 His fadeless glory, and his fame, 
 
 O'er the vast earth, shall live the same, 
 
 As the undying fire the sun doth own : 
 And though the awful fiat shall destroy 
 All things, he shall live in eternal joy : — 
 
 I have baptized him in t 
 
 Of One who suffered lor his sa 
 A gentle being, with a sacred claim 
 On the great human heart in its vast frame :
 
 THE POET S DREAM. 
 
 37 
 
 His words of harmony shall wake 
 The varied nations with a brighter birth, 
 And men shall love him over all the earth. 
 
 Yes ! he shall ever live in joy ; 
 
 And when this world shall disappear, 
 My everlasting, radiant boy, 
 Whom death and sin could not destroy, 
 
 Shall be with me, my soul to cheer ; 
 And this wrapt vision shall become as truo 
 As that sweet holy light that beams on you. 
 
 Apple of discord, roll no more ! 
 
 Transformed, at last, into the fruit, 
 "Wholesome and sound unto the core, 
 Beauteous and blessed on each shore, 
 
 That elevates man 'hove the brute, — 
 The apple of sweet concord thou shalt be, 
 While mountain-streams flow downward to the sea. 
 
 Coneordium ! word of sound ! 
 
 Like music of the heavenly spheres, 
 In theh eternal course around, — 
 Unto God's laws for ever bound, — 
 
 Whose awful brilliancy cheers 
 The wand srer's soul, while looking on the sky, 
 Till he is lost in loving ecstacy. 
 
 The spirit of Peaec is all-pervading, 
 
 And happi u muds h -r throne ; 
 
 The angry passions ne'i r invading, 
 
 The works of gentle love persuading, 
 
 And reckless misery unknown : 
 And when her goodly human work is done, 
 She dies in glory, like the setting sun. 
 
 E
 
 38 IBB poet's dueam. 
 
 See the- glorious sun descending, 
 
 In SWeetel smiles than win 11 hfl rose ; 
 All beauteous colours now ace Minding, 
 Like looks of glowing love, all tending 
 
 'I'd mingle in a sweet repose : 
 Upon the world he casts calm heavenly eyes, 
 Like the last smile in which the good man dies. 
 
 Ah ! now let me depart in peace 
 
 From this dim sublunary scene ; 
 And may the love of God increase 
 With you, with me ; my labours cease, 
 
 And my fond soul become serene 
 And calm to meet a Heavenly Father's face, 
 And find in sacred realms a happy place. 
 
 Adieu ! as now my mortal breath 
 
 Doth whisper love and peace to all ; 
 Now I could smile in beauteous death, 
 Blest with a true and living faith. 
 
 Methinks I hear the sacred call : 
 Harmonious voices from the heavenly blest, 
 Ye choirs of angels, wing me to your rest ! 

 
 TIE WANDEEEKS: 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE WAILINGS OF THE OUTCASTS. 
 
 A RHYM|E 
 
 OF 
 
 MEBCY AND COLONIZATION. 
 
 " To-morrow, to fresh fields and pastures new." 
 
 Milton. 
 
 " O, that the arm of the mighty were mine ! 
 I would plant thee where thou should'st blossom again." 
 
 Wordsworth.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Tins poem Lb tinkling of iambics and 
 spondees, naturally, but nnir of the author, 
 occurring a* the pa words in har- 
 mony with the tone < what nm I in which 
 the whole is written. Ofthesimpl tyle it may be considi 
 a specimen : and al crimina] i 
 The poet should no be a '• book shut, 
 and a fountain sealed," as hi y, must l»e one 
 of mercy. 
 
 The unfortunate "'Wanderers," 'a awakening to con- 
 
 sciousness, fin of nature is oneof puritj 
 
 brightness; their Brst feeling one of d 
 
 large cities; and thi nd themselves 
 
 those to whom they plei ling to t he facts of 
 
 their spiritual eir more fortu- 
 
 nate fellow-creatures, tainted, "both ric ith the bi 
 
 of a fallen humanity. A subtle casuist might maintain, with 
 appearance of plausibility, that th sinful 
 
 an.l ii- unfortunate larly 
 
 constituted, nor placed in tin rcumstani [ually ne- 
 
 glected and surrounded with t n 
 
 Determined ti> "sin I to return to useful labour?, 
 
 they seem to imply that, with a dawning hop yofQOD, 
 
 they wish to amend themselves in this world, providing they should 
 succeed in obtaining thi mate and less sinful 
 
 of their fellow-creatures in power a\ 
 
 There are som intermixed with the 
 
 wailings of the " Wanderers" which i 
 
 Author, nor by the reader; on i principle, it is allowable 
 
 and justifiable, in portraying ol this unfortu- 
 
 nate class of human beini , to ,po sibly, a very repugnant, 
 
 or at least a very obji station of a perturb© 
 
 the human mind; — that many things they have uttered in a tone of 
 complaint, rather than of supplication, may not be the best and n 
 judicious for men in their unfortunate situation; and although! 
 may not be approved of, yet, while thej are petitioning tors m 
 ful consideratic r actions, any impro sentiment and 
 
 language may perhaps be pardonable, and critically considered as 
 their characteristic eipressio itied. 
 
 I have been thanked ral gentlemen of our for taking 
 
 a social subject for a rh i ; and is mn 
 
 that a writer in verse should direct bis pen imm ad effect- 
 
 ively, if possible, to i ers in a progreasive 
 
 course oi edui oal improvement, rather than 
 
 court the Muse inai Ij m I, and sigh mhaimonious cadences 
 
 over faded prospects and disappointed ho] 
 
 E. E.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO NATHAN LLOYD, ESQ. 
 
 Worthy Sir, 
 
 Believing that you have constantly been a friend 
 to many, whose names need not be mentioned ; and that, 
 with an elevation of mind not commonly manifested in 
 commercial circles, you possess a very considerate love 
 for your fellow-creatures, and do not desire to be ad- 
 dressed in terms of even ordinary eulogy; — I have neg- 
 lected to express my gratitude to you ; and I dedicate 
 this rhyme of "The Wanderers" to your name and to 
 your sterling qualities, as a sincere acknowledgment of 
 the many kindnesses I have received at your hands. 
 
 I remain, worthy Sir, 
 
 Your's ever most respectfully, 
 
 ELIJAH RIDINGS. 
 October, 1859.
 
 PREFATORY LINKS. 
 
 One voice, in former days, said we might do 
 
 Better with man than Lang him ;* and another 
 Moan'd, or most piteously sang the felon's woe, 
 
 Looking npon him as an erring brother ; 
 And pray'd for a more potent arm to save, 
 And plant him far beyond the distant wave.t 
 The muse hath sung of Glory's carnage long ; 
 Homer and Virgil have in deathless song 
 Embalm'd both gods and men on crimson page ; 
 The new delight of youth, the old delight of age : 
 Now, here are sinful wanderers lamenting 
 Their own sad fate ; the humble Muse, relenting, 
 Gives them a voice, a mourning, wailing lay : 
 They to their fellow-creatures groan, and pray 
 To live in other lands, and find a better day : 
 Kings are advised, that ignominious death, 
 Adjudged by grey-beard Wisdom, be no more 
 The stain of this brief human scene — life's breath 
 No more be ta'en away on any Christian shore. 
 
 E. R. 
 
 * The celebrated Wilkes. t The poet Wordsworth.
 
 THE WANDEKEBS. 
 
 ^art JFtrst. 
 
 «§«0W bright are the waters, and clear are the streams, 
 c ^ > Where the pilgrims of Nature rejoice in their beams 
 Afar from the cities where follies begin, 
 And where both rich and poor bear the burden of sin.* 
 
 We were lur'd unto scenes of wild folly, betimes ; 
 Ensnar'd into vices, that border on crimes ; 
 0, then, bolder and reckless, and hardened we grew, 
 Till we cared for no law that mankind ever knew. 
 
 Yet, weep for frail wanderers, and weep not in vain 
 For the parents and children, the death-laws have slain ; 
 Weep, too, for the prisoner, whose fate is to bear 
 The dread burden of guilt, with the felon's despair. 
 
 See — the wretch, who is doom'd, all alone, in his cell ; 
 
 In a solitude penal, and dreary as hell ; 
 
 In a sullen impenitence, brood unresigned, 
 
 With a shade o'er his soul, and a cloud o'er his mind. 
 
 * The candid Christian theologian would find himself obliged to 
 illustrate, rather than disprove, this serious charge of the " "Wan- 
 derers," as a genuine Scriptural truth.
 
 44 'HIE WANDERERS. 
 
 Though tlit; land was belov'd, yet the law was defied ; 
 
 But, did ye teach us better, ye children of l'ri 
 
 In the cold, silent cell,* all dejected and lone, 
 
 We might feel we did wrong ; but, who left right undone ? 
 
 O ! would ye but know what our loneliness seem'd ? 
 
 Or, have ye, in hideous night-mare, e'er dreamed ? 
 
 The phantoms of horror would crowd o'er the mind ; 
 
 Tin/ our eyes were unclos'd, yet, their sense remain'd blind. 
 
 For the life we have led, and our woe and our shame, 
 An there none in the world but ourselves ye may blame ? 
 Have we seen aught above us, but powerful Pride? 
 All around, or beneath us, but what ye deride I 
 
 A laborious poverty clad in its rags, 
 While both Jew, and Christian,t were filling their bags 
 With the bright, golden dust, for pul-Mammon a shrine, 
 Every day iu the week, to regard as divine. 
 
 In the richest domain of the world ever known, 
 With a motherly Queen over all, on the throne ; 
 "With our nobles like princes, our merchants the same, 
 And a people who boast of the patriot-flame ; 
 
 With a clergy to preach soothing words to the soul, 
 "While the body may starve upon Charity's dole, — 
 Every nine parts in ten the rich few feast upon, 
 "Wlule the poor, suffering many are left only one. 
 
 * The " silent system" has a tendency to produce idiotcy and 
 euicide in certain individu 
 
 t They arc not genuine Christiana who act in this manner ; but 
 they would make great pro.' their sincere beHtf, no doubt, 
 
 leaving practical Cliriatianity out of the question.
 
 THE WANDERERS. 45 
 
 ! we cannot get work on our own native strand, 
 Although thousands of acres lie waste in the land ; 
 In marshes and mosses, a wilderness void ; 
 In wild fens and rude moorlands still, still unemployed. 
 
 We could dig, plough, and sow even that barren ground, 
 And sweet bread-corn and cattle-grass soon might abound ; 
 And the suns of the summer and autumn might smile 
 On the work of our hands, in our own native isle. 
 
 O ! we speak not to stocks, nor to stones, but to men ; 
 And we pray to be heard, and allowed, once again, 
 To try, if by labour and love, we e'er can, 
 With the mercy of God, find the mercy of man. 
 
 Our doom is to labour,- — the doom of our race, — 
 And the sweat-drops may trickle down each pallid face, 
 Until dust unto dust be returned over earth, 
 And the spirit depart whence it sprang into birth. 
 
 ! what would ye get by the pains of our death, 
 If the cord of the hangman should stifle our breath ? 
 The voice of our children would dreadfully sound, 
 In sad moans o'er our ashes, beneath the cold ground. 
 
 o* 
 
 And what have we gain'd by our solitude lone, 
 
 With our minds in the dark, and our hearts cold as stone ; 
 
 With a sickness of soul, far away from the light, 
 
 In the dungeon's dread gloom, in the silence of night ?* 
 
 * In portraying the probable sentiments of this unfortunate 
 class of society, it is not necessary or suitable for an author to give 
 his own opinions, but those which may be supposed to be the general 
 characteristic sentiments of this class of men themselves.
 
 40 TFIE WANDERERS. 
 
 ! send us away from the city and town, 
 That the heavens may look down over all without frown ; 
 And our hony and muscular hands may keep strong, 
 In laborious work, with a thanksgiving song. 
 
 Lot us seek out new paths in the forest and glen ; 
 Taste waters, as yet uncorrupted by men ; 
 With the streams for our drink, and the fish for our food, 
 Re-baptize, one and all, in a life-giving flood. 
 
 O ! he warn'd by the nations, no more in the world, 
 Whose cities of pride into ruin were lmiTd ; 
 Where temples, and towers, and vast columns were found, 
 In terrible ruins, all down to the ground : 
 
 And the traveller seeks them, and mourns o'er the scene, 
 And can tell us what glorious nations have been : 
 But, we hope that the temples of England may stay, 
 For long ages to come, all defying decay. 
 
 As your commerce extends, and your numbers increase, 
 Take good care that your cotton and corn may not cease, 
 For both belly and back all the wants to supply, 
 Or, the children of Labour may pine, starve, and die.* 
 
 Then, look to tho future, ye mercantile men, 
 5 i scholars and clerks, who can handle the pen ! 
 The child of misfortune, in darkness and sorrow, 
 Still hopes for tho dawn of a brighter to-morrow. 
 
 • Let us hope that the cultivation of both, under the dispensa- 
 tions of a beneficent Providence, and the blessing of a perfect com- 
 mercta] Liberty, may long keep the evils of scarcity in either corn or 
 cotton "far away" from US. With a population increasing from 
 various sources, monopoly inflicts at times the natural evils of scar- 
 city, deamess, or famine jrrices. [The reader will perceive that this 
 poem and note were written several years ago.]
 
 THE WANDERERS. 47 
 
 The sun of the morning hath gloriously shone, 
 
 And in splendour he beams on his high, noon-day throne ; 
 
 But now he descendeth adown the far west, 
 
 And beseems like the god of day taking his rest : 
 
 Yet, we know that he shineth on nations afar, 
 
 In his power and his glory o'er every star ; 
 
 And on wings of the bird, or the wind, we would flee, 
 
 And follow his grand march across the wide sea.
 
 
 Till; WANDERERS, 
 
 \hxi SrroirtJ. 
 
 r ^ j tide have faded away, 
 
 The autumn - red and 
 
 And t!.' winl 
 
 The fruit trei 
 
 Al , • b for mon 
 
 Another I blooming alive : 
 
 Hut, whi 
 
 < >. '. 
 
 u laud, can no more find repo 
 
 Where wisd ml '' 'I"'' 1 '' ; 
 
 And th 
 
 ,tiii, lit 'y ; 
 
 eye ; 
 ■ onrway. 
 
 I 1 within t' : power, 
 
 -\Vi. m ltour, 
 
 1- ih i • no 1 dm, and 
 
 Where yoxu may hide their disgrace ?
 
 THE WANDERERS. 49 
 
 0, give us the convict-ship back, once again, 
 
 And a pilot to guide us far over the main : 
 
 Soon redemption may follow our present ill fate, 
 
 And your wisdom may cleanse a dark spot from the state. 
 
 To the Land of out Fathers we would bid farewell. 
 That our wives and our children may cheerfully tell 
 
 "We were seeking fresh fields aud new pastures abroad, 
 To become better men, with the blessing of God. 
 
 ('nine, provide us with implements, or proper tools, 
 And send wise men to guide us, with lines, and with rules: 
 From the west to the east, from the south to the north, 
 Soon a smooth, goodly way from our hands shall spring forth. 
 
 There is wealth on the land, and the goodliest store 
 In the bosom of earth ; in the sea there is more ; 
 0, more, ever more, as our labours improve, 
 Exhaustless as is the deep fountain of Love. 
 
 0, soon shall our cabins and cot rages rise ; 
 
 And a temple shall point its high dome to the skies ; 
 
 And a preacher and brotherhood timely be there, 
 
 To advise, and to teach, and to soothe us with prayer. 
 
 The crooked shall soon be made straight 'neath our hands, 
 The rough places plain, as true wisdom commands ; 
 The savage may flee, and the wild beast depart, 
 As we gird up our loins, with a firmness of heart. 
 
 O, the woods we will clear, and the marshes we'll drain, 
 Good roads we will make over mountain and plain, 
 For the pilgrims of peace, from the nations afar, 
 Or the iron-bound f e et of the cohorts of war. 
 F
 
 c Tin; WANDBBEB8. 
 
 < i. pray li I 
 
 ' .wingthrough prairi< 
 
 ; long mi 
 0rj wn , ■ ■ m 'in throu defiles; 
 
 An 1 the pin "" ]n '^' 
 
 Lift up their tall forms to the heavenward Bky : 
 
 Percham >' "'"''"- 
 
 A Wyomh 
 
 o, can we no • :i "' 1 delve u 
 
 -|- h . mountains asundi 
 
 The old forest-giants Boon prostrate shall fall, 
 
 work out our thrall. 
 
 Lj] rchonourway, 
 
 From the dreadfullest dai V '■ 
 
 In the v. ' ,llr deepest ravine, 
 
 The red rose of I shall blazon its sheen. 
 
 A village may ri e, and a town soon becoi 
 And tli- ; '" ' bloom : 
 
 A city may spring in thi ■•■ shall fell, 
 
 And give life to a kingdom where non 
 
 " Wyomin - ,lllf '" 
 
 curaton 
 
 ; 6. Wyoming 
 
 a . for 
 
 ■ 
 
 luxuriant fertility of t ; i 
 
 , etical < fforte, hi 
 
 lOza, of suiiaiiicxl beauty and 
 i.—Vidt "Gertrude of Wyoming."
 
 THE WANDERERS. 5 1 
 
 And fresh lessons to man may be traced on the plain, 
 As refreshing to him, as the dew, or the rain, 
 To the traveller athirst, on his lone, arid way, 
 And prove welcome, withal, as the light of the day. 
 
 A messenger came to mankind, we are told, 
 "With good tidings to all, both the yonng and the old ; 
 To the Jews, who were deaf — to the Gentiles, who heard, 
 And regarded the message, in every word : 
 
 But, the love of His Law, and the law of His Love, 
 Although stamp (1 with the seal of our Father above, 
 Both sovereigns and subjects too often may break ; 
 ! then, pity poor wanderers all for His sake. 
 
 AVhat are scaffolds and chains, and the gloomiest cells, 
 And the frowns of mankind, to the bosom that swells 
 With the warm, glowing love of the Christian man, 
 Eesolv'd to subdue on the Christian plan ? 
 
 On the bosom of virtue may modesty beam, 
 On the breast of the faithful religion may gleam, 
 On the hearts of the living and dying may shine 
 The fair angei'of Hope, and of Mercy divine. 
 
 "While the sun of the heavens doth smile on the earth, 
 And the field-flowers glow in their earliest birth ; 
 While the stars of the firmament brighten the night, 
 And the true woman's breast is to man a delight : 
 
 Though the goddess of Justice hold equal her scales, 
 Yet, a heavenly law over Nature \ revails ; 
 And so shall the Crown in true dignity shine, 
 As it brightens our path with its mercy divine.
 
 5* 
 
 THE WANDERERS. 
 
 IJart vTbirU. 
 
 T X tin- midst of the ocean vast islands are found, 
 • . In the southernmost sea brightest riches abound ; 
 Where the mountains grow jewels, the sands glow with gold, 
 And give wealth unto man. more than ever was told. 
 
 < i : «re sigh f>>r the wings of fly 
 
 Par away, Caraway, to the southernrao 
 
 .is quick as til- Mm over mountain and main, 
 To prepare for the good time, that's coming again. 
 
 Far away lei ns go, let us go Car av. 
 
 And leave all kith and kindred for some brighter day : 
 
 Now old Troy is a tale, and Palmyra a name, 
 
 And of Carthage there nothing is known, but its fame 
 
 Yet, some Bplendid city may look on the sea, 
 And it- records may t>'U ol' the Land of the Fn . 
 That 'twas u- C>rtli in its struggle and .strife, 
 
 When a future < lolumbia «lnth Btart into life.t 
 
 • T: Carthage Ii •ii-i>ute. 
 
 1 1 knew nothing of New Columbia when this was written : 
 • •f \ anconver i=- known ton i general.
 
 THE WANDERERS. 53 
 
 With wearisome footsteps, benighted and sad, 
 On the main-roads and cross-roads we wander half-mad ; 
 And we find sods and stones, which the old Romans piled, 
 When our island they found full of rude woodlands wild : 
 
 0, we ardently sigh in such labours to share, 
 
 And be sav'd by good work from the deepest despair : 
 
 Let us go far away, far away let us go ; 
 
 ! hitherward — thitherward bearing our woe. 
 
 Let us go far away, far away let us go, 
 We ne'er can become to each other a foe ; 
 Misfortune hath link'd us in brotherly chains, 
 And repentance may wipe out the deepest of stains. 
 
 ! we long to bo gone, ere the coming of morn, 
 As we wearily wander forth, sad and forlorn ; 
 Ere the fall of the night, far away let us go ; 
 0, hitherward — thitherward bearing our woe. 
 
 0, can ye explain to the poor, simple mind, 
 
 In adversity ever bewikler'd and blind, 
 
 The mysterious cause that increaseth our sorrow, 
 
 And follows our footsteps, on each coming morrow ? 
 
 Yet, oft have we heard in our dreams, a kind voice, 
 That hath made, for the while, each poor heart to rej oice ; 
 But, wakening, soon found the sweet slumber deceive ; 
 Yet, the spirit within us would hope and believe. 
 
 " Come, slumberers, awake, your deliverer's come, 
 No longer lie there as if wrapt in the tomb ; 
 The sceptre of Power doth incline towards your feet, 
 No longer your crimes with another shall meet :* 
 
 * A man commits a crime in the eye of the law, which commits 
 another in a vain and abortive attempt to amend and humanize others
 
 54 "ii: wam; 
 
 •• I me, p a-, en in hall be shewn, 
 
 A V i 1 1 1 n taron l"r yonr guide, Iron nly tlirone : 
 
 i it, love it : 
 Nor turn. Ltfce the w tally ba . 
 
 no more, 
 native land, <>r the Indian d 
 And wherever ye may place your feel on Che earth, 
 V knowledj trr's birth : 
 
 '• Wherever ye be in the wild woods afar, 
 Prize wisdom mm-h better than v of war ; 
 
 And ye surely shall find, as your minds may impro 
 How indebted ye are to your Saviour's love. 
 
 "Go, go, wanden rs, 
 
 And may all-seeing Pro* idence merciful i 
 
 R joice that yon came from a Christian land, 
 
 Where Religion hath reigned with its influence bland, — 
 
 "The delight of thf sage, in 1m ran old, 
 
 ; Power and haw, often cruel and cold 
 As the fate ye h in your own gloomy day, 
 
 That now bright t 'neath a merciful Bway." 
 
 If dread power thus respond to our woeful Ian 
 We will kneel down, in prayer, with a I J intenl ; 
 
 We will bless our good Queen, and her < 'ouncil of Lo; 
 And our gentlemen all, in sin '-words; 
 
 by a bdu- 
 
 If 
 
 wild 
 
 iw, with r able 
 
 with i be [railtiee at this 
 
 the passions.
 
 THE WANDERERS. 55 
 
 And our soldiers and sailors, of every degree, 
 "Where'er on the land, or where'er on the sea ; 
 We will pray for the high, and forget not the low, 
 As we hither or thither may work out our woe. 
 
 We will treasure in heart the sweet songs of our youth, 
 And shall never forget the old psalm of the truth ; 
 We shall ever remember old stories and tales, 
 And cherish the names of old England and Wales ; 
 
 And of Scotland, and Ireland, the sisterly isle, 
 Where the valleys and mountains beam Liberty's smile, 
 And the great sea surrounds with a silvery zone, 
 And binds fast all the sons of the free into one. 
 
 Yet, may we all sigh to leave Albion's strand, 
 
 Her good ships, the strong bulwarks of the mighty land ; 
 
 Her palaces proud, her cathedrals and towers ; 
 
 Her famous old cities, and green woodland bowers ; 
 
 Her beautiful hills, that look out on the sea, 
 Where the beacon-fires blazed for the sons of the free ; 
 And leave, too, alas ! her calm valleys and dells, 
 And never more hear the sweet village church bells. 
 
 Remembrance will dwell o'er our dear native bowers, 
 The green hedge-rows, and gardens, and sweet-scented 
 
 flowers, 
 And the dearest of scenes, the old footpath and stile, 
 "Where true love exchanged oft an innocent smile : 
 
 And, betimes, we might sigh for our dear native home, 
 No more in our own fragrant gardens to roam : 
 Yet, welcome the wilderness to wretched men, 
 Either prairie or desert, to blossom again. 
 
 ( i
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS: 
 
 OR, 
 
 AN ENGLISHMAN'S DOMESTIC VIEW OF HIS 
 POLITICAL POSITION. 
 
 A KHYME 
 
 OP 
 
 COMMERCE, LIBERTY, AND THE RIGHTS OF 
 NATIONS. 
 
 " Am I the friend of night — of silence 1" 
 
 BERANGER.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IN the course of my political experience I have observed that the 
 obstinate conduct of the two last Georges, as monarchs of Great Bri- 
 tain, contributed greatly towards making the whole line of the Guelphs 
 particularly repulsive to the patriotism of their subjects; so much, 
 indeed, that in my early youth there were calls and cravings in almost 
 every city, borough, town, and village, either for a change of the Royal 
 line, or even for a Protectorate or a Republic at once. 
 
 Many of the periodicals of that time breathed a deep-rooted feeling 
 against the principle of monarchy; and Dr. Knox's treatise on the 
 '■Spirit of Despotism," and Hazlitt's essay on the "Spirit of Mon- 
 archy," which appeared in the "Liberal, or "Verse and Prose from 
 the South," are highly eloquent expositions of the evils against which 
 the people had good cause to complain. 
 
 I have further observed, that when the Sailor King came to the 
 throne, this feeling became somewhat softened, if not subdued. When 
 the Queen, Victoria, ascended the throne, and her uncle had left this 
 country for the kingdom of Hanover — the " galloping, dreary Dun" 
 of Thomas :Moore, — the sentiments of the people with reference to 
 the Royal line became calm and serene, and the public heart seemed 
 to beat with something like hope for the future. Wiser heads than 
 mine ever pretended to be, nodded an affirmative intimation that the 
 British monarchy had been saved for a hundred, possibly for a thou- 
 sand years. There was great truth in these forebodings. 
 
 I observe now that the country is loyal at its heart's core ; and I 
 am speaking advisedly when I say that the old parliamentary 
 reformers have contributed as much as any class of men to this 
 desirable state of the public feeling, and have laid their sincere and 
 grateful offerings, however humble they may have been, on the 
 consolidated shrine of the British Constitution. 
 
 Amongst such things, this effusion, entitled " The Volunteers, or 
 an Englishman's Domestic View of his Political Position," may be 
 considered the least acceptable. By many it may be considered inju- 
 dicious, too liberal, or too illiberal ; by others too loyal, and by some 
 downright radical : but I am not one of those who would lay their 
 humble mite on the shrine of Monarchy without contributing some- 
 thing, at the same time, to the altar of Public Libertj'. I use, in 
 doing so, an accustomed weapon — the only one familiar to my hand — 
 in defence of that movement which I consider wholesome and salutary 
 in all its various aspects. 
 
 ELIJAH RIDINGS. 
 February 8, 1860.
 
 PREFATORY LINES. 
 
 In ESighten 1 1 ..mlrerl and Nineteen I stood 
 
 Upon the famous Held of Peterloo, — 
 Whore, met to do their common country good, 
 
 The million wen', the harmless and the true, — 
 Beside the banner, on which was inscribed 
 
 Words breathing freedom for the trade in corn ; 
 The Yeomanry, who had strong drink imbibed, 
 
 Dispersed the people with their haulers torn : 
 Many were killed, and hundreds wounded sore; 
 
 A Lancer oflicer became my friend, 
 Waving his sword o'er th' path I might explore, 
 
 And his assistance he did kindly lend. 
 Forty long years have travelled to the past, 
 
 The future brighter unto me beseems ; 
 True liberty shall be man's lot at hist, 
 
 Or I am troubled with deceiving dreams: 
 Meanwhile, a simple poet's tumble pen 
 May speak to soldiers, and to gentlemen ; 
 And. after many years of worldly strife, 
 I now must thank a Boldier for my life. 
 
 E. R. 
 
 :ary 10, 1860.
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 .ijjoAIL to the isles ! the British isles, 
 ( Qr j Whose white cliffs look upoii the sea ; 
 The land where heaven-born freedom smiles, 
 
 Isles of the brave. and of the free : 
 Laud of the learned Saxon King !* 
 
 Land that disowns the feet of slaves ; 
 Land where the patriot's heart shall cling 
 
 Around her like tlr eternal waves. 
 
 The isles where Shakspere gave mankind 
 Immortal gifts from Nature's lyre ; 
 
 Where learned Milton, old and blind, 
 Breathed the sublime, ethereal lire : 
 
 Where Cromwell humbled royal pride, 
 
 That owned no1 l's heavenly birth- 
 
 id firm, with Milton by his side, 
 Enforcing human right on earth. 
 
 Mine is no Muse of classic fame : 
 
 She breathes a simple English song ; 
 
 With lingering life, and humble name, 
 My sojoxirn here may not be long : 
 
 * Alfred the Great.
 
 •nil. \ OLU> I I i 
 
 N',, pythoness, Qor sibyl <>M,* 
 
 The Muse unseals no mystic leavi 
 
 But, to the timid and the bold, 
 Bequeathes the dowry she receivi 
 
 Le1 u^ )"■ quiel in our borne, 
 
 And ever peaceful in our day ; 
 But, should the foreign warriors o >, 
 
 We \siii arise and bar their way : 
 We will nol wail till iron feel 
 
 Have trampled down our garden Bowers ; 
 But rushing forth the foe to n 
 
 We will '1' fend our native lowers. 
 
 Ours is ii" dream of liberty : 
 
 The real and the true we find : 
 Witb native Bense our eyes can & 
 
 We are nol number'd with the blind ; 
 dm- liberty Bhall nev< r cease; 
 
 'Tis ii\''l as the brighl polar star ; 
 And ■ till inclin'd for p 
 
 Although we now prepare for war. 
 
 Come, let the banner be unfurl'd, 
 The couchant lion there display' d, 
 
 To watch the universal world, 
 
 And guard the empire of our trade ; 
 
 And, pictur'd on the o1 ride, 
 
 commi roe with b< i i y< of lights 
 
 Shunning the field with life-blood dyed, 
 A n i 'ii in war's fell light. 
 
 • Pythoness : a prophesying priestess of antiquity. Sibyl : there 
 wan Qumeroiu ribyte; but the only one I shall notice wu l'liemonoo 
 la, the daughter of Apollo, aud who first gayc out oraclw at 
 ibl, and invented heroic vcr*'.
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS. 63 
 
 Bright Commerce, enemy of war, 
 
 Mild harbinger of earthly good, 
 Enthron'd in a more splendid car 
 
 Than ever roll'd through fields of blood ; 
 0, let us from her fruitful hand 
 
 Accept her gifts from every sea, 
 Reciprocate with every land 
 
 The heavenly dower of liberty. 
 
 Loving the million there is One, 
 
 A tribune of their honesty, 
 In senate silent, speeding on, 
 
 Fledged with the wings of Mercury ; 
 Full-charged with the most stubborn things, 
 
 Facts, marshalled forth in bright array, 
 Alighting in the courts of kings, 
 
 To spread them to eternal day. 
 
 And who is he ? what splendid name 
 
 Of ancient, or of modern school ? 
 Solon's, or Franklin's, known to fame, 
 
 Who thought and spoke by Nature's rule ? 
 Who is this messenger of peace ? 
 
 Who bears the Queen's commission now ? 
 AVhose goodly work will never cease, 
 
 Till death has blanched that noble brow ? 
 
 .* 
 
 Cobden ! the lucid, simple man, 
 
 Whom neither Cam, nor Isis boasts ;* 
 He, of the universal plan, 
 
 Who vanquish' cl old protection's hosts : 
 What hall patrician bears his name ? 
 
 Who such material good has done ? 
 A work of purer, brighter fame, 
 
 Than ever warrior sought or won. 
 
 * The Universities of Cambridge and Oxford.
 
 64 Tiir. v- 
 
 What i onqu 
 
 Such V 
 
 A boon :li 
 
 i blood : 
 
 t in, : childri 
 
 Smile in th 
 
 As I | hea 
 
 ( 'nine, .''11 youth, 
 
 Stand firmly on your native plain, 
 In the gi 'ill'. 
 
 Uphold i i ign : 
 
 Mild mother of the Briti 
 
 Who gracetli well the monarch's throne, 
 And owns her | i her sun. 
 
 And rul with her \<>\ 
 
 Whate'er your Beet, wha 
 
 Whate'er the party ; dn, 
 
 This is \ ] 
 Thi 
 
 Minglin 
 To bid the British h 
 
 And one. 
 
 In i 
 
 And in the 
 Let tli ( ow 
 
 An 
 
 And I 
 
 That we prefi r | 
 
 rord.
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS. 65 
 
 Dome, York and Lancaster, march on ! 
 
 Your houses are united here ; 
 Red Rose and White are both as one, 
 
 Their fragrance mingles in the air : 
 Hind each for each, the martial wreath, 
 
 Not the Plantaganet's rude broom ; 
 But let the Mowers, so sweet in death, 
 
 Around your manly temples bloom. 
 
 Come, from the Lancasterian vales, 
 
 Come from old Ebor's rugged hills ; 
 Now, unity and strength prevails ; 
 
 Your country's love each bosom thrills : 
 Come, altogether meet the foe, 
 
 The native conquerors to be ; 
 Whoever strikes aggressive blow 
 
 J Lust soon retreat into the sea. 
 
 Come, soldier-youth, who will not yield — 
 
 Come, soldier-man, and lead them on ; 
 Experienced in the tented field, 
 
 And the old school of Wellington : 
 Ye x: ill be worthy of a place 
 
 Within the temple of true fame ; 
 Ye will be worthy of your race, 
 
 Ye will be worthy of your name. 
 
 Love not the gold, ye English youth, 
 
 Esteem not mere material wealth ; 
 But worship every noble truth, 
 
 And keep both heart and soul in health ; 
 Eschew corrupt, effeminate arts, 
 
 The weak refinements of the age, 
 Am! cherish in your generous hearts 
 
 The patriot's and the poet's page.
 
 66 THE \"i UHTEBRB. 
 
 0, may we never see the day— 
 May heaven avert the awful hour 
 
 That broods another Castlereagh, 
 
 To stain with bl 1 the reins of Power : 
 
 Ah ! should our dear old native land 
 To despots on'> more subject be, 
 
 Yours is the 8Bgl8* and the hand 
 To set your native country free. 
 
 Be ye no mere imperial guard, 
 
 Nor band Praetorian of old Rome;* 
 Seek for the patriots reward, 
 
 Who will defend his native home : 
 "When patriot-kin- or patriot-queen 
 
 Doth reign, he patriot-soldiers, then; 
 And should the tyrant intervene, 
 
 Boldly assert your rights as men. 
 
 Come, stolid Englishman, thy worth 
 
 Ih. oft been tried from east to west ; 
 In every circle of the earth 
 
 Thy brothers sleep the soldier's rest : 
 March on, ye British Volunteers ! 
 
 With measured step of l.uoyant feel ; 
 Your music every bosom cheers, 
 
 And every pnlso with yours shall beat. 
 
 Encircled by the awful sea, 
 
 The hills and vales of Britain view; 
 
 II, r children numbered with the free, 
 The noble, ■ and true : 
 
 * ^gis.n shield: tin- shield od Jupiter. 
 trratorian band: of the ancient Romans.aad who gene- 
 rally elect..! the
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS. 67 
 
 Brave hearts ! within a thousand fields 
 
 Of fiercest battle ye have bled : 
 The Briton never, never yields, 
 
 When by some gallant chieftain led. 
 
 Brave men ! within the patriot's heart 
 
 There glows a vital heavenly flame : 
 Eternity will mark your part 
 
 Upon the glorious field of fame. 
 Give ye, upon the mighty sea, 
 
 Another Nelson to command ; 
 Another Wellington, to be 
 
 The leading hero of the land. 
 
 We did at Cressy win the field, 
 
 And triumphed, too, at Agincourt ;* 
 And shall we now to others yield ? 
 
 A fate the world might well deplore : 
 No ! foot to foot, and hand to hand, 
 
 We'll live or die in freedom's cause, 
 And struggle for our native land, 
 
 Regardless of the world's applause. 
 
 The hero needs not my poor praise ; 
 
 Nor Philip's son, of Macedon, 
 Nor Caesar crowned with Roman bays, 
 
 Were greater than Napoleon ; 
 Yet Providence discrowned his brow, 
 
 And St. Helena was his doom : 
 Alas ! I mourn the hero now, 
 
 And may for many years to come. 
 
 * Cressy and Agincourt, villages in France, where battles were fought 
 between France and England.
 
 6S THE VOLUNTB] 
 
 i i fai is G 
 
 I • won upon the Belgian field ; 
 I drag no monsb ra into light, 
 
 Nor taunt greal France w ith England's bMi Id . 
 On eagle-pennons borne away, 
 
 N:; the son; 
 
 Imperial wings are bn1 of clay — 
 
 They melt— Ambition's child is ,lz< >i i. -. 
 
 Ah ! should the Muse adorn this rhyme 
 
 With one imperial famous name, 
 The dre id enigma of the time — 
 
 The sphynx — the Gordian knot of fame? 
 O'fi i would cast ;i smile, 
 
 And night should have one cheerful ray ; 
 "i at I may wait a long, long while, 
 
 To know t! I of his day. 
 
 Now, while we feel i>ur country I 
 
 I. • lie a sigh for every slave, 
 
 And wish that every despot I" 1 
 
 < 'onsigned ante eful grave ; 
 
 And priestly power o'er civil law, — 
 
 l'.\ prejudice and ignorance given, 
 To keep the human soul in awe, — 
 
 Be scattered to the winds of hi aven. 
 
 All : ttaly ! ah ! sacred Rome ! 
 
 Debased more than a thousand y< 
 0, when shall thy millenium con 
 
 And free mankind from priestly fi 
 
 ,v light J I ' man cried ;* 
 
 In lit'" ami death tie- lighl give me : 
 I ' akni and demons multiplied 
 
 Bh ill not rob us of liberty. 
 
 • The last ■ German poem <•)
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS. 6p 
 
 I il.l Vatican ! thy learned store, 
 
 Like fruit transformed to dust or day, 
 How must the mental world deplore 
 
 Thy riches mouldering away : 
 Call from the past thine ancient gods, 
 
 Bid them, with classic ardour, come 
 From their celestial abodes, 
 
 And seal the Tope's eternal doom.' 
 
 Arise, Hungarian! bold Magyar ! 
 
 Thy songs breathe like Apollo's lyre ! 
 Arise, prepare for freedom's war, 
 
 To] : i thy heart's desire : 
 
 No longer hear a foreign yoke, 
 
 No longer kiss t Le Austrian rod 
 Assert what Kossuth bravely spoke, 
 
 And leave the victory to God. 
 
 Tct Hapsburgh govern well her own, 
 Ere she your governor can be, 
 
 Nor on the spirit of freedom frown, 
 
 And plunge ye into slavery : 
 Ah, bjsave Hungarian! bold Magyar ! 
 
 The sun of Heaven upon thee smiles ; 
 And for thee, with thee, though afar, 
 
 Sounds many a voice in Britain's isles. 
 
 Britons, expect the coming day, 
 
 Be ready every passing hour, 
 Nor wait until the foe display 
 
 His brilliant and imposing power : 
 
 * i. e., the temporal and spiritual jurisdiction. Catholicism is un- 
 doubtedly inimical to every social compact but its own. Had not the 
 philosophic light of antiquity ;i brighter ray lor humanity to be 
 guided by. than the gloom infernal of bigotry and intolerance ?
 
 yo 'i' hi: voluntki 
 
 What ! Bhall we wait unto the lust, 
 
 Stand trembling between hope and fear, 
 
 I'ntil the Rubicon is pa- 
 Ami Ca ' Legions are h 
 
 We BhaU be ready soon, I trow : 
 
 All ready, too, for war or peai e, 
 To wield the sword, or guide the plough, 
 
 i n gi\ i i" slavery a relea 
 The field of bl I we fain would slum ; 
 
 Yel if we must, we must, and then 
 ( >ur gloi ions duty shall be done : 
 
 To fa i death like Englishmen. 
 
 All thai fcal i -1 on the die 
 
 That's cast between as and our right ; 
 i ) ! may the great All- eeing I 
 
 I .,i »ke us not in stubborn tight : 
 If scar, or wound, or death-blow come, 
 
 !u thus contending whicb must rule, 
 "Who would not die for heart and home .' 
 
 Who live one hour a coward-fool ? 
 
 Ah ! should the mortal conflict last 
 
 One hour, one day, one moon, or more, 
 Bound to our country firm and last, 
 
 Struggling among the reekinj 
 Then, Lour leans their strength unfold, 
 
 'Mid shriek, and groan, and dying cry ; 
 And !"■ the victor-hearl - of old, 
 
 (»r in the blaze of glory die. 
 
 ii.icon, a river, whi' aoi permitted to peas by the 
 note "t i; ■■.
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS. 7 1 
 
 0, may no superstitious sound 
 
 Annoy lis in the hour of death : 
 Open the turf on battle-ground, 
 
 If there we lose our vital breath, 
 Or light a glorious funeral pile, 
 
 When valour's spirit is set free, 
 And let a brave and chosen file 
 
 Fire volleys three for victory. 
 
 Then, as the lambent flames ascend, 
 
 Aspiring heavenward to the skies, 
 Like some old Roman's be our end, 
 
 The greatly brave, the deeply wise : 
 .And when the fire shall cease to bum, 
 
 And be exhaled to empty air, 
 Gather our ashes in the urn 
 
 Bequeathed unto our country's care. 
 
 On this Memorial of the Free 
 
 Engrave no vain, presumptuous word ; 
 The epigraph of LIBERTY 
 
 AVill be sufficient to record : 
 While vainer minds and hearts bewail 
 
 O'er gilded tombs of power and pride, 
 Let this remain to tell the tale 
 
 Of those who truly lived and died. 
 
 Yet, should we fall not with the slain ; 
 
 Our foes' tumultuous blood be spilt ; 
 Let every drop and every stain 
 
 Be cast upon ambition's guilt : 
 The Heavens will smile, and haste the day 
 
 When war shall cease and be no more, 
 If we regard that gentle ray 
 
 That guides us to a happier shore.
 
 THE ENGLISH TRIBUNE: 
 
 A RHYME 
 
 OF 
 
 LIBERTY J^TSSJD PEOGRESS. 
 
 "— Feed on thoughts that voluntary move 
 
 Harmonious numbers." 
 
 Milton. 
 
 " When shall I see revived the days dreamed by me ?" 
 
 Beranger. 
 
 H
 
 THE ENGLISH TRIBUNE. 
 
 ■ REVIVE, revive my heart once more ! 
 <i£ The genial feelings to regain ; 
 And touch the heart unto the core, 
 
 As I was wont in George's reign : 
 Sweet music of my mother-tongue ! 
 
 The wood-notes of my native grove 
 Were not so sweet, when I was young, 
 
 As words of liberty and love. 
 
 Tribune, go on ! but gradually, 
 
 If you would have us safely free, 
 Consolidating liberty, 
 
 Till each with every part agree : 
 Recede not — never more return 
 
 To slavish medireval gloom ; 
 But let the glorious blazon burn, 
 
 That keeps us from a darksome doom. 
 
 This is no time to retrograde ; 
 
 The light of Heaven can not mislead, 
 Though superstition may degrade 
 
 Those who adopt another's creed : 
 Believe your own ! Have confidence 
 
 That God is not a demon grown ; 
 Bring heart and soul to common sense ; 
 
 Repose on your own faith alone.
 
 •j6 THE BKGLMH TRIBT7NS, 
 
 I ncr.] qo priestcraft me to bl< 
 
 An.! smile at e'en the Papal curse ; — 
 Words of audacious wickedm . 
 
 Pitted for fools, or something worse ; 
 Prom i rambling mediaeval Leaves 
 
 i >f monkish darkness they hare sprung ; 
 Who utters them perchance receives 
 
 Eternal blisters on Lis tongue.* 
 
 "What would I do were I a kiii!_c. 
 
 And Pope with canons used me ill, 
 Or my true subjects ? — the Bame thing — 
 
 I would forget him in my will : 
 Nought human 's alien to kin^s 
 
 Nor me ; and I should tell him plain 
 That I had cannon— fearful things — 
 
 ]f he hut thus denounced my reign. 
 
 Priests have no power to curse or bless ; 
 
 I heed them not in my old school : 
 Religion gives mc cheerfulni 
 
 I ueed no higot for my fool 
 
 What ! tli'iu the minister of good ! 
 
 Thou hast uot even nature's ^race ! 
 1 ■". i 1 the itching of thy blood, 
 
 Ami unto wiser men give place. 
 
 Bewildered in a forest dark, 
 
 With one small torch, my only guide, 
 A Btranger came, and had.' me mark 
 His words, as be paced by my side : 
 
 • r mean here, that whoever attempts to curse his fellow-croa- 
 
 tnrea i- the likeliest, before the thr • «i Btemal .lustice, to bear tb/ 
 
 burden of the curbo that liu would have given to others.— E. It.
 
 THE ENGLISH TRIBUNE. 77 
 
 "Friend, friend !" quoth he, "if thou wouldst mako 
 Thy path more certain, and go right, 
 
 Thou must thy little torch forsake : 
 Come, instantly blow out thy light." 
 
 And who was he ? Now, mark and learn : 
 
 A priest — one of the evil eye ; 
 With wicked cunning to discern 
 
 The smallest spark of liberty. 
 God gave me reason for my light : 
 
 A sacred gift — a blessed dole ; 
 The priest would quench it, day and night, 
 
 And if he could not, quench my soul.* 
 
 In every circle he would roll 
 
 Old Discord's apple on the earth ; 
 And kill the body and the soul, 
 
 Or reproduce a mental dearth. 
 Sacred Spirit ! am I wrong 
 
 To use the light which Thou hast given ? 
 The consolation of my song ! 
 
 No — light and concord are of Heaven. 
 
 Ah ! Time has blanch' d my auburn hair, 
 
 Conserved my heart above the base, 
 And taught me to behold as fail', 
 
 Some freckles on my country's face : 
 The stains on our escutcheon, 
 
 In patriot-love, fade from my sight, 
 As spots upon the noon-day sun 
 
 Are hidden in the blaze of light. 
 
 * Bewildered in an immense forest, with only one small torch 
 for my guide, a stranger approached, and thus addressed me : — 
 " Friend, blow out thy light, if thou wouldst make sure of the right 
 path." That stranger was a priest.— D.
 
 78 Tin: BNOLISB TBIBUHB, 
 
 ad upon my native heath, 
 
 Bui not one inch of earth is mino ; 
 I boasl no riches but my breath, 
 
 Y i hold a title all divine : 
 "I'Ls thai of Man, in i ;th, 
 
 Who ueeds uo parchmeul x< > 1 1 to \> 
 He nni-t be enfranchised at length, 
 
 When mi n appreciate human love. 
 
 Money hath power t<> curse or bless — 
 
 To give the guerdon or the bribe — 
 J'.ut never, uever happiness 
 
 To I it Mim or to Jewish tribe : 
 Y' t of this age what is the god ? 
 
 Wl i worship and adore ? 
 
 Ah ! would you : tyrant's rod 
 
 For sovereign lucre's golden stor 
 
 The ways and means we must provido, 
 
 Tlio ways and means we must command, 
 The- ways and means must bo supplied, 
 
 And those, too, with no stinted hand. 
 Ah ! Gladstone, thou hast gladness given — 
 
 A guide to many thou hast been ; 
 Blest by tlio sovereign baud of Heaven, 
 
 And by thy country, and thy Queen, 
 
 A Gordian knot is round us hound, 
 
 And, like the night-mare, it doth ]<ress : 
 
 Have Church and State together found 
 The remedy in our difltri 
 
 Exact from all who can afford ; 
 
 Ne'er mind whoever i'ume or fret :
 
 THE ENGLISH TRIBUNE. 79 
 
 Or send for old Napoleon's sword, 
 And with it pay the nation's debt,* 
 
 Muse of my heart ! — my heart of hearts ! 
 
 Muse of mine ardent, hopeful mind ! 
 Behold one playing sundry parts — 
 
 A statesman polished and refined : 
 He makes and calms the storm alone ; 
 
 Adroit at diplomatic tricks : 
 Summon before thy sylvan throne 
 
 The Ariel of politics. 
 
 Behold that cunning, winning smile ! 
 
 The manner courteous and bland : 
 The favourite of England's isle, 
 
 When War breathes forth the dire command. 
 Shakspere alone could well depaint 
 
 The bale and witty Palmerston. 
 Dear Muse ! my vision grows too faint ; 
 
 I feeble feel : now it is gone. 
 
 How I admire, but not esteem, 
 
 The Stanley, and Disraeli, too ; 
 Yet how repulsive in my dream : 
 
 Ah ! pardon my reproach of you. 
 I once had better, brighter hopes, 
 
 Both of the Noble and the Jew : 
 How genius wastes itself on tropes — 
 
 The many scorned to please the few. 
 
 * " Had I come to England," said Napoleon to Q'Meara, " I 
 would have paid your national debt." "How, Sire?" Napoleon 
 pointed to his sword. I must confess that the burden of the national 
 debt is too serious a subject for a joke, either on the part of a fallen 
 Emperor or an humble rhymer. — 11.
 
 So Tiir: EX<;Lian tribuhb. 
 
 The mu mi English voico 
 
 lintli breathe its harmony on mo ; 
 But can my hopeful heart rejoice 
 
 When ye ignore my lil »-rty ? 
 Old Knowaley hath som< rich archives, 
 
 Whose records tell of d things ; 
 
 Turn o'er once more those mouldering leaves, 
 
 Nor be the slave of despot-kings. 
 
 Ah ! pardon the poor poet -singer, 
 
 Pot I ahonld not to you be rude ; 
 While slowly my poor verses linger, 
 
 Ah ! pardon me if I intrude. 
 Tho poet scorns not Jew nor J 
 
 Nor envies either of his wealth ; 
 As he is humbly waiting here, 
 
 His mind reposes in good health. 
 
 Good health ! good health ! oh, what a treasure ; 
 
 Ali ! what is left when health is gone? 
 Pain — agony — then farewell pleasure ; 
 
 Tien comes the struggle and the groan. 
 Health to the tribune and the nation ; 
 
 Health unto peer and peasant too ! 
 
 Mb unto all in every station ! 
 
 Health unto me and unto you ! 
 
 What man is he, who stands erect, 
 Like Brutus, void of human fear? 
 
 What country, city, orwhal sect, 
 II * h -nt another tribune hi i 
 
 Hath Borne republic of old times, 
 en from the awful gra
 
 THE ENGLISH TRIBUNE. Si 
 
 Hath Vergniaud the power, betimes, 
 To triumph o'er the English wave?* 
 
 Nay, nay : a little English town, 
 
 Where Collier painted nature well,+ 
 Produced that tribunitian frown, 
 
 To tyrants terrible as hell : 
 Upon the plea of human right, 
 
 He stands as firm as British oak ; 
 Patrician glare dims not his sight, 
 
 He bows unto no subject yoke. 
 
 May I pronounce the tribune's name, 
 
 Who rushes near Victoria's throne, 
 And unabash'd, and without shame, 
 
 Stands proudly by himself, alone ? 
 Declaiming as the people's voice, 
 
 Till the Corinthian pillars quake, 
 And rude aud simple minds rejoice, 
 
 And wisest heads begin to shake. 
 
 "D' 
 
 May I record the tribune's name, 
 
 With an enthusiast's delight? 
 The man of democratic fame, 
 
 Who glories in the name of Bkigiit ? 
 May I intrude my gentle muse ? 
 
 May I mine inward feelings tell? 
 I would no privilege refuse 
 
 To those, who love to use it well. 
 
 * The critical reader will excuse me for this allusion to the elo- 
 quent, the philosophic, and the virtuous Vergniaud — the brightest 
 ornament of La Belle France during the first revolution. 
 
 t John Collier, the celebrated "Tim Bobbin."
 
 Til | [BD THIBUNE. 
 
 The man of peace ! y a swoidl 
 
 Ali ! that is but an iron tongue, 
 
 And ini!li"iis ding to every word, 
 
 Amongst the old, axnongsl the young. 
 
 The public Btream of common Ben 
 AVill stagnate 'neath misgovernmenlj 
 ow putrid and a foul offeu 
 If wo ait down in blind content. 
 
 Perchance, should real danger conn-, 
 Our Friend might lead a gallant band, 
 
 Boldly defend his native hon 
 
 And at the post of danger stand, 
 
 Breasting the foe, with goodly sword, 
 rmined his own land I 
 
 " Ki ep thine own ship" might be the word, 
 '•' lr in the ocean seek thy ^r. 
 
 d back ! 
 Stick to the substance you have gained ;* 
 Go onward, in the enlightened track, 
 
 ■ inch of ground maintained : 
 " K ," < i 11 > »l 1 1 one of old :t 
 
 Knowledge is power, and pl< too: 
 
 Lctgeni unbought or sold, 
 
 I id the world adieu. 
 
 •T 
 
 Forward ! w&\ ] on : 
 
 Ti bless things, 
 
 And | Time's old Rubicon, 
 
 I tespite "I pri pite "I kings : 
 
 " Stick to what yon have got."— Sir ItOBEUT Tezl. 
 t llazlitt.
 
 THE ENGLISH TRIBUNE. 83 
 
 They live when crowns to shreds are torn, 
 
 And mitres vanish as a dream ; 
 When men no more arc slaves forlorn, 
 
 But bask in freedom's holy beam. 
 
 Consistent Hunt is in his grave, 
 
 And Cobbett sleeps in final rest : 
 The great reformers, true and brave, 
 
 I hope are numbered with the blest : 
 Their simple truths, from pen and tongue, 
 
 Still linger in my raptured heart ; 
 Those were the days, when I was young, 
 
 When I would play my humble part. 
 
 Now, in their stead a hundred stand, 
 
 Banded together, face to foe : 
 Bright has the word, and the command, 
 
 He boldly meets our ancient foe : 
 Declining in the vale of years, 
 
 Their names I honour and regard, 
 And o'er their tombs would pour my tears : 
 
 Yet they must feel the blest reward. 
 
 Good Friday ! Ah ! when shall begin 
 
 The reign of Good ? When man is free — 
 Free from the slavery and the sin — 
 
 Then cometh Christian liberty. 
 The sacred Word is given to men, 
 
 Inscribed upon the conscious mind 
 Of millions, by the sacred pen, 
 
 Eternal Providence designed. 
 
 Coo gives His children more, much more, 
 Than man will give his brother man :
 
 84 THC ENGLISH Till b USE. 
 
 The freedom of the world all o'er 
 I - part and punt'] of his plan. 
 
 Man is the tyrant proudly gp 
 
 And conqneal peoples million gra 
 
 Thai he may wear the robes of stair, 
 And give his livery to sla . 
 
 And Bhould the truth to him be told, — 
 
 Thai gem of Heaven, with Bacred rays,- 
 The teller is too rude and bold, 
 
 And death or <-xilc ends his days. 
 Ali ' i" i" -> i utor, whither wilt 
 
 Thou 1»' if but one-half be true ? 
 A Bea of blood hast thou not spill .' 
 
 For which thy very soul may rue. 
 
 This is the day the deed was done ; 
 
 This is the day when darkness came ; 
 When shrouded was the living sun ; 
 
 "When shook this universal frame : 
 This day the stubborn Roman quailed;* 
 
 The cruel Jews for hlood outcried ; 
 And to the cross Heaven's freedom nailed, - 
 
 Earth trembled at the Deicide. 
 
 . imr the thorn-crown, 
 
 Nor pain — nor agony -nor death — 
 < 'an ever keep true freedom down, 
 
 Nor stifl rnal breath : 
 
 The martyr 1 1 on earth, 
 
 Trai . will grow again, 
 
 And rise into sup rior birth, 
 
 And triumph over land and main. 
 
 • Tontius Pilate
 
 THE ENGLISH TRIBUNE. 85 
 
 Ye, of the old commandment, hoar; 
 
 Ye, who would know my secret creed; 
 I plainly, calmly, and sans fear, 
 
 Now tell the veal truth, indeed: 
 The new commandment, then, is mine : 
 
 'Tis blazoned in the noon-tide ray, 
 In characters of light divine, 
 
 Perceptible as living day : 
 
 'Tis written in calm Cynthia's looks, 
 
 'Tis written in the Hesperean light, 
 Breathes music in the silver brooks, 
 
 Gives harmony to day and night : 
 'Tis written in the face of all 
 
 Who seek the path of human right ; 
 And frees fair woman from her thrall : 
 
 Then, God is love, and God is light. 
 
 Let me enjoy my daily dream, 
 
 Behold fair Truth upon her throne, 
 Who charms me with her lustrous beam, 
 
 And cheers me most when all aloue : 
 Betire— 1 retire into the shade, 
 
 Ye who would hide thee in a well ; 
 And then, like cowards, retrograde, 
 
 To keep thee pale in silent cell. 
 
 Some with the roses on thy cheek ! 
 
 Come in the lustre of the morn ! 
 The million now thy beauties seek, 
 
 And priests and tyrants look forlorn : 
 Come in the limpid stream of Mind, — 
 
 Come from the olden cloisters there, — 
 Come, rugged, polished, or refined, 
 
 And breathe thy sweetness on the air.
 
 86 THE EW0LI8H TBIBUNK. 
 
 Lei mo aspire t<> highest thingB — 
 
 The principles man cannol kill : 
 Howe'er I may snbmil t<> kings, 
 
 Mv mind and hearl are mine own still. 
 As couchant I repose awhile, 
 
 And calmly tliink npon my lot, 
 Eternal Providence » i ■ » 1 1t smile, 
 
 And bles me in my humble cot. 
 
 
 "
 
 THE 
 
 CEFIENAEIAFS TALE. 
 
 PENNSYLVANIAN EPISODE. 
 
 " I have liv'd 
 To see inherited my very wishes, 
 And the buildings of my fancy." 
 
 SHAKSPERE.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 rO II K.N l; Y THORPE, ESQ. 
 
 Wohtht Bib, 
 
 I li.r, which, in 
 
 our ]• -i ~ur».- moments, may i"- enjoyed very advantageously to our 
 spiritual and moral nature, and which are always derivable from 
 
 our own minds in the c panyof select friends, amid choice books, 
 
 and a few pictures of great 1 men, a t m- 
 
 municate with the past, end giving us their light to the future. 
 Knowing that to such pursuits you axe yourself very much attached, 
 I have thought pn icribe this tory of a very 
 
 good old man to you. 
 
 I have copied from the proper authority the very graphic 
 ■ on which the old man's story is founded, bo that you will 
 . I am Indebted to the original writer. 
 
 Tales of war, of murder, and of the whole calendar of rrimo 
 
 and misery, are tin- deleterious, yet extravagantl] -demanded, mental 
 
 food with which the public appetite is continuously supplied; and it 
 
 ely unfortunate and lamentable that mi re cunning 
 
 only should avail them! on to what is 
 
 •-ilily this simple -tory may r.- tion of a few 
 
 our country ; but tfa 
 
 md sufficient reward 
 
 If to a e is author. 
 
 I have been induced t" lal ■ Sortof mine to you. 
 
 becau.-c i riptive of the magnificent effects
 
 89 
 
 produced by the benevolent energies of the great and good William 
 PENN. My motives have reason, truth, and verisimilitude on their 
 behalf, which may plead in mine for troubling you with the perusal 
 of an humble, versified story from life — an autobiography, the 
 original of which, I was sorry to find, on examination, excluded 
 from the subsequent edition (in 12 volumes) of the work in which 
 I found this story— more interesting to me than the " thousand and 
 one" histories of heroes, 
 
 " From Macedonia's madman to the Swede." 
 
 In conclusion, I should say that I thank you very sincerely for 
 your polite attentions to an humble individual ; such being more 
 pleasing to me, in consequence of receiving them at a time when 
 the corporeal faculties decrease in strength as we increase in the 
 number of our years ; providentially, however, leaving the mind ^ 
 somewhat comfortably, if not happily, serene. 
 
 " The soul's dark cottage, battered and decay'd, 
 Lets in new light through chinks that time has made." 
 
 —WALLER. 
 
 I remain, worthy SIR, 
 
 Tours very respectfully, 
 
 ELIJAH RIDINGS. 
 August 10, 1S60.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 DnwAHD DRIHKBB, the subject of the following story in verse, 
 was born on the 24th (if December, n;.so, in a small cabin near the pre- 
 sent comer of Walnut and Beoond Streets, In the city of Philadelphia. 
 Hi- par . place called Beverley, In Massachussete 
 
 Pay. The banks of the Delaware, on which the city of Philadel- 
 phia now stands, were Inhabited at the time of bis birth by Indians 
 and a ten and Holland n, Heo 
 
 of picking wortleberries and catching rabbits on spots now the 
 most populous and improved of the city. He recollected the ia 
 time William Pcnn came to Pennsylvania; and used to point out the 
 place where the cabin stood In which he and the friends who accom- 
 panied him were accommodated upon their arrival. 
 
 At twelve years of age he went to Boston, where he served an 
 apprenticeship t<> a cabinet-maker. In the year 17411 ho returned to 
 Philadelphia with his family, where he lived till the time of his 
 death. He was four times married, and had eighteen children, all of 
 
 Whom were by his first wife. At - ! his life he sat down at 
 
 his own table with fourteen children. Not long before bis death, he 
 heard of s grandchild to one of his grandchildren— the fifth in suc- 
 cession from bin 
 
 He retained all his faculties till the last years of his life; even 
 his i diminished by age, was hut 
 
 little unpaired. He not only remembered the incidents of his 
 c h il d hood or youth, but I thfhl was 
 
 his memory to him that I d that he never heard him tell the 
 
 ! in different companies. 
 
 -ht failed him i »th, bnt his hearing 
 
 uniformly perfect and unimpaired. His appetite v II a 
 
 .-■ okfast, of 
 ■ Pin* " f ' • of bed, with bread and 
 
 butter in proportion. He ate likewise at eleven o'clock, and never 
 failed to oat plcnl folly at dinner, of the lid food. He 
 
 • ate any supper. He had lost all 
 
 bis teeth thin his death (his son says, by drawing 
 
 . hut smoke of tobacco into his mouth) ; but the want of
 
 9i 
 
 suitable mastication of bis food did not prevent its speedy digestion, 
 nor impair his health. "Whether the gums, hardened by age, supplied 
 the place of teeth in a certain degree, or whether the juices of the 
 mouth and stomach became so much more acrid by time, as to 
 perform the office of dissolving the food more speedily and more 
 perfectly, is not known ; but it has been often observed that old 
 people are more subject to excessive eating than young ones, and that 
 they suffer fewer inconveniences from it. He was inquisitive after 
 news in the last years of his life ; his education did not lead him to 
 increase the stock of his ideas in any other way : but it is a fact well 
 worth attending to, that old age, instead of diminishing, always 
 increases the desire for knowledge. It must afford some consolation 
 to those who expect to be old, to discover that the infirmities to which 
 the decays of nature expose the human body, are rendered more 
 tolerable by the enjoyments that are to be derived from the appetite 
 for sensual and intellectual food. 
 
 Drinker was remarkably sober and temperate ; neither hard 
 labour, nor company, nor the afflictions of human life, nor the 
 wastes of nature, ever led him to an improper or excessive use of 
 strong drink. For the last twenty-five years of his life he drank, 
 twice every day, a draught of toddy, made with two table-spoonfuls 
 of spirits in half a pint of water. His son, a man of fifty-nine years 
 of age, declared he had never seen him intoxicated. The time and 
 maimer in which he used spirituous liquors contributed to lighten 
 the weight of his years, and probably to prolong his life. He enjoyed 
 an uncommon share of health, insomuch, that in the course of his 
 long life he was never confined to his bed more than three days. He 
 often declared that he had no idea of that most distressing pain 
 called the headaphe. His sleep was interrupted a little, in the last 
 years of his life, with a defluxion in his breast, winch produced what 
 is commonly called " the old man's cough." 
 
 The character of this aged citizen was not summed up in his 
 negative quality of temperance: he was a man of a most amiable 
 temper ; old age had not curdled his blood ; he was uniformly cheerful 
 and kind to everybody. His religious principles were as steady as 
 his morals were pitre ; he attended public worship above thirty years 
 in the Rev. Dr. Sproat's church, and died in a full assurance of a 
 happy immortality. The life of this man is marked with several 
 circumstances which, perhaps, have seldom occurred in the life of an 
 individual : he saw and heard more of those events which are mea- 
 sured by time than have ever been seen or heard by any other man 
 since the age of the patriarchs ; lie saw the same spot of earth, in 
 the course of his life, covered with wood and bushes, and the recep- 
 tacle of beasts and birds of prey, afterwards become the site of a
 
 W, I "it rivallinp in 
 
 World. H< i alar 
 
 lag upon 
 
 • 
 
 Dips 
 
 i ill).' 
 
 ; 
 
 an Indian council-tin- ; 
 
 saw the i the newly -confederated 
 
 powi lonaichy of France, with all 
 
 the forma , pp bably, 
 
 whi re be once saw William ] ■■■. itli 
 
 ':. and paper; he saw all 
 
 civilization; 1 
 
 aning and the end of the empu lin InFennq Ivania. 
 
 ren crowned heads, and afterwards died 
 
 a citizen of the newly-created Republic of America, November 17, 
 
 1782, aged 102 year . ;. -'A New and General Biographical 
 
 Dictionary," in 8 volumes. London, 17y'».]
 
 THE CENTENARIAN'S TALE. 
 
 ,£-OME, friend of mine, friend of my heart, 
 •fy? Sit in my two-arm chair ; 
 I have a story to impart, — 
 
 But first breathe forth one prayer : 
 Beseech the God who rules above, 
 
 To guide us truly still ; 
 Thank Him for His paternal love, 
 
 Obedient to His will. 
 
 A brighter sphere is o'er me east, 
 
 And here I must not stay ; 
 The tide of life is ebbing fast, 
 
 I feel I'm called away : 
 But my brief story may be told, 
 
 Brief as an earthly scene ; 
 From truthful scroll I would unfold 
 
 What is, and what hath been. 
 
 I was— for I am nearly gone— 
 
 I was a man of yore ; 
 My century of work is done, 
 
 And a little fragment more. 
 A subject under seven kings, 
 
 I lived a life of peace ; 
 Beneath the shade of Freedom's wing.: 
 
 My being soon may cease.
 
 94 Til L'ALE. 
 
 Within a cabin I was bom, 
 
 Where Philadelphia stands ; 
 .. ly and forlorn 
 
 I spread mine infant ham 
 'Mid Indians, Hollanders, and Swedes, — 
 
 In other cabins th< 
 '-Mid underwi I plants, and weeds, 
 
 And many a wildflower fair. 
 
 A:- i 
 
 For l;m>. 
 : would ! 
 
 1 envied not the richest man, 
 
 itented with myself; 
 1 took the truly temp'rate plan, 
 Uu' I oarded pelf. 
 
 was never for a . 
 My hear! was i ver 1. 
 The good al tect, — 
 
 If any such there be. 
 
 all-embi 
 Imbued with heart and mind ; 
 A love Bhown forth in word and deed, 
 Encircling all mankind. 
 
 Ami my lot \ 
 
 W I 
 The 
 
 In Time's old book of li 
 'fin hs of old renown 
 
 iw not what 1 hav 
 Uotli in the city and the town, 
 
 -Vnd in the prairies green.
 
 TTTE CENTENARIAN'S TALK. 95 
 
 I know the place where "William Perm 
 
 Came, once upon a time, 
 To treat with savage Indian men, 
 
 "When I was in my prime ; 
 And that dear spot I often blest, 
 
 Where the little cabin stood, 
 Where Penn took his first night of rest 
 
 Within the Indian wood. 
 
 How often I plucked berries wild, 
 
 And heard the wood-birds sing, 
 Where Philadelphia's spires are piled, 
 
 That owned a distant king. 
 The marv'lous changes I have seen 
 
 Since childhood's early day, 
 Are in my memory fresh and green, 
 
 Yet soon may pass away. 
 
 Where I have seen the bushes grow, 
 
 Where roamed the beasts of prey, 
 T saw a splendid city glow 
 
 Beneath the sun's bright ray : 
 Magnificent in wealth and arts, 
 
 With ship-sails all unfurled, 
 To bear her merchandise to marts 
 
 Around the modern world. 
 
 I quietly through streets could pass, 
 
 Where once I chased the hare ; 
 See churches rise on the morass, 
 
 For sermon, song, and prayer ; 
 View structures reared of stone and wood 
 
 Where the savage Indian drew 
 The fish from streams, for daily food, 
 
 In his Indian canoe.
 
 qf, tin: CEN i r\ UU Wi - TALE. 
 
 The wilderness I ofl explored 
 
 Where the rod mini's village b1 1, 
 
 Win re s tun rroancd and roared, 
 
 Athirst for vital blood : 
 I've heard the voice of Washington, 
 
 Ami 1I1-' famous Franklin (Bon.), 
 And the glorious old Jefferson, 
 
 And the friendly William Penn 
 
 Wise men I've seen each other greet, 
 
 In council grave and free, 
 Where 1 had seen the Indians mi 
 
 Beneath Heaven's canopy : 
 Their sacred council-hall yet stands, 
 
 And charms the world's desire, 
 While Freedom's brightened wing expands 
 
 Where blazed the council fire. 
 
 I saw th T. ty ratified 
 
 Between the Federal Powers 
 And ' Iharlemagne's old throne of pride, 
 
 In Freedom's sacred bowers, 
 Where 1 had seen the famous Penn 
 
 Make tn aty without 
 <>r signature, with Indian men, 
 
 For the future common weal ; 
 
 The Indians, with their weapons rude, 
 
 Their arrows poison-staini d, 
 Stood before Penn -a multitude — 
 
 And faithful he remained : 
 Approaching them with open hands, 
 
 Thrice-armed with heavenly love, 
 He, more than i pioror, commands 
 
 Within thu Indian grove.
 
 THE CENTENARIAN'S TALE. <)"] 
 
 The weapons fall from the red race ; 
 
 They sec a peaceful friend 
 Enter their old abiding place, 
 
 And welcome greetings send : 
 Exchang'd and interchang'd, awhile, 
 
 The symbols peace had won : 
 Thus, goodness made the red men smile 
 
 Serene as evening's sun. 
 
 A wordless bargain then is made, 
 
 The dream to realise 
 Of some old bard, who, in the shade, 
 
 Sleeps with the good and wise. 
 Did men but seek for blessed peace 
 
 As they have sought for war, 
 How human blessings would increase 
 
 Beneath a friendly star ! 
 
 Thus formed, the family of Penn 
 
 Attracted from each clime 
 The forty thousand Christian men, 
 
 In a very little time. 
 Escaping the French guillotine, 
 
 And the English hangman's rope, 
 The exiles came as to a shrine, 
 
 Blazoned with heavenly hope. 
 
 The woods were fell'd, lands plough' d and drain' d, 
 
 And the inward earth explored ; 
 But the English King a despot reigned, 
 
 And brandished his old sword, 
 Demanding taxes, for his wars 
 
 Of cruelty and pride ; 
 
 Yet, in despite of wounds and scars, 
 
 His rule was soon defied. 
 K
 
 Tin: i 
 
 The fi^lit was terrible awhile, 
 
 Some thousand bouI i were slain ; 
 
 Still thp dogs of war from Britain's isle 
 Cried / ■ in. 
 
 When, as the vital i 
 
 Justice and truth from Heaven returned, 
 And be war with love. 
 
 But there was heard another voir 
 
 There worked another P 
 T the humau heart c 
 
 For the natural rights of men : 
 princip] m-born, 
 
 His love for man intense, 
 He brought bright hope to th 
 
 And his name v 
 
 His living words, fearless ami fri 
 
 Athwart the ocean flew, 
 Over the mountain and th<* sea, 
 
 Wherever the wind b 
 The tyrants trembled on their thn 
 
 the halo i 
 In all : 3 and the zones 
 
 Where dwell the human kind. 
 
 And since his day the immortal pen 
 Is the 1: u found, 
 
 men and of men, 
 In this wide world around : 
 Recorder of the deed and word 
 
 iding love and pes 
 The conqueror of Captain Sword, 
 Whose havoc yet may er>nsn.
 
 THE CENTENARIAN S TALE. 99 
 
 Then quickly bloomed the cotton fields, 
 
 And the lands where sugar grows, 
 In all the foison which earth yields, 
 
 And Nature quick bestows 
 The richest gifts — the cotton, corn, 
 
 The iron, and the tin : 
 Yet would my bosom feel forlorn 
 
 At the slavery and the sin. 
 
 I saw, with agony and shame, 
 
 The thongs of cruelty 
 Dilacerate the human frame 
 
 In the country of the free ; 
 I shuddered when the lash I heard, 
 
 The groans my heart would thrill, 
 Where I had seen the mournful bird 
 
 That singeth " WMp-poor-Will."* 
 
 And tears would fall — fall many a time, 
 
 That the red race should fade, 
 And give up their own native clime 
 
 Tc slavery's cruel trade, 
 And the white master of poor slaves, 
 
 Unchristian, and as fell 
 As demons from the horrid caves 
 
 Of lowest, deepest hell. 
 
 But words, and thoughts, and feelings calmed, 
 True self-control demand ; 
 
 * An American prairie bird, whose song, or cry, is expressed by 
 these words by the English settlers and travellers. The Indian name 
 is Wuwouaisau.
 
 IOO THE « l.VI I.N \KI.\N B I.M.I 
 
 Sii. li things my memory bath embalmed 
 
 i h ni\ dear native land : 
 Prom tainted Gome, in field or mart, 
 
 From vice "I' king or sla\ e, 
 1 have preserved my Bimple heart, 
 
 Now throbbing o'er mj grave. 
 
 Thus have I traced the changeful way 
 
 From Na1 ure wild and free, 
 'l'n all tin' civilised array 
 
 Of wealth ami liberty : 
 Of the beginning and the end, 
 
 When kingcraft rose and fell ; 
 (if Pennsylvania's peaceful Friend, 
 
 My la-t brief tale doth tell. 
 
 Life of my ln-art ! soul of my mind I 
 
 Set, lingi ring mi the brink 
 Of calm Eternity, resigned ; 
 
 While shattered is the link 
 That, fur a century of years, 
 
 Bath bound me to tin- earth ; 
 Ah ! Friend ! 1 give thee smiles for tears, 
 
 And wi econd birth. 
 
 All earthly plei . mortal pains, — 
 
 All, all ha\ e pas led away ; 
 
 And here, when- bounteous freedom reigns, 
 
 Let this frail body lav. 
 Spirit of Spirits ! me receive 
 
 In Thine ethereal sphere ; 
 From final death my semi reprieve, 
 
 Nor let me lingi r hi i
 
 t:. t : tali:. ioi 
 
 All-glorious Powers my soul surround, 
 
 And the Etcra d Lo 
 Invisible, that knows no bound, — 
 
 Ti: ■ above. 
 
 King of all kings ! Lord of all loi 
 
 The primal, living Cause/ 
 First Giver of the healing words 
 
 Above all human laws. 
 
 A world of beauty now is spread 
 
 Before mine inward sight ; 
 A glorious halo round my head 
 
 Doth give me heavenly light : 
 I see the sphere of every sphere, 
 
 The spirits ever blest, 
 Angelic harmonies I hear ; 
 
 0, take me to my rest ! 
 
 Being; of Beings ! Sold of all Souls ! 
 
 Father of mine and Thine ! 
 Who all the universe controls, — 
 
 The Infinite Divine ; 
 Upholder of the starry sky, 
 
 Creator of the sun, 
 To Thee I mount, to Thee I fly : 
 
 Thy will be ever done ! 
 
 Thy hand, my friend ! Be calm with me, 
 
 'Tis vain to fret and mourn ; 
 God will reward both me and thee 
 
 When we to Him return. 
 Earth's scenes, bedewed with sorrow's tears, 
 
 Now fade before mine eye ; 
 After a century of years, 
 
 What can I do but die I
 
 102 the centenarian's tale. 
 
 Adieu ! farewell ' g 1 friend of mine, 
 
 Yon leave me to re] 
 
 And to the awful Power Divine 
 
 That Boothea all human woes : 
 A weary way is yours to-night, — 
 
 A darksome, gloomy road ; 
 But mine is one of truth ami light, 
 
 So leave me unto I k)D. 
 
 • 
 
 October, 1860. 
 
 M
 
 THE SABBATH-EVE. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD RHYME. 
 
 " We will grieve not ; rather find 
 Strength in what remains behind, 
 In the primal sympathy, 
 Which, having been, must ever be, 
 In the soothing thoughts that spring 
 Out of human suffering, — 
 In the faith that looks through death, 
 In years that bring the philosophic mind." 
 
 —Wordsworth. 
 
 Let him that would, ascend the tottering seat 
 Of courtly grandeur, and become as great 
 As are his mounting wishes ; but for me 
 Let sweet repose and rest for ever be." 
 
 —Henry Forest, Curate of Loweswater.
 
 THE SABBATH-EVE. 
 
 y%LD England stands within the sea, 
 \^ The rock-built home of Liberty. 
 0, ever give your country praise, 
 And cling somewhat to ancient ways, 
 In thriving or declining days, 
 O, cling like sister unto brother, 
 Or like the child unto its mother : 
 O, ever to your country cleave, 
 And calm your hearts on Sabbath-eye. 
 
 Surrounded oft by humble men, 
 Who know the little in their ken, 
 Whose rudest speech, like roughest rind, 
 Wraps some sweet kernel of the mind ; 
 Who know the right, yet oft go wrong ; 
 A ii.l note the moral of my song, — 
 I bid them all the spirit receive, 
 That charms my heart on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 0, bear your burdens ; heed my song ; 
 This gloomy time will not be long : 
 0, bear your burdens patiently, 
 And sundry evils soon will free ; 
 A brighter day is sure to come, — 
 Oh ! if not here, beyond the tomb. 
 The humble spirit will well receive 
 That light that calms my Sabbath-eve.
 
 lo6 TH] 
 
 ■ ilmu b 
 And bxild i 
 
 : thou 1 
 
 Or by false ligl y ; 
 
 Soughl pleasure ofl akin to pain '.' — 
 
 ..till the love of truth retain, 
 And try 
 
 ■ ' - 
 
 : thou V. 
 
 Old 
 
 To i night, 
 
 And pour on 
 
 With living lustre in 
 
 Be 
 
 The am i 
 
 That has bequeathed my Sabbath- 
 
 Tli> led, "ut bursts the liyht, 
 
 Like dull night; 
 
 i >r, lil ray, 
 
 To guide the ual their way : 
 
 "Whoever lacks, whi 
 
 Not the 
 
 The golden rule of lo 
 
 Be happy on my Sabbath- 
 
 Unhappy nay ; — 
 
 V 
 
 In pride, an rain, 
 
 While I my hun rtain, — 
 
 Wl 
 
 To mar my 'litudo ; 
 
 ith Bpirits, who aye retrii 
 My every loss on Sabbath-ev .
 
 THE SABBATH - EVE. I O 7 
 
 Come round me now, with free good-will, 
 Ye prophets, poets, of deep skill, 
 Inspired of Heaven with holiest powers, 
 Encircle me in evening hours : 
 Ah ! may I long to stay with you, 
 And bid the stubborn world adieu : 
 Eain riches from ethereal sieve, 
 Heaven's almoners, on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 A prophecy divine, unsealed, 
 
 And to the heart of man revealed ; 
 
 A prophecy divine, fulfilled, 
 
 To melt the stubborn and self-willed : 
 
 The tyrant shall exist no more, — 
 
 No more a slave, from shore to shore ; 
 
 The Truth shall reign o'er falsehood's night, 
 
 And darkness cease where all is light. 
 
 Begin thy conquest to achieve, 
 
 And bless thy God on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 The Sabbath-eve is sweet and kind, 
 And mildly medicines my mind, 
 A comfort giving to my sold, 
 To guard me with a self-control : 
 I love its sacred quietude. 
 Secure from jangling, harsh and rude ; 
 Let nought of evil e'er deceive 
 My happy mind on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 0, many a time, and many a tide, 
 I think upon with genial pride ; 
 And many a happy hour and day, 
 That have for ever passed away, 
 Like lovely rainbows, beamed awhile, 
 The promise of another smile :
 
 ioS Tin: a IBB VTH i:\ E. 
 
 With mora to hope, and 1< 
 Let iiic i njoy my Sabbath 
 
 Bow happy ia my home betimi 3 : 
 How happy I, to think my rhymes, 
 I 'ascending to a better s 
 May li\ >■ '•> leave one moral page, 
 To touch one chord of Nature's frame, 
 Uncaring aught of present fame, 
 Thai vainest minds may oft deceive, 
 W'liilu I enjoy my Sabbath-eve. 
 
 The raj in is not for me, 
 
 Who smile on humble poverty : 
 Contented with the simplest ! 
 Happy if there be aught to s] i 
 s. curely free from ran- a w : 
 
 Blest with n morse] for to-morrow : 
 The gems of the Australian field 
 Would me no lasting comfort yield, 
 Could I for them my country leave, 
 Wl I enjoy my Sabbath-eve. 
 
 M y kith and kin arc scattered wide ; 
 My first-born boy, my joy and pride, 
 Amid far southern wilds may roam, 
 A thousand thousand miles from home 
 I'. yond the vasl Pacific sea, 
 wanderer ! thou art far from me.* 
 ( > wife ! < > i thou cri ' 
 
 And grace with tei rs my Sabbath-eve 1 
 
 'Alluding to the At m, who emigrated to Australia, 
 
 anil has not I ■ card of for manj y< .
 
 THE SABBATH- EVE. I09 
 
 The tear-drops of a mother's eyes 
 Ascend like incense to the skies, 
 And sprinkle the Eternal Throne, 
 Beseeching mercy on my son ; 
 Symbols of sorrow and of prayer, 
 They may find grace and favour there : 
 0, precious gems of light, relieve 
 A mother's heart on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 What offspring hath our bounteous Loi;i> 
 Bestowed unto our bed and board ? 
 How many tarry with us here ? 
 How many are there here and there ? 
 Why, ten, or more : for five are laid 
 Already in the sileut shade ; 
 Five yet remain, the heart to grieve, 
 Or crown with joy my Sabbath-eve. 
 
 My heart is calm as setting sun, 
 
 While evening hours serenely run ; 
 
 While murmuring tones and whispering sounds, 
 
 Like weird spirits, walk their rounds, 
 
 Telling both strong and feeble heart 
 
 To choose and take the better part. 
 
 O, cease thy sighing, Wife, nor grieve 
 
 One moment more on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 listen — listen ! lend an ear ; 
 Angelic music me doth cheer ; 
 A neighbouring circle joins in song, 
 And my calm heart the notes prolong : 
 0, heavenly music ! once again 
 Transport me with thy soothing strain ; 
 Me of such joys let none bereave, — 
 The evening hymn, — the Sabbath-eve.
 
 I IO Till. 8ABBA I'll - BVE. 
 
 1 '. God of II ' at whoso command 
 
 All st. .mis shall land,— 
 
 All ] tears be dried, 
 
 And all our pleasures multiplied; — 
 In songs of love, in hymns divu 
 What were my heart if 'twere not Thine? 
 If my son's lost, let mo relieve 
 My heart with Thine on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 A star is gone, a pleiad lost, 
 
 bright host; 
 While the sole wanderer from its sphere 
 Mighl fin I a bri 
 
 Be, like a wandering soul, left fn 
 To seek its culm eternity, — 
 A final conq . , — 
 
 The glory of my Sahbath-eve. 
 
 How i]uiet is the evening air ! 
 I hi ar the infant-hr. bhere : 
 
 Ah ! there, a pale rose undefi 
 
 ; i Bleep my dear child's weakling child. 
 Betimes, I hear its feeble wail, 
 That, word! its painful I 
 
 1 '• ' fOD of !l . . !i ' assist, relit- 
 And bli my Sabbath-eve. 
 
 • i thing, 
 rh 
 Still living —lingering away, 
 Ami growing v. y day; 
 
 B ; .•!:-. I tmt.i the common 1 
 A lesson ne'er to be forgot. 
 Bud of my being ! may I leave 
 Thee uuto Gyr> on Sabbath-tv
 
 THE SABBATH - EVE. Ill 
 
 The clock is ticking on the wall, 
 The cricket sings its vesper-call, 
 The cat and dog are sleeping sound, 
 And household voices hum around : 
 0, soothing hour of passing time, 
 That mellows e'en my simple rhyme ; 
 In these sweet moments, hope, helieve, 
 And worship on my Sabbath-eve. 
 
 Who worships wealth — who worships power — 
 Who prostrate falls in beauty's bower — 
 Who purple robes doth vainly wear, 
 That shield him not from constant care — 
 Who worships e'en an empty name, 
 To die within the blaze of fame, — 
 Wears not the glorious wreath I weave 
 In rapture on my Sabbath-eve. 
 
 What do I worship ? and to whom 
 May I look for the world to come ? 
 Whate'er my creed, whate'er my faith, 
 0, keep me from a final death. 
 I worship truth, I worship right, 
 I worship justice, day and night ; 
 The creed is brief that I believe, — 
 I worship God on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 sacred Silence ! in the pride 
 Of heathen darkness deified ;* 
 The Gentile might, in hour of gloom, 
 With thee his darkened lamp re'lume, 
 
 * The heathens worshipped a God of Silence, who was called 
 
 Harpocrates.
 
 112 Til!'. SAI'.r.ATII -KYI'.. 
 
 Kindling ai thy instructive Qume 
 The living glory of his name ; 
 In philosophic sighs to grievo 
 For light liko mine on Sabbath-eve.* 
 
 sacred Savioub ! in this calm, 
 Administer Thy soothing balm ; 
 Be my physician, make me whole, 
 And purge corruption from my soul : 
 0, may my sil.-n t hours be blest, 
 
 A foretaste of the heavenly rest : 
 Save me from sin and death ; reprieve 
 My life and soul on Sabbath-eve. 
 
 0, rest from care ! 0, rest from pain ! 
 
 1 may awhile, awhile remain ; 
 
 A little while, then falls my tree, 
 To shed its last sere Leaves on Thee ; 
 With Thee to sleep the sleep profound, 
 "While guardian spirits watch around, 
 Mc to revive, Thee to receive, 
 And perfect make my Sabbath-eve. 
 
 * There la no doubt but that some of the ancient philosophers 
 somewhat anticipated the new light ^f the Christian dispensation. I 
 allude more particularly to Socrates and Pluto. 
 
 s 
 
 a 
 
 ■
 
 TIE WOOD NYMPH: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FAIKY MAID. 
 
 AN ELEGIAC POEM. 
 
 WRITTEN IN EARLY LIFE. 
 
 0! sing unto my roundelay, 
 
 Drop the briny tear with me; 
 Dance no more at holiday ; 
 Like a rimning river be : 
 My love is dead, 
 Gone to his death-bed, 
 All under the willow tree. 
 
 — Chatterton.
 
 THE WOOD NYMPH. 
 
 efo T eventide I once did stray 
 
 <0! Through hazel dell and birchen shade ; 
 
 My fancy met a sorrowing fay, 
 
 Whose sigh burst forth athwart the glade ;- 
 A woodland nymph, all wildly clad, 
 
 Of blighted leaves her gown was made, 
 Her lovely face was pale aud sad. 
 
 Her leafy gown was decked so wild 
 
 With faded flowers and broken stems, 
 With hazel nuts this fairy child 
 
 Adorned her brow, as rural gems ; 
 The tearful eyes of this sweet fay 
 
 Were like two violets filled with dew ; 
 Her pensive glances cast their sway 
 
 Around my heart, that warmer grew. 
 
 From underneath an oaken tree 
 
 She picked an acorn cup so brown, 
 And filled it with a flower's sweet dew, 
 
 And on a moss-bank sate her down : 
 She op'd her little tender mouth, 
 
 And poured it down her bird-like throat, 
 And then she sang a strain uncouth 
 
 And wilder than the wild-bird's note.
 
 I 1 6 Tlir. WOOD NYMl'H. 
 
 Now like a linnet it would sound, 
 
 Then like :i throstle, loud and clear ; 
 Now like a voice beneath the ground, 
 
 Then like the music of the sphere ; 
 Now like the tender infant's cry, 
 
 Then like the mother's soothing wail ; 
 Now like the drowning seaman's cry, 
 
 Then like the night-bird's plaintive wail : 
 
 Now like a woodland echo, shrill, 
 
 Than like the raven's hoarsest croak ; 
 
 Now like the murmuring of a rill, 
 Then dreadful as the thunder-stroke. 
 
 Sho waved her hand at every strain, 
 At every close Bhe boVd her head; 
 
 Her fare betrayed an inward pain, 
 
 Her hair dishevelled round her played.* 
 
 It quickened every pulse of mine, 
 
 It dwelt upon my listening ear 
 Like the purr Beraph's Bong divine ; 
 
 From my dim eyes it drew the tear : 
 It sounded forth so vrondroualy, 
 
 Birds, treos, and brooks, and all were still ; 
 It echoed back so pond'rously, 
 
 All other sounds it seemed to kill. 
 
 Sorttj. 
 
 The live-long day hath sunk away, 
 The owl doth fleo from hollow tree ; 
 
 • The last fmir lines wei i to me Own seeing a clever 
 
 act revs pluy 1 1 •* - part of Ophelia In "Hamlet," particularly the man- 
 ner iu which the gave the fragments of olU boi
 
 THE WOOD NYMPH. 1 1 7 
 
 The nimble mouse runs on the ground, 
 And soon, alas ! will feel death's wound ; 
 
 The raven's wing doth flap and ring 
 
 Within the dell a doleful knell ; 
 The owl is darting at his prey, 
 He grasps it in his talons grey. 
 
 Upon its nest the bird doth rest, 
 
 To her warm wing the young ones cling, 
 No cares and sorrows break their peace, 
 They live in love's serenest ease : 
 
 In happy pride reigns eventide ; 
 
 And why should I disturb with sigh 
 The shady wood and flower-decked vale, 
 And wound the air with my sad tale ? 
 
 The croaking toad, in his abode, 
 
 Dark, dank, and drear, ne'er sheds a tear : 
 
 Why should a woodland nymph repine, 
 
 And waste away in pale decline ? 
 My acorn-bowl inspires my soul, 
 My cares now cease, — my heart's at ease ; 
 
 I live once more in fairy joys, 
 
 No past-gone ills my heart annoys. 
 
 I'd rather sup from acorn-cup 
 
 Of floweret's dew of brightest hue ; 
 The sparkling wine from the rich vine 
 Doth not excel this dew of mine. 
 
 May no sad care, nor wild despair, 
 
 E'er bind again the heavy chain 
 Around my care-worn, throbbing heart : 
 Let me live free from woe's keen smart.
 
 Il8 T1IK WOOD BTTMPH. 
 
 ! rouse thy wail, Bad Philomel ! 
 
 Break sorrow's thorn, and n st till morn, 
 Then hail the dawn of glorious d 
 And cheerful sing thy wondrous lay : 
 
 Thy pensive note comes from thy throat, 
 
 Sad as the sighs, wild as the cries, 
 Of nation- weeping for the fate 
 Of one 'vho shone in splendid state. 
 
 Alas ! thy strain recalls my pain ; 
 
 Griefs keenest dart now strikes my heart, 
 Ami all my smiles are chang'd to sighs ; 
 My voice now fails,— ah ! now it dies. 
 
 When this loud song to silence died, 
 
 She spread her strange and wild array, 
 And tenderly and deeply sighed, 
 
 And seemed she would no longer stay : 
 She pluck'd a primrose from its stalk, 
 
 And placed it 'tween her crimson lips ; 
 And seem'd to move with whispering talk, 
 
 Afl from its leaves the dew she sips. 
 
 ! what a strange and piteous maid ! 
 
 Far too unearthly for the eye : 
 
 1 drew my looks from woodland si 
 
 To gaze upon the, azure sky : 
 She • m a mournful song, 
 
 It echoi d from the distant vale, 
 And dwelt in the charm' d air full long, 
 
 And then i vanished with the ' r ale :
 
 THE WOOD NYMPH. II9 
 
 IDirgr. 
 
 I sit mc down, lamenting, 
 
 Upon a bank of moss, 
 My weary heart relenting, 
 
 For my time lover's loss : 
 He whom I fondly cherished, 
 
 From death I could not save ; 
 Alas ! he now hath perished, — 
 
 He sleeps in the cold grave. 
 
 The ice that gilds the fountain 
 
 In gloomy wintry time, 
 The snow that decks the mountain 
 
 "Within this northern clime, 
 Is not more cold than his young heart, 
 
 Now life from it hath fled : 
 But we shall not be long apart, — 
 
 "We meet when I am dead. 
 
 He was the dearest, kindest love ; 
 
 His face beam'd like the morn : 
 His spirit now is gone above, — 
 
 Mas ! from me he's torn. 
 The daisy on the green lea, 
 
 Was not so bright as he ; 
 The honey of the queen-bee 
 
 Is not so sweet to me. 
 
 A wreath of weeping flowers 
 
 Hangs pendant o'er his grave ; 
 The dryads of the bowers, 
 
 The naiads of the wave, 
 Are grouped around in pity, 
 
 Bedewing it with tears ; 
 They hear my mournful ditty, 
 
 They share my hopes and fears.
 
 120 Till: WOOD NYMPH. 
 
 The straying lamb is bleating 
 
 Far from the shepherd's fold, 
 It's mother-ewe entreating, 
 
 It shivers with the cold : 
 O may thy shepherd, kindly, 
 
 Soon take thee to his home, 
 And may'st thou never blindly 
 
 F r om thy warm fold more roam. 
 
 The gossamer is playing 
 
 I " i» in the evening air, 
 The silver brook is straying, 
 
 Unheeding my despair : 
 Mine eye will never brighten, 
 
 'Tis dim and sunk with woe ; 
 My heart will never lighten, 
 
 Still heavier it will grow. 
 
 My death-dirge I am singing, 
 
 My end is drawing near ; 
 Death his strong shaft is flinging, — 
 
 Prepare my salile bier : 
 My pangs are now abating, 
 
 Soon cold my clay will be. ; 
 My true Love is awaiting ; 
 
 Sweet Love ! I come to thee. 
 
 II r wild song was not longer heard, 
 
 Her wild form was no longer seen ; 
 No gentle zephyr's breath then stirred, 
 
 The flowers were sleeping on the green 
 I looked around the darken' d wood, 
 
 No face to beam, nor voice to sound, 
 Enwrapt an 1 statue-like I stood, 
 
 And mournful silence reign'd around.
 
 THE WOOD NYMPH. 121 
 
 ! give me not the mistress lewd ; 
 
 ! give me not the revel gay ; 
 There's purer joy, in pensive mood, 
 
 To view the scenes of parting day. 
 ! let me wander till the moon 
 
 Resumes her calm and noiseless race ; 
 The glorious sun, the day's bright noon, 
 
 Is not so sweet as night's dark face. 
 
 My fairy gone ! the fancy fades, 
 
 And colder reason intervenes : 
 The poet's fiction ne'er degrades ; 
 
 15ut superstition's gloomy scenes 
 Enchain the soaring powers of mind, 
 
 Reducing men to crawling worms, 
 Degrading, blackening human kind, 
 
 And breeding persecution's storms. 
 
 The poet shuns all evil strife ; 
 
 His glowing heart's serene und mild, 
 His genial pleasures sweeten life, 
 
 He is Dame Nature's favourite child ; 
 Although he leave the rural scene, 
 
 Dear native charms of truth and love, 
 His heart for ever there hath been, 
 
 And shall be while its pulse doth move. 
 
 0, lovely Muse ! constant and true, 
 
 With thee to live, with thee to die, 
 Thy simplest guerdon be my due, 
 
 In song to breathe my latest sigh ; 
 A wildflower blooming on the spot 
 
 Wherever my cold clay shall rest, 
 My humble memory unforgot, 
 
 Are all the wishes of my breast. 
 
 — ~+*@n— - 
 
 M
 
 JULIUS (LESAR: 
 
 A HISTORICAL RHYME. 
 
 jjijjj USE of genial spirit, glowing 
 ^p In a stream of vital flame, 
 House the harp, whose song is flowing, 
 
 Song of an undying fame : 
 Bring to me the Cresar's glory, — 
 
 The most perfect man of all 
 The antique world,* so fam'd in story, 
 •Till I view his final fall. 
 
 Muse of History, — bare thy treasure, 
 
 Let me search thy golden store, 
 And in true poetic measure 
 
 Bruit around thine ancient lore : 
 Monumental columns towering 
 
 Upwards, heavenwards to the skies ; 
 Scrolls eternal, overpowering 
 
 Even death's dread sacrifice. 
 
 " The most perfect character of all antiquity."— Lord Bacon.
 
 24 JULIUS CMBAR. 
 
 Foul liiul < '.. ar calmly wandeii 'I 
 
 v identic groves of old ; 
 He disowned bis lady Blandered, 
 
 Nobly proud, tin' Roman bold : 
 i Iraciou givi r, courting favour, 
 
 8 at tei ing countless weall li around ; 
 Heedle . reckle , each endeavour 
 
 Keeps his clients firmly bound. 
 
 Caught by pirates on the ocean, 
 
 He beguiled them for ;i time ; 
 I ortunc gave him high promotion — 
 
 Fortune crowned his youl hful prime : 
 ( >n the cross, that owned no feeling, — 
 
 Later holding Mi rcy's Son — 
 ( Isesar, his <>\vii bosom 
 
 ( irucified them one by one. 
 
 Mu e, thai loveth martia] splendour, 
 
 Muse, that honours Liberty, 
 Never will thy genius lend lier 
 
 Soul of truth to treachery. 
 ( lataline an insurrection 
 
 Plots against the Roman State ; 
 < '.' lit by tip infection, 
 
 Envies Tally's < lonsulate. 
 
 Noble Tullj , watchful < ■■ 
 
 Saved the city and his fame ; 
 The true Roman heart could never 
 
 Breathe one hour the breath of shame : 
 i >f conspirati 
 
 Then the citizens demand : 
 "Where are they '! (their rage restraining) 
 
 \i they still within the laud !"
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 125 
 
 " Wliere are they ?" cried many a Roman ; 
 
 Voices echoed through old Rome, 
 "Purge the city from each foeman, 
 
 Drive them from our sacred home : 
 Capitolian Jove is frowning 
 
 On the traitors we demand ; 
 All the gods are now disowning 
 
 Eveiy traitor in the .land." 
 
 Tully left the famous Forum, 
 
 Hounded by the rabble round, 
 Breathed his silver accents o'er 'em, — 
 
 Hear that voice of silver sound, 
 Formal as in proclamation, 
 
 The great orator replied : 
 " They have lived !" the Roman nation 
 
 Calmly paused, well satisfied. 
 
 Then proud Caesar, humbly bending 
 
 To plebeian citizen, 
 Winning suffrages, and lending 
 
 Hand and heart to lowest men ; 
 All to gain the million's voices, 
 
 Ail to court the rabble rude, 
 In whose breath he lives — rejoices 
 
 With the shouting multitude. 
 
 Then there cometh martial glory ; 
 
 Rivers, mountains, seas, are crossed, 
 Battles won — the charm of story ; 
 
 Men in admiration lost : 
 Sundry towns aud cities storming, 
 
 He becomes the man of pride ; 
 Aud, his famous legions forming, 
 
 Ready to be deified.
 
 126 hi. ii - i i a \i;. 
 
 Roman trumpets loudly sounding 
 
 bt'b onward march, 
 I jlea Boaring, war-steeds bounding 
 
 Pass tin' high triumphal arch; 
 Citizens, with acclamation, 
 
 Bail the Conqueror in his car ; 
 Priests p< rform the dread lihation, 
 
 Praise the gods for glorious war. 
 
 Statues, trophies, standards vearing 
 
 Victory, follows in his train ; 
 Scarcely the Almighty fearing, 
 
 Millions numbered with the slain. 
 Tully spoke his grand oration ; 
 
 Caesar sought Britannia's isle, 
 And returned from his invasion ; 
 
 Still her sea-girt mountains smile. 
 
 Eoman legions are advancing, 
 
 Conquering Crcsar marcheth on, 
 Helmets in the sunlight glancing, 
 
 As he passed the Rubicon : 
 Plebeians shout, the Senate tremble ; 
 
 I. ii ' the legions enter Rome; 
 Conscience sleeps, and nun dissemble ; 
 
 Lo ! imperial Csesar's come ! 
 
 hroud Pompey's ashes ; 
 
 Death i Btained with blood and crime ; 
 Fame heroic darts her flashes, 
 
 And embalms him for all time. 
 Utica behold 
 
 < !ooL determined — soon to die — 
 Breathing, o'i c the book of Plato, 
 
 The deep and philosophic sigh.
 
 JULIUS (LESAR. 1 27 
 
 Grasping sword that failed in battle, 
 
 He inflicts the Stoic's blow,* 
 While he hears the din and rattle 
 
 Of the great approaching foe : 
 Ceesar conquers — Freedom bleedeth — 
 
 Splendid triumphs are decreed ; 
 One great honour Csesar needeth, 
 
 Hath escaped in one dread deed.f 
 
 Bring the trees that bear the lemon, 
 
 Ravage all the fields of Gaul ; 
 Triumphs now the soldier-demon — 
 
 Sword hath seized the civil scroll ; 
 Egypt's tortoise, Greek acanthus, 
 
 Afric's ivory, solid, bright, 
 Bring — ay, bring e'en Rhadamanthus, 
 
 Thus to crown the man of might. 
 
 Lo ! the conqueror ascending ; 
 
 Lo ! the conqueror doth come ; 
 Forty elephants are bending 
 
 Their huge limbs in ancient Rome : 
 
 * This will be understood, I should think, as alluding to, and ex- 
 pressive of, one of the peculiar tenets of the Stoics, that religiously 
 allowed them to commit suicide. 
 
 t It was to escape the degradation of being publicly exposed in a 
 triumphal procession, that Cleopatra, Cato, and others, committed 
 suicide. By the fundamental laws of Rome, no General was entitled 
 to a triumph unless he had added some new acquisition to her posses- 
 sions. Melmoth, on the authority of Valerius Haximus, explains the 
 peculiar notions of the Roman people with respect to these triumphs. 
 — Vide " Fitz-Oshorne's Letters." Not to be too severe on a state of 
 civilization enlightened only by human philosophy, and a religion 
 rendered somewhat beautifully dark by the multiplicity of its sym- 
 bols, I should say, that the Romans seemed to have conquered and 
 subjugated more for mere secular ambition, than for the purpose of 
 extending their own civilization. Their barbarous triumphs were 
 inconsistent with their otherwise generous sentiments. On this point, 
 Melmoth, with a scholarly liberality, is very judicious.
 
 I 2 8 JULIUS G2BSAB. 
 
 D zzling shows, and oroel struggles; 
 
 Rivers flow, and cities burn : 
 V . pite of all these juggles, 
 
 C k their urn. 
 
 Tyrant's woo their own perdition, 
 Slaves obey, and feel the mJ ; 
 
 Tumults quelled by mad ambition, — 
 a demigod : 
 and, around him honour gathers, 
 Splendour beggars all her sto 
 
 Frowns he on the Conscript Fathers?* — 
 Ah ! his reign will soon be o'er. 
 
 hanging ; 
 
 Unto Brutus Cassius flies, 
 Dark conspiracy arranging, 
 
 I imperial Cesar dies. 
 Cat behind with trembling, 
 
 Brutus strikes tin- fatal steel 
 In Caesar's hosom, undiBsemhling 
 
 Thus to make a tyrant 6 
 
 "El •/'' Art thou hither 
 
 Come to make the deed compl 
 Then imperial honours with 
 
 TL ' Us at Fompey's feet : 
 kly folding robe around him, 
 
 rant bowed his head ; 
 Three-and* twenty da and him 
 
 Fallen al Fompey's statue — dead ! 
 
 at when they entered the Sea 
 
 h . v ,,! '' ' ■ liavc given great offence, and tikntly num- 
 
 bered them all again, i him.
 
 JULIUS C2ESAK. I 29 
 
 Thus, the great, the proud Dictator 
 
 Breathes no more the vital hreath ; 
 Thus the sol&iex-imperator 
 
 Finds at last the sudden death ;* 
 Yet, while men the records cherish 
 
 Of the glorious Roman name, 
 May not Caesar's glory perish, 
 
 But survive in deathless fame. 
 
 Ah ! but what are human honours ? 
 
 "What is all our worldly vaunt ? — 
 Gifts we may return the donors, 
 
 And be better for the want : 
 "Wreathed temples — fillets binding 
 
 Head and knee, and royal crown- 
 Emblems of ambition, blinding, 
 
 Till they drag the owner down. 
 
 Still, the charms of life are glowing ; 
 
 Smouldering embers burst in fire : 
 Still, the light of glory flowing, 
 
 Till the conqueror expire : 
 Though in death he is reclining, 
 
 Myth and legend give him life, 
 Fact and fiction intertwining, 
 
 Still arouseth human strife. 
 
 Tell me where the famous Carthagef 
 Graced old Afric's sandy shore, 
 
 * In a conversation a short time before his assassination, he is said to 
 have preferred to die a sudden death. 
 
 t Until of late years, the site of this famous city was a matter of 
 dispute with the learned.
 
 i3° 
 
 .iil.ii FB CESAR. 
 
 Blotted by ambition's war-rage, — 
 And I'll tell you something more : 
 
 That, ill" Light oi' ma ory, 
 
 Fights mi sea, and liglit.s on laud, 
 
 Fades Like the unwritten story, 
 Or like Letters traced on Band, — 
 
 If the end and object be not 
 
 The true interest of man ; 
 And except the- conqueror see not 
 
 All within himself to scan : 
 Disregarding mere ambition, 
 
 Seeking for bis fellows' good ; 
 Thus escapu perdition 
 
 Doom'd for shedding human blood. 
 
 In tbc Eye,— the great All-seeing,— 
 
 What is brighter than the deed 
 Devoted unto man's well-being, 
 
 Barning a more glorious meed 
 Than the soldier ever sought for 
 
 In the bubble of his fame ; — 
 Than the conqueror ever fought for 
 
 '.Neath the shadow of a name .' 
 
 &
 
 THE WHITE EOSE. 
 
 <~fe,PON the corn-crown' d Yorkshire hills, 
 <lp> Where heather once was growing, 
 And now the hand of labour tills, 
 
 While gardens green are glowing,— 
 I saw upon the highest mount 
 
 A white rose brightly shining, 
 As bright as is the evening star 
 
 When the sweet sun 's declining. 
 
 I sought some comfort to my mind 
 
 With sorrow over-laden ; 
 My native vales I left behind, 
 
 And found a mountain maiden : 
 I wished I had, with love entwined, 
 
 Both blooming bright together, 
 The red rose with the white combined, 
 
 To give to her for ever. 
 
 Kind fortune, smiling, took my part, 
 
 Soon rose to rose was clinging, 
 And blooming near her gentle heart, 
 
 But no rosebuds were springing : 
 Yet, ah ! too soon my white rose drooped, 
 
 And on the red was sighing 
 A mortal sigh, yet brighter beamed, 
 
 In fragraucy undying.
 
 132 THE WHITE R< 
 
 The red rose lingering in the light, 
 
 Still in my careful ke< ping, 
 Will never, never bloom as 1 ni^lit , 
 
 Till with the white 'tis Bleeping. 
 Alas : alas ! for me, I moan, 
 
 Ouc only rose to cherish, 
 And often sigh, all sad and ]<>no, 
 
 That my white rose Bhonld perish. 
 
 Ah ' I believe, whatever 
 
 The truth divine remaining, 
 Doth teach man through Lis ti ar and si^lis, 
 
 And bitterest complaining, 
 That love reigns <>n the brightest throne, 
 
 Much more than gold adorning, — 
 That virtue blooms when beauty's gone, 
 
 And night brings on the morning. 
 
 My white rose died : I inly pined 
 
 I', nli uighl and coming morrow, 
 Ami through the live-long day my mind 
 
 Was sunk in hopeless sorrow : 
 O'er hill ami dale, upon my steed, 
 
 Or coming or receding, 
 At whatsoever pace or speed, 
 
 I saw Love's flower lie bleeding. 
 
 Where'er I went the live-long day, 
 
 My rose of love attending, 
 "Was still companion of my way, 
 
 Her spirit there descending ; 
 Betimi s, in all her brightest 
 
 A wandering light before me ; 
 Betimes, within my garden gi 
 
 With looks of love bent o'er me :
 
 THE WHITE ROSE. 133 
 
 Then in the slumbers of the night, 
 
 'Mid many restless hours, 
 There came to me, in vision bright, 
 
 A rose from Beauty's bowers ; 
 Adown upon my pillow cold, 
 
 My weary eyelids closing, 
 Mine inward sight would her behold, 
 
 To soothe me to reposing. 
 
 The limpid stream that wanders by 
 
 My solitary dwelling, 
 And the lone star of heavenly sky, 
 
 Are both their glory telling : 
 The one with light doth freely part, 
 
 No mortal eye deceiving ; 
 The other, murmuring to my heart, 
 
 Doth gently chide its grieving. 
 
 Within yon sylvan grove have I, 
 
 Beside that stream meandering, 
 Oft thought how sweet it were to die, 
 
 My mourning fancy wandering ; 
 And when the light of that lone star, 
 
 And song of that small river, 
 Had brought sweet peace to grief 's sore war, 
 
 I thanked the great All-giver. 
 
 Then Pity came with dewy eyes, 
 
 And Love with kind voice calling, 
 And sweet Keligion from the skies, 
 
 In tears of mercy falling ; 
 They fell upon my wounded heart 
 
 In soothing, soft persuasion, 
 And bade me take the patient part 
 
 Of humble resignation.
 
 134 THE WHITE I 
 
 yd not one flower my garden grows, 
 
 To spread its Bcenl around me, 
 ta half jo sweel as my white i 
 
 The rose thai Heaven had found me 
 ! she was is the liyht 
 
 To human creatures given ! 
 0! she was fair, and pure, andhright, 
 
 As angels are in Heaven.
 
 THE EVENING STAB. 
 
 GJ§fe>Y evening star, my evening star, 
 <3p How sweetly shines tliy liglit afar ! 
 There is no other light I know 
 That shines with such a soothing glow, 
 Except the light of truth to me, 
 That lived before or me or thee ; 
 Now beaming on this heart of mine, 
 In scintillations pure, divine ; 
 Glowing around, near and afar, 
 As bright as thou, my evening star. 
 
 Sweet evening star, sweet evening star, 
 With looks of peace o'er scenes of war ; 
 With eye of mercy on men's rage, 
 Who in the crimson fight engage ; 
 With gleams of love o'er human hate, 
 Anticipating evil fate ; 
 That casts o'er all,— both weak and strong, 
 Those who are right, those who are wrong, - 
 Thy quiet smiles, 'mid this world's jar, 
 And calms my heart, sweet evening star. 
 
 Dear evening star, dear evening star, 
 How many weary miles afar 
 I've travelled 'neath thy influence bright, 
 Blest with thy tremulous eye of liglit ;
 
 J 36 Tin: EVENING STAR. 
 
 How many looks on thee I cast, 
 
 And, drooping, thought the last the last ; 
 
 When wayworn, sore, with straggles hard, 
 
 The tired, exhausted, wandering bard 
 Bath felt thy light, like Hope's afar, 
 Revive his soul, dear evening star. 
 
 Mild evening star, mild evening star, 
 Old Homer, bard of Ilion's war, 
 Hath thee beheld ere sight was gone, 
 And blest thee, darken'd and alone ; 
 That blind old man, of Seio's isle,* 
 Like thee, gives me his ancient smile ; 
 From thee sweet Bion's song divine t 
 Descended unto me and mine ; 
 Our own transcendant Milton wove 
 His first wreaths in thy light of love ; 
 His last, when every light to him 
 Was " darkness visible" or dim, 
 Except the inward light designed, 
 The seraph-minstrel of his mind ; 
 And Hums, in fitful agony, { 
 Brcath'd an undying song to thee, 
 
 * Some accounts state that he had composed the Iliad previous to 
 his blindness ; hut, becoming blind after 11 second and more violent 
 attack of a defttudon of the eyes, he gave up travelling for Borne time, 
 and retired to Smyrna, where bo finished the great Epic. He tra- 
 velled much afterwards, reciting the 1 la of the Mad, He finally 
 
 retired to Chios, where he Instituted a school of poetry, fell sick, 
 died, and was buried on the sea-shi ray sea the sounds of 
 
 which, in storm or calm, he had imitated so well in the measure of 
 his verses.— II. 
 
 t See Bion's " Ode to the Evening Star," usually placed at the end 
 of the book. 
 
 : See Burns's "To Mary in Heav< u. rhou lingering star, with 
 
 lessening ray." "Now the bright evening, then the morning star." 
 —Thornton. When an evening -tar. it, Lb called Hi pernor- when a 
 morning star, Lueifer,— by the old poets.
 
 THE EVENING STAR. 137 
 
 In moaning tones, with heart all riven, 
 For his angelic love in Heaven : 
 Their songs now fill my raptured ears, 
 And glow, like thee, in evening's tears : 
 I smile and sigh — rejoice and mourn — 
 And leave them, and again return ; 
 And loving peace, and dreading war, . 
 Commune with thee, mild evening star. 
 
 My evening star, my evening star, 
 Enthroned within thy ebon car, 
 That smiles on me and lowly things, 
 "While my wrapt spirit heavenward springs : 
 My bards have left this mortal sphere, 
 And I am fondly lingering here : 
 Look down, look down, when I am gone, 
 With that mild ray that on me shone ; 
 Look down on my dear children twain. 
 When I no more with them remain ; 
 And may they keep the path of right, 
 True as thy constant rule of light ; 
 And when my spirit flies afar, 
 Shine on my grave, my evening star.
 
 CHATTEBTOFS 
 
 ELINOURE AND JUGA, 
 
 (MODERNIZED.) 
 
 ',vN Rudborn's bank two pining maidens sate, 
 .,,- Their tears fast dropping in the water clear, 
 Each one lamenting for her absent mate, 
 
 Who at St. Alban's shook the murdering spear : 
 The nut-brown Elinoure to Juga fair 
 Did speak awhile, with languishment of cync* 
 Like drops of pearly dew, glistened the quivering brine. 
 
 ELIKOUnE. 
 
 0, gentle Juga ! hear my last complaint : 
 
 To fight for York my love is decked in steel ; 
 
 ! may no sanguine stain the white rose paint ; 
 May good St. Cuthbert guard Sir Robert wed: 
 Much more than death in phantasy I feel. 
 
 See ! see ! upon the ground he bleeding lies ! 
 
 Infuse some spirit of life, or else my dear love dies. 
 
 JUGA. 
 
 Sisters in sorrow, on this daisied hank 
 
 Where melancholy broods, we will lament ; 
 
 Be wet with morning dew and evening dank ; 
 Like blasted oaks, in each the other bent ; 
 Or like forsaken halls of merriment, 
 
 Whose ghastly ruins hold the train of fright, 
 
 Where boding ravens croak, and owlets wake the night. 
 
 * Byes.
 
 ELINOURE AND JUGA. 1 39 
 
 No more, the bagpipe shall awake the morn, 
 
 The minstrel-dance, good cheer, and morris-play ; 
 
 No more the ambling palfrey and the horn 
 Shall from the forest rouse the fox away : 
 I'll seek the forest all the live-long day, 
 
 At night among the church-yard glebes will go, 
 
 And to the passing sprites relate my tale of woe. 
 
 "When murky clouds do hang upon the gleam 
 Of the wan moon, in silver mantle dight* 
 
 The tripping fairies weave the golden dream 
 Of happiness, which flieth with the night : 
 Then (but the Saints forbid), if to a sprite 
 
 Sir Richard's form is changed, I'll hold distraught^ 
 
 His bleeding clay-cold corse, and die each day in thought. 
 
 ELINOURE. 
 
 Ah, woe ! lamenting words ! what words can shew ? 
 
 Thou glassy river ! on this bank may bleed 
 Champions, whose blood may with the waters flow, 
 
 And Rudborn stream be Rudborn stream indeed ! 
 
 Haste, gentle Juga, trip it o'er the mead, 
 To know or whether we must wail again, 
 Or with our fallen knights be mingled on the plain. 
 
 So saying, like two lightning-blasted trees, 
 
 Or twain of clouds that holdeth stormy rain ; 
 
 They moved gently o'er the dewy vices, \ 
 
 To where St. Al ban's holy shrines remain ; 
 
 There did they find that both their knights were slain. 
 
 Distracted, wandered to swollen Rudborn' s side, 
 
 Shriek'd their death -boding knell, sunk in the waves, 
 and died.§ 
 
 * Decked. t Distracted. % Meads. 
 
 § I have not altered words which would interfere too much with the 
 
 context.
 
 CHATTERTON: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE SONG OF SOEHOW. 
 
 AN ELEGY ON TIIE nKATII OF THOMAS CnATTERTON, AUTHOR 
 OP "."ELLA," AND OTHBB I'OUMS : 
 
 BORN IN BRISTOL, AUGUST, 1752; DIED IN LONDON, 
 NOVEMBER 20, 1770. 
 
 jjgs GIVE to me a soup; of sorrow, 
 V^ To sing away the wintry night ; 
 To sing again upon the morrow, 
 
 When the old sun beams with the light : 
 How I have mourned the minstrel-hoy ! 
 
 Alas ! of him my song shall he ; 
 Grief's tears are mixed with tears of joy, 
 
 Enraptured with his minstrelsy. 
 
 A hundred years have passed away 
 
 Since breathed ibis min rtrel-boy of mine ; 
 And yet it seems but yesterday 
 
 Since first he breathed the golden line. 
 When from this cold world I shall flee, 
 
 A thousand more will come and go, 
 And o'er his page of minstrelsy 
 
 A million tears of grief will flow.
 
 TIIE SONG OF SORROW. 1 4 1 
 
 ! ho was gentle, lie was fair, 
 
 "With loving heart for kith and kin ;* 
 The poet-hoy of the golden hair, 
 
 And the song that can all bosoms win. 
 His lyre, with trembling strings all glowing, 
 
 Shall vibrate in each gentle breast, 
 With song of sorrow ever flowing, 
 
 In tones to soothe the soul to rest. 
 
 The varied notes together blending, 
 
 In harmony to heart and soul ; 
 Now low, now high, again descending ; 
 
 With plastic hand he could control. 
 The budding youth, too soon in blossom, 
 
 Of lightning-glance and piercing ken, 
 Searching the depths of the human bosom, 
 
 Looked hopeless down thro' the hearts of men. 
 
 The heraldic child — a poet dreaming 
 
 The visions he could soon impart, — 
 Anticmity before him seeming, 
 
 The favourite idol of his heart, — 
 Called from the mediaeval ages 
 
 The knights and priests of the gloomy time : 
 They live and flourish in his pages, 
 
 In many a strange, romantic rhyme, 
 
 0, breathe not song, nor channt the tale, 
 
 In cheerful nor in mournful tone, 
 In cities ; seek the epiiet vale, 
 
 And like a sbepherd, sing alone. 
 
 * In his letters to his mother and sister, Chatterton manifests the 
 greatest affection : we cannot read them without wishing that he had 
 remained at home. The writings which have permanently established 
 his fame, were written when he was between fourteen and sixteen 
 years of age, previous to his being engulphed in the crater of the 
 great metropolis.
 
 142 'M LTTERTOH : OR, 
 
 Seek not llio Babel of the world;* 
 
 In thai vast whirlpool be was thrown: 
 Alt ! tli.it he was thither hurled, 
 
 To din forsaken and alone. 
 
 I lis night of death was quickly over ; — 
 
 No hand to aid, and no eye to see, 
 Nor tongue to bless him, nor discover 
 
 The dying hoy in agony. 
 Forlorn, bewildered, and distracted, 
 
 Forsaken of the g< atle Muse, 
 Unpaid, and famished, and distracted, 
 
 II sought the death the Roman chn.se. 
 
 "Where, learned lyrists, did ye linger 1 
 
 O, where were ye when the minstrel died — 
 
 The eoinless, crumbless, poet-singer ? 
 "Wrapt round with luxury ami pride. + 
 
 * London. 
 
 file had about £10 owing him by certain London publishers, 
 
 When, without money, v . without hope, 
 
 he coi ' Ion. 
 
 Alio 1. 1 mil 1 
 
 of wl Chatterton — train mitted to 
 
 them by Eorace Walpole. These Arista* 
 against them the ominouE and repulsn 
 
 to say, they were not the production ol a monk of the middle e 
 But the question t 1 aarilyand briefly disposed of In a sullen 
 
 itive by these educated men, richly endowed with Learning and 
 salari c equally beni \fater, waa 
 
 not pursued to iral corollary; I 
 
 they were bound— morally bound, 1 Ltically— to con 
 
 that, if I were not Rowley' raordinary and 
 
 ■ t 
 The ertraordin 
 itseli atellectus 1 hat pre- 
 
 their vii spired 
 
 rtng incidents and manners a) time 
 
 1 before them in spirited vera > ntax in diaxnetri- 
 
 ich the po 
 were sprinkled, adorning them as with perennial flowers, and becoming 
 exceedingly Ixiautiful in consequence ;— all these recommendation-
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 1 43 
 
 lordling great ! man, how little ! 
 
 All ! how could' st thou thy pen employ, 
 To throw thy poor, malignant spittle 
 
 Upon the corpse of the minstrel-boy ? 
 
 But they who should have led, forsook him, 
 
 In sheerest envy, or despite ; 
 Who by his bold hand should have took him, 
 
 And gently led Mm to the right, — 
 The righteous path of truth and duty, — 
 
 To guide and nourish tender youth ; 
 He would have sought, in all its beauty, 
 
 That heavenly gem, the gem of truth. 
 
 Yet, ah ! that pearl ! he never found it : 
 
 'Tis not in cave, 'tis not in mine, 
 No sordid treasure doth surround it, — 
 
 It is a gem, the gem divine : 
 He found it not in youthful boldness, 
 
 But proudly, wildly went astray ; 
 The harsh world showered on him its coldness, 
 
 And tirove him from its porch away. 
 
 With unapproachable, commanding spirit, 
 He soared above the worldly throng ; 
 
 The poet's soul he did inherit : 
 
 Poor murdered boy ! — so fair ! so young ! 
 
 were unseen, or overlooked, or passed over without a word of encour- 
 agement ; not in any way extenuating the grave fault of a mere child 
 — a human hud bursting into bloom and beauty prematurely, before 
 the blind eyes of those in whose hands Ghatterton had the misfortune 
 to fall ; and who, instead of judging him civilly or liberally, proceeded 
 criminally, and one of them (Walpole) heartlessly insinuated the 
 incipient felonious intentions of the juvenile possessor of all this 
 intellectual wealth. — B. R.
 
 144 chattbetoh: or, 
 
 The Bage plunged into ^Etna's mountain, 
 His Bondals leaving to tell the t.ile : 
 
 Thy life ami death unseals a fountain, 
 
 That sends sweets streams to my native vale. 
 
 I read, and read, become astounded, 
 
 As men of antiquarian lore 
 And college learning were confounded, 
 
 And ponder deeply more and more. 
 The myriad hues of geniuB gleaming 
 
 Within Ins own angelic > . ■ 
 The lire of Heaven within them beaming, 
 
 Burned to an awful sacrifi 
 
 Poor poet of the oldi 
 
 Thy throbbing hearl ao more shall move ; 
 May Mercy crown thee with the glory 
 
 And the unfading wreath of love : 
 My morning hymn, my i n-day song, 
 
 My evening prayer 1 breathe for tl 
 My thankful strain I would prolong, 
 
 In hope, that smilt 9 on misery. 
 
 Where is the tablet, thy memory telling ?* 
 
 Where is thy monumental stone? 
 Thy cenotaph is in my dwelling, 
 
 Done by thy cunning hand alone : 
 Tim charmful sen. 11, the unfading paj 
 
 Rich with the pathos of thy rhyme, 
 Shall live t" all succee ling ages, 
 
 Till man shall hid adieu to time. 
 
 • Knox mentions that some portion of his Essay on Chattel-ton 
 had been placed on a tablet, b ot state the place. Eli • 
 
 i- very remarkable tor it-; beauty ami pathetic eloq.ni nee.
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. I 45 
 
 0, when the morning gloom is breaking, 
 
 And dark clouds quickly ilce away, 
 All lonely, the cold world forsaking, 
 
 I mourn thee through the live-long day ; 
 And in the darkness flows my sorrow, 
 
 And shrouds me in the thickest gloom, 
 Ami when the light beams on the morrow, 
 
 The song of woe will come, will come. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The great scribbling, letter-writing scandal-monger, ami artificial 
 and superficial critic of the time, Horace Walpole, whose vices and 
 vanities bad often provoked the wit of Canning against him, stated in 
 a letter to a London journal, soon after the death of Chatterton, that 
 the author of the Rowley Manuscripts might have attempted to try- 
 bis hand at forgeries upon himself and the Bank of England. Chat- 
 terton pleaded certain literary precedents :— One, Walpole's own ro- 
 mance of "Otranto," palmed by its author upon the public, as a 
 translation; too— the Ossianic Poems of Macpherson, &c. In some 
 severe lines on Walpole he asked, " Who wrote Otranto ?" It is not too 
 much to say, that Chatterton caught the infection of writing in the 
 character he assumed Erom 1 > great literary antecedents. Did 
 Chatterton's lines on Walpole meel the eye Eor which they were 
 intended? Could a firm and appropriate letter^ in which there 
 hot the usual prostration, but a civil 1 f or the return of his 
 
 manuscripts, influence "Walpole in his attack upon his moral character 
 r death? The manuscripts, ti I rith other documents, are 
 
 now in the British Museum, preserved as invaluable treasures ; and I 
 say, that all the wealth which Gray, Mason, and Walpole ever pi e ed, 
 would not purchase their removal, and certainly not their destruction,
 
 NOTE 
 TO GHATTERTON'S "ELINOURE AND JUGA." 
 
 1 II''- 'wl and pathetic Elepy from the '■ ' ; 
 
 and Country " 1769. A 
 
 I thought it might not 1 
 
 i ■ 
 battl , in 14! 
 
 lain. I have not alt 
 
 . 
 
 The .that no monkish nor any 
 
 attributed 
 to Bowl* y. That it . j n B 
 
 you- 
 chari 
 
 ini]" 
 
 our 
 
 latb t 
 
 lami ■ ! ; but fchit 
 
 •sag'' though it is worthy Of any poet tl 
 
 am familiar with. No man adn '■ ■ ■ put doi 
 
 and Eazlitt more than J 
 
 prim 
 
 a 
 of 1 1 
 
 If an 
 
 ■ 
 " f '" -and now I may alh; 
 
 the city and surrouii' I would soon exhaust it.-
 
 EPISTLE TO AN ALDERMAN. 
 
 c^r.KOM the banks of an old stream I send yon these lines, 
 -7 X Unsnited, perchance, to these critical times ; 
 Yet, I cannot resist the temptation I feel, 
 To indite them just now for the public weal. 
 
 Permit me to tell you the news that I hear : 
 You are (I've been told) to be Mayor next year ; 
 'Tis said, I believe, you must soon take the chair, 
 And of our famous city preside as the Mayor. 
 
 Now, if this should be true, may I offer advice ? 
 Accept the gu-ut honour for once, or for twice ; 
 In this exaltation be not over-nice, 
 And if warmly pressed, then accept it for thrice. 
 
 But, stay ! there's no salary — nothing but fame ; 
 A mere poet's reward — a vain, empty name ; 
 A bubble, a breath, or shrill, echoing squall, 
 Of voices discordant in mansion and hall. 
 
 Yet, unlike the poet, you've money enough, 
 And of raiment, food, physic, you've got quantum suff. ; 
 Then, accept the high honour, 'twill not weigh you down, 
 Nor destroy your own true equilibrium in town.
 
 1 4<S EPISTLE To 
 
 If a merchanl be Mayor, I cannot Bee well 
 
 The diffen ace between you - you both lmy and bcU ; 
 
 A nation of i Ii", ; .- 
 
 Selling wares over counti r and over the 
 
 Then, away with all prejudice by pride,* — 
 
 A Mian is a man with the right on bis side : 
 The aristocrat's ape you will never become ; 
 
 No, — sooner be Mayor of old Beadledom. 
 
 1 would no1 make my mansion a country inn, 
 Fur my friends (true or false), for my kith nor my kin ; 
 1 would think of the poor much more oft than the 
 And old ragged honesty help with a stitch ; 
 
 Nor tear a hole wider in coat nor in gown ; 
 
 Nor please rogue and fool with a job for the town : 
 
 A true, worthy Mayor I'd struggle to be, 
 
 And the gourmand or glutton should be far from mc. 
 
 I would not have reported, in each daily sheet, 
 That a clique of choice spirits at my mansion meet, 
 To dissipate what mine own hands inspissated, 
 And segregate what mine own hands aggregated. 
 
 I would not be the Comus of "brothers" and friends, 
 Nor the b ad of a Caucus, for sheer private ends, 
 Surrounding my board o'er my viands and wine : 
 No : than this I'd say, Die before d 
 
 illy pride is admirably ridiculed by Doiifrlas Jerrold. " The 
 ichoksalcs don't visit the retails at Clapham."
 
 AN ALDERMAN. I 49 
 
 Lucullus, Apicius, — famed diners of old, 
 "Whose sumptuous banquets were garnished with gold, — 
 Gave the most precious pearls to commix with their wine, 
 And, in madness, imagined their banquets divine. 
 
 In modern times, Mayors of London and York 
 Were famous for feeding, and such swinish work ; 
 All these I'd eschew, both by night and by day, 
 And temp'rately nourish and cherish my clay. 
 
 Now, as to your mess-mates at breakfasts and dinners 
 And suppers, supporting us poor mortal sinners, 
 If I wanted some one to assist me to eat, 
 I would never invite the fat sow to a treat. 
 
 In dining at home, or in dining away, 
 Enough is as good as a feast, you will say ; 
 Then I woidd not, in any dull, blundering mood, 
 To Newcastle send coals, nor to forests send wood. 
 
 But, 'tis too nroch the vogue, in this country all through, 
 If a man have one dinner he'll sooner get two ; 
 And he of much wealth, is most certain of more, 
 And he who is coinless may starve and be poor. 
 
 Yet, your wisdom, untaught by a friendly, old Muse, 
 "Will act well the part which your judgment may chuse ; 
 And, perchance, were I Mayor of city or town, 
 I should oft frown at smiles, and oft smile at a frown. 
 
 There is one class of men I should ever detest, 
 Who arc both a private and public pest ; 
 And these are dictators and their agitators, 
 And all the obstreperous sermocinators.
 
 150 EHSTLE TO AN ALDERMAN. 
 
 To improvements in brick, or in stone, or in VSKD, 
 Or in traffic or trade, yon will feel well inclined ; 
 In justice impartial, in equity true, 
 
 And : ve tlio devil Lis due. 
 
 Your own pi ps somewhat emulate, 
 
 Nor wink at the evils of Church and of State ; 
 
 On luxurioti ess 
 
 Breathe forth a contempt which no word3 can express. 
 
 A heartfelt simplicity I prize, 
 
 Nor the courl ind of the high-horn despise ; 
 
 Sine 1 iders all 1 me, 
 
 As I feel 1 bound to : of the free. 
 
 Now, T would say nmrc, but my rhyme is too I 
 And the aristarch whispers my numbers are wrong : 
 
 You have been a good A! I iany a year, 
 
 And may old Father I ias behold you as Mayor. 
 
 October 27, 18G0. 

 
 ECCE HOMO! 
 
 THE .SECOND PASSAGE VERSIFIED FROM HUABTE'S INGENIOUS 
 DESCRIPTION. 
 
 (Vide "Bibliothcca Encleata.") 
 
 j£r 1 VE me no colours from the rainbow arch, 
 
 ©^ Altbougli it were the covenantal sign, 
 
 Although it be the emblem still of hope, — 
 
 Nor any from the iris of that plume, 
 
 Mingled harmoniously in richest dyes, 
 
 That give the bird of pride, a greater pride ; 
 
 Nor those delightful hues of Paradise, 
 
 Which shone so gloriously ere it was lost, — 
 
 Ere it was lost by Adam and by Eve : 
 
 Yet, I must picture forth the Man of Faith, 
 
 The Man of Hope and Love, and, what is more, 
 
 The Man of Mercy and of Charity ; 
 
 And draw from the lov'd record, what He was, 
 
 And is, and ever will be, for the sake 
 
 Of man and woman, and their numerous children. 
 
 May I presume to touch the canvas, now, 
 In portraiture admitting of no shade, 
 Where I am blinded by excess of light ? 
 Is it a profanation thus to call 
 Him Man, so Goddike in His attributes ? 
 Of virtue great, nam'd Jesus Christ, who is
 
 152 ECCE homo! 
 
 Yet living now amongst ns, anil the Gentiles 
 Accept Him a a Pi ophet of the Truth ; 
 But His disciples call Him Sox of God. 
 
 The dead He raisctk, and He cureth all 
 Manner of di in stature, tall, 
 
 And comely ; with a reverend countenance, 
 Such as beholders may Loth love and fear: 
 His hair is of the colour of a iilbert 
 Full ripe, and very plain down to the ears ; 
 But, downward thence, 'tis somewhat curl'd, and more 
 Orient of colour, waving about Ins shoulders ; 
 And in the middle of His head there goeth 
 A seam of hair like to the Nazarenes : 
 1 1 is forehead, smooth and plain ; his face, nose, mouth, 
 So fi;miM, as nothing could be reprehended ; 
 II is beard is somewhat thick, not over long ; 
 His look, mature, yet innocent withal : 
 His rey, clear and quick, and terrible 
 
 In His reproof; admonishing courteously, 
 Andfairlys] ; 'midst His gravity, 
 
 Pleasant in speech. It cannot be remember'd, 
 That any one hath seen Him laugh ; but tears 
 Of love and pity oft have fall 'n adown 
 
 ard, and dropt upon the ground. 
 His body of a fair proportion, see 
 St raight and well-shap'd and manfully erect ; 
 His hands and arms most beauteous to behold. 
 Temperate in speech ; with 1 most wise ; 
 
 In virtue singular, surpassing all 
 The children of mankind 
 
 Such is the picture Huarte fondly gave 
 < 'I' the bare record of the .Sun of M .
 
 ECCE HOMO! 153 
 
 Who suffer'd all for virtue and for love. 
 
 Surely the portraiture, intended well, 
 
 Is beautifully done in that sweet style 
 
 Of neat symplicity, that, not more fair 
 
 Doth shine the lily of the vale, which shone 
 
 More gloriously than Solomon's array, 
 
 With all his regal splendour and his power ; 
 
 And drew from Jesus Christ, the Saviour, 
 
 While preaching on the sacred mount of wisdom, 
 
 The sweetest illustration of His glory : 
 
 Purity spotless ; brightness, all unclouded ; 
 
 Fair, void of stain ; and beauty, without blemish, 
 
 That not a tint, nor hue, nor shade of colour, 
 
 Can add one grace to that original, 
 
 Sweet image of a flower, more sacred than 
 
 All that e'er bloom'd on Grecia's famous mountain.
 
 STANZAS TO SPENCER IIALL. 
 
 ,&>UT by my books ; away, ray cares ; 
 Ami let the children go to rest; 
 
 Abstracted from the world's affairs, 
 AVitli thee, my Pyrrha, chiefly bl< 
 
 1 : , Btir the fire, and strike a light, 
 
 To dissi lit : 
 
 If wrapt within her sable nail, 
 I'd tunc my lyre to Spencer Hall. 
 
 Poet, philosopher, and more, 
 
 Great phreno-magnetizing wight ! 
 
 The region of the mind explore ; 
 
 Where 1 am dark, give me thy light; 
 
 Pourtray the passions, at thy will, 
 phrono-logic truth and skill : 
 Though Braid and La Fontaine should call, 
 They should give place to Spencer Hall. 
 
 The painters, now, thy school may seek, 
 
 The sculptors, too, may visit thee, 
 And proud or mi 
 
 And doi ree, 
 
 And renown, 
 
 And m;i of this great town : 
 
 The poets last, not least of all, 
 May bring their lyres to Spencer Hall.
 
 TO SPENCER HALL. 155 
 
 Miincunium's poets I invite ; 
 
 Apollo Swain, sabbathic Prince ; 
 Come, with ine read, or with me write, 
 
 Not to give Priscian's bead a wince : 
 Nor would I give my door a slam 
 Against tby rugged face, Sam Bam., 
 
 If, when on me thou next should' st call, 
 
 Thou would' st bring with thee Spencer Hall. 
 
 In calmest meditation bound, 
 
 Many a goodly book I've read ; 
 But, now, adieu that holy ground ; 
 
 I leave the shades, the sacred dead ; 
 Plato's and Socrates' renown, 
 Lord Bacon and Sir Thomas Brown : 
 
 I turn from old Spurzbcim and Gall, 
 
 To have a feast with Spencer Hall. 
 
 Ballads I like of love and war, 
 
 Of Chevy Chace, and Robin Hood ; 
 And " Rambles in the Country,"* 
 
 To brace the nerves and stir the Wood, 
 With many a friend I need not name, 
 They are already known to fame ; 
 
 Scholars and gentlemen, of Wood 
 
 As pure as our patrician brood ; 
 Poets with lustrous eyes of light, 
 They of the "quick, uncheated sight,"+ 
 
 Whose ken can range o'er earth's vast ball, 
 
 Like thy keen spirit, Spencer Hall. 
 
 * Mr. Hall is the author of a book bearing this title. 
 t Collins.
 
 T ^6 TO BPENCBB HALL. 
 
 Hail ! Sherwood Forester, all hail ! 
 
 Hail of the woods and bowers ! 
 
 May thy warm heart no ills assail 
 
 Sweet poet of the Lovely flowers!* 
 Build in" a rhyme upon the mind, 
 Wii ; ul words and thoughts refin'd ; 
 
 Pourtray the human soul divine, 
 
 With phreno hdll of tlnnc ; 
 
 Then, through succeeding ages shine. 
 Though thy sw< I floral g 
 
 May wither on the parent-stem, 
 
 Pure love and truth, for once and all, 
 
 Shall bloom for thee, dear Spencer Hall. 
 
 a beautiful poem on flowers, by Spencer Hall, and which ap- 
 I in Tait's Magazine. 
 
 Note.— Tieinir in Blakelcy CI Kofrgart Hole), with 
 
 Bamforl.aiiil!: ther with two gentlemen, whose names it, 
 
 would do me honour to mention, Mr. B 
 
 cable to the scene 1 
 ; of autumn. I- " : »"'' 
 
 of Bhaksp ' inimedii 
 
 gave the I 
 
 "Bare, ruiu'd ■"£•" 
 
 Mr. Hall, ever wiUing I ■' ,i ' 1 : 
 
 " WeU remembered, and well "' :l 
 
 lirt! , | , nnningawaj from Shak- 
 
 sperev ii. cai not 1 ; him; he thinkstoomuc 
 
 ad Shakupere. All great author should be approached with 
 humility.'' 
 
 Q2@P$&5)
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 y F, for a time I had my mind, 
 «$* To exercise my will and way, 
 I would make happy all mankind ; 
 
 And if from thence they went astray, 
 To paths of vice, and shades of woe, 
 Each might become himself his foe. 
 
 The wisdom that should guide my plan, 
 
 Proceeding from a fount divine, 
 I should become the friend of man, 
 
 And each should bo a friend of mine ; 
 But, after this, let each take heed 
 To be himself his friend indeed. 
 
 Yet, I must never see begun 
 
 Aught more than mortal may attain : 
 Ah ! all the glory 'neath the sun, 
 
 Is but a shadow frail and vain ; 
 And in this mood of mine, let me 
 Remain in my simplicity. 
 
 There are some pleasures in life's sphere, 
 
 Amongst contentment's chosen few, 
 "Who humbly, calmly, struggle here 
 
 To gain at last the prize that 's due. 
 In this life earn contentment's prize : 
 "Who humbly lives and calmly dies, 
 May meet content beyond the skies.
 
 THE VILLAGE MAID. 
 
 ; S I went up to Oldham town, 
 ^f Through Bollinwood I strayed; 
 And there, in decent russet gown, 
 
 I met a comely maid : 
 Her apron tied around her waist, 
 
 Green ribbons bound her hair ; 
 A silken kerchief, in sweet taste, 
 
 Bedecked her brow so fair. 
 
 'Twas in the sunny month of June, 
 
 When this bright maiden came 
 And stood by me in wooden shoon, 
 
 And set my heart a-flame : 
 " Pray, who art thou, my dear?" said I ; 
 
 "Sweet lass, be not afraid ; 
 Some woodland fairy thou dost seem, 
 
 Or sonic sweet mountain maid." 
 
 "My name is Mary," she replii d ; 
 
 With that I took her hand : 
 My woodland fairy quickly sigh'd 
 
 At Love's supreme command : 
 For I was young, and Eresb, and fair, 
 
 And not too bold, 1 ween ; 
 And my first love I did declare 
 
 In that old village scene.
 
 THE VILLAGE MAID. 159 
 
 I promis'd her next Oldham Wakes, 
 
 I would come there again, 
 And have a feast of ale and cakes, 
 
 In sunshine, or in rain : 
 So, fain to meet a modest youth, 
 
 She'd tell her parents dear, 
 That I might come with words of truth, 
 
 And taste their village cheer. 
 
 Ere my young beard had need be shorn, 
 
 I rambled o'er the heath, 
 Through Failsworth, on a Sunday morn, 
 
 All full of true love's faith : 
 The Wakes came on, and many folks 
 
 Were there in sun and shade ; 
 I left them, cracking nuts and jokes, 
 
 For my sweet village maid. 
 
 Her cottagediome I soon found, there 
 
 My sweetheart true I found : 
 Her father sate in his arm-chair, 
 
 And cups of ale went round : 
 "Come, drink, young man," he quickly cried, 
 
 " A health to Mary mine ; 
 As she's intended for thy bride, 
 
 Her heart beats true to thine." 
 
 Next Oldham Wakes I went again 
 
 To see her father there ; 
 The pleasure conquer'd every pain 
 
 To find him in his chair ; 
 The mother, too, was sitting still, 
 
 Close by the good man's side : 
 Kind Heaven had granted my sweet will, 
 
 For Mary was my bride.
 
 MY FAVOURITE BOOKS. 
 
 IW'"'^' l'" v "'- v approaches nigh, 
 * v And summer friends east coldesl looks, 
 And rich ones li<>l<l their heads more bieh 
 And poor ones smile in sympathy, — 
 0, give in • books, my favourite books ! 
 
 Books of the glorious olden time, 
 
 Such as the olden bards have written ; 
 
 Spenser and Shakspere, Milton, the sublime ; 
 
 Such as I prized in happy youthful pri 
 
 With who . heart is smitten. 
 
 Honour to Shakspi re's sempiternal naj 
 
 1 1 there be one whose ignorance ne'er brooks, 
 Bui envieth his great, immortal fame, 
 Playing a cunning and a s< Ifish game,— 
 Ikrc 1 repudiate him and all his books. 
 
 To other hards superior is he, 
 
 As the "vital spark" is to the "kneaded clod," 
 As Titan's morning light will ever he 
 To the dull clouds, that from his presence flee", 
 
 Like Nature shrinking 'ncath the power ef Cot>t 

 
 MY FAVOURITE BOOKS. l6l 
 
 Have not tlio learn' d in high academies, 
 
 They, who the Greek and Eonian tongues could read, 
 Unravel e'en the Sibyl's mysteries, 
 Egyptian characters from the eastern skies, — 
 
 Granted to him true fame's unfading meed ? 
 
 If from his pedestal my Shakspere fall, 
 
 Old and new worlds will lose their brightest looks 
 
 Man's pomp and glory, woman's love and thrall ; 
 
 Honour and Fame will be forgotten all : 
 
 0, give me books, give me my favourite books. 
 
 Books, wbich the. exile clasps to his lone heart, 
 
 Books, which the captive clings to as a friend, 
 Books, which the sweetest grace of life impart, 
 Taking the savageness from man's strong heart, 
 Bestowing blessings, when his life doth end. 
 
 Books, which the poor man's heart up-keep, 
 
 Exalting it to royal thrones, 
 Wiping the eyes, that often weep, 
 Lulling to sweet and dainty sleep, 
 
 That he may rest his weary bones.* 
 
 Children of Cadmus ! Caxton's lovely daughters ! 
 
 Truth's sacred messengers, with smiling looks ! 
 Showering on nations pure, refreshing waters, 
 Teaching the arts of peace, eschewing slaughters : 
 
 0, give me books, my favourite books. 
 
 * Vide a poem " In praise of ale," in Dryden's Miscellanies.
 
 'THE POET'S HYMN: 
 
 OR, 
 
 COMFORT WHEN ALONE. 
 
 " The hour of midnight is the noon of thought, 
 And wisdom finds her zenith in the skies." 
 
 —Mrs. BARBACLD. 
 
 #R Lor.D, or God, — 0, power divine ! 
 Rured Thy name and word to me ; 
 My feelings and my thoughts enshrine, 
 And fix my very soul on Thee. 
 
 Build me no altar : wood and stone 
 Are too insensate ; let me dwell 
 
 In solitude, alone — alone, 
 
 And be my home a hermit's cell. 
 
 A hermit's cell of quietude ; 
 
 The, jarring world will not repose 
 On my pure li<mrs let none intrude, 
 
 Mistaken friends, nor open foes.
 
 THE POET'S HYMN. 1 63 
 
 Build me no sculptur'd frame of art, 
 
 No cold nor callous work be mine ; 
 Let my true altar be my beart, 
 
 A feeling and a conscious shrine. 
 
 My books, my sacred books around, 
 
 Wing'd words that bard and prophet spoke ; 
 
 My heart, sooth' d with their sense and sound, 
 "Waits calmly for the mortal stroke. 
 
 My faith is pinn'd to no man's sleeve ; 
 
 I kiss not the oppressor's rod ; 
 I more than merely do believe, 
 
 I know and feel Thy being— God ! 
 
 Slave to no party, sect, nor creed, 
 
 I am one of the human race ; 
 My living faith is faith, indeed : 
 
 Thine arms, my Saviour, me embrace. 
 
 Light of my way ! before Thy glow 
 
 My midnight fire is all in gloom ; 
 The dying embers colder grow, 
 
 Thy torches blaze around the tomb. 
 
 -d^
 
 
 SONG. 
 
 £&j^\HEN 1 1 1 i s old world doth frown on me 
 "^'.YC I take my harmless pleasure ; 
 And as we cannot well agree, 
 
 I go and count my treasure : 
 Just like a miser o'er his gold, 
 
 I dote with fond desiring, 
 For more and more than e'er was told 
 
 To greedy eyes admiring. 
 
 As the mild evening star hath shone 
 
 Upon my old relations, 
 From Adam down to me, his son, 
 
 In all their various stations ; 
 So doth this wealth serenely shine, 
 
 And if you would obtain it, 
 Be guided by a light divine, 
 
 And you are sure to gain it. 
 
 But my rare wealth is not of gold, 
 Nor silver brightly .shining, 
 
 Nor that which can be bought or sold 
 "When rising or declining ;
 
 SONG. 165 
 
 'Tis won by labour of the mind, 
 'Tis won by love the strongest ; 
 
 The truest friend of human kind, 
 The friend that's true the longest. 
 
 'O" 
 
 'Tis not the wealth of miser's cell, 
 
 'Tis not his sordid treasure, 
 'Tis given to those who labour well, 
 
 Enjoying truest pleasure : 
 My wealth is not a worldly wealth, 
 
 Nor can it e'er be counted ; 
 Its fair attendant is good health, 
 
 With human ills surmounted. 
 
 It is an active love for man, 
 
 A stranger to the idle, 
 Who heed not the Creator's plan, 
 
 And ne'er the passions bridle ; 
 It is it cheerful heart and mind 
 
 For every good endeavour, 
 For truth resolved, to truth resigned, 
 And love and peace for ever. 

 
 THE POErx FAME. 
 
 .fj. I'.Ai; th.' gentle measures, 
 v- Hear a truthful song, 
 Giving purest pleasnn 
 
 That to earth belong : 
 We bave left our toiling 
 
 For a little while, 
 Free from hard turmoiling, 
 
 Ami from every guile. 
 
 Let us love the glory 
 
 Of the poet's name, 
 The renowned of story, 
 
 Chiefesl child of fame : 
 Centuries are flowing 
 
 Down the stream of Time, 
 Still his words are glowing 
 
 In thiii prime. 
 
 "While the painter's features 
 
 Int<> darkness go, 
 For all human creatures 
 
 Shall thy nimihers How ; 
 
 When the sculptor's marble 
 
 Unto dust i*- gone, 
 Thy sweet son- shall warble 
 
 l!s undying tone.
 
 THE POET'S FAME. 1 67 
 
 Other works may perish, 
 
 Mouldering to decay, 
 But the song we cherish 
 
 Ne'er shall pass away. 
 Temple, arch, and column, 
 
 Crumble with the sod ; 
 Cheerful song, or solemn, 
 
 Lives — the gift of God. 
 
 AMATOET LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN IN EARLY LIFE. 
 
 p,VER while I live I'll love thee— 
 ,, < Love thee with my heart and soul ; 
 In my breast there's none above thee, 
 
 Zealous love doth me control. 
 Ah ! to some love bringeth sorrow, 
 
 But to me a fond delight ; 
 Every eve and every morrow, 
 
 Thou dost smile with eyes of light. 
 
 Hope, with heavenly-beaming features, 
 Fades not from my raptured eyes ; 
 
 Love inspires all happy creatures, — 
 Every soul above the skies. 
 
 Though the world may be deceiving, 
 Charming youthful hearts astray, 
 
 Hopes beguiling, ills bereaving, 
 Ever keep from thee away, 
 Rendering life one happy day.

 
 MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO 
 
 MY BROTHER EDWIN, 
 
 OP CLAYTON HOUSE, NEAR BRADFORD, IN THE COUNTY OF 
 
 YORK. 
 
 ON RETURNING TO MY STUDY. 
 
 ^IRED with men's vanities, I for awhile 
 
 Sy" Forsook the outward world, and sought relief 
 
 In solitude and books, that oft beguile 
 
 The jaded mind, and solace bring to grief : 
 
 My taper glimmered over many a leaf 
 Which, but for my fond love, had never been 
 
 Unfolded to the curious, searching ken, 
 Or never by an old bookdover seen ; 
 
 Well answering each good author's hallow' d pen, 
 A peaceful, meditative hour they bring : 
 For all pure bosoms sacred treasures spring : 
 
 And as I many a thoughtful page explore, 
 Happier I feel than hero, or than king : 
 
 Blest with Truth's riches, I require no more. 
 
 Q
 
 
 
 170 SONNETS. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 <£4&iHEN in this struggling world of man you find 
 *:$!<? Too much to hear of suffering, mortal ills, 
 What better balsam to a heart resigned 
 
 Thau patient Hope, who constantly distils 
 
 A soothing cordial, that quickly kills 
 Despairing thoughts, to which vain man is prone ? 
 
 Look on the world, and see both high and low 
 
 Now lost in joy — now wrapt in gloomy woe ; 
 On sylvan stool, or on a golden throne, 
 
 Each b ars his burden daily, and his care 
 Nocturnal ; drooping low and sad, betimes, 
 
 And murmuring oft, meandering here and there, 
 Like rivulets, or poet's rhymes, 
 
 Unlike that constant light which beams on my despair. 
 
 OX MY BIRTHDAY, 1857. 
 
 . T twenty-one 1 thought myself a man, 
 <^p And Pride would not let Reason hold her sway : 
 Another twenty-one I quickly ran, 
 
 Ami found, somewhat, my stubborn pride give way. 
 When half a hum lied years had o'er me rolled, 
 
 Swiftly five more brought me to fifty-five ; 
 I would not be too timid, nor too bold, 
 
 And if threescore should find me still alive, 
 I may, perchance, in hours serene and mild, — 
 
 As memory recollects the moments past,— 
 Find myself humble as a little child, 
 
 And wishful, wheresoe'er my lot be cast, 
 That, as the snows of age arc on me piled, 
 My heart may glow within me undefiled.
 
 SONNETS. I7 1 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 dh F you arc drooping with too much thoughtful care, 
 $ Too silent, till your unvoiced feelings turn 
 To wounding instruments of pain, — despair 
 
 Not for a moment ; friends with ardour burn 
 In sundry places, to administer 
 
 Soothing relief. If you will look around, 
 
 Sweet eyes of light and love may soon be found ; 
 Mild tongues may speak, and gentle feet may stir 
 
 With step elastic, and fair hands may ply 
 Tbeir dear, mysterious art with skilful powers. 
 
 Oft have I known a kind one fondly try, — 
 Like a bright goddess gathering fairest flowers, 
 Emblems of cheerfulness in human bowers, — 
 To soothe my heart and mind in evening's quiet hours. 
 
 TO MY SON, WILLIAM SHAKSPERE, 
 
 IN AUSTRALIA. 
 
 ^EALTH, peace, and happiness to thee and thine, 
 '<"> The while thou pliest old Caxton's wondrous art ; 
 To the Australian world I thee resign, 
 
 With a reluctant mind and sorrowing heart. 
 Untainted wanderer, in thy youthful whim, 
 
 Thy brilliant eyes in visionary dream, 
 Ah ! may I see thee ere mine own grow dim — 
 
 Ere age or death becloud their latest beam. 
 The hours, the days, the months, the years, return 
 
 No more, and leave a load for me to bear. 
 Mothers will sigh, brothers and sisters mourn, 
 
 And old fond hearts may struggle with despair ; 
 Proud of their wings, the young birds flee away, 
 And leave the parent-nest to moulder and decay.
 
 17- WETS. 
 
 TO LIBERTY. 
 
 . COME, thou of the mild and philosophic li,c;ht, 
 Which r pite of slavery's ehon gloom, 
 
 Beam o'er my native land, serene and bright, 
 
 Ere I am laid in the mysterious tomb. 
 Honour and glory shall be ever thine, 
 And future pilgrims, wandering to thy shrine, 
 May meditate in sympathy with thee, 
 The intellectual light of Liberty. 
 Although the maniac rage of despots still 
 Subdue thy spirit and thy free-born will ; 
 Although the cacodemon-priesthood press 
 Insidiously around thee, man shall bless 
 Thy memory ; and thine immortal name 
 Shall mingle with the deathless syllables of fame. 
 
 ON A SABBATH EVENING. 
 
 y X the last twilight of the Sacred Day, 
 
 Which Christians well may reverence indeed, 
 With ey< - bedimmed, I see a brilliant ray, 
 
 For my material darkness the true meed, 
 Mysti rious deal U c in a< \ er take away. 
 
 0, glorious privilege ! to think and read 
 Books, that, defying centuries, with me stay, 
 
 And with angelic wisdom for me plead. 
 How rich and Bweet these happy Sabbath hours ! 
 
 Enjoying freedom ; to no sect fast bound, 
 Except most firmly knit, as Goodness pours 
 
 Her universal love to all around, 
 Tn Summer suns, in calm, refreshing showers, 
 
 And in her sacred circle may my soul be found.
 
 80NNETS, 173 
 
 THE GOLDEN KULE. 
 
 (^HERE are things in this world we may never forget, 
 Sjf- There are countless desires we may seldom control ; 
 But the sweetest remembrance that clings to me yet, 
 
 Is the old, fond affection that glows in my sold. 
 Metaphysics may oftentimes lead us astray, 
 
 We may take what is darkness, and think it is light ; 
 Superstition may lead us a dangerous way, 
 
 And present us the wrong for the really right. 
 Howe'er deeply we think, howe'er vainly we soar, 
 
 We too often forsret e'en the Truth we adore : 
 But we ne'er can be wrong in the unsleeping Eye, 
 
 If we do in our time as we would be done by ; 
 And whether first Christian or heathen taught this, 
 
 Attend to the Law and you'll not do amiss. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 0S5 -MEND ! my dear friend ! when late I wander'd o'er 
 •»> The eastern shore of this, our mother-land, 
 Th' eternal ocean's ever-changing wave 
 Dashing against the beach, the distant moan 
 Of the more distant waters of the deep, 
 Relaxed my mind to melancholy ; 
 My feelings changed to a sad want of hope 
 In man's vain nature : but I searched the core 
 Of my despairing heart for happiness ; 
 And memory brought a gem — an emblem true 
 Of never-fading Friendship, and a spell — 
 A wizard spell it secm'd — impress'd with thee. 
 While the tremendous ocean-wave doth roll, 
 May Friendship bind the human heart and soul.
 
 174 SONNETS. 
 
 PRIESTCKAFT. 
 
 #ERE T to search the earth from pole to pole, 
 Or trace the track of the eternal sun, 
 For something loathsome, hateful to my soul, 
 
 That I would either crush or quickly shun, 
 I might find one without a conscience hound, — 
 
 Without an inward principle to follow, — 
 "Who sought for darkness 'midst the light around, 
 
 With righteous pretensions, vain and hollow, 
 Wearing Religion's sandal-shoon of peace ; 
 
 Ready for war and hlood, if contradicted ; 
 Whose subtle efforts never, never cease ; 
 
 With whom to reason is to he convict id : 
 I might not find the greatest or the least, 
 
 But I should find the worst, in Jcsuit-pricst. 
 
 OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 s^LD England, hail ! All hail, my native land ! 
 *$ While standing on thy winding, sea-girt shore, 
 
 I hear the ever-changing ocean's roar, 
 And freely, firmly tread thine ancient strand : 
 
 never, never let a foreign foe 
 
 Inflict on thee one vile aggressive blow, 
 In the imperial circle of thy power. 
 
 Strengthen the fence-work of thy great domain, 
 
 Where man and woman^wear no slavish chain ; 
 Where every one is free, each day, each hour. 
 
 Should fortune, prosperous or adverse, send 
 Princes or peasants forth to seek a home, 
 
 Then, hail each as a brother or a friend, 
 And, with a patient kindness, bid them come.
 
 SONNETS. 175 
 
 THE EVERLASTING NAME. 
 
 S* SACKED Name ! everlasting word ! 
 
 s^ Whispering pure goodness to my tender years ; 
 
 Ever more potent than the conqueror's sword, 
 
 Bathed and embalmed, like it, in blood and tears : 
 The everlasting name of JESUS LORD, 
 
 In more than champion-mail, subdues my fears. 
 Graved on the vital tablets of the heart — 
 
 Enshrined within the temple of the mind— 
 A parcel of the soul— the body's part — 
 
 For every kith and kin of man designed ; 
 Our watchword is the Everlasting Name, 
 
 Our beacon-fire upon the mountain-land, — 
 Our pole-star, fixed within the heavenly frame, 
 
 To guide us safely to the blessed strand. 
 
 GENIUS AND VIRTUE. 
 
 js£> HAVE not stood a priest at Faith's proud shrine, 
 «^Ji Nor sate a king on royalty's dread throne ; 
 Ancestral coronet hath not been mine ; 
 
 No judgment-seat hath found me there alone, 
 Winking at justice with too partial eyne : 
 
 I have not in the paths of glory shone, 
 Reckless of human and of law Divine, 
 
 With stoic-patience heard the dying groan ; 
 Nor been, like Petrarch, sovereign-crowned with bays, 
 
 Admired, beloved by human hearts around ; — • 
 But, from mine earl}' youth, be it my praise, 
 
 Record and song of all ne'er ceased to sound ; 
 And now a glorious altar I would raise ' 
 
 To Genius, by noble Virtue crowned.
 
 176 
 
 NETS. 
 
 ON A COLLECTION OF ENGLISH BOOKS BEING 
 EUENT TO SWEDEN. 
 
 m 
 
 INDS of the past, unfettered from earth's clay, 
 „ Who breathed, while here.lnightdaysandbrightcrnights, 
 
 In love akin to worship, may I say, — 
 
 Shall I be numbered with your "lesser lights?" 
 Mine ardent wishes, warm hopes undestroyed, 
 And many meditative hours enjoyed 
 
 VithSha , whom modern bard 
 
 May strive and le to transcend in vain,— 
 
 Have made ye sacred to my fond regard : 
 Next to my living kin, ye still remain, 
 
 And for your chanuful wisdom prized by me : 
 And of man's true and cultivated heart 
 Ye have become a portion and a part, 
 
 And sail with every gale o'i t mountain, vale, and 
 
 ON READING A TRANSLATION OF FLATO. 
 
 T F I may pencil what is just and true, 
 A If I may picture with a light refined, 
 And give to man no more than whal is due, 
 tade no darker than befits his kind, — 
 I would emblazon bis immortal mind, 
 Living most truly to each natural 
 Observing well the equity : 
 
 No prejudice in a repulsive form, 
 No slavery, nor tyranny of man 
 
 Should e'i r •■ grade him 'neath the brute and worm, 
 In vile oppression to Bubvert my plan ; 
 Justice should bold ber universal sway, 
 And Love should smoothe the tenor of his way, 
 And guide him upward to a better day.
 
 SONNETS. 177 
 
 THE BIBLE AND SIIAKSPERE. 
 
 /^AfoOBDS, words of an imperishable birth, 
 jYJlt In cheerful faith, in mood of love to man, 
 Are, journeying each region of the earth, — ■ 
 
 A grand, progressive, humanizing plan, 
 Outpouring sweetest wisdom in the dearth 
 
 Which ignorance and error first began : 
 From Jordan and from Avon, lucid streams, 
 
 The pure medicinal waters onward flow, 
 Bespreading, widening, brightening in their gleams, 
 
 The while the Universal Power doth throw 
 Upon the world's expanse, eternal beams : 
 
 Words of the great Eternal Fiat, glow 
 For eveiy friend, for him who foe beseems, 
 
 And, with miraculous might, make friend of every foe. 
 
 LEISURE HOURS. 
 
 •A-IVE me, give me my golden hours of leisure, 
 ©^ To turn o'er the. leaves of mine inward mind ; 
 Let me enjoy mine intellectual pleasure, 
 
 To mine own company alone resigned ; 
 Then, I shall find invaluable treasure, 
 
 If elsewhere, seeking I could never find. 
 Come, gentle Muse, in thy delightful measure, 
 
 Around my heart thy sweet charms are entwined ; 
 Countless the pleasures I with thee have tasted, 
 
 Too pure, I ween, for gross and worldly men : 
 Some sordid souls deem all such moments wasted, 
 
 Counting their shallow treasures o'er again, 
 Soon numbering all the earth to them hath given ; 
 
 But mine are countless as the stars of Heaven.
 
 1^8 SONNETS. 
 
 MENTAL INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 ri^NE man is poor, another rich, 'tis said, 
 ^p? Misunderstanding wherein riches lie ; 
 Inestimable wealth is seldom spread 
 
 Like gems concealed by cautious modesty. 
 With what art thou enraptured, gentle Muse ? 
 
 "With riches boundless, with man's strength and truth. 
 Goodness ensueth, with angelic hues, 
 
 Like beauty beaming on the brow of youth, 
 With looks of purest love ; not morning's eyes 
 
 Can be more welcome to my cottage door. 
 In my brief time I've found, to my surprise, 
 
 Some men, deemed rich, most miserably poor ; 
 Hundreds, deemed poor, exceeding rich I found, 
 
 On their own native, independent ground. 
 
 TO ONE WHO HAD BEEN BOASTING OF HIS WEALTH. 
 
 ■fcUINCTUS, Fabricius, Curius, Rcgulust 
 
 'Ml A line Miltonic, rich with noble names, 
 
 Refusing riches from the hands of kings. 
 
 Now, what in me seems poverty, may be 
 
 No evil, but a good, if rightly judged ; 
 
 And what thou vauntcst of, an evil sore, 
 
 As it hath made thee proud, and quite forget 
 
 All that is worth a true remembrance : 
 
 Was Jesus rich in aught save love «i' God 
 
 And love of man? And His mosl brilliant wealth, 
 
 The gems of Charity, Humility, 
 
 And Mercy, thou dost daily scorn : in pride, 
 
 Count' st all thy gold and acres, then demands 
 
 Me to bow down and worship them and thee.
 
 SONNETS. 179 
 
 ON THE CIRCULATION OP THE SCRIPTURES. 
 
 (^tjHE scrolls unfold before mine eyes, 
 s£>- Of all the good and all the wise ; 
 The Hebrews' sacred page disclose, 
 The deep Idumean tale of woes ; 
 Afflicted, meditative Job, 
 A lesson unto all the globe ; 
 The seraph-songs, the dread command, 
 The marvels of Judea's land. 
 Eternal records beam before 
 The e}-e of man on Britain's shore ; 
 The time shall come when over earth, 
 Wherever human life hath birth, 
 The slave shall read the language free, 
 Himself the son of Liberty. 
 
 THE MODERATOR. 
 
 r-p HE moderate may rule immoderate men ; 
 sj^- 'Tis only for a time extremes bear sway : 
 The sharpen d sword, — the keener, sharper pen, 
 
 May be too ardent for a little day, 
 But the insidious destroyer, Time, 
 
 The innovator and restorer, comes, 
 Softening all hearts, like the sweet evening chime, 
 
 With lightsome features dissipating glooms, 
 Cheering all hearts with a serener ray, 
 
 When men repent each error and each crime. 
 Ah ! when will pass away this night of error, 
 
 That wickedness may never more be seen, 
 When man may meet his fellow without terror, 
 
 And vice depart as if it ne'er had been ?
 
 I So BONNETS. 
 
 ABSTRACTION. 
 
 -. , XT' • the world, the passing human crowd, 
 ' -■> I may beseem a most mysterious wight, 
 In ' . who thinks aloud, 
 
 And onward passeth, heedli ss, left or right ; 
 I anoting salutations, and deemed proud, 
 
 Although they 'scaped my visionary sight, " 
 I5ent on the past, and piercing the pale shroud 
 
 Of bygone times with chaste and true delight ; 
 Or on the future gliding in a dream 
 
 All-beauteous, as the lovely visions rise, 
 And every glorious object doth beseem 
 
 To welcome me with Hope's fair, smiling eyes, 
 (Excelling far each sublunary beam,) 
 
 Unto a deathless world beyond earth, sea, and sky. 
 
 MENTAL DISCIPLINE.— MERCY. 
 
 . 5 A.KE, as of old, the middle way, and 
 You leave on either Bide a dread extre 
 
 id then 
 reme, 
 Following the counsel of tl nt men, 
 
 Who still enlighten us with wisdom's beam. 
 Let not the circumstances which surround 
 
 your virtue's will confound; 
 But be determined to pursue your way, 
 < H't in tho line direct, nor turn aside 
 From a strii of duty, hut to stray 
 
 S imewhat towards Mercy's path : I'm- there's a power 
 That will .1. fi hi you every time and tide, 
 
 In every season — ay, in every hour 
 You choose to take swot Mercy for your guide, 
 When too severe a tyranny doth lower.
 
 SONNETS. lSl 
 
 PERSECUTION. 
 
 ^HIPS, rods, faggots, fires, iron chains, and sw< ; 
 Have been employed to put down simple Truth ; 
 Kings have been wrathful at her honest words, 
 
 Priests have gone mad, forgetting love and truth, 
 And Innocence hath suffered for her sake ; 
 
 But the blest breeze of Heaven, that onward bore 
 The martyr's ashes, burnt at the dread stake, 
 
 Scattered their principles from shore to shore : 
 East, west, north, south, a voice then thundered loud, 
 
 Like dreadful tocsin in Rebellion's hour : 
 On the bold brows of men, in one vast crowd, 
 
 Were writ unwittingly by tyrant Power, 
 In human blood, in letters plain and fre< . 
 
 Immortal words : — The Truth and Libert 
 
 TO A SLANDERER. 
 
 fjs&\IGB threescore years had flitted quickly by, 
 
 -?"■ Since first within this lower sphere I breathed 
 The breath of being, with a feeble cry : 
 
 Onward I wend, and hoped to have bequeathed 
 A name to the world on which the slanderer's pen 
 Had never thrown its gall 'mongst kindred men ; 
 But, undeceived, a slanderer now I find, 
 In my declining years, of meanest kind, 
 Who lies not for his bread, but for sheer spite, 
 Engendering falsehood for his heart's delight : 
 
 The wicked lie, in going daily round 
 From reckless tongue to tongue, from ill to ill, 
 
 Disturbeth none so much with grating sound 
 As the foul Liar, whom the lie doth kill.
 
 ■ 
 
 THE PROSPECT. 
 
 : i imeth faith, 
 
 Aj lmer mood ; 
 
 Firm grows the mind that could but think of death, 
 Or ruin, utti ts with faltf ring breath : 
 
 Philosophy suppresseth all that's crude, 
 T'ntil digest '1 well by n a lotting man, 
 WIki aoteth truly Nature's sacred plan. 
 
 Let me pursi i our of my way, 
 
 Walk within bounds an eye serene doth scan, 
 
 For ever open to the living ray 
 
 That beams upon me an i lay. 
 
 Away with gluom ; come, Cheerfulness, to m^, 
 JHrth gently following ; good humour be 
 My Bweet atti udant in adversity. 
 
 LIFE'S JOURNEY. 
 
 mould my true happh pi ad ? 
 
 -- Should I (all out on Jupiter of old 
 To help me down lift's hill as I descend, 
 
 Or meanly ask mean miser for his gold ? 
 My life hath split a century in twain, 
 
 years may I uphold 
 My little bui toil ing not in vain ; 
 
 trtsome at first they felt, yet heavier grow, 
 Bui Mill my grasp is warm upon them, now : 
 
 . my shoulder to the wheel, the wain 
 Moves slowly onward, and may find at last 
 A place delectable to stay and rest ; 
 
 Life's devious journey numbered with the past, 
 Ami the poor traveller serenely blest. 
 
 Taints.
 
 I lu» book !•> 1HI m tl 
 
 dati -t«m|>»-.1 I'.low. 
 
 
 213 i533>
 
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