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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 FLOWER OF THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. T. B. WOLLASTOxX. 
 
 I never loved a tree or flower, 
 But 'twas the first to fade away. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 LONDON : 
 J. F. HOPE, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1860.
 
 [enteued at stationers' hall.]
 
 ?K 
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN BRODIE, 
 
 THESE POEMS ABE INSCKIBED, 
 AS A TOKEN OF RESPECT FOR HIS TALENTS AS A MASTER, 
 
 AND OF 
 
 GRATITUDE FOR HIS KINDNESS, AS A FRIEND, 
 
 BY HIS FORMER PUPIL, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 96
 
 PREFACE 
 
 When the Author first meditated the printing of 
 this httle volume, it was his intention to circulate it 
 in his own immediate neighbourhood; but friends, 
 whose opinions he highly values, having urged him 
 to submit it for the perusal of the reacUng public, 
 he has been induced to comply with theii' wishes, 
 though fearful that the work has no claim to pub- 
 He patronage. Should this unfortunately be the 
 opinion of those who may run theu' eye over the 
 following pages, the extreme youth of the Author 
 (his seventeenth birth-day having just passed) 
 will, it is hoped, be allowed to plead his apology 
 for the paucity of its merits, and the plenitude of 
 its faults. 
 
 To those who have so kindly assisted in this, 
 the Author's first pubHcation, he gratefully tenders 
 his sincere thanks, and trusts that on some future 
 occasion he may have it in his power to present 
 them with something more worthy of their consi- 
 deration and esteem.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 A n Address to my Subscribers 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 9 
 
 The Funeral TJrn 
 
 
 
 13 
 
 The Mystery . 
 
 
 
 
 26 
 
 The Fairy Ring 
 
 
 
 
 31 
 
 If you love them ! 
 
 
 
 
 34 
 
 What art thou, Death ? 
 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 The Indian's Dream . 
 
 
 
 
 39 
 
 The Euined Afill 
 
 
 
 
 43 
 
 The Past 
 
 
 
 
 45 
 
 The Spirit's Joui-ney Home 
 
 
 
 
 47 
 
 Lines on Havelock 
 
 
 
 
 49 
 
 The Dream of Heaven 
 
 
 
 50 
 
 AVoman's Eye 
 
 
 
 58 
 
 In Answer to a Friend 
 
 . 
 
 59 
 
 The Alderley Ghost . 
 
 
 
 
 60
 
 8 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 SONGS, MINOR PIECES, &c 
 
 . 
 
 
 Song — "When the Snows . . . . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 64 
 
 Song — " The Longest Lane's a Tui-ning " 
 
 
 65 
 
 Song — " All around the "Wrekin " 
 
 
 66 
 
 Song— "Awa" ... 
 
 
 67 
 
 The Apology — Letter I. . 
 
 
 68 
 
 The Nightcap— Letter II. 
 
 
 71 
 
 Song — The Charms of Alderley 
 
 
 74 
 
 Serenade .... 
 
 
 76 
 
 Epigrams .... 
 
 
 77 
 
 To an Old Maid 
 
 
 77 
 
 To a Brother Poet— Letter III. 
 
 
 78 
 
 To the Editor of the * ' Macclesfield Herald ' ' I 
 
 jOttcr I^ 
 
 T. 80 
 
 The Storm at Sea 
 
 
 81 
 
 The Israelite's Death 
 
 
 83 
 
 ToE . Dead to Me 
 
 
 85 
 
 Address on an Envelope 
 
 
 86 
 
 To Mr. Brodie 
 
 
 87 
 
 Impromptu .... 
 
 
 88 
 
 Song — " Time is on the Wing" 
 
 
 89 
 
 When all are False 
 
 • 
 
 90 
 
 Finis ..... 
 
 
 91
 
 THE 
 
 FLOWEE or THE WILDEENESS. 
 
 AN ADDRESS TO MY SUBSCRIBERS.^ 
 
 I CLAIM attention here from all of you 
 
 Who have to spai'e an hour, half-hour, or minute ; 
 
 And though this poem be address'd to few, 
 The voice and spirit of all truth is in it : 
 
 Though you will see its tone is not spiritual — 
 
 Excuse this pun — to me they are habitual. 
 
 Pirst, out of gratitude, I'll screw a line, 
 To show how much to you I am indebted ; 
 
 For griefs of yours I feel as those of mine ; 
 And, had I seen yom' banker's name gazetted, 
 
 I should have wail'd with sighs and lamentation — 
 
 That I mnsi feel, not have, the obhgation. 
 
 * I must apologize for addressing my seniors in such a 
 >lc, but do so on tlie strength of poetic licence. 
 
 13
 
 10 ADDKESS TO MY SUBSCEIBERS. 
 
 The obligation ! ah ! you know what that is ; 
 
 For yours is real and most substantial goodness, 
 And still keeps tapping at my heart's frail lattice, 
 
 With energy amounting near to rudeness ; 
 But let them come, and rap away, and patter, 
 I'm bankrupt now — so it's no urgent matter. 
 
 I say I'm bankrupt, and believe I'm nearly 
 Eight in that one saying; for, in truth. 
 
 My income comes not in, as others', yearly — 
 For I am still a wild and waywai'd youth ; 
 
 And though I pay my devoirs to the Muses, 
 
 Mine visits me — not oftener than she chooses. 
 
 And yet I would not have you call me selfish. 
 For selfish fellows now are out of season, 
 
 And would be look'd upon as mean and elfish ; 
 No, 'twas not that ; I had a better reason : 
 
 With little in my purse, save want and winter. 
 
 If none subscribed, who'd recompense the printer? 
 
 Perchance you'd like to know how I succeeded 
 In this my enterprise, and how I went 
 
 About the business which I so much needed, 
 And (now it's over) if I feel content ; 
 
 And how I managed novel ways and uses, 
 
 And how I swallow'd praise, and stood abuses. 
 
 To some I went, who whisk'd off like a rocket, 
 And call'd my scheme a most nefarious plan —
 
 ADDRESS TO MY SUBSCRIBERS. 11 
 
 A gcntccl way of pilfering the pocket, 
 
 And wouldn't help me. Goodness help that man ! 
 If men they were, I would not swear them mortal; 
 At any rate, they were a funny sort all. 
 
 And others had too many books at present. 
 And served me with a smoking Irish stew 
 
 About then' quantity being so unpleasant, 
 Till 1 would fiiin relieve them of a few ; 
 
 But didn't offer, for I put the sham on, 
 
 And set the board for them to play hooh-gammon. 
 
 And some who did subscribe politely hinted 
 That poetiy, of theirs, was not a pet, 
 
 And all their wishes in that line were stinted 
 (You see my memory has not fail'd me yet), 
 
 And that the place to which my book was suited 
 
 Was where the flues are hot and thickly sooted. 
 
 And others had received no satisfaction. 
 
 From works to which they had subscrib'd before, 
 
 And they could sec no verij great attraction. 
 In my small volume of poetic lore ; 
 
 And had arrived at this mature conclusion. 
 
 To countenance no other such illusion. 
 
 To others, then (alas ! I've been a ranger), 
 Who knew just nothing of the book or me. 
 
 And thought it great presumption in a stranger. 
 To trouble them (the price was high, d'ye see); 
 
 B 2
 
 12 ADDRESS TO MY SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Nor if they knew it should their names be lighted 
 To gild another, which would soon be knighted. 
 
 I could recount of cases quite a dozen, 
 
 Where such emphatic arguments were spent, 
 
 But all the world to me is " german cousin ;" 
 Besides, I might be called on to repent. 
 
 By some old maid or other, whom conjecture 
 
 Should lead to be offended with this lecture. 
 
 And neither have I right to blame or pardon, 
 Or fix the difference 'twixt sage and fool ; 
 
 To find their virtues, one must travel hard on 
 The self-same path, like some o'er-luden mule ; 
 
 And 'twere as difficult to class their failings. 
 
 They have so many, and such wondrous ailings. 
 
 If some relenting bard, or stern reviewer. 
 Would lend me but the simple name of poet, 
 
 To show him that there could not be a truer 
 I'd give my trumpet to who best could blow it ; 
 
 And, after due and grave consideration, 
 
 Would — fix his loose screw and his expectation. 
 
 And now to close. In this, my opening lyric, 
 I've used for ink a nondescript of gall, 
 
 And as on all my pen has been satiric. 
 So burns my heart with sympathy for all ; 
 
 And trusting that the friendly feeling's mutual, 
 
 I wish my little work may please and suit you all.
 
 13 
 
 THE FUNERAL URN. 
 
 The scene of this poem is in the Valley of the Nile.*- 
 
 An autumn's day was near its close, 
 
 And dews their heaven - born tears were 
 weeping ; 
 Upon tlie breeze faint murmurs rose, 
 Like music of the ocean-calls, 
 Or murmur of the waterfalls. 
 The dying, ling'ring beams of day, 
 
 Were in the gloom tlieir lustre steeping ; 
 They tinged the verdure of the rose, 
 And fell in undisturb'd repose 
 On crystal fountain, wrapt in slumbers. 
 
 Or, silvering the palm-tree, lay. 
 While zephyrs sang in gentle numbers, 
 And eve grew gray, and still more gi"ay. 
 
 The Spirit of the Night was keeping 
 
 Her sad lone watch on Night's dull shore, 
 
 * It is supposed to have taken place about 1,500 years ago, 
 when the Egyptians worshipped idols ; and the heroine of this 
 poem hears of the true God, and has a sort of belief, yet can- 
 not shake off the ideas and forms connected with the worsliip 
 of the Egyptian God.
 
 14 THE FUNERAL URN. 
 
 And phantom shades were slowly creeping 
 
 Along the spai'klmg floor ; 
 And then a star came, gildmg o'er 
 
 The river's snowy foam, 
 It saw a youthful maiden lie 
 
 Beneath a little dome ; 
 So still, that one had thought her " gone," 
 But that a pensive smile anon 
 
 Would o'er her features play, 
 Caress her lips, then wane and fly, — 
 
 Life had not long to stay. 
 
 The film of death stole o'er her eye, 
 That eye where beam'd uncertain light, 
 Like mingled shades of day and night ; 
 
 And angels in the bright blue sky 
 Were whispering her soul away — 
 
 The soul that may not die. 
 
 Her raven tresses fell in peace 
 
 Upon that breast where soon would cease 
 
 The tumult of life's wilderness ; 
 • And on her brow a calmness reigned. 
 
 That spoke of more than words express. 
 And to some hidden thing pertained. 
 
 There was a something in the gloom 
 Of that rich-draped and curtain'd room 
 "Twas now a whisper, now a sigh. 
 And now the faintest melody. 
 It made one feel she was too fair 
 To sojourn witli the sons of care,
 
 THE FUNERAL URN. 15 
 
 And yet too lovely for the tomb. 
 
 Ah ! say it was a happy doom 
 
 To die before despair had set 
 
 His signet on her eye of jet, 
 
 Or twined for her a coronet 
 
 Of bygone hopes and present woe — 
 
 'Twas better that it should be so. 
 
 To droop so gently, and to fade 
 
 Like snowdrops of the chiUing spring, 
 
 That at its shrine their offering 
 Too eai'ly, but not vainly laid ; 
 And to that pure and dying maid, 
 
 Death seem'd a pleasant thing. 
 
 But love, that stream of secret spring. 
 So lured her to this world of woe. 
 That the sweet spirit cUd not know 
 Whether to stay or go. 
 And, undecided, hung. 
 Like clouds upon the mountain flung. 
 
 Beside her couch two brothers stood, 
 Her friends of all the world beside ; 
 
 It was their boast that nothing should 
 But death their future lot divide : 
 And Death was coming for his bride — 
 
 Was speeding towards their little dome. 
 To rend the hearts by sorrow tiicd, 
 By years of love and friendship tied — 
 To desolate their home.
 
 16 THE FUNEEAL UEN. 
 
 He came : his voice was stem and cold, 
 
 His hair was thin and gray ; 
 Above those locks long yeai'S had roll'd,' 
 
 Ay, ages roll'd away, 
 But though he was infirm and old, 
 
 He'd live as long as they ; 
 No bribe his purpose could defer, 
 
 Or change his subtle whim ; 
 No love his stony eye could stir — 
 
 Its light was waxing dim ; 
 And, though he wore no smile for her, 
 
 She smiled to welcome him. 
 One look upon his bride he threw. 
 And her faint pulse still fainter grew; 
 And as the pallor o'er her crept, 
 
 Or yielded to a timid flush, 
 
 Or deepen'd to a mantling blush, 
 Her brothers, spirit-broken, wept. 
 Theu' grief was such, that only those 
 Can know who know what 'tis to lose 
 The one on whom their hopes were laid ; 
 To whom thus spake the dying maid : — 
 
 " When I am lying but a shred 
 Of what I was, — a happy thing, 
 Where birds upon the palm-tree sing, 
 And make the snowy bell-flowers ring, 
 That wave and nod above my bed, — 
 When balmy zephyrs scarcely stir 
 The leaves around my sepulchre, 
 My spirit's gentle shade
 
 THE FUNERAL URN. 17 
 
 Shall hover near thee, and shall bear 
 A. censer, to perfume the air, 
 Then thou wilt know that I am there. 
 All through the stilly night I'll keep 
 My vigils near, while thou dost sleep 
 
 In soul-wrapt dreams of me — 
 In di'eams of me, as something bright 
 Amid the orbs of love and light 
 That shed their lustre on the night, 
 
 And sweetly smile on thee. 
 
 Come nearer; I am growing cold, 
 
 And, ere another hour, shall bo 
 
 A shadow on eternity. 
 To-morrow night, do thou unfold 
 
 The volume of Egyptian lore. 
 Which teaches thee to lift the veil, 
 And read that long unraveli'd tale — 
 
 The future, and its hidden store ; 
 But weep not, shed not e'en a tear ; 
 Grief ends when ends our sojourn here ; 
 And soon the God * who gave me birth 
 Will free me from this bondage — earth. 
 
 She ceased, and not a murmur woke 
 Its echo; not a word they spoke, 
 And not a sob the stillness broke, 
 Save one deep sigh to greet the grave, 
 That fond expiring nature gave. 
 
 * Alluding to one of the Heathen deities.
 
 18 THE FUNERAL URN. 
 
 The morrow came, the morrow went; 
 That night, the brothers, all intent 
 Upon some mournful errand, bent 
 
 Their steps 'neath palm-trees waving dim ; 
 Each heart was sad, and dark each brow, 
 (No light thoughts claim their musing now) 
 And each one breathed a fervent vow, 
 
 And sang this funeral hymn : — 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Gone for ever ! gone for ever ! 
 
 Is the love -light from thine eye, 
 And thy soul may waken never 
 
 From the sleep of those who die! 
 
 Dark and dreamless is thy slumber, 
 
 Sad and lonely is thy doom. 
 For the shades of death encumber 
 
 Thee with never-ending gloom. 
 
 Gone for ever ! gone for ever 
 Is the radiance from thine eye ; 
 
 And thy soul no spell can sever 
 From the sleep of those who die. 
 
 Ended the hymn, they stood awhile 
 
 Beside their sister's funeral pile, 
 
 In silence. 'Twas a little isle 
 
 Upon the bosom of the Nile, 
 
 Where they had wandcr'd, lost in dearth, 
 
 To do the last kind deed on earth.
 
 THE FUNERAL URN. 10 
 
 The heavy Niglit had spread her wing, 
 And surly winds were muttering, 
 
 Their whispers low, 
 And howhng o'er the dead a dirge 
 That mingled with the river's surge 
 
 In solemn flow. 
 The brothers to the pile applied 
 A brand, and then communed aside ; 
 And, as the blazes shot on high, 
 Thus spoke they, low and thoughtfully : — 
 
 First Brother. 
 Go, tell me now what says the night ? 
 
 Second Brother. 
 
 The stars are shining clear and bright, 
 The sky is blue, the clouds are gone. 
 
 First Brother. 
 
 Go back again, and ponder well; 
 
 And as thine eye rolls on and on. 
 Through countless myriads hung in space 
 And in the sky's deep mirror blue. 
 Reflected, with a varying hue — 
 Repeat each long- forgotten spell. 
 Each secret charm ; and turn thy face 
 To where the Gods of Egypt dwell ;* 
 And I will watch beside the urn, 
 
 * The Temples of Luxor and Carnac, where the Ibis was 
 kept.
 
 20 THE FUNERAL URN. 
 
 From which a tiny spark has flown, 
 And soar'd away to realms unknown. 
 What seest thou ? " 
 
 Second Brother. 
 
 The planets burn, 
 And brightly still the others glow ; 
 And now away, afar, afar, 
 I see a timid, unknown star 
 That ne'er before has caught mine eye. 
 It seems to quiver and to flit. 
 As though it were this moment ht 
 By kindred tapers of the sky, 
 And now its rays refulgent grow. 
 
 First Brothe\ 
 
 Ah ! say'st thou so ; 
 Show me the star ! 
 
 Second Brother. 
 'Tis yonder ! 
 
 First Brother. 
 
 Where ? 
 I see it now, our sister fair 
 It is that shines so sweetly there ; 
 I feel it is, and see, ah ! see 
 It gilds not grass, nor flower, nor tree, 
 It decks not mountain, lake, nor streams ; 
 It may be fancy, but it seems
 
 THE FUNERAL UllN. 21 
 
 To throw a iloating lialo o'er 
 
 That httle spot wo both adore, 
 
 To consecrate around that urn, 
 Where lie the ashes of the one 
 So dearly loved, so lately " gone," 
 
 And there with more than starlight Iturn. 
 
 Second Brother. 
 
 Stay ! see, what thou art treadhig on ; 
 An angel- tear ■ is on that flower, 
 
 For never at this hour before, 
 Have dew-drops damp'd the sacred bower, 
 
 That rears, the loved departed o'er; 
 It wrings its fellow from mine eyes, 
 To feel that spirits sympathize. 
 Let us return before the day 
 Return to chase the night away ; 
 And as we walk these shades along, 
 I'll sing our sister's favourite song. 
 
 (Sings.) 
 
 The tomb is but a portal, 
 To brigliter lands than ours, 
 
 Where spirits dwell immortal, 
 'Mid never-fading flowers : 
 
 There's nothing half so dreary 
 About it, as there seems ; 
 
 * The brothers arc supposed to know no more of the angels 
 than having heard their sister speak of them as beings whose 
 essence was " love."
 
 22 THE FUNERAL URN. 
 
 'Tis but a lonely, weary, 
 And silent land of dreams. 
 
 It grants release from sorrow. 
 
 Gives to the wretched, rest. 
 And those that feai' the morrow, 
 
 May nestle on its breast : 
 There's nothing half so dreaiy 
 
 About it, as there seems ; 
 'Tis but a lonely, weary, 
 
 And silent land of dreams. 
 
 In heavy darkness shrouded, 
 
 'Tis but a passing gloom, 
 There is a life unclouded. 
 
 Beyond the clouded tomb : 
 There's nothing half so dreary 
 
 About it, as there seems ; 
 'Tis but a lonely, weary. 
 
 And silent land of dreams. 
 
 First Brother. 
 
 Ah ! 'tis her song, my tears deplore. 
 That she will never sing it more ; 
 To think that we may never rove 
 Beside the temple in the grove. 
 To gaze upon the moonlit sky, 
 And watch the river flowing by. 
 sister mine ! come back, and dwell 
 With those who love thee but too well.
 
 THE FUNERAL URN. 23 
 
 Second Brother. 
 
 List, brother, list! mcthouglit I heard 
 Her hght voice tremhlc on the breeze. 
 
 And perhaps 'twas nothing but a bird. 
 That shook the branches of the trees : 
 
 Buthst! 
 
 First Brother. 
 
 I hst, and notliing breaks 
 
 The stilhiess of" the night. 
 Save where the fleecy cloudlet shakes 
 
 Her pennons free and light. 
 
 {A pause.) 
 
 How solemn is this hour, how still, 
 It throws upon my soul a chill ; 
 'Tis all so lonely, e'en the wind 
 Has left its murm'ring voice behind. 
 And now with scarcely utter'd sigh, 
 Steals softly like a shadow by. 
 As though it felt a kindred di'ead, 
 And fear'd to wake the sleeping dead ; 
 Yet, 'tis not half so lonely here, 
 As where our sister in the tomb 
 Lies WTapt in " never-ending" gloom. 
 
 Second Brother. 
 
 Thou saidst her spirit was not there. 
 But in the bright and lustrous sky.
 
 24 THE FUNERAL URN. 
 
 First Brother (weeping). 
 Ah ! would it were. 
 
 Voices [above.) 
 
 Say, "why art thou weeping still, 
 Weeping, and against thy will ; 
 Do the tears, that thickly roll. 
 Speak the anguish of thy soul. 
 Pining for the holy dead. 
 Wilt thou not be comforted ? 
 
 Is there not a solace left ; 
 Art thou then of all bereft ? 
 Hast thou, in each baffled charm, 
 Found but cause for fresh alarm ? 
 Hangs some doom above thy head ? 
 Canst thou not be comforted ? 
 
 Hast thou heard of that bright land, 
 On whose bourne the angels stand. 
 Where the Saviour reigns divine, 
 Spending all His life for thine ? 
 By the precious blood He shed, 
 Thou mayst still be comforted. 
 
 There, thy sister waits for thee. 
 Wafted on the sinless sea ; 
 Where the storms of life are past. 
 Where the parted meet at last; 
 Wilt thou come, where she has lied ? 
 Then thou shalt be comforted !
 
 THE FUNERAL URN. 25 
 
 Oast aside those doubts and fears, 
 Nursed by thee through many years, 
 Quafl", oh ! quaiV the hving stream, 
 Flowing from the Great Supreme ; 
 Hast thou heard what He liatli said ? 
 " Come, and be ye comforted?" 
 
 Second BrotJter. 
 There, said I not I heard a voice ? 
 
 First Brother. 
 
 It makes my sinking heart rejoice ; 
 For now I know that yonder stai' 
 Is her sweet soul, glowing afar 
 Upon the sea where lies no wreck. 
 Within the lustre of the land 
 Of silver tide and golden strand, 
 Her pilot — immortality ; 
 And though 'tis but a little speck. 
 Each night I'll come to watch and sigh 
 For that blest time when I may fly 
 To join her in the starry sky.
 
 26 
 
 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 I STOOD upon the hill, one night, 
 
 I stood and gazed below, 
 And dimly, in the fading light, 
 
 I saw the flashing snow. 
 And, in the distance, far and bright, 
 
 The evening tapers glow. 
 
 The lambs (methought it was a sin 
 
 Were bleating on the wold, 
 And seeking for a spot wherein 
 
 To shelter from the cold, 
 Or cropping off the herbage thin, 
 
 That di'oop'd upon the mould. 
 
 The snowdrop, young and thoughtless thing, 
 
 Had rear'd its head to die, 
 And, on the spotless covering. 
 
 In death, I saw it lie ; 
 Awhile the brook went murmuring, 
 
 As in a coffin by. 
 
 I heard the ice up-breaking crash, 
 Upon the frozen lea,
 
 THE MYSTERY. 27 
 
 Like the dull stifled booming dash, 
 
 Of an impetuous sea ; 
 And, like a shrouded ghost, the ash 
 
 Look'd frowning down on me. 
 
 And high above me, wheeling round, 
 
 I saw grim phantoms flit. 
 And heard the strange unearthly sound, 
 
 Tlieir shadelcss wings emit ; 
 And meteors danced along the ground, 
 
 By ne'er a mortal lit. 
 
 And, unaccustom'd to the sight, 
 
 The timid turtle-dove. 
 Sat silently, as though a blight 
 
 Had fallen from above, 
 And Nature, like a bride in white, 
 
 Mourn'd her sweet summer love. 
 
 And, from his deep lone sleep awoke, 
 
 I heard an owlet cry. 
 And mufHcd in his downy cloak, 
 
 He flutter'd slowly by. 
 With stiffen'd wing, and hollow croak. 
 
 And sunken, sullen eye. 
 
 An eye, whose tardy glance was cast 
 
 Ai'ound to meet despair. 
 To see some spirit of the past, 
 
 That once was bright and fair ; 
 The bower trembling in the blast, 
 
 All flowerless and bare. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 'Twas such a night, that mortal ne'er 
 
 Had ventured in before ; 
 The fox lay nestling in his lair, 
 
 Nor thought of wand'ring more, 
 Nor wish'd to snuff the chilly aii', 
 
 Beyond his snow-lock'd door. 
 
 The stai's that brightly shone on high, 
 Now left the gates of heaven, 
 
 And shot across the darken'd sky. 
 As though by Furies driven, 
 
 And from their throne of majesty. 
 To pristine chaos given. 
 
 And in that sad and dreary scene. 
 
 Before my spirit rose. 
 The lightsome hours that once had been- 
 
 The moments of repose. 
 Ere merry youth's enchanting green. 
 
 Was crusted o'er with snows. 
 
 For memory will linger yet, 
 O'er scenes that mciij not die, 
 
 Recalling them when all beset 
 With sorrow is our sky. 
 
 Though in our summer we forget 
 " That winter draweth nigh." 
 
 And silent night paced calmly on. 
 
 As martyrs to tlie stake. 
 And lonely stood the famish'd swan. 
 
 Beside the frozen lake ;
 
 THE MYSTERY. 29 
 
 And still those magic meteors shone 
 Within the shivering brake. 
 
 And still the blast incessant blew, 
 
 Amid the wither'd trees, 
 And round me still the owlet flew, 
 
 And muttered in the breeze, 
 And by his restless voice I knew 
 
 His soul was ill at ease. 
 
 He told a tale about the dead — 
 
 Of love and hope deferr'd — 
 Of lonely walks — of murder red — 
 
 Of agonies unheard — 
 And of a cold and snowy bed. 
 
 And spoke no other word ; 
 
 But look'd at me, and look'd as though 
 
 He would my spirit urge 
 To some good deed; then flew below 
 
 Upon the brooklet's verge ; 
 And there he chanted, sad and slow, 
 
 A strange and ancient dirge. 
 
 And as the pallid moonbeam fell 
 
 Upon that pallid place, 
 I saw, though half-invisible, 
 
 A maiden's upturn 'd face, 
 All motionless within that dell, 
 
 In sullen death's embrace.
 
 30 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 A smile was on her faded lip, 
 
 And on her cheek a tear 
 Had frozen in the demon grip 
 
 Of winter, cold and drear. 
 Or perhaps it was a starry drip 
 
 From one that hover'd near. 
 
 I gazed upon her as she lay 
 
 So lovely on the night ; 
 'Twas there I'd seen the meteors play, 
 
 With undulating hght. 
 And yet more beautiful than they 
 
 Was she, and once as bright. 
 
 I laid her where, in summer hour, 
 The sweet wild-roses bloom ; 
 
 And they will form a sylvan bower 
 Above her peaceful tomb, 
 
 And keep it from the weltering shower, 
 And from the midnight gloom. 
 
 None other knoweth where she lies, 
 Where rests her weary head ; 
 
 But often, when the twilight flies, 
 I wander round her bed, 
 
 And talk of things beyond the skies, 
 And slumberings with the dead.
 
 31 
 
 THE FAIRY DREAM. 
 
 I'd licard of the ring where the Fairies sing, 
 
 And I took my ]\Iary there ; 
 And her dark eye Ht up the pui-Ung spring, 
 
 And the flowers sweet and fair, 
 And flash'd on the plume of the sea-gull's wing, 
 
 As it Avander'd through the au\ 
 She sat like a queen, like a beauteous queen, 
 
 And locks of her raven hair 
 Intertwined with flowers, and an evergreen 
 
 Made a diadem rich and rare ; 
 And I vow'd that I loved her more than life, 
 
 But she shook her head, and smiled, 
 And told me of scenes in the earth's dark strife, 
 
 And call'd me a waywai'd child, 
 And said I should change in a little while — 
 
 That faithless my heart would be. 
 And leave her to weep, like a lonely isle 
 
 In the midst of a treacli'rous sea. 
 And I swore by all holy things above, 
 
 By the stars that lit the lea, 
 That ever I'd love with a changeless love, 
 
 If she would be true to me.
 
 32 THE FAIRY RING. 
 
 But she shook her head again, and a sigh 
 
 Was the only answer given ; 
 And I saw, by its hght, that her flashing eye 
 
 Was turn'd on the summer heaven ; 
 And then, as I gazed on that eye, a tear 
 
 Stood quivering on its hd ; 
 And I ask'd her what she had cause to fear. 
 
 What grief in her heart lay hid. 
 She told me no sorrow could nestle there. 
 
 For her heart was light and free ; 
 But she wept as she softly breathed a prayer 
 
 To the Infinite for me : 
 That my life might be a long life of rest. 
 
 And bright as a mountain stream ; 
 That I in my love might be truly blest, 
 
 And cheer'd with its gentle beam. 
 And then in that hour of the night's deep 
 noon, 
 
 I kiss'd her snowy brow, 
 And said, " Thou hast whisper'd for me a boon. 
 
 And it's thine to grant it now." 
 " Oh, if I can grant it," the maid replied, 
 
 " I would not say thee nay ; 
 Will thy heart think thus when old Time shall 
 hide 
 
 These locks with his hand of gray ? " 
 And I swore again j by all things above. 
 
 By the stars that lit the lea, 
 That ever I'd love with a changeless love, 
 
 If she would be true to me.
 
 THE FAIRY RING. 33 
 
 " I'll love thee," she sigh'd, " while the sea-gull 
 wings 
 
 His way o'er the foaming sea, 
 And I'll cling to thee while the ivy clings 
 
 Round the trunk of a forest tree." 
 And my hfe has been an enchanted scene, 
 
 As briglit as the mountain-spring ; 
 For I bless the niglit, and cacli star whose light 
 
 Fell over the " Fairy Ring."
 
 34 
 
 IF YOU LOVE THEM ! 
 
 Do you love the pretty flower, 
 
 Of the bright and sunUt hue, 
 When it droops in woodland bower, 
 
 'Neath a load of tearlike dew, 
 As it listens, sad and lonely, 
 
 To the linnet's merry lay ? 
 If you love, and love it only 
 
 For itself, it must decay. 
 
 Do you love the perfumed zephyr. 
 
 When it whispers to the tree 
 With a voice that wakens ever 
 
 Thoughts of something yet to be ? 
 As you stand, enchanted nearly. 
 
 Wondering what those whispers say. 
 If you love, and love it merely 
 
 For itself, it must decay. 
 
 Do you love the crystal fountain, 
 By the star-light gilded o'er, 
 
 Where the bald and hoary mountain 
 Throws its shadow on the floor ?
 
 IF YOU LOVE TIIEM ! 35 
 
 Wlicre the wild roe stoops to covet 
 One more glance, then bounds away ? 
 
 If you love, and deai'ly love it 
 For itself, it must decay. 
 
 Do you love the murm 'ring river, 
 
 Winding through the emerald glade, 
 Where the nodding harchells quiver, 
 
 In the sunshine and the shade ? 
 Where the hermit, aged and holy. 
 
 Chants a " farewell" to the day; 
 If you love, and love it solely 
 
 For itself, it must decay. 
 
 Do you love the glow-worm, twinkling 
 
 Where the well its water spills ? 
 Do you love the gentle tinkling 
 
 Of the merry silver rills ; 
 He, the God of land and river. 
 
 Sent them here to cheer your way ; 
 If you love them for the Giver, 
 
 In your soul they'll live for aye. 
 
 oO^ S ^CL^'t)
 
 36 
 
 WHAT ART THOU, DEATH?* 
 
 One summer eve, as lay the lake, 
 
 Bath'd in a mantling glow, 
 The birds were pouring from the brake, 
 
 Their gushings soft and low ; 
 I lingered still to hear them sing. 
 
 And 'neath the willow lay, 
 Thinking of almost anything 
 
 To while an hour away. 
 
 I wonder'd long why scenes must pass 
 
 Though fann'd by beauty's breath, 
 And dreamily I said, Alas ! 
 
 Alas ! what art thou, Death ? 
 This muttering o'er and o'er, I heard 
 
 A stern voice answer me, 
 'Twas in the song of brook and bird. 
 
 And carol of the bee. 
 
 'Twas in the sigh of gi'ass and flow'r, 
 
 'Twas everywhere unseen, 
 It seemed to fill that summer hour, 
 
 And blight its em'rald green ; 
 
 * This was ono of my first productions, and therefore very 
 imperfect.
 
 WHAT ART THOU, DEATH ? 37 
 
 The air was burdon'd with its weight, 
 
 I felt it on my breath ; 
 I know thou art the King of Fate, 
 
 But oh ! what art thou, Death ? 
 
 What ai't thou. Death ? I've heard of thee : 
 
 " A trance, and nothing more. 
 An all-pervading mystery. 
 
 That lloats the senses o'er ; 
 An end to grief and sullen strife, 
 
 A glazing of the eye : " 
 If this be Death, when tired of life, 
 
 'Twere foolish not to die. 
 
 What art thou, Death ? I've heai'd of thee : 
 
 " A change, and something more, 
 Sweet bliss, or deepest misery. 
 
 On an immortal shore ; 
 To meet a great tribunal there, 
 
 With hosts of angels nigh : " 
 If this be Death, may I prepai'e, 
 
 Ere the summons come to die. 
 
 What art thou. Death ? I've heai'd of thee : 
 
 " To some, a life of rest. 
 Where angels tune their minstrelsy 
 
 Upon a Saviour's breast ; 
 A life in realms where life's long day 
 
 Is peaceful as the sky : " 
 If this be Death, who here would stay ; 
 
 I long and yearn to die.
 
 38 WHAT ART THOU, DEATH ? 
 
 What art thou, Death ? I've heard of thee 
 
 '' To some a Hfe of woe, 
 Of pain, and rackmg agony, 
 
 In fiery gulphs below ; 
 A fearful doom, without reprieve, 
 
 Where fallen demons lie :" 
 If this be Death, oh ! may I live 
 
 The life that fits to die. 
 
 ■" »-— ^^^o*i5;v^S^^?)'^" ■■
 
 39 
 
 THE INDIAN'S DREAM. 
 
 In the land, where rushing waters 
 
 Roll on ever to the ocean ; 
 
 Where the buffalo, and wild horse, 
 
 And the wolf and bear assemble ; 
 
 Where the swift gazelle and roebuck, 
 
 Tread the prairie's green oasis ; 
 
 Where the vulture on the tree-top. 
 
 Stretches out his long neck windwai'd 
 
 Where the sharp crack of the rifle. 
 
 And the red man's whoop re-echo 
 
 Through the dim aisles of the forest. 
 
 Thus, it happen'd, as the day-god 
 
 Trod with tardy footsteps seaward, 
 
 That I to the camp returning. 
 
 Laid me down upon a hillock. 
 
 By the clinging pea- vine cover'd, 
 
 Basking in the gen'rous sunshine. 
 
 All around me, breathed of beauty, 
 
 Spoke of harmony and pleasure. 
 
 For the weary chase was over. 
 
 And the wolf had scarcely thought of 
 
 Wandering from his cosy thicket ; 
 
 And I dreamt again I sojourn 'd 
 
 Where my early glories budded, 
 
 Where they blossom'd, where they withcr'd ; 
 
 And I saw the busy wigwam,
 
 40 THE Indian's dream. 
 
 Flourish as a flower in summer. 
 'Twas the gentle hour of sunset, 
 And the leaves were softly gilded 
 With an ever-changing lustre, 
 And the birds sang in the branches. 
 And the bee with pensive humming, 
 Sail'd before me, speeding homeward 
 Laden with the spoils of flowers ; 
 And the firefly in the forest. 
 Glanced along on merry winglet ; 
 And I saw old forms and faces, — 
 Saw my mother, and the old man, 
 Bending like two stricken pine-trees, 
 Torn, up-rooted by the tempest, 
 Or the silent work of ages. 
 But to me, my loved one came not. 
 Came not then my dai'k-eyed maiden, 
 Came not then my heart's wild flower. 
 Though I look'd, and long'd, and waited. 
 Then I asked them, where she wander'd, 
 Where she rested ; and they spoke not. 
 Not a word they spoke, but pointed 
 To the city of the white man ; 
 And I read their silent glances. 
 And I waird my dark-eyed maiden ; 
 But I kept it in my bosom. 
 And they knew not that my spirit 
 Struggled hard with secret sorrow ; 
 And I said, " I know she pineth 
 For the land where flowers blossom, 
 For the land of merry sunshine ;
 
 TlIK INDIAN S DUE AM. 
 
 Piiietli for her weeping sister, 
 Piuetli for the one who bare her, 
 For the old man, and her brothei- ; 
 And I swore that ere the morrow 
 Darker grew beneath the night-shade, 
 I would overtake and brhig her 
 To the land where flowers blossom, 
 To the land of merry sunshine, — 
 Bring her to her weeping sister, 
 Bring her to the one who bare her, 
 To the old man and her brother. 
 Then I turned to go, and each one 
 Of the women beat their bosoms, 
 Tore their hau', and pray'd the prophet 
 To direct me on my journey. 
 Then the teacher of the people, 
 He Avho wrought so many wonders. 
 He the mighty man of med'cine. 
 Brought a cage, wdierein a white dove. 
 Shook her wing with restless longing 
 To escape her narrow prison ; 
 And he called me nearer to him, 
 And commanded, " If thou seest 
 Dove like this one flying near thee, 
 Know that I am there directing 
 It, to guide thee to the maiden." 
 Having spoken thus, he blest me. 
 And I lonely left the wigwam. 
 
 Here I stiu'ted from my dreaming. 
 And the stars shone brightly o'er me, 
 
 D 
 
 41
 
 4:2 THE INDIAN S DREAM. 
 
 For the night was very far gone, 
 And the camp-fires low were burning, 
 And my weaiy comrades sleeping. 
 And I saw their swarthy faces, 
 As the fii-elight gleam'd upon them. 
 In the forest all was silent, 
 Not a leaf stirred on the tree -top, 
 Not a leaf fell on the gTeensward ; 
 By the streams the herds were lying, 
 Dreaming of the spreading prairie. 
 Resting till the coming morrow. 
 But I whisper' d to my spirit : 
 " Thou wilt never rest, nor slumber, 
 Till thy earth-star is restored thee." 
 Then I left the camp, and softly 
 Wander'd forth into the midnight, 
 Far to rove beneath the starlight, 
 Swearing, by the mighty Spirit, 
 To regain my dark-eyed maiden. 
 Or to seek, and seek for ever 
 (Waiting for the dove to guide me), 
 Till I should be called to flourish. 
 In the deathless hunting regions 
 Of the spirits of my fathers.
 
 43l #-" r^ 
 
 THE RUINED MILL. 
 
 The stones upon the lonely mill, 
 
 Are crumbling one by one, 
 The once revolving wheel is still, 
 
 And all its labour done ; 
 And like a thought of other time, 
 
 The brook is gurgling still, 
 Arousing with its merry chime, 
 
 The old deserted Mill. 
 
 The miller's song is heard no more, 
 
 His jovial laugh is dumb. 
 And desolation hovers o'er 
 
 His once enchanted home ; 
 I've seen him lean against the porch, 
 
 Where briers climb at will, 
 And smiling tell that Fortune's torch 
 
 Shone in his dusty Mill. 
 
 The spaiTows chirp beneath the eaves, 
 
 As they were wont of yore. 
 And hop among the wither'd leaves. 
 
 That patter to the door, 
 Or pining sit, and watch, and wait. 
 
 Upon the oaken sill. 
 And twitter to tlieir dying mate. 
 
 The old, the ruined Mill. 
 
 D 2 

 
 44 THE RUINED MILL. 
 
 The pathway, and the garden flowers, 
 
 Are cover'd o'er with weeds, 
 And gales long used to fragrant bowers, 
 
 Now whistle through the reeds ; 
 The painted kennel in the court, 
 
 Has lost its faithful " Will," 
 And broken echoes only sport 
 
 Ai'ound the ruined Mill. 
 
 And as I gaze, they bring to me 
 
 The spirit of my youth, 
 When yearly 'neath the Christmas-tree, 
 
 We met in love and truth : 
 There's something in each tottering wall 
 
 That makes me love it still — 
 I'd give the noblest manor-hall, 
 
 To save the ruined Mill. 
 
 -'^<'it^jr^^i^iAde>'^~~-
 
 45 
 
 THE PA§T. 
 
 When mouklcring relics of the past, 
 
 From slumber rise before me, 
 And, tbough witb faded lustre, cast 
 
 Their still, soft magic o'er me; 
 'Tis like a harp that hangs alone. 
 
 With ivy round it clinging. 
 Whose sever'd chords emit no tone. 
 
 And still we hear them singing, — 
 Some gentle lay of ages flown. 
 
 Through mem'ry's caverns ringing. 
 
 When care and sorrow round my brow 
 
 Their frowning forces muster. 
 Upon my heart their shades endow, 
 
 And round its tendrils cluster. 
 When those I love have pass'd away. 
 
 And hope is darkly shaded, 
 When bright young flowers of yesterday. 
 
 Lie wither'd all, and faded, 
 When long and hoary streaks of gray. 
 
 Among my locks are braided ; — 
 
 If Mem'iy fail to bring me back 
 
 Those things the past hath taught her, 
 
 And like a vessel leave no track 
 Upon the boundless water,
 
 46 THE PAST. 
 
 That spreads her sails to reach the shore, 
 By waves and distance parted, 
 
 That holds her way and knows no more 
 The spot from where she started, — 
 
 My only solace wonld be o'er, 
 And life in life departed. 
 
 r^5^^
 
 THE SPIRITS JOURNEY HOME. 
 
 Her spirit has gone to that haven blest, 
 
 To the deathless shore of eternal rest, 
 
 To the fane of mercy, of truth, and of love ; 
 
 'Twas borne through the air by a heavenly dove. 
 
 By a snowy dove of the silver wing ; 
 
 And the stroke of each rustling silver wing 
 
 Made the vaulted roof of the firmament ring ; 
 
 It soar'd far away to a wreathy cloud, 
 
 That lay on the sky like an angel-shroud. 
 
 And I saw dim shadows ilit round its side. 
 
 And they sigh'd and sang, and they sang and 
 
 sigh'd. 
 As the dove drew nigh: " The Spirit and Bride 
 Say, 'Come to the land which ne'er mortal trod.' " 
 Then I knew those shadows were sent by God 
 To carry the soul to that haven blest — 
 To the deathless shore of eternal rest; 
 And there chimed a voice in the evening air: 
 
 Beware ! Beware ! 
 
 Prepare ! Prepare ! 
 To leave the earth and its tinsel glare.
 
 48 THE spieit's journey home. 
 
 And I look'd again, but the cloud was gone, 
 Save a little speck, that kept sailing on ; 
 Anon it was lost to the fai'thest view, 
 Again it appear'd in the ether blue. 
 There flash'd a light from the orient sky, 
 And the breeze sang soft as it whisper'd by; 
 And methought I gazed on the golden strand, 
 That I heard the songs of the happy land. 
 The tinkling harps of the seraphin band ; 
 And the stars gi'ew bright, and the night less dim. 
 As they caught the flow of that angel-hymn — 
 " The Spirit and Bride say, 'Come, come, come.'" 
 It was the redeem'd one's welcome home ; 
 And I knew that the soul had gone to rest 
 On the deathless shore of that haven blest. 
 But the voice still hung in the stilly air : 
 
 Beware ! Beware ! 
 
 Prepare ! Prepare ! 
 To leave the earth and its tinsel glare. 
 
 t.-''C:~^ClX^^i<J^X£5'^3^-3
 
 -19 
 
 LINES ON HAVELOCK * 
 
 BOVE thee Fame unfolds her wiiif 
 And crimson'd laurels hail thee: 
 
 The poet will thy virtues sing, 
 The minstrel touch the magic string, 
 And this is all the woi-ld can bring ; 
 Yet what can it avail thee ! 
 
 For He, the only great and just, 
 Has torn thy bonds asunder; 
 
 And left this clay, this lifeless crust. 
 
 To moulder, and decay, and rust, 
 
 In silence, to its native dust. 
 The sculptured marble under. 
 
 Within each heart there'll be a spot, 
 And thou wilt be its treasure ; 
 
 Long years will pass, but thou wilt not; 
 
 Thy worth can never be forgot ; 
 
 And oh ! to wail thy better lot 
 Is pain akin to pleasure ! 
 
 * This was another of my first-fruits.
 
 60 
 
 THE DREAM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 A ZEPHYE, wandering o'er the Rhine, 
 Paid gentle court to bird and flower, 
 
 Caress'd the arching festoon'dvine, 
 
 And murmur'd through Lallara's bower. 
 
 In that bower knelt a maiden. 
 Praying that the God of Heaven 
 Would recall the life He'd given, 
 
 For her heai't with grief was laden. 
 
 PKAYEE. 
 
 God of Heaven, hear me. Thou, 
 Thou, who famed for mercy art, 
 
 Cast oblivion o'er me now. 
 Still the beating of my heart. 
 
 Often in the night, unseen, 
 I have pray'd that I might fly, 
 
 Where no mortal foot hath been, 
 In the azure sky. 
 
 When a child, my head reclined 
 On my sainted mother's breast ; 
 
 She would tell me Thouwert kind, — 
 Those who call'd on Thee were blest:
 
 THE DREAM OF IIEAVKN. 51 
 
 Tell mc of Thy throne above, 
 
 Of Thy presence everywhere, 
 That Thy very name was Love, — • 
 Love and mercy rare. 
 
 Jesus, intercede for me, 
 
 To the God of mercy pour 
 Out one prayer, that His decree 
 
 Bid my bosom pant no more. 
 Oh ! there is no love in Heaven, 
 
 Is no love or mercy nigh, 
 Or my prayer had not been given, 
 And unheard on high ! 
 
 As she prayed, she turn'd her eye 
 Towards the blue ethereal sky. 
 On whose face a star was shining ; 
 And its lustre was reclining 
 On the river and the rill, 
 On the forest and the hill. 
 On the valley and the ocean. 
 And her frenzied heart's emotion 
 Calm'd beneath the steadfast gaze 
 Of that star, which spoke the praise 
 Of its Maker, of her God, 
 And her tears fell on the sod. 
 In that hour, as day departed. 
 Wept the maiden, broken-hearted; 
 Broken-hearted, for they only 
 Whom she loved had left her lonely ; 
 Left her for a distant bourne. 
 Left her, never to return.
 
 52 THE DEEAM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 In the faint and fitful glimmer 
 
 Of the twilight, waning dimmer, 
 
 Rose a Spirit from the river, 
 
 Where the rushes wave and quiver, 
 
 Where the plover's scream of fright 
 
 Wakes the echoes of the night, 
 
 Where the fairies nightly sing 
 
 Lightly round the " fairy ring." 
 
 As it spoke, there came a fluttering, 
 
 Like the low and distant muttering 
 
 Of a multitude of voices, 
 
 When the heart in mirth rejoices; 
 
 And it said, " Why art thou weeping. 
 
 And these lonely vigils keeping ? 
 
 Wilt thou let this mortal sadness 
 
 Goad thy spirit on to madness, 
 
 On to ruin and perdition ? 
 
 Come with me to see a vision 
 
 That will teach thee of the folly 
 
 Of this grief and melancholy. 
 
 Come with me, where pleasure beameth, 
 
 Where the flood of rapture streameth. 
 
 Maiden, come, for nought can harm thee, 
 
 Come, and every scene shall charm thee; 
 
 Every scene shall charm thee so, 
 
 That thou fain wouldst stay below." 
 
 And the still incessant fluttering 
 
 Of that sad and solemn muttering, 
 
 Like a sweet delusion, stole 
 
 O'er the maiden's trembling soul, 
 
 And she felt a sudden boldness, 
 
 And she cared not for the coldness
 
 THE DREAM OF HEAVEN. 63 
 
 01' the water, but descended, 
 By the Spirit still attended. 
 To the bottom oi' that river. 
 Where the rushes wave and (juiver, 
 Where the plover's scream of fright 
 Wakes the echoes of the night, 
 Where the fairies nightly sing 
 Lightly round the " fairy ring." 
 
 By an unperceived transition, 
 Suddenly she saw a vision 
 On her startled fancy beaming, 
 Saw, as if her soul were dreaming, 
 Saw the land where joy and pleasure 
 Are too gi'eat for mortal measure. 
 Saw upon that happy bourne 
 Every friend she came to mourn ; 
 And she thought, "Oh ! had I known 
 Where my cherish'd friends had flown. 
 Not a teai* had dimm'd mine eye, 
 In my breast had slept no sigh, 
 Not a grieving thought had blighted, 
 Nor a pleasant joy been shghtcd," 
 And now the Spirit bade her look : 
 She saw an angel bring a book, 
 And lay it at the foot of Him 
 To whom that angel sang a liymn 
 Of praise and glory ; then he took 
 That dark and dreary-seeming book, 
 And slowly read each cover'd page. 
 Whose writing had not changed with age,
 
 54 THE DEEAM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Save that it had much darker grown ; 
 Each leaf was made of massive stone, 
 And on each leaf, that book within. 
 Was writ some hapless mortal's sin. 
 Then said that God, " Herein I see 
 A mortal hath been false to Me. 
 Bring Me the seal of doom. I'll set 
 Its shadow here." " Father, not yet ; 
 That mortal lies upon the bed 
 Of death, by every solace fled, 
 Bows his gray head with sorrow rife. 
 And truly mourns a misspent life." 
 " Can he recall the bygone years, 
 Or cleanse his guilty soul with teai'S ? 
 If only penitent he be. 
 Then hath he still been false to Me." 
 " Father, not yet ; the hour wanes fast. 
 The eleventh hour, but 'tis not past ; 
 The shades of death are o'er him cast, 
 And still he may be saved at last. 
 Eejoice ! he cries, the sinner cries. 
 With broken voice and streaming eyes, 
 ' On a sinner have compassion ; 
 Jesus, by Thy cross and passion, 
 By Thy holy incarnation. 
 By Thy fasting and temptation, 
 By Thy death and burial. 
 By Thy coming, and by all 
 Thy bloody sweat and agony, 
 Lord, compassion have on me ! ' "
 
 THE DREAM OF HEAVEN. 65 
 
 HYMN OF THE ANGELS. 
 
 Angel of Deatli. 
 
 I come, I come from far, 
 
 Glad tidings I bring with me ; 
 I come from yonder star, 
 
 So briglit on the ether sea. 
 In my track a spirit flies 
 To these mansions of tlie skies; 
 He has sinn'd against Thee, Lord, 
 He has never loved Thy Word, 
 He has disobey'd Thy will ; 
 But he call'd on Thee at last, 
 When his life was flying fast, 
 And he is redeemed still. 
 By Thy mighty power to save, 
 He has triumph'd o'er the grave. 
 He has braved the sting of Death, — 
 With his last expiring breath 
 Sang the praise of Him whose love 
 W^on his soul a place above. 
 
 Angel of Life. 
 
 Lost, depraved. 
 
 Won and saved. 
 At Thy throne he now will worship, 
 Be a fellow of the heirship 
 Of this kingdom of the sky. 
 Nought shall sever 
 Him for ever
 
 56 THE DKEAM OF HEAVEN. - 
 
 From the rest which will defy 
 Time and immortality. 
 
 Angels. 
 
 Nought shall sever 
 
 Him for ever 
 
 From the rest which will defy 
 
 Time and immortality. 
 
 Chenihin and Scraphm. 
 Thee we praise, God of Heaven ! 
 Thee, by whom each life was given; 
 All the world doth worship Thee, 
 Father, everlastingly; 
 All the angels loudly cry, 
 
 Heaven, and all the powers therein, 
 Cherubin and Seraphin, 
 
 Praise the God who reigns on high. 
 
 Angel {with the heys of Heaven). 
 Come to meet him, come to meet him. 
 
 Come to meet him, come, oh, come ! 
 Let us be the first to greet him 
 
 With a joyful welcome home. 
 Demons mutter as they meet him. 
 
 Stars grow brighter, winds ai'c dumb ; 
 Let us be the first to greet him 
 
 With a welcome, come, oh, come ! 
 
 Angels. 
 
 Lost, depraved, 
 Won, and saved.
 
 THE DliEAM OF HEAVEN. 57 
 
 Faded, then, tlie magic flow, 
 Sank each voice to whispers low, 
 Flamed less bright each taper's glow. 
 And Lallara, pale and cold. 
 As one waking from a dream. 
 Stood upon the grassy mould, 
 By that deep and rapid stream. 
 Where the reeds and rushes quake, 
 Where the plover cries. Awake. 
 Silently awhile she pondered, 
 And her spirit thought and wondered 
 Whether 'twas a truth, or whether 
 'Twas the fancies thrown together. 
 As she ponder'd, spake she slowly, 
 Spake in accents weak and lowly : 
 " Ah ! my heai't is hghter now, 
 And no shadows cloud my brow, 
 And my spirit is content, 
 On its Maker's errand bent ; 
 For, to me, the word is given. 
 Love and mercy reign in Heaven." 
 
 — -*.3'&f<gv'&*'=:^ 
 
 E
 
 58 
 
 WOMAN'S EYE. 
 
 I LOVE the blue of woman's eye, 
 
 It whispers of the azure sky ; 
 
 Of clear and curling mountain streams ; 
 
 Of soft and dazzUng fairy di'eams ; 
 
 Of lonely flowers, sweet and rare ; 
 
 Of Vii'tue's lore ; 
 
 Of these, and more, 
 Of all that heav'n and earth adore. 
 
 I love the gray eye, stern and lone. 
 
 Cold as the white impassive stone. 
 
 Where seems to reign an only sense, 
 
 Of callous, bare indifference ; 
 
 'Twill change with Time , and Fate , and Chance , 
 
 And 'neath the lover's fever'd glance, 
 
 Will glow and shine, 
 
 A polished mine, 
 A cup for Love's most precious wine. 
 
 I love the jetty eye, whose Hght 
 Is hke a taper on the night, 
 Beneath whose long and silken lash, 
 Impulsive feelings lurk, or flash 
 As silent lightnings gently play 
 Along the marge of dying day : 
 
 'Tis dear to me, . 
 
 Tho' like the sea, 
 Its calm foretells its treachery.
 
 r 
 
 9 
 
 IN ANSWER TO A FRIEND. 
 
 [Who wrote to warn mc of the snares of a town, when I left 
 home the first time] 
 
 And if the lip, the trembHng lip 
 Should lure me of its sweet to sip, 
 If ilashiug eyes should me beguile, 
 To wreck me on a desert isle ; 
 Then come and kneel beside my grave, 
 
 And let no flower o'er it grow. 
 And not a line, a word, engrave. 
 
 To tell whose ashes sleep below ; 
 But near it plant a cypress-tree. 
 
 And thro' the midniglit it will wave. 
 And speak, as tho' it spoke of thee ; 
 
 And when the eye of dawming day, 
 'Mid clouds of red-fringed purple hue, 
 
 Comes peeping thro' the misty gray, 
 Upon each bough will hang the dew. 
 
 Fringing every drooping spray. 
 As tho' thy soul were in that tree. 
 Weeping itself away for mo. 
 
 E 2
 
 60 
 
 THE ALDERLEY GHOST. 
 
 [This is the only credible version which I can obtain, although 
 I have questioned every old inhabitant in the neighbour- 
 hood, in search of legendary lore.] 
 
 The village clock, with lazy stroke, 
 
 Upon the stilly night- air broke, 
 
 And started from its lonely bed, 
 
 Each spirit of the buried dead ; 
 
 And the church tower, high and brown, 
 
 Upon the midnight seemed to frown, 
 
 And throw a sadness on each tomb, 
 
 Deep'ning the darkness of the gloom, 
 
 While the pale moonbeam struggled through 
 
 The lofty elms, but merely threw 
 
 A ray, that flicker'd here and there, 
 
 As groaning boughs waved in the air, 
 
 And trembled as with inborn fear. 
 
 It was the sacred hour of prayer. 
 When earth seems calm, and heaven near; 
 When ghosts and ghouls are seen to cross 
 With noiseless footsteps o'er the moss ; 
 E'er and anon, a tiny spark, 
 Like glow-worms, flitted through the dark ;
 
 THE ALDERLEY GHOST. <'»1 
 
 In liollow wliispers down the dell, 
 Swept the wild notes of witches' spell; 
 A iniirniur floated from the lake, 
 And died in Clinton's startled brake, 
 And silently the moon's last beam, 
 Fell on the forest, lake, and stream, 
 Silver'd the cloud, and ht the sky, 
 Then sank to slumber peacefully. 
 Such was the time, when up the road 
 A harvest-man, Pat Dowlan, strode, 
 Returning from unholy revel, 
 And half in tune to meet the devil ; 
 And where that gentleman is seen. 
 
 On windy nights, 'mid gusts and squalls. 
 Strode Paddy, with a careless mien. 
 
 Now mimicking the plover's calls, 
 Or singing, as he passed along. 
 Part of an Irisli drinlsing song : — 
 
 " Oi fear not the daivil, 
 
 She'll do ma no aivil, 
 For, ai'rah ! the jewel keeps out o' moi sight, 
 
 I spake of her daily. 
 
 An' wid moi shilhlah, 
 An' bhottle of whiskey, Oi'd face her to-nhight." 
 
 " Speak of the devil, and he will come," 
 So says the proverb, and it's true. 
 
 For soon as Paddy's song was done, 
 
 He heard a low and stifled hum, 
 
 That turn'd his cheeks a whitish blue.
 
 62 THE ALDERLEY GHOST. 
 
 His first intention was to run. 
 
 His next to pray, although he knew, 
 
 The whom he would be praying to. 
 
 Loudly his heart began to beat. 
 And something like a magnet drew 
 
 His eyes, for they review'd his feet. 
 And dared not wander from the floor. 
 
 He called the saints a time or two, 
 Said " Ave, Marias," o'er and o'er, 
 
 And cross'd himself of times a score. 
 
 And hem'd and ha'd a little more, 
 And then, said he : " If O'ive affinded, 
 Yer riverince, it was onintindid. 
 And iv yer honor will not spout it, 
 Oi'll tell yees all an' all about it ; 
 Tho' 'twasn't ma which staled the cow. 
 But Jem M'Carthy, anyhow. 
 Yer honor, once he came to me 
 And said, ' Ye've bin a frind, have ye ; 
 Indade, ye are moi only frind, 
 And Oi'd be much obloiged d'ye see — 
 An' we could never disagree — 
 Iv ye had got five phounds to lind.' 
 An' faix, an' tho' the loan was small, 
 I was not worth five phounds at all ; 
 An' thin, to save a frind, at least, 
 Oi sowld young Farmer Mullins' beast ; 
 An' sure, an' faith, yer honor now 
 Will say I didn't stale the cow ; 
 An' as Oi've nothing worth confessing, 
 Oi'll ax yer riverince fur a blessing."
 
 THE ALDERLEY GHOST. 03 
 
 Witli cap ill lianc], poor Paddy waited, 
 
 And still " his riverince" hesitated 
 
 To give the coward thief a blessing, 
 
 Whose case grew more and more distressing ; 
 
 For ever, and anon, he felt 
 
 " His honor's" burning breath, and smelt 
 
 A strange effluvia, which arising 
 
 From priest or de'il, would be surprising, — 
 
 So strange, that he resolved to steal 
 
 A look, although for such offence. 
 Upon his soul should lie the seal 
 
 Of matchless mortal impudence. 
 So, gathering courage, first he stood, 
 Then round the corners eyed the wood. 
 Then raised his head, — ha ! ha ! what now ? 
 Stood face to face with — " MulUns' cow ! "
 
 64 
 
 SONGS, MINOR PIECES, & 
 
 C. 
 
 SONG.— WHEN THE SNOWS. 
 
 When the snows encrust the rill, 
 When the Imnet's song is still, 
 When the brown leaves, falling fast, 
 Shake and flutter in the blast : 
 Fly to me, for where thou art, 
 Spring must come, and frost depart. 
 
 When the softly humming bees, 
 Linger near the hawthorn trees ; 
 When the flowers, bright and gay. 
 Crown the sweets of summer day : 
 Fly to me, for nought can be 
 Perfect, if unshared by thee. 
 
 When Life's autumn draweth nigh'r. 
 When Hope's fever'd rays expire ; 
 When my soul is madly driven, 
 Wreck'd on earth, and lost to heaven. 
 When just retributions lour : 
 Come, to bless my dying hour.
 
 05 
 
 SONG.— 
 "THE LONGEST LANE'S A TURNING." 
 
 When Fate looks down, with sullen frown, 
 
 Sonic mortal woe foretelling, 
 When gentle rest forsakes the breast, 
 
 And care finds there a dwelling ; 
 When sorrow's blight has changed to night, 
 
 The hopes once brightly burning. 
 Though all is lost we prized the most, — 
 
 " The longest lane's a turning." 
 
 When hour and day seem dull and gray. 
 
 By constant ills attended, 
 When life can bring no better thing 
 
 Than wishing life were ended ; 
 ^Yhen pale remorse, with glaring eye. 
 
 Within the soul is burning, 
 Though summer friends pass coldly by, — 
 
 " The longest lane's a turning." 
 
 Then hold to cheer, and laugh at fear, 
 
 Tho' storms are sternly reigning, 
 And Fate will cease to mock and tease, 
 
 When thou hast ceased complaining ; 
 And set thy trust on Him who must 
 
 Keep life withhi thee burning. 
 To win the flood of sweeten'd good, — 
 
 " The longest lane's a turning."
 
 66 
 
 SONG.— ^' ALL AROUND THE WREKIN." 
 
 [The title and theme of this song is a very old Shropshire 
 
 toast.] 
 
 The night is falling on the earth, 
 
 The weekly toils ai*e over, 
 We gather round the festal hearth, — 
 
 The maiden and her lover ; 
 And if the stranger comes for cheer, 
 
 He comes not vainly seekin', — 
 Om* hearts could give a welcome here, 
 
 " To all around the Wrekin." 
 
 The old man, too, with hoary head, 
 
 Must join in every folly, 
 And say it's better be in bed. 
 
 Than up, and not be jolly ; 
 And tho', thro' care and constant wear, 
 
 His life fast out is ekin', 
 'Tis still his boast, to give the toast — 
 
 " To all around the Wrekin." 
 
 The fire burns low, the games are o'er, 
 
 And wit but slowly passes. 
 Dim shadows steal along the floor, 
 
 And empty stand the glasses ; 
 The clock has done with number one, 
 
 So now to close the week in. 
 We'll wish good night, to every wight, 
 
 " To all around the Wrekin."
 
 07 
 
 SONG.—'' AW A'." 
 
 I'm laith to lea'e ane's hame, lassie, 
 
 The auld an' blastit ha', 
 But I wad gie my bluid an' die, 
 
 When kin an' kintra ca'. 
 But maist, I'm laith to lea'e thee, l)aith 
 
 Sae sonsie an' sae braw, 
 An' I maun prie thy lip, lassie, 
 
 Afore I gang awa'. 
 
 Now, dinna leuk anent the neuk, 
 
 Na' turn tliae een awa', 
 Gin ilka lassie smilt o' me, 
 
 I wadna care for a'. 
 And be na' fasht tho' I maun gae 
 
 To reave whare cauld win's blaw ; 
 We'll lilt the lee-Ian g simmer day, 
 
 A boon the waterfa'. 
 
 Then fare thee weel, my ain lassie, 
 
 My tears drap on the snaw, 
 An' as I gie my heart to thee, 
 
 I'm sair the gift's sae sma'. 
 An' gin its worth thy care, lassie, 
 
 Thou'rt welcome to it a', 
 Sae I may prie thy lip, lassie. 
 
 Then lanely gang awa'.
 
 
 ,68 
 
 THE APOLOGY.— Letter No. I. 
 
 The gentleman, who wrote to you, ■ 
 Did something he ought not to do, 
 And does the same again, to ask 
 Your pardon. 'Tis no easy task 
 To say that some one, fond of fun. 
 Has done what many more have done, 
 Tho' in a different way, i. e., 
 Has made a precious fool of me. 
 And played on me a reg'lar hoax. 
 In truth, I'm very fond of jokes; 
 At least I was, that's more correct. 
 For, as I find they've no respect 
 For me, I've no respect for them, 
 And am their enemy pro tern. ; 
 But I'm digi^essing, and 'tis wett, 
 For I've a stupid tale to tell ; 
 And what is still a greater sin, 
 A stupid way to tell it in. 
 
 THE TALE. 
 
 A letter came the other day, 
 
 And in it somebody did pray. 
 
 That I'd immortalize in verse; 
 
 Her name, which was Miss Jane McPhearse, 
 
 Or rather, 'twas that in the letter. 
 
 And surely, said I, she'd know better,
 
 THE APOLOGY. 69 
 
 Tlian send anotlior person's name, 
 
 Instead of licr's, 'twould be a shame ; 
 
 However, tliinking it a strange 
 
 Request, I set my wits to range 
 
 The field of poesy, to find 
 
 The metre, rhyme, and thoughts combined, 
 
 And all those things of which song made is. 
 
 Being always glad to please the ladies. 
 
 But then, to write a httle piece, 
 
 To which her name should furnish grace, 
 
 Was quite a new idea to ufe, 
 
 And very natural so to be, ^ 
 
 When you consider that the fact is 
 
 In pleasing girls, I've not much practice ; 
 
 But to the point ! When I had spent 
 
 A little wliile, with good intent, 
 
 Retouch'd this Hne, and alter'd that, 
 
 Made this more soft, and that more pat. 
 
 Increased the sweet, withth-awn the caustic, 
 
 I found I'd peun'd a poor acrostic, 
 
 Which seem'd to carry in its track, 
 
 A crosser stick across my back, 
 
 Deliver'd by parental arm. 
 
 Who from my lines would take alarm. 
 
 The letter which I spoke of, said. 
 That when its meaning I had read, 
 I was to place it in the fire, 
 For fear that my most reverend sire, 
 Or some one else (it's all the same) 
 Should see it, and then spoil the game.
 
 70 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 It also had a last request, 
 
 About as queer as all the rest, 
 
 To sign myself " Alphonso Littens," 
 
 Most probably to rhyme with kittens. 
 
 The postscript ran, " Be sure you do 
 
 Get somebody to write for you." 
 
 The which I did, and when 'twas written, 
 
 It seem'd as tho' the pen were smitten 
 
 W'ith frolic, and, amid much laughter, 
 
 The hand had tried to follow after. 
 
 Trusting that you will forgive 
 
 My folly, freely as I give 
 
 An explanation of the cause 
 
 Which made me break the social laws ; 
 
 And, fearing that I still may make 
 
 A greater and more grave mistake, — 
 
 If luckless " I " should make my tale 
 
 Of greater length, and less avail, 
 
 I will conclude ; but, ere I do, 
 
 That your forgiveness may accrue, 
 
 I'll change my metre, and 111 beg a line, — 
 
 "To err, is hinnan ; to forgive, divine."
 
 71 
 
 THE NIGHTCAP.— Letter No. II. 
 
 Dear Sir, — 
 
 When I attended school, 
 And learnt by rote each prosy rule 
 Of Latin syntax, and could parse 
 Through half-a-dozen crooked bars, 
 Each night it was my wont to poui' 
 Through Vu-gil's deep and classic lore, 
 Or lightly scan some passage o'er. 
 And shut the book, with heart forlorn, 
 And say, " I'll learn it in the morn. 
 Though perhaps the whip's melodious thwack 
 Will play a hornpipe on my back." 
 Well, one night, sir, in such a way, 
 1 threw aside my books, to play; 
 And play'd away with all my might 
 And main, till veiy late at night ; 
 Then took my supper, said my prayers. 
 And played all-fours going up the stairs, 
 Then got in bed, and slept right sound, 
 Till every clock had gone the round, 
 And woke just as the steeple chime 
 Rang out the spnit- stirring time 
 When I in school should take my place, 
 And say my lessons and — my grace.
 
 72 THE NIGHTCAP. 
 
 There was no time to thinking stay, 
 
 So up I jump'd, and dress'd away, 
 
 Nor wash'd, nor brush'd, but down I ran, 
 
 Nor stay'd to speak to mortal man. 
 
 But snatch'd my books, and up the street 
 
 I cut on legs so long and fleet. 
 
 That everybody's face was cast 
 
 In laughter's mould as I went past. 
 
 I reach'd my place of doom, and there 
 
 I stood in undisguised despair, 
 
 For every boy had such a look 
 
 Of merriment upon his phiz. 
 
 That I no forward movement took, 
 
 But, sotto voce, said, " This is 
 
 A rather curious affair ; 
 
 For any one with eyes may see 
 
 The rod in pickle soaks for me." 
 
 Then straightway on I press'd to where 
 
 ]\[y class stood up before the master. 
 
 I took my place among the rest, 
 
 Prepared for some most dire disaster, 
 
 Feeling confoundedly distress'd. 
 
 Again the boys roar'd out with glee : 
 
 " Ah!" thinks I, "this can't be at me," 
 
 And join'd them in the secret fun, 
 
 And liked it much as any one. 
 
 Well, when the fit was fairly spun, 
 
 And something like good order won, 
 
 Thus spoke my master : " Wollaston, 
 
 I really do believe you'd be 
 
 A credit to your family,
 
 THE NIGHTCAP. 73 
 
 If you would only be so kind 
 
 As not to leave your head behind; 
 
 For, not content to leave your head, 
 
 Youve hromjht your iiightccq) here instead! " 
 
 You see I'm not ashamed to say 
 The freaks of any former day, 
 And never scruple when it might 
 Be useful to some luckless wiglit ; 
 So when again to me you write, 
 A letter like the last, whiJK made 
 Me laugh till I was half afi-aid 
 I should be e'en obliged to take 
 To wear a belt for safety's sake, 
 Or, if too late to work a cure ; 
 Next time you write, I say, be sure, 
 Not where your precious head is gone, 
 But that you've not your uigJitcap on ! 
 
 -^?<^JJ5ir=^5f*:9:dC>=5~- 
 
 F
 
 74 
 
 SONG— THE CHARMS OF ALDERLEY. 
 
 Wheke'ee I cast my roving eye, 
 Beneath the blue and spanless sky, 
 There's not a spot like this, say I, 
 There's not a place like Alderley. 
 
 I love to stray where oft I've stray 'd, 
 Beneath the fir-tree's fragi'ant shade, 
 To muse on all the friends I've made, 
 And enemies at Alderley. 
 
 The merry songsters fill the ah-, 
 The flowers blossom " fresh and fair," 
 And brooklets gently murmur e'er 
 To please the folks at Alderley. 
 
 And when the shades of evening close, 
 And bird and fountain seek repose. 
 The softest sighing zephyr blows 
 More softly still at Alderley. 
 
 The very stars shed clearer light, 
 The summer has a sweeter night. 
 And Natm'e's face, though always bright, 
 Is doubly bright at Alderley.
 
 THE CHARMS OF ALDERLEY. 75 
 
 Some love the prairie, some the sea, 
 ]3ut this is more than those to me — 
 To meet, when no one else can see, 
 The pretty girls of Aldcrley. 
 
 I've really quite made up my mind 
 To leave the giddy world behind, 
 For not a spot that I can find 
 
 Holds half the charms of Alderley. 
 
 F 2
 
 76 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the vesper-bell 
 
 Chiming along, 
 And the night-breezes swell 
 
 Loud with its song ; 
 Birds of the forest fly 
 
 Back to the brake, 
 And the flowers softly sigh, 
 
 Annie, awake ! 
 
 Gently my light bai'que glides 
 
 Over the stream, 
 Brightly the silver tides 
 
 Glisten and gleam. 
 While thro' the startled air. 
 
 Come from the lake, 
 Voices that whisper there, 
 
 Annie, awake ! 
 
 Rouse from thy dreaming, then, 
 
 Wake, pretty maid, 
 Come to the hollow glen, 
 
 Down in the glade, 
 Where the pure crystal springs. 
 
 Love-secrets take, 
 Some one there sighs, and sings 
 
 Annie, awake !
 
 77 
 
 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 She's beautiful and fair, 
 She's glorious and free, 
 
 She's a pretty little deai', 
 But fai' too dear for me. 
 
 " I SAY, old boy, you saw the fun 
 Of yestreen's knighthood stir ; 
 How look'd friend Mid, when it was done? " 
 " He look'd like Mid-night, sir." 
 
 TO AN OLD MAID. 
 
 Ah ! Lady, what a chai'ming bonnet ! 
 
 Such lovely colours ! what a show ! 
 And yet, alas ! the flowers on it 
 
 Eclipse the wither'd thorn below.
 
 78 
 
 TO A BROTHER POET. 
 
 Letter No. III. 
 
 Dear Oddie, — If you'd rise above the strife 
 Of what is called the " course of common life ;" 
 Steer for yourself, and yield to no one's whim, 
 Lie still, and perish, strike boldly out and swim 
 In safety, thro' the wild and boisterous tide, 
 To that blest haven on the other side, 
 Where the goddess Glory waits impatient now, 
 And twines a deathless lam'el for thy brow. 
 
 You fear the scribblers ! nonsense ! what are they? 
 But muffs, w^ho on the poet's genius prey, 
 Who steal the butter from our crusty bread, 
 And shower down hailstones on each crazy head, 
 Who, for thus doing, all our earnings share, 
 And pick our pockets of the little there ; 
 Who track our onward steps, with envious mind, 
 Till we tread pathways they can never find ; 
 Who,wond'ring, stand, and stai'e,and puff, and hum. 
 As we float calmly — where they may not come. 
 
 And as to critics, why, they do us good. 
 We should enrol them in the brotherhood. 
 They see our faults, and bring them to the light, 
 And when we're wrong, they try to set us right.
 
 TO A BROTHER POET. T9 
 
 Which I should say (excuse me being so plain) 
 Is endless trouble, and but little gain. 
 
 I send the song, which you so kindly take, 
 Not for its precious merits, but my sake. 
 And were I not afraid to tire you so, 
 I'd pray you, wdien you get the song, to go 
 And beg some 'paper's Editor t'insert 
 A " critique" on it, dashing, feeling, smai't; 
 But then, I fear, you would not rcUsh that^ 
 So I won't ask you ; no, I won't, that's flat ! 
 
 And now, I think, my letter's nearly full, 
 
 'Twixt you and I, my muse is growing dull, 
 
 And, in conclusion, I would merely state 
 
 That I do not so boldly rush at fate, 
 
 But long, with unexampled patience, wait 
 
 Outside the stately fane of Glory's gate. 
 
 And whistle for the Muses. Perhaps you know 
 
 I've courted them a very long time now, — 
 
 And if they mean to jilt me, after all, 
 
 I'll do my best to speed theu' pending fall, 
 
 ril turn my hack upon the fickle jades, 
 
 And pray the Gods that — they may die, old maids. 
 
 Knowing that you will excuse, 
 
 This ebulhtion of my muse, 
 
 I beg to remain, as oft I've done. 
 
 Yours, most sincerely, 
 
 WOLLASTON.
 
 80 
 
 TO THE EDITOR OF THE " MACCLES- 
 FIELD HERALD." 
 
 Letter No. IV. 
 
 Dear Sir, — Be kind enough to lend 
 
 An humble corner to a friend, 
 
 One you do not care to use. 
 
 Or where you put your oldest news, 
 
 That is supposing there should be one, 
 
 Tho' I confess I never see one, 
 
 But you can find one, if you choose, — 
 
 You really should respect the muse, 
 
 And puff it off with smoke and vapour, 
 
 In your well-circulated paper. 
 
 But should you read it in a huff. 
 
 And call the poor composer, " Muff, 
 
 I wonder how he'd send such dirt, 
 
 And coolly hope 111 it insert, 
 
 111 give it to its kindred mire. 
 
 No 1 111 insert it — in the fire, 
 
 And puff it off with smoke and vapour. 
 
 Among the coals and scraps of paper." 
 
 Then, sir, we're one and all agreed. 
 
 That you would be a friend in-dced. 
 
 I beg to remain, my father's son, 
 Your Poet, Burton Wollaston.
 
 81 
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 
 
 There's a darker mist on each hill to-night, 
 
 And a heavier cloud on the sky, 
 And the bird of the storm, in rapid flight, 
 
 Is wheeling and screaming on high. 
 And the hoary sea, with a fretful cry, 
 
 Is mm'muring up to the shore. 
 And dashing the spray in the pilot's eye, 
 
 As he sings to the surge's roar. 
 
 " Thou old, old sea. 
 
 With thy trembling sigh. 
 If away from thee 
 
 I should pine and die, — 
 Should pine for the sea. 
 And the snowy foam 
 
 Of its crested wave, — 
 'Tis the pilot's home 
 And the pilot's gi'ave. 
 
 " Old surly sea. 
 
 With thy breakers wild. 
 
 From my infancy 
 
 I have been thy child ;
 
 82 THE STOEM AT SEA. 
 
 And I cling to thee, 
 
 And thy treacherous brine ; 
 
 For thy joys I share, 
 And my hfe is thine. 
 
 While my hand can dai'e. 
 
 " Old friendly sea ! 
 
 On thy wrinkled brow 
 I have sported free ; 
 
 I'll not leave thee now. 
 For I long to be 
 
 Where my brothers sleep, 
 And they wait for me 
 
 In the azure deep 
 Of the old, old sea." 
 
 There's a darker mist on each hill to-night, 
 
 And a heavier cloud on the sky, 
 And the bird of the storm, in rapid flight. 
 
 Is wheeling and screaming on high. 
 There's a signal-gun from a ship in dread. 
 
 But there's never a hand to save. 
 For the pilot's gone to his lonely bed, 
 
 In the depths of the fathomless Avave, 
 And the gun's dull crash thro' the breakers sped. 
 
 Tolls a requiem over his grave.
 
 83 
 
 THE ISRAELITE'S DEATH. 
 
 Chtldken of Abraham, outcast, reviled, 
 
 Soon I shall dwell in the land of the blest, 
 God, in His mercy, hath call'd me His child. 
 
 Soon I shall slumber on Abraham's breast. 
 Long have I strayed from the land of my birth. 
 
 Where the deep tides of sad memory roll ; 
 A grief-burden'd spirit is leaving this earth. 
 
 Breaking the bonds that have ceased to control. 
 
 Silent and calm as the dew of the night. 
 
 Falls a grey mist, that envelops my brain ; 
 Far in the distance, resplendent and bright, 
 
 Beams the fair land of my fathers again. 
 The scenes of my childhood, the friends of my youth, 
 
 Where vine-tree and olive luxuriant grow — 
 They whisper sweet words of compassion and truth, 
 
 And chide me for leaving a wide world of woe. 
 
 I see the light moonbeam gild Lebanon's trees, 
 And glittering stai'S shine on Abraham's grave ; 
 
 I hear the deep sigh of the desert's wild breeze, 
 And the sorrowful murmur of Galilee's wave.
 
 84 THE ISRAELITES DEATH. 
 
 A tempest is hovering gloomy and grim, 
 
 The loud thunders roai', and the gentle gales swell. 
 
 Hark ! angels are chanting my funeral hymn, — 
 They call me, they call me ! my children, fare- 
 well !
 
 85 
 
 ToE . 
 
 DEAD TO ME. 
 
 The midiiiglit skies arc hanging o'er me now, 
 And quickly beats my heart, and throbs my brow ; 
 I cannot beai' this anguish, for, to me. 
 The one I love is on Death's sullen sea. 
 
 The night-bird screams, and mutters in the air, 
 And mocking voices chase me everywhere, 
 E'en as the hnnet twitters in the tree, 
 It whispers sadly, " Lost and dead to thee." 
 
 The stars burn dimly in then' orbs on high. 
 As tho' they heard my dark soul's muffled sigh. 
 And zephyrs whisper, as they wander free, 
 " Forget the maiden, she is dead to thee." 
 
 And it were better that I should forget. 
 Nor brood o'er scenes, which only breed regret, 
 Forego the past, and be, for ever be 
 As tho' thy very name were dead to me. 
 
 Can earth forget to give new flowers birth. 
 And can those flowers forget their mother eai'th ; 
 Oh ! not till then, nor then such thing can be, 
 That I should cease to pine and mourn for thee.
 
 86 
 
 ADDRESS ON AN ENVELOPE. 
 
 To Liverpool I want to go, 
 
 And, more than that, I'm gomg, 
 But, whereabouts, you do not know, 
 
 So read, and youll be knowing. 
 To 93, in Warwick Street, 
 
 Is that an awkward road, hey? 
 'Cause, whether or no, you'll please to go 
 
 And ask for Mr. Brodie. 
 
 The postage is prepaid on this, 
 So, none of your nonsensities.
 
 87 
 
 TO MR. BRODIE. 
 
 [This Avas written to ask Mr. B to send mo the MS. of one 
 
 of my poems, which I could not do without.] 
 
 I'm really in a feaiful fix, 
 
 And don't know what to do, 
 For in the mire my hobby sticks. 
 
 And cannot struggle thro'. 
 
 My steeds beneath the whip-thong reel, 
 And join their strength in vain, 
 
 For Brodie sits upon the wheel, 
 And draws them back again. 
 
 So, if you'd lend a helping hand, 
 
 And do a friendly deed, 
 Despatch, by your express command, 
 
 A post-horse, here, with speed.
 
 88 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 [Spoken at a dinner table, exactly as here written.] 
 
 My Friends, 
 
 I rise to say, that in tliis glass, 
 I di'ink the health of every lovely lass, 
 And rightly so, for m its perfumed breath, 
 I feel the charms which lui'e one on to death, 
 And in its rich, its rare, its ruddy glow, 
 I see the cause of all our ills below, 
 And thus is Beauty — bright, but insecure, 
 First to redeem us, and the first to lure, 
 And ever while these rival treasures shine, 
 I'll toast to woman, when I drink in wine.
 
 80 
 
 SONG.— ''TIME IS ON THE WING." 
 
 Hast thou forgotten, when we met 
 
 Beneath the beechen tree, 
 The leaves with pearly dew were wet, 
 
 And stars shone o'er the lea. 
 'Tis veiy long ago, my pet, 
 
 'Twill be three years in Spring, 
 And we are wooing, cooing yet, 
 
 Tho' " Time is on the wing." 
 
 Say, have I breathed a word to thee, 
 
 And was it breathed in vain ? 
 And have I ever willingly 
 
 Been cause of grief or pain. 
 I love famihar things, for they_ 
 
 Can thoughts of pleasure bring ; 
 Then name the day, and let's away. 
 
 For " Time is on the wing." 
 
 llemember, if thy cruel will 
 
 Is ever urging " no," 
 " That as I lonely climb the hill, 
 
 I lonely down must go." 
 Then let us try the marriage state, 
 
 In name I'll be a king ; 
 But thou, my queen, shalt rule my fate, 
 
 While " Time is on the wing."
 
 90 
 
 WHEN ALL ARE FALSE. 
 
 Once, on a summer night, 
 
 When the glow-worm Ht the shade, 
 Birds had wing'd their evening flight, 
 
 And twitter'd in the glade ; 
 Hush'd was the wild-bee's hmn, 
 
 Night- winds sadly shook the tree, 
 " Say, where shall I find a home, 
 
 When all are false to me ?" 
 
 There, on that summer night, 
 
 Nature wore a smihng face, 
 Flowrets shook their tresses light. 
 
 And woo'd the moon's embrace ; 
 Then, from that jewelled sky. 
 
 Fell a voice upon the sea : 
 " To my bosom thou canst fly. 
 
 When all are false to thee ! " 
 
 E'er since that summer night, 
 
 Sunny smiles within me dwell, 
 Rousing, with a holy light, 
 
 My soul's eternal well ; 
 Still there's a Saviour's breast, 
 
 Fill'd with love, and pardon free, 
 There I'll find unchanging rest, 
 
 " When all are false to me 1"
 
 91 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 In a desert spot, where the cold grey stone 
 By the evergi'een moss is overgrown ; 
 Where the creeping brier twines thick and strong; 
 Where the days ai'e dull, where the nights are long; 
 Where the zephyr dreams of its gentle tone, 
 But speaks with a sad and incessant moan ; 
 Where never a bird has been known to bless 
 With his song the gloom of that wilderness ; — 
 
 Through the summer day and the winter night, 
 There cometh no bloom, there goeth no blight, 
 'Tis always as dull, 'tis ever as sere, 
 And nettles and thistles their tall heads rear ; 
 Yet, once as I pass'd it, I saw a flower, 
 That lighten'd the gloom of that desert hour. 
 And I whisper'd, " A flower can grief suppress, 
 Tf 'tis but the flower of a wilderness." 
 
 It had not the varied or brilHant dye 
 Of the garden gems, nor thek fragrant sigh ; 
 'Twas modest and lone, and scarce would pretend 
 To nod to the zephyr, its oldest friend ; 
 Though bees never sued for a loving kiss, 
 It look'd, in that spot, like a world of bliss ; 
 Though birds never wooed with a soft address, 
 'Twas the flower of that silent Avilderness.
 
 92 FINIS. 
 
 And I came again, but the flower lay low 
 In the selfsame spot where it used to grow ; 
 But its look was changed, and its bloom was past. 
 And the shades of death were gathering fast. 
 I sighed as I gazed on the dying thing, 
 And said, " In a while another will spring 
 From the living root, to lighten and bless 
 The desolate gloom of that wilderness." 
 
 But its doom is seal'd, and its life is o'er, 
 And the brier will creep as heretofore ; 
 The nettles and thistles will rear their heads. 
 And the green moss grow upon harden'd beds, 
 And the wind will sigh with a deeper tone. 
 With something of sympathy in its moan. 
 And the weary hours on that spot will press, 
 For dead is the '^floiver of the wilderness." 
 
 J. T. HOPE, OIIEAT MARLBOnoUOn STREET, LONDON.
 
 FREPARINO FOR PUBLICATION, BY THE SAME AUTIIOi: 
 
 AN ESSAY, 
 
 ENTITLED, 
 
 EARTH; 
 
 AS REGARDS IT BEING THE FUTURE RESTING-PLACE OF THE 
 REDEEMED: THE ARGUMENT BEING BASED UPON THE 
 WORD OF GOD, SUPPORTED BY GEOLOGY. 
 
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 LEGENDS OF ALDEELEY; 
 
 cOitb oi^tt Saks anb ^oems.
 
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 Brameld's Practical Sermons. 
 
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 Thirty Sermons, on Jonah, Amos, and Hosea. 
 
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 The Prophecy of Koshru, &c. Translated 
 
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 Christian Fear. A Sermon preached by 
 
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 NEW WORK BY MRS. ROBERT CARTWRIGHT. 
 
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 6 
 
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 Gilbert Midhurst, M.P. By Chas. F. Howard. 
 
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 Perseus and his Philosophies. By the same 
 
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 Preaching, Prosing, and Puseyism, with other 
 
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 CrUic. 
 
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 The Sea. Sketches of a Voyage to Hudson's 
 
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 Juvenile Crime : its Causes, Character, and 
 
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 thoroughly maetered the subject with which he deals. . . . It is an elaborate, 
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 hands ot every statesman and philanthropist." — burning Post. 
 
 '• The matter brought together is ample, and lucidly Brirtng«d, and Mr. Day 
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 clusions, and teach us that the mass of crimes which now plague the com- 
 munity are preventible." — Leader. 
 
 " Mr. Day seems to have carefully studied the latest statistics of criminality, 
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 "The work abounds in important facts, culled from unquestionable sources. 
 There can be little doubt that this volume will attract the goodwill as well 
 as the attention of the thinking community." — Observer. 
 
 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 Just published, Vol. I., price 7s. Cd.; Vol. II., price lOs. 6d. Beautifully 
 
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 History and Antiquities of Roxburghshire 
 
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 Duty to Parents : Honour thy Father and 
 
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 " This little book, placing the duty on its true Scriptural basis, would be a 
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 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 STARTLING NEW WORK. 
 
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 Holland : its Institutions, Press, Kings, and 
 
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 Ai'nold: a Dramatic History. 
 
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 The Young liRcly's First French JJook, with 
 
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 London: J. F. Hope, lU, Great Marlborough- street. 
 
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 Sir Hieram's Daughter, and other Poems. 
 
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 First Steps in British History, for the use 
 
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 we fofl oil tlift perusal of these pages, that he is a man worthy to be trusted. 
 The leading fads ol' British history ai'e thrown into the furui ol a narraiive, so 
 siuiiile thai a child of s-ix years may understand it. Taking this excellent nur- 
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 " A concise and well-written summary of the history of England, from the 
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 the author, not satisfied himself with the bare recital of historical events, seizes 
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 "' First Steps in British ITiston,-' is that rarest but most valuable of all educa- 
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 seen." — Critic. 
 
 "' First Steps in British Histoi^,' being letters to a young nobleman by his 
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 a plain, familiar style." — Literary Gazelle. 
 
 London : J. F. Hope, 10, Great Marlborough-street.
 
 10 NEW WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
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 Christian Politics. 
 
 By the Eev. Henry Christmas, M.A., Author of " The 
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 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlhorough-street. 
 
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 Family Interests : a Story taken from Life. 
 
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 Julia ; or, The Neapolitan Marriage. 
 
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 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 In 1 vol., demy 8vo, price 10s. fid. 
 
 A Ramble through the United States, Canada, 
 
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 " This is a most valuable work at the present time," &c. " This book is re- 
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 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 st 8vo, 1 vol., price 2s. (Cheap Second Edition.) 
 
 Ernest Milman : a True Tale of Manchester 
 
 Life. By P. Oswyn, Author of" Ealph Deane," cto. 
 " This work will doubtless be eagerly sought atlerr—Mancliesler Spectator. 
 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 Lately published, in 1 vol., post 8vo, price 23. 6d., cloth 3s. 6d. 
 
 China : a Popular History, with a Chronolo- 
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 earliest perio<l to the present day. By Sir Os'car Uliphant, Kt. 
 
 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street.
 
 J. F. HOPE, GREAT MAULBOROUGH-STREET. 11 
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 Lays of Love and Heroism, Legends, Lyrics, 
 
 and otlur Poems, By Kleanur Darby, Author of " Tlie 
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 "The authoresH is iilreiidy woll and favourably kni)wn ti> the British public 
 by her previoun publicalidu, uiider tlir lilli- nf "I'hB Sweet South.' The appear- 
 ance of the present volume will but call forth a repetition of ihose hich enco- 
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 o' Dundee' is of itself sutficieut to show tlio distinguished abilities of the 
 authoress, displaying;, ns it does, in u very high degree, her power, pathos, and 
 poetic skill, The volume, a-s a whole, cannot fail U) contribute very materially 
 to the popularity of the accomplished authoress ; and it deserves u very exten- 
 sive circulation." — Morning AUvertUer. 
 
 London : J, F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
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 The Sweet South; or, a Month at Algiers. 
 
 By Eleanor Darby. 
 
 For the excellent Reviews of this Work see Atheiueuvi, 
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 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, price 28. Cd. 
 
 Ou the Search for a Dinner. By W. R. Hare. 
 
 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Mailborough-street. 
 
 Price Is. 6d. 
 
 Thoughts on the Eevision of the Prayer- 
 
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 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 Price 3d. each, or 20s. per 100. (Third Edition.) 
 
 An Elementary Religious Catechism ; being 
 
 a Compendium of the chief Truths and Events revealed in 
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 the Church of England. By the Rev. Henry Kemp, M.A., 
 Head Master of Cleohury-Moitimer Endowed Schools. 
 
 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street.
 
 12 
 
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 Price Is. 
 
 A Day on the Downs, by the Yale of White 
 
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 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborougb-street. 
 
 Demy 8vo, price 12s. 6d. 
 
 Switzerland in 1854-5 : a Book of Travel, 
 
 Men, and Things. By the Rev. W. G. Heathman, B.A., 
 Eeetor of St. Lawrence, Exeter, late British Chaplain at 
 Interlaken. 
 London: J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 Post 8yo, 1 vol., price 8s. (Keady.) 
 
 Dearforgil, Princess of Brefney : an Historical 
 
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 London: J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 Post 8vo, price 33. 6d. 
 
 Reflections on the Mysterious Fate of Sir 
 
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 Post 8vo, 1 vol., price 68. 
 
 Voyages to China, India, and America. 
 
 By W. S. S. Bradshaw. 
 
 London: J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 Post 8vo, 1 vol., price 4s. (Ready.) 
 
 Italy's Hope : a Tale of Florence. 
 
 By John Ashford, Author of " The Lady and the Hound." 
 London: J. F. Hope, 16, Great IMarlborough-street. 
 
 Post Svo, price 2s. 
 
 The Lady and the Hound. By John Ashford. 
 
 London : J. F. Hope, 16, Great Marlborougb-street.
 
 J. K. HOPE, GREAT MAIU-BOROUGH-STIIEET. 13 
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 Poems. By " Sir Oscar Oliphant." 
 
 Loiuliin : J. F. Hope, IG, Great Marlborough-street. 
 
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 London: J. F. Hope, 10. Great Marlborough-street. 
 
 DR. E. LEF ON NICK AND MALAGA. 
 
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 Nice and its Climate. With Notices of the 
 
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 Price l8. 6d. 
 
 The Nurse and the Nursery : being a Digest 
 
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 and which every Nurse, Nursery Governess, and Mother 
 ought to know. 
 
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 Joan of Arc, and other Poems. 
 
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